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taeescript · 3 years

Text

29 + 1 (Part Two)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (squint harder than before for taehyung x reader)

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin; a dash of enemies to lovers au

𝔴𝔠: 7.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: language; a plethora of drunk people, maybe a sext, and a ton of lying (possible implication of impending smut?!)

𝔞/𝔫: this part came out longer than i thought it would be but *shrugs* feedback and thoughts always welcomed. enjoy (: 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: DailyHive is real; this is not associated with it

part one || part three

The bright pop music that is blaring from the speakers does little to slow your animated talking. Bodies are packed into the small local bar, and students on summer break fill booths and form a snake of impatient, drunk (and horny) people. A slow trickle of the brazen has started to fill the dance floor as the evening morphs into the night.

You whip your hair into a ponytail and dab at the sweat that is beading your forehead. You definitely should have worn that sleeveless top rather than this thicker t-shirt dress.

“So, is he like your sugar daddy or something?” Taehyung asks, “Also drink.”

Friday nights were usually spent at home, snuggled under the blankets in your pjs binging another rewatch of Friends. After work today, you could no longer hold onto your secret and invited Taehyung out for drinks. His girlfriend, Fei, was supposed to join but had been held back for overtime.

You tip the shot back with no chase.

“You’re a monster,” he comments as he bites into his lemon piece.

The two of you had made a bet at the beginning of the evening: you each chose a pop song and each time it played, the nominee had to take a shot. That was your fourth of the night, and to say there was a bit of a buzz is an understatement.

“It’s all throat technique, Tae,” you say with a bit of a slur, “Hit the back and swallow. No innuendo intended. Also, why the hell haven’t you had any to drink?”

“You picked ‘Peaches’ for fuck’s sake.”

“I told you I don’t listen to pop music. It was the first one playing.”

“And shouldn’t that have told you something? Justin Bieber of all people?”

“Shut up. It’s your song.” You nod at the pink-faced barista for another round. She slaps your order in front of the two of you without so much a glance.

You don’t even know what song is playing, but you feel quite satisfied watching Taehyung make a face as he downs it in one go.

He clears his throat after the liquor has burned its way down to his stomach. “Back to my question: is he your sugar daddy?”

You bark out a laugh. Was he? Perhaps the fact that he paid for fancy meals at lunch? Those have been his one o’clock meetings for the past two months.

“I don’t know. I’d rather he buy me a car or pay my rent if anything. A casual 1k a week wouldn’t be so bad either. We just sit in his office and eat in secret, Tae. He’s ‘training me in the art of culinary cuisine’. I think it’s just so I don’t embarrass him by stuffing a shrimp cocktail up my nose.”

“You do know – ”

“Yes, I know. And I would never. It’s a metaphor. It’s just that the position ‘intern’ is quite loosely defined at DailyHive, don’t you think?”

Taehyung rinses his mouth with water before speaking. “So let me get this right. Mr. Kim calls you into his office, says he’s going to take you as his guest to the biggest tech event of the year, treats you to lunches and doesn’t ask for anything in return? No secret midnight meetups or shady business deals…”

You shake your head.

“Damn,” Taehyung says, resting his arm on the bar table, “Forget sugar daddy. He’s just daddy.”

Sticking your tongue out, you gag visibly at his comment. “Do not ever call him that again, Tae; ev-er.”

He laughs and watches you pensively. After a moment’s thought, he says, “Nobody has ever called me Tae.”

“What do they call you then?” you reply, wrinkling your brows together. A cute brunette across the room catches your eyes and for the briefest of seconds, you wonder what a one-night-stand would feel like.

He shrugs. “Just Taehyung.”

The brunette waves in your direction. You are about to return his wave when an equally cute brunette runs up to him. He promptly kisses her before swivelling her around to join his group of friends.

“Sorry. Do you want me to stop? I just assumed since we were out of the office…”

Oh Fate, how cruel you are. Life of twenty cats and solidarity, here you come. Maybe dogs. You feel like you could be more of a dog person.

“No,” he stops you, “You can call me Tae. Whatever you want.”

You turn your attention back on the also cute brunette in front of you. In all honestly, despite his youthful god-like countenance, he looks slightly out of place at this college bar with you in his upstanding business attire and dorkishly adorable thick-framed glasses.

“Sure. How about Tee-Tee? Or Hyungie? The TaeMan?” You wiggle your brows with the suggestion.

“God help me.”

The two of you clink your shot glasses together even though neither of your songs are being played.

His Apple watch lights up to indicate an incoming message. He relays the text to you, “Fei’s done work. She’s on her way now.” You can’t help but notice a shift in his previously excited demeanor.

You nudge him with your elbow. “Aren’t you excited? She’ll need a glass of wine or two to destress after work. I might be projecting onto you for this part, but you’re buzzed. So after we get her to unwind I’m sure the overwhelming power of pheromones will get you lucky tonight.” You wink at him to emphasize your point.

“She’s not a big drinker. She’s probably just going to come and ask to leave in five minutes. Bars like this aren’t really her thing either,” he states. He then unbuckles his watch and tucks it away into the pocket of his pants. Undoing the cuffs of his shirt, he rolls up the sleeves and continues to regard you solemnly. “Okay, next round is one me. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to switch songs?”

You notice how nice, long, and slender his fingers are. Plus the thing of girls liking when men have visible veins on their forearm? That had never really caught your attention until now.

“She’s a bit of a bitch,” you say and immediately regret, “Shit, sorry. That just slipped out. Alcohol.”

He offers you his water to drink.

“I mean, she’s a little…uptight at times? But people can be completely different in and out of work. I can only imagine how stressful it is in her position. Working overtime until 9pm on a Saturday night seriously sucks,” you say to try and mend your wrongdoing.

“Fei in the office is basically Fei at home,” he says softly, “It’s always work with her.”

“We support career-driven women, yeah?” A smile is offered from you to him.

He finally lets out a small one and nods. Out of the blue, he reaches over and covers your hand with his. Staring intently into your eyes, he says, “I know she makes you do her reports and occupies your time to do her coffee runs as well. You can say no to her. She may be my girlfriend, but you’re technically my intern, and I will stand on your side no matter what.”

“Um, okay. Thanks, Tae,” you say. His sincerity has caught you off guard.

At that moment, the sound of clicking heels pierce its way into your eardrums through the noise of the even busier bar. Taehyung quickly retracts his hand.

Fei arrives, not a hair out of place in her tightly pulled bun. Her lips are painted a striking red against the paleness of her skin, and her manicured nails dig into the forearm of Taehyung when she reaches them. Even though she is wearing an otherwise drab office business suit, the curvature of her body draws quite a few glances from the younger men in the crowd.

“It’s like a zoo here,” she sneers, turning away from a sacrificial lamb who had been bold enough step out of his circle of friends to greet her with a sleezy “hey”.

“Hi, Fei. Busy night?” you greet her first.

She gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Yes. I don’t know why you weren’t there. Isn’t it the intern’s job to complete reports?”

Again, a loosely defined use of “intern” at DailyHive.

You return her smile with a crisp one of your own.

She turns away from you and regards Taehyung, who looks as if he had been the sacrificial lamb instead. “Teddybear, let’s go home. You know this type of place isn’t my vibe. I’m getting a headache already.”

You raise an eyebrow at his pet name.

He turns a little bit pinker, if that is possible under the current alcohol-induced glow of his cheeks, and says, “Um, sure. Y/N, are you going to be okay getting home?”

Waving him off, you show him your phone. “30% left. I’ve got pepper spray in my bag and enough booze in me to not run from a fight. I’ll call an Uber home soon, don’t worry.”

Fei has already begun to fight her way through the squirming, dancing bodies. Taehyung glances quickly at her and turns back to you once last time. “Text me that you’re home safe.”

“Will do, boss,” you smile at him warmly.

He lingers for just a moment more before running after his impatiently waiting girlfriend.

You turn back to the bar and order another beer for yourself. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is perhaps the biggest perk of being single.

...

On the opposite side of town, sinking deeply into a soft lounge chair is Seokjin enjoying a rare evening out with his best friend. He has swapped his usual attire for a more relaxed fit of a white oversized crewneck and techwear bottoms. A heavy, exorbitant fur-lined long leather coat hangs on the coat rack beside the door to their private VVIP room. He swirls his glass of Chateau Lafite before sipping delicately.

Outside, only a handful of patrons sit quietly engrossed in their own conversations. It is a relatively empty night at the high-end lounge. A lady sings sultrily on stage with the smooth background of a saxophone as accompaniment.

Junho has poured himself another glass while he is talking to Seokjin. Seokjin had since slightly tuned out his friend’s rather elongated rendition of another celebrity sighting to occupy his mind with another individual.

“Earth to Jin? When did you get so lightweight since I’ve been gone?” Junho waves a hand in front of Seokjin’s nose.

Seokjin blinks to refocus.

“The mansion I bought last year or the one I bought last month?” he reiterates. Sensing that Seokjin truly had no idea what the topic at hand had been, he tries again.

“Where should I do my birthday party this year, man? I thought the mansion from last year since it’s closer to the city, but I feel like it’s been reused too many times. It’s not completely furnished yet, but the property I got last month is significantly bigger and I can probably host more people.”

“The new place then,” Seokjin answers half-heartedly.

Junho grumbles something intelligible.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Junho sighs, “Tell me what’s new with you. How’s that little project of yours going? I still can’t believe you won’t let me know who you’re planning to take to the Gala.”

Seokjin had refused to release even the slightest detail about you to Junho. Letting him know that Seokjin had agreed to one of his plans would be enough to inflate Junho’s ego for at least a little while.

“It’s been going...”

Junho waits for more of Seokjin’s answer, but his friend’s attention has been turned to a received text.

10:17pm “Safe and sound, Teddy Bear.”

10:17pm “Or should I say Taeddybear? 🥴”

10:18pm “That last beer done me rael godo.”

10:18pm “Real good**”

Seokjin raises a brow at the unknown number. He responds back.

10:18pm “Who is this? I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

Junho crosses his legs and sits back with a sigh. He presses the button to request for an attendant.

10:19pm “You know who… Anyways, I just wanted to say thank you for saying you’ve got my back. It’s definitely appreciated.”

The response doesn’t do much except to further pique Seokjin’s curiosity.

“Sorry,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket, “Rogue text I think.”

Junho shrugs. “Is that right? Seems to have caught your attention.” There is now a manner of indifference to his voice.

“It’s going well, by the way – answering your question. I mean, all things considered. It’s not like I have to teach her how not to stuff a cocktail shrimp up your nose.”

His friend snorts. “I’d be concerned and against this person if it’s who you’re planning to bring.”

Seokjin’s phone buzzes again.

10:21pm “Pray for me when I wake up with the worst hangover of my life. I’m going to bed now.”

A moment of silence.

10:21pm “I hope I didn’t piss off Fei tonight for stealing you for the evening.”

10:22pm “Okay I’ll shut up now. Please don’t tell me you’re reading this. You should be getting some 😼💦.”

The emoji makes Seokjin choke, liquid sputtering from his lips.

Junho cusses. He angrily dabs at the speckle of red wine that has landed on his pearly white top.

10:23pm Download attached image. “Just in case, here’s a little something to get the night started 😉”

“What the hell man?” Junho gets up and makes his way to the bathroom. Luckily, the previously called attendant had arrived in time to escort him.

Seokjin barely notices that he is alone in room as he taps the download button. It isn’t until he has returned home and is looking at the picture one last time before bed that he realizes who his mysterious texter is.

The employee nametag clipped to the collar of your workday shirt hanging on the arm of a chair can only be found when zoomed in past your painted toes and naked feet.

...

You cannot hide your nervousness when you arrive at your “lunch meeting” the following Monday morning. All weekend, you had cursed yourself for not better checking who the recipient of your texts were before pressing send. Never had you thought that in your drunken stupor you would mix up “The Devil” in your contact list with “Taehyung Kim.” Curse you and your lack of friends beginning with the letter “T”.

You balk before, a hand poised in perfect position for a knock. Maybe he didn’t download it? And even if he did, it was just a troll feet pic. You had made sure that it was as pg-13 as possible before you had sent it.

“Hi,” you greet sheepishly when he has given you the go to enter.

In a smart plain blue button-up and round frames that are almost certainly for the aesthetics, the CEO of the company and your boss sizes you up and down.

“I know we’ve gotten to know each other better these past few weeks. But you’d think it’s still common courtesy to at least make eye contact,” he says. You look at him wide eyed without a word.

He rolls his eyes but does not gesture to your usual seat. In fact, you don’t spy a take-out container in sight. He instead stands up and picks up his phone, walking to the door. He notices you have yet to move.

“Let’s get moving. You’ve only got a 45 minute lunch.”

You scramble to match his speed and catch Taehyung’s eye as you grab your jacket at your desk. Taehyung’s gaze follows you as you hurry to leave in pursuit of Seokjin’s coattail.

...

The restaurant is a popular vegan establishment with a plethora of greenery crawling up its high ceilings and a window-framed overview of the city’s skyline. Waiters and waitresses who may just as well be walking New York Fashion Week serve you brunch mimosas on a golden plate; they attentively wait to the side in case you ever run out of water.

Common topics are rare between the two of you. Initially, you respectfully kept quiet and only answered questions when asked, but you have never been one for awkward silence. Yes, it’s awkward only if you make it awkward; there is just no denying the hanging suspense that curls your toes each time. Recently, you have started with simple inquiries regarding the company, who they might meet at the Gala and everyday mundane topics.

“You’re probably wondering why we’re out of the office,” Seokjin says. He continues shortly after taking a bite of his meal and ignores the look of your surprise at his initiation of a conversation. “My office has been getting stuffy with the warmer weather so I thought it’d be nice to get some fresh air. How’s the food?”

You nod, making small sounds of contentment as you chew on the Avocado Lime Tartare. Mmm… tart-y.

He takes a deep breath in, stalling the incoming conversation. “It’s my friend’s birthday this next weekend.”

“Oh,” you say, “Happy early birthday to him.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“Well… An extra happy early birthday to him.”

A sigh. “Are you free next weekend?”

Your chewing comes to a halt and you blink once at his question. Next weekend is the weekend before the Silver Gala. It is also the sole weekend before your birthday the following Friday after the Gala. You had hoped to spend it with Taehyung and maybe even Jimin who had promised to be in town on a long overdue vacation despite your chastising to visit your parents first.

He senses your trepidation. Quickly, he explains himself,

“He’s having a birthday party Saturday night. He has a place about an hour north of here. I can have somebody pick you up if that’s more convenient. I don’t have a birthday present for him and thought it’d be nice for you to meet him.”

“You’re giving him me for a present?” you ask, incredulously.

He bites his tongue. He never anticipated how awkward this conversation could go.

“You’re going as my plus one. He really wants to meet you; in fact, he insisted that you be there. He’ll be at the gala too. I have something else planned for his birthday present,” he adds hastily, “Besides, you’re less than qualified as a present.”

Musing silently to yourself, you wonder if in any situation should a human be qualified as a present. Despite that, you hate yourself as you agree on the spot.

The rest of the lunch passes by quickly in dull silence. As Seokjin pays for the meal on the company card (and hands you the receipt for reimbursement), you note that there has been no comment made on any strange photos texted to him over the weekend.

Perhaps being nonchalantly implied as a human birthday gift to a stranger is your karma for sending weird texts to your boss.

Seokjin stays inside the car as he drops you off at the office after lunch, already preparing for his next business meeting. You nod your goodbye and step onto the pavement through the courteously held open door of the limousine.

“Y/N, try a soft pink. Fuchsia is not your colour,” he tells you as the door is closed.

He then leaves you standing in front of the large office doors, staring at your chipped, week-old purple toenails.

...

“I’m not exactly expecting a package in the mail or a dress laid out on the hotel bed – ”

“You guys are staying at a hotel?” Taehyung says over the phone.

You are standing in your bedroom, an hour before when Seokjin is supposed to pick you up as an offering to his best friend. There are two dresses laid out on your Hello Kitty bed covers: a simple black dress you had worn once when you were a little bit more in shape and your prom dress.

“No, I’m at home. But I mean, let me play into this movie metaphor.”

“You suck at metaphors.”

You have your phone propped up on some pillows so that you can see Taehyung as you debate your fashion decision. He is in a relaxed white tee, hair messily framing his face after a shower and a bowl of popcorn in his hands. You watch as a droplet of water runs down his face from his still-wet hair. He nonchalantly licks it off from the side of his mouth.

“As I was saying, it wouldn’t hurt to get me something. He made it seem like it was a big deal. Like doesn’t the male lead usually surprise the female lead with a big bouquet of flowers and this over-the-top expensive dress which she wears and makes the male lead fall head over heels in love with her?”

He chews silently on a kernel then probes, “You want Mr. Kim to fall in love with you?”

“No,” you hastily correct, “It’s a metaphor. I think you’re the one who sucks at metaphors.”

There is a beep on your phone to indicate you have another incoming call.

“Tae, I’m going to have to call you back. My brother’s calling me,” you tell him. The black dress; your old prom dress is way too early 2000s. Black never hurts.

“Okay. Have fun tonight. Pretend that it’s your birthday party. And then I’ll meet you for brunch tomorrow, my treat? You can tell me all about it,” he says. “Also the black. You look cute in that one.”

“My party if I was 30, rich and successful. Oh wait, I’ll have one thing in common soon; that’s a start. Thanks though. I’ll call you tomorrow morning once I get up,” you say, then switch the call over to your brother. You had missed the flush of his cheeks as you busily swipe your phone.

Sticking the prom dress back into your closet, you rummage around the meager display of shoeboxes for a pair of high heels.

“Hey, Jimin,” you greet over the phone.

“Jesus, I do not need to be accosted by my half-naked sister,” he yells over the phone.

You turn rapidly, seeing that you had accidentally continued a video call from when you had hung up on Taehyung. You throw a pillow over the camera in your haste to cover yourself up.

“I was going to ask why you’re dressed like that but on second thought, I think I’ll leave your sexual exploits as your own secret.”

Despite how disturbed you feel about this comment, his cheerful voice makes you smile.

“So little sis, the weekend before the big three-oh!”

“Please stop reminding me.”

“Where do you want to meet tonight? I just got off the plane, but I can be ready to meet in about an hour. I booked a hotel close to the airport.”

Shit. You forgot to tell Jimin. These heels will have to do.

“Um… I, uh…”

“What?”

You clear your throat and begin to undress in front of the mirror. You have a sudden conscious thought that the dusty treadmill in your living room seems to be staring daggers at your back.

“I’ve got plans tonight.”

“Plans? I wasn’t even aware you had friends here.”

“Ouch, Jimin. But yes, I have friends. In fact, I am meeting a friend for brunch tomorrow if you want to join. I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.”

“He?” Jimin repeats, “Should I put on my big brother boxing gloves? Give him a good talking to in case he’s interested in my baby sister?” Pause. “Was that who you were calling before?”

You bite your answer back, not feeling the need to go down that rabbit hole.

“He’s just a friend; A co-worker really,” you say, “He’s also unavailable. And before you suggest anything, his goalkeeper is technically one of my bosses so I do not want to try and shoot past her thank you very much.”

Jimin laughs. “I wasn’t going to suggest anything. Well if you’re busy tonight, tomorrow morning works for me. Give me a call. I’ll spend the night in watching some good ol’ Netflix and enjoy this vacation time.”

“Sorry again,” you apologize.

“Go out and have fun,” he says, “You deserve it.”

The two of you finish off the call with the usual goodbyes. You have forty-five minutes to dress the part of a sparkly birthday surprise for the co-founder of the company you work for. Throwing on your favourite throwback music, you get to work.

Once satisfied, you snap a picture and sending it to Taehyung making special care that you have picked the right individual this time.

...

The mansion is bigger than you could have ever imagined, and the amount of people present are…

“You’re telling me I can do whatever I want tonight,” you ask Seokjin in the car.

There is no denying that Seokjin knows how to dress for an event. In a velvety black and white suit, contrasted by his blonde hair which he has elected to temporarily dye for the evening, he looks very much the posh CEO magazines brand him out to be. You are glad you elected for the simple black dress as standing beside this Renaissance statue in a floral pastel yellow dress would be like planting dandelions in Kanye’s sculpture garden (if he ever wanted one).

“The majority of people won’t recognize you after tonight. They’ll also be too drunk to even register anything you tell them,” Seokjin says.

He cannot believe that you chose a simple black dress. Did you really not own anything remotely feminine besides the most generic clubbing outfit? Even if you had wanted to make an appearance as a hooker, at least make it an expensive-looking one. Maybe he should have bought you that Versace dress he spotted in the window the other day. Instead…

“Take this. Your earrings are too gaudy for this event.”

You touch the sparkly black cats you have put into your ears. Their eyes are made of crystal, and you thought it looked quite fetching in the light. Opening up the box, you see a dainty elegant pair of teardrop earrings that may or may not be of real diamonds.

“Only Junho will know who you really are and then you can enjoy the rest of your night. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being held here against your will.”

Putting them on, you note that even this simple change in attire has elevated the entirety of your presence. You felt as luxurious as this gift.

“Thanks, Seokjin,” you try the first name basis he had insisted upon for this evening, “Not going to lie, I had imagined that maybe you’d send me a dress in the mail or something, but this is still very nice.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Like in the movies? Please, I run a start-up company. I’m not a millionaire and I don’t think you would appreciate my handouts.”

You don’t respond, making your second note of the night on the Prada label on the cuff of his suit. “To clarify, I don’t introduce myself as your plus-one tonight.”

“No. I don’t want you associated with me,” he curtly states. He watches as your smirk twitches and he hits himself mentally in the head again. “It’s to protect you. There are bound to be tons of paparazzi tonight at a party as big as this. I don’t want you to find yourself in the tabloids tomorrow morning. Just be smart.”

The car pulls to a stop after inching its way up to the front door. People mill about outside in extravagant brands, holding glasses of champagne. The man of the hour is somewhere inside the building, charming his way into new business deals as well as making new friends.

“Stay close to me. You can leave after we meet Junho. It is his birthday after all,” Seokjin offers a hand as you step out of the car.

You take it, looping yourself into him so that your hand rests on his forearm. You are only 13 days younger than Junho, and yet this striking contrast in lifestyle hits you like a landslide while the two of you walk up the stairs and into the mansion.

Inside, it is dim with disco lights flashing to the beat of amped party music. Upon entrance, the two of you are offered glasses of liquor (you take a swirling iridescent drink) to which you are then ushered to where the birthday boy lounges.

Junho has an even more youthful face than Seokjin does. Where Seokjin’s features exude class and charm, Junho appears mischievous and looks to have stepped out of every girl’s bad boy dream.

You stop Seokjin with a tug and make him look at you. “Tell me: do I look like a passable birthday offering?”

Seokjin rolls his eyes and pulls you along with him.

“Jin!” Junho hollers loudly across the room when spotting his oldest friend. There is a doll-like female magnetized to his side. “This is Clara, my date for the evening.”

Seokjin shakes her hand and greets them. The female cannot seem to pry her eyes away from this handsome new stranger. He introduces himself chivalrously to her as Junho sides up to you and grips your hands in his. His breath smells strongly of mixed drinks, and you know that in about fifteen minutes the entire night will be a blur for him.

“You must be Y/N!” he says excitedly, “Jin didn’t tell me that you were coming! What a surprise!”

“I am,” you greet back with a large smile. “Although I’m also surprised. Seokjin told me that you had insisted I came.”

Seokjin grits his teeth, annoyed at Junho. Would he ever learn when to keep his big mouth closed?

Laughing loudly, Junho grabs two drinks just as a waiter passes by and hands them to you. “Insist might be a strong word,” he says, drilling another hole unknowingly, “I honestly thought I’d have to play part-time wingman tonight. But I’m glad he’s got someone by his side.” He jabs you a little too hard in the ribs. “Next week’s gala is going to be fun! Okay, now there’s only one rule tonight: there are no rules!”

The four of you clink your glasses together, while you do your best to hide an embarrassed smile on behalf of the birthday boy.

“You bet I’m going around as your trophy wife tonight,” you whisper in Seokjin’s ear when Junho looks away.

He whirls around to look at you, the tip of both your noses impossibly close together. He can taste the acidity of the wine when you breath out with a wicked smile. He barely has time to stop you as you peel yourself away to mingle with the crowds.

Seokjin is about to follow you but Junho pulls him away, flamboyantly introducing his handsome best friend to a group of international models. He turns on his brightest smile, but his heart thunders in his chest at you calling yourself his wife.

...

You twirl around in your dress, nobody noticing the small splash of champagne on the front of it in the quickly changing lights.

“He bought this for me last week. Says it reminds him of the first night we met. Our eyes met across the waters in Tuscany where he was on a business trip. I’ll let you on a little secret, but I was his mistress for a little while.”

Seokjin cannot make out the words you are saying to a small but growing group of people around you. He stands across from Junho, but looks over the latter’s shoulders to watch as you do another spin.

“A little while, Charlotte? Are you still his mistress?” an older lady with an exuberant amount of jewels hanging off her body whispers with a keen interest in your expertly spun story.

Charlotte Dior Laurent, an identity you are pretty sure is an amalgamation of French brands from the top of your mind. You continue to personify this character however.

“Don’t worry. He’s left her since. I know I know, my friends all say the same. ‘He’s already been divorced three times. How can you be sure he won’t leave you?’”

At this point, you are in way over your head at having told this story to at least two other groups and a multitude of other renditions to whomever you have met tonight. But there is something powerful about liquid courage as it courses through your body.

The lady lays a hand on your arm. “I don’t want your heart to break. You are still young.”

Looking up between the heads of your audience, you catch Seokjin’s eyes. They are fiery and it sends a strange sensation up your toes to your abdomen. You give a titillating wave at him in which he does not return.

“He says I’m special and different. How can you say no to that?” you exclaim with exasperation, fully committing to the poor damsel just oh-so in love.

There is a look of genuine concern on the lady’s face at your statement.

Before you can dig yourself a deeper hole, you place your empty glass on the table and excuse yourself. You do not know if it’s the drinking on a relatively empty stomach or if the room is really much warmer due to the multitude of bodies, but you head out to the balcony.

On your way out, you notice that the clock reads twenty minutes past midnight. This gives you a shock at how fast time has passed. Perhaps you should go find Seokjin if you are to get a decent amount of sleep before meeting with Taehyung and Jimin tomorrow. Speaking of Taehyung…

You pull out your phone and see that there are two unread messages. The first is from Jimin, confirming that he is indeed invited to brunch tomorrow morning. The second is a response from Taehyung.

11:09pm “Wow. You have me a little lost for words. I had imagined you’d look nice in the dress but… You really are beautiful.”

Smiling, you type in your response.

12:21am “Thanks, Tae. You’re up late.” You take a picture of the earrings Seokjin had gifted you and attach it to the message. “What do you think of these?”

Barely have you returned your phone into your bag when it buzzes again. This time you receive an attached image. Taehyung seems to be sitting in front of a monitor, as his face glows with a blue light and contorted into a pensive furrow of his brows.

12:21am “A little different from your usual style. Are they new? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear those.”

12:21am “Fei’s out with some friends tonight. She likes when I wait for her to come back before I sleep. To make sure she’s safe, I guess.”

12:22am “Pooey. I should’ve brought you as my plus-one 😩. Also, Seokjin bought them for me for tonight. He says my other earrings are too gaudy.”

12:24am “First name basis 🙃”

12:25am “How is your night going? Having fun?”

You are about give Taehyung a call for a detailed recounting of tonight’s escapades when someone speaks out from within the shadows.

“A penny for your thoughts?” He walks into the moonlight. You flush, meeting the eyes of this particularly dashing gentleman, the phonecall immediately forgotten.

Oh, Alcohol, you make even the smartest of people do dumb shit. And right now, your effects are even worse on this idiot.

Your mouth hangs slightly open as you watch him puff out smoke from his cigar and offer it to you. He brushes up beside you, his fingers trailing up your hand which grips the balcony. You cannot seem to break away from his gaze.

“Lung cancer has an increasing incidence rate particularly for females due to smoking. Are you sure you want to be condoning this type of behaviour?” Seokjin interjects himself between you and your Tuxedo Mask, pushing the outstretched cigar back towards its owner.

There is a small stare down amongst the two men before the latter quietly exits the stage. Your eyes continue to linger on him even as he walks towards another female alone in the night enjoying the outdoor breeze.

“You’ve just ruined by chance. I could have seduced then blackmailed him with the story of his illegitimate child to play Black Widow,” you whine.

Seokjin takes the glass that had somehow magically appeared in your hand during the short walk from inside to outside on the balcony.

“How many have you had since we came?” he asks.

You sigh wistfully, still in your dangerous daydream. “I don’t know. I’ve lost count.” You turn your attention back to him eventually. “What are you doing here? Did you see me with him and get all jealous, hubby?” you tease.

He scoffs, drinking from your glass and pulling a face. Once again, there is that twist and jump within his chest, but he attributes it to whatever nasty concoction he had just ingested. He pours its contents over the railing and into whatever shrubbery lies below. “You seriously went with being my trophy wife?”

You shrug. “Of sorts. You’d better be right about people being too drunk slash not caring about me enough after tonight to remember the things I’ve said. ‘Cuz you’ve been divorced three times, had me along with another as your mistress, I think you’ve sired a few illegitimate children and all in all, a Games of Throne life. Damn, maybe I made you a little too badass.”

“You’re having water for the rest of the night,” he says.

You glare at him, contemplating on making a remark about his equally flushed face but decide against it. Instead, you lean onto the balcony and give a cat stretch. A large sigh escapes from you.

Wordlessly, he shakes off his jacket and places it around your shoulder all the while averting his gaze on the unblemished skin of your upper thighs that had been exposed from your previous movement.

Your blood feels like liquid fire coursing through your veins. Feeling overheated even in the evening breeze, you give him back his jacket. You note his reluctance to meet you even as you throw what could be a thousand dollar jacket in the air to him. “So what’s it like to live like this every day?” you say in wonder. You feel said breeze return and lean over the balcony to catch its chill.

“Like what?” he asks. The warm summer night’s breeze blows through, settling his hair in a childish tousle.

“Like rich,” you say. You sigh again. “Believe it or not, I’m the same age as your birthday boy best friend.

And everything feels absolutely unreal right now. If I hadn’t agreed to come here tonight with you, I’d probably be at another dingy bar knocking back shots with my brother and friend.”

“Are you a secret alcoholic?”

You glare at him. “No,” you state matter-of-factly. “As I was trying to share, this type of lifestyle is something I could ever only imagine. I’m not ungrateful about spending time with them, but at the end of the night I’d go home, sweaty, drunk and gross, and then simply pass out. My bank account might be a couple hundred bucks lighter. Come Monday I’ll be working my ass off just to earn back what I had spent. Then cue the repeating cycle.”

Resting your chin on your palm, your other hand sweeps your hair back behind your ear.

“It’s amazing the difference a few life choices can have.”

Seokjin remains silent beside you. Truthfully, he is at a loss of words. The moonlight plays across your face and caresses your nose down to your lips. You are arching your back once again to pull away the soreness that comes with wearing high heel the entire night. It is just a simple black dress but on you it made you look –

“Well, you’re Mrs. Kim tonight,” he starts.

“Charlotte Dior Laurent,” you correct him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay… Ms. Charlotte Dior Laurent. Tonight you get to live like the rich, as you’ve put it. As a rich person, what would you like to do?”

You ponder his question a few moments for the answer. “Hmm…I think I’d like to play golf. It’s a rich person’s sport. I want to play it on a private golf course, wearing cute golfing outfits and talk about million-dollar deals with a client without a care in the world. I want to order sangria by the gallon.”

He laughs out loud. It takes a while for him to be able to speak again, but when he does you feel as if the night has been illuminated a few degrees brighter. “I personally don’t have a private golf course, but Junho does here in his backyard if you’re up for it. I can’t promise cute golfing outfits so you’ll have to do with your wine stained dress. And if you’re really up for it I can pretend to make business deals with you, that’s my job anyways.”

You grin, taking the hand he has offered you. “Call.” The two of you shake upon his suggestion.

As he is leads you by the hand towards the dim gates of said golf course, you tug at him gently. “There’s something missing…” you say.

He shakes his head and pulls you back in towards the party room.

“I’ll see what they have at the bar.”

...

As the hands of the clock continue to spin past another hour, the summer night takes a chilly turn. Seokjin has lent you his jacket but even that cannot stop your fingers from becoming numb. Your hands shake even as they tightly hold the golf club. Seokjin watches you in silence as you prepare to hit the golf ball, a beer in one hand and a few opened bottles littered on the grass beside him. The club hits the ball with a resounding “cling” but does little in propelling it a few centimeters.

“This one doesn’t count,” you announce, “It’s too dark to see anything here.”

Seokjin takes a swig as you readjust your position. You sway in the wind and the last tendrils of your hair come undone in its half up half down hairdo. Your hair now whips wildly around your face when another gust blows through.

“Shit!” you exclaim, missing the ball again. “Why is golfing so hard?!”

You throw your club down and trudge to Seokjin. The six pack the two of you had been sharing has officially been depleted. Seokjin offers you his half empty bottle. This time, you are the one watching as he goes to your spot and effortlessly swings his target into the darkness.

He smirks from the spot.

You grumble. “You’ve had years of practice. Not fair.”

“You’ve got to do better than that, Mrs. Johnson,” he says, teasing you.

Your grumble becomes more audible. You place the now empty bottle on the ground and cross your arms against your chest. Since telling him of your other American alias from tonight, he has not ceased to remind you of your strange choice of name.

“Just so you know, Mrs. Johnson can afford both an affair and the consequential prenup,” you huff.

“It’s still a stupid last name.”

“It’s an American multinational corporation with an income in the billions, okay?”

“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you sleep better at night. Now come on, I’ve got one last ball. Take a swing.”

Groaning, you shuffle over. You wish you had not suggested golf. You had never been good at sports anyways – bad hand-eye coordination.

He stands beside you this time, scrutinizing your every movement with hawk-like eyes. “No, not like that,” he says, “Have a wider stance and bend your knees. Better centre of gravity gives you a better swing. Also hold it with a neutral grip.”

You readjust your positioning following his instructions.

“Index finger down the center. Good. And three knuckles on each hand. No, that’s two. Okay your hands are just weird now. Three. I said three.”

“Stop standing there and show me then, Mr. Know-It-All,” you say, your patience in this makeshift lesson also coming to an end.

He walks closer to you, reaching out for the golf club. He retracts his hands in seeing that you have yet to let go. “You got to – ”

“You can touch me. I did tell you that Mrs. Johnson can afford an affair and prenup. Besides, I’m not going to be able to learn anything if I can’t even see you in this dark.”

He comes behind you and puts a foot between yours to guide your stance. Wrapping his arms around you, he fixes the placement of your hands to grip the shaft of the club in the way he had previously instructed.

Perhaps it is the mixture of wine, champagne and beer offered tonight, but being enveloped in the warmth of this embrace intoxicates you. The tingles that are sent down from his soft breathing on the base of your neck, make you shake like a leaf in the wind.

He inhales the sweet undertones of your perfume. The tendrils of your hair brush against his collarbone, sending a sensual kiss onto his skin. Unconsciously, he draws you closer to him, shielding you from another gust.

“Now you just want to swing,” he says, the words a mixture of a whisper and guttural grunt. His chest rumbles with it, passing the vibration through to your back.

You remain as still as a statue and lean ever so slightly back into him until your entire backside is pressed upon him.

You can’t stop yourself as you ask him, “Do you want to have sex with me?”

...

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chocolatecakecas · 3 years

Text

Honesty: Season 13 Destiel Fic Part 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9 Part 10

or read on ao3

There's a scream.

Dean bolts from his room, feet pounding as he goes. He sees another figure in the dim glow of the hall.

Their eyes meet, hesitating for a moment, before entering the room and stopping in front of the crib.

Dean' vision fills with a tiny body, writhing uncomfortably, as wails force their way from his throat.

Fear drops, hard, in the pit of Dean's stomach.

Without a moments hesitation, he's bouncing Jack in his arms, attempting to sooth him.

His eyes dart to the clock on the wall. 4:56am. That can't be right, Jack has only been having the one bottle at 2:30 am, now. He has been for weeks. And even, then he's never-

(read the rest under the cut)

Jack's wails echo off the walls.

Dean finds Cas' eyes in the dark.

He's staring at Jack in shock, and hurriedly glances up at Dean, eyes swimming with terror and uncertainty.

Right. Even though he's been back for months, Cas has never had to raise a baby before, and he's gotten used to the routine with no unexpected surprises. Dean's terrified, but he can't image what Cas is feeling.

So Dean moves. Check the obvious first.

He crosses to the changing table, quickly disposing of Jack's diaper. Cas follows.

Dean sighs when it does nothing to quiet the kid's screams.

It wasn't the diaper, he definitely isn't hungry.

Was it a nightmar-wait can babies even get nightmar-

Focus Winchester. What could it b-of course, why didn't he think of this first?

It's because you're shit at this, his mind easily supplies.

A cold feeling washes over him.

God, could he be more stu-

"Dean"? Cas calls desperately, ripping him from his thoughts.

Dean quickly recovers, and places his hand on Jack's forehead.

He's warm, but is he actually warmer than usual?

Dean tries to get his brain to recall how Jack's normal body temperature feels, but he's drawing a complete blank.

Fuck

Dean feels the fear twist again as it crawls its way up his throat.

It washes over him in waves, but he can't do anything to stop it.

He has no idea what to do.

He's standing with a child wailing against his chest, a child who's life depends on Dean's ability to know what to do. And Cas is looking at him, terrified, waiting on Dean for instruction.

Dean suddenly can't control his breathing.

He's powerless.

Tears threaten to spill from his eyes and h-

"-Dean? Was his forehead warm? Did he have a fever"? Cas asks anxiously as he braces a hand on Dean's shoulder, searching his face for answers.

The warmth of Cas' palm pulls him back to reality.

Cas always knows what he nee-no now's not the time.

Dean swallows.

"No-well I mean I don't think he feels warmer than normal-at least as far as I can tell? But there's a thermom-"

"-oh wait, there's no there's no need-here let me" Cas trails off, as if he surprised himself and carefully takes Jack from Dean's arms.

He watches as he softly places his hand on Jack's forehead.

Then it hits him

Angel. Duh

He can read Jack's actual temperature with his palm, or figure out what's wrong with the touch of his fingers.

And they're both standing here like idiots, paralyzed by fear, when Cas is a friggin angel.

But in his defense, the kid has got him out of his scared out of his mind.

Dean trails his gaze up to Cas' face, watching his eyes closed in concentration, waiting for his mojo to do it's thing.

Sometimes, Dean forgets what Cas really is. Of course he knows that he's an angel, but like-he's Cas.

Yes, he's a badass, who's millions of years old, and could kill someone with the tap of his finger, Dean's well aware.

But when he's standing in front of you in a rumpled, purple sweater, a pair of sweatpants and his dorky bee pun socks, of all things, it's kinda hard not to forget.

Cas is just so human now. This change has been slowly happening over the years, but ever since he got back it's like the Cas he first stabbed in that barn, doesn't exist anymore.

Which isn't a bad thing at all, it just makes everything a little more confusing.

Which is why he's kinda been avoiding him ever sin-

What the hell is he doing? He needs to focus on Jack, what if h-

"His temperature is 101.1 I've read that babies his age can have a resting temperature as high as 100.3, but since he's only half human?" Cas' voice startles him out of his thoughts.

Jack is still wailing in his arms, as Cas bounces him from side to side. He's looking at Dean expectantly, waiting for his input. Dean can still see the worry clear on his features.

Taking a deep breath, he regains some control of his breathing.

Just a little fever. This, Dean can handle.

"Yeah that's a little high. We should change him into something lighter, see if that cools him down a bit? Then if not we can give him some baby Motrin, and go from there?” Dean suggests.

Then they're both moving. Cas placing Jack on the changing table, while Dean grabs some lighter pjs from the dresser.

Dean hovers as Cas, expertly switches out Jack clothes. He murmurs to Jack in his signature low, rumbling tone, and manages to get to calm him a bit.

Cas is getting good at this. It's like it's second nature to him now. He really has become an amazing Dad. In fact, he's so damn good with Jack, it makes Dean's stomach flip every time Cas pulls a laugh from him or manages to sing him back to sleep.

He watches as Cas slowly rocks Jack in his arms, humming under his breath.

And Dean is sent spiraling as soon as he recognizes the tune.

Lullabye.

By Billy Joel.

And yeah of course he's heard Cas sing this to Jack hundreds of times before, he does this every night, but Dean hasn't been around to hear it since that morning. Before he listened.

The morning they haven't spoken about at all. Cas never asked, and Dean-well Dean didn't exactly bring it up.

But now he's singing Billy fucking Joel, right in front of him.

And if Dean thought he was freaking out before, it's nothing compared to the crisis he's currently having.

It's not like he's actively been avoiding the subject, he jus--

"Oh" Cas gasps, pausing Dean's spiral.

His eyes instantly find their way back to Cas.

Cas has stopped in his tracks, peering down at Jack's now sniffling face.

Then he presses a soft kiss to his forehead, smiling to himself as he pulls away.

Jack's sniffling stops as Cas looks back at Dean with a soft smile.

"I don't know why I didn't do it sooner. I could have just taken away his fever with my grace, but I guess fear got the better of me".

Mojo, of course. Why the hell didn't either of them think of healing Jack, especially since they already both had the "duh angel" moment 10 minutes ago.

God this kids really gonna be the death of them, turing them into complete idiots only 8 months in.

"You and me both pal" Dean manages to respond with a strained laugh.

As soon as they’re sure Jack is asleep, they stand for a moment, hovering over the crib.

Dean pretends not to notice the way his heart races when Cas' arm brushes against his.

"Well looks like we can write about the kid's first fever in the baby book now, and about how it turned us into a couple of morons" Dean whispers in an attempt at a joke.

Beside him Cas hums in agreement with a soft chuckle, and they both head out of Jack's room.

Dean needs some water, or better yet, some coffee. He's definitely not sleeping after the heart attack he just had.

As he makes his way to the kitchen, he notices Cas is following.

Something drops low in the pit of Dean's stomach.

Again, it's not like he has been completely avoiding Cas since that morning. They still hang out during the day, take care of Jack together, talk during the odd hours of the night, and they even have movie nights on Thursdays.

But it's different now. It's quieter, and there's an awkwardness to it that they both refuse to address.

It's like there's always something looming over them, just waiting to crush them.

And it's not like Dean doesn't want to talk about it, of course he does, but he just can't, he's not ready.

As he starts up the coffee maker, Cas drops into his usual seat, picking up his book where he left off. His head is resting in the palm of his hand, as he lazily flips through the pages, foot bouncing absentmindedly.

Looking just so completely human.

Which is the other issue.

Cas has always been a wildcard when it comes to emotions, and it's not like they ever sat down and had a conversation about what he does and doesn't feel.

So Dean always just assumed he experienced emotions, but like, subdued. Like Cas knew what he was feeling, he could name the feeling, but it didn't emotionally affect or sway him the way it did with humans.

And now Dean has no idea what to think, because he's sitting in the kitchen looking like he's been a functioning human being his entire life, and not a celestial warrior of God.

Which just makes everything harder, he just doesn't know what to do.

Dean pours his cup with a trembling hand, then with a heavy sigh, he grips the counter tightly, grounding himself.

Because Dean heard that mixtape.

He listened to it twice that morning, and he's lost count of how many times since.

He's memorized the songs, he's analyzed every lyric. It's all he's thought about every single day for two weeks.

And he knows what he heard.

His breathing quickens as anxiety washes over him, and he once again does nothing to stop it.

Which means that Cas understood the intention behind giving a mixtape.

Which means he understood the meaning behind the tape Dean had given him over a year ago.

He knows that Cas knows. He knows that's why Cas gave him one in return.

And logically, Dean knows he's right about all of this, but there's a part of him that still doesn't believe it's true.

Part of him still thinks he's just overthinking it. That Cas just gave it to him as a nice gesture and the songs had no deeper meaning behind them.

Because Dean can't let himself want Cas, and he can't hope that Cas might want him.

He knows he isn't worthy of him, that Cas deserves so much better. That he would just be a disappointment, and he'd screw everything up.

Because why would Cas ever want, a fuck up like hi-

"-Dean, are you alright" Cas' voice rips through his thoughts.

Dean swallows and dares a glance up.

He's met with wild hair, that stupid head tilt, and wide blue eyes, swimming with concern.

Cas

Dean's stomach flips and suddenly his mouth is moving before he can stop it.

"Cas I've gotta talk to you"

Cas tenses, hands clenching into fists, as the concern on his features is replaced with fear.

Great, one second in he's already fucked up.

Dean peers down as if his socked feet are the most interesting thing in the world, while trying to tame his increasing anxiety.

He takes a shuttering breath.

"I-I listened to the tape...." he trails off, mouth suddenly dry. He sneaks a glance up, to gage Cas' reaction.

And Cas goes white as a sheet, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Ye-yeah, I uh, liked it" Dean lamely tacks on, mentally cursing himself ("I liked it", seriously Winchester? That's what you went with?)

He watches as Cas' face goes through twelve different emotions, until landing on one Dean can't decipher.

"Oh.....well I'm glad you enjoyed it" Cas chokes out.

And in that moment, Dean doesn't know what comes over him. Maybe it's the way Cas looked at him, maybe it's the lingering adrenaline from Jack's fever scare, or maybe it's his complete lack of sleep.

But suddenly he's pacing around the kitchen, unable to shut up

"Yeah- I uh, well I actually listened to it a couple time-well more than a couple. I stopped keeping track after twenty"

He braves another glance at Cas who's frozen in fear at the table, so Dean continues before he loses his nerve. Hands flying, pointedly facing away from Cas.

"And I couldn't help but um, notice that a lot of the songs had a common theme? And I just never thou-"

"-Dean" Cas tries to interject, but Dean keeps going.

"-when I-when I gave you that mixtape last year, I never thought that you understo-and now you just gave me one, with all those songs and I can't help but think that you-that you might-that those songs might-I think you chose them for a reason-a specific reaso-"

"-Dean"

"-the same reason I di-and if I'm wrong then-fuck man, you can smite me right here, right now if I'm wrong-which I probably am. I'm probably just overthinking this whole thing and making myself look like an idiot. I'm probably just making a big deal out of nothing, like I alwa- "

"Dean, you're right"

"-always do, like I'm doing right now actually, acting like a dumba-"

Dean stalls, words catching in his throat.

Wait did Cas jus-no he must have heard him wr-

"Dean, you're right" Cas repeats behind him, voice trembling.

Dean's back is to him, as he grips the cool metal of the kitchen island again, refusing to turn around.

His heart races when he hears the scrape of a chair behind him.

"You're right, about wh-about why I made that tape, with those songs. I chos-I chose them for a reason" Cas continues, voice wavering.

Dean's thoughts are buzzing around his skull, he can't fully process what Cas' words.

Because Dean thinks he knows what he's trying to say.

But he can't possibly mean t-

"-I'm sorry, I-I have no idea what I was thinking. It was insane to give you that, when I know I can't-and now I've gone and ruined everything-"

Wait, he can't mean that. Dean just heard him wrong he can't hav-

But something, hope, he recognizes, pulls deep within him, and he grips the counter tighter. Maybe he did hear him right, may-.

No, Dean has to be sure first. He has to know for sure.

So Dean finds his voice.

"Cas, I-I think I know what you're trying to say bu-but I need you to say it. I need to be sure that I understand you, because I don't think I can handl-I just......." Dean trails off, voice breaking.

They stand in silence, and Dean's pretty sure Cas can hear his heart pounding against his chest.

His stomach drops, ice rushing through his veins.

Dean was wrong.

God of course he was wrong, and now Cas hates him. He's managed to fuck up the only friendship he's ever had, all because he can't just store his crap.

But no he has to be selfish and want Cas, and fuck u-

"I love you"

Dean's brain short circuits.

No-he can't have. No Dean heard that wrong, he's just tired an-

"-I do and, again I'm sorry, I truly didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, but I love you Dean and I can't help it-"

Oh.

And without thinking, Dean moves.

"-And I know this ruins everything especially since I know you can't- that you don't-but I'm so-"

Dean grips Cas around the waist, as he smashes their lips together, effectively cutting Cas off.

Their teeth clank and their noses bump, but Dean doesn't care.

CasCasCasCasCasCasCasCas, is all his mind can supply.

Dean reluctantly pulls away, hands craddeling Cas's face, who's hands have somehow found their way around Dean's waist.

Dean stares down at him, unable to look away.

His hair is sticking up in every direction, blue eyes blown wide brimming with unspilled tears, lips parted in shock.

Cas.

"-Dean, what, why did yo..." Cas trails off, voice breaking.

And then it hits him.

Dean just kissed Cas. Dean just kissed his best friend because he said he loved him.

Cas said that he loved him. Cas loves Dean.

And Dean, loves him too.

God, he loves Cas.

"Because I do too- "Dean starts, voice breaking.

He looks into Cas' eyes, seeing the small sliver of hope behind them, and takes a shuttering breath.

"I love you. Damnit Cas, I've loved you for so long and I-"

"Me too Dean, I have for years, but I never dreamed that you- that you’d ever, return that feeling an-" Cas stops with a sob.

Dean shushes him, gently wiping some of Cas' tears away with his thumb.

He feels like he's floating.

They’re really standing in the kitchen with Cas' hands tightly gripping the back of his shirt.

A watery laugh rips past Dean's throat.

"God what a couple of dumbasses, huh? Could have done this years ago, all that wasted time" Dean says in disbelief.

"Yes, we have been a pair of dumbasses, for years it would seem. But that's okay, because we can have it now, right?” Cas asks, uncertainty clear in his voice.

Cas still doesn’t believe this is really happening, and Dean can’t say he blames him.

“Of course we can Cas” Dean responds with complete certainty, looking into his eyes.

He needs Cas to know that this is what Dean wants, he needs him to understand that it’s all Dean has wanted, for years. He is not going to screw this up.

And it must have worked because Cas is practically glowing. There's tear tracks on his cheeks, but his eyes are bright and shining with pure joy, a gummy smile on his lips.

God, I love him, I really love him, Dean thinks to himself.

Of course there's a long conversation to be had, and even longer conversations to come, because nothing is ever really this simple.

But Dean can't bring himself to care, because all of his focus is on the man in front of him. The man he's loved in silence for years. The man who loves him back.

Because for the first time in his life, Dean is going to let himself want. And what he wants, is Cas.

"Well....we better get started then" Cas quips with a smile, all traces of uncertainty gone (which definitely doesn't make Dean's stomach flip).

And with that, Cas' hands make their way to his neck, as he pulls him into another kiss.

And by God, it's the best damn kiss of Dean's life.

Because it feels like home, like this is where Dean’s meant to be.

So he easily melts into Cas' touch letting the love and warmth wash over him, soaking in every bit of Cas he can get.

And if in the morning, Sam finds them with their hands clasped across the kitchen table, as they take turns feeding Jack spoonfuls of applesauce.

Well, that's none of his business.

Tag list:

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@multi-fandom-imagine @x-mypeopleskillsarerusty-x @wellofwoes @becky-srs @multi-fandom-dark-lord @perfectkoaladream @castiel-for-lunch @it--hurts--to--become @bowtiesandneckerchiefs @dakiaty @feraldean @teamfreebees @keshetcas @hrh-princess-bea

(as always please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!💛)

#if it was unclear the mixtape fic WAS a part of this fic!!! and it is important to this part!!!#i literally dont know where this came from like i did not plan on doing this at all and yet...#✨but healing grace forehead kiss✨#look i let them be happy for once!!!(i mean they suffered in the beginning but like still happy!)#so this turned out extremely long i have no idea what happened i hope it makes sense #i started baby jack truthing and then it morphed into this and i just-well i hope you like it #destiel fic #baby!jack #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #bec writes #baby jack truthing #destiel #casdean #deancas #season 13 #dadstiel #dad!dean

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

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.”

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katedrakeohd · 5 years

Text

Drake was hopeless in the laundry room by himself until Kate came to his rescue... Rated M ( 18+)

2000 word #wacky drabble 6 using the prompt: You make no sense sometimes.

Wacky Drabblers: @jessiembruno @brightpinkpeppercorn @jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot @bobasheebaby @burnsoslow @qween-corgis @emceesynonymroll @bbrandy2002

Drabbles MASTERLIST

_______________________________

Doing the ‘laundry’

Standing by himself in the hallway, Drake feels awkward. He wanted to be wherever Kate was, but he'd been relegated to the laundry room to tackle his dirty clothes alone. Hopefully she wouldn't be gone long, because he didn't have a clue how to work a washing machine.

Upstairs in the loft bedroom, Kate is sitting on the bed watching her Mom and Carol bicker back and forth about Drake.

“Oh my goodness Carol, did you have to flirt so openly with my son-in-law over dinner?” Lorraine grumbles as she looks through a dresser drawer for sleepwear.

Carol glances at Kate, before giving Lorraine an apologetic smile and shrug of the shoulders. “I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. He's charming and handsome, and oh my gosh that accent. I could listen to him talk all day. You can't blame me for wanting to know more about him.”

Kate didn't mind them talking about Drake, and besides she was just happy to have her Mom finally refer to him as her son-in-law. One of the cats on the bed, a soft grey tabby, gets up from where it's curled up by the pillows and walks over to Kate for attention. As it rubs up against her arm, Kate moves to allow it to curl up in her lap. It softly purrs as she strokes the soft fur along it’s back.

Lorraine turns toward Kate with sigh, hands on her hips. “What do you usually sleep in?”

“Now that I'm with Drake, usually as little as possible, he's like sleeping next to a woodstove. But for the sake of decency I'll take a tshirt and pj pants if you have it.” Kate says, knowing that she won't be wearing them for long.

Lorraine opens the bottom drawer of her dresser and finds a grey tshirt and blue plaid pants, “Will these do? I'm sorry if they're not the most feminine colors to wear, but they are cozy.”

Kate nods, “That will do just fine for now, I don't suppose you have anything large enough for Drake to wear?”

Carol frowns in thought for a moment, “Well I might. What size boxers does he wear?”

Lorraine’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as she turns to Carol, “Since when do you have men's boxers in your wardrobe?”

“Well usually I don't, but do you remember when my brother was here last fall to help do repairs on the roof? I did his laundry and some of it got left behind. Now my brother is a little shorter, and bigger around the middle than Drake, but too big is better than too small right?”

Lorraine shakes her head, “I swear you make no sense sometimes. Do you honestly think he's going to wear some other guys underwear?”

Kate laughs, “Well I guess we're gonna have to try them anyway. I highly doubt Drake would be comfortable sitting around naked under a blanket while we all eat pie.” Not that it would bother me much, but he wouldn't like it. Especially in the presence of my Mom.

Looking down at the soft blanket that covers the bed, “Speaking of blanket, can we borrow this one for cuddling up on the couch?”

Carol shrugs, “Sure, here let me dig out those boxers for you. There might be a tshirt that'll fit him amongst Jake's stuff too.”

Lorraine laughs, “Oh for goodness sake, did Jake go home naked? How could he leave so much of his clothes behind?”

“It was the Fall, and he was wearing layers to ward off the chill,” Carol replies, as if it should be obvious.

Drake stands in the laundry room wearing just his green towel. He's holding the bottle of detergent in his hand and trying to figure out how much soap to use, and what wash setting to choose on the machine. My shirts are white, my jeans are blue, my underwear and socks are black. Can I wash them together?? If Kate adds her stuff will we have more colors to figure out? Damn why is laundry so complicated?

Rubbing his hand frustrated through his hair, Drake is distracted by a knock on the laundry room door. “What!?”

Kate grins on the other side of the door, “It's me Kate. Are you decent?”

Drake sighs with relief, oh thank goodness. “Come in here and help me.”

Kate holds her blanket bundle under one arm and then opens the door. She raises her eyebrows and gives Drake an appreciative glance. She had forgotten how short that green towel was. Giving him a whistle, she giggles and then closes the door behind her.

“Wow babe, you look nice in green.”

Drake frowns and then slams the bottle of detergent down on the counter. “Ha ha, very funny. Now can you please help me?”

Kate lays down her bundle, revealing the clothes inside. “Sure hon, what do you need help with?”

Reaching up with both hands Drake rakes his hands back through his hair, heaving a sigh of defeat. “You know I don’t have a clue how to do laundry.”

Kate opens the lid of the machine, and then starts to pull things out. “Did you check the clothing labels for washing instructions?”

Drake's eyes go wide and his mouth drops open, “They have instructions?”

Kate laughs, “Well of course silly, see?” She opens up his dress shirt and shows him the symbols.

Squinting at the tiny marks on the tag, Drake frowns. “I've never paid attention to those before, for me the tag was just to tell me front or back, size and brand.”

Kate groups the dirty clothes into light and dark piles, and then reaches for the zipper on her skirt. Drake gives her a cheesy lopsided grin, “Now it's your turn to strip for me.”

Rolling her eyes, Kate shakes her head. “Oh hush you, we need to get these clothes in the washing machine and then get changed.”

Drake wiggles his eyebrows at Kate and then whips off his towel with a flourish and a jerk of his hips. “Ok, and what am I wearing exactly?”

After stepping out of her skirt and adding it to the pile of dark clothes, Kate nods toward the blanket bundle on the counter. “There's a shirt and a pair of shorts in there for you.”

Kate appreciates Drake's naked ass when he turns away. She can't help but step over and give it a slap. His jump of surprise and protest makes her laugh. “Ow! Watch it!”

Unbuttoning her blouse, she takes it off and hangs it on the back of the door. “Oh I quite enjoy watching you walk away honey.”

Drake steals a glance over his shoulder at Kate standing in just her bra and panties. “Almost naked, now gimme a peek at what's underneath.”

Kate reaches behind her back to undo her bra, when the straps fall off of her shoulders she bunches up the white lacy fabric under her breasts and lifts them with both hands, “You mean these peaks?” she smirks at him and drops her voice to a seductive purr.

Drake abandons getting dressed and steps over to her. Standing just inches away he looks down at Kate, his eyes dark and hungry. He reaches up to hook his fingers in the straps of her bra and gives it a gentle tug down her arms. “Here let me help you with that.”

Dipping his head down for a kiss, Drake can feel her smile against his mouth, “I think my panties are just too complicated to attempt, could you help me with those too?”

“Always willing to help you out of your clothes Kate,” Drake mumbles, moving his mouth to her cheek, his breath hot on her neck.

Kate's eyes flutter closed at the pleasurable warm current that races through her blood. When Drake's hands slide down over her hips to push the fabric down, his thumbs draw swirls on her skin, sending a rush of heat to her crotch. Parting her legs she lets the cotton drop around her ankles. With a growl of desire Drake clutches her ass, pulling her up against him. Kate grips his arms as his mouth comes down onto hers again, his kiss hungry and insistent. With a whimper of surprise, Kate wraps her arms around his neck as he lifts her up and sets her on top of the drier. The cold metal under her ass is a stark and jarring contrast to the intense heat of him as he parts her thighs with his hips. Holding on tightly, Kate drops her head back as Drake kisses a hot trail down her throat, nipping at the skin on her shoulder.

Wrapping her legs around his hips, trapping his hot and hard cock against her lower belly, Kate whispers, “Take me Drake, right here, right now.”

With a groan from deep in his throat, Drake tips Kate backward. Pulling a nipple into his mouth, sucking forcefully until she gasps, he lets it go to snap back all dark, pink and swollen.

“Better hold on tight,” Drake says, shifting his hips backward, and guiding himself into position.

Kate moves one hand to grasp Drake by the back of the neck, gripping his hair. The other arm gripping him by the shoulders. Tucking her face into the side of his neck she closes her eyes and gasps with pleasure as he rocks his hips forward, working his way inside. Drake's own groans and whispers only heighten the sensation for them both as Kate stretches to accommodate him. Feeling flushed with heat all over, Kate lets go of his shoulders, gripping the top of the drier as he gains full penetration.

Gripping her ass firmly, holding still to savor the warmth and depth of her, Drake brings his mouth down to capture hers in a deep and probing kiss. As her tongue slides along his, he starts moving again. The metal of the drier rattles and squeaks as he makes each thrust full and deep. As waves of pleasure cascade through her body, Kate holds on the best she can. Suddenly Drake grimaces in pain as his knee connects with the drier with a bang, “Ow!

Kate's face falls into an expression of concern and sympathy, she giggles at him, “Ow is right, are you ok?”

“Occupational hazard, but I'll live.” Drake says, giving her a pained expression as he steps backward a bit and brings Kate with him. “Now where were we?”

Giving his hair a tug, Kate pulls his face down to hers again for a kiss, toying with his bottom lip with her tongue. “You were working on tumbling a big load in my drier.”

Drake suppresses a laugh as he starts to buck his hips up against her again. “Oh you think you're funny, huh?”

Tipping her head back and closing her eyes, she gasps and then moans, “Mhmm, I'm just full of puns, they just roll off my tongue.”

Drake grunts as he feels the tightening in his cock and balls intensify, “Oh you're definitely full of something right now that starts with p..” his breath quickening, as he places emphasis on the last syllable of his sentence.

Kate giggles, “Good one honey.”

Shaking his head, Drake closes his eyes again, moving with increased determination. “I'll give you a good one alright, just give me a second or two..”

As ripples of pleasure radiate through her lower belly, and shoot down into her thighs, Kate clutches tightly to his shoulders as his whole body tenses and then shudders. He buries his face into her hair, wrapping his arms around her as they both relax into each other’s embrace.

Kate rests her forehead on his shoulder, her hands stroking up and down his back.. “Drake honey, what do you think the chances are that my Mom and Carol didn't hear all of that?”

With a soft chuckle, Drake kisses Kate on the forehead and then helps her down to the floor. “I think the chances are pretty slim. We weren't exactly quiet.”

To be continued..

#wacky drabbles #long post #drake walker #drake and kate #trr drake #trh fanfic

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paradisobound · 5 years

Text

I Want It, I Got It: Chapter 2

Summary: Phil Lester was a worker for the BBC in London. Working in the advertising department, he was content being alongside his friend and fellow coworker PJ during every shift. However, the BBC is temporarily being used as a film set for a new movie staring Hollywood ‘It’ star, Daniel Howell. Being stuck as an extra on the set, Phil finds it’s hard to ignore the famous star. And maybe, just maybe, Dan finds it hard to ignore Phil as well.

Word Count: 1.7k (this chapter)

Warnings: Occasional swearing

Rating: Mature (for right now)

Updates will be every Sunday at 1pm EST until I have the fic finished and then it’ll be twice weekly

**MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3**

Daniel Howell.

He was walking with a black hoodie on, the hood up over his hair. Sunglasses were perched on his face, covering his eyes. He was being rushed inside by a set of guards around him. When they reached the door, Daniel stepped inside and pushed the hood down to reveal curly hair. He kept the sunglasses on though. Immediately people began to run for his side, surrounding him and asking him questions.

He was shuffled to one of the rooms that was guarded and he disappeared inside with the hoard of people following him.

“I didn’t just imagine that, right?” PJ asked in a whisper as the woman began to show them to where they needed to be.

“Nope.”

“That was actually Daniel Howell.”

“Yep.”

PJ blew out a breath and Phil just nodded. Because he really didn’t want to admit it but he was a little bit star struck.

Even if he didn’t get much of a look at him.

“So both of you are set to be the extras in this office right here. Literally all you have to do is when we announce we’re filming, you’ll sit in these two office chairs.” She points to these two vacant seats around a table. “And you’ll just talk with each other. You’re honestly not going to really be in the movie. Just in the background.”

She brought them to a separate that had a paper sign that said “Extra’s lounge” on the outside. “In the meantime, can you fill out these simple forms giving us your consent for filming you? The BBC has done all of the other paperwork, but we just need a written signature from you both.”

She handed a sheet of paper to them both and a couple of pens. “We’ll call for you when you’re ready but you both can just hang out here until then.”

“Love that the BBC volunteered us to be extras and we’re just going to be sitting here all day on our arses waiting for them.”

Phil sighed and scrabbled his signature on the form, remembering what the BBC had emailed him the night before about this being a scheduled work day for him technically.

“I don’t even recognize anyone here from our department.” Phil says, looking around the room to see what looked like random people all on their laptops or cell phones.

“Gemma must be crushed right now.” PJ says with a slight chuckle. “I mean, I feel bad that she’s not here but at the same time, it’s probably for the best. Especially with our little viewing of Daniel earlier.”

“You got to see Daniel Howell?” A voice from the corner pipped up and Phil turned his attention to the male. “Where did you see him?”

“He was walking into the building.” Pj says, nodding his head.

“Oh wow.” The male says, sitting on the edge of the rolling chair he was poised in. “Do you think our scene will have him here?”

“I doubt it.” Phil says, cutting the person off. “The woman who greeted us at the front door told us that we’d barely be in the movie. Just in the background.”

“So the BBC is wasting our time by having us here?”

“Pretty much.”

There was a collective sigh throughout the room and Phil sat back in the chair, pulling his phone out of his pocket. This was going to be a long day.

Phil unlocked his phone and went to Twitter. He was immediately greeted by the same Twitter moment that PJ had told him about before. The one with Daniel Howell being the front page story.

He clicked on the Twitter moment and read through some of the tweets.

@danielhowell

Just arrived in London! Here to film a new movie for a few weeks.

to @danielhowell

Why didn’t you sign any autographs? Fans were waiting for hours!

to @danielhowell

Me and my friend waited all morning for a photo and you never even stopped! #rude

@danielhowell

I really appreciate all you guys but I would like my privacy while filming and on set. I appreciate you all immensely but please do not wait around where I am.

to @danielhowell

if you didn’t want people to know where you were, then why tweet your location?

@danielhowell

I like to keep my fan’s updated but that’s not a reason to follow me. I’d much appreciate the privacy. Xxx

Phil exited off from Twitter and went to Instagram next. He scrolled through his feed and didn’t see anything new so he went to exit when he decided he would try to see what his explore page had. He might be able to keep himself occupied with some dogs or slime.

Low and behold, Daniel Howell’s Instagram was the first photo to come up on his explore page and he curses the fact that all social media platforms are essentially linked in this way.

But he finds himself clicking on the photo and looking at it.

It’s a photo of Dan with a dog in his arms. The caption reads: the only reason I come home for christmas sorry literally every other family member.

Phil hasn’t ever kept up with celebrities enough to know much about them but Phil has to admit that if that was Dan’s dog, it was a cute dog.

“I see you Instagram stalking Daniel.” PJ says over his shoulder.

Phil jumps and closes out of the app.

“You don’t have to be cheeky about it.” PJ continues with a laugh. “I don’t mind if you secretly fancy him and get off to his photos in your spare time.”

“Peej!” Phil exclaimed as PJ stifled a laugh. “For your information, his photo came up on my explore page and I happened to click on it.”

“Oh...happened to click on it. Right mate.” PJ says with a laugh. “Cheers.”

The door to the room they were in opened and the same woman that had spoke to PJ and Phil earlier was peeking her head in. “PJ and Phil, we’re ready to film part of the background scene you’re in. If you want to give me your forms and follow me, we can get you in and out within a few hours.”

Phil wanted to groan. A few hours?! He could have been at home with Spike but instead he had to have Martyn come over and have a play date with Spike because he didn’t know how long he was going to be.

He stood up and grabbed the paper and then he followed PJ out of the office. The women directed them to a smaller office on the other side of the floor where there were already people waiting with the cameras and lighting set up.

“Okay, we just need you both to go sit in those chairs and talk. That’s literally it. Just keep as calm and relaxed as possible.”

Phil nodded and walked over to the chair and PJ followed and sat down as well. The director was sitting in his chair a fair ways away from them and the way the cameras were situated made Phil feel a little bit better because his limited film knowledge gave him the impression they were definitely not the focus of the shot.

And that became even more clear that they were not the focus of the shot when he caught someone walking to set out of the corner of his eye. And that person was currently speaking to a shorter woman next to him as he walked closer to the director.

Daniel Howell was going to be in this shot too. And he was standing right there on the edge of the set, with his hair perfectly styled and his suit impeccably tailored―completely wrinkle and spot free. And when he flashed a smile at the director, it was actually blinding.

“Phil...”

Phil snapped out of his stare and turned to PJ. “Huh?”

“You were ogling him Phil. Like full on drooling.”

“Was not.” Phil says, settling into the chair and putting his arms over his chest.

The director interrupted them and went over how the scene was going to go and then before they knew it, they were filming and it was happening. It didn’t feel too terribly awkward but Phil found it hard to carry on a conversation with PJ in the background while Dan was filming a scene less than ten feet in front of him.

When the director yelled cut, a bunch of people immediately ran over to Daniel and began to prod him and redo his hair and makeup although Phil couldn’t see where there was any change in what he looked like.

As he continues to watch and stare at Daniel, Daniel suddenly turns and looks at him. It’s a quick glare but it reaches inside of Phil’s soul. It’s like their eyes met and just sunk into each other.

But then, as if the small glance wasn’t enough, Daniel lifted his chin and flashed him a big smile before drawing his lips into a tight line and turning to go back to the makeup artist who was brushing something over his forehead.

“Daniel just smiled at me.”

“Never pegged you as a fan girl.” PJ joked. “Not after all you said about him yesterday.”

“But this was a genuine smile.” Phil comments. “Like he looked right at me and smiled.”

“Calm down, mate.” PJ laughed. “I’m sure he smiles at most people. He’s not a robot.” There was a pause. “Besides, how did your mind change so fast after all you said yesterday?”

“I’m not saying my mind changed!” Phil countered. “I’m just merely commenting that he smiled at me and it was...”

“Phil, you;re actually going to have an anxiety attack over this. Calm down. It was just a smile.”

Phil huffed but he found himself laughing. PJ was right. It wasn’t something to get worked up over.

Phil doesn’t know how many times they called to redo the shoot but he was extremely glad to be done so he could head home. He was dismissed a little later into the afternoon with PJ and they exited the BBC building ready to go back to their flats and take a nap.

Last Chapter | Next Chapter

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #au #famous!dan #moviestar!dan #normal!phil #princesslexi763fics

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phandom-fic · 6 years

Text

You want me out of your life, but you need it all of the time

Summary: Dan and Phil hate each other. They were enemies, or so Phil thought. If Dan hated him, then why were they constantly having sex?

Word count: 6461 Warnings: Smut (and a whole heckin lot of it), swearing, use of the f slur A/N: So yeah I guess I based this a little off of Youngblood if you couldn’t tell from the title. But I’m actually really proud of this one! So yeah read it I guess

———————————————————

“I don’t understand you, Howell.” Phil Lester breathed into the skin of the boy under him. “You tell everyone you hate me, which at this point, I have no idea if it’s true or not, but you somehow talked me into doing this to you.” Dan only let out strangled moans. “What goes through your head, Howell?” Phil prodded. “Shut the fuck up, Lester.” Dan snapped, digging his black painted nails into Phil’s back. Phil kept thrusting into Dan- quick, deep, angry thrusts. He didn’t understand why Dan, of all people, would drag him into the spare bedroom at his best friends house during a high school party. “But why? Why did you want this?” Phil asked, not giving up. “I said shut the fuck up, Lester. Are you really that dense? Just keep fucking me and we can leave the talking for later.” Dan spat. Phil groaned, rolling his eyes and leaving small hickeys along Dan’s jaw. Dan continued to let out loud, feminine moans. Their sex was angry, rather than passionate. Neither of them really knew why they were doing this, but they both loved it anyway. Not that either of them would ever admit it. They continued on like that, with Phil thrusting against Dan’s prostate and leaving hickeys on his neck and chest, while Dan dug his nails and heels into Phil’s back. “Oh god- fuck. Phil I’m- I’m gonna-“ Dan stuttered before he released all over both of their chests. Phil did the same shortly after, pulling out and laying beside Dan and the bed. They slowly caught their breaths, and Dan ran his fingers through his hair self consciously, hating the fact that it had started to curl. “...We just did that.” Phil stated. “No shit, Sherlock.” Dan snapped. “Yeah, okay, but why? Why did that happen?” Phil asked, looking over at Dan, who didn’t respond. Dan sat up, taking his clothes from off of the floor and putting them on. “Dan?” Phil repeated. “What, Lester?” Dan groaned, tossing Phil’s clothes to him. “You know what, asshole. Why did we do that?” He asked, getting dressed. Dan hesitated, his expression softening as he thought about a response. “Shut the fuck up.” He stammered, rushing to the door, leaving, and slamming it behind him. ——————————————————— “So I heard you and Dan banged.” Pj exclaimed as he sat down across from Phil at their designated lunch table in the high school cafeteria. Phil was stunned. Had Dan told anyone? How many people knew? “What?” Phil choked out, setting down his fork. Pj smirked. “You heard me.” He stated calmly. “How did you know?” Phil asked, tapping the table anxiously. Pj shook his head, laughing. “Phil, it’s my house.” Pj said, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “That doesn’t really answer my question, peej.” Phil grumbled, starting to eat again. Pj ignored him. “Anyway, what’s up with that? Didn’t he take your virginity? I thought you two hated each other. I haven’t heard you two say anything to each other that wasn’t an insult since-“ “Shut up. I don’t want to remember that.” “Sorry, you’re right. I forgot.” “It’s alright.” Phil muttered. Pj nodded. “The truth is, I don’t know. He just kinda... grabbed my arm and started leading me all of the sudden. And next thing I knew, we were making out in that room. I guess that’s where it started.” Phil explained. “I tried to ask him, but he wouldn’t answer me.” Phil shook his head. Pj nodded once again. ——————————————————— Phil sat on the concrete wall that separated the large field behind his school and the track. He wasn’t sure why he was there, specially. Everyone else had taken the bus home or walked, but he didn’t want to go home yet. He wanted to be alone. And in freshman year, when he was forced to leave his “alone time” spot in middle school, this is where he chose. He heard footsteps behind him, and someone sat down next to him. He turned to the person. Oh fuck no, Phil had thought. There he was again, Dan Howell, sitting next to Phil Lester. It was surely a sight to be seen. “Why are you sitting here?” Phil asked, annoyed. Dan sighed, avoiding eye contact. “Because I can.” He answered. They sat in awkward silence. Phil looked away, pretty annoyed at this point. “Are you finally gonna tell me?” Phil asked, hearing Dan sight beside him. “No.” Dan answered. “Are you ever going to tell me?” Phil prodded. “I don’t know, Lester. You could just let it be, so we can enjoy whatever the fuck this is while it lasts.” Dan sighed, resting his hand next to Phil’s so the tips of their pinkies touched. “Why would I enjoy it? We haven’t had a real conversation since you did all that shit in middle school, and now all the sudden we bang. And honestly, I’m not really sure why I allowed it to happen.” Phil ranted, and a look of guilt and concern struck across Dan’s face. But only for a second. “Did you not want to?” Dan asked. “No, I did. I’m just not sure why.” Phil explained, making Dan’s shoulders relax once again. Soon enough, their fingers laced together, and Dan was leaning his head on Phil’s shoulder. Phil wanted to tense up and shove Dan away, but he didn’t. He rested his head atop Dan’s. “We could do it again.” Dan blurted suddenly. Phil was surprised about how soft Dan was now, unlike how he usually was around Phil. “I think it might help us figure this out.” Dan continued, and Phil scrunched up his face. “Yeah sure, but that’s what brought us into this mess. And you say ‘us’ like we’re dating. What’s all that about? And why won’t you ever answer my question?” Phil snapped suddenly, surprising himself with his tone. Dan shoved Phil over, standing up and leaving. He muttered something under his breath as he walked away, but Phil couldn’t quite make it out. Why was Dan so damn hard to work with? ——————————————————— Peej: Hey, do you wanna hang out today? Phil was picked up his phone, seeing the message. He was doing homework that was assigned that day, but luckily it was Friday and he could stall all he wanted. Phil: Sure Phil: What time? Peej: How about right now? You can meet me at my place Phil texted back a quick agreement before grabbing his phone and throwing on a hoodie before walking over. Luckily Pj didn’t live that far from Phil. Phil knocked on the door, greeting Pj. “Do you wanna go to the park?” Pj asked. Phil said a quick “sure”, a little confused, but not really questioning it. When they got there, Pj took him to a secluded area within the trees. Phil was starting to get nervous, but didn’t say anything about it. What was he going to do? Phil had no idea. “Oh fuck no” Phil exclaimed as he saw the one and only Daniel James Howell, sitting on a bench and using his phone. Dan looked up from his phone to see that is was Phil that said this, and made a completely disgusted face. Pj pulled Phil over to Dan, and unfortunately, the two were too focused on glaring at each other to realize what Pj had done. “All right, I’ll be going. Bye!” Pj shouted, and sprinted away before either boy could stop him. Phil groaned, trying to walk away, when he suddenly noticed the cold surface tugging at one of his wrists. They looked down at their wrists, both completely done with whatever shit Pj could have pulled. It was soon revealed that they were hand cuffed together. “God fucking dammit.” Dan groaned, using his free hand to face palm. Phil groaned in agreement. “So what should we do now?” Phil asked, annoyed. Dan thought for a moment, before saying “I think I have an idea.” ——————————————————— Dan’s idea was of course for them to bang. They had walked to Dan’s house, who’s parents weren’t home. Dan opened his dresser and passed Phil a heavily used bottle of lube, and while the drawer was still open, he spotted a few other things that he guessed Dan probably heavily used. “You’re still not gonna tell me?” Phil asked as he fingered Dan, who was constantly letting out a strangled string of moans. “No, dipshit. Just be patient.” Dan scolded, gripping the duvet with his free hand and latching onto that hand he was hand cuffed to with the other. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to silence himself. Phil massaged his prostate, which just made him continued to let out loud moans. When Phil decided that Dan was stretched enough, he slicked himself and pressed his tip against Dan’s entrance. Phil kept wondering about what the hell was going on as he pushed in and began thrusting into Dan, who was spewing curse words in all of his pleasure. Why was Dan doing this? Well, to be fair, Phil was doing it too. But it was Dan who dragged Phil into the bedroom at the party. It was Dan who kissed Phil. It was Dan who said “fuck me” as he pulled Phil onto the bed. And most importantly, it was Dan who ended their friendship in the first place. Everything was happening because Dan wanted it. So why did Dan want this, after hating Phil for so long? “When are you going to tell me?” Phil asked curiously. “Just shut up and fuck me- oh yes, like that.” Dan moaned. But Phil wasn’t done just yet. “Are you ever going to give me a straight answer, Dan? Are you even sure of the answer?” Phil prodded, to get incoherent noises from Dan. “I don’t think you understand how hard it is to think while your cock is ramming into my sweet spot.” Dan finally choked out. “Fine. Just tell me later.” Phil spat, ramming into Dan even harder. Dan tried to speak, to say a smart remark, but it was nearly impossible like this. When they were both finished, they didn’t lay side by side, inches apart like they had the first time. No, now they were holding each other tightly, Phil wrapping one arm around Dan’s waist, the other on Dan’s shoulder (because they were still handcuffed) and Dan cuddled into Phil’s chest. For once, Phil didn’t hate Dan. And Dan didn’t hate Phil. It almost felt like they were back in middle school. Almost. “Y’know, maybe we don’t have to hate each other. We don’t have to like each other, but we don’t have to act like we want to brutally murder each other every time we’re in the same room.” Dan suggested. This got Phil’s attention. “Like a truce?” Phil asked, his tone sounding more hopeful than he had wanted. “Yeah, like a truce.” Dan agreed. “...Alright.” ——————————————————— Over the weekend, Phil didn’t hear anything about Dan. Pj had unlocked the handcuffs, but didn’t ask anything about what they did. And he still hadn’t. Or at least not to Phil. Pj and Dan were friends. Pj didn’t leave Dan when Dan left Phil. Phil was secretly glad, because Dan didn’t have any other friends. He really only had Phil at first before he was introduced to Pj, and they still mainly acted like strangers. They became closer, but not by much. Dan was mostly alone. Things got better at school. Now that Dan and Phil weren’t actively fighting, Phil could focus more on getting away from bullies and Dan wasn’t angry all the time. Phil didn’t awkwardly walk away when he saw Dan and Pj talking, and Dan didn’t storm out of the room when a teacher partnered them together. They weren’t enemies. They weren’t friends, no, that was quite a stretch. But they were sure not enemies. Phil sat next to Dan during lunch on Wednesday. Dan had begun sitting with him and Pj during lunch instead of the library on Monday, so Phil had sat on the other side, next to Pj, for two days. But he realized it was silly, and that Dan probably felt extremely awkward and alone on the other side of the table, so Phil sat next to him. “What did you think about the project in global today, Pj? Who are you partnered with?” Dan asked, and Pj paused from eating his sandwich to glare at him. Dan looked down at his pasta hopelessly. Something was very, very wrong. “Are you okay, Peej?” Phil asked, feeling bad for Dan. “Yeah. ‘M fine.” Pj muttered angrily. Phil looked at Dan, who avoided eye contact by brushing his fringe in front of his face. Phil desperately wanted to ask what was going on, but he knew he wouldn’t get a direct answer. “Are you still mad?” Dan asked sheepishly, not wiping his hair from his face and still looking down at his plate. Phil guessed the question wasn’t for him. “Of course Dan, is it not obvious?” Pj spat, and Dan finally looked up. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. And Pj looked extremely disgusted. “Oh sure you are, Dan! You’re an asshole, and you’ll never deserve it! You should know from last time!” Pj practically screamed. Dan began sobbing, and before Phil could say anything, Dan was sprinting out of the cafeteria. The only time heads turned was when Phil ran after him. Dan refused to tell Phil anything about what Pj was mad about, but it was evident that he was guilty. Dan had sobbed on Phil’s shoulder in the corner of the boys bathroom, and Phil held him tightly. And Phil had realized that Dan might have just lost his only friend. ——————————————————— On Thursday, Dan and Phil banged again. It was at Phil’s house this time, and they were making out and grinding helplessly against each other before Dan had turned around and stuck his ass in the air. And this time, Phil didn’t question it. Phil had leaned over Dan’s arched back, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, and Dan couldn’t help but moan as Phil drilled into his prostate, gripping his hips tightly. There were no arguments that time, there was just Dan, Phil, and the duvet below them. Nothing else in the world mattered but them. Dan had left shortly after, because his parents would wonder where he was. Dan’s parents had never liked the idea of him hanging out with Phil, even when they were young. But before Dan walked out the door, he kissed Phil goodbye. Phil wondered what that meant. ——————————————————— On Friday night, while Phil was laying in bed, trying to sleep, he decided it was time to remember what he so badly wanted to forget. After he had realized that fixing it wasn’t going to work, he tried so desperately to forget it. But he couldn’t run away for much longer, especially now that he and Dan had some sort of relationship. Whether it was just sexual or romantic or platonic, Phil couldn’t deny it was there. So he finally let himself remember his past. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Phil sat away from all of the other kids during recess, fearing that they would shove him over like they did every day. He didn’t have any friends, and had even thrown away his only chance when he was to scared to talk to the new boy in school. So he sat there, pretending that the other kids were sitting here with him, keeping him company. That is, until someone started walking over to him. Phil looked up, seeing a face he had never seen before. Was this the new boy? “Hello.” The boy said, keeping eye contact with Phil. “What are you doing?” The boy asked. “Sitting.” “Why aren’t you playing on the monkey bars? Stacy made up a fun game.” “Stacy doesn’t like me.” “Why not?” The boy asked, curiously. Phil didn’t know how to respond. Because he was a loser? Because Stacy thought he had cooties? Because Stacy spit in his hair every day during lunch, for literally no reason at all? “I don’t know.” Phil answered, looking down at his shoes. They were relatively new, but they were a little scratched up from when Tommy had chased him with worm on a stick the other day. “I don’t have any friends.” Phil murmured. The boy sat in front of Phil, smiling. “That’s okay. I don’t either. And to be honest, I don’t think Stacy likes me either.” Phil looked up with the biggest smile on his face. Someone finally wasn’t making fun of him. “I’m Daniel Howell. But you can call me Dan.” They boy, Dan, said. “I’m Phillip Lester. But you can call me Phil.” They only got closer over the years. They hung out every day, unless they were too busy, and played Mario Kart. They exchanged their coolest Pokémon cards, and occasionally talked about when pretty girls were nice to them. In third grade, Phil realized he had a crush on Dan. He cried the night he found out, because he felt gross. The only time that he had ever seen two boys kiss, his mother grabbed his arm, pulling him away and telling him not to look at such a thing. Phil felt bad, but did as he was told. In fourth grade, Phil finally accepted himself for liking boys instead of girls. He told Dan about it, and he thought it was cool that boys could like boys and girls could like girls. He had apparently not known. Dan told his parents about his recent discovery, and they were furious at Phil for telling him. They tried to restrict the amount of time Dan and Phil had together, but Dan always lied about going to a different friends house when he went over to visit Phil. In fifth grade, Dan and Phil had a long conversation about boys when they were walking through the forest. Phil knew Dan liked boys, so he asked about his crush. Dan cautiously answered with “You, Phil.” and Phil smiled widely and said he felt the same. They both declared they were boyfriends, and shared their first kiss. They sat down criss-cross on the dirt, and Dan quickly pecked Phil’s lips. They both blushed furiously, but they were both extremely happy. In sixth grade, their first year of middle school, they had their first real kiss. They went to the winter dance together, and snuck into the boys bathroom while it was vacant. They kissed for two minutes, which wasn’t very long, but it was heaven for them. They were both smiling widely as they walked home together. A month after the winter dance, Pj moved to the school. Phil quickly made friends with him, which worried Dan. Phil explained that he would never leave Dan, and that Pj liked girls. Dan trusted Phil, so he took his word for it. And when Phil introduced Dan to Pj, Dan realized that Pj really was no threat. In Seventh grade, Dan and Phil made out extremely often. It was usually at Phil’s house, because his mother had learned to accept Phil for who he was instead of shunning him, whereas Dan’s parents were the opposite. They had only been caught once. Phil’s mother had walked in his room without knocking. Dan looked at her in horror, but she only laughed. “Sorry boys! I just wanted to tell you that dinner is ready.” She laughed before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her. Dan was relieved, agreeing to eat dinner there, hoping it wouldn’t be awkward. And thankfully, it wasn’t. About a month later, Dan and Phil walked through the school hallway talking about some random forgotten topic. “Hey, fag!” Someone had called, and Dan and Phil spun around to see who it was. The person who had called after them walked up to Phil, shouting at him. “You’re useless, you know that? You’re such a faggot.” It was Evelyn, one of Phil’s regular bullies. “Hey, stop that! You have no right to be mean to him.” Dan shouted at the girl, and she looked disgusted. “Oh really? Are you a little fag too?” She retorted, making people turn heads. After only a few seconds, everyone was staring at the three. Phil noticed Pj in the crowd, but he did nothing. He just started at them with a completely blank expression like everyone else. “Well? Are you, pretty boy?” Pretty boy. That was her nickname for Dan, since she didn’t know his real name. Whenever she tripped or shoved or teased Phil, she always said something like “Go back to pretty boy. He’s your boyfriend, right?” or “Say hi to pretty boy for me!” while running her fingers through her orange hair and winking. Dan stepped back. Phil had been pretty open about his sexuality, but Dan wanted to keep it a secret. Phil respected Dan, so he never said anything. But since they were always together, people just seemed to assume. “That’s what I thought, pretty boy. You’re not just a stupid faggot like him.” Evelyn said, winking seductively at Dan. Phil couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t deal with her winking, her insults, that stupid word she kept using. He just couldn’t deal with it. Phil ran away, trying not to cry, and ignoring the hysterical laughter that came from Evelyn. He heard footsteps running behind him, but he didn’t care. He just kept running straight to the boys bathroom. He finally lost the person chasing him, and cried alone in a stall. The next day, Dan had seemed a little off. He didn’t really talk to Phil, and seemed generally abrasive. And when Phil had invited him over, Dan barely spoke to Phil, and refused to kiss Phil. Phil just thought that Dan was having a bad day, so he left him alone. But it wasn’t just that day. Dan was like that every day, but only to Phil. Dan seemed to be even more of an asshole as time went by. Phil was getting more and more worried, so he eventually questioned Dan about it while they were playing video games at his house. Quick questions turned into smart remarks, and smart remarks turned into an argument, and arguing turned into offensive insults. “You know what? I’m breaking up with you! You gay freak.” Dan had shouted, and Phil was shocked. He didn’t mean for this to happen. Why did Dan call him that? His mind raced with different thoughts and questions. “Dan I-“ “I don’t care. Just shut the fuck up and leave me alone.” Dan said, getting up and walking back to his house. So Phil left him alone. At school, they didn’t speak to each other. If they did, it was always an argument. And so they lived on. Phil constantly dealt with bullies with no longer anyone to defend him, and Dan was completely alone. Phil had people that he could consider acquaintances, but they didn’t think the same about him. They were just people that occasionally kept him company during class. But Dan, he had no one. Everyone just ignored him, except Pj. Phil didn’t understand. But Phil didn’t care anymore. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - For the first time in years, Phil cried. He sobbed loudly into his pillow, not caring if his parents walked in on their seventeen year old son, crumbling before their eyes. He used to cry about bullies, but then he got used to them and apathy took over. But now, he cried about Dan. About how Dan left him. About how Dan suddenly changed because he was too scared. About how Dan was suddenly getting closer to him and he didn’t know why. And little did he know, Dan was doing the exact same thing. ——————————————————— Daniel Howell: Can we talk? I hope this is still your number. Phil hadn’t gotten a text from that number in a long, long time. He almost forgot that it was in his phone. Phil picked up his phone and instantly responded. Phil: Sure. What about? Daniel Howell: By now you have to know that I don’t mean talking. Phil quickly put on a jacket, grabbing his phone and a small bottle of lube before walking out the front door. Phil: I’m on my way. Your place? Daniel Howell: Definitely. Phil made a mental note to change the contact name. ——————————————————— Dan sighed into Phil’s mouth, deepening the kiss. Dan was propped up on one elbow, his free hand threaded through Phil’s hair. Phil hovered above Dan, one hand on Dan’s waist, playing with the elastic band on his boxers, the other supporting him. Phil sucked hickies on Dan’s inner thighs as he stretched him. Dan moaned loudly, Phil massaging his prostate. He gripped his duvet, begging for more. Phil pulled his mouth away from Dan’s skin, satisfied with the many bruises he left behind. “So you’re never going to tell me why you suddenly have affection for me?” Phil asked, a bit hopeless. Dan tried to speak between moans, which was a bit difficult because of the constant pressing on his sweet spot. “I- uuuhhh I’ll tell you- I’ll tell you at some point. Not now.” Dan choked out, moaning as Phil continued to finger him. Phil nodded, not really believing him, but having the smallest bit of hope. Phil ran his hands along Dan’s skin and he began thrusting into him. He couldn’t really concentrate. He couldn’t believe that the boy that used to hate him with a burning passion was under him, begging for more of him. Even after everything that had happened, he was still stunned. “Ah- so good, Philly.” Dan moaned, and Phil rested his forehead on Dan’s shoulder. He hadn’t heard that nick name in a very long time. Dan gripped Phil’s hair, almost hugging him into his chest. For once, Phil loved the closeness. It didn’t feel like a necessarily sexual thing anymore. It felt romantic. Phil pressed small kissed to Dan’s chest, before leaning up to kiss his lips. They moaned into each other’s mouths as Phil rocked his hips into Dan. Dan pressed his heels into Phil’s back, pressing the two boys impossibly closer. They released together, panting heavily as Phil lay down next to Dan, holding him tightly. When they caught their breath, they began kissing again for no particular reason. Phil loved it. Dan loved it. They didn’t understand why they loved it so much, especially being who they were, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but them. ——————————————————— “What the fuck is happening with you and Dan?” Pj asked Phil at school a week later. Phil was at his locker, grabbing his bag and getting ready to walk home. “What do you mean?” “You two are acting really weird. I thought it was a one time thing. But apparently not. Are you guys lovers again?” Pj asked, leaning against the locker next to Phil’s. “We’re not lovers.” Phil said, like it was obvious. He swung his backpack on his shoulder, beginning to walk down the hallway to the main exit. Pj followed close behind. “Really, Phil? Are you sure?” “I’m positive.” “Then why are you two constantly banging?” “People can have sex without dating.” “But you’re not one of those people, Phil. I know you. And I know for a fact that there has to be some sort of bond between you and the other person for you to be willing to do that.” “And?” Phil asked, speeding up. Pj wasn’t having any of it, and grabbed Phil shoulder and spun him around. “Which would mean that you and Dan would be lovers.” Phil rolled his eyes. “We’re not lovers, Peej. He’s not my boyfriend, and I’m not his. It’s as simple as that.” “But you were at one point.” Pj pointed out, and Phil’s jaw tensed. “I told you not to bring that up.” Phil said, his voice sounding hurt. Pj ignored him. “You two were so in love. It was insane. You had a healthier relationship than any straight couple I’ve ever seen.” “Pj I-“ “Until you had that argument, and he insulted you. You were so hurt. And he broke up with you.” “Pj stop th-“ “Why do you want him back Phil? You were ruined for god damn months. Why the hell would you want someone like Dan?” “PJ! SHUT THE FUCK UP! JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Phil screamed, and Pj jumped. Phil fell to his knees, face in his hands, sobbing. His entire body trembled, his salty tears occasionally landing on the tip of his tongue. “Just shut the fuck up...” Phil whispered, muffled from his hand and his tears. Pj, not knowing what to do, walked away without apologizing. So Phil was sobbing alone in a high school hallway. And so was Dan, hidden behind a wall, having heard the entire conversation. ——————————————————— “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Phil asked as Dan pulled him into the janitors closet. “Uh, no, I’m sure it’s a fucking great idea.” Dan retorted, leaning against a small table and pulling Phil closer. Their lips met, but not for long. “Do you have it?” Phil asked, gripping Dan’s hips. Dan nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small bottle of lube. Phil twisted the cap off, and Dan turned around, leaning over the table and grinding his clothed ass on Phil’s crotch. Phil slicked his fingers, pulling down Dan’s jeans and boxers. He massaged Dan’s entrance before pushing a single finger in ever so slowly. Dan’s mouth opened slightly, his facial features resting. Phil pumped his finger in and out of Dan’s tight hole, before deciding that he Dan was ready for a second. He lined up his middle finger next to his index and pushed in again, making Dan moan. Phil curled his fingers, searching for that special spot. Dan was a mess of moans when he hit it. “When are you going to tell me?” Phil asked. He knew he probably shouldn’t, but god dammit he was curious. He had literally no idea, and the suspense was killing him. “Shut up and fuck me.” Dan groaned, fucking himself back on Phil’s fingers. “No. Just tell me. I’ve waited for so long.” Phil challenged. “Phil, I’ve already told you that I will. Please just be patient.” Dan begged. Phil was silent for a moment, trying to soak in everything as he decided what to do next, the only sounds in the room being the wet sounds coming from Dan’s hole echoing off of the walls and Dan’s quiet moans. Dan felt tight around Phil’s fingers, and he smelled of raspberry shampoo and cherry lube. Phil pulled out his fingers, and Dan whined from the sudden empty feeling. “I won’t do this until you tell me.” Phil said. Dan sighed, standing straight up and pulling up his jeans before walking to the closed door. “Really? You’re not even going to try?” Phil questioned in a bit of a rude tone, but that was unintentional. Dan turned around and glared at Phil, storming over to him and smacking him. Hard. Phil held his cheek, looking at Dan in awe. The expression on Dan’s face said it all; he hadn’t really meant to hurt Phil. “Sorry.” Dan uttered quietly before finally walking out. ——————————————————— Pj didn’t sit with them at lunch anymore. He basically ignored Dan and Phil, turning his back to them if they ever waved. Phil decided that the closest thing he had to a friend was Dan. Dan and Phil sat next to each other silently, eating their meals. Phil had bought his cold, disgusting pizza from the school, whereas Dan had brought his sandwich from home. Phil picked at his crust, not wanting to eat more of the rubber like cheese. He hated cheese. Dan realized how much Phil disliked his food, and Dan didn’t want him to be hungry, so his ripped his sandwich in half, passing the larger half to Phil. “Thank you.” Phil whispered, and Dan nodded. Dan didn’t want the silence. He didn’t like silence. In fact, he hated it. But he was too scared to speak up. ——————————————————— Phil sat on his sofa, watching the television in the dark of the night. His parents were out like always, but he still didn’t want any light. He liked darkness. He loved darkness. Darkness is sobering. A loud knock on the door took Phil from his thoughts. He turned off the television, engulfing himself in darkness. He blindly walked to the window next to the door, not even needing a flashlight. Phil took the soft, embroidered fabric of the curtains between his fingers, peering out into the night. He saw a dark figure standing in the dim street lights. The figure pulled something out of their pocked, looking down at it. A phone. The phone lit up, revealing that it was Dan. Phil thought he knew what Dan wanted. He shook his head, hearing his phone buzz from its spot on the coffee table. Phil wasn’t in the mood right now. Phil raced to his front door, opening it quickly. Phil opened his mouth to speak, when he noticed how Dan’s cheeks were soaked, and his eyes were red and puffy. His hair was curling and messy, going in every direction. This wasn’t how Dan usually was. Dan was a crying mess. “Dan? What’s wrong?” Phil asked, swallowing thickly. Dan practically collapsed on Phil, sobbing into his shoulder, gripping the back of his shirt until his knuckles turned white. Phil was stunned, hesitantly placing his arms around the boy. “I can’t take it anymore, I can’t take it anymore, I can’t take it anymore...” Dan repeated, whispering into Phil’s t shirt. Phil kissed the top of Dan’s head, and rested his forehead on Dan’s shoulder as Dan did to him. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Phil asked, to get more sobs from Dan. He decided he would be patient this time. Phil slowly stepped backwards, closed the door behind Dan, and continued to lead him into the pitch dark house. Dan sniffled, his cries slowing to a stop, and pulled away from Phil. He pressed his hand to Phil’s cheek, not being able to see him, but still wanting to face him as he said this. Dan ran his thumb over the soft skin, feeling Phil’s hand come up to lightly touch the back of his hand. “Phil.” Dan said, his voice cracking and strangled from crying. “Yes?” Phil asked hesitantly. Dan swallowed thickly. “I need to tell you something.” Phil’s head raced. What was it? Was it why everything was happening between them recently? Was it about Pj? Phil had no idea. He didn’t respond verbally, but brought his hand up to Dan’s shoulder, holding it gently as if he would shatter under the slightest pressure. “When I broke up with you, I wasn’t thinking. I was being an asshole because I was scared of what other people thought of me rather than thinking about how you felt.” Dan began. Phil remained silent. “I really didn’t mean to call you those things. I regretted everything as soon as they came out of my mouth- Including when I broke up with you. But I was so angry, I couldn’t just take it back that easily. I couldn’t do it. I’m too much of a stubborn asshole.” Dan continued. Phil held his breath. “So at that party at Pj’s house, I realized that you would never love me again. So I somehow convinced you to have sex with me. And that’s why I kept doing it. It’s the most I could have without actually having you.” “After Pj unlocked the hand cuffs, he asked me what happened. I told him what we did. And I accidentally told him that I missed you. That’s why he hates me. He thinks I don’t deserve you. And honestly, I don’t think I do either.” “So no, I’ve never hated you. I’ve loved you since I met you. I loved you even when I didn’t know what love actually meant. And I was too much of an asshole to admit it when we argued at school. Every time we got into some stupid fucking argument, I saw how angry you were and I hated myself. I still do. I hate everything about myself. And I hate that I let you go.” Phil stood in silence. He didn’t speak, he didn’t move, he didn’t blink as he stared at the darkness in front of him that engulfed Dan. It was almost like he wasn’t even breathing. And Dan was scared. No, Dan was terrified. For the first time in years, Daniel James Howell was terrified. But this time, it wasn’t the monsters under his bed that kept him stunned, unable to move or breathe. It was him, eating away at himself from the inside out. And he was terrified of what Phil would say. And then Phil hugged him. They wrapped their arms tightly around each other, pressing their faces into the others shoulder, breathing in their scents. It held in their body heat, which had been magnified because of the blushes on their cheeks. It wasn’t until Phil whispered “I’ve missed you too.” that Dan started crying again. And this time, his tears weren’t of sorrow. They were tears of joy. ——————————————————— The next few days were heaven. Even when Phil was stuck in his boring classes, he was thinking about his new- and old- boyfriend. Dan was what kept him going. At lunch, Dan and Phil would sit alone together at their table, hand in hand. Pj would stare at them from across the cafeteria at times, but always went back to talking to his new friend Chris. They would spend nights together, sometimes just cuddling and kissing rather than having sex. It was nights like these where Dan would be crying, and Phil would comfort him, telling him that he loved him and trying to convince him that he wasn’t worthless. “I love you, Dan.” Phil reminded, holding Dan closer. “I love you too.” Dan grumbled against Phil’s chest, his tears drying. Phil never told Dan to stop crying. Crying wasn’t a bad thing. What Phil would try to do was stop the source of it. Eventually everyone at school caught on. Nothing really changed. Dan was still ignored, and Phil was still bullied. But they were happy anyway. Because as long as Dan had Phil, he didn’t feel alone. And as long as Phil had Dan, he didn’t feel worthless. And they were happy with that.

#phan #phanfiction #phandom #phan smut #2009!phan #2009!phan smut #smut #Dan and Phil #fanfic

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phantasticlizzy · 6 years

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Not So Kinky Phil

Summary: “Are you planning to make all our videos extremely sexual from now on or is it just a gamingmas thing? Because I need to know how to prepare myself for the future.” Dan says, steping a little closer to Phil, looking at him pointedly.'

(basically my take on Phil's kinky comments in the last few videos)

Words: 1420

read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12965037

When they walk PJ and Sophie out the door there’s a sense of relief in Phil’s stomach and he feels a little bit of tension seeps out of his body.

He likes hanging out with his friends, especially with PJ and Sophie. He genuinely has fun whenever they spend time with them and never feels awkward or anxious like he sometime does with other people he has to interact with.

He has known PJ for years. PJ’s one of the first people who ever reached out to Phil from the YouTube community when he was just starting to gain some kind of popularity and they just clicked, right from the start.

They’re not as close as they used to be. They mostly have different group of friends now, and they live far enough from each other that the excuse of not being able to travel all that way just to meet up in their tight schedules is valid and understandable. But still, there is always a warm spot in his heart for PJ, always a sense of comfort and fondness and easiness that comes with seeing each other.

And still, there is something about the part of the day when guests leave his and Dan’s home and it’s finally just the two of them alone again that makes him let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and let his body slouch and deflate a bit.

It’s been a good day. They filmed two videos and went to winter wonderland and had a fun time with friends they haven’t got to spend time with in a while. But now, more than anything, he just wants to sit in silence on the couch and maybe watch some baby giraffe videos and have Das sit on the other end and nudge him with his foot from time to time.

He’s wild like that.

And when Dan finally closes the door after a final wave and a call of “bye! Come visit us again soon,” Phil is leaning against the wall next to him and thinking about the pizza they really shouldn’t order because they had a proper dinner earlier but he still kind of craves. He’s about to consult Dan on that issue when Dan turns around and looks at him with a knowing look.

“What?” Phil asks, because that look never comes without some kind of a lecture and they already discussed the yet another cereal incident this morning and really besides that he was on his best behavior the entire day.

Dan crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at him, but under the scolding expression there is an amused one and Phil knows that he’s not actually in trouble.

“Are you planning to make all our videos extremely sexual from now on or is it just a gamingmas thing? Because I need to know how to prepare myself for the future.” Dan says, and he steps a little closer to Phil, looking at him pointedly.

“I do not make our videos extremely sexual,” Phil protests, but honestly he’s having a hard time keeping the smile from his face and he can see Dan’s about to crack at any moment as well.

And he does. Only 3 seconds later Dan’s letting out a loud bark of laughter and he lets his arms go from his chest to his sides and Phil can’t help but giggle a little as well.

“You are so full of it,” Dan says, and he’s looking at Phil fondly now with his dimple on full display.

He’s taking another step closer to Phil, putting both his hands on his waist and pulling him closer until their chests are pressed together and Phil can feel Dan’s warmth through his jumper.

“You want everyone to think you’re this edgy kinky guy now when in reality you’re the most vanilla person I know.” Dan says and Phil can feel his cheeks heating up.

“I am not always vanilla,” he manages to say but his voice is a little too whiny and his face is a little too pink and Dan just laughs at him again.

“Oh trust me, as a person that shared your bed for the last 8 years I think I’m qualified to say you’re as vanilla as it gets.” He says, and he’s leaning down to kiss one of Phil’s flaming hot cheeks, tightening his arms around his waist.

“Maybe you just don’t know that side of me yet,” Phil retorts, pouting at Dan, slightly offended by the accusation.

“Oh is that so?” Dan is full on smirking at him now which makes Phil pout even more.

“So when am I going to get to know this side of you then? Mm?” he leans down again, kissing Phil’s other cheek and then lets his lips travel down to his jaw.

“Are we going to start role playing in the bedroom? Do you want to wear some sexy outfits for me? Because I can roll with that,” Dan says, and his lips are still pressed to Phil’s skin and Phil feels a mixture of arousal and embarrassment so he says nothing, but lets his arms wrap around Dan’s shoulders, pinching his skin between his fingers as a sign of dissatisfaction.

Dan chuckles. “No? Do you prefer I buy some tentacle outfit instead? I can even lube it up for you and play out your wildest fantasies.”

“You’re a jerk,” Phil says, but it comes out a little bit breathy because Dan just moved his mouth to his neck and is kissing that one spot near his Adam’s apple that never fails to make him a little weak in the knees.

“Don’t like that one either? Okay, we can always do the male pregnancy thing, you seem to like that one the best.” He continues, letting his teeth graze Phil’s skin.

“Would you like that? Want me to fill you up with my babies don’t you?”

He’s absolutely taking a piss now and Phil shoves him off with a half amused half grumpy “I hate you,” only to be pulled right back in for a tight hug by a laughing Dan who rubs his back with wide motions as a peace offering.

“Stop being mean to me, you say way worse stuff than I do all the time,” Phil whines, but doesn’t really fight Dan’s hold on him, lets him squeeze his body a little tighter and laugh in his ear a little too loudly.

“Yeah, but I’m not the innocent sunshine amazingPhil. I’m allowed to be crude.”

“I wasn’t crude. And I’m not innocent. I can be kinky if I want, stop bullying me.” His voice is still pouty and he can feel Dan kissing the side of his head.

“I’m sorry,” Dan says, but he’s still laughing and he doesn’t sound sorry at all.

“I can if I want,” Phil says again but his voice is quieter now.

“I bet you can,” Dan says it softly, fondly, and holds Phil just a little bit closer.

“But I don’t know about you, I love our sex life just the way it is, even with no tentacles. Don’t need all that when I have the sexiest guy ever who I’m absolutely in love with in there with me. All the other stuff just can’t quite compare,” Dan adds and Phil can feel his body flush all over. He pushes himself even closer to Dan, hiding his face in Dan’s neck with a whine.

“You can’t say sappy things like that!”

“Of course I can.”

“No you can’t!”

“Says who?”

“Me!”

“Well, we just establish that you say all kinds of crap I shouldn’t really listen to so…”

“I hate you,” Phil exclaims again, but the way he clings to Dan just a little bit more while saying it doesn’t do much to prove his point.

“Sure you do,” Dan says, and he kisses the side of Phil’s head again and draws back a little to kiss his forehead as well, giving Phil’s waist one last squeeze before letting go, starting to Head to the lounge with a pink cheeked Phil following close behind.

“Pizza?” Dan asks, turning half his body back to him, not missing the way a huge grin spread on Phil’s flushed Face.

“Yes please,” Phil answers, and he feels warm and giddy and a little bit tired and he can’t even mind that the tone of his voice sounds a lot like ‘I love you I love you I love you’.

Notes:

okay i wrote this in like half an hour so it might be shit (honestly i'm too tired to judge haha) anyway, hope you liked it! tell me what you think :)

#phan #phanfiction #fluff #Discussion of kinks #kind of #phantasticlizzyfics

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breakfastatmilliways · 7 years

Text

I Found the Cure to Growing Older 1/?

Summary: Dan died. Phil thought that might perhaps be the worst of his problems - after all, what could be worse than losing your best friend?

Turns out, it was the zombie apocalypse.

When that’s all said and done, as much as an apocalypse can be said and done, he gets a phone call. Also posted on AO3.

Author’s Note: Because I really needed a second multi-chapter fic going while I’m already writing one, eh?

This one is an AU based on the fantastically awesome television show “In the Flesh”. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it. Adorable cured zombies (A.K.A. Partially Deceased Syndrome Sufferers), serious feels, and well rounded LGBT characters? Yas. IT HAS IT ALL. Like seriously, if you have not seen this show, go watch the trailer and immediately become convinced to watch both seasons. I will wait here....

Did you watch it? Okay, good. Anyhoo, if you have seen it and are familiar with the canon, you’ll obviously notice that I’m making some changes, mainly in the timeline. The bulk of it will be taking place in 2021, with the backstory taking place around current day. I do otherwise intend to try to keep this shit accurate to the universe, though.

So yeah, prepare your butts for a good old fashioned zambie angst and fluff pie.

Oh, and credit to my good buddy @bad-twin for reading it over and providing a fabulous place to bounce ideas around.

28 January, 2021

“Hi guys! Can you see me?” Phil asked the old webcam on his laptop, giving a little wave at it as he did so. He couldn’t help feeling a little bit nervous- this would be his first live show in nearly four years. It occurred to him that it was a bit silly to be anxious about something as innocuous as talking to some fans on webcam, when he’d literally had to bash a rabid zombie’s head in with a bit of piping to save his own skin in the not too distant past. Then again, his mental processes had always been a little bit out of the norm.

The messages started coming in after a few seconds, and his face split into a grin at the general excitement he was seeing. The chat moved a lot slower than it would have once, but that was to be expected. Plenty of people out there didn’t even have an internet connection back yet, and he was sure that quite a few of his old fans had forgotten him. Something about living through the apocalypse tended to shift a person’s priorities, and his fans were no exception.

“Great! Looks like we’re live then. How are you guys? It’s been ages!” He scanned the chat as he spoke, and laughed slightly. “Katie123 says ‘I’ve missed you Phil!’, that’s so sweet! I’ve missed all of you too. It feels great to be back. I’ve spent almost the last year out of London, staying with the family. They got hit a lot harder up there than we were here, it’s taken a lot of work to rebuild. I’ve missed the flat though, it’s really great to be home.”

A glance at the chat showed that a lot of people were clamoring for a look around, and he obliged, picking up his laptop and doing a quick 180 of the sitting room to show it off before setting it back down in front of him. “Looks the same as ever, doesn’t it? You’d almost think the world didn’t nearly end.”

A few people in the chat were having a small freak out, apparently having missed the sight of the sofa crease, and Phil couldn’t help a small pang at the phrase. It was a fairly unwanted reminder that said sofa crease was empty. He pushed the thought aside, because now wasn’t the time to get down in the dumps, and settled on another question that managed to make him laugh.

“‘Did any of your houseplants survive?’, bad-twin wants to know. Well, have I got a surprise for you, bad-twin.” He hopped up from his spot to cross the room, coming back with a pot in his hands which contained a rather unhealthy looking, but surprisingly living, cactus. “Susan 7 here managed to survive the water shortages, via her cactus-y resilience. She’s looking a little worse for wear now, but I’ll have her fixed up soon enough.”

“Have I seen anyone from the old days recently? ‘Kringlemanger24’ is asking.” He paused, quirking a brow. “What’s a kringlemanger? Do I want to know?” When the chat erupted into a series of caps lock ‘NO!’s, he decided that he would take that advice. “Okay, just going to forget about that entirely then. As for the question, yeah, I have. I saw PJ the other day after I got back to London, and I’ve got plans for Louise to come for a short stay with Darcy in a few weeks. I heard now that the borders are open again, Tyler’s going to try to get across the pond for a while, so we’ll probably have a little meet up of everyone who’s still around. We might even be able to get a few collabs in.”

“MyRotterRomanceattheDisco wants to know how I feel about the reintegration initiative. I think it’s great, really. I understand why some people are against it, the PDS sufferers didn’t exactly make life easy for any of us, but then you’ve got to think, they’re still people. They were our friends and neighbours once, and they didn’t know what they were doing. Some kids are going to have their dads back. You might get a sibling or a mum back. It’s… I mean, it’s a much more positive ending to the war than you’d expect, don’t you think?” The chat seemed to be mostly in agreement with his opinion, despite a few voices of dissent, and he smiled.

That initial feeling of anxiety had swiftly been replaced by warm fuzzy feelings. Phil hadn’t realized quite how much he had missed his fans. They were a mad bunch, but they were a good bunch. Well, most of them. As the live show continued, the occasional troll did show up. The worst of them were the ones that popped in just to comment things like ‘Where’s Dan?! LOL’, and while it stung a little, it was heartening to see the way the rest of the chat banded against the trolls in his defense.

Things were still going well enough, when Phil’s phone went off. He’d been in the midst of answering CuteRandomLlamasxo’s question about his birthday plans when it vibrated on the sofa next to him, and he paused in explaining that Martyn would be coming to visit him in order to pick it up and take a look. “Hang on a second guys, I need to see who-”

He faltered, and immediately went quiet. The chat was filled with expressions of concern, and a few people making jokes about how they hadn’t thought it was possible for him to go paler, but he didn’t even notice. It was as if everything in the room had blurred around him, except for the screen on the phone in front of him. Not even bothering to excuse himself, he simply shut the laptop, ending the stream instantly, and with shaking hands, accepted the call.

“...Mrs. Howell?” Phil’s voice came out as an undignified croak, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “Er… Hello?”

For a long moment, he thought that maybe she had just dialled his number by mistake. He couldn’t hear anything on the other end of the line, and he was just about to end the call when she finally spoke up. “Phil! Hello, dear. How have you been?” Dan’s mother sounded extremely awkward, and Phil couldn’t blame her for that. They hadn’t spoken since the funeral, and he wasn’t doing much better in terms of awkwardness.

“As well as can be, these days. How- how are you? How’s the family?”

Another silence stretched out, and Phil reached up to scratch at the back of his head. This was beyond uncomfortable, and he rather hoped that she would get to the point soon, because he really wanted to hang up.

“Good, good. Well, you see that’s… actually why I’ve called. I have, well, news.”

“Is everything alright? No one’s been hurt, or anything?” Phil’s concern was genuine, even if he still wanted to be doing just about anything other than having this conversation. Regardless of how long it had been since they had spoken, Dan’s family would never really leave his heart, and he certainly cared for their well being.

“Everyone’s just fine, no, no one’s hurt. It’s the opposite, actually.” For the first time since the call had started, Phil noticed that she was audibly crying, and suddenly his stomach began to twist with anticipation about what she was about to say. “It’s Dan. He’s come home.”

***

9 February, 2017

“Phil, it’s been over a week. The birthday milking has to stop.” Dan was saying from his place on the sofa, settled comfortably in his crease. His laptop was balanced on his knees, and he was pointedly ignoring the puppy dog eyes that Phil was sending his way.

“What do you expect us to have for breakfast tomorrow, Dan? Do you expect me to go hungry? So soon after my birthday? We don’t even have cereal.” Phil was expecting the pillow that Dan threw at his head in response, but he still failed to react quickly enough to prevent it smashing straight into his face. “Ow.”

“We don’t have cereal because you ate yours and mine. You get off your ass and go to Tesco’s. I’m the one who’s wounded.”

“You fell down a week ago. You’re fine. You’re at least fine enough to go to buy cereal and pancake mix.”

“This madness needs to end. You can’t try to negotiate birthday favors for the rest of the year. A week is where I draw the line, Philly. If you’re so worried about our cupboards, you can restock them.”

Phil simply stared at him, a pout on his face that he knew probably looked utterly ridiculous, but it seemed to do the trick. When Dan finally glanced up from his laptop screen, he cracked up, shaking his head.

“Okay, no. You’re not going to win me over just by making yourself look like a complete idiot. But, I’m willing to Rock Paper Scissors you for it.”

It was a bit silly that two grown men settled almost every dispute that life handed to them with a children’s game, but it had worked for them all these years, so Phil was more than willing to agree to those terms. Besides, he had rather good luck when it came to predicting Dan’s moves.

Five minutes later, he watched with smug satisfaction as his friend grumbled to himself whilst puttering around the flat, collecting the necessities for a trip into the horrid, cold wilderness that made up the journey to Tesco’s. Dan jammed a hat onto his head, then turned to stare at Phil with a look of pure loathing. Phil just grinned up at him, tongue poking out between his teeth.

“I hate you.” Dan commented, although the words lacked any real venom. “This is literally the last time I’m ever letting you pull the ‘All or Nothing’ card.”

“I hate you too.” Phil replied affectionately, before settling back against the sofa to carry on with his perusal of twitter. “Don’t forget the Crunchy Nut.”

Dan rolled his eyes and headed on his way, calling back at Phil as he headed to the stairs.

“Yeah, I’ll remember it, and I’ll remember to hide it when I get back so I’ll actually have a bowl of it for once, you living hoover.” He punctuated this statement by slamming the door behind him.

This would prove to be the last time Phil saw Dan alive.

***

28 January, 2021

Phil was glad that he had already been sitting down when he’d answered the phone, because he was pretty sure his legs wouldn’t have held him up for long after that particular bombshell.

It wasn’t as though it was impossible. Everyone that rose from the dead in November of 2017 had died during that year, although Phil had mostly heard of it happening to those that died nearer to the Rising. Dan had died right at the beginning of the year, so technically he made the cut. It wasn’t a possibility that had ever crossed Phil’s mind, though.

He’d said his goodbyes years ago. He’d mourned. He’d even started learning to be happy again when the Rising had come along and turned the entire world upside down. Suddenly, his own grief hadn’t seemed so important anymore. It was still there, and it still hurt, but helping to rebuild an entire society after a horrible event nearly tore it apart really put things in perspective.

He didn’t even know how to cope with this.

“...Phil, are you alright?” Dan’s mum’s voice finally managed to through to his consciousness, and he snapped to attention. He must have been silent for several minutes.

“Yeah, thanks, I just… That’s a lot to take in.” He excused lamely, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes and taking a deep breath. His hand was wet when he pulled it away again. He was crying, apparently. That was interesting. “How, erm… what’s he like?”

“He’s Dan.” She replied, and judging from her voice, she was probably still crying too. “Sarcastic as ever. He keeps making jokes about being dead inside at uncomfortable moments.” She was quiet, yet another length of silence stretched out, before she spoke again, in a quiet voice. “He misses you. He won’t say it, but… this isn’t his home anymore. I know it’s a lot to ask, and I know you have a whole life you must be trying to get back to, but-”

“I’ll make sure his room’s set up.” Phil found himself responding before he even consciously made the decision. “I never packed anything away, really, but I’m sure most of his things have gathered a lot of dust, and I don’t know what state the sheets are in, so I might have to pop round to the shop and see if I can find some replacements.”

“Thank you.” The relief was palpable in her voice, and she even gave a shaky laugh. “He would have been so miserable, staying here. You have no idea how pleased he’ll be when I’ve told him.”

Phil didn’t say as much, but he rather thought that he knew exactly how pleased Dan would be, if the enormous grin that had somehow crossed his own face was any indication.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #in the flesh au #angsty but fluffy #death isn't permanent here

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sometimesiwearpants · 7 years

Text

I'm Leaving Tumblr Today 👋

Hey everybody, I just wanted to let you know that this is my last day on Tumblr. I’ve had a lot of fun blogging but I’ve started to neglect what’s really important.

Anyway, as a parting gift, I wanted to give away all the art, fanfiction, and songs that I started but never finished. You can feel free to use ANY of this content or the ideas as you please. For example, it’s fine with me if you want to record my songs, steal lines from my fics, or use my art ideas. I’m not actually deactivating my account, so you’ll still be able to see content in this post and all my other posts even after I log out indefinitely.

Thank-you so much for your follows and your friendship! I hope my blog brought you some enjoyment while it lasted. Love you guys ❤

SONGS:

(Lyrics are in the Sound Cloud descriptions.)

Never Feed a Stray - Click Here to listen in Sound Cloud

A song about Marinette reluctantly falling for Chat Noir.

I Will Stay - Click Here to listen in Sound Cloud

A duet between the oblivious love birds, Adrien and Marinette.

ART:

(If you have ArtRage and want the .ptg file let me know!)

Mattress Surfing Comic

Basically the mattress surfing scene from Princess Diaries 2 but with Miraculous Ladybug characters. Unfortunately I never got around to drawing the third panel - Gabriel majestically gliding down the stairs on a mattress in his PJs (I added versions of the panels without words under the cut.)

Seven Eleven

So what if Seven from Mystic Messenger and Eleven from Stranger Things went to 7-Eleven? I feel like they’d talk about their crappy childhoods and bond over Slurpees and Honey Buddha Chips. Clearly I didn’t get very far with this one but I still like the idea. (Version with just Eleven under the cut.)

(Other versions of my art and unfinished fanfiction under the cut)

FANFICTION

Pursuit - In this Miraculous AU, Adrien is the sole miraculous holder and Marinette is a civilian who becomes a self-imposed vigilante. The love square and their personalities are sort of flipped so Adrien is a socially awkward mess around Marinette and Ladybug is flirty with Chat Noir.

(I didn’t even finish writing the first chapter…)

She should have stayed inside. The rain was falling harder now, bringing with it a frigid sensation that washed over Marinette’s paralyzed body. The glowing pause symbol hovered before her, a taunting reminder of the menacing evil that had overcome her best friend. But that had been hours ago.

“It’s been too long,” Marinette kept thinking. “Something’s wrong.”

She was beginning to fear the worst when suddenly a familiar wave of green light shot through the sky, one of its rays swimming through the air in her direction. As it surrounded her, the pause symbol disappeared, releasing its death grip on her muscles. Marinette fell to her hands and knees on the wet pavement, her body shaking violently as it fought to regain heat.

“He did it.” She realized in relief. “Chat Noir did it.”

She trudged through the storm, each unavoidable puddle soaking through her shoes and biting at her toes. The only warmth provided her was a burning envy for those who passed by with umbrellas. She waited at a street corner, trying to avoid the waves of water that shot towards her as cars sped by. When the crosswalk signal finally turned green, Marinette stepped onto the slick street, distracted by thoughts of home.

What she would give right now to be inside and safe and warm and dry and wrapped in her parents’ arms. Unfortunately, the latter would not be possible until tomorrow, as they were both in Strasbourg for the annual Festival de la Boulangerie. Maybe she could spend the night with Alya. She would probably appreciate the company after what happened today… Through her thoughts and the tumult of rain around her, Marinette suddenly heard a desperate screech of tires and a blaring car horn. Still in the street, she froze as her eyes caught sight of a black vehicle hydroplaning in her direction.

There’s no time.

A powerful force slammed into the Parisian girl’s body, catapulting her through the air and onto the pavement. But it wasn’t the car.

“Are you okay?”

Marinette could feel a pair of arms releasing her. She looked up, relatively unharmed, to see a pair of glowing green eyes staring at her from beneath a black mask. She was speechless. Chat Noir gently pulled her to her feet as a small crowd gathered round. The people applauded and cheered, some shielding their phones from the rain as they recorded the moment, but the hero paid them no mind. His gaze was transfixed on Marinette in concern. Her face was pale with shock, her skin freezing cold, and her unsteady legs looked like they might give out at any second.“We need to get you home.” He placed an arm around her back and scooped her up, vaulting effortlessly from the ground to the roof of a car. Marinette gasped as they rebounded off an awning and landed on the roof, where the wind was strong and numbing. The hero looked around, then set her down beneath an eave which blocked the rain.

“Where do you live?”

Poor Marinette’s brain still hadn’t quite registered that Chat Noir, savior of Paris, was kneeling right there in front of her. Surely, she was hallucinating from hypothermia. He tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder and immediately the electricity jump-started her senses. “Oh! Uh, t-t-twelve Rue G-gotlib!” Marinette practically winced at how screwed up her speech was. A raspy voice and chattering teeth were hardly attractive. But Chat just smiled.

“So you do talk after all.” A soft laugh escaped her lips. For some reason she had imagined Chat Noir would be dark and brooding, not… charming. “What’s your name?” he asked curiously. A flicker of warmth ignited in her chest. “Marinette.”

…

Chat Noir already knew Marinette’s name. He even knew where she lived. He visited her family’s bakery practically every week just on the off chance that he might see her outside of school. But that was without the mask, when he was just… Adrien. Despite the way he was pictured in most magazines and ad campaigns, the model was far from suave in everyday life. A practically friendless childhood left him with crippling social anxiety around those his age.

As a result, his first few days at Collège Françoise Dupont, a little over a month ago, were a nightmare. He accidentally introduced himself as “Adrigen Areste" in front of the whole class and found himself tripping over things on a frequent basis. The excitement of having a “famous model” for a classmate quickly dissipated. His deskmate, Nino Lahiffe, seemed sympathetic but struggled to maintain conversation with the new student. Adrien was accustomed to a professional and practical form of dialogue so when the Moroccan said, “Dude, have you heard the new Jagged Stone album? It’s totally lit!” …he was lost for words.

Then there was Marinette. On his second day, Adrien caught her hanging flyers all over the school hallways. They featured one of his more recent model shots, defaced with a uni-brow and captioned “Adrigen Areste”. There were hundreds of them. It wasn’t until after school that he found out they were really Chloe’s doing.

“I was only trying to take them down.” Adrien looked past his locker door to see Marinette standing a little ways off, her face a mixture of guilt and compassion. “I know what it feels like to be the new kid and… well, I’m sorry we haven’t been very welcoming.” She reached into her pocket. “Here.” Marinette held out a colorful beaded bracelet. “This is my lucky charm. My mother gave it to me when I first came here and I thought… it might help you.” Adrien was shocked and completely overcome with gratitude. He accepted the gift and admired the bracelet in his hands as if it were a priceless treasure. He looked back at her sheepishly.

“Thank-you…uh-” he faltered.

“Marinette.” It was such a beautiful name. Almost as beautiful as Marinette, herself. Of course, Adrien didn’t have the courage to tell her that at the time. But now… on the roof and under the mask, he had a second chance. When she introduced herself to Chat Noir, he smiled affectionately.

“That’s a pretty name.”

Cataclysm - Chat ends up confessing his feelings to Ladybug in this unfinished first chapter. I imagined him getting akumatized (into “Cataclysm”, not Chat Blanc lol) after being rejected by her and vowing to destroy the one who stole her heart. When he finds out it was actually his civilian self… well, I don’t know. I didn’t really plan out this plot, but I hope you enjoy!

It was a quiet night. Ladybug and Chat Noir strolled along the rooftops of Paris, planning in tandem as they patrolled the city.

“All the akumas have been striking within the same 5 kilometer radius,” Ladybug said. “If we can just figure out where they’re coming from, we can find Hawk Moth and stop him.”

“You know,” Chat added, “we might not be able to survey the whole city on our own, but-” he tossed his baton up between two adjacent chimneys. “-we do have quite the fan following. Maybe they could help?” He sprang up on the stick and began walking it back and forth like a tight rope. Ladybug paced beneath him.

“That’s not a bad idea. We should talk to Aly- uh that Ladyblog girl. If we can rally enough Parisians to report butterfly sightings on her website, we might be able to narrow down our search area.”

As Ladybug strategized, her nose scrunched up in a way Chat Noir couldn’t help but find adorable. He crouched down, smiling at his smart little bug as he gripped the pole with his claws. “Hawk Moth will be de-miracularized and behind bars in no time.”

Ladybug smiled back at Chat, but a thought caught at her mind. She swung her yoyo around the pole, fashioning it into a swing, and sat with her eyes fixed on the horizon.

Chat swung forward so that he hung upside down beside her and asked with concern, “What’s wrong?” He elbowed her playfully, hoping a joke might bring back that elusive smile. “Cat got your tongue?” But there was no smile, no laugh… not even an eye roll.

“No, I was just thinking…” Ladybug looked down at her yoyo. ”What will we do after he’s defeated?”

Chat dropped to the ground and stood up. “What do you mean?”

“When Hawk Moth is gone, there’ll be no more akumas to capture.” Her foot brushed back and forth against the ground anxiously. “Paris won’t really need us anymore.”

Chat had never considered this.

The thought of losing his newfound freedom was unnerving. The thought of losing Ladybug was even worse. Even if Paris didn’t need her, he did.

“Hey-” Chat lifted her chin gently, “Forget Paris. I happen to remember a certain set of hieroglyphics that prove the world has needed Ladybug for thousands of years.”

Ladybug raised an eyebrow curiously. “The world?”

“Yeah, doesn’t that sound great?” Chat squeezed himself next to Ladybug on the yoyo swing and wrapped an arm around her, much to her chagrin. “You and me: travelling the globe, defeating evil-” the corners of his mouth crept upward as if to warn Ladybug that he was about to say something cheeky, so she interrupted.

“You and me, huh?” She stood up and released her yoyo so that Chat fell on his tail. “And what if I decide to go solo, hmm?” She said with a hint of sass.

Chat was undeterred. “Then I’ll become a villain just so I can see you again.”

“Gag,” thought Ladybug, rolling her eyes. She could understand playful flirting, but Chat’s incessant romantic flattery was starting to bother her. Maybe she wouldn’t mind it as much if she thought it were genuine, but his coquettish behavior towards her civilian alter ego had proven otherwise. She took the banter a bit farther with a flair of dramatic indifference. “Eh, I think I’ll save my energy for bigger threats…”

Chat hopped up feistily and crossed his arms. “Okay, Spots, let’s go then! Right here, right now.”

Ladybug raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking right?”

“Not at all.” He held up his fists. “I’m one hundred purrr-cent serious.”

She considered the opportunity. “Alright then, but if I win, no more puns for the rest of the month.”

He pouted. “Harsh, but I’ll accept it. If I win, though, you have to laugh at my puns for the rest of the month.”

“Good thing I know I how to act,” Ladybug said. “Not that I’ll need to.”

“Because I’m hilarious?” Chat smiled.

She took her fighting stance, “Because I’m going to win!”

Ladybug charged forward, swinging her yoyo in Chat Noir’s direction. He dodged it by ducking swiftly, but then again, Ladybug hadn’t been aiming for him. As the yoyo wrapped around his silver baton, she tugged it forcefully, bringing both back in her direction. Chat swiped towards the gadget as it flew over his head but missed by a few inches. His partner waved it teasingly in the air. “You want the stick?” She tossed it off the roof behind her. “Go fetch!”

Chat squinted at her. “Uh…yeah, cat’s don’t do that.”

She shrugged “Suit yourself.”

“Just to be fair though-” Chat pounced towards her, a clawed hand reaching out to bat away the yoyo. Ladybug jolted backwards, leaving her leather-clad opponent once again swiping at nothing but air - and also falling into her. With a tumble she was down, the clumsy cat draped over her. Shoving against the ground, she flipped the two over and pinned Chat by his shoulders. “Give up yet, Kitty?” she smiled.

“Not a cha- ah- ah-” Circumstantially, one of Ladybug’s pigtails had brushed his nose in the tumbling. “CHOO!” Ladybug reeled back to avoid the sneeze, and Chat - rebounding from the reaction - pulled his legs in and kicked her off. “Pardonne-moi, mademoiselle!“

Ladybug leapt to her feet, calculating her next move.

“You’re going to pay for that!”

Chat Noir smirked, calculating his next pun.

“Oh darn, I don’t have any euros on me.”

For another half hour, they chased each other around the city, competitiveness ever growing as they tried to force one another to surrender without causing any significant pain. It was good training, they realized, considering the duo had to do the same with akumatized villains. But this battle seemed like it would never end. The two were so equally matched, so well-balanced, and so familiar that neither seemed able to hold the upper hand for long. That is, until Ladybug bent the rules a little.

“LUCKY CHARM!”

As Ladybug activated her power with a swing of her glowing yoyo, Chat Noir groaned and shouted, “Hey, c’mon! No powers!”

“Sorry, chaton!” she returned as a red and black fabric fell into her hands. “A sheet?” she muttered. “What can I do to him with this?”

Chat’s cheeks burned at the cheeky response that popped into his head. Behave yourself, Agreste! She is a lady!

Ladybug settled for waving the red sheet in a matador fashion “Here, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty! Come and get me!”

“You sure are terri-bull at understanding cats, milady.”

“And you’re terrible at understanding girls, Chat” she thought in response.

She disappeared down the side of the Eiffel Tower. Chat Noir paused before pursuing her, punching a fist into the air as he shouted,

“CATACLYSM!”

(I didn’t write this transition. Oops!)

He fell right into her cat-trap, the corners of the sheet wrapping around him and closing at the top as ladybug’s yoyo tightened around it. Chat kicked and clawed about inside but the material didn’t tear. “Game over, Chat!” Even from within the dark confines of the trap, Chat Noir could guarantee that Ladybug was just below him, hands on her hips and smiling smugly.

“Be careful milady. You just might let the cat out of the bag.”

“Huh?”

(He extends his baton, breaking open the trap, and falls on top of Ladybug. He somehow manages to roll her up in the sheet and is kneeling over her)

“Well, aren’t you snug as a bug in a rug?”

“Fine, you won. Good for you.”

“With that charm, my lady, one day you just might get lucky.”

Ladybug blushed uncomfortably. “Ugh, Chat stop.”

“Why?” He grinned and leaned closer to her face. “Am I bugging you, beautiful?” Something snapped in Ladybug then. By then she had freed one hand and used it to push Chat out of her face. “Seriously, can you quit it?” She squirmed out of the sheet and brushed herself off. “The puns are one thing, but do you have to be so obnoxiously flirty?”

“Woah, woah!” Chat held up his hands defensively, trying to reassure her. “Calm down. I was only-”

“Only what, alley cat?” Once she got started, it was hard for her to stop.

“I…uh…” Chat’s face burned with embarrassment, beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck.

She jabbed a finger at his chest. “Look, Chat. If you want to be an egotistical flirt with other girls, that’s fine by me, but I’m your partner. I’m not some mouse for you to chase, so just stop!”

A wave of dejection fell over his face, and Ladybug realized she’d gone too far.

“Oh. Um… I’m sorry, my la- uh Ladybug.” He rubbed at his arm. “I’ll leave you alone.” He took a few steps back before turning and running off.

Ladybug reached out her arm. “Chat, wait!”

He bounded way without so much as a glance back at her. Ladybug bit her lip anxiously. She had only been trying to stand up for herself - just like Alya taught her - but maybe in the heat of the moment… she had misjudged him. Ladybug pulled out the tracker on her yoyo.

She found Chat sitting on a bench beneath the Eiffel Tower. He was arched forward with his elbows on his knees and head resting on the heel of one hand. When she landed a few yards away from him, his black ears twitched and he closed his eyes with a sigh. Ladybug crept forward, wringing her hands nervously. “Chat? I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’m sorry.” He didn’t respond. Ladybug sat down beside him. “Really, uh- Eiffel Tower-bly about it.”

Chat opened his eyes in surprise and he finally looked over at Ladybug. She smiled apologetically at him and he gave in.

“I’m sorry too. I thought maybe…” he trailed off and shook his head. “Forget it.”

“Chat, please…” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I misjudged you because… I don’t really know you. I need you to talk to me.”

Chat took a quick glance up at her eyes and seemed to find the reassurance he needed. He took a deep breath.

“Well, growing up, I was… pretty isolated. I was home-schooled for most of my life and I always felt this pressure to act and talk a certain way. I had no freedom… and no friends… until the day my miraculous showed up. All of a sudden, I had this freedom to be whoever I wanted to be, but I didn’t really know what to do with it. Like I said… I haven’t had much experience socializing – especially not with… girls – so I’ve been basing a lot of my behavior on… um, anime.”

“That actually explains a lot…”

“It seemed to work for Tamaki-

“Yeah, but Haruhi fell in love with Tamaki despite his flirty and over dramatic nature, not because of it! Was he even paying attention?”

“-so I thought I’d uh… try it on you.”

“Haha, well you clearly chose the wrong guinea pig!”

“What? No, Ladybug, you’re not a guinea pig. I… I love you.”

“Really?” “Chat, I had no idea you felt that way…”

“Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag… you don’t happen to have feelings for me too, do you?

“I uh-”

“And once again, curiosity killed the cat…”

“Chat, I just don’t think it would be a good idea to date when so much is on the line.” She pulled at one her pigtails nervously. “We have responsibilities and-”

“Ladybug, you don’t have to lie on my behalf.”

“I do like you, Chat. Really. I mean, maybe not when you’re imitating cartoon characters, but… beyond that, you’re smart, brave, selfless… you’ve sacrificed your safety for mine on more than one occasion! You’re the best partner I could ask for… but the thing is, I… I’m already in love with somebody else. And who knows if anything will come of it, but-” she bit her lip. “I can’t change the way I feel. I’m sorry, Chat.”

That’s it! Again, feel free to use ANY of this! And if you do, send me a message so I can check it out if I ever come back by Tumblr in the future :) BYE!!!

#miraculous ladybug #mtolacn #wip #free content #bye!#sometimes I say words #sometimes i draw art #sometimes i write stories #mine #my art #my fics #stranger things #mystic messenger

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