#but at the same time i. want to be loved.
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FUKAWA VA?!?
MADOKA&MAKO VA!?!?
J FROM MD&CANDACE FROM GI VA!?!?!?
HONOKA&CELESTIA LUDENBURG VA?!?!?!?!? DID U SELL YOUR FUCKING SOUL MY MAN?????????????
WHEW! Look at all these beautiful people. This was my dream cast from the get go and I'm so thankful that they were all willing to give me their time and lend me their talents đ
That's all for VA announcements but I'll still continue posting lil updates here and there, so keep an eye out! And sub to my youtube channel so you know when the pilot's uploaded!
#i don't want to be a magical girl#reblog#WTF DO U MEAN CELESTIA LUDENBURG IS GOING TO BE IN THIS???#AND J#FUCKING MADOKA IS GOING TO BE HERE#AND THE MOVIE IS CLOSE TO COME OUT#WTF#also#i'm sorry but i know HALF of the cast and i couldn't care less about the other characters#expect jessie#even if it isn't the same va#i only heard zenitsu english va a few times but didn't really stuck with me#still REALLY good tho#i cant#FUCKING CELESTIA LUDENBURG#I FUCKING LOVE HER VOICE SO MUCH#but oh#i didn't expect to be the same as honoka#damn#ramble in tags#TOKO FUKAWA MY BELOVED#I LOVE DG ULTRA DESPAIR GIRLS SO MUCH#FUCK#TOKOTOKOTOKOTOKOTOKO
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dad bod!toji whoâs still the big, muscular man he is but you can tell heâs gotten older and his metabolism has slowed down a little bit. Heâs gotten chubbier in his arms, thighs, tummy. Not to mention, heâs started to gray and grow stubble on his face, the perfect salt and pepper mix. Toji says he hates it, always moaning and groaning about needing to hit the gym but youâŠ? You fucking love it. It takes everything in you not to ravish his right then and there, wanting to pounce on him every second of the day. Youâre always kissing up on him, grabbing on him, dragging him to the laundry room while the kids watching tv so you could have a quickie. And heâs so confused on where all this extra energy and affection has sprouted from, but he loves it. Youâre always so eager for him, fucking your self on his cock, him waking up to you kissing his neck and stroking his dick, dropping to your knees and giving him head without his asking. He wonders what heâs done to deserve all of it.
Heâs standing in the mirror one late night with his shirt off, examining just how chubby heâs gotten. Heâd be lying if he said he wasnât a little insecure, thinking how gorgeous you are and how you shouldnât settle for him. âIâm losing myself,â he grumbles. âWhatâs going on, baby?â You walk in the room, a smile immediately on your face when you see his shirt is off, definitely a sight to see. âI need to head to the gym is whatâs going on.â He flexes his muscles in the mirror. You giggle and walk up behind him, snaking your arms around his waist. âI think you look so handsome with a little weight on you,â you whisper in his ear. âDoes something to me.â You nibble on his ear before trailing kisses along his jaw, and thatâs when Toji realizes why youâve been so affectionate with him, like a lightbulb going off in his head.
Just mere minutes later, youâre riding him like your life depends on it, slamming your hips down on his, creating a sticky mess between you two. âS-shit,â he pants, âslow down, mamaâfuck!â His bruising grips on your hips only tighten the faster you ride him. Your pussy sucks him in with each thrust, clenching around his throbbing cock. âI canâtâŠyou get so me so hot and bothered, baby.â You grin, running your hands down his chest.
He swears he could cum right then and there, with the way you were riding him and that look in your eye, he was ready to give you another kid. And now you were kissing his neck, moaning and whimpering in his ear. âYouâre so perfect, Toji,â you mewl. âFuck me.â His eyes roll back before fluttering shut. âKeep going, yes, yes, just like that, mama. Youâre gonna make me fucking cum,â he groans. You keep that same rhythm, squeezing your pussy around him, milking him. He suddenly wraps his arms around you, holding you in place as he thrusts up into you, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. âAh, fuck!â You cry out, your cum dripping down his shaft. His thrusts grow sloppier and harder and next thing you know heâs filling you up, pushing his cum deeper inside of you with slow thrusts. Laughter erupts from your chest as you catch your breath, kissing him slowly and passionately.
âMmm, goddamn,â he huffs, pulling you to his chest. âNow I finally know why youâre so goddamn horny all the time,â he chuckles. You blink up at him with a small smirk. âCan you blame me?â You trace patterns on his skin. He can see the look in your eye, that hungry stare youâre giving him, wanting more. âWhat are you thinking about, hm?â He caresses your cheek. âOh nothingâŠjust how badly I wanna give you some head right now, but Iâll wait.â
#ââclassyrbf#jjk#jujustu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk smut#toji x reader#toji smut#toji x reader smut#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fushiguro smut#toji fushiguro x reader smut#jjk x reader smut#toji drabble#jjk drabble#toji fushiguro#jjk toji
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đ§đšđ đ€đ§đšđ°đ§ đšđ« đŹđđđ§
Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k]Â
c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isnât good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery
ïœĄđŠč°â§â.á
FallÂ
Peter Parker is a resting place for overworked eyes, like warm topaz nestled against a blue-cold city. He waits on you with his eyes to the screen of his phone, clicking the power button repetitively. A nervous tic.Â
You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet heâs heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand.Â
âGood morning!â You pull your coat on quickly. âSorry.âÂ
âGood morning,â he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. âShould we go?âÂ
You follow Peter out of the cul-de-sac and into the street as he drops his phone into a deep pocket. To his credit, he doesnât check it while you walk, and only glances at it when youâre taking your coat off in the heat of your favourite cafe: The Moroccan Mode glows around you, fog kissing the windows, condensation running down the inner lengths of it in beads. You murmur something to do with the odd fog and Peter tells you about water vapour. When it rains tonight, he says itâll be warm water that falls.Â
He spreads his textbook, notebook, and rinky-dink laptop out across the table while you order drinks. Peter has the same thing every visit, a decaf americano, in a wide brim mug with the pink-petal saucer. You put it down on his textbook only because thatâs where he would put it himself, and you both get to work.Â
As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and canât help wondering what it is thatâs missing. Something is, something Peter wonât tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, heâs busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could.Â
Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. âI wish I had more time,â he says.Â
âItâs fine,â you say, âyou canât help it.â
âWeâll do something next weekend,â he says. The lie slips out easily.Â
To Peter it isnât a lie. In his head, heâll find the time for you again, and youâll be friends like you used to be.Â
You press the end of your pencil into your cheek, the dark roast, white paper and condensation like grey noise. This time last year, the air had been thick for days with fog you could cut. He took you on a trip to Manhattan, less than an hour from your red-brick neighbourhood, and you spent the day in a hotel pool throwing great cupfuls of water at each other. The fog was gone just fifteen miles away from home but the warm air stayed. When it rained it was sudden, strange, spit-warm splashes of it hammering the tops of your heads, your cheeks as you tipped your faces back to spy the dark clouds.Â
Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere youâd never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet.Â
You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip.Â
He feels you watching and meets your eyes. âI have to tell you something,â he says, smiling shyly.Â
âSure.âÂ
âI signed us up for that club.âÂ
âEpigenetics?âÂ
âMolecular medicine,â he says.Â
The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. Itâs still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. Itâs gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peterâs bag and sort through his jumble of possessions âstick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodegaâs worth of protein barsâ and grab his camera.Â
âWhat are you doing?âÂ
âIâm cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,â you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder.Â
âTechnically, I signed us up a few days ago,â he says.Â
You snap his photo as his mouth closes around âagoâ, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. âSemantics,â you murmur. âAnd molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?â
âIt has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.â
âI like oncology,â you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, âand I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.âÂ
âI canât go without you,â he says. Simple as that.Â
He knew youâd say yes when he signed you up. Itâs why he didnât ask. Youâre already forgiven him for the slight of assumption.Â
âWhen is it?â you ask, smiling.Â
â
Molecular medicine club is fun. You and a handful of ESU nerds gather around a big table in a private study room for a few hours and read about the newer discoveries and top research, like regenerative science and now taboo Oscorp research. Itâs boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going.Â
He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks youâre not looking. Only when she isnât either.Â
â
âGood morning,â you say.Â
Peter holds an umbrella over his head that heâs quick to share with you, and together you walk with heads craned down, the umbrella angled forward to fight the wind. Your outermost shoulder is wet when you reach the cafĂ©, your other warm from being pressed against him. You shake the umbrella off outside the door and step onto a cushy, amber doormat to dry your sneakers. Peter stalks ahead and order the drinks, eager to get warm, so you look for a table. Your usual is full of businessmen drinking flat whites with briefcases at their legs. They laugh. You try to picture Peter in a suit: youâre still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back.Â
âTell the joke,â he says, slamming his coffee down. Heâs careful with yours. Heâs given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers.Â
âI was thinking about you as a businessman.âÂ
âAnd thatâs funny?âÂ
âWhen was the last time you wore a suit?âÂ
Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesnât know. Later, youâll remember his Uncle Benâs funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you donât remember yet. âWhen was the last time you wore one?â he asks. âI donât laugh at you.âÂ
âYouâre always laughing at me, Parker.âÂ
The cafe isnât as warm today. Itâs wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. Thereâs no fog but a sad rattle of rain, not enough to make noise against the windows, but enough to watch as it falls in lazy rivulets down the lengths of them.
Your face is chapped with the cold, cheeks quickly come to heat as your fingers curl around your mug. They tingle with newfound warmth. When you raise your mug to your lips, your hand hardly shakes.
âYou okay?â Peter asks.Â
âFine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?âÂ
âDonât think so. Did you ask nicely?âÂ
âI did.â Youâd called him last night. You wouldâve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it âyou donât want Peterâs help, you just wanted to see him.Â
Looking at him now, you remember why his distance had felt a little easier. The rain tangles in his hair, damp strands curling across his forehead, his eyes dark and outfitted by darker eyelashes. Peter has the looks of someone youâve seen before, a classical set to his nose and eyes reminiscent of that fallen angel weeping behind his arm, his russet hair in fiery disarray. There was an anger to Peter after Ben died that you didnât recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didnât matter âhe was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice againâ until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears.Â
His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like heâs up late. If he is, it isnât to talk to you.Â
You spend an afternoon working through your equations, pretending to understand until Peter explains them to death. His earphones fall out of his pocket and he says, âHere, Iâll show you a song.âÂ
He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Shouldâve Come Over. It feels like Peterâs trying to tell you something âhe isnât, but it feels like wishing he would.Â
âYou okay?â you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less.Â
âIâm fine, why?âÂ
You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. âYou look tired, thatâs all. Are you sleeping?âÂ
âI have too much to do.âÂ
You just donât get it. âMake sure youâre eating properly. Okay?âÂ
His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest youâll ever get. âYou know May,â he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, âshe wouldnât let me go hungry. Donât worry about me.âÂ
â
The dip into depression you take is predictable. You canât help it. Peter being gone makes it worse.Â
You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when itâs dark and you know itâs a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New Yorkâs not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You canât count how many times youâve heard the same story. A man followed me home, saw me across the street, tried to get into my apartment, but Spider-Man saved me.Â
Youâre not naive, you realise the danger of walking around without protection assuming some stranger in a mask will save you, but you need to get out of the house. It goes on for weeks.Â
You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you donât really care. Youâre not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and itâs fine, really, itâs okay, everything works out eventually. Itâs not like itâs all because you miss Peter, itâs just a feeling. Itâll go away.Â
âYouâre in deep thought,â a voice says, garnering a huge flinch from the depths of your stomach.
You turn around, turn back, and flinch again at the sight of a man a few paces ahead. Red shoulders and legs, black shining in a webbed lattice across his chest. âOh,â you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, âsorry.âÂ
âWhy are you sorry? I scared you.â
âI didnât realise you were there.âÂ
Spider-Man doesnât come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. Youâve never met before but youâd like to see him up close, and you arenât scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival.Â
âCan I walk you to where youâre going?â Spider-Man asks you. Heâs humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot.Â
âHow do I know youâre the real Spider-Man?âÂ
After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldnât want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible.Â
You canât be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. âWhat do you need me to do to prove it?â he asks.Â
He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. âI donât know. Whatâs Spider-Man exclusive?âÂ
âI can show you the webs?âÂ
You pull your handbag further up your arm. âOkay, sure. Shoot something.âÂ
Spider-Man aims his hand at the streetlight across the way and shoots it. He makes a severing motion with his wrist to stop from getting pulled along by it, letting the web fall like an alien tendril from the bulb. The light it produces dims slightly. A chill rides your spine.Â
âCan I walk you now?â he asks.Â
âYou donât have more important things to do?â If the bitterness youâre feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesnât react.Â
âNothing more important than you.âÂ
You laugh despite yourself. âIâm going to Trader Joeâs.âÂ
âYellowstone Boulevard?âÂ
âThatâs the oneâŠâÂ
You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. Itâs a short walk. Trader Joeâs will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and youâre in no hurry. âMy friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.âÂ
âAnd youâre going just for him?â Spider-Man asks.Â
âNot really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.âÂ
âDo you always walk around by yourself? Itâs late. Itâs dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,â he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match.Â
âI like walking,â you say.Â
Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, heâs running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. Youâre having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man youâre walking beside now.
âIs everything okay?â he asks. âYou seem sad.âÂ
âDo I?âÂ
âYeah, you do.âÂ
âMaybe I am sad,â you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joeâs already in view. It really is a short walk. âDo you everââ You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, âDo you ever feel like youâre alone?âÂ
âIâm not alone,â he says carefully.
âMe neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.âÂ
He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking youâre being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. âSometimes I feel like Iâm the only person in the world,â he says. âEven here. I forget that itâs not something I invented.âÂ
âWell, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?â You smile sympathetically. âIt must be hard.âÂ
âYeah.â His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then thereâs a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. âIâll come back,â he says.Â
âThatâs okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.âÂ
He sprints away. In half a second heâs up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away.Â
You buy Peterâs chips at Trader Joeâs and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesnât come back.Â
â
I donât want to study today, Peterâs text says the next day. Come over and watch movies?Â
The last handholds of your fugue are washed away in the shower. You dab moisturiser onto your face and neck and stand by the open window to help it dry faster, taking in the light drizzle of rain, the smell of it filling your room and your lungs in cold gales. You dress in sweatpants and a hoodie, throw on your coat, and stuff the rolled tortilla chips into a backpack to ferry across the neighbourhood.Â
Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. Youâd been in awe of it when you were younger, Peter and his Aunt and Uncle, their home-cooked family dinners, nights spent on the roof trying to find constellations through light pollution, stretched out together while it was warm enough to soak in your small rebellion. Ben would call you both down eventually. When youâre older! heâd always promise.Â
Peterâs waiting in the open door for you. He ushers you inside excitedly, stripping you out of your coat and forgetting your wet shoes as he drags you to the kitchen. âLook what I got,â he says.Â
The Parker kitchen is a big, bright space with a chopping block island. The counters are crowded by pots, pans, spices, jams, coffee grounds, the impossible drying rack. Thereâs a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida.Â
You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven youâve eaten from a hundred times. âThere,â he says.Â
âDid you cook?â you ask.Â
âOf course I didnât cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. Iâm an excellent chef.âÂ
âThe only thing Mayâs ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.âÂ
âHope you like marinara,â he says, nudging you toward the stove.Â
You take the lid off of the Dutch oven to unveil a huge cake. Dripping with frosting, only slightly squashed by the lid, obviously homemade. Heâs dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries.Â
âItâs for you,â he says casually.Â
âItâs not my birthday.âÂ
âI know. You like cake though, donât you?âÂ
Youâd tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. âWhyâd you make me a cake?âÂ
âI felt like you deserved a cake. You donât want it?âÂ
âNo, I want it! I want the cake, letâs have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, itâll be amazing.â You donât bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. âThank you, Peter. Itâs awesome. I had no idea you could evenâ that youâd evenââ You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. âWow.âÂ
âWow,â he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. âYouâre welcome. I wouldâve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.âÂ
âIt mustâve taken hours.âÂ
âMay helped.âÂ
âThat makes much more sense.âÂ
âDonât be insolent.â Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesnât let go for a really long time.Â
He extracts the cake from the depths of the Dutch oven and cuts you both a slice. He already has ice cream, a Neapolitan box that he cuts into with a serrated knife so you can each have a slice of all three flavours. Itâs good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.
âSit down,â he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. âRemoteâs by you. Iâm gonna get drinks.âÂ
You take your plate, carving into the cake with the end of a warped spoon, its handle stamped PETE and burnished in your grasp. The crumb is soft but dense in the best way. The ganache between layers is loose, cake wet with it, and the frosting is perfect, just messy. You take another satisfied bite. Youâre halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back.Â
âI brought you something too, but itâs garbage compared to this,â you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth.Â
Peter laughs at you. âYeah, well, say it, donât spray it.âÂ
âI guess Iâll keep it.âÂ
âKeep it, bub, I donât need anything from you.âÂ
He doesnât say it the way youâre expecting. âNo,â you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, âyou can have it. Sâjust a bag of chips from Traderââ
âThe rolled tortilla chips?â he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. âYou really are the best friend ever.âÂ
âBetter than Harry?âÂ
âHarryâs rich,â Peter says, âso no. Iâm kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.âÂ
âEat your own.âÂ
Peter plays a great host, letting you choose the movies, making lunch, ordering takeout in the evening and refusing to let you pay for it. This isnât that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesnât check his phone, the tension you couldnât name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. Youâre flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You wonât look a gift horse in the mouth; you wonât question what it is that had Peter keeping you at armâs length now itâs gone.
To your annoyance, you canât stop thinking about Spider-Man. You keep opening your mouth to tell Peter you talked to him but biting your tongue. Why am I keeping it a secret? you wonder.Â
âHave something to tell you.âÂ
âYou do?â you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw.Â
âIs that surprising?âÂ
âIs that a trick question?âÂ
âNo. Just. Iâve been not telling you something.âÂ
âOkay, so tell me.âÂ
Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. âMe and Gwen, weâre really done.âÂ
âI know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.â Your stomach pangs painfully. âUnless youâŠâ
âSheâs going to England.âÂ
âShe is?âÂ
âOxford.âÂ
You struggle to sit up. âThat sucks, Peter. Iâm sorry.âÂ
âBut?âÂ
You find your words carefully. âYou and Gwen really liked each other, but I think thatââ You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. âThat thereâs always been some part of you that couldnât actually commit to her. So. I donât know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe itâll break your heart, but at least then youâll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.â You avoid telling him to move on.Â
âIt wasnât Gwen,â he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you.Â
âObviously, sheâs the smartest girl Iâve ever met. Sheâs beautiful. Of course itâs not her fault,â you say, teasing.
âReally, that you ever met?â Peter asks.Â
âSheâs the best girl you were ever gonna land.âÂ
He rolls his eyes. âYeah, I guess so.â After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, âI think we were done before. I just hadnât figured it out yet. Something wasnât right.âÂ
âYou were so back and forth. Youâre not mean, there mustâve been something stopping you from going steady,â you agree. âYou were breaking up every other week.â
âI know,â he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch.Â
âWhich, itâs fine, you donâtââ You grimace. âI canât talk today. Sorry. I just mean that itâs alright that you never made it work.â You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, âDoesnât make you a bad person. Youâre never a bad person, Peter.âÂ
âI know. Thank you.âÂ
âYouâre welcome. You donât need me to tell you.âÂ
âItâs nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.âÂ
You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I shouldâve said it the moment I got home.Â
Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips.Â
Good, because I have so much Iâm keeping to myself.
You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned.Â
âÂ
He visits with a whoop. You donât flinch when he lands âyouâd heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby.Â
âSpider-Man,â you say.Â
âWhatâs that about?âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âThe way you said that. You laughed.â Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. Heâs got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but itâs not as though each of his fights are bloodless. Theyâre infamously gory on occasion.
âDid you get hurt?â you ask. Youâre worried. You could help him, if he needs it.Â
âAw, this? Thatâs a scratch. Thatâs nothing, donât worry about it. Iâve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.âÂ
You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and itâs not like you and Peter made it up, but suddenly, the man in front of you is Peter. The way he says it, that unique rhythm.Â
Peterâs not so rough-voiced, you argue with yourself. Your Peter speaks in a higher register, dulcet often, only occasionally sarcastic. Spider-Man is rough, and cawing, and loud. Spider-Man acts as though the ground is a suggestion. Peter canât jump off the second diving board at the pool. Spider-Man rolls his shoulders back in front of you with a confidence Peter rarely has.Â
âWhat?â he asks.Â
âSorry. You just reminded me of someone.âÂ
His voice falls deeper still. âSomeone handsome, I hope.âÂ
You take a small step around him, hoping it invites him to walk along while communicating how sorely you want to leave the subject behind. When he doesnât follow, you add, âYes, heâs handsome.âÂ
âI knew it.â
âWhat do you look like under the mask?â
Spider-Man laughs boisterously. âI canât just tell you that.âÂ
âNo? Do I have to earn it?âÂ
âItâs not like that. I just donât tell anyone, ever.âÂ
âNobody in the whole world?â you ask.Â
The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps thatâs all Novemberâs are destined to be. You and Spider-Man stick to the inside of the sidewalk. Occasionally, a passerby stares at him, or calls out in Hello, and Spider-Man waves but doesnât part from you.Â
âTell me something about you and Iâll tell you something about me,â Spider-Man says. âIâll tell you who knows my identity.âÂ
âWhat do you want to know about me?â you ask, surprised.Â
âA secret. Thatâs fair.âÂ
âHold on, howâs that fair?â You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. âWhat use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesnât bring me any closer to the truth.âÂ
âItâs not about who knows, itâs about why I told them.â Spider-Man slips around you, forcing you to walk on the inside of the sidewalk as a car pulls past you all too quickly and sends a sheet of dirty rainwater up Spider-Manâs side. He shakes himself off. âJerk!â he shouts after the car.Â
âMy secrets arenât worth anything.â
âI doubt that, but if thatâs true, that makes it a fair trade, doesnât it?âÂ
He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, âAlright, useless secret for a useless secret.âÂ
You think about all your secrets. Some are odd, some gross. Some might make the people around you think less of you, while others would surely paint you in a nice light. A topaz sort of technicolor. But they arenât useless, then, so you move on.Â
âOh, I know. I hate my major.â You grin at Spider-Man. âThatâs a good one, right? No one else knows about that.âÂ
âYou do?â Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy.Â
âI like science, I just hate math. Itâs harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.âÂ
Spider-Man doesnât drag the knife. âOkay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.â He clears his throat. âI told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. Iâm trying really hard not to tell anybody else.â
âHow come?âÂ
âIt just hurts people.âÂ
You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road.Â
âTell me another one,â he says.Â
âWhat for?âÂ
âI donât know, just tell me one.âÂ
âHow do I know you arenât extorting me for something?â You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. âYouâll know my face and my secrets and even if you tell me a really gory juicy one, I have no one to tell and no name to pair it with.âÂ
âIâm not showing you anything,â he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street.Â
Peterâs shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesnât ask for secrets. He doesnât have to. (Or, he didnât have to, once upon a time.)Â
âWhere are you going?â Spider-Man asks.Â
âOh, nowhere.âÂ
âSeriously, youâre out here walking again for no reason?âÂ
âI like to walk. Itâs not like itâs dark out yet.â Youâre not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden âFlushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. âWalk me to Kissena?â you ask.Â
âSure, for that secret.âÂ
You laugh as Spider-Man takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. Itâs exciting that Spider-Man of all people wants to know one of your useless secrets enough to ask you twice. The attention of it makes searching for one a matter of how fast you can find one rather than a question of why youâd want to. It slips out before you can think better of it.Â
âI burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,â you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. âIt blistered and I cried when I did it, but I havenât told anyone about it.âÂ
âWhy not?â he asks.Â
He shouldnât use that tone with you, like heâs so so sorry. It makes you want to really tell him everything. How insecure you feel, how telling things feels like asking for someone to care, and half the time they donât, and half the time youâre embarrassed.Â
You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. âI didnât think about it at first. Iâm used to keeping things to myself. And then I didnât tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldnât make sense. Like, bringing it up when itâs a scar wonât do much.â Itâs a weak lie. It comes out like a spigot to a drying up tree. Glugs, fat beads of sound and the pull to find another thing to say.
âIt was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.âÂ
âMaybe Iâll tell someone tomorrow,â you say, though you wonât.Â
âThanks for telling me.â
The humour in spilling a secret like that to a superhero stops you from feeling sorry for yourself. You hide your cold fingers in your coat, rubbing the stiff skin of your knuckles into the lining for friction-heat. The rain has let up, wind whipping empty but brisk against your cheeks. Your lips will be chapped when you get home, whenever that turns out to be.Â
âThis is pretty far from Trader Joeâs,â he comments, like heâs read your mind.Â
âJust an hour.âÂ
âAre you kidding? Itâs an hour for me.âÂ
âThatâs not true, Spider-Man, Iâve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,â âyou try to meet his eyes despite the maskâ âmy heart in my throat. Werenât you scared?â
âIs that the secret you want?â he asks.Â
âI get to choose?âÂ
Spider-Man throws his gaze around, his hand behind his head like he might play with his hair. You come to a natural stop across the street from Kissena Parkâs playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame.Â
âIf you want to,â he says.Â
âThen yeah, I want to know if you were scared.âÂ
âI didnât haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?â He shifts from one foot to the other. âI donât think Iâve ever thought about it before. I wasnât scared of the height, if thatâs what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didnât have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.âÂ
âWhen they lined up the cranesââ
âIt felt like flying,â Spider-Man interrupts.Â
âLike flying.â
You picture the weightlessness, the adrenaline, the catch of your weight so high up and the pressure of being flung between the next point. The idea that you have to just do something, so you do.Â
âThatâs a good secret.â You offer a grateful smile. âIt doesnât feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.âÂ
âSo tell me another one,â he says.Â
â
Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where youâd text him and heâd ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasnât that you couldnât like him, angry as he was; thereâs always been something about his eyes when heâs upset that sticks around. You loathe to see him sad but he really is pretty, and when his eyelashes are wet and his mouth is turned down, formidable, itâs an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other.Â
It was after. When he started sending Gwen weird smiles and showing up to the movies exhilarated, out of breath, unwilling to tell you where heâd been. Skating, heâd always say. Most of the time he didnât have his skateboard.Â
Youâd only seen them kiss once, his hand on her shoulder curling her in, a pang of heat. You were curdled by jealousy but it was more than that. Peter was tipping her head back, was kissing her soundly, a fierceness from him that made you sick to think about. You spent weeks afterwards up at night, tossing, turning, wishing heâd kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person.Â
Youâd always held out for Peter, in a way. It was more important to you that he be your friend. You were young, and love had been a far off thing, and then one day you suddenly wanted it. You learned just how aching an unrequited love could be, like a bruise, where every time you saw Peter âwhether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyoneâ it was like he knew exactly where to poke the bruise. Press the heel of his hand and push. The worst is when he found himself affectionate with you, a quick clasp of your cheek in his palm as he said goodbye. Nights spent in his twin bed, of course youâll fit, of course you couldnât go home, not this late, May wonât care if we keep the door open âthe suggestion that the door being closed mightâve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you.Â
Now youâre nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasnât tried to stop her, but heâs still busy.Â
âWhatever,â you say, taking a deep breath. Youâre not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time wonât change a thing. âItâs fine.âÂ
âIâd hope so.âÂ
You swing around. âDonât do that!â
Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. âI called out.âÂ
âYou did?âÂ
âI did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesnât know how to get a goddamn taxi!âÂ
âI like to walk,â you say.Â
âYeah, so youâve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? Itâs freezing out, Miss Bennett!âÂ
âItâs not that bad.â You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. âIâm fine.âÂ
âWhatâs wrong with staying at home?âÂ
âThatâs not good for you. And youâre one to talk, Spider-Man, arenât you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.âÂ
âI donât do this every night.âÂ
âDonât you get tired?â
Spider-Manâs eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. âNo, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?âÂ
âI donât know. Youâre in a full suit, I canât tell. I guess you donât⊠seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.âÂ
âWant me to do one?âÂ
âOn command?â You laugh. âNo, thatâs okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.âÂ
âSo where are you heading today?â he asks.Â
Thereâs a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. Youâre surprised he canât feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. âI can see your stubble.âÂ
He yanks his mask down. âHasty getaway.âÂ
âA getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, thatâs not very gentlemanly.âÂ
You start to walk toward the Cinemart. Spider-Man, to your strange pleasure, follows. He walks with considerable casualness down the sidewalk by your left, occasionally letting his head turn to chase a distant sound where it echoes from between high-rises and along the busy street. Itâs cold and dark, but New York is hectic no matter what, even the residential areas. (Is there such a thing? The neighbourhoods burst with small businesses and backstreet sales, no matter the time.)
âLuckily for you, crime is slow tonight,â he says.Â
âLucky me?â You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. âYou realise Iâve managed to get everywhere Iâm going for the last two decades without help?âÂ
âI assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.âÂ
âThatâs what you think. I was a super independent toddler.âÂ
Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. âSure you were.âÂ
âIs there a reason youâre escorting me, Spider-Man?â you ask.Â
âNo. Iâ I recognised you, I thought Iâd say hi.âÂ
âHi, Spider-Man.âÂ
âHi.âÂ
âCan I ask you something? Do you work?âÂ
Spider-Man stammers again, âIâ yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.âÂ
âI was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.â You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. âI couldnât do what you do.âÂ
âYeah, you could.âÂ
He sounds sure.Â
âHow would you know?â you ask. âMaybe Iâm awful when youâre not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.âÂ
âNo, you donât. Youâre not awful. Donât ask me how I know, âcos I just know.âÂ
You try not to look at him. If you look at him, youâre gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. âWell, tonight Iâm going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said heâd buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Bennyâs. Have you tried that?âÂ
Spider-Man takes a big step. âTonight?â he asks.Â
âYep, tonight. Thatâs where Iâm going, the Cinemart.â You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. âAre you okay? You look like youâre gonna throw up.âÂ
âI can hearâ something. Someoneâs crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?â He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. âBye!â he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof.Â
Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. Heâs lithe. Â
Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than youâd agreed to meet.Â
âSorry!â he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. âGod, Iâm sorry! Iâm so sorry. You should beat me up. Iâm sorry.âÂ
âWhat the fuck happened?â you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. âYouâre sweating like crazy, your hairâs wet.âÂ
âI ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Donât answer that. Fuck, do we have time?âÂ
You usher Peter inside. He pays for the tickets with hands shaking and you attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve. âYou couldâve called me,â you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, âwe couldâve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?âÂ
âForget about my favourite girl? How could I?â He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. âNow shh,â he whispers, âfind the seats, donât miss the trailers. You love them.âÂ
âYou love themââ
âIâll get popcorn,â he promises, letting the door close between you.Â
Youâre tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle.Â
You turn away and rush to find your seats. Hopefully, the popcorn line is ten blocks long, and he spends the night punished for his wrongdoing. My favourite girl. You laugh nervously into your hand.Â
â
WinterÂ
Spider-Man finds you at least once a week for the next few weeks. He even brings you an umbrella one time, stars on the handle, asking you rather politely to go home. He offers to buy you a hot dog as youâre walking past the stand, takes you on a shortcut to the convenience store, and helps you get a piece of gum off of your shoe with a leaf and a scared scream. Heâs friendly, and youâre getting used to his company.Â
One night, youâre almost home from Trader Joeâs, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, âHey! Running girl! Wait a second!âÂ
Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You donât know his name, but Spider-Manâs a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.
He jogs toward you.Â
You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you.Â
âHey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?âÂ
You blink as fat rain lands on your face.Â
âYou okay?â Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. Itâs sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. âCome on, letâs go,â âhe takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside himâ âitâs freezing!âÂ
âPeterââ
âJesus Christ!âÂ
âPeter, what are you doing here?â you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building.Â
Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly.Â
âI wanted to see you. Is that allowed?âÂ
âNo.âÂ
Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. âNo?â he asks, a hairâs width from murmuring.Â
âShit, my groceries are soaked.âÂ
âItâs all snacks, itâs fine,â he says, pulling you to the stairs.Â
You rush up the steps together to your floor. Peter takes your key when you offer it, your own fingers too stiff to manage it by yourself, and he holds the door open for you again to let you in.Â
Your apartment is a ragtag assortment to match the one next door, old wooden furniture wheeled from the street corners they were left on, thrifted homeward and heavy blankets everywhere you look. You almost slip getting out of your shoes. Peter steadies you with a firm hand. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook, prying the damp hoodie over his head and exposing a solid length of back that trips your heart as you do the same.Â
âSorry I didnât ask,â Peter says.Â
âWhat, to come over? Itâs fine. I like you being here, you know that.âÂ
All your favourite days were spent here or at Peterâs house, in beds, on sofas, his hair tickling your neck as credits run down the TV and his breath evens to a light snore. You try to settle down with him, changing into dry clothes, his spare stuff left at the bottom of your wardrobe for his next inevitable impromptu visit. You turn on the TV, letting him gather you into his side with more familiarity than ever. Rain lays its fingertips on your window and draws lazy lines behind half-turned blinds. You rest on the arm and watch Peter watch the movie, answering his occasional, âYou okay?â with a meagre nod.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â he asks eventually. âYouâre so quiet.âÂ
Your hand over your mouth, you part your marriage and pinky finger, marriage at the corner, pinky pressed to your bottom lip, the flesh chapped by a season of frigid winds and long walks. ââM thinking,â you say.Â
âAbout?âÂ
About the first night in your new apartment. You got the apartment a couple of weeks before the start of ESU. Not particularly close to the university but close to Peter, your best, nicest friend. You met in your second year of High School, before Peter got contacts, âcos he was good at taking photographs and you were in charge of the school newspapers media sourcing. You used to wait for Peter to show up ten minutes late like clockwork, every week. And every week heâd barge into the club room and say, âFuck, Iâm sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,â until it turned into its own joke.Â
Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited.Â
âFuck,â heâd said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, âsorry. My last class is onââ
But he didnât finish. Youâd laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasnât about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you.Â
But Peterâs been distant for a while now, because Peterâs Spider-Man.Â
âDo you remember,â you say, not willing to share the whole truth, âwhen you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?âÂ
âSo you didnât need me,â he says.Â
âI was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.âÂ
Peter holds your gaze. âIs that really what you were thinking about?âÂ
âJust funny,â you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. âSo much has changed.âÂ
âNot that much.âÂ
âNot for me, no.âÂ
Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. Heâs found a crack in you and heâs gonna smooth it over until you feel better. Youâre expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but youâre not expecting the way he pulls you in âyouâd slipped away from him as the evening went on, but Peter erases every millimetre of space as he slides his arm under your lower back and ushers you into his side. You hold your breath as he hugs you, as he looks down at you. Itâs really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. Heâs never looked at you like this before.
âI donât want you to change,â he whispers.Â
âI want to catch up with you,â you whisper back.Â
âCatch up with me? Weâre in the exact same place, arenât we?â
âI donât know, are we?âÂ
Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. âOf course we are.âÂ
Peter⊠What is he doing?Â
You let yourself relax against him.Â
âYou do change,â he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, âyou change every day, but you donât need to try.âÂ
âI just⊠feel like everyone around me isâŠâ You shake your head. âEveryoneâs so smart, and they know what theyâre doing, or theyâreâ theyâre special. I donât know anything. So I guess lately Iâve been thinking about that, and then youââ
âWhat?âÂ
You can say it out loud. You could.Â
âPeter, youâreâŠâÂ
âIâm what?â he asks.Â
His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again.Â
If you're wrong, heâll laugh. And if youâre right, he mightâ might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like itâs gonna put you to sleep.Â
Heâs Spider-Man.Â
It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course itâs Peter. It explains so much about him, about Peter and Spider-Man both. Why Peter is suddenly firmer, lighter on his feet, why he can help you move a wardrobe up two flights of stairs without complaint; why Spider-Man is so kind to you, why he knows where to find you, why he rolls his words around just like Pete.Â
Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesnât tell you much, but you trust him.Â
You wonât make him say anything, you decide. Not now.Â
You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter.Â
âI was thinking about you,â he says.Â
âYeah?âÂ
âYouâre quieter lately. I know youâre having a hard time right now, okay? You donât have to tell me. Iâm here for you whenever you need me.âÂ
âYeah?â you ask.
âYou used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldnât be home to make sure I wasnât alone.â Peterâs breath is warm on your forehead. âI donât know what youâre worried about being, but Iâm with you,â he says, âân nothing is gonna change that.âÂ
Peter isnât as far away as you thought.Â
âThank you,â you say.Â
He kisses your forehead softly. Your whole world goes amber. He brings his hand to your cheek, the thought of him tipping your head back sudden and heart-racing, but Peter only holds you. You lose count of how many minutes you spend cupped in his hand.Â
âCan I stay over tonight?â he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain.Â
âYeah, please.âÂ
His thumb strokes your cheek.Â
â
Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as youâve craved, and Spider-Man disappears.Â
Heâs alive and well, as evidenced by Peterâs continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesnât drop in on your nightly walks.Â
You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peterâs increasing affection, but now that you know heâs Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you wouldâve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know heâd do to you. After all, heâs been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parkerâs ears.Â
You find it hard to be angry with him. A thread of it remains whenever you remember his deception, but mostly you worry about him. Peterâs out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesnât seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connorsâ and got that huge gash in his leg. His leg is soiled deep red with blood but banded in white webbing. He limps as he races across a rooftop, the recording shaky yet high definition.Â
Itâs not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what heâd said, how he wasnât scared, but not being scared doesnât mean he wasnât hurting.Â
You chew the tip of a finger and click on a different video. Your computer monitor bears heat, the tower whirring by your thigh. Your eyes burn, another hour sitting in the same seat, sick with worry. You donât mind when Peter doesnât answer your texts anymore. You didnât mind so much before, just terrified of becoming an irrelevance in his life and lonely, too, maybe a little hurt, but never worried for his safety. Now when Peter doesnât text you back you convince yourself that heâs been hurt, or that heâs swinging across New York City about to risk his life.
Itâs not a good way to live. You canât stop giving into it, is all.Â
In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesnât lift his mask, seemingly aware of his watcher. You laugh as he angles his head down, suspicion in his tight shoulders. He relaxes when he sees whoever it is recording.Â
âHey,â he says, âyou all right?âÂ
âShould you be up there?â the person recording shouts.Â
âIâm fine up here!âÂ
âAre you really Spider-Man?âÂ
âSure am.âÂ
âAre you single?âÂ
Peter laughs like crazy. How you didnât know it was him before is a mystery âit couldnât sound more like him. âIâve got my eye on someone!â he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when heâs Spider-Man lost to a good mood. Â
Your phone rings in the back pocket of your jeans. You wriggle it out, nonplussed to find Peter himself on your screen. You click the green answer button.Â
âHello?â Peter asks.Â
You bring the phone snug to your ear. âHey, Peter.âÂ
âHi, are you busy?âÂ
âNot really.âÂ
âDo you wanna come over? I know itâs late. Come stay the night and tomorrow weâll go out for breakfast.âÂ
âIs Aunt May okay with that?âÂ
âSheâs staring at me right now shaking her head, but Iâm in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?âÂ
âSheâs always allowed as long as you keep the door open.â
You laugh under your breath at Mayâs begrudging answer. âAre you sure sheâs alright with it?â you ask softly. âI donât want to be a burden.âÂ
âYou never, ever could be. Iâm coming to your place and weâll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?âÂ
âNot yet, butââ
âOkay, Iâll make you something when you get here. Iâll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?âÂ
âI have to shower first.âÂ
âTwenty five?âÂ
You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing youâre not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. âHow about Iâll see you at seven?âÂ
âItâs a date,â he says.Â
âMm, put it in your calendar, Parker.âÂ
â
Peter waits for you at the door like he promised. He frowns at your still-wet face as he slips your backpack from your shoulder, throwing it over his own. âYouâre gonna get sick.âÂ
âIâll dry fast,â you say. âI took too long finding my pyjamas.âÂ
âI have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.â Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. âI wouldâve waited,â he says.Â
âItâs fine.â
âItâs not fine. Are you cold?âÂ
âPete, itâs fine.âÂ
âYou always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,â he laughs, âsuper stern.âÂ
âIâm not stern. Look, take me home, please, Iâm cold.âÂ
âYou said it wasnât cold!âÂ
âItâs not, Iâm just dampââ Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. âHandsy!â
âYou like it,â he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments.Â
âI donât like it,â you lie.Â
âOkay, you donât like it, and Iâm sorry.â Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. âNow letâs go. I gotta feed you before midnight.âÂ
âThatâs not funny.âÂ
âApparently, nothing is.âÂ
Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, youâve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands.Â
âI see Peter hasnât won this argument yet,â you say in way of greeting. Peterâs desperate to do his own laundry now heâs getting older. May wonât let him.Â
âNo, he hasnât.â She looks you up and down. âItâs nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me youâve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Canât you buy a treadmill?â she asks.Â
âMay!â Peter says, startled.Â
âI like walking, I like the air,â you say.
âCanât exactly call it fresh,â May says.Â
âNo, but itâs alright. It helps me think.âÂ
âIs everything okay?â May asks, putting her hand on her hip.Â
âOf course.â You smile at her genuinely. âI think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I donât know what Peter told you, but Iâm not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.â
She softens her disapproving. âGood, honey. Thatâs good. Peterâs gonna make you some dinner now, right?âÂ
âYeah, Aunt May, Iâm gonna make dinner,â Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes.Â
Peter shouldnât really know that youâve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joeâs or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you havenât mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. Thatâs information he wouldnât know without Spider-Man.Â
He seems to be hoping you wonât realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that heâs about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. âWarm up,â he says near the back of your head, forcing a wave of shivers down your arms.
He makes soup in one pan, grilled cheese in the other, two for him and two for you. Peterâs a good eater, and he encourages the same from you, setting a big bowl of tomato soup (from the can, splash of fresh cream) down in front of you with the grilled cheese on a plate between you. You eat it in too-hot bites and try not to get caught looking at him. He does the same, but when he catches you, or when you catch him, he holds your eye and smiles.Â
âI can do the dishes,â you say. You might need a breather.Â
âAre you kidding? Iâm gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.â Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. âWarmer. Good job.âÂ
You shrug away from his hand. âLoser.âÂ
âConcerned friend.âÂ
âHandsy loser.âÂ
âShut up,â he mumbles.Â
As flustered as youâve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When heâs done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed.Â
You look down at your socks. Peterâs room is on the smaller side, but itâs never been as startlingly small as it is when Peterâs socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy.Â
âThereâs chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,â he says.Â
You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think youâre in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. âIâm all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go âcos you think I do then Iâm fine.âÂ
âThatâs such a long answer,â he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. âYou donât have to say all of that, just tell me no.âÂ
âI donât want ice cream.âÂ
âWasnât that easy?â he asks.Â
âWell, no, it wasnât. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.âÂ
âBecause Iâm adorable?âÂ
âPersistent.âÂ
âYeah, I guess I am.â He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands.Â
âPeterâŠ?â you murmur.Â
âWhat?â he murmurs back.Â
You touch a knuckle to his chest. âThisâ YouâŠâ Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once âPeter doesnât like you as you desire, how could he, you arenât beautiful like he is, arenât smart, arenât brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. Itâs why his being with Gwen didnât hurt; she made sense. And for months now youâve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But itâs not you, itâs never you, and whatever Peterâs trying to do nowâ
âHey, you okay?â he asks, taking your face into his hand.Â
âWhat are you doing?âÂ
âWhat?â He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. âI canât hear you.â Â
You raise your voice. âWhy did you invite me over tonight?âÂ
ââCos I missed you?âÂ
âI used to think you didnât miss me at all.âÂ
Peter winces, hurt. âHow could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? Itâs like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.âÂ
You bite the inside of your bottom lip. ââŠCollege isnât hard for you.âÂ
âItâs not easy.â He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. âWhatâs wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?âÂ
Youâre being wretched, you know, saying it isnât hard for him. âYou didnât. Really, you didnât.âÂ
âBut why are you upset?â he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.
âIâm notââ
âYou are. Itâs okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?â He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. âEven if it takes a long time.âÂ
âIâm fine.âÂ
âYouâre not fine.â
âHow would you know?â you finally ask.Â
Peter stares at you.Â
âI know you,â he says carefully, âand I know you arenât struggling like you were, but that doesnât mean it didnât happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.âÂ
âI didnât realise that I was,â you say, licking your lips, ââtil now. I didnât get that it was on the surface.â
Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. âIâm here for you forever, and Iâll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,â he says, scrunching your shirt in his hand.
After the hug, he tells you to change and make yourself comfortable while he showers. So you put on your pyjamas and climb into Peterâs bed, head pounding as though all your energy was stolen in a fell swoop. You press your nose to his pillow and arm wrapped around his comforter, gathering it into a Peter sized lump. The shower pump whines against the shared wall.Â
Things arenât meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you âholding youâ was the deepest of your desires, but you feel now exactly as you had before he started blurring the line, needing Peter to kiss you so badly it becomes its own kind of nausea. Why are you still acting like itâs an impossibility?
When he comes back, youâll apologise. He hasnât done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but donât you keep one too? Heâs Spider-Man. Youâve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept.Â
You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.
Peter returns as perturbed as earlier.Â
âAre you sure thereâs nothing wrong?â he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck.Â
âIâm sorry for being weird.âÂ
âYouâre not weird,â Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly.Â
âItâs just âcos things have been different between us.â And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because youâre not just Peter anymore, youâre Spider-Man. Iâm only me, and I canât do anything to protect you.
Peter gives his hair a long scrub before draping the towel on his desk chair. He rakes it messily into place and sits himself at the end of the bed. You sit up.Â
âYeah, they have been. Good different?â he asks hesitantly.Â
âI think so,â you say, quiet again.Â
âThatâs what I thought.âÂ
âI donât want you to feel like I donât want to be here. I just worry about you.âÂ
Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. âDonât worry about me,â he says, âJesus, please donât. Thatâs the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.âÂ
You curl into the lump of comforter youâd made. Peter lets himself rest beside you, his back to the bedroom wall, tens of Polaroids above him shining with the light of the hallway and his orange-bulbed lamp. His skin is glowing like itâs golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupidâs bow deep. How would it feel to lean forward and kiss him? To catch his Cupid's bow under your lips?
You brush a damp curl tangled in another onto his forehead.Â
You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs.Â
âAm I going too fast?â Peter murmurs.Â
You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely.Â
âIs it something else?âÂ
You donât move.Â
âDo you want me to stop?â he asks.Â
âNo.â
Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. âAlright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. Youâre still cold.âÂ
You resent the loss of a shape to hold when Peter slips down beside you and wrangles the comforter flat again, spreading it out over you both, his hand under the blankets. His knuckles brush your thigh.Â
He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, âIs this alright?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. âPlease donât take this in a way that I donât mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry youâre gonna get stuck in your head forever.âÂ
âI like thinking.âÂ
âI hate it,â he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, âwe should never do it ever again.âÂ
âIâll try not to.âÂ
âWould you? For me?âÂ
You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. âIâll do my best.âÂ
âGood. Iâd miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.âÂ
You relax under his arm. You arenât sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. âIâd miss you too.â
May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesnât flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. Heâs holding your arm, and youâre snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms.Â
âDoor open,â she says.Â
âNot that either of us want it closed, May, but weâre adults.âÂ
âNot while Iâm still washing your clothes, youâre not.âÂ
He snorts. âGoodnight, Aunt May. The door isnât gonna close, I promise.âÂ
âI know that,â she says, scornful in her pride. âYouâre a good boy.â She lightens. âThings are going okay?âÂ
Peter covers your ear. âGoodnight, Aunt May.âÂ
âI have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I canât ask a simple question?âÂ
âI love you,â Peter sing-songs.Â
âI love you, Peter,â she says. âDonât smother the girl.âÂ
âI wonât smother her. Itâs in my best interest that she survives the night. Sheâs buying my breakfast tomorrow.âÂ
âPeter Parker.âÂ
âIâm kidding,â he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. âJust messing with you, May.âÂ
You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers. Â
â
To your surprise, Spider-Man comes to find you after class one evening. A guest lecturer had talked to your oncology class about click chemistry and other molecular therapies against cancer, and the zine book sheâd given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it.Â
You pull it out and pause beside a bench and a silver trash can, the day grey but thankfully without rain. The pages of your little book whip forcefully in the wind. Itâs chemistry, sure, but itâs biology too, wrapping your and Peterâs interests up neatly. If it werenât for Peter you doubt youâd love science as much as you do. Heâs always been good at it, but since you started college he's been a genius. Watching him grow has encouraged you to work harder, and understanding the material is satisfying, if draining. You take a photo of the middle most pages and tuck the book away, writing a quick text to Peter to send with it.Â
Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!!Â
The moment you press send a beep chimes from somewhere close behind you, all too familiar. You turn to the source but find nobody you know waiting. Coincidence, you think, shaking yourself and beginning the trek to the subway.Â
But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Manâs webbing.Â
You wait until youâre at the alleyway between Portoâs Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters.Â
âSpider-Man?â you ask, shoulders tensed in case itâs not who you think.Â
âWhat are you doing?â he asks.
You gasp as he hops down in front of you, his suit shiny with its dark web-pattern caught by the grey sunshine passing through the clouds overhead. âShit, donât break your ankles.âÂ
âMy ankles?â He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you donât know; what a fool youâd been for falling for his put upon tenor. âTheyâre fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?âÂ
âYou just dropped down twenty feet!âÂ
âItâs more like thirty, and Iâm fine. You understand the super part of superhero, donât you?âÂ
âWho said youâre a superhero?âÂ
âNice. What are you doing down here?âÂ
âI was testing my theory. Youâre following me.âÂ
âNo, Iâm visiting you, itâs very different,â he says confidently.Â
âYou havenât come to see me for weeks.âÂ
âYes, well, Iââ Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. âHey, youâre the one who told me to take a day off.âÂ
âI did tell you to take a day off. Itâs not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. Thatâs a lot of responsibility for one person to have.âÂ
âBut itâs my responsibility,â he says easily. âNo point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I donât mind it.âÂ
âDo you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?â you ask, cheeks hot.Â
âNo,â he says, fondness evident even through the mask, âjust you.âÂ
âDo you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but itâs not that far.âÂ
Spider-Man nods. âYeah, Iâll walk you back.âÂ
He doesnât hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You canât believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he canât pretend to save his life.Â
âAre you having a good semester?â he asks.Â
âItâs getting better. Iâm glad I stuck with it. I love biology, itâs so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, itâs not something everyone understands.â You give him a look, and you give into temptation. âMy best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.âÂ
âItâs definitely for dorks.âÂ
âRight, but I love being one.â You offer a useless secret. âI like to think that itâs why weâre such great friends.âÂ
âMe and you?â Spider-Man asks hoarsely.Â
âMe and Peter.â You elbow him without force. âWhy, do you like science?âÂ
âI love itâŠâÂ
âYou know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like weâve been friends for a long time.â Youâre teasing poor Peter.Â
He doesnât speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise heâs stopped, you turn back to see him.Â
Peterâs gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. Itâs the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didnât want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: youâd meant to wind him up, not make him panic.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â you ask. âCan you hear something?âÂ
âNo, itâs not thatâŠâ Heâs masked, but you know him well enough to understand why heâs stopped.Â
âItâs okay,â you say.Â
âItâs not, actually.âÂ
âSpider-Man.â You take a step toward him. âItâs fine.â
He presses his hands to his stomach. The sun is setting early, and in an hour, the dark will eat up New York and leave it in a blistering cold. âDo you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?âÂ
âYeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. Itâs not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.âÂ
âI know you were,â he says, emphasis on know, like itâs a different word entirely.Â
âBut meeting you really helped. If it werenât for you, for Peter,â âyou give him a searching lookâ âI wouldnât feel better at all.âÂ
âIt wasnât his fault?â he asks. âHe was your friend, and you were lonely.âÂ
âNoââ
âHe didnât know what was going on with you, he didnât have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldnât tell anybody, and I know it wasnât an accident, so what was his excuse?â His voice burns with anger. âItâs his fault.âÂ
âOf course it wasnât your fault. Is that what you think?â You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. âYes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I donât know many people and Iâ Iâ I hurt myself, and it wasnât as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?âÂ
âPeterâs fault,â he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesnât bother enthusing it with much gusto.Â
âPeter, none of it was your fault.â You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, donât let me ruin this. âI was in a weird way, and yes, I was lonely, and I really liked you more than I should have. You didn't want me and that wasnât your fault, thatâs just how it was, I tried not to let it get to me, just there were a lot of things weighing on me at once, but it really wasnât as bad as you think it was and it wasnât your fault.âÂ
âI wasnât there for you,â he says. âAnd Iâve been lying to you for a long time.âÂ
âYou couldnât tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.âÂ
ââŠI didnât even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.âÂ
You hold your hands behind your back. âWell, he was a familiar one.âÂ
Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms arenât in his reach. âItâs not because I didnât want you.âÂ
âPeter,â you say, squirming.Â
He steps back.Â
âI have to go,â he says.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âI have toâ I donât want to go,â he says earnestly, âsweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But Iâll come back, Iâllâ Iâll come back,â he promises.Â
And with a sudden lift of his arm, Peter pulls himself up the side of a building and disappears, leaving you whiplashed on the sidewalk, the sun setting just out of view.
â
You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isnât there. You check your phone but he hasnât texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasnât been seen.Â
You arenât sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said heâd come back, but he didnât, not ten minutes later, not twenty. You made excuses and you went home before it got too dark to see the street, sat on the couch rehearsing what youâd say. How could Peter think your unhappiness was his fault? Why does he always put the entire world on his shoulders?
Selfishly, you worried what it all meant for his lazy touches. Would he want to curl up into bed with you again now he knows what it means to you? Itâs different for him. It isnât like heâs in love with you⊠youâd just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache youâd suffered before.Â
But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time.Â
â
You and Peter found The Moroccan Mode in your senior year at Midtown. The school library was small and you were sick of being underfoot at home. When you started at ESU, you explored the on campus coffeehouse, the Coffee Bean, but it was crowded, and youâd found yourself attached to the Modeâs beautiful tiling, blues and topaz and platinum golds, its heavy, oiled wooden furniture, stained glass lampshades and the case full of lemony treats. The coffee here is better than anywhere else, but the best part out of everything is that itâs your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose.Â
You hide in a far corner with a book and an empty cup of decaf coffee, a slice of meskouta on the table untouched. Decaf because caffeine felt a terrible idea, meskouta untouched because you canât stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. Itâs served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest.Â
The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time youâve seen it in months, warming rays kissing your fingers and lining the walls. You turn a page, turn your wrist, let the sun warm the scar you gave yourself those few months ago, when everything felt too big for you.Â
Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon youâll be ready to talk about it. Â
The author in your book is talking about bees. They can fly up to 15 miles per hour. They make short, fast motions from front to back, a rocking motion. Asian giant hornets can go even faster despite their increased mass. They consider humans running provocation. If you see a giant hornet, youâre supposed to lay down to avoid being stung.Â
You put your face in your hand. Next year, youâll avoid the insect-based electives.Â
Across the cafe, the bell at the top of the door rings. Laughter falls through it, a couple passing by. The register clashes open. A minute later it closes.Â
You donât raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee.Â
âDid you eat breakfast?â Peter asks quietly.Â
His voice is gentle, but hoarse.Â
You tense.Â
âAre you okay?â he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. âYou donât look like yourself. Your eyes are red.âÂ
You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur.Â
âWhat are you reading?â He frowns at you. âPlease donât cry.âÂ
You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. âIâm okay.âÂ
He nudges you across the booth seat and sits beside you. His arm settles behind your shoulders. He smells like smoke and soap, an acrid scent barely hidden. âCan you tell me you didnât wait long for me?âÂ
âTen minutes,â you lie.Â
âOkay. Iâm sorry. There was a fire.â He rubs your arm where heâs holding you. âIâm sorry.âÂ
âWill you go half?â you ask, nodding to the sandwich heâs brought you. Itâs tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. Youâve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating.Â
âI know youâre hungry,â you say, tapping his elbow, âjust eat.âÂ
You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peterâs here, you donât feel so sick âheâs not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach wonât be ignored.Â
Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. Youâve never seen him stop before heâs done.
âIt was in the apartments on Vernon. Iâ I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.âÂ
You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. âAre you hurt?â you ask, coughing.Â
He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. âHow long have you known it was me?â he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck.Â
You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. âThe night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ârunning girlâ. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,â âyou whisper, weary of the quiet cafeâ âSpider-Man, and I realised itâs him that sounds like you. That he is you.âÂ
âWas that disappointing?âÂ
âPeter, youâre, like, my favourite person in the world,â you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. âWhy would that be disappointing?âÂ
âI thought maybe you think heâs cooler than me.âÂ
âHe is cooler than you, Peter.â You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. âI guess youâre the same person, right? So heâs just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.âÂ
âYou flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.â
âWell, he flirted with me first.âÂ
You chance a look at his face. From that moment you canât look away, not from Peter. You like when he wears that darkness in his eyes, the hint of his rarer side so uncommonly seen, but you love this most of all, Peter like your best memory, the way heâs looking at you now a picture perfect copy of that moment in a swimming pool in Manhattan with cracked tile under your feet. His arms heavy on your shoulders. You didnât get it then, but youâre starting to understand now.
âIâve made a mess of everything,â he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. âI havenât been honest with you.âÂ
âI havenât, either.âÂ
âI want to ask you for something,â Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. âYou can say no.âÂ
âYouâre hard to say no to.âÂ
âI need you to talk to me more,â âand here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your spaceâ ânot just because I love your voice, or because you think so much Iâm scared youâll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.â
We do, you think morosely.Â
âItâs not your fault,â he adds, the hand that isnât holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, âitâs mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldnât have let it be a secret for so long.âÂ
âNo, I doubt theyâre stupid,â you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. âItâs not easy to tell someone youâre a hero.â
His palm smells like smoke.Â
âThatâs not the secret I meant,â he says.Â
You take his hand from your face. Peter looks down and begins pressing his fingers between yours, squeezing them together as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.
âSo tell me.â
The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. âYou want to trade secrets again?â he asks.Â
âPlease.âÂ
âOkay. Okay, but I donât have as many as you do,â he warns.Â
âI find that hard to believe.âÂ
âI donât. Itâs not a real secret, is it? Iâve been trying to show you for weeks, weâŠâ
He tilts his head invitingly.Â
All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isnât a secret.
âIâll go first,â he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. âIâve wanted to kiss you for weeks.â He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. âWhatâs your secret?âÂ
âSometime I want you to kiss me so badly I canât sleep. It makes me feel sickââ
âSick?â he asks worriedly.Â
You touch the tip of your nose to his. âItâs likeâ like jealousy, butâŠâÂ
âYou have no one to be jealous of,â he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, âPlease, can I kiss you?âÂ
You say, âYes,â very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldnât be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.
It isnât the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesnât hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. Itâs so warm you donât know what to make of him beyond kissing him back âkissing his smile, though itâs catching. Kissing the line of his Cupidâs bow as he leans down.Â
âIâm sorry about everything,â he mumbles, nose flattened against yours.Â
You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. Itâs still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peterâs hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest.Â
Peter drops his hand. âOh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didnât snow, weâd be blind.â
âI canât be cold much longer,â you confess. âIâm sick of the shitty weather.âÂ
âI can keep you warm.âÂ
He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown.Â
âDid you want my meskouta?â you ask.Â
Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow.Â
You let the sunshine warm your face. Two unfinished sandwich halves, a mouthful of coffee, and a round slice of meskouta, its flaky crumb and lemon drizzle shining on the table. You would ask Peter for his camera if youâd thought he brought it with him, to take a picture of your breakfast and the carved table underneath. You could turn it on Peter, say something cheesy. This is the moment you ruined our lives, youâd tease.
âYou never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.âÂ
You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. âThey could make a novella of things I havenât told you about,â you murmur wryly.Â
Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, weâll work on that.Â
â
Spring
âSorry!â
âNo, itâsââ
âSorry, sorry, Iâmâ shit!â
ââokay! All legs inside the ride?â
âI couldnât find my purseââ
âYou donât need it!â Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. âYou donât have to rush.âÂ
âAre you sure you can drive this thing?âÂ
âHarry doesnât mind.âÂ
âI donât mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?âÂ
âThatâs not funny.âÂ
You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. âNothing ever is with us.âÂ
Peter grabs you behind the neck âwhich might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thingâ and pulls you forward for a kiss you donât have time for. âIf we donât check in,â âyou begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lipsâ âby three, they said they wonât keep the roomââ He clasps the back of your neck and smiles when your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes closed, kiss him fiercely, and pull away, hand on his chest to restrain him. âAnd then weâll have to drive home like losers.âÂ
Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. Youâre rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. âSorry, am I the one who lost her purse?âÂ
âPeter!âÂ
âI canât make us un-late,â he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips.Â
âAlright,â you warn.Â
He reaches for your knee. âItâs a forty minute drive. Youâre panicking over nothing.âÂ
âItâs an hour.âÂ
Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peterâs hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesnât question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. Thereâs so much to do around Manhattan; you could visit MoMA, Central Park, The Empire State Building or Times Square, but you and Peter give it all a miss for the little known Manhattan Super 8.Â
Itâs been a long time since you and Peter first visited. You took the bus out to Lenox Hill for a med-student tour neither of you particularly enjoyed, feeling out future careers. Itâs not that Lenox Hill isnât one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), itâs that all the blood made him queasy, and you were panicking too much about the future to think it through. He got over his aversion to blood but chose the less hands-on science in the end, and you worked things through. Youâre a little less scared of the future everyday.Â
You and Peter were supposed to get the bus straight back home for a sleepover, but one got cancelled, another delayed, and night closed in like two hands on your neck. Peter sensed your fear and emptied his wallet for a night in the Super 8.Â
The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasnât anything special but it was invitingly cool, blue and white tiles patterned like fish below; you clambered into the water in shorts and a tank top and Peter his boxers before a worker could see and stop you.Â
It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, heâd looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, youâre cute, and let you waste the afternoon recounting one of your more embarrassing pangs of longing. A few days later he told you to clear your calendar for the weekend, only spilling the beans on what heâd done when youâd curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me.Â
Heâd hung his head over you and scrunched up his eyes. Cheater.
The best thing about having a boyfriend is that he always wants to listen to you. Peter was a good listener as a best friend, but now he has his act together and the secrets between you are never anything more than eating the last of the milk duds or not wanting to pee in front of him, heâs a treasure. Thereâs no feeling like having Peter pull you into his lap so he can ask about your day with his face buried in your neck, sniffing. Sometimes, when you text one another to meet up the next day, youâll accidentally will the hours away babbling about school and life and things without reason. Peter has a list on his phone of your silliest tangents; blood oranges to the super moon, fries dipped in ice cream to the world record for kick flips done in five minutes. Itâs like when you talk to one another, you canât stop.Â
There are quiet moments. You wake up some mornings to find him awake already, an arm behind you, rubbing at your soft upper arm, fingertip displacing the fine hairs there and trailing circles as he reads. He bends the pages back and holds whatever novel heâs reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when youâre sleeping.Â
There are hectic, aching moments âvigilante boyfriends become blasĂ© with their lives and precious faces. Youâve teetered on the edge of anxiety attacks trying to pick glass from his cheek with a tweezers, lamented over bruises that heal the next day. Itâs easier when Peterâs careful, but Spider-Man isnât careful. You ask him to take care of himself and heâs gentle with himself for a few days, but then someone needs saving from an armed burglar or a car swerves dangerously onto the sidewalk and he forgets.Â
He hadnât patrolled last night in preparation for today.Â
âDid you know,â he says, pulling Harryâs borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, âthat todayâs the last day of spring?âÂ
âAlready?âÂ
âTonightâs the June equinox.âÂ
âWho told you that?âÂ
âAunt May. She said itâs time to get a summer job.âÂ
You laugh loudly. âOur federal loans wonât last forever.âÂ
âHarryâs gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.âÂ
You nod emphatically. Itâs barely a thought. âObviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?âÂ
Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. âBetter than the Bugle.âÂ
You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. Itâs not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. Thereâs a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel heâs ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain.Â
âThere it is, sweetheart,â he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, âthatâs what dreams are made of.âÂ
The blue and white tiled pool. It hasnât changed.Â
Itâs about as hot as itâs going to get in June today, and, not knowing if itâll rain tomorrow, you and Peter change into your swim suits and gather your towels. You wear flip flops and tangle your fingers, clanking and thumping down the rickety metal stairs to the pool. Thereâs nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes.Â
Peter eases in first. Towels in a heap at the end of a sun lounger, his shirt tumbling to the floor, Peter splashes in frontward and turns to face you as the water laps his ribs. âItâs cold,â he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs.Â
âI can feel it,â you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge.Â
âYou wonât come in and warm me up?â he asks.Â
You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers.Â
âIâm trying to prepare myself.âÂ
âMm, you have to get used to it.â He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that heâd want one still makes you dizzy. âThank you,â he says.Â
âYouâll have to move.âÂ
Peter steps back, a ripple of water ringing behind him, his hands raised. He slips them with ease under your arms and helps you down into the water, laughing at your shocked giggling âheâs so strong, the water so cold.Â
Peter doesnât often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. Heâll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when youâre on his side to force you sideways.Â
âOh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!â he says.Â
âHow will I run?â you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck.Â
Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that heâs precious with you, too. Thereâs devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. âI donât need you to do a running start, sweetheart,â he says, tilting his head to the side, âIâll just lift you.âÂ
âLast time I laughed so much you dropped me.âÂ
âExactly, you laughed, and this is serious.âÂ
The world isnât mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8âs parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peterâs breath is half laughter as he pulls you further from the sidelines, ceramic tiles slippery under your feet. In the distance, you swear you can hear one of those songs he likes from that poor singer who died in the Wolf River.Â
Heâs a beholden thing in the sun; you canât not look at him, all of him, his sculpted chest wet and glinting in the sun, his eyes like browning honey, his smile curling up, and up.Â
âYouâre beautiful,â he says.Â
You rest an arm behind his head. âThe rash guard is a good look?âÂ
âSweetheart, you couldnât look cuter,â he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. âI wish youâd mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I wouldâve prepared to be a more decent man.âÂ
âYouâre decent enough, Parker.âÂ
âMaybe now.âÂ
âWell, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,â you say.Â
Youâre teasing, but Peterâs eyes light up with mischief as he calls, âOh, great idea!â and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You canât avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface.Â
He shakes himself off like a dog.Â
âPete!â you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes.Â
âIt just didnât help,â he says, pulling you back into his arms, âyou know, the water is cold, but youâre so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and youâre just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds agoââ
âPeter,â you say, tempted to roll your eyes.Â
Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile heâs sporting, they look like anything but tears. âTell me a secret?â he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back.Â
A soft smile takes your lips. âNo,â you say, tipping up your chin, âyou tell me one first.â
âWhat kind of secret?âÂ
âA real one,â you insist.Â
âOhâŠâ He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. âOkay, I have one. Ask me again.âÂ
You raise a single brow. âTell me a secret, Peter.âÂ
He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. âI love you,â he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose.Â
Youâre lucky heâs already holding you. âI love you too,â you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. âI love you.âÂ
Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You canât know what heâs thinking, but you can feel it. His hands canât seem to stay still on your skin.Â
The sun warms your back for a time.Â
Peter lets out a deep breath of relief. You lean away to look at him, your hand slipping down into the water, where he finds it, his fingers circling your wrist.Â
âThatâs another one to let go of,â he suggests.Â
He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye.Â
You and Peter swim until your fingers are pruned and the sun has been blanketed by clouds. You let him wrap you in a towel, and kiss your wet ears, and take you back to the room, where he holds your face.Â
âIâll start the shower for you,â he says, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, each stroke of them encouraging your face from one side to the other, just a touch, ever so slightly moved in the palms of his hands.Â
âDonât fall asleep standing up,â he murmurs.Â
Your eyes close unbidden to you both. âI wonât.âÂ
He holds you still, leaning in slowly to kiss you with the barest of pressure. Every thought in your head fades, leaving only you and Peter, and the dizziness of his touch as he lays you down at the end of the bed.Â
ïœĄđŠč°â§â.á
please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat âthank you for readingâ€ïž
#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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⥠Cursing The Daylight - LN 4 âĄ
Summary: Lando hates knowing you never sleep well so when he believes he's figured out why, he makes it his mission to save his sleepy girlfriend from sleep deprivation.
Author's note: A little blurb thing I wrote at 2 am. I tried my best đ
WC: 1045
CW: Lando being a bit dumb and the sweetest person ever, fluff
You were currently cursing the daylight, watching as a blue bird flew past your window.
FuckerÂ
It was yet another sleepless night in your apartment. You continued to stare at your alarm clock, waiting for it to go off, a little reminder that if you were capable of sleeping properly, youâd still have 5 more minutes of sleep.Â
For most of your life, especially in recent years, youâve never been able to get a full night's rest. Youâd always end up tossing and turning for hours, as well as waking up about 7 times a night. Every day you would feel irritated and restless due to your lack of sleep.Â
However, whenever you slept over at your boyfriend's house, you always managed to get a good night's sleep. You and your boyfriend, Lando, have been together for about 5 months. The first night you two had spent together, was the first time youâd been able to sleep well. You woke up bright and early and you felt amazing, like nothing could stop you.Â
Over the course of your relationship, Lando came to be aware of your inability to sleep well most nights. Whenever you would sleep in your own apartment, Lando would receive mass amounts of texts from you, all about how you slept terribly and that you either needed a nap or many coffees.Â
Lando, being the ever so lovely person he is, picked up on something. The only times you would get a good night's sleep, waking up and not needing to complain about anything and everything, was when you slept at his place.Â
The mattress! The boy thought, she sleeps better at mine cause my mattress is fucking mint.Â
Upon realizing this, Lando goes and orders the same exact mattress he has, and has it sent to yours. He thought itâd be a nice surprise for you so that you can get a goodnight sleep every night. Another plus would be that you guys are coming up on your 6 month anniversary, this counts as a gift right?, thinks Lando.Â
The day Lando gets an email stating that the mattress was out for delivery, he books it to your place, wanting to be there to see your reaction to his gift and so that he could help you bring it in and set it up.Â
Lando arrives at your apartment, greeted by you with a massive smile and sparkling eyes. He wastes no time in pulling you to him by your hips and wrapping his arms around your torso. As you wrap your arms around his neck you say, âAs much as I love seeing you, what are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet up later tonight for movie night.â
As Lando pulls away to look at you, the postman has just arrived. âThatâs why.â he says, smiling cheekily and pointing to the truck behind him.Â
The both of you watch as the postman begins to unload the mattress from the vehicle, before Lando jumps in and helps the man drag the mattress to the door of your apartment.Â
Whilst Lando and the man bring the mattress into your apartment, you stand there dumbfounded.Â
What the actual fuck is going on? The only thing Iâve ordered to my apartment is a new book and I donât think the book is that big? Wait, did I order the right thing?!
As soon as the box is in your living area, you confront Lando, âLan, my love, my gorgeous boy⊠what the fuck?â you ask, pointing at the big ass box in your living area.Â
Your Lan stands there next to the box, all but swaying as he stands and gives you the biggest smile he could plaster on his face.Â
The cheeky fuck.Â
âItâs a mattress!â he says as he poses next to it, adding a pose for effect.Â
âA mattress?â you ask.
âA mattress.âÂ
After a moment of silence, where you contemplated whether to strangle him or take his credit card away from him, you ask âWhy?â
âCause, youâre always tired and you never sleep well unless youâre at my place. So I figured out why! Itâs because you find my mattress to feel so much better and comfier. I even ordered the same bed sheets I have, but I got yours in green since itâs your favorite color. They should be here tomorrow though so for tonight you can spend the night with me or we can use your old sheets.â he proposes, smiling so wide it makes your heart melt from the sweetness that you donât deserve.Â
He gets you the same mattress he has in his home, for your home.Â
âI sleep better at yours because youâre there. Not because of the mattress, you muppet!â you exclaim.Â
You watch as Landoâs face immediately drops, âwhat?â he asks. Heâs truly been stunned with this information, âWhatâd you mean itâs not because of the mattress? You mean to tell me I havenât helped solve your sleeping issues?! I thought I was smarter than all the doctors youâve seen for this issue!â
You canât help but laugh at your boyfriend's statement.Â
âGorgeous, you thought that of all the doctors Iâve seen⊠that none of them have thought that I was sleeping on an uncomfortable mattress?âÂ
Lando just stood there silent, blankly staring at a wall, likely contemplating all his life choices.Â
âFuck. So, do you not want the mattress? Seems like a hassle to return.â he states as he scratches the back of his neck, wondering how heâs going to return the heavy ass box. âWait, you sleep better when youâre around me?â he looks at you, somewhat shocked.Â
You walk up to him, taking his hands in yours and making him look you in the eyes, âGorgeous, in the time weâve been together, weâve slept on couches and several different mattresses. And I always sleep well no matter where or what we are sleeping on. I sleep better because Iâm with you, I feel safe with you.â
âOh⊠oh!â he giggles a bit. Red starts to lightly color his face, heâs blushing, âThatâs nice.â
You donât think youâve met anyone more awkward than this man, but you love him because of that, not in spite of it.Â
#formula 1#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 writing#f1 x you#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#lando norris fanfic#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando norris#norris x reader#mclaren#formula 1 imagine#formula one#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 fic
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Three's a Sideshow
Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Summary: Spencer misses an important date and ends up paying the consequences Trope:Angst w.c: 4.2k a/n: this is one of the many many requests of @lavonee (her exact request was: maybe spencer misses an important date/anniversary because of jj and reader is finally fed up being second place to her) trying my best to address all of them. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! đ masterlist
The hazy dim light of each candle on the white linen covered table gave the restaurant an orange hue. Various aromas of meat, wine, and complimentary cheese wafted through the enclosed space. Sensual tones of the saxophone lightly played on the speakers perfectly weave through each muted conversations between loved onesâcouples and families. The high-end restaurant basked in good food and great company.Â
Everything was perfect.
Every costumer joyous and warm from the delicious wine.Â
All except for one, alone by the corner booth, phone pressed to your ear and eyes scanning for the tall, lithe form of the date for the night.
Beep. Beep. Beâ
You grimaced at the busy line tone that answered you, again. Hands gripping the draped linen, trying your best not to tap your newly manicured fingers on the tableâtrying to blend into the background, unsuccessfully.Â
You stuck out like a sore thumb. All dressed up with no partner or food on the table, just a glass of once chilled wineâcondensation all around it like tears of abandonment and longing.Â
The same waitress who escorted you to the tableâ15 minutes ago, approached with a perfectly rehearsed smile.
âMaâam, are we ready to order?â
You sighed. âActually, my boyfriend isnât here yetââ
She bit her lip, nodding, before quickly averting her eyes to the queued up line outside the premise.
Right. It was a Friday night and every adult in the vicinity wanted a night out to unwind and start their weekend on the right foot.
You tightly smiled, the embarrassment of tonight painting your cheeks a deep maroon, unnoticed through the flickering of the orange candlelight. ââyou know what, I think Iâd just have a slice of your chocolate cake to go. Yeah, Iâm sorry about holding up the table.â
The waitress nodded, understanding washing on her face. âThatâs alright. Iâll have your order packed and ready to go.â
âThanks,â you murmured as you watched her leave.Â
Tonight was suppose to be special.Â
You dressed up in the same white with purple printed flower midi length dress, styled your hair effortlessly, and spritzed on your favorite perfume that smelled like a luscious garden after a rainy night.
Everything was just like how it was two weeks agoâincluding your boyfriend of three years, Spencer Reid, not showing up for the date.
You didnât even know why you bothered. Why his promise of being here tonight made you feel giddy and trusting. Why his commitment on having do-over for the actual anniversary dinner that he missed two weeks ago made you think it was going to end differently and why you gave him another chanceâ
Another chance to let you down.
Another crack in your belief that you were important.
Another heartache to soothe.
Another let down.Â
When you first entered the relationship, you understood the gravity of his work. How his career will always come first and how unpredictable it all may be.
That partâaccepting those facts, were easy. You were always one to be tolerant and understanding ever since childhood, labeled as the easy kidâthe independent, the self-sufficient. Mixed in with your highly demanding career as a doctor, you got itâthe patience and consideration of a saint.
A martyr, your good friend once bluntly said.Â
But what good was being a martyr when the person youâre killing yourself for didnât notice?
It didnât matter at first. Missed messages, missed calls, missed dates were just a work of rotten timing from both ends. Sometimes it was you having to run to the hospital for an emergency surgery and sometimes it was him having to catch a plane to a latest serial killer case.
The tandem of both independent and busy people in the relationship worked, love blossomed regardless.
What made it different was, there was three of you in the relationship.
The third party being an intense platonic, as he once defended, connection with Her.
You felt it for the first time during a get together with his found family. Your set of eyes trained to read in between the lines for the truth patients unwittingly hide from their doctor. It was a skill that you honed and never hated, up until that moment.
The stolen glances when the other wasnât looking.
The emotion veiled between the eyes.
The unsaid words that seemed to spill from the silence.
Never mind that there were two presences in the vicinity that could have their life altered in any minute from the secrets long hidden in vaults. It was as if you and her husband were considered ornaments, pieces of a possible aftermath not worth saving.Â
You knew of their pastâSpencer admitting to having a crush on her during his early days with the team, asking her out on a baseball game date, and her recent admission during a case.
Everything was water under the bridge, your boyfriend assured you. But the thing was, water had a way of overflowing from confinement, turning deadly, and ravaging what once was an idyllic garden that bloomed from your affection.Â
Now as you pay for the tab and collect your things, you felt the tides that destroyed the solace inside of you well up to your eyesâwanting the release youâre fighting to keep at bay.
A fight youâre bound to lose.
You whispered a thank you to the waitress, soft and quiet that you were unsure if she even heard it but that was the best you could do, the sobs closing your vocal chords and threatening to escape, making you a spectacleâleaving the restaurant alone, with a boxed cake on hand.
What a sad sight.
You fumbled with the phone again, hands shaking as you insert the key on the ignition.
Beep. Beep. Beâ
Nothing.Â
What even was the point of all of this, you wondered. All this emotion, love, that was once sweet and heavenly now all felt rotten, puss oozing from its pores and flies exalting for a feast.Â
Slowly backing your black 4-door sedan out of the parking lot, you pondered if this was the endâdid you have any more left to give? Or was this just a bump on the road for the your future selves to learn and heartily laugh about?Â
âââ
The rattling of your keys as you dropped it on the ceramic plate across the main door disrupted the silent, empty apartment.
A small smile graced your face as you remembered spontaneously booking a ceramic wheel class with Spencer in tow. His initial worries about getting under the nails dirty and the bacteria that could be collected from any stranger that used the items before the both of you swept away with your giggles and assurances to double up on vitamins.Â
There was a wide grin on his face then, accepting defeat from the sight of your enthusiasm and glee.Â
It was one of your greatest memory with Spencer and when the glazed pottery came from the mailâyours, a wonky blue green plate and his, an uneven moss green bowl, you had him promise to take you again.
A promise that never came to fruition.
You sighed, eyes tracking the rented space you never quite moved in to. The walls painted this dark green color, reflecting the somber mood you frequently found yourself in and the shelves filled to the brim with books you never dream of reading.
in hindsight, maybe your subconscious was telling you something. Why you never agreed to Spencerâs casual asking of you to live with him. Why you were adamant of keeping your own apartment regardless of the nights you spent outside of it.
This place became your pseudo-home, comfortable but never quite permanent.Â
The distant murmur of a car being parked on the street had you clambering up from your defeated, slouched position on the leather couch. In your gut, you knew who it was.
You spotted them exiting the SUV.
The two figures that make the relationship threeâa sideshow for everyone to see.
Spencer and JJ.Â
They talked for a bit, probably saying pleasantries of goodbyes, before she leaned in for a hug. One that he reciprocated, patting her back as he went.Â
They looked like a couple and if you were in your right state of mind, youâd chalk the exchange up to nothing but you werenâtâyou were wounded and unsure of your standing ever since you exited the restaurant.
Were you his first still?
Or were you just second place?Â
They were questions you never wanted no, needed, to be addressed but it seemed like tonight was the night of reckoning.
As you watched Spencer enter the apartment, the smile on his face from spotting you slowly become a furrow between his brows, you fidgetedâpulling the coat tighter to your body, the one you never hung on the back of the doorâready to bolt.
âLove, Iâm so sorry I missed our reservationââ
He went in for a kiss on your glossy lips.Â
A simple act that you didnât have the energy to accept, you turned your head to the side. His lips catching your cheek instead.
âItâs fine,â you sardonically replied. âIt wasnât like I was waiting for you for half an hour to show up. Itâs fine, Spencer.âÂ
His brow twitched.Â
âIt sounds like itâs not fine. Why donât you tell me what you really feel? We promised to openly communicate, didnât we?â
You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air. âI said itâs fine, Spencer. Why donât you give it a rest?â
âYou look beautiful,â his calloused fingers gently caressing your hair. âIâm sorry I didnât show. Itâs just that JJ and the teaââ
Your last thread of reason snapped clean from hearing her name.
âItâs always going to be like this, isnât it? Me coming after her?â
âLove.â
âDonât touch meâdonât call me that,â you pushed his hands away, tucking the escaped tendrils behind your ears.Â
His own, raking the wavy brown hair you loved, in frustration. You could tell, with how his hands opened and closed, that he was itching to touch you, comfort you.Â
âHer? You mean, JJ? Sheâs a friend. Just a friend.âÂ
âAnd if this friend wasnât married with kids, would you still be here with me now?â
Silence.Â
There, you said it.
âWhatâyes, yes of course. Why would you ask that? Why would you doubt it? Doubt me?â
Your gut twisted inside of you. It was inconceivable for someone like Spencer to lie, wasnât it? He was a good guy, one of the best. But all the hidden resentment in your heartâa pile you werenât even aware of, no longer wanted to be silenced. It no longer wanted to be pushed to the side for optimism and denial.Â
âI donât know, Spencer. Maybe itâs the way you look at herââ voice raising up an octave. Youâve lost control, verbally dumping out everything. âDo you think I donât see it? You look at her with this, this nostalgia andâand this emotion that I canât compare toânever seen it when you look at me! Or maybe, maybe itâs because you drop everything for her? Including me?â
âAre you talking about when Henry got sick?â his hands finding a home on his hips. âI thought you understoodâyou of all, should have.â
Your laughter turned into a sob. âI doâI did, until you dropped me of unceremoniously back here, in this apartment, just so you could rush out to her home. Like I was some kind of secret, you didnât want to bring around her. Like I was some sort of disease, you didnât want her catching. Didnât you think I would be of great help? A licensed medical doctor?â
âI wasnât thinking straightâI thought you, you shouldnât be exposed to the type of flu Henry contracted. You could have gotten sick too and could have passed it on to your other patients.â
âItâs my job to take care of the sick, donât you think I take measures for my own health? Spencer, please, for once just be honest with me.â
He tilted his head. âHonest about what?â
âIf itâs her you really want and if Iâm just a passable substitute to settle down with.â
You could see his eyes blazing with suchâdisgust? Anger? You didnât know what emotion it was before it was snuffed out, leaving his expression blank and almost sad. It was a look you were familiar with, his profiler look.
âI donât need you profiling me and my insecurities, Spencer. I just want the truth. The God-honest truth.âÂ
âI love you. I canât imagine a life without youâI wonât imagine it. Isnât that enough?â
Your hands drop to your side.
âI donât know. Is it?â
The distance created by the silence between you and Spencer was vast. Youâve never felt quite alone and isolated in the relationship until this moment. Was this it, then? The end to your once dreamed of happy ever after?Â
âIâm sorry I missed the dinner. Why donât you let me make it up to you? We can book the same restaurant for next week andââ
âYou canât just make up for a make up anniversary dinner, thatâs not how it works in real life, Spencer. And besides, I donât want to see the same pitying looks the workers there give me when they realize my date is again, and again, a no-show.â
He sighed, slowly invading your space. The arms that once felt like home to you, circling your waist, now felt foreign. You never imagined youâd get here but then again, who did?Â
Your hands clasped his button down before loosening its grip. Taking in one more whiff of his cedar-wood and mint perfume, you pushed him away. Stepping backwards from his presence and all he had to offer.
âItâs late. Weâre both tiredââ
He nervously smiled. Intertwining his fingers with yours and started to walk backwards to the direction of the bedroom. âYeah, we can talk about it in the morning once you feel better.â
You wiggled your hand free.
âActually, I think I have to go.â
Spencer paused, panic coloring his face. âThatâsâthatâs not what I meant, love. Anything but that. Please, please I love you and Iâm sorry.â
âMe too, Spence. Me too.âÂ
You slowly gathered your things, sans the chocolate cake left opened and untouched on the coffee table.Â
âHappy anniversary, I need space to think this all throughâto think us through.â
He stood still, blocking your way, trying to wrap his head around the direction this was going to. The inevitable downfall of him and you. It was a car crash no one could no longer escape from.Â
âPlease, let me fix this. I can do it, justâtell me how. Do you want me to limit my time spent with JJ? I-I can try, just please, donât leave me.â
It wasnât a promise, you noted. With how many broken promises there were between the span of your relationship, you wondered if that was a conscious choice of wording from him. It sounded hopeful, gleaming with oath even. But they were just words at the end of the day, packaged pretty for you to swallow.
âI need time, Spencer. Iâm not breaking up with you, I just need space,â you placed a kiss on his cheek, wet from tears. âCan you give me that, love?â
He choked a sob.Â
âPromise me youâll be back. Promise me.â
You tightly smiled, making your way back to the door. The unanswered plea hanging in the air like a blade, waiting to slash down between youâwaiting to sever the connection that was once shiny and new.Â
Shakily removing the spare key of the apartment from your chain, you chanced one last look at his hunched formâsobs emitting from his sweet lips and acid rain spilling down his cherub cheeks, regretting that this might be your last memory of Spencer Reid.
You didnât know if youâd be back.Â
If the thought of being second place will ever go away.
But the sinking feeling in your gut tells you the truthâthat this is it.
This is final.
This is the end.Â
Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!
#spencer reid fanfic#Spencer reid#Spencer Reid fanfiction#Spencer Reid imagine#Spencer Reid fic#criminal minds#dr spencer reid#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fic#Spencer Reid x reader#Spencer Reid x fem!reader#Spencer Reid x y/n#Spencer Reid x self insert#Spencer Reid x you#Spencer Reid oneshot#Spencer Reid one shot#Spencer Reid sad#Spencer Reid angst
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i need a lando x brazilian!reader for sao paulo gp!!
persistence - ln4
summary: lando has the biggest crush on a brazilian model and he wonât give up until she gives him a chance
folkie radio: HAPPY LANDO DAY !! for some reason, my lando fics are always my least fave but i needed to post something for his bdayyyy, i hope you like this
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
liked by landonorris, sabrinacarpenter and 748,296 others
yourinstagram i â€ïž LA
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username1 THE FACE CARDDD
username2 if i looked like that i wouldnât let anyone give me crap
username3 IT GIRL
alexademie Loved seeing you đ
username4 brazilian women >>>
iamrebeccad đ
username5 WHAT IS LANDO NORRIS DOING IN THE LIKES đ
username6 lando i see you what are you up to
carlossainz55 Hermosa !
âł username1 sometimes i forget sheâs actually friends with carlos
âł username2 ouuu maybe this is why lando is in the likes
âł yourinstagram miss you carlitosss
madisonbeer pelase come more often loml đ
âł yourinstagram you should comento brazil miss!
username7 LINDA
username8 canât believe weâre from the same country but i donât look like this
alexandrasaintmleux â€ïžâđ„â€ïžâđ„ you beautyyy
âł username2 IT GIRLS FR
landonorris Pretty girl đ
âł username1 LANDO HELLO?
âł username2 HES SO BOLD
âł username3 yn not even replying đ
liked by carlossainz55, alex_albon and 1,027,638 others
landonorris memories from my last time in brazil đž
view all comments
username1 LANDOOOO
username2 HELLO SIR WTF
username3 what was the reason for this thirst trap NOT COMPLAINING THO đ
charles_leclerc Who let the dogs out?
âł username1 HELP MEEEEE
username4 lando norris what are you up to
username5 I WANT TO LICK HIM
mclaren Good start of the week đ
username6 confess lando who are you trying to charm
username7 HES SUCH A MAN
danielricciardo Iâm looking respectfully
âł username2 HE GETS IT
username8 lando posting a thirst trap from BRAZIL and not so randomly commenting on a brazilian modelâs post LANDO I SEE WHAT YOU DO
carlossainz55 đđđ
username9 BE SERIOUS
f1gossip Weâll get to the bottom of this đ
username10 i need to know how his brain works
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
texts between carlos and lando
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
yourinstagram has added to their stories
landonorris sent you a message request
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
liked by landonorris, lilyrosedepp and 798,499 others
yourinstagram somebody come get this man⊠i think he got lost in my dms
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username1 IT GIRL
username2 how bad i wish i was her
username3 the amount of random celebs that probably slide into her dms đ
lizzobeeating those lyrics đ€đ€
username4 SPILL DEETS
username5 expose them bestie expose them
sabrinacarpenter iâm still laughing
âł brunamarquezine me too
âł yourinstagram we all đ€«
username6 i need her bandana asap
username7 MESSY QUEEN
alexandrasaintmleux đđ my style inspo !
âł yourinstagram miss YOU are my style inspo we need to meet asap â€ïžâđ„
âł username1 AHHH THIS CROSSOVER
carlossainz55 Forgive him⊠heâs just a boy
âł iamrebeccad đđ
âł username2 HUH WHATS THIS ABOUT???
âł yourinstagram keep him humble carlitos
landonorris stunning đ€€
âł username1 NOT THIS AGAIN
âł username2 plot twist hes the man who got lost in her dms
liked by daniel3.jpg, carlossainz55 and 355,836 others
lando.âȘjpg iâll take that as a compliment
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username1 LANDOOOOO
username2 he remember the password for this account
username3 WHAT DOES HE MEAN đ
charles_leclerc đđđđ
daniel3.jpg mate im sure thatâs not how it worksâŠ
⏠Ⳡlando.âȘjpg did i ask?
âł username1 HUH LET ME IN
username4 WHAT IS HE ON ABOUT
username5 whoâs attention is he trying to get with this post
username6 lando has been moving weirdly lately
carlossainz55 EMBARRASING
âł charles_leclerc Please make him understand
âł georgerussell63 đđđđ
âł username2 WHAT IS THIS
âł username3 I NEED TO BE PART OF THEIR INSIDE JOKES
âł username4 I HATE THEM
âł lando.jpg canât hear the haters
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris and 609,638 others
yourinstagram monaco i am in you âš
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username1 FACE CARDDDD
username2 the queen in monaco ? slay
username3 i know a certain mclaren driver will like to hear about this information
gigihadid đđ
madisonbeer MY GIRLFRIEND đ©ââ€ïžâđâđ©
username4 SCREAMING
username5 her genes are really blessed
ïżœïżœïżœ username1 ofc sheâs a brazilian
brunamarquezine Linda đđ
username6 donât let lando norris find out
username7 LANDO X YN?? is this what iâm getting from this comments ??
âł username2 more like lando thirsts over her but she ignores him
carlossainz55 No way! We should meet up
âł yourinstagram i was about to text youuu carlitos
âł username2 LOVE THEM
jacobelordi đ
âł username1 dream couple fr
alexandrasaintmleux FINALLY đđ
âł yourinstagram canât wait to see youuuu gorgeous sass wonât know what hit them
âł username3 OMFG IT GIRLS MEETING
landonorris đ€€đ€€đ
âł username1 DUDE GIVE IT UP
âł username2 LANDO PLEASE
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
the grid but only the cool ones groupchat
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
liked by username1, username2 and 8,649 others
f1gossip Lando was at Sass Cafe in Monaco tonight. Any theories of who the girl might be? đ
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username1 MESSY LANDO
username2 heâs sooo đ
username3 i need lando to look at me like that
username4 that happening to me could save me
username5 just fell to my knees
username6 isnât that yn the brazilian model??
âł username1 WAIT
âł username2 you have a point
âł username3 NO WAY đ©
âł username4 wait a damn minute thatâs her
âł username5 WHY IS LANDO LOOKING AT HER LIKE THAY
username6 ooohhh i see đđ
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
yourinstagram has added to their stories
replies:
iamrebeccad I have major fomo right now đ„Č
âł yourinstagram YOU SHOULDâVE BEEN THERE
madisonbeer đđđ
anokyai monaco loves you âšâš
alexandrasaintmleux my new bff đđ
âł yourinstagram i literally love you so much
landonorris miss you already đ
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
the grid but only the cool ones groupchat
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 612,976 others
yourinstagram first time watching race cars đïž good luck tomorrow to my dear friend carlitosss
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username1 OMGGGGG
username2 SHE WAS AT QUALI ?? SLAY
username3 wag energy
arianagrande đđđ
username4 lando norris was found yelling
username5 THE FACT THAT SHES LANDOâS CRUSH THO
scuderiaferarri â€ïž
username6 LANDO X YN FINALLY???
username7 she fits right in she should date lando
username8 WE NEED THE QUEEN AT THE SĂO PAULO GP
username9 the only girl that matters
alexandrasaintmleux Linda đđâš
âł yourinstagram eu te amo !
brunamarquezine đđđ
username10 BET LANDO FREAKED OUT
username11 okay but carlos looks so good
carlossainz55 Te quiero!
âł yourinstagram đ„°đ„°
iamrebeccad â€ïžâ€ïžâ€ïž
landonorris the most gorgeous girl in the paddock
âł username1 THERE HE IS
âł username2 the fact that she has never ever acknowledged any of his comments has me dying
âł username3 he has BALLS
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
landonorris sent you a message request
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
liked by username1, username2 and 11,390 others
f1gossip Landinho is in full summer break swing ! The driver was spotted in SĂŁo Paulo tonight đ
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username1 LANDINHOOO IS BACK
username2 UMMM AM I READING THIS RIGHT
username3 he did not....
username4 yn just give this boy a chance we all know you keep him hanging
username5 WE WON
username6 he speaks portuguese and all now
username7 this man istg
username8 suddenly brazil is his favorite country in the world
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
landonorris sent you a message request
yourinstagram started following landonorris
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
liked by username1, username2 and 13,987 others
f1gossip Lando was spotted out and about in SĂŁo Paulo tonight, but if you look closely, you might notice he's carrying a purse and a phone with a Rhode case. Was Landinho in a date with someone? đ
view all comments
username1 LORD
username2 CUT THE CAMERAS
username3 lando dating a brazilian woman ?? UM YES
username4 IM SUDDENLY BLIND
username5 if it's not yn then we don't want it
username6 I NEED CONFIRMATION THAT HE WAS WITH YN
username7 oh to have lando norris carrying my purse and phone for me
username8 that's a MAN
username9 GOING INSANE
yourinstagram has added to their stories
replies:
madisonbeer girl you're so messy but ily
âł yourinstagram nice case right? đ
alexandrasaintmleux Are we finally twinning in the paddock?
âł yourinstagram we'll seeeeeeee
carlossainz55 Excuse me?
âł yourinstagram hi carlitos
âł carlossainz55 You really gave that muppet a chance?
âł yourinstagram what can i say, he's persistent
landonorris Linda đđ
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
âââââââââ ౚৠâââââââââ
liked by landonorris, bellahadid and 1,287,399 others
yourinstagram i heard something about race cars in sĂŁo paulo?
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username1 STUNNING
username2 that's not face card that's face economy
alexandrasaintmleux đđđ
username3 LANDO THIS IS YOUR CHANCE
username4 future wag?
username5 COME ON LANDO SHOOT YOUR SHOT ONE LAST TIME
username6 if the rumors about her and lando are real....
madisonbeer my queen actually đ
username7 THIS IS WAG MATERIAL
username8 how funny woud it be if she starts dating another driver when lando has been begging since forever
username9 LINDA
userame10 and when the queen graces interlagos with her presence
landonorris đđđ
âł username1 LANDOOOO
âł username2 i respect him
âł username3 you better win that mf race
liked by username1, username2 and 4,088 others
f1gossip Our eyes are not fooling us, Brazil's national treasure is at the Interlagos circuit paddock with Lando Norris right now
view all comments
username1 OMFGGGG
username2 yall don't know the lore
username3 he actually did it....
username4 LANDO NORRIS I NEVER DOUBTED YOU
username5 i used to pray for times like these
username6 HES SOOOOOOOO
username7 lando norris the man that you are
liked by landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux and 2,098,765 others
yourinstagram i told him we could hard launch only if he scored a podium in my country and he didn't so you'll never know who's this fine man đ
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username1 STOOOOOPPP
username2 MESSY
username3 girl we know that's lando you fell for his charms
sabrinacarpenter đđđ
username4 LANDO NORRIS YOU CHAMP
iamrebeccad đđđ
username5 never doubting little lando norris again
brunamarquezine NO WAY
username6 im so lost whats going on
username7 from not getting a follow back to this LANDOOOO
carlossainz55 Ay dios mio đ€Šââïž
âł yourinstagram we love you carlitossss
âł username1 i bet he refused to be lando's wingman so many times
bellahadid we have some catch up to do
username8 plot twist this is not lando
username9 THIS PICTURE IS SO HOT
username10 most iconic couple already
landonorris i wonder who that fine man could be
âł username1 LANDO YOU DO THE HARD LAUNCH
âł username2 i bet he's living
landonorris o mais linda đđ
âł username3 LANDINHOOO
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landonorris lost the podium but won something else. obrigado đ§đ·
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username1 OMFG
username2 THIS MAN ISTG
username3 lando norris you're one little menace
charles_leclerc FINALLY
âł georgerussell63 After years of being rejected
âł danielricciardo Look at our boy go đ
âł username1 HEEEELPP THEY ALL KNEW
maxverstappen1 You owe me...
âł username2 I NEED THE LOREEE
mclaren đ§Ą
username4 THIS IS TOO ICONIC
username5 okay she's gorgeous
username6 persistence is key i guess
username7 HEEELP HE JUST COULDN'T WAIT
username8 lando dating a brazilian is such a win
yourinstagram you're a cutieeee i guess
#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris fanfiction#lando norris smau#lando norris fic#f1 x reader#f1 fanfiction#f1 imagine#ln4 fanfiction#ln4 x reader#lando norris blurb#f1 smau#formula 1 fanfiction#formula 1 x reader#harrysfolklore#lando norris fluff
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Beyond Probability JJK (m.)
summary: Matching with an idol? Unlikely. But with a 99% compatibility? Beyond probability. pairing: idol!Jungkook x f!reader genre: idolvers, S2L, fluff, smut rating: 18+, MDNI! warnings: fluff, fluff, a bit of self doubt, fluff, fluff, explicit sexual content, shower sex, unprotected sex, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 4k
a/n: Itâs a rly cute and short oneshot, light and mainly fluff, nothing too deep, no big words etc this time. Just had to get it out of my system since the ideaâs been on my mind for months now (unedited bc I fell ill halfway through writing it đ€)
a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! đ
Your biological clockâs tickingâhas been for some years nowâand even though youâre only now nearing 30, youâre painfully aware that the life you pictured as a kid might never come true.
Itâs not like youâre unstable in who you are or what youâre doing. Youâre fairly successful at your job, youâve got your own place, and youâre more social than most people these days. Still, youâre only what most would call average-looking, and even though youâve got a good career, youâre too soft to keep it up forever. You picture yourself more as a loving wife and mother than a corporate boss bitch climbing the ladder of success.
Thatâs also why your dating life has been rocky all along. Men see what you put out there, but they donât like who you really are or what you want from life, which has left you single for most of it.
So, when a new project startsâafter the K-pop industry finally acknowledges that idols need partnerships and a life of their own, and fans finally understand that these people are human too, that they deserve to experience love and happiness like everyone elseâyou decide to take your chances too.
Funnily enough, all the labels have teamed up, hiring not only the best scientists and psychologists from Korea but from around the world to create a program that can find ideal matches for their idols. Sure, science shouldnât determine who you fall in love with, but⊠what if it could?
After being pre-selectedâjust to confirm youâre not some crazed fanâyouâve spent over two weeks going through tests. Recorded interviews, personality assessments, even physical evaluations⊠now youâre staring at your companyâs computer screen, listening to Dr. Song explain the results through the phone.Â
âNinety-nine percent?â
âYes. The chances of such a high compatibility score are next to impossible. We see it as a perfect match and would like to introduce you to your match.â
âSure, of course.â Even though your voice is steady, you can feel your nerves flaring up like never before.
âIs tomorrow at 8 p.m. alright for you?â
âYes, that works for me.â
âPerfect, weâll see you then.â
Well, jokeâs on you, you didnât expect this outcome.Â
Meeting an idol feels surreal, and the closer you get to 8 p.m. the next day, the more you can feel the anxiety and doubts inside you rising. Every last detail in Dr. Songâs calm, clinical rundown replays in your mind, the ninety-nine percent match, the endless rounds of testing, the surreal realisation that, somehow, all those numbers and algorithms miraculously spat out a name next to yours.Â
You want to trust that thereâs a reason for this, that somehow science isnât just working with chance, but the tension of actually meeting someone this special is so overwhelming you barely notice yourself entering the lab building until youâre standing outside Dr. Songâs office.
âRight on time,â she chirps, giving you an approving nod. She seems to sense your nerves, and as she leads you down a hallway youâve never been before, she gives you a reassuring smile. âI know this is all a lot. But heâs likely feeling the same way. The tests told us that heâs, well, quite like you.â
Her words would make you laugh in any other situation, though disbelief and a strange kind of comfort floods through you still. Like you. An idol, standing here in a lab somewhere to meet some random stranger, feeling just as out of place as you. Youâre not sure of that but still like to think it must be true.Â
You donât have time to process it fully before youâre led into a quiet room with yellowish walls so plain they almost blur in the corners of your vision, a low, comfortable couch and a couple of chairs standing there and none of the lab equipment that surrounded you in the testing rooms all those weeks ago.Â
And then you spot him, sitting on the couch, alone. He stands the second you walk in, hands half in his pockets, a slight, almost unsure smile grazing his lips as he glances down at you. Heâs got that casual look about him, the same dark eyes youâve seen a hundred times on a screen that somehow feel warmer and more human here.Â
He looks not quite better than he does on screen, but not worse either. Somehow, heâs realer, if thatâs a wordâclose enough that you can see the little flecks of colour in his irises, the slight tension in his posture, the faintest trace of nerves hiding under his composure.
âHi.â Jungkookâs voice is lower, softer than you expect from an idol. âNice to meet you, Iâm Jungkook.â
âNice to meet you too. Iâm ___.â Thereâs a pause, and you can tell heâs just as unsure what to do with the space between you two as you are. The click of the door makes you turn around briefly, only to realise Dr. Song has left you both alone. âThis is, um, weird, right?â
He nods, a quick, breathy laugh breaking through. âVery. I mean, this isnât exactly a ânormalâ kind of meeting, right?â
His words are awkward but disarming, and suddenly, youâre aware of all the tiny, meticulous details of him that somehow make him feel more relatable than his polished, on-screen persona. The way his hand keeps moving to rub against his thigh or abs, his tongue playing with his lips and piercing ever so slightlyâeverything about him is familiar but also somehow close enough to feel completely new.
âI donât think I was ready for this,â you admit. You arenât really talking to him but more like letting your own thoughts slip out in the safest way possible, like saying it makes it feel less absurd.
âHonestly, same.â He laughs, and you think thereâs a light flutter in your chest now. âI kept thinking about this whole ninety-nine percent thing. Like⊠how does that even work? Isnât it supposed to feel, I donât know, obvious? Like you know the moment you see someone?â
You nod, understanding exactly what he means, and somehow you move on autopilot, walking towards him and sitting down on that couch with him beside you. It feels like you should both somehow know, like thereâs a sign or an instant connection, something that would make all of this feel simple, easy. But itâs just the two of you in a quiet room, barely knowing each other, held together by nothing but a number on a report.
âYeah, thatâs so wild. I didnât think Iâd have a match, this close to a hundred even less. Might be a glitch if our score is this high.â
Jungkook nods with sparkling eyes, seemingly relieved by your honesty and humour. âYeah, I get that. I kept thinking about it too. Wondering if maybe the tests were wrong, or maybe I was justâŠthinking too much.â He lets out a sigh, his gaze meeting yours for a long, meaningful second. âBut I think maybe this is about finding out, right? Not having it all make sense right away.â
âHm, makes sense.â You giggle, because what else can you do in the presence of him.
The two of you sit there in a momentary silence, as if testing each other, feeling out the small boundaries that keep you both distant.
âSo, what did the report tell you about me?â You ask the question half-jokingly, trying to break the quiet, but also curious. You want to know what he knows, how much of this supposed ninety-nine percent compatibility is actually something that either of you feel.Â
He lets out a silent breath, looking down as if slightly embarrassed. âHonestly, not as much as youâd think. They told me you were kind of⊠soft-spoken but resilient? And that you have a job thatâs, uh, stable andâŠâ He trails off, the tips of his ears slightly pink, like heâs embarrassed to keep going.
âAnd?â You canât help but push furtherânot maliciously, just way too curious and playful for your own good. Jungkookâs expression shifts from embarrassed to surprised, and then to a look thatâs just as playful.
âAnd that weâre, apparently, very much sexually compatible.â
Really, you should be the one feeling embarrassed or shy now, but you canât help the laugh that slips out. You know exactly what heâs hinting atâyour report clearly showed the same.
âWell, it might be not wrong. And they told meâŠâ You pause, realising that you barely remember the details in the face of the reality in front of you but alas. âThey said youâd be a good match because, I think, there was something about humour?â
He chuckles, shaking his head. âHumour? Never heard of it.â And it makes you laugh all over again. âI feel like they just told us things weâd want to hear, to make it seem easier and normal.â
His words hit close to home, but theyâre strangely comforting in the way he says them. You reckon, heâs just as bewildered by this as you are, maybe even more so. And somehow, in the middle of all the awkwardness, you find yourself genuinely smiling at him, naturally gravitating towards him, finding that thereâs a softness and reassurance in his gaze, a gentleness that cuts through your nerves like a knife through melted butter in the sun.Â
You start talking more freely after that, exchanging stories that are too mundane to make sense in any real context but feel right here. You tell him about your last trip to the beach, how you got sunburned and spent the whole evening sitting on your balcony, nursing it with iced water and aloe, wishing for a helping hand that you didnât have. He laughs, nodding along as if he can picture it exactly and tells you about how he tried to make pasta he ate in Italy for the first time a few months back and ended up burning the whole batch, because no one was by his side, so badly his kitchen smelled like smoke for days.
The more you talk, the more you notice the little things about him that arenât so polished, arenât so perfect, and make him feel more human and real than anyone you ever met. He has a way of listening, eyes intent on yours, like heâs trying to pick apart every word to understand it better. When he laughs, itâs with his whole face, even body, not the careful, composed look of an idol but a natural, carefree laugh that makes you feel like maybe heâs as relieved as you are to be here, to have someone he doesnât have to impress.Â
At some point, you both lapse into a comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts but somehow still connected. The tension from earlier has faded away, replaced by a soothing aura you know you donât want to miss for a day in your life.
Eventually, Jungkook glances over at you, his eyes sucking you in without much resistance. âI kept thinking this would feel forced, you know? Like weâd be sitting here, struggling to find anything in common.â He leans back, drapes his arm around the back of where youâre sitting, glancing up at the ceiling as if searching for the right words. âBut⊠it doesnât feel that way. You feel⊠I donât know, right?â
The slight flutter in your chest has now swelled into a full-blown hurricane, and youâre not sure if itâs that ninety-nine percent compatibility causing it. But you donât let yourself think too muchânot when youâve both been inching closer with each word, not when you take a chance and lean in, resting your head against his side. Especially not when his arm settles directly over your shoulder, pulling you a little closer, his other hand finding yours, fingers intertwining just to see how it feels.
âYeah, it feels right. I really like this.â
As you absently play with his fingers, breathing in his scent for the first time and deciding itâs like heaven, you let yourself trust science. Because this feels like exactly where youâre meant to be.
While the first meeting with Jungkook went better than youâd ever hoped, youâre painfully aware of your overthinking nature. Overthinking in a way that makes it painfully clear there are countless women out there who, on the surface, would seem a better visual match for him than you.
Overthinking to the point where you wonder why Jungkook would even need matchmaking when he could so easily choose a partner on his own. Itâs also why staying focused at work isnât exactly easy today, knowing that soon his label will be sending a car to pick you up for your next meeting with him.
You understand the precautions theyâve taken and completely agree itâs better to meet in a private, safe space rather than making headlines this early on. Thatâs why, as the tinted car arrives, you feel a bit more at ease than you have all day.
Soon enough, youâre driving down the path to the labelâs underground garage, and while you fix your makeup real quick, the car comes to a stop. The driver nods and guides you towards the lift, where the lights are dim and everything has this quiet, professional atmosphere youâve only seen on screen.
You try to take it all in, letting your thoughts settle just a bit more as you follow through to the hallways upstairs, past doors labelled with room numbers and studios, and then finally, youâre outside the door to Jungkookâs studio, right where youâre supposed to meet.
Your heart beats a little faster as you hear Jungkookâs familiar voice call out, âCome in,â and when you open the door, you find him leaning casually against the chair before his equipment with an easy smile that somehow manages to be both happy and slightly flirty.Â
Again, Jungkookâs dressed just like uniquely him, with a few silver rings glinting on his fingers. And while you didnât think heâd even get up to greet you, he steps forward and embraces you in hug so tight, it leaves you drowning in him.Â
âHey,â he greets with that disarming grin, eyes boring into you, taking in your formal work attire, as he gestures to the coffee set up besides his laptop. âHope you donât mind the casual vibe.â
You laugh a little, settling onto the free chair beside him, feeling a bit strange but somehow not. âI think itâs perfect. And to be honest, I donât think Iâd cope well with the whole five-star dining treatment and whatnot.â
He laughs, nodding in agreement, taking your purse from your hands and draping it casually over the back of his chair. The fact that heâs still so attentive, even though heâs clearly in his element here but completely relaxed, is rather fascinating and pulls you in even more.
Like the day before, talking with him comes easy, and while thereâs nothing groundbreaking in your conversations, every word feels meaningful in the bigger picture.
Eventually, you feel yourself relaxing like you were at home by your own, getting comfortable enough to let out the thoughts that have been swimming in your head since last night. âIâve thought a lot about how all of this could play out,â you admit, taking a sip of your coffee, trying to find the right words, though knowing there wonât be any wrong words when talking with Jungkook. âAnd honestly, Iâm not really interested in taking things public if they did work out. I know thatâs probably strange to say, but Iâm not cut out for the spotlight.â
He tilts his head, watching you thoughtfully. âNo, itâs not strange at all. I get it.â
A small smile tugs at your lips as you go on, âI just want something real. A partner whoâs loyal, someone whoâs there because we get each other, not because weâre some public âitâ couple, parading around every chance we get. Does that sound crazy?â
He shakes his head, while he swings from one side to the other. âNot at all. That actually sounds perfect to me.â Thereâs a sincerity in his tone that makes you feel, for the first time, like thereâs some truth to your report. âThe whole âidolâ thing is just a job. Itâs not who I am, not at the core. And having someone who sees it that way, is what I want too.â
It elates you to know that you could have something like this, with him, someone you could genuinely share your life with.
Then, in a thoughtful voice, he asks, âWhat do you want for the future? I mean, outside all of this.âÂ
You take a breath, feeling a little nervous but wanting to be honest. Itâs not like itâs news to him, seeing that this informationâs written in the report he was handed. âI want something traditional. A home, a family, maybe staying home with kids, having that steady, grounded life. It sounds simple, I know, but itâs what Iâve always pictured.â You look up at him, expecting maybe a hint of judgement, but instead, you find him nodding, his eyes lighting up like a candle in the night.
âI donât think that sounds simple at all, but meaningful.â
A shy smile forms on your lips as you add, âSometimes I feel like people donât see that side of things anymore, you know? Like everyoneâs so focused on careers and success and everything else⊠and I get that, I do, but Iâve always just wanted something steady. Something I can hold on to.â
His hand finds yours, his fingers like second nature intertwine with yours, and the gesture is so simple yet so heartwarming that you feel like squealing out of happiness. âThatâs exactly what I want too.â Itâs nothing new to you too, but him saying that, seeing the honesty in his eyes, is better than any data shown to you. âI want that sense of home.â
You feel yourself falling a little harder, a little faster, and maybe that scares you a bit. Youâve seen the kind of attention he gets, the kind of girls that throw themselves at him, and itâs hard not to let those doubts creep in. Especially now. âI know this probably sounds insecure,â you start awkwardly, glancing away, âI think, I donât know, maybe Iâm not the kind of person someone like you would go for. I mean, you could have anyone, and not just because youâre an idol.â
He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin. And while his mouth opens to say something, the pull against your hand surprises you as much as him settling you in his lab. âHey, donât think like that. Iâm here because I want to be. And trust me, Iâm not looking for âanyoneâ. Iâm looking for someone who gets me. And that someone is you, no?â
The look in his eyes is so genuine, so unguarded, that itâs hard to keep your heart from doing all sorts of stunts. Heâs not the polished idol right now; heâs just Jungkook, being flirty, being compassionate, being so him, sitting in a cosy studio with his tattoos, his piercings, his moles, his beautiful smile, his whole presence more comfortable and inviting than you could have imagined.
And as he sits there, looking at you like youâre the only person in the world, you realise that you definitely donât have to doubt this. Maybe itâs okay to let yourself believe that heâs here because he wants to be, that heâs falling for you irrevocably just as youâre falling for him.Â
âSooo⊠that means?â You know you need to be brave now, because if this isnât a dream, youâd never forgive yourself for not taking the leap.
âThat means, if you want to, Iâd love to have you as my girlfriend.â
âIsnât it a bit rushed?â You donât actually think so, but you still need to be sure.
âIâm all in if you are. I donât want to waste any more time, and even though itâs just a report, I can feel thereâs real truth behind it.â
Fast forward seven months, and you find yourself pressed against the shower wall like you do every night. But this time, itâs differentâjust hours ago, you made your first public appearance on a music show with Jungkook, just because you both felt ready, where he was not only nominated for Best Singer of the Year but won as well.
âKoo, right there, right there.â
It still amazes you how his cock seems to find your g-spot as soon as he enters you, though you wouldnât want it any other way.
âYeah? Right there, hm? Or is itâŠâ he trails off, shifting his hips ever so slightly, making you realise heâs actually hit the centre point of your g-spot now, his hard, unrelenting thrusts pushing you over the edge without warning.
âOh my goooddd,â your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open against the cool shower wall, as your cunt keeps gripping him even though itâs already creaming around his cock.
âGood girl, keep going, love. Show me how many you can take tonight.â
Thereâs nothing you can do, not that youâd want to do anything other than let him rearrange your insides. Especially not when his tattooed hand finds its way from the back of your hair to your jaw, tilting your head to the side, giving you the perfect view of his upper bodyârivulets of water cascading down his chiselled form, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed.Â
Heâs the epitome of perfection. Not just a ninety-nine percent but a hundred.Â
His eyes, though hooded, bore into your soul as his hips pick up the pace. Itâs this connection you share with him make being with him feel so special.
âKooâŠâ
âI know, love, just a bit more. Can you be a good girl?â
âYes,â you moan, because hell, you can. âYes, for youâŠah, winning the trophy.â
Even though you shouldnât feel his cock twitch with the pace heâs set, you do, realising instantly what he needs tonight.
âBest singer, KooâŠfuckâŠbest boyfriend, only fucking me when, hmm, the whole world wants a piece of you.â
âOnly you. Always you, ___, love.â You think you catch him licking a drop of saliva from his lips as he stares down at where your bodies connect, sending another wave of arousal from your stretched-out hole.
âYouâre so big.â
âJust for you, fuck, squeeze a bit more.â
Itâs not that you did it on purpose, but when his hand shoots down to your clit, circling it just right, your body responds as though itâs never felt this good, soaking him even more and gripping him tight as a vice.
âLike that, love, like that.â Jungkook grunts and pants, holding you harder, tighter as his cock seems to swell even more, pumping frantically in sync with your impending second orgasm.
When Jungkook canât hold back any longer, itâs all you need to let go too, the rush flowing through your veins just as fiercely as the love you feel for this man.
After some time, Jungkook pulls out, helping you straighten up and lean against his chest under the stream. His veiny hands trail down your body, washing away his release dripping out of you, as he plants kisses along the side of your face.
When heâs had enough, he, like always, turns you, brushing the wet strands of hair from your face. And as you do the same to him, captivated by how content and in love he looks, you canât help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world when, for the first time, Jungkook declares his feelings.
âI love you, till the day I die, ___.â
âI love you too, and beyond.â
Because this, because having Jungkook calling you his, is beyond probability.
a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! đ If you liked what you read, pls consider buying me a âïž Ko-fi.com/runariya đ
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#fic: beyond probability#bts imagines#bts fanfic#bts army#jungkook x reader#bts jungkook#jeon jungkook#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x you#jungkook imagine#jjk x reader#jungkook#idolverse#Jungkook idolverse#Jungkook smut#bts smut#Jungkook fluff#bts fluff
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àȘâ⎠âĄđš content warning: smut, innocence corruption, masturbation, public fingering, praise, sneaking around, mentions of sex and virginity loss, small age gap (both characters are adults), pervy!brothersbsf!matt, innocent!reader
àȘâ⎠âĄđš author's note: sooo i wasn't planning on making a part two for this fic, but you guys asked, and now there will be multiple parts. you can read part one here.
àȘâ⎠âĄđš summary: your brother's childhood best friend, matt sturniolo, takes your virginity, and the two of you begin sneaking around in plain sight.
young god part two
Matt woke up in a cold sweat, his chest covered in a thick layer of perspiration, laying on the floor next to your brother's bed in his dark room. He had heard your brother's voice so clearly in his dream that he was sure it was real while it was happening.
He had taken your virginity earlier in the night, and his conscience was already nagging at him in the form of vivid nightmares that the interaction had ended in your brother walking in on the two of you.
In reality, he was thankfully a heavy sleeper, and it was a running joke in the family that he could sleep through a car accident, and he actually had once. It was a minor fender bender, but still. So even as Matt woke up in a panic, gasping for air, your brother was snoring loudly, the same way he was when Matt had snuck back into the room after he'd cleaned you up.
It's not that Matt regretted having sex with you. In fact, he was already plotting how he could get you alone again. But he knew he was playing a dangerous game. Your brother was bigger than he was, stronger than he was, and he'd seen him beat the shit out of people for less. Matt really believed him when he told him he'd kill him if he had sex with you.
But how could he have walked away from you after finding you like that, pleasuring yourself and moaning his name? He really thought it would have been more cruel to have left you all alone to your own devices when he knew that what you really wanted was between his legs, and he knew he could make you feel better than any toy could.
He started pawing at himself through the soft fabric of his underwear while he replayed the encounter in his head. He recalled the way he had stumbled upon you with your vibrator, softly moaning his name from one room over. He remembered how vulnerable and fuckable you'd looked.
His curious hand wandered into his waistband, and he wrapped his fingers around his thick shaft, fervently tugging at his cock while he recounted the shocked expression on your pretty face while he'd breached your entrance. He couldn't stop thinking about all the lovely sounds you'd made while he'd deflowered you, stretching you out for the very first time.
He started pumping faster, his mind flooded with images of you, getting closer and closer to the finale. He remembered how you'd clenched around him while he played with you and the way your breasts had jiggled while he had pounded into your sweet little cunt.
You were no longer pure and virginal, and it was all thanks to him. He had tainted your innocence with his dark desires.
He threw his head back and shut his eyes as a few strangled moans filled the room. His stomach dropped, and his muscles tightened as he finished himself off, milking his throbbing cock for all of its worth. He came all over his hand while he pictured your hole dripping with his seed after he'd filled you up.
He remembered the way you had softly begged him, "Please, don't tell my brother," while peering up at him with your big eyes, your lip caught between your teeth as his cum was still dribbling out of you. "I wouldn't dream of it," he had panted in response before leaning down and pulling you into a deep kiss.
A satisfied smile formed on Matt's face as he slowly brought his strokes to a halt, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. He couldn't wait until the next time he got to have his way with you.
Finally, Matt was able to drift off again and sneak in a few more hours of uninterrupted sleep before the sun began to rise.
àȘâ⎠âĄđšàȘâ⎠âĄđšàȘâ⎠âĄđšàȘââŽ
The next morning, you woke up smiling and satisfied from what Matt had done to you the previous night. You galavanted into the long hallway, tiptoeing past your brother's door. You floated down the staircase, running your hand along the smooth banister like you did every morning on your way to the kitchen.
"Morning Boots!" You greeted the family dog, ruffling his fur, and he wagged his tail in response. You let him out the back door to do his morning business.
You were humming to yourself, rifling through the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs when Matt appeared out of the corner of your eye at the bottom of the steps. "Shit," you muttered as you lost your grip on the carton of eggs, sending the last six in the container crashing to the floor about your feet.
"Sorry, sweet thing. I didn't mean to startle you," Matt chuckled, watching you forget how your motor skills worked just because he was in your presence. "Hi, Matt," you timidly greeted him.
For a moment, you glanced up at him and then back down at the shattered eggs beneath you as you remembered the vulnerable position he'd seen you in the night before. You knelt down on the ground and started scooping up the broken shells.
"I make you nervous, don't I?" Matt smirked, slowly walking towards you. You innocently looked up at him with a flushed expression and your big, doe eyes. You didn't have to respond for him to know he was right. "Has anyone ever told you how pretty you look on your knees?" Matt cooed quietly, bending down and softly brushing his thumb against your smooth, pink cheek.
You felt your stomach drop as Matt looked into your eyes, caressing your face and saying all the right things to you. "You were such a good girl for me last night," Matt whispered, smiling deviously and running the pad of his thumb along your plump bottom lip.
Suddenly, you heard heavy foot steps descending the stairs, and Matt quickly pulled his hand away as your brother materialized at the bottom of the staircase. Matt started to help you pick up the broken egg shells, but you couldn't will away the pink shade your face took on after Matt had spoken so sweetly to you.
"That's okay. I'll just have cereal for breakfast," your brother rolled his eyes, approaching the pantry after witnessing the mess. "It's my fault," Matt said, winking at you as he stood up, disposing of the eggs shells and rinsing off his hand. You avoided eye contact with them both, cleaning the rest of the egg off the tile.
You appreciated that Matt took the attention off you by taking the blame. You were paranoid that if your brother looked at you for too long that he could see it written on your face that you weren't a virgin anymore.
"You know, why don't we all go out for breakfast?" Matt suggested, smirking over at you once he picked up the nearly empty carton of milk out of the fridge.
àȘâ⎠âĄđšàȘâ⎠âĄđšàȘâ⎠âĄđšàȘââŽ
You, Matt, and your brother found yourselves at a nearby local diner with a bit of a 50's vibe to it - classic checkerboard floor, a vintage jukebox, and vinyl pink booths. I Only Have Eyes For You by The Flamingo's played quietly through the speakers as a woman in bright red lipstick and a poodle skirt greeted the three of you and led you towards your table in the back of the empty restaurant.
Both you and your brother sat down across from each other, and Matt made the bold move of taking a seat next to you, earning a curious look from your brother that Matt quickly brushed off.
The waitress poured fresh, hot coffee into each of your ceramic mugs and set off in another direction to give you all a few minutes with your menus.
You decided on French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Matt got the biscuits and gravy combo, and your brother got steak and eggs. Shortly after ordering, the server came back around to top off everyone's coffee.
"So what do you guys like the most about being away at college?" You asked Matt and your brother as you stirred a couple sugars and cream into your mug. "Definitely the fact that our overprotective mother isn't always asking where I'm going," your brother chuckled, taking a sip of coffee.
"How about you, Matt? What do you like the most about college?" You asked, batting your lashes at him. "Probably how loud I can fuck now that I don't live at home with my parents," Matt said, smirking over at you.
"Wow. How inspirational. Maybe tone done the sex talk in front of my little sister, huh?" Your brother snorted, dipping his fingers into his water and flicking it at Matt. Matt did the same in return. You blushed and giggled at their rapport.
"What have you guys missed the most about being home?" You wondered, glancing between the two boys. "I missed Boots the most. We can't keep pets in our dorm rooms," your brother stated, excited to be around the family dog again.
You turned your attention towards the boy to your left to hear his response. "I missed you the most," Matt said in a seductive voice, staring into your eyes, nudging you in the knee with his, and secretly placing his hand on your thigh. You smiled and blushed at him.
"Did you miss me as much as I missed you?" He cooed, gently drawing circles with his fingers just inches from your heat. You bit your lip and nodded. "Hey, Matt. Could you stop hitting on my little sister in front of me?" Your brother asked nonchalantly. "No. Look at how much she likes it," Matt sneered at him, and your brother kicked him under the table.
It was a small price to pay in order to watch how embarrassed and flustered you'd get around him.
It was around this time that the waitress returned with your steaming hot breakfast. The smell of maple syrup and bacon wafted through the air, and you each thanked her as she placed your plates in front of you all. There were a few moments of silence while everyone dug into their meals.
You felt Matt's hand that was resting on the inside of your thigh as he started hiking up your sparkly pink dress and inching towards your pussy. Your eyes widened, and you slowly looked over towards Matt as he casually pulled your panties to the side.
He shot a subtle smirk in your direction as he slipped a finger between your folds, gently stroking up and down and just barely grazing your clit. You bit down on your lip to suppress a whimper. With one hand between your legs and the other gripping his fork, he nodded at your brother while he recounted his least favorite teacher his first semester of his freshman year of college.
"Hopefully, you don't get him next year, sis. Basically had to teach myself trigonometry because he refused to dumb down the information. Pretentious bastard," your brother mumbled under his breath. "Yeah, and he was a real hard-ass for no reason," Matt added, gesturing with his fork while he rubbed your sensitive button underneath the table.
"Just because you never showed up to class doesn't mean every single one of your teachers is a hard-ass, Matt," your brother snarked at him. Matt chuckled at your brother's comment while he inserted a finger into your drooling hole as you were taking a sip of your coffee.
You inhaled sharply, sputtering on your hot drink and nearly spitting it out onto the table. "You good?" Your brother asked you, and you nodded while you placed your mug back down with a trembling hand. "Lay off the coffee. You're shaking," he pointed out before cutting into his steak.
Matt slowly thrust his finger into you while you tried to remain as composed as possible. You loved the feeling of him moving in and out of you while your brother was across from you, unaware of what the two of you were up to on the other side of the booth.
Thankfully, after a few more minutes, your brother excused himself to use the bathroom, and he walked away without paying any mind to what Matt's fingers were doing under the table.
The second he disappeared around the corner, Matt grabbed ahold of your leg and rested it on his knee to open you up further. He spread your lips and stared down at your wet, juicy cunt. "Such a pretty pink pussy you have," Matt admired, hungrily wetting his lips.
He lined two of his fingers up with your entrance and started fucking you hard and fast with them under the table. "If the waitress or your brother start coming this way, be a good girl and let me know. I don't think this will take very long, though," he whispered, seductively smiling at you.
A few strangled moans escaped your lips as you gripped the edge of the table. "Good girl. You're so wet," Matt softly commented as his digits slipped in and out of you with ease. You could feel your stomach dropping, your core tightening, and your whole body quivering as Matt brought you to the quickest climax you'd had in your life.
There was something about the risky factor and the publicity of it all that sent you plummeting over the edge while Matt passionately finger-fucked you.
"That's it. Cum all over my fingers. Come on, sweet thing. I know you can do it," he urged you. His praise sent a current of pleasure through you while you started rhythmically clenching around his digits, your hips bucking as he finished you off.
"Good girl," he lustfully commended you as your jaw fell open and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He pumped in and out, slowing down his pace as your orgasm concluded. A wave of tranquility washed over you, and Matt gave you a mischevious smile as he pulled his fingers from your slick hole that were covered in shiny layer of your juices.
"Mmm," he hummed as he stuck them in his mouth and licked them clean, cherishing your flavor. "I can't get enough of you," he whispered as you pulled your legs shut again, smoothing out your dress, and going back to eating your food as your brother came into view from around the corner on his way back from the bathroom.
You almost couldn't believe you'd let Matt do that to you in such a high-risk situation, but you fucking loved the rush you got from it, and Matt could tell due to how quickly you came.
When your brother returned to the table, you could feel how flushed your face must have looked as your brother's eyes traveled between you and his best friend. Matt couldn't hide the guilty smirk from his face, but he tried to cover it with his hand as he propped his elbow up on the table.
He got a sort of sick satisfaction out of sneaking around with his best friend's little sister right in front of his face. The only problem was that he was too smug and arrogant for his own good, and his God complex would quickly have him falling from good graces if he wasn't careful.
"You guys are acting weird today," he commented, narrowing his gaze. "If one of you did something to my food while I was gone, you're both dead," he laughed, skeptically looking at you and the boy beside you.
"Nah, nothing like that. Don't worry about it," Matt replied in a conceited tone. "If you're playing some kind of prank on me, I'm gonna figure it out, Sturniolo," your brother responded, laughing and pointing at him with his fork.
You sat uncomfortably in your soaking wet panties, silently finishing your coffee, unable to look at either one of them. Your heart was still beating quickly, and you were still trying to subtly call your breath back to you. Luckily, the subject changed, and the boys started talking about something unrelated.
You couldn't bring yourself to add to the conversation, so you listened quietly while you picked at your french toast and eggs, trying to draw as little attention to yourself as possible.
You couldn't keep your eyes off Matt the whole ride home, studying his profile and swooning every time he turned around to wink at you or lick his lips while he peered between your legs. Every silent exchange between the two of you felt like a little secret that only the two of you were privy to.
You liked concealing the sexual nature of your relationship with Matt. As far as everyone else around you knew, he was just your brother's best friend. However, behind closed doors (and under the table in empty diners), he was the manifestation of your fantasies, the embodiment of your wildest wet dream, and the boy who had popped your cherry.
All you could think about was the next time you'd get to be alone with him. Behind his hauntingly beautiful blue eyes, he was wondering the same about you, daydreaming about the next time he could fill you with his cock.
àȘâ⎠âĄđš to be continued...
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#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo smut#sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x you#matthew sturniolo#matthew sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo fanfic#matthew bernard sturniolo
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More self aware concepts but humorous.
You end up in the world of Twst but every time you try to tell somebody your actual name you get censored out by some random background noise, a car horn(why is there a car on campus?) a random student running into a tree, Sebek yelling, Kalim's carpet crashing into the person you were talking to, etc... to the point that the others notice and certain troublemakers like Ace, Floyd, and Jade start doing it on purpose because they want to see how the universe censored you. About the fifth time it happens you turn into a mess of explicit language, much to the horror of Vil or Riddle. It turns out the only name you can give them is your in-game name. If you used your own name. You're good. Used the name Yuu? Not so bad. But if you have some hard to say or random numbers? Good luck. You're going to get mocked by Ace especially. Like you couldn't pick something cool at least?
Explaining the friendship system to them. Like trying to explain how the guestroom and sticker system work. The guys you give the stickers vary in reaction. The liars who act like it's no big deal but the stickers end up somewhere safe. The ones who react happy. Thank you, they love them! Then you got the "I would die for these stickers" group. They're gonna protect them so hard.
You got guys like Azul who openly brag "Why yes of course I have more stickers, the prefect is quiet intelligent when it comes to strategizing... blah blah blah. A couple people about ready to shove the stickers down his throat. Stickers end up in odd places. Trey's hat stand, Jack's dumbbell, Rook's quiver, one of Jade's terrariums, etc... Some of them have them tucked away in a box. Floyd walking around with one on his cheek because you drew an eel on it for him.
The guys being stuck doing the same dance routine five times in a row. What do you mean this is a game mechanic? Do they HAVE to perform this much?
You: Oh no I actually have all week but I like to get it all done in one go. Now we gotta do the "piece of my world" set three more times. Chop chop.
Them: Mercy....
You: Mercy is for the weak. Now keep dancing.
The guys be acting up and you're just tired of it.... So the particular trouble makers you pick for lessons. Azul or Jade pissed you off? Welcome to Hell flight class. The two start getting nervous because you know how much they dislike this class right? Then you look them dead in the eye as you bust out the candy jar from your pocket that extends the lessons. The smile you give them. There's no mercy behind those eyes. Azul is trying to figure out a hundred different ways to get you to sign a contract to never torture him with flight class again after you extend the time twice. Everybody knows that if you bring out that jar, nobody is spared. May the seven have mercy on their souls.
#twisted wonderland#twst#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland au#self aware au
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roommates!gojo & geto jerking each other off while thinking abt their cute neighbor they both want soooo bad
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI
°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àł àż
âdo it harder.â geto groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he laid back against satoruâs pillows. said man currently had his hand wrapped around his cock, albeit poorly. his hand was soft as fuck, but he was touching him like he had never touched a dick before. âjerk me off how you jerk yourself off.â
gojo snorted, his words breathy as he spoke, âwhat if i like it soft?â geto shook his head and curled his toes when gojo wrapped his hand around him tighter. âthese walls are thin, iâve heard you having sex and i know you donât like it soft. those poor girls.â
gojo laughed, âthey love it, i think she would love it too.â he said. geto licked his lips, starting to paint an image in his head. âwhat would you do to her?â he asked tentatively, his eyebrows furrowing together when gojo focused on his cock head like the bastard he was.
âmmm i think id start with fingering her.â gojo said. âiâve seen her a couple times in the laundry room bend over in those tiny shortsâyou know the ones. and her-â he stopped talking to groan when geto stroked over a particularly sensitive vein. âthey donât cover much.â
geto nodded, seeing you bent over in his head. âyou think sheâs sensitive?â geto asked, cracking his eyes open to peek at gojo. his eyes were lidded and focused on the hand around his cock. geto tried not to shy away when he felt his pre cum drip into his hand. heâd never jerked anyone off beforeâbesides himself.
âoh yeah,â gojo responded, biting his plush lip. for some reason it made getoâs mouth water. âi think⊠fuck, i think i could make her squirt with just my fingers.â gojoâs face was getting flushed now. it made geto want to tease him. âyeah?â he asked, squeezing his hand tighter around his shaft and relishing in his reaction when he sucked in a breath through his teeth and arched his back. âwould you make her squirt all over our couch?â
gojo moaned at his filthy words and nodded, his head tipping back against the headboard. âyeah.â geto nodded, looking at his roommate even though his eyes were closed. âwhat would you do if i walked in when you were making her cum?â he asked, paying attention to the head of his cock.
âi-id let you suck my fingers clean.â he groaned, making getoâs balls throb at the visual. âgod, sheâd probably get so hot⊠trying to press her thighs together watching me suck your fingers.â gojo nodded, his mouth falling open in a small O.
âwould you want her pussy or her ass?â geto asked, his breath coming more quickly. âass, i know itâs so tight and warm. god. would you want her at the same time?â geto nodded despite him being unable to see. âyeah, just think about how good she would look with tears down her face trying to take us both.â
suddenly, a hand way being wrapped around his wrist. geto opened his eyes fully and watched with rapt attention as gojo cursed before his back arched. he continued stroking him, despite knowing what was gonna happen. he cringed when hot ropes of cum spilled from his dick, coating his hand and his cock and making a lewd sound from the stroking.
gojo gripped getoâs wrist to stop him, and geto pulled it away and made a face at the mess on his hand. gojo also had stopped jerking him off, just weakly holding his throbbing cock. âthat did it for you huh?â he teased. gojo laughed before removing his hand from getoâs cock.
gojo crawled off the edge of the bed and bent down to grab a towel to wipe his cock clean with. geto gripped his cock and languidly started stroking, waiting for gojo to help him get off. âyour turn, one minute man. come keep this fantasy going so i can blow all over your hand and pretend itâs hers.â
a cruel smile twisted on gojoâs face before he dropped the towel and zipped his pants back up. âiâm sure you can finish yourself off.â getos mouth opened in disbelief. âif you need some help, i have porn from last night still up on my laptop, feel free to check it out. itâs really good stuff.â with a wink, he left geto gaping and alone in HIS room with his stiff cock in his hand.
fucking biiiitch.
#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#geto smut#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x geto suguru#satosugu smut#satosugu#suguru geto x reader#geto suguru smut#geto suguru x reader#gojo x geto#geto x gojo#gojo satoru x reader#gojou x reader#satoru gojo#gojo saturo#getou suguru x reader#geto x reader#jjk geto#geto suguru#suguru geto#jujutsu geto#geto x you#.blurb
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Zosan Omegaverse AU: "Marked"
This one got a little away from me lol The concept I wanted was two parts. I want a mark that doesn't go away on Sanji after he's hit by Zoro in Thriller bark. And I want omega healing bc I love that shit lol
Meanwhile on Kuraigana Island:
So if its not clear.....Zoro hits Sanji to knock him out. At the same time they already were bonding but didn't know it. Zoro's knockout(tm) starts the process, Sanji's healing seals the deal. And bc we know how THEY ARE with each other...the mark that normally would have gone away never heals.
Does it heal when they meet back up? Is Sanji able to come to terms with Zoro saving his life AND marking him as a mate? Will Zoro ever figure out what he did? Your guess is as good as mine bc I havne't written that far LOL
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I need apology sex with dealer!Rafe x reader. Oh I would just know he would go beyond to make his girl forgive him. He wouldnât be able to handle causing her any type of hurt and he PUTS IN THAT WORK
#ovulationweek đ
he canât have his pretty girl be upset with him. đ©
You didnât even remember why you had been upset with him in the first place. The frown you had when he had come through the door now gone as he buried his handsome face in your pussy. He couldnât stand to see you pout and all he wanted was for you to forgive him. You were too goddamn pretty to cry, and he had to show you how sorry he was. He had never been one to see the point in eating pussy as he had always been selfish. With you though, he would gladly devour your sweet cunt until you creamed all over his tongue. You were so fucking beautiful, and he couldnât wait to put his dick inside you.
Your whines above had him going, his pert nose buried perfectly against your clit as his tongue lapped up your leaking juices. âYou know daddyâs sorry, yeah?â Heâd mumble between licks, his blue eyes never leaving your face as he watched it contort in pleasure. âSo⊠so⊠so⊠sorry baby.â Heâd whisper in a tone that made your core flutter.
You wanted to protest, be mad again all over as he pulled away. You already missed the warmth of his head between your thighs, but knew you were about to feel warm in a completely different way. You watched with heavy eyes, lash extensions fluttering as he stood up straight. As much as you loved seeing him on his knees for you, his massive frame in all its glory was something else. His large hands came to the back of your thighs, gently pulling your hips down further towards the edge of the bed. âCome here mama, daddyâs gonna show you how sorry he is.â
Oh and he was as the sounds of his sculpted hips smacking into yours filled the room to mix in with the same sounds as your gushy hole and cries of pleasure. Your fresh set dug into the soft sheets, pretty toes curling against his muscled back from him pounding you out with his thick pipe. His expensive chain dangled in your face as he laid into you, his buzzcut already damp with sweat as he was absolutely drilling your shit in.
âYeah⊠canât have my pretty girl upset. Can I? Daddy loves you so fucking much mama. You know Iâll do anything for you. Give you whatever you want.â His said in a raspy voice as he stared down at you.
You knew you were about to make a mess and there was no stopping it. You tried to find the words to warn him, but only could get as far as tapping the tips of your glittery acrylics against his abs. He looked down just in time to watch your pussy spasm around his fat length as you began to squirt not only on him but on yourself as well. He let out a breathless laugh, being covered in your sweetness and watching you shudder against the mattress only riled him up more. âFuckâŠdaddyâs gonna nut all up inside your pretty pussy.â He groaned, jaw falling open slightly as he felt his lower stomach tighten.
It was hard to stay mad at a man who looked like that, calling you pretty while he filled you up with his hot cum. Not to mention once he caught his breath, asking you to pull up the Chanel bag you wanted on his phone.
#rafe cameron#dealer!rafe#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron concepts#outerbanks rafe#rafe outer banks#drew starkey#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey smut#obx#obx smut#outer banks
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im on my knees begging for jealous Simon headcanons đ§đ»ââïž
The thing about Simon is, he really has no reason to get jealous when it comes to you, and he knows it
He knows there isnât anyone else who could make you smile so much your cheeks hurt, no one else who could make you laugh until you claim youâre going to pee your pants, no one else who could make you feel as good as he does, in oh so many ways, because you tell him so
You tell him that those same feelings of being loved, understood, appreciated, and wanted, those very feelings that you make him feel each and every day, he gives them back to you a thousand times over
He knows when you look in his eyes and tell him that you love him, that there isnât a doubt in your mind that he is the only one for you, and nothing or anyone could ever change that
Youâre as smitten with him as he is with you
Still though, Simon does have eyes
And while the logical part of his brain is telling him that heâs got no reason to be gritting his teeth and clenching his fists underneath the table, he canât help but grow more and more frustrated with the way Soap and Gaz continue to flirt shamelessly with you
To be fair, you had warned him that keeping your relationship a complete secret from everyone would likely result is moments where Simon would have to watch you get hit on, and simply have to grin and bear it
That didnât mean it was any easier, watching his only best mates try and work their charm on you, all while he sits at the same table and watches you roll your eyes at their advances
âAw, come on love, just one chance, sâall I ask for!â The handsome, young sergeant practically whines to you, cheeky grin plastered across his features as he tries in vain to convince you to let him take you out some time
âPfft, yeâd be nothinâ but a waste oâ her time, Garrick. We wouldnât even âave to to leave base for me to show ye a good time, bonnie.â The Scotsman winks at you, pointedly ignoring the way Gaz elbows him in the ribs at his comment
Throughout the entire exchange, Ghostâs gaze has never left your face, watching every time you scoff and roll your eyes at the menâs antics, reminding himself that youâre his, and he is yours, and the two sergeants are nothing more than pains in both of your asses
Finished with your pitiful meal from the dining hall, you stand from the table with your tray gathered in your hands, flipping your hair over one shoulder as you look towards the men trying to win your affection
âOnce again, gentleman,â you say to them, knowing that theyâre listening to your every word and watching your every move. âI donât fraternize with colleagues. At least not the Sergeants.â
The two men groan in feeble protest at the mention of their ranks, having heard this reasoning from you before
âAch, what if I get myself demoted, lass? I ken I could do that, easy!â Soap teases you, only kind of joking
âMmm, donât think thatâll work.â You reply, beginning to slowly walk away from the group, but not before glancing over you shoulder to lock eyes with Ghost and add, âYou might have to become a Lieutenant. Those are more my type.â
The two Sergeants are staring after you, slightly gobsmacked, while their Lieutenant hides an overly smug and satisfied grin beneath his mask, shielding the pride that spread through him at your words
âShite, sounds like you might âave a chance, LT.â Soap laughs, smacking Ghost across the shoulder in a playful gesture, thinking that the larger man would never actually pursue you, let alone sleep in your bed almost every night
Itâs a few weeks later when you and the rest of the 141 are all out for drinks at a nearby pub however, when Simon finds his instincts growing stronger than his insecurities
Because thatâs just it isnât it? Heâs not feeling insecure when he sees you walk towards the bar by yourself to order a new drink, at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching you weave through the crowd in hopes of making a move on you
Heâs not feeling insecure when he watches some tipsy idiot try and pretend heâs drunker than he really he is when he âaccidentallyâ bumps into you, apparently feeling the need to put his hands on you as he apologizes
Heâs not feeling insecure when he watches you shove the guy off, reading your lips he knows so well as you tell the guy youâre not interested, nor is he insecure when he knows the idiot wonât give up that easily, likely asking if youâre here alone before you point over to where the 141 have overtaken a booth in the back
No, he certainly isnât feeling insecure when he sees that the man never bothers glancing back to the table, still trying to land a hand on your body somewhere, when Simonâs instincts take over, rising from his seat without a word to the men who glance his way and ask where heâs going suddenly
Heâs acting on pure instinct as he stalks over to you, the crowd parting for his large frame to move by without hesitation, locking eyes with you just as he lands a massive skull gloved hand on the tosserâs shoulder, wringing him around to face him
Your would be admirer isnât feeling so confident now when heâs staring up at a 6â4â wall of muscle donned in all black apart from the white markings of his skull balaclava
If he were a more jealous man, Simon might take more time to admire the way you can practically hear this idiot gulp over the loud sounds of the music, the way his eyes bulge out of his head and how he looks nearly ready to piss himself on the spot
But your man knows who he is to you, and so instead he shoves the geezer away, turning to face you as one hand lifts up the bottom of his balaclava, just far enough to swoop down and meet your lips in a passionate tangle of tongue and teeth, tasting the alcohol on each otherâs breath and the desire in your systems, a kiss that says to everyone else watching, including the bewildered Captain and Sergeants gawking from across the room, that you are his and his alone
#this kind of turned into the opposite of jealous Simon didnât it#sorry anon I promise Iâll do a proper jealous Simon soon#just wanted to post something short and sweet tonight#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#cod simon ghost riley#cod simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#call of duty fanfic#call of duty#call of duty fic#simon ghost riley#simon riley#cod fanfic#ghost x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x you#call of duty ghost#simon fluff#readwritealldayallnight#asks#anon ask
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Iâve only had your baker! simon for one day and I already know that I would cause mass destruction if something happened to him đ no but seriously such a cute and fun read I loved it thank you so much for sharing!
He is my BABY and I am obsessed <3
Part 2 of this!
Warnings: Simon is healing đ€ Fem!Reader.
Simonâs heart skips a beat. Itâs a scam, itâs got to be. No way such a pretty woman would dare talk to him, business move or not. Although, the more he looks through your profile and sees the amount of posts youâre tagged in, itâs easy to conclude that you are, in fact, real. Regardless, heâs still wary as he finally begins typing out a response.
â No charge? Sounds too good to be true. Whatâs the catch?
Maybe a little harsh, but heyâcan never be too careful nowadays. If thereâs one thing the military instilled in him, itâs to trust nobody. Simon flops down onto his couch, fingers anxiously tapping along his knee as he watches you type, the ellipses disappearing and reappearing again. He wonders if youâre just as nervous as he is, but if that were the case, surely you wouldnât have contacted him first.
â No catch, I promise! No offense, itâs just that your pictures are a little grainy and I donât believe they act as a great showcase for your talent. Really, I just want to show you how pretty your treats can look on camera!
Simon sucks his teeth stubbornly. He knows his pictures arenât the best, but fucking hell, must everybody point it out? Heâs about to type a scathing response and block you, but another message pops up beneath your previous one.
â Please, just a chance. Weâre in the same area, so I can just come to you, wherever you want me.
A heavy sigh escapes the big man. His therapist has been telling him heâs too uptight, suggesting that he should balance out his peace by stepping out of his comfort zone once in a while. Besides, whenâs the last time a sweet girl has given him the light of day? Heâd be a fool to pass up this opportunity. Simon pinches the crooked bridge of his nose, trying to talk some sense into himself. Itâs not like itâs a date, simply just two businesses helping each other out. If it doesnât work, he never has to see you again.
Yeah, that sounds good. If everything goes up in flames, he can simply block you and move on with his life, continuing to post shitty pictures of his desserts. His thumbs twitch before tapping the screen once again.
â Youâve beat it out of me. When are you available?
Your response comes faster than he can blink.
â Saturday?
Two days. That gives him plenty of time to prepare (and maybe get Price to order an extensive background check on you). Simon can do that, no problem.
â I can be ready for you by about half 11.
Ready for you? Fucksâ sake, what is this? Sheâs not a bloody prostitute.
â That sounds good! Just send me your address day of. Iâm looking forward to it!! :)
Simon smiles. Simon smiles, and he doesnât even realize it. If he did, he would fix it immediatelyâbut he doesnât. Instead thereâs a pep in his step when he stands from the couch, grabbing his journal and scribbling down his thoughts and ideas for what heâll make on Saturday. His therapist will be proud.
Simon allows himself to be proud as well.
#MY BABY MY BABYYYY#ask me!#call of duty#cod#cod mw2#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#baker!Simon#ghost x female reader#ghost x fem!reader#baker!Simon x fem!reader
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ă Faking it ă
⌠synopsis: you fake an orgasm and they notice so they punish you
⌠characters: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Toji Fushiguro
⌠wc: 1.0k
⌠cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, creampie, thigh riding, hair pulling, mentions of fingering and masturbation/toys, degradation (reader being called "bitch", "pet"), pet names, mean!Toji
⌠notes: once again I am daring you to comment and / or reblog to let me know your thoughts đ«¶
ËàŒŰ Û«ÛȘÛ«ÛȘ âč Geto:
⧠You were just exhausted from the day and somehow your head was everywhere but in the moment, despite wanting nothing more than for your boyfriend to rail you like he was doing
⧠Geto had you on all fours before taking a fist full of hair to pull you up against his chest and you could feel his hips stutter
⧠Not wanting him to hold back you just faked it - giving it your best act
⧠He scoffed and pushed you into the mattress, your hips still high as your head got buried in the surface beneath you, but he pulled out right before he came, letting his seed shoot over the globes of your ass and lower back
⧠You pout at that âyou promised to cum inside tonight,â you whined and heard him chuckle while shaking his head
⧠âOnly good girls get filled with my cum - and you certainly aren't one,â he hissed before releasing your hair from his tight grip and you knew that he knew
⧠Before you were able to explain yourself to him he patted his thigh, his back resting against the headboard âIf you still want to cum you gotta work for it,â
⧠You were pouting but yes, yes you wanted to release so badly, unsure why you even faked it but this was your punishment now
⧠You straddled one of his thighs, his hands having a death grip on your hips to rut you against his leg at his desired speed - slow and with barely any pressure, making sure to let you suffer
⧠âGo ahead, love, thank me for helping you,â He hummed, a playful smirk on his lips
⧠Without thinking much, you started thanking him for being so generous, for helping you to find pleasure. It made you feel so ashamed of faking it but that's exactly what he wanted
⧠âKeep up this slow pace, be a good girl and i might even slip a finger into your cunt,â He breathed against your ear, knowing how much you love to ride his fingers
ËàŒŰ Û«ÛȘÛ«ÛȘ âč Gojo:
⧠Gojo knew something felt off when your moans weren't the same, sounding rather fake so it came as no surprise when you faked it
⧠You don't even know why you did it, things just didn't feel as intense or like you're gonna release any time soon and hoped he wouldn't notice - bot oh he did notice
⧠He just continued as if he didn't know and finished a short while later but rolled off right away, a playful smile on his lips and that's when you knew that you're fucked
⧠âHave fun finishing yourself off then,â He hummed unbothered, that teasing smirk only getting bigger when he saw your mortified face
⧠âDidn't think i would notice, hm bunny?â He asked amused before turning to face you, his head propped up on one arm
⧠You felt like a deer in headlights under his mocking gaze along with his teasing and somehow you really hoped he would help you release
⧠But Gojo wouldn't be Gojo if he wouldn't be a menace, slender fingers dancing over your skin, always close but never touching the areas where you needed him so desperately
⧠âIs my cock not good enough anymore? Do you need your own little fingers now? Maybe even your adorable toy? yeah, i know of your little secrets,â He teases relentlessly, making you flustered but so turned on
⧠âGo ahead and touch yourself for me⊠let me see,â he giggled, wanting to guide your movements with his voice now
⧠He wouldn't touch you in order to help you, that was your little punishment
ËàŒŰ Û«ÛȘÛ«ÛȘ âč Toji:
⧠RIP to your little kitty
⧠Why you thought faking it is a good idea? Maybe because you know exactly how mad he gets after
⧠It hurts his ego more than anything that he can't satisfy you to the point where you see it necessary to fake it but you love how he reacts - so you do it anyways
⧠Tojis hips slow down in pace when your walls don't grip him like a vice as they usually do and with one swift movement he manhandled you into a mating press
⧠âThink I'm too dumb to notice, angel? Let me teach you a lesson,â he growls while he pushes your legs tightly against your chest, his cock now deeper than before which made you whimper
⧠âThat's what I thought. Crying for me like a bitch in heat,â he continues to degrade you but this is a punishment, you're not getting it the way you want it
⧠His pace is now oh so slow, far too slow for your liking but you feel the tip of his length drag against your walls and brushing against all the right spots which made you lose your mind
⧠You were now stuck, folded in half between your lover and the mattress while he tortured you with slow thrusts, a mischievous grin painted on his face that screamed victory as his degrading words fell from his lips
⧠You were a mess by the time he was done with you, far too overstimulated and every drag of his cock along your walls borderline painful
⧠"Who knew my baby can only cum when degraded into nothing but a hole for me to fuck," he chuckled before pulling out so you won't get the satisfaction of being filled by him
⧠Toji came over your face just to degrade you some more âgo clean yourself up. You're such a mess,â he ordered but waited for your return
⧠When you were back in his arms he hummed softly âdid you learn your lesson now, angel?â
Networks: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum
#-ËË àŒ»luma's musings#jjk x reader#jjk smut#gojo x reader#geto x reader#toji x reader#gojo smut#geto smut#toji smut#Jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk Gojo#jjk toji#jjk geto#gojo satoru#geto suguru#Toji Fushiguro#đ«hotter than the sunđ«#dividers by adornedwithlight
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an idea I have in mind because I think too much about arranged Gojo.
at some point, when they're already happy and in love, they meet her sisters again. Maybe they are hosting some party or his mother invited them to the seaside house like in the past. Reader is in much a better place now personally. Whatâs more, sheâs in a better position in the hierarchy than she was before. She's a sweetheart and a kind person. So she doesnât care about any of that, she just wants to live her quiet, happy life with Gojo. Gojo, however, is a different story... he's heard and saw enough of how her sisters treated her and he's a petty man. A very petty man. For the duration of the visit, Gojo makes it his sole mission to flaunt their happiness. He insists on buying her the finest dresses and jewelry, making sure sheâs never seen wearing the same outfit twice. Every day, he presents her with another gift, just to remind everyone of how she's adorned now. He sticks to her side at all times, while the other women are left alone when their boring husbands goes hunting or something like that. And he doesn't stop to show, verbally and physically, how he loves and admires her. Maybe, just to make his point even clearer, he asks for their rooms to be on the same floor. So they'll get a 24/7 show of the great treatment she gets.
so when i was writting the arrangment i wanted to add some scenes with readers family but it didn't work out so i think this is a great opportunity to expand on that
and totally. the thing abt reader that i hope people take away is that she's had to be stronghearted to survive in the conditions she's been brought up in, but because of that she just wants to live peacefully and quietly. she's elated that she gets a caring husband on top of it, but she just goes to the beat of her own drum and if people can't then she doesn't really care
but when this little get-together is planned at the gojo summer home, something customary and necessary, both reader and gojo dread it. reader because she doesn't like her sisters and father's wife and gojo because he hates your sisters and your father's wife
so gojo shows you off whenever he can. the two of you haven't had sex yet and he's fine with that, he's trying to find the best moment anyway, but he's so touchy it's insane. his arm is either around your waist, in yours, or sometimes around your neck if he wants to show you something from where he's standing
you're wearing the highest fashion, the best jewelry, and expensive oils. your sisters gawk and groan, but what else can they do? their husbands are old and ugly and don't give a rats ass about them, and you couldn't be more content
and this one time when all the younger people are around the lake gojo brings you onto his lap to open up the seat for one of your other friends, letting you curl up into his strong chest as he wraps a blanket over you. and your sisters watch in pure jealousy as you giggle at some of the things he tells you, watch as he blushes unabashedly when you kiss his forehead
arranged!gojo just loves you too much and there's nothing wrong with that
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