#THE WEBSITE IS SLOW AS SHIT BUT OH WELL I RATHER IT BE SLOW AS SHIT THAN PAY FOR NETFLX BC FUCKING NO EW.

[nightmare8-420]

yk. i really was convinced for a couple months that yea i probably had somewhat of a type. but now. now i dont know.

because. i still have those feelings. but for some reason the king of spades from alice in borderland is there too and he doesnt fit into any of them.

[the-final-sif]

One of the things I think people as a whole don't understand about the internet today is that so much of what's wrong/dangerous/flawed about the internet exists because so much of the internet started as one person's hobby they built in their spare time or as a specific task for a specific function that was just useful/functional enough that literally everyone started using it. There's tons of biases built into the modern internet and some of that is carelessness but a lot of it is... just like. This was invented by a group of grad students fucking around for a few weeks. How the fuck were they supposed to know it'd be become the global standard and that nobody would bother to address or change these things?

Like, the whole reason that the US government gets the ".gov" domain name is because this entire system was invented in the US primarily for use in universities. Under the original system, you had to phone in to talk to the center who owned the list, tell them what name you wanted and then a person would type your name/ip onto the list attached to a nickname much like a phonebook. Then people slowly figured out domains and maintaining domain registries. And then the system became useful enough that more of the US started using it, and then people realized "oh shit, other countries want to use this too, guess we need to figure that out".

The "world wide web" or the thing we all know as the internet (and the reason that every website you visit has www in front), was invented originally by one dude trying to make his own job easier (Tim Berners-Lee). He thought it was pretty cool and shared it, and he was one guy who only spoke English and was just doing what he thought was going to work.

Like, this is a very lighthearted article talking about him, but I think it illustrates the point really well,

Sir Tim Berners-Lee, the creator of the World Wide Web, has confessed that the // in a web address were actually "unnecessary". He told the Times newspaper that he could easily have designed URLs not to have the forward slashes. "There you go, it seemed like a good idea at the time," he said. He admitted that when he devised the web, almost 20 years ago, he had no idea that the forward slashes in every web address would cause "so much hassle". His light-hearted apology even had a green angle as he accepted that having to add // to every address had wasted time, printing and paper.

via "sorry for the slashs"

We have an entire internet and infrastructure built rather haphazardly but also in such a way that going back and trying to change or fix things either requires an insane amount of work or could render vast swaths of the prior internet inaccessible.

Like, I think everyone here remembers Flash getting shut down and how much of childhood games got wiped off the generally accessible internet and relegated to projects like Flashpoint. It was really hard to see, but Flash was also a project started in 1996 (or 1993 if you count the OG version that turned into flash) that was supposed to be for a limited set of use cases, and not the medium on which major parts of the internet would run. By the time Adobe shut it down, Flash was incredibly dangerous with the constant risks of malware, it was buggy, slow, and there were a million better programs. It had to be killed to make way for better things, but because of how the internet was built, that death came at a pretty high cost.

So if you're ever wondering why it feels like the web is a bunch of dominoes ready to fall down at any time, it's because it is. And it does. And so many people spend so much of their time combating all the problems created by using systems that were never intended to handle everything they are currently handling because the alternative is a task of monstrous undertaking that would almost certainly turn decades of history to dust.

[gregorovitch-adler]

Clock

John stifled a yawn with the back of his hand as he checked the time on the classroom clock. Half past twelve. Fifteen more minutes of this dreadful lecture till the afternoon break.

The topic going on in the class was not so hard, besides Year 13 meant you had to cover up most of the topics on your own, anyway. John could not bring himself to listen to the lecture today.

John looked around at the other students instead. To be honest, he was looking for one specific person in that room.

There he was. Sitting in the last row, but paying full attention - staring at the teacher like a hawk. John had been admiring this guy's looks - dense, black curls; sea-green eyes, and those sharp cheekbones - and his intelligence for quite some time.

The name was Sherlock Holmes.

John had not stopped thinking about that bloke ever since he'd guessed some other student's personal life correctly in an attempt to tell them off. Deduction, as he would rather call it.

He had been trying to get to know Sherlock in person and to talk to him properly - instead of just nodding in his direction as a greeting like he used to do, every morning.

John was not sure what he would even talk about. Sherlock seemed so closed off, heading straight to the library during the afternoon break every day. John did not want to make an arse of himself trying to talk to him.

He realised he was staring, so he looked away quickly and pretended to pay attention again.

After a few minutes, the bell rang, followed by the teacher muttering some words to the TA before leaving the class.

The class began to chatter, as everyone slowly made their way to leave.

Suddenly, someone across the room turned around to face Sherlock in the last row. "Hey, Holmes!"

Sherlock looked up from his book at that guy.

"Nobody gives a shit about your Tobacco ash list," he said, and his friends burst out laughing. "Seriously, quit blogging. Your website is embarrassing enough already." Another fit of laughter from his group.

John furrowed his brows and clenched his fist on his left side. Strange that he did not know much about Sherlock, but felt like standing up for him anyway.

"At least I don't have to juggle three girlfriends every single day."

A complete silence erupted among that friend group.

"What's he talking about?" asked a girl from the group to that arse. Probably one of the girlfriends.

He ignored her as he marched his way to the last row to approach Sherlock. "Say that again." The guy slammed his massive fists on the desk.

John turned around and went to that row too.

"I think he was loud and clear the first time," said John as he stood beside Sherlock, staring daggers at the other guy.

"Oh, so the fake genius has got himself a pet!" the bloke exclaimed and walked up close to John, practically towering over him.

John was waiting for one move from the side of that guy. Just one. This would all be over in a minute.

"I haven't," said Sherlock and walked close to the guy, invading his personal space. "Though I would think twice before doing anything I regret if I were you." His low voice had dropped even more to a dangerous tone. "Especially if I were sleeping with one of the teachers for a better score like you are, currently."

This made the guy back off. "You didn't - you can't possibly know that!"

"You didn't even bother changing your perfume," said Sherlock and brushed past that guy, his long legs taking him to the classroom door swiftly. He stopped short in the doorway and turned around to look at John with his eyebrows raised.

John quickly collected his things and left the room; ignoring the other guy and leaving him behind.

Sherlock and John walked out of the class, and John tried to suppress a smile.

"Where are we going?" John asked, trying to match Sherlock's pace.

"I am going to the library."

"I can join you."

"Why?"

"You can tell me about the Tobacco ash."

Sherlock stopped in the tracks to face John properly. John had slowed down as well.

Sherlock gave John an intense look as if trying to look into his soul.

John was physically unable to look away.

"In that case, I expect you to listen to every single thing I have to say. Try to react properly instead of just staring at me." The corner of his heart-shaped mouth quirked up.

John cleared his throat and nodded before looking away for a moment. "Let's go, shall we? We don't have much time."

"Come on, then," said Sherlock, and they began to walk again in the direction of the library.

Not sure why, but John felt as if his day had become at least a hundred times better.

***

Sherlock September Challenge.

Prompt Clock by @onesmallfamily

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @gaylilsherlock @missdeliadili @curlyjohnlock @lookingforlifeoutthere @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear .

[teenagedirt]

kissing in cars

A/n before I start I'm new to writing fanfic do I f I can improve please let me know. I'm also on the website toninhave no idea how to work anything. MIKE WILL NOT BE IN THIS!

Vic x female reader.

I lean over laughing so hard I can barely breath. "Yo, you good y/n ?" Vic asks me trying not to laugh

"Uhm yeah I'm fine" I say looking straight into his dark brown eyes. My face heats up,but he doesn't notice the blush My face now has because he's checking the time.

"Oh shit" Vic says under his breath and grabs my hand. My eyes open quickly.

"whats going on" I ask while he's basicly dragging me down the sidewalk.

"We were supposed to be at that damn Cafe thirty minutes ago" he says looking me in the eyes and continuing his fast pace and the tight grip on my hand.

"Oh shit" I say trying to walk faster"We are in for it this time,we are always late"

"There it is" I say slowing down and opening the door. I sigh and make my way over to the table where both Tony and Jaime were sitting with their notebooks,pens,and coffees.

"Whats the excuse for being late this time" Jaime asks.

"Well, we lost track of time. That's what happens when you put two bestfiends together for a walk,huh" Vic answered. We are just bestfriends but hearing that felt like a stab in the heart. Tony is the only one who knows about how I feel about Vic, he gives me a sympathetic look,but I quickly turn my head. I sigh tears bubbled in my eyes.

"Hey guys I'm gonna go to the bathroom I'll be right back" I say, my voice almost a whisper. Tony looks up at me and weakly smiles. I walk into the bathroom and breakdown the way I am sobbing and hyperventilating you would think my family just got murdered, but no, I just feel unworthy of being with the man I'm in love with. The truth is I know that I could never be with him. I couldn't even try that would ruin everything,our friendship,the way the public sees me,and it would hurt what little bit of confidence I have left. When all my tears have dried up I look in the mirror making sure its not obvious that I just had a mental breakdown. I return to the table and get out my sketch book. I was the one who made all the cover art well the concepts anyway. Vic had already started on the songs and they knew what the albums was going to be called. The album was based around the stupid things you do when you're in love, and love subjects in general,rather it be sweet, or more of a breakup and betrayal song. I started sketching the title and their band name, I find myself drawing a boy and a girl, they look to be holding a cube together. Jaime looked at my sketch book in amazement.

"Hey guys look at this" he says pointing to my book. Vic's eyes widen and he smiles down at it.

"Goddamn that's good as he'll y/n" he says looking back to me. I blush slightly

"Thank you" I say and smile. Tony grabs my book to look at it closer

."Damn this is good y/n" he says smiling and handing me my book.

"We've gotten a lot done so i think we should head home." Tony says. Tony and Jaime share an apartment and me and Vic share one just down the street. I get up grab my book and pencils stuff them in my bag and start towards the door Vic following behind me. When we get outside he pats his pockets and his smile fades.

"Do you have your keys" he asks worry plastered on his face. "Uh yeah why" I ask walking backwards so I can see him.

"I forgot mine" he says while giving me a weak nervous smile. I giggle under my breath

"you always do" I say.

"You don't have to be mean about it" he says fake pouting. We both laugh for a minute and make it into the apartment

[suckitsurveys]

Can you unwrap a Starburst in your mouth? I can actually, lol.

What is the last thing you ate? A piece of banana bread.

Who is your favorite person to spend time with? My husband, my dad, my best friends, my nieces when they don’t drive me up a wall.

Have you ever had tendinitis? I don’t believe so.

What brand of face wash do you use? Whatever store brand version of the expensive shit is on sale.

Do you know how to grill a steak? I mean, I know HOW to, but I am horrible at knowing when it’s cooked the way I want it.

What were you wearing the last time you were kissed? What I am wearing now.

Have you ever been to a purse party? I don’t know what that is.

Would you ever use an online dating service? No.

When is the last time you weighed yourself? Blah.

Do you mosh when you go to concerts/shows? Not really. I finna not be in the pit.

Do you like Gushers? Eh.

Are you good at multitasking? For the most part. I am always multitasking in one form or another at my job. Like now for example.

When’s the last time you went to a nightclub? I don’t think I’ve been to a straight up nightclub, but I have been to bars that had that vibe.

Where did you buy your favorite pair of jeans? Torrid.

Do you have a large dog? I don’t have any dogs.

What is more annoying: A sore throat or a headache? A sore throat because that means I’m actually sick. Headaches can come and go whenever.

What was your GPA last semester? ---

Do you like walking places? I don’t mind it but I get VERY anxious when people are walking behind me because I feel like I am inconveniencing everyone all the time and I am a slow walker. Also, some times I can’t breathe out of my nose so when I am walking I lose my breath quicker and it’s embarrassing.

Are you a fan of bands most people don’t know of? I don’t know, ask other people.

What time is it right now? 8:10am.

When’s the last time you wore goggles? I have no idea.

Have you ever been to Europe? No.

Do you yell at other drivers while you drive? It’s one of the requirements for a Chicago-issued driver’s license. Haha, but really, I do sometimes, to myself. I find myself yelling “DRIIIIIIIIVE” very often when someone in front of me isn’t moving at my desired speed lol.

Are you good at playing Darts? No.

Can you legally consume alcohol? If not, do you anyways? I can.

Do you like zebra print and would you wear it? I don’t think I’d wear it.

Are “school friends” and friends different to you? I’m not in school anymore.

When is the last time you laid out and tanned? I don’t really do that.

Would you rather date a brunette or a blonde? I have no real preference but I tend to be more physically attracted to people with darker hair.

Do you have friends in other states than your own? Oh yes. Utah, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Colorado.

Have you ever fake tanned? (Spray or bed) No.

Do lots of kids at your high school do drugs? (At my school it’s normal) Not in school.

What kind of computer do you have? The one I am on is a Dell desktop.

Would you rather use colored pencils or crayons? I like the way crayons feel when I color with them but for teeny projects like adult coloring books I prefer colored pencils.

Can you drive well? I'd say I am a relatively good driver but I get really anxious when I encounter new situations. Like, don’t fucking ask me to drive in a round-about, I don’t understand them AT ALL. Please give me my grid-system all day everyday.

What bothers you the most about your town? I mean, normal complaints about living in a big city; the massive amounts of people and feeling unsafe at times, etc.

Can you actually play an instrument or do you say it to be cool? I can’t.

Flip flops or Birkenstock sandals? Birks.

Do you like breaded chicken sandwiches? Yeah.

Are you a fan of plug in air fresheners? Yes.

Do you like mad libs? I do.

How are you? I’m okay. I’m just tired so I’m feeling out of it, but I have a lot of exciting things coming up and I’m looking forward to them.

Besides this website, what other websites do you visit frequently? Twitter.

What part of your body are you most insecure about? All of it.

What’s one food you would be surprised to hear that someone doesn’t like? Fries would be a weird one for me to grasp.

Do you think your voice is higher or lower than average? I think it’s somewhere in the middle.

Have you ever slept for such a long period of time that you felt tired throughout the next day? Yes. I hate that I can’t find a good sleep balance. It’s either not enough or too much and I just want to feel AWAKE for once in my life.

Are you comfortable discussing bodily functions with your friends? To an extent, sure.

[theharpermovieblog]

#HARPERSMOVIECOLLECTION

2023

www.tumblr.com/theharpermovieblog

I watched Dreamland (2019)

(This is the Canadian Dreamland from 2019. Not the Margot Robbie Dreamland from 2019-2020)

Considered a spiritual successor to Pontypool, or maybe just the after-credits-scene of Pontypool.

A hitman, sent to take the pinky finger of a jazz musician, ends up saving a child bride from her fate of marrying a vampire. Yes, it's confusing.

I have a high tolerance for artsy weird shit. So, when I found out that the Director of Pontypool and it's two leads had re-teamed to make a weird art house flick, I had to see it.

Online it's a "Love it or Hate it" movie. So much so that I read two separate reviews on Roger Ebert's website. One shining, one detesting, Dreamland is a movie that is definitely not the norm and maybe not very good.

The strangeness starts with Stephen McHattie playing two separate roles. It then continues with odd editing, confusing and slow narrative progression, a dreamy atmosphere. OH, And a story that includes child trafficking, a hitman, a Jazz musician, child assassins, and a full on fucking vampire.......Yes, a vampire.

Around the first half-hour I realized this movie might not turn the corner to greatness. The first action sequence, between McHattie and one of Henry Rollins' toy soldier looking female guards, was so terribly executed it would have been better not to film it. But, it's not exactly an action movie, so I forgave it. Then the vampire showed up and the movie slid into a rather comic tone. Then it slid back into a serious tone. Then back to comedy, and so on. What was happening? What key factor was I missing? What was director Bruce McDonald trying to get across to me. Was Dreamland an actual Dream? Was I enjoying watching it?

Well, truth is, I like that it's completely unexpected at points. It has a real "fuck you, I don't care what you think" attitude. I liked that I wasn't bored, even if I was spending time trying to solve a mystery without an answers. I enjoyed that it just might be a Jazz style of filmmaking that's playing all the wrong notes.

Of course, I believe my enjoyment to be indefensible. I wouldn't recommend this to anyone, because ultimately it's kind of a failure of a film. There's a lot here that just isn't good enough. But, I liked the mess it made.

[katielovably]

I think I know what type of partner I want to find. I know it's impossible. But it's good to think about

I am watching Celenaspookyboo and she's has the personality who would be amazing personality and spirit. So I would like to find someone whose adventurious, down to earth, humble, funny (like dad jokes and jokes that's humble not jokes that hurt or insult anyone), understanding because I need someone who is patience and slow you know. So many people want to jump into things like where people go to babe or sweetheart no let me decide thing, you know. I want someone who can be my friend, help me when I panic or nervous because when someone asks a question I need someone who helps explain. I need someone who wants to snuggle or lay together. Walk together threw the bush or just wherever (pretty sure I talked about that one before), someone who allows me to have emotions instead of burying them. Someone I can be myself around. Who wouldn't put me down, who would make me cowar or nervous to be around.

I know a person like this is impossible to find (when I actually go searching because I spend a lot of time at home) but it's hard for me to know where to find people because people just showed up in my life to be my friends (who turned out to be not good people) but I changed. I want to change but don't know how. I know getting a partner would help with that but it's a start. If not a partner then a career change and I'm scooping up Bean and moving because some is changing. I change feel it coming. My brain is trying to figure out how life will work for me and working at a zoo is one of them because I'm good at (not great because I'm anxious of something going wrong) but I can do it or a museum because I like history (also both places have gift shops it would be cool) even a curcus or something like that.

I thought in high school that I would stay in the area. After graduating and trying to figure out what I'm doing with my life which I would enjoy the working with people but people in the area are ignorant, selfish, fake and just not good people. I'm seeing this in family as well and I just want to move but the location isn't clear because I would tell people I want to move. Right away, where? Where would you go? Bitch I don't know. I just want to go I'm going crazy but don't know where to go if that makes sense. I spent five years in a place my dad owns and pays for (there a mouse problem and sewer issues every year). My dad offered to move it to my aunts and uncle ( who lives closer to town) but my brother (who I live with) is like they'll snoop or not give us privacy. I know this is the place this trailer belongs. The house doesn't move we do sorta thing. Getting Bean was the first step because something was telling me get a pet. I was looking on a local shelter website, I was looking up info on every dog breed I hear about in YouTube videos (those like shorts talking about dogs or even Brutus and Pixie had this dog in it that it smaller than a German shepherd but looked like it) like it was driving me crazy then my brain was like hey remember that site nana found her cat (it's like Facebook Market place). I went there was looking threw these articles (it was late at that point I my mind just left and I think I was jumping between two because info blurred and mixed. When my brain returned I saw a phone number and so that was the deciding factor on rather or not I was getting the kitten that became Bean or not. So I asked "hey, do you still have the cat?" Like expecting like a "no, I already got rid of it. Sorry." because it's a free cat so I figured you know people would eat that shit up. But nope she was still there. I'm like oh my god I'm actually doing this. But I was like planning on going solo but I told my brother who after making me swear I will be taking care of it (du, it's my cat of course I will) he decided to help me (because he made a deal on a computer so only fair (if driving three or so hours were called fair) and we got lost and confused by the directions and Bean's old owner was like trying to help us (it's funny to think back on) but now I got Bean and it's the best thing (expensive little free cat due to vet bills and shit like that) but she's happy and makes me happy.

But yeah, I'm just trying to figure out life because life sure wasn't nice to me in the past but that's how it goes. 🤷. I would like a partner because I'm lonely and want to kiss someone who is a cat and would be happy living with me to help pay rent with me (because Jesus knows it's hard to survive alone... as Bean has gotten a job yet lol) I hope to ditch this place in a year or so because honestly I have nothing here, I thought in 2019 earlier 2020 there was but I'm starting to see there's nothing it's an old person/ family town that's it. That's the people they cater to her and don't care about people my age listening to them because we're young and dumb it's not like we would know how to change things to better things or anything.

Sorry I'll stop now

I don't know why I always do this. I guess it's just easier to get your thoughts out.

[honking-up-a-storm]

6/23/23

Using this page to start off the day cuz idc that there's some doodles already on it. I think it's gonna be another slow day, 4 handicap spots are open, more open past the entrance, and the main lot is very empty. It could fill up who knows, but my hopes aren't very high. Funny how active online I was in 16'-17', maybe it's because that's when a lot of current websites came out that have a clear record. Ungh, I want to do something where is everyone? I guess I can get some reading done today. As long as my feet hold up I guess. I knew there would be slow days, but slow and standing in one spot is killing me. Oh! I bought the book so I can properly do this, it should be coming in 5-14 days, though the seller is in state so it should be quick enough. One car, not gonna touch it since it has the handicap adapter on it, I could drive it but I don't wanna adjust the settings. I think this writing is good for a least cracking a dent in this book. Had a very deep dream where things were okay again, makes no sense. If it's a premonition, I don't want it. Could try reaching out to her though. I feel bad and I miss her. Taking the easy way out isn't cute. There's totally shit going through my head right now that's too fast to write FFS. It's cuz I'm thinking about IT, which is annoying. I've exhausted all thoughts on the subject, made my conclusions, pretty much moved on less than a week later due to good timing on the new circles. I guess I'm frustrated with my exit. I had more time than I thought. I guess it's only natural to have wanted things to go your way. It just sucks cuz I wasn't attached to those thoughts and words anymore and the grief I have for them is still very potent no matter how much I try to hide and deny It. I find it odd too that I didn't feel sad after, I thought over the scenario so many times that I was sure I'd just fall apart, but I didn't and don't feel sorry for myself cuz I was a full-on bitch who deserved it. The frustration and grief are what linger. And I think grief is the appropriate word bc jesus christ I loved them, I loved all of them and I don't know why I was that fucking monstrous (Well therapy helped find the route of that but still, tldr: Family source, took that kinda shit talking as a normal way to vent and be done with it bc worse shit has gone around the house and yet everyone claims to love each other, should have never done it to my friends). And I'm frustrated because jesus christ even though I don't remember much of the exit I know I was just spewing bullshit and was pissed beyond hell that it was happening while I was not in a good spot mentally and physically. They probably think I threw myself into therapy because of the situation, but nah it's because for the first time in my life I let myself stand a little too close to the edge of the train platform and envisioned some things. But shit the only thing that stopped me was my own fear of death and that girl who got her leg torn off by the green line a few days prior. Anywho I'm glad I'm better, obviously not cured or perfect but much much better. My paranoia is gone, I'm less irritable, and life is just enjoyable again. It's kinda funny how I'm working a job where I was only in it for the money (financial issues strike again when the V work is said) but like I'm having like actual fun working, it's literally the perfect job for someone with ADHD, every day is different and I get to move a lot, interact with a lotta people. Also like I work with cars all day, I love driving. I'm in my pink era, I'm starting to love life again.

Notes:

A - Truman show/ Fleabagging, mirroring, mimicking, repeating, fixations, extremely picky with food, shutdown rather than lash out

M - Overstimulation, IFYKYK, sensory issues

N - Can drive, good balance

it feels like summer again

I am made up of so many things

Gift of the day from funny old dude regular: 3 Musketeers bar

"FTM" license plate is real

[moonlit-jeno]

Anonymous said: Hyuck with 10, 25, and 6 pls and thanks

explicit sexual content, fem reader

“Hey, Hyuck? I'm not trying to put you on the spot, but I'd really like to know why you have an entire album dedicated to hentai porn."

Your best friend shrugs, taking the time to down the contents of his redbull before tossing the can at the trash bin. It hits the wall before falling to the floor with a sad clink, laughably far away from his target. “What do you mean why? You have nasty shit downloaded too, don’t you?“

“Not this.” You also don’t have anything saved. The virus you’d gotten from downloading Twilight off of a sketchy website when you were 10 scared you away from willingly saving anything from the internet.

Hyuck shrugs like you’re missing out on something. “How’d you find that anyways? Thought you were borrowing my computer to write your essay.“ “I was. I thought the folder titled “academic resources” might have, y’know. Academic resources.”

“What’d you want me to call it? My hentai folder?” Hyuck uses the tone he reserves for arguing with Renjun and it makes it ten times harder to hide your laugh. “I couldn’t name it anything risky. Mark would find it.” He cackles as if exposing his best friend is the funniest thing on the planet. It kind of is. “The fuckers too horny and paranoid for his own good. Refuses to look it up himself.” You raise your eyebrows and turn back to the computer, clicking through some of the thumbnails before closing the album with a wrinkled nose. “You prefer this shit to actual women?”

“Well, I mean. I don’t have an actual woman here.” You make an offended noise and he reconsiders. “Oh, I guess you count. You wanna fuck?”

Normally you’d say no, but your dedication to procrastinating your essay is astounding. Plus, you’ve fucked around with Donghyuck before. Your best friend is insufferable, yes, but he's also hot and good with his mouth. “Right now?”

“I mean, yeah. I did buy these glow in the dark condoms and I have no one to use them with. Are you busy tonight?” Hyuck opens his drawer and reveals that he does indeed have glow-in-the-dark condoms.

“I’m terrified to ask what else you’re into.” You raise your eyebrows before settling yourself on his bed, unhooking your bra and tossing it at him. His lips part and his eyes linger on the shape of your breasts through your shirt before he gathers himself.

A rather horrible wink is sent your way. “Stick around and find out.” “Ugh. No thanks.” You slide your pants off and swing one leg over to straddle him. His hands go automatically to your hips, steadying you. There’s a moment of silence where you just stare at each other before he moves a hand up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheek before pulling you forward to meet his lips.

The kiss is slow at first, unhurried as he savors the first taste of your lips, and then it grows deeper, more insatiable. His tongue slips into your mouth and his hand squeezes at your ass, encourages you to rock yourself against his lap. He lets out a depraved sound when you tug at his hair, head falling back to give you access to his neck, which you waste no time marking up. It’s satisfying to see him this wrecked, eyes heavily lidded and lips swollen from kissing, cock a pleasant hardness for you to grind on.

“Hyuck,” You moan, breaking the kiss to pant into the open air. “Fuck me.”

“S-shit, yeah.” He rushes to get undressed, ripping open the condom. The face he makes when he strokes his cock to make sure the condom is in place is one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen and it makes you clench your legs together in need, though he thankfully doesn’t see it. You frown when he walks away from you. “Hang on, I wanna see if these really do glow in the dark.” He goes to hit the light switch and you scream. “Donghyuck! I don’t want the image of your floating, glowing dick ingrained in my head!” Thankfully, he doesn’t turn the lights off. “Why would it be floating?” “Because the rest of you isn’t glowing?” You point out, screaming again when his face lights up and he cries out a ‘that’s even cooler!’ “Donghyuck! If you don’t fuck the living daylights out of me in the next 5 minutes, I’m going to pass out.” “Okay, okay, I’m coming. I mean not yet, obviously. But that’s what you’re going to be saying soon!” He joins you on the bed and you rub your forehead, suddenly regretting your decision to fuck him.

“I literally hate you.” You grumble, though your actions say differently as you easily let him slide his hands between your thighs. A soft moan leaves you when he drags the tips of his finger through your folds, putting just a little extra pressure on your clit.

Donghyuck laughs. “And yet you’re still soaking wet.”

“Shut up and fuck me.” Your words lack authority, all the oxygen in your lungs exiting in a whoosh when he sucks your arousal off of his fingers. He gives you a mock salute and then he’s settling between your legs, lining himself up at your entrance.

“Ready?” His eyes are serious and you nod, licking your lips in anticipation.The movement doesn’t escape him and his lips are on yours in the next second, a heated kiss that you moan into when he slides in you achingly slow. His cock fills you to the brim and it has your jaw going slack, your head pressing deep into the pillows as you arch into it. “Can’t believe that’s all it takes to have you drooling.” Donghyuck’s voice is meant to be teasing but you can hear how breathless he is, pride halting his moans in his throat.

You clench around him as hard as you can and he nearly collapses, a whine ripping out of his chest. “Now who’s drooling?” You bite back, laughing breathlessly. Donghyuck laughs too, but it’s humorless and there’s a dark look in his eyes.

“Still you, baby.” He whispers, face centimeters away from your own. A little bit of spit passes from his lips to yours and he smears the saliva around your lips with his thumb, smiling when you suck willingly on the digit. “So fucking hot.”

Donghyuck pulls your legs around his waist and groans as he gets that much deeper, fucking into you with slow, fluid thrusts. It feels so good, being split open on his cock like this, but it’s frustratingly slow. You can feel the drag of his cock inside of you with an amplified intensity and you can’t decide if it’s too much or not enough. It makes your head spin. “Hyuck, faster.” You moan out, raking your hand through his sweaty hair. “Fuck me faster.” He must be feeling it too because he doesn’t tease you for once in your life, simply clenching his jaw in concentration and picking up the pace until all you can hear is the sound of skin slapping on skin, your moans joining the sound in a sinful melody. Your nails dig into his back and you pull him closer, grabbing onto him for dear life. And Hyuck doesn’t falter, just keeps fucking you like it’s his job, burying his face in your neck before dipping down to kiss at your breasts. His lips wrap around one of your nipples and you cry out, arching into it. The bliss of everything he’s doing to you is overwhelming you so much that you don’t even realize you’re going to cum until you’re right there, so close you can taste it, and you nearly tear up with how tightly you scrunch your eyes closed.

Donghyuck cums mere second after you, mouth pressed hotly to your neck in an attempt to muffle his moans. You drag his lips back up to yours with one hand fisted in his hair and meet him in one of the sloppiest kisses you’ve ever had. It feels so good that you can’t bring yourself to care, whimpering softly into it when he pulls out and leaves you achingly empty. He gives you a goofy grin and all but collapses onto his side, facing you.

“You're glowing.” Donghyuck says, and it’s so sweet that it makes you go all warm and fuzzy for a moment before he ruins it. “Just like my glow in the dark condoms.” A groan leaves you and you flop away from him. “You’re never fucking me again.”

[y0itsbri]

🍺, 🧑🏻‍🦰, 😠

benja! hello! thank you for the ask! 💘💘 (sorry these got kinda (very) long and some more fic-ish than hc-ish but i had fun with it)

🍺 - drunk headcanon

lately, debbie has been flooding the gallagher fam groupchat with pictures of cocktails and mixed drinks that she's been trying from the new lesbian bar she's been going to. carl tells her no one gives a shit, but she just tells him to fuck off. ian always sends a thumbs up emoji in response to the photos.

"wonder what's in that one," mickey pondered from their couch, zooming into the most recent picture like somehow the ingredients were written on an ice cube.

"looks like 1.5 oz empress gin, 4 oz ginger beer, juice of 1/2 a lime, 1/4 oz monin desert pear syrup, and mint, for garnish, of course," ian confidently rattled off.

mickey's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, "the fuck are you? the lesbian drink whisperer?"

ian chuckled at the accusation, "found the recipe on pinterest. 's something called the prickly pear gin buck."

"on penny trust what now?"

"pinterest -- a website where you pin your interests," ian smirked like he was the most clever motherfucker on the planet.

"alright, fuckin' martha stewart over here."

"wanna make it sometime?"

"make what?"

"the 'lesbian' drink."

"nah, man, too fuckin' fruity and won't even get me drunk."

"yeah, well we're fucking fruity, mick."

mickey sent ian a death glare.

ian threw his hands up in mock surrender and a teasing glint, "alright, alright, but you like it sweet, so i bet you'd like it."

"yeah, i like your sweet ass alright, c'mere, dork."

--

"hey, mick, look what i got!"

"more toothpaste?"

"shit! i knew i was forgetting something... but, uh, no, i splurged on some things to make that drink debs sent that week."

ian looked so damn excited about this, he couldn't even make fun of him.

"double the gin. if i'm drinking it, i better get buzzed."

"done."

"and you're not tellin' fuckin' anyone about this."

ian paused too long.

"gallagher," mickey said sternly. gallagher. he wasn't messing around.

"aaaanyways, let's get it cookin', good lookin'."

-

for all it was worth, it was fucking delicious and mickey got more than a little buzzed. he woke up the next morning... or afternoon rather, with several notifications from the gallagher groupchat.

shit. he was gonna fuckin' murder ian.

ian had sent an artistic photo of the purplish drink topped with a mint garnish and another of mickey, blissfully unaware of the photo being taken while sipping his second? third? drink, cradling it dear.

deb: looks great guys! so good, right! 🥂

lip: mickey sure seems to think so huh? ;)

liam: mickey's gonna kill you for this, ian

carl: rip fly high bro 💀🕊️

-

despite the teasing from his brother-in-laws, mickey really did enjoy the drink and the excitement ian had putting it all together. debbie, ian, and mickey all start a new groupchat called 'gallabitches getting tipsy🍹' where they share all their new recipes without judgement. they later added tami to the group, not being able to drink during her pregnancy, but living vicariously through them.

👨‍🦰 - ian is tall and likes to manhandle headcanon

the only cabinet in the kitchen that's tall enough for their boxes of cereal is above the refrigerator. this is, of course, no problem to ian who is practically eye level with it. mickey, however, has a little more difficulty.

he thought he was alone in the kitchen, he had left ian finishing getting ready in the bathroom, when he wanted the goddamn lucky charms.

mickey ungracefully climbed on top of the countertop and acquired the beloved box of sugary cereal. right then, he noticed he'd been caught -- ian leaning against the kitchen wall, amused as all hell.

ian stalked over, "can't reach, baby?"

"got it just fine, thanks." but mickey didn't make any effort to get down.

"hey, you're finally taller than me, never thought i'd see the day."

"fuck off."

"hmmm, dunno if i like this," ian said, looking up at mickey, "might have to do something about it."

"yeah? whatcha gonna do about it, big guy?"

in a swift motion, ian nudged mickey's legs apart a bit and held them on either side of him. mickey threw the box of cereal god knows where, fuck the cereal, and complied, wrapping his legs around ian's torso and his arms around ian's neck.

"oh, you'll see."

😠 - jealous headcanon (also hi @gardenerian , here's a little bit of gardener ian content for you🍅)

ian starts bonding with one of his neighbors about their plants in the community garden at their apartment. mickey was totally on board with ian's rants about his tomatoes and peppers, but all mickey can hear lately is julie this and julie that.

-

"julie bought this new fertilizer for me to use on my plot! she said it'll double the amount of tomatoes we get this year!"

"fuckin' great."

ian frowned, "i thought you were excited about the garden."

"i am."

"then why doesn't it sound like that?"

"julie just sounds like she likes you a bit too much is all."

"julie?"

"yeah, man, buyin' you shit, now. why doesn't fucking julie just suck your dick while she's at it?"

"what the fuck are you going on about now, mick?"

"you don't even wear your ring down there! i bet the bitch is just trynna get in your pants."

"mickey."

"no, it's cool, i get it, whatever."

"mickey. i don't wanna lose the ring in all the fuckin' dirt, but i promise julie knows all about you -- about us."

"yeah?"

"of course," ian crowded mickey's space a bit, judging how much his husband was really mad at him. he tilted his head down, "come down there with me next sunday, yeah? there's nothing to worry about."

mickey considered for a moment. he would love to size the bitch up, even if he had to wake up a bit earlier.

"fine."

"mmmm, good."

--

the following sunday, true to plan, mickey followed ian down to his garden plot. he'd been down here before, of course, but never early enough to chat with julie. he couldn't see her now, though, just some white-haired old lady in a big hat with an orange cat perched on her lap.

"ian, darling, good morning!"

"hey julie, good to see you!" ian said smiling as he crouched down to pet the cat's head, "you too, george." the cat purred against his hand.

oh.

"this is my husband, mickey. he was finally up early this morning, so i made him tag along."

"oh, what a pleasure, dear," julie smiled warmly, "i've heard so much about you."

"uh, yeah, ditto." mickey definitely didn't expect this -- she was genuinely sweet. she kind of reminded him of his great aunt back in ukraine.

"remind me to give you boys my new recipe for lemon tarts..." she trailed off.

mickey sat himself on a red modern-style chair as the two chatted the latest drama of some pests on antonio's plants and how sarah hadn't been out in weeks to water.

julie nudged the cat off her lap as she gestured for ian to follow her to one of the flower beds. george made his way over to where mickey was sitting.

"they're some of the good ones, huh?" mickey addressed the cat.

george slow blinked in return as he flopped over on the pavement.

they basked in the early morning sun, watching ian water both his plot and julie's as they laughed about something he couldn't hear.

he smiled. he could get used to sunday mornings like this.

[keepyourlife]

What fics do you like/read/recommend?

Difficult question, cause recommendations I can give but only very limited.

What I like? Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, damn it I also read Smut sometimes, AUs (I mention something about that later). Basically: I want to suffer, I want to cry, but give me a happy ending. I LOVE good interpreted characters and I LOOOVE well-written relations. What I mean by that is, basically, if a sibling relationship is weirdly written, I tend to just.. not read the story at all. Does that make sense? Whatever.

While I read a lot, I rarely save what I read and more often than not I kind of.. lose half of the fics I read? There’s one I am currently obsessed with, which I found via @worstloki:

doubt truth to be a liar. absolutely amazing tbh. it’s about a younger Loki suddenly appearing in the Avengers Tower, without any memories about what happened (post Ragnarok), it’s got trans Peter & cultural differences between Asgard and Midgard I find quite interesting. Cause while I do know that comic Loki mentioned that the concept of gender and sexuality do not exist in Asgard the way they do on Midgard (I think that is what he said), I found the differences portrayed in that story very believable and also super interesting, cause I didn’t think of that? Especially interesting when you know a bit about the Viking age and its culture, which MCU Asgard clearly was set to resemble.

So, next I need to put a little disclaimer about myself: I normally do not like Reader fics, because more often than not they’re super ooc and I just find this whole.. “y/n” thing kind of offputting and it just makes me uninterested very often. However I have a friend who do likes these kind of stories. And she lets me know. And she needs someone to talk about these stories, so there’s that. And I read a handfull of them and tbh only those I actually find 1. well-written, 2. well characterised & 3. no darn use of “y/n”, cause no I never imagine myself there, I create characters in my head for each story.

A Job Million PRs Would Die For by @saiansha. Jesus fucking christ the amount of times I re-read this story. Honestly, it is, I think, the first Reader fanfic I read in my entire life, was super weary at first cause. idk. I know some people on this website (and AO3, let’s be real) that just post very weird stuff. This one has an interpretation of Loki that I can 100% believe and it is one I support. That was one of my main reasons to continue reading, but it’s also the general writing style that I like and that there’s a Reader character, who is not a helpless damsel in distress. Ultimate proof of that was the most recent chapter. (dear author knows my thoughts, I dared to dm cause I was just. very enthuasiastic about this story)

Broken Crown by @michelleleahhh​. Second one I started reading at one point cause my friend kept asking me to read it. a kind-of AU? It’s set in Asgard. That’s what you need to know. Again, a story that had me from the beginning, once I started. For the writing style and for the characterisation. The story really had me guessing sometimes, cause,, well-written! and really good dialogue!! damn you Freya!! and a decent Reader character that doesn’t have me ripping out my own intestines. (also very enthusiastic about this story, yes this phrasing as a meaning)

Foruneyti by Evaldrynn or @foruneyti (I tagged the blog for the story here, too, don’t mind me pls) Also kind of an AU, basically just Asgard. Anyway, I am so in love with the aesthetic this story gives me. It’s hard to explain, but after 85 chapters I just have this very clear picture in my head of what I think this story looks like. Now, Reader here is also good and well-written, the Original Characters are likeable and not super overpowered, neither is Reader. The canon characters are, in my humble opinion, interpreted nicely and tbh for some reason I just always imagine them in this comic style, rather than the way the films portray them.

Of Different Emotions by @wanderingworldwarrior. my. goodness. I am in love with these stories and I am just. so desperate for an update. idk if we will ever get one, but honestly, I re-read it this week and. Just stopped after the second part, cause I can’t deal with the pain of the third part one more time. First part is set pre-Thor 1, second part is set during Thor 1 and the third during The Avengers. I love the Reader character a lot and the Original Characters just. belong so much to the story. idk I just love the way this story is written, I love the characters, I just love it a lot, alright.

Onwards to anime. Bungou Stray Dogs:

where your loyalties lie by writingfromtheshadows. this!! story!! it’s so good!! it’s a Yakuza!AU and oh my gooood. It’s all just so so well put, compared to canon and I love the dynamics Dazai and Chuuya have here.

Forgettable Significance by Witheryvine. THIS STORY. took my sanity, threw it out of the window and then spat on me. It broke my heart so very often, cause it manages to make you question yourself. morals about relationships out of the window. I re-read this story like five times.

still still still by toriosaurus. I was waiting, desperately, for every single chapter. This AU gives me everything I need and more. I remember doing fanart for this story and being very proud of it, even though it did no justice to the original story. Normally I am not a fan of, idk what to call it, no power AUs because most people just do the thing wrong for me. But this one hits.

If I recommend Twist and Shout now I get thrown into Turbohell, so idk if you want a very sinful Destiel fanfic, then read

Hot Water by Chiyume. I was 16, I decided to read Destiel fanfictions and this one kind of did it for me.

Don’t @ me. I really read a lot more than this, but I suck at organising myself and I just barely ever save shit. Also it’s late, I’ve been on a video call with my friend for over three hours now and I just like to clown when I am tired. Anyway, I used to bookmark Destiel fanfics back in the day and the rest is just. Read it, kudos, comment, and then I forget to save. The multichapter fics are often still in my subscribes, but sometimes. just.. not.

[theotherwesley]

tagged by @skyeventide! BRO THANK YOU <3

Rules: Choose your favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

1) Right at the beginning of 2020 (*can we even count the January-February Era as part of 2020? It feels like a separate timeline lol)  I designed a homebrew D&D campaign around an extended-universe Watership Down world, where all player characters are rabbits. :3 I designed it over the winter and DM’d my first test game with my family! It was so, so fun, and I had high hopes of continuing to playtest it and refine the rules this year.... ah, the best laid schemes o’ Buns and Men gang aft agley. U_U

Some samples: 

2) I got a truly awesome commission from a client on FR to do some stained glass window designs for their D&D campaign’s pantheon of gods. I got 4/6 done with them before my computer staged a revolution amongst our household electronics and went into a coma, taking BF’s laptop, a backup disk, and for some reason the toaster, with it. Then after that, the 2020 vibe got really uhhhhhh, shall we say, intense, and even after I found solution for my computer trouble I basically had zero creative fluid in the tank, so this was the last serious art I did for most of the year. :(

 But! I do really like these pieces, and I will eventually get to the remaining two...... sometime. I don’t want to jinx it. >>;

3) Got into a SUPER JUICY and EXTREMELY DENSE long-form RP with @salmaganto​ over on the Tolkien Blog. It involves so much research into historical and logistical minutiae about running a Big Evil Fortress, surviving sieges, uh... managing thrall labor, transitioning between war and peace... It is absolutely my favorite shit lol, just,,, 100% gratuitous worldbuilding nonsense, with my favorite micro-rarepair ship (or rather, its platonic counterpart). Again, this level of creative output, especially dealing with some controversial topics and in-depth analysis of like, authoritarian regimes, lost a looooooooooootttttttt of its um, escapist appeal. I desperately want to pick it back up, but man, this year was a lot, and I’m still recovering.  _( :’| 」∠)＿ We’re all still recovering.

4) Did some nerdy fanart for two of my favorite actual-play shows:

5) Attended a Zoom life-drawing session hosted in Perth, and it was a blast! 

6) Okay so this is a weird one, but, I edited a font??? I’m disproportionately pleased with this niche accomplishment. I had ZERO working knowledge of font design programs, and I went with a free, super nuts-and-bolts shareware application, taught myself how to use the basic functions, and then muddled my way through editing one of my favorite fonts, HamletOrNot:

“Well, this font isn't really Blackletter, but it has a certain historical touch, so it is welcome on these pages. The typeface Hamlet was designed by Edward Johnston for a Shakespeare edition, Cranach Press, 1929. The award winning book Hamlet was considered “the most beautiful book of the year 1930”. HamletOrNot – digitized by Manfred Klein & CybaPee.“ 

If you hunt down the mysterious user “CybaPee”, you find typographer Petra Heidorn and her many, many preserved, historical fonts, which have been painstakingly digitized and made available for free on... well, pretty much every free font website ever, which made it a real pain to source. 

I love this font with my whole heart, and I very much wanted to use it for parts of my comic (you know, the one) but HamletOrNot has a couple of readability failings that made it a bad match for small dialogue, and worse for ME, SPECIFICALLY: it does not include most diacritic marks.  *cries in Tôlkíën* 

So I embarked on this fool’s quest to do some touchups and add the diacritics and special characters I’d need to spell all the crazy bullshit for the comic, because HOW HARD COULD IT BE, HAHA, TO ADD A FEW MARKS AND CLEAN UP A FEW TANGENTS?  HAHAHA. HAHA. .....Anyway, I think I actually started this process sometime in like, 2019, but I FINISHED IT IN 2020, and I’m proud of myself. 

I’m calling the modified font ArdaOrNot, and it looks something like this: 

7)  Oh yeah, about that comic (you know, the one): 

‘Ey, would you look at that! Progress! :D  Slow, agonizing, unoptimized progress! I was hoping I’d have the first six full color pages ready with lettering and everything by the end of 2020, but.... well, here we are. Wow, I am SO TIRED OF BEING SICK, I HAVE THINGS I WANT TO DO SO BAD HAHAHAA FUCK 

8) Another minor accomplishment that I’m disproportionately proud of, I made some new baller playlists and polished up a few old ones to a fine gleam.

Anyway-- I don’t know who has and hasn’t been tagged, but consider this an invitation to anyone who has the energy to post your highlights from the last year. It was actually pretty therapeutic to see some things I DID manage to accomplish, because so much of this damn year felt empty and lonely and barren. But there they stand: the weird little triumphs that were sprinkled throughout the months, somehow improbably blooming in the wasteland. :’)

[avis-writeshq]

Akaashi Keiji x Reader - 青いバラ (Blue Rose)

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Fem!Reader

Summary: Blue rose - a flower of the genus Rosa that presents blue-to-violet pigmentation instead of the common red, white, or yellow. Blue roses are often used to symbolise secret or unattainable love.

Warnings: VAST MENTIONS OF DEATH, mentions of blood, slow burn, ANGST, fluff if you look carefully, and 9k words of me procrastinating and trying very hard to keep the fic alive. ALSO HANAHAKI DISEASE AU BC I’M ADDICTED :D

Other: Yo, sorry for dying on you giuys for like, a while. School started up again this week but it was online and I was procrastinating on legit eVerYtHiNg oop so, anyway, hugs and kisses, hope you enjoy this fic because I am so freaking in love with Akaashi it isn’t funny anymore. 

Ngl, this fic took like 2+ weeks to complete, and my editor can attest to that :’) Hope you guys enjoy and don’t let this flop. Your requests are coming out soon so thank you for your support! Also I need a nice anon fam to keep nmme happy and occupied during quarantine :)

Word count: 9.1k                                                                                              

Editor: @creative-hours-open​

Things you probably wanna know, for all you ‘x reader’ illiterates:

(Y/N): Your Name

(H/C): Hair Colour / Color

(E/C): Eye Colour / Color

(N/N): Nickname

 ***

You don’t remember when these feelings came to be. You don’t remember when you first felt your heart skip a beat whenever he walked past you. You don’t remember the first time you started replaying all your conversations with him in your head when it was 3 am and your brain wouldn’t shut up. You don’t remember the first time you blushed when he sent you a soft smile after you stared for a second too long. No, you don’t remember those things; but you do remember the first time a small blue rose petal appeared in your hand after you coughed too hard.

 Hanahaki Disease: Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 ) is a disease where the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.

 For months you lived with this disease not even your parents knew. How could they? After all, they were each other’s first love – their love wasn’t one-sided and besides, you didn’t want to worry them; you can get through this yourself.

 Right?

 You leaned over the bucket, velvet-soft petals tickling your throat before pouring into the overflowing bucket. Tears prickled the sides of your eyes, threatening to spill just like the petals that scattered to the ground.

 God, does this ever stop? You coughed again, gasping for air as you sat on your knees on the cold tile floor. Shit, what time was it? You have school today! Coughing one last petal out, you emptied the bucket into a plastic bag and threw it to the side, grabbing your school bag and rushing out the house.

 You couldn’t be late… the bus leaves and waits for nobody. You ran as fast as you could to the bus stop, stopping only to get oxygen back into your system. You still had the wind knocked out of you from spewing rose petals all over the bathroom, but you made it just in time.

The bus was basically full with the only seat that was empty being…

 Shit.

 You genuinely thought of flinging yourself out of the bus or just standing, but that wasn’t an option.

 “Hey, sit down, will ya? I can’t move if you don’t,” the bus driver grunted as you flinched.

 “S-sorry, sir…” you mumbled, holding your breath when you sat in the only seat available.

 Clutching the bag in your lap tightly, you tried your best to ignore the awkward presence next to you. You went to the same school as him! You shouldn’t be feeling this uneasy…

 “Ah, (L/N) (Y/N), right?”

 Fuck.

 You raise your eyes to meet his eyes. “Yes…? You’re Akaashi Keiji.”

 He nodded, giving you a once over before finally saying, “Did you go to the flower shop beforehand?”

 “No…?”

 “You have a flower on your shirt,” he explained. “Well, a petal.”

 Your eyes widened and you looked down at the collar of your shirt. Lo and behold, a bright blue petal was tucked away, but you can see most of it poking out. You felt your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

 “Oh… ha ha… thank you?”

 He nodded. “It’s fine…” He was quiet for a moment before murmuring, “blue looks good on you.”

 ***

 Why did he have to be in the same class as you? Every single time he was near you, the flower in your lungs thought that it would be a wonderful time to bloom. Right after the bus stop, for example, you coughed your lungs out into a janitor’s basket before forcing your way to class.

 Biology, the first class of the day and he was a foot away from you. Did the gods have something against you? Twenty minutes into the class, you felt yourself on the verge of another coughing fit.

 You raised your hand meekly, and the teacher looked at you, an eyebrow raised in mockery. Your other hand was covering your mouth as you forced the bright blue rose petals down but you couldn’t. You let out a cough, a few petals falling into your hand. Begrudgingly, the teacher lets you go to the bathroom, and you run out the door frantically.

 ‘How pathetic,’ you thought to yourself as you coughed out more petals. The roots were getting deeper, you can tell. You cough harshly once more, and a small rose bud falls onto the tiled bathroom floors. ‘Get over yourself. He won’t look at you twice.’

 But you knew that. You knew that more than the next person. So why… Why couldn’t you get over him? Each cough hurt more than the last, and the toilet was full of small blue petals. Some had small splotches of blood on them, and you could smell the metallic scent of the blood overtaking the soft scent of roses and tears. You wiped your tears with the cuffs of your school blazer. No more, you willed yourself, stepping out of the cubicle.

 Splashing cold water on your face, you let out a breath as you stared at yourself in the mirror. When did you stoop so low? Your eyes were blotched with tears and your cheeks were hollow from not eating. This was just too much. You clenched your eyes closed, tears rolling onto your cheeks as you did. You shook your head; time to get back to class.

 ***

“Hey, are you okay?” Aneko asked gently as you nibbled on your lunch.

 You mustered a smile to please her. “I’m okay.”

 “You had a coughing fit this morning; I don’t think you’re okay.” She gave you a disapproving look and you couldn’t help but flinch under her scrutinising gaze.

 “It’s just a cough. It’ll pass.”

 You can tell she doesn’t believe you, but your silence finishes off the conversation. Well, it should, anyway.

 “(L/N)-san, are you feeling alright?” A voice asks from above you, and you felt your heart drop.

 “Akaashi-san. Yes, I’m okay, thank you.” You don’t look at him, eyes drawn to the bento in front of you as you fought the soft blush on your cheeks.

 “If you keep coughing, the nurse should be able to give you some medicine,” he says gently, his eyes looking at you from above.

 Your eyes flickered to his for a second. “I don’t think there’s a medicine that can help me.”

 He opened his mouth to respond but is pulled away by a loud and boisterous third year. “AKAASHIII!!!”

 “They need you,” you said, closing your bento. “I have to go. Let’s go, Aneko. Thank you for your concern, but I really should get going.”

 “But-”

 “AKAASHIII!”

 He sent you one last look before running after his friend. You just stayed silent, clenching your fists in your lap as Aneko shot you a confused look.

 “I didn’t know you were friends with Akaashi,” she remarked, frowning at you. “What happened?”

 “Aneko,” you murmured, tears prickling your eyes, “do you know of the Hanahaki disease?”

 Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me…”

 You just sent her a wry smile before running to the bathroom.

 ***

Another disastrous day. The bus was relatively empty on the way home, probably because some of the boys had afterschool volleyball training. Pulling your phone out of your blazer pocket, you opened up Google.

 ‘Is there a way to get rid of the Hanahaki Disease?’

 Multiple sites came up; some were even websites of hospitals that claimed to get rid of the disease.

 You pressed on a tab that seemed to answer your question.

 ‘Surgery can help, but I had a friend who was unable to feel affection after the surgery.’

 ‘You should confess first!’

 ‘The medical bills are really expensive, but it’s worth it.’

 ‘Would you rather suffocate from flower petals or lose the ability to love? My sister did it and she regrets it all.’

 ‘There’s a guy who does it in India for cheap.’

 ‘The cheapest is 150,000 yen. Good luck.’

 You groaned, closing the tab and leaned back in your chair. Could this day get any worse? How were you supposed to get 150,000 yen, anyway? Even if you could afford the surgery, there was no way your parents would even allow you to take it. Hugging your bag closer to your chest, you let out a sigh. The only way to get rid of these emotions was to either have the person love you back, get over him, or surgery. There was, of course, the prospect of drowning yourself in bleach, but you didn’t think that your friends and family would agree to such ‘extreme’ methods.

 ‘Dammit, Akaashi, you’re giving me problems when I need it the least,’ you thought to yourself, as you stepped out of the bus. How long does it take for this disease to kill you, anyway?

 The answer was six months. According to your research, you have had the Hanahaki Disease for a minimum of four months, so you were basically on the verge of death. In other words, you had 2 months to either take the surgery, get him to fall in love with you, or die. The options didn’t seem too promising.

 Your parents weren’t home today, as usual. A note was waiting for you on the kitchen bench and you suppressed a sigh.

 ‘Dinner is in the microwave. Don’t skip your dinner.

~ Love, Dad’

 You skipped dinner anyway.

 ***

School counsellors were really… different. They’re not teachers, but they teach you valuable ‘life lessons’ when you really need it. They’re not nurses but they take care of you when you’re hurt. Well, they take care of you when you’re hurt mentally.

 According to a lot of other students, the counsellor at Fukurodani could either be your best friend or sworn enemy. But at this point, you were desperate. You really needed advice and you couldn’t just ask your friends. No, that wouldn’t work out. After all, they were as insane as you.

 “Tell me whatever you need to tell me,” she said with a gentle smile as you looked around the room that enclosed you.

 The room was really… childish? Ladybug wall stickers decorated the walls topped with  a huge cat poster plastered  by the door. And still you questioned yourself, God, what were you supposed to say?

 You had it rehearsed in your mind, ‘I have the Hanahaki Disease,’ but when it was your turn to talk, your tongue was glued to the roof of your mouth.

 The woman across from you, bless her, just sat there with a patient nod. She handed you a pen and paper. 

“Can you write it for me?” She asks as she puts her glasses on.

 You did as you were told.

 You watched as she read over your scrawl and her jaw dropped. It just… dropped. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but her jaw dropped as she gaped at you, glasses askew.

 “The Hanahaki Disease… are you sure?”

 You raised an eyebrow as if to ask, ‘I have rose petals coming out of my mouth and you think I’m not sure?’

 She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You know, that is very dangerous. Have you consulted a doctor? Have you told your parents?”

 “I don’t want to worry anyone,” you mumbled, “my parents aren’t home a lot so they wouldn’t have time to take me to the doctors, and the surgery is pretty-”

 “You’re considering the surgery?” She cut you off, mouth open and surprised but there was more to that; she was… concerned.

 You grimaced. “What else can I do?”

 She raised an unamused eyebrow but a ghost of a smile  spread on her face. “You can try telling him?”

 The thought alone made you feel sick. “I don’t think I can. He obviously doesn’t like me that way.”

 “Have you tried talking to him?” She prompted, taking out a notepad to write in before nodding at you to continue.

 “We only had one decent conversation and that was about English homework. We’ve only talked once outside of school and…” you fell silent, averting your gaze. “Why would he like me, anyway? He has volleyball to put up with, and his grades are perfect. He doesn’t need a love interest entering his life.”

 The counsellor sighed, looking you dead in the eye. “The most important thing for a relationship to bloom is communication. If you can’t hold a conversation now, how is that supposed to help you in the future?”

 You hated it when important people had a point. “It gets worse when I’m near him.”

 “Just imagine you’re talking to a friend,” she said kindly, before proceeding to ask more questions.

 ***

You stepped into the class halfway through your fourth period. All heads turn to you as you lowered your head in embarrassment. Meekly passing the teacher a late slip, you took your seat behind Akaashi Keiji.

 You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything when class ended and everyone packed up to get ready for their next class. However, the first move had already been made.

 “Akaashi was asking about you,” Aneko said as you grabbed more books out of your locker.

 Your eyes widened, flickering to hers for a split second. “What did he say?”

 “He wanted to know if you were alright. I was getting worried too, y’know; you were in the counsellor’s office for a lot longer than I expected.”

 “She wouldn’t stop talking,” you said in a half-hearted explanation. You didn’t want to go into the details.

 “(L/N)-san, you went to the counsellor’s office?”

 You wanted to shrivel up and die. You didn’t prepare for this! What were you supposed to say now?

 Letting out a small breath, you turned around to face him. “Yeah, but I’m okay.”

 “Is your cough getting any better?” He asked gently, peering down at you with concern.

 “Yeah, I’m getting better,” you lied, praying for the little flower growing in your lungs to disappear in this short moment.

 He nodded, “I’m glad. Ah, and I photocopied my notes from the previous classes. They should cover the lessons.”

 You swallowed thickly, fighting the heat that clouded your cheeks. 

 You stuttered out a timid response. “Thank you…”

 He sent you a small smile before taking his seat. You felt sick all over again and coughed out some more petals. Aneko’s eyes watched you with concern as you faked a smile.

 “I’m okay. I don’t need to go to the bathroom for this,” you said, hoping to calm her nerves.

 “I’m taking you to the doctor’s after this, got it? Screw your parents, you need some medical advice,” she deadpanned, her tangerine eyes staring into yours and you can’t help the sigh that escaped your lips.

 “We’ll talk more after class,” you promised before sitting down and going over the notes Akaashi made for you. Your heart hammered in your chest as you read his kanji. Unsurprisingly, it was neat. But then again, what were you expecting from Akaashi Keiji? He seemed to be the type to take everything quite seriously.

 Ten minutes pass. Then twenty… thirty minutes later and you wonder to yourself, I didn’t cough once?

 ***

“How long did you say you had this disease for?” The doctor asked.

 “According to Google, around four months,” you answer, fiddling with your fingers.

 “Any particular reason you didn’t come with your parents?”

 “They had work.”

 Aneko hummed to confirm your statement. “She’s alone for most of the time. That’s why I am here to help!”

 “Right…” the doctor eyed her before turning back to you. “Have you talked to him?”

 “Why do people keep asking me that?” You mutter to yourself, digging your nails into the palms of your hands.

 The doctor let out an exasperated sigh. “Unless you can earn yourself an ungodly amount of money, the only thing you can do is hope to earn his affections. That or the flowers in your lungs will kill you.”

You knew that. The words seemed to fall on deaf ears because, hell, you knew that better than anyone in the room. Were you the only one with this disease? Everyone you talked to, everyone you confided in… they never seemed to have this disease. Your parents were in love with each other as soon as they met. The school counsellor has never been in love with anyone before. Aneko and her boyfriend have known each other since they were kids and fell in love relatively quickly while this doctor makes the Hanahaki Disease sound so simple. As if it was nothing more than just a small phase or bump in one’s life.

 Bull shit.

 You didn’t want this disease any more than the next person. Why? Because the disease hurt; it hurt a lot. The worst thing about it was the fact that there was no actual cure. The disease itself was kill or be killed; kill your feelings, or kill yourself. There was not an actual cure. Scientists didn’t know how the flower itself blossomed in one’s lungs. They didn’t know how to cure it.

 The worst part? The Hanahaki Disease claimed the lives of more people than traffic accidents and suicide combined. People weren’t necessarily scared of the disease. They were just… uneasy and you understood why.

 One thing was for certain though; the Hanahaki Disease was based on genetics. So somewhere along the line, one of your family members was affected by this particular disease. Of course, your parents probably never even thought about the possibility, so they probably didn’t test if you had the gene.

 Man, you really hated your parents sometimes.

 You left the doctor’s office silently, eyes downcast. Your knees trembled from below you and you felt as if you could collapse any minute now.

 “Aneko,” you murmured, stilling yourself and looking at her. “I didn’t cough when he was there.”

 She frowns, “What do you mean?”

 “When Akaashi was next to me, I didn’t cough a single petal. Not even once did I cough. I only did when class ended.” You showed her a weak smile before continuing. “It probably doesn’t mean anything though, does it?”

 “This is why you need to talk to him,” she said before stepping in front of you with her hands on her hips. “You’re dying, (Y/N). That isn’t something you should be taking lightly.”

 “I know,” you whispered, avoiding her eyes. “It’s not that easy you know. He has things to do and… he doesn’t need this right now.”

 She nodded, continuing to walk down the street. “I’m a pretty shitty friend, huh?”

 Your eyes widened, and you gape at her. 

 Quickening your pace to catch up to her, you glared. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 “I don’t know how you’re feeling right now. I’ve never been in your situation and I… what am I supposed to say to you?” Her voice is rising and you noticed that she had stopped walking altogether. “You’re always the one taking the shots and helping me. You’re the one who introduced me to Eito. You’re the one who stays up late to help me with the assignments I put off. You’re the one helping everyone with their problems. You’re always giving, (Y/N), you’re always the one who puts others in front of yourself!”

 Tears leaked out the sides of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.  You opened your mouth to say something but she cuts you off.

 “This is the one time you’re meant to be selfish. This is the one time you’re supposed to put yourself first. All you do is give! People –” she choked on her tears before saying – “people envy you, you know? I envy you! You’re usually so happy… you’re so willing to help others, even if they’ve done you so much wrong!” 

She wiped her tears with her arms, but they kept coming. “This – this is the one time you need help with something and I can’t even do anything!”

 She’s crying harder and all you can do is watch on. Fat tears dropped to the cemented ground as she wails louder. “Be selfish for once, (Y/N)! Please… I can’t lose you!”

 You’re crying now, too, but you don’t realise it until you taste the salty tears from the corner of your mouth. They spilled silently as you watch Aneko, your best friend, sob into the sleeves of her jumper . 

 If anyone was around, they would think that you were weirdos. Two random teenage girls crying their eyes out in the middle of the street wasn’t a natural occurrence. 

 You wipe your tears away with the back of your hand and offer her the most realistic smile you could muster. “Let’s head home, okay? We can binge that sports anime you’ve been meaning to watch.”

 She sniffs, the last of her tears splashing to the floor. “Okay.”

 *** 

You’re both late to school the next morning but you don’t really care. Aneko leaves at 5am to sneak into her house that was two blocks away from yours. You’re racing to gather your things so that you can do your homework in the bus. 

 After puking out another bucketful of rose petals in the bathroom, you’re bolting out the door to catch the bus. There were more places to sit now, and if this was any other circumstance, you would have sat as far away from Akaashi as you could. 

 ‘TALK TO HIM!’ You order yourself and you do before you could change your mind. 

 You pulled out your geography homework. From the corner of your eye, you note how Akaashi’s eyes do an onceover of your work. Trying to block him out, you began to answer the questions. 

 What metropolitan area is the largest in the world not bordering a body of water?

 What the heck? You blanched at the question. You don’t remember this being in the textbook! You screamed internally, and you have half a mind to pull out your phone to do some research. 

 “The answer is Johannesburg, South America,” a voice from beside you says helpfully. 

 You look up, your eyes are met with gentle navy eyes. Your cheeks burn as you look away. How is it possible to have such pretty eyes? 

 “Oh… thanks,” you mumble, and you let out a breath. “Hey, Akaashi?”

 His eyes widen and he clears his throat. “Yes? Is everything okay?”

 “Uh… thank you again for photocopying your notes! It was really nice of you! I would’ve gotten them from Aneko, but her handwriting is… questionable,” you laughed lightly, easing yourself into the conversation. “Thanks for caring, is all I’m trying to say.”

 The smallest of smiles makes its way onto his face and he looks at you with sincerity. “I’ll always care, you know?”

“Wait, really?” You blink twice at him, confusion swirling in your chest.  

 He nodded at you, looking out the window. “I care more than you think.”

 ***

The conversation replayed in your head over and over again, and you can’t help but stare dreamily out the window. When lunch began, Aneko snapped her fingers in your face, bringing you out of your daze. You flush, looking up at her as she grinned down at you.

 “So… what happened with Lover Boy over there?”

 “Nothing,” you wave her off, trying to ignore the blood that rushed to your cheeks. “We just… talked.”

 She wiggled her eyebrows at you teasingly. “So are you guys, like, together yet?”

 “It’s not that easy,” you mutter, raising an eyebrow at her. “Love doesn’t just appear, it builds over several conversations and it takes time.”

 “Not all the time; Eito and I had love at first sight,” she swooned lightly, and you rolled your eyes at her antics. “Anyway!” She exclaimed, slapping the table. “You have to talk to him more! You like him, right?”

 “Obviously,” you deadpanned, giving her a look of amusement.

 “Then go talk to him!”

 With that, she pulled you out of your chair and pushed you out of the room.

 You rolled your eyes, “That wasn’t very Plus Ultra of you.”

 “(L/N)-san?” 

 You spun around to face the person, a small smile on your face. “Hi, Akaashi-san! Yeah, Aneko threw me out of the classroom.”

 “Oh, I see,” he nodded in understanding.

 “AKAASHIII!”

 You jolted out of surprise, eyes widening when you see a third year look down at you.

 Akaashi let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Bokuto-san. What are you doing here?”

 “What’s wrong with seeing you? You’re annoyed of me, right?” A pout rested on his face, and you couldn’t help but question his strange hairstyle as you looked up at him.

 “Um… hello? You’re Bokuto Koutarou, right? The captain of the volleyball team?” You forced a friendly smile.

 “You must be (L/N) (Y/N)! Akaashi talks a lot about you!” He grinned at you with an owlish expression.

 You felt your cheeks tinge red. “Really?”

 “That’s enough, Bokuto-san. You’re scaring her,” Akaashi sighed before turning to you. “Ignore him. Do you want to watch our volleyball practice after school? You seem to be interested.”

 You flush pink. “I don’t want to be a bother…”

 “I invited you. It’ll be fine.” A small smile made its way onto his face. “I’ll take you after school.”

 You grinned, “Okay!”

 ***  

Aneko beamed at you, pinching your cheeks while she was at it. “Aw, (Y/N), I’m so proud!”

 You rolled your eyes, pushing her hands away from your face. “He invited me to watch his volleyball practice; it’s not that big of a deal.”

 “It is when you like him!” She cheered, the smile on her face widening. “You’re gonna cure that dumb disease and you’re gonna get a hot boyfriend. I rate that ten out of ten.”

 You don’t respond, instead finding your phone much more interesting.

 “Huh? What are you doing? (Y/N)…” You could practically hear the pout in Aneko’s voice.

 You moved your hand away, blocking the screen so that she couldn’t see who you were texting. “I’m not doing anything.”

 “Then show me!” She whined, before a sly smirk rested on her lips. “Oh, I see. You’re texting Akaashi, right?”

 “What makes you think that?” You flushed, looking away from her.

 Aneko grinned, patting your head in jest. “Have fun with him, (Y/N)! Don’t forget me, alright?”

 You couldn’t help but laugh, knocking her hand once more. “Alright, alright. Now go away, Eito is waiting for you.”

 She nodded, brushing her mousey brown hair out of her face. “Text me tonight, yeah?”

 You hummed in agreement before turning back to your phone.

 “(Y/N)-san,” a voice called out, and you felt your cheeks redden.

 You let out a breath before smiling up at the setter. “You don’t have to add honorifics, Akaashi-san. We’re friends, right?”

 “Then call me Keiji,” he offered, looking down at you.

 “Keiji,” you said slowly before nodding. “Then call me (Y/N).”

 “I’ve always liked your name,” he remarked nonchalantly. “Come on, we have to get to the gym, okay?”

 With a slight skip in your step, you followed him to the Gym 03. He slid the door open, revealing multiple yellow and blue balls flying over volleyball nets. They flew from all directions, and stray balls seemed to be more dangerous than the actual people. The people in the volleyball team were tall, big, and intimidating. You couldn’t help the little shiver that crept up your spine.

 You felt a hand rest on your shoulder and you looked up at Akaashi. He sent a reassuring smile your way.

 “They’re not as scary as they look,” he promised, taking you up to the high rises. “They’re a bunch of babies when you get to know them.”

 You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your mouth. “I’ll take your word for it, then.”

 Watching from above, you noticed the way everyone on the team worked together; how they cheered each other on and the way they dealt with Bokuto… everyone was a lot friendlier than you thought they were.

 But all the peace and happiness you held was cut short as your stomach lurched and you felt your heart thunder in your chest. Your lungs suddenly started wheezing for air and you stumbled down the stairs. Trying your best to open the gym door as inconspicuously as possible, you bolted to the nearest bathroom to empty your lungs.

 You gasped for air, coughing wildly as petals spilled out of your mouth and onto the walkway. Droplets of blood fell into the palms of your hands before inking the ground. Thorns tumbled out of your mouth, scratching and wounding your throat as you staggered to the bathroom, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth and taking over your senses. Your left hand leaned against the side of the gym, and you tried your best to stabilize yourself, but trying seemed to be futile.

 Sobbing from the pain, you fell to your knees as petals and rose buds fell out of your mouth. God, this could not be happening right now.  

 Breathing heavily, you furiously wiped the tears and sweat off your face. You looked around you at the mess of blood, flowers, and thorns. You stared at the dark green thorns that scattered around you, and you couldn’t help but feel another wave of dread wash over you. Why…? Why was the disease getting worse? You thought that everything was getting better; Akaashi was talking to you more and you were making so much progress with him as well! So why was it getting worse?

 You sucked in a breath, trying to regulate your breathing as you wiped your tears away. Your lungs burned in your chest as you got up from the ground, trying your best to clean the mess you made.  Somehow managing to make it look like someone didn’t commit murder with a bouquet of flowers, you made your way back to the gym.

 Forcing a smile, you slid the gym door open. All eyes turned to you and you felt a blush rise to your cheeks.

 “Um… I had to go to the bathroom,” you said shakily, avoiding any and all eye contact.

 “You were gone for a while,” Akaashi noted, “are you feeling alright?”

 “Yeah, I just needed to get some air, y’know?” You faked a laugh before waving him off. “I’m fine, really. Go back to practice, Keiji.”

 He nodded silently, glancing back at you for a split second.

 “AKAASHIII! It’s your serve!” Bokuto exclaimed. “NICE SERVE!”

 Picking up the ball, Akaashi let his eyes wander to you as you sat at the high rises. He felt his heart tug in his chest as he threw up the ball to serve.

 Don’t lie to me.

 *** 

Practice ended a while later, and you had done your best to not gawk at your long-time crush. Sure, you have seen his games before, but that was live on a screen. This was different. Here you could feel the thud of the balls as they hit the floor violently, and you could feel the heat and exhaustion leaking off the players; you don’t feel that kind of thing through a screen. 

 “Thank you for letting me watch your practice,” you said, bowing respectfully at the coach and the two managers. 

 They smiled, and the coach replied, “You’re welcome back any time.”

 “(Y/N), I can walk you to the bus stop if you would like?”

 You felt yourself panic internally as you stood in front of the open door. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was but you do anyway.

 Opening your mouth to say ‘no’, you found that the only word that escaped your voice box was, “Sure.”

 “I’ll change first, and then we can go.”

 You answered with a slight nod, and the pain you felt just moments ago filled your thoughts. Shaking the feeling off, you waited by the gym doors.

 “So, you and Akaashi?”

 You felt your heart leap to your throat as you spun around to face the person. It was Suzumeda Kaori, one of the team managers on the volleyball team. She smirked at you, sending you a knowing look.

 “We’re just friends,” you said bashfully, but on the inside you wished that what she said was true.

 She didn’t believe you for a second, “Really?” She asked drily, the smirk on her face widening by a second. “So… you don’t like him?”

 “I… never said that,” you said under your breath, and you felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment. “We’re just friends though. I doubt he even knew I existed until a few weeks ago.”

 “Huh,” she remarked, before picking up a stray volleyball. “Whatever you say, (L/N)-chan.”

 “(Y/N), are you ready?” Another voice cut in, and you nodded your answer to the question.

 The walk to the bus stop was calm as the cherry blossoms fell and drifted over the two of you. It was nice, to say the least. Every so often, you found yourself glancing at the setter through the corner of your eye before forcing your gaze to  turn back to the path. You groaned internally. You were falling harder, and the fact that you practically had a ticking time bomb planted in your lungs wasn’t helping.

 “I’ve noticed you and Bokuto are really close. When did you meet?” You cringed slightly at the poor excuse of a conversation starter, but he didn’t seem to mind.

 “I met him last year when I first went to the club. He said that my tosses were good,” he smiled slightly at the memory, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

 “That’s pretty cool. He’s really loud, so I was surprised when I found out you were both friends.” You let out a small laugh.

 He nodded in understanding, “I get that a lot. He’s not that bad when you get to know him. When I introduced you, you looked pretty intimidated.”

 “I was… surprised. He’s really loud and he’s quite the character.”

 “He’s a good guy; and he’s reliable.”

 “I’ll take your word for it.”

 Silence is the only thing that followed as you waited at the bus stop. Akaashi had taken sudden interest in his shoes, and you were trying to wrack your brain for a conversation starter.

 “I forgot to ask,” he said, cutting the silence. “Are you feeling any better?”

 You blinked at him, clueless for a moment before it dawned on you. “Oh, yeah, I told you I was fine, didn’t I?” You shot him a reassuring smile. “I was just feeling light headed in the gym. It was really warm.”

 “Ah, right, that makes sense. I’m glad you’re feeling okay, (Y/N).”

 Why was he able to make something as simple as your name sound nice? Blood rushed to your cheeks as the bus pulled to a stop, and the both of you took a seat. Cheeks still flushed red, you focused your vision on the window. There were a few scratch marks here and there, and you watched as the cars drove past. Red car, blue car, black car, black car, white ca-

 “Are you hungry?” A calm voice questioned from beside you.

 You opened your mouth to answer, but you didn’t need to.

 Your stomach growled at the mention of food. 

 Keiji chuckled softly before handing you a curry bun. “Here.���

 You eyed it warily, “Do you have one? I don’t want to eat your lunch or anything… and you’re the one who was doing the physical activity.”

 “I have one right here,” he said, pulling out an identical bun. “Have it.”

 You hesitated, but took it gratefully, taking small nibbles. “Thanks.”

  The rest of the bus ride was relatively quiet, the both of you having small snippets of conversation throughout the ride. The bus lurched to a stop, and you glanced outside the window to check what stop you were at.

 “Ah, this is my stop, Keiji. Thank you for accompanying me; it was really nice of you.” You grinned, showing a clumsy bow before picking up your bag. “Thanks for the food as well!”

 “You don’t have to thank me, (Y/N). I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” He smiled gently.

 With a final wave, you stepped off the bus before making your way to your house, cheeks warm and a goofy smile on your face.

 Meanwhile, Akaashi sat in the bus, staring wistfully out the window. With a final sigh, he picked up his phone and clicked ‘call’ on a particular contact.

 “Bokuto-san. I need your help.”

***

You returned to school the next day, expecting for the day to be the same as every other one but when you stepped into the classroom, you found a strange biological piece of matter on your table.

 A single blue rose with all the thorns cut off on your desk. It was just… sitting there. You suddenly felt sick. Who the hell confesses to someone with a blue rose? Albeit, it was a very pretty flower, but it wasn’t something one would confess with. That is, if this one was a confession. What happened to the red and white roses at the flower shop? It was nowhere near Valentine’s Day or White Day, so there shouldn’t be a shortage of supply.

 The only conclusion you could make was the fact that someone knew about your disease. Someone must have seen you. Your stomach churned with anxiety as you picked up the rose. There wasn’t a note to go with it, so there was no way for you to find out who delivered it to you. Then again, the rose might not have been for you.

 “Ooh, Whatcha got there?”

 You yelped at the sound of your best friend’s voice, nearly dropping the flower in your hands.

 “Don’t creep up on me,” you grumbled, shooting a glare at her.

 Aneko grinned, plucking the rose from your hands. “What’s this? From a secret admirer, maybe?”

 “I think someone knows,” you said abruptly, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you tell anyone?”

 “What? You know I don’t talk to anyone but you and Eito and I didn’t mention anything to him.” She frowned, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe Akaashi knows?”

 “Why would he know?”

 “He invited you yesterday to watch practice. You did say that you had a coughing fit right?” A sly smirk made its way onto her face. “Maybe he got worried when you left the gym and followed you.”

 You let out a sigh as you took a seat at your desk. Resting your chin on the palm of your hand, you looked at her expectantly. “He wouldn’t like me; he probably just thinks of me as a friend.”

 Bending down to reach eye level with you, she flicked your forehead, and you yelped in pain. “Stop being a baby and tell him.”

 “It’s not that easy!” You countered, rubbing the area she flicked. “I can’t just magically make the disease go away by confessing. He has to like me too!”

 “You’re not making it any easier,” Aneko pointed out.

 You shot her a fiery look, hitting the top of her head with a maths textbook. “Shut up, Aneko.”

 She pouted at you before taking her seat. Akaashi entered the classroom moments later, taking his usual seat in front of you. You felt your heart hammer within your chest as you stared at his usual unruly mop of black hair.

 You did your best to focus on the task at hand. However, trying to focus on a class you had zero interest in was becoming a problem. Staring at your very blank page of paper, you were very close to screaming. What was the lesson on again? Was this maths or geography?

 “Ah, (Y/N), Eito wanted to talk to me about something. I’ll see you later!” Aneko exclaimed, and you brought yourself out of your reverie.

 “Wait what?” You glanced around, but the classroom was pretty much empty. 

“Wait, Aneko-”

But she was already out the door. You groaned, hitting your forehead against your table in frustration.

 “I really should have paid attention,” you muttered to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut.

 A small shuffling sound next to you snapped you out of your daydream and you looked up at the person.

 “Keiji?” You couldn’t bring yourself to say another thing, your mouth opening and closing as you thought of what to say.

 “You seemed to have trouble with the lesson,” he said gently, holding a book out to you.

 You blinked at it warily before gingerly taking it. “You don’t have to do all this for me. And… how did you know that I couldn’t concentrate?”

 “Aneko,” he responded, looking at you intently. “You can borrow my notes.”

 You watched as his eyes wandered to the rose that was on your lap and you felt your cheeks burn. “Ah, this is nothing! It was on my desk and I guess someone put it there. I don’t know who, but-”

 “Do you like it?” He asked, his eyes ghosting over your face.

 “Yeah… it’s a shame it probably isn’t meant for me, though.” You offer a shy smile.

 He nodded briskly before patting your shoulder. “Do you want to watch practice again today?”

 “Really?”

 “Why not? It gave everyone else motivation and you enjoyed it, right?”

 “Yeah, I did! It was really cool watching everyone work together like that; your tosses were amazing! It seemed to get the whole team to bond. You’re really focused on the court. I guess you have to be when you’re the control centre of the team.” You shut your mouth abruptly, and your cheeks reddened even further. “Sorry, I’m rambling aren’t I?”

 “I don’t mind,” he said tenderly, a strange fondness on his features. “We’ll go to the gym together at the end of the day.”

 You beamed. “I look forward to it!”

 ***

The rest of the day goes smoothly. Well, as smooth as it could be. Halfway in your third period, you choked on a thorn and had to be excused for a full half-hour before returning to the class. For most people in the class, you were either faking to skip class or you were genuinely sick. Strangely enough, your teachers seemed to understand  your situation and didn’t question when you left the class randomly.

 Wonderful, you thought to yourself for the umpteenth time as all heads turned to you when you had returned to class, I’m absolutely pathetic.

 You could still taste blood when you walked with Keiji to the gym, but holy shit, you wished that this could end.

 And you realised that maybe it would end; very, very soon.

 “Akaashi-kun!” A high pitched voice rang in your ears and you flinched slightly.

 You and Keiji were just about to leave the school when a girl with bouncy yellow curls pushed her way between the two of you. You blinked, confused and rather insulted as you stumbled backwards, watching the girl cling onto Akaashi’s arm. You watched as his jaw clenched in agitation.

 “Can I talk to you?” The girl asked with a sickeningly sweet smile as she side-glanced you before hissing, “Alone.”

 He nodded wordlessly as he followed the girl.

 You were no stalker; you were no eavesdropper either. Looking up at their retreating figures, you tried to find a reason as to why you should stay put. Your lovesick brain didn’t have a good enough reason.

 “Akaashi-san, I like you!”

 You choked as you clapped a hand over your mouth when you heard her high-pitched voice screech a confession.

 “Thank you, but I like someone else,” Keiji’s monotone voice said, and you let out a breath of relief.

 That was good, right? Maybe it was you! Or maybe it won’t be. You groan inwardly, steeling yourself as you listened to their conversation.

 “I’m sure I can be better than her!” The girl exclaimed and you rolled your eyes.

 “I’m sorry, but I like her very much.”

 Oh. You slowly made your way back to where Akaashi had left you, thoughts running through your mind. How were you supposed to compete against her? 

 Moments later, Akaashi returned to your side, hands stuffed in his volleyball jacket. 

 “Did you wait long?” 

 “No, not really. The bus is coming, we should go.”

 He nodded, wordlessly walking beside you. The silence that followed was, to say the least, awkward. You had a feeling he knew you were listening in to his conversation, and he knew you were uneasy about the entire situation. Tugging nervously at your bag strap, you couldn’t help the glances you sent from the corners of your eyes. 

 “Hey, Keiji,” you interrupted the silence and he turned to you, eyebrows raised as a signal to continue. “Uh… do you want my number? You can tell me when you have practice so I can bring extra food.”

  “I don’t mind bringing you food, (Y/N),” he said, but a small smile was etched on his face. “I’ll give you my number, too then.”

 And so, numbers were exchanged and the apples of your cheeks were flushed in happiness. That was progress, right?

 The bus pulled to a stop, and you hopped up from your seat. “Thanks for walking me to the bus again. See you tomorrow!”

 Dropping your bag to the floor, you slumped onto your bed, a small yawn slipping from your mouth. 

 From: Akaashi Keiji 

Did you make it inside safely?

 You grinned at your phone, quickly typing in a response.

                                                                                                    To: Akaashi Keiji

                                                                                                                        Yep! 

                                                                                                    To: Akaashi Keiji

                                                        Thanks again for letting me come to practice!

 From: Akaashi Keiji

Do you want to come to practice tomorrow?

 You couldn’t hold back your squeal.

 *** 

Three weeks passed in a blink of an eye and your friendships with the volleyball team grew. Aneko was still going out with Eito, and that would mark their second year of dating. Unsurprisingly, they dragged you into their two year anniversary, so you were forced to third wheel with them. That was when Aneko found out that you and Akaashi were texting a lot. She gave you hell for it.

 “Four weeks,” Aneko remarked suddenly, crossing her legs as she rested against your bed.

 You glanced up from your homework, “What do you mean?”

 “You have exactly four months to live.” Hugging the pillow in her arms tighter, she looked up at you. “What are you gonna do about it?”

 “What am I supposed to do about it?” You mutter, spinning your chair around to face her. “I’ve done everything I could.”

 “But you haven’t even told him yet!” She countered, clenching her fists.

 “I don’t have to tell him anymore! He…” You trailed off, recalling the words he spoke a few weeks prior. 

                                                   “I like her very much.”

 His words carwled back into your mind and you managed a wry smile. “He said he liked someone. That’s all I heard.”

 “How do you know she isn’t you?” Jumping up from the floor, she shot you a pointed look. “Tell him you like him. There’s no point in both of you liking each other and not acknowledging it by confessing.” 

 “But what if it isn’t me? I’ll ruin a perfectly good friendship,” you argued, folding your arms over your chest as you reciprocated the look.

 She groaned, grabbing hold of your shoulders. “Then he doesn’t deserve you. You have to tell him! The whole story!”

 “No promises,” you laughed, shaking her hands off of you. “Get off!”

 She rolled her eyes, the smile seemingly stuck on her face. “I’m really happy for you, (Y/N).”

 “Thanks, Aneko,” you grinned up at her, “You’ve always supported me with everything.”

 “Then support me with a meal!”

 “Fine.”

 *** 

 Fortunately for you and Aneko, Akaashi had invited you to his usual Wednesday practice with the volleyball team. The whole team treated you like an extra manager, asking you to bring refills if they really needed it. Despite knowing that there were already two managers, you were perfectly happy with helping them out while you could. However, while the team was fine with you joining practice upon invitation, people seemed to take their enthusiasm for you being there an invitation in itself.

 One of those people just happened to be Etsudo Emiko, the blonde girl who confessed to Keiji a few weeks ago. After he plainly rejected her the first time, she decided to take it upon herself to barge into the after school volleyball training. Unfortunately, when the other managers complained about her being a distraction to the team, Etsudo brought up the fact that you were allowed to watch the practices freely. As much as the coach wanted to take their side, he knew that the only way to get rid of Etsudo was to stop allowing you to attend the practices. The problem was, while Etsudo did virtually nothing to help the team, you motivated the team in multiple ways. 

 Nevertheless, Etsudo was allowed to attend the volleyball practices if she didn’t bring anyone else to which she swiftly agreed. Hence, the three weeks of patience testing began.

 “Keiji! You did so good!” Etsudo’s high pitched voice reverberated through the gym.

 The rest of the team let out quiet groans as the girl ran down the stairs to latch onto the setter’s arm. He let out a frustrated sigh, tugging his arm away from her. Not relinquishing, she trailed after him, completely unabashed.

 “Am I the only one who hates her?” Kaori asked, her nose scrunching in disgust as she pumped a volleyball with more air. “You’re the one who likes Akaashi. I’m surprised you can even stand to be in the same room as her.”

 “She’s totally annoying,” Shirofuku Yukie, the other manager, remarked. “The whole team knows that there’s something going on between you and Akaashi.”

 You managed a small smile, “There’s nothing going on between Keiji and me. He probably doesn’t even like me that way.”

 The both gave you a piercing look. “Are you stupid?” They asked together. 

 You don’t respond, eyes trailing back to Keiji. Etsudo was still clinging onto him, pouting up at him with her big green eyes. 

 A small cough erupted from your throat, and a lone petal found its way into the palm of your hand. 

 “I have to go to the bathroom,” you said awkwardly, dropping the ball you were holding to the floor. 

 “Are you-” 

 “I’m fine,” you responded by default, “I’ll be back in ten.”

 With that, you ran out of the gym, a hand over your mouth as more petals dared to fall. 

 Why was the bathroom so far away? 

 You gasped for air as petals and thorns spilled to the ground, your tears following after them. Blue rose buds stained with blood escaped your throat as the metallic taste filled your mouth as dark red thorns scraped the delicate skin. The pads of your fingers dig into the red brick wall, the skin scratching as you dropped to your knees.

 Despite the obvious pain and the salty tears that streaked down your cheeks, you couldn’t help the sarcastic laugh that you let out. 

 “Déjà vu really is the worst.”

 A violent cough erupted once more, and you inhaled a shaky breath as more petals drifted to the concrete floor. As they did, the gentle patting of footsteps distracted you for a moment before the footsteps stopped directly beside you. Panic rose inside your chest. You needed an explanation! 

 While you wracked your brain for an excuse, a hand rested in the middle of your back. 

 “Breathe, (Y/N),” a gentle voice whispered. 

 If you died now, would Aneko kill you? 

 … Probably.

 Your coughing died down after several minutes, and you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. 

 “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, eyes trained to the mess in front of you. 

 “What are you sorry for?” Akaashi questioned, crouching down to be level with you. 

 “I’m disturbing practice, aren’t I? What’s Bokuto gonna do without you?” You shot a teasing smile at him, but it didn’t quite meet your eyes. 

 Keiji sighed at your answer. “Don’t answer with another question, (Y/N).”

 “Sorry,” you said automatically, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

 “Who is it?”

 “What?” You stuttered out a response, looking up at him for a second.

 “Who is it?” He repeated, his gunmetal eyes boring into yours.

 “Why do you want to know?” You asked, getting up from the ground to gather your mess. “It’s not important, anyway.”

 He was silent as he rose to his full 6 feet form looming over you. “Not important?” He repeated, mostly to himself than to you. “How can you say that about yourself?”

 “Well I’m obviously not lying,” you countered, pointing to the floral monstrosity at your feet.

 The muscles in his jaw tightened, and you noticed the way played with his fingers. He was worried – nervous, maybe. “You can die from this. I’m not as oblivious as you think I am.”

 A sarcastic laugh erupts from your throat, but it comes out more as a strangled chuckle. “Sure, Akaashi. Whatever you want to believe.”

 The look on his face darkens, and you avert your eyes from his. When was the last time you used his last name? His watchful eyes glanced over your face, trying to read your emotions. If he could read Bokuto, he would be able to read you, right?

 Absolutely.

 “I know you’re scared, (Y/N). You need help to get better.”

 “Do I, though?” The eye roll you pulled off had you feeling a little guilty, but at this point you were done with everything. “I don’t need to get better.”

 “Why do you keep saying that?” He demanded, the tension in the air growing thicker by the second.

 “Maybe because it’s true!”

 “I’m saying it’s not!”

 He let out a frustrated grunt, eyes shutting for a moment as he thought of what to say. “You mean a lot to everyone.”

 You scoff, “really?”

 “Have you thought about Aneko-san, your parents, the team? What about-” He stops short, shutting his jaw closed as he averted his gaze.

 “What about what?” You ask tentatively, your eyes still fixated on the mess in front of you.

 “… Me.”

 Your eyes flickered to him, the slight hunch of his shoulders as he stood.

 “Have you…” A forced smile made its way onto your face. “Have you considered the possibility that he might be you?”

 The silence that followed seemed to taunt you and you berated yourself internally. Did you hear wrong? Did he say something else? Maybe you were mistaken.

 In split seconds, you felt a pair of gentle arms surround you, wrapping you in warm embrace. You had the slight temptation to laugh – were you in some shoujo manga or something? But instead, you return the hug, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

 “I really like you, Keiji.”

 “… I really like you too.” 

***

~The End~

​Copyright Disclaimer:

All characters except for the reader and my OC’s (listed below) are the work of Haruichi Furudate (古館春一). This is not part of the canon work by any means. I do not claim ownership over the characters or the Haikyuu storyline and plot. Without Furudate Sensei’s work, myself as well as many other writers are unable to create these stories.

 My OC’s:

Fukuhara Aneko(福原あねこ)

Hasegawa Sakura (長谷川さくら)

Emiko Etsudo (えつどうえみこ)

[forasecondtherewedwon]

can you do #11 for spideychelle plz

Thanks to both of you, Anons!!

11. Secret relationship

find light

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word count: 13252

Summary:

MJ's got it bad for Peter Parker, but she's on track to be valedictorian while he sells weed at parties. Not the ideal person to get involved with if she wants to maintain her reputation as a serious academic. Solution? Conduct a relationship in secret until they graduate. But that only works for so long, and leaving high school behind isn't a guarantee that things will get easier.

She’s under no illusion about whether or not he actually quit smoking. When he speaks to her, there’s no hint on his breath, but the scrappy black hoodie he wears almost every day reeks of cigarettes. He has his forearm braced on the locker next to hers as he leans in. The only thing MJ’s ever felt before that’s anything like this is fear. She keeps her gaze straight ahead, sliding her textbooks carefully into her backpack behind her sketchbook. Associating with Peter Parker would be as normal or sane as walking into the shop class and gripping a live wire. Sure, she hears about him―who doesn’t?―but they do not interact. They do not talk, they do not meet. Though they’re both students at Midtown, their trajectories do not cross.

What she last heard was that he went cold turkey. That’s just a highly unlikely story for the guy who gets suspended weekly for walking down the hall with a cigarette dangling from his lips and sells dime bags at parties, making him simultaneously the most popular and most shadowy person in the room. The sanctity of her grades, among other reasons, is why she’s never approached him.

Because there’s no number of A’s that’ll make her stop finding him sexy, MJ slams the door of her locker.

It’s surprising to her when he jumps. But he doesn’t walk away.

“So,” he says, “like I’m saying, the project… Hey, asshole!”

MJ’s so wound up that she’s not sure how she manages to sigh when Peter’s attention is completely diverted by one of his buddies striding past, stopping so the two of them can perform some stupid handshake. They start talking about an upcoming house party and she decides she’s not a big enough idiot to keep standing there waiting for Peter Parker to remember she exists. She’s pretty sure he just found out when they were assigned this joint Chemistry project. Were this a different kind of joint project, she bets he’d show a little more interest. She’ll reward the teeny-tiny bit of initiative he demonstrated by coming up to her at all by doing the whole project herself. He’s astoundingly intelligent, she knows that, but he’s not the most reliable groupmate and she’d rather do double the work than receive half the grade. It’s senior year and she can’t afford that.

“No, wait, wait, wait,” he begs, briefly grabbing her upper arm when she turns to walk away. Apparently, his friend takes this as his dismissal and it’s Peter and MJ, alone again by her locker.

“I’ll do it,” she says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

“The project.”

“Shit! Would you? That’d be great!” He beams, then laughs at her expression. So it was a joke. Wow, nice one. “No, seriously, I really want to work with you.”

“No, seriously, I’ve got this,” MJ pushes back, feeling warmer the longer they talk, not only because he made a joke at her expense. His eye contact isn’t great, but when their gazes connect, it scrambles her brain.

“Well, it was assigned to both of us.”

“And both of us know who’s going to do it and who’s going to flake out.”

She stares at him in astonishment. She didn’t mean to say that out loud, it’s just that she’s never been fought on project responsibility before. Doesn’t Peter know her as the Girl Who Gets Good Grades? AKA the least thrilling Stieg Larsson novel of all time. Even if he doesn’t really register her presence as a classmate or a girl or a human being, she thought he would at least be familiar with the role she fills in their academic dystopia. If Midtown were an arrivals gate at the airport, she’d head for the welcome sign reading ‘Smart Girl’.

Peter laughs and it nearly sucks her in because it’s not designed to mess with her this time, but she walks swiftly away from him instead. No more touching. It feels too… unexpected.

“Good talk, Jones!” he calls jubilantly after her.

Nobody’s ever addressed her solely by her last name before. It sends a flutter through her as she slips outside.

―

“Ok,” Peter says the next day, spinning a chair around backwards and dropping into it. “What are we doing?”

MJ knows what she’s doing―reading Midnight’s Children in the library over lunch hour. His arrival is so visually demanding that she’s almost startled by her own proof of a sandwich in one hand and the novel in the other; beyond the disruption of sitting with her, he folds his arms on the chairback and she stares. He’s pushed up the sleeves of that trademark hoodie to expose his forearms, but what’s holding her gaze a moment too long are his hands. The rather beautiful fingers. The scarred knuckles that are his souvenir for beating the shit out of Brad Davis in the student parking lot last spring. She didn’t see the fight and doesn’t know which of the rumours about what started it is the truth. When it comes to Peter, she tries to put any information out of her mind.

“About what? The project?”

“Yeah,” he replies, ostensibly in complete earnestness. “Where are we at?”

“Like, how much have I done?”

“No, I mean who’s doing what?”

“If you really want to help, I’ll send you jot notes when I’m done and you can do the PowerPoint,” she offers sceptically.

“Can do. But what about the rest of it? Let’s start working on it.”

Finally, MJ slips the piece of paper that’s her current bookmark between Rushdie’s pages, setting down her leisure reading and her ham-on-sourdough.

“What is this?”

“This is the library,” Peter tells her with slow sarcasm. “Sorry, I thought you’d been in here before.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to pull my weight, if you’ll ever fucking let me.”

His tone’s not annoyed, it’s almost teasing. All she wants to do is press her hands to her temples and think through how she might have fallen into an alternate reality housing a studious Peter Parker.

“Why?”

“All these questions! Because that’s what you do with projects, right? Teacher assigns them, you do them, grades and shit…?” He’s motioning with one hand to emphasize the oncoming flow of stages that seem to continue past ‘grades and shit.’

“I just didn’t think…”

“Oh, I know you haven’t been thinking about me.” Disconcertingly, he throws her a wink. “You were expecting a deadbeat partner.”

His words, not hers.

“Fine,” MJ agrees, to get past that wink. “Let’s go over to the computers and start researching.”

“Hell yeah.”

She doesn’t glare at him for his oddness, but once he’s seated next to her at the computer bay, she wishes she had. Maybe he would’ve sat farther away. He’s shorter than she is, and yet he kicks his legs out beneath the table and somewhere under there they grow long enough that hers are in constant danger of brushing them or twining with them or―the thought that horrifies her most―having their shoes knock. Shoe-to-shoe contact strikes her as something exceedingly flirtatious, like sending sexts through Morse code. She tucks her feet under her chair and crosses her ankles while they work. Which they do, in unanticipated companionableness. MJ ignores every one of her urges that tell her to slip her fingers through his where he cups the mouse, to lean in and grab his shoulder for balance as she looks at the website he found, to drag her chair close enough to wrap her arms around his waist, holding tight to the sweater that, logically, she never wants to touch because it stinks.

When lunch hour ends, she finds herself flustered and relieved.

“It was cool hanging out,” are Peter’s words of farewell.

Hanging out? Did they hang out? MJ’s almost too disoriented to find her locker and stow the remains of her lunch before her next class.

―

He keeps turning up. To their Chem class? Almost never. But her locker transforms into some kind of Peter Parker homing device without her knowledge and now he’s always swinging by. One time, her eyes dart back and forth from his face to the cigarette tucked (jauntily, brazenly, and―it must be said―idiotically) behind his ear. A teacher spies it too and Peter gets detention just standing there. His broad grin at Mr. Dell and the, “Aw, man, really?” he jokingly demands put MJ’s heart in a hammock, swaying wildly and beating in question as to why only this boy has a smile like that.

She seeks solace in Cindy. Initially, MJ divulges very little and her friend assumes that her current daftness is the result of struggles to find citable sources for her Chemistry project.

“Who’s your partner again?” Cindy asks over lunch.

“Peter Parker,” MJ says quietly. She tries to let her hair hang forward to shield her blush, but she’s far too slow.

“Oh, MJ.”

“Don’t.”

“MJ. You like Peter Parker? But he’s―”

“I know.”

“Damn,” Cindy says, which is more than enough to communicate how MJ happens to feel and also far too little to provide any clue about what to do. This is not the suffering she usually expects with group projects.

“He’s a smoker,” her friend points out, trying to be helpful by stating the most obviously off-putting thing about the guy.

“I heard he’s trying to quit.”

“I heard that too. Apparently, he has nicotine patches in his locker. And mints.”

MJ just buries her face in her arms and groans.

“I’m so screwed,” she says, voice muffled. “He won’t leave me alone.”

“Maybe he likes you.”

MJ laughs sharply into her sleeve.

“Maybe he likes you,” Cindy repeats gently.

“I can’t.”

“I know, babe.” Her friend squeezes her shoulder. “But you could.”

She lifts her head.

“I couldn’t.”

“You could,” Cindy refutes, gaining momentum. “You could do the project and then, you know, do Peter.”

“Shhh!”

They’re eating in the cafeteria and have the table to themselves, but still.

“Just a hook-up,” her friend says, as though she has any more experience with casual hook-ups than MJ does. They’re both firmly at zero.

“That would be insane. No. I’m not just going to hook up with my Chem partner. Would you hook up with your Chem partner?”

Infuriatingly, Cindy seems to truly consider this question. MJ wishes she’d focus more on the rest of the conversation.

“No. I got paired up with Betty. I find her too adorable to be hot.”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“Well, if Betty ever asks you about me, you know what to say to let her down easy.”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“What if Peter keeps talking to me after we hand in our report and do our presentation?”

“Depends if you’re planning to nail him before or after.”

“I’m not planning to nail him at all.”

“You should at least plan a little. Use a condom.”

“Cindy, for real.”

“For real,” her friend insists, twisting to give her a hard stare. “You already got your college acceptance letters and you’re not going to let your grades drop just because you sleep with this one guy! You can do this!”

“He deals drugs,” MJ reminds her in a hushed voice.

“Not hard drugs. And you’re on academic decathlon. Lots of people have extracurriculars!”

“I can’t believe you. If this were the other way around, you would be freaking out over the very idea of being with someone like him.”

“I enjoy pushing you into things while I remain safely on the sidelines,” Cindy agrees, smiling brightly.

“This is terrible, but, if anybody found out… my parents, any of the teachers… his reputation would reflect badly on me.”

“You’re right,” her friend says. MJ drops her face back into her arms. “You’re gonna do it, aren’t you?”

MJ groans.

―

On the day of their presentation, Peter’s late, but he’s there. MJ perks up in her seat, which makes her frustrated with herself. He doesn’t even get detention for his lack of punctuality. She guesses this is because he so rarely decides to come to class at all that the staff don’t want to discourage him any further.

They aren’t up right away and their lab benches are a few apart (everyone organized alphabetically by last name), but he turns around to glance at her more than once. No backpack, but he has a binder with him, from which many loose pages poke. As long as a couple of those are their report, she’s thrilled. Although, she did also do the entire thing herself just in case. She almost feels bad for not trusting him. Then again, he was late and watching the clock stressed her out.

When they go up to present, he slaps his papers on the front desk and flips a red USB out of his sleeve like he’s flicking open a switchblade.

“PowerPoint,” he explains to the unnerved expression MJ can feel on her face. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you? If I can just…”

And he slips behind her to plug it into the port, sweatshirt brushing her back. Despite the self-assurance she has in the quality of her work, speaking in front of the class always makes her feel slightly ill, so she’s backed up nearly to the defunct blackboard when Peter makes his move around her. He could be going behind her to try to be subtle about the setup. Yeah, that’s probably why he didn’t cross in front where there’s so much more space. He smells intensely of the outdoors, like grass―grass grass―and she inhales it the whole presentation long. What was he doing before this? Playing tackle football where the field’s just been mowed? MJ delivers her portion of the information somewhat robotically, but Peter surprises her by darting around, making bonds out of chalk to illustrate the finer points of this organic chemistry assignment. His lines are brisk and sure and she stares along with the rest of the class. Yes, she does.

“That was a novelty,” he says, suddenly at her side so they’re walking through the door together when class is over.

“Which part?”

She glances back to see Cindy making an ‘ok’ sign at her, looking from Peter to MJ. MJ waves her off, trying not to get ungainly as Peter stays with her. Seems as though he’s intending to walk her all the way to her locker. She has no idea where his is, or what he keeps in it. What she can most easily picture is Bender’s locker from The Breakfast Club.

“Oh, the whole thing. Having the entire class looking at us, getting time to talk, standing up there with you.” He elbows her arm gently while he grins and MJ gives the most pitiful laugh. He’s impossible.

“You were weirdly impressive.”

Peter jogs ahead, then turns to walk backwards, watching her face as he continues to grin.

“Aw, I’m flattered. You think we did ok?”

MJ’s ready to say that of course they did when a little freshman darts down the hall. Instinctively, she reaches out and grips Peter’s wrist. Her hand slides as he halts. Their palms meet. His fingers flex around hers for a second before she shakes him off.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I think we did fine.”

He nods, now walking along at her side.

“Good.”

They get to her locker and Peter still doesn’t leave. She attempts to ignore him as she trades her Chem books for Geography, but he makes it difficult, pushing her locker door open all the way and producing a stick of chalk that she realizes he must’ve tucked into his pocket after writing on the board.

“What are you doing?” she asks when he blocks her view of the door with his arm.

“Shhh.”

He steps away after a few seconds and she sees that he’s vandalized her little magnetic chalkboard with ‘PP wuz here.’

“I need to get new initials,” he says thoughtfully.

MJ scoffs.

“What you need is a better understanding of personal property.”

“Don’t worry, Jones. Chalk wipes right off,” he informs her, like she’s unfamiliar with the substance.

She shakes her head in annoyance.

“But this you better be careful about,” Peter says, lowering his voice abruptly (goosebumps for MJ) as he deposits the chalk in the door tray that holds her Chapstick and a broken magnet. “I stole it, so it’s contraband. If anyone asks, you say you’re holding it for a friend.”

He gives her an irresistible conspiratorial smile and leaves her at her locker.

MJ doesn’t touch the chalk. She doesn’t touch what he wrote either.

“Hell,” she mutters.

―

“Your parents think you’re at my place and my parents will not be worrying about where I am until four in the morning. The greatest benefit of having an older sister,” Cindy lectures, “is that she broke our parents in on abandoning the midnight curfew.”

Still, MJ’s nervous. They’re heading to a party at Flash Thompson’s after the semi-formal dance. The lights on the bus are bright and MJ’s feet are tired from her two-inch heels, but she won’t be taking her shoes off on public transit. Uh uh.

“You just better stay with me,” she warns her friend.

“We’ll be inseparable until you shoo me away so you and Peter can be alooone.”

“Shut up. He wasn’t at the dance.”

“All that means is he’s more of a jeans-and-sweatshirt kinda guy. I bet he’ll be there. You wanna bet?”

“No, I wanna wimp out and go home,” MJ admits.

“I’m not letting you!” Cindy says cheerily, rocking into MJ’s side. “It’ll be good for you to see him outside of school. Maybe he becomes totally unappealing and you squash this crush like a bug.”

“Maybe.”

Cindy is a steadfast companion as they do a loop of the main floor at the Thompson residence. MJ gingerly carries a Solo cup Flash handed her, but she doesn’t drink. She has no idea what’s in it. She’s wary of both Flash’s taste and the sad mustache he’s trying to grow before graduation. Although she’s been to a few house parties over her high school years, arriving in a ‘60s-style burnt-orange minidress and heels makes her feel strange, obnoxious, and watched, even though everyone else is also wearing their nice clothes from the dance. Minus Flash, who has changed into party attire that strikes a balance between retro aerobics-wear and spring break in Florida.

It’s an hour before she concedes to herself that Peter isn’t here. She leaves Cindy by Betty and goes to the bathroom. Peeing, she checks her texts, which is dumb because there’s no way she’ll see what she wants to see; he doesn’t have her number. Working up her courage as she washes and dries her hands, MJ wanders through the big family room at the rear of the house. There’s a sudden burst of laughter as the back door opens―some people are out drinking and smoking on the patio, and then Peter’s stepping inside right in front of her.

“Oh,” she says.

“Michelle. Hey.”

His eyes are red-rimmed and it’s not from crying. She catches the movement of him slipping a lighter back into the pocket of his jeans. There’s something wrong with her that she finds him hot even in this state, isn’t there? It’s his looseness. The extra crinkle around his eyes as he squints tight to smile at her. He could be a cornered grizzly bear. That’s how much she feels the visceral impulse to not be around him. He will snarl and swipe and she will suffer. Rather than returning to Cindy, MJ shifts her weight, wanting to remove her shoes so she can step down and closer to Peter.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she repeats, rigid with the fear of her own potential actions. It makes him laugh.

“You wanna go downstairs? I heard there’s pizza.”

“Yes.” It comes out strong.

It shouldn’t be this easy to go with him, to let him lead because he knows where the door to the basement is and she doesn’t. There should be checkpoints that ask if she’s sure she wants to proceed. Peter bounds down ahead of her and, at the bottom, turns to look at her. His expression is confused, then, quickly, so awed that it makes her blush and wonder if Sofía Vergara or some other bombshell is coming down the stairs behind her. But MJ’s own soles are the only sound against the carpeted hush.

“You look so gorgeous. Damn.”

The words could be meant only for himself except that he waits until she’s down the stairs and next to him to say them.

“You always look great,” he goes on before she can sever the intimate thread of the moment with a flippant remark about the male gaze equating beauty with value. “Fuck, isn’t time funny? I swear I was watching you walk down here for, like, an hour.”

You’re stoned, she wants to remind him. Why bother? Being compelled to state the obvious would only make her seem equally impaired.

“You wanna hang out with me?” MJ asks instead. This setting―the TV left on and a pile of pizza boxes on the sleek glass table the deep sectional curves around―seems more suited to it than Midtown’s library.

“Yeah.” He smiles.

MJ texts Cindy to let her know where she’s gone, then Peter eats pizza and MJ takes her heels off with a groan of pleasure that makes him sit up alertly before slumping back with a laugh. Everything makes him laugh. Missing his mouth with the pizza, the dreary Jason Statham movie they don’t bother changing the channel from, and MJ. So many times, MJ. Her dry humour rocks his THC-coated world and some of her horror at the evils of recreational marijuana use vanishes because he’s just so sweet like this, he’s so friendly. Somehow, he starts asking questions about the sketchbook he noticed she carries at school and, magically, there’s a pen in her hand and she’s doodling from his wrist up his forearm, roughing out the beginnings of a sleeve tattoo from the kooky ideas that stream from his lips. He watches her silently when she asks him to quit jerking his arm around and then it gets really quiet, apart from the occasional explosion onscreen. There are windows high up in the walls, level with the ground outside, and night sounds pulse in. Noises that are frogs and bugs but that, from childhood, MJ has always associated with the distant jingle of stars.

“I have to go now, Peter,” she murmurs when the movie’s over and he has his head resting back against the couch with his eyes closed. She collects her shoes and makes to climb over his legs, always sprawled straight out, but he catches her hand in his slack, warm grip.

MJ stares at his hand around hers and Peter opens his eyes and he stares at their hands too. An imagined scene of a haybale being pitched into a barn’s loft comes to mind at the feeling inside her chest, the sudden upward heave of her heart. She leans back and he sits forward, willingly releasing her when she half-turns away from him and grabs an empty beer bottle from the table. She lays it on its side and gives it a spin. While it’s still slowing, MJ stops it so it faces him. She can see Peter’s chest moving as he breathes, glancing from the bottle up to her eyes, probably trying to gauge her intentions. Thinking very little and feeling so much fear and want and freefall, she rests her knee on the couch between his splayed thighs and clutches the front of his hoodie in a fist that’s almost numb at the end of her arm. His eyes are locked on her mouth when she leans down to kiss him softly.

Peter’s tongue slipping into her mouth wakes her vagina up instantly.

“Uhmm,” she moans, parting her lips more and inexpertly attempting to copy what he’s doing because the pressure and the occasional sucking of her tongue are turning her on swiftly and utterly and she wants him this turned on.

His hands hardly touch her hips and she’s scrambling onto his lap, shoes cast to the floor. Peter adjusts her, lifting from below the highest part of her thigh and pulling her forward so she can’t fall backwards off the couch. She supposes. Her head’s hazy with the green-pepper taste of his mouth and the boy-smell of his skin. He seems hesitant about putting his hands any higher, since her already short skirt has hiked up around her hips with her legs straddling him, but then his palms land on her ass, over her underwear. They break the kiss, panting across each other’s tongues as MJ rocks her hips ahead and Peter’s steady, shaky hands press her against his hard groin. He makes a wild, desperate sound at her most tentative forward nudge.

She’s wet through her underwear, she knows it, but it feels so good to rub herself against the front of his jeans, knowing that she gave him that erection. His fingers caress the back of her neck, then dig up into her hairline as he Frenches her with the furious, winding nonsense of a rabid animal.

“Ah!” she gasps, clipping his tongue with her teeth as he tries to pull her in again and deeper. “Aah!”

He shifts both hands back down to her ass and steers her grinding, forcing her faster when the pitch of her voice climbs.

“God,” Peter groans into her throat when she stretches her neck, face naturally tipping upwards. “Fuck yes.”

He’s damp with sweat across the nape of his neck and down between the mounded muscle of his back where she tucks her hands. MJ drags against him until the entire inside of her body feels like it’s had tingling mouthwash poured into it and shaken around, sparkling, bliss like the scrape of a blade without puncture. She cries out, comes, then cries out again, hugging him close around the neck with her eyes clamped shut. Peter’s orgasm noise is a grunting huff and MJ draws back in time to watch his face. It looks as though his expression’s trying to melt right off his features, like she could thrust a spatula under his skin and lift his whole face off like a crêpe. She feels terrifically powerful.

After a minute of them shuddering against each other, she struggles back to her feet, feeling like someone’s grabbed her and spun her a million times. Dizzy with how fast it happened. That it did happen. Peter gives her a smirk full of the secret they now share because, yes, this will have to be a secret. She assumes he knows that.

Standing, he pulls the front of his baggy sweatshirt down to hide his crotch. MJ puts her shoes on and waits silently―brain buzzing―until he evidently understands that she wants him to go ahead of her. She has no interest in proceeding him up the stairs with the sodden underwear beneath her minidress. Her first priority after leaving this house and going back to Cindy’s is to get into her clean pajamas. When Peter turns and ducks in to kiss her after climbing to only the first stair, she’s startled but reciprocates, though the rush of getting off with him is being replaced by a different, more anxious rush as they prepare to rejoin the party. MJ nearly loses her footing at the realization of how easily they could’ve been caught. Jesus. This is exactly why Peter Parker is the guy for a hookup. A repetition is so inadvisable that he’ll never suggest it. She can’t be messing around in classmates’ basements, taking these risks. It’s not what a smart girl does.

“Wha’s happenin’ in the basement?” a guy’s slurred voice asks the second Peter opens the door.

“Pizza,” he says simply, and they escape.

MJ walks quickly away from the scene of the, well, not crime, but very private indiscretion, hunting for Cindy’s iridescent white dress in the family room, kitchen, and living room, where most people are still gathered. Disconcertingly, Peter hurries along at her side. She’s certain she feels the ghost of his hand on her waist when she stops suddenly to avoid the slosh of someone’s drink across her path. What is he doing? Doesn’t he see that they’re like spies, that they can’t be spotted together or they’ll be in danger of someone finding out? The story of her reckless kiss and the impulsive grinding it led to are in her every feature. They must be.

Aha, Cindy!

MJ taps her friend’s shoulder and leans in quickly.

“I’m ready to go,” she says.

Though she’s angled her back to shun Peter (for their own good), she watches her friend’s eyes move from her face to something behind her and knows he must be standing there.

“Ok, we’ll go right now,” Cindy agrees, reaching down and clasping her hand.

She tosses Abe and Betty a quick goodbye and they hustle to the door like the mice in Cinderella. Which reminds MJ to slip her shoes on. Just before they exit, she flings a glance back into the room and sees Peter laughing with his friend Ned, a cigarette already tucked behind his ear. Good.

―

MJ thinks Cindy’s asleep when her friend rolls over and asks what happened.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No,” MJ assures her.

“You came out of nowhere and you had a weird look on your face.”

“Are you saying you don’t like my face?”

Cindy draws a limp arm out of the blankets and presses her hand to MJ’s cheek, lightly shoving her face away in joking response.

“But what went down?” she persists, then yawns. “You were with him, weren’t you? You don’t expect me to believe that he just came up behind you the second you came to get me.”

“No, I was with him.”

“And?”

She still feels it somehow, the unexpected, exhilarating kick of Peter kissing her and gathering her close and wanting her like that. Before he complimented her on the stairs, MJ hadn’t even known he was aware of her in that way, as anything more than a reliable project partner. If she reveals anything to Cindy, well, it’s like giving up something precious, no matter how much she trusts her friend. There won’t be a repeat of tonight. She’ll delicately wrap the memory in mental tissue paper, storing it neatly, preserving it well. She’ll be able to walk down the hall at Midtown, see Peter, and know she hit that. Non-penetratively. It counts. They are Pluto and Mercury. They do not talk, they do not meet. Their trajectories crossing was a once-in-an-infinity event that will not reoccur.

“We talked and… nothing happened.”

“Well, good,” Cindy decides. “I was thinking about you after you sent me that text and I thought―” She yawns again, triggering an echo from MJ. “―probably not the best idea. He’s just so unpredictable. You deserve more than that.”

“Yeah.”

“Man. Peter Parker.”

“Peter Parker.”

―

She doesn’t greet him warmly, or at all, when he returns to her locker. He doesn’t push and he doesn’t chase, though he definitely has the charisma for it if he ever felt like channeling that shit. Focused, his sweet charm could set a girl on fire like a kid roasts an anthill with a magnifying glass. Honestly, MJ’s surprised Peter doesn’t have a girlfriend, except that he probably prefers not being accountable to anyone but himself. She’s the same.

Even congratulating herself is stale by the day he approaches her again, there’s been such a gap between Flash’s basement and this Thursday afternoon. She’s waiting for her brother to pick her up and Peter lobs the cigarette he was smoking away. It streams thin smoke and rolls from the pavement into the grass.

“That’s littering,” MJ tells him.

For a moment, he just stares back.

“So, what’s up?”

“Waiting for my brother.”

A smile flashes and dies on his face.

“What’s going on?”

“Not much,” she says in the most casual tone, not looking at him at all. Her posture’s defensive. If someone walks out of the building and sees them, she wants them to find it impossible that they’re viewing Michelle Jones and Peter Parker talking. She wants them to believe their eyes are deceiving them.

His laugh is breathy but brutal.

“I did not think you were this girl.”

“What girl?” MJ darts an angry, sideways look at him. She won’t tolerate any ‘you’re not like other girls’ bullshit, even if he’s planning to turn it around and use it as an insult.

“Someone who messes around at parties and then acts like we don’t know each other.”

“I can’t honestly say that we do.”

“Ok, smartass,” Peter says sharply. She sees him dig in his pocket and extract a pack of cigarettes. He shakes his lighter out into his palm first, then plucks one free.

MJ looks firmly away from him before speaking.

“I heard you quit.”

“Habits, you know?”

“No.”

“No?” he presses. She hears the sound of him lighting up, like a piece of paper being ripped. Schik, schik, then the tear that goes right through. The soft blow of his first polluted exhalation. “Studying’s not a habit? Doing well in school’s not a habit? You could just quit?”

“Those things aren’t bad for you,” MJ informs him blandly, scanning the intersection a block down for her brother’s car.

“Something or somebody taught you to ditch the guy you fooled around with and that’s been bad for me, so I’d appreciate a little sympathy.”

She glances at him again, dropping her gaze to the motion of his thumb drumming his cigarette, tapping away the building ash. When he brings it back to his mouth for another drag, his cheeks pull in and further exaggerate the criminally-well-defined line of his jaw. MJ exhales with him.

“I didn’t ditch you, we ditched each other. Mutual ditching,” she explains. “I figured you’d want the same thing.”

“I don’t actually remember you ever asking me what I’d want.”

“Yeah, well, it’s done.”

“You think so?” he asks thoughtfully. He puts his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and traps his cigarette between his lips as he wanders over to the butt of the last one and stamps on it. She frowns in disbelief when he picks it up and takes it to the trash can.

MJ lifts her courage like she lifts her heavy backpack when she’s carting all of her textbooks home at once. Figuratively, she bends from the knees.

“You just want me to fuck you so that you can do the ditching after that. I’m not interested,” she says coolly.

“Uh, you kissed me. If anyone’s suppressing a desire to fuck, it’s you, Jones.”

“So you don’t want to fuck me?”

Who is she? She feels as large and obvious as Lincoln in his Memorial saying these words to Peter Parker, with his shifting eye contact and his nicotine hands.

"I’d like to fuck you,” he says, breathing out smoke and incredible nonchalance, “and I’m really into you and would definitely be down for you to stop acting like I ceased to exist the second I came in my pants for you. I don’t do that for just anybody.”

“Jesus, Parker, shut up,” she hisses, stunned. Violated. Aroused. No.

Peter abandons his easy posture and storms right up to her, turning his head at the last second to puff his mouthful of foul air over his shoulder. Minimal decency.

“Hey, if you’d told me that I was signing up for a one-off by going down to Thompson’s fucking basement with you, maybe I would’ve said no!”

“Really?” MJ blurts, too invested in the answer for it to be wise to ask.

“Probably!”

“If you’re so mad at me, then why don’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because I can’t! I can’t,” he says more quietly. He grips his hair with the same hand that holds his cigarette and she worries that he’ll burn himself, but whatever. “I happen to really like you, ok?”

She spots her brother’s car pulling into the school and immediately distances herself from Peter. They hold each other’s eyes as she gets in.

“Were you smoking?” Louis asks her while she buckles her seatbelt. “You better not let Mom smell that.” MJ rolls her eyes.

“No.”

“Good. Don’t start. That shit’s addictive.”

She looks out her window to see Peter still watching her as Louis puts the car in gear and they drive away.

―

If it would be weakness to message him on Facebook late that night and send him her number, then MJ is weak.

―

Their happy medium is smiling at each other in the halls, stopping by for a very short chat when they happen to be near each other’s locker, and making out fiercely behind the magazine shelf in Midtown’s library. MJ has this all under control. She’s admitted to herself that she’s still attracted to Peter―if there was any doubt that what happened in Flash’s basement had done anything but strengthen that attraction―and that, as long as they keep things fairly low-key, she’s curious. There’s more she’d like to do with him, but she doesn’t want the pressure or anxiety of anyone knowing what’s going on, not even Cindy. The judgement will kill what they have and what they have is chemistry in and out of the classroom. The surge MJ feels when Peter presses her back against the end of a bookshelf is incomparable.

He'd rather they were public, she knows. Fortunately, he doesn’t force her to break down point by point why it wouldn’t be a good idea. Doing that would teach her exactly how much she could hurt him and she doesn’t need that guilt. She likes Peter and she likes fooling around with him, but what she really likes is not getting caught. That, and knowing that she can stop this whenever she wants. The fact that he’s really into her means he’ll listen to what she wants from this non-relationship. MJ tries not to think of herself as manipulative, simply as someone who’s attempting to broaden their horizons in a closed-course physical agreement. She needs to believe in her own agency, especially since she saw how fast things can spiral when they kissed for the first time.

All they’ve done at school is kiss. Once, he accosted her at the end of the day on her way to decathlon practice and got his hands on her ass before they heard footsteps. They were separated, though MJ was sweating like a fiend, when Betty appeared. Peter’s presence surprised her and he had to lie about how he was considering rejoining the decathlon team to explain why he was nearby at that time of day. MJ’s glad it was a lie. Actually having him in one of her extracurriculars would be distracting and she needs to compartmentalize. Besides the Chem presentation, the little slice of her life she spends with Peter and the much larger slice that’s for school won’t overlap. Chem’s their only class together and they don’t share any friends, just acquaintances from decathlon.

Except Peter asks where she lives and it changes everything.

Technically, MJ’s aware that it’s not exactly an inspired idea to give her address to a small-time drug dealer. She doesn’t know what the precise consequences could be, but that’s the point! Control, good. Unknowns, bad. Still, she figures that Peter’s also just a seventeen-year-old like her. He’s smart, he’s cute, his hoodie stinks like smoke―except at parties, when it stinks like pot. His suspensions, aside from the Brad Davis incident, have been for dumb shit. He can’t be totally irresponsible, totally untrustworthy, or Midtown would expel him. Peter seemed to abandon his unofficial experiment on how far white male privilege would protect him after purpling Brad’s cheek and shredding the skin above his eyebrow. (She heard Brad got stitches, but the whole thing was covered by a gauze pad when he came back to school.)

But Peter makes her want things and it turns out, one of those things is wanting to know what he plans to do with her address. The afternoon she’s at home and hears clanging on the fire escape, she’s sure it’s him before she sticks her head out a window and sees him looking up at her from a story down.

“Oh, good,” he calls up. “I didn’t know which floor you were on!”

“What are you doing?! How did you reach the ladder?”

The ladder, which is tucked up eight feet from street level. The ladder, with its protective plate to prevent unauthorized users from touching the rungs for another three feet.

“Uh, jumped!”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What else did you want? Knock knock?”

MJ rolls her eyes and retreats inside, where she drops the annoyed act and starts chipping at her flaking terracotta-coloured nail polish, heart racing as she secretly hopes she hasn’t scared him off. She paces, then strides to the living room, with its tall window that opens onto the fire escape Peter’s currently scaling. She turns her back for a second and, suddenly, his voice is much nearer.

“Hey,” he says, loudly through the glass. She spins around and he waves, smile lopsided and sweet.

A marble seems to fall down her throat and go swirling around her stomach because there’s a motion inside her that veers from ecstatic to terrified. Making up her mind, she crosses to the window and pries it up.

“What are you doing here?” MJ demands.

He looks confused by the question.

“This is where you live.”

“Nuh uh,” she says when he makes to swing his leg over and enter. “The sweatshirt is not coming inside. You’re not leaving the rank scent of that thing for my parents to smell when they get home.”

“Parents aren’t home? Huh,” Peter says, a high, sarcastic, and thoroughly dangerous noise with the way it makes her body react. Her brain starts trying to convince her it’s go time.

He behaves enough to remove his sweatshirt and knot the sleeves around the fire escape railing. Even takes his shoes off. If he behaved a little better, she wouldn’t see more than half of his bare back when he yanked the sweatshirt off and it dragged his grey t-shirt up with it. MJ has sat some major exams, held a chair during the most vomit-inducingly stressful decathlon tournaments, but seeing that much of Peter’s skin at one time is not something she feels equipped to contend with. Maybe she should tell him to put the sweatshirt back on. Maybe her parents don’t know what marijuana blended with cigarettes smells like. Maybe the scent will leave the soft surfaces of their rugs and couch before tomorrow, when Louis gets home from spending the night at his buddy’s place. Too late, Peter’s inside, and while that sweatshirt might be oversized, the t-shirt has to have been improperly laundered at some point in its life because it is tight. Is MJ breathing hard? No, it’s just the effort to shut the window.

“So, ’sup? What do you want?”

Sonofabitch laughs at her question. Not a guffaw, just a private little chuckle, as he holds her eyes.

“I had a question,” he finally says.

“About Chem homework?”

“About parameters.” She waits for him to continue. “Because, nobody knowing about you and me? I got that one.”

“That’s an important one,” MJ agrees, watching this boy like he’s something that bites.

“And that I probably shouldn’t try to do more than kiss you at school.”

She’s a little short of breath when she responds. Fucking window.

“Probably not.”

“But then, other locations. See, that’s where I get confused.”

“Do you?”

“I do, Jones,” Peter says solemnly, ducking his chin and looking up at her with eyes that promise, while he may be the sort that bites, he will most certainly not bite her. “I get confused.”

“Like Flash’s basement?” she checks, swallowing, gaze going from his mouth to his eyes.

“No. I know the rules for Flash’s basement. I’m a big fan of Flash’s basement.” He grins at her, a child’s smile. Innocent. “When I come here though, to your apartment, what happens? Do you have rules for this?” Peter takes a step towards her and they weren’t too many steps apart in the first place. “Tell me, Jones. What’s allowed?”

Her lips part for increased airflow. He’s done nothing―nothing but climb up the side of her building and request entry―but she doubts his thoughts are as inactive as his body’s unconcerned posture.

“My parents get off work in an hour. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Definitely not,” Peter agrees, still not moving. “I’m bad news.”

MJ edges towards him, eyes darting all over his face like crazy, and touches her mouth to his. She can feel him shudder. Then, Peter parts his lips wider and finds her tongue with his, everything staying slow, until they’re gripping the back of each other’s neck and clicking teeth in their haste. She feels gawky and foolish because the only kissing she’s really gotten used to is the easier pace they practice in the library so neither of them gets too worked up before having to go to class. His hands shift to cup the sides of her face and suddenly she doesn’t have to worry; he’s steering now. A moan quivers up her throat with his hold so tender and the motion of his tongue rough and confident. There’s an instinctual clench between her legs.

“Come with me,” she says, breaking away to lead him to the room right off the living room: her bedroom.

“My clothes stink, right?” he teases when he follows her in. “So I should probably make sure they don’t touch any―”

MJ kisses him quickly.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

She means it to be funny and persuasive, but there’s a moment where Peter’s expression freezes. His grin sours.

“No. Michelle Jones bringing an idiot to her room? We couldn’t have that.”

Her shoulders slump.

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” she assures him.

“Nobody does.” He smiles unconvincingly. “If I were, I’d be less disappointing. Nobody’s surprised by a stupid fuck-up.”

“You’re not disappointing. Or a fuck-up.”

Peter looks at her carefully for what feels like a long time.

“If I had you, I’d say I don’t deserve you.”

“You have me,” MJ counters. She kisses him hard, harder, until he wraps his arms around her and kisses her back. She’s proud of herself for saying, “I don’t deserve you,” before he peels his t-shirt off.

She doesn’t want him to think the sentiment’s just about his body, which it very well could’ve been because damn. He is cut. He is ripped. He is any other verb one could use to describe removing a coupon from a flyer. Peter must climb a lot of fire escapes to develop a body like that, reach for a lot of ladders to get those arms, and haul himself up and over a lot of railings to sculpt those abs. As long as he didn’t get the practice by visiting other girls―a quick knife of jealousy as he sits on her bed and she takes up the familiar position of straddling his thighs―she’s grateful.

His hands push her t-shirt up enough to grasp her hips as they kiss. When he doesn’t push for more, MJ takes a deep breath and sits back in his lap to remove her own shirt. Peter’s gaze is fast and eager and his palm is a revelation against the naked skin in the middle of her back. She’s only been touched like this in the pool, when Cindy would scramble onto her shoulders and they’d team up against Cindy’s cousins for a chicken fight, both teams inevitably toppling with a splash. This doesn’t feel like summer memories. Nor does the rigid bar in the front of Peter’s jeans that nudges between her legs when she shuffles forward.

To jump the hurdle of her inexperience, MJ decides to grope him where he obviously wants her. It’s also somehow less forbidding to rest her hand against the denim of his jeans than the warm skin of his chest or abdomen. Peter groans into her mouth when she rubs up and down the length of him, wrist twisted to position her hand right. Ok, good, she thinks. Good. Before thirty seconds are up, he’s letting go of her back to open his fly and lower his zipper.

“If you want to,” he breathes, eyes lowered like he’s either shy or staring at her chest.

MJ does want to, so she nods and grips him through his striped boxers. This is so much different. The warmth, the give at the head, and the feeling of him throbbing in response to her strokes prove that Peter truly does have a penis and it’s not just an object that she was fondling through his jeans. And, theoretically, he wants to put this penis inside her. What should be absolutely alien only makes her wetter. She kisses him to distract herself from the foreignness of holding this thing in her hand and recognizing how intimate it would be, connecting like that. Sliding her hand up, her palm runs across a damp patch in the cotton. He’s turned on, like she is.

She hesitates for a second all the same. At Flash’s, she made him orgasm. She knew it at the time and he reminded her later, in the parking lot. When it happened, he had his jeans done up, plus, she was in the middle of her own climax. In her bedroom―where her brother coming in to look for something he lost or wake her up early on weekends like an asshole has been the only young male presence since she was 12―it’s different. Undone jeans is different. All the attention on what she’s doing to him is different. So when Peter’s hands skim the waistband of her joggers, MJ’s relieved.

“Yes,” she says and closes her eyes, trying to remember to continue the handjob though her wrist is tired of this funky position, as his fingers slide under the elastic.

He has his fingertips on her abdomen, over the cotton of her underwear, then reversing, finding the edge of her underwear, and slipping beneath it. She takes in a deep breath as his hand moves lower.

And this. This is different from grinding at the party. Being stimulated by another person’s hand is strange and entirely unlike rubbing against his crotch, with the temperature of his skin less than that between the labia he’s fingering experimentally and the movements outside her control. Though MJ does buck reflexively when Peter curls a finger inside her a little ways.

“Hey,” he whispers, choking when she remembers again about her part in this and squeezes his cock, “tell me how it feels.”

Instantly, MJ clams up. She’s a bird who’s forgotten how its wings work mid-flight. Flailing, plummeting.

“Um. Fine.”

“Fine? Dammit. Sorry, I was just trying to get you out of your head and I fucked up. Here,” Peter says, pulling his hand out and grabbing her thighs, “lie down instead.”

They disentangle themselves and lie down. Then, with clear thought, he drapes his body half-over hers, hovering. Her pillow props her head up high enough that she can glance at the swell in the front of his boxers. Shifting around has dragged his jeans down a bit.

“Can I put my hand here?” he asks, almost touching her stomach.

“Mhmm.”

His palm lands, fingers tracing the strip of skin above her joggers.

“Close your eyes. I won’t make you talk.”

With that promise and his hand resting inside her pants but over her underwear for several minutes and the lazy kisses he places on her shoulder, it’s easier to accept the feelings that come. His fingers work slowly, skimming and dancing. Eyes shut, she remembers his fingers on a cigarette, a stick of chalk, propped over the back of a chair in the library. The realization that it’s those same fingers gently rolling her clit makes her gasp. Peter groans next to her head in response, exhalation blowing her hair against her ear, which tickles. She opens her eyes and takes a cautious peek at him. His gaze is hot when she meets it. He doesn’t release her as he moves his hand lower to probe at her entrance again, only this time she’s even wetter and he’s fucking staring at her, cheeks a feverish red. Rocking her hips to encourage him, she puts a palm on his chest and slides it down, touching every inch of skin from collarbones to navel before his boxers get in the way. The wet spot is cold, so she tries to grip a little lower when she takes him in hand again. He presses his forehead to her shoulder and moans.

It’s so quiet, such a normal afternoon with the light fading and homework postponed, but Peter Parker’s hips are hunched around hers like he wants to mount her and she can no longer feel any disparity between the heat of his fingers and the heat inside her exceptionally regular underwear. He adds pressure and she gasps, hips bucking off the mattress.

“Shh, shhh,” he murmurs. “God, you’re so gorgeous.”

“Heard that one before,” she says, then whimpers, sweating between her shoulder blades and behind her knees.

“Shoulda brought my thesaurus.”

“Peter! Peter!”

His fingers arc into her hard and fast and she jerks her hand desperately up and down his dick. He swears with his lips pressed to her neck.

“Now you’re repeating yourself,” he recovers enough to taunt.

MJ’s eyes slam shut as she concentrates on making his strokes work for her, but she doesn’t let him off easy. Or, rather, she does, darting her hand down to flex her fingers around his balls, then pumping him rapidly so he never has a chance to catch his breath. Peter makes a noise like he was lying on a couch and a large dog jumped on his stomach out of nowhere. It’s a good noise. MJ enjoys it almost as much as she enjoys the way he jams his thumb down on her clit when his climax hits and scrubs mercilessly until she cries out. With the temperatures matching up and the satisfying twitches and caresses of his fingers, her vagina seems to have accepted his hand as part of her body. It certainly constricts around his middle finger like it’s not allowed to go anywhere. Uh uh. That’s hers now.

“If my sheets smell like smoke after this,” she pants as they lie together on their backs, “your access to this location is revoked.”

“I’m tryin’ to quit.”

MJ wants to be supportive, but she’s not sure she believes him.

―

She falls in love somewhere between Peter sneaking into prom to dance with her in the dark hall outside the gym where no one can see and graduation. It takes a long time for love to seem like a problem because what it feels like is the best thing she’s ever experienced. The only thing she’s ever felt such thorough ownership of. On four separate occasions, she almost tells Cindy. MJ starts to feel sorry for her friend that she doesn’t know. It’s neater than feeling sorry for herself because 98% of her time is spent wanting to hold Peter’s hand and only 2% is actually holding it―never for long, always in private―or because she can’t hug him after she crosses the stage at the rented convention centre to get the rolled up sheet of blank paper that they pretend is a diploma until the school mails out the real ones. He’s not even in the building.

Thanks to his phenomenal performance on exams―because he’s gifted enough to figure out the material day-of, not because he comes to class or studies―Peter is graduating high school. Unfortunately, his suspension, in tandem with the couple dozen detentions he earned this year, denies him the privilege of the ceremony. They aren’t supposed to be on their phones while it’s happening, but MJ misses him and surreptitiously texts around the folds of her black grad gown. Apparently, what he’s decided to do with his day is get really fucking high and the couple texts he manages to send her in response don’t make much sense.

She calls him afterwards, while her parents are talking to her teachers, everyone so happy to gush over the valedictorian (she saw the title coming from a long way away and gave the speech she prepared so many months ago that, by now, it’s lost all emotion). Peter’s voice is sickeningly lazy and also something she wants in her ear right now as she cuddles up to him. What MJ believes is that they’re better together. Over the phone, he says he loves her. Stunned, she replies, “You sound really far away,” and tries not to cry when she looks up and Cindy catches her eye from across the room. She’s just so happy. Everyone is just so happy.

She’s disappointed but not surprised when Peter defers his acceptance to Columbia―where she’ll be attending―to work for a year. His grades mean a more than respectable bursary haul and still, he needs money. His aunt needs money. It’s an expensive city. MJ and Peter talk and settle on the idea that things can only be better for them now. The college won’t give a fuck about her dating life the way Midtown would have. They can have their relationship in the open, no longer ending every conversation slightly sad because coming together is wearing on them, way harder than walking away.

MJ calls Cindy, studying music, and sobs for half an hour after her first week of classes. School is going well, but she hates it. Her classes interest her, but she wants to skip them all. Peter―yes, Peter, yes, Peter Parker―didn’t help her move into her residence like he said he would and she had to buy groceries alone and carry them back to this place that is not her home alone and what is she even doing who even is she and Peter, Peter, Peter, why can’t he just be here when she needs him?

She bristles when Cindy expresses true sympathy for her heartbreak. Heartbreak? This isn’t heartbreak. Heartbreak is for something that’s over and MJ’s relationship with Peter isn’t over. She cries all over again, and more ragged, after she and Cindy fight and end their conversation with a terseness that is an unwelcome intruder on the friendliness, the sisterliness they’ve always had.

But then Peter texts her after 1am that he’s outside her building, MJ lets him in, and he holds her in his arms the way she remembers. Her scholarly prowess guaranteed her a dorm on a quiet floor with single rooms. It feels natural to use this gift for what it was intended. Not uninterrupted study, but losing her virginity. She loves him so much…

…and that certainty grows more confused with every thrust.

She tells him the look on her face when they’re done is because she’s feeling a lot. She is. Just not the things she’s probably supposed to be feeling. Her feelings are prickly things, restless things. They toddle and swoop and disturb her peace as she tucks herself into bed and into Peter’s body. Against her cheek, his heart is steady. Is this all her? Is she crazy? There’s a black hoodie on the floor that won’t let her rest.

―

Things are on a definite uptick by the end of September. The nights grow deep and cold and velvety and the two of them stay out late. The stroll the familiar paths between the buildings of her campus with his arm up around her shoulders, playing with the string of her sweater; he’s trying to quit smoking again and needs something to twiddle between his fingers. It’s dark where shadows slice away from the moon and security lights and MJ would like to melt down into water, spreading through these lanes, touching everything in this place that’s becoming hers. Peter bobs up and kisses her temple. The world is for them.

He gives her a piggyback in her Spider-Man costume on Halloween. Over winter break, he casually admits to being Spider-Man and, hey, suddenly she gets additional wears out of that costume, putting it on every single time he says he’s coming over after that, just to mess with him. They end the year at the movies, kissing over their shared bag of popcorn at midnight (Peter ducks his head inside his sweatshirt to look at his phone screen and check the time). In January, it rains a lot, in February, it snows, and by the time the precipitation’s tapering off, she’s survived year one at Columbia.

Peter starts his first year that fall under a cloud that tries to claim MJ as its creator. Because she planned to no longer live in the dorms and he didn’t care whether he did or not, feeling infinitely older than the other freshmen (despite a measly year of age difference), he asked her to share an apartment with him. The question threw her back like a shove to the shoulders. Share an apartment? Share responsibilities, split rent, see each other every day, complete second year while he did first, then third and fourth. What if she did grad school? Moving out and leaving him in the lurch to find a new place or a roommate to cohabitate in the space they’d made theirs for three years, pretending to be adults and scalding coffee to the bottom of the pot. And if they lived together for years and years, what then? A ring slid towards her between takeout boxes one day and then Peter forever.

When he asked, she fished; MJ cast the line of her thoughts ahead through a clear five years, five more years, hazier the farther she tried to look. Then, she reeled it all the way back. It ran smoothly through their cozy recent past, but soon snagged. Snagged, snagged, snagged as she tugged it insistently back to high school. How much or little have they changed since she was the cautious valedictorian-in-the-making, he the assumed burnout, skipping Spanish to take on local crime?

She turned him down and, because he’s softened since stepping out of the outline of a seventeen-year-old badass who eats Brad Davises for breakfast, Peter wears the rejection in plain sight. Every day that she sees him, on campus or on a date, there’s something in his expression or the pitiful hang of his head. Some days, even his hair looks sad, she’d swear. Most of her wants to repair this immediately, but MJ can’t quite give in. Letting him have his way would mean beginning an apartment hunt ASAP―because this idiot is still reckless enough to leave student housing partway into the year and fumble his way through trying to get some of that money back. She likes her current roommates (three girls from her program) and doesn’t want the stress of uprooting herself. Besides, he’s not really just asking to share an apartment. He’s asking for her time, her constant presence. Eventually, if things were to go as she’s forecasted, her life. It startles her that this brash, playful, independent guy needs her. More than she needs him.

For a firm two weeks, MJ steps away from their relationship of approximately two years. She feels naked. Walking down the sidewalk, she feels vulnerable and shivers in the sunlight. On the weekend, she takes a train out of town to visit Cindy. It’s been a year since their almost-fight and they’ve spoken plenty since, but MJ’s been scared to relax into their friendship, fearing it would not bear her weight. Everything in Cindy’s city is new, MJ’s never been here before, with no trace of Peter anywhere but on the clothes she packed in her bag. Everything of her is still so much him.

“So, did you break up?” Cindy asks over lunch. They’re at a place that serves sandwiches so tall that they can barely fit them into their mouths for a bite.

“I didn’t want… I don’t think… we don’t need to talk about that.”

“MJ,” her friend says softly and love floods in through MJ’s porous exterior where sun and sound have only battered her since the last time she spoke to Peter. Tears roll down her cheeks.

“I don’t even know,” she wails, glancing around in embarrassment at this public place. Cindy pats her hands and dashes from the table to pay and bring MJ back to her apartment.

Her eyes itch and her nose runs and her body’s heaving with sobs like a violent coughing fit, so Cindy redirects them to a spit of a park. A bench.

“M, what happened?”

“Nothing! Nothing―” Gasp. “―even happened! But he loves me so much and I, I can’t stand him! And I love him!”

“Ok,” her friend says soothingly, rubbing briskly at MJ’s arm. “What do you want to do?”

“Can I stay here with you forever?”

“Of course you can, babe, but I don’t think you’re going to be happy until you resolve this.”

“I’m never going to be happy,” MJ corrects, and cries harder as Cindy pulls her head down to let her bawl into her sweater.

“You will. You always know when things aren’t right.” MJ shakes her head slowly against her friend’s shoulder, sowing her tears more widely. “Yes, you do,” Cindy counters. “You do.”

―

Breakup sex is what MJ talks Peter into. She never calls it that, but he knows. He meets up with her outside his dorm, breathing hard like he ran to make it on time. It’s their final good day together―day, not night, because she doesn’t want him to expect her to wake up in the morning feeling different, like they should stay together. She doesn’t want to stab him in the heart with the probable reality that she would slip out while he slept.

They stop and start, her to shake off her trembling and him to turn his head away for more than a minute. She really doesn’t want to think that he’s trying not to cry.

His clothes remind her of their first hookup at Flash’s party: different sweatshirt, same smell. Peter never gave up weed, just smoked less, but its earthy funk rises alongside the even more offensive stench of cigarettes when she gently pulls the hoodie over his head. She doesn’t comment. His choices belong to him. She’s never going to have to worry about her husband dying from smoking-induced lung cancer because that man won’t be Peter. That’s the thought that has her crumpling to her knees before she can perceive the world tilting out from underneath her, but he catches her and hoists her into his arms.

“Steady,” he tells her.

MJ cups his cheek, staring back into his bloodshot brown eyes. She watches his jaw clench and relax. Then, MJ smooths her hand over his ear, around to the back of his head, and pulls him into a kiss. It feels like they’ve been practicing this a long time and have finally arrived at the day of their performance. The nudge of his mouth is strong without being rough and as he sets her on the bed, her palm finds his heart hammering beneath his t-shirt. When Peter joins her, she rolls on top of him. There are no accidents of him manhandling her or her accidently pushing a knee into his nuts as she shifts. Everything is intentional, including the desire not to separate, MJ laid out the full length of Peter’s body. They flop back and forth as they remove each other’s clothes. It’s not a rush so much as the gentle tumble of laundry as a dryer winds down its cycle. They are. They’re winding down.

He scoots his hips lower and his cock prods her as she parts her legs, lifting because they’re on their sides. Peter sinks in by gripping the back of her thigh and pulling her towards him rather than thrusting up. They’re forgoing a condom because MJ’s still on the pill. She doesn’t know yet whether she’ll renew her prescription when she runs out. It’s tempting to stop and flush the chemistry from her body. Seeking something deeper, she hikes her knee up his thigh and Peter grabs it, hauling it to his hip. Soon, she’s sweating with her hand still on his chest, though there’s hardly room between them. Peter huffs as he plunges himself inside her with the opening salvo that is the reliable flick of his hips. MJ’s hand clutches his pec with his first serious thrust.

At the noise she makes, Peter tips her onto her back, but stays almost suffocatingly close on top of her, skin skimming skin. His forearms are braced on either side of her head. Careful, loving fingers brush against her temples, briefly making his arms a triangle with the top of her head as its peak. MJ looks up while he’s looking down, chin tucked so far that he must be watching himself move in and out of her. His hair is nearly in her eyes. She realizes they haven’t kissed since he entered her and panics, grabbing his chin.

Peter’s startled expression scares her, but then he slams his mouth down onto hers and ratchets up the speed and force of his thrusts. She makes such a variety of sounds, all running into each other, that it takes a little while for them to streamline down to one constant, “Mmmmm,” as he bucks, shaking her body. Her legs fall open instead of wrapping up around him because the way his proximity is rubbing her clit has her twitching from toe to hip. His hands clasp hers and pin them down on either side of her head; she doesn’t think twice―like she probably should―before twisting their fingers together.

She comes like a hiccup when his pubic bone pushes down against her clit, then slides away on a withdrawal, then returns because she detangles their fingers to clasp her hands to his hips, then his ass, and yank him back to her. Her head tips back, pulling her hair where it’s trapped against the sheet, and she breathes out his name in a gust: “Peter.” Though she knows he’s close, can feel him there at the end of his rope and see the struggle in how harshly he squeezes his eyes closed, he only goes faster.

“Come on,” MJ bids, sweaty and trapped by his weight, still clutching his ass with both hands.

“No,” he pants.

“Let go.”

“Can’t.”

Peter forcefully pulls her hand into his and locks their fingers securely together. And she stares up at him, baby-faced and overextended. He zigzags between school and Spider-Man duties and looking out for his aunt, trying to kick his bad habits while the stress of everything has him craving relief that much more. He’s spiraling. Whether it’s down, up, or just kinda in place like a carousal only depends on the day. He lives his life in a circle and when MJ observes him, she feels an ache compressing her heart. She wants to be there for him, not leave him, and she has to remind herself that she has been. While he flitted all over the place―high or just high up, navigating the city rooftop-to-rooftop―she walked below him with an outstretched net. One eye was always on him. She’s been reliable, present, giving, and she can’t keep being those things alone. This will never be because she didn’t care. The truth is simple and the most awful realization she’s ever had: he was right when he said he doesn’t deserve her.

All her life, MJ’s felt like she’s done a good job of recognizing her own worth. Now she has to prove it. It feels like she’s walking up to a checkout and realizing she doesn’t have enough money on her; she never dreamed it would cost so much to put herself first.

“Peter.” She’s frustrated now, and hurt. She clenches around him to encourage him over the edge.

“Unnhhh!”

She’s trying to think of something else to say, filtering out all the ideas that are too blunt or cruel (she doesn’t want to say anything too sweet either), but Peter orgasms seconds after he made that noise of pleasure as he fought against it. When he climaxes, tightening his grip on her hand, he moans, “Love you, MJ,” which is the worst thing of all.

―

She can’t know. She puts distance between herself and anyone who might tell her how Peter’s doing. She almost changes schools until basically every person in her life lectures her not to. She’s scared enough to accept her own cowardice. She lives in the background as she hasn’t done for a while, though she steps forward slowly over time―months and years. She puts herself first. She’s valedictorian at the end of her four-year degree and considers lying about bronchitis every day up until convocation, when she gives a haphazard, heartfelt speech that makes her brother cheer riotously from the audience. Valedictorian. First again.

Then the years just pass like they do. MJ’s chronically underpaid before finding a company that values her, though the job isn’t what she really wants to be doing. After hours, she paints. Just for herself. She moves in with Louis and that’s not as bad an idea as it seems until the year they host a Halloween party and her brother (now 33) bumps into Cindy (now 28) for the first time since she was one of his sister’s dorky decathlon friends. Cindy shows up dressed as a vampire, fake fangs and all, and MJ is highly suspicious when she notices the fangs are missing after Cindy went to ‘help Louis add ice’ to the bathtub serving as their cooler for the night. Whatever. They’re married seven months later.

Life is so funny. That’s what MJ can’t communicate to her small circle of friends at their corner booth of the bar as they do their damnedest to get her shitfaced on her thirtieth birthday. She evades and redistributes drinks amongst them, but she can tell they think she’s drunk. She doesn’t normally talk this much or open up so willingly. But she’s thoughtful tonight, with one less decade left to live. She smiles to herself, looking down into the glass she keeps wiping condensation off. She knows how they look―peepers wide and dollish because alcohol makes three out of five of them into glassy-eyed babies with false lashes askew. “I used to know this guy…” MJ tells them and Cindy’s hand bumbles across the table to clasp reassuringly around her wrist.

She continues to smile. She doesn’t know why tonight’s the night he’s on her mind. The rings that sparkle on her friends’ fingers, maybe. Age. Or the way the love of the people around her calls back to another love, the only partner she’s bestowed that word on, though she’s dated since. Love, she tells her friends, unlike life, is not so funny. It’s earnest and needy. It’s the hand that holds yours and it’s the hand that comes up to slap yours away. Her friends decide she’s sad and begin talking over and across her before she can finish. Younger her would set them straight, but she’s neither a cynic nor a pedant on her birthday evening, so she lets them cart her out of the bar instead. They’re like a flurry of babysitters or lady’s maids and it’s totally ridiculous as she’s the most sober among them.

While they’re putting their foggy heads together to figure out the rideshare app on Cindy’s phone, MJ catches a red flare out of the corner of her eye. A cigarette, a smoker. Normally, she gives those a hard stare to encourage them to rethink their choices, but now, she snaps her mostly-clear head away. Unlikely, her brain tells her. Unlikely. She swallows and watches her friends, giggling and all trying to get a finger on the screen to wrest control away from the others. To be MJ’s hero and secure her ride home. With a shallow breath, she turns from them.

He’s already looking at her in a way that says he wasn’t completely sure until she turned.

Peter pushes away from the wall and the cigarette trapped between fingers that aren’t his. The other man looks mildly curious, then gets over it and averts his gaze, continuing to sprinkle ash on the sidewalk. Not that she’s perceiving him anymore.

“Happy birthday,” Peter says, eyes speaking so loud.

MJ self-consciously touches the distinguishing button the girls pinned to her dress before they came downtown, but he shakes his head.

“No,” he tells her. “I remember when it is.”

“Oh.”

“Mine’s―”

“August tenth.”

“Yeah.”

One of her friends tries to call her over and MJ jumps, glancing back at them. She sees Cindy watching her cautiously. Sees Cindy touch their friend’s arm and redirect her attention. MJ looks back to Peter. She looks at his hands and can’t see the scarring in this light. Can’t see a wedding band either, but with his superhuman side-hustle, it’s possible he just wouldn’t wear one for fear of losing it.

“Night off?” she asks. These should be prime swinging hours for Spider-Man.

“Nah, I was out there until half an hour ago.”

MJ peers at him more closely. He looks a little tired, but not wiped like he used to look when he’d show up late years earlier. She wonders if he’s learned to take better care of himself, if he’s had any major injuries.

“Do you work set hours now or did you have to stop for a hospital visit?” She’s joking without any lift to her words and spies Peter’s quick smile.

“No broken bones tonight,” he brags. “I got hungry. I grabbed some food right before this.”

She meets his eye and watches as he summons something from himself.

“You wanna go inside and get a birthday drink?” he offers, jerking a thumb towards the bar MJ and her friends just left.

Her smile is gradual and regretful without permitting room for him to persuade her.

“I can’t,” she says. “I have to get home.”

MJ puts out her hand to him and when Peter grips it, she steps slowly into him, bowing her neck to rest her chin over the shoulder of his jean jacket, which doesn’t smell like anything in particular. His free hand presses high on her back. It’s tentative, but when she doesn’t pull away, he cradles her, arm encircling her more protectively.

“It’s good to see you,” he murmurs.

Before she backs off, she tells him that she still walks the paths at Columbia some nights, in the glow of Butler Library.

“That’s funny,” Peter says, letting his arm slide down so MJ can draw back and look him in the eye. “Not funny funny, but, you know. So do I.”

more clichéd tropes and prompts

[tastingmellow]

A scandal with congress Chris Evans. The public thinks he cheating on his wife (poc) but him and his wife is just trying to keep things spicy between them so she cos plays a lot.

Ooooh, I don’t write for the actual people so I’m gonna use Steve, hope that’s alright! But I love this idea!

———————

Bucky’s nose flared at the article that was sent to his office. “What the fuck...” he grunted out while he stomped his way towards Steve’s office. Steve was currently looking over a bill that would make it easier for law enforcement to be prosecuted for a crime. Bucky knew Steve probably wanted as much peace as possible but this was some shit that needed to be addressed, immediately.

As Bucky neared Steve’s office he saw you coming into view. The quick clacking of your stilettos slowed as you came to a stop, noticing Bucky’s face being a little too bright red. “You alright there, Buck?” You ask, your hand coming to rest on his forehead. Bucky sighed and pulled you into a hug, tightly squeezing you.

Your eyebrows furrowed and you awkwardly patted his back as he released you. You were just as close to Bucky as Steve was. When you and Steve had met through college it had been through Bucky whom you’d met through a frat party when he collapsed on your shoulder on the couch and wouldn’t budge until morning. It wasn’t a stretch to say you were nearly as much as a best friend as Steve. Which is why he was so angry.

“Come with me, Y/N. You really need to hear this.” He spoke as he tugged open the large oak doors to Steve’s office. Just as you suspected, Steve sat in his chair looking over multiple documents while soft jazz played in the background. You followed Bucky inside, still very confused.

“Steve, is there something you want to tell your wife.” Bucky spoke, anger and tension evident in his posture. Your eyes flickered to Steve as he looked up at you. His eyes raked over your attire before meeting your eyes again. “Love the new dress, honey.” You smiled and walked over, kissing his cheek.

“Thank you, baby.” You giggles as he pulled you into his lap. You crossed your legs as Bucky huffed, adjusting his stance before slamming the magazine down in front of you and your husband. Your head tilted to the side as you picked up the article. In big, bold letters it read “Congressman Rogers Spotted with Mystery Woman Outside of Ritz Carlton.”

You blinked at the title, your eyes falling to said mystery woman. You squinted slightly before bursting out into laughter. You showed Steve the article and he laughed loudly. Bucky stared at the two of you, mouth agape.

“Oh, Bucky. Sit.” You said, still giggling at the article.

—————————

“Congressman Rogers! Would you care to comment on the recent photos of you spotted with a woman that’s clearly not your wife?” A reporter called out amongst the chaos of flashing cameras and others calling out his name. Steve glanced up while the crowd fell quiet. You stood off to the side, a smirk on your lips as you tried your hardest not to giggle.

Steve playfully glared at you before looking back to the reporter. “I would like to. Let the record show that I’ve never and will never step out of my marriage and cheat on my wife. I’m happily married to the love of my life, a wonderful woman who loves me as Steve. Not as Congressman Rogers. I will never disrespect her or our bond. She is everything I have ever wished for and more.”

Your eyes softened as you stared at the man in front of you. His hand slowly extended towards you and you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his. He placed a gentle peck on your lips then your forehead before turning back to the crowd.

“If that is true Congressman, what explanation do you have for those photos?” Inquired another reporter.

“Congressman Rogers and I enjoy keeping things fresh in our marriage. We take risks and we try new things.” You spoke confidently as the crowd murmured.

“Mrs. Rogers, are you implying that you and your husband let others into your...bedroom?” A young man spoke out, tentative but blunt.

“No, I’m simply telling you that we try new things. Sometimes those things include giving into your fantasies and being someone else. However, please do not let that distract you from the crisis that is black people dying or being abused by those with a badge. Congressman Rogers and I have been working to bring justice to the most recent victims of police brutality while also shedding light on the police reform that needs to happen. Do not let gossip distract you from the true issue in this country. Racism and the abuse of power.” You smile to yourself as the crowd becomes restless, people throwing out questions and the flashing of cameras becoming more rapid. “I think my wife said it beautifully, this concludes our conference. Enjoy your evenings and thank you for your time.” Steve slowly ushered you down the steps of the podium and back into your home.

“I think that went rather well, don’t you?” You giggles to yourself while Steve pulled you closer to him. “I do, think that gave them enough. Probably gonna be all over Twitter before the day’s out.” Steve spoke and you chuckled as you made your way into your room.

——————

Sure enough, about 2 hours later “Congressman Rogers” was trending on Twitter. Clips of the press conference, specifically you addressing the pictures, spread like wildfire. You were on gossip websites within the hour, news outlets were covering it.

People were losing their minds over it.

“MinnieMarsh1: Not only did Y/N Rogers tell y’all she a freak, she told y’all to focus. No choice but to Stan. Iconic.”

“therogersstanaccount: Love how Rogers let his wife address the photos. Also, I told y’all they were ‘adventurous’.”

“queendom34: I bet money Y/N is the top. You can’t convince me otherwise.”

“smokingtree: She’s a woke freak and he’s standing with her to fight racism. The only political couple I fw.”

You glanced at the tv In front of you, chuckling at the clip of you speaking on you and your husband’s endeavors. Strong arms wrapped around your chest and you sighed, melting into him. “Well, looks like you started something serious.”

You giggled, biting your lip as Steve grabbed your chin, slowly turning your head before placing a gentle kiss on your lips. You sighed gently as his tongue slid over your bottom lip. Your lips parted, allowing him in as you deepened the kiss. Steve slowly pulled away as you bit your lip. “You’re a demon, I swear.”

You laughed at his comment. “Well, in that case...trying leather tonight?” Steve groaned, biting his lip as you stood from the couch, dragging him back to your shared room for a long, loud night.

[qworflordking]

Vampires vs. Werewolves: The Battle for Supremacy

“Chrollo! Chrollo!” I ran to the kitchen where he sat sorting my beans. Wait, why wasn’t he sorting them based on color? Oh well. No time for that nonsense. 

“Yes, my soulmate? Is it time for our worldbuilding session already? Are the Google Docs open?”

“No! This is just for the Public Journal. I need to ask you a question. Are you a vampire or a werewolf?”

“Excuse me?” 

“See, I was thinking werewolf, on account of cannibalism and pack structure, but while I normally write off vampires as necrophilia I realized there’s tons of great cannibalism I’ve been missing out on! You can be a vampire, Chrollo. Be a vampire! Unless you wanna stick with the cannibalism take, I mean -”

“Oh my god,” Chrollo said. “Back up, Fern. Slow down a bit. Don’t start doing that thing you do on that other strange blue website where you simply start yelling about things no one else knows but you. Is this about your cannibalism vs. necrophilia dichotomy again?”

Right. He was right! My friendly reminder to not get too wild and slow down. No need to thank him, I sent a brief prayer of gratitude using our special INFJ hivemind. “It’s basically two different takes on presenting gore in horror,” I said. “Cannibalism is all about the human reduced to chattel. An animal stripped of its human identity, reduced to its pure raw parts and consumed. Also, it is really hot to see the organs flopping around. Hannibal wasn’t even cannibalistic enough for me, but I appreciated its vibes.”

“Let me explain to the Tumblrs for a second: this nonsense all started when he got put on a blocklist for crimes of necrophilia he swears he never committed, the yaois just don’t understand the genre of horror,” Chrollo interrupted. “It wasn’t even for the fandom he posted that stuff in. Frankly, I find Fern disgusting.”

“Necrophilia,” I continued, without missing a beat, “on the other hand, is about the preservation of the human after death. Your standard undead Thomas Ligotti type of shit. The human is still here, but it has passed the threshold of death. Since you don’t hold any fear of that, I typically ascribe you more cannibalistic traits.”

“Oh, I got it.” Chrollo understood immediately. Ritual endocannibalism is an important part of the faith of Meteor City. While there is some concept of reincarnation, it isn’t inherently necrophilic since they believe they are reborn into a greater collective rather than an individual form. Most concept of reincarnation in our world are actually quite blasphemous to them! They seek not enlightenment, but to disappear and be utterly consumed (hah, sometimes literally) by their people. “Hm, so basically, what you’re saying is, vampires do have cannibalistic tendencies? Therefore, I could very well be a vampire?”

“Think about it! Vampires can like, drain someone entirely of their blood. Crack the vessel and partake of the waters of life.”

“Yeah,” Chrollo said. “I think I’m beginning to understand. I already drink blood, so we can work with this. But Fern, I need to tell you something. This might be very hard for you to take. I’ll need you to sit down and brace yourself for this.”

“Okay?” 

And then, the worst happened.

My sweet, perfect, fluffly little tulpa, the first anime boy I’ve ever been able to completely Waifu, the star of my upcoming traditional /a/-style Valentines Day post, my creative muse, my darling, the moon to my stars and the bloody organ to my lips, stood up from his pile of beans and looked me dead in the eye and told me: “Vampires and werewolves aren’t real.”

Son of a bitch. 

I’m gonna have to tell him someday.