#and just - having to still go about your day and go to work and do your jobs and not act like you've lost someone so important
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Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k]Â
c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isnât good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery
・đŚšÂ°â§â.á
FallÂ
Peter Parker is a resting place for overworked eyes, like warm topaz nestled against a blue-cold city. He waits on you with his eyes to the screen of his phone, clicking the power button repetitively. A nervous tic.Â
You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet heâs heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand.Â
âGood morning!â You pull your coat on quickly. âSorry.âÂ
âGood morning,â he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. âShould we go?âÂ
You follow Peter out of the cul-de-sac and into the street as he drops his phone into a deep pocket. To his credit, he doesnât check it while you walk, and only glances at it when youâre taking your coat off in the heat of your favourite cafe: The Moroccan Mode glows around you, fog kissing the windows, condensation running down the inner lengths of it in beads. You murmur something to do with the odd fog and Peter tells you about water vapour. When it rains tonight, he says itâll be warm water that falls.Â
He spreads his textbook, notebook, and rinky-dink laptop out across the table while you order drinks. Peter has the same thing every visit, a decaf americano, in a wide brim mug with the pink-petal saucer. You put it down on his textbook only because thatâs where he would put it himself, and you both get to work.Â
As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and canât help wondering what it is thatâs missing. Something is, something Peter wonât tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, heâs busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could.Â
Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. âI wish I had more time,â he says.Â
âItâs fine,â you say, âyou canât help it.â
âWeâll do something next weekend,â he says. The lie slips out easily.Â
To Peter it isnât a lie. In his head, heâll find the time for you again, and youâll be friends like you used to be.Â
You press the end of your pencil into your cheek, the dark roast, white paper and condensation like grey noise. This time last year, the air had been thick for days with fog you could cut. He took you on a trip to Manhattan, less than an hour from your red-brick neighbourhood, and you spent the day in a hotel pool throwing great cupfuls of water at each other. The fog was gone just fifteen miles away from home but the warm air stayed. When it rained it was sudden, strange, spit-warm splashes of it hammering the tops of your heads, your cheeks as you tipped your faces back to spy the dark clouds.Â
Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere youâd never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet.Â
You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip.Â
He feels you watching and meets your eyes. âI have to tell you something,â he says, smiling shyly.Â
âSure.âÂ
âI signed us up for that club.âÂ
âEpigenetics?âÂ
âMolecular medicine,â he says.Â
The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. Itâs still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. Itâs gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peterâs bag and sort through his jumble of possessions âstick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodegaâs worth of protein barsâ and grab his camera.Â
âWhat are you doing?âÂ
âIâm cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,â you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder.Â
âTechnically, I signed us up a few days ago,â he says.Â
You snap his photo as his mouth closes around âagoâ, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. âSemantics,â you murmur. âAnd molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?â
âIt has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.â
âI like oncology,â you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, âand I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.âÂ
âI canât go without you,â he says. Simple as that.Â
He knew youâd say yes when he signed you up. Itâs why he didnât ask. Youâre already forgiven him for the slight of assumption.Â
âWhen is it?â you ask, smiling.Â
â
Molecular medicine club is fun. You and a handful of ESU nerds gather around a big table in a private study room for a few hours and read about the newer discoveries and top research, like regenerative science and now taboo Oscorp research. Itâs boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going.Â
He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks youâre not looking. Only when she isnât either.Â
â
âGood morning,â you say.Â
Peter holds an umbrella over his head that heâs quick to share with you, and together you walk with heads craned down, the umbrella angled forward to fight the wind. Your outermost shoulder is wet when you reach the cafĂŠ, your other warm from being pressed against him. You shake the umbrella off outside the door and step onto a cushy, amber doormat to dry your sneakers. Peter stalks ahead and order the drinks, eager to get warm, so you look for a table. Your usual is full of businessmen drinking flat whites with briefcases at their legs. They laugh. You try to picture Peter in a suit: youâre still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back.Â
âTell the joke,â he says, slamming his coffee down. Heâs careful with yours. Heâs given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers.Â
âI was thinking about you as a businessman.âÂ
âAnd thatâs funny?âÂ
âWhen was the last time you wore a suit?âÂ
Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesnât know. Later, youâll remember his Uncle Benâs funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you donât remember yet. âWhen was the last time you wore one?â he asks. âI donât laugh at you.âÂ
âYouâre always laughing at me, Parker.âÂ
The cafe isnât as warm today. Itâs wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. Thereâs no fog but a sad rattle of rain, not enough to make noise against the windows, but enough to watch as it falls in lazy rivulets down the lengths of them.
Your face is chapped with the cold, cheeks quickly come to heat as your fingers curl around your mug. They tingle with newfound warmth. When you raise your mug to your lips, your hand hardly shakes.
âYou okay?â Peter asks.Â
âFine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?âÂ
âDonât think so. Did you ask nicely?âÂ
âI did.â Youâd called him last night. You wouldâve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it âyou donât want Peterâs help, you just wanted to see him.Â
Looking at him now, you remember why his distance had felt a little easier. The rain tangles in his hair, damp strands curling across his forehead, his eyes dark and outfitted by darker eyelashes. Peter has the looks of someone youâve seen before, a classical set to his nose and eyes reminiscent of that fallen angel weeping behind his arm, his russet hair in fiery disarray. There was an anger to Peter after Ben died that you didnât recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didnât matter âhe was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice againâ until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears.Â
His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like heâs up late. If he is, it isnât to talk to you.Â
You spend an afternoon working through your equations, pretending to understand until Peter explains them to death. His earphones fall out of his pocket and he says, âHere, Iâll show you a song.âÂ
He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Shouldâve Come Over. It feels like Peterâs trying to tell you something âhe isnât, but it feels like wishing he would.Â
âYou okay?â you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less.Â
âIâm fine, why?âÂ
You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. âYou look tired, thatâs all. Are you sleeping?âÂ
âI have too much to do.âÂ
You just donât get it. âMake sure youâre eating properly. Okay?âÂ
His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest youâll ever get. âYou know May,â he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, âshe wouldnât let me go hungry. Donât worry about me.âÂ
â
The dip into depression you take is predictable. You canât help it. Peter being gone makes it worse.Â
You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when itâs dark and you know itâs a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New Yorkâs not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You canât count how many times youâve heard the same story. A man followed me home, saw me across the street, tried to get into my apartment, but Spider-Man saved me.Â
Youâre not naive, you realise the danger of walking around without protection assuming some stranger in a mask will save you, but you need to get out of the house. It goes on for weeks.Â
You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you donât really care. Youâre not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and itâs fine, really, itâs okay, everything works out eventually. Itâs not like itâs all because you miss Peter, itâs just a feeling. Itâll go away.Â
âYouâre in deep thought,â a voice says, garnering a huge flinch from the depths of your stomach.
You turn around, turn back, and flinch again at the sight of a man a few paces ahead. Red shoulders and legs, black shining in a webbed lattice across his chest. âOh,â you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, âsorry.âÂ
âWhy are you sorry? I scared you.â
âI didnât realise you were there.âÂ
Spider-Man doesnât come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. Youâve never met before but youâd like to see him up close, and you arenât scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival.Â
âCan I walk you to where youâre going?â Spider-Man asks you. Heâs humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot.Â
âHow do I know youâre the real Spider-Man?âÂ
After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldnât want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible.Â
You canât be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. âWhat do you need me to do to prove it?â he asks.Â
He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. âI donât know. Whatâs Spider-Man exclusive?âÂ
âI can show you the webs?âÂ
You pull your handbag further up your arm. âOkay, sure. Shoot something.âÂ
Spider-Man aims his hand at the streetlight across the way and shoots it. He makes a severing motion with his wrist to stop from getting pulled along by it, letting the web fall like an alien tendril from the bulb. The light it produces dims slightly. A chill rides your spine.Â
âCan I walk you now?â he asks.Â
âYou donât have more important things to do?â If the bitterness youâre feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesnât react.Â
âNothing more important than you.âÂ
You laugh despite yourself. âIâm going to Trader Joeâs.âÂ
âYellowstone Boulevard?âÂ
âThatâs the oneâŚâÂ
You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. Itâs a short walk. Trader Joeâs will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and youâre in no hurry. âMy friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.âÂ
âAnd youâre going just for him?â Spider-Man asks.Â
âNot really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.âÂ
âDo you always walk around by yourself? Itâs late. Itâs dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,â he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match.Â
âI like walking,â you say.Â
Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, heâs running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. Youâre having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man youâre walking beside now.
âIs everything okay?â he asks. âYou seem sad.âÂ
âDo I?âÂ
âYeah, you do.âÂ
âMaybe I am sad,â you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joeâs already in view. It really is a short walk. âDo you everââ You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, âDo you ever feel like youâre alone?âÂ
âIâm not alone,â he says carefully.
âMe neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.âÂ
He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking youâre being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. âSometimes I feel like Iâm the only person in the world,â he says. âEven here. I forget that itâs not something I invented.âÂ
âWell, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?â You smile sympathetically. âIt must be hard.âÂ
âYeah.â His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then thereâs a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. âIâll come back,â he says.Â
âThatâs okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.âÂ
He sprints away. In half a second heâs up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away.Â
You buy Peterâs chips at Trader Joeâs and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesnât come back.Â
â
I donât want to study today, Peterâs text says the next day. Come over and watch movies?Â
The last handholds of your fugue are washed away in the shower. You dab moisturiser onto your face and neck and stand by the open window to help it dry faster, taking in the light drizzle of rain, the smell of it filling your room and your lungs in cold gales. You dress in sweatpants and a hoodie, throw on your coat, and stuff the rolled tortilla chips into a backpack to ferry across the neighbourhood.Â
Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. Youâd been in awe of it when you were younger, Peter and his Aunt and Uncle, their home-cooked family dinners, nights spent on the roof trying to find constellations through light pollution, stretched out together while it was warm enough to soak in your small rebellion. Ben would call you both down eventually. When youâre older! heâd always promise.Â
Peterâs waiting in the open door for you. He ushers you inside excitedly, stripping you out of your coat and forgetting your wet shoes as he drags you to the kitchen. âLook what I got,â he says.Â
The Parker kitchen is a big, bright space with a chopping block island. The counters are crowded by pots, pans, spices, jams, coffee grounds, the impossible drying rack. Thereâs a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida.Â
You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven youâve eaten from a hundred times. âThere,â he says.Â
âDid you cook?â you ask.Â
âOf course I didnât cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. Iâm an excellent chef.âÂ
âThe only thing Mayâs ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.âÂ
âHope you like marinara,â he says, nudging you toward the stove.Â
You take the lid off of the Dutch oven to unveil a huge cake. Dripping with frosting, only slightly squashed by the lid, obviously homemade. Heâs dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries.Â
âItâs for you,â he says casually.Â
âItâs not my birthday.âÂ
âI know. You like cake though, donât you?âÂ
Youâd tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. âWhyâd you make me a cake?âÂ
âI felt like you deserved a cake. You donât want it?âÂ
âNo, I want it! I want the cake, letâs have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, itâll be amazing.â You donât bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. âThank you, Peter. Itâs awesome. I had no idea you could evenâ that youâd evenââ You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. âWow.âÂ
âWow,â he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. âYouâre welcome. I wouldâve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.âÂ
âIt mustâve taken hours.âÂ
âMay helped.âÂ
âThat makes much more sense.âÂ
âDonât be insolent.â Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesnât let go for a really long time.Â
He extracts the cake from the depths of the Dutch oven and cuts you both a slice. He already has ice cream, a Neapolitan box that he cuts into with a serrated knife so you can each have a slice of all three flavours. Itâs good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.
âSit down,â he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. âRemoteâs by you. Iâm gonna get drinks.âÂ
You take your plate, carving into the cake with the end of a warped spoon, its handle stamped PETE and burnished in your grasp. The crumb is soft but dense in the best way. The ganache between layers is loose, cake wet with it, and the frosting is perfect, just messy. You take another satisfied bite. Youâre halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back.Â
âI brought you something too, but itâs garbage compared to this,â you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth.Â
Peter laughs at you. âYeah, well, say it, donât spray it.âÂ
âI guess Iâll keep it.âÂ
âKeep it, bub, I donât need anything from you.âÂ
He doesnât say it the way youâre expecting. âNo,â you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, âyou can have it. Sâjust a bag of chips from Traderââ
âThe rolled tortilla chips?â he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. âYou really are the best friend ever.âÂ
âBetter than Harry?âÂ
âHarryâs rich,â Peter says, âso no. Iâm kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.âÂ
âEat your own.âÂ
Peter plays a great host, letting you choose the movies, making lunch, ordering takeout in the evening and refusing to let you pay for it. This isnât that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesnât check his phone, the tension you couldnât name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. Youâre flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You wonât look a gift horse in the mouth; you wonât question what it is that had Peter keeping you at armâs length now itâs gone.
To your annoyance, you canât stop thinking about Spider-Man. You keep opening your mouth to tell Peter you talked to him but biting your tongue. Why am I keeping it a secret? you wonder.Â
âHave something to tell you.âÂ
âYou do?â you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw.Â
âIs that surprising?âÂ
âIs that a trick question?âÂ
âNo. Just. Iâve been not telling you something.âÂ
âOkay, so tell me.âÂ
Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. âMe and Gwen, weâre really done.âÂ
âI know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.â Your stomach pangs painfully. âUnless youâŚâ
âSheâs going to England.âÂ
âShe is?âÂ
âOxford.âÂ
You struggle to sit up. âThat sucks, Peter. Iâm sorry.âÂ
âBut?âÂ
You find your words carefully. âYou and Gwen really liked each other, but I think thatââ You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. âThat thereâs always been some part of you that couldnât actually commit to her. So. I donât know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe itâll break your heart, but at least then youâll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.â You avoid telling him to move on.Â
âIt wasnât Gwen,â he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you.Â
âObviously, sheâs the smartest girl Iâve ever met. Sheâs beautiful. Of course itâs not her fault,â you say, teasing.
âReally, that you ever met?â Peter asks.Â
âSheâs the best girl you were ever gonna land.âÂ
He rolls his eyes. âYeah, I guess so.â After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, âI think we were done before. I just hadnât figured it out yet. Something wasnât right.âÂ
âYou were so back and forth. Youâre not mean, there mustâve been something stopping you from going steady,â you agree. âYou were breaking up every other week.â
âI know,â he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch.Â
âWhich, itâs fine, you donâtââ You grimace. âI canât talk today. Sorry. I just mean that itâs alright that you never made it work.â You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, âDoesnât make you a bad person. Youâre never a bad person, Peter.âÂ
âI know. Thank you.âÂ
âYouâre welcome. You donât need me to tell you.âÂ
âItâs nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.âÂ
You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I shouldâve said it the moment I got home.Â
Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips.Â
Good, because I have so much Iâm keeping to myself.
You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned.Â
âÂ
He visits with a whoop. You donât flinch when he lands âyouâd heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby.Â
âSpider-Man,â you say.Â
âWhatâs that about?âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âThe way you said that. You laughed.â Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. Heâs got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but itâs not as though each of his fights are bloodless. Theyâre infamously gory on occasion.
âDid you get hurt?â you ask. Youâre worried. You could help him, if he needs it.Â
âAw, this? Thatâs a scratch. Thatâs nothing, donât worry about it. Iâve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.âÂ
You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and itâs not like you and Peter made it up, but suddenly, the man in front of you is Peter. The way he says it, that unique rhythm.Â
Peterâs not so rough-voiced, you argue with yourself. Your Peter speaks in a higher register, dulcet often, only occasionally sarcastic. Spider-Man is rough, and cawing, and loud. Spider-Man acts as though the ground is a suggestion. Peter canât jump off the second diving board at the pool. Spider-Man rolls his shoulders back in front of you with a confidence Peter rarely has.Â
âWhat?â he asks.Â
âSorry. You just reminded me of someone.âÂ
His voice falls deeper still. âSomeone handsome, I hope.âÂ
You take a small step around him, hoping it invites him to walk along while communicating how sorely you want to leave the subject behind. When he doesnât follow, you add, âYes, heâs handsome.âÂ
âI knew it.â
âWhat do you look like under the mask?â
Spider-Man laughs boisterously. âI canât just tell you that.âÂ
âNo? Do I have to earn it?âÂ
âItâs not like that. I just donât tell anyone, ever.âÂ
âNobody in the whole world?â you ask.Â
The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps thatâs all Novemberâs are destined to be. You and Spider-Man stick to the inside of the sidewalk. Occasionally, a passerby stares at him, or calls out in Hello, and Spider-Man waves but doesnât part from you.Â
âTell me something about you and Iâll tell you something about me,â Spider-Man says. âIâll tell you who knows my identity.âÂ
âWhat do you want to know about me?â you ask, surprised.Â
âA secret. Thatâs fair.âÂ
âHold on, howâs that fair?â You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. âWhat use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesnât bring me any closer to the truth.âÂ
âItâs not about who knows, itâs about why I told them.â Spider-Man slips around you, forcing you to walk on the inside of the sidewalk as a car pulls past you all too quickly and sends a sheet of dirty rainwater up Spider-Manâs side. He shakes himself off. âJerk!â he shouts after the car.Â
âMy secrets arenât worth anything.â
âI doubt that, but if thatâs true, that makes it a fair trade, doesnât it?âÂ
He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, âAlright, useless secret for a useless secret.âÂ
You think about all your secrets. Some are odd, some gross. Some might make the people around you think less of you, while others would surely paint you in a nice light. A topaz sort of technicolor. But they arenât useless, then, so you move on.Â
âOh, I know. I hate my major.â You grin at Spider-Man. âThatâs a good one, right? No one else knows about that.âÂ
âYou do?â Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy.Â
âI like science, I just hate math. Itâs harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.âÂ
Spider-Man doesnât drag the knife. âOkay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.â He clears his throat. âI told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. Iâm trying really hard not to tell anybody else.â
âHow come?âÂ
âIt just hurts people.âÂ
You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road.Â
âTell me another one,â he says.Â
âWhat for?âÂ
âI donât know, just tell me one.âÂ
âHow do I know you arenât extorting me for something?â You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. âYouâll know my face and my secrets and even if you tell me a really gory juicy one, I have no one to tell and no name to pair it with.âÂ
âIâm not showing you anything,â he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street.Â
Peterâs shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesnât ask for secrets. He doesnât have to. (Or, he didnât have to, once upon a time.)Â
âWhere are you going?â Spider-Man asks.Â
âOh, nowhere.âÂ
âSeriously, youâre out here walking again for no reason?âÂ
âI like to walk. Itâs not like itâs dark out yet.â Youâre not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden âFlushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. âWalk me to Kissena?â you ask.Â
âSure, for that secret.âÂ
You laugh as Spider-Man takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. Itâs exciting that Spider-Man of all people wants to know one of your useless secrets enough to ask you twice. The attention of it makes searching for one a matter of how fast you can find one rather than a question of why youâd want to. It slips out before you can think better of it.Â
âI burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,â you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. âIt blistered and I cried when I did it, but I havenât told anyone about it.âÂ
âWhy not?â he asks.Â
He shouldnât use that tone with you, like heâs so so sorry. It makes you want to really tell him everything. How insecure you feel, how telling things feels like asking for someone to care, and half the time they donât, and half the time youâre embarrassed.Â
You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. âI didnât think about it at first. Iâm used to keeping things to myself. And then I didnât tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldnât make sense. Like, bringing it up when itâs a scar wonât do much.â Itâs a weak lie. It comes out like a spigot to a drying up tree. Glugs, fat beads of sound and the pull to find another thing to say.
âIt was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.âÂ
âMaybe Iâll tell someone tomorrow,â you say, though you wonât.Â
âThanks for telling me.â
The humour in spilling a secret like that to a superhero stops you from feeling sorry for yourself. You hide your cold fingers in your coat, rubbing the stiff skin of your knuckles into the lining for friction-heat. The rain has let up, wind whipping empty but brisk against your cheeks. Your lips will be chapped when you get home, whenever that turns out to be.Â
âThis is pretty far from Trader Joeâs,â he comments, like heâs read your mind.Â
âJust an hour.âÂ
âAre you kidding? Itâs an hour for me.âÂ
âThatâs not true, Spider-Man, Iâve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,â âyou try to meet his eyes despite the maskâ âmy heart in my throat. Werenât you scared?â
âIs that the secret you want?â he asks.Â
âI get to choose?âÂ
Spider-Man throws his gaze around, his hand behind his head like he might play with his hair. You come to a natural stop across the street from Kissena Parkâs playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame.Â
âIf you want to,â he says.Â
âThen yeah, I want to know if you were scared.âÂ
âI didnât haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?â He shifts from one foot to the other. âI donât think Iâve ever thought about it before. I wasnât scared of the height, if thatâs what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didnât have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.âÂ
âWhen they lined up the cranesââ
âIt felt like flying,â Spider-Man interrupts.Â
âLike flying.â
You picture the weightlessness, the adrenaline, the catch of your weight so high up and the pressure of being flung between the next point. The idea that you have to just do something, so you do.Â
âThatâs a good secret.â You offer a grateful smile. âIt doesnât feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.âÂ
âSo tell me another one,â he says.Â
â
Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where youâd text him and heâd ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasnât that you couldnât like him, angry as he was; thereâs always been something about his eyes when heâs upset that sticks around. You loathe to see him sad but he really is pretty, and when his eyelashes are wet and his mouth is turned down, formidable, itâs an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other.Â
It was after. When he started sending Gwen weird smiles and showing up to the movies exhilarated, out of breath, unwilling to tell you where heâd been. Skating, heâd always say. Most of the time he didnât have his skateboard.Â
Youâd only seen them kiss once, his hand on her shoulder curling her in, a pang of heat. You were curdled by jealousy but it was more than that. Peter was tipping her head back, was kissing her soundly, a fierceness from him that made you sick to think about. You spent weeks afterwards up at night, tossing, turning, wishing heâd kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person.Â
Youâd always held out for Peter, in a way. It was more important to you that he be your friend. You were young, and love had been a far off thing, and then one day you suddenly wanted it. You learned just how aching an unrequited love could be, like a bruise, where every time you saw Peter âwhether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyoneâ it was like he knew exactly where to poke the bruise. Press the heel of his hand and push. The worst is when he found himself affectionate with you, a quick clasp of your cheek in his palm as he said goodbye. Nights spent in his twin bed, of course youâll fit, of course you couldnât go home, not this late, May wonât care if we keep the door open âthe suggestion that the door being closed mightâve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you.Â
Now youâre nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasnât tried to stop her, but heâs still busy.Â
âWhatever,â you say, taking a deep breath. Youâre not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time wonât change a thing. âItâs fine.âÂ
âIâd hope so.âÂ
You swing around. âDonât do that!â
Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. âI called out.âÂ
âYou did?âÂ
âI did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesnât know how to get a goddamn taxi!âÂ
âI like to walk,â you say.Â
âYeah, so youâve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? Itâs freezing out, Miss Bennett!âÂ
âItâs not that bad.â You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. âIâm fine.âÂ
âWhatâs wrong with staying at home?âÂ
âThatâs not good for you. And youâre one to talk, Spider-Man, arenât you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.âÂ
âI donât do this every night.âÂ
âDonât you get tired?â
Spider-Manâs eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. âNo, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?âÂ
âI donât know. Youâre in a full suit, I canât tell. I guess you donât⌠seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.âÂ
âWant me to do one?âÂ
âOn command?â You laugh. âNo, thatâs okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.âÂ
âSo where are you heading today?â he asks.Â
Thereâs a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. Youâre surprised he canât feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. âI can see your stubble.âÂ
He yanks his mask down. âHasty getaway.âÂ
âA getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, thatâs not very gentlemanly.âÂ
You start to walk toward the Cinemart. Spider-Man, to your strange pleasure, follows. He walks with considerable casualness down the sidewalk by your left, occasionally letting his head turn to chase a distant sound where it echoes from between high-rises and along the busy street. Itâs cold and dark, but New York is hectic no matter what, even the residential areas. (Is there such a thing? The neighbourhoods burst with small businesses and backstreet sales, no matter the time.)
âLuckily for you, crime is slow tonight,â he says.Â
âLucky me?â You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. âYou realise Iâve managed to get everywhere Iâm going for the last two decades without help?âÂ
âI assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.âÂ
âThatâs what you think. I was a super independent toddler.âÂ
Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. âSure you were.âÂ
âIs there a reason youâre escorting me, Spider-Man?â you ask.Â
âNo. Iâ I recognised you, I thought Iâd say hi.âÂ
âHi, Spider-Man.âÂ
âHi.âÂ
âCan I ask you something? Do you work?âÂ
Spider-Man stammers again, âIâ yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.âÂ
âI was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.â You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. âI couldnât do what you do.âÂ
âYeah, you could.âÂ
He sounds sure.Â
âHow would you know?â you ask. âMaybe Iâm awful when youâre not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.âÂ
âNo, you donât. Youâre not awful. Donât ask me how I know, âcos I just know.âÂ
You try not to look at him. If you look at him, youâre gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. âWell, tonight Iâm going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said heâd buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Bennyâs. Have you tried that?âÂ
Spider-Man takes a big step. âTonight?â he asks.Â
âYep, tonight. Thatâs where Iâm going, the Cinemart.â You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. âAre you okay? You look like youâre gonna throw up.âÂ
âI can hearâ something. Someoneâs crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?â He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. âBye!â he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof.Â
Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. Heâs lithe. Â
Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than youâd agreed to meet.Â
âSorry!â he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. âGod, Iâm sorry! Iâm so sorry. You should beat me up. Iâm sorry.âÂ
âWhat the fuck happened?â you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. âYouâre sweating like crazy, your hairâs wet.âÂ
âI ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Donât answer that. Fuck, do we have time?âÂ
You usher Peter inside. He pays for the tickets with hands shaking and you attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve. âYou couldâve called me,â you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, âwe couldâve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?âÂ
âForget about my favourite girl? How could I?â He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. âNow shh,â he whispers, âfind the seats, donât miss the trailers. You love them.âÂ
âYou love themââ
âIâll get popcorn,â he promises, letting the door close between you.Â
Youâre tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle.Â
You turn away and rush to find your seats. Hopefully, the popcorn line is ten blocks long, and he spends the night punished for his wrongdoing. My favourite girl. You laugh nervously into your hand.Â
â
WinterÂ
Spider-Man finds you at least once a week for the next few weeks. He even brings you an umbrella one time, stars on the handle, asking you rather politely to go home. He offers to buy you a hot dog as youâre walking past the stand, takes you on a shortcut to the convenience store, and helps you get a piece of gum off of your shoe with a leaf and a scared scream. Heâs friendly, and youâre getting used to his company.Â
One night, youâre almost home from Trader Joeâs, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, âHey! Running girl! Wait a second!âÂ
Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You donât know his name, but Spider-Manâs a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.
He jogs toward you.Â
You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you.Â
âHey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?âÂ
You blink as fat rain lands on your face.Â
âYou okay?â Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. Itâs sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. âCome on, letâs go,â âhe takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside himâ âitâs freezing!âÂ
âPeterââ
âJesus Christ!âÂ
âPeter, what are you doing here?â you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building.Â
Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly.Â
âI wanted to see you. Is that allowed?âÂ
âNo.âÂ
Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. âNo?â he asks, a hairâs width from murmuring.Â
âShit, my groceries are soaked.âÂ
âItâs all snacks, itâs fine,â he says, pulling you to the stairs.Â
You rush up the steps together to your floor. Peter takes your key when you offer it, your own fingers too stiff to manage it by yourself, and he holds the door open for you again to let you in.Â
Your apartment is a ragtag assortment to match the one next door, old wooden furniture wheeled from the street corners they were left on, thrifted homeward and heavy blankets everywhere you look. You almost slip getting out of your shoes. Peter steadies you with a firm hand. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook, prying the damp hoodie over his head and exposing a solid length of back that trips your heart as you do the same.Â
âSorry I didnât ask,â Peter says.Â
âWhat, to come over? Itâs fine. I like you being here, you know that.âÂ
All your favourite days were spent here or at Peterâs house, in beds, on sofas, his hair tickling your neck as credits run down the TV and his breath evens to a light snore. You try to settle down with him, changing into dry clothes, his spare stuff left at the bottom of your wardrobe for his next inevitable impromptu visit. You turn on the TV, letting him gather you into his side with more familiarity than ever. Rain lays its fingertips on your window and draws lazy lines behind half-turned blinds. You rest on the arm and watch Peter watch the movie, answering his occasional, âYou okay?â with a meagre nod.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â he asks eventually. âYouâre so quiet.âÂ
Your hand over your mouth, you part your marriage and pinky finger, marriage at the corner, pinky pressed to your bottom lip, the flesh chapped by a season of frigid winds and long walks. ââM thinking,â you say.Â
âAbout?âÂ
About the first night in your new apartment. You got the apartment a couple of weeks before the start of ESU. Not particularly close to the university but close to Peter, your best, nicest friend. You met in your second year of High School, before Peter got contacts, âcos he was good at taking photographs and you were in charge of the school newspapers media sourcing. You used to wait for Peter to show up ten minutes late like clockwork, every week. And every week heâd barge into the club room and say, âFuck, Iâm sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,â until it turned into its own joke.Â
Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited.Â
âFuck,â heâd said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, âsorry. My last class is onââ
But he didnât finish. Youâd laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasnât about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you.Â
But Peterâs been distant for a while now, because Peterâs Spider-Man.Â
âDo you remember,â you say, not willing to share the whole truth, âwhen you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?âÂ
âSo you didnât need me,â he says.Â
âI was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.âÂ
Peter holds your gaze. âIs that really what you were thinking about?âÂ
âJust funny,â you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. âSo much has changed.âÂ
âNot that much.âÂ
âNot for me, no.âÂ
Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. Heâs found a crack in you and heâs gonna smooth it over until you feel better. Youâre expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but youâre not expecting the way he pulls you in âyouâd slipped away from him as the evening went on, but Peter erases every millimetre of space as he slides his arm under your lower back and ushers you into his side. You hold your breath as he hugs you, as he looks down at you. Itâs really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. Heâs never looked at you like this before.
âI donât want you to change,â he whispers.Â
âI want to catch up with you,â you whisper back.Â
âCatch up with me? Weâre in the exact same place, arenât we?â
âI donât know, are we?âÂ
Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. âOf course we are.âÂ
Peter⌠What is he doing?Â
You let yourself relax against him.Â
âYou do change,â he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, âyou change every day, but you donât need to try.âÂ
âI just⌠feel like everyone around me isâŚâ You shake your head. âEveryoneâs so smart, and they know what theyâre doing, or theyâreâ theyâre special. I donât know anything. So I guess lately Iâve been thinking about that, and then youââ
âWhat?âÂ
You can say it out loud. You could.Â
âPeter, youâreâŚâÂ
âIâm what?â he asks.Â
His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again.Â
If you're wrong, heâll laugh. And if youâre right, he mightâ might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like itâs gonna put you to sleep.Â
Heâs Spider-Man.Â
It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course itâs Peter. It explains so much about him, about Peter and Spider-Man both. Why Peter is suddenly firmer, lighter on his feet, why he can help you move a wardrobe up two flights of stairs without complaint; why Spider-Man is so kind to you, why he knows where to find you, why he rolls his words around just like Pete.Â
Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesnât tell you much, but you trust him.Â
You wonât make him say anything, you decide. Not now.Â
You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter.Â
âI was thinking about you,â he says.Â
âYeah?âÂ
âYouâre quieter lately. I know youâre having a hard time right now, okay? You donât have to tell me. Iâm here for you whenever you need me.âÂ
âYeah?â you ask.
âYou used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldnât be home to make sure I wasnât alone.â Peterâs breath is warm on your forehead. âI donât know what youâre worried about being, but Iâm with you,â he says, âân nothing is gonna change that.âÂ
Peter isnât as far away as you thought.Â
âThank you,â you say.Â
He kisses your forehead softly. Your whole world goes amber. He brings his hand to your cheek, the thought of him tipping your head back sudden and heart-racing, but Peter only holds you. You lose count of how many minutes you spend cupped in his hand.Â
âCan I stay over tonight?â he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain.Â
âYeah, please.âÂ
His thumb strokes your cheek.Â
â
Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as youâve craved, and Spider-Man disappears.Â
Heâs alive and well, as evidenced by Peterâs continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesnât drop in on your nightly walks.Â
You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peterâs increasing affection, but now that you know heâs Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you wouldâve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know heâd do to you. After all, heâs been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parkerâs ears.Â
You find it hard to be angry with him. A thread of it remains whenever you remember his deception, but mostly you worry about him. Peterâs out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesnât seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connorsâ and got that huge gash in his leg. His leg is soiled deep red with blood but banded in white webbing. He limps as he races across a rooftop, the recording shaky yet high definition.Â
Itâs not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what heâd said, how he wasnât scared, but not being scared doesnât mean he wasnât hurting.Â
You chew the tip of a finger and click on a different video. Your computer monitor bears heat, the tower whirring by your thigh. Your eyes burn, another hour sitting in the same seat, sick with worry. You donât mind when Peter doesnât answer your texts anymore. You didnât mind so much before, just terrified of becoming an irrelevance in his life and lonely, too, maybe a little hurt, but never worried for his safety. Now when Peter doesnât text you back you convince yourself that heâs been hurt, or that heâs swinging across New York City about to risk his life.
Itâs not a good way to live. You canât stop giving into it, is all.Â
In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesnât lift his mask, seemingly aware of his watcher. You laugh as he angles his head down, suspicion in his tight shoulders. He relaxes when he sees whoever it is recording.Â
âHey,â he says, âyou all right?âÂ
âShould you be up there?â the person recording shouts.Â
âIâm fine up here!âÂ
âAre you really Spider-Man?âÂ
âSure am.âÂ
âAre you single?âÂ
Peter laughs like crazy. How you didnât know it was him before is a mystery âit couldnât sound more like him. âIâve got my eye on someone!â he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when heâs Spider-Man lost to a good mood. Â
Your phone rings in the back pocket of your jeans. You wriggle it out, nonplussed to find Peter himself on your screen. You click the green answer button.Â
âHello?â Peter asks.Â
You bring the phone snug to your ear. âHey, Peter.âÂ
âHi, are you busy?âÂ
âNot really.âÂ
âDo you wanna come over? I know itâs late. Come stay the night and tomorrow weâll go out for breakfast.âÂ
âIs Aunt May okay with that?âÂ
âSheâs staring at me right now shaking her head, but Iâm in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?âÂ
âSheâs always allowed as long as you keep the door open.â
You laugh under your breath at Mayâs begrudging answer. âAre you sure sheâs alright with it?â you ask softly. âI donât want to be a burden.âÂ
âYou never, ever could be. Iâm coming to your place and weâll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?âÂ
âNot yet, butââ
âOkay, Iâll make you something when you get here. Iâll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?âÂ
âI have to shower first.âÂ
âTwenty five?âÂ
You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing youâre not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. âHow about Iâll see you at seven?âÂ
âItâs a date,â he says.Â
âMm, put it in your calendar, Parker.âÂ
â
Peter waits for you at the door like he promised. He frowns at your still-wet face as he slips your backpack from your shoulder, throwing it over his own. âYouâre gonna get sick.âÂ
âIâll dry fast,â you say. âI took too long finding my pyjamas.âÂ
âI have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.â Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. âI wouldâve waited,â he says.Â
âItâs fine.â
âItâs not fine. Are you cold?âÂ
âPete, itâs fine.âÂ
âYou always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,â he laughs, âsuper stern.âÂ
âIâm not stern. Look, take me home, please, Iâm cold.âÂ
âYou said it wasnât cold!âÂ
âItâs not, Iâm just dampââ Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. âHandsy!â
âYou like it,â he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments.Â
âI donât like it,â you lie.Â
âOkay, you donât like it, and Iâm sorry.â Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. âNow letâs go. I gotta feed you before midnight.âÂ
âThatâs not funny.âÂ
âApparently, nothing is.âÂ
Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, youâve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands.Â
âI see Peter hasnât won this argument yet,â you say in way of greeting. Peterâs desperate to do his own laundry now heâs getting older. May wonât let him.Â
âNo, he hasnât.â She looks you up and down. âItâs nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me youâve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Canât you buy a treadmill?â she asks.Â
âMay!â Peter says, startled.Â
âI like walking, I like the air,â you say.
âCanât exactly call it fresh,â May says.Â
âNo, but itâs alright. It helps me think.âÂ
âIs everything okay?â May asks, putting her hand on her hip.Â
âOf course.â You smile at her genuinely. âI think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I donât know what Peter told you, but Iâm not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.â
She softens her disapproving. âGood, honey. Thatâs good. Peterâs gonna make you some dinner now, right?âÂ
âYeah, Aunt May, Iâm gonna make dinner,â Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes.Â
Peter shouldnât really know that youâve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joeâs or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you havenât mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. Thatâs information he wouldnât know without Spider-Man.Â
He seems to be hoping you wonât realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that heâs about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. âWarm up,â he says near the back of your head, forcing a wave of shivers down your arms.
He makes soup in one pan, grilled cheese in the other, two for him and two for you. Peterâs a good eater, and he encourages the same from you, setting a big bowl of tomato soup (from the can, splash of fresh cream) down in front of you with the grilled cheese on a plate between you. You eat it in too-hot bites and try not to get caught looking at him. He does the same, but when he catches you, or when you catch him, he holds your eye and smiles.Â
âI can do the dishes,â you say. You might need a breather.Â
âAre you kidding? Iâm gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.â Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. âWarmer. Good job.âÂ
You shrug away from his hand. âLoser.âÂ
âConcerned friend.âÂ
âHandsy loser.âÂ
âShut up,â he mumbles.Â
As flustered as youâve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When heâs done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed.Â
You look down at your socks. Peterâs room is on the smaller side, but itâs never been as startlingly small as it is when Peterâs socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy.Â
âThereâs chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,â he says.Â
You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think youâre in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. âIâm all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go âcos you think I do then Iâm fine.âÂ
âThatâs such a long answer,â he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. âYou donât have to say all of that, just tell me no.âÂ
âI donât want ice cream.âÂ
âWasnât that easy?â he asks.Â
âWell, no, it wasnât. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.âÂ
âBecause Iâm adorable?âÂ
âPersistent.âÂ
âYeah, I guess I am.â He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands.Â
âPeterâŚ?â you murmur.Â
âWhat?â he murmurs back.Â
You touch a knuckle to his chest. âThisâ YouâŚâ Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once âPeter doesnât like you as you desire, how could he, you arenât beautiful like he is, arenât smart, arenât brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. Itâs why his being with Gwen didnât hurt; she made sense. And for months now youâve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But itâs not you, itâs never you, and whatever Peterâs trying to do nowâ
âHey, you okay?â he asks, taking your face into his hand.Â
âWhat are you doing?âÂ
âWhat?â He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. âI canât hear you.â Â
You raise your voice. âWhy did you invite me over tonight?âÂ
ââCos I missed you?âÂ
âI used to think you didnât miss me at all.âÂ
Peter winces, hurt. âHow could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? Itâs like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.âÂ
You bite the inside of your bottom lip. ââŚCollege isnât hard for you.âÂ
âItâs not easy.â He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. âWhatâs wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?âÂ
Youâre being wretched, you know, saying it isnât hard for him. âYou didnât. Really, you didnât.âÂ
âBut why are you upset?â he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.
âIâm notââ
âYou are. Itâs okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?â He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. âEven if it takes a long time.âÂ
âIâm fine.âÂ
âYouâre not fine.â
âHow would you know?â you finally ask.Â
Peter stares at you.Â
âI know you,â he says carefully, âand I know you arenât struggling like you were, but that doesnât mean it didnât happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.âÂ
âI didnât realise that I was,â you say, licking your lips, ââtil now. I didnât get that it was on the surface.â
Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. âIâm here for you forever, and Iâll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,â he says, scrunching your shirt in his hand.
After the hug, he tells you to change and make yourself comfortable while he showers. So you put on your pyjamas and climb into Peterâs bed, head pounding as though all your energy was stolen in a fell swoop. You press your nose to his pillow and arm wrapped around his comforter, gathering it into a Peter sized lump. The shower pump whines against the shared wall.Â
Things arenât meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you âholding youâ was the deepest of your desires, but you feel now exactly as you had before he started blurring the line, needing Peter to kiss you so badly it becomes its own kind of nausea. Why are you still acting like itâs an impossibility?
When he comes back, youâll apologise. He hasnât done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but donât you keep one too? Heâs Spider-Man. Youâve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept.Â
You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.
Peter returns as perturbed as earlier.Â
âAre you sure thereâs nothing wrong?â he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck.Â
âIâm sorry for being weird.âÂ
âYouâre not weird,â Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly.Â
âItâs just âcos things have been different between us.â And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because youâre not just Peter anymore, youâre Spider-Man. Iâm only me, and I canât do anything to protect you.
Peter gives his hair a long scrub before draping the towel on his desk chair. He rakes it messily into place and sits himself at the end of the bed. You sit up.Â
âYeah, they have been. Good different?â he asks hesitantly.Â
âI think so,â you say, quiet again.Â
âThatâs what I thought.âÂ
âI donât want you to feel like I donât want to be here. I just worry about you.âÂ
Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. âDonât worry about me,â he says, âJesus, please donât. Thatâs the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.âÂ
You curl into the lump of comforter youâd made. Peter lets himself rest beside you, his back to the bedroom wall, tens of Polaroids above him shining with the light of the hallway and his orange-bulbed lamp. His skin is glowing like itâs golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupidâs bow deep. How would it feel to lean forward and kiss him? To catch his Cupid's bow under your lips?
You brush a damp curl tangled in another onto his forehead.Â
You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs.Â
âAm I going too fast?â Peter murmurs.Â
You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely.Â
âIs it something else?âÂ
You donât move.Â
âDo you want me to stop?â he asks.Â
âNo.â
Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. âAlright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. Youâre still cold.âÂ
You resent the loss of a shape to hold when Peter slips down beside you and wrangles the comforter flat again, spreading it out over you both, his hand under the blankets. His knuckles brush your thigh.Â
He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, âIs this alright?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. âPlease donât take this in a way that I donât mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry youâre gonna get stuck in your head forever.âÂ
âI like thinking.âÂ
âI hate it,â he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, âwe should never do it ever again.âÂ
âIâll try not to.âÂ
âWould you? For me?âÂ
You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. âIâll do my best.âÂ
âGood. Iâd miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.âÂ
You relax under his arm. You arenât sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. âIâd miss you too.â
May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesnât flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. Heâs holding your arm, and youâre snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms.Â
âDoor open,â she says.Â
âNot that either of us want it closed, May, but weâre adults.âÂ
âNot while Iâm still washing your clothes, youâre not.âÂ
He snorts. âGoodnight, Aunt May. The door isnât gonna close, I promise.âÂ
âI know that,â she says, scornful in her pride. âYouâre a good boy.â She lightens. âThings are going okay?âÂ
Peter covers your ear. âGoodnight, Aunt May.âÂ
âI have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I canât ask a simple question?âÂ
âI love you,â Peter sing-songs.Â
âI love you, Peter,â she says. âDonât smother the girl.âÂ
âI wonât smother her. Itâs in my best interest that she survives the night. Sheâs buying my breakfast tomorrow.âÂ
âPeter Parker.âÂ
âIâm kidding,â he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. âJust messing with you, May.âÂ
You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers. Â
â
To your surprise, Spider-Man comes to find you after class one evening. A guest lecturer had talked to your oncology class about click chemistry and other molecular therapies against cancer, and the zine book sheâd given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it.Â
You pull it out and pause beside a bench and a silver trash can, the day grey but thankfully without rain. The pages of your little book whip forcefully in the wind. Itâs chemistry, sure, but itâs biology too, wrapping your and Peterâs interests up neatly. If it werenât for Peter you doubt youâd love science as much as you do. Heâs always been good at it, but since you started college he's been a genius. Watching him grow has encouraged you to work harder, and understanding the material is satisfying, if draining. You take a photo of the middle most pages and tuck the book away, writing a quick text to Peter to send with it.Â
Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!!Â
The moment you press send a beep chimes from somewhere close behind you, all too familiar. You turn to the source but find nobody you know waiting. Coincidence, you think, shaking yourself and beginning the trek to the subway.Â
But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Manâs webbing.Â
You wait until youâre at the alleyway between Portoâs Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters.Â
âSpider-Man?â you ask, shoulders tensed in case itâs not who you think.Â
âWhat are you doing?â he asks.
You gasp as he hops down in front of you, his suit shiny with its dark web-pattern caught by the grey sunshine passing through the clouds overhead. âShit, donât break your ankles.âÂ
âMy ankles?â He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you donât know; what a fool youâd been for falling for his put upon tenor. âTheyâre fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?âÂ
âYou just dropped down twenty feet!âÂ
âItâs more like thirty, and Iâm fine. You understand the super part of superhero, donât you?âÂ
âWho said youâre a superhero?âÂ
âNice. What are you doing down here?âÂ
âI was testing my theory. Youâre following me.âÂ
âNo, Iâm visiting you, itâs very different,â he says confidently.Â
âYou havenât come to see me for weeks.âÂ
âYes, well, Iââ Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. âHey, youâre the one who told me to take a day off.âÂ
âI did tell you to take a day off. Itâs not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. Thatâs a lot of responsibility for one person to have.âÂ
âBut itâs my responsibility,â he says easily. âNo point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I donât mind it.âÂ
âDo you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?â you ask, cheeks hot.Â
âNo,â he says, fondness evident even through the mask, âjust you.âÂ
âDo you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but itâs not that far.âÂ
Spider-Man nods. âYeah, Iâll walk you back.âÂ
He doesnât hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You canât believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he canât pretend to save his life.Â
âAre you having a good semester?â he asks.Â
âItâs getting better. Iâm glad I stuck with it. I love biology, itâs so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, itâs not something everyone understands.â You give him a look, and you give into temptation. âMy best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.âÂ
âItâs definitely for dorks.âÂ
âRight, but I love being one.â You offer a useless secret. âI like to think that itâs why weâre such great friends.âÂ
âMe and you?â Spider-Man asks hoarsely.Â
âMe and Peter.â You elbow him without force. âWhy, do you like science?âÂ
âI love itâŚâÂ
âYou know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like weâve been friends for a long time.â Youâre teasing poor Peter.Â
He doesnât speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise heâs stopped, you turn back to see him.Â
Peterâs gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. Itâs the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didnât want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: youâd meant to wind him up, not make him panic.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â you ask. âCan you hear something?âÂ
âNo, itâs not thatâŚâ Heâs masked, but you know him well enough to understand why heâs stopped.Â
âItâs okay,â you say.Â
âItâs not, actually.âÂ
âSpider-Man.â You take a step toward him. âItâs fine.â
He presses his hands to his stomach. The sun is setting early, and in an hour, the dark will eat up New York and leave it in a blistering cold. âDo you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?âÂ
âYeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. Itâs not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.âÂ
âI know you were,â he says, emphasis on know, like itâs a different word entirely.Â
âBut meeting you really helped. If it werenât for you, for Peter,â âyou give him a searching lookâ âI wouldnât feel better at all.âÂ
âIt wasnât his fault?â he asks. âHe was your friend, and you were lonely.âÂ
âNoââ
âHe didnât know what was going on with you, he didnât have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldnât tell anybody, and I know it wasnât an accident, so what was his excuse?â His voice burns with anger. âItâs his fault.âÂ
âOf course it wasnât your fault. Is that what you think?â You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. âYes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I donât know many people and Iâ Iâ I hurt myself, and it wasnât as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?âÂ
âPeterâs fault,â he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesnât bother enthusing it with much gusto.Â
âPeter, none of it was your fault.â You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, donât let me ruin this. âI was in a weird way, and yes, I was lonely, and I really liked you more than I should have. You didn't want me and that wasnât your fault, thatâs just how it was, I tried not to let it get to me, just there were a lot of things weighing on me at once, but it really wasnât as bad as you think it was and it wasnât your fault.âÂ
âI wasnât there for you,â he says. âAnd Iâve been lying to you for a long time.âÂ
âYou couldnât tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.âÂ
ââŚI didnât even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.âÂ
You hold your hands behind your back. âWell, he was a familiar one.âÂ
Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms arenât in his reach. âItâs not because I didnât want you.âÂ
âPeter,â you say, squirming.Â
He steps back.Â
âI have to go,â he says.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âI have toâ I donât want to go,â he says earnestly, âsweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But Iâll come back, Iâllâ Iâll come back,â he promises.Â
And with a sudden lift of his arm, Peter pulls himself up the side of a building and disappears, leaving you whiplashed on the sidewalk, the sun setting just out of view.
â
You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isnât there. You check your phone but he hasnât texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasnât been seen.Â
You arenât sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said heâd come back, but he didnât, not ten minutes later, not twenty. You made excuses and you went home before it got too dark to see the street, sat on the couch rehearsing what youâd say. How could Peter think your unhappiness was his fault? Why does he always put the entire world on his shoulders?
Selfishly, you worried what it all meant for his lazy touches. Would he want to curl up into bed with you again now he knows what it means to you? Itâs different for him. It isnât like heâs in love with you⌠youâd just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache youâd suffered before.Â
But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time.Â
â
You and Peter found The Moroccan Mode in your senior year at Midtown. The school library was small and you were sick of being underfoot at home. When you started at ESU, you explored the on campus coffeehouse, the Coffee Bean, but it was crowded, and youâd found yourself attached to the Modeâs beautiful tiling, blues and topaz and platinum golds, its heavy, oiled wooden furniture, stained glass lampshades and the case full of lemony treats. The coffee here is better than anywhere else, but the best part out of everything is that itâs your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose.Â
You hide in a far corner with a book and an empty cup of decaf coffee, a slice of meskouta on the table untouched. Decaf because caffeine felt a terrible idea, meskouta untouched because you canât stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. Itâs served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest.Â
The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time youâve seen it in months, warming rays kissing your fingers and lining the walls. You turn a page, turn your wrist, let the sun warm the scar you gave yourself those few months ago, when everything felt too big for you.Â
Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon youâll be ready to talk about it. Â
The author in your book is talking about bees. They can fly up to 15 miles per hour. They make short, fast motions from front to back, a rocking motion. Asian giant hornets can go even faster despite their increased mass. They consider humans running provocation. If you see a giant hornet, youâre supposed to lay down to avoid being stung.Â
You put your face in your hand. Next year, youâll avoid the insect-based electives.Â
Across the cafe, the bell at the top of the door rings. Laughter falls through it, a couple passing by. The register clashes open. A minute later it closes.Â
You donât raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee.Â
âDid you eat breakfast?â Peter asks quietly.Â
His voice is gentle, but hoarse.Â
You tense.Â
âAre you okay?â he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. âYou donât look like yourself. Your eyes are red.âÂ
You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur.Â
âWhat are you reading?â He frowns at you. âPlease donât cry.âÂ
You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. âIâm okay.âÂ
He nudges you across the booth seat and sits beside you. His arm settles behind your shoulders. He smells like smoke and soap, an acrid scent barely hidden. âCan you tell me you didnât wait long for me?âÂ
âTen minutes,â you lie.Â
âOkay. Iâm sorry. There was a fire.â He rubs your arm where heâs holding you. âIâm sorry.âÂ
âWill you go half?â you ask, nodding to the sandwich heâs brought you. Itâs tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. Youâve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating.Â
âI know youâre hungry,â you say, tapping his elbow, âjust eat.âÂ
You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peterâs here, you donât feel so sick âheâs not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach wonât be ignored.Â
Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. Youâve never seen him stop before heâs done.
âIt was in the apartments on Vernon. Iâ I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.âÂ
You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. âAre you hurt?â you ask, coughing.Â
He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. âHow long have you known it was me?â he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck.Â
You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. âThe night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ârunning girlâ. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,â âyou whisper, weary of the quiet cafeâ âSpider-Man, and I realised itâs him that sounds like you. That he is you.âÂ
âWas that disappointing?âÂ
âPeter, youâre, like, my favourite person in the world,â you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. âWhy would that be disappointing?âÂ
âI thought maybe you think heâs cooler than me.âÂ
âHe is cooler than you, Peter.â You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. âI guess youâre the same person, right? So heâs just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.âÂ
âYou flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.â
âWell, he flirted with me first.âÂ
You chance a look at his face. From that moment you canât look away, not from Peter. You like when he wears that darkness in his eyes, the hint of his rarer side so uncommonly seen, but you love this most of all, Peter like your best memory, the way heâs looking at you now a picture perfect copy of that moment in a swimming pool in Manhattan with cracked tile under your feet. His arms heavy on your shoulders. You didnât get it then, but youâre starting to understand now.
âIâve made a mess of everything,â he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. âI havenât been honest with you.âÂ
âI havenât, either.âÂ
âI want to ask you for something,â Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. âYou can say no.âÂ
âYouâre hard to say no to.âÂ
âI need you to talk to me more,â âand here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your spaceâ ânot just because I love your voice, or because you think so much Iâm scared youâll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.â
We do, you think morosely.Â
âItâs not your fault,â he adds, the hand that isnât holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, âitâs mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldnât have let it be a secret for so long.âÂ
âNo, I doubt theyâre stupid,â you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. âItâs not easy to tell someone youâre a hero.â
His palm smells like smoke.Â
âThatâs not the secret I meant,â he says.Â
You take his hand from your face. Peter looks down and begins pressing his fingers between yours, squeezing them together as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.
âSo tell me.â
The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. âYou want to trade secrets again?â he asks.Â
âPlease.âÂ
âOkay. Okay, but I donât have as many as you do,â he warns.Â
âI find that hard to believe.âÂ
âI donât. Itâs not a real secret, is it? Iâve been trying to show you for weeks, weâŚâ
He tilts his head invitingly.Â
All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isnât a secret.
âIâll go first,â he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. âIâve wanted to kiss you for weeks.â He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. âWhatâs your secret?âÂ
âSometime I want you to kiss me so badly I canât sleep. It makes me feel sickââ
âSick?â he asks worriedly.Â
You touch the tip of your nose to his. âItâs likeâ like jealousy, butâŚâÂ
âYou have no one to be jealous of,â he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, âPlease, can I kiss you?âÂ
You say, âYes,â very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldnât be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.
It isnât the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesnât hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. Itâs so warm you donât know what to make of him beyond kissing him back âkissing his smile, though itâs catching. Kissing the line of his Cupidâs bow as he leans down.Â
âIâm sorry about everything,â he mumbles, nose flattened against yours.Â
You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. Itâs still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peterâs hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest.Â
Peter drops his hand. âOh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didnât snow, weâd be blind.â
âI canât be cold much longer,â you confess. âIâm sick of the shitty weather.âÂ
âI can keep you warm.âÂ
He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown.Â
âDid you want my meskouta?â you ask.Â
Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow.Â
You let the sunshine warm your face. Two unfinished sandwich halves, a mouthful of coffee, and a round slice of meskouta, its flaky crumb and lemon drizzle shining on the table. You would ask Peter for his camera if youâd thought he brought it with him, to take a picture of your breakfast and the carved table underneath. You could turn it on Peter, say something cheesy. This is the moment you ruined our lives, youâd tease.
âYou never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.âÂ
You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. âThey could make a novella of things I havenât told you about,â you murmur wryly.Â
Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, weâll work on that.Â
â
Spring
âSorry!â
âNo, itâsââ
âSorry, sorry, Iâmâ shit!â
ââokay! All legs inside the ride?â
âI couldnât find my purseââ
âYou donât need it!â Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. âYou donât have to rush.âÂ
âAre you sure you can drive this thing?âÂ
âHarry doesnât mind.âÂ
âI donât mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?âÂ
âThatâs not funny.âÂ
You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. âNothing ever is with us.âÂ
Peter grabs you behind the neck âwhich might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thingâ and pulls you forward for a kiss you donât have time for. âIf we donât check in,â âyou begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lipsâ âby three, they said they wonât keep the roomââ He clasps the back of your neck and smiles when your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes closed, kiss him fiercely, and pull away, hand on his chest to restrain him. âAnd then weâll have to drive home like losers.âÂ
Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. Youâre rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. âSorry, am I the one who lost her purse?âÂ
âPeter!âÂ
âI canât make us un-late,â he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips.Â
âAlright,â you warn.Â
He reaches for your knee. âItâs a forty minute drive. Youâre panicking over nothing.âÂ
âItâs an hour.âÂ
Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peterâs hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesnât question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. Thereâs so much to do around Manhattan; you could visit MoMA, Central Park, The Empire State Building or Times Square, but you and Peter give it all a miss for the little known Manhattan Super 8.Â
Itâs been a long time since you and Peter first visited. You took the bus out to Lenox Hill for a med-student tour neither of you particularly enjoyed, feeling out future careers. Itâs not that Lenox Hill isnât one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), itâs that all the blood made him queasy, and you were panicking too much about the future to think it through. He got over his aversion to blood but chose the less hands-on science in the end, and you worked things through. Youâre a little less scared of the future everyday.Â
You and Peter were supposed to get the bus straight back home for a sleepover, but one got cancelled, another delayed, and night closed in like two hands on your neck. Peter sensed your fear and emptied his wallet for a night in the Super 8.Â
The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasnât anything special but it was invitingly cool, blue and white tiles patterned like fish below; you clambered into the water in shorts and a tank top and Peter his boxers before a worker could see and stop you.Â
It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, heâd looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, youâre cute, and let you waste the afternoon recounting one of your more embarrassing pangs of longing. A few days later he told you to clear your calendar for the weekend, only spilling the beans on what heâd done when youâd curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me.Â
Heâd hung his head over you and scrunched up his eyes. Cheater.
The best thing about having a boyfriend is that he always wants to listen to you. Peter was a good listener as a best friend, but now he has his act together and the secrets between you are never anything more than eating the last of the milk duds or not wanting to pee in front of him, heâs a treasure. Thereâs no feeling like having Peter pull you into his lap so he can ask about your day with his face buried in your neck, sniffing. Sometimes, when you text one another to meet up the next day, youâll accidentally will the hours away babbling about school and life and things without reason. Peter has a list on his phone of your silliest tangents; blood oranges to the super moon, fries dipped in ice cream to the world record for kick flips done in five minutes. Itâs like when you talk to one another, you canât stop.Â
There are quiet moments. You wake up some mornings to find him awake already, an arm behind you, rubbing at your soft upper arm, fingertip displacing the fine hairs there and trailing circles as he reads. He bends the pages back and holds whatever novel heâs reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when youâre sleeping.Â
There are hectic, aching moments âvigilante boyfriends become blasĂŠ with their lives and precious faces. Youâve teetered on the edge of anxiety attacks trying to pick glass from his cheek with a tweezers, lamented over bruises that heal the next day. Itâs easier when Peterâs careful, but Spider-Man isnât careful. You ask him to take care of himself and heâs gentle with himself for a few days, but then someone needs saving from an armed burglar or a car swerves dangerously onto the sidewalk and he forgets.Â
He hadnât patrolled last night in preparation for today.Â
âDid you know,â he says, pulling Harryâs borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, âthat todayâs the last day of spring?âÂ
âAlready?âÂ
âTonightâs the June equinox.âÂ
âWho told you that?âÂ
âAunt May. She said itâs time to get a summer job.âÂ
You laugh loudly. âOur federal loans wonât last forever.âÂ
âHarryâs gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.âÂ
You nod emphatically. Itâs barely a thought. âObviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?âÂ
Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. âBetter than the Bugle.âÂ
You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. Itâs not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. Thereâs a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel heâs ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain.Â
âThere it is, sweetheart,â he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, âthatâs what dreams are made of.âÂ
The blue and white tiled pool. It hasnât changed.Â
Itâs about as hot as itâs going to get in June today, and, not knowing if itâll rain tomorrow, you and Peter change into your swim suits and gather your towels. You wear flip flops and tangle your fingers, clanking and thumping down the rickety metal stairs to the pool. Thereâs nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes.Â
Peter eases in first. Towels in a heap at the end of a sun lounger, his shirt tumbling to the floor, Peter splashes in frontward and turns to face you as the water laps his ribs. âItâs cold,â he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs.Â
âI can feel it,â you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge.Â
âYou wonât come in and warm me up?â he asks.Â
You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers.Â
âIâm trying to prepare myself.âÂ
âMm, you have to get used to it.â He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that heâd want one still makes you dizzy. âThank you,â he says.Â
âYouâll have to move.âÂ
Peter steps back, a ripple of water ringing behind him, his hands raised. He slips them with ease under your arms and helps you down into the water, laughing at your shocked giggling âheâs so strong, the water so cold.Â
Peter doesnât often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. Heâll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when youâre on his side to force you sideways.Â
âOh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!â he says.Â
âHow will I run?â you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck.Â
Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that heâs precious with you, too. Thereâs devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. âI donât need you to do a running start, sweetheart,â he says, tilting his head to the side, âIâll just lift you.âÂ
âLast time I laughed so much you dropped me.âÂ
âExactly, you laughed, and this is serious.âÂ
The world isnât mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8âs parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peterâs breath is half laughter as he pulls you further from the sidelines, ceramic tiles slippery under your feet. In the distance, you swear you can hear one of those songs he likes from that poor singer who died in the Wolf River.Â
Heâs a beholden thing in the sun; you canât not look at him, all of him, his sculpted chest wet and glinting in the sun, his eyes like browning honey, his smile curling up, and up.Â
âYouâre beautiful,â he says.Â
You rest an arm behind his head. âThe rash guard is a good look?âÂ
âSweetheart, you couldnât look cuter,â he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. âI wish youâd mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I wouldâve prepared to be a more decent man.âÂ
âYouâre decent enough, Parker.âÂ
âMaybe now.âÂ
âWell, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,â you say.Â
Youâre teasing, but Peterâs eyes light up with mischief as he calls, âOh, great idea!â and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You canât avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface.Â
He shakes himself off like a dog.Â
âPete!â you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes.Â
âIt just didnât help,â he says, pulling you back into his arms, âyou know, the water is cold, but youâre so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and youâre just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds agoââ
âPeter,â you say, tempted to roll your eyes.Â
Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile heâs sporting, they look like anything but tears. âTell me a secret?â he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back.Â
A soft smile takes your lips. âNo,â you say, tipping up your chin, âyou tell me one first.â
âWhat kind of secret?âÂ
âA real one,â you insist.Â
âOhâŚâ He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. âOkay, I have one. Ask me again.âÂ
You raise a single brow. âTell me a secret, Peter.âÂ
He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. âI love you,â he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose.Â
Youâre lucky heâs already holding you. âI love you too,â you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. âI love you.âÂ
Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You canât know what heâs thinking, but you can feel it. His hands canât seem to stay still on your skin.Â
The sun warms your back for a time.Â
Peter lets out a deep breath of relief. You lean away to look at him, your hand slipping down into the water, where he finds it, his fingers circling your wrist.Â
âThatâs another one to let go of,â he suggests.Â
He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye.Â
You and Peter swim until your fingers are pruned and the sun has been blanketed by clouds. You let him wrap you in a towel, and kiss your wet ears, and take you back to the room, where he holds your face.Â
âIâll start the shower for you,â he says, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, each stroke of them encouraging your face from one side to the other, just a touch, ever so slightly moved in the palms of his hands.Â
âDonât fall asleep standing up,â he murmurs.Â
Your eyes close unbidden to you both. âI wonât.âÂ
He holds you still, leaning in slowly to kiss you with the barest of pressure. Every thought in your head fades, leaving only you and Peter, and the dizziness of his touch as he lays you down at the end of the bed.Â
・đŚšÂ°â§â.á
please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat âthank you for readingâ¤ď¸
#tasm peter parker#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter parker imagine#tasm peter parker x you#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm x reader#peter parker x reader#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm! peter parker x reader#spiderman x reader#peter parker oneshot#peter parker blurb#peter parker imagine#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#spiderman x you#spiderman fanfiction
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study buddy
solstrĂĽle engen ft. @wileys-russo 's fresa! sol struggles with school, and facing the threat of having to repeat the year, ingrid and mapi try to get her some study help. it doesn't go... exceptionally well.
â
It was more frustrating than anything. For years, you hadnât really given school much thought, or put in very much effort. And then, suddenly, youâd been shipped off to Spain and everything was different. Everything changed again six months later, and suddenly, school felt like something that held a lot more weight.
You didnât have many opportunities to make Ingrid and Mapi proud of you. Sure, theyâd say they were proud of you when you asked for help while having a panic attack, or for setting some sort of boundary. That just didnât feel⌠right. It didnât feel like it was enough. They were bending over backwards, every day, to make you feel known and seen and loved, and the least you could do was show that they were helping you, right?
So, very suddenly, school was important. Grades were important. It seemed, though, that the years of not caring and not paying attention had taken their toll. Because you studied, and you actually tried but it wasnât enough. Your grades were still⌠mediocre. Nothing to brag about.Â
You worked harder, to no avail. You tried different methods of studying, you devoted hours and hours to your schoolwork, and⌠no improvement. So much of your work felt like it went way over your head.Â
You had promised yourself you wouldnât be upset when you handed Ingrid the test youâd gotten back. She had a busy week and she really didnât need you breaking down over a stupid test, like you had earlier in the school bathroom. Your plan was to bypass your sister and her girlfriend, head straight to your room, and maybe slam the door. If you acted angry, they were more likely to give you space to calm down, which meant there was much less of a chance youâd get all pathetic and upset. Â
Only, youâd forgotten that Ingrid had known you were getting the test back today, having seen you study and study and study for it. Your sister was sure that since you studied so much, it must be a good grade, and she had a magnet all ready to attach your exam to the fridge.Â
The minute you walked into the house and saw her waiting in the kitchen, freshly showered from training, an expectant and excited look on her face, you shrunk in on yourself, very suddenly wanting a hug more than you wanted to cry silently into your pillow all alone.
âHowâd you do?!â Ingrid asked excitedly, her smile only faltering when your lip began to wobble. âSolstrĂĽle?â
âIâm sorry.â You choked out tugging the collar of your shirt up over your eyes before she could see you begin to cry. Ingridâs arms were wrapping around you only a moment later, holding you tight against her as she floundered, confused as to what had upset you.
âHey, itâs okay. Whatever happened, itâs alright. Iâve got you.â Ingrid promised, making eye contact over your head with Mapi, who had wandered into the kitchen and caught sight of you trembling against your sister.Â
Ingrid thought something must have happened at school, and Mapi quickly came to the same conclusion. The thought that youâd done poorly on your test, and this was the reason behind your distress, never even crossed her mind. Ingrid had never known you to care much about your grades, and while you were trying harder now, she didnât think something like a bad result could get you this upset.Â
âIâm really sorry. I tried my best.â You whimpered, briefly wondering when youâd turned into this person who cried at the drop of a hat and allowed her sister to hug you whenever you were upset. It was so different. Everything was so different.Â
âWhat are you sorry for?â She asked, heart melting a bit as Mapi walked closer and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, before perching on the counter. âTell me, Sol, tell me whatâs wrong.âÂ
Wordlessly, you withdrew from the comforting embrace of your sister and swung your bag off your shoulder. You unzipped it, pulling out the exam from the red folder Ingrid had neatly labeled for you. You handed it to her, eyes brimming with tears again at the sight of all the red marks all over the first page.Â
Ingridâs first instinct was to sigh, but youâd been with her long enough for her to know youâd just shut down. Not to mention that she knew how much work youâd been putting into this specific exam. Prepared to ask you what had gone wrong, she looked up to see that the tears had stopped. There wasnât a hint of emotion on your face, like you were preparing yourself to be yelled at. Ingrid had no such plans.
âOh, Sol. KjĂŚre, come here.â She said instead, pulling you back into her. There was some hesitation on your part, but after a second you melted into the hug, knowing that if Ingrid was upset, she would have told you so by now. âYou studied so hard, Iâm sorry it didnât go well.âÂ
âIâm sorry.â You said again, frowning when Ingrid pulled back and placed both her hands on your face, tilting your head up to look at her.Â
âYou have nothing to be sorry for. You tried your best, thatâs all I want from you.â
You shook your head, but didnât say anything, instead opting to stare at your shoes. You hadnât taken them off at the door, breaking one of Ingrid and Mapiâs rules. This additional mistake, regardless of how small it was, made you feel even worse. You couldnât do anything right.Â
A tattooed hand grabbed yours, and you looked up at Mapi. She had moved closer, holding the exam in one hand, her other gripping yours.Â
âThis is a passing grade, mi sol. Why are you so upset? Itâs not like you to get so worked up over school.â Your face flushed, but before you could step away, Mapiâs grip tightened, as if sheâd sensed you were about to run. âCome on, itâs us. You can tell us.âÂ
âI.. Itâs not good enough.â You stammered, looking between your sister and her girlfriend with genuine despair written all across your face. âI wanted to do well. For both of you., I wanted you to be proud of me.âÂ
âOh, Sol,â Ingrid sighed, exchanging a look with Mapi that only served to make you feel even more foolish. It had taken so much for you to admit why you were working so hard, and though you knew, logically, that Ingrid wasnât trying to make you feel dumb, she had.Â
You wrenched away from her, suddenly deciding that you didn't need her pity. Backing up until you hit the wall on the opposite side of the kitchen, you began to ramble. Unable to look either Ingrid or Mapi in the eye, you missed the sadness on their faces. âNo, forget it. Itâs fine. Itâs really fine. Itâs not a big deal, Itâs my own fault, Iâm too stupid to learn stuff my classmates already know-â
âHey!â Mapi cut in, sounding uncharacteristically stern. âYou are not stupid. Donât ever say that again.âÂ
You froze, staring at her with your mouth agape. Ingrid took a cautious step closer, aware she was toeing a thin line between you breaking down again, and pushing you into anger.Â
âYou arenât stupid.â Ingrid echoed. âYouâre not stupid, and you know you arenât. Itâs just one exam, Sol, it doesnât make or break anything.âÂ
At this, you averted your eyes, a blush creeping up your neck. This exam could be a determining factor in your educational career. Ingrid just didnât really know that information yet. Like a bloodhound, though, Ingrid caught the scent of your secret, her eyebrows raising as she stared at you.Â
âIt doesnât make or break anything, right?âÂ
It was a staring contest for a few moments, one you and Ingrid both knew she would win, yet you kept it going all the same. The silence became too intense, the gazes of your sister and her girlfriend breaking your resolve rather quickly. With a heavy sigh, you reached for your bag yet again and pulled out a slightly wrinkled envelope.Â
Ingrid held her hand out expectantly, apprehension clear on her face. You handed her the envelope, eyes still training on the floor.Â
âSolstrĂĽle. This is addressed to me.â Ingrid huffed, removing the letter from inside and beginning to read it. Mapi moved forward, peeking over her girlfriendâs shoulder, eyes quickly scanning over the letter. You braced yourself, prepared for the worst.Â
The last time youâd brought home something like this⌠youâd ended up living in Spain. Which was potentially the best thing that could have happened, but you had a feeling the consequences of this letter wouldnât work out as well.Â
Your sister placed the paper down on the counter, raking her fingers through her hair as she thought for a moment. She wasnât quite sure what to say. Part of her wanted to yell, but when was that ever the right choice? Before she could decide, MarĂaâs shoulder bumped into hers. Her girlfriend nodded in your direction, clearly trying to get Ingrid to see how terrified you were.Â
And Ingrid couldnât yell at you when you were like this, all sad and scared with your head bowed and your arms folded across your chest protectively.Â
âSol?â She said, her tone much quieter and kinder than you were expecting it to be. You looked up at her, shocked further to see that she didnât look very angry. âWhy didnât you give this to me last week when they sent it?âÂ
Ingrid nodded towards the date on the letter, and you exhaled shakily. âI⌠I was hoping I could just try really hard for the rest of the year and do really well in all my classes and it would be fine.âÂ
Your sister nodded slowly, reading the letter over again.Â
Mapi took the opportunity to chime in, her hand absentmindedly resting on your sisterâs back, even as she fixed her warm gaze on you. âNena, that is a lot for you to carry all by yourself. Having the threat of maybe needing to repeat the year hanging over your head⌠you should have told us.âÂ
You shrugged, blinking away the moisture pooling in your eyes at Mapiâs tone. âI didnât want to disappoint you guys.â You mumbled.Â
âYou havenât disappointed anyone!â Mapi exclaimed, frowning when you just scoffed in response. âIâm serious, Sol. We saw you study and study for this exam. You did your best, youâre doing your best. Thatâs all we can ask from you.âÂ
âMy best isnât good enough! Iâm going to fail and have to repeat the year.â You cried, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation. The mere thought of another year of school was horrifying.Â
Ingrid finally put the letter down, a blazingly determined expression on her face. âNo. Youâre not going to fail anything. Weâll help you, weâll reach out to your teachers, weâll get you extra help. Weâll figure it out, Sol, but youâre not going to fail. Not if I have anything to say about it.âÂ
For anyone else, that may have sounded overbearing. For you, though, it just felt supportive. It felt like you werenât dealing with this yourself anymore, and that was a relief you didnât know you needed.Â
âOkay.â You said quietly. âThanks.âÂ
Luckily, your sister knew you well enough to understand that after such an intense conversation, youâd need some time to yourself to process.Â
âHey,â Ingrid said, catching your wrist and turning you around slightly before you could leave the room. âIâm already proud of you, and the person you are. You could fail every test for the rest of your life, and Iâd still be proud of you. Okay?â
You blinked at her for a prolonged second, before you nodded jerkily. Turning to head up the stairs to your room, you changed your mind, spinning back around and falling into your sister. She hugged you tight, as she always did, and you wondered briefly how you got so lucky.Â
â
It was the following day that Mapi and Ingrid proposed their plan. Before theyâd even said anything, you knew a few things.Â
One, that they were excited about whatever plan theyâd cooked up that day at training.Â
And two, that you werenât really going to have a choice in the matter.Â
As a general rule, Ingrid and Mapi didnât make you do many things. If they thought something was important, theyâd encourage you to try it a few times, and then theyâd let you stop if you still didnât like it. That was how it had been for the schoolâs climbing club, the schoolâs hiking club, and the schoolâs baking club. All those were activities you enjoyed, but⌠activities you enjoyed doing yourself.
Well, not always.You loved to climb and hike with Ingrid. Frido, too, sometimes. And you could bake for hours with Mapi helping, measuring out ingredients and getting baking flour everywhere. But doing any of the above with strangers who spoke in rapid, fluent Spanish or catalan, was not fun. It was anxiety inducing.Â
You knew this was about to be another one of those ideas, the ones you had to give a fair shot.Â
It was at dinner, and you were trying to hide the wince everytime you picked up your water glass with your right hand, your wrist intensely aching after the time you spent in the climbing gym after school. It always hurt when you climbed for too long, though it was getting worse with every passing day. Another problem for another day, you decided, seeing the barely contained glee on Mapiâs face as she cleared her throat.Â
âWhat?â You said suspiciously, putting your fork down and narrowing your eyes at the Spaniard.Â
Mapi opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Ingrid chimed in.Â
âMapiâs made you a playdate!â She said, smirking when her girlfriend wacked her in the arm.Â
âIngrid, that is not going to help me convince her.â Mapi huffed, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest.Â
Still unamused, you continued to frown at Mapi. âIâd love it if you didnât keep proposing ideas that youâd need to convince me of. Teaching you how to rock climb, trying to get that stain out of my favorite sweatshirt yourself, being the keeper while you practiced your free kicks, helping you build that bonfireââ
âI donât know what youâre talking about.â Mapi dismissed.Â
âYou got stuck on the rock wall, my sweatshirt has a hole in it, the ball hit me so hard in the stomach I threw up, and both of us lost part of our eyebrows!âÂ
Mapi glared at you, while Ingrid hid her face behind her hand as her body shook with silent laughter.Â
âWell this plan,â Mapi sighed, âis Ingrid AND Alexia approved.âÂ
That wiped the smile off your face.Â
âAlexia? What does she have to do with this?âÂ
There were a few things you knew for certain about Mapi. One, she didnât give up easily. Another, that she wanted more than anything for you to be friends with Alexiaâs little sister. And from the sly smile on her face, you were almost sure you knew where this was headed.Â
âI asked her to ask Fresa to tutor you!â
âNo.â You said immediately.Â
Mapi continued like you hadnât spoken. âFresa is a bit younger than you, but already finished your year! Sheâs studying to be a nurse, sheâs very smart. Fres speaks English and she can help you with your Spanish and any other school things you need help with.âÂ
âNo.â You repeated, looking helplessly at your sister. Ingrid looked to finally be taking the situation seriously, a familiar look on her face; one you knew meant that no matter how much you argued, she was going to get her way. Meanwhile, Mapi was still droning on.Â
ââget along great with her! I think you guys have a lot in common, and it could be fun and educational!âÂ
âAnd you know all the best things are fun and educational.â Ingrid chimed in cheerily, this time her face telling you to go along with Mapiâs idea because she was excited about it, or else.Â
âEducational.â You said sarcastically. âSuper!âÂ
Still, you agreed, Mapi grinned at you, and Ingrid patted your back reassuringly. Mapi had a lot of bad ideas. You were pretty sure this would turn out to be the worst.Â
â
You always spent more time at the climbing gym when things were rough. Back in Norway, youâd spend multiple hours a day, everyday, there. It was one of your tells; Ingrid always knew something was bothering you if you went to climb right after school. It was your way of shoving your emotions down before you could feel them, before your sister could read the hurt on your face and give you one of those tight hugs that brought tears to your eyes.Â
Only, sometimes climbing didnât do it. Sometimes, it felt like the walls were closing in, like you were about to suffocate, if you didnât have some time completely by yourself to think. On those days, you really preferred to hike. You hadnât felt that urge in a while; the urge to just disappear for hours, walk until your legs felt like they were going to fall up, and sit at the top of the trail until the world felt like a place you wanted to be in again. The last time had been back in Norway, after a day you didnât even want to think about.Â
Yet you found yourself in that same familiar mindset after your first study session with Fresa.Â
It hadnât gone well. You tried to go into it confident, sure that if you acted chill enough, sheâd maybe miss that you had no idea what you were doing with your schoolwork.Â
Confident, even as you arrived 15 minutes late. Scout had gotten his favorite toy, a small tiger that squeaked, stuck under the sofa, and it had taken you time you didnât have to get it out for him. You could have left it, but Ingrid and Mapi werenât home and you knew Scout would just sit by the couch and cry the whole time you were gone if you didnât get his tiger out for him, and you couldnât bear the thought of leaving him to be so upset. And then youâd had a hard time finding a parking space at the library, and the directions inside were all in Spanish and Fresa had texted you to follow the signs to the study rooms but you misread the sign and went to the opposite end of the library before figuring out your mistake. And you would have texted you were going to be late, because you hated being late, but your phone was dead and the cord from your car had gone missing.Â
When you entered the room, Fresa already looked annoyed.Â
Annoyed, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, twirling a pen repeatedly in an almost unconscious manner. She looked very⌠put together.Â
âLlegas tarde.â She commented, rolling her eyes when you didnât reply. Your face flushed a bit as she must have picked up on your confusion, repeating herself in english. âYou are late.âÂ
Any other time, you would have known what she said. Your issue wasnât really understanding Spanish, it was more speaking and reading it. You felt weirdly flustered though today, like your brain was distracted and not quite able to follow what the other girl was saying. Anxious, too, at this social situation youâd been forced into.Â
Briefly, you thought about explaining about Scout and the tiger and the parking space and the signs being in Spanish, but then you realized Fresa wouldnât care about any of that. So instead, you just nodded and apologized, feeling your heart start to pound from the anxiety of the situation.Â
You didnât like talking to new people. Especially pretty new people who spoke a different language and were looking at you like you werenât very smart. Even if you thought that yourself⌠you didnât want anyone else to think so. Any intention of actually asking Fresa for help with the mountains of stuff you were confused with went out the window, then, and you almost subconsciously decided to just⌠try to get through without letting her know quite how lost you were.Â
Fresa was alarmingly smart. She kept asking you questions about your work, about what you needed help with. Everything didnât feel like an answer you wanted to give. Fresa seemed organized, though, and you assumed letting her take the lead and decide what to work on would placate her. Instead, she just looked more and more annoyed with every passing second.
 She kept asking questions about this paper and that paper and you didnât know what papers she was talking about. You felt so stupid. More stupid than when youâd failed your test last week.Â
âHow do you even find the right paper in there?â Fresa asked, pulling a judgemental look as you rifled through your bag, searching for the article she was asking for.
Your bag was a mess, you knew it was a mess. Youâd knocked your coffee over all your folders a few days ago, sitting at the counter when Scout barked and startled you. That was oddly upsetting in and of itself because Ingrid had gotten you the folders and labeled them for you and you felt like youâd destroyed something nice sheâd done for you. You hadnât told her, not wanting to hurt her feelings or anything, so now your school papers were living crinkled and disorganized in your bag.
And you were pretty sure the article Fresa was asking for had been a casualty of the coffee incident, because youâd scanned the paper and thought it wasnât important before throwing it out. The Spanish had confused you, and you hadnât realized youâd need the article for an assignment. Stupid.Â
 You were feeling more and more embarrassed as the minutes passed. And, maybe, your reaction to feeling embarrassed was always anger. You pulled out a random piece of paper, slamming it down onto the table with more force than necessary in your haste to give the Spaniard something.Â
Fresa instantly knew that what youâd given her wasnât the right article, asking again if you had it as you shoved the other paper back into your bag.Â
Logically, you knew you should just⌠admit you threw it away because you didnât realize you needed it. For some reason, you just couldnât get the words out of your mouth. You couldnât get any words out of your mouth, feeling shockingly like crying. Nothing was going right and you were making yourself look like an idiot and all you could do was shrug as Fresa looked at you and took a deep breath.Â
Then, she seemed to come to some kind of realization, her expression softening slightly.Â
âCan you not read this? The spanish?âÂ
You flinched, feeling your face flush. Again, the reply of âno I canât, would you please help me?â seemed to evade you. Instead, you spewed some lie about being able to read the article, calling Fresaâs questions stupid and telling her she was wasting your time.Â
Fresa seemed to have reached her breaking point, her voice rising as yours had. You didnât really hear what she said, much too distracted by the way her eyebrows knitted together when she was frustrated, and the way her hand tightly gripped the pen she was holding.Â
Then, she made an offensive impression of your shrugging. And if you hadnât been angry before, you were absolutely fuming now.Â
So what if you were quiet? It wasnât like you really needed to talk much, considering how many questions sheâd asked. You were furious at being called out for all your bullshit, feeling like a mess compared to the perfect girl next to you. A very angry mess whoâd had a long day and was cursing one MarĂa LeĂłn for making her do this and cursing the beautiful girl next to her for being so infuriating. Â
âAlexiaâs super little sister. Everyone says you are so smart. Can you not see I do not want your help? You want to be a doctor, no? So go find someone who does.âÂ
Fresaâs nostrils flared as she shoved her chair away from the table and got to her feet. She began angrily putting her stuff into her bag, and you remained completely still, unable to stop this whole meeting from going up in flames.Â
âEres un maldita idiota!â Fresa snapped, her face red with anger.Â
There wasnât really anything worse she could have said to you at that moment.Â
âSnobbete kjerring.â You threw back, feeling a sharp spike of satisfaction when she zipped her bag angrily, completely incapable of understanding what youâd called her.Â
âYou know, I did this as a favor, tonta. I have worked all day, I came right here after my shift, on time. I have my own studies to do because yes, I want to be a nurse. I am smart, and I know what I want to do with my life. Maybe if you get your head out of your own ass, Engen, you might too! And you are right, this is a waste of time. My time!â
Fresa stomped out of the room, then, and you waited until she was out of sight before dropping your head into your hands with a deep sigh.Â
That couldnât have gone⌠any worse. And though it was probably all mostly your fault, you couldnât help the resentment building for the intelligent, stuck up girl that had thrown insult after insult at you, hitting you in all the places it hurt. You packed your own stuff up once you were sure you wouldnât run into Fresa again in the parking lot or something, shuffling dejectedly to your car.
The overthinking had begun. Was it really overthinking, you wondered, if youâd actually completely fucked up and the reasons for your anxiety were entirely reasonable? You werenât sure, and you supposed it didnât matter, your thoughts quickly spiraling as you rewinded the short meeting in your head.Â
The shrugging had really gotten to her, but you werenât sure what else to do. When in doubt, you had learned silence got you the best results. Often, no one really cared what you had to say anyway. Fresa was different, though, looking at you with her wide eyes, expecting an answer. It was intimidating. It scared you, honestly, how well the other girl seemed to see right through you.Â
And maybe⌠maybe there were some other feelings brewing. Ones you didnât want to consider. Feeling that didnât even matter given the way Fresa had stormed out. It didnât seem like there would be another study session.
This led you to your other problem. Youâd fucked this up. Something your sister and Mapi had gone out of their way to set up for you, because they didnât want you to have to repeat the year.Â
You didnât like to make mistakes. Every single one you made carried the risk that Ingrid would lose her patience with you, and give up. She hadnât yet, and youâd messed up a fair amount in the past several months, but you couldnât let yourself believe that no mistake could push her away. That just wasnât a possibility. So, rather than face your failure, tell Ingrid and Mapi how awkward and weird youâd been, you ran.Â
Or walked, you supposed. Your study session with Fresa had ended at 4:00, and it was almost 8 when you found yourself at the top of your favorite trail, legs scratched and aching, as the sun slipped below the horizon. Your phone was still dead and now Ingrid was absolutely going to kill you for going off the grid.Â
You broke traffic laws on the way home, any peace youâd found at the top of the hiking trail entirely gone as anxiety began to build up inside of you again.Â
Stepping into the house, you slipped off your muddy shoes, wincing at the blood trickling down the few cuts on your legs. Before you could even set your car keys down, though, footsteps were pounding down the hallway towards you.Â
âOh, thank god.â Ingrid gasped, sounding alarmingly emotional as she rushed forward and crushed you into a hug. âSheâs here!âÂ
âDios mio.â Mapi muttered, appearing over your sisterâs shoulder a moment later. Ingrid pulled away from you, her hands on your shoulders keeping you at arm's length. Her face quickly transformed from relieved to furious.Â
âWhere the hell have you been?â She hissed.Â
âIââ
âDo you have any idea how worried Iâve been? You didnât call, you didnât text. You were supposed to be home hours ago, Sol. Your location wouldnât show up on my phone, Fresa even said you ended your meeting early,â Ingrid ranted, though you began to tune her out at the sound of her name.Â
âYou talked to Fresa?â You interrupted, ignoring the incredulous look on Ingridâs face, turning your attention towards Mapi who was staring stonily at you.Â
âThat doesnât fucking matter right now. Where were you? Are you drunk? High? Were you fighting?â Ingrid demanded.
Each accusation felt like a bullet to the heart as Ingrid grabbed your chin and yanked it towards her, looking intently at your eyes. You shoved her away angrily; Ingrid wasnât supposed to see you as that person anymore. She had promised that she didnât, that she knew you werenât a bad kid, that you had just been having a hard time. Now, though. She was looking at you like she didnât trust a word that was about to come out of your mouth.Â
âNo.â You spat at her, grabbing your phone from your pocket and slamming it on the front hall table. âI went on a hike after I met Fresa and my phone died. I lost track of time. I wasnât getting drunk or high and I wasnât fighting anybody, but thanks for having some faith in me.â Your voice dripped with sarcasm, and even though you expected Ingrid to soften with a bit of guilt, she only seemed emboldened with anger.Â
âDonât you dare turn this around on me. You were supposed to be back four hours ago SolstrĂĽle. Four! This was so irresponsible. Do you not care that we were worried? Do you not care that we were here waiting for you? That Mapi made dinner, and you were going to work on her bike? Or that we were supposed to make cookies? After everything weâve done for you, SolstrĂĽle, I expect more.â She was shouting at this point, pacing back and forth in front of you.Â
You looked to Mapi, hoping for her to step in and talk her girlfriend down, but she looked almost as mad as Ingrid was, and you shrunk in on yourself.
âYou areâŚ. you are grounded. This is unacceptable, and you better never let it happen again. That is not how family behaves SolstrĂĽle. Did you think about how worried we would be? I am so upset with you, so disappointed that you didnât think about anyone but yourself, that you were so selfishââ
âAlright, Ingrid. Enough.â Mapi cut in finally, stepping forward to grab her girlfriend's hand and squeeze it. You were frozen in front of your sister, fighting the sob that was building in your throat.Â
Ingrid stepped back, her face still red with anger. A hint of regret flickered across her face at the sight of your lip trembling and the tears in your eyes. Still, you looked confused, and Ingrid couldnât shove her anger down at your lack of understanding. She turned, stomping off towards the kitchen, leaving you and Mapi behind.Â
âSol-â
âIâm going to shower. Sorry, Mapi. Iâm sorry.â You mumbled, pushing past her and heading up the stairs before the Spaniard could get out another word. Â
Mapi sighed tiredly, rubbing her hand over her face. Her Engens were going to make her go grey.Â
â
You had only just pulled some pajamas on after your shower when Mapi knocked, her gentle voice calling to you from the hall.Â
âYeah?â You called back, voice gravelly from all the sobbing you had done in the shower.Â
Mapi entered, the first aid kit in her hands and a much calmer expression on her face. She was in her pajamas, too, clearly having been waiting up for you to get out of the shower. It had been a long one. Another thing to be sorry for, keeping Mapi awake.Â
âCan I help with your legs?â She wondered, gesturing to the many cuts that littered them.
Shrugging noncommittally, you sunk down onto the edge of the bed, Mapi soon taking a seat opposite you. She pulled your calf up to rest across her lap, getting out the antiseptic spray and a few bandages. You purposefully looked away, barely having been able to get the blood off in the shower without getting light headed.Â
âAre you okay, mi sol?â Mapi murmured, fanning her hands over the cuts so the spray would dry faster. Mapi had a way of looking at you, eyes crinkled with concern and kindness, that made you want to burst into tears. You fought that instinct.Â
âI am fine.âÂ
Mapi sighed, unwrapping a few of the bandages and beginning to carefully put them on you.Â
âThen someone else was crying in the shower while you were in there?âÂ
No reply came, and Mapi sighed again, tapping your leg to tell you she was done with that one.Â
âLook, I know Ingrid was harsh, but you have to understand how worried she was. How worried we both were. I know you still remember the things you wrote in that letter all those months ago. Things like that donât just go away, Sol, and when you disappear for hours without a word, we worry.âÂ
This time, Mapi got a shrug in reply, and a small sniffle. She finished up with your other leg, gently pushing it off her lap and pulling you into a soft hug. âItâs okay, SolstrĂĽle. Everything is fine now.âÂ
You scoffed through your tears. âNothing is fine, Mapi. I screwed up with Fresa, I screwed up with Ingrid. They both probably hate me. Please, just go. Iâm tired.âÂ
Mapi shook her head. âYouâre upset, I just want toââ
âNo Mapi, just leave me be.â You tried to sound firm, but your voice was shaking almost as much as your hands were, and you were sure you just came off as pathetic.Â
âAlright, nena. I love you, hmm? Donât be too hard on yourself.âÂ
You remained silent, flopping back onto your bed as Mapi walked out of the room. Scout hopped up on the bed in her absence, licking your cheek twice before curling into your side.Â
It wasnât being too hard on yourself; the self hatred you felt in that moment was completely justified. You were very sure of that.Â
â
You were tucked into bed when the door creaked open again, Scout not even bothering to lift his head from where it was tucked into the comforter draped over your leg. You blinked your eyes open and they widened in surprise at the sight of Ingrid walking into the room, hair messy as though sheâd been tossing and turning. She neared the edge of your bed, leaning down and kissing your forehead gently.Â
âGoodnight, sweetheart. I donât hate you, okay? I love you very much. Everything is going to be okay, so just try to get some rest.âÂ
You nodded weakly, impatiently pushing a tear off your cheek with the back of your hand. âIâm sorry, Ingrid. Really sorry.âÂ
âItâs alright. Youâre safe, yes? And thatâs all that really matters.â Ingrid promised, and you nodded, sniffling pathetically. âWe can talk more tomorrow, but just go to sleep, okay? Everything is fine.âÂ
âLove you.â You mumbled, Ingrid smiling softly down at her. You didnât often say that first, something Ingrid attributed to having said it to your Mamma and not heard it back so many times.Â
âI love you.â Ingrid replied, patting your cheek twice before tucking the covers up tighter around you, and heading out of the room.Â
â
You woke up to a few unexpected things the next morning. One, it was almost 11 and Scout hadnât woken you up demanding a walk. In fact, Scout was nowhere to be found. Two, the sounds of Mapiâs Spanish soap and Ingridâs clanging around the kitchen echoed through the house. Youâd forgotten they had the day off today. Ingrid must have taken Scout out to let you sleep in.Â
The first two unexpected things, then, were explainable. The third⌠was not.Â
A text from Fresa.Â
Tuesday at the library. If you want to give it another shot. I think I can help.Â
You thought about the way youâd behaved, and the way Fresa had spoken to you. Before you could delete the thread with her and close your phone, though, you thought about the letter youâd hidden from your sister. The excited smile on Mapiâs face when youâd agreed to let Fresa tutor you.Â
Before you quite knew what you were doing, you pulled the message back up, your fingers typing away without you telling them to.
Yeah. Iâd appreciate that. What time?Â
There was something that drew you to Fresa, even as she infuriated you. Maybe it was how her voice had softened when sheâd asked if you couldnât read the Spanish on the paper, or maybe it was how sheâd smiled unconsciously, watching Alexia score a goal the past weekend. It was a nice smile. And she had a nice voice.Â
None of it really made any sense to you, but youâd already sent the text.Â
â
For some reason, you felt a bit awkward. There was something very odd about knowing Mapi had been upset with you, because normally that was just Ingrid. But you knew Mapi had been just as worried last night as Ingrid, and just as upset. Sheâd been in the garage all morning, too, and you wondered if she was avoiding you or allowing you to decide to come to her if you wanted to talk.
After the 5th time you glanced at the door to the garage, though, Ingrid rolled her eyes from where she was sitting at the other end of the couch, typing away on her computer.Â
âGo talk to her. Sheâs not angry, I promise.âÂ
Ingrid wasnât angry anymore, either. Youâd spoken with her practically first thing when youâd woken up, apologizing again and again and emphasizing that you hadnât really realized how your actions would have affected Ingrid until it was too late.Â
Youâd told her about a time back in Norway when youâd stayed out all night after a fight with your Mamma, and when youâd come home the next morning, she hadnât even noticed that youâd been gone. Ingrid understood a bit more, then, and was quick to hug you tight and whisper that she forgave you.
And even though Mapi had come in last night and tried to make you feel better, you knew she might have been waiting to be upset until she knew for sure you were okay. That made you even more nervous.Â
Ingrid snorted from behind you when you knocked on the door to the garage, as normally you just walked right in. You shot her a glare, stepping inside the garage at the sound of Mapiâs quiet come in.Â
The defender didnât glance up as you walked in, but you took a seat in the chair next to her. Your chair.Â
It was quiet for a moment, the sounds of Mapiâs metal tool gently clanging against the bike.Â
âWhat did Fresa say to you last night?â You blurted out, face flushing red because why was that the first thing out of your mouth.Â
Mapi fixed you with a half amused look, shaking her head. âThat is what youâre asking?âÂ
âNo.â You sighed. âAre you mad at me?âÂ
âNo.â Mapi echoed, going quiet for a moment as she thought. âNot mad. Itâs just hard for me, Sol. Last night, you didnât even think that weâd be worried about you and where you were. It just makes me a bit sad.â
âOh.âÂ
âAnd itâs not your fault, nena. I just worry for you.âÂ
You nodded slowly. âIâm really sorry. I should have thought about how worried you guys would have been.â
Mapi gave you a half smile. âI know you are. And you wonât do it again sĂ?âÂ
Your head bobbed up and down rapidly as you agreed, more sure than youâd ever been that youâd not be doing something that stupid again.Â
âNow. Why are you so concerned with what Fresa said to me, hmm? What did you do?"
â
#woso imagine#woso x reader#barcelona femeni x reader#woso one shot#woso fanfics#ingrid engen x platonic reader#ingrid engen x mapĂ leon#engen!reader#ingrid engen x reader#mapi leon x platonic reader#mapi leon x reader#đâď¸
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Saw the post of you asking if we had any tropes or ideas we wanted to see u talk abt and jumped for joy đ ⌠must ask . Do u have any thoughts on ghost finding out reader is pregnant đđ
I like to think Ghost starts having suspicions before you do
Wrapped around each otherâs bodies, limbs tangled in the sheets as you sleep peacefully with your other half by your side, heâs never not holding at least one of your boobs in his warm calloused palms. You start to wake up with complaints about how sore they are however, his hands in complete agreement with his eyes; your tits have gotten bigger.
And though he hates to see how uncomfortable they have you feeling all of a sudden, and how you whine so cutely about how you need new bras, your cleavage spilling out of your cups, heâs finding it rather difficult not to appreciate the new view.
Next though, heâs noticing how strange it is that foods you usually loved, now have you crinkling your nose up in disgust, turning your face away from the smell, or worse, that one time you ran to the bathroom to spill the contents of your stomach, utterly repulsed by a certain odor.
But he forgets that you havenât requested Chinese food in nearly a month when instead heâs trying to wrap his mind around how you want peanut butter and jelly on a cheeseburger.
He certainly doesnât think twice about how youâre just tad bit friskier than usual, pinching his ass and trying to jump his bones more often. Thereâs never been a lack of intimacy or wanting the other in your relationship, but you seem nearly insatiable recently, using and abusing his fingers, his mouth, his dick, multiple times a day. There are no complaints on his end, your man always being borderline desperate for you.
Itâs when heâs been away for work for the last two weeks and heâs walking back into the house and he sees you, that his eyes cannot deny the way youâre simply glowing. Radiating effortless beauty in a way heâs never seen before, which is saying a lot considering you knock the breath out of him every time heâs lucky enough to see even just your shadow.
You look so soft, so sweet, so perfectly his.
Heâs searching for a cloth to warm up under the faucet, preparing to clean up the mess heâs just made of you in bed over the last few hours, when his eyes land on the unopened box of tampons under the bathroom sink. His mind starts quickly doing the math, believing that in theory you should have had to open this pack by now, when things begin to click for him.
Laying naked on your back atop the messy sheets, still catching your breath and coming back down to earth after the many times Simon brought you to bliss tonight, youâre admittedly confused when he comes back into the bedroom without the towel he said he was going to get. Youâre even more caught off guard when he approaches you and lays two hands on the sides of your stomach, face approaching your abdomen with an expression of concentration on his face.
âSi what are you-â
âLove, I think youâre pregnant.â
Heâs lucky youâve been having the same suspicion for a few days now, waiting for him to take an actual test and find out, otherwise you might be smacking him upside the head right about now.
Once you do take the test however and confirm what he already felt sure of, that he had put a baby in you, heâs asking you why it isnât appropriate to tape it to the living room wall for everyone to see, elated to share the news with those in your lives, meanwhile youâve just decided he wonât be helping decorate the nursery, beyond building furniture.
#call of duty#call of duty fanfic#call of duty fic#simon ghost riley#simon riley#cod fanfic#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x you#cod simon ghost riley#ghost fanfic#call of duty ghost#ghost cod#cod simon riley#simon ghost riley x you#simon fluff#asks#anon ask
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ἍáĄ. THATâS MY SISTER YOU BITCH
Summary: Despite Sarah and Rafeâs volatile relationship, thatâs your sister.
Warnings: Violence, illusions to sex, swearing.
You had a great day so far. You'd woken up to Rafe in between your legs, waking you up in the best way possible before he made you both breakfast as you watched him from the island. Sometimes you just liked to ponder on how lucky you were to have a boyfriend like Rafe. To everyone else, you were far from lucky but you liked it that way- knowing only you got the real Rafe Cameron.
Now, you were on your way back from grocery shopping, planning to make Rafe a romantic meal when he arrived back from work. Blasting music from your car speakers, you were completely in the zone. Until you drove up to the City Hall, glancing ahead you saw Kelce's red truck, which you thought nothing of until you saw him and his idiotic friends surrounding John B and Sarah.
Alarmed, you pulled up next to the truck, gathering the attention of everyone. Despite being a kook yourself, you were far different from the rest of them. You didn't care about pogues, to you they were like anyone else, in fact often you preferred the pogues in the Outer Banks to the kooks. Rafe's circle exclusively consisted of kooks, meaning you often received a lot of respect from kooks even though you spent a lot of your time arguing with them. Rafe didn't mind it, you were his girlfriend and lover, so if you wanted to yell he wouldn't stop you.
"Problem?" You asked, slamming your car door shut behind you. Just as Sarah hit the ground. Immediately you rushed towards Sarah. Yeah, Rafe and Sarah had problems they needed to get past but to you, Sarah was still as important as she was 2 years ago. You were proud of her for finding her true love and true friends, and you always let her know that you would always be there for her. And this time was no exception. Putting two and two together, you saw Ruthie standing much closer to Sarah than the other kooks who looked at her in shock.
They all stood stunned at your arrival, to be honest, you were probably the worst possible person to show up at that exact moment. Everyone knew your opinions on the Pogues were far more empathetic than the other kooks. "No, no problem" Kelce muttered, beginning to pull Ruthie and the others back from Sarah and John B, to which they happily obliged. Not on your watch.
"Oh no, don't stop on my accord guys. Please whatever you were going to do next. Do it." Walking over to them, Ruthie stood stunned at your arrival. Since she started dating Topper, you got a lot of joy out of berating her, publically. For once, she didn't back down at your words. "She needs to watch herself. She pushed me first, it was self-defence." Ruthie said, glancing behind you to see John B pulling Sarah to her feet.
Snorting you replied, "Ruthie, I'm not Shoupe. Don't start pleading your case, I don't care." She stalled at your response, for a moment thinking that you were on her side for pushing Sarah before you pulled her back to reality. Walking closer to her, edgingly slow, you pressed, "You think you're all big and mighty for pushing Sarah? She's 19 Ruthie, you're what? 21? Don't you think you should play with someone your own size?"
Behind you, John B and Sarah smirked at the group. Unbeknownst to you, Sarah was pregnant and John B was far too occupied to make sure Sarah was okay than to pick a fight with Kelce and his goons today. But you happily would, and even better so because who was going to fight back against the kook princess? Definitely not these ones.
âWell?â You pushed, as you stood toe to toe with Ruthie. You were growing impatient, Rafe would have finished work by now meaning that soon heâd come looking for you- and youâd rather give Ruthie a good couple punches before Rafe showed up.
âOkay times up.â Before she could even think, your fist sent her backwards onto the floor, just how Sarah had been when when you arrived. Groaning, she lifted her hands to cover her nose, assumably bleeding- hopefully broken if Rafeâs self defence lessons had done some good. âOh my god- I think you broke my nose. You bitch.â She shrieked, pulling her hands away to reveal blood beginning to pour from her nose.
Ruthie was nothing but a bully, a bully youâd had enough of tormenting the island. Your legs either side of her chest you crouched over her, âDonât worry you still look just as bad as before.â You muttered as you flew your fist back into her face that she left unguarded. Idiot. Her screaming began again, as you moved off from her, deciding that your two punches had done enough damage. Wow, youâd really have to thank Rafe for those lessons.
âJust wait until Topper hears about this, he will deal with you.â One of the other kooks muttered from behind Kelce. âYeah Iâm sure Topper will be sure to deal with me.â You laughed, Topper wouldnât touch a hair on your arm as long as you were dating Rafe- everyone knew that.
âYou want to fuck with someone, not Sarah.â You spat at them, watching Ruthie sadly pull herself to her feet, with the help of no one. âThatâs my sister you bitch. Now fuck off.â At your command, Kelce briskly walked back over to his truck, as the others followed just as fast, allowing you to turn back to John B and Sarah.
You were greeted to their smiling faces, both as grateful as each other. But you noticed, a twinge of emotion still lingering on Sarahâs face. Hearing you call her your sister in combination with her pregnancy hormones, was due to set her off to cry. Before she could get out any words, you spoke for her. âYou are my sister regardless of whatever is going on between you and Rafe. Youâre family.â Turning to John B, you continued, âThat extends to you, hubby.â You winked looking down at the ring on his finger.
With a red blush covering their faces, they praised you in thank yous. âDonât need to thank me for doing something Iâve been wanting to do for months.â Glancing back to see the red truck had disappeared.
âNow, you can thank me for warning you that Rafe will be here any minute and Iâm not sure you want to see him.â
âââââââââ
âBaby, please be more careful next time.â Rafe muttered, as he wrapped your knuckles in bandages. He was more than shocked to find you outside the city hall- alone- but with bloody knuckles. Only with the explanation, that you had an altercation with Ruthie, surprisingly over Sarah. He was confused to say the least, he wasnât even aware that Ruthie had a problem with his little sister. But the more he thought about it, of course she did- Topper still hadnât gotten over her.
âIn fact, there will be no next time. Ever.â Kissing your knuckles, he pulled you onto his chest as he lied back on your shared king bed. Stroking your hair, he let his mind wonder. Should he have been there to protect Sarah? But they hadnât had a good relationship in years, he couldnât just suddenly start caring for her. He also couldnât let you get into situations that could get you hurt over protecting Sarah.
You noticed his body still and you knew instantly his mind was wondering thinking about Sarah. Without moving your head from his chest you spoke, âRafe. I love Sarah. I know you have a difficult relationship at the moment and whilst you canât protect her I will.â Letting the silence sit between you for a moment, you decided to continue.
âSheâs our only family, Rafe.â He didnât move, but you both knew how right you were. She was all you had left. âI know baby, I know.â He whispered, laying a kiss on the top of your head, before he let his mind slip back into imagining how he can rectify this broken relationship with his sister.
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#outer banks#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe fanfiction#rafe x you#rafe cameron x female reader
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do your job right pairing: assistant!reader x ceo!rafe synopsis: assistant!reader forgets to mail important documents; the diligent mr. cameron makes sure it doesn't happen again. warnings: smut, spanking, degradation, praise MDNI - wc: 1.1k this is the first day of my birthday-week fics! honestly i had a blast working on all of these and i hope people enjoy them. áŻáĄŁđŠ
rafe had always been a hardworking man, especially when it came to his business, and he couldn't stand it when his employees didn't do their jobs right. people say that you can either choose to be feared, or respected, and rafe cameron was the kind of man who'd rather be feared.
so, the fact that he refused to fire the ditzy, airheaded girl who'd been hired as his assistant was nothing short of a miracle in the eyes of his other employees. what they didn't know, they couldn't ruin.
you were shaking as you walked towards his office, wobbly on your kitten heels, the tone that rafe used with you still fresh in your mind.
"come into my fucking office. right now." he had barked into your phone, before shutting the call. you chewed on your lower lip, not knowing what you had done this time for him to be cross with you. still, you lifted your hand, softly knocking on the door with the golden nameplate reading 'r. cameron'.
"come in."
you took a deep breath before pulling the door open, revealing your boss leaning against his desk, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows, crossed in front of his chest, a harsh look on his face, his eyes as cold as ice.
"lock the door."
hesitantly, you did as you were told, chewing on your lower lip, looking at him through your eyelashes. "w-what did i do this time?" you asked with a shaky voice.
rafe let out a small chuckle, entirely devoid of any positive emotion before clearing his throat, picking up a small stack of papers off his desk, and when you realized what they were, you felt all the blood drain from your face. "look familiar, hm?"
"mr. cameron, i'm sorry, i swear i was going to-"
"but you didn't." rafe interrupted you, tutting as he shook his head, one of his hands going to scratch his chin in thought, "you know, i'm starting to think you keep doing this on purpose. that you like it when i get mad at you, when i punish you. 'cause i don't know how someone could be so... dumb to keep making these mistakes."
"i'm sorry, i'll send it over right now, please-"
"no. that's not how this works." he pushed himself away from his desk, slowly striding over to you. looking at you up and down, rafe lifted your head up from your chin, making you look up at him. "you know the drill. desk. bend over."
"mr. cam-"
"now."
the air of finality in his voice caused a shiver to run down your spine as your wobbly legs took you to his desk, and you hesitantly bent yourself over his desk, the desk cold against your arms.
"you know what to do." rafe said, his hand resting over your ass that felt bare under his touch even with the fabric of your pencil skirt that was separating your skin from his, a rush of heat in your lower stomach. "count for me."
slowly, he pushed up the fabric of your skirt, revealing your bare ass, rafe letting out a small chuckle, "i see you decided not to wear panties, like i've asked. looks like my dumb little secretary can actually listen. you know what they say about broken clocks."
he grabbed at the flesh of your ass, massaging it slightly as he tutted, "five. you ready?"
"y-yes..." you mumbled weakly, squeezing your eyes shut and biting down on you're lower lip, preparing yourself for the impact.
a loud smacking sound echoed around his office before you could even register the sting on your ass, a small squeal unwillingly escaping your lips as your body was jolted forward by the impact.
"o-one." you counted, rafe's palm massaging at the buttock he had just slapped, before slowly pulling it away.
"you know, if you weren't such a dumb, forgetful slut, i wouldn't have to be doing this."
before you could even process what he had said, his rafe's palm landed another slap on your ass, your body jolting forward once again. this time, he didn't even take the time to massage your buttock before he pulled his hand away, delivering another slap to your ass almost immediately, one that made you let out a noise that was something between a moan and a squeal even though you were biting down on your lower lip so harshly you could taste blood.
"count."
you took in a deep breath as he massaged your ass, trying to stabilize yourself, your breathing erratic, feeling your heartbeat in your throat. "t-two, and, uh... three."
"i'm surprised," rafe cooed mockingly, "that a dumb little thing like you can even do simple maths."
rafe pulled his hand away, and you intertwined your own fingers together as a way to calm yourself down, your eyes stinging with tears threatening to fall, and once you felt his palm hitting your ass once again, a tear rolled down your cheek, your entire face feeling warm as you managed to pitifully let out the word "four." and although you were hurting, you also couldn't deny the arousal starting to gather between your legs.
"i mean, you'd think that you'd understand how important my work is. you could lose me thousands for forgetting to mail those papers." he tutted, pulling his hand away, "so, what are you gonna do from now on?"
"i-i'm gonna remember it, mr. cameron, i promise."
"that's my girl." rafe said, and once again, you felt his palm connect with your ass, a small yelp leaving your lips.
"five..." you babbled almost incoherently, a panting mess, certain that by now your asscheeks were red in the shape of rafe's large hands, a sigh of relief leaving your lips when you realized that your punishment was over, a small hiss escaping your lips when the pained skin of your ass was met with the biting air of rafe's office.
"you did so well..." rafe said quietly, softly massaging your asscheeks before slowly sliding your skirt back down, smoothing it out. he helped you stand up, his bulge obvious in his trousers as he turned you around to face him, cupping your chin to once again lift your head up to look at him, "go home for the rest of the day, okay? take a warm bath and rest, hm?"
you nodded your head, looking up at him with your vision blurred by tears, rafe wiping the blood off your lower lip, "you did really well. i'm proud of you." he said, bringing his lips down to meet yours in a gentle kiss, his hand cupping your cheek so affectionately it was hard for you to tell if the man holding onto you was really the same man that had just punished you.
when he pulled away, rafe looked down at you with a sweet smile, "i'll come by later, alright?"
"alright." you nodded with a similar smile, leaning into his touch. when rafe pulled away from you, you smoothed down your skirt, slowly making your way to his office door.
maybe he knew, or maybe he didn't, but you'd never tell him that your little accident was anything but that. that they never were accidents.
#đ đŤđ˘đ§đ'đŹ đđđŹđ đđđĽđđđŤđđđ˘đ¨đ§#rafe cameron#outer banks#rafe cameron x reader#drew starkey#outer banks fanfiction#rafe fanfiction#rafe x reader#rafe outer banks#outer banks rafe#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe smut#rafe x you#rafe imagine#rafe fic#rafe obx#outer banks fic#outer banks smut#fanfiction writer#rafe cameron thoughts
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Cady girl
cadygirl! reader x lando norris
summary: you usually hated being a cady girl but a certain boy changed that
a/n: reallyyy super short fic that came into my mind like an hour ago. enjoy! xx
â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝â˝âžâžâžâžâžâžâžâžâžâžâžâžâžâžâžâžâžâžâž
Being a cady girl wasn't fun most of the time, 18-year-old trust fund kids thought that they could say whatever they wanted to you and give you the lowest of low tips. But it did have its ups, like the pay or like when a cute guy would come up to you but it usually always ended in him showing no interest in you or secretly being a freak. Today was one of those times, let's just hope it goes well
A man had waved you down mentally rolling your eyes because he just gave off gross rich boy vibes but when he opened his mouth you were surprised to hear a âcan I just have a coke and water pleaseâ and not âare you offering any other things that aren't on the menuâ accompanied with a disgusting smirk and a peak up your skirt. You looked schocked for a bit but then hopped off to get his things. âOkay that will be 9.75â you said with a smile that hadn't crossed your face in a long time, it was a genuine and nice smile. His friend said something that you couldn't hear and the cute boy replied with a look down at his golf cart and and laughed âchat stopâ âsorry huhâ you asked. He looked up cheeks bright red âoh sorry I'm live streaming and my chat said that you were cuteâ you let out a knowing âohhh, well tell them I said thank youâ and started to climb back into your cart âits true ya knowâ you turned around and smiled âoh reallyâ he put his head down while stuffing his hands in his pockets and nodded shyly âyea of course, your gorgeousâ âthank youâ you felt your cheeks warm up and started to drive away
2 hours later you were still thinking about the cute boy you served but tried pushing the thought away thinking you'd never see him again. Deep in your thoughts suddenly the sound of an engine catches your attention you turn around and see the cute boy from earlier. He walks up to you âHey so you can totally tell me to go fuck off but could I get your number so maybe we could go on a date or something?â extending his phone out to you. God you never thought you would be excited that a golf boy was hitting on you âyea, of course, Iâd love to!â you said as you typed your number into his phone âThanks by the way Iâm Landoâ you smile âmy names y/nâ âcute name to match the cute face.â you laugh shyly as he starts to speak again âso what days do you have off, so we can hang outâ âI only work on weekends and fridays, so any other day is goodâ he nods reassuringly âok so how about coffee at the cafe like two blocks down on Monday?â youâd seen the coffee place and has been meaning to go get never ended up going through with it âyea actually Iâd love that Iâve been meaning to goâ ânice Iâve been meaning to go too! Iâll see you Friday, itâs a dateâ Lando said with a smile then walked away He was the cutest boy youâd ever seen. And from that moment on you knew you were doomed.
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Monstober - Day 9: Folklore Creatures
Spin on "Little Red Riding Hood" anyone? What could be better than someone so obsessed with you, they simply want to eat you up?
Prompt: Folklore Creatures | Cautionary Tales // Truth // Naivity Warnings: Yandere, Violence (non-main character murder, Blood Mention, Implied Bullying of the reader (off-screen)), Topic of Jealousy, Posessiveness
"Love you, hun."
Pressing a gentle kiss to your head, your boyfriend got up, stretching his arms high over his head and popping his neck before he got to his feet with a sigh. "Where are you going? Do you really have to leave?" you mumbled, the disappointment unmistakably in your voice. It had been like this for weeks now, where you two spent a passionate night before he slipped out without a trace to find him all day.
"Mhm," he sighed, leaning down to you again to catch your lips once more. "You know how much it pains me, but I got to go before it's too late. Wouldn't want to awaken the monster in me, would you?"
He said it as if it was a challenge, and you giggled, thinking it was just another innuendo. "Wouldn't let me get out of bed, huh?"
"Oh, I'd gobble you up, darling."
Laughing, he stepped away, putting his shirt back on as he dipped into the bathroom of your small apartment real quick. The moment he disappeared from view, you couldn't help your expression from showing the disappointment and frustration you felt. It had been almost a month now, and you two never went out together in the daylight, never saw each other except when he picked you up for a night out in the club or came to watch a movie that was never finished.
It felt more like you were his friend-with-benefitsâyou didn't even know his last name.
As if you were the other one.
The thought made your blood boil. You weren't proud of it, but in a moment of jealous weakness, you had checked his phone, seeing countless messages where he told people how excited he was to hang out and make appointments with them while he never seemed to do the same for you. It didn't seem like he had another partner in his life, but how could you be sure when he played the role of the mysterious night visitor rather than your wholesome boyfriend?
Was he ashamed of you? Were you not good enough? Did he just keep you around for his entertainment? The questions plagued you as he never gave you a good answer. He wouldn't even entertain the discussions, only vowing that he loved you and his work was very important and took him all day.
So why was he meeting other people then?
There wasn't much time once he said his goodbyes, his kisses nothing short of loving and sweet. For a possible cheater, he was good at what he was doing. You only had a few seconds of self-doubt about what you were going to do before you were out of the door and hunting after him, long coat and sunglasses on in true stalker-fashion. It felt wrong, and you hated yourself for mistrusting him so much, but at the same time, you two were still practically strangers, knowing so little while still being so in love. A little craziness was inevitable, right?
However, as your boyfriend turned from the main street into the shady path leading to the central park of your town, you suddenly felt a sense of panic. What if you accidentally got involved with some shady fellow? What if this was a drug deal or worse? Why would someone need to go to a park in the middle of the night?
You had assumed he was leaving you alone every night to hook up with other people or go back to an unsuspecting partner, but as you gently brushed through the thicket, trying to stay out of the moonlight that would give away your presence, you suddenly weren't so sure anymore.
You could still see him as he walked further into the park. It should have been your sign to leave, get away while you could, and cut all contact... but you had already gotten this far. Following closely by hiding behind trees and the occasional park bench, you tracked him through the greenery. Once, he almost seemed to spot you, but you ducked into a bush just in time, regretting this move only when the thicket tore at the fabric of your coat, making unnecessary noise. Still, you managed to stay hidden, heart racing and always alert.
Eventually, your boyfriend sat on a park bench in front of a pond. Nothing much happened for the next few minutes, and you were about to call this mission off, seeing how relaxed he was. It was as if he simply enjoyed hanging out in the park at night like a semi-normal person would.
But footsteps crunching over the gravel made you cower lower, your eyes fixating on the person approaching. Your boyfriend lifted a hand in greeting, and the person sprinted forward, hood falling off her head, revealing a cruel sight.
Because you knew the woman your boyfriend was meeting.
Your bully.
Heart sinking into your stomach, you watched as she jumped into his arms, giggling as your boyfriend spun her around. The only reason for them to meet you could think of was that the two set you up, made you fall in love with him so they could laugh at you behind your back. It really broke your heart to watch them cuddle on the park bench, your boyfriendâex-boyfriendâruffling her hair.
You didn't want to stay to see this.
It was a good thing you found out, but with tears filling your eyes, you knew you had to leave before you were discovered or hurt yourself more by watching them. This trainwreck wasn't one you should have been observing, and it hurt enough that you wanted to never come out of your home again.
"You know, [Name]?" your boyfriend suddenly asked, the sound of your name on his tongue so bittersweet.
"Who? Oh..." your bully replied, thinking for a moment. "What about them? They are a loser, not worth your time."
"Is that so? Because they told me about you, lots of things."
"You're ruining the mood. Isn't it enough that I agreed to meet you here? It's so creepy! Did you know how they found quite a few bodies lately around this park? We should go clubbing or to a bar, why are we even here talking about some loser?"
Your bully let out a frustrated sigh, throwing her hair back over her shoulder before leaning close. "You know we never even kissed until now. Don't you think it's such a waste of those lovely lips to talk when we could make out instead?"
Letting out a dry laugh, he didn't seem flattered at all as she tried to avert the topic of you. Good, you thought, because you really weren't up to hearing about yourself from the bully and the traitor. Even so, you couldn't move. As if you were frozen to the spot.
"Good thing you mentioned that. I prefer not making my partner worried about whether I'm cheating or not."
"Partner?" your bully spat, scrunching up her nose, the ugliness of her expression matching her personality. "Don't tell me you're fucking with that. I thought you had better taste when you asked me out to dinner the last few times. Thought you'd appreciate beauty more--"
Her words were cut off as your boyfriend's hand wrapped around your throat. He brought her face closer to his, sounding more enraged than you had ever heard him before. "How dare you talk about them like that. They are perfect. Wonderful. Special. It's filth like you that needs to be taken out so my love can be happy."
The two rose from their seat, and you watched as your boyfriend seemingly effortlessly hoisted your bully into the air. Something felt off, and you couldn't look away as you watched the clothes on his body tearing apart, your bully struggling as his fingers stretched and wrapped around her neck completely. She let out mewls and gasps as she tried to kick him, tried to make him stop, but the horror was in both of your eyes as you watched your boyfriend transform.
Skin turned into fur, mouth into snout. His posture changed as his body grew taller, monstrous, into a beast. Part of you couldn't believe your own eyes as you watched him take on canine features as if you were in a movie, watching a werewolf transform, but by the way, your bully was struggling harder, unable to scream, you realized it was real, and she saw it too.
Horrified, you could only clasp your hands over your mouth, containing your shivers. Doggish years popped up from his head, twisting and turning towards your direction. You had to be quiet, undetected, or surely, you'd be the next prey of that monster. His snout opened, long, sharp teeth glistening in the moonlight, and you heard the gurgled scream of your bully before the beast pounced, biting between her neck and shoulder.
Your bully was still kicking and trying to break loose as blood gushed from the bite, her sounds turning into gurgles before everything quieted out, and she stopped moving. Even though your eyes were so wide open, you couldn't believe them at all, couldn't understand what just happened, only listening to the sound of fluids gushing out and dripping to the floor, bones breaking beneath the claws and massive jaw, and eventually, her body simply slipping from his grip, seemingly meaningless.
"[Name], [Name], [Name]. Isn't it so impolite to eavesdrop on others?" the monster suddenly grumbled. Its massive head swung in your direction, eyes scanning from one side of the thicket to the other before finally settling on you despite the greenery. "I didn't want you to find out like this. We could have talked about it some other timeâlike on a picnic!"
Putting his feet into motion, you were still completely frozen as you watched the creature march towards you. If this was a bad dream, now would have been a good moment to wake up. You two held the eye contact, even as you watched the grotesque features slowly turn back into a human, first the head, then arms.
"Well, it is your business, too, I'll admit. I've been doing this all of you. Was I not a good boy, taking care of all these mean people for you?"
Until now, you had never taken much notice of the people you disliked disappearing. If anything, you were glad they weren't around anymore. But now that he was pointing it out, a cold shudder ran down your spine, guilt overcoming you.
"They were in the way of your happiness, and I need a good meal every now and then. We both got something out of it, you sweet, sweet thingâlook at you cowering. Are you scared? Of the big, bad wolf? What if I'm a nice wolf, will you come to me then? Don't worry, no one's going to hurt you, I'll take care of all that try."
Even with the words so sweetly murmured, you didn't dare move and fall for his promises. He was a fucking werewolf or any other kind of monster! But werewolf made the most sense. It also explained so much more, for example, how he knew exactly where you were. It only made you wonder if he knew all along. Let himself be exposed to you. Wanting for you to see this.
See him.
Now back in his human form, he reached into the bush, parting it aside to reveal your cowering form. His grin widened as he watched you trembling in fear from him, this... other side of him probably enjoying a primal thrill at the prey he had caught.
"What... what are you? You had those big ears-"
"-to hear your thrilling pulse, darling."
"And your eyes were-"
"-so I could spot you and make sure you'd not hurt yourself, sweetheart."
"A-And your mouth was... you know."
At this, he simply grinned, and you gulped down any other word. "Gobble you up," he said earlier that night. It had not just been a sexy innuendo.
"Are you... going to kill me, too?" you asked woefully, feeling like your fate had already been sealed.
"You? Now, now, who'd do such a thing."
Clicking his tongue at you as if you had just insulted him, your boyfriend stepped through the gap in the bush, crossing over into your hideout, destroying every safety this thicket had provided with his presence. He leaned down, picking you up with what you now knew was unnatural strength and holding your bridal style as he carried you back towards the pond. The moonlight shined down on you two, the reflection on the water's surface blinding you. But it wasn't enough to make you forget about the body that laid just below you.
"I'm glad you could make it here, though. I wanted to enjoy the full moon with you for so long, you know? But you did interrupt my meal, how are you going to make up for it?" he asked, not a hint of seriousness in his voice. As if this was all a game rather than the brutal reality you had only just learned about.
"I--" you sputtered, unable to answer that. Your mind kept coming back to realize you were the next best meal to have and served as if on a silver platter as he carried you.
"Juuust joking," your boyfriend laughed. "How about we go home and order some late-night food? I'm so hungry!"
Ignoring the dead body on the floor, he merely stepped over it, chatting about whether he wanted burger or tacos as if he hadn't just revealed himself to be a fairytale monster and killed someone.
"Or, you know, we could make this fun. You could run, and I could catch you, have a nibble of those sweet cheeks; how about it?"
You felt the blood drain from your face, and his grin diminished as he watched you cower into yourself, his grip tightening around as you grew tense. "Okay, too early, got it."
"You're really not going to kill me?"
"Nope. Can't. You're my mate. You're what all werewolves craveâwhat I crave. Your happiness is all that satisfies me."
"Then... you'll let me go if I want to?"
His expression turned into a frown, and he shook his head. "There are rules," he said factually. "I'll explain them to you someday. But basically, they don't allow us to tell people about our existence. If I let you go, you might tell someone and--"
"I won't! I promise! I'll take your secret to the grave, please!" you pleaded, and your boyfriend grimaced, looking unhappy at your determination.
"And even more importantly-" he continued, raising his voice threatingly to make you behave. "-they teach us to never let our mates go, as there won't be another one. And living without is torture for a werewolf."
"Never?" you whined softly, and the smile returned to his face. Now he looked almost completely back to normal, like the sweet boyfriend you fell in love with. But you couldn't ignore the wolf in a sheep's skinânot with the blood of your bully still clinging to his chest.
"Never," he assured you firmly, and you knew instinctively that he meant it.
#Monstober 2024#werewolf#werewolves#yandere werewolf#monster#yandere monster#yandere!monster#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere tw#yandere fanfiction#yandere scenarios#yandere headcanons#yandere drabbles#yandere oneshot#yandere stories#yandere writing#yandere imagines
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im on my knees begging for jealous Simon headcanons đ§đťââď¸
The thing about Simon is, he really has no reason to get jealous when it comes to you, and he knows it
He knows there isnât anyone else who could make you smile so much your cheeks hurt, no one else who could make you laugh until you claim youâre going to pee your pants, no one else who could make you feel as good as he does, in oh so many ways, because you tell him so
You tell him that those same feelings of being loved, understood, appreciated, and wanted, those very feelings that you make him feel each and every day, he gives them back to you a thousand times over
He knows when you look in his eyes and tell him that you love him, that there isnât a doubt in your mind that he is the only one for you, and nothing or anyone could ever change that
Youâre as smitten with him as he is with you
Still though, Simon does have eyes
And while the logical part of his brain is telling him that heâs got no reason to be gritting his teeth and clenching his fists underneath the table, he canât help but grow more and more frustrated with the way Soap and Gaz continue to flirt shamelessly with you
To be fair, you had warned him that keeping your relationship a complete secret from everyone would likely result is moments where Simon would have to watch you get hit on, and simply have to grin and bear it
That didnât mean it was any easier, watching his only best mates try and work their charm on you, all while he sits at the same table and watches you roll your eyes at their advances
âAw, come on love, just one chance, sâall I ask for!â The handsome, young sergeant practically whines to you, cheeky grin plastered across his features as he tries in vain to convince you to let him take you out some time
âPfft, yeâd be nothinâ but a waste oâ her time, Garrick. We wouldnât even âave to to leave base for me to show ye a good time, bonnie.â The Scotsman winks at you, pointedly ignoring the way Gaz elbows him in the ribs at his comment
Throughout the entire exchange, Ghostâs gaze has never left your face, watching every time you scoff and roll your eyes at the menâs antics, reminding himself that youâre his, and he is yours, and the two sergeants are nothing more than pains in both of your asses
Finished with your pitiful meal from the dining hall, you stand from the table with your tray gathered in your hands, flipping your hair over one shoulder as you look towards the men trying to win your affection
âOnce again, gentleman,â you say to them, knowing that theyâre listening to your every word and watching your every move. âI donât fraternize with colleagues. At least not the Sergeants.â
The two men groan in feeble protest at the mention of their ranks, having heard this reasoning from you before
âAch, what if I get myself demoted, lass? I ken I could do that, easy!â Soap teases you, only kind of joking
âMmm, donât think thatâll work.â You reply, beginning to slowly walk away from the group, but not before glancing over you shoulder to lock eyes with Ghost and add, âYou might have to become a Lieutenant. Those are more my type.â
The two Sergeants are staring after you, slightly gobsmacked, while their Lieutenant hides an overly smug and satisfied grin beneath his mask, shielding the pride that spread through him at your words
âShite, sounds like you might âave a chance, LT.â Soap laughs, smacking Ghost across the shoulder in a playful gesture, thinking that the larger man would never actually pursue you, let alone sleep in your bed almost every night
Itâs a few weeks later when you and the rest of the 141 are all out for drinks at a nearby pub however, when Simon finds his instincts growing stronger than his insecurities
Because thatâs just it isnât it? Heâs not feeling insecure when he sees you walk towards the bar by yourself to order a new drink, at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching you weave through the crowd in hopes of making a move on you
Heâs not feeling insecure when he watches some tipsy idiot try and pretend heâs drunker than he really he is when he âaccidentallyâ bumps into you, apparently feeling the need to put his hands on you as he apologizes
Heâs not feeling insecure when he watches you shove the guy off, reading your lips he knows so well as you tell the guy youâre not interested, nor is he insecure when he knows the idiot wonât give up that easily, likely asking if youâre here alone before you point over to where the 141 have overtaken a booth in the back
No, he certainly isnât feeling insecure when he sees that the man never bothers glancing back to the table, still trying to land a hand on your body somewhere, when Simonâs instincts take over, rising from his seat without a word to the men who glance his way and ask where heâs going suddenly
Heâs acting on pure instinct as he stalks over to you, the crowd parting for his large frame to move by without hesitation, locking eyes with you just as he lands a massive skull gloved hand on the tosserâs shoulder, wringing him around to face him
Your would be admirer isnât feeling so confident now when heâs staring up at a 6â4â wall of muscle donned in all black apart from the white markings of his skull balaclava
If he were a more jealous man, Simon might take more time to admire the way you can practically hear this idiot gulp over the loud sounds of the music, the way his eyes bulge out of his head and how he looks nearly ready to piss himself on the spot
But your man knows who he is to you, and so instead he shoves the geezer away, turning to face you as one hand lifts up the bottom of his balaclava, just far enough to swoop down and meet your lips in a passionate tangle of tongue and teeth, tasting the alcohol on each otherâs breath and the desire in your systems, a kiss that says to everyone else watching, including the bewildered Captain and Sergeants gawking from across the room, that you are his and his alone
#this kind of turned into the opposite of jealous Simon didnât it#sorry anon I promise Iâll do a proper jealous Simon soon#just wanted to post something short and sweet tonight#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#cod simon ghost riley#cod simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#call of duty fanfic#call of duty#call of duty fic#simon ghost riley#simon riley#cod fanfic#ghost x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x you#call of duty ghost#simon fluff#readwritealldayallnight#asks#anon ask
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The Inspector nodded to Violet as she greeted him and then gave a short and quiet hum of agreement at her dismissive reply. Taking mental notes of her attitude and deciding he didn't much like it but she was at least holding her own for now and had not done anything outwardly troubling. He turned his attention back to Theo who was still considerably uncomfortable but had put his hand on Mauve's as it rested on his shoulder.
"I work for an organisation who specialise in things like this," he gestured to the monster on the floor, "I and many other agents strive tirelessly and endlessly to keep people safe and on more than several occasions already saved these United States and even the world from this danger and I think that you," he pointed to Theo specifically for now, "might be the sort of person who could help us."
Theo looked over at Mauve, amazement in his eyes as it had been exactly what they had talked about, an official branch helping to save the world from monsters! Their agent idea had already been done and here was a man offering it all to them... or just to him? He looked back to the agent.
"Now I have an offer to make you. You can come with us and we are interested in putting you through school, getting you into the FBI Academy for you to follow that path which you have expressed previously. We'll wipe everything clean, you'll be cleared as innocent and wrongly interned in this ward so that you can walk around free and innocent. Your parents won't have to pay a cent, you will be sponsored through collage and you will work hard to achieve the results necessary to become an FBI agent." The inspector waited for a moment while Theo clearly observed him, he was after all the man who had put him inside in the first place and he was offering him everything he wanted on a plate, just like that. "On the condition that you work for us. You do as we say, you protect our secret from everyone including family and friends, no one can know. You do exactly as you are told and follow every instruction we issue you to the letter."
The Inspector knew that was less appetising as an end point but he leaned forward and looked Theo directly in the eye, ignoring Violet completely for now, she wasn't who he was after. "Or," his voice had dropped to a more threatening tone, "you can stay in here and become nothing more than a drooling mess until the end of your life. Stuck with absolutely no way out. You will stay here, where no one will believe you, where you will one day get one shock therapy session too many." He eyed Theo who gulped loudly, terrified of that thought and squeezing Violet's hand on his shoulder. "This is a one time offer, lad. What's it going to be?"
Theo opened his mouth but it was dry inside, it was as if he had just lost his voice, the man had offered him everything he had ever wanted and now was threatening to force him through his worst nightmare. However, he couldn't leave Mauve. "My friend helped me, Mauve needs to come too." He insisted, "We both deserve to be out of this ward. Please, promise me that she will be freed with me." The Inspector's lip curled and he looked to Violet, one eye brow raised.
"She will have her own deal." He said lowly and then offered his hand out for Theo to shake. "Now or never kid, I am not playing around, that deal has a time limit of seconds. You shake my hand and get out of here today or I get up, walk out and leave you here to rot." Theo's heart raced in his chest, his eyes were wide and his breath was almost frozen in his lungs, stinging him and aching at every bruise, shock, or most recently stab and bite he'd ever had in that ward. He couldn't go through more of it and with Mauve getting her own deal to leave, Theo took the Inspector's hand and shook it.
đđđđ & đđđđđđ @multipleoccupancy
Violet quickly fell asleep, but she woke up just as fast, startled by a nightmare. After that, she didn't dare fall back asleep, discreetly observing the orderly as he cleaned up the whole cell. It wasn't too hard to pretend to be asleep, lying down next to Theo. After a while, the cell was perfectly clean (save for the dead monster in the corner), but Violet wished the orderly would have given them clean pajamas too. She was still covered in blood, but it had dried up now, forming an uncomfortable layer over her skin.
With her eyes half-closed, she noticed the two men as they stood outside the room. Violet didn't know who they were, but she assumed they were the Delta Green agents sent to offer Theo his "deal". When the orderly went to wake Theo up, she didn't bother acting as if she was sleeping, simply sitting up on the bed.
Theo's warning confirmed her thoughts: this was a Delta Green agent. But not just any agent. The agent who had framed Theo and sent him to the ward. Her look hardened, and she put a protective hand on Theo's shoulder.
The man sat in front of them, introducing himself. "Hello, inspector," she replied coldly. Violet was unmoved by the agent's praise. She really didn't care if he was impressed! As far as she was concerned, he was a wicked man. But she knew she couldn't make a scene, and risk Theo's deal in the process. She had to grit her teeth and swallow all the things she really wanted to say.
"It ain't our first rodeo," she replied dismissively, hinting at Theo's first monster encounter, and her own "encounter", which was in her file.
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hello!! can I request fluff reactions of the boys to mc craving something to eat in the middle of the night?
thank youu have a good day đĽ°
I'm laughing because you asked this like it would be the most off the cuff situation, when literally every single one of these men canonly have an awful sleep schedule and nighttime habits. Like, there is absolutely nothing weird about this at all except the fact that you're awake when they're awake.
LaDS men when you crave something to eat in the middle of the night -
Zayne -
In all honestly, he was just now getting home from a shift at Akso hospital, so it takes him just a few moments to register why the situation in front of him was abnormal.
He can't help it, he's usually coming home in the early evening, not at three in the morning.
So when he sees you sitting at the counter, snacking on something, he simply sets his stuff down near the door and removes his tie, before coming over to give you a peck on the cheek in greeting.
He's made it halfway to the bathroom, yawning wide and telling himself to get some good sleep tonight- well, technically this morning- wait⌠morning� What on earth were you doing up-
He's back in the kitchen in a second, with your eyes flickering back to him in an innocent question, confused as to why he's looking at you so bewildered.
'Why', is the only thing that comes out of his mouth, and when you finally process what he means by that, you can't help but give him a chuckle and a smile, still eating whatever you had gotten from the fridge or cupboard.
"I was hungry."
Not even going to question why you acted on your impulses to eat at three in morning. He'll just sigh, and tell you to make sure you get to bed soon for the sake of your health and mood tomorrow. Gives you one more kiss before heading off to get ready for bed himself.
Sylus -
He's probably just getting up.
So when he starts to rise and notices you lying awake, he's going to be confused, hoping to himself that you didn't have some freakish nightmare, especially not any possibly involving your past experiences with him-
No.
Turns out, you're currently trying to make yourself go back to sleep, despite wanting something warm to eat, but also not wanting to cook.
He's going to find it terribly endearing, letting out a little snicker and making you blush at his reaction, his hand carding through your hair as he leans down over you.
"I think you're forgetting something, kitten. I wake up around this time- meaning, I need to have something for breakfast before working on anything. You do know you can ask the chef to make you something right now, right sweetie?"
He won't say it, but you can tell he's so pleased to be eating with you, even though he knows you'll be heading off to bed right after, it's a nice change of pace for him. He's more than happy to have your company, no matter the odd hour.
Rafayel -
He's finally ready to kick himself into going to bed, but the moment he opens the bedroom door, he runs into you.
At first, he's worried.
Secondly, he's miffed that you got up to come and harrass him into coming to bed again.
Thirdly, he's extra miffed that none of the previous answers are true, but you're actually just hungry.
He's seen the way you snack, he knows you're not just making something up. And he can't exactly let you go back to bed hungry so-
That's how he ended up making a late night dish rather than finally heading to bed.
Any protests to him cooking fell on deaf ears. He's having none of that. He can tell you're still sleepy, and since he hasn't wound down yet, he isn't. So he's more than happy to cook for you.
Definitely wasn't hungry himself, definitely didn't forget to have dinner, no sir-
He'll sit and eat with you, asking if you had any interesting dreams, before making up scenarios that may have occurred involving food monsters and treat fairies.
He's not trying to hear that beautiful sound that is your laugh. Not at all. He's trying even less hard to make the meal last longer, just so that he can spend a little bit more time with you-
Xavier -
He probably saw you on his own way to get a snack, in all honesty.
You two just have to share a look, contemplating the situation, before the both of you begin to grin, realizing what the other is awake doing.
He offers to walk you around the block to the corner shop that's open 24hrs, so that the two of you can get some junk food or spicy microwave noodles to have together.
If you don't want to go anywhere, he'll either go himself or order delivery from somewhere that's open all hours so that you guys don't need to cook. He doesn't want to put out a fire for his attempts this late at night, and you either don't feel like it, or you're not the best at it yourself.
(You're still better than him though.)
Whenever the two of you end up getting your food, you sit together on the couch, legs folded over one another as you tangle together to watch an episode of something you've been binging.
You'll both wake up completely different though- having fallen asleep together on the couch after finishing your food, and ending up snuggled closely, a bundle of warm blankets and pajamas mixed with the relaxing sensation of the other's breathing.
Thank goodness today was the both of your day off...
#love and deepspace#.writey#lads#lds#x reader#sylus x reader#rafayel x reader#zayne x reader#xavier x reader
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So High School | Kim Mingyu
pairing: fiancĂŠ!mingyu x pregnant!fem!reader
rating: fluff, mature
genre: non-idol au, slice of life, established relationship
summary: you and your fiancĂŠ haven't discussed the idea of you having children, but with your wedding approaching, the idea of starting a family with him has been on your mind.
warnings: please read ALL! contains smut! not much but a little! (!!!) some time skips, reader gets pregnant, planned pregnancy, reader's mom loves mingyu, reader deals with morning sickness (for my fellow emetophobics this may be triggering!), minwon coworkers mentioned, smut warnings: creampie, unprotected sex, multiple rounds mentioned, backshots, fingering.
word count: 3k
AHEM! go listen to so high school by taylor swift (perhaps while you read!)
author's note!: i listened to taylor waaaay too much while i was writing this, as you can probably tell by the title 𫣠what can i say! guilty. my first time writing slice of life au! i had fun lowkey. AGHHH i just love writing cute mingyu esp when it involves future dad mingyu. the song lyrics are meant to be spacers for the time-skips btw! shoutout to @jenoslutie for also supporting my vision with this đ muah xo
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I feel so high school every time I look at you, I wanna find you in a crowd just to hide from you...
Mingyu was your dream man in many ways than one. The perfect boy to bring home to your parents, cooked delicious meals for you, and overall made you feel safe.Â
You two had been engaged for months now, and wedding planning was well underway, the date set for early into the new year. As if it wasnât stressful enough, your mom had already started questioning whether the two of you had wanted children, or planned to in the future. The answer was always the same,
âMom, I donât know⌠we havenât talked about it into a lot of detail⌠maybe later onâŚâ or âCâmon, weâre still young, Mom!âÂ
Mingyu didnât know any of this, and youâd probably never tell him, not wanting him to feel pressured by your badgering mother. You both knew you wanted children eventually, but you never talked that far into the future.
But⌠you also thought⌠maybe you would want to have children, if it was with Mingyu.Â
Mingyu would be the father to play dress up and makeovers with your daughter, have tea parties with her, or play with faux tools with your son and pretend to fix things, and play with plastic dinosaurs.
You couldn't picture anybody that would be more perfect to do it with than him.
Are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me? It's just a game, but really I'm bettin' on all three for us two...
Mingyu stands at the kitchen counter, cooking dinner like he usually does, and he usually insists since he gets home a little earlier from work than you do most days.Â
You come from the kitchen after changing out of your work clothes to see him chopping garlic as a pot is boiling on the stove.Â
âWhat are you making?â
âAgio e olio,â Mingyu responds, looking up to smile at you briefly. âI know itâs your favorite, and you said you were craving it.â
You smile, coming over to kiss him on the cheek quickly. âThank you, you make it so good anyway.â You chuckle as he playfully rolls his eyes.Â
He tosses the garlic in a pan on the stove, stirring it a little, then adds the pasta to the boiling water.
You decide now is the time to break your silence, and tell him whatâs been on your mind lately.
âGyu,â You speak up. â⌠I think we should talk about something.âÂ
âWhat?â Mingyuâs gaze turns to meet yours, a concerned look on his face, and you immediately want to kiss him and make it go away.
âWhy? Whatâs wrong?â
âIâve been thinkingâŚâ You pause, racking your brain on how to word what youâre about to tell him, also given that you didnât want to scare him. âWhat do you think about us⌠having a baby?âÂ
You look up at his undeniable surprised expression; after all you did come out of nowhere with that statement.
âI mean, I know we havenât really discussed it much, and weâre getting married in a few months⌠but I have been thinking about it a lot, and I want to, weâre at that age-â You break out into a nervous ramble before he cuts you off.
âIâve thought about it too. I thought it should be something that we shouldâŚyou know⌠talk about.â Mingyu says.
âI donât want to put any pressure on you, or I guess, on us.â You continue. âI know weâre not married officially yet, and our wedding isnât until a few more months, but I donât know, I think I want to.âÂ
Mingyu turns to you, smiling ear to ear in the adorable happy puppy way he typically does when heâs over the top excited about something. âI know, me too.â
âDoes this mean⌠weâre trying?â You canât even hide your smile, your cheeks hurt as you attempt to be the least bit nonchalant.
âYeah⌠fuck⌠câmere.â Mingyu pulls you closer to him, kissing you fervently.
You pull back, releasing his grip from your waist.
âHey, after dinner,â You smirk, giggling at his eagerness. âYouâre gonna burn your garlic.â
âMingyu⌠I canât, fuck-â You whine, your face nearly buried into the pillow underneath you.
âYeah you can babyâŚâ Mingyu grunts, his hand slides up your back to push you down even more. âTaking it all like a good girlâŚâ
You nearly collapse as you can barely hold yourself up anymore, and youâre being pushed forward almost to the headboard from the force of him behind you.
âIâm gonna come, âgyu.â You cry, your hand trailing down to rub tight circles on your clit, making your thighs tremble as you push yourself closer to the edge.Â
âGo on babyâŚâ Mingyu groans, feeling you get tighter around him. âCum all over my cock like a good girl.â
You cry his name again as he pushes you over the edge, white-knuckling the sheets as he keeps thrusting inside you, almost even harder.
âFuckâŚâ  He groans as he slows down, stilling before he comes inside you.
He pulls out, watching himself drip out of you briefly as he curses under his breath, before he pushes it back inside you with two fingers, making you whine.
âSorry, babyâŚâ Mingyu sweetly apologizes.
You flip over on your back, pulling him down to kiss him.
âI wanna go againâŚâ You say against his lips, pushing his sweaty long hair back.
âReally?â He asks sweetly, leaning down to kiss your neck a few times. âWasnât too much?â
âNeverâŚâ
Truth, dare, spin bottles, You know how to ball, I know Aristotle Brand new, full-throttle, Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto...
The next few weeks were just the usual. Going into work during the day, shopping for the wedding with your sister, ⌠Mingyu practically never leaving you alone, but that you wouldnât complain about.
âWhat kind of flowers are you guys doing?â Your sister asks you. The two of you made plans to get coffee, and you guys typically talked about whatever. She always voiced her opinion on your life whether it was boyfriends, career moves, and now: your wedding.
âWhite lilies; one of my favorites. Mingyu said I could just pick what I wanted, heâs happy with whatever I choose.â You say.
âThatâs sweet,â She smiles, stirring her matcha latte. âEven though, he probably doesnât care.â She chuckles.
âYouâre probably right, I think he has other things on his mind other than flowers.â You laugh, only you know what you mean by that.Â
You never told her the both of you had been trying to have a baby.
âIâve always liked him, though, you know that.â She smiles. âIf thereâs anybody you marry and spend forever with, i'm glad itâs him. Heâs just right for you.â
You smile, glancing down as your gaze flickers on your sparkling engagement ring under the coffee shop lights.
Youâre definitely glad itâs him.
âDo you mind if we go into the grocery store down the street? I need to just run in and get a few things.â She asks you.
You nod. âYeah, thatâs fine. I could probably use a few things too.âÂ
âHow do you know if a watermelon is a really good one?â She asks you, as the fruit by the entrance catches her eye.
âYouâre asking me?â You laugh. âI have no idea, I have heard though if theyâre a dark green, itâs too watery.â
âYou were always good at picking them, I know Mom used to always say that.â She replies. âMaybe I wonât get one, are they even in season?â
âProbably not, itâs November. Anyway, what did you need here?â You say, grabbing a hand basket for yourself.
âJust usual stuff, yogurt⌠eggs, oat milk, some strawberries⌠whatever else I find that I think i need.â She says, placing strawberries and avocados in her cart. Already straying from the list.Â
You follow her, bagging up some apples, cucumbers, and brussel sprouts into your basket.Â
Youâre both wandering down the ice cream aisle, as youâre grabbing whatever pint of peanut butter ice cream you can find, when your sister speaks up.
âOh! Letâs go to the hygiene section, I need to get some tampons. That time of the month soon.â
You pause, ice cream in hand, suddenly racking your brain trying to remember when the last time your period was. A few weeks ago? Last month? Were you supposed to get it? Were you late?
âY/nâŚ? Whatâs wrong? Everything okay?â She asks, seemingly able to read your inner monologue going on in your head.Â
âY-yeahâŚâ You reply, placing the ice cream in your basket, all while your heart is still racing. Was it joy? Nervousness? âItâs just⌠I canât remember the last time I had my periodâŚâ
I'm watching American Pie with you on a Saturday night Your friends are around, so be quiet, I'm trying to stifle my sighs 'Cause I feel so high school, Every time I look at you...
âI feel bad doing this without him,â You say, staring down at the two blinking pregnancy tests on the counter. âMingyu should be hereâŚâ
âHeâll be home from work soon wonât he? Youâll tell him then. Câmon, heâll understand, practically sister code for me to be the first one to know.â She replies, checking the time on her phone.Â
Itâs true, you both always did tell each other everything before you told anybody else.Â
âItâs almost time.â
âI canât look.â You anxiously turn away. âItâs killing me.â
âHow did this happen?â She asks. âI mean⌠not to be noseyâŚ.â
âWell we talked about it, and weâve been kinda⌠sorta, trying to get pregnant.âÂ
âWhat?! How come you didnât tell me you were?â She exclaims, playfully shoving you.
âWe decided to about a little over a month ago. We talked about it, we decided it was something we both wanted,â You start, just as her phone timer goes off, you quickly turn around from the counter. âOh my god, oh my god, I canât look.â
âIâll do it first,â She says, shoving her way in front of you. âOh my god⌠y/nâŚâ You can hear the excitement and smile in her voice.
You turn around, facing the two tests.
You see it, âpregnantâ, displayed clearly on both.
âOh my god, I donât,â You almost stutter, lost for words. âI- I donât know what to say.â
âGood news?â She asks.
âYeah, yeah, of course.â You smile, suddenly becoming teary, feeling a bunch of emotions at once. Excitement. Nervousness.  âI just- fuck⌠I wish Mingyu was here. I didnât want to find out like this.â
âRelax, youâll tell him later,â She laughs. âEspecially âcause I know you wonât be able to keep this from him long.â
âNo, youâre absolutely right. Thereâs no way Iâm holding it in.â
And in a blink of a crinkling eye I'm sinking, our fingers entwined Cheeks pink in the twinkling lights Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me...
You spend the evening trying to decide elaborate ways that youâll tell him.Â
Putting a test in a gift bag as a present? Corny.
Hiding it somewhere and letting him find it? Too lame.
You decided to literally just come right out and tell him, especially because you didnât want to figure out some cliche way of getting it out.
Mingyu comes home from work, greeting you as he walks in the door, adorably kissing your forehead as he wraps his arms around you, perfectly engulfing you.
âHow was your day, honey?â He sweetly asks you, genuinely curious as heâs awaiting your answer.Â
âIt was good actually, I had coffee with my sister, then we went to the grocery store, doesnât sound like much but we had fun.â You lean up and kiss his lips, smiling.
âBut itâs better now that youâre here.âÂ
Mingyu smiles, kissing you again.
âIâm going to get changed really quick, okay?â Mingyu says.
You jokingly pout. âAw, but you look so nice in your slacks and button up shirt⌠at least let me savor it.â You reach up, undoing a few buttons on his shirt.
âEnjoying this?â Mingyu chuckles.
âYes, very.â You smile.
âWell I was gonna ask you, if you wanted to, Wonwoo and Seungcheol asked if we wanted to go out and get dinner with them, and hang out maybe get some drinks.â He continues, before he starts walking off to your shared bedroom to change, as you follow him. âWonwoo asked me before I left the office.âÂ
âI donât know⌠maybe?â You reply, hesitating a bit.
Meanwhile your mind works a mile a minute trying to think of how to break this news of yours to him.
âIt wouldnât be until a little later, if thatâs better. No rush.â Mingyu says, nonchalantly unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off. What a distraction.Â
He slips on a white t-shirt , and gray sweatpants; his usual after work attire. Suddenly you wonder if whatever you have to tell him is really that important anyway, and you immediately consider just saying âforget itâ and fucking him right here in the early hours of the evening. Whatâd be the big deal? You were already pregnant, anyways.
No! You quickly shake that thought from your mind, refocusing.
âGyu,â You start, getting his full attention. âThereâs something⌠I have to tell you something.â
âWhat?âÂ
âIâm not even really sure how to tell you, um hang on,â You continue, leaving the room quickly to retrieve one of the pregnancy tests youâd left in the bathroom.Â
You come back, very obviously holding something behind your back.
âI guess I should say I kind of have a surprise to tell you.â
âWhat? What?â Mingyu asks, eager already by the way youâre already smirking, unable to contain yourself.
âItâs, um, thisâŚâ You start, pulling the test from behind your back. âI didnât know how to tell you, I was gonna plan something but I couldnât wait.â You laugh, smiling ear to ear.
Mingyu takes it from you, seemingly uncaring, or forgetting, that you literally peed on the thing. His mouth drops opened, in awe.
âOh my godâŚâ He speaks, beaming. âWhen did you find out?âÂ
âToday, actually.â You say. âI wound up taking a test, and⌠yeah.âÂ
You sigh. âI feel so weird about it, I know I was expecting it but I feel so excited and nervous at the same time.â
You glance up at Mingyu, and you see him still examining the test in his hand.
âAre you okay?â
âYeah, yeah,â Mingyu nods, his eyes meeting yours and you see heâs now smiling. âIâm just⌠happy, surprised..â
âI mean, cmon, what were we really expectingâŚâ You joke, blushing.
âYou know what I mean, itâs still crazy to me.â Mingyu comes closer to you, kissing you.Â
âYeah, it sure isâŚâ You smile up at him.Â
âItâs okay, honey,â Mingyu reassures you, speaking softly. âJust get it outâŚâ
Mingyu kneels behind you on the cold tile floor, holding your hair back as youâre hanging your head over the toilet as your stomach empties its contents.
âThere you goâŚâÂ
You wonder how he can even stand to be in the bathroom with you, if the roles were reversed, youâd be outside the door nearly gagging.
âAre you okay?â Mingyu asks, helping you sit up, as he wraps his arms around you to keep you steady.Â
You slowly nod as you flush, still feeling a touch of nausea. âYeah, can you just- just stay here for a little bit.âÂ
Mingyu sits on the tile floor as he leans against the bathtub, and he guides you back to sit in front of him.
You lean back into him, and he leans down and kisses your shoulder. You catch a glance at his watch on his wrist even in the dim light of the very early morning.
âOh my god, Gyu, is it really 5am?â You groggily ask, feeling sorry. âYou have to work in the morning, donât you?â
âShh, itâs okay, itâs not a big deal.â Mingyu reassures you. âI can always go in a little later, I wanna make sure youâre okay.âÂ
ââŚI think Iâm good now,â You say, starting to stand up slowly, as Mingyu helps you all the way. ââŚYou know, I have heard that the more nauseas you are, it probably means youâre having a girl. And if you have none at all, itâs probably a boy.â
Mingyu chuckles, âWhere do you come up with this? Is that even a thing?âÂ
âThe internet⌠you know, social media. Everythingâs on there.â You protest.
âYouâre delirious,â Mingyu playfully rolls his eyes. âCmon, letâs go back to bed.â
âGyu, we have to leave in like an hour,â You say, as youâre getting ready in the bathroom, finishing up your final touches on your hair. âI donât want to be late for dinner at my parents house.â
Mingyu stands in the doorway now, âThis okay?â He shows off a navy blue polo shirt and black jeans.Â
âYeah, honey, you look nice.â You smile. âBesides, you could wear anything around her, she adores you anyways.âÂ
It was true. Your mother would always be calling Mingyu to help around the house when your Father was away on a business trip. She needed help fixing something? Sheâd call Mingyu. She needs help building a side table? You bet sheâs calling Mingyu. His height was also a bonus, being able to reach things stored higher up.
Mingyu smiles at you adoringly, as his eyes trail down your body.
âWhat?â You ask when you notice him.
âYouâre starting to show a little,â He smiles. âYou look cute.â
You giggle, placing your hands on your stomach. âYeah I know, she wants to be seen now, sheâs done hiding.âÂ
âWell, are my girls ready to go?â Mingyu smiles, kissing you.Â
âYeah,â You giggle, smiling as you kiss him again. âLetâs go.âÂ
It's true, swear, scouts honor You knew what you wanted and boy, you got her.
tags: @jenoslutie @wonuwrites @aaniag @cosmojinyoung
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Rafe was so hot this season. Need more of him plsss Can you do Topper sister reader getting caught touching herself and then they start sexting and she ask him to fuck her? reader is 18, of course!
I have a few more Rafe requests in the work. Please keep them coming, I miss this man (and JJ!!)
Warnings: 18+, smut, brotherâs best friend, sexting, daddy kink, protected p + v,Â
â
Rafe never bought your sweet and innocent bullshit you put up in front of people. He knew that under your appearance, under the preppy clothes, the big doe eyes and the angelic laugh, you were anything but innocent.Â
Him and Topper have been friends for over ten years, and have been hanging out almost everyday. He watched you grow two feet taller, and when your little girl body turned into a womanâs. He saw you. He studied you.Â
It wasnât until that afternoon the boys came back from the golf course that Rafe had his confirmation. Topper told him to use your bathroom since the main one was being reconstructed, thinking you werenât home, but when Rafe walked into your room, he saw you naked on your bed, humping your pillow. It wasnât just any pillow. It was the one with the face on it â a pillow pet, you had called it. The nose of the turtle was rubbing perfectly on your clit, drawing out the softest whimpers and mewls.Â
He watched for a few seconds in silence as you rocked down on the pillow back and forth, a smirk curling on his lips.Â
ââHaving fun here?ââ he said in a teasing tone, snapping you out of your bubble.
ââWhat the fuâââ You turned around, startled, and saw Rafe standing in your doorway. ââRafe! What are you doing in my room?ââÂ
ââJust needed the bathroom,ââ he explained. His eyes trailed down your body, seeing it for the first time. ââDidnât know you were busy.ââ
You threw a plushie at him, hitting him square in the chest. ââGet out!ââÂ
Rafe laughed and obeyed, closing the door behind him. ââIf you want to do some naughty things and not get caught, you should lock the door.ââÂ
ŕ¨ŕ§Ëâşâ§âËâĄËââ§âşËŕ¨ŕ§
Since that afternoon, Rafe couldn't help but shift his eyes to you whenever you were around. Now that he knew what was underneath the skirts and girls tops, his imagination had free rein. He was careful, though, making sure your brother never caught on âTopper would kill him if he knew the things he was thinking about you. He made it crystal clear to Rafe and Kelce: you were off-limits.
You didnât care about your brotherâs rule though. Rafe was your brotherâs hot best friend. Every girl in Kildare was begging to get in his pants â and now you got it too. But it didnât cross your mind until the other day when he walked in your room. Maybe it was because youâd always known him, seen him as a kind of second big brother. But now? That image had changed, and there was no going back.
One evening, Rafe was hanging in his bedroom, ready to go out with nowhere to go since Kelce had bailed on him for a Tinder hook up. The asshole. Rafe was annoyed, but there was nothing he could say to make Kelce choose beers over sex. To be fair, He would choose sex too. Â
He had texted Topper, but he was at Ruthieâs, which meant Rafe was completely on his own tonight. Heâll probably smoke a bit of weed and watch some porn later, a cozy evening. But Wheezie was still home and Rafe promised her he had quit smoking.Â
As he waited, his phone buzzed on his bed where he left it. Rafe picked it up, confused when he had received a picture from an unknown number. It was a faceless girl in a delicate sheer pink cami, and her tits looked fantastic. He frowned as he typed âwhoâs that?â. Must be a mistake.
A reply came five seconds later.
You: You donât recognize my tits Rafey?
Instantly, he knew it was you. It was a nickname you gave him when you were younger. No one but you called him that â Rafey.Â
Rafe: How did you get my number?
You: Stole it from Topâs phone đ¤
Rafe: Naughty girlÂ
You: Did you like it?
Rafe: Like what?
You: My pic! đ¸
You: [picture attached]
It wasnât the same picture. Not exactly. This time, your sheer cami was pulled up and your tits were completely out.Â
Rafe cursed and ran a hand through his hair. How did that happen? It was clear that you sent this picture with the intention of initiating something with him. But why was this happening now? What made you go and send him a picture of your tits tonight? You never flirted with him before, or showed signals that you were interested.Â
He reached down to rub himself over his pants as he typed a reply.Â
Rafe: Fuck those are nice đĽľÂ
You: Theyâre coldâŚđ§âď¸ Can you come warm them up?Â
Rafe had to do a double take when he read your message to make sure he hadnât misread it. Can you come warm them up? It was right there on his phone screen. He looked down at his pants, tented and tight, and groaned. He wasn't sure if he should go through with this or not. Did he want to go to you? Absolutely. Should he break his best friendâs trust for a good fuck?Â
Rafe: As long as you warm me up too.Â
He sent a picture of his tented pants, which he was incredibly hard under.
You: Waiting for you đÂ
 ŕ¨ŕ§Ëâşâ§âËâĄËââ§âşËŕ¨ŕ§
When he arrived, Rafe turned off the truckâs headlights and made sure the neighbors didn't see him. The lady that lived in front of the Thornton house was a country club member and loved to spread gossip around. It wasnât unusual for him to be at the Thorntonâs, but Topperâs truck was not in the driveway.Â
The last thing he needed was her spying through her curtains.Â
You were sitting on your bed in a pair of panties your mom didnât know you owned and your pink cami, waiting for Rafe to show up. Tannyhill was seven minutes away, he shouldnât be long.
ââHi, Rafey,ââ you greeted with the most innocent smile and doe eyes.
Rafe shook his head, tsking. ââUh, uh. Donât play that game with me.ââÂ
Your lips curled into a smile. ''Took you long.''
He rolled his eyes. ââWhatâs the hurry? Are your parents coming home soon?ââÂ
You shook your head. ââIâm just so fucking horny.ââÂ
Rafe laughed out loud. He never heard you speak like that, so raunchy and bold.Â
You stood on your knees and lifted your cami off, leaving you topless. Your nipples were peaked and pretty, as if greeting Rafe. ''Are you gonna come and warm them up?''Â Â
No need to ask twice. Rafe pulled you onto his lap and put his large hands on you, groping and playing with your tits. His calloused fingers kneaded into the soft flesh expertly. He found your hardened nipples, pinching and rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers, causing you to whimper at the sensation.Â
ââYou like when I give your tits attention, uh?ââ he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.
You nodded, shifting so your needy cunt would come in contact with Rafeâs rock hard erection. He noticed what you were trying to do, and a smirk played on his lips before he attached them to your neck.Â
ââCan't get enough?ââ Rafe asked between kisses. ââDidnât know you were such a needy little thing.ââ His hips rocked up into yours, grinding his thick cock against your clothed cunt.Â
The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, making you whimper and cling to his shoulders. ââRafe.ââÂ
ââI'm going to fuck this sweet cunt until you can't walk straight,ââ he promised darkly, nipping over the sensitive spot where your pulse raced, making you gasp and arch into him.Â
Youâve thought a lot about Rafe touching you these past days. You knew from overheard conversations with the boys â and talks around the island â and that he was experienced, that he knew how to please a girl. He had a reputation. And goddamn he didnât disappoint.Â
One of his hands left your breasts to slide down your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties to rub over your folds...which were slick with arousal. Rafe groaned. ''Fuck, you're already soaked.'' He rubbed slow circles over your clit, feeling how swollen it had gotten. ''Did you grind on that turtle of yours before I arrived? Turtles are an endangered species or some shit, canât torture them like that.ââÂ
A laugh bubbled out. ââRafeâŚââÂ
ââWhat?ââÂ
ââDonât want you to make me laugh. Want you to fuck me,ââ you said, looking right into his blue eyes.Â
Rafe raised an eyebrow, holding your gaze. ââYou want my cock, babygirl? Want me to fill this pussy up real good?ââ His fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance before pushing inside.Â
Your walls clenched around him.Â
ââRafeâŚââ you whined again.Â
ââOkay, okay.ââ He kissed your jawline sweetly, then removed his hand from your panties and swiftly stripped them down your legs. ââMight keep these as a keepsake,ââ he joked, holding your lacy thong. Â
If you hadnât been so horny, you would have argued with him to get it back â you didnât have many and you really liked this pair â, but all you could think about was the beast in Rafeâs pants pounding into you and making you scream. He could get you on your fours like a dog or fold you like a little pretzel if he wished.Â
You just needed him.
You reached for his belt and worked to unbuckle it, but Rafe pushed you back and told you to bend over your vanity. His request surprised you, but you complied. The cool air on your wet cunt made you shiver. You never tried that position before.Â
You could hear the sound of Rafe undressing â the rustling of fabric, the undoing of a zipper and the clinking of his belt buckle on the floor. You wanted to look at him â at his cock, more precisely â, but he was already behind you, a hand on your back, making you lean down lower, and nudged your legs further apart.Â
The air leaked out of your lungs in a squeaky rush when he pressed the tip, gently tearing through your tight walls. The sensation had you gripping the edge of your vanity.Â
ââYou okay, baby?ââ he asked with genuine concern in his voice.Â
You nodded. ââY-yeah.ââÂ
Once the first uncomfortable thrusts passed, you forgot about the initial pain and felt the pleasure flow through your body. Rafe gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging into your soft skin as he picked up pace. The vanity creaked, a rhythmic beat that matched your increasingly frantic movements.
Your tightness enveloped him like a vice as he pounded into you mercilessly. Christ, you felt incredible. Each deep stroke dragged a gasp from your lips, and he reveled in the sounds of pleasure you made.
''You feel so fucking good, baby,'' he grunted, gripping your hips and digging his fingers into your soft flesh. ''Is this what you wanted when you stole my number through Topper's phone? For me to fuck your tight cunt?''Â
Tears were pricking your eyes, your mouth hanging open while wanton sounds kept spilling out. ''Yes, Daddy!'' you uttered out.
The word slipped without noticing, sending a jolt straight to Rafeâs cock, making him throb inside you. ââThat's it, baby,ââ he growled, even more turned on. ââLet Daddy know how much you love being fucked.ââ
He pistoned into you harder, the force causing your breasts to bounce with each thrust. The obscene slapping of skin against skin echoed through the room, adding to the soundtrack of your other sounds. It looked like a scene straight from a spicy booktok romance.
Rafe brought a hand around your neck, forcing you to look up. âLook at yourself.â
You lifted your eyes to the reflection in the mirror. It was a view that was erotic. Seeing yourself nude and flushed along with him, and feeling it at the same time was nearly mesmerizing. The look on your face was hazy, strained, and blissful, eyes half-lidded and lips parted. You locked eyes with Rafe through the mirror, and he kissed below your ear.
Behind you, sweat was sticking to Rafeâs smooth chest, but he didn't slow down. He must have really good stamina. You locked eyes with him through the mirror, and he kissed below your ear.Â
ââAre we putting on a good show?ââ he asked, his voice hoarse and low. His words made your cunt clench around Rafe like a vice. He threw his head back with a groan, his whole body tightening. ''Fuck, you're gonna cut my blood flow if you keep squeezing me like that.''
You wanted to stop, but you couldnât. You had lost all control of your body, gasping and clenching and rutting hard against Rafe until you came with a drawn-out moan. You shivered through your orgasm and Rafe's steady thrusts.Â
When he started to shake, you swallowed hard and found your voice. ââCome on, Rafey. Fill me up. Cum deep in my pussy, Daddy!ââÂ
That pushed him over the edge, his whole body spasming, cock forced all the way in and filling up the condom. Your chest heaving, trying to catch a breath as he rode out the high, grunts and groans leaving his lips.Â
You've never heard anything sexier.Â
When he was finished, Rafe pulled out and stepped back, leaving alone on your wobbly legs. You started to lose balance, and quickly grabbed the vanity's edge.
ââShit, you good?ââ Rafe asked, his tone hovering between concern and smug satisfaction.
You gave a small nod. You just needed to sit.Â
His eyes scanned slowly down your body. ''Fucked you that good, uh?'' he said with a smirk, teasing.Â
You shot him a playful glare, going to sit on your bed. ââFuck you, Cameron.ââÂ
Rafe laughed as he removed and tossed the condom in your trash. ââJust did, Princess.ââÂ
God. Could he be more exasperating?
He checked on the way back, reading something that made him frown. ââEh, I gotta go.ââ
ââNow?! We just fucked.ââÂ
Although this was a casual fuck and that itâs usually how it ends, you didnât want him to leave right after. You didnât expect him to cuddle, but you had hoped he would stay a little. To talk or watch something on Netflix.Â
Rafe dressed quickly, explaining that Wheezie needed to drive her to her friendâs house because Roseâs car was not starting.Â
Before exiting your room, he called your name. ââYou sound so pretty when you cum.''
Your cheeks flushed and you hid your face with a pillow. ''Rafe...''Â
The corners of his lips curved into a smug smile. He wasnât done. ââOh, and I liked when you called me Daddy. It's hot.''
â
OBX taglist: @moralina@eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx@sweeterheartxamerica @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife  @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue  @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker  @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage  @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy @slytherhoes @kcskye123 @outerbanksacc  @pedrosprincess  @mikaelsonsstuff @skyesthebomb  @a1mzcruml3y @iluurmom  @popeheywardssecretgf @madelynie @loverofdrewstarkey  @radiant-whore @outsider-at-hogwarts @luci1fer @bbycowboi @rafecameronsbadussy @urbfsbitchlol @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @Veescorneroftheworld  @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @johannelis2302nely @lynbubble  @straberryshortcake143 @beth-gallagher22 @doestalker @rubyliquor @theflcwer @angelxxrose @sierraluvzz @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @sunnysunny133696 @under-seasoned-pasta @hoeforsirius  @buckyswhxre @emerald-09  @simonessolarsystem @rehead1180 @stvrkey  @ynmunson @riddle18 @love4ldr @withfireandbl00d @wonderland2425 @blublock404 @eddieslut69
#rafe cameron x reader#rafe obx#rafe cameron#outerbanks rafe#rafe x reader#rafe outer banks#outer banks#rafe fanfiction
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Hello sweet toxic! May I pretty please have an age gap fic or drabble with game version of Jackson Joel ( my favorite long and grey haired man )!
Maybe something where in the beginning Joel comes off as shy and nervous and sweet but once he and reader get together heâs got the nastiest fucking mouth sheâs ever heard once heâs confident that she likes him as a love interest
parts
JOEL x f!READER | 1.8k
"He scanned you head to toe, then let out an alright fine sigh. 'Tonight, ya can leave any time. Yaâainât mine yet, so ya donât gotta do anything I say...'"
NOTES: Hi sweet nonnie â¤ď¸ I watched some tlou 2 gameplay for this, so I hope it helped. idk if I met the "love" interest part but she makes her interest known. Joel is quiet, then dom / dirty
WARNINGS: 18+ Age gap (Joel 60s/reader 20s-40s), objectification of reader, slutty descriptions of men as usual. Joel calls her "honey" and one time, "little girl" (condescending). Beginnings of D/s dynamic, no arrangement, no consummation. Joel holds out, a little grumpy/mean. talk of being owned. degradation, praise, body/pussy inspection.
He stood like a man who no one could bother. Stone cold and solid, with a face that always meant business. His clothes were rugged and worn-in like a cowboy, and the obscenity of his tight jeans left nothing to the imagination, from the back or the front.
The first time you became aware of him, it was from behind, and you did a double take. He ran a hand down the back of his head, smoothing his shoulder-length mane with his other hands on his hip. He was talking to Tommy, and when you heard his voice, the twang put you at ease. He sounded like a nice guy, nicer than he looked.
Your first time at the mess hall, he was kind enough to show you around. You took that as a go-ahead to follow him around anywhere. You began to watch him around Jackson. Not exactly stalking him, but you didn't have anyone else to latch onto. You learned where he went, and you happened to go there too. You were full of questions about how things worked. He always took it seriously. He was a good teacher and didnât seem interested in anything but helping you when you wanted help.
He taught you how to ride a horseâhe must not have noticed you arrived on one. Your loins buzzed as he demonstrated how to sit. His big hands on the reins and the horn were enough to make you wet, but the bulge of his jeans and the way it shifted as he started off at a slow walk. âNow look close, okay? See how I hold it?â You were looking very close.
He taught you how to shoot. Stood behind you and you never felt more safe than holding a pistol with his arms around yours, his chest against your back.
âAttagirl,â he said when you shot the glass bottle target. âLook at that,â he marveled.
To be fair, you werenât (just) trying to get him in bed. You had lost your traveling party and you joined another one but you felt like the odd one out. It never felt like you had someone to look out for you, specifically you. You hadnât felt the affection or encouragement of a big, capable man in a long time.
Still, there was no denying you had a crush on him. It felt like a shock that he didnât have women following him around in droves, until you got to know him and found out he was pretty shy. He didnt't seem to have much interest in anything but practicalities and survival. He was sweet, but never crossed a line.
Even when you started crossing some yourself. He took you on an errand one day, and he was buckling in your seatbelt, and you stopped is hand. You put his hand on your thigh, and watched his face. He kept the same, composed expression, but he couldnât hide the blush that rose to his cheeks. He left his hand there on your thigh for a moment, then pulled away without acknowledging your move. The time it took him to move his hand made you think he liked it there. It was as though he didnât want to take it the wrong way, wasn't sure your intentions. He cleared his throat, finished buckling you in, and ran his hand over his smooth, gray hair. It was always so well-kept. You had to wonder what itâd look like first thing in the morning,
One night, at the tipsy bison, you came in by yourself in a short dress. He looked you up and down and gave you a curious look, but didnât acknowledge you. He was talking to Tommy. Tommy craned his neck to get a look, raised his eyebrows, and gave you a nod before grinning at his brother and resuming their conversation. Tommy was hot, too, but he was taken. Otherwise youâd love to see him in nothing but that ponytail. You sat at the other end of the bar and Joel tried not to look at you, but Tommy gave you a wink.
Another night, you showed up to the mess hall too late for dinner, and he was on his way out. He lived close enough and offered to make you something at his place, no problem.
When you came inside, you took off your boots, he took your coat, and when he finished hanging it up, he looked back to see you in a thin, low cut shirt and no bra. His mouth hung open and you gave him a flirtatious smile, as though to say, what?
âYaâainât cold, are ya?â He asked with a pink hue creeping up his neck. He rubbed his beard.
âNo, are you?â You asked.
âNo,â he muttered, then composed himself and went to the kitchen alone.
When he came to serve dinner, your eyes were on his jeans. The heft of his manhood was always apparent, but there seemed to have been some growth in the time since youâd been at his house. You leaned over the table as you ate your meal, and he tried to keep his eyes off your chest. It was a small, round table, and there wasnât much of anywhere else to look. He looked at his meal as he ate. You looked at his forearms.
After he finished eating, he dabbed each corner of his mouth with his napkin, folded it, dabbed his beard, and cleared his throat. Meanwhile, your foot nudged his ankle. His face darkened. Your foot moved up his pants, and reached the seat of his chair. He didnât bat your foot away, but he didnât look at you until your foot slid right up his thigh and gently nudged the hard bulge in his jeans.
His strong chest heaved, and he didnât make a move, but his face was reddening as he cleaned his hands with the same napkin.
He looked up as he finished wiping his hands. âThink Iâm your plaything, little girl?â He harshly smacked the cloth napkin down on the table, then his strong hand wrapped around your entire foot in his lap. His eyes darkened with a forward tilt of his head, and his voice took on an edge. âOr you tryinâ to be mine?â
You rubbed your lips together and looked at him fondly. He raised his eyebrow to prod for a response.
âWanna be yours,â you answered matter-of-factly.
âYou dunno what you want, girl.â He pushed your foot away, then adjusted himself.
When he stood up to take the dirty dishes, the silhouette in his jeans made you throb. He did the dishes, and when he was finished, he opened a beer.
He walked through the dining area on his way to the living room. âStill here,â he muttered, but didnât stop to talk. He sat down on the sofa and turned on the radio, not inviting you to join him.
You joined him anyway.
You sat on the sofa, not too close, with your hands folded in your lap.
âYou wanna know what it means to be mine?â Joel asked.
âYes, please,â you answered.
âIt means I own you,â he said.
âOkay,â you agreed. âIâm yours.â
He looked at you skeptically. "Iâainât agreed to own ya yet,â he clarified. "Ain't just something ya do. Takes work from both'a us."
"of course," you acknowledged.
âGotta know itâs somethinâ ya really want, and if it is, weâll agree on some rules, safe words and shit.â
âOkay,â you agreed excitedly.
He scanned you head to toe, then let out an alright fine sigh. âTonight, ya can leave any time. Yaâainât mine yet, so ya donât gotta do anything I say, okay?â
You nodded.
âBut later on if ya *are* mine, you do what I say, when I say it.â
He was so serious and official about this, it sounded like he was briefing his men for some kind of operation.
âOkayâ you agreed.
"so what's it mean to be mine?" He asked.
you shrugged. "You do what you want with me."
He nodded hesitantly.
âIt means I take care'a ya, protect ya, and I own your body. it ainât yours anymore,â he looked you up and down. âItâs mine,â he stated emphatically. â*if* I decide I want it.â
âWhy wouldnât you?â You asked.
He blew out air through puffed cheeks as if there was a long list.
âAinât got patience for brats.â
âI can be good,â you promised.
âAinât got patience for tears either. Too distracting out here, still gotta focus on survivin'.'
You tried not to show your worry.
âAinât sure ya can handle it,â he admitted
"Ainât lookin to break in some tight little pussy while she cries and bleeds, either.â he cocked an eyebrow at you, and grabbed the massive protrusion in his jeans. âThis ainât no joke, honey. I donât wanna hurt ya.â
âIâm not a virgin,â you insisted.
âYeah? Well ya better fit four fingers 'fore ya 'spect me to try it."
âAnd I promise Iâll do what you say.â
Joel sighed. âAlright, take your clothes off.." He held up his hands to acknowledge your freedom "OR leave, and weâll forget this ever happenedâ
You obediently stripped.
He took sips of his beer as he watched your body emerge from your clothes. âAlright,â he nodded. âGood girl.â
Once you were bare naked, he instructed you to turn around. You did just as he asked.
âGod damn,â he whispered. âNow, câmere.â
With him manspreading on the sofa, he made you stand between his knees and bend over.
âSpread your pussy for me,â he demanded.
You hesitated.
âDonât have to,â he reminded you.
You reached back and tried to do it with one hand, one finger on each side of the lips. âLike this?â
âBoth hands, darlinâ. â
You spread your pussy lips for him with both hands.
âGood girl,â he said. âWide as ya can. Wanna see your parts if theyâre gonna be mine.â
You pulled wider
He let out a low whistle. âJuicy little thing. Sure would like to use it...But Iâm thinkinâ it might not fit, honey.â
âWhy donât you try it?â You asked.
You turned around and tried to straddle him. He visibly tensed. You reached for the bulge in his jeans.
He snatched your wrist to stop you. âYou donât get to touch me without askinâ,â he admonished you. âNotice I didnât touch you that whole time?â
Your face heated in shame, and his hand loosened. You got off of him.
âThatâs enough for tonight,â he said. âIâll think about it.â
âYouâll think about it? â
âIâll think about it.â
Your eyes were tearing up.
âYa did good, honey, itâs okay,â he promised. He picked up your clothes and helped dress you. âJust ainât the kinda choice ya make on the fly. You gotta think about it too, okay?â
You finished getting dressed and nodded.
âIâll think about it too,â you agreed.
âGood girl,â he answered, rose to his feet, and gave you a kiss on the forehead. Then he got your coat and opened the door. As you began to leave, he stopped you, âHey,â he lowered his voice. âYa got a beautiful body. Anyoneâd be lucky to own it.â
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Thank you for reading đ¤đ¤
#joel miller smut#cw age gap#d/s dynamic#cw objectification#toxicanonymity â ď¸#pixel joel#game joel x reader#joel miller x reader#tlou fanfiction
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winners love winning - alexia putellas
Warnings: suggestive smut MDNI 18+
Wordcount: ~1.1k
__________________________________________
You had been a barca fan as long as you could remember, being mesmerised by the likes of Iniesta and Xavi quickly turned into being a big fan of Vicky Losada and Mariona Caldentey. So when they came knocking on your door, it was an offer you simply couldn't refuse. You settled in easily, barcelona had always been your number one holiday destination and you were quickly growing fond of the team. However you liked your captain a little more than you probably should. The two of you met during an international game, swapping shirts after you lost the game, it made the loss a little easier to take. And now, she was shining for barca, playing like she always used to. She had a certain charm and youâd be flat-out lying if you said you werenât attracted to her.
"We're going out tonight at Razzmatazz right?" You asked, as you were trying on another top. You were at Claudia's apartment with Patri and Cata, getting yourselfs ready before meeting the rest at the club. "Yes we are and your girlfriend ale, is also tagging along this time, please try to not to stare as much this time" Patri said, rolling your eyes at her comment. She teased you endlessly ever since she found about your thing for the captain. You were trying to show her a meme you saved in your tiktok favourites, but instead an edit of alexia popped up on your screen. "She's not my girlfriend, asshole" you responded whilst taking another shot. Pre-drinks at Claudia's were the usual every time you went out, it was their, and now also your way of getting ready. "We all know you wish she was" Cata mumbled, leaving you speechless looking redder than a tomato. They were planning on getting wasted and so were you, the already few days of vacation were gonna be spent on having the best time possible. First you were going out, then spending the remaining days on a group holiday, somewhere away from the public eye, preferably in Spain, before all leaving for the international break.
A few drinks in, they decided it was better to walk, the club wasn't that far away after all and some fresh air wouldn't hurt. "Mira, no more okay? SĂŠ que todas son bromas, pero no quiero arruinar la amistad" you said in a half-whisper, holding the door open for the rest to come in. (Look, i know it's all jokes, but i don't want to ruin the friendship) You had been working on your Spanish, not feeling entirely comfortable, but it being good enough to hold proper conversations with your teammates. Unsurprisingly, Alexia was the first one you greeted "Ale! You finally stopped being boring for once!" Earning you a laugh from your captain, if only she knew how much you loved it. She was wearing quite a simple outfit, a top with a blazer and a pair of jeans, yet she still looked otherworldly. Resting your gaze onto her as she spoke to Ingrid and Mapi, your phone pinged:
- Patri: just kiss her already jesus
- me: callate, hdp (shut up, asshole)
You went back to your conversation with your captain, who was also having a conversation about the ballon d'or. It took less than a minute before your phone pinged again:
- Cata: stop eyefucking her pleaseeeee
This time you chose to ignore it, instead you sat down next to Esmee and Kika, who were talking about their holiday plans.
- you were added to "15 Ă 11"
You sighed, alexias and your numbers in the squad, this was in fact gonna go on the whole night.
- Clau: we've got an offer for you
- if you get with her before we leave, we'll pay for your drinks
- Cata: and if you go home with her to play cards ;) we'll also pay for your share of the group holidays
- me: i'll do it. But to make it clear, it's cause i want her, not the money.
I went up to talk to them, before shooting my shot. "I hate you guys", you said. "No you don't." Claudia responded as you walked away. You needed a drink first before you were shooting your shot. "2 shots porfa" planning on giving one to the Catalan woman. As you were giving her the glass you said "Ale, quieres bailar? Cata said you were being boring and "mature" as always, wanna prove her wrong?" This was your one chance and you weren't gonna waste a second. The music was getting louder and you weren't leaving much room for Jesus. "Que guapa eres..." (you're so hot) she breathed out, her hand tracing along your arm. "What did you say?" You asked, playing innocent even though you heard her loud and clear. "Nada, amor, nada." (Nothing, love, nothing) She turned you around, working your back into her, when you felt your phone buzzing again.
- Patri: perrear??? Se te ve la cabeza??? (grinding??? Have you lost your mind???)
âJesus, youâre insaneâ you heard her mutter from behind you. It was just a matter of time before sheâd give in. She pulled you away from the people into a bathroom stall, locking lips before the door even closed, her hands all over you. You kissed her back fiercely, yet letting her take control. As she kept you pinned to the thin bathroom wall, her hands started wandering. However you were snapped back to reality when you heard your phone ring.
- 15x11 is calling (videocall)
Groaning as you looked at your screen, you picked up. âWhat do you guys want this time?â you asked, clearly annoyed your moment got interrupted and trying to show as little of the Catalan woman next to you as possible. âWe thought we lost youâ, it was obvious they had seen you leave with Alexia, âbut given you left with a certain someone, we think youâre all goodâ, they laughed, earning the finger. âamor, weâve got some unfinished business, donât you think?â she smiled against your lips, her hand moving along your spine. âwe really do,â you replied, pressing your lips to hers once more. âMy apartment it isâ, as she moved away to get out of the bathroom. âWeâre leaving guys!â You screamt, looking to see if your friends could hear you, as alexia was saying her goodbyes to the others.
- me: i got the girl, winners love winning
You texted, smiling whilst entering your captain's apartment. Both eager to get back to what you started.
a/n: this is my first time doing this, lmk if you got advice or anything
#barcelona femeni#woso#patri guijarro#cata coll#woso x reader#alexia putellas#alexia putellas x reader#woso imagine#futfem#barca femeni x reader
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Television Relations
ă 2nd part of Television Influence
He sees a familiar face. || Mr. Crawling x GN!Reader
Warnings: spoilers for one of the endings, the reader is an assassin, some mentions of murder
Took inspiration from the members of Homicipher Unofficial (which u should definitely join, btw) (idk if they're ok with shoutouts so I'll just edit it later if they are)
********
SINCE the first day you introduced him to television, you left it on for him every day. It wouldn't do him any harm since he didn't seem to have any eyes, but he could still see bullshit from a mile away.
On one of the days, you checked on him while you tied down your target before he woke up to extract the information your client needed, and all of a sudden, Mr. Crawling blurted out a loud "No!"
You raised your brows in confusion, only to see him smack his hand on the screen lightly. You squinted your eyes, taking a closer look at the screen, and barked out a laugh when you realised he was watching the scene in Titanic where Rose was on a piece of debris salvaged from the ship, while Jack was in the water.
You figured he shouted in frustration. Your laugh awoke your target, though, so you quickly hit him with the blunt of your crowbar on a special part of the head to make him fall asleep again.
That was a normal Sunday for you.
You went back home with another successful mission, jingling your keys and coming home to an expectant Mr. Crawling, happily greeting you once again.
What you didn't expect, however, was that he led you to the living room instead of the kitchen. Normally, he'd take you there to give you a washed, uncut fruit like an apple or grapes, peeking over the table with a smile to see if you liked it. That was his way of trying to feed you since you fed him.
No, that didn't happen. Instead, he took you to the TV and sat you down there.
"Look, look," he pointed at the TV, the language rolling off his ink black tongue. "Friend."
You glanced to the TV and flinchedâwhy the hell were they showing Sadako? That rom-com show was supposed to be on at this time.
"Er, did you switch channels, Mr. Crawling?" You muttered. He didn't respond as you tried to switch off the TV, but it wouldn't work.
"What is?" He pointed at your remote. You pressed at the off button again, but it didn't work. "Uhh, controls thing," you said, pointing at the TV.
"Why?"
"I kill," you heard her say, and you flinched, looking up at the screen, its static getting worse by the second. I never knew they spoke the same language.
Wait.
She's leaving the screen.
You grabbed your crowbar, ready to swing, but Mr. Crawling grabbed your weapon. You yanked it away, the adrenaline causing your hesitance to go away, but you paused once Mr. Crawling leapt to standâsitâbetween you and Sadako.
"Friend! Friend!" he chirped, his voice clearly expressing frantic wobbles.
You lowered your weapon.
"Friend," he said again. He turned around and placed his hands on Sadako's head, then shoved her back in.
"No kill," he said. "Me love they."
"You love they?"
"Love they many."
"They love you?"
.
.
.
"Understand. Farewell."
The static behind the TV disappeared, and Sadako only sat in what looked like an empty room or hallway.
You were about to turn off the TV until you saw a tall, white silhouette walk past the screen.
The humanoid man bent down, and your heart nearly exploded at the sight of your old acquaintance, Mr. Silvair.
"Hello!" You exclaimed. The white-haired man smiled. "Hello," he said. "See you again."
He turned his head to Mr. Crawling and waved. "See you again."
Mr. Crawling only stared with his non-existant eyes.
"I bring this one," he pointed at Sadako and pulled her away from the screen.
The TV went black.
"...you're... friends with Sadako."
Mr. Crawling turned around to look at you with a line on his faceâthe line being his mouth.
You titled your head. "Why upset?"
"They ask. You love me?" He gestured between you and him. He lowered his head, glancing to the side. "You don't say."
You paused before replying, "But I love you. Many."
"But you say to other," he pointed at the black screen. "'Hello'! Fast."
What?
Your confusion was probably obvious since Mr. Crawling continued to explain.
"You don't say when friend ask you love me." His voice only got whinier, and his lips curled downward as he spoke. "You say fast when other came."
"I say hello to friendâ" Oh.
He's saying you didn't say anything when Sadako asked if you loved him, and he's also comparing your response with how you spoke to Mr. Silvair.
You paused, and although a knowing smile crept onto your lips, Mr. Crawling's only began to tremble.
That was what made you stop from teasing.
"No, no," you waved your hands at him, dropping the crowbar to kneel in front of him. You took his head in your hands and messed around with his hair, rubbing back and forth. "I love you many! Love you many!"
He perked up, his adorable grin slowly coming back on his face. "Many?"
You nodded. "Many!"
"Kiss," he said.
He even leaned forward, closer to your face.
"Many kiss," he said.
You sighed.
Maybe introducing him to the TV was a bad idea.
********
HOPE U LIKED THIS :3 kinda rushed bc I'm about to sleep again LMAO so mistakes MIGHT be spotted
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the pests are back in town | chaos fc
summary: someone at arsenal made a rookie error and paired the aussie pest and british menace together for media day and it's the usual chaos like always. pairings: chaos fc reader!monkey x kyra cooney cross x arsenal wfc chaos fc masterlist
âItâs a joke right? Tell me itâs a mistake?â You overhear Steph question as you walk nearer to them and youâre curious to know exactly what theyâre talking about.
Kim sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose, âI donât think so.â
âAlright, Iâm here now the party can begin,â You joke, hobbling through with your foot still in a boot and grinning mischievously when you spot Lia chatting with Kim and Steph, âHi, Wallaby! Did you miss me?â You ask, slinging your arm around the Swiss womanâs shoulder with a slight difficulty of her being taller than you.
âHi little one,â Lia turns to give you a side hug, âHow did the hospital appointment go?â She asks, concerned.
âDocâ is dumb,â You murmur in a low voice, your mood changing instantly at the mention of the appointment you had this morning that didnât go your way like you thought it would.
You were kind of disheartened by your latest hospital appointment, you didnât get the good news that you were expecting after all and you were still going to be sidelined for a while yet, since your ankle fracture still hadnât healed properly yet.
That definitely wasnât made worse by the fall you had when you and Kyra tried and failed to do a TikTok trend, but thatâs a story for a different day.
âHereâs the menace,â Steph jokes, ruffing your hair, âI see you still got the boot on, eh?â
âUnfortunately, I hate it,â You huff while definitely feeling grumpy and deflated about the news, âStupid doc reckons itâs still not healed properly yetâ I just wanna play and I have no chance of it anytime soon, itâs not fair!â
âMaybe you shouldnât have tried that TikTok trend then,â Kim remarks knowingly as she gives you a pointed look youâve been on the receiving end of too many times.
âWhat TikTok trend? I donât know what youâre talkinâ about there, Kimmy,â You play dumb and shrug your shoulders.
âYou know exactly what Iâm talking about,â Kim states while she purses her lips.
Shaking your head, you pull a silly facial expression, âNope, literally have no ideaâ Whatâre you guys lookinâ so⌠Irked about anyways?â You wonder, noting the weary looks the three of them share, âWhatâs going on?â
âItâs gotta be a mistake,â Steph murmurs, staring at the paper with a blank expression on her face, âRight?â
Before you can get a straight answer, Lia jumps into the conversation again, âItâs gotta be.â
âWhat?â You repeat the question, staring at them while still none the wiser.
âNope itâs not,â Beth appears, peering over Kimâs shoulder and confirming what youâre already itching to know.
âOh god,â Steph mutters, shaking her head in disagreement.
You blink, still utterly confused about the topic of conversation they were on about, âWhat⌠What is it?â You exchange looks between all 4 of the older girls, but none of them are giving you anything to work with, âWhatâre you all on about?â
âYou and Kyra,â Lia finally decides to be the one to tell you the good news, âYou pair are together for media day.â She tells you, biting her bottom lip and clearly bracing for impact.
âSeriously?â Your eyes light up in pure glee, âYes! Winner!â You're practically vibrating with excitement, and if it wasnât for your dumb ankle fracture then you would definitely be jumping up and down in joy.
You and Kyra? A dangerous duo on any given day, but todayâ on media dayâ things were about to get even more chaotic.
Steph groans dramatically, âWeâre all doomed.â
âWho made the mistake?â Beth furrows her eyebrows and shakes her head, âThese two together are a nightmareâ The last media day proved it alone!â
âHey! Weâre not that bad,â You insist, huffing in offense.
âYes. You are,â Steph deadpans, âYou and Kyra are the worst when youâre together. Need I remind you of Melbourne?â
âOh, but that was such a fun time!â You exclaim, grinning mischievously, âI donât know about you, but I personally had a blast out there.â
âI think Kim is still reliving that nightmare,â Lia chips in amusedly as you sneak a glance at your captain who you swear shudders at the memory, âThis isnât a good idea.â
You pout, crossing your arms together, âOh, come on. You guys seriously donât think that much about us, do you?â
Beth doesnât even think to hesitate, âNo.â
âAbsolutely not,â Steph shakes her head, reinforcing it.
You open your mouth to argue, but then Katie strolls over with Caitlin while smirking, âOh you guys just discovered the pests are together for media day?â She questions.
âThis is a nightmare,â Beth shakes her head dramatically.
âWell thatâs just rude,â You huff in response just as you spot your best friend and instantly perk up, âKy! Guess what, weâre together for media duties!â
âWhat, seriously? Yes!â Kyra exclaims, letting out a cheer and definitely buzzing about the news.
âThis is bad, so very bad,â Lia mutters to herself, shaking her head in disagreement.
You roll your eyes, exasperated, âNah, nah, this is a great day!â You insist, âItâs gonna be wonderful. Itâs like Christmas morning!â
Steph snorts, clearly amused, âIf this is how excited you get for Christmas, youâve got serious issues.â
You shrug casually, zero shame on your face, âYeah, I know. I come with a lot of trauma,â You pause for a split second, âDead dad, mum that abandoned me, blah blah blah,â You wave a hand like itâs not a big deal, âNeed I go on?â
âLeah!?â Kattie furrows her brow in concern, âThereâs something with your kid,â She glances around to look for the blonde, âI think sheâs broken!â She jokes, dramatically.
âOh no, sheâs not broken,â Leah laughs in amusement, slinging her arm around your shoulder, âSheâs just⌠Well, sheâs Monkey.â She explains, shrugging her shoulders.
âSee? Iâm justâ Hey, that was still an insult, Malfoy!â You grumble in protest.
âMonkey, weâve already been over this,â Leah groans in annoyance, âWill you stop callinâ me that?â
âNope,â You canât help but smirk, âAs long as you still continue to get wound up over it, definitely not.â
âGive me strength,â Leah mutters, rubbing her temples, âWhatâre you so happy about?â She wonders, noticing the cheshire grin on your face.
âMe and Ky are paired together for media,â You fill her in with a grin plastered on your face.
Leah canât help but snort and shake her head, âThatâs a joke, right?â
âThatâs what I said!â Steph exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air, âSomeone mustâve made a mistake, right?â
âNo, no, no,â Leah shakes her head promptly, âYou two are⌠Youâre trouble together, look what happened in America!â
âI think youâre overreacting slightly there Le,â You insist, rolling your eyes.
âAm I? Cosâ I think the fractured ankle really speaks for itself,â Leah deadpans.
âUrgh,â You groan dramatically, tilting your head back at the painful memory, âItâs bad enough I have this stupid cast, you donât need to mention it as well.â
âWait, does Kimmy still have your skateboard held hostage?â Kyra wonders, curiously as she wraps her free around your shoulder.
âYeah she does,â The pout currently plastered on your face really just spoke for itself, âLeâs being the captain of the fun police and not allowing me to have any fun.â You mutter.
Leah clicks her tongue and shakes her head, âAnd risk breaking your neck as well? Yeah, not a single chance am I taking that riskâ It stays at Kimâs out of the way since we canât exactly send it back now.â
âBut what fun is it if it just stays in the cupboard?â You donât relent from this conversation as you huff dramatically, âHow aboutâŚâ
âHow about we donât revisit this conversation and forget about the skateboard instead, yeah?â The blonde cuts in with a knowing look.
âMonkey? Kyra?â One of the media team waves over to you both to get your attention, âWe need you both.â
âWeâre needed already?â Kyra furrows her eyebrows and shrugs her shoulders, âLetsâ go!â
Your eyes light up in glee, âFantastic, be right there,â Before looking back at the huddle of older girls, âItâs showtime!â
âDonât be a brat and get in any troubleââ Leah begins to say.
âIâm sorry all I heard then was blah blah blah,â You interject with a mischievous smile on her face, âCome on Ky, letâs go and find out what weâve gotta do!â With that, you quite literally pull Kyra in the direction of where you need to go.
Katie chuckles lowly at the blondesâ facial expression, âYouâve got your hands full with that one, ainât you, Le?â
âDonât even go there,â Leah huffs and shakes her head in response, âThat girl sometimes, honestly sheâs so bloody cheeky, but I do love her dearly.â
âHi, Iâm Kyra!â Your Australian counterpart jumps in first to speak, introducing herself.
âAnd Iâm Monkeyâ â You start but get cut off with the cameraman giving you a knowing look, âWhat? Seriously, I have to answer my actual name? Oh for *bleep* sake!â
âMonkey!â You hear Leah scold from the other side of the room, which youâre honestly shocked how she managed to hear that so far away.
âSorry, sorry, anywaysâŚâ You quietly mumble your name begrudgingly in front of the camera thatâs rolling, âI canât believe you guys just made me say that aloud. I hate you all.â
The cameraman chuckles from the other side, âContinue.â
You huff and dramatically fold your arms, âAlright, well yeah, weâre gonna play âHow Well Do You Know Each Other?â You pause for a brief second, âThis should be interesting.â
âPuts our âbest friendâ knowledge to the test,â Kyra adds in, grinning teasingly.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes in response as you look at the cameraman, âHow do we do this then?â
âOne of you will read the cards aloud and answer, while the other sits further back with headphones listening to music,â The cameraman explains, motioning to the large bulky headphones on the table in front.
âBetter be good music,â You remark in a cheeky tone of voice.
âDo you wanna go first?â Kyra asks, glancing at you.
âYeah, sure why not⌠How hard could it be?â You smirk as you grab the cards in front of you, âPft, easy, bring it on!â
With that, the camera stops filming for a second before it begins again with Kyra sitting on a chair a few feet away from you while youâre sitting on the chair in front.
âYou good?â You question, Kyra responds with a thumbs up when she canât hear anything and you giggle, âI could say so much right nowâŚâ You say, as Kyra continues to look cluelessly at you.
The cameraman chuckles, âLetâs get to the questions.â
You pick up the first card, âWhere is Kyra from?â You read the question aloud and ponder thinking for a few seconds, âAustralia, well Queensland to be more specificâ Yeah Iâm sure it is there!â
You switch out the card and scan your eyes over it, âWhen is Kyraâs birthday?â You continue to read the next question aloud, âEasy, 15th February, 2002â You know you guys should really make these more easier for me,â You joke, grinning teasingly as you look directly at the camera.
Tossing the card aside, you flip to the third and final one, âWhen did Kyra make her debut for Arsenal?â You read the final one aloud, âOo, this onesâ even better! It was last October, the first game of the season, which we unfortunately lost, but I was there,â You pause after giving your answer with full confidence, âIâm surprised I remember, cosâ I was sick, but yeah⌠her first debut was then!â
The cameraman chuckles, âThatâs three for Kyra done,â He declares, turning the camera off and gesturing Kyra back to sit beside you, âRight, now weâll film it so itâs Kyra reacting to your answers before switching roles. Sound good, girls?â
You wave dismissively, âYup, no worries!â
âYeah, sounds good,â Kyra adds, planting herself down in the empty seat, as she camera starts rolling again, âHowâd you do?â
âThe questions were so easy,â You joke, cockily, âKinda wish I had more of a challenge.â
âYou seem overconfident right now,â Kyra smirks, taking a glance at the questions, âAlright, first question, where am I from?â
âQueensland, and now I think⌠Why am I doubting myself?â You frown, taking a minute to wonder if you have got it right.
Kyra laughs, âThat is where Iâm from!â
âPhew, first one correct,â You wipe your forehead dramatically.
âNext oneâ Whenâs my birthday?â Kyra repeats the question aloud youâve just answered, âYou should definitely know this one, if not then⌠Well, I donât think we can be friends.â She jokes.
You pretend to think about it for a second, âYeah Iâm positive I know this one cosâ we celebrated it,â You give pause for the dramatic effect, â15th February, 2002. The day after Valentine's Day. Bleughâ Shit, Iâm gonna be kicking myself if itâs wrong now.â
âMonkey,â The cameraman interjects from behind, shaking his head.
You feign innocence and give him a sheepish smile, âSorry.â
Kyra snickers at the fact you have no filter sometimes, âNice, yeah, thatâs right!â She exclaims, âYouâre doing so well⌠You know me so well!â She retorts, playfully.
âWell Iâd hope so since Iâm your best friend,â You respond with an eye roll.
âFinal question,â Kyra speaks up as she gazes at the last question, âTough oneâ When did I make my Arsenal debut?â
âFirst game of the season against Liverpool,â You answer way too confidently and immediately pray itâs correct, âRight? I hope so, I was on me deathbed for that game!â
âNailed it,â Kyra confirms, grinning.
âYay, go me!â You fist pump the air as you do a little wiggle in celebration and the cameraâs stop filming, âSo, now we swap?â You clarify with the cameraman.
âYep, thatâs right,â The cameraman chimes in.
Nodding in agreement, the camera cuts while you switch positions so youâre the one stuck with the headphones, and at least the music isnât too bad.
You canât hear a single word thatâs being said, but youâre just content to listen to the music, singing the song in your head as you do a little shimmy in your seat.
Itâs times like this where you wish you could lip-read, itâs not the easiest thing to do though and your attention span wouldnât last that long sometimes before giving up.
You canât help but let your thoughts wander away at this current time, âMaybe I can buy more lego soon? I need to add to my collectionâ You can never have too much lego!â
At last, you're given the gesture of a thumbs up before removing the headphones and get up to sit on a closer chair with the slight difficulty of the boot currently on your foot.
âWas that easy for you?â You joke with your best friend.
âPiece of cake mate,â Kyra grins in response.
You pick up the cards and read over the first one, âFirst question, what is my favourite drink?â You read aloud, smirking as you know she definitely does know this answer.
âEnergy drinks, duh? You love them!â Kyra answers with a knowing smile.
You beam a wide smile and nod, âI do, even if Iâm not technically allowed them anymoreâ Mean Malfoy!â You joke, looking directly at the camera and scowling.
âWhat she doesnât know wonât hurt her,â Kyra jokes with a wink.
âExactly,â You retort with a playful grin, âAlright, next question thenâ You should definitely know this, and if you donât then, well, we need to rethink our friendship.â You tell her, jokingly.
âOur friendshipâs on the line over this?â Kyra clutches her hand over her heart and fauxâs her shock, âWell then I guess Iâd better get it right. You adore both Shrek and anything Marvel related of course, and if itâs anything else then Iâm not having it.â
âDing, ding, ding, correct!â You grin, âI have watched them way too many times to count, but who cares?â
âI knew it!â Kyra exclaims, âPhew, our friendship still remains intact.â She jokes with you.
âFor now, just as long as you answer the final question correctly,â You continue to wind her up, leaning in dramatically, âWhen did I join Arsenal?â
Kyra bites her bottom lip in hesitation, âSee, this one was hard to remember, so I guessed and went with age 9, so I know youâve been at the academy before signing the senior team...â
You shook her head in disagreement, âWant a clue?â You joke, amusedly, âLeahâs known me ever since I joined, and that wasâŚâ You pretend to count on your fingers, â11 years ago.â
âOh!â Kyraâs eyes light up in realisation, âSo, you were 8 then? I was so close!â She exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air, âYouâve known her for 11 years? Thatâs wild! Howâs she put up with you for that long?â
âYeah, I know itâsâ Hey, thatâs cruel!â The realisation hits finally and you gasp, âSpeak for yourself, youâre the Aussie pest.â
âYeah, and youâre the British Menace,â Kyra jokes, grinning at you.
âRight that does it, this friendship is⌠itâs under discussion,â You shake your head dramatically, continuing to play up for the camera in front of you, âTwo out of three, I suppose itâs not that bad,â
âIâll take it!â Kyra shrugs her shoulders, âThe last one really threw me off!â
You grin and wrap your free arm around her, âAwh, donât worry. Weâre still besties!â You exclaim, before attempting to wrestle her down to the floor as the older girls in the background catch wind of your antics, just as the camera stops rolling.
âLessi is definitely the clumsy one in the team - she falls over all the time. I know that says a lot, considering I'm currently in a boot,â You say with a gleam in your eyes as a memory lights up, âOh, oh! We have to tell them about, you know, what happened at training the other day!â You grin mischievously, already knowing the chaos youâre about to stir.
Kyra looks at you, clueless, âWhat happened at training?â
You snort, shaking your head in disbelief, âYou donât remember?â
âNo, should I?â Kyra questions, further confused.
âOf course, yeah! About Malfoy,â You retort, a cheeky grin plastered on your face.
âMonkey, donât you dare,â Leah warns, shooting her a look.
âI dare,â You smirk in satisfaction as you see the daunting look on Leahâs face, âYou seeâŚâ
Her eyes narrow, and you can see the tension building in her jaw. Right as you're about to spill the story, Leah storms over and claps her hand over your mouth, cutting off your words so all that comes out are muffled noises, âMonkey, donât push it,â The blonde warns in a firm tone of voice.
You roll your eyes dramatically, wiping at your mouth for emphasis, âI was just gonna get the fun bit as well, â You shrug with an exaggerated innocence, using the advantage of your crutches to try and keep her at bay so you can continue to yap like you wanted to do, âAnyways before I was so rudely interrupted about what I wanted to say⌠Oh yeah, Leah completely fell over the other day and it was hilarious to watch!â
âYouâre such a menace sometimes,â Leah mutters in disbelief while shooting you a playful scowl.
âYeah, but you still love me regardless,â You flash her an innocent smile, waving your crutch around in the air, âCome on, itâs okay to admit it that you do.â You add.
Leah arches her eyebrow in response, âItâs questionable sometimes when you come out with things like you do.â
However due to your own clumsiness you end up falling over in the process which causes Leah to instantly drop her annoyed act and immediately becomes concerned instead.Â
âOh my God,â Leahâs eyes widen as she watches you fall to the floor and rushes to help you back onto your feet, âAre you okay?â She questions.
âOw, shit, that bloody hurt,â You grumble your profound language and completely forget that thereâs still a camera rolling so thatâs something the media team will have to work on editing out again, âClearly Iâm not stable on my feet, like I thought I was.â You continue to grumble, accepting Leahâs hand to help you up off the floor as you hiss in slight pain.
Leah tuts and shakes her head, her previous annoyance completely forgotten about now, âYou really do need to be more careful,â She chides in a gentle tone of voice, âOr youâre going to make things worse for yourself my girl.â
âYeah, yeah I know, you donât need to remind me,â You huff in response and use your crutches to balance your support to save you falling on the floor again, âIâm already stuck on these crutches for what feels like the foreseeable.â
âExactly, thatâs more of a reason to be careful little miss clumsy,â Leah retorts, once sheâs made sure youâre okay before she takes the chance to rip into you a bit for your usual clumsiness.
Rolling your eyes in response, âSpeak for yourself when youâre the one that fell over at training the other day.â You chip in again as she flash her a cheeky smile.
âMenace,â Leah murmurs now rolling her own eyes.
Itâs only now that you realise the whole interaction has been filmed, âWait⌠Was the camera still filming, like all of that?â You question.
âYep,â A member of the media team responds in agreement.
âUrgh,â You let out an exasperated groan and shove your head in your hands, âGreat, everyonesâ gonna see my clumsiness. Fuck sakes.â
âMonkey,â Leah chides, shooting you a stern look, âLanguage.â
âEnglish,â You reply while trying to feign your innocence, âRight, shit yeah, no swearing in front of the cameras. NotedâŚâ
âMonkey, you did it again,â Kyra snickers in amusement.
Smiling in realisation, you look at the media time guiltily, âWhoops. I did it again, didnât I? My bad.â You apologise to them, scratching the back of your head awkwardly, âI guess you guysâ are gonna have a fair bit to edit, eh? Well at least we keep things lively around here!â
Š scribblesofagoonerr
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