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kpop-zone · 5 years ago

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Playing with Fire: Ch 2

Word Count: 2,763

Chapter 2

Because you had spent your first night after officially being Blackpink’s producer with pondering, you woke up the next day, feeling like a truck had run you over. You were extremely tired and felt like your head was completely empty. Nevertheless, you had to drag your feet to work and take an active part in all the meetings. Which was a difficult task. Everyone was having different ideas and was constantly talking all at once. After only three hours, your head felt like exploding. Right in time with the most important meeting of the day. The one with the artist.

You were sitting in the conference room next to Teddy, massaging your temples and waiting for the girls. Jennie was the first one to show up. Her gaze immediately fell on you when she entered the room and her face lit up. But when she saw your obviously pained face, her smile disappeared.

“Hi Teddy.”

She greeted the producer hastily before completely focusing on you.

“I’m glad to see you, Y/N. Are you ok?”

Worry was plastered all over her face and you wondered whether she cared about everyone that much.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

You smiled at her, hoping that you were convincing. Jennie’s gaze stayed a little while longer on you and she looked like she was about to talk back, but then the three other girls entered the room, filling it with laughter and loud chatter. Using the distraction, you leaped to your feet to avoid Jennie’s gaze and to greet the others.

After you had exchanged the pleasantries, you went straight to business. Teddy and you presented your ideas for the album and were glad when the members agreed to stick with the girl crush concept. Having talked about the basics, the two of you took turns in presenting your ideas in order to get more into detail.

Although you were busy, making sure that you gave a flawless presentation, you could feel Jennie’s eyes burning on you several times throughout the meeting. You tried your best to ignore it, but every time her feline eyes were on you, you forgot what you were talking about for a second. Much to the dismay of Teddy, who of course thought that you were unprepared or a really terrible public speaker.

You cursed yourself under your breath, when you were finished with your part. You had hoped to impress Teddy right from the beginning, but you hadn’t made a great job till now. Feeling disappointed in yourself, you broodily stared ahead, not even realizing that Jennie had inched closer to you until you could feel her hand on yours under the table. You jumped in surprise, attracting the attention of the others at the table, but you tried to play it off by pretending to be oblivious. When everyone continued to listen to Teddy again, you dared to look to your side and saw that Jennie was looking at you with a smile on her face.

“You did great.”

She whispered before removing her hand, but the damage was already done.

Your head was completely empty, and you couldn’t concentrate on a single word Teddy was saying. Therefore, the rest of the meeting was a blur and you only came back to your senses, when your older colleague closed his laptop and allowed each of you to go back to their other obligations. But although everyone was rushing off, you kept sitting on your chair, deep in thought. What was it with those girls and being touchy? Were they trying to sabotage you on purpose?

Slowly, however, you managed to defreeze. You realized that your tensed relationship with the girls might seem to be your biggest problem right now, but it wasn’t. You had an album to produce and deadlines to meet. Therefore, you pulled yourself to your feet and started to pack your stuff, ready to get to work again. But suddenly an unexpected voice in the room made you jump in surprise.

“You shouldn’t be so harsh on yourself.”

With wide eyes you turned around and saw Jennie standing in the doorway.

“I think you did great today. I really liked your ideas for the album.”

Her features were soft, and you felt a warm, fuzzy feeling inside of you.

Hearing her say those words, probably meant more to you than they should, and a faint blush started to spread on your cheeks.

“You think so? I think, I sounded like a complete idiot.”

Remembering how you couldn’t even finish one sentence without twisting at least half of the words, the feeling of being disappointed in yourself returned again. But Jennie quickly walked closer to you.

“Don’t say that. You are really talented, Y/N. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be standing next to me right now. Or do you think YG would have given just anyone this job?”

Jennie’s words sounded determined and felt like balm for your soul. She was right. You should stop overthinking everything and criticizing your work non-stop. You were a great producer and you had earned your spot in this team.

When you looked at Jennie, a smile played on your lips and you couldn’t believe that she had managed to find the words that you needed to hear after only knowing you for one day.

“Thanks, Jennie. I really needed that.”

Seeing that she had managed to raise your mood, her face lit up and her eyes formed little crescent moons.

“I’m glad, I could help. I know that this industry can be a lot to handle.”

Jennie sighted silently and you remembered that her path also hadn’t been easy.

Maybe you could be there for each other. Be each other’s moral support, even if the world around you went crazy. Therefore, you decided to find some encouraging words for her as well.

“But there are also people that make all the trouble worth it in this industry.”

You said with a grin, but as soon as the words left your lips, you wanted to take them back. Those weren’t the words, you told a person after knowing them for just one day. But Jennie didn’t seem to be bothered. Instead, a soft smile decorated her lips.

“Indeed.”

She stated, lingering her gaze on you before turning around and heading to the door.

Your heart felt like it was jumping out of your chest, but Jennie didn’t seem to be done with you yet.

“Are you coming?”

She suddenly asked over her shoulder and your body automatically followed her like a puppy.

You accompanied Jennie to the room where she had her next meeting in silence. When you arrived at the destination, you stood in front of the door awkwardly.

“Thank you for bringing me.”

Jennie broke the silence eventually and you nodded your head in response. Where was this tension coming from again? You fixed your gaze on your fidgeting fingers, but when you looked up, you saw that Jennie was already looking at you. Your eyes met and Jennie didn’t seem to be embarrassed by the fact that she had been staring at you. Instead, she held your gaze and your mouth went dry.

Her eyes were the prettiest things you had ever seen. They were so dark that you felt like losing yourself in them.

You were about to be hypnotized when you suddenly realized where your mind was going, causing you to quickly shake your head.

This wasn’t something that you should think about your co-worker.

“I...I gotta go.”

You stammered after clearing your throat and already walking backwards.

“Alright. I hope to see you soon.”

Jennie responded calmly and you wondered how you could reach her level of confidence.

Not once had she been awkward when approaching you. She had always simply spoken her mind. Nevertheless, she had never appeared indelicate. Behind that cool demeanor, you were sure to see a soft core. You were granted a glance on it, just a few minutes ago. Someone selfish wouldn’t have sensed your bad mood.

After still staring at her while walking backwards, you eventually turned your back to Jennie aprubtly, rushing off with big steps. You needed some air.

Like you had been under water, you gasped once you stepped outside, trying to clear your head by pumping oxygen into your lungs. But the sight of Jennie’s eyes didn’t leave your brain. And the feeling of her hand on yours was tattooed under your skin.

She was dangerous. And you needed to stay away from danger.

But this was easier said than done. After all, Jennie was your co-worker. Therefore, you had to see her every single day. And she didn’t make your job easy either. Whenever you met her, she smiled brightly and walked up to you, asking you how you were doing. And no matter how hard you tried to fob her off with standard answers, she always wanted to know the truth.

Soon you felt yourself getting closer and closer to her against your will. You shared things with her that you had left unspoken in the past and often caught yourself, asking her for advice.

But you knew it was wrong.

You were supposed to work solely on a professional level. Catching feelings, no matter which kind, would only complicate things.

Therefore, you decided to give the two of you a break. At one point you started to avoid Jennie as best as possible and if you had to meet her, you made sure not to be alone. To facilitate going through with your decision, you chose to increasingly work with Rosé instead of Jennie. You had written a song almost completely alone and you needed a lead singer. You could have chosen Jennie, because you knew that she was capable to take the lead in a song, but you chose to go with Rosé.

When you announced your decision, the disappointment was visible in Jennie’s face and you had to avoid her gaze, because your heart felt heavy, seeing her this way. You knew that it was unfair. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t been anything but nice to you. And now you ditched her like she was some worn out toy.

You hoped that she would move on quickly. After all, you were only her producer and there were several other talented people working on this album.

But apparently, you were the only producer that she wanted.

One day, you came into the company earlier than everyone else to get a kickstart. You were just about to enter one of the studios, when you could see a shadow in the corner of your eye. You turned your head, expecting one of the cleaning ladies, but it was Jennie instead who sheepishly made her way over to you. You lost your tongue, simply hoping for her to pass you, but of course she came to a halt only a few steps away from you.

But this time, Jennie didn’t greet you with on of her gummy smiles. This time, her face stayed stern and pensive. Your roles seemed to be switched, because this time it was her who avoided your gaze. Only when you made a move to enter the studio, she grabbed your arm to hold you back.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Jennie looked at you with desperation in her eyes and guilt washed over you. It was you that had made her voice sound so silent and broken.

“No of course not. Why would you think that?”

You asked, although you already knew the answer.

“I feel like you’re avoiding me.”

Jackpot. It had always been just a matter of time till she figured it out, but you still couldn’t let her know the truth.

“I’m not avoiding you, Jennie. Why should I?”

You smiled at her, trying to take away her sadness, but Jennie didn’t seem to be satisfied with your answer yet.

“I don’t know. But we’re not talking anymore like we used to.”

Jennie opted to avoid your eyes and you were suddenly granted a glance on her weak side again. Her confidence seemed to be washed away and all that was left was a girl that felt left alone. All you wanted to do was to hug her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear. But you couldn’t.

Nevertheless, you weren’t cruel enough to let her carry the weight of having messed up your relationship any longer. Therefore, you reached out to grab her hand, causing her to look at you.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve just had a lot of stress lately. And my decision to work with Rosé instead of you, was just based on the fact that I have more experience working with singers than with rappers. My decision was purely professional, not personal.”

This time Jennie seemed to believe you, because her face brightened up a bit.

“So everything’s good between us?”

She asked, giving you puppy dog eyes and your eyes softened.

“Of course.”

Finally, you were allowed to see her gummy smile and you felt your own lips forming a smile in response as well.

“I’m really glad to hear that. I have been worried the past weeks.”

Jennie admitted while nervously looking at her hands that were tightly clasped together.

Avoiding Jennie had been a plan in need for improvement from the start. But now, it was a plan that was no longer executable. You couldn’t make Jennie worry that much ever again. No matter whether it was the right thing to do or not, you cared too much about her to let that happen.

“Don’t worry anymore. You need your energy to focus on the comeback.”

You assured her and Jennie nodded in response.

“I know.”

Silence was surrounding you suddenly, so you gave her a last smile before wanting to enter the studio, thinking that you had talked about everything that needed to be said.

“Do you want to grab something to eat with me this evening?”

Jennie suddenly blurted out and you whipped your head around in shock.

“I...I need some advice because of a song. I know you’re working with Rosé, but I hoped that you could give me some tips too.”

She added nervously and you searched for the right answer in your head, but you were completely baffled.

Was she really only searching for professional advice?

How could you say no then? You weren’t trying to make favorites in the group. Everyone deserved the same amount of attention. Only because you had worked hard on the song that Rosé was taking the lead in, didn’t mean that you could neglect the other girls.

And it wasn’t like she asked you for a date. Therefore, you cleared your throat to make your voice sound more or less steady despite the huge amount of adrenaline that was rushing through your veins right now.

“Yes sure. You can always ask me for advice.”

You smiled and Jennie looked like she was seconds away from jumping into your arms in excitement. But she held herself back and only bowed to you slightly.

“Thank you. I’m going to pick you up here then. Around seven?”

Jennie asked and you gave her an awkward thumps up before finally opening the door to the studio. Flashing you another gummy smile, she waved at you before skipping away. You looked after her until she rounded a corner. Your heart was pounding like crazy again, so you slipped into the studio where you leaned against the door and closed your eyes.

Since the first time you had seen the girls, you knew that they were trouble.

And now you already seemed to be too caught up in it to free yourself.

You needed to brace yourself for tonight. It could either tangle you up further into this mess or loosen the ties that were choking you up. It all depended on how professional Jennie would keep this night. Exhaling a shaky breath, you pushed yourself off the door to go to your desk. Right when you sat down, however, you could hear knocks on the door.

A second later, Rosé stuck her head in the door, and you remembered that you had arranged a meeting to discuss the further steps regarding the song that she was taking the lead in.

With a smile you stood up to greet her. She reciprocated the gesture while entering the room, giving you the chance to let your eyes wander up and down her body.

Had it been a good idea to avoid Jennie by getting closer to Rosé?

#dragonaceflamez #kpop-zone #blackpink #blackpink imagines #blackpink scenarios #blackpink reactions #collaboration #playing with fire #blackpink jennie #blackpink rose #blackpink jisoo #blackpink lalisa #jennie #jisoo #rose #lisa

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sergeanttpoliteness · 5 years ago

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➹one love confession, please➹(peter b. parker x reader)

The sad and divorced man who’s become a regular for the past year is constantly spilling his emotions to you, his favorite bartender. This wasn’t something new; you can’t count with both of your hands the times you’ve heard someone recount the odyssey of their life. But these flutters in your stomach were definitely something you didn’t experience with your customers, and you definitely did not end up making out with them at the end of the night. Maybe Peter B. was your only exception, though.

(PART I)

word count: 12.3k (oof)

warnings: cursing, alcohol, and mentions of sex (let me know if i missed something!)

a/n: it’s five am where i live and this is already awfully long so i’m gonna make it as brief as i can. first, i’m sorry it took eight months, but at last, it’s here, and i’m so happy and proud of it ! thank you a million times for the amazing support this story got, seriously. second, this was also for @connorshero 1.6k followers writing challenge, and i can’t express enough how ashamed i am that it took so long lmao, i’m a clown. it’s here, tho, and i hope i hear your thoughts and that y’all enjoy it (:

taglist: @fanbase-jumper

Never in a million years would you have deemed possible a human could undergo through such a crushing feeling of dread, yet, sadly, you found yourself to be wrong, for there you were, a pressure smothering your lungs and an iciness washing over you. You never would have imagined yourself hiding in the bathroom from a certain Peter B. Parker, either; but then again, contrary to your previous thinking, there you sat on the closed toilet seat, your eyes squeezed shut, breathing heavily as a frostbite in your heart eclipsed any other thoughts in your head.

For the last few days, you had tried to repress a memory which physically pained you as you worked at the bar, almost as if it were nothing more than a bizarre dream you had one night, or a movie you watched as a little kid and couldn’t figure out as a grown-up whether it was real or not. It didn’t take long before in your restless little brain, that date did not exist in the calendar. So… strange, how all of sudden you couldn't remember anything from that night. Yeah, nothing happened. There’s no reason or possible explanation as to why you nearly dropped dead to the ground every time the entrance opened, or why your lower stomach erupted like a geyser refusing to rest whenever you caught a glimpse in the mirror of the bruises on your neck and, just maybe, somewhere in the back of your head, recalled how they came to be in the first place; how the small vessels burst, why they’re there. Your self-induced amnesia surprisingly worked. Yeah, like a charm. Until you looked up for the billionth time and it wasn’t another false alarm. The fortress of protection you constructed collapsed as if it took no effort to build it, because there he was— there stood Peter, just a few feet away from you.

Of course, you panicked; hysterically searched your surroundings for an excuse to leave, but no one wanted to bother you when you most needed it. Terrible luck, indeed. You only had two choices (although, really, you most likely had more): you could be, you know, smart and face your problems, or, Peter, to be more concise, or you could run away to hide and wait it out in the bathroom. So, after analyzing it thoroughly for approximately two seconds, what did you do?

Get the fuck out of there, obviously; you threw your towel, sped out of the bar, and instantly headed to have the meltdown of the century in the bathroom.

You screamed into your hands as you relived everything in your head, stomping your foot on the floor tiles. Remorse didn’t suffice anymore to explain the sharp pain in your stomach. You’d sabotaged yourself— you got a nip that night, a morsel of something greater, a catalyst for ‘what if’s and a total loss of self-control, because once the temporary high didn’t satiate you any longer, you’d seek it again. Regardless of your constant imbecility, you weren’t oblivious: it was nothing more than a distraction for Peter’s troubles and conflicting emotions over a woman he’d married, and it would never mean anything to him. It never would, despite how much it meant to you.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out, narrowed eyes reading the recent message while your heart went ballistic.

‘You can’t stay there forever, he’s starting to get suspicious.’

You breathed out, partially relieved. It was your friend. You texted him earlier as you lost it in the bathroom stall, as one does. You were close to getting on your knees and start praying to any superior entity that he was simply imagining stuff like most of the time, attempting to read in between the lines when, in reality, all Peter did was drink his whiskey served over ice, totally unconcerned. Yes, perhaps, you running away didn’t signify ‘subtle’, and the fact that you two hadn’t shared a word or texted ever since you fled his apartment a week prior didn’t brighten the situation at all. Why should it matter if you chose to continue escaping your issues? You could stay there forever, and it was no one’s business. The bar’s urine-scented bathroom could be your new home.

Your phone rang again. ‘Dude, c’mon.’

Goddammit.

Your friend shouldn’t have the power to knock some sense into you with just two messages, but he did anyway. You required an abundance of courage you did not carry to hesitantly walk out of the stall, and then the bathroom. You were sure your heart could hop out of your chest, as gruesome as it may have been, at any moment as Peter’s figure came closer and closer to you with each dreadful step you took. It wasn’t as dramatic in real life, most likely (most definitely). But as if you finally understood your situation, the charisma awakened from its sleep and, in an instant, you let out a disappointed ‘aw!’, replacing your terrified features with an exaggerated pout. “Oh, man! Somebody else already took your order? Unbelievable.”

He reacted as though he overheard the most unbelievable noise— a call from God itself or extraterrestrial life, because he could’ve gotten some whiplash by the way in which his head jerked up.

Peter cleared his throat, unsure of what to do with his hands as he showed you a tight-lipped smile. “Uh, hey! Hey…” He exclaimed and you winked at him. “I thought you weren’t here, or something.”

You thought for a moment. For real this time. You couldn’t say ‘I was just having a breakdown in the bathroom’. “Nah, my boss just needed my help… with stuff,” You waved your hand, aware that your boss had left an hour ago. He hummed and nodded, downing his shot. Wait. Your eyes returned to his glass when you fully took it in. It wasn’t whiskey served over ice.

You pointed at the empty drink in his grasp. “What’s that?”

He glanced down at it, raising a brow. “What, you’ve never seen a shot of vodka?”

“No, no, I mean— yeah, but what the hell happened to your whiskey?”

Peter pressed his lips together, shrugging one shoulder. “I dunno, guess I just… got tired of it?”

The corner of your lips tugged down momentarily. “Ah, I see…” You distracted yourself with a glass, cleaning it despite its already pristine look. You just needed anything to focus on other than Peter. “This is so tragic, your whiskey days have come to an end.” You joked, laughing quietly and disguising the aching in your chest.

He tilted his head, quirking an eyebrow and grinning a confused smile. “What’s wrong with vodka?”

“It’s just… so boring.”

An incredulous grin stretched across his face. “More boring than whiskey?”

Your smile faded, a frown taking its place. “I… I’m guessing I had just grown used to it— I don’t know.”

For the first time in a whole year of weekly meetings and ongoing chatter, an uncomfortable silence sat amongst you two. And for the first time, too, you did not know what to say. “Y/N?” You looked up at him attentively, although you did not want to hear what he had to say at all.

Peter avoided your gaze, instead focusing on his lap, and opened his mouth, closing it when you couldn’t think up any words. “I think, uh… we gotta talk, right? About… y’know.” Your face heated up as red as a field of roses.

You laughed nervously, your hands on the bar as you slanted forward. “...About what?”

“Just, about what happened, and that thing you said the morning after—”

“Did I say anything the morning after?” You cut him off, wishing you’d stuck with your plan of moving into the bathroom.

To your horror, your biggest fear unfolded as Peter let out air through his nose, chuckling without humor.

“Are you gonna try to convince me it was a dream again?” You nearly passed out as Peter cited the words you so vividly remembered uttering. “‘You’re just dreaming?’” It all came back to you, everything— your forced memory loss received a fatal blow as memories bombarded your brain: Peter’s face twisted with puzzlement and sleep after you blurted out your utter nonsense and— how could you forget, oh God, how could you— the cherry on top, your uncomfortably intense five-second staring contest as you headed for the door and dashed out of his apartment.

“‘Wake up?’” He continued and you merely blinked back at him. He didn’t need to fucking quote you and remind you what a joke you were— who does that? But also, who tells the guy you just hooked up with that he’s dreaming after he caught you in the midst of trying to sneak out? B-B-Bingo! Of course, of course it had to be you out of all people.

You stood frozen, like you did that embarrassing morning, begging your head to stop it with the callbacks and breathing out. “What if it was a dream? You never know.” You said, unwilling to give up your idiocy. Peter stared at you, his lack of amusement terrifying you further.

“A dream.”

“Yeah.”

He rubbed his face. “Jesus Christ, Y/N—”

“What?”

“Stop acting like an idiot, please.”

“Peter, you literally could’ve brought up anything else other than this.” You hissed, exasperated. “Any other fucking thing.”

“I can’t not bring this up.”

“Well, why not? I surely can.”

“‘Cause it was weird.”

You grimaced and covered your face with your hands, muffling your words, “Oh my God, I know, I fucking know. What did you want me to do—”

“I don’t know, maybe just talk, you know!” He suggested with raised hands, the harsh sarcasm in his voice deepening your pained expression. “Wh-why did you even say that?! Like—”

“I didn’t want to be there! I just wanted to leave, okay?!” You admitted loudly, uncaring of your blatancy. When you didn’t hear him, your shaking hands slowly unveiled your face. A man two seats away eyed you two as he drank, while Peter stared at the counter with knitted brows, digesting what you said.

“Do you wish it had been a dream?” He asked quietly. You began to tap your finger, your lips shaping the words you wanted to speak, but didn’t exactly know how to.

“No. That’s not it, I…” You croaked out. You couldn’t continue when you noticed what you thought was a flourishing desire in his eyes which you saw that same night back at his place. Just say it. Your fingertips thudded the wood faster, your feet shifting, voice stuttering. Say you’d do it again.

“It was just a one-time thing, right?” You whispered. Then, you doubted if that lust had simply been a delusion your brain fabricated. That, perhaps, you yearned for something bigger so badly you’d projected your own silly cravings onto the man, for all trace of that weakening glimmer was now nothing more than the familiar amity the always held.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Right.” You breathed out.

“It was just a one-time thing.” He repeated as if it were obvious.

“Yes.” You both nodded, unable to look at each other straight in the eye without squirming. As soon as some clients called for you, you shared a last glance before you left. When you returned, all you found were some crumpled dollar bills and no sign of Peter.

You didn’t buy him a gift. And neither did he, but he did send you a message saying, ‘Merry Christmas!’, and there exists a possibility that you broke down crying whilst drunk because of the smiley face he wrote along with it, but that’s something you wouldn’t ever disclose— even if it happened one more time during New Year’s Eve as your head pounded with the people around you religiously blowing their party horns. That was it, though. You didn’t see him at the bar, which a part of you could only be thankful for, but the remaining kicked itself for not fixing things when you had the chance to. For not being honest when you could have.

Your friend yet again with his wisdom from the gods told you to stop wasting time and move on with your life, albeit not as kindly, as if saying it in such a way wasn’t hurtful enough. However, after being too sensitive for two seconds, you sucked it up and knew that he was right.

You managed to keep Peter out of your thoughts most of the time, focusing on your job and getting additional money with your paintings to treat yourself. You could go out more with your friends, buy a new TV, maybe save for the vacation you’d been dreaming of for the past years. For some time, as there was no Peter in your head nor at the bar, it was just like before the man nearing his forties and with a really, really nice nose sat down in front of you.

You could only maintain him out of your orbit for so long, though.

You sat at another bar two blocks down your place, hunched over and your eyes glued on your cell phone’s screen, anticipation pulling imaginary strings connected to your fingers which fidgeted, tossed the device from hand to hand. Your friend was the fourth person you texted in the last thirty minutes, an act born from desperation, perhaps; created upon an urgency for an anchor, a quick fix that would momentarily patch up the heaviness in your chest that made an unwanted visit too many times to your liking and dissipate all the thoughts in your head. You needed something, a distraction, anything— hell, you’d even texted your boss, a known shopaholic, asking if she wanted to go shopping. But everyone appeared to be doing something that night, too engaged in their own affairs to remember you. It was selfish, you understood, to think that way; they had lives, after all. Nevertheless, that selfishness was a blemish you couldn’t vanish as the three dots emerged, followed by the exact same message you dreaded: ‘Can’t tonight, I’m with dad. What about tomorrow?’ There was no tomorrow, though. No, you ached for it right now, in that instant, something.

Peter.

No. You couldn’t. Another decline was a final blow you couldn’t withstand, anyway, especially from him. However, you weren’t the one making the decisions anymore. Your heart manipulated your limbs, and in a blur, you’d searched his contact. Too soon to your liking, you heard that tedious beeping, your heartbeat then the sole noise in your ears once it halted. All of a sudden, you couldn’t talk, your words lodged in your throat, because it was strange to hear that voice again and it was too much for you right now.

“Y/N? Are you there?” Peter said after you didn’t make the slightest sound, hesitance evident in his tone, for he wondered whether it’d been an accidental butt dial. You took in a big breath and pressed your phone closer to your ear, your elbows aching from the hard counter they rested upon.

“...Hi.” You scrunched up your nose, shaking your head at yourself.

“What… what’s up?” It was odd, you both knew, because when did you ever call each other, and when was the last time you two talked? But turning a blind eye to your friend’s advice, you itched to fulfill your own cravings that night— it didn’t really matter what kind, but just a friend was all you needed, just someone.

You stuttered for a while, internally grateful he remained silent and waited for you to clear your mind. “Nothing. That’s why I’m calling, I guess. Just wanted to talk.”

“To talk?” You could hear the engines of driving vehicles in the background and you frowned, scratching the back of your head.

“Sorry, are you busy? I didn’t mean to bother you. I can call another time—”

“No, no!” He stopped you, your heart growing wings, fluttering and capable of flying out of your chest with how gentle he sounded. “I just got done with something and I’m going back home, you don’t have to hang up.”

You hit the tip of your shoes against the bar, tense brows still not relaxing. “Oh, okay…”

“Are you at work?

“No, my shift ends at a normal time on Friday’s, thankfully.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I see— so you’re home alone and bored?”

You observed the place around you, focusing on the bartender and then on your drink. “Eh, not exactly.” You closed your hand into a fist, struggling to not dissect the skin around your nails like an animal in a biology class. “I know this is unusual, we never really talk outside of the bar and we haven’t seen each other in a while, but…”

“It’s kinda our first phone call, isn’t it?”

You smiled, your lip trembling. “Y-Yeah. Our first phone call.” You almost cursed when your voice wavered.

“Hey, you alright?”

You sighed, scratching your head. “Not gonna lie, I’ve been better.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“It’s stupid, I don’t know. It’s a Friday night— everyone’s out having a good time, and I’m just… here, in a bar and on my own.” You shrugged, your nails carving the timber.

“It’s not stupid.” He murmured and you snorted, unconvinced. “If it makes you feel any less alone, I’m not exactly out partying and having a good time, either.”

“Do you even still party, grandpa?”

“Just ‘cause I’m old, it doesn’t mean I still haven’t got the moves.”

“It definitely sounds like you don’t.”

“Don’t sound so sure, you haven’t seen me at my best.” Seeing him wasn’t necessary, you could easily imagine his teasing grin.

“Hm, yeah, I’d immediately take off my clothes if you pretended to lasso me at the club.” You both giggled and you hugged yourself, glancing at the empty stool beside you, biting the inside of your cheek. “Do you maybe want to come and have a drink with me?” You shot your shot, to your thumping heart’s dismay. Guessing by the click you distinguished, he probably just got back home.

“...Have a drink with you?”

“J-Just to hangout, you know.” You quickly explained. “Chat for a while. I can pay, if you want.”

You waited for a response, a rejection. But it didn’t come.

It was quite embarrassing, to say the least, that after he agreed and you hung up, you almost dropped your phone with how the fright weakened your arms as you tried to send him the bar’s address. You eagerly waited, too, like a damn puppy anticipating its owner’s return at the end of the day. Using your phone’s selfie camera, you checked your appearance, tidying up all just to make yourself look way more put together than you actually were, even if you were in a bar, alone, and, well, drinking. Despite your awaiting, though, you were taken off guard when a man chose to settle down beside you and cleared his throat.

“I gotta say, it’s weird to see you on the other side of the bar,” Peter smiled as a greeting. Your eyes scanned him, taking in his presence, struggling to process it as if he were a ghost. In your defense, it did feel as if he hadn’t been part of your world for the last two months.

You chuckled, shyly moving your view to your beverage. “Sorry, I won’t be playing bartender tonight.”

“Too bad, I like it when you give me free drinks.”

“Technically, you still are getting free drinks from me tonight.”

He huffed, a crooked smile lingering on his face. You called for the bartender and side-glanced at Peter, quietly asking what he wanted and biting back a disappointed grunt when it wasn’t whiskey served over ice. Whatever. It was just a drink. You two didn’t share a look after that small interaction, though, your face flustered, redder than the bartender’s awful and painful-to-look-at-from-how-bright-it-was shirt. You preferred to believe it was the alcohol, regardless of the truth that you hadn’t drunk that much yet. But your skin burned since he was there, and suddenly, the last disastrous meeting you two experienced replayed way too loudly in your head, the scorching sensation only spreading further and gaining more vigor with the possibility that it did the same in his, too. The unspoken and evident discomfort was enough to make you assume that it definitely was on his mind.

You made the effort to spark up a conversation with the dreaded small talk. ‘How have you been?’, ‘Anything new?’, ‘The weather’s been pretty cold lately, huh?’— blah, blah, blah. Nonetheless, neither of you had more to say other than short, boring responses. It became so unbearable, you knew the only way you could get through this night— seeing as you couldn’t leave after he’d just gotten there— depended on your current and whoever many you could afford future drinks. Quite an alcoholic mindset, perhaps, but there was no way you were the only one or that Peter didn’t have the same wish as you.

Holding your third drink, tispy thoughts pressed you to climb out of the hell you were in. You turned your body to face him, nudging his leg with your foot. He’d been paying attention to a wildlife documentary and an animal hiding from its predator before he lifted an eyebrow and nodded at you. “What?”

“Where have you been?”

A crease formed between his brows as he found it hard to differentiate this question from the one you asked earlier. “I told you, I haven’t really been up to much—”

You shook your head. “That’s not what I asked. Where have you been?” Peter pursed his lips, contemplating.

“New York.”

You hummed, bringing your drink up to your lips. “Okay. So if you were here, how come I haven’t seen you since, uh—” You pretended to count in your head, tongue poking out of your mouth as you summed with your fingers. “—December?”

“I was busy.” You narrowed your eyes.

“I thought you hadn’t been up to much?”

“I… haven’t,” Peter said slowly, too far in to escape the contradiction. You bit your lip before finishing your half-empty drink all in one go, head spinning, the weight in your stomach drawing you down to the Earth’s core.

It’s difficult to perceive the line between overthinking and legitimacy. It’s so fine and faint, like a message written with chalk in the middle of the neighborhood’s road that can only be deciphered if you stare at it long and closely enough after the days have passed by and the rain showered upon it. On one side, the message was nothing more than scrawls and nonsensical letters, an unnecessary distraction on the road disrupting you from reaching your destination on time. But then, there was the other side: the truth. A truth that, funnily enough, you reached by overthinking in the first place. Which was what occurred when you suspected the reasoning behind the lack of Peter in your life could be pinpointed to the man purposefully avoiding you; and, right now, grasped that, after all, it wasn’t just another case of irrational overanalyzing.

“Do you hate me?” You blurted out, your eyes going round with the disappearance of your filter. Confusion overflowed Peter’s head and spilled into his expression, adorning his face.

“Huh?”

“Do you hate me—”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Where the hell did that come from, though?”

“You’ve been ignoring me.” You stated the obvious, visibly hurt. Peter denied with his head the misconception, sighing.

“It wasn’t intentional.” He assured you not just with his words but his gaze, too. You pressed your lips together, not fully convinced.

“Was it not?” You asked with a small quirk of your mouth. He stared at you, embarrassment crawling across his skin.

“Alright, maybe it was.” He admitted sheepishly. You let out air through your nose, turning on your seat.

“So you do hate me.”

“Y/N,” Peter called for your attention, although he knew it was half-joke. You returned your attention to him. “If I hated you, would I be here, sitting next to you?” He questioned, motioning around him. You shrugged one shoulder, a grin growing on your face.

“I don’t know, maybe you’re just being nice.” You said and he groaned jokingly, sporting his very own lopsided grin.

“I’m being nice because I like you.”

Your smile fell for an instant, but you put the expression back up, reminding yourself that, once more, it didn’t go further than platonic. “Good. But you were mad, then.”

“No, not exactly.”

“You left without saying goodbye last time.”

Peter frowned, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I did. Sorry.” He apologized, the sincerity interlaced in his voice worsening your state. You wanted to place your hand on your chest, as you diagnosed with your zero quantity of medical knowledge that you had a high chance of having a heart attack before the night came to an end.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Why?”

“Well,” You placed your chin on the palm of your hand, moving your eyes elsewhere. “First, for being a dumbass back when we hoo—”

“You know what? You’re fine.” He interrupted you. “Save yourself some time.”

Your brows snapped together. “But—”

“You were right. Let’s just not talk about it and move on, alright?” He waved his hand, grabbing his drink. “If you do talk about it, I think I’m actually gonna get up and leave.”

You laughed, nodding. “Ah, I see. So that’s why you’ve been ignoring me, then?”

His actions halted in the midst of taking a sip. “Maybe.” He answered vaguely.

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t just run away from your problems, Peter.” You pointed out like the hypocrite you were, particularly after that was exactly what you were doing not too long ago. Peter, unaware of this, however, had to admit you spoke the truth as he rubbed his nose with his knuckles, grumbling.

“You see, you say that, but I’m still gonna continue doing it.”

“No, you’re not, because we’re going to discuss this like adults—”

“As an adult, I’m telling you that all is good and I’m over it.” He finished with a warning tone you couldn’t take seriously and you giggled. “Next topic.”

“Okay, grandpa. Sure thing. All is good.” You grinned, the ice in your heart melting off as he copied your countenance.

“For real this time.”

“Yeah. For real this time. Can I be honest with you, though?” Peter waited for you to go on, paying close attention, his gaze soft. You stared at him for a moment too long ‘till your eyes moved to your hand now feebly holding your empty drink. “I missed you. Kind of. Is that dumb?” You mumbled, your voice small.

You couldn’t properly see him, but through your peripheral vision, you didn’t catch any movement. That’s when you prepared to scream ‘sike!’ to his face— a real-life undo button to delete the emotions you couldn’t take back and shove down your system anymore. However, it felt… good. For once, it wasn’t spilling your guts out and regretting everything as you attempted to cram your organs back into you; you had plucked out a thorn that’d been hanging inside the palm of your hand for far too long. It was liberating. And you peered up at him, expecting that relief to be temporary, but his tender features didn’t let that happen.

“...No. I missed you, too.”

You both smiled.

The conversation began to flow. Words started to spill, and although you weren’t at the bar, you enjoyed that exact same security and blissful buzz. You realized then— a revelation that did not help your case— the location didn’t play an important role, and perhaps it never did; bar or not, if Peter was there, you’d still feel stupidly and overly content. Your worries faded away as you two caught up with no drop of MJ’s name, but some lingered anyway, because change was inevitable, looming over you. Laughter left your lips, his hand rested close to yours on the counter. You noticed, but couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, to walk away from the euphoria tainting your body. More liquor entered his, over time you stared at his mouth one, two, three, four seconds too long as you became intoxicated along with him, and so did he with yours.

“C’mon, tell me.” You pouted for an instant, interchanging it for a drunk smile. “Your secret dies with me.”

Peter slammed his fifth drink down, cheeks tinted pink. It was wrong, indeed, to take advantage of his condition and try to get out of him something you’d wanted to know for the longest time, and that he kept to himself as if it were government classified information. In your drunken brain, it did not seem too far off. Perhaps he went on outrageous underground missions. You laughed at yourself. Peter didn’t seem like a spy-type of guy. Unless…

“Do you, like, work for the government?” Peter screwed up his face at your absurdity.

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

Peter opened his mouth, a giggle escaping. “I can’t.” You dragged your stool closer to him, as you weren’t close enough already. Actually, when did you get so close? It didn’t matter. You analyzed his face, hoping that somehow, if you looked at him long enough, you’d gain the ability to read minds and crack into his. Peter drew his lower lip between his teeth, studying you like you were the most interesting being. You didn’t know why, but you felt tempted to move that strand of hair that always hung in front of his forehead away from his face. As any rational person wouldn’t, you did, your thumb brushing against the barely visible scratch that started the conversation in the first place.

“What are you thinking?” You questioned, brimming with interest. He went crossed-eyed as he tried to follow your hand.

“About stuff. Whatcha thinkin’?” He asked back, his view traveling down to your lips. You bit your lip.

The closeness, your full-blown pupils, the actuality that you could lean closer to him and you’d meet his lips. It all seemed too familiar. And so you wondered, if you did move and kiss him, if you stopped resisting and glanced down at his lips, too, what would happen?

“I don’t know. What does it look like I’m thinking?” You asked, lowering your voice. The stench of alcohol should have been enough to stop you both from advancing any further, but Peter licked his lips, smirking.

“It seems to me like you wanna fuck me.”

You gasped, hiccuping. “Oh, my! I didn’t know this part of yours, Peter B. Parker. Is it just the alcohol speaking?”

“Maybe. But is it true?”

“What?”

“What I said.”

Your upper body swayed closer to him, tired, dizzy, and wishing to lie down. You gripped his shoulder and helped yourself add some distance, your other hand landing on his knee. “Maybe.” You simply said. Your eyes remained interlocked into one another, your hand running up his shoulder to his neck, and then all the way up to the back of his head, sensing his goosebumps. “Maybe…” You repeated as your touch on his knee traveled up his thigh. Peter took in a sharp breath, his hand unconsciously wrapping around your wrist.

You couldn’t help it anymore. You leaned in and captured his mouth in a rough kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. Pull away, a voice said in your head as you felt his tongue momentarily slide against your bottom lip. Pull away, the nagging voice went on and you did, shaking your head.

“I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen again.” You whispered, yet your mouth came back into a messy kiss, even messier hands craving touch. Breaking glass startled you two apart and you looked down, sighing when you saw your drink’s contents all over the ground. “You owe me a drink.” You panted, your lips swollen.

Peter scoffed, his half-smile blurring your vision as he tilted his head towards your ear. “Nothing has to happen if you don’t want it to.” He said, mouth ghosting near your cheek despite his words, yearning to continue. You pecked his jaw, lips resting against his hot skin, careless about the other customers in the bar.

“I do want something to happen, though.”

You both ignored the conversation your sober selves had. ‘It was just a one-time thing, right?’. Peter slammed your apartment’s door closed whilst your lips were still connected, your hands clumsily coming down to try to unbuckle his belt. ‘Yeah’. His own hands aided yours, the clinking of his belt buckle speeding up your heartbeat as if it weren’t already dangerously fast. ‘It was just a one-time thing’. Peter groaned into your mouth, tasting like liquor, like something you’d both regret the next morning but did not care about the consequences, even if it was a lesson you’d already learned. Not at the moment.

But nothing happened.

You couldn’t recall much the next morning. The first proof that it didn’t go further from a make-out session was that you woke up in your bed, alone, and wearing the same clothes as the previous night. The second evidence you gathered when you barged into your living room and there slept Peter on your couch, his appearance also identical to the one in your hazy memories. He didn’t remember anything. As you struggled to cease your trembling legs, he simply laughed and asked if he got so wasted he had to crash at your place. You shrugged and smiled, still capable of tasting his lips and vividly feel his hot breath.

From then on, you avoided drinking or being too exhausted to have any common sense when you were around Peter. One day he invited you to go out and have a few drinks again, to ‘repay’ you, and to which you responded as calmly as you could that you had other ‘plans’; other plans that, truthfully, were faker than the disappointed expression of yours that followed. Then, as if you couldn’t ever reach a state of peace, he asked again a month later, and you had no other choice than to invent a faulty reason for why you didn’t feel like drinking that night, the next night, or the one after, even if, according to all the drunk stories you’d recounted to him in the past, you never really turned down a drink or the opportunity to get inebriated. Guilt poisoned you when he never brought up the idea after that, fingers crossed that he didn’t get the impression you didn’t want to meet him in other circumstances other than the bar; regardless that that’s exactly what was going on. Every other night after he helped you with closing the bar, you’d also nod goodbye at him and stand in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting until he turned around the corner so your feet could dreadfully carry you to the subway station, your now-unfixable car present in your head like an aggravating piece of gum that stuck to your shoe.

Nothing could be more vexing than this, though.

Eventually, you began to wonder. Perhaps, yet again, you were as weary as that time you slept with Peter, seeing as you couldn’t think straight, almost as if you’d suffered from a concussion and all your neurons died, to your utmost dismay. But there was a dissimilarity: the unfortunate detail that, unlike physical fatigue, mental exhaustion wouldn’t pack its bags and wave farewell after a night-long sleep. Not when immediately after you woke up, the same worries still found their home within your head. So your imagination took it as an initiative to force feelings and schemes onto you, ones which involved the stomach-churning plausibility that maybe, just maybe, Peter liked you back and you could happily come clean. You had to laugh. But then you really started to wonder.

You needed at least six reasons to follow through with it. First. He was the one who made a move months ago. Second. He wasn’t drunk. Third, you listed in your head, you kissed. Again. And, fourth, this time he might have been drunk, but if he did it both as a sober man and a drunk one, it had to mean something, right?

You were struggling to distinguish the line between overthinking and legitimacy again.

You went to work that day, decided, the fifth reason simply being that you couldn’t get him out of your head, but the sixth reason missing. A truck landing on you would probably do the job, you thought. You didn’t mean it whole-heartedly, of course. But, apparently, the universe didn’t know about sarcasm and how it worked since, an hour after the thought passed through your head, it sent you a nice little gift and Spider-Man just so happened to get in a fight near the bar and an actual truck broke through the walls of the pub.

“I can’t fucking believe a truck landed right here. This is why I hate living in this city so much,” You scoffed, holding a towel wrapped around ice up to your bruised forehead as you observed the gigantic hole where the truck happily invited itself into. Peter barely reacted to your comment, too focused on disinfecting the wound in your arm. You pulled the makeshift ice bag away from your head, screwing your eyes shut. “I’m starting to get a headache from how cold this is, can I—”

Peter grabbed your hand and forced it back up to your forehead, shaking his head and focusing again on your arm. “No, trust me, it will reduce the swelling.”

“Should I be worried that you know so much about injuries?”

“I’m just trying to help.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, looking down at your lap. “I know. Thanks.” You smiled, recalling the urgency in his voice after he called you, saying he’d seen what’d happened on the news. He moved on to the gauze and began to bandage your arm, making sure his movements were delicate lest he hurt you more. “I met Spider-Man, though. I think I can finally die in peace.” You caught the way the corner of his mouth lifted upward.

“Really? Did he apologize for almost killing you?” Peter grumbled, accepting the scissors you offered him to cut the cotton fabric. You released a huff of air, admittedly offended and immediately going to defend the masked superhero.

“He didn’t almost kill me, it was the other guy. Bad guys, you know? They’re everywhere.” He huffed. “He checked up on me and offered to take me to the hospital, though. Pretty cool guy.”

“And why didn’t you say yes?”

You contemplated his question. “Stranger danger.” You shrugged. Peter laughed softly, muttering ‘fair enough’. “It also wasn’t necessary. I didn’t want to interfere with his, uh… superhero duties…”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Isn’t making sure you’re okay part of his duties?”

“I guess, but I’m fine, it’s no biggie.”

“Y/N, you could have died.”

“But look at me,” You patted your torso, then holding your arms wide open. “I didn’t. You’re making it sound much worse than it actually was.” Peter ran his hand through his hair, exhaling tiredly.

“Whatever,” He said, hesitance showing through his eyes. “I just think the guy should be more careful. His job is to protect the people, not to… hurt them.”

You scowled playfully, kicking him lightly. “Dude, fuck off, don’t talk shit about him like that. He’s Spider-Man. Give the poor guy a break.” He didn’t say anything, though, stirring your concern as you realized he seemed off since he first arrived. “Are you okay?” You inquired, frowning.

Peter glanced up at you before rubbing his face. “Yeah. It’s just been a long day.”

“Every day is a long day when it comes to you, isn’t it?” You joked lightly, nudging him a second time. “You helped me, now let me help you. What’s up?”

He moved his head from one side to another. “You’re always helping me.” He said almost as an apology, smiling sadly. You smirked back, standing up from your seat next to him to jump over the bar. You grasped an empty shot glass, checking no small debris had made its way into for the sake of Peter’s health (now, that’d be a hell of a lawsuit) before you slid it towards him.

“It’s my job as your bartender.”

He peered down at the glass and then up at you. Chuckling defeatedly, he took ahold of it, and you read it as ‘ah, the hell with it’ as you reached for the bottle of vodka. “I fucked up.” He whispered while you poured the liquid.

You screwed the cap closed, your eyebrows lifting high. “How come?”

Peter placed his head in his hands, nose crinkling. “I, um… talked to MJ?” And just like that, your mood took a fall as well, an inaudible ‘oh’ fleeting past your lips. “It’s the first time we talked in a long time.”

“...And?” You asked anxiously, folding your arms across your chest. Peter clutched onto the shot of vodka, watching the liquid dangerously reach for the edge of the glass after he slowly tipped it.

“Well, she’s trying to move on.” Surprise crossed your face. “And I was so distraught by it for the rest of the day that I really fucked up at work.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“That maybe I should move on, too.”

Your arms fell down to your sides. Maybe you really did hit your head too harshly, you thought, as your body started to feel heavy and you had to support yourself on the bar, for all this information you were hearing at once was colliding against you more vigorously than the pieces of wood which fled towards you earlier. Swallowing to bring moisture to your throat, you continued with the million-dollar question pestering you.

“What’s stopping you?”

You regretted uttering the words, something you seemed to be doing too much to suit your taste as of lately. However, Peter, although the question troubled him the same way it did you, clasped his hands together and you studied him whilst he went through every thought in his head and through every feeling, seeking an explanation he himself needed to know as well.

“I’m not sure if I want to. But I know that I have to.” He finally breathed out. You leaned forward, not satisfied, needing to hear more and more even if it’d hurt, because nothing was more vexing than this feeling.

“But you love her,” You said matter-of-factly. Silence. Your heart pounded rapidly enough you could sense it in your head. “Right?” You asked, embarrassed by the apparent desperation in your tone.

“Huh?” Peter snapped out his thoughts, blinking up at you.

“You love Mary Jane?”

He bit his lip as he went back inside the isolated room of his brain after only just sneaking his head out, evidently growing stressed. “It’s okay,” You brought him back out, sacrificing your curiosity as you gently smiled at him. “You don’t have to answer.”

Peter exhaled thankfully, downing his shot. “What’d you wanna tell me earlier, anyway?” He asked expectantly, his voice scratchy from the liquor. Oh. Yeah, right. Plans might have changed an hour ago, yet for some reason, you still wanted to come clean to Peter. However, right now, after hearing about Mary Jane, you forgot about the sixth reason and remembered why you never did in the first place after all this time.

“Do you… want to go get a drink?” You cursed your imagination for not working when it was necessary. Peter’s forehead creased with astonishment as if he never thought he’d hear that sentence again (in his defense, though, it’s exactly what you were planning to do).

“You finally wanna go and get a drink?”

“Hey, just be glad I’m feeling like it.”

It was an understatement to express you were feeling like it.

You continued searching for that sixth reason for the next weeks, even if the entire world knew that after you found it, you’d keep your lips sealed. Your friend put your friendship at risk when, during your September lunch with your boss, he couldn’t resist but telling her about your ‘secret crush’, saying he simply did it for a third opinion, but neither of you gained no new eye-opening advice for your boss dragged on about how Peter could be ‘the one’, which honestly worked in scaring you away from the topic. One day after, as you couldn’t fall asleep, you deliberated the reasons why you should forget about Peter.

One. He’s your friend. Your really good friend. You liked him being your friend. He’s funny, a nerd, and you could talk to him forever, even if it was merely absolute nonsense. Two. He’s a lot older than you. Not that eight years mattered that much, but it could. You were just entering your thirties whilst he was nearing his forties. Even if he’d made it clear kids weren’t his cup of tea, he could change his mind. You weren’t ready to settle down yet, despite most people reminding you the clock was ticking and you should start considering it.

Three. The iconic Mary Jane Watson. Peter’s ex-wife whom he loved dearly. He might have not talked about her since he mentioned the idea of moving on, but you knew it was easier said than done. If you opened up, he could shut you down and reveal he’s still in love with MJ. Or worse, if you two did wind up dating, he could decide to leave you for her. Four. Your friend helped you with the fourth one. He had yet to tell you about why he’s bruised most of the time. It admittedly awakened the cynicism in you, for it could be something which had the potential of putting you at risk, or get you killed. Plus, if he did not want to give you an explanation, it meant he didn’t trust you enough.

Five. You couldn’t lose him. You already almost did. Your absurd crush could be the last straw and get rid of him for good. If that was the case, then you’d do anything to muffle your heart singing its love songs when he crossed your mind or simply stood in front of you. You’d do it, even if it’d hurt.

Again, you couldn’t come up with a sixth reason. You established, then, that whichever reason you uncovered first, would be the final word. Your friend knew both a sixth reason for why you shouldn’t forget about Peter and why you should that, trying not to influence you any further, he kept to himself; it being clear in his head which one he hoped you’d find first.

It was another Friday night. You’d just returned home after wasting your money on some restaurant that definitely was not worth the price (goddamn New York) when your phone blared its ringtone in your pocket. Your heart clenched as you read the name and were about to answer immediately, until you stopped yourself. Counting eight seconds in your head, your thumb slid across the screen after you got to the last number and picked up the call. “Peter?” You were audibly and justifiably perplexed— why has he calling you at… you checked the time— ten P.M,? It may have not been the first one anymore, but phone calls were still a rare occurrence between you two.

“Hey! Are you busy?” His breathing was heavy, which made you wonder what he possibly could’ve been up to before he called you.

You opened your apartment’s door and blindly searched for the light switch. “No, I just got back home, actually.” You muttered, and then voiced a victorious exclamation when the room lit up in front of your eyes. “Why?”

He inhaled profoundly. “Cool. Great. Yeah.”

You guessed the barely distinguishable quiver in his voice could be defined as uneasiness as you sat down on your couch’s armrest, squinting.

“Is everything okay?”

“...Yeah. Yeah!” He repeated, firstly too quietly but now with faux confidence. “I needed to talk to you.”

Ah, hell. You had one important question and one only: when would you get a break from confrontation and those words? The last time you and Peter ‘needed to talk’ didn’t exactly go as smoothly. That in mind, your organs plummeted down into an expanding black hole in your stomach as you brought your fingers up to your lips. “I’m all ears, as always.” No, not really, but you didn’t exactly have any other choice.

“Okay, okay. Um, I, uh… what am I doing?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“I wanna say sorry in advance.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

You could solely hear what sounded like wind. “You’re not gonna believe me, so just, just look outside your window.”

The black hole having devoured the contents in your system, you raised to your feet and sped to the window, not capable of painting in your head a single picture of what in the heavens the man could be planning. You unlatched the lock and glided the window upward, your head gradually peering out. Your eyes went as big and round as the full moon glowing above you when you saw it.

You stared dumbfounded, close to pinching yourself to do a reality check. It had to be a dream. A strange dream. There was just no way. No fucking way, it was absolutely impossible. It was beyond the innumerable existing possibilities that Spider-Man looked back at you, stuck against the wall. Similar to someone’s lack of subtlety, it couldn’t have been any more evident. You didn’t even need a big brain or to think, to analyze deeply as if it were a riddle in a newspaper. Because it was just right there in front of you, plainly obvious and transforming your blood into ice: the phone he held up to his face.

“Hi…” Said the masked hero. And so did Peter through the phone call.

Your phone slipped from your grasp, yet you didn’t glance down at it. You continued to gawk at the man as he flicked his wrist and saved not only your phone, but simultaneously also your bank account from having to spend hundreds of dollars on a new one. You did not mutter a thanks, let out no relieved sigh when he gave it back to you. You just stared.

“I know I’m pretty cool to look at, but can you please say something?” He laughed nervously. Ignoring him, you took a step back and retreated your head, eyes close to falling out of their sockets. The phone in your shaky hands rang a second time and you answered without needing to look at the contact.

“H-Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Peter, what the fuck.”

“I’ve done this so many times but I still don’t know what to say.” He groaned to himself. You put your hand on top of your head, disbelieving.

“Get in.” You abruptly ended the call and plopped down on your couch, clutching your stomach, blinking furiously after black dots uncontrollably twirled in your vision. You heard a thump, the floor shaking slightly; however, you didn’t turn around to look at your guest, instead focusing on the wall in front of you. It wasn’t until the cushion beside you sank with the man’s weight that you blew up. “Holy shit.” You cupped your face with your hands, laughing out of pure shock. “Holy shit… holy shit!”

“Don’t freak out.”

“How am I not supposed to freak out?!”

Peter— Spider-Man shrugged, his white lenses wide. “I don’t… I don’t know.” He admitted.

You scanned his mask, the mask you’d become familiar with after seeing it so many times on TV and pictures. Somehow, however, regardless if you knew that mask and the person behind it, you couldn’t believe its authenticity. “Take off the mask.” He didn’t move or respond. “Please.” You begged.

You first saw the stubble. Then his lips. Then his crooked nose, and soon, those eyes. The whiskey eyes. Peter’s whiskey eyes. Your hands wound up on his broad shoulders, and for some reason you yourself couldn’t work out, it just dawned upon you how muscular they were. Your eyes came back to his face. Yeah, that’s Peter. That’s Peter B. Parker. Peter Parker was Spider-Man. All the revelations crashed against you quick, glass shattering in your head, everything suddenly making sense. The bruises. His constant fatigue. Everything.

“Peter… oh my God.”

“I know I-I kept this from you for a really long time, and I know it’s hard to fully digest it, but I did promise I was gonna tell you one day.” He said, the corner of his lips twitching. But you weren’t smiling— all the terrible fights you’d watched on the news throughout the years flashed in your head, going all the way back in time to when you first discovered Queens’ brand-new superhero as a seven-year-old.

You gasped, covering your mouth. “You’re telling me you’ve been at this since you were a fucking kid?”

Peter let his mask drop to the carpeted ground, his back sliding down the sofa’s backrest. “Since I was fifteen, yeah.”

“Peter…”

He grimaced at your concern. “I know it sounds sad, but it’s not… it’s not that bad.” He promised you, but you couldn’t take him seriously. You picked up your legs, sitting cross-legged and playing with your fingers as you continued to go through your racing questions.

“I used to look up to you when I was little.” You revealed quietly. Peter scoffed, grinning playfully.

“What, you don’t anymore?”

You shook your head vigorously. “I do. Shit, I still do. I never thought I’d meet my childhood hero the way I did, though.”

“Sorry I’m just a sad, old man.”

You rolled your eyes, prodding him with your elbow. “You’re so much more than that.” All humor fled his expression and he shut his eyes, throwing his head back.

“Am I? I constantly feel like I’m letting everyone down.” He huffed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he spoke. There it was, of course; he couldn’t talk about Spider-Man in a non-degrading way.

“You’re fucking Spider-Man!” You exclaimed, not accepting his utter bullshit, but he was willing to accept it as he peeked one eye open to look at you.

“I know, you always say that.”

You gave up in trying to change his mind and shifted closer to him, copying his position, unable to focus on your view of the boring, mundane ceiling; so you turned your head to see Peter getting lost in the white square. “You really didn’t have to tell me. This is a big secret.”

“It’s alright. I trust you.” You were glad he kept staring up as you felt the blood rush to your face.

“You do?” You asked, your chest warm, illuminated with glee. Peter glanced at you, nodding nonchalantly.

“I mean, yeah. I really do.”

You turned your face away from him, your muscles close to tearing from how big and proudly you grinned. “Spider-Man trusts me.” You hushed to yourself.

Peter breathed out, exasperated, his eyes fluttering closed again. “Stop.” He pleaded, laughing himself nonetheless. You bit your smile back, moving to sit straight in what your friend liked to call your ‘parent worried about their kid’ sitting position.

“I guess I was right for worrying, huh?” You smiled sadly, taking in the severity of the situation. He poked his cheek with his tongue, shaking his head.

“I don’t want you to worry.” He sighed. You snorted.

“That’s dumb. You’re saying you’re always putting your life on the line? Of course I’m gonna worry.”

“Well, I worry about you, too.”

“How come?”

“If you’re close to me, then you’re putting your life on the line as well.”

You frowned, squeezing his arm to comfort him. “No, don’t say that.”

“Y/N, it’s the truth, though.” He fully sat up to turn toward you, his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s the worst thing about this. How many times have the people I care about gotten hurt? All ‘cause of me?”

You remained speechless. Moments later, he placed his hands flat against the sofa, preparing to stand up. “Y’know, I get it if you want to keep your distance from now on. I actually think it’d be a good—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” You warned him, expression stern. “It’s stupid.”

“I almost got you killed that other time—”

“You didn’t almost get me fucking killed, for Christ’s sake!”

Peter’s jaw tightened and he ran his hands through his hair, that strand of hair falling back in front of his forehead. “Whatever. You can’t be so sure, anyway.”

You pressed your lips together, knowing that he was right. You nervously placed your hand on top of his. “Can I hug you?” You asked like a child, giving him a half-smile. Peter looked down at your hand before his eyes moved to you.

“Sure. Y-Yeah.”

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him hard, your eyes squeezing shut. You felt him slowly embrace your waist, scared of underestimating his strength. “I’m glad you told me. It must have been really hard.” You murmured against his chest. He chuckled humorlessly, his cheek on top of your head.

“You have no idea.”

“I’m gonna be here for you no matter what, okay? Whether it’s to vent or for some weird spider shit. I…” Love you. “You’re my friend, dude.”

After he left that night, you’d never been more conflicted about your feelings. It was a conundrum; a whole headache-inducing brain-teaser. You’d striked out the fourth reason why you should forget about Peter, the original five down to only four, but you still searched for that sixth— now fifth reason. As if it didn’t scramble your brain enough that it left you dazed and your thoughts impossible untangle, Peter unknowingly joined the game with the objective of rattling you up more.

You noticed he didn’t disappear without notice ever again, and if he did, he didn’t leave you hanging, rather he sent you a text the day after with an entire clarification. Then, you caught onto the increasing meter of his touchiness: new and unexpected hugs, holding your damn hand— although that only happened twice, but still. Your overdramatic friend didn’t even need to point it out.

One Saturday, he sat down in front of you, and before you could greet him, he surprised you. “One whiskey served over ice, please.” He smirked. You gaped at him, laughing, face astonished.

“What’s up with that?” He shrugged, grin never disappearing.

“I dunno, I guess I missed it.”

You never thought you’d continue hearing ‘one whiskey served over ice, please’ ever again. But you did.

This year, you did give him a present for Hanukkah and Christmas. A painting of one of your favorite photos of his that he showed you one day; a day you so vividly recalled, for he asked you to come with him to take pictures of an exhibition at a museum, and you accidentally broke a statue after you leaned against it in the attempt of doing an extravagant pose. To your surprise, he gave you one, too: a photo album with pictures from that day, and a message that read, ‘Merry Christmas!’, accompanied by a smiley face. In the blink of an eye, it was New Year’s Eve again, except that this time, you and Peter were talking.

You came out of the party’s bathroom, unable to tear your gaze away for the fourth time from Peter’s New Year’s Eve message, until you bumped into someone and had to force yourself to pocket your phone. You lazily swayed to the music, your vision blurring out, turning it harder to find your friend amidst the people. While your body was there, all your five senses working perfectly, feeling the heat from the enclosed space, the music vibrating in your chest, the smell of alcohol and smoke fixed in your nostrils, your mind lived in December 20th. December 20th being last Monday: a date that continued to echo in your head, the entirety of the day playing from the beginning until the pitch-black hour of midnight. It played, played, played relentlessly, exhaustingly. December 20th, it continued, a stupid date that your drunk self could not let go of.

You distinguished your friend in the crowd, comfort kissing your body and your tired legs guiding you to him, until you moved a person aside and saw the full view of his lower body grinding against a girl all over him. “Ah, fucking gross,” You groaned, pushing the unlucky same guy as you took a turn and headed for the glass door leading out to the balcony.

You firstly bumped into the door thinking it was open, but successfully slid it open and made it out into the winter weather, the city more awake than ever twenty minutes before the New Year. But you weren’t focusing on the future. No, you held onto last Monday, gripping it so tightly it hurt, hanging onto it as if you’d be nothing once it left. You stumbled towards the bench to your left, falling defeated on it. December 20th. You turned on your phone, squinting down at the screen, eyes struggling to focus through the brightness. Last week. You opened your contacts and without hesitation called a number, bringing your phone up to your ear, humming along to the beeping whilst you awaited for the person to pick up.

“Hello?” Peter said. You hung up, eyes wide. What the fuck were you doing? You didn’t answer your own question, though; you pressed the button to call again.

“...Hi?”

You ended the call a second time, growing frustrated with yourself. Having finally made up your mind, you called him one last time, jumping when he answered in what appeared a worldwide record-time. “Y/N, what the fuck—”

“Peter! You answered.”

There was a short silence. “I did.” He agreed, undeniably puzzled. You slumped against the wall, muffling your dopey laughter with the palm of your hand. You could hear… ah, wait. You could see, not hear, his face in your head with no problem: his furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

“How are you?” You wanted to hear about his day. What had he eaten that day? What had crossed his mind? Hopefully you’d made an appearance at least once. That’d be nice.

“I’m good, thanks for asking.” You hummed happily. “How drunk are you?”

You shook your head, failing at rubbing the haziness out of your eyes. “Just a bit tipsy, maybe.”

“How much exactly is ‘a bit tipsy’ for you?”

“How many phone calls have we had?”

A question out of the blue, you knew, and you were expecting yet again the quietness as he processed your sudden need to quiz him about such insignificant rubbish. Well… did he think it was insignificant? So many questions bouncing off your skull all at once, worsening that awful migraine you could already feel coming… or was it the booze? No, who cares. All you cared about at the moment was his response, because knowing how many fucking phone calls you’ve had wasn’t that hard unless you didn’t care.

“What?” Really? He was going to make you repeat yourself? You dug the heel of the palm into your closed eye, white fireworks blowing up in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Like, for these past two years. How many phone calls?”

“I… don’t know, maybe like three?”

Your face fell ever so slightly. “It’s six, actually.” You heard an unenthusiastic gasp.

“Wow, that’s great.”

“Do you remember the sixth one?”

“Isn’t this the sixth one?”

“This is the seventh one.”

“Okay, and why are you giving me a class about how many phone calls we’ve had?”

“Because you don’t remember the sixth one. I’m sure you don’t even remember the fifth one that well.”

He remained quiet for a moment. “It’s a blur.” Peter murmured.

“You were drunk…” You shut both eyes now, trying to dig through the fog to recall. “It was after you came to the bar…” Peter’s embarrassed stutters, similar to his inebriated ones, helped to uncover the memory further.

“I-I was drunk, yeah,” He admitted, “just like you are right now.”

“And what did you say?”

He laughed uncomfortably. “I think you remember better than I do.”

You grinned. “You’re embarrassed.”

“Of course I’m embarrassed, Y/N.”

“Well, what about the sixth time you called me?”

“I seriously can’t remember a sixth time.”

“It wasn’t a failed booty call.”

He breathed in harshly. “Ah, I’m glad, I guess.”

A frown took over your features. “You really can’t remember?” You needed him to. He had to. Or else... or else…

“I swear on my aunt.”

Your heart shattered, the sharp pieces prodding and hurting your chest. “So… so I guess you didn’t mean what you said?” You mumbled to yourself, realization sobering you more than you wanted it to.

Peter couldn’t help but begin to panic a bit at the mention of expressing something without his knowledge, or at least without his not drunk self’s knowledge. You immediately grew conscious of it for this time, the silence was different. “...What did I say?” He questioned, somewhat afraid. You didn’t speak. “Y/N? What did I say?” He pushed more urgently.

“It doesn’t matter,” You changed your mind. Calling was just another bad idea. You took your phone away from your ear for a second, jumping off from your seat, but your foot accidentally knocked over your drink. You stared down at the growing pool of alcohol staining the floor, seeping underneath your shoe. Blinking, you looked at your phone, at Peter��s name, and the numbers of the counter below it rising, marking each of your thumping heartbeat.

The sixth reason. You needed it to stop you right now; an instruction to back out, the reassurance that it was still an option and it didn’t stop being one long ago. But as your finger came down to end the call for the better, your head screamed, freezing you.

Sixth. You were in love with Peter Parker.

You dropped back down on the bench, eyes glazed over. That was it. The sixth reason. Peter. The man nearing his forties and with the loveliest messed up nose. The customer you met last year and that continued to come to bar you worked at just to talk to you, his bartender. The guy you laughed with, sang with, slept with, became too close with, fell in love with. You put the phone back up to its right place, anxiously licking your lips. “Look, I’m gonna regret this. I know I am. But that hasn’t stopped me in the past, so why should it now, right?” You chuckled, your eyes wide.

“I’m really concerned about that phone call, though.”

“Peter,” You glanced up at the sky, gulping. “I’m so glad I met you. I really am.”

“I-I’m glad I met you, too.”

You smiled momentarily. “Good. Working at the bar had become such a pain in the ass, and it still kinda is, but then you came that first time, and you called me ‘kid’ which annoyed me, but I was still hoping that maybe you’d stay, you know?”

“Why?”

“Because…” Your free hand came up to aid the other which trembled too much, grasping it tightly. “I don’t know, it was weird, I just couldn’t… I-I really wanted to get to know you. And it took some time but eventually we did talk— you said that stupid pick-up line and somehow it worked. I really need to higher my standards.”

“Hey, it was a great pick-up line.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“You gave me your number, didn’t you?”

The corner of your mouth twitched upward, and you laughed softly at yourself. “I did, I did. And I’m glad I did, even if you were just trying to get your mind off of MJ.” The truth stung as it glided out of your mouth.

Peter thought for a moment before continuing, “Maybe I just wanted a friend.” But it lacked sincerity, and you both could recognize that.

“But, Pete,” You bit your lip, looking down at the mess you’d left on the ground, the sole of your shoe now sticky. “Am I really just a friend?”

More silence. You breathed in, your chest moving up. “Be honest with me, please.” You begged, your voice hushed.

“Okay.”

Your stomach began to cramp up. “That time we hooked up,” You paused, the eerie shortage of noise on the other side of the line pushing you to go on. “Did it mean anything to you? Was it anything more than just a distraction?”

“I…”

“Or what about that other time at my place? Why did nothing happen?”

“We were too wasted. It was wrong.”

“So you do remember.”

“I do.”

You placed your hand on top of the other, beginning to pace around. “Are you lying about that phone call, too?”

“What is it with this phone call you say? What happened?” He repeated, desperate and with a hint of irritation. You approached the railing, placing your elbows on the metal.

“Just… be honest with me.”

“I am, Y/N.”

You kneaded your forehead with your knuckles, shaking your head. “I can’t take it anymore. It’s been too long, and it’s so confusing. You’re so confusing. Or maybe I’m stupid, I don’t know. There’s… there’s this thing, I know you can feel it as well, and sometimes it’s as if there’s a chance that you might feel the same way I do, but then the next minute it’s as if not, a-and it’s so confusing.”

“Feel the same way you do? What do you mean?” He clearly knew what you meant. Your eyes traveled around the city, the cold and strong breeze nearly knocking your body backward. If he knew, why couldn’t he simply outright admit it? Why, all of a sudden, was it taking him so long?

“The phone call…”

He groaned. “Y/N, just please tell me why you’re so hung up on that phone call?”

“It was last week. You said you liked me.”

You said it. He heard it. He finally heard it, and you waited for anything like an idiot, yet it never came. You checked if you had accidentally hung up the call, but when you saw that it was still going, you sighed and decided to end it for once and for all. “We can be anything. Anything, okay? I can just be your bartender, you can be my client, we can be friends, w-we can be more. If it’s not supposed to be, then just as long as you’re there, I really won’t mind. Just, please… I’m begging you…” You whispered, not capable of discerning whether your body quivered from the winter or the fear brutally gnawing on you.

“Be honest.”

Peter held his breath. “Y/N…” You waited, shoulders shaking, the stupid fucking silence clutching you by the neck as you waited. Just say it. Just say it—

“I’m still in love with MJ. I’m sorry.”

Oh.

“Oh.” You said aloud, voice cracking. “Wow.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No. Pete, no, I’m…Thank you. It’s just kinda hard to take it in, but I...” You tightened your jaw, your throat aching, swallowing back your pity. “I will. Thank you for being honest, though.”

“I really hope this doesn’t ruin things,” You could barely hear him: your brain too loud compared to his voice. You shook your head frantically, scrunching up your nose to hold back a sniffle.

“Never. I love you.” It wasn’t the way you wanted to say it. “You’re my friend. And I’m not going anywhere because you said I was stuck with you, remember?”

He laughed, a beam of light that almost mended your fractured heart. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten about that.” You smiled brightly, wiping the tears you’d tried so hard to stop from running down your cheeks. You stood straight, but it was only for a mere second, for your arms plopped back down onto the railing from the lightheadedness which threatened to bring you down.

“Okay,” You slurred, the bile rising up and burning your throat. “I’m gonna leave you. My friend will hate me if I miss the countdown…”

“Sure. Happy new year… be safe.”

You giggled, waving your hand at no one, really. “Don’t worry about me grandpa, I do this every year.” You doubted the idea that popped in your head, but voiced it anyway, “And if you need any help with MJ, I’m here. I can give you a discount at the bar for a date night!” The excitement you forced onto yourself was salt on the wound.

“I’m not sure if that’s a romantic idea, but thanks, I’ll think about it.” You both hesitated, waiting for something once again. But when you realized that it’d never arrive no matter how much time passed, you nodded quietly and unwrapped your arms from yourself, preparing to let go of that feeling you’d clutched onto for the longest time as well.

“I’ll see you around.” You finally said and hung up. You stared at your phone, grief by your side, holding your hand. Yet, to your surprise, a weak smile started to creep on you, relief slowly sewing your heart together. You told yourself that the heaviness in your heart didn’t matter, because at least you had Peter. At least he would still be there, at the bar, with his whiskey served over ice.

As you stumbled to your feet, ready to join your friend and drink away your bittersweet ache, your phone began to vibrate. Your brows twisted together and you looked down, sliding your thumb across the screen.

“Peter?”

#peter b parker x reader #peter b parker x you #peter b parker x y/n #sm:itsv #spider man into the spider verse #peter b parker one shot #peter b parker imagine #one make out session #fem!reader #male!reader #gender neutral #sadies1.6kwc

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ofmythsandmadness · 5 years ago

Text

Hidden Attraction

PAIRING: Diego Hargreeves x reader SUMMARY: It’s all fun and games, until feelings come out and get hurt. WORD COUNT: 4.5k

WARNINGS: none really?? just fluff. A/N: I’ve never posted one of these before lol I don’t know what I’m doing but I liked this one shot and I want to put it out into the world. I’m a sucker for Diego Hargreeves. He needs more love (and I’m gonna send it his way). Also this is in third pov but it is x reader. Not oc.

"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY FALLING ASLEEP?"

"Uh...no?"

Her eyes had flown open the second the words began to leave his lips, a sheepish smile beginning to grow as she realised she had been caught. Even while blinking at the bright light - consequences of drifting even just for a few minutes - she could make out his frown, jesting but still masking his own grin at the situation. His eyes were narrowed and the longer she stared at him, attempting to sit back up on the couch in a totally not graceful manner, the harder it got for him to hold a straight face.

At the last second, just before he broke, he gasped out a retort in an ever-dramatic manner he clung to, "Am I really that uninteresting?"

In response, she groaned and tossed a pillow his way, a half-hearted whine leaving her throat during her readjustment on the couch. He blocked the legs and laughed as she groaned, arms supporting her still-sleepy head as she tried to make him 'stop, dude, alright?' because even though it totally was, she would cling to the position that none of this was funny.

Truth was, he could not be further from that, being one of the few people that could talk for legitimately hours about absolutely nothing and keep her attention. However, it had been a long day, trudging through the hours after waking up at a ridiculously early time, and even spending time with the one guy she knew who could make a phone book a riveting conversation piece (were phone books even relevant, anymore?), that was not enough to cure her short-fledged sleepiness, apparently.

It had not helped that she had sat back instead of talking or trying to be entertaining, content with sitting beside him and watching. Her head had been resting against the pillows littering his couch, legs resting just beside his thighs with socked toes curled up. His concentrated hums as he cleaned his knives, followed by quiet curses and mutters, was frankly adorable but the quiet nature was just another method to lull her into a dream world, a smile tickling her lips as she watched with her head propped up.

She was not even tired, per se, there was just a comfortable nature that came with him that allowed for a feeling of safety to wash over and assure her that there were no troubles to be had there. Came with the territory, maybe.

"Sorry," she grumbled, seating herself totally upright and beside him, just a breath away - the space between them a sharp reminder of what exactly they were. Her legs curled up to rest beside and though her body almost naturally inclined, she dared not lean her weight. "I'm the worst company, aren't I?"

At that, Diego let out one of his sharp laughs, a bark that shattered any fragments of sleep still clinging tight. "Shut up."

"Shut up, what?"

"Shut up, and don't say you're the worst company," he chuckled. He shifted on the couch and his arm grazed against hers, skin just barely touching skin in a way that made her breath catch in her throat. Everything felt cold, just for a second, then hot like a burning flame threatening to catch fire all throughout a wooden home. "Because you know what? You're not."

"Oh, so you like having me around? Or you just like free-loading at my apartment?"

"Ha - right. I wouldn't be here if I didn't like you."

"Aw, you like me, Hargreeves?"

To that, he offered no answer, his eyes trained away and body turned slightly so she could not read his expression. Curiosity, sharp and dark bit at her mind, corrupting her thoughts before she could stop her. It was just a joke, and sure it was a bit of an awkward response to ask for a reason why, but she could not stop herself, subconsciously wishing that there was more of an answer - the words you craved - attached to the joke.

However, there was nothing, just his brown eyes shifting back to meet hers. His arm had moved as he turned, sitting with his legs raised up with that silly, stupid grin that drove her absolutely wild. Could he possibly know how much it hurt, to look upon it and not act out of the wild, dangerous feelings heating up her heart like so?

He asked, then, if she wanted him to stay or would just end up falling asleep again - because he promised to buy her pizza, but ‘was there a point if she was going to sleep through the day’? To that, she shrieked and slammed another pillow his way, pretending to cry bloody murder against his slight. Damn him and his jokes, his words always sending a flutter through her system even when it was over something so meaningless as food.

She nodded, wrapping her sweater closer around her as she sat back on the couch. She was not so much cold, just ashamed for her thoughts as he walked away, curious and red-hot with hidden attraction. It was ridiculous, as though she had fallen straight from a teen fiction novel - only with her situation, there was no happy ever after, no grand finale with a sweeping kiss and confession of their love. For one, neither were really into the romantic gestures that made up cliche romance movies, but also she sort of knew her feelings were one-sided, that she sat alone in her boat wishing that he would change his mind on how he felt about her.

She had known him for a while. Felt like forever, but it was more like four years, give or take. After meeting him at a bar, after one of his missions, the pair grew close, very quickly and strong, too. There was no romantic tension for a while, just interest in one another, talking and laughing and spending long nights after his nightly patrols pretending everything was good in the world. It had been hard before to find good, genuine people in a world driven by numbers and climbing over others to hit the top, but the pair of them had bonded over a love for horribly bad movies and stupid jokes that often made no sense to anyone but the pair of them. They played video games when a stack of work lurked in the background, knew each other's coffee orders so that when they stopped by for the evening they had that to offer along with a smile, and could talk about the most random of topics for hours on end. She knew how to make him smile after a long night, and he hugged her close when the stress got too bad and she felt like she was in too over her head. What made their friendship so good, however, was that they could do the complete opposite and find comfort in one another's silent presence, busy with their own tasks but happy for the company.

With him, everything was easy and natural. She never found herself trying to prove herself in any way, she was just herself and he seemed to reflect that back to her. Everything was easy and always made sense. Y/N and Diego - they just worked.

It was just her luck that she fell for him, feelings lurking constantly in the back of their animosity. She hated herself for it. Of course, she had to try and ruin a good friendship, something so rare to come by - she could have been fine with just remaining platonic, but her heart beat in a different direction than her brain and she fell, hard. Even harder, knowing he felt nothing towards her in that way and never would - hating herself for getting angry that he did not. There was no point in frustration towards something so uncontrollable as human emotions, even though she did grew upset time and time again.

The only good thing about the equation was his oblivion, saving her from embarrassment or any further shame.

No matter. She was cool, had been for the three and a half years she had felt that way and could hold on because her friendship with him meant far too much to be sabotaged by a schoolgirl crush.

She grinned as he headed back, simply because she had to - the way he pranced, yes pranced with his phone in hand and a grin on his lips as though he had done a greater deed than just order pizza, it was ridiculously intoxicating. He was so pure, so perfect, sometimes.

He collapsed back onto the couch. His arms went back to stretch across the back and his head went back as well, dark locks falling across his face in an almost perfect spiral. The half-way curls, normally gelled back in some sort of complex nature, were messy and fell all around his head, making him look younger, like a boy seen once in an old photograph that the women would ogle at. A golden boy as the last rays of sunshine pierced his half-drawn curtains, eyes half-shut against the light and his face lax.

He, however, had to ruin the moment with a dramatic sigh and a grumble not quite decipherable, though perhaps a positive as she really was not quite sure if she could take such a perfect image. He mumbled again, dragging his hands down his face and pulling at the skin, causing a grotesque face that she could not help but laugh at. Though, let it be known, her chuckles came from a very different light then he would think as he looked her way.

"Are you laughing at me!?"

"Oh no, totally not," she giggled, swatting away at his hands. She shifted on the couch with a squeal as he attempted to grab at her, swinging her body as far as she could down from him as he tried to tickle. She shoved his arms away while still protesting, though her words grew more and more forced and she found herself leaning into to his half-assed embrace, still giggling even with nothing was funny. She was gravitating into his arms, relishing the close nature. As a sailor, he was her damn siren, his dark eyes and smile luring her back in - because of course that had to be the thought that came to mind, making him only so much more irresistible.

His laughter slowed into soft chuckles as he gave up on the attacks, leaving her to flop back onto his couch still wearing her giddy expression. Only, where she had assumed he would sit back up and refuse such close contact as before, his weight remained hovered over her held up by his arms, muscles flexing actually pretty fucking gloriously in the dim lighting. She shifted casually, licking her lips and watching his actions closely.

She was not sure what to think. All she could remark on was that his presence was intoxicating and how she could make out almost every little mark on his face like she had not before, complete with the tiny scar over his right eyebrow down to the mole beneath his chin that she had never noticed before.

Soon he was closer, closer than he had dared to be before, where her breath had dissipated and her heart was burning in her chest, yearning for the chance to close the distance and her eyes could only fixate on his, even while wanting to look away and save herself before she lost it.

Her eyes fought to send their gaze down to his lips, even just for a second, but she remained frozen. Her smile trembled and fell further with every passing second, replaced with lax lips and a state of confusion swimming in her eyes. Shivers flew down her spine and her right hand moved closer to his, every so often just to the point where her fingers were just grazing his and fuck, how the tension between them was killing her, where everything had stopped and yet was moving so fast, a time-space continuum that made no sense and yet was sending them flying into unknowns never quite reached before.

It seemed he felt that, too, shifting his weight with one arm resting ever so close to her hip and the other supporting himself. His front lock hung down, curling over his face and his lips fell slack slightly. His face grew closer, close enough for her to wonder just what was about to happen if there was a shared feeling between them both that had never been-

-the moment was shattered, within seconds both of them flying away from one another as loud pounding erupting and they were reminded that for some ungodly reason, the pizza man had to have the worst timing known to man, ever. Seriously, it was insane how fast he managed to show, considering it had only been what, five, ten minutes? Not even.

"That was fast."

"Uh-huh," he grumbled, slipping off the couch with a thud and headed for the door. His head was bowed and he seemed grumpy, nay, brooding, almost stomping to the door in a way she would have found cute hours before.

Not another word was said, and she was left to bury her head in her hands and silently scream.

That was a mess. All of that, leading to just a giant pile of crap, awkward moments of reconsideration on what was really felt, if she was insane for ever thinking that the two of them could have that weird rom-com moment and be more than the screw-ups who danced around one another like so.

"Food's in."

She did not respond. She really was not hungry, anymore.

The rest of the night was spent almost entirely in silence. The two of them ate, and he tried to crack a few jokes but they fell on silent ears. There was no laughter slipping from her lips, even when they quivered and debated a chuckle - there was no point. She was shaken up, confused, disappointed and upset, all in a whirlwind erupting in her chest as she tried to finish her slice of pizza.

She was not so sure what to think about that moment. Sure, it could have just been the way events played out, awkwardly slipping from one to another and leading to them too close on the couch, but her infatuated heart wanted it to be more than that. There had never been any sign of attraction before, but who was she to try to explain the logic of love? Simply because, there really was not any when it came to that mystic woman.

She slipped down the tiny hallway of the apartment, mint sucked tight in between her teeth. She called out that she was just going to the washroom, and all that was received back was a dull 'alright' from where she had been before. There was no way to even know if he had even heard her, or just heard noises and acknowledged them without a care.

The water running was a good cover up for her sighs, mutters and frustrated groans as she ran her hands through her hair and tried to think. There was no time for the hopeless romantics, and she was not about to try anything like before - she just wanted to understand, that or just let go of her own feelings and walk out of the tiny room without a care in the world, looking at him once more as a friend.

She could not, it was not a faucet that could just be flicked off, but oh, did she wish it was.

She sighed and wiped her hands off, moving to head out. Without thinking, she flung open the door with more aggression she even knew she possessed and stepped out into him, causing a collision with two identical cries of shock echoing.

Almost immediately, his hands were out to catch her before she could fall, grasping at her waist to prop her back up before a potentially bad fall. One hand slipped to her waist and the other clutched tight at her arm, pulling her back up with a soft 'I've got you' mumbled out. She bit at the inside of her lips and tried not to think about the touch, or the close quarters, or how sweet his whisper sounded - none of that would help, she had to move away, as fast as possible.

She mumbled a quick 'thank you' under her breath and tried to sort herself out. Only, she was failing rather miserably as the hands around her would not sending jolts of electricity through her and causing her brain to freeze up, leaving her to stutter and flinch into the embrace and struggle to move away.

Her gaze lifted to once more meet his, the soft look in his eyes directed her way. She took in the way his lips curved ever so slightly to suggest a smile threatening to break, and how his one hand moved slightly with his fingers rubbing against her bare skin slowly, soothingly. She was on fire.

And she had to get out, afore she got burned.

She tore out of his arms in a new rush, crying loudly that she had to get out and grab something, back to absolutely nothing but her tears and regret - though that was not shared aloud. She bustled around in search of her backpack, car keys, wherever she could have placed her phone - all the while ignoring him and his soft, almost worried calls of her name from the other sides of the room. She could not stop and allow him to have her attention again, one more slip and she would be drowning in feelings that could not make their move right then or ever, really, but emotions that threatened to-

-he called her name, louder that time, demanding attention.

She stopped, phone clutched in hand, any emotional strength left in the right. She dared not look at him. "What?"

"What is going on? What - what are you doing?"

Maybe it was the regret, the guilt, the disappointment or the sad fantasies drowning inside her head, maybe it was all or none of that that made her react - no matter. What did matter was how fast she could switch from hurt to snappy, walls flung back up in defense of her aching heart. "Excuse me?"

"Where are you going- you live here, Y/N? Why are you tryna leave?"

Oh, so that was how it would be spun. She folded her arms against her chest and glared, unsure just what she was doing but willing to wing it, anyways. "I'm just going to grab something, dunno why you're getting your knickers in a twist."

Normally, one of her signature odd expressions would make him at least chuckle, but he almost entirely ignored what was just said. Instead, he just drew closer, jaw clenched, ticking - he was upset, though not angry as she had seen him before, dealing with a new variation she could not quite decipher. Though his words claimed an upset with her, there seemed to be more than that going through his head, she just could not tell what.

"You're avoiding me."

"Avoiding you? What are you goin' on about? I've been with you all night, I'm not avoiding you."

"You won't even look at me - see, right there, you won't look at me, you're avoiding my eyes right now!"

She bit at her lip and forced herself to gaze up, though not without careful consideration of just flat out bolting out his door without another word. He was just a bit away, at that point, close to almost touching her, and still drawing nearer as their eyes linked. It was nearly impossible to stand her ground while staring him in the eyes, fighting back whatever futile emotions were fighting their way to the top. She was better than whatever her heart said, though, and she was not about to break just because of how adorable he was in that light, with-

"-Hello?"

"-huh?"

His lips were pressed into a thin line, showing how annoyed he was growing, fast and heavy. "I asked a question."

She had not been listening, though the words had been caught - as she forced herself to think back, collect what had been said, her cheeks felt warmer and damn, it was getting harder to not fall into a total puddle, right then and there.

"Look..."

"...d'ya have a problem with me? Is that it?"

"What? No, of course not!"

"Then why -" he groaned, running his hands through his hair and stepping back, almost immediately unleashing the frustration that was building up in his chest. "I've been trying to understand what you're trying to say but you're so damn confusing, and I don't know - I mean, if I thought you didn't want to kiss me, I wouldn't have tried, it's just-"

"-wait, what? Don't want to--, what the hell are you saying?"

"I'm saying if you don't want to -- just say so, let me know that I was reading wrong into this but don't make me feel stupid about it, avoiding me and all that?"

To say she was confused, well she certainly was that, her brain muddling up with a thousand thoughts and all she could do was stare at him, take in everything that was being said and try to comprehend just what it was implying. He thought she did not have an interest, he thought that it was her trying to get out of the bad situation - which, sure she was at that moment, but that did not count in the same sense - and avoid him, when she had been pining and he had made it clear he thought of her as nothing but a friend. She wanted to laugh, and cry, and scream and yell and kiss him, all at once, though maybe not it all, just the last mostly.

"I'm not avoiding you," she muttered, gritting her teeth in an attempt to control her beating heart, "I thought you didn't give a damn about me that way, so I laid off as you wanted. You made it clear you weren't interested in me, and then -- whatever happened before, you just brushed it off! I thought it was a mistake!"

He snorted. "I only did that because you seemed so upset by it, I thought you hated me for trying to make a move!"

"That was you making a move!?"

"YES!? What does that mean?"

Everything was ridiculous about it all, both of them screaming in the middle of his apartment, his face reddened and hers flushed too, heated beyond belief. Her heart threatening to jump right out of her chest and his breathing harsh and heavy, gasping for air after going without for so long. The both of them sounded like teenagers, bickering over the stupidest of things, not twenty-somethings with semi-respectable lives and a whole wack tonne of wasted time between them both.

She was not quite sure just why she laughed, next, but suddenly a gasp of sound was leaving her lips, joined by sharp chuckles echoing about the apartment, loud and bright and clear as day. She had to actually stop for a second and rest her hand against the wall, breathless and dizzy from how hard she was laughing even as he stared on in shock.

"Why are you...what?!"

She took a shaky step forward, confidence bubbling in the same way as her dying laughter. He looked so adorable in that light, still wearing shock and confusion openly on his face as he looked on. Everything just felt so stupid, and dumb, and everything on top of oh-so-right and - wow, she was smitten, just as she had been before, losing her breath and wishing that she could finally just drum up the right words and actions.

And so, she did, at least tried to.

"I...I've been wanting to kiss you for a while," she mumbled, barely a whisper as her confidence drained fast. She was not quite sure what she was saying, what was going to fall from her lips but all she knew was that maybe for once, things were working out, the stars or something aligning and giving her a chance at something good. "I've liked you for...fucking forever, maybe? Just about - and jeez, this is so weird and stupid to say out loud."

At that, he laughed too, though it was soft and more of a recovery mechanism, an attempt to regain control before losing himself entirely. She flinched as one hand found her waist, gentle and tentative, but the touch was not hated. She relished it, leaning into it with a careful smile and stars dancing in her eyes. She then moved too, one hand finding his shoulder and the other clenching and unclenching, digging crescent moons into her palms as if to assure herself that it was not a dream, that it was all very much reality.

Somehow, someway.

He moved his other hand to find her face, moving a tendril of hair back to tuck behind her ear as though their lives had become one of the corniest but beautiful rom-coms out there, and that was their big finale moment.

His face was so close, closer than he had been before, just centimetres away and oh, how both ached to close the distance. The dim light of the TV and the sole light in the kitchen cast careful shadows against his face, but both could make out one another features perfectly, his lips slightly parted and lax and her eyelashes fluttering as her eyes began to slip shut.

"I'm...I'm going to kiss you now," he breathed, still holding his hand carefully up to her face, as though she was a fragile flower threatening to fall apart at any second. "We good on that?"

With that, she was set free and wasted no words on any response, instead choosing to prey on what little confidence she had stored left. She broke the distance between them and pressed her lips gently against his. He responded almost immediately, tilting his head just as she did and holding her close while his thumb rubbed soft circles against her waist. His hand still held her head tenderly but pressed her closer to him, his tongue cheekily swiping across her bottom lip with a smile lurking close behind. She stumbled slightly as they grew closer but with a shared giggle and shift in positions, her back was against the wall and lips back on his and her hands clasped tightly around his neck. Her heart was beating about a million miles a minute and truly, their 'fairy-tale moment' felt a thousand times better than anything she had watched in those cheesy movies of days long past.

Sure, the two of them were standing alone in his apartment in the near-dark with a box of half-eaten pizza open on the table, clock ticking close to nine and the sounds of angry cars and pedestrians echoing outside the cracked-open window, but neither cared. They could be just about anywhere, at that moment, nothing else mattered just then.

#diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves oneshot #tua #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x reader #diego x reader #tua fanfic #lokidyinginside fics #lokidyinginside

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