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dal3ks · 4 years

Text

jealousy

pairing: peter parker x female reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: a little bit of angst, cursing, slight dom aspects, smuuttt, both characters are of age!

a/n: this was a fic i had posted on my main account @a-dorin, but i am in the process of switching over content so that it is a strictly star wars account! just a disclaimer, i am not plagiarizing or stealing content, as this is my fic!

“(y/n), you will be paired with conan for the lab today. i’m sorry that m.j. is not here today. i’m not quite sure where she’s at,” your chemistry teacher stated, glancing at you.

“it’s fine,” you shrugged, your eyes locked on the paper in front of you.

however, it was not entirely fine. conan, the guy your teacher paired you up with, was your old crush. well, not entirely old. you guys talked at the beginning of the semester, when junior year started, and things went well until conan found another girl, emma. he didn’t tell you about her, either. you found out the hard way, noticing how he nudged his way into her social media posts. it was typical boy behavior, but it hurt your feelings nonetheless.

conan slid into the seat next to you, running a hand through his dark hair. he still was extremely attractive in your eyes. he was a lacrosse player, so he was extremely built. he was tall, with latino roots. his olive complexion paired with his green eyes killed you. his shoulder muscles rippled through the dri-fit shirt he was wearing today.

“hey,” conan’s tone was cool, “you ready for this awesome lab today?”

your eyes met his, “it’s probably not as cool as emma.”

“ouch,” conan muttered, “her and i, we didn’t work out, by the way. she found another guy, i guess.”

“oh,” your tone dripped with fake sympathy, “did you find out the way i did?”

“uh no,” you could tell he was uncomfortable, “actually, i pulled up to her house, and there was another car there.”

“i’m sorry,” you felt a flash of real sympathy. although conan was a dick to you, his situation still sucked.

“well,” you drew in a breath, “let’s get started.”

you and conan began the lab, and you began to warm up to him as time went on. by the end of the lab, he had you giggling and flirting back with him. what you didn’t notice, was your best friend, peter parker, glaring over at conan.

“so,” conan began, “you think you could unblock me on snap? i’d love to catch up sometime.”

heat rushed into your cheeks, “like a date?”

conan nodded, “yeah, like a date. i wanna start over with you, if that’s okay. i know i can’t make up for my past actions, but i would at least like to try to resolve things.”

“um,” you stammered, “i just might take up your offer. i’ll talk to you later. i gotta go to lunch.”

you got up from your chair, searching for ned and peter. you guys all sat together at lunch everyday, as you all were a tight knit group. you found them, and trailed behind them slightly. once you guys were all at your table, you could sense the tension. especially from peter. something was up, as both of them were silent.

“is everything okay?” you cleared your throat.

“is flirting with conan okay?” ned’s tone was laced with sass.

“come on,” you huffed, “we were paired together for a lab, that’s all.”

“he broke your heart,” ned scoffed, “we do not go back to toxic boys. i thought we went over this like a million times. i don’t want to hear it young lady.”

“i heard him ask to unblock you,” peter’s voice was eerily quiet, “are you gonna do it?”

“probably,” you were beginning to grow frustrated with the boys. couldn’t they just let the past go?

“wow,” peter muttered, shoving a carrot into some ranch.

“what is the big deal?” you raised a brow, “it’s just as friends.”

“that’s not what his eyes said,” ned rolled his eyes, “c’mon, you can stay the night tonight with peter and i at his place. we’ll supervise you to make sure you don’t add that toxic ass dude back. we just don’t want your feelings to get hurt again, that’s all. conan hurt you really bad last time. we’d just hate to see that happen to you because we’re your best friends. i hope you know where we’re coming from.”

you sighed, realizing that ned was right. typically, people never changed their behavior, but conan seemed sincere. maybe you would unblock him, but not initiate any conversation, “okay, i’ll come over tonight. is there anything you want me to bring?”

ned shook his head, “nah, everything is on me. we’ll just order a pizza or two and watch movies all night.”

******

you entered peter’s apartment, blanket in one hand, snacks in the other. although ned told you not to bring anything, you still felt bad for pissing off the boys. you figured some of their favorite snacks would help clear the air.

it was about midnight when you arrived at the apartment. you had to cover a shift at work, then buy the snacks at a convenient store. so, you were a little later than expected. ned was already knocked out on the couch, but peter was still awake and alert, watching whatever was on the t.v. an empty pizza box was on the coffee table, but you figured there were some leftovers in the fridge.

“hey,” your voice was quiet, as you were careful to not disturb ned, “sorry i’m late.”

“it’s okay,” peter’s eyes brightened when he saw you, “i was getting a little worried.”

“i’m okay,” you giggled, “i didn’t know spider-man got worried.”

peter hopped up from the couch, “hey, can we talk?”

you set your snacks down on the coffee table, slightly alarmed, “um, yeah.”

“we can talk in my room,” peter motioned his head towards his room.

you followed him to his room in the dark, holding onto his shirt. you felt anxiety bundling up in your nerves. what was there to talk about? you thought everything about conan was discussed at lunch. once you were in his room, peter turned on a lamp, illuminating the room with a dim light.

you felt peter’s lip meet yours, kissing you eagerly. he pulled back, “i’m sorry, i probably just fucked everything up between us.”

you shook your head, “i guess i’m just a little shocked.”

the truth was that you were in love with peter. even though you were best friends for years, you had been in love with him since your freshman year. conan was an attempt to move on, as you believed that peter liked m.j. you figured that wasn’t the case anymore.

“is it?” peter’s voice was soft, “i’ve had feelings for you for a very long time. i thought it was obvious.”

“is that why you were jealous when conan was flirting with me today?” you inquired.

“maybe a lot,” he murmured, “i just want to have you to myself. i don’t like sharing.”

you blushed at his words and how smooth they sounded, “well i’m not yours yet.”

“you can be,” peter’s lips brushed against yours.

“make me then,” you stated, surprised at your bold words.

peter began to kiss you hungrily, his fingertips brushing the small of your back. as the kissing became more intense, his hands dipped under the fabric of your hoodie, his hands trailing up and down your back. gently, he lead you to his bed, where you laid down. he got on top of you, careful not to hit his head on the frame of his bunk bed.

“be careful,” you giggled.

“it just forces me to be closer to you,” he smirked.

he kissed down your neck, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses. your fingers laced into his curls, tugging slightly as he began to suck on your collarbone.

“please don’t leave a hickey,” you warned. if your parents saw you come home with it, you’d be dead.

“too late,” he chuckled, “can i take your hoodie off?”

you nodded, and his hands carefully unzipped the hoodie, taking it off of you. his eyes immediately met with your chest, and a hand squeezed one while his mouth met with the other. a moan escaped from your mouth, and his hand covered your mouth.

“we can’t wake up ned, princess,” he ordered, his command in a hushed tone, “just relax and let me make you feel good.”

you felt yourself almost come undone over his words. it was your first time someone made you feel this way. surely this wasn’t peter’s first time with a girl. he was just so confident with everything.

“is this your first time with a guy?” peter’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

you nodded, slightly embarrassed, “yeah.”

he tilted your chin, so that your eyes met his, “don’t be embarrassed. just relax, and let me do all of the work, princess. whenever you want me to stop, tell me. i’ll tell you what to do. and don’t worry about ned, he’s out for a long time. we won’t get caught.”

“okay,” you responded, eager for peter’s next move.

his fingertips traced the waistband of your leggings, “can i take these off?”

“yes,” you answered, sitting up slightly so that he could easily take them off.

his hands trailed down your legs, his eyes hungrily taking everything in, “god, you’re so beautiful.”

gently, his lips brushed against your thighs, and you suppressed a moan. a hand slipped into your thong, his thumb pressing against your clit. once he felt how wet you were, his face reddened slightly. peter began to suck on a breast, his thumb remaining on your clit. his eyes met yours, and you knew you were going to cum soon.

his tongue trailed over your nipple, and he slowly inserted fingers inside of you, “is this okay?”

“yes,” you moaned, “god it feels so good.”

“i told you i want to make you feel good, princess,” he murmured, kissing you gently, “are you going to cum for me soon?”

his fingers picked up their pace, pumping inside and out of you, while his thumb remained on your clit, the pressure intensifying. his mouth left sloppy kisses all over your breasts, his teeth slightly tugging on your nipples.

“peter,” you groaned, “i’m gonna-”

“then do it princess,” he commanded, “cum for me.”

you pressed your lips against his as you came, your thighs trembling. his fingers slowed, and he pulled them out of your thong. you felt embarrassed as your realized how wet everything was now. it was all over his hand, your thong, and on the sheets.

“don’t worry about it,” peter’s tone was gentle, “i loved it. i’ll grab some new sheets, and grab your bag from the den.”

“can we cuddle after we’re done cleaning up?” you figured it was close to one now, and you were exhausted.

“of course,” peter gave you a quick kiss.

he came back moments later with your bag. you got dressed while he changed the sheets. once he was done, he scooped you in his arms, bringing you close to his body.

“i love you,” he pressed his lips on your forehead.

“i love you too,” you kissed him, “and i mean it.”

“good,” peter beamed, “conan is in for a surprise then, huh?”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #spider-man #spider-man x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #spiderman #spiderman homecoming #spiderman x reader #mcu #mcu imagine

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a-dorin · 5 years

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jealousy - peter parker

word count: 1,849

warning: this smut will contain a slight daddy/dom aspect. both characters are of age

also, i suggest listening to no idea by don toliver or got me by roy woods while reading this!

“(y/n), you will be paired with conan for the lab today. i’m sorry that m.j. is not here today. i’m not quite sure where she’s at,” your chemistry teacher stated, glancing at you.

“it’s fine,” you shrugged, your eyes locked on the paper in front of you.

“hey,” conan’s tone was cool, “you ready for this awesome lab today?”

your eyes met his, “it’s probably not as cool as emma.”

“ouch,” conan muttered, “her and i, we didn’t work out, by the way. she found another guy, i guess.”

“oh,” your tone dripped with fake sympathy, “did you find out the way i did?”

“uh no,” you could tell he was uncomfortable, “actually, i pulled up to her house, and there was another car there.”

“i’m sorry,” you felt a flash of real sympathy. although conan was a dick to you, his situation still sucked.

“well,” you drew in a breath, “let’s get started.”

“so,” conan began, “you think you could unblock me on snap? i’d love to catch up sometime.”

heat rushed into your cheeks, “like a date?”

conan nodded, “yeah, like a date. i wanna start over with you, if that’s okay. i know i can’t make up for my past actions, but i would at least like to try to resolve things.”

“um,” you stammered, “i just might take up your offer. i’ll talk to you later. i gotta go to lunch.”

“is everything okay?” you cleared your throat.

“is flirting with conan okay?” ned’s tone was laced with sass.

“come on,” you huffed, “we were paired together for a lab, that’s all.”

“he broke your heart,” ned scoffed, “we do not go back to toxic boys. i thought we went over this like a million times. i don’t want to hear it young lady.”

“i heard him ask to unblock you,” peter’s voice was eerily quiet, “are you gonna do it?”

“probably,” you were beginning to grow frustrated with the boys. couldn’t they just let the past go?

“wow,” peter muttered, shoving a carrot into some ranch.

“what is the big deal?” you raised a brow, “it’s just as friends.”

ned shook his head, “nah, everything is on me. we’ll just order a pizza or two and watch movies all night.”

******

“hey,” your voice was quiet, as you were careful to not disturb ned, “sorry i’m late.”

“it’s okay,” peter’s eyes brightened when he saw you, “i was getting a little worried.”

“i’m okay,” you giggled, “i didn’t know spider-man got worried.”

peter hopped up from the couch, “hey, can we talk?”

you set your snacks down on the coffee table, slightly alarmed, “um, yeah.”

“we can talk in my room,” peter motioned his head towards his room.

you felt peter’s lip meet yours, kissing you eagerly. he pulled back, “i’m sorry, i probably just fucked everything up between us.”

you shook your head, “i guess i’m just a little shocked.”

“is it?” peter’s voice was soft, “i’ve had feelings for you for a very long time. i thought it was obvious.”

“is that why you were jealous when conan was flirting with me today?” you inquired.

“maybe a lot,” he murmured, “i just want to have you to myself. i don’t like sharing.”

you blushed at his words and how smooth they sounded, “well i’m not yours yet.”

“you can be,” peter’s lips brushed against yours.

“make me then,” you stated, surprised at your bold words.

“be careful,” you giggled.

“it just forces me to be closer to you,” he smirked.

he kissed down your neck, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses. your fingers laced into his curls, tugging slightly as he began to suck on your collarbone.

“please don’t leave a hickey,” you warned. if your parents saw you come home with it, you’d be dead.

“too late,” he chuckled, “can i take your hoodie off?”

“we can’t wake up ned, princess,” he ordered, his command in a hushed tone, “just relax and let me make you feel good.”

“is this your first time with a guy?” peter’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

you nodded, slightly embarrassed, “yeah.”

“okay,” you responded, eager for peter’s next move.

his fingertips traced the waistband of your leggings, “can i take these off?”

“yes,” you answered, sitting up slightly so that he could easily take them off.

his hands trailed down your legs, his eyes hungrily taking everything in, “god, you’re so beautiful.”

his tongue trailed over your nipple, and he slowly inserted fingers inside of you, “is this okay?”

“yes,” you moaned, “god it feels so good.”

“i told you i want to make you feel good, princess,” he murmured, kissing you gently, “are you going to cum for me soon?”

“peter,” you groaned, “i’m gonna-”

“then do it princess,” he commanded, “cum for me.”

“don’t worry about it,” peter’s tone was gentle, “i loved it. i’ll grab some new sheets, and grab your bag from the den.”

“can we cuddle after we’re done cleaning up?” you figured it was close to one now, and you were exhausted.

“of course,” peter gave you a quick kiss.

he came back moments later with your bag. you got dressed while he changed the sheets. once he was done, he scooped you in his arms, bringing you close to his body.

“i love you,” he pressed his lips on your forehead.

“i love you too,” you kissed him, “and i mean it.”

“good,” peter beamed, “conan is in for a surprise then, huh?”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #mcu spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman homecoming #spiderman #smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland #peter parker smut #marvel #marvel universe

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honestandsincere · 5 years

Text

when the party’s over pt.2

“But the thing is, he’s like objectively gorgeous. He’s not even hot, he’s beautiful.” “I get it.” “I’ve spoken to like four different girls across campus and all of them think he’s perfect.” “That’s interesting.” “I think I might be in love. That’s not even an exaggeration, it’s- y/n? Are you listening?”

Y/n looks up from her bowl of now soggy cereal and gives her friend a tight-lipped smile, “Sorry, Cass. I am paying attention. Promise.” Cassie tucks a strand of auburn hair behind her pierced ear and crosses her arms against the table, the way she does whenever she feels inclined to stage an intervention, “You’re not, you’ve been infatuated with your cornflakes for the past twenty minutes. You’re not good.” “I’m fine.” “And I’m going to get a first in my degree. Stop lying, y/n! You’ve been a hermit for the past week. Talk to me.”

Y/n sighs and runs a hand through her hair. Cassie is annoyingly astute. It’s a Thursday morning and they’ve got the apartment to themselves. Ethan has an early morning lecture and Grayson is on the other side of town at lacrosse training.

“I don’t know what to say.” she shrugs. “Is it something I’ve done?” Cassie asks, her eyebrows furrowed in deep concern. “Jesus, of course not, Cass!” “Oh thank God!” she laughs in relief, placing her hand over y/n’s that’s cradling her spoon, “The last thing I want to do is fall out with you.” “I know me too.” y/n smiles. “So what’s up?” Y/n grimaces and Cassie notices the way her eyes drift upwards to wander around the kitchen and avoid contact with hers, “I haven’t been sleeping well recently.”

The penny drops for Cassandra Young as she finally puts two and two together. She fights the pleased smirk that dances across her lips. She’s hit the jackpot. Cassie is acutely aware of Grayson’s little habit of accumulating female companions and then sending them home after maybe half an hour of sitting next to each other on his bed. She’d stumbled into a girl who was leaving their apartment as she was walking in, alcohol’s effects wearing off and her eye makeup smeared halfway down her cheeks. This girl, Lauren if Cassie can remember correctly, had explained that Grayson had brought her home but had decided he was too tired for anything more than talking about what football team they each support. Cassie was baffled, to say the least when she’d met Lauren, not expecting to see anyone awake at four thirty in the morning. She was even more taken aback by the concept of Grayson Dolan bringing girls back to their apartment. Cassie is not ignorant or deluded or oblivious, she knows the way Grayson feels about y/n based on what she would deem empirical evidence. This notion of him trying to prove some kind of point makes her want to knock some sense into him. It’s a typical boy thing really, the whole jealousy card.

“Let me guess, it’s because of Gray.” “Well, yeah that’s partly to blame.” y/n flushes, not expecting Cassie to be so observant, “You’ve noticed it too?” “Noticed what?” “The girls, Cass. Every single weekend he’s got someone new in his bed, and not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just wish they weren’t so loud!” she’s getting more worked up by the second and Cassie has to hide her amusement. “Oh my God, you’ve heard them doing it?” she knows full well that there’s no way y/n could’ve heard something that wasn’t actually going on, but Cassie can’t wait until her friend finally admits that this is irritating her. “No! I’ve always fallen asleep by then or I’ve got a podcast playing or something.” Y/n doesn’t want to admit that Grayson having female company irks her beyond her own belief, because admitting it aloud would make it that much more real. Suppressed feelings are dangerous enough as it is, having an external source acknowledging the emotions is essentially a recipe for emotional armageddon. She can sense that maybe Cassie has an inkling because Cassie can read people the way a middle-aged woman devours the horoscope page of a trashy magazine; with intense analysis. But simply stating that you’re jealous of the girls your best friend brings home is laughably harder than it sounds. So y/n consciously changes conversation topic back to Cassie’s beautiful stranger in her Economics seminar, reveling in the way her best friend’s eyes widen with excitement. They’re stood at the sink when Cassie’s mouth works faster than her mind and decides to drop the bombshell, “You do know that he doesn’t actually sleep with them, right?” Y/n, having forced her mind to stray far away from Grayson Dolan, doesn’t quite understand, “What?” Cassie dries her sudsy hands on the back of her jeans and turns to look at y/n who’s leaning on the kitchen counter, “Grayson hasn’t had sex with any of the girls he’s brought home. He doesn’t sleep with them at all. They all end up leaving after like an hour of him being all awkward because he doesn’t know how to tell them he’s not into it.”

This revelation hangs in the air above the girls, like flecks of dust that haven’t yet settled. Y/n is processing what Cassie has said, the words all making perfect sense yet being completely incomprehensible. Grayson Dolan has sex, he must do. She can’t fathom a universe in which the boy wouldn’t get any. She’s heard him talking to girls in his bed. She knows they must do stuff. Cassie watches as incredulity washes over y/n’s blushing features. Bingo. “Where did you get that idea from?” she stammers. “I’ve bumped into some of them leaving, they’re all super sweet. I’ve heard them too, I’ll be going to the kitchen to get water or something and he’s talking about getting them an Uber.” “Oh.” Cassie breaks into laughter, the soft chuckles telling y/n that she’s been so blind. It’s blatantly obvious, as cliche as it may sound, that she’s the last person to know. She knows that the connection y/n and Grayson have may be strong, but it’s also deep. It’s fragile in its strength, both them incredibly insecure in their own forged bond. It’s as if their closeness is a given, that regardless of their romantic circumstances, Grayson and y/n will always be Grayson and y/n. Through disjointing themselves into a relationship in which they consider their friendship absolute, they’re setting themselves up for heartbreak.

Luckily, y/n has a painfully busy day. She’s occupied with the tribulations of a tutorial and then an excessively profound study session with her Literature research group in the library. Y/n doesn’t think about Grayson. She desperately wants to, even if it’s just for a split second, but she knows that thinking about him will only lead to her conjuring theoretical scenarios in which she always gets let down. A wave of relief comes in the form of Ethan Dolan when he meets her outside of the student theatre at six in the evening. His eyes light up when he sees her coming his way, her tote bag filled with notebooks slung over her shoulder. “Hey there, kiddo.” he jokes, pulling her into a hug, “How’ve you been?” “Swamped,” she mumbles into his t-shirt, inhaling a familiar scent of gum and cologne, “Super excited for this though.” “Yeah me too, the reviews it’s had are all very complimentary.” Ethan leads her into the ugly concrete building that was probably recognized as architectural genius last century. “Guess we’ll have to see for ourselves!” y/n smiles, reaching for the programme he had in his hand. The show is underwhelming, to say the least; a load of students rolling around in fake blood screaming in iambic pentameter. Ethan and y/n sit catatonically, in sheer shock until the interval arrives. As the lights come up they turn to look at one another, pale-faced and slightly panicked and burst into a fit of childish giggles. “Jesus,” he breathes, “What is this?” “I don’t even know, I’ve never hated Macbeth more.” “I’m sorry I dragged you along to this,” he grimaces, unable to fathom what they’ve just watched. “Don’t be, it’s all very interesting.”

Ethan sighs loudly, like you do after you’ve been laughing for a while and suddenly remember that life seems to advance without giving you time to tap out. “Cass said you two had a talk this morning,” he says. Y/n feels her face get considerably warmer, “She did?” “Yeah, something about Gray keeping you awake at night.” Ethan spreads his legs a little wider, trying to get comfortable in the weirdly malleable velvet chair. He turns to gauge her expression. “Only on Saturdays,” y/n cringes, “It’s not that big of a deal.” “Just know he’s not having sex like five centimeters from you, yeah? Gray wouldn’t do that to you.”

He has to bite his tongue to keep himself from telling her more than his brother would want her to hear. Ethan loves y/n, they’ve been friends since they’d started college. But this was Grayson’s business and he didn’t want to intervene, as much as it frustrated him. Watching y/n shuffle into the kitchen on a Sunday morning, her hair slipping from the scrunchie she’d tied it in the night before and a fake smile adorning her slightly chapped lips when she saw Grayson, is painful in itself. Knowing that she thinks Grayson is the type of person to say one thing and completely refute his own morals is irritating. Living in an apartment with two human beings who refuse to accept that maybe there’s a possibility that they might be in love with each other is wickedly bothersome.

Y/n doesn’t know how she’s supposed to deal with this information. When returning from the theatre with Ethan that evening she heads straight to her room, avoiding any interaction with her housemates. She strips herself of her jeans and blouse and pulls on some sweatpants and the softest hoodie she owns, before curling up on her bed with her laptop in front of her. Being a recluse is quite enjoyable. Her phone vibrates on the bedside table, causing her to look up from the Netflix show playing in front of her. Y/n feels her heart begin to pound markedly faster when she sees who the text is from. SMS messages from your best friend aren’t supposed to make your palms damp. breakfast tomorrow?

She replies with the excuse that she has an essay to write. She hopes he’ll believe her, but she knows deep down that he’ll see right through the lie. Y/n hasn’t seen Grayson since Tuesday when he’d knocked on her door asking her if their Wi-Fi had cut out or if it was just his computer messing around. She doesn’t think she’s going to be able to face him again. Everything about him hurts her, and the worst part is that she knows it’s not intentional. Grayson can’t help how adorable he is when he laughs at one of his own jokes. He’s utterly oblivious to the way he makes her feel when he makes direct eye contact with her and asks her for her opinion because he really values it. Grayson Dolan doesn’t know that all he is is damn near perfect. There’s nothing he can do to make this better, she can’t risk losing their friendship over her emotional confusion. She wishes she could blame the whole scenario on someone else. But sadly, when you’re in love with your best friend, there’s not much you can do other than wallow in your own misfortune. Y/n curses whoever decided that unrequited emotions should be a fixture of human existence.

When she should be sharing pancakes and maple syrup with Grayson, y/n’s in the library. Her copy of Wuthering Heights is fanned out in front of her and her legs are tucked underneath her on one of the semi-comfortable chairs. Academia serves its purpose as a distraction, recently her motivation levels have been unwaveringly high. Someone moves to sit in front of her and instinctively she looks up to see who’s been unlucky in finding their own table. Y/n’s greeted by the blinding grin of Nat, his hair as tousled and as soft looking as it has always been and his adorable tortoise-shell glasses perched on his news. “Hi!” she whispers with a smile, fiddling with her pastel highlighter. “Hey, how are you?” he unzips his Kanken and takes out a hefty looking book. “I’m good, still studying. You?” “You’re incredibly motivated this term, aren’t you? I’m just trying to get in some reading before a lecture.” “How conscientious of you.”

Nat laughs, causing a few heads in the quiet space to turn their way. Y/n isn’t embarrassed to be seen with Nat. If anything, she’s quite proud. He’s popular across campus; vice-president of the student union, on the lacrosse team and well-known amongst faculty staff. People don’t mind that he’s a little loud, his vivaciousness is admirable. The pair get to work in their comfortable silence. He’s got his head rested on his hand as he flicks through the browned pages of his novel and she’s taking notes as she reads the assigned extract of her book. Y/n can’t help but sneak a few glances at him, so enthralled by his studiousness and his effortless ability to look cool. She’s halfway through quoting Heathcliff when she hears a whisper of her name. Nat watches her intently as she looks towards him, taking in the adorable sweater she’s wearing and the way pieces of her hair fall into her face every few minutes, forcing her to swipe them behind her ears. “There’s a party at mine tomorrow night, just a few of us seniors getting together. I’d really like you to come,” he says quietly. Y/n’s a little startled by the invitation. She’s never been directly invited to a party before, let alone a senior’s.

“I think I’m around,” she says abashed. “Awesome! I was kinda worried you wouldn’t wanna come.” Nat runs his tongue over his bottom lip and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “I don’t see you at many parties anymore.” “I haven’t been up to go out recently,” “I always see the Dolans at frat events, but never you.” “I guess I just haven’t been invited to a party I actually want to attend,” she lies, Nat’s not going to know about her situation so there’s no point feeling guilty. “Sounds like you’ve got high standards,” he laughs. “The highest.”

“You’re an actual saint, Grayson! Thank you so much!” Cassie cheers as she slams the back door of his Bronco. “Yeah thanks, bro.” Ethan chimes in, giving his brother a firm pat on the shoulder before clambering out of the car. “Don’t mention it.”

Grayson watches as Ethan shuts his door and begins to walk towards Alpha Sigma Pi’s house. He’s just about to drive off when Cassie runs back to the passenger side of the vehicle and pounds her tiny fist against the window. Grayson winds it down, looking at her in bewilderment. “Jesus, Cass! What’s wrong?” “If you’re planning on talking to y/n tonight, she’s not home.” “Oh, ok.” “She’s gone to this senior’s house to talk about Descartes with other clever people and she’ll probably wind up having sex with one of them because they all look cool as fu-” “When is she coming back?” Grayson asks, his mind teeming with scenarios in which something awful happens to y/n. “She never said, I’m sorry G.” Ethan’s noticed that Cassie hasn’t been following him, so he turns back towards the car. Grayson wants to question why he’s in need of Cassie’s sympathy but doesn’t want to have his entire emotional turmoil relayed to him through the eyes of his housemate. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging on it slightly as he realizes his entire plan for the night has been foiled. “What’s going on?” Ethan asks as he reaches the Bronco, his arm wrapping around Cassie so he can stick his head in through the window too. “I told him that y/n’s not in tonight.” “Yeah she’s gone to Nat’s, y’know the guy on the lacrosse team,” Ethan tells his twin, “Looks like you’ve got the apartment to yourself tonight, Gray.”

Cassie can practically feel the tension radiating off Grayson. She notices the way he’s refusing to look at them, his hazel eyes fixated on the empty road in front of him. His jaw clenches and relaxes a few times and he exhales loudly. “She’s safe, it’s not like this guy’s a creep or anything, and she hasn’t been out in ages.” she reasons. “I know,” Grayson mumbles, “I’m just gonna head home, get some sleep. You’re sure you don’t mind getting an Uber?” “No, you go ahead. You haven’t had a quiet weekend in ages.” Ethan says, giving the Bronco a little tap before lifting his weight off it. Cassie flashes Grayson a look of uncertainty to which he returns a tight-lipped smile. She steps away from the car and Grayson rolls up the window. The pair on the sidewalk watch as he drives off down the street. Cassie looks to Ethan, “Do you think it’s ever going to happen?” The broad floppy-haired boy shrugs, “I mean, I’ll be surprised if it doesn’t.”

Y/n has never felt so out of place in her entire college life. She’s stood in Nat’s kitchen alone, pouring herself a glass of something strong. Around her are a few seniors, collectively looking like an Urban Outfitters campaign, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. This kind of affair was a lot more understated than she was expecting; there’s no pounding bass blasting through speakers and there isn't a keg in sight. Y/n recognizes a few of the girls there, one red-head making an effort to approach her and ask if Professor Stevens was grading harshly this year. She’s received some compliments on her dress and a guy told her that her earrings were ‘actually awesome’, yet y/n feels so uncomfortable. She wonders if everyone that’s acknowledged her presence knows that she’s not a third year and doesn’t really belong here. She doesn’t even know why she decided to come.

Nat stumbles into the kitchen, notably tipsy and cheers at the sight of all his guests. He makes his way around each small cluster of people, giving hugs to the girls and weird bro-hugs that y/n will never fully understand to the guys. When he finally reaches her, his flushed face is adorned with a megawatt smile. “Y/n! I’m so glad you made it! How are you?” he shouts. “I’m good thank you, Nat. I see you’re having a nice time.” “We were playing Ring of Fire,” he guffaws, leaning on the counter opposite her for balance, “And as you can probably tell, the odds were not in my favor.” Y/n takes a sip of her drink, wincing at the burn it leaves in her throat, before taking another. She listens to him ramble about various drinking games as he gesticulates fiercely. Nat, despite being rather drunk, notices that y/n isn’t her usual relaxed self. He pushes up his glasses that have slipped hilariously far down his nose and shoves his hands into the pocket of his patterned dress pants. “You’re not drunk enough.” Y/n chuckles mid-sip of her drink, “You’re very right.” “Come play some games with us, it’ll get you pissed in no time.” Y/n gladly follows him into the living room and ends up squashed on a couch in between Nat and a very friendly girl called Sarah.

Grayson Dolan is pissed off. Not at anybody, unless if being angry towards yourself counts. He’s finally decided that he can’t go on avoiding y/n and she can’t go on avoiding him. Granted, it’s taken him far longer than it should have to come to the conclusion that there’s no point dancing around the term friendship if they’re not exactly friends right now. Grayson doesn’t know how he intended on telling her that he thinks he might have feelings for her. Before he’d found out that she wasn't in their apartment, he’d assumed that he might just walk in and profess his love for her on one knee. Y/n likes romantic literature, so she probably would have liked that. Nonetheless, Grayson is acutely aware that he does live in a reality in which everyone can break into song and somehow all know the choreography to an improvised number. As rom-com-like as this whole ordeal may feel, it’s still very much a brutal situation in which someone inevitably gets hurt. Not every male is a loveable, bumbling and British with the ability to somehow win the emotional lottery. Take that Hugh Grant.

He’s lying in his bed, the curtains drawn and the lights out, with the hood of his sweatshirt blocking out the rest of the world. He wants y/n. He wants her so much it hurts. He hates himself for ever blindly believing that it would take another girl to fill the weird void he has in his life. Grayson thought perhaps having someone else would ease the pain, maybe even dull it down a little until he could watch y/n smile at him and not have a rapid increase in heart rate.

Falling for your best friend is excessively romanticized and Grayson has come to realize this now. He didn’t wake up one morning realizing he loves y/n, nor did it come to him in an inexplicable flash of affection. It all sort of happened in stages. One minute he was admiring how charmingly funny she is, the next he’s noticing how pretty her eyes are and eventually he decides that she’s the best thing since sliced bread. It wasn’t a mutual epiphany, more of a staggered process in which the ‘f word’ transforms from something fricative and blasphemous to friend.

He doesn’t notice his phone’s vibrating at first, he’s far too immersed in his thoughts to be tugged away from them. But as Grayson rolls over onto his side, he notices his bedside table is shaking. His large hand fumbles along the surface, knocking over a tube of zit cream on his quest for his device. His eyes widen at her name across the screen and in panic, he accepts the call. “Y/n?” “Grayson?” he notices the way the first syllable of his name slurs into the second. “I’m here, is everything ok?” “Gray, I miss you. The party’s finished. I just wanted to call you.”

Part two! Here it is! I hope you guys liked it! It’s been a bit of a struggle trying to write all my ideas down in a way that’s somewhat cohesive and readable. This is definitely the longest piece I’ve written on Tumblr to date! I think it’s because this little story thingy is told from both characters’ perspectives, and usually I tend to like to stick to one narrative, if that makes sense? Anywho, please let me know what you thought because your feedback means the most! Have a lovely day / night - K x

{ p.s. here’s the lil tag list shenanigans I promised I’d try and sort out for you gorgeous people! @the-evolution-of-stupidity @skurtdolans @graydolan12 @thedarkrozeofnight @yslbailey thank you so much for all the love! }

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan one shot #grayson dolan x reader #ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan fanfic #ethan dolan one shot #ethan x reader #dolan twins #dolan twins oneshot #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins fanfic #dolan twins blurb #part two

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blueiceindustry-blog · 7 years

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lilyes1 · 4 years

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idiosyncrasy-at-its-finest · 4 years

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get over it

Nov. 18, 2020. spent my study hall writing this– my new thing: not proofreading! enjoy. it’s long. five pages long in google docs. good luck!

I have a tendency to overthink, to force, to meddle. Can one meddle in their own life? Apparently.

Get over it, I tell myself constantly. It happened so long ago. Don’t get hung up over this; it’s been four years. Get over it.

No. Not that it was traumatic or anything, but it was a fairly big deal to me. Not a life “event” per se, as it was a collection of experiences that fused into one regret, but it’s left its impact on me. A big one, if the numerous pieces of writing inspired by it might show.

I had a best friend. We met in fourth grade, when his best friend bet me and my closest friend at the time five dollars we couldn’t tag him. He wasn’t the fastest runner, she was a lacrosse player, and I was still full of energy and excitement. And then another class was coming out to recess and he tapped in his friend, said we’d have to tag this kid. He was short, with a cute smile, and a small scar beside… I forget which eyebrow… left or right. I forget.

He was a fast runner, the kid who ran the pacer without breaking a sweat, his carefree smile growing sharper as each competitor dropped out. The PE teacher would always have to stop the recording when it was just him running back and forth. He’d keep running. We’d clap. He’d realize it was over. He’d run to us, not even grabbing a drink of water from the water fountain. His hair would be raised and pushed back, the wind styling it.

That day in recess, I didn’t tag him. Neither did my other friend. When we got called to go back in class, I tapped his shoulder. He said it didn’t count, which it didn’t, but what did count was that I’d made a new friend.

Fifth grade, we shared the same advanced math class. When I waited in the halls, he’d pass by. And then he’d stand near me. When I stood outside a classroom for a course we didn’t share, he’d smile. At some point, he began stopping slightly when he saw me. And then he was bringing lollipops to school and giving one to me when our eyes met, smiles exchanged, and hands brushed– an exchange sweeter than candy.

One time, during recess, the others went to the kickball field. I decided to hang around on the playground. He came to me, was a little less happy than he normally was– didn’t want to play sports with his friends. He was wearing a gray dri fit shirt, I remember, and a dark pair of basketball shorts. We laughed the whole recess, and when I stepped in line to go back in, my friends teased me about us. I’d brushed them off, grinning because we’d created an inside joke. One about baseball and how my athletically-challenged self would one day be the best player the world ever saw.

We started signing each other’s things. Autographing– so that when the other got famous we could sell it, of course. Preparing each other for financial pitfalls. How kind.

Sixth grade. Open house. We were in the same class. I was excited. He didn’t even spare me a glance. I didn’t call out to him; I didn’t want my mom to see me reach out to a boy.

We became best friends, though. Our class had a ship name for us. I hated it– outwardly. Actually, in the beginning it didn’t bother me. But then my friends would point out how he teased me, how he stared when I ran my fingers through my hair (I finger-brushed my hair rather than properly take care of it– still don’t properly brush it). They suspected he liked me. I proposed to him, one day. After a photo for spirit day, when I’d stayed kneeling since I was taller than him, I pulled his arm. I stared into his eyes. Will you marry me? He said yes. And then he gave me his cheese stick at lunch to seal the deal.

And then I grew uncomfortable, because after flaunting our “relationship”, the whole grade knew. They congratulated us, and asked us when the wedding would be. So I broke it off, told him in an over dramatic fashion, hand thrown over my forehead that it’s not you. It’s me. And then he didn’t talk to me for three days. Maybe he did like me. Up until then, whenever a boy liked me, I was suddenly disgusted. But this realization, that my best friend– short, sporty, caring, funny, amazingly sweet, smart– might like me… made me giddy. And then in March of 2016, I began to like him.

Uh oh.

You see, I was a pretty strange kid. I made funny faces, I told gross jokes, I was physically aggressive. And then… and then I liked someone. I didn’t want him to see how “weird” I could be. I started acting differently. Even though we were best friends and there was no way he hadn’t already realized what a lunatic I was.

Sixth grade was also when I began to read wattpad. I wanted a guy best friend. I wanted my parents to like him, for him to crawl into my bed during cold and scary nights without it being weird, for us to be elementary school best friends turning into something more… I forced him into a mold. For what?

Our relationship turned strained. Before I left, I made him promise to always be my best friend. A desperate attempt to keep him. He agreed.

I don’t have a best friend right now. I don’t like the term, I don’t use it. Because he’s my best friend. It’s like a dying wish, but a leaving wish. Equally as important. I made a leaving wish.

I’ve since come to realize– or since manipulated the situation into one to make myself feel better– that he’s the one who broke the promise. He changed. After I moved, replies got short. Conversations turned dry. He eventually unadded me on snapchat.

So… why dwell on these unfortunate elementary school events?

My mom started watching Dawson’s Creek recently and I’ve been tuning in. It hurts. To see on screen what I’ve longed for for so long. What I longed for that ruined a friendship.

Dawson and Joey, best friends. Grew up together, sleep in the same bed. I was a military brat; I never lived anywhere longer than three years consecutively. Now, I’ve been in the country I’m in for four years, this being my fifth. I’ll be here until I graduate, making the grand total six years. Too late to make an elementary school best friend, but a highschool best friend… a guy I can talk to about anything, even sexual things (though my experiences in this field have been slim to none… they’ve actually just been none). And I almost had it. And then I got too attached again. We haven’t talked in three weeks or so. I hope it doesn’t turn into three years like it did with…

It’s too late. I was watching the show, thinking about a guy who lives in my neighborhood. The guy that both my parents like, that my mom really likes because he walks me home at night after traditional biweekly movie nights, after long walks. It’s a comfortable group of three, me, him, and another girl. For a bit, she’d insist on how cute a couple we’d be. But I didn’t like him like that. I certainly could– it wouldn’t be hard. But he deserved better than to be someone’s second choice. Or third, I suppose, if the context is me trying to find a guy best friend to intertwine my life with.

I’m too easily manipulated. Teen writings made me yearn for a specific type of friendship; my friend could easily convince me to like the sweet boy next door (but not really next door, more like a few streets up). The boy a few streets up.

Watching Dawson’s Creek has made me realize it’s most definitely too late for me to develop a relationship where we can tease each other, where when I’m changing, he takes too long to turn around because “what? Not like I haven’t seen you naked before” because we’d bathed together as babies. Too late to begin to sleep in the same bed with a member of the opposite sex, a member of the sex I’m attracted to.

I can’t have that. I won’t ever have that. Even if, when I go to college, I make a great guy friend. It won’t be the same as the highschool relationship I’ve romanticized for years now.

I sat on the floor, bum resting on a soft blue cushion, tub of Magnum ice cream cradled in hands, spoon dangling from between parted lips. I’m not going to get that. Ever. So I need to stop pining for it. Because it’s not going to happen.

But I have a neighborhood gang. A group of friends who watches a movie every other Friday, who gets together at least once a week to sit in a field and talk about life. A friend to walk to school with and a guy who breezes past us on his bike, sending an easy smile. I already have a wonderful, beautiful trio. Outside of that, I have other friends. A friend who doesn’t live in the neighborhood but that I can call without hesitation, knowing she’ll pick up even if she’s in the shower, at dinner, with other people. I have good, reliable people in my life. I don’t need a boy next door, a boy a creek down best friend. I have a boy a few streets up. I have a girl a brisk walk close. I have a girl a call away.

I have my parents, not lax enough to let me walk out the house without providing a heads up, not chill enough to let a boy in my room, not absent enough for me to do whatever I want. True, I wish I had a few more freedoms, but… I should be content with my life. I have so much.

And it hurts– to have to let go of my fantasy. Of this dream I’ve clung onto for so long my knuckles have turned white, my nails have dug into the flesh of my palms, crusted over blood surrounding fresh pools. Of this idea I’ve fallen in love with, head over heels, straight into a beautiful, soft lie. An unattainable, unrealistic, unhealthy fantasy. It’s not something I can get. Wanting it will only continue to upset me.

And why should I be upset? When I’m a few strides away from a field, from a small playground, from a bubble tea store, from school, from my friends. I don’t have a creek, I don’t have a boy who can run the pacer without panting after, who only has a light smile I pretend is just for me on his face. I have something real, somethings. I have life. My life.

I’ve come to this realization recently, that I can’t get what I’ve always wanted. Maybe that’s why I keep clinging onto my youth, because I’m hoping to fulfill some pipedream. There’s a lot of things in my life that have been affected by this unhealthy obsession.

It still hurts, like a breakup, a fresh wound. Maybe the latter would be the better comparison– I’ve never been through a proper breakup. Things that have felt like it, maybe. But not a romantic one.

Oh wait. Too late now, but before the boy a few streets up (or at the same time I became friends with him), there was another one. The guy who texted, shared memes, called to study, manipulated, rejected on Valentine’s Day. A story for another day, I suppose. But you can bet that he was also ruined because of my dream.

It still hurts. But I’m happier now– or at least on the path to get there. Because I’ve pinned down a very big problem and am trying to put it behind.

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