#i live by the ‘where there’s a will there’s a way’ rule so SUCK ON THAT OHHHHHHH
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Characters and Songs that Reminded Me Of Them
(With absolutely no explanation because I want to see the confusion I can potentially cause)
The Dumb Husky and his White Cat Shizun
Mo Ran - Emperor’s New Clothes by Panic! At The Disco
(tbh the entire Death of the Bachelor album gives off very Mo Ran)
The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation
Wei Wuxian - Masterpiece Theater III by Marianas Trench
Lan Wangji - Freek’n You by Jodeci
Jiang Cheng - Wait For It from Hamilton
Nie Huaisang - Drama by Aespa
Jin Zixuan - GUY.exe by Superfruit
Jin Guangyao - My Shot from Hamilton
That girl that got her soul taken by the stone statue - Dancing Queen by ABBA
Heaven Official’s Blessing
Mu Qing - Oh No! by MARINA
Shi Qingxuan - Second Child, Restless Child by The Oh Hellos
He Xuan - to be honest this man has far too many songs that reminds me of him so I might as well as make a separate post for that
((cue me reaching the audio limit))
Jun Wu - COPYCAT by Billie Eilish
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Pei Ming - Womanizer by Britney Spears
youtube
#tumblr can’t stop me from posting 10+ audios 😤😤😤#i live by the ‘where there’s a will there’s a way’ rule so SUCK ON THAT OHHHHHHH#don’t even ask me about the lan wangji one because even I got confused when I thought about it dbshdhjshs#ngl I should have planned this out better in hindsight but hey there will definitely be more bdbsbsbs#i love mo ran core so silly 😜#tgcf#tian guan ci fu#天官赐福#heaven official's blessing#mu qing is very VERY MARINA#2ha#erha#erha he ta de bai mao shizun#the husky and his white cat shizun#二哈和的白貓師尊#mdzs#mo dao zu shi#魔道祖师#grand master of demonic cultivation#Spotify#Youtube
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This is something I learned at one of the pre-op visits for my breast reduction! My surgeon was basically I think an independent surgeon (as I guess I would imagine is common for “cosmetic”/plastic surgeons?) and she was telling us a little bit about what to do for talking to insurance about the surgery and stuff, and she mentioned that for us going through insurance it would be at a particular hospital, but she also often did surgeries where people didn’t use there insurance, and she did those at some other place, and the price she charged up front was much lower, because that was the actual cost of the surgery (and equipment and everyone’s salaries etc.) and she had to raise the ticket price significantly when people would go through insurance, because the insurance company would negotiate that price down, and then keep some of the money. (Obviously for us and many others it still worked out to be cheaper for us out of pocket to go through insurance, but the amount she made was roughly the same even though it would look like she charged thousands more for my breast reduction than for someone not using insurance)
So, when you get those bills from your insurance after a doctors visit, and there’s that little table that tells you, this is the cost of the visit, this is the discount we got you, this is how much we paid, this is how much you still have to pay?
That line about “we got you this discount” is misleading. They actually caused the provider to raise the initial cost of your care by that amount, or more, in anticipation of the insurance company refusing to pay the full amount so that they could tell you they got you a discount.
"Why does a 15-minute visit with a doctor cost 150 bucks in America???" you're gonna want to read Money-Driven Medicine, by Maggie Mahar, and probably also The Social Transformation of American Medicine, to answer that question. It is not because your doctor is a greedy bastard; your doctor does not see most of that money. It is because the system is broken to a level that is truly impressive in its dedication to making a shit ton of money for insurance company executives and shareholders.
#my doctors visits are always around 3 or 400 for me because they never get billed as physicals because I also need prescriptions filled#and I need to go in 4x a year because adderall is so heavily restricted#and my last visit was actually $700 because they needed to drug test me not even for a real reason but because at the previous visit when#they drug tested me (also for bullshit reasons- to check that I was taking my meds instead of selling them or soemthing)#it came up with a false positive for opioids. which I don’t have access to or interest in and would not have been in my system#(mom’s nurse friend hypothesized that maybe the poppy seeds on the wverythign bagel I probably had for breakfast that morning set it off. it#seems like that’s a pretty common food to have and they should either warn you ahead of time about that or it shouldn’t be sensitive enough#to pick that up)#and insurance was like ‘we got you a $195 discount’ which is bs and ‘we paid $4’ which is even stupider#so now at my next virtual visit I’m gonna have to say hey I know the answer is no because of institutionalized stigma against me that you’re#not willing to push back on but I can’t fuckingn afford to keep paying $1600+ a year for what at this point is a middle man between me and a#pharmacist because I’ve been on this medication for fucking ages and all my other ones could be refilled at a yearly physical#so is there any way we could change things up somehow. and she’s going to say no. and I’m going to be angry and upset about it for days#back when i was at my pediatrician I had to go in every six months which was annoying but I would happily go back to that over four times a#year#but idk if the rules changed or if the rules are different for adults or if my doctor just sucks bc I brought that up early on and she was#like no this is what we do#I mean. I can technically afford it. I have the money I’m not going into medical debt or anything. I live at home with my parents and have#very low living expenses and my checking account is limited primarily by my own standards of how much I’ve decided I want to be putting into#my savings account each paycheck. but when the biggest expense in my life is something that already frustrates me and that I know is exp too#expensive and that I feel I shouldn’t have to be doing anyway and I know I’m being treated unfairly#it just feels so much worse. having to take money out of my savings account wouldn’t be the end of the world. but it feels wrongs#and I only make like $36#lmao I forgot about the commas thing.#like $36k a year so I also am aware that even though I’m in a lucky place where I’m stable that’s not *that* much money and I feel like that#is how I tend to think of things. because I’m not going to live with my parents forever and I’m deeply aware that for most people who have#to pay a rent or a mortgage $36k is the lower end of things and a seven fucking hundred dollar doctors bill is a big fuckingn deal#for a regular fucking doctors appointment#it’s not like I fucking asked to be drug tested they said ‘pay us to look at your pee or else’#it’s all bullshit
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At least even when I was a teenager and identified as communist, I was still never a soviet apologist
(And as I got older I came to dislike the USSR more and more and more, also seeing that soviet apologism kinda tended to fuck things up for western communists cause they'd be so busy running defense for people who didn't like or care about them, that actually getting policies passed to help western workers came second to being a tankie)
(Straight up, while I was volunteering in Quebec, one of the people I stayed with had this book by her uncle about being a Canadian communist, and he basically pinned soviet apologism as the whole reason he left the party cause they were more interested is doing PR for the kremlin than they were interested in like... unionizing in Canada)
Anyway, tankies suck, soviet apologism suck, and I'm glad to be able to say that even when I was a communist I didn't fall into that trap... like thank fuck for that, you know?
#honestly my positions as a teenager were more or less what they are now; just not as clear and using different worse terms#these days I'm just so sick of legislating what's socialism; what's capitalism; what's whatever#that it's like man... I think robust social safety nets are good in a lot of ways including for the economy#and I think that probably using currency makes more sense than barter#I just also think strong regulations are important cause otherwise you wind up with rat shit in the food (need stronger than we have)#and I think that handing out that money via welfare is a good way to get people spending and also living decently#so call that whatever the fuck you want; I don't care about the label; I care about achieving those goals or something similar#really just don't like labels these days; like descriptivism where I describe what I am and let other people fill in the blanks#makes for a lot less confusion than post communist when I'd always have to be arguing over what a socialist was#I no longer give a shit; I yam what I yam; and what I yam is someone who likes welfare and making sure people have enough#also fucking over big companies; I'm for that over all#part of the reason I stopped being a communist is I've had this rule for years now that says#'groups of roughly more than 50 people start getting corruption'#communism 100% works on a small scale; most households are communist; everything into the big pot to serve the communal good#my minecraft server is communist; we don't sell each other stuff; all goes into the same pot and we take and share what we need#at a scale of like 10 people communism actually works great; isn't a dirty word at that point#it's chipping in and being part of a community#(you gotta be a real messed up group of people for sharing and pooling resources to lead to mass graves when there's like 5 of you)#but in a big group communism is a great way to have the worst person get absolute power; it just sucks ass and should never be done#wonderful in theory; but doomed 100% of the time in practice; never do communism on a government scale#but anyway; same reason I hate communism is why I also hate mega corps... lot more than 50 people#and what do you know? they're corrupt as shit#other thing about less than 50 people; you can kinda more directly see when someone sucks#and you can kick em out; or you can leave; or you can say 'that small business is awful; I'm never shopping there'#I don't know; I'm just thinking outloud at this point; I can't give you some detailed polisci paper in fucking tumblr tags
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Begin Again
an: this has been a long time in the making and I think it's a favorite of mine.
Pairing: Peter Parker X Mean!Reader
Genre: Angst, fluff, enemies to lovers.
CW: harsh language, mental breakdowns, mentions of cheating (not peter)
Word Count: 24K
Summary: You've lived next door to Peter your whole life and the last nine years you've detested him. Now you're going through a breakup and it's nice to know someone's awake with you. Even if it is Peter Parker.
Breakups suck.
That’s it. That’s the whole message. There’s nothing else to add, except you’d never let yourself love again. It’s not like you didn’t know it wasn’t going to happen, you were aware the entire year what it would lead into, but hasn’t every girl sworn, at least once, they were the exception to a boys rule?
Natalie Greene’s voice echoed in your mind, “don’t get involved with a senior boy. They move on and you’re left picking up the pieces in homeroom.” You didn’t listen. You got involved and it was a good year, you knew he was going to college and when he left the break up was inevitable. Still, it didn’t hurt as hard until three months into the school year he called and said he met someone else.
You wish you weren’t so kind and understanding to him.
You called Natalie Greene the second it ended, she picked up and that angel voice of hers shined through the phone. She asked ‘hello?’ three times before you sobbed. You could feel the empathy in her tone, ‘he ended it, huh?’ All you could do is squeak back, ‘stay right there babe, I’m on my way with the break up kit.’
She showed up with a stray grocery bag. “alright,” she stated, hands on her hips.
“I got ice cream, a super soft blanket, movies - of all genres, face masks, a lighter-”
“Why do you have a lighter?”
Natalie rolls her eyes with a goofy grin, “to burn stuff, duh.“
The gesture was nice, but you couldn’t focus on the movie.
It felt like everytime you blinked there were tears that would find themselves tracking down your cheeks, you sniffled occasionally and blankly stared at the screen; flashbacks clouding your mind. Each kiss, each laugh, each touch, every fight and makeup, the first time you felt someone's hips melt into yours.
A supercut of every moment.
You were replaying a thousand things and all he was thinking about was the new girl under him, you were angry at everything all at once. Angry at yourself for letting yourself get hurt and feeling this much pain, because you knew it was coming, it was the whole agreement when it started. Angry at him for not breaking his promise and loving you anyway, angry at him for not telling you he’d wait for you and everything would be okay.
Angry that you hate him and yourself but more angry how quickly you’d fall back into him if he called.
“I knew this was gonna happen, Nat.” You sniff, a cry bubbles from your throat, “so why does it hurt so bad?”
Your friend frowns, she’s no savor to heartbreak. She’s been where you are more times than one could take, she still loves with her whole heart and you don’t know if you could ever do it again. Natalie wraps her arms around your shoulders while you shake with a sob, you cry into her knowing you're matting her blonde hair but she just pats you and holds you close.
“Because even though the ending was coming it didn’t feel real until the book closed. And maybe a little bit because you hoped he’d change his mind.”
You gasp, “how do I get past this? Nat, it feels..”
You’re tugged into her so tight you can feel her collarbone against your cheek, “like you’re dying? Yeah, that happens. But, you’ll live. It doesn’t feel like it now, but the day will come where you can think about him, smile, and thank him for the opportunity.”
You snort, “for breaking my heart?”
Natalie Greene holds you as tight as she can, “for making you grow.”
Your shoulders feel like they’re falling behind you as you inch along the hallway, everything feels heavy. Your feet are like lead blocks, and your heart feels like it’s been tied down with an anchor. It hurts more to know he’s not aching like this, he has someone new to keep him busy.
Blinking at your locker you fight back a yawn, two weeks after heartbreak and it still feels the same. You sleep like shit, tossing and turning and weird dreams when you finally dozed off. The one thing that’s helped keep your mind away from him, was your neighbor. Every night, at 3:02 am, on the dot, you hear the same movements.
A window slams shut, two soft hops on the floor and three bumps against the wall.
For six nights straight you kept count, it was methodical. A nightly routine, you weren’t sure what he was doing, but it was something. It made your mind wonder, your most recent theory was that he was a smoker; weed, cigarettes or whatever, and he would blow smoke out his window before landing in bed.
Maybe his bed was against your wall and that’s why you heard so many small knocks.
Last night you stayed up, you waited and right on the minute, like you expected, you heard a window slam shut. A small grin crossed your face, not at him, but at the idea of a constant. You lost your reliable figure, he’s thousands of miles away with his own new person, but tonight, and for the last seven nights you’ve had something to rely on. Something that couldn’t go anywhere.
You blink and suddenly you’re staring at your open locker, you don’t even remember putting in the combination. On autopilot you grab what you need for your next three classes and shrug your backpack down. Lately, it seemed like everything moved in slow motion.
“Are we ready to go to Flash’s party friday and makeout with a rando or are we still numb to everything?”
Natalie smiles at your figure, when you slouch and give her a “hey, Nat,” her blonde hair bounces as she nods her head understandingly, “still dead to the world, understandable.”
“At this point I’d do heroin to feel something,” your deadstare makes her think you might be serious. “Tell you what, if you’re still this miserable in six weeks, we’ll do it together.”
Your eyebrow quirks, “you’d do heroin with me if I’m still this miserable?”
Natalie Greene’s hand sticks out, her eyes ferocious. You know immediately she has something up her sleeve.
“Six weeks, starting today.”
You have nothing else to go on except the nightly wake up call and Natalie Greene’s plan.
“Six weeks.”
It’s solidified with a handshake, your fingertips turn white in her hold.
WEEK ONE.
Natalie Greene had talked you into going to Flash’s party, not to makeout with anyone, she quickly withdrew that from the table. You had been very hesitant at first, pushing at every restraint and reason to why you shouldn’t go and she stopped you right there. Manicured hand and all, petite and poised, she stopped your path.
“Here’s why you should go: get fucking wrecked, absolutely smashed and let it all out. I promise you, babe, it feels so, so good.”
“You think that will make me feel better? Getting hammered at a house party on a friday night?”
“I’ll take care of you for the night, okay? I’ll get you drunk and you can cry or scream or whatever you want. Let go of anything you’re holding back, that’s why you should go.”
You look her over, she’s been your rock the last three years in the school. Natalie is different, she protects and cares for herself like she does someone else. She also gives out more of her heart than she should, but she appreciates the burn it leaves. She tells you it’s one more ache preparing her for the one who would never make it hurt again.
If Natalie Greene says it’ll help, you’ll listen.
“You’ll drive me home and take care of me the next morning? Hungover and all?”
A denim jacket covered shoulder shrugs, “I think it’s time I repay you for all these years.”
For the first time in two weeks a real smile crosses your face, it’s small but it’s there.
Flashforward two days later, you’re eight drinks in and feeling like you’re flying.
You sway against your friend, “and he,” you hiccup, “he said he was like, soooo in love with me but then like, fuckin four days later,” it took you a moment to hold up the correct number on your hand, “boom, no boyfriend.” Natalie tried to hold back a laugh but her cheeks blew up when she let it escape, you pulled the most comical ‘what the fuck?’ face.
“I mean who the fuck does that- a sick person. That’s who! And- And you know what?” you hiccup, “I thought I’d be sad, but I just kinda hate him, does that make me bad?”
“Nah, I had some that killed me inside and some that I just shrugged off. Some moved in waves. One minute I’d say ‘fuck him!’ and the next I’d be overwhelmed with sadness because I didn’t have anyone to hold me anymore.”
You blink at her words and swallow the rest of your cup, you hadn’t thought about that part yet. Not having anyone to call yours anymore, that’s the hardest hitting part. You really, really wanted to call him. Just one more time, maybe he misses you just as much, maybe he doesn’t know how to say sorry, maybe he’s waiting for you to call.
“I should call him, right?” Your hands fumble at your pockets, your friend panics and grabs at your arms. “No! No, no, no! You absolutely should not call him!” You whine, “but what if he-”
Natalie grabs you tight, it makes you look at her confused. Her tone takes a sharp turn, she breaks through your drunken stupor in a second.
“He’s not. He’s not thinking about you, he’s not missing you, he’s not sitting around wishing you’d call him, he’s just not. He broke up with you, you don’t do that if you still care. Don’t do that to yourself, it ended mature. You have to be mature now.”
Brutal honesty. It puts everything in perspective.
He didn’t miss you, and that… really, really hurt.
Natalie was right, it comes in waves. Because there comes that sadness, it starts with small blinks and suddenly fat tears skip down your cheeks. “You’re right! He, he doesn’t-” you take harsh breaths, for the first time in two weeks you had a full breakdown. Everything you held back bottled over, you didn’t know how you could hold in so much hurt.
“Okay, okay. Let’s go, we can cry in the car but not here.”
Your breath shook the entire way to the car, the moment you sat in the passenger seat you cried. Your voice cracked, “he said he loved me!” Natalie nodded, cranking the engine, “And I’m sure he did, babe. Sometimes these things run their course and it’s no one's fault.”
It went like that the entire car ride, until she stopped at a McDonald's and got you a milkshake so you could focus on getting the liquid up the straw instead of saying the same three things on a loop. Once you got fries in your mouth the thought of him was erased from your mind, choosing to sing loudly and stick your head out the window on the way back.
Stumbling and giggling quietly at the late hour while you swayed on the walk to your door, you stretched freely and yawned when you stumbled in. Home alone for the weekend, just how it should be. “I’m getting naked,” you started stripping while walking to your room to change into pajamas, your heart lurches when you see one of his shirts.
You flop backwards on your bed, the room slightly spins and you close your eyes tight trying to ground yourself. Wriggling into the sheets you sigh, and yawn again. Your head buries into a pillow and sleep is imminent.
“Sleepy?”
Natalie Greene stands in the doorway with water and some advil, you smile and pat your bed, inviting her to join.
“Natalie Greene, you are so great, did you know that?”
Your friend laughs, you nuzzle into her hand while she strokes your hair, “I did, but a reminder is always nice. Go to sleep, babe. I’ll make toast in the morning.”
Her gentle touch makes it easy, you yawn one more time. Your voice flutters while you talk into sleep.
“Do me a favor?”
“Anything,” she whispers. You don’t think he ever loved you this soft.
“Make sure he gets home for me.”
Natalie Greene asked who but all she received were soft snores.
The birds were screaming the earth back awake.
At least that’s how it felt, your ears were ringing and there was a dull, present thud in your head. The sunlight has never been so bright, you hold your eyes shut but the ache gets louder and you can’t get comfortable.
There’s two pills and half a glass of water waiting for you, god bless Natalie Greene.
“Good morning, sunshine!” You wince and choke on your gulp of water, a knife has pierced your eardrum. “Oh my god, everything is on dial eleven, I think I’m dying.”
“How are you feeling? Besides the obvious, I mean.”
She means about him, you take a moment to really think about it.
“I think… I think I’m doing okay.”
Your friend smiles and throws her hair into a ponytail, “good, I’m making breakfast. Come join.”
After ten minutes and infinite pep talk you rise on shaky knees, stumbling towards your door and barely making it to the couch where you spread wide and gulped for air. Your friend snorted at your exaggeration over her shoulder and carefully walked towards you with a piping mug of tea.
Sitting up you bring a blanket over your shoulders, you squint at her before taking the handle. Taking a sip while you turn the TV on, searching for a midmorning throwaway show. A re-run of The Wendy Williams Show wins, you rest your head on a cushion and stare blankly at the screen. Natalie Greene humming up a tune in the kitchen.
You hadn’t even checked your phone yet, “what time is it?”
“Noon thirty.”
Your eyes widen, “my god,” you mumble to yourself.
Listening to Wendy your eyes lull shut and suddenly you're sinking back into sleep, you roll over and smack your dry lips. Until your friend is kicking at your shin with two plates in her hands, stacked full of the breakfast nines.
Your queasy stomach grumbles and any drowsiness is ripped away with hunger. Nearly drooling, you stuff a piece of french toast in your mouth and moan, “Nat, you’re the greatest thing I got.” She bounces her shoulder into yours, “I know.”
You fall into silence while you scarf breakfast down, booing and applauding when deemed necessary by Wendy. Leaning back you rest your hands over your full belly and pat gently. Swiping your tongue over your gums for any crumbs, you sigh happily.
“Hey, what did you mean last night? You said to let you know if he got home safely.”
You wave her off, “drunk stupidness, I hear my neighbor every night around the same time moving around. This last week, I dunno, it felt nice knowing someone else was up too?”
“Have you ever-”
Both your necks turn to look at the front door then back at each other, the knocking that caught your attention continues.
“Who’s-”
“Did you-”
You swallow and stand up, not so shaky anymore. Looking through the peephole your forehead hits the door at the sight of said neighbor, you know what they say about devils and appearing, groaning you take a moment to collect yourself and open the door.
“What do you want, penis?”
Peter Parker in all his glory, is knocking at your door with a plate of… cookies?
Neighbors forever, close pals never. You’d played together as kids, mostly elementary age but since you were eight you’ve had a disdain for Peter Parker. You’re not sure where it went wrong, but just looking at him you wanted to roll your eyes.
“I was going to say, ‘wow, how could a guy ever dump you?’ but now, I’d say that’s how.”
Normally that wouldn’t hurt, but the recent circumstances made it a cheap shot.
“Is this your sorry attempt to be a rebound? Because if it is, I want to make it extremely clear I’d rather eat glass than-”
The plate is shoved into your face, “May had me bring these over, she said your mom told her you’ve been a weepy, miserable mess because some dickhead thought he found someone better.”
You huff at him, your fingers wrap around his wristwatch as you pull it down, all you heard was weepy and miserable.
“I know you wouldn’t know anything about someone loving you but-”
“Is that Peter B. Parker?”
Natalie Greene reminds you of your hangover in record timing, you wince at her shriek. Peter gives a polite, dare you say charming (?) smile. It makes you fight back a gag, “hello, Natalie Greene.” Her eyes flash from his, to the plate, to the cracked open door across the hall and she gets a wicked grin.
The person you’ve hated and bickered with the most is suddenly the one you listen out for in the middle of the night. The look on her face, the glance she shared with you, proved she knew.
“Cookies?” Natalie nudges your arm, “he brought cookies and he’s right across the hallway, how nice.”
Peter’s oblivious to her tone, he has his goofy smile on and it makes you seeth. He’s always so god damn happy, it’s annoying.
“Well, actually, my aunt made them. But I am delivering, so I can accept some praise.”
She laughs, full on cackles and nudges you again.
“You know, in all the times you talked about Peter you never mentioned how funny he was!”
You don’t know what she’s playing at but you’re shutting it down immediately.
Peter looks at you, he seems almost hopeful and you have to settle the urge to toss the plate to the ground. “You talk about me?”
You cross your arms and sneer, “don’t worry, nothing good.”
His smile drops, “yeah, sorry. I don’t know why..” his curls bounce as he gently shakes his head before pushing the glass into your chest. “Here, eat as many as it takes to feel somewhat okay again.”
You grip the plate and look down, they’re your favorite.
“We, um. We have more over here, so if you want more. Or if you wanna hang out or something I’m here, so…”
Peter’s never been a friend like this before and it was some pity party you wanted no part of now.
“It’s a breakup. I’m sure I can manage without you just fine.”
His eyebrows turn in, “right. I just thought- nevermind, enjoy the cookies.”
Natalie gives him a sympathetic frown and sulks back inside, you keep your glare on his figure until he reaches his door. As you’re about to retreat he stops in the doorway, “for what it’s worth, I think he’s stupid and he’s gonna realize what he lost when it’s way too late.”
It’s almost nice, sometimes it sucks when the person you’re supposed to hate has human peek through their armor.
Too bad you’re more guarded than ever.
“Well, then. It’s a good thing you’re not worth much.”
Maybe it’s his resilience that troubles you, no matter how hard you push him away or beat him down with words he’ll pick himself back up and hand your words back in a package of self reflection.
Today is no exception, Peter flashes you a sad smile, this one actually is filled with pity.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” you didn’t have a chance to fire back. His door was already shut.
Heartache throbbed but the cookies were damn good.
On your third, you down half a cup of milk. You reach for a fourth and Natalie hasn’t said one word. Instead she cleaned the kitchen and packed up her overnight bag, before settling next to you for an episode of Jerry Springer and her own deserved treat.
“So, do tell, my friend. Is Peter the one you wanted to know was home safe?”
Deny till death.
“No way, I’m talking about Mr. Harrington, he’s like a hundred years old.”
Natalie takes her time chewing and swallowing, “your hundred year old neighbor is up in the middle of the night?”
It’s dumb to lie, you and her know the truth.
You shrug and take a fifth cookie, “he may have a routine, I dunno.”
Your friend hums, “I just thought it may be Peter, cause you share a wall and all.”
Gagging at his name you shake it off, “Gross! It’s bad enough knowing the plate these were on were in his hands.” It takes you a second but you’re able to plow through another bite.
“I just… why do we hate Peter so much?”
You don’t know, you think you blocked it out. Every time you look at him a weird feeling bubbles up and it makes you want to scream, cry, fight and hug it out with him in one second. It’s easier to bark at him than confront him about your feelings.
“I don’t know. He’s just a pest to me, every time I turn around he’s there. And I swear to god he spilled the beans about that party last year.”
Natalie Greene knows three things to be true.
One: Peter Parker likes you, you just don’t know it yet.
“What if you talked to him?”
Cookie crumbs fall over your shirt as you talk, “I’m sorry, what?”
Two: You like Peter Parker, you just don’t know it yet.
“If you need me and I’m not around, if you need someone to support you through this and I can’t be here, promise me you’ll knock on his door.”
You scoff at the idea, “yeah, sure.” she’s not very confident you mean it.
“Seriously, promise me right now if I can’t be there for you, you’ll ask him.”
She was serious, something in her tone made you shift and agree. It’s not like she’d go anywhere, Natalie Green was your lifeline.
“Alright! If you aren’t around and it’s literally life or death, I’ll ask… him.”
Three: Things get worse before they get better, you just don’t know it yet.
WEEK TWO.
Your mornings always started the same, a routine was important to you. It was consistent. It was wake up, hit up the bathroom, change, yawn and rub your eyes through breakfast before leaving to thrive in silence before school.
Today, when leaving, right as you’re pocketing your keys, your neighbor speaks out.
“Hey.”
You freeze, it’s rare you run into Peter in the mornings. You figure he leaves way earlier, or later than you. But when you do, you ignore each other with silence. You really don’t like the sudden change.
“How are you doing?”
You wonder if he heard you crying last night, you thought you got rid of it after the party. You didn’t understand how you could be happy one moment and miserable the next. What made it worse was when 3:02 am hit and you heard his window slam, your sniffles settled.
“Like I was dumped, thanks for the reminder.”
Your foot hits the first step when he calls out, “and the cookies?”
Biting your bottom lip you turn, it really was a nice gesture. You may not like him, but you loved May and she’s the one that put in all that hard work. Peter lights up when you face him, if he had a tail he’d start wagging it. It makes you bite down on your cheek, he doesn’t deserve unprovoked rage.
“They were really good,” you take three steps before turning back around.
“And, I uh, took your advice. Ate the whole plate, I mean.”
Peter fumbles, his key chain drops but he stays looking at you. His thumb shoots behind him to point at his door, “we have like, twenty left. Want some more?”
You shake your head softly, “maybe later?” Peter nods exuberantly, “yeah, yeah. I’ll bring them over.”
You curl your lip up and stomp down the steps, “thanks for the warning, penis!”
This was it.
This was your worst nightmare.
Not only did things get shuffled around until you were sitting next to Peter at dinner, where you made it a point to scoot your chair away from him when his shoulder touched yours and immediately swiped the area clean- But now you blinked blankly at your dinner while your mom droned on and on and on about the guy who dumped you. It didn’t matter if it was good or bad, you just wanted her to stop.
“And he was so sweet, wasn’t he? Honey, are you sure he hasn’t reached out? It’s not too late to call him, maybe if you-” May didn’t deserve to see you upset, and it kills you that Peter saw that emotion. Your mom didn’t even deserve it, you were so sick of trying to keep it together.
Your chair screeches with how quick you jump out of your seat.
“He doesn’t give a shit, he dumped me! So why do you think he’d call? He doesn’t want me, I mean he’s made that clear right?” Your eyes shoot to May’s, “I’m right, right? You don’t break up with someone if you still care, or want them, right?”
Tears haze your vision, “he ended it with me mom, and you know why? It’s cause he found a new girl! He fucking-” water rushes down your cheeks but you don’t stop, “he,” you collapse on the word, you can’t get a good inhale on breath.
“He left me to pick up the pieces, that’s all he did.” It clicked full motion, he left you behind and ended it. He got a fresh start and you were left trying to hold it together, like how it was, how it was supposed to be.
You sob, your chest has never felt so tight. Shaky breaths fade into sharp inhales, you can’t fucking breathe. Gasping you put a hand over your heart, you know in the back of your mind it’s a panic attack but all you feel is imminent death.
Peter stands and blocks your body with his, you don’t know what’s happening but you’re trying to get away. Each step you take backwards he takes one forwards until you're wheezing in your room, your ears are ringing and it feels like a heart attack is in approach. Your eyes squeeze shut and in an instant you feel calmer, it’s not because of your sudden blink. It’s because Peter has his hands over your ears pressing in, your back against the wall and front against his chest.
It’s the last place you want to be but you’re angry, and he’s there, and it’s all coming out.
You’re able to breathe but at what cost? You grip Peter’s shirt as tight as you could and wail into his chest, it’s the first time you’ve ever actually felt him against you. He’s more sturdy than you thought, as you push more and more weight on him he doesn’t stagger one bit. His arms held you to him, keeping steady until you’d push him away.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you coughed the words into his shirt, you held tighter when his only response was resting his chin on your head. You apologized and cried until you ran out of tears and your breaths were nothing but sharp inhales.
When reality hits and you realize you've been crying into Peter’s hold for minutes you push him away and wipe your nose. Avoiding his eyes, you look to the carpet, you have a fresh cry glow and mindset, it’s the good kind of emotional numb.
“I, um, I still have those cookies?”
Those being his choice of words after a troubling breakdown was warming, it made you feel like you weren’t so crazy. Or at least, Peter didn’t see you as crazy, which when thinking about didn’t mean much.
You can’t help but laugh, it’s so loud and opposite of every other emotion you spilled tonight it makes him jump, you see him setting up for the attack. The moment you snap at him and call him a weirdo for cornering you and throwing himself on you.
Tonight, you were full of surprises.
“Yeah,” you nod your head and wipe your nose one last time, “I’d love to come over for cookies.”
You had to look away from his smile, it was too blinding.
You broke the rule, you went lurking and hurt your own feelings. She’s all over his instagram, and she’s pretty. He’s all over hers, dating back to five months ago.
You do a double take, five months?
He had been cheating on you for months before he ended it. You feel sick. He told you he loved you while he was in bed with another girl. You felt so much rage inside you couldn’t hold it in, Natalie was too far away and Peter’s already seen you at your worst.
You move without thinking, slamming your fist on his door.
Wide eyes open it, Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared he was the subject of attack. You swerve past him, if you were in a cartoon, steam would be billowing from your ears. You didn’t get angry often, and you’ve never felt upset enough to punch someone, but all you could think about was screaming and slamming your fist into the wall.
“I hate him, I fucking hate him so fucking much. If you ever hear me crying I need you to come over and tell me I’m absolutely pathetic for crying over a fucking cheater.”
While he’s glad you’re not there to yell at him, his heart sinks for you.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was right in front of my face, too. She’d been claiming him since the second week of school. I’ve been a fool, god, I fucking hate him. I hate him so much I… I want to break something.”
Peter eyes his science notebook, he doesn’t have anything for you to break, but he has something that will make enough noise to drown out the voices. He grabs it and holds it out, you gently take it giving him a confused look.
“Wack it. Beat the absolute shit out of it on the counter.”
You look unsure, you don’t want to ruin his things, even if you don’t like him.
“Right on the edge, go on, do it.” His egging you on makes you follow his command, it’s gentle.
“Harder,” you test it.
“Harder,” you give a smack, it makes a popping sound and you jump, it feels good.
“Like you mean it, like you need it.” You do it again, it’s louder. You strike down without instruction, Peter starts barking at you, it makes you angrier.
“Harder, don’t be so weak!”
He hit the right nerve, you can’t stop, you’re moving so quick and using so much force the spine starts to rip from the cardboard. It feels good destroying something, it makes you beat the laminate harder. Loud cracks echoing from the walls.
You heave for air, every bit of force directed into your diminished trust. You yell between each blow.
“Fucking!”
“Piece!”
“Of!”
“Shit!”
You start to slow down, Peter’s notebook is fucked. You feel bad. Gasping for air when you’re done, Peter gives you a head nod, “better?”
You nod, “lots. Sorry about your book.” He doesn’t look bothered in the slightest, “it’s a good excuse to get a new one, I hate green.” You peer over the contents in the pages, “that’s a lie, everyone knows science is green.” Peter laughs, he nods like he’s saying ‘you got me there.’ “Doesn’t mean I like it though.”
Looking down at the notebook, you peer up at Peter. He looks soft, the sleeves of his zip up hoodie covered his thumbs, he has sweater paws. His hair framed his face nicely, his cheeks have a natural pink hue, it’s like he’s always sunkissed, or calming down from a laughing fit.
The sun is backlighting him perfectly, it makes his eyes look even more honey golden than they already do. You don’t know why you find him slightly cute at the moment, it makes your stomach tug and not in a good way. The last time you thought someone was cute you got burned, and you’ve always had a disdain for Peter.
Peter was the worst kind of rebound to have because you can’t decide who’d get more hurt from it, and the thought of that makes you want to avoid him forever.
“You’re looking at me funny.”
You are, it’s because you’re noticing him for the first time, at least since you were eight. Suddenly you can remember why you cut him out when you were a kid.
“I had a crush on you when we were younger. I think that’s why I stopped being your friend.”
Your confession made Peter’s eyes widen, he looks to the ground and hides his smile. When he picks his head back up he looks to the side, his cheeks a bit more flushed than normal. “That’s cute.”
It was. It was innocent and juvenile, his small response made you laugh. “Yeah, it really was.” You shouldn’t entertain it any further, but you can’t stop. Something about seeing his blush makes you want to keep going, “Wanna know when it started?” He looks curious, “sure.”
You go quiet for a minute, you haven’t thought about it in years. The moment it clicked you were freaked out, the first time you liked a boy and he was your best friend. You went from wanting to play in dirt to holding his hand. A smile spreads over your face when you watch the memory replay in your mind.
“We were at the complex playground and we were digging by that droopy tree across from the swingset, and I saw a lizard in the grass and I pointed it out to you. I told you I always wanted to hold one but they moved too fast and scared me, but you held out your arm and said ‘I got this.’” You laugh, replaying it once more.
“And you dive bombed and picked it up, and you were so fucking proud to have caught it. Then you placed it in my hand but I felt it move around and freaked out, but you held your hand over mine and said ‘don’t be scared.’”
There’s something about an eight year old Peter Parker with glasses and dirt smudged cheeks that had child you giddy.
Peter’s smiling, it’s like he’s reliving that day in his head too. “I fulfilled your lifelong dream and you fell for me.” You shrug, “maybe.” Setting his notebook on the counter you look around, you feel like you’ve said too much.
“Hey, um, thanks for the whole… unleashing my anger thing.” You're setting yourself up for a goodbye, Peter can sense it.
“Are you hungry? Wanna go get some pizza?”
No matter what was said, or thought, you still have that pinch of annoyance at him. But his brightness was what you needed today, and you hadn’t had lunch. You have a sinking feeling you’d regret it, there was something that felt like it was a bit more than friendly and it had you throwing up every wall possible.
Still, you find yourself agreeing.
“Sure. Let’s get some pizza.”
It was a stereotypical pizza place and those were the best ones. The wall is covered in pictures of random people, terrible paintings and red checkered tablecloths covered wobbly tables. They had a permanent sticky residue, your elbows peeled when you raised them up.
“I’m surprised you didn’t judge me on my hawaiian choice.” He always did, he told you it wasn’t authentic and childish.
“Hey, I’m a pizza guy, alright? Anything you put on a pizza belongs on it. I mean, I get the appeal, sweet and savory.” Your face brightens, he understands. “Exactly! And the warm pineapple just hits differently, it’s like-” Peter can read your mind, you say it at the same time. “Fries and ice cream.”
Another thing he found gross, your head tilts, it just kind of clicks with Peter. Your ex would sneer when you’d go for a dip, you begged him to try it a hundred times, you promised he’d like it but he’d tell you it was ‘fucking gross’.
“Hawaiian and pepperoni, can I get you kids anything else?” You shake your head while Peter responds for the both of you, ‘no thanks, we’re good.” Peter’s slice has a pool of grease in a slice of his pepperoni, it looks delicious. He sees you eying his choice and holds it out, “you want a bite don’t you?” Your eyes flash to your slice, “only if you take a bite of mine.” It’s only fair. “Swap with me,” you trade plates and tap slices as a cheers, humming when you take a bite Peter nods impressively.
You swap back and take a bite of yours, it’s heavenly. “I’m glad I got mine.” Peter agrees with the statement, “I’m sorry, babe, but pepperoni is superior. It’s all about keeping it simple.” You know he meant nothing by it, you know it meant it in a friendly way, you know it’s a regular pet name to use in passing, but he called you babe.
Hearing the term of affection makes your skin crawl, you swallow a lump in your throat. You want to snap at him, but instead your voice comes out soft. “Please don’t call me that.” Peter’s eyes soften, he almost tells you he didn’t mean it like that, but he knows you already understand that.
“No problem, old lady.” It took a second, but you couldn’t stop the laugh. “What did you just call me?” Peter bites his bottom lip, “well, that’s the opposite of babe, isn’t it?” It makes your smile bigger, it’s funny, if you had asked him something that simple he’d fight you on it, ask a million questions and push it until you gave up.
For the first time in a month you really can’t remember why you thought he was so great.
WEEK THREE.
Natalie Greene has her hair pulled slick back in a ponytail, a determined look and hands on her hips.
“Let’s fuck some shit up.”
Lunch with Peter had really pushed you forward, you had strayed away from him the last few days. You still listened for him nightly but avoided him in the hallway and at school, he was everything he was not, and it made you feel queasy.
It was time you removed him from your life, you started with blocking him on everything. From instagram to duolingo. Then, you piled up everything he left behind or things that reminded you of him, but you couldn’t touch your closet. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Enter Natalie Greene.
“I don’t know why it’s so hard for me, everything else was fine.” Natalie shrugs, your closet doors are open and she’s itching to start rummaging. “It’s not for me. What are we thinking, trash, donate, burn? Dare I say detonate?”
You snort, “think I could do some black magic?” Her eyes light up, “I’ll look up the dark arts right now, don’t dare me.” You sigh, “I don’t care what you do with them, I just need them out of here.” Natalie Greene understands, she’s been there too a few times. Everything that reminds you of him burns like hell. A constant reminder of what’s no longer.
It’s only five shirts and some sweatpants but it feels paralyzing. Once his clothes are gone he’s no longer, like the last year never meant anything. He cheated but you still feel like it was real for the time you had him.
“Shit, can we raincheck the disposal?” Natalie is staring at her phone in her hand, a worried line where her lips were. “Family stuff.” You tell her it’s fine and send her out in a second, staring at the bag you started to twitch.
It felt daunting- a looming presence. You almost got rid of him but couldn’t. It was five minutes of harsh breathing, then you drag it across the hall hoping Peter was home. You needed them gone.
May answered the door and you feel slightly flustered.
“Hi, May. Is Peter home?”
She welcomes you in the door, skipping over the makeshift laundry bag and giving a quick but squeezing hug. “How are you feeling?” If you had been asked that a week ago you’d fly off the handle, but this week it feels like you can breathe a bit better.
“I think I’m doing pretty okay. It helped to know he cheated, it makes me miss him sixty percent less. The other forty makes me feel pathetic.” May frowns with empathy, “my college boyfriend cheated. Betrayal and hurt is a weird feeling when mixed with love.”
You laugh, “yeah, it really is.” May clears her throat, “Peter’s in his room, he may be busy with some homework.” You thank her and move down the hallway, the plastic bag follows, half of you hopes it rips because it’s what he deserves.
You knock and wait for his response, grunting when you swing the trash bag over the threshold and let it drop. “I have an odd request for a man.” Peter seems surprised to see you for a second, then looks at the bag and back at you. He seems a bit more weary.
“Uh huh.”
“I’m getting rid of his things and Nat had to dip, wanna come with?” You follow up with a wince, “I’m sorry, this is super weird and out of place.”
Peter shrugs, “if it helps, it helps. And if you’re serious, I’ll go with you.” You take a deep breath, healing and growing isn’t always comfortable. “Fuck it, let’s donate some shit.”
You feel like you stand straighter walking out with Peter behind you, he’s carrying the dead weight and you feel accomplished. May has a raised eyebrow, you hold out your hand and settle her curiosity.
“Don’t worry, justice is about to be served.”
May grins at her nephew's soft smile, she’s seen and heard about you more in the last two weeks than she has in the last nine years. “It’s sounding a lot more like twenty percent.”
The moment things started turning south was at the donation center. You weren’t even standing super close to Peter, or radiating an aura that even suggested he was anything more than a conveniently close acquaintance. But the volunteer at the front thought differently.
“Aw, I wish more young couples came in, it always seems to brighten up the place!”
You feel like a force of wind caught you breathless, every inch of you froze on the spot. When she says couple you think of him, but you’re not a couple anymore. When she says ‘couple’ you feel your heart encapsulate with rubble, the idea of him makes you feel sick.
You don’t think you could ever love again.
Especially not with Peter, not even when he shies away with pink cheeks and tries to shrug her comment off. It’s not worth the awkwardness of announcing you’re not a couple, you both know you’re not, and she doesn’t really care if you were or not.
“We were just in the mood to donate today,” he plays it off well. You chew on your lip and watch him fill out the donation slip, it’s second nature for Peter to take care of you, it was something he mostly failed at.
Before the attendant can take the bag, Peter stops her by hovering his hand over it, he turns his neck and makes eye contact. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Your heart pounds, threatening to crack the rock.
“I’m sure.” Because, you really are.
Peter smiles, “any last words?” You try to think of something, nothing comes to mind other than a blur of frustration and confusion. Raising your hand you give it the middle finger, Peter’s laughing at your blank face, “c’mon, you know you wanna double it.” You do, so you did.
It feels freeing, you’re not healed but you don’t have a daunting weight on your shoulders anymore. A satisfied smile spreads, your hands drop for a second before Peter’s high-fiving you. You’re tucked under his arm after saying his thanks to the confused volunteer, bumping your hip against his and caged in his hold you feel safe. Safer than you’ve ever felt.
A crack in the rocks, your heart thumps wildly when he drags you opposite from where you came. “Let me buy you a hawaiian.”
Peter is pretty. You could admit it. Never out loud, but you’d admit it silently. He’s on fire tonight, keeping you laughing and talking. He’s a perfect story teller, he has a way of pulling you in. He’s charismatic and throws himself into every role, voices and body movements.
Your chin is resting on your hand while you focus on every word of his, entranced in his excitement. A lamp hanging over your mini booth makes him look a tad yellow, but his eyes shine brighter than all hell, you never knew brown eyes could suck you in for hours.
For a second your mind blips and you truly can’t remember his eye color. But you know they’re nothing like Peter’s.
You forget to react, because Peter cut himself off and waved his hand in front of his face. You blink alert, he has a very charming smile, you look at a table of older women. “You good? Felt like you were trying to look into my soul.”
You can’t stop it, it's a knee jerk reaction and the moment you say it you regret it.
“Your eyes are very pretty.” You won’t stop looking at a slice of mozzarella on a grandma’s plate. Peter hums, nodding his head like he understands, “so you weren’t trying to sacrifice me, you just got lost in my very pretty eyes.”
The crack splinters, a chunk falls off. You meet his eyes, he’s not making fun of you. You sit straighter and reach out to steal a piece of pepperoni from his slice, acting like you’re not blatantly flirting with ease.
“I just haven’t noticed them before I think.”
Peter’s quiet for a moment, his arms are crossed on the table, fingers tap on his elbows.
“Well, I’m glad you are now.” It’s a little too much, he’s not allowed to entertain you back, he could hurt you too.
You clear your throat, “I need to ask you something.” Peter stops tapping, it’s like he’s been waiting on you to say it. “Yeah, anything.”
You lean forward a little, “did you tell my mom about the party last year?” He looks slightly disappointed that was your question, “nope.” Your eyes narrow, “I’d rather us not start a friendship built on lies.”
Peter lights up, “friendship?” A displeased expression was shared, “thin ice, Parker.” He seems a bit more determined to tell the truth this time.
Peter sits up and interlocks his fingers, “I promise I didn’t tell her. Mr. Harrington did. And I know how much you like him and I thought you would stop going to see him if you knew and he’s super old so I just kinda… let you believe it was me.”
Your heart breaks free, it’s loud and pumping and it’s making you feel alive. A sense of urgency to do something to him makes you itch, you have to pull your hands to your lap. In that second, for whatever reason, all you want is to feel his skin on yours.
He’d be willing to do anything for you, even at the cost of you hating him.
“You’re the most selfless person I know and it’s kind of insufferable.” Peter rolls his eyes, “just admit you like me, god.” Your breath stutters, but you move right past it.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep talking about the petting zoo.”
Peter jumps back into character, “alright, so I’m down on-”
For the first time in weeks you slept through the night, until three am. You woke up on your own, a mental alarm had you looking out for him. After you hear the comforting chorus of movement, you hide under your pillow and go back to sleep.
Your world is falling apart. You were on the track to healing, each piece of your heart was slowly mending back together. Until news of Natalie Greene going out of town hits, you collapse to your bed with an arm over your eyes. Facetime carries her into your room.
“Why couldn’t your grandma die next month?” She nods her head, folding a tank top to drop it into her carry on. “So true, she should’ve known you were having a crisis.” You nod, “it’s so hard knowing the world doesn’t revolve around me.”
The room goes quiet as she moves around and packs. You contemplate telling her, you didn’t want a spectacle and you didn’t even know if or what you wanted from Peter. But damn if you hadn’t been thinking about it for days. You wonder if she’s picked up on the hints, you’d been relying on her less and less.
“Are you going to hang with Peter while I’m gone?” Your mind flashes to him, the past few nights he’d sent you a few videos that he thought you’d like. And you did, even if he didn’t know you as deeply as he has until recently, he still makes you feel seen.
He would send you things he found funny.
Peter sends you things he knows you’d find funny.
“Maybe. He buys me pizza so he’s cool to have around, I guess.” Natalie Greene snorts, “and I’m sure he makes fun of your pineapple.” It feels like your heart shines, “no, actually. He gets it.” Your eyes flash to the top of the screen, a text from Peter pops up, you waste no time hitting the notification.
‘Wanna come have some brownie cookies?’
You bite your lip, rising from your bed you shuffle into your slippers. “Hey, Nat, I gotta go. I’m really sorry about your grandma.” She rolls her eyes, “she was super old and I didn’t really know her, it’ll be cool to see my cousins though.”
“Have fun on the trip!”
A wicked grin, “have fun with Peter.” You don’t even fight her on it, she knew exactly what you were doing.
Your knuckles tapped on the door, it was opened in seconds. Peter had a glow like you’ve never noticed, he only got more and more pretty. A smile stretched across his face, you love how it always meets his eyes.
“Hi.”
Your slippers softly scrape the wood floors when you enter, “hi.” Peter gestures you towards the kitchen, and for whatever reason, you reach behind you and tug him along.
“Okay, okay, so what did she say?”
Your legs swing on the counter, mumbling between mouthfuls of the dessert fusion you’re fully invested in Peter’s story. He had caught Mrs. Hopkins and the chef that lives on floor two in an argument, and it turns out Mrs. Hopkins was the complex's porch pirate.
Peter swallows his own bite, “she asked me to back her up! And I was all like, ‘hell no, you stole my aunt’s juicer.’” You gasp, “not May’s juicer.” Peter holds a finger up, ‘nah, I caught her red handed. She was so pissed and on the spot she snapped at me like, ‘it wasn’t a juicer, it was a butter dish.”
You slap a hand over your mouth, “oh no.” Peter’s eyebrows raise, turning his back to grab a glass of milk. “I wish you could’ve seen the look on her face when she realized she told on herself, it was awesome. She was spewing shit all the way to the elevator.”
Finishing your treat your tongue feels thick, holding out a hand in a silent request for a swig of his milk. Peter looks between your hand and his glass, he looks weary.
“Are you sure you wanna drink after me? I figured you’d be scared of my cooties.” You motion for the cup, he passes it over and you wrap your palms around the glass.
“Oh, you absolutely have boy cooties, they just become non-contagious at puberty.” Peter runs his tongue over his teeth, “I think I forgot that lesson, what else can I expect from puberty?” You laugh on a gulp of milk, “trust me, Parker, puberty hit you like a bus.
He steps closer, you set the glass down next to you.
“Is that a good thing?”
You look over his face, he’s got a defined bone structure but soft features. A boyish charm coats over him, it’s just enough of a hint of innocence you beg he never loses it. It’s a no brainer, he was attractive, your eyes flash to his mouth, it’s a wild instinct and you try your best to shake it off.
“Yes. I’d say puberty was very kind to you.” Peter takes another step, “how so?” Pretending to think about it, like you weren’t already, you take a second to respond. You don’t notice him taking another step.
“Well, you have a nice jawline.” Peter tilts his head slightly, “is that all?” You’re not sure what it is, but there’s an undertone and it fills you with excitement.
“And very nice curls.”
“I don’t think that has anything to do with puberty.” You suppose he’s right, “you’re taller than me now.” You had an inch on him when you were kids. Peter’s suddenly right in front of you, “especially now.” He has to look down at you while you blink up at him from the counter, “yeah, you’re like a giant.”
Your mind betrays you, his lips are unnaturally pink, they look like they’re the right amount chapped. “Anything else?” You’re struggling, all you can think about is him but you can’t follow a train of thought.
“You smell really good,” you take a deep breath when his hands rest on either side of you, he’s caging you in and everything builds with anticipation, you fight the urge to pull him in. “You’re just complimenting me now.”
You shake your head, “do you know how many teenage boys smell bad?” It’s not your fault, he’s so close his scent has invaded your senses, you wanted to inhale him until you turned blue.
“One more.” You try to think, he’s making it very hard. It takes a second but you have one, proud to have pulled it from the chamber, a sly grin takes place.
“You-” Lips on yours, it happened so fast you couldn’t catch up. Mind spinning when you realize Peter Parker was kissing you, you know you should shove him off, but it feels right. It’s over as quick as it started.
You just got out of a relationship, one that tugged you to one of the lowest points of your life so far. It’s not lost on you when you weren’t the one to pull away, but you’re the first one to comment on it.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” You weren’t mad, you were warning him, he doesn’t know what lies ahead.
“But I really wanted to.” His eyes keep looking you over, was he expecting you to scream?
It’s dangerous territory, your voice feather soft when it comes out. “And do you want to again?” Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.
It felt like the air went still in the room, everything slowly melted into the background until it was only you and him. The quiet hum of the air conditioner faded into silence, the scene music from a movie on the tv in the room behind you diluted to nothing.
It was just you and Peter, and he was getting closer. It was achingly slow, you know what he’s doing, he’s giving you a chance to escape. Bail before it became too real, but has he thought about the possibility of you leaning closer?
What are you doing?
His lips hovered over yours, when you closed your eyes he took it as permission.
You’d always heard of the fireworks, that kisses are like explosions of happiness. And they were, and you loved them, but there were no fireworks. At least with him.
With Peter, your entire sky brightened. Little prickles of electricity dolly chained up your spine, an explosion of color in your mind. It made you starving and whole in one touch, his body made to fit against yours perfect.
You wonder if he has the same feeling, you think he does when his hand cups your face, the other one tugs your hip so you fit him better. It’s bold of you, but when you feel that entranced you don’t know how to stop. Your tongue swipes on his bottom lip, it’s very clear he doesn’t know what to do.
You pull away for air, Peter’s pupils blow wide before looking at the floor. His head feels like it’s spinning, the girl he’s always wanted, wants him right back. Peter feels very aware of his surroundings, how hard his heart is pounding, how you’re holding him to you, how you’re tracing his bottom lip with your thumb, how you’re leaning back in, how he’s holding you into him.
You take the lead, it’s slow but you build his confidence, he’s a quick learner.
In minutes you’re nearly laid back on the kitchen counter, you’re about to suggest he takes it to his bedroom, but the thought of breaking away from his kiss keeps you stationary. Peter’s locked to you too, your legs hooked around his waist, keeping him as close as he could get.
All you can think is Peter, Peter, Peter.
He claims he doesn’t know much, but it feels like he’s intune with your body. Peter matches you perfectly, you never knew a makeout session could bring so much tension. A moan pulls from the back of your throat when his thumb peeks under the cotton of your shirt.
Peter breaks the kiss, little huffs of air billow from your mouth while he kisses down the side of your neck. When he finds the spot that makes you squirm he nibbles gently, a hand tangled at the back of his hair lets him know he’s doing something right.
Especially when you arch into his touch as his hand confidently slides under your shirt, digging his fingers into the plush skin over your ribcage. “Fuck, Peter,” it’s breathy and eggs him on, he wants to hear nothing but that for the rest of his life.
Caught up in the moment neither of you heard the door, or noticed the third person in the room, until shock spewed from their mouth.
“Oh, wow!”
Peter rips himself away, his instinct is to hide your face into his chest. You’re grateful, it saves the embarrassment of looking his aunt in the eye after she watched you fold under his hands. Peter’s mind is racing, his only priority was keeping you comfortable.
Fuck, he kisses so sweet. Shut up!
“Hey, May. Get anything good at the farmers market?”
Blatant ignorance and casual conversation was the route he took, and it seemed to have worked. Cloth bags hit the counter, you stay hidden, Peter’s hand pressed into the back of your head. He’s sturdy, your head lays perfect on his sternum, it was made for you. No, stop.
“Yes! I got more of that european bread we really liked.” As much as you would like to be ignored, May wouldn’t let you. A pat on your knee sent your arms curling around Peter’s waist, he tried his best to settle the clench of his heart.
Fits perfect, fits perfect, fits-
“You’d love it, it’s roasted garlic, real pieces too!”
It may be rude to ignore the owner of a home, but you weren’t looking at her for another ten lightyears. At least you give a muffled response into Peter’s chest, “sounds good.” May giggles a little, you hear the fridge open and rustling.
“Are you gonna hide from me forever?”
If Peter could play pretend, so could you. You pushed him away softly, “Peter made brownie cookies.” May raises an eyebrow, directing her attention towards her nephew. “Ever since that first plate of cookies Peter’s been baking like it’s his job.”
He’s perfect.
“You made the cookies?” Peter had told you May did, you’re sure of it. He nods quickly, “I figured if I told you, you’d think they were poisoned.”
You want his touch, you want him pressed into you again. This has to stop.
It’s dramatic, but you’ll bite. “Smart boy.” Peter has a gleam in his eye, “I really am.”
May knows when she’s third wheeling, she makes an excuse to move to the living room, Peter nods towards his room. You accept his hand down and look behind you at the door. He was frustratingly magnetic, you wanted to do nothing more than fall into bed and stay forever attached to his lips.
It was a new rush of feelings, most of them new and almost dangerous. You wanted to explore and learn and take some of Natalie Greene’s advice and grow. But more than wanting, you knew you had to leave.
You were still healing, and if it hurt this bad with him, where nothing felt like this, you can’t imagine the burn this could leave.
“I should go,” you can’t look him in the eye, he’d suck you back in. You’d never be able to leave, you have to leave.
“Is this because of May? Cause we can leave and..” You shake your head fast and take a step back, he’s too kind, too understanding, too new and thrilling and, and… loving. You don’t deserve him or what he brings, you can’t bear the imagination of what his heartbreak would feel like.
“No, not May.” There was only one thing that kept you from him before, you were still pulling the same childish tricks. Something about Peter Parker caused you irrational terror.
“I told you, you shouldn’t have done that.”
Peter tries to look at you, you take another step back. “You asked if I wanted to do it again.” He can’t use logic, it won’t work here. “That didn’t mean do it again.”
“You sure? Cause it really seemed like you wanted me to do it again.” You feel choked for air, he’s backing you into a corner.
“You understood wrong. I need to leave.” Your footsteps paused when Peter called out your name, a timid look over your shoulder made him continue.
“Don’t do this. I know what you’re doing, and it doesn’t end well for either of us. We’re not eight anymore.” Your game was called, you didn’t want to do this, you don’t want to be mean. Why did he have to make you do this to him?
“Desperation isn’t a good look on you.”
Peter crosses his arms over his chest, his tongue swipes over his top teeth before poking out his cheek. “Of course it isn’t.” You’re very aware that he expected this to happen, he expected you to push him away and close the gates. If he did, then he shouldn’t have kissed you. He brought this on himself.
“Nothing is.” What’s a final blow if only to tie the bow on no future contact? Peter took a deep breath and gives you the escape you were looking for, “I’ll see you later.” You shake your head, “no, you won’t.”
The hallway is cold and so is your heart. Removing Peter as a potential threat didn’t do much, somehow you think it feels worse than what it would be like to love and then lose him.
Too bad he wasn’t worth the risk.
You knew dinner was going to be awkward. You did your best to get out of it but it was deemed impossible, you were about to gouge your eyes out of your head just for a solid excuse. But your mom said that you weren’t allowed to do that. So you didn’t.
Peter on the other hand, looked like he was having the time of his life. Especially when May shot you a wink across the table when he reached over your plate. You threatened your eye with a fork, your mom gave you a nasty glare.
“Butter, please?”
You cross your arms and scoff, “get it yourself, penis.” Your mom gasped out your name, appalled you would say something like that. She told you to look him in the eye and apologize, using his real name. Peter showed no reaction, chewing on a buttered biscuit.
“I’m sorry for calling you a penis, Peter.” It was the least authentic apology he’s ever heard.
“Aw, let them be kids, they’re in love.”
Your knife hits your plate so hard it chips, Peter chokes on his bite, crumbs fall from his mouth as he tries to speak as fast as he can. “No, no, May… no.”
You feel the walls closing in, the more you run from it, the more it’s announced. You can’t win. It’s brutal silence on your end, you’re shutting down into a shell of a human.
“Oh? I thought after-”
Peter has your back. “After we made pizza? It was one time, May. It wasn’t like I planned it, it just happened. We were hanging out and I just really wanted pizza and I didn’t really stop to think if she wanted pizza, I just made it.”
May plays right along, and asks you directly. “Does that mean you’re not coming over for pizza anymore?” Does that mean you’re not dating my nephew anymore?
Peter already knows the answer, he just wonders if it’s different if his aunt asks.
“The last pizza I had burned to a crisp in the oven and it tasted really, really bad. And if that was a pizza I thought I loved, I can’t imagine how bad it would’ve been if it was my favorite.”
Your mother has never seen you so passionate about pizza. May quirks an eyebrow, she looks at Peter while she asks.
“You don’t trust Peter in the kitchen?”
You’re doing your best to ignore Peter’s eyes on the side of your face, you’re trying to pretend you’re not being vulnerable.
“He’s the only person who could burn it all down.”
May clicks her tongue, she’s more focused on cutting up her dinner. “For what it’s worth, as Peter’s aunt, he’s a great chef. He takes his time in the kitchen, he doesn’t mind waiting for the yeast to bloom. Because when the dough is ready, he’s really gentle at scooping it up and helping it turn into whatever it needs to be.”
You turn to Peter, he gives a shy smile. “You’re not scared of burning yourself?”
A shrug, “It’s a precaution you take each time you cook, but from what I’ve learned, burns heal.”
“Scars don’t.”
Peter tilts his head, “they fade over time, don’t they?”
May speaks up, she’s looking right at you. It goes past the depth of high school love, it goes to the deepest mark one could leave on a heart. A lover lost too soon.
“They do.”
WEEK FOUR
Peter Parker has been on your mind for four days, (and nights,) straight. Each morning you wake at 3:02 and hear his muffled metronome. You’ve gotten avoiding him down to a T. The first morning you woke up early to watch him leave, then planned a ten minute window in case he was running late one day, and left around that.
You’ve been successful so far. But there was an underlying tug that wanted to be caught, you wanted him to hold you close to him and tell you that he wasn’t going anywhere and nothing safe is worth the risk.
Is that why you let yourself be caught by him this morning?
“Good morning,” it was shot over his shoulder while he locked the door. You grumbled out to him, Peter doesn’t mind you didn’t use words, you were directing expression towards him and that’s enough. “Wanna walk together?”
The idea sends flutters to the middle of your stomach, a brief image of his hand in yours while your hip bumps against his every so often and you laugh at whatever he tells you takes over your mind. “If you want to walk near me while we go to the same location, that’s on you.”
Peter’s hot on your heels down the steps, “that’s a total yes.” You ignore him and try to subtly shut the main door on him, it doesn’t work. “How have you been?” Walking faster, you hope he catches the hint. Peter matches pace perfectly- damn him and his puberty bus and his big strides.
“Personally, I have been mourning the loss of my favorite neighbor coming over.” Peter blinks at the side of your face while carrying a grin. “I mean you, by the way. In case you needed that hint.”
“Got it. Thanks.” You know you need to pick a side, but something in you won’t let you ignore him.
“Welcome. You know, if you’re free, you’re invited for dinner tonight.” You pout sarcastically, “tell May I’ll miss her presence.” Peter bumps your arm, you feel like dropping to your knees. “She keeps asking about you, I’m running out of excuses.”
You scoff, “excuse what? You can tell her the truth, penis.” Peter almost loses you when you swerve around a stranger’s shoulder, in one second he’s next to you again. “And what would the truth be?”
“You pushed yourself onto me,” you stare at Peter in shock when your wrist was grabbed tightly, you came to a stop on the sidewalk with him. He maneuvered to stand in front of you, noticing every inch he had on you; it seemed like his playful mood vanished.
“Hey, I was just messing with you, okay? I thought you just didn’t want to talk about it, but pushing myself on you is the last thing I want you to think I did. If I made you uncomfortable, I’m really sorry.”
Your features softened, your words sent him into a shame spiral. It was annoying how upset he looked with himself, even if you had to swear him off forever, you didn’t want him to think he sexually harassed you.
“I was kidding, Peter. I don’t think you pushed yourself onto me, you gave me the option to back out and I pulled you in. I’d just rather never speak or think about it ever again.”
A weary smile, “that bad, huh?” You pulled your coat tighter around your chest, the cold making the tip of your nose numb. “Quite the opposite, really.” Before you could fall into temptation and kiss him in the middle of the city, you pulled away to keep heading towards school.
“Can I ask what that means?” You nod, “sure.” You offer up no more explanation.
“Well?” You look at him for a second, “oh, sorry. You can ask all you want, doesn’t mean I’ll tell you.”
“You’re gonna inflate my ego, you’re telling me it was so good you can’t put it into words.”
You give him a side eye, “I wasn’t aware there would be so much talking when I allowed you to walk next to me.”
“That’s not denial…” His cadence was sing-songy.
“You’re in denial.”
Peter shook his head confidently, “I’m not in denial, I am very okay with the fact I like you.”
You came to a halt. He’s not allowed to feel this way, he doesn’t know what it could bring. Has he not seen what love can do to a person? Has he not watched you crumble into a thousand pieces over and over throughout the weeks?
And why did his confession turn every piece of rubble into stained glass?
Peter’s not allowed to like you because reciprocation leads to temptation which bleeds into dating where it comes to a crashing end in heartbreak.
You tried to put on a serious face, but you know Peter sees the mask. “Don’t.” Pointing a finger at his chest, “don’t say that, don’t think that, and sure as shit don’t act on it.”
Peter must think you’re joking because he pushes your hand down before lightly laughing. “Don’t act on it? I already did.” Is that what he did? Did he plan that moment? You thought it was a spur of the moment thing, but maybe he’s been planning it for weeks.
How long has he liked you?
It doesn’t matter. You’ll be the adult and end it before it can start, he doesn’t know what this can do to a person. You can do it nicely, or at least try. Maybe he’d find it more sincere if it comes from the heart.
“Peter, have you ever had your heart broken? Like, really broken? Because I wouldn’t put that on my worst enemy. It’s a type of emotional pain that turns physical, I mean, have you ever been so heartbroken you throw up? Have you ever been so sad you don’t eat for days? Have you ever cried so hard you almost fainted? It’s shit, Peter.”
“But was it worth it?”
Did he not hear anything you just said? “What does that mean?”
Peter adjusts the strap of his backpack, “you loved him, right?” You don’t need to give an answer, he already knows it. “Do you regret it? Even with the heartbreak, did that undo all the good that came out of it all?”
You lick your bottom lip, it’s been a circulating thought. Love opened up doors you didn’t know were closed, in the end it was a beautiful tragedy. But that’s the worst part, with Peter you don’t know what it would feel like. You’ve only had a glimpse and it tells you that it’s something that’s going to change you forever.
If Peter leaves, if Peter cheats, it’ll kill you, it’d be nothing like when he did it and you can’t take the gamble.
It was worth it with him, he made you grow. With Peter you’d take ten steps back and never be the same.
“There isn’t always a silver lining, Peter.” You refuse to answer.
“So, what, you’re never going to fall in love again?” Peter’s matching your pace again, you can’t wait until you’re in the four safe walls of Midtown.
“No, I just can’t fall in love with you.”
“Can’t is a funny word choice.”
“Won’t.” You exhale sharply, “I won’t fall in love with you.”
Peter has no interest in your claim, “it’d be easier if you just said you didn’t like me, but you’re not.”
You don’t have to answer, you can choose to ignore him entirely and you’ll be doing just that.
“I don’t like this conversation anymore and I’m ending it.” It works, only for twenty seconds, but it worked until Peter thinks he has a brilliant idea.
“Break up with me.”
Your steps slow, his did the same. Peter’s hands were tucked in his jacket pockets, the urge to kiss him breathless unmeasurable. You fight past it, “huh?”
“You said I don’t know real heartache, so I want you to break up with me. Right here.” He’s entirely way too amused for you, even the idea makes you feel sick.
“I’m not going to break up with you, Peter. I can’t get another tardy slip.” You keep walking, Peter hopped to keep up. “Ten seconds, just end it.”
“No.”
“C’mon, it’ll be easy. Dump me and break my heart.”
“We’re not dating. I can’t dump you, even if I wanted to.” What happened to ending the conversation?
You hear the smirk when he speaks. “If.”
“I’m not playing your word games, Peter.” Because you’re not.
A laugh, “then break up with me.”
You thought he was supposed to be smart. How has he not gotten any of this, does he think it’s a joke, does he think you’re playing? Peter has no idea what this means, but you do.
Tugging at his elbow, you stop him in his tracks. Staring into his eyes and daring yourself not to get lost, you try to make things extremely clear. “I can’t break up with you, Peter. I barely made it through him. I wouldn’t know how to handle losing you. You’d hurt me too bad and I can’t take that risk.”
Peter’s voice is soft when he answers, you want to close your eyes and have it carry you to heaven. “I can’t break up with you either. You’d be able to hurt me just as bad.” It takes you from your trance, “you would. Because I’m a bad girlfriend. If I wasn’t he wouldn’t have replaced me before he could end it.”
Peter’s eyebrows pull together, you stuff your hands into your coat pockets to keep from smoothing them out. “Hey, woah, let’s pause there. You did nothing wrong. Even if you were a bad girlfriend, and trust me, you weren’t, that would never justify him doing that to you. Nothing could.”
It’s nice of him, but he doesn’t know that. “We didn’t talk, you don’t know I wasn’t a bad girlfriend.” Peter scoffs, like the idea of you calling yourself a bad girlfriend offends him personally. “He made you cry all the time,” the words followed by your name. “Bad girlfriends don’t cry, bad boyfriends make their good girlfriends cry.”
Peter heard you. Every time you cried, every time you felt unloved, every time you sobbed out an ‘I’m sorry’ for something you didn’t know you did. He listened, Peter listened like you did each night. How did you never notice the universal gimmick?
If you think back, most of the bad moments were at the hands of him. And for Peter to notice when you were worlds away from his person, makes your heart wrench inside your chest. You know you already drew the line and there’s no crossing it, but it’s nice living in a moment make believe.
“You’d never be able to call me babe.” It was a shitty pet name. You never liked it.
You get flashed with a toothy grin. “That’s okay, I have a million to choose from.”
Or the obvious hang up, “May would totally hate me too, she knows I’ll take your virginity.” Peter waves you off, “we don’t know that.” You quirk an eyebrow, “we don’t?” Peter corrects himself, “she doesn’t have to know that.”
You chuckle from the back of your throat. “But she will. You wouldn’t be able to hide it. I definitely wouldn’t be able to hide it.” Peter looks down for a second, you follow his gaze, you wonder if you’re both zoned in on a black skid on the side of his shoe. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. It’s like, you just get a lot more… touchy, I guess. Nothing’s off limits anymore.”
A monotone reply, “yeah, that sounds like a total nightmare.”
It gets too real. Make believe time is over, now you have to be an adult and stick to your guns.
“It wouldn’t work between us, Peter.”
You feel sad, there’s no good answer and both of you would be left with a bruise. He wanted more than you’d let yourself give and you wanted more than you’d let yourself have. Peter was right, you could hurt him just as bad, and you’d never forgive yourself.
Peter made himself a constant, someone you could really rely on the last few weeks, and if you lose that you don’t know how you’d ever be okay again.
“If you think so.” His kind smile doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s a quiet journey the rest of the way, both of you receiving a tardy slip and parting ways in the hall without a word or glance.
Peter Parker had gotten his wish. You just broke his heart.
This was all Natalie Greene’s fault. If she wasn’t stuck states away at a funeral she would’ve held you accountable and used every means necessary to stop you from going to Peter’s.
It could also be Peter’s fault. He should’ve never kissed you like he did, he should’ve never made your heart beat with purpose and left a sear where he touched. Doesn’t he know you could never forget it?
It also didn’t help that you were drunk. Not drunk enough to be slamming into walls and slurring words, but enough to stop that part in your brain to hold you back from the things you truly wanted. Like your neighbor.
It had been three days of nothing and that wasn’t Peter’s choice. He respected your decisions too much. If you didn’t want him in your life, he wouldn’t be. Doesn’t he know that just makes you want him more?
Peter wasn’t at the party, you didn’t expect him to be, but you were a little hopeful he’d surprise you and show up. He didn’t. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t on your mind with each shot you took, or when you stopped for pizza with a group of friends, when everyone teased you for pineapple but you knew Peter wouldn’t.
You grabbed him a slice of pepperoni without thinking. Or maybe you were. It was an excuse to talk to him, to see him, to touch him. You could take it home and reheat it in the morning, or you could lean into your excuse of a few too many and knock on his door.
It’s Peter’s fault. He really shouldn’t have kissed you like that, he doesn’t understand his power.
Harsh banging. It’s over your head how late it is, you have important things to do. Like, lay over his body in his bed like you kiss down his neck, or squirm with harsh whimpers when he kisses down yours. You bet he likes to cuddle too, he never did, but Peter seems like he couldn’t get enough of you.
If you couldn’t date Peter you could use him as a rebound, right?
Faster knocking, why isn’t he answering? At your loudest, the door opens. He was sleeping, you could tell by the puffy eyes but you didn’t look at his face too long, no, Peter was in nothing but a pair of boxers.
When the fuck did he get so toned? You would’ve reached out for a light graze, but he stopped you.
“You’re so lucky May’s on overnight duty.” No, you’re lucky because he’s half naked and sleepy, you’ve never seen anyone so tempting. It feels like you’re dying and only he could save you.
You can’t help it, your palm connects with his chest, it’s there longer than a second. It’s less about pushing him aside and more about touching him, and he knows that. Peter talks at a normal volume for the hour, “what are you doing here?”
Your thumb traces his collarbones, “I brought you pizza.” Your breath skips when he turns his head to the side to check the time on the microwave in the kitchen, his jawline ultra toned.
“At one in the morning?” Peter’s amused, you don’t think he would’ve ever been so kind if you disrupted his sleep. You nod, “I was thinking of you.” You raise the small box, just as proof as you really did get him a slice.
Peter takes it with a smile. “Thanks, kid.” You don’t know why, but you really like that one.
“Can I come in?” If he thought all you wanted was to share a midnight snack, he was terribly mistaken. The door widened in response, you made sure to brush against his side, he said nothing.
Following him into the kitchen, you have a flashback. It’s one you want to reenact, maybe if you sit in the same spot he’ll catch the drift. A blue wave of light washes over him when his snack is stored for morning, he looks angelic.
You don’t think you’ve ever been this fascinated with him.
“Now I understand all the song references about refrigerator lights.” Peter looks over his shoulder, his grin makes you feel like you’re flying. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He emerges with two water bottles, cracking the lid on yours and passing it over. His rests on the counter. He doesn’t need water but you do and he’s not about to make you feel singled out.
You think it might be too late. You think you might already be falling.
“I don’t know, but I just get it.” He’s letting you do all the talking, it’s odd, you’re not used to being listened to. If Peter realizes what you’re doing, he says nothing. Maybe you just have to point it out.
You gesture to yourself, the real reason you came over finally announced.
“Do you see where I’m sitting?”
Peter nods, “I do.”
Your fingers tap on the countertop, “remember the last time I sat here?” Peter breathes deep, you wonder if he’s thinking about it right now. “I do.”
You wait. He makes no move. Where’s your kiss?
“Well? Are you gonna do it again?” You pucker for good measure, just in case there was an inkling of uncertainty on his end. You’re making it clear what you want. A faulty smile, you don’t like it one bit.
“No,” at least he sounds sorry about it. But he likes you, he told you himself, why would he deny you? Doesn’t he know how much you need this?
“Why not? If you think this is a trick, it’s not. If you want, I’ll kiss you first.” You jump down but you’re held back by a hand, he’s literally pushing you away. It’s a feeling that causes a tug, you really don’t like it.
“You’re drunk,” Peter follows the statement with your name, he’s not mean but he’s also not going to change his mind.
You scoff, buzzed would be more accurate. “I’m not drunk.”
“Drunk enough you’re allowing yourself to have this conversation.”
He has a very fair point.
“Liquid courage, kiss me?” Peter shakes his head, “you made it clear nothing would happen, so nothing is going to happen.”
You grin, “consider it practice then.” Your words make him frown, “you don’t want this.” Who is he to tell you what you do or don’t want?
“How do you know I don’t want this?”
“Because this isn’t you.”
You feel a tightness in your chest, he doesn’t get to think he knows you more than you do. “You don’t know me, Peter. You just have an idea of me.”
“You’re hurt and confused. I won’t take advantage of that, being mad at me won’t make me change my mind.”
Where was his care coming from? He didn’t care about you this much and neither should Peter. It wasn’t normal, was it? But it’s also not fair to compare Peter to him at every chance, especially because Peter only ever seems to outshine.
“Why didn't you act like this a year ago?” If he truly cares, where was it before?
“You mean when you had a boyfriend?”
Is that why he waited until now to be a friend? Did he think you’d be sad and have weak defense, making it easy for him to get first in line? “Is that what it is? You waited until I was dumped to put on this act and lay it on me while I’m all confused? How long have you had this planned out?”
Your words are like daggers, the things you’re alluding to, he would never do them. Ever.
“Don’t. I’ve always liked you but you had a boyfriend and the last thing on my mind was trying to get with you when it ended. You were so miserable, I just wanted to be a friend or something, but it changed and maybe a little piece of it was me being selfish. I made the first move, several times. I kissed you, I asked you out, I told you I liked you. And you said no. I respect your no, why don’t you?”
You could tell him the truth, tell him that he was right and his love terrified you because you haven’t felt something so raw before in your entire life. Peter wasn’t yours, or anywhere close to it. It shouldn’t be natural to feel magnetized to him.
You could tell him the truth, but you’re better at hiding behind false walls.
“I liked you better when you didn’t care about me.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
He knows you’re lying but he won’t make you admit it, no, he’ll push you into your corner of lies until you force your way out with the truth. Peter Parker will not chase you.
Would it be wrong to push him so far away he wouldn’t let you chase him too?
“You have a superiority complex. That’s why you can’t find a girlfriend, or any friend really. You think you’re better than everyone else and it’s a natural repellent.” You back up towards the door, you spit words as they come to your mind.
“I was willing to do it. I was willing to give you a shot but you ruined it for yourself. You’re going to look back on this moment and regret it.”
Peter really doesn’t care for your dramatics. It’s impressive he can one, handle it and two, make you check yourself. “Regret not taking advantage of a drunk girl? Is that what you’re insinuating?”
“No! I just meant that… I don’t know what I mean, Peter! I don’t know anything and you’re not helping in the slightest and everything about you makes me want to fucking cry or scream or, or… I don’t know.” Your voice trails, it’s the most honest you’ve been in weeks.
“I don’t know anything anymore, Peter.”
Everything you’ve ever thought about love has been wrong.
He made you feel flightless. But Peter, Peter made you feel free. Peter made you feel like you were flying at full speed, like the wind washes over your cheeks so harshly you’re in a permanent grin. You’ve never seen the world from this high up, in this much color, it’s never been so beautiful.
The flight is amazing, thinking about stopping it hurts you. How would it feel to be on the ground again, to walk around, to be without wings and treetops and colors and wind? How would it feel to be without Peter?
Would it feel like an agonizing death?
Would your wings ever be patchable again?
Questions that make you realize the closer you get to him, the harder you’ll hit the ground. You’re okay with falling, you’re able to brace yourself the best way you can. But will Peter be there to catch your landing?
It looks like he’s trying to stop himself from hugging you, it’s a good thing he is. He might be thinking you’d yell or push him away, you think you’d just cry.
Peter looks tired, and more than just because you woke him up. You wonder if it’s because he’s up late every other night, you want to ask him about the routine and why he broke it tonight. You won’t.
Your back hits the door, there was only one thing you were sure of, it had been a chain reaction since. This was Peter’s fault, he’s the one that kissed you. He started it.
“You shouldn't have kissed me, you really, really shouldn’t have. You’ve fucked this all up, penis.”
Peter’s tired of the blame. “You came here,” he ends it with your name, like he’s pleading.
It’s annoying, at least you tell yourself it is. If you can replace feelings with antonyms you’ll trick your brain and you’ll be right on track to hating him again and only seeing him as a void object.
You open the door, it’s the last time you’ll allow yourself to look at his face.
It’s Peter’s fault.
“Because you made me want to.”
WEEK FIVE.
It’s way too early for the hysteric buzz of a mosquito in your ear, yet, it still sings to you while you’re locking your front door.
“Good morning.”
You nod your head, “penis.”
And just like that, the mosquito’s squashed.
You yawn so harshly that you rub at your jaw. You’re unable to sleep and miserable. You’ve tried everything under the moon and stars, nothing worked. Staring up at the ceiling you tried to count sheep but they kept turning into the tiny freckles that dotted over Peter’s cheeks.
It wasn’t fair to keep thinking about him, you’re doing your part. You cut him out and you decided to hate him. You’re just finding out that that’s not how it works.
3:02, you hear his window.
3:04, your eyes finally get heavy.
3:07, you’re dozing off.
3:10, you’re asleep.
It wasn’t fair.
Three nights later, It’s 3:02 in the morning and a window slams shut. This time, it isn’t your neighbors. This time, it was your own. You should be scared, but you don’t feel threatened, you’re curious. You pull your head from under your pillow.
Spider-Man is at the foot of your bed, his shoulder hits the window frame when he pulls his mask off. He’s racing for air, he looks beat up, a gash crossed over his chest.
If you didn’t have as much distain as you did, you’d be slightly shocked.
“If you get blood on my carpet, I will fucking kill you.”
Peter must be dizzy, because he’s imagining you in his room.
"Seriously, if you get blood on my carpet I'll have you come over tomorrow and scrub it out with your toothbrush."
Peter tries to swallow, it's hard to do. His head feels like a brick, his hands won't stop shaking.
“Hey, pesky pete, I mean it. Get the fuck outta here.”
When he holds his eyes close, then opens them, he still sees you there. Peter looks down at his hands, turning them back and forth. They go in and out of focus, it’s dizzying, at one point he has five hands.
He says your name questioningly, it’s hard to get words off his tongue, his brain is moving too slow. “Yup, that’s me. Now get out.” Peter touches his chest, it’s beet red. His shoulder is killing him, he stumbles and slams into the wall- now you’re sitting up in bed.
“Peter, are you okay?” It’s pure worry, the act is dropped for a second, he’s not normal. He’s not answering, you think he’s trying but he can’t bring himself to speak, he’s lagging in real time. One foot hits the floor, the rest of you perched in your bed keeping an eye on his frame.
“Peter.” You need his focus on you.
He presses his hand to his wound, a last ditch effort to protect your carpet. Then, he hits the floor. You jump up, “Peter? Peter, are you okay? Peter,” he’s passed out and tore up to shreds. Every bit of you wants to scoop him into your lap and hold him tight, but instead, you get to work.
Peter flies up from the bed gasping for air, his face is cold and wet. The source is your twisted grin above him, a water glass held tightly.
“Oh, good. You’re up.”
Peter pats his chest, a blur of last night follows. He sits up in a haste, a tug in his side makes him cradle it, you both wince at the same time.
“Yeah, I tried doing the best I could, but I wasn’t sure if there was something under that.. Or how to take it off. You probably have significant damage.”
“Thanks.” His mouth is dry and his voice crackly, it sends a zing up your spine. Peter’s never felt so weak after a rough night, his head is pounding and he can feel the crunch of dried blood under his suit.
“Can I get some of that or are you still punishing me?” The only reason you give him the rest of the glass is because you like Spider-Man. He has a job to do, Peter on the other hand, could die of thirst.
“You passed out on me last night.”
Peter chugs the glass, you almost think about getting him another. “I did.”
You nod, “I had to lug you up here, you’re extremely heavy when you’re dead weight.” He almost smiles at the imagery, instead he glances down and realizes you did your best attempt at working on the gashes over his chest and arms through the spandex.
Even as he was passed out and rendered useless. You must not hate him as much as you say. It's still nice to know he's not getting special treatment because of who he is, not even Spider-Man could make you like Peter.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have excellent bedside manner?”
“Oh no, anything I could do to make it worse?”
“I think another water and some advil might kill me.”
“Perfect, coming right up.”
Peter takes another ten minutes before trying to sit up, “I should go home and shower.” Your hand gently pushes his shoulder back down, “easy, tiger. May isn’t home and you’re not about to turn your shower into a personal slip and slide.”
Before you could regret the words, “if you want a shower, you’re doing it here.” He paused under your touch, scared you made the wrong impression, your eyes widened. “Not with me or anything, I just meant so you’d have someone around.”
Peter doesn’t care how it has to get done, he wants the suit and dried blood off him. He nods his head and sits up a little slower before tugging at his neckline. You look away for a minute, unsure where to settle your eyes.
“Help me get my arm out?” Your hands pull at the suit, his arm escapes, it’s covered in small knicks. It’s a subconscious move, you gently tap the cuts with your thumb. Peering into his eyes you hold a frown.
“Does it hurt?”
Peter feels like you might kiss his marks. “Not really, it’s mostly my side.”
You rub his chest, “you got a gash right here.” It’s over his heart.
“Guess we’re twinsies now.”
If he wasn’t in pain, you’d slap his arm for the comment. Instead, you watch him carefully remove the red and blue until he’s left in his boxers. You do your best to keep your eyes on his face, Peter looks amused.
“You’re trying really hard not to look at me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Parker.” You offer a hand to pull him up, he accepts. A slow stand, his back’s more defined than his front, you almost bite your fist. Peter has the same shower as you, but you still explain how to use it. And allow him to use your products.
“Got it.” The tap is turned on, the water hits against the ceramic. You make no effort to move, instead watching for a moment. Peter’s fingers pull at the waistline of his briefs, your eyes dart right to them.
“You know, this is the part where most people leave.” It’s teasing.
“I just wanted to make sure you got in okay, it’s a high step.” It’s a quarter of the truth.
“I’ll be alright, I’ve been doing this alone for a few years.” Peter says it like it’s an inside joke, but it just makes you feel sad. He’s never had someone to be there for him, or patch up his wounds, or make sure he’s okay to shower. You wonder how many times he’s passed out on his bedroom floor with no one to drag him to bed.
“You okay?” A hand on your skin wakes you back up, clearing your mind of Peter.
You nod, it was a flash of empathy. You couldn’t imagine what it’s like for him.
“I’m just sorry you’ve had to do it all alone. It doesn’t seem fair, Spider-Man does nothing but take care of other people. He should have someone to take care of him for a change.”
It may sound like you’re insinuating, especially the way he looks at you when he responds.
“Yeah. That’d be nice.”
Seconds tick, it’s getting a little weird, mostly because you want to tackle him into the shower and race your mouth over every inch of skin. You clear your throat, “you want me to get you anything from your place?”
“Sure. Go shopping for me.”
You use the copied key May left for you several years ago when you tended to some plants while her and Peter went on vacation, and it feels weird being in their home alone. It’s too quiet, the Parker’s are expressive in everything they do, when they're not around everything lacks passion.
Peter’s bedroom is almost the same as it was the last time you were in it, the same furniture but moved around. His posters looked updated and there’s a few extra awards he’s tucked away, you frown, he should be proud of his achievements and hang them high.
A new picture of him and May from last year, you ignore the part of your brain that says he has very kissable cheeks. His closet is clean and he’s made it easy for you to search around, each drawer is dedicated to a different clothing and everything that should be hung up, is.
It’s something you hadn’t considered, but a man taking care of his laundry creates an entire new standard.
Peter handed over the control when you said to get what you wanted, that means you can dress him how you please. And wouldn’t he look yummy in sweatpants and a white shirt? You don’t see how he couldn’t, it’s the male version of a sundress.
Arms full of cotton, you tap at the bathroom door with your foot. You shout over the water, “I have your clothes.” It’s muffled but you hear him and gently push the door open, a faint outline on the shower curtain suddenly makes you shy.
“They’re right here,” patting the clothes for good measure. Peter shoots out a ‘thanks!’ and you slowly back out until you’re sitting patiently on your bed, listening closely when the tap turns off. If he goes falling, you’re busting the door down.
No struggles, at least not until he emerges. Peter’s fine, but you’re speechless and choked. There was no one you punished but yourself with the outfit, the t-shirt is tight on his arms and the sweatpants hug his hips just right.
“I feel human again, thanks, kid.” You turn on manual breathing mode and distantly nod, his biceps are stretching the cotton, you lick your lips subconsciously. “No problem.” You watch a water droplet fall from his hair to his shoulder, your eyes stay hooked in place, his arms flexed when he dried it with the towel you lended him.
“Where should I put this?” You point to your hamper, if he put it anywhere else you’d be half tempted to sniff it. “Did you tell May I was here?” You nod and finally find strength to talk to him, “yeah. I sent her a text last night, I wasn’t sure of her Spider-Man knowledge so it was a little cryptic.” You take a breath and choose honesty, no doubt he’d get a third degree.
“I think she interpreted it as us hooking up.” Another breath, “I did not correct her.”
Peter has a boyish smile spread, it squeezes your chest, you want him in your hold more than anything. “Nice.” You scream and cheer and thank your lucky stars when he sits next to you. He used your products, but he still smells like Peter. You want to stuff your nose into his shirt and breathe him in until you physically can’t.
“May knows, by the way.” You nod absentmindedly, “anyone else?” “A couple friends.” You almost make a quip like ‘wow, you have friends?’ but you really can’t find it in you to pretend to hate him anymore. Especially when he almost died on your floor and all you wanted to do was tell him that you were sorry and you were mostly in love with him.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Do the webs come out of you?” Peter lightly laughs, it’s always the same question off the bat. “No. I make a special web fluid and I have these bracelet kind of things to shoot them out.”
“Oh. Cool.” You’re hiding the burn in your lower stomach at the thought of him over his desk creating a new form of technology. He’s so fucking smart it’s unfair, he’s too smart for his own good.
He’s grinning at you, “is it?” You can’t stop staring at his mouth, “yeah.” You’d do anything to kiss him again, the last time you truly felt alive was when his lips were on yours. “Any other questions?” There’s one. But it’s not about Spider-Man.
“Not really.” Your interest could be explored later, right now, all you needed was him. Peter finds it surprising, “I think you are the least curious person to find out about this.” You shrug, shifting your body more towards him. Peter rejected you last time but if you move like he did when he kissed you, if you move in slow for the kill, you might just get your way.
“Give me the cliff notes.” Peter starts ticking them off with his fingers, while he’s distracted you move in closer. “Bit by a radioactive spider when I was fifteen. Heightened senses plus a cool sixth sense where I can sense danger. Super strength-” You stop listening right there, your eyes are all over his build, no fucking wonder he’s a contender for worlds fittest man.
You shuffle in, your knee brushes his thigh, if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. You thank the sweatpants, the material too thick to give you away. “-Oh, and I stopped needing my glasses which is pretty cool. I think that’s pretty much it, but if you want me to expand on anyth…”
Now or never.
You push up and straddle Peter’s waist, his hands immediately hold your hips. You lean down, his grip tightens. Peter mumbles out your name, you answer with a slow kiss. Your fingers drag through his hair, curls wrap themselves around your fingers, you hold them tight. When Peter licks your bottom lip, when Peter takes control, you need to feel every bit of him.
Your hands fall down his neck and over his shoulders, then they fall to his arms, your nails lightly drag up the skin. A hum from Peter, your lower stomach clenches, you answer with a roll of your hips, he sighs into your mouth. You drag your palms over his chest, his heart is at the same pace as yours.
You break the kiss, both of you breathing fast, it doesn’t last. You kiss over his jawline, you can’t hold it in, you can’t fucking stop yourself. “You’re so fucking hot,” wet marks are dotted down his neck. “I wanna take you right here, I wanna make you feel so good.” Another grind, this time, Peter moves with you, it pulls a moan from the back of your throat. The favor returned with a hickey at the bottom of his neck, it sent him falling into your hold.
You’re kissing anywhere you can reach, “you gotta stop,” it comes out in a puff. “You’re killing me here.” Too bad, not so sad, you’re latched onto his mouth again, this time, you tug at the bottom of his shirt, it takes three times before you realize he’s not catching the hint and you pull it up yourself.
You study him when it goes flying, his eyes are more pupil than brown, his lips pouty and pulling a red hue. “Lay back,” he does, you lean over him, you’re marking up his collarbones while his hand has a fistful of your hair. Then… the kisses get lower, you're grazing over his chest, delicate brushes across the semi-healed cuts, you must’ve blocked out the advanced healing perk.
Your hand trails over his side, you soak in the grooves and muscle, your fingers brushing against the waistband of his sweatpants. Peter’s breathing hitches, you keep teasing, then bring your lower body into play. Bumps and grinds have Peter panting in your mouth, you pull back, even as he’s heaving for air, Peter’s trying to follow your kiss.
Your fingers slip further under the elastic, holding his gaze when you tell him about your intentions. “I wanna suck you off.”
There’s a pause, then he sits up on his elbows.
“Does this mean you want to be my girlfriend?” Does it? You don’t think so. You just want him, you want his mouth and his hands and his body intertwined with yours. But to fall into him and have him see all your worst parts, to have him hold your heart between his hands and trust he’d take care of it is too much.
“No.”
He’s sad. It’s not just something you think, it’s something you know. Your heart tumbles with his face. You want to hug him, you try, but he tossed you off his lap like nothing.
“May told me to get groceries today, so I should probably head out.” You swallow tightly, you’re not liking how this is sounding. “Are you mad at me?” You feel nothing but shame at his sigh, it’s debilitating when you hear his cutthroat tone. “I’m not a fucking rebound.” But he wanted to be. He wanted this. He wanted you.
Peter doesn’t use the f word, not ever.
“Whether I’m your girlfriend or sucking your dick, you’d still be a rebound.” Silence rings around the room. Peter’s voice is tight when he answers you.
“Is that all you think of me? Just a rebound?”
You don’t know how to be honest with him. You never have. “Would I be wrong?”
“Very.” It’s clipped. You’ve never heard Peter with an edge and you don’t like it. You really don’t like being on the other side of his frustration. He’s only ever been soft and kind with you, you can’t handle any more change in your life. You need Peter to keep being Peter.
You were so scared of losing him you went and filled his head up with words of affirmation, used your mouth on him, then turned around and shut him down. If this is only a fraction of how it stings when Peter’s upset you don’t know if you could handle more. You’ve never felt Peter’s cold shoulder before and it hurts.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” It’s bullshit, Peter can sense it too. “You did.” You chew on your bottom lip, “I did, but not like that.” Peter seems taller than normal when he’s standing over you, you can’t look him in the face, it’s nothing but being mortified. You really put your foot in your mouth.
“Do you even like me or are you just horny?” You can’t allow yourself to answer him.
“I’m an idiot.” Your face turns in, Peter’s laughing at himself. “I’m such an idiot. I really thought you liked me. I thought you were trying to fight it but no, that was just me daydreaming.” You’re looking up at him but he’s already standing at the door with his shirt on and suit tucked under his arm.
“You don’t like me. You never did and now I’m trying to make pieces fit where they don’t.” He’s staring right into your eyes, he says it louder, he’s saying it for himself. “I’m not a rebound.”
“You’ve never been properly loved and it shows.”
And that’s the most brutal thing he could’ve ever said to you. Your lower lip trembles with the tears pricking at your eyes, he started it and you can’t stop it.
“I fucking hate you. I hate you so fucking much, Peter.”
No surprises there. “Yeah, I know.” He sounds just as defeated.
When he leaves you cry harder for Peter than you ever did him, and that says something. But you’re not listening.
WEEK SIX.
You finally broke down and told everything to Natalie Greene. She held you in her arms while you cried about losing what you could’ve had. “I’m sure he’ll come around babe, he likes you a lot.” You shake your head, “not anymore. He hasn’t answered any of my texts in three days.”
You can at least give yourself the benefit of trying to do damage control. He wouldn’t let you. You’d sent a flurry of texts, each one more apologetic than the next, begging him for a chance to see you but he refused.
You think you broke him.
“Have you tried talking to him? In person?” You shake your head, he doesn’t want to talk to you. You blew everything up and for the first time you really hate it. Two weeks ago you were begging for this but now you just feel terrible.
“Nat, this is nothing like what I had with him and I don’t know what that means.” Your friend hugged you close, “it means you love him more than you ever did him.” You swallow hard, you knew the truth but it was different hearing it.
It doesn’t matter anymore. You ruined it and Peter won’t talk to you anymore.
“You should’ve seen the look on his face, Nat. He was fucking crushed. It’s like…” You take in a sharp breath, you’ve been beating yourself up over it since he walked out. “It’s like I used him.” Natalie Greene doesn’t bullshit but she’s still soft as ever with her response, it’s purred out while her acrylics scratch your back. “You did.”
She’s your best friend. She should be on your side. “But I didn’t! I just-”
“Yeah, you did. You knew how he felt about you and you said no so he stopped trying. Then you showed up drunk and threw yourself at him, he said no and you got all butthurt. Then he comes over and somehow passes out on your floor and you offer him a blowjob.”
Well, when she puts it like that…
“Of course he’s going to think you flipped your script, you’re the one who kept pushing after you told him no.” Peter’s words echo in your mind, ‘I respect your no, so why don’t you?’ Because you can’t allow yourself to have him, that’s why. But… you already do, don’t you? Or, you did.
“He’s gonna wreck me, Nat. He already is.”
“Because you’re fighting it. I get it, babe, I’ve been where you are a dozen times. But you don’t get over heartbreak by hiding from love. I know it’s Peter Parker and he’s been your enemy since you were eight, but no matter how fast you try to run, he’s right there matching your stride.”
You sniff into her arm, she smells like lavender and it makes you snuggle further. “I think I’ve always liked him.” You could finally admit it. Natalie’s been there for months, years possibly. “I know. You always talk about him.”
You scrunch your eyebrows, “no I don’t.” Natalie thinks you must’ve said a funny joke because she’s laughing like it. “Yeah you do. Sure, it might have been mean things but if you truly hate someone you don’t notice everything they do.”
You noticed everything about Peter and made sure to fill Natalie Greene in on the gossip.
Like when he cut his hair way too short in middle school and his curls disappeared for months.
When he slipped in mashed potatoes in the cafeteria and fumbled until he could steady himself.
When his cheeks flamed pink because he forgot to silence his phone during a test and the Game of Thrones theme song blasted through the room as he awkwardly tried to silence the call.
Then there’s the time he stuttered when giving an answer in biology because Lindsey Snipes was twirling her hair at him. A small tug in your stomach, the answer suddenly clear to why you’ve always hated her too.
And when he bumped a friend's coke all over his notebook and he just watched with an open mouth while all his hard work was ruined.
When he stumbled up the steps.
When he hit his head with his locker.
When he stepped on his glasses.
When he was tackled in flag football.
When he tripped over his shoelace.
When he got glue in his hair.
When he winced while dissecting a frog.
When he cracked his phone because he dropped it and a guy on the football team kicked it clear across the cafeteria while he laughed. That one didn’t make you laugh. That one made you so angry you made a point to tell Kristina, said player's girlfriend, so she could give him a well deserved tongue lashing. And not the good kind.
When he fell asleep at the library and had a red mark on his cheek to prove it.
When he spit milk everywhere because the one he grabbed was expired.
When, no matter what, each time you met his eyes he’d send you a smile. And how each time there was something that made you want to give it back.
“Natalie,” you can hear it in your voice. It’s dangerous. It’s terrifying.
It’s worth it.
“I think I’m in love with Peter Parker.”
Natalie Greene and you had carefully conducted Operation: Get Peter Back.
Step one: Tell him, (IN PERSON) how you feel.
Step two: See above.
There were no other steps. Natalie Greene told you that’s all you could do.
One day later you knocked at his door before you could lose the small amount of courage you had, it’s soft enough you hope it’s unnoticeable, you could quit and say you tried. Your heartbeat’s in the bottom of your throat, your palms itch as you rub them over your shirt.
A smidge of relief, no one heard you. You’re about to quietly escape, May doesn’t let you off that easily. She’s surprised when your name comes from her mouth, you wonder how much she knows. “Hi, May. Is Peter home?” She’s got a weak poker face, her eyes dart to the side of the door before she’s smiling sweetly.
“Sorry, honey. He’s out with some friends.” You know he’s right behind the wood. You speak up, you want to be sure he hears you too. “Can I leave you with a message?” May stands straighter, she wasn’t expecting this. “Of course.”
“Can you tell him I’m sorry? And that I’ve been way too selfish and mean and a complete and utter fucking bitch to him for no good reason for nine years? Can you tell him that he’s the last person I ever wanted to hurt like this and that I really want to say it to his face?”
May ignores the colorful language and you’re thankful for it. Her eyes trail to the side again, she smiles softly. “I’ll let him know.” There’s no need, he already knows and you both know it. His answer lies in the fact that he’s allowing May to keep up the charade. You don’t know if Peter is bad at forgiveness or just that you don’t deserve it.
“Thanks, May.” You watch the door slowly close, when there's just a crack left you stop it with a hand. “He’s… He’s okay, right?” Your heart thumped slowly, you’re reading her face like it’s your job, you need to know he’s okay.
A tight nod. “He’s okay.” You can breathe a little better. “Good.”
You stare at his door for another two minutes after it shuts.
Is this an asshole move? Yes.
Is this worse than what you’ve already done? Possibly.
Peter still wasn’t talking to you and you only had one card to pull. He was home, but he wasn’t answering your texts. You think it’s time to fight fire with fire. You’re standing by his apartment door, and loudly talk into your phone. No one’s on the other side, but he doesn’t know that.
“Hello? Yes, I’m looking for J. Jonah Jameson?” Your eyes twitch to his door, nothing. You speak a little louder. “I understand he’s busy. Well I just… Uh huh, right, I understand, yes ma’am. Is he interested in Spider-Man’s identity?”
You hear something drop inside his apartment.
“Yeah, I know who Spider-Man is.” Peter swings the door open, your phone is ripped from your hand. He glares down at the screen, you’re not connected to anyone. “That’s a low move.” You lightly shrug, “did you expect anything more than that?”
A scoff, “with you? No.” Your lips twitch, you have to fight the frown. You catch his arm when he turns around, there’s no trying, he’s an unstoppable force, you’re moving with him. “I’m sorry! Peter, please! I’m sorry, I am so so sorry and I need you, okay? I need you to not be mad at me.”
Was that honesty? Were you actually being honest with him? Your shoes squeak when he stops pulling you, you’re looking at him desperately searching his face for emotion. There is none. “You’re not a rebound. Not at all. I should’ve never called you one.”
There’s a lot you’ve done to Peter you never should’ve done. Maybe it’s time you start owning up to it.
“I should’ve never said you were a rebound, I shouldn’t have kissed you, I shouldn’t have shown up here drunk, I shouldn’t have kept coming back for more after I told you no. I shouldn’t have ignored you for nine years, I shouldn’t have shut you out when I was eight, I shouldn’t have hurt you.”
Peter’s not saying anything and you don’t mind. You need to say this, you need him to know.
“I shouldn’t have hurt you. I meant what I told May. You’re the last person I ever wanted to hurt like this. You’re Peter. You’re nice, you’re warming, you’re always positive and you buy me pizza without making fun of me and you sign off on donation slips and you let me rip your notebooks apart and you bake me things.”
You blink through your tears. “You were there when I really needed you and you are anything but a fucking rebound to me.” Your chest feels tight, “you’re so good to me, even when I don’t deserve it. I really don’t deserve it now but I really fucking need you, Peter. I know I went on this whole speech thing where Spider-Man needs someone but-”
“I’m here.” Relief fills you, Peter has you tucked into his chest with his arms around you. “I’m right here, okay?” It’s the selflessness that really gets you. You’ve been nothing but mean and standoffish but Peter’s hugging you because you need it.
But really, it’s because he knows he was right. You do like him. You like him more than you’re willing to admit to him yet.
“Can you catch popcorn with your mouth?”
Peter tosses a piece up and catches it with his eyes closed. You grumble and throw your own at him, he also catches that with his eyes closed.
“Okay, turn off the powers and try again.” He laughs at you, “it doesn’t work like that.” You huff, “well, make it.” Peter tosses a piece up and dodges it, it satisfies you. “Ha. Loser normy.”
“Did you just call me a normy?”
“You’re just a boring normal person, I hate to tell you, but it’s true.”
There’s been a brief pause in the actual relationship aspect of your friendship. There’s no more kissing, but you’d really like there to be. You think Peter’s starting to sweat you out and you have no issues with it. If he wants you to make the first move, you’ll do it.
But it’s all in the timing.
“Did I ever tell you that six weeks ago Nat said she’d do heroin with me?” Popcorn spills on the couch, Peter’s darting his eyes over your arms looking for track marks. “We didn’t do it! She said that if I still felt miserable after six weeks she’d do it with me.”
“Miserable? What, about the breakup?”
“Yeah,” you shove a handful of buttery styrofoam into your mouth. For the first time in weeks it doesn’t hurt to talk about. It’s not even a little sore, there’s no bitterness or resentment. There’s nothing there. It’s pure indifference.
You pushed Peter away because you didn’t want him to be a rebound, you didn’t want to use him to get over someone else. But you haven’t thought of him since… since… you can’t remember the last time you actually thought of him.
But when you think of Peter your heart races, your palms feel warm, your stomach flutters. His kisses ignite you. You wake up in the morning and think of him, you wake up every night to make sure he’s home and go right back to sleep. You walk with him every morning, you wave and smile at school, you come over everyday.
You’re in love with Peter and only Peter.
“I don’t know why I ever thought he was worth that.”
Peter has the answer, it’s muffled around popcorn. “Cause you loved him.” You pick a piece off Peter’s shirt and crunch down on it. “Yeah, I don’t think I knew what love was. How embarrassing.”
He smiles. Your eyes catch the screen again, you shuffle more towards Peter, then stop yourself. “Is it weird if we cuddle?” Peter rips the popcorn bowl between you away, he’s never cuddled with a girl before but he’d be an idiot to say no.
“Weird for who? Weird for me? Weird for us?” Peter doesn’t care about the answer. “Those are rhetorical, just come cuddle me.” It’s all you needed, you press up against him and wait, he’s not moving. Fine with you, you halfway lay on him, head on his chest. You’ve never been this close to him, you’ve kissed him and you’ve made a bold move that backfired, but you’ve never been this soft or domesticated with him.
Peter’s heart is drumming a little fast, you make no comment. Yours is beating at the same rate.
You expected Peter to still like you but you haven’t asked. After what happened maybe he decided you’d be better friends. It wasn’t talked out, you both skimmed over what happened and started hanging out like nothing happened.
But it did and you’re glad. It puts things in perspective. It made you realize how much you like him. You just need to know if it made him feel the opposite.
“Do you still like me?”
“I’m sorry, I’ve never cuddled with anyone before so I don’t really know what-”
“No, I mean do you still like me?” Peter knows what you mean. He doesn’t know how you think he doesn’t. “Of course I do.” You peek up at him, he’s already got eyes on you, it makes your cheeks feel warm.
“Even after I was shitty to you?” Peter laughs, a hard laugh, you move with his jostles. “Honey, you’ve been giving me shit for nine years, it hasn’t slowed me down one bit.”
Honey. It has a nice ring to it, you like it. But the one you’ve always liked hasn’t ever been uttered with endearment and you really want it, you want it to come from Peter’s voice and have it wrap around your ears while your heart bubbles up with giddiness.
“Can you call me sweetheart?”
“Is that the one you like?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
It’s so much sweeter than you imagined.
You’re not sure what details May knows, but she knows you hurt her nephew. She hasn’t said anything but you can feel her watching your back every time you’re with Peter. Her tone isn’t clipped and she’s just as welcoming as before, but you can feel it. You can sense that she isn’t fully trusting.
May had stared at you for a good thirty seconds when she caught you spread across Peter’s lap while he studied. You tried to focus on his rubix cube in your hand, even going as far to prove you’re not a threat by giving him a light kiss on his cheek. She didn’t seem convinced, but she left it alone.
Two days ago she burst into Peter’s room and made it very clear that when you were over the door stays open. Peter tried to fight it, he said that you were just hanging out but she was dead serious, going as far as saying that if he couldn’t handle her rules, he wasn’t allowed to have company.
Peter didn’t tell you that you were the only person with this rule, but you knew you were.
“I just don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this, May. She’s just-” You weren’t going to be involved, you weren’t going to give May more ammo.
“Door stays open, Peter. If May says it, we follow it.” Peter doesn’t agree with you, you can tell by the way he nods his head and clicks his pen. When did you start being able to read him? And why do you like it so much?
But the real hint was when you weren’t welcome to stay for dinner the previous night. There’s never been a time May denied you food, most of the times she’d come over begging you to join so they wouldn’t have so many leftovers. But last night she just suggested you go home and prepare for the next day.
You watched Peter’s jaw clench in frustration, then you sweetened him up with a smile and told him you were planning on leaving anyway. You don’t think he bought it. You needed to talk to May, you needed to know she was okay with you and Peter, if she wasn’t- no matter how hard it would hurt, you’d stay away from Peter.
May is all he has and you’re not going to put any strain on their relationship. Not over you.
Peter was staying late at school for math club and it’s your perfect opportunity. A light knock, May answers almost instantly. She’s surprised but she melts into a smile, it’s lacking something. “Oh! Peter isn’t here.”
“I know. I wanted to talk to you.” Now you’ve got her interest. May opens the door wide, you go straight to the kitchen for the batch of cookies Peter made you last night. You can taste the love in them.
“May, I need you to level with me here. Do you have a problem with me dating Peter?” There’s a beat of silence, “are you dating him?” You swallow a bite, “not yet. I needed to make sure it was okay with you.”
“You’re asking for my blessing?” You slightly nod. “More or less. You’ve been really nice but I feel like there’s a little tension. I feel like you don’t totally trust me with him.” Confirmation, but it doesn’t hurt like you think.
“Peter’s a sensitive boy. He does everything a hundred and ten percent. If you want him, he’ll give you more than his all. Can you say the same?” Can you? Yes. It’s without a doubt. You want him and only him and you’d lay your life on the line. There’s been so much wasted time, Peter could’ve been your first but you were too stubborn.
Peter wasn’t your first, but with everything in you he’s going to be your last.
“Yes. I’m in love with him. I love him more than I ever loved anyone, I love him more than I thought was possible. I want to be there for him, I want to support him through the bad days and I want to be by his side for the good ones. I want him and only him, I was just too dumb to see it before.”
May’s mouth etches into a smile, this time it reaches her eyes and she’s hugging you. A whisper in your ear, “I always knew this is how it would end.” You grin into her shoulder, “really?”
“Peter’s nothing but determined. It was only a matter of time.” You know what that means. “Are you giving me your blessing?” She laughs and pulls you closer, “you always had it. I just needed to know you were serious.”
Time passes quickly, you’re three cookies down and you’re itching for a fourth. You swear he puts crack in them. You talk animatedly with May, you’re fawning over her own love story and hoping that that would be your future with Peter. When the door unlocks you perk up, you can’t bite back your smile or tapping feet.
“Whatcha doing here? Hi May.” Your arms spread wide, Peter fills them. “I came to talk to May, I stayed to see your handsome face.” How did you once see it as annoying? How did you once find his smile revolting? He’s the prettiest person you’ve ever seen. You want to kiss him more than anything, May gave you the green light, you press up on your toes to give him a peck.
“I missed you. How was math club? Were you the smartest hunk there? Don’t answer, I already know it’s a yes.” Peter’s still reeling from the kiss but he powers through. “I wouldn’t be too confident about that, sweetheart.” Your heart clenches, him saying it makes your knees feel weak. “Mathew Ryan is in the club with me.”
“I hate blondes. I only like cuties with brown, curly hair by the name of Peter Parker.” His eyes squint at you, it makes you feel warm, you hide back in his chest. May’s watching with heart eyes, she’s never seen you so happy. “You’re laying it on thick today. You must need something.”
“Just you, handsome.” Okay, you might be laying it on a little thick, but you can’t hold it in. You just love him too much, it’s uncontainable. He’s perfect. “May, she’s up to something. I don’t trust it.” His aunt keeps grinning. “I do.”
Peter pats your back, “if you trust it, I guess I have to, too.” You squeeze him tight and mumble into his chest, he still hears you. “What, now?” You asked if you could talk to him, it had him looking down and giving you his full attention.
“What’s up?” Your eyes shoot to his door, message received. Peter leaves a small gap in the door, you pause and poke your head out to his aunt. “Can I shut the door?” A three second count, “permission granted.” It clicks shut, you spin, you have all his attention.
“You said I was never properly loved.”
Peter feels his heart drop, it was the nastiest thing he could ever say to you. Part of him wished you had forgotten but that’s not something that’s forgettable, that’s something that sticks with you forever. He never meant to say it, it was something he spewed out to make you feel just as bad but that’s not who he is and that’s not what he does and he really should’ve apologized way before now.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. It was a shitty thing to say and I-”
“You weren’t wrong. I haven’t been properly loved. But I’d like for you to show me how it feels.”
Your pulse rises with his silence, Peter holds out a steady hand. “Just to be clear, you’re asking me-”
“If you’d be my boyfriend.”
You let out a soft groan, you’re spinning in his hold and pushing at his arms. “Peter!” He doesn’t care, your feet lightly dangle, you’re laughing with him. “Nuh uh, you’re not allowed to push me away anymore, I’m your boyfriend.”
Boyfriend. Peter Parker is your boyfriend. What a rush of feelings, there’s a new one you haven’t felt before. Pride. You’re prideful that Peter’s your boyfriend, you’ve got the greatest person in the world tethered to your hip and he’s going absolutely nowhere. Ever.
“I’ve been waiting for this day since I was fifteen.” A flurry of kisses over your face, “holy wow, you’re my girlfriend. I can kiss you whenever I want, and I can touch you! Oh, and now I always have someone to eat pizza with. And the science museum! No one ever wants to go to the science museum with me!”
“Holy wow?” You giggle at a string of kisses to your jawline, you never knew someone would be so excited at the thought of dating you. “Wow, wow, wowie, my girlfriend’s a hottie.” You push him away with a disgusted sound, “that’s so gross, Peter.”
“Oops, let me repent with a kiss.”
It’s the fireworks again. This time they’re blinding. Your back burns with his touch, you want to swallow him whole. It’s not lacking passion, but it’s soft. You reach for his shirt collar when he pulls away, this time he laughs.
“I was going to ask if I was a bad kisser but-”
“No.” This time you’re keeping him chained to you with your hands behind his neck. “Best kisser ever,” you give him a chaste one to prove it. “My handsome baby.” Your waist is squeezed, “you’re too nice.” He doesn’t understand, he’ll never be able to understand.
“I wasted so much time, Peter. You were right there and I was so… so stupid that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. I have no idea why you like me, I was so mean and cruel and I never appreciated you.”
Peter has secrets too. “I was friendly, but I didn’t like you. You were super aggressive and made a point to say something mean… but then Ben died.” The oxygen runs from your lungs, it wasn’t something you thought about, you thought he didn’t either.
It was brutal watching him and May go through that. You remember that night vividly, the night May got the call. You could hear her screams from your room, it’s something you’ll never forget. Her wails, the way she begged to God that it was all a dream. You knew what happened before you could see them and the one thing you thought of in that moment was Peter.
You can still remember the panic you felt, the overwhelming urge to make sure he was okay. You remember your feet skidding across the carpet, the cold hardwood in the hall, the way your middle knuckle split you were knocking so hard.
‘Peter,’ it’s all you had to say. Then you were scooping him into your arms, holding him tight as he sobbed. You kept telling him you were sorry, you brushed his hair back and rubbed circles on his back. You kept him tucked into your neck while he cried, you didn’t tell him it was okay, nothing about that night was okay. You remember holding in your own tears, you swallowed them down and held Peter all night.
Fourteen hours. You had him curled up with you while you kept telling him sorry, you had stayed up all night with him and took care of him. You got him water, you made him eat a snack, you did what you could while they slept. You did laundry, you did the dishes, you made cookies.
Peter’s uncle died and you made him cookies.
Your boyfriend dumped you and Peter made you cookies.
You basically lived there for a week, you slept with Peter, held him with each bout of sadness, and never ever told him it was okay. You held his hand at the funeral and kissed him on the back of it before he gave his eulogy. You made sure he was minimally functioning, you tried to keep him busy with dumb tasks.
After two weeks he didn’t need you anymore and you slowly faded away until it settled into how it used to be. You think Peter liked it a little, not everything had to change because Ben died. But you never went out of your way to hurt him anymore, he didn’t need your help in that department. What used to be petty attacks turned into silence and gentle name calling.
But you were there for him when he needed it. Just how he was with you.
“You pulled an Uncle Ben on me.”
A twitch in his lips, “you were there for me when my world ended, I had to return the favor.” It’s not fair for him to compare the two. “I was broken up with, I didn’t have my-”
“Devastation comes in all forms. It’s not about whos is worse, it’s about being there for someone you care about.” He doesn’t hide his smile, “even if they claim to hate you for all eternity.”
“I don’t hate you anymore.”
“Spoiler alert, you never did.”
You’ve been caught. Peter knew the whole time, he was just waiting on you. “Are you sure you don’t hate me? Cause I’ve been really terrible to you the last month.” Your boyfriend rolls his eyes before giving you a big hug.
“That’s because you’re stubborn and didn’t want to admit you liked me.” You poke his ribs, “you knew?”
“Sweetheart, I knew the day you said I had very pretty eyes.”
“Yeah, you do. Let me see them again, boyfriend.”
The last six weeks you detested love and what it brings. The disaster, the heartbreak, the pain. You never thought you’d love again and definitely not with the neighbor you hated. But right there, in his room, you felt your heart crack open and ooze onto his bedroom floor.
And you watched love begin again.
“Anything for you, girlfriend.”
----
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hi, hopefully this isnt a stupid question -- this is only my second election i'm voting in, and i'm a little confused about results. is it actually confirmed that trump has won, or is it just almost certain based on the counted votes? bc i know that provisional ballots (like mine) probably arent immediately counted, and there was that thing about votes needing to be verified because of signatures, plus to my knowledge the electoral college doesnt vote til december? i'm probably just grasping at an infinitesimal chance of things not being shit, but also i do actually want to understand and google is not helping :( if you can't explain no worries, you just seem to be knowledgable & willing to answer questions haha
This is absolutely not a stupid question.
So everything is currently pointing at what is most likely, not at what is 100% certain, but it's like 99% certain. There are still votes being counted, but in the states where the election has been called it has been called either because enough of the ballots have been counted that the remaining count wouldn't change the results, or that the area is historically so strongly in favor of one party that it's exceptionally unlikely that they'd flip the other way (for example, they're still counting california's ballots but you're more likely to get struck by lightning five times today than california is to flip red in this election). The places that have not yet been called do not have enough electoral votes for Harris to win the election.
The electoral college is exceedingly unlikely to flip their votes against the state/district vote; "Faithless electors" is the term for members of the electoral college who would vote against the vote they are committed to for their region. It was something discussed in both the 2016 election and the 2020 election and flipping the electoral college without winning the election was the motivation behind J6. As shitty and bullshit as I think the electoral college is, if you're going to have one and you're going to have the rule of law, you can't hope for faithless electors because what you're hoping for at that point is that the people representing you are acting directly against the choice of the voters.
I want you to listen to me. I have been voting in presidential elections since 2004. Presidential elections always suck. Who the president is does matter, and does impact your life, but you genuinely do not have a ton of influence over that so you can't let it throw you into despair and inaction, because we should be active and political and protesting the wrongs of the world even if your favored political party wins. Vote in local elections, work with your local community, and if your local community sucks too, work with online communities to both give and get support.
Whenever something like this happens, people pass around the Mr. Rogers quote about looking to the helpers. I like that quote. I think it's good, I think it's hopeful, I think it helps! But I also think that sometimes it's even more effective if you look for how to help. Who are you the most scared for after this election? Who are you worried about in your community or among your friends? What can you do that might make their life easier? What can you do to protect people like that in your community? What don't you know that might make you better prepared to help them in the future?
One thing that I think is a fantastic way to prepare to help is to either begin or continue learning a language that you don't know. I am working hard on my Spanish because I live in California and there are a ton of Spanish speakers here who I might be able to help. Is it directly aiding anyone right at this second that I'm practicing conjugation? No. But it might help someone who is being harassed by a cop, or who is unhoused and needs help, or who is being abused by an employer at some point in the future, and I can get myself ready to help. Learn how to use naloxone and pick up up an inhaler; you might not need it now, but it'll make you ready to help someone who does need it. Order free covid tests every chance you get, even if you don't need them, because then you can give them out to people who do need them. Plan B has a multi-year shelf life. Pick some up so that you've got some on hand if someone needs it.
Maybe there's nothing you can do right at this exact second (though if you are able to donate to gender affirmation fundraisers, border kindness, abortion funds, bail funds, etc., you can absolutely do that), but you can get ready to help someone who will need you someday.
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request: can you do nsfw alphabet with logan howlett?
yes i can! accidentally deleted the request but i’ll just do it here :3
logan howlett nsfw alphabet (18+)
smut alphabet below the cut!! read at your own risk lovelies!!
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
logan is secretly a big teddy bear when it comes to you. call me unrealistic i don’t care. he loves you, and will take care of you until his last breath. after sex, he loves to make sure you’re all cleaned up and satisfied with everything before you fall asleep.
he never falls asleep first. him being older, he still believes in certain gentlemanly rules when it comes to you and the main one is him taking care of you after sex. like GOOD care. getting a wash cloth to clean you up, making you food if you’re hungry, getting you water, some new comfy clothes, watching a show after. all of it.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
logan is a big thigh guy. he loves every thing about you but if you were to ask him straight up, he’d say your thighs. he loves using them as pillows, smacking them, grabbing them, everything. he especially loves when they’re around his head.
his favorite thing about himself is probably either his abs or his arms. that was what he always liked about himself the most, but when you came along, and he noticied how much you loved his physique, it only motivated him to keep it that way.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
okay so logan is actually FILTHY when it cums to cum (ha). when you cum on his face, he will lick every last drop. no matter where you cum, he will taste it any chance he can.
he loves to cum inside of you (if allowed) otherwise like the fucking filthy dog he is he loves to see his cum all over you, especially on your face. he loves to cum on your thighs too. and your stomach. and ass. and back. basically anywhere.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
god logan had quite a few dirty secrets. he loves using things during sex. like handcuffs, whether you cuff him or he cuffs you, blindfolds. (he loves to be blindfolded but also loves when you are too)
he would never actually admit this but the thought of you taking care of him every once in a while makes him so desperate for you. every once in a while he just wants to be taken care of. he’s mostly dominant but sometimes wants to be taken care of like a sub.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
this man is on the older side so it’s no secret that he has experience. bring up anything he’s never heard before though, he will definitely research it.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
logan is a SUCKER when he gets to see your face during sex. he lives missionary, cowgirl, anything where he can see your pretty face and how good he’s making you feel. he absolutely loves the affect he has on you and wants to see it any chance it can.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
logan is a goofy guy but not when it comes to sex. when you guys make love, he tries to keep it intimate and serious. obviously, if something happens, like he accidentally slides out of you, or something falls, he’ll chuckle when necessary. but he loves the intimate nature and will keep it that way if he is able to.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
yeah everybody saw that shirt rip off scene. he’s obviously not clean shaven, but he definitely keeps himself trimmed. he has hair almost everywhere though, we’ve seen most places, but when it comes to his dick, he has a good amount of hair at the base, and if he were to shave it it would grow back within a few days, so he kind of gave up on fully shaving and just decided to trim it. hair is normal anyway, he just always makes sure it’s clean & trimmed so it’s not long at all.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
god logan is such a sucker for intimacy. he loves fucking you slow, just to make eye contact with you, and watch you fall apart for him.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
logan is a bit of a perv when it comes to you. before the two of you first had sex, he would be jerking off every other day to the thought of you because he didn’t want to rush your pace on when you wanted to have sex.
now that you’ve had sex, he only jerks off when he’s not physically around you. like he would be more than willing to walk to you if it’s within a mile if that meant having sex with you. however, if you’re farther, he grabs his polaroid of you he keeps in his wallet and jerks off to it.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
there’s so many it’s probably just better for me to list them.
- if you’re into it, he wouldn’t mind being called daddy but it’s not something that NEEDS to happen for him to get off
- he honestly had a bit of a choking kink, mostly him choking you, but if one night you were in control and you choked him? he’s cumming instantly
- he secretly loves handcuffs and when you use them on him. he loves using them on you as well, but he prefers for you to use them on him.!
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
literally anywhere. wherever you guys are. it does not matter. his favorite is the bed however he loves the idea of getting caught and the thrill makes him hard.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
literally anything you do gets him going. because it’s you. you’re his woman.
he loves when you take care of him even if it’s the smallest thing such as cooking or cleaning. he fucking loves it. he often gets off to the thought of you being the mom to his kids one day.!
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
i don’t see logan doing anything with another person. whether it’s a 3sum or polyamory. what’s his is his. you’re his and he doesn’t want to share that, let alone let someone else fuck you.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
logan loves both. he loves the sight of you on your knees for him, so he can cum on your face or in your mouth. he has no preference.
logan is a god a pussy eating lemme tell you. hands wrapped around your thighs, loving how you’re squirming, he’ll occasionally throw in “where you going, baby?” when you try to squirm.
eating you out gets him off and he loves it. he’s such a messy eater too. he’ll use his nose, tongue, lips, anything he has to to get you off from his touch.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
logan is usually fast and rough; perhaps this is how he displays his sincere love for you. when he fucks you really hard, prepare to be unable to walk the next day. when he is slow and sensuous, it is usually to torment and punish you slowly, while the heat between your thighs spreads more and faster. "slower? what did you say? speak up bub?”
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
logan doesn’t mind quickies but he prefers slow and sexual sex with you rather than rushing it. however, his mindset is you gotta do what you gotta do.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
god the idea of getting caught turns logan on SO MUCH. he has literally jerked off to the thought before. he imagines, some guy he’s jealous of walking in on the two of you fucking. then imagines you moaning extra loud so that way the guy KNOWS you’re his. logan is an animal.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
hey so this man is actually over 200 years old basically so he can last as long as he really wants to!
he will never push your limits though (unless it’s a consensual punishment) but if you’re done, you’re done. except for the occasional overstimulation which you both love but, if you’re really tapped out for the night he can tell and he will listen and do whatever you need.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
logan doesn’t own any toys aside from handcuffs and blindfolded if they even count. he wouldn’t be opposed to using a toy on you though if you had one. using the vibrator on you and talking you through it is definitely something he could get behind.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
he’s SUCH A TEASE. logan absolutely loves teasing you, just so when he pulls down your underwear to see how wet you got just from his teasing. he’ll purposely tease you to the max, rub you through your underwear, all of that. he absolutely loves teasing you and something it has you in tears. when he sees that he will either keep going with your consent or stop and finally give you what you want.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
logan is very vocal in the talking aspect. he loves telling you filthy words during sex, when it comes to moans and grunts, he’s decently loud too. maybe the occasional whimper if he’s close to his climax. when you’re in charge though, on the very rare occasion, he’s a whiny mess.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
as i mentioned before, logan loves the idea of you being in charge every once in a while. not only does it give him a break but you take care of him and he always struggles not to fall fast asleep right after.
you taking care of him is something that has always turned him on, another various thing he’s: jerked off to.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
logan is the type of guy, if asked about his dick size, he’d be the one who would just brush off the question and secretly have a huge dick under those pants. it’s not something he boasts about, but he loves seeing how crazy it makes you especially the first time you see it.
he’s probably a good 7 inches soft, little over 8 inches when he’s hard. when he’s hard he has veins prominent in his dick, and there’s a little bit of hair followed by his happy trail.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
his sex drive is extremely high. however, he will match yours regardless. whenever you’re horny, he’s probably horny too. if not it doesn’t take much for him to get there.
his drive mostly depends on you, because you’re the thing he cares about most.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
as i said at the beginning, he doesn’t fall asleep until you’re asleep and comfortable. he makes sure everything is good with you before he can comfortably doze off.
#logan howlett x you#logan howlett fluff#logan howlett x reader#wade and logan#logan howlett smut#logan howlett#velvrei#trending#smut imagine#smut#writing#velvrei smut#deadpool and wolverine smut#wolverine fluff#wolverine x reader#deadpool and wolverine#wolverine smut#wolverine#hugh jackman x reader#hugh jackman smut#james howlett#james howlett smut
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omg please write a piece about reader getting fucked by a ghost i neeeeed it
Hey, anon! Fear not, I shall deliver. I wasn't sure whether you wanted afab or amab, so I went with the usual afab. I'm happy to rewrite it into amab, if anyone wants it!(^ω^)
Edit: Here is the amab version!
Feel free to send me asks and requests or little imagines, I'm always happy to expand upon it, it gets the creative juices flowing a little. ^-^
NSFW, Minors DNI, I can see you.
TW: dub-con
Anyway, enough talk. Here's Reader getting not-so-respectfully railed by a ghost:
When your grandma left you a house after she passed, you assumed your troubles would finally be over, and for a while, they were. When you moved in, things were amazing. You didn't have to worry about rent anymore, and the utilities were surprisingly cheap. It's like you hit the jackpot, finally able to live with a few less worries.
Obviously, when you weren't working or hanging out with the odd friend that came over, you spent your time at home, keeping yourself occupied, mostly by either watching something, playing something, or masturbating out of boredom.
Things continued like that for a while, until you found a rather cryptic note from your late grandma that explained in unnecessary detail how there was a ghost living in the house. She strictly referred to the ghost as "him" and mentioned he was fairly friendly, unless provoked, and even then he would only play pranks on you.
Being the rational person that you are, you chalked it up to grandma being senile and that she was just keeping herself entertained since she lived in the house all alone. It would have been fine if that's where it stopped.
One night, your old friend came over, and you did your usual routine of watching something, and then halfway through, you ended up fucking. That's where it really all began.
The next morning, things were on the ground, not like someone had ransacked the place, but it was noticeable enough, though of course you thought it must've been just your old friend who had knocked some stuff over while leaving in a hurry. When you went to bend over to pick some things up, you could feel something grabbing your ass, and without hesitation, you turned around, only to be faced with nothing. Maybe you were going crazy, you thought; it wasn't an awfully strong grip, so maybe it was something your body did.
This excuse became increasingly less effective as time went on. You felt hands everywhere and at the worst times. Caressing your arms and legs, tracing your stomach and back. Eventually it got to the point where you could feel a hand slipping into your pants, playing with your clit. Of course, you were scared at first. Something was clearly there, and it reminded you of the letter your grandma left you.
You began shouting at the ghost. Telling it to stop fucking around and leave you alone. However, the ghost didn't really care; you broke his one rule that he had agreed on with your grandma, and even if you didn't know, he was going to punish you. How dare you bring another man into his house and have the audacity to fuck him?
His touching escalated the more you allowed him. Eventually you noticed a mouth and a wet tongue licking your neck, tracing down to your breasts. It seemed strange, considering you were usually clothed when this happened, yet it felt like it was touching your skin directly. The licking felt nothing like what your old friend would do, although in truth the sex with him wasn't all that good and really just a way to get fucked every once in a while.
Before you knew it, multiple hands were all over you, joined by at least three tongues licking you. This made no sense; you wondered if there were multiple ghosts. It became increasingly difficult to even find the logic in this when you were constantly being groped and licked. One tongue had found its permanent place on your sensitive nub, flicking and sucking it with every move you made; one was carelessly sucking on one of your nipples, alternating with one hand that usually played with the other one. The third mouth seemed to like making out with you, its tongue constantly shoved in your mouth, wrestling yours.
Despite feeling all these ministrations as if they were real, when you looked at your reflection, there was nothing there. Your mouth was gaping, but nothing was in it; your panties were soaked beyond belief most of the time, yet nothing seemed to be there. But truly, the worst part about it all was that it wouldn't let you finish. Whenever you were just about to cum, the mouth disappeared before continuing its torture. It took about two days before you couldn't take it anymore, pleading with the ghost to let you cum. It didn't listen, though it did use more hands to restrict you when you went to touch yourself before shoving something inside of you.
It wasn't much of a sensation, and you felt it curl, so you naturally assumed it was the finger of another hand. “Please,” you began whimpering every other minute, your tone getting more needy with every ruined orgasm that he put you through as minutes began to feel like hours.
“I'll do anything,” you finally managed to choke out through tears as he played with your sodden pussy for what you could only register as an eternity again, bent over the kitchen counter, legs held apart, wrists gripped tightly by the ghost. For a moment, there was nothing but stillness; all the mouths stopped what they were doing, and most of the hands disappeared too, except the ones keeping you in place.
“Anything?” A shiver ran down your spine as you heard the noise that you assumed to be the ghost's voice. It sounded distant and more like the wind howling than a human voice, yet you knew immediately who it was. You nodded, the tears running down your face falling onto the kitchen counter, your twitching cunt trying to feel any sort of stimulation now that the mouths and hands were gone.
“Yes, anything.” The words came out before you could even attempt to stop them, accompanied by a howling sound, which made you wonder whether it was meant to be a laugh or not.
Another few moments passed before a loud noise forced itself out of your mouth at the sensation of something stretching you open. It was long and thick, covered in strange bumps, providing nothing but the most torturous pleasure as it thrust into your hungry cunt at a punishing pace.
Despite your mind still questioning whether this was okay and logical, your body was writhing against the kitchen counter, hands still held still by him, your legs forced apart as he fucked you from behind. No matter how much you attempted to stop it from happening, desperate, high-pitched mewling sounds escaped your lips at a rapid rate as you felt another orgasm approach, hoping this would be the one to finally let you cum after two days of torture.
“What a willing little slut,” the ghost taunted with his howling voice, making him sound distant yet all around you at once. The insults made you mewl louder; something about being used like this by a ghost made your pussy clench harder.
In a small moment of defiance, you glanced back at what might be behind you, but just as expected, there was nothing. Despite your pussy being stretched to an almost painful level, gaping around air, no figure was there to account for it.
Just as your orgasm threatened to spill over, something was shoved into your mouth, making your jaw hurt, before it found its way down your throat, drowning out your mewls and desperate groans.
“Be quiet, whore. I'm not done with you yet.” With those words, your eyes fluttered closed as you let this torture continue for another minute or two, pussy and throat both stuffed full with invisible cocks, bigger than any human's you've ever had. The thought alone was enough to trigger your orgasm, finally sending you over that sweet edge with a loud groan that only came out as a hum. Your body went limp from the impact, and you saw stars in front of your eyes, the ghost holding you up by your wrists as if it were nothing.
Without a word or even a moment to spare, he kept slamming into you, the bumps rubbing against your insides, making you feel like you were stuck in a never-ending orgasm for a moment before it did finally subside, though you could feel the cocks twitch, their movements becoming more erratic and aggressive. You tried to say something, but your throat was simply too stuffed to make any worthwhile noise.
Suddenly, you felt a hot sensation in both of your holes, almost making you gag and cry in pain, as the sheer amount of ectoplasmic seed forced its way into your womb and down your throat, spilling back into your mouth, even running down your chin. Before you could fully register what happened, you were dropped, the ghost probably leaving you to deal with the aftermath. As you lay there, the sheer amount of cum almost formed a small puddle on the ground, your fucked-out pussy leaking more as you desperately tried to swallow the remnants in your mouth.
#ghost x reader#ghost smut#ghost fucker#monsterfucker#monster smut#monster fuqqer#monster x human#monster fucker#monster lover#monster kink#teratophillia#terato#x reader smut#reader smut#dub con#exophelia#afab reader#ghost imagine#smut#gender neutral reader#x reader#reader insert#reader insert smut
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tempting fate on the terrace
pairing: father's business rival CEO!bucky barnes x female reader
summary: you're relaxing on bucky's penthouse terrace and eating ice cream when he tempts you into something more
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, creampie, come play, light teasing, light overstimulation, finger sucking, choking, light bdsm, semi-public sex, little bit of exhibitionism, dirty talk, light degradation, praise kink, pet names (darling), unspecified age gap, fluff
word count: 2,900ish
a/n: y'all have @biteofcherry to blame for this follow up, because i couldn't get her idea out of my head and i just had to write it 😅 i'm so so so so so happy with how this turned out. i kind of can't get enough of these naughty little lovebirds, i just love them so much!!! and i hope y'all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it!! ♡
tempting fate in the park (part 1)
tempting fate on the terrace (part 2)
tempting fate in the CEO's office (part 3)
The spring sunshine was perfectly warm on your face, and you stretched your legs out, sinking further into the soft cushions of the outdoor sofa as you considered whether you should trade in your Brooklyn brownstone for a Manhattan penthouse. Specifically a penthouse with a terrace as pretty as the one belonging to Bucky Barnes.
You licked your ice cream cone thoughtfully, gazing through the greenery that had been set up around the edge of the terrace to give it a sense of privacy. The whole of Manhattan seemed to sprawl beyond the edge of Bucky’s penthouse and you enjoyed the view almost as much as you loved the tree-lined Brooklyn street where you lived.
But your brownstone didn’t have a concierge to go buy ice cream and cones so you could have a delightful treat after being ruined by one of the most powerful CEOs in the city—who also happened to be your father’s business rival. That said, your apartment did have a bagel store around the block with the best bagels in New York City…
You were distracted from comparing the benefits of your home to Bucky’s by the door to the terrace sliding open with a soft sound. The man who had been nothing more than your father’s business rival—until he’d become much, much more—paused just outside the door, his hands slipping into the pockets of his lounge pants while he stared at you lazing about on his outdoor sofa.
You grinned, taking a long lick of your ice cream as you stared right back at him. He looked deliciously comfortable in his lounge pants and simple gray t-shirt, the soft cotton pulling tight across his broad shoulders. His brown hair was a little disheveled from how much you’d run your fingers through it, and his blue eyes sparkled in the golden late afternoon light.
“Y’know, darling, I could get used to seeing you looking so comfortable in my home,” Bucky rumbled as he prowled over to the sofa, lifting your legs and sitting down so they sprawled across his lap. Since he was closer, you could better see the way his eyes darkened as he raked them along your body. “And I could definitely get used to seeing you wear my clothes.” He fingered the bottom hem of the button-up shirt you were wearing—the one you’d stolen off his floor and put on because it smelled like him. “In fact, maybe it should be a rule that you only wear my clothes when you’re here.”
You laughed, the sound bright and airy as you tipped your head back, and you were still smiling when you looked back at Bucky. “You already made it a rule that I can’t wear panties while I’m here,” you pointed out, kicking him lightly with your bare foot. “At this rate, I’ll have to walk around naked, and I love your terrace too much for that—your neighbors are going to see me and we’re actually going to get that public indecency charge.”
Bucky’s hands had begun to massage your calves, slowly working their way up your legs but he paused in thought, his gaze going distant as he stared out over the city. “Y’know, I don’t think you can get charged for public indecency if you’re naked on a private terrace,” he said, then turned mischievous eyes on you. “Why don’t we test it out,” he teased in a deliciously warm tone, his hands slipping up your thighs to push the hem of your shirt up, revealing your bare pussy to his gaze.
“Jamie—someone could see!” you cried, laughing and pushing him away half-heartedly with one hand while you tried to hold your ice cream cone stable in the other. But Bucky turned and wedged his body between your legs so you couldn’t close them, his gaze heating as he stared down at the apex of your thighs.
“Christ, your pussy looks pretty with my come spilling out of it,” Bucky muttered, almost to himself, his fingers trailing through your still sticky folds. Your hips stuttered up against his fingertips and you sucked in a gasp as he brushed gently against your sensitive clit. “So fucking pretty, darling.”
“Jamie.” That time, when you said his name, it was more of a whimper, the sound so desperate it made heat flood your cheeks. You and Bucky had already fucked three times since you’d arrived at his penthouse, it was amazing that your body was still hungry for more. It felt like you’d be hungry for Bucky for the rest of your life.
Bucky looked up at you, grinning when he saw the needy look on your face. “You might want to finish your ice cream, darling, because I’m fucking another load into your pretty cunt the second you’re done,” he said, his voice low and gravelly and making you shiver as warmth pooled between your thighs.
Grabbing the collar of Bucky’s shirt, you pulled yourself up to sit, your legs wrapped around his waist from the side and held your treat out to him. “Help me finish, Jamie,” you begged in a playful tone, giving him a sweet smile as if you didn’t hear the double entendre of your words.
Bucky held your gaze as he leaned forward and took a big bite of your ice cream, chomping on some of the cone and making you laugh. But the warm spring sunshine was hot enough that the ice cream was soon dripping down your fingers and you quickly licked it up. Bucky watched you for a moment before he wrapped a hand around your throat and dragged you in for a messy kiss, the sweet taste of ice cream filling your senses just as much as the rich taste that was all Bucky.
Together, the two of you finished off your ice cream, laughing and kissing and tasting each other. When the cone was gone, you licked the sticky sweetness from Bucky’s fingers, your tongue teasing over his skin while you watched his blue eyes darken with desire. Once you were done, he tortured you in much the same way, his tongue sliding between your fingers in such an obscene way, you let out a soft moan as you imagined his warm mouth pressed between your thighs instead.
By the time every trace of ice cream had been licked from your skin, you were soaking wet and desperate for Bucky; you pulled him in for a kiss. He made quick work of unbuttoning the shirt you wore and pushing it down over your shoulders while your fingers dove beneath his t-shirt. You raked your nails lightly through the dark hair that decorated his chest, delighting in the softness of it against your fingertips. He groaned into your mouth, breaking away only to pull his shirt off.
Then he was laying you down on the sofa and pushing his lounge pants off to pool at his feet before he climbed over you, covering your body with his broader form. His hips settled between your thighs, his hard length nestling perfectly between your slick lower lips.
“Fuck, you feel good, darling,” Bucky rumbled on a moan, moving his hips back and forth, just enough to slide the hard ridge of his cock against your puffy clit. “Wanna be buried in this cunt every fucking moment of the day—you’re tuning me into some pussy-drunk idiot,” he growled, kissing and nipping at your jaw while his hand circled your throat, his fingers digging lightly into the sides.
You huffed a sound that was half laugh, half shuddering moan, your legs hooking around the backs of Bucky’s thighs and using the leverage to grind against his bare cock. “If it makes you feel any better, all I can think about is how badly I want to be your cockdrunk little slut,” you murmured in his ear, nuzzling your cheek against the scruff on his jaw and delighting in the delicious rasp against your skin. “I think about sitting under your desk in your office, your cock in my throat, keeping you warm while you work.”
“Oh fuck—fuck, darling,” Bucky groaned, rocking against you harder, his cock growing wet and slick with your juices the more he slid through your pussy lips. “When you’re not here and I’m stroking my cock, I think about fucking you at one of your father’s boring galas,” he rumbled, his words coming faster to match the speed of his hips. “I think about sinking my cock into you and pumping you full of come and making you go back out to the party with my load dripping down your thighs beneath your gown.”
You raked your fingers through Bucky’s soft hair, clinging to him while your hips kept rocking together. His hard cock was rubbing your clit and his words were spinning delicious fantasies and it was too much. You felt your release swelling within you, threatening to overwhelm you, but you didn’t want to come against his cock, you wanted to come on his cock.
“Jamie,” you cried on a gasp, babbling words that you hoped made sense so he’d know what you wanted, “I can’t—I’m gonna—please, inside me—come, please!”
Thankfully, Bucky understood your nonsense and he chuckled against your cheek. “Remember to be quiet, darling,” he rumbled, the warmth in his tone telling you he was grinning. “Don’t want the neighbors to hear you and risk finding out about whether we can get a public indecency charge on my private terrace.”
Before you could even think to respond to his teasing, Bucky pulled back, the tip of his cock needing no guidance to find your dripping hole. He slid inside easily, stretching you out around his cock. Your cunt was so wet, and you were so close to coming, it felt like your body was sucking him in deeper, your inner walls clinging to him as he split you open with his cock.
Despite Bucky’s warning, you groaned loudly—not because you wanted to find out about the indecency charge, but because you simply couldn’t control yourself. No matter how many times Bucky fucked you, every time he pushed deep into your cunt, it felt so good your mind went fuzzy with pleasure. You never wanted it to end, you wanted him inside you all the time, always and forever.
When the head of his cock pushed against your cervix, he grunted in pleasure while you moaned your own delight. Bucky dug his fingers deeper into the sides of your throat, cutting off your sound of ecstasy while he lifted himself up enough to see you. His eyes roved hungrily over your face, eagerly drinking in the way your expression twisted in pleasure as he pulled back and thrust inside you again, his hips clapping against your thighs.
“Dirty, filthy girl,” Bucky grunted, thrusting into you to punctuate each word. “Can never be quiet when I tell you.”
You tried to smirk up at him, but another hard driving thrust had your eyes rolling back and your mouth falling open on a silent moan. With what you thought was a valiant effort, you mannaged to huff, “That’s because I like it when you make me be quiet, Mr. Barnes.”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed on you and his mouth twisted into a determined snarl. “You know I prefer when you call me Jamie,” he growled, fucking you harder and faster, pressing his face close to yours so you could feel his warm breath ghost over your cheek. “You call me Jamie when my cock is deep in your cunt and I’m about to pump you full of my fourth load today—d’you hear me, darling?”
It was so much fun riling Bucky up, and you were enjoying the result of your efforts, your body lighting up from within as he pounded into you. But you knew he wanted an answer to his question, so you parted your lips and babbled, “Yes, sir, you feel so good, Jamie—love it when you fuck me hard, Jamie, please!”
“There’s my good girl,” Bucky rumbled, his tone as warm as the sunshine falling across your bare skin. He brushed a kiss to your cheek and pushed your thighs wider, fucking you in deep, grinding thrusts that had his pelvis rubbing perfectly against your clit. “Now come on my cock, darling, wanna feel your cunt choking my dick like I’m choking your pretty throat.”
As if you could resist an order like that.
At Bucky’s filthy words, you came undone. The swelling pleasure in your core burst, and your body went taut as wave after wave of overwhelming sensation washed over you. Your lips parted in a scream that Bucky made sure stayed silent, his big hand gripping your throat so tightly, it made your entire being focus in on everything your body was feeling, every little spark and fizzle of pleasure that came from his cock, his hand—him.
“Good girl, so good, feel so fucking good, darling, fuck—fuck,” Bucky groaned, his hips thrusting wildly between your thighs until he pressed deep and let out a low grunt. His cock twitched and throbbed inside you and you knew he was coming, your clenching pussy milking every drop of his load from his balls.
“Jamie,” you murmured when he loosened his grip on your throat. “Jamie, Jamie, Jamie.” Your chanting words were a plea and a prayer, which Bucky seemed to understand because his arms dug beneath your body so he could cradle you tight to his chest until there wasn’t a breath of air between you. You rode out your releases like that, your bodies writhing together, clinging to one another, unwilling to let the other move even a millimeter away.
Slowly, eventually, the two of you settled, your body melting beneath Bucky’s while his cock softened inside you. His come spilled from your slit, sliding down between your ass cheeks. But you couldn’t be bothered by the mess the two of you had made, not when it felt too good to simply lay with Bucky, both of you naked and basking in the golden spring sunshine.
“Sooo,” you began, drawing out the word as you trailed your fingers through Bucky’s soft hair. He rumbled a short hum of acknowledgement. “D’you think any of your neighbors heard us?”
That had Bucky chuckling. He pressed a kiss to your neck, his lips finding the same spot where his fingers had dug in, making you shiver. “What’re they gonna do, tell me I can’t fuck my girlfriend on my own private terrace?” he grumbled.
You went still beneath him and Bucky could feel the change in you, immediately lifting himself up so he could see your face. At his questioning look, you whispered, “That’s the first time you’ve called me your girlfriend.” You hated how small your voice sounded, but you were suddenly very afraid it was a slip of the tongue that Bucky would take back the second you pointed it out.
But he didn’t. Instead, his eyes went soft and he ducked down to press a sweet and firm kiss to your lips. “You’re my girlfriend,” he said resolutely, but then paused and gave you a look you couldn’t decipher. “Unless you don’t want to be.”
Your eyes widened and your fingers dug possessively into the back of his neck. “No, no, I want to be, I want to be,” you assured him quickly, smiling when he looked relieved. You pulled him down for another kiss, though it was difficult because you were grinning so hard. “Does this mean you’re my boyfriend, Jamie?”
“Of course I am,” he growled, nipping playfully at your lip and making you giggle.
“OK good,” you said with a happy sigh, going back to raking your fingers through his hair. “Then as your girlfriend,” you began, a teasing lightheartedness in your tone. “I demand my boyfriend get me another ice cream cone—since he ate half of mine.” When Bucky cut his eyes to yours, you gave him your best innocent pout, even though you knew he saw right through you.
“Anything for you, darling,” he rumbled, dropping a kiss to your lips before he extricated himself from your body and sat up. He pulled his lounge pants back on and then tugged his t-shirt on over your head, a pleased smile curving his lips at the sight of you wearing his clothes.
When Bucky dragged you up from the sofa, you tugged the hem of his shirt down over your ass, not wanting to flash any neighbors who might be looking, even though the greenery around the edge of the terrace would likely block you from view. Still, if you ever happened to move into Bucky’s penthouse, you didn’t want to have a reputation for walking around naked.
Not that you could see yourself giving up your beloved Brooklyn brownstone.
Probably.
Unless Bucky asked you to move into his penthouse…
Thankfully, you were distracted from what a future with Bucky would mean for your housing situation by the man himself pulling your favorite flavor of ice cream from his freezer. He turned to you with a happy grin, looking devastatingly handsome and at home in his penthouse kitchen.
Right then, you decided you weren’t going to be tempting fate on the terrace again. It had been fun to fuck your boyfriend where any of his neighbors could have overheard or caught a glimpse of you, but you didn’t want to risk it again.
Just in case you did end up moving into Bucky Barnes’ penthouse.
tempting fate in the park (part 1)
tempting fate on the terrace (part 2)
tempting fate in the CEO's office (part 3)
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#ceo bucky barnes#ceo!bucky barnes#ceo au#sebastian stan#sebastian stan smut#sebastian stan fanfiction#sebastian stan characters#witchywithwhiskeywork
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Swap syndrome 2: armpit addiction.
-damn heat… -
The time on my cell phone showed 2:05, the idiot Travis had made me wait but in a way that made me happy I would have to charge him $50 more for being late.
Today was a very fucking day at the gym, it was so hot that I had to change my shirt, but still the rancid aroma of sweat coming from my hairy armpits filled the interior with my car, I was in the same parking lot of the gym where it is only A couple of minutes had left a huge sweat stain on the floor.
But despite everything I loved my new life, after the great shift and finding myself in this boy's hot and muscular body, from the beginning I knew this was a good thing, when I woke up in Travis's bedroom and looked down to see two juicy pecs, a sculpted six-pack and long, hairy legs, the first thing I did was take out my huge cock that was hidden among a leafy bush of hair and give myself the best handjob of my entire life.
It had been a little over a year since that moment, I quickly got used to Travis' life, kept his muscles big and strong and all thanks to his tiny YouTube channel where he showed all his exercise routines, but that was all wasted talent for Travis' glorious, beautiful body.
I no longer had my college degree or anyone to turn to, yet I was able to easily make money from all these fags, who wanted to sleep with me and this body.
Still not in the same city where I used to live, I watched the news and learned everything that had been happening in the world and that the real Travis was out there in my tired, flabby 40-year-old office worker body.
A tapping on my car window brought me out of my thoughts, it was the real Travis I grimaced in disgust as I looked at my old face once more in front of me, I looked at the time on my phone once more, and now it was 2:07 that now meant $70.
The door of my car and Travis jumped inside it, his first action was to completely inhale the disgusting smell inside the car, after that he lunged at me trying to reach my armpits, After that he lunged at me trying to reach my armpits, but in one movement I moved his old, ugly face away from me.
-You know the rules Travis, first I want the bills-
He extended one of my hands while he took out his wallet and extended a small wad of cash. In one quick movement, I snatched the bills from him and began to count them one by one while a nervous expression formed on the real Travis's face.
-Are you fucking with me? Only $500? -
There was nothing left of the old confident Travis, the confident, outgoing boy had disappeared, in his place there was only a perverted faggot who paid me for a few minutes of my attention due to swap syndrome. When we swapped our bodies, I thought I would get rid of him to always, but this pathetic middle-aged man was clinging to me like a leech trying to get close to me with his twisted homosexual intentions. I didn't really care what he did with my old body, but I thought I could make some money a month by squeezing every penny of this situation.
-Please! Just, just 5 minutes! I had to pay this month's rent and my landlord told me that if I was late another month he would throw me out on the street.-
I rolled my eyes as Travis the bitch kept giving me stupid excuses about how hard it was to find a good job now that he was a middle-aged man and he was tired all the time from working so much.
-Okay, just shut your fucking mouth.-
I put my hand on his head and pushed him into one of my hairy pits and choked his nose with the sour sweat that was collecting in my armpits. The initial struggle quickly turned into pleasure, I could feel Tyler's breathing slow. He shook until he filled his lungs, his mouth savored the curly hairs of my armpit and sucked up the small drops of sweat with his dirty tongue as if he had crossed a desert.
Tyler's small hands slid to his crotch and he began to frantically massage his cock over his pants, occasionally Tyler would move away from my armpit to get some air and lick my muscular arms with his disgusting sticky tongue, I watched as they passed minutes on my cell phone and before 5 minutes had passed, Tyler's small wrinkled cock soiled his pants with semen.
I pushed Tyler away and a satisfied smile formed on Tyler's face, his chest rising and falling as he tried to recover from the addictive experience he had just experienced, a few hairs from my armpit had stuck to his face and a stain of sweat had formed on the collar of his shirt.
I didn't have time for this, this experience had made me horny, I wanted to unload the enormous amount of cum that wanted to escape from my huge hairy balls, but the disgusting man next to me was not worthy of this...nor did I have another $500
I extended one of my long, muscular arms and opened the door of my luxurious sports car.
-Now get out bitch, see you next week-
As soon as I clean every trace of Tyler from my car, I'll call some of my girls, so I can fill their pussies with my beautiful, hot seed.
This is a second installment of the swap syndrome story, but the only thing they share in common is the same syndrome that is spreading among those affected by the great shift, you can see more by visiting my Ko-fi page:
Hello, if you liked this story, and you want more, you can take a look at my new Ko-Fi page to see my most recent stories, see my new stories and support me to continue creating this hot content.
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give in
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
summary: joel shows you how to love yourself the way you deserve
warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, age gap, comfort, smut, size kink, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, fingering, exploring sexual trauma, mentions of guilt & shame, intrusive thoughts
word count: 2.8k
“Doin’ real good, baby. That’s it, nice and slow. No need to rush it.”
Joel needs you to believe it.
He can feel your discomfort and sense the intrusive thoughts threatening to overtake you, but he needs you to know that everything you're doing right now is okay.
It’s normal and natural, and under his roof, highly encouraged. All he's ever wanted is for you to feel good. For you to allow yourself the grace and gratification of coming undone at your own perfect hand.
But you live by an unspoken rule, one that doesn't apply to anyone else. There's nothing you love more than watching Joel touch himself, whether it's quick and dirty or drawn-out and meticulous, his body teetering on the edge of all-consuming release for hours. Yet, when it comes to your personal pleasure, there’s only shame.
He's beginning to realize that your aversion goes beyond a lack of education. You were young when the outbreak hit, and while FEDRA schools aren’t exactly known for their top-tier sex ed classes, that isn't what's holding you back.
There's something else there too, buried beneath the surface. A lifetime's worth of guilt and doubt that he alone gets the privilege of unraveling. So whenever you come to him for help, he leads you to his bed and gently coaxes you to self-completion.
He takes it slow and keeps his hands to himself unless you tell him otherwise—and you always tell him otherwise. But those are your boundaries to set. New rules to replace the old ones.
Pressed firmly into your side, he whispers soft reassurances in your ear, his lips brushing the wispy baby hairs framing your forehead with every word. He swallows every gasp and moan, and cherishes the sharp sting of your nails biting into his skin as you reach your peak.
And when you come down from the clouds and turn to him with hazy eyes and a blissful smile, he knows it's all worth it. Even if it takes years more, he’ll continue to talk you through it, banishing the cruel thoughts that plague you and replacing them with the promise of relief.
Just like he is right now.
--
"Tell me what you're feelin'. I wanna know what's goin' on in that pretty head of yours."
You shake your head, exhaling a long, frustrated breath. Your body never responds to you the way it does to Joel, and on the rare occasion it does, it just isn't the same. It takes too long and there's none of the gradual build-up that allows you to lose yourself in it. Not in the pleasure of it anyway.
"S'a little...dry," you mumble, slowing to a stop. It'll start to burn if you keep going like this, but you're not sure what else you can do. Joel presses a gentle kiss to the shell of your ear before pulling back.
"Lemme see your hand, sugar," he says, gesturing for yours with his own. Confused, you remove your fingers from between your legs to hold up in front of his face.
You're waiting for him to inspect them or come up with a valid reason why they're not working when he abruptly sucks them into his mouth. His tongue feels hot, searingly so, as he laves over the pads of your middle and ring fingers, then dips between them to caress your knuckles down to where they meet.
A wave of heat almost identical to the one enveloping your hand begins to pool at the base of your spine, and you feel a sudden, heady whoosh at the apex of your thighs. If he could just keep doing that, exactly that, but further down your body—
But to your disappointment, he stops as suddenly as he started and slides your fingers from his mouth with a lewd pop before guiding them back to your core.
"How 'bout now?" he asks earnestly, and Christ. He's so good at that. He always knows how to work your body, even by proxy.
You're wet. You don't even need the added moisture of Joel's saliva anymore. Just the action itself has you breathing heavier, eliciting a craving you never knew you had. Your fingers slip clumsily through the slick leaking out of you, and your eyelids flutter at the fleeting sensation of your fingertips catching your entrance.
"B-better...feels better," you stumble over your words. Your fingers continue to explore your folds without your permission, stoking the fire in your belly. And also your doubt. "But I'm—J-Joel it's..."
That telltale embarrassment is starting to creep in again, reminding you that you're doing something wrong. It feels too good and you really don't want to stop, but what does that say about you? Sinner, slut. The intrusive thoughts are louder than Joel's gentle panting in your ear now.
As if he can hear them, he snakes a hand past your stomach to grip the soft plush of your thigh. He spreads you open, exposing your cunt to the open air as he massages soothing shapes into your skin, silencing the ugly words with his kind touch.
"S'alright, sugar, you can keep goin'. You liked that, right? That's good. You're treatin' your body the way she deserves," he says encouragingly. His hand inches closer to where you're dribbling onto the sheets, but stops the moment his thumb reaches your coarse curls.
You ache to wrap your soaked fingers around his to tug him closer, but you know you can't. And that feels surprisingly okay. For the first time in a long time, you're actually keeping yourself sated enough without his help.
Now that your legs are parted, it all feels...different. Heightened, almost. It's because you're hyperaware of every movement you're making, you realize, and it turns you on way more than it should. Or no. No. Exactly as much as it should.
Joel isn't immune to it either.
As your bedroom fills with the sounds of crisp, rustling sheets and the slick motions of your fingers roaming your folds, you can feel Joel fighting harder not to rut into your side. His body is tense beside you, and the bicep pillowing your head flexes intermittently every time your hips swivel to meet your hand. His praise is also starting to take on an edge, tinged with something a little...filthier.
"Y'hear that? You're gettin' so loud, sugar. So wet," he grits out, his expression pained. "Just look at'cha. Needy, perfect girl. Doin' everythin' right."
His eyes dart up to your face, observing the delicate scrunch of your nose and your parted lips. He's watching you a little too intently, likely to avoid the image of your glistening palm and fingertips working to bring yourself closer and closer to the edge. You're making a huge mess.
And it's making Joel hard as a rock. Twitching and leaking, and temptingly bare against the sweet friction of your hip. You know he's doing everything he can to focus on you, but he can't even begin to imagine how much his reaction is spurring you on.
More. You want to give yourself so much more.
"Joel, I don't think I'm doing it right," you twist to whine into his tousled, graying hair. You breathe him in, and the familiar scent of pine and suede makes your head spin and your fingers stutter. "S'not enough. I-I need more, I keep losing it."
He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, wrenching his gaze away from you to glance down the bed. He can't even hide how badly he wants to touch you. His cock jerks the moment he catches sight of you again, smearing precum across your skin, and you involuntarily mimic him, your hips bucking up into your unpracticed touch.
Blunt nails dig into your thigh before his hand trails back up to your stomach. It trembles as he guides you, languidly and with a hint of desperation.
"S'okay, just follow me," he instructs you, swirling his middle and ring fingers in a tight circle around your belly button. You shiver at the raspiness of his voice. "Right around your clit. Remember where that is?"
But before you can shake your head, his arm slides out from under you and he shifts further down your body to lean over you, propping himself on his elbow. His fingers continue their path on your stomach while he moves lower to gently tug up the hood of your clit, revealing your swollen nub.
"Fuckin' hell," he swears quietly under his breath, his stomach visibly tensing. He's careful to steer clear of everything else, giving you enough space to heed his lesson.
"Alright, c'mere, sugar. There ya go. See? You remember," he releases you, shifting a hand to your thigh and wrapping the other tightly around the base of his cock. He keens, his back nearly bowing with the pent-up tension in his body. "That's it. Nice, tight circles. Just like when I make you cum with my mouth."
You choke on your next moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you're suddenly inundated with memories of Joel between your legs, fucking you with his tongue until you gush into his mouth. You press down harder, swirl faster. No guilt, no disgust. It all still feels so good.
He notices the change in your breathing immediately and begins to stroke himself in time with the rapid rise and fall of your breasts. The hazel of his eyes darken to pitch black. A warning, preparing you for the ecstasy to come.
"Oh, you like that, huh? S'good, you're doin' so good. Can ya give yourself two fingers?" he croons, teasing just below the ridge of his cock with his thumb while he waits for your response.
"I...yeah. Y-yes," you whimper, your brows furrowing as you slip your fingers lower to circle your entrance. But as you start to press into yourself, you hesitate. "W-wait, it feels like too much. I don't want it to hurt."
At that, he all but winces like he's in physical pain, and his hand shoots to the base of his cock again and squeezes.
"Christ," he grits through his teeth, but it sounds more like a growl. You never meant to make him fight his own body like this, but you won't lie and say you're not devouring every second of it. He exhales sharply through his nose to ground himself. "Does it feel good when ya take my cock?"
Those dark eyes are locked on yours, but somehow they're still so gentle. He's not saying any of this for himself. You can tell, it's all for you. Reminders that you can do this if you want it and that he'd never ask you to do anything that could harm you.
You nod quickly because it does feel good. You need him to know that having him inside you feels so, so good.
"Look at those pretty, little fingers of yours. They bigger than I am?"
Your eyes drop to where his hand is still wrapped tightly around himself. He's leaking all over his fingers, thick and tinged an angry shade of red.
"No, Joel. You're bigger," you whisper, your pleasure intensifying the longer you watch him. His lips quirk into the beginnings of a smirk.
"Now, ya don't have to. You can get yourself there just like that. S'just as good," his drawl commands your attention. "But I think you'd like knowin' how it feels like to cum around 'em—"
The tips of your fingers begin to sink into your heat before he finishes his sentence. The sensation is...everything. Too much to keep your eyes from rolling back or your jaw from dropping. It's just so different. As you bottom out, you wonder how this is even possible for Joel. How he ever manages to fit.
"S'hard to move," you pump your fingers in and out experimentally, moaning quietly at the addictive way they drag against your walls.
You're not too naive to realize your body stretches to accommodate him, but you're too caught up in the sight of his hand resuming its previous pace to recall that knowledge. He looks a little desperate and sounds even more so.
"Fuck me. S'it tight? Tell me, sugar. Tell me how tight ya are," he pants heavily, unable to stop himself from fucking into his fist. You unknowingly match his pace, clenching around yourself every time your palm slaps into your clit.
"M'so tight, Joel. And wet and warm," your eyes flutter closed as you lose yourself in the beauty of your own body.
Letting the slick sound of his hand slamming into his pelvic bone be your guide, you bring yourself closer and closer to your own distinctive state of nirvana. The same explosive release Joel gives you—you're finally allowing your body to experience it for itself.
"Joel, I'm...I...," you sob around your words, barely able to force them out as your entire being quakes with your impending orgasm. "...I can't—m'gonna cum, Joel, I can't."
Without warning, he throws a leg over your body to straddle your hips and crashes his lips into yours. He continues to work himself as he coaxes your mouth open, his tongue brushing yours fleetingly before he pulls back.
"Let go, sugar. Give in to it, s'okay. I got ya, I'm right here," he breathes against your lips, and you tilt your head to meet them. When your head drops back onto the bed, your eyes are pleading. You need his help.
And he understands. That's what he's here for.
"Cum with me," he murmurs, dropping his forehead to yours. "C'mon, perfect girl, you deserve it."
You believe him. The shame and never-ending guilt that twists and snags like barbed wire in your chest is nowhere to be found right now. There's only silence, save for you and Joel teetering on the cusp, and his tender reassurances in your ear. He's right. You can have this.
"Ngh—Joel, it's...cumming. Fuck, fuck, m'cumming."
It creeps up on you, a gentle crescendo that abruptly peaks, then slams into you like a freight train. His name leaves your lips in a sharp exhale of sheer relief, repeated like a prayer while you ride it out.
You're vaguely aware of a ragged, drawn-out groan above you as you soak the sheets beneath you, your cunt squeezing your fingers hard with every spasm, just like he said it would. You feel it all.
Then you feel him splatter across your stomach and breasts in thick, white streaks, his release as messy and prolonged as yours. Gasping, you continue through your aftershocks together until sensitivity sets in.
Joel collapses on the bed next to you and immediately pulls you into his arms, uncaring of the sticky, drying mess smearing between you. He cups your cheek and kisses you, firmly but chastely, before reluctantly pulling away.
His eyes search yours carefully like he's looking for something. Peace, maybe? A sense of calm, an absence of the cloudiness he so often sees there and fights to keep at bay. Whatever it is, he must find it because then his lips are on yours again, a longer, deeper kiss that you melt into with loose limbs and a light heart.
"How we doin', sugar?" he asks tentatively as he parts from you.
You take a moment to respond, appraising your body and everything it can sense right now. The wetness between your legs and on your chest, your aching wrist and thighs, and that sweet, pleasant buzz settling at the top of your spine.
"Good," you tell him honestly. You gaze up at him with a blissful smile, preening at the affectionate one he gives you in return before burying your face in the crook of his neck.
"Thanks for this," you continue, mumbling carefully into the warmth of his skin. "And for putting up with me. I know all of this is shitty and weird, and not fun. Just...thanks for never giving up on me."
He sighs, pulling you impossibly closer and enveloping you in his strong, soothing embrace. It feels safe here. In Joel's bed, surrounded by his scent and heat, and unwavering patience, you start to feel hopeful. He lifts your hand to his lips and softly kisses the pads of each finger, then the center of your palm.
"Ya don't have to thank me for any of that. We'll keep doin' this, s'long as it takes," he murmurs, urging you out of your hiding spot to meet his eyes. "Not a damn thing wrong with ya. Ya hear me? You're perfect."
Maybe one day, you'll be able to believe him outside of this bedroom. But for right now, you just feel lucky to be loved by a man like Joel. One who accepts your trauma and your past, and will always be there to protect you, even from yourself.
thanks for reading!
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller angst#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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Kinktober Day 27
starring: homelander x male reader
request: sub!thicc femboy ftm reader x dom!homelander where reader is a supe in the seven who is stronger than all the heros and especially homelander but not strong enough in bed?? homelander finds reader in his apartment right in his room trying on the shortest skirts that shows his ass and pink high stockings, reader trys to explain before he gets his ass eaten and fucked raw until he cant breathe properly. i want some breeding kinks and alot of spanking, and ass worship if thats okay? i know ur busy but im just requesting this only if you have time, please and thank you.
warnings: smut, degradation, cursing, dub-con kinda, ass slapping, hair pulling, breeding kink, breathe play sorta, ass eating, fingering, rough sex, creampie, unprotected sex
being the strongest of the supes was a feat that you never lived down when it came to homelander, your looks were as everyone else would put it 'girly' but can they really say anything when you're more powerful the seven combined and shall we add better looking.
this was especially infuriating to homlander who always had the thought of you being better than him in the back of his head constantly,no one ever took him seriously with threats because they knew you were strong enough to kick his ass.
so what better way to resolve an issue than to show up at your apartment, he knocks at the door "who is it" you yell seemingly running to open the door "homelander" he sternly speaks "you know the rules john, no superhero name in my place" you say letting him in, once more like you always do you shoot him down.
whether that be during missions when you nab the bad guy just when he was about to or talk down on him on minuscule things, it made his blood boil with hatred for you "shoes off at the front door" you add walking back to your room, john silently mocking the way you said it before walking into your room.
he wasn't really shocked when he saw you trying on skirts, it's what you usually wore when not in your superhero suit but what did surprise him is when you try on the most dainty skirts that leave little to nothing to imagination, your ass pretty much spilling out of the bottom.
"what did you want" you ask turning around to look at him, he wasn't all there his mind flooding with what he wanted to do to you and being the psycho he is he acts on those thoughts, bending you over on your bed and ripping off you underwear but leaving the pretty skirt, he spits on his fingers and shove them in you, fingering you open to take his cock.
what first was strained grunts trying to break free from him are now turning into desperate moans loving the way his slender fingers fuck you "who would've thought the sevens strongest member could be so slutty" john teases you shoving his fingers deeper in your tight warmth.
"fuck you john" you say back before dropping your face into the bed and moaning out loudly, homelander slowly pulls his fingers out, strands of saliva following with it as he brings it to his mouth as sucks it off, just when you though he was done he pushes you back into the bed and leans down to your ass, his tongue invading it quickly.
he starts eating you out like a sundae, tongue prodding at every part of your gummy walls, you loved it to, your hands reaching out to grab a pillow and bring it to your face to let out all your dirty sounds, moans and whimper and all of it, john lays a harsh smack on your ass to get those pretty little sounds out again and it works, eliciting broken whines out of you more and more.
he moves from eating you out to nipping his teeth at your ass, sucking at it, or just slapping it continuously, by the end of it you ass is ruined in hickeys and bruises, some teeth marks here and there, he stands up and lowers his pants and underwear "don't worry i'll be done soon" he leans down to whisper in your ear, kissing you neck before leaning back up to then push his cock into you.
that big fucker was splitting your hole in two with how big he was, you were struggling to even choke back moans, john seeing you gives all your moans and sounds to the pillow angered him a little, snatching it from your arms to throw it off to the side and restraining your hands behind your back with his tough grip.
"go ahead moan my name like a fucking slut y/n" he pulls your head up from the bed by your hair to look at you, he was fucking into you so hard you couldn't even answer him let alone breath, your eyes flickering shut but john gets you back awake.
"hey look at me, look at me, this ass is all mine right, ill fuck it whenever and wherever right" he questions, his grips tight on your chin "mhm yes sir im... all yours to ruin" you croak feeling the wind get knocked out of your lungs with every thrust into your hole "m'gonna fill you up nice and good with my cum, hell maybe you can give me a new kid" he chuckle darkly, hand wrapping around your throat to keep you right up next to his face.
while his other hand keeps your ass in place with a firm grip on your hip, after the heavy fucking he cums in you, filling out your stomach to almost bursting, even after a minute or so you could still feel him cumming in you before he finally pulled out of your sloppy hole with a heavy and drawled out groan, releasing you from his dangerously tight grip.
"now who's the stronger supe" he asks lifting your weak head up to look at him "you sir" you weakly say "speak up" he orders "you homelander" you restate with little to no confidence left in you, at this point you were going to be nothing but his bitch.
taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @kadenvatsune @fuckshft @wompwomp-1mh3re
#homelander#homelander x reader#homelander x male reader#x male reader#x male y/n#gay smut#x male smut#x male#gay#male reader#bottom male reader#the boys#the boys x male reader#kinktober#homelander the boys#homelander fanfiction#homelander x you#john gillman
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𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐌𝐁 𝐀𝐔
Pairing; Dark!Club Owner Ari x Shy!Reader
Warnings; dark themes, unbalanced power dynamic, daddy kink, thumb sucking, no smut but the rules still apply, Minors please DNI!!
Summary; Ari visits your home, but how does he know the address?
authors note: this is literally like 1.4k words but i honestly did not want to finish this so i quickly scanned over what i had previously written in my drafts. Unfortunately i have no motivation to write anymore and this will likely be my last piece of work, but due to high demand i tried my best because i owe it to you all❤️ apologies if this does not reach the standards you had hoped for.
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏
Your head pounded as you rolled over in bed, your greasy hair sticking to the sides of your face, drool crusted around your dry lips, barely any memory of last nights activities. Reaching over to turn on the small clock on your bedside table, the time flashed 1pm. Shit.
Usually on Sundays you and Grandma would go to church, growing up in a Catholic household it was basically mandatory. She would wake you up bright and early before you both took a leisurely walk to the church garden, she had always said connecting with nature was one of the most beautiful gifts life granted us. Panic surged through you, the realisation that she had infact, not, woken you up.
You paused at the sound of voices in the kitchen below, Grandma didn't have many visitors since Pops died, she preferred it that way. For you? not so much. She was always trying to convince you to get out more, find yourself a nice husband, settle down and have kids. Surprisingly, she wasn't against you drinking alchohol, she wanted you to have fun with your friends, while you were still young, and while you still could.
Slowly you sat up in bed, a glass of water and advil rested on table which you hadn't noticed earlier, assuming Grandma had placed them there, you swallowed the pills down gently as you stood, getting changed into a nice sundress, the white and lightpink pattern fitting tight to your figure. Stumbling slightly to the bathroom you brushed your teeth and tied your hair in a ponytail, held together with a pink bow. Giving yourself one last look over, ensuring you looked presentable for your guests, you made your way downstairs.
Your body took a screenshot as you turned the corner, the sight of Ari and a man you hadn’t met before casually floating around in your kitchen caused you to let out a frightened yelp, alerting them of your presence. However, they didn’t seem shocked, almost as if they knew you weren’t in your room anymore…without even looking at you. The men were seated in the small room at the table, both of them turning to face you.
"A-Ari? What are you doing here? H-how do you know where i live? Wh-Where’s my Grandma?" you questioned continuously, your eyes wide in confusion and your body shaking in fear, how could he know where you lived? You must’ve accidentally let it slip last night, which was very unlike you, you didn’t usually share your address with strangers you just met…
The other man turned his waist to look at you, his long brown hair framing his sharp jawline, his physique nearly the same size as Ari's, of course nobody compared to him though. Ari's broad shoulders still towering the mystery mans.
He smirked "My, my, she's trembling already, she almost looks shell shocked."
Ari looked at him with a bored expression "Real funny, Buck." Before he turned to you, pulling out an extra seat at the kitchen table.
"Don’t worry about your Grandma, she’s perfectly safe, Bucky here payed for her to eat at one of his most expensive restaurants, a whole afternoon of nothing but the best services in the city, free of charge. And i thought i told you to call me daddy from now on princess. Take a seat." He smiled, patting Bucky on the shoulders, although it didn't quite meet his eyes, while offering you a seat at your own table…in your own home. His words didn’t bring much comfort yet you let out a sigh of relief knowing your sweet granny was safe and sound, probably having the time of her life.
"Yes d-daddy."
Your eyes flickered to his partners, "Buck's". He said nothing yet his smirk told it all. Before you sat down you tugged at your dress in discomfort, your thighs sticking together due to your tense figure.
"Don't mind him. It'll be as if he's not even here. Now, i got you a gift, baby. Drove all the way across the city to give it to ya' "
"Y-You got me? A gift? Why?" You stammered, hurling more questions at him in anticipation, or nervousness, or both. You couldn't really tell.
"Enough questions, open it." He said in avoidance while sliding a medium size box towards you with his ringed index finger, the wrapping paper a light shade of pink, just to your liking and scuffed around the edges, a clear sign that he had no help.
"You uhm, you really didn't have to do this." You murmered while tearing the paper gently, revealing the newest model of iphone. Your eyes widening in shock at the expense of the gift.
“You like it?” Ari smiled, waiting patiently for your response.
“I-I don’t even know what t-to say. Thank you so much.”
Your eyes began to water at the ‘kindness’ of his gift, nobody had ever bought you something so expensive before, and you never had the money to afford it yourself, your Sunday job at the library not exactly paving your way to wealth.
“You’re very welcome sweetheart. Hey Buck, Why don’t you go wait in the car for a sec.” Ari subtly commands.
“No prob, dog.” Bucky smirks from the doorway on his way out.
You lift your thumb to your mouth and begin biting and sucking. It was a habit of yours, an oral fixation. Sometimes you did it simply out of boredom, others out of nervousness. This was one of those times.
Ari groans under his breath at the sight, his cock straining against his slacks within seconds.
“Here, don’t wanna’ mess up your pretty hands, baby.” he mutters, removing your thumb and replacing it with his own.
Precum leaks from his tip at the sensation of your tongue around his digit, wishing it was his cock your lips were wrapped around instead. You closed your eyes as you suckled on his thumb, it felt much better than when you used your own, you didn’t know why. But you did know that fluttery feeling in your tummy was back. Your juices creating a damp patch in your panties, unbeknownst to you.
The sound of your little whimpers of pleasure caused Ari to let out an almost guttural growl as he watched you squeeze your thighs together, trying to relieve tension you didn’t even know was there.
"Fuck, baby. You don't wanna' know what that shit does to a man like me."
Your eyebrows creased together in a frown, not understanding what he meant by 'man like me'. But you'd learn... soon enough.
“Why don’t you come sit on my knee, baby.” He half asked, knowing it wasn’t really a question, more of a demand.
You scrambled, climbing into his lap, yet the moment your plush thighs met his own you felt something hard and thick underneath your ass, you squirmed trying to move away from the foreign object poking into you. Ari was quick to grip your hips with his free hand, stilling your movements and letting out a deep growl, sending shivers down your spine.
“Daddy i think your keys are poking me.” you whined with a frown on your face.
“That ain’t my keys, pretty girl.”
“What is it then?” You questioned as the uncomfortable object continued to poke the underneath of your thighs.
“Nothin’ for you to worry about, pumpkin.” Ari drawled, desperately trying to hold back from pulling up your cute little dress and fucking you dumb. Suddenly, the door slams open yet again causing you to jolt, Ari’s grip on your thighs tightens.
“Boss, we got a problem.” Bucky calls, peeking his head inside, a serious look on his face.
“Can it wait?” Ari sighs.
“Unfortunately not…it’s the Fowlers.”
Ari’s cool manor drops immediately, his strong arms lift you out of his lap and onto your own chair, you land with a squeak.
His hand reaches for your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes.
“My number’s already in the phone, you will call me if you need anything. Gotta’ go now princess, i’ll see you soon, yeah?” He muttered, tracing his thumb around your plump lips.
You nod with shaky limbs, the determination on his features sending shocks through your system.
“Good girl.”
And with a kiss on your forehead he was gone.
You let out a breath of air you didn’t even realise you were holding. Oddly, you were sad Ari was gone. A tugging sensation filled your chest, almost as if your body was aching to run after him, to follow him as far as the wind would take you.
But you didn’t.
With a sigh your feet began to shuffle back to bed, knowing your grandma wouldn’t be happy when she got home when she realised you hadn’t done any of your chores. But at that moment you didn’t care.
As you hit the covers and drifted into sleep, you dreamed of him.
You dreamt of the Devil.
#chris evans#chris evans x reader#chris evans smut#ari levinson#ari levinson smut#ari levinson x reader#ari levinson fanfic#chris evans fanfic#steve rogers#steve rogers smut#chris evans fanfiction#ari levinson x female reader#ari levinson fic#cherry bomb
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please could you do a reader idol x member idol where they sneak off together during an award show and fuck (or js head or handjob/fingering) in the bathroom that would be great :>
Answering this with Jay because I'm currently obsessed with him after yesterday's live like I have been on the floor since then
Please me (p.js)
Warnings : smut, fwb, blowjob, cum eating, not proofread
You and Jay weren't in a relationship
but you wished you were.
you wanted him and sometimes you thought he wanted you just as bad. He had never told you what you were, kind of like an unspoken rule to never ask the foreboding question.
It was fine tho (it wasn't),you both were too busy to be in a committed relationship at this point in your lives but your bodies needed the release which came along with sex. Hot, messy sex. That's how it all started
The first time you met was at an after party, flirty glances and sensual touches lead to Jay pressing your body into the nearest surface by the end of the night while sticking his tongue down your throat just as you grinded your lower body into his hardness that kept poking your stomach. Looking into each other's eyes, it was like a silent promise of fulfilling each other's needs. Jay was a man, he needed a woman's flesh to fuck, and u were just the woman he needed. You were just as horny as him, if not more. Constantly calling him up to meet up at a hotel to fuck and suck. And it was always pleasurable, leaving the both of you wanting more, craving each other's bodies like cocaine.
So it was no surprise when he messaged you to wait for him under the building's staircase in the middle of the award show. You had seen the way he had checked you out shamelessly when your group had graced the red carpet, your stylist having done a good job of making you look like a snacc, your dress a little too revealing but still leaving enough to the imagination
You bit your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling as u read his message, you looked around and met his eyes instantly, his dark eyes staring into yours from where he sat in his tuxedo, a few rows behind you. Want and lust dripped from his gaze, making a delicious shiver to run down your spine. You couldn't wait to have his hands on you
It was easier to sneak out than u thought, your manager just giving you a slight nod, everyone was too busy enjoying the performances and multiple collab stages. Well good for you, cuz you were about to have the best sex of your life and as long as people were distracted, you could make it last longer, you could keep his dick in you longer.. .. you could stay in his strong arms longer
Hearing footsteps from where u waited under the staircase , you peaked around the corner and there he was, running a hand through his hairs which were a mess now, his shirt unbuttoned halfway as he walked towards your awaiting figure
His lips were on yours before u could mutter a single word, his body pushing you further under the staircase so that even if someone passed by, it would be difficult to see you both doing the dirty, this corner being the most secluded
His hands groped your ass, pressing your body closer to himself while your fingers tangled in his hairs, tugging at them making him groan into your hot mouth. His tongue licked into your wet cavern and yours slithered out to suck his tongue into your mouth, moans and sighs leaving your lips at the desperation dripping from his actions
Immediately his hands were leaving your body to take off his coat and throwing it on the ground. You watched with a heaving chest and a smudged lipstick as he began unbuckling his belt, his sharp eyes staring into yours hungrily, your lipstick stuck to his lips, he looked so fucking hot
"Need your mouth" he whispered and you were dropping to your knees on the discarded coat immediately, your mouth watering when he let his pants fall to his knees, his heavy bulge straining against his boxers
Your hands held onto his thighs while you licked him from above his boxers, rubbing your face in his bulge and inhaling his musky smell, the wetness pooling in your underwear from just being so close to his dick and balls
His hand came down to press your face closer into his clothed dick, grinding into your face desperately "fuck I love it when u breathe me in like that" he cursed and helped you to rub your face further into his manhood, sucking him from above his boxers, just feeling cock drunk
Your hands sneaked up to finally take his boxers off and marveling at how his thick dick hit his stomach upon being freed. His dick was so big it always made your mouth water, the slick in your panties was making you shift on your knees, you needed him bad
He was giving you no time to tease him tho as his hand that was still holding your head brought you closer to his dick while he fed you his dick with his other, rubbing the precum stained cock head against your plush lips
"fucking take it in and suck it like the skilled cock drunk slut you are " He grunted needily, sticking his dick down your throat impatiently, making you choke on your own spit. But that didn't stop him, his hips started to thrust in your mouth immediately, both of his hands finding solace in your strands, maintaining a tight grip on both sides of your head to keep you in place while he used your mouth to please his dick
"fuck just like that, choke on it baby" He gasped upon feeling the way your throat constricted around his cock, your warm mouth making his eyes roll back
"so fucking good, your mouth's just like a fucking cunt" he moaned, his head thrown back, adam's apple bobbing up and down sexily while he fucked your throat without a break
Your own eyes rolled back upon feeling your air supply cut off with how rough he was being, your nails dug into his thighs, a signal for him that u needed to breathe
He pulled your mouth off him immediately, watching with lust filled eyes as u heaved in a big sigh of relief, sucking in air desperately, saliva dripping down your chin and your mouth covered with his precum
"fuck" he cursed and went back into your mouth again, your protests being silenced by his animalistic thrusts
"take it, take it, fucking suck it hard baby I'm so close" he groaned and pistoned his hips harder into your mouth, pushing your head further into his groin and keeping you pressed against his pubes
"Play with my balls" he panted as he lodged his dick deep in your throat, your gagging sounds pushing him closer to the edge.
Your palm moved down to fondle his balls, they were so heavy, an instant curse falling from his lips at your actions, his hips picking up pace, holding your face still while fucking into ur drooling mouth
"swallow all my cum baby, gonna cum so fucking much for you" he moaned, thrusting in hard one last time and keeping your face plastered to his pubic hairs, nose meshed against his crotch as he emptied his balls inside of your mouth, his hips stuttering a little when u continued to squeeze his balls.
He pulled his dick out of your mouth with a pop and watched as u swallowed every last drop of his cum, sticking your tongue out naughtily to show him your work.
"fuck come here" he moaned and pulled u up from your hairs and smashed his lips against your messy mouth,groaning upon tasting himself on your tongue. He pushed your back against the wall and his curious hands travelled down the length of your dress, pulling its hem up to pool it around your waist while leaving your lower region exposed. He immediately took a hold of his dick and pressed it urgently into your panty covered pussy lips, lodging it between your thighs,making you moan into his hungry mouth. Your hips moved on their own, dry humping his bare dick like a bitch in heat.
"put it in me jeongseong, it's so wet and hot for you" u murmured against his lips, both of you panting in the anticipation of finally having sex
His hands squeezed the flesh of your waist and groaned, grinding his dick further into your wetness, loving the friction
"yeah? bet it's tight too huh? Just made to fucking please my dick" He asked, moving his fingers down to slide your panties aside and aiming his dick at your entrance, rubbing his cockhead up and down against your messy slit. You nodded urgently, wrapping your hands around his shoulders when he took a hold of your thigh and wrapped it around his waist, your hips bucked and his hips thrusted, making his dick finally slide into your awaiting fuck hole
A loud moan of satisfaction left both of your lips upon the penetration of his cock inside your body, the only right place for his throbbing length
"fuck yeah" He pulled his dick out and thrusted into you deeper, a gasp leaving your mouth at his roughness, he didn't even wait for you to adjust. His grip tightened on your ass and he repeatedly pistoned in and out of you, chasing the friction your tight pussy was giving his cock
"God i needed this" he groaned and buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing up it's length while hitting your cervix at an animalistic pace, the sinful sounds leaving your lips making him go harder. He dug his teeth into the tempting flesh of your neck, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure making the knot tighter in your lower stomach, already feeling close to your high. His one hand groped around your chest, making you whine
"Jay harder, please" you moaned and he came up to rest his forehead against yours,his heavy breaths of exertion falling on your face, his eyes looking lustfully into yours
"Yeah? deeper and harder? you'll let me cum in this slutty pussy won't u? let me breed with you?" He panted on your face, increasing the pace of his thrusts, spreading your legs more to bump your cervix at a deeper angle. Moans immediately started to fall from your lips, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as u dug your nails into his shoulders and let him ruin your pussy
You nodded your head and bit your lower lip, your back arching at the mind numbing pleasure. God this was heaven
"fucking take it like a good girl, take this fucking dick" He groaned, feeling his high approaching upon seeing your pleasure filled face and how sex drunk u looked
Your hips started bucking up, meeting him thrust for thrust, helping him slide deeper into your pussy, your groins meeting again and again, flooding the empty staircase with filthy skin slapping sounds
"Give it to me" u whined and fucked back on him, the knot in your lower belly on the verge of snapping, just one more thrust-
"Yeah baby, keep fucking it, gonna cum so fucking much, gonna, holy shi- his eyes rolled back when he felt your pussy clench around his swollen cock, cumming all around him, your mouth open in a silent moan. Jay placed his mouth above yours, not kissing, but breathing into each other's mouth as he came into your cunt with a loud groan of his own, thrusting his hips deeper to make the pleasure last
"fuck yeah baby, so good" he moaned and captured your lips in his own, while grinding his hips slowly into your overstimulated hole, mixed juices from both of your releases dripping down your legs and soaking his balls, making him groan into your mouth, riding the high
The sound of his phone ringing made the two of you to seperate urgently
"fuck that must be sejin" He muttered and picked up his coat from the ground, digging around for his phone while you quickly fixed your dress and panties,running your hands through your hairs to look remotely presentable
"Yeah?" He answered, his eyes on you, a palm coming up to cup one side of your face softly as you began dressing him up while he talked, quickly making a work of his boxers and pants, tucking his shirt inside
"Yeah I'm with y/n" He spoke and his words made your eyes widen, you looked at him in shock and worry, what was he doing???
You gasped when he pulled you closer to him by your waist, smiling at you
"Well no, but I'm taking her to the dorms, can u talk to her manager?" He asked and ur mouth gaped open further. dorms? Manager?
You slapped his chest to question him but he only pecked your lips quickly
"Thanks man i owe u one" He said and bid farewell to his manager, pocketing his phone and finally giving attention to your questioning eyes
"What are u doing?" U asked him, trying to push him away but he only pulled you closer, trapping u against his body
"Taking u home so i can fuck u on my bed, like a good boyfriend should, gonna enjoy your body all night till everyone knows you're mine. I'm done sneaking around"
"Jay.." you gasped at his confession, your hold tightening on his shirt where your hands rested against his chest. You must be dreaming right?
He moved in to kiss your lips again, as if unable to stop himself from tasting you and you kissed back, reeling from the new revelation about his feelings
"Tell me I'm not the only one who's been unable to sleep, thinking about needing you closer in more ways than sex" He muttered against your lips and u stared back into his eyes, finally gathering courage to take this relationship a step further
"You aren't alone" u whispered and the smile that took over jay's face was the smile u had fallen in love with. He captured your lips in a bruising kiss, exploring new feelings with your mouths, pawing at each other's skin like always but this time with a different intent. An intent to last.
a/n : Happy new year y'all🖤 it's been a journey so far
#enhypen hard hours#enhypen smut#enhypen#enhypen hard headcanons#enhypen hard thoughts#jay smut#enha#jay hard thoughts#jay hard hours#jay enhypen smut#enhypen jay smut#jay scenarios#enhypen scenarios#park jongseong
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[“It was only after I came out as a dyke that, for the first time in my life, I felt ready to celebrate being a girl, and I did. Actually, I overdid. Armed with Esther Newton’s Mother Camp, Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble, and Joan Nestle’s A Restricted Country, I embraced femme. I dressed up in short flowery dresses, pushup bras, satin panties, and lacy stockings. I paid great attention to my long, curly, perfectly-coiffed hair, my glamorous makeup, and especially my pouty lips. I spritzed Lola’s smell on my skin—Estee Lauder’s Private Collection—and painted my nails. I wore all of it with black combat boots and a brilliant sense of irony. I reveled in my girliness, went over the top, learned how to tweeze my eyebrows and line my lips with a lip pencil.
My gender presentation was unmistakable: blatant female sexuality. I was a proud, in-your-face, take-no-prisoners, uppity, don’t-assume-I’m-straight-because-I-wear-lipstick-and-dresses femme dyke. Because femmes are always assumed to be straight or sleeping with men, and I do sleep with men, I made sure to always have a butch on my arm so I’d be read as femme. Even though I was sure I’d be mistaken for straight, the boys took one look at me and steered clear. It was as if I was too much of a woman for them to handle, like I was a handful, and I was. But butch girls love a handful—a handful of tits, a handful of ass, a girl who needs to be handled, a girl who can handle herself.
How I figured out I was a femme had a lot to do with the women I was attracted to and the dynamic between us. When I was in junior high, I used to mess around with a friend of mine named Angela. Angela was one of those girls who developed early; I remember she had big breasts in like sixth grade. We mostly kissed and touched over clothes, and we played out various boy-girl scenarios. I was always the girl—my early femme roots. My favorite of all our little scenes was the one where she was my male boss and I was the secretary. The boss made me have sex with him and told me if I didn’t I would get fired. Now this was all before Clarence Thomas, Anita Hill and the media awareness/obsession with sexual harassment. I remember she’d tell me to suck her dick and push my face unmercifully into her crotch, which smelled amazing,. The drama of it all—the force, the degradation, the power games—really got me off. After that, there was no going back to simplicity. I was hooked on the power.
Jen really epitomized all the girls I was attracted to then and still am. Being with a butch girl, I was valued for my combination of strength and vulnerability, for dressing up, for wanting an arm to hold onto, hips to wrap my legs around, being able to give my body over to her and say, I trust you, I’m yours. My butch loved me in low-cut dresses, appreciated my sexual voraciousness, worshipped my inner slut. I reveled in the fact that I could be strong and submissive all at once. Surrender and still be a feminist. Being a dyke is not just about who I fuck and love, it’s about being a girl who doesn’t play by the rules.
Butch girls don’t play by the rules either, and I love butch girls. Girls with hair so short you can barely slide it between two fingers to hold on. Girls with slick, shiny, barbershop haircuts and shirts that button the other way. Girls that swagger. Girls who have dicks made of flesh and silicone and latex and magic. Girls who get stared at in the ladies room, girls who shop in the boy’s department, girls who live every moment looking like they weren’t supposed to. Girls with hands that touch me like they have been touching my body their entire lives. Girls who have big cocks, love blow-jobs, and like to fuck girls hard. Every day, it is the girls that get called Sir that make me catch my breath, the girls with strong jaws that buckle my knees, the girls who are a different gender that make me want to lie down for them.
Someone else said it about me recently and it’s right on target: “She gets off on all different sorts of people sexually, but she falls for butches.” Like the poet who bought her first strap-on with me and then wanted to sleep with it on. The shrink-in-training who got harassed every time she drove down South. She did look so much like a fifteen-year-old boy: blue button-down shirts, neatly-combed blond hair. The ad exec who had names for her dildos and used to love for me to spit-shine her wingtips. The photographer whose face was so mannish she could pass almost anywhere. The writer who wanted a body like Loren Cameron’s. The telephone repairwoman who drove a truck. The cook who had a boy’s name. The academic who got cruised by gay men on Castro Street. The cornfed farmboy from the Heartland with arms so hard and strong you swear they’ve been working the land, not the iron at the gym.
And there’s the one who’s got the James Dean stare down, and dresses like a clean-cut fag, and looks at me like she could look at me forever and never blink or grow tired or move from the spot she’s in. She’s a girl who loves girls like me—girls in velvet bras, girls who want to surrender to her mouth. She’s a girl who isn’t afraid to throw a femme down on the bed and fuck her. Possess her. My kind of girl. This girl is different.”]
tristan taormino, from this girl is different, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000
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Animalistic Instincts ღ
a/n: I just wanted to write a small thing about Luka being in heat some more... Particularly his breeding kink~ I made this one a fem reader, but if anyone wants a male version of this, I'd be happy to write it! ( ´ ▿ ` )
For this, reader is implied to be living with Luka.
TWs: breeding kink, dubcon (?), silencing via fingers shoved in mouth, dirty talk, unwanted pregnancy on darling's end, Luka being Luka.
NSFW, 18+ only!
Luka is a man who typically never loses his composure. He’s almost always calm, careful, manipulative, and smart to some degree. It’s something that he takes pride in.
…However, as a man born half-fox, there are days where the animal within him likes to take control. Every year when winter rolls around, that’s when his heat takes over him. And when that happens, he can no longer think for himself– he just goes wherever his dick takes him.
There are some times where he can be rational. Luka can still reasonably cook, clean, work, and take care of both you and him. However, he needs to fuck multiple times between tasks, which is a little inconvenient. He can still function overall, though.
But… There are days where his mind turns into total mush, and all he can think about is fucking you raw.
Luka knows that it’s gonna be a rough day when he wakes up and his first thoughts are centered around how badly he wants to breed and get you pregnant.
God, the idea of it all sounds so damn enticing to him. He’ll fuck you over and over again until you can’t walk, stuffing you full of his hot seed as he lovingly rubs your stomach. He can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you’ll be when you’re all swollen and big while carrying his children. Luka will take extra-good care of you every step of the way… He’ll spoil you like a princess.
“We’re going to have so many kids,” He’ll growl darkly as he savagely thrusts his cock deep inside of you, shoving his cum further in as he locks your hips in place. At some point, you’ll lose count of how many rounds of sex you’ve had.
“We’ll make a huge family.”
If you whine and tell him that you don’t want any kids, he’ll silence you by shoving his fingers deep inside your throat. You obviously don’t mean that…! You’re just a little confused and worn-out, that’s all. So instead of whining and saying things you don’t mean, how about you suck on his fingers and take his cock like a good girl?
After a couple rounds have passed and you’re thoroughly tired and overstimulated, Luka will start to slow down… But he doesn’t stop. Instead, he’ll just lay you down on your side and he’ll curl up behind you, raising one of your legs as he sensually fucks your pussy from the back. His breath is hot and heavy as he buries his face into your neck.
Luka's cum would be, quite literally, overflowing out of you and spilling onto the bed, but that doesn’t stop him. The animal inside of him demands that he keeps going until he physically collapses.
Also, it doesn’t matter if you feel all hot, sweaty, and disgusting– Luka downright refuses to let you take a shower. However, he will let you lay in bed as he takes a wet rag and wipes you down. His one rule is that you’re absolutely not allowed to clean up his cum. If you wash it out, then that means you’re lowering the chances of getting pregnant...! Right?
Afterwards, if you still cry at the thought of getting pregnant, he’ll kiss away your tears while reassuring you that everything will be okay– and that there’s nothing to worry about! Bearing his children can’t be that bad… If anything, it’ll be a wonderful experience! Don’t you worry your pretty little head, he’ll spoil you rotten for the next 9 months. ~
…But when tomorrow rolls around, if his mind isn’t mush anymore, the delayed post-nut regret will hit him like a speeding train. He’d consider giving you a morning-after pill, but… Honestly? Even when he’s not insanely horny, the idea of starting a family with you sounds nice. So, he wouldn’t give you it unless you genuinely begged him to.
#luka posting#yandere male#yandere x reader#yandere#yancore#yandere oc#yandere x you#yandere fic#yandere imagines
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when spite describes itself in lucanis' journals, it seems to consistently use the wording 'a small shade'. self-identified 'just a little guy (threat)' fhsak. I really like that wording, though. a shade, something cut off from the wholeness and living light that is the fade and made a shadow cast by someone else in the real world. 'small', under threat, vulnerable, sort of scrappy (and perhaps a little pathetic but in a 'don't touch me I'll bite!!!' kind of way haha).
I'm so in my feelings over how in the last journal it/he describes the two of them as 'a small shade and a wounded spirit sitting together', though. he's so confused and frustrated about what's going on with lucanis at the beginning, but once rook explains that lucanis isn't intentionally fucking with him, he's just hurting, spite seems to understand and accept that pretty readily (if not without some initial 'ugh FINE physical reality rules are so DUMB bitch you guys live like this' frustration lol). lucanis' early statements that spite doesn't, can't or won't learn are obviously bullshit and the game basically tells you so the moment he says it haha, but you know what. that is some deep learning spite is doing, and in like a year of being in the physical world too. I know plenty of actual real adult human beings who are not capable of that level of insight.
and also, as an aside... I think it's pretty conclusively proven in the series that spirits do have the ability to change and learn all on their own when they get the opportunity to and that it gets turbocharged for good or ill when they're exposed to the physical world. but I also wonder if some of it is the other side of the two way connection. just as spite flows into lucanis, surely that must happen after some fashion the other way too. does spite have some access to/come into contact with lucanis' kneejerk empathy response? to be in opposition to something or someone is not the same thing as not understanding them or where they're coming from, after all. in fact sometimes that can amplify the 'no no trust me I get it I understand. but fuck you doubly for it actually you still suck that why only makes it worse', so I don't feel that would go against spite's nature, even. lucanis already has such an interesting relationship to his own empathy all on his own -- he's a prime example of how 'empathy' and 'compassion' are not inherently the same process and one need not accompany the other. when he's in contract mode, empathy is just a knife, a way to understand people deeply so he can stab them better and more efficiently. when he's in family mode, empathy is accompanied with enough tenderness and compassion and warmth that it makes me feel ill to consider and makes it a bit hard for him to stay with, sometimes. it's the same skill/instinct, but shows up differently based on the context he's in. sure why not drop a demon in there and see what happens I guess lol. 'smells like tears and lying' anyone. spite's response to meeting compassion out in the world is 'GOD no don't make eye contact keep walking this is so fucking cringe', but uh. there's no way for him to escape it within the bounds of the person he's been frankensteined into, is there. aaaah it's so interesting.
there's something so fascinating to me about two souls who are so close they can't help but reflect and bleed into each other, but also remain two separate entities who can look at each other. and be mutually protective about it, clearly. augh.
#dragon age#dragon age: the veilguard#dragon age: the veilguard spoilers#dragon age spoilers#dragon age meta#lucanis dellamorte#spite#thinkin 'bout spite hours 24/7 in here. a lil guy (honorific)
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