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maybe-moonchild · 4 months ago

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CHAPTER 1

summary: In which a spilt drink leads to a very awkward reunion and a drunken piece of pizza. WC: 6.3k ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ

The surface of the bar is tacky under your forearms from spilled beer and mixed drinks. You lean up against the surface as others bump into your back, half listening to Aaron's non-stop rambling about the job his uncle set him up at. His company was fine- one of Flash's basketball buddies from high school remembered for being obnoxious in your junior english class. You're barely paying attention and more preoccupied with trying to get the bartender's attention. At least then you would be able to escape the sweaty bodies pressed against your back.

Lazy Dog Saloon, a divey place nestled in Hell's Kitchen, had become Midtown high. Most of the class of 2014 had graduated from their prospective 4 year undergrad programs last week. Some returned to New York for a mini vacation before they began the next chapter in their lives while some had never left at all.

You were part of the second group.

NYU seemed like a safe choice at the time your college applications were due. The program you wanted was there and you knew that it was close enough to Queens that you felt like you'd gotten away, but not far enough that you felt like you were on the other side of the country.

Aaron continues to drone on, the sound of his voice fading with the sound of the eighties song playing over the speakers. Your shoulders sag in relief when the bartender sits down your vodka soda in front of you, sticking a dried out lime on the rim. He takes the $8 in cash you hold out to him and mumble out a thanks but he is already moving to the next person. Not that you care. You had your prize in hand and could finally return to your friends drunkenly lounging in their booth.

That was until Aarons animated hand gestures sent your drink out of your hand down the front of the shirt of the guy beside you.

"Fuck! I am so sorry," you rush out, half turning to reach over Aaron and grab a few flimsy paper napkins. You also shoot Aaron the dirtiest look you can muster at which he grimaces. "I feel horrible- god. I am so-"

Had there not been a steady stream of booze fluttering through your veins, you could play it a lot cooler than you do. Thankfully, Peter Parker isn’t able to play it much cooler either. The second your eyes met his big brown ones, they manage to somehow get bigger, his eyebrows rising towards his hairline before his lips thinned in distaste.

“... sorry…” The word comes out as a breath while his presence seems to be the only thing that you can be aware of. It’s like the sight of him is screaming inside your head.

Peter’s heart throws itself for a loop before dropping down into his stomach. He knows that voice all too well and he hates how much he still yearns to hear it again.

We both seemed to collect ourselves at the same time; he clears his throat while you look down at the spot on his shirt where the gray fabric is dark. With a shake of his head, he waives away your apology with his hand. “Don't- it’s fine, it’s fine.” He tries to mutter the words with a smile that barely classifies as anything more than a wince. “I don’t even like this shirt anyway.”

You can’t seem to get yourself to move. Not even when he gently slips the napkins out of your clenched fists so he can try and clean himself up. That, in turn, just makes you feel worse, but then again, maybe he just doesn’t want you to touch him.

Not after our six years of friendship fizzled out like a burning candle that finally reached the end of its wick.

“Nice one,” Aaron chuckles near your ear, his elbow nudging your arm teasingly. This was not the time for jokes. Not when it felt like I was staring at a ghost. The ghost of someone very much alive. Giving the red head a shove and a scowl, you hiss at him under your breath to shut up before turning back to Peter.

“I am so sorry. Seriously. This was all my fault. I… can I help?” You're clearly apologetic. It’s clear from the concern in your voice and the embarrassed look on your face.

Peter’s eyes find the ceiling so quickly that you can’t tell if the pink on his face is real or just a hallucination from the tequila shot Flash had forced on you earlier. You could’ve sworn you’d forgotten what he sounded like over the past four years. After hearing it again, your memories come flooding back all at once. Except this isn’t a memory. This is real. Peter Parker is standing right there as he wipes at his shirt. Gone is the gangly kid with perpetual untamable hair and skinned elbows from nose diving off his skateboard and in his place is someone he gracefully grew into.

“Seriously. It’s fine. It was an accident.” His hand waves awkwardly again as he drops the napkins into the trash. The smile he gives you is strained and brief but he tries anyway so he can drop the conversation. “No, it’s really alright. I think those did the trick. This shirt has gone through worse.”

You are sure you look as pathetic as you feel. Eyes wide and brow furrowed enough that the crease between them could’ve been a damn canyon. Once upon a time, you knew him better than you knew yourself. Once upon a time, the two of you could have stayed quiet for hours and still known exactly what the other was thinking.

Now? At least you knew that him saying it was fine was a load of garbage.

“Are you sure? I can ask the bartender for a towel? Or-”

He knows that look. It was the same damn look you always used to give him when you felt really bad about something. It would settle on your face when you were going to do any stupid thing you could to try and fix it.

“I’m sure,” he interjects in the hopes that you believe him- or at least pretend to. That you will just let it go, return back to Katie and Flash so you can tell them you dumped your drink on him. The three of you could laugh it up like you did in high school.

“It’s fine. I promise. Just…” he takes a deep breath and glances down at his wet shirt before finally glancing up at your face. He tries to think of something to say. At that moment, the bartender decides to drop the beer he had ordered earlier onto the counter. Peter mutters a thanks, grabbing it in one hand while digging for cash that's shoved in his front pocket to exchange it.

Before you can get another word out, he sighs, “Really. It’s fine. I can deal with it.” Peter's words are short and almost sharp. It was nothing different than how things had been between the two of you for the past eight years.

You open your mouth to protest but he is already slipping through the crowd. Drunk patrons fill the empty space within seconds so they can raise their blood alcohol content. Aaron tries to laugh it off, clapping you on the shoulder while you’re too busy staring at the back of Peter’s head disappearing around the corner.

There are two roads or whatever bullshit.

You blame it on the booze. The white claw you had sipped when you and Katie had gotten ready was the reason that you’d shrugged off Aarons hand. The extremely potent and barely drinkable margarita Flash made you at the pregame was the reason you started to slip through the crowd after him. The reason you burst through the doors of the boys bathroom without a second thought was- okay, so maybe it was also just who you were.

“Please. Let me do something to fix this,” you urge, ignoring the strange look from the man slipping around you to exit the bathroom. You also ignore the shocked look Peter gives your reflection of the dirty mirror in front of him.

“Nuh uh. No.” He practically gasps, spinning around and yanking out paper towels to hurriedly dry his hands. He has to get you out of here before you get yourself thrown out of the freaking bar.

You shoot him a look. You will stay in this bathroom all night if that was what it took… to fix… his shirt.

“Grow up Parker, it’s a boy’s bathroom. There are stalls. I’m not even crawling under one!” Your hands move as you speak while his hands find your shoulders. His touch is gentle but his face is panicked. You don’t stop him from spinning you around, guiding you out the door even when you turn your head back so you can face him.

“Look. I just want to make sure I didn’t ruin your night because I feel like a total asshole. It was an accident and now I feel your night is ruined because you're all damp and smelling like vodka.” Peter focuses on maneuvering you through the crowd. He doesn’t have the heart (or the guts) to admit that his shirt being soaked with vodka is the least of his concerns. It is *how* it got soaked in the first place. That was the real issue.

No. The real issue was you. Your presence. The fact he had to touch you right now as he manages to avoid letting anyone collide with you since you are too focused on rambling.

“Okay, you didn’t ruin my night.” The words are practically a groan of exasperation in the hopes you will just drop this. That you will just return to your cool friends and you could all go and laugh at how uncool he is.

“No?” You ask flatly, your eyebrow rising in skepticism as you try to twist around to look at him better over your shoulder. He is more concerned with keeping any drunk people from slamming into me or vice versa. “Because I feel like I did. I feel like I definitely ruined your night and you’re just telling me that I didn’t, just so I drop it and I don't let it eat away at my brain for the rest of my life.”

Because it will. I will certainly lose sleep over it.

Peter can feel his heart race as he listens to you. He has to bite his tongue to keep himself from screaming that you’d ruined his life, not his night.

”Just-“ he grumbles, rolling his eyes as he guides you around another group of drunks dancing against the wall. Never has he been more thankful for the fabric of your dress to keep his skin from yours. Even with the buffer, he feels like he is burning alive. He wishes he didn’t care that you were upset at the prospect of him being upset.

Afterall, you probably haven’t spared him a second though since high school graduation.

Not in the way he has thought about you.

Even though it’s mid-May, the nights lack the warmth that the days hold. The cool air feels good on your flushed cheeks. The alley is quiet, tucked between the bar and a closed up nail salon seated next door and the space is filled with the muffled hum of liquor filled banter.

You manage to twist around and plant yourself in front of him. He drops his hold on you but meets your wide and earnest eyes.

“Peter, all I’m saying is that I want to make it better. Yeah, I know,” you throw up your hands, letting their movements animate your words. “Yes, I’m aware that vodka sodas are only moderately pungent. And -yes. It wasn’t even that much- but still! I feel bad. Really bad. There has to be something I can do to make it right.”

Peter can feel his heart picking up again, his brain desperately trying to comprehend that after all these years - after *six years*, you were in front of him, telling him that you feel bad?

He can’t help but shake his head before quickly interjecting. “You don’t-” with a huff, he presses his palms against his face, like it will give him a moment to try and think clearly. They move up to his hair, shoving it off his forehead as he finally forces himself to actually look down at you. His voice is low and tired. “You don’t have to do anything about it. I promise. It was an accident, alright? Besides, I don’t even like that shirt that much.”

That’s a lie. It is his favorite shirt.

No one says anything for a long moment. You’re too busy studying his face for what is actually going on inside his head. He is too busy trying to force himself not to look away. Too many things hang in the foot of space between your bodies. You either can’t find, or can’t find the courage to pluck something out of the air and say something of substance.

Something that matters.

So your face softens and you opt for the cowards approach.

“You okay?”

A muscle in his jaw tenses which makes his expression look more grim. “I’m fine,” he grumbles, looking away to stare at a broken bottle, not wanting to hold your gaze anymore. He’d spent the past eight years pretending that the you-sized hole in his life had been filled with things like Spider-Man, The Bugle and his Bio-Physics degree he’d obtained last week. But now that you’re standing right here, it felt like it was somehow bigger.

Just like that, you realize that, even if he had been the one to guide the two of you out here, away from prying eyes and drunk chatter, it was your doing. You might well have been the one to drag him out the door by his hair. Your face falls when you realize he likely did it because he doesn’t think you’d want to be seen talking to him in public.

You frown at the floor and wrap your arms around yourself like you’re just trying to keep out the cool air.

“Sorry,” you murmur. It’s the best thing you can think to say. Peter looks at you, peeking up and taking notice of the little movements and gestures you make to try and smooth over the awkwardness. It reminds him of high school. Back in the middle of freshman year when you started on the edge of the circle of cheerleaders, working up the courage to belong before you eventually found yourself in the center senior year.

“It’s fine,” he says halfheartedly. In reality, it’s not fine, far from it, but… His hands curl and uncurl into fists at his side, trying to suppress the urge to reach for you.

“No, it's not.”

You’re not talking about the spilled drink anymore. You’re not even talking about the dissipation of your friendship at the start of high school. In some way, it all comes down to high school graduation four years ago.

There's a clarity to the loud sounds inside the bar as someone slips out the back door, too preoccupied with trying to light a cigarette as they head towards the street. When the door shuts again, it feels even quieter out here. Peter and you don’t say anything as they pass by and out of sight.

But neither of you return inside either.

“I shouldn’t have done that. That was…” you trail off, eyes finding the sky under pinched brows as you think. “Invasive? Presumptuous? Meddlesome?” A strained laugh falls from your mouth and cuts through the quiet. “Sorry. Vodka seriously inhibits my memory of vocabulary words.”

You don’t expect him to laugh. So when he lets out a snort and shakes his head, you find the courage to actually look at him from the corner of your eye. He’s not smiling but the little quirk of his lip might as well be a shit eating grin with how relieved it makes you feel.

“You’re drunk.” It is neither a question or statement, or both. You can't really tell.

Your nose scrunches up in thought before you settle on, “I would go with tipsy.” The toe of your shoe scuffs against the pavement and he shoves his hands in his front pockets. “I’m not sure how that’s legally determined or if there even is a way to legally determine that but…yeah. Sure. Let's go with tipsy.”

“You’re wasted,” he snorts again, only this time it sounds even more like a laugh than before.

Your mouth drops in mock offense, eyes pulling back towards his own. Something on his face catches in the light and he looks like he could almost glow in the dark but he’s forcing it down.

“Drunk is a strong word. More like… very tipsy.”

“I think we can go with sloshed instead.” Peter raises an eyebrow, his mouth curling upwards with amusement.

The roll of your eyes is dramatic and playful. Before you get the chance to shoot back, a vibrating and painful sound of an alarm from your purse interrupts you. He almost wonders if it’s a phone call, but when you retrieve it, press the screen and check the time, it’s almost relieving. Not that it didn’t interrupt the moment anyway.

“Shit,” you frown before sticking your phone back. “I really gotta get out of here. I told myself I’d be home by 1:30 since I’m meeting my parent’s for brunch.”

You’re leaving? It’s the first thought that crosses his mind and it has him on edge. For the first time in years, the two of you are alone together. Just the two of you, hidden away in an alley and having an actual conversation.

And it’s already over.

“You’re taking the train back now,” he asks with slight concern. His fingers fall from his hair so he can rub at his forehead. You were a New Yorker. Everyone took the subway. You were just a New Yorker that was determined to take the subway alone at 1 am on a Saturday while drunk in a short dress.

A skeptical smile tugs at your mouth. His concern isn’t shocking. He’d always been like that. Cautious and worried about the safety of others. It was why he always got his ass kicked in high school.

It just wasn’t something you experienced in a long time.

“Umm… Yeah?” Shrugging, you retrieve your phone from your purse to shoot off a text to Katie and Flash that you’re heading home. Peter opens his mouth to say something before thinking better of it. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you could handle yourself. The last thing he needed was to piss you off in this one moment of a truce.

“My apartment’s not that far anyway,” you continue as a little thumbs up appears by your text in the group chat. The phone returns to your bag amongst your wallet and lip gloss. He is already looking at you when you lift your head up to look at him.

For a moment, he kind of looks like he is 11 years old again. Like you half expect him to smile and reveal his canine tooth is still growing in. That he’ll give you the same grin through the glass of your bedroom window when the two of you were long supposed to be asleep. How he would invite you to crawl out and to accompany him to the subway because he liked it when you watched him try and skateboard in an empty train. At first, you would always hiss out ‘no’s’ which would only make him whine your name from his spot on the windowsill. Eventually, you’d relent because you always did. Then you would spend breakfast with your parents exhausted and biting down on a smile from sitting on the secret events from the night before.

“Wait, you’re taking the subway alone?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing even more than they already were before shooting upwards. He steps closer but doesn’t actually invade your space.

Alone, intoxicated, and all the way home… in a short dress…

Your own eyebrows raise in challenge. Even if you try not to look defensive, you can't help the way your arms fold over your chest and you settle back on your hip. You’ve lived in New York as long as he has, which is your entire life.

You could easily take the subway alone. It was something you’d done a million times and you were sure he had done it as much too.

A little bit of alcohol wasn’t enough to stop you and force you to waste money on a cab.

“Yeah…”

“Okay,” he sighs and you relax, both of your shoulders sagging in relief for different reasons. “I’m making sure you get home.” The words slip out and he doesn’t even think to hold them back.

You open your mouth to argue, but he continues speaking, his hands raising in surrender. “I’m sure you do it all the time but, I mean… I just…you’re drunk.”

“Not drunk. Very tipsy,” you mutter under your breath but there's no hint of actually putting up a fight. Considering your options, you look up towards the night sky like you’ll find some sort of argument hidden up amongst the stars. There are no stars. Just heavy looking clouds that hang above Manhattan with the umpteenth threat of rain this week. You don’t find one. Making a face, you know he has a point.

Odds were, you would probably be fine walking the few blocks to the subway and taking it a couple of stops towards your apartment. There was always that chance that you wouldn’t be.

The problem was that your apartment was out of the way. How did you know that? Peter lived with Ned. Ned Leeds, the same Ned Leeds that had been following Katie around from the age of five until now like a love sick puppy that rambled horribly in her presence about every detail of his life. So yes, the fact he and Peter were roommates had come up plenty of times when you and your current roommate bumped into Ned. Just like he had, in excruciating detail, explained exactly where he lived in case Katie ever happened to be in the area.

“You’re just going to tag along all the way to East village… at one in the morning… and then… trek all the way back to your place?” You shake your head. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You aren’t asking. I’m offering.”

The prospect of your safety overrides any arguments he could possibly make.

If he stays here and something happens to you, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

A guilty expression flashes in his eyes at the thought, that little *what if.* It had been replaying in his head since he got bit by that spider when he was sixteen. How the thought of where you were and what you were doing flashed through his mind anytime there was a large-scale disaster threatening New York. There were a few times it got so bad, he’d had to swing by your apartment- not in a stalker way! Just so he could know you were fine.

Besides, he only knew because your mom told Aunt May, who then mentioned it to him.

When you don’t say anything, he nods towards the mouth of the alley. “Come on.” He’s already walking towards the street, spinning on his heels and walking backwards. “It’s fine. I’ll take a cab home or something quicker than the subway.”

Something quicker than the subway and isn’t a cab? All you can do is snort as you scramble to catch up beside him. Now you just feel worse as you step onto the sidewalk. Not only does he probably resent you for the end of our friendship eight years ago and the… incident four years ago on the night of graduation, now he has to go out of his way so I don’t get murdered walking home.

“Really Pete,” you urge. The nickname falls from your lips like second nature. “It’s okay. I’m good.”

He shakes his head and turns to raise an eyebrow at your statement. You’re not good. Even if you're not stumbling black out drunk, the pink flush on your cheeks and the wide eyes are dead giveaways of your impairment. As much as he wants to hold your hand, to throw an arm over your shoulders like when the both of you were kids, he doesn’t. But he does let his hand hover behind the small of your back as you manage to find the same pace.

“I’d rather not be worried the rest of the weekend. Think of it as satiating my restless mind,” he jokes, giving you a playful look.

It’s much quieter out here and there is space to take a breath. There’s still people mulling around as they make their way home or to the next stop of their Saturday night. No one pays the two of you much attention as your pace slows to a more leisurely one.

“First of all, not drunk. Very tipsy,” you huff. “And second of all…” Peter stretches his arms behind his head while you try to think of a good point aside from the fact that you feel bad.

For a lot of things.

“You’ll be walking alone too at three in the morning!”

“And I can handle that. I’m a big boy, remember?”

There it is. That stupid lopsided grin he’d always shoot you anytime he knew he was wearing you down. When he knew you had already given in but were hoping he would drop it before you caved. You make a face that screams ‘spare me’ and scoff. The dirty look quickly threatens to be a smile and he knows you’re all in now.

“We’ll take the train, I’ll walk you home. We can even grab a slice of pizza. My treat. For old times sake?” With a shake of your head, the sigh you make is answer enough. Your answer is a yes. Just like it always was.

Okay, and maybe it's more than fine and doesn’t feel like that much of a chore.

He takes the opportunity to grab your hand so he can drag you along. The action is like muscle memory and he doesn’t realize he is doing it until you falter. You note that his hands are rougher but that makes sense considering he’s 23 years old and no longer a 14 year old kid. It’s not like you have to admit out loud that you like it. That you’d missed it. So before he can really realize what he’s doing, you commit to it.

“Only if we can take it on the road,” you say pointedly with a look to match. “I meant what I said earlier. I really need to get home so I don’t oversleep and miss brunch. My parent’s will kill me.”

Giving you a tug forward, he snorts, “Then by all means. Let's go.”

The foot traffic around is nothing like a work week morning. No hustling of business men in suits or bustling women in sharp blazers clicking down the sidewalk. The night holds its own excitement now that the weather is survivable without an actual coat and gloves. Summer is approaching and it seems to stir people out of their homes and out later than usual.

Aside from the copious amounts of rain plaguing the past week.

It was nice. Your hands are clasped together so you can keep up and he can make sure he doesn't lose you. At least that’s what the both of you tell yourselves as you settle into the familiar warmth of each other's palms and the sense of comfort they still bring after eight years.

The last time you two had touched was four years ago.

Back when his hands had found themselves tangled in your hair so he could tilt your head back further and-

“How about my treat,” you offer, leaning your head forward to look at the side of his face since he’s a step ahead of you. “Because I’m the one ruining your night.”

Peter just shakes his head and shrugs in hopes to dissolve some of your concern. “Don’t worry about it. My night isn’t ruined. You’re worth it.”

Those words make you stumble, tripping over your own feet like the world was just thrown out of orbit and he doesn’t seem to notice. It’s the last thing you expect him to say. For a moment, you wonder if maybe you were so drunk that you were hallucinating.

But no. He said it.

Your silence makes him squeeze his eyes shut and hold in a curse. It was a stupid thing to say after eight years of distance. Right after grabbing your freaking hand like things were all fine and dandy between you. If he could take it back, he would. Instead, he manages to remain looking unbothered so you wont realize that even just your silence was enough to feel like a punch to the gut.

“As long as you’re sure,” you chuckle lamely, looking down to smooth your dress as you reel in your emotions and stand a little straighter; make your movements as sure as yourself as you can pretend to be. Because the truth is, walking with him, having him tug you along and being in his presence is enough to make you sure of absolutely nothing.

Not when you thought he would still hate you for making more friends at the start of high school. Back when you joined cheerleading on a whim and your classmates started to actually see you. Your classmates actually waved at you when you walked through the halls. They would sit by you in class and turn in their seats so you were included in the conversation. Friday nights were spent at football games before the whispers of an after party in the quarterbacks basement were no longer whispers and became actual invitations.

When you didn’t eat, sleep, and breathe Peter Parker like you had as a child. It wasn’t like you had woken up one day and gotten sick of him. You just slowly realized that maybe you could have more than just one person at your side.

“I am so sure,” he reassures, dropping your hold and slowing to a stop in front of a late night pizza shop. “I’m pretty sure I owe you money for something I broke when we were in elementary school. So yeah, I’m sure.” This time when he smiles bashfully back at you, you mirror him. Somehow that makes some of the tenseness traveling between your connected arms start to resolve.

Peter has spent the last eight years wondering what he did wrong.

Did you just get bored? Were the stories he was telling you just not enough? Did you grow tired of him dragging you into trouble? Was the feel of being seen by the rest of the world more gratifying than his eyes alone?

So many questions without answers.

For eight years they had plagued his mind, kept him up at night and eating at the back of his brain during the day.

The two of you chat in line which is a solid eight drunk people deep. Drunk conversation and the sound of the workers drowns out how easy it is to fall back into joking around. There are stalls in the conversation where neither of you have an immediate response but the recovery is quick enough that there's no suffocating awkward silence.

And it is then that you realize that being in his presence makes you miss him more than you had during the eight years of radio silence. From the way he rocks back and forth on his feet while making sure you order your slice first, you miss him. When you try to pay, he smoothly snatches your wallet out of your hands, not even missing a beat in his conversation with the teenager at the register as he hands him cash.

Once you both receive pizza slices bigger than your heads, grease seeping through the paper plates as you take the long way to the subway entrance.

You happily take a big bite, speaking around a mouthful of dough, cheese, and tomato. “I mean it. You were always horrible at saving money when we were kids.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes which just makes it harder to chew around the smile straining your lips. There’s really no rush as you walk side by side without paying attention to where you're going. Eventually an entrance to the subway will appear.

“Oh, I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you being so, very wrong.” Once he makes sure that there is not a drop of grease on his free hand, he playfully gives your head a shove. You make a sound of protest that quickly turns to one of amusement while trying to smooth your hair.

“I am not and you know it,” you shoot back and he responds with a dramatic waive of his hand. “You would always want ice cream or a comic book. Then you’d try and give me puppy dog eyes and promise you’d pay me back. I always gave in”

And he always paid you back. Eventually. Sometimes all at once or by leaving a crumpled up five in your backpack or taping a ten dollar bill to your window.

“I did not try puppy dog eyes,” he protests with his mouth full, chewing in a hurry so he can swallow. “Plus, I was the one funding all of the trouble we got into. And I was cute. Cut me some slack.”

Never had he been so glad to bail on a night of patrol so Ned could drag him to some dinghy bar just to watch Ned botch attempt number five million and six to woo Katie into falling in love with him.

Once we are finished, you dust the crumbs and grease from your fingertips and toss the plate into the trash. He’s been done for a while and you don't hesitate to grab his own plate and send it following mine into the dumpster.

“That’s because I was always better at saving money. If I hadn’t been, how was I supposed to treat you to snacks?”

Peter snickers, “You were definitely not better at saving your money than me.”

“Was too-”

“Nuh uh,” he cuts you off with a sarcastically smug expression. “Remember when you blew all your lunch money on those gum ball machines. The ones with the little rubber pencil toppers inside? You skipped lunch for over a week in hopes of getting that crab one.”

When he looks over at you and sees how your lips curl in an amused smile as you stare ahead, he bites down on his grin but it still feels white hot on his face.

Wherever you two have meandered to is much quieter. Cars are not passing down the road and most people still out at this hour are sticking to the well lit streets with more foot traffic.

“Oh my god. My mom was so mad at me when she found out.” You throw your head back to laugh at the memory. It feels good. It feels right to be here right now. “She found out because you told May that my mom was too busy that week to make me lunch so she’d put an extra sandwich in your lunch box for you to give me.”

Peter opens his mouth to speak but cuts himself off with a look of concentration.

Something is off.

His footsteps slow, yours following when a big burly man in a black fitted shirt steps into your path from the entrance of a long closed restaurant. It wasn’t just a passerby. You can tell from the way his attention is fixated on Peter. The guy's narrowed eyes move to size you up.

Not that you were a threat.

Another man steps out behind you, a third crossing the street and approaching. Muggers. That’s your first thought. It wasn’t terribly uncommon in a city like this, especially given the time and day. You quickly figure out this isn’t a chance of opportunity when the man standing a few feet in front of you speaks.

“Peter Parker?” He tilts his head, features dark from the lack of street lamps but there was no mistaking the glint in his eye. That was enough for Peter to step closer to you. He keeps you half behind him, an arm going out to keep his body between yours and theirs. There was more than one threat to worry about. The other two approach and settle in their own spots so they can circle you against the wall. Peter tries to have his head turned enough to keep the other two men in his peripheral vision.

You tell yourself to stay calm, that everything is going to be fine.

That voice in your head has to scream that at you when you see the flash of the gun dangling in the guy's hand.

#peter parker tasm #peter parker tasm x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #marvel #the amazing spider man #spiderman

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trancylovecraft · 7 months ago

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(AOEX) The Blood Of An Unwilling Covenant

PART 2 OF 8: Amaimon

(Yandere Platonic Demon Kings (Ba'al) x Reader)

SERIES SUMMARY:

BARISTA'S NOTE: heres amaimons part!! :D GENDER: Femme FANDOM: Blue Exorcist

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LAST PART ,AO3 LINK, SERIES MASTERLIST, NEXT PART

"[F/N], If you could just think about it for a second.." The counsellor said, Resetting the devil-horn glasses upon her face.

The hum of the fluorescent lights above her droned into [F/N]'s ear like a cicada, The equally annoying rotations of the fan not doing much to soothe her headache either. It wasn't just the noise too but also the uncomfortably designed office chair that she lazed on, Digging into her back.

She was sat within the office of the youth centre's counsellor's office. A room with cool grey walls decorated with motivational posters with smiling faces and overly-positive quotes, Sunlight shining through the shutters onto the polished wooden floorings being the only lighting in here.

The counsellor herself was a rather dim looking woman with dark hair tied into a tidy bun, One that was as clean cut as the tailored grey suit she wore. Her posture straightened and perfect, Green eyes staring at her from behind the red rims of her pointed glasses.

A caring woman, One that meant the best at heart. Not in it for the money but certainly from a place of love and meaning. Though that didn't much to lighten [F/N]'s mood.

She sat lying upon the uncomfortable build of the chair, Much older than she was back then with her legs spread out and her arms folded in. She was sunken into her chair, Like she had just woken up from a nap upon it. Yet her eyes were wide open and rolled at the woman's words.

"I don't want to, No way." [F/N] huffed as she kicked her feet lightly at the desk of the counsellor. Whose red lipstick turned down into a frown as she sat in her office chair, Clicking her pen.

"There are families out there who want to adopt you, [F/N]. This couple seems to be a really good pick, High income and already have children of their own. They're interested in taking you in, Dear." The counsellor said, Sliding over a pamphlet towards [F/N].

[F/N] picked it up but she barely looked at it, Running her eyes over the information put down before huffing and pushing it back down.

"Yeah they seem lovely. But I don't care, I don't want to be adopted. I've got stuff to do here and it said there that they live all the way in Nagano." [F/N] explained, Almost exasperated as if it was the thousandth time she'd explained it. Tossing her head to the side and folding her arms once more.

The counsellor sighed, Looking down towards the top of her desk.

"[F/N].. I understand how you feel. Tetsuya's death was hard on all of us, But you need to understand that it was a wil-"

"IT WASN'T A WILD ANIMAL!" [F/N] slammed her fists down onto the table, Finally leaning up from her chair and staring daggers into the startled counsellor.

It stood for what seemed like minutes, Eyes connected to each other. The fire burning in [F/N]'s eyes however shook when she suddenly sighed, Then slumped over back into her chair.

The counsellor gulped, Making sure her glasses were in place before speaking once more.

"..I apologise, I shouldn't of brought it up.." She started, Shaking her head. "But I worry about you, [F/N]. You keep going out into those woods and barely spend any time here anymore, Not to mention your ramblings to your peers.."

[F/N] tossed her head to the side in a rather juvenile display, Her nose scrunched up in disgust at what she said.

"No one ever believes me.. It wasn't a wild animal.. It just wasn't. You seen the autopsy, You can't say that it was some starving bear!" [F/N] exclaimed, Raising her arms into the air before flopping them back down to emphasise her point.

"There isn't any other explanation for it. Those woods do tend to be bursting with all sorts of animals and besides, What else could it be?" The counsellor said, Brushing off the shoulder-pads.

[F/N]'s face hardened, A solemn look washing across her face as she leaned over on her chair. Eyes dead-set on the eyes of the woman opposite of her as she spoke.

"A demon. A demon killed Tetsuya." She whispered as quiet as the morning wind. Her eyes furious and determined, A kind of fire burning through them as her stone-cold face mumbled those words.

The counsellor sighed, Nodding as if she had heard those words a thousand times before. She shuffled as few papers on her desk, Aligning them well before setting them beside her in finality.

"..There is no such thing as demons, [F/N]." She spoke quietly. "What you saw out there was traumatising, Yes.. But blaming it on some imaginary creatures won't do you any good." The counsellor said, Seeming to put a firmer foot down as she leaned over to meet [F/N] face to face.

[F/N]'s jaw clenched shut, Leaning back over into her chair with a rigid back. Her clenched fists shook, Trying her best not to act on what she was so tempted to do.

She mumbled something under her breath. The counsellor blinked, Leaning forward.

"What was that?" She asked, Tilting her head.

"DEMONS EXIST AND THEY KILLED TETSUYA! WHY WON'T ANYONE BELIEVE ME?!" [F/N] screamed suddenly, Jerking up from her seat and snapping at the woman's face. The counsellor yelped, Jolting back into her office chair.

[F/N] got up from her chair, Not even bothering to look at the startled woman as she slung her bag over her shoulder and started to storm out of the room. An angry march as the counsellor recomposed herself.

"[F/N]! Where are you going..?!" She called out, Watching as the girl didn't even falter as she walked off towards the door. [F/N] didn't turn back to face her, Only gripped the fake gold of the door handle.

"I'm getting out of here, Can't breathe clear in this stupid place.." She hissed lowly before yanking the door open and marching out of the counsellors office. Door slamming shut with a thump.

And then, She was alone.

[F/N] stood dead within the empty hall, After storming out and slamming the door she didn't really have a destination to go to. So she stayed put, Looking at the sunlight pouring in through the windows lining the long hall, Almost appreciating it.

She couldn't go back to her room, That was a pigsty. It was always infested with insects crawling about and no matter how much bug spray she used, They never seemed to leave her in peace. So that was a no go.

The playrooms, The little library, The kitchens or the TV room where she spent countless days in front of the screens. None of them seemed appealing anymore. What use to be the apple in Eden was nothing but a rotting core now, So disgusting and unappetizing.

It was suppose to be a leisure, A relaxation.

But it never was anymore, It just couldn't be.

Not without Tetsuya.

[F/N] clicked her tongue, Sighing a short breath. The air here was too stuffy, Too suffocating to be called oxygen. She needed to go somewhere that's fresher, Somewhere she could properly think.

So her legs drove her forward. Through the long winding corridors, Past all the colourful fliers pinned up on the corkboard, All the doors with pleasantries and laughing hiding behind them were discarded in favour of the reception.

The dreary old woman sitting at the desk didn't even look up from her trashy magazine as [F/N] stormed by, Not even bothering to take a glance at who was leaving through the double glass doors. The little bell chiming above not helping her case.

As soon as she was out, [F/N] was hit with the brisk brush of the air against her skin. Her hair lifting lightly at the sensation as she was met with the mid-day sun, The celestial body shining down at her so happily from it's cobalt throne.

[F/N] couldn't feel the same as her shoes tapped against the stone tiles leading up to the youth centre doors. There wasn't anyone else about apart from the insects crawling about in the bushes or the tiles lining the centre's perimeter.

She reached the point where the stone tiles met the bare pavement, Splitting off into three streams. Though instead of travelling down one she made her way to the rickety old bench lining one of the pavements, Plopping down with the wood creaking at her weight.

"Finally.." [F/N] mumbled to herself as she was finally blessed with the fresh atmosphere. A relief as she took in the invigorating air, A moment of solitude rarely found in her everyday life and one she wanted to take in for a moment.

It was quiet too, This street wasn't as busy since it wasn't as close to the city centre. Few cars passed by to cause any noise, The only sound coming from the fenced off park parallel from the youth centre, The sound of children laughing playing basketball her only white noise.

That was good, There wasn't anyone about to see her next act.

[F/N] hummed as she shoved her hand in her side bag, Fishing around the abundance of objects stored inside before she felt the soft touch of a pretty pink pouch grace her fingers. [F/N] smiled, Pulling it out.

"Better have some left.." [F/N] muttered, And she thought she did. As she unlaced the string that opened the pouch she was met with the face of several cigarettes, A stolen item she had snuck from one of the staff's lockers.

All of them were coloured differently, Rolled in vivid paper.

Watermelon, Grape, Candy Floss and Bubble-gum were only a few of their flavours. They were cool, That's what she thought anyways. Even though she didn't watch TV that much anymore, All the super-cool adults on there always had one of these hanging from their mouth.

Well, Not the flavoured ones like she had. But she didn't like the taste of tobacco, So the taste of sugar and sweetness would have to do.

"Three.. Two.. One.." [F/N] counted down, The cold lighter on her other hand sparking up with a rasping ember. The cigarette in her other, A favoured watermelon flavour, Blitzed up at the end.

With two fingers she placed it in her mouth, Careful to make sure she got the right end this time. Sweet smell of smoke drifting up in the air, She watched it rise from the burning end and as she breathed it back in.

Tetsuya. No one would ever believe her about what happened to him, No one. From the police officers and paramedic's that were present that day, They had all written it off as just some little kids ramblings.

The counsellors, The psychiatrists and the priests. All of them, Every single one had done the same. But [F/N] knew better, [F/N] knew what she had saw that day, She knew that it wasn't something of her world that done it to him.

But it was only her. [F/N]'s lips parted from the cigarette for only a second, Blowing out the sugared smoke from her throat. She'd never be able to convince anyone of the existence of demons, Not without evidence, That is.

She tossed the cigarette onto the pavement. Her sneakers raising then stomping down on the sugar-stick, Mushing out the flame on the stone to nothing but dying smoke.

[F/N] would find evidence, She'd make sure of it. She'd find who killed Tetsuya even if it meant she had to follow him to the next life, She would know the culprit.

Her hand absentmindedly wandered down to the open pouch, The candy coloured silk splayed open on the bench as she searched for the candy scented cigars.

But her hand didn't connect with the bristle of cigarette paper or the shroves of tobacco that should've been there. Her eyes widened for a second, Her head jerking round to meet the open pouch.

It was empty, Completely and utterly empty.

"What the.." [F/N]'s jaw dropped. There had been at least a dozen cigarettes laying atop the paper, All of them had been there since she sat down. She had made sure of it, So why were they missing?

Could she have knocked them over on accident? [F/N] leaned back to look at the muddy grass below the timbered bench, She came up with nothing but worms and weeds growing underneath.

Her hands slapped the pockets of her sweater, Feeling around to see if she misplaced them yet she came up empty. Where could they have gone? To the sides of the bench, On the pavement or perhaps she was sitting on them?

No, Even as she felt underneath her she felt no trace of those sweet little cigarettes.

It was only once she was shifting through the contents of her bag did she find a clue, One that seemed just under her nose.

Or above it in this case. [F/N] suddenly felt the bursting itch of the tiniest particles hitting the bridge of her nose. [F/N] jolted, The sensation amplified by the fact she didn't expect it in the slightest.

She stopped searching through her bag for just a moment, Hand jerking to her nose and rubbing at the irritating itch. But when she brought her hand back, Her eyes narrowed in on the small speck of her hand.

It was a shrove of tobacco.

[F/N] stared at it for a solid moment, Eyes locked in on the target. It seemed like it had came down from the heavens themselves, Like it had just floated down like snowfall on a December morning.

Then another, [F/N]'s eyes darted up to another shrove of tobacco floating down right in front of her vision. Another and another, It seemed to grow in numbers as every second passed by.

"What the hell is this.." [F/N] drawled out, Her hand extended to catch the snowflakes of cigar ash drifting down onto her palm. They were growing into a small bush, A small puddle of candy-smelling shroves coupled within her hands.

But where could they be coming from?

[F/N]'s head turned upwards, Neck craning to get a good look up at the sapphire sky above her. Blinking once she was only met with the wisping clouds floating about the atmosphere, Sun shining down at her.

But her eyes caught onto something else, Something metallic.

It was the streetlamp, One of the dozens lining the concrete pavement for miles but the only one that was standing above her. Still daytime it was off, But the streetlamp wasn't what she was focusing on.

Instead it was the boy hanging from it.

[F/N] jolted at the sight of him, Near falling off the bench as she realised his presence.

The boy was older than her, In his teen years and not in his tween's like [F/N] was. He was hunched over with horrid posture, Panda pouches under his golden eyes to match hers. He was strangely dressed too, A torn-at-the-tail overcoat drooping down from where he hung.

He was hanging like a bat from a cave spike, Legs locked around the branch of the streetlamp so loosely that he could fall at any moment. It was a wonder how he was still hanging on, But [F/N] was more interested in what he was doing.

His mouth was stuffed to the brim like a hamster, His hands grabbing clutches of tobacco and mashing it into his mouth. [F/N] stood there befuddled as she finally saw the clump of coloured cigar paper stuffed in his jacket pocket.

[F/N] gawked, Absolutely stunned.

"This candy sure is weird." The boy said to himself with a blank face, Seemingly not noticing [F/N] standing beneath him in shock. He shovelled another bush into his mouth, Watermelon flavoured to match the swamp green of his hair.

[F/N] gulped.

"How the.. W-Who the hell are you?! Why're you taking my bloody cigarettes?!" [F/N] exclaimed. It was the only thing she could think to say at the moment, Words flowing out of her mouth without a single thought behind them.

But it was the only thing she could say as the boy's sickly yellow eyes darted over to her, Seeming to finally notice her presence.

[F/N] couldn't help but shiver, For some reason feeling disturbed. Like a lion eyeing the lamb grazing in the field.

"Oh. They're mine now, They were laying out so I took them." He stated through a mouthful of her tobacco. An empty expression as he stared down at her, No regard for the fact that he had stolen her cigarettes.

Well they were stolen by her in the first place, But the sheer disregard of guilt for what he had did just made [F/N] all the more angry. Who did this guy think he is? Whoever he was he was weird as hell.

Hanging from the streetlamp? Chewing her tobacco? Not to mention that weird spike sitting atop his head, That to his toes he was dressed so strangely as if he had tossed on anything given to him without regard to colour or weather.

[F/N] gritted her teeth, What a nutjob.

"What kind of philosophy gets you to think that?! Give them back, You bastard!" [F/N] snapped at him with the best face pre-teen her could pull. Teeth wide and bared, Arms crossed in frustration.

The boy just hung there, Not reacting to what she said though he did stop chewing momentarily. Then he shrugged, The cigarettes he was clutching in his hand let go, Making them fall down onto the pavement which [F/N] scrambled to pick up.

"Whatever. They taste disgusting so you can have them." The boy said, Watching her as she fell to her knees collecting her fallen cigarettes with apathy. [F/N] grabbed the last of them, Shoving them into her bag with a furious scowl as she looked back at him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! I barely have any tobacco left cause you chewed it all! What are you even doing up there, You prick!" [F/N] bit as she held the leftovers of whatever little snuff she had left in her palms.

The boy rolled his eyes. And in a move [F/N] didn't expect she watched him pull back, All before the legs locked around the streetlamp branch let go making him fall towards the ground.

[F/N] yelped, Stumbling back. The boy's feet slammed against the concrete pavement, His elvish shoes clacking against the side as he stood up to his full height with no apparent damage at all.

She stumbled back, Blinking as if to see if it was a hallucination or not with an open maw.

How the hell could he have dropped from the streetlamp to the pavement without any damage? The boy stood there, He was older than her and in his teen years so whatever kind of parkour training he must've had was very impressive for his age.

But [F/N] bit back a shiver, Could a boy in his teens really pull that off?

"You humans are really weird, Your candy is nasty and you don't even know who you're talking to. Though I suppose you don't know any better." The boy shrugged as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his tattered coat.

[F/N] gawked. First he had hell of some acrobatic skills, The next he had some real annoying superiority complex. Who even gave him it in the first place? Didn't matter, Didn't stop [F/N] from balling up her fists either.

"First of all, This isn't candy. These are cigarettes you dum-"

"-If they aren't candy, Then why do they smell like candy?" The boy butted in rather rudely, Sleep deprived eyes burning into her own without any sense of remorse.

[F/N] groaned.

"Because these are flavoured, Idiot. You don't chew the tobacco, You roll it up and you smoke it for the flavour. Ever heard what a cigarette is?" [F/N] chided as she reached into her bag to present a cigarette to him sarcastically.

The boy blinked.

"No." He replied.

His response caught [F/N] off guard. It was so honestly spoken and genuine that she couldn't help but drop her shoulders and guard along with them. Did he seriously not know what a cigarette was..?

"Well.. Ehm.. It's kind of this thing that you roll up with the.. The tobacco-" [F/N] stumbled over her words, Not sure how to explain to someone older than her what a cigarette was "You know what? Let me show you."

The boy didn't have any time to react as the end of a cigarette was shoved into his mouth.

His eyes widened, Not registering how [F/N] had marched up to him and done it so bluntly to him. Him of all people! Were all humans really as rude as this one was? She was starting to get on his nerves.

"Okay, Now that you have it in your mouth you just light it up at the end. You good with smoking?" [F/N] prompted, Not knowing why she was doing this but asking anyways. The boy looked back at her, Before rolling his eyes and letting out an okay with the cigarette in his mouth.

"Good" [F/N] said, Pulling out the lighter from her sweater and holding it up to the end of the cigarette, One rolled in cherry pink paper and tasting like it looked. "Okay.. Three, Two, One.."

The lighter sparked up, A few faulty clicks before the burst of an ember lit up at the tip. It caught onto the cigarette rather quickly, The burn of the snuff starting to flicker and burst out into a flame of its own.

[F/N] moved the lighter away, Lowering it down to her side.

"Alright, Now purse your lips like you're whistling but suck it in instead. Make sure to support it!" [F/N] said, Her hand snapping up to hold the cigarette with two fingers as it near fell out of his mouth.

The boy huffed but ultimately did what she had said, Watching as his lips pursed like he was whistling then his lungs inflate. [F/N] let a small grin slip as she watched his face light up slightly, The light in her fingers lowering from his mouth.

"Good, Huh?" [F/N] asked as she watched his lungs shrink in his puffed out chest, The vaguely pink smoke erupting from his lips and drifting off into the midday air. Sizzling out in the brisk of the day.

He looked down at her, Apathy more of an aftertaste now as the light finally returned to his eyes in an interested glimmer.

"I want more, Give me more, Now." The boy demanded, Taking a determined step closer to her with a hand already stretched out. [F/N] huffed, Dropping the cigarette astringent with cherry into his open palm.

"Tasty, Right?" [F/N] commented as she walked back towards the bench, Plopping back onto the rickety wood and lazily crossing her legs. The boy raised the cigarette back up to his lips, Repeating her instructions to the t.

The boy blew out another burst of cherry scented smoke, Tongue licking his lips as it went.

"It tastes like cherries, I want more of it. Where can I get it?" The boy asked, Turning to her as she lazed around on the bench, Relaxing against the back. [F/N] shrugged, Shuffling a single hand around in her bag before fishing out another cancerette.

"I dunno, I didn't really buy these myself and I don't know where the adults get 'em. So.. You'll need to ask someone else" [F/N] replied as she pulled out the lighter and struck up another flame on her green apple cigar.

The boy only hummed, The spark on the cancerette burning out in finality. No more smoke being produced, Leaving it to only be tossed away on the concrete pavement beside him as he sauntered over to the bench's direction.

"What's your name anyways? Seems awkward not to know it." [F/N] asked, The words leaving her lips with the scented smoke following only moments after.

"I'm Amaimon, It's nice to meet you." He said with a shrug. Though his words were polite his visage still showed that same resting face, Deep eyebags and all as he crouched down beside the old bench. She huffed, What a strange name.

"Mine's [F/N], It's cool to meet you too." She replied as tossed him another cigarette from her bag, Amaimon catching it mid-air. Another flavour, Another one to light as he held it up his snuff to her lighter.

It flicked on and just like that it was back to silence once more. The rustle of the leaves in the tree's was all that could be heard, Along with the faraway laughter of the kids in the park and the occasional car that passed by.

[F/N]'s eyes couldn't help but wander over to the boy crouched down beside the bench. It was a weird position, Only held up by his tippy-toes as he smoked out the saccharine cigar. His own golden eyes targeting nowhere.

[F/N] looked away, The wind still dancing through her hair as they sat in a somewhat comfortable silence. He was odd, Odder than the other teenagers she had met. She wasn't even thirteen yet she wondered if he was as strange to her as others his age.

He seemed so. With such fashion and behaviour she'd certainly think as such.

"So, Why were you hanging from a streetlamp? How'd you even get up there anyways" [F/N] asked, Blowing out a puff of smoke as her lips finally spoke of the elephant in the room.

Amaimon looked up at her, Licking his lips as if to taste the smoke.

"It's fun, I like the wind. The air here in Assiah is much fresher than the air in Gehenna, I climbed up there with my claws." Amaimon said as if it made any sense at all. [F/N] raised a brow.

"Assiah? Gehenna? Claws..?" She queried.

"Yeah. I'm a demon." Amaimon replied as he crushed the finished cancerette within his fist, Tossing it away on the ground as he was unaware of the expression on the girl's face.

[F/N]'s cheeks were puffed up, Lips squeezed together and her nails digging into the edge of the bench. She snorted, A noise that made Amaimon's head jerk over to her, Watching as she tried to supress a laugh.

"Why are you making that face? What wa-"

"BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-" [F/N] let out a howl of laughter, One so loud that she near keeled over on the bench. Amaimon watched as her free hand clutched her chest, The biggest grin showing as tears started to water at her eyes.

Amaimon's dotted brows knitted together, The razors of his teeth starting to bare from his maw.

"You're laughing at me, Why.. Are you making fun of me?!" Amaimon snapped as his back arched up, Unseen clawed hands starting to dig into the concrete of the pavement as he watched her hysterical laughing fit.

[F/N]'s laughter died down into a giggle, Wiping away the tears from her eyes.

"No-! No.. I'm not making fun of you, It's just I understand now, You know-" [F/N] chortled as she pointed to all of him, Smiling as she watched him look at the rest of himself for whatever she could be pointing at.

"You must be one of those gothic people I use to see on the TV, The one's that call themselves demons." [F/N] said, Relaxing back into the bench as she tossed her used cigarette away.

Amaimon tilted a head.

"..What?" Amaimon asked.

"I don't wanna be offensive! You do you, Just.. They actually exist, You know?" [F/N] explained to him. Amaimon just looked back at her with a blank expression, Seemingly confused.

"..Yes, I am a demon. See? Look at my teeth, They're not like yours" Amaimon said as he raised a finger to pull back his lips, Baring his teeth to [F/N] as his face grew closer to hers.

[F/N] blinked. Apart from the obvious fact that he needed a tic-tac and a good floss, His teeth really weren't different from hers at all. The canines he was pointing to were just like hers, No deviation.

"Yeah, Right. I have those kinds of teeth too, Dude. Demons aren't even humanoid, They have claws and horns and are beast-like. You don't have those." [F/N] said, Looking at his overgrown and dirtied nails along with his swampish hair. No demonic traits to be found.

Amaimon closed his mouth, Eyes drooping back down to their original shape.

"Oh.. You can't see it, You don't have a temptaint." Amaimon said, Turning away back towards the road. Dropped shoulders and all as he went back to staring into nowhere whatsoever.

[F/N] shook her head.

"Whatever you say dude, Whatever makes you happy." [F/N] shrugged as she closed her eyes, Taking the sunlight into her skin. Feeling the air on the back of the neck, Her hoodie really didn't do it justice.

Back to uncomfortable silence it was, He had no response after hers as he went back to staring off into space. [F/N] breathed out with no cancerette in her mouth this time, Only the slight wisps of cold vapour leaving her mouth.

"Why are you still here anyways? Don't you have teens your own age to hang out with and not some random child you met in the street?" [F/N] asked to him.

Amaimon's eyes darted back up to hers, Seemingly now only noticing the age difference between each other. Especially the height.

"Other humans my vessel's age are all too weak to play with.. They're boring after only a minute." Amaimon answered, Though now turning fully over to [F/N] "But you're not currently boring, Even though I haven't played with you yet.."

[F/N] snorted slightly as she watched his expression trail off into something more interested, One of his overgrown fingernails entering his mouth to be chewed on.

"You're not too bad yourself, Amaimon. You're weird, I like that." [F/N] giggled as her hand managed to wander itself over to the top of his head, Her fingers weaving their way into the swamp green of his hair as she ruffled it mockingly.

Though he froze, Just as her fingertips touched his locks.

"Huh..?" Amaimon muttered as he finished chewing on his fingernail, Body rigid as if he didn't know what was happening. [F/N]'s grin shortened, Fingers leaving the strands of his hair.

"Oh.. Sorry, Should've asked.." [F/N] mumbled as her arm retracted to her side, Though it didn't stop the petrified stance Amaimon sat in. Still staring off into space with his eyes widening further and further every second.

THUMP!

There it was again.

THUMP!

And again, Some strange thumping inside of his chest.

His ribcage rattled in its place, Almost like it would burst out from his vessels flesh. His hand grasped at the right of it's chest, Teeth gritting at the strange sensation. One he had never felt in his entire existance.

"Amaimon..? You good..?"

He jolted up, Eyes snapping back into focus at her words.

"Do it again!" Amaimon ordered. Hand still grasping a cluster of his striped shirt, The thumping continued on. Cheeks heating up into a warm pink.

[F/N]'s lips turned into a frown. Her guard that was down before started to raise, Rebuilding itself into what it was before. This was still a stranger, She hadn't even known him an hour. What was she doing?

"Eh.. I think I should get going now.. I need to do-"

"Again! Now!" Amaimon cut in. Voice raising in a crescendo as he grew closer and closer to her on the bench, One she slid further back on to try get away. But his hands lunged out to her wrist, Entrapping her in place.

[F/N] yelped as his palms tugged her towards him.

"A-Are you insane?! I- Fine, Okay! Just let go!" [F/N] cried as she was near pulled off of the bench, Soles of her shoes digging into the pavement in an attempt to keep her stable.

Though his grip was let go. Amaimon pushed himself up on the bench, So close to her now that his burning breath was felt in the pores of her skin. She could see his too now as her hand went to massage her aching wrist.

"Do it!" Amaimon urged, An unspoken threat.

[F/N] gulped, Not hesitating to do as he said as she slipped her fingers in-between the folds of his hair. He was taller, Older than her. Athletic by how he hung from the streetlamp and the chill she got when looking into his eyes was all the convincing she needed to comply.

Amaimon shuddered, Face lowering down from hers as he felt the unsure ruffles of his hair. His head rested against the bench beside her, Feeling the frigid fir against his cheek. So cold but strangely warm and comforting.

[F/N] swallowed down what little saliva was in her dry mouth, Sweat starting to grow and infest her palms as she played with his hair.

She was terrified, Shaking as she did so. [F/N] needed to get out of here, This wasn't right. She had thought of herself so mature before, So adult and cool with the cigarettes she smoked on the daily.

But as she raked her fingers through his hair, She knew very well that she was still the little kid who cried not to follow her friend into the depths of the woods.

"How are you doing this..? Are you a demon? A witch..?" Amaimon mumbled, Near melting into the lumber of the bench. What he had figured out was his heart started to beat faster and faster, A machine churning out some.. Human feeling inside of him.

[F/N] sniffled slightly, She wished she never took those cigarettes in the first place.

"It doesn't matter.. This must be it, This must be what you humans talk about when you say you love your family. I've never understood it.. You humans are just animals. Not like us demon's but.." Amaimon trailed off, Turning his head to face hers.

"You're not like the other humans, You're different.." Amaimon muttered. Hand lunging out to grasp her wrist once more as her movements slowed down, Both in fear and terror as she yelped out. Staring into his eyes.

"You're fun." He whispered.

[F/N] felt the tears prickling in her eyes start to drip, Start to fall down her cheeks. He wasn't acting like this before, He wasn't so.. So terrifying. He was just a strange boy she smoked with!

But she needed to get away, She needed to tell someone-

But her train of thought was cut off by the biggest of grins spreading across his face, One that seemed so unnatural upon the apathetic usual of his face. It was contorted, So visceral that she could never look away.

[F/N] stared at it and the tears streaming down her face only grew.

"Let's go have fun! I wanna go play! Big brother told me to learn more about Japan and it's becoming boring, But having you around will be fun! Come on!" Amaimon urged, Starting to tug on her even harder. Pulling her off the bench as her behind hit the hard concrete pavement.

"L-LET ME GO!" [F/N] cried out.

"I'll introduce you to my Behemoth, He's my pet! Big brother also said that I couldn't bring him out with us on his business meeting, So you'll need to come with me now so I can show you to him." Amaimon tugged even harder, His strength herculean and pulling her along easily as he started to lug her upwards.

[F/N] wailed. Her free arms raising and flailing against Amaimon in a desperate attempt to escape, Feet kicking at his shins and her shrill voice calling out for anyone that could hear her.

But there was no one around, No one except her smiling assailant dragging her along with him.

Though his grin dropped slightly as he looked at her face.

"Why are you leaking from your eyes? You should be smiling right now." He asked, His noise pushing into her face to examine the foreign substance coming from her ducts. He blinked, Tilting his head to the side.

[F/N] cried out, Sniffling hard.

"I'M NOT SMILING CAUSE YOU'RE KIDNAPPING M-"

HONK!

The distinct sound of a car horn came barrelling down the street. The grip on her wrist was freed, Amaimon's hand letting it slip from his grasp.

[F/N] stumbled back, Near tripping over the bench before she fell back onto it. She whined out, Examining the redness of her wrist and the pain on her skin. No injury luckily, But was still stinging.

"Y-You bastard.. How can you.." [F/N] sniffled, Looking up at him. But he wasn't looking at her, Instead he was looking far off down the road with a surprised expression plastered on his face.

HONK!

[F/N]'s eyes expanded, Matching Amaimon's as her head snapped over to the roadside. The car horn was louder now and the tune of which it hummed was unmistakable. Her mouth went dry, There was no way.

But as the hot pink limo sped down the suburban streets, The sound of the chipper horn playing out once more, [F/N] realised she was in hot shit. That horn was famous across Japan, That car was famous.

It was Johann Faust V's car, The wealthy foreign socialite and the headmaster of True Cross Academy. He was renowned for both the school's rich reputation and the flair for his projects, Namely the biggest theme park in the country!

But how could he be here?! This was some middle-class part of town, He was known to reside in True Cross Town. The chances of him being here right now were slim to none, But not if..

"No way.. This is your brother?!" [F/N] gawked, Jumping up from the rigid bench to an even more rigid stance. Eyes glued to the limo slowing a few feet down from the pavement, Watching it like a hawk.

Amaimon only bit the fingernail in his mouth a little harder.

"I wasn't suppose to be out this long.. I was suppose to return but I got side-tracked.." Amaimon muttered to himself as the limo finally parked a bit away from where they stood, He turned to look at her.

"But Big Brother will understand when he sees you. He'll like you just like I do, I know he will. Then I can keep you. This fraternal feeling is nice, Isn't it nice for you too?" Amaimon asked, Ignoring the shaking of her body and the redness in her eyes.

[F/N] shook her head, Backing away.

"I.. I, Uhm.. I don't.." [F/N] trailed off, At a complete loss for words. "It is nice isn't it, Little sister? I'll go talk to Big brother and see if I can keep you, Stay put and I'll be back." Amaimon said, Turning and running towards the limo down the street. The window already rolled down as he skittered to a halt in front of it.

[F/N] gulped, Still shaking as she wiped away her tears.

Whatever the hell that was, [F/N] wasn't ready to stay around and find out as her hand pounced at the straps of her bag. She lugged it over her shoulder, Eyes never leaving Amaimon's turned back as she started to sprint away.

If he was associated with Johann Faust then she didn't want to be apart of it. She didn't want to deal with whatever lawsuit that could be put against her, Especially if Amaimon told him that they were smoking, She was lucky she shoved all the other cigarettes away in her bag.

But she ran past the youth centre doors, Passing without batting a single eye.

She didn't want them to find out she was living there, That would be easy for them to torch her out. So as she ran, Rubber burning off her soles she knew she had to hide out for a little while.

Somewhere in the plaza or the shopping streets, Somewhere with a lot of people. Just for a few hours while this all cools down, So the staff don't find out she stole any cigs or was communicating with Johann Faust's bizarre younger brother.

So she ran and she ran, Sprinting further down the streets. The youth centre got smaller and smaller behind her, The arguing speck of Amaimon and the limo became only more miniscule as she ran.

All of this just for a few hours, Just so this crazy dream would all be over.

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