#But maybe it’s like an ice pick to a block of ice that is your heart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

webslingingslasher · 11 months ago

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Begin Again

an: this has been a long time in the making and I think it's a favorite of mine.

Pairing: Peter Parker X Mean!Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, enemies to lovers.

CW: harsh language, mental breakdowns, mentions of cheating (not peter)

Word Count: 24K

Summary: You've lived next door to Peter your whole life and the last nine years you've detested him. Now you're going through a breakup and it's nice to know someone's awake with you. Even if it is Peter Parker.

Breakups suck.

That’s it. That’s the whole message. There’s nothing else to add, except you’d never let yourself love again. It’s not like you didn’t know it wasn’t going to happen, you were aware the entire year what it would lead into, but hasn’t every girl sworn, at least once, they were the exception to a boys rule?

Natalie Greene’s voice echoed in your mind, “don’t get involved with a senior boy. They move on and you’re left picking up the pieces in homeroom.” You didn’t listen. You got involved and it was a good year, you knew he was going to college and when he left the break up was inevitable. Still, it didn’t hurt as hard until three months into the school year he called and said he met someone else.

You wish you weren’t so kind and understanding to him.

You called Natalie Greene the second it ended, she picked up and that angel voice of hers shined through the phone. She asked ‘hello?’ three times before you sobbed. You could feel the empathy in her tone, ‘he ended it, huh?’ All you could do is squeak back, ‘stay right there babe, I’m on my way with the break up kit.’

She showed up with a stray grocery bag. “alright,” she stated, hands on her hips.

“I got ice cream, a super soft blanket, movies - of all genres, face masks, a lighter-”

“Why do you have a lighter?”

Natalie rolls her eyes with a goofy grin, “to burn stuff, duh.“

The gesture was nice, but you couldn’t focus on the movie.

It felt like everytime you blinked there were tears that would find themselves tracking down your cheeks, you sniffled occasionally and blankly stared at the screen; flashbacks clouding your mind. Each kiss, each laugh, each touch, every fight and makeup, the first time you felt someone's hips melt into yours.

A supercut of every moment.

You were replaying a thousand things and all he was thinking about was the new girl under him, you were angry at everything all at once. Angry at yourself for letting yourself get hurt and feeling this much pain, because you knew it was coming, it was the whole agreement when it started. Angry at him for not breaking his promise and loving you anyway, angry at him for not telling you he’d wait for you and everything would be okay.

Angry that you hate him and yourself but more angry how quickly you’d fall back into him if he called.

“I knew this was gonna happen, Nat.” You sniff, a cry bubbles from your throat, “so why does it hurt so bad?”

Your friend frowns, she’s no savor to heartbreak. She’s been where you are more times than one could take, she still loves with her whole heart and you don’t know if you could ever do it again. Natalie wraps her arms around your shoulders while you shake with a sob, you cry into her knowing you're matting her blonde hair but she just pats you and holds you close.

“Because even though the ending was coming it didn’t feel real until the book closed. And maybe a little bit because you hoped he’d change his mind.”

You gasp, “how do I get past this? Nat, it feels..”

You’re tugged into her so tight you can feel her collarbone against your cheek, “like you’re dying? Yeah, that happens. But, you’ll live. It doesn’t feel like it now, but the day will come where you can think about him, smile, and thank him for the opportunity.”

You snort, “for breaking my heart?”

Natalie Greene holds you as tight as she can, “for making you grow.”

Your shoulders feel like they’re falling behind you as you inch along the hallway, everything feels heavy. Your feet are like lead blocks, and your heart feels like it’s been tied down with an anchor. It hurts more to know he’s not aching like this, he has someone new to keep him busy.

Blinking at your locker you fight back a yawn, two weeks after heartbreak and it still feels the same. You sleep like shit, tossing and turning and weird dreams when you finally dozed off. The one thing that’s helped keep your mind away from him, was your neighbor. Every night, at 3:02 am, on the dot, you hear the same movements.

A window slams shut, two soft hops on the floor and three bumps against the wall.

For six nights straight you kept count, it was methodical. A nightly routine, you weren’t sure what he was doing, but it was something. It made your mind wonder, your most recent theory was that he was a smoker; weed, cigarettes or whatever, and he would blow smoke out his window before landing in bed.

Maybe his bed was against your wall and that’s why you heard so many small knocks.

Last night you stayed up, you waited and right on the minute, like you expected, you heard a window slam shut. A small grin crossed your face, not at him, but at the idea of a constant. You lost your reliable figure, he’s thousands of miles away with his own new person, but tonight, and for the last seven nights you’ve had something to rely on. Something that couldn’t go anywhere.

You blink and suddenly you’re staring at your open locker, you don’t even remember putting in the combination. On autopilot you grab what you need for your next three classes and shrug your backpack down. Lately, it seemed like everything moved in slow motion.

“Are we ready to go to Flash’s party friday and makeout with a rando or are we still numb to everything?”

Natalie smiles at your figure, when you slouch and give her a “hey, Nat,” her blonde hair bounces as she nods her head understandingly, “still dead to the world, understandable.”

“At this point I’d do heroin to feel something,” your deadstare makes her think you might be serious. “Tell you what, if you’re still this miserable in six weeks, we’ll do it together.”

Your eyebrow quirks, “you’d do heroin with me if I’m still this miserable?”

Natalie Greene’s hand sticks out, her eyes ferocious. You know immediately she has something up her sleeve.

“Six weeks, starting today.”

You have nothing else to go on except the nightly wake up call and Natalie Greene’s plan.

“Six weeks.”

It’s solidified with a handshake, your fingertips turn white in her hold.

WEEK ONE.

Natalie Greene had talked you into going to Flash’s party, not to makeout with anyone, she quickly withdrew that from the table. You had been very hesitant at first, pushing at every restraint and reason to why you shouldn’t go and she stopped you right there. Manicured hand and all, petite and poised, she stopped your path.

“Here’s why you should go: get fucking wrecked, absolutely smashed and let it all out. I promise you, babe, it feels so, so good.”

“You think that will make me feel better? Getting hammered at a house party on a friday night?”

“I’ll take care of you for the night, okay? I’ll get you drunk and you can cry or scream or whatever you want. Let go of anything you’re holding back, that’s why you should go.”

You look her over, she’s been your rock the last three years in the school. Natalie is different, she protects and cares for herself like she does someone else. She also gives out more of her heart than she should, but she appreciates the burn it leaves. She tells you it’s one more ache preparing her for the one who would never make it hurt again.

If Natalie Greene says it’ll help, you’ll listen.

“You’ll drive me home and take care of me the next morning? Hungover and all?”

A denim jacket covered shoulder shrugs, “I think it’s time I repay you for all these years.”

For the first time in two weeks a real smile crosses your face, it’s small but it’s there.

Flashforward two days later, you’re eight drinks in and feeling like you’re flying.

You sway against your friend, “and he,” you hiccup, “he said he was like, soooo in love with me but then like, fuckin four days later,” it took you a moment to hold up the correct number on your hand, “boom, no boyfriend.” Natalie tried to hold back a laugh but her cheeks blew up when she let it escape, you pulled the most comical ‘what the fuck?’ face.

“I mean who the fuck does that- a sick person. That’s who! And- And you know what?” you hiccup, “I thought I’d be sad, but I just kinda hate him, does that make me bad?”

“Nah, I had some that killed me inside and some that I just shrugged off. Some moved in waves. One minute I’d say ‘fuck him!’ and the next I’d be overwhelmed with sadness because I didn’t have anyone to hold me anymore.”

You blink at her words and swallow the rest of your cup, you hadn’t thought about that part yet. Not having anyone to call yours anymore, that’s the hardest hitting part. You really, really wanted to call him. Just one more time, maybe he misses you just as much, maybe he doesn’t know how to say sorry, maybe he’s waiting for you to call.

“I should call him, right?” Your hands fumble at your pockets, your friend panics and grabs at your arms. “No! No, no, no! You absolutely should not call him!” You whine, “but what if he-”

Natalie grabs you tight, it makes you look at her confused. Her tone takes a sharp turn, she breaks through your drunken stupor in a second.

“He’s not. He’s not thinking about you, he’s not missing you, he’s not sitting around wishing you’d call him, he’s just not. He broke up with you, you don’t do that if you still care. Don’t do that to yourself, it ended mature. You have to be mature now.”

Brutal honesty. It puts everything in perspective.

He didn’t miss you, and that… really, really hurt.

Natalie was right, it comes in waves. Because there comes that sadness, it starts with small blinks and suddenly fat tears skip down your cheeks. “You’re right! He, he doesn’t-” you take harsh breaths, for the first time in two weeks you had a full breakdown. Everything you held back bottled over, you didn’t know how you could hold in so much hurt.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go, we can cry in the car but not here.”

Your breath shook the entire way to the car, the moment you sat in the passenger seat you cried. Your voice cracked, “he said he loved me!” Natalie nodded, cranking the engine, “And I’m sure he did, babe. Sometimes these things run their course and it’s no one's fault.”

It went like that the entire car ride, until she stopped at a McDonald's and got you a milkshake so you could focus on getting the liquid up the straw instead of saying the same three things on a loop. Once you got fries in your mouth the thought of him was erased from your mind, choosing to sing loudly and stick your head out the window on the way back.

Stumbling and giggling quietly at the late hour while you swayed on the walk to your door, you stretched freely and yawned when you stumbled in. Home alone for the weekend, just how it should be. “I’m getting naked,” you started stripping while walking to your room to change into pajamas, your heart lurches when you see one of his shirts.

You flop backwards on your bed, the room slightly spins and you close your eyes tight trying to ground yourself. Wriggling into the sheets you sigh, and yawn again. Your head buries into a pillow and sleep is imminent.

“Sleepy?”

Natalie Greene stands in the doorway with water and some advil, you smile and pat your bed, inviting her to join.

“Natalie Greene, you are so great, did you know that?”

Your friend laughs, you nuzzle into her hand while she strokes your hair, “I did, but a reminder is always nice. Go to sleep, babe. I’ll make toast in the morning.”

Her gentle touch makes it easy, you yawn one more time. Your voice flutters while you talk into sleep.

“Do me a favor?”

“Anything,” she whispers. You don’t think he ever loved you this soft.

“Make sure he gets home for me.”

Natalie Greene asked who but all she received were soft snores.

The birds were screaming the earth back awake.

At least that’s how it felt, your ears were ringing and there was a dull, present thud in your head. The sunlight has never been so bright, you hold your eyes shut but the ache gets louder and you can’t get comfortable.

There’s two pills and half a glass of water waiting for you, god bless Natalie Greene.

“Good morning, sunshine!” You wince and choke on your gulp of water, a knife has pierced your eardrum. “Oh my god, everything is on dial eleven, I think I’m dying.”

“How are you feeling? Besides the obvious, I mean.”

She means about him, you take a moment to really think about it.

“I think… I think I’m doing okay.”

Your friend smiles and throws her hair into a ponytail, “good, I’m making breakfast. Come join.”

After ten minutes and infinite pep talk you rise on shaky knees, stumbling towards your door and barely making it to the couch where you spread wide and gulped for air. Your friend snorted at your exaggeration over her shoulder and carefully walked towards you with a piping mug of tea.

Sitting up you bring a blanket over your shoulders, you squint at her before taking the handle. Taking a sip while you turn the TV on, searching for a midmorning throwaway show. A re-run of The Wendy Williams Show wins, you rest your head on a cushion and stare blankly at the screen. Natalie Greene humming up a tune in the kitchen.

You hadn’t even checked your phone yet, “what time is it?”

“Noon thirty.”

Your eyes widen, “my god,” you mumble to yourself.

Listening to Wendy your eyes lull shut and suddenly you're sinking back into sleep, you roll over and smack your dry lips. Until your friend is kicking at your shin with two plates in her hands, stacked full of the breakfast nines.

Your queasy stomach grumbles and any drowsiness is ripped away with hunger. Nearly drooling, you stuff a piece of french toast in your mouth and moan, “Nat, you’re the greatest thing I got.” She bounces her shoulder into yours, “I know.”

You fall into silence while you scarf breakfast down, booing and applauding when deemed necessary by Wendy. Leaning back you rest your hands over your full belly and pat gently. Swiping your tongue over your gums for any crumbs, you sigh happily.

“Hey, what did you mean last night? You said to let you know if he got home safely.”

You wave her off, “drunk stupidness, I hear my neighbor every night around the same time moving around. This last week, I dunno, it felt nice knowing someone else was up too?”

“Have you ever-”

Both your necks turn to look at the front door then back at each other, the knocking that caught your attention continues.

“Who’s-”

“Did you-”

You swallow and stand up, not so shaky anymore. Looking through the peephole your forehead hits the door at the sight of said neighbor, you know what they say about devils and appearing, groaning you take a moment to collect yourself and open the door.

“What do you want, penis?”

Peter Parker in all his glory, is knocking at your door with a plate of… cookies?

Neighbors forever, close pals never. You’d played together as kids, mostly elementary age but since you were eight you’ve had a disdain for Peter Parker. You’re not sure where it went wrong, but just looking at him you wanted to roll your eyes.

“I was going to say, ‘wow, how could a guy ever dump you?’ but now, I’d say that’s how.”

Normally that wouldn’t hurt, but the recent circumstances made it a cheap shot.

“Is this your sorry attempt to be a rebound? Because if it is, I want to make it extremely clear I’d rather eat glass than-”

The plate is shoved into your face, “May had me bring these over, she said your mom told her you’ve been a weepy, miserable mess because some dickhead thought he found someone better.”

You huff at him, your fingers wrap around his wristwatch as you pull it down, all you heard was weepy and miserable.

“I know you wouldn’t know anything about someone loving you but-”

“Is that Peter B. Parker?”

Natalie Greene reminds you of your hangover in record timing, you wince at her shriek. Peter gives a polite, dare you say charming (?) smile. It makes you fight back a gag, “hello, Natalie Greene.” Her eyes flash from his, to the plate, to the cracked open door across the hall and she gets a wicked grin.

The person you’ve hated and bickered with the most is suddenly the one you listen out for in the middle of the night. The look on her face, the glance she shared with you, proved she knew.

“Cookies?” Natalie nudges your arm, “he brought cookies and he’s right across the hallway, how nice.”

Peter’s oblivious to her tone, he has his goofy smile on and it makes you seeth. He’s always so god damn happy, it’s annoying.

“Well, actually, my aunt made them. But I am delivering, so I can accept some praise.”

She laughs, full on cackles and nudges you again.

“You know, in all the times you talked about Peter you never mentioned how funny he was!”

You don’t know what she’s playing at but you’re shutting it down immediately.

Peter looks at you, he seems almost hopeful and you have to settle the urge to toss the plate to the ground. “You talk about me?”

You cross your arms and sneer, “don’t worry, nothing good.”

His smile drops, “yeah, sorry. I don’t know why..” his curls bounce as he gently shakes his head before pushing the glass into your chest. “Here, eat as many as it takes to feel somewhat okay again.”

You grip the plate and look down, they’re your favorite.

“We, um. We have more over here, so if you want more. Or if you wanna hang out or something I’m here, so…”

Peter’s never been a friend like this before and it was some pity party you wanted no part of now.

“It’s a breakup. I’m sure I can manage without you just fine.”

His eyebrows turn in, “right. I just thought- nevermind, enjoy the cookies.”

Natalie gives him a sympathetic frown and sulks back inside, you keep your glare on his figure until he reaches his door. As you’re about to retreat he stops in the doorway, “for what it’s worth, I think he’s stupid and he’s gonna realize what he lost when it’s way too late.”

It’s almost nice, sometimes it sucks when the person you’re supposed to hate has human peek through their armor.

Too bad you’re more guarded than ever.

“Well, then. It’s a good thing you’re not worth much.”

Maybe it’s his resilience that troubles you, no matter how hard you push him away or beat him down with words he’ll pick himself back up and hand your words back in a package of self reflection.

Today is no exception, Peter flashes you a sad smile, this one actually is filled with pity.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” you didn’t have a chance to fire back. His door was already shut.

Heartache throbbed but the cookies were damn good.

On your third, you down half a cup of milk. You reach for a fourth and Natalie hasn’t said one word. Instead she cleaned the kitchen and packed up her overnight bag, before settling next to you for an episode of Jerry Springer and her own deserved treat.

“So, do tell, my friend. Is Peter the one you wanted to know was home safe?”

Deny till death.

“No way, I’m talking about Mr. Harrington, he’s like a hundred years old.”

Natalie takes her time chewing and swallowing, “your hundred year old neighbor is up in the middle of the night?”

It’s dumb to lie, you and her know the truth.

You shrug and take a fifth cookie, “he may have a routine, I dunno.”

Your friend hums, “I just thought it may be Peter, cause you share a wall and all.”

Gagging at his name you shake it off, “Gross! It’s bad enough knowing the plate these were on were in his hands.” It takes you a second but you’re able to plow through another bite.

“I just… why do we hate Peter so much?”

You don’t know, you think you blocked it out. Every time you look at him a weird feeling bubbles up and it makes you want to scream, cry, fight and hug it out with him in one second. It’s easier to bark at him than confront him about your feelings.

“I don’t know. He’s just a pest to me, every time I turn around he’s there. And I swear to god he spilled the beans about that party last year.”

Natalie Greene knows three things to be true.

One: Peter Parker likes you, you just don’t know it yet.

“What if you talked to him?”

Cookie crumbs fall over your shirt as you talk, “I’m sorry, what?”

Two: You like Peter Parker, you just don’t know it yet.

“If you need me and I’m not around, if you need someone to support you through this and I can’t be here, promise me you’ll knock on his door.”

You scoff at the idea, “yeah, sure.” she’s not very confident you mean it.

“Seriously, promise me right now if I can’t be there for you, you’ll ask him.”

She was serious, something in her tone made you shift and agree. It’s not like she’d go anywhere, Natalie Green was your lifeline.

“Alright! If you aren’t around and it’s literally life or death, I’ll ask… him.”

Three: Things get worse before they get better, you just don’t know it yet.

WEEK TWO.

Your mornings always started the same, a routine was important to you. It was consistent. It was wake up, hit up the bathroom, change, yawn and rub your eyes through breakfast before leaving to thrive in silence before school.

Today, when leaving, right as you’re pocketing your keys, your neighbor speaks out.

“Hey.”

You freeze, it’s rare you run into Peter in the mornings. You figure he leaves way earlier, or later than you. But when you do, you ignore each other with silence. You really don’t like the sudden change.

“How are you doing?”

You wonder if he heard you crying last night, you thought you got rid of it after the party. You didn’t understand how you could be happy one moment and miserable the next. What made it worse was when 3:02 am hit and you heard his window slam, your sniffles settled.

“Like I was dumped, thanks for the reminder.”

Your foot hits the first step when he calls out, “and the cookies?”

Biting your bottom lip you turn, it really was a nice gesture. You may not like him, but you loved May and she’s the one that put in all that hard work. Peter lights up when you face him, if he had a tail he’d start wagging it. It makes you bite down on your cheek, he doesn’t deserve unprovoked rage.

“They were really good,” you take three steps before turning back around.

“And, I uh, took your advice. Ate the whole plate, I mean.”

Peter fumbles, his key chain drops but he stays looking at you. His thumb shoots behind him to point at his door, “we have like, twenty left. Want some more?”

You shake your head softly, “maybe later?” Peter nods exuberantly, “yeah, yeah. I’ll bring them over.”

You curl your lip up and stomp down the steps, “thanks for the warning, penis!”

This was it.

This was your worst nightmare.

Not only did things get shuffled around until you were sitting next to Peter at dinner, where you made it a point to scoot your chair away from him when his shoulder touched yours and immediately swiped the area clean- But now you blinked blankly at your dinner while your mom droned on and on and on about the guy who dumped you. It didn’t matter if it was good or bad, you just wanted her to stop.

“And he was so sweet, wasn’t he? Honey, are you sure he hasn’t reached out? It’s not too late to call him, maybe if you-” May didn’t deserve to see you upset, and it kills you that Peter saw that emotion. Your mom didn’t even deserve it, you were so sick of trying to keep it together.

Your chair screeches with how quick you jump out of your seat.

“He doesn’t give a shit, he dumped me! So why do you think he’d call? He doesn’t want me, I mean he’s made that clear right?” Your eyes shoot to May’s, “I’m right, right? You don’t break up with someone if you still care, or want them, right?”

Tears haze your vision, “he ended it with me mom, and you know why? It’s cause he found a new girl! He fucking-” water rushes down your cheeks but you don’t stop, “he,” you collapse on the word, you can’t get a good inhale on breath.

“He left me to pick up the pieces, that’s all he did.” It clicked full motion, he left you behind and ended it. He got a fresh start and you were left trying to hold it together, like how it was, how it was supposed to be.

You sob, your chest has never felt so tight. Shaky breaths fade into sharp inhales, you can’t fucking breathe. Gasping you put a hand over your heart, you know in the back of your mind it’s a panic attack but all you feel is imminent death.

Peter stands and blocks your body with his, you don’t know what’s happening but you’re trying to get away. Each step you take backwards he takes one forwards until you're wheezing in your room, your ears are ringing and it feels like a heart attack is in approach. Your eyes squeeze shut and in an instant you feel calmer, it’s not because of your sudden blink. It’s because Peter has his hands over your ears pressing in, your back against the wall and front against his chest.

It’s the last place you want to be but you’re angry, and he’s there, and it’s all coming out.

You’re able to breathe but at what cost? You grip Peter’s shirt as tight as you could and wail into his chest, it’s the first time you’ve ever actually felt him against you. He’s more sturdy than you thought, as you push more and more weight on him he doesn’t stagger one bit. His arms held you to him, keeping steady until you’d push him away.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you coughed the words into his shirt, you held tighter when his only response was resting his chin on your head. You apologized and cried until you ran out of tears and your breaths were nothing but sharp inhales.

When reality hits and you realize you've been crying into Peter’s hold for minutes you push him away and wipe your nose. Avoiding his eyes, you look to the carpet, you have a fresh cry glow and mindset, it’s the good kind of emotional numb.

“I, um, I still have those cookies?”

Those being his choice of words after a troubling breakdown was warming, it made you feel like you weren’t so crazy. Or at least, Peter didn’t see you as crazy, which when thinking about didn’t mean much.

You can’t help but laugh, it’s so loud and opposite of every other emotion you spilled tonight it makes him jump, you see him setting up for the attack. The moment you snap at him and call him a weirdo for cornering you and throwing himself on you.

Tonight, you were full of surprises.

“Yeah,” you nod your head and wipe your nose one last time, “I’d love to come over for cookies.”

You had to look away from his smile, it was too blinding.

You broke the rule, you went lurking and hurt your own feelings. She’s all over his instagram, and she’s pretty. He’s all over hers, dating back to five months ago.

You do a double take, five months?

He had been cheating on you for months before he ended it. You feel sick. He told you he loved you while he was in bed with another girl. You felt so much rage inside you couldn’t hold it in, Natalie was too far away and Peter’s already seen you at your worst.

You move without thinking, slamming your fist on his door.

Wide eyes open it, Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared he was the subject of attack. You swerve past him, if you were in a cartoon, steam would be billowing from your ears. You didn’t get angry often, and you’ve never felt upset enough to punch someone, but all you could think about was screaming and slamming your fist into the wall.

“I hate him, I fucking hate him so fucking much. If you ever hear me crying I need you to come over and tell me I’m absolutely pathetic for crying over a fucking cheater.”

While he’s glad you’re not there to yell at him, his heart sinks for you.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was right in front of my face, too. She’d been claiming him since the second week of school. I’ve been a fool, god, I fucking hate him. I hate him so much I… I want to break something.”

Peter eyes his science notebook, he doesn’t have anything for you to break, but he has something that will make enough noise to drown out the voices. He grabs it and holds it out, you gently take it giving him a confused look.

“Wack it. Beat the absolute shit out of it on the counter.”

You look unsure, you don’t want to ruin his things, even if you don’t like him.

“Right on the edge, go on, do it.” His egging you on makes you follow his command, it’s gentle.

“Harder,” you test it.

“Harder,” you give a smack, it makes a popping sound and you jump, it feels good.

“Like you mean it, like you need it.” You do it again, it’s louder. You strike down without instruction, Peter starts barking at you, it makes you angrier.

“Harder, don’t be so weak!”

He hit the right nerve, you can’t stop, you’re moving so quick and using so much force the spine starts to rip from the cardboard. It feels good destroying something, it makes you beat the laminate harder. Loud cracks echoing from the walls.

You heave for air, every bit of force directed into your diminished trust. You yell between each blow.

“Fucking!”

“Piece!”

“Of!”

“Shit!”

You start to slow down, Peter’s notebook is fucked. You feel bad. Gasping for air when you’re done, Peter gives you a head nod, “better?”

You nod, “lots. Sorry about your book.” He doesn’t look bothered in the slightest, “it’s a good excuse to get a new one, I hate green.” You peer over the contents in the pages, “that’s a lie, everyone knows science is green.” Peter laughs, he nods like he’s saying ‘you got me there.’ “Doesn’t mean I like it though.”

Looking down at the notebook, you peer up at Peter. He looks soft, the sleeves of his zip up hoodie covered his thumbs, he has sweater paws. His hair framed his face nicely, his cheeks have a natural pink hue, it’s like he’s always sunkissed, or calming down from a laughing fit.

The sun is backlighting him perfectly, it makes his eyes look even more honey golden than they already do. You don’t know why you find him slightly cute at the moment, it makes your stomach tug and not in a good way. The last time you thought someone was cute you got burned, and you’ve always had a disdain for Peter.

Peter was the worst kind of rebound to have because you can’t decide who’d get more hurt from it, and the thought of that makes you want to avoid him forever.

“You’re looking at me funny.”

You are, it’s because you’re noticing him for the first time, at least since you were eight. Suddenly you can remember why you cut him out when you were a kid.

“I had a crush on you when we were younger. I think that’s why I stopped being your friend.”

Your confession made Peter’s eyes widen, he looks to the ground and hides his smile. When he picks his head back up he looks to the side, his cheeks a bit more flushed than normal. “That’s cute.”

It was. It was innocent and juvenile, his small response made you laugh. “Yeah, it really was.” You shouldn’t entertain it any further, but you can’t stop. Something about seeing his blush makes you want to keep going, “Wanna know when it started?” He looks curious, “sure.”

You go quiet for a minute, you haven’t thought about it in years. The moment it clicked you were freaked out, the first time you liked a boy and he was your best friend. You went from wanting to play in dirt to holding his hand. A smile spreads over your face when you watch the memory replay in your mind.

“We were at the complex playground and we were digging by that droopy tree across from the swingset, and I saw a lizard in the grass and I pointed it out to you. I told you I always wanted to hold one but they moved too fast and scared me, but you held out your arm and said ‘I got this.’” You laugh, replaying it once more.

“And you dive bombed and picked it up, and you were so fucking proud to have caught it. Then you placed it in my hand but I felt it move around and freaked out, but you held your hand over mine and said ‘don’t be scared.’”

There’s something about an eight year old Peter Parker with glasses and dirt smudged cheeks that had child you giddy.

Peter’s smiling, it’s like he’s reliving that day in his head too. “I fulfilled your lifelong dream and you fell for me.” You shrug, “maybe.” Setting his notebook on the counter you look around, you feel like you’ve said too much.

“Hey, um, thanks for the whole… unleashing my anger thing.” You're setting yourself up for a goodbye, Peter can sense it.

“Are you hungry? Wanna go get some pizza?”

No matter what was said, or thought, you still have that pinch of annoyance at him. But his brightness was what you needed today, and you hadn’t had lunch. You have a sinking feeling you’d regret it, there was something that felt like it was a bit more than friendly and it had you throwing up every wall possible.

Still, you find yourself agreeing.

“Sure. Let’s get some pizza.”

It was a stereotypical pizza place and those were the best ones. The wall is covered in pictures of random people, terrible paintings and red checkered tablecloths covered wobbly tables. They had a permanent sticky residue, your elbows peeled when you raised them up.

“I’m surprised you didn’t judge me on my hawaiian choice.” He always did, he told you it wasn’t authentic and childish.

“Hey, I’m a pizza guy, alright? Anything you put on a pizza belongs on it. I mean, I get the appeal, sweet and savory.” Your face brightens, he understands. “Exactly! And the warm pineapple just hits differently, it’s like-” Peter can read your mind, you say it at the same time. “Fries and ice cream.”

Another thing he found gross, your head tilts, it just kind of clicks with Peter. Your ex would sneer when you’d go for a dip, you begged him to try it a hundred times, you promised he’d like it but he’d tell you it was ‘fucking gross’.

“Hawaiian and pepperoni, can I get you kids anything else?” You shake your head while Peter responds for the both of you, ‘no thanks, we’re good.” Peter’s slice has a pool of grease in a slice of his pepperoni, it looks delicious. He sees you eying his choice and holds it out, “you want a bite don’t you?” Your eyes flash to your slice, “only if you take a bite of mine.” It’s only fair. “Swap with me,” you trade plates and tap slices as a cheers, humming when you take a bite Peter nods impressively.

You swap back and take a bite of yours, it’s heavenly. “I’m glad I got mine.” Peter agrees with the statement, “I’m sorry, babe, but pepperoni is superior. It’s all about keeping it simple.” You know he meant nothing by it, you know it meant it in a friendly way, you know it’s a regular pet name to use in passing, but he called you babe.

Hearing the term of affection makes your skin crawl, you swallow a lump in your throat. You want to snap at him, but instead your voice comes out soft. “Please don’t call me that.” Peter’s eyes soften, he almost tells you he didn’t mean it like that, but he knows you already understand that.

“No problem, old lady.” It took a second, but you couldn’t stop the laugh. “What did you just call me?” Peter bites his bottom lip, “well, that’s the opposite of babe, isn’t it?” It makes your smile bigger, it’s funny, if you had asked him something that simple he’d fight you on it, ask a million questions and push it until you gave up.

For the first time in a month you really can’t remember why you thought he was so great.

WEEK THREE.

Natalie Greene has her hair pulled slick back in a ponytail, a determined look and hands on her hips.

“Let’s fuck some shit up.”

Lunch with Peter had really pushed you forward, you had strayed away from him the last few days. You still listened for him nightly but avoided him in the hallway and at school, he was everything he was not, and it made you feel queasy.

It was time you removed him from your life, you started with blocking him on everything. From instagram to duolingo. Then, you piled up everything he left behind or things that reminded you of him, but you couldn’t touch your closet. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Enter Natalie Greene.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard for me, everything else was fine.” Natalie shrugs, your closet doors are open and she’s itching to start rummaging. “It’s not for me. What are we thinking, trash, donate, burn? Dare I say detonate?”

You snort, “think I could do some black magic?” Her eyes light up, “I’ll look up the dark arts right now, don’t dare me.” You sigh, “I don’t care what you do with them, I just need them out of here.” Natalie Greene understands, she’s been there too a few times. Everything that reminds you of him burns like hell. A constant reminder of what’s no longer.

It’s only five shirts and some sweatpants but it feels paralyzing. Once his clothes are gone he’s no longer, like the last year never meant anything. He cheated but you still feel like it was real for the time you had him.

“Shit, can we raincheck the disposal?” Natalie is staring at her phone in her hand, a worried line where her lips were. “Family stuff.” You tell her it’s fine and send her out in a second, staring at the bag you started to twitch.

It felt daunting- a looming presence. You almost got rid of him but couldn’t. It was five minutes of harsh breathing, then you drag it across the hall hoping Peter was home. You needed them gone.

May answered the door and you feel slightly flustered.

“Hi, May. Is Peter home?”

She welcomes you in the door, skipping over the makeshift laundry bag and giving a quick but squeezing hug. “How are you feeling?” If you had been asked that a week ago you’d fly off the handle, but this week it feels like you can breathe a bit better.

“I think I’m doing pretty okay. It helped to know he cheated, it makes me miss him sixty percent less. The other forty makes me feel pathetic.” May frowns with empathy, “my college boyfriend cheated. Betrayal and hurt is a weird feeling when mixed with love.”

You laugh, “yeah, it really is.” May clears her throat, “Peter’s in his room, he may be busy with some homework.” You thank her and move down the hallway, the plastic bag follows, half of you hopes it rips because it’s what he deserves.

You knock and wait for his response, grunting when you swing the trash bag over the threshold and let it drop. “I have an odd request for a man.” Peter seems surprised to see you for a second, then looks at the bag and back at you. He seems a bit more weary.

“Uh huh.”

“I’m getting rid of his things and Nat had to dip, wanna come with?” You follow up with a wince, “I’m sorry, this is super weird and out of place.”

Peter shrugs, “if it helps, it helps. And if you’re serious, I’ll go with you.” You take a deep breath, healing and growing isn’t always comfortable. “Fuck it, let’s donate some shit.”

You feel like you stand straighter walking out with Peter behind you, he’s carrying the dead weight and you feel accomplished. May has a raised eyebrow, you hold out your hand and settle her curiosity.

“Don’t worry, justice is about to be served.”

May grins at her nephew's soft smile, she’s seen and heard about you more in the last two weeks than she has in the last nine years. “It’s sounding a lot more like twenty percent.”

The moment things started turning south was at the donation center. You weren’t even standing super close to Peter, or radiating an aura that even suggested he was anything more than a conveniently close acquaintance. But the volunteer at the front thought differently.

“Aw, I wish more young couples came in, it always seems to brighten up the place!”

You feel like a force of wind caught you breathless, every inch of you froze on the spot. When she says couple you think of him, but you’re not a couple anymore. When she says ‘couple’ you feel your heart encapsulate with rubble, the idea of him makes you feel sick.

You don’t think you could ever love again.

Especially not with Peter, not even when he shies away with pink cheeks and tries to shrug her comment off. It’s not worth the awkwardness of announcing you’re not a couple, you both know you’re not, and she doesn’t really care if you were or not.

“We were just in the mood to donate today,” he plays it off well. You chew on your lip and watch him fill out the donation slip, it’s second nature for Peter to take care of you, it was something he mostly failed at.

Before the attendant can take the bag, Peter stops her by hovering his hand over it, he turns his neck and makes eye contact. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Your heart pounds, threatening to crack the rock.

“I’m sure.” Because, you really are.

Peter smiles, “any last words?” You try to think of something, nothing comes to mind other than a blur of frustration and confusion. Raising your hand you give it the middle finger, Peter’s laughing at your blank face, “c’mon, you know you wanna double it.” You do, so you did.

It feels freeing, you’re not healed but you don’t have a daunting weight on your shoulders anymore. A satisfied smile spreads, your hands drop for a second before Peter’s high-fiving you. You’re tucked under his arm after saying his thanks to the confused volunteer, bumping your hip against his and caged in his hold you feel safe. Safer than you’ve ever felt.

A crack in the rocks, your heart thumps wildly when he drags you opposite from where you came. “Let me buy you a hawaiian.”

Peter is pretty. You could admit it. Never out loud, but you’d admit it silently. He’s on fire tonight, keeping you laughing and talking. He’s a perfect story teller, he has a way of pulling you in. He’s charismatic and throws himself into every role, voices and body movements.

Your chin is resting on your hand while you focus on every word of his, entranced in his excitement. A lamp hanging over your mini booth makes him look a tad yellow, but his eyes shine brighter than all hell, you never knew brown eyes could suck you in for hours.

For a second your mind blips and you truly can’t remember his eye color. But you know they’re nothing like Peter’s.

You forget to react, because Peter cut himself off and waved his hand in front of his face. You blink alert, he has a very charming smile, you look at a table of older women. “You good? Felt like you were trying to look into my soul.”

You can’t stop it, it's a knee jerk reaction and the moment you say it you regret it.

“Your eyes are very pretty.” You won’t stop looking at a slice of mozzarella on a grandma’s plate. Peter hums, nodding his head like he understands, “so you weren’t trying to sacrifice me, you just got lost in my very pretty eyes.”

The crack splinters, a chunk falls off. You meet his eyes, he’s not making fun of you. You sit straighter and reach out to steal a piece of pepperoni from his slice, acting like you’re not blatantly flirting with ease.

“I just haven’t noticed them before I think.”

Peter’s quiet for a moment, his arms are crossed on the table, fingers tap on his elbows.

“Well, I’m glad you are now.” It’s a little too much, he’s not allowed to entertain you back, he could hurt you too.

You clear your throat, “I need to ask you something.” Peter stops tapping, it’s like he’s been waiting on you to say it. “Yeah, anything.”

You lean forward a little, “did you tell my mom about the party last year?” He looks slightly disappointed that was your question, “nope.” Your eyes narrow, “I’d rather us not start a friendship built on lies.”

Peter lights up, “friendship?” A displeased expression was shared, “thin ice, Parker.” He seems a bit more determined to tell the truth this time.

Peter sits up and interlocks his fingers, “I promise I didn’t tell her. Mr. Harrington did. And I know how much you like him and I thought you would stop going to see him if you knew and he’s super old so I just kinda… let you believe it was me.”

Your heart breaks free, it’s loud and pumping and it’s making you feel alive. A sense of urgency to do something to him makes you itch, you have to pull your hands to your lap. In that second, for whatever reason, all you want is to feel his skin on yours.

He’d be willing to do anything for you, even at the cost of you hating him.

“You’re the most selfless person I know and it’s kind of insufferable.” Peter rolls his eyes, “just admit you like me, god.” Your breath stutters, but you move right past it.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep talking about the petting zoo.”

Peter jumps back into character, “alright, so I’m down on-”

For the first time in weeks you slept through the night, until three am. You woke up on your own, a mental alarm had you looking out for him. After you hear the comforting chorus of movement, you hide under your pillow and go back to sleep.

Your world is falling apart. You were on the track to healing, each piece of your heart was slowly mending back together. Until news of Natalie Greene going out of town hits, you collapse to your bed with an arm over your eyes. Facetime carries her into your room.

“Why couldn’t your grandma die next month?” She nods her head, folding a tank top to drop it into her carry on. “So true, she should’ve known you were having a crisis.” You nod, “it’s so hard knowing the world doesn’t revolve around me.”

The room goes quiet as she moves around and packs. You contemplate telling her, you didn’t want a spectacle and you didn’t even know if or what you wanted from Peter. But damn if you hadn’t been thinking about it for days. You wonder if she’s picked up on the hints, you’d been relying on her less and less.

“Are you going to hang with Peter while I’m gone?” Your mind flashes to him, the past few nights he’d sent you a few videos that he thought you’d like. And you did, even if he didn’t know you as deeply as he has until recently, he still makes you feel seen.

He would send you things he found funny.

Peter sends you things he knows you’d find funny.

“Maybe. He buys me pizza so he’s cool to have around, I guess.” Natalie Greene snorts, “and I’m sure he makes fun of your pineapple.” It feels like your heart shines, “no, actually. He gets it.” Your eyes flash to the top of the screen, a text from Peter pops up, you waste no time hitting the notification.

‘Wanna come have some brownie cookies?’

You bite your lip, rising from your bed you shuffle into your slippers. “Hey, Nat, I gotta go. I’m really sorry about your grandma.” She rolls her eyes, “she was super old and I didn’t really know her, it’ll be cool to see my cousins though.”

“Have fun on the trip!”

A wicked grin, “have fun with Peter.” You don’t even fight her on it, she knew exactly what you were doing.

Your knuckles tapped on the door, it was opened in seconds. Peter had a glow like you’ve never noticed, he only got more and more pretty. A smile stretched across his face, you love how it always meets his eyes.

“Hi.”

Your slippers softly scrape the wood floors when you enter, “hi.” Peter gestures you towards the kitchen, and for whatever reason, you reach behind you and tug him along.

“Okay, okay, so what did she say?”

Your legs swing on the counter, mumbling between mouthfuls of the dessert fusion you’re fully invested in Peter’s story. He had caught Mrs. Hopkins and the chef that lives on floor two in an argument, and it turns out Mrs. Hopkins was the complex's porch pirate.

Peter swallows his own bite, “she asked me to back her up! And I was all like, ‘hell no, you stole my aunt’s juicer.’” You gasp, “not May’s juicer.” Peter holds a finger up, ‘nah, I caught her red handed. She was so pissed and on the spot she snapped at me like, ‘it wasn’t a juicer, it was a butter dish.”

You slap a hand over your mouth, “oh no.” Peter’s eyebrows raise, turning his back to grab a glass of milk. “I wish you could’ve seen the look on her face when she realized she told on herself, it was awesome. She was spewing shit all the way to the elevator.”

Finishing your treat your tongue feels thick, holding out a hand in a silent request for a swig of his milk. Peter looks between your hand and his glass, he looks weary.

“Are you sure you wanna drink after me? I figured you’d be scared of my cooties.” You motion for the cup, he passes it over and you wrap your palms around the glass.

“Oh, you absolutely have boy cooties, they just become non-contagious at puberty.” Peter runs his tongue over his teeth, “I think I forgot that lesson, what else can I expect from puberty?” You laugh on a gulp of milk, “trust me, Parker, puberty hit you like a bus.

He steps closer, you set the glass down next to you.

“Is that a good thing?”

You look over his face, he’s got a defined bone structure but soft features. A boyish charm coats over him, it’s just enough of a hint of innocence you beg he never loses it. It’s a no brainer, he was attractive, your eyes flash to his mouth, it’s a wild instinct and you try your best to shake it off.

“Yes. I’d say puberty was very kind to you.” Peter takes another step, “how so?” Pretending to think about it, like you weren’t already, you take a second to respond. You don’t notice him taking another step.

“Well, you have a nice jawline.” Peter tilts his head slightly, “is that all?” You’re not sure what it is, but there’s an undertone and it fills you with excitement.

“And very nice curls.”

“I don’t think that has anything to do with puberty.” You suppose he’s right, “you’re taller than me now.” You had an inch on him when you were kids. Peter’s suddenly right in front of you, “especially now.” He has to look down at you while you blink up at him from the counter, “yeah, you’re like a giant.”

Your mind betrays you, his lips are unnaturally pink, they look like they’re the right amount chapped. “Anything else?” You’re struggling, all you can think about is him but you can’t follow a train of thought.

“You smell really good,” you take a deep breath when his hands rest on either side of you, he’s caging you in and everything builds with anticipation, you fight the urge to pull him in. “You’re just complimenting me now.”

You shake your head, “do you know how many teenage boys smell bad?” It’s not your fault, he’s so close his scent has invaded your senses, you wanted to inhale him until you turned blue.

“One more.” You try to think, he’s making it very hard. It takes a second but you have one, proud to have pulled it from the chamber, a sly grin takes place.

“You-” Lips on yours, it happened so fast you couldn’t catch up. Mind spinning when you realize Peter Parker was kissing you, you know you should shove him off, but it feels right. It’s over as quick as it started.

You just got out of a relationship, one that tugged you to one of the lowest points of your life so far. It’s not lost on you when you weren’t the one to pull away, but you’re the first one to comment on it.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” You weren’t mad, you were warning him, he doesn’t know what lies ahead.

“But I really wanted to.” His eyes keep looking you over, was he expecting you to scream?

It’s dangerous territory, your voice feather soft when it comes out. “And do you want to again?” Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.

It felt like the air went still in the room, everything slowly melted into the background until it was only you and him. The quiet hum of the air conditioner faded into silence, the scene music from a movie on the tv in the room behind you diluted to nothing.

It was just you and Peter, and he was getting closer. It was achingly slow, you know what he’s doing, he’s giving you a chance to escape. Bail before it became too real, but has he thought about the possibility of you leaning closer?

What are you doing?

His lips hovered over yours, when you closed your eyes he took it as permission.

You’d always heard of the fireworks, that kisses are like explosions of happiness. And they were, and you loved them, but there were no fireworks. At least with him.

With Peter, your entire sky brightened. Little prickles of electricity dolly chained up your spine, an explosion of color in your mind. It made you starving and whole in one touch, his body made to fit against yours perfect.

You wonder if he has the same feeling, you think he does when his hand cups your face, the other one tugs your hip so you fit him better. It’s bold of you, but when you feel that entranced you don’t know how to stop. Your tongue swipes on his bottom lip, it’s very clear he doesn’t know what to do.

You pull away for air, Peter’s pupils blow wide before looking at the floor. His head feels like it’s spinning, the girl he’s always wanted, wants him right back. Peter feels very aware of his surroundings, how hard his heart is pounding, how you’re holding him to you, how you’re tracing his bottom lip with your thumb, how you’re leaning back in, how he’s holding you into him.

You take the lead, it’s slow but you build his confidence, he’s a quick learner.

In minutes you’re nearly laid back on the kitchen counter, you’re about to suggest he takes it to his bedroom, but the thought of breaking away from his kiss keeps you stationary. Peter’s locked to you too, your legs hooked around his waist, keeping him as close as he could get.

All you can think is Peter, Peter, Peter.

He claims he doesn’t know much, but it feels like he’s intune with your body. Peter matches you perfectly, you never knew a makeout session could bring so much tension. A moan pulls from the back of your throat when his thumb peeks under the cotton of your shirt.

Peter breaks the kiss, little huffs of air billow from your mouth while he kisses down the side of your neck. When he finds the spot that makes you squirm he nibbles gently, a hand tangled at the back of his hair lets him know he’s doing something right.

Especially when you arch into his touch as his hand confidently slides under your shirt, digging his fingers into the plush skin over your ribcage. “Fuck, Peter,” it’s breathy and eggs him on, he wants to hear nothing but that for the rest of his life.

Caught up in the moment neither of you heard the door, or noticed the third person in the room, until shock spewed from their mouth.

“Oh, wow!”

Peter rips himself away, his instinct is to hide your face into his chest. You’re grateful, it saves the embarrassment of looking his aunt in the eye after she watched you fold under his hands. Peter’s mind is racing, his only priority was keeping you comfortable.

Fuck, he kisses so sweet. Shut up!

“Hey, May. Get anything good at the farmers market?”

Blatant ignorance and casual conversation was the route he took, and it seemed to have worked. Cloth bags hit the counter, you stay hidden, Peter’s hand pressed into the back of your head. He’s sturdy, your head lays perfect on his sternum, it was made for you. No, stop.

“Yes! I got more of that european bread we really liked.” As much as you would like to be ignored, May wouldn’t let you. A pat on your knee sent your arms curling around Peter’s waist, he tried his best to settle the clench of his heart.

Fits perfect, fits perfect, fits-

“You’d love it, it’s roasted garlic, real pieces too!”

It may be rude to ignore the owner of a home, but you weren’t looking at her for another ten lightyears. At least you give a muffled response into Peter’s chest, “sounds good.” May giggles a little, you hear the fridge open and rustling.

“Are you gonna hide from me forever?”

If Peter could play pretend, so could you. You pushed him away softly, “Peter made brownie cookies.” May raises an eyebrow, directing her attention towards her nephew. “Ever since that first plate of cookies Peter’s been baking like it’s his job.”

He’s perfect.

“You made the cookies?” Peter had told you May did, you’re sure of it. He nods quickly, “I figured if I told you, you’d think they were poisoned.”

You want his touch, you want him pressed into you again. This has to stop.

It’s dramatic, but you’ll bite. “Smart boy.” Peter has a gleam in his eye, “I really am.”

May knows when she’s third wheeling, she makes an excuse to move to the living room, Peter nods towards his room. You accept his hand down and look behind you at the door. He was frustratingly magnetic, you wanted to do nothing more than fall into bed and stay forever attached to his lips.

It was a new rush of feelings, most of them new and almost dangerous. You wanted to explore and learn and take some of Natalie Greene’s advice and grow. But more than wanting, you knew you had to leave.

You were still healing, and if it hurt this bad with him, where nothing felt like this, you can’t imagine the burn this could leave.

“I should go,” you can’t look him in the eye, he’d suck you back in. You’d never be able to leave, you have to leave.

“Is this because of May? Cause we can leave and..” You shake your head fast and take a step back, he’s too kind, too understanding, too new and thrilling and, and… loving. You don’t deserve him or what he brings, you can’t bear the imagination of what his heartbreak would feel like.

“No, not May.” There was only one thing that kept you from him before, you were still pulling the same childish tricks. Something about Peter Parker caused you irrational terror.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have done that.”

Peter tries to look at you, you take another step back. “You asked if I wanted to do it again.” He can’t use logic, it won’t work here. “That didn’t mean do it again.”

“You sure? Cause it really seemed like you wanted me to do it again.” You feel choked for air, he’s backing you into a corner.

“You understood wrong. I need to leave.” Your footsteps paused when Peter called out your name, a timid look over your shoulder made him continue.

“Don’t do this. I know what you’re doing, and it doesn’t end well for either of us. We’re not eight anymore.” Your game was called, you didn’t want to do this, you don’t want to be mean. Why did he have to make you do this to him?

“Desperation isn’t a good look on you.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest, his tongue swipes over his top teeth before poking out his cheek. “Of course it isn’t.” You’re very aware that he expected this to happen, he expected you to push him away and close the gates. If he did, then he shouldn’t have kissed you. He brought this on himself.

“Nothing is.” What’s a final blow if only to tie the bow on no future contact? Peter took a deep breath and gives you the escape you were looking for, “I’ll see you later.” You shake your head, “no, you won’t.”

The hallway is cold and so is your heart. Removing Peter as a potential threat didn’t do much, somehow you think it feels worse than what it would be like to love and then lose him.

Too bad he wasn’t worth the risk.

You knew dinner was going to be awkward. You did your best to get out of it but it was deemed impossible, you were about to gouge your eyes out of your head just for a solid excuse. But your mom said that you weren’t allowed to do that. So you didn’t.

Peter on the other hand, looked like he was having the time of his life. Especially when May shot you a wink across the table when he reached over your plate. You threatened your eye with a fork, your mom gave you a nasty glare.

“Butter, please?”

You cross your arms and scoff, “get it yourself, penis.” Your mom gasped out your name, appalled you would say something like that. She told you to look him in the eye and apologize, using his real name. Peter showed no reaction, chewing on a buttered biscuit.

“I’m sorry for calling you a penis, Peter.” It was the least authentic apology he’s ever heard.

“Aw, let them be kids, they’re in love.”

Your knife hits your plate so hard it chips, Peter chokes on his bite, crumbs fall from his mouth as he tries to speak as fast as he can. “No, no, May… no.”

You feel the walls closing in, the more you run from it, the more it’s announced. You can’t win. It’s brutal silence on your end, you’re shutting down into a shell of a human.

“Oh? I thought after-”

Peter has your back. “After we made pizza? It was one time, May. It wasn’t like I planned it, it just happened. We were hanging out and I just really wanted pizza and I didn’t really stop to think if she wanted pizza, I just made it.”

May plays right along, and asks you directly. “Does that mean you’re not coming over for pizza anymore?” Does that mean you’re not dating my nephew anymore?

Peter already knows the answer, he just wonders if it’s different if his aunt asks.

“The last pizza I had burned to a crisp in the oven and it tasted really, really bad. And if that was a pizza I thought I loved, I can’t imagine how bad it would’ve been if it was my favorite.”

Your mother has never seen you so passionate about pizza. May quirks an eyebrow, she looks at Peter while she asks.

“You don’t trust Peter in the kitchen?”

You’re doing your best to ignore Peter’s eyes on the side of your face, you’re trying to pretend you’re not being vulnerable.

“He’s the only person who could burn it all down.”

May clicks her tongue, she’s more focused on cutting up her dinner. “For what it’s worth, as Peter’s aunt, he’s a great chef. He takes his time in the kitchen, he doesn’t mind waiting for the yeast to bloom. Because when the dough is ready, he’s really gentle at scooping it up and helping it turn into whatever it needs to be.”

You turn to Peter, he gives a shy smile. “You’re not scared of burning yourself?”

A shrug, “It’s a precaution you take each time you cook, but from what I’ve learned, burns heal.”

“Scars don’t.”

Peter tilts his head, “they fade over time, don’t they?”

May speaks up, she’s looking right at you. It goes past the depth of high school love, it goes to the deepest mark one could leave on a heart. A lover lost too soon.

“They do.”

WEEK FOUR

Peter Parker has been on your mind for four days, (and nights,) straight. Each morning you wake at 3:02 and hear his muffled metronome. You’ve gotten avoiding him down to a T. The first morning you woke up early to watch him leave, then planned a ten minute window in case he was running late one day, and left around that.

You’ve been successful so far. But there was an underlying tug that wanted to be caught, you wanted him to hold you close to him and tell you that he wasn’t going anywhere and nothing safe is worth the risk.

Is that why you let yourself be caught by him this morning?

“Good morning,” it was shot over his shoulder while he locked the door. You grumbled out to him, Peter doesn’t mind you didn’t use words, you were directing expression towards him and that’s enough. “Wanna walk together?”

The idea sends flutters to the middle of your stomach, a brief image of his hand in yours while your hip bumps against his every so often and you laugh at whatever he tells you takes over your mind. “If you want to walk near me while we go to the same location, that’s on you.”

Peter’s hot on your heels down the steps, “that’s a total yes.” You ignore him and try to subtly shut the main door on him, it doesn’t work. “How have you been?” Walking faster, you hope he catches the hint. Peter matches pace perfectly- damn him and his puberty bus and his big strides.

“Personally, I have been mourning the loss of my favorite neighbor coming over.” Peter blinks at the side of your face while carrying a grin. “I mean you, by the way. In case you needed that hint.”

“Got it. Thanks.” You know you need to pick a side, but something in you won’t let you ignore him.

“Welcome. You know, if you’re free, you’re invited for dinner tonight.” You pout sarcastically, “tell May I’ll miss her presence.” Peter bumps your arm, you feel like dropping to your knees. “She keeps asking about you, I’m running out of excuses.”

You scoff, “excuse what? You can tell her the truth, penis.” Peter almost loses you when you swerve around a stranger’s shoulder, in one second he’s next to you again. “And what would the truth be?”

“You pushed yourself onto me,” you stare at Peter in shock when your wrist was grabbed tightly, you came to a stop on the sidewalk with him. He maneuvered to stand in front of you, noticing every inch he had on you; it seemed like his playful mood vanished.

“Hey, I was just messing with you, okay? I thought you just didn’t want to talk about it, but pushing myself on you is the last thing I want you to think I did. If I made you uncomfortable, I’m really sorry.”

Your features softened, your words sent him into a shame spiral. It was annoying how upset he looked with himself, even if you had to swear him off forever, you didn’t want him to think he sexually harassed you.

“I was kidding, Peter. I don’t think you pushed yourself onto me, you gave me the option to back out and I pulled you in. I’d just rather never speak or think about it ever again.”

A weary smile, “that bad, huh?” You pulled your coat tighter around your chest, the cold making the tip of your nose numb. “Quite the opposite, really.” Before you could fall into temptation and kiss him in the middle of the city, you pulled away to keep heading towards school.

“Can I ask what that means?” You nod, “sure.” You offer up no more explanation.

“Well?” You look at him for a second, “oh, sorry. You can ask all you want, doesn’t mean I’ll tell you.”

“You’re gonna inflate my ego, you’re telling me it was so good you can’t put it into words.”

You give him a side eye, “I wasn’t aware there would be so much talking when I allowed you to walk next to me.”

“That’s not denial…” His cadence was sing-songy.

“You’re in denial.”

Peter shook his head confidently, “I’m not in denial, I am very okay with the fact I like you.”

You came to a halt. He’s not allowed to feel this way, he doesn’t know what it could bring. Has he not seen what love can do to a person? Has he not watched you crumble into a thousand pieces over and over throughout the weeks?

And why did his confession turn every piece of rubble into stained glass?

Peter’s not allowed to like you because reciprocation leads to temptation which bleeds into dating where it comes to a crashing end in heartbreak.

You tried to put on a serious face, but you know Peter sees the mask. “Don’t.” Pointing a finger at his chest, “don’t say that, don’t think that, and sure as shit don’t act on it.”

Peter must think you’re joking because he pushes your hand down before lightly laughing. “Don’t act on it? I already did.” Is that what he did? Did he plan that moment? You thought it was a spur of the moment thing, but maybe he’s been planning it for weeks.

How long has he liked you?

It doesn’t matter. You’ll be the adult and end it before it can start, he doesn’t know what this can do to a person. You can do it nicely, or at least try. Maybe he’d find it more sincere if it comes from the heart.

“Peter, have you ever had your heart broken? Like, really broken? Because I wouldn’t put that on my worst enemy. It’s a type of emotional pain that turns physical, I mean, have you ever been so heartbroken you throw up? Have you ever been so sad you don’t eat for days? Have you ever cried so hard you almost fainted? It’s shit, Peter.”

“But was it worth it?”

Did he not hear anything you just said? “What does that mean?”

Peter adjusts the strap of his backpack, “you loved him, right?” You don’t need to give an answer, he already knows it. “Do you regret it? Even with the heartbreak, did that undo all the good that came out of it all?”

You lick your bottom lip, it’s been a circulating thought. Love opened up doors you didn’t know were closed, in the end it was a beautiful tragedy. But that’s the worst part, with Peter you don’t know what it would feel like. You’ve only had a glimpse and it tells you that it’s something that’s going to change you forever.

If Peter leaves, if Peter cheats, it’ll kill you, it’d be nothing like when he did it and you can’t take the gamble.

It was worth it with him, he made you grow. With Peter you’d take ten steps back and never be the same.

“There isn’t always a silver lining, Peter.” You refuse to answer.

“So, what, you’re never going to fall in love again?” Peter’s matching your pace again, you can’t wait until you’re in the four safe walls of Midtown.

“No, I just can’t fall in love with you.”

“Can’t is a funny word choice.”

“Won’t.” You exhale sharply, “I won’t fall in love with you.”

Peter has no interest in your claim, “it’d be easier if you just said you didn’t like me, but you’re not.”

You don’t have to answer, you can choose to ignore him entirely and you’ll be doing just that.

“I don’t like this conversation anymore and I’m ending it.” It works, only for twenty seconds, but it worked until Peter thinks he has a brilliant idea.

“Break up with me.”

Your steps slow, his did the same. Peter’s hands were tucked in his jacket pockets, the urge to kiss him breathless unmeasurable. You fight past it, “huh?”

“You said I don’t know real heartache, so I want you to break up with me. Right here.” He’s entirely way too amused for you, even the idea makes you feel sick.

“I’m not going to break up with you, Peter. I can’t get another tardy slip.” You keep walking, Peter hopped to keep up. “Ten seconds, just end it.”

“No.”

“C’mon, it’ll be easy. Dump me and break my heart.”

“We’re not dating. I can’t dump you, even if I wanted to.” What happened to ending the conversation?

You hear the smirk when he speaks. “If.”

“I’m not playing your word games, Peter.” Because you’re not.

A laugh, “then break up with me.”

You thought he was supposed to be smart. How has he not gotten any of this, does he think it’s a joke, does he think you’re playing? Peter has no idea what this means, but you do.

Tugging at his elbow, you stop him in his tracks. Staring into his eyes and daring yourself not to get lost, you try to make things extremely clear. “I can’t break up with you, Peter. I barely made it through him. I wouldn’t know how to handle losing you. You’d hurt me too bad and I can’t take that risk.”

Peter’s voice is soft when he answers, you want to close your eyes and have it carry you to heaven. “I can’t break up with you either. You’d be able to hurt me just as bad.” It takes you from your trance, “you would. Because I’m a bad girlfriend. If I wasn’t he wouldn’t have replaced me before he could end it.”

Peter’s eyebrows pull together, you stuff your hands into your coat pockets to keep from smoothing them out. “Hey, woah, let’s pause there. You did nothing wrong. Even if you were a bad girlfriend, and trust me, you weren’t, that would never justify him doing that to you. Nothing could.”

It’s nice of him, but he doesn’t know that. “We didn’t talk, you don’t know I wasn’t a bad girlfriend.” Peter scoffs, like the idea of you calling yourself a bad girlfriend offends him personally. “He made you cry all the time,” the words followed by your name. “Bad girlfriends don’t cry, bad boyfriends make their good girlfriends cry.”

Peter heard you. Every time you cried, every time you felt unloved, every time you sobbed out an ‘I’m sorry’ for something you didn’t know you did. He listened, Peter listened like you did each night. How did you never notice the universal gimmick?

If you think back, most of the bad moments were at the hands of him. And for Peter to notice when you were worlds away from his person, makes your heart wrench inside your chest. You know you already drew the line and there’s no crossing it, but it’s nice living in a moment make believe.

“You’d never be able to call me babe.” It was a shitty pet name. You never liked it.

You get flashed with a toothy grin. “That’s okay, I have a million to choose from.”

Or the obvious hang up, “May would totally hate me too, she knows I’ll take your virginity.” Peter waves you off, “we don’t know that.” You quirk an eyebrow, “we don’t?” Peter corrects himself, “she doesn’t have to know that.”

You chuckle from the back of your throat. “But she will. You wouldn’t be able to hide it. I definitely wouldn’t be able to hide it.” Peter looks down for a second, you follow his gaze, you wonder if you’re both zoned in on a black skid on the side of his shoe. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s like, you just get a lot more… touchy, I guess. Nothing’s off limits anymore.”

A monotone reply, “yeah, that sounds like a total nightmare.”

It gets too real. Make believe time is over, now you have to be an adult and stick to your guns.

“It wouldn’t work between us, Peter.”

You feel sad, there’s no good answer and both of you would be left with a bruise. He wanted more than you’d let yourself give and you wanted more than you’d let yourself have. Peter was right, you could hurt him just as bad, and you’d never forgive yourself.

Peter made himself a constant, someone you could really rely on the last few weeks, and if you lose that you don’t know how you’d ever be okay again.

“If you think so.” His kind smile doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s a quiet journey the rest of the way, both of you receiving a tardy slip and parting ways in the hall without a word or glance.

Peter Parker had gotten his wish. You just broke his heart.

This was all Natalie Greene’s fault. If she wasn’t stuck states away at a funeral she would’ve held you accountable and used every means necessary to stop you from going to Peter’s.

It could also be Peter’s fault. He should’ve never kissed you like he did, he should’ve never made your heart beat with purpose and left a sear where he touched. Doesn’t he know you could never forget it?

It also didn’t help that you were drunk. Not drunk enough to be slamming into walls and slurring words, but enough to stop that part in your brain to hold you back from the things you truly wanted. Like your neighbor.

It had been three days of nothing and that wasn’t Peter’s choice. He respected your decisions too much. If you didn’t want him in your life, he wouldn’t be. Doesn’t he know that just makes you want him more?

Peter wasn’t at the party, you didn’t expect him to be, but you were a little hopeful he’d surprise you and show up. He didn’t. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t on your mind with each shot you took, or when you stopped for pizza with a group of friends, when everyone teased you for pineapple but you knew Peter wouldn’t.

You grabbed him a slice of pepperoni without thinking. Or maybe you were. It was an excuse to talk to him, to see him, to touch him. You could take it home and reheat it in the morning, or you could lean into your excuse of a few too many and knock on his door.

It’s Peter’s fault. He really shouldn’t have kissed you like that, he doesn’t understand his power.

Harsh banging. It’s over your head how late it is, you have important things to do. Like, lay over his body in his bed like you kiss down his neck, or squirm with harsh whimpers when he kisses down yours. You bet he likes to cuddle too, he never did, but Peter seems like he couldn’t get enough of you.

If you couldn’t date Peter you could use him as a rebound, right?

Faster knocking, why isn’t he answering? At your loudest, the door opens. He was sleeping, you could tell by the puffy eyes but you didn’t look at his face too long, no, Peter was in nothing but a pair of boxers.

When the fuck did he get so toned? You would’ve reached out for a light graze, but he stopped you.

“You’re so lucky May’s on overnight duty.” No, you’re lucky because he’s half naked and sleepy, you’ve never seen anyone so tempting. It feels like you’re dying and only he could save you.

You can’t help it, your palm connects with his chest, it’s there longer than a second. It’s less about pushing him aside and more about touching him, and he knows that. Peter talks at a normal volume for the hour, “what are you doing here?”

Your thumb traces his collarbones, “I brought you pizza.” Your breath skips when he turns his head to the side to check the time on the microwave in the kitchen, his jawline ultra toned.

“At one in the morning?” Peter’s amused, you don’t think he would’ve ever been so kind if you disrupted his sleep. You nod, “I was thinking of you.” You raise the small box, just as proof as you really did get him a slice.

Peter takes it with a smile. “Thanks, kid.” You don’t know why, but you really like that one.

“Can I come in?” If he thought all you wanted was to share a midnight snack, he was terribly mistaken. The door widened in response, you made sure to brush against his side, he said nothing.

Following him into the kitchen, you have a flashback. It’s one you want to reenact, maybe if you sit in the same spot he’ll catch the drift. A blue wave of light washes over him when his snack is stored for morning, he looks angelic.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this fascinated with him.

“Now I understand all the song references about refrigerator lights.” Peter looks over his shoulder, his grin makes you feel like you’re flying. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He emerges with two water bottles, cracking the lid on yours and passing it over. His rests on the counter. He doesn’t need water but you do and he’s not about to make you feel singled out.

You think it might be too late. You think you might already be falling.

“I don’t know, but I just get it.” He’s letting you do all the talking, it’s odd, you’re not used to being listened to. If Peter realizes what you’re doing, he says nothing. Maybe you just have to point it out.

You gesture to yourself, the real reason you came over finally announced.

“Do you see where I’m sitting?”

Peter nods, “I do.”

Your fingers tap on the countertop, “remember the last time I sat here?” Peter breathes deep, you wonder if he’s thinking about it right now. “I do.”

You wait. He makes no move. Where’s your kiss?

“Well? Are you gonna do it again?” You pucker for good measure, just in case there was an inkling of uncertainty on his end. You’re making it clear what you want. A faulty smile, you don’t like it one bit.

“No,” at least he sounds sorry about it. But he likes you, he told you himself, why would he deny you? Doesn’t he know how much you need this?

“Why not? If you think this is a trick, it’s not. If you want, I’ll kiss you first.” You jump down but you’re held back by a hand, he’s literally pushing you away. It’s a feeling that causes a tug, you really don’t like it.

“You’re drunk,” Peter follows the statement with your name, he’s not mean but he’s also not going to change his mind.

You scoff, buzzed would be more accurate. “I’m not drunk.”

“Drunk enough you’re allowing yourself to have this conversation.”

He has a very fair point.

“Liquid courage, kiss me?” Peter shakes his head, “you made it clear nothing would happen, so nothing is going to happen.”

You grin, “consider it practice then.” Your words make him frown, “you don’t want this.” Who is he to tell you what you do or don’t want?

“How do you know I don’t want this?”

“Because this isn’t you.”

You feel a tightness in your chest, he doesn’t get to think he knows you more than you do. “You don’t know me, Peter. You just have an idea of me.”

“You’re hurt and confused. I won’t take advantage of that, being mad at me won’t make me change my mind.”

Where was his care coming from? He didn’t care about you this much and neither should Peter. It wasn’t normal, was it? But it’s also not fair to compare Peter to him at every chance, especially because Peter only ever seems to outshine.

“Why didn't you act like this a year ago?” If he truly cares, where was it before?

“You mean when you had a boyfriend?”

Is that why he waited until now to be a friend? Did he think you’d be sad and have weak defense, making it easy for him to get first in line? “Is that what it is? You waited until I was dumped to put on this act and lay it on me while I’m all confused? How long have you had this planned out?”

Your words are like daggers, the things you’re alluding to, he would never do them. Ever.

“Don’t. I’ve always liked you but you had a boyfriend and the last thing on my mind was trying to get with you when it ended. You were so miserable, I just wanted to be a friend or something, but it changed and maybe a little piece of it was me being selfish. I made the first move, several times. I kissed you, I asked you out, I told you I liked you. And you said no. I respect your no, why don’t you?”

You could tell him the truth, tell him that he was right and his love terrified you because you haven’t felt something so raw before in your entire life. Peter wasn’t yours, or anywhere close to it. It shouldn’t be natural to feel magnetized to him.

You could tell him the truth, but you’re better at hiding behind false walls.

“I liked you better when you didn’t care about me.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

He knows you’re lying but he won’t make you admit it, no, he’ll push you into your corner of lies until you force your way out with the truth. Peter Parker will not chase you.

Would it be wrong to push him so far away he wouldn’t let you chase him too?

“You have a superiority complex. That’s why you can’t find a girlfriend, or any friend really. You think you’re better than everyone else and it’s a natural repellent.” You back up towards the door, you spit words as they come to your mind.

“I was willing to do it. I was willing to give you a shot but you ruined it for yourself. You’re going to look back on this moment and regret it.”

Peter really doesn’t care for your dramatics. It’s impressive he can one, handle it and two, make you check yourself. “Regret not taking advantage of a drunk girl? Is that what you’re insinuating?”

“No! I just meant that… I don’t know what I mean, Peter! I don’t know anything and you’re not helping in the slightest and everything about you makes me want to fucking cry or scream or, or… I don’t know.” Your voice trails, it’s the most honest you’ve been in weeks.

“I don’t know anything anymore, Peter.”

Everything you’ve ever thought about love has been wrong.

He made you feel flightless. But Peter, Peter made you feel free. Peter made you feel like you were flying at full speed, like the wind washes over your cheeks so harshly you’re in a permanent grin. You’ve never seen the world from this high up, in this much color, it’s never been so beautiful.

The flight is amazing, thinking about stopping it hurts you. How would it feel to be on the ground again, to walk around, to be without wings and treetops and colors and wind? How would it feel to be without Peter?

Would it feel like an agonizing death?

Would your wings ever be patchable again?

Questions that make you realize the closer you get to him, the harder you’ll hit the ground. You’re okay with falling, you’re able to brace yourself the best way you can. But will Peter be there to catch your landing?

It looks like he’s trying to stop himself from hugging you, it’s a good thing he is. He might be thinking you’d yell or push him away, you think you’d just cry.

Peter looks tired, and more than just because you woke him up. You wonder if it’s because he’s up late every other night, you want to ask him about the routine and why he broke it tonight. You won’t.

Your back hits the door, there was only one thing you were sure of, it had been a chain reaction since. This was Peter’s fault, he’s the one that kissed you. He started it.

“You shouldn't have kissed me, you really, really shouldn’t have. You’ve fucked this all up, penis.”

Peter’s tired of the blame. “You came here,” he ends it with your name, like he’s pleading.

It’s annoying, at least you tell yourself it is. If you can replace feelings with antonyms you’ll trick your brain and you’ll be right on track to hating him again and only seeing him as a void object.

You open the door, it’s the last time you’ll allow yourself to look at his face.

It’s Peter’s fault.

“Because you made me want to.”

WEEK FIVE.

It’s way too early for the hysteric buzz of a mosquito in your ear, yet, it still sings to you while you’re locking your front door.

“Good morning.”

You nod your head, “penis.”

And just like that, the mosquito’s squashed.

You yawn so harshly that you rub at your jaw. You’re unable to sleep and miserable. You’ve tried everything under the moon and stars, nothing worked. Staring up at the ceiling you tried to count sheep but they kept turning into the tiny freckles that dotted over Peter’s cheeks.

It wasn’t fair to keep thinking about him, you’re doing your part. You cut him out and you decided to hate him. You’re just finding out that that’s not how it works.

3:02, you hear his window.

3:04, your eyes finally get heavy.

3:07, you’re dozing off.

3:10, you’re asleep.

It wasn’t fair.

Three nights later, It’s 3:02 in the morning and a window slams shut. This time, it isn’t your neighbors. This time, it was your own. You should be scared, but you don’t feel threatened, you’re curious. You pull your head from under your pillow.

Spider-Man is at the foot of your bed, his shoulder hits the window frame when he pulls his mask off. He’s racing for air, he looks beat up, a gash crossed over his chest.

If you didn’t have as much distain as you did, you’d be slightly shocked.

“If you get blood on my carpet, I will fucking kill you.”

Peter must be dizzy, because he’s imagining you in his room.

"Seriously, if you get blood on my carpet I'll have you come over tomorrow and scrub it out with your toothbrush."

Peter tries to swallow, it's hard to do. His head feels like a brick, his hands won't stop shaking.

“Hey, pesky pete, I mean it. Get the fuck outta here.”

When he holds his eyes close, then opens them, he still sees you there. Peter looks down at his hands, turning them back and forth. They go in and out of focus, it’s dizzying, at one point he has five hands.

He says your name questioningly, it’s hard to get words off his tongue, his brain is moving too slow. “Yup, that’s me. Now get out.” Peter touches his chest, it’s beet red. His shoulder is killing him, he stumbles and slams into the wall- now you’re sitting up in bed.

“Peter, are you okay?” It’s pure worry, the act is dropped for a second, he’s not normal. He’s not answering, you think he’s trying but he can’t bring himself to speak, he’s lagging in real time. One foot hits the floor, the rest of you perched in your bed keeping an eye on his frame.

“Peter.” You need his focus on you.

He presses his hand to his wound, a last ditch effort to protect your carpet. Then, he hits the floor. You jump up, “Peter? Peter, are you okay? Peter,” he’s passed out and tore up to shreds. Every bit of you wants to scoop him into your lap and hold him tight, but instead, you get to work.

Peter flies up from the bed gasping for air, his face is cold and wet. The source is your twisted grin above him, a water glass held tightly.

“Oh, good. You’re up.”

Peter pats his chest, a blur of last night follows. He sits up in a haste, a tug in his side makes him cradle it, you both wince at the same time.

“Yeah, I tried doing the best I could, but I wasn’t sure if there was something under that.. Or how to take it off. You probably have significant damage.”

“Thanks.” His mouth is dry and his voice crackly, it sends a zing up your spine. Peter’s never felt so weak after a rough night, his head is pounding and he can feel the crunch of dried blood under his suit.

“Can I get some of that or are you still punishing me?” The only reason you give him the rest of the glass is because you like Spider-Man. He has a job to do, Peter on the other hand, could die of thirst.

“You passed out on me last night.”

Peter chugs the glass, you almost think about getting him another. “I did.”

You nod, “I had to lug you up here, you’re extremely heavy when you’re dead weight.” He almost smiles at the imagery, instead he glances down and realizes you did your best attempt at working on the gashes over his chest and arms through the spandex.

Even as he was passed out and rendered useless. You must not hate him as much as you say. It's still nice to know he's not getting special treatment because of who he is, not even Spider-Man could make you like Peter.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have excellent bedside manner?”

“Oh no, anything I could do to make it worse?”

“I think another water and some advil might kill me.”

“Perfect, coming right up.”

Peter takes another ten minutes before trying to sit up, “I should go home and shower.” Your hand gently pushes his shoulder back down, “easy, tiger. May isn’t home and you’re not about to turn your shower into a personal slip and slide.”

Before you could regret the words, “if you want a shower, you’re doing it here.” He paused under your touch, scared you made the wrong impression, your eyes widened. “Not with me or anything, I just meant so you’d have someone around.”

Peter doesn’t care how it has to get done, he wants the suit and dried blood off him. He nods his head and sits up a little slower before tugging at his neckline. You look away for a minute, unsure where to settle your eyes.

“Help me get my arm out?” Your hands pull at the suit, his arm escapes, it’s covered in small knicks. It’s a subconscious move, you gently tap the cuts with your thumb. Peering into his eyes you hold a frown.

“Does it hurt?”

Peter feels like you might kiss his marks. “Not really, it’s mostly my side.”

You rub his chest, “you got a gash right here.” It’s over his heart.

“Guess we’re twinsies now.”

If he wasn’t in pain, you’d slap his arm for the comment. Instead, you watch him carefully remove the red and blue until he’s left in his boxers. You do your best to keep your eyes on his face, Peter looks amused.

“You’re trying really hard not to look at me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Parker.” You offer a hand to pull him up, he accepts. A slow stand, his back’s more defined than his front, you almost bite your fist. Peter has the same shower as you, but you still explain how to use it. And allow him to use your products.

“Got it.” The tap is turned on, the water hits against the ceramic. You make no effort to move, instead watching for a moment. Peter’s fingers pull at the waistline of his briefs, your eyes dart right to them.

“You know, this is the part where most people leave.” It’s teasing.

“I just wanted to make sure you got in okay, it’s a high step.” It’s a quarter of the truth.

“I’ll be alright, I’ve been doing this alone for a few years.” Peter says it like it’s an inside joke, but it just makes you feel sad. He’s never had someone to be there for him, or patch up his wounds, or make sure he’s okay to shower. You wonder how many times he’s passed out on his bedroom floor with no one to drag him to bed.

“You okay?” A hand on your skin wakes you back up, clearing your mind of Peter.

You nod, it was a flash of empathy. You couldn’t imagine what it’s like for him.

“I’m just sorry you’ve had to do it all alone. It doesn’t seem fair, Spider-Man does nothing but take care of other people. He should have someone to take care of him for a change.”

It may sound like you’re insinuating, especially the way he looks at you when he responds.

“Yeah. That’d be nice.”

Seconds tick, it’s getting a little weird, mostly because you want to tackle him into the shower and race your mouth over every inch of skin. You clear your throat, “you want me to get you anything from your place?”

“Sure. Go shopping for me.”

You use the copied key May left for you several years ago when you tended to some plants while her and Peter went on vacation, and it feels weird being in their home alone. It’s too quiet, the Parker’s are expressive in everything they do, when they're not around everything lacks passion.

Peter’s bedroom is almost the same as it was the last time you were in it, the same furniture but moved around. His posters looked updated and there’s a few extra awards he’s tucked away, you frown, he should be proud of his achievements and hang them high.

A new picture of him and May from last year, you ignore the part of your brain that says he has very kissable cheeks. His closet is clean and he’s made it easy for you to search around, each drawer is dedicated to a different clothing and everything that should be hung up, is.

It’s something you hadn’t considered, but a man taking care of his laundry creates an entire new standard.

Peter handed over the control when you said to get what you wanted, that means you can dress him how you please. And wouldn’t he look yummy in sweatpants and a white shirt? You don’t see how he couldn’t, it’s the male version of a sundress.

Arms full of cotton, you tap at the bathroom door with your foot. You shout over the water, “I have your clothes.” It’s muffled but you hear him and gently push the door open, a faint outline on the shower curtain suddenly makes you shy.

“They’re right here,” patting the clothes for good measure. Peter shoots out a ‘thanks!’ and you slowly back out until you’re sitting patiently on your bed, listening closely when the tap turns off. If he goes falling, you’re busting the door down.

No struggles, at least not until he emerges. Peter’s fine, but you’re speechless and choked. There was no one you punished but yourself with the outfit, the t-shirt is tight on his arms and the sweatpants hug his hips just right.

“I feel human again, thanks, kid.” You turn on manual breathing mode and distantly nod, his biceps are stretching the cotton, you lick your lips subconsciously. “No problem.” You watch a water droplet fall from his hair to his shoulder, your eyes stay hooked in place, his arms flexed when he dried it with the towel you lended him.

“Where should I put this?” You point to your hamper, if he put it anywhere else you’d be half tempted to sniff it. “Did you tell May I was here?” You nod and finally find strength to talk to him, “yeah. I sent her a text last night, I wasn’t sure of her Spider-Man knowledge so it was a little cryptic.” You take a breath and choose honesty, no doubt he’d get a third degree.

“I think she interpreted it as us hooking up.” Another breath, “I did not correct her.”

Peter has a boyish smile spread, it squeezes your chest, you want him in your hold more than anything. “Nice.” You scream and cheer and thank your lucky stars when he sits next to you. He used your products, but he still smells like Peter. You want to stuff your nose into his shirt and breathe him in until you physically can’t.

“May knows, by the way.” You nod absentmindedly, “anyone else?” “A couple friends.” You almost make a quip like ‘wow, you have friends?’ but you really can’t find it in you to pretend to hate him anymore. Especially when he almost died on your floor and all you wanted to do was tell him that you were sorry and you were mostly in love with him.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Do the webs come out of you?” Peter lightly laughs, it’s always the same question off the bat. “No. I make a special web fluid and I have these bracelet kind of things to shoot them out.”

“Oh. Cool.” You’re hiding the burn in your lower stomach at the thought of him over his desk creating a new form of technology. He’s so fucking smart it’s unfair, he’s too smart for his own good.

He’s grinning at you, “is it?” You can’t stop staring at his mouth, “yeah.” You’d do anything to kiss him again, the last time you truly felt alive was when his lips were on yours. “Any other questions?” There’s one. But it’s not about Spider-Man.

“Not really.” Your interest could be explored later, right now, all you needed was him. Peter finds it surprising, “I think you are the least curious person to find out about this.” You shrug, shifting your body more towards him. Peter rejected you last time but if you move like he did when he kissed you, if you move in slow for the kill, you might just get your way.

“Give me the cliff notes.” Peter starts ticking them off with his fingers, while he’s distracted you move in closer. “Bit by a radioactive spider when I was fifteen. Heightened senses plus a cool sixth sense where I can sense danger. Super strength-” You stop listening right there, your eyes are all over his build, no fucking wonder he’s a contender for worlds fittest man.

You shuffle in, your knee brushes his thigh, if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. You thank the sweatpants, the material too thick to give you away. “-Oh, and I stopped needing my glasses which is pretty cool. I think that’s pretty much it, but if you want me to expand on anyth…”

Now or never.

You push up and straddle Peter’s waist, his hands immediately hold your hips. You lean down, his grip tightens. Peter mumbles out your name, you answer with a slow kiss. Your fingers drag through his hair, curls wrap themselves around your fingers, you hold them tight. When Peter licks your bottom lip, when Peter takes control, you need to feel every bit of him.

Your hands fall down his neck and over his shoulders, then they fall to his arms, your nails lightly drag up the skin. A hum from Peter, your lower stomach clenches, you answer with a roll of your hips, he sighs into your mouth. You drag your palms over his chest, his heart is at the same pace as yours.

You break the kiss, both of you breathing fast, it doesn’t last. You kiss over his jawline, you can’t hold it in, you can’t fucking stop yourself. “You’re so fucking hot,” wet marks are dotted down his neck. “I wanna take you right here, I wanna make you feel so good.” Another grind, this time, Peter moves with you, it pulls a moan from the back of your throat. The favor returned with a hickey at the bottom of his neck, it sent him falling into your hold.

You’re kissing anywhere you can reach, “you gotta stop,” it comes out in a puff. “You’re killing me here.” Too bad, not so sad, you’re latched onto his mouth again, this time, you tug at the bottom of his shirt, it takes three times before you realize he’s not catching the hint and you pull it up yourself.

You study him when it goes flying, his eyes are more pupil than brown, his lips pouty and pulling a red hue. “Lay back,” he does, you lean over him, you’re marking up his collarbones while his hand has a fistful of your hair. Then… the kisses get lower, you're grazing over his chest, delicate brushes across the semi-healed cuts, you must’ve blocked out the advanced healing perk.

Your hand trails over his side, you soak in the grooves and muscle, your fingers brushing against the waistband of his sweatpants. Peter’s breathing hitches, you keep teasing, then bring your lower body into play. Bumps and grinds have Peter panting in your mouth, you pull back, even as he’s heaving for air, Peter’s trying to follow your kiss.

Your fingers slip further under the elastic, holding his gaze when you tell him about your intentions. “I wanna suck you off.”

There’s a pause, then he sits up on his elbows.

“Does this mean you want to be my girlfriend?” Does it? You don’t think so. You just want him, you want his mouth and his hands and his body intertwined with yours. But to fall into him and have him see all your worst parts, to have him hold your heart between his hands and trust he’d take care of it is too much.

“No.”

He’s sad. It’s not just something you think, it’s something you know. Your heart tumbles with his face. You want to hug him, you try, but he tossed you off his lap like nothing.

“May told me to get groceries today, so I should probably head out.” You swallow tightly, you’re not liking how this is sounding. “Are you mad at me?” You feel nothing but shame at his sigh, it’s debilitating when you hear his cutthroat tone. “I’m not a fucking rebound.” But he wanted to be. He wanted this. He wanted you.

Peter doesn’t use the f word, not ever.

“Whether I’m your girlfriend or sucking your dick, you’d still be a rebound.” Silence rings around the room. Peter’s voice is tight when he answers you.

“Is that all you think of me? Just a rebound?”

You don’t know how to be honest with him. You never have. “Would I be wrong?”

“Very.” It’s clipped. You’ve never heard Peter with an edge and you don’t like it. You really don’t like being on the other side of his frustration. He’s only ever been soft and kind with you, you can’t handle any more change in your life. You need Peter to keep being Peter.

You were so scared of losing him you went and filled his head up with words of affirmation, used your mouth on him, then turned around and shut him down. If this is only a fraction of how it stings when Peter’s upset you don’t know if you could handle more. You’ve never felt Peter’s cold shoulder before and it hurts.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” It’s bullshit, Peter can sense it too. “You did.” You chew on your bottom lip, “I did, but not like that.” Peter seems taller than normal when he’s standing over you, you can’t look him in the face, it’s nothing but being mortified. You really put your foot in your mouth.

“Do you even like me or are you just horny?” You can’t allow yourself to answer him.

“I’m an idiot.” Your face turns in, Peter’s laughing at himself. “I’m such an idiot. I really thought you liked me. I thought you were trying to fight it but no, that was just me daydreaming.” You’re looking up at him but he’s already standing at the door with his shirt on and suit tucked under his arm.

“You don’t like me. You never did and now I’m trying to make pieces fit where they don’t.” He’s staring right into your eyes, he says it louder, he’s saying it for himself. “I’m not a rebound.”

“You’ve never been properly loved and it shows.”

And that’s the most brutal thing he could’ve ever said to you. Your lower lip trembles with the tears pricking at your eyes, he started it and you can’t stop it.

“I fucking hate you. I hate you so fucking much, Peter.”

No surprises there. “Yeah, I know.” He sounds just as defeated.

When he leaves you cry harder for Peter than you ever did him, and that says something. But you’re not listening.

WEEK SIX.

You finally broke down and told everything to Natalie Greene. She held you in her arms while you cried about losing what you could’ve had. “I’m sure he’ll come around babe, he likes you a lot.” You shake your head, “not anymore. He hasn’t answered any of my texts in three days.”

You can at least give yourself the benefit of trying to do damage control. He wouldn’t let you. You’d sent a flurry of texts, each one more apologetic than the next, begging him for a chance to see you but he refused.

You think you broke him.

“Have you tried talking to him? In person?” You shake your head, he doesn’t want to talk to you. You blew everything up and for the first time you really hate it. Two weeks ago you were begging for this but now you just feel terrible.

“Nat, this is nothing like what I had with him and I don’t know what that means.” Your friend hugged you close, “it means you love him more than you ever did him.” You swallow hard, you knew the truth but it was different hearing it.

It doesn’t matter anymore. You ruined it and Peter won’t talk to you anymore.

“You should’ve seen the look on his face, Nat. He was fucking crushed. It’s like…” You take in a sharp breath, you’ve been beating yourself up over it since he walked out. “It’s like I used him.” Natalie Greene doesn’t bullshit but she’s still soft as ever with her response, it’s purred out while her acrylics scratch your back. “You did.”

She’s your best friend. She should be on your side. “But I didn’t! I just-”

“Yeah, you did. You knew how he felt about you and you said no so he stopped trying. Then you showed up drunk and threw yourself at him, he said no and you got all butthurt. Then he comes over and somehow passes out on your floor and you offer him a blowjob.”

Well, when she puts it like that…

“Of course he’s going to think you flipped your script, you’re the one who kept pushing after you told him no.” Peter’s words echo in your mind, ‘I respect your no, so why don’t you?’ Because you can’t allow yourself to have him, that’s why. But… you already do, don’t you? Or, you did.

“He’s gonna wreck me, Nat. He already is.”

“Because you’re fighting it. I get it, babe, I’ve been where you are a dozen times. But you don’t get over heartbreak by hiding from love. I know it’s Peter Parker and he’s been your enemy since you were eight, but no matter how fast you try to run, he’s right there matching your stride.”

You sniff into her arm, she smells like lavender and it makes you snuggle further. “I think I’ve always liked him.” You could finally admit it. Natalie’s been there for months, years possibly. “I know. You always talk about him.”

You scrunch your eyebrows, “no I don’t.” Natalie thinks you must’ve said a funny joke because she’s laughing like it. “Yeah you do. Sure, it might have been mean things but if you truly hate someone you don’t notice everything they do.”

You noticed everything about Peter and made sure to fill Natalie Greene in on the gossip.

Like when he cut his hair way too short in middle school and his curls disappeared for months.

When he slipped in mashed potatoes in the cafeteria and fumbled until he could steady himself.

When his cheeks flamed pink because he forgot to silence his phone during a test and the Game of Thrones theme song blasted through the room as he awkwardly tried to silence the call.

Then there’s the time he stuttered when giving an answer in biology because Lindsey Snipes was twirling her hair at him. A small tug in your stomach, the answer suddenly clear to why you’ve always hated her too.

And when he bumped a friend's coke all over his notebook and he just watched with an open mouth while all his hard work was ruined.

When he stumbled up the steps.

When he hit his head with his locker.

When he stepped on his glasses.

When he was tackled in flag football.

When he tripped over his shoelace.

When he got glue in his hair.

When he winced while dissecting a frog.

When he cracked his phone because he dropped it and a guy on the football team kicked it clear across the cafeteria while he laughed. That one didn’t make you laugh. That one made you so angry you made a point to tell Kristina, said player's girlfriend, so she could give him a well deserved tongue lashing. And not the good kind.

When he fell asleep at the library and had a red mark on his cheek to prove it.

When he spit milk everywhere because the one he grabbed was expired.

When, no matter what, each time you met his eyes he’d send you a smile. And how each time there was something that made you want to give it back.

“Natalie,” you can hear it in your voice. It’s dangerous. It’s terrifying.

It’s worth it.

“I think I’m in love with Peter Parker.”

Natalie Greene and you had carefully conducted Operation: Get Peter Back.

Step one: Tell him, (IN PERSON) how you feel.

Step two: See above.

There were no other steps. Natalie Greene told you that’s all you could do.

One day later you knocked at his door before you could lose the small amount of courage you had, it’s soft enough you hope it’s unnoticeable, you could quit and say you tried. Your heartbeat’s in the bottom of your throat, your palms itch as you rub them over your shirt.

A smidge of relief, no one heard you. You’re about to quietly escape, May doesn’t let you off that easily. She’s surprised when your name comes from her mouth, you wonder how much she knows. “Hi, May. Is Peter home?” She’s got a weak poker face, her eyes dart to the side of the door before she’s smiling sweetly.

“Sorry, honey. He’s out with some friends.” You know he’s right behind the wood. You speak up, you want to be sure he hears you too. “Can I leave you with a message?” May stands straighter, she wasn’t expecting this. “Of course.”

“Can you tell him I’m sorry? And that I’ve been way too selfish and mean and a complete and utter fucking bitch to him for no good reason for nine years? Can you tell him that he’s the last person I ever wanted to hurt like this and that I really want to say it to his face?”

May ignores the colorful language and you’re thankful for it. Her eyes trail to the side again, she smiles softly. “I’ll let him know.” There’s no need, he already knows and you both know it. His answer lies in the fact that he’s allowing May to keep up the charade. You don’t know if Peter is bad at forgiveness or just that you don’t deserve it.

“Thanks, May.” You watch the door slowly close, when there's just a crack left you stop it with a hand. “He’s… He’s okay, right?” Your heart thumped slowly, you’re reading her face like it’s your job, you need to know he’s okay.

A tight nod. “He’s okay.” You can breathe a little better. “Good.”

You stare at his door for another two minutes after it shuts.

Is this an asshole move? Yes.

Is this worse than what you’ve already done? Possibly.

Peter still wasn’t talking to you and you only had one card to pull. He was home, but he wasn’t answering your texts. You think it’s time to fight fire with fire. You’re standing by his apartment door, and loudly talk into your phone. No one’s on the other side, but he doesn’t know that.

“Hello? Yes, I’m looking for J. Jonah Jameson?” Your eyes twitch to his door, nothing. You speak a little louder. “I understand he’s busy. Well I just… Uh huh, right, I understand, yes ma’am. Is he interested in Spider-Man’s identity?”

You hear something drop inside his apartment.

“Yeah, I know who Spider-Man is.” Peter swings the door open, your phone is ripped from your hand. He glares down at the screen, you’re not connected to anyone. “That’s a low move.” You lightly shrug, “did you expect anything more than that?”

A scoff, “with you? No.” Your lips twitch, you have to fight the frown. You catch his arm when he turns around, there’s no trying, he’s an unstoppable force, you’re moving with him. “I’m sorry! Peter, please! I’m sorry, I am so so sorry and I need you, okay? I need you to not be mad at me.”

Was that honesty? Were you actually being honest with him? Your shoes squeak when he stops pulling you, you’re looking at him desperately searching his face for emotion. There is none. “You’re not a rebound. Not at all. I should’ve never called you one.”

There’s a lot you’ve done to Peter you never should’ve done. Maybe it’s time you start owning up to it.

“I should’ve never said you were a rebound, I shouldn’t have kissed you, I shouldn’t have shown up here drunk, I shouldn’t have kept coming back for more after I told you no. I shouldn’t have ignored you for nine years, I shouldn’t have shut you out when I was eight, I shouldn’t have hurt you.”

Peter’s not saying anything and you don’t mind. You need to say this, you need him to know.

“I shouldn’t have hurt you. I meant what I told May. You’re the last person I ever wanted to hurt like this. You’re Peter. You’re nice, you’re warming, you’re always positive and you buy me pizza without making fun of me and you sign off on donation slips and you let me rip your notebooks apart and you bake me things.”

You blink through your tears. “You were there when I really needed you and you are anything but a fucking rebound to me.” Your chest feels tight, “you’re so good to me, even when I don’t deserve it. I really don’t deserve it now but I really fucking need you, Peter. I know I went on this whole speech thing where Spider-Man needs someone but-”

“I’m here.” Relief fills you, Peter has you tucked into his chest with his arms around you. “I’m right here, okay?” It’s the selflessness that really gets you. You’ve been nothing but mean and standoffish but Peter’s hugging you because you need it.

But really, it’s because he knows he was right. You do like him. You like him more than you’re willing to admit to him yet.

“Can you catch popcorn with your mouth?”

Peter tosses a piece up and catches it with his eyes closed. You grumble and throw your own at him, he also catches that with his eyes closed.

“Okay, turn off the powers and try again.” He laughs at you, “it doesn’t work like that.” You huff, “well, make it.” Peter tosses a piece up and dodges it, it satisfies you. “Ha. Loser normy.”

“Did you just call me a normy?”

“You’re just a boring normal person, I hate to tell you, but it’s true.”

There’s been a brief pause in the actual relationship aspect of your friendship. There’s no more kissing, but you’d really like there to be. You think Peter’s starting to sweat you out and you have no issues with it. If he wants you to make the first move, you’ll do it.

But it’s all in the timing.

“Did I ever tell you that six weeks ago Nat said she’d do heroin with me?” Popcorn spills on the couch, Peter’s darting his eyes over your arms looking for track marks. “We didn’t do it! She said that if I still felt miserable after six weeks she’d do it with me.”

“Miserable? What, about the breakup?”

“Yeah,” you shove a handful of buttery styrofoam into your mouth. For the first time in weeks it doesn’t hurt to talk about. It’s not even a little sore, there’s no bitterness or resentment. There’s nothing there. It’s pure indifference.

You pushed Peter away because you didn’t want him to be a rebound, you didn’t want to use him to get over someone else. But you haven’t thought of him since… since… you can’t remember the last time you actually thought of him.

But when you think of Peter your heart races, your palms feel warm, your stomach flutters. His kisses ignite you. You wake up in the morning and think of him, you wake up every night to make sure he’s home and go right back to sleep. You walk with him every morning, you wave and smile at school, you come over everyday.

You’re in love with Peter and only Peter.

“I don’t know why I ever thought he was worth that.”

Peter has the answer, it’s muffled around popcorn. “Cause you loved him.” You pick a piece off Peter’s shirt and crunch down on it. “Yeah, I don’t think I knew what love was. How embarrassing.”

He smiles. Your eyes catch the screen again, you shuffle more towards Peter, then stop yourself. “Is it weird if we cuddle?” Peter rips the popcorn bowl between you away, he’s never cuddled with a girl before but he’d be an idiot to say no.

“Weird for who? Weird for me? Weird for us?” Peter doesn’t care about the answer. “Those are rhetorical, just come cuddle me.” It’s all you needed, you press up against him and wait, he’s not moving. Fine with you, you halfway lay on him, head on his chest. You’ve never been this close to him, you’ve kissed him and you’ve made a bold move that backfired, but you’ve never been this soft or domesticated with him.

Peter’s heart is drumming a little fast, you make no comment. Yours is beating at the same rate.

You expected Peter to still like you but you haven’t asked. After what happened maybe he decided you’d be better friends. It wasn’t talked out, you both skimmed over what happened and started hanging out like nothing happened.

But it did and you’re glad. It puts things in perspective. It made you realize how much you like him. You just need to know if it made him feel the opposite.

“Do you still like me?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve never cuddled with anyone before so I don’t really know what-”

“No, I mean do you still like me?” Peter knows what you mean. He doesn’t know how you think he doesn’t. “Of course I do.” You peek up at him, he’s already got eyes on you, it makes your cheeks feel warm.

“Even after I was shitty to you?” Peter laughs, a hard laugh, you move with his jostles. “Honey, you’ve been giving me shit for nine years, it hasn’t slowed me down one bit.”

Honey. It has a nice ring to it, you like it. But the one you’ve always liked hasn’t ever been uttered with endearment and you really want it, you want it to come from Peter’s voice and have it wrap around your ears while your heart bubbles up with giddiness.

“Can you call me sweetheart?”

“Is that the one you like?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

It’s so much sweeter than you imagined.

You’re not sure what details May knows, but she knows you hurt her nephew. She hasn’t said anything but you can feel her watching your back every time you’re with Peter. Her tone isn’t clipped and she’s just as welcoming as before, but you can feel it. You can sense that she isn’t fully trusting.

May had stared at you for a good thirty seconds when she caught you spread across Peter’s lap while he studied. You tried to focus on his rubix cube in your hand, even going as far to prove you’re not a threat by giving him a light kiss on his cheek. She didn’t seem convinced, but she left it alone.

Two days ago she burst into Peter’s room and made it very clear that when you were over the door stays open. Peter tried to fight it, he said that you were just hanging out but she was dead serious, going as far as saying that if he couldn’t handle her rules, he wasn’t allowed to have company.

Peter didn’t tell you that you were the only person with this rule, but you knew you were.

“I just don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this, May. She’s just-” You weren’t going to be involved, you weren’t going to give May more ammo.

“Door stays open, Peter. If May says it, we follow it.” Peter doesn’t agree with you, you can tell by the way he nods his head and clicks his pen. When did you start being able to read him? And why do you like it so much?

But the real hint was when you weren’t welcome to stay for dinner the previous night. There’s never been a time May denied you food, most of the times she’d come over begging you to join so they wouldn’t have so many leftovers. But last night she just suggested you go home and prepare for the next day.

You watched Peter’s jaw clench in frustration, then you sweetened him up with a smile and told him you were planning on leaving anyway. You don’t think he bought it. You needed to talk to May, you needed to know she was okay with you and Peter, if she wasn’t- no matter how hard it would hurt, you’d stay away from Peter.

May is all he has and you’re not going to put any strain on their relationship. Not over you.

Peter was staying late at school for math club and it’s your perfect opportunity. A light knock, May answers almost instantly. She’s surprised but she melts into a smile, it’s lacking something. “Oh! Peter isn’t here.”

“I know. I wanted to talk to you.” Now you’ve got her interest. May opens the door wide, you go straight to the kitchen for the batch of cookies Peter made you last night. You can taste the love in them.

“May, I need you to level with me here. Do you have a problem with me dating Peter?” There’s a beat of silence, “are you dating him?” You swallow a bite, “not yet. I needed to make sure it was okay with you.”

“You’re asking for my blessing?” You slightly nod. “More or less. You’ve been really nice but I feel like there’s a little tension. I feel like you don’t totally trust me with him.” Confirmation, but it doesn’t hurt like you think.

“Peter’s a sensitive boy. He does everything a hundred and ten percent. If you want him, he’ll give you more than his all. Can you say the same?” Can you? Yes. It’s without a doubt. You want him and only him and you’d lay your life on the line. There’s been so much wasted time, Peter could’ve been your first but you were too stubborn.

Peter wasn’t your first, but with everything in you he’s going to be your last.

“Yes. I’m in love with him. I love him more than I ever loved anyone, I love him more than I thought was possible. I want to be there for him, I want to support him through the bad days and I want to be by his side for the good ones. I want him and only him, I was just too dumb to see it before.”

May’s mouth etches into a smile, this time it reaches her eyes and she’s hugging you. A whisper in your ear, “I always knew this is how it would end.” You grin into her shoulder, “really?”

“Peter’s nothing but determined. It was only a matter of time.” You know what that means. “Are you giving me your blessing?” She laughs and pulls you closer, “you always had it. I just needed to know you were serious.”

Time passes quickly, you’re three cookies down and you’re itching for a fourth. You swear he puts crack in them. You talk animatedly with May, you’re fawning over her own love story and hoping that that would be your future with Peter. When the door unlocks you perk up, you can’t bite back your smile or tapping feet.

“Whatcha doing here? Hi May.” Your arms spread wide, Peter fills them. “I came to talk to May, I stayed to see your handsome face.” How did you once see it as annoying? How did you once find his smile revolting? He’s the prettiest person you’ve ever seen. You want to kiss him more than anything, May gave you the green light, you press up on your toes to give him a peck.

“I missed you. How was math club? Were you the smartest hunk there? Don’t answer, I already know it’s a yes.” Peter’s still reeling from the kiss but he powers through. “I wouldn’t be too confident about that, sweetheart.” Your heart clenches, him saying it makes your knees feel weak. “Mathew Ryan is in the club with me.”

“I hate blondes. I only like cuties with brown, curly hair by the name of Peter Parker.” His eyes squint at you, it makes you feel warm, you hide back in his chest. May’s watching with heart eyes, she’s never seen you so happy. “You’re laying it on thick today. You must need something.”

“Just you, handsome.” Okay, you might be laying it on a little thick, but you can’t hold it in. You just love him too much, it’s uncontainable. He’s perfect. “May, she’s up to something. I don’t trust it.” His aunt keeps grinning. “I do.”

Peter pats your back, “if you trust it, I guess I have to, too.” You squeeze him tight and mumble into his chest, he still hears you. “What, now?” You asked if you could talk to him, it had him looking down and giving you his full attention.

“What’s up?” Your eyes shoot to his door, message received. Peter leaves a small gap in the door, you pause and poke your head out to his aunt. “Can I shut the door?” A three second count, “permission granted.” It clicks shut, you spin, you have all his attention.

“You said I was never properly loved.”

Peter feels his heart drop, it was the nastiest thing he could ever say to you. Part of him wished you had forgotten but that’s not something that’s forgettable, that’s something that sticks with you forever. He never meant to say it, it was something he spewed out to make you feel just as bad but that’s not who he is and that’s not what he does and he really should’ve apologized way before now.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. It was a shitty thing to say and I-”

“You weren’t wrong. I haven’t been properly loved. But I’d like for you to show me how it feels.”

Your pulse rises with his silence, Peter holds out a steady hand. “Just to be clear, you’re asking me-”

“If you’d be my boyfriend.”

You let out a soft groan, you’re spinning in his hold and pushing at his arms. “Peter!” He doesn’t care, your feet lightly dangle, you’re laughing with him. “Nuh uh, you’re not allowed to push me away anymore, I’m your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. Peter Parker is your boyfriend. What a rush of feelings, there’s a new one you haven’t felt before. Pride. You’re prideful that Peter’s your boyfriend, you’ve got the greatest person in the world tethered to your hip and he’s going absolutely nowhere. Ever.

“I’ve been waiting for this day since I was fifteen.” A flurry of kisses over your face, “holy wow, you’re my girlfriend. I can kiss you whenever I want, and I can touch you! Oh, and now I always have someone to eat pizza with. And the science museum! No one ever wants to go to the science museum with me!”

“Holy wow?” You giggle at a string of kisses to your jawline, you never knew someone would be so excited at the thought of dating you. “Wow, wow, wowie, my girlfriend’s a hottie.” You push him away with a disgusted sound, “that’s so gross, Peter.”

“Oops, let me repent with a kiss.”

It’s the fireworks again. This time they’re blinding. Your back burns with his touch, you want to swallow him whole. It’s not lacking passion, but it’s soft. You reach for his shirt collar when he pulls away, this time he laughs.

“I was going to ask if I was a bad kisser but-”

“No.” This time you’re keeping him chained to you with your hands behind his neck. “Best kisser ever,” you give him a chaste one to prove it. “My handsome baby.” Your waist is squeezed, “you’re too nice.” He doesn’t understand, he’ll never be able to understand.

“I wasted so much time, Peter. You were right there and I was so… so stupid that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. I have no idea why you like me, I was so mean and cruel and I never appreciated you.”

Peter has secrets too. “I was friendly, but I didn’t like you. You were super aggressive and made a point to say something mean… but then Ben died.” The oxygen runs from your lungs, it wasn’t something you thought about, you thought he didn’t either.

It was brutal watching him and May go through that. You remember that night vividly, the night May got the call. You could hear her screams from your room, it’s something you’ll never forget. Her wails, the way she begged to God that it was all a dream. You knew what happened before you could see them and the one thing you thought of in that moment was Peter.

You can still remember the panic you felt, the overwhelming urge to make sure he was okay. You remember your feet skidding across the carpet, the cold hardwood in the hall, the way your middle knuckle split you were knocking so hard.

‘Peter,’ it’s all you had to say. Then you were scooping him into your arms, holding him tight as he sobbed. You kept telling him you were sorry, you brushed his hair back and rubbed circles on his back. You kept him tucked into your neck while he cried, you didn’t tell him it was okay, nothing about that night was okay. You remember holding in your own tears, you swallowed them down and held Peter all night.

Fourteen hours. You had him curled up with you while you kept telling him sorry, you had stayed up all night with him and took care of him. You got him water, you made him eat a snack, you did what you could while they slept. You did laundry, you did the dishes, you made cookies.

Peter’s uncle died and you made him cookies.

Your boyfriend dumped you and Peter made you cookies.

You basically lived there for a week, you slept with Peter, held him with each bout of sadness, and never ever told him it was okay. You held his hand at the funeral and kissed him on the back of it before he gave his eulogy. You made sure he was minimally functioning, you tried to keep him busy with dumb tasks.

After two weeks he didn’t need you anymore and you slowly faded away until it settled into how it used to be. You think Peter liked it a little, not everything had to change because Ben died. But you never went out of your way to hurt him anymore, he didn’t need your help in that department. What used to be petty attacks turned into silence and gentle name calling.

But you were there for him when he needed it. Just how he was with you.

“You pulled an Uncle Ben on me.”

A twitch in his lips, “you were there for me when my world ended, I had to return the favor.” It’s not fair for him to compare the two. “I was broken up with, I didn’t have my-”

“Devastation comes in all forms. It’s not about whos is worse, it’s about being there for someone you care about.” He doesn’t hide his smile, “even if they claim to hate you for all eternity.”

“I don’t hate you anymore.”

“Spoiler alert, you never did.”

You’ve been caught. Peter knew the whole time, he was just waiting on you. “Are you sure you don’t hate me? Cause I’ve been really terrible to you the last month.” Your boyfriend rolls his eyes before giving you a big hug.

“That’s because you’re stubborn and didn’t want to admit you liked me.” You poke his ribs, “you knew?”

“Sweetheart, I knew the day you said I had very pretty eyes.”

“Yeah, you do. Let me see them again, boyfriend.”

The last six weeks you detested love and what it brings. The disaster, the heartbreak, the pain. You never thought you’d love again and definitely not with the neighbor you hated. But right there, in his room, you felt your heart crack open and ooze onto his bedroom floor.

And you watched love begin again.

“Anything for you, girlfriend.”

----

TAGLIST: (some @'s wouldn't show up :(

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#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker blurb #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter smut #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #my writing

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giuliettagaltieri · 6 months ago

Text

Not Her Man

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Feathers fall gracefully slow

Warning: Girlrotting

Word Count: 3193

Part 1 • Part 3

You were always scared to do drugs.

You saw Rafe at his highs, you were with him, keeping him from doing anything stupid like when he was so sure he could backflip from Tanneyhill’s rooftop and land on the grass perfectly.

But you also wondered how difficult it was for him to get clean. To suffer from withdrawals. And as you lie on your fur carpet, staring at the glimmering crystals of your chandelier, with your closet half emptied and scattered all around your room, along with rolling wine bottles on the polished hardwood floor of your bedroom, you think you might have understood just a little.

Blocking him was the hardest thing you have ever done in your life, especially when it was your routine to giggle over whatever interaction you had through text that day. The itch to open his account for any update made you want to bind your hands together.

Your parents are out of the country, busy overseeing their business, forgetting to oversee their daughter. Your maids were there for you, at least they try to be. They bring you food on schedule, even sliding in a few scoops of ice cream every now and then in your room when your sobs start to echo around the halls.

Rafe tried to contact you multiple times. First, through your phone, but you blocked him. Next, he tried to throw pebbles at your window, but your seventy-six year old gardener fired a shotgun at him, thinking that he was a burglar. Next, he tried a different approach, he was sending you gigantic bouquets of your favorite flowers, making the hallway leading to your room look like a wedding set up, the flowers perfumed the entire house too, drawing a concerning amount of bees. One epipen to your chef’s thigh later, Rafe stops sending them.

He never really does anything right. All he does is mess up, create more problems for himself. You almost wanted to give in, but you remind yourself of the things he said. Anger and hurt quickly replaces pity.

A familiar chime of your phone had you groaning. Your friends are probably going to have another attempt of making you step out of your room, like inviting you to have your nails done or shop, just to get your mind off of Rafe.

You just let the ringtone end and you go back to staring at the chandelier, wondering if you’ll be quick enough to get out of the way if it somehow falls. Before you can plan a strategic roll, your phone rings again.

Blindly reaching underneath the scattered pillows, you finally locate the buzzing device. You answer without looking at the caller ID.

“Y/N speaking.” You mumble lazily.

“Hey, girlie.” There goes the high-pitched voice of your friend. “Sooo, the girls and I-hush!” You hear a bunch of girls giggling behind the line and your brows crease together in annoyance. “We’re going on a party tonight and we’re thinking that maybe you’d liketocomewithus?”

You play with the lace of your dress, eyes just following the patterns when you hear your name being called again over the phone.

“I’m not in the mood for parties.”

“You are never in the mood for anything anymore.” She whines behind the line. Her tone prompts you to sit up to pick up the stale wine you left out in the open for too long. Taking a sip and ignoring the thin coat of dust it caught after you ransacked your closet for something that made you look confident, only for you to end up squeezing in the dress that Rafe got you as a present for your 13th birthday. He didn’t pick it out for you, of course, but it still made you all fizzy and bubbly and excited inside.

You put down the wine to scratch at the waistband that is digging on the skin of your under bust, the fabric being stretched beyond its capacity.

“I know.” You tried to sound apologetic. “I just can’t, okay?”

She sighs, making you let out a grateful sigh. There’s still some ceiling viewing you had to get back to.

“I’m picking you up at seven.” She speaks with finality and before you can answer, she continues. “Please don’t let that awful man get the satisfaction of knowing that he has this much effect on you.” You can hear her begging behind the phone. She and the other girls are just looking out for you.

With an unwilling heart, you decide to get on your feet, your socked foot nearly slipping the moment it touches the wooden floor. Cursing, you finally crouch on the piled up clothes you threw earlier.

“Fine, I’ll come.” You roll your eyes. “Dresscode?”

You hear an airy chuckle and you can imagine her pinching your cheeks if you were within her reach. “Party’s open to all, Kooks or Pogues. In the community beach house. You dress however you like. I’ll match your vibe, if you’d like.”

This makes a smile creep on your lips. She’s definitely on the top 10 list of the most annoying people you know but you thank God everyday for a friend like her. “You know I love you, right?”

She snorts before bursting out in a fit of laughter. “Duh. I love you too.”

“See you later.” You grin. “Tell the girls I’m coming too.”

“Sure, see you!”

You hang up and get started on searching for the right outfit. Well, there’s the classic white flowy dresses, but everybody wears them. You could wear a short and a cute top, show some belly? Blech, you’re not exactly in one of your maneater moods. But perhaps if you covered it with that oversized white pinstriped polo, it could work? Yeah, something casual yet put together. It’s not like you’re dressing to impress anybody, or somebody in particular, you’d prioritize comfort over fashion tonight.

A knock on your bedroom door pulls you from your thoughts. With a shrug, you throw your chosen clothes on your bed.

“Coming.” You call while trudging over to open the door. There stood your maid, she was looking anxious, wringing her wrinkly hands. “What is it?”

She glances at your odd choice of clothing before she looks away so as to not make you uncomfortable. “Well, uhm, Sir Cameron is here again, miss. He’s waiting for you downstairs, in the drawing room.”

You press your lips in a firm line. “Tell him I’m not here.”

Your maid smiles apologetically. “He…he saw you in your bedroom window before he came in, miss.”

Huffing, you tap your feet impatiently. “Just tell him I’m busy.”

“He said you’ll say that.” She mutters, amusement in her tone. “And he asked us to tell you that he can wait.”

You close your eyes to keep them from rolling. “Whatever, he can stay as long as he likes, but I’m not coming down to meet him.” You push the door a little wider and your maid’s eyes widen at the state of your room. “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but can you help me clean up?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent tidying up your room.

It was dark out, a couple of minutes past seven when your phone buzzed. Knowing that it’s your girlfriends, you pick your bag, filled with the usual party necessities and head downstairs. It’s a habit, assigning yourself as the responsible friend who stays sober to look after the others.

You are slipping in the pearl bracelet your grandmother got for you last Christmas when you hear your name being called and in instinct, you turn around.

“Oh, right.” You say with a tone that is drier than the Sahara desert. “You’re here.”

Rafe’s standing just outside your drawing room, his hands falling to his side.

“Yeah.” He spoke awkwardly, his eyes glancing at your outfit, familiarity crossing them before he looked at your eyes again. “I was waiting for you.”

You exhale softly and he just stood there, waiting for your reaction.

“I know.” You say simply. “Gotta go.” You start walking again to your door.

“Wait, Y/N.” He easily catches up. “You’re…you’re coming to the party, right?” He asks hopefully.

“Yes.” You respond without looking at him.

Rafe smiles but it quickly dissipates when he sees a different car waiting for you. “Hold on, I can drive you there.” He says quickly, his hand gripping yours just to get you to listen to him. “I can drive you to the party.” He says in an uncharacteristically sheepish way.

For a second, you look at him, really look at him. His smile grows wide. He missed having your eyes on him. You’re his best friend, and he’s used to doing everything with you by his side. He also liked how dependent you were on him too, always asking for his approval. You have a bit of an overbearing attitude but he would be lying if he’ll say that he doesn’t miss you doting on him too. Perhaps you’re not the only one who’s dependent on this odd friendship you both have.

“No, thank you.” You say before pulling your hand away with a sharp look thrown his way. He watches you walk away to greet your friends. He’s still stuck there, staring, even after the car drives away.

He doesn’t understand it.

You’re the emotional one, why are you doing so well without him? You never go to parties with other people, it was always him that you stick close to. Clinging on him, pulling him to the dance floor when he’s about to do a line of coke, or accidentally knocking his cup when he’s had too much drinks.

Running a hand through his face, Rafe decides to hop on his car and follow you to the party. You’ll be in the same space as him in the next few hours. He’ll get another chance there. He’s certain of it.

He didn’t get the chance.

With you by his side all the time, you memorized his set of activities at parties and you evaded him perfectly. Rafe decided that it was best to stand by the punch table. You’d get thirsty eventually, and he’ll be there waiting if you do.

On the other side of the house, farthest from Rafe, there you sit by the porch swing, admiring the push and pull of the waves. The party was at its climax and everybody was cramped inside the house, dancing and drinking, or doing unholy activities. You don’t know how you managed to slip away from your friends but you’re glad you did. You needed the fresh air.

You’re just starting to get comfortable when a man stumbles out the door. You watch him struggle to keep himself up. He looked lost? Or just flat out drunk. You watch in amusement as he scratches his blonde head, he must be having a whiplash from all the blinding neon lights inside and suddenly his vision switches to the bright light provided by the LEDs.

His feet twist and he starts to fall to the side, your head tilting to follow his fall. You wince when you hear the loud thud of his body hitting the floor, followed by his muffled but loud groaning.

“Motherfu-” He sits on the floor, his legs sprawled out in front of him as he shakes his head like a dog.

“You alright, JJ?” You chuckle.

He whips his head to you, cursing again when his vision spins. “Y/N?” He drawls out while rubbing his eyes. “You saw everything?”

Still laughing, you get up to crouch next to him. “I did.” You smile when he groans out again. “Are you okay?”

He props up a knee and rests an arm there, he looks buzzed, his eyes are heavily lidded as he stares off into the ocean.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He glances at you. “Well, this is a strange sight.”

“What is?” You mumble as you look away from him, deciding to play dumb.

He shrugs animatedly, hands gesturing to you and the entire space of the porch. “Usually, wherever you are, your boyfriend is not that far behind.” He points a thumb behind him. “And if I wasn’t imagining it, I’m pretty sure I just saw him brooding over the drinks.”

You chuckle dryly as you bring your knees to your chest. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

JJ looks at you with an unimpressed face. “That’s all you heard.”

Playfully punching his shoulder, you sigh. “We fought.”

He frowns, back straightening immediately. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” It’s kind of sweet how your words seemed to have sobered him really quick.

“No! No, he didn’t.” You reply right away. “Well, at least not physically.”

You watch him grimace. “Outside physical fights, I have little to no idea how to respond.”

“That’s okay, JJ. I don’t wanna talk about it, anyway.”

He gives you a boyish grin, as if to reassure you before scratching at his jaw, your eyes mindlessly follow his movements and you see a scratch.

“You’re hurt.” You tell him, pointing at your own jaw.

“Huh?” He touches his jaw and winces. “Ow! Must’ve scratched myself when I…uhm.”

“When you decided to attack the floor.” You finish for him and he clears his throat. “You’ll have to disinfect it.”

“Pfft, it’s fine.” He shakes his head. “It’s just a scratch.”

But you are already grabbing your bag by the swing and you return with a small kit.

“I forgot to bring wipes.” You mumble before crouching down in front of him. He swallows at your close proximity. “Come on, JJ. It’s just antibacterial cream.”

He hesitantly shows you his face and you gently apply the cream, tutting when he dramatically pulls away.

You grab his face and tilt it slightly and JJ squeezes his eyes.

“It fucking stings.” He nearly whines, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be a baby!” You huff and he stays still for a second, allowing you to smear the cream evenly and he rolls away from you as soon as you’re done.

JJ was muttering about God knows what while you’re busy putting your stuff away. When you sit next to him again, he’s much calmer, a lazy smile back on his face again.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You throw him a playful glare. “You’re welcome.”

He touches the scratch and you almost tell him off but he quickly pulls his hand away.

“Why didn’t Cameron make you his girl?”

You blow out a big sigh. “He doesn’t like me.”

“Bullshit.” He laughs but he clears his throat when you look at him unamused. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You smile at him genuinely before averting your eyes. “I wouldn’t blame him. I mean, you saw how I can be.” You chuckle this time but there’s no humor on JJ’s face, he’s looking at you rather sadly. “I care too much and everybody suffocates around me.”

“I don’t.” He says quickly. “I was just being dramatic earlier.” He rubs his nape. “I’m not used to having people tend to me, I mostly just do it myself.” He seeks your eyes and you finally look at him.

You hear a creak behind you but before you can look, JJ cups your face to keep you from breaking your eye contact, making your breath hitch.

“I liked being taken care of like that.” He whispers and your lips part slightly.

“JJ.” You say breathlessly and he grins, his face leaning dangerously close to you. “You’re drunk.”

He gently bites his bottom lip and you have to look away from his blatant flirting. “I’m sober enough to kiss, I promise.”

This…this isn’t right.

You gently push him away and his lips immediately form a pout. “You’re such a kid, JJ.”

He clicks his tongue and angrily stoops as he glares at the ocean. “You had no idea how long it took me to build the courage to do that.”

“Five minutes?” You jokingly bump his shoulders, making his act break at the edges, a smile threatening to crack on his lips. “Seriously, J, I can’t kiss drunk guys. It’s unethical.”

He mimics you in a childish voice and buries his face on his palms harshly. He turns to you again, with his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead and red blotches appearing on some areas of his face. “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.” The way he glances at your lips had your throat drying up. “I really wanted to kiss you.” Aside from Rafe, you have little to no experience with the male attention and frankly, you don’t know what to do.

You place a hand on his shoulder and stiffly pat it twice. “You’ll get over it.”

JJ looks at you exasperatedly. “You’re taking this too lightly, this is my feelings we are talking about.”

You stifle a laughter. “Oh, so you have feelings for me.” You raise a brow at him and he nods his head enthusiastically.

“Every guy on this island has a thing for you.” He says animatedly. “If it wasn’t for your bodyguard, we would have made our move long ago.”

You are deeply flattered, you can’t resist the girlish smile from tugging on your lips, your cheeks slowly heating up.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He looks deeply offended and places a hand on his chest.

“You’re the ultimate dream girl, stupid!” He dodges a punch from you. “You’re like the total package. You’re sweet, and smart, you’re also very pretty, you can be funny too when you let loose.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you and this pulls a laughter from you, a real, genuine laughter that had your shoulders shaking.

“When are you gonna get serious, J?” Wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, you get up. “Wait here, I’ll get us a drink.”

He gives you a two finger salute before lying smack down on the floor, with his arms spread out. You shake your head, chuckling when you open the door.

And your hair stands on end.

There stood the very person you have been avoiding the entire night.

But for once, he isn’t wearing a scowl or a condescending cocky smile.

He was looking at you like a man defeated and broken.

“Rafe.” You whisper as you reach for him but you stop yourself before your skin can touch. He looks at your hand and then your eyes. You don’t know if it’s the trick of light but you could have sworn his eyes are glassy.

“Hey, Y/N, everything alright?” JJ calls.

Rafe glances at JJ and then back at you, he nods slowly as he takes a step back. Your heart aches as you watch him take another step away from you but you will yourself not to follow. He runs a hand on his mouth and he turns away from you.

You stare at his back as he leaves, torn between choosing your own pride or running after him. For what seemed like hours, you stood there, frozen. Still lost in the onslaught of emotions that surged through you.

Not Your Girl • His Girl

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #outer banks #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #rafe angst #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe obx

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benevolentbones · 7 months ago

Text

beach day | spencer reid x fem!reader part 2

part 1

warnings: heated kissing!!! slightly suggestive.

word count: 1.2k

a/n: here is part 2!! hope you all enjoy, thank you for the support and 200+ followers!! reblogs & comments appreciated !!

the sun was at its highest point, casting burning rays down onto the white sand. you and garcia were splashing around, emily and jj had run off to look for seashells and derek was building a mega sandcastle with jack while hotch and spencer were sat by everyone’s bags.

“i’m getting a little cold now y/n, im getting out to warm up.” garcia announced as she began to wade back out of the water, you decided that it would probably be a good idea to take a break maybe get a drink to rehydrate, so you followed the blonde back to the towels.

“honestly hotch the water is perfect are you sure you don’t want to come for a swim?” you grinned as you walked back.

“i think i’m good here.” he mumbled, smoothing down the hawaiian print shirt that adorned his tall figure.

“well in that case- lets get ice cream.” penelope chirped, as he dried herself off putting on a violently floral beach coverup over her swimsuit.

“ice cream!” jack came running back, practically leaping onto his dad, covering them both in sand.

“well that’s one way to summon a five year old.” you laughed.

hotch sent you a joking glare before picking jack up. “yeah lets get some ice cream.” he agreed passively.

“morgan, ice cream lets go hotch is buying!” penelope yelled to derek who was now two feet deep in a hole he was digging.

“wh- i never said…fine.” hotch shook his head in disapproval as he walked away, jack still in his arms, with penelope and derek in tow.

“get me my favourite!” you yelled out as they left, earning a dismissive wave from hotch.

you turned to face spencer, who had now picked up your towel and was using it to block his legs from the sun. his face was buried in his book, with only a few pages remaining.

“can i use my towel, spence.” you smiled sweetly once his doe eyes met yours.

your two piece clung to your body, saturated in sea water. little droplets of water trickled down your bare skin, spencer’s intense stare watching as they connected to each other and fell from your figure.

he cleared his throat before speaking, “i-uh yeah here.” he quickly pass your towel to you, your finger briefly skimming over his causing heat to rise in your cheeks.

you towel dried your hair, wringing your salty locks out.

spencer closed his book, setting it down on the blue cooler to his right. he eyed you, as you began to pat your torso dry, wrapping the towel around yourself, over your two piece, like you had just stepped out of the shower.

“when did you last put suncream on?” you questioned, flicking your hair off of your shoulders.

“i don’t know- maybe four hours ago.” spencer pondered.

you gasped loudly in a playful manner, immediately diving into your beach bag and pulling out your trusted factor 30 suncream.

“i- y/n i think i’m fine.”

“you’re supposed to reapply every two hours- you should know this.” you muttered, shuffling towards spencer’s seated figure.

spencer let out a small groan, although secretly he thought it was cute how concerned you were.

“stand up please.”

“i’m not moving.” a smug smile resting on his face, he wanted to test how serious you were about the application of suncream, surely you’d give up.

you let out a prolonged exhale, dispensing suncream onto your hand.

“you gave me no choice!” you exclaimed, climbing onto the beach chair. spencer’s eyes widened as you practically straddled the man, one leg resting over either side of his lap.

you pushed back his hair with one hand, gently applying the cream to his face with the other. his face burning at your close proximity, he was staring directly and your towel clad form.

once you finished applying it to his face, you reached for the bottle again, you moved down to his neck, then to his arms. at this stage spencer was compliant, doing whatever you needed of him.

“give me your arm.” you muttered, taking his forearm and rubbing in the cream on any visible skin. spencer stirred as you shifted your weight to one side, getting comfortable on his lap.

spencer knew you were a confident person, it reflected in your work on the field, but he never expected you to go this far.

“i know you’re enjoying this.” you joked, your small laugh ringing in his ears.

“s-shut up. i say you couldn’t wait to get your hands on me.” he rebutted your remark, and now it was your turn for your face to flush.

“so what if i did…” you mumbled, taking his other arm in your hand. spencer’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to read your expression, he wasn’t certain if you meant it. so he decided to find out.

“is that why you wanted my hands all over you?” he questioned. it was a bold move, even for spencer, he couldn’t quite believe those words came from him.

this caught you off guard, you dropped spencer’s arm and stared at him, his hazel eyes stared back with intensity.

“and what if i said yes, dr.reid?” you replied, chewing your bottom lip waiting for his reply.

spencer lifted his dominant hand, slipping it under your towel to rest on your waist. you breath hitched in your throat as his warm hand came in contact with your chilled skin.

“maybe you need a top up.” he mumbled, his grasp on you not faltering.

you studied him, the fresh layer of suncream on his facing causing his skin to glow from the few rays of sun that managed to shine through the gaps of the umbrella.

your hold on the bottle of suncream loosened causing it to fall into the sand below. you brought your right hand up to his face, resting it against jaw as you smoothed your thumb over cheek.

he gave you a small smile, embracing your hold. you reluctantly leaned closer, shifting your position on him. spencer could tell what you were doing, quickly closing the gap between you and pressing his lips to yours.

it was gentle at first, a soft brush that sent shivers down spencer’s spine. you immediately brought your other hand up, running in through his hair. spencer’s grip on your waist tightened, as he brought his other to rest on your thigh.

you shuddered at his touch, your beach towel slipping away from your torso and pooling by your hips. spencer deepened the kiss, as you leaned forward, pressing your body against his. you kissed back hungrily, trailing your hands to cup his face.

spencer pulled away, taking in your features. your eyelids were heavy, your lips slightly swollen. a grin spread across his face as you leaned back in pressing a kiss to your jaw, then to below your ear.

“spence?-“ you breathed out, resting your arms around his shoulders as he continued peppering kisses along your neck before returning to your lips. spencer had wanted to kiss you for months, and now it was finally happening, he wanted to savour every moment.

his lips were soft, his kiss much more tentative this time, spencer’s hands tracing over your figure.

you both pulled back to gaze at one another, heavy breaths slipping from your lips. you could practically feel the heat radiating off of spencer. you both sat for a moment, in silence, taking in what had just happened.

“will you go for a swim with me now?” you questioned.

“i think i’ll need to after that..”

taglist!! @0108s22m @rainoftearss @potatovoyager @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @luvmia222 @shardsofmarxx @silver138 @lover-of-books-and-tea

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you

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peppermint-toads · 8 months ago

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you don’t like doctor’s offices. especially not now. you don’t like the hypnotic hum of the fluorescent lights, the cabinets that’ve been there since the late 80’s, the pamphlets sitting in an acrylic holder telling you that you have options.

options. not anymore. because you’re sitting on the examination table about 16 weeks pregnant, waiting for the doctor.

“the baby looks healthy,” the doctor tells you, barging into the room without a knock. “i’m prescribing zofran for the nausea. the nurse will see you out.”

thank fucking god. you wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of this place. the best part about these visits was the walk home. they are usually quite pleasant. being pregnant in the summertime has its downfalls, but feeling the breeze in your hair and through your thin dress is your saving grace.

it’s just another bonus that you pass your favorite ice cream shop on the way home. you think you’ll have an affogato today, decaf, of course.

it smells like heaven in the shop, that cool, sweet smell from the coolers. your favorite. this is your saving grace, this affogato will solidify the day as a good one, despite the lingering feeling of doctor on you.

ice cream in hand, it’s finally time to go home. the walk is clearing your head already. you eat a spoonful of vanilla and sigh. maybe you ought to stop by the pharmacy for those meds. on second thought, that can be tomorrow’s task. you’ll be alright.

actually, maybe not. because you see simon riley’s stupid, bulking form walking towards you about a block away. fuck. shit fuck. you should hide. duck into the closest shop before he can come after you. but it’s no hope, you’re looking up and you’ve already made direct eye contact. nausea meds sound so good right now.

may as well keep going forward. it’s not like he’ll notice, anyway. you’re barely showing, but your white dress isn’t doing you any favors right now.

you’ll give a polite smile, duck your head, and all will be well. no stopping, no small talk, no—

simon is physically cornering you to a complete halt in the middle of the sidewalk, and there is nothing you can do about it. maybe if you curl your back in a little bit, the bump won’t be as noticeable.

“what are you doing? stop that.”

he is so gracefully referring to your posture.

“i don’t have time for this simon. i’ve got things to do.”

you walk sideways around him, and he follows.

“where are you coming from?”

you can’t help it. “you lost the right to ask that question when you fell off the face of the planet.”

you hear him grunt behind you and smile. great, no snide comments yet.

“you look different.”

shit. he’s jogging, catching up to you and walking by your side now. the breeze is picking up and you shift uncomfortably. the fabric of your dress is clinging to your stomach.

simon looks down, his intent is to see what you’re eating, but he catches a glimpse of your swollen stomach and freezes. he’s nearly swallowed by all the foot traffic.

“simon?” you feel the loss of him by your side. he’s stood still, strangers bumping into him and jostling his shoulders.

great. now you’re backtracking, when really all you want is to be at home, in bed.

“simon, what’s your problem?”

“you’re pregnant.”

time stops for him. he’s the father, no way he couldn’t be. unless you were cheating on him, which he highly doubts considering your heart is the purest thing he’s ever encountered during his time on this earth.

you let out a long, long sigh. “yeah.”

then you’re swaying, trying to keep upright and simultaneously swallowing down vomit. simon watches as the life drains from your face a bit. his hands are gripping your shoulders to stabilize you. his touch feels nice, warm.

“i need to get home,” you tell him with a sad smile, pained to be leaving his soft touch behind yet again.

“i’ll walk you.”

you nod. you don’t have the heart to ask him to take his hand off your waist, feels too good. and he’s keeping the world right side up.

it’s only a short distance home, and soon he’s ushering you up the stairs to your flat. you don’t stop him from doing that, either.

you also don’t stop him from pulling your favorite blanket over you after helping you lie down on the couch.

you don’t even get the chance to tell him to leave because you’re just so tired, and his presence makes you feel so safe. you’re falling asleep and quickly. he lets you.

he sits and watches you sleep for the better part of an hour. when you stir, he’s there, staring.

he’s in your lounge chair, chin resting on his folded knuckles.

“i’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

you’re barely awake and what’s he saying? “huh?” you say stupidly, wiping your eyes of sleep.

“i said,” he swallows, “i’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

you’re sitting straight up now, definitely more awake now. “i couldn’t have told you. even if i wanted to. you disappeared, simon.

he did. but he doesn’t have the time to explain that now. so, he ignores you.

“how far along are you?”

you tell him. he stands from the chair, sitting down right next to you. he asks if he can feel your stomach. you guess so.

things are getting a little too serious for you now.

“right, well. i had a lovely nap, and i’m feeling much better. thank you for walking me home, but i need to stop by the pharmacy and—”

he interrupts you, tugging your wrist when you try to stand. “i’ll go for you. i’ll do it, please. i’ll do anything you ask me to.

you frown down at him. “simon, there’s no point to this. please just go. it’s just… too late.”

simon’s heart is breaking. he didn’t think it could break anymore than it already has in the last few months.

“let me stay.”

he begs. you think there are tears in his eyes, and if you let them fall you know there’ll be no going back. so you sit with him, you let him kiss you with his hand on your stomach. you let him lay you down on the beat up couch he was always pestering you to replace. you let him pull your dress over your head and kiss his way down your stomach. you let him sink into you slowly and pull your calves up to rest on his shoulders. you let him cum inside of you, again.

you even let him go to the pharmacy for you.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #simon riley x pregnant reader

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xoxoells · 5 months ago

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Single dad ghost and sweet little baker reader! (it works out trust me)

Single dad simon who has to get emergency cupcakes for his daughter’s class party, the six-year-old demanding that she’ll become the “coolest girl in class” and if she didn’t get her cupcakes, daddy would be her third favorite person. oh the horror!

And so, simon has no choice but to run down to the new bakery that opened up down the block, his nose flooded with the smell of icing and sugar the moment he hear the door chime from his arrival.

“Hello?” He calls, wondering if anyone’s in the bakery.

He turns around to leave, before you call out after him, apologizing and telling him that you were baking in the back. Not that simon could care less, he was focused on you. The way the apron hugged the fat of your body, plump from your years of working at the bakery. The way your bair looked in that distressed bum, practically falling apart from running to the counter. Most importantly, the cream and frosting covering your face. Simon began to wonder if his frosting could-

“Sir? Sorry if you didnt hear me. What would you like today?” you chirped, cutting off his filthy thoughts. “Just some cupcakes. for my girl.” Girl? must be a lucky lady, you thought, untill he whipped out a picture on his phone, a badly drawn unicorn cupcake that his daughter drew, covered in pompoms and glitter.

You tried to contain your smile as you said that it was no problem, and you could make them in a jiff. Simon watches as you fill in his order, and tell him what to do when he comes to pick it up. All of that goes over his head though, when you say “You seem like such a good father” Simon grins. Wouldnt you like to know sweetheart, maybe you could be her new mother. “well, she’s only got me since her mum ran away. I do what i can” Simon says, knowing that he’s left that imprint im your head.

Simon leaves your bakery, mind heating up like an oven from what he could, no, will do to you.

“Who was that hottie?” Your co worker says ,appearing from the back. “No clue, but i hope that kid wants a new mom.”

#cod #18+ mdni #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #task force 141 #call of duty #modern warfare #pin me to the table im going feral #ghost x reader

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girlygirl14534 · 1 year ago

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Body Heat - Bucky x Reader

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Cock Warming, Snowed In, Only One Bed

Length: 3.7k

Summary: A blizzard knocks out the power in the safehouse where you and Bucky are sharing a bed. Can Bucky keep you warm through the cold night?

Author’s Note: It has been so cold where I live lately and there’s nobody better than Bucky to warm me up. I’m entering this work into @targaryenvampireslayer Blind Date Writing Challenge. I don’t participate in a lot of fandom events, so this was really fun! I used the Only One Bed trope and the Dialogue Prompts “Take your clothes off. Right now,” and “Are you holding back? Don’t.” Happy reading and stay warm! Divider via @firefly-graphics

Read this work on AO3

“You didn’t even want to get egg rolls,” Bucky whined as you grabbed one off of his plate.

You grinned as you bit into it. He smiled back at you, but his shoulders shifted ever so slightly, tipping you off to his next move. His chopsticks swooped onto your plate in retaliation, but you were ready for him, blocking his attempt on your orange chicken.

He glared at you and you relented. He popped the chicken into his mouth with a satisfied smirk. You rolled your eyes at him and took a sip of your beer. It was a local brew. A little hoppy but not too bitter, with a surprisingly crisp taste. You loved trying beers at every new little town you ended up at. Nothing beat a cold beer after a long mission, even if it was 20 degrees and dropping outside.

It was warm and cozy inside the little cabin. This safe house was cuter than most. It had a little wood stove and lace tablecloth—definitely grandmother-approved. The place was small, but you’d stayed at smaller ones. Although most had at least a few twin size cots. The bed here looked comfortable, but there was only one.

“It’s picking up out there,” Bucky nodded at the window. Outside you could see the snow swirling in the wind.

“The Winter Soldier scared of a little snow?” you teased.

“Oh, shut up. You wouldn’t last ten seconds out there. Remember Helsinki?”

“That is so unfair! I fell into a frozen pond!”

“I told you not to walk on that patch of ice!”

“You were being a know-it-all.”

“That’s because I actually know it all.”

You threw your half-eaten egg roll at him.

“You didn’t even eat it?!”

You shrugged and he glared at you as he finished it. After dinner, you got ready for bed. It had been a long day. When Bucky came out of the shower, you were already under the paisley-printed covers.

He grinned at you. “That’s my favorite bonnet,” he said, nodding at the silky cap on your head.

“You have favorite bonnets of mine?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen you in enough of them. I love the one with rhinestones on the headband. You look like a queen. The Kirby one is really cute, too.”

“Nice try, Bucky.” You threw a pillow at him. “You’re still sleeping on the floor.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

You knew he was going to jump on the bed a second before he did it, but you didn’t stop him. He looked so satisfied with himself.

“Time for bed,” you said as you started stacking pillows on the bed between you.

“Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off of me?” he teased.

“Don’t think I forgot how you hogged the couch in Bangladesh.”

“I maintain that you rolled off of the couch by yourself.”

“Well then consider it protection from me rolling you off the bed.”

He laughed as you finished the wall of pillows, marking your territory. You were just grateful that the bed was big enough to have your own space and that there were enough blankets that you wouldn’t have to share. You loved Bucky, but in your friendship you were more likely to trade insults than share the covers. Was there something more behind the words you traded? Maybe. Sometimes it felt obvious that he felt the same and other times you were certain that he just saw you as a friend.

If you were just friends, you were friends that lived and worked in very close quarters. You’d had a lot of hands-on moments working the mission with him today. If you had a little more privacy, you’d probably be touching yourself right now thinking about the weight of him on top of you as he tackled you to the ground to protect you, his hair tickling your face as he whispered a new tactical plan into your ear. Instead you were stuck here, close but not close enough. You sighed in frustration.

“Need a bedtime story?” Bucky asked.

“Once upon a time, a former assassin wouldn’t shut up while his teammate tried to sleep.”

“Teammate? That’s all I am to you?” he asked. The hurt and offense in his voice almost sounded real.

“What do you want to be described as?” you asked.

“Just get some sleep, princess.”

You chuckled and rolled over, soon falling asleep. You dreamt of him, of course. Of his hands on you. One warm, one cold. And then it was just his left hand. It was so cold. You let him keep touching you, of course. You didn’t care if you got frostbite. You just wanted him to keep touching you.

You were pissed when you woke up before you could climax. But you quickly realized it wasn’t just cold in your dream. Your teeth were chattering in real life.

“Fuck. It’s freezing,” you said.

“Power’s out,” Bucky said. “Must be the storm.”

“Can we make a fire?”

“I checked. The stove is electric.”

“Are you sure? That thing looks older than you.”

Bucky laughed. “I think I saw a few candles in the cupboard.” He got up and rummaged around in the kitchen. He lit them and placed them around the room.

“Bring one here. Maybe I can warm my hands.”

He laughed as he flopped back onto his side of the bed. “I know it’s cold in here. With the blizzard, there’s no way we’ll make it down the mountain. In the morning, we can—”

“I’m not gonna make it to morning! Feel my fingers!”

Bucky outstretched his right hand toward you, smiling in amusement at what he assumed was exaggeration. When you touched him, his expression changed to one of concern. Maybe things were worse than you thought. Maybe it really was frostbite. Bucky started taking down the pillow barrier.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“You’re right,” he said as he threw pillows over his shoulder and onto the floor.

“Oooh, say that again.”

He laughed. “It’s too cold in here. You need body heat.”

You rolled your eyes but he kept moving pillows. “You’re serious?”

He nodded as he got rid of the last pillow. He awkwardly opened his arms. You scooted closer to him. This wasn’t how you wanted his arms around you, but you were too cold to deny him. He wrapped his big, strong arms around you. You relaxed into his embrace, and not just because of the warmth. He held you tight to him and you would’ve stayed just like forever, but you were still shivering. It felt like the chill had settled into your bones. The extra warmth from Bucky was only making it more obvious just how cold it was in the tiny cabin.

“We need skin to skin,” Bucky said.

You laughed but he didn’t.

“Take your clothes off. Right now,” he said.

Maybe the frigid air was impacting your decision-making, because instead of denying him, you complied. Tried to, anyway. Your fingers were so numb from the cold that you fumbled with the hem of your shirt. He gently nudged your fingers aside and helped you out of your shirt. You’d imagined the first time he took your clothes off a little differently, but you couldn’t care about that now. Once your shirt was off, he took his off too.

He hugged you again then. Your bare skin felt electrified where it touched his. He held your hands to his chest to warm them. With his hardened pecs beneath your fingers, it took all of your willpower not to squeeze.

“Is that better?” he asked.

You nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You stayed like that for a few minutes, afraid to move. Afraid that at some point he’d decide that you were warm enough. You weren’t warm enough. In any sense. You needed him closer for survival, but it became increasingly difficult to tell if you needed him because you were cold or because you were horny.

“You’re not warm enough,” he said finally. You didn’t argue.

When he pulled away, the sudden loss of warmth made your body tense up. He immediately placed his arms around you again.

“I won’t let go of you anymore, okay?”

You hated how pathetic your voice sounded when you responded, “Okay.”

His arm reached between your bodies to pull his pants down. You told yourself that you weren’t going to look, but your eyes had a mind of their own. You watched his fingers grip his waistband and tug down his boxers and his pants. Suddenly he was naked. Even in the dim lighting, you could see how big he was. His eyes went straight to yours to check in, but he found no objection. You looked away to be polite, but felt too awkward to look into his eyes. You turned around so that your back was to his chest. You were grateful that he couldn’t see your face when he started to pull your pants down. If he was hesitant about this plan, his movements didn’t show it. He was smooth and deliberate, quickly ridding you of your pajamas and underwear. When you were both undressed, he pulled you close. When you felt his cock against your ass, you shivered, and it wasn’t because of the freezing temperatures.

“That’s it,” he said. “Turn over.”

He didn’t wait for you to move, effortlessly pulling you onto your back and laying on top of you. Bucky was naked. You were naked. And he was on top of you. You were short of breath just thinking about it.

“Don’t tell me I’m taking your breath away,” he teased.

“You’re heavy,” you retorted. “I think you may need to start laying off the eggrolls.”

As you laughed together, you became hyper aware of how close your bodies were, of just how much physical contact you had. The laughing stopped abruptly.

“Why didn’t you take off my bra?” you whispered. “Afraid that once you see these you’ll be ruined for all other boobs?”

“Yes,” he nodded as he reached under you, large hands rubbing your back and unhooking the clasp. He slowly slid your straps down your arms. He looked into your eyes as he pulled your bra from between your bodies and threw it onto the floor.

Here you were, caged in his warmth, looking deep into his eyes like in one of your fantasies. And yet your instinct was to make a stupid joke, find some way to make this feel less serious. But you couldn’t think straight with his dick resting on your stomach and his warm breath on your face.

“Better?” he asked.

“Eh. Still a little chilly,” you joked breathlessly.

“I can get you warmer,” he said seriously.

You laughed. “I don’t think we could physically be any closer than we are right now.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Well, technically we could be a little closer.”

“Barnes, if I go outside in the morning and find out that you cut the powerlines…”

“I can’t have you dying of hypothermia on my watch. I don’t have to move or anything. Just to keep you warm.”

You wanted to roll your eyes and hit him on the arm, but his sincerity caught you off guard.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’m not a fan of the cold either. I’ve spent too much of my life frozen already. We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought…”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “And don’t worry, when I tell Nat this story, I won’t even mention the shrinkage.”

He laughed with you and then shook his head at you.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he asked.

“Stick your dick in me, apparently.”

He swallowed nervously. “Are you…? Are you ready?” he asked.

You nodded, hoping he wouldn’t question how wet you were already. You certainly weren’t going to bring up the fact that you had felt his length slowly hardening against you for the last few minutes.

“I, uh, just gotta…” He reached down to pump himself a few times, looking anywhere but you. You wanted to change that.

“You can look at me, Bucky.”

His eyes found yours. You’d never seen this expression on his face before. He was never this easy to read. Even though he’d beaten the Winter Soldier programming, he usually always kept a part of himself closed off. Those defenses were gone now. In their place was yearning. A desire so deep it was overwhelming. The way he looked at you was the same way you felt about him.

You arched your back, drawing attention to your chest. “You can also look here, if it helps.”

He looked at your breasts for the first time. His mouth fell open in awe. You hoped you really were ruining him for other women. You hoped he would never look at anyone else like this for as long as he lived. His eyes went from your chest back to your face as he shifted between your legs. You bit your lip when you felt the head of his cock prod your entrance. It would take everything in your power not to moan. This was probably a very bad idea. But still you let your legs fall open wider to give him easier access.

When he first pushed in, you drew a shaky breath. He stopped moving, eyes anxiously searching yours. He was terrified you’d ask him to stop. Quite the contrary.

“That all you got?” you asked.

He smirked at you before resuming his progress. Despite your earlier joke, you felt your walls stretch around him as he pushed further into you. You felt every single inch, but it was torture not being able to wrap your legs around his hips or claw at his back like you wanted to.

When he was fully seated, he stilled. You took a few deep breaths. It was dizzying, being this close to him, this full of him. It was his turn to tell you, “You can look at me, ya know.”

You looked at him in the flickering candlelight. His hair obscured your view of his face. You reached up and tucked it behind his ear. He nuzzled his face against your hand. Your heart skipped a beat. You could feel his warm cock throbbing inside of you. He was looking at you so romantically that you forgot where you were for a moment. Your body did, too. Your pussy clenched around him. You didn’t get a chance to wonder if he’d felt it. You heard him groan. Right before you felt him thrust.

His eyes darted to you, panicked. You’d seen him panic once before, as he pulled you out of the ice in Finland. That day he’d warmed you up by the fire with plenty of hot drinks and some light teasing. You preferred the current method of warming you up. Which is why you let him hear you. You moaned for him. If you’d been less desperate for him to fuck you, you would’ve been embarassed by how needy you sounded. It was nothing compared to the strangled cry Bucky let out with his second thrust. You expected him to keep moving, but he stopped again. He leaned in, eyes urgent.

“The first time I saw you,” he panted, “I knew you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever—”

Your heart fluttered, but you couldn’t have him saying things he didn’t mean. “You don’t have to flatter me, Buck—”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true. And you are so beautiful.”

You placed your hands behind his head and pulled him in for a kiss. You weren’t sure what it was going to be like, your first kiss with Bucky. Especially since that first kiss was occurring after he was already inside of you. When your lips touched, you both sighed with relief. His lips were soft. You weren’t expecting that. His tongue probed your lips gently, and you gladly gave it access. He kissed you slowly, like he was savoring every second. He cupped your breast with his right hand, softly stroking it. His touches were almost reverent. It would’ve been romantic if you weren’t so needy. There’d be time for slow and steady. You hoped so, anyway. Right now you needed fire. You needed his touch to chase away the cold.

“Are you holding back on me, Barnes? Don’t.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He bent his head and attached his lips to your neck. He pulled the delicate flesh between his teeth as the hand on your breast eagerly squeezed. His metal hand tightened its grip on your hip. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d have a bruise in the shape of his handprint tomorrow. Proof that this had actually happened. Proof it wasn’t just the best dream of your life.

Maybe you wanted to mark him, too. Maybe that’s why you tangled your fingers in his hair while you raked the nails of the other hand down his back. He grunted as he drove into you with renewed force, the headboard rattling against the wall.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so wet. So tight. So perfect. Even better than I—” he stopped himself.

“Better than you imagined?” you suggested.

He nodded.

“You imagine me?” you asked, breathless.

“Every day,” he confessed.

You moved your hips in time with his next stroke, taking him deeper than ever. You both cursed. With each thrust, you knew things would never be the same. With each thrust, you got more and more desperate for him to ruin you. You writhed desperately under him and he only gripped you tighter, forcing you to stay still and accept your pleasure like a good girl. He angled his hips so that he was massaging your g-spot with every thrust. The head of his cock dragged against your center of pleasure over and over again in a relentless pursuit for your climax. You wanted to beg him to fuck you harder and faster but you didn’t want this to end yet. Not until he was as ruined as you were.

You took your hands away from him and brought them to your chest. You gripped your breasts tightly and moaned. He was mesmerized. You pinched your nipples and rolled your hips, putting on a show for him. You needed to know that he would never forget this. That he would never forget you. You tugged on your nipples and cried his name.

“That’s my job,” he said. You smirked at him.

You put your fingers in his open mouth and brought them to your clit and started rubbing slow circles. You watched his eyes darken. He grabbed your hand and brought it to his mouth again, closing his eyes in pleasure as he licked your fingers clean. Instead of putting your hand back where he found it, he brought his metal fingers to your clit instead, taking over your ministrations there. The cold, hard metal rhythmically massaged the sensitive bundle of nerves until his name was the only word in your vocabulary.

You wouldn’t last much longer. You’d see to it that neither would he. You attached your lips to his neck and sucked a bruise into the skin. His fingers on your clit went from slow circles to frantic figure 8s. Your back arched in pleasure as you felt your walls tighten around Bucky’s cock. His hips stuttered as he flooded you with warmth. Your legs shook when you felt him fill you. You whimpered his name. He whispered yours. Before you could even catch your breath, it happened.

You both knew the second the power turned back on. The hum of the fridge, the rattle of the old radiator, the red “Off” light on the coffee pot. It was like a bomb going off in the bubble you’d built. You looked at each other, startled, as if you were just realizing the extent of what you had done. For a split second, you considered pulling away from him and getting dressed, pretending none of this had ever happened. But you didn’t want that, not while his cum was still warm inside you and aftershocks of your orgasm were still rocking your core. You two spoke at the same time.

“It’ll probably take a while before you’re warm eno—”

“The power could go off again at any mo—”

“Sorry—”

“What were you saying—”

You both chuckled self-consciously.

“You love being inside me, don’t you, Barnes?” you teased with no taunting in your voice. You felt his dick twitch. You rolled your hips. “Is that a yes?”

He bit his lip and looked at you with more than lust. It was devotion.

“Yes,” he said finally.

“Good. Because you’re the only one that can keep me warm.”

“What about me?” he asked.

You looked at him, perplexed.

“I get cold, too.”

“What can I warm up for you, Bucky?”

“My ears are kinda cold,” he said.

Oh. Not exactly what you were thinking about warming up, but ok. You reached out to stroke the side of his face. He smiled and blushed, but nuzzled into your hand.

“Your thighs should be pretty warm now…”

Oh. Your thighs could keep his ears warm. You would happily straddle his face in the name of reciprocity. It was the least you could do, right?

…

The next morning, you woke up wrapped in Bucky’s arms. The heat hadn’t gone out again during the night, but you still felt like you needed Bucky’s warmth.

“I didn’t tamper with the generator,” Bucky said. “But I should have. I should’ve warmed you up like that when you fell into the lake.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Would you have let me?”

You nodded.

“You would have?!”

“I bought the Kirby bonnet for you,” you confessed.

“What?”

“I know how much you like playing Mario Kart with Sam. I thought you’d like it. I thought maybe it’d make you like me.”

He scoffed. “Are you kidding? By that point, I was already in lo—I mean, I, uh. I really do love Mario Kart, you’re right.”

“Nice save.”

“Let me take you out on a proper date.”

“One condition.”

“Anything.”

“Has to be somewhere warm.”

You shared a laugh.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he smirked.

Want to read more of my writing? Check out my ongoing Stucky x Reader series.

#bucky x reader #avenger!reader #black!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel x reader #suzsblinddatewritingchallenge #suzsblinddatechallenge

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sitepathos · 4 months ago

Text

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 3: The End (Warning: this will be dark. Read at your own risk)

The last bell of the day rings, letting everyone know that they’re free to go. In unison, your classmates begin shoving books and papers in their designer book bags before getting up and flooding the exit all at once. People begin to pair up with their friends, talking about hanging out and staying over at one another’s house for the weekend, but as usual, you’re left by yourself; when you first enrolled in GA, many students wanted to be your friend, but you could tell they were more interested in Bruce Wayne being your father than you because they talked more about Bruce than you. When Tim became Timothy Drake-Wayne, everyone flocked to him, starstruck that he was now a member for two of Gotham’s most elite families. Since you lack Bruce’s good looks and charisma, Dick’s athletic prowess, Jason’s brute strength, Tim’s intelligence, and Damian’s pure pedigree, everyone here has deemed you unworthy of a passing glance; you’re painfully average in every aspect and in a family as prestigious and remarkable as Gotham’s beloved Wayne Family, that’s an unforgivable sin.

It didn’t matter to you, though. You didn’t care that no one in school or in your “family” acted like you didn’t exist and think you unworthy of a fraction of their attention, you had your video games. When the silence of Wayne Manor became deafening to you, you had your faithful 3DS with multiple generations of teams full of loyal and strong Pokémon that have defeated the mightiest of champions and your preowned laptop that’s allowed you to play a wide variety of games, your favorite being Fallout New Vegas as it took place in your rightful home of Nevada and started off in your beloved Goodsprings. You’ve gone through countless playthroughs because you feel close to your childhood home, no matter how many times you go through the same dialogue options and quests.

In fact, video games have been a major influence on you that you’re determined to be an indie video game developer when you finally graduate. Your laptop isn’t too old to run a visual novel maker software that came out four years ago and you spent over a year scribbling away in a notebook that held all the details that would form your first game, staying up late for three months working on the plot alone and the remaining nine months on side quests, combat, dialogue, and everything else. Despite your best efforts, you’re not an artist like Damian (and how ironic that someone so spiteful like him has the gift to create beauty) or a musician, so the only thing you’re able to work on right now is the code, but you’re not tech smart like Tim so it’s full of bugs and errors and despite you following your Guide to Making Video Games book to the letter, the code just won’t do what you want it to do. With spring break around the corner, maybe you’ll be able to make progress on it.

As you step through the front door of the school, you see Damian and Tim being dragged into a bear hug by Dick, the little shit quickly breaking free; Dick laughs and ruffles his hair before all of them getting into the older man’s car and drive off, leaving you behind. That’s nothing unusual, though, Dick’s always picked up the two of them from school and you know they always go get ice cream or go to an arcade while you get left behind to find your own way home. You’ve never been offered a ride to or from school or asked if you’d want to go hang out with them and with how they’ve treated you over the years, you’d sooner have a tea party with the Mad Hatter before you ever got in a car with any of them. Knowing them, Damian would probably try to strangle you with your seatbelt, Dick would most likely try to guilt you to spend more time with your “brother,” and Tim would just sit there, not saying anything, no matter how wrong their words were or how upset you got.

You’ve been relying on Alfred to give you rides (always a block away from the school since you didn’t want them knowing you were relying on him), but Bruce gave him the month off. He tried to turn it down, of course, insisting that he had important duties at the manor (you knew it was because he was worried about what would happen to you while he was gone), but Bruce insisted. Only after you promised to text him everyday and call him the moment something went wrong did he book a flight to Essex. After taking care of a museum the size of the Smithsonian, taking care of a family full of assholes, and dealing with your emotional baggage, the man deserved to take off and relax for a while.

Since he’s been gone, you’ve used the bus to get to where you need to go and have kept a wide berth between you and the Waynes and so far you’ve managed to stay under their radar. Though, with you not even clocking on their radars, can you really claim such an achievement. Hell, you’re positive they wouldn’t notice you even if you were right behind them. World’s greatest detectives, your ass.

That’s right, you knew about their nightly activities of wearing bird themed costumes, jumping across rooftops, and battling with the demented freaks locked up in Arkham. Not because Alfred told you (and god knows they’d never tell you shit), but because your status as the unwanted and forgotten firstborn of Bruce Wayne is like an invisibility cloak allowing you to walk in plain sight without anyone noticing you and it’s thanks to that you’ve been able to spy on conversations. You’ve come down many times in the late hours of the night to find them sitting at the dining table, eating, talking, laughing, and enjoying their lives as if you don’t even exist. Sure, it hurt you to see them so happy while you sit above them, miserable, what hurt even more was the fact that Alfred didn’t tell you. Sure, you have no intention on joining them in fist fighting Joker or solving the Riddler’s Saw-inspired puzzles (not that you could, you obviously lacked the capabilities), but you thought that after all that they’ve out you through, you were entitled to know what was going on.

But, you know that Alfred is also in on it, providing support from cave under the mansion (that you found after investigating the library while they were all out) and since he’s helped you through the bad times, hugging you tightly white you cried your eyes out, you decided to keep your discovery to yourself. Besides, if the secret ever comes out, you have plausible deniability.

Your phone rings and when you pull it out to check the caller ID, you see a picture of Alfred and you on the screen.

“Hey, Alfred,” you answer.

“Good afternoon, Master Y/N. Did you have a pleasant day at school?”

“I did. Since spring break is next week, the teachers toned down on the lessons.”

“And how did you fare on your algebra test?”

“Fine, I guess,” you mutter. “I’m sure I got more right than wrong.”

Math’s always been your worst enemy (at least until you met Damian) and getting an A on an anything math related was always once in a blue moon. A B was always your goal back in Goodsprings Elementary, but with Gotham Academy being a prestigious institution, their math classes were as difficult as a speed run in Dark Souls. Sure, all your classes are hard, but math has always been your Achilles’ heel.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you prepare for it. Maybe I should come home—“

“No,” you quickly say, cutting him off. “It’s fine. I studied my notes and found some practice problems online. I’m sure I passed.”

There was a brief pause before the man said, “Very well, Master Y/N. If you’re sure. How have you been faring? I trust you’re eating three meals a day and sleeping enough?”

“Of course,” you say. You’re lying, of course. You skip breakfast and dinner since they’re all downstairs at the same time in the mornings and at night use before going out on patrol and only eat lunch at school, where lunch is prepared by five star chefs because their elite students will accept nothing less. As for sleep, you’ve been cramming for this test and trying to work on your game, where as soon as you fix one bug, three more come to take its place.

“Of course,” he says, obviously not convinced, but chooses not to call you out. Not over the phone, anyway. Had he been here in person, it would be a different story. “And how have the others treated you?”

“Like I don’t exist. So, things are status quo.”

“I know their behavior has been nothing less than unacceptable, but have you tried talking to your father? Maybe he’ll be more receptive to you if you approached him while he was alone.”

“We both know that’s not gonna happen, Alfred. Bruce can’t stand the sight of me because I’m his greatest mistake.”

“Master Y/N!”

“It’s true and you know it! Both he and Momma were young and stupid, one thing led to another, and I was their reminder why condoms were invented. He got stuck with me and he’ll never forgive me for that. You know it and I know it.”

His silence tells you he knows you’re right. You hate to say how you really feel since you know that Alfred raised the man after his parents were murdered and telling him things like this makes him feel like he failed as a father figure, but after being treated like shit for most of your life, you’ve really run out of fucks to give. Hell, when you turned eighteen last month, you had your bags packed and were ready to buy a ticket on the first bus to Las Vegas, but Alfred begged you to stay long enough so you could graduate and since it would be a pain in the ass to transfer this close to schools letting out for summer, you agreed. Plus, it’d look good on a resume that you graduated from Gotham Academy. .

“Maybe I could talk to him for you? I just don’t want you to leave hating your father so much.”

“Look, Alfred, I really don’t wanna talk about this. I gotta go, I’ll be late for work.”

“Very well, Master Y/N. Please be safe. You know I hate you being out at night all alone.”

“Don’t worry, I will. Talk to you later, Alfred.”

And with that, you hang up and head to the nearest bus stop to take you to Chinatown. When you turned sixteen, you decided that it wasn’t fair taking Alfred’s money (in your defense, you helped out in cleaning the mansion, but you were still taking his hard earned paycheck), so you went out and found a job working at Gotham Games, a small store in one of the few nicer parts of Gotham that specialized in video, trading card, and tabletop games. Your boss, Mr. Chen, is a sweet old man who loves to talk games with you, especially Pokémon; in fact, he always gives you a free booster pack when he hands you your paycheck, saying that it’s a bonus for doing a good job. You love your job and aside from Alfred always willing to lend an ear to listen to your troubles, it’s made living in this hellhole of a city actually bearable.

After arriving at the bus stop in Chinatown, you walks a few blocks to find Mr. Chen closing the door and locking it.

“Mr. Chen,” you say when you near him, making him turn around to face you.

“You’re always on time, Y/N,” he says with a chuckle, but you can see he’s sad about something.

“Is the store closing for today?”

“No, I’m afraid I’m closing the store for good.”

Your heart stops and you feel yourself losing balance a little and you quickly steady yourself. You quickly think for any reason why the store would be closing for good.

Poor sales? No, you helped Mr. Chen with the spreadsheet for last month and sales had gone up by 11% thanks to the Pokémon TCG tournament you hosted.

Too much theft? No, you keep a close eye on all the customers and last time you checked, all inventory was accounted for.

Threats? Please, Mr. Chen’s been here for twenty-five years and is a pillar of the community. If anyone ever had the dumbass idea to threaten him, all shop owners in the street would rush to his aid, yourself included.

So, why?

As if he read your mind, he says, “My daughter said she was worried about me when the Penguin broke out of Arkham the other day and his car chase with Batman ended when he crashed a block away from here. She said that she and her husband had already set up a room for me at their house and now they’re here to take me with them to Florida.

You remember hearing about that. Bruce devotes all his time to fighting Gotham’s crime problem and one would think all the time he doesn’t spend with you could go to keeping things like car chases with Arkham’s inmates far away from innocent people and their businesses, but guess that’s what you get for having expectations when it comes to Bruce.

“What will happen to the store?”

“Mark’s already taken care of it. He called up some company that owns plenty of stores that’s just like mine and they agreed to buy my entire stock. They’ll have some people here tomorrow to get it all.”

For the second time in your life, it feels like your entire world’s been turned inside out. Working here and being around Mr. Chen was the best thing that’s happened to you since you over to Gotham and with Alfred gone and the loss of your job and boss, you’re extremely tempted to get on the nearest bus and ride it out of Gotham right now.

“I also wanted to wait for you so I could give you this.” He hands you a neatly wrapped box that you just now realize he’d been holding this entire time. “To thank you for keeping an old man company.”

You take the box and with shaky hands, you unwrap it and open the lid to see a pristine aqua blue Game Boy Advance surrounded by several cartridges. When you take a closer look, you see that they’re all Pokémon games, ranging from the original Red and Blue to Red Rescue Team.

“You appreciate the classics and it seemed a shame to let that Game Boy and those games just sit around, collecting dust. Plus, it’s my way of saying thank you for taking care of an old man.”

At this point, you realize you’re crying and can’t help but hug your boss. “Thank you, Mr. Chen.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. When you move back to Nevada and win big in Vegas, don’t forget to give me a call so we can celebrate.”

You laugh at that and it makes you feel better, but only a little bit. When he promises to call you when he’s set up in Florida and you promise to call him when you’re back in Nevada, you two separate and watch as he gets in his daughter’s car and drive off, waving at him until he’s out of sight.

As you neatly tuck the box into your backpack, you realize that your schedule’s totally fucked up now. Normally, Alfred comes and gets you when you get done working at 7, but with him gone, you’d been using the bus that comes at that time to take you to the closest stop to Bristol and walk the rest of the way to Wayne Manor, but that bus won’t be here for hours. And you’d sooner chew your own arm off before calling any of them for help.

You mull it over for a minute or two before deciding to walk to the nearest stop, hop on the bus, and ride it to as close to Bristol as possible. With the store closed (and your beloved job lost) you can use the time to get ahead on your spring break plans and work on your game, ironing out bugs and working on your art. You pull out your map of Gotham’s bus stops and see the closest station is over in the East End, a place no one with a half working brain cell goes. Still, it’s the closest bus stop and you’ll only be there for a few minutes. You’ve survived Wayne Manor for thirteen years, surely you can deal with Gotham’s trash can for a little bit.

With your mind made up, you make your way to the East End. As you cross into the district, you’re greeted by a group of kids playing Cops and Robber, but instead of cops, one of them plays the role as Red Hood, complete with two stick guns and a red plastic pail on his head. That’s right, East End is Jason’s territory and is well loved by many of the children. The thought of the brute gives you even more incentive to leave the area as fast as possible because you’ve heard Jason yelling at the others for entering the East End because it’s his to protect and he doesn’t want any of them unless it’s a really big emergency and even then, they need his permission. Knowing him, he’ll accuse you of invading and try to fill you full of lead, despite the fact that you’re not a vigilante and he ever pulled his head out of his ass, he’d know that, but you guess that being in a family full of distrust and paranoia has polluted his higher reasoning skills.

The further into the district you get, the closer you hold onto the straps of your book bag. With every step you take, you hear glass shattering, people screaming, and even a gun shot or two, making you regret ever coming here. You should’ve found another bus stop or just found something to kill time until your regular bus showed up. Still, you’ve already come this far and turning around would probably be more dangerous than continuing forward, so you keep your head up high and try to change your stride to be more confident, hoping that appearing more confident would keep people away from you.

You see the bus stop and pick up speed to get there quickly, but just as you get close enough to see the map and schedule, you feel something grab your book bag and you’re quickly yanked backwards. You turn to look behind you to see three men staring down at you and by the way they’re grinning down at you, you can tell this won’t end well for you.

“Well, what’s a little GA snob doin’ here,” one of them sneers.

“Surprised you’re actually walking,” the other jeers. “Thought all you little shits were carried around by your butlers and maids. Too good to use your own legs.”

That little joke actually pissed you off because you’re not like the rest of your classmates who have their private drivers open their car doors when they go to the airport to spend Christmas on their private islands. You aren’t using Bruce’s money to pay for every little thing you see (not that he’d give you any because he’s forgotten you exist), you actually have a job and work hard for your money, damn it!

“Bet there’s someone who’d pay a pretty penny for you,” the man, obviously the leader of the other two, says. “Looks like we’ve hit pay dirt, boys.”

You struggle to break free of their grasp, but the three of them are too strong for you. The leader pulls out a rusty pipe from his back pocket and the last thing you see is said pipe rushing towards your head before everything goes black.

“Wake up, you little bitch,” a gruff voice says as you’re overcome with feelings of sheer cold and wetness.

You open your eyes to find that you’re sitting on n extremely dirty floor. You look up to see a man looking down at you, a sadistic look on his face and a dirty metal bucket in hand. Your mind finally boots back up and you remember being stopped by three dirtbags and being knocked out be a pipe to the head. As if on cue, the memory triggers immense feelings of pain in your head and while you’re no doctor, you’re pretty sure that you have a mild concussion. When the rest of your senses come to, you realize that you’re tied to chair with thick ropes you have no chance of getting out, at least without a knife. Through blurry eyes, you’re able to look around to see you’ve been dragged to some dirty shack and based on what you see through the busted windows nearest to the door, you know two things: that you’ve been dragged to Gotham Woods and you’ve been knocked out for a while.

“Alright, now that you’ve had your beauty sleep, it’s time to get to business.” The leader squats down to your level, an old flip phone in hand. “You’re gonna give us a number we can call to ransom you off. Try any funny business and…” he trails off as he brings out a gun and points it at you. “You won’t live long enough to regret it.”

You hears the words, but all you can focus on is the gun aimed at you. You’ve known Gotham is a dangerous place and going to certain parts of the city at night is practically committing suicide, but you never thought you’d be in this position, where the slightest action or inaction was the difference in sleeping in your bed or being put to rest in a pine box when everything was said and done. Ever since you’d turned eighteen, you’ve kept a tally of how many days you have until you graduate and put this city of the damned behind you and now there’s a good chance you’ll die here, in a city you’ve hated since you were forced to move here.

“Hey,” he says, breaking you out of your stupor. “Number. Now.” He emphasizes his point by waving his gun.

At first, you’re tempted to give him Alfred’s number, knowing the butler would probably come to your rescue and kill these thugs John Wick Style, but you know that they wouldn’t appreciate talking to someone on the other side of the world and right now, you couldn’t take the chance on pissing them off; you need someone here in Gotham and as much as every fiber in your body wants to throw up at once just for even thinking it, you know Bruce is your only hope of making out of this in one piece. Even if he doesn’t care about you, he’ll be able to swoop in and bash in the heads of a bunch of kidnappers, so that should be enough of a reason to bring him here.

“Alright, you can call my father,” you say, the word “father” leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, but right now, you can’t afford to let your hatred for the man get the better of you; not when your life hangs in the balance. You give him the manor’s home phone number, which he dials and puts it on speaker.

You wait with bated break as the phone rings. After the third time, you can feel yourself breaking into a cold sweat and when you look up at one of your captors, you can tell he’s getting angry by the second; with every ring, his scowl gets more and more intimidating and the gun starts to shake in rage.

Finally, after an eternity, you hear someone pick up.

“Hello,” Bruce’s voice comes through, and based on the tone, he sounds pissed. Knowing the time, he was probably getting ready to go out on patrol. Still, you can’t help but feel just a little to relived to hear his voice. You just might make it through the night. “Bruce Wayne speaking.”

“Holy shit, man, we’re about to be rich,” one of the other men whispers to his cohort, who nods in agreement.

“We have your son, Wayne,” the man says with an air of confidence. “Do as we say and you—“

“No, you don’t,” Bruce says, cutting off the man.

“What,” the leader says, the wind obviously taken out of his sails.

“No, you don’t,” Bruce repeats.

“Fuck you mean,’ he shouts. “I’m looking at him right now! Don’t you know you’re missing a brat right now?”

“All my kids are right here with me and I’m none of them are missing,” Bruce says in a matter-of-fact tone that makes your heart stop.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice if someone was missing” Dick chimes in.

“Man, you’re fuckin’ stupid,” Jason mocks.

“You’re not the first to fake holding a Wayne for ransom,” Tim explains. “It hasn’t worked before and it won’t work now.”

“If you lowlifes put as much effort into finding a job as you did trying to steal money, you’d be rich,” Damian taunts.

“Wow, you’re a loser,” Cass laughs. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your life? Why don’t you get out of your mom’s basement and go outside to touch grass and maybe talk to a girl.”

They all laugh at that and you can feel your heart just collapse in on itself. Right now, you have a better chance of sprouting wings and flying out of here than this man letting you go after being insulted by every member of the Wayne Family. And based on the fact that his face is as red as a beat, this definitely won’t be for you.

“As you can see, all my children are home, where they should be. I don’t know how much you hoped to get out of this, but you aren’t seeing a dime.”

And with that, the call ends and so does your chances of leaving here in one piece. You always thought that your existence was a complete unknown to them, but to actually see something that proves it? You can’t help but begin to cry, both at how the call went and for the world of hurt you’re no doubt about to experience with your captors.

“Bet you thought that was funny,” the man says as he slowly flips the phone shut, indicating that he’s pissed off beyond words.

You decide that Alfred is the one you should’ve had him call, but before you correct your mistake, you’re filled with pain as he strikes you on the head with the pipe. He hits you again and the force sends the chair tumbling to the floor, but that doesn’t matter to the man; he’s pissed and all he cares for now is hurting you. He’s spouting off insults and threats, but all you can focus on is the immense pain you’re in. He never hits in the same place twice, spreading the pain to your head, arms, torso, and legs. You feel your skin tear, bones break, and blood shed and the pleas you’d been shouting since he began his assault finally die, opting for crying and sounds of pain.

By the time he’s finished, you’re in so much pain, you can barely think. All you want to do is die.

“Hey, look what I found in his bag.” You look up through swollen and blood filled eyes to see one of the other men is holding up your Momma’s pen. “Looks like real gold. Might be worth something.”

After the pen incident three years ago, you’ve lived in constant fear that Damian would take you pen in an act of revenge, so you’ve kept the pen on you at all times, even keeping it under your pillow as you slept, only taking it out when you were in the safety of your room. Up until now, it’s kept your most treasured possession safe, but it looks like it’s about to cost you dearly.

“At least it’s something. Anything else?”

“Naw,” the man responds as he rummages through your bag. “Just the regular school shit, a wallet with a few bucks in it, and…” He pauses before pulling out the box Mr. Chen gave you and opens it. “Holy shit, looks like an old Game Boy! And there’s a bunch of games with it!”

“Is it worth much?”

“Might be able to get something for it. A bunch of collectors out there looking for shit like this. Couldn’t hurt to check around.”

“Haven’t seen one of those in years,” the last man chimes in. “Had one when I was a kid. Someone stole it, though. Hey, if we can’t get much of it, can I keep it?”

“Not now, Butch,” the leader growls. “Batman’s busy dealing with that clown bustin’ outta Arkham and all we got out of this is a lousy pen and a stupid video game.” He looks down at you. “Since you didn’t give us a name to ransom you off to, guess no one’ll care if you go missing.”

He picks his gun up and aims it at you. You feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of staring down the barrel of a gun aimed at you.

“No, please,” you beg, struggling to spit out the words as you’re so badly hurt, it’s a miracle you’re able to talk at all, but right now, all that matters is that you do what ever it takes to survive this.

“What’re we gonna do with the body,” one of the men asks.

“There’s the chasm near Mt. Gotham,” the one called Butch says. “That thing goes down for miles. We dump him in there and not even Batman’ll find him.”

Is this how it ends? After everything you’ve gone through, you die from being shot by three thugs in the forest and you’re thrown in a big ditch like a trash bag when you’re so close to leaving this damn city behind. You try to open your mouth to say something, anything that will at least buy you a few more minutes, but whatever you wanted to say is drowned out by the flash of a muzzle and the bang of a gunshot.

Your world goes to black.

A/N: Sorry, we were a little under for on cliffhanger quota, so we had to up production. The original plan was to split this chapter into two, with the kidnapping at the end of the first and the shooting at the end of the second, but with October upon us, I think things are going to get really crazy for me this semester, so I decide to be merciful (this time) and make one big chapter that only has one cliffhanger. Enjoy the wait for the next chapter! Also, if you asked to be added to the tag list and don’t see your name, I promise it’s not because I didn’t do it on purpose, but because when I went to tag you, Tumblr didn’t find your blog. I always check twice before uploading a new chapter to ensure everyone who asked to be tagged has been added.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @solelifauna @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @l0serl0v3r @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick

#male reader #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere dc #dc x male reader #yandere tim drake #yandere stephanie brown #yandere alfred pennyworth #yandere cassandra cain #yandere bruce wayne #yandere batfam #yandere jason todd #yandere batfamily #yandere barbara gordon #batfamily x male reader #batfamily #batman #from gold to mold

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usedpidemo · 1 year ago

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Plaid (Newjeans Hanni)

Hanni Pham is just about the perfect student: consistently top of the class, perennial dean’s lister, well liked among her teachers and peers, an active participant for every co-curricular and extracurricular activity, and overall just a good person to be around.

And you? You’re the exact opposite. Slow, lazy, constantly in self-isolation—always cutting classes whenever you can, struggling with just about everything. You’re surprised you’re still even attending this university as is, despite the countless talks with your professors.

Which is why when she greets you a good morning as soon as you run into each other in the hallway, the books you’ve been carrying crumble like Jenga blocks.

She immediately jumps into action, picking up your dropped books in record fashion to hand them back to you. The cute, irresistible smile etched on her lips is icing on the cake.

“Here you go!”

Admittedly, you feel some type of way about Hanni. It’s conflicting, constantly changing. A little bit of jealousy because she’s the student you wished you were, but also a bit of allure because of how surprisingly attractive she is. You’ve never felt any kind of attraction towards anyone in college besides her. And she turns out to be an exchange student, and you’ve never seen anyone with the combination of cuteness and beauty before she came along.

You take a moment to look into her eyes. Those gentle, warm irises perfectly capture the kindness emanating from her—God, why is she so damn irresistible. It isn’t that you’ve been giving her the cold shoulder, but you’re merely apathetic and neutral with her. Outside of the same brief rote exchanges—good morning, what’s your lunch, what are you doing after class later—you and Hanni have been, for the most part, worlds apart.

The universe is doing its part to bring you two together, because you can feel it. Tension so thin, you can cut it with a knife.

She never lets up.

She wants to know you.

“I-uh, thanks,” you say, suddenly averting her gaze to your locker instead as you snatch your books back, then in the other direction. Anywhere but her eyes.

Fuck. She keeps staring, leaning her head forward with a lively smile, her hands behind her back, waiting for you to continue. She talks with childlike passion and energy, “We have an exam in accounting later, did you study for it?”

“N-no,” you say, almost stuttering through the simplest of responses, as though your tongue is wrapped up in itself. It should be embarrassing for you to act this awkwardly in front of a sweet girl like Hanni. Mentally punching yourself to be better. It never happens. “Not exactly, I kinda forgot.”

More like you willingly neglected your studies for a nightlong gaming session. It’s an addiction.

Her eyes widen with amusement, as if she sees through the lie. Does she? You don’t know. Maybe she does. There’s so many layers to her that you never bothered to uncover. That’s the price for your negligence and decision to be a lone-wolf.

Hanni reaches her hand into the pocket of her dress shirt and presents a folded up sheet of paper. “Then this with you. Just make sure to hide it underneath the test paper, got it?”

From bewilderment to amazement—your face goes through every emotion, unsure of what would perfectly suit the situation. She doesn’t know you well enough to casually entrust you with a cheat sheet, yet she’s perfectly fine handing it to you over her presumed friends, which includes members of the student council.

Initially, you hesitate, but she’s steadfast in her position, as if you receiving this paper is doing her a favor. You ultimately fold and accept it from her. She grins as you tuck the sheet away in your coat.

“See you later!” she says, before walking past you to her next class. You slowly turn around, watch her leave and rejoin with her friends, one of whom is the student council head. Alone with nothing but your thoughts, you put the strange encounter aside and get moving again.

—————

The next time you see Hanni again is during world history class, right before lunch. Your rather senile professor, who doesn’t give a shit that half the class is either fast asleep, on the verge of, or doing everything else apart from listening to his monotonous lecture, drones on about Napoleon’s European conquest for the second week in a row. Even the patient student that you are, you’ve grown tiresome of it, especially with the dreadful pacing. You’re way behind schedule. At the very least, he seems to be paid well, so there’s a little silver lining.

Looking at her, you wonder if the gods were in a good mood on the day they made her. She’s as enthusiastic about the topic as if it's her first time hearing it. Listening to every single word intently, taking down notes furiously, taking pictures of the presentation even though she has it projected on her laptop because why the fuck not—she was born to be the teacher’s pet. Compare that to half of the class: even the supposed top student in the class is barely struggling to stay awake, clinging to the edges of her seat out of fear she could collapse from sheer boredom. It’s a miracle, really, that there’s at least one student showing this much interest.

The notion creeps up in your mind: Hanni’s right over there, without a care except for the lecture at hand. Your phone rests on the edge of your chair. Her smile, her shine—you want to keep more than just a mental image of her. Something to actively remind you that someone like her exists. It’s creepy, but it doesn’t matter when no one’s looking, especially not her. Only you.

Little by little your hand crawls toward the phone. Then the moral compass inside you resists. You don’t know this girl—not in the slightest. Just because of a simple kind act doesn’t mean you’re completely smitten over her. Most importantly, you remember one important point about Hanni: she’s not from here. She’s an exchange student with a one year contract set to expire in—wait for it—two weeks. The semester ends before then, and it’s reasonable to assume she’ll be gone from your life just as quickly as she entered it once the page turns.

Right as the inner conflict inside your head reaches a fever pitch, the bell rings. On one side, you’re celebrating this moral victory; on the other, you’re punching a mental wall for not pulling the trigger. Before the professor even realizes the alarm already sounded off, all the students have filed out of the room in quick succession.

You briefly consider searching for Hanni in the sea of students making their way around the halls, but seeing that she’s disappeared into the crowd, you decide to let her go. Perhaps the logical side of your brain might be telling you the truth: that she will be a mere afterthought to you after today.

But then there’s the unshakeable, unceasing part of you that refuses to give in. Even as you eat lunch at the corner of the cafeteria, you’re still trying to single out Hanni to no avail. A hopeless situation gradually growing worse with each passing hour.

A not so subtle tap on your shoulder. Look to your side and there’s your angel, appearing at your hour of need. Hanni.

“Hey! Still have the cheat sheet I gave you earlier?” she asks. A few meters behind her is the student council president, Minji, and her secretary, Danielle, engaged in their own conversation, presumably accompanying their friend.

You scramble to find the folded piece of paper somewhere in your bag, forgetting that you’ve tucked the sheet away deep in your coat. Panicked, you jump from your seat to search within your clothes, still unable to detect its tiny presence hiding in your jacket. “Shit—”

“I can give you another copy if you lost it—”

“I’m sure it’s in here somewhere!” you interject, tonally desperate, repeatedly swiping your fingers on the same pockets with no success.

Eventually, you frisk the deepest pockets of your coat, feeling something rough on the edge of your fingertips. Reeling it out, you present a folded piece of paper in front of her. It should be a small win, but it’s an embarrassing loss, especially right in front of Hanni.

“Good to know you still have it!” she says, grinning from ear to ear. You’re certain she was trying to suppress her chuckle the entire time, and based on her toothy smile, it’s not very difficult to jump to that conclusion. “Even if you didn’t lose it, I still would have given you another copy if you wanted it.”

“Hanni.” You turn to face her, a complete juxtaposition from her jolly, outgoing personality. Your expression looks stern in searching for answers. “Why are you like this? We barely know each other.”

Surprised by your sudden change in attitude, she takes a step back, pausing to contemplate her answer. Her usually bright demeanor gradually changes to reflect yours. Her smile remains, except it's hiding a little gloom, a little concern. “I just wanted to be kind to you. I saw you were struggling in some of the classes we shared and thought you needed some help. It’s only right to do the right thing, you know?”

In that moment, you regret showing a bit of attitude. Hand to your chest, as guilt occupies your heart and mind. “Oh.” You pause, stare back into those wanting eyes. “I-I guess you were really being kind to me, huh?”

“I don’t make fake answer sheets, let alone give them to people I dislike.” She leans forward, causing you to stagger back, bumping your thighs against the cafeteria stool. “And I like you.”

Your mouth gradually opens, trying to figure out what to say, how to react. Only air and silent noises come out. You genuinely have no idea how to respond to this sudden revelation. It’s not like you’re a popular name among the student body, let alone the ladies; if anything, you were mostly a ghost, only coming into light when needed—and in most cases, when the professors would ask you questions about the topic at hand.

Blinking rapidly, you needed to do a double take. “Say that again?”

“I like you.” She repeats it for you. Twice. With increasing emphasis on those three words to drive the statement home. “I. Like. You.”

Let that sink in. You still don’t know what to say. “I—”

“We can talk about this later in the afternoon. Meet me at Room 204, okay? I’m in a rush and I just wanted to briefly check on you.” You watch her tone revert back to its beaming, bubbly self with each sentence. Before you even have an opportunity to say anything back, she rejoins her friends and walks away again, waving at you while shouting, “Remember what I told you about the cheat sheet!”

—————

Aside from accounting, where you followed Hanni’s advice down to the letter, the rest of the afternoon kept your thoughts mostly preoccupied with Hanni’s departing words. The two classes you shared with her during that period were opportunities to stare at her, watch her from a distance. Three simple words, and yet there’s layers upon layers to uncover. What did she mean when she said them? You barely interacted for most of the semester, yet she still considers you likable. During those long, painful hours of waiting, your curiosity and anticipation slowly built up.

And then, the bell rings at the top of the seventeenth hour. Time to find out.

While students file out in every direction, celebrating their regained freedom, you make your way through Room 204. Peeking from the outside, you see no one inside, not even Hanni. It looks about the same as when you left it—messy. You’re anxious, hesitant, cautious. There’s a part of you that believes she’s merely playing you in front of her friends, and that she might stand you up as a joke. And you have no reason to believe she genuinely likes you, apart from that one simple act of kindness from earlier.

For the next few minutes, in those crucial moments of waiting, all your thoughts and presumptions begin waging war inside your head. You have one foot on the door, with the other looking to go home. It’s not the first time you’ve been stood up; you can write an entire thesis report going over each terrible experience and the feeling of bitterness and pining that followed. At the very least, should push come to shove, this wouldn’t be the worst of them—not even bottom five.

So you pace back and forth in front of the designated room, look at your phone, followed by your watch. Again and again. Minutes, stretching to hours, into days, into a slow eternity. You’re starting to lose hope.

Which is why when she comes across you in the hallway, you feel like a kid finding love for the first time all over again. You’re not even trying to hide your excitement. The stunned and relieved expression etched on your lips, the growing shade of red across your face, the hitch in your arms as they reach out to her because you couldn’t believe she would follow through on her word—

And when she flashes her toothy smile, her mouth speaking words you end up missing—you just want to take her by the hand and run away with her.

She ends up calling your name. Twice, thrice, a dozen times—you’re not exactly sure, but you can definitely lose yourself to the sight of Hanni’s presence over and over. With a hand held on the door, she’s telling you to join her inside, saying she has something important to share with you. At least that’s the very gist of it.

At her request, you leave your bag on one of the vacant seats; you end up sharing the same chair. The tension is palpable. Hanni paces back and forth in front of the desk, quietly ruminating, hiding her concerned look away from your eyes. A wakeup call for you that this is a serious matter. You have a lot of unanswered questions, but seeing the gravity of the moment, you conclude that it’s better to keep them to yourself a little while longer—at least once all the heavy air has been cleared. You stand there awkwardly, waiting for her to make the first move.

“I just want to say,” she suddenly says, still turned away from you, long streaks of dark hair covering her eyes. What they can’t hide is the frown on her lips. “I’m going to miss this place. All the profs, all the activities, but most importantly, all the people. Including you.”

“Me?” You’re not surprised at that statement; you’ve assumed she wasn’t going to be here for the long haul, considering she’s an exchange student. What does confuse you, is how she specifically singled you out from everyone else. You barely know each other. At best, you only teamed up for two group projects, which she mostly did the carrying for. For you, the bar has been set very, very low. “How come me?”

Hanni finally faces you, using everything in her willpower not to cry. Her usually lively eyes twinkle with tears waiting to be shed, but she refuses. Not even the warmest of her smiles can hide the somber and pained expression she has looking at you. “Most of the boys here are—excuse my language—a bunch of fucking jackasses and perverts.”

Not exactly wrong; if you weren’t part of an athletics club or hanging out at bars after class, you were likely to be one of their victims. You know this because you are numb to their asshole behavior. The girls would usually retreat in a subtle manner once they knew their presence, which wasn’t difficult to pinpoint.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “You’re right. I hate their guts too—”

“But you’ve been kind to me from the moment I introduced myself, you know?” Hanni begins to walk toward you, rendering you even more frozen in place. “Even our brief good mornings meant quite a lot. It made me feel welcome.”

You didn’t really think much of it, unaware that it would have this profound of an impact in someone else’s life. And why would you—it’s a habit you’ve been taught since when you were seven. For a moment, you’d think she was being very melodramatic, as if she were practicing theater.

“And—” she pauses, takes a deep breath, “Let’s be honest; I know you like me too.”

When she drops those final words, your eyes pop. Wide. Enough to stretch through your forehead and fly up. It leaves you completely paralyzed. A whole truth bomb dropped just like that. She cusps your hands with hers; you freely allow her. Whether it's from utter shock or the desire to hold her like this for so long, you don’t know, but you definitely want to let this moment linger.

“I-I—”

You can feel her hot breath against yours, her face inching closer, your bodies almost entangling into something passionate and warm. There’s nothing stopping you both from finally bridging the gap that’s been separating you for the longest time. Hanni, the charming, popular girl that everyone either wants to be friends with or to be her, seemingly knows you like a book read from left to right. More importantly, she likes you. Tells it straight to your face.

Her arms snake around your neck, leaving you even more suffocated. No longer in her grasp, you find your hands pressed around tiny, fit waist. Her glinting eyes encourage you to let those innermost desires run wild. The suppressed thoughts you’ve been hiding slowly pull you under their influence. You shouldn’t be doing this, yet they’re right there: those sweet, puckery, inviting lips, waiting to be marked, yours and yours alone.

Instead, you end up in a tight embrace. It’s not as romantic as you envisioned. If anything, it’s bittersweet. Deep down, this is her way of saying goodbye, and you’re only realizing what this is really all about. An opportunity to bid farewell on amicable terms. It’s almost cruel that your first substantial interaction outside of school-related activities has to be like this.

You hold on to her tighter. She does the same. You’re unwilling to let go. She doesn’t want to, either.

Resting her head on your shoulder, Hanni whispers in your ear the most calming and soothing tone, “I’m going to miss you.”

You don’t believe you’ve earned the right to say those words back. So the only thing you can do is hold on to her the best you can—for dear life.

Outside, the setting sun is gradually fading away, and so does the natural light it brings. You can stay here, from dusk to dawn, comfortable in this position if she wants to.

She opens her mouth again, and she continues to hum and speak melodies in your ear. “I have one thing I want to do before saying goodbye. Can you help me?”

Without an ounce of hesitation, you nod, saying, “Anything for you.”

Hanni breaks the bear hug then leads you along with her to the desk. With the other hand, she lifts it back to her waist, placing herself in a new and unexpected position: her back arched against the table, with one knee bent beside yours. Her eyes glinting with utter desire, she couldn’t be any more obvious.

Before the realization fully dawns on you, she does the unthinkable.

A simple irresistible kiss, pulling you down by the collar of your coat. Next thing you know, you have Hanni’s back crooked further against the edge of the desk, your lip-lock turning more and more passionate. Nothing overly dramatic and sentimental—only passionate love making.

She wants it. Deep down, you want it too.

“I can’t—” you mutter, drawing your breath, pulling your lips away. But not your hands. It’s in Hanni’s custody now. Your coat halfway down your arms, she sneakily tosses it aside. “Not here.”

Surprised by your sudden change of heart, she leans forward, her fingers now pulling at the hem of your sleeves. “What’s wrong?”

“I mean—look around, Hanni. We’re in a goddamn classroom.”

If only you could throw your arms around in protest to prove a point, but even that wouldn’t save you now.

“This is what I wanted from the start.” Hanni pulls you back in, her eyes hypnotic and irresistible, shining like gold. “You wanted this, too. Don’t play.”

“Hanni—”

She stops you right in your tracks with an impulsive peck on the lips. Curling them through the kiss to form a smile, she murmurs, “Don’t think, just do.”

And you do just that. Kiss her, make out with her as if your life depended on it.

Hanni’s lips taste like they’re meant for you. Sweet like honey. Divine. Heavenly. If it were possible, you’d want to choke on your own breath holding onto them for dear life. Not to mention the hums coming out of her mouth, those subdued mewls that she releases whenever you bite on her bottom lip—you can’t help but sink back in whenever you consider the thought of letting go.

There’s no reason not to; you have this pretty little thing, Hanni Pham, all to yourself. Even your body knows how rare of an opportunity this is. With one hand quietly slipping between her pencil skirt, you navigate your way to the depths of her heat without breaking the kiss. In a flash, she throws her head back, snapping her mouth wide at the new sensation. All that cool, calm expression, gone in an instant.

“Fuck—”

“God, Hanni. You’re so wet.”

She grabs your wrist—that mischievous hand newly buried in her pussy—and urges you further, “Keep doing that. That felt so good.”

And God, does everything about finger fucking her feel incredible. The satisfying squelch of her cunt as your digits press against her warmth, the continuous twisting of her features as she crumbles from the pleasure, leaving her neck exposed for your lips to newly conquer, adding to the overwhelming sensations coursing all over Hanni’s body. Seeing her, this usually larger than life figure, fall under your spell pushes you even further.

Like Hanni, you’re still young; there’s only pleasure and the thrill of moving too fast and reckless. One day you’ll end up regretting this, ruminating over memories that could ultimately end you before you even started, but you’d rather take this memento than leave with nothing at all.

You’re both already past the point of no return. Hanni’s underwear hangs casually between her ankles while they’re wrapped around your waist, her neck filled with bite marks and deep shades of red that no piece of fabric can hide. Her dress shirt is partially unbuttoned, revealing a white camisole desperately seeking to be removed, and if that wasn’t enough, she’s made the crucial decision not to wear a bra today.

Fuck, that bulging ache in your pants is so agitating—both physically and mentally.

“Wait,” you say, suddenly turning around and locking the door quickly, letting her panties fall freely to the floor. It proves to be a little struggle when you unknowingly use your slick-coated hand over your dry one.

“Should have done that first,” she playfully chides, chuckling at you.

Returning to her with your drenched fingers pointed in the direction of her pussy, you respond, “Should have chosen anywhere but the classroom.”

“You’re saying you’d rather do this during our Christmas party?” Hanni lifts an eyebrow, taunting.

“Only if they allowed it.”

“And all those cheat sheets I handed you, all that for nothing?”

“Shut up. Didn’t need them, anyway.”

Hanni can’t help but burst into boisterous laughter. There’s no use locking that door now.

Even with the little time spent together, there’s clearly magic between you, the signs of what should have been a beautiful relationship. If only you both knew that. But now’s not the time to go over what ifs—only what’s next.

She stops you right as you ready yourself, grabbing the top button of your shirt. Using only her expressive eyes for approval, you steadily watch on till they’re completely undone. You’re left with the job of removing your undershirt and helping her toss your clothes aside. On the other hand, you’re in no rush to undress her completely; she’s a perfect mess as is with her unbuttoned uniform, her panties somewhere between your feet, and her taut nipples poking through the fabric.

And Hanni wants it that way. You’ve barely entertained the idea of running your fingers through her skirt when she interrupts your train of thought.

“You haven’t done it yet,” she says looking at your greedy, grubby hands, directing them with hers underneath her garment. “Make me cum. Please.”

As if you had any other intention. Maybe with something better, but that’s usually saved later—and for good reason.

You’re trying so hard not to curse through gritted teeth. Fuck. This. Damned. Skirt. Admittedly, it’s cute and perfectly suits Hanni; it adds to the appeal of seeing this usually meek, well behaved student asking for something more than naughty—it’s downright criminal—but you need to see what makes her really tick. Hanni’s clicking her tongue, growing more frustrated by the second than you are, anxiously waiting for you to come through. Carefully, you push a finger into her, then another, moving in delicate and systemic motion.

Then, it all clicks in perfect harmony:

She releases this pent-up moan from the depths of her chest, as though it were a heave of relief. The initial plunge from earlier makes plunging between her slick folds so much easier. You take a moment to let the satisfying sound sink in: the wet slop of her cunt as it reflexes against your fingers, unable to keep yourself from moaning with delight before you slowly draw back, then in again.

From there, everything takes care of itself.

Hanni dissolves into a whimpering mess, under the hypnotic spell of your fingers fucking her pussy in tempered, intricate strokes, effortlessly and handily. Body shaking, desk quivering under the pressure of her weight, her hands struggling to find reprieve from the overwhelming sensations thundering all over her. She can barely breathe, let alone find the words to speak. Only quick curses. Each and every word so gratifying to hear.

“Fuck—fuck—its—its—so—good—more—”

You don’t give her any breathing room. In the brief moments when you lax, with your fingers either motionless deep within her cunt or pull back, leaving marks on her inner thighs with her own slick, you’re all over her, gently fondling her and kissing her. Half her uniform’s sleeve has fallen down her shoulder, giving you more of her body for you to claim as your own. With every little touch and thing you do, you continue to set her nerves ablaze with nothing to quench her lust.

It’s no wonder she’s such a teacher’s pet; she loves to follow along without any resistance or objection. A fact proven when you lift her undershirt to expose her taut nipples, and your free hand impulsively takes them. You give her left tit a twist, and from her needy lips comes a sharp whine.

“Do it again,” she says, panting, nodding her head wildly, visibly overwhelmed. She doesn’t know what hit her, but it feels fucking amazing.

Of course, you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity, even if she hadn’t asked. Hanni’s body, all yours for the taking. Not everyone can say they fucked the top girl in the class in the classroom of all places.

And you let your body do all the talking. No amount of words nor their depth can adequately describe the sensation of tasting and feeling her figure. First your free fingers, then your tongue—they make their mark on her chest while your other digits crawl to a lazy pace inside her cunt. Not that she minds—she’s too engrossed in the blissful sensation to remotely care. Her hands find their way around your neck and back, scratching and digging away at your skin in an attempt to pull you even closer.

It aches—but not as much as the ache in Hanni’s core. As you inch her closer to climax, you can feel her tremble, propping her head on your shoulder now as her outlet, whimpering, crying, mewling. “Almost—” she mumbles, before she’s caught up again in the sea of her own pleasure. Knowing this, the rest of your body moves like it’s second nature. Faster and deeper, you continue your endless assault on her body, until—

Suddenly, Hanni freezes up, moans over your ear as a moment of silent calm follows. In the succeeding moments, you both remain clung together as her orgasm hits. And by god, it hits her like lightning. Sharp and brutal. Fingers stuck deep in her core as she gushes, quivers all over them. It lingers, leaves you both incapacitated.

Minutes that could easily stretch into hours, stuck on a desk, basking in the afterglow of unadulterated bliss. Eventually, she lifts up her head and lets out a deep breath of relief. Her hands remain entangled with your hair as she pulls herself back. A scope down gives you a short but telling extent of the damage: copious amounts of slick dripping on the edge of the table, down to the floor. You’re a little terrified of what your fingers will look like.

Through half-lidded eyes, Hanni flashes you a smile as she slowly realizes the mess she has become. Cheeks flustered with embarrassment, she quickly pushes down her undershirt, but they can’t hide her nipples’ rigidness. You’re both grinning at each other like mischievous pranksters. Something tells you that despite everything, it’s not enough. The fire in her eyes and the confidence in her laugh says it all: she’s looking for more trouble, and one way or another, you’re gonna be her accomplice.

Before you can even utter a word, you both hear a knock on the door. Through the casted silhouette, you recognize that it’s a janitor. Spent energy be damned, you’re brought back to reality. You quickly turn to Hanni in a state of alarm, “Shit. I told you not told to do this in the classroom—”

Reaching out her hand, she replies, “It’s gonna be fine! Give me my bag and I’ll get us out of this.”

You immediately rush Hanni her bag, and while you hastily put yourself back in one piece, she grabs a pack of tissues to clear all evidence of your little escapade. In no time, you’ve somehow returned the place in nearly the same position you found it. Only one difference: her panties are left on the floor, and she hasn’t bothered to pick them up.

“Wait, your underwear—” you tell her as you pick them off the floor. She’s already on the edge of the classroom, opening up one of the windows to escape. It’s not a suicide jump; only someone with brittle bones could possibly break their legs doing the drop, and there’s really no other choice: run away with her or find yourself at the dean’s office on your first day back after the holidays.

“Keep it if you want.” Hanni shoots you a playful wink and a cheeky grin as she lifts one leg over the open window. “We don’t have much time, so unless you wanna explain yourself to the profs—”

“I’m already in trouble regardless,” you reply as you join her on the way out. You didn’t need to think about what to do. “Got eight missed phone calls from my fam. I’m fucked regardless. Might as well make the most of our time while we’re here.”

—————

A/N: Happy new year! I never thought I’d write something for NewJeans, but never say never. Hanni was easily the scene stealer for me at the Asia Artist Awards, she and the other members constantly waved at us from beginning to end, and they were killer performers! I can see why she’s so adored; she’s both talented and adorable. It’s been difficult getting back into writing after one month away, so this definitely is a feel-out attempt, but I hope it’s still good anyway. Here’s to the coming year and hopefully more to come. Thanks for reading!

P.S. I sincerely want to take this moment to apologize for my slow production. As previously mentioned, I got hit with a severe case of the flu, which kept me down for almost two weeks. Since recovering, I’ve been experiencing weird cases of brain fog, where sometimes my mind ‘isn’t there’ and it feels like my body’s been moving on autopilot. I’ve been getting healthier since then, but the so-called absentmindedness still remains. I’ve tried writing a few times since then, and it honestly feels like I’ve forgotten how to write. Hell, this fic was supposed to be out on Christmas day and I’ve struggled to put it together! It’s been very rough. I don’t wanna make promises because I’ll just end up breaking them, so I’ll just say that I’m trying my damned hardest to get back to that level I had been moving before my momentum stalled. I always want to deliver the best possible fic for you to enjoy. Thank you so much for being patient with me as always <3

#smut #kpop smut #newjeans #hanni

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hesperisms · 3 months ago

Note

hello! can i request zayne with reader who shows up at his doorstep really badly injured and just passes out against him when he opens the door?

i really love how you write zayne in your fics and i've been thinking about this idea for awhile..

// Safe Haven

"You're not fighting alone this time..."

// summary: your assignment was taking a turn for the worse and out of desperation and panic, you turned to the one person you know will always be there for you...

// content warnings: injuries, blood, angst, fluff. IT'S SOFT BOI HOURS, OKAY?

// a/n: hope I did your idea justice anon! something about the idea of seeing Zayne's all possessive and protective makes my chest ache!

likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!

Zayne couldn't place his finger on the feeling, but something had him full of restless energy despite the late hour. He'd decided the only course of action was to burn it off, so he put on his sweats and headed out into his quiet leafy suburb for a late night jog. He used it as an opportunity to clear his thoughts and mentally debrief himself about the surgery he had completed earlier, about his to-do lists and then his thoughts drifted as they always do, to you.

He hadn't heard from you for a few hours, which wasn't unusual for you two, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing that he hadn't seen a goodnight text or voice note from you, hoping that it meant maybe you had conked out on the couch and were getting some rest. As he walked the last block back towards his house, relaxing on his cooldown he takes a photo of the full moon in the sky and sends it over to you along with a "the moon looks beautiful tonight" note.

DING.

Zayne approaches his driveway and your notification sound rings out, echoing in the silent night. He shakes his head, a smile touching the corner of his lips as he realizes you're nearby but his brow knits in confusion when he doesn't see your ride parked nearby. She probably got dropped off by Tara or that partner Xavier, he thinks to himself with a shrug. The cool night air was trapping the sweat in against his compression shirt, making him shiver as he walked up the steps to his front door. Something was off, he realized suddenly; one of his ambient security lights that normally cast a soft glow up his front steps was dimmed and bent at an odd angle, like something had fallen on it.

He leans over, attempting to make out in the dark what landed on top of it to break it when he hears it again and sees the flash.

DING.

Blood turns to ice in his veins as your notification tone sounds from beside the broken garden lighting, the flash of your phone camera strobing in the darkness for a split second in tandem with the sound. Delicately picking up your phone in his left hand, his heart catches in his chest as he sees bloody fingerprints on the screen. Zayne's mind surges with all sorts of worst-case fears as his eyes desperately scan the yard for any sign of you, but you're nowhere to be found.

Wary now and knowing you're hurt, he carefully calls forth shards of ice to his fingertips of his right hand, holding them tensely, ready to jump to action if he needs to defend himself too. Punching in the code for his electronic front door lock, he lets the door swing open as he steps inside cautiously, but nothing seems to be out of the ordinary inside. Zayne moves room to room silently looking for anything out of place, any sign of you, without success.

He's just about to shut the front door and start making calls to your boss Jenna and emergency services when your hand slams against the closing door, jolting him as he stares at you. "Zayne..." you squeak out, using all your strength to prop yourself up on his doorframe.

"I'm so gla-" you don't even get a chance to finish before your body is in freefall towards him and his eyes widen in panic, the phone and the ice shards both clattering loudly on the entryway tiles as he scrambles to catch you before you hit the floor. "My hero..." you joke weakly, face pallid as you slip out of consciousness in his arms.

Cradling you gently, kneeling on the cold tiles beside you his combat medic instinct overtakes his fears and he begins to perform some cursory checks, noting how pale your lips are, how shallow your breathing is, and that's when he sees it; your right arm is dangling limply, seemingly dislocated from the socket and the sleeve has been ripped to shreds, your bicep showing a deep, angry wound. You've lost a lot of blood and you're in shock, so Zayne knows he needs to act swiftly.

"I'm so sorry, this is not going to be enjoyable for either of us." he murmurs to your unconscious body gently as he takes hold of your dislocated shoulder, feeling for the socket before firmly and skillfully setting it back into place. You cry out a whimper of pain as it temporarily wakes you and he brushes your hair away from your forehead with a bloody hand, stroking the backs of his fingers tenderly across your brow with a trembling touch. "Shhhh my love, I'm sorry, I know it hurt but I had no choice, it couldn't stay that way, you're okay, I've got you. You're okay."

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused, but you look up at him like he's an angel, the ceiling down light cascading around his dark hair above you like a halo; that handsome face stroking your brow lovingly with gentle sweeps, trying so hard to hide from you how scared he is as he smiles down at you trying to reassure you both with his soft whispers. As your eyes begin to flutter shut again and unconsciousness swallows you, you see him pulling his compression shirt off up over his head, his bare chest sucking in deep shuddering breaths that betray his smile and measured tone.

Zayne ties a sleeve of the compression shirt around your bicep wound like a tourniquet and loops the other sleeve around your neck, creating a very crude home made sling for your badly damaged arm. If he thought he had more time, he'd run to the bathroom for medical supplies but you were too pale and he was terrified to let you out of his sight so he made do as best he could. Swallowing down all sorts of insidious memories and fears from his time on the front lines, he works to stabilize you so that you'll be safe to move.

Grabbing the throw blanket off the couch and draping it over you, he scoops you up into his arms, pressing you tightly into his body as he carries you to his car, delicately lowering you into the passenger side and locking the seatbelt over you. You flit in and out of consciousness under the bright streetlights as he drives you to Akso Hospital, the steady weight of his large hand cradled behind your head, pressing and stroking tenderly on the nape of your neck the only constant feeling other than pain.

"Dr. Zayne, didn't you finish a couple of hours ago? Did you forget something in your office?" The tired but friendly voice of Dr. Greyson rings out over the car's Bluetooth speakers as Zayne's call to the nurses station connects. "Go cuddle with your Lady paperwork can wait!" Yvonne laughs in the background and Zayne realizes he's on speakerphone.

"I'm just about to hit the exit ramp. I'm 2 minutes away, prep a bay in Emergency Greyson...it's y/n." Zayne says with a harsher, colder tone than he intended, fear for your wellbeing getting the better of him.

Silence hangs on the line for a moment before someone sniffs awkwardly and a cacophony of chairs scraping and shuffling flares to life as the nurses scramble.

"How bad?" Comes the soft reply and Zayne can hear the concern in his colleague and friend's tone.

Zayne squeezes the nape of your neck reassuringly, but whether it's to reassure you or himself, he can't tell; "she's lost a lot of blood, it's hard to say. I have her stable but we don't have much time," he responds, his voice breaking slightly.

"We'll be waiting for you at the front doors." Greyson says confidently as he disconnects the call. Zayne's golden-green gaze flits across to your lips, checking on your shallow breathing as he pulls his car into the ambulance bay. Just as promised, Greyson, Yvonne and the other nurses pull up a stretcher to the passenger side of the car and open the door, looking across from you to Zayne and giving him a solemn nod.

Zayne gives your neck one last squeeze and lets them take you from the car, watching critically as they lift you gently onto the stretcher and rush you into the waiting Emergency bay. He shivers as the shock starts to wear off and the cold silence of the middle of the night settles in. Looking down at himself, realizing that he's half-naked and covered in smears of your blood, he grabs his coat out of the back of his car and jogs in after them.

He's about to follow them into the Emergency bay when Greyson puts a firm hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. "Are you trying to come in as her Doctor, because you don't trust us to work on her, or her lover because you need to know she's okay?" He asks pointedly.

Zayne snarls out a frustrated sigh, but Greyson continues.

"The code of conduct is there for her interests as the patient, you know that. I'll call you in as soon as we're done. You look like hell, go clean yourself up."

Zayne nods his resignation with a scowl, knowing Greyson was right. He wasn't happy to be called out on it, but Zayne couldn't maintain his objectiveness and professionalism, not when you were involved. The Akso Hospital board might turn a blind eye to him being your General Practitioner while dating you, but they would not stand for him being part of a surgical team.

He showered in the Doctor's suites and grabbed a spare shirt from his office before settling into the visitor's seating in the hallway outside Emergency. Zayne was lying back in the armchair, his head tilted back as he rubbed slow circles on his temples when Greyson finally come out to get him a couple of hours later.

"She's got a fractured humerus and she needed almost a litre of blood, but she's out of the woods now. Pulse is strong again, color has returned and we've stitched up the wound in her bicep. She's asking for you." Greyson said with a smile, giving Zayne a pat on the shoulder as he walked off towards the Doctor's suites.

"She's awake?"

He calls back over his shoulder with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Go to your woman, Zayne!"

Zayne slips in through the door to see the nurses packing up the crash cart and various other Emergency supplies and they give him a knowing smile as they make way for him. Yvonne hands him the pillow she was about to put behind your head and says with a smile "we should leave you two lovebirds alone, you've been through a lot tonight."

"You look..." Zayne begins, pushing the pillow in behind your head.

"Terrible?"

"A sight for sore eyes. For a minute there I was scared I was going to lose you."

You chuckled weakly, color rising in your cheeks. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily, Handsome." You reached for his hand, wincing as your stitches pulled and Zayne slipped his hand over yours, gently snuggling himself onto the bed beside you. "I don't know what would've happened if you weren't there..." you began, emotions spilling over and you choke back a sob. He presses you into his chest, hushing you and peppering kisses into your hair.

"Don't think about it Darling, don't upset yourself with what ifs and scenarios." He murmured. "I was there, you're safe now. I've got you and that's all that matters."

As he let you cry softly against his warm chest, he rubbed slow circles on your back, squeezing you tightly, pecking little soothing kisses onto your head. Zayne gently brushed your tears from your cheeks, gazing down at you lovingly, the pad of his thumb feeling so comforting as you stared up at him.

Zayne released you and reached over to read your chart, his brows knitting and his eyes narrowing as he scans through your status and treatment observations. Giving you a gentle peck on the cheek, he tells you he'll be right back and slips from the room.

He's gone for a few minutes and when the door to your room opens, he's carrying the powder blue baby blanket you bought him when he was struggling with nightmares and sitting on top of the bundle were a couple of his always on hand mint candies. Climbing back onto the bed beside you, pulling you onto his chest so he can support your wounded arm he spreads the blanket out over the two of you.

Zayne unwraps a mint candy and holds it out for you.

"Open." He commands gently and you part your lips to let him pop it into your mouth, before he takes the other one himself, tossing the wrappers into the little trashcan beside your bed. "They're keeping you in for observation overnight, so lets do our best to get a good night of sleep, my love." Zayne explains to you in a soft, whispered tone, pulling your head down to rest underneath his chin. As you both chew your candies and cuddle into each other's warmth, he strokes your hair until after a few minutes he feels your breathing settle and you relax, falling asleep against him.

The door opens with a soft click, Greyson poking his head in silently to check on you before he ends his shift, changed out of his scrubs and now in his casual wear. He gives Zayne a small nod and Zayne nods back at him solemnly in thanks, the two men exchanging a whole conversation unspoken in their gestures. The whole time Zayne is squeezing his arm tightly around you, cradling you to his chest as you sleep, his heartbeat lulling you into gentle dreams.

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queen-of-deans-booty · 29 days ago

Text

Rumor Has It

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: minor angst

Summary: Your boyfriend is a well-known street racer who will never back down from a challenge. When someone new comes to town challenging him, he’ll do anything to come out on top… and that includes giving you up.

Square Filled: street racing (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Harry straps on his racing gloves as you’re watching him from your spot on the bed. He spent the last two hours getting ready for what will be a disaster waiting to happen. Your boyfriend is known for his love of cars. There is a group of guys that pick a spot in every city and race their precious cars. It’s illegal as shit and nearly gets someone arrested every time they do it, but there is no stopping him.

He quickly climbed the ranks of being one of the fastest yet riskiest racers this town has ever known, and now there aren’t many who want to go up against him. These days, he races with friends in a friendly game rather than for money. Not this race. This race is different. Someone new came into town last week and has been passing rumors to everyone.

Rumor has it that this man is a beast. Rumor has it that no one has lost against him. Rumor has it that someone like Harry is child’s play compared to the men he’s been up against. The racers always pick a desolate part of town to race in knowing there won’t be anyone on the road to block them, but not this man. He’s known to race in the open with other cars on the road.

Not once has he crashed and not once has he been caught. His name has been filtered through every town he’s been in, and it managed to reach all the way to your small town in the middle of nowhere. Of course, as soon as Harry found out that he was coming to town, he had to challenge him to a race. There is something Harry wants, and he’s going to make sure he gets it after he wins this race.

Harry’s good but he’s not Dean Winchester good.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you ask. “Do you not realize who you’re going up against?”

“I’ve been preparing for this all week. I can do it.”

“You’re either going to lose or get caught. The police have been cracking down on these races lately.”

Harry turns and glares at you through his shaded glasses.

“The only one who is going to get caught is Dean. I don’t need you worrying about me. I’ll be fine.”

Normally, you never go to these races because you don’t like them. In one race, someone crashed into a pole and lost his life. It was cold outside and he slipped on a patch of black ice. Ever since that, you’ve been asking Harry not to race. Still, he won’t listen to you. Lately, he’s been dismissing your every thought. He’s been more distant since Dean got to town, and you tell yourself it’s because of the race. Dean will leave soon and he’ll go back to being yours.

Why is it that when you think about that, you become empty inside?

Harry is a good boyfriend but he’s not the best. He’d choose racing over you any day. Why do you stay with him, then? Maybe being in a relationship with him is better than being alone. If you think that, you shouldn’t be in a relationship. What else are you going to do? You moved to this town for Harry so your entire family is on the west coast.

You can’t go back to them no matter how much you’re hurting here.

The only reason you’re going to this one is because of Dean. You can’t help but be intrigued by the mystery surrounding the man. You’ve heard he’s a ladies’ man and oozes sex appeal. Guess you won’t know until you see him, huh?

You and Harry leave for the race that’s happening on the outskirts of town. There is a guy who runs in Harry’s circle whose father is the chief of police. He knows he won’t be sticking his nose in their business tonight because of some case they’ve been working on for weeks, so this race should be free of police. There is already a crowd forming when you get there, and an even bigger following since Dean is here.

Harry’s prized race car is a 1987 Chevy Monte Carlo SS that he only uses whenever he’s racing. She hasn’t let him down since, but you think that’s all going to change. Dean’s prized possession is a 1967 Chevy Impala that Harry has always wanted. It’s one of his dream cars. The fact that Dean has one and is flaunting it here pisses Harry off.

Harry leaves your side and approaches Dean with the intent to trash-talk him. The crowd forms around the two men, and you stand on a few rocks to get a better view of Dean. His back is turned to you but from what you can see, he is a beastof a man. Tall, muscular, and not at all fazed by Harry’s attempt to shake him down.

“Is this supposed to make me fear you?” Dean chuckles.

“No, but you better watch your back, Winchester,” Dean smirks but he doesn’t say anything. “Care to make this interesting?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“A bet on who wins. If you’re not scared, that is.”

“Do I look like the kind of man who gets scared?”

The crowd whispers to each other at his comment, and Harry glares at him. You push past the crowd to get to the inner circle where you have a full view of Dean. Damn, he looks even better from the front. Sharp jaw, short hair, and bright green eyes. Harry might be threatening him but there is a mischievous glint in Dean’s eyes.

“Alright, Winchester. If I win,” Harry looks around the crowd and smirks, “I get your Impala.”

The crowd gasps and chatter picks up. There is no way Dean will ever give up his precious car, so most think he will back out on this deal. Dean knows he’s going to win but it’s amusing to play Harry’s game. His eyes scan the crowd and they land on you, and you freeze from the intensity of his gaze. There’s something… primal… with the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re his prey but you know he won’t hurt you if he catches you.

“Okay,” he draws his gaze back to Harry, “if you win, you get my car.” Again, the crowd gasps. “If I win,” he looks at you with a smirk, “I get your girl.”

“Fine, yes, she’s yours. Take her.”

You gasp at the audacity your boyfriend has for just giving you away like you’re property or something to own. Someone blows a whistle and the crowd disperses to the side since the race is starting. People push past you but you seem to be rooted where you stand. You can’t take your eyes off Harry.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” You look at Dean who winks. “I don’t lose.”

You find your footing and step back to the sides where everyone else is. Harry and Dean get in their cars and start them up. Harry revs his engine loudly to show off but Dean stays calm. He doesn’t win races by being cocky. The race is twenty miles long, and there are people every couple of miles to track their progress who will then report back to the announcer so he can inform the crowd what’s going on.

The person who whistled whistles again and they’re off. Dean and Harry take off down the road, the crowd cheering for both of them. Half think Dean is going to win while the other half cheers for Harry. Harry passes the fifth mile first with Dean right behind him, but Dean passes the tenth mile first. They’re neck and neck with one passing the other constantly. Once they reach ten miles, they have to turn around and come back, so that’s what they’re doing now.

You bite your thumbnail nervously as you wait for someone to come around the corner. Do you want Harry to win? Absolutely not. You can’t stand the idea of him getting his way after he pulled that shit with you. Do you want Dean to win? Maybe? Maybe he’s the reason you’re looking to end things with Harry. He’s the courage you never knew you had.

The entire crowd falls silent when they hear the rumble of an engine approaching. Five seconds later, the sleek black Impala comes racing around the corner, picking up a shit ton of dust. The crowd erupts in cheers knowing Dean is going to win this race. Harry is less than half a mile behind him but it’s too late. Dean crosses the finish line and screeches to a stop. He hops out of the car and stalks over to you.

Harry’s scar screeches to a halt right next to Dean’s car, and he gets out with an angry red face. Dean grabs your waist and pulls you in, kissing you deeply. He slides his hand into your hair and holds your head steady so he can control every aspect of the kiss. To say you’re surprised is an understatement. He’s a great kisser, better than Harry, and you’re wondering if he’s like this in the bedroom.

“Call me when you break up with him,” he says when he pulls away. “You might be my good luck charm.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

He walks toward the crowd and accepts his victory while Harry hangs behind with his close friends. You touch your lower lip and watch Dean reap the rewards. Yeah, Harry’s gone. He’s no one compared to the great Dean Winchester.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff #supernatural angst #supernatural series rewrite

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sirenmoontarot · 4 months ago

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What needs to be revealed to you now?

Welcome to the sirenian realm… 🦢 here I will go into channeling and see what does the universe wants to bring to the light for you now. Pick the image that most calls you in, or that most resonates with you and let’s dive in🪞🌊 🌙

Group 1

Right now, it is not a time to face the current obstacles in your life, it is not a time to confront the existing limitations, the boundaries that exist right now in your life. Don’t force something you are not yet ready to confront. Know your own limits, physical or mental. Hasty decisions made now in the present will later be regretted. Protect, guard yourself, keep your end goal in your mind but analyze the situation in front of you in order to figure out how to proceed. In this time you have to learn how to wait and be patient. You might also need to be ready to defend yourself very soon! However, luck is coming your way disguised as a challenge. You might not show your true face, goals, and plans to others for this time period. It is a time for you to stay on guard, with your eyes open like an owl before making any actions. Sometimes it is more important to be smart in some situations before proceeding. It is also a time for regeneration and fertilization for you. The runes indicate that after this period, you will get positive partnerships. I sense a very important positive connection with someone will come that will be renovating and enlightening for you! You just have to hold on. And know when it's the time and especially to whom, to give!

Thank you for reading dear group number 1 🤍 see you in next PAC readings 🦢🪞🌙

Patreon 𓇬 Psychic Readings 𓇬 Aura Healings

Group 2

For this group, what needs to be revealed to you now is that you are undergoing a long process, in whatever the topic you are putting all your efforts into. Let’s say career, things maybe aren’t moving forward, you feel there are blocks, obstacles, the energies are heavy right now but it is not because it’s not meant for you or anything, you are undergoing this process as part of your personal life path, you have to learn through this, you will acquire maturity, wisdom, and strength, personal strength which is really important to achieve all of your goals and your purpose in life. Do not get discouraged if things are stopped, stuck, if there are unexpected upheavals, or tower moments come, because after the uncomfortable hail, ice becomes water and makes grow the blooms of the trees and flowers. It is all a process in which you don’t have to give up, in which after a success you can’t sleep on your laurels. You still have to be focused, down to earth, and keep working through this period of apparent obstacles. The results and end goal will come later, now you are building all the necessary skills, qualities, and wisdom that will be needed for your future self. When things are confusing, unclear, the best thing is to let them become clear on their own, and if your mind gets too much, use HEAT, move, dance, do sport, till it cools down and you can see clearly again! Powerful change, growth, and evolution are marked here, with Plutonian influences shown in the cards.

Thank you for reading dear group number 2 🤍 see you in next PAC readings 🦢🪞🌙

Patreon 𓇬 Psychic Readings 𓇬 Aura Healings

Group 3

What needs to be revealed to you now is that you are strong, you are protected, you will have success in a particular enterprise, project, business, activity, or plan that you have put your effort into. The runes assure you will be protected from any danger, and that you are well prepared. You are divinely shielded right now! However, there might be a warning of something you have to be on your guard against: you must have courage in the face of fear. You have to control your emotions, use your energies well, and direct your strengths wisely. New opportunities and challenges will come into your life, sometimes when an opportunity comes, undesirable influences appear as well, so it is important you stand strong and know you can beat anything. This is a time solely for you. The runes indicate you should take time for yourself. Opposition may come your way, however, the promises and oaths you made to yourself and maybe to other people stand strong. Sacrifice must be made sometimes to achieve in our path. Situations from the past that might arise, or that might bring up painful feelings within you, must be dealt with. There is something as valuable as gold in your life, stick to the presence of these wondrous elements in your life. Connect to earth, it is very necessary for you. And also, connect to what is reliable, to what truly supports you. Follow the pull towards what is steady and true for you. Especially when you feel less empowered, you need to grab onto that thing that is your “rock” to remind yourself of the truth and the light!

Thank you for reading dear group number 3 🤍 see you in next PAC readings 🦢🪞🌙

Patreon 𓇬 Psychic Readings 𓇬 Aura Healings

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jburrgf · 4 months ago

Text

Easily.

“Don’t you tell me it wasn’t mean to be, call it quits, call it destiny. Just because it won’t come easily, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”

pairing: joe burrow x reader

summary: friends to lovers, childhood friendship, reunion, patient x nurse, first love, a lot of fluff

description: after playing with his nephews, joe strained his ankle and ran to the ER. but he didn’t though he was going to meet his childhood best friend there.

—————————————

It was past midnight, the time when the world outside the hospital walls seemed to stand still. Inside, though, it was a different story. The fluorescent lights buzzed quietly above me as I made my way down the hallway of the ER. My feet ached, the usual dull throb that comes after ten hours on your feet, but it was nothing I wasn’t used to. Nights like this were routine, predictable even, and I had learned to find comfort in the chaos.

I adjusted my stethoscope and glanced at the clock above the nurse’s station—1:37 AM. Still hours to go. The hum of monitors and the occasional beeping of machines filled the space, blending into the background noise I’d grown accustomed to over the years. My shift had been steady, a couple of minor accidents, a handful of routine check-ups, nothing too serious. Until the doors of the ER flew open, and everything changed.

I didn’t look up right away, too focused on updating a patient’s chart, but the sudden rush of voices—urgent, yet not panicked—caught my attention. I turned to see two nurse helping a patient to get on a stretcher, their faces set in calm determination. One of them was giving a brief rundown to the admitting nurse.

“Thirty minutes ago, pickup football game. Possible sprained ankle, maybe a mild concussion, conscious the whole time, though.”

I barely glanced at the patient on the stretcher at first, but then something made me pause. The man lying there was in a football jersey, but it wasn’t the jersey that gave me pause—it was his face. He had one hand pressed against his head, his eyes half-closed in obvious discomfort. But it wasn’t the injury that had my heart skipping a beat. It was him.

Joe Burrow.

The name echoed in my mind before I could stop it. Joe Burrow, Joey, my childhood friend, the boy who lived down the street, the one I used to spend all my summer afternoons with before life drifted us apart. The boy who had grown into one of the NFL’s brightest stars.

And now, apparently, my patient.

I blinked, trying to process the scene in front of me. Joe Burrow, here, in my ER, in the middle of the night, looking very different from the kid I used to race bikes with down the block.

"Y/N, can you take this one?" The nurse's voice broke through my daze, and I nodded, my training kicking in despite the sudden rush of memories swirling in my mind.

I approached the stretcher, my steps slower than usual, my mind still catching up with the present. Joe hadn’t noticed me yet. He was too busy wincing as one of the paramedics adjusted the ice pack on his ankle. My hands trembled slightly as I picked up his chart, scanning it quickly.

“Joe Burrow,” I said softly, almost testing the name out loud to see if it would break the spell of disbelief hanging over me.

At the sound of my voice, his head turned, and for a brief moment, his eyes were unfocused, likely from the mild concussion they suspected. But then his gaze sharpened, recognition flickering in his eyes. He blinked, then squinted, as if trying to place me, and I saw the exact moment it clicked.

“Y/N?” His voice was rough, slightly hoarse from exertion, but there was a hint of surprise there, maybe even something softer—something familiar.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, professional, even though my heart was doing somersaults in my chest. “Looks like you’ve had quite the night.”

He let out a short, breathy laugh, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a small smile despite the pain etched across his face. “You could say that.”

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the years between us hanging in the air like something tangible. It felt like an eternity since we’d last seen each other, though in reality, it had only been... What, ten years? Maybe more? The boy I remembered was long gone, replaced by the man lying in front of me — taller, broader, more grown-up in every way. But the spark in his eyes was the same, that playful glint that always used to get us into trouble.

I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the lingering sense of nostalgia. “Let’s get you checked out. You said you were playing football?”

“Yeah, with my nephews,” Joe replied, wincing again as he shifted on the stretcher. “Thought I’d show them a few moves, but I guess I got a little too into it.”

“Sounds like you haven’t changed much,” I teased, grabbing the clipboard to make notes. “Still trying to prove you’re the toughest one out there?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Some things don’t change.”

As I moved to assess his injury, my hands were steady, but my mind raced with questions. How had he ended up here, in this hospital, on this night? And how had we managed to go so long without crossing paths again? Life had taken us in such different directions, but in this moment, it felt like the universe had pushed us back together.

“Alright,” I said, snapping back to the present. “Let’s take a look at that ankle.”

I knelt down beside the stretcher to examine his ankle. The swelling was already visible, and the skin around it was starting to turn a soft shade of purple. It didn’t seem like anything too serious, but given the hit to his head, he’d probably need to stay overnight for observation. My fingers brushed against his skin as I checked for tenderness, and I couldn’t help but notice how much he’d changed. Stronger, tougher than the lanky boy I remembered, but still the same person, somewhere underneath all that.

“This looks like a sprain,” I said, grabbing an Ace bandage from the tray beside me. “We’ll get you some crutches and probably keep you here for a bit to monitor your head injury. How does your head feel? Any dizziness or nausea?”

He grimaced slightly. “Just a headache. Nothing too bad, though. I’ve had worse hits.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like I should be more worried about your career than this injury.”

His laugh was soft, but it was there. “Maybe, but I think I can survive a game with some six-year-olds.”

I wrapped the bandage around his ankle carefully, trying not to let my hands shake. It was bizarre how easily we fell into conversation, even after all these years. We’d lost so much time, and yet it felt oddly natural to be here with him, even if it was under the fluorescent lights of an emergency room.

Once I finished wrapping his ankle, I stood up and met his eyes again. There was a question in them, unspoken but heavy in the silence that followed.

“So…” Joe began slowly, his voice quieter now, as if we were stepping into more uncertain territory. “How long has it been?”

“Since we last saw each other?” I asked, tilting my head as I thought back. “I don’t know… over ten years, I think.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He shifted his weight slightly, sitting up more on the stretcher. “I meant to stay in touch, you know. Things just got… crazy.”

I could see the apology in his eyes, though he didn’t say the words outright. And I understood. Life had a way of sweeping you up, pulling you in directions you never saw coming. He had his NFL career, the spotlight, the pressure. I had my nursing career, the long hours, the exhaustion that came with it. Still, there was a small part of me that wondered how different things might have been if we’d made more of an effort. If I had.

“Yeah,” I said, offering him a small smile. “Life does that.”

There was a beat of silence, not uncomfortable but reflective. We were both thinking about the past, the what-ifs and the roads we didn’t take. But before I could dwell on it too long, Joe spoke up again, breaking the tension.

“You look good,” he said, his tone genuine but light. “Not much has changed. Except the scrubs, maybe.”

I laughed softly, grateful for the shift in conversation. “I could say the same about you. Except maybe… all of this,” I gestured vaguely to him—the athletic build, the worn jersey, the presence that came with someone used to being in the spotlight.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve changed a little,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “But you know, underneath all of this, I’m still the same guy who used to lose every bike race to you.”

I smirked. “Oh, I remember. You hated losing.”

“I still do.” His eyes sparkled with that playful glint I recognized so well.

We fell into a comfortable rhythm after that, talking about everything and nothing as I finished up his assessment. It was strange how easy it was, how natural it felt to slip back into the banter we used to share. I’d always liked that about Joe—he made you feel at ease, like no matter how much time passed, nothing between us had really changed.

As I finished updating his chart, the doctor on call came over to check him out, confirming what I’d suspected: Joe would need to stay overnight for observation, just to be safe. I told him I’d come back once I was done with my rounds, but I could still feel his eyes on me as I walked away.

[…]

Couple hours passed, the usual rhythm of the ER taking over once again. But every now and then, I found my thoughts drifting back to Joe. He was resting in one of the private rooms now, probably bored out of his mind. And for some reason, I felt compelled to check on him, even though I knew he didn’t really need me. It was something about seeing him again—after all this time, after all we’d been through separately—that made me want to stay close, to not let this second chance slip away.

By the time I finally had a break, it was close to 4 AM. The hospital had quieted down, the late-night lull settling in. I made my way back to Joe’s room, my heart beating a little faster than I’d like to admit. I told myself it was just a routine check-up, nothing more. But deep down, I knew it was more than that.

When I pushed open the door, Joe was awake, staring at the ceiling, his expression lost in thought. His head turned at the sound of my entrance, and a small smile crossed his lips when he saw me.

“Hey,” he said, sitting up slightly. “Back to check on me again?”

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Can’t leave you alone for too long. Who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks for taking care of me, Y/N. I mean it.”

I shrugged, trying to keep things light, but there was something about the way he said it that made my chest tighten just a little. “Just doing my job.”

He studied me for a moment, his eyes searching mine like he was trying to figure something out. “It’s been good seeing you again. I didn’t think I’d run into you like this, but… I’m glad I did.”

“Me too,” I admitted, my voice quieter now. The air between us felt heavier, like there was more to be said, but neither of us knew exactly how to say it.

For a while, we just talked—about life, work, the things that had happened since we last saw each other. Joe opened up about the pressures of being in the NFL, how sometimes it felt like everything was spinning too fast and he couldn’t slow it down. I shared a little about my life too, about how nursing had become my world and how hard it was to balance that with anything else. We were both a little vulnerable, a little raw in the way you could only be when the rest of the world was asleep and you were left with nothing but your thoughts and the quiet of the night.

The conversation between us flowed easily, like slipping back into a comfortable rhythm. There was something about talking to Joe in the middle of the night, the world outside the hospital walls so still, that made the years between us seem to melt away. It was like we were kids again, sitting on the porch steps after a long day of playing outside, just talking about anything and everything.

“So, you stayed in Cincinnati?” Joe asked, shifting on the hospital bed to sit up more comfortably.

I nodded. “Yeah, never really left. Got into nursing school here and stuck around. I like the pace of it. My family’s here, too.”

He smiled softly. “It’s good that you stayed close to them. I’ve missed a lot of that, being away.”

I could hear the hint of longing in his voice, the weight of the sacrifices he’d made for his career. Joe had always been focused, even when we were kids. When he said he was going to be a football player, I believed him because he believed it with his whole heart. But I could see now, in his eyes, that the road had taken a toll.

“You’re always traveling, huh?” I asked, curious.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he replied. “It’s part of the job, but it gets lonely sometimes. The only time I get back home is for the off-season, and even then, it’s not much.

I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. He was living the dream, the one we’d all seen coming, but it was clear there was a price. I hadn’t thought much about that before, what his life must be like now. To everyone else, he was Joe Burrow, NFL star, the guy who won championships. But sitting here, under the soft glow of the hospital room lights, he just seemed like the same boy I used to know—the one who liked backyard football and riding bikes through the neighborhood.

“It’s not easy, is it?” I asked softly, sensing the exhaustion behind his smile. “Being Joe Burrow.”

He looked at me, his eyes locking on mine, and for a moment, I saw something vulnerable there—something real. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, wincing slightly as he touched the sore spot on his head.

“It’s not always what people think,” he admitted quietly. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it. Football’s everything to me. But there’s so much more that comes with it—the pressure, the expectations. Sometimes it feels like I’m always on. Like I can’t just...be.”

His words hung in the air between us, raw and unguarded. I hadn’t expected him to open up like this, but maybe that’s what the night did to people. Maybe it made us feel safe enough to say the things we wouldn’t admit in the daylight.

“I get that,” I said after a beat. “In a different way, I mean. Being a nurse… it’s all-consuming sometimes. I see my family when I can, but I’m always here, always on call. You start to lose parts of yourself, you know?”

Joe nodded, his eyes softening as he listened. “Yeah. It’s like you give so much of yourself to what you do that there’s not much left for anything else.”

I swallowed, realizing how true that was for both of us. We’d grown up chasing different dreams, but somehow, we’d both ended up feeling the same way—exhausted, a little lost, trying to figure out how to balance it all.

Silence fell between us for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that comes when two people are just...understanding each other. No need for words, just a shared recognition of something deeper.

I laughed softly, and the tension between us seemed to ease a little. It was strange how easy it was to be around him again, like no time had passed at all. But there was also something new between us now—something unspoken but very real.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” he said again, his voice quieter this time, more serious. “I don’t know if I said that already, but... I mean it.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, meeting his gaze. “It’s my job, after all.”

Joe shook his head, a slight smile playing on his lips. “No, I mean... thanks for being here. I needed this. More than I realized.”

The quiet of the night wrapped around us, like the world outside had fallen away and left just the two of us in this small, dimly lit room. I sat down on the edge of the chair beside Joe’s bed, my mind still buzzing with everything we’d talked about—the years that had passed, the memories we shared, and the things we’d never said.

I watched him for a moment, noting the way his face softened when he wasn’t wearing that confident, composed mask that the public always saw. He looked more like the boy I used to know, the one who’d always been up for an adventure, always quick with a joke or a grin. But now, there was a weight behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a heaviness that came from carrying the expectations of an entire city on his shoulders.

“How do you do it?” I asked quietly, my voice almost a whisper in the stillness of the room.

Joe’s brow furrowed, and he turned his head to look at me. “Do what?”

“Handle the pressure,” I said, gesturing vaguely to him, to the life he lived now. “Everyone watching you, expecting so much from you all the time. Doesn’t it get overwhelming?”

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. It does.” His voice was low, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t used to admitting that to anyone. “I mean, I love the game. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But sometimes, it feels like it’s all moving so fast, and I’m just trying to keep up.”

I nodded, understanding more than I thought I would. It wasn’t the same as the pressures he faced, but I knew what it felt like to be stretched thin, to feel like there was never enough time or energy to meet everyone’s expectations.

“There are moments,” he continued, “when I think back to when we were kids, and everything was just… easier, you know? No pressure, no cameras, no one expecting anything from me except to show up and play. It felt simple back then.”

I smiled at the memory, my mind drifting back to those endless summer days when we’d race our bikes down the street or spend hours at the park, just the two of us against the world. “Yeah, it was simpler. We didn’t have a care in the world.”

Joe looked at me, something softer in his gaze now. “You know, I’ve thought about you a lot over the years.”

That caught me off guard. I blinked, my heart skipping a beat at the unexpected confession. “You have?”

He nodded, his eyes searching mine. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve kept up with you a little, here and there, through social media and stuff. But it wasn’t the same. I always wondered what happened—why we lost touch.”

I shifted in my seat, feeling a small pang of guilt. “I wondered the same thing sometimes. Life just got in the way, I guess.”

Joe smiled, but there was a sadness to it. “Yeah. But it’s good to see you now. Even if I had to get knocked out by a bunch of kids to do it.” He was quiet for a moment, like he was working up the courage to say something. Then, his voice dropped even lower, almost like he was afraid to let the words out. “You were… my first love, you know. Back when we were fourteen.”

The room seemed to still completely, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart thudded in my chest. “What?”

Joe met my gaze, his expression open, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t seen before. “I never told you back then, but you were. I had the biggest crush on you. I was too scared to say anything, though, so I just... never did.”

My mind was reeling, flashes of our time together when we were kids playing in my head—the way he’d always try to impress me, the way he’d get competitive when we played games, the times we’d sit in the park talking about anything and everything. And now, it all made sense.

“Joe…” I started, my voice soft, unsure of what to say. “I had no idea.”

He laughed a little, though there was a hint of nervousness in it. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly smooth back then. I thought maybe you figured it out when I kept challenging you to races just to spend more time with you.”

I laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension between us. “I just thought you really hated losing.”

“I did,” he admitted, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I hated the idea of not being around you even more.”

There was something so honest about the way he said it, and it hit me in a way I hadn’t expected. All this time, I’d thought we were just two kids having fun, never realizing that there was more beneath the surface. And now, sitting here with him all these years later, it felt like a door had opened, revealing all the things we hadn’t said back then.

“I used to think about you a lot too,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “After you moved away for college, I wondered what would’ve happened if we’d stayed in touch.”

His eyes softened, and he reached out, his hand brushing against mine where it rested on the edge of the bed. His touch was warm, grounding, and my breath hitched at the contact.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “But maybe we can find out now.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The air between us felt charged, like the years we’d spent apart had collapsed into this one moment, and everything was suddenly within reach—everything we hadn’t said, everything we hadn’t done.

I looked into his eyes, searching for something—an answer, maybe, or just the courage to let myself feel what I was feeling. And what I felt was undeniable. All those years ago, when we were kids, I hadn’t realized what was growing between us. But now… now I could feel it, and it was as real as the heartbeat thrumming in my chest.

“You really had a crush on me, huh?” I asked, trying to lighten the moment, though my voice wavered slightly.

Joe laughed softly, but there was nothing teasing in his gaze. “Yeah. And maybe I still do. And I know it can sound weird, but I know you don’t have anyone now. So I think it’s ok if I hit on you… I guess.”

The room seemed to shrink around us, the world outside fading away until it was just the two of us. I felt the warmth of his hand against mine, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself wonder what could happen—what this could mean.

The moment hung between us, heavy with everything unsaid. Joe’s hand lingered on mine, his thumb tracing slow circles that sent a warmth through me I hadn’t felt in years. It was surreal, sitting here in the quiet of the hospital room, realizing how much had passed between us, and how much still remained.

“So,” Joe said after a beat, his voice softer now, almost tentative. “Maybe it’s time we don’t lose touch again.”

I looked up at him, my heart still racing, a small smile playing on my lips. “What are you saying, Joe?”

He held my gaze, his expression serious but hopeful. “I’m saying… I want to see you again. Outside of this hospital.” His smile grew slightly, a little more of that old playfulness creeping back into his voice. “Maybe when I’m not half-concussed and in a hospital gown.”

I laughed at that, though my stomach fluttered at the idea of it. “You’re asking me out?”

“Yeah,” he said, more confidently this time, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m asking you out, Y/N. I don’t want to miss out on this again. I don’t want to wonder what would’ve happened if we’d given this—us—a real shot.”

His words hit me harder than I expected. There was something so earnest in the way he said it, like he’d been carrying this feeling for a long time. And maybe I had been too. All these years, I’d tucked away those memories, convinced that whatever we could have had was lost in the past. But now, sitting here with him, it felt like the door had opened again.

I hesitated, not because I didn’t want to say yes, but because this felt big. It wasn’t just a casual date—it was a reconnection with the person who had been a part of some of the best years of my life.

“Joe…” I started, unsure of how to put my feelings into words.

He squeezed my hand gently, his eyes soft and understanding. “I know. It’s a lot. But I don’t want to let you slip away again, Y/N. Not this time.”

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment, and then nodded. “Okay. Let’s give it a shot.”

His smile lit up the room, and it sent a rush of warmth through me. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I said, my own smile widening. “I think we owe it to ourselves to see what happens.”

His words hung in the air, and I felt my heart skip a beat. There was something in the way he was looking at me—something different from how he used to look at me when we were kids. It was deeper now, more intense, like he was seeing me for the first time in a long time, really seeing me.

Before I could say anything, the doctor stepped in, clearing his throat as he entered the room. The moment broke, and I stepped back, letting the doctor check Joe’s vitals one last time. The distraction gave me a moment to breathe, to calm the fluttering in my chest that his words had caused.

“Alright, Joe,” the doctor said after a brief exam. “Everything looks good. You’re clear to go, but take it easy for a few days, alright? No more football with the nephews.”

Joe grinned. “No promises, doc.”

The doctor chuckled, handing me the discharge paperwork. “He’s in your hands now, Nurse Y/N. Make sure he behaves.”

“I’ll try,” I said with a smirk, shooting Joe a playful look.

As the doctor left, I turned back to Joe, holding the paperwork in my hands. “Looks like you’re free to go.”

Joe nodded, though there was a glimmer of something playful in his eyes. “I guess that means you get to help me to my car, too.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at my lips. “Don’t push your luck, Burrow.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, his ankle wrapped and his movements slow as he tested his balance with the crutches the nurse had given him. I stood by the door, watching as he struggled for a second, clearly still groggy from his head injury.

“Need a hand?” I asked, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow.

He glanced up at me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I think I’m good, but if you want to help, I’m not going to say no.”

I laughed, stepping forward and looping my arm around his back, steadying him as he got to his feet. His arm draped over my shoulder, and I could feel the warmth of his body next to mine, a small reminder of how close we were.

We made our way down the hallway slowly, Joe leaning on me more than he probably needed to, though I didn’t mind. As we stepped outside, the cool morning air greeted us, fresh and quiet, the world still waking up. Joe’s black SUV was parked a few steps away, and I helped him hobble over to the passenger side.

“You really don’t have to help me into the car, you know,” he said, though there was no real protest in his voice.

“Just shut up and let me do my job,” I teased, opening the passenger door and carefully guiding him as he eased himself into the seat. His face tightened in discomfort for a moment as he shifted his injured ankle into the car, but I held onto him, making sure he was steady.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice softer now, his eyes meeting mine. And for a moment, we just stood there, his hand still on my arm, our faces inches apart. The morning light cast a soft glow over everything, making it feel like we were in our own little world again, like there was nothing between us but the weight of this moment.

Without thinking, I leaned down slightly to help him adjust his seatbelt, and that’s when it happened. His hand slipped from my arm to my waist, his grip firm but gentle, pulling me just a little closer. I froze, my breath catching in my throat, and when I looked up, his eyes were locked on mine, something intense and unspoken passing between us.

Before I could say anything, before I could even think, Joe leaned in, his lips brushing mine in the softest, most unexpected kiss. It wasn’t rushed or urgent, but it was full of everything we hadn’t said, everything we’d been holding onto for years. His hand tightened slightly on my waist, and I could feel the warmth of his body pulling me in.

I kissed him back, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing with all the memories of us, of the boy he used to be and the man he was now. And for that moment, nothing else mattered. Just him, just this.

When we finally pulled away, I could feel the flush on my cheeks, the air between us charged with the promise of something more. Joe smiled, that familiar, lopsided grin that made my heart skip a beat.

“Well,” he said, his voice soft but full of that teasing edge, “I guess that was a good start.”

I laughed, trying to steady my breath. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

“About that date…” Joe began, his eyes still locked on mine. “How about tomorrow night? Dinner? Maybe a chance to do this properly?”

I smiled, the excitement bubbling up inside me. “Tomorrow sounds perfect.”

He grinned, and for a moment, we were just two people who’d finally found their way back to each other, after all these years. As I stepped back, closing the passenger door, I felt lighter, like something had shifted between us—something good.

“Drive safe, Burrow,” I called out, stepping away as he started the engine.

Joe smirked, giving me a mock salute as he pulled out of the parking lot. “See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

And as I watched his SUV disappear down the quiet street, I couldn’t help but smile, feeling like this was only the beginning of something we’d both been waiting for.

——————————

we kinda lost today lol, but I wanted to give this one for you guys. love a fluffy joey in love with his best friend (wishing it was me).

#joe burrow fluff #bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #joeburrow #joe burrow smut #joe burrow angst #Spotify

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s-4pphics · 1 year ago

Text

click! 3 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you need a roommate, and you love eggplant. [college au]

WORD COUNT: 7.4k

WARNINGS: photographer/roommate!ellie, ocs an artist with a rep and black :3, crack, light smut [masturbation], sexual tension… it’s starting, light angst, weed, brief mention of suicide, pretty cute tbh

one. two. four.

A/N: hi stinks :3 i’m obsessed with them….. taking my time with these two hope yall like it LOL bye

Butterflies are fluttering, birds are chirping, and the crops are watered when you wake. You slept through the entire night, and the beast inside you is satisfied.

But the gorgeous scenery in your mind dies in an instant when you recall what the fuck you did last night. Maybe you are a low-down, dirty whore, just like your roomie said. She has the audacity to terrorize your subconscious enough to actually feature in one of your meat-beat sessions. Not only that, but you busted in two minutes to the thought of her demanding you to fix a window that isn’t even broken.

You… are a hoe. How awkward. You just wanted to fight her days ago, and now your pussy’s got a crush. Not you, your pussy. You accepted that you and your cunt are two separate entities a long time ago.

You lay in your bed, eyes melting holes into the ceiling; What the fuck is going on?

Ellie… sex… her asking for head… you asking for head from her… The math isn’t mathing. Ellie’s gay as a bitch, you know that for a fact, but why her? The math has never mathed, actually. You’re going to fail statistics, speaking of… Is statistics considered math?

It’s still freezing in your apartment. Is Ellie still not back yet? Your shared space is never this silent or cold; A rat could be crawling around in search of cheese and you would hear it like a hounddog.

You throw your blankets off and instantly regret it; You’re shocked snow isn’t falling from inside your fucking apartment. It has to be negative thirty in this bitch. If Ellie’s asleep, you don’t know how she survived the night.

Your knees crack as you quietly pull your door open, light creaks from the hardwood sounding your walk to Ellie’s bedroom. You can’t imagine how crazy you look, ear pressed against her door, listening for any movement to prove that she’s alive and not a fucking block of ice.

Either you’re hallucinating, or she’s mumbling in her sleep. Her voice is hushed and croaky, supposedly asking if Spider-man stole her fucking lunch money to pay the Pope back for stealing… something; You can’t pick up what she said from out here. Your hand flies over your mouth to hide a laugh. She must be exhausted; When did she get back last night?

You let her sleep-talk in peace and head to the kitchen to brew your coffee. You really beat off to that bonehead. Go figure.

For the first time since Ellie moved in, you’re gone before her.

You’re strolling the icy streets, strutting to your heart’s content, Tina Snow vibrating your eardrums. Last night’s nut really did something incredible to your spirit; You’ve never felt lighter. One more unsuspecting gust of wind and you’re taking flight, for sure. Your brain gives subconscious Ellie knuckles.

You burst through the coffee shop like you own it, silently celebrating when you realize there’s no line. You order and receive your dark drink in record time, taking a seat by the large window at the back of the shop. What gorgeous scenery!

Your cup is almost empty when your phone vibrates on the table. It’s Maymay! You answer with the brightest smile. “My babyyy— “

“Bitch, cut the shit! Fuck you! Why haven’t you called?” She yells through the line.

“Well, uh…” You almost committed arson in your building! “Just… just school stuff! You wouldn’t know about that, Ms. Celebrity!”

Your best friend giggles, “Shut up! I’m a D-lister at most!” You shake your head in denial; That internship program doesn’t understand the blessing that Amaya holds. Her ear is godsend and she comprehends sound like no other.

“How’s the roomie thing going? I haven’t heard much!”

Oh, fuck. “… Fine.”

She’s silent for a second, “The fuck does that mean?”

Your fingernail snaps between your teeth. “I mean it’s fine, just like I said.”

Amaya hums, clearly suspicious, “… Whatever you say, then.”

“Yup.”

She snorts. “Anyway… what’re you doing for Chri— “

“Ellie made me bust with her telepathy.” This is not the conversation you should be having in a coffee shop, but if people heard you, fuck it.

“… Bitch… What?”

“I didn’t wanna tell you, okay? I didn't! Incel made her way into my fucking brain and I busted! Sue me!”

Silence passes, and then there’s laughter from the other line. “Are you high right now?”

“No, it’s fucking nine in the morning— “

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a lil’ wake-and-bake— “

“I just told you I mentally fucked my roomie and that’s what you say?”

She sighs, “I mean… I saw the picture you sent me. She's not ugly. Doesn’t seem like your type, though.”

“She’s not my type! I thought about her for two seconds on accident and I came! Abby couldn’t even get me there and she—”

“Woah, woah, pause… Abby couldn’t get you where?”

“Not a location, bitch. I couldn’t bust!” A sharp gasp from her. Your brows furrow, “What?”

“Oh, bitch…”

“What, Maya?”

You hear the smile in her tone, “You gotta crush?”

You gag, “Fuck no! Have you lost your mind! My…” You pause and check to see if anyone’s near. Nobody. You whisper-shout into the speaker, “My pussy’s crushing!”

Amaya sucks her teeth in annoyance, “Girl…”

“It’s true! You know she gotta mind of her own! I can’t do anything about that!”

Your bestie’s snickering to herself, “Whatever you say, mama. But for someone that thinks with her clit… you might wanna have a conversation with her. You know her better than anybody.”

You’re stunned to say the least. You love Amaya to death, but she’s batshit crazy to suggest that you’re crushing on someone like Ellie. She called you a worthless tramp in broad daylight, for fucks sake. She wasn’t entirely wrong, but it still stung a little.

You sip your coffee, “I love you… I gotta go.”

“Mhm…” You hate how sure she sounds. “Love you, too.”

You nervously twiddle your fingers until your first class, the day dragging even more than usual. Mainly due to the fact that you’re wondering if Amaya was right. Your lectures feel like a blur; All you can think about is Ellie. The spot-covered hermit. Squash-loving loser with a decent nose… and decent hands… and decently toned arms.

Your pussy squeezes in the middle of class when you briefly envision them wrapped around you, and it sends a shockwave to your brain.

Oh, shit.

Raja was sweet enough to cover your shift for you; You can’t focus on credit card sales today.

The second you enter your freezing apartment, you hear quiet sobs. Ellie sits at the small table as she scrolls through her phone, forms scattered all over the glass. She’s sniffling and wiping her face with her hoodie sleeve, and your brows crease.

You shut the door behind you before making your way over to her. Not too close, though.

“Uhh… you good?”

“Yeah.” Her voice breaks, and something shifts in you. Somewhere in your chest. Why’re her cheeks so red?

“… You sure?” You cringe.

“I said yeah.”

She clearly doesn’t want to chat. Whatever’s going on, she can handle on her own. She doesn’t need coddling, especially from you. Why’re you still standing here?

“I, uh… I found a Snicker’s.” You slip.

Ellie finally faces you, clearly confused. Why can’t you just shut the hell up for once? Another shift from your chest at her teary eyes.

“What?”

“I mean, uh, I bought a Snicker’s. Like, candy.” You pull said bar from your puffer pocket. You did buy it for Abby for when you see her to study, but it looks like your roomie needs it more.

“… Okay?”

You pull out and hand the wrapped chocolate out to her, “You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

Her eyes switch between your face and the candy bar; She doesn’t look impressed. Maybe she’s allergic to nuts! You knew you should’ve got the fucking Sour Straws—

“Thanks.”

You barely register her taking the bar, her cold fingers brushing against yours. Another zap in your brain. She rips it open and eats it in silence. An awkward chuckle from you, “Is it yummy?” You expect her to tell you to fuck off, but she doesn’t. She just nods and chews.

Your nosiness gets the best of you, discreetly inspecting the forms on the table. A bunch of random names are crossed out in her notebook, a couple of signed forms crumpled up and raggedy. You don’t know what any of this means.

“You’re not slick.” Ellie talks with her mouth full.

“Hm?”

“You’re really gonna read my shit like that?”

You take a seat next to her, “… I didn’t.”

“Okay,” She mumbles. “Remember…” She scratches at her ear, “Remember that booking that got canceled because of the storm?” You nod. She swallows the last bits of her candy. “I was supposed to take pictures of this couple before their wedding, but…”

“They, uh… They don’t wanna reschedule. Said it’s too hectic because of the holidays and there’s not enough time.”

You hum, “Okay… So, what does that mean?”

“I can’t submit my portfolio without those pictures. And it fucked my money up.”

“Damn… how much were they paying?”

She scoffs, “A lot. I don’t even wanna think about how much I lost trying to get the setup right.”

You ponder for a second, “I mean, I’m sure there’s other people who want nice pics. You’ve been hustling this whole time— “

She interrupts, “I don’t wanna hustle anymore. I’m… I’m tired. It’s fucking exhausting doing promotions by yourself.”

You hear the stress in her voice, and you feel for her. Being a full-time creative can be pretty shitty at times. Most times. The amount of attempts you’ve had in commissioning in your lifetime is astronomical; Some pick-ups, lots of disappointment.

“What was the shoot about? Like… the scene, I guess.”

Ellie nibbles at her lip, “Romance.”

“Boooring,” You joke. Ellie doesn’t laugh, so you cough awkwardly. “You gotta come up with a new plan, I guess. It’s all about the grind mentality.”

“You sound like a misogynist with a podcast.”

You chuckle and she continues, “There’s no new plan. The portfolio I’m submitting is based on emotion. It’s not… complete if love isn’t somewhere in there. That’s how I see it.”

“Speaking of see, can I?” You arch your brow, “Your portfolio, I mean.”

“No.” She says plainly.

“Wha— why not? You saw my paintings!”

“They’re on the wall… in the living room. There’s no other choice but to look at them.”

“Bro, what the fuck. You’re not the only visualist in this house! I might have some pointers you could use!”

“I don’t need pointers from you.” Aggravation clouds her pupils. You try not to take offense to that, but it doesn’t work.

“Why the fuck not?” You glare.

Her tone gets louder, “Because you wouldn’t understand it! Why do you wanna help so badly, anyway!”

“I’m—“ But you don’t know what to say. Why do you want to help? Ellie squints, awaiting your answer, but nothing comes out. You’re uncomfortable; It’s suddenly not that cold in here.

“Whatever. Forget I asked!” You rise and march to your room. Another slammed door, another pending noise complaint.

Ellie hasn’t talked to you in days, and you’re not sure why it’s bothering you. You’ve been sending her looks throughout the entire stats lecture, but she hasn’t acknowledged you once. She’s just scribbling and tapping her ballpoint on her notebook. Her notetaking seems very intense from where you sit, her eyes scanning the board.

Does Ellie like math? Or logistics? Or whatever statistics is considered? Curiosity pokes at you; You don’t know much about your roommate. You’ve been living together for nearly a month, and you haven’t had one valuable conversation yet. What about photography interests Ellie so much? Why does she enjoy disgusting vegetables? When did she get her tattoo? Is she actually gay or are you a dickhead for assuming?

Your venturing thoughts makes class fly by; Another successful day of not taking useful notes!

Ellie’s packing her run-down backpack and you watch. She’s meticulously placing her books on top of each, at least from what you can see from the big hole on the side. Her headphones are thrown on, and in one swift motion, her bag is on her shoulder and she’s heading towards the door, holding it open for everyone leaving.

You swiftly pack and walk towards the exit. Ellie’s too distracted by her phone to notice you turn the corner to watch her. All the students vacant the room, and she lets the door shut. You follow from a distance as she moves towards the staircase, down the steps, out into the quad and onto the open field. She pauses, so you do too.

You follow her line of vision, right at the sky. It’s pretty today: the sun’s peeking out, just barely, from underneath the dark gray clouds, rays of light highlighting various sections of the quad.

Ellie unzips and digs in her bag, retrieving the olive-green polaroid before setting her bag down on the frosted grass. She maneuvers around the grass, trying to avoid obstruction from the trees, adjusting her stance, picking the best angle before holding her camera up. One quick flash, and she’s holding a photo of the sky.

She shakes the picture a bit before squatting to search through her bag, pulling out a large binder and placing the photo in a laminated encasing. You can’t see any of the pictures in detail, but there must be a lot in there. That binder is thick as fuck.

And just like that, she’s off into the cold.

You wonder what else is in that binder.

You’re starving. The second you get that direct deposit, you’re whipping up something fierce. Shrimp and eggplant have been calling your name for weeks; You’re ravenous for it.

You run up to the apartment to snag a granola bar, Ellie already in the kitchen, propped against the counter eating Kraft mac and cheese.

You shut the door behind you, “Wonderful weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

Ellie stops chewing, eyes large and soft cheeks filled with creamy noodles. “Hm?”

You walk to the cupboards, mouthwatering for Nature Valley, “It’s just beautiful outside! The trees, the sky! Almost pretty enough to paint, ain’t it!”

More chewing. She just shrugs, but you’re not having it, “I wish I gotta picture!”

“… Go take one.”

“Oh, my fucking god,” you mutter to yourself, “Can I see the picture you took earlier?”

“… How’d you know— “

“The details aren’t important! I was thinkiiing,” you rip open the wrapping, “if I can’t see your portfolio, I can see that giant photo book you have!”

She glances around awkwardly, “Were you watching me earlier?”

“… Well, yes— “

“What the fu— why?”

“I like seeing people do shit they enjoy.” You shrug and bite your bar. Ellie isn’t looking at you, but her cheeks tint, and it makes you grin. Interesting.

You chew and swallow, “Especially talented people.” You inch closer, just barely. “You should show me some pictures sometime… I’ll show you some of my secret creations, too. A little exchange, if you will.”

Her fingers clench around her plastic spoon, and her breathing changes, cheeks even brighter. Her hands are very nice… They look so soft.

“Think about it,” you say, quieter, just between the two of you, “Call it… roommate bonding.” You crunch and adjust your bag before walking towards the door. “I think it’s overdue!” You throw over your shoulder before shutting the door behind you.

You’re not sure if Ellie likes or hates compliments.

Closing was so hectic; you don’t make it home until one in the morning. Training rookies is probably the worst part about working in hardware; They never know where shit goes.

You don’t feel tired, though. The drive back home is usually when your exhaustion takes over, but this ride was smooth. Sleep is going to be difficult to come by tonight.

You unlock your front door and… push. And push. And push again. What the fuck. Something’s blocking the door. You fight with the wood until the crack is wide enough to slip through. The smell in the air is very telling as to why there’s a pile of hoodies blocking the slim opening at the bottom of the door.

Your mouth gapes at the sight of Ellie on the couch with no pants on, blunt in her hand… blowing O’s. Her eyes are glistening and lazy when she opens them. You quickly shut the door and kick the hoodies in their original position before the scent escapes.

“Hey,” she mutters. Goosebumps rise on your arms at her voice.

“… Why the fuck are you chiefing in this no smoke building.”

She stares like you’re stupid. “De-stressing.”

“Deez-fucking nuts! Ellie, we’re not gonna have a place to sleep if we get caught. Bitch ass Carol doesn’t play that shit.” You hate your landlord with every fiber of your being. The second anyone accidentally breaks a rule, she’s on their ass like grass. You can’t imagine how she’s going to react if she sees Ellie being disobedient on purpose. You’ll both be living out of your car. Fucking hag.

Your roommate sighs and crosses her legs, boxer shorts riding up her taut thighs. Alright, okay. She pats the empty cushion next to her.

“I'm bored.”

“Okay, what about it.”

She taps the cushion again. Your heartbeat spikes for some reason. “Roommate bonding.”

You gawk. Ellie’s never been this relaxed in your presence. Her posture is incredibly comfortable, leaning back against the propped pillows, manspreading. Why is it attractive?

So, you drop your bag and unzip your puffer before plopping down next to her. She says nothing, just extends the lit herb to you. You look between her and the big B. “That’s a fat doinker.”

“… Right.” Ellie puffs once more before attempting to share.

You push her cold hand back softly, “I don’t smoke.”

“Okay.” One last long pull from her, and she’s putting out the grass on the ashtray. “Do you wanna play checkers?” She exhales around smoke clouds, cold air blowing in from the barely cracked window.

“… What.”

“I said do you wanna play checke— “

“Are you a lesbian?”

Your eyes widen at your own question. Interrogation? Fuck. Ellie’s looking around the warm space blankly as if she’s trying to register what the fuck you just said. You’re a fucking asshole.

“E-Ellie, I’m sorry, I dunno why I asked— “

“Can you not tell.”

“Well, yeah.” You stutter, “… But I thought it was like… fucked up to assume based on uh, appearances, or whatever. I don’t have good gay-dar, so.”

“I’ve been called a carpet muncher since I was eight.”

“… Fuck, really?” She nods, face flat. Your fist extends, silently asking for knuckles, “Me too! That’s what’s up.”

“I almost killed myself.”

Your fist drops with your expression. “Oh… uh, damn… Sorry… I’m glad you didn’t, though, real shit.”

“What does love feel like?”

This conversation is giving you whiplash. “Are you one of those fake-deep potheads? Like, you believe in flat earth and all that other bullshit?”

Ellie blinks dumbly, “Uhh… I don’t think so…”

“Why do you ask?”

Ellie points at the wall, at one of your paintings. Two women laying on a bed of grass, completely at peace, surrounded by colorful flowers and butterflies. A small smile spreads across your face, recalling how excited you were to show your first girlfriend what you made for her birthday.

“Love feels like you're getting shot… but not in a bad way.” You ramble. “It’s like… like, fuck I’m really gonna die without this person next to me type shit.” You think back to when you made the painting on the wall, the memories of your younger self so deeply infatuated with another person for the first time. It felt eternal back then, souls interconnected.

But then your eyes travel to the next painting, right below the latter. Complete void, no color, no life, just darkness, and your expression falls. The faceless girl trapped in the center of madness is calm, though, accepting her doom with grace.

“That makes it worse, though…” You think of Dina and how you fought. How nasty it got. How disgusted she seemed with your presence. You almost want to cry as you relive it. “When they leave… something inside you really does die. That space never really gets filled again. You’re just kinda… stuck with a hole until you croak over.”

“What if they don’t leave?”

They all leave. “… I’m not sure yet.”

Ellie hums and it goes quiet for a moment. You wonder what she’s thinking about.

“Are you a lesbian?” Your roommate throws back at you. You laugh, “Are you asking if I eat coochie?”

Ellie nods with a giggle. You stiffen; This is the first time you’ve heard her laugh. The hairs on your arms stand upright at the sound.

“As a matter of fact, I do!” Ellie laughs harder, head resting against the back of the couch. You watch the apple of her cheeks heighten. But then the wind blows harder than normal and they drop. She's blank again. “The heater…”

“What about it?”

“It’s broken…”

Fuck. “Did you put in a maintenance request?” Her head shakes.

“Uh… why not?”

“Because I heard you masturbating and forgot.”

Your heart, stomach, pride is at your feet, “… What did you just say.”

Ellie finally looks at you, eyes doe-like, guilt swimming in them. “I’m… I’m sorry! I was sleeping and I woke up to pee but I couldn’t because you were— “

“Ellie— “

“It kept… buzzing, and I couldn’t move! I kept asking

myself how is her stamina this fucking good! It didn’t turn off until like… an hour later! I almost pissed in my bed— “

Your body heats at her confession; She thought about your stamina? You place a hand on her shoulder to ease her, and she stops. “It’s okay. I just… Yeah, this is awkward… We gotta submit that request before that next blizzard or we’re fucked.”

Ellie mutters in agreement, but she’s not listening. She’s eyeing your fingers, the ones resting on her shirt. If you move your thumb an inch, you’ll touch her collarbone.

“We, um… We can send it in the morning…” She whispers okay, and your fingers curl around the fabric. A sharp inhale from her, and you sigh. Her warm breath is hitting your wrist and you’re trying not to squirm. You watch her chest rise and fall at a steady pace, eyes flicking between yours and your hand.

You watch her and she watches you, hand inching up until you’re tracing the warm skin under her tee. Your nail scratches her collarbone, just barely, and the muscles in her thigh jerk. Nope. Not happening. You pull away and stand.

“This was… you’re funny.” You stare at your feet; You never took your shoes off. “Uh… bye.”

“Bye.” Her voice is flat. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you fucked up.

Your shoes go flying and you rush to your room. You’re not sure if you slammed the door or not; The pounding in your ears is too loud.

Ellie fucked up. She knows she did.

I heard you masturbating and forgot? You left over an hour ago, and she’s still replaying that moment in her mind. What the fuck was she thinking? She wants to peel her skin off and her stomach is in knots. The ghost of your hand is still on her. She was freezing before you came home, and now she’s overheating.

Ellie thinks she’s done a good job of acting normally around you after that night. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about it. All the time.

She hates how, every night since it happened, she listens for you. When you come home in the wee hours of the night, the devil convinces her that you’re aching and desperate, dripping and ready to get yourself to the peak you crave. You’ve been working so hard; You deserve to wind down.

It’s sick, she knows. She masks it well, but every time you're home, she’s hot. Roommate bonding, you’d said. Why did you say it like that, though? You sounded so alluring, like a siren preparing for a kill.

Maybe she’s reading into it too much. You're a flirt and you’re good at it…

It’s either hot or cold with you. Compliments, or cursing. Admiration or judgment. There’s no middle ground, and it’s driving her crazy.

Why did you have to touch her? You could’ve kept your distance like you’ve been doing, like you did in the kitchen. You gave her a chance to run at arm's length.

Ellie’s thoughts are racing; She needs to smoke again, but she’s too distracted to spark. That ache between her thighs is overpowering.

Her eyes travel over the painting that captured her attention a few weeks ago. A small self portrait of you. She commends your attention to detail, but still, you’re so gorgeous in person; There’s no comparison.

Two deep breaths, and her hand is shoved in her boxers, fingers slippery in seconds. She keeps her eyes glued to the painting as she rubs her clit in quick circles, the bud increasing her sensitivity.

It’s like the painting moves with every squeeze of her walls: she can almost see your animated eyes rolling into your skull, your pink tongue out, drool dripping down your chin. And your voice… It’s tantalizing when you want something. She can almost hear you now: it’s so good, right there, I love when you touch me like that.

Fuck, she wants your hands on her. Everywhere. Anywhere you want. She’s breathing so loud; She hopes you dozed off by now, even in your noticeably restless state.

But what if you’re not? What if you forgot something in the living room, or need a drink of water before bed, and you walk in and see the mess you make her? Her hand moves faster at the thought of you angry, disappointed that she couldn’t keep her hands to herself. She’ll never say, but something wicked happens in her underwear when you're fuming. She likes how expressive your eyes are.

Her free hand flies over her mouth as her stomach tightens, the beats in her clit and heart synced. She's so close. A few seconds, and she groans into her hand, the walls melting around her when it finally crashes. Tears jerk in her eyes as she rubs herself through it, riding it out for as long as she can.

The hand on her mouth slides under her shirt, cold fingers prodding her nipple as her orgasm descends. She gasps into the cold air, trying to catch her breath. She palms her clit and her walls twitch. She tiredly plops onto the couch, hand still in her underwear, eyes glued to your portrait, scaling the wall until she revisits the depiction of you and your first girlfriend.

The idea Ellie’s been sitting on for the last few days crashes down on her again. You’re soft, despite what others may say. You seem like a lover.

It’s Friday. Rent is due. Fuck.

You just got paid, and now more than half of your earnings is in your landlord's pocket. You haven’t even been grocery shopping yet.

Ellie has, apparently. It smells so good in the kitchen. You take back whatever you said about her and her cheffing skills. That soup was delicious; You secretly hope she cooks more. She can get down… a little bit.

You wipe the tired from your eyes and make way to the kitchen, and your jaw drops, stunned in your spot by the fridge. Empty grocery bags are stacked on the counter, and Ellie’s frying shrimp and eggplant.

“Hi… you didn’t eat last night. I heard you talking about egg— “

Your whimper, followed by several guttural sobs interrupt her greeting, hand flying over your mouth. Ellie simply stands by the counter with wide eyes, fork in hand.

Ellie thinks you’ve stopped crying, “Uh… I just wante— “

More loud sobs from you. Snot dribbles down from your nose and Ellie cringes, tearing a piece of paper towel and handing it to you. You take it graciously and blow your nose.

“This is,” sob “the best thing a-anyone,” sniffle… sob “has ever done f-for me.”

Ellie just nods and flips the eggplant. You can’t control yourself, arms wrapping around her waist, sobbing into her back.

“I, um… Consider it a peace offering, I guess.”

“I take back,” heave “I take back whatever dumb shit I said about you before you moved in,” heave “You’re so… fuck you, Ellie!” You hug her tighter.

“Queers gotta stick together.” She mumbles.

“Like wet pussy lips!” You wail, fat tears seeping into her t-shirt. She snickers to herself, “Get a plate.”

You sniffle all the way to the cupboards and set the tiny table.

Chef Butch. That’s Ellie’s new name around these parts.

For someone who supposedly “hates eggplant”, she seasoned and fried the fuck out of it. Get this bitch on the Food Network!

You’re full and energized before leaving the house for once. You don’t even need your morning coffee.

“Hey, uh… can I ask you something?” Ellie calls from the table.

You pause dish scrubbing to look at her, “Mhm.”

“It’s kinda… a big deal.” She mutters, eyes flickering nervously.

“… Should I sit down, or?”

“It’s not bad. It’s just… I don’t know.”

You rinse your hands and set the last plate on the rack to dry. You grab a clean towelette and sit across from her. Ellie can’t meet your eyes and her cheeks are fiery. You smirk.

“Need help with something?”

Her head bobs, eyes glued to the table.

“Then ask me.” You lean closer. Ellie whispers your name. A deep sigh from her, lips parting around her question.

“Do you wanna model for my portfolio— “

“Of course I’ll help you send nudes— “

Confusion paints her face, “What.”

“…What.”

“What did you just say.”

“Nothing.” You shrug, face burning.

“You can say no. It’s not that serious.” That guarded twinge in Ellie’s voice has returned. You don’t like it.

“You think I’m pretty?” You tease with a pout.

“What.”

“You think I’m sooo hot and sexy that you’re gonna make me the star of your— “

Ellie blushes, “You’re not the… star of anyth— “

Your hands wave excitedly, “I’m so honored! I’d love to! When do we start!”

Ellie sighs, massaging her temples, “Do you have work on Sunday?”

“Not anymore!” You do a little dance in your seat, “What am I gonna be doing in the pics, o ye camera master?” Her ears are so red. Why is she so fucking nervous? You’ve already accepted!

“Just look like you’re in love.”

“… Oh.”

Ellie grimaces at your tone, “Listen, I only have two weeks to finish this submission. I haven’t had any luck finding people to help me out!”

You pause, “Is this why you buttered me up with a buss down plate?”

“… Would you hate me if I said yes?”

“Fuck, Ellie— “

“I’m desperate!” She exclaims, “But I also don’t wanna just ask anybody! I need the photos to be believable! And you kinda… you kinda get it!” Ellie points to the painting of you and your first love.

The silence is thick as you explore her face. Her forestry-filled eyes are nervous, but there’s a glimmer of hope in her pupils. You like it; Her orbs look brighter. Greener somehow.

“I wanna see it, then.”

“See what?”

“Your big ass binder… and your portfolio!”

Her eyes roll. “Pick one.”

“Wooow, you’re really gonna ruin another opportunity for roommate bonding? That’s wild. Alright.”

“Pick one.” She’s stern with her demand… You like that, too.

You smirk. “Show me your portfolio.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You see it when it’s finished. After the pictures are done. Take it or leave it.”

“Okay, damn,” You give up, “So… what do I gotta do for prep?”

“Not much right now. I have to set up my equipment and all that…” She glances around the living room, “we’ll talk about the rest later.”

“‘Kay.” You twiddle your fingers together before the biggest light bulb shines over your head.

“I also get 40% of the earnings— “

“Fuck no.” She says with a small grin. You pout.

You knew something was wrong when Abby randomly invited you over to study… on a Saturday night. You don’t know how she’s a STEM major; You haven’t seen her with a book since you’ve met her!

The second she opened her door, something was off. It’s been days since you’ve seen her and she barely reacted to the grilled cheese you brought. Her answers have been curt and she’s not laughing at any of your jokes. Your Cheetos are doing a great job at soothing your anxiety. You want to comfort your friend with whatever’s bothering her, but you’re not sure how.

So, you talk. And talk. And talk about Ellie.

“I’m not gonna lie,” You crunch, comfortable on Abby’s beanbag. “I’m kinda excited! I’ve never done a photoshoot before.”

Abby shrugs from her work desk, voice monotone, “I mean, just be mindful. It’s obviously not a game for her so you needa take it seriously.”

Your brows furrow, “What do you mean?”

“Your roommate slash crush— “

Your head shakes, “I don’t have a crush— “

“Slash crush,” Your friend emphasizes, “asked you to be a part of probably one of the biggest creations of her life. If that photo book or whatever is as important as you say, it’s not just a “photoshoot” for her.”

… Nah, you’re still confused.

Abby scoffs, “A photoshoot about romance and you’re her only model, making you breakfast, and whatever else she’s done! How much does she have to spell it out for you?”

“I don’t understand why you’re yelling!”

“I’m not fucking yelling! I’m watching out for you before you do something you regret!”

You sit up straighter, “And what does that mean!”

“What have you been saying this entire time? I don’t wanna live with someone I fucked!” She mocks, “It seems like y’all are pretty close to that.”

You stare pensively, “We haven’t fucked and we’re not going to! You’re doing the fucking most!”

“Yeah, whatever.” She continues to scribble.

“Abby… what’s wrong?” You clumsily stand from the bean bag. “I’m so con— “

“You wanna know what’s wrong?” She snaps, pen slamming on the desk. “Every time we see each other, you talk about her! I’m sick of hearing about… whatever the fuck you have going on at home, quite frankly! We can’t even joke around because you’re so pressed about someone you don’t even like!”

You’re going to cry; You can feel it. Abby’s never been this upset with you, “Why did you wait so long to tell me this? I would’ve stopped coming to you a long time ago!”

“Because I cared and didn’t want you to feel by yourself while Maya’s away! That’s why! But now, it’s like…”

A tired sigh from her and she gives up, hand waving dismissively, “Talking about this shit is pointless. I’m going to bed. Shut the door behind you.” Abby rises and brushes past you, switching her lamp off and climbing into her warm bed. You allow your tears to fall as you gather your belongings, gently shutting her door behind you and attacking your face with your sleeve. You hate crying in public.

The elevator ride feels much longer than it should’ve been as you weep. The doors shutter open, and you can see the weather is not on your side. It’s pelting bullets outside; You knew you shouldn’t have walked.

“You got a ride?”

You look over at the security guard perched behind the front desk. Fuck all feds, but Stanley’s cool. You shake your head.

“You can’t walk home in that. Driving is also dangerous but,” He shrugs, and you sigh. You pull your phone out of your pocket.

“Hey, Siri… Call Chef Butch…”

“CALLING CHEF BUTCH.”

Stanley’s warm laughter eases your shoulders.

DING!

You unlock your phone and smile at Ellie’s text, rising from your chair.

“Alright, Stan. Pray I don’t turn into Frosty out there,” You throw over your shoulder.

He laughs, opening the heavy door for you, “I will! Get home safely!” You throw your hood over your beanie, easing past him and nearly being blown away by the fucking wind. How did Ellie drive in this shit!

You somehow manage to follow the view of your car, pounding on the passenger window to get Ellie to unlock it. You miss your step on the curb and fall face first into the seat. You hear Ellie’s laughter.

“You alright?”

“Yup! Fucking peachy, thanks!” You stumble in and slam the door with the wind, out of breath, body melting from the heat. “You couldn’t have parked a little closer?”

“… No.”

You stare at her through the snow in your lashes, “Ellie, take us home, please. I’m annoyed and going through a fucking breakdown, like I can’t be outside right now. I’m gonna pass out!”

“… You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” You spit.

“Alright.” She puts the car in drive, but her foot is still pressed on the brake.

“I just can’t believe this shit right now!” You ramble anyway. “You think you know a person, like, fuck! This is stupid!” You punch the glove compartment.

“… What happ— “

“Like, fuck! Fuuuck! Like what the fuck!”

You’re screaming your head off and Ellie’s just watching, face flat as ever. It makes you scream louder. But your wails pause when your eyes flicker downward. Veiny hands clenched around the steering wheel. Your screams suddenly sound like whimpers. When’s the last time you had sex?

Is it sad that the thought of Ellie choking you out is easing your meltdown? This is the worst day ever!

“I’m gonna rip my fucking face off— “

“Why're you staring at my hands like that?”

“What the fuck, I’m not staring. Be quiet.”

Your roommate grins like a fox, “Okay.”

The car’s moving and so are your eyes, all over Ellie, wherever they can reach. You’re pissed and horny and you need a shot.

“You ever get the urge to strangle the fuck outta someone?”

“Mhm.”

You ponder, “How does it feel to smoke weed?”

She shrugs, “It feels good.”

“How good? Scale of one to ten.”

“… Thirteen.”

“Better than sex?” You ask quietly. Your brain is elsewhere, locked on the bulging blue veins in her hand, following the lines through her hoodie.

She ponders, “… Yes.”

“You’re biased, though. I can’t trust you.”

“Stop staring at my hands like that.” Her low voice is like a kick in your back, spine slightly arching in your chair. You’re glad she’s looking at the road; She’s making you go into heat and she doesn’t need to see it. Maybe Abby was right about you being a fucking hypocrite.

“Or what?” Your tone is icy, and she licks her lips.

“I’ll pull over.”

You shudder at her boldness, “Pull over.”

Your car jerks to a stop and you jolt forward, eyes still glued onto Ellie’s mouth. One kiss… It isn’t sex. It’s just kissing; Who doesn’t love kissing? You’re alone and warm and it’s gorgeous outside. It would be just a kiss. Just one, just one.

Ellie’s staring at you, eyes reminiscent of the storm outside. Flurrying and dark. Her tongue swipes over her lips again, and your gut swirls. “Stop staring at my hands.” You suck your bottom lip in your mouth when her breath hits it. She’s leaning forward and so are you. Just one kiss, that’s all you need.

Your pussy’s talking and she’s loud… Literally meowing for her.

“Is that a fucking cat?” Ellie whispers, nose brushing yours… She can hear that? How horny are you?

“Dude, that’s a cat! There’s a cat right there!” Her gasps shock you, and you peer out the window, finding a small, dark spot in gusts of white snow. There is a cat!

“Oh, my fucking god! Ellie, what the fuck—“ You’re pushing the door open and she grabs your arm.

“Wait, you’re gonna fucking fall— “

“We can’t leave her, she’s gonna die out here!” You rush out in seconds and you’re slipping like a cartoon character on a banana. You’re kissing the air to lure the kitty over, but she just cries. She’s probably starving!

“C’mere, baby, c’mon!” You hear Ellie muttering curses from behind you. After almost busting your face on icy concrete, you’re finally close enough to scoop up the shivering ball of fur, and you’re sobbing as you wrap your scarf around her tiny body.

“Ellie,” you choke, “We ca—can’t leave h-her— “

“Okay, okay, stop crying, where is she?” You hold up the bundled fabric and Ellie gently takes her, shoving her in her hoodie before grabbing your wrist and guiding you to the car. Ellie hops in the driver's seat, the car filled with desperate meows and your hysterical sobs.

Ellie cranks the heat and holds the wrapped furball, softly cooing at her.

“Where’s your mama, hm?”

Meow!

“No mama?”

Meow! Meow!

You’re wailing, “She’s a fucking or—orphan— “

“Can you be quiet.” Ellie snaps.

“O—“you sniffle harshly, “Ok—okay— “

“Hold her, I gotta drive. We’re going to Petco.” Ellie’s zooming down the street, whipping and swerving. You’re almost positive she ran a red light.

“I know you don’t like small animals, but c-can we keep her, please— “

Ellie’s lip curls, “It’s not that I don’t… not like them—” She rambles on, but you’re so focused on the baby in front of you. Poor thing looks so tired. What if she’s sick? Oh God, she would’ve froze to death if you didn’t stop—

You blabber to her between choked whimpers, “I love you so much, we’re gonna get you safe, don’t worry— “

“Oh, my fucking god,” Ellie sighs softly beside you.

Pheromones will have to wait. You’re a mother now.

After your emergency pet escapade, you and Ellie sneak the cat past the complex security and into your apartment. If anyone finds out — if Carol finds out — you’re fucked… and unhoused.

Small meows are filling your ears. Your baby’s full, at least. Poor thing was horking down minced tuna in the car. Her teeth are so small and cute. She looks like she’s going to doze off soon.

You watch as Ellie sets up her little area in the living room… Right next to her fucking photography set up when the fuck did she do that—

The corner of the living room is fully decked with maroon and ebony backdrops, Ellie’s sticker-littered camera resting proudly on its stand. There’s a… big ass umbrella-looking thing towering over the setup and a stool on the dark floor cover. There’s a small, white briefcase on it, tied down with a padlock. It’s either a gun or her portfolio.

“Bring her over here.”

Your gawking gets cut short as you cradle kitty over to Ellie, handing her over so she can lay her on the small, paw-shaped bed. She’s purring; Your heart’s melting.

“I see you haven’t changed your mind.”

Ellie’s tucking your baby in, “About?” She hums.

“The shoot.” You whisper.

“Why would I?” She faces you and stands. You shrug nonchalantly, but your mind’s racing. You probably found someone worthy of doing it.

Ellie inches closer, looking down at you. “Consider it roommate bonding… Featuring adopted cat child.”

You giggle. She's staring at your smile, all over your face. Into your eyes. Yours flicker down to her mouth. Either you're hallucinating, or she’s leaning closer. One kiss won’t hurt.

“Um…” She whispers, gaze dropping to the floor. “Earlier I was gonna… say something.”

“What is it?”

She shrugs, “… I forgot.”

“Okay.” You’re whispering now. She’s staring at your mouth. Her eyes are hypnotizing; There's a universe in them. A forest with trees that grow for eternities, miles and miles of green meadows.

“You’re staring.” She mutters.

“So are you.”

Ellie wants to say something. You can see it. But she doesn’t, and neither do you. “Gotta get up early… I’ll see you tomorrow?” Her voice cracks.

You’re cheesing and your hearts in your throat. “Yes. See you tomorrow.”

One last toothy grin, she’s gone into her room, door shutting softly for the first time. You exhale like you’ve been holding your breath, already missing her presence.

You’re giddy when you finally climb into bed. You can’t help but think that Ellie is, too.

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