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yanagiin · 3 years

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CANCER

cancer- my chemical romance (covered by 21pilots)

relationship: tsukishima kei x reader

synopsis: she had cancer but he was oblivious to the signs. his last words?

warning: angst, illness, death, swearing, cheating

i don’t know the symptoms for cancer and this is my first fic so pls forgive me for any mistakes

“you have cancer.”

it’s been a week. a week shes known she was sick. sitting on her desk, her face buried into her arms, looking off to the side.

“how do i tell him?”

“tell me what?” y/n visibly flinches at the sudden voice of her boyfriend, kei.

“oh nothing!” she says w a fake smile. how is she supposed to tell him. what was she supposed to tell him. that her hair was falling out? that she was potentially dying? he just shakes off her unusual behavior and sits across from her.

“so are you gonna come by practice later?” he asks her.

“ah i can’t I have uhhh” she trails off, “grocery shopping to do for my mom!” truth is she had a doctors appointment, but he didn’t have to know. she didn’t want to be a burden. since when did she do grocery shopping the tall blonde thought.

this suspicious behavior has become a daily thing, he noticed that she would run off right as the last school bell rings. until one day he saw her get in a car with another guy. so that’s why huh?

hey kei wanna go mall later?

sent at 1:47

said boy stares at the text from his girlfriend. he knew she was cheating so why not have some fun right?

sure

y/n arrives at the mall and she sees girls swarming her boyfriend. she pouts, but doesn’t get jealous as she trusts he won’t do such thing. she waits till the girls leave to approach him. tsukishima has a smirk evident on his face.

“where do you wanna go?”

“can we go to the costumes and cosmetics first?” she says with a smile. the morning of she witnesses the hair already falling out faster than she expected. he shrugs and mentally grins to himself as he sees her smile dropping at his blunt response.

“why do you need wigs? need new hair to look pretty?” his words stung her but she hid her expression.

“why don’t you just tell him?” y/n’s brother said standing at the door way.

“i just want to enjoy the rest of my time with him w/out.”

“but-” he was cut off by his sister walking past him and shutting the door.

“want to walk me home?” she asked. he replied with a shrug, heading towards her house. they got to her driveway when he saw the same car. the same car she got in with another guy.

“oh no he’s still here...” she says with fear when she saw that her brother’s car still in the driveway. fear that he might expose her secret. tsukishima looks at her with disgust, but she was to worried to notice. “you can just drop me here i can get to the door fine! bye kei! love you” she says running to her front door.

it’s been a week, more hair has fallen out, she had gotten permission to wear hats and her hoods from the faculties as they knew about her condition. but her boyfriend has surprisingly not noticed but someone did. his best friend, yamaguchi tadashi.

“are you okay y/n-chan?” the freckled boy asked with a worried visage.

“I’m going to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone. not even kei” she trusted the boy as if he was her brother. “I have cancer.”

two months ago, she was diagnosed with cancer. but in the last two weeks, tsukishima became more distant. she became worried and went to his practice after school.

“is kei here?” everyone stared at her as if she has grown a third head. hinata then walks up and says something that made her heart drop.

“oh he just left with his girlfriend, who are you?” of course they didn’t know about her. she never went to his practices, she was too busy with her appointments.

“ah okay. sorry for the interruption!” she bows and takes her leave to look for her boyfriend. but stops when she sees the blonde making out and groping a girl from class 1-5. watching as they touch eachother as if they can’t be disrupted by anything. her eyes filling with tears and anger. she walks up to her boyfriend and punch him square on the jaw.

“ow! WHAT THE FUCK” he shifts his attention to his girlfriend that is shaking her hand to rid the pain. the commotion caused the team to come out of the gym. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOURE DOING YOU SLUT?” he yells at her. she was taken aback. slut? “YEAH DONT THINK I HAVENT SEEN YOU SNEAK AROUND WITH THAT BOY TOY OF YOURS?!”

his insults being cutoff with a slap. the sound resonates through the wind. “FUCK YOU TSUKISHIMA KEI!” with that she runs off to the direction of her house. yamaguchi then steps up.

“ARE YOU FUCKING DUMB?!? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?” punching the blond once again and grabbing his collar to bring his face close.

“IM DUMB?! SHES THE WHORE WHO FUCKING CHEATED!”

“SHES NOT CHEATING! GET IT THROUGH YOUR DAMN SKULL! SHE HAS CANCER, BUT YOURE TO DAMN BLIND TO SEE THE SIGNS! SHE COULDNT GO TO OUR PRACTICES BECAUSE HER APPOINTMENTS. DID YOU EVEN NOTICE HER HAIR FALLING OUT? SHE STARTED WEARING HATS AND WIGS BECAUSE YOU CALLED HER UGLY FOR BUYING WIGS! BUT NO. YOU DIDNT NOTICE BECAUSE YOU WERE THE ONE WHO WAS BUSY FUCKING OTHER GIRLS TO NOTICE.”

by this point, the rest of the boys are pulling them apart.

“w-what?” the blond was appalled. she had cancer? the wigs, the hats, coughs and hacks. it made sense now. “b-bu-but who was that guy she rides with?”

“her fucking brother who came back from the states to see her!” yamaguchi shakes the boys off him and starts walking away.

tsukishima starts sprinting to the direction of her house. why didn’t she tell him? how would he have known if she didn’t tell him?

he comes to a stop, when he sees an ambulance drive off from her house. the tall boy knocks on the door to see her mom open the door. “where’s y/n?” her mother starts crying. and he knew.

“let’s go to the hospital” he looks to see y/n’s brother heading down stairs with a coat. the blond nods and gets in the car with the h/c hair male.

“she didn’t want to tell you yanno? she wanted to enjoy the time she had left with you.” the car ride was silent. when they got to the hospital, the two men quickly jumps out and heads to the front desk. as they entered they saw her fragile figure barely holding on. her lips are chapped. her color is fading fast.

it’s been hours when they’ve arrived, she still hasn’t woken up. tsukishima looks at the time and realizes visiting hours are almost over.

“I’ll be back, okay?” leaning over to give her forehead a peck and exits out the door.

but he never went back, he couldn’t stand the view of seeing her so delicate, so pale, so tired. it’s been weeks since he has last seen her. but he remembered that all she wanted was to spend time with him.

putting on his shoes he gets up and heads to the hospital. he arrives at the front desk and requests to visit y/n. he was met with the most dreaded words he never knew he would ever be met with.

“im sorry sir, but it says that she didn’t make it” the lady at the front said.

the day of the rosary came, he didn’t want to face the fact that she was actually gone. tsukishima enters her house and passes the strawberry shortcake he has brought to her mother. in the middle of the rosary he walks up to y/n’s room.

her room was decorated with anime posters and many plants. there was a cork board on the wall, photos of all their dates and her friends. on her desk was a framed selfie of their trip to tokyo. tsukishima resting his chin on her shoulder pouting while she holds up a peace sign with a big smile on her face. next to the picture we’re two dinosaurs. one is a brachiosaurus and the other is a triceratops. she would always say that the two toys were them and always kept the two together.

he picks up the framed picture and takes out the picture. he wanted to remember her. as he was taking out the photo a note slips out. he glances down at the note and read aloud,

“hi kei bae!! if you’re reading this you wanted to keep the photo right? anyways im writing this just in case anything happens to me. oh yeah i have cancer! ta da!! yeah yeah it’s not a good thing but hey, I wanted to spend all my time with you. so pls grab the picture with this and the box under my bed. there should be more photos for you. well i guess this is it. sayonara kei. ♡

-love y/n

he grabs the box under her bed to see all the photos she has take throughout their relationship. what broke him the most was a dinosaur post-it note on the bottom. it read “i love you my dino boy<3”

he never got to say goodbye, he was scared for the closure. he wanted her warmth, her soft lips against his, her angelic laughs, his shoulder to lean on. she was always there for him. his last words to her was not “i love you” or “see you later” he just wanted to hold her in his arms one last time. holding the pictures in his arms, crying his eyes out.

“sayonara y/n♡”

#tsukishima x reader #haikyu x y/n #haikyu x reader #tsukishima kei #hq angst #angst #Spotify

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slashscowboyboots · 3 years

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The Blackboard Jungle: Amarillo by Morning (Part 2)

Part 1

I think I can get all of this out by Christmas (if my Internet doesn’t take a shit like it has the last two days). Thank you for your great feedback

Tag list @izzysdenimjacket @no-stone-no-bone @sexcoffeeandrockandroll @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands @smokeandmirrorz @sodalitefully @roger-taylors-car @harley-m-rose @whisperess33 @shawolat @80snikki @rumoured-whispers

Warnings: asshole alert, more stuff coming out of the kids, fanfic smut. All credit to the songwriters and I hope Ian Ziering is having a good time wherever he is

“Is tonight the night?” you wondered, glancing at your hair and smoothing your dress in the mirror. You were getting ready to go out on a date tonight, possibly with your soulmate. Someone named Ian Ziering.

No, not the actor. He was actually a friend of yours, since you’d contacted him on Facebook, dming him a photo of your arm and asking if he had a tattoo of your name. He sent back a picture of “Hortensia” boldly inked between his shoulder blades and the two of you commiserated for hours.

Eventually, though, love struck. Ian invited you to be his guest at his latest “Sharknado” premiere, and you ended up seated next to a stunningly pretty actress carrying a flask in her purse, and as the two of you imbibed, she spilled the tea on everyone in Hollywood, delicious and hot and fresh.

More than a little drunk, you asked her what her soulmate mark was, and she pulled her dress up her thigh to reveal the initials “I. A. Z.,” which made you collapse into stupefied giggles.

“Heeeeyyyy, Sia,” you slurred, snickering loud enough people turned around and stared, “heeeeyy, you gotta meet my friend.”

Ian had Facetimed you, saying that someone had reached out to him saying that he had the same name as him, although he wasn’t a member of Ian’s family. When he realized this Ian only lived an hour from you, he immediately got in touch.

“Maybe he’s the one,” he said, hope visible in his icy blue eyes. “Do you want me to set you up with him?”

“Sure,” you replied. It was completely pointless to carry a torch for Jeff Isbell, his initials didn’t match up with your marking, although he was completely under your skin. He’d bought you two cases of paste, as well as a sour cherry scone from the bakery across from the school, and because his room was next to yours, you frequently consolidated your classes, often with eye-opening results.

“Miss Teacher,�� one of his students said, and you bent down to her. “I gotta birfmark.” She removed her shoe, then yanked her sock off and held out her right foot, proudly displaying the TAD decorating the top of it.

“Oh, you said, squatting next to her, “T. A. D.”

She drew her head back, her tiny face creasing in disgust at your horrifying ignorance. “No, that’s Tad, Miss Teacher. I can read, you know.”

You were immediately apologetic. “Oh, yes, of course, um-?”

“Mari,” Jeff gently provided.

“Did you call me?” one of your pupils asked, and you looked into Tad Wilson’s huge brown eyes.

“Uh, no, honey, I didn’t,” and before you could say anything else, Mari lunged her still naked foot at him.

“I got your name on my foot,” she said. “It’s a birfmark. You got one?”

Tad blinked at her, then yanked up his shirt. Over his heart was a small but intricate swallowtail butterfly.

Jeff gasped. “It-no, it can’t be. That’s unbelievable.”

You looked at him, his face visibly paler and his eyes enormous. “What’s unbelievable?”

“Her name-her name is Mariposa.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

“That’s me,” Mari giggled, touching the butterfly and making Tad blush. “Can I hug you?”

He pulled his shirt down and held out his arms. “Sure.” They pulled each other into a sweet embrace, and Jeff sat down at his desk and rubbed his hands against his face.

“That would’ve made my life easier,” he muttered.

You watched the two kids giggle and twirl each other around, your heart aching at how adorable and lucky they were, and asked, “You haven’t met your soulmate yet, Mr. Isbell?”

“No, and I probably never will.”

“Why?” you asked, curious.

He looked up at you, and his eyes were so tired, you could have cried for him. “It’s not a picture, or initials, or even a name. At least I don’t think it’s a name.” He dug a palm into his left eye, then sighed. “Uh, have you found yours?”

“No,” you said quietly.

“What did you end up with?”

“Uh, initials. They aren’t common.” You looked away, feeling a lump aching in your throat. “I-I have a date tonight, though.”

Jeff jerked his head up, then set his mouth in a thin line. “Hey, that’s great. Good luck.”

He’s not who I want, though, you thought, and before you could say that out loud, Tad threw Mari on the ground and ran to you.

“OW!” she howled, holding her head. “Mr. Isbell, he hurt me!”

“Miss Teacher,” Tad gasped, holding his rear, “I need to poop!”

“Go, go!” you said, escorting him to the toilet in the back of the room. When he shut the door, you gave the thumbs up to Jeff, who nodded, his eyes still heartbreakingly sad.

You’d agreed to meet Ian at an upscale restaurant halfway between your locations, and when you arrived at Sur La Table, he was nowhere to be found.

“Reservation for Ziering,” you said to the hostess, and she guided you back to a private table.

After you were seated, you checked your phone to see if he’d sent you any texts saying he’d be late. He hadn’t.

He was attractive, not as Jeff but not bad, you thought, scrolling through your very limited correspondences and sighing as you thought, Maybe this is what’s meant to be. You took another drink of water, and another, and after three glasses of it you were ready to leave when he flopped down in front of you.

“Hey, babe,” he said, throwing you a wink and aiming finger guns at you.

“Um, hello, Ian,” you said politely, noticing a lack of apology for his lateness. “Did you get held up at work?”

He took a long drink of water, then snapped his fingers at your server. “I need a beer, toots, like now,” he said to her. “Chop chop.” He rolled his eyes. “Stupid college kids. No, I found this new filter on Snapchat and I was really feeling it, y’know. Sent it to a couple of my honeys.”

“Did you now?” you asked, ice creeping into your voice.

He threw his arm over the back of his chair. “Yeah, I mean, my hair looked good today, so why waste it?”

On what? you thought irritably, as your server sat his beer down.

Ian grabbed her arm. “I’d like the filet, well done. You got ketchup here?” he asked, and you bit back a wince at what he planned on doing to such a nice cut of steak. He handed the menu back to her, then snatched yours out of your hands. “She’ll have salad, no croutons, no dressing.”

“I beg your pardon?” you snapped.

“Can”t have you porking up if you’re my soulmate. I need you to eat quick, too, hun, I gotta ‘Stop the Steal’ meeting starting in 20 minutes. My man Trump was robbed.”

You stood up so fast, your chair nearly tipped over behind you. “I think I’m done here,” you announced, throwing an arm in your jacket.

“Un uh, I ain’t getting stuck with the bill!” he hissed, standing up as well. “You make all the money, you’re supposed to pay for this.”

Although it pained you to remain in his presence, you had to ask, “Ian, just what exactly was your soulmate tattoo?”

Heart pounding and terrified you’d find your own initials, you watched him pull his shirt sleeve up and reveal a cat on his inner forearm. “It’s pussy,” he smirked. “I get all the snatch I want.”

“Good luck with that,” you said, already heading towards the door. Before you left, you stopped your server and handed her two 20 dollar bills. “Please cancel our order. And I’m sorry he was such a prick.”

“No shit?” Ian asked, his mouth hanging open as he held his phone.

“What an asshole,” Sia said. “Did you hit him in the balls?”

“Now, love,” Ian said, shaking his head, “violence is never the answer.”

She shrugged, flicking her dark hair back. “I guess you’re right. So did you key his car?”

“No, Sia,” you sighed. “I think I’m going to take a hot bath and try to forget today.”

“That sounds good Sis,” she replied. “I think I’m going to flood his email with VD and ED ads. Goodnight, honey.”

“I love this woman,” Ian said, grinning as he pecked her on the cheek. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Mmm, Blaze, that was incredible.”

“You were like a tornado. I’ve never been with a woman who had so much passion. You nearly made me pass out.” Blaze’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “That was like angry sex. Are you mad at me?”

You chuckled. “No, my handsome cowboy. I’ll never be mad at you. I-” you wanted to tell Blaze you loved him, that you hadn’t thought about anyone but him since you first laid eyes on him at the faculty meeting rodeo.

But Blaze was heading to Amarillo in the morning, up from your San Antone home. He’d only be wearing everything he owned, and your heart ached to watch him leave. It was heartbreaking that love wasn’t enough to keep the two of you together, that an unseen hand controlling the universe opted to keep the two of you apart.

He turned over, his large hand caressing your face, his greenish eyes questioning. “I what, baby?”

You threw the covers off of you and trotted over to your gun safe. “I want to target practice.”

After lining up a row of cantaloupes and pumpkins, you neatly dispatched them one by one, thinking about jerks, feeling the bullets leaving the chamber with a scream and watching the fruit blow apart with a happy thrill.

“Well, that was terrifying,” Blaze drawled in his midwestern twang.

You opened the pistol, barrel still smoking, and said, “Little sister don’t miss when she aims her gun.”

#izzy stradlin x reader #izzy stradlin fanfiction #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses fanfic

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closetcasefabray · 5 years

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Don’t Make Me Spell It Out For You, Part 2/6

clarke kind of hates her neighbor because lexa hates fun or something. aka & they were neighbors

thanks for the reblogs & likes xox

2. can’t be explained, but i can try for you

A little over a week passes and no knocking, but you also maybe have been talking about how annoying it is to walk on eggshells in your own apartment, and maybe you raise your voice a little when saying it in the living room, which means Lexa may or may not be able to hear on the other side of the shared wall. You think you and/or Raven might have scared Lexa away, but you’re leaving work when you get a text from Raven:

this is fucking war.

On your walk to the L train, Raven explains that Lexa came knocking again but this time there wasn’t a Mets game, a house exploding, or Janelle Monae. Her ex had been over, and they were watching TV “as friends, trust me,” Raven adds.

Once you get home, Raven is no longer fuming but at a mild simmer. “I literally just told her to go away through the door,” Raven confesses with a shrug. “I also loudly said to Finn, ‘If we can’t watch TV, we can just have loud sex.’ I didn’t. Don’t give me that look.”

“I know. You know I just think Finn has the personality of a beige flip-flop,” you say with a smirk.

Raven opens her mouth to argue, then just shrugs. “You’re not wrong.”

Shop signs, street lights, and 24-hour bodegas blur into a neon glow as your cab drives you up First Avenue. You see some street art and rushed tags people have used to mark up buildings in the neighborhood. You remember that you haven’t painted in over two weeks, and you sigh as you drunkenly text Raven asking if there’s food in the apartment. Of course there isn’t because you hardly cook and if you haven’t been making time to paint, you certainly haven’t made time to cook.

You’re closing one eye to read Raven’s texts, your vision swimming, when the driver pulls over to pick up the next passenger of your shared ride.

The door opens and you hear a familiar voice ask, “Hi, pick up for Alexandria?”

You watch as she slides into the other side of the cab, a large backpack and a couple books in her arms.

“Oh,” Lexa says, schooling her face to hide her initial surprise, “hey.”

“Hey,” you say, laughing internally at the chances. You had seen your shared ride was on its way to pick up Alexandria, so here you are, sitting a car width’s length away from the Enemy of Fun. “Late night out?” you ask, taking in her black dress and heels, her hair down in well-controlled waves, no glasses for her to push up her nose.

“Hardly,” Lexa says with a breathy, ghost of a laugh. “Classes, meeting with my advisor, then a panel discussion followed by a dinner with faculty followed by drinks with classmates.”

“You know how to get wild,” you say sarcastically.

“We can’t all party three times per week.”

You snort at the assumption. “We can’t all go to UMD or Columbia.”

“My cousin went to UMD, not me,” Lexa clarifies.

You smirk, knowing she had intended to be contrary but further providing ammunition. “Right. You’re a double Ivy-type. Let me guess, you went to Harvard for undergrad?” You detect a hint of a blush. You let out a victorious kind of laugh. “Am I right?”

“Yale,” she admits.

You chuckle and let yourself feel smug. “Do you really think those are parties we’re having?”

Lexa just shrugs.

“We can be loud sometimes,” you say, shrugging back. “Raven works for Arkadia Tech’s New York headquarters, specifically in their mechanical engineering department. I wait tables, make art sometimes… not enough. We both work a lot, so when we see each other, we like to hang out,” you let your head loll to the side and smirk at her, adding, “If we’re ever having an actual party, you’ll know the difference. Consider this an invite.”

Lexa opens her mouth to respond, probably a witty form of a “no,” when the cab driver slams on his brakes. You’re not wearing a seatbelt, so you’re jolted forward in your seat but feel yourself held in place by a strong arm across your front.

The cab driver curses, gives the stopped car in front of him a brief honk, then switches lanes and carries on. You sit back in your seat as Lexa pulls her arm back and buckles her seatbelt.

You feel a small laugh bubble out of you and say, “Did you just Mom Arm me?”

Lexa flushes again and it makes you angry how she still somehow glows in the darkness of the cab, the streetlights providing flashes of her expression for you to watch like an old film. “Instinct. You weren’t wearing a seatbelt.”

“You weren’t either!”

A little quirk of the lips hints at a smile as she shakes her head. “Instinct,” she repeats.

The inside of the cab goes silent aside from the occasional notification from the driver’s GPS.

You arrive at your apartment building and both get out of the cab. You’re digging through your bag for your keys when you see Lexa holding the front door open for you. You trudge up the steps behind her to the second floor, finding your apartment keys in the process.

“Thanks for the Mom Arm,” you say as you walk past Lexa opening her apartment door.

“Next time, wear a seatbelt,” Lexa says with another barely-there smile before disappearing into her apartment.

“You weren’t wearing one either!” you say loud enough for her to hear through her door.

You swear you hear a breathy laugh on the other side, but ultimately decide you don’t care whether or not you made Alexandria Woods laugh.

“But that’s the thing,” you whine, the words feeling strange in your mouth as you look Bellamy in the eye very seriously, “I want to be an artist who waits tables sometimes. Not a waiter who paints sometimes. Y’know?” You pick up your beer sitting beside you on the floor—it’s a thing that happens when you drink; you want to sit and the floor is… there.

“You are an artist, Clarke,” Bellamy says very sincerely, giving you’re a small, encouraging smile.

You remember when you used to have a crush on him your first year of university. You liked his shaggy hair falling in his eyes, his big smiles, his obsession with random topics for a designated month, and, on a very shallow level, his incredible body. Octavia heavily threatened the both of you because “it would be gross.” That didn’t stop you from kissing him on the highest set of bleachers above your university’s empty football field after drinking beer and talking for hours about art and philosophy and things you found romantic at eighteen. You even went on a couple of dates, kissed a few more times, but ultimately decided to just be friends. Other than Raven and Octavia, Bellamy was one of the first people you came out to. He hugged you and opened a bottle of cheap wine, and you both smoked a joint lying on his bedroom floor listening to Joan Jett. He introduced you to Niylah a year later, one of the few girls who played on the intramural Frisbee team.

“No, Bellamy. I am a fraud,” you say, swatting him with each word.

He’s unaffected by your method of communication and sighs.

“Is Clarke having an existential crisis on the kitchen floor again?” Octavia asks, tossing an empty beer bottle into the recycling.

You let yourself fall back to fully lie on the floor, the room spinning.

“Nothing full-blown,” Bellamy replies, “Also she ate half of one of those brownies Jasper and Monty made.”

“They should just move to Colorado,” you say as you watch the small water spot on the ceiling swirl around. “No, fuck that, New York just needs to legalize it.”

“Word,” Octavia agrees.

“And fucking release anyone in prison on stupid drug charges,” you say, raising your hand and pointing to make a point or something.

“We can talk more about this when you’re not lying on the floor. Also, I want another beer,” Octavia says, stepping over you.

Bellamy takes your feet and pulls, sliding you a short distance across the floor of the kitchen and out of the way of the refrigerator door.

You force yourself to sit up when “Juice” starts playing out the stereo and Miller turns it up. There are over a dozen people in your small apartment for Raven’s birthday, and everyone starts singing along and dancing. Bellamy pulls you up from the floor and you both join the dance party.

“Lexa’s gonna be so mad,” you say to Raven over the music.

“It’s my birthday, Clarke,” Raven says, pointing her finger in your face. “I’m working on my juice. I don’t fucking care about our jerk of a neighbor,” she continues, spinning around and grinding up against you.

People start shouting song requests, and Miller cues up a playlist. Raven hasn’t stopped dancing beside you, but you both stop and look at each other when you hear the knock at the door. Fearing for Lexa’s safety and not wanting to lose your roommate for attempted murder charges, you race Raven the few steps to the door. Raven, drunker than you but somehow more coordinated, gets there first and swings open the door.

“It’s her birthday,” you say over Raven’s shoulder, closing the door enough so only you and Raven are visible. You can’t see Raven’s face but you’re sure it’s a glare.

“It’s also midterms,” Lexa adds.

Raven takes a deep breath, as if preparing for a lengthy, snarky reply, but you interrupt before she can get a word out, “I’m sure you’ve been… studying? Writing? Researching? Working? Working. A lot. But remember that invite?”

Raven openly gawks at you as she walks away. You’ll have to explain that one later.

“I’m not dressed for the occasion,” Lexa says, gesturing to her leggings and Yale tank-top.

The apartment door opens again, and Raven appears, shoving an unopened can of beer in Lexa’s hand. “You’re drinking with us. Welcome to the party.”

“Um, I really need to go—”

“I’m not done celebrating my birthday,” Raven says, cracking open the can of beer in Lexa’s hand. “So you can either go back into your apartment and be pissed off about it, or you can have a damn beer with us and take a break from… whatever it is you study incessantly.”

You offer Lexa a reassuring smile, and you swear she returns it briefly before taking a sip of the beer. “I’ll have one drink,” she says with a small shrug, stepping into your apartment.

You look at it from her perspective and it’s laughably a hot mess. Everyone who’s there has been celebrating for hours, involving multiple kinds of alcohol and a good amount of pot. Monty is pretty much asleep on your couch, O and Lincoln are making out because they act like they’re sixteen whenever they get drunk together, and Bellamy and Miller are having a pushup contest with the rest of the group judging.

“So, uh, these are my friends,” you say, gesturing toward the moderate mayhem.

Raven is dancing again, fresh beer in hand, and Miller tickles Bellamy’s armpit so his arm gives out mid-push-up. The group calls foul, and since Miller loses the apparent bet, he takes his shirt off and Bellamy takes a Sharpie to his chest and writes, Bellamy Blake is a God amongst men. Then adds a small, badly drawn penis because he also is a sixteen-year-old when he’s drunk sometimes.

You just smile at Lexa and shrug. She hides an amused smile and drinks her beer.

“Hey! I know you!” Lincoln says, having detached his face from Octavia’s to get another drink.

Lexa laughs and you blame the pot for the way your stomach flips. “I know you!” You see her white teeth and those lips form into a stunning smile.

“Lexa comes to my gym,” Lincoln explains. “How are midterms going?”

“I was actually studying earlier,” she says, giving you a teasing look, “but Clarke said I should take a break.”

“You should!” Lincoln says, turning to you and adding, “She didn’t show up for spin one week and I thought something awful happened, but it turns out she’s busy getting a doctorate from Columbia.”

“Yeah, I live next door to a genius apparently,” you say, giving Lexa the same smirk you gave her in the cab.

You know it’s a mistake, but you admit to yourself that you think Lexa looks really cute when she blushes. You blame the pot again.

You feel arms wrap around you from behind and lips press to your cheek. “Hey, sexy,” Niylah says with an eyebrow wiggle, arriving late from work. You both laugh as you push her away with your hand smack in the middle of her face.

“Where’s Raven?” she asks, holding up a plastic bag, “I’m gonna Ice her for old time’s sake.”

You roll your eyes, convinced that your friends all stopped maturing at twenty.

You’re coming out of the bathroom when Niylah grabs you by the hand and pulls you into your empty bedroom. Your laughter is muffled by her lips on yours and you wrap your arms around her and kiss her back.

After Bellamy introduced you to Niylah, you became quick friends and the flirtations only increased as time went on. An uneventful spring break your second year led to constant texting between the two of you, so when you returned to campus, you were set on kissing Niylah by the end of the school year. It only took a week, a little liquid courage, and a rooftop with the purple glow of the Manhattan skyline for you to kiss her.

You dated for four months—you went on little adventures to the zoos and botanical gardens, went to nice restaurants, cuddled on park benches, kissed on more rooftops, did more than kiss in your dorm rooms—and it was a kind of magic you would paint with yellows and gold. It was wonderful and vibrant, but you were nineteen and only beginning to learn the different kinds of love you were capable of.

It all hit you one night in the middle of the summer, packing your things to move into your first apartment. You drove an hour and ended up at Niylah’s doorstep. You broke up with her and, as Niylah puts it, broke her heart just a little. You stayed friends and overcame the expected difficulties of befriending an ex, but Niylah started dating a girl from FIT and you started to date other people. None of it was very serious, and some of it was a little reckless, so a year after graduating, you were both single and bored and drinking in a dimly lit bar when you both agreed kissing each other wouldn’t be a big deal.

Then you started sleeping together; it’s been a thing of convenience for the past year.

“It’s Raven’s birthday,” you manage to say between kisses.

“Hence why we just did a shot together,” Niylah says, tugging at your shirt. “She’s fine.”

“I should check that Lexa’s okay,” you say despite the fact that you raise your arms and let Niylah pull your shirt up over your head.

“She’s still talking with Lincoln.” She unbuttons your jeans and slips her hand between your pants and underwear, making you moan. “It can be quick. We’ve got some time.”

You’re pants are quickly removed and you’re pulling Niylah by her half-removed shirt onto your bed when your bedroom door opens.

“Shit, sorry.”

You freeze and look over Niylah’s bare shoulder to see an embarrassed looking Lexa, turning and closing the door behind her.

“Okay, so not that much time,” Niylah says.

You shoot her a glare as you pull on a baggy shirt and gym shorts nearby and open your door to see Lincoln hugging Lexa goodbye.

“Hey, sorry,” you say, running up to them. “Got enough beer in you to sleep through the rest of this?”

Lexa’s cheeks are still pink, but she manages a smile. “Yeah. Sorry to uh… interrupt. Should’ve knocked.”

“The irony,” you add with a smirk.

“I try to forget what I’ve walked in on,” Lincoln says,

“Shut up, Lincoln, I’ve seen far too much of you and Octavia,” you shoot back.

“Fair point.”

You redirect your attention to Lexa as she pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “But, uh, thanks for coming?”

“Thanks for inviting me.”

She promises Lincoln to get back to spin class once her midterms are wrapped up. You do an awkward wave goodbye and laugh when Lexa wishes Raven a happy birthday and Raven drunkenly hugs her goodnight. You look at Lincoln who’s suspiciously quiet, and he eyes you and raises his eyebrows.

“Shut up.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“I’m gonna go get laid,” you say with a huff, turning around and walking back to your room.

“Good idea. Me too,” he says with a grin before walking over to Octavia, likely to suggest they head home.

You flip him off down the hallway for good measure. You close the door to your room and smile when you find Niylah still in your bed, stripped down to her underwear, reading an art history book and smoking a joint.

“I don’t know what the fuck these people are talking about,” she says, putting the book back down on your nightstand. “You’ll need to translate.”

You straddle her hips, take the joint from between her lips and take a long drag before putting it out in the nearby ashtray. “Later. No talking is necessary right now.”

#nn au #ny neighbors au #clexa au #clexa #clexafic #ccf fic #clexa fanfic #fic: dmm #ccf #ccf fanfiction

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