#if you’ve somehow made it this far in the tags i literally want him so bad yall you don’t understand i clowned on him for so long but now i

[princessdreamss]

i cannot BELIEVE i got so stressed this week that my boyfriend to death/the price of flesh brainrot is back swinging and not only is it focused on REN, but on FOX/ANNOUNCER REN

GET OUT OF ME HEAD

[silkscream]

angel unaware

ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader

ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.

ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)

ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k

ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3

ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!

The spider bit you first.

It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.

In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.

You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.

But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.

You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.

Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.

Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.

"You. You just–"

"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.

It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.

The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.

Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.

He’s the only one who gets it, of course.

He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know.  "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.

"What do you mean?"

"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"

"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"

He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"

You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.

"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.

Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.

"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.

"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.

"Comes from my fingertips."

"No fucking way. You gotta show me."

"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.

"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.

You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.

"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.

"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."

"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.

You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.

"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"

"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.

"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.

He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.

____

He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.

But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.

Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.

"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.

"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.

"And yet you’re here."

"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.

"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.

"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.

"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."

Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.

"Am I a good patient?"

"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.

"What, I don’t get a treat?"

"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.

It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.

"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.

You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."

"Rabbit."

You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.

"What, Pete?"

"Why don’t you patrol with me?"

"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.

"It’s better when you’re around."

"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.

"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."

"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."

"I think she’s right, though."

You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.

He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."

"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."

"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.

"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."

He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.

____

You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.

You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.

It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.

Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.

Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.

He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.

The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.

Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.

You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.

He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.

"Still as indecisive as ever."

"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.

"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.

"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"

He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.

"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.

"And you love it."

More than you’d ever know.

You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.

When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.

The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.

It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.  

"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.

____

You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.

You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.

No, that feels too selfish to say.

But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.

You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.

Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.

"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"

Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.  

____

January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.

You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.

Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.

Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.

And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.

It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.

Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.

"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."

God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.

"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.

The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.

He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.

Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.

Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.

But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.

He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.

You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.

As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.

"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"

He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.

Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.

"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.

"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."

"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."

"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."

"Hey!"

Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.

"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."

Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.

"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.

"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.

"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."

You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.

"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"

"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"

"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"

Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."

You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?

You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.

____

The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.

It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.

He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.

But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.

"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"

Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.

"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.

The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.

Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.

"Hey, you."

"Hey."

Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.

You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.

"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.

"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," she nods incessantly.

"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.

"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."

It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.

You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.

"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.

"Since when do you drink so much?"

"It’s a party," he shrugs.

"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."

"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."

Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.

Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.

"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.

"What do you mean?"

"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."

You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."

"Seriously?"

You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.

"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."

You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.

A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.

"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.

"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."

You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.

"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.

You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.

____

You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.

"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.

"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.

Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.

"Dude!"

"What? I’m turned around!"

Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.

His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.

"Idiot."

"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."

"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"

"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.

"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"

"‘m fine. You go home."

"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"

Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"

He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.

"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."

Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.

"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"

You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.

It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.

"Yeah, I’ll take him home."

____

"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.

"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.

"Not if you were with me."

"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."

"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"

You sigh. "No, he’s not."

"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.

"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.

He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.

"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"

"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.

"‘m not gonna puke."

"I think you might, Peter."

He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.

Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."

You sigh.

"I should get going–"

"Can you stay for a little?"

Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.

"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.

"You didn’t."

"You were gonna go home with Cam."

"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Like a chore."

"Not like a chore."

"Yeah, okay."

He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.

Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.

You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.

His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.

Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.

He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.

You close your eyes.

"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.

"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.

You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.

"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."

"What?"

"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."

"What am I doing?"

Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.

"You’re with MJ."

"I… I know."

Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.

"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.

"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.

"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.

He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.

____

It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.

You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.

But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.

It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he’s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.

Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.

"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.

"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.

"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."

"I’m fine, Em." A lie.

It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.

He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.

____

Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.

He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.

Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.

He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.

After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.

"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.

"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.

Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.

In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.

When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.

He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.

Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?

The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.

The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.

An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.

"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."

He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.

He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.

"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.

"Peter. You’re hurt."

"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"

"You’re fucking limping."

You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.

Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.

A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.

"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.

You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.

A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.

Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.

"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."

He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.

When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.

"C’mere."

It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.

You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.

There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.

You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.

"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."

"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."

As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?

It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.

"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.

"For what?"

"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."

"‘m not all that good, Peter."

But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.

"I’m sorry for not being around."

"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."

He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.

"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.

"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."

"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."

"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.

"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."

You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.

____

Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.

After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.

You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.

Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.

"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.

You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.

So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”

You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.

"Less overwhelming?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."

I missed you.

Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.

"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.

"You get what?"

"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."

We. We. We.

"There are cows upstate," you snort.

"You know what I mean."

"We can do a road trip."

"You can’t drive."

"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.

He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.

"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.

"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."

"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."

You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.

There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.

You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.

So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.

"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.

"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.

You mock him, of course.

"English, yeah?"

He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.

"We broke up."

You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?

"Shit. You really fumbled, then."

"Shut up," he laughs.

"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.

"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."

"Classic MJ."

"Yeah."

"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.

"I’m not a piece of meat."’

You click your tongue.

"Oh, right, you’re an insect."

"Hey, so are you!"

____

You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.

Or maybe it’s the wine talking.

It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.

It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.

You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.

Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots

If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.

He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.

Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.

His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.

Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.

Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.

“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."

"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.

"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"

Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."

Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.

By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.

"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.

"You're already in my room."

Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.

Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.

"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.

"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."

"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.

"I'd like to see you try, angel."

It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.

It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.

Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.

Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.

He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.

His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.

"Wha--"

"Fuck."

"What is it?" He frowns.

"I owe Ned twenty bucks."

"What?"

"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."

"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”

“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”

“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.

“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,” you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.

“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”

He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.

You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.

“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”

A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.

“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.

“You are.”

Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.

He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.

You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.

A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.

“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”

Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.

“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”

He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.

You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.

You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.

“What do you wanna do?”

“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.

“Tell me about it, Spidey.”

“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”

There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.

“You want it that bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.

You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.

He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.

“You want me to go slow?”

“Of course not.”

You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.

Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.

“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."

Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.

“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.

“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”

You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.

You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.

Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.

“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.

“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”

You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.

“Pete.”

“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”

“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”

He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.

He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.

It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.

“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.

Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.

“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”

Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.

Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.

He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.

“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.

“Yes, angel?”

“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”

He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.

“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.

“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”

He laughs and it sounds like heaven.

“You said you loved me,” you tell him.

“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”

You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.

“I love you, too.”

You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”

“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.

“You’re cute.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How come you call me angel now?”

Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.

“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”

Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.

“I have a proposition.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.

“Okay. What is it?”

“We should use our webs next time.”

He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.

“Deal.”

tagging mutuals: @meliapis​ @cutetomholland​ @userholland​ @sparklingsin​ @tomdutch​ @userholland​ @vendettaparker​ @selfcarecap @simplykenni​ @uhlxis​ @cordiformity​ @sapphicsoie​ @seolaseoul​ @honeyspidey​ @logangarfield​ @justapurrcat​ @arachine​ @cocoamoonmalfoy​ @ohcaptains​ @aniqua

[bloodiedrogue]

PAINFUL VULNERABILITIES (5)

SUMMARY: When your past begins to blend into your present, you find yourself longing for Astarion's comfort.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,648

WARNINGS: ANGST, hurt/comfort, body horror elements, descriptions of torture involving a knife, panic attack, sort of made up Illithid lore??? (I promise there's comfort in the end, I'm sorry!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Day 5 literally doesn't have a prompt because this idea got terribly out of hand so let's just ignore that and enjoy the angst, shall we?

(Also again, a lot of people's tags weren't working so next time if you haven't fixed it I will be taking you off the list because taglists are a bitch!)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The nightmares start a few days later.

At first, they’re subtle. Wisps of darkness cloud your thoughts, leaving no memory behind. Silently it lingers, creeping through your skull in waves that inevitably crash against the shore, ripping you awake —leaving you breathless each time you’re left gasping for air in your dishevelled bedroll. When it happens, it always makes you jolt up to look around, trying to find the cause of your plague. The reason why you’re suddenly so wary to lay your head each night.

When you reach the Underdark they only get worse. 

What were once forgotten memories become recurring torments. Endless onslaughts of clawed hands that scratch at your flesh, pulling back skin in massive chunks that pluck excitedly at your insides. 

Thanks to the powers of the Illithid you feel every movement. Every poke and prod slips through you like a knife, cutting you down piece by piece until you’re nothing but a shell. An empty carcass of bone that’ll inevitably be harvested for a purpose far greater than yourself.

Or so she says. As you lie there, writhing in pain, blinking to shield the teeth that bear witness to your torture, you hear her whisper cool and quiet, telling you of your death. Of your fated downfall, and then of your— 

You always wake up before she finishes.

Before you can hear her utter the words you’ve heard a thousand times. Feeling the burn of your lungs, you stretch your fingers across your chest in remembrance, breathing in and out as the skin beneath your digits runs hot and you’re forced to forget the experience all over again.

When you reach camp that night, sore from the seemingly never-ending mushroom forage, you find yourself dreading the prospect of such sleep. Even through the exhaustion, the last thing you want to do is rest your head lest she arrives tonight, so you fight the urge, settling in against the edge of the fire. 

“You look tired.” 

You turn to look at Gale with half-closed eyes, offering him the softest grin you can muster before turning toward the flames. They seem brighter than usual. A decorative flash of warm-toned hues that make you blink and rub your eyes, somehow feeling even more languid. 

“Mushroom hunting take it out of you?”

You hum, making no move to look his way as you pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself for comfort. 

As much as you’ve grown to like Gale’s company, all you want right now is silence. A moment of peace where you can just stare into the fire and let your eyes burn from something other than the lack of sleep. Especially after spending the day alongside Lae’zel and Shadowheart as some poorly trained mediator. Just the thought of opening your mouth to speak feels like a threat to your vocal cords. The prospect of speech too much to handle, even as Gale begins to fill you in on his and Wyll’s misadventures with a nearby myconid colony.

“They’re truly such interesting creatures. Did you know…”

His voice falls on deaf ears, earning you nothing but a confused sigh once he realizes you’re not listening. Mostly because it’s not normal for you to just blatantly ignore your peers. 

“Are you alright? Need anything? Perhaps a drink or a—“

You’re standing upright before he can even finish his sentence, brushing the ass of your leathers before walking away, paying no mind to the curious wizard as he looks around the camp, catching the eye of Wyll who merely shrugs. 

It’s not like you to leave. To ignore a friend mid-conversation but your voice is gone. Lost to the void of constant intercession and a brewing anxiety that sits in your chest. As you walk towards your tent you can feel it shifting. Starting at your gut, everything twists to form a sickly sting. A stabbing pain that throbs within your abdomen, threatening to grow as you part the fabric and crawl inside, plopping into bed face first.

Despite your better judgement, you let out a low groan you’re sure at least someone hears causing you to frown, knowing that you’re better than this. Better than neglecting your health because of some silly nightmares. Better than letting the fear of your past get the better of you. Better than brooding about it. 

Turning to lie on your back, you palm the sockets of your eyes in frustration, letting your mind wander. Allowing yourself to feel everything you’ve been suppressing over the last twelve or so hours.

Aside from exhaustion, it’s mostly Astarion that surfaces. His face in the darkness looking at you as you left camp that morning, barely awake enough to give him a nod. In an instant it was as if he was there and gone, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place before shifting out of view alongside an overly excited Karlach. It was the kind of look that made you question its intentions. Its knitted brows and pursed lips rising and falling through your memories between the scuffles of your two companions. 

As you walked along the edges of the Underdark’s cliff sides, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it represented. What emotion it was trying to convey in such a small amount of time before it disappeared completely? 

As you lie there now, once again imagining its form you feel it’s something bordering on pity. A showcase of solidarity in your obviously failing quest for sleep. 

Astarion may not say much about your struggles —unlike him, you don’t complain about the endless problems that you face on the road— but you know he’s still aware of them. He’s too perceptive not to be. 

So why hasn’t he said anything? 

A heavy breath escapes. A shaky one damaged by speculation. Ruined by the assumption that it’s because he doesn’t care. That perhaps you aren’t worth the trouble of a little bit of worry despite previous actions.

You may have killed for him —had his back long before anyone else, but have such feelings ever been reciprocated? Has your worth been proven now that you’ve slain a man in his honour? And if so, how much worth do you truly hold? Is it substantial enough to ask you how you are? Big enough to look at you with any semblance of fondness? Or is it all just for show?

There’s a part of you that hopes it is. That the moments filled with kindness are nothing more than lies told to keep your attention. If he were lying, it wouldn’t necessarily make the way you feel right now any better but it’d mean that there’s an end. A barrier to stop you from getting in too deep. An excuse you could use to explain the naivety of thinking he may care.

Because it wavers —his care. Some days it’s obvious, sometimes it’s not. You can never guess when the care will appear, only that when it’s there and eventually dissipates you’ll be left alone again, wondering why he puts the extra effort in at all. Why he reels you in only to let you go, forcing you to question his intentions as you watch with careful eyes for those moments of reassurance. Moments that you can never prepare for. Ones that gnaw at your heart with pointed teeth wrapped beneath hungry lips, starving for the truth. 

You’re not too sure you’re ready to take that leap yet. To push him for the answers you know he’ll just avoid. He’s never been quick to trust and even when he does allow you in there’s still a blockage of sorts. An obvious resistance that sits between you, forcing you to settle regardless of the fear you hold inside your chest, wondering what would happen if you tried to push. 

You assume it’d ruin you. That, more than likely, pushing too hard would only create an even deeper wedge, making the truth that much more unattainable, leaving you with less than what you started with. 

Shooting upwards, you groan again and breathe, resting your face against your open palms in irritation. 

All you want to do is sleep, knowing the only reason you’re thinking so much is because you’re avoiding it. If you think you can’t drift which means the nightmares can’t come, leaving you with two bad endpoints you know you have to choose between.

It makes you want to scream just thinking about it but instead of giving in to such desires you merely settle back down, pulling the fabric of your bedroll up to your shoulders before closing your eyes. 

You’re going to get some sleep whether or not it kills you. Whether or not you have to endure the pain of a thousand deaths all at once before you’re inevitably woken up in a stupor of suffering.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift. One minute you’re lying there, counting your breaths like sheep and the next you’re out, filtering through a darkness that feels all too familiar. At first, it’s just there, coating your skin in nothingness. Lost to the void of slumber, you’re at peace for the first time in forever but as expected eventually the shadows unfold. Part to reveal a body of pale skin wrapped around viscous veins full of the blood of many. 

It beckons you almost immediately. The flutter of that icy voice saying your name over and over until you come to call, allowing yourself to move. Letting your feet guide you to her presence, you feel the waves and how they threaten to spill over as you kneel before her, feeling her grab your throat. 

Her fingers twitch and curl but never grip as she leans forward, offering you a grin. “You’ve been avoidant.”

You don’t speak. For a moment your lips part, feeling the presence of her thumb glide across the base of your throat but you don’t dare speak.

“You know it’s coming, my dear. You can’t avoid it.”

Your tongue moves to wet your lips while you blink, trying your best to let the visions of her angular face blur into the night that surrounds you, realizing she looks just as you remember her. All papery and washed out —a mere shell of herself now that you’ve gone missing. Her features drying out with each passing day you find yourself separate. 

“Come back to me. Let me protect you.”

You swallow hard and turn your head, feeling the nails of her fingers dig into your neck prompting you to cry out. 

She doesn’t let you do much else. Quickly moving on from the one-sided conversation to grab her knife, you watch as she mumbles under her breath, turning the blade between her fingers with a grin. “In untimely death comes timely renewal, remember?” she says, letting it ghost across your bare chest, pushing the edge against it until it breaks the skin. 

You barely feel the first insertion. As the blade dips through the layers of your flesh, the only thing you feel is her breath. The pattern of air that puffs against your face as she recites those aforementioned words, taunting you as she pulls it down. 

In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal…

As the knife moves lower, you repeat the words in unison like a mantra, struggling to get them out through gritted teeth as she works to cut you open. To slice your torso from the sternum down revealing countlessly re-healed bones and slimy organs that lie in waiting for her to pluck.

Hovering above you, her hands move to survey such handiwork, her fingers stroking the edges of your open skin before they inevitably dive right in, ripping you awake. 

You feel the pressure of her inside your gut before it really hits that it’s done. Shooting upward, you cough and double over in an instant, pressing your hands shakily to the ground in front of you. 

It’s the worst dream you’ve had yet. Longer than all the others, you can feel the adrenaline of it all penetrating your thoughts. Overthrowing every single anxiety you’ve ever felt as you sniff back tears, pushing yourself towards the entrance of your tent. 

Pulling it open, you look around the camp in desperation, catching the eye of Wyll who raises his brow, watching as you shake your head, slipping further into the ground.

Before you can even think he’s on you, reaching for your shoulders, asking you what’s wrong and how he can help. In response, you make no effort to reach back. To remedy your pain as you continue to shake and cry, sobbing out the cursed mantra through heavy gasps that leave him panicking. 

“Guys! Something’s wrong!”

As he calls out to the rest of the group, you quickly find yourself surrounded by familiar faces. All of them looking down to see your hysteria unfold. 

“What happened?” Dropping to her knees, Shadowheart’s the first to your side, moving her hands to cup your face before you swat her away, mouthing the words over and over and over again. 

“I don’t know!” 

“You don’t know?”

The two of them continue to bicker. As Wyll explains the way you crawled out of your tent, mumbling something about death, you force yourself to shuffle back, maneuvering your body so that you’re half sitting inside your tent again, watching it all unfold. Focusing on the confusion as Lae’zel and Karlach stand in the wings, muttering to each other words you can’t quite hear while Gale stares down at your mouth, watching the words you speak only to yourself as your eyes start to dart around. 

Surveying the rest of the camp, you wipe away your tears and try to breathe, forcing your mouth to stop its repetitions once you remember the ache inside your chest. 

Because of the Illithid, you can still feel her handiwork. Beneath your sweaty tunic, you can sense its edges burning —stinging from the aftermath as you press a hand to your sternum, making sure you’re still intact. Making sure your organs aren’t on display as you catch sight of Astarion coming up the path. 

He’s nose deep in a book when you see him, scanning the pages with interest before his eyes inevitably raise to see your nervous frame, curling into your tent. Then his interest fades. Evaporating into thin air before it’s replaced with fear. Genuine, heartbreaking fear that has him moving so quickly he fades out of view before reappearing in front of you. 

“What happened?” 

Just like Shadowheart, his hands cup your cheeks, gripping the plush as he lowers himself down, moving his forehead to yours. 

Unlike before you make no effort to push him away. Instead, all you do is frown and try to suppress the tears, clawing at his shirt with desperate pleas, begging him to stay. Begging him to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. Begging for him to lie and say he’ll protect you just like you did for him. 

Using your tadpole you beg him over and over again, letting the tears silently fall from your face, not caring that the whole party is watching.

All you need is him. In falseness or in truth, you don’t care. You just need him to ground you. To call you darling and to make you laugh. To make you feel like you’re something more than a vessel of organs one day destined for harvest. 

As your chest begins to heave, letting all the nightmares unfold all over again, you feel the tadpole behind your eye squirm in response, asking you to let him in. Without hesitation, you close your eyes and swallow hard, feeling his thoughts start to overthrow the visions of her and her knives and the mantra that sticks haphazardly across your brain matter.

I’m here, you’re safe.

For once it feels like a promise. A silent vow meant only for you as he ushers you further into the tent, saying something to your peers before closing it up. After that he readjusts the bedroll with gentle hands, always keeping a single palm against the small of your back, even when he guides you to lie against his chest. 

It’s the first time in weeks that you’ve felt safe. Resting a cheek just below his collarbone, you can feel your breath begin to return to its normal state. No longer ravaged by the panic of your dreams, it moves in and out, fanning the fabric of his shirt. 

“Was it a nightmare?”

You nod. Unsure how to explain it because, while it is a nightmare, it somehow feels so much more. 

“Of the past or?”

“Sort of.” 

He hums curiously, glancing down to see your hand slide up his chest to grip his shirt. 

“It feels like I’m answering a call.”

“A call?”

“Like there’s a person trying to reach me and when I answer I can… I can feel them.”

“Feel them?” 

You can tell he doesn’t quite understand. Not that you blame him for it. The whole concept of these nightmares still vexs even yourself. Leave you stumbling in confusion each night you find yourself awake, struggling to remember what’s real and what’s not. 

The nightmares are not as easily explainable as the actual torture you’ve endured. Especially considering that up until now there had been periods where the memories had died. Days where her face was nothing more than a splotch of white against a backdrop of black, slowly fading away. 

It doesn’t make sense why they're suddenly returning. Why your mind is forcing you to relieve these memories night after night. 

“Does your tadpole make it hard for you to dream?”

There's no hesitation when he says yes. No moment thought before his answer, making you wonder if maybe he too is experiencing these dreams. 

“I feel like it amplifies everything.”

Looking up to gauge his response, you can see the worry clouding his eyes. How his expression sort of fades into the abyss as his eyes focus on yours. 

“I dream of the past a lot. Of my life before this and… and I can feel it. Everything that ever happened I can feel all over again and it’s—“

“Painful.” His voice is broken. A crack in the mirror, shattering the often joyous image of his face as he looks away, blinking. 

Without even processing your movements you prop yourself up on your elbow, reaching over to grab his cheek and pull him back in. “I wish you didn’t understand how it felt.”

There’s a flicker of hurt that hits his face, enveloping his features before the previous sadness kicks in again and he’s reaching for your wrist, tightening around it. “Yes, well, not all of us get the luck of the draw when it comes to good lives.” 

“You should’ve,” you tell him.

He scoffs and closes his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “You’re probably the only one that thinks that.” 

You let your thumb explore his cheek. Let it move in soft circles, taking in the way it shifts beneath your touch. 

It feels strange to be this close to him even after all of the other intimate moments you’ve shared. Something about it feels softer, more honest than the rest of them, making your heart beat rapidly against your chest, threatening to burst. 

“I know it’s not my business but if you ever want to talk about it—“

He places a kiss to your hand, letting his lips linger against the pad of your thumb as he closes his eyes, reaching around to grip your waist. 

In an instant, the words drift out of your mind once you feel it; lost to a touch you didn’t realize you longed for.

Swallowing hard you lay back down to look away, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the tender image that unfolds as his arm shifts again, accommodating your movement. Making you feel that rush of comfort return as he pulls his mouth away and clears his throat. 

“I’m, uh… I’m not good at this kind of thing.” 

“Vulnerability?” you joke, earning yourself a snort. 

“I suppose that’s a word you can use.” 

“To be fair, neither am I.” 

You feel him shift to meet your gaze, looking at you with surprise. “Really now? I think breaking down in front of the whole camp just so that you can find me is quite the effort of—“

Before he can finish you clamp your hand around his mouth. “I was in shock, you bastard. I wasn’t thinking about my dignity.” 

Flexing around your palm, you feel him smile before he pulls away. “That’s good because there was absolutely nothing dignified about the way you looked at me back there. It was…” He trails off, his words catching in his throat for a moment before he clears it again. “You scared me.” 

There’s a moment of silence after that, lasting far longer for it to be deemed comfortable as you lay there, wide awake, wishing you could get him to talk to you. Hoping that maybe if you reach out with the Illithid he’ll answer your questions. 

Closing your eyes, you feel his presence in your mind already, vying for your attention in a way that has you both moving in closer, tightening your hold. 

Show me the dream. 

It isn’t a question or a request but a simple command that has you obeying —letting him enter your thoughts. Letting him stand along the sidelines as she guides you to the ground and cuts you open all over again. Letting him listen to the recital of words that are spoken behind two frozen expressions as Astarion pulls you tighter against him, placing his mouth to your forehead to stop himself from crying. 

-

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[calcifiedunderland]

Wishing Wells & a Hunter’s Box

or, Encounters of a Disney-Aware Prefect, ft. Rook Hunt

Part 1, Part 2 (here), Part 3, Part 4

GN reader, uses they/them pronouns!

Warnings: None

Please enjoy~

—————

Damn, Crewel’s class is gonna end me.

You were slouched against the well in the courtyard. Despite the blue birds and doves singing sweetly from the apple trees and squirrels scurrying from branch to branch, you were in a foul mood. You stared at the papers in your hand, waiting for Rook to come help you after Crewel set up a tutoring session for you (against your will-)

Your latest lab report from Alchemy was pockmarked with red marks, all made by none other than Divus Crewel. As if that wasn’t grim enough, he’d even pulled you aside after class a few days ago.

“Prefect, I understand that since you hail from another world, you may find it more… difficult to understand these concepts,” you’d grimaced and tried to hold his gaze. His eyes were steely, but he didn’t seem disappointed per se. Concerned? “You’ve done well enough thus far, but I’d like for you to have some extra help. To… level the playing field, as Vargas would say.”

Crewel was taking pity on you? The Crewel, who assigned Epel a basically impossible task to grow some magical plant? The same Crewel who would’ve skinned Ace alive over spilling a single drop of ingredient? The Crewel who ran Science Club with an iron fist? That Crewel???

“Teacher’s pet,” Ace quipped as he stuffed food in his mouth when you told everyone during lunch. “Literally. He’s nicer to you, anyway. And he calls you his lil’ pup,” he grinned, snarky.

“Yeah, I’d rather not be babied by Crewel,” you retorted. Jack and Deuce seemed pensive about it. “If Crewel’s giving you pointers, maybe that’s a good thing,” Jack pointed out. “You’re not on his bad side at least.” Deuce nodded, trying to cheer you up. “He knows you’re at least trying.”

Grim swiped at your plate, then asked with his mouth full, “So what’d he want anyway? Y’gotta do retaliation too? Ya won’t stay my henchman if y’can’t pass alchemy!”

“Grim, you have to do remediation, and no I don’t. He actually asked the Science Club if anyone would be interested, and he said Rook would help.”

“Seriously? That guy?” Ace spluttered. Deuce looked concerned, “you sure you’ll be safe with him? I mean, if you help, we could ask Housewarden Rosehearts or Trey for help.” “Or Leona,” Jack chimed in.

You were touched by your friends concern. “I’ll be fine guys, Rook may be a little… odd, but he hasn’t been that bad. It’ll be fine.”

So now, it was late afternoon. You’d been waiting forever for the blond to finish in Science Club, you were lowkey hungry and highkey stressed, and you would really like a nap. It seemed fine then, but now you were getting impatient and your paper seemed to be taunting you. Frustrated, you sprang up and turned to the well.

“Aaaaaaauuhgghh!” You screamed into it, then immediately winced when it echoed back AAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGHHHHH at you. Wells didn’t like being yelled at.

You huffed, and your thoughts wandered back to your weekend trip with Vil.

He’d taken you out to ‘teach you about film-making’, and while it was nice, it was a little daunting to see not only him, but his father, in their natural element. Not to mention, afterwards he’d taken you shopping in places where the price tags had too many zeroes to comprehend.

But before that, you somehow made the Dark Mirror speak to you, all from a little line from a dream. A movie?

Maybe it was more than a dream. Maybe it was a hazy memory from your life before Night Raven College, and even though you arrived only a few months ago, why was it so hard to remember? Either way, you remembered the Fairest Queen speaking to the Mirror, and…

A girl singing to the well?

You kicked yourself up, abandoning your lab report on the grass. You leaned over the well, seeing your wiggling reflection in the water. Above your head, a little bluebird and dove swooped and perched at the bar with the water pail, chirping sweetly. Your mind flashed to your dream, where the girl in a ragged dress sang sweetly into the well.

‘I’m wishing!’ I’m wishing!, came the echo.

‘For the one I love!’

‘To find me!’ To find me!

‘Today!’ Today!

You hummed it to yourself, glancing around warily for anyone who was passing by. There wouldn’t be anyone nearby anytime soon, since club time didn’t end for a small while.

Still, you felt a little silly for wanting to sing into a goddamn well. But when you thought about flopping back on the ground, your mind went back to the Dark Mirror responding to your mindless question.

If the Dark Mirror, which supposedly only obeyed the Headmaster of NRC, responded to you, surely something could happen at this well, right? After all, both had been here since the school’s founding.

“I-“ you coughed as your voice cracked, and cleared your throat self-consciously. You tried again,

“I’m wishing,” the echo came back, I’m wishing.

“…for the… one I love.” One I love.

“To… find me,” To find me.

You felt more comfortable now, “Today!”

“TODAY!”

You shrieked and fell on the grass as none other than Rook fucking Hunt bounded up to you with a grin, ignoring your utter embarrassment as he loomed over like a hunter crowding his prey, blocking out the sun ominously. You scrambled back a bit and got to your feet.

“Rook,” you seethed, still embarrassed. “Why?”

“Ah, mon cher tricksteur!” He sighed happily, the feather in his hat fluttering. “I hadn’t known you were a secret romantic! Singing to a well, quelle suprise! La romance, la mystique, la beauté-“

“Alright Rook, that’s enough-“ you tried, but he just carried on. “Why, it makes me want to sing with you!”

Rook promptly burst into song, one hand on his chest and the other flailing around as he spun. He’d at least changed into his regular school uniform, otherwise strange liquids from his club outfit would’ve been flying everywhere, and then you’d have another issue on your hands.

“ROOK!” You screamed exasperated. He stopped and grinned mischievously. “Je suis desolé, I seem to have gotten carried away. Ah, but look at the time! We must prepare you, or Professor Crewel will have both of our hides!”

He spun on his heel, an easy smile on his face, and offered his arm to you. “Shall we, mon cher (y/n)?” His sharp green eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly at you. You nodded slowly and took his arm, and allowed him to steer you away to wherever he was going.

Even though nothing happened (except Rook nearly giving you a heart attack), your mind wandered to the girl in your memory-dream. After she sang that part, she wasn’t alone. She’d sung a duet with… a man?

You glanced at Rook, regarding the feather in his hat bob up and down cheerfully. You smiled despite yourself. A man with a feathered hat.

~

Rook had taken you to the Pomefiore common room and, despite your friends’ fears, was quite helpful and very meticulous. The hours passed, and when you both were finished going over every procedure, ingredient, applicable magic law, and anything else that Crewel could throw at you, the room became flooded with a soft haze from the setting sun.

You leaned back on the lavish purple couch as Rook perused his own notes. You quietly looked around the common room.

It was much different than Ramshackle’s dusty living room. The room just oozed with luxury and royalty. Truly fit for the Fairest Queen indeed.

Your gaze shifted to a large display case. Sometime ago, when Vil was in his tyrant rampage during VDC, he’d dragged you through Pomefiore and given you a grand tour (against your will, which happened alarmingly often) of the dorm, including the precious objects within said case. You stood and walked to it, leaving Rook to his own work.

The display case held a few objects. The crown Vil wore with his dorm uniform (only taken out when he needed it, apparently passed down to all dorm leaders of Pomefiore). A beautiful dagger with a heart (owned by the Queen’s most trusted huntsman), and-

You frowned, mind becoming fuzzy. An ornate box with a knife through the heart, beautiful and golden-

‘The blundering fool!’

You shook your head and blinked a few times. You stared at the box, brow furrowed.

A dark-haired man with a feather in his cap accepted the box with shaking hands. You couldn’t hear what the regal woman in black said to him, but he didn’t seem to like it. Then suddenly, he was in the forest with the girl in the yellow and blue dress, and raising his dagger to her turned back and-

“I see you’ve found the dorm treasures!”

You jumped, spinning around to Rook smiling innocently down at you, knowing exactly what he did. He’d snuck up so quietly to you, or you were so deep in thought, that you didn’t even hear him. You clutched your chest, breathing quickly.

Forget a defibrillator, Rook could easily restart your heart with his constant jumpscares.

“These two are relics of the Fairest Queen, many years ago,” he began, speaking softer when he saw how startled you were, eyes regarding yours gently. “They are treasures that are a testament to her tenacity and perseverance.”

You were calmer now, and you glanced back at the cabinet. “The dagger…” you turned to him, “Did the hunter use it?” You asked naively, swallowing thickly at what you hoped didn’t happen.

Rook chuckled, but noted how you seemed shaken by your question. He said gently, “Of course mon cher, he was a hunter like moi. He used his dagger as needed.” He gestured to the ornate box, “legend has it that he even brought the heart of a deer to the Fairest Queen upon request.”

A deer. You sighed in relief. Of course he wouldn’t kill the girl. Of course. Who’d want to hurt her?

As you and Rook ruminated by the relics, the sun sank and students entered the dorm, chattering amongst themselves. Vil walked in, and noticed you two.

“Hello Rook, prefect. I trust you two were able to go over the alchemy topics? Crewel said you needed some help,” Vil looked at you, expression unreadable. “He asked me if I could help, but I’d already scheduled a photoshoot beforehand. I do wish I could’ve been there, though.”

“Quelle sympathie mon roi!” Rook started, hand on his chest. “Such benevolence and dutifulness truly befits that of the Queen herself! With your skill in potions and poisons alike, the prefect would pass Crewel’s class with flying colors under your tutelage!”

You laughed to yourself as Vil smiled, shaking his head at Rook’s antics. “I’ll head back to Ramshackle then, thanks for everything Rook,” you smiled at the hunter. You turned to collect your things from the table, and after bidding the pair goodbye and goodnight, you trekked back to Ramshackle with Rook who insisted on walking you back.

As you walked, Rook regaled you with tales of the Queen and her Huntsman, and at some point began reciting poetry after becoming so impassioned. You waited patiently, and as you neared the dorm he sighed. “One day, I wish to become as great a huntsman as he!” Rook closed his eyes, taking off his hat and clutching it to his chest.

You gave a small laugh, but your thoughts turned to your dream from earlier. “Something tells me you’re practically him already.”

———

Ok so ik that the wishing part should technically be Neige’s/Prince Florian’s part

but then I remembered that Florian had a hat with a feather in it and so does rook

And then I connected the dots and made this.

Also theater kid rook needs some time to shine too tbh and he canonically bursts into song according to Trey! What a guy lmao

Anyway thanks for reading this far, Epel’s part isn’t too far away! <3 thank you all for the support!!

[tbzhub]

Lucky Charm

Pairing: drummer!Eric Sohn x gender neutral reader

feat. vocalist!Jung Subin, guitarist!Han Jisung, keyboardist!Choi Beomgyu, and bassist/vocalist!Lee Jooyeon

Summary: You’re the only one who can’t tag along for the entire tour.

Warnings: curse words, brief mention of drinking, kind of suggestive? idk

Rating / Genre: PG -13, metal band au, established relationship, fluff, angst

WC: 2.3K~

Artist Note: SO, I’ve been in a major rut and my lovely bestie, @everynewiee came up with a great idea to get me writing again. This fic is for her but feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

m.list tag list

“Ooookayyy, this is the last one” the roadie says, waiting rather impatiently for the pink instant film camera in his hands to spit out the final group picture. This last one was for you, a keepsake to commemorate the band’s monumental achievement.

Everyone had jitters of excitement, this was the first time that Fragile Senses was leaving the local scene after getting picked up to tour with a band that Eric has been idolizing since you’ve known him. The first leg of the tour started in your hometown and for the next three months, they’d travel around the country in a Subin’s cramped, rusty van opening for some of the biggest names in the metalcore scene.

It was exciting, it was going to be crazy, insane even. At least that’s what Beomgyu kept saying practically on repeat last night when you all went out to celebrate. 

The band always went out the night before a show, it was a silly tradition that Jooyeon started before their first ever gig a few years back, where they all got irresponsibly plastered the night before to quell the nerves, because in his words, “it’s easier to fight a hangover than stage fright,” and somehow it worked? 

You’ve never missed a night out or a concert. But after tonight you’d miss everything. While everyone else was down to squeeze into a 06’ Ford Econoline, you literally couldn’t. You were the only girlfriend that wouldn’t be tagging along and although Eric was super sweet and understanding about it, you couldn’t help the negative emotions that kept coming up.

You wanted to be with him, three months is a long time away… and the thought of the band being surrounded by groupies every single night worried you.

“Here you go,” Jisung says, grinning as he hands you the picture and then his voice goes loud.

“Alright, guys! We gotta get backstage to set up. Kiss your girls and boys, so we can go.”

“NO MORE PICTURES,” he snaps at Subin just before the vocalist is about to take what has to be the 247th selfie with his boyfriend. 

Your head swivels in the boy's direction just in time to see Subin cheekily snap another picture and then he’s peeled away from his boyfriend by Jooyeon.

“Eric, five minutes,” you hear Jisung say as everyone scatters to their respective places and duties.

-

Eric’s arm stays wrapped around your shoulder all the while he leads you towards the back entrance of the concert venue.

“This is cool, right?” He says and you can hear the smile that couples with the excitement in his tone as you quietly hum in agreement beside him.

“But I don’t get to hug you right before you go on,” you add in as you carefully make your way up a rickety metal flight of steps and his hand finds yours to give it a tender squeeze.

“You’ll be able to see me from a better angle though and this place is way nicer than any other venue that we’ve ever played in.” He counters happily. 

“Plus, now you’ll have this entire space to yourself”, he says and you hear the sense of pride in his voice as he opens the door to the VIP booth that he was able to reserve for you.

Your face lights up at the quaint space, the velvet cushions look comfy– much better than sitting on top of a large amp on the far side of a tiny stage like usual, but you also enjoyed being able to watch their band from behind the scenes, it made you feel special. 

Still from up this high you’d be able to see everything, even now you can see Beomgyu’s girlfriend and Subin’s boyfriend trying to snake their way through the slowly growing crowd of people waiting for the show to start.

You’ve never been able to watch them play from the pit like everyone else, too dangerous and Eric never ever wanted you in harm's way, not even for a moment. So now you’ve grown used to the backstage treatment and the hustle and bustle that came with the pre-showtime set up routines. But from up here, it just seemed like another thing you’d be missing out on and you couldn’t help the way your bottom lip juts out.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Eric asks, frowning out of concern but you see the way he’s tapping his foot, antsy to get back to the guys, yet you know his care was genuine and earnest. 

This wasn’t the first time he’s asked this question and your answer still remains the same.

“Nothing,” you reply with a smile plastered on your face as you look up at him, hand coming to rest at the back of his neck as he leans forward and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“I’m proud of you. Thank you for this.” Your words come out hushed as he wraps his arms around your body in a warm hug and your face is buried into his graphic tee. You’d assume he’d smell gross and sweaty after all the heavy equipment they've moved around today in the hot sun but as you breathe in a long sigh, he still smells like your boyfriend; citrus and sandalwood soap, cologne, and the faint– yet distinct, smell of their makeshift recording studio.

“Okay, baby. I have to go, I know Jisung is backstage burning a hole through the floor waiting for me.” He announces, giving you another gentle squeeze before letting you go and walking towards the stairs.

“Good luck!” You call out as you sit down, starting to get comfy in your chair.

“Don’t need it! I have my lucky charm for one more night!” He shouts back from halfway down the steps.

Just when you’re about to pull out the picture from earlier to get a better look at it, you hear Eric running back up the metal stairs.

“Wait! I forgot something.” He says with a grin as he runs over to you and then he leans down for a kiss, lips waiting for yours to meet his own.

“Really? Aren’t you behind schedule?” You say through a giggle before you kiss him back.

“I can’t go on stage without it.” He murmurs against your lips before stealing a few quick kisses for extra measure and then he’s dashing towards the stairs once more.

And the cheeky smile he flashes your way before he finally leaves makes butterflies flutter in your stomach and your heart sink at the same time. Only Eric could create anomalies within you like this and this time it was because you knew you were going to miss seeing that sneaky smile so much.

You were going to miss him so fucking much.

-

You hear your name being called from the crowd below and smile once you see Jooyeon and Jisung’s girlfriends smiling faces as they frantically wave their hands up in their attempt to get your attention. Everyone was all together and ready for the next set to start. The opener was good but you thought Fragile Senses was better, their vocalist didn’t work the crowd like Subin and Jooyeon usually do when they perform so it made listening to their set rather boring for you.

The lights go dark and you hear cheers from the crowd as five dark shadows walk across the stage and you perk up when you recognize the last person in line and as everyone gets to their places you ready your camera, excited to film Fragile Senses first legit show.

-

“We did fucking amazing!” Beomgyu yells— again, rowdy as a toddler hopped up on a day's worth of sugar, but you suppose he still was riding the wave of a stellar night just like everyone else.

“We killed that shit.” Jisung admits as he fist bumps the hyped up keyboardist.

“Did you see how crazy that crowd got at Eric’s drum solo at the end? I saw someone’s shoe fly into the air and it never came back down.” Jooyeon says through a chuckle. “I almost messed up my last rift from laughing so hard.” 

“I have literally never sang in front of that many people before, I thought I was going to throw up.” Subin says and everyone starts laughing.

“But you didn’t and that's what counts”, Eric says pointing his drumstick at the older frontman.

“I can’t wait to do that again tomorrow! When are we going to get on the road, Jisung? Next stop is a 6-hour drive and it’s already 2am.” Subin asks, from where he lays sprawled across his boyfriend’s lap. Jisung looks over at Eric and you can see the silent conversation going on between the two but it was a language you couldn't speak. 

Finally, Eric lets out a heavy sigh beside you and then he hops to his feet, reaching his hand out for you to grab.

-

It’s silent at first as you both wait for your uber to come and pick you up.

“She’s 12 minutes away,” Eric says, shattering the silence with the worst sentence he could possibly say given the situation.

Only 12 minutes left.

“Okay,” you say and your lip starts to quiver.

“Baby, please let it out. I know you’ve been holding this in all day. Now we have like 11 minutes. I don’t want you to fall apart all alone when you get home.” 

Eric was right and you could hear the pleading hint in his tone but for whatever reason you wanted to live in denial just a little bit longer.

“M’ fine.” You mumble but the hot tears that spill down your cheeks say otherwise and Eric doesn't miss a beat at pulling you into his arms for a hug.

“I’ll call you every second I can. I’ll send you tons of pictures and I promise to text you so much that you’ll want to block my number before you go to sleep.” He starts, grip going tighter around your waist.

“I’ll send you a souvenir from each city I visit– I won’t wait to give them to you when I get back. I promise I’ll make the effort to make you feel special while I’m away.” For a second it sounds like he might be crying too.

“But–” you try to speak but your words dissolve into a sob as you feel warm hands rub up and down your back.

“I’ll miss you so much baby. I’m going to hate being a 9th wheel.” Eric says and you know he’s trying to reassure you with a joke and that makes you bury your face into his chest, wiping your tears all over his dark colored shirt. He really was the perfect boyfriend and you were going to miss him more than anything.

“I just– I don’t want to be left behind.” You finally choke out in a weak voice.

“I want to be with you for the entire tour and I can’t. I want to be like all the other partner’s. I don’t want you to feel alone while you’re away and there’s nothing I can do. I want to see you guys kill it every night, not just tonight.” You're rambling now as headlights begin to illuminate your bodies and you refuse to turn around.

“I can’t kiss you before you go on stage.” You say in a pout and Eric knows he shouldn't find any part of this cute but he does. You’re the cutest in his eyes.

“Then kiss me now.” He urges as he hooks his finger underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards before he melds his lips to yours and this kiss feels like so much more than a goodbye. There’s love, lust, yearning, and everything else packed into one single kiss, but above all else there’s a promise. A promise that Eric will come back to you in one piece and with stories to tell.

The uber honks twice, basically forcing you two apart and Eric frowns before opening the car door for you and helping you inside.

“Get her home safe please, I’m in love with her.” He says jokingly to the uber driver, before returning his attention to you for one more hug and a kiss on the lips.

“Bye baby, I love you. See you soon.” His lips are curved upwards in a smirk as he kisses you one more time.

“And who knows? Maybe when I’m a big time artist I’ll start flying you out.” He teases before closing the door and with that you leave Fragile Senses to embark on their journey with one less girlfriend in the mix.

You don’t feel happy but you also don’t feel sad. And as you sit in the back seat, letting some random woman drive you home, you remember that you still haven't checked out your picture since it’s been fully developed.

Pulling it out of your bag, you use the light from your phone to stare down at the group picture and immediately you’re giggling as tears roll down your cheeks.

Jisung looked more serious than he actually was with his girlfriend tucked underneath arm sticking her tongue out. Beomgyu was posed in a way that made it look like Subin was about to smack his ass while his girlfriend was throwing up the peace sign beside Subin’s dapper-looking boyfriend— the only one smiling like a normal person. Yoojeon was holding his guitar over his head while his girlfriend posed like she was screaming into a microphone. At the far end of the picture you were making a half heart against your left cheek while Eric’s lips were pressed to the other.

You loved it. The part you loved the most about it was how happy you looked surrounded by all of them. Three months wasn’t that long and even though you’d miss a lot, you were happy to have people in your life that they all wished you could come along for the ride.

[kybercrystals94]

Mundane Injuries

By KyberCrysrals

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2023 | Day 25 | Alternative Prompt: Broken

Rating: T

Words: 470

Summary: Tech is injured and Hunter makes him to go medical.

CW: dislocated or broken fingers…if those things make you squeamish, just skip this story :)

They sit in the waiting room on white benches that match white floors and walls. It is a flawed design, Tech thinks, for an area designed to contain wounded or sick soldiers. However, maybe being able to see the filth makes it easier to keep clean and sanitary.

He opens his mouth to make the observation out loud when Hunter cuts him off. “So help me, if you say you’re fine one more time…” the infuriating threat dangles in the air unfinished.

Tech rolls his eyes. “I was not going to say that. Although it is true. I’m absolutely fine.”

Hunter growls. “Your finger is broken. Your index finger is literally horizontal to your body.”

“Dislocated,” Tech corrects him. “It’s actually quite fascinating.” He gently prods the injured finger.

“Gah, Tech, stop!” Hunter protests.

“I could likely set the injury myself if you were not so adamantly opposed to the idea. Really, coming to the med bay is a waste of time.”

“Tech. You are injured. This is not a waste of time. Stop touching it!”

“But…”

“I don’t care. Stop!”

Tech wonders how the sergeant can possibly be so squeamish about something so uninteresting as a dislocated finger. They see worse in battle on nearly a daily basis, but here is Hunter, face drained of color as he looks away with a barely concealed gag.

“What is your issue?” Tech asks, genuine curiosity overcoming his annoyance. “This is rather a mundane injury…although grotesque. You’ve quite literally seen worse.”

“I don’t know,” Hunter admits, gaze still averted to the far wall. “Maybe because you’re treating it like it’s nothing—”

“Which it is…”

“Not the point,” Hunter snaps, “It looks terrible and you’re treating it like it’s no big deal.”

“It isn’t — and looks can be notoriously deceiving. Internal wounds are often far deadlier than external. This is an excellent case in point.”

Hunter lets out an aggravated huff. “I should’ve made Crosshair bring you to medical.”

“He would have let me pop my finger back, or even done it himself.”

Hunter rolls his eyes. “What did you even do to dislocate your finger like that?”

“Irrelevant,” Tech says evasively.

“I think it is incredibly relevant, and as your commanding officer…”

Tech has never been more relieved to have his CT number said over the speaker calling him back, effectively cutting Hunter off before the order could be made to reveal that Tech dislocated his finger attempting to arm wrestle Wrecker. (The two promised each other they would not tell anyone about the unfortunate turn of events). Tech does not intend to break his promise.

But to add insult to literal injury—Tech’s finger is broken, not dislocated. Having to admit the fact to Hunter somehow hurts more than the injury itself.

Especially the smug look on his sergeant’s face.

END

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista

✨Let me know if you want to be added to my Tag List!✨

[roastbeasts]

for the ask game: 4, 10, 14, 32!! and feel free to send me some if you like (no pressure) :D

4. who is/was your most intense sapphic crush?

i think the most intense crush i had (sans my partners obviously) was on this girl jenna at summer camp when i was like 13. she was like this fat buff bisexual who deadlifted me once for a talent show we were doing. she had a bunch of scars from various accidents & not-accidents that covered her arms and her shirts were extremely big on me but i loved wearing them bc they smelled like her. we dated ("dated" in a summer camp way) for a month or so and then i completely lost contact with her i hope she's butchin it up still

10. did you do anything gay as a kid that makes sense when you look back on your childhood?

the only thing i can really think of was fucking OBSESSING over fictional women and denying the fact that i was a lesbian the entire time. the first woman i ever actively obsessed over was astrid from httyd at the ripe old age of 9, then tigress from kpf at 12, then lucina from fire emblem at 13-14, ema skye from ace attorney at 15, and so on

14. list five things you look for in a partner, or five things you love about your current partner(s).

i have two partners! i love them both dearly. here are 5 things i love ab them:

i love gawain's sense of humor. by far the funniest person i've ever met by a longshot

i love how gawain is always willing to fight for me. no one in my life has ever really done that before

gawain is also a colossal artistic inspiration to me. his art owns supremely in a way that i don't have the words for

gawain is one passionate guy. just like in general. ab causes, ab me, ab doing stupid shit in video games. i love it

also he's hot as fuck. like insanely hot. drop dead gorgeous

i love charlie's gentleness. he's like full of kindness always

that being said, i love charlie's small kindnesses. he's got a tag for my art on his blog

i also love charlie's dedication. he'll send me those dunmeshi blingee things every morning and even if i can't / don't respond he just keeps doing it and i never want him to stop

i love charlie's art. he's a writer and that is something extremely beyond me but reading his writing is always a treat

most of all i think i love charlie's laugh. i don't think i've heard anything quite like it

32. tell a funny story about something really gay you’ve done.

not to bring up jenna again but she would literally ask me questions like what my bra size was and if i was into girls and i was so fucking oblivious at the time (our whirlwind romance happened the following summer) i just thought it was like a #girlthing to have conversations like this. she'd invite me to sleep in her bunk w her. we made candles together. also the deadlifting thing. and i left that summer very sure of my heterosexuality somehow

shoot me a number and i will bear my lesbian soul

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Kinda (REALLY!) in the mood for werewolf bakery owner!Leo

TH Masterlist

“Malen’kiy, some things, da, don’t work.”

Hush! I’ll have it make sense. I’ll be drawing mostly off of the small head canon I’ve already established for him, though.

In a nutshell, for those who’ve missed Conversations over Coffee, you live together with Leo in a big cottage in a more remote part of the Cotswolds. You’re his supervisor in the WHO’s reintegration program for the supernatural. He’s a fugitive werewolf who’s been given asylum and is slowly starting to warm up to you.

But now I’m thinking you also inherited, aside from the house, a rather dilapidated building in town from your late grandmother.

Having always loved baking, you’ve decided to pursue your dream and turn it into a bakery.

This is where Leo also comes in because he’s been a major help during the building’s renovation and setting up shop. Believe it or not, but he’s actually quite handy. 

However, he took the joke of ‘having to earn your keep’ literally, resulting in working himself to the bone.

“Leo, I didn’t mean it,’’ you told him when you finally managed to get him to sit down for a break. ‘‘I was just pulling your leg.”

“You weren’t.’’

“I was.”

“Net. I don’t remember you pulling on my leg.’’ He squinted, utterly confused. ‘‘You did not touch my leg.”

“Not literally! A joke, it was a joke! You don’t have to keep exhausting yourself like this. I’m grateful for your help, but I won’t turn you out if you don’t help out at all.”

“No, I will continue to help.” He looked into his tea cup, his voice lowered and his words slower. “Because this is my dream too.”

“How do you mean?”

You didn’t expect him to open up, knowing well how reserved he is. So it came as a surprise when he breathed in deeply and told you a bit about himself, his past.

“Back in Russia, I wondered what I do, net, would do without the KGB. I used to help my grandmother in her bakery, you know? Run around town delivering bread and pastries. It made me happy. But then you grow up and that happy little pup had to learn how to survive in a cold world.”

“I can’t bring back the boy you once were, but I’d very much like it if you’d become my business partner.”

“You would?”

“Fancy trying?”

He hummed then, one of the few times he’d shown his delight. “Da.”

Though he’s good at baking too, Leo busies himself with coffee and tea while you whip up pastries and cakes. Nevertheless, both of you make sure there’s plenty of Russian pastries (Leo’s territory you refuse to dabble in) to choose from too.

He has plans to teach you how to make his favourites, rogaliki & kartoshka. However, he’s still waiting for the right time and first wants to have more trust in you before he teaches you the recipes taught him by his mother and late wife, Raisa.

Yes, indeed, he’s a widower.

A secret he keeps safely locked away.

A burden he hopes to one day shed somehow.

Female customers go insane during the summer because Leo unconsciously shows off his sturdy and lightly tattooed arms. Usually he wears a long-sleeved shirt or a button-up one, of which he rolls up the sleeves. However, once it gets warmer, he’ll switch to T-shirts.

Which are all black, the only pop of colour being from the print on them.

Wee note on the tats: he’s gotten a couple more since he moved in, most of them on his upper arms and torso.

Prefers appointments on Sunday so you can tag along and it won’t interfere with business. Basically, he makes a day trip out of it.

Or a holiday for both of you to enjoy if the tattoo artist works in a studio that’s too far away.

Refuses to enlighten you about the reason why he got a sparrow on his left peck, right over his heart.

Nowadays often leans in closely when you’re taking orders at the till. Occasionally, at random and no matter the person, he’ll put one of his big wolf paws on your waist, just within sight of the customer.

Nonetheless, there’s a philosophy behind the new form of intimacy. The more he starts to trust you, the more he feels drawn to you.

You’ve given Leo a new chance at life and he’ll do his damned best to protect that.

But there’s one aspect of it he’s fiercer about than anything else.

You.

Because it means nothing to him if you aren’t there

With him.

Tag List: @potter-solomons @hecatemoon87 @vir-tual @alikaheroes @buttercup32sstuff @woofgocows @zablife @liliac-dreamer @dreamlandcreations @elijahssuit​ @ilovemanypeople​

[maoist-mizer]

Mid-Year Book Freakout 2023

tagged by my beloved, @hauntedmoors 🫀

1. Best book you’ve read so far this year?

Probably We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson. I was already familiar with her since I remember reading The Lottery in high school, but this story really blew me away. I can’t wait to tuck into more of her writing, and just in general more gothic fiction, and just the weird and freakish overall.

2. Best sequel you’ve read so far this year?

I haven’t read many novel sequels this year, and none of them stuck out so I can’t really list anything. But I would say the second saga of Chainsaw Man, as a sequel, has been a highlight.

3. New release you haven’t read yet?

I’m such a loser, I literally got A Day of Fallen Night signed in person by beloved Samantha Shannon and I still haven’t read it yet 😭😭😭

4. Most anticipated release for the second half of the year?

I don’t really keep up to date with upcoming releases, I just find out Somehow like through tumblr or my Goodreads mutuals, but I do know that the next Heartstopper volume is out sometime this year, so I’m looking forward to that.

5. Biggest disappointment?

I have three for this: Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi, Pet Sematary by Stephen King, and Vengeful by V. E. Schwab.

BtCGC was immensely boring, especially the writing — I guess you could say it’s own hype killed it for me. I heard that it was initially a play, or something along the lines of that? If so, then I think I can confidently say that with how it was written, it did not suit the medium.

Pet Sematary also disappointed me for not living up to its expectations as there’s this short section before the story starts where King basically says it’s one of his darkest stories yet and blah blah it chilled him so he had to put it away for a while before publishing it, so, obviously, I was quite excited!

But, once I actually got stuck into it, it just didn’t really stick out to me as anything special, well, at least compared to coming off reading Shawshank Redemption and ‘Salem’s Lot. Plus, ableism is quite rooted into this one so at times it just was difficult to enjoy, personally.

As for Vengeful, I felt that it was an unnecessary sequel. It didn’t add to Vicious, if anything I’d say it detracted from the overall story by following around all these new characters when what made Vicious so fun was the dynamic between Victor and Eli.

6. Biggest surprise?

I’m Thinking of Ending Things by Iain Reid was quite unexpected. It wasn’t one of my favourites so far from this year, but, regardless, was a big surprise since it deviated far from my expectations.

7. Favourite new author (debut or new to you)?

Sayaka Murata. I loved Convenience Store Woman and Earthlings so I’m intrigued for any future projects of hers! It was interesting how fundamentally similar these two books, like two sides of the same coin, but told in two very different ways. Fantastic stuff.

8. Newest fictional crush/newest favourite character?

Merricat my beloved <3 (also Fami and Asa)

9. Book that made you cry?

I’ve never cried while reading soz

10. Book that made you happy?

Love & Autism by Kay Kerr. I just felt very seen reading this, being able to identify myself within the pages. It also felt special to me since for once it’s not a book about autism addressed to allistic people, it’s a book about autism, written by an autistic author, for an autistic audience.

Tagging: @swordfaery @ignorantsackofeyeballs @moodymika @sarenite (no pressure if you don’t want to do this, also if you just see this post and want to do it feel free to continue the chain)

[three--rings]

I posted 4,302 times in 2022

That's 545 more posts than 2021!

519 posts created (12%)

3,783 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thebookewyrme

@summerstede

@chocolatepot

@havealittlebitofeverything

@chubsthehamster

I tagged 4,146 of my posts in 2022

Only 4% of my posts had no tags

#ofmd - 1,049 posts

#our flag means death - 907 posts

#blackbonnet - 441 posts

#kinnporsche - 222 posts

#the sandman - 136 posts

#dracula - 130 posts

#word of honor - 129 posts

#beyond evil - 127 posts

#shl - 125 posts

#山河令 - 116 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#but literally i thought one of the ideas of a parliamentary system was the ability to vote parties out when they fuck your entire country up

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

For all those newly obsessed by Johnathan Harker’s Worst Business Trip Ever, I have to tell you about my favorite piece of published Dracula fanfic, The Dracula Tape by Fred Saberhagen. 

The premise is that Dracula accosts some folks in the 1970s in order to give His side of the story and it’s recorded on a tape deck. 

It’s hilarious though, because it’s basically like “Look, Johnathan Harker had No Idea what was going on.  He didn’t even speak the language, but somehow he claims to know what people were saying to him?  Cause he knows a few German words?”  And like “look I was just an innocent vampire trying to buy some property and he jumped to All Kinds of conclusions, really.”

And like it makes...a lot of good points about the novel, actually.  (Like it wasn’t ME that killed Lucy, maybe it was those experimental blood transfusions that didn’t pay any attention to BLOOD TYPE, VAN HELSING.)

So yeah, highly recommend it after you’ve read the original. 

2,090 notes - Posted May 6, 2022

#4

You know one thing that occurred to me watching Sandman so far is that someone out there is going to watch this show and be like “ugh why did they have to put so much gay shit in it, this is just typical of 21st century woke politics cluttering up everything” and not realizing this is just how the comic was in the 19fucking80s.

There’s a reason us baby queers attached so hard to it when we were in our teens, okay?

3,181 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

#3

Because I just read a few AO3 censorship related posts in a row...

I’m not sure antis and people who want to remove certain things from AO3, like any content with anyone under 18, understand WHY those of us who are Of A Certain Age, aka the people who created AO3, fight so hard on this stuff.

Like I don’t think they understand that we have LITERALLY SEEN THIS BEFORE.  People spoke up before about “child porn” aka anything involving any character under 18, or even stuff with aged up characters like an adult Harry Potter, but people assume Harry Potter is always 12 or whatever. 

And when those complaints were made ALL adult content was wiped.  FFN suddenly wouldn’t host ANY explicit fics.  No matter how healthy, how fluffy, how consensual and adult and whatever.  Just Nope.  Things were wiped from existence.  LJ randomly wiped entire blogs for being reported, banned users based on the say of Conservative Christians who shouted pedophile at the gays.

What happens when people try to remove objectionable material is that it ends with having no home for ANY explicit material.  It’s happened again on social media under SESTA and FOSTA in the name of preventing sex trafficking.  In the name of keeping smut out of the Apple store. 

Archive of Our Own was founded to be a home for content that wouldn’t be hosted elsewhere.  Where you could put something and not fear its deletion the first time someone happened upon it and reported you for whatever reason.  Where no one is going to judge whether your fic meets some subjective standard of purity, so long as it’s tagged appropriately and is legal content in the US (which all written fiction is.)

We watched so many communities destroyed, websites erased, content lost and then a new generation comes along and is like “hey let’s do this again” and we’re like NO WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU INSANE?

They’re never going to accept your gay porn about other people’s fictional characters just because you got rid of that “icky” stuff you don’t like.  You’ll still be a freak for it.  You cannot respectability politics your way out of your shame and embarrassment at being associated with something others see as dirty.  You’re going to have to grow up and just accept it.

5,135 notes - Posted August 14, 2022

#2

Okay, Gen Z, younger millennials, please tell me, are you aware of what the title Ms. means? And how to pronounce it?

Because I just listened to several young 20-somethings pronounce it Miss and talk about how it means you're not married. And...I'm feeling weird about it, considering that's the title I use.

(It means my marital status is none of your business. I use it because I'm married but I kept my maiden name so I'm not Mrs. anyone.)

18,990 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

You know, watching Goncharov entirely through the medium of tumblr posts shared by people I follow isn’t significantly different from how I experience a lot of media these days.

Goncharov, House of the Dragon, equally real to me.

21,706 notes - Posted November 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[tgon]

The Nightmare Room #11, Scare School | Review

Title: The Nightmare Room 11 – Scare School

Author: R.L. Stine

Cover Artist: Tristan Elwell

INTRODUCTION

William George Crush conceived of a publicity stunt in 1896 where he would slam two uncrewed steam engines into each other. Something to the tune of forty-thousand people showed up to watch the spectacle. Three guesses which State this was in. When the boilers exploded at the moment of impact, two people were killed by flying shrapnel. Wikipedia generously describes the outcome as ‘unexpected.’

The spirit of Billy Crush is alive and well online. In fact, MrBeast slammed a train into a giant pit earlier this year, but his kill count remains at zero ⁠(for now). Crush’s disregard for human life is more embodied by pranksters like Kan-Hua Ren, who made headlines when he tricked a homeless man into eating toothpaste. Shockingly, he and Crush both skirted jailtime.

There’s undeniable horror to these anecdotes. Stunts and pranks become terrifying when they’re taken too far. Thankfully, this next story is strictly fiction, but it taps into the same horror. Today’s entry sees a young man tormented by a relentless prankster.

STORY REVIEW

Sam was expelled from his last school after a heated “shoving match.” He’s right up there with Dennis The Menace and Two Gun Crowley. His new school resembles a prison, but this is the only place that’ll accept him. Sam is shocked when he arrives and is confronted by a tiny green monster. Shovers can’t be choosers, Sam. The creature tags our protagonist and runs off. If it stayed a moment longer, it’d be in for the shoving of a lifetime.

Sam gets to class and asks some valid questions along the lines of Why was that hall monitor green? Everyone else wants to change the subject. At lunch, Sam is horrified to learn his potatoes are crawling with beetles. Kid, that isn’t the only beetly surprise this week. He’s shocked once more by a secret message etched into his meal tray. It says: “READ MY LETTER: WHO WILL DROP FIRST?”

This is shocking to Sam because how could a beetle have written this message if they don’t even have thumbs? A girl named Tonya explains that the message actually came from an evil imp who has decided to torment Sam. I made a joke about a literate beetle, and somehow the real explanation sounds less plausible. Eventually, Sam has another close encounter with the imp. It becomes a clothes encounter when the little dude steals Sam’s coat. Sam responds by shoving that imp so hard its tail pops off. Sam is now doomed to be pranked to death.

Things get wackier. Apparently, people will send live animals to Sam’s house because Sam’s dad used to work in a zoo. Nobody asks for permission, mind you. He just randomly recieves animals in the mail. And it’s important that they’re with him because ????. This is how Sam’s family accquires a rabbit. The rabbit is only in the story so Stine can do a fakeout where Sam finds bones and thinks the rabbit was killed, but the rabbit has actually been taken to the top of the school flagpole. And the rabbit is only at school in the first place because Sam’s dad demanded he bring it to school to show off. If Sam doesn’t show off this rabbit at school, that’d mean the poor thing was traumatized by FedEx for no good reason. But where did the bones come from? Who was bones?!

If you went back in time and tried to describe this story, they’d either form a religion around you or burn you at the stake. Imagine staring at a pilgrim and trying to explain any of this. “Imps can disguise themselves as human, but they choose names that reveal their true identity. The DROP FIRST message that Sam recieved was actually a clue to drop the first letter in their name. Tim Poster becomes Imposter! I forgot to mention there was a character named Tim Poster. Do you smell smoke? Why are my legs warm?”

Sam uncovers an imp infestation, meaning there are at least four villains. If you’ve seen Scream 6, it was a little like that. This revalation comes to a head the night of the band recital. In front of the whole school, four imps encircle our hero and dance around him. Not a regular dance. A menacing dance. Sam gains the upper hand when he turns the ordeal into a silly dance. The whole crowd assumes this is part of the show. They laugh hysterically. Since imps can’t stand to be the butt of a joke, they wither away.

The principal congratulates Sam on defeating the imps and asks if he can help the school with its troll problem. This is explained in one paragraph on the last page.

THE VERDICT

On a blog dedicated to weird books, this is the weirdest one I’ve reviewed in at least a couple years. I appreciate that aspect of it. Then again, I wonder how I’d react if I read the book while experiencing a headache. I’d probably throw it so hard against the wall it’d blow clean through and smack a pedestrian half-a-block away.

Have a happy Halloween!

BEST QUOTE

“It’s war,” I said. “Me against the imp.”

[kooldewd123]

Lurked on r/196 literally since its creation, but I never really was part of the sub culture at all. Just grabbed some memes whenever it showed up on my front page. Anyway

1. Name? People usually call me Kool around here.

2. Pronouns? He/him

3. Sexuality? Aroace

4. Country? US of A

5. Top 5 fandoms? Let’s see, Pokemon and Sentinels of the Multiverse are definitely my top two. It changes around a lot, but let’s put the other three down as animation, general Nintendo, and Animorphs.

6.  What is your most forbidden snack? I work in a microbiology lab. The agar and broth smell super yeasty, but sometimes it’s subdued enough to convince me it’s edible.

7. Would you pet a bug? Probably, yeah. If it wants pets, who am I to deny it?

8. Share a weird fact/story about yourself with the class. You know those things they have in kids waterparks where water flows through a channel and you can change the flow of the water by flipping paddles up or down? One time, an unsupervised child (I was a teenager at the time, for reference) walked up while I was distracted looking for my brother and jammed my finger in the hinge. The skin was pinched so tight it didn’t clot properly, so now I’ve got matching scars on either side of my pinky.

9. What does the color blue taste like? Cool and refreshing.

10. What’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? Going hiking in Maine. As an funny extra bonus, the trip somehow ended up coinciding with E3 2018, so I literally saw the “Everyone Is Here!” announcement live at 360p in the middle of a rocky clearing on the side of a hill.

11. What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done? There was a solid chunk of time as a kid where I insisted Monopoly was pronounced with the emphasis on the first syllable instead of the second. My family still teases me about it sometimes.

12. What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard/seen someone else do/say? Gimme some time and I could list off a dozen instances of my friends (and myself) being idiots. First one that comes to mind is when two of the girls in our group wanted to test out their pepper spray, and did so by spraying it in my toilet. When they flushed it, it sent a plume of pepper spray through my entire apartment and basically turned it into a miniature gas chamber. The two of them obviously got the worst of it.

13. Hyperfixation Song? There’s a couple of Owl City tracks I could list here, but The Tornado in particular has not left my head since it released.

14. Is there any meaning behind your profile picture and/or username? My pfp (once I change it back from Misha Collins) is the Nekoluga, a character in a mobile game I like called The Battle Cats. I started using it based on a joke with some old friends.

I made my username when I was like 7 or 8 and “cooldude123″ was like the peak of my creativity. “Cool” later became “Kool” because it looked kooler, and I stole “Dewd” from the name of a VBS Bible Buddy. No, I’m not joking.

15. Dream Career as a Child: Author or scientist

16. Dream Career as an Adult: I’m not really sure. Honestly, part of me wishes I could go back to being a student and just learn a bunch of new stuff.

17. Thoughts on Cilantro: I’m agnostic.

18. Have you been banned from a location? One time some kids in fourth grade were trying to bully me, but I was so oblivious I didn’t realize it and as a result, it wasn’t affecting me. Eventually they got me in detention by framing me for punching one of them in the face, and my mom banned me from going to the four-square court on the playground so I would stop hanging out with them. Does that count?

19. What is your cursed food combination? I eat chips with a fork.

20. Trans rights? You’re asking me that on the website run by the trans mafia (affectionate)?

I think most of my mutuals from reddit have already been tagged in this thread so far. @atlas-sharted​ @eggothesquirrel​ @sgtmuffinz​ and if I missed any other former redditors, you’re welcome to join in too.

“I just came from r/196” ask game

Saw another post. I think I should invite y'all to one of our longstanding traditions. Answer the questions then tag 10 (or more) people. I'll go first.

Name? Frankie

Pronouns and gender? he/they/it, transmasc

Sexuality? Lesbian

Country? USA

Top 5 fandoms? Bungou Stray Dogs, Cosmere, All for the Game, Fundiesnark (not a series but I'm too deep in it to not consider it a fandom), .....the tornado fandom? (they're my special interest)

What is your Most forbidden snack? The preserved bones at the Atlanta Bodies Exhibition. They looked so crunchy...

Would you pet a bug? If it's big enough, it is pettable.

Share a weird fact/story about yourself with the class. I like to drive around rural areas and photograph old, sometimes abandoned locations in the dead of night. I have been literally chased out of towns by foot and by car on two separate occasions. The second time this happened, "See You Again" by Miley Cyrus came up on shuffle and that's the soundtrack my friend and I tore out of town to. Also every "guy" I've dated except for my most recent ex (who has big egg energy) is a lesbian now.

What does the color blue taste like? Creme brulee

What is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? The appalachian mountains of Tennessee in the middle of summer. There's kudzu everywhere. On the backroads, there were several old, dilapidated Baptist churches barely hanging to the side of the mountain. I wonder how many of them were still in use.

What is the stupidest thing you've ever done? Short version: my friend's house almost got broken into by this dude who'd been stalking us for months while we were home alone. Instead of calling the cops, we decided to confront him with a bow and arrow (me), a hatchet, and a baseball bat (him). The plan was that if it went badly, we would simply throw his corpse into one of the many lakes in the neighborhood and let the alligators eat his remains (this was Florida). Why? Because we were afraid of having our home-alone privileges revoked. Luckily for us all, the guy fucked off and we never saw him again.

Stupidest thing you've seen/heard someone else do/say? My ex thought that Jackalopes were real. Also, a nurse I was doing rotations with apparently thought that "Witness Protection" was for Jehovah's Witnesses.

Hyperfixation song? Young Enough + Bleach by Charly Bliss

Is there any meaning behind your profile picture and/or username? Profile pic; I'm transmasc and I'm currently obsessed with TriStamp. Username; It was my fake internet name when I was like 13. I won't change it because I want my mutuals to recognize me, and because I do have a viral post associated with this name.

Dream career as a child? Doctor (funnily enough I'm now in nursing school)

Dream career as an adult? Professional Jester. Not a comedian. I just want to be some weird little guy who dresses silly and you can hire me to roast your boss at work parties.

Thoughts on cilantro? Delicious

Have you ever been banned from a location and if so, why? I honestly can't remember? Probably... but in recent memory I've mainly banned people from places.

What is your cursed food combination? Pineapple on a hotdog with grilled onions. It Slaps.

Trans rights? TRANS RIGHTS

Tagging: @rocket-mankoi @mostlymarco @atleast8courics @jazzlike39 @gemsweater72 @limbobilbo @ameliaaltare @redcrane112 @theoneofwhomisblue @twinkenjoyer @theultimatecarp and anyone else who wants to jump on

[genshrineimpact]

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, xiao, itto

◇ tags ◇ comfort, modern!au, not lovers, dub-con (-ish?) setting (not with the character)

◇ a/n ◇ fully self-indulgent definitely not bc i'm trying to cope haha no. remember to set your boundaries and be firm about giving consent out there, yall. also changing my format a bit bc this looks prettier don't mind me

'i want to be loved'

like many others, you try so hard to find the one - maybe a little too hard sometimes. you push down your fear of strangers and put up a smile upon meeting new people, register on all the dating apps you could get your hands on, and make an effort to keep in touch with others.

and yet failure seems hellbent on following you everywhere.

today is such a day. after pushing yourself to meet someone you just met on an obscure app, you return back home with disappointment and a heavy weight in your chest.

you can still feel their hands around you, far too close to your liking and on the areas that are bordering scandalous. though you've tried to set some boundaries, hand holdings turned into hugs (you can feel something press against your crotch but you shoved the thought into the back of your mind - it's just your imagination, right?), hugs turned into cuddling (you tried - really tried to fulfill his request to straddle him, but you just couldn't), and staring into each other's eyes (and the whole time your brain kept repeating how wrong and uncomfortable this felt, so you finally relented and pulled away).

somehow disgusted with yourself, you decided to step into the shower and stayed there for a whole thirty minutes, before finally heading off to your best friend's house, intent on venting about the disastrous date to hopefully get it off your mind.

zhongli lets you catch your breath after getting everything off your chest before serving the tea into your cup and his. with a practiced motion, he takes an elegant sip from the delicate glassware, prompting you to follow his motion. you inhale across the steaming cup, savoring the aroma before taking a small sip of the hot liquid, letting the taste spread across your tastebuds. it goes down smoothly and you give your friend across the table a thankful smile, upon realizing that he had served you one of your favorites.

"i do not agree with this person's courting methods either. such… intimate touches should preferably occur between lovers, in my opinion. i'm sorry that happened to you - but please know that it isn't your fault that the date went south."

"mmm," you lean back on your seat and sigh, "… you know, maybe i should just give up. meeting all these new people just sucks all of my energy and in the end, it's just going nowhere."

"if that is truly what you need at the moment, then i will fully support your decision."

there's a twinkle in zhongli's amber eyes, and you thought you had imagined it, but the next few words coming off his lips felt as if a meteor had just crashed on earth right in front of your eyes.

"forgive me for being pretentious, however - if you are open for just one more date, i would be more than delighted to show you how you deserve to be courted."

"what's he look like? i'm gonna give him a good punch for-"

"no, no, no one is punching anyone!" you laughed, "it just didn't work out. i tried to push my boundaries and it made me uncomfortable, so it's not anyone's fault…. well, maybe it's my fault."

"what, no! no no no no," itto looked downright scandalized, "listen, yeah? you tried something new and didn't like it, that's normal!"

"yeah… i guess……. thanks, itto. talking about it really helps," with a groan, you slump onto the surprisingly plush sofa of his abode, tucking your legs into yourself, "i think i should take a break from all these… dating stuff."

"y-you think? i mean yeah, totally, you should!!" you're unprepared for the sudden burst of excitement that itto is suddenly displaying, but the way his eyes are literally sparkling coupled with that bright grin makes you smile in tow, "so does this mean you're free this weekend?!"

"oh. yeah, i guess so."

just as the words leave your lips, you're hauled up into the air momentarily by your friend's strong arms before being enveloped into a bear-crushing hug, itto's happy voice ringing right by your ears, "aww yeah!! let's go visit that ramen stall nearby? we haven't gone there in sooo long!!"

you can't help but compare the hug you're currently in versus the one you were given this afternoon. they're both far too tight, teetering the point of suffocation, really, and yet…

… huh. for some reason, hugging itto didn't feel wrong….

"that's a stupid behavior on your part," xiao's voice is cold, and it's like he's doused you with ice-cold water, "what would you've done if he hadn't bothered to ask before putting his hands on you? you met with this guy just yesterday on the app, agreed to have him drive you to a secluded place you don't know, and you just let him-"

"i know i'm stupid! it's just-" you sigh, wrapping your arms around you and wilting under the cold glare, "-i just thought i'd be okay with it. o-or get comfortable enough to do it after some time…. i dunno…"

"…. you want to have a boyfriend that badly?"

you restrain the urge to nod feverishly and blurt out 'yes, and preferably you', and decide to settle with a meek 'yeah' instead.

"hmph. how stupid."

shoulders slumped, you mumble dissatisfactions under your breath, completely missing the way xiao gazing at you with a certain tenderness in his eyes.

"maybe you should look harder then."

"i am looking! you know i've been going to countless dates these past months!"

"i meant to say," he looked away pointedly, "you should look closer, or something."

thank archons for his hoodie and long side bangs - otherwise, you would've seen his completely red ears.

© genshrineimpact | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated - it's the least you could do as a reader on tumblr. remember, likes do nothing on this website! feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

[treasakamoto]

deceptive / armin x reader

18+ nsfw/ mdni

authors note: this is literally my first post ever! I’ve always enjoyed reading these fics but never felt confident enough in my writing to write my own. also I’m a major armin simp so this was fun to write. (Also note it’s my first time so if there are any warnings not listed that you think I should include- let me know!!). Please don’t hesitate to request any fics- I want to get better! - odette

warnings/ tags: smut, breeding kink, rough sex, afab reader

Armin was deceptive. He played the role of the innocent bookworm so well. While he was genuinely sweet, and always had your best interest at heart- his brain was still his greatest weapon. You’d seen it on multiple occasions growing up, you’d been one of the first to see how powerful his mind was.  He always knew what to say or do for things to go according to his plan. 

Maybe that’s why it was so easy for you to fall in love with him. As a cadet alongside him, you’d always found him cute. Something about the way he lit up when talking about the world outside the walls made your heart flip in your chest. The more you attempted to flirt, the more flustered he became- and so you had assumed he wasn’t interested. 

Then he died.

Well, kind of (not really). You had been convinced he’d been dead. When he became the newest titan shifter, you had decided to confess. Almost losing him was the worst experience of your entire life, and you were not going to spend another day lying to yourself or hiding feelings behind a brick wall. 

You’d been officially dating for four years, but you had really been his for much longer than that. And as you quickly discovered, he wasn’t actually that innocent. But that only made you adore him more.

“Stay still, princess. You’re doing so good.” His voice is sweet as always, even though he’s fucking you like he despises you. He had thrown one of your legs over his shoulder, hand tightly gripping your ankle to keep it there. His cheeks are pink and he’s  making sounds that are immensely filthy, but he’s showing absolutely zero signs of stopping. 

“Armin, I can’t-,” you let out a moan before you can even finish. “It’s- ah!”

He’s relentless, his other hand reaching out to roughly grab at your tits. He continues to pound into you. His hair is disheveled, deeply contrasting his normal very put-together look.

“Doing so good, baby. Doing so good for me.”

You squeal as he gives your nipple a rough pinch before pulling out and flipping you over onto your stomach. Before you can even process the shift, he’s slamming back into you- hitting spots that had your head spinning. Your face is beyond red- it’s almost embarrassing how turned on Armin constantly makes you. 

“Mmm, fuck, I’m not going to last much longer. Princess, where do you want me to cum?

Before you can even realize what you’re saying, you moan out, “Inside- please, please inside me!”

A sound almost resembling a growl escapes his lips, and somehow he starts fucking you even harder. “Yeah? Want me to fill you up? Want me to put a baby in you?”

“Yes, ‘Min, please-ah!”

“I can do that, baby. Wanna make you mine- want everyone to see you and know you’re mine.”

God. This sends you over the edge, and you’re coming. You’re moaning uncontrollably and clenching hard around Armin’s cock. His hands feel electric on your body and all you can think about is how badly you want him to breed you.

Armin isn’t too far behind you, and you hear his breath hitch as he starts cumming deep inside you. He rides out his orgasm and his grasp on you tightens to almost a bruising degree. The sounds made as he fucks you is somehow dirtier than any porn you’ve ever seen, and you’re convinced you’ve fallen even more in love with him.

He pulls out slowly, and immediately admires his work. You’re completely fucked out, lying limp in his bed with his cum dripping out of you. You’re so effortlessly beautiful, and somehow you chose him. You’re seconds away from sleep when you feel Armin sit you up against his chest. He’s holding a glass of water to your lips, which you gratefully accept.

After he dotes on you, you find yourself dozing off in bed, his arms wrapped around you tightly. 

[salazarslytherin]

full (r.l x y/n)

requested: yes! [hi i got a request! can u write a smut where remus has a breeding kink and he’s scared that it’ll freak the reader out but she’s actually rlly into it n he just cums a lot into her (this is probably the spiciest thing i’ve ever typed in my life 💀💀)] send in your own request here!

🃛 masterlist!

cw/tw: tiny bit of angst at the beginning, insecurities?, breeding!kink, slight degradation, fem!reader, handjob, fingering etc. just SMUT.

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i hope you like it y'all! if you do, pls do reblog/follow!! x

☯︎ join tag list here tag list: @marvelslut16, @siriusbarnesslut, @marimorena06, @weasleysbitch2, @reg-arcturus-black

Remus had been avoiding you for the past three days. Three days since you’d spoken to your boyfriend, two and half since you’d even seen him. It sucked.

The reasoning behind it was somehow worse - you’d tried to tell him you wanted to sleep with him, and he had literally run away.

So you were set on finding the boy and talking it out , and if it came to it, breaking up with him.

You didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t want you, especially to the extent of intentional avoidance.

You were in a relationship, not an extended game of hide and seek.

So you’d concocted a plan - Tuesdays were when the other boys had quidditch practice, and Remus would be in his dorm on his own for at least three hours, studying, doing homework, or whatever it was that he would do on his own.

Now, today was Tuesday, which meant that tomorrow morning you’d either be very satisfied, or very single.

You weren't even quite certain what you'd expected to come out of the confrontation – a screaming match where you found out all the reasons why he didn't want you? A startling confession where you found out that your boyfriend was a virgin?

Nevertheless, you stalked towards the Marauders' dorm room, intent on confronting him, only to falter as you reached the heavy doors, hearing sounds coming from the other side.

Registering what the noises were, you ground your teeth loudly, clenching your jaw as you gripped the doorknob.

"Oh fuck off."

⚔︎

You slammed the door open, Remus rolling off his bed in shock at the sound.

"Are you joking?!"

Remus looked at you in confusion and fear, kneeling beside the bed with his head peeking over the side, a sheepish blush coating his cheeks.

"Um, Y/N, do you mind? I was kind of in the middle of something..."

You let out a laugh of exasperation, throwing your schoolbag on the ground in frustration.

"Yeah, I know. I could hear you outside. Am I just so unattractive to you, that I basically tell you to fuck me and you had to run away from me? You'd rather fuck your own hand than me?!"

Bending over to pick up your bag, you could practically your heart breaking as Remus scrambled to put on his pants.

Your fears had been confirmed – he didn't find you as attractive as you found him, and it hurt. You just wanted to run far, far away from him, to hide yourself away and be able to release the tears that were threatening to escape.

But as you turned to run from the room, that familiar grasp landed on your wrist, stopping you from leaving the dreaded place.

"Y/N, wait–"

"No, I get it, okay? I don't need to hear you say it out loud."

Your voice cracked as you tried to wrench your hand out of the werewolf's grip, unable to hide your sadness and hurt as you were turned to face the boy.

"Y/N! Please, let me explain myself, please. If you want to leave afterwards, you can. I just, please?"

You didn't really want to hear his explanations, but some masochistic, yet hopeful, part of you wanted to know just why he didn't want you.

Maybe you could change for him?

You relaxed in his arms, still not quite looking into Remus' arms as you no longer made any attempts to run away.

"You're right, I did run away from you when you said you were ready to sleep with me."

Your eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to hear the rest of his words.

"But that's just because I was afraid you wouldn't want to be with me anymore if I told you what I wanted."

Your eyes opened slowly as you lifted your head to look at the boy, your brows furrowed in confusion as you peered at him.

"What d'you mean?"

It was Remus' turn to become flustered now, his hands moving from your side to cover his face in embarrassment.

"I–okay. You know how you thought I ran away from you because I didn't find you attractive?"

You nodded, still half-convinced that was the truth, the reason why he'd avoided you for so long.

"It, it was the opposite."

You raised a brow in disbelief, unable to stop a skeptical laugh from escaping your mouth, Remus' hands falling away from his face so he could look into your eyes.

"It's true! I, fuck this is embarrassing, and you're probably going to run away from me if I tell you the truth."

You crossed your arms with a huff.

"Well right now I'm not quite certain there is a 'truth' that you speak of! I'm quite certain you're just making it all up, trying to hide the fact that you think I'm unattractive."

Remus grit his teeth, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly as if to shake you awake.

"No! That's absurd. I, I find you so bloody attractive, and, fuck it I'm just going to say it and if you break up with me I won't even blame you. I've been having dreams of you and I, but in those dreams," Remus' hands relaxed from your shoulders, falling to his side in embarrassment, "I would, um, cum inside of you, and uh, fill you with my pups."

Your jaw fell open at the boy's admission, his right hand rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably before continuing to speak.

"And I've never even thought of that before! I think you're just so bloody hot that you've awoken some sort of primal instinct inside me, I just want to ruin you, and–and breed you. Fuck this sounds so creepy doesn't it."

You were incapable of shutting your jaw at this point. This was far from what you thought you'd hear from your boyfriend's mouth today.

"Y/N... I've scared you away, haven't I? I mean, of course you'd be freaked out..."

The boy continued to mumble to himself, terrified that he'd ruined your relationship, certain that you'd break up with him.

Contrary to what he thought though, you found his words incredibly hot.

And you'd be damned if you didn't make that a reality.

⚔︎

In the middle of Remus' ramblings, he was barely able to register that you'd moved towards him, placing your hands onto his cheeks until your soft voice rang in his ears.

"Remus?"

The brunette's eyes snapped to meet yours, gaze darting between each of your eyes as he awaited your words.

"Fucking ruin me, please."

Before the last word even left your mouth fully, Remus was already on top of you, his lips capturing yours hungrily, like you were his first meal in weeks and he was dying to have you.

As Remus devoured you, he backed the two of you onto his bed, his legs lodged between yours as you gripped onto his neck, eager to have him.

You arched your back as you were overcome with need, trying desperately to grind your clothed cunt onto his hard-on, but the boy only tutted at you, moving away from your lips to push your hips down on the bed.

"Such a desperate little slut, hmm?"

You only whined in return, trying to grind into his legs that were between you, Remus smirking down at you.

"Take your clothes off love."

Your hands moved to unbutton your school shirt without a second word, fingers moving in a flurry to throw it off before tossing your bra across the room, Remus moving at very much the same speed as he removed his clothes.

You both quickly found yourselves naked, admiring each other through lust-filled eyes as the boy lowered himself slowly towards you, his lips ghosting over yours as you laid yourself back down.

"So beautiful."

His lips quickly captured yours, both your hands exploring each other's bodies for the first time – tingles of excitement running through your bodies.

Your hands traced his scars as his ran down your curves, him stopping to suck in a breath as you cupped his cock, fully hardened under your fingers.

"Fuck, don't tease me Y/N."

You only licked the boy's lips in return, but was treated with a taste of your own medicine as his hand brushed your lower lips softly, tracing your slit teasingly slowly.

"Remus... Please."

Your cupped hand became a grip – encircling the werewolf's member as you began to pump up and down his shaft slowly, eliciting a low moan from Remus.

He responded by slipping a finger into you, the kiss broken as both your lips were preoccupied with a mixture of swears and moans, asking the other to hasten their pace as you two built up your orgasms.

"Wait, fuck stop. Stop Y/N."

Remus' other hand came to stop your hand as he kept himself up on his knees, pulling away from your close contact to look into your eyes.

"'m too fucking close, wanna cum inside you."

You swore you could feel your eyes darken at the boy's words, and so did his.

"Then fuck me."

⚔︎

Remus gripped your thighs tightly as he kissed down your body, spreading your legs and leaving a kiss on your soaking centre. You let out a shaky moan as he planted his tongue against it, licking a stripe up your lips.

"For next time."

The boy moved back up your body, his head hovering over yours as he looked down at his cock, pumping the already erect shaft before tracing his head along your lips.

"R-Remus, please. Want to feel you inside me."

The boy tutted at you mockingly, before sinking himself inside you slowly, moaning at the feeling of your walls stretching around him.

"Fuck, you're so tight baby."

You moaned around him in a mix of pain and pleasure – his fingers not at all preparing you for his cock, stretching you in a way that none of your exes could ever compete with.

"You're so big Re, please, fuck."

Remus pressed a wet kiss to your forehead, his face contorted in pleasure as he awaited your green light to start moving.

After a moment, you nodded as the feeling of being full sent tingles down your spine, letting out a loud moan as the boy began moving out of you slowly, shifting himself so he could grip your hips more firmly for support.

"F-faster."

You muttered out as you clenched your walls around Remus, your orgasm already building from when he prepared you.

"Yeah, my desperate little slut wants me to go faster?"

His hips hastened the speed as his words made you whine loudly, his head lowering to leave kisses on your neck, marking you for the world to see.

“I’m close Re, fuck.”

“Me too princess.”

The boy buried his face into your neck as he began twitching inside of you, his speed faltering for a second as he let out a moan that could border on animalistic, cumming inside you.

The feeling of being filled more than you knew possible pushed you over the edge as Remus continued thrusting his seed deeper into you, moaning as your walls fluttered around him, cumming at the feeling of your boyfriend inside you.

"You look so fucking gorgeous right now love, such a good little cumslut for me, hmm?"

You could only whine in response as Remus continued fucking into you, his cock hardening yet again at the thought of you full of him.

"Gonna look so pretty filled with m'pups, love. Going to fill you up over and over and over again, watch my cum leak out of you because of how full you are."

You moaned at Remus' filthy words, turning to kiss his neck, softly nibbling on his earlobe as you gripped onto his shoulders.

"Yes Re, fuck. Fill me up, feel so good with you inside me. Making me feel so full. Wanna have your pups, want you to cum inside me. Make me yours Re."

It didn't take long for a second orgasm to start building, and it definitely didn't help that Remus had moved one hand to start rubbing at your clit, making you moan at the overstimulation.

"Feel good, hmm, love?"

You nodded into the boy's neck, your eyes squeezed shut as pleasure coursed throughout your body, unable to process proper words. The only sounds that filled the room were the sinful slaps of skin against skin, and a faint noise that made you blush.

It was the sound of Remus' cock slipping in and out of you, slick with the combination of both of your cum.

"Re, I-, fuck, close, again."

Unable to string together a proper sentence, your walls began fluttering around Remus yet again.

"So am I love. You feel so good, making me lose control. Wait for me, we'll cum together."

Your eyes rolled backwards, waiting for Remus. The task seemed impossible as pleasure pulsed throughout your body, your toes curling and legs shaking at the feelings.

"Re, please, I need to cum so badly. You feel so good."

Your nails dug into Remus' back, the feeling burning into him and making him groan into your neck.

"Yes, fuck Y/N. Cum with me love."

Finally able to release, you let out a moan that bordered on pornographic, seeing stars as your eyes squeezed shut much harder than before. You felt ropes of Remus' cum hit your walls, another animalistic groan reaching your ears as he bit into your neck, making you moan softly in the midst of a post-orgasmic bliss.

Panting, your chests rose and fall in tandem as Remus fell on top of you, his cock limp inside you. After a moment, he spoke up.

"Y'know you squirted?"

Your eyes shot open, staring at the boy who craned his neck to look down at you.

"I-, what?"

The werewolf let out a boyish smile, tongue running over his teeth as he stared down at you.

"It was hot."

[etherealeeknow]

the fwb rules

• rated m for mature

• pairing: fwb!hyunjin x fem!reader

• wc: 4.559

• tw: explicit language, light characterization of an insecure reader, unprotected piv sex (stay safe, lovelies!), fingering & oral (f), nipple play, cream pie— i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: last time i said long fic isn’t my forte and this time i’ll still say the same hahahahaha. but still, i hope i don’t disappoint 🥺 please kindly note that english isn’t my first language. therefore, i apologize for any mistakes. feedbacks are always appreciated because i’d love to grow! thank you for waiting and enjoy 💞 pretty banner made by my bestie!! ilysm 😽😽😽

• tag list: @charlieshelves @es-kay-zee @formidxble @oh-my-sparkle @bobateastay @http-hyxnjxn @lyralurexrattle @hyunsluvv @healinghyunjin @sailorhyunjinz

—

what happened to the rules?

it didn’t start off like this. you can’t remember when exactly you started wondering about the five word question. all you know is that you were one bite away from gobbling a spoonful of jisung’s ice cream when it struck you: since when did you and hyunjin stop going by the rules? he’s been occasionally texting you out of the blue lately just to know what you’re up to, and today he even asked you to stay the night at his, and as much as you want to believe they’re all normal, again, it didn’t start off like this. from the beginning, you and hyunjin have come up with three rules so your relationship can work: one, be very casual. two, no strings attached. three, no fucks given outside of the, well, literal fucking. but look at you now, lying naked and out of breath under his blanket while facing his ceiling, driving yourself insane over the haunted question. you have to get it off your chest somehow, but how? 

“hey, why so serious?” asks the culprit behind your overthinking, causing you to jump slightly over his sudden appearance and your hands instinctively pull up the blanket to cover your naked chest, which as a result, makes him chuckle. cute. “here. it’s my cousin’s,” adds the topless man as he sits on the edge of the bed and hands you a white shirt that even under the dim light, you can already tell won’t fit you.

“your cousin? the model? hyunjin, she’s tiny,” you utter, hands still gripping onto the blanket. “i’m—“

“you,” he cuts you off, placing a hand on top of yours while carefully glancing at you to make sure you there aren’t any signs of discomfort. “are fine, y/n. now hurry up. i’m sleepy,” he adds before letting go, leaving behind a lingering warmth on your knuckles.

nodding, you turn your back on him to change, and the room falls silent, causing you to hear how fast your heart is thumping even more than it should have. is it because you had too much coffee this morning? or it can probably be because the shirt is too tight that it’s cutting off your air circulation, right? right, of course. you tell yourself because as much as you dislike both reasons, they are still far better than having hyunjin as the cause.

once you’re done, hyunjin already has his back lying against the bedhead, his head tilting slightly to the side, avoiding the light coming from the night lamp on the bedside table, while his eyes bore deeply into yours. unbothered that he’s been caught staring, he averts his gaze downwards till they reach your chest and spot how your nipples are sticking out through the thin fabric.

“see? it fits you just fine,” he says, turning his vision back to your face as he opens his arms and motions them at you, only to have you remain in the same position with your increasing heartbeat.

“aren’t you gonna, uh, wear something?”

instead of a proper answer, all you get is his laugh—hyunjin’s contagious laugh that usually always succeeds in making you laugh too. but today hits differently. has his laugh always sounded this lighthearted before? no matter what the answer is, one thing for sure is that despite how sweet hwang hyunjin and his laugh are, they have never made your cheeks burn like this before, and this is forbidden. it’s against the rules.

“an hour ago we were naked while sucking each other’s face, y/n,” he finally answers after a while. “besides, i always sleep like this. now, come on,” he adds, repeating the same gesture, except this time his hands are open wider, eager to have you near him again because the space around him is starting to make him feel lonely.

complying with him, you fall into his embrace and hyunjin immediately lets his hands travel to the exact places of where they want to be—one around your head and the other around your waist. despite the room turning less cold with his warmth directly passing onto you, your heart and cheeks conditions remain the same especially since you can hear how hyunjin’s heartbeats are beating just as fast as yours when he lets you lay your head on his chest.

“hyunjin,” you call out, hands fiddling with the collar of your shirt.

“y/n,” he replies, replacing the collar with his fingers instead, intertwining them with yours.

what happened to the rules?

“do... do fwb do these?” you ask, the bravery in you finally decide to show up, even just for a little.

“do this?” he asks back while squeezing your hand with all his might, as if he’s nervous.

no. not ‘this’, but ‘these’. not only the hand grabbing, but also the fact that he asked you to stay the night, that he’s cuddling you to sleep, and that you’ve been getting unusual symptoms over them until this very moment.

“yes, this,” you nod and hyunjin becomes muted, but his heartbeats are growing louder, and his grip on you has become tighter.

after what feels like forever, he whispers, voice slightly cracking, and hands getting a little colder, “yes. yes, they do.”

then the two of you become muted, but both heartbeats keep growing louder, and everything stays that way until sleep eventually takes over.

—

as a homebody, you’ve always against the idea of sleepovers. you believe home is the sweetest place and your own bed is the comfiest even when your mattress is older than a decade and your favorite plushie has had too many holes here and there. but waking up in hyunjin’s bed has broken your stigma—never in your whole life that you’d have thought someone else’s bed can provide you twice the comfort.

“looks like someone had a good sleep,” chirps jisung as he sits beside you, causing you to wipe off the smile on your face before going back to your laptop.

“wow suddenly my best friend’s a psychic?”

“hey, that’d actually make a great drama title!” he exclaims and you roll your eyes. “please do spill the tea though. what happened?” he adds.

“what happened?” you ask back, eyes still on the screen, but the corner of your lips are on the verge of breaking into the smile, knowing full well he’ll complain—which he does by lamely calling you a meanie.

laughing, you tell him nothing happened, but the way he rolls his eyes is a sign he’s not taking any of your bullshit. you are telling the truth though. besides spending the night with each other, nothing really happened, right? it was just another casual fucking session. yes, it was amazing, but that’s no news for jisung. the guy’s practically your wingman—setting you up with hyunjin was his idea because he believes you should, “live your life. have that dreamy college sex orelse you’ll regret it like my old man changbin!”

right on cue, a notification popped out on your big screen, and the sender’s name makes your heart pop too.

“aha, see!” jisung points at it. “y/n, where are you?” he reads out loud, earning yourselves all the eyes from every other student in class.

“oh my god, jisung. shut up!” right when you’re about to log out from the chat app, hyunjin sends another one.

“can i call you?” jisung reads once more and you’re only one second away from smacking his head, but your vibrating phone holds you back.

shooting jisung a glare, you make sure to close your laptop before leaving the class, answering hyunjin’s call even when you’re still half way through the door. right when you’re about to greet him hello, hyunjin beats you to it—his voice a bit raspy, but the softness in his tone still lies within, and it creates endless questions in your mind.

has he just woken up? so is this how he sounds in the morning? why is he calling?

and the list goes on because this isn’t like hyunjin at all. sure, he’s not validating the rules, but he’s breaking his character despite already alarming you to anticipate morning booty calls from him at times. he’s never actually done that though. 

“hi,” you reply, startling yourself with how small your voice came out.

“you left,” says hyunjin and you can hear him sighing from the other line, which somehow causes a slight pang in your heart, wondering if perhaps he is disappointed. “can you come back? wait, actually, let me go to you instead.” he says and you can hear the rustling sounds coming from his side.

“hyunjin, i have class. that’s why i left. i—” should you apologize? but why should you? casual, no strings attached, and no fucks given, remember? “i’m sorry.”

“oh.” hyunjin stops on his track before plopping back down onto the bed, smiling. “i’ll pick you up after class then. when will you finish?”

unconsciously, a smile creeps up your face too, but the realization hits you right after, then followed by the five word question, and you know—you know this is your guts telling you that now’s the time to ask him about it, but your heart hates confrontation. plus, wouldn’t it be rude to reply to someone else’s question with a question? “hyunjin, are you, uh, horny?”

just like yesterday, hyunjin laughs, and with the raspiness in his voice still present, he doesn’t fail to make you laugh along, but at the same time waking the butterflies in your stomach and makes you rethink your decision. mayhaps, you should’ve left him a note or told him that you’ll leave early in the morning; or even, you should’ve ditched classes today and stayed so when he wakes up, you can get him a glass of water, not leaving the boy uncared for like this. but who are you to do so? 

“isn’t it normal for a guy to have a morning wood?” he jokes before quickly adding that he’s not horny. “i just want to see you so let me go get you.”

pressing your lips together, you contemplate on whether you should let him. if you do, won’t you be turning whatever the two of you have right now into something far more complicated? but it’s only until hyunjin adds a desperate “please?” that all of your dilemma disappears, as if you’re being cast into his spell—“okay.”

—

while heading to the gate, you have the biggest urge to book a massage appointment. dodging jisung’s questions and running away from him after the first period was draining, but having to spend the day running back and forth between two buildings because thinking that volunteering as the lecturers’ teaching assistant was draining on a whole new level. other than feeling like your legs are gonna come off, your mind also feels like it’s gonna blow off—you can’t stop recalling all the things you need to start working on as soon as possible, but stepping into hyunjin’s car turns everything to 180 degrees.

you’d like to think that it’s because of the faint lavender aroma coming from his car freshener along with the heavenly cool air conditioner, but no. you know full well it’s because of the way hyunjin’s smile lit up, his eyes disappear into two small crescent moons, and his blonde hair which is becoming one with the warm orange sky that brings peace to your heart.

“hi,” he breathes out the moment you close the door, and you do the same except for looking at him, which causes hyunjin to furrow his eyebrows while speeding away.

the way home is silent, just the way you like it, but you know full well that it’s not hyunjin’s cup of tea. he doesn’t need to say it, his action is showing it all as he’s been fidgeting non stop, wiping his sweaty palm along his jeans while occasionally licking his plump lips. hyunjin’s a very vocal person. he’s talkative and loud—including in bed. you press your warm cheeks over the realization of your own thoughts, embarrassed. you can’t possibly suspect hyunjin for being horny in the morning when you yourself are being like this in the afternoon. it’s uncalled for.

noticing you from the corner of his eye, hyunjin calls out, asking you if there’s anything wrong, totally catching you off guard. what should you say? lying is not your forte, but being honest clearly isn’t the best option right now, at least, not before you shower and appear presentable in front of him—but wait, since when did that matter so much? a few months ago, you even fucked after you ran a marathon.

“y/n?” calls hyunjin for the second time.

“look, hyunjin, really, it’s okay if you’re horny. you can pull over and i can, uh, relieve you and i can just take the bus home after,” you spit out shamelessly while looking at him straight in the eyes, eager to get far away from hyunjin as fast as possible before you go out of your mind.

just like the night before, hyunjin laughs. and just like the night before, his laugh hits differently and it does nothing other than burning your already burnt cheeks for the worse.

“i swear to god, y/n, i’m not horny. i genuinely want to take you home. nothing more,” explains hyunjin, head straight at the road but eyes repeatedly stealing glances at you. “and nothing less,” he adds, voice barely audible but you caught it.

“o— oh.” is all you manage to respond before the ride quickly turns quiet and hyunjin’s hands begin fidgeting again, all the while you’re trying to decode what he has just said—what does he mean by genuinely wanting to take you home? do fwb do this too? what happened to no fucks given?—and it goes on until hyunjin hits the break in front of your old apartment building.

“we’re here,” says hyunjin, breaking the silence by unlocking the car door.

“we’re here,” you repeat after him, already opening the door and setting a foot out. “uh, thank you.”

“don’t mention it.” hyunjin shoots you his signature smile the moment you lower yourself to meet his eye level from outside the car; this time, you have no choice but to fall under his spell.

“hey, uh, you wanna come in?” you ask, biting your lower lip as a way to punish yourself for being so indecisive. one second you want to run away from him and the next second you want to be near him. come on, get a grip.

as if the punishment isn’t enough, hyunjin declines your offer, all while chuckling with his head thrown back. “for the third time, y/n. i’m not horny. go in and rest up.” 

“if you say so.” you shrug, giving him a small smile before turning around, making sure not to look back, only to fail when you hear the engine driving away.

—

you can’t quite tell—no, you can’t tell. you don’t get it. there’s an unexplainable empty space in your heart that is caused by hyunjin’s rejection. is it because you’re just not used to see him without having to fuck him? or is it because you’re hurt over the fact that he’s not in the mood to touch you? is it because of last night? is he finally sick of your flaws? things would probably be different if you had retouched your makeup or at least combed your hair before seeing him, would they? either way, you’re fully aware you shouldn’t be torn over your friend with benefits, yet your aching heart says otherwise.

and so when the doorbell rings only a few seconds after you get in and the figure you see through the peephole is no other than the man in question, you spare no time to swing the door open. hyunjin, in return, spares no time to lock his lips with yours right after he utters a brief apology. just like the way hyunjin sneaks his playful hands down your ass, you sneak your tongue in his mouth, and your action makes him smile into the kiss as he leads you back into the room and kicks the door shut with his long legs.

the way to your bedroom is actually pretty short, but with your tongues moving in sync, bodies pressing—glued, even, and eyes continuously closing in pleasure, the short way to your bedroom consists of endless stumbling, tripping, and bumping the door. once inside, you break the kiss and are about to undress yourself when hyunjin beats you to it, settling you down on the bed as he begins taking off your attire one by one ever so effortlessly. and in just a matter of seconds, his lips are back on yours again, floral scented hair falling and brushing against your cheeks, leaving you no time to wonder over the fact that it’s the first time hyunjin has ever undressed you. 

as the kiss continues, you can feel yourself gushing more and more that you start grinding on him mindlessly, needing to feel more than just his bulge poking you. your hands leave his blonde strands to tug on his hoodie, only to have him stop you—one hand around your grip and the other rests on your hip.

“what do you think you’re doing?”

“need you. need to feel you,” you mumble, desperation so visible through your cracked voice. 

“what happened to the girl who was all flustered to sleep with me last night just because i was shirtless?”

autumn nights aren’t supposed to be hot, but hyunjin has proven he has the power to make the impossible happen just with his words and mocking smirk. but the rising heat on your cheeks is nothing compared to the emptiness you feel below, clenching around nothing surely isn’t the best feeling.

“please, jinnie,” you whine, tugging on his hoodie once more, hips moving against his hold.

“fuck.” is all he manages to say before getting off the bed to disrobe himself—hoodie and track pants thrown across the room, now showcasing his toned body and thighs altogether as he hovers over you.

“please take this off too. it looks suffocating,” you say, index finger running faintly through the bulge forming from his tight boxer, making it stand up even more and hyunjin has no choice but to obey you. “put your hair up too please,” you add just when he’s about to dive right back in, and again, your wish is his command.

biting to pull off his hair tie from his wrist, hyunjin smoothly ties his hair back and you’re only given a few seconds to admire his feature before his plump lips coming in contact with your hardened nipple while he toys with the other using his fingers—rubbing and pinching, making your breath hitch over the sensation, fingers digging into his bare shoulders because you don’t want to mess up his hair, and hyunjin’s low grunts pretty much indicate he’s loving it.

“more, please. give me m—”

hyunjin retreats his hand and tongue away from your breast, moving them to your naked pussy,  drawing circles on your outer labia with his middle finger. he teases you just enough and quickly slides in his digit and at the same time sucks on your clit right before you’re about to complain, making you tingle from head to toe.

“you hear that?” he asks, voice muffled, the effect of being too tongue tied from licking every part of your heat, but finger working its magic perfectly, creating loud wet noises from your fluid. “drenched. my pretty y/n is drenched,” says hyunjin, and as much as you want to comment on him for the pet name, you’re too caught up on how his lips vibrate against you the moment he starts palming himself with his unoccupied hand. if he keeps it up, you know you would come undone there and then, and you don’t want that—not yet. so you ask him to stop and he instantly does as told.

“what’s wrong? did i hurt you?” there’s fear written across his expression and heard from his tone, but you’d like to believe your eyes and lips are just playing tricks on you.

“n— no. i just,” you pause to avoid his gazes, but something within you pulls your attention back on him. “i wanna cum with you inside me,” you confess, voice barely audible due to embarrassment; all this time, it’s always been hyunjin to say such things, but perhaps, all the strange tension lately has finally gotten the best of you. you hear him mutter a low “fuck” while his pupils shakes for a brief moment before they somehow appear a shade darker. licking his lower lip, hyunjin pulls you by your legs and rests them on his shoulders, and proceeds to align his tip with your entrance, once again teasing your throbbing core.

the moment you whine is the moment hyunjin pushes himself inside ever so gently, but the stretching still has you throwing your head back, while hyunjin letting our airy moans upon your walls clenching around him. none of you can tell how it’s possible for your vagina to remain so tight after all the countless fucking session for the past half year, but hyunjin doesn’t find that troubling. in fact, he lives for that and it shows from the way his eyes roll to the back of his head as he begins thrusting in and out of you—slowly but steady, veiny hands secured on your hips, vision goes back and forth from your half-lidded eyes to your parted lips.

hyunjin leans down to kiss you for a couple of seconds, and when he lets go, he quickens his pace—leaning down once more so his length can go deeper in you, hitting your g-spot. at that very moment, you mentally praise yourself for placing the bedroom mirror right across the bed. it presents you with the magnificent view of hyunjin’s rounded, firm ass bouncing rhythmically whenever he snaps his hips, and placing your hands around them, squeezing them, nearly makes you drool over the sight. with hyunjin constant thrusts, the familiar knot in your abdomen starts to bubble up.

“oh my god,” the two of you whimper in unison as hyunjin begins to lose his tempo, moves also grow sloppy, but never once misses your spot.

“y/n, i— ah— i’m so close. fuck,” he breathes out, sweat forming on his forehead, wetting his baby hair down to his neck and chest, and you can only drool helplessly at the sight.

“me too. please cum inside me, cum with me, hyunjin, please, please,” you beg, voice a pitch higher, almost sounds like you strain your throat, and it stays the same. when you feel hyunjin twitch inside you, your hands automatically reach for the bed sheet again, but it only lasts for a second before they’re being taken by hyunjin’s own hands—he has never done this. while intertwining your fingers, his cock twitches again and his eyes roll to the back of his head, jaw falls open as he calls out your name—you naturally do the same, fingers pressing flat against his white knuckles

“hyu—”

“cum, baby,” he cuts you off, averting his hazy eyes on you, and that’s all it takes for you to break—your orgasm washes over you like waves and you cum undone around hyunjin, shaking and mewling altogether while feel the wet coldness around your inner thigh. hyunjin follows right after, shooting his hot cement inside of you; the man can no longer keep his eyes open as he buries his face on the crook of your neck, his choked moans bring music right to your ear all a while his hot breaths bring goosebumps to your unrecovered body.

after riding out your highs, none of you move. hyunjin stays on top of you, his chest rises and falls according to your hard breathing. somehow, it’s calming you down, but it shouldn’t.

“hyunjin, you’re heavy.”

“oh, sorry,” he chuckles and even without looking, you can tell his eyes are smiling too. with his remaining strength, hyunjin pushes himself up and rests on your thighs to pull his dick out of you, momentarily admiring the mixture of his juice and yours dripping down your cunt before fixing his eyes on you to study your face—also something he has never done before. 

“i’m sorry,” he mutters a few moments later, eyes now on you.

tilting your head, you sit up, resting your upper body with your hands on the bed. “all of a sudden? i came? you always make me feel good.”

“that’s what i’m sorry about. i— i didn’t mean to— i mean, i—”

you reach out to him, gently patting his thigh. “hyunjin, calm down. this isn’t like you,” you whisper the last sentence, knowing that perhaps, now’s the time to talk things out, to stop whatever is going on, and go back to how things are used to be, maybe? your heart’s just been restless for too long and apparently, hyunjin seems to be in a similar situation too.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to keep using you like this. i genuinely meant what i said. i only wanted to take you home, but we ended up here and—”

“isn’t that what fwb do?” you pull your hand off his thigh, and a frown painted across his face as if he’s questioning your question. “that’s what we agreed on. we have our fwb rules, remember?”

“one, be very casual. two, no strings attached. three, no fucks given outside of the, well, literal fucking,” says hyunjin, proving he has memorized every words to the back of his mind.

nodding, you carefully bring back your hand to his thigh, repeating the same movement you did before. “exactly. so you don’t have to be sorry. don’t worry, i’m not feeling used at all.” you end it with a smile.

hyunjin mirrors you, he smiles too; his eyes fall to where your hand is. “but what if i’m breaking them? the rules,” asks the boy whose cold hand is now on top of your warm one. “what if i like you?” his eyes find their way back to you, and that’s when you know. the difference between your temperatures; the difference between your smile and his—the sadness that lies within.

that’s when you understand. everything finally makes sense; every one of hyunjin’s unusual acts. the constant texts and calls, the undressing, the pet names, the facial expression, the hand holding.

what happened to the rules? feelings. that’s what happened. to hyunjin, it’s his feelings over the rules.

but you, what about you? the butterflies, the irregular increasing heartbeats, the flushing cheeks, the overthinking, the disappointment at some point.

“y/n,” hyunjin calls out and you don’t get to get back to him because he’s already an inch away from you, momentarily eyeing your lips before he closes the distance. once again, his blonde hair falls down, brushing against his cheek before meeting yours and it tickles you, but not in the same way as how his kiss tickles your heart; giddy.

what happened to the rules? unwanted feelings. that’s what happened. to you, it’s the unwanted feelings against the rules. and for now, the unwanted feelings are too strong for you to push him away, so you pull him close instead. for now.

—

gen’s masterlist

repeating this!! special note: HUGE THANK YOU for my awesome bestie for the banner 🥺💞💞 ily, bish!! thank you for being my beta reader too 😽😽😽