#peter dreary | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nouearth · 8 months ago

Text

let me in.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: peter struggles to balance between life and work, and it's ruining his relationship with you.

wc: 6.6k. genre: smut. warnings: andrew!peter, college au, established relationship, brief fighting, brief injury and blood mention (nosebleed), misunderstandings, peter reveals his identity, dry-humping, over the pants (or suit) handjob, body worshipping, lots of sweat, fingering, frotting, riding, spandex fetish, reader has a thing for peter in his spider-man suit!

You were starting to feel antsy. You could feel it—the nerves kicking in again. Anticipation—a suspension of doubt—made your hands clammy at first, but it was the time that made your hands clutch nothing but air. You rubbed the sweat off your hands onto your pants, your knees not so comforting with their pointedness.

Acceptance—when it was evident that Peter was late, again.

Birthdays have never been a big deal in your family. Sure, it was great that you had the privilege to live another year. To witness yourself grow older, to stand a few inches taller, to live a little more knowledgeable than yesterday. But growing up with parents who had to constantly work, well-late into the depths of night, it had never been more than a birthday wish that had greeted you in the mornings, and bid you slumber in the evenings. Since then, you knew not to expect anything.

If only Peter hadn’t made such a big deal out of it this year.

“Excuse me?” The familiar timbre of a voice speared your thoughts; deep and tunneling as you were transfixed on the glasses of water before you. Yours had been refilled, though a little sparse compared to Peter’s full cup.

Your eyes widened with feigned curiosity, a small smile plastered alongside to hopefully negate any annoyance from the waiter—because you expected what he was about to follow up with.

“Hey… uh,” he shifted on his feet awkwardly, eye bags weighing heavier than the last time he had checked up on you. You looked around, surprised by the amount of patrons who had filled the space around you while you were daydreaming. Laughter and smiles completely lit up the room. The dim lights were practically stationed in the restaurant for decoration, and seemingly to spotlight your ‘dinner for one’ status. “I’m sorry, but… we have no more tables to fill, and if you aren’t ordering soon, then we’ll have to give your table up for the next party...”

It was obvious that you weren’t, you hadn’t even torn into the buttery bread rolls that were piping hot forty-five minutes ago. Now, the fat had solidified into spotty, yellow clumps, though you doubt that would’ve been enough to detract from the quality of the rolls.

“Oh, I—“ You pulled out your phone to check your messages again. Nothing. Swiped down to refresh your conversation with Peter. The loading icon felt like it took forever, you half-expected that your phone was updating the thread with Peter’s messages that somehow got lost in the void of the restaurant’s spotty signal.

And nothing.

“I—yeah… uh. I-I’ll head out.” It was embarrassing. Even if the waiter had given you a sympathetic smile, you hated knowing that you wasted his time. You hated that you selfishly occupied a seat when someone else would’ve been done with dinner by the time you exited.

“Thanks—”

You hated that you had your hopes up for things to be different.

Again.

The night was dreary. Not even the wind had greeted you like the others when you stepped out. Soft and fluttering against your skin, but scolding enough to make you put your coat back on. Luckily, your apartment wasn’t too far from the restaurant, a fifteen minute walk at most if you speed-walked. Shoving your hands in your coat pockets, you then ambled along the sidewalks, wallowing in your feelings with a playlist that belted in your ears once you plugged your earbuds in.

You didn’t have the energy left to hurry home.

Once you crossed the last intersection, you felt a little bit more at ease. Seeing the familiar apartment complex at the end of the block picked your pace up a step more. You paused your music once you neared the entrance, just a turn away before you could finally bury yourself in your bed.

You reached into your pocket to grab your wallet. The weight in your palms instantly reminding you to deposit the cash tips sometime soon before the stretch of the leather had become unbearable to fit in your pocket.

Your walk slowed as your attention was fixated on your wallet, fumbling it open clumsily to retrieve your keycard. In midst, you caught a glimpse of a photo print of you and Peter, standing shoulder to shoulder with the biggest grins as Peter had a peace sign above your head, doubling as bunny ears. Honeymoon phase, they’d call it. Where you were beginning to discover more about Peter, and Peter was beginning to discover more about you. Likes. Dislikes. Hobbies. Memories. It felt like yesterday when you two were spending every second of your day with each other.

Now, it would be a miracle if Peter returned a call.

With the keycard in your hand, you turned the corner, and towards the entrance, the smiles from the photo print reflecting onto yours as you could vividly hear Peter’s pleas to retake them again. The flash of the cameras always made him blink.

If only you had been focusing on where you were going instead of the still image of the first memory between you and Peter, maybe you could have avoided the collision altogether when you approached the door. You suddenly found yourself on your back, facing the night sky as clusters of stars twinkled in laughter. There was a slight throbbing to your forehead, a mark you’d reckon would appear as purple within the next 12 hours despite the painless… pain.

“Oh god— I’m so, so, so, sorry! Let me—“ If the beating your face took to the door hadn’t snapped you back to reality already, the familiar face before you certainly pulled you out of your thoughts like whiplash once he helped you back onto your feet. Your vision instantly cleared of haze, as if his simple presence was your remedy.

“(M/N)?” Peter interrupted himself, his eyes widening. You could see the wheels turning in his head when the dim light spotlighted your features: eyes, nose, lips; flesh and bone that he was well-acquainted with.

“Peter—“ You took a moment to scan him. It was like all the other times he had been late. His fringe; stuck to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and water, the latter being a last resort to clean himself up. His knuckles; bruised and torn with minuscule cuts barely able to conceal the truth behind his scars. His necktie; clumsily done with the knots coming loose. Though, whether the silk unfurled by Peter’s own sloppiness, or by the increasing frailty of his fingers that had become susceptible by even the most delicate material of neckties; it was futile to mention it to him. You knew he’d shut you down with another excuse.

“W-what are you doing here? Are you okay? I-I’m so sorry—I was on my way to you and—Oh god, you’re bleeding!“ Breathless, panting, not only because he was panicking from running late.

But because of adrenaline. You could see it in his eyes. The alertness. The high.

“What—“ You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, only to see a smear of blood blotted across your skin. “Shit.”

Another thick drop splattered in greeting.

“Peter, it’s a nosebleed. You’re acting like I had my arm chopped off or something.” You’ve been applying pressure to your nasal bridge, pinching it tightly to barricade the stream of blood. All while you had your head tilted over Peter’s sink, in case of the blood leaking past your hold. “And how long does it take to find a cotton ball?”

“I’m trying—“ His one-sided game of hide and seek with the bag of cotton balls was leaning in favor of the latter. Medicine cabinet: empty. Bedside drawer: foreign coins and bills. You were watching him from the corner of your eye, a small limp to his step when the lightbulb seemingly lit up overhead and had him dashing towards the kitchen.

“Found it!”

Peter’s touch was delicate. Tender, like the forming bruise on your forehead. He was adamant on taking care of you, even if frankly—you would’ve done it much faster had it been a solo endeavor. Cotton balls were plugged up into your nose, and a warm face towel was laid across your forehead. If an intruder had the audacity to rob Peter’s apartment, you’d imagine you would find yourself lucking out. Peter joked that you looked like patient zero.

“All done. See? Nothing to cry about.” He was joking again, the smug smile across his face a clear indication of it—and the laugh that he couldn’t help but contain.

“Ha. Ha. Thanks, Dr. Parker. Now, how much do I owe you? I’m paying outta pocket.” For a brief moment, you forgot that you were upset earlier. All because of how nice it was to actually see him again. He pressed a kiss to your lips, a comforting gesture if his constant apologies weren’t enough. Stay focus.

“So, about dinner…”

“Oh,” Disappointment softened Peter’s smile. You could see it tightening, even as he was organizing his room. Though, it was really a matter of tossing his clothes on the floor back into the laundry basket. “Listen, my… bike got stolen and—“

“Peter…” You sighed, pinching your nose bridge because you feared another avalanche of a nosebleed incoming. That, and because it helped you maintained your composure. “You said that the last time. Three times, actually.”

“Third time’s… the charm?” He was joking. Again. But even he wasn’t laughing at it because he’d been cornered. Called out. Embarrassed that he thought that would even work on you. Embarrassed that he thought he could get away with it.

Again.

“Peter.” You called out, straightening your posture against the headboard of the bed when he sat at the end of the mattress. Shit, it’s happening.

“I… I don’t know how to…” The veins in his hands, they lined perfectly to the cuts, scrapes, and bruises on his knuckles. Clear as day now that he wasn’t hidden under a dim light. “I just…”

He had his hands around his face, rubbing his temples, his cheeks, his nose, anything that could alleviate the accelerating drill of his heartbeat.

You were hopeful to get an answer out of him. A proper explanation. But it pained you, knowing that in a few seconds—what he would tell you would only confirm your yearning suspicions of his strange behavior.

He doesn’t love you anymore. He’s cheating. You’ve become a nuisance, an absolute bore in his life. Actually, you’re a bad influence on him. You’re holding him back. He needs to let go of you to accomplish better things. He never loved you.

It’s happening. It’s fucking happening. All he has to do is say those words. The dreaded five words you’ve heard once from him in a nightmare.

I want to break up.

“If you want to break up, just say it.”

It sounded softer in your head, but the tears that had welled in your eyes finally bursted into droplets. They ran down your cheeks, and your voice broke during its pursuit.

Something commanded you to let those words slip out.

Maybe it was the ghost that you and him had been theorizing about since the night you’ve helped him move into the apartment floor above you. Carrie; you nicknamed her, and Peter would scold you for doing so because he had the suspicions that giving her a backstory would ultimately reassess his home as a possessing ground. To this day, he swore he saw a shadow looming in the corner of his room on a perfectly stormy night.

Or maybe it was the months of frustration that you had accumulated, snowballed because of your own selfish reasons to continue being with Peter for as long as you could, even if you saw the signs, because you couldn’t bear to see yourself without him. Live, when you two had promised so many futures together.

“What? No, (M/N), that’s not—“ He jolted up at the mere mention of separating from you. There was a chill. The room suddenly felt colder, and then warmer—scorching hot, when the glossiness of your gaze reflected into his. He began joining you by your side. “Hey, hey, I would never—“

He broke into a cold sweat. He’d never seen you like this. And to think that he was the root of this—of your pain—it was all overwhelming.

“Peter, there’s always something going on with you. Y-you don’t text me for days. You ignore my calls. You disappear without telling me. You’re always late. And… you’re always hurt? And you think that I’m dumb enough to not notice that you aren’t? How you’re limping? How you’re always bruised and—For god’s sake, Peter, I’m just as smart as you, we have the same GPA and—“ You took a breather, a gulp because you were rambling now. Your cheeks felt hot, from your sudden outburst and from embarrassment, because the latter half of your rant immediately negated the idea of some kind of affair.

“Okay, maybe you aren’t cheating, but—“ You felt him tug you into his arms, but you wouldn’t budge. Instead, you pushed away, edging to the other side of the bed to face him.

“I would never.” He sighed, his arms dropping as soon as you removed yourself from his embrace.

“Then what is it? You’re leaving me in the dark here. I barely see you anymore, you know that?”

“I know.” He was biting his lips. Chewing, as if he was internally debating something. A decision that could either ruin you, ruin him, or both.

“Then?”

You waited. Watched his fingers fiddle with one another as he continued turning the screws in his head. Your heart would jump whenever he would open his mouth, anticipating whatever had caused so much turmoil in his life, but there was a last minute decision that kept him silent.

Crickets.

Nothing.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re doing. But you’re getting hurt and I’m just… worried.” Your gaze dropped to his hands again. Pale, veiny, and full of life yet they’ve looked like they’ve been worn out. Torn. “At least tell me it’s not gambling.”

“Well—in a way with my life, it kind of is like gambling—“ He thinly smiled, hoping it would at least make you crack a smile.

“Peter!” You scoffed, nudged his side with your elbow out of frustration, then surrendered when you brought your knees up to your chest, and buried your head in between your knees. “Not funny.”

“Okay, okay, just… you can’t tell anyone.” His voice softened.

“We all know that between you and I, you’re the one with the running mouth.” Your voice muffled in the space between your legs, hands tucked around your nape.

“I’m serious, (M/N)” Pleading now, he held your hand in hopes to get ahold of your attention again, squeezing so you’d look at him. You do.

“I won’t tell.” It was a promise. Peter didn’t need you to clarify because he could see it in your eyes, honest and sincere. Determined, as if you were willing to protect him.

“Okay… and also, don’t… freak out.” Peter was off the bed now, wandering in the middle of his room as he rolled his shoulders back, relaxing the muscles in his back like a wrestler preparing for his next fight. He gestured for you to follow him out to the stairway, out into the cold.

“Why would I freak—“ There was something around his wrist. No, wrists. You thought they were watches, but there were two devices around him. They were strapped with a similar black leather to your wallet, to Peter’s, and a red button protruded in the middle of it. “Peter, what are you—“

You stopped a few feet before Peter, watching him closely, yet afar. Afraid, yet intrigued. Concerned, because he was on the ledge of the staircase now, perched like an animal. Yet there was a grin on his face. Not crazed like a madman considering he was acting like one, but foolish. Goofy, giddy like the times he’d hide stuff from you, and wait until you’d notice it was gone.

“Like I said, don’t freak out.”

“Peter, what are you even—“

With that, he opened his arms like wings that spanned across his back and flipped into the air as if the wind would carry him across city to city. As if he was recruited as a sponsor to the heavenly gods with the incredible height he’d taken off in, pursuing the clouds, the wind, the stars, and the night simultaneously all in multiple slings.

Into. The. Air.

Into the fucking air.

You raced forward with a yelp, as if you would’ve made it in time to catch him. To catch his hand before he fell. To hold him one last time before he’d land on the ground and shatter every bone in his body.

If he had landed.

No, you blinked once—twice—no, at least in the double digits because this was all a dream. It was all a dream, right? That you caught a glimpse of Peter somehow slingshotting himself from window to window, from rooftop to satellite, like it was a mundane day job one had to endure to put food on the table, to pay the bills.

Right?

You paced around the stairs, raced towards one floor to another, bending over the railings because—Peter disappeared. He was gone. If he had smashed into something, you would’ve heard him. You would’ve heard him in yelp in pain. You would’ve heard the metal railings shake. You would’ve heard him cry for help.

Instead, you heard the sound of wind. Whistling as it sailed leaves to the west of you.

As if it carried a hint along the way.

“Peter?! Peter—Fuck, fuck!” You followed the sound of the whistle. The source of the pitchy sound. Fluttering when your head spun closer to the note, wavering when you were getting colder, then peaking when your gaze lifted, higher, and higher, until it landed on him.

Peter.

Peter, perched over the rooftop of the apartment complex like a bug. The moonlight framed his silhouette, emphasized the texture of his suit; protruding grids that encased him like a nest; and you’ve never been more intimidated.

Red and blue spandex tightly-fitted over the muscles and body of the man you have been more than well-acquainted with. You’ve seen it before. It was familiar. On the news, on the papers, on the internet.

“You’re freaking out!” He yelled out, clearly amused in your frozen state of shock.

He peered over at you with a smug grin, aimed directly at your bafflement before pulling a mask over his head. It was the icing on top in rendering you utterly incapable of stringing up any words. The lens of his mask reflected off of you, mirrored your astonishment in clear display, and you sensed that would be a memory Peter would be carrying to his death bed.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Okay, so, just to clarify,” You were winded, still recovering from the heart attack Peter had nearly given you after he took you on for a stroll in the night. Into the sky.

Luckily his bed was right beside you. As soon as your legs gave out, you fell back into his mattress, and stared into the ceiling, speechless. Peter joined you after, bringing you into his arms. He’d always been aware that touching you in any way or form brought you back to reality. “You are… not a cosplayer?”

“Honestly? That would make me way more money than what I’m making right now.” You couldn’t keep your hands or eyes off of him. Peter was still in his suit, and that gave you the perfect opportunity to run your hands over the webbed texture of the spandex.

“Just a few more months until my lease is up. I can move in, and that’ll help with the rent. For both of us.” It felt like silicone, or rubber. Whatever it was, it was durable considering how thin it felt in your fingers when you rubbed it in between them.

“Just like that? You’re not mad?” Your hands came to a halt when Peter suddenly took them, and rested your palm on his cheek, coincidentally on the cut that you’ve never noticed.

“Why would I be mad?” Quieter. Your voice mellowed into a whisper as you catalogued the amount of beatings his skin had taken. Caressed the marks you were too selfish to notice. Exhaustion wore on his face, and yet he never looked so peaceful as he gazed into your eyes.

Pretty eyes, Peter thought. Ones that could motivate him to get back up after falling. That feels nice, when you pressed a kiss to his damaged skin. A touch that made him believe there was a reason to suffer, to be great, to be all of this.

“Well, for starters, it’s your birthday and… I completely blew it.” Peter closed his eyes when you began brushing his hair back, knotted in cold sweats, but you fanned your fingers out to undo them until they felt somewhat tidy in your strokes. Smooth and soft. He sighed, “Again.”

“Can’t entirely blame you. How would I look if I were to complain about missing you, when you’re out there risking your life for everyone?” It wasn’t a question, but you wanted him to look at you. To respond. And he does, when you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and he returned it with a silken one, a following grin. “All I wish for was that you told me sooner, I guess.”

“Yeah,” He figured he’d save the details of the ‘friends’ he had made along the way some other time. For now, it was all about you. “Wow, you’re not even going to wish for me to be safe?”

“Hey, you know what I mean! That’s a given.” You rubbed at his chest, finding yourself quickly accustomed to the scales of his costume. The red was striking against your palms, comforting almost.

“Still. I want to hear you say it.” Peter rolled onto his side and slipped an arm under your back, scooting closer to you. His signature goofy grin never failed to knock a similar one out of you. And unwillingly drawn out, when he began pinching at your sides in quick snips.

“Stop—“ You laughed, your hands occupying themselves to defend your body from his quick attacks. But Peter was fast, avoiding your arms and hands to find another opening that you’d abandon. “Stop, stop! Stay safe! Happy?!”

Closer and closer, you found yourself beneath him, framed by his body as he took your arms above your head and pinned them secured with his tight grasps.“Incredibly.”

Your legs spread open to make room for his body, only for Peter to wrap them around his waist, to press his body into you, kissing you like he was driven to steal your breath.

“This your way of making it up to me?” You broke apart from the kiss, only briefly, before the taste of Peter, the softness of his lips reeled you back in for another kiss. Languidly paced until one’s accelerating lust for one another had taken ahold of the wheel and shifted gears, into a weightiness that kept your mouth parted open while Peter’s impulse to explore you had become evidently clear.

“Problem with that?” He’d been driving his hips into you, grinding his front with your own. Both clothed, infuriatingly covered, but the pressure in between your bulge and Peter’s was too pleasing to ignore. Too satisfying to make him stop. “I should take this off—“

“No, wait—“ You grabbed his forearm when he reached back to unzip his suit. To be honest, you never thought about how he even got in or out of the suit in the first place, but that was beside the point. Something about this suit, this costume, whatever you wanted to call it; it was a turn-on.

The way it fit snug against Peter’s body; how every fiber of muscle was stretching the material to its limit. Maybe you were just turned on because you associated it with him being a hero. For god’s sake, that was as much of an aphrodisiac one could be if you happened to be saved from a falling tower.

Or maybe, it was simply how Peter looked in it. Unabashedly handsome, yet himself, seemingly courting you further into his webs, as if he hadn’t already from day one.

“Keep it on. I like it.” You muttered, fiddling with the collar of his suit. It was snapped on tight, but you managed to slip a finger or two past, to pull at it with a stretch.

“Then how are we going to…” He abandoned the few inches he had unzipped, providing a small relief to the squeeze around his body while his broad back was bare and tense towards the ceiling.

“Then, you’ll take it off. But for now, I just want to…” One hand was on his nape, pulling him down for another heated kiss, while the other traveled south between your body and his. Further, lower, until you cupped him at his crotch. Rubbing, squeezing, and palming at the thick, growing center. “Want to try something…”

You could feel him smiling, a crooked one flattened against your own grin when he whispered, “I should’ve told you sooner, shouldn’t I.”

“You think?”

You were getting harder, your pants beginning to tighten around the center as you palmed him. It was a heavy handful in the beginning, but Peter’s bulge began to unfurl. It didn’t take long, didn’t take much of a stroke for him to unravel from his tuck and thicken into a full-blown erection towards the left side of his thigh. It pointed downwards, the plump head evident through his suit, and you were beginning to drool in Peter’s mouth at the haziest image of it.

“Come on, I need to get out of this… It’s killing me.” It wasn’t like Peter to beg. It was charming, cute, sexy, all the synonyms that could describe how you felt all day and every day about him, and you squeezed, because he wasn’t being patient with you.

“Birthday boy gets what he wants, don’t you think?” He winched into your mouth, and you swallowed him. Swallowed every ounce of breath, and breathed it back out with a kiss. Sloppy, heavy, your tongue weighing on his because you wanted to keep his lips apart, mouth open to hear his moans.

Peter grunted again once you began stroking his cock, touching him like it was a delicate plate of chin. Fingertips only, dusting him off with little pressure so he wouldn’t shatter.

“What are you going to do about it, hm?” You continued your short, limp strokes. “Just going to take it? Hm?” Your wrist was weak, lazy as it became limp to tease him even more. Peter sucked in a breath, doing his best to maintain his composure, but it was all futile, all those attempts of sucking in his lip to chew, to hold back his moans, because you’d slap his clothed cock, grasp it tight in your hand, and massage as much as you could gather.

“Fuck, baby—“ You had him under your control. Even if his hands were free, you knew he wouldn’t lay a finger on you. He knew that if he did, you’d stop touching him, stop stimulating the blood running down every vein of his cock, fueling his erection. His desires.

He couldn’t let that happen. Not after the day, the week, the months that he’d been having.

You and Peter eventually switched places: Peter resting on his back while you sat in between his legs, marveling at the stretch of his suit. Somehow, his cock looked bigger than you’d remember. Squished and pressed flush against his thigh like this. The suit was like a magnet, inviting your hand back to his cock and refusing to let you go.

“Just relax.” You commanded him. He was watching you slouched up against the headboard, gravity weighing his eyelids lower. With his legs spread apart, he provided you excess space as you began massaging his right thigh with your free hand. “Is this okay?”

“Mm-hm...” He knew you were talking about the pressure on his thigh, but the strokes over his cock remained supreme in his mind. Championed through as you pressed harder into the shaft, massaging tenderly from vein to vein. The protruding webbed texture of his suit pressed into him, rolled against cock like the inside of a fleshlight, ultimately adding onto the already gratifying pleasure.

It was glorious.

“More…” Peter gritted through his teeth, a selfish need for more escaping from his lips in huffs. Grunts, when you’d fulfill his wish with two hands now, kneading his cock like dough.

Thick, stiff, throbbing dough.

Before the complaints could come pouring in, you shimmied your pants off in a hurry, tossing it in the corner before greedily climbing onto Peter’s lap. It was like he read your mind, perhaps another secret that he’d been hiding, because he immediately took you into his arms. An embrace, a tight one that grounded you against his bulge, pressing your body weight until it restricted the blood flowing into his erection, as well as preventing an escape.

“You’re so hard…” You marveled at how rigid he’d gotten under you, grinding your ass against the large mass, beating and throbbing with every rut.

“I’m so hard.” He confirmed, complained, and bragged all in one smile. He then took you by the nape to kiss you again. Hard on the mouth, slow with his tongue to taste you and your desires, his desires. His other hand rested on the small of your back, guiding your grinds at first before his fingers looped into your waistband, tugging once before stuffing the strap under your ass cheeks. Your hard-on was the only thing keeping the cotton material from slipping off while you continued grating your hips. “Just like that…”

To make it easier for you, Peter repositioned his erection so it was facing north, towards his navel, in its sublime mass. Your briefs had been tossed to the side now, completely bare bottomed against him while you mounted over him, and rode in needy strides. It was a sight to behold, something that Peter reckoned he should savor. He folded his arms behind his head, providing a self-made cushion for the weight of it, and watched you. It was entrancing, like a dance. You swiveled your hips to a ghosting rhythm, one that could only be heard between two hearts, two parties, between the two of you, man to man.

“Like this…?” Breathless, you unbuttoned your shirt open, but left it present on your body. Sweat formed over your neck, dribbled down to your bare and exposed chest; it was practically an open-invitation for Peter to ravish you. And so he did, with a haunting groan as he held you, contained you in the warmth of his arms as he simultaneously pulled you forward, and pushed himself off the headboard to meet you in the middle.

He kissed you on the neck, achingly hard when he sucked, and then enthralling, sweat-inducing when he bit into your skin. He couldn’t contain himself. You tasted too good, and it’d been too long since he had you just like this. “Just like that. Your cock against my cock, fuck. I love it so fucking much.” He muttered hot against your neck, panting because he was sweating too. The spandex felt tighter on his skin, constricting against him with every drop of sweat.

“Oh, fuck…” His lips had latched onto your nipples now. Peter’s tongue worked magic on your two nubs, flicking and swirling over their perkiness until you felt swollen. Raw, when he bit, pulled, bit, and bit again. You buried your face into his hair, rocking yourself back and forth with your arms holding him close to your chest, gliding your cock against his print as if a gun was pointed to your head, like your life depended on making Peter come.

You were delirious, humping Peter without a single thought other than to get him off, and you’d reckon that was the goal lingering in Peter’s head as he began rocking back into you. It took a while for him to find your rhythm, chasing after it in slower, sluggish beats, but eventually he caught up to you, snapping his hips against your own, grinding his cock against yours like two crescent moons caressing the other’s curvature.

“Close…” He muttered into your shoulder. Your shirt was hanging off, exposing more of your skin, but Peter made sure you didn’t feel a single chill with the marks he had followed up with soon after. It was like he had done it on purpose. Made you feel safe in his arms, comfortable in the warmth of his body, worshiped with the amount of care he had given your body. Frozen, when you felt something prod at your pucker. Then enraptured, when Peter pushed a wet finger inside of you.

Tremors, chilling tremors ran down your spine as you took the single digit Inside of you with one determined push. “Fuck—“ Your back arched, chest pushed forward towards him, and your hips jolted forward in one strong, and delicious swipe against Peter’s cock. “Peter…”

It was a mouthwatering display of food before him. The perky nubs on your chest, the veins in your neck, the mole on your body, the strain of your thighs on overdrive, the swollen head of your cock; Peter didn’t know what to lay his finger on first, what to mouth on, what to kiss, and suck, and latch onto until you’d scream. Whichever it was, he knew you were desperate for him. Begging, sweating, whimpering, for Peter to lay a finger on you. Another finger inside of you now, and you rolled your eyes at the stretch he was providing you with, a fulfilling wish that startled your hips once more.

“You’re so good, so good for me…” Peter was staring up at you, marveling at the layer of sweat on your body. It glistened with every movement, dripped heavily with every thrust of Peter’s fingers, and tasted just like how he remembered. Salty when he licked up your neck, up your chest, against your nipples, and repeated. Your body was his, and Peter was determined to let the world know. Determined to remind you in case that you’d forgotten.

Your hands were wandering. Grabbing and touching at anything and everything that could linger in between your fingers. Peter’s hair, his head, shoulders, chest, your cock and his, his back. Everything. You couldn’t keep your hands off of him. Even if he was covered from head to toe, you were touching him. Because he was yours.

“Gonna come—“ You cupped Peter’s jaw to straighten his posture, to kiss him sloppily on the mouth, and he pulled his fingers out of you, resting them on either side of your hips as he joined you once again in grinding hips. The pleasure was overbearing, drilling into each individual brain until the smallest movement would render you both speechless. Panting in slurred moans of each other’s names, of profanities that you two had rarely used in your lifetime on earth.

“Me too…” Peter pushed himself on top of you now. Your arms were tied around his neck, tighter than the necktie he had on prior, and your legs; they wrapped around his waist equally secured, if not even tighter, as he thrusted against you.

You were too distracted, unable to respond to Peter’s constant licks in your mouth. He was desperate for you, suckling on your tongue and chasing after it once it slipped out because of your moans. They were rattling, each breath immediately vaulted in the back of Peter’s throat because he couldn’t part from you. Couldn’t imagine a life where he would. And if he had to, at least he’d have a part of you inside of him. Even if it was a whisper.

He thrusted harder, panting into your mouth, his nose practically smushed flat against yours. He wondered if you could imagine that life, a life without him.

“P-Pete—Shit, I’m—“ Your fingers dug into his nape, grounding him impossibly closer to you when that feeling had suddenly come to stun you in place.

It simmered hard in your stomach, then to a rolling boil as it traveled lower to your pelvis. You squeezed your stomach, clenched your toes, and your eyes widened when Peter’s hips showed no signs of faltering. Your cock swelled and your balls jolted, tightened, until you finally saw stars bursting into flames and let gravity have it come crashing down on you. Shivers had you enclose your arms around Peter, holding onto him tight as you felt yourself crumble and spill all over your chest and his suit. You came with a gritted grunt of his name, sinking your nails into his nape because you had nowhere else to channel your spasms as Peter kept rocking against you, drunkenly astonished by how you came for him. By how much you needed him.

It didn’t take long before Peter came right after. He buried his head into your neck, stifling moans into the heat of your neck, clammy with sweat, yet comforting as he filled the inside of his suit with thick, large loads. You felt his cock throb against you when you reached down to help, to ride out his orgasm to the fullest. His cock pulsed as you’d imagine several thick pumps of his load would gush out and uncomfortably layer his navel. If only his suit hadn’t been waterproof, because there was no doubt that he would’ve been leaking out of it by now.

You’ve never been so jealous of spandex.

He was hot in your ear, panting, breathing you in, then breathing you out as you slowed the strokes on his softening cock. Then a sudden inhale, a jolt of his body, when you squeezed hard, to seal the deal in covering the entirety of his cock in his own cum. It was filthy. It was shameless. It was Peter.

“Driving me crazy here…” Peter sluggishly lifted himself off of you to face you, a sleepy smile plastered across his face as you kept kneading at his cock, increasingly sensitive with every second.

“Not enough to drive you away, right?” You smiled, drowsy yourself as you quickly found your high coming to a crash. Though, you mustered enough strength to hold Peter’s cheek in your palm, tenderly caressing, to which he immediately kissed as soon as it reintroduced itself.

Peter sighed, holding your gaze for what felt like minutes, and yet you wished it could be for longer.

It was different this time, the way he looked at you. The same amount of love and warmth, yes. But they no longer wavered, no longer tried to find something else to look at in case you were prying about.

“Never.”

Instead, they stilled, relaxed the longer you stared into him, into those brown eyes of his, because you were in now.

You were finally in his life.

How much you needed him? His question had been answered.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

2K notes · View notes

ellecdc · 7 months ago

Note

ELLE !! OMGGGG i read a fanfic based on the movie flipped and i immediately thought of you and how you would eat this trope up or more specifically a childhood best friends to lovers !!

like one day either one or all of the marauders are spending the day with reader then all of a sudden the boys’ hearts start beating a little faster at reader’s laughter or they’re mesmerized by their little subtle quirks and now they’re like “oh fuck… i think i LOVE them love them”

this is not necessarily a request but if you decide to write something like this then YIPPIEEE FLUFF but if not then its just a cute little scenario to think about !!

this was such a sweet idea 🥹 thank you so much for your request 🫶

Sirius Black x gn!reader who he's - oh shit - in love with

Life hadn’t been particularly easy for Sirius.

He was born into a family not out of love but out of obligation.

In fact, he hadn’t ever really known love outside of whatever affection he held for his baby brother until he met his friends.

He’d been beaten, starved, ignored, and tortured into compliance all before the age of 11; and it only continued tenfold upon his return from school after having been sorted into the wrong house.

In fact, a lot about Sirius was wrong.

He had the wrong opinions, the wrong hair, the wrong style, the wrong language, the wrong grades, the wrong loyalty.

Sirius was wrong.

At least that’s what his family would have said.

However, Sirius eventually learned that it wasn’t him who had been wrong all this time; it was them.

And whilst removing them from him was very difficult - seeing as they were the ones who bred and raised him - he felt he was doing a pretty decent job of it.

Unfortunately, that meant leaving his baby brother Regulus, and you, behind.

From as far back as Sirius could remember, everything was always chosen for him; his friends, his interests, his hobbies, the volume of his voice, the clothes he wore, the way he presented himself etcetera, etcetera.

And though that was technically still true of his dedication to his brother and his companionship with you; the two of you were the only good things to have ever come from his life as a Black.

His friendship with you was a cherished one.

Perhaps one of the only people who truly got it; who knew what Sirius went through.

You were the silver lining at every grey and dreary Pureblood Gala and Sacred 28 dinner party.

You were his biggest advocate and protector when it came to his older cousins and the other older Purebloods.

And you were the only reason Sirius could bring himself to flee that horrid night in the summer before sixth year; he could only leave knowing that Regulus would at least still have you.

But it hurt.

It hurt knowing he had left you and Regulus to fend for yourselves.

He felt like a coward; like he betrayed the two people who he cared for most.

And he was still so scared; even now, albeit for different reasons.

He was scared because he was certain that when he returned to Hogwarts that September, you and Regulus would hate him.

But apparently, his fears were wrong too.

Because two weeks before the end of summer; two weeks before you would all be piling onto the Hogwarts Express to return to Scotland, you and Regulus showed up to Potter Manor wearing matching timid grins, yet seemingly no worse for wear.

Somehow, you had gotten yourself and Reggie out of the terror that was your familial homes, and were staying with friends up in Ottery St.Catchpole.

Sirius never really imagined getting to have his cake at all, let alone getting to have his cake and eating it too.

Yet, here he sat on a warm summer evening at Potter Manor with James, Remus, Peter, Reggie, and you around a crackling bonfire among the sounds of peeping frogs and chirping crickets as you told some grandiose story about you and Regulus trekking through a vast field where Regulus stumbled in a hidden hole in the ground and cursed for five minutes straight in both English and French before the two of you laughed so hard that you cried.

Your face was flushed and you were slightly breathless as you narrated your tale; arms flying wildly as you drew a rather descriptive picture of both your surroundings and your actions. Every so often you would reach over to shake Regulus’ shoulder as he hid his face behind his hands, laughing along with you and daring to interrupt if he felt you were overexaggerating some details or not painting him in a flattering enough light.

What was likely a rather stressful and arduous journey across the Southern half of the country seemed to be nothing but a grand adventure as you retold your experience.

Sirius liked that about you; everything was an adventure with you. You never let Regulus or Sirius feel too poorly for themselves for too long, telling them it was going to be great for their character development.

“I think I’m rather well developed already, sweetheart.” He’d grumbled at you once. You laughed like he had something truly funny.

And this was no different. From looking at Regulus, Sirius would never guess he’d just absconded from his volatile, abusive, and downright scary family; Regulus rather looked like he was retelling the happenings of a juvenile prank-filled slumber party (which Sirius would know a thing or two about).

And he looked good. Not like Sirius looked when he first arrived at the Manor; bloodied, bruised, starved, and soaked to the bone. Regulus was healthy, vibrant, and bright. Hopeful.

That’s the effect you had on people; you filled them with hope. Hope that it would be okay, hope that it would be better, hope that one day you might actually deserve the things you so desperately craved.

You had certainly done that for Sirius.

And looking at how good Regulus appeared, he couldn’t deny the same of you.

You were bright, animated, overflowing with a crackling energy and excitement that might even rival James’.

Sirius realised then that you were everything Sirius ever hoped to be.

Bold, assured, daring, caring, vivacious, kind, and so full of love.

And it seemed to him that the way the firelight was currently reflecting off of your face, as if the fire was somehow brighter from just simply being within your proximity, that you were far more beautiful than Sirius remembered you.

He hadn’t realised he’d been remembering you.

He had missed you; quite terribly, at that.

He missed your reassuring words, he missed your soft gazes, he missed your gentle hugs, and he missed the way that just knowing you were within his vicinity eased a ball of tension he hadn’t even realised resided deep within him.

And he missed getting to see you; like this most of all.

Lovely, happy, carefree, and beautiful.

He wondered how he’d gone so long without it.

Was a little over a month considered long? He supposed it didn’t much matter, seeing as it certainly felt that way.

Too long.

Sirius never wanted to go that long without you again. You were too important to him, too precious, too sacred, too-

Oh.

Sirius Black was bloody in love. With you.

Sirius Black was in love with you.

What likely should have sent Sirius spiralling (and certainly would have a little over a month ago) did nothing but cause him to smile softly as you let out a rather boisterous laugh that sounded like a symphony to Sirius’ ears.

And so, it should be commemorated for future generations to come:

Here sat Sirius Black… having his cake and eating it too.

598 notes · View notes

wcnderlnds · 18 days ago

Text

drive ins and twinkie kisses | peter maximoff

・❥・ summary: peter takes you to the movies and uses his favourite snack to make a move ・❥・word count: 1.2k ・❥・warnings: none really. just kissing. ・❥・ authors note: i haven't wrote in a week because i've been sick but this idea came to me after some shenanigans in the evanverse server so <3

The new drive-in opening had been the latest buzz around town. Anywhere you went, everyone was talking about it to the point that you needed to go check it out yourself. All your friends had already been and were raving about it but you? Well, you didn’t exactly have anyone to go with. The night your friends had gone, you’d been on a mission with the X-Men so, although they’d invited you, you’d had to decline. The frown on your face anytime someone brought the drive-in up was enough to melt even the coldest of hearts including Peter Maximoff. Now, he wasn’t heartless – not at all but he wasn’t one to cave in just by seeing a pretty face. He had resisted for as long as he could but he couldn’t take it anymore when he saw you sat looking miserable when you had yet to pass up another opportunity to go.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed heavily, arms folded across his chest as he appeared in front of you in a blur of silver. “I’ll take you but don’t make a big deal about it or anyth- oof.”

Peter stumbled back slightly as you threw yourself at him, arms wrapping around his midsection while you hugged the life out of him. His hands hovered in the air, awkwardly wondering what the hell to do with them. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone - other than Kurt because for some reason he liked to tell him everything - Peter wasn’t the best when it came to physical affection or relationships. Maybe it was the lack of experience. Or maybe he was just a complete idiot whose brain short circuited at the feeling of another person touching him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in relationships before. He had but they hadn’t lasted longer than a few months before he lost interest or they got fed up with his consistent need to be moving. With you, you seemed to have captivated his interest the moment he met you. He remembered the day so vividly – how you’d walked into the mansion looking lost, almost scared. He’d been zooming through the halls but had come to a comedic halt when he spotted you. Introductions had been made thanks to him worming his way into Hank who had been giving you a tour of the place and it had gone from there.

Peter found himself wanting to make you smile. On those dark, dreary days where he got lost in his own mind, the image of you smiling could always make things seem a little brighter. The fact you’d been moping around the mansion for the last week just didn’t sit well with him at all. If he had to take you to the drive-in himself then so be it. He could totally sit through a movie with you. Totally.

…so, maybe he couldn’t. Being in a car in the first place was enough for him to go on a rant about how he was much faster and cars were pointless to him but then there was the fact that he had to sit still for at least two hours. It was enough to drive the poor man crazy. A form of torture. His eyes darted around the place, the car full of all the candy wrappers the two of you had been eating since you’d first drove in. His deep brown eyes zoned in on you, the corners of his lips quirking up into a soft smile. Just watching you focus on the movie was enough to calm him, the knee he’d been bouncing up and down slowly coming to a halt. How was it you could make him such a mess yet so calm at the same time? Realising he should probably stop staring at you before he seemed like a creep, he eyed the last Twinkie sitting in the middle of you both.

His hand reached out to grab it but you must have had the same thought because he felt your fingers brushing against his. Peter instantly looked up, his eyes catching yours. “You tryna steal the last Twinkie from me, huh?”

“You were trying to steal it from me!” You protested, cheeks flushing. The feeling of his fingers touching your skin still sending shockwaves through you.

“Me, steal? Never. Can’t believe you’d accuse me of such a thing.”

“Okay, Mr Kelpto.”

Using his super speed, Peter quickly snatched the Twinkie, unwrapping it. “Okay, here’s an idea. I’ll eat from one end and you eat from the other. I won’t even cheat and use my super speed to eat more than you,” Peter stuffed one end in his mouth before you could reply, his hand gesturing for you to take the other end.

Peter could feel his heart beating a mile a minute as he began to chew the sugary treat. The closer the two of you got to the middle, the more he realised how stupid of an idea it was. Like, really? What did he think was going to happen? That was the problem – he didn’t think. Peter got an idea and rolled with it without really thinking next. He was almost certain his heart was about to beat out of his chest and fall into his lap as his face got closer to yours. Then he felt it, your lips gently brushing against his as the two of you ate the final piece. That was all it took for his brain to once again short circuit. Throwing all caution to the wind, his hand reached behind the back of your neck to pull you closer, eyes closing at the sensation of your lips against his. The kiss was cautious at first, Peter’s soft lips moving slowly against yours but when he felt your hand resting on his thigh, he gained the confidence to test the waters a little bit more. His tongue darted out across your bottom lip hoping and praying you wouldn’t push him away. When you parted your lips, he felt like he was actually going to ascend into the heavens. There was no way this was actually happening. Was he about to wake up and find out he was dreaming the whole time? He damn well hoped not.

Peter finally, eventually pulled away. His forehead rested against yours, a breathless laugh passed his lips. He took in your face, the slight red tint to your cheeks, your swollen lips and messy hair – he was making sure to take a mental photograph to look back on. This wasn’t something he wanted to forget anytime soon. Not that he wanted to ruin the moment but he had to speak. The silence unsettled him.

“Lady and The Tramp ain’t got nothin’ on us, babe,” he finally pulled away. He gently smoothed your hair down, reluctantly pulling his hand away from you. The music playing in the background caught his attention. His eyes darted to the movie screen seeing the credits rolling. “Oh, shit. We missed the end.”

“...eh, I’m not complaining,” your hands rested on the steering wheel as if you needed to ground yourself from that Earth shattering kiss. The only thought in your brain was how badly you wanted to do it again.

“Yeah? Should I start carrying Twinkies around with me everywhere now?” He raised his brows, leaning back against his cheek with a smirk.

“Yeah, you definitely should.”

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @ldydeath @jazz-berry @lemoniiiiiii @bohnerrific69 @lacucarachapisser @honeymoon8 @evanpetersbf

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #evan peters #my fics

177 notes · View notes

rustedhearts · 1 year ago

Text

let it snow (70s!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: what happens when you're snowed in with your best friend (and there's a lot of sexual tension)?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the only living boy in indiana ✶ christmas carols✶ the library

tags: fluff, mutual pining, best friend!steve

"oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since we've no place to go: let it snow! let it snow! let it snow!"

— let it snow! let it snow! let it snow!, dean martin

somewhere in indiana. december, 1976.

“That snow’s really comin’ down,” Steve mused from his bedroom window.

You glanced up from your book, splayed on your stomach against his duvet. “It’ll be fine.”

Steve let his drape drop back into place over the window, frosted with ice and fogging with the heat from his radiator. He wandered back toward the bed, flopping beside you and jostling the mattress. You huffed into your current chapter.

“Not worried about missing your date tonight?”

You shrugged, flipping the page that you haven’t even read. “Eh. He’s kind of boring anyway."

"Well, yeah," Steve scoffed, twisting to lay on his back. The blankets bunched up with his shifting. "His name is Peter."

"Your name is Steve."

Steve's head snapped your way to sharpen his eyes in a glare. "Hey."

A slow, sideways smile plucked at your lips. You turned back to your book and stifled a giggle, though it burst free when his fingers poked your side.

"Wanna go in the basement? I need a light and Mom'll kill me if she smells it up here."

You closed your book around your finger and gazed at him over your shoulder. "They won't be home for hours."

"It lingers, sweetheart."

“Gross.” You scrunched up your nose and tried to ignore the pulsing ache in your chest. Bless the cold for keeping the heat from rushing to your face. “Don’t call me that.”

Steve rolled off the bed and to his feet, rushing the door and paying no mind to your distaste.

"C'mon, sweetheart," he called, already halfway down the hall. "We can dip into some of my dad's scotch."

So half an hour later, Steve was on his second Winston—the first stubbed out in the glass ashtray on the coffee table—and you were nursing a mug of scotch. Your mug had Santa on it, and you traced his beard with the edge of your nail as Steve fiddled with the stereo.

"Don't have any Christmas tunes," he'd muttered once you settled in the freezing cold basement. "But we can break out the winter music."

"And what do you consider 'winter music?'" you asked.

He lit up a Winston and clenched it between his teeth, already rifling through his baskets of vinyl. "Anything as cold and dreary as this damn town."

Now, Steve was bopping his hips to a jazzy tune found on a very old record from early high school. You remember the day he found it at the record store. It was during his "blue period," where all he wanted to listen to was jazz and blues.

You hid your grin behind another sip as Steve made finger guns toward the ceiling in time to the trumpet of the song, though a giggle burst forth into a gulp of scotch. His head snapped your way, one finger gun coming to pull his cigarette away.

"I hear your giggles, Miss. Grinch," he teased, swinging his leg over the back of the sofa to sit on the edge.

You swallowed down the pungent liquor, wincing when it stung. "I'm not a Grinch. I just don't like Christmas the same way you do, you know that."

Steve blew a cloud of smoke though his teeth. "Yeah, never understood that, by the way."

"Not for you to understand, Hair."

Steve narrowed his eyes at you, pointing the ashed end of his cigarette your way. "Don't call me that."

You quirked a brow, chin tipping up defiantly. "Or what?"

Steve cooly mouthed at his cigarette a moment more. He carefully slid down the back of the couch until he was seated near your socked feet, leaning forward to stub his second Winston out. As it died out in the mess of ash, Steve hooked his arm around your knees and yanked you close.

"Steve," you warned, voice knocked a pitch up. "Don't!"

It took everything in you not to spill your scotch as Steve's thin fingers prodded at your sides. He knew just what spots to press on, just where to squeeze and jiggle to have you twisting and writhing in a fit of laughter. The kind of laughter that had you aching with soreness. The kind of laughter that sent you back to infancy together.

Steve swooped the mug out of your hand and placed it on the coffee table before it could fall—but only so he could ignore your giggled protests to stop as the pair of you slipped off the couch. You tumbled to the hard floor together, a mess of limbs on concrete.

Soon, you were pinned under his heavy weight. His hands stopped tickling and rested stilly on your waist. They slipped under your sweater in the commotion, and now his palms braced your bare flesh without barrier. You could feel him between your legs—the sheer size of him, pushing your thighs apart and stretching them to sting. The outline of him pressed against his jeans.

The laughter subsided to breathless sighs. You gazed up at his pink-cheeked face, splotched with excitement. Your stomach was in your throat. The record stopped spinning some time ago, and now the empty scratch of needle turn crackled through the empty house. The end of your nose was frozen from the cold, but the rest of you was on fire pressed up against Steve.

Steve: your best friend.

"You're so soft," he whispered.

Your breath hitched. His thumb started to move in odd patterns under your shirt. You were suddenly and extremely aware of your hands around his arms—and how firm his biceps were under his sleeves. Every breath that touched your face smelled like Winston smoke. There was a tear in the rug underneath you and it was tickling your cheek.

"Th-thank you."

His thumbs continued. The breathing shallowed. The record spun on an empty track. His eyes were such a pretty color—or, an amalgamation of many colors all in one pretty iris.

You swallowed thickly, mouth suddenly dry. "I-I should go. Still...try to make my date."

Steve nodded, though he, too, was lost in your eyes. He never noticed how pretty the shape of your eyes were. How long and dainty the lashes were, how they brushed your cheeks with every blink. Did you know? Had you walked around with all this glorious beauty his entire life?

How could he have been so blind?

"Steve," you interrupted. "Get off me."

Steve scrambled to release you of his weight, rolling to his feet and brushing off his jeans. He helped you up—a gentle hand around your arm—and watched you grab your coat from the hook near the door. You've had that coat for years—the fur-lined collar and cuffed sleeves were full of lint and cat hair, and there was a button missing at the bottom.

While you were fishing for your gloves in the pockets, Steve moved the lace drapes over the back door and peered up the steps. There was about three feet of snow blocking the door, and as he watched, more piled over the staircase and across the yard.

"Uh...not sure you should go out in this," he announced.

You flicked your hair out of your face with mittened hands and huffed. "What?"

"The snow's pretty bad—"

"We live in Indiana, Steve. I've seen plenty of snow."

Steve dropped the snow and stepped away, arms folded over his chest. "Is Peter really worth getting stuck in a snowstorm?"

You cocked your foot out, mimicking his folded arms. "Maybe. He-he might be. I don't know."

It was the way his jaw tipped up at you, how his brows raised and nestled together, how his lip curled into a grin akin to the sixteen year old that never got told 'no.' It was the way your heart thumped in your ears with deafening force.

You weren't sure you could be around him right now. Not without wondering how his lips tasted. Not without wondering why he'd never told you he loved you.

"Really? What's his last name?"

"Good question. I'll ask him tonight." You rolled your eyes and whirled around, heading toward the basement steps.

If Steve wouldn't let you leave that way, you'd just go out the front.

"Hey—seriously, you're not going out in this."

"Oh yeah?" you huffed, stomping up the stairs. "Who's gonna stop me?"

A heavy arm hooked around your waist, knocking the air from your lungs with one quick pull. Steve hoisted you back down the steps, and it was only when he placed you back on your feet that you started kicking them. You got one good hit in the thigh before backing away to glare.

"What the hell is your issue?" you spat.

Steve threw his arms out—fucking Christ, his shoulders were broad. His hands were so big, and he had the prettiest pink flush to his face after all that play fighting and struggling.

"I'm not letting you go out in that."

It took everything in you to muster a squint and shoot it at him. You were sweating bullets in your buttoned-up coat.

"Well, I'm going."

Maybe you wanted him to grab you again. Maybe that's why you tried to push past him and dart up the stairs. Maybe you wanted to be chased, manhandled, held by those big, rough hands—Steve couldn't think of any other reason for your second attempt at escaping.

So, he snatched you up again. This time, you ended up dangling over his shoulder, and your feet were quicker to react this time. But your struggles were futile and adorable, and Steve chuckled when he brought you back to the cement floor and blocked off the stairs with a stiff body.

Once standing, you flicked your hair away again. Steve pushed his sweater sleeves up to his elbows. Cords of muscle flexed in his forearms—those strong, wide forearms. The scotch was starting to take effect. The room was getting smaller and hotter by the second, and you couldn't stop watching his lips grow pinker with heat.

"You have to stop touching me," you breathed out, so much softer than you wished it would sound. But you had no strength around Steve when he was at this proximity.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes, swallowing. He almost seemed in pain. "Then stop looking at me like that."

Your mouth ran dry. The room regained its frigidity in an instance. The sizzle of saliva down your throat passed between you.

"Like...like what?"

There was an ache growing in your chest that you were starting to resent. A hollow, weeping ache that squeezed with all its might when Steve looked down and shook his head.

"Nothing."

You watched him a moment. Scuff his shoes through the dirt on the floor. Wipe at his nose the way he does when he's nervous. Tuck his hands into his pockets and roll his shoulders. Meet your eyes only to duck away again.

"What if I...just go home?"

Steve scratched at the back of his neck, tousling his hair. "I'll-I'll walk you."

You nodded. "Okay."

Steve bundled in his coat and scarf, slipping on a pair of ratty old gloves before you pushed your way out the front door. Though you only lived a few houses down, it as a difficult trek. You had to hoist your legs with every step, kicking snow up the back of your jeans and under your coat. The wind whipped flurries at your face and numbed your mouth.

By the time you made it to your own front door, you were shivering and no less flustered than a few minutes ago. You turned around as you reached for the knob, finding Steve at the top step, waiting.

"Thanks for walking me."

Steve shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded. His smile was tight-lipped. "Sure."

You opened the door and slipped inside. Steve watched you kick the snow off your boots against the wall and shimmy your coat onto the hook. He watched you trudge to the steps and ascend them slowly, lost in the world of your own thoughts.

He stepped back and shuffled through the mound of white on your front lawn. He stopped in view of your bedroom window on the second floor, and watched the glass turn yellow in the lamplight. You passed in front of the window on your way to the bed.

Steve echoed a white breath into the air.

Maybe one day.

#rolly!#steve harrington #70s!steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington au

473 notes · View notes

phyrestartr · 4 days ago

Text

Nemesis (The Man I Miss) | Miguel O'hara x M!BlackCat!Reader (TEASER)

CW: jealousy, violence, brutality, self-loathing, implied depression, possessive relationship #NSFW, Top!Miguel, Bottom!Reader, hurt/comfort, anti-hero reader, complicated relationships, lonely reader, crook turned hero, reader is a tired guy, mutual pining - Note: Posting some WIPs I've had laying around for a while while I try to finish up the next HOUND update! Needed a bit of a break from it since it's pretty long, but I hope some teasers make up for the wait. Tysm for reading!

Taking care of Nueva York was exhausting. You were far too used to being the problem rather than the problem-solver. That job reserved itself for the one and only Spiderman–your Spiderman.

At least, you liked to think he was yours.

Knowing my luck, the prick’s run off with his shocking wife or something. The thought plagued your mind too often. And it was true: Spiderman disappeared. He no longer served Nueva York and kept it safe, he no longer caught you with your hand in the cookie jar, he no longer gave chase throughout the city before pinning you down on some rooftop and taking his prize by force. And you liked it–no, you loved it. Fucking with the man who’d always get to fuck you back came to be a part of life you relished.

But now you were alone. Left by yourself to deal with lumbering lizards and giggling goblins while wondering how the fuck you’d ended up as a hero when you were anything but. Even the police couldn’t believe the switch, which caused some problems, and led to less-sexy chases that ended with you getting away no problem.

I wish I had problems. Just one problem, though: Spiderman.

You tossed aside your shiny leathers and collapsed into your bed. He’d never been there, no, but you fantasized about it. You thought about his impossibly wide back and the ripple of taut muscle greeting you in the morning, or maybe his built chest and strong neck–or maybe his handsome face–well, you’d never seen his face, but you had your guesses.

Your chest twinged the slightest bit, somewhere between where your greed and feelings intertwined.

Ugh. You missed him.

–

“Who's that?” Peter remarked as he walked up on Miguel. The lab was dark and dreary, spilling with shades of orange and amber where the blues couldn't reach. And Miguel, the source of the cold, stood in front of the firelight, gazing upon your image in the newscycle.

Miguel frowned. “No one.” But he didn't tuck your image nor the article away.

“Huh, looks like Black Cat. A 2099 Black Cat? Never thought I'd see the day.” Peter hummed and bounced a sleepy Mayday in his arms. “He up to no good?”

“He's up to good,” Miguel bit out. “That's the problem. He doesn't do good.”

“He's sort of an anti-hero these days,” Lyla cut in, blinking into existence on Peter's shoulder like the devil she was. “All thanks to Spiderman's influence–”

“Lyla,” Miguel warned (begged?).

“--aaand their sweet, cute budding romance,” she finished with a dreamy sigh. “Doesn't it just melt your heart?”

–

You pinned him against the wall and let your hands trace through the hard lines of his muscles on your way down to your ultimate prize. Spiderman shuddered and stayed still, much to your surprise, letting you feel him, letting you acknowledge the hardness bulging under your criminal touch. Because he dreamt of this too. Dreamt of you touching him, of you falling down to your knees, your eyes never leaving his masked face even when you pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to stretched fabric holding back his filled cock.

“So strong,” you cooed, “but not strong enough to resist, hm?” You sighed and worked him through the fabric with one hand. “Shouldn’t you be stopping the big bad from manhandling you like this, Spidey?”

“Hardly consider you the big bad,” he scoffed back. Spiderman tilted his head back with a choked groan whent hose diamond-tipped clawed gloves dug into his thighs. “Mierda, you–”

“Oh?” You grinned, so cheshire, so in-theme with your persona. “You can stop me any time, no?”

He could’ve. But he didn’t.

–

“A daughter,” you murmured. The flickering images–memories, maybe?–were there, waiting quietly for you, preserved and kept precious in shades of amber. But the scene was so alive; you could feel the stretch of the sun against your gloved touch, you basked in the crisp Spring air of that soccer game, you drowned in the warmth of that father's smile–

Spidey's smile. That was beyond obvious. The mountainous shoulders, the tawny skin, those hands– they belonged to him. Your beast. Your nemesis and lover, the man you hadn’t seen for far too long–

“Because you've been off taking care of a kid?” Your fingers, gentle, feather-light, ghosted across that foreign memory. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Who’s your baby mama?

The lab lights stilted and jittered. You snapped from your trance and made for the window you’d come in through, not bothering to see what was happening with your system jammers–you knew Lyla, she knew you, and that made the whole breaking-into-Spiderman’s-base thing more tricky and risky. Your jammer wasn’t fool-proof. It was quite easy to override, actually, but the interference was the difficult thing to detect in the first place. You only thought you’d need a handful of minutes to see your spider, anyway.

But he wasn’t there. Maybe he was off with his little girl.

Something cacophonous and nerve-wracking churned to the sound of warping electricity behind you as you dove from the window and slid down the side of the skyscraper, claws shrieking against metal and glass alike until you could launch off and latch onto a passing hover car. The periphery of your mind swore it saw flashes of orange and yellow, more violent and heavy than the screens you stared at in that dower room, and maybe you might have heard a familiar voice too.

The broad, tiny silhouette standing in that abandoned window gave you much more to think about. -- Feel free to comment on this post if you want to be tagged for the full version!

@kamote-kuneho @tr4nnie @silvern1006

110 notes · View notes

politemenacephd · 10 months ago

Text

Arachnophilia: (Part Seventeen)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Mostly relationship fluff + some worldbuilding. Also Peter content.

Word count: 4890

It was early morning once more, and today light was streaming in through every hole in the nest. The sun was bright and high over the canopy in a sea of pale blue, sitting in an sky barely touched by clouds. It was quiet, calm, even verging on warm, with the morning heat creating a low mist across the grass.

You liked to believe the weather was a reflection of your mood, because today you were finally taking Mig with you to the Society. You were elated, almost giddy, but him? Not so much.

‘Ogh. Look at you. So handsome!’

You grinned up at Mig as he paced about the nest, his eyes solely focused on his chest. His usually bare torso had been covered by a single, plain white shirt, and he seemed to be struggling with the sensation.

‘Mm… It has been, far too long since I had to put one of these on. How do you wear these all the time?’ he grumbled. He kept pulling on the shirt, awkwardly shifting it in and out of place. You were trying to not get distracted by how tight it was. You’d gotten the largest size you could, but it was still sticking quite close to his chest and shoulders, the smooth white fabric perfectly highlighting the rounded pounds of his pecs.

It was rather unfair, really, how you teased him for his constant ogling. You weren’t any better. He was just so damn pretty, with the plain white sitting on his warm skin, hugging his hefty chest.

‘You’ll get used to it’ you reassured him, ‘I did argue with them about the clothing but… they said, you know, society protocol. No shirtlessness. Not even for this most beautiful of men.’

Miguel shot you a smile to acknowledge your praise. ‘Yes. I should have suspected it would not be easy. Still, I appreciate you trying, mi tesoro.’

With those dreary words he crept forward to comfort himself with your touch. His forelegs pulled you in and clutched you to his abdomen, and you nestled back so tight that the fluff went up your nose and caused you to sneeze.

‘Aw—Mi arañita, qué menso eres’ he murmured affectionately.

‘Mean’ you retorted.

He was purring now, his abdomen vibrating and rustling with joy. ‘I will be grateful to have you with me’ he said as he brushed your suit down. It wasn’t dirty, he’d just gone so long without clothes that he assumed you brushing off his shirt was a sign of affection, and he wanted to return it. ‘I would never have gone alone, even if the offer was made again.’

‘I’ll be there the whole time, I promise’ you said. As Mig smiled you sealed that promise with a kiss to his claws. ‘And if Miguel tries anything, I’ll rip his claws out one by one. I promise that too.’

You saw Mig’s smile falter a little. ‘Ah. Yes. Him. He will, be there as well.’

Your smile dipped too. You were trying to joke about the situation but you both knew, deep down, how strange everything had gotten.

There was a tension between all three of you, one that was strange and multilayered in ways you couldn’t discern beyond a constant, simmering, anxiety inducing pressure.

Miguel had remained on watch at your nest after the first time you mated in front of him, and for two days while you prepped he’d stuck to his stubborn word and remained. He’d mostly stayed outside, only coming in occasionally to ensure you were being ‘safe’ as he put it, but he never spoke a single word to either of you.

The only thing you’d noticed is that his eyes, when they fell on you, were no longer cold; they were burning hot, simmering and seething, filled with something unspeakably strong.

You shuddered at the thought.

Luckily Miguel was gone today as you were visiting the HQ, so he could monitor you there, but it felt like his presence was always hanging over your head.

‘Alright. Come on. Let’s go’ you said, gently urging him to follow you with a tap to his belly. For a moment he hesitated, his little paws tapping back and forth on the nest floor, but it was only for a moment. With your face beaming and urging him on he reluctantly followed.

You’d been prepared for Mig to struggle with the portal. He’d never gone through one before and everyone struggled at first, so you were as patient as possible with the big guy.

You just hadn’t expected how badly he’d take it.

The moment you stepped through the lack of weight and gravity seemed to throw him totally off balance. You were used to keeping with the flow, to angling your body so that you flowed seamlessly through the void of space time and out the other end, but Mig didn’t have that.

He immediately crashed into you and sent you both hurtling through the portal at a speed you could not keep up with.

You both rolled out of the portal at max velocity, his enormous body crashing into the HQ floor with such force that it cracked. In the safe, fluffy grip of his legs you were thankfully unharmed, but it didn’t stop you from being dazed. As he tumbled to a stop you gasped.

‘AH—Fuck, oh Mig I am so sorry, I should have done a trial run of—oh god—’

You tried to scramble out of his grip to check on him but he refused to let go. He was terrifyingly strong, with his spider legs folded in tight to his belly, pinning you to his abdominal underbelly.

‘Mig? Mig?’ you panted.

‘Mmm.’

His low groan vibrated right down to your core, and you nearly cried with relief. ‘Oh, Miggy. Are you okay?’

‘I did not enjoy that’ he said bluntly. You managed another breathy laugh. ‘No, no, I can tell.’

As his legs slowly loosened you crawled out from his grip and stumbled to the floor on all fours. You glanced up.

To your horror, hundreds of spiders were perched on every surface available, all of them staring directly at you. It was a sea of suits, a sea of bodies and eyes, all staring with a mix of disgust and curiosity. You turned and immediately patted Mig, urging him to stand.

‘Mig—Babe, uh—’

‘Argh—my, legs—who designed these portals?’ Mig grunted. He was struggling to stand as he unfolded his long legs. ‘They are not safe, didn’t you say there were quite young spiders who—’

A wide-ranging, multi layered gasp of horror momentarily interrupted Mig’s grumbling, finally drawing him to look around. Everyone was in a defensive position, their eyes trained on his body. You instinctively sank against his side.

‘Hey, hey, it’s okay’ you whispered to him. You could see his eyes sinking already. He tried to step forward, his claws outstretched, but when every spider jolted in fear he froze up.

‘Hey! Sorry, guys, don’t um—he’s safe, he’s fine’ you cried. You impulsively stepped forward with your hands raised, hoping to de-escalate the situation. ‘This is—Miguel, or uh, Mig? If that’s easier, he’s a variant, he’s safe! He’s fine!’

To your continued discomfort, nobody said or did anything.

‘Hey! You two!’

You turned to see Jess making her way through the ogling crowd. She seemed to be trying her best to ignore them. ‘There you are, you—did you break the floor? My lord—never mind. So, obviously you guys know about the mandatory work you gotta do before you can be sent on missions?’

You awkwardly nodded in response, but Mig was too fixated on the crowd staring him down. You’d never seen him look so small.

‘Okay, good’ Jess said, ignoring Mig’s discomfort. She just ticked a few boxes on her hologram. ‘You have a few today, just—do your best, you’ll be fine. I just needed to give you this to fill out for HR and then you can get to work.’

She handed you a pile of papers before turning back into the crowd. She paused briefly to gage the amount of spiders and their curious eyes.

‘HEY! What are we, a circus? Do none of you have work to do?’ she yelled. The overtone of her voice quickly scattered the spiders as they flung themselves in all directions, and with a huff she followed after them. You and Mig were left alone.

‘A whole… new world.’

You looked up to see Mig murmuring to himself. His eyes were fixed on the building, on the view of the world beyond the big glass walls. He shone with a deep melancholia.

‘A whole, new world. And… everything is the same.’

Your heart sank. You shyly took his paw in yours.

‘Well, that was… a bad start, but, it’ll get better. It’ll be fine. We’ll be-- fine’ you said.

…

You were wrong. The rest of the day wasn’t much better.

You had certain activities you had to finish before you were cleared. The society wasn’t a workplace, but it functioned like one, and you were constantly in life-or-death situations. That meant all relationships needs to be safe.

You were expected to do three things: mandatory couples therapy, de-escalation and crisis training, and monthly reviews with an elite.

All of them went terribly.

You went to HR to hand in your forms and found only one person waiting at the desk. They were curt, almost rude, rushing through your paperwork, and after leaving you peered through the door only to find six other people had been hiding behind desks. You heard them gossiping and left in shame.

At your first de-escalation training for couples, you couldn’t even fit Mig through the front door, and you were forced to both sit in the hallway with the door half open to listen in. Every other couple there barely focused on the course; they just stared at you both, making little whispers and comments to each other.

You ended up failing that session due to Mig’s heightened anxiety. Any mention of a scenario where you were hurt caused him to panic and clutch you close, with his fangs overproducing venom as a protection tactic. They had to tape off the area as a hazardous spill zone. More mess, more eyes, more morbid curiosity.

Even your mandated therapy was unbearably awkward. The therapist assigned kept making suggestive questions regarding your safety, your wellbeing, questioning if Mig had some kind of fetishistic problem.

It wasn’t just Mig though, or at least, not just his body. People were clearly fixated on your closeness.

At the start of the day you were as physically affectionate as you usually were, since that’s what you were used to. You kissed his claws and he held you with his forelegs, he would scratch your head and you would hold his hand.

But you could see, now, the overt morbid curiosity in those around you. Even when you tried to find time alone, either in corridor corners or darker rooms, you kept spotting people staring.

As the day wound on you got more and more stingy with your affection. Mig kept dropping your hand to avoid people staring at you, and you had to hide your kisses when they happened.

With every activity you attended you felt a little isolated, a little less welcome. You hadn’t expected it to be easy, or even good, but you just hadn’t anticipated how bad it would feel. You began to feel guilty for doing this to Mig.

After your last therapy session, you began making your way through the lobby together. It was here, whilst making small talk and enjoying the brief moment of solitude, that you felt the hair on your nape stand up. You turned.

Miguel was up in the rafters above, his masked eyes following your every move. In the shadows you could only see the deep, sharp red lines of his suit as they shifted.

‘You—fuck.’

With a hiss you turned and sped forward. Mig rushed to catch up.

‘Ah—arañita?’

‘It’s all him’ you hissed angrily. ‘It’s all- him! He’s spread it everywhere, because he’s trying to embarrass us into giving up!’

‘Who? You mean—’ Mig paused midsentence. He didn’t need to say it; he knew who you meant. You hurried into a small, darkened corridor between two other meetings rooms, a space where you could avoid any prying eyes.

‘That—fucking, asshole’ you whisper shouted. Mig squished himself into the tight space and tried to grab you for comfort, but you were too busy pacing. ‘Fucking—Who does he think he is? Why won’t anyone say anything to him?!’

‘Mi tesoro’ Mig whispered back. ‘what is it? What do you mean?’

‘He—’ you paused to breath as you felt that guilty tug in your gut once more. ‘I’m so sorry, Mig, I—I knew this would happen. I knew it. Miguel knew I wanted you to join, and he said he—he said if he did let you in, he’d make sure we, quote, would learn why he keeps his relationships private. Obviously he wants you to feel unwelcome.’

‘Ah—yes, that—sounds like something he would do’ Mig said slowly.

‘I’m so sorry, I really—I wanted you to feel better’ you stammered. ‘I wanted you feel, just… I don’t know. I wanted something. I wanted the OPPOSITE of this!’

‘Hey, hey, arañita. It’s okay’ he said softly. As his foreleg gripped your arm you felt a wave of hopelessness wash over you.

‘Is it okay?’ you whispered back. ‘Is it? Are you okay? After what he’s done?’

Mig opened his mouth, but no words came out. You could see it in the dim light; the flash of his red eyes as they drooped and narrowed, the way he looked down and to the side out of shame.

Not one person besides you had even acted neutral to him. They’d all treated him like an animal, a monster, without shame.

You didn’t want to call this effort a failure. He deserved to be loved, to be valued, to be heard, but how did you do that?

Something had to change. Even just one thing. You closed your eyes and sighed.

‘HI!’

You and Mig both jumped in unison as someone’s cheery voice erupted right against your ears.

Mig launched himself into protection mode. With his fangs bared and his claws spread he pushed you to his back, but it was you who stepped in to call him off when you realized who the assailant was.

‘No, no, wait—I know him!’ you stammered.

Mig obediently stayed his hand when told, and after checking you were safe he turned to the speaker.

Peter B was standing on the ceiling, his head upside but more or less at the same height as Mig’s. He beamed at you both. ‘Shoot, sorry—did I scare you guys? Wow that feels weird, me scaring the big spider’ he blurted in his usual chatty tone. You stepped forward to greet him.

‘Ah, hi! You’re uh—Peter, right? I mean that’s half the people here but—’

‘My name is Peter, yes, and as you just pointed out that’s really a lucky guess, but I’m ASSUMING what you mean is I’m Peter Peter, the uh—’

‘The sad one’ you said, far blunter than you’d usually be. He beamed and snapped his fingers.

‘There it is! Yes, that’s me. Or I was.’

‘R-Right. Well, um-- Hi! Can we, help you, with anything?’ you asked. You could sense Mig was still a bit tense, so you decided to step in and speak in his place.

Peter dropped to the floor with an oomph before responding. ‘Ah—well, sort of. I’m not here on an errand though’ he cheerily explained as he stretched. You raised a brow.

‘You’re not?’

‘Nope! I’m here for—him!’ With a gleeful squeal Peter turned to Mig, his eyes eagerly running up every inch of the man’s body. You saw Mig tapping his paws in confusion.

‘Have I- done, something offensive?’ Mig murmured awkwardly.

‘Oh, he’s exactly like I thought he’d be’ Peter cooed. ‘He’s so awkward! No, you haven’t done anything wrong. I just wanted to see if I could uh, tag along with you guys for a bit.’

‘You did?’ you and Mig both said in unison.

‘Oh you’re adorable’ Peter said with a dramatic sigh. ‘You’re both so… well, whatever. You don’t need me fawning over you. But yes! Obviously! Who wouldn’t wanna learn more about the Miguel variant with the spider body? I wanna hear everything!’

‘You do?’ You and Mig repeated together.

‘Yeah! I—look, I feel bad at how strict the others are being on you two. I mean I don’t get it, the whole, spider thing, I mean he is very handsome but the spider is a bit of a deal breaker for me. But I’m just like, hey, good for you guys, you know? Good that it works for you!’

You blinked in surprise as Peter continued to ramble.

‘Plus, look, uh—my wife, Mary, she—well, she’s pregnant!’ he squealed, ‘like, right now! Ah! And I don’t have anyone but Jess to talk to about relationships and I mean she’s always so busy, and Miguel can’t hear about baby stuff, but YOU two! You guys, I can talk to! So, can I? Can I uh—hang around for a bit?’

You glanced at Mig, expecting to see the same hesitation on his face as you felt in yours, only to find him utterly elated. He looked so happy.

‘Ah—yes, of course’ he stammered, his enormous abdomen shifting and vibrating. ‘Of course, a-absolutely. Let us, talk.’

Peter clapped his hands with joy, and you realized you had no other option.

‘GREAT! You guys wanna see the canteen?’

…

‘And I swear, I begged for HOURS, but Mary just wouldn’t come around to it! I said come on, what’s the worst thing that’s ever happened at a gender reveal party?!'

You chuckled politely as Peter finished his dramatic story, a sharp contrast to Mig who was erupting with his sweet, gruff, awkward laughter.

You were sat at a booth in the HQ canteen, with Peter on one side and you on the other, while Mig was awkwardly folded on the floor at the tables head. You’d tried to make room but there just wasn’t space.

You knew everyone was staring at you. You knew they were keeping their heads down so you didn’t suspect them of listening in, even though it was obvious they were. Even the people serving in the kitchen were craning their necks over the counters to watch.

You sank a little deeper into your chair.

‘Your mate sounds very responsible’ Mig said. He shuffled a little as a couple of people had to hop over his body to get around the corridor. ‘Ah—and it is, wonderful to hear your attempts to have offspring were successful. I don’t blame you for being excited. I would be, inconsolable in your position, from joy that is.’

‘Right! I’m just excited, like come on’ Peter said loudly as he grabbed a fry from his plate. ‘Like I was scared, you know? Who knows what my weird spider genes will do! It’s nice to talk to someone who gets it.’

‘Yes. I worried about the same things’ Mig said softly. ‘With my biology being so… poorly constructred, I often lie awake wondering what I would create. But it is hard, to deny yourself something when it is so… close, to your heart. It is what I always wanted, and I know many like us feel that way.’

‘Oh—yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive’ Peter whispered. Mig shook his head.

‘No, no. As mi tesoro says, we’re all strange on the inside.’ Mig turned to you with a smile as he spoke, and you returned it.

‘Right! Sorry, sorry, ah— enough about me though, I have so many questions for YOU. How DID you two meet?’ Peter asked as he folded his hands over the table.

‘Oh, that is an interesting story. Mi arañita, do you—’ Mig turned and gestured with his claws, politely offering you the chance to step in. You quickly swallowed the single fries serving you’d ordered and tried to respond.

‘Oh—oh! Right, um—I was sent to fix an anomaly in his universe, it was my first proper mission and I uh… I, botched it, pretty badly.’

‘Don’t say that arañita, you did well considering the circumstances’ Mig cooed. You waved him off.

‘Yeah, yeah. Well, I messed up and needed help, everyone was busy but I remembered Miguel saying he had a variant in that universe. He said not to reach out, but, I did. And I met Mig.’

‘Yes, I—found them cowering beneath a tree. Such a handsome creature, I thought. So pretty. Que chula, that’s all I could say. I was so attracted I momentarily forgot that they likely would try to kill me out of fear’ Mig dreamily reminisced. Despite your anxiety your smile widened.

‘Oh, you, you’re such a romantic. I could tell’ Peter added as he circled his finger at Mig.

‘Anyway, they—did not hurt me, which I was glad of. I helped heal them and fixed their web shooter, and, they offered to return. To, spend time with me. So we kept doing that and—became friends’ Mig said, finishing the brief and work-friendly version of the story.

‘Oh, that’s— nicer than I was expecting, honestly, considering how we first met you’ Peter teased.

Mig missed the teasing and responded bluntly. ‘Yes! Well, that is the first half. After that, one day they happened to visit while I was rutting, and when I pleaded to mate them, they agreed. We became a mated pair from then on, which is why they were hiding at my house, the poor thing went into quite a severe heat due to my presence.’ His soft, satisfied smile never wavered as he recalled that day.

You could hear a pin drop in the canteen; Mig was talking, but nobody else was.

You immediately sank so low you almost fell beneath the table. Oh god, you thought, why. Why. Why. Why did he have to be so blunt.

You’d shown off in front of Miguel in relative private, sure, but this was different. That was to humiliate him. It made you feel powerful to be in Mig’s arms, beneath his body, but the eyes on you were turning that power to shame.

Peter maintained his smile, but you could see he was a little surprised at the blunt swerve in conversational tone. ‘I—I mean I wasn’t gonna ask about it, you know, it’s rude’ he stammered. ‘You don’t seem like a man who’d kiss and tell—’

‘You mean the mating?’ Mig asked. You shrank into your seat as his words echoed.

‘Ah—yes, the—is that what you call it?’

‘Is that not what it is?’ Mig asked as he tilted his head. ‘I believe that is the proper term. Or, do you mean, here it’s called sex? Because that is also what I meant, and I see no reason to hide it. We’re all sexually mature.’

You noticed Peter stifling laughter as he listened to Mig. Instinctively your stomach clenched; was he just here to make fun of Mig? To make fun of you both? Had you been tricked?

Luckily, Peter spoke before you could spiral further. ‘Oh, you’re so delightful! Isn’t he delightful? I can see why you like him’ he said with his finger pointed at you. ‘I wish I had the guts to say half this stuff, my god, the confidence! I love it! And I can tell he clearly likes you.’

‘Oh, they are—wonderful’ Mig purred in response. His abdomen began to vibrate as he closed his eyes, his thoughts lingering in memories of you in his arms. You gripped the table and begged for the strength to not physically slam your hand over his mouth.

‘Isn’t the size difference a little difficult though?’ Peter whispered. ‘I don’t mean to pry, but—’

‘I was worried about the same thing, but, they take me remarkably well’ Mig said calmly. You thought your teeth would crack, and yet still Peter seemed utterly unphased. ‘I always ensure that they’re not in pain and that they’re enjoying it, and I’ve never had issues.’

‘Oh, well that’s good to hear! I know it’s tough, having issues, especially in those uh—very, intimate areas, and especially I imagine when you’re uh—well, you! So, different! And so early on in a relationship, I mean my god you’re doing better than I did at this stage. You guys must really get along.’

Peter turned to you as he spoke, as if prompting you to engage with the conversation a little more. He must have noticed your silence. Unfortunately, you were still too mortified to really say much more.

‘Y-Yeah. Yeah’ you stammered, unsure of what more to say. Peter seemed to notice your hesitation; Mig did not.

‘Yes. I—I like them, a lot’ Mig said wistfully. ‘It’s not been easy, even now, adjusting to this—body, but… In truth, I feel more wanted now than I did when human. When I was, considered attractive. When I fit into places. That means the world to me. They are, priceless. Mi tesoro.’

You felt your face start to glow as Mig looked down at you in the booth. For just a moment, in that silent space with your eyes locked on, you recontextualized your embarrassment. You felt, guilt.

You were struggling with all the attention. You couldn’t deny that. You knew this was Miguel’s plan to pry you apart, to leave you at the mercy of their constant ridicule. The eyes on you, the constant judgement, it was rough.

But, seeing how happy Mig was, it made you wonder: why did you care?

He looked so happy as he gazed at you. His soft, affectionately creased eyes, his upturned lips showing the thick fangs beneath. What a pretty man.

And Peter, despite your initial reservations, didn’t seem phased at all.

When you’d had everyone’s approval, when you’d been just another replaceable spider doing everything routine and by the books, you’d been ignored. They hadn’t wanted you then, so why did it matter if they didn’t want you now?

Now, you had someone who did. Who cares that you were infatuated with a monster? At least you were wanted.

You smiled. ‘Mig, is… Wonderful, at what he does’ you said softly. ‘I really couldn’t ask for more. He’s so attentive, he—knits me suits, the pillows, and blankets, he refurbished his entire nest for me, he’s always making sure I’m well taken care of. He never raises his voice, never avoids me. I am… very, very, happy.’

The emphasis and tone you put on ‘happy’ was more than enough indication of your sincerity, and was certainly enough to put plenty of unwanted images in the heads of those listening. You didn’t care. You let them imagine, and you beamed up at the real thing.

‘PETER!’

You, Mig and Peter all turned as that chilling voice echoed through the canteen.

Miguel was walking stiffly down the canteen corridor, his eyes roaming. He seemed to be looking for someone, most likely the man he’d just called for.

‘Peter, you’re supposed to be on mission with me. You—’ Miguel paused. He looked up to see you and Mig, sitting comfortably with his friend at the table. The two people he'd been viciously targetting. The two people who had humiliated him in the worst way possible.

‘What is this?’ he hissed.

‘OH! Hey big guy, big fella, big boss man’ Peter cried back, cheery as ever. He didn’t seem to notice the tension as he hopped the back of the booth. ‘I was just making friends! I can say that, right, uh—Mig, is that what people call you? Can I use that?’

Peter spun back to Mig who, under pressure, immediately nodded. ‘Ah—yes, of course. Friends. Yes.’

‘GREAT! Great! Oh, I got two Miguel friends! I’ll catch you two around, okay?’

‘You sure will’ you replied. Peter waved you off as he clapped Miguel on the back.

‘Man those two are great. You never told me your variant was so nice! He’s hilarious!’

You could see that hot, burning anger in Miguel’s eyes even from here as Peter rambled on at him. It was barely disguised beneath his usual calm, collected expression.

You saw him realizing that, even by a small amount, his plan was failing. Mig was being treated as normal, and not by just anyone, but by someone close to him, someone who he could never let find out about your voyeuristic escapades.

Miguel grit his teeth as he tried to find any words to say. ‘Peter, you—’

‘Come on, my god—you were so urgent a minute ago.’ Peter laughed as he dragged Miguel away by the shoulder, and while the man’s eyes lingered on you both he did not strain against Peter’s grip. He reluctantly followed.

Back at the booth, you made a choice. You crawled up onto the table, pushing the fries aside, and with both hands you grabbed Mig’s face. You turned him physically, as he’d been gazing after Peter.

You smiled up at him without a care.

‘My Mig’ you said softly, and then you kissed him. He eagerly kissed you back. In front of the whole canteen you nestled into his fluffy forelegs and let him kiss you from your forehead to your chin.

It wasn’t exactly a perfect first day, but it was good. It was enough for now. Mig had one more friend than he’d had at the start.

But you knew, deep down, Miguel wouldn’t just let this go.

Link to next part!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spider man 2099 #smut #smut with plot #arachnophilia #drider #miguel o'hara smut #drider miguel o'hara #monster human relationship #forbidden romance

170 notes · View notes

primaviva · 1 year ago

Text

PAIRING: gwen stacy x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: it's a rainy friday night, and you and your girlfriend, gwen aka ghost-spider, had plans to hang out. but when she stops responding to your texts, you can only worry. hours pass and your fears are realized when she finally shows up through your window. bloody, beaten, in need of the care only her favorite nurse can provide. you.

WARNING/NOTES: mentions and descriptions of blood/treating wounds, suggestive! towards the end, not smut (creep she’s 16-17 tf) making out and kissing, little angst but mostly fluff, reader is implied to be shorter than gwen?? fic is mad long n so much so it needs a warning just for that, that’s it !!

the night was dark and stormy, the rain falling in sheets, splattering against the hard ground and filling the air with a palpable sense of gloom. It was a friday night, and the city was quiet, the streets nearly empty save for the occasional streetlamp's soft glow cutting through the darkness. the sound of raindrops tapping on the window brought you back to reality, and you glanced at the clock on your bedside table: 8:15 pm. you had been waiting for nearly three hours, hoping for a text from your girlfriend, gwen. you knew today had been a dreary day, and the weather outside made it feel even more so of that.

you let out a deep sigh, feeling a mix of worry and frustration. the silence in the room was deafening, and the only sound was the slow drip of the rain outside. you laid back in your bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if your ghost-spider was ok. you picked up your phone and checked it for the hundredth time, but there was still no response from gwen. your eyes were fixed on the screen, as if staring at it with enough intensity would make your girlfriend send a text. but despite refreshing the messenger app continuously, there was still no response, and with each passing moment, the tension in your chest only grew. the air around you felt thick and still, as if the universe was holding its breath. after the first hour of this waiting game, you had tried to distract yourself with your favorite album. it’s something you and gwen would do together because of your mutual love for music, but the song felt muted as your mind kept returning back to her. as the hours passed, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

the job of the ghost-spider being defined as hard would be the biggest understatement of the century. not only did you watch her fight every new menace of the week who thought they was the one while also stopping the average goon who really in their right mind thought they could fight the spiderwoman with a pocket knife, even with her name hinting at the spider power part, you also saw how the heroine lifestyle took a toll on her physically and mentally. she’s forced to lie to her loved ones and devote time from her life to serve new york, missing out on her own personal day to day life. you knew this was the life she chose for herself and you supported her, and with her power came a responsibility to use it for the good of the people, but you wish you could do more for her every time you saw her with dark bags under her eyes and a pained look on her face from all the injuries and physical labor she put her body through the night before. you were one of the few people that knew who she was, beside your friend peter. her dad didn’t know, and you could only imagine what he would do if he had known the “homicidal spider” he was hunting for was under the same roof as him and buying father’s day cards every year. gwens life is a hard one to live, but not an impossible one, and with you around there’s a weight lifted off her shoulders. you would never talk her out of being the ghost-spider, because you knew it was part of her identity, who she is, and also how the city needed her, and it helped keep spiderwoman going knowing she could protect you including.

the knocking at your window jolted you out of your worry-induced daze, and you quickly ran to the window to see who was there, a glimmer of hope in your eye. as you approached, you realized that it was your gwen, sticking to the outside of the window, her costume torn and her body covered in blood. your heart skipped a beat as you hurriedly opened the window and brought her inside, quickly lending your arms on her tense triceps for support as she crawled her way inside your room with a trail of red following her inside. as you looked at your girlfriend, you couldn't believe the state she was in. she was covered in blood, her face contorted in pain, and her eyes had a faraway look in them that you’d never seen before.

"what the hell happened, gwen? a-are you ok?” you asked, your concern for her clouding your mind.

gwen took a deep, shallow breath before answering, her voice raspy from the pain, "got caught in a trap trying to stop our friend the rhino from busting ceiling first into the local bank. i managed to stop him, but that walking meatsack on steroids nearly beat me unconscious.” her voice was laced with sarcasm as she hit you with one of her playful, classic spiderwoman remarks. but the delivery hit different.

even though you couldn't see her face, you could almost feel her gaze staring intensely into your own. it felt like you both were the only two people left in the city, locked in a moment of silence. as her mouth was still obscured by her mask, you could feel her breath on your skin. then there was the blood, a small trickle that had fallen from her nose, leaving a tiny stain on the edge of her mask. it was a reminder of her injury, a fleeting glimpse into her vulnerability with you. these were the moments that made you want to hold her tighter, to try and comfort her, to try and make everything okay.

“how long did it even take you to get here?” you questioned her, your answer being the silence that was your room.

you slid her mask up with worry in your eyes, “gwen…” you mumbled in a shaky voice. her hands slid around your hips to your waist in a weak hold and a very poor attempt to reassure you knowing how busted and bruised she looked. she began leaning against your window, unable to hold herself upright as the change in position shifted your balance and weight into her chest as her strong arms embraced you further.

your face was pressed against her chest in the tight hug as you listened to her fast, pounding heartbeat gradually begin to slow down from all the adrenaline of her trip. with you now in gwens arms, she let out a shaky breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over her as she leaned her head to rest on top of yours, leaving a faint kiss on your temple in the process. she chuckled softly, letting the familiar scent of your hair and the warmth of your skin fill her senses. you tried to pull yourself away but gwens arms only tightened, her chest straining against the weight of you, but despite the pain, she didn't care. all she wanted is to be as close as possible to you in this moment, to feel you against her.

"i'm so sorry," she murmured, her voice low and sweet yet unsteady. "i didn't mean to scare you. i just need to be near you right now, to feel you. i really don't want you to worry.” she loosened her grip on you, feeling the warm and soft curves of your body as her fingers danced up and down your back, glad that she was able to have you in her hands and finally be with you again.

you soon realized it wasn’t just the rain from the window still being open that was making you shiver as gwens hands lightly roamed the exposed skin under your shirt and around your abdomen. her hands were wet and cold, leaving a frozen imprint on your skin that sent shivers throughout your whole body and butterflies started to bubble in your stomach. you pressed your face more into her chest as your arms moved from her triceps to her back, your hands noticing how cold she is. you feel the frigid, soaked clothes against gwen’s skin, and her short hair, which was slick from the rain slowly trickling down her neck. you can sense how exhausted she is, how much pain her body is in.

it's heartbreaking to see her in such a state, and for a moment, you both just stood there, holding onto each other, not wanting this moment of solace and safety to end. she held you close, enjoying the heat radiating from your body and the comfort of your presence. gwen never wants you to worry too much even if it’s inevitable, so she tries to stay calm and strong, but the emotions of the moment are too strong to hold back. she lets out a strained groan as her finger tips dig into your hips from the sudden pain, bringing you back to the reality of her injuries as you lifted your head from her chest.

your hand on her back made its way to the nape of her neck, the touch being both gentle and reassuring as you caressed the back of her head, she felt herself calming down again. the coldness clung to her like a wet blanket and the only warmth was from your touch. she leaned into you, reveling in the feeling of your hot fingers against her chilled skin, savoring your touch. as you cradled her frigid cheek, she couldn't help but feel a tug at her heartstrings, her watercolor eyes widening as she stared back into your own, searching for what you were going to do next.

“start taking that suit off and...and i’ll be right back,” you said to your girlfriend, who was about to catch a severe case of hypothermia if you didn’t get a grip on the situation at hand. gwen raised a brow at what you said with the corners of her mouth twitching into the best smirk she could put on while being in this state. she knew exactly what you meant, she just wanted to tease you.

“gwen,” you said as you let out an exasperated sigh, crossing your arms as you narrowed your eyes at her. she slumped her shoulders, letting out a “yes nurse!” before following your orders. “i’m gonna go get the first aid kid, ok? be right back,” you added and watched from the doorway of your bedroom as she gave a silent hum in response, too weary to respond and too caught up in taking her suit off.

as you stepped out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, you tried to keep your composure, not wanting to stress yourself and instead focus on doing your best to help your girlfriend. quickly, you begin rummaging through the cabinet, trying to find the correct medical supplies needed to treat such an extreme wound. it looked like she had gotten hit by a freight train, but only after having her stomach clawed at like smokey the bear had turned evil. you stumble across the first-aid kit, and urgently grab some gauze, bandages, and other necessary supplies. you’re caught off guard by a loud thud coming from your room.

“gwen?” you were already anxious and tried to keep your voice steady while listening further. hearing no reply caused your heart to weigh heavier and heavier as you picked up the pace and returned to her.

trying to ignore the pool of blood on the floor next to the window, you walked back in with the kit and supplies in hand and your eyes landed on her lean body, struggling to pull the rest of her suit down.

“hey wait,” you spoke, setting the supplies down on the nightstand, “before you look even more of a mess, let me help you.” gwen’s eyes widened and her lips were slightly parted, as if she was taken aback by your offer. nonetheless, she didn't hesitate to accept your helping hands. you approached her where she was still standing and noticed that she had only been able to slide her suit down to her abdomen, exposing her black sports bra that hugged her perfectly and her toned upper body. aware of her eyes watching your every move, you reached out to her and took a firm hold of the waistline of her soaked suit, gently lowering it down until the fabric hit the floor, letting her step out with ease. gwen was clearly surprised by the sudden act, and you could see a hint of shyness in her eyes. even as you’re the one who is taking charge of the situation, it felt as though she was still in control. she had a power over you that you couldn't explain.

"feeling better?" you asked gwen as you looked up at her. her chest was heaving up and down and her eyes still stared at you closely. even with her obvious exhaustion, a gentle smile found its way onto her face. "I always feel better with you," she said in a hoarse tone. you felt a warm, fuzzy sensation in your chest as gwen spoke those words. the feeling was indescribable.

you turned to your closet and started rummaging through your clothes in search of something comfortable, knowing that she probably wanted to change into a warmer pair of clothes after traveling who knows how long to your apartment in that freezing ass suit as soon as possible. finally, you found a pair of pajama pants and a long-sleeved top that you thought would fit her. "these are gonna help you feel even better," you told her with a wink.

she nodded in agreement, but when you walked over to help gwen change, she looked at you with wide eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "oh, you know don't have to help me," she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. you knew she was feeling vulnerable, but the subtle look of pure shock on her face made you want to kick your feet and giggle just at the reaction you were getting out of her. “i know,” was all you said back. you didn't listen and instead you gently lifted her foot, motioning her to step into the pants.

gwen seemed to appreciate the fact that you were taking care of her when she was in such a weakened state, but at the same time, appeared to be embarrassed by the whole idea of someone else dressing her, especially when the person in question was her extremely beautiful girlfriend. while gwen would like to believe she’s always the flirt of the relationship and insists that she’s so good that she should teach a master class, there were equal moments where you matched her witty comments or acted innocent enough to catch her lacking and get a glimpse of a flustered gwen. in your hands, she melted into putty for you.

“thanks,” she added in a hushed voice and balanced herself on the floor with a strong grip on your shoulders. you kissed her cheek and whispered, "don’t have to thank me," in her ear. if it weren't for the one light that only illuminated half of your room, you would have been able to see the rose wave of blush that coated your girlfriend's cheeks as you gazed up at her with a reassuring smile.

"go ahead and get comfortable because i know you can't wait to ruin my sheets," you taunted, remembering all the times gwen had shown up unannounced, threw herself on your bed as soon as you made it, and completely wrecked the mattress.

giggles filled the room, "at least i'm not putting my 'dirty converse' on it.” gwen was referring to a moment when she had the absolute audacity to walk around your room with her dirty shoes, let alone place them on your bed, rather than taking the sneakers off in the corner as soon as she came in. “yeah thank god,” you mumbled in relief.

you turned and walked towards the window to close in an attempt to stop the frigid air seeping in, you were struck by the sudden silence that filled the room. the sound of raindrops hitting the fire escape outside had faded into a faint, muffled noise. it wasn't until you picked up her suit from the floor to fold it and noticed the deep, bloody gashes crisscrossing it, that you began to understand the extent of her injuries. turning around, your eyes widened as your jaw hung loosely at the sight upon seeing gwen lying on the bed, but blood staining the sheets all pouring from her stomach and down the side.

you grabbed a small rag and sprayed a good amount of warm water on it and rubbed some soap to further saturate the fabric. you sat at her bedside, pausing for a moment to compose yourself before starting, the nerves building as you were met with the horrific scene at her abdomen.

“babe…it’s just a scratch,” gwen murmured to try and hype you up that this was an easy task. “just a scratch? a scratch isn’t the size of your head doubled and they definitely ain’t as deep as this,” you told her with wide eyes, completely baffled at her attempt to comfort you. did she not notice that sitting on your bed alone made it change colors?

“you ready?” you asked her, prepared to begin cleaning her wounds. gwen nodded, wincing as you began to gently dab at the wound with the soapy rag. you tried to be as gentle as possible, but the sight of the deep gash made your stomach churn. “you need to be more careful gwen,” you scolded, continuing to carefully clean and disinfect the area. she started to frown and you began to feel a little twinge of guilt.

you weren’t mad at her but this always frustrated you. of course you know that your girlfriend is spiderwoman, but she’s still human, and seeing her like this was a terrifying reminder of the dangers she faces every night. you never gave her hell for bailing dates, not answering texts, or just leaving in the middle of you guys spending time together because it’s part of who she is. gwen chose to be the hero new york needs, and you just wanted to make her days a little more easier.

she slowly opened her mouth to speak, trying to find the right words until a sudden surge of pain hit her. “shit!” gwen

spat out as her body instinctively sat up straight while her hand covered her injury.

“what's wrong? does it sting?” you asked hastily, only to get a frantic nod in return. "i'm fine…just peachy," she hitched, though you could hear the strain in her voice. you could feel gwen flinch as you touched the wound, “just a few more minutes i promise,” you said, looking up at her and offering a small smile. you shuffled closer to your girlfriend and gently moved her hand that was guarding her wound as she leaned her head on your shoulder, her breath tickling your neck.

as you tended to your girlfriend's wound, you couldn't help but be captivated by her toned abs and muscular arms. the sight of her fit and athletic physique was enough to make your heart skip a beat. it didn’t help that after cleaning up her stomach gashes, you found yourself losing focus on the task at hand, staring at her abs instead. which definitely didn’t go unnoticed by a blonde inches away from you. you gulped, quickly returning to dabbing the wound as you felt guilty for letting your attraction to her distract from the task in front of you. you then applied antiseptic to prevent infection and carefully bandaged the wound with gauze, making sure to wrap it tightly enough to stem the bleeding but not so tightly as to cause discomfort.

you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, feeling the chill of her skin against your lips. “all done.”

"my hero," gwen groaned, looking up at you from her position with a grin. "think I'm starting to like getting hurt, just so i can be taken care of by you."

you couldn't help but let out a small huff of annoyance at her attempt to joke around. the stress of seeing her hurt was still fresh in your mind, and her comment didn't help ease your mind. "let's hope you don't have to get hurt too often," you replied, trying to keep your tone light. gwen smiled weakly, knowing that her attempt at humor had fallen flat. "i'm sorry," she said, reaching out to take your hand. “i’ll be right back,” you hummed, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

you packed up the first aid kit and took with you a change of clothes to the bathroom, carefully, you began to stow away the antiseptic, gauze, and bandages, making sure everything was in its proper place. as you placed the kit in the cabinet, you took a deep breath and looked at yourself in the mirror. your clothes were ruined, splattered with blood and damp from hugging gwen. with a sigh, you removed the stained clothes and slipped into a fresh, new set. coincidentally, the shirt was one of your girlfriend's many oversized shirts you stole she let you borrow. the one you had on was her mary janes shirt which looked much bigger on you than it did her and ended a little over thigh.

when you came back to your room, gwen as sitting up in the bed, eyeing you curiously. ‘that shirt looks familiar’ she thought, too dazed and confused to pinpoint fast enough where it's from. “there’s my nurse- what took you so long?" she asked, mouthing an oh as her eyes drifted to the bloody clothes on the floor. you walked up to the opposite side of the bed she was on and took a seat. a faint smile forms on your girlfriend's face as she sees you, but it's quickly replaced by a smirk as she recognizes your outfit.

"a quick change of clothes, huh? you trying to impress someone?" she teased. you felt your cheeks heat up and rolled your eyes. "well, you know i can't resist the opportunity to impress my favorite patient,” you bantered back, matching her energy. “you’re so dramatic because i wasn’t even gone that long. got blood all over me, so i had to change. it doesn’t feel right walking around your home with blood stains on your clothes like a murder suspect so…”

giggles filled the room but it slowly died down and was taken over by the tense ambiance of the room. you were still sat the opposite of gwen and you weren’t even facing her, still trying to calm your nerves and shaky hands from fixing her up.

"thanks for taking care of me," gwen said quietly, trying to move closer to you. you hummed in response. “and i’m sorry about your sheets, and the floor, and-”

"don’t worry about the mess, i can clean it up later. just focus on getting better for me,” you cut her off, pinching the bridge of your nose.

gwen couldn't help but feel troubled by the silence, why one half of you felt so loving while the other frustrated, but another emotion she couldn’t put her finger on just yet. "i keep saying sorry and you never respond, is there something wrong? did…did i upset you?” she asked softly, searching your face for a reaction.

“no! no- it’s just…” you let out as a huff, closing your eyes in an attempt to help you search for the right words.

you looked up, your eyes finally meeting hers but to gwen’s surprise your gaze held a completely different emotion. sadness. "you don't have to say sorry," you replied, your voice gentle. "i know you can't control what happens to you when you're out there patrolling as spiderwoman. and i don't want you to feel like im doing too much for you than you’re worthy of or that you don't deserve to be cared for. i do this because i chose to, because i want to stay by your side and make your life just a little bit easier, because...because i love you.”

as your words sank in, gwen was overcome with a flurry of conflicting emotions. her heart swelled with love and gratitude, but at the same time, she felt a pang of guilt and sadness. she didn't want to be a burden to you, to cause you stress or worry, but she didn't know how to express her feelings without coming across as weak or needy. tears welled up in her eyes as she struggled to find the right words. then, as she heard the sound of your quiet sniffles, she was jolted out of her frozen state. “but i’m also afraid of losing you a-and everything we have,” you confessed, your voice choked with emotion as you struggled to compose yourself.

gwen’s heart ached as she listened to your words. she always knew that you were a caring and selfless person, but hearing you express your fears opened her eyes to a whole new level of understanding. she knew that the life of a superhero was filled with danger and uncertainty, and that there were no guarantees for you guys future together. but she also knew that she couldn't imagine her life without you, and that she was willing to do whatever it took to make things work. gwen would do whatever it takes to return back to you. she wanted to hold you, to comfort you, and assure you that she wasn't going anywhere, but the lump in her throat made it hard to speak. instead, she reached out and took your hand, squeezing it tightly, hoping that the gesture would convey the depth of her feelings.

"i'm not going anywhere," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "i’m right here, and i'm always gonna be here. i'm not going to leave you. we'll get through this together."

you pulled her hand closer to you and laid it on your thigh, still not saying a word. as the silence fell between you both once more, gwen knew that she had to find a way to show you just how much you meant to her.

“can i see my girl's beautiful face?” she asked, a light grin on display as she massaged circles into your skin. “please?”

gwen moved her hand from your thigh and to your knee with a firm grip as she used it as leverage to pick herself up, still feeling weak from her injuries. she found herself hovering over you and lightly parting your legs with her hands so she can be directly in front of you.

“look at me,” she asked, her voice both gentle but stern. you put your hand over her hands that cupped your knee and stared up at her, eyes puffy and red from the faded tears. ‘beautiful’ is all she thought to herself.

gwen leaned down, her forehead touching yours. “you’re my world,” she whispered to your lips, loud enough so you could hear. “and i’ll do anything to make sure i come back safe and sound to you. i just want you to be ok, it’s one of the reasons i fight so hard. for you.”

you reached up and cupped her cheek, your thumb tracing her cheekbone. “i know," you spoke softly, “i love you for it."

as the air from your words brushed up against her mouth, gwen lowered her lips onto yours and captured you in a passionate kiss.

it was soft and gentle, a reflection of the love and tenderness you felt for each other. you could feel the warmth of gwen's breath against your skin, and it sent shivers down your spine. your hands found their way to her hair, tangling in the soft strands as you deepened the kiss. as the intensity of the kiss grew, so did your feelings about each other. the passion between you was undeniable, and you both knew that you would do anything for each other. you felt yourself getting lost in the moment, the world around you fading away as you focused solely on each other.

when she pulled away, gwen’s eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “nothing can pull us apart, or else they’re gonna have to deal with me,” she declared, her voice full of conviction as you giggled at the threat she made.

as you sat across from each other, your eyes locked in a heated gaze, a palpable tension hung thick in the air between you. your thoughts went astray as you longed to feel gwen's presence, to be as close to her as possible. you could feel her desire for you radiating off her, matching the intensity of your own. every fiber in her being wanted nothing more but to collide with you. gwen's eyes were fixed on your lips, and you could see the struggle within her to resist the urge to lean in and kiss you. the anticipation was unbearable, and you both knew that it was only a matter of time before this ignited into something more.

gwen longed to feel you close to her, to wrap you in her embrace and provide comfort to you in the knowledge she was right here with you, and that’s not gonna change any time soon. the atmosphere between the two of you felt heavy, the weight of each passing second causing you to ache for what you both knew was inevitable. your lips brushed gently against each other, making your mind go hazy, and you could feel your body reacting with a force that was beyond your control. the desire to have her to yourself was too strong to ignore.

at that moment, gwen saw your eyes flicker down to her own lips, and before you knew it, she smashed her lips onto yours. what once was a tender kiss, soon turned into a fervent make out.

gwen now fully climbed over you, still using your knees as support to tower over you as she pushed her thigh up to between your legs. she started to teasingly lick your bottom lip, lightly biting and pulling on it while your hands went to the nape of her neck, gripping the small bit of hair you were able to reach firmly. she pushed you further into your mattress with her strong body, pulling her leg up higher until it was met with the clothed fabric of your bottoms. you let out a moan into the kiss as you felt her tongue stroke your bottom lip once again before sliding it in until it was kissing the inside of your mouth. It was as if all the tension, desire, and frustration with the two of you had been building up to this, and now there was no turning back.

as your tongues tangled together, gwen's hands roamed over your body, pulling you even closer and wanting to feel every inch of your warm skin. the way her rough and calloused hands made themself comfortable around, like they were learning every curve and crevice of you all over again made your head go into override. your tongues danced together in a romantic tango, exploring and teasing each other. the kiss spoke volumes without any words. a kiss that conveyed love and safety all at once.

as the moment continued, gwen felt a twinge of pain in her stomach wound. she tried to ignore it, not wanting to break from the spell you had her under, but it was too much to bear.

"ouch," gwen winced, pulling back from the kiss and placing a hand on her lower abdomen. "what's wrong?" you asked, concern etched on your face. you gently moved her hand and pressed your finger tips around the bandages, checking if everything was alright. if you looked up, you would see a small smirk on gwen’s face as she watched how concentrated you looked.

"it's nothing, just my stomach wound acting up," she replied, trying to downplay the pain.

"are you sure you should be kissing me like this? maybe you should be resting instead," you suggested in a slight teasing tone, tucking the short blonde strands of hair on her forehead behind her ear.

“y’know i should,” she agreed, which took you back a bit, “but it's just too hard to resist your face.” there goes your gwen, stubborn as always. you felt your cheeks heat up at her words.

as she started leaning in to kiss you again, you put a finger on her lip. “i”m not trying to hurt you more than you already are,” you told her, worried she was pushing herself a little.

gwen eyes softened as she noticed you were still a little antsy about everything.

"you won't, i promise,” gwen reassured you. she knew she wasn't supposed to be exerting her energy like this, but she wanted to compensate for the fear she brought upon you. she wanted to treat you like how you deserved to be treated. with a sigh, gwen shifted into a more comfortable position, propping herself up with a few pillows. she leaned her back in relief against the headboard of your bed, giving you access to the faint view of her adam’s apple as she stretched out her neck. ‘even at her worse she looks her best’ you thought. she lowered her head, meeting your gaze with half lidded eyes.

“you have no idea how bad i wanted to see you today,” she murmured lazily. “i think i do,” you answered as gwen gave you an ‘i know babe’ look.

suddenly, you felt strong arms scoop you from under your thighs.

“now, where were we?" she asked, settling you on her lap as your legs straddled her sides. gwen leaned in to kiss you as her hands found their way around your waist before tracing circles into your back. you closed your eyes and let yourself get lost in the moment, forgetting about the pain and the worries. gwen's touch was gentle and tender, and as you both continued to kiss, you felt a sense of comfort in her arms.

her hands move to the back of your neck, holding you in place as she explores your mouth, rolling her hips against yours to add to the friction. her tongue rolls against yours as you both rock back and forth, electrified by each other's touches.

gwen pulled back for air, a proud grin growing from one side of her face to the other as she saw the view in front of her. it was you, breathing heavy trying to catch whatever air you can. but most importantly, you were smiling.

“there’s my girl,” she breathed out as the silent room echoed both of your loud chuckling.

gwen moved your shoulder and gently motioned you down onto the pillows next to her as she propped herself up on her shoulder. she looked down at you lovingly before littering your neck with feathery kisses, leaving a trail down to your collarbone. her hands move to your waist, caressing your sides lovingly as she begins to move your shirt up, slowly revealing your body beneath. without warning gwen began kissing from your lower abdomen and all the way up your torso to your chest.

“i,” kiss, “love,” kiss, “you,” kiss.

gwen began muttering i love you’s into your skin with each soft peck. the tingly sensation of the kisses mixed with her chilly breath against your skin as she spoke made you turn into a giggly mess under her.

there was nothing more gwen loved than to see you happy and giggling, especially if it was because of her. you felt gwen smirk against your stomach. that was until she placed her tongue between her lips and blew air onto your stomach, making you sit up and break into laughter. your snorts melted her heart as she kept going to annoy you.

“gwen, you are so damn childish! stop zurberting me-” you gasped between laughs at the feeling, trying to push her away. “do i look like a baby to you? you know i’m ticklish!”

you felt a fuzzy feeling in you chest as you felt gwen relax her head into your stomach, her amused chuckles hitting your skin. "but it's so much fun to see you like this," gwen replied, a despicable glint in her eyes. she blew another zurbert on your stomach, making you squirm even more.

"you're impossible," you groaned, but you couldn't help but smile at her antics. gwen had a way of making you feel better no matter how down or mundane your day is.

"im also your girlfriend," she grinned, finally relenting and snuggling up to you. "and i love making you laugh."

she wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you close to her. "i love you," gwen whispered. "i love you too," you replied. smiling warmly. "but let's make sure you get some rest, okay? i don't want you to push yourself too hard."

gwen's eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned in to give you a playful kiss. "i wouldn't worry about that," she assured you, a small smirk on her face as she was still able to feel the warmth of your lips on hers. "i'm feeling better already."

you couldn't help but laugh at her boldness, but you were also glad to see her in good spirits. as she held you in her strong embrace, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. your presence was like a lifeline, bringing comfort and stability to the chaos in gwen’s life. it was moments like these that made all the hard work, pain, and stress worth it, because gwen knew that she had you by her side through thick and thin.

A/N: this mierda was so long omg- anyways !! i been working on this for a week but wanted to post my gwen x reader headcanons first. my requests are open and ive already received some for gwen and started working on them so ty guys for the attention and requests im new to posting on tumblr so i appreciate it <33

414 notes · View notes

maybe-moonchild · 3 months ago

Text

CHAPTER 6

summary: in which it is the end. oh, what a ride this has been. WC: 6.0k

°｡⋆˚🕷˚⋆｡⋆｡

Later doesn’t come until after you’ve been discharged from the hospital the next evening.

Since your ‘mugging’ resulted in loss of consciousness, you had to spend the night and morning under observation before discharge papers made their way into your hands. Well, more like into Peter’s hands. After he watched you struggle to hold the clipboard and pen to sign your name, he took over without a word.

You had to change back into your dress which was less than pleasant. Red tinged the back of the collar from the blow to your head and dirt streaked the front but you don’t really care, not when you’re too busy being wheeled down the hall, out the door, and under the dreary skies to wait for a cab.

Peter is there every step of the way.

He’s always there, hovering, whether it be sitting beside your bed, helping you into the cab, or opening all of the doors to your apartment, he’s there. His presence isn’t overwhelming considering neither of you are feeling particularly chatty. While you half consciously watch TV, he’s napping with his head in his arms beside you in that shitty hospital chair. When you start to get restless and struggle to find a comfortable position propped against the crappy pillows, he wordlessly adjusts them for you.

The ride back to your apartment is filled with a similar quiet, neither of you knowing what the two of you are. Before today, you hadn’t even been friends. Just two people maneuvering around an awkwardness, one as tangible as the furniture in your entryway as he guides you inside.

Katies missing presence is apparent the moment you step in the door. Darkness holds the room captive, the only light coming from the windows, even that all gloomy from the weather. A part of you is relieved you might blurt out Peter’s secret to the first person you see, the knowledge settling in your stomach like you swallowed a firecracker.

Plus, she texted that she’d be home late. Something about having dinner plans and needing you to check her in for a lobotomy in the morning... whatever that meant…

“All I’m saying is that a 24 hour sushi spot… game changer,” you murmur, earning a sound of amusement from Peter as he shuts the door. Your keys find themselves in their home in the catchall on the table, clattering against the glass a familiar sound of home and you finally feel like you can relax.

“You’re saying you eat enough sushi at two in the morning to justify that?”

Your limbs still feel heavy that you don’t protest as he works your coat off your good arm, the other side hangs off your shoulder.

You just shrug, returning another timid smile as he hangs up your jacket. “I’m just saying that I crave enough sushi at that hour that I could keep them in business.”

“Okay. No more sushi at three in the morning,” he snorts. Something about the sound almost feeling like a laugh makes you feel a little lighter.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asks. The way you scrunch up your nose is enough of an answer. After the events of last night, nothing sounds particularly appetizing. You’d eaten at the hospital since you were under watchful eyes, but you were more focused on the prospect of crawling into your own bed.

You struggle to unlace your shoes with one hand, leaning back against the wall for support. It’s harder than you thought, the laces of your high tops being a struggle only reminds you that, for the next 6-8 weeks, everything is about to be a struggle.

Without a word, he’s crouching in front of you so he can take over. You let him, head falling back and watching him, pretending you’re not making note of his mouth, how it pinches to the side when he concentrates. His freckles had become less prominent over time, once dusting his cheeks which now were likely in a constant state of bruised. His fingers are gentle as they work out the knot before pulling off your shoe, dropping it to the floor. .

You tell yourself it's the drugs; that’s why you suddenly wish you had a microscope, magnifying every detail of his face so you could scrutinize each detail about him. That the remnants of drugs from your time in the hospital- who were you kidding? A part of your discharge requirements was that they were wearing off and your pain was managed by over the counter medications.

Fine, then maybe it's simply because you are still trying to comprehend that Peter is Spider-Man. That you’ll eventually see something that makes it all click into place, making that somehow seem less like a dream. If he said it was all a dream, you might have believed him.

Your shoes land with a thud beside the door, his hands finding your hips to steady you and himself as he stands. The contact is brief and you feel disappointed in how hard it is not to reach for him. It’s almost embarrassing, how strong of an impulse it is that you barely manage to keep your hands to yourself.

So you focus on the things you can completely control.

Change clothes, brush teeth- hell, maybe your hair too- and then right to bed. A shower can wait for morning and you will happily rewash all of your sheets in the afternoon if it means you can crawl under the sheets.

“I’m okay, you know.” His brows furrow at the unprompted statement, like he can’t believe you would try and convince him of that. Peeking up at him from your lashes, the corner of your mouth turns up in what you hope is a reassuring smile. “I’m just going to head to bed… so… I doubt you got any sleep last night sitting up right in a plastic chair.”

Truthfully, you don’t think he had even tried to rest. You managed to sleep pretty well considering you were partially conscious and partially hopped off the steady stream of whatever drugs were floating around your IV. Each time you stirred throughout the night, you managed to get a glimpse of Peter, his leg bouncing anxiously, either half asleep or fully awake.

“That would be really great if I believed you.” You frown at him, unsure if he’s talking about you actually saying you’re okay or if you’re going to go to bed when he leaves.

His shoulders dip in a shrug. “I don’t want to leave.” His tentative smile drops for a moment. “You’re hurt…I feel responsible for it. You should never have been in the place to…,” he adds before lifting his head to look down at you. The words are bitter in his mouth, coated in something that tastes like guilt and shame.

But you also wonder if he hates the idea of being alone as much as you do.

Except, when you actually think about it, if anyone else were here, you wouldn’t want them hanging around. You realize that it’s less about being alone and more about the crave of his company.

Specifically, the crave of his presence.

“You can borrow something of Flash’s,” you say over your shoulder. Peter lifts his head, taking a moment to raise his eyebrows before quickly catching up as you lead him down the hall. Drugs make your steps a little fumbled, Peter's hand hovering behind your lower back like a shadow.

His mouth twitches into a little frown, “Flash?”

Katie and Flash, the two people had somehow wedged themselves into the spot that had once been his- No, no no. That wasn’t true. They’d trickled into his place when Peter had left it vacant. Through four years of high school and another four years of undergrad, they stuck around. Katie’s room was just down the hall and Flash crashed enough on your couch to warrant him having a drawer here.

They stayed with you. They didn’t leave.

And Peter did.

They were always there.

And Peter wasn’t.

Before either of you really think about it, Peter’s moving with a muscle memory he didn’t realize was still ingrained in his limbs. He finds your bedside lamp, flipping it on to bathe the room in the dim light that sends the shadows stretching around your furniture. Then he’s flipping off the overhead light since you’ve always found it to be ugly and harsh.

As you dig through said drawer of Flash’s, searching one handed for a T-shirt and sweats that will fit him, he opts to hover near the wall.

“Here, just let me help,” he adds, his voice as his touch as he reaches for you, steadying you by the crook of your arm and your waist. “You. Sit. I’ll be your hands.”

You’re too tired to argue. Instead, you just nod and let him guide you to sit at the edge of your bed. Your pajamas are sitting on your desk chair, a habit you’d had since you were a kid. Peter collects them and sets them in your lap.

“You can change in the bathroom and I’ll change in here?”

The two of you go your separate ways so you can strip off your damp clothes in an attempt to escape the vague sterile smell lingering on the fabric. By the time he’s returned, dark hair messy and arms easily filling out the borrowed T-Shirt so nicely, you’ve managed to get your shorts on.

That's it.

“I can’t get it off one handed,” you grumble from where you have flopped backward on the mattress, “I can’t actually get the sleeve over my cast with one hand but I can’t use my other hands because it is clearly the problem here.”

That was where you had given up. Your legs dangle off the edge, eyes staring up at the ceiling as you frown. The frustration of trying to do such a simple task with such a great difficulty had been enough to almost bring you to tears.

Give yourself a break, you’d had a pretty rough day.

The corners of Peter’s lips twitch as he slowly shuts your bedroom door. Even though your eyes are still staring flatly at the ceiling, he does his best to hide any sign of amusement on the chance that will send you over the edge and into tears.

“Come here,” Peter says, his voice soft and gentle as he uses one knee to kneel beside you. He pulls you up so you’re sitting upright and you let him, even if you can’t help but sigh dramatically. This was going to be a long six to eight weeks until the hairline fracture in your arm healed entirely.

You watch him from under your lashes as he bends down. His fingers are delicate and deliberate as he starts to work on shimmying your sleeve around the cast. Your eyes can’t help themselves from flicking at his mouth; his bottom lip rolling under his teeth in concentration, trying to avoid his knuckles accidentally brushing along the skin of your stomach or back

“There,” he says, gently brushing your hair back behind your ear. “There...all set.”

You would mumble more than just a thanks if your brain didn’t feel like it was short circuiting. The sleeves dangle at your sides, arms free from your dress while it is still on in some capacity and you’re not sitting entirely exposed either.

“You can uh… just… turn around.” There's a long pause and your skin feels so hot you want to die.

“Instead of leaving the room- if you’re comfortable with that…”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, definitely.” Peter doesn’t hesitate as the words practically spill from his mouth before he is spinning around. “Yeah, I can just- I can’t see anything but, here I can cover my eyes.”

“Pete, you don’t need to cover your eyes-”

“Too late. Already covered.”

You shake your head fondly, feeling like the entire room has taken a breath.

It might as well have been a lungful of carbon monoxide when you quickly realize that you’ll be changing just a few feet away.

You’re an adult; grow up.

Clearing your throat, you move gently when you pull off the dress, feeling exposed even if he clearly isn’t looking and he’s humming to pass the time. Peter is humming, facing the opposite direction and rocking back and forth on his feet. At first you think he’s only doing it because he’s trying to make it as apparent as he possibly can that he is not looking. Then you start to wonder if it’s because he’s uncomfortable at the prospect of you changing behind him, just a few feet away.

Now you feel uncomfortable at the idea that you have now made him uncomfortable. But why would he be uncomfortable over that after last week when you’d slept over? When his mouth was hot and feverish on your neck, distracted in the quest of tasting every inch of skin- you yank the NYU sweatshirt over your head to shut your mind up.

“You need anything?” he asks after a moment has passed.

You shake your head before realizing that he can’t see you. “No, but thank you. I’m good, by the way. You can… uh… look now.”

The first thing he does is take your dirty clothes and toss them into your hamper with ease; just so you don’t have to get up. Then, he’s lowering himself behind you and making quick work at freeing your hair from the collar of your sweatshirt as you try to yourself.

You inhale sharply when he brushes against the back of your neck.

Fidgeting with the plaster of your cast is a good way to hide part of your face and avoid his eye. Peter’s head is tilted to try and see you anyway before he seems to hesitate, reaching out before pulling his hand back. He must decide to go for it then, inhaling quietly and letting his fingers dance with your own.

“You’ll have to sign it,” you hum, knocking his knee with your knee to lighten the mood. “Make it look less ugly right?”

It works, a little smile appearing on his mouth before he tries to press his lips together to stifle it. This time when you look up, Peter’s not looking at you. While it looks as though he’s studying your intertwined hands, you know him enough to know he’s staring at the cast and letting his mind runamuck with guilt.

“It was like when we were ten. When you tried to teach me how to skateboard.” You look down too, but more so that you can remember the memory.

“God, that was a nightmare,” Peter chuckles quietly, shaking his head. “You’re first and last time on a skateboard.”

“Nuh uh, I got on it after that.”

He snorts quietly, lost in thought, “Yeah, only when I held both of your hands.”

The two of you settle into a quiet that makes the splatter of rain against the glass echo. Gray clouds hide the sun, making it feel later than it truly is. Everything seems quieted by a thick blanket of solitude.

As kids, the two of you had a knack for trouble and injuries. Usually it was Peter that needed some degree of medical attention with scraped knees from the pavement or a sprained wrist when he didn’t notice a particularly troublesome crack in the sidewalk. Your injuries were usually in conjunction with his when he tripped you on his way down or a spout of shenanigans sent both of you falling down a few steps.

Teaching you how to skateboard had been difficult that Saturday afternoon when you were both nine. Red and orange leaves covered the driveway, half raked into piles the two of you had made to jump into before he found a slug and you decided you’d had enough.

So when you agreed to let him teach you to skateboard, gripping each other's arms as he slowly pulled you forward, he’d been ecstatic. He was even more ecstatic when you felt confident enough to let go and roll a slow few feet to a stop. Until you stepped back, lost your balance and the skateboard flew right out from under you.

Peter really did try to catch you when you fell. His fingertips brushing the sleeve of your sweater and instead, you went down hard, a hairline fracture in your wrist that was donned in a red cast for most of November. The guilt was so consuming that he climbed in your window every night for a week because he couldn’t seem to rest.

It had been nothing like tonight. Tonight, neither of you had been reckless and stupid children. A Mickey Mouse band aid or a popsicle didn’t dry watery eyes until the pain was dissipated by the distraction of cartoons.

Nothing could make this better. Peter had been so worried for you. So, so worried that he’d nearly broken his own phone. When he’d thought of Fisk deciding to do something drastic to make a point, he didn’t care about finding his backpack he’d stuck to a dumpster to change. He didn’t care about showing up in his suit, his secret identity not mattering if you were…

His fingertips press against the pads of your own before tracing down each digit and brushing your knuckles. It’s strangely nice; calming you even deeper towards the bone deep exhaustion that has settled in all of your muscles.

“It’s because you’re Spiderman right?” you breathe out, more like a statement than a question. “That's why you stole those files. That’s why you wouldn’t tell me how you got them.”

There’s a pause before he manages to nod slowly.

“Yeah,” Peter says in a low voice. “That’s why. It was… a complicated thing, you know.”

Another pause, but this time, you nod slowly. What are you supposed to say to that?

Everything seems more complicated than possible. You still can’t quite grasp the fact that he’s Spider-Man, no matter how hard you try to envision him crawling in his window, yanking off the mask to reveal his staticy looking hair or flushed face, you just can’t see it.

The entirety of Midtown High had noticed when he stopped getting his ass kicked without throwing a punch back, how he filled out and seemed a little bit brighter. You’d noticed more than anyone, making sure it seemed like you noticed less than everyone else.

Katie had been the first one to make an offhand comment about it while you two were stretching for cheer practice senior year. Both of you had been co-captains, roles you’d been destined to fill since freshman year that you worked your asses off to obtain. She said it as she was tying her dark hair into a pony, voice hushed and teasing.

‘Know how Parker always bolts out of class randomly? Like all the time? Ever wonder if he’s the friendly neighborhood hero? Hey, you guys used to be close, you think that Parker has a body like that- ow!’

You’d promptly shut her up with a playful smack on the arm.

The idea that Katie had been the one to put it together first, sporadically mentioning that she still believed that dorky Peter Parker could be the one swinging around Manhattan, despite you and Flash writing it off. At least you didn’t have to go through the tremendous I-told-you-so that she would have since you could never tell her.

He shifts and starts again,“I’m sorry you had to…” Play hostage by a crime boss, spend the past day in the hospital and now two months in a cast.

He can feel his throat burning when he admits that, feel the burn of shame in his chest as he looks at you. Who he was now was based around a secret. One that he didn’t want you to ever know to keep you out of danger.

Turns out, secret or not, you had been in danger anyway.

You know that there is a jumbled mess of an apology tangled on his tongue, his mouth parting again and again like he can’t quite find where to start. It’s why his silence doesn’t make you angry that he’s not more vocally apologetic. You know he’s practically beating the life out of himself inside of his own head.

Just because he was apologetic didn’t mean that you were thrilled at him either.

“Do you know how scared I was?” You think you’ve asked him that before- no, you know that you have asked him that before. The question either an irritated grumble as you put a bandaid on his elbow or a yell, like when he wiped out on the MET steps because he was spontaneously attempting to grind along the railing without a helmet on.

“I know,” Peter mutters softly, nearly wincing at the thought. The nervous fidgeting of his fingers still, wrapping around yours and squeezing to give you some sort of reassurance. “I know. I know how scared you must have been.”

He turns to face you more.

“But I promise you - I’m going to do everything in my power to never let anything like this ever happen again to you. I mean it, okay? I am never going to let Fisk anywhere near you.”

Your frown deepens which is not the reaction he had anticipated.

“No. Not for me,” you clarify. “For you, Pete. When Fisk told me to call you… I just.” The thought of it makes you wince. “I thought he was going to kill you. It’s why I hung up the phone. I just couldn’t…”

Couldn’t be the reason something happened to him.

You'd hung up the phone because it was the only way you thought would protect him. It would almost be funny; the prospect of you protecting him now when he clearly did not need it

Peter says your name but you do nothing. He says it again, sitting up straighter and speaking with a little more desperation, “Look at me.” He takes your cheek in his palm and moves your head so you’re staring directly into his eyes. He wants to make sure you can see the intensity of what he has to say.

You let him, chewing on your cheek.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I am not weak. I can take care of myself.” Peter’s voice is steady, confident. Confident in himself, at least, less so spilling his heart out to you again like he had the night of graduation. “Come on,” he smiles somberly, thumb tapping your cheek in the hopes that you would understand that he wasn’t the same uncoordinated kid that used to get his face punched in.

Okay, so maybe he got his face punched in or worse on the daily, but that was different.

You tilt your head to the side, both to raise an eyebrow at him and press your cheek further into his palm. His eyebrow raises in challenge since it's clear you don’t quite believe him.

“I’ve been worried about you since I watched you fall off your skateboard the day I moved in across the street,” you breath out with a watery smile. “I’ve never stopped.”

Peter’s entire chest aches when you reach up to touch his face, knuckle grazing his bottom lip. Not even he could deny the way his body lights up whenever your hands are on him.

He’s still in love - deeply and thoroughly and undeniably.

Peter knows he’s in for it if he lets this go on much longer. He doesn’t know if he could resist the urge to kiss you all over again.

“Well, stop worrying about me,” Peter says before leaning down towards you, your faces only inches away from one another to emphasize his point. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

Some days, you thought that not having him in your life the past eight years could’ve killed you. You didn’t think you’d survive it again. But god… you’d let him kiss you even if he left you again.

The words and your soft, gentle expression makes Peter want to kiss the breath out of you.

“I promise.”

You believe him. Relief floods your body and makes your head hang so it’s resting against his. Peter leans forward too, both of your eyes falling closed and sinking into the touch.

Deep in thought, Peter considers his options while you focus on the feel. He’s always been a bit impulsive and it’s clear that there’s something he’s dying to say. Peter taps his forehead against yours a few times while he debates speaking.

“I have something to say.”

When you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you. Something about it makes the both of you break into shy smiles, foreheads pressed together and fingers all tangled.

“Okay.” Your mouth barely moves but he’s so close that the faint sound easily carries. Your previous need for sleep is gone and you can’t imagine wanting to move.

“I've always loved you,” Peter says without hesitation. It's a simple truth; one he's never been confused by.

Love, in him, has always been inevitable.

It’s easier to put out there since he’d come to terms with it so long ago, it felt as much of a part of him as sticking to the ceiling was.

You don’t quite expect it and lean back only enough to see his face, blinking in surprise. It’s the abruptness of it that catches you off guard. A part of you isn’t entirely shocked at the admission- you might’ve even known deep down after he kissed you four years ago.

He goes still too but doesn’t let go of your hands. They tighten faintly like you might slip away now that he’s said it out loud.

"I don’t remember exactly when. I think I first thought about it when we were twelve and the wood of your trellis snapped when I was sneaking back out and you-”

“Pulled splinters out of your arm for an hour so May wouldn’t know,” you finish for him, swallowing down the urge to cry. “Yeah. I remember.”

Peter nods, slow at first then quickly shaking his head with a determined look.

“No- well yes, but not only that.” The bed dips under his weight as he shifts closer to look at you better. “It was so dark outside and it knocked the wind out of me. I thought I was dead. I literally thought I had fallen to my death. One second, I totally thought I’d died until you practically jumped out of the window after me. You didn’t even… you didn’t even hesitate.”

The memory makes your frown deepened since you had never been particularly fond of it. It still made you recoil at the thought, even all of these years later. Not for yourself, but for him.

When you don’t say anything again, he scoots even closer, knees pressing further into your own but you don’t dare move away. His hand cups your face, his thumb feeling for every inch of skin it can reach.

“And then- yeah, fine. Then you did pull splinters out of my arm for two hours but that wasn’t when I knew. It was when you nearly jumped out your window after me.”

Something about that makes your smile watery, which in turn, makes him choke out a laugh. If you speak, well you’re not entirely sure what words or sounds would come out of your mouth.

“But I think it was really the summer before freshman year when I realized it. When that kid two years older than us shoved me on the subway and broke my science fair project. Remember?” He continues hopefully. You can easily nod that you do remember. Peter slips his fingers from your hold to card through your hair, forcing you to fidget with the seam of his sweats from where your hands rest in his lap.

“And right before the doors closed, you yanked off his hat and yanked me off the train- god, when the doors closed and he realized what you did- that was when I knew. I knew it. You looked like you felt bad about it but you did it anyway and you did it for me and right then I knew that I was in love with you.”

What happened next suddenly clicks.

“And then high school started,” you sigh disappointedly. Peter almost wonders if he said the wrong thing when you look away to stare out the window.

High school started and you joined cheerleading and you had less time and he felt left behind. More and more and more seemed to wedge itself between you two. That resentment he carried, how his usual go-with-the-flow attitude he normally had with everything else seemed to sour when you needed to reschedule. How he’d get all quiet when a guy approached you at your locker. He’d even been on better terms with Flash at the end of high school and he’d seemed to warm up to him more than he had to you.

Each second of silence piles up on his chest to suffocate him. His fingers twitch like he’s going to pull away but you place your own hand on his, turning your face back into his palm. His eyes study the little furrow in your brows, knitted and giving away to the depth of your thoughts.

It's your turn to beat yourself senseless inside your own mind.

“Thought you hated me.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s shaking his head, so vehemently that your head moves with him, like it will prove his point.

“Never,” he assures. “Never once. Not a single second.”

You’re so flooded by emotions that you have to just sit there to keep yourself from crying. That admittance is harder than believing he did. Hatred was a much easier emotion to stomach than heartbreak. It's just as hard to stomach his presence, how easily he has slipped back into your life, making you aware that nothing you’d ever done had actually filled that hole.

But he’s here now; your hatred for Wilson Fisk maybe only goes so deep.

“Mine was this past Thanksgiving when you were in Gwen’s car in front of our mailboxes and I couldn’t convince myself to walk outside to return a package.”

Peter feels all the air being knocked out of him when you blurt that out, but his only reaction is his eyebrows rising closer to his hairline.

If you couldn’t face him before, it’s worse now so you rush to fill the silence.

“You guys were just sitting there talking, laughing about whatever it was you guys talked about and I didn’t want to walk out there. So I tried waiting for you to go back inside because if I didn’t mail those ugly pants that day, I wouldn’t get a refund. I was already running late to get to Katie’s but I just couldn’t get out the door. Then I realized that if I waited, I’d have to know what you guys were doing and I didn’t want to know that.”

His brows pinch together as he tries to think back to the memory. He remembers being in Gwen’s car, rain blurring the outside world as they caught up while she was in town for the holiday.

“I just…” you start again, a little slower and less rushed, “I didn’t want to know that she went inside or that you two left together or… I just didn’t want to know. So I went to Katies and couldn’t figure out why it bothered me so much.”

You’re not sure that it even makes sense, making you groan silently in frustration. At least Peter seems to be somewhat following but you’re more thankful for his patience in the quiet of your bedroom. You aren’t sure what else to say, so you come right out with it.

“But I didn’t know until that it was… probably love… last week when I woke up in your bed. It was why I ran. Running seemed easier.”

He’s quiet for only a few seconds, “Was it easier?”

You think about that question for a long moment when you realize you don’t exactly know the answer. Was running easier? Sure. Maybe.

Trouble seemed to follow Peter like a shadow, falling into his hands like it was an old friend. But you were an old friend. So maybe you, Peter, and trouble went hand in hand.

You shrug, “Probably not.” The answer seems to disappoint you more than it disappoints him. His shoulders don't sag as he continues to hold and touch your face, head cocked to the side to watch you intently.

“That answer sucked,” Peter snorts.

Whipping your head to look at him, your mouth drops open so you can scowl, his dumbass ruining the moment.

“You suck.”

Peter throws his head back and groans with the same dramatics that he harbored as a kid.

“Oh my god, shut up.” Peter can’t help it - he leans down, his hands slipping into your hair and his mouth claiming your lips as if he would die if he didn’t act on that impulse.

This is the fifth time you’ve kissed Peter Parker.

It’s the first time you know it won't be the last.

Your eyes flutter shut at the feel of his lips but it takes you to catch up to the moment. It’s slow and deep; the way your mouth slides over his in happy reciprocation of the kiss.

Finding a place to put your casted hand is tricky until you manage to rest it against his chest, fingers twisting into the collar of his shirt as an invitation for him to lean further into you. Nothing about the way he holds you, cupping your face and settling on your side, feels fleeting.

You kiss him until you’re nearly dizzy, knowing you could keep going until you were sick. What a nice thought, being able to kiss him so much that it somehow lost its novelty and became ubiquitous.

More time passes but you can’t seem to keep track of it, the only tell being the slowing velocity of your mouths. Peter reluctantly pulls away first when he manages to remember that you need rest from how much you're leaning on him.

“You’re in my head…” Peter mutters to you after taking a second to catch his breath. “You have been ever since we were kids.”

Your quiet laugh hums against his mouth as you drop your forehead against his, telling yourself it’s not because you’re too tired to hold your head up.

“And now I’m in your hands,” you hum, finding peace in the giddy exhaustion making you buzz and droop.

This time you both laugh, giggling softly like little kids and then laughing even harder at a crack of lighting that makes you both jump.

“Let me just… let me.”

With his super strength, you practically weigh nothing in his arms as he picks you up, kneeling on the bed to pull back your covers. He helps you crawl in, always there, always touching you; a hand on your back, gently shifting you by the waist.

You practically melt into the pillows, body aching and sore as it welcomes the comfort. There are so many things that still need to be sorted out and talked about before anything can become permanent.

But all of that seems like something for later.

“Sleep; you need it,” he says softly from where he’s sitting beside you, brushing a few strands of hair off your face and behind your ear.

“Stay; I need that too.” Peter twists his mouth up in that little way he always does when he’s trying really, really hard not to smile as he climbs in next to you.

#peter parker tasm #marvel #peter parker tasm x reader #the amazing spider man #peter parker x reader #spiderman #peter parker #tasm #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter x you

55 notes · View notes

redrosyrose · 4 months ago

Text

stronger - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count:216

"the stronger the better" Sirius answered quickly as James just asked about his type in a dreary afternoon

"Really?I thought you prefer the shy one,like the mystery boy you told me last week"James said smugly while nudging Sirius with his elbow

This just makes Remus more desperate to know who is that mystery boy Sirius is currently obsessed over.What house is he?How does he looks like?Is he shy like James just said or strong or both?Thrash of questions just take turns to fill his mind.His eyes unconsciously dart to Sirius fluffy lips as Remus patiently waits for an official answer from the boy he's been secretly has a crushed on since third year. "He has both of it,shy and strong at the same time."Sirius slowly replied. "He also have hazel hair,which is always mousy whenever he read a book or have a revision in library.He has an obsession for anything with chocolate and he's effortlessly strong and.." Sirius voice trails off while blush is creeping up his cheekbones."he's in this room,wearing a maroon sweater and being unfairly stunning."

Sirius' grey gems are now looking straight at his purposefully while James's sneakily excuse that he's going to find Peter and the last things Remus knows is his lips are crashed eagerly with Sirius

#remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #marauders era #james potter #marauder era #dead gay wizards from the 70s #gay dead wizards

68 notes · View notes

aisiedaisie · 1 month ago

Text

Mon Cher

Summary: Vampire! Sirius is looking for his next meal after his only in to the local blood bank ghosts him. Thankfully, it’s spooky season, and what better disguise than his own skin? With parties filled with costume wearing people, blending in has never been easier. But soon after walking into this one random college party, Sirius finds something far, more tempting than a blood bag.

Pairings: Wolfstar

Tags: Vampire AU, immortal Sirius Black, mentions of blood, alcohol, smoking and the like, definitely not proofread-

Notes: This idea has been plaguing my mind since I woke up the other morning.

Word count: 4.8k

"Fuck." The curse slipped from Sirius’s lips, sharp and venomous, just as his battered phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud. The noise was loud enough to rattle the thin walls, sending his downstairs neighbors into a fit of retaliation—fists pounding against the ceiling, muffled shouts of "Shut the fuck up!" and "Be quiet!" slithering through the cracks. But Sirius hardly registered their irritation.

His mind was in a frenzy—racing yet stalling, stuck in an endless loop of buffering, trying to wrap his head around why the number he dialed led only to the grating beeps of disconnection.

He was furious.

Rightfully so.

Peter had vanished, seemingly evaporating into thin air. His calls went unanswered, the line dead, leaving Sirius stranded in his frustration and confusion. Peter, a dhampir, worked at the local blood bank—his only reliable supplier in this dreary town.

A groan tore from his throat, edging dangerously close to a whine, as his fingers raked through his dark curls in frustration. The stress clawed at his thoughts, dragging them under.

He needed to feed. Soon. Though, thanks to his pureblooded lineage, Sirius could stave off the hunger for longer than most. But it had been two weeks now—two long weeks since his last meal.

And he was hungry.

With Peter gone, though, this was going to get complicated. He could try feeding on animals again, but he'd sworn off the habit centuries ago—too much guilt over draining the neighbors’ pets. Besides, this town was so urbanized there wasn’t a park in sight, let alone a forest to skulk around in.

That left one last option.

Feeding on a human.

There were a few reasons why this was his last resort, rather than the first. The main one being that, as a pureblood vampire, if Sirius wasn’t careful, he could accidentally turn his victim into a low-level vampire—a consequence he had no patience for.

Another exasperated groan tore from his lips as he let his head knock itself against the wall. He needed to figure out how he was going to find a willing... a willing human.

He grimaced.

“Damnit, Peter. If you're not already dead, I’ll kill you myself,” Sirius spat, his gaze drifting toward his abandoned, battered phone. The screen was a mess of cracks, more than there’d been a few minutes ago.

It was still lit, showing a fractured image of him and his brother, Regulus, standing in front of Count Orlok's Nightmare Gallery. The photo had been taken a few years back during the few months he had moved to Salem for a bit before returning to Europe.

He was this close to calling and waking his brother up to bitch about his unfortunate circumstances when something caught his eye.

The date.

His stormy grey eyes widened as he read it again: October 30th.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

“This could work,” he muttered, pushing himself off the hard, uncomfortable floor. His gaze shifted from his poor phone to his closet, and without hesitation, he crossed the room yanking the door open.

All he needed now was something suitable for the night.

The brisk night air nipped at Sirius’s exposed collarbone, his alabaster skin glimmering faintly under the waning moonlight and the dim street lamps lining the bustling college town. He wore a stereotypical frilly white peasant top, untied at the collar, paired with sleek black pants. His fangs, usually concealed, were on full display—his thirst making it impossible to hide them.

Thankfully, he didn’t stand out too much.

The streets were flooded with people, all draped in costumes. Some stuck to classics: pirates, bar maidens, the Scooby-Doo gang. Others wore more niche outfits—like the dozens of men dressed in black with stark white spikey hair and sunglasses obscuring their eyes.

Sirius didn’t quite get the reference, but he wasn’t one to judge.

The crowd seemingly moved as one, heading toward the massive house at the end of the street. Muffled music and rainbow lights spilled from the open door and garage. The house was fully decked out for Halloween—giant spider webs stretched from the roof to the ground, melting into the thick white mist pouring from fog machines which snaked across the lawn and spilled out onto the pavement.

As Sirius followed the flow of people, snippets of conversation reached his ears. “James always goes all out for Halloween,” a redheaded woman just ahead of him said fondly. She was draped in emerald velvet, shimmering green fairy wings attached to her back.

The woman next to her nodded in agreement, humming softly. She wore a similar costume, but hers was made of glittering tulle the color of topaz, perfectly complementing her short, dark curls and the fluttering golden butterfly clips that were nestled in her hair.

Sirius hummed quietly to himself as he followed the stream of partygoers into the crowded house. The moment he crossed the threshold, he was hit by a wall of deafening music, mingled with the drunken chatter of people shouting over the bass-heavy track.

Deciding to grab a beer from one of the many half-filled ice chests, he made his way to the wall, leaning against it as it thumped in time with the pulsing rhythm. His eyes scanned the room, hoping—praying—that someone might catch his interest.

A honey blond man, dressed as Prince Charming from Shrek, sauntered up next to him, a fake coy expression plastered on his face.

“What’s got a handsome man like you pushed into a corner like a scared little kitten?” he purred, his voice too saccharine to be sincere.

Sirius tried his best to keep his expression neutral, barely sparing the man a glance, even as the so-called ‘Prince Charming’ pressed his body up against his side. Internally, Sirius grimaced. ‘His blood has to taste like garbage-’, he thought, taking a swig of his beer to avoid an otherwise unavoidable eye roll.

“I’m Gil. What’s your name, kitten?”

Sirius couldn’t handle it any longer. He turned his gaze to the blond, giving him a slow, measured onceover. “I’m more of a dog person actually,” he replied, flashing a brief but unmistakable glimpse of his fangs as he offered him a sarcastic smirk. With that, he pushed off the wall and away from the blond.

He navigated through the sea of drunken partygoers, but as he tried to slip past the dance floor, someone grabbed his hands and pulled him in. The pounding music matched the rhythm of his heartbeat, hammering in his chest as he let go of his reservations and allowed himself to be swept across the floor. Laughter bubbled up from deep within him, genuine and unexpected, as he was spun around and grinded on by strangers.

Before long, his beer was drained, and with a soft promise to the girl he’d been dancing with, he excused himself.

That’s when he caught a glimpse of something—a flash of red and brown. A hurried figure darted toward what looked like the backyard. Sirius hesitated for only a moment before setting his empty bottle on the nearest counter and following them outside.

The fresh air was a welcome relief, biting and cool against his skin after the stifling heat of the dance floor. He inhaled deeply, eyes scanning the almost empty backyard as he stepped out into the open night.

A large, pear shaped pool sat in the middle of the yard, its still waters reflecting the flickering lights of the house. A round table was set just off to the side, and a fire pit glowed toward the back, surrounded by a handful of partygoers.

Some lingered near the doors, catching their breath before heading back inside, while others lounged in crimson and gold bean bags around the fire, the warm glow dancing off their faces. Both spots were inviting, but Sirius’s attention was drawn elsewhere.

Sitting alone at the table was a lanky man with sandy blonde hair. A loosely tied red paisley bandana hung around his neck, and a worn cowboy hat rested against his back. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the end glowing faintly in the dark.

Sirius didn’t hesitate. His feet carried him toward the table, as if on their own accord.

“Mind if I nick one off you?” he asked, gesturing toward the man’s cigarette.

The cowboy’s hazel eyes lifted, meeting Sirius’s stormy grey gaze. With a casual shrug, he pulled out the pack and offered him one.

Sirius nodded his thanks, taking a seat next to the cowboy. He placed the fresh cigarette between his lips. His gaze dropped as he leaned in, lighting his cigarette with the tip of the cowboy’s already burning one. The pristine paper gradually turned a warm orange, glowing softly alongside the other’s own cigarette.

His grey gaze slid upward, sultry and deliberate, as he eyed the cowboy through dark lashes. “Thanks, cowboy,” he murmured, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

The cowboy quickly looked away, his freckled, scarred hand rising to cover most of his face as he took a long drag from his own cigarette. “Not a problem,” he muttered, clearing his throat.

The two sat in soft silence—well, as quiet as they could with the occasional cheers and laughter from the firepit nearby, and the distant hum of music drifting into the backyard, far quieter than what Sirius had endured on the dance floor.

Sirius’s gaze couldn’t help but wander over the cowboy’s form as he relaxed into the stiff poolside chair. The cigarette he held was little more than a nub between his fingers now. He wore a loose fitting white T-shirt, paired with dark brown pants. Sirius had to admit—he looked good.

Before he could stop himself, Sirius asked, “What’s your name, cowboy?”

“Remus,” came the quick response, as the blond turned, raising a questioning brow. “And you?”

“Sirius.” He offered a smile, this one far more genuine than the sarcastic smirk he’d given ‘Gil’ earlier.

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “Named after a star, huh? That’s gotta be a tough name to live up to.”

“And Remus isn’t?” Sirius shot back with a smirk, leaning forward to put out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray between them. “For your sake, I really hope you don’t have a brother.”

Remus let out a full laugh, the sound rich and infectious. The action made a sense of pride bloom in Sirius’s chest. His laugh was lovely.

“I don’t, thankfully,” Remus replied, snuffing out his own cigarette.

Sirius nodded. “Good, can’t have such a handsome cowboy fall victim to fratricide.”

Remus’s cheeks flushed, and he quickly averted his gaze, muttering a hurried, “Shut up,” which only made Sirius more aware of the effect he was having on the poor male.

Sirius leaned in, his smirk playful. “Oh, what’s this?” he teased, shifting slightly to the side to catch another glimpse of Remus’s flushed face.

Remus groaned, his head falling back against the brim of his cowboy hat as he gazed up at the cloudy night sky. “Leave me alone,” he muttered, the words tinged with a hint of exasperation but not at all angry sounding.

Sirius only snickered, leaning in closer as his hand settled gently on Remus’s knee. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of his pants. “I don’t think you actually want that,” Sirius whispered, his voice low, the teasing edge unmistakable.

Remus’s gaze shifted, locking with Sirius’s once again. His freckled, scarred cheeks were flushed with warmth, a soft pink spreading across his skin. The sight was almost sinful, and Sirius’s pulse quickened at the thought.

Then there was his scent—God, his scent. Remus’s natural aroma was intoxicating, something Sirius wanted to capture, to bottle, so he could breathe it in whenever he pleased. It was warm, inviting, perfect.

It made his mouth water.

“Maybe I don’t,” Remus agreed, though there was a reluctant note to his voice as his gaze shifted away again. Yet, he made no move to remove Sirius’s hand from his knee.

Sirius’s smirk softened into a gentle smile. “Wanna bounce?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop himself. Remus was beautiful… and God, was he thirsty.

“Damn, not even offering me dinner first?” Remus teased, though the embarrassment was clear in his tone. His hand moved to cover most of his face, leaving only the tops of his flushed cheeks and those stunning hazel eyes visible.

Sirius arched a dark brow, playing along.

“Who said anything about skipping dinner?” He shook his head with mock exasperation. “There’s a diner near my flat that makes amazing waffles and crepes.” He pulled his hand from Remus’s knee, rising to his feet before offering his hand, extending it toward him, an invitation.

Remus considered his options. His nose wrinkled in thought for a good minute.

Just as Sirius was about to let his hand drop and assure him there was no pressure, Remus took it, standing up beside him.

“If the food sucks, I’m never going out with you again,” Remus warned.

Sirius turned to him, a shit eating grin spreading across his face. “Already thinking of a second date? I must’ve really swept you off your feet,” he teased, his voice light as he guided them back toward the throng of costumed dancers.

Remus didn’t answer but his hand tightened around Sirius’s as they wove through the crowd, clearly not wanting to lose him in the chaos.

Sirius’s pale hand gripped back confidently, navigating them swiftly through the sea of people until they emerged onto the quieter street outside.

The food had been a pleasant surprise, much to both Remus’s and Sirius’s delight. The waffles were some of the fluffiest Remus had ever tasted, and Sirius couldn't help but smirk at the way the cowboy raved about them. It wouldn’t have shocked Sirius if Remus started frequenting the diner on his own after tonight.

Over dinner, Remus also discovered that Sirius spoke fluent French, and it had been almost distracting how divine the language sounded falling from his lips as he exchanged words with the older French woman who took their order.

Now, they were walking back to Sirius’s flat, the night settling comfortably between them.

Remus, in typical form, broke the peaceful silence with a teasing question. “I’m not going to end up on the next episode of a true crime investigation podcast, right?” His hazel eyes sparkled with amusement as he glanced over at Sirius.

Sirius let out an unexpected guffaw, not having anticipated that. “Not if you’re good,” he teased back, though his palms were growing sweaty, and he could only hope Remus would attribute it to nerves.

Which, in a way, wasn’t entirely wrong.

Behind his playful demeanor, Sirius was struggling. It was getting harder to keep his vampiric urges in check, and the fact that he genuinely enjoyed Remus’s company only complicated things. Feeding on him and leaving him in some alley didn’t feel right. It felt wrong, on so many levels.

A soft groan slipped from his lips as they rounded the corner into his apartment complex. Remus must have noticed, his grip tightening in reassurance.

“It’ll be fine,” Remus said, his voice soft but confident. “This isn’t your first time with a guy, rig—?”

Sirius shook his head quickly, cutting him off. “No, I—” He hesitated, his voice dropping.

“That’s not what I’m nervous about.” He pulled his keys from his pocket with his free hand, unlocking the door and holding it open for Remus to step inside first.

Remus’s brows furrowed in brief confusion, but he let out a hum, stepping into the flat. The interior was modest, much like a college student's dorm room. Movie and sports posters covered the walls, and a pile of clothes sat abandoned on a chair near the closet.

Sirius shut the door behind them, his gaze flickering briefly toward Remus. “Want some water?” he asked, already moving toward the kitchenette and grabbing two bottles of sparkling water.

Remus was beckoned toward a small coffee table, Sirius gesturing gently toward the white chair across from him. With a small sigh, Remus sat down, reaching behind his neck to remove his cowboy hat and hang it on the chair’s back knob. He couldn’t hold back the question that had been burning at him for a while. “Why are you so nervous?”

Sirius grimaced, knowing his anxiety had been showing despite his efforts to hide it. “I have something to tell you… and it might be hard to believe—“

“NO WAY YOU’RE A VIRGI—“

“NO!” Sirius groaned, cutting him off with a roll of his eyes. “It’s not that… it’s... just promise me you’ll hear me out, okay?” His expression softened, dark brows pitched upwards looking almost like a kicked dog.

Remus sighed, then nodded, though his confusion was still clear. “Okay.”

Sirius nodded, bracing himself. “I—I’m not human,” he blurted out.

Remus’s hazel eyes widened in surprise before narrowing skeptically. His face carried the unmistakable look of someone thinking, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

Before Remus could respond, Sirius raised his hand to stop him. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s the truth.”

Letting out a soft scoff, Remus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “What are you, then? A merman? A fairy? A werewolf?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm as he gestured to Sirius with a dismissive wave.

“I’m a vampire,” Sirius said, his voice steady.

“Liar.”

Without hesitation, Sirius gently took one of Remus’s hands. “I’m serious. I’m telling the truth.” He opened his mouth, revealing his fangs. They were long, far too long to belong to any normal human.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Sirius…”

“Touch them,” Sirius urged, his stormy gray eyes filled with a mix of desperation and sincerity. “They’re real. They’re not like those cheap, fake ones from Halloween stores.”

With a sigh, Remus leaned forward. His free hand reached up, gingerly taking one of Sirius’s fangs between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a light tug, expecting it to pop off.

But it didn’t.

“Fuck…” Remus whispered, his amazement quickly blending into concern. He withdrew his hand from Sirius’s mouth, a look of disbelief overtaking his features. “I really am going to end up on a true crime podcast, aren’t I?”

Sirius squeezed the hand he was still holding, a soft and reassuring touch. “No, Remus… no.” His voice was gentle but firm, the weight of his sincerity evident. He could never hurt anyone—especially not the man sitting across from him.

Remus sat back, staring at Sirius, processing the revelation. After a long pause, he muttered, “I need another cigarette.”

Sirius couldn’t help but laugh softly. Of course, Remus would want a cigarette after that revelation. He hung his head, dark curls falling into his eyes, and let out a gentle huff of amusement. “That was better reaction than I expected.”

“You’re buying me a pack,” Remus groaned, letting his head fall with a soft thud onto the coffee table. “Make that two.”

Sirius smiled, a warmth spreading in his chest. “I can do that,” he assured, his voice lightening the atmosphere.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, hands still clasped atop the wooden table, neither wanting to break the connection. It felt too precious, too fragile.

“So if you’re not planning on killing me,” Remus began, lifting his head to meet Sirius’s serious gaze, “what do you plan on doing?”

Sirius sighed softly, his stormy gray-blue eyes steady and sincere. “I won’t deny I was looking for someone to feed on… I normally don’t have to resort to this, but my blood dealer—”

“A blood dealer?” Remus interrupted, unable to suppress a laugh. The sound cut through the tension, making Sirius relax a bit.

He nodded, frustration etched on his face. “He just up and disappeared—”

Remus hummed, nodding slowly as he processed the information. “I get it,” he replied, his voice empathetic.

Sirius took a deep breath, glancing away as he spoke. “I just… I don’t know why, but I felt like you would understand.” His gaze drifted toward the window above his bed, lost in thought. “I mean, it’s not something I usually do. I’ve always managed to find my blood without needing to, well, resort to this.”

Remus’s expression softened, a mix of curiosity and understanding in his hazel eyes. “And you thought I’d be okay with being your… meal?” He leaned back slightly, studying Sirius. “That’s a lot to put on someone you barely know.”

“I know it is,” Sirius admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But there’s something about you. You feel… different. Like you wouldn’t judge me for it.”

Remus opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, pondering Sirius’s words. “Okay, but you can’t just expect me to say yes without some kind of… agreement here,” he finally said, a playful glint in his eye. “I need to know you’re not going to, I don’t know, turn me into a vampire next.”

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. “I promise, I’m not looking to turn you. Just… to feed. That’s all.”

“Okay, then. Let’s start with that,” Remus said, his voice steadying. “But you owe me a pack of cigarettes for this, okay?”

“Deal,” Sirius grinned, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. The connection between them felt like it had deepened.

After some careful explanation and repeated reassurance that there was no chance Sirius would ever turn him into a vampire, he led Remus to the bed, their hands still intertwined.

“You might want to sit, or maybe lie down,” Sirius murmured, his voice low as he gestured for Remus to get comfortable. “Some people get a little lightheaded when they lose blood.” His eyes flickered with concern, though his tone remained gentle.

Remus raised a brow, a teasing glint in his hazel eyes. “You sound like you've done this before.”

Sirius couldn't help but chuckle softly, though his hand trembled slightly as he reached out to brush his fingertips along Remus's jaw. “I have,” he admitted, his voice growing quieter, “but it’s been a while.”

“How long?” Remus’s voice was soft, but curious.

Sirius’s smile faltered, a shadow passing over his face as the memories surfaced. “Since I was a stupid teenager,” he confessed, his tone heavy with regret. It was the same moment he'd sworn off feeding from humans, the same day he decided wild animals were less complicated, and blood bags even less so—though both were harder to come by now.

Remus exhaled slowly, his fingers covering Sirius's trembling hand. “It’ll be fine,” he whispered, though Sirius wasn’t sure if Remus was comforting him or trying to steel his own nerves.

Sirius gave a small nod, moving his hand from Remus’s jaw and letting his fingers slide down the column of his neck. The freckled skin felt warm beneath his touch, soft and inviting.

Sirius’s fingers found the knot of the red paisley bandana which was still loosely draped around Remus’s neck, tugging gently at it until it unraveled.

Remus's breath hitched, the faintest tremor in his body as Sirius’s skilled hands loosened the fabric and let it fall away. “If it hurts, you’ll stop, right?” he asked, his voice barely more than a breath.

Sirius immediately nodded, leaning back just enough to meet Remus’s worried gaze. “I promise.”

Remus closed his eyes, nodding as if giving himself over to the moment, his trust in Sirius both beautiful and heartbreaking to witness.

Sirius felt his chest tighten, both flattered and pained that Remus could trust him this much—even with a vampire’s hunger hanging between them. A part of him wondered how things would have played out if they had met under different circumstances—when he wasn’t starving, when his mind wasn’t so clouded with want.

Sirius leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing lightly against Remus’s neck, the words he wanted to say dissolving as Remus’s scent flooded his senses. God, the smell was intoxicating—warm and rich, the kind of scent that called to every primal instinct he had.

A low, desperate groan slipped past Sirius's lips as he nuzzled against Remus’s skin. “Fuck, you smell so good, Rem,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire, sounding almost like a plea.

Sirius could feel his pulse drumming in his ears, overpowering even the quiet sounds of the room. He tried to steady his breath, but every inhale brought more of Remus’s scent, and his self-control was stretched to the limit. He let out a shaky breath as he hovered near Remus’s neck, words spilling out in a low murmur before he could catch them.

When Remus tightened his grip on the bed sheets, Sirius felt a pang of guilt mixing with the hunger inside him, making the moment feel so fragile he thought he might break it. "You say that like it’s a bad thing," Remus whispered, his voice a blend of nerves and a faint, playful challenge. Sirius let out a quiet chuckle at that, a bit surprised he could still laugh, given the way his chest felt like it was tied in knots.

“It’s not,” he managed, his voice rough and deeper than he intended.

He couldn’t resist brushing his lips lightly over Remus’s skin, testing, savoring, reassuring. He tried to hold back, to keep his cool, but the scent of him—warm, earthy, undeniably inviting—only made his restraint feel flimsy.

Remus’s breath hitched, sending a surge of anticipation through Sirius. When Remus whispered, “You… you can go ahead,” Sirius felt something unfurl in his chest, a mixture of gratitude and pure, aching need. With careful deliberation, he pressed his lips to the spot on Remus’s neck, feeling his fluttering pulse thrum against his lips, a rhythm that seemed to call to him. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, barely a breath, before he allowed his fangs to sink in.

The taste of Remus’s blood was a rush, sweet and filling, warm in a way that made Sirius’s whole body tingle with the unexpectedness of it. He was half-afraid he’d lose himself in it, but he fought to stay grounded, to be as gentle as he’d promised. He’d forgotten what it was like to feed this way—close, deeply connected to the one he fed from.

He felt Remus’s sharp intake of breath, the tension, and then the slow, softening relaxation as the discomfort gave way to something else. Sirius gently eased back, his tongue brushing over the bite marks, soothing the skin and tasting the lingering warmth there.

Sirius pulled back just enough to meet Remus’s gaze. His chest tightened as he took in the hazy, dazed look in Remus’s eyes, relief melting the last of his worry. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a little rougher, barely holding back the concern and care that spilled out.

Remus let out a slow breath, a flicker of a smile softening his features. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, his voice tired but clear. Sirius could feel his own shoulders relax, the relief flooding through him like a balm. “That… wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

A small smile tugged at Sirius’s lips, the weight of his relief finally loosening. “Told you I’d be gentle.”

Remus let out a weak chuckle, his exhaustion starting to set in as he slumped back a bit. “You did… but I think I might need to lie down for a bit.”

Sirius nodded, guiding him to recline on the bed, his hand lingering in Remus’s hair, brushing away a few stray strands from his face. “Thank you… for trusting me.”

Remus’s eyes were half-lidded, his face softened by drowsiness, but he managed a faint smirk. “Just… don’t forget those cigarettes,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he surrendered to the pull of sleep.

Sirius stayed there for a long moment, watching over him, his hunger finally sated, but something else—something warmer and deeper—settled inside him. As he sat by Remus’s side, Sirius felt a strange peace that had eluded him for so long, and for the first time, he didn’t feel entirely alone.

"Of course, mon cher—I'll buy you as many packs as you want," Sirius whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. The words were gentle, almost reverent, as he leaned down and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Remus's exposed forehead.

The touch was light, fleeting, but the intimacy of it lingered in the quiet space between them. Sirius watched Remus’s peaceful face, the tension that had been there before now smoothed away as he slept. For a moment, Sirius allowed himself to just breathe him in, feeling an odd sense of contentment— something he hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime.

With a quiet sigh, he pulled back, settling himself beside Remus, content just to watch over him as the night deepened around them.

39 notes · View notes

shadowbriar · 1 year ago

Text

James Potter - Call It Fate, Call It Karma

Pairing : James Potter x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 3k Warning : Plenty of curse words. Synopsis : James' world was flipped upside down as the engagement ring now sits on the wrong girl's finger. Notes : Post no 4 for my 1 Year Anniversary Celebration. Don't forget to fill the form here if you'd like to be tagged for my future works. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕ James Potter's Masterlist click here. Taglist : @jsjcue @ell0ra-br3kk3r @sofiacblair @coffeehurricanes @ineedmentalhelp123

James stares at his own reflection, whispering silent prayers as if they were a magic spell to help ground himself, tame the loud beating of his heart and provide the least bit of tranquillity for his troubled mind. It has been days since he’s got a good sleep. The days coming to Remus’ wedding have acted like a ticking time bomb, building anticipation of the apocalypse bound to happen once it explodes.

He wasn’t sure exactly the cause of his consternation. He supposed, wanting to get on your knees and ask your lover for their hand in marriage will surely cause you waves of jitters. The black velvet box in his pocket feels heavier each time he tries to silently reach for it. But could that be it? Could his nervousness to propose to Lily be the sole cause of his distress?

“You’re going to be alright,” James mutters to himself, taking deep breaths between his words “She’s not going to be here.”

A hard slap to his own cheek was done at the realisation of his words. Why would he say that? Why would he even think of her? He has Lily and his mother’s diamond ring to think about. How could she even slip herself in his mind at times like this?

Now James hates to admit it, but the little voice in his heart knew that Remus’ wedding and his plan to propose to Lily was nothing as terrifying as the idea of meeting his Hogwarts’ sweetheart after what seems to be forever. Their abrupt separation before graduation has left scars that James knew would never heal. The kind of marks that will always haunt your nights, making you ponder the unanswered what if scenarios.

The fear of meeting her has always been so grand that James never had the heart to ask Remus if he’s invited her to his wedding. They all have been great friends back in school, it would be more of an appalling fact to know that Remus didn’t invite her, so he remained quiet, letting time to provide him his answer.

“She’s going to be there,” James whispered quietly “And you’re going to be okay with it because she’s no one now. She’s a nobody.”

James nods to himself. The feigned determined expression on his face was fooling no one but it was the only thing he could do for himself. He can’t discuss this with Remus, Remus certainly has a lot on his plate already to prepare for the wedding. He can’t talk about this to Peter or Sirius either because he’s always acted as if he’s completely buried the thought of her though he always wondered if any of his best friends were ever convinced of such an act. And surely, James can’t share this with Lily because what would she think about him then?

The loud banging of his hotel door rudely breaks his train of thoughts. He could tell that the man standing behind the door would be none other than Sirius. There’s no one in this entire universe that is more loud and obnoxious than him.

“Prongs!” Sirius greets once the door is opened for him “Ah, you look grand, mate!”

James forced a smile, letting Sirius to get inside his suite.

“So I’ve got news for you. Good news and bad news. Which do you prefer to hear first?” Sirius asks, rubbing his hands together in an apprehensive manner “Knowing you, I’d go with the good news first. So the good news is, you, me, Remus, and Peter are going to go spend the night at the bar close by and live our life as if we never left that dreary dormitory room back in Hogwarts.”

“Tonight?” James asked “I don’t know mate, I’ve been feeling under the weather lately. I’m afraid I have to sit this one out. I might skip Remus’ wedding tomorrow if I don’t.”

“Nonsense! It’s the groom’s request and you’re one of his groom’s men so you have no other choice but to obliged.”

James rolled his eyes, groaning, “Fine. What’s the bad news, then?”

“Uh, right, the bad news.” Sirius says, now placing an arm around the bespectacled boy in an attempt of consolation “She’s going to join us tonight.”

“Yeah, I’ll definitely sit this one out.” James says as he pushes Sirius’ arm and walks away.

“No, no, no, no! It’s going to be fine. You see, me and Peter have crafted this plan to keep the two of you separate. I’ll be your wingman and Peter will watch over her so the two of you won’t meet unless it's absolutely necessary.” Sirius explains, trying to coax James to give in “You can’t seriously think that we’ll allow you to miss the last night before Remus is married.”

“Yes, but it’s her, Pads!” James argues, running his hand through his hair in desperation “Meeting her would essentially end me, quite literally!”

“No, no it won’t! Me and Peter will be there, remember?” Sirius lures “And you’ll be busy with Lily too, won't you? She’ll tether you to the ground.”

James groans once more, “Lily won’t be here until tomorrow morning. She’s stuck with her sister.”

“Oh,” Sirius grimaced.

James wasn’t sure if such a response was due to the fact that Lily’s sister is a terrible person to be stuck with or that Lily’s absence would cause greater chance of him to plummet back to the darkness. Either way it proved to be a better reason for him to skip this night out.

“Look, I love Remus and I’m sorry that it has to be this way, but I really don’t think I should come.” James says, his hand reaching to the velvet box in his pocket and showing it to Sirius “I can’t afford to make any mistake.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, staring at the box, “You’re planning to propose?”

“Not at Remus’ wedding, no,” James answers “But yeah.”

“To Lily?”

“Well, yeah. Who else?”

Sirius frowns and James wasn’t sure if that was solely caused by his surprise or was there any other underlying reason as to why he wasn’t ecstatic to hear this. James expected him to be as delighted as when Remus announced his engagement. He could clearly remember the expressions plastered on each of his friends’ faces that night. Now such joy seems to be void of Sirius’ face.

“I— We’ll talk more about this later but you need to come with us tonight. You have to!” Sirius says again “I swear on my parents’ name that you won’t talk to her tonight. Like I said, I’ll be your wingman.”

“You have no regards for your parents’ Sirius. That’s not a very convincing swear.”

“Well who else do you want me to swear their name upon? My Death Eater brother?”

“Ex-Death Eater.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, “Fine, I swear on Regulus’ name that you won’t talk to her tonight. Now will you please hurry and change out of your ugly shirt? Wear something more decent, won’t you?”

—-

It was comforting. The layers of blanket wrapping her body, soft pillows around her head and the warmth it brought to her were something she wished she could keep in a bottle. Waking up in hotel beds has always been something she adores. It reminds her of her own bed back in Hogwarts, familiar and comfortable.

Her eyes were still half opened, trying to adjust to the brightness the sunlight was peeking through the sheer curtain. She must have forgotten to properly close it last night. Hell, she couldn’t even recall how she managed to get back to her hotel room. The last she could remember was meeting Remus and his fiancé before being whisked away by Peter to take shots by the bar.

The rest of the night felt like a complete skip of nothingness. She hoped that whatever happened last night wouldn’t cause Remus any trouble or embarrassment for herself. She does have the tendency to cause problems whenever she’s taken one too many drinks.

Her brows were knitted when a foreign object was felt as she rubbed her eyes. She stares at the solitaire ring now sitting beautifully on her left ring finger. It was gleaming under the limited light of the room. Whose ring was this?

“Good morning,” She heard a man’s voice greet her.

The sound was very pleasant to her ear. Like a warm cosy home you haven’t visited in a while but managed to return to after a while. It fills her heart with contentment, joy, and tranquillity. As if her heart was ready to implode from the satisfactory feeling. But the more her senses awake, the more consciousness she gained, she recognises whose voice this beautiful sound belongs to.

“Potter?!” She screams, pushing him who had his arms around her waist out of the bed “What are you doing in my room?!”

“I— What?!” James woke up from the scream, frantic to find the situation he’s in “What the— What’s going on?! I thought you were Lily!”

“I should be asking you that question! What are you doing in my room?!”

James grabs his glasses that were sitting by the bedside table, assessing the suite with half sleepy eyes, “This is my room! Those are my coat and shoes by the door, see?”

“I— Then what the hell am I doing here?!”

“I don’t know! You’re the one trespassing!”

“I did no such thing! I was at the bar with Peter and then— I just— What?!”

Her chest was heaving in panic. Her eyes crazed, looking around the suite to understand the setting better. She wasn’t supposed to be in this room. She wasn’t supposed to be in James Potter’s room. Hell, she wasn’t even supposed to meet him. She’s sworn to steer clear of his presence and it was the only condition she gave to Remus before agreeing to come to his wedding, that she would be placed as furthest as possible from him. So how is it that she’s finding herself on his bed right now?

“What is that?” James asked, pointing at the ring on her finger “Why do you have my mother’s ring on you?”

“I don’t fucking know, Potter. It found itself sitting there the moment I opened my eyes.” She spat, trying to take the ring off of her but proved to have such an action failing “What the hell?”

“Take it off!”

“I’m trying!” She yells “It won’t come off!”

“I— Shit, why do I have this on me too?” James questions as he notices a matching ring on his finger “Where was this from?”

“You’re asking me? Do I look like I know anything about rings?!” She says irritatedly, still trying to get the ring off of her “I can’t take this off unless we cut my finger.”

“Well, that’s an idea.”

She glares at him, not saying a word.

“This is bad.” James mutters as he begins to pace, feeling the anxiety to sink in “That was supposed to be on Lily’s finger, not yours!”

“Lily? Lily Evans?”

“Which other Lily do you know?”

“You’re planning to propose to Lily?” She asks, looking baffled now “How did you even manage to date her? She’s way beyond your league.”

James blinks, offended by her comment, “Mind you, I am in the same league as her. We’ve been happily together for years now.”

“Wait, you’re planning to propose to her at Remus’ wedding?” She questions “Talk about stealing your best friend’s thunder.”

“I— No, I wasn’t planning to propose to her today, okay! I only have the ring with me as an anchor so can you please take it off and return it before I’m losing my last strands of sanity.”

“It’s not coming off, I told you!”

James groans in despair, running his hand through his hair. He could feel his pillars crumbling down. That demon is finally claiming his soul once more. He has to force himself to walk further from the bed, pacing around the empty space so he could stop himself from staring at her. Even with such effort to create distance between them, James knows that he couldn’t fool himself. The crazy beating of his heart when he saw her have done more damage than he could ever afford to face.

Then suddenly, a loud banging on the door was heard. James turned his eyes to see her, seeing that panic on her face at the demanding sound. Sirius was persistent with his knocking.

“Don’t open it,” She warns “Don’t let anyone in. We can’t talk to anyone until we figure out what happened to us.”

“Nothing happened between us.” James says, not wanting to yield to reality just yet “You were just drunk and you mistakenly thought that my suite was yours.”

“Oh, I was drunk? How about you, do you remember anything then?” She challenges, pointing to the engagement ring on her finger “Have any clue as to why this ring of yours is on my finger?”

“I— Fuck!” James cruses, rubbing the bridge of his nose to calm himself “I have to open the door. Sirius won’t stop knocking unless I do.”

“Sirius’ knocking is the least of our troubles. What we need to do now is to trace down what happened to us last night. I refuse to go out of this door wearing this stupid ring. What am I to say if others ask?!”

“Well, I can’t remember shit from last night so we’ll only be running in circles, Sweetheart.” James retorts “And mind you, it’s not a stupid ring. It’s my mother’s.”

Her expression softens a little. Memories of how sweet and loving Euphemia Potter was came rushing in like a tidal wave. James’ mother has always been so fond of her, treating her as if she was her own daughter. She would always remember how his mother would compliment them two, saying that they remind her of how in love she was with James’ father back in the day. Now such memories only do more harm than good for her sanity.

Taking her silence as staleness in their argument, James walks himself to the door. His steps were wide and angry. Irritated by the persisting banging done by Sirius, his lack of understanding of the trouble he finds himself in, and the crazy beating of his heart from being in her presence.

“What?!” James spat at Sirius as he opened the door, barely so that Sirius won’t be able to peek inside.

“I— Geez mate, woke up on the wrong side of the bed?” Sirius asked with a raised brow “I was just worried you’ll miss the wedding. You disappeared last night, I thought something happened.”

Something did happen, James thought, but found himself shaking his head instead, “No, nothing happened. I was just about to take a shower and get ready. Thanks for checking up on me.”

Sirius nods, unimpressed by his words but takes it in anyway. He opens his mouth before closing it once again. Looking as if he has something to ask but decides to not to. Whatever that question might be, James was glad that it was never uttered. He has plenty on his plate already at the moment.

“Right,” Sirius says instead “I’ll see you at the venue, then.”

James nods, closing the door as Sirius turns his heels away.

He let out a relieved sigh once the clicking sound of the door was heard. James closes his eyes before turning to see her again. She was still on his bed, buried under the many blankets and pillows around her. If this wasn’t reality, James would’ve enjoyed such sight and count this as his family friendly wet dream.

“Who was it?”

“Sirius,” James answered “He wanted to check up on me. Said I disappeared last night. I didn’t tell him anything, don’t worry.”

She nodded, “So what are we to do now?”

“I don’t know.” James says, defeated that he has no proper answer to give her “I— Lily and I were supposed to meet at the venue. She doesn’t know that I was planning to propose. I guess I can just bullshit my way and say that this is just a dress ring and it’s stuck on me for the moment.”

“Alright,” She bobs her head in understanding “Then what about me? What am I to tell people? Cause people will ask.”

“Well, maybe you can just lie and say that you recently got engaged? At least until we can figure out a way to get that ring out of your finger.”

“But I don’t have a partner. If I do and I just recently got engaged, shouldn’t my fiancé be my plus one? People will ask more questions about his wherebeing.”

“Well, do you have any better excuse? Fire away, I’m open for suggestions.”

She rolls her eyes, finding his sarcastic response to be the very least helpful, “Fine, I’ll do that.”

James watches as she begins to collect her purse and jacket that was scattered on the carpeted floor. He tries to bite down the slight satisfaction of hearing that she was single. He knew that it was wrong to feel this way and it has been years since they met, surely she’s dated other people after their separation, but to know that she wasn’t bound with anyone the moment they had their reunion sparked something inside him. Something that he knew was so sinful that he would never be able to atone.

“Can you check if the hallway is clear? I don’t want to meet anyone as I come out of your door.”

James nods, peeking out of the empty hall before turning back to her with a nod.

“Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, don’t even breathe my way at the venue.” She said to him, finger firmly pointing at him in a threatening manner “I will hex you to death right on the spot if you do.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

She gave him a glare one last time before leaving his suite. James could finally let out the breath he unconsciously held once he was left alone. He walks back to his bed, sitting on it and hating the fact that her perfume lingers on its cover. Now he wouldn’t be able to shake the sweet scent off of his mind, even if he was to obliviate himself to it. But then again, what is a wedding without some drama, right?

#james potter #james potter imagine #james potter imagines #james potter scenario #james potter scenarios #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter angst #james potter fluff #james potter oneshot #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x oc #james potter x y/n

362 notes · View notes

iridescentparkers · 7 months ago

Text

vanilla palm trees → three - late night talking

summary ⇢ it’s been years, he should get over it, right? but, peter just can’t. he looks up, he sees her. he goes to bed, he dreams of her. he wakes up, he can smell her. he goes out one night and he sees…her. no, not gwen but his ticket to stop moping around on the anniversary of her death. what is meant to be one quick night of putting sadness on the back burner, is now a blossoming new love that feels all too perfect for peter. was this new woman in his life meant to be? or was this just another set of poorly dealt cards that would leave him walking away empty handed. all or nothing, right? ↝ college!au ↝ one night stand gone wrong trope | masterlist

parings ⇢ tasm!peter parker x female reader

warnings ⇢ alcohol use and sexual themes

a/n ⇢ THANKS FOR 500 AAHAHAHAHAHAHHHAH LFG! love y'all. answer my poll if you can, i wanna write something new. also this one is kinda short!

HE WATCHED as his windows clouded with condensation and fog, making his New York City apartment a bit dreary. Lighting the match on his old gas station matchbox, Peter saw Y/N’s tired reflection stare back at him in the window.

“You look exhausted,” he remarked as he lit candles around the room. “You should get some sleep. Take my bed. I’ll sleep out here.”

“I’m fine,” she remarked, followed by a stifled yawn. “Don’t worry about me. I just hope nothing too bad happened to your circuit.”

“It’s all good,” he assured. “My roommate texted and said the powers' out on the entire block.”

He saw her shiver under her blanket, rubbing her hands quickly back and forth, “If the hand warmers aren’t working, there is always a beer.”

“I know we aren’t that far in age, but I cannot drink like I used to in college,” she informed, pulling her blanket close to her body.

He laughed, grabbing a blanket nearby, moving to his couch, and opening one of the beers on the table, “We were both barely drunk.”

“I was barely tipsy, but my tolerance is still not as good as it used to be. I went to USC. The parties here are tame compared to the LA lifestyle.”

He lifted the bottle to his lips as she spoke, Y/N's eyes watching his hands. “I’ll take one.”

“You sure, don’t feel pressured-

“I don’t, I promise." She began. "You already have me in three layers of your clothes. If this isn’t working, what else will.” She stated.

“You miss it?”

“What? LA?” She asked, and he nodded.

“Sometimes. I grew up here though. I left to get a drastic change of scenery.” She mentioned, watching him as he took a swig of his drink.

“What part?”

“Manhattan. My parents owned a gallery for years, both art curators, and when they need me to, my brother and I plan to run the whole thing.”

“Which one?”

“My Mom’s family gallery, we’ve had it for years.”

"There is more than one?"

"A couple here and there. That's the biggest one."

“What’s the name ?”

She hesitated, glancing around his apartment before meeting his eyes again, “The Trenton.”

That was his favorite gallery, the curations changing every month with local artists that people come from all over the world to see. Peter spat out his beer, the words making him choke, “Holy shit-”

She pressed her lips firmly together, pushing her hair away from her face, “Sorry.”

Peter had apologized. Y/N waved a gentle hand, “You’re not the first.”

“That’s my favorite gallery,” he lit up, drinking more of his beer.

She smiled, her leg drawing closer to his. “I should take you some time.”

“I’d love that.”

Y/N shrugged her shoulders as she sipped her beer, leaning back further on the couch. Peter mirrored the position, placing his body even closer to Y/N, “What do your parents do?”

“My Aunt and Uncle raised me,” he informed. “My Aunt May runs a non-profit and my uncle passed years ago, a mechanic.”

“Peter, I’m so sorry,” she stated, placing a gentle hand on his thigh, rubbing her thumb along his kneecap.

“It was all a while ago. I’ve been healing for years.” He smiled, Y/N removing her hand from his leg. The ghosts of her gentle hand lingered and he slowly looked down and back up at Y/N as she took another sip of her drink. Peter watched as Y/N moved her lips to the bottle, swiping her thumb along her bottom lip. He looked back up at her eyes, watching as they quickly jolted back and forth. She leaned into him, kissing him hard. After placing her beer aside, him doing the same, she crawled into his lap. She grinded onto him, Peter grabbing her ass as she wrapped her arms around him. She pulled from him, narrowing her eyes at Peter.

“It’s almost 3, and I’m feeling warm,” she whispered, getting out of his lap. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, go ahead. Take my bed.”

She quickly ran to Peter’s room, letting the door crack behind her. Peter followed her down the hallway, slowly peering inside of his room. He watched as she pulled back his neatly made sheets, folding them forward as she got under the covers. He stepped closer inside, veering towards the edge of her bed.

“If you need anything Y/N, let me know.”

She shifted to sit on her knees, eyeing Peter in his stance. Ending the space between them, she crawled closer, grabbing his hand as he stood before her. “Stay with me.”

She was glowing, the same way as she did in the bar, even like this. There was something so angelic about her touch, hell her entire being. He wanted nothing more than to fall into her and see all of her, but he couldn’t.

“Please.” She asked, placing a warm hand under his shirt, and moving her fingers along his abdomen.

“Please.”

She put her other hand along his cheek, her face almost touching his. “Okay.”

He nodded, looking down at her lips. She pressed her lips on his gently, slowly pushing herself further into him. Peter broke the kiss stating, “We shouldn’t, I’m not that intoxicated.”

“I’m not either, I swear.” She assured, kissing along his neck.

“Still, just to be safe.”

He grabbed her hand, holding it to his chest before moving her to one side of his bed. Lying down, he moved her hand around his torso, allowing her to tuck her head into his neck.

“Peter?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you blow out all of those candles?”

In the morning, Peter awoke before Y/N, his body now to her backside. The apartment was still chilly but it felt amazing. The warmness between them was so natural and comforting that it left Peter not wanting to let go.

“Good morning.”

With her eyes closed, Y/N greeted Peter, her words still mumbled with sleep.

“Morning,” he greeted back, kissing the back of her neck. “How are you feeling?”

“Warm,” she smiled, running her hand along Peter’s arm. She turned over, her face about an inch from Peter’s to place a lazy kiss on his lips. She drew her hands up and down his back as he gripped the side of her face. Her tongue moved lazily in his mouth, and his response muffled in moans of pleasure.

“Woah there bossman!” A voice yelled, “You’re breaking roommate rules It's 10 AM.”

The two broke apart and Peter jolted from his lying position, “Shit.”

“Who’s that?” Y/N asked, sitting up.

“My roommate.”

“Alcohol, candles, blankets, pillows,” Harry noted, his voice growing closer to Peter’s door. “Parker! I’m so proud of you!”

“Parker? Who’s Parker?”

“It’s my last name,” He hurried, getting out of bed. “Listen I-”

With his hand over his eyeballs, he walked up to Peter’s door, “Now I’m not coming in, but I would just like to say, this is a monumental event that will go down in Osborne and Parker history.”

“After years, Parker’s got his groove back!"

“Harry!”

62 notes · View notes