#CW harsh language

[chargetheintruder]

The second biggest threat in 2024.

Short version: lots of Americans in general and lots of Democrats in particular are feeling poorer than we were, thanks to lapsed and betrayed benefits. Meaning: yes, having the corrupt and back-biting Supreme Court push people off of a cliff with regards to student loan relief didn't help, but it runs deeper than this.

It's that AND the engineered expiring of Trump's "tax breaks" for the middle class during Biden's term, and also this:

Meaning people feel like they're losing money hand over fist, regardless of how well people might be doing in the workplace.

And yes, it's the Second Biggest issue since it isn't about a) putting Trump behind bars and disqualifying him from further political office (remember the 14th Amendment) and also stuffing the Supreme Court until it gets back on the damned team again, OR b) doing whatever it takes to keep World War III, As Usual, from breaking out in the Middle East over Israeli business (and yes, it's complicated and a mess, but the short of it is (i) Israel has no business even remotely looking or sounding fascist at any given time, while (ii) Hamas and Palestinians really could learn how to be a civil society and NOT just constantly attack and kill people like the REST OF the Middle Fucking East).

What I'm saying is: I can wrap my tired brain around the Second Biggest Issue. I can imagine our doing something about it. Trump's not going to go to or stay in prison until or unless we stuff the Supreme Court and also throw the entire book at him, 14th Amendment and all. And we've all, as human beings, completely blown the last three good chances we had at peace between Israel and anyone else? Yeah.

So, here's the deal with the Second Biggest Issue. Congress in general and the Traitor Party in the House in particular just needs to get rolled the fuck over. It's that simple: everyone needs to be grabbed roughly as fuck by their shortest short hairs and brought back ON the team already, if only because the rest of the world is so fucked up that WE have to be a rational neighbor if not role model for them.

And in the medium-term this means finding ways (without engineering a new pandemic, mind you) to force the issues on a) Student Loan Debt Relief, wherever possible, since it was promised until Harlan Crow's sleeper muppets on that "Supreme Court" decided to be fucking traitors, and b) rreforming and funding the hell out of expanding Social Security until people on it are no longer in abject poverty. Yes, two high-risk and high-profile goals at once, I get it.

But to be candid, I can't think of much else that would give President Joe Is Still Biden some honest-to-God, "sit down and SHUT UP" Points to use against whatever Trump Muppet he faces in 2024. And as for having those points already, versus Congress? There's already plenty of blackmail material that can be coughed up against ANY Congressman, it's just a question of how willing you have to be to go IN on everyone as roughly as possible.

And there's the issue: is there the will and manpower to actually put a gun to everybody's head in Congress until actual good work and budgeting gets done? I doubt it. But to be candid? We had two solid years of control of the Congress and they STILL didn't deliver the goods. They still didn't act aggressively in the best interests of this Union and her people. Nope, not even post-January 6th.

What I'm saying is: it's not just corruption. It's not just the unfettered psychosis of the Reich Wingers in the House.

It's that the people who say they represent the actual majority of this nation literally refuse to act like it time and again even when they can. At this point I'm assuming your average Democratic Congressman has some form of Stockholm Syndrome and literally will not act in the best interest of the American People who voted for them, nope, not until or unless they can "get brownie points" by sucking Traitor Party off somehow. It's appalling and ridiculous.

It is. It's appalling and ridiculous that I have to cyberbully and threaten folks and demand a coup'd'etat, of all things, just to get anything to work properly? Yeah. But here we are now, and the Media's looking for excuses, any excuses, to betray the President and to let the Head Traitor out of the cage before he's even in it.

[mysicklove]

Summary: four-year-old Yuuji didnt mean to bring up Mr. Gojos crush on you, which of course, leads to Sukuna's harsh teasing.

cw: fem! reader (reader gets referred to as girl, pretty, and mommy), curse words, suggestive language, lion king spoilers (lol)

wc: 1.8k

a/n: i love making sukuna an absolute menace. poor yuuji tho. i think i am going to introduce gojo as a character, because I think it would be entertaining to piss Sukuna off lol.

big brother au masterlist

“Su-kuna!”

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“Language,” You scold, not peering up from your book. Yuuji lays sprawled out on top of the both of you – his head in your lap, and practically purring in content when you gently pet the top of his head, while his little legs are on Sukuna’s thighs. 

Yuuji giggles into your shirt, shaking his head mischeviously. “Bad word Su-kuna!”

In an instant, you feel the toddler being ripped away from your lap with a tiny screech. The noise startles you, and you perk up from your book to look to where the boy has gone to. But, you aren't surprised to see him dangling in the air by his ankle – Sukuna’s long fingers skillfully hold onto Yuujis chubby little leg tight enough to not drop him, but gently enough to not cause physical harm. 

The boy doesn't seem to mind this position, being in it so frequently. Giggles and squeals leave the toddler's mouth as he stares at his now upside down brother. “You learning how to speak correctly?”

Yuuji nods his head, and his hands try to reach for Sukunas shirt. You rest your head on the man's shoulder, chuckling at the boy who was squirming in the air. “Uh-huh! F-Fush-i-guro taught me!” The dark haired toddlers last name was hard to pronounce, and it was amusing watching how Yuuji sounded it out.

Sukuna makes a loud groaning noise and you cover your mouth to hold back another laugh. “Of course you made friends with Gojo’s new brat. First he hits on my girl, and now his new kid is gonna manipulate this idiot.” He shakes Yuuji in the air to demonstrate his point, ignoring the squeals. 

You roll your eyes with a laugh. “Just because Megumi taught Yuuji how to say your name correctly, doesn't mean the kid is manipulating him. Y’know Yuuji struggles with words sometimes.” You watch as the child in turn shakes his head in defiance, letting out a “Nu-uh!” that only makes you smile. You turn back over to your lover, kissing his cheek. “Aw, does it make you sad that our little Yuuji is growing up?”

“No,” he quickly rebuttals, “Brat isnt growing up fast enough. I am mad that you're not denying the fact that the white haired idiot is flirting with you.” You know that wasn't the full truth, but alas, Sukuna was extremely stubborn and would never admit that he didn't want his brother to grow up. 

“Fush-i-guro says Mr. Gojo thinks you are pretty!” Yuuji announces, beaming at you from the air. You hold back a wince, smiling awkwardly back at the innocent words of the toddler. You watch as the boys cheeks begin to flush from all the blood rushing to his head, and immediately as if sensing it, Sukuna flips over the boy and instead places him on his lap, holding onto the back of his neck.

The action makes you smile, noticing the thumb that rubs gently at the pale skin. But when you glance at Sukuna, you notice quickly that he was anything but happy. Sukunas dark eyes twitches, flickering to you, and he speaks between his teeth. “Did he now? I may need to have a talk with Mr. Gojo next time I pick the little pest up. Does Fushiguro say anything else?”  

“Sukuna,” you whine, realising that the hold on the boys neck was not out of affection – instead was used to trap the boy while he was questioned. “Y’know Gojo is alot. He just wants to–”

“Fush-i-guro says Mr. Gojo has a crush on Y/N!”

“Yuuji!” 

“B-But, Y/N has a crush on brother,” the boy concludes, furrowing his eyebrows with a small nod. “Right, Ku–um–Su-kuna?” He turns up to his brother, doe eyed with his head slightly cocked to the side in question. 

In response, Sukuna ruffles his hair, nearly sending the boy landing on his back. But, instead he giggles at the rough treatment, shutting his eyes and trying his best to stay upward. “The biggest crush. You make sure to tell the little brat that. Or else Mr. Gojo is going to try take her away.”

Your eyes widen and you push at his broad shoulders. “Sukuna! You're going to get him all worked up!” You exclaim, knowing the very sensitive (regarding you or Sukuna) child very well by now. You turn to the boy, whose own eyes widen as he trying to process the words. “Gojo is not trying to take me away.”

“He is going to take her away if you don't do anything, and little Megumi is going to have a new mommy.” Sukuna was grinning at the boy, as if his brother's fearful expression pleased him. You knew that he was being purposely dramatic – Gojo wasn't even technically Megumi's father, if there was a chance that you guys would ever get together (near zero) you would definitely not be the boy's new mom. But alas, Sukuna continues on with his words. “Thats why whenever you see the two of them talking you have to make sure you to scream as loud as possible.”

You cover the mans mouth before you he can spewl any more nonsense, but it was too late. Yuuji was already tearing himself from the man's lap and into yours – his lips begin to wobble and his eyes flood with tears. “Is-um-is that what you two talk about when I am with Mr. Nanami,” he warbles, thinking back to the multitude of times he has held onto his preschool teachers hand and watched you smile at the white haired man. 

“No, love,” you reassure, turning your attention instead from scolding your lover to consoling the child. “Sukuna is being mean again. Don't listen to him. Mr. Gojo and I are friends.” You ignore the look that Sukuna shoots you, showing how displeased he is at the idea of you being friends with his least favorite person. 

The boy sniffles, wiping his little fists on his face. “I-I dont want you to be Fush-i-guro’s mommy. You have to stay with me and Kuna! P-Please?” He doesn't even attempt to say his brother's name correctly, forgetting how he started the conversation all together. He was focused on trying not to cry, because his brother was sure to tease him, but it wasn't working out very well.

You kiss at his chubby cheeks, shaking your head with an exasperated look on your face, wondering how the hell you got to this conversation. “I am not, promise. I'm not going anywhere. Even if your brother is the worst, brattiest, malicious person alive, I have kinda grown attached to him. Besides, if I left who would I have movie nights with?”

“I am not a–” You shoot Sukuna a nasty glare, and he in return lets out an astonished laugh, but shrugs without care.

Your words make Yuuji perk up from your lap, and his eyes widen with glee. “You like movie nights too?” He was always begging for the three of you to watch movies together, but Sukuna always denies him considering it would end up being a cheesy Disney movie that Yuuji would fall asleep not even twenty minutes into.

“I love movie nights. Do you want to have one tonight?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Sukuna butts in, and you spare him a glance. “Babe, we have plans tonight, remember?” He tilts his head to the side suggestively and you roll your eyes at him.

“Not anymore. Me and Yuuji are going to watch…”

“Human Earthworm 2!” The boy interjects, completely forgetting about his previous experiences with the movie, not good ones.

You poke at his cheeks, shaking your head. “I was thinking The Lion King.” 

“Yes!”

“No,” Sukuna groans, covering his eyes with his palm.

You look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “No? Why are you putting your input in? You're not watching it with us.”

Sukuna, never have been told this before, looks appalled. “The fuck you mean?”

“Bad word!” Yuuji points to him in accusation, but Sukuna just ignores him.

You cock your head to the side, a sly grin pulling at your face. “You're not invited.”

“Why not?”

The two of you make eye contact for a long second, and after a moment or two, Sukuna sighs. “You're really mad about that?” You don't say anything, just continuing to stare at him. “Okay fuck–Yes that is a curse word, astute observation you brat. I am sorry for making the kid cry again.”

“And?”

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you, but you hold your ground. Then, he turns to the boy with a sigh. “Dont scream when you see Gojo and Y/N talk, alright?” He jabs his finger into the boys chest and Yuuji nods his head rapidly in understanding. But, a foxish grin pulls at the mans face and he says, “Instead…The moment you hear him talk to her, you bite his leg.”

He barks a laugh at the confused face of his brother, but when he looks up to you, the smile falters. “Okay, c’mon it was a jo–”

You point your finger to the door. “Couch.”

“You can't kick me out of my own room!”

You don't move your finger. Yuuji glances at you, cocks his head to the side, and then mimicks your action. “Couch!”

The three of you go silent for a long minute, and at this point the boy's hand begins to tremble from holding his hand out for too long. Eventually when Sukuna realizes that there was no point of reasoning, he lets out a dramatic sigh, before crawling out of bed. 

When he notices your smug smile, he flips you off and you can't help but laugh at that. “I am coming back after the movie is done, ya hear?”

“If Yuuji does not fall asleep,” You tease in return, knowing the boy well, and Sukuna rolls his eyes. 

His eyes flicker to the boy who was snuggling up to your chest, trying to find a comfortable position to watch the movie in. Sukuna chuckles to himself, opening up the door, before turning back to the kid one last time. “Hey brat,” he calls.

“Hm?” 

“The father lion–Mufasa. He is my favorite character, so you'll bound to like him a lot. In fact, I sure do wonder if you'll get attached,” he muses, and your eyes widen when you realize what he is saying. Anything that is linked with Sukuna, Yuuji immediately falls in love with. This was bound to cause hysteria. “Enjoy the movie guys! Y/N have fun!” He calls, before shutting the door.

You pause for a moment, sighing into your hand. “Kuna likes the father lion? I want to see!”

You tried everything to avoid turning on the movie after that. But Yuuji, like his brother, was stubborn, and he desperately wanted to see the lion. He grew attached very quickly in that short period of time.

Deep laughs rumble through the house when Yuuji begins to sob over the animated lion's death. You lock the door, and Sukuna stays the night on the couch. 

[comatosebunny09]

heavy | sylus q.

— summary: who takes care of the person busy caring for everyone else? sylus. the answer is sylus. — cw: female!reader, fingering, unprotected intercourse, naughty things done in a bathtub, creampie, alcohol mention, pet names, slight choking, allusions to depression and anxiety, explicit language, praise kink, not proofread, kinda rough sex, mdni — wc: ~3.4K — dividers by: @grabby-smitten — now playing: truman show - merges & l3gion

It begins with a steady pressure behind your eyes. 

Untreated, it blossoms into something more intense, seeping through your temples like spilled liquid, and the pain borders unbearable. You can’t focus on your work, the harsh glow of your monitor worsening your plight.

You snatch your glasses from your face. Attempt to ease the pressure with kneading fingers. Pinch the bridge of your nose. Sigh. It’s useless; your vision blurs around the edges, and your head is pounding as if your brain’s seeking release from your skull.

You don’t notice Captain Jenna behind you. Jump when she comes to you in the form of a firm hand on your shoulder, voice soft. “You should go home to get some rest,” she suggests through a pitying smile.

You don’t protest. There’s more to her words than a simple plea. It’s an order, and you’re smiling small, already gathering your things and slinking out of your cubicle. 

You’re grateful for the reprieve. Maybe a restart will help ease the weight off your shoulders.

—

Something smells divine.

It jumpstarts your appetite, the rich scent of herbs and meat seeping through the cracks of your apartment door. You didn’t realize how hungry you were, your stomach snarling whilst you ease your key into the lock. 

You can’t remember if you left something in the oven. Can’t be bothered to recall much of anything, your head still pulsing like a war drum. Your curiosities are sated once you slide into your home, and the aroma is stronger here. Hearty, nearly lifting you into the air to carry you to the kitchen like one of those old-school cartoons.

You meander into your kitchen after dropping your pack by the door—by a pair of designer, red-stained loafers twice the size of your own feet. Your suspicions are confirmed when you catch sight of a familiar shock of white and broad shoulders nestled between your humble decor and drab cabinets.

Never mind how he got here because you’re reining in a giggle. He’s wearing the frilly Kiss Me apron you got him as a joke gift a few months back. Humming something, bobbing his head before he acknowledges you over a broad shoulder. His scarlet eyes are mirthful, and the soft grate of his voice is enough to put you to sleep.

“You’re home early.”

You smile, tired and swollen-eyed, leaning against the doorframe. Study him over crossed arms. He’s busy with something on the stove. Concocting something delicious, and your stomach reminds you that it’s empty and you’re cruel.

“Jenna kicked me out.”

His shoulders shake with a chuckle when he returns his attention to the pot and wooden spoon in his hands. “Good. I take it you’ve only sustained yourself on coffee and air today.” Stopping, he peers at you again, a knowing lift to his brow. 

You sputter, the heat of embarrassment prickling your neck. He knows you too well. You’re an ass who often neglects yourself, pushing food and sleep to the backburner in favor of shouldering everyone else’s burdens. 

You pout, caught red-handed. The man in your kitchen chuckles. Sets the spoon down, and you watch him stride across the tiles for something. 

He comes to you with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, already pouring the red, viscid fluid into a wine glass. Slender fingers brush over yours when he eases the glass into your hand. He angles himself to kiss you, full-bodied and red-blooded on the lips. A kiss that leaves you reeling. Craving more, the warm scent of his skin hijacking your senses as you tug on the collar of his shirt.

You whine when he pulls away, and he’s all smug smiles that crease the corners of his eyes when he steps back to tend to dinner.

A tide of warmth wades over your skin. You smile against the rim of your glass, grateful to have someone who knows you sometimes better than you know yourself.

Drinking might not be the best decision for you right now. But you haven’t the heart to tell him, watching with all the fondness of the world as he buzzes around the kitchen like a Disney princess.

—

Dinner will be ready in 30.

In the meantime, Sylus shepherds you into your bathroom, insisting you settle in with a bath. 

It’s lavender-scented inside your bathroom, the warm, wet steam washing over your cheeks. Greeted by the dull hum of the ventilation and the sound of rain lazily falling onto the world beyond your window.

You’re exhausted and hanging on by a thread. Don’t think you could manage the task of undressing on your own. So, he’s gentle as he props you on your counter, stripping you of your clothes, touching you like something to be revered.

His lashes bow when he swoops in to adorn your bare shoulders and the swell of your chest with kisses. Your body responds in kind when he nears your pebbling nipples, though he doesn’t grace them with the lazy drag of his lips. 

He promised you he would be good. At least until you’re washed up, fed, and comfortable.

He brands your skin to the crooks of your elbows, down to your wrists, your fingers. Catches your gaze when he kisses between the peaks and valleys of your knuckles, and the fire that burns beneath his irises sets your insides alight. 

Broad palms move down your sides, perch on your hips. He hefts you up with one hand fastened to your rear, and your arms and legs unconsciously shoot out to encircle him. He chuckles, swinging you ‘round, walking you to the tub. You’re the biggest baby when you’re tired, but he would never complain. He prefers you like this—all supple and pliant, desperate for the feel of his body against yours.

You watch the rose petals he sprinkled in your bathwater cling to your skin once you’re inside. And it works as a soothing balm through your person, the frothy water embracing you like a warm hug at the end of a tedious day. 

You sigh heavily, leaning back against the tub’s wall. Your eyes slide shut. You’re about to succumb to the pretty girls of slumber when the sound of shifting fabric alarms you. 

Sylus moves to leave, but your hands dart out to ensnare his wrist. He glances at you over his shoulder, a question hanging between his brows. 

“Stay,” you urge with a pout. Throw in watering puppy eyes for dramatic effect, laying the guilt on thick. 

He chuckles something hearty, settling onto the floor beside you. “I figured you could use some alone time. Besides, I’ve got dinner going. Do you want me to burn it? Cajun wasn’t on tonight’s menu, sweetheart.”

You huff. “You set a timer, right? It’ll be fine.” 

Truth is, he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this plane right now. A constant in a world filled with turmoil. Your security blanket. You never mind him impeding on your time, your space.

“Shall I help you bathe, then?” He doesn’t await your response, already reaching across you for your body wash and loofah. 

He’s tender as he works the soap into a rich lather over your shoulders. Honey-slow, dipping between the valley of your breasts, snickering when you instinctively arch into his touch when the material catches on your nipples. Once he’s satisfied your upper body is thoroughly saturated with suds, he maneuvers himself onto his haunches on the floor.

“Sit up,” Sylus instructs. You sluggishly obey, bowing forward to grant him access to your back. 

Lids shuttered, a content hum eases from your throat as he works out the knots and strain of your back. Smooths the loofah down the ridges of your spine, encircling one shoulder blade before moving onto the other. He’s gifted, trained in the art of your body. Knows just where to touch, to massage to get the cogs in your mind turning and your breaths evening out.

He dips the loofah into the water, and you giggle as it slides between the swell of your ass and the tub’s floor.

“Well, I can’t exactly get you clean when you’re sitting down like this.” 

Your gaze shifts to his. His eyes darken with something familiar, a smirk curving one corner of his lips as he salaciously cocks his head. 

You feel a pull in your tummy, and your lashes flutter, lips parting slightly. Without thinking, you position yourself onto your hands and knees, the water lazily sloshing about and licking your thighs. Curiously, you peer at him from over your shoulder and waggle your ass, playfully signaling for him to finish up.

Resigned, amused, Sylus works the loofah over the globes of your ass. Up and down the backs of your thighs. And it’s purposeful when, with each pass, he grazes your fat labia, peeking through the plush of your thighs. You shudder each time, a pleasant sigh escaping your mouth, and you wiggle to chase the harsh drag of the loofah, if only for him to mistakingly graze your clit with it.

He tsks behind you. “Sweetheart, we agreed this would only be a harmless little bath.”

How harmless could he expect it to be with him looking at you like that? Touching you like that, his palm branding your thigh whilst an errant thumb kneads the muscle there, dangerously close to the outskirts of your cunt?

“I changed my mind,” you relent in a breathy, needy whisper. And you’re rocking your hips this way and that, trying to lure his thumb into the catch of your pussy.

He laughs again, the sound of it murky, and you feel it furling in your chest. “As you wish.”

Your body vibrates with anticipation. You’re not made to wait long, a virile, wide palm stroking your legs apart. Soon after, you feel his thumb stroking down the expanse of your slit, and you jump, a shudder racking through you.

“Easy, darling,” he coos. Voice is thick as bourbon, and his thumb even thicker as he dips just the tip of it into your puckering sex.

He moves maddeningly slow as he collects some of your nectar on his thumb, smoothing it between your folds in search of your clit. He finds it with laser precision, stroking the distended pearl to life with meticulous circles that leave you baring down on nothing and moaning against the grit of your teeth.

A hand fastens around your hip. Massages one of your cheeks, holding you steady whilst he fucks his thumb into you slow and consistent, and the sticky squelch of your cunt soon fills the atmosphere as he works you into a mess of shaking tendons and sighs of “yes, yes, please. More. Fuck.”

Spurred by your words, he alternates between fingering you—trading out his thumb for his index and middle digits—and rubbing your clit. Ducks in to blister your rear with kisses, and you jerk, hypersensitive to every sensation, every sound. He pants softly behind you. Enjoys himself, watching you fall apart around his fingers, his girth pushing against the seam of his pants. He palms himself, kissing closer to your labia, the scent of it bewitching, and he wills himself not to add his tongue into the fray.  

He curls and pistons his fingers inside you, a frothy ring of lubricant collecting around the base of his digits. He eases a palm over the curve of your stomach to massage your tits and pluck your nipples, sweltering breaths fanning across your spine. 

You’re pushed closer to the precipice, towards that slurry edge of bliss. He murmurs words of praise against your skin, and you hump against his fingers like a beast in heat, chasing that sparkling rush. Chasing that crest of pleasure in your stomach, eyes screwed shut. Just a little longer. Just—

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” Sylus quietly demands, pressing against that unfathomable knot of pleasure inside you. 

And as if he has some sort of hold on your body, the world falls away from you at his behest. Your orgasm ripples through you, spilling like lava, pooling in your stomach, and dripping to your extremities. Your mouth opens with a gasp. A shaky exhale with his name in it, and you pitch forward, catching yourself on your hands last minute before you nosedive into the water. 

He laughs behind you, roosting one hand on your hip and the other on your stomach to steady you. “Good girl,” he croons, rubbing your pulsing cunt with his fingers. “You look so fucking sexy when cum like that.”

You shiver, clearly overstimulated, and he resigns to help ease you back onto your rear in the bathtub, kissing the sensitive space behind your ear. 

He lures you into a languid kiss with gentle fingers beneath your chin. Licks into your mouth, groaning his approval as you lazily return his affections, loose-limbed and spent.

You prop the back of your head on the tub’s rim, lips still sealed to his, and Sylus rubs up and down your body to encourage you back down from the clouds. You whimper into his mouth when he pinches your nipples, catching his hands to twine your fingers together, the stimulation too much. 

He greedily milks what remains of your voice from your throat before drawing away from your lips with a sticky click to pepper your throat and shoulder with apologetic kisses. 

When your heart beats something steady, and your labored breaths slide into something more even, Sylus peels away. “Dinner’s ready,” he purrs, grin all toothy, smug.

You track his movements to the door through hooded eyes, a satisfied cant to your lips whilst you sink to your chin into the water, mind a delicious slurry and the tension between your shoulders nearly gone.

—

“You’re insatiable,” he breathes, hot and wanton, against your hinged-open mouth. 

You have him notched between your splayed legs on the kitchen counter, and his hands are on an unhurried mission over your thighs whilst you kiss him. Your arms snake about his shoulders, fingers, easing into delicate locks of white, and you slant your mouth possessively over his, sealing your bodies together.

Dinner cools on the stovetop. Stuffed chicken breasts, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus. All a labor of love that you promise to consume after you’ve consumed him, pushing your greedy tongue into his mouth.

His groan vibrates your tongue whilst his thumbs ease over the inner cut of your thighs, and he grazes your outer labia with each pass, sending satisfying jolts of electricity throughout.

The bath renewed you. Cleared the fog from your mind, stoked the fire of your libido. Which is why you ambushed him in the kitchen, seducing him into fucking you when he was just about to set the table. 

Your body rolls like waves licking the shore against his, your nipples rubbing against the harsh fabric of his shirt. 

He’d peeled the straps of your negligee down your shoulders, bunching the neckline beneath your tits. 

“Fuck me,” you exhale, grappling with the catch of his belt. Hands perched on your waist, he peers into your eyes, brows knit with the strain of reining in his desire.

“Can I at least get you to the bed first,” he breathes, gritting his teeth when your lips brand his Adam’s apple.

“Nope.” You finally pull his belt free, and you busy yourself with unbuttoning his pants.

He chuckles darkly. Shakily, propping his hands on the countertop on either side of your thighs, letting you do terribly distracting things to his neck with your mouth. He sucks in a breath when you palm him, hand hot and searing against the cotton of his briefs. Cranes his head back, and you exhale all triumphantly against his throat, hand dipping beneath the elastic waistband to fish him from the confines of his underwear.

“Fuck,” he curses through swollen lips. Cheeks dust with a pretty shade of crimson, and he twitches each time your hand smooths over the leaking tip of his cock. Each time you stroke down the shaft, back up to thumb his slit, smearing his pre-cum over him.

“Fuck me,” you order once more, licking behind his ear. Draw his lobe into your mouth to nibble it, and he groans something bitten off, a pliant mess of muscle and sinew beneath the artful glide of your hand.

With no further goading, Sylus encases your hips with his hands. Drags you impossibly closer toward the edge of the counter, replacing your hand on his cock with his. 

He strokes himself so well. Your mouth waters from the sight, your sticky, bare pussy clenching with anticipation. The predatory gleam in his eyes reads as one of restrained desire. Like a beast subdued behind a cage, giving you an out, a chance to escape.

You merely swallow, enraptured by the sight of him so desperate for you. So eager when, moments ago, he was resistant to your temptation. He fists himself once more, his weighted hand swallowing up the bulk of his cock. He taps his heavy dick against your folds, the sensation curving your spine and siphoning an unbidden whimper from your lips.

He undulates his hips, rubbing himself between your folds, saturating his turgid flesh with your essence. And oh, it feels so good when his tip bumps the pucker of your pussy. He teases you with the prospect of fucking you proper, drawing himself out to repeat the motion from before, each time digging a little deeper.

When he finally eases home, nestled deep in the hot channel of your sex, your rigid walls ravenously sucking him in, you share a breath out. His chest heaves when he looks at you. The need that lurks behind his gaze makes your cunt flutter, and his responding groan is strained with the effort of keeping still inside you.

You lean back on your hands. Give him the go-ahead with a flicker of your lashes, and then he’s moving inside you. Fucking into you like a well-oiled machine, and he lifts the hem of his shirt to watch your union. 

You watch the steady ripple of his abs, wanting to chase the sweat that beads between them with your tongue. For now, you’ll settle for enjoying the feel of him. Throw your head back, your heels hooking into the backs of his thighs, keeping him in motion. Refusing to let him go. 

“Fuck,” he sighs. “Fuck, do you know what you do to me?” 

A sweltering hand curls around your neck, squeezing with enough pressure to bring your pulse thrumming to your ears. His thumb finds the hang of your bottom lip, drawing your mouth open to ease it inside. Your tongue darts out to sample the taste of it. Wraps around the worn pad, and you close your lips around it to suck. 

He fucks into you harder, your eyes rolling back as his balls knock against your ass. Reluctantly draws his finger from the hot suction of your mouth, splaying his fingers down your sternum to where your bodies convulge. 

“You feel so fucking good, kitten,” Sylus breathes. Thumbs your clit, your body convulsing. “So good, squeezing me like that. Taking me like such a big girl. Look at you. So fucking good. Ah, fuck.”

That sparkling feeling pools in your stomach again. You grit your teeth, bowing forward to roost a hand on his shoulder. Your gazes interlock, and he’s so fucking beautiful like this, that carefully constructed composure giving way to something primal. Animalistic, and his hair falls into his face as he grips your hip to the point of bruising, mooring you to the countertop. Keeping you steady for him to ravage you.

After some time of skin slapping and desperate moans saturating the air, he twitches inside you. Hips stutter. Head falls back while his mouth hangs open, and he sighs, so relieved with one final stroke, molten spurts of cum painting your insides a gooey white. Branding down the inner cut of your thighs, puddling on the countertop.

You tug him into your arms, blistering his neck with open-mouthed kisses and the soft rake of your teeth. He shudders, leaning into you, propped on his hands on the counter, face nestled between your breasts.

You share a laugh as you massage his scalp. Relieved. And you’re patient as he softens inside you, stroking over the broad expanse of his back, cooing affectionate words against the crown of his head.

[webslingingslasher]

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.” 

----

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[dillydally6969]

CROWNED² .ᐟ 𝓝AT SCATORCCIO

♱ fighting situationship!nat for the antler queen title, but her crown’s slowly slipping…

♱ cw; yj s3 spoilers, harsh language, angst, f!r, manipulative!shauna, pt. 1 linked at bottom

you remembered the first time nat kissed you.

it was on one of the very first hunting trips, when travis came down with some stomach bug after eating some raw bear meat. you and nat were left to continue your duties alone, and honestly you weren’t complaining.

nat was careful, kissing you like you were something delicate.

at first, the two of you would go further than you would route and just make out against a tree. but then, on a foraging trip you and jackie went on (in attempts to encourage the captain to help with chores she could actually do), you found a little creak behind this wall of bushes.

the next time travis was occupied with brother duty, you would bring nat to this haven, shielded from everything that was your tragic reality, shrugging off your--actually one of ben’s oversized--jacket and laying it on the ground for your lady.

the blonde would laugh at you, her sweet grin paired with that cute dimple of hers, and you swore you had never heard a more heavenly sound.

“you couldn’t wait to bust all this chivalrous shit out, huh?”

you shrugged, admiring the way her lips curved as she turned. her side profile was sculpted by the greek themselves, and you found your smile growing slowly as you ran your gaze.

“i wanted to do something nice for you. away from the others.”

she felt your intense eyes fixed on her, her chest tightened as she gulped. “really? you did all this for me?”

you noticed her hands quivered slightly. you reached out, fingertips dancing across her knuckles lightly. you held her hand up, weaving your fingers into hers.

“i wanted to see you smile,” you whispered, “worth it.”

her cheeks flushed, her eyes widening before she turned away with a scoff. “oh my god, you’re such a freak.”

you giggled at her comment. you fixed the loose blonde tufts sticking into her face, cradling her warm cheek in your hand. you tugged her close, glancing down at her plump, pink lips as your teeth sunk into your own.

“just your type, hm?” you whispered against her lips.

“mmh, i don’t know… wanna find out?” she teased, before leaning forward to press her soft lips against yours.

you sighed, pulling her close. sitting up, you threw a leg over her lap, straddling her before both hands reached up to clasp her jaw. her mouth moved into yours feverishly, hungry and needy. her slender fingers anchored your hips, your body pressed flushed against hers.

“oh god, i love you--!” she gasped, but the way she pulled back told you she was just as stunned by the sudden confession as you were.

when you don’t respond, she began stammering.

“sorry, i--i was just caught in the moment. fuck, i’m so stupid.”

“no, no, nat, stop.” you grabbed her face, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then lingered on her lips. when you pulled away, you rested your forehead against hers. “i love you too.”

you can’t remember the last time she told you she loved you.

you can’t remember the last time she showed she loved you.

it’s been about competing with nat ever since she took over lottie’s title. you missed her. god, you missed her so much.

you would give anything up if it meant getting to just let her lull you to sleep with her deep voice without her spewing nonsense about the logistics of keeping morale high.

“y/n--y/n!” a single clap in front of your face seemed to do the trick, slapping you out of your daydream.

you glanced up, met with tai’s curious expression.

“hello? you’re the one who suggested a trial, what the fuck are we supposed to do?” she jeered, hands on her hips as she looked down at you. “what’s going on, man? you’ve been spaced for like an hour.”

sat at the table, you looked at your untouched dinner, pushing the bowl away from you.

“nothing, i’m just tired.” you muttered in reply.

“okay, whatever--coach has been sitting with the ducks and deers since sundown. what do we do now?”

you raised an eyebrow. “why aren’t you asking nat? she’s the antler queen, she’s the one in charge, not me.”

tai crossed her arms, sighing. “nat hid the fact she knew where coach was, you think she’s gonna make this a fair trial?” you gulped, knowing she had a point had never felt so bitter before. “i trust you’ll make this just and impartial, and so do the rest of us, so will you please get this shit going?”

you looked past tai’s body, spotting nat sitting by the fire.

her nail-beds bled from her fervent picking, her eyes grown cold and still as she stared at the roaring fire.

you stood, nodding towards tai. “gather everyone. it’s coach’s judgement day.”

as the taller scurried off to round up everybody, you watched the blonde from afar. slowly, you sauntered over, taking a seat beside her with a deep sigh. “you’re mad at me. you’re doing that gwyneth paltrow sulky thing you do.”

the blonde didn’t move a muscle. her cheekbones popping as she contained the violent sob that threatened to escape her.

“i’m not mad at you. i’m disappointed in your decisions.”

you scoffed, resting your elbows against your thighs. “come on, nat, you’re being unfair.”

“i told you my feelings on the matter, and i thought you understood.”

“look, i know you think he’s innocent, but there’s just--!”

“i thought you were different. i trusted you to make the right choices, but this,” she scoffed, “whatever circus you think you’re running here, i don’t want any fucking part of it.”

“oh my god, when will it be enough for you?” you snapped, startling her. “y’know, i say yes and do what you tell me to. i hunt this and gather that because you want me to. i was the only one in your corner when nobody was and this is the kinda treatment i get? i do something i believe is right once and you’re ‘disappointed’? holy shit, get over yourself, natalie, i’m not your fucking minion, i am my own person too.”

staring back at you, her lips parted, waiting in bated breath for your next words.

you ripped the bandana from your belt where it was tucked, tying it again over your head. you stood, snarling down at her. “maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with being the fucking chief, you would actually see what i’m trying to do.”

oh, that stung. that stung bad. she hated getting yelled at, it triggered some bad feelings for her, but coming from you? it just made her want to cry herself to permanent slumber.

the others had begun gathering around the fire, per tai’s instruction. from a humble distance, shauna mentally noted the way your conversation with nat had ended.

“y/n?” tai called, squeezing to the front. “well?”

“it should be two-thirds.” nat sighed, standing to the side as you helped tai and some others create a table for the jury at the centre of camp, where the fire was supposed to be.

“two-thirds? that’s bullshit, it should be majority rules!”

“that’s more than fair, shauna,” nat hissed, “if you’ve ever, actually picked up a law book, you’d know criminal trials are supposed to be unanimous.”

“i’ll bash your skull in with a law book if you don’t--!”

“enough!” you yelled, slamming a hand against the wooden surface beneath you. all heads snapped towards you, including those preparing the judge’s chair from afar. “i’ve never known anybody more problematic. the two of you will be on your best behaviour for this trial, or you’re spending a week alone in the pits until you get along.”

everybody seemed rather taken aback by the aggressive edge to your outburst. you caught nat’s eyes, of all the pairs trained on you, and your jaw locked.

“i don’t care how important your roles are here, i don’t care what title you hold, i will cover all of it if it means we don’t have to hear the two of you fight.” you snarled, crossing your arms. “i’ve proposed this trial as a way to keep things fair. nat will get her will for coach to have a chance to be proven innocent, and shauna will get hers to prove him guilty. two-thirds is a middle ground, so that’s how we’ll let the jury rule. settled?”

the two of them reluctantly nodded. you exhaled shakily.

“good. neither of you are allowed anywhere near the stands, ‘cuz world war three will stir.”

a hand shot up from behind nat, you tilted your head to see tai’s determined expression. “i’ll run the prosecution no problem. the question is, who will defend coach scott?”

everybody deterred their gaze away from yours upon that query. you scanned the crowd, watching them awkwardly tousle around to avoid being called upon.

your eyes landed on a certain curly blonde taking minutes.

“misty’ll defend him.” you announced. everybody looked over.

“what? why’re you all looking at me?” she stammered.

“‘cause he’s your boyfriend?” van commented. she stifled a snort, “in your mind, at least. right?”

tai swatted her in the arm, and upon a stern look from you, she rescinded her snarky attitude.

“that’s not funny. and i’m not defending him.” she shook her head, glinting down at her notebook. “he’s not the ben i knew.”

“you have to, misty.” nat’s sharp response drew attention to her standing amidst the group. she cleared her throat, recognizing the snap back may have come off a little more pressing than she had intended. regaining her authority, nat held misty’s gaze. “i know how you feel. it sucks that he left, but you’re his best chance at a fair trial… maybe his only chance. if you can’t prove he’s innocent, he’ll lose anyway, but if you can… misty, you’ll save his life.”

you could hear it in her voice. she was desperate.

you wondered when along the way you became the one the girls turned to over nat. you could barely remember the times when she was actually respected as their regent.

you’ve called out more disrespect towards her in the last week than you ever have pre-crash. and that’s saying something.

shauna was blood-thirsty, desperate to satiate her hunger for chaos. this was the closest she could get to bloodshed, and she had her fangs dug into the coach, unwilling to let go.

she was so blinded by her bloodlust, it clouded her rationale.

you knew nat had a heart of gold, how she deeply believed in the coach’s innocence unless some sort of evidence compelled her to accept otherwise.

but in a way, she wasn’t being fair either.

and knowing she used to be the most prudent person you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, stung. along with perhaps one of two of those who still adore nat, you might be the only ones left who honor the fact she was still queen.

“great, then it’s settled.” you clasped your hands together. “tai will prosecute and misty will defend. nat will be the judge, and the rest of us will make the jury.”

“nat? she’s gonna rule him not guilty without even listening,” shauna argued, resting on her arms against the table across from you. “she’s got her head so far up her ass, she won’t hear anything besides the fact that he’s innocent.”

“she’s the antler queen, shauna. do i have to remind you of your place?” you sneered.

“i hate to say this, but shauna has a point.” tai agreed, her hands on her hips. “i’m not saying nat shouldn’t be judge, she should. but i think you should be judging as well.”

you scoffed with a tiny smile, “thanks, but it’s not my place.”

“why not? it’s your trial.” van reinforced her girlfriend’s proposal. “who else thinks y/n should be a judge?”

one by one, hands shot up in vote of your crowning.

little did you know this gesture would foreshadow your fate.

“that’s pretty much two-thirds. that’s a fair majority, right?” she said before nat could protest. the blonde could not go against the people’s word. it was democracy that brought her to her dominion, after all. “great. let’s get this ball rolling.”

you knew the more your influence grew, the more your relationship with nat deteriorated.

when the others had gone to prepare their arguments and statements, the two of you were sent back to your hut to change into some robes akilah and robin had thrown together.

the silence was deafening. enough for you to regret the way you left things before you left for the hunt.

as you slipped on the cream gown, nat stood by the archway.

she had her hands on her hips, peering out towards the girls scrambling in groups for this little event. you tied the rope around your waist, sighing deeply.

“i’m sorry.”

the blonde looked down, swallowing thickly. though, she stood still, unwilling to turn and face you.

“i’m sorry for the things i said. i was angry, and it wasn’t the most respectful way to talk to you.” you continued, “but i don’t want us to be like this, nat. i hate how separated we’ve been.”

she didn’t respond, but you’ve learnt to read her like a book.

in most cases, she would shut down emotionally, growing quiet or distant, unsure of how to respond to things that pierced her emotionally. her body language would immediately reflect discomfort; avoiding eye contact, crossing her arms, or falling into a tense posture.

you knew the thing that scarred her most was having her own self-worth question. when she felt undervalued and insecure.

she resented herself when she felt like that. so, so much.

so, you were always careful with your words, the way you treated her. so, this gradual fallout wounded her greatly.

“tell me what you want me to do,” you begged, “i’ll listen.”

her head turned just the slightest, studying you out the corner of her eye. “i don’t want to dictate you, y/n. i do that enough to everybody else, and i hate it.”

“you’re tying my hands, nat, what am i supposed to do?”

“i asked you to back off, and you didn’t. you’re defying my orders and challenging me in front of everybody. i never took you for somebody who had such a craving for power, but if you want to be queen that bad, you should.” her voice shook, like she was holding in some pent up tears. “of all the people i thought would fight this hard to get coach executed, you were the last person i hoped would come to.”

“i love you, natalie. but you only love me when it’s convenient for you.” you stated, “all we do is argue anymore, fuck, i can’t even remember the last time i talked to you about anything else other than this stupid ritual, cult shit. you hear what you want to hear and get mad--do you see how this isn’t fair?”

she sucked in a breath, shaking her head. “i don’t think we’re in the right headspace to talk about this.” she grabbed her robe, along with the headpiece akilah made from a buck skull. “im gonna change in lottie’s hut.”

there she was. running again. she doesn’t even want to fix this.

you scoffed at her dismissive attitude. upon noticing nat storming from the hut, shauna glanced up from the jury table, suddenly uninterested in her journal.

you were facing the tiny mirror strung up against the hut’s wall, fixing the uncomfortable diadem of wolf fangs.

“you’re really letting them collar you with freak-show jewelry like you’re nat’s fucking guard dog?” shauna asked, leant against the doorway of the straw cone. “come on, i thought you were better than that wilderness bullshit.”

“i’m not in the mood, shauna.” you grumbled back.

“you run the show better. why do you let her fucking treat you like that?” she challenged, stepping in.

“i said to back off, shipman, i don’t want company.”

“why? just admit you don’t mind getting walked all over if it means you get to grab some ass,” she sneered, her arms crossed. “it’s so obvious you’re a sucker for nat, ‘cause if you didn’t, you would’ve put her in her place by now--”

you grabbed the collar of her grey shirt, slamming her up against the wall. you exhaled sharply through your nose.

“watch your fucking mouth,” you hissed through gritted teeth, “another snide comment and i’ll shove your head through this fucking wall.”

“that’s it,” shauna smirked, what used to be for eyes with soft edges turned vindictive, like she had you right where she wanted. “that’s the kinda power nat is lacking.”

you realized you idiotically walked straight into her trap.

you let her go, eyes squeezing shut with your eyebrows furrowed. you pinched the bridge of your nose, your head pounding at the sound of her taunts.

she was taking advantage of your feelings for nat.

“fuck, do you ever take a day off?”

she crossed her arms. “what do you think you’re fucking doing, y/n? i get that you guys are fucking, but you don’t have to baby her. nat’s been a shitty fucking leader and all she does is spend her time droning over me and mari like we’re the problem.”

“you are the problem. the two of you act like fucking kids, how is that nat’s fault?” you bit back.

wow, maybe you did sound like her guard dog.

“they voted for you to be a judge, they want you--even lottie with her crazy crap. why are you denying the inevitable? ‘cause you love her?” she scoffed in laughter, as if the mere thought was joke enough. “don’t kid yourself, she can’t give less of a shit about you. she’s got other priorities, right? she cares more about getting coach off than you these days.”

you sneered. “don’t say something you’ll regret.”

“does she deserve to be the leader?” she smirked. “she only got it ‘cause lottie spared her fucking life. the respect you say she’s owed wasn’t earned, you run laps around her.”

she began backing away at the snarl you threw her way. “if you don’t do something, you’ll be the one regretting shit.”

loyalty was a visage in the wilderness… survival came first.

“all rise.” van called, awaiting everybody to stand to their feet. “the people versus benjamin scott, on charges of arson, and multiple counts of attempted murder. jury verdict requires a two-thirds majority.” she turned to her side, gesturing towards the hut you and nat shared. “the honourable judges, y/n and natalie, presiding.”

you watched the way things worked carefully, how the power dynamic shifted as things moved along. you sat by nat in the seats you had dug from the plane’s ruins, the robust gavel akilah had crafted snug in nat’s hand as the antler queen crown hung heavy on her head.

as tai stood to give the opening statement for the prosecution, you couldn’t help but look back at the blonde beside you.

you thought back on the moment you had decided to overthrow her to be queen. you had never been one to reach for power, it wasn’t exactly something that enticed you.

though, even before the crash, it was apparent power loved reaching for you; you were deputy captain of the yellowjackets with jackie, despite other more viable options like shauna (who was jackie’s best friend and the fastest midfielder wiskayok high school had ever seen), or tai (who’s been an important member long before you joined the team). somehow, the name drawn to lead the yellowjackets to the success the team saw before the crash was yours.

you weren’t anything like the other leaders this team had seen.

jackie was a picture-perfect leader when she was needed to be. in suburbia, in civilization when order was her friend. the moment the team succumbed to the chaos of the wilderness, she was chewed up and tossed aside until she served the team one last time after her death.

lottie was such a spiritual guru with manipulative undertones to her preaching. she preyed on vulnerable beliefs, surfacing to guide when all things seem lost. she provides explanations, a sense of justification to console those troubled.

nat was a perceptive ruler. she observes, provides support when needed but does not drive things herself. she believed in sustainability, and that came from learning from mistakes everybody was inevitably going to make. her morals kept her from succeeding in leading a group as savage as this team, where most things necessary for survival thrusted her into long episodes of riddling guilt and remorse.

the thing was, you never considered yourself a healthy combination of all three of them, but the others would.

one thing you knew nat was blinded to was the obvious uprising of shauna’s ruthless nature. she’d brush it off as the brunette being brash, lashing out because of her inability to deal with her grief. but you knew it had perverted into something far worse. you had only seen the tip of the iceberg.

from the way she sat to the way she would verbally oppress everybody who crossed her path, you knew the fuse was burning short. you don’t really understand why shauna was one to listen to you, not when she ousted jackie to her death, beat lottie to a pulp with her bare fists, and passively threaten to harm nat every chance she had. she would never disrespect you, and you were eager to know why.

even now, in a moment of instability surrounding the hierarchy you lot have built, she was chomping off one leader at a time.

and nat was next. you needed to get her out before she gets hurt. and this was the quickest route to ultimate serenity. what harm did it do to knock her off? it was to keep her safe, right?

the thing was, your intentions seemed to only be clear to you.

“objection! relevance, your honour--s.” misty argued.

you held your head with your fingers, snapping out of your own field of thoughts. nat seemed to be driving so far, by the way everybody was fixed on her instead of you.

“sustained. misty isn’t the one on trial,” nat said, unwilling to eye you as she spoke.

tai rose an eyebrow, almost scoffing at the blonde’s reply.

“y/n?” she called, tone enough to shed whatever credibility nat should have in her authority. like tai wanted to hear it from you, because just coming from natalie wasn’t enough.

when you finally made your debut statement as judge, the whole court fell silent in anticipation of your words.

“uh, yeah. sustained. insulting the representation is not building your case, tai.” you insisted. you nodded towards misty, urging her to take her seat. catching sight of tai’s eye roll, you cocked your head sideways, clenching your jaw. “i suggest you get to the point of your argument with coach as the focal point, before you’re asked to surrender your time to the defence.”

your heard nat’s deep sigh, watching as she fiddled with the antler queen crown resting on her head. she took the headpiece off, setting it aside.

your hand instinctively went to adjust the fanged diadem clasped around your forehead. it hung high, a prideful reminder you were the protector of what was yours; contrary to the shameful way nat always shed her crown.

when she realized you were staring, she met your eyes briefly, before gesturing towards the standing prosecutor.

it was like she was practically yielding over her rule, all command she had over the team delivered to your hands.

tai scowled, but accepted the statement.

as she continued her interrogation, nat had to butt in to keep the peace. many times tai was asking leading questions, which swayed the way mari’s answer shaped the case for the jury.

you sat silent, knuckles against your temple.

it wasn’t until the very end, beyond the coach’s heartfelt speech at a last attempt to sway the jury, a vote was held.

involuntarily, you met shauna’s smug expression from across the camp. her words echoed in your head like a broken record, it felt like you were ghosted by what you knew was right.

as nat stood, gavel in hand, she slammed it against the table twice. “alright… good job, you two. all those in favour of finding coach not guilty, raise your hand.”

only her and misty seemed to find the coach innocent.

your heart sunk. the sight made you sick to your stomach. deep down, you felt your guilt gnaw at your insides. hungry.

“guys, come on, you can’t find him guilty if you have any doubt at all.” she scoffed, but the jury remained resolute.

“i think there’s your answer,” lottie stated. “he dies at dawn.”

“what? did any of you even listen to what went on during that trial?” nat’s voice rose, the slight rasp surfacing as she strained in hopes of keeping her utter horror at bay. “you’re telling me all of you believe he did it, beyond reasonable doubt?”

“bullshit, she’s not even on defence!” shauna barked.

“nat,” you gasped softly, reaching out to caress the small of her back. you could sense she was displeased with how this verdict had turned out. you could tell she had some sort of hope in your friends that they would make the right decision.

“you’re willing to kill him over suspicion? he’s missing his fucking leg, for fuck’s sake, how do you think he escaped a dozen of us without any help?” the blonde pleaded, “come on, what the fuck are you all thinking?”

“nat!” you warned, standing abruptly. you grabbed her arm, turning her towards you. “the trial’s over.”

“don’t fucking touch me,” she hissed, jerking away.

the rough gesture made your chest hurt. like she had just stabbed you straight through the heart with her words. you shook your head, your expression softening as you stared between her shaky, teary tawny eyes. “a decision has been made, and you need to honour that.”

“and i have the right to beg for mercy because this is taking an innocent man’s life we’re talking about here.” she sniffled, tears streamed down her cheeks.

“majority rules. we had a trial and he lost, that’s it.”

“so that’s what we do now? we decide life or death by roleplaying?” her lip trembled, head shaking slightly as her eyes stayed wide. “you’re fucking evil.”

she pushed past you, hands reaching to wipe her face clean of her salty tears. she knocked into your shoulder harshly, leaving you, glossy eyed with a clenched jaw standing before the jury.

“so, your honour,” shauna tipped her head, eyes blinking shut for a moment. she was courting the crown--and the new face that now bore it. “what do you say we do now?”

looking over their expectant faces, the fanged diadem suddenly felt heavy.

your breath hitched, and with a newfound sense of liability, you straightened, puffing your chest.

“keep him in the pen. we bid him goodbye at sundown.”

an; again lmk if ya’ll like this cuz im thinking of making it a series… i love nat sm like this trope has me in a chokehold

happy reading xx

<< prev next >>

[bi-writes]

there's trouble in paradise. but lucky for you, your other half would do anything for you. anything. (arranged-husband!simon x fem!reader)

previous part (recommended read, but not required)

cw: reader is described as plus-sized/curvier, dark!reader, dark!simon, unhealthy relationship dynamics (both of you are so fucked up inside), horror movie vibes, themes of obsession + possessiveness + psychopathic behavior, military criticism, mature language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, mentions of simon's canon trauma, voyeurism, smut, piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving), breeding kink 18+ (this piece is very dark and includes the encouraged murder of someone innocent -> read at your own discretion)

if simon is anything, it is that he's...unpredictable. except for how he spends his mornings.

you close your eyes when you feel his warm hand on your jaw. your head tilts back, and you part your lips, knowing what will come. your hear the shuffle of fabric, and then you're kissed, a sloppy kind of kiss, a harsh tongue slipping into your mouth and tracing your teeth.

it's aggressive, his kiss. he doesn't try to savor the taste, he just takes. his teeth hit yours sometimes, but he doesn't apologize. just cradles your head in a different direction and continues to shove his greedy tongue down your throat.

you chase him when he pulls away. he chuckles, the bastard, and when you open your eyes, he stands tall behind where you sit. you smile up at him, opening your mouth obediently, and you take two of his fingers and suck. the pads of his fingers press against your tongue, and you lap at the callouses. it feels good to be full of him, in any way he will give.

you like having some part of him inside of you, always. it makes you feel whole. complete. incredibly satisfied, a cup full of liquid, blood touching your tongue.

"good morning," simon murmurs, glaring down at you almost. if you didn't know him, you'd take his expression for ire, but you know it's just the intensity of whatever sits in his chest. "worried when y'weren't in bed."

you flutter your lashes, and simon palms at your throat, bending lower. you want to nibble on his scarred bottom lip, but he holds you at such a length to keep you away. you pout a little.

"don't do tha' again," he tells you. it is a warning. someone else might take this too literally, too harshly. as if he was commanding you, and he is, sort of, but they wouldn't understand. no one would understand. "y'hear?"

you nod.

"sorry," you whisper, letting his fingers go and kissing them softly. "couldn't sleep...didn't wanna wake you."

he sniffs. he doesn't like what he hears.

"and wot do i always say?" he asks. "hmm?"

you smile a little, looking away, bashful. "that...that i can have whatever i want."

"tha's right."

you giggle, standing from your seat, turning and wrapping your arms around his neck. he picks you up from the fat of your hips, hoisting you onto the kitchen table with ease. he knocks your knees apart, stepping between them, and you cup his cheeks to kiss him easily.

"tell me," he commands. "tell me wot's on y'r mind."

you sniffle, dragging your knuckles down his masked cheek. you nuzzle your nose into his, closing your eyes, and he leans into you, wanting more. he reads you well. there isn't a flicker in your eyes that he wouldn't catch. he's too perceptive, too observant, too in-tune with what you are, which is his. it relieves you, in a way. you don't have to lie because he will always catch your dishonesty.

"how come..." you bite your lip. "y-you told me i shouldn't call you. when you're away. s-so...so i send letters to base. but...you never respond."

he tilts his head to the side, cupping the back of your neck. when he finds your eyes, he keeps them, steadying you with a firm grip.

"wot letters?"

you pull back a little, blinking up at him.

"i...i send you a letter. e-every day that you're gone. i-i...i send it to you."

he shakes his head, "swee'eart, i've never gotten a letter."

you swallow, smoothing your hands down his chest. you frown a little, looking down.

"oh..." your heart eases a little. "i...i thought you were ignoring me."

"probably just some bloke tha' doesn't know m'name," simon soothes you. "would never ignore ya. and y'know the number to call in an emergency, but i suppose 'm glad tha' you've never had ta call."

you meet his eyes. dark. purposeful. focused.

"i can take care of myself."

the letters never arrive, even after you double check their address. you show it to him the next time he comes home, the back of the envelope with the address scribbled onto it, and all he does is shrug.

"tha's me, luv," he mutters, pushing the letter aside, hoisting you up against the wall as he kisses you hungrily. "now open up," he growls, shredding your panties with a tight fist as he fucks into you eagerly. "oll f'me, missed y'r cunt..."

simon is nothing if he isn't an insatiable animal. every time he comes home, he fucks you until your vision is nearly permanently blurred with tears and your brain is defiantly turned off. he fucks you dumb, in every sense, and you think he enjoys the way he swipes your drool with a big thumb and sucks it into his mouth with a groan. maybe it tastes different, when you're brainless from another orgasm and saying things that aren't coherent, hips canted up as he continues to pound into you from behind.

but you adore it. you love it. you love him.

it's visceral, what you feel inside. it tears at something delicate. whenever you look at him, you can't help the smile, even if it's small. the way he makes you feel when you look into his eyes--it nearly chokes you. neither of you ever last long. someone always breaks the moment, moving until you are near so that you can kiss feverishly.

you both scramble to be together. when he comes home, he always attacks you as soon as the front door smacks against the wall. you've fucked numerous times on the floor in the foyer, too eager to welcome him back when he goes for weeks on end to even make it to the couch. you love when he practically tackles you to the floor, throwing you down as he gets between your legs, big hand cradled into your hair so it doesn't smack against the hardwood floor. the gesture is so sweet that it makes your eyes tear, even if he's biting at your tits so hard they nearly draw blood.

simon would do anything for you. there is nothing that crosses a boundary, no request that he would not fulfill, no crime he wouldn't commit. he's disgusting, a right prick bastard that you know would enjoy skinning the backs of someone's hands just for your very own amusement. you wouldn't call him a dog--a proper dog respects authority, acts loyal and good and cowers when they have done something wrong.

simon doesn't always listen to you, not really, you don't think he really listens to anyone. but everything he does, he does knowing it is what's best for you. he takes care of you, especially when you're too cock-dumb to make any right-minded decision. he's the center of gravity, and you are his, bringing each other back into balance when you get knocked off kilter. sometimes, this balance requires a sacrifice.

simon is all too willing to give one.

you don't blame him for that. the wiring in his head, it's a little fried, a little frayed. it isn't his fault. he's seen torture. been through it. watched comrades die, tasted his own blood and that of someone else's. he's seen the insides of someone, watched it protrude from the holes in their bodies, sometimes from his own hand. he's just a little rough around the edges, just a little scarred.

no one likes to talk about the fact that servicemen like simon are glorified serial killers. you understand this fact, and you know that if you explained it to simon, he would probably agree with you. but instead of acknowledging the reality of it, you think he might smile. he is given permission by his country, by his king, to kill under the guise of international security, for the common good.

what would we not do to protect our homeland from terrorism and warfare? what necks would we not snap? what blood would we not shed? what would we not do to protect the places where our wives lay their heads and our children play their games?

that is how he would justify it to you. he'd tell you not to worry, that heaven is an idea made up by weak men who don't have the strength to do something about their foe.

you would believe him, if he said that to you. you would smile back at him, kiss him soft, and let him fuck a baby into you just to shut you up.

but this wouldn't change a thing. it wouldn't change what he is. it wouldn't make him any less a murderer, any less a man that takes what he wants. he has a heavy hand, not just in combat, but with you. he does not ask permission, but it wouldn't matter; fortunately, you have the same disgusting urge inside of you, and you practically beg him to take from you.

although, there is one thing that separates you from him. you might carry the disease--the one that makes you indifferent to his violence, his past, his trauma, his crimes. but you don't carry the execution of it. you've never killed anyone. you've never held a gun. sometimes, when someone parks a little too close to your car, you think about what it would be like to put their head behind your tire and reverse over it, but nothing you ever do leaves the horror of your mind.

you are positively boring in that sense. lieutenant simon riley's picture-perfect good girl, his lovely wife. the one that lets him voice his horrendous crimes and sleeps just as peacefully as before because of it. no one would ever know that he's murmured in great detail about how he tortured his latest target, telling you about how he screamed quite loudly when he picked his fingernails off but was rather quiet when he carved tally marks into his forearm.

"was he, baby?" you whisper, sucking soft on the stubble around his jaw. he palms your ass gently, satisfied when he feels the way his cum drips between your folds and wets his hand. he nods, shrugging.

"fuckin' muppet. deserved wot he got."

"i know he did," you agree, nodding, reaching down and starting to pump his length, still wet from your cunt. you mewl when he starts to harden immediately, the blood rushing to his cock as you fondle his balls. "now tell me how much you missed me again..."

it isn't your fault that he gets you this wet just by talking about his aggression. it can't be. it's primal...instinct. ghost is a protector, and you are his wife--you like thinking about what he might do just to keep you safe.

you like thinking about what he might do just to keep you happy.

but you're not happy. he's gone for three weeks this time, a long stretch that leaves you a little lonely and a little on edge. you send him your letters, writing every day about how quiet it is at home, about how alone you feel and how much you miss the space he takes up in your bed. you even miss the amount of food he consumes--you're so used to cooking enough to feed four proper people just for him to scarf it all down and eat your cunt to tell you how grateful he is.

you haven't really been on base since you married; you spent a few weeks there right afterwards, in and out of his bed, practically attached to simon by the hip. it's been a long while since then. he bought you a little flat in london and gave you a nice sleek credit card, and that was that. simon doesn't care for you to spend much time on base. he thinks you too pretty and complains under his breath that you're a distraction, which you are. you're always so caught up with how hot he looks working that you end up underneath him more often than not; simon prefers you at home so he doesn't lose all his fucking energy trying to keep up with you.

you roll down your window, flashing your license at the officer there. he clicks a flashlight on, looking at it, and he swallows hard when he sees the last time there.

riley.

"afternoon, ma'am," he tells you with a nervous smile. "your husband, looks like he isn't here, he's--"

"i know where he is," you interrupt. "but he'll be back soon. just some housekeeping i need to do." you tilt your head to the side. "i don't have to call the lieutenant and tell him you're refusing me, do i?"

"n-no, ma'am."

you slam the door shut after you park, eyeing the motorcycle a few parking spots away. you sigh, clenching your jaw, before swinging your purse over your shoulder and straightening out the front of your jeans. you told him not to ride that fucking thing, the big dummy.

you pass through the offices first, and when you get nearer to where captain price and your husband sit, you stop in your tracks when you see a new little desk set up there.

there's a woman sitting there.

she's got a corded phone held between her ear and her shoulder, and she's writing on a sticky note rapidly, nodding her head as she talks to someone quietly. you tilt your head to the side, watching her, and your lip twitches just enough when she hangs up the phone and stands to put a few files away in a cabinet.

she's wearing a tiny little skirt and stockings, and you run your tongue over your teeth when you get a glimpse at the garter belt she's wearing underneath. you follow the line of her long legs to her kitten heels, and then back up to the blouse and blazer she wears. she turns around, adjusting her sleeves, and you straighten your back when you can see the lace of her black bra underneath the white blouse.

cause who the fuck wears a black bra under white at work?

you adjust your purse over your shoulder and make your way down the hallway, ignoring her as you stop in front of simon's office and look for the key on your key ring.

"oh! excuse me--excuse me!"

you stop looking for the key, turning over your shoulder. the woman is getting up from her seat, hurrying over. she's a tiny little thing, bouncing over to you with an exacerbated face.

"hey--excuse me," she puts a hand on the door. "you can't go in there."

you raise a brow.

"oh, really? why's that?" you ask. she looks you up and down a little, her smile fading a little.

"well...lieutenant riley doesn't like it when people are in his private space. and there's classified material in there, so i'll need to verify if you have the right security clearance."

she twirls a soft curl around one of her fingers, and you flash her an irritated smile.

"oh, well, i'm sure he won't mind if i go inside," you tell her, turning back. you finally find the right key, fitting it into the lock.

"hey--hey! you can't go in there! i'm serious, i'll call security," she huffs. you laugh, turning to face her as you push the door open.

"oh, go ahead," you murmur, stepping closer. you're about the same height, but her eyes are no match for your own. she's alive inside, and you are not. there are places that you can go that she would never come back from, and she flinches a little when she meets your eyes intensely. "in fact, i dare you to call security."

you drop your purse on simon's desk, rounding it and taking a seat in his chair. you open one of the drawers, rummaging through it, and you roll your eyes a little when you find a pack of cigarettes that simon had said he'd thrown out. strike two already.

lying bastard.

you're still rifling through the drawer when the office door bursts open. you recognize one of simon's sergeants, kyle, huffing his chest as he looks around the room with a glare. the woman is behind him, her arms crossed over her chest and making her breasts comically pushed up towards her chin, her eyes narrowed at you. when kyle sees you, he immediately snatches his cap off his head and takes a step back. his posture changes, his back straightening up as he assumes a near soldier-stance.

"fuck, sorry, ma'am," he murmurs. "i didn't mean to barge in that way, i--"

"it's alright, kyle," you say softly, smiling a little. "something i can help you with? simon isn't here right now."

the woman steps back, confusion on her face, and she hides doorway now, out of your sight.

"no," kyle gives you a polite, nervous smile. "apologies again."

you shake your head and shrug, standing up to go close the door. you poke your head out, and she's sitting at her desk again, her expression a little wobbly as she looks up at kyle and uses her hands as she speaks, looking utterly mortified.

"--how was i supposed to know that? she didn't introduce herself--"

"look, you just better hope she doesn't tell him about this. fuckin' kiss her arse or somethin', for fuck's sake," kyle mutters, shaking his head, and you smile to yourself as you close the door completely.

it's a few hours later, while you're smoothing a hand over a report simon has written, when the door opens. you look up from the desk, smiling immediately.

there he is.

simon cocks his head to the side, and you eye the flex of his fists in his gloves. he clicks his tongue, pushing his hood off, and you giggle when he narrows his eyes at you. he's being playful, and you stand, rounding the desk as you hurry towards him.

"well wot's this 'ere?" he chuckles, and you squeal when you jump up, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing kisses to his masked mouth, over and over again. he catches you easily.

"simon--" you thumb at his cheeks, letting out a shaky breath, and you laugh when he fists both sides of your ass, squeezing your arse in the nice denim jeans you're wearing. he hums lowly, nosing at your jaw.

"wot are y'doin' 'ere?" he murmurs, reaching up to cradle the back of your head gently with one hand. you kiss him again, feeling how warm his breath is through the mask. you close your eyes, sniffling a little.

"missed you," you whisper, massaging the nape of his neck and pressing your face into the chest of his tact vest. simon rubs at your scalp gently, soothing you.

"y'know i don't like when y'r 'ere," he mutters, and you squeeze him tighter.

"i know," you sigh. "i know...i know, i just...i-i..." you pull back to look up at him. "i-i know, i just...i--"

"'s olright," he quiets you. "not mad." he presses his mouth to your forehead, kissing it gently, and you close your eyes again. "fancy a cuppa while i debrief, swee'eart?"

"...better hope she doesn't tell him about this..."

you lean up on your toes to get closer to him, fitting your thumbs under his mask and pushing it up so you can get a good kiss. he smirks before your lips meet his, and you sigh with relief when he slips his tongue into your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, and normally you'd tell him off for it, but instead you keen when he squeezes the back of your neck, and you open your mouth wider for him. he takes full advantage, sliding his tongue over yours before sucking on it briefly. his hand palms at the plush space between your thighs, but he knows better than to touch you right away since he's still at work. if he goes any further, he'll have some explaining to do about his punctuality.

"i love you," you whisper when he pulls away. he kisses you again, just beside your mouth, and then he grins wide.

"sit, luvvie," he mutters, nodding to his desk. "won't be long."

it doesn't bother you that he never says it back. he does love you, in his own way. he never says it, but you know it's true.

you know it.

he takes your hand, guiding you over to his desk, not letting go of you until you're sitting. he winks, catching a few fingers under your chin before making his way out. you sigh, watching him from behind, your eyes raking over his broad shoulders to his waist, the thickness of his thighs and his incredible ass. you're no better than a man in that sense, but it's your husband, and you'll ogle him all you like.

it's your privilege. and your right.

but then you catch someone else's gaze, looking at the same thing. it's her--and she's got her eyes on your man.

you suck in a breath, sinking into simon's chair, and you meet her eyes once simon is gone. you smile at her, knowingly, and she swallows hard visibly, clutching the papers she's holding to her chest and making her way to the door.

"i am...so sorry about earlier," she says timidly. "i-i...had no idea that...i didn't know--"

"it's fine," you say, your voice monotone and unyielding. "glad to know this country's secrets are kept...under great care." you stand, and she comes in, holding out her hand.

"i'll get that cuppa for you, mrs. riley, no need," she laughs nervously.

"oh, so you were eavesdropping?" you ask, and she sputters.

"oh...god, n-no, i--"

"i'm just kidding," you smile again, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "tea would be nice."

she scurries off after that, and you follow her to the door, laughing to yourself as she hurries off towards the break room. you notice the cart she was sitting next to. it's stopped at her desk, and you peek over, seeing that it's the mail. she's got the envelopes on her desk, and it looks as if she was just organizing it all to hand out.

but there's a drawer open at her desk, and your eyes narrow when you see your handwriting on the envelope stashed there.

you round the desk, grabbing the stack that you see, and you let out a shaky breath when you realize these are your letters. the ones that you write to simon, all of them, bound neatly with a rubber band. your lip trembles a little, and you hold them to your chest, blinking back angry tears as you slowly make your way back to simon's office. you shut the door, dropping the stack of letters onto simon's desk, and you think.

she's very pretty. not taller than you, but she's more...conventionally attractive. she doesn't have your plush hips, your soft tummy, but that doesn't make her a villain--but you're just aware of what she looks like, what you look like.

you've never been too insecure, especially not since marrying simon. he never fails to chub up as soon as he sees you; he's hungry whenever he sets his eyes on you, and you know he likes grabbing the extra fat around your hips and holding you. he's so gross about it, but you love it. you love the way he loves you.

but is that what he imagined when he was married? did he imagine a woman with a little more? did he imagine a woman not like you, but a little smaller, a little tinier, easier to carry?

but he can carry you. on more than one occasion, he's thrown you over his shoulder, lifted you onto a surface he then fucked you on, flipped you and manhandled you into various positions he wanted to try. he loves having you on top, loves picking you up from your hips and fucking up into you. he never strains, just grunts from the pleasure and smacks your ass. he's never given you any reason to believe you aren't the most beautiful woman, his prettiest girl, so why are you thinking this way?

no. it isn't you. it's her. it's all her fault; there is nothing wrong with you. a man like simon needs a woman like you--someone not so fragile, someone that has more.

she is without. and you are not.

the insecurity wanes. it turns into something else. not jealousy. it's anger. something hungry.

you fucking hate her.

simon comes in a few minutes later, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a manila folder in the other. he shuts the door with his boot, setting down the mug and folder before leaning over and giving your cheek a little kiss through the mask.

the way he greets you, the light touch he has on you, reminds you of what you are to him. no one else in the entire world is privy to this kind of affection. to simon's affection. it's yours, and yours alone, and if you just open your mouth and tell him what you want, you know that he will give it to you.

she is without. and you are not.

"was thinkin'--" simon stops short when he looks at your face, frowning. the recognition of something amiss is almost instant. "wot's wrong?"

you look up, meeting his eyes, and you think again.

you could say nothing. you could wipe your tears, tell him that you're just lonely and needy, and make him bend you over his desk to get the thoughts out of you. you aren't the violent kind. you're not confrontational. you have already established that you aren't the kind to lash out, to show your teeth. you have the nasty tick, but you aren't the kind to let it fester.

you blink, and simon snarls. you waited too long, and now he knows there is something else on your mind.

"oi," he snaps. "'m tolkin' t'ya."

"s-simon," you whisper, and he reaches over to grip you by the throat. he doesn't choke you, but he holds you firm, dragging you closer to him. "s-simon--"

but it's too late for her, because you're angry. the sickness has already spread.

you stand, forced to walk around the desk, coming closer. he's not happy; there's something bothering his wife, and that isn't allowed. his wife is not supposed to be upset or sad, she isn't supposed to cry unless it's tears of joy, unless her eyes are stinging and wet from how nice his cock feels. a lieutenant's wife is pampered, spoiled, nothing but pleasure and soft sheets and full tummies. it's unacceptable. it's awful, it's terrible, it's not right, and he needs to fix it.

"wot is it?"

"...better hope she doesn't tell him about this..."

"the letters--" you sniffle, leaning up on your toes, pressing your face against his. "the letters i sent you, t-the ones...you said you never got--"

"i know, luvvie," he murmurs. fuck, he can be kind when he wants to be, when it's for you. "i know, 'm sorry, 'm gonna sort it out for ya--"

"i-i found them," you interrupt, looking away. he follows your gaze to where they sit on his desk. he reaches over and picks up the neat stack, and he flips through them with a huff. he's confused, noting the dates you've written on them. it isn't even all the letter's you've sent, just a stack of the most recent ones.

"i don't--"

"they were in...they were in her desk," you hiccup. "she...she's keeping them from you, she wasn't--" you rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes, and he cradles the back of your head with a big hand. "she doesn't like me."

it's quiet for a long while. simon strokes the back of your neck, easing you into his chest. his touch is light, unbothered, but he's eerily silent as the moments pass. the rise and fall of his heavy breaths lull you, calm you, but then he wraps his fingers into your hair, gripping the strands tight. you swallow a bit from the force of his hand. the gravity of what he might feel, what it might mean, the switch you've flipped.

the thing you've unleashed.

it is the first time that you realize what simon can be for you. it is the first time that you think that it's very possible for you to use simon, to whisper soft in his ear and lick the flames of his need to bite back, his need to strike.

even if what you say is a lie, he'll believe you. maybe he'll even know it is a lie, and he'll convince himself it isn't one just to make things right again. love is blinding, and it is also forgiving. he can deal with the lie later, but not with your dissatisfaction.

"doesn't matter about how she feels about ya, y'r m'wife," he murmurs in your ear. his tone has lowered, something that makes you think this might be how he speaks to his men, the privates he can't stand and the ones that have trouble following orders. "fuckin' disrespectful--" he hisses, tipping your head back with a tug on your hair. he looks into your eyes, wild, cunning, angry. "'m gonna take care of this, swee'eart. y'hear me?"

oh, yeah. that's what you want to hear, that's what you need to hear. you flutter your lashes, mouthing at his jaw.

"i don't...i don't mean to make a fuss, simon, i--" but i do, i want it--

"oi," simon picks you up from under your thighs, dropping you onto his desk. he steps between your knees, pushing his mask up, and you mewl when he licks the tears off your face, kissing you with an open mouth. "y'listen to me..." he sucks on your bottom lip, bringing his mouth back to yours. "won't accept anyone treatin' m'wife this way. disrespectin' you is disrespectin' me. won't 'ave tha'. so look me 'n the eyes 'n tell me ya understand."

you sniffle, nodding, smoothing your hands down his forearms. he narrows his eyes, and you try not to look away from him. it isn't up for discussion. even if you ask him not to make a fuss, he won't roll over on this. there is a certain decorum simon expects anyone that reports to him to have, and if they don't grant it, he doesn't take to it lightly--not from his men, and not from pretty secretaries that didn't do their homework.

"i-i understand," you whisper, and you sputter a little when you stop yourself from saying anymore. he knocks your chin back up, keeping your eyes, and you continue with a wobble in your voice. "she...she tried to kick me out earlier, too." he tilts his head to the side, and you know not to keep a secret anymore. "when i...when i was opening your office, she...s-she didn't recognize me and...she tried to get kyle to make me leave."

he laughs a little, but there's nothing funny about it.

"'n wot did he do?"

"he said he was sorry."

"good. now lie back, swee'eart. 'm hungry, 'n my wife deserves to get her cunt eaten for being such a good girl."

you smile a little, wiping your face with the back of your hand, and he grins back at you. you giggle as he unbuttons your jeans, pulling down the zipper, and you laugh a little more when he picks you up and yanks them off your legs. he puts a hand on your chest and pushes you to lie flat, tossing your legs over his shoulders and sighing.

"missed y'r lil' pussy so much," he murmurs. "m'favorite place ta be."

just like that, the anger is gone. dissolved, sugar in warm water.

you giggle, rubbing a hand over the head of his mask. you arch your back as he mouths over the fabric of your panties, hooking a finger over it and pulling it aside to slurp at your wet folds. you let out a shaky breath, tugging on his mask a little.

"i missed you, too, simon," you whisper. "i-it's too quiet without you."

"i know, baby," he suckles at your clit, coaxing a moan out of you, and he chuckles. "mmm...want ya to cum in my mouth, luv."

you whimper, "i will, simon. anything for you."

"fuckin' hell," he hisses, "don't say shit like tha', makes me fuckin' hard."

"whatever you want, baby," you whisper, and he pushes his tongue into your little hole as punishment, making you squeal and giggle with delight. he smirks from between your thighs, dragging you just that much closer before he starts to bob his head and fuck you with his tongue. you grind against his mouth, locking your ankles behind his back and staring at the ceiling as you ride his face for your pleasure. he's so good, he's so hot, everything you want and more. he loves you, so much, and he will do anything for you.

anything.

"are you going t-to teach her a lesson?" you babble, panting, and simon hums.

"yeah, swee'eart."

"how?"

"hmm..." he smiles wide as he kisses your clit. "how do ya want me to?"

"want her gone, simon," you gasp, forcing his mouth back into your pussy, slick coating his chin. he follows your direction, smoothing his hands up your stomach, thumbing at your perky tits.

"mmm..." he's so pussy-drunk, his tongue flattening between your folds and teasing you warmly. you're so wet, slick coating your folds, and he''s starting get messy, his face glistening as he concentrates on the only task that matters. "woteva y'want, luv."

"r-really?"

"i asked ya to cum in my fuckin' mouth, and y'r about to," simon snaps. "when i say it's done, it's done. when my wife asks for somethin', she gets it, do you fuckin' understand me?"

"yes! yes--" you hiccup. you're so stupid. so dumb to think that simon would refuse a request that you make. pretty, dumb girl to think that whatever you say isn't his gospel.

you want her gone. you do. and you want simon to do it for you. you want him to stuff his fingers into your cunt with one hand and hold her at the wrong end of his gun with the other--

there's something wrong with you, right? right?

"why are y'still thinkin'?" simon growls, leaning up and over you until he can kiss you nasty. his face is soaked, and you moan when he slides his tongue over yours, practically spitting in your mouth as he slips two fingers into you with ease. "my wife isn't supposed ta think."

you let out a shaky breath, nodding, cupping his cheeks and kissing him back.

"yes--o-okay, 'm sorry--"

"stop thinkin'. nothin' ta think about when y'r mine."

and he's right. you always use your brain too much, you always end up thinking when you should just be listening, responding, letting him move your body this way and that way.

simon is always right. always.

you kiss him again, soft and shaky breaths. you reach down with one hand and wrap your fingers around his wrist, sighing as you guide his fingers until he's pressing on that little spot that makes your toes curl.

"ahhh...right there, yeah?" he smirks, and you nod, your fingers touching his lips.

"not enough," you whisper, and he tsks, shaking his head.

"never is," he mutters. "my mouth or my cock, baby?"

you giggle, and he kisses you, swallowing your laughter. you breathe into the kiss as you reach down and start to undo the button of his cargos and unzip him, palming at his bulge and squeezing it lovingly.

"not even a question," you purr between kisses, and he chuckles, deep and heavy, shoving down his pants just enough to pull himself out. you arch your back just at the sight, knowing how big he'll feel and how much he'll stretch you out. it's such a familiar feeling that you adore chasing, and you love the way your brain muddles whenever he sinks deep. your toes curl just thinking about how deep he'll get today with how wet you are. not that you aren't wet always when simon is around, but there's just something so sexy about your husband wearing all his gear and promising to rid the earth of vermin just for your contentment.

"'s alright, mama, i know 'ow much ya like bein' full o' me..." simon smooths a finger over your clit, licking his lips when he sees you clench around nothing. he slaps his tip there, watching you squirm, and he growls a little when you spread your fingers in a V and show off to him how wet you are.

"stop teasing and make me a real mama," you giggle, and simon tilts his head to the side, leaning over you.

"is tha' a challenge, m'dear wife?"

you meet his eyes, lovely and lingering, and you shake your head.

"no," you whisper, because fucking isn't a challenge, not for him. "a-a request."

he smiles, so wide, and you reach down and grip his forearms tight when he slips into you. you're dripping, a soft squelch sounding as his hips meet your thighs, and you cup his face as he settles his weight over you.

"y-you've never looked at her...have you?" you ask into his ear.

"at who, baby?"

"her," you whine. "you know w-who i'm talking about, don't play stupid, simon--"

"shh--" he clamps a hand over your mouth, hissing a little. he shakes his head, annoyed, and he shifts inside of you until he's hitting your cervix and making you cry into his palm. "'m a right bastard, baby, but tha', i'd never do." he chuckles. "got a tight arse, tha' one, but she's not you. she's not my girl."

tears prick your eyes. you're not sure if it's from the hint of jealousy that sears through your chest or the way you clench around him, but it's all too much suddenly.

he leans forward, sliding his hand off, gripping you by the throat now as he kisses you wet and hazy.

"'s y'r face i think about when 'm gone," he murmurs. "y'r cunt tha' gets me fuckin' hard. y'r fat tits that make me drool, swee'eart, ain't no one else 'n the world tha' makes me feel the way y'do, yeah?"

you hold onto him, digging your nails into his back, and he forces your eyes on his as he smiles again.

"ask the boys," simon hums. "ask 'em wot it sounds like when 'm wankin' off at night, ask 'em whose name 'm sayin'--"

"you think about me?" you whimper, and he laughs, cruel, biting his lip as he drags his cock out and then punches it back in, enjoying the way you cry, the look of your slick seeping out onto the desk and wetting his reports.

"got a nasty lil' photo 'f ya," simon smirks. "keep it right here--" he pats the spot over his heart, and your mouth opens when he squeezes your throat just a little tighter. "can finish in fuckin' seconds, baby."

"y-yeah?"

"boys like t'borrow it sometimes," he murmurs, slipping a hand down and pressing down on your lower stomach before giving you a nice roll of his lips. you squeal a little, his palm meeting the tip of his cock, and he chuckles. "ya just look so pretty, luv. johnny fancies y'r cunt, the good lad, but i think price is a fan of that fat arse--"

"s-simon--"

"gaz is such a sap--" he grits his teeth, gripping your hips with both hands, starting to give it to you a little faster, a little harder. the desk rattles a little under the force of him. "says your mouth is divine, but fuck, who can look at anythin' else when y'r cunt is out, aye?"

"t-they like me?"

simon grins, eyes bright and a little crazy. "course they do, luvvie," he runs his tongue over his teeth, tilting his head to the side as he looks down at you. "y'r a bloody sight for sore eyes. 'f ya think these boys want her, y'r mistaken--" you bite your bottom lip. you should be disgusted. you should be upset that your husband touches himself to your picture and lets his men peek over his shoulder, but you're not. you smile, eyes sparkling, and you widen your thighs to try and take him deeper. "--want you, swee'eart. want wot's mine, but they'll never 'ave it. never 'ave wot belongs ta me. can look, but they can't fuckin' touch, cos it's mine."

you moan, dragging your nails down his forearms, and he curses under his breath as he picks up the pace again. he's starving--it's been weeks without you, weeks fucking his fist to the same picture of you that barely does you any justice. he drools at night, practically choking on his spit as he thinks about you in every position, how easily he can bend you and fold you, how wet you get whenever he talks into your ear about the blood, the murder, the terrible things that stain his hands.

he knows what it does to you, when he confides in you. the truth of it all, the truth of what he really is, it makes you weak. it rattles you down to your bones, it makes your eyes roll back into your head, makes your legs squeeze together and your pretty pussy flutter. he thinks maybe you like knowing that simon is dangerous, but he'd never put a hand on you. or maybe you like just knowing that he can--that he's capable of terrible, awful things, and he chooses to come home to you.

every single time.

it's a vice. you're the vice, more than cigarettes, more than the thrill of getting onto his bike, more than the adrenaline he chases when he's outnumbered twenty to one with nothing but his throwing knives.

there's a thread between you. there's a line that connects him to you, something that has always been there, pulled taut as soon as he put that ring on your finger and gave you his name. it's the thing that always makes it hard to breathe when you're around him. it's what makes it impossible to look into his eyes and not see yourself looking right back at you. it's the terrible realization that your husband is black and blue on the inside--

and so am i.

this kind of love is different. it's not fleeting, it's not gentle. it's canine teeth tearing into skin. it's claws in something soft, ripping it apart. it's the joy in doing what isn't right, the benefit of yourself in favor of the benefit of all.

simon would burn the world for you. even if it meant you were all that was left--even if it meant that everyone in it burned, too.

the world should be grateful that simon is only taking one fucking secretary instead of them all.

when simon lifts your hips just that much, your head spins. he always fucks so good, but you're spiraling into a headspace that's making it hard to focus your eyes. you're arching your back to get closer to him, but you're at his mercy, his hands pressing on your thighs just that much to get you just a little more open, just that much more spread out, and you cry when he leans over you, the hair surrounding his cock rubbing against your clit just enough.

"ahhh--fuck, y'r so fuckin' tight, baby--" simon groans, shaking his head. "y'r gonna cum--can feel it, yeah--" he leans his head back. "y'know the rules, luvvie, know the fuckin' rules--"

you have to cum before him, he won't let you have it if you don't cum first--you're so close!

"let 'er hear ya," simon chuckles, all mean, all bite. "let 'er hear 'ow good y'r husband gives it t'ya, how well a riley takes it, let 'er hear--"

fuck, it hits you fast. you're seeing spots, floating for just long enough until you feel him fuck his cum back into you. he barely stops, quickening his pace to finish just to make it that much messier. you think he likes dirtying his desk, making it reek of sweat and musk and heat so he can bask in it later. or maybe he just wants to get back between your thighs, his favorite place in the world, the only quiet from the voices that taunt him in his head.

when he pulls out, he makes you eat it off his fingers. he pulls his gloves off, stuffs his fingers into you, and then puts them back between your lips. he hums as he stares down at you, lapping between his knuckles, and he leans down to murmur in your ear.

"gonna sort this out, luv. promise ya tha'."

he doesn't see acceptance in your eyes when he tells you this. he didn't expect to see that. there is no need to accept the things that you already know, what you already understand. simon doesn't speak in metaphors. he's not interested in riddles, and he doesn't like reading between the lines.

he sees the thrill. he sees your excitement, the joy, the warm rush of approval that washes over you, and he smiles when you lean in to kiss him, all soft, all tender, whispers of affection that make his cock hard all over again.

you want to pity the girl waiting outside. she would've lived longer if she had just shut her fucking mouth.

[hoe4hotchner]

hey! can i request aaron x lawyer!r where r is unexpectedly the lawyer of one of the teams suspects and hotch is interrogating the suspect with r in the room and she's being a little harsh with him bc she's just doing her job? maybe a little nsfw? that's up to you totally 😚

also! the team knows aaron's married but they've never met his wife that ought to be fun

Conflict of interest | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x lawyer fem!reader | WC: 1.4k | CW: Tension (maybe on the cusp of a lil sexual tension), law language. They yell a little

The walls of the interrogation room were suffocatingly close, the air thick with the scent of stale police station coffee, that had likely been in the pot for hours. The overhead light cast a gloomy glow over the metal table where Hotch sat, his fingers laced together in a show of composure. His eyes were sharp and remained locked onto the man sitting cuffed across from him—Mr. Holt, their prime suspect in a long line of brutal homicides.

But it wasn’t Holt who made Hotch’s shoulders tense beneath his suit jacket. It wasn’t Holt who sent an unwelcome current of frustration coursing through his veins.

It was you.

Seated just to the right of the suspect, clad in a perfectly tailored black blazer and exuding impenetrable confidence, you sat with your hands folded neatly atop a thick legal pad. The elegant pen between your fingers tapped soundlessly against the paper, the only outward sign of your simmering irritation. Unlike Hotch, your composure wasn’t practiced—it was definite.

You had to be. After all, you weren’t just any defense attorney. You were the defense attorney. And right now, you were his opponent.

Hotch’s voice was steady as he laid out the facts, his tone laced with authority, but you saw right through him. “Security footage places you at the victim’s home at 11:42 p.m. Your car was seen parked half a block away, and your fingerprints were recovered from the front door. Would you like to explain why?”

Holt shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but before he could even consider an answer, you leaned forward, exuding an air of casual yet deliberate defiance. “My client is under no legal obligation to respond to a question that presumes guilt,” you said smoothly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Unless, of course, you’re implying that the mere presence of fingerprints constitutes irrefutable evidence of criminal activity? Because if so, I’d love to hear how you intend to argue that in court.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He should have expected this—should have been prepared for the way you would anticipate every angle of his interrogation and counter it before he could press his suspect any further. But that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

He shifted tactics, leaning back slightly, his voice lowering just enough to force the suspect into hanging on to every word. “We don’t need a confession. We already have enough to charge him. But I’m giving him an opportunity to cooperate, and that cooperation might be the difference between second-degree murder and manslaughter.”

Your laugh was soft but biting, a quiet scoff of amusement as you crossed one leg over the other. “Ah, so we’ve moved on to coercion. Good to know.” You tapped the pen against your notepad, feigning contemplation. “For the record, are you extending a plea offer, Agent Hotchner? Because if that’s the case, I’d be happy to discuss terms with the ADA. Otherwise, I’d appreciate it if you refrained from making veiled threats regarding my client’s sentencing.”

There was no mistaking the flicker of frustration in Hotch’s eyes as his gaze locked on you. Tension hung between the two of you, thick and charged, stretching the air around you tight, neither of you willing to back down.

Holt shifted again, clearly uncomfortable as he glanced between the two of you. “Uh… you two know each other?”

You didn’t so much as spare him a glance, your focus entirely on your husband. “Irrelevant.”

But for the first time, Hotch allowed himself to react. His gaze flickered over you, assessing, weighing. Then, finally, he sat forward, mirroring your posture, his hands flattening against the table. “Not quite,” he murmured, the words carrying an undertone only you would recognize.

The suspect’s brows furrowed, but you ignored him, your fingers tightening around your pen. This wasn’t the time for personal matters. Not here. Not now.

With a measured inhale, you pushed your chair back, the scrape of the metal legs against the floor slicing through the quiet room. Gathering your papers with careful precision, you rose to your feet, smoothing out the sleeve of your blazer as you spoke. “Then I assume this interrogation is over. If the state wishes to pursue formal charges, you know how to reach me.” You turned your gaze to Holt. “We’re done here.”

Without another word, you strode toward the door, your heels clicking against the linoleum with unwavering confidence. But as you passed by the observation room, you could practically feel the weight of their stares.

The BAU had always known that Hotch was married. They just never knew to whom.

Hotch was on you the second you stepped out of the interrogation room, his long strides easily matching yours as you moved through the precinct’s fluorescent-lit hallways.

“You didn’t think to warn me?” His voice was low, but there was an unmistakable bite beneath it.

You barely spared him a glance as you kept walking, your expression composed, your heels clicking against the scuffed linoleum with confidence.

“That would have been a violation of privilege, Agent Hotchner.”

His last name, spoken with deliberate coolness, it was a dagger—pointed, sharp, meant to wound. It shouldn’t have affected him.

It did.

“Don’t give me that,” he bit out, his pace unyielding beside you. “This wasn’t just any case, and you damn well know it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you shot back, finally turning to face him as you came to a stop near the bullpen, where uniformed officers and federal agents milled about, some stealing glances at the two of you. “Would you have preferred I compromised my ethical obligations to make your life easier?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning into yours. “I would have preferred not to walk into that room and find my wife sitting across from me, blocking my every move.”

A few nearby officers looked up from their desks, their attention settling on the argument unfolding in front of them. The BAU team wasn’t far, either—standing just past the evidence board, pretending not to eavesdrop.

They weren’t great at pretending.

You squared your shoulders, lifting your chin slightly. “Then maybe you should learn how to conduct an interrogation without bordering on prosecutorial misconduct.”

Hotch exhaled sharply through his nose, a slow, measured breath that did little to temper his frustration. “I wasn’t coercing him.”

You let out a humorless laugh, crossing your arms. “Implying that the only way out of a harsher sentence is to confess—without an official plea agreement on the table—is dangerously close to a violation. And don’t try to argue otherwise, because you know I’m right.”

His lips pressed into a firm line. “That’s an overstatement.”

“No, it’s a legal precedent,” you shot back. “One that I could use if I wanted to. And don’t think for a second that I won’t.”

The tension between you burned harsher by the second, coiling, tightening, thriving under the scrutiny of the station. Officers slowed their movements, their conversations quieter, their curiosity thick in the air.

Hotch’s team wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

Morgan let out a low whistle under his breath. “I gotta admit, this is better than I expected.”

JJ nudged him sharply, but even she couldn’t hide the way her lips twitched in poorly concealed amusement.

Hotch took a step closer, his voice dropping just enough that only you could hear it. “You’re making a scene.”

Your eyes glinted, sharp as a blade. “I’m winning a scene.”

That earned you a look—one that sent heat coiling low in your stomach despite every ounce of frustration pulsing through your veins.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, exasperation written into every taut line of his body. “You were harsh in there.”

Your arms stayed crossed, your stance was riggid. “I was effective.”

“You were antagonistic.”

“I was doing my job, Aaron,” you countered, voice sharp but controlled. “Something I refuse to apologize for.”

His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, as if he was holding himself back from a response that would tip this battle into something else. Something neither of you could afford to acknowledge here, surrounded by far too many watchful eyes.

Instead, he inhaled slowly, steadying himself before speaking again. “We’re not done discussing this.”

You arched a brow. “Then I suggest you take it up with my office.”

With that, you turned on your heel, striding toward the station’s exit, your every movement exuding the same unyielding confidence that had been driving him insane since the moment you walked into that interrogation room.

Hotch watched you go, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

“Damn,” Morgan muttered, breaking the silence that had settled over the bullpen. “She really just left you on read in real life.”

Hotch barely spared him a glance.

But as he adjusted his tie and turned away, his team wasn’t fooled.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

[harperb2813]

"Don't make a fucking sound."

cw! minors dni. angst, use of pet names like princess and baby, rough sex, strap-on sex, hair pulling, dirty talking, degradation, praising, multiple orgasms, mention of squirting, strap on use (r! receiving),oral (r! receiving).

Ellie takes her anger out on you after losing a lacrosse match.

She played lacrosse, the sport that she loved. Ellie would take out her stress when she played. But when her team would lose, you needed to get ready to go back home with her.

Ellie was tense the whole ride home. When you did get home, she sighed as she slammed the door. You were about to go upstairs until Ellie spoke, "C'mere."

"Hmm?" You hummed."

"I said come here." Ellie demanded in a harsh tone, as Ellie walked to you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to a wall, pinning your wrists against it. "Look at me." You look in her piercing green eyes. Ellie looked irritated, she would always get like this when the team lost. You knew she wasn't angry at you, it was just the outcome of the game. Ellie pressed her body against yours, not allowing you to move. Her hands firmly holding your wrists.

"Ellie..." You say, slightly shocked.

"Shut up." Ellie said, her voice firm. Her knee pushed between your legs, her knee softly pressed against your pussy. Ellie looked down at you.

"Fuck-" You moan.

"Tsk, what did I say..." She pushes you harder against the wall. "I said shut up." Ellie pressed her knee against you again, and leaned down to your ear. "Say anything again and I stop. Understood?" You nod keeping your mouth shut.

"Good girl."

Ellie whispered, her face close to your now. Her hands firmly gripped your wrists, as she started to press light kisses across your neck, her knee still pressing against you.` You bite back a moan. Ellie smirked against your skin, knowing exactly what she was doing. She started to leave more wet kisses on your neck. Her knee starting to press deeper.

"You're going to stay quiet for me?" You nod begging for her to continue.

"Such a good girl you are."Ellie said against your neck, her voice was raspy. She bit down gently on your neck, the pressure from her knee increasing.Ellie's kisses slowly moved down to your collarbone, leaving kisses and biting it gently, causing it to turn a light pink color. She then bit and sucked on your sweet spot in the nape of your neck. Ellie would bite down on your sweet spot a little harder. She started pulling your body against hers, pressing her body against yours. Ellie softly pulled down your shirt, as her warm lips started to kiss down to your chest.

"You don't know how gorgeous you are.." She whispered against your skin, as her kisses went further down. You tilt Your head back with pleasure.

Ellie loved how sensitive you were to her touch. She would love to see you squirm under her. Her kisses started to go further, nearing your stomach.

"You're so sensitive.." Her hand slowly started to wander up your stomach. They squeeze your tits, causing you to gasp. Ellie pauses for a moment "What did I say about making noise? You can't hold it in?"She smirks, her hand started to lightly squeeze your tits one at a time.

"Sorry" You sign in sign language. Ellie glanced at your hands, smiling before speaking.

"I forgive you, princess." She slowly pushed you down onto the floor to your knees now towering over you, smiling down at you. You look up at her, your eyes hungry for her. Ellie slowly squats down, looking at you. Her eyes filled with lust as she spoke.

"You looked so beautiful while I had you pinned against the wall. Seeing you all flustered made me want to do even more." She puts her thumb on your lip. Slowly, she moves her thumb into your mouth watching your reaction closely.

"You're such a good girl for me. So obedient.. and so beautiful.."

"Are you wearing your strap?" You sign. Ellie nodded.

"Of course I am. Did you really think I wouldn't wear it?" You shrug and smirk up at herEllie leaned closer to you, grabbing your chin, making you look at her. Her grip on your chin was firm, but gentle, not wanting to hurt you.

"Don't start acting cocky with me, princess."

"What do you want me to do?" You sign. Ellie's hands slowly went from your chin to your shoulders, forcing you to where she wants you.

"I think you know exactly what I want. You don't think I'm going to let you off after what you just did, do you princess?"

"Suck it?"I sign while smirking. Ellie chuckled as she slowly sat back against the wall, looking at you.

"That's exactly what I want, princess. Make yourself useful. Come on, pretty girl." You unbutton her pants and pulling them and her underwear down. Her big cock looking you in the face. Ellie looked down at you, smiling as she put a hand back on your chin.

"Is it what you were expecting, princess? Because I can see it in your eyes." Ellie chuckled at your shocked look, as she started to run her fingers through your hair.

"Go on, princess. You know what to do. Open up for me.” You did as you were told. Ellie watched you intently as you slowly opened your mouth for her, smirking the whole time.

"You look so good like this, all dolled up and ready for me." Ellie's expression changed, as she leaned her head back against the wall, letting out a soft moan. Her hand still in your hair.

"Just like that- good girl.." You swear she could really feel it as if it really were her own cock. Ellie looked down at you, looking into your eyes.

"You look so beautiful, doll.. on your knees and in between my legs..."Ellie continued to run her fingers through your hair, slightly pulling as she watched you.

"You're mine, aren't you princess? You're all mine." you nod around her dick. Ellie tightened her grip in your hair slightly, a soft moan escaping her mouth.

"I'm the only one who can see you like that, nobody else." she grunts. She slowly begins to thrust, her cock sliding in and out, the friction causing her to become more aroused. Ellie gripped your hair, and bit her lip a whimper escaping her lips as she started to gently thrust into your mouth. Her moans started to escape her lips, as she looked down at you. Soon enough Ellie was sliding down your throat, slowly but forcefully.

“Good girl... All nice and deep.” You tried your best to take it, to not gag. But harsh deep thrusts from Ellie made you.

"Doing so good princess, just a little more." she muttered "You look like such a mess. Your hair and mouth a mess because of me. You're enjoying this aren't you princess?" You nod around her, gagging. Ellie continued to go deeper in your mouth, she was enjoying this. Seeing you in such a state was driving her crazy.

“I’m going to fuck you up so badly princess. You’re going to be an absolute fucking wreck..."You could tell how much she was enjoying this, the small moans and gasps that escaped her mouth. Seeing you a mess in front of her, looking up at her with pleading eyes.

"You're mine, princess. My pretty girl, that I get to ruin." She suddenly thrusted in deeper and faster, a loud moan escaped her.

"God look how you're sucking me. I'm getting close. you gonna be able to swallow it all?" she asked, her breath ragged. You nodded eagerly.Her eyes darkened as she looked down at you.

"Such a good girl. Can't wait to see you all messy and covered in my cum." She is fucking your mouth hashly now.

“I’m almost there princess. You going to take it like a good little slut?Gonna behave and swallow it? Be a good girl and don't spill any"?" She pants. You nod, tears welling in your eyes. A moan escaped her mouth as her grip to your hair tightened.

"I'm gonna fill your pretty mouth up doll. So be a good girl and swallow. You can take it all, can't you?" She teased. She suddenly began to hit the back of your throat.

"i'm cumming" She moaned

"Look at me princess. I want you to look at me while I fill you up" You look up at her. She held your head in place, practically forcing her cum down your throat. she pulls out of your mouth as you swallow it.

"good girl... You can talk now doll." She smiles.

"You tasted so good love..." You say. Ellie smirked, as she began to run her fingers through your hair again. Caressing the back of your head.

"Did I princess? I’m glad you enjoyed it. You looked beautiful on your knees for me."

"Is that all?" You ask. You know the answer but yo need to hear it yourself.

"You think I’m finished with you princess? I’m not nearly done with you yet." She scooped you up, carrying you over to the bed, slowly tossing you onto it removing your clothes and her shirt. She slowly began to kiss down your stomach, stopping at your thighs.

"You look so good like this, doll. All vulnerable for me." She hovered over you.

"Are you ready for me, princess?"She smirked, as she moved to in between your legs.

"I'll take care of you, don't worry, princess."

"I'm ready Els.." She pushed herself into you, her hands slowly going to your hips, holding them tightly. She begins to harshly thrust in and out of you, her hips snapping against your ass. The smell of sex quickly filled the bedroom. She grabbed your hips, fucking you faster. Moans spew out of your mouth trying to catch your breath.

"You look so damn good like this, doll. Taking me like that. You like my dick baby? Like it? She teased. You whined as she slipped deeper into you.

"Shut up. You can take it. Take it." She thrusts harder, forcing her cock deeper into you. She is stretching you and fucking your brains out. You are begging for her to slow down.

"Fuck Ellie please!" You beg.

"I said shut up. You can take it." She hissed. The room's temperature continued to rise, as the sound of the bed slightly creaking and the sounds of both of yours' breaths and moans were the only things that echoed through the room.

"Ellie 'm close..." You warn.

"Me too princess. Just hold on a little longer please." She pants. She started to go faster, the bed creaking under the both of you growing louder.

"You're doing so good for me princess. I'm gonna cum... You gonna let me fuck my babies into you?"

"Y-Yes Ellie..." She began to thrust harder, her breath becoming more staggered. Your orgasm hits you, your eyes rolling back as she fucks you through it. Your juices spilling our and a ring of cum forming at the base of her cock. Your body goes limp But Ellie doesn't care. you're her toy to use and fuck for tonight,She doesn't stop fucking you for a second, using you how she pleased. By the end of the night she had cum more times than she could recall.

Sorry for the sloppy ending. I wrote this at 12:35 in the morning (😭) to I was just trying to end it. I am working on a story with Ellie. it should be out soon!

[noctiva]

omg hai me again! (first time anon…well, second time now)

i would KILL for those relationship hcs with toby, i love him so much, i wanna give him a good life :( poor guys honestly through so much ughhhhh

okay bai bai!

(im definitely gonna be back, maybe 🌝 anon? watch out :3)

I got you!! let’s get it!

—

Toby Rogers - Relationship HCs [SFW + NSFW!]

CW: NSFW content! Descriptions of and mentions of sexual acts, mentions of pregnancy and breeding, mentions of violence + murder, toxic behaviour, possessive + jealous behaviour, mentions of fighting w/ a partner (verbally and physically)

[PSA! I’m dividing this into two separate sections because I have two separate headcanons for toby dearest, as you can read about here!]

-

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

-

For me, how Toby would act in a relationship is dependent on if he’s retained his past memories or not! Let’s talk about both <3

Memories intact! [SFW]

A loverboy in the most fucked up sense of the word

Lives each day wondering how on earth he manage to land you, and is partially convinced you’re a figment of his imagination because of how goddamn perfect you are in his eyes.

Because of this, he is a bit… Clingy. When you first meet, all of the ‘what if’s’ are drowned out by how intense his emotions are - but once he gets situated, the shock melts away for thoughts much more destructive.

Toby puts you on a pedestal. Like some sort of goddess compared to him. So sweet, pure, and untainted by the horrors he’s been subjected to.

So, the awe of being with you very quickly becomes bordered with the overwhelming fear that you’ll one day grow bored of him.

Or worse, one day grow scared of him.

His jealousy is absolutely volatile when left unchecked. His thoughts spiral quickly, and he feels things very intensely.

Laughed at a joke another proxy made? Oh, must mean that you like them more than him. Share a cigarette with Tim because you ran out? Yeah, you guys definitely must be fucking behind his back.

Oh, and if they’re not a fellow proxy? Yeah, they’re good as dead if they so much as hold a door open for you.

It’s… an issue, to say the least. It gets to the point where you can’t even look at another man without Toby twisting himself into a knot.

Like a dog, growling at anyone who even comes close to its territory.

And don’t… Don’t try to reason with him. He won’t budge, no matter how many times you try to calm him down.

And if you’re really insistent about it, things can get messy fast.

Immediately, he’ll be convinced all of his worst nightmares are unfolding before his eyes. Because why would you be trying to get him to stop protecting you? It must be because you’re guilty, in one way or another.

I will not lie to you, he gets so nasty and mean when he’s like this. Name calling, being purposefully harsh just to spite you, before he inevitably disappears without warning for a few hours to try and cool off.

(He is a walking tornado when he’s like this btw. If something gets close to him, it’s getting butchered). So, it’s a good thing he knows to distance himself.

But, you suppose you can’t really blame him. Every thing else that he’s ever loved was ripped up from under his feet, right before his eyes.

Needless to say, he needs constant reassurance.

You could never say ‘I love you’ too many times to him. Every single time it feels like a blessing. Like it’s the first time all over again.

His love languages are words of affirmation, gift giving and physical touch.

Big emphasis on the latter. He needs to be touching you like all the time.

A hand tucked into your back pocket as you stand beside him, playing with your hair as you rest your head on his lap. Arms circled around your waist as you prepare dinner, shuffling around the kitchen behind you as he nibbles at your neck softly.

Did I mention he likes to bite? Because he does. A lot.

A lot of the time, it isn’t even of sexual nature, he’s just got an oral fixation. If you weren’t around, he’d be biting his nails to the bone, or chewing on the strings of his hoodie.

But he does have you! So you’re getting nibbled on instead <3

Lazily dragging his teeth against your shoulder blades as you lay in bed cuddling together. Nibbling on your thumbs and fingers absentmindedly as you watch a movie together. Sneaking up behind you just to catch the meat of your neck between his teeth, biting hard enough to leave indentations behind before he just goes about his day as if nothing happened.

It doesn’t help that you taste so good - but we’ll get into that later.

His other love language - gift giving - is just as prominent.

In my general headcanons for him, I mentioned that Toby likes to search the forest for pretty things when he’s out and about. If he’s in a relationship, yeah that increases tenfold.

He’s like a fucking crow. Constantly bringing home shiny rocks and cool bones he came across. Wildflowers too, which he’ll haphazardly tie into a makeshift bouquet before giving to you.

If any of his victims are wearing jewelry - yeah, that’s getting snatched. It’s not like they need it now, and it would definitely look better on his baby anyway.

(You’ve learned to stop asking where they’re coming from).

He pampers and dotes on you to an almost annoying degree btw. But as I mentioned before, he’s pretty much convinced you’re a deity, so that’s what you deserve.

He loves to take care of you. It makes him feel like he’s deserving of your presence. (Though, he really doesn’t need to prove himself to you, but it’s a whole mental thing you won’t be able to talk him out of).

He will literally learn skills just to make your life easier. Gets better at hunting so that you don’t have to worry about where to find food. Figures out how to skin and butcher animals so that you don’t have to deal with the gore. Will build furniture for you if you mention you want something once. (“It’d be nice to have a swing in the back for the summer.” Boom. You’ve got one the next day.)

He’ll wash your hair, sew up your clothes, wake up early just so that you have a cup of coffee before your eyes even flutter open.

Because, again, that’s what you deserve.

I will mention this again he is SOOOOOO clingy! He’ll come home from a mission and immediately be seeking you out, pulling you into an embrace before even washing the blood from his skin.

Very outdoorsy too, so expect lots of long nature walks and picnics.

Memories intact! [NSFW]

Remember how I said he thinks you taste good?

Good fucking luck because when you guys are getting down and dirty, it’s gonna feel like he’s trying to literally consume you.

He will sink his teeth into wherever he can find purchase. Your neck, shoulders, thighs, chest, ass - nothing is spared. You’re gonna look like you got attacked by a wolf when it’s all over.

And his possessiveness definitely plays a part.

He wants you covered in his marks. Wants people to know you’re his with just one glance at you.

He’ll bite hard enough to bruise, hard enough to bleed - and then he’ll suck at the wound to draw more out. Loving the taste of your blood on his tongue, but also needing the mark he leaves behind to be as dark as possible.

Honestly, I’m gonna be fr, he’d probably carve his initials into your thigh if you’d let him.

Gotta let everyone know who you belong to!

You, will never forget that fact. Because in bed, it seems like his main mission is to drill that idea into your brain.

He’ll usually start out gentle, but that never lasts long. He’ll have you sobbing by the time it’s all over. Fucking as many orgasms out of you as you can take.

And that man’s got stamina. So, good luck trying not to pass out.

He can’t feel the pain and soreness of his muscles, so it doesn’t matter to him. He’ll keep going until he’s shooting blanks LMAO

And he’s… well endowed. So you’re gonna be feeling it for a few days after.

I’m gonna give him a solid 6.5 inches. Not too girthy, but enough for you to really feel the stretch.

I don’t make the rules. He’s a dorky, scrawny white boy, alright? I have quite literally never been with one that wasn’t packing 🫡

Pleasure is like, the one intense sensation he can feel, so he’s pretty hypersexual tbh. It’s the only thing that breaks through the numbness he’s always drowning in.

I personally believe Toby’s not a snivelling virgin, but anyone else he’s been with before you simply do not exist to him the moment you first bare it all for him.

You practically rewrote his brain, and now he’s convinced that everyone else on earth pales in comparison. And he’s obsessive about it.

He’s almost always horny over you LMAOOO his libido is off the charts.

But it’s not his fault!! You’re just so pretty! You literally don’t even have to do anything. He’ll pop a boner just from watching you brush your hair.

(Before you guys officially started dating, he jacked off to the thought of you more times than he will ever admit. Jacked off to pictures of you even more often).

And, he’s not too well versed in self-control, so the moment he gets the urge - expect to be practically pounced on.

Does not matter where you are. Bedroom, kitchen, in the woods, in an alley, shoved into a gas station bathroom. He doesn’t care. Let someone walk in on you, let them alllll know who’s fucking you good.

He’s a bit of an exhibitionist if I will be honest, and it’s partially motivated by his need to let everyone know that you’re his. The type to try and convince you to cockwarm him while you’re sitting in the corner of a room full of people.

I have mentioned this many times on my blog, Toby is a grade A fucking munch. The man loves to eat pussy. I would argue it’s his favourite pastime.

He will spend literal hours down there if you let him. Moaning into you as he claws at your hips with blunt fingernails, nipping and biting at your thighs between licks.

He will cum untouched. He is crazy sensitive and just the taste of you will get him so hard it will definitely end with him dirtying his boxers.

But just as much as that, he loves it when you go down on him too.

He’s a bit of a sadist (which I will touch on in a moment), so he loves to watch you struggle and choke to take him all. Loves how you whimper around him and your eyebrows furrow. He loves the sight of your pretty tears like most.

So much, that he’ll lick them off your cheeks.

Also, German dirty talk! He almost always slips into his mother tongue when he’s deep in it.

“So eine gute kleine Schlampe.”

“Hübsches Lamm, ich weiß, du kannst mehr ertragen.”

Speaking of talk, dude is fucking NOISY. He’s always gotta be saying something.

Mindless babble about how good you feel between strained grunts and groans. Drool smearing against your neck as he moans about how much he loves you, how he’s so lucky to have you, how he can’t believe that you’re his.

“Du gehörst mir, Baby. Vergiss das nie.”

“Mein Mädchen. Mein Ein und Alles.”

The only way he’s quiet is if he’s got a face full of pussy tbh.

But don’t forget to praise him too! I already told you he needs affirmation on a daily basis this definitely carries into the bedroom.

Tell him how good he makes you feel, how full he gets you, and he will fucking fold.

(Don’t be afraid to call him a good boy either. He’ll get so flustered and blush so pretty).

Oh, and he’s got a breeding kink.

Not like.. Seriously, because he’s well aware that being a father isn’t in his cards.

But the idea of knocking you up makes him downright feral.

That’s like, the ultimate claim. It’s the dream, for someone as sickeningly possessive as him.

(And he’d bet you’d look even more beautiful pregnant).

So if you’re on the pill, expect endless creampies.

And if you’re not, expect him to act like a big baby about it.

It’s just not as satisfying to cum on you, it should be in you. That’s where it belongs.

Either way, he’s not wearing a condom. The type to call it ‘restrictive’ or ‘suffocating’. His pull out game is strong though, luckily.

(Though, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t often think about just cumming inside you and dealing with the consequences later. He’s selfish like that. But he’d never actually do it.)

It’s alright though. Just let him cum down your throat and that’ll placate him a little.

Okay, let’s get into the nitty gritty. He is a sadist 100% no and ifs or buts about it. He can’t feel pain himself, so he is so morbidly fascinated with how people react to it. Especially you. You just look so lovely when your face is scrunched up in agony, pretty tears flowing down your cheeks.

He’d never hurt you bad enough to be worrisome, but he will draw blood and leave bruises. He will test you, to see just how much you can take.

And I don’t know if I can call him a masochist, because again - he can’t feel it - BUT he LOVES IT when you get rough with him too.

Claw at his back until the skin tears. Tug at his hair hard enough to make his scalp throb. Bite him, and draw some blood in return. Really makes him feel wanted and desired.

He is the absolute king of aftercare though, despite his roughness.

Will run you a bath and carry you to it. Wash you clean of all the blood and grime smeared across your skin. You can even fall asleep if you want, he’ll tend to you with the utmost care before drying you off and carrying you back to bed.

And when you wake up, he’s right there next to you with a glass of water and painkillers in hand.

oh toby,,, my dear boyfailure,, at the end of the day his toxic traits all boil down to being scared to lose you.

but! if he lost his memories…

Memories wiped! [SFW]

Baby… good fucking luck.

You will literally be competing for attention with an eldritch entity so… I hope you’ve got strong willpower and determination.

Toby is Slender’s golden boy, and for good reason. He’s a 6’1, absolute tank of a man who can’t feel pain. His endurance is whacked, his dedication and devotion rivals that of the looniest heretic, and he’s damn good at his job. You could break his jaw and claw his eyes out and you will still lose.

(In this scenario, you would have to be a fellow proxy. If not, the only relationship you’re getting with Toby is being one of his victims. This man’s brain is so rotted you may as well be trying to seduce a fucking rock.)

So, with the first big change from before; you will have to be the one perusing him. The Toby from the first scenario would be pining over you pathetically. This one? He could not give a rats ass about starting any form of relationship. It’s just a distraction from his purpose.

And I’m so sorry, but you will be making a fool out of yourself for a least a couple months before he caves. He will not reciprocate your flirting at all before you wriggle under his skin, and if anything he’ll just view you as a fucking nuisance.

He has half the mind to not complain about you to Slender and get you tortured into submission.

But, he doesn’t. Maybe from lingering remnants of the compassion he had lost, or maybe because he knows you’re not technically doing anything wrong.

As long as you’re both getting your job’s done, you can make goo goo eyes at him all you want. Doesn’t matter to him.

Until it doessssss <3

It is a very slow process, and he is so not on board. If you thought he was snippy with you before, the moment feelings start to fester within him he is INSUFFERABLE. So mean for no fucking reason. Avoiding you at all costs if he can help it.

(such a tsundere <3)

No, it’s actually because he’s trying to get you to hate him so that he can finally get the distance he so clearly needs from you. He can’t afford to put his energy into romance. He’s more of a pawn than a man, it just feels… Wrong.

But, you know what they say! The heart wants what it wants! (Even if his brain is wholeheartedly trying to fight it).

He’d indulge himself in small doses. Snapping pictures of you when you aren’t looking, sneaking into your room to steal pieces of your clothing for the scent (we will touch on this more later).

And he hates it, because it is never enough to placate him. He’s always left yearning for more with fantasies of you flashing behind his eyes - and it is agonizing to deal with.

But at the same time, he doesn’t want it to stop, because it makes him feel… Almost nostalgic for a life he can’t even remember. A time when he could, and would form relationships with people. A time when there was more to life, than just - wake up, slaughter, sleep, repeat.

So, his willpower eventually wanes, and you notice it immediately.

He’s no longer mean for no reason. Only when you’re reckless and get yourself hurt, or if another proxy is picking on you. And he’ll constantly manage to wriggle his way onto whatever mission you’re going on.

He becomes a guard dog basically. And people will notice, because he is not subtle. He will flash his hatchets if someone looks at you wrong.

Again though, this will move SLOWWWW. The hating you phase will last months. The bodyguard phase will also last months. I hope you like slow burn because you guys will probably not kiss until over a year into knowing each other.

And when you do, it’s because he just can’t take it anymore. His imagination isn’t cutting it. It feels like you’ve infected him, and the longer he abstains, the worse his gut wrenching longing becomes.

So, on a mission together after finishing off your kill, he’ll pull you to the side and draw you in close.

He’ll search your face with manic eyes, so close you can feel his breath on your skin, thoughts pinging around in his brain at a mile a minute. And then, he’ll finally cave and press his lips to yours - right above the corpse you had just slain. How romantic <3

From there, I hope you don’t have second thoughts, because you’re in it for the long haul now. He will not be letting you go. He basically rewrote his entire mind for you, it would be cruel to back out now.

You thought the Toby I talked about before was obsessive? AHAHAHAHA

This man’s entire life revolves around two things; Slender and you, and he’s just as devoted to both.

He will not be leaving your side for even a second at a time if he can help it.

Except for when he wakes up from a random blackout and finds himself alone in the middle of nowhere. Which used to just be another day in the biz, but with you in the equation? He is panicking the moment he realizes you’re not next to him.

He is constantly worrying about, or thinking about you. And if he has to go on a mission away from you? He’ll act like the world is ending.

He won’t be leaving without a few articles of your clothing, and maybe (definitely) a few pictures.

He does get in trouble quite a few times, because he’ll start to get sloppy. Rushing through missions without a lack of care, just so that he can get home to you faster.

And you’ll take some of the fall too. Slender’s not stupid, and he’ll be well aware of why his once efficient killing machine has become lacklustre at best. Expect frequent bouts of Slender sickness throughout the duration of your relationship - just getting more and more intense with each iteration. As I said, I hope you’ve got a lot of willpower! Because you will be thrown through the wringer if you want to stay with him.

Toby will notice this though. It’s hard not to, either how you’re constantly nauseous, bleeding, and in a state of crippling paranoia, so he’ll force himself to be better - if only for your sake.

Surprisingly, this Toby is not as jealous or possessive. He doesn’t remember the pain of losing his loved ones, and with how much effort you put into courting him - he’s not scared that you’re going to leave him.

You would never, if you knew what’s good for you :)

As I said before - Jealous? no. Obsessive and protective? Uh huh.

He will kill anything that even thinks about hurting you. And if he can’t kill them (because of immortality or whatever), he’ll make them wish they were dead. It’s not torture if it’s justified, right?

Also, you’ll have to be patient with him. He’s not at all accustomed to this whole… Caring for other people thing. So he can’t really help how intensely he feels for you. Remember your first love? Yeah, it’s that. Plus a whole bucketload of hysteria.

He will take it as a personal attack if you want alone time. He wants to be with you all the time, so why wouldn’t you want that with him? You’re the one who sought him out.

He will be using that as a way to deflect any blame away from his toxic behaviour, btw. You lured him in. You wanted this. You’ll have to reap the consequences.

And despite how much he may want to be good for you, you really can’t ask much from a man who’s been trained to be as apathetic as humanly possible.

He’s got the attitude problems of a snot-nosed teenage boy. He will call you a bitch just for asking him to maybe change out of his bloody clothes before sitting on the couch. He will call you a nag, and stupid, and whatever nasty word comes to mind at the time. He’s horrible tbh. Gets real nasty if he’s in a mood.

And to be honest, he’s in a mood quite often, because he’s pretty prone to pushing himself until he’s near delirious from exhaustion.

And it sucks, but his conditioned mind just does not feel sympathy. You could be screaming your lungs out at him, practically pulling your hair out with tears streaming down your face, and all you’ll get in response is his default look of apathy.

Because to him, it’s not that deep. It’s not like he’s trying to fucking kill you. All he did was belittle and make a joke out of every single issue you’re having with him.

He’s actually the worst I’m sorry. But that’s what he’s supposed to be. He wasn’t programmed to partake in a cushy, loving relationship.

That doesn’t mean actually he hates you though, or means any of the fucked up shit he says, he’s entire view of love is just warped as hell. He’s pretty much convinced you being with him is just a given.

You guys will obviously fight a lot. Verbally and physically. It is a common sight for other proxies to see you and Toby brawling in the middle of the grass for the third time that week.

But when you guys are good, you’re really fucking good. You’re his glimpse into what life could be, and though he’s not the best at showing it, he really does love you for it.

So much that he’ll gift you a still beating heart on Valentine’s Day, along with a bouquet of wildflowers. Aw <3

Dates with him include: hunting together, axe throwing competitions(he always wins, obviously), long nature walks, going on missions together, scary movie nights where you both laugh at how unrealistic the gore is.

And because you are literally the first close relationship he’s ever had (or that he can remember) expect him to be making the most of it.

Touching and kissing you whenever he can. Even if there’s people around. He’s the king of PDA he does not give a fuck.

He likes it when you wear his clothes (especially his goggles… maybe a little too much) because it makes you look… His. And it’s weird, knowing that you are. That you’ve chosen to be around him, and he does revel in that fact every single day - even if he does kinda suck.

And over time, you will mellow him out, just like how you did in the beginning. He will never be a cushy soft, lovesick puppy, but he will eventually come to realize that maybe he shouldn’t be so much of an asshole to the woman who sticks by his side through it all.

And it’ll only go up from there!

Memories wiped! [SFW]

Okay, this Toby is a raging virgin. He was a heavily bullied outcast before becoming a mindless slave to Slender. He did not have time, nor care for any of that shit.

And it shows. At first, he’s so uncoordinated and messy. Too much tongue in his kisses, can’t find the clit to save his life - it’s… A mess. But what he lacks in experience he will make up for with enthusiasm.

He’s been fucking his own hand for way too long man, never once thinking about the fact that there could definitely be so much better out there.

So, he’s practically buzzing with excitement the first time you guys have sex. He’ll be twitching like a madman, tics going into overdrive as absolute elation and desire courses through his veins.

You will have to verbally tell him to slow down multiple times, because he’ll be like a freight train just trying to get to the good part. Practically tearing your clothes off, trying to just trying to shove his cock into you without an ounce of prep.

This man has been so isolated he didn’t even watch porn before meeting you, he has NO clue what to do with no reference point to go off of. All he’s got for sexual experience is the few Playboy mags he snagged from a house he broke into.

You’ll have to teach him <3

Be patient, and go easy on the teasing - his ego is very easily bruised.

And he will be busting quick. Absolute two pump chump. But he will get better with time, obviously. It’s just the first time he sinks into your heat it’s the most indescribable pleasure. Absolute heaven. Easily the best thing he’s felt in his entire life, so you can’t really blame him for the way he’s gasping and moaning against your neck after only a few strokes.

He’s got stamina though, so he won’t be quitting after that don’t you worry. He’ll go for as long as it takes to figure out how to make you cum too.

Lucky for you, he’s a quick learner if you guide him, and he’ll mentally bookmark everything that makes you moan louder or twitch beneath him.

Once the first time is out of the way, he’s just as horny (if not more) as his memory having counterpart.

Because you’re telling him that was what he was missing out on??? Why the fuck didn’t anyone tell him??

Gotta make up for lost time! First few weeks of you properly dating will be marathon sex for days on end. He just can’t get enough of you. Never wants to get enough of you. Wants to try anything and everything, learning as he goes what he likes the best.

And what he likes the best, is being a subby little baby.

I KID but for real though, the kicker here is that this Toby would be way more of a sub than the other one I talked about.

All he does, all the time, is put on a strong face and work himself to the bone. It feels nice, to just shut his brain off and let you take the ropes for the most part.

And taking orders from you, feels so much better. Because they’re not things he has to do, they’re things he wants to do.

He loves when you’re on top, holding his chest down with one hand as you set the pace.

Loves to eat you out, loves it even more when you sit on his face.

Remember how I said you guys will fight a lot? Now is the time to get your frustrations out on him.

You can be mean, and he’ll just take it. Cockwarm him and refuse to move, swat his hands away when he tries to grab at your hips and force you to. Edge him. Make him cum untouched as you ride his tongue. Grind against his cock until he’s pleading you to just please let him inside you.

Knock him down a peg, he sure as hell needs it.

Outside of the bedroom, he’ll never admit how much he likes it, but you know. That pretty blush of his doesn’t lie, and if he really wanted to overpower you he definitely could.

He’s messy. Drooling, leaking tears when it gets to be almost too much.

And he’s loud. Like, not a fucking care in the world if someone might hear you. You’d have to literally gag him if you want him to quiet down.

(Which, he would also probably like).

Loves it when you mark him up, but you’ve got to get some in return too - matching hickeys so that everyone knows you’re together.

Like in the first part, sometimes you’ll wonder if he’s trying to literally consume you with how often he’s sinking his teeth into you - but the difference is, this time, he’s actually thinking about it.

He’s got cannibalistic tendencies on a day to day basis, so when his brain is all fogged up but lust and desire they just become worse.

He will bite too hard. Locking his jaw onto the muscles of your shoulder as he thinks about tearing away and pulling your flesh from bone.

He won’t… But he will come close.

Also, before you guys got together, remember how I said he’d steal pieces of your clothing? Yeah, it’s mostly panties. Used ones, if he’s lucky (he’s so nasty).

He’d have his nose buried in one pair while using another one to stroke his cock.

This is something that he will still do even after you start dating, especially if either of you are away on a mission for an extended period of time.

Only now he’ll actually return them to you - a smirk on his face as he slips the freshly stained garments back into your underwear drawer, hoping that maybe one morning you’ll slip them on without noticing.

okay! that’s all I have to say (finally). so…. pick your poison!

-

holy fucking shit I meant for this to just be a nice, easy to put together hc list that I could post while working on a full length fic.

nope. this took me half a week because I just kept going and going

sigh.

[lostrologyy]

as sweet as honey. himbo!james potter x reader

in which james loves his kitty daughter a little too much for your liking

cw: fluff. kissing. a tiny bit suggestive, not smut though. a little angsty, james being dramatic. what can i say your enemy is a cat.

a/n: tysm to the wonderful @superbusmeretrix for helping me figure out honey's name lmao. remember that my requests are open and any feedback is very much appreciated ! english isn't my first language. not proofread.

the sound of tiny paws echoes across the room as a small ball of black fur gets closer to the bed and into your vision, letting out a minuscule meow that catches james' attention.

"there you are honey, where were you hiding?" he gets off of you to pick up the small kitty, forgetting entirely the make out sesion you were having a few seconds ago.

honey, named like that because she's the sweetest —according to james' words, 'cause she absolutely hates you— meows again as if she's giving him an answer.

"aww honey, you just want some love, don't you?" he gives her little head a small peck.

you keep staring at him hoping that he notices you, but his attention is totally focused on the adorable animal.

"i want some love too, you know? and you were giving it to me like five minutes ago." you remind him playfully, and you swear that you see honey frowning at you.

"angel! don't talk about that when she's here!" he reprehends you.

"about what? sex?"

inmediately after you say it, james covers the cat's ears and gives you an escandalous look.

"don't mention that in front of her! she's too little to know about those things." his focus returns to the kitty when she meows again.

you are astonished about the situation. it's almost funny how james can make you feel like the other woman to a fucking cat.

"jamie, you do realize that you have a half naked girl in your bed," you tell him sweetly. "and you're choosing to pay more attention to a pet?!" you end the sentence with a harsh tone.

he looks at you like you just said the most harmful thing to him.

"angel, how many times i have to tell you? she's not just a pet. she's my daughter. no, actually, she's our daughter!" he says sweetly and holds honey in front of you for you to take her.

"ah ah, absolutely not. she's yours. you know she despises me!" you point at her as if she was the personified version of evil.

"you know that's not true, angel. she loves you! here." he tries to get her closer to you but honey lets out a small hiss.

"ha! told ya!" you exclaim and smile triumphantly.

"she only has to get used to you," he excuses her. "you haven't been the nicest person to her either."

"we've been dating over a year now! and she keeps looking at me bad or hissing at me or even sharpening her claws on my shoes!" you argue even though you know this is a lost battle. nothing can beat james' love for his baby.

"that was one time and she was deeply sorry." he excuses her again.

"she meowed at me one time, and i'm sure it was because you were holding her. that wasn't an apology." you cross your arms and look the other way.

"don't be like that angel, could you please look at me?" he begs.

you wait a few seconds and hesitate before turning around, seeing james now holding honey with one hand against his chest and his free arm extended for you to rest by his side.

"c'mere, my love." he tells you, and you melt at the softness of his voice.

you move at the end of the bed and sit beside james, his arm inmediately wrapping around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

"i love you, you know that, right?" he asks you, you nod and close your eyes. you feel a peck on your forehead.

"i love both of you, equally, so pleasee would you try to get on well?" he squeezes your forearm, and you can't help the little smile forming on your face as you watch over honey, finding her already looking at you. and suddenly, she doesn't look as wicked as always.

"hmph, i guess i could try."

lostrologyy © 2025.

[cameronsprincess]

this has been heavy on my mind.

CW: mean!rafe, dom!rafe, sensitive!reader, unprotected sex, strong language, rafe calls reader slut like twice?

you had been bugging your boyfriend — a notorious dom — to let you take control in the bedroom just once. he’d always tell you no, saying things like “fuck no, i will never let a woman dom me, not even you.” or “baby, you couldn’t handle domming, you’d be begging me to take over after mere minutes of trying.”

after months of begging and constantly trying, rafe finally caved, “fine, if it’ll make you stop askin’ you can take control… just this once.”

you were excited, nervous as fuck, but excited.

but your excitement was short lived..

not even five minutes into it, your legs were tired, and you couldn’t quite hit those spots inside you that had your toes curling and your eyes rolling into the back of your head. no matter how fast, or how hard you bounced on rafe’s cock, you couldn’t get yourself off.

to make matters worse? rafe looked bored. his hands were laced behind his head with a lazy, bored expression on his face, and that sight alone had the tears welling in your eyes.

he took a glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand before his icy blue gaze landed back on your face, “you almost done? i gotta meet the guys in thirty minutes.”

your chin wobbled, tears blurring your vision as you completely stilled on top of him. “i-i can’t…”

“you.. you.. you can’t what? use your words, sweetheart. ‘m not a mind reader.”

“i can’t do it, rafe! happy? i can’t… i can’t get myself off… i can’t hit the spots like you can..”

rafe lazily rolled his eyes, a small smirk playing at his lips, “aww, you poor thing. can’t even get herself off, need me to do everything for her.”

the first tear slipped past your lower lashes, he was being so mean, but you couldn’t deny it. he wasn’t wrong. you couldn’t get yourself off, rafe needed to be in control.

seconds later, he had you on your back, legs folded up into your chest as he brutally slammed himself in and out of your slick cunt.

“so fuckin’ pathetic, can’t even take control. need me to do every fuckin’ thing, yeah? go on baby, it’s okay, you can admit it. my girls just a little submissive slut.”

you couldn’t form words, strangled “mmmphs” and “ahhhs” were all you could manage to get out.

he fucked you hard and fast, landing harsh slaps on your clit and face, hand wrapped tightly around your throat until you were coming undone around him. “good fucking girl.” he’d praise as you shook and moaned underneath him.

he’d fill your pussy seconds later, finally removing himself from inside you and letting your limp legs fall onto the bed. placing a soft kiss to your sweat slick forehead, he’d whisper, “never ask to take control again, okay? that was just pathetic.”

daydreams

[stargirlstabber]

sharing is caring

featuring. sevika and jinx

a/n. i wrote this tonight and uh- not guaranteed that everything makes sense, i typed that in my notes with my eyes half in my skull already :) english isn't my first language, but i already know y'all don't care✨

cw. smut, MDNI, smoking, riding vika's strap on, nipple play, some spanks, dom/sub

sevika leaned back on the couch in silco's office. she smoked a cigarette while she watched you struggle to lift yourself up and down on her thick strap on.

ridden of any clothing that might get in the way, your body was bare. a big contrast to your girlfriend, who was almost fully clothed under you, pants only opened enough to secure the strap on on her hips. sevika liked that contrast.

"c'mon, little girl, you can do better than that", she patted your thigh with her mechanical arm, gripping your flesh before giving it a spank.

without a warning, sevika skyrocketed her hips, pushing her strap on up to a place you thought it couldn't reach. with squeezed shut eyes, you let your body fall forward, burying your girlfriend's face between your tits. a smirk was across her lips, liking the gaspy moan that left your plump lips.

her hand now gave your ass a rather harsh spank, "i didn't tell you to stop, did i? go on."

your trembling legs were on either side of her hips and your sweaty hands on her collarbones, trying to steady yourself, still feeling her deep inside as you continue to lift yourself up and down. the muscular woman comfortably slouched there, admiring your bouncing tits and enjoying your whines and whimpers as you ride her.

but she didn't expect jinx to come in. not at all. the blue haired girl was taken off guard by the sight, but shrugged it off quickly, walking towards the two of you. puffing some smoke out, sevika glanced at her over your shoulder.

feeling a new hand snaking its way up and giving your breast a squeeze, your head whipped around in surprise, seeing a hue of blue before the second hand quickly comes up and turns your head back to facing sevika.

"tut tut tut, keep your eyes on her."

jinx.

and you did, your eyes met sevika's orbs. she just nodded, wordlessly telling you that it's okay for her, if you were okay with it. it was your time to nod.

you didn't have anything against the idea of jinx joining in, knowing sevika would stop her if she'd done something she shouldn't.

jinx has always liked teasing you. ever since sevika introduced her to you after you unexpectedly showed up to bring your girlfriend something she forgot at home.

now she's teasing you again. just not with words, but this time with actions. with her hands.

her fingers rolled your nipples between them, tugging and squeezing the sensitive buds here and there to tickle a moan out of you as she helped you, guiding your movements on top of sevika.

the young woman's voice was close to your ear, "oh, you like that, huh? me playing with these little nubs, hm?"

the only answer she got was a whine when her hands left your tits.

"don't you worryyy, just concentrate on giving your girlfriend a show", her hands ran down your sides before going to your drenched little cunt, targeting your swollen clit as her next victim.

you were being a good girl, so you did as you were told. you concentrated on giving sevika her 'show'.

hands still on her collarbones for a tiny bit of support, you started once again. lifting your hips before going back down again and again and again.

the room was filled with moans, whines and whimpers from you, here and there a groan or a huff from sevika and snickers from jinx. and, of course, the squelchy sound of your pussy stretching around vika's dick.

soon, very soon actually, another orgasm tightened inside of you, crash I down on you like a tsunami.

your vision went white, limbs shaking as your mouth hung open, unable to push a single sound out at the overwhelming feeling.

with a smirk on her face, the blue haired kept on assaulting your clit, not leaving the overstimulated bud alone for even a second.

sevika started rocking her hips up into you with a steady rhythm, pushing two of her fingers into your mouth.

you, still in a daze, instinctively started sucking, swirling your tongue around her digits.

"sharing is caring", jinx's eyes practically lit up after she scooped a little amount of cum, that pushed itself fast the tight fit of you around sevika, and greedily tasted it, "gotta get her to give me more of that."

vika's hand now took a hold of your hair and  pulled you down, "you gonna be a good girl for me and give jinx what she wants?"

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Yeti's Cave

Yandere Male Yeti x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, pleasurable sex, oil like precum, size difference, rut, language barrier, kidnapping, general yandere behavior Word Count: 1.1k (Took a tiny break from comms to give you guys a winter fic that I hope you will all enjoy. Not my best work, but I hope it will feed you. I am sorry I have been writing so slow lately.)

It was winter in the town of Whelm. Not too unpleasant. Rather cozy, to be perfectly honest. Curled up by the fire. But Whelm was in the valley. Winter in the northern mountains was a frigid hell that few would venture into.

But you had to. A week before cold weather had hit there was a messenger from the village on the other side of the treacherous mountains. A sickness had taken hold, they had urgent need of medicines that could only be crafted from ingredients found around the valley. But it took time to gather and collect such supplies when they were needed at such scale.

You were the apprentice to the wizened old apothecary. A seemingly ancient man who had taught you as much as he could about collecting medicinal herbs, preparing them, and administering them. Seeing as he was so old, only you could make the trip and treat the villagers past the mountain.

You managed to make it there in time. But while you were on your way back home winter kissed the region.

Caught in a flurry of stinging wind and violent snow you barely managed to make it into the relative safety of an odd smelling cave. You wrapped your coat tightly around you. Was this how you were going to go out? Trapped in a cave with limited supplies? Slowly fading into the cold in a weird smelling cave?

As it happened, no.

There was a loud rumbling growl from deep within the cave. Your eyes widened, but you told yourself it was just the wind entering the deeper reaches of your makeshift shelter and making weird noises. But then you heard it again, louder this time.

From the depths emerged a fearsome beast the likes of which you had only heard rumors of. A hulking form, rippling muscles apparent even under thick white fur, a human-like face with sharp teeth and icy blue eyes, and two curled horns atop a shaggy mane of long white hair.

Despite the cold, that got your blood flowing and your heart flowing, you were out and in the snow immediately. A possible death in the cold mountains was better than a certain death by that man-like beast.

Ikkan, the yeti who you had run from, was worried. You were an odd thing that he had never encountered before. But you clearly had no proper fur except what was on your head, and your artificial covering didn’t seem all that effective. You’d freeze out there!

And thus he made it his mission to go and retrieve you.

And he succeeded. Expeditiously.

He dragged you back, kicking and screaming, into his cave. Deeper into it. He held you down on his fur-lined bed with the hope it would warm you up. He also cuddled close, though you still struggled despite his good intentions.

Ikkan decided he would take care of you and you could be his tiny mate. He was lonely, in rut, and you’d definitely die without him to care for you during this harsh time of year. Besides, some part of you clearly wanted him to be your husband. You had entered his den that very clearly smelled of him, after all.

In an effort to calm you down he tried to communicate with you, but each harsh guttural word sounded like a threat to your ears. You were convinced he had saved you to eat you later.

He moved on to offering you food and water but you wouldn’t give up your resistance.

Maybe you were having trouble understanding that he wasn’t intending to hurt you? That he just wanted to be the best he could be for his small mate. How could he get his intent through to you? The answer was clear! He just had to give you some high quality sex! Yeti cum would keep you cozy and you’d know exactly what he wanted to do with you.

You kicked and squirmed as the large furry thing held you down and removed your clothing. His huge cock had come out of its sheath, making his plan for you exceedingly clear. You tried to kick him away but he held you still and patiently applied precum to your hole and massaged it in to lubricate your tight entrance.

Since you were so much smaller than he was he knew you’d need some special attention before slipping into you.

He added his thick saliva to the mix and eventually got to the point where he could easily slip in several fingers into your twitching little hole, making you gasp when he wiggled them around inside of you.

Ikkan knew his little human was ready. He sat on his large bed of furs and pulled you close, planting you firmly on his cock while nestling your shivering body into his warm chest. It really felt amazing. Inside and out. He was surprisingly soft and his touch warmed you quickly.

At the same time, his cock continuously exuded warm oily precum that heated you up from the inside out. He fucked away your resolve in record time. It was clear to you now that he was in no way trying to injure you. Unless you counted having your senses fucked out of you. You wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled into his cozy chest. You even began bouncing on his big cock, desperately trying to get it deeper inside you despite your earlier protests.

The yeti smirked, he knew you’d love his dick.

Ikkan was overjoyed to give his human what they wanted. He quickened the pace and went a bit harder, holding your sides as he began really fucking into you. Blush crept across your face as the two of you came together. The pair of you shivered not from cold, but from pure pleasure.

He cuddled you as you leaned on him with his slowly softening cock still in you before eventually pulling out and laying you on his bed of furs. Strangely, your body seemed to have somehow absorbed the cum and it kept you well heated without the need for your clothing.

For the moment, your brain was overstimulated and you had not fully processed what had happened. But that didn’t matter much to Ikkan, he would take the opportunity to get some food and water in you and if he noticed you becoming bratty again he would just give you some more top tier yeti cock.

You didn’t know when spring would usher in better weather. And it didn’t really matter, because no matter what happened, you would never be leaving.

[porcalinecunt]

boothill punishing reader for calling him ‘just a fucktoy’ so he turns them into one :3

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐘!

🪽 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ friendly banter often devolved into mean spirited teasing, but there’s a fine line that you regretfully cross. Or did you?

·˚ ◌༘͙[featuring] ! ˊ 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐗 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

cw — mean dom! boothill. window sex. degradation. overstimulation. humiliation kink. biting. dumbification(?)

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ author’s note! : ignore the fact that i forgot boothill cannot curse SHHHHH. but it’s finally done and im too tired to proofread this ;-;

friendly banter was a given in your relationship with boothill. you couldn’t help yourself to the free entertainment as the cyborg was forced to get creative with the troublesome filtering system that was installed in his mechanical body, much to his annoyance. 

every swear word he spat out, every nasty phrase that’d slip off his tongue would become the polor opposite. it’d make you chuckle a bit hearing him call you the sweetest names with reluctance in his voice. 

you on the other hand, often have a whole field day with it. spewing out sarcastic and maybe creative remarks just to rile him up even more, only to burst out laughing at his failed comebacks. it was a constant spit for spat that would last until one of you gave up and ended it with a soft make out session or cuddling in your shared bedroom. however, there’s an invisible line in the sand, one you wished you could’ve seen. 

another back and forth, like usual. as the more aggressive you got with boothill, so does your language. you teetered on the edge of your own teeth, slowing coming at his little fuck up’s like his heavily filtered system and his obnoxious munching of his own bullets. the ranger would shoot back with his own attempts, only passing off sarcastic and subtle remarks about that mouth of yours. the tension in the air only grew thicker and thicker before your words finally cut it in two. 

“I dunno why you should be talkin’ bootie, after all, you're just a fucktoy! ♡”

a cackle bursted from your lungs, as you tried to catch your breath. while you were stuck in a state of victory from having the last laugh, you didn’t quite catch the sudden silence that washed over the room until a chill shot at the back of your neck. turning your head, you were met with an unamused boothill, jaw clenched and eyes burning holes into your skull. your laugh diminished into tiny nervous sounds as the machine promptly marched his way to you, ignoring your babbles and apologies as your back pressed against the wall. you understood quickly that despite the unhinged nature of your verbal play fights, there’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed. 

a raspy chuckle tickled your eardrums. “me? a fucktoy? now look who’s talkin’ sweet thing..” 

boothill, now wearing a hungry grin on his lips, promptly threw you over his shoulder with a harsh smack! on your ass. before you could protest, you were chucked onto the nearest soft furniture he saw, in this case being the couch. 

the window in front of it showing off a dazzling view of Penacony, the perfect place to show you off. it didn’t take long for your clothes to be torn clean off by his metal fingers and discarded on the floor while you whined loudly. something that warranted a palm over your pouty lips. 

“shh, now now doll..i don’t think fucktoys can speak. Now can they?” 

he spoke with faux sympathy traced in his tone, as you could only lie there helplessly while his cold hands traced your delicate flesh. boothill was an unpredictable man, some nights he takes it easy while the others have his more cynical nature leak through, tonight being the latter. you screwed your eyes shut once pleasure crawled through your skin, the ranger prying and poking at every sensitive corner of your body. from his ice cold fingers pinching your hard nipples, to his shark-like teeth nipping at your neck. 

“a-sll this..over an insul–” 

“shut it.” 

you flinched, unable to prepare yourself for what the machine had in store for you. you nearly forgot how hard he can be, until you felt something poking at your thighs. 

seven rounds, and he had yet to stop.

your jaw went slack so long ago, nothing but incoherent words and pleading coming out of your fucked out mouth. the taste of his spit lingered on your tongue which rolled out and is now pressed against the glass with the rest of your naked body.

“Ah..! B-Boothill! T-They’ll see uh—us!”

you whimpered, unable to string two words together without a sharp thrust ripping another sound out of your throat. through blurred vision, you could see Golden Hour in all its glory, praying that nobody spots your ilicit act with the ranger. your knees buckled, already weak from how long you’ve been standing without a break as boothill snapped his hips against yours while his teeth sunk into your shoulder for what seemed like the upteenth time.

“you think i give a crap doll? now keep that pretty mouth shut like i asked.”

he hissed in your ear, squeezing the plush of your thighs that were littered with teeth marks. you mewled, feeling the knot in your stomach snapping once again and throwing you into another intense orgasm. your hand curled up into a tight fist, almost banging itself against the foggy glass as stars filled your vision. a raspy chuckle was all you could hear, courtesy of an insatiable and spiteful boothill. he watched as you lost balance and fell onto his metal chest, breathing heavily between sobs.

“awee..~ tired already, doll?”

he cooed, you just wanted to sock his stupid smirk off his face. instead, you pouted, letting out an annoyed whine as you squirmed from his cock simply sitting inside you without moving an inch.

“maybe watch that tongue next time, hon’. then i’ll go easy on ya.”

he laughs, before pressing your limp body against the messy glass again and snapping his hips against yours with his relentless pace. feeling your brain melting from the overwhelming amount of cock he’s stuffing into you, you could only hang on for dear life as boothill made you eat your own words.

quite literally too.

© porcalinecunt 🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩ྀི do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

[dillydally6969]

SOVEREIGN .ᐟ 𝓛OTTIE MATTHEWS

♱ your girlfriend thinks looney lottie is a bad influence on you… maybe she’s right?

♱ cw; harsh language, cheating (you’re both dicks), slight!nsfw but no smut, toxic!nat

“really? for the fourth time this week?” nat scoffed. you had a feeling she wasn’t very pleased with the suggestion, but what could possibly give you that idea?

“yeah, i like talking to lottie. i mean, can she be a little batshit sometimes? yes. but i feel better after hanging out with her.”

the blonde rolled her eyes, hoisting the rifle over her head and around her back. she shook her head, grabbing a jacket from her sleeping bag. “lottie’s a schizo four months off her meds, baby, whatever comes out of her mouth is literally a chemical imbalance leaking from her brain.”

nat had her own opinions on mental illness--ultra-critical.

“she just asked me to join her for her foraging trip, it’s not like i’m on my knees worshipping whatever she’s preaching.” you argued, “why’re you getting mad at me for it?”

nat sighed, “i’m not getting mad at you. all i’m saying, is i don’t think it’s a good idea spending so much time with lottie.”

she caressed your shoulder, hand slipping down after a gentle squeeze. you followed her to the front door of the cabin, freed from the last sleeping yellowjacket upon tai waking everybody up, leaving you and nat alone as she got ready for hunting.

“then spend some time with me! i haven’t had a proper conversation with you since the first night, i miss you.”

she scoffed, looking at you like she’s saying, ‘seriously’?

“i have a whole soccer team and three testosterone filled assholes counting on me shooting bucks to stay alive. wasting around isn’t exactly an option.”

“spending time with your girlfriend isn’t wasting around. y’know, i really don’t like how travis’ nasty character rubbing off on you.” you pursed your lips, crossing your arms.

“keep it down!” she shushed you. “don’t talk about him like that, he lost his dad, for fuck’s sake.” she snapped, “god, you’re the one who’s been wasting off.”

jesus christ, since when did she turn so cruel?

she exhaled deeply through her nose. looking over her shoulder quickly, she grabbed your hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

“please stay away from that fucking psycho.”

the plead forced a wretched twist in your stomach, but still, you weren’t one to deny the antler queen’s request.

“i’m sorry, nat, but she won’t take no for an answer.”

she immediately let go of your hand, her jaw tightening. you felt your chest tighten at her action, teeth gnawing at your lip. “fine, whatever. but call it what it is, because you’re kissing at her feet just as much as those mindless goons who thinks she’s some fucking god. don’t come to me when you realize she just gets off on the fucking thrill of attention.”

she slammed the door shut behind her, leaving you alone in the hollow cabin. you sighed, hearing nat call for travis before the two left camp for the day.

eventually, you revealed yourself, shooting jackie a tight-lipped smile as you passed her sitting on the porch.

“y/n!” lottie softly called, “there you are. i’ve been waiting.”

your sour expression of worry immediately lifted, and on came a smile you catch yourself wearing often around lottie. you’ve been feeling burdened by nat’s bitter attitude towards the entire situation. she’s been lashing out at you more often, she will go days sometimes brushing you off and finding chores to do just so she doesn’t have to deal with you.

she hated when you’d ask if the two of you could just ‘walk and talk’. she didn’t like talking about feelings… or in general.

lottie was so bright, always eager to spend time with you.

she was the one asking you about your day when nat spends her nights hanging around the martinez brothers instead.

and she was the one making you feel wanted. needed. like you were oxygen she needed to breathe in, or she’d die.

“i’ve fetched the basket, i was wondering if you were ready for our trip today.” she queried gently, her fingers dancing across your shoulder to run her nails down your arm. “or if you were still planning on hunting with nat and travis.”

you shook your head. “no, they’ve left already.”

the way the corners of her eyes softened upon that moment, you swore she was almost relieved they had gone.

“alright then. shauna has kindly introduced a path down towards the creak her and jackie have discovered recently. i want to see if there are berries and such growing around.” she nodded towards an opening into the woods just behind the meat shed. “shall we break away for the day then?”

you beamed, mirroring her excitement. “i’d love to.”

“and you sincerely believe your bond has been hindered by her duties as a hunter?”

you hummed at lottie’s question. the two of you strolled side by side, elbows brushing occasionally as you ranted on about how you felt with nat’s recent drifting.

“i don’t know. sometimes i just think she’s sick of me.”

“well, i find it hard to believe anybody would grow sick of you.” she nudged you, chuckling. the remark, though just casual banter, made heat flush straight to your cheeks. you turned away to hide the tint of colour from the taller girl.

she smirked, hoping the image of you getting flustered would be burnt into her memories forever.

“what else has she done that’s troubling you, y/n?”

“she just doesn’t… talk to me anymore. it’s always travis this, hunting that, i just--like this morning, she was making all these mean comments and i told her i didn’t like how travis was rubbing off on her, she defended him!” you scoffed lightly, “i mean, i understand he just lost his father, but she’s just been such a trying person to care about lately, i feel lonely.”

the taller suddenly fell silent, and your heart skipped a beat.

it was always like this with lottie, you never realize you’ve over-shared until it was too late.

you let your guard down around her, but you loved the ease.

“i see,” she murmured, her fingers drumming against the strap of the basket. she seemed to hesitate before she spoke again, “does she… say anything about me in particular?”

your breath hitched; how did she know?

upon your struggle to stammer out a response, lottie giggled. she flashed you a small smile. “it’s quite obvious nat dislikes me, she isn’t exactly subtle with her mannerisms,” she joked lightly, “but i do understand her overprotective nature when it comes to you, the two of you are quite… close.”

“it’s--well--!” you were panicking. she caught you off guard.

nat didn’t really feel comfortable announcing anything about your relationship. she was waiting for things to die down and simmer into a less tense atmosphere at the very least.

it wasn’t like you were against it, but it narrowed the window you had for moments you get alone.

still, you shouldn’t be baffled an observant person like lottie noticed those stolen glances and hushed affection.

“you know, i’m here for you, y/n. however you need me.”

you do know. it’s all you think about when nat goes off with travis alone for hours. it’s why you feel less guilty, why you allow yourself to drift away from your sinking, hidden situation with nat and into lottie’s open arms.

“thanks, lot,” you answered, averting your gaze.

does lottie know about you two? shit, nat’s gonna be pissed.

“ah, here we are.” lottie gasped, stumbling ahead through a some bushes she pushed through into a tiny clearing.

you heard the soothing flush of flowing water, accompanied by lottie’s deep inhale. you took a good look around, soaking in the serenity of this little haven; it was absolutely breath-taking.

whilst lottie bent to lower her hand to graze the rippling water, you remained standing where you had.

however beautiful this oasis was, all you could see was lottie.

she looked so carefree, so in tune with everything that engulfed you. the way she fell into place immediately, like she had been here a million times before, like she was meant to fit right where she was. she was truly breathtaking.

“would you like to join me for a little break?” she asked, sitting by the creak with her knees to her chest. she patted the lakeshore right by her, setting the basket behind her.

“what about the berries?” you chuckled nervously.

lottie shrugged, nibbling on her bottom lip. her eyes raked you up and down briefly, if you weren’t staring at her so intently, you would’ve missed it. her nose twitched just the slightest. “the berries can wait. i want to talk with you.”

god, her smile was so warm and inviting. who could say no?

as you sat, your knees would brush. you could have sworn she was moving closer with each time she laughed at something you’d say (that wasn’t even funny) and swayed as she nudged you playfully. and when you’d go off about something jackie had said or tai and van being suspiciously cute, you could feel her eyes stripping you down.

her gaze was hot against your skin, you felt your cheeks burning when you’d catch her unwavering eyes.

“what?” you gasped, “do i have something on my face?”

she tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. she suddenly leant in close, her breath kissing your hot cheeks. her big, doe eyes ran across your features. she pulled back, humming with the faintest hint of a smirk. “no. not that i can see.”

“wha--what was that?” you squealed, leaning back.

“what was what?” lottie cocked her head aside.

“the--you were so close to my face!” oh my god, you could hear the shake in your voice, you sounded so pathetic. all you could hear was your heartbeat drumming in your ears.

“yes?” she replied, “is that a problem…?”

you don’t know how to answer; was it a problem? you didn’t exactly mind being close to lottie, you enjoyed the warmth that radiated from her as a matter of fact. but you’d burn up whenever her fingertips lingered on your skin a little too long.

“i’m sorry,” lottie sighed, backing away. her lips pouted slightly, her doe eyes giving you a look you couldn’t quite ignore. “it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.

“no!” you yelled almost a little too fast, “you didn’t.”

the sound of the water rushing over smooth stones was soothing, and the cool breeze carried the fresh scent of pine and earth. the air is crisp, but the warmth of lottie’s body kept you comfortable.

“good, that is the last thing i would ever want," she said, breaking the quiet. her voice is soft, but teasing "i’m very glad you agreed to come with me today. i was worried i’ve been too forward lately with my invitations.”

you glanced up at her, frowning slightly in confusion. you gnawed at your lip, chewing back your nerves.

“lot, i enjoy the time we spend together, so don’t say that.”

she stepped closer, her boots made a soft sound against the dirt. "well, i must confess. it’s not just that," she continued, voice dipping into a lighter tone. "there’s something about you... so effortlessly calm and... cute."

she let the word hang in the air, studying your reaction.

you blinked, unsure how to respond. "cute?" you stammered.

lottie laughed softly, her breath warm against your ear. her hand palmed yours on the ground, fingers slipping through the crevices of yours. "yes, cute. you don’t notice it, do you?" She tilted her head slightly, the edges of her eyes softening. "there is this charm about you. makes it hard to look away.”

your heart skipped, and you looked away, feeling your cheeks flush hotter. "thank you," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

the way she was looking at you, it made your stomach knot.

Lottie’s grin widens. "everybody notices as well," she said gently, leaning in closer. "so shy… so eager to please.”

oh my god, what the fuck is happening right now?

you swallowed, your throat dry as your mind raced. you can't figure out what to say or do, the mixture of her proximity and her words leaving you utterly flustered.

before you can even gather your thoughts, she leant in fully, her lips brushing yours softly. the kiss is light, like she knew of the risks regarding her actions. it’s over in an instant, but the sensation lingered--a soft warmth, a tender sweetness that took your breath away. you felt guilt and shame shower you, because you didn’t want it to end.

you blinked at her, completely stunned. lottie pulled back slightly, her gaze shot down at your parted lips. the tip of her nose brushed yours, and there she remained.

“you are so much more than that,” she whispered, her other hand coming up to cup your cheek. “but i’m in no hurry to make you realize that.”

your heart was pounding in your chest, your face burning.

lottie watched you for a moment, the teasing glint in her eyes giving way to something deeper. something you can’t quite name. she straightened up, but her hand lingered near yours, almost as if waiting for you to reach out.

you just sat there, breathless, in between her arms.

the hike back to camp bled into a blur, and your heart still raced from what happened by the creek. lottie walked beside you, her presence almost magnetic, but you can't help but feel distracted, the kiss replaying in your mind over and over again.

you’re not sure what to make of it, and honestly, you don’t know how to act around lottie anymore.

the entire way, she continued bantering and being lottie.

how could she be so normal? how is she not freaking out?

plagued by these unanswered questions swirling in your head, the things she said went in one ear and out the other.

though, she grabbed your hand whenever the shell of your knuckles would brush against each other. and as you struggled to hold her eyes for too long without flushing, she couldn’t help but giggle at your physical reactions to her touch.

as she set the berries she collected (you were too gay panicked to help) down in the pantry, your feet instinctively followed.

“thank you for your help today,” she grinned, “i had a very good time.” she leant in, hands grabbing the sides of your arms, before pecking you on the cheek. “i hope you enjoyed yourself as much as i have. if you need to talk about anything you want, i’ll be around.”

damn, it felt like getting blue-balled. like her lips were still ghosting yours. she tasted so sweet, such a soft contrast to what nat usually rushed into.

when you finally strolled back out towards the campfire, the first thing you saw was nat sitting by the fire, her hair strapped beneath her headband, laughing at something travis just said. that laugh of hers was usually familiar, comforting... but tonight it felt different. there’s something about the way she was leaning toward him, the way her eyes shone when she looked at him that made something inside you tighten.

you tried shaking it off, but it left a bad taste in your mouth.

nat’s smile diminished as she notices you approach, her eyes wavering like she got caught doing something she shouldn’t.

as you got closer, you noticed how travis’s hand was slid away by nat from where it rested on her thigh before. her back angled away from him, and both their shoulders tensed.

"hey," nat called out, giving you a tight-lipped smile. "i was wondering when you’d be back."

you caught sight of lottie far behind nat and travis. she conversed with akilah about something, listening intently, but her eyes flickered up when she felt somebody’s gaze.

lottie’s smile was easy, but there's something unreadable in her eyes as she glanced at you before returning her attention to akilah. you almost forgot your girlfriend was watching you.

"we found a few things. nothing special."

you forced a smile, but it felt thin. you were too aware of the way nat and travis were sitting too close, too comfortable, like something had shifted in the air. you sat down on the other side of the blonde, trying to ignore the cold weight settling in your chest. despite being sat before a raging fire.

as the night dragged on, your suspicion grew. it wasn’t just the way nat was acting around the boy--more open, more relaxed. it was also the little things: the way she lingered a little too long in conversation with him, the secretive glances they exchanged when they thought no one was watching. your stomach twisted uncomfortably, and you knew something was different between them after this morning’s argument.

i’m just being paranoid, you tell yourself. they're friends.

later, as the fire burns low and the night wrapped around you in a blanket of cool air, you and nat slipped away from the group that had gathered around the fire for a hearty post-dinner hangout, heading toward the cabin.

you sat down on the edge of your sleeping mat, still watching nat as she unzipped her bag, preparing for bed. you opened your mouth, but the words stuck in your throat, the weight of your doubts holding them back.

finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "nat... since when are you and travis so... close?"

nat froze, her hands pausing mid-motion as she turned toward you. her brow furrowed in confusion. "what do you mean?"

you bit your lip, your heart pounding.

you immediately regretted asking anything. the blonde you usually looked so forward to seeing stared back at you with such a bitter expression, you felt stupid.

nat’s expression hardened, her knuckles growing white from her tightening grip on the suitcase. her hand rose to scratch her nape. "i don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about," she started, her voice quiet but steady. she was lying. the flare at the end of that sentence told you all that you needed; you knew her very well, after all. "travis and i are just... close friends. he’s just going through a lot. you know that."

you nodded? but the gnawing suspicion ate at you. "but it just feels like something's happening that you’re not telling me."

nat gave you an amused scoff, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "nothing’s happening, y/n. why’re you being so paranoid?" her defensive tone mocked your worries, but in a turn of events, it made you think of lottie kissing you.

you swallowed hard, forcing a smile, but the knot in your stomach tightened even further. you wanted to believe her.

but you knew it was more than what she was telling you.

“his hands were all over you, nat, i might be quiet but i’m not fucking blind.” you argued, looking up at her.

she scoffed, “you’re being hysterical, for fuck’s sake.”

“what am i supposed to think? you leave first thing in the morning, you come back late at night and when i see you, you’re gushing all over this guy.”

“why do you even give a fuck? you spend all your time sucking lottie’s dick anyway!”

“so this is what it is? you’re doing this ‘cuz you’re jealous?”

she slammed her suitcase shut. “i’m not fucking jealous, i’m sick of you acting like she’s some saviour when she’s not.”

“why am i such a sheep in your head? it’s not like i’m praying to her, i went picking mushrooms with her.” you stood, stepping forward. “all i wanted was to spend time with you, but you’re always doing something and i feel like i’m chasing after something that isn’t there anymore.”

“maybe ‘cuz it isn’t,” nat hissed, pulling back.

you felt that in your chest. you watched, mouth agape, as she ran her hand over her face. she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“i’m sick of you coming for travis. you’ve been nothing but a bitch to him since doom coming and i’m over it, okay?”

you stormed out of the cabin, your heart stinging from what the blonde had just implied. the cool night air brushed against your skin, and the silence of the woods did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside you. you didn’t know exactly what you were looking for, but your feet carried you past the campfire, where you spotted lottie talking to van.

without thinking, you walked over, grabbed Lottie's arm, and pulled her away, the urgency in your steps clear.

you lead the both of you through the edge around the cabin, until the light of the fire became a dim glow in the distance.

before she could say anything, you leant in, kissing her with more intensity than you intended. there was surprise in her tawny eyes, but she quickly melted into your touch, her hands resting on your arms as she didn’t pull away. mindlessly, she nudged you into a tree, a hand on your stomach as yours crept up to tug at her loose, jet hair.

when the kiss broke, lottie looked at you with a dark and dangerous gaze. her lips wet and parted as she panted in attempts to catch her breath.

“what was that for?” she gasped, her smirk evident.

your finger met her lip. you ran a free hand up her jaw, shushing her before leaning in.

her own anchored your hips against the bark scraping against your thighs. your lips began trailing from her lips to her neck, fingers snaking their way up your shirt.

“y/n--” she warned, “i’d rather you talk to me.”

lottie knew she had been drawing a line between you and nat lately. she understood the blonde’s jealous tendencies and it was quite easy from there. she also knew nat and travis were hooking up during the day, and she didn’t have the heart to tell you that. after all, you (used to be) were very much in love with her. but she knew all you needed was a little push.

“i just,” you sighed, “you said you’d be here however i need you. well, this is how i really need you right now.”

“running from your problems won’t fix anything,” she said softly, voice steady. she ran her fingers through her hair, caressing your warm cheek as you leant into her touch. “as much as i want this as well, it’s not under the right grounds. if you’re trying to find clarity, you're not going to get it this way.”

you stood there, her words sinking in as she gave you a knowing look. she sighed, kissing you on the cheek.

“i find it, you’ve confronted nat about her recent behaviour?”

she didn’t ask it with anger or judgment, but with the kind of certainty that made you realize what you were doing. you weren’t thinking straight, blinded by the utter betrayal you had felt. you could smell travis’ musk on nat, you could see the hickeys peaking from the collar of the layers she had on. god, you’ve been such an idiot, you should’ve known.

your hands peeled from her, rubbing the burnout from your eyes. tears welled as your breath deepened.

“hey, hey,” lottie whispered, she wiped the tears pooling from the edge of your eyes. “come here.”

you let her pull you into her arms, circling them snugly around your waist as you sniffled into her shoulder.

“i’m sorry, lot, i’m a mess.” you said, but she soothed you.

“you have nothing to apologize for, y/n. it’s the last thing i want.” lottie said softly. “though, kissing isn’t one way my lips can provide a sense of coherence, i can assure you travis and nat have been… well, you know what it is they’ve done.”

you blinked at her, the words not fully sinking in at first. she knew nat was cheating? did she know about the two of you then? “what? how do you…?”

lottie’s eyes met yours, calm and knowing. “i already knew of the two of you. it has told me about you,” she said gently, her voice steady. “i could see the way you looked at her. and I knew what she was doing.” she paused, taking a breath. “nat isn’t in the right frame of mind to appreciate herself, much less others. you mustn’t blame her. she doesn’t understand the gravity of her actions, of how much pain she has caused you.”

you felt your heart tighten at her words, you felt beyond just the pain you were feeling.

“if it is adoration you crave, i can provide. i can give you what you desire, all you have to do is ask.”

lottie’s presence had always been soothing, but right now, it was something more--her voice, her energy, the way she just knew what to say. was your admiration merely the way a servant to her sovereign? or was it more?

you found yourself speaking before you could stop. “i—” you swallowed hard, the words feeling heavier than anything you’d said in a long time. “i need you to kiss me again. i haven’t stopped thinking about your lips since the creak, and i don’t think it’s just because of nat.” you grabbed the collar of her frilled dress, yanking her close. you heard her swallow thickly, her eyes fixed on your needy lips. “will you do this for me?”

lottie didn’t react immediately, her gaze steady on you as if weighing your words carefully.

then, she reached out, gently lifting your chin with her fingers, her eyes soft but intense. “you’re not just running away from nat, are you?” she asked, her voice low, knowing. “you’re looking for something in me.”

you nodded, not able to look away from her. "with you, i don’t feel like a fucking safety net. i feel appreciated.”

lottie’s gaze softened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. you weren’t used to her being anything but the cool, level-headed leader the girls needed her to be. she pressed a kiss against your shoulder. “you’re something worth appreciating.” she pressed another kiss, this one against your jaw. “worth discovering.” finally, her thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, her breath mingling with yours. “worth worshipping.”

her mouth moved against yours, tongue savouring you.

you’ve been around lottie so many times--you’ve known her for a long time. you’ve never made an effort to notice it, but there was no denying the chemistry you both shared. you usually tried not to think about it, but damn. she knew just what you needed to hear, just where you needed to be touched, and just what you needed to feel. you felt nerves flutter in your stomach as her hands rose to unbutton your shirt.

you were appalled. disgusted at how quick that turned you on. it made you wonder how long you had felt this attraction towards lottie, how in denial you have been with the blonde usually pawing at your chest in hopes of getting lucky.

this was so much more tender, so much more loving.

she gasped as she pried her lips from yours, immediately they latch onto your neck, just between your ear and your jaw. she’s rough with you, and you can tell she’s needed this for a while. she’s needed you. her hand that isn’t on your waist reaches around to the back of your head, forcing you to move where she guided you. like she always did, especially since she had been named the queen. the faint scent of her coconut perfume engrained in the fabric of her clothing is sickening. it invaded your senses and only made you want her more.

“you’ve got me, y/n. for however long you need, i’m yours.”

an; omg yall the reception my first fic got was insane!! so part two is coming to theatres near you. for now enjoy this silly little lottie fic i had cooking.

lmk if you guys like these cuz comments and stuff really help me know what kinda thing you guys like and encourage me!

happy reading! xx

[libbybee]

A ROGUE'S TOUCH — SA

◜pairing: astarion ⨯ fem!rogue!reader ◜rating: MDNI 18+ ┊ wc: 2.8K ◜cw: porn without plot, masturbation [F], neck kissing, sweet-dirty talk, semi-public, overstimulation.

▹ summary. trapped in a goblin fortress, you and astarion stumble upon a locked door blocking your path. though you're inexperienced with lockpicking, astarion insists you try, offering a hands-on 'lesson' that quickly turns into a distraction.

A/N. english isn't my native language, sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

AO3 ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ PLAYLIST

‎

The air was dense in the goblin’s fortress with the smell of decay and their gross scent.

Every step you took echoed too loudly in the quiet silence of the hallway as you looked for a way to get out, making you almost tremble due to the fear of being discovered. Astarion was a silent, ghostlike presence beside you, with his hand near the hilt of his dagger to strike at any moment if necessary—always prepared. You envied how easy he made this all seem.

You both halted in front of a heavy wooden door, its iron reinforcements dark and covered in rust. It was imposing, with an ornate lock gleaming against the faint light cast by the candlelight.

“This should be the way forward.” He murmured while his crimson eyes narrowed, studying the lock. “Unfortunately, it's blocked. We’ll have to pick it.”

You looked at him. “We? I don’t know how to pick locks.”

He smiled arrogantly, his lips sharply as a blade. “Oh, but you'll learn. It's a skill every adventurer should master, darling. Besides…” He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a delicate set of lockpicks and placing them into your open palm. “I insist.”

You glanced back the way you both came. The thought of learning now while someone—or something—may find you both made you feel more anxious. “This isn’t the time for—”

“Trust me. I’ll guide you.” His expression turned serious as he cut your words.

With a sigh, you crouched in front of the lock, feeling uncertain as you inserted the pick into its mechanism. The metal was harsh and unfamiliar in your hands, and you felt your mind block as you had no idea what you had to do. Behind you, Astarion kneeled close enough for you to feel his chest against your back, then he placed his hands on your hips to steady you.

“Relax, darling. You’re trembling.” He whispered against your ear; his voice close to you was enough to send a cool shiver down your neck. “Here. Let me show you.” He settled his left hand over yours, his fingers firm but kind as they enveloped yours around the lockpick. Slowly, he guided your hand, moving the pick precisely until a soft click occurred. Your movements felt fluid thanks to him, instinctive, like he could do this while sleeping.

Meanwhile, his other hand slid from your hip to your thigh as if trying to calm your nerves, trailing his fingers with a light touch that sent a tingling along your body. He lingered just for a moment before gliding inward to the delicate spot between your thighs. The pressure was subtle at first—a teasing drag of his fingertips that shifted into measured rubs over your pussy. He made the constant friction soft, and his breath remained steady, as if he weren’t just breaking the deadly tension of the moment only by touching you.

“You’ll feel a slight resistance—there, do you feel it?” His voice was a low murmur, velvety smooth and calm, while his fingers guided yours on the lockpick, moving with ease, coaxing the mechanism to yield. All this should have been instructional—his control, his preciseness—but his intentions betrayed him.

With the other hand, he shifted a bit higher to deftly undo the button of your trousers, slipping beneath the waistband of the slackened fabric with sinful fluidity. Just to find with his fingertips the delicate heat of your core against your panties, brushing with a feathery touch while still guiding your attempts. His stimulation seemed to mock the skill he demonstrated with the lock.

Your hips leaned involuntarily into his hand as your fingers stumbled with the lockpick. “Astarion—” You managed, with a tense tone of warning and plea.

“Shh,” he quieted you. “Pay attention, darling. This is important.”

A shudder ran through you. “How am I supposed to—”

“Focus?” He finished for you, his smirk clearly perceptible as he kept his stroking on you. “I wouldn’t want to make this too easy for you, now, would I?”

Your thighs clenched around his wrist, but he only scoffed at your futile attempt to stop him with a low tongue click. Dipping his fingers effortlessly beneath the final barrier of fabric, he found your clit and began tracing lazy circles around your bud. He made every movement the perfect combination of pressure and pattern, played with terrible skill for that moment, stripping away the fragile threads of focus you tried to cling to.

The tools trembled in your hands as the mechanism refused to cooperate; each time you thought you had the pin in place, his fingers rubbed harder and faster against your delicate clit. A sharp jolt of pleasure radiated through you, making your grip falter and the aching throbs he elicited sending your concentration scattering like leaves in a blustering breeze.

You slipped more of the lockpick in the lock while his other hand rested just over yours to 'guide' you. The brush of his cool fingertips on your knuckles was a stark contrast to the heat he was building in your pussy. He got lower, circling the entrance of your wet folds and tracing your slit to your clit again with infuriating slowness with his slender fingers, never giving you the satisfying sensation of more.

“Mmm, feel that?” He hummed lowly, his voice like a sensual caress against your ear, making you hold your breath when he finally pushed his middle finger inside. The intrusion slow and gradual.

You tried once more to adjust the angle as his finger curled within you to stroke your G-spot while using his thumb to massage your clit, coaxing your pelvis to rub involuntarily against his hand until your lips allowed a weak moan you barely managed to suppress.

A soft click echoed in the quiet hallway at the same time, but it wasn’t the one you were hoping for. The lock didn’t open—yet it gave another subtle shift, a hint of close to open but just out of reach.

“Ah, there it is. Feel how it responds?” He whispered. “It’s all about finding the right angle… and knowing when to push with the right touch.”

“Astarion!” You wailed quietly, tightening your grip on the lockpick in frustration.

“Yes, my sweet?” He purred with wicked satisfaction while he kept sinking his finger inside you. He was meticulous in that tortuous slowness, as if to intensify the sensation—each push deeper than the last, never fully withdrawing, only ever teasing you with a rhythm that made it impossible to think of anything but him.

“Am I distracting you?” His whispers were like a lover's touch against your ear, just low enough to be heard. His left hand moved to orient yours with an almost cruel precision, ensuring the lockpick remained poised at the exact angle needed. The parallel was impossible to ignore—the skilful manipulation of the lock imitated the careful stimulation he exerted on your pussy too well.

The cold, damp air of the fortress did nothing to diminish the heat flooding your body as his uninvited finger penetrated deeper inside you. It wasn’t just the intrusive pressure; it was the rhythm of each gradually increasing thrust that made everything else—everything else—fade into the background. Your walls clenched around him subconsciously, desperate but bound by the task at hand. The lock was still before you, and it felt a thousand times more impossible to manipulate; its intricate mechanism was a cold contrast against the warmth he was unleashing.

“I can’t—” You whispered, trembling with frustration and the torment he inflicted.

He chuckled lowly against the sensitive curve of your ear—that characteristic smell of his so close. Then you felt his lips when he planted a soft kiss on your neck, kissing over your pulse. “Oh, but you can,” he murmured, dulcet with a dangerous edge, more of a command than a guarantee. “All you need to do is focus, sweetheart… We’ll be here all night if you don’t.”

Before you could even think of anything else, a second finger plunged inside you with distressing slowness, stretching you further than before. The suddenness of it made the grip on the lockpick falter, and in a second, the tool slipped, falling with a soft clatter against the cold stone floor—a noise that rang out too loudly in the silence, mocking your failure.

His fingers inside you curled deeply to intentionally touch against that sweet, sensitive spot that made you jerk in response, pressing your hips into his hand. Your mind screamed at you to focus, but the feeling of being filled just by so little of him—how he was ruining you so, so easily—was enough to make you want more despite the circumstances.

The quiet atmosphere of your deadly situation was impossible to ignore; every sound, every movement, was amplified in this repugnant place. Yet the danger lurking in the shadows—of goblins, of discovery—disappeared, insignificant against the relentless storm he was creating within you. The fortress could collapse around you, and yet all you could think of was the feelings of your body and the way he manipulated your senses.

Panic twisted inside you as you pressed your hand against your mouth, trying to muffle the frustrated moans that slipped past your trembling lips. But even with your palm tightly pressed, the sound still quivered through your fingers.

His left hand shot out to seize your wrist and yanked your hand from your mouth. “Not a chance, love.”

You bit down hard on your lip, forcing yourself to steady the tremors in your hands as you reached down to retrieve the lockpick from the cold stone floor.

As your fingers closed around the lockpick again, you heard his voice. “My sweet, good girl…” His praise was syrupy, sweet. “You need to be more careful, darling; you’re rushing. Be patient… and it will open up to you, just like you want.”

All he said was simply meant to provoke you and keep you on edge, and you could feel the unnoticeable giggles radiating off him, knowing exactly how to needle you. Every part of him was a temptation—his touch, his voice, his nearness—all aimed at luring you further. But you weren’t giving in. Not now. You would finish this—despite him.

His fingers dug in even deeper, inching inside you with an excruciating pace. Each thrust seemed to draw a little more from you, his knuckles rubbing against your inner walls as he fucked you, stretching your entrance. His palm ground against your clit with every thrust—a hot, torturous, constant sensation. It was all you could feel, making your resolve shudder and your pelvis act defenceless against his attack.

A quick, focused motion brought your fingers back to the lockpick, pressing down with the right amount of force. Another click—a momentary release of tension, but not enough. The mechanism was still holding firm, teasing you with its near surrender.

“That’s it,” he murmured, so softly, so mocking, almost cruel in its dulcet tone. “You’re doing so well… but you need to be more gentle, darling. Focus.”

A curse hissed through your teeth, frustration pooling as you tried to steady your hands, but they faltered again. Behind you, he was watching with that infuriating smile still playing at the corners of his lips, with no kindness in his gaze and only cold satisfaction and desire.

And then he moved.

Instead of offering aid, he thrust into you with an angrier that made your channel clench roughly around him. Pulling each inch of his fingers from you, only to push back in quickly to the level of making lewd sounds despite your clothing as he kept curling his fingers.

“Trying to hurry through this, love?” He purred against your skin. “If you rush, you’ll only make it worse.” His thumb found your clit then again to start drawing tight, fast circles that had your lips parted in a breathless whimper before you could choke it back. He only smiled as if your weakness was the most delicious thing he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing.

He withdrew with slow elegance, only to slam back into you abruptly, pushing you closer to the edge with those relentless motions. The lock you’d been desperately trying to manipulate felt more distant with each passing second; each twist of the lockpick seemed more futile now, slipping through your fingers as the growing tension between your legs coiled tighter.

But then his other hand established yours again; the contrast was jarring. He guided it with an unexpected tenderness, positioning your fingers with precision, as if you were both playing a riskier game, the stakes higher than ever.

“You’re close.” Astarion murmured, a low growl as his fingers sped up. The strokes against your clit were like fire and ice in one—a storm of sensations that jolted through your cunt. The pressure inside you was building, unbearable, a crescendo that left you teetering.

“You’re so close, my love…” His voice was a throaty hum against your ear, brushing it with his lips. The heat of his breath lingered, teasing, coaxing, before he lowered his mouth to trail tender, messy kisses down your neck. His lips were soft, but the pressure increased as he pressed a sloppy kiss just beneath your jaw, then dragged his tongue across your skin.

A flicker of desire curled in your stomach as he nipped at your pulse, the warmth of his mouth contrasting with the cold air around you. Grazing his fangs lightly over the sensitive spot just beneath your ear before he licked a languid path up from the base of your neck, tasting you with an intensity that made you feel weaker.

“You’ve done so well…” he purred. “Don’t stop now.”

Your jaw clenched, a low tremor racing through your hips as they kept rubbing against his hand. You were desperate to stay focused and finish the task at hand, but the thrusts of his fingers and the stimulation on your clit sent waves of fiery heat through your core, making you ache with need. You could feel the lockpick slipping again, sliding out of your grip, threatened by the chaos swirling in your mind. It was an impossible challenge.

His other hand curled around your trembling fingers, the pressure of his grip forcing your hand to move, to continue. Your fingers shook as you slipped more of the pick into the door lock. His fingers—those long, skilled digits—pushed deeper, faster, finding a tempo that was both hard and euphoric.

Your body reacted without your consent, being consumed by the pleasure he was drawing from you. His thumb stimulated your clit with rapid, exasperating circles over your sensitive bud, just about driving you mad with desire. Your grip trembled as Astarion’s fingers curled with each swift thrust; he didn’t even give you a moment to adjust. He didn’t allow a single breath to escape your lips without pushing you closer to a breaking point, as his pace was unforgiving and fast, never slowing down.

And then, just as the lock felt completely impossible to open, your guided hands finally twisted it into place. You barely registered the decisive click, though; you were too caught up in the chaos of sensations until the pressure inside you exploded.

Your pussy convulsed and clenched around his fingers as you lowered your head and shut your eyes, while a sharp cry escaped your lips as your orgasm tore through you, crashing every nerve. Astarion didn’t stop, didn’t relent, keeping his rhythm as he milked every last spurt of your juices with his hand, keeping you pinned against his chest. Both with his hand now on your neck and his fingers working tirelessly between your thighs to prolong your release and make it last far longer.

Once it was settling over, your body and your legs still quivered in the aftermath, and you leaned firmly against him for support. His fingers remained inside you, savouring the way your walls fluttered and vibrated weakly around them, as if you were reluctant to let go. But he finally withdrew slowly, leaving you achingly aware of just how thoroughly he’d unravelled you.

“Bravo, my sweet,” he murmured, his tone a low, smug purr as he brought his lips teasingly to your ear. “You managed to unlock it. I’ll admit… I’m rather impressed.”

“You… you’re impossible.” You whispered harshly, breathless, while you gave him back his tools.

“And you’re adorable.” He replied smoothly, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek as he guarded them in his pocket.

You shot him a look that could kill him, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with the buttons of your trousers to quickly button them. “You could have done that in half the time…”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” he said with a lazy shrug, straightening as he rose and offered you his hand. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You glared at his outstretched hand before begrudgingly taking it.

“Now,” he said as he helped you to your feet, “come along. We’ve wasted enough time.”

The faint sparkle in his eyes and the way his smirk lingered just a touch too long made you wonder if this had been his plan all along.

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