#brick city club
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Hometown Sounds with Uniiqu3 | Presented by @serato
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Sample In Episode Two of Hometown Sounds, we take a deep dive into how Newark, New Jersey and its local legends have influenced jersey club star UNIIQU3's musical journey. Witness her creative process and how she uses real-time stem separation in Serato Sample to transform the Just Blaze produced, Rah Digga club hit, “Party & Bullsh 2003" into a pulsating Jersey Club track.
#dj uniiqu3#uniiqu3#rah digga#jersey club#jersey club music#jerseyclub#serato#edm#house music#soundcloud#dance music#electronic music#club music#music#baltimore club#brick city club#philly club#jerz#jersey dance#jersey#jersey drill#new jersey#newark new jersey#newark#newark nj#jersey girl#Youtube
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Skatepark in Club de Golf Santa Anita, Guadalajara Mexico. Design and Construction By Arch. Adrian Delgado
#architecture#skatepark#guadalajara#mexico#arquitectura#skate vibes#design#exterior#outdoor#city#concrete#bricks#santa anita#club de golf
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#my pics#my post#photography#this was outside a club 1-2 yrs ago.#I was like what is this fellow doing out here in the city away from the fields and grass.#The club sucked.#the entire time i just kept thinking bout the night i couldve had#with this grasshopper#bringing it back to vegetation...#sprawling through the city streets#under the yellow lights#through the sandy colored brick buildings#with it sitting gently and patiently on my fingers#until reaching a park or grassy area#...i miss you grasshopper outside the club#you ended up being thrown into a dumpster by one of the people i was with#i love you#grasshopper#criters#bugs#bug#insects#weirdcore
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𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧
Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k]
c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isn’t good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery
。𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ
Fall
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.
You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet he’s heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand.
“Good morning!” You pull your coat on quickly. “Sorry.”
“Good morning,” he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. “Should we go?”
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 doesn’t check it while you walk, and only glances at it when you’re 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 it’ll be warm water that falls.
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 that’s where he would put it himself, and you both get to work.
As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and can’t help wondering what it is that’s missing. Something is, something Peter won’t tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, he’s busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could.
Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. “I wish I had more time,” he says.
“It’s fine,” you say, “you can’t help it.”
“We’ll do something next weekend,” he says. The lie slips out easily.
To Peter it isn’t a lie. In his head, he’ll find the time for you again, and you’ll be friends like you used to be.
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.
Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere you’d never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet.
You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip.
He feels you watching and meets your eyes. “I have to tell you something,” he says, smiling shyly.
“Sure.”
“I signed us up for that club.”
“Epigenetics?”
“Molecular medicine,” he says.
The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. It’s still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. It’s gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peter’s bag and sort through his jumble of possessions —stick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodega’s worth of protein bars— and grab his camera.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,” you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder.
“Technically, I signed us up a few days ago,” he says.
You snap his photo as his mouth closes around ‘ago’, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. “Semantics,” you murmur. “And molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?”
“It has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.”
“I like oncology,” you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, “and I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.”
“I can’t go without you,” he says. Simple as that.
He knew you’d say yes when he signed you up. It’s why he didn’t ask. You’re already forgiven him for the slight of assumption.
“When is it?” you ask, smiling.
—
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. It’s boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going.
He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks you’re not looking. Only when she isn’t either.
—
“Good morning,” you say.
Peter holds an umbrella over his head that he’s 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 café, 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: you’re still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back.
“Tell the joke,” he says, slamming his coffee down. He’s careful with yours. He’s given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers.
“I was thinking about you as a businessman.”
“And that’s funny?”
“When was the last time you wore a suit?”
Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesn’t know. Later, you’ll remember his Uncle Ben’s funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you don’t remember yet. “When was the last time you wore one?” he asks. “I don’t laugh at you.”
“You’re always laughing at me, Parker.”
The cafe isn’t as warm today. It’s wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. There’s 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.
“You okay?” Peter asks.
“Fine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?”
“Don’t think so. Did you ask nicely?”
“I did.” You’d called him last night. You would’ve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it —you don’t want Peter’s help, you just wanted to see him.
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 you’ve 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 didn’t recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didn’t matter —he was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice again— until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears.
His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like he’s up late. If he is, it isn’t to talk to you.
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, “Here, I’ll show you a song.”
He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Should’ve Come Over. It feels like Peter’s trying to tell you something —he isn’t, but it feels like wishing he would.
“You okay?” you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less.
“I’m fine, why?”
You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. “You look tired, that’s all. Are you sleeping?”
“I have too much to do.”
You just don’t get it. “Make sure you’re eating properly. Okay?”
His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest you’ll ever get. “You know May,” he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, “she wouldn’t let me go hungry. Don’t worry about me.”
—
The dip into depression you take is predictable. You can’t help it. Peter being gone makes it worse.
You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when it’s dark and you know it’s a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New York’s not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You can’t count how many times you’ve 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.
You’re 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.
You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you don’t really care. You’re not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and it’s fine, really, it’s okay, everything works out eventually. It’s not like it’s all because you miss Peter, it’s just a feeling. It’ll go away.
“You’re in deep thought,” 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. “Oh,” you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, “sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? I scared you.”
“I didn’t realise you were there.”
Spider-Man doesn’t come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. You’ve never met before but you’d like to see him up close, and you aren’t scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival.
“Can I walk you to where you’re going?” Spider-Man asks you. He’s humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot.
“How do I know you’re the real Spider-Man?”
After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldn’t want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible.
You can’t be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. “What do you need me to do to prove it?” he asks.
He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. “I don’t know. What’s Spider-Man exclusive?”
“I can show you the webs?”
You pull your handbag further up your arm. “Okay, sure. Shoot something.”
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.
“Can I walk you now?” he asks.
“You don’t have more important things to do?” If the bitterness you’re feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesn’t react.
“Nothing more important than you.”
You laugh despite yourself. “I’m going to Trader Joe’s.”
“Yellowstone Boulevard?”
“That’s the one…”
You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. It’s a short walk. Trader Joe’s will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and you’re in no hurry. “My friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.”
“And you’re going just for him?” Spider-Man asks.
“Not really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.”
“Do you always walk around by yourself? It’s late. It’s dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,” he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match.
“I like walking,” you say.
Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, he’s running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. You’re having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man you’re walking beside now.
”Is everything okay?” he asks. “You seem sad.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Maybe I am sad,” you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joe’s already in view. It really is a short walk. “Do you ever–” You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, “Do you ever feel like you’re alone?”
“I’m not alone,” he says carefully.
“Me neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.”
He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking you’re being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world,” he says. “Even here. I forget that it’s not something I invented.”
“Well, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?” You smile sympathetically. “It must be hard.”
“Yeah.” His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then there’s a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. “I’ll come back,” he says.
“That’s okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.”
He sprints away. In half a second he’s up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away.
You buy Peter’s chips at Trader Joe’s and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesn’t come back.
—
I don’t want to study today, Peter’s text says the next day. Come over and watch movies?
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.
Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. You’d 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 you’re older! he’d always promise.
Peter’s 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. “Look what I got,” he says.
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. There’s a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida.
You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven you’ve eaten from a hundred times. “There,” he says.
“Did you cook?” you ask.
“Of course I didn’t cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. I’m an excellent chef.”
“The only thing May’s ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Hope you like marinara,” he says, nudging you toward the stove.
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. He’s dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries.
“It’s for you,” he says casually.
“It’s not my birthday.”
“I know. You like cake though, don’t you?”
You’d tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. “Why’d you make me a cake?”
“I felt like you deserved a cake. You don’t want it?”
“No, I want it! I want the cake, let’s have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, it’ll be amazing.” You don’t bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. “Thank you, Peter. It’s awesome. I had no idea you could even– that you’d even–” You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. “Wow.”
“Wow,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. “You’re welcome. I would’ve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.”
“It must’ve taken hours.”
“May helped.”
“That makes much more sense.”
“Don’t be insolent.” Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesn’t let go for a really long time.
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. It’s good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.
“Sit down,” he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. “Remote’s by you. I’m gonna get drinks.”
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. You’re halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back.
“I brought you something too, but it’s garbage compared to this,” you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth.
Peter laughs at you. “Yeah, well, say it, don’t spray it.”
“I guess I’ll keep it.”
“Keep it, bub, I don’t need anything from you.”
He doesn’t say it the way you’re expecting. “No,” you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, “you can have it. S’just a bag of chips from Trader–”
“The rolled tortilla chips?” he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. “You really are the best friend ever.”
“Better than Harry?”
“Harry’s rich,” Peter says, “so no. I’m kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.”
“Eat your own.”
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 isn’t that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesn’t check his phone, the tension you couldn’t name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. You’re flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You won’t look a gift horse in the mouth; you won’t question what it is that had Peter keeping you at arm’s length now it’s gone.
To your annoyance, you can’t 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.
“Have something to tell you.”
“You do?” you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw.
“Is that surprising?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“No. Just. I’ve been not telling you something.”
“Okay, so tell me.”
Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. “Me and Gwen, we’re really done.”
“I know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.” Your stomach pangs painfully. “Unless you…”
“She’s going to England.”
“She is?”
“Oxford.”
You struggle to sit up. “That sucks, Peter. I’m sorry.”
“But?”
You find your words carefully. “You and Gwen really liked each other, but I think that–” You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. “That there’s always been some part of you that couldn’t actually commit to her. So. I don’t know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe it’ll break your heart, but at least then you’ll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.” You avoid telling him to move on.
“It wasn’t Gwen,” he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you.
“Obviously, she’s the smartest girl I’ve ever met. She’s beautiful. Of course it’s not her fault,” you say, teasing.
“Really, that you ever met?” Peter asks.
“She’s the best girl you were ever gonna land.“
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.” After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, “I think we were done before. I just hadn’t figured it out yet. Something wasn’t right.”
“You were so back and forth. You’re not mean, there must’ve been something stopping you from going steady,” you agree. “You were breaking up every other week.”
“I know,” he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch.
“Which, it’s fine, you don’t–” You grimace. “I can’t talk today. Sorry. I just mean that it’s alright that you never made it work.” You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, “Doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re never a bad person, Peter.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You don’t need me to tell you.”
“It’s nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.”
You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I should’ve said it the moment I got home.
Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips.
Good, because I have so much I’m keeping to myself.
You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned.
—
He visits with a whoop. You don’t flinch when he lands —you’d heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby.
“Spider-Man,” you say.
“What’s that about?”
“What?”
“The way you said that. You laughed.” Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. He’s got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but it’s not as though each of his fights are bloodless. They’re infamously gory on occasion.
“Did you get hurt?” you ask. You’re worried. You could help him, if he needs it.
“Aw, this? That’s a scratch. That’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.”
You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and it’s 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.
Peter’s 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 can’t 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.
“What?” he asks.
“Sorry. You just reminded me of someone.”
His voice falls deeper still. “Someone handsome, I hope.”
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 doesn’t follow, you add, “Yes, he’s handsome.”
“I knew it.”
“What do you look like under the mask?”
Spider-Man laughs boisterously. “I can’t just tell you that.”
“No? Do I have to earn it?”
“It’s not like that. I just don’t tell anyone, ever.”
“Nobody in the whole world?” you ask.
The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps that’s all November’s 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 doesn’t part from you.
“Tell me something about you and I’ll tell you something about me,” Spider-Man says. “I’ll tell you who knows my identity.”
“What do you want to know about me?” you ask, surprised.
“A secret. That’s fair.”
“Hold on, how’s that fair?” You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. “What use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesn’t bring me any closer to the truth.”
“It’s not about who knows, it’s about why I told them.” 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-Man’s side. He shakes himself off. “Jerk!” he shouts after the car.
“My secrets aren’t worth anything.”
“I doubt that, but if that’s true, that makes it a fair trade, doesn’t it?”
He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, “Alright, useless secret for a useless secret.”
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 aren’t useless, then, so you move on.
“Oh, I know. I hate my major.” You grin at Spider-Man. “That’s a good one, right? No one else knows about that.”
“You do?” Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy.
“I like science, I just hate math. It’s harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.”
Spider-Man doesn’t drag the knife. “Okay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.” He clears his throat. “I told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. I’m trying really hard not to tell anybody else.”
“How come?”
“It just hurts people.”
You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road.
“Tell me another one,” he says.
“What for?”
“I don’t know, just tell me one.”
“How do I know you aren’t extorting me for something?” You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. “You’ll 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.”
“I’m not showing you anything,” he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street.
Peter’s shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesn’t ask for secrets. He doesn’t have to. (Or, he didn’t have to, once upon a time.)
“Where are you going?” Spider-Man asks.
“Oh, nowhere.”
“Seriously, you’re out here walking again for no reason?”
“I like to walk. It’s not like it’s dark out yet.” You’re not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden —Flushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. “Walk me to Kissena?” you ask.
“Sure, for that secret.”
You laugh as Spider-Man takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. It’s 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 you’d want to. It slips out before you can think better of it.
“I burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,” you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. “It blistered and I cried when I did it, but I haven’t told anyone about it.”
“Why not?” he asks.
He shouldn’t use that tone with you, like he’s 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 don’t, and half the time you’re embarrassed.
You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. “I didn’t think about it at first. I’m used to keeping things to myself. And then I didn’t tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldn’t make sense. Like, bringing it up when it’s a scar won’t do much.” It’s 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.
“It was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.”
“Maybe I’ll tell someone tomorrow,” you say, though you won’t.
“Thanks for telling me.”
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.
“This is pretty far from Trader Joe’s,” he comments, like he’s read your mind.
“Just an hour.”
“Are you kidding? It’s an hour for me.”
“That’s not true, Spider-Man, I’ve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,” —you try to meet his eyes despite the mask— “my heart in my throat. Weren’t you scared?”
“Is that the secret you want?” he asks.
“I get to choose?”
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 Park’s playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame.
“If you want to,” he says.
“Then yeah, I want to know if you were scared.”
“I didn’t haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?” He shifts from one foot to the other. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it before. I wasn’t scared of the height, if that’s what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didn’t have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.”
“When they lined up the cranes–”
“It felt like flying,” Spider-Man interrupts.
“Like flying.”
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.
“That’s a good secret.” You offer a grateful smile. “It doesn’t feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.”
“So tell me another one,” he says.
—
Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where you’d text him and he’d ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasn’t that you couldn’t like him, angry as he was; there’s always been something about his eyes when he’s 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, it’s an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other.
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 he’d been. Skating, he’d always say. Most of the time he didn’t have his skateboard.
You’d 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 he’d kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person.
You’d 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 —whether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyone— 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 you’ll fit, of course you couldn’t go home, not this late, May won’t care if we keep the door open —the suggestion that the door being closed might’ve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you.
Now you’re nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasn’t tried to stop her, but he’s still busy.
“Whatever,“ you say, taking a deep breath. You’re not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time won’t change a thing. “It’s fine.”
“I’d hope so.”
You swing around. “Don’t do that!”
Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. “I called out.”
“You did?”
“I did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesn’t know how to get a goddamn taxi!”
“I like to walk,” you say.
“Yeah, so you’ve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? It’s freezing out, Miss Bennett!”
“It’s not that bad.” You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. “I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong with staying at home?”
“That’s not good for you. And you’re one to talk, Spider-Man, aren’t you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.”
“I don’t do this every night.”
“Don’t you get tired?”
Spider-Man’s eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. “No, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?”
“I don’t know. You’re in a full suit, I can’t tell. I guess you don’t… seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.”
“Want me to do one?”
“On command?” You laugh. “No, that’s okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.”
“So where are you heading today?” he asks.
There’s a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. You’re surprised he can’t feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. “I can see your stubble.”
He yanks his mask down. “Hasty getaway.”
“A getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, that’s not very gentlemanly.”
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. It’s 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.)
“Luckily for you, crime is slow tonight,” he says.
“Lucky me?” You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. “You realise I’ve managed to get everywhere I’m going for the last two decades without help?”
“I assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.”
“That’s what you think. I was a super independent toddler.”
Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. “Sure you were.”
“Is there a reason you’re escorting me, Spider-Man?” you ask.
“No. I– I recognised you, I thought I’d say hi.”
“Hi, Spider-Man.”
“Hi.”
“Can I ask you something? Do you work?”
Spider-Man stammers again, “I– yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.”
“I was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.” You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. “I couldn’t do what you do.”
“Yeah, you could.”
He sounds sure.
“How would you know?” you ask. “Maybe I’m awful when you’re not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.”
“No, you don’t. You’re not awful. Don’t ask me how I know, ‘cos I just know.”
You try not to look at him. If you look at him, you’re gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. “Well, tonight I’m going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said he’d buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Benny’s. Have you tried that?”
Spider-Man takes a big step. “Tonight?” he asks.
“Yep, tonight. That’s where I’m going, the Cinemart.” You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. “Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna throw up.”
“I can hear– something. Someone’s crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?” He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. “Bye!” he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof.
Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. He’s lithe.
Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than you’d agreed to meet.
“Sorry!” he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. “God, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. You should beat me up. I’m sorry.”
“What the fuck happened?” you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. “You’re sweating like crazy, your hair’s wet.”
“I ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Don’t answer that. Fuck, do we have time?”
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. “You could’ve called me,” you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, “we could’ve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?”
“Forget about my favourite girl? How could I?” He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. “Now shh,” he whispers, “find the seats, don’t miss the trailers. You love them.”
“You love them–”
“I’ll get popcorn,” he promises, letting the door close between you.
You’re tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle.
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.
—
Winter
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 you’re 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. He’s friendly, and you’re getting used to his company.
One night, you’re almost home from Trader Joe’s, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, “Hey! Running girl! Wait a second!”
Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You don’t know his name, but Spider-Man’s a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.
He jogs toward you.
You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you.
“Hey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?”
You blink as fat rain lands on your face.
“You okay?” Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. It’s sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s go,” —he takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside him— “it’s freezing!”
“Peter–”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Peter, what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building.
Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly.
“I wanted to see you. Is that allowed?”
“No.”
Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. “No?” he asks, a hair’s width from murmuring.
“Shit, my groceries are soaked.”
“It’s all snacks, it’s fine,” he says, pulling you to the stairs.
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.
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.
“Sorry I didn’t ask,” Peter says.
“What, to come over? It’s fine. I like you being here, you know that.”
All your favourite days were spent here or at Peter’s 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, “You okay?” with a meagre nod.
“What’s wrong?” he asks eventually. “You’re so quiet.”
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. “‘M thinking,” you say.
“About?”
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, ‘cos 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 he’d barge into the club room and say, “Fuck, I’m sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,” until it turned into its own joke.
Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited.
“Fuck,” he’d said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, “sorry. My last class is on–”
But he didn’t finish. You’d laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasn’t about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you.
But Peter’s been distant for a while now, because Peter’s Spider-Man.
“Do you remember,” you say, not willing to share the whole truth, “when you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?”
“So you didn’t need me,” he says.
“I was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.”
Peter holds your gaze. “Is that really what you were thinking about?”
“Just funny,” you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. “So much has changed.”
“Not that much.”
“Not for me, no.”
Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. He’s found a crack in you and he’s gonna smooth it over until you feel better. You’re expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but you’re not expecting the way he pulls you in —you’d 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. It’s really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. He’s never looked at you like this before.
“I don’t want you to change,” he whispers.
“I want to catch up with you,” you whisper back.
“Catch up with me? We’re in the exact same place, aren’t we?”
“I don’t know, are we?”
Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. “Of course we are.”
Peter… What is he doing?
You let yourself relax against him.
“You do change,” he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, “you change every day, but you don’t need to try.”
“I just… feel like everyone around me is…” You shake your head. “Everyone’s so smart, and they know what they’re doing, or they’re– they’re special. I don’t know anything. So I guess lately I’ve been thinking about that, and then you–”
“What?”
You can say it out loud. You could.
“Peter, you’re…”
“I’m what?” he asks.
His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again.
If you're wrong, he’ll laugh. And if you’re right, he might– might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like it’s gonna put you to sleep.
He’s Spider-Man.
It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course it’s 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.
Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesn’t tell you much, but you trust him.
You won’t make him say anything, you decide. Not now.
You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter.
“I was thinking about you,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“You’re quieter lately. I know you’re having a hard time right now, okay? You don’t have to tell me. I’m here for you whenever you need me.”
“Yeah?” you ask.
“You used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldn’t be home to make sure I wasn’t alone.” Peter’s breath is warm on your forehead. “I don’t know what you’re worried about being, but I’m with you,” he says, “‘n nothing is gonna change that.”
Peter isn’t as far away as you thought.
“Thank you,” you say.
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.
“Can I stay over tonight?” he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain.
“Yeah, please.”
His thumb strokes your cheek.
—
Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as you’ve craved, and Spider-Man disappears.
He’s alive and well, as evidenced by Peter’s continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesn’t drop in on your nightly walks.
You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peter’s increasing affection, but now that you know he’s Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you would’ve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know he’d do to you. After all, he’s been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parker’s ears.
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. Peter’s out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesn’t seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connors’ 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.
It’s not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what he’d said, how he wasn’t scared, but not being scared doesn’t mean he wasn’t hurting.
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 don’t mind when Peter doesn’t answer your texts anymore. You didn’t 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 doesn’t text you back you convince yourself that he’s been hurt, or that he’s swinging across New York City about to risk his life.
It’s not a good way to live. You can’t stop giving into it, is all.
In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesn’t 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.
“Hey,” he says, “you all right?”
“Should you be up there?” the person recording shouts.
“I’m fine up here!”
“Are you really Spider-Man?”
“Sure am.”
“Are you single?”
Peter laughs like crazy. How you didn’t know it was him before is a mystery —it couldn’t sound more like him. “I’ve got my eye on someone!” he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when he’s Spider-Man lost to a good mood.
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.
“Hello?” Peter asks.
You bring the phone snug to your ear. “Hey, Peter.”
“Hi, are you busy?”
“Not really.”
“Do you wanna come over? I know it’s late. Come stay the night and tomorrow we’ll go out for breakfast.”
“Is Aunt May okay with that?”
“She’s staring at me right now shaking her head, but I’m in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?”
“She’s always allowed as long as you keep the door open.”
You laugh under your breath at May’s begrudging answer. “Are you sure she’s alright with it?” you ask softly. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You never, ever could be. I’m coming to your place and we’ll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?”
“Not yet, but–”
“Okay, I’ll make you something when you get here. I’ll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?”
“I have to shower first.”
“Twenty five?”
You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing you’re not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. “How about I’ll see you at seven?”
“It’s a date,” he says.
“Mm, put it in your calendar, Parker.”
—
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. “You’re gonna get sick.”
“I‘ll dry fast,” you say. “I took too long finding my pyjamas.”
“I have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.” Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. “I would’ve waited,” he says.
“It’s fine.“
“It’s not fine. Are you cold?”
“Pete, it’s fine.”
“You always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,” he laughs, “super stern.”
“I’m not stern. Look, take me home, please, I’m cold.”
“You said it wasn’t cold!”
“It’s not, I’m just damp–” Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. “Handsy!”
“You like it,” he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments.
“I don’t like it,” you lie.
“Okay, you don’t like it, and I’m sorry.” Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. “Now let’s go. I gotta feed you before midnight.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Apparently, nothing is.”
Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, you’ve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands.
“I see Peter hasn’t won this argument yet,” you say in way of greeting. Peter’s desperate to do his own laundry now he’s getting older. May won’t let him.
“No, he hasn’t.” She looks you up and down. “It’s nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me you’ve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Can’t you buy a treadmill?” she asks.
“May!” Peter says, startled.
“I like walking, I like the air,” you say.
“Can’t exactly call it fresh,” May says.
“No, but it’s alright. It helps me think.”
“Is everything okay?” May asks, putting her hand on her hip.
“Of course.” You smile at her genuinely. “I think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I don’t know what Peter told you, but I’m not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.”
She softens her disapproving. “Good, honey. That’s good. Peter’s gonna make you some dinner now, right?”
“Yeah, Aunt May, I’m gonna make dinner,” Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes.
Peter shouldn’t really know that you’ve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joe’s or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you haven’t mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. That’s information he wouldn’t know without Spider-Man.
He seems to be hoping you won’t realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that he’s about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. “Warm up,” 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. Peter’s 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.
“I can do the dishes,” you say. You might need a breather.
“Are you kidding? I’m gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.” Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. “Warmer. Good job.”
You shrug away from his hand. “Loser.”
“Concerned friend.”
“Handsy loser.”
”Shut up,” he mumbles.
As flustered as you’ve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When he’s done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed.
You look down at your socks. Peter’s room is on the smaller side, but it’s never been as startlingly small as it is when Peter’s socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy.
“There’s chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,” he says.
You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think you’re in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. “I’m all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go ’cos you think I do then I’m fine.”
“That’s such a long answer,” he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. “You don’t have to say all of that, just tell me no.”
“I don’t want ice cream.”
“Wasn’t that easy?” he asks.
“Well, no, it wasn’t. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.”
“Because I’m adorable?”
“Persistent.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.” He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands.
“Peter…?” you murmur.
“What?” he murmurs back.
You touch a knuckle to his chest. “This– You…” Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once —Peter doesn’t like you as you desire, how could he, you aren’t beautiful like he is, aren’t smart, aren’t brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. It’s why his being with Gwen didn’t hurt; she made sense. And for months now you’ve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But it’s not you, it’s never you, and whatever Peter’s trying to do now–
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, taking your face into his hand.
“What are you doing?”
“What?” He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. “I can’t hear you.”
You raise your voice. “Why did you invite me over tonight?”
“‘Cos I missed you?”
“I used to think you didn’t miss me at all.”
Peter winces, hurt. “How could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? It’s like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.”
You bite the inside of your bottom lip. “…College isn’t hard for you.”
“It’s not easy.” He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. “What’s wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?”
You’re being wretched, you know, saying it isn’t hard for him. “You didn’t. Really, you didn’t.”
“But why are you upset?” he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.
“I’m not–”
“You are. It’s okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?” He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. “Even if it takes a long time.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“How would you know?” you finally ask.
Peter stares at you.
“I know you,” he says carefully, “and I know you aren’t struggling like you were, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.”
“I didn’t realise that I was,” you say, licking your lips, “‘til now. I didn’t get that it was on the surface.”
Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. “I’m here for you forever, and I’ll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,” 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 Peter’s 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.
Things aren’t meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you —holding you— 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 it’s an impossibility?
When he comes back, you’ll apologise. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but don’t you keep one too? He’s Spider-Man. You’ve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept.
You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.
Peter returns as perturbed as earlier.
“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck.
“I’m sorry for being weird.”
“You’re not weird,” Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly.
“It’s just ‘cos things have been different between us.” And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because you’re not just Peter anymore, you’re Spider-Man. I’m only me, and I can’t 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.
“Yeah, they have been. Good different?” he asks hesitantly.
“I think so,” you say, quiet again.
“That’s what I thought.”
“I don’t want you to feel like I don’t want to be here. I just worry about you.”
Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, “Jesus, please don’t. That’s the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.”
You curl into the lump of comforter you’d 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 it’s golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupid’s 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.
You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs.
“Am I going too fast?” Peter murmurs.
You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely.
“Is it something else?”
You don’t move.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.
“No.”
Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. “Alright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. You’re still cold.”
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.
He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, “Is this alright?”
“Yeah.”
He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. “Please don’t take this in a way that I don’t mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry you’re gonna get stuck in your head forever.”
“I like thinking.”
“I hate it,” he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, “we should never do it ever again.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Would you? For me?”
You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good. I’d miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.”
You relax under his arm. You aren’t sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. “I’d miss you too.”
May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. He’s holding your arm, and you’re snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms.
“Door open,” she says.
“Not that either of us want it closed, May, but we’re adults.”
“Not while I’m still washing your clothes, you’re not.”
He snorts. “Goodnight, Aunt May. The door isn’t gonna close, I promise.”
“I know that,” she says, scornful in her pride. “You’re a good boy.” She lightens. “Things are going okay?”
Peter covers your ear. “Goodnight, Aunt May.”
”I have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I can’t ask a simple question?”
“I love you,” Peter sing-songs.
“I love you, Peter,” she says. “Don’t smother the girl.”
“I won’t smother her. It’s in my best interest that she survives the night. She’s buying my breakfast tomorrow.”
“Peter Parker.”
“I’m kidding,” he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. “Just messing with you, May.”
You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers.
—
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 she’d given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it.
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. It’s chemistry, sure, but it’s biology too, wrapping your and Peter’s interests up neatly. If it weren’t for Peter you doubt you’d love science as much as you do. He’s 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.
Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!!
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.
But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Man’s webbing.
You wait until you’re at the alleyway between Porto’s Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters.
“Spider-Man?” you ask, shoulders tensed in case it’s not who you think.
“What are you doing?” 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. “Shit, don’t break your ankles.”
“My ankles?” He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you don’t know; what a fool you’d been for falling for his put upon tenor. “They’re fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?”
“You just dropped down twenty feet!”
“It’s more like thirty, and I’m fine. You understand the super part of superhero, don’t you?”
“Who said you’re a superhero?”
“Nice. What are you doing down here?”
“I was testing my theory. You’re following me.”
“No, I’m visiting you, it’s very different,” he says confidently.
“You haven’t come to see me for weeks.”
“Yes, well, I–” Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. “Hey, you’re the one who told me to take a day off.”
“I did tell you to take a day off. It’s not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. That’s a lot of responsibility for one person to have.”
“But it’s my responsibility,” he says easily. “No point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I don’t mind it.”
“Do you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?” you ask, cheeks hot.
“No,” he says, fondness evident even through the mask, “just you.”
“Do you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but it’s not that far.”
Spider-Man nods. “Yeah, I’ll walk you back.”
He doesn’t hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You can’t believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he can’t pretend to save his life.
“Are you having a good semester?” he asks.
“It’s getting better. I’m glad I stuck with it. I love biology, it’s so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, it’s not something everyone understands.” You give him a look, and you give into temptation. “My best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.”
“It’s definitely for dorks.”
“Right, but I love being one.” You offer a useless secret. “I like to think that it’s why we’re such great friends.”
“Me and you?” Spider-Man asks hoarsely.
“Me and Peter.” You elbow him without force. “Why, do you like science?”
“I love it…”
“You know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like we’ve been friends for a long time.” You’re teasing poor Peter.
He doesn’t speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise he’s stopped, you turn back to see him.
Peter’s gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. It’s the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didn’t want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: you’d meant to wind him up, not make him panic.
“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Can you hear something?”
“No, it’s not that…” He’s masked, but you know him well enough to understand why he’s stopped.
“It’s okay,” you say.
“It’s not, actually.”
“Spider-Man.” You take a step toward him. “It’s fine.”
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. “Do you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?”
“Yeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. It’s not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.”
“I know you were,” he says, emphasis on know, like it’s a different word entirely.
“But meeting you really helped. If it weren’t for you, for Peter,” —you give him a searching look— “I wouldn’t feel better at all.”
“It wasn’t his fault?” he asks. “He was your friend, and you were lonely.”
“No–”
“He didn’t know what was going on with you, he didn’t have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldn’t tell anybody, and I know it wasn’t an accident, so what was his excuse?” His voice burns with anger. “It’s his fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t your fault. Is that what you think?” You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. “Yes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I don’t know many people and I– I– I hurt myself, and it wasn’t as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?”
“Peter’s fault,” he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesn’t bother enthusing it with much gusto.
“Peter, none of it was your fault.” You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, don’t let me ruin this. “I 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 wasn’t your fault, that’s 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 wasn’t as bad as you think it was and it wasn’t your fault.”
“I wasn’t there for you,” he says. “And I’ve been lying to you for a long time.”
“You couldn’t tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.”
“…I didn’t even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.”
You hold your hands behind your back. “Well, he was a familiar one.”
Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms aren’t in his reach. “It’s not because I didn’t want you.”
“Peter,” you say, squirming.
He steps back.
“I have to go,” he says.
“What?”
“I have to– I don’t want to go,” he says earnestly, “sweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But I’ll come back, I’ll– I’ll come back,” he promises.
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.
—
You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isn’t there. You check your phone but he hasn’t texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasn’t been seen.
You aren’t sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said he’d come back, but he didn’t, 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 you’d 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? It’s different for him. It isn’t like he’s in love with you… you’d just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache you’d suffered before.
But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time.
—
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 you’d found yourself attached to the Mode’s 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 it’s your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose.
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 can’t stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. It’s served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest.
The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time you’ve 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.
Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon you’ll be ready to talk about it.
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, you’re supposed to lay down to avoid being stung.
You put your face in your hand. Next year, you’ll avoid the insect-based electives.
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.
You don’t raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee.
“Did you eat breakfast?” Peter asks quietly.
His voice is gentle, but hoarse.
You tense.
“Are you okay?” he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. “You don’t look like yourself. Your eyes are red.”
You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur.
“What are you reading?” He frowns at you. “Please don’t cry.”
You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. “I’m okay.”
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. “Can you tell me you didn’t wait long for me?”
“Ten minutes,” you lie.
“Okay. I’m sorry. There was a fire.” He rubs your arm where he’s holding you. “I’m sorry.”
“Will you go half?” you ask, nodding to the sandwich he’s brought you. It’s tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. You’ve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating.
“I know you’re hungry,” you say, tapping his elbow, “just eat.”
You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peter’s here, you don’t feel so sick —he’s not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach won’t be ignored.
Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. You’ve never seen him stop before he’s done.
“It was in the apartments on Vernon. I– I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.”
You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. “Are you hurt?” you ask, coughing.
He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. “How long have you known it was me?” he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck.
You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. “The night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ‘running girl’. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,” —you whisper, weary of the quiet cafe— “Spider-Man, and I realised it’s him that sounds like you. That he is you.”
“Was that disappointing?”
“Peter, you’re, like, my favourite person in the world,” you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. “Why would that be disappointing?”
“I thought maybe you think he’s cooler than me.”
“He is cooler than you, Peter.” You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. “I guess you’re the same person, right? So he’s just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.”
“You flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.”
“Well, he flirted with me first.”
You chance a look at his face. From that moment you can’t 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 he’s 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 didn’t get it then, but you’re starting to understand now.
“I’ve made a mess of everything,” he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. “I haven’t been honest with you.”
“I haven’t, either.”
“I want to ask you for something,” Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. “You can say no.”
“You’re hard to say no to.”
“I need you to talk to me more,” —and here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your space— “not just because I love your voice, or because you think so much I’m scared you’ll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.”
We do, you think morosely.
“It’s not your fault,” he adds, the hand that isn’t holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, “it’s mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldn’t have let it be a secret for so long.”
“No, I doubt they’re stupid,” you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. “It’s not easy to tell someone you’re a hero.”
His palm smells like smoke.
“That’s not the secret I meant,” he says.
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.
“So tell me.”
The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. “You want to trade secrets again?” he asks.
“Please.”
“Okay. Okay, but I don’t have as many as you do,” he warns.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I don’t. It’s not a real secret, is it? I’ve been trying to show you for weeks, we…”
He tilts his head invitingly.
All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isn’t a secret.
“I’ll go first,” he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks.” He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. “What’s your secret?”
“Sometime I want you to kiss me so badly I can’t sleep. It makes me feel sick–”
“Sick?” he asks worriedly.
You touch the tip of your nose to his. “It’s like– like jealousy, but…”
“You have no one to be jealous of,” he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, “Please, can I kiss you?”
You say, “Yes,” very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldn’t be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.
It isn’t the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesn’t hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. It’s so warm you don’t know what to make of him beyond kissing him back —kissing his smile, though it’s catching. Kissing the line of his Cupid’s bow as he leans down.
“I’m sorry about everything,” he mumbles, nose flattened against yours.
You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. It’s still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peter’s hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest.
Peter drops his hand. “Oh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didn’t snow, we’d be blind.”
“I can’t be cold much longer,” you confess. “I’m sick of the shitty weather.”
“I can keep you warm.”
He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown.
“Did you want my meskouta?” you ask.
Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow.
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 you’d 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, you’d tease.
“You never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.”
You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. “They could make a novella of things I haven’t told you about,” you murmur wryly.
Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, we’ll work on that.
—
Spring
“Sorry!”
“No, it’s–”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m– shit!”
“–okay! All legs inside the ride?”
“I couldn’t find my purse–”
“You don’t need it!” Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. “You don’t have to rush.”
“Are you sure you can drive this thing?”
“Harry doesn’t mind.”
“I don’t mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?”
“That’s not funny.”
You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. “Nothing ever is with us.”
Peter grabs you behind the neck —which might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thing— and pulls you forward for a kiss you don’t have time for. “If we don’t check in,” —you begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lips— “by three, they said they won’t keep the room–” 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. “And then we’ll have to drive home like losers.”
Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. You’re rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. “Sorry, am I the one who lost her purse?”
“Peter!”
“I can’t make us un-late,” he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips.
“Alright,” you warn.
He reaches for your knee. “It’s a forty minute drive. You’re panicking over nothing.”
“It’s an hour.”
Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peter’s hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesn’t question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. There’s 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.
It’s 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. It’s not that Lenox Hill isn’t one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), it’s 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. You’re a little less scared of the future everyday.
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.
The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasn’t 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.
It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, he’d looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, you’re 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 he’d done when you’d curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me.
He’d 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, he’s a treasure. There’s 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, you’ll 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. It’s like when you talk to one another, you can’t stop.
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 he’s reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when you’re sleeping.
There are hectic, aching moments —vigilante boyfriends become blasé with their lives and precious faces. You’ve 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. It’s easier when Peter’s careful, but Spider-Man isn’t careful. You ask him to take care of himself and he’s 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.
He hadn’t patrolled last night in preparation for today.
“Did you know,” he says, pulling Harry’s borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, “that today’s the last day of spring?”
“Already?”
“Tonight’s the June equinox.”
“Who told you that?”
“Aunt May. She said it’s time to get a summer job.”
You laugh loudly. “Our federal loans won’t last forever.”
“Harry’s gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.”
You nod emphatically. It’s barely a thought. “Obviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?”
Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. “Better than the Bugle.”
You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. It’s not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. There’s a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel he’s ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain.
“There it is, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, “that’s what dreams are made of.”
The blue and white tiled pool. It hasn’t changed.
It’s about as hot as it’s going to get in June today, and, not knowing if it’ll 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. There’s nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes.
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. “It’s cold,” he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs.
“I can feel it,” you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge.
“You won’t come in and warm me up?” he asks.
You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers.
“I’m trying to prepare myself.”
“Mm, you have to get used to it.” He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that he’d want one still makes you dizzy. “Thank you,” he says.
“You’ll have to move.”
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 —he’s so strong, the water so cold.
Peter doesn’t often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. He’ll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when you’re on his side to force you sideways.
“Oh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!” he says.
“How will I run?” you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck.
Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that he’s precious with you, too. There’s devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. “I don’t need you to do a running start, sweetheart,” he says, tilting his head to the side, “I’ll just lift you.”
“Last time I laughed so much you dropped me.”
“Exactly, you laughed, and this is serious.”
The world isn’t mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8’s parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peter’s 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.
He’s a beholden thing in the sun; you can’t 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.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
You rest an arm behind his head. “The rash guard is a good look?”
“Sweetheart, you couldn’t look cuter,” he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. “I wish you’d mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I would’ve prepared to be a more decent man.”
“You’re decent enough, Parker.”
“Maybe now.”
“Well, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,” you say.
You’re teasing, but Peter’s eyes light up with mischief as he calls, “Oh, great idea!” and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You can’t avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface.
He shakes himself off like a dog.
“Pete!” you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes.
“It just didn’t help,” he says, pulling you back into his arms, “you know, the water is cold, but you’re so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and you’re just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds ago–”
“Peter,” you say, tempted to roll your eyes.
Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile he’s sporting, they look like anything but tears. “Tell me a secret?” he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back.
A soft smile takes your lips. “No,” you say, tipping up your chin, “you tell me one first.”
“What kind of secret?”
“A real one,” you insist.
“Oh…” He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. “Okay, I have one. Ask me again.”
You raise a single brow. “Tell me a secret, Peter.”
He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. “I love you,” he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose.
You’re lucky he’s already holding you. “I love you too,” you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. “I love you.”
Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You can’t know what he’s thinking, but you can feel it. His hands can’t seem to stay still on your skin.
The sun warms your back for a time.
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.
“That’s another one to let go of,” he suggests.
He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye.
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.
“I’ll start the shower for you,” 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.
“Don’t fall asleep standing up,” he murmurs.
Your eyes close unbidden to you both. “I won’t.”
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.
。𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ
please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat —thank you for reading❤︎
#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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The Perfect Life || CL16 {1}
Summary: On the outside it appeared you had the perfect life but Charles didn't know the secrets that had been kept from him. In order for him to succeed deals were made with your family and no price was too much to pay. Warnings: nsfw, swearing, fighting, mentions of character death, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, horrible parents, Arthur Leclerc being the best friend ever WC: 2.5k
One || Two || Three
“What have you got yourself into now?”
There was no simple answer to that question and it was the very reason you had specifically not called the man waiting for an answer in the corridor. You dragged your eyes away from the chipped grey walls of the cell and stopped reading the tagging that littered the bricks - you didn’t really care that P & H were 2getha 4eva - and sat up from the concrete bed you had attempted to sleep on.
Stretching your tired muscles, you ignored his question and asked one of your own. “What are you doing here, Charles?”
“Arthur called.” Charles grabbed the bars that separated you, his knuckles turning white as he scanned the other vagrants you had been locked in with. “Did you have to get him involved?”
“What makes you think it was my idea?” It was your idea, but it was rude of him to assume so.
“My brother wouldn’t know how to find an underground fight club, let alone join one.”
“Maybe you don’t know your brother as well as you think.”
“Maybe, but I know you.” He looked at your cheeks that were still shiny from the Vaseline that helped the blows glance off, then he looked at your busted knuckles that not even tape could stop from splitting. “Why?”
You shrugged, but it tweaked your shoulder that had taken quite the punch and you winced at the spike of pain. “For a bit of fun, let off some steam.”
“Yeah, you look like you are really enjoying yourself,” he muttered sarcastically before walking away.
“Wait, Charles, where are you going?”
“Home, it’s late and Arthur is waiting in the car.”
“You’re just going to leave me here?”
“You didn’t call me,” he stated coldly. “Bail yourself out this time.”
Your clenched fist hit the metal bar and he briefly paused as the ringing sound followed him down the hall. “Dammit, Charles. Please?”
He continued walking away and you dropped back onto the hard slab of concrete wondering why you bothered. Charles never cared for you and the friendship you had with his younger brother, in fact merely breathing around him seemed to be an offence. It had been that way ever since your family sponsored his career, it was like he resented you for your family’s money.
“Y/L/N,” a burly bailiff called out, interrupting your ranting inner monologue. “You’ve been posted.”
A frown pinched your brows together as the door opened and you saw Charles standing in the shadows behind the officer. “Now would be the time for a thank you,” he muttered.
You were tempted to throw a ‘fuck off’ his way but bit your tongue and accepted the thick hoodie he had draped over his arm. While the sex workers you had shared a cell with wore just as little clothing, yours was for an entirely different reason. The sports bra and bike shorts were perfect for fighting in but left you cold in the early hours of the morning, so you quickly pulled the hoodie over your body. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back.”
“I don’t want your money,” he sighed, rubbing his temple and leaving you with the impression that you were the headache he had.
“That’s not what you said to my father 10 years ago.”
“Is it too late to lock her back up?”
The bailiff looked awkwardly between the two of you and if you were in Monaco the officer would have probably marched you back to the cell, but Charles was in Nice now, he was in your city.
You quickly signed the release form for your belongings and slipped the family signet ring back onto your finger before turning your phone on. A flood of messages from your father, his assistant and his lawyer, appeared in the flurry of vibrations that made Charles scoff and shake his head. “Worried about his little princess, huh?”
It was your turn to scoff. If only he knew how utterly wrong he was, but you weren’t one to air the dirty laundry of your family - even if it would shut the pretentious twat up for one minute. “Same time next week, boys,” you said with a nod to the officers behind the Perspex wall.
“You’re seriously messed up,” Charles commented as he followed your quick descent down the front steps and aimed for the dark blue Porsche.
“Keep sweet talking, you flirt,” you shot back sarcastically. “I thought you had a girlfriend.”
Arthur had opened his door the moment he spotted you and he knew from the pained look on his brother’s face, and the smile on yours, that the interaction had gone as well as expected. He couldn’t understand why two people he loved dearly had to fight like cats and dogs every time they were in the same room. He had tried to get you to talk to Charles, to tell him the truth about your situation, but it had been hard enough talking to Arthur about it and you trusted him with your life. You weren’t going to go through that again for someone that would be more likely to spit in your face.
“How’s your nose?” Arthur asked as he gently cupped your face and inspected it.
“Relax, I already reset it.” You took comfort in the warmth of his palms but the fuzzy feeling that came with knowing someone in the world cared about your wellbeing was gone in an instant.
“Daddy can always buy you a new one.”
“Charles!”
“Forget about it, Tur,” you murmured as you stepped back and started to make your way home on foot. “Text me when you get home safe.”
“If you care about him you will leave him alone,” Charles called out as he opened the driver's door. “You’re just going to drag him down with you.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Arthur growled at his brother before he started to follow you down the street. “Wait, please.”
“You should listen to your brother,” you said over your shoulder. “I’m a sinking ship.”
Arthur’s footsteps quickened as he jogged to your side and pulled you to a stop. “You’re not a sinking ship, but if you are then I will be your lifeboat.”
“That’s stupid analogy,” you scoffed as he pulled you into his arms. “I’m sorry I got you arrested.”
“I could have run when they raided but what kind of best friend would that make me?”
“One with a clean record,” you pointed out, feeling his chest bounce with a silent laugh.
“It’s overrated. I’m thinking about getting a tattoo now, one to remember my incarceration by. Maybe a tear, just here,” he said as he touched his cheek. “Think it would make me look cool.”
You rolled your eyes and laughed. “Oh yeah, the ladies would love that.”
“Please don’t give my brother any more bad ideas,” Charles muttered as he rolled by slowly in his car with the window down. “Get in, both of you.”
Arthur opened the door and pulled you down with him, tugging you into place on his lap before you could escape. He wasn’t going to let you walk home at 3am, no matter how safe Nice was, but it was annoying that his brother only bought a two seater sports car when he knew that the two of you had been arrested.
You guided Charles away from the waterfront mansions and into the industrial area that was abandoned at the late hour. Arthur had been to your place plenty of times but it was a first for Charles to see the concrete building with a chipped tile roof at the end of the rundown street.
“What are we doing here?” Charles asked as he parked in front of a rusted metal door.
“Thanks for the ride,” you said, kissing Arthur’s cheek before opening the door.
“What is this place?” Charles asked again as he followed you out, frowning at the key to the door you found under a shattered pot plant.
“I can’t exactly go home like this, can I? Genius.”
Arthur’s door shut as he got out to referee the second round of verbal sparring for the evening.
“I’m surprised they even let you home after the crap you put them through.”
“Yeah, well, I'm still useful to them so they can’t get rid of me yet. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
“It must be so hard living your perfect little life,” Charles drawled sarcastically and Arthur inhaled sharply at the insult.
“You think my life is perfect?” You laughed bitterly and Arthur looked down at his feet. “Do you know why I fight in that shitty underground cage? The only freedom I have is when I get in that ring. It is the only choice I get to make for myself. For five minutes, I am in control of my own life, Charles, I get to fight for myself.”
“In control? You have always done and gotten everything you wanted,” he argued. “You wanted a pony, you got a fucking pony.”
Your vision narrowed as anger exploded in your chest. “There was a price, you fucking idiot! I am paying that price now. You don’t know what it’s like to have your entire life planned out for you, to find out those gifts came with terms and conditions, so do me a favour and shut the fuck up for once in your life please.”
Charles took a step closer but Arthur placed himself between you, his palms pushing his brother back as your breath quickened to uncontrollable pants. “You don’t understand, just let it go.”
“Damn right I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you listen to her bullshit, Tur. Jules couldn’t stand to be in the same room as her, and I can’t either.”
The whomping of blood rushing around your head echoed in your ears as time slowed and Arthur’s arm pulled back. You watched him close his fist like you had taught him, keeping his thumb on the outside to avoid breaking it. You watched the veins on his hand grow thicker as he threw the punch at his own brother and the shock barely registered before Charles fell down on his ass.
“Jules couldn’t be in the same room with her because he knew the truth and he felt guilty!” Arthur screamed down at his brother. “You were too young to understand then, but we aren’t kids anymore.”
Charles broke free of his state of shock and scrambled to his feet, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “What truth? Huh? Is it worth ruining our brotherhood?”
“Jules was engaged.”
“Bullshit.” Charles shook his head violently and you sank to the ground, leaning back against the cold bricks for the second time that night. “He would have told me.”
“Ask Enzo.” Arthur knew Charles would believe him. Lorenzo was Jules’ best friend, it was why Charles met Jules in the first place. Jules already had ties to your family and he used them to broker the deal that funded Charles’ career.
“Okay, so what if he was engaged?” Charles snapped as his agitation grew. He was suddenly questioning everything he knew about his godfather and it showed on his shaking hands.
“Because he was engaged to me,” you whispered, a shadow falling across your face as Arthur crouched down beside you and wiped away the tears you hadn’t even felt fall. You couldn’t tell if they were tears of anger or sadness, the two seemed to blur when it came to Jules. He was always there, even in your earliest memories. He was like an older brother to you, he even taught you to ride your bike without trainer wheels. He was always there, until he wasn’t.
Charles was right, he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you once the deal was made. You couldn’t blame him for that.
“No, no fucking way,” Charles laughed, raking a hand through his hair. “Arthur, are you listening to this shit?”
“I’ve seen the contract, Cha.”
“You’ve always been gullible but this is actually stupid. She was 16. Jules wouldn’t have married a girl. He was 25 for fucks sake.”
“We didn’t have a choice,” you admitted quietly. “It was the price for the deal he made, and you are right, Jules was too noble for that. It took a lot of convincing on his part to wait until I turned 21. My father resented that fact, I think he was hoping to sell me off to someone sooner.”
Charles stumbled back to the hood of his car, watching as Arthur took a seat beside you and draped his arm protectively over your shoulders. The brothers stared at each other but you stared at the gravel between your legs while the truth lingered in the air.
You could feel the pieces connecting in Charles’ head as if they were being screamed aloud and you flinched at the moment they all came together. Arthur’s arm tightened, Charles' throat bobbed and nausea roiled in your stomach.
“It was me,” Charles choked. “Wasn’t it?”
You didn’t bother looking up as you nodded. “My father never cared about your career. He wanted a union with the Bianchi family and he finally got the opportunity when Jules asked to sponsor you.”
“Why the hell would he agree to that?”
“Because he believed in you, obviously, and I like to think that maybe he thought he could get out of the agreement before I turned 21.” You shrugged because you would never know the complete truth now. It made you sick to think that maybe he did find a way out of it, in the worst way possible.
“Your father…”
“Is a real asshole? Yeah, I know.”
“I was going to say sick bastard.”
You chuckled in agreement and tipped your head back. “Perfect life, am I right?”
Charles had the decency to winch at the reminder. “You’re an adult now, why don’t you leave?”
“I wish it were that easy. All my bank accounts are under his control. They didn’t let me go to college. I don’t know anyone that isn’t indebted or loyal to him,” you sighed. “I got this place with my fight winnings. It’s not much but it’s mine, at least until he arranges another marriage for me, then I suppose the poor bastard gets it too.”
“Marry me.”
You barked a laugh and looked at Arthur, his lips still parted like they were shocked the words had passed by. “Now you are being stupid. I love you, Tur, and that is precisely why I wouldn’t wish this shit on you.”
“Then marry me,” Charles offered. “You hate me already, and I owe Jules everything. You can come to Monaco and study, or get a job, or whatever you want to do.”
“No, thank you,” you said as you pulled yourself to your feet and opened the door. “Drive safe.”
“I’m serious,” Charles growled as caught the door before it closed. “I am offering you a lifeline, why won’t you take it?”
“My father taught me many important life lessons but the first one was if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. Good night, Charles.”
Part Two
#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#formula 1 fanfic#f1 x reader#arthur leclerc fanfic
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Wrong?
Muzan x fem!reader x Yoriichi
Warnings: Smut, rough sex, dub con, threesome, watching corn, very NSFW, 18+. Modern AU. 7k words.
Summary: Your boyfriend Muzan is a star, and you love being his girl. But the man has needs that you have been neglecting for a while. Tonight will start a chain of events that will have you asking yourself if sex and love in a relationship truly should be inseparable?
A/N: I loved creating this storyline. This is a request from a friend. The only thing she asked for was Muzan's girlfriend falling for Yoriichi. It's one of my favourite stories to write - I got to spread my creative wings.
Masterlist
The club was full tonight, hosting the release party for a new book by one of the most prominent writers in the city. The venue was an old factory building, stylishly renovated with a mixture of white rendered walls, exposed brick, and steel structure, decorated with an eclectic and carefully curated selection of furniture ranging from sleek Scandinavian design armchairs to rococo sofas and chandeliers.
A place that quickly became a favourite with the cultural circles of the city. It was also the home of a popular nightclub on the weekends as well as the venue of choice for a society hosting slightly, well, different types of events, namely invitation-only orgies, that your boyfriend and subsequently yourself were always invited to, but had to decline due to your unwillingness to participate in anything like that.
Tonight’s event was the kind you gladly accompanied him to. As always on such occasions, your boyfriend Muzan Kibutsuji was one of the guests of honour. He was a young star writer, specialising in dark horror and fantasy, having sold over a million copies of his first novel at the tender age of twenty-three. Now, five years later and with another few million books sold, he was among the literary elites. He also had a background in acting, although there was a veil of mystery as to what type of movies, he was in.
You too were a writer and the two of you met at a seminar hosted by your favourite Japanese superstar novelist. Well, you would be lying to yourself if you thought you actually were a professional writer, more of an aspiring writer, really. Your studies and work took up most of your time, so the only writing you did was manga and anime fanfiction. Yes, you felt very inadequate at these parties, but you quickly adjusted to assuming the role of the supportive and devoted girlfriend of the literary star.
And tonight, was no different. You wore a brand new, figure-hugging little black dress and high-heeled thigh-high leather boots. Simple, but sexy. For the last half hour, you were standing idly sipping your champagne, while Muzan was involved in a heated debate with some older, seemingly unimpressed author and his artist friends. You were a little tipsy and were hugging Muzans arm all the while he was busy talking.
He was such a hottie, you thought, you saw the envious looks on the faces of his female colleagues every time he brought you with him to any event. Yes, you could consider yourself lucky. His looks were striking, as he was essentially an albino, meaning his eyes were red and his hair white and wavy, but he always coloured it black. The monochromatic colour combination together with his masculine yet defined and delicate features gave him an exotic and almost out-of-earthly aura. His muscular arms were covered with intricate black gothic tattoos (he had tattoos in other, more intimate places too) and he sported a tongue piercing. His style was a bit steampunk blended with hard rock, he looked good in suits and ripped jeans alike. And he stood almost six feet tall.
The boredom of just standing around was slowly leaving room for thoughts other than literature, you were getting a little horny, to be completely honest with yourself. You were into your third glass of champagne and were slightly tipsy, the ambient rhythmic music, warm dimmed lighting, and the buzz of people talking were putting you into a pleasant lull, making your senses pliable and receptive to new impressions.
Out of nowhere, you started to imagine what it would be like when an orgy is hosted here… the throaty moans and high-pitched squealing of female pleasure mixed with the deep raspy grunts of the men, loud screams of people climaxing and the wet, squelching pounding of flesh against flesh. You could picture naked bodies, bodies in provocative lingerie, illuminated and glossy in the warm light of the chandeliers. It is almost as if you now suddenly were curious about it…
And that is when you noticed him. That other man. He was standing in the middle of the room deep in a conversation with a group of young people. His appearance stood out in the crowd, he was very tall, probably well over six feet, maybe six feet three, with an athletic build. His hair was long and black, tied in a ponytail with cascades of shorter bangs framing his face. Red highlights illuminated his layered hair. He was dressed in tight black jeans and an equally tight black t-shirt, and was wearing long earrings with what looked like the rising sun. There was a strange red mark on his left temple, a birthmark maybe? You could not help it, but you found yourself staring at his bulging biceps every time he lifted his beer to his lips. You were amused with how boredom brought out such primitive instincts in you. You were interrupted by Muzan who nudged you gently,
‘Would you like another drink?’
‘Yes, please’ you replied.
He walked away to the bar while texting someone and smirking. He came back with drinks only to find a new group of colleagues taking his attention. So… you proceeded with your little dirty pastime. Suddenly, the man looked in your direction, a dark maroon gaze piercing straight through you. You froze, and at the same time, a familiar heat was starting to spread in your belly. Wetness was pooling between your legs and you were thanking yourself for wearing panties tonight.
He looked away again, but then his gaze was constantly seeking yours for the rest of the evening. When it was time for you and Muzan to leave, while walking past the group with the gorgeous object of your attention, he suddenly looked you up and down and gave you the most lust-filled gaze you could imagine. You were so stunned you kept on staring at him, your head turning back in his direction while you were leaving the room.
The ride home proceeded in awkward silence; you have never seen Muzan in such a strange mood. When you entered the penthouse, you slouched on the sofa and closed your eyes. You were a little tired from all the impressions, especially that specific one… You opened your eyes feeling the presence of your boyfriend. He was standing in front of you holding handcuffs. ‘Move to the armchair’ he commanded in a deep, raspy whisper, the way he almost hissed the words sent a chill down your spine. ‘What now?’ you thought puzzled.
‘I saw what you were doing all night. You were staring at that man like a shameless slut.’
His words were true, you were indeed staring, but so what, this came from the man who suggested attending orgies in the past.
Perplexed, you retaliated: ‘Am I not allowed to look at people anymore?’
‘Oh, my love, you were not just looking, you were eye-fucking him. Do you think I cannot tell the difference?’
You swallowed and obediently moved to the armchair.
He placed your arms on the rests and slowly cuffed each of them to the furniture. Then he picked up the remote and turned on the projector. What was instantaneously visualized on the screen went straight to your sex. It was a close-up of a man and a woman fucking, with loud, obscene moans serving as the soundtrack. The camera started slowly to move away from the copulating pair and the back of the male came into full view, intricate tattoos spreading over his back like a veil of black lace and long, wavy white hair snaking down his neck and shoulders while his hips were rhythmically moving back and forth to slam his dick into the woman. When the camera moved to show the front of him your heart nearly stopped, the red pupils staring intently at the woman he was railing, that face…. It was Muzan. So that was the acting career he was so mysterious about.
In the meantime, Muzan was in the kitchen part of the open-plan living space, texting someone. You were both completely silent while the sounds of sex were filling the space. A few moments later and a pair of now completely soaking wet panties, the doorbell rang. Muzan walked over to open it. His face was adorned with a mischievous smile as he glanced your way. What happened next was something you did not expect and that started an unstoppable chain of events.
The person Muzan let in the apartment was a woman, a petite blond with hair all the way down to her round ass, dressed in a sleeveless skin-tight latex dress, that showed off her large (most presumably) fake silicone breasts. A real little sex kitten. Muzan led her to the sofa and sat down spreading his legs so that she could kneel between them.
He parted her pouting pink lips with his index finger and slid it deep into her mouth while she released a throaty moan, he then pulled the finger out stroking her bottom lip, only to pump the finger back into her mouth even deeper this time while rotating it. His other hand slid down her dress off her breasts and started slowly caressing them, making her moan even harder. He was pinching her nipples, making her perfect little body arch in pleasure, and looking even hotter. All the while her small manicured hands were stroking his crotch and after her back arched from overstimulation, she unzipped his pants and gently pulled out his now fully erect, hard cock. She was stroking it gently and licking the sensitive tip.
Eventually, she sank her head down on the full length, stretching her shiny, pink lips, gagging a little, and continuing to bob her head up and down on his thick length. His dick was large, so that most of the time she was only getting half of it in her mouth with the rest of the shaft treated to a pumping motion by her delicate hands. He threw his head back; you could tell he was close. Her moans were getting louder too and a few moments later he grabbed her by her ponytail and the back of her head and shoved her down into his groin while bucking his hips upwards. The woman gagged heavily, the sound wet and sloppy. He climaxed.
Once he was finished, he let her head go and she slowly pulled away, gasping for air, with spit and cum connecting her mouth to his penis. She looked him in the eye with a submissive almost grateful look. He was still stroking her breasts, while she was licking up all the cum from her lips and sucking his cock clean. And then, just like that she adjusted her clothes, got up, threw him a little kiss, and walked out of the apartment. The porno on the screen was playing all the while this was happening adding to the already surreal and loaded atmosphere.
You were too stunned to even think, let alone say anything. ‘What the fuck did you just witness?’
Without a word Muzan got up from the sofa and walked up to you, his dick still hanging out of his pants. He knelt in front of you and put his hands on your soft thighs, slowly kneading them up towards your crotch. His hands were getting closer and closer to your wet lips and finally they reached your soaked g-string. Muzan started rubbing you through the wet fabric with two fingers.
‘Fuck you are wet. Such a whore you are, getting wet from watching other people fuck. You are a dirty little kitten, aren’t you?’
You were too ashamed to answer, ashamed that something so wrong and apparently hurtful aroused you. You should have been turning your head away, yelling at him, crying even. But all you did was watch… and get wet.
‘You see, my love, when people get jealous, they sometimes stop thinking, they do stupid things. Do you think, what I did was stupid? Hm? But, you know, I got jealous, very jealous. And when you have been such a prude with me for so long, never wanting to do the things I thought we should do and then go drooling after other men, what do you think I should have done?’ His voice was raspy and menacing, but also filled with lust.
Muzan’s fingers were now slowly spreading your labia and rubbing up and down between your slick-soaked folds. You were so wet, his actions created small squelching sounds. He added another finger and slowly worked his way into your dripping pussy, crooking a finger and pumping in with small circular movements that made your muscles clench around him. He then spread your labia and moved in to lick you between your legs. His was giving you long and slow, gentle licks all the way on the very inside of your labia, you could feel the metal of his tongue piercing leaving a streak of extra pressure and thus enhanced sensation on the thin strips of flesh it was touching.
Gradually, he started to increase the force with which he was working his tongue on you. Wherever the piercing pressed on your sensitive flesh, it was exerting extra pressure on your nerves. When he finally reached your clitoris and started circling around it and occasionally skilfully flicking his tongue so that the piercing would hit the sensitive nub, your thighs were sent into convulsions of pleasure. You were starting to edge, your climax so close yet his actions not decisive enough to grant you release. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, while he was flicking his tongue over your clit while all the while pumping his fingers into your pussy. You were so close; you were drooling and tears started to form in your eyes.
‘Muzan, please let me come, I’m so close’ you were moaning and squealing and when you thought he was increasing his pace, he suddenly pulled away and started uncuffing you.
‘Go down on all four for me doll.’
You did what he asked you to, as you were so greedy to come. You now had the porno in full view in front of you and there he was on the screen fucking two women now, one riding his face and the other his dick. Watching that made you so fucking aroused. It was wrong, but you could not help reacting to it in the way you did. You felt like an animal, driven only by instinct at this point.
Without a word, he spread your ass cheeks and aligned his hard tip at your entrance, and soon his thick girth was pumping in and out of your pussy, wet, sloppy, indecent sounds of the two of you fucking on top of the vulgar sounds coming from the porno were filling the otherwise so elegant and relaxing space of your shared apartment. He was thrusting so hard that with every move you were being sent forwards with so much force that eventually your whole upper body was flat on the soft rug with him pressing down your back with his hand. He increased the pressure, supporting himself almost fully on you, and leaned down to whisper in your ear.
‘I will now come inside you my little whore, I will breed you, because you are my very own whore, I bet you would like to carry my little brat, would you?’
With that he increased the pace and strength of his thrusts, you were clenching around him, desperate to come. His hips and lower abdomen were now pressed flush to your round soft ass and you could eventually feel his lower abs contract indicating his release. His orgasm must have been a big one as he growled while pushing himself in you and releasing a huge load of cum into your fluttering insides.
‘Fuck you were good, kitten. I will sleep so well now.’
He pulled out, stood up and grabbed the remote to turn off the movie, and left for the bathroom. You were left high and dry, or so you thought anyway…
When you entered the bedroom Muzan was seated in the chair lounge next to the lit fireplace and opposite of your shared bed, fully dressed sipping on a glass of single malt whisky. The flame was making his eyes look almost devilish.
‘Here you are. I think you do deserve to come after all, we do not want you to lose sleep, do we?’
There was something so menacing in his voice, something that was hitting all the submissive notes in your entire being.
‘Undress for me, doll’
Without hesitation, you started to take your clothes off.
‘All of it, now!’ He commanded.
You did as you were told.
‘Now. Lay down on the bed so I can see between your legs. Play with yourself for me, make yourself come.’
There was nothing else to do, but to obey and you already felt like you were in a trance, as if nothing of this was real. You laid down and started to flick your nipple and got your imagination ready, and the fantasy that was helping you get off involved the tall man from the party, your only invisible act of defiance against your boyfriend. You imagined him seated on a sofa at the party, with everyone watching while you came up to him and straddled him shamelessly. What followed made you move your hand down between your legs and masturbate. Your fingers were doing their skilled and experienced work and very soon you came. Your orgasm was intense, with waves of pleasure causing your body to arch and convulse, you released a small scream and when the waves of pleasure finally flowed away, you were just lying there, limp with soaking wet fingers and pussy. You licked your fingers dry and closed your eyes.
A harsh yank to your chin shook you out of your bliss. You opened your eyes and the only thing in your line of sight was Muzan’s cock.
‘Open your mouth for me now, sweetheart’
The gentle words were in such stark contrast to what he was about to do because as soon as you opened your mouth, he grabbed you by your neck and shoved himself fully into your mouth, making you gag. He stayed like this for a few seconds, savouring how deep inside your throat his dick was seated, and rotated his hips a little. Then he slowly pulled out, only to slam himself into you again, and again and again, until you were a gagging, drooling mess with tears and mascara running down your cheeks. He pulled out, drool connecting your mouth to his dick, and lifted your head up by yanking you up at your ponytail.
‘I think this is a good look for you, isn’t it, doll? My submissive little kitten, so sweet and obedient. ‘
He shoved himself in you again and this time kept on going until you could feel his muscles spasm and the warm, salty liquid filled your mouth and throat. He pumped into you a few extra times before pulling out. You swallowed most of the cum, but there was still some left on his cock.
‘Clean me up.’
You licked his dick clean and he lifted your head by the chin, so very gently now.
‘Hm, we will both sleep well after this, won’t we?’
And he placed the gentlest of kisses on your lips and went into the bathroom to clean himself up. You followed suit, but you knew you would most likely not sleep all too well, still trying to come to terms with what he has done in front of you with that woman, as well as trying to grasp how in the hell was it your fault. Was he really the jealous type?
The following day began with Muzan getting up and making you both coffees. He behaved as if last night did not happen, something that confused and infuriated you even more. Since it was your day off, you decided to head over to the gym to clear your head and hopefully figure out your next move. Both you and Muzan frequented the same gym in the neighbourhood, the gym was large, but with a relaxed atmosphere. There was also a martial arts dojo in conjunction with it that Muzan went to occasionally, but you never showed any interest in.
As soon as you entered the gym, you nearly froze in your steps. There, next to the reception desk was the man from the party, chatting casually with one of the personal trainers. You stalling in your movement caught his attention and he looked straight at you and waved. As if hypnotised you started slowly walking toward him and finally stopped in front of the man. He was so tall, you had to tilt your head up to look at his face.
‘Hi,’ you blurted out.
‘I didn’t know you went to this gym?’
You kept on rambling as if the two of you were already introduced. He looked at you with slight amusement.
‘Yes, I do, and I believe I saw you at the party last night, yes?’
‘Yes.’ You nodded like the idiot you were. For every minute feeling more and more awkward.
‘Well, I guess we should have a proper introduction then. My name is Yoriichi’. He stretched out his hand.
‘Y/n’ you said with overdriven courage as you placed your hand in his large one for a courteous handshake.
‘Excuse me, boss, can you please sign this?’ the two of you were interrupted by an employee of the gym coming up to Yoriichi with some papers. You looked at him and asked surprised.
‘Oh, you work here?’
‘Yes, actually I kind of happen to own the place’ he answered shyly, scratching his head and blushing a little.
While he was busy flipping through the pages you could not help yourself but eye him off discretely and what you saw was waking up the most basic instincts in you. He was wearing cotton tracksuit pants and a singlet in a thin functional material, that showed off his huge toned arms. The outline of his pecs and abs were visible through the thin fabric, you also noted he had powerful, strong thighs, as the fabric of the track pants was stretched at the thickest part of his thigh muscles. You could not help to throw a glance at his shapely glutes and strong hips. When you thought about it, he really had the appearance of some ancient warrior, a samurai maybe. You swallowed quietly, an action he caught you in the middle of.
‘Well, I am done here. I will be taking the rest of the afternoon off today, so I guess I will see you around sometime?’ He spoke.
You just could not let him disappear like this. You gathered your courage and asked
‘Would you have time for a quick coffee then? I changed my mind and will work out later today.’
He studied you for a moment and answered.
‘Why not, actually? I do have the whole day to myself. There is a good café nearby’
You nodded and the two of you started walking out of the gym, him courteously opening the door for you. Luckily, the café really was nearby. You were enjoying your coffee and the casual conversation, but when your fingers met when reaching out for napkins, the two of you went silent almost simultaneously. The truth was that all through the friendly, harmless exchange you were imagining fucking Yoriichi, riding his cock, and touching him in a way that was anything but just friendly. The look in his maroon eyes was starting to reveal something more as well now.
And maybe he could pick up on your feelings because the tension between the two of you was becoming palpable. You were soaking wet between your legs and your breathing was becoming heavy, your arousal was powerful: the contraction of the muscles of your vagina started to feel more and more like a rope being tightly twisted into a knot, and this sensation was now spreading up to your cervix making your insides feel like they were on fire.
He sucked in his lips before finally speaking up.
‘You know, I live just around the corner if you would like to have … some lunch with me.’
As if in a trance you answered
‘Yes, I would like that’
But you already knew what you really would like and sensed that this was something he would like as well…
As soon as you stepped into the elevator, he came closer to you and kissed your lips. Very lightly at first, but as soon as he felt you reciprocate the action, he drew you closer to him and the kiss became deeper, with tongues swirling deep in each other’s mouths. He was holding his hips away from yours for now, most likely due to an increasing hard-on, he was a gentleman after all, and did not want to impose that soon.
His hands were caressing your back and your body started tingling in pleasure. He was so big, you felt cradled and sheltered, and his warm smell was like a feast for your senses. The elevator reached his floor and he led you into his apartment. It was a bright and beautiful space, cradled in light from the large windows, decorated in oriental, presumably Japanese fashion, with tatamis, low large futon like sofas, beautiful prints of Sakura trees and diverse martial arts weaponry adorning the walls.
He closed the door behind him and swiftly had you up against the nearest wall. He lifted you by your buttocks and you wrapped your legs around his hips. All the while you were entangled in a passionate kiss. He lifted you up and started walking toward the bedroom. When he sat you down on the bed, you began to remove each other’s clothes. His body was even more magnificent naked, and the cock looked… huge. Almost uncomfortably huge.
Yoriichi started crawling on the bed and on top of you, his large body towering over you and making you gasp. His warmth, his smell, it was all so close to you and all you wanted was to drown in him, let him devour you and fuck you senseless. He lowered his hips so they were flush with yours between your legs and started rubbing your wet folds and clit. You were moaning in pleasure. With the other hand, he started massaging your breasts and playing with your hard nipples. You were arching your body and moaning shamelessly.
‘Please fuck me, I want to feel you inside me.’
He did not hesitate to fulfill your plea. Aligning the tip of his cock with the entrance to your sopping-wet pussy, he started to enter you.
He was big, almost too big for your small body to take. Slowly and steadily, he was prying his way into you. Every nerve in your core was pulsing, welcoming this new intruder with increasing wetness and spasming muscles. Your pussy was clenching on him so hard that he was quietly groaning while pushing on into you. He finally bottomed out and lifted himself off you slightly to meet your gaze. His gorgeous maroon eyes now clouded in pleasure, he said softly,
‘I will start moving now, do you feel ready?’
Did you ever… ‘Of course,’ was all you could say in a weak voice.
Slowly, at a languid pace, he began to rhythmically pump into you, his hips hitting yours every time he was bottoming out. You have never been this stretched out in your life, his girthy, long cock literally moulding your velvet walls to its shape, hitting your cervix with every slow pump. You were starting to edge, with the sensitive spots deep inside you being stimulated nearly constantly now. He kept on going like this for a while making your eyes roll to the back of your head and drool running down the side of your mouth.
‘Yoriichi, can you go a little faster? I am about to come’ you moaned out to him, as you could not control yourself any longer. The knot inside you running all the way from your opening to the tip of your cervix, was about to burst.
He picked up the pace and soon enough you were slowly dissolving into your climax, your whole body shaking and spasming from the intense pleasure you were gifted. You were so wet now, your cum seeping down your thighs onto Yoriichi. He shuffled himself up slightly and put you in a mating press. His cock was even deeper inside you, he started chasing his own release. His pace increased and soon it was ruthless and fast, abusing your cervix and every overstimulated spot deep inside you. You could feel his heavy balls slam into you with every powerful thrust. The man had the stamina of a god and went on in this unforgiving tempo for quite a while.
Gradually, his thrusts were getting sloppy and when he finally came, filling you up with his warm semen, he bottomed out deep inside you, his hips pushing you up toward the headrest of the bed and staying like this for a couple of seconds. He then pumped into you a few times, following the movement of his spasming abdomen muscles. When he stopped, he sank his head, still hovering over you supported on stretched-out straight arms. Sweat was running down his chest. He slowly rolled over on his back, taking you with him in an embrace that placed you laying down straight on top of him.
And that is when you noticed a presence in the room. You turned your head around towards the doorway and to your shock and surprise you saw your boyfriend stand there, leaning on the door frame with arms crossed and head tilted backwards in a brattish manner. His hair was out and cascading down his shoulder in black ringlets.
‘I hope I am not interrupting. Do you mind if I join in?’ He asked with a smirk. You instantly wondered how long he was there watching you and Yoriichi fucking.
‘Please do, unless y/n has some objections?’ Yoriichi said and tilted your head up to look at him. ‘Are you ok with this, y/n? ‘
‘I guess I don’t mind’ You did not really know what to say, your sex seemingly dictating your choices for you since last night.
‘Good, this will be fun.’ Muzan said and started to get undressed.
In the meantime, Yoriichi moved to his side and let you down on the soft mattress, so that you were on your side facing him. With an already erect dick bobbing in front of him, Muzan walked over to where you and Yoriichi were and crawled into bed to lie down behind you. He kissed and licked your neck, you could feel the metal of the piercing dragging on your soft skin, and grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing it gently, eliciting a quiet moan from your lips. He then leaned into your ear and with a deep, soft whisper asked:
‘How did you like him, doll? Was he big enough for you?’
He kept on kissing your neck and dragging the pierced tongue along it and massaging your body with his hand while pressing his erect cock in your soft ass. Yoriichi at the very same time started kissing your mouth and rubbing your breasts.
You did not think it was at this stage possible to get more aroused, but you did. Your pussy was aching so badly now, all you wanted was for the men to give it to you. Rough, fast however they wished to fuck you. You wanted to feel full, the craving growing for every minute making your insides burn with need. The sensation of both these attractive men being so close to you, their hands touching every part of your body, was making you feral, totally wild with anticipation. Seeing and feeling the athletic, tall, and big Yoriichi, with his smooth and glossy skin and your exotic-looking, tattoo-covered and pierced boyfriend so close to your own body was a sensation that was driving you crazy. It was almost as you were a goddess worshipped at the altar of lust.
‘How do you think we should proceed?’ Muzan asked Yoriichi in a playful tone.
‘Hmm, where we are is good, no offense, but I am the bigger one here, so I think it is best if you go in the backway’ Yoriichi answered.
Muzan sighed and smirked. ‘Good point, do you happen to have lube around here?’ Yoriichi stretched an arm behind him to reach under the bed and pulled out a bottle of anal lube.
‘You dirty fuck, this looks like you have been having some fun’ Muzan noted as the bottle was only half full.’ Yoriichi did not answer to that but his smile said it all.
While Yoriichi was working on your pussy and breasts, Muzan poured a fair bit of lube on your opening and started to massage your puckering hole. Slowly and gently, the sensation was so different from anything you ever experience before, but so delicious at the same time. He slowly pushed in a finger and was circling it gently. A second finger came in and he was scissoring them inside you. Yoriichi was now lining himself up to enter you again. His hard tip rubbing between your folds as Muzan added another finger and was whispering sweet, honey-glazed words in your ears in order to get you relaxed.
‘Be a good kitten for me now, such a gorgeous little obedient doll, I will spread that tight little ass for you and you will beg me for more’
The sweetness in his voice was almost demeaning. He kept on pumping his fingers in you, but you just could not relax.
‘Baby, I can’t do it. Not today. Can we do something else?’
Muzan pulled out his fingers out of you and nodded at Yoriichi
‘Well, doll, in such case you will have to take that huge dick of his down your throat, because I want to be in one of your holes, no matter what.’
You shifted to all four and Yoriichi knelt in front of you offering you his cock. You started licking the leaking tip and pumping the shaft with your small hand, barely getting a proper grip. In the meantime, Muzan positioned himself behind you and all of a sudden slammed his dick into you. This propelled you forward and you almost speared yourself on Yoriichi’s cock, swallowing nearly the entire length. He groaned from the sensation and you gagged heavily. Once the two of you adjusted positions so that you could comfortably work on his dick, Muzan started moving his hips into you again. You worked with the rhythm he was setting as there was no use trying to stay still and resisting his movement from pushing you forward. Every time his hips slammed into you, you sank your mouth over Yoriichi’s cock and you continued like this for a good while.
Your mouth and throat were stretched almost to the brink of discomfort from the huge girth and length. The pleasure you felt from Muzan repeatedly hitting your g-spot was making you moan louder and louder and your moans were sending vibrations through Yoriichi’s dick making it twitch and grow.
‘I’m going to come soon’ he groaned.
He pulled out of you, gave his cock a few pumps and unloaded the content of his balls in your face, warm cum spraying into your open mouth and down your chin and throat. Neither you nor Muzan were far off from your orgasms either. It took a few more fast thrusts from him to make your knot burst and you reaching your release. And a few more thrusts later and Muzan was spraying his cum into your still fluttering walls. The amount of pleasure you experience this afternoon was overwhelming and you collapsed exhausted, but utterly satisfied on the mattress.
Yoriichi got up and came back with a few towels. He helped you clean up your face and handed a towel to Muzan who then cleaned you and yourself up. Yoriichi was the first one to go to the bathroom and have a shower and after him, it was Muzan’s turn. Once the two men were decent again, Yoriichi informed you that they would prepare lunch so that you would have some time to yourself to recover and relax. You spent half an hour in the bedroom and went out to them, still in a complete state of confusion.
‘Hi there. I hope you are hungry.’ Yoriichi said.
‘I seem to have cooked too much pasta, but hey, we need the energy’ he grinned broadly. ‘By the way, I think you owe your lovely girlfriend an explanation’ he said turning to Muzan.
‘Yes, you are right. It is about time to clarify the situation. Sorry to have confused you and sorry for the bit with Amber, I might have gone a bit too far there. You know when I got up to get the drinks at the party? I noticed that you were eyeing off Yoriichi for a while, and out of the blue, and boredom, I came up with a wicked little plan. Something to shake you up and make you more, adventurous. I really wanted to get you out of your shell. So, I texted him quickly what I had in mind and off we went. I am storyteller, after all.’
You turned to Yoriichi, slightly disappointed
‘So… you were not really attracted to me, hey? It was just a game?’
Yoriichi responded ‘Oh no, not at all. Muzan showed me picturess of you many times before and I must say I was envious of him being with someone so smart, kind, and attractive. So, when he suggested this, the idea went straight to my dick.’
Muzan now continued: ‘Amber, that girl, by the way, is a porn actress and married to a friend of mine. They own an adult movie production company together and I have known them both for a while. But back to the story. As I said, I wanted you to see that there is so much more to life than being a prude, that sex is one of the most indulgent pleasures gifted upon mankind and not immersing ourselves fully in that gift is, well, a sin in my eyes.'
'I do believe that deep emotional love, a connection of souls runs deeper than any physical connection ever can. We are all animals and sex is dirty and amazing at the same time, the ultimate tool to express love, yes, but love can exist without it if you know what I mean. I will love you forever, for all eternity. I believe we are soulmates and we are connected and will always be drawn to each other in every world we are born into. Even if we never have sex again, I want you to be mine and mine only. When you want kids and a house with a white picket fence or whatever dream you may have, we will do it, of course. But for now, while we still are young let us indulge in what this carnal world has to offer. I want you to lose all restraints, and fulfill all your desires. When I saw you looking at our glorious friend here, I knew that if that is what you are into, I will make sure you get what you desire.’
When Muzan finally went quiet, it was Yoriichi’s turn to speak and he suddenly went serious.
‘I have known Muzan for a long time, but our friendship blossomed after my wife died. He was there for me all the way through my lowest. And believe me, it was an epic low. She was pregnant with what was to be our first child when she died in a car crash. Some drunken asshole drove into her car on the highway. My beloved wife and I started the gym and later the martial arts dojo together. These were our passions and I will never love anyone like I loved her ever again. All I have left is the gym and dojo and they are like babies to me. I am no monk and need sex, a lot of it, but only for recreation.’
All the time Yoriichi was speaking, Muzan held his arm around your back, his embrace tightening when Yoriichi mentioned the tragic story of his marriage.
‘Well, enough of the seriousness. Let us eat’ Yoriichi interrupted himself now.
You could not help to notice, that he was not the best of cooks, the pasta was slightly overcooked and the sauce too salty, but it was a sweet gesture of him to cook for his friends and by the way you were starving after everything that was happening for the past twenty-four hours. The wine he served with lunch was on the other hand fantastic and after a couple of glasses, the warm, fuzzy feeling of slowly getting tipsy was putting you in a relaxed state.
Looking at the two amazing men, you now started to understand what your boyfriend was talking about and wanted for you all the way. The normal scenario would involve you having to choose one of them, there would be drama, heart-brake and the euphoria of new love would eventually dim by the negative effects of it all. Thanks to Muzan’s approach, however, you never needed to choose now. The love the two of you shared was just as he described, transcending space and time. But the basic, carnal desire you felt for Yoriichi was also real. Being able to have it all, and more… was indeed the best you could ever wish for. Assured in this new discovery, you closed your eyes and let yourself daydream now finally receptive to visualise desires without any more restraints…
Banners by @cafekitsune
Tagging: @doumadono @muzanbloodgalore @muzansfangs @horror4themasses @cursetopia2 @anarcho-satanism
#muzan x reader#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#kny#yoriichi tsugikuni#kny yoriichi#kibutsuji muzan#muzan kibutsuji#kny muzan#demon slayer muzan#kimetsu no yaiba muzan#muzan smut#yoriichi smut#yoriichi x reader#yoriichi x you#muzan x y/n#muzan x you#yoriichi x y/n#kny smut#demon slayer smut#kimetsu no yaiba smut#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer x you#demon slayer x y/n#kny x reader#kny x you#kny x y/n#kimetsu no yaiba x reader#kimetsu no yaiba x you#kibutsuji kny
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welcome home
barcelona femeni x alexia putellas x youngadult!reader
summary: you find healing after switching clubs
warnings: swearing, bodyshaming, one mention of bodily fluids, I made up names of imaginary players who don't play for the nwsl club mentioned in this fic!!!, bullying, angst, yes there is a happy ending.
you grew up with your eyes on the stars, and your feet on the ball.
at 15, you felt like the world belonged to you—a place where dreams became your reality. you’d trained hard your whole life to make it to the world stage, and by 16, you were living your dream as one of the youngest members of the 2019 world cup roster for the united states.
the national anthem playing, crowds screaming your name as you made the assist to rose lavelle’s goal—it was everything you’d ever wanted.
all of the happiness and thrill faded away when you joined the kansas city current. when you first stepped into the locker room, you were excited. new teammates, new opportunities—it was everything you’d hoped for.
you wanted to make friends, to be part of a family when it came to being with your first professional club outside of your childhood one.
the moment you walked through those doors, you could feel something off. the eyes on you were sharp, intense, cold.
“what’s up, big foot?” macy had said, the team captain, with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"don't trip over those feet, yeah?" she had laughed, and a few others joined in, but the laughter felt harsh, mocking.
“yeah, we don’t need a kid coming in thinking she’s hot shit,” added jessica, one of the veteran players, her words dripping with sarcasm.
“try not to embarrass us out there.”
you laughed nervously, trying to brush it off as rookie hazing, but the tone was sharper than you expected. you told yourself that it was normal, that it was just their way of breaking the ice.
you couldn't have been more wrong.
practices started to become a war zone. it wasn’t just intense training; it was like they were out to get you. elbows to your back when the coach wasn’t looking, hair pulling, shoes clipped behind your heels to send you stumbling.
once, in a scrimmage, you remember trying to dribble past jessica. the curly-red headed girl came in late with a slide tackle, her studs connecting straight with your shin. you hit the ground hard, gasping for breath, and she stood over you, smirking.
“whoops,” she said, her voice flat and unapologetic. “you should be quicker, portland has fast forwards and you can’t defend them with those legs.”
the coaches didn’t do anything. you’d get up, limp back into position, and hear them say, “come on y/n, toughen up. you’ve got to be ready for contact against portland on thursday.”
they acted like it was all normal, like you were the problem.
in the locker room, it wasn’t any better. they whispered behind your back, cruel comments about your skills, your looks, even your voice.
once, after a tough practice where arianna had practically shoved you into the goalpost, you were struggling to keep your emotions in check as you unlaced your cleats. you heard them in the back of the room, their voices loud and taunting.
“seriously, what does the national team see in her? she’s not even that great,” jessica said, snickering.
“guess they needed a token teenager to fill the roster,” another voice added, followed by laughter.
“she needs to go back to playing with the u18s, kylie you’d do much better than her in the left-back position!”
you bit your lip so hard it bled, staring down at the floor, pretending you didn’t hear them. you never knew what to say. it felt like you couldn’t breathe.
everything you did felt wrong, like you were walking on eggshells every day.
and then came the night that broke you.
it was after that world cup loss to sweden, a moment that already weighed on you like a thousand bricks.
you returned to kansas hoping to throw yourself into training, to prove you could bounce back. but when you entered the locker room, your world came crashing down. your locker was trashed—like a hurricane had blown through.
your training kit was shredded, your cleats filled with some kind of foul-smelling gunk– obviously period blood due to a used tampon found inside of the locker. and scrawled in black marker across the inside door of your locker were the words,
spoiled, selfish, fat bitch!
you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, hands shaking so violently you couldn’t steady them.
“what... what the fuck is this?” your voice came out a choked whisper.
kamryn, another girl on the team, walked by, a smug grin on her face.
“looks like someone had a bad month,” she said, fake sympathy dripping from her words.
“i hope you can still play tomorrow, stargirl.”
the nickname fans around the world called you, now being used to belittle you.
you couldn’t hold it in anymore. you yelled at them, your voice cracking with rage and desperation, “the fuck? what did i do to any of you? this is fucking insane and you think i am the problem?”
“you walked in here thinking you were better than us. you got handed everything, y/n. you don’t deserve to be here. you’re a little girl playing a big girl’s game.” jessica walked in, scoffing while smirking at the sight of your locker in the dressing room.
you left that night and didn’t stop crying until your eyes were red and swollen. but even then, the coaches did nothing.
they told you to toughen up, to show “mental strength,” as if their approval could patch over what you were going through. and that’s when you realized you had to get out—before this place destroyed you and any love you had for football.
barcelona was the escape you desperately needed. a chance to rebuild, to breathe.
when you landed in spain, everything felt fragile. it didn’t matter that you were now with one of the best clubs in the world.
the trauma from kansas stuck to you like a shadow. you walked into your new locker room, keeping your head down, afraid to say the wrong thing, terrified of the laughter you thought you’d hear.
but it never came.
instead, alexia, the captain, was the first to welcome you. “y/n! niña!!! so nice to finally meet you,” she beamed, pulling you into a hug that felt warm and real.
“i can’t wait to see you play. you’re from the states? we need to introduce you to keira and lucy– they’ve been wanting to meet you but don’t take their banter seriously.”
every day, they chipped away at your fear. little by little.
when you struggled on penalty kicks one time during training, patri stayed back with you after practice.
“okay you got this!!! by the end of this evening, you will never miss a penalty kick again. trust me! yeah? it’ll be fun.” she speaks with a thick catalan accent.
you were hesitant, scared to mess up, but patri never pushed. she was patient, kind. she’d pass the ball back to you and made you do penalty kicks over and over again until you felt comfortable, until your footwork was smooth, and every small achievement she celebrated like it was a goal in the final.
“see? you’ve got this,” she’d say, and you’d feel the corners of your mouth tug into a smile for the first time in what felt like forever.
it was a few weeks into your time with barcelona, but you still felt like an outsider.
even with the kind gestures, the smiles, the support from the team, you were carrying the weight of kansas like a ghost.
you stayed quiet during team meetings, laughed politely but never loudly, and when the others shared jokes or talked about life outside of soccer, you sat on the edges, half-invisible.
alexia had been watching you. she noticed how you shrunk into yourself, how you seemed to fade into the background during conversations.
during drills, your focus was laser-sharp—too sharp, like you were overthinking every touch, every pass. when you were off the ball, your eyes darted around, like you were searching for threats.
you reminded alexia of esmee when she first arrived last season—new, uncertain. but this was different.
there was fear and sadness in your eyes.
one afternoon after training, alexia pulled you aside. the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the pitch, and most of the team had already started heading back to the locker room.
you felt her hand on your shoulder, and you turned, trying to hide the nervousness in your eyes.
“niña,” she said gently, a small smile on her lips. “can we talk?”
you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. “sure, alexia. what’s up?”
“it’s about you,” she said, her voice steady but soft. “you’ve been… quiet. more quiet than normal. and i get it, you know, being the new girl and all. esmee and kika were shy when they first came, but…” alexia paused, searching your face.
“this feels different. it feels like you’re afraid of us.”
you could feel your chest tighten, the words getting stuck in your throat. you didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to burden anyone.
“i’m not... i mean, it’s just—" you stumbled over your words, trying to find the right thing to say, something that wouldn’t make you sound like a mess. “it’s nothing. really.”
alexia didn’t buy it. she shook her head slightly, taking a step closer to you. “i don’t think it’s nothing, y/n. you barely look anyone in the eye, and when someone even brushes by you during training, you flinch like you’re waiting to get hurt. it’s not normal.”
she kept her voice calm, steady, like she was trying to reassure a frightened animal. “listen... if something happened before you got here, you can talk to me. it’s just me right now. no one else.”
you wanted to brush it off, to laugh and say she was overthinking, but the truth clawed its way up, burning your throat. you clenched your fists, staring down at your cleats, trying to focus on anything but alexia's eyes, which felt like they could see right through you.
“it’s… it’s hard to talk about,” you finally admitted, voice cracking on the last word.
“back in kansas, things were... bad. really bad.”
“what do you mean?” alexia’s voice was a whisper, gentle but urging you to continue. she stepped closer, her hand on your shoulder now, warm and steady.
you bit your lip, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill.
“my teammates—they hated me. from the minute i got there, they acted like i was the opponent that happened to sneak into their dressing room. i thought maybe it was just... i don't know, maybe i did something wrong. but no matter what i did, they just got worse. they... they bullied me. on the field, off the field... they’d make comments, call me fat, trash my stuff, physically go after me during practice.” you took a shaky breath, your shoulders trembling.
“they hated me for being good– for being called up to the world cup before some of their veterans did. they said i didn’t deserve the call ups at all, that i was useless. every single day felt like... like a war that i was going to lose.”
alexia’s face hardened, and for a second, you thought you saw anger glistening in her eyes.
“and your coaches?” she asked, voice tight with anger. “they did nothing?”
“they... didn’t care,” you said, shaking your head.
“if anything, they made it worse. told me to toughen up, to get used to it, that it was part of being a pro. so i did. i tried to act like it didn’t bother me. but it did. every day, it did.”
there was a heavy silence. alexia didn’t speak for a moment, letting your words hang in the air. and then, she pulled you into a hug—tight, secure, like she was trying to shield you from all the pain you had gone through.
you stiffened for a second, unaccustomed to the softness, the genuine care, but then melted into it, burying your face in her shoulder.
“you don’t have to go through that alone anymore,” she whispered.
“this is your home now, y/n. we’re your family. i promise you—no one will ever treat you like that again. not while i’m here, and i am going to be here for a very long time.”
you felt the tears slide down your face, but they weren’t tears of pain anymore.
they were relief, a feeling you hadn’t let yourself feel for a long time. when she finally let go, alexia cupped your face, making sure you were looking right into her eyes.
“you are so much more than what they made you feel,” she said firmly, her voice laced with emotion. “and if anyone even tries to make you feel like that again, they’ll have to go through me. through all of us. okay?”
you nodded, a small, shaky smile breaking through. “okay.”
“did you go to anyone on your national team about this?” alexia asked, hoping you did.
“i did. alex was the one who encourage me to move clubs. trinity even promised to smash kansas when they go to washington dc to play against spirit.” you laughed, wiping a stray tear from your face.
she laughed back, squeezing your hands. “we’ve got your back, y/n. always.”
and she meant it. over the coming weeks, you felt the shift.
after that talk, alexia made it a point to check in on you.
the small gestures from the team slowly healed the wounds you didn't think would ever close.
when ingrid left you notes in your locker before every match with scribbled encouragements, kika making it a routine to kiss you on the head when you scored a goal past aitana in training, or when mapi pulled you into a bear hug after a tough game reminding you that she is proud of you– you felt at home.
masterlist
#barcelona femeni#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso community#fc barcelona#alexia putellas#mapi leon#ingrid engen#kika nazareth#trinity rodman
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Sinners | Lust
summary: the start of you and leah
warnings: SMUT 18+, public sex, oral
a/n: hold on to your panties
word count: 1.4k
Gluttony | Envy | Sloth | Greed | Wrath | Pride
-
The club is packed, a pulsating mass of bodies, the bass so loud it vibrates in your chest. It’s hot, sticky, and chaotic—exactly what you need to get lost in tonight. You’ve been riding the high of Leah’s attention all evening, a teasing dance that’s had you both spiraling toward something inevitable. Every brush of her hand, every smirk sent your way, has ratcheted up the tension between you until it’s a taut wire ready to snap.
You’ve downed enough drinks to feel pleasantly buzzed, but it’s not the alcohol that’s making your head spin. It’s Leah. Leah with her tousled hair and those damn shorts, Leah with her cocky smile and the way she’s been looking at you like she’s already won. The way her fingers keep grazing your waist, lingering just long enough to set your skin on fire.
You’ve been playing it cool all night, trying not to let on how much she’s getting to you. But the truth is, you’re a hair’s breadth away from dragging her somewhere private and letting her have her way with you. The throbbing between your legs has become impossible to ignore, and you know from the way Leah’s been watching you, she’s feeling the same.
The moment comes after what feels like an eternity of flirting and teasing. You’re dancing close, your bodies pressed together, her hands on your hips guiding you in a slow grind that’s far too intimate for a public place. Her breath is hot against your ear as she leans in to say something, but the words are lost to the music. It doesn’t matter—you can tell what she wants by the look in her eyes.
She smirks, and it’s the last straw. You grab her hand and start leading her through the throng of people, not caring where you’re going as long as it’s away from prying eyes. You need her now, and judging by the way she’s following you, the feeling is mutual.
You burst out of the club and into the cool night air, your heart pounding in time with the music still thumping inside. You’re in a narrow alleyway, dimly lit by a single flickering streetlamp, the perfect place to hide away from the world for a few stolen moments. The sound of the city is distant, muffled by the rush of blood in your ears.
Before you can think, before you can say anything, Leah is on you. She pushes you up against the rough brick wall, her lips smashing into yours with a desperation that mirrors your own. It’s a messy, fevered kiss, all teeth and tongue and need, like you’ve both been holding back for too long and now the dam’s finally broken.
You gasp against her mouth as she presses her body against yours, her thigh sliding between your legs, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you. You clutch at her shoulders, pulling her closer, needing to feel more of her, all of her.
“Fuck,” she mutters, pulling back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark with lust. “I’ve been thinking about this all night”
“Then stop talking and do something about it,” you challenge, your voice breathless and ragged.
She doesn’t need to be told twice. She drops to her knees in one swift movement, the concrete rough beneath her, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt out of the way, and before you can even catch your breath, she’s tugging your panties down, letting them pool around your ankles.
The cool night air hits your exposed skin, and you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of Leah’s breath ghosting over you. You’re already soaking wet, your arousal evident, and the way Leah looks up at you, her eyes filled with hunger and adoration, makes your heart skip a beat.
“God, you’re perfect,” she murmurs, her voice thick with desire. She leans in, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to your inner thigh, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips.
“Please,” you breathe out, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, silently begging for what you need.
Leah smirks up at you, clearly enjoying the effect she has on you, but she doesn’t tease you any longer. Her mouth is on you in an instant, her tongue licking a long, slow stripe through your folds, and it’s like a spark igniting a fire inside you.
You moan, loud and unrestrained, as she starts to work you with her tongue, her hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady. The feeling is overwhelming—the roughness of the wall against your back, the cool night air, and the warm, wet heat of Leah’s mouth between your legs. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you find yourself grinding against her face, desperate for more.
Leah takes it in stride, her tongue flicking over your clit with practiced precision, each movement sending jolts of pleasure from the roots of your hair to the tips of your toes. She’s relentless, focused, like she’s determined to pull every last moan out of you, to make you fall apart right here in this alleyway where anyone could stumble upon you.
“Fuck, Leah,” you gasp, your fingers tightening in her hair, holding her in place as your hips move in rhythm with her mouth. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, the pleasure building to a point where you’re not sure if you can take much more.
She hums against you, the vibration adding another layer to the already intense pleasure, and it’s enough to push you over. You come with a choked cry, your body tensing, legs shaking as waves of pleasure crash over you. Leah doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, her tongue working you through it, drawing out your orgasm until you’re a trembling, breathless mess.
When you finally come down, your body spent, Leah pulls back, her mouth slick with your arousal. She looks up at you, her eyes dark and satisfied, and there’s something primal in the way she licks her lips, like she’s savoring the taste of you.
You’re panting, trying to gather your wits, still half-dazed from the intensity of what just happened. Your legs feel like jelly, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got a few scrapes from the brick wall, but you’re too blissed out to care.
Leah stands, her body brushing against yours as she rises, and she pulls you into a slow, languid kiss. You can taste yourself on her tongue, and it makes you dizzy all over again.
She pulls back just enough to look at you, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “You’re fucking amazing,” she murmurs, her voice soft, and there’s something in her eyes that makes your heart flutter in a way that has nothing to do with the orgasm she just gave you.
You smile, still catching your breath, and reach up to cup her face, pulling her in for another kiss, slower this time, less frantic. There’s no rush now, just the two of you, lost in each other in this quiet little corner of the world.
But before you can sink too deeply into the moment, you hear voices nearby—someone leaving the club, laughing and shouting as they pass by the mouth of the alley. Leah steps back, her hand still resting on your hip, her eyes scanning the shadows.
“We should get out of here,” she says, though there’s a note of reluctance in her voice. “Before someone sees us”
You nod, trying to gather your wits, still basking in the afterglow. Your legs are wobbly, your underwear still on the ground, but you’re too blissed out to care.
Leah bends down, retrieving them from where they’ve landed on the ground. She twirls them around her finger with a smirk before tucking them into her back pocket.
“Keeping those as a souvenir,” she teases, and you can’t help but laugh, even as your face heats up at the thought of walking back into the club without them.
But there’s something thrilling about it too—about the way she’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters right now. Like she’s already planning the next time she can get you alone.
She pulls you close, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips before taking your hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here”
You follow her, still buzzing with adrenaline, and as you step back into the noisy, neon-lit street, you know one thing for sure: you’re not even close to being done with Leah Williamson. This is just the beginning.
#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#awfc#awfc x reader#engwnt#engwnt x reader#woso#woso x reader#woso imagine#woso community
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Just imagine being Sevikas unofficial girlfriend/lover/situationship/ nothing serioussss 😍😍😍
(Omg sevika stop looking at me like that 😩😩😩 )
Sure, you two weren't techinacly official (sevika saying you two were "just friends"), but you never really strayed from her tight hold on you, but tonight was different.
After a rather difficult argument with Sevika over her going to a brothel house for the 2nd time this month, you decided to blow off some steam at a trashy club somewhere deep in the undercity.
You were tipsy off of the many drinks you had and the music playing had you swaying to the beat in the sea of people, you hadn't even noticed but Sevika (being toxic as ever) followed you and was watching you from across the floor, sipping on some hard liquor and trying not to rip the eyes out the skull of the random person grinding on your ass.
But of course, you just had to provoke her as much as possible. The sight of you reciprocating this assholes advances by turning around to face her, grabbing her by the neck and then kissing her-
Sevika was out of her seat before she even registered what was happening. And the next thing she remembers is her fists being bloody and your screams trying to beg her to get off the other woman.
You succeed somehow and drag her off the poor girl and gripping her by the wrist out the back door before you both God in trouble, but it probably wouldn't matter anyway since Sevika gets away with everything.
Including fucking you over! (In both ways)
"God, can't you just leave me alone?!" You shouted while trying to shove Sevika but she only smirked and looked at the ground with her hands on her hips.
"Y'know if you wanted to be treated like someone random slut you could have just told me-"
"You already treat me like one anyway, so what does it matter!?" You screamed at her, the clubs music still blasting inside, you so wish you were back in there with that gorgeous woman. Too bad Sevika always has to ruin your fun.
"Like hell I do, I treat you better than anyone else could in this damn city," Sevika scoffed at your comment, don't you know how good you have it with her?
"Oh my- so you're aloud to fuck anyone in the city, but the second I start to even- dance with someone you get to storm over and-" your rant was interrupted by Sevikas lips on yours.
You only tried to push back for a second but the oh so familiar scent of her filled your nose and her dark lips tasted of whiskey and smoke. Her hands found your wrists and pinned them on both sides of your head, pushing you onto the brick wall of the club alleyway.
You heard a small groan from her before her pulling back suddenly, still close enough for you see her pretty gray eyes glazed over with lust and her soft pretty lips slightly ajar.
"missed you sweetheart," she mumbled.
You let out a shaky sigh and leaned forward again, shoving your tongue into her mouth.
She let your wrists go for a moment only to grab your by the thighs to pick you up, your legs wrapping around her muscular waist on instinct. Your hands found their way into her dark hair, gripping it tightly and invoking a beautiful groan from her.
It felt so nice and familiar to have her so close again, comforting and reliable.
And the next morning you woke up in her bed, naked, and in the same place you always find yourself; in Sevikas bed with her arms wrapped around your waist and her soft chest pressed against your back; a stark contracts to her rough hands and scared forearms. You sighed and tried to move away from her, trying to get up to leave, but she only mumbled something you couldn't hear and pulled you back into her arms. You sighed and let her hug you, dreading when she would let you go.
Sometimes, it really felt like she owned you, heart and body.
-
Not proofread but she's so toxic omggg 😫
#sevika arcane x reader#sevika#sevika arcane#light smut#wlw post#lesbian#toxic sevika#sevika x reader#arcane x reader#arcane
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you promise to take care of him after a night out, with soft hands and gentle touches youre reminded once again why you love him so dearly
joao x gn!reader
word count : 1K+
watch it : drunk joao, kissing, just you taking care of him, mentions of dry heaving, just a lot of fluff fluff fluff
-----
partying after the end of club season seems to be a huge mistake as you now have one very drunk, very whiny Joao on your hands. you called for an uber a while ago so all you can do is wait, back against the exit of some club while he all but clings to your side desperately.
" you're so warm." he sighs, burying his nose into your neck. hes still giddy from the alcohol but you promised he could have as much fun as we wanted, you'd be here to make sure he doesn't do anything too outlandish.
you hum and continue to refresh uber waiting for you're ride. his drunk clinginess isn't much of hassle of you're being honest. its cute. but then again you think anything he does is cute. how could anyone not ? hes imppsoible not to love. the fluffy hair, pink lips and perfect smile. oh how lucky you are.
you end up giving up on checking the uber, tucking your phone away and turning your full focus and attention to Joao.
"hey." you murmur with a soft smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. "what are you doing?"
he grins at you, moving so he can face you properly, kissing you softly. his lips stay hovering over yours for a second longer than they should be before you press them back down onto yours in response. parting only to laugh breathlessly when he pulls away. he shies away from your gaze, you feel his drunk boldness slowly dissolve into shyness. very typical joao.
"its ok." you chuckle, leaning into his touch once more. "i'm happy to help baby."
he blushes and looks away, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.
"didn't realize I was so clingy. 'M sorry." his blush deepens slightly and you reach out to cup his cheek.
"it's ok, i like it." you kiss his cheek lightly.
he presses the backs of his hands to his cheeks, staring at you with wide eyes.
"I uhm-" he swallows hard. "you don't mind?"
you giggle and press yourself closer, wrapping your arms around him gently. always the over thinker your boy is. even when you assured him while getting ready, before you left, on your way and at the venue, if he needs the reassurance you'll give it.
"of course not." you murmur and nuzzle his neck. "I'll always take care of you ya know. but we have an uber on the way pretty boy. we should get home before morning."
he nods and kisses you softly before pulling slightly away to play with your fingers. you both bask in street and moon light together, and you dont think there's anywhere else you'd rather be.
moments like these are when he's the most beautiful. when he truly begins to let go and allows himself to go for what he wants. he's always been so shy around you, scared to break whatever balance there may be. afraid of upsetting you or even losing you.
and yet here he is, clinging to you in the middle of the night. allowing himself to feel. within the moments shared and created. even if its just up against a grimy red brick wall that's chipped and flaking. even if it has the chance to be a night forgotten, its still a chance to be remembered.
you wish to remember each and every moment.
"I love you." he whispers, and you can't help but smile at that.
"I love you too." you turn to look at him and he takes your hand in his properly, squeezing it tightly. he smiles softly at you, eyes shining.
the uber finally makes its appearance and you unlatch yourself from the brick wall.
"lets go home." you say quietly.
-----
getting him home wasn't too much of an issue. he sat in the car quietly, hand on your thigh as the city flashed in bursts outside. he got out of the car without too much wobbling and even held his composer in the elevator !
his facade soon crumbles the moment you unlock the front door.
he makes a beelines for the bathroom and spends a good 30 minutes dry heaving, you use the time to take a quick shower and get into comfier clothes, before giving up and groaning to you. you hand him a glass of water, gently petting his hair. he finishes the glass in record time and looks up at you, eyes glassy.
you frown and take his hand, "come on my love, lets get you changed no one wants to sleep in the same outfit they wore to the club."
he nods and lets you take him to the bathroom and sits still on the closed toilet the whole time you help him out of the grimy dress shirt, tunring on the water and sending him in. he managed to get all clean, sliding into much cozier pjs and flops face first next to you on your shared bed.
he whines when you get up and head to the bathroom, so you make it quick. you grab one of the many face wipes you keep in the cabinet and scurry back to wipe his face, you know how horrid it feels being nauseous, even after a shower. he cooperates for you and lets himself melt into your touch.
once he's clean he reaches out a hand for you, he wants you to join him. how cute
"one second love." you whisper into a kiss on the forehead.
you grab two water bottles and a bottle of generic headache medics to help him at least sleep through the night.
you come back to find him already laying eye closed on top of the comforter. before you wake him you place the waters and medicine on the nightstand and grab phones to charge.
you gently wake him and let him shimmy under the covers properly. leaning down to kiss his forehead, you bring the water to his lips and place the pills into his mouth. he gulps them down quickly and lays back down. eyes already closed but still reaching out to pull you into bed with him. this time you give in, slipping under the mattress, letting him curl up into your arms.
"sleep well baby." you murmur and kiss the top of his head.
he mumbles something unintelligible but you take that as a good night none the less.
#joao felix x reader#joao felix#joao felix x you#joao felix x y/n#joao felix imagine#joao felix fluff#joao felix one shot#joao felix headcanon#football headcanon#football fanfic#football#footy fic#football imagine
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Jersey Club Black History Month Challenge Day 1
Ok, So this Black History Month I'm trying something new w/some encouragement from @planit333.
I Bring to your the Black History Month Jersey Club Challenge where we highlight and celebrate everything Jersey Club!🧱🥷🏿
Today's Jersey Club Challenge we're starting @ the Foundation,
"The Movement That Moves Everythang!🧱🥷🏿
Give @BrickBandits a follow & leave them a positive msg or let them know how the movement has impacted your day to day!!!
Also, check out their Bio...
I also would like to say RIP to @DJTIMDOLLA & everyone who's resting with the ancestors🕊️
If possible try having a moment of silence or play their music to celebrate their lives!
Also, make sure you run up the Brick Bandits EP Across platforms linked below or their SoundCloud!!!💖
Also, here are some of their Pics 🐐
#soundcloud#house music#jersey club#music#edm#jersey club music#dance music#electronic music#jerseyclub#club music#brick bandits#brick city#brick city club#jersey#jerz#new jersey#newark new jersey#jersey dance#jersey drill#club#dj tameil#dj tim dolla#black history#black history month#challanges#spotify#apple music#youtube#Spotify
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mcr shows on youtube pt. 1 (2002 - 2005)
-> pt. 2 (2005 - 2007)
-> pt. 3 (2007 - 2011)
-> pt. 4 (2011 - 2023)
02/16/2002 american legion garfield nj – sarah lewitinn
03/01/2002 loop lounge passaic nj – ATØMIC JĒY
06/14/2002 club krome south amboy nj – spaceyrayrun
06/29/2002 harmony grange hall no. 12 wilmington de us – spaceyraygun
07/05/2002 american legion – camp merritt post 21 cresskill nj usa – spaceyraygun
07/19/2002 loop lounge passaic park nj – spaceyraygun
08/03/2002 rexplex elizabeth nj – spaceyraygun
08/16/2002 maxwell’s hoboken nj – george koroneos
08/17/2002 alissas basement kinnelon nj – spaceyraygun
09/14/2002 electric factory philadelphia pa – spaceyraygun
12/02/2002 fireside bowl chicago il – brad nolan video on plentyoflegs
12/18/2002 trocadero theater philadelphia pa – spaceyraygun
12/23/2002 factory 324 roanoake va – panterathrashfan13
1/11/2003 fireside bowl chicago il – brad nolan videography
02/20/2003 mississippi nights st louis mo – brad nolan videography
02/21/2003 beaumont club kansas city mo – brad nolan videography
02/28/2003 boonton elks lodge boonton nj – user: random stuff
03/23/2003 club krome south amboy nj – douglas carl
05/14/2003 north star bar philadelphia pa – deadhoarse
05/23/2003 imusicast oakland ca – skyline studios – oakland
06/08/2003 bloomfield avenue cafe montclair nj – spaceyraygun
06/26/2003 the knitting factory nyc ny – luxlillian
07/26/2003 the chameleon club lancaster pa – spaceyraygun
08/18/2003 9:30 club washington dc – TEPMIHATOP_HvH
08/19/2003 trocadero theater philadelphia pa – spaceyraygun
10/23/2003 downtime nyc ny – spaceyraygun
10/31/2003 south amboy nj halloween show – user: MCR stuff and things
11/14/2003 university of connecticut-stamford stamford ct – user: random stuff
12/14/2003 irving plaza nyc ny – spaceyraygun
05/17/2004 des moines iowa house of bricks – 515 archive
06/02/2004 manchester university manchester uk – TEMIHATOP-HvH
06/08/2004 vintage vinyl fords nj – spaceyraygun
06/09/2004 newbury comics shrewsbury ma us – punkstermann
06/10/2004 north star bar philadelphia pa – spaceyraygun
08/08/2004 summer sonic festival tokyo japan – dusted out on route guano
11/08/2004 hard rock live orlando fl – ryanninja
11/13/2004 unknown venue orange ca – TEPMIHATOP_HvH
12/12/2004 universal amphitheatre universal city ca – andrea amador
01/17/2005 trl nyc ny – patty8239
02/03/2005 la boule noire paris – the academy is my beautiful romance
03/04/2005 arrow hall mississauga ontario ca – the academy is my beautiful romance
03/05/2005 john labatt centre london ontario ca – the academy is my beautiful romance
03/29/2005 arco arena sacramento ca – moranestes
05/21/2005 kroq weenie roast irvine ca – the academy is my beautiful romance
05/27/2005 wxdx summer kick off chevrolet amphitheater pittsburgh pa – neeeeonafterglow
06/06/2005 le trabendo paris france – the academy is my beautiful romance
06/10/2005 download festival donington park castle donington uk (interview) – TEPMIHATOP_HvH
06/25/2005 warped tour reliant park houston tx – ibanez27
06/27/2005 hard rock live orlando fl – ATØMIC JĒY
07/02/2005 32/20 warped tour pier san francisco ca – the academy is my beautiful romance
07/12/2005 warped tour thunderbird stadium vancouver ca – kristi haubrick
07/30/2005 warped tour molson park barrie ontanio ca – loveorsympathy
07/31/2005 warped tour silverdome pontiac mi – nightrain5565
08/01/2005 warped tour post gazette pavilion burgettstown pa – price family homestead
08/05/2005 warped tour vinoy park st. petersburg fl – rogo117
08/10/2005 warped tour nissan pavilion bristol va – the academy is my beautiful romance
08/11/2005 warped tour ford pavilion montage mountain scranton pa – the academy is my beautiful romance
08/12/2005 warped tour tweeter center camden nj – katemcilwaine
08/13/2005 warped tour randall’s island park randalls island nyc ny – the academy is my beautiful romance
08/14/2005 raceway park englishtown nj – readydeady
08/23/2005 the underworld london england – leila vardar
08/31/2005 melkweg the max amsterdam netherlands – user: random stuff
09/01/2005 abart zurich switzerland – mychemrock1
09/03/2005 idroscalo segrate italy – nacho en tour
09/15/2005 promowest pavilion columbus west ohio – andreaflowers
09/17/2005 eastern michigan university convocation center ypsilanti mi – amanda
09/27.2005 mesa amphitheatre mesa arizona – mark zeta
10/02/2005 event center arena san jose ca – jason is lost in japan
10/08/2005 gwinnett center duluth ga – living with ghosts
10/10/2005 revolution live ft lauderdale fl – natnizzle
10/14/2005 tweeter center camden nj – decoemergency
-> pt. 2 (2005 - 2007)
-> pt. 3 (2007 - 2011)
-> pt. 4 (2011 - 2023)
#remaining years will be on a separate post due to link limits#revenge era#bullets era#shows#mcr#gerard way#frank iero#ray toro#my chemical romance#mikey way#doing this makes me realize how few breaks they took
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Self Discipline
Summary:
It's easy to keep your legs closed.
6.3k words
Bakugou x fem/reader
Warnings:
Smut
MDNI!
Author's Word:
My first post on here, enjoy.
-Anonymous-vr
Your suitcase, meticulously packed with essentials for a week, stood as a silent testament to the internship you had tirelessly pursued. As summer draped its warmth over Japan, you felt both drained and invigorated by the experience. The city buzzed with life as you navigated its streets, your tenacious attitude pushing you through every challenge. After finishing your internship, you promised to visit your mother soon after. Her mama-bear nature refuses to let you relish your life without a consistent visit.
In a world where humans are equipped with powers, life-threatening events constantly take place around you. You were thankful nothing happened to you, though you could never be too sure. "Please be safe on the road home." Your mother spoke eagerly on the phone, excited to see her only child. Your reassurance did nothing to calm her nerves though, it never did. "Remember when you told me I needed to get out more? Well, your mama is hosting a get-together. It'll be in the garden. I'm in a club dedicated to mothers with only one child." You couldn't help but chuckle over the phone. Having a mother who refused to get out and meet others was a burden for you, it made leaving so much more difficult. "You can tell me more when I get home Mom.".
The three-hour drive always took a toll on your body as you began to re-enter the city halfway through. Traffic was always hectic this time of year as some traveled away and others went home in the town. You sighed a sigh of relief once you parked in front of your small childhood home. It was small but you loved it. Its eggshell exterior makes a great contrast with the brick guiding visitors inside. The flowers you'd watched your mother plant running up the gate and greeting your fingers as you pushed inside. The slightly rusty gate creaked as you pulled your suitcase behind you. It took two knocks before the front door was yanked open and you were engulfed by your mother's arms.
"You don't know how much I've missed you around here." You followed her inside before making your way to your old bedroom. "I've missed you too Mom, more than you know. Tell me more about this event you're hosting though." You unpacked your suitcase as she detailed the gathering she'd put together. "Wow Mom, you've invited twenty-nine people over? That's insane considering your introverted nature." "I know but I really wanted to listen to you and push myself out there. Now I know twenty-nine other mothers who are also dealing with some sort of separation anxiety. A mother I've grown close to has a son I'm sure you'd get along with." You turned to raise a brow at your mom.
You were successful in almost every aspect of your life, not to her. Your life was too busy for romance, and she pitied you. The story of her and your father constantly brought up to try and ignite something within you, it never worked though. Father passed away when you were still young, romance was never something that you'd seen first-hand growing up. The only depictions of love shown were on TV, and the popular sitcoms portrayed it as fairly difficult to obtain.
"Mom, you know I'm too busy to entertain the thought of having a boyfriend." Having this conversation was like beating a dead horse. "Well, his mother has described him as a very well-known and handsome man. At least be open about this, for me? I don't want you old and alone like me." You let out a soft sigh before pulling your mother in for a warm, and much-needed, hug. "I'll be open but I can't make any promises."
As the setting of the Sun painted the sky with stars, you sunk into your bed and fell asleep. Your rest wasn't fulfilling as you knew you'd need to wake up in enough time to make yourself look appropriate. The nagging thought of this mystery man also kept you pondering throughout the night.
As morning slowly approached, you sadly got out of bed and got dressed. The smell of food filled the little house as your mother prepared snacks for the guests. Pulling on a floral sundress and a pair of kitten heels, you rush out of your room just in time. Looking outside, it seemed as though guests had already arrived. A majority of the mothers had brought their children along with them. They all exuded motherly pride as they finally had the chance to show off the child they'd described over the past few months.
"This is my only child y/n." Your mother gushed as she hugged onto your arm. Chatter started as the other mothers introduced themselves and reached to shake your hand. As everyone began to mingle, you found yourself watching from the sides. As much as you told your mother to get out of her shell, you felt ashamed now as she left to speak to the other mothers. Your phone became enticing, luring you in as you drowned out the world and began checking emails. You weren't sure how much time had passed before you were interrupted by the sound of your mother's voice approaching you again.
"This is my daughter!" Looking up, you were met with an ash-blonde-haired woman. "Well, aren't you a beauty? I'd always wished for a daughter. Instead, I was given that thing over there." She chuckled as her thumb directed you to the scowling man hunched over at a table. He looked identical to his mother, his ash-blonde hair and eyes a piercing crimson color. Turning his gaze toward the three of you, you quickly looked away. "I'm sure he's great." The lie was forced through your teeth, he looks extremely intimidating. "No need to lie, I told him to dress nicely, and he comes out in jeans and a black top. Ignorant just like his father." The two women moved to sit and chat.
Your gaze couldn't help but flicker from the man across the garden. His black shirt curled around his body, displaying his muscles. His big stature exuded confidence as though he owned the place. He looked awfully familiar, like someone you'd seen in the news. Growing up in a small town, you were often isolated from the flashy aspects of city living. You knew of a few celebrities and heroes but never anything up to date. The only new-gen hero you knew about was Deku, you were a big fan. A few of his posters were plastered on your wall from your early college years.
Shaking your gaze from the man, you decided to go inside for a drink of water. The beams of the sun had finally won. As you moved inside, you could feel the eyes of the man on your back as you smiled at a few guests in your path. Once inside, peace washed over you. You were an introvert just like your mom, this newfound inner peace came after you'd graduated from college. At age twenty-two, you were more inclined to spend more time alone than with others. You sipped on a cup of water as you pulled up your phone and scrolled through a few documents you were meant to review.
The sound of the back door opening and closing caught your attention as you placed your phone on the counter. No one was meant to be inside the house, so you assumed it was your mom. "Mom, does your friend's son look familiar? I feel like I've seen him somewhere before." You spoke out loud as your gaze moved outside the window to look at the man again. You were shocked when you couldn't find him though, instead being met with the eyes of your mother as she continued to chat with the others. Face falling in confusion, you swiveled around to be met with the intimidating man. Embarrassed, your eyes widened as you stood awkwardly.
"Y'know where the bathroom is?" He questioned with a stoic look on his face. He held no shame as his demanding eyes bore into yours, expecting an answer. Technically, no one was meant to be inside the house. There was only one bathroom, it was shared by you and your mother. "I uh- It's right down the hall to the left." Your voice was an unusual octave as the older man watched you squirm. He raised an eyebrow at you, his head tilting to an angle. "So, you just let anyone walk through your house alone?" The question had caught you off guard, you'd expected him to leave once given directions. "I'm sorry but um, what do you mean?" He shook his head, obviously annoyed by your ignorance. "You don't know me and you're gonna let me wander your house. Just because you give me directions, doesn't mean I'm gonna follow them. This is why you dumb extras are always in dumb situations."
Your face dropped as you rushed from your spot in the kitchen. His booming voice further intimidates you as you guide him through the house and to the bathroom. His presence was large and strong as he walked behind you. He gave you a lackluster "Thanks" before shutting the door behind him.
Bakugou unzipped his pants and did his business as he looked around your bathroom. The sink was crowded with perfumes, makeup, dental care, and hair items. The soft pink shower curtain was slightly opened, giving him a view into your clean shower. This was definitely a woman's house. It was definitely messier than his bathroom though. He always prioritized having a clean space as it helped him think better. Being the number two hero, he couldn't allow his space to reflect his busy schedule.
Finishing his business, he washed his hands while looking in the mirror. Today was his first day off in two weeks and his mother had forced him to spend it at this get-together. He was upset but understood the importance of keeping a tight-knit relationship with his parents. "There's a girl I want you to meet at this get-together. She's a sweet thing, based on what her mother's said. I spoke positively about you so try your best to uphold what I've said." His mother's words annoyed him, she constantly meddled in his love life as she wanted grandkids sooner than later. Being a busy hero though, he knew he had little to no time for a relationship. He entertained his mother and agreed to attend, promising to be on his best behavior.
As he left the bedroom, he realized you were no longer in front of the door. "Dumb ass, just let strangers wander her house alone." He grumbled before glancing at the bedroom across the hall. He knew it had to be yours. Floral wallpaper, a soft pink rug, and a white bed standing in his vision. His curiosity getting the best of him, he stepped into your room and looked around. A scowl formed on his face at the sight of Deku, his face plastered on a poster you'd neatly taped on your wall. Despite the ridiculous number of knick-knacks, your room was fairly clean.
You'd gone to the kitchen once the bathroom door shut, eagerly grabbing your cup of water to calm yourself. The man seemed even more familiar after speaking to him, his temperamental energy scratching your brain. After texting an old friend and chugging down your water, you walked back down the hallway to find the man. Reaching the bathroom, your brows furrowed at the emptiness. "Um...excuse me?" You called out, hoping for a reply. Maybe he'd found his way back outside. The thought was brushed away though when his voice replied from your bedroom. Heart falling to your ass, you turned around and rushed to your room.
The tall man looked out of place in your childhood room. "This um...this isn't the way back outside." Your reply was stupid, and you mentally cursed yourself for it. "Yeah, I figured. What's with the poster?" His finger pointed to the old poster on your wall. "Oh, it's old, I put that up during my sophomore year of college." You weren't sure why, but you could feel irritation shimmer off his body. "Do you...not like Deku?" A low grumble left his lips as his brows furrowed. "D'you not know who I am or something?" His head turned so his eyes could look at you. You were pathetic, standing timidly in your own room. Your form was much smaller than his, the kitten heels doing little to boost your height.
"I'm sorry." Was all you could get out as the man studied you. His presence made you feel foreign in your own house. Your answer made him turn to fully face you. "You're serious, you don't know who I am?" Words failing, you shook your head no. It pissed him off, Deku's face plastered on your wall, and you didn't know who Bakugou was. It didn't surprise him though considering how small your town was. "You livin' under a fuckin rock or what?" Poison was laced in his words as he stepped closer to you, his cologne slowly sweeping from his body up your nostrils. Your eyes widened as he stalked closer to you, seeming to not care about personal space. "I-should I know who you are?" "Damn right, you should, you're standing in front of the number two hero." With that, everything fell into place. No wonder he seemed so familiar. The hero Dynamight was standing in your room.
"There we go, that little brain finally working huh?" you stumbled over your words as you apologized profusely, something he seemed to enjoy as his signature smirk spread across his face. "So what, Dynamight was never good enough to plaster on your walls?" Your jumbled words began falling again as you tried to explain your reasoning. "This is so embarrassing" You mumbled as your blushing face fell into your hands. You never expected this turn of events, unprepared for his persistent personality. He chuckled as he sat down on your bed. You continued to stand, too nervous to sit next to the towering hero. "So, what's it like being a hero?" you questioned, fiddling with your fingers nervously. He caught onto your nervous habits though, scoffing as you shrunk under his gaze. "Relax, I'm not gonna blow your head off or anything." Your arms immediately fell to your sides as you stood awkwardly. "It's hard work, a lot of hard work. I love my job though." His answer didn't give much detail, but you still appreciated it.
"What exactly... brings you to this part of town? With how busy you must be, I can't help but wonder how you have the time to come to such an underwhelming get-together." "My mom wanted me to come so I came. Something about wanting to introduce me to some woman's daughter." Your face flushed as you began to avoid his eye contact. Picking up on your body language, mentally cursed his mom for putting him in this predicament. "I'm assuming that daughter is you." Your silence was enough of an answer for him. "I promise I wasn't in on this; I was told the same thing you were. Besides, I'm not interested in finding a relationship since I'm too busy with work. I've gone twenty-two years without one so I'm sure I'll survive." Your words sprinted from your mouth as you tried to cut through the awkward tension.
Bakugou scoffed at your jumbled words. "Were you a sheltered little brat or what? You've never been in a relationship before?" He was surprised a girl like you had never been in a relationship before. Your pretty hair was gathered in a low bun, a few pieces framing your innocent face. He watched as you nervously pulled your glossy bottom lip between your teeth. "I never saw the point of it." Your reply was a lame excuse, it was true though. "You ever try having sex?" His question was extremely inappropriate and blunt. The blood rose to your face as your eyes averted away from his. "Of course not if I've never been in a relationship." He let out a deep chuckle, shifting slightly on your bed. You were an innocent little thing. Living in the city, he was used to bold and experienced women who threw themselves at him. You were the complete opposite though, avoiding his gaze and presenting yourself as a modest little thing.
"You never heard of a hook-up?" His question made you look stupid as he stared at you confused. "I-I-I yeah, I mean. I'd never do that." He cut you off with another scoff. "What, you too good for that too?" "That's not what I'm saying I just-" Your fingers began twiddling together again as you spoke, nerves shooting through your body. "I just don't participate in those types of activities." "Come here." His hand patted the bed, signaling the spot next to him. Hesitating, you force your body to move. The bed creaked underneath the weight of you and the pro hero. His eyes glazed over your face and body as you stared straight ahead. His heat radiated off of him and it made you shift. Bakugou was a very handsome man, his blonde locs sitting disheveled on his head. His hair color complimented the intensity of his red eyes. All elements of him accessorizing the Godly build he had beneath his clothes. He was a man to be admired, you refused to give in though.
"So, you just walk around looking all dolled up to reject every man showing interest." Turning to face him, you took in the change of his demeanor. "I mean yeah, nicely of course." His gaze stayed on you, watching as your body squirmed beneath his eyes. "I don't know how you live like that, especially considering how good it feels." "It's honestly not that hard to keep your legs closed." Your reply was snobbish as if you were above the idea of having sex. "Is it easy or have you just not met a man that makes your hands sweat." "No, I've met my handful of handsome men. I just choose not to partake. I personally have great self-discipline."
Bakugou took your words as a challenge. While you thought it made you look like a dignified and "respectable" woman, Bakugou saw you as a snobby, arrogant, cocky prick. The need to show you that you were no better than those who'd partaken in others grew in his chest as he watched you stick your nose in the air. "What a snotty little bitch you are." He spat the words out, emphasizing the title as you whipped your head to look at him. "What did you just call me?" You didn't care if he was a pro hero or not, you didn't tolerate that kind of name-calling. "You heard me, walking around here like you're better than everyone else. You're just as human as your peers, we've all got desires. I'll be damned if I sit here and let you lie to my face like I'm some dunce. Either you're lying or you really haven't found the right extra to pull those panties to the side and fuck you."
His words were nasty beyond your tolerance. You couldn't help the blood that rushed up your chest, no one had spoken to you like that before. Oddly enough, you couldn't help but squeeze your thighs together. The mental battle in your head kept you dazed as you couldn't understand why your body reacted to his words. "Fuckin virgins runnin' around thinking they're better than everyone else until they're dicked down." Your movements didn't go unnoticed by the pro, his eyes easily picked up on the way your thighs rubbed together beneath your sun dress. He let out a low chuckle at this. "See, all it took was a couple of words to get you hot and bothered." Your mouth opened and closed in defense as you looked for words. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."
He was tired of your act, ready to humble you back where you belong. His sharp canines showed, and his big hand reached out and rested on your thigh. Blood pooled in the area where his hand sat, you weren't used to being touched by others. His eyes watched your reaction as you did nothing to push his touch away, instead keeping your shocked eyes on his. "What's wrong? Searching for that self-discipline? I've got you red in the face and I haven't even touched you yet." The 'yet' at the end of his sentence had your mind spinning. "Of course you'd let me touch you though, the dumb men in this town could never meet your expectations, right?" His hand began to move as he shifted his body to face yours. "Answer me." He demanded, hand moving to your waist. "N-No that's not it at all." His hand slightly squeezed your thigh causing a soft yelp to fall from your lips. "Give me the right answer." You sighed as his hand moved up to gently cup one of your breasts. You'd never felt a sensation like it, a new feeling of pleasure sending waves down to your core. Your eyes darted down to his hand as he gently messaged your skin. "They could never meet my standards." The reply came out breathy as your body began to crave his.
"Look at you, melting in my touch." As he watched you, his already inflated ego filled the room. Little Miss Untouchable was writhing under the little pleasure he was giving her. "Look at that, I know it feels good. It feels good, doesn't it?" He wanted to break you down and ruin the image you'd created of yourself in your head. Your hot face turned away as you bit down on your bottom lip. "I know you want me to keep going so you'd better open that mouth and answer me." "Yes." The word was all you'd give him as your back arched further into his touch. His hand left your body before you felt yourself be lifted into his lap. Your heart began to beat vigorously as you straddled his hips with your own. "We can't! The guests and my mom and your mom-" "But you want to." The shit-eating grin on his face let you know he had you right where he wanted you. "I need to hear you say it or I can't go further." You sat quietly for a second, weighing your options. On one hand, you weren't sure you wanted to risk your ego for this. On the other, the feeling of his hips between yours was driving you insane.
After weighing your options for a few seconds, you let out a shaky breath. "Just...be quick." "I don't rush shit." Before you could process his words, his lips were on your neck. The sensation was new, nothing like what you'd felt before. His lips were plush and warm as he tickled up your neck. The feeling of his hair brushing your jaw kept you grounded as you instantly melted in his touch. You were fully aware of his hands that rested at your thighs, slowly pushing your bunched dress up your legs. The sound of his lips moving against your skin made you feel dirty like you were committing the greatest act against yourself. Though you felt dirtier because it felt so good.
"Take this dress off." His voice was demanding as he moved back, waiting for you to follow orders. Your fingers reached down and hesitantly tugged the dress from your body. The sight of your pretty pink panty and bra set had Bakugou drooling. "Sure you're a virgin? Or you walk around with these pretty panties on for nothing?" The question was rhetorical, his lips falling against your collarbone. As he riled you up, you could feel an uncomfortable sensation growing between your legs. You could smell yourself through your panties. Embarrassed, you tried to close your thighs around him to no avail. His hands smoothed up your sides and played with your bra clasp before easily unclipping it. A gasp left your lips as you hugged your bra to your chest. His teeth pinched down on the soft skin of your neck as a warning. Loosening your grip, you allowed him to roughly tear the bra from your skin.
You were completely flustered, never have had anyone see you this bare before. "Look at that, high and mighty twenty minutes ago, and bare for me to see now." Before you could get a word out, he had you flipped beneath him on your childhood bed. Your legs lay beside his thighs as he stared down at you hungrily. "Oh gosh," The words flew out your mouth before you could stop them. Bakugou took this as his cue to continue as his lips quickly flew down to suck on your nipple. His other hand worked at the neglected boob as you watched with lustful eyes. The feeling was nothing short of euphoric, sensations traveling down to your drooling virgin pussy. Your head eventually rested on your pillow, allowing you to indulge in the pleasure.
"You like gettin' your titties sucked pretty girl?" His tone was condescending, dripping with arrogance as he teased you. You were too dazed from the simple touch to argue though, letting out an approving hum. His teeth bit down on your nipple enough to make you squeak. "Speak" "Y-yes, I like getting my titties sucked Dynamight." He chuckled at your submission. "Good bitch." You mewled at the name. Him pairing the derogatory name with praise making your back arch your chest into his face. "Dirty virgin, you like getting called a bitch huh?" His hand slowly began traveling down to the waistband of your panties. "Come on y/n, no way you're that worn out already?" His thick fingers moved to your inner thigh, thumb rubbing circles over your skin. He was teasing you, trying to get you to the point of desperation. Oh, what he'd give to hear you beg for his dick. You stayed quiet, concentrating on the way his fingers slowly moved to the damp area on your panties. You bit your lip from embarrassment. "You're sopping, this the self-discipline you were talking about?" You couldn't get an answer out as his fingers finally rubbed softly over your slit. Your pussy fluttered at the feeling, begging for more as your mouth dropped slightly open. He took this as an opportunity to connect lips, tongue pushing inside your mouth as his fingers began rubbing firmly. It was like electricity was sent through your body and straight to your core. You'd never felt anything like it. His fingers worked expertly, riling you up as his mouth worked against yours. The corners of his lips pulled up into a smirk as soft sounds began to escape your lips. He knew he had you.
"How much do you like these panties?" His question barely registered in your head. You let out a confused hum before the sound of a slight explosion and ripped fabric filled your ears. The cold air from your room finally hit your wet and weepy pussy. His fingers immediately found solitude within your folds, brushing up and down before toying around your clit. "Oh my-Dynamight that-" "It's Katsuki." He grunted out as his eyes explored your face. You were so sensitive, trying to grasp the feelings in your body. His sweet but musky scent helped overstimulate you as you relished in his touch. "Cocky little brat thought she was too good for this." His words were mumbled into your lips as his fingers toyed with your excited core.
Soft breaths hummed from your throat as your legs continuously parted for him. Without warning, he plunged his fingers into your sopping sex. "Kats-oh my gosh." The words came out with a gasp as your hands gripped the sheets. "Just preppin you for what's to come." His eyes watched as you swallowed his finger easily. "Fuck, you're so tight. Not sure how I'll fit in here." His words flew over your head as you easily began to see stars. A feeling rose in the pit of your stomach, and you weren't sure how to react. "Wait wait stop something's coming out." The words rushed out your mouth in panic, but your body remained slack as he added a second finger. "Just relax." Was all he muttered as he watched you fall apart from his two fingers. Your face scrunched as your back arched off your bed. Everything felt lighter as you dipped in and out of consciousness. Bakugou's dick got even harder than it already was, watching as you twitched beneath him.
Once your sex stopped gripping him so tightly, he removed his fingers from your core. Eyes lazily hanging open, your heart skipped a beat as he brought his fingers to his mouth. "Mmm, you taste good." Popping his fingers out of his mouth, he pushed them in front of you. You sat confused at first but shyly took his fingers into your mouth. The taste of your arousal mixed with his spit was so dirty, but you couldn't help the soft moan that vibrated your chest. "Don't you?" He asked matter-of-factly as you sucked the remainder of his fingers clean. Ripping his fingers from your mouth, he wasted no time in ripping his top off. Your desperation for him grew as you took in his sculpted figure. His ego rose through the roof as he felt your needy eyes on him. He ignored you though as he continued to take off his pants and boxers. Your mouth fell open at what was previously hidden.
Beneath his six-pack sat a pretty dick. Blonde hair decorated the top area, emphasizing his sharp v-line. "I promise you'll never see a dick like this again. You'll never feel a dick like this again either pretty girl." Grabbing your legs, he yanked you to the bottom of the bed before positioning both of them on his shoulders. "So desperate to suck me in?" He watched your hole clench around nothing, eager to be filled. Your face was hot as you watched the hero position himself between your legs. You were fully bare for him and, shockingly, it turned you on. "Fuck you're so wet." His words were mainly directed at himself as his leaking head began to smear against your folds. The soft hums leaving your lips stirred him further as your hands fidgeted to find something worth gripping. Your mouth stretched wide as your seeping hole did the same, his hot dick began to push slowly inside of you. "Ow I- Gosh Katsuki you're big." The moans began to fill your room as you tried your best to swallow him hole. "You can take it." The sharp pain was slowly overcome by the feeling of intense pleasure. Your tits bounced softly as his balls finally reached your ass. "Squeezin' me so hard, relax." His demanding words did nothing to loosen your grip, his fingers did though. You almost reached your peak instantly when his hand came down to play with your clit again. Once that little hole of yours finally lost a bit of grip, he began slowly but deeply fucking into you. The sensation was even greater than when you were sucking in his fingers. His hands gripped your hips as he bent down and captured your lips in his. The lewd sound of skin on skin filled the room as you allowed yourself to be swallowed up by his presence. When his lips finally left yours, your hand drifted down to your stomach. "I can feel you." His self-restraint snapped at that moment as his hips pulled fully back before snapping into yours. A loud cry left your lips before being muffled by his hand. "You forgot to close your door Miss Self Discipline." He grunted through gritted teeth. The feeling of his pounding into you was driving you off the edge, and quickly. Bakugou could tell you were reaching your high as your muffled cries began falling from your lips consistently. "Let's test that self-discipline." He mumbled before pulling out fully.
You were on the brig of finishing when he pulled out, a loud whine leaving your lips. "Not so hard to keep your legs closed? I guess it shouldn't be too hard to keep yourself from cumming on my dick." He waited a couple seconds for you to come down before shoving back into you. Your mouth dropped open beneath his hand, tongue absentmindedly darting out to wet his palm. His hips snapped to yours with vigor as you lay there and take it. Removing his hand from your mouth, it swiftly gripped your neck, His arm was situated between your breasts as you lazily looked up at him. "Shit y/n." Your name leaving his in a praise of pleasure had your back arching. "Look at you, needy just like the rest of us. It feels good, doesn't it?" His condescending tone made it obvious that he just wanted his ego stroked. You'd happily do that though with him balls deep in your cunt. "Feels so good Katsuki, so good." You sighed, listening to the nasty sounds filling up the room. "I know it does, needy bitch" His hips began rocking into yours faster and harder, and the feeling of him hitting a certain spot inside of you had tears pooling in your eyes.
"You're a snobby little slut, acting like you're better than the rest of us. Aren't you?" He fucked the ego right out of you as you lazily opened your mouth to reply. "Yes." A slap was placed on your thigh. "Give me the right answer." "F-F-Fuck Katsuki. Yes, I'm a snobby little slut." A sinister grin fell on his lips as he began rocking harder into you. Mewls left your mouth before they were swallowed by his lips. You were teetering on edge, and he knew this. His hand fell between your legs again and began toying with your clit. Your bed shook from the weight. Hands moving all over you, his breathing became ragged as soft moans fell from his lips to harmonize with your own. Before you knew it, he had you seeing stars for a second time. You let out a loud moan into his mouth as your body vibrated and twitched under his touch. He didn't let up though, continuing his fast and hard thrusts as he chased his own high. Soon enough, the feeling of something warm spilling inside of you caught your attention. Too fucked out to care though, you swallowed his own moans of ecstasy before feeling him pull out.
Your body was shocked and still, as your eyes opened only slightly. Between your lashes, you could see him get dressed as he read a message from his phone. "Hero duty calls." He spoke to you as he leaned down and placed a hungry kiss on your lips. "You're fucked out, might wanna pull yourself together though. Looks like your mom's event is ending soon." Before leaving, he pulled his phone out and took a photo of your sprawled-out and exhausted body. You could hear him chuckle as he walked to the door and left.
The week went by fast, too fast, you found yourself kissing your mother bye before driving back to your apartment. The memories from your mom's event constantly invaded your mind whenever you were left alone. He'd triggered something inside of you, ruining your self-image. Late at night, you found yourself touching your cunt, trying to mimic the way he fingered you previously. It was never enough though. You started out with the best and now anything less wasn't good enough.
Pulling your suitcase into your apartment, your phone let out a ding. Standing in the doorway, you quickly opened the message from the unknown number and jumped inside. You'd hoped your neighbors didn't see anything on your phone as an image of your fucked out body splayed across your screen. Your cunt glistened from the light as your hands gripped your tits. Your face was flushed as hairs stuck to your cheeks and forehead. Below the image left a text that had you blushing.
Little Miss "It's easy to keep your legs closed"
Little Miss Self Discipline.
#Katsuki Bakugou#Bakugou#Bakugo#Katsuki#Bakugou smut#katsuki bakugou smut#bakugou x reader#smut#kirishima x reader#kirishima smut#My Hero Academia#MHA#MHA x reader#Denki Kaminari#Denki x reader#Deku#Deku x reader#Deku Smut
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BUT I LOVE YOU SO (PLEASE LET ME GO) ( lando norris. )
he loved her, but knew he had to let her go even if it killed him inside. still he left a paper trail back to him.
warnings: heavy angst I suppose
authors note: wrote this with 2 am motivation. it was about time I finally gave you guys some writing after a couple of months of an absence (I sincerely apologize). I was thinking of making this one of the parts of the mini series because it sort of fits what I want to do with it, but i figured since i hadn't put anything out in a while, it'd be its own separate thing <3
part 2 found here
HE LOVED HER with every fiber of his being. every cell in his body lived for her, he told himself. the blood that ran through his veins underneath his tan skin, all the way to his heart that he had so carefully carved to be able to beat for her. she was the center of his life, he thought.
he really thought.
because now, as he sat and watched her through the fingers over his face to hide the incoming tears, he wished he knew what he should've done. because he only knew what to do.
to let her go.
surely, it wasn't easy, it was never going to be. but alas it was inevitable for the lovers to part though at the time, they wished for it to be only shortly. but they were never coming back. they didn't want to believe, but their hearts knew.
it was a long time coming, but nothing could've prepared them for the heartbreak they forced upon themselves. it was like running blindly into the brick wall they had built together.
they didn't ever fight though. that was the one thing they took pride for their relationship, but now they realize it would've been better for petty arguments. because now, they realize they just don't work.
he was social, she was a homebody. he loved the night life, jumping between different clubs across cities he'd drag her to. of course, at the time she didn't mind being pulled into a club every so often, but it wasn't her scene. the media never was.
he knew that. she knew that it was his.
her hands shook with every folded article of clothing, occasionally wiping her nose with the back of her hand as she tried to avoid his figure altogether.
it wasn't like she didn't want him, in fact she needed him. but the relationship was doomed from the start, she knew yet she didn't care because at the time, everything was tunnel-visioned and he was the light at it's end.
her best moments were the ones lived with him, yet also the worst ones too. but she didn't regret it, it shaped them for their future. one where they knew they couldn't be by each other's side.
they knew heartbreak was looming over them, though the possibility of severing their relationship at any given moment didn't dawn on them till blood was pouring out the wound and there was nothing they could do to stop the bleeding.
they wouldn't try to, they knew better than to patch a wound that would never heal. they let it bleed onto the cold floors of their apartment. the one she had to leave.
nothing had happened in the way they had wanted, but when would it ever if everything was always working against them? it was the world versus them and they lost.
they accepted that defeat.
she tried her best to keep her composure as she packed, for whatever thin thread they held onto would snap if she broke down. because they both knew he couldn't leave her if she did, wouldn't let her go.
because she knew he'd give up his career, his dream, in a heartbeat if it had meant he could still hold her at night. he said forever, and he would make it happen.
it sent her over the edge, reliving their relationship as her fingertips creased memories and packed them into a suitcase, each item of clothing holding significance from their relationship. all from the beginning, she'd kept everything, and that wouldn't change.
she broke. she recognized the textures beneath her fingertips before she could look, her favorite dress. her favorite dress that he bought for her for their anniversary. she knew it was over.
as soon as the choked sobs left her lips, the armchair he sat on creaked as he simply stood and walked to console her. his arms wrapped around her shoulders as the warmth of his chest spread across her back, which did nothing but break her heart more.
she pressed her lips against his skin, though not in an intimate manner, but to hide her struggled cries as the tears down her cheeks began to stain his skin with mascara. she gripped his forearm and bicep tightly, leaning her head further against him.
" 'm sorry," she mumbled against his skin, sniffling as she struggled to catch a breath between sobs. she clenched her eyes shut, seeing dizzying shapes underneath her eyelids. she hoped it would stop the tears.
"shh," he shushed as his lips kissed her hair, muffling his words, "i should be sorry."
still he spoke ever so softly to her as the day they'd met and she couldn't help but fold for his tone of voice every time. even when she knew she shouldn't.
" you have nothing to be sorry for, lan..."
"i should've know the media would be too much for you, love." he mumbled against her hair, "i have everything to be sorry for."
"but i handled it." she peeled his arm from her skin, the streaks of black mascara almost making her lips twitch into a smile as it brought back memories. memories of crying-laughing and smearing mascara onto his arms. still, she held his wrist as she turned to face him, yet she didn't step back.
it'd be the last time they would be this close.
but part of him didn't want her to turn around. he loved when her makeup ran down her face as she cried tears of joy, with the bright sun shining down on her, acting as her personal spotlight, because she was the center of attention, with the wind blowing her hair.
he wished he could see her like that one more time before they left for good. because now he stood, resisting the urge to wipe the tears off her face. because now it wasn't happy, it was sullen. he wanted everything to be able to take care of her, to not let her leave. not yet.
he sighed, he had to give in. he always would, he couldn't help himself when he smudged the running mascara off her face, "fuck, that never works, does it?" he muttered in a soft panic as he realized he just made more of a mess.
she chuckled. she loved whenever he lightened the mood, intentionally or not, it was something she could always count on him to do, "every time, lando, every time." she replied through soft chuckles, sighing as she calmed.
he became serious once again as the smile slowly fell from his face and he wiped the black from his fingers, "but really, did you handle it?" he asked lowly, looking down at her with the same, soft look on his face she could always count on, "i know the media really affected you."
she sighed. there was no denying the exhaustion the media and paparazzi caused. they thought they were fine in the bubble of their apartment, but that bubble had long popped.
"you were born to shine, lando." she simply responded to not give him the truth he was expecting to hear, "that's just not me, we both know it."
"i know." he whispered, biting his lip and looking at her with a gloomy expression. he felt regret and guilt, " 'm sorry."
she shook her head, raising her hand to his jaw to trace the bone under his skin, “i know, but we're both at fault here. we should've known it wouldn't've worked out."
it hurt for them to hear, but it needed to be said, and he would've never said it. it was the truth.
she sniffled, backing away with the realization of how close they had become as she wiped away stray tears and turned back to the half-packed suitcase on the bed they once shared.
he watched her face as her eyes scanned the still heaps of clothing left for her to take, and boxes needing to be filled, "do you want some help?" he offered, his hand grabbing the back of her arm, caressing the skin as she jumped slightly at the contact.
she sighed and said through an awkward chuckle, "please," she reached again for clothes to resume her packing, " 'm afraid i'll change my mind if i stay too much longer."
her words hurt, like daggers slicing through his skin. another wound they couldn't heal.
"would it be that bad?"
his response hurt more. she hadn't meant it like that, but words were subjective. it was like he had taken the knife from beneath his flesh and twisted back into hers.
"no, lan, i didn't mean it like that-" she dropped the shirt she held to place a hand on his bicep, which he shrugged off.
" 'ts fine," he spoke without a tone in his voice, which was odd for him. His focus was on her clothes in his hands and somewhat neatly packed away into one of her many suitcases.
"but i just meant-"
"listen, 'ts fine, we aren't together anymore so we don't have to fix things, or try to."
she squirmed under the dagger as it twisted deeper into her flesh. the air was tense, too silent for her liking and his new attitude threw her off.
it made her realize that maybe there was something more to them that didn't work. because surely any two people who loved each other would make it work out.
it didn't make sense though. maybe it never would.
after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence between them where the only sound was folding of cloth and zipping up certain spots in her suitcase, he turned his back and left the room.
she watched him leave from the corner of her eye, but she didn't stop him. she wanted to though. she wanted so desperately to grab him by the arm and force him to talk to her, but she wouldn't. he was right. they weren't dating.
besides they couldn't even fix what they had before.
minutes later he reemerged with a hand stuffed in his hoodie pocket and another behind his back with something he hid from her. she couldn't get a peak before he slipped it into one of the boxes. she shrugged it off as something she had forgotten.
he returned to helping her fold, but this time with his back towards her. it pained her, she didn't want him to turn his back on her, yet in a couple of hours, she would walk through their apartment door, her back turned to him. it was unfair, she knew.
the tears this time were silent as they streamed down her face, but she didn't make a sound. she watched his actions for a solid five minutes, seeing his best attempts folding her clothes, for her. he was never the best at it, as she had poked fun at him for it in the past. it hurt to think she would never see the difference of neatness in her closet anymore.
her attention was piqued when she saw his movement halt, quickly resuming with a messily put-together hoodie, one she didn't recognize to be hers.
she didn't get to look before he flipped back the top and zipped it up to go with the others.
she didn't have time to wipe the fresh tears from her face when he turned around after pulling the suitcase from the bed. he paused, dropping the handle.
in a swift motion, he pulled her into his chest. she couldn't stop herself from breaking down in his arms, his hand wrapped around her head, the other around her back. they stayed silent, apart from her sobs into his shirt. he didn't care if she ended up staining it.
they swayed for a while, longer than they should've, but at least now she had calmed down. though tears still streaming down her face and a headache forming in her head, they pulled apart slightly.
her hair was messy, her nose, cheeks, eyes and lips were red, her eyes were puffy and tears stained her face, but she was still prettier than ever.
he couldn't help but tuck the hair in front of her face behind her ear, his hand resting on her jaw.
for the last time, they kissed.
to him, it was like he was taking his last breath of air, or gulp of water for the rest of his life. he was taking what he could.
the taste of her salty tears, the wetness from her cheeks now on his, the hands in her messy hair pushing her desperately closer because he didn't want to let her go.
they sighed when they parted, his teeth grazing her bottom lip at a desperate attempt for more. more time.
they both stepped back, staying silent once again. they didn't have anything to say because their actions said it all. he stepped back to the suitcase he dropped and started moving them out to her car, which had considerably more trunk space than any of his.
it felt like when she was first moving out for college, with stacks of boxes and plenty of suitcases to make it seem like she was fleeing the country.
it all ended the second she walked out the door, but she didn't have to turn her back on him as he walked her to her car, opening the door.
one last hug between them. the last contact.
but they still followed each other's lives.
she would watch his races from the comfort of her new living room couch because she still worried about him the same amount from when they were dating. she noticed his suffering performance, though she sighed every time he crossed the finish line unscathed.
part of him knew she was watching for him.
he still followed her private accounts, liking the posts of the lifestyle that he could never live. it just wasn't his to experience, just like his was never hers to live either. most nights spent drunk in the dj booth, or out to dinner with other drivers, the social life had never been her scene.
he knew.
he knew all along that it was never going to end as they wished in the moment. they stared at their future without fully knowing what was waiting, yet they didn't step down.
months had passed. their lives were supposed to have gotten better, but they could both see they were both suffering.
boxes still unpacked from when she first left, she had never gotten around to fully moving in. still suitcases and cardboard boxes laid around the kitchen of her new apartment.
she felt like she should open them, like she needed to. if not now, would she ever?
boxes full of old memories from her childhood, or stuffed animals she had always convinced lando to buy for her. until there was one box left untouched. she hadn't remembered packing this one.
carefully, she sliced the tape and pulled back the cardboard. she was speechless.
his race helmet. his race helmet he dedicated to her.
dedicated for the anniversary of the day they met. for the race of the country where their eyes first found each other.
it had details about her. her favorite colors, places, things. it had her name, big enough to see from a while away.
he loved this helmet. and he gave it to her.
all she could do now was hug the last remainder of him and cry. she wasn't sure if letting him go was the right or wrong decision, but it felt wrong to question it now.
when she pulled away from the helmet and sniffling her nose, she noticed a piece of paper lodged into the visor. carefully, she pulled it out, unfolding it to see the familiar and horrible handwriting of lando norris.
she was lucky she learned to read it over the years or she would've been screwed.
blue suitcase. for when you're ready.
out of all of the suitcases she had taken, only one was blue. the one he had packed.
she hastily picked herself off the floor, carefully setting the helmet down on the kitchen counter before dropping back down on her knees and desperately unzipped it.
she tossed through every pocket and article of clothing packed into the suitcase, inspecting every single item. until she found it.
of course, he had given her one of his hoodies, but it was not just any of his hoodies. once again, a favorite of his he wore regularly. he gave it to her. it smelled like him still. curse him for spraying cologne on it.
she felt the fabric beneath her fingertips before slipping it on. a smile crept onto her lips as she went and sat back down on her couch, the TV had been playing FP3 in the background before quali in a couple hours time.
she pulled her blanket back over her, slipping her hands into the pockets. her brows furrowed when she felt yet another piece of paper, pulling it out to reveal even more horrendous handwriting from her beloved racer.
will let me know you're watching?
any day now love.
when the nights get lonely, i'll be waiting.
whenever you're ready.
i miss you, i'm sorry
ynusername
liked by landonorris and 4037 others
ynusername I don't know if i'm ready for this...
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proofread by @foreveralbon <333
#formula 1#formula 1 drivers#formula one#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#lando#lando norris#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando norris imagine#lando norris angst#lando norris f1#lando norris fanfic#lando norris x reader#ln4 fluff#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#ln4#ln4 x reader#f1#formula 1 x reader#mclaren formula 1#mclaren f1#lando norris x y/n
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obvious || ruesha littlejohn x reader ||
Both you and Ruesha are a bit oblivious to your feelings for each other.
Your feelings for Ruesha hit you like a ton of bricks in the midst of a shit storm. It was like your whole world was being spun around onto its head, and then, you had a crush on your national team captain's ex. Ruesha and Katie weren't getting back together, but a part of you was terrified about what might happen if you acted on your feelings. Their breakup was messy, and despite claims that there weren't sides on the national team, you knew that wasn't true.
At first, you had been on Katie's 'side' of things. She was your Arsenal teammate and captain, not to mention a family friend. She had been a great mentor in your football journey. Ruesha had always been there in the background of things. She had been Katie's girlfriend for the majority of the time that you'd known her, and even before they broke up, you had harbored a little crush on the woman.
Ruesha was a loud troublemaker, and everybody told you that nothing good would come from associating with her. You let yourself hang out with her a bit, but kept your distance as much as you could. At least you had until Jonas dropped you down a league. Once you found yourself having to show up to London City Lioness practices, things started to change a bit.
"Celtic are mad for not taking you," Ruesha muttered as the two of you watched a stream of their first Champions' League game. Shebhan was taking meticulous notes on it while you and Ruesha were lounging on the couch, half paying attention. Ruesha was easily distracted while you hadn't been able to keep your eyes off of her. "You'd be tearing it up right now, I just know it."
"Eh, there's always the future. I've got a few good seasons left in me," you said. Ruesha glanced over just as you reminded yourself not to look so sad. You were happy to be playing with Ruesha at London City, even if it wasn't Arsenal. You had wanted to leave the club, but you hadn't ever expected to get traded down a league.
"Don't worry about them, bunch of idiots if you ask me." Ruesha put her hand on your knee, squeezing slightly. You swallowed nervously as you looked over at her, and for a moment, you thought that maybe you saw something in her eyes that was quickly covered up. "Think on the brightside, if you'd gone to Celtic, then we wouldn't be playing together."
"You're meant to be cheering her up, Ruesha, not giving her depression," Shebhan teased. Ruesha immediately put all of her attention into kicking at and trying to fight with her sister while you watched. You laughed it off a little, glad to have a moment to steady your racing thoughts. Being close to Ruesha like this was definitely easier than it had been whenever she was with Katie, but it was still hard. You doubted that she'd be into you for a multitude of reasons. She may have stopped calling you 'kid' all the time, but that didn't mean she saw you as much more than that.
…
You were limping as you were subbed off. It was nothing serious, just a little pulled muscle. You could be playing in the next game if you rested properly according to the trainer. You'd come into your spot as a starter on the team quickly, but you didn't mind spending a game on the bench. There had been a lot of improvements all around, and you wanted your teammates to be able to showcase them.
"I got you an ice pack," Ruesha said as she slid into the spot next to you on the bench. Your hamstrings and calves had always done this a little bit. It was a side effect of the physical exertion you put yourself through to stay in top shape. Ruesha had been around you long enough to know what you needed for a speedy recovery.
"When the hell did you start acting so sweet?" Emma yelled before you could thank Ruesha. You watched as she started to get into a little banter with Emma. It was kind of funny, but they were both getting a bit loud, so you took it upon yourself to distract Ruesha.
"Thanks Rue," you mumbled as you cupped Ruesha's cheeks. Immediately, she went completely silent and began ignoring Emma in favor of you. She gave you a smile and little pat to your thigh.
"Anytime you need something, you know where I am," Ruesha told you. You let your hand fall from her face to rest next to hers. Sometime as the teams were going back to the locker room, Ruesha took your hand in hers, claiming that it was for support. You believed her, but many of your teammates didn't.
You could hear them teasing Ruesha as you showered and got dressed. At her request, you waited for Ruesha, who carried your things for you. Ruesha got some content for her vlog while you sat in the back with Georgia, one of the only teammates at your new team who you had confided about your feelings for Ruesha in.
"You know, she's very obviously just as down bad for you as you are her," Georgia pointed out.
"No, she's not," you argued. Georgia scoffed as she rolled her eyes at you. "Also, shut up. You're not quiet enough for us to be having this conversation on the bus."
"Don't worry, you're not subtle, neither of you. Ruesha would have carried you onto the bus if you asked her to, but instead she carried your bag for you. And don't you dare say that it's because you're hurt because she is always the first one to you when you need or want something. Everybody definitely thinks that you're together already."
"Pssh, Ruesha doesn't want me. Nobody wants me, that's why I'm here. I wasn't good enough for Arsenal. I wasn't good enough for A-,"
"Nope, we aren't doing this again!" Georgia cut you off. She stood up and much to your horror, called out for Ruesha, "Rue, get off your camera and come here!"
"Why are you being so bossy?" Ruesha asked as she made her way to where Georgia was sitting. "I told you already, if you're so set on finding a man, they don't like that."
"Shut up, sit down, and tell (Y/n) how you feel because I'm not listening to her dense ass cry about how nobody wants her and she's not good enough," Georgia said. She went up to steal Ruesha's old seat and give the two of you a bit of privacy.
"What's she on about?" Ruesha asked you. It was the first time in a while that you had seen her be so serious. "Why do you think that nobody wants you?"
"Because nobody does, I'm not good enough. I don't get why you're always so nice to me, I'm a failure." You looked close to tears. The game had gone well, so you should have been happy, but it was hard when all you could think about was being thrown down the ladder.
"God, she's right," Ruesha sighed. "Alright, I'm going to stop you for one second because I find it so incredibly rude that you think I'm not head over heels in love with your stupid, oblivious ass. Yeah, so maybe a certain girl didn't want you back at Arsenal, but that doesn't mean the world thinks you're some horrid, ugly creature. Also, I have not been subtle. Do you think I'd be so nice to just anybody here? Are you a brick because you are dense as fuck. Georgia's right, I do like you a lot, and maybe I shouldn't have been subtle about it."
"You were not subtle!" Emma and Georgia both yelled from a couple rows ahead. The rest of the bus murmured in agreement, and suddenly, you felt a bit stupid for not realizing it sooner.
"Now, in some cases, this would be cause for a bit of fuckery, but I like you far too much to suggest that, so, when we get back, I'm taking you to dinner. I'll walk you to that stupid, swanky apartment of yours, give you a very sensible kiss, and then we'll meet for breakfast next practice after you tell G how good of a kisser I am," Ruesha said. "That sound alright to you?"
"Yeah, it sounds nice."
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drunk in love
pairing: modern!ellie williams x reader
summary: when a hot stranger stands up for you at a club and offers to buy you a drink, how could you say no?
content warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, public sex (public bathroom), drunk sex (reader is tipsy, ellie is high), strap-on use (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), ellie calls the strap her cock, reader is shorter than ellie, brief weed use, alcohol, use of term 'pretty girl' & she/her pronouns on reader, creepy guy hits on reader, brief slut shaming. https://open.spotify.com/track/6jG2YzhxptolDzLHTGLt7S?si=9940e02d8b1743a6
With loud party songs blasting around you and your friends shouting drunkenly in your ears, you could hardly form a coherent thought. It didn’t help that your mind was already a bit hazy from the few drinks you’d downed at the beginning of the night when your best friend Dina had bought you and all your friends several rounds of drinks to celebrate her engagement. That’s why you all were here after all, it was Dina’s bachelorette party, and she had chosen to get wasted at a popular nightclub in your city.
It was clear that every girl you’d come with was already drunk, making you the soberest one of your friend group, despite being more than buzzed. As they danced wildly on the dance floor, you found yourself in need of fresh air. The club was packed full of sweaty, drunk partygoers, and all the movement and lack of space made it difficult to enjoy yourself. Waving to your friends to let them know where you were headed, you pushed through the throng of people surrounding you until you saw the exit.
Once outside the building, you took a deep breath and leaned against the scratchy brick wall. The air was cool and brisk against your exposed skin, the consequence of wearing such a revealing outfit. Dina had persuaded you to wear a revealing sequined top with a matching miniskirt that just barely showed the crease where your ass met your thighs. It was impractical, that was certain, but something about dressing so provocatively to go out with your friends boosted your confidence.
You rubbed at your bare arms as you let out a long sigh. In your peripheral, you saw a tall man approaching you cautiously. Gnawing on your lower lip, you straightened up slightly, glancing around at the other people loitering around the building.
“Hey there,” His deep voice broke the peaceful silence. You turned to eye him for a moment before looking away.
“...Can I help you?” You muttered, your voice dripping with annoyance. The man chuckled softly and cleared his throat.
“I was just wondering if I could buy you a drink or something. You’re like exactly my type, and–” He said as he leaned against the wall. You shifted uncomfortably and glanced up at him.
“Not interested, sorry.” You cut him off and crossed your arms over your chest.
“You didn’t even let me finish my sentence!” He laughed sharply as if he was in disbelief that you had rejected him so suddenly.
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m not interested. Would you just leave me alone now?” The words sounded monotone and bored as they came from your mouth.
“Listen, I was trying to be nice and give you a good time, but clearly, a bitch like you can’t appreciate a good guy when she comes across one.” He scoffed. “You’re lucky I even offered. You’re dressed like a total slut. Most guys want their women with a little bit of taste.” You spun on your heels to face him, your expression a mix of anger and disbelief.
“Hey, dickhead, she asked you to leave her alone. Get over yourself and go home.” A woman shouted from behind you. You turned curiously and glanced over at a young woman only a few feet away.
She was leaning against the wall, joint burning between her lips, her green eyes trained on you. She took a long drag from her joint and exhaled as she let it fall to the cement and put it out with her shoe. With a few long strides, she stood at your side, glaring up at the man without a hint of fear in her eyes.
He scoffed and looked from her to you.
“Man, fuck this.” He muttered before turning to walk away. You let out a deep sigh and slowly looked up at the girl.
Now that she was in front of you, you could fully take in her features. Her short, auburn hair was in a messy mullet style, one that complimented her strong jawline. Her cheeks were speckled with an array of freckles and her face was decorated with a few faded scars; one that split one of her eyebrows, one on her cheekbone, and one on her upper lip. She intrigued you. Your attraction to her was hard to describe, she was different than your usual type, and your meeting was slightly embarrassing, but the way her eyes transfixed on you made you wonder about her.
“Sorry ‘bout that, I didn’t mean to interfere. He was just being an asshole, and I thought he might try to do something to you.” She muttered, sliding her hands into the pockets of her washed-out jeans. The corner of your mouth twitched upward into an almost smile.
“I appreciate it,” You stuck out a hand and introduced yourself.
“Ellie Williams,” She shook your hand and smiled. “I was going to head inside and get myself a drink if you’re interested in joining. I’d love to buy you a drink if you’d let me.” Ellie looked at you with a sly, confident smirk that made your stomach flip.
You laughed softly and nodded. “I think I’d like that, Ellie.” She bites her bottom lip and opens the door for you before following you inside the club. With Ellie trailing behind you, you approach the bar and push past the people standing around to flag down a bartender.
Ellie looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to tell her what you wanted to drink. “Just a dirty Martini, thanks.” You chuckled softly as she nodded. Waving to a bartender, Ellie ordered for you and a simple Rum & Coke for herself.
You snuck a glance at her hands as she took the drinks from the bartender. Her fingers were long and slender, decorated in an array of silver rings. Your eyes trailed upward from her hands to her forearms. Her arms were toned with muscles, her right forearm marked with a dark tattoo that sprawled from her wrist to her elbow. Despite her sleeves being pushed up to her elbows, you could see a few dark lines poking out from underneath, presumably other tattoos that were covered up unintentionally.
Ellie passed you your drink and cleared her throat. “I’m going to sound so cliche, but what brings you here?” She kept her gaze trained on your face as she took a sip from her glass.
“It’s my friend’s bachelorette! She’s over there–” You pointed to the dance floor, quickly directing Ellie to Dina, who was wearing a white pantsuit and an obnoxiously bejeweled white veil that you had bought her from Party City the day before. “Everyone’s very drunk, but I haven’t had nearly as much to drink as they have.” You laughed as you watched Dina jump into the arms of another friend of yours.
Your gaze soon returned to Ellie, feeling your cheeks grow hot as you caught her staring at you. “And what about you? Do you always sulk around clubs and save girls from seedy guys?” Ellie let out a choked laugh at your words, setting her drink down on the countertop.
Ellie leaned in close, her lips gently brushing against your ear as she said, “Just the pretty ones.”
You giggled and tried to ignore the fluttering in your stomach that her touch had caused. “My knight in shining armor,” The words left you sarcastically.
The feeling flowing throughout your body slightly confused you; it had been a while since you had successfully hit it off with another woman, let alone one that made you weak in the knees with her gaze alone.
“In all seriousness though…I sell weed here on occasion. Just happened to be smoking outside when I saw you.” She looked down at the floor briefly, tapping her fingers along the rim of her glass.
You looked up at her as you bit your lip. “I’m glad you were there, Ellie.” You touch her arm gently as you speak. She smiled softly, and you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest tint of a blush on her cheeks, but then again, the flashing lights made it hard to see.
As the song playing transitioned into a familiar beat, your eyes widened, and you looked up at Ellie excitedly. “Oh my god! This is one of my favorite songs!” You exclaimed, voice rising so she could hear you. “Ellie, come dance with me!” You proposed with a wide grin, not leaving her with much of an option as you were already tugging her toward the swarm of people on the dance floor.
Despite her cool exterior, the second you pulled Ellie into the crowd, she was laughing and singing beside you. Still, she was a bit awkward when it came to the dancing, but it’s not like anybody was paying any attention to you two.
Without saying a word, you grabbed Ellie’s hands and moved them to rest on your hips, spinning around to turn your back to her. Ellie let out a shaky breath, confident you wouldn’t hear it over all the noise. You were pushed up against her, swaying your hips in accordance with the song, gently grinding against Ellie’s hips with every movement.
It didn’t take long for Ellie to catch onto what you were thinking, her grip on your hips tightening. She gently pressed her lips against your earlobe, her hot breath fanning across the sensitive skin. You leaned your head back against her shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as her lips slowly traveled from your earlobe to your exposed neck.
It was difficult to tell if the giddiness you were experiencing was caused by the drinks you’d had or if it was Ellie’s touch alone that had your body burning with desire. Either way, you found yourself desperate to feel her body against yours.
Settling a hand on top of Ellie’s, you craned your head to the side to face her. With your free hand, you gently held the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. Ellie was quick to return the kiss, her slightly chapped lips moving hungrily against yours. She groaned softly as she tasted your sweet lip gloss on her mouth.
You turned to face her, breathing heavily. “I need you,” The words left you in a needy whisper, but even when the blaring music drowned out your plead, Ellie saw the movement of your pretty lips and knew exactly what you were saying. Three words, three syllables, ‘I need you.’
The two of you hurried over to the nearest women’s bathroom, kissing one another needily the minute the door closed behind you. You pulled Ellie into one of the stalls, locking the door with a shaky hand as she pressed your body against it.
Ellie was anything but shy when it came to touching you. Her hands roamed your body presumptuously, her hands wandering from your hips to your chest all while she kissed you passionately.
While kissing you, Ellie bit your bottom lip playfully, quickly running her tongue along your lip afterward. As your tongues intertwined and slid against one another, Ellie nudged her leg in between yours, gently rubbing her thigh against your clothed pussy. You let out a muffled moan against her lips as you rubbed your cunt against her leg.
“Fuck…” She groaned, watching you grind against her helplessly. Ellie could see you were overcome with lust, and so was she. Gently, Ellie tugged down your sequined top, allowing your breasts to spill out for her to see. She kissed along your jaw, her kisses quickly turning from innocent pecks to hungry suckling, leaving purplish-red hickeys in her trail. As her lips traveled across your jawline and neck, those long, slim fingers of hers started to toy with your hardened nipples. Quiet gasps and moans fell from your glossy lips as she pinched and rolled your buds in between her calloused fingers.
“Ellie…” You whined as you moved your hips against her thigh, desperate for some sort of release.
She chuckled and pulled away from your neck to look down at you. “So needy…” Ellie mumbled. She unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down just far enough to reveal the strap-on toy she was wearing. It was purple and obscenely large, with a few thick veins detailing the sides of the dildo. You stared down at the toy in surprise, looking back up at Ellie with wide eyes. “Do you always wear that around?” You murmured, glancing down at the strap again.
“Just when I’m trying to get laid,” Ellie remarked, laughing quietly as she kissed your cheek. You giggled and brought your lips to hers.
“Ellie, there’s no way that thing will fit inside me.” You whispered against her lips as you felt her hands gently moving your skirt up your hips. “I’ll be careful and go slow…don’t worry,” She reassured you. “And if you really want me to stop, just tell me, and I will.”
You nodded and let her pull the sequined skirt above your hips, revealing the simple black panties you wore underneath. You heard her breath hitch at the sight, and you felt your face grow hot as she glanced from your clothed cunt to your face. Without much of a warning, Ellie placed her hands under your thighs and gently picked you up, pinning you against the stall door and holding you up.
Gently, Ellie rubbed her middle finger up and down your panties, groaning softly when she felt the wet spot your slick had created. “So fucking wet…” She commented quietly, as she pushed your sheer panties to the side and revealed your pussy. Ellie circled your clit slowly with her thumb, using every bit of self-control to stop herself from whoring you out on her strap right then and there.
“Please, Ellie,” You moaned and clutched her shoulders tightly. Ellie inhaled sharply and nodded. She carefully slid a finger inside your aching slit, biting her lip as she watched her finger disappear inside of you. You hugged her, burying your face into her neck as your breathy moans and gasps filled her ears. Soon, Ellie added a second finger as she whispered sweet praise to you. “You’re doing so well, pretty girl…” She said with her lips pressed against your ear. “Jus’ gotta get you ready for my cock,” Her teeth sunk into your earlobe just enough to get you to whimper loudly. “I’m ready, please– I need it,” You begged her, eyes glossy with tears of sexual frustration. Surely part of your neediness was because of the alcohol, but you couldn’t deny that everything about Ellie made you feel excited. In all honesty, you couldn’t remember the last time you were so desperate to hook up with someone, let alone in the bathroom of a busy club.
Ellie chuckled softly and kissed your cheek. “Okay, but tell me if you want to stop, alright?” You whined softly as she pulled her fingers out and gently rubbed the strap along your dripping entrance. Slowly, she pushed the tip past your slick folds and into your cunt, earning a deep moan from your lips.
“Oh my god, Ellie,” You squeezed your eyes shut while she continued to push further inside you. “It’s so big…” You cried.
“I know, but you can take it, pretty girl…I know you can…” Ellie cooed, her fingers digging into the exposed skin of your thighs.
The slow pace she was moving at was practically torturous, but when she finally slid the full length of the strap into you, you knew the wait had been worth it. Ellie began to thrust into you, cautiously at first, as if she was scared to hurt you, but when she saw how much of a mess you were already, she couldn’t help but pound into you relentlessly.
It took every ounce of your strength to refrain from screaming and moaning her name; the two of you were fucking in a public space after all. So, with a hand covering your mouth, you let out choked, muffled moans with every jerk of Ellie’s hips. It didn’t take long for Ellie to find that spot deep inside of you that almost made you scream when she hit it with the tip of her strap.
Your eyes were watering and glossy, hot tears threatening to spill down your face. A small smile spread across your face as you felt your walls tightening and your orgasm building up inside of you. It appeared that Ellie could see how close you were as her pace sped up and fucked into you without remorse.
You opened your mouth to tell her how good it felt when you both heard the bathroom door slam open and bang against the wall. Ellie froze, eyes wide as the two of you listened to a group of girls file into the bathroom. They talked loudly, shrill laughter echoing throughout the room as they conversed. After a few moments, most of the group had left, but you could still hear a couple of girls talking.
“God, this fucking pantsuit is so itchy…” Your eyes widened as you realized one of the girls talking was Dina.
“At least you’re not wearing a miniskirt! This thing keeps riding up,” Another one of your friends responded. Ellie looked down at you, slightly confused as to why you seemed so shocked.
“Those are my friends!” You whispered to Ellie. Her eyebrows raised slightly before a mischievous grin began to form on her face.
“Hey, have any of you seen y/n?” Dina asked.
“Not since she stepped out for air– maybe we should look for her.” Ellie bit her lip and slowly thrust her hips upward, causing your eyes to roll back and a wrangled gasp to escape you.
“Y/n, you in here?” One of the girls called out. Ellie looked down at you, her eyes dark and full of lust. She shook her head, silently telling you to keep quiet. Ellie placed a hand over your mouth and paused for a moment to readjust herself before thrusting into you once again. She plunged into you rigorously, smirking as hot tears began to fall down your cheeks.
“Guess not. Let’s go see if she’s outside,” Dina suggested. In just a minute, the girls had filed out of the bathroom, leaving you and Ellie alone once again.
“Almost got us caught, couldn’t keep quiet, could you? Huh?” Ellie mumbled once the door slammed shut.
“F-Feels so good,” You sobbed as your walls clenched tightly around the strap. Ellie pulled your body as close to hers as she could and kissed you. It was a messy kiss, saliva trickling from your lips as you pulled away to cry out something incoherent. Ellie groaned softly as she felt the base of the strap grind against her puffy clit with every deep thrust inside of you.
Ellie felt like she was going insane as she watched you take her strap. Your makeup was smudged and running down your face with your tears, your breasts bounced with every move of Ellie’s hips, and your lips were shiny with drool. You looked so fucked out, so pretty, and you hadn’t even cum yet. The scene in front of Ellie was pornographic, and she couldn’t get enough of it. The way you cried her name every time she hit that spot deep inside you made her want to make you hers right then and there, but she knew better than to ruin the mood with her nonsense. Better to save it for later after taking you on a date, something romantic like that.
“God, you should see yourself right now, lookin’ so pretty while you take my cock…” Ellie moaned softly before she nuzzled her face in your neck.
“Ellie- I’m gonna cum!” You gasped as your legs began to shake. Her fingers moved against your clit quickly while she continued to thrust at the same relentless pace.
“Oh yeah? Gonna cum all over my fucking strap?” She muttered teasingly. You let out a choked sob and nodded. Ellie grinned and kissed your neck softly. “I know you are, pretty girl.” She breathed heavily against your sensitive skin. Based on the sounds she was making as her hips stuttered, you guessed she was on the brink of an orgasm. You were proud to see it– you wanted to see her cum just as badly.
Quickly after Ellie spoke, you felt the tension in your stomach unravel. Your orgasm came over you like a tsunami, your vision going white with pleasure. Ellie’s thrusts turned sloppy as she too began to climax, small moans and whimpers escaping her. The base of the strap was rubbing against her clit so perfectly that it was hard for her to focus on anything else. Pleasure coursed through every part of your body as you cried out and spasmed in Ellie’s arms, her incoherent mumbles of praise reassuring you.
Slowly, you both regained your composure after your orgasms had fizzled out. Ellie gently pulled the strap out and helped you stand, resting a hand on your lower back as she did so. You adjusted your panties and skirt before tugging your top back up. Ellie’s hands traced the hem of your skirt as she pulled you in for a sweet kiss.
“For what it’s worth, I think that skirt looks stunning on you.” She whispered, a dazed smile on her face. You giggled and snaked your arms around her waist.
“Not too slutty?” Ellie shook her head and gently wiped your runny makeup off your cheeks.
“Not at all– I think it’s very tasteful.” She kissed you, her hand gently squeezing your hip.
“I like you, Williams.” You murmured as her lips left yours. She chuckled softly and looked down at you.
“Well, I like you too.” Ellie ran a calloused thumb over your cheekbone. “Can I take you out on a date? I’ll make it worth your while…” You giggled and nodded. She kissed your cheek and jaw a few times, her lips curling into a giddy smile.
“I’d like that,” You bit your lip in an attempt to hide the stupidly large grin on your face. Taking her hand and intertwining your fingers, you stood on the tips of your toes and gave her a long, caring kiss. “Why don’t we get out of this bathroom? My friends are looking for me, and I don’t want to worry them too much.”
Ellie nodded and squeezed your hand reassuringly. “Let’s go. I’m dying to dance with you again anyways.” Her voice teasing but still genuine.
You reunited with Dina at the bar, Ellie trailing close behind you. Dina glanced at Ellie and back at you with a curious expression.
“Ellie, would you give us a minute?” You asked her sweetly. She nodded and walked away, muttering something about grabbing some water. “Who is that?” Dina asked, watching intensely as Ellie walked away.
“It’s a long story–” Dina’s sharp laugh interrupted you.
“You fucked her, didn’t you! You dirty dog!” She gasped dramatically, and you both broke out into laughter.
“How can you tell?”
“You have hickeys all over you, and your makeup is smudged– I’d be stupid if I didn’t notice,” Dina stated and crossed her arms over her chest.
You giggled and shrugged. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow when you’re sober.” Dina grinned and nodded.
“Well, go and get her! She can come party with us!” Dina exclaimed and waved Ellie over. Ellie was quick to join you two, her arm sliding around your waist as she stood beside you.
“Dance with me?” You asked as you looked up to meet her gaze.
“Always,” She chuckled.
。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆
a/n: this was literally supposed to be a quick lil drabble but here i am with 4k words...im proud of this tho <33
#ellie williams smut#ellie x fem reader#ellie williams the last of us#tlou ellie#ellie williams x reader#ellie the last of us#ellie williams#the last of us#tlou 2#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#tlou game#lesbians#sapphic#wlw love#wlw post#x reader#fem reader#tlou smut#wlw#lesbian#tlou x reader#tlou2
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