#gray!concepts

“off.”

the third time you’ve said the damn word and his arm is still hooked around your waist securely. but you, God you just wanted to sleep on your respected side of the bed and be mad at him for the night. that’s all. you just wanted to wallow in your scorn and then maybe have a conversation with him tomorrow about your troubles. but apparently that wasn’t enough. not one moment of blissfully hot anger. 

“grayson i said get the fuck off of me.” harsher now, hoping he knows that you mean what you say this time. this isn’t pull me closer i don’t really mean it i want you to work for it this time. this is get the fuck off or i’ll punch you square in the jaw, “i’m not in the mood.”

if he wanted to cuddle so damn bad maybe he should have thought about how it would feel on your end to be ignored while some skanky waitress in a tiny black dress flaunted herself right in front of him and you. 

did he turn her down? yes. did you see his eyes flicker down her lengthy fishnet covered legs for just a second? also yes. did it piss you the fuck off that he cleared his throat the moment she walked away as if to compose himself? fuck yeah it did. did it make you feel like a potato in a sack in the dress you spent days picking out for the date? also yes. did he hear a word you said while you explained in detail that your parents would finally be moving to LA after a year of begging and convincing them to? no. he didn’t hear a damn word. which then resulted in you running over the same story that once excited you, but then felt cold and stale leaving your lips.

it was the disrespect and complete lack of regard for your feelings and trust in your relationship right in front of you that bothered you most. how could he honestly not know the issue by this point? how could he think you wanted him to tug you to his chest when he’d made eyes at another woman in front of you? made it a point to make you feel second best? for someone that had said countless times you were the prettiest girl in the room, he sure made it feel like bullshit. sure you might be being difficult and not outright telling him that him running his eyes over a waitresses long sexy legs hurt you but...common sense plays no part here?

but then, a kiss on your shoulder blade, then another just below there, then across the expanse of your upper back and to the furthest spot he could reach before he hit the pillow. he just wanted to sweeten you up so it would be easier to forgive him. that had to be it right? 

“please don’t be upset with me baby,” he’s whispering all soft. the special way he does when he knows deep down he hurt you in a horrible type of way, “just tell me what i can do.”

why do men even have ears if they don’t listen? did he even hear himself? please don’t be upset with me? after making you feel like a piece of garbage in a dress? after ignoring every single piece of exciting news you had stacked up just for date night? it felt like you’d been slapped in the face with the reality of the situation. whether it was you going into a full fledged panic attack or not, you wanted his hands off of you and to be as far away from his soft honey eyes as possible. 

“you can get off of me like i’ve said five times now. i just want you to stop and leave me alone for tonight.”

that sounded more convincing in your head. damn it. 

maybe it was the way you whispered the last part instead of spitting it out with fire on your tongue that shocked him the most, enough to lean back like you’d been asking to all along and turn you onto your back. he really thought you’d been joking, just being a brat and playing hard to get. but with the way your shoulders are curled in, your arms pressed close to you, your knees raised up...he’d finally starting to realize the joke is over. now that you’re facing him face to face, he can see the pain and agony swirling in those pretty eyes he fell for on a Wednesday afternoon in spring. 

a kiss to your cheek, then your nose, “tell me please.”

“grayson-“

“i hurt you and i want to know how,” he explains, fully aware of the hurt expression contorting your face. you wore that same expression when he forgot about the reservation for your mothers birthday dinner - she flew in all the way from West Virginia, away from her simply happy life, just to see you for a weekend in celebration of growing one year older in a city that never stops. The least he could have done is remembers to put his plans on hold for just one night for a woman that always made sure to include him in her own plans. he had apologized for days to both you and your mother, he couldn’t believe he had been so thoughtless. you’ve grown tired of making excuses for the ways that he hurts you. you let it slide for long enough. 

when his mouth opens once again to talk - you’ve beat him to the chase, pushing against his chest so you can sit up and stare at him hard and stern. he needs to hear how serious you are. if he wanted the reason, he could deal with the truth and take it for what it was. if you wanted him to hear you - really hear you, you knew the best way was to put it in the simplest way. 

“I don’t like the way you looked at the waitress tonight right in front of me. I don’t like the way it made me feel, and I don't like that you were so comfortable in disrespecting  me that you’re choosing to pull the clueless card right now. I don’t like that I'm once again making an excuse for your actions like I always seem to be doing and I don't-” you stop to raise a finger when he attempts to cut you off, probably with more excuses, “let me talk-” you snap, the fire stoking somewhere deep in your stomach. 

you swore you’d never be the girl that got walked on like a rug, and you intended to keep that promise. you owed it to yourself. 

“-I don’t like the feeling that you’re looking for a better option even if it’s a waitress in a restaurant. it doesn’t matter to me that you were just looking. it's the message you send to me and to everyone around you. it’s the way you have shown over these past couple of months that you don’t care as much as you claim you do. and I'm tired Grayson,” you stop abruptly to choke on the tears, already feeling your throat closing with the anticipation of a sob, “I'm so fucking tired.” 

his shocked face tells you everything you need to know. that he was blind to what he’d done and he truly hadn’t seen anything wrong with his eyes scaling down the length of her legs right in front of you.

“y/n...it wasn’t like tha-”

holding your hand up flat was enough to stop him.  

no, you didn't wait for some half-assed apology. no you wouldn’t lay in bed when you’re so sickeningly hurt by the innocent gleam in his eyes and the way he’s touching you lovingly when he’d done something so careless. you wouldn’t stay in this bed tonight with your heart feeling like it could break any moment. you would hold your ground and wait to fight this battle tomorrow, when you’re not so emotionally torn apart and scared to lose someone you’ve dreamt of marrying many many nights. you wanted to call your mom first, have her tell you to take some deep breaths...that he loves you...that he has some sort of reason...just help you understand how you got here and how to forward. you needed the night to yourself. 

so with your head held high, your hoodie bunched around your small frame, you push yourself out from underneath him - your feet hitting the cold wooden floor with the shudder up your spine. you made your way out of that bedroom and hadn’t looked back to see his face that always softened you right up. grabbing a blanket from the hallway closet, you made your way to the couch you’d picked out together, another memory that would surely make you cry just that much harder later when you’re over analyzing the entire relationship on a constant loop. 

you had the right to be mad, and you wouldn’t let him weasel his way out it this time. he wouldn't cuddle it away. it was time to stop making excuses and show him that you demand respect and loyalty. even if laying on that couch feels like more of a punishment than a lesson for him, and even if you appreciated him knowing not to come out and invade your space like you almost expected him to. you had to stand your ground and stick up for your heart that had been tampered with enough to last you a lifetime.

-

i feel like...low key....he needs this irl lol

this man doesn’t even have the phrase slow down in his vocabulary so when you say those words, the look of confusion that crossed over his face was to be expected. you knew you would have to spell it out for him, at least slightly. he gets in over his head with every relationship and wonders why they somehow fall apart so soon. some girls fall into that spell: the attractive guy wants me so it must be something real and true and they fall before they ever really form a strong bond, sliding to third base a time or two and tricking themselves into thinking it’s deeper than surface level lust. 

but you, you are not the ‘kick it into high gear’ type of gal and you thought you made that pretty obvious from the start. grayson gets attached easily, we all know that. you take your days one at a time, scope out the pros and cons of every situation. and you know, yeah it might be a trauma response from the countless times people have fucked you over and made you out to be a fool from a very young age, but that same mindset has helped you dodge many bullets over the years.

i think he’s a slow burn type of guy ya know? maybe he keeps giving you little pecks here and there to let you know he wants something more, but won’t ask for it - just waits until you make the next move. he can never get enough of the way your lips feel, and it’s something he’s expressed to you on several occasions when he’s got your hands pinned above your head, his head angling yours to he can kiss you as deep as he wants. he’s all “you taste so good” and “so soft” under his breath, delving his tongue in to swirl and dance with yours eagerly. when he’s really focused on kissing you, he doesn’t want your hands (that he loves so much) to distract him - hence the trap that he has around them.

in the bedroom it’s something different, something quick and dirty and sloppy. his lips wet, tongue dominant, breath staggered and irratic, eyebrows pulled together into a frown. it’s not the same as the kisses you get when your head is across his lap on the couch, his fingers playing with your hair, your eyes all droopy and lazy blinking just to try and focus on the movie you picked out but no longer care about. he’s looking down at you in the midst of falling asleep and all he can keep his eyes on is your lips. plush, pink, soft, willing, everything he loves.

and you know what keeps you falling for grayson over and over? even after years of being with him? the fact that he can be gentle, even if he’s a sex crazed animal on so many nights (and mornings lets keep it real). he can make your heart melt almsot as much as your pussy. maybe even more. because listen closely darling dearest...you’re laying there drowsy and dazed and relaxed, and then you feel his thumb sliding across your bottom lip, slow, soft as a feather and steady he draws circles on your lips, he’s got his hazle honey eyes steady on you, those speckles are darker brown scattered like stars, the weight of his arm draped on your tummy and his hand lazily drawing a path over your skin. when he sees that your eyes are opening back up to look at him, he gives you that small little smile, the boyish one that you fell for the first time you saw him. it’s pure and it’s true. you never knew a smile could be true, until grayson.

but it’s when he opens his mouth to speak that really has you a puddle of adoration. the way he whispers “let me kiss you” just under his breath like a secret he just can’t keep and it’s almost so hidden you have to observe his face for a bit longer to make sure you heard him right. you know you did. you know he’s just thinking out loud and it makes your stomach turn in summersaults.

he keeps on staring so you know that yes, he had actually whispered the softest thing you’d ever heard and yes you most definitely should and do switch your position so that your legs are placed on either side of his thighs and you’re cupping his face in your hand like a delicacy - too pretty to not be handled with care.

and oh - just oh - when it’s time that you feel his lips once more it means something so much different. it holds every emotion, even smile, laugh, kind thought, flutter of your heart that you’ve had for him. you never want the warmth of his lips to leave even if you know it’s inevitable. you want to stay just like that...holding his face, feeling the cotton of his t-shirt against you, the slightly rougher material of his pants on the skin of your legs, the way his chest moves up and down steadily.

you both lose your breath quickly with the emotion and depth of the kiss, his hands aren’t wandering, his breath isn’t crazy hard like it is when he gets worked up and carried away. it isn’t that kind of make out moment, it’s an innocent “i love you, i cherish you, i worship you even though i know it’s often unhealthy and there are sinful things i would do to keep you smiling, i want my child to have your eyes, let’s take long walks on the beach when we’re old and grey, sunsets have nothing on you” type of kiss.

it’s right and it’s real and it muffles the sound of the laughing actors in the movie, someone mowing their yard a few houses over, the tumbling of the dryer, the beeping of the coffee maker...the rest of the world falls silent. that’s what it’s like making out with grayson anon.

warning: lowkey kinda fucked up but it’s fine lmao

having to be extra sneaky and make sure that no one finds out why the two of you keep randomly disappearing, causing the moment to be extra steamy just from the mere fear (and lowkey excitement) of being caught. there is just something about being so inpure when you know you should be keeping it together out of respect that makes a quick fuck (and sometimes a not so quick fuck) 10x harder to resist.

but damn grayson for always looking like he’s ready to have you bouncing on his cock in the spare bedroom upstairs. if that’s what you could call the room anyway. no one knows about the secret room other than ethan of course or rather forgot about the hideaway space the twins would run off to when they got in trouble. you figured it would be somewhat of a storage room - but were surprised as ever when you found a bed along with other furniture in the rather impressive little hideaway they seemed to put together. that turns into your new ‘spot’ when neither of you can stand to keep your hands off of one another any longer. he gives you the ‘fuck me eyes’ and soon enough he’s got you trapped underneath him with his cock buried deep inside your wet cunt, hands right on your hips, slamming you back against him while he’s pistoning his hips forward against you, grunting from the force. 

“you love this don’t you?” he’d be breathing hard and labored, “you love fucking yourself on my dick when you know someone could hear us. you fuckin’ love being a disrespectful bitch huh?”

you wail at his dirty words but keep rocking yours hips back against him. nodding your head frantically is all you can seem to do, distracted from the fluttering and clenching of your walls around his veiny shaft. you do love the thought of potentially being caught, the horror on the face of whoever the poor soul was that decided to make their way upstairs for whatever reason, climbing the steps into that hideaway to find out what the creaking noise they just had the discover truly was - only to see grayson balls deep in you, wrecking you from the inside out. the thought had you dripping. 

this is really soft nonny 🥰

maybe you’re so tired from work and he forced you to take a shower because even with the urge to get up and feel that warm water rinsing you off after a long drawn out day of interviews, phone calls, and meetings - you couldn’t get your legs to move in the direction of the bathroom on your own accord.

it’s him carrying your limp body from the bed to bathroom counter where he sets you down only to start the shower, the water ricochetting off the tiled shower floor and up onto the glass of the door. he’s right back to wrap his arms around snug to wait for the water to heat up. your body longs for that warm water, but you know once you get under that shower head you won’t want to move a muscle.

you were right. as soon as that balmy fall of water beads onto your tense muscles you’re done for. he’s standing close behind you, running his hands up and down your arms, working at those joints by your neck that just can’t seem to losen up. he’s squeezing shampoo into his hands to lather up your hair, massaging your scalp which elicits a purr-like sound from your own lips, something that makes him smile. he hates to see you so exhausted, even if he’s proud of you for how hard you work. your work ethic keeps him motivated if he’s being honest and sometimes he wants to take care of his hard working girl. even if that includes washing your hair and washing you off in the shower.

he notes your sigh of disdain, pausing with his hands still a scrubbing in your hair to lean his head forward to rest on your shoulder.

tomorrow was finally your day off, something you’ve been waiting for all week. you’d both planned to go the beach early in the morning, maybe have a walk along the shore, slip in for a swim when it isn’t so crowded - just the two of you and the rising sun against a blue sky. considering it would be early, you wanted to shave your legs the night before, or at least that’s what you planned on doing before you got so drained at work it’s a miracle you made it home in one piece. now the idea sounds like the most unappealing thing you can think of.

“what’s wrong?” he hums, hands lightly scratching at your scalp still.

he’s good at that, being aware of your mannerisms and knowing when something isn’t quite right in that beautiful head of yours. he’s always been that way. it was nice to have someone be so in tune.

another sigh, “i just um...” you pause, looking down at your prickly legs, “i don’t want to go to the beach tomorrow with hairy legs, but that’s just...a lot of work right now.”

your admittance softens him up a bit, knowing how annoyed you get when you’re too tired to function. all he knows you well enough by now that he knows when you say something sounds like a lot, it’s a hard no. you can’t. end of story. you’d always been that way even as a child.

a pause then, only the sound of water pattering against the floor hits your ears. for a second you’re utterly embarrassed that you care about such a trivial thing when grayson is the one person you’re most comfortable with - but you can’t help the blush creeping up your cheeks. you know how it must look, that you’re being so lazy he has to carry you from room to room like an infant, but if one only knew how exhausted you truly were - they would understand that every step took a bit more of you than the last.

“you know i can do it for you,” he mumbles, peppering kisses over the expanse of your shoulder blades.

“shave my legs?”

a nod from behind you

“i can’t ask you to shave my legs grayson,” you scoff, wiggling under his plush lips, “that’s ridiculous.”

“you’re not asking,” he pays you words no mind, just reaches behind him to grab the razor and shaving cream from the nook in the wall, snapping the cap off and spraying a dollop in his hand, “i’m offering.”

“i’m sure i can just do it before we leave gray, i’m serious it’s fine,” you tell him - stepping back and into the rush of water from the shower head, your head leaned back, the water rinsing the suds from your hair.

he gives you a pointed look then, smooth his hair back with one hand while he waits for you to look at him.

rubbing the cream between his hands calmly, he’s tilting his head in an attempt to tell you to take a seat on the built in bench he had built in for whatever reason. you had made an offhand joke one day about building a bench in the shower and low and behold, there was just the bench you had mentioned, specious and surprisingly comfortable.

“but you’re not going to have to do that, because your boyfriend who loves you very much and wants you to be relaxed before your weekend starts is going to do it for you, right?” he tuts with a softness in his voice, similar to one you would use with a child. on any other day it would irritate you, but now it just gives you a sense of comfort.

you shake you head with a scoff, not having enough energy to do much else but watch him.

he says nothing more, only focuses on the task at hand. he figures it can’t be that hard, he’s shaved his face, and maybe his legs once out of curiosity. you’re sat patiently watching him lift your leg up and rest on his own thigh, only to smooth the white fluffy cream on your skin . you cringe at the stubble he must be feeling, but his face never hints at discomfort or disgust. if he felt anything he didn’t show it.

watching him slide the pink razor along your skin with no complaint, no qualm, no teasing, no fuss - up and down strokes to make sure he got all of the spots...it made your heart flutter in your chest. with his technique there are sure so be a few razor bumps - but you’d take that small price to pay over having to do it yourself when you can barely keep your eyes open to watch the fluid movement of his hands. he was so gentle with you, checking over the spots with his finger like a child unsure of his actions.

you tilt your chin up to smile up at him fondly for a moment when he’s focused on the razor, feeling a sense of safety you haven’t really ever felt in any relationship. what other man would sit you down after a long day of work and shave your legs for you? surely none of the other jackasses that you’ve dated in the past.

“isn’t so bad huh?” he smirks at you, holding your leg still while he shaved the last few parts of your skin by your ankle.

“i guess not...” you’re still blushing naturally, but for a different reason.

“i told you from the very start you don’t have to be embarassed around me,” he murmured right up against your lips, leaving the quickest peck against the plush skin before pulling away with his forehead resting against yours, “i got you.”

he means it. he’s always meant it. every tender touch, ever kiss, every kind gesture, he really means it and you know with the sincerety in his eyes. even when he rinses your legs off with the water that’s cooled off from spending way too much time swaying back and forth in his embrace. he takes the time to make sure there is no white residue before he’s setting down the razor and placing his lips right on yours. it’s a simple kiss, no more than a few seconds, but it’s filled with emotion and content, something you hadn’t really felt until grayson walked into your life out of the blue.

he would love to do that 🥺

when he gets in his head about something or maybe gets frustrated, he usually likes to use your body as an outlet. sometimes sexual, sometimes in a softer way. he’s constantly grabbing at them to cop a feel when he’s feeling ornery or cheeky. likes to rest his head on them while he rambles on about his day or something that doesn’t sit right in his head. you run your fingers through his hair and nod even though he can’t see it, smiling to yourself at the softest of men you could have ever been given.

and sometimes he really shows off his love for your chest when you’re laying against the clean sheets with your chest exposed, one of his large hands cradling your left while his lips are wrapped securely around your right nub. at first you questioned how this could possibly be helping him, but shrugged it off for the simple reason that it felt so good.

he usually falls asleep within minutes of this rare but fulfilling act and blushes like a virgin when he wakes up to see his hand still wrapped around your boob.

“sleep good?” you’d tease, looking down at his hand then back up at his reddened cheeks.

“mhmm,” he’s murmuring, admiring the way your skin looks against his hand and going back in to kiss at your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, and finally at your hip bones (his favorite place to leave love marks.)

Grayson isn’t a small man by any means, which only serves as one more obstacle you much overcome when you’re clutching his phone tight to your chest, doing a goofy dance around his ridiculously expensive couch - laughing at his red face. if he’d only known he’d be doing laps with you around the house, he would be wearing less clothes that’s for damn sure. who knew you’d be so hard to catch? 

if he wanted to, he could simply reach his massive arm over and snatch at your small frame which would ultimately result in you tumbling to the cushions and dropping his phone. he knows he’d soon see you in a heap of giggles, light flowing laughter that brightens any room you’re in. if he wanted. but honestly, he loves to let you have your way from time to time. 

you’d only taken it for a second, to snap a picture of yourself so he has a surprise when he opens his camera roll later in the day. you only decided to run with the device when he reacted out of character, all but lunging at you when he noticed the screen lighting up your pretty features. you had rushed from the bedroom with a squeal, rushing around the living room to get away from his greedy hands going right for his phone. of course you know it’s childish, but it was also way too fun to mess with him and he didn’t get too mad. that’s what caught you off guard. what could he have on his phone that was so horrid, you couldn’t even touch the damn thing? 

“phone. now.” he huffs with his hand outstretched and eyebrows tucked down low, soft scowl that you’d like to kiss away if given the chance. 

“why are you scared gracie?” 

oh fuck you for that. fuck you for using that innocent voice with that flirtatious smile that got you a on way ticket into his heart in the first place. no matter how many times he’s seen that same smile, it makes him melt all the same. but not enough to resist tackling you down on the couch if he needed to. 

“scared of you little one?” he’s scoffing, inching his way around the couch slowly, eyeing you like a predator, “never could be but you better hope I don't catch you.” 

“what if I unlocked it hm? what would I find?” you tease some more, raising the screen up just enough to start typing in his passcode (the same set of numbers he’s had since he could remember.) people, especially Grayson, are predictable. 

“a surprise.” 

“for me?” 

“who else?” 

it was tempting to type in the last number, so close yet so far away from the answer to your question. a surprise? for you? what could he possibly surprise you with? you don't really care in all actuality. you just think it’s hilarious how hard he’s been working to get ahold of that pesky little phone. it’s also his voice...fuck...little one. 

you know he means well, and you know he’s not trying to be sexy, but fuckkkkk when he calls you little one, that deep voice rattling off sarcasm like it’s second nature - it has you distracted a second too long. just long enough for him to round to the other side of the massive piece of future to wrap his hands around you waist and push you onto the same couch you’d been cuddling on earlier. 

his phone, massive in your small hands, flops against your chest just as your back meets the firm cushions, a soft “shit” coming from your small body. he’s tugging at it now, the case making an odd sort of plastic sound before it’s popping free from your frail hands - no match for Graysons. of course you pout at his aggressive nature, poking at him in a “chill out” sort of way. he’s throwing the phone across the middle of the couch, ignoring the dinging and focusing on your bottom lip puckered out, a perfect invitation for his lip to land on the soft skin. 

“why do you test me?” he sighs, nuzzling at your neck. 

“why do you hide things from me?” 

“it’s not anything bad...” he assures you, cheeks heating rapidly under your stare. truth is, the surprise was nothing but a cheeky attempt to spice up your sex life. you’d mentioned a while back that although you aren’t the revealing type of person, you wouldn’t mind sending some risqué type photos to him every now and then, maybe some videos. it was a bonus when you mumbled something about him returning the favor. he took that conversation and ran with it; locking himself in his room late at night, just to make sure that if he did make noise, Ethan wouldn't find him tugging one out with his phone on, flash aimed right at his dick, recording himself jerking off to the thought of you. he’d be damned if you saw the video on accident. 

“then why can’t I see?” you press him further, frown deep, just catching your breath from being smushed by his weight. he knows how much you hate to be on the outside looking in, but in this case it is for the better. he really wanted to make sure you were completely surprised when he did decided to send it on over to you. 

I'm not sure if this was on the smut prompt list but this was so cute so I'm posting anyway. hope you like it! 

it was the last and final time you would ever go rollerskating with Grayson for as long as you lived.

not only had you made an ass out of yourself in front of all of his friends with jokes you were certain they would understand but most certainly didn’t, but you had just fallen so hard onto the slick wooden rink that you currently sat on a hard, cold bench watching the others twirling and spinning around to the music with a makeshift ice-pack pressed against your forehead (if you can call the cold cup that holds your Pepsi an ice-pack). something was better than nothing.

it was the hardest fall you’ve had since you could remember, the stars swirling behind your eyelids with every blink making it more than clear to you that you might even have a concussion. all you wanted was sleep. sleep and silence.

Grayson hadn’t been able to swing himself around fast enough to break your fall let alone stop the laughter ringing in your ears as soon as your knees bowed, the sound of you body hitting the ground fresh in your mind still. a harsh pang to your forehead was the one thing that still made you cringe from your place off the rink. it was mortifying to watch a girl no older than seven laughing at you as she wizzed by with ease, some ridiculous 2000′s pop song blaring over the speakers.

“it wasn’t that bad” Grayson had tried consoling you over and over in your ear as you made your way back to the side of the rink- trying your best to ignore the hoots and howls of his friends. he flipped them to bird with a scowl, but it didn't seem to make much difference as Collin raced by with a sly “nice one Peterson!”

“that was embarrassing,” you’d grumbled. you tried to ignore the sympathetic look he’d given you, only confirming that it was in fact” embarrassing.

warning off the tears moistening your eyes without your consent was harder than you’d thought. but falling in front of children and friends, and then crying about it was just not something you wanted to be a part of.

that had been thirty minutes ago. thirty minutes of miserable spinning and nausea. of course it was probably your own fault for pushing yourself out of you small box and trying something different for once. an ode to your clumsiness. you hated physical activity- no matter what aid the wheels could have given you and even if you had been holding Graysons hand for most of the night.

that part hadn’t been as challenging: clinging onto your boyfriends arm and laughing at your legs sliding across the floor similar to that of a baby deer with skates. there really wasn’t any difference, but he made your blush form from one of embarrassment, to flattery with every minute that passed.

all was well until he left you to fend for yourself, something that you were still trying to keep to yourself. yes you were hurt, but no you didn't need to take it out on him out of anger.

Grayson sat beside you still, an arm wrapped across your chest while you both leaned back against the white cinderblock wall behind you both. glancing up at the wooden shoe cubby made your stomach roll, prompting a bemused chuckle from the now yawning man holding you loosely against him.

“it’s not funny,” you grumble, shooting him a glare that wasted far too much energy, shuffling down to get closer to his warmth that always provided the most comfort when you weren’t feeling so good.

he merely looked down quickly with a shake of his head, lips pressed together to hide the grin, “of course it’s not. I was just laughing at Max still trying to seduce Trina. he just doesn't learn.”

nice save.

you looked out onto the rink lit up with flashing lights of every color, wondering what time it had to be and if the smaller than average establishment would be closing soon. you spot a wobbly looking Max across the way, trying (and slightly failing) to skate backwards next to Trina who now wore an annoyed scowl. if you were in better shape and a much better mood, you would say to hell with sitting on the bench hurt and save your mutual friend from the annoyance of the boy that just couldn’t take the hint. you would have thought after two years of failed attempts he would give it up and move on.

with a side eye at Grayson you know he must be thinking the same, but chose not to say anything further. that was a talk for another time. you make a mental note to have Grayson talk to max soon about his constant pestering to the poor girl that wanted nothing more than to “live her free life freely” as she had said so many times. you’re sure it’s just her nice way of saying no, but knew she was truly a free spirit and being tied down by someone as high maintenance as max wouldn't be the best idea.

but tonight, all your mind could think to long for was home. your big fuzzy blanket, Graysons flannel pj pants you’d claimed as your own, the oversized Harvard sweater your sister got for you as a gag gift for Christmas two years ago after getting your denial letter in the mail, Graysons hands rubbing the stress knots out of your shoulders, and a hot bath. you presumed you deserved a resting night after throwing yourself so far out of the box and then getting hurt from it.

the best thing about Grayson? he read you like a book.

“you ready to head out? I'll tell the boys I'll text them later, or do you want to try again?”

“I think trying again might not be the best idea,” you croak, removing the cup and revealing the goose egg bump on your forehead. you want to smack him when he cringes, but instead give him a small smile.

“yeah, killer, I think you’ve had enough,” he grins, leaning forward to press his lips on yours once, twice, then three times before he finally gets up to say his farewells to his friends, stretching as he does so.

you watch silently while he made his way around to everyone he could find, stopping next to Max to whisper something in his ear. when he pulled back, max looked ashamed, something that shouldn’t have given you as much pleasure as it did. serves him right for not listening.

-

“I'm proud of you for trying something new,” he mumbles once the both of you climb into his car, your water-down Pepsi long gone, the heat blasting to warm up your chilled fingertips.

you want to ignore him, not being one for praise or pity, but also thankful that he noticed your attempt at trying to have fun in more ways than just burying your head in a book. you know it made him happy to see you trying for him, and for that you would give him a real smile. one of content instead of anguish.

“I'm proud of you for finally having some fun,” you rebuttal, giving him the best ‘I'm okay’ smile that you could through the throbbing in your temples.  

his widened eyes and mock horror expression had you laughing harder than your headache agreed to, and you choke on that same laughter only a moment later.

“what exactly are you implying daisy?” he grumbled, turning the wheel to the right and backing out of the parking spot he squeezed himself into.

daisy. the best nickname anyone had ever given you.

“that you needed a break.”

“breaks are for the weak.”

“I think you mean smart gray,” you grab his hand without thinking, raising it to your lips with a soft glance over at the streetlight bouncing across the hazel of his irises, “you needed some friend time. Even if i ruined it with my stupid legs that don’t work and equally stupid jokes.”

“and you know what I think?”

“something dumb probably-” you fire before thinking, a joke of course. the pout he wore after was too hard to resist, your thumb finds his bottom lip without thinking to smooth them back with a fond smile.

“funny,” he smirked, “but I was going to say that you’re brave. You were very brave in letting people see you as you are and as you’ll always be, even if some of them didn’t get your jokes or loved you as much as i do.”

He said it softly, in a way that softened you to your core and sent a chill straight down your spine despite the hot air blasting from the vents. You fought the urge to curl in on yourself at the compliment, still not used to hearing such kind words even after all the time that you’ve been dating grayson who does nothing but compliment you and give you words of endearment. It was different, and sometimes scary.

“Hm i think you need some sleep,” is all you can bring yourself to say without sounding like a sappy hallmark card. You wanted to say more, something better than a witty remark - but could only allow yourself a small dose of something you’re not entirely sure how to handle. But you did know that you loved the way he looked over at you, noticing the high pitch of your voice and the way your hand seemed to squeeze his tighter. With a sigh of defeat he averts his eyes back to the orange tinted asphalt ahead, shaking his head with that same sheepish smile.  

“I’ve never been more awake.”

The silence that followed was serene. Something you both understood to be easy. You’ve never had easy.

For a moment you weren't the embarrassing girlfriend of a man much too kind for you.

For a moment you believed that something good might happen to people like you.

For a moment all the world was a warm car in winter, black ice car freshener, a frank sinatra song turned all the way down on three, and a thumb rubbing a pattern across your knuckles.

For a moment the world was good and it didn’t matter that the headache was full force, the streetlights too bright to your sensitive eyes, the car seeming to move in slow motion while the city whirred past your window.

For a moment all there was was eyes full of something other than amusement, something deeper, richer than you’d ever seen before.