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yelenaslyubov · 10 months ago

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Twin Size Mattress (yelena belova university AU)

main masterlist || yelena belova || requests

a/n: heyyyy everyone! well i kept my promise one way or another and i finally have a piece written for you all! i’m sorry if it’s not up to par compared to my other stories, but it’s been a while and i feel a little rusty when it comes to this type of thing. i wanted to try something different for this time around and i think i accomplished that. also, let me know if you guys like the university AU aspect of this bc i might just be able to continue it a little bit (i say maybe loosely lol). in addition, i added a fun little moment of adding the outfits the characters would be wearing!! i hope you guys enjoy this new story and hopefully there will be more to come! it’s good to be back🥹🥹i hope to see more of you soon🫶

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ pairing: yelena belova (AU) x reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ warnings: MINORS DNI (18+) smut, fingering, oral, dom!reader, mentions of alcohol, language

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ description: you and yelena have been going to college together for the past couple years. when a college football game commences, you and yelena spend the day together and finish it off with a bang

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ word count: 3.7k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ yelena’s outfit

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ reader’s outfit

The pressing weight of your backpack dug into your shoulders as you quickly made your way to Yale’s school of art. Though your major was in English, you had connections that allowed you to use the photography facilities located elsewhere. Your bag was full of books, film equipment, and the negatives that you were anxious to develop.

It was college game day, the Harvard vs. Yale game to be more specific, so shoving through blue and red crowds of students was at the bottom of your list. Your trip to the dark room had to be short because even though you hated the idea of all things sports, you felt that tradition outweighed your personal grievances.

As you shut the door to the room and found yourself alone with the quiet, red space, your mind seemed to lighten. The pictures you had brought with you made their way out of your bag and into the developing process. You went through the usual motions until you hung them up to dry. Before you were beautiful headshots and silhouettes of your roommate, Yelena.

While most were taken with the consent of Yelena, there were some too extraordinary to possibly miss out on. The red hues accentuated the curves you so desperately longed to stroke. Of course, this information was unbeknownst to her.

She was the reason why you were so anxious to develop the pictures. Looking through the lense that wonderful day made you so much more excited to see them all finished. The day had been an exciting one. During the summer before the two of you went back to school you had a day at the beach. The weather was perfect, and she was perfect. She wore this lilac swim set that complimented her blonde hair and summer kissed skin so well you thought you would never be able to tear your eyes away from her.

As you went through each picture of her smiling, laughing, and being her usual self you came across the pictures that you tried so hard not to take. Your desire got the better part of you at this moment. The pictures arose of her laying belly down on her towel, a perfect view of her toned back paired with her other curves you could barely speak of. It was hard not to think about that day without becoming wildly sad that she had no idea you liked her with everything inside you.

These few intimate pictures would go where the rest of them are; hidden away in your journal. It was easier this way because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship that you valued so much. But what if she felt the same? You pulled yourself out of your delusions or else you might start to have hope.

She must have read your mind because your phone started ringing and as you pulled it out of your bag, Yelena’s face was vibrating on your screen.

“Hello?” you answered

“Where are you? You better not still be in that stupid dark room!” The sound of massive crowds were loud on the other side of the phone, but your voice drowned out every noise that could be taking place.

“Ha, funny story…”

“Seriously! The game starts soon, y/n. Hurry!”

“You miss me or something, Belova?”

She chuckled once. “And if I did?”

There was silence on your end because your one moment of bravery was already spent, leaving you speechless. “Uhm I’ll start heading your way right now. I should only be about 15 minutes out.”

“Perfect, I’ll save you a seat!”

“Thanks, Lena. Love you, bye,” you said naturally.

It was only then did you realize the words that slipped out of your mouth. Love you, really? You hoped that she thought it wasn’t how you really meant it.

After your stupid mistake, you took your pictures, tucked them away in your journal, and took off out of the building. The day was sunny but the fall crisp in the air took the edge off of the heat from the sun. Even from far away you could hear the triumph of the marching band playing their game day songs. Though your dislike of sports was one thing, there was a certain feeling you got on days like this; the music, the people, the adrenaline, that really made you succumb to the American tradition.

Finding Yelena in the crowd would be the easy part, the hard part would be keeping your eyes off her the entire afternoon. Luckily, she generally picked the same area each game day to sit so it wouldn’t be an extreme challenge to spot her out.

Your suspicion came true when you saw her jumping up and down a few aisles up from the front towards the 40 yard line. She was dressed in her usual Yelena chic, but with a hint of school spirit. You smiled to yourself at her excitement for the game and waited to see if she noticed you walking up to greet her.

“You’re here!” she yelled. She shuffled through other people on her row and fell into your arms. The strong smell of her cologne filled your nose and warmed your heart. You hugged her tightly back and squeezed the leather jacket that was draped around her. “You almost missed the game,” she whined.

“Lena, kickoff hasn’t even started, but I see that hasn’t stopped you from starting early.” You eyed the cold beer she had in her Yale koozie.

“Oh hush and let me be. Now get in there so we can watch.” As you were sneaking past other students Yelena tapped you on the ass and giggled. This was nothing unusual for Yelena, but each time she did it, it made your cheeks glow red.

The two of you settled into your places in the stadium surrounded by a couple of your friends and watched the game begin. The first half of the game was intense with each team up and down on scores. When the buzzer sounded to notify it was halftime everyone seemed to sigh in relief. The crowds started to shuffle again to take a quick intermission before the second half.

“So y/n, what photos were you able to get this time?” Yelena asked.

It was the question you were avoiding answering. If you pulled out the few you wanted to show her, the rest you spent your time hiding would be exposed as well.

“Oh they weren’t anything important, just a couple rolls I hadn’t developed yet.” You tried to play it cool not to give it away.

“Everything of yours is important to me.” Her saying that just made it so much harder to keep them all a secret. “Come on, please show me.”

She gave you her best pouty face and it was so unfortunate that it worked. You rolled your eyes and tried to open the journal in your bag so you could find the pictures you wanted her to see. Once they were all collected you passed them over to her and her face lit up.

“The day at the beach! I remember these.” She flipped through them with a grin on her face. She laughed when the picture of you popped up with your pants soaking yet from the ocean waves. “You were so pissed.”

“Pissed is an understatement,” you added. She smiled up at you and your stomach was tied up in knots. You weren’t sure whether it was the dimples that just so sneakily showed up, her rosy lips, or the bright green eyes that you could finally see without her sunglasses getting in the way.

“These are so amazing— you’re amazing. I need copies of these,” she begged.

“Anything for you,” you smiled.

“Anything?” Yelena smirked.

Your cheeks darkened red. “Shut up.” You shoved her a little with your shoulder.

By the time you showed all your creations off to Yelena the second half of the game was in full swing.

The second was more intense than the first due to Yale being behind for most of the game. Yelena was starting to become too anxious for your liking, and you hoped for her sake that you guys could pull out the win. There was a minute left on the clock and Yelena practically had your arm in a chokehold.

“Fucking run the ball, jackass!” Yelena yelled.

“Hey now, you wanna simmer down a little for me?” you asked, hoping to calm her down a bit.

She chuckled a little and leaned into your arm more. “Sorry, sorry. Anything for you,” she mocked from your previous words.

She quickly turned her head back so she could enjoy the last minute of the game. Her grip only became tighter around your arm as the clock ticked down to the wire. The whistle sounded to indicate that Yale called for a timeout. They needed to sort out their plans if they were going to try and pull out this win. They were down 28-24 with only around 30 seconds to go.

Once they were back in the game the crowd went wild, Yelena included. Number 13 got a hold of the ball and ran all the way to the end zone for a touchdown. Yelena screamed like she never had before and threw her hands up in the air. You cheered along with her at your school’s win. Yelena jumped into your arms out of excitement and you held her tightly as you swept her up in the air.

“We did it, Lena!” you cheered.

She found her footing back on the ground and she grabbed your face and looked into your eyes. “We did it!” The pure shock on your face made her recoil back a bit which resulted in her having matching cheeks just like yourself. “Uh- I- I’m sorry.”

“No, no. You didn’t do anything wrong,” you smiled. “Let’s just get out of here before we’re all packed in.”

You said goodbye to your friends right before a Yelena grabbed your hand to lead you through the crowd. You knew it meant nothing, but having your hand in hers was a dream come true.

When you had made it out of the crowd, it seemed as though the two of you forgot you were still linked together. You quickly broke it off before she could say anything about it.

“So, are we going to keep walking with nowhere to go or are you taking me out?” Yelena smirked.

“Am I what?” you questioned.

“You really are worked up today.” Yelena laughed, but you knew it was true and you didn’t know how else to hide it.

“Why don’t we go back to my dorm? My roommate isn’t there like usual so we could watch a movie or something?”

“Do you have popcorn?” she asked and you nodded. “Then it’s a deal.”

The two of you talked and laughed on the walk to your dorm. Like usual, Yelena made it so difficult to not stare at her. She had such a unique confidence that drew you deeper and deeper into her presence. The way she carried herself was like no other.

When you made it into your room Yelena immediately started searching for your snacks that you kept in the drawers under your bed. You set your things down on your desk and sat down in your chair.

“Do you mind if I borrow some of your clothes?” Yelena asked.

“I don’t know why you even ask anymore, Lena. Your closet consists of half of my clothes anyway,” you laughed.

She rolled her eyes and started taking her clothes off to change. Trying not to watch her change was not easy to come by. You turned around in your chair and pretended to unload your back from the day. What Yelena didn’t know is that your mirror allowed the perfect angle to see different parts of her.

What really got you was the matching black bra and underwear that revealed itself as she took her clothes off. This surprise caused you to knock a few things off your desk in the process, one of them being your journal. Naturally, Yelena turned around to try and help.

“What did you do, get angry and throw things off the desk?” Yelena laughed. It was awful timing to have other pictures that Yelena did not see poking out of your journal. “What are these?”

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“Y/n, what are these?”

“Just pictures…”

Yelena stared at you puzzlingly as she picked up the journal off the floor and opened it to reveal the hidden pictures inside. Her brows furrowed as she inspected each one in great detail.

“Y/n, these are…so beautiful.”

You stood there staring down at the pictures or anywhere else in the room, just so you didn’t have to look at her.

“Why didn’t you show me these?” Yelena’s voice was softer now, more gentle. “Y/n?”

“I-I don’t know… I guess I thought you would think it was weird,” you replied shyly.

“Why would it be weird?”

Shit. If you told her why then she would know how you felt, but if you say nothing at all that’s not any better. You were stuck.

“I don’t know…”

She searched your face from any indication of an explanation. There was so much happening that you almost forgot Yelena was half naked.

“These are beautiful.”

“Only because you’re in them,” you bravely said.

Yelena blushed, something you didn’t see very often. “Damn y/l/n, you sure do know the way to my heart.”

“I’m serious.” You felt like your world had stopped at the thought of where this was going. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, Yelena. How could I not take those pictures that day?”

Yelena was quiet now. You weren’t sure whether this was good or bad. You were tired of being subtle, especially now that you had her right where you wanted her.

“I don’t know what to say,” Yelena said. Her eyes were full of something you hadn’t seen before.

You looked at her for a moment trying to build up your confidence one last time because you knew if you didn’t then you would never be able to do this.

“For once Belova, I would love it if you said nothing at all.” You stepped closer so you could delicately slide your hands up behind her neck. She looked taken off guard, but she definitely was not fighting it. When Yelena took her hands and placed them around the straps of your overalls and pulled you closer so you were face to face, you knew she might’ve wanted this just as much as you.

“Just kiss me already,” she whispered close enough you could feel the breath on your lips. With her words you threw your lips against hers in a kiss that you waited much too long for. Your lips moved against hers as your hands were tangled in her blonde waves. Yelena pulled and grabbed at anything on you just to make you even closer to one another.

You shifted your position to try and push yourself against Yelena so that she may lean against the bed. You knew exactly what your intentions were as of now, but you were not sure how Yelena would feel about it.

The first brush of her tongue against yours sent shivers down your spine and you weren’t sure if she heard your quiet moan or not. You saved your restraint for so many months, so now there was nothing holding you back. Your lips traveled away from hers to down her soft neck. You placed rough and hungry kisses along the nape of her neck and you could tell just by her demeanor that she was having a hard time keeping quiet.

“Uhm, what about your roommate?” Yelena asked in between heavy breaths

“What about them?”

“What if they, you know, walk in?” You must have found a sweet spot on her neck because her question ended with a whine.

“They’re never here.”

“But what if-”

“Just shut up already,” you said.

You smiled against her lips as you threw her shoulders down on the bed as gently as you could. It was hard to take things slow when you had been craving exactly this for far too long.

As your hungry lips continued to move against Yelena’s, you found your fingers playing with the band of her underwear. Your fingers traced all along the skin that was covered.

“I want to see every part of you that was hiding in these photos,” you said. Your mind went back to the day you took those sexy pictures of her and it made you even more desperate for what was hiding beneath Yelena’s garments.

“I just need you to touch me,” Yelena said, breathless. “Please touch me.”

You were quick to pull down her panties to reveal a sight you never thought you would have the pleasure of seeing. Even the panties that brushed against her pussy made her wince in pleasure.

“Please,” begged Yelena.

After undressing her bottom, in one swift motion you unhooked her bra.

“You want me to touch you like this?”

You placed your lips around one of her nipples as you watched her head fall into the bed. Your tongue made its way to circle around her nipple, slowly building up her desire.

Without thinking, you slightly tugged on her nipple with your teeth. Yelena moaned just loud enough for you to hear. It was the most beautiful sound that you had been dying to hear since you met her.

You wanted to move on further.

“Or I could maybe touch you like this?”

Your hand was almost shaking as it made its way down to get center. Your fingers slowly but surely made small circles on her clit. Now, Yelena was panting with lust and trying to keep quiet despite what you wanted.

“Fuck, Lena. You’re so wet.” You couldn’t help yourself from pointing out the obvious. The wetness that covered her only made yours grow.

Yelena had her mouth covered now, most likely paranoid that others would hear her like she had said earlier.

“I want to hear you,” you demanded.

Yelena was moaning softly through her hand now, a reaction to your words.

“Be a good girl and take your hand away from your mouth. I want to hear you.”

She did as you wished and removed her hand. The hand that previously resided over her mouth was now gripped onto the bed.

You took a minute to admire her before moving on further. Her body was even more gorgeous than you could’ve ever imagined. Her toned arms that held on so tightly to the bed, her curves that wavered like the ocean down her body, and her perfectly kissed skin, just how you liked it.

“Maybe you want me to touch you… like this?”

You went even further and slowly slipped your fingers inside her pussy. As you sunk your fingers deep inside her, Yelena became even more worked up.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned. “Please keep going. It feels so good.”

Seeing Yelena drown in the pleasure of your fingers inside her was something you never thought you would live to see.

“You feel so good, baby.” Yelena seemed to like the name because she let out a long whine. “Good girl. Be louder for me.”

You loved the power you had over her in such a short amount of time.

The pace of your fingers stayed quite steady now. Yelena moaned with each stroke that went deeper in her pretty pussy. There was one more thing that you longed to do before she reached her limit.

“You want me to touch you like this, baby?”

Finally, with your fingers still keeping a rhythm inside her, you lowered yourself down on the bed so that you could taste her.

Your tongue made its way to make contact with her clit. Yelena was the loudest now, and with her noise came her restless body. Much like her, you were just as overcome with pleasure.

Her hips bucked into your face with each increasing second. Your tongue explored every single part of her, almost as if you would never get to do it again. Your fingers sped up now that you could tell she was getting closer.

“Holy fuck, right there,” Yelena moaned. “Keep going, I’m so close.”

“Good job, baby,” you murmured. “I want you to cum around my fingers.”

Your words only sped up the process more. Her hips moved even faster which made it hard for you to keep your pace. Your tongue and fingers moved rapidly as she started to reach the peak of her climax

“I’m gonna cum baby,” Yelena said breathlessly.

All at once, Yelena let out a loud stream of moans that you were sure echoed through the hall in your dorm. You didn’t care. You were happy to have her all to yourself, and now, everyone knew it too.

“Good girl, let it all out,” you praised her.

Yelena laid there on your bed to try and catch her breath. You couldn’t help but watch the result of your doings as she looked so worked up.

You took your last opportunity to soak her body in by kissing all the way up her thighs, stomach, chest, and face. Yelena seemed to be hiding her face a bit, most definitely different from her usual demeanor.

You moved her hand that shielded her face. “You okay?”

She gave a thumbs up

“Does that mean it felt okay?”

She had a surprised look on her face. “The entire hall heard me and you think it didn’t feel good?!”

You laughed. “Just checking.”

You both laid next to each other for a while in silence before Yelena spoke up.

“So…how long have you felt this way?”

“When did you start school here?”

“Uhm…two years ago?”

“Then two years.”

Yelena looked over at you. “Really?”

“Really,” you nodded. “How could I not, just look at you.” Yelena smiled at your words.

“Well, I’ve worked up an appetite after all that fun. What do you say we make some popcorn and watch a movie and pretend like no one heard all of that?”

“That sounds perfect to me.”

The two of you spent the rest of the night in each other’s company talking and reveling in the day’s events. You laid in bed thinking about how happy you were to have taken those pictures that day on the beach.

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#marvel #yelena belova #florence pugh #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova fic #yelena belova fluff #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x fem!reader #yelena belova x female reader #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you #yelena belova smut #yelena belova x gn!reader #yelena belova AU #yelena belova x au #my writing #college fic

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saccharinesunsetretired · 1 year ago

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Wilbur Soot’s Guide to Side Hustles | camboy!Simpbur x camgirl!reader | Part One

My first ever series on this blog yayayayay! Also first time writing Simpbur. No fucking clue when the next chapter will be up though. Could be next week. Could be a month. Life contains many mysteries.

Summary: Wilbur has had a long line of obsessions in his time. In a desperate attempt to get the attention he craves, he starts making content online. When he encounters you at a party full of other creators...well, he's never been good at staying away from things that draw him in, and you may very well be his undoing.

Warnings/Tags: sub!Simpbur, dom!reader. Unrealistic sex/depictions of sex work (although I did try), smut, pegging, general simpbur creepiness, discussions of virignity/consent, low self-esteem and insecurity problems, unhealthy attitudes toward sex. Reader is AFAB and a woman

Word Count: 11.3k

MINORS DNI - BLOGS WITHOUT AN AGE INDICATOR GET BLOCKED, NO EXCEPTIONS

“Hey, creep.”

Wilbur blinked and looked up from his math textbook. Standing right in front of him was a girl from his English course, a girl he’d had a crush on for years. They had never actually spoken. Instead, he’d done what he did best—watched from afar and stayed out of it. For a moment, despite her harshness, he just stared, basking in her attention.

She laughed, and her friends laughed from a few desks away as they looked on. “Do you know how to speak?” she asked.

“Y-yeah,” he said. He could feel his cheeks burning. “What’s, um…what’s up?”

“‘What’s up’?” The girl laughed again. “I’ve seen you hovering near my locker, you fucking pervert.”

Wilbur froze. “I-I wasn’t—“

“Oh, you weren’t?” She leaned against a nearby desk. “Who’s been leaving me notes, then?”

Wilbur wanted nothing more than to curl up in a hole. He had been leaving notes. And admittedly, yes, some of them were creepier than others. The notes ranged from Good luck on midterms :) to You looked so hot in class today. And despite Wilbur’s general lack of self-awareness, he recognized how this looked. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll stop.”

“If you don’t, I’m reporting you,” she replied. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Got it.” Wilbur had never felt more embarrassed. The other students began to whisper. He could feel a million eyes on him—well, what felt like a million, at least. “I’m so, so sorry.” He stared at his desk as his eyes stung.

“Good.” The girl stood there for another few moments. “It’s a waste,” she said. “You could almost be cute, if you weren’t such a freak.”

Present Day

You could almost be cute if you weren’t such a freak.

Wilbur remembered that, because of course he did. It was the closest he ever got to someone returning his affections. Yes, he knew it was pathetic, but that shred of affirmation went a long way.

He started bettering himself. It started with better hygiene, not wearing clothes multiple days in a row, properly washing his hair. His parents had been bothering him to do that for ages, anyway. He dressed better, tried to socialize. That last point didn’t go too well. He got bullied to the point that he ended up switching schools and had to deal with the fact that at least a bit of it was warranted.

He never saw that crush of his ever again. He developed new ones, new fixations. He didn’t leave notes, though, or stalk anyone or do anything to arouse suspicion. He promised himself that he could be normal, that he would be normal.

Well, perhaps he’d intentionally switched classes a few times to “keep an eye on” some of the people he became fixated on. But was that such a big deal?

And then university came. Loans, what felt like a million dollars in debt. One night, the result of a drunken decision, he filmed himself getting off. On an even more questionable drunken decision, he posted it online to some internet forum he had only heard of in passing. The second he remembered it the next day (after recovering physically a bit from his previous drinking binge), he was absolutely mortified. And yet, to his immense surprise, people liked it. It wasn’t any sort of viral sensation, of course, but he had a decent number of comments when he woke up in the morning. At first, he was put off by the vulgarity of it, but then, he realized that this was how he could get the high that he’d always craved—attention.

He started working on it. Filming videos, uploading photos. Pretty soon, he had an OnlyFans account going. His content was mostly solo stuff, webcam livestreams and private chats with his more dedicated followers. To his surprise, he started making decent money. It was nice to have something to help relieve some of the university debt. Plus, the validation was nice, even if it was only in praise of his body.

Besides, he had long given up the idea of anybody loving him for anything other than that.

Online, his persona was more submissive. It was easier for him, not having to fake confidence that he didn’t have. Instead, he could let himself moan as loud as he wanted, let the microphone pick up every small gasp and whine as he got himself off either with his hands or one of the million toys that he’d purchased since starting the job. The needier he looked, the better.

Then, he found the confidence to do his first collaboration. The benefits of moving to a larger area for university were plenty, but one of the biggest benefits turned out to be the fact that he was far from the only sex worker in the city. He lost his virginity to a girl on a livestream, although she didn’t know it was his first time. At least, she pretended not to know. Wilbur got the feeling that she could tell. Either way, it had made good content. In fact, it had been so profitable that she had invited him to a small gathering of some other creators—sex workers of all types.

And that was how he ended up holding a can of cheap beer in the corner of a party. It was at someone’s apartment, someone he didn’t know and didn’t care to know. The music was far too loud, the conversation too overwhelming. For a moment, Wilbur was sixteen again, sitting at his desk and wanting to disappear.

At least, until you walked in. You, dressed to the nines for a simple house party. For a moment, he locked eyes with you, and he nearly forgot how to breathe. He looked away first, too intimidated, too afraid. However, he watched out of the corner of his eye as you walked into the kitchen to greet the host of the party and grab a drink.

When you reentered the living room, Wilbur’s eyes immediately went back to you. Suddenly, it was as if nobody else was there. He could feel it creeping up on him again, the beginning of an obsession.

Be normal, he reminded himself. Don’t be a creep.

He watched as you greeted almost everyone at the party, flawlessly interacting with the guests. Clearly, you knew your way around. Eventually, you made your way over to Wilbur. He took a sip of his beer to try and appear casual, only to choke slightly.

“Shit, didn’t mean to startle you,” you said, chuckling. “You alright?” You leaned against the wall right beside him, so close that he could smell your shampoo. Or maybe it was perfume. He couldn’t tell, and honestly didn’t care to discern the difference.

“Fine,” Wilbur replied. He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. You caught me mid-sip.”

“My bad, stranger.” You offered your hand. “I’m Y/N. And you’re Wilbur, right? Allison told me about you.”

Wilbur hesitantly shook your hand before pulling his own hand away suspiciously quick. “Right, yeah,” Wilbur replied. “We did a livestream earlier.”

“I heard. Apparently it was a hit.” You briefly glanced at your phone before tucking it back in your pocket. “And you’re new on the scene…?”

“Yeah, pretty new.” Wilbur shrugged, trying to play it cool and relax his nerves. “That was my first non-solo livestream.” And my first time having sex ever his mind reminded him. Because people only want you if they can profit.

He shook the thought away as you spoke again. “Damn. Pretty good for your first time, then.” You grinned at him. “Most people don’t get this kind of attention so quickly.”

“It’s…definitely been a surprise to me,” Wilbur agreed. A tense silence passed between you and Wilbur. “So…you also do the whole…camgirl thing?” He thought that he’d heard of you in passing, but before, he’d had no reason to look you up.

“Yeah! Two years and going. Still doing mostly solo stuff, but trying to branch out a little,” you replied. “It can be difficult to know who to trust in this industry, who genuinely has your best interests at heart and who is taking advantage.”

“I bet.” Wilbur set his beer aside. It wasn’t that good, anyway. “Do you like it?”

You shrugged. “Sometimes yes. Other times no. Depends on how creepy people are that day.”

Wilbur laughed, nodding in agreement. He watched you as you took a sip of your own drink, some sort of cocktail. “But you make good money?” he asked. His frenzied mind attempted to come up with some flirtatious lines, but nothing else left his mouth. Considering how cringy all the lines were, it was for the better.

“Decent money,” you replied. “And you?”

“Decent money.”

“Cool.” Wilbur felt slightly uneasy as you eyed him up and down. “Hand me your phone,” you said after a moment.

Wilbur blinked. “Why?” he asked. Despite his questioning, he unlocked his phone and handed it over without complaint.

“So I can give you my number,” you replied. You began entering your contact information. “Not to be too forward, but the main reason I came to this party was just to network. Like I said, I’m branching out, and it seems that you’re doing the same.” You handed his phone back. “Maybe we could collab.”

Wilbur felt his heart hammering in his chest. The room felt like it was spinning, and considering he’d only had half a beer, he definitely couldn’t blame it on alcohol. “Oh. Um…you sure?”

You smirked. “You seem harmless enough, Wil. Besides, we can talk a bit beforehand, get to know each other a little. I’d rather not fuck someone without knowing a bit about them.”

“Fair.” Wilbur very shakily tucked his phone back in the pocket of his jeans. He noticed you starting to leave. “We’ll be in touch, then?” he asked.

You winked. “You can count on it.” Only a moment later, you disappeared into the crowd.

Wilbur left the party immediately after. He saw no point in staying if he couldn’t talk with you more. Even after that sliver of conversation, everyone else at the party seemed even more dull than before. He got into the back of a taxi, trying (and failing) to make his brain go quiet.

All he could think about was your skin under the multicolored lights at the party, the sound of your laugh, the brightness of your smile. He checked his phone, and all he could think about was the fact that your hands had touched it less than fifteen minutes prior. And maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right he would get to touch you for real.

He imagined your hands on him, fingers curled around his cock. Nobody had ever given him a handjob before, but he (for better or worse) had always had a vivid imagination. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the window of the cab as he imagined it, your fingers on him. He tried to imagine every detail, the texture of your fingertips, the tone of voice you would use as you praised him.

By the time the taxi dropped him off outside his apartment building, he was achingly hard. He made it to his studio apartment, took off his coat and shoes, and immediately sat on his bed. He opened his laptop and searched for your name.

Sure enough, he found your OnlyFans, as well as the few free teaser clips that you’d uploaded elsewhere. There you were, a vibrator on your clit in one clip, your fingers teasing your own nipples as you moaned for the camera.

He slammed the laptop shut. No, he told himself. No more obsessions. If you manage to make this work, all she’ll be to you is a colleague, a coworker.

Don’t be a creep.

He got out of bed and made it to the bathroom, where he stripped, tossed his clothes in the hamper, and turned on the shower. A cold shower would do the trick, he figured. Admittedly, he’d never actually tried the method, but it was the best he could think of. He could scrub away all thoughts of you, get rid of his hard-on, and call it a night.

He shivered as the cold water hit him. It felt fucking awful, cold water on his skin when all he wanted was warmth, but he toughed it out, waiting for his “problem” to resolve itself.

But it was no use. All he could think about was the sound of you moaning in that video, gorgeous lips parted, legs spread. He couldn’t help but wish he could hear you moan for real, not the fake sort of moans that are exaggerated for the camera.

He gave up after a while and got out, wrapping his lower body in a towel as he did a walk of shame back to his bed. He sat on the towel and reopened his laptop.

He found your OnlyFans page, and without thinking, he subscribed. He wasn’t sure if you could see his username if he used his official account, so he made another guest account. You were worth the inconvenience. He started to scroll. He saw a clip of you and Allison, you grinding against her thigh. Another clip showed you edging yourself into oblivion, cheeks flushed, eyes watering. That was the clip he finally settled on.

He edged himself along with the video, stopping whenever you stopped. If your hand stopped moving, so would his. In his mind, it felt almost like mutual masturbation, like you were really there doing this with him. He imagined you watching him, murmuring praise to him.

It wasn’t often that he got off without toys, not because he couldn’t, but because he was almost always filming his orgasms, and thus toys were usually involved. Despite not having any added vibration or stimulation, he came harder simply from touching himself while watching your videos than he had in months.

He laid there afterward, his own cum on his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut. You’re absolutely hopeless, he told himself.

And yet, he couldn’t stop now. Not when you were so close.

It took Wilbur three days to work up the courage to text you, and from then on, conversation flowed naturally. At first, it was small talk about the industry—which people did you know, how many parties had you been to, what sort of content were you interested in making, and on and on and on. Wilbur was honest, admitting his lack of experience in the world of sex work, although he didn’t admit his lack of sexual experience in general. If he did, he might scare you off or make you hesitant, and he didn’t want that.

Conversation then turned to more personal matters. Still surface level, yes, but less detached than talks of industry and networking. He learned that you were a camgirl on the side, using the funds to add to the money you made from waitressing as you saved up. He also learned your favorite restaurant in the city (which he offered to take you to sometime, delighted when you accepted the offer) as well as your favorite bands, books, movies…all the surface-level questions he could hope to get answers for.

To his dismay, two weeks of texts went by without you mentioning possibly meeting up to film together. Just when he thought that was off the table and this would only amount to friendship, his phone buzzed as he was working on an essay. He picked it up, assuming it would be either one of his parents or a spam call, and grinned when he saw your name. You were requesting a FaceTime call, so he quickly smoothed his hair before answering.

“Hey!” you said cheerfully. Wilbur was so relieved to see your face, not just on your OnlyFans, but you, you choosing for him to see you. You looked like you were fresh out of the shower, and he realized quickly that you weren’t wearing a shirt. He couldn’t see anything below your shoulders, but the realization still had him speechless for a moment before he regained his composure.

“Hi!” he said back with equal cheerfulness. “How’re you?” He flicked on another light in his apartment so that you could see him better.

“Good,” you replied. A moment of silence passed. “Listen, are you free Saturday?”

“Yeah, why?” The truth was, Wilbur wasn’t free Saturday. He was in a study group for an upcoming exam, but at that moment, he decided that he didn’t give a shit. He would happily flunk an exam if it meant getting to spend more time with you. He had only seen you in person once, and only for a tiny moment in time, and all he had thought about since then was getting more.

“I have a business idea,” you said. Wilbur watched as you sat down on a couch at what must be your apartment. He caught a glimpse of the top of a towel wrapped around your torso, and although this thought made him slightly disgusted with himself, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. Still, his disappointment only lasted a second once your words sunk in.

“A business idea?” He immediately perked up. “What is it?” His mind went wild with possibilities. A livestream? Some short clips? A whole homemade porn film?

“So…your online persona is more on the submissive side, right?” you asked.

Wilbur’s brows furrowed. “How did you know?” Although the two of you had talked about the industry, bonded over creeps on the internet and the like, the details of your content had gone mostly undiscussed.

He noticed the rather sheepish expression on your face. “I may have done some research,” you admitted. “Is that weird?”

His heart skipped a beat, and he had to fight to keep himself calm. You had done research on him? That meant you had definitely seen some of his content, and not only that, but seeing his content made you more interested. Usually, he wouldn’t have cared. If it were anybody else, he wouldn’t have cared, but you? You, the subject of his obsession (he’d finally admitted to himself that’s what it was), the person he thought of every night before going to bed, thought he was desirable? Maybe not desirable, but at least worthy of seeing, worthy of working with. That was enough.

“It’s not weird!” he reassured you. “I…I may have done the same.” He did not tell you that he had a whole folder on his laptop that was only clips of you, that he’d labeled each video, that he’d gotten himself off to every single one. He definitely didn’t tell you that while filming himself the day prior, he’d been thinking of you the entire time. No, that was too much. That was creepy, that was obsession…but based on your admission, he figured a bit of the truth couldn’t hurt.

Thankfully, you reacted positively. “Thank god,” you said, laughing softly. “I thought you’d think I was a pervert.”

“No! No, of course not,” he said quickly. “I would never.” He settled his back against the headboard of his bed. “So, anyway, what was the idea?”

“Well, as I was saying,” you continued, “your persona is more on the submissive side. I portray myself as more dominant. Very convenient for us, no?” Wilbur nodded along as you spoke. “I was wondering…” You trailed off. “I can be forward with you, yeah?”

“Honestly, I’d prefer it that way.”

“Great! How do you feel about getting pegged?” A moment of silence passed as Wilbur’s brain completely short-circuited. He didn’t realize how long he’d been quiet until you spoke again. “Okay, uh…maybe I was too blunt.” He heard your awkward laugh through the phone.

“No! No, not too blunt at all. I’m fine with it,” he replied. “Yeah, no, that sounds great.” He tried to hide the nervous undertone to his voice. Using toys on himself is one thing; being on the receiving end of someone else’s movements is another. “I’d be down for that.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “You were quiet for a moment, there.”

“Yeah! Yes, I’m completely sure,” Wilbur replied. “You want to, um, livestream that? Or are we just filming…?”

“Just filming,” you replied. “Having sex live is way more complicated. This way, we can try a couple different angles to see what looks best on camera.”

“Right.” Wilbur took a deep breath. “That sounds good. You said Saturday?”

“Saturday, yeah,” you responded. “And I was thinking we do it at my place. No offense, I’m sure your setup is nice, but I’ve been in the game a bit longer. I’ve probably got nicer gear.”

“That’s great. Sounds good.” Wilbur’s nerves kicked up a few more notches. He was going to embarrass himself, he just knew it. He was going to walk in, immediately get hard just looking at your setup (which was already somewhat familiar to him) and look like a loser. He tried to shove that thought away.

Thankfully, it seemed that you sensed his discomfort. “Listen, uh…I know that you’ve only done something like this once,” you said. “If you ever change your mind, you can leave. I won’t judge you for that, even if we’re in the middle of filming. Consent rules don’t magically go away when there are cameras rolling.”

Wilbur’s heart thumped in his chest. You were smiling warmly at him over FaceTime, and he wanted nothing more than to be there with you. His thoughts weren’t sexual, at least not in the moment.

His mind wandered. When was the last time he’d been held by somebody? He’d never once been held by somebody who liked him romantically. He wasn’t sure that anyone outside his family had ever so much as hugged him. The thought made him dizzy. “Thank you,” he managed to say.

“Don’t thank me. It’s basic decency.” You continued smiling at him. “Oh, we don’t have a time set. Does one work?”

“One is fine,” Wilbur replied. “I’m totally cool with one.”

“Sounds good. Saturday at one, then,” you said. “Be ready to film.”

“I’ll be ready,” Wilbur promised. He just hoped that it was a promise he could keep.

He spent the rest of the week panicking. He shoved himself into schoolwork, studying, finishing up the essay that you had distracted him from. On Saturday morning, he woke up, shaved, took a shower, blow-dried his hair and got dressed. He knew that the clothes would be coming off, but he tried to dress somewhat nice anyway. He figured that even his nicest jeans and a button-up would be fine. He kept reminding himself that a business encounter was all this interaction would be.

Around noon, he got a text from you:

Hey ;) ready to film?

He quickly replied.

Born ready. Send your address?

The next message contained your address. He took a deep breath, brushed his teeth (for the third time that day) and set off. He left his apartment, got into his car, and started driving.

He put on a playlist on the way there, one he had made containing music from your favorite bands. He kept constantly checking himself in the mirror to the point where he realized he would hit something if he didn’t stop. He was an absolute wreck of nerves.

He pulled into the apartment parking lot and got out of his car. He walked into the building, took the elevator…

And there was your door. He stepped toward it and hesitantly knocked three times. The wait was agonizing. He stood outside the door for a minute before you opened it.

“Sorry!” you said. “I was in the middle of getting the lighting set up. Come in!”

“No worries.” He followed you inside. Your apartment was immaculately clean, with enough decorations to add character without being overwhelming. He followed you down the short hallway to your bedroom.

Sure enough, it took a lot to keep himself calm the second he stepped through the door. The whole place smelled like you, and it was enough to make him lightheaded. He looked at the setup, and it was honestly impressive. You had a professional-level camera setup, multiple lights, and cameras at various angles. “This is…wow,” he said. “You know your shit.”

“I’m a professional.” You winked at him as you adjusted the angle on one of the cameras. “Okay, so…a bit unconventional, but we’re going to do a test of sorts to make sure that the angles on the cameras are correct. Is that alright?”

Wilbur shrugged. “As you said, you’re the professional. I’ll let you call the shots.” He had no idea what a “test” would entail, but he wasn’t about to question it. He stood off to the side, watching you as you worked. Your white tank top left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“Great.” You adjusted one of the lights, lowering it slightly. “What do you think? Too bright in here?”

Come to think of it, it was a little blinding. “Maybe a bit softer,” Wilbur suggested.

“Good idea.” You nodded in agreement and dimmed the lights. “Better?”

“Better.” Wilbur took a few deep breaths. “We good to go?”

“Good to go.” You sat on the bed, examining the angles from your sitting point, clearly trying to decide if they were any good. “Yeah, definitely good to go.”

“Okay, then.” Wilbur stood there awkwardly. “What, um, what do I do?”

“Like I said, I want to test the angles before we start actually filming.” Wilbur watched as you pressed record on all the cameras. “I figure we just experiment with a few positions, see how the camera captures it. You can stay dressed if you want—-like I said, this is just a test.”

“Alright,” Wilbur murmured. He sat on the bed and nearly froze when you cupped his cheek. His face was so close to yours that he could barely breathe.

“You still okay with this?” you asked, searching him for any sign of hesitation. He nodded. This was terrifying, but the thought of walking away was even scarier. “Good.” Mere seconds later, you pressed your lips to his.

It took him a second to kiss back, but once he started, he never wanted to stop. Your lips were soft against his, just testing the waters at first. He had no idea where to put his hands, but he didn’t have to think about it for long, as you quickly pushed him onto his back. He made a small noise as you got on top of him and continued kissing him.

Wilbur didn’t consider himself a good kisser. It wasn’t like he had much experience. The kisses became rushed and sloppy, and just as he started to settle into the rhythm, you were getting off of him and checking the camera footage. He sat there, dazed, as you made your way around the edge of the bed, checking what the cameras picked up. You were explaining something about the process, something about lighting and shadow and…whatever else, Wilbur wasn’t listening. He could still taste you, still feel your lips against his.

He only snapped back to reality when you approached the side of the bed again. “You still okay with the pegging thing?” you asked.

“Yes,” he breathed out. He could feel how hard he was, the slight friction against his jeans, but he didn’t have it in him to be embarrassed anymore. Who cared if this was just for work, just for content? He was about to have you, and having you in any capacity was better than not having you at all.

“Alright, then.” He watched as you opened a nearby dresser. “I have a couple things that you can choose from…” You pulled out a box and set it on the edge of the bed. He scooted closer as you opened it, his throat catching at the array of items. “These are all the toys I have that are compatible with the harness,” you explained. “I’d rather us not start filming until the main event, so to speak. We can get you all prepped before that.”

He nodded, breath catching in his throat. “Sounds good,” he choked out. He glanced over the collection of toys. Some of them were definitely too big for him, so he avoided them. His eyes finally landed on a pink dildo, just slightly bigger than the one he’d used in a recent clip. “That one, maybe?” He pointed.

“Good choice,” you said. “Just got this one.” You picked it out of the box and laid it on the bed. Wilbur’s eyes stayed on you as he watched you gather more stuff—-the strap-on harness, some lube, a buttplug. You went about it with the precision of a doctor gathering medical supplies. It was both hot and slightly unnerving.

“Do we have everything?” Wilbur asked. He shifted slightly, both to get comfortable and because it was difficult to sit still when he was so close to you.

“Yep! We’re set.” You sat back down on the bed close to him. He shuddered as you rested your hand on his thigh. “Still okay?”

“Still okay,” Wilbur confirmed. He closed his eyes as you leaned in to kiss him. He kissed you back, less sloppy this time, less desperate. He wanted to be able to contain himself, at least a little. He didn’t know what you’d think of him if he appeared too needy.

Your gentle hands pushed him backward, and he laid down on your soft mattress, eyes unfocused as he looked up at you. He pulled you in for another kiss, and whined as your tongue found his. The sound was pathetic in his mind, but it seemed to spur you on further. He gasped as you grinded against him. Even though it was only the tiniest bit of friction, it was one of the best things he’d ever felt. His hands wandered to your waist, sliding under your tank top. It was the boldest thing Wilbur had done so far, and he was more than pleased when you leaned further into his touch.

A moment later, your lips left his. He frowned for only a split second before realizing why. When he opened his eyes, your hands were brushing against his as you took off your tank top, leaving absolutely nothing underneath.

He stared. He couldn’t help it. He wanted so badly to touch all of it—-your stomach, your bare waist, your chest. It was almost too much. His cheeks went red as he heard you laugh softly. “Enjoying the view?” you teased.

“Oh! Um…sorry,” he said sheepishly. He forced his eyes upward, and when he did, he locked eyes with you. To his surprise, there was no sign of disgust or embarrassment on your face, only amusement. “You’re just gorgeous. Couldn’t help it.”

“Of course I am. How else would I have gotten this job?” You smirked down at him, and he managed to laugh despite his nerves. “In all seriousness,” you said, “thank you. You’re pretty good-looking yourself.”

It was one of the more tame comments he’d gotten in recent times, but it was by far the best. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice coming out as a squeak. Before he could apologize for that, you were kissing him again. Your hands found the buttons of his shirt, and he helped you take it off without hesitation. His mind went blank as your hands wandered his skin, tracing the lines of his abdomen and chest. He returned the favor, letting his hands wander a little. He held back, not squeezing or grasping, just lightly touching.

You slid out of your shorts, and Wilbur fumbled with the button of his jeans. Once he undid that, you got his zipper for him. You lifted yourself up for a moment so that Wilbur could remove his jeans. He shivered as his bare skin met the cool air of your room, then frowned as you got off of him. “We should get you ready,” you said. He nodded, finally removing his boxers.

He let them fall to the side of the bed, leaving him completely exposed. He could feel how hot his cheeks were, but you didn’t seem to be judging him for it. In fact, you were focused instead on putting lube on your fingers, occasionally glancing at Wilbur. He shivered, parted his legs without you asking. He laid there for a moment, staring at your ceiling, trying to calm himself. He only had a moment before you were back, settled down beside him. “You ready?” he heard you ask. He could only nod in response.

He felt a finger press inside of him, and he sighed. His eyes closed, his lips parted, and he let himself revel in the feeling. For once, he had someone else’s fingers, someone else’s touch. Of course, only one finger wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a perfect start. He moaned quietly as you moved your finger in and out, slowly, almost teasingly. He spread his legs further for you, and you scooted closer. At one point, your finger curled just enough that it brushed against his prostate, and the moan that he let out was downright desperate. He clasped his hand over his mouth, only for you to move it away. “Where’s the fun in that?” you murmured. He couldn’t even process your words before you brushed his prostate again, and he nearly moaned even louder.

“More?” he questioned. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely…” You slid in another finger and he whined. It was then that a thought occurred to him.

When he used his own fingers or his own toys, he never properly prepped himself. Not ever. It always hurt a little bit, since for him, he was always doing it just for the camera. It made him realize how much he neglected himself when it came to his job, never truly considering his own boundaries or what felt good to him. And yet, here you were, and it didn’t hurt with you at all. Even though this was just for work, just for content, you were being more considerate and gentle with him than he was with himself. He made a mental note to thank you later.

In the meantime, your fingers curled against his prostate, and he let himself moan and whine, gripping at the sheets and breathing heavily. He let his mind go empty, let himself fully relax, let himself be yours even if only for a moment in time. He felt it as you switched between brushing against his prostate and prepping his hole, gently stretching your fingers to spread him a little wider each time. “This feel okay?” you asked.

Wilbur nodded, unable to speak properly. You continued your movements, and Wilbur continued his moans. Your fingers were gone all too soon. Wilbur gasped a few times and forced his hazy vision to focus. “All good?” he asked, a little concerned. He watched as you wiped your hand off with a wet wipe before tossing the wipe in a bedside trash can.

“All good,” you replied. “You feeling ready? I grabbed a plug just in case you wanted to use that for more prep, but if you’re feeling good, I say we go for it.”

“I’m good to just go for it,” Wilbur said. To his surprise, his voice was a lot more steady than it had been. Something about your presence was calming, even in a situation like this that Wilbur had no experience with. He watched as you got the harness ready and strapped it on. Okay, maybe the dildo was a little bigger than he’d originally thought, but he would be fine. He hoped. “Thank you for, um, helping me get ready.”

“Why wouldn’t I help? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you said. You finished putting on the harness before coating the strap in more lube than was probably necessary, just for good measure. “The nice thing about not working for some big porn company is that we get to do things in our own time. We’re not rushing to fit some director’s schedule.”

Wilbur nodded. “Right.” He’d heard varying things about being in professional pornos from various people in the industry. Experiences ranged from incredibly negative to incredibly positive, depending on the company, the director and any number of other factors. Wilbur was grateful to be making enough money on his own to make this venture worth his while. It was nice not having to risk mistreatment. “Still. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He watched as you pressed “record” on each of the cameras. You turned back to him, your expression focused, methodical. “Ready?”

Wilbur nodded. “Ready. Um…safeword?” He definitely didn’t plan on using it, but it was always better to be safe.

“Is the stoplight system good with you?” Wilbur nodded. He’d never used it, but he knew what it was. “Perfect,” you replied. “Let’s get this show on the road, then.” You smirked, and Wilbur grinned back. All the nerves were gone, replaced with excitement and focus. The cameras were rolling. Time to put on a show.

Wilbur wiggled his hips slightly, getting comfortable as well as a bit closer to you. He glanced at one of the cameras and shifted a little so that it would catch his facial expressions better. His eyes quickly went back to you. He felt your hands on his thighs. “You gonna be good for me?” you asked, your voice a little louder than it had been earlier. He figured it was just for the cameras.

“Y-yes,” Wilbur said, slightly exaggerating the tremble in his voice. From the look in your eyes, you approved. “I-I’ll be good for you. I’ll be a good boy, I promise.”

“Yeah?” Your hands ran up and down his thighs, causing him to tremble and shiver. “Then be a good boy, and tell me what you want.”

“I want…I want you to fuck me,” he said. He realized then that he was being too quiet for the cameras to pick up, but thankfully, you saved the scene.

“A little louder, sweetheart. I couldn’t hear you.”

“Fuck me,” Wilbur said, a little louder. “Please.” Despite the fact that it was just an act, he knew that the way you called him sweetheart would be playing on repeat in his head for weeks to come, if not months. His obsession was certainly deep enough for that.

“Good boy.” He felt the tip of the strap press into him, and he gasped. “Aw, already too much?” You asked teasingly.

He shook his head frantically. “No. Not—-not enough. Need more. Please…” He tried to scoot closer to you, to get more, but you shook your head.

“You only get what I give you. Understood?” He nodded. “Good boy.” You continued pressing the strap into him, painfully slow, giving him a chance to adjust to the size of it.

He whined, trying not to arch his back or move too much. Instead, his hands gripped at the sheets. He tilted his head to the side a little bit, right in the view of the camera to show off his face contorted with pleasure. His viewers always liked that; he figured that yours might as well. “Fuck,” he gasped out. “You’re so…so big…”

“Too much for you? Or are you gonna be good and take it?” You pushed the rest of the way in, and despite feeling fuller than he’d ever felt, not an ounce of pain came with it. Wilbur was grateful for that.

“I can be good,” Wilbur promised. “I can take it. I swear I can be good and take it.” He whined as you shifted your hips a little, and his hands went to grasp at your back. “Please. Please start moving. I need—-I need you.” Not even Wilbur could tell at this point where the genuinity ended and the act began.

You grinned. “You’ve been good so far. I feel like you’ve earned a reward.” You started shifting your hips, slow but deep thrusts that had him reeling. You weren’t quite getting his prostate, and he suspected that it was on purpose, you wanting to draw this out longer for the cameras.

Wilbur tilted his head back slightly. His eyes fell half-closed, and he peeked out at you from beneath his lashes. He let his lips remain parted. He suppressed his moans, opting instead for gasps and grunts. It would make better content, he figured, if he could start small and build up to it. It was taking a lot of effort to hold back.

“More?” he asked meekly, trying to make his voice loud enough for the cameras, yet quiet enough to keep up the submissive appearance. Although, he supposed it was more than an appearance. With some time, practice and confidence, maybe he’d be able to play a different role. For now, this is what it was. His body trembled slightly with the nerves and the sensations.

“Hm? What was that?” Your movements slowed down a little, much to Wilbur’s dismay. “Did you just ask something of me without saying please?” You leaned down, your face hovering inches from his. “You remember when I told you that you only get what I give you, right?”

“Y-yes,” Wilbur said. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good.” He sighed as you ruffled his hair, his brown eyes wide and gazing up at you full of desperation. “I promise.”

“Then say please,” you replied. “You can say please, can’t you, baby?”

Wilbur nods, a sharp, jerky movement. “C-can I please have more?” he asks.

“More what?” you asked innocently. Your hips continued rocking back and forth, so languidly that it was frustrating. “What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.”

“I-I want it harder,” Wilbur replied. “F-faster. Please? Please, I need it.” With every passing moment, Wilbur became less and less aware of the cameras picking up his every move. If he focused hard enough, he could pretend that this wasn’t all an act. It was a dangerous game, pretending that way, but as time passed, he cared less and less.

“I guess I can give you what you want,” you said nonchalantly. “If you promise to be good.” Your movements picked up speed, hips thrusting slightly faster but just as shallowly. You weren’t thrusting all the way to the hilt, but Wilbur did his best to be patient despite wanting it desperately.

“I promise,” he panted out. “Please. I’ll be good.”

“Good boy,” you cooed. Wilbur felt a shiver go down his spine, and his shivers immediately turned to gasps as your thrusts got harder, faster, more forceful. He tried to tilt his hips a little, make you brush against his prostate, but you refused to comply, still avoiding the spot entirely. He let out a whine, high-pitched and needy. It was almost embarrassing, but based on the way you only smirked wider and picked up the pace, it was clear that you weren’t about to judge him for it.

Wilbur let himself get a little louder. He was tempted to cup your face, to run his fingers gently along your sides. He almost did before remembering that this wasn’t real. You didn’t love him. This was just sex. His second time ever, with someone he’d been crushing on obsessively, and none of it was even real. Despite how good he felt physically, he started to feel like shit mentally. The thoughts combined with your movements caused him to tear up a little bit, much to his embarrassment. He felt his eyes burn a little, and he glanced away from your face, trying to hide it.

It was no use. You saw. “Color?” you asked softly, too quiet for the cameras to pick up properly. Your eyes held a somewhat concerned expression. Immediately, Wilbur felt bad for upsetting you.

“Green,” he replied easily. “I’m okay. Promise.” He even managed a small smile.

You nodded, the worry slowly melting from your face. He moaned as your movements picked up speed again, and then whined as you finally, finally, hit his prostate. His moans got increasingly loud as you continued hitting that spot with every thrust of your hips, burying yourself inside of him to the hilt of your strap. He looked down between his legs as best he could, watching you move in and out of him. He could only look for a moment before having to tilt his head back and whine once again.

“Look at you,” you cooed. “So desperate for my cock, huh?”

“Y-yes.” Wilbur gripped the sheets with one hand and your shoulder with the other. “Please, please, please don’t stop.” His voice came out sounding whiny and pathetic, wobbling with every word.

“You’re doing so good,” you replied. “Taking me so well.” Wilbur moaned once more as you gripped his hips, using the hold as leverage to help you thrust harder.

He could feel himself getting close. He noticed how much pre-cum he was leaking, small drops of it dripping down his cock. “S-so close,” he whined. His hand subconsciously went to his length, but you quickly pulled his hand away.

“Not without my permission,” you chided him. He gasped as you continued your movements.

“Please,” he said desperately. “Please, I need…fuck, I need you to touch me. Please.”

You grinned and wrapped a hand around his cock, slowly pumping him up and down. He let out an embarrassingly loud moan. After just a few movements of your hand, his hips were twitching. He let out a series of swears and pleas, his words nearly incoherent as he finished, cum coating your hand and his stomach. You murmured soft words of praise, but he could barely register them.

His vision was hazy as you stopped moving. He gasped for air, panting. He felt numb and overstimulated all at once. His hand that was gripping the sheets slowly loosened its grip, and he let his hand fall from your side. “Thank you,” he murmured. His throat felt scratchy and dry.

“You were such a good boy,” you said, running a hand down his hip to his thigh. You pulled out, and he gasped at the feeling. You leaned in close to him, your faces inches apart. “We’ll have to do this again sometime, yeah?” He nodded eagerly before you pulled away.

He watched as you turned off the cameras, and he finally let himself relax, laying down fully on the bed. His gaze went from you to the ceiling before he closed his eyes. He needed a break, a few moments to collect himself, to come back to reality. His eyes still burned, and he let a few tears escape down his cheeks. How could something so pleasurable also be so painful?

He laid there for a few moments, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself. He closed his eyes, trying to will the tears away. He couldn’t get over the thought that this wasn’t enough, that he needed more of you, and he needed it to be real. It was as if all his years of loneliness were catching up to him at once. Every night that he wished someone would hold him, every day that he’d spent pining after people who would never love him back…not to mention the constant self-loathing that came from the small amount of self awareness that he had, the awareness that he was a creep who nobody could ever love.

Wilbur heard you as you took off the harness before walking over to his side. “You alright?” you asked. Your voice was soft, concerned. “Was I too rough with you? Do you want some water, or maybe something to eat?”

Wilbur opened his eyes and sat up a bit. “Um…water would be good. And no, you weren’t too rough with me.” He wiped his tears off his cheeks and managed a smile. “You were a lot less rough with me than I am with myself, honestly.”

You grinned back at him. “Okay, I’ll get you some water. If you want to clean yourself up, the bathroom is to the right of the entrance to my room. There are washcloths in the drawer under the sink.”

“Thanks,” he said. Some warm water to help wipe the sweat off him sounded almost magical. “I’ll go do that.” He slowly got off the bed, feeling a little shaky. Your kindness and the sweet sound of your voice had taken away some of his pain, but the loneliness lingered in his mind like an ever-present itch that he couldn’t reach the source of.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” you called after him. He went into the bathroom and closed the door.

He used the bathroom, cleaned himself up, and was about to head back to your room when something caught his eye. You had a laundry hamper in the bathroom, and on top of the pile of laundry, nearly blended in with the surrounding fabric, was a pair of black underwear.

He immediately beat himself up for even thinking about taking it…but god, it was tempting. He would have something of you always, something you’d touched. More than just touched. He could keep it in his room, with his things, a little souvenir.

The only other souvenir he’d ever kept was from the girl he was obsessed with in high school. She had once torn out a page of notes and dropped them in the trash can, and he had fished it out and kept it. Of course, he’d thrown it out after she’d called him out for being a creep.

Never had he had something like this. But he quickly realized that, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t take it. He was naked, so it wasn’t like there was a pocket to hide it in.

He pushed away the disappointment and left the bathroom. It was better this way, better that he not have the opportunity to do what he wanted. Despite knowing that it was for the best, he couldn’t help but feel upset by it.

He re-entered your room, where you were sitting on the bed. You’d changed out the duvet, and there was a glass of water on the nightstand for him. You were dressed again in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he felt more exposed than ever. You turned when you heard him enter, and immediately, he was given a smile. “Feeling better?”

Wilbur nodded and smiled back. “Much better, thanks.” He glanced around and saw his clothing on the floor. “I’m just gonna…”

Your eyes flitted to the pile of his clothes. “Right. Good idea.” You then glanced at the dresser in the corner of your room. “Hold on, I have something you can wear instead of that uncomfortable button-up you were wearing.”

Wilbur was about to protest and say that the button-up was fine (despite the fact that it was cheap and a little itchy in reality), but he quickly shut his mouth and worked on getting his jeans and boxers on. If you had something for him to wear, something that was yours, that would be a dream come true. He watched you as you shuffled through a drawer.

“Here it is,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. He saw as you picked up a t-shirt, one that was definitely too big for you. “I have this extra shirt. I accidentally ordered a few sizes too big, so you can have it if you want.” You tossed it over to Wilbur, and he caught it.

It was a band t-shirt. Wilbur recognized the band as one of your favorites. “Are you sure?” he asked. The material was soft in his hands, and Wilbur swore that it smelled like you.

“Yeah, I’m never going to wear it. It’s yours.”

Wilbur held it like it was precious. He examined it before sliding it on. It fit him well, not too loose but not too tight. He looked over at you and immediately noticed that you were looking right back at him. “It fits really well,” Wilbur said. “Thank you. This is much better than my other shirt.”

“No kidding,” you replied. “That thing felt like it was awful to wear.” You paused. “Plus, you look good in it.”

Wilbur could hardly believe it. You had complimented his appearance twice. In one day. “Thanks,” he said, his voice slightly shaky. “I, um, appreciate it.” He reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and sat down in order to steady himself. He took a sip, immediately feeling refreshed. He hadn’t realized how dry his throat felt.

“Anytime.” You sat beside him on the bed. “Can I…ask you something serious?”

Wilbur put down the glass and turned his full attention to you. He saw the slight concern in your expression, and his small smile quickly faded. “Sure. What’s up?”

You tilted your head slightly as you looked at him. “Are you okay? I know that you said you were alright, but you seem a little shaken up still. I’m just a bit worried.”

He sighed, trying to figure out what to say. On the one hand, he could be honest. At least, a little bit honest. You didn’t need to know the full truth. On the other hand, he could insist that he was fine. He worked through the options in his mind, and settled on a half-truth.

“I, uh, have never been pegged before,” he said. “This was my first time. I think I just got a little overwhelmed is all.” He paused, and when he saw your expression grow more concerned, quickly added, “But I’m fine! Really, you were great. You didn’t do anything wrong, and it was a good first time. A great first time.” He could feel his cheeks get slightly hot, but he did his best to stay relaxed.

You looked surprised, your eyes slightly wide. “You…you got pegged for the first time, just now, on camera?” You shook your head, a barely noticeable movement. “That’s…brave. I’ve never done something for the first time on camera.”

“Yeah…yeah, I probably should’ve prepared beforehand,” Wilbur said. “But I just figured…it’s not like I’ve never done anything anal on my own. I figured it would be fine, and it was.”

“But you looked upset,” you said.

“Just overwhelmed,” Wilbur replied. “I promise it’s okay.” The last thing he wanted to do was deter you by making you feel bad. Besides, it really wasn’t your fault.

“Wilbur…” You looked away, pausing as if considering what to say. “Allison showed me a short clip the other day of that video you two filmed, and…and I don’t know if it was just an act, but I got the feeling that you were very new to what you were doing.” You looked back at him, and he felt the intense desire to disappear, to change the subject, because how could he admit how little experience he had without being intensely embarrassed? “Was that…did you ever have sex before that?”

Once again, Wilbur had the choice between honesty or a lie. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that he wanted to try for more with you—more than just friendship, and definitely more than business partners. The terrifying thing was this: if he wanted that, truly wanted that, then he would have to be honest with you at some point.

“...No,” Wilbur said, barely audible. He avoided eye contact. “I was, um, too nervous to tell her that it was my first time. I wanted to do a collab, so I just didn’t say anything.” He fidgeted with his fingers, trying to distract himself. “I…maybe I was wrong to do that. I don’t know. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I just didn’t want to wait around for things to happen for real, because I need the money now, not later, and…and it didn’t seem like anything was going to happen anytime soon, so…” He shrugged, hoping that the explanation was enough.

“And…and was it good?” you asked. “Like, was it a good first time for you? Did you enjoy it?”

Wilbur thought back to it. Allison was nice, sure. She was amenable, very understanding when it came to the fact that Wilbur was new in the industry. And yeah, Wilbur had finished that first time with her, but when he really thought about it, he couldn’t say it was enjoyable. It wasn’t enjoyable, being with somebody he had no connection with. It wasn’t enjoyable knowing that this incredibly vulnerable moment of his life was being livestreamed in real time, and it definitely wasn’t enjoyable that his first time was done for profit rather than for the experience, for the fun.

“I mean, does anyone enjoy their first times?” Wilbur managed to dodge the question, but his eyes still didn’t meet yours.

“Yeah! Well…I don’t know. They’re generally not good in the sense of being physically pleasurable, but they don’t have to be awful,” you said. “I just…I can’t imagine doing that in front of a camera, streamed live like that. And it sounds to me like you did it because you didn’t feel like you had any other choice.”

Wilbur finally looked up at you, scared of a reprimand, scared of your judgment. But all he saw in your expression was worry and kindness. “I…I’ve just never really had the opportunity,” he said quietly. “I’ve never been in a proper relationship. I kissed a girl, like, once in high school, but that was it. And then not again until Allison. I just wanted to get it over with, to feel…I don’t know. Normal, I guess. Desirable. Like…like someone wanted me.”

The second the words came out, Wilbur was mortified. He’d never told anyone any of this, and the fact that he’d told you of all people, the second time he’d ever spoken to you in person, made him wish he could turn back time and erase this entire conversation.

He felt you gently take his hand. “I’m sorry,” you said, “that things didn’t turn out the way you would have liked.”

Wilbur looked down at his hand, gently wrapped in yours, and he gave it a small squeeze. “It’s okay,” he said. “It wasn’t awful.”

“Still,” you said. “It sucks.”

“It does suck.” He watched as you let go of his hand, hiding his disappointment. “Anyway, um…I’m sorry to unload all that on you,” he said, his self awareness returning to him.

“It’s fine, Wil. We’re friends, and I wouldn't have said what I said if I wasn’t prepared for a response,” you said. “Really, it’s okay.”

He could hear the softness in your voice, the hint of concern. It nearly made him cry again, just knowing that somebody cared about him at all. “Thank you,” he said. “I…I really appreciate it.” The words felt so tame in comparison to what he wanted to say, but all the words he could think of seemed too much. He couldn’t believe that you’d referred to him as a friend, that you wanted to continue associating with him. It seemed too good to be true.

One thing was certain: it would take a lot of willpower to make this obsession go away, and Wilbur wasn’t sure he had it in him to let you go.

To Wilbur’s absolute delight, his time with you didn’t end there. After filming, he stayed for dinner. He ate pizza with you on your couch, watching a cheesy 80s movie and making fun of the special effects. Admittedly, he watched you far more than he watched the film, and he felt shivers every time you looked his way.

Over the course of the next week, he messaged you every day. Sometimes, it was because he messaged first, and other times, you were the one to reach out. He forced himself to exercise some restraint, to not be too eager. You made it difficult. Many of the texts were about the video, you giving Wilbur updates on the editing progress. At the end of the week, it went live. Wilbur was notified by your message:

Done! Let’s see how this goes

Wilbur grinned, swallowing back all the anxiety that he felt. What if it was bad? What if people didn’t like it? What if his inexperience showed on camera?

He shoved it all down and sent a reply.

Sweet

After a moment, he was struck both by how boring his last message was and how great of an opportunity this presented him with.

Want to celebrate tonight? Drinks on me?

He waited anxiously for a reply. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed with no response, until finally, your name appeared on his screen.

How about that bar a block from my place? You know the one?

Wilbur did, in fact, know the one. He’d passed it on the drive to your apartment.

I know it. Send the address and I’ll be there

Eight?

He smiled.

Eight sounds perfect :)

Once again, he couldn’t believe his luck. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, combed his hair. He left early to make sure that he was there in time and that you wouldn’t be stuck waiting for him. The cab ride to the bar felt like it took a million years, and when he got there, you were sitting at the bar waiting for him.

The bar was packed. There was music blasting over the speakers, some pop song that Wilbur couldn’t place, though he’d heard it over the radio a million times. He sat beside you at the bar. “Hey!” he said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

You greeted him with equal enthusiasm. “You made it!”

“Of course I made it,” he said, grinning. He could already feel his cheeks get warm, although whether it was from the crowded bar or his proximity to you, he couldn’t tell. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Only about five minutes,” you replied. “But I got here early. Still waiting for the bartender.”

“Perfect.” Wilbur glanced at his surroundings. The scene reminded him of when he’d first met you. It was hard to believe that it had been less than a month. “Is the video doing well?” It was too early to draw many conclusions, of course, but he was curious.

“Holy shit, you have no idea,” you said, grinning. “People love the video. Already, I’m getting messages asking for more of it.” You seemed proud of yourself, and Wilbur couldn’t blame you. You’d done most of the work, after all.

He could feel his heart pounding. People loved it, which meant that you would probably want to do it again. More time spent with you, more excuses to see you…it all sounded perfect. “So when is part two?” Wilbur asks. “If people love it, I mean…we should probably get to filming more material, right?”

Your smile faltered, and his heart immediately sank. Of course. Of course it was all too good to be true, too perfect to be real. He should have known better. When you finally spoke, Wilbur was already bracing himself for rejection. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said. Before Wilbur could say anything, you continued. “Not because I don’t like you, okay? I…I won’t lie, it was fun. I’m just…”

“You can be honest,” Wilbur said, so quietly that he could barely be heard over the sounds of chatter and music. “If you don’t like me and don’t want to do it again, that’s okay. I get it.” He knew that he sounded pathetic and self-deprecating, but he had no clue what else to say.

“Wil, I just said that it wasn’t because I don’t like you,” you said. “Please take my word for it.” Wilbur nodded, slightly embarrassed. “The reason I don’t want to film more is because I’m a little worried about you.”

Oh. In a way, that was a relief to hear. It meant that you didn’t dislike him. On the other hand, he was terrified. Did you see him as pathetic? He wouldn’t blame you, but it was still a blow to his ego. “...Why?” he finally asked.

“I just…” You sighed. “You were literally crying, Wil. It was concerning. And I’m not saying that you did anything wrong, because you didn’t, I just think that…” You laughed, a short, nervous sound. “Fuck, I don’t know how to phrase this without sounding insensitive.”

Wilbur froze. You were going to call him a creep, pathetic, a loser. He just knew it. “Just say it,” he said, his voice trembling.

“You have some things to sort out,” you said finally. “This type of job can ruin you if you don’t have the self-esteem to handle it. I’ve seen it before. People go into it feeling like shit about themselves, and then all the validation they get is purely sexual, and it fucks with them when they don’t get that validation anymore. It can be hard to separate your sense of self from your sex appeal, you know? But you have to.”

Wilbur took a deep breath. That was somehow worse than anything he’d anticipated you saying. He wasn’t a creep in your eyes, maybe, but he was broken. He had low self-esteem. You saw him as something to be pitied, and that was a hard pill to swallow. He kept opening his mouth to speak, only to close it again. He finally gave up. “Okay,” he said finally. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

You went quiet. It was only until the bartender showed up that you spoke again, ordering some drink that Wilbur couldn’t make out the name of due to being lost in his own thoughts. When you asked him what he wanted, he replied with water. He didn’t feel like drinking anymore.

After the bartender left, Wilbur felt your eyes on him. “Yeah?” he questioned. “What?”

“Did you actually listen to what I said?”

“What? Yeah, of course I did.”

“Wilbur…”

“I get it,” Wilbur said quickly. “I know that I’m…that I’ve based my whole life around this, and I know that it’s concerning, and I get it. But what else am I supposed to do?”

“Take a break,” you suggested.

“I need the money.”

“Okay, well, go back to solo content for a bit. Because I think you need a moment to think things through.”

It didn’t sound so bad, actually, going back to doing things alone for a while. As long as he still had you in some capacity, maybe it would turn out okay. “Alright,” he said. “I could do that.”

“Good.” You thanked the bartender as he handed you your drink before turning back to Wilbur. “I think it would be good for you.”

“Probably,” he admitted. He sipped his water, trying to enjoy your presence despite the war of emotions he had going on. It took him a moment for him to ask the question that he wanted to ask. “...Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“No,” you replied immediately. “I just think you need some time off.”

He accepted the answer, but there was one more thing he needed to ask. “I’m sorry if this is…weird,” he said carefully. “But I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date sometime. Like, a proper date, not…”

“An amateur porn filming session?”

“Right. That.” Wilbur felt his hands trembling. “Um…we could go out to dinner sometime. Wherever you want.” He felt dizzy, his breathing shallow and his heart pounding way too fast. “If you want to.”

You took an agonizingly slow sip of your drink. “I’d like that,” you said finally. You smiled at him, and it was like everything falling into place. Wilbur could breathe. You hadn’t rejected him.

And soon enough, he would have you, one way or another.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot smut #wilbur soot x reader smut #simpbur #saccharine writes

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starredforlife · 6 months ago

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ok top five scenes from the kung fu panda universe (any of the movies, shorts, shows, etc). could be fight scenes, character moments, etc etc so on and so forth

FERN THIS IS SO HARD. FOR ME. UHM !!!!

ESCAPE FROM GONGMEN TOWER please watch it right now please please it's such an underrated scene musically and visually. this is the scene where tigress catches a flaming arrow and that's the exact moment i became a homosexual. vic history. it's also the scene where we see her chops as a leader of the five and the way she's fit into this role to balance out Po so well. and also all her potential as who she could've been, if she'd been chosen to be the dragon warrior herself. but she's not.

youtube

MUSICIAN'S VILLAGE I LOVE this scene the way it introduces, to the audience, that the score is going to play a part in the fight scenes of this movie is absolutely magnificent. and the way we get reintroduced to the furious five's + po's fighting style, and it reminds us immediately that they are formidable--and then sets up the inciting incident of the plot with so much mystery (and we see the 2d animation style again too, which has always represented po's inner subconscious. WHY DIDN'T THEY DO THAT FOR THE FOURTH MOVIE. whatever)

youtube

i would say the bridge fight (kfp1) and i adore that scene but i have to say, i really love the performances, the ambience, the color boards, the sound effects, and the emotional impact of shifu and tai lung's fight in the 3rd act more. i love when kfp actually invested time in its non-main protag characters. tai lung was an absolutely fascinating villain and this scene just rounds out his character so well

youtube

The entirety of the secrets of the scroll short film oh my god i love that one so much. teenage tigress. my baby girl.

youtube

FUCK okay and then the fireworks factory (2nd movie) where Po confronts Shen about his past. And he gets shot with a cannon and Tigress doesn't get to him in time. breaks my heart every time. i'm going to include the scene where Tigress and Po fight right before that in the jail too bc the musical score called "Fireworks Factory" starts with THEIR HUG. AND IT ENDS WITH HER RUNNING TO CATCH HIM. AND FAILING. MY BAKA LIFE !!!!! i don't even ship them anymore like i did when i was 14 i mostly just love tigress but their platonic relationship is v important to me. i have to include their hug bc that did irreparable damage to me as a tween. sorry the quality of the first vid is so ass. their relationship in the entire 2nd movie is so good i could write a whole analysis on it probably. it's paining me physically to not include their earlier boat scene talk.

youtube

this is also the scene where tigress snarls at the gorilla and that changed my brain chemistry forever.

youtube

i love the entire second movie this is so hard for me AUGHHHGHGH okay quick honorary mention: i also love the scene where we see shen fight the three masters (rhino, croc, ox). that quick fight scene is SO well executed. the dialogue and the performances are incredible. i used to have every line of dialogue of this movie memorized and especially loved reciting this scene (skip to 1:10)

youtube

and then if i had to pick a moment from the third one it's the one where oogway's statue gets wrecked at the jade palace. it lands emotionally very well for a scene that could have easily been mishandled too comedically or too quickly. like it still gives me chills. and i'm not even gonna touch on the character animation/acting of tigress and shifu here bc GOD. kai's theme does rock also!!! AND i LOVE the colors in this movie SO MUCH holy fuck

youtube

and then a minor detail from the first one is i love how the characters act with each other, namely the five and shifu. they clearly have a history and/or comradery with each other. shifu undoing the nerve damage tai lung did in a way specific to each of his students stands out to me in particular.

1 and 2 are masterpieces to me and i have my Things about the 3rd one but overall, a beautiful trilogy. i wish the 4th one didn't exist im killing it with my bare hands. vic hate movie? vic murder it. 5th rule of the streets.

#you sly dog. you've got me monologuing #if u saw me listening to the soundtrack the whole time i answered this. yeah you did #star's asks #fernsnailz #kfp

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urf1lterr · 2 years ago

Text

lovesick | pedro pascal [1]

"and on this night and in this light i think im falling, im falling for you."

next chapter: [2] series masterlist

summary: in which a 1975-obsessed film student accidentally falls in love with an older man she can't have.

pairing: actor!pedro x intern!reader

genre: acting world!au, big age-gap!, strangers to friends- maybe lovers?? au | angst, mature, awkward, love- eventually

word count: 7.4k

status: in progress

author's note: this was supposed to only be an introduction but i ended up with a chapter lol. im sorry if its lame, i wrote this half asleep and for fun. not edited btw

"So like...are we gonna keep staring at the door or do you mind if I open it and walk inside?"

Swiftly turning your neck, you glared at your friend who was patiently waiting for your reply- probably begging on the inside to go in by how badly cold it was outside on this tuesday, new york morning.

"Just go inside by yourself!" you rolled your eyes as she shook her head.

"Uh no, for one- I can't let you be out here alone, some man could just push you in a van and sell you to the black market," Jules declared. "then I would lose one birthday gift from you-"

"I will push you in the van myself if you keep talking," you groaned, her constant rambling within the hours making your nerves worsen.

Today was the day Jules, your best friend, and you began your internship on a film set. Actually, it was yesterday, but nobody really counts the short orientation and hours of reading rules and responsibilities a real productive work day, right?

If having the worst anxiety wasn't enough, you were blessed to have been given an amazing coping mechanism of meditation- in which would've been fine with if you didn't look like a complete idiot standing up with your eyes wide open breathing slowly.

But to be fair, this really was your first day on the job. You didn't know what to expect and your friend wasn't exactly a helping hand in these situations. As she was more confident and outgoing, there you were being an introverted, awkward female with amazing music taste- that is you ever felt comfortable to let people hear your music outside of your headphones.

"I don't get just why you have to pray while staring at the door as if you wanna stare into its soul, you look weird," Jules whined, placing her hand over her eyes. "We have to be at Finn's office in 10 minutes or else we're dead."

"Fine," you huff, grabbing your bag you had placed on the floor beforehand onto your shoulder. "Let's go."

Excitedly clapping her hands together, she swung the door open before dragging you down the hall of the room towards the elevators. The two of you had to meet at a studio on the other side of the city for this internship in which wouldn't be a problem if you enjoyed traffic and the crowds of people on the street- but you didn't.

Not only did you have to take the subway and a cab one hour before your schedule 8am start, you had to deal with the troubles of waking up your night owl roommate, Jules again, without slapping her silly by how strong her eyes stay shut.

After getting off the elevators and walking closer to his office, you recognized a couple of the other interns standing around his door looking either extremely nervous, tired- or both.

Suddenly, the door opened and Finn, the man who hired you, jumped out with a bright smile.

It's way too early to be this energetic.

"How is everyone doing on this lovely, working morning?" Finn smiled, making sure to make eye-contact with every single person in the hall before continuing on with his dialogue. "I'll take this silence as a way you all express your gratitude to be able to work on a live set."

With the ongoing silence still occurring, Finn continued with, "please follow me to the room next door, that's where we'll discuss minor details before heading towards the stages."

The minor details were simple, don't screw up.

There was also little insights on what we should be prepared for- taking care of the cast and errands as the day went on.

I suppose experience is what is needed for your future so it shouldn't be a surprise that you wouldn't be around a camera for too long. But it was mentioned that overtime you would accelerate your learning to harder tasks such as on-hands work, which you were terrified over but within time you would get over it.

You had to, this was a part of your dream job after all.

The group was informed more about the project we had to assist, some new show coming out called 'The Last of Us.' To be honest, you weren't familiar with it. Some of the guys in the group threw in their input that they played the game, but you didn't know it was also a combined franchise.

You weren't exactly a gamer or horror film person.

It hadn't even come to your mind that you would be interacting with real-life celebrities until you made near a stage and felt Jules grip your wrist hard and start tugging on it to get your attention as she tried to quiet her fan girl squeals.

Looking up, you saw a group of people walking through a set with papers in their hand, laughing and chatting with one another. Truth be told, you didn't recognize any of them. Maybe you should have done more research regarding this show you know nothing about- but you heard some successful directors had openings for extra help and immediately called your friend to join with.

"Is it bad that I don't recognize any of these people?" you whisper to Jules as she screeches in low volume, shocked that you would dare say that.

"You're joking right?!" she whispers with a high-pitched voice. "Everybody knows them! They are-"

"Is that him?" you heard a girl whisper from your group, Jules stopping her almost-started rant from it. "He really is daddy."

"What the fuck?" you heard one of the guy interns whisper in confusion, looking at her as if she was delusional as she waved her hand to him to not distract her from her view.

You weren't sure who she was talking about and you really didn't want to know. She probably had some silly crush on one of the actors which would just distract her from her job, it isn't worth it.

"Yo man, why is there a line of people looking like they are held at gunpoint?" one person laughed, pointing at your group as you tried to hold back your laughter.

You were assuming the people around you guys were majority of the cast as nobody else but the camera and makeup crew were present in the room. Surprisingly enough, even after seeing them closer you still couldn't figure out who any of these actors were.

Were you really that outdated in the films you watched?

"Way to introduce yourself, Gabriel," Finn replied, giving a pat on his back before turning back to the group. "These are the new interns because you know, you guys made the last ones quit."

"Uh no I didn't, that was all Nick!" you heard a small child gasp, pointing at an older looking man. He looked a little familiar but you couldn't wrap your head around it. "He made them pick up his food orders all the way across town everyday!"

The familiar-looking man had longer hair than most of the men around. "I would've done delivery if that was an option!" The man complained, making the girl scoff in return.

Hold on, you knew that voice. You grew up with that voice.

"Wait, I do know somebody, that's Ron Swanson" you gasped, completely forgetting how loud and clear you were in your surroundings by how fazed out you were to be a few feet away from a comedic legend.

You didn't know all eyes were on you until you felt Jules heavy weight of her shoulders hit yours as she hid her face in embarrassment from your last statement causing you to look up. Everybody tried holding back their giggles as Nick just smiled proudly.

Great, you just exposed how you didn't know them in front of them. Not mortifying at all.

"Funny and smart for knowing me, I like her already," you heard Nick proudly declare, turning to Finn with a firm nod. "You better not fire her."

Feeling your face getting hotter by the second, you wished you could just hide under a blanket and stay in there forever if it meant you never had to embarrass yourself like that again. This probably looked so disreputable on your part.

"And what might this oblivious, tomato be named?" you heard a man curiously question, getting your attention by his big framed glasses on his face.

Did he just call you a fruit?

"Be nice, you're intimidating them. It's like a new fish in a big pond," an older woman responded after, trying to bring some extra comfort into the room but it was too late- you were traumatized.

"Okay, okay," the man held up his hand in defense before turning to look at you straight in the eye. "What might this unaware, cherry tomato be named? That sounds cuter."

"Uh, y/n," you awkwardly stated, holding your hands together while terribly trying to defend yourself. "And it's totally not like I didn't recognize the rest of you!" you lie, pointing at a random person next to him before speaking up again, "you're in that one brilliant movie that was so good!"

The man sheepishly smiled at you before saying, "I am just one of the cameramen, but thank you. I do get told quite a bit that I look like Brad Pitt." And that was the moment you wanted to die inside.

That's it, you're never coming back here again. You've made a fool out of yourself.

"Stop talking," you heard your friend hiss before taking a step forward to help lessen the attention on you. "I am Jules. Not fashionable like the one from Euphoria, but still very friendly and fun."

The cast all waved at her from her radiating charm that could make anyone adore her. "Thank you, Jules who isn't from Euphoria, why don't everyone else introduce themselves."

After everyone had their time to shine, you were excused for a small break as rehearsal had yet to start. You weren't complaining, you would rather be out getting coffee on the other side of town if that meant you could avoid the actors and directors at all times.

Sitting on one of the break room's couches, you felt Jules jump next to you before hitting your shoulder rapidly. "I think that one girl intern hates you!"

Trying hard to remove her fast hands off you, you gave her a confused look. "Uh why? Was it because I embarrassed us?"

There couldn't be any other reason why she might dislike you, it's not like you knew her personally or had ever met her before the last few days.

"I mean Pedro did call you cute minutes after she called him 'daddy', what do you expect?" She giggled as you gave her a disgusted glance at the last term she used. Why would she call him that and feel comfortable saying it so freely? "She's in loveeee with him."

Pedro? So that was his name.

"First of all, he doesn't think I'm cute. The name 'cherry tomato' was cute rather than a hillbilly tomato," you defended, making her scrunch her face in confusion by your nonsense. "Second, there's no way a normal woman would be that upset over one small indirect comment not made in that way."

Jules rolled her eyes by how understanding you weren't being, it annoyed her even more how oblivious- like the man had said, you were being. "He called you a cherry tomato because it has an adorable ring to it for a cute person! Therefore, he finds you pretty- end of story."

"I am beginning to think you really are delusional."

"All I am saying is be careful," she whispers seriously. "She's young and I know a lot of people who obsess over him for his looks."

"Why? He's like in his 40s-"

"Daddy issues? Gray facial hair? I have no clue what people enjoy on their free time," Jules cut you off, shrugging while you snickered. Like you never heard that excuse before.

"Can we check out the set though? I'm feeling better and want to be out there to prove how unaffected I am from earlier- but I will be hiding behind your back."

"As always," she sang, following you out the door back to the main room.

Walking out, you were determined to stay focused and think before you said something silly- which was hard. Your whole life you've always been a little dumb when reading the environment, that's not gonna change within a few minutes.

Looking through the racks of costumes, tables filled with devices you had never seen before, and cameras that were bigger than yourself, one of the interns, Joon, came up to Jules and you to inform that it was time to actually 'work.'

"Damn, I kinda liked just walking around and doing nothing but stare at the lights. Now we have to get our hands dirty for minimum wage," Jules sighed as the two of you walked in front of one of the stages.

The stage was practically empty, only a few white walls installed and chairs scattered around.

After a few minutes of hearing one of the lead director's assistant discuss the plan of going over a few scenes, it came to your realization that this was only a rehearsal.

It made sense, this building wasn't necessarily a 'survival mode" vibe. Maybe a few indoor scenes would do the job, but it wouldn't be enough for the series.

"I want you to run along with Kendall to grab some snacks, go around the room and see what we're missing and restock!" Finn brightly smiled to Jules before turning to you. "Now, what should I do with you?"

Man, you wished you could replace Kendall right now because now you were alone

"She can help me with the makeup," a lady spoke up from a few feet away. She was a very tall, black-haired woman with a few facial piercings who looked like she was in her middle 20s. "We still need to practice to see how it'll look on the screen this week"

Finn looked at you and back at her before shrugging and nodding. "Works for me." He was already walking away before he turned back around, "but don't let her apply too much, I don't want them looking caked up in front of the camera." Lightly scoffing, you made your way to the girl as he walked away.

Standing there in discomfort, you waited for her to lead you in any type of direction to make this task go by quicker. Makeup was not your thing, or at least when it came to doing someone else's.

"I'm Violet, by the way," the girl smiled kindly at you as she handed you a black apron. "You must be y/n."

Taking the apron, you opened it to find in white writing 'TLOU Crew.' "How'd you know? Did me not knowing the cast spread that fast "

Giggling, she shook her head. "Yes and no," she grabbed one of her many make up bags and began looking through it. "Your name tag."

Looking down, you forgot they had written your name on the sticker during the short-lived meeting with Finn. Redness filled your face as you averted your eyes somewhere else, too embarrassed to make eye-contact.

"Anywho," Violet chuckled while putting one hand on her hip. "I thought maybe I could do my normal routine while you can just do the small stuff like brush their eyebrows or hair."

Squinting your eyes, you just gave her a confused look. "Brush their eyebrows? Work with their hair? Isn't the eyebrows fairly too easy for you to need the help and don't you guys have certified hairstylists?"

"Would you rather do more complicated things like taking their never-ending customized coffee orders?" She replied, making you immediately reject the idea. "I volunteered you to help me because I feel like working on harder tasks your first day would only be stressful."

How thoughtful of her.

"Plus, today's not a complicated schedule-," she added as she began lining her brushes around her small table. "-think of it as a practice run over a few lines, but for multiple scenes. We probably have like max 5 people I need to work on so no need for many artists."

There was another older lady in the other side of the table on her phone, probably another experienced makeup artist who knew the drill.

"Got it, today is a light day," you responded back, causing her to smile and hand you a hairbrush.

"See, you have the right mindset," she declared, nudging her head to the side. "And you better keep it because you have your first clients coming in."

Eyes widening, you swiftly twisted your body to see two young girls and Nick come in. Three people, that shouldn't be hard.

"You better make me look adorable," Nick pointed a finger at you as he sat down on a chair near you, causing you to let out a shy laugh as Violet motioned you to come closer.

"I'm going to prep his skin, go to Bella and Nico and ask them to do the same," she advised. "They usually do it themselves on these days to make the process faster."

Nodding you walked to the two young girls, not knowing which was who. The girls were chatting with each other before one with big curls noticed your presence before smiling brightly. "Skin routine, huh? Don't worry, we were about to begin."

Immediately, you noticed her beautiful accent that caused you to stare at her in shock.

"Looks like you frightened her," the other girl laughed, making you glance at her right after. They both had the strong accent.

"Sorry!" you blush, trying to avert your eyes away from them. "I just never heard a British accent- or at least one in person before."

The first girl giggled, waving her hand as a way to prove she didn't mind. "We get that all the time when we visit, it's okay- I never really hear your accent unless I am working on a new project."

"I don't have an accent- you have one," you declare, causing them to laugh harder.

"You seem really amazed by it, is it because you fantasize over Harry Potter or something?" the second girl jokingly questioned, making you chuckle.

"I wish, but I only watched one of his movies and never read the books," you sigh before continuing. "But one of my favorite bands are British so I just get a little loss for words whenever I hear one. It's such a beautiful tone- not to be weird or anything!"

"I agree, New Yorker's just sound so...angry," the first girl shivered. "Which band are you into? Maybe we know them"

"The 1975-"

"Aww, did you do your research on me to make up for earlier," you heard a voice boost through the area. Turning around, you noticed it was the man who called you a tomato, Pedro.

He gave you a cheeky smirk with a look in his eyes as if he knew torturing you will never get old- unless of course you started crying.

"No, you idiot-," the second girl rolled her eyes as he sent her a playful glare for the insult. "-she's talking about the band."

"Wait, you were born in 1975?" you lightly asked, your mind all scrambled in your heard trying to figure out how old he would be now. "that m-

"Yes, I am old!" Pedro fake cried, holding his heart with his hand. "You don't need to remind me that these wrinkles will never go away."

"Well if you had a prepped your skin throughout the years your skin would have been as smooth as a baby's butt like mine," you heard Nick comment from his chair, eyes closed as Violet just laughed in agreement while applying sunscreen on his face.

Pedro just rolled his eyes as the first girl began talking again. "By the way, I love the 1975! Never seen them live though, but they are definitely on my playlists."

You smiled, already feeling comfortable within the environment. Maybe being alone wasn't going to be that terrible.

"I heard he makes out with fans during his concerts," the second girl scrunched her nose in disgust. "Isn't he worried he would end up catching something."

"He probably gets check ups all the time, Bella," the first girl commented, or you suppose Nico since you now know which one was Bella.

"I would catch any disease if it meant I got to kiss Matty Healy for five seconds," you replied, causing the girls to stare at you in astonishment that you just said that so freely.

Maybe talking about your favorite band is slowly making you more confident?

You heard Violet let out a loud laugh as Nick disagreed, saying something about how young girls are too adventurous nowadays but it was true. Matt Healy was a very attractive man whose kiss could probably heal heartaches.

"Isn't he like in his 30s? Aren't you a little too young to be kissing an older man like him?" Violet questioned, making you shrug.

"Maybe I have a thing for older men."

"Wouldn't call a guy who constantly makes out with fans a man," Pedro snorted. "That's a boy."

Nick hummed in agreement as you suppressed a laugh. "How old are you anyway?"

Standing up straight you stared at him and he did the same back. "Guess."

"That never ends up good," Violet chuckled before examining you up and down. "But 18."

Shaking your head, you were young but not that young. At least your skin still made you look like a teenager, god bless.

"25," Bella answered in which you denied that as well.

"29" Nico tried but was wrong.

Nick sat up from his seat to really figure out your age before easily answering "32" and becoming shocked when you denied it. "Woah, are we at least going in the right direction?"

"Violet was headed there."

Pedro sat up in shock at your response. "You're a teenager?!"

"Would it be so wrong if I was?" you questioned. "I would love to live longer."

"She's 21," the other makeup artist who was long forgotten during this conversation casually spoke up, eyes lifting from her phone. The rest of us just stared at her as she did the same back, confused. "What? She fantasizes over an older man but is doing an internship- sounds like what every 21 year-old does."

Gasping, you held a hand over your mouth as everyone laughed at how accurate she was. She was indeed right, but you wouldn't necessarily call your crush on Matty Healy a fantasy- just a strong imagination of being his lifelong lover that would probably never happen because he doesn't know you exist.

"She's right, huh" Nico spoke up as she noticed you didn't fight back.

"Sadly."

After that whole fiasco trying to find out your real age, Violet began working on Pedro after she finished with Nick. Nico and Bella were almost done with their makeup with the other artist when Violet called you over.

Walking towards the chair, you noticed that she had already finished his base with an extremely natural look, not wanting to add too much or it wouldn't look realistic.

"Can you brush his brows and apply some powder on places that need it? I need to finish Bella off with a few final touches," Violet asked, in which you nodded as she pointed to the products needed to do so. "Don't worry if you mess up, it doesn't need to be perfect."

That didn't make you feel any better.

Standing awkwardly as she walks off, you searched around her overload of makeup table to grab the items she just pointed at.

You decided to do his eyebrows first which would be extremely weird because you've never done this before- or at least to a man.

Surprisingly, Pedro hadn't teased you at all since you arrived by his side to help. He actually just laid there silent and watched Violet direct you through her moves before she left.

Maybe he was cutting you a break for once.

You were proven wrong when you leaned forward and aimed your hand towards his face before he quickly tried biting your hand, causing you to squeal and drop the brush on his face, jumping back.

"Very unprofessional," he declared, picking up the brush that had fallen down from his face to his neck up before looking up at you. "Do you hit all of your clients?'

"You did that on purpose!" you glared, smacking his arm as he sent you a playful wink.

"And what are you gonna do about it? Tell on me?" he teased until you grabbed the brush from his hands and swiped it across his brows hard, causing him to hiss in pain. "God damn, woman!"

Laughing as he gripped his forehead area, he gave you a dirty look as you begin the process of patting his face, even hitting his face a little harder than usual in some spots to make sure you got your revenge.

Once done, you examined his face to make sure you were pleased with the results- in which you were.

"All done?' Violet asked, walking up beside you, checking out your work. "Nicely done, but why does he look grumpy?" she added, as he huffed. "and why is he holding his face?"

"Who knows?" you shrug as Pedro scoffs, watching you walk away as Violet calls out afterwards that you were free to go.

As you were walking back to find where the rest of the interns were, you turned your head to find Pedro's eyes still on yours. You gave him an evil smirk as he pointed his finger at you before swiping his thumb across his neck.

You giggled, about to respond back but you were interrupted when a hand tapped your shoulder. Turning around, you find that it was two of the interns, Joon and the girl who was supposedly in love with Pedro, her name tag claiming she was Kendall.

Was this the girl that Jules went did her errands with? Most likely.

"Are you done with the makeup? We need help arranging the equipment for what's gonna be used today," Joon softly smiled as Kendall just stared at you with no emotion.

Nodding, you followed after them as they walked towards the other side of the set. Soon, you had forgotten about the actor and your little battle as endless wires and heavy weights distracted you.

It wasn't till you physically couldn't bare holding the strong stands that the three of you were told you could take a lunch break. Pulling out your phone, you hadn't realized half the day had went by with all the work you were too engaged in.

"You wanna grab lunch with us? We were thinking about going to this small cafe down the street, the reviews look great," Joon asked as Kendall just sent you a small nod in agreement.

The three of you got along pretty well during the hours you spent together. You feel closer to Joon as he did talk the most, but Kendall did try to start little talks so it wouldn't be weird.

I mean we all kind had to get along in order for this job to work.

"I would but I should look for my friend-"

"I think she had her lunch already, I saw her walking by earlier eating a burrito," Kendall replied. Of course she ate already.

Going over the idea in your head a few times, you nodded. You were starving and you suppose its better to not be a loner right now. "Why not?"

As the three of you walked through the set, you didn't miss some of the glances you guys received as your footsteps were pretty loud. It looked like they were wrapping up on one of the scenes as the director was in deep focus on whatever he was lecturing to them on.

"I hope you guys like walking because I took a cab here," Joon chuckled, causing you to laugh.

"Don't worry, I did the same."

Putting on your big coat, you waited until Kendall was done tying the scarf around her neck before walking towards the exit. Close to the door, you halted when you heard someone call your name.

"Y/n!" you saw Bella jogging towards you making Joon and Kendall freeze their movements.

Shifting slowly, you gave her a curious look. "Yes?"

"We wanted to know if you wanted to have lunch with us?" she smiled before looking behind you to find the two others. "You guys can come too!"

Swinging your arms in front of you, you reject her offer as fast as she asked you. "Oh no, no- I'm all good," you decline, not wanting to feel like a bother. "You guys enjoy your own thing-"

"C'mon, how else are we gonna tease Pedro if you aren't there to get him riled up first?" she chuckled as you felt your face on fire.

"Maybe next time?" you kindly suggest, watching as she pouts but nods.

Lifting her right hand up, she sways it around. "Alright, but don't be surprised if Pedro haunts you because of this."

"Why would he?" you heard Kendall quickly question, making Bella tilt her head at her fast counter.

"Because he's the one who asked me to invite her-." Bella casually states before turning to you. "-which you declined so I hope he teases you all week for leaving Nico and I hanging."

Ignoring the first part of her last statement, you playfully nudge her before waving your goodbyes as she skips back to the rest of the cast. Beginning your walk to the cafe, the three of you had little talk about where you grew up, which schools you attended, and why you wanted to work for the film industry.

If it weren't for the freezing temperatures you would say you really enjoyed the walk, too bad you couldn't.

It wasn't until you were seated that Kendall decided to speak her mind on what she was really curious about:

You.

"So, I wonder why Pedro specifically asked you to join him for lunch and not the rest of us?" she randomly revealed as you were taking a sip of your coffee, almost choking on it once you heard her clearly. "Do I sense favoritism?"

Joon stifled a laugh, shaking his head at her last comment. "Doubt it, but I did wonder the same thing until I realized she did help with their makeup. That's intimate enough to make her at some level close to them."

You don't really know Kendall but she's been decent enough to be around until the cast comes to mind. Maybe she wants to be close to them? You're not sure, maybe Jules was right about her all along- who knows.

What you did know though was she was very quick to question and jump to conclusions.

"What did you even talk to them about?" Kendall eyed you, making you tense up a bit. She is very intimidating when she's curious.

"Nothing much-,' you shrug, messing with the napkin in front of you. "Mainly about the 1975 since the girls are British."

"You like the 1975?" Joon asked and you nodded. "I love them!"

Ears perking up after hearing this, you smiled hard. This new information just made Joon 10x better.

"I don't know who they are," Kendall intervened, trying to find some voice in the topic.

The rest of the hour was filled with Joon and you playing the 1975's albums to Kendall as she tried her best to hide her annoyance by shoving her food in her face.

She was definitely not a fan of talent.

Going back to work was a bit easier than before after finding comfort with a lot of the people around you. The three of you were still stuck doing the same job as you heard some of the other interns were either picking up props needed for a scene or being a personal assistant to Finn.

In fact, you hadn't seen many people as rehearsal was moved to another building on the lot. Another hour or two went by before Finn went up to Joon and you to cut you for the day.

"At least we don't have to stay late," Joon beamed, taking off the gloves he was wearing before folding them back into his little backpack. "I heard he's making some people stay till 6 for some heavy-lifting duties- thank god I wasn't chosen."

"Why? Because you aren't strong enough?" you laughed as he let out a small gasp in offense.

"To think we were becoming best friends," he pouted. "But I had a back injury over a year ago so they can't really make me lift anything more than 30 pounds."

Feeling bad for teasing him, you immediately tried taking back your horrible joke. "I didn't mean t-"

"It's cool, no need to beg for forgiveness," he smiled. "Just a little something I don't tell many people, it isn't a big deal majority of the time."

Throwing a weak- but sincere smile, you nod along. Sure it wasn't a big deal right now, but later it could get worse. You didn't want him to know you felt bad but you assumed he knew by the pity upon your face.

Waving your goodbyes, you texted Jules to figure out where she was. It was a strange feeling not seeing each other all day despite working in the same building, but you did live together so it wasn't like you were missing much.

Finding her fake laughing at some guy's joke, her eyes met yours once you appeared by the door of the break room. Immediately, she patted the young boy who didn't look a day over 18 on the back before skipping happily towards you.

"I take it you had a fun day?"

"The best," she grinned, flipping a piece of hair behind her back. "I finally know what an affogato is- it really isn't that amazing as it sounds though. Just a shot of espresso poured on top of a drink."

Laughing, both of you continued down the hall in hopes of quickly finding a cab to take you to the subway. With the timing of your release, you were sure there was going to be so much traffic out these doors that you weren't ready to deal with.

Swinging the exit door open, you didn't expect to find Joon waiting outside with his hands in his pockets, looking down the street praying for an available cab to drive by.

"That hard to catch a ride, huh" Jules sighed, pulling out her phone as Joon slumped, bummed out. "Uber it is."

Seconds later you felt the doors behind you open again but didn't bother to turn, Joon and you too focused on peeking at Jules' phone as she complained about why an app that was supposed to be used when in need always took forever to arrive.

Two people walked a few feet to the side of you three and that's when you could see from the corner of your eye their figures stopping. Moving your head, you caught a view of a man scanning his phone and another glancing at you. It was Pedro.

"And what are you doing out here in the cold, you look like a chihuahua shivering to death," he chuckled, taking steps towards you.

"Is that a compliment?" you questioned, tilting your head as he gave you a smug look, making you guess for yourself.

"Pretty sure he's means you look like a rodent," Jules dryly commented, swiping through her phone before groaning loudly. "Goddammit! The nearest driver is 25 minutes away, I don't want to be waiting that long for a ride that's probably gonna be my whole day's pay."

Realizing the situation you and your friends were in, Pedro lifts a hand trying to get attention. "You guys need a ride? I drove here and-"

"No thank-," you intervene.

"-yes, please," Jules cuts you off, sending you a small glare as you gave one back.

You were not going to ask someone you met just this morning for a ride home. It's too much.

Pedro laughed at the sight of you two yelling at each other through your minds. Telepathy really works when it comes to your friends. Joon just stood there, not really caring what decision we came to terms with. He figured since Jules and you stayed with him long enough he could join along with whatever you two did, so it was up to you guys to make the final move.

"Okay, don't kill each other," Pedro joked, making you move your eyes away from Jules back to him. "How about I drive you three home and you can help me with my makeup this week- so you won't feel like you're taking too much from me."

Squinting, you made a face. "But I already have to do that- it's part of my job."

"She agreed! Let's go," Pedro exclaimed, waving his right arm to you guys to follow him, ignoring you as you tried to debate as to why doing your job wasn't helpful enough.

As Jules kept trying to shut your mouth by placing her palms on it during the walk inside the parking garage, Joon kept looking back confused. "Wait, what about the man? Was he leaving with you?"

Taking a quick glance towards the direction Joon was looking at, Pedro shrugged before pulling out his car keys. "His wife is picking him up."

Joon slowly nodded, not completely convinced that was the case but he'd let it go this time.

Hearing a car beep, you saw a very nice black car's light flash quickly. Walking up closer, Pedro went to the passenger side and opened it while staring at you. "Get in, loser."

Awkwardly standing there, you shook your head and look towards the backseat. "Uh, no- I'm fine with sitting in the back. Maybe Joon can have it since he is the tallest one here."

Joon shook his head. "I'm happy with sitting in the back, ladies first."

Pedro agreed with his last comment, lifting his head to get in the car as you continued to reject his kindness. He already offered you a ride home, you weren't able to take the front seat.

You both continued to fight about the seat before Jules flapped her arms and jumped inside instead. "We are not going to argue for hours over a seat, I'll take it."

Lowering your shoulders, you smiled as Pedro sent you a displeased look. Heading towards the door, Joon opened the door for you, kindly sending you a warm smile. You returned one back and moved to the seat behind the drivers.

Joon followed after you and sat behind Jules as you could see Pedro speed walk around the car, quickly jumping in. He turned towards the back, glancing at the two of you. "Where to?"

"Jules," you called out. She pulled out her phone and showed it to him before saying, "this is it."

"City girls," he blurted out. "The rats on the streets must be a sight to see."

"Let me see?" Joon asked before her phone was shoved to his face. "Hey, I live three streets away from here. Nice."

"We're basically neighbors," you nudged him, making him do the same as Pedro and Jules just stared at the both of you.

"Anyway," Pedro let out a small laugh, "let's go before I change my mind."

Putting the car in reverse, drive, and zooming off, we were on our way. The ride was filled with Jules playing with the radio, Pedro nicely trying to get her fingers off his screen, and Joon calling out the different trees he'd seen out the window the entire time.

At one point Joon even handed you his phone and asked for your number in case either of you needed help with the internship or the cheesy joke of one of you needing sugar in the middle of night.

Once he was dropped off, it took less than ten minutes to arrive to your apartment building.

"You can just pull in right there," Jules declared, pointing at an open spot in front of our lobby doors.

Taking a quit scan, you objected. "No, that's for emergencies only. Just go around the block, we can walk."

Jules protested, pleading Pedro to not give in to your nonsense. "This is an emergency- I want to go home already!"

"It's a red line; therefore, no parking."

Pedro laughed as you raised your voice, determined to not let him get away with this. You were not about to pay for a ticket just because she couldn't walk a few feet...and then a few more to get home.

"Is she always this stubborn?" Pedro jested, earning a hard raise of the eyebrows from Jules.

"You should see her when we study. If you aren't there on time you're kicked out of the discord." Smacking her arm, she huffs and smacks you back.

"I need to be apart of this discord," Pedro stated, making you roll your eyes.

"It's for students only, grandpa," you replied, causing him to gasp.

"That's not how you should treat someone who gave you a ride across town, intern," he retorted and pulled up along the red crub, making Jules laugh as you sent him a dirty look.

So he's pulling that card.

Jules opened her side of the door, stepping out before grabbing her bag and leaning down against the window. "Welp, I am going inside before he personally fires me for befriending you. See you inside and thanks Mr. man who can still get me fired even though he's not my boss!"

Next thing you knew, she was opening the entrance doors and sliding right inside them. It was time for you to go as well.

You could see him grab his phone, unlocking it, and then placing it right in front of your face. "Give me your number."

Scoffing, you pushed his hand away. "Not even going to ask?"

"We both know you're too difficult to easily agree to a question like that," he countered, pushing it back towards you, not leaving until you accepted it.

Was it unprofessional to be giving the main lead of a new television series your personal number? Maybe a lot of people do it, you mean there are plenty of workers who end up friends with cast members all the time on sets.

You're sure these workers have given their numbers away on multiple occasions.

Handing him back his phone, he grinned. "Great, now I can directly reach you whenever I need coffee."

"Only during work hours," you replied, shaking your pointer finger at him. "I don't get paid overtime unless I am on the clock."

He chuckled, twisting his body to get a better view of you. "Yeah, yeah. We'll see about that."

With that, he jumped out of the car and opened your car door, allowing you to step outside and be met with the freezing temperatures once again.

How much you hate the cold when its windy.

"See you tomorrow, kid," he scanned over, waiting for you to comeback with some snarky remark for his pet name.

Stepping away from his car and meeting the sidewalk, you turned around towards him to find him leaning against his door now, watching you to make sure you make it inside safely.

"Same with you- thanks for the ride, grandpa," you smirked, making him suppress a laugh as you turned your back to him again, making your way to the entrance doors.

Two feet away, you stopped when you heard him chant out your name. Seeing him inside his car with his passenger window rolled down, he tried his hardest to move his head against it to see you. "By the way," he started, "you don't look like a rodent."

Feeling flustered by the random yet sweet compliment, you tried hiding your big smile by waving him off, trying to hide your face with your hands and sped walked inside.

You hoped he didn't see the tint on your cheeks.

Unfortunately, your hopes never come true.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x ofc #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal x y/n #joel miller #joel miller x reader

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therenlover · 1 year ago

Text

Slain (Vampire Hunter!Helmut Zemo/Vampire!Reader)

Chapter One: No Compasses, No Signs

Synopsis: The world undergoes change. Helmut Zemo finds new residence and perspective on his journey for revenge.

Tags: Vampire!AU, Vampire Hunter!Helmut Zemo, Slow Burn, Blood Drinking, Manipulation, Everyone Is Morally Grey, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Rating: E (+18) For Later Chapters, Minors DNI

Warnings: Mild Gore, Minor Mentions of Child Death

Word Count: 9,900~

--------------

Her lips were a breath away from his neck, fangs bared, when his weapon found purchase in her heart. She settled there a while, leaning closer into him and the great bolt of wood that sat between them. He stilled as she did.

One last shuddering breath escaped her lips. “Thank you, Helmut,” It was more than that, though. A confession of love hid itself within her words.

Helmut grimaced. Not this. Not now.

Before there was even a moment to reconsider, he wrenched the stake free and brought it down again, and again, and again, and again… Better to make sure the job gets done than leave her to suffer.

He walked from that room into the daylight an untethered man. The hunt was just beginning, though.

Every inch of the floor sat soaked red in his wake.

———

Sokovia was always most beautiful in the autumn.

It was a timeless place, or at least that’s what all the brochures had said. After spending the morning exploring old-growth forests or quaint villages, a three-hour car ride could take you straight into the city, filled with modern Sokovian culture and art. The capital city of Novi Grad was bursting at the seams with theaters, galleries, museums, historical districts, and Michelin-rated restaurants serving farm-to-table cuisine: anything you craved on an international vacation, you could find it there. Students the world over chose the Sokovian National University over all others across Europe and the globe for its arts department. People thrived there.

At least they had.

Now the theaters that still stood sat empty, never to play another film or host another symphony. Museums were looted, restaurants burned, and the university, with a campus several hundred years old, turned to dust as Novi Grad disappeared off the map forever. The bricks that had once built a nation came crumbling down in one final, fatal blow. In the span of one night, the history of the whole country was lost forever.

Some things still remained, though; things older than even Sokovia had been.

Helmut Zemo just had to find them.

There was no map to follow towards his prize. There had been once, an ancient thing that sat rolled up tight in a glass case on his father’s desk for all his life. It had been there, untouched, in every memory Helmut had of that office. He imagined his father and grandfather had similar memories there, looking up at the very same desk and pondering the stiff, crumbling parchment above. Not anymore, though. There would be no more young Zemos to gaze up at that sturdy oak desk. It had been found crushed beneath the rubble of their ancestral home.

In fact, there wouldn’t be any more young Zemos at all.

Carl had been found crushed in that rubble too.

It was better that way. He had met a nobler fate than most Sokovian citizens had. Still…

Sometimes it was better not to dwell on things like that.

Helmut’s father hadn’t had much time to teach him the ways of the family before his passing, but some things came with time and the rest could be gleaned from superstition.

Silver, for example, was plentiful across their vast collection of heirlooms. Those trinkets had become incredibly useful to melt down for bullets and crossbow bolts when he started to hunt. Much more helpful, though, was the fact that the furniture in their homes was often made of fine wood, and some of those handcrafted bedposts and coat racks, when twisted just so and pulled at the socket, would reveal a perfectly sharpened end hidden within.

Those stakes had come in handy.

And even if there hadn’t been any childhood lessons on how to slaughter a creature soundlessly in the darkness of the night, Helmut had learned plenty about that in the Sokovian special forces.

After months of little revelations, his preparations were long past done. Now the only thing left to do was follow his father’s footsteps.

Surviving the journey was a secondary priority.

Helmut didn’t need his family’s map to know exactly where to seek the first of his quarries. He had heard tales of her for his whole life in nursery rhymes and whispered childhood stories.

Women, children, and wandering folk with pure hearts couldn’t be led astray, but if a man with a guilty mind followed the Behnit River, he might just get lost. Thankfully, Helmut had that part covered. Once lost, the poor soul would trek through the winding Sokovian mountain passes, traveling far beyond the shadow of Mount Wundagore until he came across a forest of fog. If the man wandered the forest long enough, evading the great beasts that lurked there, he would find the castle of the Grey Lady.

Anyone foolish enough to seek her there would see the face of death.

Now, Helmut Zemo was not afraid of death. He had been intimately acquainted with it from birth as had twelve generations before him. Ever since his father’s head arrived home on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, shipped neatly in an ice-packed crate and wrapped with a red ribbon, the abyss was attached to him like a lover. Not even his wife or child could escape that cruel mistress’s clutches. Without anything left to lose, Helmut found himself in only death’s company.

Even now, as he wandered the abandoned villages and barren fields of the country he once called home in search of the Grey Lady, he spent his time slaughtering the last stragglers of Ultron’s army and putting any live victims out of their misery before they turned. Neither tended to last long once they were starved, but a few stubborn bastards held on. He liked to think of it as a mercy when he drove his stake through their skulls.

Death walked beside him like a friend, and Helmut didn’t fear his friends.

They feared him.

That suited him just fine.

To be fair, not everything was bad here. The Behnit flowed through fields of flowers and fruiting trees where all manner of soft, warm, innocent creatures slept, untouched by the horrors of modern civilization. Helmut slept among them unnoticed. He sustained himself off of their sacrificial charity.

Another silver lining: the longer he traveled along the riverbank the less it seemed to rain, which was appreciated. His coat kept him warm and the stars kept him company. The autumn leaves seemed just as beautiful as they were advertised to be in the travel brochures he used to wipe his ass on the trail.

He had pitched his tent for the night in a cluster of boulders by the pebbled shore. The greatest of the stones were still jagged from where a slowly dying glacier rended the earth and left a river its wake. Still, they were softened somewhat by moss and time.

When Helmut woke that morning, emerging from the boulder’s shadows, the once open field that had surrounded the river the night before had been replaced with more trees than could be counted. Thick morning fog rolled in from the water’s edge. Visibility was at almost zero. There were just trees and trees and trees and nothing.

It was exactly as he thought it would be.

So he packed up his tent, tucked it away in his bag, and freed his wicked, silver blade from its holster- another heirloom coming in handy. Its weight rested naturally in his hand. Then, he walked on.

Thus began the first leg of Helmut Zemo’s journey towards revenge.

———

Black blood splattered against the cobbles as my ringed fingers slammed into the younger man’s cheekbone again.

It pooled in the stones’ creases; a thick, stinking ichor that clung to my jewelry and my skin as it continued to dribble down from his face and body. I couldn’t help but lick a stray droplet from my lips.

He wasn’t quite broken yet. It wouldn’t take much longer, though. My hunger could wait until then.

The pathetic creature stood his ground in the corner of the darkened stable as his eyes darted about to search for an escape route.

There were none. I had made sure of that. There was only me and the sturdy walls behind him. Nowhere to go but down.

As expected, he sunk to his knees after just one more sharp hit to the cheek.

I allowed my hand to linger for a moment. It may have been cruel, but I didn’t care to think too much about it. “Are you ready to tell me now?”

His red eyes glinted with tears. Slowly, he nodded.

“What is your name,” I asked.

“Pietro,”

“Pietro,” I repeated the word on my ancient tongue, feeling each syllable roll over the muscle. A strong name. Sokovian. I brought myself down to his level, resting on the balls of my feet before him. My fingers danced along his skin. “How did you receive the gift?”

“Please, I don’t kn-”

His voice shuddered and stalled as one of my pointed nails slowly began to dig into the cold meat of his cheek and more sticky blackness coated my fingers.

I smiled right through it despite the growing unease in my stomach. Maybe a gentle hand would be more helpful…

“You do know, Pietro, even if you don’t think you do. Don’t you want to tell me? To get this over with?” My voice was sickly sweet. The dank stall, once reeking of stale piss and rot, began to match my cloying tone. The air grew thick with a dizzying perfume and Pietro’s stiff posture softened at the first breath of it. All at once his eyes swam with not fear, but relief. He wanted to make me happy now. Nothing would make him feel better than following my command. It almost made me want to vomit more, if I were capable of it.

The words came soft and dreamlike from his trembling mouth. “Novi Grad, at the university. My friend was a student. We were walking back from the bars to meet my sister and a man was waiting in the alley… oh god. No.” Pietro shook his head. His pulse began to speed. “I ate him. I ate Paul. The man attacked us and Paul tried to run and I- I ate him!”

His story was sad but unhelpful.

My voice stayed even despite his hyperventilation. It was best to keep him calm for both our sakes. “Who changed you, Pietro? Who was that man?”

The air grew heavy around us both, blanketing him in warmth and pleasant feelings from all sides. It was calm. It was safe. It was all a deception.

Pietro leaned into my touch like a young, blind animal searching for his mother and I hated to admit it stirred something more in me than nausea. Whatever it had awoken, and I didn’t care to find out, it was bringing out my mercy. Death no longer waited for him at the first wrong move. I sat quietly at his side, smearing dark blood across his hair as I stroked it without meaning to; a small comfort. Absent tears dripped from his empty eyes.

After a long while, Pietro decided he was ready to speak again.

“He said he was a friend of Stark… that he would change the world,”

My voice came in a low sigh. “Starks always think they will,”

I had known. Even if I hadn’t been absolutely certain, it was hard to ignore the sinking feeling his scent brought on. If I wasn’t in so much denial I could have guessed as much the second even a drop of Pietro’s blood hit my lips. He was of my own flesh in a way, however diluted by distance and time. I had tasted it in him. There was a flavor only attributable to myself under his chemical bitterness and the musk of wet dog.

Slowly, I let my hand slip away from his face and stood, kicking at a pile of rotting straw on my way up.

Pietro drooped further into the corner. His sandy hair covered enough of his face that I couldn’t tell if he was still crying or not. “I was just so hungry,” he breathed, “I couldn’t even think, I just kept eating them. All of them. Anyone I could catch. I was just… so hungry,”

“Are you still hungry,” I asked.

The stable went silent.

He nodded. “I’m starving,”

It was a huge risk, and a stupid one too. I hadn’t taken on a familiar since the 1800’s. It had been much longer than that since I’d created a thrall or spawn, and this… this was much more complex in new and different ways. He was not mine, even if he shared traces of my disease in his blood. Whatever hybrid monstrosity he was—I was almost certain he contained something other than the vampiric curse I bore—it meant he could not be controlled by force as a young spawn could. Pietro would instead need to be tamed to be trusted, much like the legacies of wolves that dwelled alongside me in my woods.

Pietro didn’t look particularly defiant, though. Keeping him leashed to my side couldn’t be that difficult. Besides, the idea of having some company wasn’t a completely unpleasant thought.

In fact, I rather liked it.

I approached him again like I would have approached a wounded animal, undoing button after button on the sleeve of my coat and exposing the smooth flesh of my forearm. It was an offering. An olive branch. He swallowed hard.

“I will not give you this gift lightly Pietro but I am in a particularly giving mood. You only need to answer one more question, and this can all be over. Do you wish to pay penance for your hunger? Or do you wish to die?”

His body trembled as the pungent reek of fear took over the room once again. My glamour had worn off well before. It was only fair to let him make this choice with all of his mind in his own hands. “What are you doing?” He asked. His accent trembled on every syllable.

“I’m offering you a choice,” I replied. “You weren’t given the luxury of choosing what you have become, but now you can choose what you do with it. We’re similar, you and I. We’ve made mistakes. I know from firsthand experience that one needs to learn to control this curse or die before it kills them in the ways that matter, and you don’t look dead to me. At least, not yet. So what would you prefer, Pietro? How does this end?”

Pietro gulped. His shaking hands were fisted in the soft cotton of his dirty AC/DC t-shirt. “I don’t want to die,”

My face relaxed into a soft smile. That would do just fine.

“Then drink,”

He attacked my wrist like a mad dog. It didn’t even feel like a pinch as his teeth ripped into my skin.

Cool, red blood flooded his mouth in an unholy communion, and, in that moment, I could have been his god.

Pietro ate like an animal.

It was clear that nobody had guided him when he was created. No one had sat at his side as he fed for the first time, showing him just where to put his teeth or how to keep things from getting messy. Of course he’d had to kill to eat. There were no lessons on where the major veins and arteries lay: which ones were deadly, which could be pierced and healed, how to heal them… It was a damn shame. He could have been so much more than an animal.

Now, blood splashed wildly from his mouth as he tried to swallow as much as he could, ripping with his new, sharp molars to try to coax more viscera into his throat. I pitied his lack of understanding. He could barely feed himself, even off of my near-endless supply.

That being said, his desperation was almost cute.

He drank his fill of me until his eyes glazed over. As a fed man, he was flushed with life again, breathing deeply and gaining color in his pallid complexion with every breath. From the looks of it, a few more hours without a meal would’ve killed him before I could. When he finally detached from my wrist there wasn’t a hint of guilt or shame or fear in his eyes. Instead, they reflected pure satiation into the darkness. His look promised gratitude. Servitude.

I released a cold huff of breath into the air. “Full?”

Pietro replied shortly, wiping his mouth with the butt of his palm. “Yeah, much better,”

“Good,”

His eyes darted to the wound he’d left. “Are you ok?” He asked. For all of his previous boldness, he now refused to meet my eyes.

It didn’t matter much to me, but I shrugged, examining the previously mangled flesh. “No harm done.”

Pietro gaped at the improvement. My skin was already knitting itself back together, though it was working a bit slower than usual. I needed to feed soon myself.

Strong with a fresh supply, his pulse beat hard enough in his jugular that I could watch it pulse from half a meter away. More thoughts sparked behind my eyes.

Well… it couldn’t hurt.

I needed far less than he did to keep myself running. It would only take one bite. One big mouthful. One swallow. I had given him far more than that, so it shouldn’t leave him wanting in the least.

“Would you do me a favor, Pietro?” Using his name was a manipulation. The air grew thick again with the scent of pear blossoms and juicy, dripping stone fruits. “The first step towards controlling your new form,”

“Anything,”

The graphic on his t-shirt was soaked with blood and bits of ripped vein.

“Give me your neck,”

It wasn’t a question. Instead, I found myself demanding access to him.

The worst part was he followed me blindly, even with his own understanding of what it meant to feed. Pietro tilted his chin to the sky as if he might begin to wail at the moon and waited. Not a muscle moved as he waited for brutality.

I didn’t quite know what to do with him anymore. He was filled with too many unexpected surprises.

This man, barely more than a boy, was an abomination, a scientific marvel, living and dead all at once. He never should have been thrust into his creation, but abomination or not he would satiate the hunger that gnawed at every cell in my body better than any other source of blood at my disposal. His blood, however tainted, was warm beneath his skin. It called to me like the predator I was made to be.

As I moved in for the bite, though, his eyes met mine again despite the obvious effort he was taking to close them and imagine he was anywhere else. I found a new terror overwhelming him there. Something even more ancient than I was sat deep in the dilated pits of his pupils, like a pig finally understanding his purpose as the axe began to drop. I had seen it more times than I wanted to count: The looks they gave when it was too late to squeal or run. Fear, understanding, and acceptance of the end. It was the place they went when there was nowhere left to go as they waited for the slaughter. I could stomach it in animals, a needed sacrifice to sustain myself, but to see it in the eyes of one so much like me, his eyelashes wet with blood and tears… I saw my own face looking back at me.

Slowly, deliberately, I guided his head back to its front-facing position, patting his unscathed cheek with a cool but soft hand. “You passed the test, now go to the house. Find somewhere comfortable. I’ll meet you there,”

I wasn’t that hungry anyways.

Pietro sat still for a moment, eyes shifting warily from wall to wall, but as soon as he realized there were no more instructions to wait for he scrambled to his feet, bolting from the stables almost on his hands and knees until he managed to keep his balance. In a moment’s time, he was shoving his way out the door. Every few seconds, though, he would look back at me until he couldn’t manage to keep me in his sights.

He still reeked of fear.

Good. It was best for him to fear me. I would rather keep him in line with fear than with pain, and we weren’t here to make friends. Things would be better this way.

Brushing wet straw from the thick leather of my day pants, I rose to follow, leaving the bloody stall behind me. I only paused long enough to spare a look towards the piles of rotting, ichorous bodies packed into the adjacent stalls from the months and weeks before. It would need to be dealt with eventually, but not tonight. I continued into the gloom, locking the door to the stables on my way out.

There was more important work to do.

———

Pietro adapted to my solitary life far better than I could’ve expected him to.

He mostly kept himself entertained, never lingering too long in my presence, not that he should want to. There was very little of mutual interest between the two of us anyway outside of mealtimes. Still, I kept a close eye on him, from a distance of course.

The garden had become his main refuge, and that suited me just fine. It had gone neglected for a while anyway. Having a hobby would help him adapt to his new life more smoothly, and hey, a little uninformed TLC at his hands couldn’t possibly hurt the plants that had already survived generations' worth of being harvested but otherwise ignored.

When he wasn’t scrounging around the loamy dirt, Pietro spent his days patrolling the grounds. He had probably seen more of the expansive property in the past weeks than I had in the past decade. It was a stark reminder of what a homebody I’d become in the past hundred years.

Every night, when the gardening and patrolling was done, he would trot back to his seat at the dinner table, right beside my own at the head, and share his informal report on the events of his day. Once it had been news of the wolves he’d befriended, then a broken fountain that needed repair, then a deer caught in a fence. I figured this was his way of earning his keep, even if I had never asked him to. I had barely done more than feed and house him since his arrival. No progress had been made on controlling his power. His proverbial leash grew longer each day I refused to put in the time (and effort) to discipline him.

It would be so easy for him to slip away

I had no more control over him than I did over the weather. If he truly wanted to, Pietro could have run off into the mist the second I let him out of that stable, escaping to whatever fate awaited him outside the bubble of my protection. There was no glamour, no psychic energy compelling him to stay. It would be as easy as him making the choice and enacting a plan.

Still, he came back each night like a hound with a rabbit in his teeth, sometimes literally. We shared the details of his day over light, meaningless conversations each dinner time until he fed from my wrist once more and shuffled off to rest.

Despite everything, the time I spent with Pietro in the evenings was the most fun I’d had in ages.

Not that I’d ever admit that. There was still a certain air of decorum and fear-based respect that hung between the two of us and I refused to bridge the gap. He was my ward, after all. Or… manservant? No, he didn’t do enough around the interior of our home to warrant the title. Housemate indirectly threatened with death upon his departure? Whatever. The semantics of what he was to me were unimportant. What he wasn’t was a friend or equal. I lorded above him in every way: age, knowledge, sheer supernatural power. It wouldn’t do either of us any good to pretend we were closer than tentative acquaintances.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t privately relish in the meals we shared, though, and the brief bits of humanity he coaxed out of me somehow with his presence. Our quiet companionship would perfectly toe the line to keep him respectful but less fearful. At least, I hoped so.

It would be painfully miserable to be alone again now that I’d remembered what it was like not to be.

My own days hadn’t changed much, with the exception of my evening meals. Dawn was spent in the animal pens. I fed and watered the pigs and chickens and lambs before taking their offerings: the sheep were sheared on seasonal rotation, the chickens laid in the mornings, and every once in a while, a pig would grow round and tired enough to be culled. Mostly I would toss anything slaughtered and drained to the wolves to keep them happy, but on occasion, I’d leave with a lamb of my own to quench my unending thirst. Not often these days. Instead, I supplemented my diet with wine in the hopes that, eventually, I could overcome my hunger entirely. It hadn’t happened yet. I hadn’t given up hope.

Once the beasts were tended, the rest of the day was spent curled up in one nook or another attempting to pass the hours with whatever useless activity was available. If I stayed put too long, I had learned my flesh would begin to petrify, so I forced myself into monotonous, limited activities each day. Recently that meant embroidery, which made its way into the rotation once every few decades. Before that, I’d organized the library alphabetically by the author’s names (before it had been by book title), taken up oil painting until I ran out of paint, and spent a small stint attempting to design my own clothes for the hundredth time. It turned out as well as it always had. That was to say, every single design was awful and/or impossible to sew with the materials at my disposal. Even the garden Pietro loved so much had once been a time-sink to keep me from turning to stone. After almost a thousand years, though, nothing kept my attention long.

Nothing new was left to discover here. On rare occasions, a new hobby would arrive on the body of an interloper, like the Game Boy with its drained batteries that sat next to my bed, but even those didn’t take long to break or lose their novelty.

Besides, visitors had become a rarity as soon as cars and highways came into fashion.

Who would spend their days wandering down old forest paths when they could take their new vehicle down a well-mapped road instead? It was quicker, cheaper, safer- and then came the airplanes and the busses and the high-speed rails. By my nine-hundred and eighty-seventh year of immortal life, I was lucky to get a lost hiker at my door once or twice a year that the wolves didn’t shred before I found them.

Things changed for a bit after the world shook. Suddenly, it seemed as though there was a wave of new bodies wandering the wood every dusk and dawn. No companionship could be found with those maddened newborn creatures. They were like only one man-made monster I had ever witnessed, almost seventy-five years before, but they were mindless with the endless tug of their starvation, an unprecedented side effect of their disease. Always so hungry. Few retained any scraps of humanity by the time they made it to me, sunburnt and emaciated and so very confused.

After a while, though, even they became rare. It was as if they had all been sent in a great burst before whatever event that bore them was over. The whole situation concerned me. I wondered if they weren’t coming to me anymore, where were they going? There must have been more of them than the ones who had come to my door. If this hadn’t been an attack on my home, organized to finally rid me of my life, why were they created? And if so many had made it as far as my castle, what had become of Sokovia? I feared I would never get an answer.

Pietro was the last.

I couldn’t have known it when I spared him, but no more followed in his footsteps. He himself had arrived almost a month after the young man who came before, and he had taken a few weeks to find me after the one before him. Then, after Pietro, there was nothing. If he hadn’t been spared, I would never have known of Ultron, or the children he sired to prove himself to Stark, or the bomb Stark had dropped to rid the world of the vampiric plague that would descend upon it.

Maybe it was the renewed scarcity that made me pause when I first saw him stumbling through the bushes. That split second of indecision before I gutted him on sight, was it curiosity or loneliness? Or was it luck? Whatever it was, and I didn’t care to dig too deeply into any of my feelings on the matter, I was glad for it.

The pair of us kept each other company. Fog rolled in each morning and the moon glowed full each night and the world kept turning, but things were new now. The same china and linen and dining table I had stared at for hundreds of years seemed to have new detail in it every day.

We had peace.

Until the morning Pietro came wailing through the study doors with that mangled wolf in his arms.

“There’s a man!” He gasped, blood running down his front and into the deep auburn of the rug at his feet. The poor thing was long dead. From a few feet away I could tell it had gone quickly to whatever had felled it. Even still, Pietro’s eyes were wild with something more than fear at the sight of the corpse’s state. “He-“

I cut him off, rising from my chair. “Where,”

His eyes darted to the dripping gash in the wolf’s neck.

“The front walk,” he said, “I didn’t see much of him, just a shadow, but he’s armed with something bad, something that felt wrong. There are more dead too, too many to carry, but I thought she might make it. I thought I could fix her,” Pietro was babbling now, talking faster than he could even rationally think. It was evident that he had never seen a slaughter like this. At least, he had never seen a slaughter like this without a driving bloodlust that would drown out every thought other than hunger. A slaughter that wasn’t his own to make.

I crossed the room to him. “Watch the house,”

“But-”

My eyebrow raised. I was chillingly calm, tutting at him softly. “Do you think I am incapable of defending my own home?”

“No, no, but he’s just… I… how can I help you?”

Despite his fear, Pietro still so desperately wanted to do what was helpful. His moral compass was strong. I appreciated it. He was already making progress all on his own. I didn’t need him though, not for whatever awaited me in the woods. There were few people who had any knowledge of my location, and fewer still who would be able to enter and hold their own against my defenses. Knowing what I knew of Ultron, I was prepared for my feud with the Starks to come to an end. Besides, he would just be a liability, a clear weakness in my rock-solid strong persona. He was still too young.

Teeth bared, I let out a soft growl. “Like I said, watch the house. That is how you can help me, just in case someone else attempts to enter while I’m distracted,” I gestured towards the door into the greater hall outside. “Eat, then keep watch. I would only judge you if you wasted her body. If I need you, I’ll whistle,”

“How will I hear you from so far?”

“I have my ways,”

Without waiting for confirmation, I started my warpath towards the front of the house, leaving the sounds of sloppy tearing in my wake.

———

As soon as I was out the doors I could feel him at the end of the walk, but it wasn’t until he had broken the tree line, several hundred yards away, that he noticed me waiting for him.

Not a word was exchanged. That blurry body on the horizon shifted, reached back, postured, and- snap.

One soaring arrow cut through the air and found its target in my chest.

He wanted violence? I would give him violence. It had been so long since I had someone to toy with, someone who had the capability to even try to resist the toolbox of horrors that my nature had lent me. I grinned. This was a game, and I was a sore loser when my life laid on the line.

Time turned to mist in my grasp.

All at once, I was acutely aware of the bolt that had shredded through the shoulder of my coat. It stayed embedded there, the tip jutting out just below my shoulder blade, but the shaft sat too high, missing my heart by a significant margin. Stoney flesh burned all the way through the wound. When I tried to send a tendril of energy through the tunneled muscle, it fizzled out and died.

The damn tip was silvered.

This was a clever one; more than just another mindless, bloodthirsty drone in search of a throat to rip. This man had knowledge. He was a craftsman. A hunter.

My revenge awaited.

With a speed that defied the laws of the natural world, I greeted my opponent.

I moved with the wind. Every molecule of my body sang as I pulled them apart and brought them together at will, drifting over his shoulder in an amorphous cloud of smoke. Blood thrummed under his skin like thunder even if he could not actively comprehend my presence.

He was mortal.

I could feel the loose amalgam that made up my mouth almost watering at the sheer feeling of a human pulse so close to me, however slowed in the wake of my speed. Every bit of him was lean muscle, too, wrapped up in leather and military-issue kevlar. It would rip like butter under my predator’s teeth. He didn’t know that, though. In his mind, he was blissfully protected from the things that went bump in the night.

A quick scan with the looser edges of my cloudy form revealed that, despite his silver weapons, he wore none of the metal on his person.

This man may have been a hunter, but he was also a fool. He wasn’t a Stark, either. No, he smelled wrong, not a note of wolfish musk surrounded him besides the stench of dead dog in his wake. A wild card, then. Or something I couldn’t quite recognize without my nose all put together.

Plum, perhaps.

A sword, silvered like his crossbow bolts, was strapped high on his hip, but it didn’t take much maneuvering to undo the clip and send the blade clattering to the ground. Next came the crossbow itself. Taking something from the man’s hands was a little trickier, but nothing was beyond my grasp, especially when I unleashed this power. Usually, it was kept close to my chest. It was a secret truth I couldn’t even burden myself to recognize. I was ancient. I was so much more than any living soul could be forced to comprehend, I was-

The seal on the crossbow caught my eye. A badger posed regal, gnawing on the snake in its dripping teeth. My snake. Their crest.

Oh.

The game had just become so much more fun.

I felt the air, bringing my nose together enough to sniff at it. I had to be certain. There could be no mistakes if it was who I knew it had to be. And it was: It was like a perfume I could never quite wash out, a song that always resided in the back of my head, as familiar as my own name after all of the years I had known it. Maybe, just maybe, I knew it better than my own scent.

He was a Zemo.

Twelve generations I had killed over that stupid attempt at a takeover to expand their barony. Twelve fathers of twelve sons, each more horrid and twisted than the last, had willingly walked into the lion’s den on the eve of their eldest son’s 18th year to fulfill their end of a bargain struck by the first of them all in the hope to spare their bloodline from total annihilation in my wake. One by one they sought me out of their own free will. Every time they believed they would improve on the failings of the last, finally besting me, but their pride was their fall. They were cocky and stupid enough to think they knew enough to defeat me.

Every single son had died for their gall.

They didn’t have to. If one had simply disobeyed or learned mercy, I would have let them go without a second thought. It wasn’t as if I could leave this forest to find them. Nothing compelled them besides their own hubris.

And now, the thirteenth was there to take his place at the grave.

This was wrong, though. An unshakeable feeling gripped my mind more than even my rage at the damned bloodline before me. Maybe not wrong, no, but not quite right either. He was far too young.

It wasn’t as if he looked exceedingly youthful. The man’s eyes held a certain wisdom that only came with time. I was sure that, if I were capable of seeing my own reflection clearly, it would be a trait we shared. His face showed age too. A thick but well-trimmed beard decorated his cheeks and chin, obscuring the thin line of his scowl. I spent what felt like hours memorizing those features— searching for hidden signs of age, of course, or other features that might give away his weaknesses.

The point wasn’t to admire him, though, or let his features become the focal point of my focus. This was not a man who had raised a man.

He had simply come too soon.

There was no reasonable explanation I could find to explain him birthing a blood son who had reached the age threshold to fulfill our bargain. To take a father from his child… the thought haunted me. Even with the acrid stench of death and dog permeating my home from all sides, with the culprit all but waiting for release in my hands, I couldn’t do it. My standards remained.

It just… wouldn’t do.

I let loose my tight grip on time, letting each shred of my body come together into its correct place like the snap of a fresh rubber band. It was always dizzying to find time’s proper flow again but I leaned into the exhilaration of my physical form’s newness. My voice escaped my lips- at last, my real lips. It was a bone-chilling whisper. To him, I seemed to appear at his back in an instant, traveling with the breeze that froze him.

“Next time, son of Heinrich, you’ll have to aim better than that,”

He went stiff at the feeling of my cold breath on his neck, like every hair on his body had stood at attention the second he became aware of my closeness. It was more than just a startle, though. That fear was genetic, bred into him by father and father and father before him. It was in every drop of blood that rushed to his face in my wake. He masked it as well as he could have. His expression remained schooled even as a freezing hand came up to brush against his neck. I knew better, though. I saw things humans could never dream of comprehending about each other.

Minutiae. Breath and pulse and scent and temperature. Predator senses.

“You were expecting me,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“And you weren’t expecting me,”

Zemo laughed, a bitter thing. “Perhaps not. None of the others have been quite so… fast,”

I tossed his crossbow aside. It landed in the nearby brush and shattered as it slammed against the ground. My own strength was unknown to me. I could only pretend it had been intended. “Your father should have taught you better than this. This is a disappointment,”

“He might have,” he said, “but he didn’t live long enough. So, I believe you are to blame for his inability to mentor me in the rules of your little game.

My pulse raced even as my mind paused. His dark eyes took in the surroundings, surely searching for something to get him out of my grasp and back into the upper hand. Little did he know that uncertainly was creeping below my skin.

Men. They were all the same. They lacked the sight.

“You’re free to believe that if you choose,” I replied, “but eighteen years was plenty of time for the rest of them. If it was not enough for you, well, I can only call that greed. Of thirteen men, you are only the second to lose your weapon before even crossing my threshold. That and the fact that the first was not your father, it seems, means it is your father’s failing that he did not pass on the wisdom he had learned.”

“How long did he last?”

“He lasted more than six hours of combat before I gutted him. It’s a shame you couldn’t do the same. At this rate, you won’t survive the hour. What a bore,” Slowly, and without a wince despite the burning at my fingertips, I snapped off the end of the bolt in my shoulder and placed the silvered tip in my pocket, patting it softly through the fabric once it settled at the bottom. Extracting the rest of the solid metal rod was an easy feat from there. His eyes remained trained on me over his shoulder as it joined his bow on the ground.

Zemo, to his credit, mastered his fear beautifully.

His pulse had stabilized some, though its steady rhythm still rushed through my nostrils and into my dizzy mind like an intoxicating symphony. He was a cocktail of emotion inside his well-kept exterior. The scent of sudden horror was now morphing into surprise, perhaps even curiosity. His gaze only escaped mine to examine the blood dripping lazily from my shoulder to my feet.

“Confused?” I taunted.

He shook his head. “Not confused, no.”

“Then what are you?”

I wanted to know him. I wanted to rip the deepest secrets of his mind from his chest and devour them. I wanted to taste it. It would be so much sweeter if I didn’t have to take it, though. If it were given freely.

“Learning,” he replied.

It was my turn to be unprepared.

I stalked around him, coming to face him head-on, and he held my gaze again. His pulse stayed steady despite the fact that the space between us was near nonexistent, as if he thought of himself as a predator too, just like me. Still, those damn eyes examined me like some sort of experiment, not like prey. Questions sat unsaid between us in the fog.

What makes you different? What makes you special? What makes you tick?

Stars above, he made it so easy. It was impossible to keep from smiling just a little at the absurdity of it all as he took in the sight of my neck and the puckered scars that littered it. This was nothing like my dinners with Pietro. This was dangerous. Almost fun.

Everything I gave to him he shot right back at me in spades, almost as if he was toying with me too and deriving his own sick satisfaction from the electricity in the air. It reminded me a bit of the great bacchanals that had been thrown here in my youth, when the castle halls ran red with the blood of my victims, both unwitting and all too willing to die by my lips. I hadn’t been alone then. There were faces to entertain me around any corner. Even when the party ended and the bodies ran dry, my creator waited patiently for me in the bedroom as dawn broke each morning. It was horrifically, terribly, irredeemably fun. I wanted to forget it so badly that I almost had.

Now, though, the memories were fresh.

How long had it been since I’d really spoken to someone without their fear leaking from every pore? Since there had been someone to laugh with? To bounce off? To feed from?

My throat twitched shamefully at the thought.

Blood was a varied thing. No two feeds would ever taste exactly the same, even if they were almost interchangeably similar. Every emotion, every dietary choice, and every passing second spent aging would affect the profile as it hit my taste buds. Omnivorous or herbivorous animals tended to be brassy and harsh on the tongue, yet somehow watery. Overall, unfulfilling. Carnivores left me a bit more satisfied, but not much, and definitely not in terms of flavor. Other vampires were more substantial than animals, but bitter depending on their age. A young vampire tasted a bit like a berry that wasn’t quite ripe.

Humans, though… humans were uniquely human. There were no words to describe it. Mortals could not comprehend the kind of sensations that fresh human blood would fill me with enough to create the vocabulary to depict it properly. Some were savory, some were sweet; some were stomach-churning and heavy and some lighter than water on the tongue. They were ephemeral. Unique. Devastatingly addictive.

There was one unchanging fact about the taste of blood, though, that haunted my waking dreams on my worst nights.

However disgusting they had been in life, every Zemo had been orgasmically delicious in death from the very first.

I resisted the urge to unleash my glamour and drain him dry right there and then heroically. I was not that woman anymore. I had to promise myself that, at least, to keep it all reined in. The last human I’d fed from had been his father and before that his grandfather. It would do me no good to give in to my basest urges which I had fought so hard to suppress. He would die with honor and dignity when it was his time, and it wasn’t.

Not yet.

So, instead of ripping his throat clean out, I dragged a nail down the column of Zemo’s neck, relishing in the gooseflesh that raised at my touch.

“Do you always play with your food?” He asked.

I shrugged, playing the persona he needed from me to keep his dignity. “Only with your family. It keeps me young,”

And suddenly, that little playful light in him died. I didn’t quite know what had set him off, or how, but it was as if a switch had been flipped on his mood.

“I would appreciate getting on with whatever this is, then, if you wouldn’t mind,” He hissed. Zemo took a sharp step forward, closing the space that lingered between us in one swift motion. My nail pressed dangerously close to his jugular. “I am not your toy, nor was my family. This little game you’ve played with us is finished. It’s long past time. No more sons,” his nose was almost brushing my own as he spoke. I could taste every lick of hate in his breath. “This ends here.”

Even now, at my mercy, he was spending his last moments protecting his son from meeting the same fate. Not even once had any of the other men who came before even mentioned them. Not even in passing.

For a moment, I almost let him go.

The first of the Zemos had deserved it. The second had almost deserved it more if such a thing were possible. The generations seemed to snowball through the decades like some sort of horrid disease. Each man had found their way through the warding around my forest, and that in and of itself was evidence of their crimes in my eyes. The weight of guilt in their hearts had guided them to me like the light of the north star. Once they’d arrived too, every man had only continued to prove themselves unworthy of life. Every time, I thought maybe I could impart a lesson.

Twelve men had failed to understand their own failings, though, and until they did, I had doomed them to pay the same price, over and over, in an unrelenting loop of loss.

But I was so tired.

So, so tired.

Who could say if they’d ever learn? The blood I spilled might have taught them nothing at all, and it might never teach them. How many years would I spend alone, haunting the halls of an empty castle, waiting for them to learn?

Always starving.

Always hurting.

Even the guilt was gone. It was just…

Emptiness.

Deep down, I had to wonder if I was really doing it to teach them a lesson, or if I was just glad to have a warm meal and a conversation these days. When had it started to become less about them than it was about me and my own feelings?

Thirteen men. An unlucky number, but a prophetic one.

Maybe it was time to let go.

I took a deep breath and crossed my arms, letting my hand slip away from Zemo’s neck. “I have to admit, son of Heinrich, it takes a lot of nerve to demand anything of me,” I sighed, reluctant, “I’m impressed,”

He quirked up an eyebrow. “This sounds like the beginning of another game, vampire,”

“You might find out if you let me finish,”

Zemo stayed silent. I could almost hear the whispers daring to escape him as he licked his lips. Around us, the fog sat heavy and thick.

“As I was saying,” I cleared my throat and my stomach turned. When was the last time I’d been so nervous about something? When had I last felt anything at all? “You want to end the games? Fine. Lay this bare. Why are you here? Thirteenth son of Zemo, what brings you to me? Why risk your life, your youth, for this?”

I did not dare unleash my glamour to pry the truth out of him, nor did I need to. His words came easily from the very depths of his soul.

“Revenge,”

His eyes glossed over as he said the word. No longer was Zemo looking at me, though, even if his eyes were trained on my own. Instead, he was looking somewhere distant. A wrath that moments before had seemed so personally tailored against me and my existence now resided not within me, but far beyond me… Interesting

I could work with that.

The whole situation was incredibly delicate. One wrong move from me and he would be lunging for any remaining weapon in the vicinity. I walked the razor’s edge, the snake in Eden. But would he bite?

My voice came low like a prayer.

“Against who? Me?”

“Against all of the monsters in this world,” Something akin to madness pushed through the man’s demeanor. It smelled inky and burnt on the skin: a human crematorium. Loss. “The things that roam and kill without a second thought, bloodsuckers like you who thrive off the deaths of those around them. Mostly, though,” Zemo grimaced, “I want to put a silver bullet between the eyes of Tony Stark and every monstrosity he’s ever created,”

Tony. He had a son.

Despite the palpable tension in the air and the pang of shock that hit me at the mention of Howard’s offspring, the wrong Stark, I shrugged my shoulders, keeping up my unbothered persona as long as I possibly could. Anything to keep this moving forward. Anything to keep him talking and not attacking. Any excuse to keep him alive just a few minutes more. “You aren’t the first person to wish for a Stark’s demise,”

He stilled. “Maybe, but I will be the last,”

“What makes you so certain that you will succeed where even I have failed?”

“He killed my wife and son,”

After all the years I’d spent surviving off of the sacrifices of others, I had thought my heart was stone. That there was nothing left, just petrified muscle and dust. Somehow, though, I could feel it thump and ache for him. Ache for his wife, his child. All at once his early arrival made all the sense in the world.

There would be no eighteenth birthday to wait for.

No more sons, he’d said. Not now, not ever.

My voice shook ever so slightly in the mist. “I’m sorry for your loss,”

Zemo shook his head. Greasy, unkempt hair fell over his eyes, shading them, hiding them away from my prying gaze. “You say that now, and yet you were the one who killed my father,”

Touche.

Uncomfortable emptiness filled the air. Neither one of us made a move to continue the banter.

It would be as easy as breathing for me to put him out of his misery. I could drink my fill of him and forget. After a few decades, my imagination would stop being haunted by the chubby cheeks of a boy who would never find a calling, fall in love, or have chubby-cheeked babies of his own. Zemo could have destroyed me too, in that moment, just as easily as I could have destroyed him. He couldn’t know it, but I would have let him. It would be as easy as lunging for his unbroken sword and ending it all. I wouldn’t dodge. I wouldn’t dare. Not when the guilt I had hidden away so well was finally rearing its ugly face.

This one felt different. He was like nothing I’d encountered in all of my long, miserable years of life. Maybe he was even more needed than Pietro had been.

If I were to end my empty existence at his hand, I could die happily.

The idea came clear.

It had been foggy before, a half-assed imagining. I could overpower him, control his fragile mortal mind, and keep him tucked away somewhere where I could covet the feeling of his resistance against me, all to ease the endless, aching loneliness I still felt every day. He didn’t need to come willingly. Just like Pietro, I could break him to my will. If I could do it to another vampire, how hard could a stubborn mortal be?

Now, though, I saw a different path through the darkness. It was a terrible idea. Self-destructive. Awful.

The worst part? It might just work.

“Howard Stark stole something from me too, once”

Zemo scoffed in disgust. “Your wealth?”

“No, my blood,”

My deepest secrets flew plainly from my lips like they were nothing more than facts. We lapsed into momentary silence once again.

“So those creatures in the countryside…”

“Are a part of me, yes,” I mindlessly fiddled with the hem of my coat pocket, feeling the weight and heat of the silver within. “I have regretted trusting him every day for the last seventy-two years,”

Zemo stepped back and I let go of the breath I’d been holding for what felt like decades. Finally, someone else knew. The jig was up. In its wake, he seemed pensive. Thoughtful. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he seemed lonely too.

This mess was my fault, that much was plain. I hadn’t set foot outside of this damned forest since 1943 and yet, somehow, the choices I had made back then had led to the destruction of my mother country. No amount of solitude could pay the penance I owed for the crimes I had committed now, no matter how desperately I had tried.

The worst of it all was that so much was still unknown. If so many of those hybrid spawn had made it here to my home, how many more had ended up elsewhere? Was it just Sokovia that was overwhelmed by them? Who made it out? How many women and children had died at the hands of my own blood?

I rid my head of the poisonous memories as best as I could, shoving down the growing pool of guilt and regret that had been threatening to boil over for longer than I thought I could have swallowed.

One thousand years of death was finally here for its vengeance, and it was fast approaching; finally catching up to me. It was poetic, though, for it to come from him.

“I am willing to listen to your proposal,” Zemo said. “Let’s get on with it,”

“Alright. I’m offering information about the Stark family; everything I know about their affliction, my affliction, their plans to use it, the weaknesses of the monsters that will stand in your way. Anything you want, anything I know from all of my years in this life, is yours for the taking,”

He replied plainly, eyes suspicious. “I won’t spare your life,”

“Did I ask you to?” I stepped towards him. We were nose to nose again. “You can’t kill me. It wouldn’t even take a second for me to snap your neck and leave you here to die in paralyzed agony—it would be so easy—but I’ve decided against it. I’ve already had my fun for far too long, so stay here and learn all you must know from me for as long as you’d like. If you ever manage to learn enough to kill me, we shall duel honorably as your forefathers did before you. Either you will die here a failure, or you will leave here with all of the information you need to become the deadliest hunter in history. Once that’s completed, your revenge will be all but guaranteed,”

Ever the skeptic, he tilted his head to the side. “But what do you gain from this? Why would you decide against getting rid of me before I become a threat?”

“Companionship, stimulation, absolution; take your pick,”

“A meal?”

“Not until you die. Not unless you ask,”

Stroking his beard, Zemo took a step back and looked me over with a discerning eye. He had examined me intensely before, but it was like a canine scoping out its prey. Now, though, he searched me for signs of verity, any reason to distrust the suspiciously beneficial deal I had all but laid at his feet. Around us, the world seemed to pause for him as it might have for me.

“As soon as I have the power to kill you, you’ll be dead,” he muttered.

And so my final deal was struck.

“I look forward to you trying,”

--------------

Thank you for reading! Once completed, the next chapter will be linked here.

This work has been crossposted to Ao3

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #daniel brühl #fanfiction #fanfic #vampire au #vampire hunter helmut zemo #pietro maximoff #marvel x reader #x reader #marvel fanfiction

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scorpiomother · 2 years ago

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IN LUST WE TRUST (pt. one)

･ﾟ★ . this is some visionary shit. been tryna film pleasure with my eyes wide shut, but it keeps on moving

summary: they don’t know one thing about each other, but they do know that they want each other. bad. little do they know, they are at the mercy of an influx of hormones caused by a radioactive spider.

pairing: mcu!peter parker x f!silk reader

word count: 9.7k

warnings: explicit content. minors dni (+18) mentions of weed and anxiety. partaking in alcohol. copious amount of sexual pining (maybe too much oops xx). taking peter’s virginity. unprotected public sex w/ a stranger. not sex pollen but basically.

curated vibes: novacane. pyramid. stargirl interlude.

masterlist 𓆩♡𓆪 read on ao3 𓆩♡𓆪 kofi 𓆩♡𓆪 series mlist

HAVE MERCY

Peter wanted his first time to be with a girl he loved. Special like first times are supposed to be.

He didn’t know what had come over him, but he couldn’t stop himself. Before he knew it, she was bruising his neck and all he could do was crumble into her. Inhale her intoxicating scent and bury his face into her chest. Give her the same marks she gave him…

It felt almost inevitable, somewhat of a mysterious plan orchestrated by the stars. It was like two meteorites colliding, something you can’t see until it’s too late. A lust-filled collision leaving no casualties. At least that was the only sensible way to explain how he could fuck someone he just met.

Though to his credit, this was the second time he ran into her. Unfortunately, it still didn’t excuse the fact that she was still a stranger.

It must’ve been the universe throwing him a bone— this fate led entanglement. Not the burning tingle in his hands, nor the sensory overload throwing Peter into a haziness that he was going to regret later. He desperately needed to think that he was a victim in all of this to live with himself.

All he wanted was some weed. How was he supposed to know he was going to lose his virginity in the bathroom of a hole-in-the-wall bar?

It started three days ago. The encounter wasn’t supposed to be as unnerving as it was, but the way his mouth got dry being in the same vicinity as her was enough to make him feel weird. If he was being completely honest, he felt like a creep taking advantage of the situation.

Taking the subway was a rare circumstance that Peter had ditched years ago, finding it way faster and more convenient to use his spider abilities. But the night before, Peter had been slaving away to finish his biochem lab and was too tired to put on the suit and use every strain of muscle in him to swing across the city for class. The last time he was sleep deprived and navigating his way through the skyscrapers, he knocked into a billboard like a mosquito on the freeway. So it was easier to walk to the relatively close subway and sit his exhausted ass on the bench until he reached his stop.

But God, was he out of touch with reality. Everyone had come off of work, the afternoon brimming with traffic. Rather than slouching on a seat, he held onto the silvery pole amongst the other hands and tried to take up the least space possible. There was an elbow jammed into his back and a foot on his Converses. The swarm of released students and dull businessmen and grandma’s on a grocery trip had been all too much. The humidity that came from the crowd was quick to reach Peter. He was already uncomfortable and regretting his poor choice.

And then, something he can only describe as his spider senses revved up his already overstimulated mind. Vacuously, his nose twitched. The air around him abruptly became heavy and light all at the same time. The atmosphere claustrophobically nauseating and sticky.

At first, it was dizzying in all the right ways. A soothing kiss on his skin. He began to sigh, his cluster fuck of a brain easing up on him. It was like he was holding his breath and he could finally release it. A sizable weight released off of his shoulders. And then he inhaled— a terrible mistake.

It was like the humidity dissipated within moments until the kiss turned into teeth sinking in his flesh. It bit down hard, canines and all. Utterly piercing. Every particle in him was burning like the air was exchanged for cyanide.

God, was it incredibly hot. Scalding, really. It took everything in him to not fall to his knees. To not rip off his shirt like a savage caveman searching for the cool air to storm his bare chest.

All he could think was that he must have been having a panic attack, and somehow, he was supposed to act like he wasn’t feeling everything all at once.

I’m fucking dying. What’s happening to me? Ican’tfuckingbreath.

There was nothing but his heartbeat striking at his eardrums and sweat drenching his skin. It felt like the day he got bit. A pain that felt infinite, tormenting him.

And then everything went silent. The suffocating air was bearable. The iron prick on his skin was less than molten. He came to his awareness, realizing for a nanosecond that there had been a small hand wrapped around his hand instead of the pole. It was the most relief he had felt in what seemed like hours. He didn’t know how she got here, but he was thankful for the slice of grounding she gave him.

“I’m sorry,” her shaky, yet dulcet voice apologized.

“I- um. It’s okay,” he rasped out.

Her body occupied the space in front of him, her aroma perforating the air around him. The mixture of cinnamon tea and muted roses and an intoxicating other thing made his head spin. She was a breath of roses soaked in spices, a temporary balm to his lungs.

The whirl of chaos that ensued made his sight obscured by tunnel vision. Somehow it was a small blessing that past the havoc and anxiety, he was able to drink her in.

She might’ve been the prettiest thing he had seen since MJ.

Her glossy lips and dilated pupils that screamed yearning was stirring his chest into an explosive device, just waiting to detonate. He wanted to look at her until there was nothing to look at anymore. Till there was nothing more to memorize.

It was beginning to feel something close to love at first sight until his cock twitched.

Peter immediately felt a great sense of mortification. He was ashamed. He adjusted his hand on the pole, attempting to make the slightest of room for her to grab so that she didn’t have to touch a creep. But when she removed her hand from his, he could feel the poison leaking into the air again. He was without her and it was painful.

Her hand clasped onto the pole right below Peter’s, the end of his fist slightly rubbing against her thumb and index finger. Her touch was feather light and he quickly regretted making space for her. His twisted mind wanted to take up as much possible space so that she had no choice but to drape over him.

Peter was biting the bottom of his lip, a scream of agony swelling in his throat. He was in pain and he wanted her to fix it, though he didn’t know exactly how a stranger could fix this sudden fever.

As if the world could see through Peter, the train came to an abrupt stop causing a slight commotion in the train. There were slight murmurs and shifting of the feet. The displeased groans and the rough noise of metal scrapping and squeaking. But Peter could hardly pay attention to his surroundings. It was all white noise compared to the soft oh that left her velvet lips. On the other hand, fuck was on the precipice of his tongue, the profanity almost being forced out by the sudden contact with her. Her weak grasp on the pole had transcended her stance, causing her to fall into Peter.

Regardless of his discombobulated state, Peter’s spider senses had granted him a hasty reaction. His hand had found her waist in one fast motion as if her body was a sixth sense of his. The understanding of her space and being was a secret language that he was never aware of till now, and he had mastered it in minutes. Maybe it was his heightened sense from the spider bite, but her breath was strained and her heart was in tandem with Peter’s- their pulses far too fast for him to even count. He felt like they were one and the same at that moment. They were two people in an anxious state (if he could call it that) in the same place, at the same time.

She gasped as her back became flush with Peter’s chest. “Sorry… Again”

She could have taken it as him helping her regain her balance or to keep her from invading his personal space further, but really he was trying to steer her away from his member.

“No, I’m sorry.” He said, removing his hand from her. “Didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

Didn’t mean to pop a tent in public is what he really wanted to say. Yes, he didn’t mean to grab her, but he wasn’t actually sorry. He felt no remorse when she felt like that.

She shook her head, roses further perfuming Peter’s air.

“It’s not our fault…” She muttered.

She adjusted herself, attempting to give Peter distance, but failed as the train was at full capacity. He could feel her try to shrink, to remove her ass from his thigh, but she had nowhere else to go. He wanted to repossess her waist and tell her it’s okay. His hand was close to pulling her back in until she was sinking into him completely.

He felt a flurry of emotions, this strange sense of need clawing at his chest for her. His instincts blurred his sensibility and logic. His thoughts weren’t in his possession. They were intrusive and deafening and out of his reach.

He took one sharp inhale to get air, an attempt to be submerged in her field of roses, and the hairs on his neck stood up. He could smell her cunt from this distance and if Peter wasn’t mistaken, she was just as aroused as he was. This felt so sinful to Peter.

Close proximity wasn’t enough. He needed to be in her.

No. That was wrong. So fucking wrong. He just met her. No, that wasn’t right either. He didn’t meet her. They were just two passengers on a commute home that had no personal interaction. It was just accidents transpiring. An accident to run into her. A mistake to touch her. All a misfortune to his psyche.

But when he looked at her lips, he could swear he could almost taste it. He imagined her cherry-flavored lips adorning his neck, smearing mahogany along his body till he was red all over. Till her lips were wrapped around his…

No, this was so wrong.

And yet she felt so good against him.

His mind was overflowing with obscenities like water breaking through a dam, something completely out of his control.

She wanted this just as much as he does. How could he explain the arousal dripping between her thighs? If only he could just get closer…

Peter’s head started to hang low. His control was slipping. He felt drunk, acting off of impulse. It was a losing battle of tug-of-war with a horny, roid-raging demi-god cracked out of his goddamn mind at one end and innocent Peter at the other.

His lips felt a magnetic force drawing him to her, the innate desire to drag them along her body consuming him whole.

Perhaps, she could feel it too, because her gaze had shifted from her feet to Peter, her doe eyes interlocking with his gawking stare. He was drawn to the flutter of her eyelashes and the curious twinkle in her iris. Her pretty little eyes were just tainting his weak mind.

She felt so far away even like this. Inches away and it still wasn’t enough for him. In Peter's mind, her stare was calling out to him like a siren. It’s okay. Touch me. Feel me, she conveyed with her innocent blinks.

There’s something wrong with me, he finalized.

As she took a hold of his stare, she licked her lips.

It’s the taunting maneuver of the tongue that makes him want to submit to all of the obscene thoughts, but her innocent words that came next shackle him down.

“Are you okay?” She asked, her concern clear on her face.

No, I’m not okay. My heart is going hundreds of miles per minute and I want to fuck you.

God, was this all just so wrong and he knew it.

Beneath his feet, he could feel the brakes rumble beneath the train and prepared to make a break for it before he did something to this innocent woman. He had to force himself out, taking the next stop even if it wasn’t his to take.

“This is my stop,” he blurted out.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes penetrating through him.

As her touch detached itself from him, he could feel the ache prickle back up. Fuck.

His focus was collapsing, turning his eyesight into complete mush. His vision blurred just trying to take her in one last time. All of his senses were bursting at the seams and finally gave up, it appeared. It felt like he was malfunctioning. Breaking.

“See ya,” he said absentmindedly, blinking back the fog in a poor attempt to will his vision back to him.

He doesn’t know how he managed to get out, but he does. Instead of her perfume, there’s New York’s signature scent of sewer and trash invading his senses. He can finally breathe, but it doesn’t feel like it as his hands shake and sweat trickles down his face.

There’s a sense of heartbreak when he walks away and he doesn’t know why he yearns for this girl he has no name for. But with the very little control he has, he uses it to propel his feet forward, one after another and didn’t bare to look back. He didn’t know what he would do if he looked back and saw those glassy eyes of hers.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

After power walking through the city for twenty minutes, he finally reached his dingy apartment. He was profusely sweating and it wasn’t from the trek.

In his own confinement, he immediately wrapped his hand around his aching bulge and tried to find relief, but even after cumming he was left with a guilty conscious and a stubborn hard-on. The worst part was that it didn’t end there.

For the past few days, his intrusive thoughts made him agoraphobic. He didn’t think it was possible for his cock to be the reason for him becoming a complete shut-in, but he also didn’t think it was possible to gain superhero abilities from a spider bite. An ugly rash, maybe, but super strength? Somehow the world kept him on his toes, though unwillingly.

He skipped out on patrol and started using the drop-off option for groceries while he locked himself up in his apartment like a feral animal. It wasn’t right to walk around the city with a raging boner and he wasn’t going to have his mugshot on the Daily Bugle captioned New York’s Newest Perv. He went two full days without leaving, but by Thursday his life as a student had caught up to him. The semester had just started and biochem wasn’t something he could skip out on. Not unless he wanted to go from a hard-earned A to a disappointing B.

During the lecture, he tried really hard to pay attention, but her succulent lips haunted him.

He was entertaining his dream from last night, a salacious fantasy that kept replaying in his mind. His hands were tied up against the headboard, leaving him completely helpless. No matter how much he pleaded her to stop, she continued to approach him. He shut his eyes until he felt her tongue lap up his precum. By the time he opened them back up, she was bobbing her head up and down on his poor cock for what seemed like hours. When he woke up he was left with cum stained boxers and a pounding heart.

Just imagining it made him hard.

Luckily, his uniform for the time being was an oversized hoodie and sweatpants to hide his looming member. He was past feeling guilty towards the public. If anything this was a medical incident that he couldn’t stop if he tried. His guilt was saved for her.

He attempted to focus on what the professor was saying, but a conversation behind him took the forefront of his hearing. A feminine voice attempted to be discreet, but whispers never got past Peter.

“How much for a couple of ounces?”

“Jesus, who told you I sell?” Peter recognized the other voice as CJ, someone he had previous classes with, but never talked to.

“Who cares? I got the money,” she said.

CJ scoffed at her pompous remark. “What are you, a narc?”

“I have a party on Saturday and I promised weed galore.”

Overhearing the conversation about weed gave him a bright idea that nearly knocked the perma-boner right off of him. Not only was Peter a virgin, but he was also substance free. In spite of that, the prospect of weed sounded exceptional when the excruciating blue balls that he had dealt with for the last seventy-two hours were still going strong.

After class, he shamelessly went up to CJ.

“I heard that you have stuff?” Peter whispered.

“Fuck, you heard that?” CJ laughed.

“Sorry, she was kind of loud,” Peter said modestly. “Can I buy from you?”

“I didn’t know you liked stuff, Peter.”

It was a quick interaction, but it was efficient. They exchanged contacts and scheduled their meet-up for later tonight, being that Peter couldn’t succumb to his cock any longer.

It felt like forever as Peter sank into his bed, waiting for the time to pass by.

Was it possible to crave another person? Every time he closed his eyes, he thought of her. Every time he slept, he dreamt of her. It was a painstaking burden for Peter to have. She changed his whole brain chemistry, igniting this visceral need within him. It was like his body just had to have her.

He hoped that whatever CJ provided would take his troubles away.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

“Trying to black out?” The bartender had asked when she requested a long island iced tea.

She shook her head as she handed him the cash she was supposed to use for dinner. She almost didn’t give him the tip after his comment, but her pent-up aggression was out on the world for making her sexually frustrated, not him. Maybe she was trying to black out with the most notorious drink on the menu! Or it was more like she didn’t know what else to order, being that this wasn’t her scene and completely out of her comfort zone.

She sat in the far corner of the space, nursing her potent drink and observing the crowd. Normally people watching was something that she enjoyed and did with ease, but she couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with her. She stopped feeling like herself. She felt mentally out of balance like her consciousness was slipping past her fingers like granules of sand and the fact that she was here was all the verification she needed.

She had never gone to places like this. Bars, clubs, parties. Ever since the whole spider thing, that crowd overstimulated her out of her mind. Hurt too much. Sometimes she even imagined getting out of New York to somewhere quieter.

But there was something pulling her into Pyramid, a flashy bar at first glance, but through the window, she was able to see the lack of young adults. Perhaps, it was that eerie name that made people her age steer clear because it made her want to steer clear from the illuminati-esque name. Yet the irresistible feeling to step in there was present and it wasn’t exactly due to the sign glowing in red that said, GIRLS DRINK FREE ON THU. It flashed brightly, temporarily staining her lids. It didn’t matter what was on the sign. It could have said, SENIORS BINGO NIGHT or ORGY IN PROCESS and she would’ve entered. All that she cared about was that it was an interruption to her sex-crazed mental state, the ruby neon blinding the memory of his large hands on her waist. And for that, they deserved her “service.”

Maybe she did need a drink after the past couple of days. She felt like a puppy in heat. Her skin felt itchy and in the middle of the night, her hand would teleport to the inside of her underwear. She was obsessing over some boy on the train so intensely that it transcended her consciousness, him making a feature in her tantalizing dreams.

Thinking about the train situation made a chill run up her spine. Just the thought of the throbbing ache from that day brought physical discomfort.

It was the first time she had left her apartment in days, the overwhelming sense of anxiety and arousal weighing heavy on her chest, and she was spending it at a bar. Initially, she was on a mission to pick up tteokbokki from a neighboring restaurant after realizing she couldn’t DoorDash for a third time today but got distracted by the flashing lights that promised free drinks. She was truly desperate to feel anything other than dread.

Luckily, the atmosphere wasn’t as eerie as its name, but it did feel like she was a part of a secret club with the older crowd fanned out along the tables. It was like only a small set of people in New York knew about this place and that brought it some validity. It was special and it was here, whether she came or not.

She gulped a couple of ounces down, before placing her cheek in her palm and let her anxiety-ridden knee run free. She felt the alcohol simmer in her body along with the thoughts of the boy on the train that circulated in her mind for the hundredth time today.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

“Jesus man, you really haven’t gotten any sleep, huh?”

Peter knew he looked bad, but he didn’t think he looked that bad. He was hoping he had that sexy Pete Davidson exhaustion rather than whatever he looked like now, but he was sure Pete Davidson wasn’t governed by his dick like he was.

“Basically,” Peter said before handing CJ the cash.

The September air was a punch in the stomach, promising a harsh winter in a few months. The back alley where they were doing the exchange was in the perfect position to allow the brisk wind to come and go as it pleased. Peter was glad that the weather had turned from a blistering humidity to a nippy chill, making his thick apparel more than appropriate. Before leaving his apartment, all he could think of was that he should have worn a trench coat to tie the whole sleaze-bag aesthetic together.

“Wanna come in? I can make you a drink, my treat,” CJ smiled warmly, throwing a thumb back to the door that said EMPLOYEES ONLY.

“Ahh you don’t have to do that, I already got everything I wanted,” Peter said, shoving the plastic baggy in his jeans. He felt bad barging on CJ at his place of work, but CJ had been the one to urge Peter over and get his fix. And now that Peter got what he asked for, he just wanted to go home and figure out how to deal with his perma-boner.

“Come on. Best in his class, Peter Parker, spacing out and getting the wrong answers? You sound like you need a drink.”

“What are you? My dad?” Peter laughed nervously because he didn’t know what else to do with himself. Was it that bad? That his classmate whom he only started talking to for drugs realized his absentmindedness?

He was in no shape to be at a bar right now when he was prone to random boners and heat flashes like a middle-aged woman going through menopause. But when CJ nodded his head to the door and told Peter, come on, his feet followed CJ through the back door.

“Thank you,” Peter said.

“Don’t thank me. Just know that I’m blowing up your phone for biochem questions,” CJ laughed.

Peter didn’t know how to feel about getting scammed into being his weed dealer’s personal google, but at least it didn’t give him a boner. That was a win for Peter.

CJ worked at a small-scale bar, but for a Thursday night, it had a handful of people. It was mostly middle-aged women and senior men, but business was business.

When Peter sat down on the stool to watch CJ he realized that this was his first time in a bar. When you were Peter Parker and Spider-Man on the side, you didn’t have time to enjoy being legal or even a normal young adult. He didn’t know whether to soak it in or shrug his shoulders with nonchalance, but he couldn’t even confront the topic. The air turned hot, impeding his ability to think.

The longer he stayed in the bar, the more he perspired and felt like he was subjugated to poison ivy. It arrived like goosebumps, a faint and chilling sensation, and then the impending irritation to his skin started to flare. He ran his nails across his neck and nearly, yelped at the sensitivity.

He held in an aggravated sigh, feigning normalcy as he could feel a fever forcing its way into him. He wished he had the words to explain what was happening. Was this like a second puberty? Did spiders even experience puberty?

He tried to focus on the various bottles that were behind CJ in hopes of suppressing all of the emerging pain. Bacardi. Pink Whitney. Tito’s. Jack Daniels. Just looking at them made him feel uneasy, despite never having liquor before. It was like mentally reciting the brands was a spell that made him inebriated. Grey Goose. Patron. Hennessey. In Peter’s peripherals, he noticed CJ’s mouth moving.

“Huh?” He said, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“I said, she’s kinda cute. Don’t you think?”

When Peter looked back to the place where CJ’s eyes lingered, his spike in temperature and overall delirium made sense.

In the back of the bar, there she sat alone. The girl who held his accusations and grief. The girl who fired up the appetite in his loins. His heart was a lost puppy reuniting with its owner. He could feel the pulse in his throat as if his heart was ready to evacuate from its cell. His chest was ready to tear, letting the poor heart of his ravage her.

She looked better than she did in his dreams. He was hardly surprised by the spike in his heartbeat and the twitching of his cock as he skimmed over the black mini skirt riding up her bare thigh. He feasted on the sight of her, perhaps for too long, but CJ didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh. That’s weird,” Peter finally said.

“What?”

“I think I know her…” When he said that, he realized that he was a liar. He didn’t know her. Not really. He knew of her face and of her searing touch that stemmed from his dreams. He knew her in a way that wasn’t good enough for him. He needed more. “I think I’m gonna say hi.”

“Before you do that… Shot of courage, and that drink I promised you,” CJ said, sliding the glasses across the countertop.

“Fuck. Thanks,” Peter gulped at the beckoning alcohol.

Peter looked at the shot glass of amber, then at her, and then at the shot again. Fuck it. He snatched the weighted glass and swallowed the liquid in one go. He felt cinnamon in his sinuses and the swell of tears in his eyes. If he focused too hard he could feel the liquid swish in his belly and the likelihood of him hurling became exponentially high.

“Why does it burn so much?” He said past the coughs.

“You’ve never had Fireball?”

Peter grabbed the other drink and pushed himself out of his seat while CJ chuckled. If CJ said anything else, Peter didn’t hear it. He was zoned in on the sting in his chest and the insatiable need to be near her.

Peter felt like his legs were of lead as he made his way to her. If not for the sweating glass in his hand, he would have sprinted to her, but it was filled to the brim and ready to spill. That’s how he felt— A sopping mess trying to keep the equilibrium from going out of wack. He was ready to overflow.

Was it possible to be drunk after one shot? And did being drunk mean he would feel like he was dying? He didn’t know how this worked with his super genes, but the excruciating pain in his groin was festering and a handful of thumbtacks were piercing into him like a cork board. He tried his best to control his breathing, but as the distance between them lessened, his heart frantically shook against his ribcage.

Once he was within reach of her, he swore he could feel the alcohol leaking out from his pores. A small piece of him was shaking, questioning, now what?

Now, you take her, said a divine intervention. She reached out for her half-filled cup, and his instincts overpowered him. He finally took in her wrist, relieving him but only partially. It was an ice cube to the palm while his whole body was covered in lava, leaving him charred and ready to turn into ash under her command.

It felt good until he realized she was real and palpable. Someone with personal space and boundaries. Someone that was a complete stranger to him. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Her eyebrows knit under confusion until she recognized him. The short-lived fear was replaced with a sheen of wonder. “Oh, it’s you.”

“It’s me,” he said almost breathless.

Her wrist was lost in ownership. It was clearly connected to her and yet it felt like it belonged to him entirely. She felt like velvet. He wondered if her skin felt like this everywhere.

When he came back to his senses, he finally let go, but there was a piece of him that was yelling at him to take it back as if it really belonged to him. “I’m sorry for grabbing you,” he said as he watched her hand slink back into her possession. Just barely, he noticed the way that her other hand touched the spot he grabbed before placing them below the table. His throat felt dry as her eyes sank into him.

“Again,” she deadpanned.

“Again,” he repeated. The tips of his ears were warm with shame.“I swear I’m not following you-”

“I know,” she interrupted with a faint smile. “What’s that?”

Peter looked at the drink in question. He hadn’t really looked at it before until now, being that all of his focus was on her. The liquid was a red-to-tangerine gradient with an orange wedge on the rim. In truth, he couldn’t even make an educated guess. “I don’t really know.”

“Can I?”

He passed her the drink, grazing her hand in the process. The contact caused a rush of adrenaline to surge through him, the hairs on his neck rising and his throat left dry.

His lips parted as he watched her take the straw between her lips. In his dreams, her lips were sangria stained, but now at this moment, her lips were more of a subtle rose and flesh. His jaw clenched at the sight.

“I also don’t know.” She smacked her lips before tilting her head in curiosity. “Not a big drinker.”

“Me neither.”

“Did you try it?” He shook his head no. "Chug it, so it’ll be gone faster. That’s what I do.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he laughed nervously.

“Here. I’ll do it with you,” she flashed a tender smile while reaching for her cup.

When she brought the rim to her lips, her eyes flicked open to glance at him, as if to say, well?

Before he knew it, his hands were wrapped around his cup and downing the liquid like he was under her control.

He finished before her. It tasted like a tropical vacation with an electric punch. His body wanted to recoil at the prominent taste of alcohol. Not even the assumed pineapple could neutralize its potency, but when he saw her his spine went stiff. She swallowed her marigold-colored drink and a teaspoon trickled down from the corner of her mouth to her neck. The drop got lost in her midnight grey sweater, either soaked up by the knit or running down her skin. There was nothing more he wanted to be than that drop of liquid running down her body, pressing kisses from her jaw to her chest.

She wiped her mouth with her thumb in a fist and her glazed-over stare sucked him in. Their eyes locked and it felt infinite.

Masochist had suddenly become a word to describe Peter. In amidst the inexplicable pain at the tip of his fingertips and torturous anxiety, there was her. And everything was clear. It felt like staring at the sun in the middle of July, basking in a sweltering heat with no care for his sight— the only importance was that he was to look at her no matter the cost.

He wanted to peel her open like an orange, tasting the nectar from her flesh. The taste of her would revive him. He could feel it in his bones. She was the ambrosia he thirsted for, the remedy to all of his problems. The joint in his pocket was nothing compared to her. He knew then and there, he would devote himself to her if she let him.

Peter found himself drawn to the golden pendant around her neck and meditated on the fluctuation in her chest and her fragmented breaths before his eyes wandered back to her pretty face.

He took in her brightness, the way she twinkled. The shimmer in her lips and the mischievousness in her stare. There were glistening remnants of the liquid on the corner of her mouth. It was like every part of her was teasing him with each glimmer and wink.

Cautiously, he slowly brought his hand up to her face, giving her the opportunity to slap his hand away or yell at him. Instead, her mouth became agape releasing a sigh when Peter swiped his thumb against the edge of her mouth.

He opened his mouth to say something witty or beg for forgiveness, whichever came first, but she pushed herself out of the chair and stood up before he could even try.

“I’ll be right back,” she blurted out and didn’t wait for a response. She headed for the hallway past the bar counter, her strides long and quick. Peter could hear a voice in his head scream at him to follow her, and after the past few days that he had to endure, Peter’s mental strength was little to nothing. He hurried after, the fear of her leaving him heavy on his stomach.

He went down the hall and watched as she disappeared into the bathroom. His knuckles tapped against the green door. “Hey? Are you okay?”

He waited for an answer. Nothing.

“I’m sorry, I grabbed you,” he professed as he chewed on his cheek. If she could she read his mind, then he was fucked. He was already fucked, but he would be even more so. Making her uncomfortable was the last thing he wanted, but he couldn’t stop the images of all the positions he wanted to fuck her in and the thought of how she would sound as he railed her to the brink of ascension. He really tried, but he couldn’t and that’s how he ended up here. To find the cure to his perpetual arousal. Not to make her uncomfortable. “I’ll just go, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

As he was about to turn on his heels, the sounds of feet shuffling and a click of a lock paralyzed him. Amongst that, he could hear two heartbeats. One was heavily sedated, leisurely pumping blood like it was a hard thing. Skipping along his ribs. Running off of anticipation. Patiently waiting. In contrast, the other was untamed and wild. A beast trying to get out of its cage at all costs.

The strange thing was he couldn’t decipher which one was his as the empty air around him suffocated him.

When she opened the door, he felt like he was seeing her for the first time again.

Under the dim light, she looked glowing as if there was a radiance within her. The subtlety of the golden hue would make a normal person look sickly, but as it caressed her cheek and deemed her desirable, she looked like a star. A delight to Peter’s irregular heartbeats.

“Now, you’re following me,” she said glaring past Peter like a ghost.

“I- Yeah. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He admitted earnestly.

“I’m anything but.”

Peter’s worries were festering as he watched her body language express her clear hate for this situation he put her in. Her attention had found her feet and cemented itself there, and it took everything for him to not grab her face and beg to look at him. If her eyes weren’t on him, he wasn’t breathing, and if her hands weren’t on him, he wasn’t living. Being without her was painful. He knew that since the first day he saw her. “Did I do something?”

“Not exactly,” she murmured.

As he observed the painful expression on her face, he noticed the quiver of her bottom lip. She fidgeted with trembling fingers and he swore she was about to cry. He felt like he was transported to that day on the train, watching her hands uncontrollably shake. He wanted to take them in his own shaking hands and kiss each fingertip till she felt better.

“I know you don't know me but you can tell me,” he practically begged. Peter needed her to tell him, then he would know whether she thought of him as a creep or not. He was ready to leave and never see her again if that was what she wished for, despite the yearning his body felt for her that he was yet to understand. He was prepared to undergo psychiatric treatment and go as far as requesting a lobotomy because he was sure there was no cure for his neurosis.

She couldn’t help but to laugh past the approaching tears. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.” She went to rub the rogue tear on her cheek, but Peter was taking a hold of her wrist again.

“What happened?” He said.

Her palms were blemished with indentations from her fingernails, so deep that the affected skin was a garnet hue. This was the fourth time he touched her like she was his property, and he was ready for terror or annoyance to appear on her face, but it never comes. Her eyes sparkled with tears and longing.

“I feel like I’m going insane,” she laughed, but her eyes begged for compassion. “I think I’m being burned from the inside out or something.”

Her words swam in his belly. The preciseness of it slicing through him. That’s all he had felt for days and that’s how he felt now. He released her wrist and placed his palm on her forehead, feeling the radiating heat. “You just might be.”

She shut her eyes, basking in his touch, her chest elevating and cascading. “I think I’m sick.”

“We should get you to a hospital,” he whispered.

“That’s not it...” She trailed off. “I just…”

“Tylenol? Nyquil? You name it and I’ll get it,” he said softly, afraid that if his voice was anything less than a whisper, she would run away like a frightened rabbit.

She studied him, her mind the battleground for whether she could disclose her truth to him or not. She licked her lips before speaking. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since Monday. So bad, it hurts.”

“Then, fuck me.”

The words hung in the air thick and harsh. Peter heard the words, but it never occurred to him that the words came from his mouth.

For a moment, all they do is stand in the door frame with fervent eyes, waiting for the other to make a move. The static between them was sharp and beckoning. There was the same anxiety-ridden fever crawling on his back, extracting every liquid particle in him leaving him high and dry. Peter felt like he was drowning in fire, his body itching to move off of pure instinct and find relief. He was hungry for her and she was giving him the green light, but he didn’t know if she knew what he would do to her. What he was capable of. His jaw clenched so hard he thought it would shatter at any second.

But then he could feel her breath of sweet tea fan over his jawline as she looked up at him and within milliseconds he was like a shark, a single drop of blood enough to seize him.

Peter’s body propelled him forward and took her lips into his.

It consumed him— the way she tasted and felt against him. She was sweeter than he expected. More velvet than soft. Her body sank into him and he absorbed her, taking every piece of her that he could.

There’s a certain expression that came across his mind— the feeling you get when you kiss someone for the first time and sparks fly. Except Peter felt more than sparks. It was like his whole body was a human shield for a firecracker, firey shrapnel cutting into him all the while his body undergoes first-degree burns. It seemed that she felt the same way, her body jolting at his touch.

He thought it was just a saying, not this real, tangible ache in his skin and drunkenness weighing heavy on his chest. It was just a heady kiss, but it felt like his neurons were snapping into place, the taste of her perfecting his genetic alphabet. The excruciating pricks on his skin and the overall mental torture that he had experienced since Monday had muffled as he melted into her, and he then experienced a new pain. The pain of hunger and thirst.

“Close the door,” he rasped.

They tore each other apart within a moment’s notice, staggering against each other to enter the single bathroom. Peter locked the door with a free hand as the other gripped her waist.

The hunger for her was clear since day one, but now that he had a taste, a switch in him flipped. He surpassed the ache of hunger and it evolved into starvation. He had this animalistic instinct to have her, something so ferocious that he couldn’t deny it any longer. There was nothing that could stop him from getting his fix.

They were stumbling to find their balance like they were both forces to be reckoned with, seeing who can touch the other more. Peter was completely enraptured with her, kissing until his lips were swollen and her throat bruised. He was forceful, slamming her back against the wall, a gasp being pushed out of her.

Peter was wild and merciless as if he would never have this opportunity again. And as much as his brain begged him to take his time and explore her, his hands were relentless. He took a handful of her ass and ushered her body closer to him. Her flesh was like perfect dough in his hands, something he could knead and caress for hours.

His senses were overtaken by her. It was a symphony, everything perfectly orchestrated for Peter’s gratification. One palm held her steady at the small arch of her back while the other gripped onto the back of her thigh, opening herself to his grinding bulge. The whimpers and the wetness of her kisses crawled into his ears and made a home in his brain, as he sucked the salt off her neck. He breathed her in, hungry eyes observing his sweet lamb.

Her lips abruptly abandoned him, drawing him awake from his drunken state. His hazy eyes followed her, waiting for their lips to interlock again. Instead, her lips attached to the soft part of his neck, coaxing a rough groan from his mouth. She pressed chaste kisses against his neck, each peck a bucket of water to a wildfire.

He closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of her tongue swirling against the nape of his neck. His head hung back in pleasure as she nipped at his earlobe and a fuck left his mouth from the maneuver. His hands squeezed at her waist, seeking any piece of relief for his fractured breaths.

He brought her face to his again, finally lapping that syrupy taste of hers. He inhaled her, devoured her. She was all he dreamt of and now he was sticking his tongue in her mouth and caressing her thighs.

“Touch me, please,” she mewled helplessly, guiding his hand to her underwear.

As he felt the damp fabric, his heart twisted with awe. ‘Fuck…” He dragged his thumb along her covered bud and anticipated her body language. Her hips buckled at his ministrations, giving him the confidence to go farther. Peter pulled her panties to the side with his pinky and trailed his middle finger along her slit, the pool of slick at her entrance saturating his fingertip. Inch by inch he slowly buried his longest finger in.

It was his first time touching a girl like this, he didn’t know whether to be delicate or rough. His fingers moved gingerly in her, reaching for the antidote in her. She was sighing profanities like an incantation, her breath like magic coursing into him, making the neediness swell. He could feel her pulse around his finger, the warm slickness glazing his knuckles.

Touching her was like touching heaven. A sliver of mercy.

Peter pressed his forehead against hers, intensely watching her move under his command. He slipped another finger in. A line formed between her eyebrows and her mouth hung slightly, her face contorting from the rapture as he stretched her needy cunt. She sucked him in, all the way to his knuckles, and he began to pump them in and out. Each withdrawal of his fingers awarded him with desperate whimpers and each insertion gave him a sigh of relief.

“I want to try something,” she whispered, flirtatiously licking her lips. She took the hand that was fucking her and guided it back to her face, taking his coated fingers into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around his fingers, sweeping them clean.

Peter’s eyes stalked her in anticipation, and when she got on her knees and started tugging at his waistband, he thought he was going to die. “God, you’re not really going to do that, are you?”

“You don’t want me to?” She purred.

She pulled out his dick that was tucked behind his waistband, a trail of precum shining under the low light. She began to palm his sensitive cock, her lazy grip enough to make him groan. Her thumb dragged along his tip, rubbing his precum around the head.

“Oh, it’s more than I want, but you don’t have to- Oh, fuck.”

She eagerly took his whole cock into her mouth without any warning. Her head bobbed enthusiastically, her nose grazing his lower abdomen each time she pushed his cock to the hilt of her throat. It was a sensation Peter had never felt before, and he was addicted. She really was going to be the death of him.

The impulse to kneel and praise her was as strong as his hunger to ruin her. He took a handful of her hair and held it to the base of her head to ground him, to keep him strong. To keep him from not falling to his knees and profess a misplaced love for her. He couldn’t thank God for this, it was all her.

Before he knew it, his mouth was hanging open and his ejaculation was overflowing in her mouth. She swallowed his load enthusiastically, pulling a guttural moan from him while she kept sucking.

When he couldn’t handle the overwhelming work of her tongue, he pulled her back with her hair causing her to release his cock with a pop and whimper to follow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cum so quick,” he said panting.

She dragged her tongue along her bottom lip to remove the sheen of white. “You can make it up to me by fucking me.”

Peter pulled off his sweatshirt and placed it onto the plastic bench that was directly across from the sink and mirror, coincidentally the perfect spot to watch her take his virginity. “Condom in my wallet,” he said, reaching for the leather wallet in his sweats.

“We don’t have time for that,” she muttered as she nudged his chest for him to sit down.“I want you, now.”

He pulled his cock out and rubbed his length, feeling her saliva along the base. “Are you sure?”

She saddled up on him, her hands resting on his shoulder. “I’m on the pill and if you don’t put your cock in me right now, I swear- Fuck!” Her voice had shattered along with her brattiness by the head of his dick.

“What were you saying?” He groaned at the feeling of her soft spongy walls.

She sighed as she slowly sank onto his thick member. “Nothing…”

Peter was immobilized, letting her use him as she saw fit. Once he was balls deep she steadily shifted her weight, beginning to move her hips.

It didn’t take much time until she was riding him to her heart's content, and the sight was so terribly obscene. He held her skirt up with his hands glued to her waist and watched as his cock would repeatedly disappear as her hips buckled. He nuzzled into her shoulder, eyes mesmerized by the view in the mirror.

Peter heard it felt good and knew it looked good but he didn’t know sex was going to feel this electric. It felt better than he imagined. He had a harder time keeping his focus on the mirror than he thought he would, the rhythmic moving of her hips stirring him distracted. She gyrated her hips, ensuring that Peter had marked every wall and every flesh of her pussy. The pleasure sutured his eyes shut tight. It felt like he was dreaming. He must have been dreaming, that was the only way he could explain this.

Peter gripped onto the soft flesh on her hips, holding on like it was a lifeline. He gritted his teeth, drawing blood from the inside of his cheek in the process. Peter couldn’t move in fear that once he started rocking into her, he couldn’t stop. He feared he wouldn’t be able to control his strength. He let her use his cock, milking it with her tight hole.

She leaned back, giving Peter a better view of her wet cunt, and she started to rub her clit as she moved up and down on him. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Peter groaned, his hands rolling her sweater up to reveal her bare chest. He watched as her breast recoiled before taking them into his hands and guiding them into his mouth. He marked her with hickeys along the inner side of her breast as she used him for her self-gratification.

“Harder,” she whimpered, the sound traveling down his throat like cough syrup.

“I-I can’t,” he stuttered. He was in agony. He really wanted to, but he knew himself well enough to know that he could tear her apart. He ground his teeth together, the muscles of his jaw straining at the tiring tension. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“I like it rough,” she whispered with a pleading voice.

At that moment he evaporated into the core of man. He encased her waist in the constraints of his muscular arms and held her down as he began to ram himself into her. If she liked it rough, she was going to get it rough, whether she could handle it or not. He warned her.

The particles of Peter Parker and Spider-man had simmered into the air becoming one big nothing and all he was, was a pair of hands and a devouring tongue. His primal instincts that begged for authority had finally swallowed the grip of judgment. This wasn’t his first time and this wasn’t a stranger. This was another meal that caused no interrogation. It was the most normal thing for Peter to drill her full of his cock, going balls deep.

He couldn’t think about if he was adequate enough for her or how this was his first time. And it never crossed his mind that he was losing his virginity in the bathroom of the first bar he ever went to and he definitely couldn’t pay any mind to how conspicuous her moans were. He didn’t because he couldn’t. Nothing mattered when her lips were on him, stamping purple bruises on his neck.

“Just. Like. That,” she gasped between breaths. Her hand roamed around his back, nails digging deep. He thought that his back would end up looking like her palms, etched red with her distraught.

Her desperate cries and the rapid sound of fapping bounced off the walls, echoing through his body. His eyes were gaping, watching with such intensity as her folds enveloped him. It was like something out of a porno, this girl in heat just falling right into his corrupted hands. With her short skirt hiked up to her waist and her desperate rosy expression, she seemed like she was made for this.

He was masochistic and a narcissist and perverted in all the worst ways and it was all her fault. She ruined him with her begging eyes and burning touch so he ruined her back, fucking her till she could see stars. Railed her till she couldn’t walk.

“Yes, fuck me dumb!” she cried at his brutal pace.

He stood up with her legs still wrapped around him and let gravity force her down deeper onto his cock. “Fuck!” She slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her incoherent babbles.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He whispered with a smug grin. “Fuck you dumb?”

He used her like a slot that had no purpose but to be filled up, cruelly ramming himself in and out of her. Moments ago, he was aware of how frail she was under his hands, but now he was remorseless, unable to care if he broke her or not.

He fucked her like there was a knot in her belly, each pump to the hilt an attempt to loosen it. Each thrust a step closer to his climax.

Peter could feel the tears fall onto his back as she cried into her hand. Her stifled moans traveled through his marrow, vibrating within the depths of him. He savored her velvet walls and the way she opened up so well for him. She had him reduced to nothing but a man with innate needs. His want for her had burned in the back of his eyelids. His hands seared into her body to satiate his desires for her.

The collision was a mess from the start, he should have seen this coming. The train incident was like seeing smoke diffusing in the sky amongst layers of mountains and he looked the other way, ignoring the omen. And now he was in the heart of the firestorm, a blistering pain that felt so good. It was a rebirth through the means of a flame, one that Peter didn’t run away from anymore.

Somehow he wanted to reach deeper, feel the parts of her that no one else had. He bottomed out and rolled himself into her, his groin putting pressure on her clit, and sucked on her neck.

“Oh, if you keep doing that…” She trailed off feverishly, buckling her hips before breaking out into a trembling fit.

He could feel her pussy convulse on his cock, her hips winding through the coil. He didn’t think he could wrap his arms around her any tighter, but he does, squeezing the orgasm and air out of her. Peter could feel his own heatwave roll into him.

“I’m cumming,” he groaned, mercilessly winding himself into her. As he shut his eyes and he could see stars much like the ones in her eyes. He buried his face into her shoulder, attempting to have more of her. His second orgasm surged through him like a flash of lightning, fast and sharp. He could feel his milk fill her up, saturating her walls.

As he stood there with her in his arms, trying to catch his breath, he could hear their hearts racing in tandem and her soft pants. He could hear the way her lungs filled and collapsed. He wondered if her lungs were filled with him like he was with her. His lungs were overfilled with the roses on her wrist and the salt on her skin and all of her breaths since that first day on the train. He was like a generator running off of this girl that he strangely, yet desperately needed.

The flame slowly dwindled down, his pace slowing down until it was nothing. The smoke had let up and the fog fully dispersed through his body, and that’s when he could feel it. The visceral realization of the gravity of this beautiful little thing in his arms. It was clear and frightening all at once. The way the needles in the air disappeared and the sudden clarity in his mind. She fixed him and yet he felt it in his chest that he wasn’t done with her. She had burned herself into him, a permanent tattoo on his chest with her handprints seared onto the flesh of his ribs.

With his eyes closed there were flashes of a picnic amongst a rose garden and the tender waves of the sea and a timid bonfire at dusk. When he opened them, the vivid images were still there, but with another image of her now weary, yet ever so twinkling eyes.

For the first time he hoped he would dream of them.

want more? here’s my most recent one shot: moon river (tasm! bf peter)

a/n: planned for this to be a one shot, but we’ll probably see peter and silk again if this does well heheh xoxoxo as always, thank you for the support! keeps me motivated to keep writing! <3 mommy

reblog and comment for more xx

#peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x you #mcu peter parker

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