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inkykeiji · 4 years ago

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all she want is payback for the way i always play that shit

characters: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaah yikes, sorry it’s so long???? the first part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you wont make it back; touya + reader have been fooling around for just under six months, our innocent lil good girl reader is the teeniest, tiniest bit more firm now. jealousy makes people crazy, yk how it is. touya is marginally softer for like, a second or two. | title credit: save that shit by lil peep

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), public sex, cheating, drug use, generally toxic relationship (possessiveness, jealousy), size difference, dubcon if u squint i guess???, the tiniest bit of cumplay

words: 11k

synopsis:

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

In early February, your parents finally tie the knot.

“Now it’ll be official,” you remember Touya whispering in your ear, the night before. “I will officially be your niichan,”

The wedding is gorgeous—elegant and classy, just like Rei herself. A wintertime wedding is so beautiful, you tell Rei as she’s busy being fawned over by several stylists, adding the finishing touches to her hair and make up. She’s absolutely stunning, a lacy ivory dress clinging delicately to her small frame, accentuating her natural curves. It glitters gracefully in the pale sunshine streaming through the large bay windows, sparkling any time she moves.

Touya doesn’t sit with his family. Their eyes sear into your flesh, although Touya keeps his stare pointedly in front of him, glaring at the alter. But you can feel their gaze on your skin, can feel their eyes travelling up your body slowly, critically, sending shivers skittering up your spine. It makes your skin crawl, both of your hands curling around Touya’s, a tangled knot of fingers resting in your lap.

You’ve never seen his other siblings before. Rei talks about them sometimes, but never when Touya’s around. You know that once every month, the three of them join Rei and your father for a family dinner, but you’ve never had the pleasure of attending.

You’d missed the first family dinner by fluke, held up late at the library studying for midterms. But every occasion after that, Touya had made absolute certain that you weren’t there. You hadn’t thought much of it the first time it happened, too enraptured and tangled up in Touya to care, grinding desperately against him in the backseat of his car as his tongue forced its way down your throat. But then it happens again, and again, and it becomes too coincidental to ignore.

“Why do we never go to those dinners with your siblings?” you’d tried to bring it up subtly the third time you guys skipped out on dinner, heart thudding in your chest and gentle voice quivering slightly.

Touya sighed, raking a hand through his hair roughly, eyes not straying from the road ahead of him. It’s complicated, he told you in a quiet voice, and you were so startled, so shocked by his sheer, unadulterated honesty, that you couldn’t find your voice, rendering you incapable of replying. Touya didn’t bother looking over at you, didn’t need to, to know that his response surprised you.

The other Todoroki’s are all strikingly beautiful—not that you expected any less. The one with pure snow-white hair and gunmetal grey eyes captures your attention the most, looking as if he’s around your age. He smirks at you when he catches your stare, giving you a small, polite nod—though you can see that tiny glint of mischief in his eye, the same glint you’ve seen in Touya’s a thousand times before. Choking on a surprised gasp, you rapidly avert your gaze, eyes snapping back to the pile of hands in your lap.

Touya notices, of course, because Touya notices everything. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand squeezes yours tightly, just a little too tight to be comforting, as his eyes dart to his siblings across the aisle, glare losing most of its heat when it meets his brother’s stare.

Tense shoulders relax, falling slowly with the measured breath he exhales as he turns back to glower at the alter.

You know other guests are staring at you—you can feel their eyes, too. You know the pair of you look more like a couple than siblings, know you should both probably put some distance between yourselves, at least try to keep some semblance of normalcy, some masquerade of a typical sibling relationship.

But Touya’s knee is bouncing, and he seems…unsure. It’s unsettling, really—Touya always seems so confident in himself—and you can almost feel the tense anxiety rolling off of him in heavy waves. So instead of scooting away from him or untangling your hands, your other palm finds a spot high on the thigh pressed tightly against yours, small fingers beginning to knead the flesh.

Sapphire eyes find yours, and he gazes down at you with an odd sense of fondness in his stare, the tiniest smile ghosting across his lips. It makes your chest swell with pride, makes you want to grab his face and crash his lips against yours, forces a tingling warmth to spread through your veins. It shouldn’t, but it does.

He barely lets you leave his side that day, keeps you glued to his body, an arm wrapped tightly around you. He’s a constant, looming, protective presence, glaring at anyone who dares to look at you for more than a second.

“Touya-nii,” you laugh a little while leaving the ceremony, watching as one of your cousins immediately averts their eyes. “That’s my cousin,”

“And I’m your brother,” he says flatly.

You suppose he has a point.

The two of you find your parents and the rest of Touya’s siblings—yours too, now, you guess—standing around a limousine, beckoning you over.

Rei begins to explain their protocol for pictures—and yes, you both have to come—but you aren’t listening. Their eyes are on you again, you can feel them, gliding up your skin, taking sharp note of the way Touya has you pressed flush against him, the way your arm is wrapped firmly around his waist, little fingers twisting in his suit jacket as your heart begins to speed up.

Touya can feel it, too, and he looks down at you in concern, his thumb caressing your shoulder, before he meets the stares of his siblings with a glare so ferocious you’re surprised it doesn’t turn them to ash on the spot.

They offer for you to ride in the limo with the rest of them, Touya cutting them off as he curtly declines their offer—no thanks, you’ll take his car instead and meet them there.

Rei tries to reason with him, but the pointed look he gives her causes her to trail off mid-sentence, holding his eyes for a moment before a sad smile settles on her face, nodding once.

✰ ✰ ✰

Shinjuku Gyoen is nothing short of stunning in the wintertime. It had snowed this morning, around six AM, blanketing the garden in a soft layer of pure white powder, glittering delicately in the early afternoon sun.

Wide eyes drink it in as your face presses against the glass of the car window, your breath fogging it up. There’s something so whimsical and dreamy about snow, you think, about the way it softens even the sharpest of edges, the way it makes everything look prettier.

“You’re so cute,” Touya remarks, watching you from the corner of his eye, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“I’ve never been here during the winter,” you murmur in response, still captivated by the grounds.

Rei and your father are immediately whisked away by several photographers to do their photos alone, leaving the rest of you to litter the parking lot.

But the moment they disappear from view, Touya’s got you trapped between his body and the cold metal of his car, lips moving against the shell of your ear as he whispers filthy promises, things that force soft whimpers from your lips, things that make your legs feel like they’re about to give out as heat pools deep in your belly. He knows, of course, smirks and teases you even more when he feels you squeeze your thighs together helplessly, tells you you’re his perfect little slut and vows to reward you for being so good as soon as he can.

His other siblings are staring, you try to tell him in a quiet, broken whine.

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, pushing his hips harder into yours, practically grinding his hard cock against your waist. “Let ‘em. I bet they’d love to watch me fuck you stupid, huh? What do you think about that, baby? You want them to watch?”

A pathetic sound hitches in your throat and you bury your burning face in his neck, a low, wicked laugh rumbling deep in his chest.

He doesn’t let up on the absolute filth spilling from his mouth until he can hear your father hollering in the distance, calling for the kids and waving the five of you over.

✰ ✰ ✰

Pictures take too long, and Touya’s antsy by the end of it, picking anxiously at his cuticles as his knee bounces. He’s hauling you out of there the moment you’re officially released, a strong hand wrapped tightly around your wrist. You can hear his mother calling for him, and you look back at her desperately, mirroring her worried frown.

He doesn’t even wait for the rest of them to pile into the limo and leave, immediately rooting through his pockets the moment he’s in the safety of his own car, pulling out a little baggie of white powder. He can feel your wide eyes on him, watching his every movement, but his hands are beginning to shake, and panic is starting to rip viciously at his throat, and he just needs it all to fucking stop.

“There’s no way I could endure this shit sober,” he explains as he searches for something in the powder, cursing when he doesn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for. Frantic cobalt eyes dart around the car, landing on the glovebox, and he leans over you, hastily pulling a reflective object from the compartment.

It’s a mirror.

A tiny, circular mirror that he uses to tap out a line, fingers unsteady and breathing slightly laboured. The gentle sounds of his platinum credit card colliding with glass echo throughout the car.

Hovering over the small mirror, he pauses, a finger pressed to his nostril. He almost wants to tell you to look away, almost does, but he knows you’d disobey either way.

He doesn’t like doing drugs in front of you—you’re too precious, too pure and innocent and he doesn’t want you around anything that could potentially tarnish that. But he also can’t stand that look you get in your eyes, almost like you’re scared of him, on the rare occasions that you have caught him.

He nearly snaps at you when you quietly ask if you can help, if he needs someone to hold the mirror steady, currently balancing on the center console compartment, but you’ve got that goddamn look in your eyes, wide and terrified.

No, he says sternly, telling you that he doesn’t even want you near this stuff, much less touching it.

But cocaine highs don’t last long, he explains to you when you ask about the little round white pills clacking together in his pocket. You’re positive he shouldn’t be mixing drugs like that, positive that your apprehension and disapproval are written clearly across your face, based on the simmering look he shoots at you.

Don’t fucking start.

So you don’t. You swallow down your worries and sit nice and pretty and good for him, just like you’re supposed to.

✰ ✰ ✰

He only leaves you twice, briefly, throughout the entire night. The first is almost immediately after you enter the reception venue.

Depositing you near the head table, he tells you to stay put before he hurries away. You know where he’s going, what he’s about to do, an odd ache taking root and throbbing deep in your chest.

He’d scold you if he could see you, able to read your expressions like a fucking book, would tell you not to cry for him—he doesn’t need your pity. The words cut through your mind in a snarl, and you work hard to rid your face of the frown marring it; he’s already having such a difficult time today, and the last thing you want to do is upset him more with your concern.

Distraction, you need a distraction. Wide eyes scan the extravagant ballroom, all shimmering golds and beiges and crystal chandeliers, searching in a frenzy for something—anything—to rid your mind of images of pretty boys with inky hair and white, white, white.

You swear you hear your name, then Touya’s, hissed out in a sharp whisper, and your gaze lands on a small group of people not too far from you, with snow and fire for hair—the other Todoroki’s, huddled in a loose circle.

The air around you just feels off, you catch his sister saying in a low but frantic voice, eyes darting between her brothers. She sounds worried about you, you think, and it makes you feel weird. She shouldn’t be worried about you; Touya takes fantastic care of you. It isn’t any of their business anyway, you can almost hear Touya sneering in your head, and he’s right. You know he’s right.

Her brothers don’t look too keen on discussing the subject, especially the youngest, who keeps pulling at his collar and fidgeting with his cufflinks.

“Well, why don’t you go and tell her that yourself,” the one with white hair says, grey eyes connecting with yours. She whirls around quickly, mouth snapping shut when she finds your face. Her lips morph into a smile half a second later, and she waves you over.

You avert your eyes, hands tangling nervously in front of you. No. You shouldn’t go. You really, really shouldn’t go. Touya told you to stay put, and you can’t bear to think—don’t even want to consider—how furious he’d be if he found that not only had you moved, but you had moved to talk to his siblings.

You must spend too much time deliberating, though, looking back up to find them advancing towards you, only a few feet away. Your heart’s pounding almost violently in your chest, breath accelerating with each step closer.

“Hi,” she’s saying warmly as she reaches you, causing you to subconsciously take a step back. “We haven’t had a chance to meet. I’m Fuyumi,”

You want to say your name, to introduce yourself politely, but your lips are sealed shut, only able to manage a small sound of affirmation.

“Shouto,” the youngest says, cold heterochromatic eyes glancing at you for a moment before looking away. “M’Shouto,”

“I’m Natsuo,” the man with white hair smirks down at you, eyes burning into yours.

Some of your anxiety melts away as you meet his stone eyes; there’s something comforting about the way that he has Touya’s smirk, Touya’s mischievous glint to his gaze, Touya’s playful lilt to his voice.

You feel like you can breathe again when you’re looking at Natsuo, so you keep your stare directed at him as you stutter out your name, gazing up at him through your lashes.

“You always miss the family dinners,” Natsuo accuses with a knowing smirk, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Y’know, eventually, our parents are going to catch on,”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins, chills crawling on your skin. He knows?

And he says it so nonchalantly, so casually, as if he’s discussing the weather and not the fact that Touya deliberately kidnaps you to fuck your brains out in his car every single time they gather for one of those dinners. Fuyumi and Shouto look over at him with brows furrowed in confusion, but you choke on a gasp, coughing a little and nodding.

Touya returns then, saving you from having to respond.

“What’s wrong?” he’s asking immediately as his hands find purchase on your hips, pulling you back against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you lean on him, heart finally beginning to slow.

“N-Nothing, niichan,” you wrap your arms around his, hugging them to your chest, and he squeezes you in reassurance.

“You sure, baby?” Sapphire eyes search your face as you tilt your head back to look up at him, scanning for any sign of distress.

He shouldn’t be using that pet name here, not in front of his blood siblings, not loud enough that any of the passing guests can hear him with ease.

He shouldn’t.

But that doesn’t stop it from sending sparks skittering up your spine, heat beginning to coil in your tummy. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said you didn’t get some sort of twisted satisfaction at the loud gasp that leaves Fuyumi’s chest, or the sharp intake of breath Shouto chokes on, coughing as he tries to cover it up, all at the drop of that one, simple, four letter word.

Touya loves it, too—you can see it in the way his smirk grows into a full smile, a grin big enough to crinkle the edges of his eyes, can see it in his gaze, in the way his cobalt eyes almost sparkle at their reactions.

Your gaze flits back to the three people standing in front of you—your step-siblings, your mind corrects—eyes gliding over their faces slowly.

Natsuo looks thoroughly entertained, a stupid little grin stretched across his face, amusement dancing in his eyes. Fuyumi and Shouto, on the other hand, look thoroughly uncomfortable, shifting a little in place, their faces screwed up with poorly masked disgust.

Touya’s smile drops the moment he looks back at them. Azure eyes scan the faces of his siblings cautiously, giving Natsuo one quick, sharp nod of acknowledgment before his gaze lands on the youngest. And the glare Touya gives him is nothing short of terrifying, practically snarling at the boy, a rough, dangerous sound that gets lodged deep in his chest. It makes the boy cower away, shuffling ever-so-slightly closer to his sister, who shakily glares back.

Lips tugging down into a frown, you look up at Touya, forehead creasing in confusion. He’s still glowering at the kid, eyes narrowing just a little before he huffs and turns away, leaving without speaking a word to any of them.

“Don’t you ever talk to them again,” he’s murmuring as he whisks you away, something malicious in his voice. “You’re my little sister,”

You nod obediently, promising him that you won’t, reassuring him that you didn’t even want to as you relay the entire situation. But he can see it, the curiosity swirling in your eyes, a question dancing on your tongue.

Because although Touya appears to be on seriously awful terms with his younger siblings, Natsuo seems to be some sort of exception. From the interaction you just witnessed, you’re able to deduce that something, some line of communication, must be present between Touya and Natsuo, evident in their shared looks and swift, discreet nods.

He sighs, irritation coating his voice as he demands that you spit it out already.

It makes you jump a little, but the words come tumbling out of your mouth the moment he commands them to, powerless to disobey a direct order.

“Does that include Natsuo?”

Your voice is so tiny that he barely hears you, brows knitting together. There’s an odd look in his eye as he observes you—something that isn’t quite jealousy, but close to it—nose twitching a little as he considers.

“Alone, yes,” he finally says. “With me around it’s fine, I guess. But you are not to speak to him alone, do you hear me?”

Yes, niichan, of course, niichan.

✰ ✰ ✰

Dinner is absolute torture, and the two of you can barely keep your hands off of each other. It starts innocently enough, discreetly enough, with palms on thighs, fingers brushing down arms, hands interlaced under the table. But the need to touch grows, and grows, and grows, these simple actions too teasing to satisfy that dull burning in the pit of your stomach, flaring a little more each time his fingers press into your thigh, or his thumb runs across your knuckles.

And you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t start acting up now, not while the two of you are seated at the head table, looking out amongst the guests—a few months ago, you would’ve never thought to do something so indecent, so dangerous, in such a public place. But you just can’t help it, you’re getting restless now, brain going hazy with thoughts of him as your fingers trail up his thigh and ghost over his lap.

“Getting bold, are we, princess?” his hand catches your wrist, holding your palm in place and grinding up into it. His voice is low, head tipped towards you, sapphire eyes dark. A breath catches in your throat and he smirks, an evil little quirk up of his lips, raising an eyebrow at you in expectation.

You’re lucky they’re seated in a straight line instead of a circle, he murmurs in your ear, Natsuo snickering beside him. “Imagine what your daddy would think if he could see you, acting like such a desperate little slut in front of all of these people,”

A soft, broken moan escapes your lips without your permission, thighs squeezing together in an attempt to combat the heat pooling in your panties. Someone down the line of the table says something, but you’re too enticed by Touya to hear them, your father writing off whatever the remark was with an easygoing smile.

“Oh, those two are always in their own little world,” you hear him dismiss, voice sounding muddled and distant.

“Be a good girl and sit still,” Touya growls in your ear, grip tightening to near bruising.

“But niichan,” you whine, much too loud, gazing at him with glazed, blown eyes. “Niichan,” you repeat, leaning forward to whimper in his ear, fingers flexing around the bulge in his trousers. “N-Need you,”

“If you can’t behave, niichan won’t let you cum later,” he breathes, though his voice is stern, heavy with the weight of the threat.

A pout forms on your lips as he releases your wrist, firmly placing your hand back in your lap and holding it there for a moment, a silent warning for your wandering fingers to stay put.

But he’s up and out of his chair the instant dinner’s over, moving so quick his seat wobbles a little as he grasps your hand tightly in his, practically yanking you up and dragging you along behind him.

The best thing about these fancy venues, he’s telling you as he strides through the halls, cerulean eyes searching for something, is that they have single person washrooms.

The granite is cold on your cheek as Touya shoves you up against the wall, head bouncing a little as it whacks against it.

You whine and he laughs, a cruel, piercing sound echoing off the walls.

“Aw, baby,” he coos contemptuously. “Did that hurt?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut against the throbbing pain radiating through your cheek.

“Poor little thing,” he hisses, lips against your ear as his hands begin to bunch up your dress, gliding over your silk covered thighs, hands fisting in the material as he goes. Pushing it up around your waist, he leans back, hands travelling over the globes of your ass and kneading hard enough to make you cry out.

“You’re a slutty little brat, y’know that?”

Deft fingers hook in the waistband of your thong, all delicate baby pink lace, Touya snickering about how much of a whore you are, wearing such skimpy, slutty panties, as he lets the elastic snap back against your skin.

A little shocked gasp escapes your lips as he begins tugging the dainty fabric down your thighs—you had expected him to merely push them to the side, but he forces you to take them off entirely, stuffing the soaked material in his pocket.

“You think you can just tease niichan like that and get away with it?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head against the wall.

“No,” he murmurs, hips grinding against your bare ass. “Good girls don’t tease their niichans without delivering, do they?”

“No,”

“On your knees,” he orders, spinning you around and stepping back just enough to allow you to sink to the floor. “Get my cock wet,”

Little fingers work quickly, eager to obey, as they undo his pants, practically salivating as you free his cock from its confines.

“Your cock’s so pretty, niichan,” you breathe, eyes glittering with pure, potent desire as you take it in your hands, tongue darting out to trace the prominent veins.

“No teasing,” he growls, a hand knotting in your hair. “I wanna see you choke on it,”

You nod as best you can, mouth instantly falling open, reduced to nothing more than a wet, warm little hole for him to stuff.

And then he’s shoving it down your throat, the hand fisted in your hair holding your head still, and you gag around it almost immediately, working to force you jaw open even more.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he rasps out, voice echoing off the walls of the washroom.

The praise has your heart soaring, has you sucking hard around him as he thrusts into your mouth, coating his cock in thick saliva and desperate to hear more. It’s intoxicating, every quiet moan you manage to pull from him, every breathless good girl that falls from his lips, makes you feel lightheaded and heady and dizzy for more.

His hips pump a few more times before he’s pulling you off his cock completely, devious smirk forming on his lips at your whine of protest, and commanding you to go bend over the sink.

Calloused hands are bunching your dress up around your waist again, toe of his shoe kicking at your inner ankles and forcing your feet further apart.

He doesn’t bother stretching you out, not because he doesn’t have the time to, but because he simply doesn’t want to. It’s truly one of his favourite things, to see tears fill your eyes while his cock stretches your cute little pussy, and he knows you love it too, don’t you?

Yes, niichan, of course you do.

His cock glistens with your saliva, sufficiently wet that it slides in easily enough, with minimal pain for him. And the soft groan he lets out as he watches your little hole struggle to take him, paired with your sweet little whimpers of his name, is nothing short of gorgeous.

It has your pussy fluttering around him, pulling a breathless chuckle from his lips as he fills you to the hilt, hips pressed against your ass.

And then doesn’t fucking move.

Your brow furrows, eyes meeting his in the mirror. You try to fuck yourself back on him, but he’s too quick, hands stilling your hips immediately and tutting in disapproval.

“Niichan,” you whimper. “N-Niichan, please fuck me,”

“Do you think you deserve it?” he’s asking, tongue tracing the shell of your ear as he holds your gaze through the mirror. “After the way you behaved at dinner?”

“M’sorry,” you whine, wiggling back against him, his fingers digging into your flesh as he stops them, grip tightening. “Couldn’t help it, wanted you so bad,”

“Of course you couldn’t,” he smirks, hips starting to move slowly, teasingly, stilling after only three simple thrusts. A hand reaches down and finds your clit, forcing a gasp from you as his thumb brushes over it, back and forth, back and forth, featherlight grazes that have you arching back into him, trying to press further into his touch.

“Think you can cum just like this for me?” he asks, beginning to thrust shallowly again, just enough to have the head of his cock dragging against that spot buried deep inside your cunt, that spot he knows so well, then nudging your cervix. “Hmm?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, breath starting to come out in short little pants.

“Then do it,” he demands in a whisper, eyes still holding yours. “Show niichan how pretty you look, cumming all over his cock,”

And the combination of his deep, rough voice rumbling against your back as praises tumble from his lips, his thumb and cock, and the fact that anyone within a fifteen foot radius of this washroom could probably hear you, has you cumming within minutes with a sharp cry of Touya-nii!

Touya laughs at how pathetically quickly you came, about how easy it is to have you creaming on his cock, heat seeping into your cheeks as you try to look away.

“My turn,” he breathes, yanking your head back up by your hair, fingers finding root in the intricate updo that has begun to fall apart. “And I wanna see your face as I fuck you, so keep your damn head up,”

And then he’s slamming into you with enough vigour to propel you forward, face pressed against the mirror, toes barely touching the ground. Every moan and whimper and mewl he forces from your throat fogs up the glass, leaving tiny glistening drops of condensation as they fade.

You’re trying so hard to keep your eyes open, to watch him as he fucks you, because he always looks so damn pretty.

He’s stupidly attractive, with his shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, first few buttons undone and collar popped, revealing his sharp collarbone, smooth ivory skin stretched taut across it. Ebony hair clings to his forehead and neck delicately, coated in sweat, and he’s emitting the most glorious noises, heavy pants and little broken whines, peppered with praise.

Nails bite into your flesh as he holds you in place, hips snapping relentlessly, your fingers curling around the porcelain sink.

“You want niichan’s cum?” he growls in your ear, eyes burning into yours. You whimper in response, nodding against the mirror. “Yeah? Then fucking beg for it.”

Pleads are spilling from your lips immediately, nothing but senseless babbling as he pounds into you.

“Please, niichan, please, need it, your cum, stuff me with your cum,”

“That’s it,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “I want every single person in this godforsaken hall to hear you, I want every single person to know how much of—” he cuts himself off with a shuddery curse. “—How much of a slut my baby sister is,”

“Pretty please,” you whine out the words, eyes rolling back in your head. “Fill me up with your cum, niichan, I-I want it,”

His hips still just as your cunt clenches around him, cockhead pressed tightly against your cervix as he fills you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

He pulls out a few moments later, and you uncurl your fingers from around the rim of the sink, wincing at your appearance; lips bitten raw, hair beginning to fall from it’s elegant style, body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

You look back at him to find him already staring at you, expectantly, impatiently, hands jittery as he quirks his head towards the door.

“We can’t leave together,” he says, as if it’s obvious, even though you stumbled into the washroom together twenty minutes ago.

He needs more.

You nod, slow and dumb, staggering a little on your trembling legs. Grasping the doorknob you pause, turning to look at him again.

“What?” he asks as he searches through his pockets, not bothering to glance at you. He can feel your eyes on him.

“Um...” you shift nervously from foot to foot, lip caught between your teeth.

He looks over at you sharply, brows rising as if to ask why are you still here?

“M-My panties, niichan,”

Oh.

A wicked smirk spreads across his face, eyes twinkling, brows relaxing.

“What about them?”

“Well, I—I can’t return to the reception without them,”

“Oh, and why not?”

You pause, blinking a few times, at a loss for words. Why not? Because you can feel his cum beginning to trickle out of you, mixing with your juices and dribbling down your inner thigh?

“Exactly,” he says, when you take too long to reply. “Now be a good little girl and go. I’ll be out soon,”

✰ ✰ ✰

You don’t go back into the ballroom, terrified that you’ll be ambushed by his—your—siblings again. Collapsing in one of the plush chairs, you cross your quivering legs tightly in a desperate attempt to keep the cum oozing out of you from getting on your dress.

People are looking again, probably think you’re drunk based on the way you teetered over to the seat, or the way your hair’s begun to come undone from it’s intricate updo, wispy strands framing your face.

He returns from the washroom only a few minutes later, eyes finding you immediately. There’s a stupid, smug smirk on his face, thinks it’s so cute that he fucked you so good you can’t walk, can’t even get up, that you need your niichan to help you.

A pout forms on your lips, eyebrows furrowing. “Not funny,”

“Very funny,” he chuckles as his hands snake under your armpits, hauling you to your feet. You stumble a little, bumping into him and he laughs again, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and propping you up against him.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,”

“Oh, niichan,” you murmur and he pauses, glancing over at you. You reach up, your thumb swiping across his nose to collect excess white powder.

“Thanks,” he breathes, winking at you. You hum noncommittally, about to rub your thumb across his white dress shirt to clean it when he catches your hand, bringing your thumb to his lips and licking it instead.

It isn’t discreet. It’s slow and deliberate, tongue sticking out of his mouth, flattening it against your thumb and dragging it up, from base to tip. You’re sure someone saw that, but you can’t be bothered to care, not when another bout of intense heat rushes to your core, forcing you to squeeze your legs together, trying in vain to keep Touya’s cum from seeping out, from your juices traveling down your leg. A soft whimper leaves your lips, breathing beginning to accelerate as your eyes bore into his, now half-lidded and dark. He holds your gaze for a moment before something snaps.

“We need to go,” he says, voice firm with no room for negotiation. “Now.”

And, God, his voice is rough and raw and fucking dripping with desire. It’s got you nodding before he’s even finished speaking, a flock of butterflies invading your stomach at the downright sinful grin he gives you in response. Such a good girl for him.

Despite the fact that you’ve barely recovered from your previous orgasm, you nearly moan at his look alone, the urge to kiss him burning through your veins and alighting your entire body in direct juxtaposition to the shivers his eyes just sent rippling across your skin. The insatiable need overwhelms your senses, and it’s dangerous. It’s dangerous, how captivated he has you, entirely wrapped around his slim finger and hanging on his every word, how you’re positive that, in that moment, you’d do anything he asked.

You wobble awkwardly in your heels, legs still shaking and having trouble keeping up with Touya’s swift pace. You’re about to ask him to slow down just a little so you don’t break an ankle, when you bump into your father.

Who just so happens to provide you with the perfect excuse to leave early. You can practically see the gears clicking into place in Touya’s mind, sapphire eyes glittering as a sinister smirk spreads across his face.

Your father’s eyes widen as he observes your appearance, strands of hair sticking to your clammy face and eyes half-lidded, chapped lips beginning to crack, leaning heavily against Touya and seemingly too weak to stand on your own.

“Hi dad,” you greet hoarsely, wincing a little at how grating your voice sounds.

He frowns immediately. “Jesus, sweetheart, are you feeling alright? You look…” he trails off, forehead wrinkling with worry.

“Oh, she’s not feeling too good,” Touya says softly, smoothly, just the right amount of concern and compassion in his tone.

“Oh no,” your father breathes, frown deepening. “That’s terrible,” he clicks his tongue with a shake of his head. “Do you think you’ll be able to tough out the rest of the reception?”

You begin to croak out an answer, but Touya speaks over you.

“She’s burning up, sir,” he informs him, and it isn’t a lie—not exactly, anyway. Technically, if your father were to feel your forehead, your body temperature would be above average, a result of Touya fucking the absolute life out of you a mere ten minutes ago.

Touya looks down at you with painfully sympathetic eyes, but you can still see that little glint of mischief, buried under all of that artificial benevolence.

“Maybe I should take her home?” Touya muses, looking back at your father, mimicking his anxiety effortlessly.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “I think that’s the best thing to do,” his eyes dart to yours. “You really don’t look well,”

Oh, you’re sure you don’t. Resting a little more against Touya, you play up the symptoms a bit, whimpering quietly as little fingers twist in his shirt, nuzzling your face against his side. A soft noise of endearment sounds at the back of his throat, large hands readjusting your body to support you better.

Another whimper falls from your lips, but this time it isn’t from pretending you’re ill. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, slimy and cool as it drips down your inner thigh, and a sick thrill shoots through your body, abused cunt throbbing greedily.

Rei comes up behind your father then, wrapping her arms around his midsection and resting her chin on his shoulder, eyes flitting between the two of you carefully.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I’m gonna bring this little princess home,” Touya explains, nodding his head at you in indication as he speaks. “She isn’t feeling very well, poor thing,”

And it’s scary, scary how terrific he is at lying, how easily he slips into that niichan role, the one painstakingly crafted and flawlessly maintained around your parents, the one he’s perfected at this point.

Rei doesn’t say much, only cooing in sympathy, remarking that it’s such a shame, but your father’s eyes soften. “Such a good big brother,” he praises, clapping a hand on Touya’s shoulder.

Touya has to consciously work to smother the smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he responds.

“You have no idea,”

✰ ✰ ✰

Your parents don’t come home that night, opting to go straight to the airport from the venue, embarking on their honeymoon immediately.

It’s nice, playing house with Touya, having the entire place completely to yourselves. He’s been home an awful lot these past few weeks, more than he ever has in the past, and you get to experience things you never could before.

Every morning and every night, you cook breakfast and dinner together. You go grocery shopping together, wash the dishes together, fold the laundry together, all while stealing kisses in between; little domestic things you didn’t really do with your parents around.

You spend every night that they’re away in his bed, being fucked into his mattress, surrounded by the smell of him—campfire and Marlboros and expensive cologne—absolutely full of him in every sense.

You wake up in the mornings with his hand between your legs, playing with your cute little clit, or his cock pressed against your ass, grinding until you wake up. You have sleepy, slow morning sex while you’re both still half asleep, and it’s the most gentle he’s ever been. It consists of lazy, sloppy, messy thrusts against each other, hips meeting halfway—just grinding until he gets too impatient, though he usually lets you cum two or three times before he finally flips you over, trapping you under his body and slamming his hips into you, growling and grunting, your legs pushed up and folded on either side of you.

You get to fuck in the kitchen—not that you hadn’t before, but this time you get to take it slow. He eats you out while you sit on the counter and then fucks you into oblivion and it’s nasty, it’s disgusting, it’s so good. He cums so much that it’s leaking out of you, onto the counter, his chest heaving as he observes it with an odd little smile and a soft “fuck,”

And you get to fuck in the bathtub, that big jacuzzi in your parents room, water and bubbles sloshing around as you bounce on his cock, loud cries echoing off the walls.

It’s going great, until the last weekend of the honeymoon, a mere few days before your parents are supposed to return.

✰ ✰ ✰

A party.

Keigo tries to talk him out of it, tries to at least talk him out of letting you stay.

“She shouldn’t be here,” you hear Keigo hiss under his breath as guests begin to fill the house, Touya snorting in retort.

Keigo doesn’t think you should be around any of this at all—there’s no reason you should have to witness this shit, you catch him growling, gold eyes blazing. No, not a poor innocent babygirl like you, this isn’t the place for you.

But Touya’s too stubborn, too selfish to let Keigo take you out for the night. He knows he’s right, would rather not have you around these people, but he doesn’t have a fucking choice. The thought of you being out of his sight, out with another man, has anxiety rising in his throat, panic clawing at his chest.

As a result, you spend the entirety of the party being passed between Touya and Keigo. There are so many girls here, so many people you don’t know, wide eyes scanning the living room as your fingers twist in Keigo’s hoodie.

Niichan’s busy, Touya tells you, when you ask why you can’t just stay with him, when you ask where he keeps disappearing off to. Niichan’s working, don’t you know? Be a good girl and stay with Kei.

You can tell that Keigo isn’t happy about it. He coos softly when you timidly ask if he’s upset that he’s stuck babysitting you all night, in the middle of an apology when he cuts you off.

“It isn’t your fault, songbird,” he murmurs, gentle fingers tracing the curve of your face.

He’s even angrier at Touya when he takes that first girl back to his room, because the look on your face—the way it crumples accompanied by a soft, hurt sound caught at the back of your throat—kills him.

And it isn’t like you don’t know about his side whores. You do. They’re customers, he had snapped at you, the only time you had ever asked about it. But it’s an entirely different thing to actually have to witness it with your own eyes.

You can’t help the flare of jealousy that rises in your chest every time he takes a girl by the hand and leads them to his bedroom. It stings, burns, feels like a fire’s been lit in your chest, filling your lungs with dense smoke and making it hard for you to breathe.

Keigo tries his best to distract you, gentle fingers on your cheeks turning your face towards him, golden eyes softening in sympathy. He keeps you as preoccupied as he can, but it still isn’t enough. Your eyes are drawn to Touya every time he’s in the room—an automatic, instinctual reaction you couldn’t control even if you wanted to.

And every time you watch a girl giggle into his ear, or hop up with him, that fire smoldering in your chest blazes, rages, has you wheezing and hissing and pressing a palm flat against yourself, a desperate attempt to get the pain to stop.

Tomura’s here, too, though he’s sitting in a shrouded corner on his phone, the light from the screen reflected on his pale face, colours flashing intermittently. He looks absorbed with whatever he’s doing on there—probably playing a game, Keigo tells you, but why are you interested, anyway?

You don’t know, you aren’t sure, you can’t exactly put it into words. He terrifies you, but he sparks a morbid curiosity in you, too. He’s so silent, private, almost inobtrusive; and yet Touya never lets you anywhere near him. Your eyes keep flitting his way, as if trying to will something to happen, staring at him longingly and hoping he’ll look up from his phone for a split second and catch your gaze, that he’ll somehow magically get the hint that you’re desperate and dying to talk to him, and take the first step.

But it doesn’t happen.

Touya is thoroughly unimpressed each and every time he finds you sitting on Keigo’s knee or lap, leaning back against his chest as he speaks with that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, but there isn’t much he can do. The third time he returns to take you from his friend he can tell you’re beginning to get tired, can see it in your eyes, in the way you’re cuddling into a warm chest. He debates sending you to bed right then and there, but you protest, little hands tangling in Keigo’s hoodie.

“Aw, she’s alright for a little more, isn’t she?”

Touya’s sharp jaw clenches twice and he exhales slowly through his nose, eyes darting between your faces.

“Fine,” he says, although it doesn’t seem fine.

And you are exhausted, straddling Keigo’s hips, face pressed into his shoulder and hot breath evening out softly against his neck. Fingers ghost up and down your spine nonchalantly as Keigo talks softly to the people around him, his laugh vibrating against your chest and filling you with an odd, tingly sensation, a warmth that seeps through your body. You snuggle a little closer to him and he coos, readjusting you in his lap and wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you tightly to him.

“Don’t wanna go to bed with him,” you whisper, words muffled by his skin.

Keigo hums in question, squeezing you once. “Who, songbird?” he presses his lips to your ear as inconspicuously as he can, lidded gold eyes lazily scanning the room for your brother. “Touya?”

You nod sluggishly, little fingers curling in his hoodie, a silent plea not to let you go.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Keigo says softly with a small chuckle, but it sounds off to your ears—sad, even.

“Don’t wanna,” you repeat, pout evident in your voice. “Wanna stay with you,”

You wouldn’t have noticed the way his chest hitches at those four words if you weren’t pressed flush against it. But you feel it, feel his breath getting caught in his throat, reverberating against you as he clears it quietly. Unexpected guilt sours your mouth, makes your stomach turn to a block of heavy lead, weighting your body down.

“You know you can’t, sweetheart,” he finally responds, voice cracking just a bit, right on that last word. “Don’t hurt your niichan like that, he loves you,”

No he doesn’t, you want to say, but you can’t seem to force the words from your mouth, opting to shake your head instead, eyes shutting tightly against the burn of tears.

“He does,” Keigo says, more sternly this time. “Don’t doubt that,”

But you’re not so sure. If Touya loved you—really loved you—would he have disappeared no less than three times tonight, each with a different girl, leading them into his bedroom with those dark glittering sapphire eyes while they gaze up at him like he hung the fucking moon himself?

Honestly, is that even a question you want answered?

You keep your face buried in Keigo’s chest to block it out, to keep yourself from watching your big brother as he flits around the room, handing out discreet baggies in exchange for ridiculous wads of cash and talking in hushed voices, in code, to men who look much too old to be at a house party.

Eventually, Touya returns to retrieve you, bending down and speaking softly.

“It’s time for bed, princess,” A hand pets your head, and you flinch away.

“Hey,” you feel the couch dip beside you as he sits down. “Look at me,”

You’re shaking your head, trying in vain to press even closer to Keigo, but that doesn’t stop Touya from reaching out and gripping your chin, forcing you to face him.

Crystal eyes search your face carefully, wide and alert—he always works sober, you found out. He can tell you’re upset, can see it written plain as day across your face, eyes glassy with your lips set in a deep pout, eyebrows pushed together. Exhaling harshly, he closes his eyes, fingers rubbing at his eyes in exasperation.

“C’mon,” he says lowly, wrapping a hand around your bicep and tugging as he stands.

“No,” you nearly growl, shaking your head and viciously pulling your arm from his grip.

Touya stares at you for a moment, like he cannot believe you just had the audacity to tell him no, before he speaks, an incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “What did you just say?”

Keigo’s sitting up straighter now, more alert as your body subconsciously curls into his chest, cowering away from your big brother. “Y-You heard me,”

Snorting in disbelief, Touya raises his eyebrows as his tongue runs along the front of his teeth, huffing out the remnants of a chuckle before his smile drops completely, blue fire blazing in his dark eyes.

“Get up,” he snarls, hand in a vice grip around your arm as he yanks harshly. The force of it has you practically falling off Keigo’s lap, though Touya catches you roughly before your knees hit the hardwood, hoisting you up by your arm to stand on unsteady feet.

“Move.” He instructs, giving you a shove in the vague direction of his bedroom. “Now.”

His chest bumps into your back and you stumble forward, yelping softly. He keeps pushing like this, strong hand clasping your shoulder so tightly you’re sure you’ll have five little bruises in the shape of his fingerprints in the morning, driving you to walk with the sheer force of his body.

“No,” your whispering, trying desperately to turn back and look at him as you approach his door, tears flooding your eyes, frantically shaking your head and trying your damnedest to plant your feet, heels digging into the floor in an attempt to stop him from pushing you forward.

“You really gonna say no to me a second time tonight? In less than fifteen minutes? You think that’s wise, baby?”

You don’t—of course you don’t. It’s probably one of the stupidest things you could do, in this situation.

But even though you know, know this isn’t a smart move, know you shouldn’t be testing him like this—challenging him like this, especially in front of so many people—you’re powerless to control the words that tumble from your lips next.

“I don’t want to sleep in a bed that’s been infested by your whores,”

They come out as a hiss—you don’t mean for them to, but they do, voice quivering under the combined weight of your fury and fear.

That gets him to stop, entire body going rigid. Icy dread rushes through your veins, panic clawing its way up your throat, forcing uneven breaths through your parted lips. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you brace yourself for the impact of his bellowing voice, shoulders tensing in anticipation for the blow, for him to really snap.

Except then he starts laughing, his hand relaxing around your shoulder, spinning you around to face him as he backs you up against his bedroom door, caging you in with his body.

“That’s what this is about?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you blink twice in disbelief, prompting hot tears to finally spill over. “I—Wh-Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re being silly, princess,”

It hurts, stings like three massive spikes just shot through your heart, causes a tiny whimper to sound from deep in your throat, chest hiccupping with pathetic little half-sobs.

“Sil…Silly?” Time feels as if it’s slowed, your sluggish brain having trouble comprehending the situation unfolding.

His lips pull down into a frown, eyes narrowing slightly as he regards you with extreme precision. “Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds far away, muffled, like you’re underwater and he’s speaking to you from above the surface. “Hey—”

Your head’s shaking again, in slow, delayed motions from side to side. “No,” you whisper. “No.”

You feel nauseous, and the proximity of his presence is only making it worse, making you feel like you could hurl at any moment. Little hands find purchase on his chest and push, stomach lurching painfully as your head spins.

He catches your wrists easily, holding them together in one large hand, his other coming to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

Thick silence settles between the two of you as Touya’s eyes study your face slowly, noting the tears flowing steadily down your face, the way your breath stutters with sobs you’re so desperately trying to hold back, the way your entire body trembles.

“Are you seriously upset over this?” he asks, laughing a little.

Your gaze holds his, tears casting a thick, gleaming screen across your eyes.

“Yes, Touya,” you whisper, wishing your voice didn’t sound as small and weak as it does. “I’m seriously upset,”

That’s the first time you’ve used his first name—just his first name, void of any honorific—in a long, long time.

It gets him to pause again, his usual and well-worn mask of passivity melting away for just a second as shock crosses his face. Then his features are hardening again, brows knitting together and creasing his forehead, eyes narrowing into near slits.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he spits harshly, the words cutting into your flesh. “You know none of them mean a thing,”

“Then why do you fuck around with them?” you shoot back almost immediately, voice fading into a whisper.

He glares at you, as if you’re wasting his precious time with such childish questions when he’s told you this already, and you can see the blue fire simmering in his eyes.

“It’s late,” he says curtly, voice sounding off to you. “You need sleep.”

You try to fight him on it, but he’s too quick, reflexes too swift, and he shoves you into his room, door slamming shut less than a second later.

Tears obstruct your vision as you stumble around, finally finding his desk chair and collapsing heavily. You don’t even bother trying to open the door, know it’s locked without having to hear that soft click! as the lock turns into place.

He’s right—it is late, well past three in the morning, and you are utterly exhausted, drawing your knees up to your chest and curling up in the plush chair.

But no matter how tired you are, you absolutely refuse to sleep in his bed. The party’s dying down, you can hear Touya’s muffled farewells as guests begin to leave while you fade in and out of consciousness.

You think you might’ve heard Keigo say something, might’ve caught the word stay, might’ve detected the annoyance laced in Touya’s voice as he responds, but you’re too worn out to reflect on it.

At some point in the night, Touya reenters his room, chuckling a little at your antics and carrying you to his bed.

The move wakes you, and you weakly protest—no, you don’t want to be in this bed, please, just let you go sleep in your own bed—but Touya ignores you entirely, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you tightly to his chest.

It’s then that the tears start up again, salt staining your puffy cheeks, head beginning to throb from dehydration.

“Shh, baby, shh,” he hushes you, nimble fingers combing through your hair. “I’m here, right here,”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Touya over these past few weeks, it’s that he becomes marginally softer in the middle of the night. Your fingers twist in his t-shirt, trying in vain to pull yourself impossibly closer, Touya making a soft noise akin to a coo in the back of his throat.

“I’ve got you, niichan’s got you,”

You hate it. You hate that he’s the only person you want comforting you right now, as you lay in his bed, surrounded by the smell of cheap perfume and clinging in desperation to him, needing him close, needing his body heat warming you and his hands on you. You hate the way your sobs come harder the more he soothes you, the heavy ache in your chest almost bruising, crushing your lungs and making it near impossible to breathe.

But you crave his comfort nonetheless. It’s a special kind of comfort, one that’s difficult to describe, one that only comes from the love and adoration and protection of a big brother.

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

There’s something in his voice that makes you stop, pause, his words reverberating in your mind. He sounds almost like…like he’s upset over this fact, like he wishes that you didn’t have all of him.

You want to press for more, to probe and prod and pick away at it, but exhaustion finally claims you, rendering you incapable of speech, your tongue moving sluggishly in your mouth as you desperately try to form words.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s grey when you wake, only a few hours later, eyes sticky and dry from lack of sleep. Your head is pounding, feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, lips cracked and dry from dehydration, and a painful lump forms almost immediately in your throat when you get a whiff of sickly sweet artificial vanilla, then another of intense, synthetic citrus.

The tears are starting up again, collecting in your eyes and clouding your vision. It makes you nauseous, makes your skin crawl and your chest burn as your throat fills with acid. The tears sting, but you blink hard to keep them at bay. You will not cry, not in front of him, not in his bed surrounded by the remnants of those other girls, not again. You refuse to give them the satisfaction.

You spring up quickly, halfway through climbing over Touya’s body when a strong hand latches onto your wrist.

“No,” Touya mumbles, face half buried in his pillow. “Stay,”

“No,” you whisper, pulling yourself free from his grasp and hurrying out of his room. You can smell them on your clothes, on your skin, and it makes you want to scrub your body under scalding water until it’s raw.

Everything hurts—it hurts so much it feels like your chest is collapsing in on itself, like you can’t breathe, gasping for air as you stumble onto the porch, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stop and realize you have nowhere to go.

Touya has cut you off from all of your friends at this point; any spare time you had was now claimed by him.

And that’s exactly why he doesn’t bother rolling out of bed to follow after you, isn’t worried about you going anywhere, knows you can’t leave him, no matter how badly you want to. No, not a precious little girl like you, with nowhere to find refuge.

You sit down heavily on one of the front steps, vision so blurry with tears you’re barely able to make out the figure advancing towards you. They’re finally escaping your eyes, rolling down your cheeks as you blink twice, trying to clear them. Your chest stutters under the force of a sob you’re desperately trying to hold back, clapping both hands over your mouth in an attempt to silence it.

“Hey—oh no,” Keigo breathes the moment your watery eyes look up at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, causing more tears to leak out as your shoulders shake, whole body trembling from the force of your sobs, poorly muffled by your palms.

“No, no, no, sweetheart,” he’s saying as he rushes to sit down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders tightly.

Keigo’s the closest thing you have to a friend now. And really, you should be embarrassed by the way you practically fling yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest as your hands form fists in his t-shirt. He’s a little startled by your borderline violent reaction, but he recovers quickly, arms encircling your body and pulling you against him.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, one hand rubbing your back while the other pets your hair. “Hey, it’s alright, I’m here,”

And you hate the way his words almost directly mirror Touya’s, the way his low sultry voice turned gentle and soft as he carded deft fingers through your hair echoing almost painfully in your head. But Keigo lets you cry, lets you stain his t-shirt with salty tears and saliva until you’ve got nothing left, never stopping his compassionate motions.

“You…Stayed the night?” you pull back a little, the fact that he’s still here, blonde hair all mussed up from sleep, finally dawning on you.

“Well, yeah,” he says, a little bashful as he looks away and ducks his head. “Wanted to make sure you were alright, s’all. Last night was…” he trails off, frowning. “What happened?”

Golden eyes search your face, his forehead crinkling in concern. A beat of silence passes.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but…” kind fingers move to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ll feel better if you let it out, promise. And, not to brag or anything, but I’m preee-tty good at this kind’a stuff,” he chuckles a little.

“Got in a fight,” you whisper, eyes staring intently at the brick wall behind his shoulder as your chin trembles slightly, memories of last night flashing through your mind.

“A fight? With Touya?” Keigo moves his head a little, forcing his face into your field of vision and catching your face with tender fingers when you try to look away.

“Yeah,” tears are beginning to well up in your eyes as you think about it, the sheer fact that you’re in a fight making your heart feel like it’s ripping itself to shreds. A chaotic storm of emotions brews in your chest, switching mercilessly and swirling together so quickly that you can’t even tell what they are. Your insides feel all jumbled up, and trying to decipher what the heck’s going on only makes your head ache more.

They torment you, a deep sense of anguish finally settling at the core. You’re confused, livid at Touya for being such a jackass; jealous, because you want him all to yourself; heartbroken, because you want—need—his approval, desperate to hear him tell you that you’re his good little baby girl.

You want to be his good little baby girl.

But it isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair, sweetheart. Get used to it, he had told you once, when you had complained about something so silly, so simple as him eating the last ice cream cookie sandwich (he made it up to you, of course, telling you he wanted to taste your cream—such a cheeseball—and making you cum three times before taking you out to buy more).

No, it isn’t fair, but you don’t care. You want him to be yours, too.

Keigo tsks, bringing your attention back to him, mouth set in a hard line as sad eyes watch you. “What was it about?”

“I-It…H-He—” a shuddery breath cuts you off, and Keigo draws you into his arms, holding you against his chest as the sobs start up again, sobs that make it feel like your body’s about to tear apart, desperately clutching Keigo to try and keep yourself together.

“Oh, songbird,” he coos, rocking you gently. “Is it…Um, the other girls?”

“Yes,”

“But you know you’re his favourite, right?”

“D-Does it even matter, if he’s still fucking them anyway?” you ask, pulling back suddenly as hot anger flashes through you. “Why does he need them? Am I—” a sob cuts you off, but you swallow it, persevering. “Am I not good enough?” your voice breaks on the last word, fading into a whisper, big teary eyes scanning his face almost frantically, seeking an answer in his expression.

Keigo blinks, surprised by your sudden brashness, then gives you a small, sad smile. “Only he can answer that, sugarplum,” he whispers, using the pad of his thumb to catch a stray tear and wipe it across your cheekbone. “But just because he’s fucking around, doesn’t mean that you can’t, too,”

Your head tilts to the side, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Give him a taste of his own medicine,” Keigo shrugs, leaning back a little. “He definitely deserves it, for making an angel such as yourself so upset,”

You sniffle a little, wiping at your nose with the paw of your sweater as you consider the prospect.

“Y’know, it technically isn’t cheating, since you guys aren’t in any sort of official relationship to begin with,” Keigo reminds you gently, nudging just a tiny bit more.

It isn’t right—you know it isn’t. You’ve never been one to fight fire with fire, often preferring to avoid conflict and drama, but you’re so hurt; you’re so angry at him—angry at the way he reacted, as if it was you in the wrong, angry at the fact that he doesn’t even seen to care about your feelings on the issue, because he knows you’ll come running back either way, angry because he’s right, as evident in the way pathetically clung to him last night—that all you want to do in that moment is cause him a shred of the pain he’s causing you.

It’s an impulsive decision that has you pulling out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts, thumb jabbing at Tomura’s name—Touya had given you his number for emergencies only—before you have time to think it through, before you have time to regret it.

Tiny thumbs fly across the keyboard, your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline accelerates your breathing.

Hey. Let’s hang out.

Keigo inhales through his teeth next to you, and your eyes dart to him in surprise, as if you had forgotten he was there.

“Well,” he begins, though his voice sounds odd to you—unlike his usually nonchalant, happy-go-lucky manner. “That’s, uh, definitely one that’s gonna hurt him, songbird,”

You look back down at your phone to see Tomura typing a response.

Yeah, definitely. Pick a day.

“Good.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #no idea how this MONSTER grew so much???#big apologies #part two is DARK and it is coming tomorrow!!!#tw pseudo-incest #tw toxic relationship #tw dubcon #tw drugs #tw cheating

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byulsgrease · 3 years ago

Text

mamamoo as uni students

(ot4 x gn reader, ~1.2k words, fluff with an angsty sprinkle)

cw: alcohol, perhaps underage drinking but that’s up to the imagination - I don’t condone drinking to distract from your problems!! alcohol will not do your homework for you, unfortunately.

a/n: writing this made me realize how close I am to graduating yikes

Yongsun is that RA who knocks on everyone’s door, carrying a bucket of candy and snacks. You can only have your pick if you answer one question: “how’s it going?” Most people on your floor find this bothersome, this smiley senior disturbing their attempts to study, hangouts with friends, or a stress-induced snack chow-down. But you kinda appreciate it. Yeah, the socials your university plans are mediocre at best, but you admire her passion for telling everyone about them anyway. Granted, it is her job. But she’s taken a liking to you too, appreciating that you at least give her the time of day when she stops by your room and that you wave when you pass each other in the hall.

So it’s no real surprise when you hear her rhythmic knock on your door, snapping you out of existentially spiraling about the growing number of assignments on your to-do list. The due dates listed after each one loom over your head. You trudge over to the door and slap your hand down on the knob, opening your lead brick of a door to Yongsun’s shining smile and container full of individually wrapped treats.

“Hey! How’s it going?” Her face falters the tiniest bit when she meets your gaze. You don’t really want to know what she sees staring back at her.

“Not bad, just... you know, school,” waving a hand absentmindedly towards your desk behind you. You answered her question, so you reach towards the bin to grab your due. A piece of hard candy. Your brain needs the tooth-achingly saccharine hit for the temporary reprieve.

Fingertips barely graze the wrapper when Yongsun suddenly tugs the container away.

“Okay, you’re sure there’s nothing else bothering you?” She stares you dead in the eye, matching her gaze with what little energy you have.

“Yeah, yeah. I just bombed a midterm and I’ve gotta study for 2 more later this week. Don’t even wanna think about the assignments on top of that.”

Yongsun shifts her container uncomfortably under one arm so she can supportively clasp a hand on your shoulder. The weight surprises you, but it’s the welcome type.

She ends her encouragements with “fighting!”, removing her hand from your shoulder to ball it in a fist with a smile. Her hands readjust the container and you take your snack pick.

You immediately pop the candy into your mouth after the door closes, wrapper crinkling uncomfortably loud. It’s hard to remember she’s a student too. “If she can do all that and still keep up, so can I,” you tell yourself, assured as you reopen your laptop to resume your studying.

──・──・⋆ ✦ ⋆・──・──

Byulyi is the chill athlete who never makes a big deal about her soccer career, even though you know she wakes up to be on the pitch at 5am almost every day. You’ve never once seen her play, but she’s here on scholarship so that speaks for itself. You don’t talk much outside of class but you’ve had a couple together at this point, so you sit beside each other and make small talk, mutually happy to see a friendly face in the sea of other students.

You’re slumped over with your head buried in your arms when she plunks down in the seat beside you. The heaviness in your eyelids pulls them shut, mind barely acknowledging Byulyi’s presence.

“Umm... are you... good?” she asks hesitantly, craning her head around.

An unintelligible groan is your response. You yelp and settle back into a groan when she claps you on the back out of nowhere. As unexpected as it is, you secretly appreciate the gesture, the pads of her fingers settled into your back hunched over the desk. She rubs assuredly and confidently as you sit up to face her.

“You got this, alright?” she implores. Hype-woman, typical of her. She doesn’t even know what’s got you down. But the confident smirk and cheesy finger guns she’s got pointed your way have some undeniable power in soothing your anxiety.

A flash of having her hype you up before going out on the town settles in your thoughts, excitedly egging you on regardless of the consequences. She’d be a good wingwoman. Maybe you’ll invite her out next time.

──・──・⋆ ✦ ⋆・──・──

Wheein works far too hard for her own good. Always busy. Most of the time you actually end up being mom friend, reminding her to drink water, eat meals (or at least a snack), take breaks, and generally reminding her that she’s probably shaving years off her life with every all-nighter she pulls— plus the subsequent amounts of coffee she needs to function afterwards.

She’s easy to spot, sitting with terrible posture across the room, frantically typing away while squinting at her laptop screen, wire frames hanging low on her nose like a librarian. You gently set a giant iced americano on the table next to her laptop to signal your presence, to which she barely nods and resumes her typing. You sit down across from her to unzip your bag and pull out a sandwich, sliding it over next to the coffee. Wheein doesn’t even look up this time, so you pick up the sandwich and put it on top of her keyboard, halting her typing.

Wheein finally faces you fully, pushing her glasses up with the back of her hand while taking a huge sip of the coffee. You might be an enabler, but it beats pretending not to know her in class when she falls asleep with her mouth hanging open.

“I’ve gotta go to office hours, but you better eat that,” you warn as you stand from your seat, slinging your bag over one shoulder and carefully pushing the chair in so it doesn’t drag loudly across the floor. “Coffee is not food.”

You put the other strap behind your shoulder and walk over to wrap your arms around her, perching your chin atop her head. She moves to unwrap the sandwich, but tilts her head to look up at you.

“Whaat?” she draws out with a hint of exasperation, but she welcomes the touch, sinking back into the back-hug.

You give her a quick squeeze, thankful she at least had the forethought to spritz on a sweetly scented perfume before leaving her dorm today. “Mm, nothing. Bye!” you exclaim, kissing the top of her head before you head off to your next stop. “That sandwich better be gone when I see you later!” you call behind you as you walk out, not caring about the people who turn their heads in your direction at the remark.

It’s not like you don’t have your own work to do, but you’re always happy to make Wheein’s life a little easier. Or help her survive, rather. Productive procrastination at its finest.

──・──・⋆ ✦ ⋆・──・──

Hyejin’s always down to clown. She’ll be the one bringing you snacks and tugging on your arm to grab a drink to unwind (or will bring the drinks to you, if you insist on staying in). You’ve got too many memories of flicking the tab off the soju cap, laughing when she chips her hastily applied nail polish. Hyejin takes it in stride though, never failing to remind you that she’ll someday afford the luxury of acrylics all the time… after she’s paid off her student loans.

She nearly smushes you as she barges in, stepping out of the way just in time before the door bangs the wall. You don’t even need to see inside her brown paper bag because of the clinking glass sounds caused from her jostling.

“Hyej, I—” you stammer, surveying her pulling out the shot glasses and a bag of your favorite salty snack. You’ve been working all day. But it’s one of those days where it feels like you’ve done everything and nothing.

“Stop right there. Relax, it’s Friday night! Who does their homework on a Friday?” nearly yelling as she pulls out the green glass bottle and the tackiest shot glasses you’ve ever seen. You meet her eager gaze with narrowed eyes, the responsible side of you nagging to get back to work. But she is right about it being Friday night. You’ve got the rest of the weekend to finish.

“Okay, okay. Just lower your voice, getting written up for a noise complaint is the least of our worries if an RA comes around,” you warn with a glare. Hyejin just swivels the soju bottle, liquid tornado-ing inside, bopping it against her elbow as her final flourish before twisting the cap off with the sequence of little cracks.

She hands the cap to you, the metal tab furled and ready to be flicked off. Positioning your fingertip behind your thumb at the ready, you know the night’s about to turn into a long one. Not for the reason you expected, but that’s a problem for future you, isn’t it?

#long time no write!#requested #bean🌱#mamamoo fluff #mamamoo imagines #mamamoo scenarios #mamamoo fic #mamamoo x reader #moon byulyi #jung wheein #hwasa #mamamoo solar #kpop fic #girl group fic #kpop fluff #gg fluff

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drawlfoy · 5 years ago

Text

Fixed

masterlist

request guidelines

requests are open as usualllll

pairing: draco x slytherin!reader

request: yes! i’m combining 2 slytherin!reader requests because they’re rather similar and i feel weird putting two nearly identical ones out, but i swear the storylines aren’t altered.

summary: draco has a teasing relationship with the reader--they playfully argue and go back and forth but never acknowledge the fact that there may be something more. draco notices her pulling back and becoming more reserved. he follows her out of the dining hall one day to find her having a breakdown over a dark secret.

warnings: breakdown (and not the dancing kind), if the summary didn’t already explain that. swearing and potentially suggestive argumentation. also ooc draco and i say “fuck you” to canon in this one

a/n: this is the first time i’m merged two requests together, so i’m feeling a little wacky but i hope it turns out to what you guys wanted! i’m so so lucky to have readers. i’d love any comments that you may have on my work, even if they’re constructive criticism!

music recs: peach pit is what comes to mind but i’m listening to scary stories as i write this lol because i live on the edgeeeeeee

word count: 2,924

Y/N was an organized girl, no doubt about it. So organized, in fact, that she never lost anything, and she most certainly never lost track of her wand.

So when she noticed in Charms that her wand was not stowed away in her cloak pocket, she immediately knew who did it.

Without even as much as a hello, Y/N strode over to her “friend” and fellow house member Draco Malfoy and shoved her hand into his pocket, wiggling it around.

“At least buy me dinner first.” Draco had started at the sudden sensation, but once he smelled the perfume of the witch behind him, he knew exactly who it was, not bothering to give her much of a reaction.

Y/N fished around his pockets for a bit before grabbing his shoulder and yanking him around.

“Where is my wand, Draco? I know you have it.”

He smirked evilly down at her, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”

“Yes, you do!” She pulled him towards her by his green and silver tie, trying to look as menacing as possible. “I swear to god, Draco, I’m gonna hex you into oblivion if you don’t give it back.”

“With what wand?” He laughed. “And let’s be real here, Y/N, you wouldn’t anyways. You love me too much.”

Y/N’s cheeks grew red at the suggestion.

“As if, Draco! Give me my wand back, or I’ll throttle you with my bare hands!”

“Ooh, kinky.”

She let go of his tie, shoving him away. Who was he to suggest these things to her? He’d never been interested as long as she could remember--no matter how many subtle hints she’d dropped, he remained oblivious, instead choosing Pansy’s incessant fawning.

Pretending like it didn’t hurt when he was ignoring her was easy. Pretending it didn’t hurt when he was inches away from her face and fake flirting with her was a whole other deal.

“Give me my wand, you git,” she commanded, holding her hand out. Perhaps if she was animated with her hands, he wouldn’t notice her blush.

Draco raised an eyebrow, one side of his lip rising along with it.

“Ask nicely.”

“May I please have my wand back?” she spat, each word filling her mouth with venom.

“We could work on your tone a tad, but I guess I might as well,” he responded, nonchalant and ignorant of the searing look she sent him. Digging through his satchel, he retrieved her wand, pressing it into her hand.

Y/N sent him a syrupy sweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. In the corner of her vision, she could see Pansy watching her with a sour look on her face.

She was never one to disappoint an audience.

“Thank you, Draco,” she cooed, taking a complete 180 from her previous demeanor. Throwing all caution to the wind, she stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

When she settled back down to her usual height, she noticed that his eyebrow was still arched, but his evil look was replaced with one of inquisitiveness.

“I knew you were in love with me,” he crooned.

“No, I’m just a big fan of charity work,” she shot back, spinning around and walking back to her desk.

It was, after all, just another Tuesday.

♥♥♥♥

“Are you still hopelessly obsessed with Draco?”

“Huh?” Y/N diverting her attention from her studies to what her roommate, Millicent, had just asked her. “Sorry, I was deep in a passage and didn’t catch that.”

Millicent rolled her eyes, crossing her legs on her bed.

“I asked, are you still into Draco? I remember you talking about him in 4th year when we were getting dates for the Yule Ball arranged.”

“Oh.” Y/N let her eyes fall back onto her textbook. “I don’t know, Mills. I think he’s kind of an arse. He totally knew that I was into him and asked Pansy instead.”

Millicent chuckled sourly at that.

“Yeah, he was kind of immature back then,” she offered, resting her chin in her hand. “But, I don’t know, don’t you think that you guys have chemistry?”

Y/N thought for a few moments.

“I can’t say,” she responded. “But chemistry doesn’t really mean anything if they don’t care about you, you know? I think he messes with me just so he can feel like I’m still on the hook.”

“How do you know that?”

“How do I know that he’s just using me?” Y/N rolled her quill over in her hands a few times. “I can’t say for sure, but I’m normally good at reading these situations and I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“So you’re saying that you do have hopes that he’s interested?” Y/N didn’t have to turn to know that her roommate was plotting.

“I’m saying that I really don’t have time to be worrying about it right now,” Y/N opined.

Before she knew it, a hand was taking her quill out of her hand and closing her textbook.

“Hey! You can’t--”

“It’s been too long, Y/N,” Millicent whined. “We need to have a good gossip, and now that midterms are over, we can catch up. Please?”

Y/N couldn’t help a smile from creeping into her stony expression. While she had had reservations about her roommate at first, she soon learned that they brought the best out in each other.

“Okay, okay, but I’m not making any rash decisions, alright?”

“And when would I ever let you do that anyways?”

They both erupted in giggles while Y/N allowed her friend to pull her onto the bed.

“So, for starters,” Millicent began. “I heard that Draco and Pansy are going through a rough patch right now.”

“And who did you hear that from?”

“Irrelevant. But if you care, Blaise, and Theo confirmed it as well. And I would’ve found out without their help...they’re acting weird. Pansy looks like she’s ready to slit his throat at a moment’s notice, if you haven’t been paying any attention for the past 4 hours.”

Y/N laughed nervously. Of course she had noticed...but she didn’t want anyone to realize how much she actually cared.

“Yikes, I hope they figure that out. Their parents are going to be mad if they break up, right?”

“No, probably not. His parents really want him to end up with a Greengrass...something about settling a deal from a few generations ago.”

“Oh.” Y/N swallowed any other hope that she had left. “That sucks for Pansy. I know how much she likes him.”

Millicent paused for a moment, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been feeling bad as well,” she said, her tone softening. “I’ve noticed the pain in your eyes whenever you see them together.”

“And it doesn’t help when he seeks me out to mess with me!” Y/N exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “I try so, so hard to forget about him and pretend like he doesn’t matter to me, but he finds all of these ways to keep butting back into my life and it always works...”

Her roommate began rubbing her back, allowing the few tears being shed to fall in peace.

“You’re worth so much, Y/N,” she told her firmly. “And unless I’m wrong, which we know is impossible, I think he kind of likes you too.”

“I don’t think you understand, though,” Y/N whispered. “Why would I ever want to be with someone who thinks of me as a second choice?”

Millicent was silent for a few breaths.

“Yeah. Maybe his parents pushed him to date her, though? Maybe he has a good excuse?”

“I don’t know, Mills. I’m just not going to think about it anymore, alright?”

♥♥♥♥

Draco was sitting across the breakfast table from Y/N, watching her sip her tea, waiting for the moment to throw another comment her way.

The screech of owls interrupted his thought process, signaling that the morning post had arrived. A snowy owl landed gracefully next to Y/N’s plate, bearing a letter with a red wax seal on the back.

She shook herself out of her daydreams--she had been up late the night before cramming for an exam and had burnt through an entire candle. Stroking her owl, she whispered a genuine thank you and instructed it to fly on home.

Y/N picked up the letter, fingering the parchment. It was clearly from her parents--the wax seal bore the mark of her family’s crest. Confused, she ripped open the envelope and began skimming the letter.

Oh, no. Oh, no.

Her vision began to blur as she folded the parchment up, shoving it back into her pocket.

“Hey Y/N, what’s going--”

Before Draco could finish his sentence, she was already halfway down the aisle, moving quickly to the exit. He watched her go, wishing that he could follow but knowing that it wasn’t a good idea with the tension regarding Pansy.

It was high time to break up with her anyways--no reason to keep up appearances when he didn’t desire her.

♥♥♥♥

As the week went by, Draco noticed more and more changes in Y/N’s demeanor. She was eating less and spacing out more. Her skirt was wrinkled on Friday, something that rarely ever happened, and she was no longer sending him bitter remarks in response to his flirty ones. On Saturday, she stayed in her dorm instead of joining her friends for a day in Hogsmeade, something he had never seen her miss before.

Something was clearly wrong with Y/N, and for some reason, this twisted something in his chest more than breaking up with Pansy did. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw her messing around in the common room, either. It was unnerving, really. The witch had no business worrying him like that.

So, when he passed by her during a free period and saw her walking ahead of him, he made the executive decision to finally do something.

“Y/N!” he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound. “Y/N, wait!”

She halted, turning around slowly. When she saw who had called her name, she stiffened and made to continue on her path.

Draco, anticipating such a reaction, had already begun to jog towards her, lightly pushing past the rest of the students going the same direction.

“Y/N! Please, I need to talk to you!”

She picked up the pace, but Draco’s long legs caught up to her as he slipped a hand into the crook of her arm, startling her.

“What do you wa--”

“Can I please talk to you? It’ll just take a second. I promise.”

Her expression was unreadable, but he could tell that she was considering her options.

“Fine,” she finally said. “What is it?”

“Not here,” Draco quickly said. “Somewhere private. The common room, maybe?”

“If you wanted to off me, I doubt anyone would notice if you did it right here,” Y/N said, waving her hand dismissively. “But if you would really like to talk there, then I guess I’ll comply.”

Without another word, Draco led her down to the dungeons, keeping his hand tucked in her arm, not trusting her to stick by him. It felt strange--normally he was the one holding his arm out, but then again, this entire situation was out of character for him.

Once they had reached the common room, Draco waved his wand and lit the fire, sitting down in front of the couch to watch the green flames lick the stone.

“Sit,” he instructed, patting the space on the couch next to him.

Surprisingly, Y/N did as she was told, folding her legs up on the couch and sending Draco a death stare.

“Get on with it.”

“I just...I wanted to make sure that you were alright,” Draco faltered. Playing therapist was not something he had experience with. “I’ve noticed you acting strange since you got that letter at breakfast and it’s making me worry. Can you just tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it and we can be normal again?”

Y/N was silent for a while.

“You can’t fix this. Not this time. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean I can’t? Just tell me, Y/N, please.”

Silence again...except for something else. Draco stole a glance at Y/N and was stunned to see the firelight illuminate tears rolling down her face.

“Oh, no, Y/N, what’s wrong?”

The question only made her gasps for air louder as Y/N curled herself into a ball.

“I’m sorry,” she managed. “You should go. You can come back later when I’m calmer, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Draco murmured, bringing up a hand to steady her shoulder. “Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll make it better, alright?”

“My parents are forcing me into an arranged marriage,” she whispered, hugging her knees to her chest. “He goes to Durmstrang. I hate him. They offered my hand in marriage because they want his father to be more amiable to mine in this business deal, and since I’ve never been in a relationship, they think it’s the only chance I have anyways at finding a life partner.”

The sobs had stopped. Her tears fell silently now, staining the whites of her sleeves.

Draco himself had to process the information. Y/N, married to someone else? No, he never could’ve imagined that.

Without anything particularly useful to say, Draco just opened his arms.

“C’mere,” he awkwardly mumbled.

Y/N studied him for a few seconds.

“I’m going to get snot on your shirt.”

“I don’t care.”

With that settled, Y/N released her knees from her hold, instead crawling into his lap. He stroked her hair as she wept into his shirt and clung to him.

Oh, how this was embarrassing for her. She supposed that there was a reason why her parents were so desperate to accept an offer for her hand.

Draco suddenly stopped, moving his hands to tap her shoulder.

“Y/N,” he began, “Would they make you marry him if you were already in a relationship?”

She sat up, blowing her nose into her handkerchief before answering.

“No, probably not. Why?”

“Well...” He pondered for a second, wondering if he was really going to be brave enough to say what he wanted to. “What if I was in the picture? They wouldn’t care to pass you off to some random Durmstrang boy if you had a Malfoy instead, right?”

Y/N stared at him.

“Er... probably not. That’s nice wishful thinking there, Draco.”

“I’m being serious!” He wasn’t expecting it to go this direction.

“How do I know that you’re not joking?” she queried, scootching further away from him and trying to ignore the pain that flashed across his eyes.

“I let you cry all over my dress shirt,” he reminded her, motioning to the stains on his chest. “Do you think I’d do that for any girl?”

Y/N just shrugged, hiccuping once before she stuffed her handkerchief back into her pocket.

“I wouldn’t.” Draco answered his own question, reaching up to gingerly brush her hair out of her eyes. “I know it must be weird seeing me with Pansy.”

“Yeah, no shit,” she mumbled. “I didn’t even think about that. My disbelief was due to the fact that you’ve never been interested.”

Draco flinched.

“I don’t think you’re completely right there,” he said, his hand pausing to cup her face.

“Are you forgetting the Yule Ball ordeal? How you knew how much I liked you but you still went with Pansy instead?”

“You don’t understand,” he responded hastily. “I didn’t know--I was 14 and an idiot. I couldn’t tell if you liked me or not and I knew that she did, so I wasn’t afraid.”

“And so you dated her for another 2 years?” Y/N answered in disbelief, seemingly forgetting the fact that she had just been crying her eyes out.

“At first it was to make you jealous,” Draco explained. “But then Pansy’s parents began to expect a lot out of us, and I was waiting for the right time to break it off, and it just didn’t....ever come around.”

Draco jumped as Y/N smacked his shoulder.

“You’re an idiot,” she snapped.

“I know.” Draco gulped. “And I’m sorry about that, Y/N, I really am. Let me make it up to you. Owl your parents and tell them that you had forgotten to mention that you’re already in a serious relationship with me.”

He curled an arm around her waist, highlighting the fact that while she wasn’t lying on his chest, she was still nestled into him.

“Under one condition,” Y/N told him, an elvish glint in her eyes.

“Yes?” He reached up his free hand to boop the tip of her nose.

“What was that?!” Y/N jerked her face away from his.

Draco smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, I’ve always wanted to do that. You were saying?”

Her mouth was parted slightly in confusion as her brain tried to recall what she was about to say.

“I--just don’t be a pill, Draco, alright?”

“C’mon now, when have I ever been one?” He smirked down at her, wearing the expression that he adopted whenever they teased each other in class.

Y/N was trying her hardest to stay composed, but a genuine smile fought its way onto her face. It only widened when Draco leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead.

Pulling away, he uttered the words that would lead to her lightly smacking him on the shoulder again:

“I told you I could fix it.”

final a/n: kindaaaaaaa mad that i took on this request at this point because i totally could’ve turned this into a series where the reader and draco don’t admit feelings this early and instead decide to “fake date” so both parents would be happy but i have a lifeeeee grossssss

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clockworkflicker · 4 years ago

Note

10, 23, and 25 for hapi? ☺️

Thanks so much for the prompt!! I love writing for these dorks ;w;

f/f, no knowledge of the characters or fandom required (Prompt: colds, tissues, scarves)

Hapi slumps into the driver’s seat of her car with tired sniffle. It’s been a long fucking afternoon. It’s not every day that the wildlife rehab center gets a call about an entire family of injured red-tailed hawks on the side of the road. Making the space to take in four more raptors wasn’t part of her Friday agenda, but necessity is necessity.

She shivers and gets the car running. Crank up the heat, burrow a little further into her evergreen plaid scarf. At least she’s made it to the weekend. A chance to just lounge around at home should take the edge off the growing ache that’s crept into her bones in the past few days. Now if only she could convince Coco to laze about with her.

It’s wishful thinking. Constance doesn’t take breaks from her work during midterm season. Her poor girlfriend has been sick for the better part of the week, and now that she’s well enough (or at least she thinks she’s well enough), she’s picked herself up and gone right back to her studies, trying to make up for lost time.

Academia fucking sucks, Hapi muses as she pulls out of her workplace’s parking lot. I can’t believe I fell for one of those airheaded professor types. One hand steady on the wheel, she uses her free hand to wipe at her running nose with her scarf. Mom warned me. She said, Hapi, never date an academic. Yeah, that’s definitely what she said. But Mom never warned me about how goddamn adorable it’ll be when the girl of my dreams talks her head off about genetically optimizing crop efficiency.

Her head hurts a little. No use getting wrapped up in her own thoughts, especially when she’s supposed to be concentrating on the road. She turns on the radio to a station playing some low-key acoustic tunes.

She eyes the corn fields growing tall on the side of the road. They’ll be harvested any day now. I could go for some sweetcorn. Maybe I should drop by the store and grab some for din-

Without warning, a shivery sneeze seizes her frame. Gripping the wheel a little tighter, she shudders forward with the force of it. She blinks a few times and pulls over to the side of the road. Between the stinging in her throat and the general dampness of her scarf, she allows herself a brief moment of feeling sorry for herself. Okay, yeah, Coco got me sick again.

She sniffles wetly and, fearing the worst, pulls her scarf a little ways away from her face to see how much damage has been done. Predictably, she’s a mess. Yikes.

The drive home isn’t far, but god does it drag on when you’ve got a nose full of cold, a scarf also full of cold, and a head full of empty. Hapi’s already a notoriously mediocre driver, and all this brain fog isn’t helping.

She lets herself in the front door and immediately collapses on the couch. She’ll clean herself up in just a second... For now, she just wants to take a moment to rest.

“Hapi, dearest, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” She winces at the sound of her own voice. Hoarse and a little stuffy around the edges. About the same as how Constance sounded the other day. What a pain.

Constance emerges from the study, still looking a little disheveled. She's wearing a thin turtleneck along with a black skirt and leggings. Comfortable but professional. And then there’s a long cardigan sloppily slung over her shoulders, pockets stuffed with tissues. Hapi smirks underneath her scarf. God, she’s so easy to read.

“What’s with the nice clothes under the cardigan? You attempt to go into the lab today?”

“You know me too well,” Constance says, sitting down on the couch next to Hapi. “Not for long, of course.” She clears her throat and plays with her girlfriend’s hair a little. “I just needed to log how the seedlings were doing and put another round of thylakoid DNA through PCR.”

“Oh yeah, sounds real quick to me.” Hapi playfully rolls her eyes.

“That’s because you didn’t spend the entirety of your undergrad learning to deftly wield a micropipette.” Constance’s smile fades. With her free hand, she pulls a tissue from her pocket and presses it to her damp nose. “I’ve gotten you sick again, haven’t I?”

“As per autumn tradition. What gave it away?” Hapi sniffles, finally remembering the disgusting scarf laying over her face that she’d been trying oh so hard to ignore.

Constance strokes her head. “Let’s see, you’re warm, you sound hoarse and congested, you’re wearing a scarf inside, you crashed on the couch first thing when you came in, I could go on.”

“Mmm. Yeah.” With some effort, Hapi pulls herself upright. “I’mb really gross right now. Made a mess of this scarf. Gonna go clean myself up.”

Constance lays a hand on her shoulder before she can get up. “I’ve got clean tissues right here, just rest.” She leans over and offers Hapi a tissue box from the coffee table.

“Thanks.” Hapi carefully pulls her scarf off and drops it beside the couch. She takes a few tissues and gets to work wiping up the copious mess around her nose.

“Oh dear, you weren’t kidding.” Constance furrows her eyebrows and grabs the blanket draped along the back of the couch. She wraps it snugly around her girlfriend.

Having done all she can with the first few tissues she grabbed, Hapi places them on the coffee table and pulls a few more from the box. She gives her nose a miserable, gurgling blow. For a moment she thinks she’s finally good, but then she ducks back into the tissues with a wet sneeze.

“I’ll go put some tea on. Cinnamon or Four Spice?”

Hapi takes a few more tissues. “Ciddambon.” Another horribly damp nose blow.

When Constance returns from the kitchen after a few minutes, she carries two mugs. She hands Hapi her mug, which has the words “Don’t talk to me until I’ve eaten this mug” printed along the front.

Constance takes a sip of her own tea - sweet apple - and wraps her arms around her poor girlfriend. With a content, congested sigh, Hapi leans into her touch.

“Coco, I love sitting around with you, but don’t you need to worry about grading midterms right now?”

“Taking another sick day wouldn’t hurt. Especially if I’m spending it commiserating with you.”

Hapi scoffs. “I’d hardly call it a sick day if you already spent god knows how long in the lab this afternoon.”

“Shhhhh. Rest, dear.”

#hapi/stance #my writing #fic #answered ask #wlw #very happy with this one

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hilllsnholland · 5 years ago

Text

Tutor Girl

Pairing: Basketball Star!Tom x Tutor!Reader

Wc: 6.2k (YiKES)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of learning disability, depression, little angst but mostly fluff

Summary: You didn’t plan on tutoring your best friend’s brother, Tom. He was an ass, cocky and a player. The worst. Yet, you also didn’t plan on falling in love with him either.

A/N: This took longer than expected...oops but whatever. If you can’t tell this is very One Tree Hill inspired, but I take some creative liberties so I hope you enjoy this because this was my favorite thing to write e.v.e.r.

The sharp skirting around the gym floors was amplified by the thudding of feet. Bright and orange, the basketball was passed between players of Tree Hill high school. Their rival school, Northridge High, were ahead by two points. Harrison Osterfield, the forward, spun around trying to find his best friend in the crowd of people.

Tom Holland shined, quite literally and figuratively, as he dashed between players. He was covered in sweat, bright red as he tried to make eye contact with his teammate. The crowd was at the end of their seats. Only twenty-seconds on the clock, someone needed to make a basket to win the game. This was the final game of the season to see who would make it to state. Tom’s heartbeat against his chest so loud he could hear it in his ears. He pushed out the glaring look of disapproval from his father, the roaring sounds of the home fans screaming his name. Harrison dribbled the ball, throwing over to Tom who caught it between swiping hands.

“Holland has the ball!’ The announcer screams. “Ten seconds on the clock!”

Tom pivoted, the ball raised in the air and away from his opponents. What Tom lacked in height he gained in speed and agility. Tom took one step forward, throwing the ball from the three-point line, and listening to the silence fell over the crowd. His eyes should be on the ball and the basket, but he’s gone blank. The ball has left his hands, it’s not in his control anymore. His heartbeats as the timer hits down to the final seconds.

“Holland shoots and he-“

Tom opens the paper in his hands once again hoping it would say a different name. Praying that his dyslexia had somehow mixed the name up with hers. Tom looks into the tutoring center and sees her. Tutor Girl. He hated himself for even being in the room, but this was his future on the line. This was his dream. His father’s dream. All on the lines of a trigonometry midterm. Tom walks over to her, tapping her on the shoulder.

“Hi, how can- oh it’s you,” Y/N somewhat chuckles but squints at him. “Did you get lost on your way to the gym?”

“No, I need a tutor,” Tom says sheepishly.

“Well, I guess you had enough brains to find the tutoring center then,”

Y/N laughs and gathers her books that were stacked on the table. Tom shakes his head asking God what he had done to put himself in this situation. It was his brother’s best friend, the girl who hated him.

“Y/N, you were assigned to be my tutor,” Tom says lowly like he’s holding back vomit.

Y/N drops her books. She spins around and rips the piece of paper out of his hands and scans it. Her mouth drops open and she can not believe it. Y/N’s first thought was to tell him to go request another tutor. Complain and say it’s a conflict of interest due to their past history. Yet, something urged her.

“I know it’s not the best situation but-“

“No, this is…fine,” Y/N bites her thumbnail while scanning her mental calendar. “Can we meet up…in the morning? Before school, because you have basketball practice and I have work so it would just work out better. Right? Tomorrow we can start.”

Tom blinks. Is this real life? Did Y/N really agree to tutor him? Tom knew she was the smartest girl in this school, maybe even state, and she was giving up her precious time to help him? It was a bloody miracle.

“That’s perfect. Meet you at the Waterfront Cafe?” Tom cracks that signature smile.

“It’s a date,” Y/N says but instantly regrets it. “Study…date…but not a date,”

Y/N grimaces, picking up her things and trying to shuffle out of the room as fast as possible. Tom watches her, smiling to himself as she hurries out. For the first time, Y/N doesn’t seem like his brother’s best friend. She’s…different. Although they were the same age, he’d always seen her as a child. Innocent and a little quirky. But the way she said the word ‘date’, it made his heart skip. Tom shakes his head at himself, gotta keep his head in the game of course. No time for tutor girl romance.

“Not a date, got it,” Tom says to himself, still smiling.

Y/N’s head was buried into the lesson plan she had set out for Tom. Her eyes focused so hard over the review sheets, notes, and his past tests that she didn’t notice him sit down. Tom sat back, snacking on a protein bar, watching her. Her hair swooped over her eyes, curling around the frame of her face which made it harder to not whisk away and caress her cheek. Tom instantly felt nauseous though, he was not a mushy kind of guy and this newfound feeling for Y/N was not sitting well with him. Y/N inhaled sharply, the hair blowing up and hitting her in the face again.

“You know you could always get a headband,”

Y/N jumps, startled by his sudden appearance. Tom holds back a cocky laugh, taking the final bite of his bar and leaning back in his chair coolly.

“You scared the crap out of me,” Y/N holds her chest. “Who knew spending all your time in the gym made you some sort of ninja,”

Tom didn’t want to laugh but he did.

“If you say ninja one more time I’ll leave, Tutor girl”

“It’s a deal,”

Y/N extended her hand to him but instead of a handshake, she dropped a pencil down in front of him. Tom rolled his eyes, accepting the pencil and the practice book she had laid out for him. Y/N goes straight to work, naming off different equations and mapping out how to do each problem. Tom followed her as much as possible, his mind wandering off from time to time though. Mainly about basketball, sometimes about food, but then it also landed on her lips.

It was crazy, fucking mad that he was staring at her lips. How full, pink, and kissable they looked. She didn’t even wear makeup, probably not even chapstick, but they looked like perfection. Tom felt his heart pump harder, stupid fucking hormones, he thought. But he was entranced by her.

“So then you carry that over…Tom carry the…carry…what are you doing?” Her voice breaks the glass of his concentration and he snaps to look her in the eyes.

“I’m just trying to understand your nerd jargon.” Tom shrugs it off and continues the problem. “No wonder you’re friends with Sam,”

He heard the snap of a pencil and looked to see Y/N was about to burst. Tom didn’t know she was so sensitive about her brother. They had only been friends, but now her reaction was making him wonder. Were they…a thing? Was Tom so blind he didn’t know? This caused…jealousy? No, never, Tom could never be jealous of Sam.

“Maybe I’m friends with Sam because he actually has a brain between his ears,” She snarled. “You really don’t see it huh? See how you treat Sam and how it affects him? You don’t know how many nights…”

Y/N bites her lip as if she’s said too much. Sam was a sensitive topic for her, as she protected him as if he was her brother. Listening to all his griefs and problems, she had become his ultimate confidant. But, she was not supposed to tell Sam’s secrets, especially to his pompous brother. The brother that tormented him blindly. Tom probably wouldn’t understand the kind of pressure Sam was under, the only thing he understood was basketball and cheerleaders.

“I’m affecting Sam?” Tom laughs and shakes his head. “By what? Trying to get him to join the basketball team? Trying to take him out to parties so he’s not cooped up in his room with…you of all people,”

It was Y/N’s turn to laugh. She slammed her book shut, shaking her head while curses spill out of her mouth. She should have known this would have been a bad idea. It was the worst idea ever. Y/N shuffled her things into her bag, upset that she wasted her time on him. Tom was fuming though, torn between needing to pass his midterm and not wanting his pride to wash away.

“You’re really this stupid huh?” Y/N snaps. “Sam is fucking depressed Tom. The pressure you and your dad put on him, it’s insane. He doesn’t want to be popular. He doesn’t want to be on the basketball team. He just….he just wants to be accepted.”

Tom freezes at the sight of tears falling from her eyes. This was not what he planned to happen. Guilt ate away at him. Fuck, maybe he was an idiot.

“We accept him,” Tom says in a hushed tone.

“He’s in your shadow, Tom. He hides behind you and Harry, wishing he could be like you guys. He’s the outcast while his ‘perfect’ brother takes the stage-“

“I’m not perfect!”

Tom yells and the whole Waterfront Cafe is staring at them. Usually, Y/N would be petrified to have so many eyes on her, but her emotions were overworking her and she was stunned by his outburst.

“If I was perfect I wouldn’t be failing Trig and English! If I was perfect I wouldn’t be struggling so hard. If I was perfect I wouldn’t have…”

Dyslexia was what he wanted to say. He mouthed the words, acknowledging how many people were staring at them. Tom slouched in his seat, embarrassed by the scene. His father would hear about this, lecturing him about his image in town. Gossip spreads fast and if he wanted to be accepted into Kansas State and be on the Wildcats, he couldn’t let anything smear his reputation.

Y/N watched him huddle into a ball like a child. He was ashamed, embarrassed, but most of all vulnerable. She had never seen him like this, frightened of the truth being yelled out. Y/N should have known, all the signs were there. With an audible sigh, Y/N drops her things back on the table and takes her seat again.

“Y/N, what are-“

“Carry the fucking five or I’ll leave again,” She looks up and smiles.

It was that genuine smile, the one you couldn’t resist because it’s perfect and everything you could want. Tom felt his insides turn, fuck that smile made him feel so weird. He didn’t fall so hard for girls, but Y/N was something special. Tom sat up and grabbed his pencil again.

“It’s a deal,”

Y/N sat idly, watching her student fix his mistakes on his recent English report. It was boring work, but she was proud of him. It was the kind of pride you get when your child gets a good grade on a test. It was encouraging to know she gave someone the fundamentals to gain success. Unless it was Tom, which was a bittersweet victory.

Her eyes went to the clock for what was the thousandth time that free period. Tom would be coming by after his midterm to show her his score. Y/N was a mess. She always was on big test days for her students, but this was eating at her. Tom’s ability to play in the last game this Friday depended on her. After weeks of studying, she had hoped it paid off.

Well, it wasn’t all studying. Sometimes they got food or talked about life a little. It was strange, but not bad. Tom had more depth than she first thought. He wasn’t all about basketball. He loved old movies and comic books. Things Y/N wouldn’t suspect at first.

“Hey,” A voice says behind her.

Y/N turns, expecting Tom to be standing there, either in glee or disarray, but it’s not. It’s Sam, smiling and taking a chair right next to her. Usually, the sight of Sam would make her so happy, but she felt…let down? Was she really that excited to see Tom? It could possibly be the nerves of wanting to know what he got wrong and right. But Sam sitting next to her, going on about getting tickets to a concert this weekend, it didn’t give her the same joy as usual.

“Do you want to go? I know you’re super busy ...Earth to Y/N? Did my brother really suck out all your brainpower?”

“Huh?”

Sam laughed, pulling out concert tickets from his pocket and showing it off to her.

“Oh, yes I would love too!” Y/N looked over to her student who was paying no mind to them. “Uh, so you sure you’re okay with me spending so much time with your brother?”

Sam looks to her as if she was speaking a different language. Y/N wanted to make sure though, since they had some deep-rooted rivalry and all. Maybe it was also a way of subliminally telling Sam that she was having confusing feelings about Tom. But Sam shrugged.

“I don’t care,” He snorts. “I feel sorry for you though. I bet all he talks about is-“

“Basketball? Not really.” Sam squints at Y/N. “He talks about his favorite movies and books. We talk about social issues. He even talks about you, saying that he wished you’d make dinner more often because your cooking beats Nikki’s,”

Sam doesn’t respond. He looks to Y/N and then looks down at the table. She can’t read his emotions either, his eyes are glued to his phone as he searches something on Instagram. Usual Sam, pushing all feelings aside. Locking himself inside of his head and refusing to let anyone in. Y/N sighs, wanting to comfort him but then a shadow flashed by her. Suddenly she’s picked out of the chair and lifted into a bone-crushing hug.

“We did it!” Tom exclaims, his test paper falls to the table with a bright red ‘A’ on it. “Tutor Girl, we fucking did it!”

“What?” Y/N scrapes up the paper and is stunned.

He fucking did it. What Y/N thought was a lost cause was actually her greatest victory.

“Did you cheat?” Tom looked at her, bewildered.

“No!”

Y/N almost burst into tears, jumping into Tom’s arms and hugging him. Sam was put off to the side, again. It was a common theme, but now Sam was being outcasted by his own best friend. Y/N and Tom didn’t seem to notice, basking in each other’s happiness.

“We need to celebrate,” Y/N cheered.

“Yeah, want to go do something tonight? Practice ends at six,” Tom sees his brother slouching in the chair, eyes glued to his phone. “Sam, you want to come?”

Both Sam and Y/N were taken aback by Tom’s offer. It was exactly what Y/N wanted though. She wanted Tom to finally accept Sam, insert him into his life more and stop taking the piss out of him. It might be a fever dream, but there Tom was, acting like a better brother.

“I’m good,” Sam stands up and shrugs.

“Sam, please-“

“No, you guys have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow,”

Sam looked at Y/N coldly as he walked away. Guilt overcame her, she didn’t think Sam would react so poorly to his brother’s encouragement. Tom, however, didn’t seem to mind his brother’s behavior. Shrugging it off and looking over to Y/N with that boyish grin.

“So, celebration? Ice cream and a movie?”

Y/N felt excited. She felt the most amount of joy in her life as Tom was talking, but at what cost? The way Sam looked at her, betrayed and isolated. That’s the last thing she wants to do. Yet, looking at Tom, it didn’t seem as bad. It was one of those lose-lose situations, no matter what Y/N did, someone was going to get hurt.

“Tom, I…”

They met each other’s stare, and god how could you say no to that face? He was beaming, eyes glittery from excitement that made her heart skip a beat.

“I can’t wait,”

The words came out awkwardly, there was true happiness behind them but guilt poisoned her tongue. Tom didn’t seem to notice, giving her one last hug and walking towards the door, saying a thousand ‘thank you’s’ as he left.

“I’ll pick you up after practice!” He walked halfway out the door but peaked back in. “Hope you don’t mind if I’m a little sweaty,”

He winked. Tom Holland winked at her and she nearly lost her mind. If Tom had done that weeks prior, she would’ve thrown up in her mouth. Maybe the floor, maybe on his shoes. But today? She was filled with unusual bubbles that made her turn pink and smile. Tom left, leaving Y/N with her student, who was still oblivious to everything that was happening. Leaving Y/N to think what Tom would look like after practice

___

Godly. That is how Tom looked after practice. Y/N had imagined what he would be coming to her house looking like, but she never expected him to look so…so…so hot? It was sickening, but she couldn’t help it. Tom arrived at her house, knocking on the door instead of texting her, in basketball shorts and a cut off shirt. His hair was damp from taking a shower after practice, but his skin glowed. His muscles flexing every time he turned the wheel of the car. It was one of those moments where Y/N didn’t know how she ended up here, but she thanked God for it.

“So, hit up ice cream and then go see a movie?” Tom looked to her for a brief second then back at the road.

“Ice cream sounds amazing but,”

Y/N panicked at the thought of sitting in a dark room, so close to Tom. Hands maybe touching to grab the popcorn, or getting lost in the moment and he may put his arm around her. ‘Shit, thinking too far ahead,’ Y/N thought. Under no circumstances could she sit in a romantic atmosphere with him. Not today.

“How about you take me to your favorite spot?” Y/N tilts her head slightly to give off an innocent look. “Somewhere, hopefully not private,”

The last part was mumbled under her breath but Tom somewhat caught it. He dryly laughed, pulling into the parking lot of Coldstone, and shifted himself to her.

“I have a place, but I’m not sure you can handle it,”

“Bring it baby,” Y/N turned red while Tom laughed. “Not baby…I mean…bud…buddy.”

Tom hid his smirk as he got out of the car. Y/N glowed red, walking behind him, almost hiding behind his tall frame. Tom watched her as she scanned the glass, just so in control. It was hard to put words to it, but she was so natural. Walking so easily, finger a centimeter from the glass as she looked for the one she wanted. It was such a domestic moment, Y/N picked out two scoops of her favorite flavor while Tom got chocolate ice cream and paid. But, Tom was smitten. It was sickening how much he had grown to like her. It was so out of character, Tom was drawn away from most girls. Only going out for once if the girl had interested him. But what Y/N did for him was crazy. He even opened the door for her as they entered the car.

Y/N was on the verge of exploding. She stuffed her mouth with ice cream to make sure nothing stupid spilled from her mouth. If she was in the classroom, or tutor room, she would excel. Y/N could do math in her sleep. Write essays in an hour. Memorize the periodic table or physics equations with ease. Yet, sitting in the car with Tom Holland was the biggest challenge she’s faced yet.

“So, where are you taking me?” She looked to him nervously. “You’re not going to murder me right,”

Tom laughed.

“No, not today,”

He turns right into the lonely parking lot and Y/N can finally see where they were. It was the River Court, the basketball court right by the river, the one Sam always brought her to when they were kids. The only reason why they stopped going was because Tom had taken it over with their father, using it as Tom’s ‘special training court’. Y/N remembered that day clearly, Sam was almost in tears as their father sent them somewhere else. ‘If you’re gonna sit around and color, go home’. Dom had said. He wasn’t a monster. But there was a clear line of how he treated his sons versus Sam.

“I haven’t been here in years,” Y/N exhaled sharply as she walked slowly through the wet grass.

Tom walked next to her, holding a basketball in his hands. How typical.

“Do you ever get a break?” She mused and Tom shrugged.

“It keeps my mind busy,”

They took a seat on the rusty half-bleachers while finishing their ice cream in silence. Y/N had zoned her attention on the water, how it glistened against the setting sun and the boats going by. Tom, however, was focused on Y/N. It was the same sense of natural, how she looked so perfect without trying.

“I’m really proud of you,” She says absent-mindedly. “You were able to conquer your dyslexia, and you did it. It’s amazing,”

Tom felt giddy, like a child waking up to go to Disneyland. He had heard praise all his life, but hearing them slip from her lips was the greatest accomplishment of all.

“Couldn’t do it without you, Tutor Girl,” His hand touches the small of her back lightly. “You didn’t make fun of me when I spelled things wrong or got confused. You are really…amazing,”

For a quick moment he saw her get a twinkle in her eyes. She tried to not show the overflowing glee that came over her with that compliment. He was too good at winning hearts, just that boyish grin was enough to make her turn into mush. Tom felt the same though, he little glances at him made everything stop. How could this girl make him go insane but just being herself? It was insane.

“Will you go to my game on Friday?”

“Huh?”

“The big game. I want you to be there,” Tom watches Y/N snapped her attention away and quirk an eyebrow at him.

“I…well why? I’m just…Tutor Girl?”

Tom crumpled up the tissues in his hand while trying to find the words to say. He wanted to say, ‘please, I think I’m in love with you and if you don’t come I will die a slow, pitiful death’. But he didn’t. He faked a confident smirk.

“Exactly, you’re my good luck charm,”

Y/N cheeks become pink as she dives her head lower into the collar of her sweatshirt. ‘Fuck that smirk’ she thought. His words were so tactile, she could tell he was thinking through every word. Was he trying to play her like that? Or did he really mean it?

“Maybe,”

“I’d love it if you brought Sam too,” Tom looked from the River Court back to Y/N. “He’s been pushing me away more. I tried today, you saw that. He’s my brother but I feel like we’re…strangers, you know?”

That was the perfect word. Over the years, Sam and Tom had become nothing but roommates in the same house. Neither could tell you a single fact about the other. Besides, Tom liked basketball and Sam liked cooking and art. It was complicated at best.

“Trust me, I know. Sam will come around though.” She meets his soft eyes in a dreamy trance. “He loves you, promise. I know him better than he knows himself.”

There was no doubt in Tom’s mind that she was telling the truth. She was honest, true natured and he knew she was trying to help. It would be naive to think she didn’t agree to tutor him without ulterior motives. Y/N always brought Sam up, encouraging Tom to get closer with him. He didn’t mind it though, it was about time things changed.

“Are you and Sam…like a thing?”

Y/N knees faced towards him as she shifted her body. It was out of surprise, did she give off that vibe that she liked Sam? It was actually revolting though. More so than the thought of being with Tom a few weeks ago. It was like dating her brother.

“No, never,” She laughed while Tom sighed in relief. “We would never. He’s like a brother to me,”

“Same,”

Y/N laughed at Tom’s word vomit. He was breaking apart from nerves, her leg slightly touching his and how close she was. Tom had been with plenty of girls, either at parties or after games, but he had never been nervous. Especially with something so innocent as sitting on a bench with his brother’s best friend.

“I mean,” Tom panicked, dropping the basketball to the ground.

“What do you mean?” Y/N leaned forward a little further, placing her ice cream cup out of the way. “Why do you care if I’m dating Sam?”

It was a challenge, for both Tom and herself. She wanted to see how far this would go. The playful banter and longing touches were not enough. Y/N may be Tutor Girl, but she had to take her chance. Leaning further, her hand rested on his and he jumped slightly. Tom reanalyzed her body language over and over again, making sure this wasn’t some amazing dream. Nope, Y/N was surely flirting with him, biting her lip at him and blinking slowly. So, so irresistible. Tom placed a hand on her face and took a leap.

“So I can do this,”

His lips melted into hers into the most perfect, imperfect first kiss either of them had ever experienced. Their noses knocked into each other and their hands awkwardly tried to find a comfortable place to land. Even with that though, it was like magic. It was the best rush of euphoria Tom had ever had. Better than winning any game or party. For Y/N, better than any academic award or scholarship. It was a mess of teenage awkwardness, but beautiful all the same.

Y/N pulled away first, hands locked on Tom’s shoulders as she held him still. Her mind raced with words, thoughts that she could not fathom. Mainly fear. It all clicked too fast, the River Court, kissing Tom, and how Sam would react. It didn’t feel wrong, but guilt consumed her. This was exactly why she didn’t want the romantic atmosphere, to be alone with him. She knew she would do this, kiss him, fall harder for him, and then break down.

“That…that…I…but,” Tutor Girl was a lost for words. “Tom, I don’t know what to do,”

Tom had never heard her voice so small. She was confident, always, no matter what. Even if she was considered ‘nerdy’, she was a bombshell of beauty and brains. Right now, she was puddy.

“I like you a lot,” He stuttered on his words. “I don’t know why I haven’t seen it before, but you are perfect. I can’t stop myself from falling for you. I’m going off, but fuck I really like you Y/N,”

It was as if the whole world stopped. Birds stopped chirping, the basketball stopped rolling, and for a second it was just them. Y/N tightened her hands into balls as her whole body tensed. She felt dirty, as if she was hiding behind her best friend’s back. She kissed the enemy. But she liked Tom. Oh Lord, she loved every part of him now. What she thought was annoying about him was now her favorite things. His stupid luscious curls, devious smile, and even the way he said her name drove her wild. This was her hardest test yet, wanting to run away but also be with him.

“I...can’t,” Her words came out in choked segments as she looked to the ground. “No, Tom this is...bad. I’m Y/N, Tutor Girl, your brother’s best friend. I am nothing. We are not even on the same planet Tom. This can’t...we can’t…”

She didn’t believe the words she was saying. Every forced ‘no’ cut her up inside. The way Tom winced every time she spoke killed her. It felt like both of them had ripped out their hearts on stomped on them. Tom stood up and paced.

“Why? This isn’t some status quo bullshit Y/N!” His hands moved erratically as he got angrier. “If you don’t like me, say it. Don’t give me an excuse,”

“Tom, I do like you-”

“So, the only thing stopping you is what? I play basketball and you’re friends with my brother? Doesn’t make sense?”

It didn’t make sense. Of course it didn’t but Y/N couldn’t give a straight answer. Everything was telling her yes, go be with Tom. Yet, Sam kept crossing her mind. How disappointed and hurt he would be. Y/N couldn't do that, she had to put her best friend over Tom.

“That’s exactly it. It’s Sam okay? I wouldn’t have a good conscience if we dated. You hurt him, Tom. I need to stick by my best friend.”

Tom stood straight up, his shoulders falling back and his eyes locked on hers. His eyes were dark, misted in hurt. He didn’t bat an eye, grabbing his keys from his pocket and throwing them into her lap.

“Take my car and go home,”

“But what about-”

“I’m going to clear my head. Just...go,”

Tom’s voice was weirdly calm. Although he looked broken, eyes watering and his body starting to shake from keeping his emotions pent up, he was standing stoically. Y/N did not fight it, she took his keys and left. As she pulled out of the empty parking lot, watching Tom start to dribble and shoot around the River Court, she cried. Tears burned and her throat closed, it was too painful.

He didn’t dare look back at his car driving away. Streams of tears painted his face as he concentrated on shooting free throws. It was one of the few times he left his guard down, never again though. Tom had never experienced real heartbreak like this. He had never felt anything that was a fraction of this pain. Tom watched the ball hit the backboard and spring away. The noise drowned out a choked sob as he slunk to the floor and pitied himself for a while.

A pillow was knocked into Y/N’s face as she laid on her best friend’s bed. Sam slapped her again with it, jumping up and shaking her around. Friday night, the night she always hung out with Sam had turned into a shitshow. Y/N was too sad to care about anything so she sat in silence for almost two hours.

“Y/N, what the hell is your problem?”

Her heart was shattered, that was the problem, and it was all her fault. She could have had a happy ending, with the beautiful boy who was a star athlete and all the other girls were jealous. But no, here she was laying in Sam’s bed trying not to cry at the family pictures on the bedside table.

“Nothing-”

“Y/N, I know something happened,” Sam crossed his arms and sighed. “That day after Tom passed his test, you two were supposed to hang out. Tom came home at two in the morning. He looked like shit, and not the sexy disheveled bullshit he goes for.”

Y/N sucks her lips in and tries to not picture it. Tries to not picture Tom, red-eyed and exhausted from playing himself to death and sobbing. Tries to not picture Tom falling into his mattress, crying some more and wondering if he should call her. Because that’s what she did. Played music to the highest volume while staring at her phone. It killed it, even days later it killed her.

“Tom hasn’t been himself. Won’t talk to anyone, not even Dad. And you? You brought Tom’s car to the house and just...left? Without a word. You’ve been ignoring my calls and the tutoring center. What the hell happened?”

It snapped. The final rope holding her together broke as Y/N fell into a mess of sobbing, clinging to Sam’s shirt as wails left her shaking body. She thought she had gotten them out the first night, but it was consuming her. The disgusting girlish sadness she couldn’t escape. She vowed to never cry over a boy, but she did.

“We...kissed…” She cried. “He said he liked me ...and I like him too…”

Sam deciphered her cries into fragmented statements and stared at her wide-eyed. For a second, she thought he had short-circuited. He squinted at her, eyebrows furrowed together, lips flattened, and his hands are thrown up in the air.

“And?” Sam waved her on to continue.

“And...what?” She sniffled. “I couldn’t go through with it. It would be wrong-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Sam stood up and marched into his closet, pulling out a sweatshirt and mumbling something to himself.

“Sam-”

“Listen Y/N,” He points a finger at her and exhales loudly. “You are my best friend who I confided everything in. You know how I feel about Tom, so I appreciate you caring, but fuck it was obvious that you two were into each other-”

“Wait-”

“Sh!” Sam waved his hands again. “You never stopped talking about Tom, and he was always asking about you. And he was asking me about cooking and art and...life? I was just surprised, waiting for it to blow over once he passed his test. But, he likes you Y/N. A lot. Don’t fuck this up for my sake, because I want you two to be together.”

Y/N was in awe, frozen on the bed as Sam grabbed keys from the dresser and stopped down the hall. It wasn’t until he returned, Tom’s varsity jacket in hand, that she knew what he was planning to do. A large ball stuck in her throat as Sam grabbed her arm and hoisted her to her feet.

“Sam-”

“Not now Y/N, we got a game to get to,”

“Holland shoots...and he”

Tom’s eyes weren’t even on the ball. It wasn’t on the court, his teammates, or even Coach Whitey. It was on Y/N. She was standing behind the bleachers with Sam, wearing his varsity jacket, cheering and in awe of him. How long had she been there? It didn’t matter. The screech of the buzzer went off and it all went into a haze of screams.

“Scores! Holland for the win! Tree Hill Ravens are going to State!”

The basketball team rushed Tom, jumping on him and hugging him, but he pushed them all away. The crowd was cheering, confetti and ear-bleeding music played from the speakers, but he couldn’t even feel it. Tom only had eyes on Y/N as rushed to the bleachers. His father stepped in front of him to give him a hug, but even he dodged that, rushing to the girl of his dreams and picking her up.

“T-Tom, I-”

Y/N was whisked away in a circle, cut off by a kiss that could only be matched by movies. It was a blur of adrenaline and passion, his arms situated tightly on her waist as he kept her balanced while her hands tousled his sweaty curls. Although he smelled like sweat and gym floor, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sam looked away from the two, somewhat sickened by the affection, and caught his father’s eye. They looked at each other for a moment, Dom smiling and waving his son over to the door. Sam rushed over, his father throwing his arm over his shoulder as they walked out and talked about the game together.

“Y/N, I can’t-” Tom said against her lips.

“Tom,” She pushed back like she did at the River Court, this time lovingly looking into his eyes. “I like you too. No ‘ifs, ands, or buts’, I like you so much it hurts. I’m sorry for freaking at the River Court. I’m smart with math, stupid at love-”

“Nice Mean Girls reference,”

“Asshole, you’re ruining my proclamation of love,”

Y/N hits him playfully and he kisses her again. Quickly, more flirtatious as he pulls her against him tightly. As if to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Like I was saying, I’m not good at this whole relationship thing, but I like you a lot and I want to be with you. If that’s still on the table.”

Tom rolls his eyes, gently placing her back on the ground but keeping his hands placed on her hips. Damn, she looked so good in his varsity jacket, a sight he’d get to see more of.

“Always, Tutor Girl.”

“That’s Tutor Girlfriend to you, buddy,”

Y/N smirked, taking one of his hands and pulling him to follow her out of the gym. It was completely empty now, except for a few janitors, and his family was probably waiting for them. Tom watched her lead him to the outside, smiling like the biggest fool in love. It was again, the natural way she was that made him feel like this. Everything was perfect about her, the confidence, brain, and the way she found herself into his life. It was like one of those fairytales, the one where the basketball star falls in love with the tutor girl, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

///

taglist: @starksparker / @spiderboytotherescue / @laureharrier / @stuckonspidey / @hollandroos / @iamnida95 / @vanetsu15 / @racewife2004 @spnqueen02 / @kaylinicole25 / @aaliyah-lampley99 / @id-rather-be-an-outsider / @fancybrittrash / @infectedrosee459 / @tragicluver / @jhanellamae / @tomzfrog / @mutuallynotmutual / @everybasicwhitegirl / @oswald-1998 / @justaduckling / @peruvian-bae / @parkersvibes

#Tom Holland imagines #Tom Holland imagine #tom holland fluff #Tom Holland fanfic #Tom Holland fluff #Tom Holland blurbs #Tom Holland blurb #Tom Holland smut #Tom Holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #Tom Holland x you #Peter Parker imagines #Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker fluff

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forasecondtherewedwon · 5 years ago

Text

Slow Mover

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E/NSFW Word count: 12k

Summary:

When Ned backed out on rooming with Peter during their first year of college, MJ felt like it was no big deal to take his place. Now that she's about to lose it, she's confronting the fact that she may have grown attached... and not to the apartment.

Monday, February 1st

I’m gonna pack my things and leave you behind/This feeing’s old and I know/That I’ve made up my mind ― “I Love You So” (The Walters)

MJ’s been thinking about moving out for awhile. As far as roommates go, Peter’s a slob, not that she has a frame of reference since they’re only in their first year of college and she declined student residence in favour of splitting a lease with her Academic Decathlon underling.

If the term ‘underling’ seems harsh, it’s not. Peter’s earned her disdain in more ways than there are Disney Dalmatians. He mashes down the nibs of her Faber-Castell markers making hasty grocery lists on the post-its that inevitably breeze off their fridge door. He falls through the window almost every time he gets in late from Spidey-patrol and the thud wakes her up. He has socks everywhere. She has never seen so many. Fucking. Socks.

This was supposed to be him and Ned, she knows―his actual best friend, not the friend reluctantly given the designation because... why, again? How she won Peter’s friendship isn’t immediately clear. Except Ned decided to commute from home in a last-minute fit of separation anxiety. This was after Peter signed a lease but before the online application for student residence opened. MJ shrugged and said she’d help them out because the little walk-up is close to campus and about on par with what the college charges for housing. For Peter, the draw is the privacy to sneak in and out in his superhero getup. For MJ, it’s the quiet of not sleeping within the same four walls as a noisy roommate, on a floor packed with students, in a building of eighteen-year-olds who’ve just left the nest and are ready to party.

But, like she’s noted, Peter’s the worst.

It’s the first of February, with only two full months plus exams left in the term, and she’s still telling herself she might just cut and run. Very likely, she and Peter have the last good landlord in New York City (or the woman knows how fast she could rent their apartment with so many students, tourists, and other career transients coming and going) because they were told upfront that they could move out at either the end of the month or right in the middle, provided they gave two weeks of notice. When the 1st and the 15th of every month roll around, MJ re-evaluates. Obviously, she hasn’t dropped Peter on his ass yet, but she could. She has options. She’s met a handful of people in her figure drawing and art history classes who are living together on two floors of a ramshackle historic house somewhere that’s basically turned into an artist’s colony and one more person would be nothing to them. MJ could absolutely move in. The socializing demands would be an adjustment, but it’s a short sprint to exam season and she’ll be burrowing into a library study room at that point anyway.

Today’s another first of the month, another chance to announce she’s jumping ship. After considering everything during her walk back to the apartment from her afternoon class, MJ’s decided she’ll probably stay. She never records the factors that inform her decision, preferring to leave no trace. Put it down to her love of mystery and conspiracy, or her five solid months of rooming with a guy who leads a double life. Either way, her vast internal ordering system that leaves no physical sign drives Peter nuts. That’s why she continues to use it.

“Hey, loser, I’m home!” she shouts, twisting her key out of the lock and closing the door behind her.

MJ doesn’t see him right away, but she knows he’s here. His class schedule is as familiar as her own and she knows he’s just as hesitant as she is to engage with people―even people he’s friendly with in class―outside of school. He’ll be here. No need to rush the encounter.

She kicks off her slushy boots, hangs her coat, shoves her hat down the sleeve, and heads to her room. A living space and kitchen that are practically one and the same was evidently the trade-off the boys were willing to make for two bedrooms when they chose this apartment. Whatever. MJ isn’t dying for any meal that requires more than a foot and a half of counter space. And the bedroom all to herself is nice. Peter got the one with the window for his nefarious late-night purposes (saving people and shit), so her room’s away from exterior walls and beside the bathroom. She nearly always gets to the shower first and when she doesn’t... at least being a slow showerer isn’t one of Peter’s faults.

Hefting her textbooks and notebooks from her bag one by one, MJ assesses which she’ll need for homework tonight. Yikes, maybe it should be an exclusively laptop evening; she has a midterm paper coming up and the task of assembling citable articles from scholarly journals beckons in a voice that’s been shredded through a cheese grater. Mmm, cheese. She touches her stomach. Snack first?

Once she’s let her hair down to straggle around her shoulders and swapped her jeans for pj bottoms, MJ plods back into communal territory. She can hear Peter talking in his room through his door, probably on the phone. Part of her wants to knock and tell him to say hi to his aunt for her. The more persuasive part of her wants cheese. She shuffles onward.

He comes sliding into the kitchen like a young Tom Cruise, but with pants―god, the mental comparison is so embarrassingly bad that it’s making her start to blush―as MJ’s arranging a slice of cheddar on a cracker. The fact that Peter so clearly wants to tell her something encourages her to bite down and, mouth full of crunching food, cut him off with, “’Sup?”

“I just got off the phone with Ned,” he informs her. His arms are dramatically apart like this news is in any way important or unusual.

Treating him with heavily sarcastic seriousness, she plants an elbow on the counter and leans towards him like she’s fascinated.

“And Lego’s teaming up with Tesla to build a driveable, electric Millennium Falcon that roars like Chewbacca when you hit the gas,” she predicts.

Peter’s mouth hangs open for a moment and it’s adora―it’s amusing. Like, she wants to laugh at him. Because he looks like a dork. This nerd is so easy to bait.

“Oh my god, I wish. Get out of my fantasies.”

Her elbow almost slips off the counter. She finishes chewing, chastened by how she could’ve just bit her tongue in a grisly household accident.

“Spit it out then,” she suggests, because now Peter’s grinning, waiting for her to ask. “I don’t have another guess.”

Her roommate takes a deep breath to ready himself for something and she narrows her eyes.

“Well, you know how you keep talking about those people you know and their big house and how they maybe have a room or part of a room or something?”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“I mentioned it once, Parker.”

“Oh, well, I remember you saying that. I―well,” he interrupts himself, “Ned and I wondered if that was something you were still considering.”

She has no idea where he’s going with this.

“I have no idea where you’re going with this.”

Peter comes close to vibrating for a minute before he just blurts it out.

“Ned’s moving in! Or, he could be, if you were moving out. Shit,” he mutters, expression falling. “We’re not trying to force you out. It’s just that you said you might want to, and Ned’s been thinking about moving closer to campus for exams and―”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” MJ agrees, nodding quickly. “You guys are idiots for not thinking of that sooner.”

Are they? Was it them being idiots that kept Ned at home? No, that was anxiety. Was it them being idiots that made Peter wholeheartedly welcome MJ as a roommate? No, that was... Ok, she doesn’t have an answer for that one, but she’s already said her thing about idiots, so she scoops her plate of cheese and crackers off the counter and slips past the confused face of her roommate, muttering about peer-reviewed academic sources.

It’s infuriating and unfair, as MJ numbly abandons her snack on her desk and sinks to the floor of her bedroom with her head in her hands, that the instant she agreed to move out was the same instant she noticed how cute her soon-to-be ex-roommate looks in sock-feet.

Tuesday, February 2nd

Is there more to this urge that lies in me/’Cause it feels like there’s something I can’t see/But I don’t know what it means ― “Patience” (Hollow Coves)

“You have your key, right?” Peter checks. It’s twenty after seven in the morning and MJ’s hustling him out their apartment door ahead of her. Honestly, she’s trying to kick the back of his shoes to speed him up, but Spider-Roommate’s a little too agile.

“Right here,” she assures him, flashing him the key ring in her hand.

“I just didn’t want you to be―”

“I know, loser.”

She observes as he hefts his backpack onto his shoulder and reaches past her to pull the door shut after them. He locks up and drops his key into his backpack. The solo key. Right in there, with all the other crap Peter keeps crammed inside. Half the time, when he has class and she doesn’t, she hears him arrive home and gets up to let him in. (Has she been listening for him? Not consciously.) Otherwise, he’s fumbling through his bag for ages for that key. Hilarious that he thinks he needs to take care of her like this, when she’s the one who’s been doing that for him.

Caring in a loose sense. Not actual caring. Just, making something more convenient.

They walk down the stairs. MJ’s instinct is always to hang back―like she’s trailing him or trying not to be seen with him―but Peter always slows down to her pace, never making it a thing. By this point in the year, their steps are in sync. The rhythmic thumps are an excuse not to speak. For her, anyway.

It’s early and MJ doesn’t have class until tonight. The explanation she’s been going with since this little morning ritual started is that it gives her more time to get shit done and keeps her established sleep schedule from getting fucked up on days that she has to be on campus before noon. The number of steps they descend together has grown familiar beneath the soles of her sneakers, she knows every little gouge in the wall. With Ned moving in, the number of days left for MJ to do this is suddenly pretty small. She’s nervous about it; she’s never been one for countdowns. Pulling her wool cardigan closed, she crosses her arms over her chest like she’s holding herself in and tucks her hands into her armpits.

“Have a good morning,” Peter says, moving quickly across the cramped lobby to push the outer door open. “See ya.”

She feels him glance back at her, but she doesn’t return the look.

“Yep.”

Alone, MJ turns to their shared mailbox. Another benefit of a key ring: carrying multiple keys at one time without the risk of losing any of them. She opens it up, extracts their measly haul, and flips through as she climbs the stairs back to the apartment. The journey feels a lot farther when she’s heading up―could be the roommate that makes the difference, or only gravity.

Halfway up, she has to pause. It’s just junk mail, addressed to Peter, but she realizes she’s going to miss getting mail with his name on it.

Wednesday, February 3rd

Maybe you and I could live together if we ever learn to ease the tension ― “You & I” (Colony House)

Ned’s over when MJ gets home. Today’s the longest day of her week―six hours of class back-to-back, followed by an hour and a half of the work study she signed up for because her scholarship doesn’t cover rent outside of student residence. It’s just papering bulletin boards with student council notices, and the mundanity of the work is nice, but she’s reached her quota for expending effort today; she accepts Ned’s high-five as she drags her feet past the couch and heads to her room, lying face-down on her bed until it feels like she’s whole again.

Gradually (very gradually), she rolls onto her side and grabs her warped copy of Moll Flanders off the bedside table. Something about a woman living an extremely precarious life calms her. MJ’s breathing becomes slow and silent, but she stops herself after 15 pages. If she keeps reading, she’ll fall asleep. Instead, she sits up and trades her socks for the cozier version wedged under her mattress. She has a secret fear that Peter will steal them. He’s gotten a covetous look in the past, so she’s taking precautions.

She pulls her laptop to her instead of going to her laptop and tidies up the Works Cited page on her in-progress paper. This task of thoughtless precision is the only school-related thing she feels like tackling for the rest of the day. All of today’s classes are either of the Monday-Wednesday variety or once a week, so MJ isn’t in a rush to get the readings done. She stops to think, pulling up the digital copy of her planner, and stares at the test she has marked down for next week. Hmm. It’s before her paper’s due, meaning studying for it won’t be taking priority, but the test format is a mix of multiple choice and short answer. The class―a sociology course―is graded on a curve and she’s in there with a bunch of students from non-writing programs who are consistently shit at short answer questions. As long as she refreshes her memory about the material being tested, the grading curve will push her competent written answers to the head of the class. It’s all about working the system.

During her time alone in the apartment yesterday, MJ hammered out a thesis and introductory paragraph. Now, she approaches them ruthlessly to see if she can streamline. This is the most critical part; actually writing the paper is just her hands flying across the keyboard, tossing in quotations like air-dropped care packages to her primary source-obsessed professor.

No, no, her brain is rejecting it. She’s done enough today. She doesn’t exactly want to socialize, but Peter and Ned are generally good about letting her quietly stew in their company without expecting much from her. MJ heads to the bathroom to wake herself up by washing her face, then out into the living room.

“What are you nerds doing?”

Half of the reason for her question is just to scare them (not that that’ll actually work on Mr. Super-senses over there) because she can see they’re about to put a movie on. Peter spins around to look at her while Ned rises from the couch. Privately, MJ thinks it’s kind of nice how Ned feels so at home here, where Peter is. Then again, it is about to become his home. Fuck, she needs to talk to the art people about that room.

“We were just gonna watch Alien,” Peter offers.

“Again? Didn’t you tell me you guys did an Alien marathon over winter break?”

He smiles like he’s been caught and it’s cu―funny.

“Yeah, and Ned’s making hot chocolate.”

“Oh yeah?” MJ watches Ned stride purposefully into their tiny kitchen. “Finally making yourself useful?”

He waves a dismissive hand at her and she snorts a laugh. They’ve gotten to this good friendship place of brotherly/sisterly teasing.

“You wanna watch?” Peter asks, calling her attention back to him. She weighs her looming essay against the full day behind her.

“Ok.”

“Hot chocolate, MJ?” Ned immediately asks.

“Well, since you’re determined to be such a good host.”

Ned grins and turns back to the kitchen. MJ leans against the wall, watching Peter put the movie in―not watching, just, like, observing―then glances at Ned. He hasn’t made much progress with their drinks. A mismatched trio of mugs is on the counter and... that’s it.

“You need a hand?” she asks, pushing off the wall.

“Where’s the kettle? Didn’t it used to be in this drawer?”

Ned points into the sliding drawer at their heap of assorted pots and pans.

“It did,” MJ explains. “But that one broke, so we bought a new one. A new one, WHICH WE’RE HOPING NOT TO BREAK BY DROPPING IT INTO THE DRAWER THIS TIME, RIGHT, PETER?”

Her roommate gives a sheepish laugh.

“Our new one’s tucked behind the toaster,” she tells Ned, directing him with a jerk of her chin.

“You guys are buying appliances together,” Ned chuckles. “That’s adorable.”

It’s a somnambulant walk to the couch, where MJ huddles in the corner and zones out for most of the movie.

Thursday, February 4th

You burn through my mind, again and again, again/And again and again ― “Luna” (Bombay Bicycle Club)

Feeling a burst of resolve before the weekend, possibly in rebellion against Wednesday evening’s confusing feelings, MJ decides to text one of her art classmates re: the spare room. Somehow, what she ends up texting is a question about their prof’s office hours. Which MJ already knows the answer to.

Another thing she does is read the same page of her art history textbook over and over and over and over.

Friday, February 5th

You’re the only one worth seeing/The only place worth being ― “Cold Cold Man” (Saint Motel)

Peter’s class finishes an hour before MJ’s, yet he always dithers with his packing, so they end up leaving the apartment for their trip back to Queens (courtesy of public transit) at the same time. Traveling with him is one of the less flawed aspects of a friendship with Peter Parker. He won’t glare manspreaders out of their prime seats like MJ would, but he knows the shortest routes and, while train and bus timetables never line up well for her, Peter’s memorized and mastered the schedule. They never wait around.

Also, there’s, like, a bubble of chill around him. No one in their vicinity behaves like a violent asshole―not verbally, not physically. Is it some kind of Spider-Man thing? Is Peter’s skin emitting a sedative to keep the other passengers relaxed? MJ isn’t relaxed. She sways into him multiple times, their overstuffed backpacks knocking together, and he smiles at her, unbothered, as her heart revs ineffectually like a remote-control car someone’s trying to urge up a steep slope.

They walk the last two blocks to the spot where their paths diverge. There’s enough sunshine that the light snow that fell overnight has already been transformed into the slimy grit crunched beneath their boots. Her bag’s beyond heavy at this point, but she knows, at any sign of lag, he’ll offer to carry it for her and she just can’t deal with that shit right now. ‘That shit’ being Peter’s thoughtfulness. MJ just... she needs a day, two days, to remember that she knows how to live without Peter always in the next room. Without joint ownership of a fucking kettle.

“So, text me when you wanna head back on Sunday and we’ll go together?”

MJ frowns. It isn’t clear if the question is the timing for the return trip or if they’ll be making it as a party of two. She shrugs.

“If that works for you.”

“Ok, awesome.”

She nods though it doesn’t feel like a situation where the word ‘awesome’ is called for.

“Later, nerd,” MJ says, aiming for her mom’s as she marches away.

“Hey, MJ?”

She glances back. Peter’s still standing there, plaintive look on his face, hands clutching the straps of his backpack. He never wears gloves. She keeps telling him to wear gloves. Is she supposed to be responsible for Spider-Man’s frostbite? What a pain in the ass this guy is.

Her attention’s enough to get him to continue.

“It’s ok, right? It’s ok about Ned moving in? It’s just, you were kind of quiet during the movie the other night and we didn’t talk much yesterday either...”

With a deep breath, MJ walks back to him.

“I’m just busy,” she says, meeting his eye, then letting her gaze drift off. “Big essay coming up.”

“...And about Ned?”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense, like I said. Did you forget?” It’s maybe the shittiest attempt at teasing someone ever made, but MJ doesn’t really tease Peter.

“But it’s not, like, bothering you or anything, is it? I mean, you don’t regret agreeing?”

Do you? she wants to ask and doesn’t.

“I’m fine, Parker, stop worrying about it,” she says instead. “If you bring this up again after Ned moves in with you, I’m going to have to come back to the apartment and booby-trap it, Home Alone-style.”

He smiles.

“Harsh.”

“Alright,” MJ concedes, “Parent Trap-style, like they did to the cabin. No swinging paint cans, just buckets of molasses.”

“Deal. Consider my silence bought.”

“I didn’t buy your silence, nerd, I ensured it through coercion. Aren’t you supposed to have experience dealing with bad guys? Yikes.”

Peter starts laughing and, incredibly, she does too, the two of them stalled on the corner.

“Ned’ll keep me out of trouble.”

“Yeah, well, he better,” she says easily. Too easily. Jesus, what the hell is she saying? “Because, uh, I need you alive long enough to pull off the Parent Trap thing.”

Shit, she made an offhanded reference to the possibility of his being murdered. Nice. Really great stuff. He won’t want her out on the 15th now―he’ll never want her back in the apartment with him again.

“Of course.”

Peter glances down, but when his face tilts back up, he’s smiling at her. Why the fuck does it feel like they’re saying goodbye forever? MJ nods an awkward farewell to end this strangeness. That’s when Peter moves towards her and she freezes. What’s he doing? They don’t have a secret handshake like he and Ned do. He catches himself when his arms start to lift and looks horrified.

“Sorry,” Peter blurts. “I don’t know what... I was going to hug you.” He laughs self-consciously. “That’d be weird, right?”

“And it’s managing to get weirder without even happening.”

He takes a step back, but MJ surges forward impulsively. She tucks her chin over his shoulder, her hands squeezing his sides because the backpack makes a full embrace impossible―Peter’s backpack is helping her make wiser choices than her own brain.

“Bye,” she says, soft and fast, and turns, jogging to catch the light.

Saturday, February 6th

The longing never ends/Letting go of ways that we changed, still I pretend ― “Fire Flower” (Summer Salt)

Her gram comes over for dinner. Or, more like MJ and her mom pick her gram up from the apartment she shares with her sister and bring her back for dinner. Ever since Gram’s wife (they never made it official, but that doesn’t change who these women were to each other) died, she’s been living with her sister, but MJ’s great-aunt, 79 years old as she is, has a hot date tonight, so Gram has made time for them in her busy schedule. She’s a real jokester about that in the car, about how she’s missing Westworld for them. When MJ shoots back that she can and has watched Westworld any time she wants (she’s pretty sure Gram’s on her third rewatch of season one), her mom shoots her a look from the driver’s seat. When she adds that Gram only watches because she has a crush on Thandie Newton, they have to roll down the windows to let a little of the laughter out.

Her mom won’t let her wash dishes during her first visit home for over a month, but she has nothing against MJ drying them. As they work, Gram sits at the kitchen table and asks her all about school. Asks if she’s still drawing naked people (yes, Gram, the figure-drawing class runs all year), asks if Financial Aid’s trying to snatch her scholarship back (no, Gram, but I’ll call you if they try anything).

“And are you still living with that boy?”

Normally, MJ would laugh this question off, same as the others. Normally. Her hands still, holding a mug wrapped in a dampening tea towel.

“What’d you say, honey?”

Gram’s a little deaf and not used to MJ not firing an answer back immediately. She assumed she didn’t hear the response, not that MJ didn’t give one. MJ thinks for a second. Probably better not to alarm her gram with news of her upcoming change of living situation. She doesn’t want to be worried about and, technically, she is still living with ‘that boy’ for another eight days.

“Yes, Gram. Peter.”

“His name is not one of the things I need to know about him. I just need to know that he’s not getting in the way of your ascent to greatness.”

MJ smiles and finishes drying the mug.

“Nobody’s going to do that.”

“Good girl. And you feel safe there?”

“Gram, he’s an Avenger.”

Yeah, maybe that’s top-secret information. Whatever. Who’s her gram going to tell?

“I don’t mean do you think he’d pull you out if the building fell down―”

“Nice image, Mom,” MJ’s mother contributes with a roll of her eyes.

“―I mean how are you handling sharing a space with a boy who’s in love with you?”

MJ’s drying a fistful of silverware and it spills out of her grip, scattering across the counter. A lone spoon plops back into the sink’s soapy water. She clears her throat and reaches for the cutlery. Reaches even farther for her composure.

“He’s not, and what would that have to do with safety?”

“Let me tell you, he most certainly is.” Apparently, Gram’s rejecting the question. She never wastes her own time on words she can’t be bothered to speak.

“A boy and a girl can room together without there being... feelings,” MJ points out. It’s irritation that’s making her blush. Irritation at herself for being wrong-footed by her gram over Peter freaking Parker.

“Yes, they can, but I’m not talking about ‘a boy and a girl,’ I’m talking about Peter and yourself.”

“I think getting a Netflix account has made you suspicious,” MJ gently accuses. “What’ve you been watching on there?”

“None of your business.”

Gram changes the subject, letting her off the hook, but the next time MJ turns to look at her, Gram gives her a wink.

Well, she can think what she likes, even theorize aloud. Doesn’t make her right. If it’s between Peter and MJ, her own feelings are the ones that make her feel unsafe, unbalanced, unprepared. Maybe he’s considerate with her, maybe he’s kind to the point of being sweet (when she lets him be), but that’s Peter. That’s just Peter.

Sunday, February 7th

You know I like you a lot, but/It still hits me like a rock ― “Hits Me Like a Rock” (CSS)

MJ’s breaking her promise to stay for lunch, bailing right after breakfast. She tells her mom she’d rather get back into school mode. Plus, she’ll be home for the week-long study break before midterms; only a week away. What she won’t think about is the possibility that she’ll be using her studying time for learning-to-cope-without-Peter-in-the-next-room time instead.

She doesn’t text him, by the way. Why cut his weekend short? True, escorting her home isn’t his responsibility, but he’d find some way to feel obligated. Definitely a Spider-Man thing. If only his overdeveloped sense of responsibility carried over into the putting his socks away department. Which is what she comes home to: Peter’s socks just inside the door of their apartment. On the floor, peeking out of every pair of his shoes like a grubby Beatrix Potter scene. MJ has no memory of things looking so dire when she left (they left―together). Must’ve been distracted by trying to remember if she had her transit pass, or whether her mom had asked her to bring anything home for dinner.

The sidewalks have become slushy again and, based on the wet spot near the toe of her left sock, she needs to re-waterproof her boots. For now, she troops straight to her bedroom, holding her dripping boots in one hand and a paper towel beneath them with her other. MJ settles them over the heat vent in her room. As she switches to dry socks, she eyes the boots like they should’ve known better.

It’s a cozy, forgetful few hours of solitude. Her paper’s due Thursday and the body of it isn’t exactly taking shape; she’s straining against the traditional essay format and finding it messy going, even though it feels like she’s on the right track. High school has underprepared her for this and overprepared her for things like... robotics. It’s amazing how few people give a fuck about robotics when she’s sitting in a lecture on the Dutch masters.

Peter never remembers to shut his bedroom door and, without trying to look, MJ gets a glimpse from the hall, right through his room and out the window, of snow lazily starting to fall when she rises to get a glass of water. The call of hot water is strong, but she showered his morning before breakfast. The best she can do is snuggle into bed and languidly run a highlighter over some readings for Tuesday.

MJ finds out she fell asleep when she wakes up to Peter’s disbelieving shriek. The sound isn’t loud, but it has her up and fighting her way out of her blankets to stumble into the hallway at the same time her roommate comes sliding into it from the kitchen. He sighs in relief. Spins, clutching his hair. That’s a little much, she thinks. What a fucking dork.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, ignoring how good it feels to see him again. Again? They were apart a day.

“You never texted me and then, and then―” He gestures behind him. “―your boots weren’t at the door.”

“They were soaked,” MJ explains slowly. “They’re drying in my room.”

Peter’s still getting over... whatever this is that’s happening to him.

“Your boots are always at the door.”

She looks at him carefully, surprised to discover he seems to be coming down from genuine panic.

“Are you ok?”

He does an odd shrugging motion and approaches her.

“I’m ok.”

“Do you need a―”

Peter claps his arms around her and MJ goes immobile.

“Yeah, I did,” he agrees.

She’s trying to figure out when she should tell him she planned to end that sentence with ‘doctor.’ Or something else, even. Something that would calm him. Only... he does seem calm. Feel calm. His hands are spread on her back. His body’s sturdy enough to pull her in and push her back out again with his every breath when he’s hugging her like this, but at least they’re slow breaths. It’s actually kind of ok. Nice. Warm. Confusing.

Before MJ can wrap her arms around his neck, caught up in this intermission from the Parker and Jones: Roommates and Nothing More sitcom, Peter puts his hands firmly on her waist and steps away from her. Then glances down to see where his hands are and drops them.

“S-sorry. I... I was... I overreacted.”

“I’m fine,” she says with what’s supposed to be a shrug but manifests as a twitch. “I’m good. Nobody murdered me on my way home. So...” Idiotically, MJ chucks him on the shoulder in a mortifyingly fatherly manner. “Thanks for keeping the streets safe, Spider-Man.”

“Uh, yeah, you’re welcome. Glad you’re safe.”

Peter’s red-faced, swinging his arms, looking at her and then not looking at her, as she retreats back into her room and closes the door.

Not safe. MJ is not safe.

Monday, February 8th

I’ll speak a little louder, I’ll even shout/You know that I’m proud and I can’t get the words out ― “Everywhere” (Fleetwood Mac)

She’s wasting the one-hour gap she has between classes. It’s supposed to be for eating lunch and, these days, either studying for tomorrow’s test or adding something brilliant to her paper. It isn’t supposed to be for eating lunch with a couple of nerds who’ve braved the art building to join her. Ned’s awe of the building makes MJ start to smile before he changes topics to the reason he and Peter are actually barging into her schedule―discussion of Ned’s move-in.

Based on their landlord’s 1st and 15th rule, Ned will be an official renter seven days from now. To the boys, it therefore makes sense for Ned to be taking over that day. And to MJ too, of course. It totally makes sense to MJ. The 15th is also the first day of their break week, so there won’t be classes to plan around. Nothing could be more straightforward! MJ can get her stuff packed up this weekend (the 13th-14th) and have her mom pick her up in the car the next day to relocate her to her new living space. Which―fuck―she’s definitely going to text her classmate about. When asked about her living plans directly, she smiles and spoons hot soup into her mouth.

She’s good with it. Ned’s good with it. Peter’s... holding things up. He claims he’s only wondering if they need more time before Ned moves in because he doesn’t want anyone’s boxes to get mixed up. Ned pipes up with information on his thorough labelling technique. MJ just watches Peter. His eyes flick to her more than once, like she’s going to protest, maybe? She wouldn’t. She doesn’t want to screw this up for them. Rooming together is what these two losers wanted from the start. The only thing she has to do is step aside. Fine, she can manage that.

“And we’ll just... see each other around,” Peter says as the three of them are finishing lunch.

But he doesn’t say it to Ned, obviously. Not to Ned, who will be living across the narrow hallway from him in a week. He’s looking right at MJ. Damn his gentle, baby-animal eyes. She hadn’t really thought about this. When would she see Peter? They’re in different programs with classes in different buildings. Their schedules overlap in a way that was convenient for eating dinner together most nights, not in a way that means they’ll bump into each other on campus during their downtime. They’re overachievers who haven’t been able to sustain friendships outside of school. Except for with Ned. Except for with each other.

When Peter does this incomprehensible motion that, in another universe, might look like he was reaching for her hand, MJ nods in agreement. Then, as her eyes start to well without her permission, pretends to have burnt the roof of her mouth on her final spoonful of soup.

It’s been cold for half an hour.

Tuesday, February 9th

Bless your body, bless your soul/Pray for peace and self-control ― “The World We Live In” (The Killers)

MJ isn’t sweating because she’s retroactively stressed about the test. The test went fine. She prepared; in fact, she overprepared―devoting her entire morning and too much of the afternoon to revision when she should’ve been working on her fucking paper. That’s why she hurried back. That’s why she’s sweaty and ready for a hot shower. It’ll refresh and refocus her and she’ll bang out a few paragraphs of the paper tonight, a few tomorrow (even though it’s the longest day of her week; she’s putting the nightmarish reality out of her mind for now), and have time to proofread the whole thing Thursday morning before she turns it in.

It’s a plan and she loves it. MJ heads to her room, vaguely noticing that Peter’s bedroom door is shut. Huh, maybe he’s hunkered down to do some studying of his own. She dumps her backpack and flings off her sweatshirt and, you know what, her t-shirt too when it wants to cling to the sweatshirt and be removed at the same time. The bathroom’s right next to her room.

MJ darts over in her bra and the sweatpants she wore to take her test and opens the door.

Just as Peter flips the bathroom light on.

She twists away and slams her back into the hallway wall. Jesus Christ. Blinking won’t wipe away the sight of Peter standing there with a towel tucked around his hips. Just the towel. Just that one towel. Fuck, she has to handle this somehow. The situation, that is.

“Sorry,” MJ blurts. “The light was off and, and I didn’t think and―”

“I like to shower in the dark. It kinda lets my senses rest and―”

“I finished my test early so you probably weren’t expecting me home and―”

“―then I needed the light on to shave because I cut myself enough with it on to have zero desire to attempt shaving my face in the dark and―”

Her heart’s pounding so loudly that between that sound and her own words, she’s barely catching any of what Peter’s saying.

“Such an invasion of privacy,” she sighs out in conclusion. He falls silent too. The bathroom door’s still open and a warm radiance stretches the width of the hall; MJ wants to reach her fingertips out and let them glow.

“So,” Peter says, urgency draining into timidity, “your test went well?”

“Yeah.” Looking down at her bare feet on the carpet of the hallway they still share, MJ smiles. “You cut yourself shaving?”

“You can laugh if you want.”

His tone isn’t offended and she knows he wouldn’t mind if she did laugh. Probably wouldn’t be surprised. She isn’t... she isn’t soft with him.

“I was just wondering why I’ve never noticed.”

“Oh, well, the cuts heal up pretty fast. They’re small cuts. I’m not that bad at shaving.” Peter clears his throat and she’s standing there yet, listening. “Plus, we don’t get close.”

A terrible, awkward, one-note laugh rips out of MJ.

“True.”

But her roommate doesn’t join in.

“We’re never close,” he says quietly. She shivers.

MJ’s back in her bedroom with the door shut―leaning against it―in a second. Maybe Peter started to move when she moved. Maybe he stepped out into the hallway with his raggedy towel and his squeaky-clean skin and the flush on his face from the steam because he heard her and thought she might be coming his way instead of hiding like a coward. She can’t know without witnessing it. His footsteps never make a sound.

Wednesday, February 10th

It’s hard to know which way to go/Come and find me, come and find me ― “Between Days” (Far Caspian)

Clearly, despite her best intentions, MJ is giving off a vibe. Not her regular approach with caution vibe. No, no. She doesn’t know where that withering aura of distance has gone, but she’s lost it and the atmosphere around her has changed as smoothly as the colours in a mood ring. It must have, because Peter hugs her for the second time this week, pulling her into an abrupt embrace before she heads off to campus in the morning.

This is supposed to be the thing about roommates, right? Always invading your space. Only, through the decaying brick wall of her denial, she sees that this isn’t the same thing. He’s not rummaging through her search history or eating her groceries (besides―fuck―they’re kind of their groceries, like the whole kettle situation); he’s initiating moments of physical affection. MJ knows the hugs are affectionate and not perfunctory. If it were otherwise, if they were the kind of automatic hugs that happen in less established friendships upon every meeting and farewell, Peter and MJ would always have done them and it wouldn’t feel so momentous that, suddenly, he’s electing to hold her.

He doesn’t try it when she gets home. That’s a good thing. She’s tired and not so much cooking dinner as microwaving an assortment of shit from the fridge for the sloppy meal that will sustain her through wrapping up the final section of her midterm paper and writing the conclusion. Peter’s sitting on the couch with a textbook in his lap when she gives him a sharp wave and goes to her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

The final section is an uphill (if the hill’s a ski slope slicked over by ice rain―and also there’s an avalanche rumbling down from the submit) battle that takes until nearly 10pm to complete. MJ’s focus is hanging by a thread and she’s rerouting all of her energy to keeping her brain on task. That means no getting up to hunt up a chocolate bar or make a cup of coffee. She can do this. She just has to force herself through to the end. It’s one more paragraph, or maybe a big one and a small final final one of a line or two, to bring home her argument with a little more flair.

MJ pushes ahead, but apparently, the scale of her determination hasn’t left enough space for her memory to function, because she’s mixing up the order of her sub-points, and she’s missing the first part of her thesis entirely. She keeps scrolling―up-down, up-down―to refer to the part she’s already written. It’s coherent, and that should be helping her now, but fucking stress or something is making her concentration worse the harder she tries.

She lives lightly in the apartment. She’s tidy and contained and quiet. The sound of frustration she makes as it feels like this whole assignment is unraveling (has she fucked it up from the beginning? Should she start over completely? Oh god, it’s eleven o’clock! How is it eleven?!) is hellish. MJ’s head slumps to her desk and she starts weeping. Why is this so hard? She’s tired.

It’s possible that she doesn’t hear his knock, but Peter barges into her room. She gets herself to sit up and wipe her fingers under her eyes, her palms over her wet cheeks.

“It’s not―” Coming together, she wants to say. Fair, she wants to say.

“I know,” Peter interrupts, walking over to her chair. “How ‘bout you step away from that for a minute?”

He puts his hand out to her and MJ sniffles as she stares at it. She slaps her palm to his and he holds on, pulling her up. Probably to guide her towards the TV or the kitchen for a hot drink, but MJ steps into him instead, her head on his shoulder, her nose against his neck.

It’s the smell she’s smelt when she hangs her coat on the hook next to his, when she sits on the couch and can tell he’s recently sat in the same spot. Normally, this is a following smell―the scent of coming upon him after he’s gone. Shock that it’s become a now smell makes MJ jerk back, realizing what she’s doing. She’s never practiced friendly hugs. She doesn’t know how to do them. Peter, on the other hand, hugs people all the time―mainly Ned and his aunt―and yet his failings are equal to hers. There’s nothing pal-like in how he puts his hands on her or flexes his arms around her or gently gathers her closer. When he lets her step back, she sort of wishes he hadn’t. But she’s not thinking. Fucking paper.

MJ swivels and sits on the edge of her mattress.

“I can’t end it,” she tells him bluntly.

Peter’s eyebrows raise... hopefully?

“No?”

She shakes her head.

“My introduction’s solid, but I’m getting lost somewhere in the middle trying to recap it.”

“Oh. Oh. Well, you could maybe― Is it ok if I sit down?” She nods. He continues, glancing sideways at her, a foot of space between them. “You could read it out loud? To me?”

“The whole essay?”

“If that’s what you need.”

MJ narrows her eyes at him.

“Parker, don’t you have your own work to do?”

He shrugs.

“I handed in a report today and I have a quiz on Friday. The grading for that class is, like, fifty percent quizzes. Pretty sure my prof just didn’t want to have to make up an exam.”

“Then my real question is, why do you want to do this?”

Why is she pushing him? MJ doesn’t know. Honestly, she’d prefer if it she shut up right about now and quit trying to get rid of her roommate. Her handsome, academically-capable roommate, sitting next to her on her bed. The only other time he’s touched her bed was when he helped her move it in here in September.

“Because it’s too soon to rewatch Alien?” She catches Peter’s eye and grants him a smirk as he laughs at his own joke. “Go,” he encourages, nodding towards her laptop. “Read it.”

With an indulgent sign, MJ lifts her computer from her desk to her lap. She mumbles a little at first; even if it’s a stupid paper rather than creative writing, they’re her words and she’s speaking them aloud for him to hear. But three paragraphs in, she glances over and Peter’s leaning back on his hands with his eyes closed. MJ almost snaps at him for not listening―incredible how fast the stress will flare up and demand an outlet―until she realizes he’s concentrating, eyebrows pulling together as she continues. Immediately after that, she stumbles over a full fucking sentence, but she comes out the other side with a steadier, louder voice.

When she reaches the end of what she has written, Peter nods and opens his eyes.

“I think―” he starts, but MJ shushes him.

Frantically, her hands trip and clack across her keyboard. The conclusion pours out, word after word after word. One big paragraph and a small final final one for flair. The second she’s done typing, MJ saves the document, puts her laptop back on her desk, and falls backwards onto her bed.

She takes three deep breaths, then says, “Now I just have to edit it.”

“Don’t I get to hear your conclusion?”

“In a minute.”

Peter drops onto his back beside her and sighs like he’s being denied something he really wanted. She rolls her eyes at him. What a nerd.

Their arms brush. He bounces his foot. Her back cracks when she pushes her shoulder into the mattress. She looks at him and gets the feeling that she just missed him looking at her.

“I’m waiting,” he whispers, and MJ laughs.

“Let it breathe, Parker. I just finished it.”

“Can you pass me that blanket then? I’m getting cold.”

“It’s like a hundred degrees in here,” she argues, but she thumps the blanket folded across her bed onto her roommate’s stomach.

After a minute of watching him get cozy, MJ’s jealous.

“Give me some of that.”

He lets her tug it over. The blanket’s big (Gram made it that way), but she’s pretty sure Peter moves closer with it.

She tucks her legs up and catches site of his watch as she arranges herself. A bit after midnight. Quarter-after. At quarter-after, she’ll get up, evict the dork from her room, and edit. MJ closes her eyes.

Thursday, February 11th

I had a dream that I kissed your lips and it felt so true/Then I woke up as a nervous wreck and I fell for you ― “Fell for You” (Green Day)

They’ve made up for three years of nearly hug-less friendship in one night; MJ wakes up slowly to find her arms around Peter, and his around her. She keeps her eyes half-open. Evidently, they clung in their sleep, facing each other, and she’s never been so comfortable. But things are going to get uncomfortable any second when Peter stirs. She almost doesn’t want him to. Then, he shifts and she feels his erection against her thigh where it’s slotted between his. MJ tries to cautiously extract her leg―heart pounding in her ears―and Peter lifts his bowed head. His bleary brown eyes meet hers.

“Hi.” His voice is like rug burn.

“I have to edit my paper,” she remembers.

She’s waking up more now, noticing the light in her room. Not the lamp she left on last night, but the morning light that generally brightens the space, coming from Peter’s window across the hall. She puts her hand down to push herself up to a sitting position and it lands on his upper arm. In a blink, his hand’s gripping her arm, preventing a topple. Wow, those reflexes are something. MJ glances shyly down into her roommate’s face.

“Paper,” she says again.

“Right.”

He sits up quickly beside her―hair all sticking up at the back of his head―and she pretends not to notice him notice his erection.

“I’ll, uh, maybe I’ll see you for breakfast?”

MJ nods without looking at him and hears Peter stumble backwards out of her room, kicking away the blanket that’s tangled around his foot. He closes the door behind him and she does not see him at breakfast. The awkward energy from the situation that she doesn’t really take time to process sends her headlong into edits. When she does make it to the kitchen, it’s with her paper tucked inside a presentation folder and her hand snatching a store-bought muffin off the counter. She can hear the shower running and is grateful that she won’t have to face Peter yet.

No, that doesn’t happen until she’s on campus, between classes; she’s handed in her assignment without incident and it’s a huge relief. Not only does Peter know her schedule as well she knows his, apparently, but he also knows exactly where she’ll be on her break. She almost bumps into him coming around the corner of a building.

It feels like she’s seeing a one-night stand in the light of day―except they didn’t sleep together and MJ already saw him in the light of day. It’s just such a contrast between this morning and now. For one thing, they’re upright. For another, they’re both fully awake.

She offers an uncertain, close-lipped smile as they exchange ‘hi’s.

“Um,” MJ starts, “what’re you doing here, Peter?”

“Oh, I just wanted to find out how it went. With your essay.”

“Well, I turned it in and I can’t really tell you more than that until I get it back.”

They stare at each other for a minute before Peter goes, “Right. Right, right, right.”

“You wanna... walk with me?”

“Sure. I have class in twenty minutes, and I have to get over to the other end of campus, but―”

“Go!”

“You sure?”

“Yes! Go, you moron. What are you doing here?”

“I was gonna bring you...” He pats his pockets and she knows it’ll be fruitless before he tells her. If whatever Peter needs isn’t already in his hand, he’s forgotten it somewhere. This is a Rule of Peter. “A chocolate bar. I forgot it.”

She smiles.

“That’s ok.”

“I thought you might need the energy since it was a pretty late night.”

The girl walking past them darts an interested glance in their direction. MJ glares at her, but Peter really could’ve phrased that to sound more innocent. Because it was innocent. Wasn’t it? A couple of students collapse from the exhaustion of midterm assignments. That’s not a clever romantic setup, it’s overwork thanks to a system designed to crank them through the academia factory and spit them out at the end with a degree.

“Yeah. Um, I’ll survive,” she promises. “You better get to class.”

Peter takes a few steps and turns back like he’s struggling with something, wanting to speak.

“Seriously, Parker,” MJ insists. “If you’re late, I’ll almost feel bad.”

This is supposed to be the part where he laughs, but her roommate just looks conflicted as he walks away from her.

He almost brought her a chocolate bar. God, she is so fucked.

Friday, February 12th

That’s not just friendship, that’s romance too/You like music we can dance to ― “I’ll Try Anything Once” (The Strokes)

“Have you been waiting long?” MJ asks when she leaves class and Peter’s standing right outside, hands in his pockets.

He scrunches his face up and turns to fall into step with her as they leave the building, then campus.

“It sounds better if I say, ‘no,’ right?”

She laughs and looks over at him.

“If you do, I’m going to assume that, on top of finishing class an hour before I do, you were also let out early.��

“It’s that obvious I’m trying that hard?” he asks with a sheepish smile.

What. MJ can’t respond.

After a minute, Peter sighs.

“I might as well tell you that my prof said we didn’t have to come today.”

“You didn’t actually have to be on campus at all?”

“No.”

“So, you’re just here...”

He nods at her implied ‘for me.’

“We’re on break now,” Peter reminds her. “Let me walk home with my roommate.”

“Might as well. Last chance.”

She feels him staring at her, but MJ does her best to look straight ahead as they walk back to their apartment.

He’s on the phone with Ned later, sitting on the arm of the couch in their living room. MJ starts putting her things together, neat piles of books and folded clothes that’ll be easier to pack tomorrow and Sunday. She leaves her door open. It used to annoy her (or she lied to herself that it did), how often Peter and Ned talk on the phone―don’t they know their generation isn’t supposed to do that anymore?―and the fact that her roommate’s soft voice carries so well through their apartment. Ok, fine, it doesn’t carry that well, she just listens for it. She can admit it now, in her bedroom, standing near the doorway to hear his happy voice.

Peter’s flopped backwards, off the arm and onto the couch and still talking animatedly to his best friend, when MJ emerges from her room. She walks directly to the couch and drops her balled-up cozy socks onto his stomach, fleeing before he can attempt to catch her eye.

Saturday, February 13th

This is not a test, welcome to the party/I’ve been on my best behaviour, but I think it’s time/ You saw the other side ― “Best of Me” (Amanda Marshall)

MJ ruthlessly scours the apartment for every article of her clothing that could possibly be dirty. It’s not a tough job; unlike Peter, she mostly keeps her stuff in her bedroom. She has a sack for carrying her laundry to their building’s first-floor machines (because an actual laundry basket takes up too much space with its defined corners) and she stuffs it, lugging everything down there before breakfast. Waiting around is kind of nice because none of the other tenants have shown up yet. Plus, like always, MJ has a book. She transfers her load from the washer to the dryer and leans back against the wall, flipping through a yellowed, soft-paged copy of The Joy Luck Club.

Since she’s been doing laundry down here all year (except for when she goes home for the weekends and winter break), MJ knows the ways of these machines. Which is why it’s so disturbing when the dryer halts five minutes before its cycle should be ending. Unwatched, she jabs at the settings, but the machine’s completely crapped out, so MJ starts hauling her laundry back into the sack. The small stuff―socks, underwear, t-shirts―has dried, but her sweatshirts are still damp. Unfortunately, with the stress of assignments, the sweatshirts are what she’s primarily lived in the past few weeks, meaning all four of them were in there at once, and all four of them are too damp to put on.

She laughs bitterly at herself; at the last second, she’d even taken off the sweatshirt she had on over her tank top.

To stay warm and keep herself from running into anyone, MJ pounds up the stairs and slips into her apartment. She can pack up the dry clothes and hang the sweatshirts off her doorframe, her chair, wherever else seems suitable, until they dry. She’s flinging one over the shower rod when Peter comes walking down the hall and pokes his head in.

“The dryer...” she starts to explain, positioning her sweatshirt, but Peter disappears. MJ rolls her eyes.

In a minute, though, he’s back. When she turns to leave the bathroom, her roommate thrusts one of his own sweatshirts at her.

“Peter,” she sighs, “stop trying to take care of me.”

“Ok, I will after this.” He shakes the sweatshirt at her. “Put it on.”

“What are you trying to do, nerd? Mark me as your territory? Quit being such a Neanderthal.”

With a smirk, MJ brushes by him, but Peter tries to lay the sweatshirt over her shoulder. She shrieks a laugh, ducking to escape it, and suddenly her roommate has his arms around her waist, picking her up with her back to his chest.

“You’re gonna be cold,” he huffs, leaning backward as she squirms.

“I’ll get a blanket!”

“A blanket will get in the way while you’re packing!”

“I’ll cope! Let me go pack!”

“Just wear! My! Sweatshirt!”

She goes limp and he sets her on her feet.

“I surrender,” MJ declares.

“Good.”

Peter bends to pick up the sweatshirt she’s shaken off with all their goofing around, breaking his hold on her, and she bolts for the living room yelling, “Sike!”

Logically, she’s aware that she can’t outrun Spider-Man, but a giddy mania pushes her to attempt it. He tackles her into the back of their couch before she can clamber over. Well, it’s sort of a tackle. Actually, Peter’s barely touching her, but he’s behind her with his hands gripping the back of the couch to either side of her hips.

“There,” she says, feeling him at her back, “you saved me from being cold.” MJ turns with a prepared smile; as the silliness fades away, the way his exhalations hit her back felt too much like tension. She meets his eye, straightening up because he’s so close. What did he say? They’re never close? “I’ll just jog up and down the hall every so―”

Peter kisses her mouth.

Just as she begins to lean into it, brain swirling and spiking with confusion, he steps back. Then again. Again, again, again. He spins at the hall and goes right to his bedroom.

MJ doesn’t know what to do, so she stands there a few minutes, face working its way through a series of expressions dictated by the imaginary conversation she and her roommate are having in her head. The one they have because he stays put two goddamn seconds after planting one on her. His sweatshirt’s on the floor near the kitchen. MJ walks over and yanks it on, feeling vulnerable and bewildered.

Eventually, she plods back to her room.

It’s a shock when Peter knocks on her door a while later. She left it open, which was terrifying. She just figured, with this being the end, truly the end, she would allow whatever was going to happen to happen. If the kiss was an awkward misunderstanding, MJ will be leaving that behind with all the rest of her conflicted feelings two days from now.

“What’s up, Parker?” she asks, not turning around to face him. She’s packing up her printer, stuffing it back into the box it came in and taping it closed.

“Do you need any help?”

“Not really. You can help carry my mattress out of here when my mom comes on Monday though.”

She’s anticipating a quip rather than an evasion. Peter Parker is the kind of friend who will voluntarily carry your shit when you move. But he doesn’t give her either.

“You’re really going.”

Slightly annoyed, MJ turns to stare at him.

“Yeah, I’m really going. Hence the packing. It was your idea, remember?”

“It was easier when I thought you didn’t want to be here.”

She laughs the fakest laugh of her life.

“I don’t want to be here. You make loud phone calls and, and you come in late at night and you have socks everywhere. I think you might actually own every sock every human being has ever lost.”

He frowns at her.

“You never mentioned any of that. In the five months we’ve lived together, you never asked me to speak more quietly or put more effort into containing my clothes to my room.”

“Well,” MJ shoots back in exasperation, “now you know!”

“Are you mad at me for offering your room to Ned?”

“Peter...” She gives him a desperate look. It’s too late for this. Doesn’t he fucking get that? MJ exhales a sharp breath. “Peter, I’m moving out on Monday.”

“What if you didn’t?”

He’s being such an idiot. Everything is arranged. She can’t stay now that Ned’s about to come bounding in with his Lego and his best-friendship to be a better match for Peter’s roommate that she ever was.

“I texted my classmate on Monday about the room. It’s mine. I’m moving out of here, Ned’s moving in. Everything’s settled.”

“Could we unsettle it?”

Peter walks into her room, right up to her. His eyes are pleading and she doesn’t want him to see that this little trick of his works just as well on her as on anyone else. That she’s susceptible to him. That’s not who they are to each other; she’s made a very good career of being his sarcastic, distant friend.

“You just don’t like change,” MJ tells him. “You didn’t mean it.” The kiss. “It was just a misguided attempt to keep me here. Nothing more.” She crosses her arms.

“You’re gonna hate hearing this, but you’re wrong.”

“Maybe I’m right and you haven’t figured it out yet.”

Peter shakes his head.

“It can’t be just me who’s felt different since I told you Ned’s moving in. Something’s changed.”

She rolls her eyes.

“You think you’re an expert on my feelings because you saw me cry in a moment of stress.”

“And you saw me half-naked!”

MJ glances away in frustration and because she doesn’t want him to see her reliving that memory.

“Being first year roommates,” she starts after a long pause, “is a condition. It’s a state of being that’s meant to change.”

“Good! I want to change it! I want us to be more than roommates. MJ, why can’t this be easy?”

“Because you noticed me last week and I’ve had a crush on you since we were fifteen!” she blurts out. “And don’t goddamn ask me why I didn’t say anything because not everyone’s brave like you, Peter. Ok? Not everyone’s Spider-Man. Some of us are just the roommate across the hall. Let me fucking get over this in peace!”

“Sure,” he says, looking down. “Got it.”

Peter nods definitively and twists away. Reaching her doorway, he turns his head slightly.

“Just so you know, you only have me beat by a year.”

Sunday, February 14th

By tomorrow I’ll be leaving/By tomorrow I’ll be gone/If you want to tell me something/You had better make it strong ― “Coming Down” (Dum Dum Girls)

On one hand, her mind knows the late-night assignment-finishing sessions are over for a while. On the other, it won’t let her sleep. MJ tosses and turns until almost four in the morning before she gets out of bed. In the dark, the only thing she can find to throw on over her pajama top is Peter’s sweatshirt, so she does.

Her thoughts felt so clear while she was lying down, but now that she’s up, things are hazy again. Did Peter really confess that he’s been interested in her since they were sixteen? Does that piece of information make her feel as mixed-up and, somehow, cheated as it did when he said it? Two morons in one apartment. Ned’s got a lot to live up to.

MJ leaves her room and crosses the hall to where Peter’s door is ajar, letting out a sliver of blue-white light. He’s probably sleeping. He won’t hear her coming if he’s sleeping. If he’s sleeping, she bargains with herself, she’ll turn right around and go back to bed. She eases the door open. Peter’s bedding rustles as he rolls over to face her.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she mumbles. Fuck. Worst possible icebreaker in this situation.

“If I invite you in,” he wonders, voice groggy with insomnia, “are you going to push me away again?”

“No.”

“So do you believe what I said?”

MJ sighs.

“I’m trying to.”

Peter waits a minute, then pushes himself up in bed to sit with his back against the wall.

“You can come over here if you want.”

She hesitates for less time than her reluctant nature wants her to. Putting her hand out low, MJ feels for the end of the bed and sits down. It’s miles from him. We’re never close, he said.

“You’re wearing my sweatshirt,” he notes when she doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t start with that again,” she warns, but it’s light. This time, he waits her out until MJ’s compelled to speak into their silence. She begins at a whisper. “Caring about you is really hard. When we were in high school, I sort of felt my role was the unnecessary third wheel to you and Ned, and it still feels like that. Like, I think about you and I worry when I don’t hear you come home at night and, yeah, Peter, I was hurt when you sprung the Ned’s-moving-in thing on me.”

“To be fair,” Peter chimes in, “I never thought there was a reason that shouldn’t happen. I thought this whole living together thing was just a favour you were doing me. So, when Ned brought it up, I thought, finally, I can give MJ a way out.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, so are you.”

MJ smiles down at her lap.

“I have to tell you all of it, ok?” Peter asks softly.

Her heart’s pounding too hard. The light in the room isn’t moonlight, just the glow of someone in the next build over’s TV through the curtains. MJ only looks at him when the mattress shifts; he’s getting out of bed, wearing a dorky shirt and plaid bottoms.

“Tell me all of it,” she prompts when he stops in front of her, looking like he’s forgotten his lines.

“MJ, I love you.”

It sounds so right, but at the same time, she’s so scared. It’s a painful thing, looking up at Peter’s face. One half aglow.

“So, that’s all of it,” she says, trying to digest his confession without being too distracted by the depth of his expression.

He laughs shortly at himself.

“Not quite.”

And he kneels.

“What the fuck, Peter,” she gasps, jolting backwards.

“I don’t have a ring because I really haven’t thought this part out,” Peter says. MJ can’t say anything. Her throat, tongue, and lips are all broken. “I just know that I can’t let you go. You promised your new roommates you were coming, and I promised Ned he was moving in here, and that’s fine. It doesn’t matter where you’re living, I’m going to love you. I can wait to get married, or even engaged for real, but I couldn’t wait any longer for you to know how I feel. That’s all of it.”

She’s stunned. He looks exposed and terrified, like he’s holding his skin open, waiting for her to snap his ribs one by one before ripping his heart out. It takes long seconds, many of them, for MJ to shift forward until she slides off the bed to sit in front of her roommate. She takes his hand.

“We are engaged for real.”

With a relieved burst of laughter, Peter grabs the back of her head and kisses her hard. Oh, she’ll put stipulations on later―no ring before graduation, no wedding until they’re both employed full-time―but right now, she’s following Spider-Man’s example and reacting on instinct.

“Oh, and I love you too,” she adds between kisses.

His hands slide down her back. Everything about the way he’s touching her says: finally. Maybe they’re skipping a step, the one where one of them asks the other out and they go on dates and meet each other’s families. But they kind of have done those things. They’ve been living together since the fall, eating dinner together most nights, easing each other’s tiny stresses most days. They know each other’s secrets and coffee orders. They know, period.

MJ loops her arms behind his neck to hold him against her while they kiss, but when they start to lean sideways, it’s Peter who mutters, “bed.”

He repeats it as a question and she nods, hands clasped in his as they help each other to their feet. It’s so simple, this part. Peter draws back the covers and they tumble and rearrange. Murmured admissions of inexperience and the way he blushes when she asks about protection―not because he hasn’t bought any, but because he has.

“You know we’re fucked if this part’s no good, right?” she checks. She’s only partly joking. “We’ve staked everything on this.”

“This is just you and me,” he replies. “Same as everything else.”

MJ has this vague plan to leave his sweatshirt on if he doesn’t say anything about it, but by the time they’ve shimmied each other out of their pajama bottoms, she’s ten thousand degrees. So she wriggles free of the sweatshirt and the t-shirt she sleeps in and Peter hugs her tight to him. He can’t be real. She puts her arms tentatively around his back, expecting her hands to pass right through him. But he’s solid and warm and on top of her, shaking slightly when MJ runs her fingers through his hair.

She keeps it up, smoothing his hair and stroking the back of his neck, as Peter’s mouth finds her collarbone, as his hand runs down her stomach to tuck between her legs. The hitch in her breathing makes him groan and bite down on her nipple. When she lifts her hips, he rubs her more fiercely. She orgasms digging her fingers into his chest―the other hand clammy against his hair line, maybe from her palm, maybe from his skin.

Chest heaving, he tells her they don’t have to do any more if she doesn’t want to. MJ reaches between their panting bodies and takes hold of his erection. Looks into his eyes as she moves her grip up and down. Convinced, Peter rolls off of her to bang open the drawer of his bedside table. She stacks his pillows, shuffling up higher, and when he returns to her, she raises her knees to cage him in. They both watch his hands put the condom on.

The next few minutes are measured in the evolving rhythms of their breathing. Peter works himself in and out of her incrementally, so much tension in his arms and back where her needy hands grasp. She needs him―it’s a miraculous revelation. That he’s been an essential part of her life, piece of her existence, and that it’s ok for her to need him, not just dispassionately or critically observe the best and worst of him. She holds him tighter and he clutches her thigh, pushing in all the way. This feeling is as much of a stranger to her as she’s been to herself.

Peter’s still for a minute. Quietly, he says, “We actually did this.”

“Yeah,” MJ agrees, tracing his spine.

Suddenly moving together takes priority over the disbelieving laughter they began to volley back and forth. She rocks her hips with and against his thrusts and it’s like they’re fighting to push the same swing from opposite sides―the movements don’t match up at first, but eventually, an instinctive force takes over and the swing swings. Peter breathes hard into her neck; MJ hooks her legs up around his hips. Single-mindedly, they grope for just the right speed, just the right pressure. He kisses her neck and her eyes roll back as she holds his face there.

When he drags against her, catching her clit, MJ uses her legs to make sure those electrifying passes continue. But Peter can tell from the sounds she’s making too, she thinks. Though brief and disconnected, her cries are climbing in pitch. He picks up the pace when she asks him to. Soon, soon, soon, there. MJ pulls him down to her, arms around his neck, and climaxes with her forehead pressed to his shoulder. Her roommate, boyfriend, fiancé, swears and speeds up even more; it’s a few seconds of a sensation that buzzes more than thumps or thrums and then he’s curling his arms under her, grabbing the back of her neck.

Peter shifts off of her and, when she doesn’t immediately come with him, gathers her to him. Of course, then he remembers about the condom and gets up anyway. MJ snuggles into the warmth he leaves. After a minute, he pulls back the covers to join her again and they share a shy reintroduction, slipping back into their pajamas. It’s when he reaches first for her hand that she realizes she’s safe.

Across the street, someone shuts off the TV. Peter’s room goes dark. They fall asleep.

Monday, February 15th

Seven miles below me/I can see the world and it ain’t so big at all ― “This Time Tomorrow” (The Kinks)

“I’m seeing you for lunch tomorrow,” MJ reminds Peter, tugging her hand out of his. The final box of her possessions is in her arms. Downstairs, her mom’s car is at the curb.

He groans in complaint and follows her down the hall, past the kitchen, to the front door. Ned should be here within the hour; they staggered her move-out and his move-in to prevent collisions. And to give Peter more time with her. He admitted to that motive this morning, cooking them an omelette while MJ leaned her forehead against his back, smiling into his t-shirt.

“Ned’s key,” she says at the threshold. She holds it out to Peter and he pockets it.

“Thanks.”

MJ takes backward steps, moving away from him. He looks like he’s barely keeping himself from springing after her. She sighs.

“Come on,” she says, smiling. “Walk me down.”

53 notes · View notes

angellesword · 5 years ago

Text

Silver Dust

Summary: Yoongi proposed to you and you're contemplating whether to say yes or no.

Pairing: Songwriter Yoongi x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Fluff, fluff, and fluff.

Word count: 6.7k

Warnings/ author's note: I wrote like a whole ass song using Cypher pt.4 beat lmaooo, kissing, minor smut, mention of rape, abuse, killings, and corruption.

<<< The first meeting >>>

The first time you met Yoongi's eyes wasn't really that special.

There was no sign of your heart skipping a single beat, if there was, you're 100% sure he's not the reason behind it because 1) you pretty much believed it's just the effect of drinking three shots of espresso in one sitting. 2) You were damn nervous since your prelim grades were already out.

You didn't even feel any butterfly in your stomach, nor did your world light up—and this, to be honest, was understandable, especially when Yoongi's eyes were dead as fuck. You figured that if it wasn't for your shared seven am class, he would probably still be lying in bed.

"The professor said you're my partner for this project." Even the first time you heard his voice wasn't special.

If there's one thing that made Yoongi Yoongi, it's his monotonous voice. At first, you thought he just didn't like the idea that you two were stuck together to work on a project. (Again, it's understandable) You also found it ridiculous that your professor actually paired you with a stranger.

Well, it's not like you knew Yoongi. Unless knowing his full name counted. But really, it's inevitable since the two of you went to the same classes since freshman year (you're a senior now) apart from that, almost all your professors never failed to voice out their adoration for him.

You first heard his name when your history instructor made it very clear that Min Yoongi's works would be his "standard" when it came to grading your individual projects. In short, if Yoongi got an A, you and your classmates should also either get an A or an A+ or else, you're considered 'failed.'

It’s kind of fucked up, really. Most of you knew that Min Yoongi was a monster when it came to collecting As. Unfair. All he did during class lectures was sleep and yet, he still managed to be number one.

Huh. It must be awesome to be God's favorite.

There was also this one time when one of your professors, Mr. Bang, cried when he asked Yoongi to read his essay in front. The smart boy was reluctant at first. He despised exposure, that's for sure. However, the professor's so persistent that Yoongi obliged just to make the annoying instructor shut up.

You're actually glad Mr. Bang managed to persuade Yoongi. His speech about finding yourself and being happy made Mr. Bang and almost everyone in your class cry. Yoongi transformed into a completely different person the moment he started his speech. Monotonous Voice? Gone.

You figured that yes, your heart didn't skip a beat when you first caught his eyes, but boy did your heart hurt when those simple words leaving his mouth turned into a piece of art.

<<< Your one brain cell >>>>

The second time you met Yoongi's eyes was in front of his house. The two of you decided to work on your project at the school's library, however the place was loaded with students cramming their paper works and you just couldn't bear to hear another person aggressively typing on their laptop anymore. You were sick of it.

"Uh, hi?" you awkwardly smiled at the blond man in front of you.

You weren't quite sure how to react when he was just staring at you blankly. Yoongi's lips were pursed together and that alone made you uncomfortable.

"We were supposed to meet at the library..." He raised his brow as if he wanted to know how the hell did you know where he lives? And were you a fucking stalker?

"I..." You instantly trailed off when he narrowed his brow more. Man, he sure was intimidating. The lack of spark in his eyes made you wince. The man in front of you had thick, low set brows—making them appear almost completely straight. (Poker face alert)

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat before trying to form a coherent sentence.

"There...people. I mean, the library is packed with uh, people."

"So you just decided to show up in my house?"

His question made you quiver. This was such a wrong move. Of course you couldn’t just knock on his door like this; you two were not even friends!

"I'm sorry. I just didn't know any other place and I..." You heaved a deep sigh. "I saw your friend Jeongguk and he told me where you live—“

"Right." He cut you off by opening the door wide. Of course it had to be Jeongguk. That little shit really knew how to annoy Yoongi.

"Holly peed on the couch so there's no way we can work there. Is my room okay to you?" Despite not seeing his face, you instantly knew that Yoongi's question was directed at you. He was leading the way inside his house and you're behind him, quietly following where he's going.

Yoongi's house was not that big, but it's a lovely and comfortable place. Unlike your dorm, you felt at home here. It's probably the indoor plants that made the place more alive. You suddenly wondered if he's living with someone. Did the love of his life stay here? Or did he have a roommate? You're adamant that he lived alone; otherwise all these plants would probably be dead.

You weren't really a judgmental person, you're rather logical. Yoongi slept during class hours; he couldn't be bothered by moving a single inch, too. You guessed that he hated any form of activity and maybe, that included watering plants.

You were about to ask him if he lived alone when your voice had been overpowered by loud, boisterous bark.

"Oh! Hello there, little guy..." A giggle escaped from your lips when a small dog went your way to lick your exposed legs.

You squatted in front of the puppy so you could pet his furry head.

"Holly, no!" Yoongi called the attention of the brown poodle, but it couldn't care less. The dog named Holly still continued to ask for your affection.

"Holly!"

You almost whined when Yoongi took Holly away from you. You're sure the puppy hated it too. But Yoongi told you that his pet needed to learn his lesson first. The naughty dog really peed on the couch right after his bathroom training. Yikes!

Yoongi let you inside his room after your little encounter with Holly. The vibe of his room contradicted the overall theme of the house, but you had expected it to be this way nonetheless.

His bedroom walls were painted dark blue, too dark it's almost close to black. There's nothing much in his room except a single bed, a study area with lots of technical devices, and oh!

Amusement danced in your eyes when you noticed different manga books on his shelf. You didn't think that Yoongi was the type of person who would dwell on such things, but what really caught your attention was his album collection.

"You like Epik High!?" you couldn't help your enthusiasm when your eyes found the band's album called Shoebox resting on the black metallic shelf near his bed. Damn. Shoebox was your best-loved album of all time! You liked all songs by Epik High, however nothing could ever top the said album for you. Your ultimate favorite song had to be Amor Fatti. That song slapped, though its meaning was often misunderstood by many.

Yoongi only spared you a few glances from the moment you showed into his house, this time, however, he was looking at you intently and for the first time, you saw him smile, a shy one at that.

"Yeah...they're the reason why I write songs..." He whispered, too soft you barely heard it.

You even blinked. Did you hear him right?

"Oh, you're a songwriter?" You flashed a loop-sided smile that made Yoongi's cheeks red.

"Uh, well...it's just what I like to do during my free time."

You nodded and hummed, your eyes were still busy roaming around his room when an idea popped in your mind.

"So why don't we make use of your talent and write a song for this project?" You caught Yoongi's eyes again, but this time, it didn't look dead, truthfully, his pupils dilated when he heard what you just said.

You instantly defended your suggestion.

"I mean, we don't really have a plan, and now we have. I think you're pretty good at it so it'll make our jobs easier. I can sing, don't worry..."

You hated saying that, though you didn't have a choice. You needed to convince him that producing a song would be such a good idea.

Your professor said you needed to make something, anything that would elicit a reaction from him and your classmates. This was a psychology class and your topic for midterm was all about emotions. Mr. Kim Seokjin, your professor, was tired of doing all the talking, especially because your class was unresponsive, so to save his voice (and brain cells probably) he told the whole class that the remaining meeting for midterm would be about his students showcasing their talents that wold, like what you had said, gain extreme emotions from your classmates. It's actually easy except that you're paired with someone you were not close with. On top of that, the presentation of the project shouldn't exceed ten minutes, and lastly, it should be personal.

You spent days thinking about what you and your partner could do, but your brain cells weren't cooperating since you only had two of it, the first one was sleeping and the other only knew the words "Nothing, bitch."

And so now that your former brain cell decided to wake up and save you from your misery of being stupid (even if it's just for good three minutes) you're willing to take it.

Before your 180 seconds ran out, you immediately started blabbing words to convince Yoongi to produce a song with you.

And guess what? Your convincing power must be really good (or maybe you're just as annoying as Mr. Bang and Yoongi just wanted you to shut up too) but hey, at least Yoongi agreed!

<<< Weirdo >>>

The third time you met Yoongi's eyes—well, it's not really the third time. You had actually lost count on how many times your eyes locked with each other. Sometimes, it's a conscious act, but most of the time, it's not. You guys would just find yourselves staring into each other's eyes when you didn't know what lyrics to write next.

Producing a song was not as easy as what you thought it would be. It had been three weeks since the two of you started this project. Yoongi's room had been your workplace ever since. He had the equipment you needed plus it's easier to meet here since your dorm was just meters away from his house.

"My damn throat hurts like hell!" You groaned before collapsing on top of Yoongi's bed.

The past three weeks you spent with Yoongi made the two of you start a beautiful friendship. Admittedly, it's not really beautiful since most of the time; you're bickering at each other. You and Yoongi were so different from each other. He liked starting his work early because he wanted to finish it early. You, on the other hand, were his exact opposite. You're the play now, work later type of person and Yoongi hated it so much. While he practiced delayed gratification, you sat there and ruined everything.

You were always on his bed, cuddling his pet Holly. That's most likely the reason why it's only been two days since you two finished the song. It took almost three weeks because of your procrastinating ass, and now, you suffered. The two of you only had a week before you performed this in front of your class. Yoongi was pissed off at you for the reason that you still hadn't finished memorizing the lyrics and your voice was already strained.

“If I ever see you drinking cold water again, I will fucking drown your ass on that water as I behead you, and then I will freeze your head." Yoongi warned as he joined you in bed.

"Ohhh, morbid. I like that..." You shrugged your shoulders and then you buried your face on his chest—making him groan in irritation.

"You weirdo, get away from me!"

"No..." You laughed because Yoongi was the weird one here. He told you not to touch him or stay close to him, but at the same time, he's wrapping his arm on your waist.

You wondered if this was okay, it's just been three weeks since the two of you had been formally introduced, and yet, you found comfort here. On his bed. In his arms.

You smiled to yourself, yes, Yoongi was a weirdo, but so were you.

<<< Namjoon’s Party >>>>

What you considered as the fourth time you met Yoongi’s eyes was also the first time he called you by your given name.

“You feel so good…” He moaned your name on your neck, his hands were tightly wrapped around your waist—enjoying your body heat.

You suddenly thought if dragging Yoongi into this party was the best idea. Right now, you had no freaking clue how to act. You’re drunk, but not too drunk to not think about the consequences of this night. But damn, you’re just a human. A horny human! How could you possibly stop Yoongi when he’s using his soft lips to paint bruises on your neck!?

You could just push him away and you knew that, though you were also aware that your mind and heart wouldn’t want that, not when you liked what he’s doing to you.

“Namjoon’s party sucks.”

“Just not your crowd, weirdo...” You chuckled. Oh, thank heavens for Namjoon. He was one of your childhood friends and frankly, the song you and Yoongi produced wouldn’t be finished without the help of Namjoon. So when that friend of yours texted you to come to his birthday party, you immediately agreed. Fortunately, you didn’t have to force your one brain cell to wake up just so you could convince Yoongi to go with you.

This wasn’t what Yoongi likesd he hated parties because he didn’t want to talk to stupid people and drunken people were stupid people. Perhaps the only reason why Yoongi was here was because he couldn’t turn down Namjoon—not after all your friend’s genius advice.

“I hate this place.” Yoongi added, he’s now looking at you with sparks in his eyes—or maybe you’re just drunk. Too intoxicated to feel and see anything other than the fact that Yoongi’s already grinding at you.

You huffed; suddenly offended by the clothes you’re wearing. Were you supposed to wear this when all you wanted was to feel Yoongi’s touch on your bare skin?

“We’re here for Namjoon—”

“God, can’t you take the hint?” Yoongi cut you off by pouting.

You blinked. Did this weirdo just pout? And oh, his lips…his lips were hot….hot against your own mouth.

“Yoongi….” You breathed, your eyes were too hazy to see his gummy smile.

“Let’s get the hell out of this place…”

That night, you once again lost count as to how many times you met his eyes. You also figured out that his eyes looked best the most when he’s down on his knees, facing your hips.

<<< The Performance >>>

You were expecting to meet Yoongi’s eyes as soon as you opened your very own one; however panic and fear consumed your whole being that you immediately ran out of Yoongi’s room. You’re too frightened to let him see you that you hurriedly put your clothes on and left his house.

It’s not like it was going to change the fact that you slept with your classmate in Psychology, however, you were scared. Scared to see his eyes back to being dead when just last night, the moon and the stars were there, staring at you like you’re not just a dust in this universe, but the whole universe.

Besides, you had one logical reason: you needed to pick up your costume for your upcoming performance with Yoongi. Taehyung, your designer friend was only available till nine in the morning, so you literally had to run like a lunatic right after you woke up from your cozy sleep on Yoongi’s bed.

Your outfit was perfect. Damn, Taehyung really had a talent when it came to this. Your confidence level was boosted just by wearing the clothes your great friend designed. You thought you’re finally ready to perform the song you and Yoongi produced for one month.

You were so ready, but your heart was not…

Just…where the hell was Yoongi? It had been two days since you last saw him. You hadn’t heard any news from him since you left his apartment the day after Namjoon’s party. Was he mad at you for leaving? Or did he even care?

You had fifteen minutes left before Mr. Kim Seokjin, your psychology professor, marked your grades zero.

“Fucking Min Yoongi, where the hell are you?” You grimaced when your call was directed on his phone’s voicemail.

You had two options: fake death so you wouldn’t have to perform, or kill Mr. Kim Seokjin. (They wouldn’t probably notice if you stabbed your professor on his side since most of them were busy preparing for their own presentations.)

But just as you’re about to resort to your latter option, Yoongi’s familiar scent immediately attacked your nose. You looked back only for you to cancel killing Mr. Kim Seokjin and just choose your former option.

God, how could it be possible for you to still want to stay alive when Min Yoongi was killing you with his looks? Gone was his light blond hair, but you’re not complaining since his now black curly hair was much much better than the previous one.

“Sorry I’m late. Holly peed on the couch again…” His multiple earrings looked too damn good on him. You’re silly; you’re fucking silly because you worried for nothing. Yoongi was still Yoongi, and the sparks in his eyes were still visible.

“It’s okay, we still have time…” You smiled as if the thought of murdering your professor didn’t just cross your mind. Oh well, nothing else mattered when Yoongi was here, right?

Mr. Kim Seokjin said that you and Yoongi would be the last performers for this day, which meant you still had at least half an hour left to stare at Yoongi like a vampire wanting to drink blood. But time flies fast when you’re busy with something. Thirty minutes ago, you were just ogling at your partner, right now, you were in front of the class, spitting fire with your partner.

The first verse of your produced song was rapped by Yoongi. Scratch that, Agust D was in front of you and not Yoongi. Your partner told you that he preferred to be called Agust D whenever he was performing his rap song.

Robber! Robber!

Sorry bae

Killer! Killer!

Sorry bae

Addiction—diction--diction

Sorry bae

“Oh! The court’s case you got away?”

Your partner smirked before proceeding to the next verse. You, on the other hand, stood there to hype the crowd.

You always get away

I’m sorry bae

You smoke cocaine but get away

Justice won’t be served

I’m sorry bae

Everything, everything, everything

Unfair

You were nervous. The next verse was assigned to you. The plan was that you only had to sing the chorus part, though Yoongi had another idea. He wanted you to go out of your comfort zone and try something new. So here you were, rapping.

You commit the same sin

Sorry bae

Your silence they love it

Sorry bae

I see same pigs on the senate

Boring bae

Your vote they bought and they’re not

Sorry bae

Nothing’s new but rich people’s car are

Brand new

Sorry bae

You can’t be illiterate coz they take advantage

Before you know it, you’re one of the reasons

Why innocents are salvage

Politicians know your name

But after the election they act like they don’t know your name!

You and Yoongi both performed the chorus part. It looked like the crowd was enjoying your presentation because they also started shouting and hyping you up.

They love, they love, they love themselves

They know, they know your sufferings

But they don’t they don’t and will never care

Youth wake up, stand up, we should fight the state! Brr!

The following verse was rapped by Yoongi again. You took your time to feel yourself as you discreetly watched the reaction of the people in front of you. A whole month of stress and worry seemed to pay off. You even locked eyes with Park Jimin, one of your most-respected classmates; he cheered for you and that was enough for you to successfully perform the next verse.

I wanna get job (job, job, job)

But I can’t get on the spotlight

Yeah I wanna have a good life!

But my parent’s wings are cozy

I just wanna hide

It’s okay I have time

My trust fund won’t end

So I can still live

And breathe while I finish this game

Called being “dependent”

All night, all day

Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care!

The next verse was easy to execute since you and Yoongi both rapped it. You were facing each other and suddenly, you forgot that there were eyes watching you. Min Yoongi caressed your cheeks once. You smiled as you sensually rolled your body.

Who plays by the rule?

No one!

Who wants to grab a woman's hair?

Husband!

Yoongi slightly pulled your hair this time. You grimaced, but you still continued rapping.

He has mistress so the wife’s depressed

He forgot about their kids but that’s okay

She can cover up for him like how

She can cover her bruise and play cool

As she says “I love him, anyway.”

You moved away from your partner. Your mood instantly changed as you approached the next verse. This one’s challenging to write. Your heart was breaking as you sang.

The other woman on the street has been pulled

By the stranger claiming she’s wet like a pool

She should be thankful since this will feel like

a dream come true

Lick it lick it right, you can take it, right?

She cried and cried and cried, that should be a sign

But “High five!” he told the other man

As the woman cried, her voice is too loud

So they killed her that night.

You let out your frustration by growling and jumping. Min Yoongi was also lost in his own world as he rapped—raising his middle finger from time to time.

They love, they love, they love themselves

They know, they know your sufferings

But they don’t they don’t and will never care

You’re horny, you fucked up! Go on and hate yourself! Brr!

It’s Yoongi’s own verse again. His mood shifted too. If you weren’t part of this performance, you would probably just stare at him. Goddamn, Min Yoongi had his own way of expressing himself.

Back back to the killings!

Your guns check

Call me when you need a gunman I can kill

Even for a dollar

Hashtag no conscience

I don’t believe in God so hell sounds okay

I’ll be with my gang gang

So hell won’t be boring!

The demon you summon

so money won’t be your worry

Payday, paycheck so I can have that rolex

He pointed the rolex on his wrist. It’s not an authentic one, but that’s not the point. Clearly, he just wanted everyone to see that there were other ways to “look cool.” However, many people still chose to listen and be their own demons.

Click clack to the bang bang

Your time has run out.

Click clack here’s my gun

I’m so high on drugs

I see you as a rat

They can control me with money

So you take these four shots

Your life is like a fruit fly

“I can’t understand. Why is it so easy for them?” This was Min Yoongi’s question to you. He asked this while you two were writing the following verse. He hated a lot of things, though he could forgive and tolerate some of it easily. However, he clearly told you that he could never treat someone right if that person used violence.

Click clack to the bang, you and you

Wait your turn

Shit! You little boy

Come here look at the blood

How? You’re asking me?

I don’t know, you’re a man you should know how

He also told you how much he hated this unfair world. He respected women more than ever, but Yoongi was an advocate of both equality and equity. Why can’t boys cry? Are we robots? These were some of his questions too.

If this is the kind of world we live in

I don't wanna live at all

If I exist for your pleasure

then I refuse to accept this call

You joined Yoongi singing the last verse of the song.

They love, they love, they love themselves

They know, they know your sufferings

But they don’t they don’t and will never care

Yo’ human, are you human? If yes then help us save this place!

By the time you finish the song, everyone’s clapping their hands and cheering for you and your partner. You swore you even saw Mr. Kim Seokjin wrote “100” on your paper.

You smiled. The performance was over, contrarily, the attraction you felt for your partner was only starting.

<<< Kimchi and Other Sauces >>>>

The first time you met Yoongi’s pleading eyes was during dinner time. After your performance in Mr. Kim Seokjin’s class, your partner said that the two of you should celebrate this success. Of course you immediately agreed, but that did not mean you were willing to spend money.

“I swear to God, Yoongi…if you ever bring me to a fine-dining restaurant, I will fucking kill you.”

You were not joking. You had student loans to pay so you couldn’t afford to spend a hundred dollar for a fucking spaghetti and sparkling water.

“Chill, you weirdo. We can just—” He stopped mid-sentence because a brilliant idea just popped into his mind.

“What? You’re not planning a yacht dinner date, are you!?” You started freaking out and the uneasiness you felt only intensified when Yoongi smirked.

“Actually, I was planning to…you know…maybe…make you eat my cum.” He simply shrugged his shoulders.

He said it so casually that you just stared at him. Was he serious or were you supposed to be laughing now? You could feel your blood rushing. You were so confused. Excited. Worried.

After what it felt like forever, the staring contest with Yoongi finally ended. He offered his hands and of course, you immediately took it. The both of you rushed toward his big, black motorbike. Yoongi only brought one helmet so he told you to just wear it. The ride to his house wasn’t that far, anyway.

The both of you were in a hurry. Countless profanities were thrown at him for driving hastily; Yoongi even parked his motorbike in a reckless way. Still, you two couldn’t care less, especially Yoongi. How could he? Huh, definitely not after you stroked his cock while driving. That’s really not a smart move, at least not when Yoongi’s mother welcomed the both of you just as Yoongi opened his apartment’s door.

“Eomma! What are you doing here?!” Clearly, your partner wasn’t expecting to see his own mother. It’s pretty obvious since Yoongi’s jaw dropped and his neck was slowly turning red.

“You brat! Why wouldn’t I be here? This is my house!” You knew you weren’t supposed to laugh, however it’s hard to control yourself when Yoongi’s being hit by his own mother while he was trying to cover the bulge on his pants.

“Eommoni! Please! I have a guest!” Yoongi got away from his own mother by hiding himself behind your small frame.

“What—oh!” His mother’s eyes widened when she saw you. She seemed surprised to see Yoongi bring someone. Of course, Yoongi had never brought his friends home. Not even once. At this point, his mother was actually convinced that her son was allergic to human beings.

“I didn’t know that Yoongi is friends with someone as charming as you…” The frightening aura of his mother was completely gone. The older woman engulfed you into a tight, warm hug as she asked your name. You answered her with a smile on your lips.

Yoongi’s mom led you in the kitchen. Actually, you tagged along with her. She wanted to prepare a meal for you and her son, but of course, you couldn’t just sit still and look pretty. As a sign of respect, you needed to help her. Besides, you loved kitchen works, though you’re pretty sure cooking hated every fiber of your being.

The older woman just asked you to set up the table because according to her, she was always in charge of cooking. She also told you to be prepared because you’d surely forget your name once you tasted her award-winning Sam Gae Tang or that chicken soup with ginseng. Hoseok, one of your best friends, made the best chicken soup so your standard was kind of high. For you, nothing could beat Hoseok, but we’ll just have to see.

“Please be kind to my mother…”

Yoongi’s voice and eyes were pleading as he sat beside you. The food was already prepared and the two of you were ready to eat. You were just waiting for Yoongi’s mom to finish washing her hands.

You just raised your brows at the man beside you, clearly not understanding why he’s pleading because really, you knew how to respect elders.

Yoongi sighed.

“My mom is a terrible cook. Her soup tastes like shit, man…” Yoongi shook his head like a traumatized kid. He even bit his lower lip.

You’re about to say something, but you heard his mother’s footsteps, meaning, if you spoke, she might hear you, and so you just kept your mouth shut. You’re expecting Yoongi to do the same, though he just leaned on your shoulders—his eyes were still begging.

“Please, baby? Just put a lot of kimchi and other sauces on your soup to get rid of the awful taste. Can you do that for me?”

You simply nodded. That night, you realized that Yoongi was willing to do everything just to make someone he loved happy. Days, weeks, months, and years passed and you still admired how every time you had dinner with him and his mother, Yoongi would urge you to put kimchi and other sauces on your chicken soup.

At this point, you were convinced you loved Min Yoongi. You had always loved cooking, hell, you were willing to lose your bachelor’s degree if that meant you would be good at cooking, because…

You, just like Yoongi’s mom, were a terrible cook. But Yoongi never complained nor did he ever put kimchi and other sauces on the food you cooked just for him.

<<< Silver Dust>>>>

The first time you asked Yoongi why he liked looking into your eyes was when the both of you were having a staring contest.

The wind was unbelievably cold tonight, clearly, you weren’t expecting to freeze in the middle of a summer night. The annoying weather led you into thinking if climbing on top of your boyfriend’s house’s roof was a good idea. Sure the stars were pretty, but you felt cold. Too cold.

“Do you know the story about the Window and the Mirror?” Yoongi asked out of the blue. He also pulled your body closer to him—making you grimace. The texture of the roof was hard on your back. You shook your head, why did you choose to lay on the roof without any blanket again? Sometimes, your choices in life were really questionable.

“Nah, what happened?” You’re never a fan of stories.

Yoongi sighed. He pulled you closer to him until your face was buried on his neck. Damn. He smelled like smoke and sex.

“Well, for starters, my father left us…”

Yoongi’s words monetarily made you stop breathing. You had known him for years now, but not once did you ever talk about his father. You were aware that his father left him and his mom, though you didn’t know the story behind it.

“My father was a good man and he always tells me he loves my mother more than ever. For the longest time of my life, I believed him. He never looked into anyone’s wife. He never had a mistress, but my father is selfish.”

You just hummed to let him know that you were listening.

He cleared his throat.

“Mom just wants a simple life and that’s why we never left Daegu. This is my home. Our home.” Yoongi’s grip on your shoulder tightened, he looked up in the sky—the stars were prettier when you were in Daegu.

“My father doesn’t like to be here, though. He loves the city. He craves city life. Ever since I was young, he kept telling my mom that they should move to Seoul. Abeonim hates farming. He calls our strawberry farm disgusting. Said he should become a CEO and not a stupid farmer.” Yoongi laughed bitterly. He could still remember the way his father said those words.

“And guess what? He fucking did. Min Hyun Sik, chief executive officer of Bighit Company…” Yoongi cackled and you gasped.

Min Hyun Sik was his father? That guy was like the richest man in South Korea! You wanted to confirm this news that he just dropped, however, you couldn’t move because Yoongi’s grip on your shoulders was so tight.

“He became someone with power by leaving my mother and I.” Yoongi repeated as his eyes darkened. He no longer found the stars pretty. For him they were just lights—shining to hurt his eyes.

“He just left a note like that was going to be enough. He didn’t even say sorry. The only words written on those notes are him telling me to go to University using the money he left.”

You bit your lower lip. His grip was really, really tight…

“He wants me to go to college so I can follow him in the city, and so I went to college. But it’s not because I want to follow him. I enrolled just so I can fucking drop out during my last year.”

You furrowed your brow. If that was Yoongi’s original plan, then how…how come he’s a college graduate now?

“That was the plan before I met you…” Yoongi’s grip on your shoulder loosens, giving you the opportunity to look into his eyes.

He smiled at you.

“So, the story of the Window and the Mirror?” He offered and you just nodded.

“There’s this rich man—”

“Richer than your dad?” You asked. He laughed.

“Fucking richer than my dad…” He left a chaste kiss on your mouth. You giggled. “Anyway, the man went to see a rabbi, some sort of Jewish teacher. Of course the rabbi asked him what he wanted and the rich man said he doesn’t know what to do with his life anymore.”

“Uh, duh? He should give us money!” You butted in again. Yoongi kissed you once more just to make you shut up.

“Unfortunately, the teacher didn’t tell the rich man to give you money, weirdo. The Rabbi just led him over to the window and asked him this.” Yoongi cleared his throat. “What can you see through the glass?”

“And what’s the response of the rich man, Mr. Min?”

“I can see men coming and going and a blind man begging for alms in the street.” Yoongi answered you. “The rabbi seemed content with his answers, so this time, the teacher led him into a large mirror to ask him another question...”

“What is the other question?” You pressed.

“The rabbi asked him this, baby…” Yoongi pressed his lips on your mouth before proceeding to the story. “When you look in this mirror, can you tell me what you see?”

“And?!” You pressed again.

“I can see myself…”

“Obviously.” You rolled your eyes. You just wanted to know the sense of this story.

“And you can’t see the others. Notice that the window and the mirror are both made of the same basic material, glass. You should compare yourself to these two kinds of glass. Poor, you saw other people and felt compassion for them. Rich — covered in silver — you see yourself.”

“Oh,” was all you could say.

Your boyfriend smiled at you.

“My father chose to look in the mirror and I almost did the same. I almost dropped out of college just because I want my father to see that having a degree is useless. But, baby, if I actually chose to drop out, I wouldn’t have met you. I wouldn’t be able to give my mother a better life. I wouldn’t be able to afford to hire a cook and who knows? If I drop out of college, I would probably still be eating my mom’s shitty chicken soup.” You laughed at that.

“I am just saying, I like to look into your eyes because it reminds me of a window. It made me see a lot of things—new opportunities. Because of you, I stopped being selfish. You removed the silver in the mirror; you turned the silver into dust.”

“I fucking love you!” This time, you initiated the kiss.

You kissed Min Yoongi so hard that when you pulled away, he’s desperately gasping for air.

“I fucking love you too.”

<<< The Proposal >>>>

After reminiscing some of your unforgettable moments with Min Yoongi, you finally looked into his eyes.

Yoongi proposed to you and you’re contemplating whether to say yes or no. Your boyfriend despised the crowd, but here he was, down on his knees—shakily holding a ring on his hand.

You examined his face. His lips were quivering, for the first time; you saw how vulnerable he looked. It’s as if his whole life depended on this, and to be honest, it did. Yoongi couldn’t imagine life without you.

“Baby, are you gonna say yes or no?” Yoongi knitted his brows together.

You chuckled. Typical, Yoongi.

“Please stand up…”

Your boyfriend looked at you with confused eyes. His heart started beating so fast he’s very sure it would explode.

“B-But why? Don’t you want to—“ He stammered.

“Just stand up, Yoongi.”

With a heavy heart, Yoongi followed what you wanted. Deep inside, Yoongi was already murdering his friend, Jeon Jeongguk. He just told Yoongi that proposing in a strange, busy city would win your heart.

You two were currently in New York, New York. Strangers were watching you, and Brooklyn Bridge served as your backdrop. Jeongguk said that if Yoongi proposed in a place where no one knew you, then it was a sure win because your mother wouldn’t be able to stop Yoongi. Your childhood crush or ex wouldn't be in the picture too so it was another win for Yoongi. But your boyfriend was starting to regret his decision. He shouldn’t have listened to Jeongguk. What did that dipshit even know about love?

“Yoongi, are you listening?”

“Huh?” Your boyfriend’s train of thoughts were suddenly halted when you spoke.

“I can’t believe you. I just said yes!” You shake Yoongi’s shoulder. It looked like he was still out of his mind and that made you anxious. What if…what if he decided you’re not worth it anymore? What if he didn’t want to marry you anymore?

“Baby, I can’t believe you too. Please give me your hands!” Yoongi exclaimed.

“Oh!” You exclaimed as well. What the hell! You were so apprehensive that you zoned out too!

“We’re both weirdos, do you know that?” Yoongi shook his head after putting the sparkling ring on your finger.

You laughed.

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Gladly.”

#bts yoongi #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #bts fanfic #suga #bts suga #bangtan #armywriterssupport #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #yoongi angst

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felixrivercatton · 4 years ago

Note

title: I made a calculated decision (but man am I bad at math)

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it

this answer sure is 7 weeks late but that should tell you something about my writing practices lmfao

Anyways, I feel like it would certainly be a good ole wholesome (if not slightly predictable) High School AU.

Char A is a decent student; nothing extraordinary, maybe one of those kids that tested off the charts when they were little and then grew up feeling all kinds of pressure to uphold that but time goes on and life happens and they’re not some super genius and it sucks ‘cause they feel like they’re disappointing their parents. Or parent. Maybe there’s only the one. Single dad, maybe? They’ve got a younger sibling who really really wants something expensive AF for their birthday, and they’re not the most well- off household, and y’know they’re smart enough to understand that but damn they wanna give their younger sibling that bday present.

Char B is... drumroll... an athlete of some sort that needs good grades to stay on their team, and I think perhaps they get some ribbing with ‘dumb jock’ jokes but they’re a lil bit sensitive bc they’re TRYING ok but math is hard. So their parents (too rich and very busy but they love their kid & they mean well)- go looking for a tutor in an effort to support their child’s hobby.

Maybe they happen to remember some old family friends- or a family friend- that they’ve drifted apart from for whatever reason- who have (had) a real smart kid. Maybe they happen to run in to said kid out and about town and light up all “Will you tutor Blabla twice a week? We’ll pay you 20 bucks a session?” And Char A is a lil uncomfortable bc they don’t know these people well and hate letting anyone down but I mean, tutoring??? They’re looking for a job but yikes. So they’re kinda... “Well, I mean, I don’t know,” Which Char B’s parents take to be reluctance bc of the price or whatever, maybe twenty is a lil cheap these days and these ARE high school kids after all maybe they’re savin up for Cars and Such so they’re like “Well okay, how about 40?” And Char A kinda blinks. I mean.... 80 bucks a week...... but the blinking is taken as more hesitance so the parents go up to 50, and Char A just kinda frantically nods bc well Okay if you insist on giving me a hundred dollars for spending a couple hours with your kid, Jesus, i’ll google how to do whatever I don’t know how to teach, how bad can it be?

Anyways the tutoring sessions go about as well as you’d expect and honestly Char B is probably better at the math than Char A which... some point when B corrects A on something, A will just kinda stare and be Embarrassed and try to play it off with some joke about how “I thought you were supposed to be the stupid one” but you know Char B is kinda sensitive about that and it hurts their feelings so they kinda snap back with a “I thought you were supposed to be smart” and kinda leaves in a huff bc theyre Mad

And then they both bomb their midterms, Char B’s Parents fire Char A,

I’m sure there’s a reconciliation in there either before or because Char B eventually finds out why Char A was even tutoring to begin with and they buy Char A’s sibling that coveted bday present and THEN it gets real gay (B probably receives a v emotional keese as a ‘thank you’) and they live blissfully ever after, probably with an eventual confrontation with B’s parents (maybe they’re studying together and B’s parents are like we FIRED your ass and B’s like ‘you can’t fire them from dating me tho’)

anyways I’m sure I wrote way more than I was meant to for this but that’s the story of my life

#i need a tag for this #tutoring shenanigans #mayorwarhead

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moeruhoshi · 5 years ago

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Please I need more fics where Lucy gets turned on by Natsu's horns 😖

Tell me if this good and i’ll finish it

but fr tho cuz i feel like there’s something missing in the middle 🤷🏽‍♀️

~000~

“...who are you looking at?” Cana grinned as Lucy stared blankly out of their classroom window, her eyes trained on one very specific figure. She was currently working with the brunette and two of their other friends during a self-study period, their desks all pushed together in a square.

“The new kid,” Lucy sighed without paying much attention to what she was really saying. “I think I want him to do me.”

“L-Lucy!” Erza blushed a dark red, Levy quick to slap her hands over the blonde’s lips. Cana roared with laughter at the thoughtless confession, the succubus entering a wide-eyed panic as she fully gathered her thoughts.

“Ah, it’s always so fun to hear you when you’re not paying attention,” The oracle snickered as the pixie carefully removed her hands.

“When was the last time you ate, Lu-chan? It’s not like you to space out so much,” Levy asked, worry filling her gaze.

“Loke gave me a kiss almost a month ago...it was enough to get me through midterms,” She sighed, still staring at the class currently in p.e. “Strawberries are starting to lose their effect too, I feel hungry more often,”

“That’s not good,” Erza frowned, the heat in her cheeks still present as she spoke. “I want you to eat too, but as the student council president, I don’t think I can allow you to attack anyone even f—“

“I’m not going to attack him!” Lucy whined, covering her face out of embarrassment. “I just...he’s just...it’s his fault!”

“Oh, did he hit on you? Or did you see him shirtless? Ooo, does he smell good? C’mon, details!” Cana ebbed, grinning as the blonde shyly offered an explanation.

“He was fighting Gray and I saw his horns come out,” Lucy fwahed, drooling a bit as she thought back to the moment. “I know he’s a dragon and I just—he looks so powerful, I wanna tas—“

“I think we got it,” Levy cleared her throat as she slapped another hand over Lucy’s mouth.

“So his horns got to you?” Cana grinned as she leaned in closer. “Think they’re as thick as his dick?”

“C-Cana!!”

The new student, Lucy couldn’t get him out of her head.

He joined the school during the beginning of their spring semester in the classroom down the hall. A lot of girls thought he was cute at first, sexy even. But he turned out to be too loud and an obnoxious hassle that seemed hellbent on challenging anyone to a fight.

He’d apparently known the ice devil, Gray, when they were younger and was related to Gajeel, Levy’s boyfriend.

So even though he was close with some of Lucy’s friends, she still didn’t have much of a chance to approach him. She made it a goal to try and avoid men when her hunger was slipping.

And she especially wanted to avoid him.

It was a total by chance incident; Lucy was finishing some paperwork in the student council room one day after school. As the treasurer, she had to finish approving some club budgets and ended up staying late.

“Take that, you slimy lizard!” She heard Gray’s familiar voice shout from the courtyard as she began to leave the school.

“Oh yeah? Bring it on, ice for breath!” The new kid shouted back, the two of them scuffling in karate gi’s nearby.

Lucy yelped when she saw him light up in flames, kicking the devil off of him and standing with a wickedly sinister grin. She could see his skin turn to scales and horns begin to sprout from underneath his strangely pink hair.

Her footsteps slowed at the sight of his wide back, breath suddenly shallow as her heart pumped wildly. A familiar feeling bubbled in the pit of her stomach, awakening the desire she’d long since suppressed.

He looked strong...

And yikes, she had a thing for horns.

She’d seen horns before, what kind of kink was this?! Maybe it was just his horns, but god did she want to grab them and ride him like a—

Nope.

No.

She was not having sex.

She couldn’t! Even though he looked strong and she did wonder if his horns were as thick as his—

This wasn’t going to happen. One hundred percent nope.

“Juvia...” Lucy began with an excited voice, opening the door to greet her friend, only to have it falter into a light whisper. The two planned to study together this evening as their parents had gone out of town for a couple of days. It also provided the excuse for Juvia to come over and eat Lucy’s cooking for dinner, but she wouldn’t say anything about that.

“Juvia thought it would be fun to have others over for dinner too! Gray-sama and Natsu-san needed help studying too, Juvia hopes Lucy-san doesn’t mind.” Juvia said as the blonde moved aside to allow the three in.

“O-Oh, no, no problem. My pleasure,” Lucy forced a smile and tried to hold her breath as the boy with pink hair walked in.

‘Ah...his horns! They’re so little! And hidden in his hair, how cute!’

“Thanks for having us over,” Gray said as Lucy led them into her living room, the three taking a seat at her coffee table. “Gildarts said he’d give us remedial lessons for the rest of the year if we didn’t pass this next test,”

“You can count on me, English is my best subject,” Lucy said, pulling Juvia with her as she made up a quick excuse. “I’ll—we’ll be right back, just going to check on dinner. I hope you like beef stew!”

“What’s wrong, Lucy-san? Juvia thinks you’re acting a bit strange...are you not feeling alright?” The siren asked as Lucy leaned against her kitchen counter in dramatic agony.

“Why did you have to bring him here...I can’t deal with that guy!” She whined, clutching onto the blunette as she sobbed.

“Natsu-san? Does Lucy-san not like him?” Juvia asked as Lucy shook her head.

“I’m crazy about him, if he’s too close I really think I’ll jump him,” She sighed, clutching her stomach as it began cramping with a delirious heat. “I’ve been hungry for a while now, and he makes me feel even worse,”

“Eh?! Why wouldn’t you tell Juvia something like that sooner?!” She gasped. “Juvia wouldn’t have brought him in, maybe Juvia should ask him to leave.”

“N-No, I think I can manage,” Lucy chewed on her lip, rummaging through the fridge to pull out her stash of fresh berries. “I want to help him if he’s stuck on the homework,”

“Alright, but tell Juvia if it gets to be too much and we’ll leave,”

Juvia understood her struggle in a similar way since the two of them were both creatures who thrived by the consumption of lewd energy. The siren was lucky to have met Gray, a person powerful enough to keep up with her and provide his strength when she needed some.

They returned to the separate room where the two boys exchanged heated glares, the room beginning to clash between hot and cold temperatures as they stared at one another.

“What are—“

“Shush, staring eye contest! Loser has to go get dessert at the good convenient store down by the school.” Gray hissed as he narrowed his gaze at the other boy who was steaming to win.

“As if I’m going to lose to you, ice tits!” The pink-haired boy grinned as he held a fierce stare. “Don’t forget, I like their chili mango popsicles,”

“You’re the one who better remember that I like their triple frozen chocolate shake sticks,” He shot back, the girls already groaning at their behavior.

“This got old when it was just Gray and Gajeel,” Lucy shook her head, flinching as their competitive egos raised to another level. Whenever he got serious it seemed as though on cue, the horns would sprout from his head.

‘So cute...crap, why is that so cute?!’

“Gray-sama, we came here to study,” Juvia whined, leaning against the table as she tried to steal his attention. It worked, the devil weak to the pouty look of his girlfriend, cringing when the new kid whooped and jumped up with a grin.

“Darn it...”

“I win! Alright, get a move on, we’ll wait for you while you get the good stuff,” He grinned, motioning for Gray to leave.

“Fine...” He grumbled, snatching Juvia’s hand as he made his way towards the door. “You made me lose so you’re coming with me,”

“E-Eh?! Wait, Gray-sama, Juvia can’t—“

Lucy blanched as the front door slammed closed, a shiver crawling up her spine as her fear sunk in.

“I’m Natsu! I don’t think we’ve ever met,” The boy grinned, his horns now back and tucked under his hair.

“L-Lucy,” She gulped and flashed a quick smile, avoiding his handshake as she sat down instead. “Do you want to get started before they come back? Dinner should be ready by then too,”

“You alright? You look kinda shaky.” Natsu asked, frowning as she only answered with a rapid nod and the flipping of pages through her textbook.

“Hey, if I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry. I’m not really used to makin’ friends with girls,” He said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with a pained smile.

“O-Oh no! That’s not it at all!” Lucy said quickly, feeling her heart thump as his smile twisted sweetly. “It’s just me, I’m not feeling all that well.”

“Really? You shouldn’t be cooking and studyin’ if ya feel sick,” He pouted. “Sure you don’t want to get some rest?”

“I-I’m okay, thank you,”

#nalu #natsu and lucy #lucy and natsu #natsu x lucy #lucy x natsu #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #nalu fanficiton #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction

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studylabs · 5 years ago

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quarantine tag game

thank you @thefuturelawyer for tagging me!!

1. Are you staying home from work/school? i am :(

2. If you’re staying home, who’s there with you? i’m with my parents but they can not stay at home since they are working in health industry

3. Do you have pets to keep you company? no and i really miss saying hi to stray cats :(

4. Who do you miss the most? i think aimlessly messing around with my friends and somehow stressing structure of uni -trust me, these online classes are way stressfulkfgjdlkfg

5. When was the last time you left your home? march 11 deadass

6. What was the last thing you bought? i bought a shelf but probably gonna purchase coffee online since all of the coffee houses are closed :(

7. Is quarantine driving you insane or are you finally relaxed? i’m more of a homebody and i need mental quarantine to get relaxed... i’m also freaking out because of my parents’ job since they go to hospital on a daily basis so yeah... neither?

8. Are you a homebody? yes!

9. What movies have you watched recently? i tried to watch grand budapest hotel but it kept lagging,,,, i keep on watching series instead. i finished himym, restarted friends and i think at some point i watched a k-drama??

10. An event that you were looking forward to that got cancelled? i was really excited about teknofest (which is a festival about... you know... technology... as the name suggests) and also many hackathons but anyway...

11. What’s the worst thing that you’ve had to cancel? lmao midterms

12. What’s the best thing you’ve had to cancel? i wanted to take myself out on a movie date but... yeah

13. Do you have any new hobbies? yes! i practice gfx design more, playing my violin more, hell, i even started working out as a hobby, practicing calligraphy (anything besides being a decent student... yikes)

14. What are you out of? endurance

15. What music are you listening to? that’s a whole another story... i used to “clean up” my spotify playlist like once every 4-5 months but now it’s once a week. i keep on discovering new artists and songs and it’s an never ending journey for me. i feel like i’m re-living my gap year, which is one of the most remarkable years that affected my taste of music. so yeah, i listen to every fucking thing and i’m really happy about it.

16. What shows are you watching? rewatching friends, started some old cartoon network series (ed, edd, eddy, camp lazlo, juniper lee, dexter’s laboratory) and winx club.

17. What are you reading? anything haruki murakami!!

18. What are you doing for self-care? skincare, quitted sugar, practicing doing art for myself, journaling.

19. Are you exercising? yes! i want a waaay toned body and really don’t want to put on weight during that time.

20. How’s your toilet paper supply? it’s quite alright i guess, my mom tends to stock these kind of things anyway...

21. Have you made any changes to your hair during quarantine? gave myself bangs, trying my best to grow it out! :D

and i am tagging @starlightandstudies @integral-sign @diaryofastemstudent@depressed-student @bookmark-artisan @almastudies @hmvex @psy-studies @divinestudy @ra-studies @irachional @caffeinated-aquarius @lifesci @i-would-tame-the-stars @graystudie @lily-sam @river-puppy and if anyone else wants to do this, you can say that i tagged you!

#tag game #twenty questions #quarantine tag game #quarantine #thanks again!#weight mention

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urfavepisces · 6 years ago

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it was all fake right?/peter kavinsky one shot pt. II

a/n: i honestly can’t believe all of the love you’ve all shown me on ‘this is fake right?’! thank you so much for reading it and i hope this next part is equally entertaining. also the line breaks and italicized words indicate that it happened in the past. once again i hope you all enjoy this one (:

part I (this is fake right?)

word count: 2,540 (yikes, sorry i got carried away)

warnings: a few cuss words lmao

“The limit does not exist if-if the value of x is zero?” You turned the note card around to reveal if you had gotten it right and seeing the answer made you shout out, “YES!” Immediately making the other kids look up at you glaring in your direction.

You hunched back into your seat, “My bad.” You offered a sheepish smile but were met with a few of them rolling their eyes at you and went back to their own text books and laptops.

You’d been studying nonstop for your Calculus midterm coming up in a couple of weeks and you needed an A especially if you were going to pass the class. Currently, you barely had a B and you were freaking out. The universities you were going to be applying to in a year and a half needed to see that you took school serious and your future depended on it.

Usually you were on top of your shit. When projects were assigned you usually planned them out the next day and had them done at least a week before they were due. Tests were a toss up to be honest, when it came to English and History either you knew it or you didn’t. So studying for those two subjects rarely happened. However, when it came to Calculus and Spanish you were always making sure you got the material down before a quiz, midterm and especially a final.

But ever since you and Peter decided to start this fake relationship your priorities had shuffled and school became second when it came to him. You two were halfway through the second month of it and you were falling behind on your classes that you knew you needed to put in extra effort to comprehend the material.

Mrs. McBride and Mr. Barrios were disappointed in your lack of care for their class. You hung your head in shame when they confronted you on your poor performance in their class, they even said they’d wanted to contact your Dad but you let them know that you would definitely be trying a lot harder from now on.

He had more on his plate than he could handle at times and he didn’t need to worry about how you were doing in school. You couldn’t stand to disappointed the sweet man.

You shook your head and focused back on the flash cards before you. You went through them three more times before you switched over to finishing an assignment for Spanish that was due the next day. As you started to write your name on top of the worksheet, your name was being yelled.

Your had snapped up almost causing you whiplash before your vision settled on your best friend, Angelina Thompson. You narrowed your eyes and gave her the look you always did when she was doing too much but of course she couldn’t take a hint and waltzed up to the table you were sitting at and sat herself right on top of it.

“Girl, where have you been?” I texted your ass like five times and you know I don’t do that for just anybody.” She raised her eyebrows at you and flicked her locs over her shoulder.

You could feel the other students’ eyes on you again and this time they looked like they were going to cuss you out. Angie noticed their stares, “Excuse me. Mind your business.” She waved them away with her hand.

Before one of them could be bold enough to say anything you hurriedly gathered your things and stuffed them into your back pack before grabbing onto her arm and dragging you both outside of the school library.

“You know you do too much sometimes. We’re literally in a library, you can’t just be loud like that.” You looked at her pointedly.

She shrugged, “Yea well I wouldn’t have to if Peter ‘puppy dog eyes’ Kavinsky wasn’t talking my ear off, asking where you were.” She jabbed her finger into your shoulder making you slap her hand away.

You scratched your scalp before walking down the hallway, “Sorry I had to study. I’m not doing well in some of my classes and I’m not trying to have my Dad find out.”

She nodded understanding where you were coming from, “Ok well it still doesn’t explain why your boyfriend is bugging me about it. Y’all don’t text each other or talk?”

You didn’t respond immediately because you didn't know how to word your explanation. Ever since the movie night, you had started to actually fall for Peter and you couldn’t help but do it. Peter Kavinsky was a sweet person who constantly looked after you and all the little things he did were starting to get to you.

The Monday after the movie night, you two were the talk of the school more than ever before.

During third period, you got a hall pass and went to the bathroom. As you flushed and pulled your pants up, the door opened and your name was being mentioned.

“So looks like Peter is over you, him and Y/N look like they’re getting serious.” A voice you made out to be Jackie Lawson which meant the only other person she could be talking to was Jessica Meyers, Peter’s ex girlfriend.

You heard Jess scoff, “Please we both know that whatever they have is nothing compared to my and Peter’s relationship. You know we still text.”

If it was actually plausible that your heart could stop beating, you’re sure that that’s what it just did. Anytime you thought that maybe, just maybe this thing between Peter and you was morphing into something real you were thrust back into reality.

You went closer to the door of the stall you were currently in. You thanked the heavens that you were in the last one so they couldn't tell someone else was in the bathroom with them.

“I’m just saying Jess, the way he looks at her is special. Plus I heard he’s taking her on the annual ski trip and we all know what happens on the ski trip.” You could hear Jess sigh loudly before saying, “Yea I guess we’ll just see.”

They left a few minutes after that and you finally felt like you could breathe. Even though you’d agreed to the trip when you two came up with the terms of the contract, now you weren’t so sure anymore that you could go through with it.

The very next day, you went along with the usual routine you two had. You sat with him at lunch and tried to engage with his friends who were slowly becoming your friends as well but you were mentally checked out. Your mind was a chaotic mess going through all the moments you and Peter shared and whether they were real or just part of the pact you two took.

Peter had noticed how quiet you were and the hand he had on your thigh, lightly squeezed the smooth skin. You blinked a few times before turning your head towards him.

“You good?” His pretty brown eyes scanned over your features before settling on your eyes gauging them for how you were feeling.

You simply nodded and brought your hand to your ear, lightly squeezing the lobe. It was a tall tale sign that you were lying and he figured it out three weeks into the fake relationship.

“Yea Peter. Actually, Angie wanted me to meet her before lunch ended.” You grabbed onto your back pack and stood up, “So I’m going to head out.”

Peter stared up at you and desperately wanted to say something about you lying to him but he decided against it and let you go reluctantly.

“Sure, we’re still hanging out after school right?” He smiled hopefully.

You nodded, “Yea sure, maybe. I don’t know actually because of homework and stuff but I’ll let you know.” You gave him a half-assed smile and scurried out of the cafeteria, if you had turned around you would’ve seen the confused and hurt look on Peter Kavinsky’s pretty face.

After school that day you avoided Peter and ended up walking home from school. You were lucky that your Dad had picked your sister up early from school for an orthodontist appointment so you didn’t have to deal with that awkward ordeal.

When you walked home your phone had been buzzing nonstop and you knew it was Peter. Your heart sank feeling bad for ignoring him but you had no choice you had to protect yourself. Your feelings were starting to become too much and you weren’t ready to deal with them or Peter.

Angie’s face remained emotionless and you were freaking out about how she was going to react. You just wanted to her say something.

You nudged her arm, “Angie I can’t take this, I need your help.” You cried.

She blinked a couple of times coming out of her stupor, “Girl I can’t believe y’all agreed to a fake relationship only for y’all to actually develop feelings.” Angie couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of her best friend’s situation.

“I didn’t mean to-wait you said both of us caught feelings. How?” You held on tightly to your black binder.

She rolled her eyes, “How do you not see the way homeboy looks at you. Lowkey makes me gag sometimes but I love you so I think it’s kind of cute. For real Y/N think about it. Think of the things he’s done and does for you just to make life easier on you plus I don’t think anyone could listen to your little sister sing for more than five minutes but he did it with no hesitation.”

All you could do was shrug. You really had no idea and it didn't matter that she told you all these things because a huge part of you thought that there was absolutely no way Peter Kavinsky liked you like that. Especially after what you’d heard in the bathroom a couple days ago. This was merely business and you needed to get your shit together if you were going to fulfill your side of the deal.

“Come on girl, Peter doesn’t like me. It’s all fake.” You started to walk towards your locker with her in tow.

She swung her arm around your shoulders, “Yea okay.” Angie gave you her infamous side eye and left it at that.

“Y/N!” You two turned at the sound of your name being called and your crush the one that had also gotten that forsaken letter came into view.

Danny Luna was also one of the popular guys in school but Peter was a couple notches above him.

You looked to your best friend for help but she just smirked and left you two by yourselves. You narrowed your eyes at her retreating form before turning back towards your locker.

“Hey Danny.” You settled on rearranging your textbooks not trying to really acknowledge him.

He leaned against your locker looking at you expectantly before speaking, “So you and Peter Kavinsky?”

You nodded, praying that that would be enough of an explanation.

He pulled on one of his back pack straps and scratched the back of his neck, “I’m just surprised because that letter you wrote it-.” The sound of your locker slamming shut cut him off, “Sorry Danny, I just don’t feel that way anymore plus you and my sister had a thing.” He shook his head, “No yea of course. It’s just I was thinking that we could talk about it.”

Before you could respond, you caught sight of Peter heading down the hall towards you two. “I-uh gotta go Danny.” You walked away, your feet hurriedly getting you away from the uneasy situation.

As you rounded the corner, you heard his voice, “Whoa, whoa, whoa Y/N hold on.”

You’d miss the sleepy drawl of his voice even though it’d only been a day since you two actually talked. You looked up at him but decided to fix your gaze somewhere else, Peter always had a way of making you melt just by him simply looking at you.

“What’s going on? We were supposed to hang out yesterday and you bailed, Never even texted me back or answered my calls. You’ve been avoiding me and now I see you talking to Danny Luna.” He was irritated, you could tell just by how fast he was speaking.

While he’s talking, all you could really do was focus on the campaign poster behind him.

Hmm…you didn’t know Melanie Gibson was running for junior class president, good for her. Your eyes read over her campaign promises and agreed with most of them.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” You closed and opened your eyes and it took a couple seconds before your vision focused on Peter.

You hadn’t and you didn’t even try.

You coughed, covering your mouth with the inside of your elbow and looked to him while you pulled on your earlobe, “Mhmm.”

He reeled back as if he had been slapped, “Really?” Peter narrowed his eyes at you and the look you could only make out was that he was hurt.

Peter crossed his arms and tilted his head towards you, “You’re lying to me. I thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other.” He motioned the space between you two.

The way his mouth curved through those words made you do double take at Peter. You raised an eyebrow and tilted your chin up, “No I’m not. How would you even know I was lying?”

Peter couldn’t take your stubbornness anymore, he had reached his limit, “How can I not know?! Anytime you grab your ear, you’re lying, I’ve seen you do it so much Y/N. Just tell me what’s really going on with you? And look the ski trip is coming up and we need to be on good terms before that so you-“ You shaking your had made him stop talking.

“Honestly Peter it’s time we just called it yea? This whole fake relationship has gone on for a lot longer than we both thought it would. You can take Jess on the ski trip and we can finally end it.” The words you’d spoken surprised both you and Peter for the same reason but neither you still didn’t know what the other was thinking.

With your head hanging low, you had the perfect view to see Peter’s sneakers take two steps towards you. “I want you to come on the ski trip with me Y/N.” With every inch he stepped in your direction, your nerves started to bubble up and you didn’t know how to deal with these feelings.

The only way you knew how to was your greatest defense mechanism which was to deflect and hurt the only person who had made you truly happy in these past few weeks. “Peter, this was all fake right? So let’s not make a big deal of it. I want you have to fun with Jess.” And before he could even utter a word, you hastily walked away from him.

It was all fake right? So why did the tears rolling down your cheeks make you feel otherwise?

#peter kavinsky #noah centineo #peter kavinsky imagine #noah centineo imagine #ahh i hope y'all like this one as well!

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pr1ncessjasm1ne · 6 years ago

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Love Sick

Summary: Y/N reminisces on memories that have led to the confessions of her best friend, [college!]Grayson, admitting his feelings. Word Count: ~ 5,600 Warnings: Cursing, mentions of smoking and drinking, but mostly fluff. A/N: Yikes, this is my first time posting for this fandom and NOT on my side blog, this is also the first time I write with a concept that I really like and needed for myself. I grew to love it and I might make a part 2, so PLEASE FEEL FREE TO GIVE FEEDBACK AND LET ME KNOW IF YOU WOULD WANT A SECOND PART!!! <3

tags: @cutesydolan @joeyskinnyleg @hmmmethan @ohmydolantwins

My days at university have been exceptionally beautiful during many moments. I was getting to date my best friend, whom I met here. It was an occurrence that I never really expected. It all started my freshman year. It was move-in day, to be exact.

“Mom, it’s to the left,” I instruct her on the other end of the large, blue plastic moving cart that we had unloaded my stuff into from our car. It was move in day for my first year of college, and I was ecstatic to be settled in and meeting new people to make friends immediately. I was also super excited to finally be away from home where I had never been allowed out of the house.

“Okay, number 205, right?” she asks as she slows down in front of the room. I nod in confirmation and move around to unlock the door. I guess I beat my roommate, since it was empty.

“Sweet, I want the bottom bunk!” I smiled at my mom as I started to walk in and she followed with the cart.

“Yay! If you fall off when you’re sleeping, you’re only a couple of feet off the ground!” She teased. She likes to think I’m a huge clutz in avoiding the reality that she’s oblivious to, which is that she’s the huge clutz. But whatever. I rolled my eyes in response and asked her to start putting the sheets on my bed while I go get the second cart with my dad.

The second I stepped out my door, I bumped in to a taller, larger man holding a huge box that hit my face. “Oh shit- I’m so, so sorry!” I heard as I clenched my eyes shut and held my hands to my temple. I open my eyes to find a pair of beautiful, deep green orbs decorated with some thick and sharp eyebrows currently furrowed with concern.

“Uh… it’s ‘kay,” I giggled. I felt like I forgot the entire English language in that moment. I continued my hold on my temple before he gently removed my hands by the wrists, making me shiver a bit.

“Oh no, did the corner of the box hit you? It looks like you have a little cut.. oh my god, I’m so-“

“Hey, it’s fine! Nothing a little Neosporin can’t fix,” I reassure, “just be a little more careful, please. I’m asking for everyone.” He sports a small smirk and I caught his cute little dimple. The little dimple I didn’t know I would ever come to love so much.

“Okay, you got it. But still, I’m so sorry. Can I do anything?” He asks, without realizing someone was behind him trying to push another cart. It was my dad, bringing in the second cart I was supposed to help him with.

“Y/N, who’s this?” My dad blatantly asks. Grayson drops his hold on my hands and looks up. Dad has never been fond of any boys in my life, saying they were clearly only after one thing. It was no different with any stranger who looked between 17 and 20 years old. He’s a little overprotective, I guess.

“Good question, what’s your name, boy-who-hit-me-with-his-box?” I cross my arms and cock an eyebrow. He shifts his eyes between my dad and I, growing a little red in the face.

“I promise it was an accident- I’m Grayson…” he smiles a bit awkwardly. I couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction to my dad’s glare after I mentioned the incident that brought our meet, to begin with.

My dad completely dismissed Grayson’s existence and asked me to move out of the doorway to bring the first cart in and replace it with the second one. I did as I was told and moved over to let my parents handle the moving for a second.

“Do you need any help with that box, by the way?” I asked, pointing down at the box he had dropped when he grabbed my wrists. He quickly bent down to pick it up and let out a small chuckle.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind a spotter to make sure I don’t hit anyone else,” he smiled in my direction. How am I supposed to resist that smile? I moved to be in front of him and led him down to the boy’s hall of the residence.

“What number?” I asked, slowing down my pace as we made our way down.

“220, right there,” he pointed me to the door just a few feet away. I helped him steer clear of a couple of parents he couldn’t see, and probably would have hit with his obscenely large moving box. I noticed the door was prompted open, so I let myself in. I let curiosity get the best of me and decided to watch him for a bit.

“Bottom or top bunk?” I asked. He set the box down behind me and dropped to his knees to start unpacking it.

“I want the bottom bunk, but I know my brother is going to use the ‘I was born first’ card to claim it once he gets here,” he sighs. I take the liberty to sit down on the bottom bunk to test it out.

“Hmm. Unless you want to hit your head constantly on the top bunk, I think you dodged a bullet there,” I stated while holding the metal bars above me.

“Same difference, I’ll hit my head up on the ceiling, too. I just don’t wanna climb,” he smiles. He shifts his focus from the box over to me, and I notice he caught a glance of my exposed thighs in my shorts. I immediately felt a bit insecure and I covered them with my hands before standing up.

“True. Well, good luck to you, Grayson. I have to go help my parents before they complain and say I’m avoiding them,” I say while peeping into his box. It looked like a bunch of tech stuff and lost interest for the moment, making a mental note to ask about it later. “I’ll see you around,” I sport my biggest smile as I leave the room.

“Bye, Y/N!”

I saw Grayson very frequently that year. We bumped into each other nearly every day first semester; I saw him after sociology as I was making my way into the building and he was making his way to class. During midterms season in early October, I would get annoyed of my roommate talking to her boyfriend from back home every single night while I was trying to study. I decided to go in the common room of the residence hall one night and found Grayson taking up an entire table with his laptop, books, and notes spread out as he was studying. That night, he was wearing a white hoodie and gray sweats, looking real cute and cozy. He had his hood up and fidgeted with the strings, which I later found out he did often. He was alone in the common room, which indicated that it was pretty late at night considering that was a popular study space. Even though there was plenty of space, I still sat at the table he occupied because I didn’t want him to feel lonely, even if we were both going to be silently working on our own things. That quickly turned out to be the opposite of what we intended. Every time we started studying, he would ask me random questions about myself and got me rambling for hours. Eventually, this became a problem because we would never really get work done. I found out his twin brother, Ethan, was always playing video games late at night while he tried to study. I didn’t mind that I would hardly get my work done with him. I enjoyed getting to know him every few nights at 3 in the morning until the sun rose and we called it a night and went on with our lives.

Second semester, I found him in my statistics class. Our late-night study sessions, therefore, started to become intentional as well as more frequent. The fact that we both actually needed to study and had each other for support didn’t stop us from getting distracted and talking about literally anything else. I also started hanging out with him in our rooms which eventually led to hanging out outside of the residence hall. We started going to the dining halls together along with his brother, Ethan, and my new friend Alena. Alena quickly made a move on Ethan one night while we were all taking a walk around the lake nearby to stargaze. I was very happy for them when they shared their first kiss together, but it made me a bit sad when I had no one to share an experience like that with. Grayson suggested I should get on tinder, but I didn’t cave then. I was always hoping something would spark between us and bring us together and I don’t think I would have wanted there to be a chance for it to happen with someone else. Not at that time.

Over summer, Grayson and Ethan went back to New Jersey, while Alena went back to her hometown of San Angelo, Texas. I made my way back to my small town in California, which was only a few hours away from our university. I was happy to be back home, but I missed Grayson more than anyone. We started sending one another consistent snapchats of random things that happened throughout our day. Or random selfies with “bored” somewhere on the caption. It always depended on the day, really. But there was never a day I didn’t see his gorgeous face on my screen. At some point in the summer, we started to facetime at night, continuing our late-night chats from the study room. Most times, he would be sending me things to watch on youtube and watch my reaction. It was something we liked to do at our distracted study nights as well. Other times, we would just keep each other company while we played video games or one of us was trying to sleep. It became habitual to fall asleep to the sound of Grayson Dolan’s soft snores even though he had never physically slept next to me. I almost couldn’t sleep the night I moved back up for the second year of college.

“This apartment is sick, [Y/N]! You could throw parties here!” Grayson exclaimed, sitting on my new bed. I let out a small giggle as I sat next to him. “I’m not really a party girl, Gray,” I tilted my head at him. He averted his gaze and stared at his lap.

“You’re right, but I’ll be coming over a lot. This is way better than the small studio Ethan got us stuck with,” he said shifting his eyes back to mine. I felt a slight rush of heat and decided to lay down and stare at the ceiling to shake off the effect Grayson’s eyes had on me. I hadn’t looked into them since the last day before summer, and I forgot how intimidating they were. I always felt like Grayson could see into my soul and take it to keep whenever he laid eyes on me.

“You’re welcome to stay whenever Ethan won’t stop geeking out,” I offered. “But you’re also welcome whenever, and you know that”. I was trying so hard to suppress the smile that threatened to stretch out my cheeks. I felt him lay back next to me, and I shifted my attention to his face.

“Thanks, beautiful,” he almost whispered. I swear if it had been any lower, I wouldn’t have heard him. I almost pretended not to hear it, but my smile and blushing cheeks made it evident. I quickly sat up again, shaking off this feeling.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want Grayson to know how I felt, nor was it that I was afraid of rejection. I genuinely just wanted to keep Grayson around as platonic as I could for as long as I could. I also did not think he was anywhere in my league, but I wouldn’t let that flood my mind. I enjoyed Grayson and his company. His actions and words never crossed any boundaries of mine and I couldn’t tell if that was intentional or not. Regardless, he was my best friend and Alena would kill me if she heard me say it. I tried to tell myself I was just lusting over my best friend because I was horny, and he was the closest guy I had around. Besides him and Ethan, I didn’t have many guy friends who were straight in my life at the moment. And I definitely did not want to pursue Ethan after him and Alena had hooked up one night and she caught feelings for him- BAD. And I can’t blame her. Ethan was amazing, sweet, hilarious, and the tinge bit of annoying was actually endearing on him. However, he was no Grayson to me. Sure, Ethan checked up on me and sent me random memes every now and then. But my second year showed me just how close Grayson and I were going to get.

It was a cold night during finals week of first semester when I was studying at the library and I got my period out of nowhere. No, it wasn’t just that I was far from my apartment and couldn’t get a pad that made me lose it. It was also that I was so close to failing the class I was studying for, and it was that I had spent 14 hours studying the material that day alone, and that I hadn’t had a proper sleep for 4 days also studying for this exam.

While I was sitting in the bathroom stall, crying my eyes out at 1 am, I tried to call Alena to see if she could bring me a pad or tampon from home. To my dismay, her phone was off and I kept getting sent to voicemail. Just a few minutes later, I got a text from Grayson, who had also been studying with me at the library:

gray<3: hey u good?

I knew he was no stranger to periods and wasn’t one of those boys to get freaked out by it, so I decided to call him.

“Hey, what’s up? You’ve been in the bathroom for a while. I got worried,” he said. I tried to muffle my sobs and get myself together.

“I got my period and I don’t have anything with me, Alena won’t pick u-“

“HEY does anyone have a pad or tampon?” I heard Grayson say away from the speaker. “My friend is in the bathroom, she doesn’t have anyth- oh thanks! Yeah I think she’s in the bathroom on this floor,” he said to someone else. I started laughing at his shameless behavior. He was never hesitant to make sure I was taken care of but this was just amusing to me. “Okay a blonde girl is gonna come in there any minute now, she had something useful,” he giggles. I reciprocate the laughter as my heart jumps a little bit.

“Thanks, Grayson,” I say before hanging up.

While small, the gesture stuck with me that night. He also went to the campus convince store located across from the library and bought me some snacks to cheer me up while we studied a bit longer. When we were done, he walked me back to my apartment and stayed the night. When I asked him why he wanted to spend the night during the most stressful time of our semester when he could be bundled up and cozy in his own bed, he said he would rather make sure I’m extra warm and getting cuddled when I was on my period and stressing over exams. This was new territory in our friendship and we had yet to test the waters. We had cuddled before, but it was always for a short period of time and while others were present. Most times, it was when we were watching movies or playing games with a group of people and we were stuck sitting on the floor. I would lean my back against his chest as he leaned against a couch or cabinet. That night, he held me in the same position but laying down, with one arm gently around my waist and the other tucked around my head as he stroked my hair every now and then. It was the first time since summer that I had fallen asleep to the sound of his soft snores. I found myself drifting off easily to the gentle, warm feeling of them against my hair. To say I caught myself falling in love with him that night is an understatement. I finally admitted it but didn’t know where to go from there. It was different from how I had seen him before.

Winter break separated us again, and the facetime calls became more frequent than they had been over summer. It got to a point where I started introducing him to my family over facetime, and he did the same. Nonetheless, I was surprised on Christmas Eve when he facetimed me asking to open the package that he sent me through the mail as a Christmas gift for a reaction. I was in the living room where my family had been gathered to watch a Christmas movie when he texted me to check the mail. I didn’t expect to see a small box and a separate envelope from him in there. Immediately, I ran up the stairs to my room with my family asking what I was doing. I didn’t pay attention to them and bolted straight to my bed as he called. I answered and sat down before opening the envelope first, as he requested.

The first thing I found in there was a hand-written note reading:

“Y/N,

First of all, you don’t understand how much I miss you. Seeing you through a screen literally does you no justice. I’d rather be giving you this in person. Second, you’re so special to me. You’re my best friend. And my best friend deserves the best. I really hope you like it. I chose it myself and Ethan said it was nice… I kinda trust him. I just thought of you instantly when I saw it. Lastly, MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!

- Gray”

I think he knew exactly how to pull at my heartstrings by this time, and he knew handwritten notes were one of my favorite things. I kept all the random sticky notes with jokes and doodles he put in my notebooks when I wasn’t looking while we studied at the library all those nights. He didn’t know I kept them all in the back of my planner, sticking them an inch apart to create a collection.

I pulled the next thing out of the envelope, which was three Polaroid pictures we had taken at three different times. The first picture was an attempted selfie that was mostly Grayson’s smile and my eye featuring one of the ears of my cat ear headband. On the bottom, written in sharpie was: “10/31/17 – one of my favorite nights”.

“So we’re dressing up just to hang out and eat candy?” I asked Grayson from my bed, as he sat against it with his laptop open searching for last minute DIY Halloween costumes.

“No, we’re dressing up because it’s Halloween. It’s tradition,” he states sternly.

I didn’t dare question Grayson and his love for holidays. He ended up asking me to do some skull makeup on him, which I did… poorly. And I just stuck on my cat ears that I had laying around for when I wanted to push my hair back while doing my makeup. I went full out with him and drew some whiskers on with eyeliner and drew a pink heart on my nose with lipstick. He insisted we should take a polaroid and the one that came out was the one he sent in the mail. We burst out into laughter after we saw the developed photo because Grayson swore that he had the perfect angle for us to be in frame, and he was totally wrong. But at the time, it was the last of the film he had, and we decided the photo would suffice for memories and we took a few selfies on his phone for better measure. That night ended in us watching Rick and Morty until I passed out in the bed where we were sitting against the wall, and Grayson went home. I didn’t know why it was one of his favorite nights, so I asked him while we were on facetime.

“It was the first night I saw you fall asleep in front of me,” he said with a bit of hesitation in his voice, “all the other times were over facetime.” My lips betrayed me when I tried to hide my smile. I didn’t think Grayson had such fond memories of small things like this as I did. I thought I was the only one.

The second photo was one of Grayson holding a joint in his mouth and I held a lighter against the joint and smiled at the camera. Again, written in sharpie: “11/11/17- baby’s first weed”. I laughed hysterically at this one. This was from the first time Grayson and I smoked weed together, and his first time ever smoking.

“Okay, remember to hold it in your mouth and then when you pull it away, inhale it,” I instructed Grayson. My housemate Kiara had brought home several joints and left them out on the living room coffee table for anyone who wanted them. I was curious to see what Grayson would be like while he was high. Alena was with us, and she had never smoked before either.

“Wait, let me take a picture with Grayson’s polaroid!” Alena exclaimed. We posed somewhat silly, and then I lit the joint for Grayson.

Grayson took a puff of the joint and breathed as I had taught him. His eyes were getting a little bloodshot as he kept taking hits, and they were also a bit hooded and seemed sleepy. I knew he was high when the three of us were sitting in comfortable silence while lightly playing The 1975 from my phone. I heard a slight snort escape him. It took me a little bit to react, looking over to him and giggling inexplicably.

“What?” I asked through a smile.

“I don’t know,” he replied, still giggling. “I just wanna laugh!!”

“It’s the weed, Gray!” Alena cackled out. I couldn’t believe the lightweights that sat on each side of me on the couch. I was also high, but I obviously forgot what it was like when you smoked for the first time.

After a while, Alena felt the sleepiness hit her and she knocked out in her bed, leaving me alone with high Grayson. We sat in the same silence with the light sounds of the music for a while before Grayson admitted he was feeling the munchies hit him. We made our way to the kitchen when I remembered I had some left-over, pre-made cookie dough from baking cookies for Alena’s birthday last month. Right as I put the cookies in the oven, Grayson wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and lifted me up.

“Gray!! STOP!” I squealed and laughed. I would have normally begged him to stop for a bit longer, but he turned me around and sat me up on the counter next to the stove. I choked on my breath a little bit as he spread my legs apart slightly to allow himself in between. I didn’t know what was going on because he had never done this before, but I wasn’t going to complain. His face was close to mine, and I noticed his eyes fixed to my lips, then my eyes, and then my lips again. I couldn’t handle the intensity in this interaction, so I grabbed the cookie dough wrapper and started picking at the bits of lingering dough to stick in my mouth. “Want some?” I asked with a slight shake in my voice, holding out my dough covered finger. He smiled and accepted the cookie dough I held up, licking up the dough and going for more from the wrapper. I didn’t want things to get awkward with Grayson if I had made a move and kissed him when maybe he was just super high and admiring me for no reason.

The last photo was just of me, asleep on his chest with his hand through my hair. This was from the morning after he had spent the night during finals and I didn’t even know he took this. This time, the sharpie just read “12/13/17 – nervous x nbhd”. My heart escaped my entire body and I felt my head start to spin. I knew this meant he wanted me to know that I made him nervous, as The Neighborhood had so perfectly titled their song. I couldn’t breathe, but before I could ask Grayson anything, my mom barged into my room.

“Y/N, come back down please. We’re doing family stuff,” she said eagerly, “don’t be rude by staying up here.”

“Okay, give me just a second mom, Grayson sent me this-“

“Y/N! Now!” she whisper-yelled. I put the polaroids away in my desk just in case my mom wanted to punish me for smoking weed or being asleep on top of a boy.

“Hey, Grayson I’m sorry. I gotta go, but I’ll open the package later?” I bit my finger nervously.

“That’s fine, go do family stuff. I’ll be awake,” he reassures me. I felt butterflies in my stomach knowing I’ll be talking to him later.

While watching yet another boring Christmas movie with my family, I couldn’t help but think about Grayson deciding to put that song title on the picture of me sleeping. What did this mean? Was there any meaning to it at all? I was stepping in more uncharted territory with Grayson, and with anyone. I hadn’t had a boyfriend since the beginning of high school, so I forgot how to interact with boys I liked. I also didn’t get much practice since I was too busy swooning over Grayson to pay attention to any other guys who might have been potential interests. Grayson didn’t make it very clear if there were any other girls in his life, but the more I thought about it, the less I could think of a single time he talked about being interested in a girl. I grabbed my phone and texted Ethan.

Y/N: Hey I need to talk to you Don’t tell Grayson!!! PLEASE!

Eetee: What’s up??

Y/N: Okay I need you to be completely honest with me right now

Eetee: Ok…? I always am but ok

Y/N: Yes. So does Grayson like me??

Read at 9:47pm

I got nervous as he left me hanging for a good 15 minutes.

Y/N: ETHAN PLEASE DON’T SAY ANYTHING TO GRAYSON

Eetee: I can’t tell you anything either

Y/N: What do you mean?

Eetee: You’re asking someone who was sworn to secrecy on this subject. Shouldn’t that give it away?

Eetee: Btw that should be a totally obvious answer, but I can’t insinuate anything. Just talk to him

Ethan knew Grayson was in love with me. Grayson had told him about every single time he got me to smile so much that my faint dimples started showing. Grayson told him about every snapchat I sent him while he held up his phone and said “Isn’t she so cute?!” Ethan was there every time Grayson came home from hanging out with me, feeling sad that he couldn’t find the courage to confess how he felt. Ethan was also there the night Grayson got high and came home giggling hysterically. He knew he had smoked, but what he didn’t expect was to hear Grayson tell him how he almost kissed me. He almost found the courage to act on his feelings, but I made cookie dough our “cock-blocker”. Ethan wanted to tell me all of this right then, but Grayson made him swear he wouldn’t spill a word to me because he wanted to do it himself. He needed to find the right words and the right time.

I decided to leave my family once again, claiming that I was tired and promised to come back down if I couldn’t sleep. It was a cheap excuse, but my family finally let me go and I immediately facetimed Gray as I locked the door to my room.

“Hey again,” he smiled through his barely open hoodie. He was snuggled up in his bed and looked so perfectly cute. I could never get enough of him.

“Hi, sorry about earlier. I’ve been so eager to keep talking to you.”

“It’s okay. Go open your present,” he flashed his toothy smile as he commanded me to open what he sent.

“You know you didn’t have to get me anything, right? The pictures are amazing, and I was so close to crying before my mom came in,” I admitted.

“Cool, then it worked. Now open what I WANTED to get you because I know I don’t have to get you anything,” he chuckled. He knew I was stubborn about gifts and I hated being materialistic.

But when I opened the package, I didn’t expect to see what he had gifted me. It made my heart stop for the second time tonight, but also start racing faster than it was already going. I stopped fighting my smiles at this point. “Gray….. what the…?” I whispered.

“Just wanted you to know how much you mean to me.” He said sweetly. It was a beautiful, dainty gold necklace with a small crescent moon adorning that I had seen in a jewelry store we checked out when Ethan wanted a new chain and we tagged along. It was very pretty but I couldn’t afford it and I had honestly, completely forgotten about it. I’m surprised Grayson remembered how much I loved it when I saw it.

“Why did you- when did you- what?!” I was out of words. This was the most attention someone had ever put into a gift for me. Even though I didn’t wear jewelry often, I knew I was going to be rocking this necklace every single day just because Grayson had gifted it to me.

“I know you love the moon, and you loved that necklace so much. I saw it in your eyes when we were at that store. I went back like a month later by myself and got it. Saved it for Christmas.” Grayson sounded really proud of himself, and honestly, I was too. This was such a sweet gift and it truly made me want to be the first to confess how I felt and get it over with.

“Grayson, I love it. Thank you so much,” I gushed, “god, I love you…” I said quietly. I felt an awkward silence fall on us, and I was unsure as to if he heard me or not. I kept my focus on the necklace to avoid seeing his face if he had heard me.

“Y/N… I need to tell you something….” He said quietly, losing his short-lived confidence. I looked at my phone screen to see him tucked behind his hoodie that he had pulled the strings on, only his nose and some of his forehead visible. “I’ve had a major crush on you since we met, and my feelings just keep getting more intense. I wanted to tell you in person, I swear-“

“It’s okay, you have told me in person,” I cut him off reminiscing in all the memories where I left myself wondering if he liked me or if it was just a delusion of mine. The pictures and his confession of said “crush” was enough confirmation that I had been waiting for.

“What do you… oh, the pictures?” He chuckled, opening his hoodie a little more, to peek through. “Yeah, I was hoping you caught on eventually… I just- I’m not sure how to tell someone I like them, so…”

“It’s fine, I love the pictures. I love the necklace. I’m so, so happy right now, Gray.”

We spent that night on facetime until 5 in the morning in my time zone, but he was up until 8 in the morning, where he had to go open presents with his family. We talked about our different memories where it was obvious that we had feelings for one another and we both felt like the other was not into them. I laughed at how he thought the time I changed in front of him was because I thought of him as a brother. But I was very drunk, and he walked me home that night to make sure I was okay. And I needed help getting out of the dress I had worn because the back zipper got caught on something and fell off completely. Everyone else in my apartment was still out partying and Grayson was the only person around, which was fine by me. I pranced around in my underwear after he helped me out, hoping it would be a bit amusing or maybe spark a bit of innocent, drunk fun between us. He admitted he was also drunk that night, being overly tempted to finally kiss my lips as well, and touching my bare skin made him too nervous to make a move. He didn’t want to send the wrong message, so he avoided contact with me until I needed to be tucked into bed when he kissed my head through my hair. I hardly remembered that, as I was pretty wasted. But, he told me how nervous he was I’d get weirded out by it.

This is where it really started.

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