#where will the beads end up next? only time will tell!

[pentechnics]

A Little Leap

Chapter 9 of Latch

Summary: The long-awaited night is here, and both you and Din struggle with casting your cautions aside. Will it hinder your time together?

Pairing: Firefighter!Din Djarin x f!Reader

Series Masterlist

Notes: Very long awaited, but hopefully worth it. And not even a power outage could stop me from getting it out today! Poured a lot of love into this one and I'm so excited to see what you all think of it! Sending you all so much love and well-wishes!!

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~~~~

A few days later, Din was stepping back into Lando’s shop and greeting him with a handshake. Lando led him to the back where a rack of black garment bags hung, plucking out two and handing them to him. “Here we are, all set for you.”

“Two?” Din pointed to the second bag. “I only bought one.”

“Luke had me make up another for you. He noticed you liked the brown one, too.”

Lando winked and pressed them into Din’s hands. Din glanced between him and the suits, unsure of what to say. How did Luke do that without him noticing?

“... Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Lando nodded and waved as Din made his way out of the boutique.

Din hung the garments in the back seat of the car and clambered inside with a huff. During the drive back he rehearsed what he’d say to Luke upon his return – why’d you do that? How’d you do that? What the hell, you didn’t have to do that. 

Din sighed. That kid was too giving for his own good.

He tried to keep an air of authority as he stepped through the front door and dramatically held out his two garment bags. He threw a stern glare at a gleeful Luke, who was sitting on the couch, not affected by Din in the slightest.

“... I don’t pay you enough to be doing things like this.”

Luke just laughed. Din gulped down his annoyance, standing up straighter in an attempt to keep up his angry demeanor.

“Relax, it’s a gift! It’ll come in handy.”

“Luke,” Din warned.

“Mr. Djarin, I promise, that is the last sort of intervention I plan to do.” He lifted his palm into the air. “You have my word.”

Din gave him a solid nod and made his way to the bedroom.

“It better be.”

~~~~~

“Your nerves are understandable. Is there any specific thing you’re worried about?”

You shifted in your seat before returning Dr. Jinn’s gaze. Each little thing seemed to pile together: some rational, some very much not. And more came with each passing day. What if he stood you up? What if you said something stupid? What if you spill your drink all over him?

“I just… I’m not sure what to expect. I’m not a big date person, I haven’t been on very many good ones in the past.”

“Ah, so because you really like him, you’re extra worried about it not going well?”

A bullseye, as usual. But damn, did he have to say it so bluntly each time? You nodded.

“I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Let me ask you this,” he tapped his pen against his knee as he spoke. “Do you think you were the reason those other dates were bad?”

You thought about it. One person made offensive jokes. Another turned out to be cheating on someone with you. One stared at the waiter’s ass the whole time. You winced at the memories.

“I guess most of them were out of my control.”

He gave a slight grin.

“Then I think it’s safe to say you won’t screw anything up.”

“… But what if he does?”

He paused, taking in your expression before asking, “What do you think is the worst thing that could happen during this date?”

A bead of anxiety led to sadness, shame, and anger. It wouldn’t be the total end of the world, but it would hurt as if it was.

“... Him not showing up. Or changing his mind.”

“Okay. Solid concern. Now tell me this: when you think about him, what are the biggest traits that stand out to you?”

Flashes of his face and of conversations the two of you shared ran through your mind. Those kind eyes and warm smile took over your senses, sending a pleasant tingle down your spine.

“... He’s kind,” you began, “and smart.”

Grogu entered your mind’s eye.

“...And he seems really loyal to the people in his life.”

“Seems like a great guy.”

You smiled and nodded.

“So, you’ll just have to take a little leap. Trust that he’ll come through.”

You stared at your lap. He was right. But just how were you meant to do that?

“Is that something I can learn to do in two days?” you asked with a dry laugh.

Dr. Jinn shrugged.

“Personally, I don’t think it’s something anyone is ever done learning. But we all have to start somewhere.”

~~~~

Din straightened his collar in the mirror, letting out a huff that made the tip of his hair bounce up.

He took in the sight of the grey suit in the mirror, hoping to summon that same magical feeling he got wearing it for the first time in Lando’s boutique. He turned around to face Grogu’s crib.

“What do you think, kid?”

Grogu smiled up at him from his standing perch, patting the edge of the crib with his hand. Din chuckled and went over to lift him out and carry him into the living room.

“Luke will be here any minute. You better be good to him, okay?”

Grogu laid his head down onto Din’s shoulder in response, wrapping his arms around him as much as they’d allow.

Din stopped in his tracks. Little waves of warmth and love flowed through him; he held Grogu close and basked in it. 

Something seemed odd – typically, Grogu would cling like this and whimper when he wanted support. Then Din would’ve doubled down and stay home for him.

But this seemed different. Grogu was silent, save for a few gentle, happy coos. It was as though Grogu was trying to tell him something else. To ease his worries. It had Din swallowing a sudden lump in his throat.

This was hard. Leaving him was always hard. But as Din ran his hands through Grogu’s little curls, the prickly, heavy anxiety began to slowly loosen its grip.

He gave Grogu a kiss on the cheek just as Luke knocked on the door.

Deep breath. It’s now or never.

“All right, buddy, wish me luck.”

Grogu giggled and tapped his hand against Din’s chin, making him chuckle.

During the drive, Din couldn’t help the way his muscles seized. Every alarm bell in his system was ringing – not the way they usually did when he was away from Grogu, but something insistent and foreign. Good signs or bad, he couldn’t tell.

The evening sent a chill through his half-open window. The sky poked through the high-rises, its colorful clarity a direct contrast to the electric storm brewing inside him.

His mind was jumping from place to place – anxious, guilty, excited – they all melded together and created a dizzying new emotion he wasn’t sure how to name. Din was no stranger to running into a situation he wasn’t familiar with, but something about this seemed so much more fragile. It had more variables than he was used to. Larger margin for error, and less room for it. He resisted the urge to hit his head against the steering wheel to get his brain to shut up.

When he parked in front of your building and stepped out onto the curb, he forced himself to take a breath. One feeling at a time, one worry at a time.

Grogu’s okay. Focus on her.

It’ll be good. She’ll be happy to see you.

You look fine. Stop thinking about your stomach.

The voice speaking to him was collected and confident next to his racing heart. He chanted the words over and over again in his head, breathing in time with them until he could muster up the nerve to pull out his phone. He glanced at the clock – per Luke’s instructions, he had arrived ten minutes early.

Won’t she feel rushed, though? He’d asked. What if she needs more time?

Trust me, Luke had said. You’re the one who’s going to need it.

Damn that boy. Why was he always right? Din allowed himself a few more minutes of nervous pacing and obsessive jacket-pulling before opening up his messages.

~~~~

You sat in front of your mirror, making your final preparations before Din was due to arrive. Dress was on, accessories were added, and now it was time to wait. Your phone sat on the bathroom counter, taunting you. He’d be texting you any second now.

You were putting essentials into your little wristlet purse. Your hands were shaking, each little item struggling to get into the opening.

A thousand pep talks and reminders to breathe from Harley couldn’t even scratch the surface of your brain without interference. It was like you were shut off from your fear sector, unable to soothe it even if you wanted to. You stared at their messages of encouragement blankly before shutting your eyes and heaving a deep sigh.

Even though he really didn’t seem like the type, you couldn’t shake your fears of Din running away. Deciding he didn’t want to do this, that he didn’t want to see you. It took everything you had to not cancel first and beat him to the punch. And yet every time you snuffed the temptation, part of you wondered if you’d regret it later.

‘You’ll just have to trust him a little.’

As if on cue, Dr. Jinn’s voice rang through your mind like a bell. A soothing chime that cut through all of the abrasive, self-destructive noise. It reminded you of what you were meant to be trying. The clog inside you was pushing to be cleared – you just needed to help it along.

You rose from your spot and wandered into the living room, phone now cradled in your hand. The evening was settling in and basking its iridescent glow upon the city, the buildings surrounding your apartment cloaked in its blues, purples, and pinks. You thought about Din, about the memories you’ve already made together. His smile, his laugh… 

… His baby.

You clutched your phone in your fist as another wave of anxiety pulsed through you. What would you do if you messed this up? The mental image of Grogu’s smiling face had your heart singing – what if you never got to see him again?

But then again, when did this date become the make-it-or-break-it of this whole thing?

It’s not as though this would be the first time you and Din sat together and talked. You’d done that several times at Cal’s. You had no reason to believe this wouldn’t be just like that, right? Calming, fun, and easy. You let out a slow breath, shoulders drooping down with it.

Yeah, that’s all this is, you told yourself. Just another fun meet-up across the counter. 

Your phone buzzed.

With a jolt, tension returned to your muscles as you looked at the screen. He was here.

It was time.

Shit.

You texted back with frantic fingers, running to grab the last of your things and put on your shoes before heading out the door – but not before taking one last glance out the window.

The calm of dusk, an everlasting being of promise and beauty. The dull quiet in your apartment, a guaranteed comfort when you returned, regardless of what happened.

Certainties you could hold onto in a world of unknowns.

You pushed yourself out the door.

~~~~

You focused on each breath as the elevator made its painfully slow descent. You patted your dress, your head, your purse, anything that could possibly fall out of place between now and the lobby.

Part of you began to wonder where he’d be taking you. Him taking the reins on those details was a welcomed surprise; you couldn’t help feeling pampered by the prospect of not having to make that decision.

A smile tugged on your cheeks as the elevator signaled your arrival to the lobby. You sucked in one more breath and squeezed your bag. Here goes nothing.

You walked out and made it a whole five steps before almost tripping over your feet.

He was a vision: standing outside beside his car, leaning against the passenger side. Hands in his pockets. Gaze turned to the side. His suit was perfectly tailored to him, outlining his broad shoulders and full hips. Those arms that could rip his uniform into shreds were less of a threat to the suit jacket, though still made their presence known. The stubble on his face was short but visible, and it gave his jawline even more of a sharp edge. He turned and gave a small grin at the sight of you.

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat and regained your footing.

“Hi,” you greeted as you stepped out the door. “I hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

“Not at all,” he said, hands slowly making their way out of his pockets. “You look… “

He trailed off for a moment, glancing down at your dress before meeting your eyes again.

“... Amazing.”

You swallowed again, the heat in your face making it harder to breathe.

“So do you.”

You couldn’t help stealing another glance at that marvelous suit, subconsciously biting your lips together in hopes of keeping your cool.

“Thank you.”

You returned his gaze upon hearing his voice, letting yourself get lost in them. Any semblance of nerves that had just been assaulting you were long gone, like you’d been in a crowded room, and he was the one to walk in and make every voice fall silent.

Who could blame them? He left you speechless, too.

After a moment he cleared his throat and opened the car door for you.

“Shall we, then?”

You smiled at the gesture and climbed in, your heart already aflutter. Who knew people still opened car doors for each other?

You watched him walk around and get into the driver’s seat, phone in hand.

“I’m a little embarrassed at having to use the GPS to get there,” he said with a chuckle.

“Don’t be!” You laughed. “Everyone needs the help sometimes.”

He glanced up at you before resuming his search, a small dust of color brimming on his ears.

Once the GPS began to speak, he pulled onto the road.

“I don’t recognize the name of the restaurant,” you commented, rubbing your thumb along the back of your opposite hand. “Have you ever been?”

“No, actually. I don’t go out very much.”

“Me, either,” you nodded.

“New for us both. That’ll be nice.”

He pulled up to a stoplight and turned away from the road to look at you.

“Yeah, that will be nice.” You said with a smile.

An unspoken feeling passed through you: uncharted, exciting, deep. By the way Din looked at you, you’d swear he was feeling the same thing. His eyes seemed to be speaking for him again – a language you were so desperate to learn. Yet at the same time, it felt as though the message was crystal clear.

The light turned green, but the spell didn’t break. Somehow, without even having to look at you, those eyes were still relaying their words. The comfortable silence between you was so loud with them that it was almost too much to bear.

Din ended up driving you to a separate sector of downtown from where Cal’s and the Mark were located. A spring of joy lit up inside you; this was an area you never got to explore.

When Din pulled into a parking spot, he rushed to undo his seat belt.

“Hang on.”

You halted your hands from reaching for the door handle and instead watched him jog over to open it again for you. A wide smile sprouted on your face. What a precious gentleman.

You glanced at the hand he held out for you before placing yours in it. Just as it had the last time, back in Cal’s, electricity shot through you. There was a slight jolt in his grip before he pulled you to your feet, giving your hand the slightest squeeze before letting it go.

You instantly missed his warmth.

He pointed the way after locking the car and the two of you walked side by side. You held tight to your bag, still unsure of what physical boundaries should be kept. You glanced at his hand, dangling along his side. It swayed with his movements.

How nice would it be if it just stayed wrapped around yours?

Upon approaching the restaurant, he opened that door for you as well, making you giggle.

“Will you be opening all my doors tonight?”

“... Is that okay?”

The concern that clouded his eyes made you wish you hadn’t said a word. You smiled and held out a hand towards him.

“Of course, yes! I’m just not used to it is all.”

You paused and looked at your feet, nerves threatening to keep the next words from escaping your mouth.

“It makes me feel really special.”

He let out a breath. You watched the tension dissipate from his shoulders and a calmness come over his expression. 

“I’m glad.”

He turned from you and greeted the approaching waiter.

You took the moment look around. The restaurant was quaint and elegant, warm yellow lighting reflecting off the maroon walls. Wide open dining areas and a dancing area down a farther hallway. Shimmering chandeliers dangled from above and reflected constellations off themselves.

It was gorgeous.

When the waiter grabbed two menus, you began to prepare yourself. Your heart was pounding deep and loud – a boisterous show of its limits.

And the evening had only just begun.

~~~~

Light chatter surrounded you both as you sat at the intimate little table for two, waiting for your orders. The candle sitting between you made Din glow; specks of yellow danced across his face, making his eyes shimmer. He was looking out the window, his side profile made ever sharper by the contrasting shadows.

“It looks so other-worldly outside,” he said, “... does that sound weird?”

His voice snapped you out of your trance.

“No, not at all,” you shook your head.

You took a glance out the window, taking in the pale city lights as they twinkled against the dark backdrop of the encroaching night. As cars drove past, the headlights would briefly splatter the surrounding surfaces. It was like several little light shows just for the two of you.

“I see what you mean. It’s kind of magical.”

He turned to you and grinned. His eyes betrayed a hint of embarrassment.

The waiter came by and set your food before you both. Din cleared his throat and glanced about the room until they walked away.

The smell immediately graced your nose, making you breathe in a deep dose of it. Your stomach grumbled its approval just before you both began eating. You were grateful for the food – it gave you something to do when you couldn’t think of what to say.

Clinking silverware and padded footsteps of passing waiters filled the air. You glanced up at Din between bites – he would either be pecking at his food or glancing out the window, seemingly wringing his hands together.

Good to know he was also nervous, though it left you unsure of how to break the tension. You took another bite and thought back to the pep-talk you gave yourself.

Just another chat across the counter.

You took a sip of your water and set down your cutlery.

“How’s Grogu doing?”

His eyes darted to you, expression a little lost.

“Oh- he’s… good.”

“No more fevers, I hope.”

That got him to smile a bit.

“No, he’s okay. He’s actually been really active lately.”

“Yeah?” Tell me more.”

He did. And as he spoke, his demeanor shifted. The weight left his shoulders, the buzzing air calming. You could swear you were actually at Cal’s, and he was sitting at the counter. You couldn’t help smiling – at both his and Grogu’s cuteness.

Conversation flowed much more easily after that, the evening drifting along with it. He made you laugh, you made him blush, and everything in the world made sense.

Before either of you knew it, the waiter had left the check on the table and at least a solid two hours had passed. Din didn’t even entertain the notion when you lifted your little purse to help pay, giving you a good laugh and another flutter of the heart.

The two of you walked out into the night soon after, you nursing leftovers in your hand. The walk to the car was slow and peaceful, the breeze a relief on your beaming cheeks. When you reached the car, you stopped Din with a hand on his forearm before he could open the door.

“Hey-” you looked up at him. “Do you want to…”

You gulped. You didn’t want the night to end just yet. But what would happen if he said no? Just imagining the awkwardness made you want to run away. He glanced down at your hand before meeting your eyes again.

“... walk around a bit?” he finished for you.

You nodded with a smile, hoping the utter mental pain you were enduring wasn’t visible in your expression. He straightened up and took your to-go box out of your hands.

“That sounds nice. Let’s drop this off, then.”

The relief was so sweet yet drastic. You sighed with a small laugh and gave his forearm a little squeeze.

~~~~

The walk reminded you of that spontaneous arcade day the two of you shared, yet this was somehow even sweeter.

The night was rich with energy. Light spilled onto the sidewalks from the little shops that lined the streets, a slight breeze whisking around you, and a healthy flow of words still running between you. Din’s voice grew just a bit more animated than it had been at the start of the night, and you reveled in the soothing sound of it.

One shop caught your eye: a little ice cream parlor, painted in creamy pastels and boasting a host of flavors, with indoor decor that was reminiscent of a vintage diner. You couldn’t stop yourself from taking in the sugary vanilla scent. You turned to Din with a grin.

“Do you want some dessert?”

He stared at you with wide eyes and hesitated. A beat passed before he gulped and tore his gaze from you to look at the list of flavors outside the door.

“Sure—yeah, let’s do it.”

You insisted on paying once flavors had been selected, mirroring what he had done in the restaurant.

It took him all but five minutes to finish his. You weren’t even at your cone yet.

You looked between your hand holding your ice cream and his empty one crumpling a napkin across the little circular table. Gesturing between them, you gave him a puzzled look.

“How?”

He just shrugged with a chuckle. You shook your head and continued to dive into your cone.

“Oh, hey- you’ve got something right there…”

He gestured to the side of his lip. Fighting off the embarrassment, you tried to wipe it off with your hand.

“Did I get it?”

He shook his head. You tried again. Whatever it was continued to elude you, leading Din to reach for a new napkin.

“May I?”

You laughed at your own helplessness and scooched your chair closer to him. 

He met you halfway and wiped at the edge of your mouth. Even through the layers between you, his fingers burned into your skin. You couldn’t help staring at the concentrated expression he held, your muscles freezing up under his touch. He drew closer and continued on his mission to clear off the ice cream, though the napkin just felt dry against your skin. His thumb darted out to caress your cheek, and you gasped at the touch.

He had to stop teasing you like that. You wouldn’t be able to help yourself otherwise.

His gaze slowly made its way up from your lips until it met yours, his eyes giving you that familiar sensation of being effortlessly dissected.

How do his eyes do that, you wondered.

“… How do you do that?”

You may not have meant to voice your thoughts, but no regret followed.

“Do what?”

“it’s just that- I don’t know, every time you look at me, it’s like you’re staring into my soul.”

He let out a soft laugh.

“It’s not a bad thing,” you quickly added, “I’ve just never experienced it before.”

He leaned back the slightest bit, his hand falling from your face.

“You do something similar, you know. It’s like there’s…”

He leaned in again and squinted a bit, peering even deeper. You jumped a bit in your seat, the sudden proximity sending a jolt through your veins.

“… I can’t quite explain it, but they’re pretty incredible.”

His voice was soft and quiet, as if speaking too loudly would break the moment.

You melted into his gaze, losing yourself chasing the shining stars that made up its inner galaxy. A deep warmth ran through you, and you couldn’t help smiling. He returned the expression, his eyes crinkling.

You could look at that face all night.

The rest of your ice cream sat abandoned in your hand, the slight sensation of it dripping onto your hand the only indication that anything else still existed.

“Oh-”

Din bounced back into action to clean you up, leaving you to careen back to Earth’s surface. The chatter of other customers, the faint music in the background, it all came rushing back too fast.

“Better get a jump on this if you don’t want to end up doused in ice cream soup,” he said with that beautiful grin.

It was hopeless. Hardly anything had happened, and yet… You were trapped in his orbit.

~~~~

Your throat was so sore by the time Din was driving you home, hours having passed by without you. You were certain you’d never talked to someone for so long before.

The fatigue was showing on his face as well, in the form of tired eyes and deeper sighs.

“I’m sorry to have kept you out so late,” you said.

“Oh, please, don’t be.” He stole a glance before returning his attention to the road. “I had a great time with you.”

Like a blanket straight from the dryer, you were wrapped in that sweet feeling again.

“Likewise.”

He smiled with his teeth for the briefest of moments.

Moments later he was pulling the car into park in front of your building and popping out to open your door one more time for the night.

You looked up to see him staring at the ground with his hand outstretched, that adorable red tint decorating his ears. You smiled and let him pull you out of the car, but this time he didn’t step away.

Your heartbeat quickened without your permission, sending a flurry of butterflies through your gut. You were craning your neck the slightest bit, eager to take in his features from this close up, despite the growing clamminess in your hands.

His gaze was slower to meet yours; he took his time examining you, starting from your shoes and working his way up. When he did catch your eyes, something in his stance deflated. And his smile once again took all the remaining breath from your lungs.

“I meant it,” he all but whispered, “I… had a really great time tonight.”

“Me too,” your voice came out quieter than intended, matching his. “Maybe we could do it again sometime?”

“I’d like that.”

He gave your hand a squeeze.

“I’d like that a lot.”

Your smile was hurting your cheeks, but the pain was barely registering. The crisp night air whisked around you both, as if sweeping away everything else until all you could focus on was Din.

He took up your entire field of vision, your every sensation, each breath you tried to take.

You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You placed your free hand on his shoulder, giving yourself enough leverage to pull him towards you and plant a kiss on his cheek.

Your entire body was heating up, your lips tingling. His skin was so soft, the slight scratch of his stubble a pleasant sensation.

His eyes betrayed surprise, blinking a few times before regaining their focus. He gulped and looked back down to the ground between you both, the red tint stretching to his cheeks.  

God, he was so cute.

A big gust of wind broke the moment, making you shiver. His face immediately shifted to concern.

“Oh, are you cold?”

You let out a small laugh.

“Just a bit. I guess that’s my cue.”

You gave his hand one last squeeze before letting go and retrieving your leftovers from the car.

He closed the car door when you stepped away, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

“Good night, Din. Thank you for everything.”

He smiled at you, giving a small nod in your direction.

“Good night.”

One last look at him before you forced your feet to start moving. Every instinct in you tried to pull you back to him, but you had to press on.

The heated building began to thaw you out, but it was nothing compared to him. You didn’t stop until you got to the elevator, the curb thankfully out of view to keep you from running right back outside.

Every moment, every feeling, it all came crashing down on you all at once. Right there inside the moving metal box. You had to lean against the wall to catch yourself.

What a night.

~~~~

Your apartment was dark. The city lights still penetrated through your windows, illuminating select areas and helping your brain adjust, but you were still left fumbling for the light switch.

Your movements were almost robotic as you toed off your shoes, put away your food, closed the curtains, and made your way to the bedroom. You plopped your purse down and stared at yourself in the mirror.

Okay, I’m wearing the dress, so none of that was a dream.

You changed into your nightwear and took a seat on the couch, blankly turning on the TV and letting the white noise fill the space.

Your mind was so overwhelmed with how much the two of you had spoken, yet it still didn’t feel like enough. By the end of it all, you still wished it didn’t have to end.

You brushed your fingers over your cheek, where the invisible indent of his hand still remained. Warm, strong, and soft – that’s how his hands felt. Just the memory of them had your skin tingling again.

Magic. It was the only word that could describe the night. Something about it all was just pure magic.

You sighed. You’d never been more eager to see someone again. To feel that enchanting bliss again. It seemed so foolish, yet you couldn’t help yourself. You lifted up your phone – it’d definitely be too much to message him now, no matter how much you wanted to. Some self-control had to be practiced.

You elected instead to put on Golden Girls, your muscles relaxing as the familiar score began to play. You reached over to your side table and pick up your most recent read: Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand. Funnily enough, the story involved a new love for the titular character.

But for the first time in a while, the pages went on without you. You made it through the first few pages before the train derailed. The words were there, your eyes moved over them, but you weren’t encoding a single one. Your mind’s eye projected those eyes, that suit, the gorgeous smile, all over the page.

You shook your head. Maybe if this chapter involved Jasmina rather than the discomforting country club group, it would apply more to your mind’s incessant stick to the topic of romance.

“Sorry, Major,” you whispered as you closed the book. “Even you can’t compete right now.”

The girls were chatting over cheesecake when you picked up your phone again, scrolling aimlessly until you decided the only way to calm yourself down enough to go to bed was to expel everything.

The phone only rang twice before Harley picked up, skipping every pleasantry and going right into the, “Tell me everything.”

~~~~

Luke turned to the next page in his book, readjusting in the chair as he did so.

The apartment had been quiet, blanketed in the yellow glow of Din’s floor lamp since Grogu fell asleep. The perfect backdrop to get engrossed in a book and forget where he was.

The one thing to break his trance was the gentle rustling of the front door. Luke looked up and checked his phone – the 11:55pm timestamp had him slightly recoiling in disbelief.

When Din walked through the door, Luke closed his book and gave him a smile.

“Welcome back,” he said, “How’d it go?”

Din shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it on the sofa. He plopped down, leaned on his knees, and ran his hands through his hair with a sigh. When he sat back up, Luke noted the flush in his cheeks, the shine in his eyes, and couldn’t help grinning.

“That good, huh?”

Din shook his head.

“I don’t even know what happened. She’s… just incredible.”

Luke had never seen Din like this. Sure, he was quiet, but this was fully tongue-tied. A blissful tone was evident in his worn-out voice.

As quick as it came, though, it vanished. Din’s expression narrowed.

“Wait, how long has he been asleep?”

Ah. Dad mode was back.

“A few hours,” Luke said with a shrug. “It is almost midnight.”

Din straightened up.

“What? I was gone that long?”

“It’s okay, Mr. Djarin, he’s completely fine.”

“I’ve never missed bedtime on a day off. Are you sure he was okay?”

“Yes,” Luke said, moving to sit next to Din on the sofa. “I promise, he’s great. Besides, he goes to bed at eight. Even if you were home earlier, there’s no way you’d have been back that early.”

Din leaned back until he collided with the backrest, slightly shaking his head.

Luke internally sighed. Just when he thought the guilt would stay away…

He turned in his seat to face Din and got his attention with a hand to his shoulder.

“Mr. Djarin, listen to me. I want you to think about how you felt being out tonight. How you felt being on that date.”

Din eyed Luke before turning his gaze to his lap.

“You don’t have to say anything – just think.”

Din closed his eyes, his chest slowly inflating and deflating with deep breaths.

In the time he’d known Din, Luke had never seen him do anything for himself. Everything he ever did, he did for Grogu. It was hard to see him like this, almost punishing himself for the smallest deviation.

The best way out of this for now, Luke reasoned, was to reframe it in a way that included Grogu.

“Now, don’t you think Grogu would enjoy hearing about those feelings? Won’t it be nice to tell him all about this tomorrow?”

Din’s gaze rose back up to him.

“You’ll see for yourself, he’s going to love that you went out and did so much. He is going to love seeing you happy.”

Din gave a small nod, though there was still a hint of doubt in his expression. He sat up and let out a puff of air.

“Can I ask you something, Luke?”

Luke straightened up with a nod.

“Why are you helping me so much?”

“What do you mean?” Luke asked.

“I mean, I don’t understand why you’ve gone out of your way to do so much for me. Especially with all this date stuff.”

What an innocent soul he was. Luke smiled and shrugged.

“Because I want to.”

“But… why?”

Din looked genuinely puzzled. On the one hand, it was endearing, but on the other, Luke couldn’t help wondering why it was so hard for him to accept that people would just want to help him.

“Believe it or not, Mr. Djarin,” he started, “spending this much time together has made us friends. Friends help each other. If I needed something, we both know you’d be there for me. It’s the same both ways.”

Din’s expression relaxed a bit. A small grin pulled at his lips.

“Well, friend, I’m sorry to have kept you here all night.”

The swell of warmth that came from hearing Din call him a friend was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Luke gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“No worries, pal. I’m really glad you had such a good night.”

Din gave him a wider smile.

“You were right about getting there early,” he chuckled, “I did need the extra time.”

Luke laughed.

He sat back and listened as Din relayed parts of the night, pride growing within him with every moment, every story, every little hint of bashfulness and glee on Din’s face.

A happy Din was quite the sight to behold.

****

Additional notes: Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson is one of my favorite books ever. Full stop. It's a beautiful, skillfully told story about an old man finding new meanings in life. The characters are so flushed out and amazing and they just tug at your heart. I am very picky about writing style and I just gotta say, Helen's is one of the most talented writers I've read. Only something like this date could've derailed my mind from her gorgeous words!!

latch taglist: @the-scandalorian @tobealostwanderer @captain-jebi @prismaticpizza @sunipostsstuff @jaa1682-27 @onebrownoneblue @kesskirata @fangirlalexia @tortles @girlofchaos @spideysimpossiblegirl @just-a-sewer-goblin @kotemorons @hotchlover @keldabe-kr

[l3m0nflavoredst1mz]

Got got one like the last one but could you do a spilling a huge container of beads onto your bed ?? Preferably with gifs of anger

beads on ur bed stimboard

😡 🌈 🛏️

🎨 😡 🎨

🛏️ 🌈 😡

[luveline]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧

Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k] 

c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isn’t good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

Fall 

Peter Parker is a resting place for overworked eyes, like warm topaz nestled against a blue-cold city. He waits on you with his eyes to the screen of his phone, clicking the power button repetitively. A nervous tic. 

You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet he’s heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand. 

“Good morning!” You pull your coat on quickly. “Sorry.” 

“Good morning,” he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. “Should we go?” 

You follow Peter out of the cul-de-sac and into the street as he drops his phone into a deep pocket. To his credit, he doesn’t check it while you walk, and only glances at it when you’re taking your coat off in the heat of your favourite cafe: The Moroccan Mode glows around you, fog kissing the windows, condensation running down the inner lengths of it in beads. You murmur something to do with the odd fog and Peter tells you about water vapour. When it rains tonight, he says it’ll be warm water that falls. 

He spreads his textbook, notebook, and rinky-dink laptop out across the table while you order drinks. Peter has the same thing every visit, a decaf americano, in a wide brim mug with the pink-petal saucer. You put it down on his textbook only because that’s where he would put it himself, and you both get to work. 

As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and can’t help wondering what it is that’s missing. Something is, something Peter won’t tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, he’s busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could. 

Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. “I wish I had more time,” he says. 

“It’s fine,” you say, “you can’t help it.”

“We’ll do something next weekend,” he says. The lie slips out easily. 

To Peter it isn’t a lie. In his head, he’ll find the time for you again, and you’ll be friends like you used to be. 

You press the end of your pencil into your cheek, the dark roast, white paper and condensation like grey noise. This time last year, the air had been thick for days with fog you could cut. He took you on a trip to Manhattan, less than an hour from your red-brick neighbourhood, and you spent the day in a hotel pool throwing great cupfuls of water at each other. The fog was gone just fifteen miles away from home but the warm air stayed. When it rained it was sudden, strange, spit-warm splashes of it hammering the tops of your heads, your cheeks as you tipped your faces back to spy the dark clouds. 

Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere you’d never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet. 

You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip. 

He feels you watching and meets your eyes. “I have to tell you something,” he says, smiling shyly. 

“Sure.” 

“I signed us up for that club.” 

“Epigenetics?” 

“Molecular medicine,” he says. 

The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. It’s still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. It’s gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peter’s bag and sort through his jumble of possessions —stick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodega’s worth of protein bars— and grab his camera. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,” you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder. 

“Technically, I signed us up a few days ago,” he says. 

You snap his photo as his mouth closes around ‘ago’, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. “Semantics,” you murmur. “And molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?”

“It has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.”

“I like oncology,” you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, “and I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.” 

“I can’t go without you,” he says. Simple as that. 

He knew you’d say yes when he signed you up. It’s why he didn’t ask. You’re already forgiven him for the slight of assumption. 

“When is it?” you ask, smiling. 

—

Molecular medicine club is fun. You and a handful of ESU nerds gather around a big table in a private study room for a few hours and read about the newer discoveries and top research, like regenerative science and now taboo Oscorp research. It’s boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going. 

He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks you’re not looking. Only when she isn’t either. 

—

“Good morning,” you say. 

Peter holds an umbrella over his head that he’s quick to share with you, and together you walk with heads craned down, the umbrella angled forward to fight the wind. Your outermost shoulder is wet when you reach the caf��, your other warm from being pressed against him. You shake the umbrella off outside the door and step onto a cushy, amber doormat to dry your sneakers. Peter stalks ahead and order the drinks, eager to get warm, so you look for a table. Your usual is full of businessmen drinking flat whites with briefcases at their legs. They laugh. You try to picture Peter in a suit: you’re still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back. 

“Tell the joke,” he says, slamming his coffee down. He’s careful with yours. He’s given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers. 

“I was thinking about you as a businessman.” 

“And that’s funny?” 

“When was the last time you wore a suit?” 

Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesn’t know. Later, you’ll remember his Uncle Ben’s funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you don’t remember yet. “When was the last time you wore one?” he asks. “I don’t laugh at you.” 

“You’re always laughing at me, Parker.” 

The cafe isn’t as warm today. It’s wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. There’s no fog but a sad rattle of rain, not enough to make noise against the windows, but enough to watch as it falls in lazy rivulets down the lengths of them.

Your face is chapped with the cold, cheeks quickly come to heat as your fingers curl around your mug. They tingle with newfound warmth. When you raise your mug to your lips, your hand hardly shakes.

“You okay?” Peter asks. 

“Fine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?” 

“Don’t think so. Did you ask nicely?” 

“I did.” You’d called him last night. You would’ve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it —you don’t want Peter’s help, you just wanted to see him. 

Looking at him now, you remember why his distance had felt a little easier. The rain tangles in his hair, damp strands curling across his forehead, his eyes dark and outfitted by darker eyelashes. Peter has the looks of someone you’ve seen before, a classical set to his nose and eyes reminiscent of that fallen angel weeping behind his arm, his russet hair in fiery disarray. There was an anger to Peter after Ben died that you didn’t recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didn’t matter —he was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice again— until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears. 

His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like he’s up late. If he is, it isn’t to talk to you. 

You spend an afternoon working through your equations, pretending to understand until Peter explains them to death. His earphones fall out of his pocket and he says, “Here, I’ll show you a song.” 

He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Should’ve Come Over. It feels like Peter’s trying to tell you something —he isn’t, but it feels like wishing he would. 

“You okay?” you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less. 

“I’m fine, why?” 

You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. “You look tired, that’s all. Are you sleeping?” 

“I have too much to do.” 

You just don’t get it. “Make sure you’re eating properly. Okay?” 

His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest you’ll ever get. “You know May,” he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, “she wouldn’t let me go hungry. Don’t worry about me.” 

—

The dip into depression you take is predictable. You can’t help it. Peter being gone makes it worse. 

You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when it’s dark and you know it’s a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New York’s not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You can’t count how many times you’ve heard the same story. A man followed me home, saw me across the street, tried to get into my apartment, but Spider-Man saved me. 

You’re not naive, you realise the danger of walking around without protection assuming some stranger in a mask will save you, but you need to get out of the house. It goes on for weeks. 

You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you don’t really care. You’re not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and it’s fine, really, it’s okay, everything works out eventually. It’s not like it’s all because you miss Peter, it’s just a feeling. It’ll go away. 

“You’re in deep thought,” a voice says, garnering a huge flinch from the depths of your stomach.

You turn around, turn back, and flinch again at the sight of a man a few paces ahead. Red shoulders and legs, black shining in a webbed lattice across his chest. “Oh,” you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, “sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry? I scared you.”

“I didn’t realise you were there.” 

Spider-Man doesn’t come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. You’ve never met before but you’d like to see him up close, and you aren’t scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival. 

“Can I walk you to where you’re going?” Spider-Man asks you. He’s humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot. 

“How do I know you’re the real Spider-Man?” 

After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldn’t want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible. 

You can’t be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. “What do you need me to do to prove it?” he asks. 

He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. “I don’t know. What’s Spider-Man exclusive?” 

“I can show you the webs?” 

You pull your handbag further up your arm. “Okay, sure. Shoot something.” 

Spider-Man aims his hand at the streetlight across the way and shoots it. He makes a severing motion with his wrist to stop from getting pulled along by it, letting the web fall like an alien tendril from the bulb. The light it produces dims slightly. A chill rides your spine. 

“Can I walk you now?” he asks. 

“You don’t have more important things to do?” If the bitterness you’re feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesn’t react. 

“Nothing more important than you.” 

You laugh despite yourself. “I’m going to Trader Joe’s.” 

“Yellowstone Boulevard?” 

“That’s the one…” 

You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. It’s a short walk. Trader Joe’s will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and you’re in no hurry. “My friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.” 

“And you’re going just for him?” Spider-Man asks. 

“Not really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.” 

“Do you always walk around by yourself? It’s late. It’s dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,” he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match. 

“I like walking,” you say. 

Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, he’s running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. You’re having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man you’re walking beside now.

”Is everything okay?” he asks. “You seem sad.” 

“Do I?” 

“Yeah, you do.” 

“Maybe I am sad,” you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joe’s already in view. It really is a short walk. “Do you ever–” You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, “Do you ever feel like you’re alone?” 

“I’m not alone,” he says carefully.

“Me neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.” 

He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking you’re being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world,” he says. “Even here. I forget that it’s not something I invented.” 

“Well, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?” You smile sympathetically. “It must be hard.” 

“Yeah.” His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then there’s a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. “I’ll come back,” he says. 

“That’s okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.” 

He sprints away. In half a second he’s up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away. 

You buy Peter’s chips at Trader Joe’s and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesn’t come back. 

—

I don’t want to study today, Peter’s text says the next day. Come over and watch movies? 

The last handholds of your fugue are washed away in the shower. You dab moisturiser onto your face and neck and stand by the open window to help it dry faster, taking in the light drizzle of rain, the smell of it filling your room and your lungs in cold gales. You dress in sweatpants and a hoodie, throw on your coat, and stuff the rolled tortilla chips into a backpack to ferry across the neighbourhood. 

Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. You’d been in awe of it when you were younger, Peter and his Aunt and Uncle, their home-cooked family dinners, nights spent on the roof trying to find constellations through light pollution, stretched out together while it was warm enough to soak in your small rebellion. Ben would call you both down eventually. When you’re older! he’d always promise. 

Peter’s waiting in the open door for you. He ushers you inside excitedly, stripping you out of your coat and forgetting your wet shoes as he drags you to the kitchen. “Look what I got,” he says. 

The Parker kitchen is a big, bright space with a chopping block island. The counters are crowded by pots, pans, spices, jams, coffee grounds, the impossible drying rack. There’s a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida. 

You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven you’ve eaten from a hundred times. “There,” he says. 

“Did you cook?” you ask. 

“Of course I didn’t cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. I’m an excellent chef.” 

“The only thing May’s ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.” 

“Hope you like marinara,” he says, nudging you toward the stove. 

You take the lid off of the Dutch oven to unveil a huge cake. Dripping with frosting, only slightly squashed by the lid, obviously homemade. He’s dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries. 

“It’s for you,” he says casually. 

“It’s not my birthday.” 

“I know. You like cake though, don’t you?” 

You’d tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. “Why’d you make me a cake?” 

“I felt like you deserved a cake. You don’t want it?” 

“No, I want it! I want the cake, let’s have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, it’ll be amazing.” You don’t bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. “Thank you, Peter. It’s awesome. I had no idea you could even– that you’d even–” You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. “Wow.” 

“Wow,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. “You’re welcome. I would’ve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.” 

“It must’ve taken hours.” 

“May helped.” 

“That makes much more sense.” 

“Don’t be insolent.” Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesn’t let go for a really long time. 

He extracts the cake from the depths of the Dutch oven and cuts you both a slice. He already has ice cream, a Neapolitan box that he cuts into with a serrated knife so you can each have a slice of all three flavours. It’s good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.

“Sit down,” he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. “Remote’s by you. I’m gonna get drinks.” 

You take your plate, carving into the cake with the end of a warped spoon, its handle stamped PETE and burnished in your grasp. The crumb is soft but dense in the best way. The ganache between layers is loose, cake wet with it, and the frosting is perfect, just messy. You take another satisfied bite. You’re halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back. 

“I brought you something too, but it’s garbage compared to this,” you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth. 

Peter laughs at you. “Yeah, well, say it, don’t spray it.” 

“I guess I’ll keep it.” 

“Keep it, bub, I don’t need anything from you.” 

He doesn’t say it the way you’re expecting. “No,” you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, “you can have it. S’just a bag of chips from Trader–”

“The rolled tortilla chips?” he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. “You really are the best friend ever.” 

“Better than Harry?” 

“Harry’s rich,” Peter says, “so no. I’m kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.” 

“Eat your own.” 

Peter plays a great host, letting you choose the movies, making lunch, ordering takeout in the evening and refusing to let you pay for it. This isn’t that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesn’t check his phone, the tension you couldn’t name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. You’re flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You won’t look a gift horse in the mouth; you won’t question what it is that had Peter keeping you at arm’s length now it’s gone.

To your annoyance, you can’t stop thinking about Spider-Man. You keep opening your mouth to tell Peter you talked to him but biting your tongue. Why am I keeping it a secret? you wonder. 

“Have something to tell you.” 

“You do?” you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw. 

“Is that surprising?” 

“Is that a trick question?” 

“No. Just. I’ve been not telling you something.” 

“Okay, so tell me.” 

Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. “Me and Gwen, we’re really done.” 

“I know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.” Your stomach pangs painfully. “Unless you…”

“She’s going to England.” 

“She is?” 

“Oxford.” 

You struggle to sit up. “That sucks, Peter. I’m sorry.” 

“But?” 

You find your words carefully. “You and Gwen really liked each other, but I think that–” You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. “That there’s always been some part of you that couldn’t actually commit to her. So. I don’t know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe it’ll break your heart, but at least then you’ll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.” You avoid telling him to move on. 

“It wasn’t Gwen,” he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you. 

“Obviously, she’s the smartest girl I’ve ever met. She’s beautiful. Of course it’s not her fault,” you say, teasing.

“Really, that you ever met?” Peter asks. 

“She’s the best girl you were ever gonna land.“ 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.” After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, “I think we were done before. I just hadn’t figured it out yet. Something wasn’t right.” 

“You were so back and forth. You’re not mean, there must’ve been something stopping you from going steady,” you agree. “You were breaking up every other week.”

“I know,” he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch. 

“Which, it’s fine, you don’t–” You grimace. “I can’t talk today. Sorry. I just mean that it’s alright that you never made it work.” You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, “Doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re never a bad person, Peter.” 

“I know. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. You don’t need me to tell you.” 

“It’s nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.” 

You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I should’ve said it the moment I got home. 

Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips. 

Good, because I have so much I’m keeping to myself.

You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned. 

— 

He visits with a whoop. You don’t flinch when he lands —you’d heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby. 

“Spider-Man,” you say. 

“What’s that about?” 

“What?” 

“The way you said that. You laughed.” Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. He’s got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but it’s not as though each of his fights are bloodless. They’re infamously gory on occasion.

“Did you get hurt?” you ask. You’re worried. You could help him, if he needs it. 

“Aw, this? That’s a scratch. That’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.” 

You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and it’s not like you and Peter made it up, but suddenly, the man in front of you is Peter. The way he says it, that unique rhythm. 

Peter’s not so rough-voiced, you argue with yourself. Your Peter speaks in a higher register, dulcet often, only occasionally sarcastic. Spider-Man is rough, and cawing, and loud. Spider-Man acts as though the ground is a suggestion. Peter can’t jump off the second diving board at the pool. Spider-Man rolls his shoulders back in front of you with a confidence Peter rarely has. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Sorry. You just reminded me of someone.” 

His voice falls deeper still. “Someone handsome, I hope.” 

You take a small step around him, hoping it invites him to walk along while communicating how sorely you want to leave the subject behind. When he doesn’t follow, you add, “Yes, he’s handsome.” 

“I knew it.”

“What do you look like under the mask?”

Spider-Man laughs boisterously. “I can’t just tell you that.” 

“No? Do I have to earn it?” 

“It’s not like that. I just don’t tell anyone, ever.” 

“Nobody in the whole world?” you ask. 

The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps that’s all November’s are destined to be. You and Spider-Man stick to the inside of the sidewalk. Occasionally, a passerby stares at him, or calls out in Hello, and Spider-Man waves but doesn’t part from you. 

“Tell me something about you and I’ll tell you something about me,” Spider-Man says. “I’ll tell you who knows my identity.” 

“What do you want to know about me?” you ask, surprised. 

“A secret. That’s fair.” 

“Hold on, how’s that fair?” You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. “What use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesn’t bring me any closer to the truth.” 

“It’s not about who knows, it’s about why I told them.” Spider-Man slips around you, forcing you to walk on the inside of the sidewalk as a car pulls past you all too quickly and sends a sheet of dirty rainwater up Spider-Man’s side. He shakes himself off. “Jerk!” he shouts after the car. 

“My secrets aren’t worth anything.”

“I doubt that, but if that’s true, that makes it a fair trade, doesn’t it?” 

He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, “Alright, useless secret for a useless secret.” 

You think about all your secrets. Some are odd, some gross. Some might make the people around you think less of you, while others would surely paint you in a nice light. A topaz sort of technicolor. But they aren’t useless, then, so you move on. 

“Oh, I know. I hate my major.” You grin at Spider-Man. “That’s a good one, right? No one else knows about that.” 

“You do?” Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy. 

“I like science, I just hate math. It’s harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.” 

Spider-Man doesn’t drag the knife. “Okay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.” He clears his throat. “I told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. I’m trying really hard not to tell anybody else.”

“How come?” 

“It just hurts people.” 

You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road. 

“Tell me another one,” he says. 

“What for?” 

“I don’t know, just tell me one.” 

“How do I know you aren’t extorting me for something?” You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. “You’ll know my face and my secrets and even if you tell me a really gory juicy one, I have no one to tell and no name to pair it with.” 

“I’m not showing you anything,” he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street. 

Peter’s shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesn’t ask for secrets. He doesn’t have to. (Or, he didn’t have to, once upon a time.) 

“Where are you going?” Spider-Man asks. 

“Oh, nowhere.” 

“Seriously, you’re out here walking again for no reason?” 

“I like to walk. It’s not like it’s dark out yet.” You’re not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden —Flushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. “Walk me to Kissena?” you ask. 

“Sure, for that secret.” 

You laugh as Spider-Man takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. It’s exciting that Spider-Man of all people wants to know one of your useless secrets enough to ask you twice. The attention of it makes searching for one a matter of how fast you can find one rather than a question of why you’d want to. It slips out before you can think better of it. 

“I burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,” you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. “It blistered and I cried when I did it, but I haven’t told anyone about it.” 

“Why not?” he asks. 

He shouldn’t use that tone with you, like he’s so so sorry. It makes you want to really tell him everything. How insecure you feel, how telling things feels like asking for someone to care, and half the time they don’t, and half the time you’re embarrassed. 

You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. “I didn’t think about it at first. I’m used to keeping things to myself. And then I didn’t tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldn’t make sense. Like, bringing it up when it’s a scar won’t do much.” It’s a weak lie. It comes out like a spigot to a drying up tree. Glugs, fat beads of sound and the pull to find another thing to say.

“It was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.” 

“Maybe I’ll tell someone tomorrow,” you say, though you won’t. 

“Thanks for telling me.”

The humour in spilling a secret like that to a superhero stops you from feeling sorry for yourself. You hide your cold fingers in your coat, rubbing the stiff skin of your knuckles into the lining for friction-heat. The rain has let up, wind whipping empty but brisk against your cheeks. Your lips will be chapped when you get home, whenever that turns out to be. 

“This is pretty far from Trader Joe’s,” he comments, like he’s read your mind. 

“Just an hour.” 

“Are you kidding? It’s an hour for me.” 

“That’s not true, Spider-Man, I’ve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,” —you try to meet his eyes despite the mask— “my heart in my throat. Weren’t you scared?”

“Is that the secret you want?” he asks. 

“I get to choose?” 

Spider-Man throws his gaze around, his hand behind his head like he might play with his hair. You come to a natural stop across the street from Kissena Park’s playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame. 

“If you want to,” he says. 

“Then yeah, I want to know if you were scared.” 

“I didn’t haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?” He shifts from one foot to the other. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it before. I wasn’t scared of the height, if that’s what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didn’t have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.” 

“When they lined up the cranes–”

“It felt like flying,” Spider-Man interrupts. 

“Like flying.”

You picture the weightlessness, the adrenaline, the catch of your weight so high up and the pressure of being flung between the next point. The idea that you have to just do something, so you do. 

“That’s a good secret.” You offer a grateful smile. “It doesn’t feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.” 

“So tell me another one,” he says. 

—

Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where you’d text him and he’d ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasn’t that you couldn’t like him, angry as he was; there’s always been something about his eyes when he’s upset that sticks around. You loathe to see him sad but he really is pretty, and when his eyelashes are wet and his mouth is turned down, formidable, it’s an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other. 

It was after. When he started sending Gwen weird smiles and showing up to the movies exhilarated, out of breath, unwilling to tell you where he’d been. Skating, he’d always say. Most of the time he didn’t have his skateboard. 

You’d only seen them kiss once, his hand on her shoulder curling her in, a pang of heat. You were curdled by jealousy but it was more than that. Peter was tipping her head back, was kissing her soundly, a fierceness from him that made you sick to think about. You spent weeks afterwards up at night, tossing, turning, wishing he’d kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person. 

You’d always held out for Peter, in a way. It was more important to you that he be your friend. You were young, and love had been a far off thing, and then one day you suddenly wanted it. You learned just how aching an unrequited love could be, like a bruise, where every time you saw Peter —whether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyone— it was like he knew exactly where to poke the bruise. Press the heel of his hand and push. The worst is when he found himself affectionate with you, a quick clasp of your cheek in his palm as he said goodbye. Nights spent in his twin bed, of course you’ll fit, of course you couldn’t go home, not this late, May won’t care if we keep the door open —the suggestion that the door being closed might’ve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you. 

Now you’re nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasn’t tried to stop her, but he’s still busy. 

“Whatever,“ you say, taking a deep breath. You’re not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time won’t change a thing. “It’s fine.” 

“I’d hope so.” 

You swing around. “Don’t do that!”

Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. “I called out.” 

“You did?” 

“I did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesn’t know how to get a goddamn taxi!” 

“I like to walk,” you say. 

“Yeah, so you’ve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? It’s freezing out, Miss Bennett!” 

“It’s not that bad.” You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. “I’m fine.” 

“What’s wrong with staying at home?” 

“That’s not good for you. And you’re one to talk, Spider-Man, aren’t you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.” 

“I don’t do this every night.” 

“Don’t you get tired?”

Spider-Man’s eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. “No, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?” 

“I don’t know. You’re in a full suit, I can’t tell. I guess you don’t… seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.” 

“Want me to do one?” 

“On command?” You laugh. “No, that’s okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.” 

“So where are you heading today?” he asks. 

There’s a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. You’re surprised he can’t feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. “I can see your stubble.” 

He yanks his mask down. “Hasty getaway.” 

“A getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, that’s not very gentlemanly.” 

You start to walk toward the Cinemart. Spider-Man, to your strange pleasure, follows. He walks with considerable casualness down the sidewalk by your left, occasionally letting his head turn to chase a distant sound where it echoes from between high-rises and along the busy street. It’s cold and dark, but New York is hectic no matter what, even the residential areas. (Is there such a thing? The neighbourhoods burst with small businesses and backstreet sales, no matter the time.)

“Luckily for you, crime is slow tonight,” he says. 

“Lucky me?” You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. “You realise I’ve managed to get everywhere I’m going for the last two decades without help?” 

“I assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.” 

“That’s what you think. I was a super independent toddler.” 

Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. “Sure you were.” 

“Is there a reason you’re escorting me, Spider-Man?” you ask. 

“No. I– I recognised you, I thought I’d say hi.” 

“Hi, Spider-Man.” 

“Hi.” 

“Can I ask you something? Do you work?” 

Spider-Man stammers again, “I– yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.” 

“I was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.” You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. “I couldn’t do what you do.” 

“Yeah, you could.” 

He sounds sure. 

“How would you know?” you ask. “Maybe I’m awful when you’re not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.” 

“No, you don’t. You’re not awful. Don’t ask me how I know, ‘cos I just know.” 

You try not to look at him. If you look at him, you’re gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. “Well, tonight I’m going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said he’d buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Benny’s. Have you tried that?” 

Spider-Man takes a big step. “Tonight?” he asks. 

“Yep, tonight. That’s where I’m going, the Cinemart.” You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. “Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna throw up.” 

“I can hear– something. Someone’s crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?” He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. “Bye!” he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof. 

Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. He’s lithe.  

Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than you’d agreed to meet. 

“Sorry!” he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. “God, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. You should beat me up. I’m sorry.” 

“What the fuck happened?” you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. “You’re sweating like crazy, your hair’s wet.” 

“I ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Don’t answer that. Fuck, do we have time?” 

You usher Peter inside. He pays for the tickets with hands shaking and you attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve. “You could’ve called me,” you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, “we could’ve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?” 

“Forget about my favourite girl? How could I?” He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. “Now shh,” he whispers, “find the seats, don’t miss the trailers. You love them.” 

“You love them–”

“I’ll get popcorn,” he promises, letting the door close between you. 

You’re tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle. 

You turn away and rush to find your seats. Hopefully, the popcorn line is ten blocks long, and he spends the night punished for his wrongdoing. My favourite girl. You laugh nervously into your hand. 

—

Winter 

Spider-Man finds you at least once a week for the next few weeks. He even brings you an umbrella one time, stars on the handle, asking you rather politely to go home. He offers to buy you a hot dog as you’re walking past the stand, takes you on a shortcut to the convenience store, and helps you get a piece of gum off of your shoe with a leaf and a scared scream. He’s friendly, and you’re getting used to his company. 

One night, you’re almost home from Trader Joe’s, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, “Hey! Running girl! Wait a second!” 

Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You don’t know his name, but Spider-Man’s a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.

He jogs toward you. 

You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you. 

“Hey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?” 

You blink as fat rain lands on your face. 

“You okay?” Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. It’s sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s go,” —he takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside him— “it’s freezing!” 

“Peter–”

“Jesus Christ!” 

“Peter, what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building. 

Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly. 

“I wanted to see you. Is that allowed?” 

“No.” 

Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. “No?” he asks, a hair’s width from murmuring. 

“Shit, my groceries are soaked.” 

“It’s all snacks, it’s fine,” he says, pulling you to the stairs. 

You rush up the steps together to your floor. Peter takes your key when you offer it, your own fingers too stiff to manage it by yourself, and he holds the door open for you again to let you in. 

Your apartment is a ragtag assortment to match the one next door, old wooden furniture wheeled from the street corners they were left on, thrifted homeward and heavy blankets everywhere you look. You almost slip getting out of your shoes. Peter steadies you with a firm hand. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook, prying the damp hoodie over his head and exposing a solid length of back that trips your heart as you do the same. 

“Sorry I didn’t ask,” Peter says. 

“What, to come over? It’s fine. I like you being here, you know that.” 

All your favourite days were spent here or at Peter’s house, in beds, on sofas, his hair tickling your neck as credits run down the TV and his breath evens to a light snore. You try to settle down with him, changing into dry clothes, his spare stuff left at the bottom of your wardrobe for his next inevitable impromptu visit. You turn on the TV, letting him gather you into his side with more familiarity than ever. Rain lays its fingertips on your window and draws lazy lines behind half-turned blinds. You rest on the arm and watch Peter watch the movie, answering his occasional, “You okay?” with a meagre nod. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks eventually. “You’re so quiet.” 

Your hand over your mouth, you part your marriage and pinky finger, marriage at the corner, pinky pressed to your bottom lip, the flesh chapped by a season of frigid winds and long walks. “‘M thinking,” you say. 

“About?” 

About the first night in your new apartment. You got the apartment a couple of weeks before the start of ESU. Not particularly close to the university but close to Peter, your best, nicest friend. You met in your second year of High School, before Peter got contacts, ‘cos he was good at taking photographs and you were in charge of the school newspapers media sourcing. You used to wait for Peter to show up ten minutes late like clockwork, every week. And every week he’d barge into the club room and say, “Fuck, I’m sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,” until it turned into its own joke. 

Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited. 

“Fuck,” he’d said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, “sorry. My last class is on–”

But he didn’t finish. You’d laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasn’t about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you. 

But Peter’s been distant for a while now, because Peter’s Spider-Man. 

“Do you remember,” you say, not willing to share the whole truth, “when you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?” 

“So you didn’t need me,” he says. 

“I was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.” 

Peter holds your gaze. “Is that really what you were thinking about?” 

“Just funny,” you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. “So much has changed.” 

“Not that much.” 

“Not for me, no.” 

Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. He’s found a crack in you and he’s gonna smooth it over until you feel better. You’re expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but you’re not expecting the way he pulls you in —you’d slipped away from him as the evening went on, but Peter erases every millimetre of space as he slides his arm under your lower back and ushers you into his side. You hold your breath as he hugs you, as he looks down at you. It’s really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. He’s never looked at you like this before.

“I don’t want you to change,” he whispers. 

“I want to catch up with you,” you whisper back. 

“Catch up with me? We’re in the exact same place, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know, are we?” 

Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. “Of course we are.” 

Peter… What is he doing? 

You let yourself relax against him. 

“You do change,” he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, “you change every day, but you don’t need to try.” 

“I just… feel like everyone around me is…” You shake your head. “Everyone’s so smart, and they know what they’re doing, or they’re– they’re special. I don’t know anything. So I guess lately I’ve been thinking about that, and then you–”

“What?” 

You can say it out loud. You could. 

“Peter, you’re…” 

“I’m what?” he asks. 

His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again. 

If you're wrong, he’ll laugh. And if you’re right, he might– might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like it’s gonna put you to sleep. 

He’s Spider-Man. 

It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course it’s Peter. It explains so much about him, about Peter and Spider-Man both. Why Peter is suddenly firmer, lighter on his feet, why he can help you move a wardrobe up two flights of stairs without complaint; why Spider-Man is so kind to you, why he knows where to find you, why he rolls his words around just like Pete. 

Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesn’t tell you much, but you trust him. 

You won’t make him say anything, you decide. Not now. 

You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter. 

“I was thinking about you,” he says. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re quieter lately. I know you’re having a hard time right now, okay? You don’t have to tell me. I’m here for you whenever you need me.” 

“Yeah?” you ask.

“You used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldn’t be home to make sure I wasn’t alone.” Peter’s breath is warm on your forehead. “I don’t know what you’re worried about being, but I’m with you,” he says, “‘n nothing is gonna change that.” 

Peter isn’t as far away as you thought. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

He kisses your forehead softly. Your whole world goes amber. He brings his hand to your cheek, the thought of him tipping your head back sudden and heart-racing, but Peter only holds you. You lose count of how many minutes you spend cupped in his hand. 

“Can I stay over tonight?” he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain. 

“Yeah, please.” 

His thumb strokes your cheek. 

—

Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as you’ve craved, and Spider-Man disappears. 

He’s alive and well, as evidenced by Peter’s continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesn’t drop in on your nightly walks. 

You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peter’s increasing affection, but now that you know he’s Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you would’ve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know he’d do to you. After all, he’s been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parker’s ears. 

You find it hard to be angry with him. A thread of it remains whenever you remember his deception, but mostly you worry about him. Peter’s out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesn’t seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connors’ and got that huge gash in his leg. His leg is soiled deep red with blood but banded in white webbing. He limps as he races across a rooftop, the recording shaky yet high definition. 

It’s not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what he’d said, how he wasn’t scared, but not being scared doesn’t mean he wasn’t hurting. 

You chew the tip of a finger and click on a different video. Your computer monitor bears heat, the tower whirring by your thigh. Your eyes burn, another hour sitting in the same seat, sick with worry. You don’t mind when Peter doesn’t answer your texts anymore. You didn’t mind so much before, just terrified of becoming an irrelevance in his life and lonely, too, maybe a little hurt, but never worried for his safety. Now when Peter doesn’t text you back you convince yourself that he’s been hurt, or that he’s swinging across New York City about to risk his life.

It’s not a good way to live. You can’t stop giving into it, is all. 

In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesn’t lift his mask, seemingly aware of his watcher. You laugh as he angles his head down, suspicion in his tight shoulders. He relaxes when he sees whoever it is recording. 

“Hey,” he says, “you all right?” 

“Should you be up there?” the person recording shouts. 

“I’m fine up here!” 

“Are you really Spider-Man?” 

“Sure am.” 

“Are you single?” 

Peter laughs like crazy. How you didn’t know it was him before is a mystery —it couldn’t sound more like him. “I’ve got my eye on someone!” he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when he’s Spider-Man lost to a good mood.  

Your phone rings in the back pocket of your jeans. You wriggle it out, nonplussed to find Peter himself on your screen. You click the green answer button. 

“Hello?” Peter asks. 

You bring the phone snug to your ear. “Hey, Peter.” 

“Hi, are you busy?” 

“Not really.” 

“Do you wanna come over? I know it’s late. Come stay the night and tomorrow we’ll go out for breakfast.” 

“Is Aunt May okay with that?” 

“She’s staring at me right now shaking her head, but I’m in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?” 

“She’s always allowed as long as you keep the door open.”

You laugh under your breath at May’s begrudging answer. “Are you sure she’s alright with it?” you ask softly. “I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You never, ever could be. I’m coming to your place and we’ll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?” 

“Not yet, but–”

“Okay, I’ll make you something when you get here. I’ll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?” 

“I have to shower first.” 

“Twenty five?” 

You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing you’re not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. “How about I’ll see you at seven?” 

“It’s a date,” he says. 

“Mm, put it in your calendar, Parker.” 

—

Peter waits for you at the door like he promised. He frowns at your still-wet face as he slips your backpack from your shoulder, throwing it over his own. “You’re gonna get sick.” 

“I‘ll dry fast,” you say. “I took too long finding my pyjamas.” 

“I have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.” Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. “I would’ve waited,” he says. 

“It’s fine.“

“It’s not fine. Are you cold?” 

“Pete, it’s fine.” 

“You always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,” he laughs, “super stern.” 

“I’m not stern. Look, take me home, please, I’m cold.” 

“You said it wasn’t cold!” 

“It’s not, I’m just damp–” Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. “Handsy!”

“You like it,” he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments. 

“I don’t like it,” you lie. 

“Okay, you don’t like it, and I’m sorry.” Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. “Now let’s go. I gotta feed you before midnight.” 

“That’s not funny.” 

“Apparently, nothing is.” 

Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, you’ve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands. 

“I see Peter hasn’t won this argument yet,” you say in way of greeting. Peter’s desperate to do his own laundry now he’s getting older. May won’t let him. 

“No, he hasn’t.” She looks you up and down. “It’s nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me you’ve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Can’t you buy a treadmill?” she asks. 

“May!” Peter says, startled. 

“I like walking, I like the air,” you say.

“Can’t exactly call it fresh,” May says. 

“No, but it’s alright. It helps me think.” 

“Is everything okay?” May asks, putting her hand on her hip. 

“Of course.” You smile at her genuinely. “I think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I don’t know what Peter told you, but I’m not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.”

She softens her disapproving. “Good, honey. That’s good. Peter’s gonna make you some dinner now, right?” 

“Yeah, Aunt May, I’m gonna make dinner,” Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes. 

Peter shouldn’t really know that you’ve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joe’s or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you haven’t mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. That’s information he wouldn’t know without Spider-Man. 

He seems to be hoping you won’t realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that he’s about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. “Warm up,” he says near the back of your head, forcing a wave of shivers down your arms.

He makes soup in one pan, grilled cheese in the other, two for him and two for you. Peter’s a good eater, and he encourages the same from you, setting a big bowl of tomato soup (from the can, splash of fresh cream) down in front of you with the grilled cheese on a plate between you. You eat it in too-hot bites and try not to get caught looking at him. He does the same, but when he catches you, or when you catch him, he holds your eye and smiles. 

“I can do the dishes,” you say. You might need a breather. 

“Are you kidding? I’m gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.” Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. “Warmer. Good job.” 

You shrug away from his hand. “Loser.” 

“Concerned friend.” 

“Handsy loser.” 

”Shut up,” he mumbles. 

As flustered as you’ve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When he’s done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed. 

You look down at your socks. Peter’s room is on the smaller side, but it’s never been as startlingly small as it is when Peter’s socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy. 

“There’s chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,” he says. 

You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think you’re in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. “I’m all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go ’cos you think I do then I’m fine.” 

“That’s such a long answer,” he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. “You don’t have to say all of that, just tell me no.” 

“I don’t want ice cream.” 

“Wasn’t that easy?” he asks. 

“Well, no, it wasn’t. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.” 

“Because I’m adorable?” 

“Persistent.” 

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands. 

“Peter…?” you murmur. 

“What?” he murmurs back. 

You touch a knuckle to his chest. “This– You…” Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once —Peter doesn’t like you as you desire, how could he, you aren’t beautiful like he is, aren’t smart, aren’t brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. It’s why his being with Gwen didn’t hurt; she made sense. And for months now you’ve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But it’s not you, it’s never you, and whatever Peter’s trying to do now–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, taking your face into his hand. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What?” He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. “I can’t hear you.”  

You raise your voice. “Why did you invite me over tonight?” 

“‘Cos I missed you?” 

“I used to think you didn’t miss me at all.” 

Peter winces, hurt. “How could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? It’s like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.” 

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. “…College isn’t hard for you.” 

“It’s not easy.” He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. “What’s wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?” 

You’re being wretched, you know, saying it isn’t hard for him. “You didn’t. Really, you didn’t.” 

“But why are you upset?” he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.

“I’m not–”

“You are. It’s okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?” He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. “Even if it takes a long time.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine.”

“How would you know?” you finally ask. 

Peter stares at you. 

“I know you,” he says carefully, “and I know you aren’t struggling like you were, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.” 

“I didn’t realise that I was,” you say, licking your lips, “‘til now. I didn’t get that it was on the surface.”

Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. “I’m here for you forever, and I’ll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,” he says, scrunching your shirt in his hand.

After the hug, he tells you to change and make yourself comfortable while he showers. So you put on your pyjamas and climb into Peter’s bed, head pounding as though all your energy was stolen in a fell swoop. You press your nose to his pillow and arm wrapped around his comforter, gathering it into a Peter sized lump. The shower pump whines against the shared wall. 

Things aren’t meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you —holding you— was the deepest of your desires, but you feel now exactly as you had before he started blurring the line, needing Peter to kiss you so badly it becomes its own kind of nausea. Why are you still acting like it’s an impossibility?

When he comes back, you’ll apologise. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but don’t you keep one too? He’s Spider-Man. You’ve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept. 

You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.

Peter returns as perturbed as earlier. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck. 

“I’m sorry for being weird.” 

“You’re not weird,” Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly. 

“It’s just ‘cos things have been different between us.” And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because you’re not just Peter anymore, you’re Spider-Man. I’m only me, and I can’t do anything to protect you.

Peter gives his hair a long scrub before draping the towel on his desk chair. He rakes it messily into place and sits himself at the end of the bed. You sit up. 

“Yeah, they have been. Good different?” he asks hesitantly. 

“I think so,” you say, quiet again. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“I don’t want you to feel like I don’t want to be here. I just worry about you.” 

Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, “Jesus, please don’t. That’s the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.” 

You curl into the lump of comforter you’d made. Peter lets himself rest beside you, his back to the bedroom wall, tens of Polaroids above him shining with the light of the hallway and his orange-bulbed lamp. His skin is glowing like it’s golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupid’s bow deep. How would it feel to lean forward and kiss him? To catch his Cupid's bow under your lips?

You brush a damp curl tangled in another onto his forehead. 

You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs. 

“Am I going too fast?” Peter murmurs. 

You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely. 

“Is it something else?” 

You don’t move. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks. 

“No.”

Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. “Alright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. You’re still cold.” 

You resent the loss of a shape to hold when Peter slips down beside you and wrangles the comforter flat again, spreading it out over you both, his hand under the blankets. His knuckles brush your thigh. 

He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, “Is this alright?” 

“Yeah.” 

He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. “Please don’t take this in a way that I don’t mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry you’re gonna get stuck in your head forever.” 

“I like thinking.” 

“I hate it,” he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, “we should never do it ever again.” 

“I’ll try not to.” 

“Would you? For me?” 

You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. “I’ll do my best.” 

“Good. I’d miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.” 

You relax under his arm. You aren’t sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. “I’d miss you too.”

May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. He’s holding your arm, and you’re snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms. 

“Door open,” she says. 

“Not that either of us want it closed, May, but we’re adults.” 

“Not while I’m still washing your clothes, you’re not.” 

He snorts. “Goodnight, Aunt May. The door isn’t gonna close, I promise.” 

“I know that,” she says, scornful in her pride. “You’re a good boy.” She lightens. “Things are going okay?” 

Peter covers your ear. “Goodnight, Aunt May.” 

”I have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I can’t ask a simple question?” 

“I love you,” Peter sing-songs. 

“I love you, Peter,” she says. “Don’t smother the girl.” 

“I won’t smother her. It’s in my best interest that she survives the night. She’s buying my breakfast tomorrow.” 

“Peter Parker.” 

“I’m kidding,” he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. “Just messing with you, May.” 

You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers.  

—

To your surprise, Spider-Man comes to find you after class one evening. A guest lecturer had talked to your oncology class about click chemistry and other molecular therapies against cancer, and the zine book she’d given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it. 

You pull it out and pause beside a bench and a silver trash can, the day grey but thankfully without rain. The pages of your little book whip forcefully in the wind. It’s chemistry, sure, but it’s biology too, wrapping your and Peter’s interests up neatly. If it weren’t for Peter you doubt you’d love science as much as you do. He’s always been good at it, but since you started college he's been a genius. Watching him grow has encouraged you to work harder, and understanding the material is satisfying, if draining. You take a photo of the middle most pages and tuck the book away, writing a quick text to Peter to send with it. 

Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!! 

The moment you press send a beep chimes from somewhere close behind you, all too familiar. You turn to the source but find nobody you know waiting. Coincidence, you think, shaking yourself and beginning the trek to the subway. 

But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Man’s webbing. 

You wait until you’re at the alleyway between Porto’s Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters. 

“Spider-Man?” you ask, shoulders tensed in case it’s not who you think. 

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You gasp as he hops down in front of you, his suit shiny with its dark web-pattern caught by the grey sunshine passing through the clouds overhead. “Shit, don’t break your ankles.” 

“My ankles?” He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you don’t know; what a fool you’d been for falling for his put upon tenor. “They’re fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?” 

“You just dropped down twenty feet!” 

“It’s more like thirty, and I’m fine. You understand the super part of superhero, don’t you?” 

“Who said you’re a superhero?” 

“Nice. What are you doing down here?” 

“I was testing my theory. You’re following me.” 

“No, I’m visiting you, it’s very different,” he says confidently. 

“You haven’t come to see me for weeks.” 

“Yes, well, I–” Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. “Hey, you’re the one who told me to take a day off.” 

“I did tell you to take a day off. It’s not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. That’s a lot of responsibility for one person to have.” 

“But it’s my responsibility,” he says easily. “No point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I don’t mind it.” 

“Do you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?” you ask, cheeks hot. 

“No,” he says, fondness evident even through the mask, “just you.” 

“Do you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but it’s not that far.” 

Spider-Man nods. “Yeah, I’ll walk you back.” 

He doesn’t hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You can’t believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he can’t pretend to save his life. 

“Are you having a good semester?” he asks. 

“It’s getting better. I’m glad I stuck with it. I love biology, it’s so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, it’s not something everyone understands.” You give him a look, and you give into temptation. “My best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.” 

“It’s definitely for dorks.” 

“Right, but I love being one.” You offer a useless secret. “I like to think that it’s why we’re such great friends.” 

“Me and you?” Spider-Man asks hoarsely. 

“Me and Peter.” You elbow him without force. “Why, do you like science?” 

“I love it…” 

“You know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like we’ve been friends for a long time.” You’re teasing poor Peter. 

He doesn’t speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise he’s stopped, you turn back to see him. 

Peter’s gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. It’s the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didn’t want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: you’d meant to wind him up, not make him panic. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Can you hear something?” 

“No, it’s not that…” He’s masked, but you know him well enough to understand why he’s stopped. 

“It’s okay,” you say. 

“It’s not, actually.” 

“Spider-Man.” You take a step toward him. “It’s fine.”

He presses his hands to his stomach. The sun is setting early, and in an hour, the dark will eat up New York and leave it in a blistering cold. “Do you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?” 

“Yeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. It’s not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.” 

“I know you were,” he says, emphasis on know, like it’s a different word entirely. 

“But meeting you really helped. If it weren’t for you, for Peter,” —you give him a searching look— “I wouldn’t feel better at all.” 

“It wasn’t his fault?” he asks. “He was your friend, and you were lonely.” 

“No–”

“He didn’t know what was going on with you, he didn’t have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldn’t tell anybody, and I know it wasn’t an accident, so what was his excuse?” His voice burns with anger. “It’s his fault.” 

“Of course it wasn’t your fault. Is that what you think?” You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. “Yes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I don’t know many people and I– I– I hurt myself, and it wasn’t as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?” 

“Peter’s fault,” he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesn’t bother enthusing it with much gusto. 

“Peter, none of it was your fault.” You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, don’t let me ruin this. “I was in a weird way, and yes, I was lonely, and I really liked you more than I should have. You didn't want me and that wasn’t your fault, that’s just how it was, I tried not to let it get to me, just there were a lot of things weighing on me at once, but it really wasn’t as bad as you think it was and it wasn’t your fault.” 

“I wasn’t there for you,” he says. “And I’ve been lying to you for a long time.” 

“You couldn’t tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.” 

“…I didn’t even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.” 

You hold your hands behind your back. “Well, he was a familiar one.” 

Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms aren’t in his reach. “It’s not because I didn’t want you.” 

“Peter,” you say, squirming. 

He steps back. 

“I have to go,” he says. 

“What?” 

“I have to– I don’t want to go,” he says earnestly, “sweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But I’ll come back, I’ll– I’ll come back,” he promises. 

And with a sudden lift of his arm, Peter pulls himself up the side of a building and disappears, leaving you whiplashed on the sidewalk, the sun setting just out of view.

—

You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isn’t there. You check your phone but he hasn’t texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasn’t been seen. 

You aren’t sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said he’d come back, but he didn’t, not ten minutes later, not twenty. You made excuses and you went home before it got too dark to see the street, sat on the couch rehearsing what you’d say. How could Peter think your unhappiness was his fault? Why does he always put the entire world on his shoulders?

Selfishly, you worried what it all meant for his lazy touches. Would he want to curl up into bed with you again now he knows what it means to you? It’s different for him. It isn’t like he’s in love with you… you’d just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache you’d suffered before. 

But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time. 

—

You and Peter found The Moroccan Mode in your senior year at Midtown. The school library was small and you were sick of being underfoot at home. When you started at ESU, you explored the on campus coffeehouse, the Coffee Bean, but it was crowded, and you’d found yourself attached to the Mode’s beautiful tiling, blues and topaz and platinum golds, its heavy, oiled wooden furniture, stained glass lampshades and the case full of lemony treats. The coffee here is better than anywhere else, but the best part out of everything is that it’s your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose. 

You hide in a far corner with a book and an empty cup of decaf coffee, a slice of meskouta on the table untouched. Decaf because caffeine felt a terrible idea, meskouta untouched because you can’t stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. It’s served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest. 

The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time you’ve seen it in months, warming rays kissing your fingers and lining the walls. You turn a page, turn your wrist, let the sun warm the scar you gave yourself those few months ago, when everything felt too big for you. 

Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon you’ll be ready to talk about it.  

The author in your book is talking about bees. They can fly up to 15 miles per hour. They make short, fast motions from front to back, a rocking motion. Asian giant hornets can go even faster despite their increased mass. They consider humans running provocation. If you see a giant hornet, you’re supposed to lay down to avoid being stung. 

You put your face in your hand. Next year, you’ll avoid the insect-based electives. 

Across the cafe, the bell at the top of the door rings. Laughter falls through it, a couple passing by. The register clashes open. A minute later it closes. 

You don’t raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee. 

“Did you eat breakfast?” Peter asks quietly. 

His voice is gentle, but hoarse. 

You tense. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. “You don’t look like yourself. Your eyes are red.” 

You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur. 

“What are you reading?” He frowns at you. “Please don’t cry.” 

You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. “I’m okay.” 

He nudges you across the booth seat and sits beside you. His arm settles behind your shoulders. He smells like smoke and soap, an acrid scent barely hidden. “Can you tell me you didn’t wait long for me?” 

“Ten minutes,” you lie. 

“Okay. I’m sorry. There was a fire.” He rubs your arm where he’s holding you. “I’m sorry.” 

“Will you go half?” you ask, nodding to the sandwich he’s brought you. It’s tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. You’ve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating. 

“I know you’re hungry,” you say, tapping his elbow, “just eat.” 

You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peter’s here, you don’t feel so sick —he’s not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach won’t be ignored. 

Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. You’ve never seen him stop before he’s done.

“It was in the apartments on Vernon. I– I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.” 

You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. “Are you hurt?” you ask, coughing. 

He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. “How long have you known it was me?” he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck. 

You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. “The night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ‘running girl’. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,” —you whisper, weary of the quiet cafe— “Spider-Man, and I realised it’s him that sounds like you. That he is you.” 

“Was that disappointing?” 

“Peter, you’re, like, my favourite person in the world,” you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. “Why would that be disappointing?” 

“I thought maybe you think he’s cooler than me.” 

“He is cooler than you, Peter.” You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. “I guess you’re the same person, right? So he’s just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.” 

“You flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.”

“Well, he flirted with me first.” 

You chance a look at his face. From that moment you can’t look away, not from Peter. You like when he wears that darkness in his eyes, the hint of his rarer side so uncommonly seen, but you love this most of all, Peter like your best memory, the way he’s looking at you now a picture perfect copy of that moment in a swimming pool in Manhattan with cracked tile under your feet. His arms heavy on your shoulders. You didn’t get it then, but you’re starting to understand now.

“I’ve made a mess of everything,” he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. “I haven’t been honest with you.” 

“I haven’t, either.” 

“I want to ask you for something,” Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. “You can say no.” 

“You’re hard to say no to.” 

“I need you to talk to me more,” —and here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your space— “not just because I love your voice, or because you think so much I’m scared you’ll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.”

We do, you think morosely. 

“It’s not your fault,” he adds, the hand that isn’t holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, “it’s mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldn’t have let it be a secret for so long.” 

“No, I doubt they’re stupid,” you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. “It’s not easy to tell someone you’re a hero.”

His palm smells like smoke. 

“That’s not the secret I meant,” he says. 

You take his hand from your face. Peter looks down and begins pressing his fingers between yours, squeezing them together as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.

“So tell me.”

The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. “You want to trade secrets again?” he asks. 

“Please.” 

“Okay. Okay, but I don’t have as many as you do,” he warns. 

“I find that hard to believe.” 

“I don’t. It’s not a real secret, is it? I’ve been trying to show you for weeks, we…”

He tilts his head invitingly. 

All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isn’t a secret.

“I’ll go first,” he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks.” He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. “What’s your secret?” 

“Sometime I want you to kiss me so badly I can’t sleep. It makes me feel sick–”

“Sick?” he asks worriedly. 

You touch the tip of your nose to his. “It’s like– like jealousy, but…” 

“You have no one to be jealous of,” he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, “Please, can I kiss you?” 

You say, “Yes,” very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldn’t be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.

It isn’t the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesn’t hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. It’s so warm you don’t know what to make of him beyond kissing him back —kissing his smile, though it’s catching. Kissing the line of his Cupid’s bow as he leans down. 

“I’m sorry about everything,” he mumbles, nose flattened against yours. 

You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. It’s still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peter’s hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest. 

Peter drops his hand. “Oh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didn’t snow, we’d be blind.”

“I can’t be cold much longer,” you confess. “I’m sick of the shitty weather.” 

“I can keep you warm.” 

He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown. 

“Did you want my meskouta?” you ask. 

Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow. 

You let the sunshine warm your face. Two unfinished sandwich halves, a mouthful of coffee, and a round slice of meskouta, its flaky crumb and lemon drizzle shining on the table. You would ask Peter for his camera if you’d thought he brought it with him, to take a picture of your breakfast and the carved table underneath. You could turn it on Peter, say something cheesy. This is the moment you ruined our lives, you’d tease.

“You never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.” 

You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. “They could make a novella of things I haven’t told you about,” you murmur wryly. 

Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, we’ll work on that. 

—

Spring

“Sorry!”

“No, it’s–”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m– shit!”

“–okay! All legs inside the ride?”

“I couldn’t find my purse–”

“You don’t need it!” Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. “You don’t have to rush.” 

“Are you sure you can drive this thing?” 

“Harry doesn’t mind.” 

“I don’t mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?” 

“That’s not funny.” 

You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. “Nothing ever is with us.” 

Peter grabs you behind the neck —which might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thing— and pulls you forward for a kiss you don’t have time for. “If we don’t check in,” —you begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lips— “by three, they said they won’t keep the room–” He clasps the back of your neck and smiles when your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes closed, kiss him fiercely, and pull away, hand on his chest to restrain him. “And then we’ll have to drive home like losers.” 

Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. You’re rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. “Sorry, am I the one who lost her purse?” 

“Peter!” 

“I can’t make us un-late,” he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips. 

“Alright,” you warn. 

He reaches for your knee. “It’s a forty minute drive. You’re panicking over nothing.” 

“It’s an hour.” 

Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peter’s hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesn’t question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. There’s so much to do around Manhattan; you could visit MoMA, Central Park, The Empire State Building or Times Square, but you and Peter give it all a miss for the little known Manhattan Super 8. 

It’s been a long time since you and Peter first visited. You took the bus out to Lenox Hill for a med-student tour neither of you particularly enjoyed, feeling out future careers. It’s not that Lenox Hill isn’t one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), it’s that all the blood made him queasy, and you were panicking too much about the future to think it through. He got over his aversion to blood but chose the less hands-on science in the end, and you worked things through. You’re a little less scared of the future everyday. 

You and Peter were supposed to get the bus straight back home for a sleepover, but one got cancelled, another delayed, and night closed in like two hands on your neck. Peter sensed your fear and emptied his wallet for a night in the Super 8. 

The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasn’t anything special but it was invitingly cool, blue and white tiles patterned like fish below; you clambered into the water in shorts and a tank top and Peter his boxers before a worker could see and stop you. 

It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, he’d looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, you’re cute, and let you waste the afternoon recounting one of your more embarrassing pangs of longing. A few days later he told you to clear your calendar for the weekend, only spilling the beans on what he’d done when you’d curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me. 

He’d hung his head over you and scrunched up his eyes. Cheater.

The best thing about having a boyfriend is that he always wants to listen to you. Peter was a good listener as a best friend, but now he has his act together and the secrets between you are never anything more than eating the last of the milk duds or not wanting to pee in front of him, he’s a treasure. There’s no feeling like having Peter pull you into his lap so he can ask about your day with his face buried in your neck, sniffing. Sometimes, when you text one another to meet up the next day, you’ll accidentally will the hours away babbling about school and life and things without reason. Peter has a list on his phone of your silliest tangents; blood oranges to the super moon, fries dipped in ice cream to the world record for kick flips done in five minutes. It’s like when you talk to one another, you can’t stop. 

There are quiet moments. You wake up some mornings to find him awake already, an arm behind you, rubbing at your soft upper arm, fingertip displacing the fine hairs there and trailing circles as he reads. He bends the pages back and holds whatever novel he’s reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when you’re sleeping. 

There are hectic, aching moments —vigilante boyfriends become blasé with their lives and precious faces. You’ve teetered on the edge of anxiety attacks trying to pick glass from his cheek with a tweezers, lamented over bruises that heal the next day. It’s easier when Peter’s careful, but Spider-Man isn’t careful. You ask him to take care of himself and he’s gentle with himself for a few days, but then someone needs saving from an armed burglar or a car swerves dangerously onto the sidewalk and he forgets. 

He hadn’t patrolled last night in preparation for today. 

“Did you know,” he says, pulling Harry’s borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, “that today’s the last day of spring?” 

“Already?” 

“Tonight’s the June equinox.” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Aunt May. She said it’s time to get a summer job.” 

You laugh loudly. “Our federal loans won’t last forever.” 

“Harry’s gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.” 

You nod emphatically. It’s barely a thought. “Obviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?” 

Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. “Better than the Bugle.” 

You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. It’s not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. There’s a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel he’s ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain. 

“There it is, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, “that’s what dreams are made of.” 

The blue and white tiled pool. It hasn’t changed. 

It’s about as hot as it’s going to get in June today, and, not knowing if it’ll rain tomorrow, you and Peter change into your swim suits and gather your towels. You wear flip flops and tangle your fingers, clanking and thumping down the rickety metal stairs to the pool. There’s nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes. 

Peter eases in first. Towels in a heap at the end of a sun lounger, his shirt tumbling to the floor, Peter splashes in frontward and turns to face you as the water laps his ribs. “It’s cold,” he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs. 

“I can feel it,” you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge. 

“You won’t come in and warm me up?” he asks. 

You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers. 

“I’m trying to prepare myself.” 

“Mm, you have to get used to it.” He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that he’d want one still makes you dizzy. “Thank you,” he says. 

“You’ll have to move.” 

Peter steps back, a ripple of water ringing behind him, his hands raised. He slips them with ease under your arms and helps you down into the water, laughing at your shocked giggling —he’s so strong, the water so cold. 

Peter doesn’t often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. He’ll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when you’re on his side to force you sideways. 

“Oh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!” he says. 

“How will I run?” you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck. 

Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that he’s precious with you, too. There’s devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. “I don’t need you to do a running start, sweetheart,” he says, tilting his head to the side, “I’ll just lift you.” 

“Last time I laughed so much you dropped me.” 

“Exactly, you laughed, and this is serious.” 

The world isn’t mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8’s parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peter’s breath is half laughter as he pulls you further from the sidelines, ceramic tiles slippery under your feet. In the distance, you swear you can hear one of those songs he likes from that poor singer who died in the Wolf River. 

He’s a beholden thing in the sun; you can’t not look at him, all of him, his sculpted chest wet and glinting in the sun, his eyes like browning honey, his smile curling up, and up. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says. 

You rest an arm behind his head. “The rash guard is a good look?” 

“Sweetheart, you couldn’t look cuter,” he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. “I wish you’d mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I would’ve prepared to be a more decent man.” 

“You’re decent enough, Parker.” 

“Maybe now.” 

“Well, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,” you say. 

You’re teasing, but Peter’s eyes light up with mischief as he calls, “Oh, great idea!” and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You can’t avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface. 

He shakes himself off like a dog. 

“Pete!” you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes. 

“It just didn’t help,” he says, pulling you back into his arms, “you know, the water is cold, but you’re so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and you’re just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds ago–”

“Peter,” you say, tempted to roll your eyes. 

Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile he’s sporting, they look like anything but tears. “Tell me a secret?” he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back. 

A soft smile takes your lips. “No,” you say, tipping up your chin, “you tell me one first.”

“What kind of secret?” 

“A real one,” you insist. 

“Oh…” He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. “Okay, I have one. Ask me again.” 

You raise a single brow. “Tell me a secret, Peter.” 

He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. “I love you,” he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose. 

You’re lucky he’s already holding you. “I love you too,” you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. “I love you.” 

Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You can’t know what he’s thinking, but you can feel it. His hands can’t seem to stay still on your skin. 

The sun warms your back for a time. 

Peter lets out a deep breath of relief. You lean away to look at him, your hand slipping down into the water, where he finds it, his fingers circling your wrist. 

“That’s another one to let go of,” he suggests. 

He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye. 

You and Peter swim until your fingers are pruned and the sun has been blanketed by clouds. You let him wrap you in a towel, and kiss your wet ears, and take you back to the room, where he holds your face. 

“I’ll start the shower for you,” he says, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, each stroke of them encouraging your face from one side to the other, just a touch, ever so slightly moved in the palms of his hands. 

“Don’t fall asleep standing up,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes close unbidden to you both. “I won’t.” 

He holds you still, leaning in slowly to kiss you with the barest of pressure. Every thought in your head fades, leaving only you and Peter, and the dizziness of his touch as he lays you down at the end of the bed. 

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat —thank you for reading❤︎

[dilf-c0nn0isseur]

soft, gentle sex with logan howlett x fem!reader

NSFW!

a/n: just a short little smut scenario where we get to see soft, lovey logan:) enjoy!

With Logan, there were two ways he would fuck you-

Rough; his primal and animalistic urges showing as he pounded you, profanities slipping through his lips, teeth grazing those sensitive spots on your body that never failed to turn you into a moaning, quivering mess.

And the other, well, that's how he made love to you tonight.

You had just gotten out of the shower, a white towel wrapped snug around your body, hair still dripping small beads of water down your back. You pushed the door to the bedroom open where you saw Logan lying on the bed. One hand was folded behind his head, the other draped across his exposed chest. Upon seeing you enter, his eyes dragged slowly up your body, taking every inch of you in visually. He opened his arms up, an invitation to come lay with him.

"C'mere Bub," he said.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

You smiled softly as you crossed the room and flopped down onto the bed next to him, towel still hugging your frame. Logan immediately scooped you up in his arms. He held you against his chest on top of him. You watched as he leaned in and took in a whiff of your freshly washed hair. "Smell so good," he mumbled against your neck. One of his hands traced up and down your back and back up to your hair where he entangled his fingers, gently rubbing your scalp.

"That feels so good Lo," you sighed. "Could put me right to sleep."

He continued his massage. "How'd I end up with a woman as great as you?"

His compliment made you blush. He was so appreciative of you.

"And how'd I end up with The Wolverine being such a sweetheart to me?," you quipped back with a small smile as you raised your head up to look him in the eyes. He brought his other hand to your face and gently cupped your cheek with it, running a coarse thumb over your soft skin. "You're the only one who gets that sorta treatment princess."

He leaned up and planted a soft kiss against your lips to which you sighed. The friction of your body against his, your small frame compared to his larger, muscular one, made him melt. You felt a familiar hardened bulge against your thigh through his sweatpants.

"That cause of me?," you teased gently, acknowledging his boner.

He chuckled and pushed your hair behind your ears. "Y'know it Bub."

You sat up, legs now straddling him on either side. You gazed down at him as you loosened the towel around you, letting it slip off. His breath hitched in his throat and his boner grew somehow harder beneath you. His eyes drank in every inch of you, admiring you as if you were a Goddess who decided to bless him, out of everyone you could have, him.

"Beautiful."

His low, husky voice switched a flip inside of you. Warmth built up in your stomach. Your hand began to slid down to the waist band of his sweatpants, eager to pull out his length and get him inside of you, but you were stopped. Logan's hand was wrapped around your wrist. A confused look crossed your face.

"Not tonight, sweetheart. I wanna be able to hold you while I make love to you," he said. His hands grabbed your sides, gently, and rolled you over to where he was on top of you. In another swift movement, he removed his sweatpants, every inch of him now visible to you.

"I want you so bad Logan."

"If only you knew how bad I wanted you, princess."

You reached between your bodies, hand wrapping around his thick cock, earning a sharp inhale from Logan. He placed his hand over yours and helped guide himself to your entrance, now dripping wet. Feeling his tip slide between your folds forced a whimper out of you. "Tell me you want this," he whispered, bringing his forehead down to meet yours. You stared into his eyes, now only inches from his face. "Please, Logan. I want this."

With a low grunt, he began pushing inside of you, slowly. Your head fell back against the pillow. You loved it when he took his time with you like this. His cock was now halfway sheathed inside of you and you felt yourself stretch around him.

"God, you're so tight," he groaned.

"Give me all of it."

Logan leaned down and connected your lips in a slow, messy kiss as he thrusted his hips into you until you felt them make contact with your skin, indicating that his full length was now hidden deep inside of you. You moaned against his lips as you felt him push forward into the end of your cunt. That's how big he was. Able to fill up every inch of you. "That's music to my ears darlin'," he said with a deep exhale.

He began to thrust in and out of you, settling into a steady rhythm.

This sex was slow, yet it burned with passion. You could sense how bad he wanted you as he pushed as deep as he could with each thrust. Using one of his arms, he hitched your leg up around him, somehow giving him access to deeper thrusts.

Just when you thought it couldn't get better, you felt his thumb drag down your stomach and land on your swollen clit. You yelped as he placed pressure on it.

"Fuck, Logan, right there."

"I know."

And he did. He knew exactly what you wanted. Exactly what you needed.

His thumb began tracing circles around your clit, forcing a knot begin to build in your stomach. Your breasts rocked with each of his thrusts. Now, his lips were latched onto your nipple. He was sending waves of pleasure all over your body. "You're gonna make me cum," you said between a string of moans. He lifted his head so that his mouth was planting sloppy, wet kisses against your neck and collarbone. "Hold it Bub," he plead with you. "Let me finish with you."

You gave him a quick acknowledging nod and bit your lip. That knot grew tighter by the second, each thrust and circle of your clit threatening to unravel you. Your walls tightened around him and a deep, husky groan left his lips against your flesh. His thrusts started to become uneven.

"Fuck baby, let go. Let go with me."

With his permission, you gave into your orgasm, back arching up towards his toned body. With another couple of sporadic thrusts, you could feel him release his load into you.

In the peak of your shared climax, his free hand found yours and intertwined your fingers. He squeezed it tight as thrusted into you, pushing every last bit of his cum deep inside of you.

The two of you road out your orgasms to the very last second. Logan collapsed against you, his cock growing soft inside of your dripping pussy. You stroked his hair and sighed. "That was amazing," you whispered.

He wrapped you back up in his arms, holding you tight against him. All he wanted was to be close to you. "If that doesn't show how much I love you, I don't know what would."

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

oikawa fucking your throat while iwaizumi is in the room next door...

his hand is on the back of your head, keeping you from bumping into the bathroom cupboard every time he bottoms out. his pubes tickle your nose and you gag around his cock, making him to bite down on his lip in order to muffle the loud groan that's forcing its way up his throat.

he doesn't pull out.

he strokes your cheek with his free hand instead, a sick smile playing on his lips as he stares down at you. "y'have to be quiet, baby... or iwa is going to hear you, okay?"

beads of sweat form above his brows, his cheeks are dusted pink and his voice is raspier than ever and it's easy to forget the ache in your knees when you get to see him unraveling like this in front of you.

his hair is a mess, too – just before coming in here, he had his head on your lap, quietly purring as you played with his soft curls. iwaizumi was sat at the other end of the couch, his eyes glued on the tv screen where the movie oikawa himself had chosen.

you think this was his plan all along – to pick a film his friend would love so he could toy with you instead.

iwaizumi didn't notice the way oikawa kept kneading your thighs as he laid there on top of you, how his fingers inched further between your legs with every breath he took. iwaizumi didn't notice the way oikawa kept squirming, or the way he kept trying to readjust his pants.

(or at least, you think iwaizumi missed it all.)

you tried to make him stop, your body burning from his teasing touch. glancing over at iwaizumi, you were glad to never meet his gaze – like a statue he was, eyes set forward as if was built that way. maybe he really did just like the film so much..

oikawa knows that's not the case.

he knows the film is the last thing on iwaizumi's mind right now.

he has seen the way he looks at you sometimes, how iwaizumi flushes a pretty shade of dark pink whenever he happens to see you bending over. or when you sit a little too close to him by accident – oikawa doesn't mind, he can tell you're not doing it on purpose. it's not like iwaizumi is doing any of it on purpose either; the way he screws his eyes shut after catching himself staring at you while your boyfriend, his best friend, is in the same room. he feels bad, he feels awful about having these thoughts. these filthy ideas.

but he really can't help it.

oikawa isn't making it any easier for him either; he's constantly all over you and while iwaizumi knows that he is very touchy, the eye-contact oikawa makes with him as he's pressing a kiss just below your jaw cannot be anything other than him trying to push iwaizumi's buttons.

he hates how much hotter your reactions make the whole thing, too. the way your eyes meet his for a mere second before shying away. oikawa can only laugh to himself as you try to shove him off of you, knowing full well that if you really wanted him to stop, you'd tell him. you want the attention as much as oikawa does and it shows.

and oikawa is more than excited to give his best friend a deeper look into your relationship.

so, here he is now – balls pressed against your chin as you drool and slobber all over his dick. he knows that iwaizumi is listening, he can see the shadow from beneath the door. and that's turning him on even more.

oikawa cradles your jaw before giving his hips one more thrust, his blown wide eyes twinkling at the sight of your rolling back inside your head at the feeling of having your mouth so full. of having him so far deep your throat.

you hold back another gag as spit dribbles from the corners of your lips and it's making a big fucking mess – it's all over your chin and your neck, and your soft plush thighs. the shorts you're wearing are doing almost nothing to cover you up and with the way you're down on your knees right now, they seem to have disappeared entirely under the hem of your oversized shirt.

it's fucking hot.

oikawa watches the sticky liquid trickle between your legs and he can't but be proud of how big of a mess he's making in his friend's bathroom. he knows for a fact that iwaizumi's listening to you two right now, his ear probably pressed against the wooden door as he tries to memorize every sound that you make. every gag, every splutter of drool. oikawa wonders whether he's touching himself too, is he rubbing his bulge over his sweats or is he still trying to act normal. is he still trying to convince himself that he isn't a dirty fucking pervert, who's currently collecting masturbation material by creeping on his best friend and his beloved while they're having fun?

you tap on his thigh with a shaky hand and he pulls away in a second, his dick springing up and slapping against his tummy at the same time you take a desperate breath in. he chuckles at your ruined state.

the tears brimming at your lashline make you look like an angel and oikawa can't tear his eyes off of you. there's a shine to your swollen lips; it's a mixture of your own drool and his precum – his favourite.

you're still trying to catch your breath when you look up at him; his fingers are wrapped around his length, his fist meeting his full balls with every strong stroke he makes and this look, the layer of pleasure that's painted onto his pretty face is something you wish to burn into your memory forever.

when your eyes meet, oikawa gives you a darling smile before lunging at you, hunching over in order to smash his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss. keeping a steady pace on his cock, he grabs at your face as if he's afraid you'll fade away – he moans into your mouth, the salty residue on your tongue making his dick twitch in his hand.

the slick sounds of oikawa pumping himself and him trying to eat your face reverberate through the room andn suddenly you remember where you are.

your eyes grow big as you try to push at oikawa's chest.

"w– wait.. "

he grins while nipping at your jaw. "what's wrong, baby?"

his teeth brush over your pulse point and he doesn't waste a second before sinking them into your skin and sucking until he's rewarded you with the most gorgeous masterpiece in the world. all the best for his lover.

"haji– hajime's here... "

"no, it's just me, baby." a wave of goosebumps runs over your body when you feel him licking the fresh mark on your neck. "your boyfriend, tooru. remember?"

he laughs at his own joke, his head resting against yours as he pushes himself back up. oh, and how he wants to drop back down when he sees the glare you're giving him. "tough crowd, hm?"

oikawa coos at your scrunched up brows while brushing a finger over your pouty lips. "aw, don't worry, he's in the other room, okay? you're being so good for me, all quiet and pretty. my angel."

it's hard not to believe his sickly sweet words, the love in his eyes smoothing every pain and worry in your body with ease. you don't say anything else when he steps closer again, now replacing the finger on your lips with his sticky tip instead. "yeah?"

he cocks an eyebrow and you give him a nod. the corners of his lips stretch wider as he pumps his cock right above your face. "say 'aaaaaah' for me, baby."

this cocky side of him is something you've never been able to resist. it looks good on him. his own lips part alongside with yours when you present your mouth to him again and he doesn't even try to hold back the pornographic moan that spills from him at the feeling of your warm tongue sliding against the underside of his cock.

but while you're distracted by the heavenly sound of your boyfriend's overwhelming pleasure, you miss the creak of the bathroom door.

oikawa's eyes meet iwaizumi's ashamed ones through the slightest crack but neither of them make any effort to look away. oikawa is more than happy to finally see his best friend crumble and iwaizumi is mortified.

but he can't.

he can't move. he can't close the door. he can't stop staring.

oikawa's eyes fall down to your screwed shut ones, pride blooming in his chest when your nose touches his trimmed pubic hairs. head still shoved against the cupboard, he's the one in full control – your mouth is his, your body a perfect doll for him to play with. and he loves it.

you swallow around him and he lets out yet another heavenly moan. his hand is back on your cheek, his warm palm engulfing the side of your face in reassurance that while he's got the reigns, it's all done with love. your eyes crack open just as another few tears drop and oikawa's hips pick up the pace. he adores it when you hold his gaze; he thinks it's the most romantic thing in the world and so whenever you do it while taking him in your mouth, he just loses it.

quickly, he places his free hand behind your head again and then he's fucking your mouth like it's the only things he knows. back and forth, his cock slides in and out your tight, warm throat; the sounds that come from the act are just outright sinful, they're something a person could only hear in his dreams and oikawa doesn't know what he did to deserve a sweetheart like you.

it doesn't take a lot for him to sense his nearing orgasm, his body going rigid, tensing up as the knot in his lower tummy tightens and tightens.

iwaizumi is still there. oikawa doesn't need to look at him to know it.

from the corner of his eye he can see movement – so he is finally giving in. iwaizumi is stroking himself through the material of his sweats, his cock painfully hard as he watches oikawa fuck your mouth. he has never seen anything like this; maybe in some videos, sure, but seeing it with his own two eyes is completely different.

the sounds. the sweat. the drool.

the eye-contact you have with oikawa. the way he's holding you.

the fact that he hasn't told iwaizumi to 'fuck off' yet. the fact that he clearly wants him there, that he wants him to see this.

his own precum is starting to leak through his pants and it's embarrassing. but there's no stopping now. not when oikawa's hips are starting to stutter, not when you're starting to guide him to yourself by sinking your nails into the back of his thighs.

oikawa gives you second long breaks but you're handling it so well that iwaizumi begins to wonder how much you let him do this. would you ever let him—

he shakes his head to get rid of the thought, the idea of actually doing anything with you weighing heavily on his heart. and if sensing his inner turmoil, oikawa's raspy voice breaks him out from his head.

"fuck.. you- you'd like it if he did hear you, right?"

iwaizumi's eyes almost pop out of their sockets, his lips parting as panic flood his veins. based on the look on oikawa's face, he assumes that you don't agree with him – he's staring at you with that grin of his, the infuriating one, and iwaizumi prepares for him to pull out, so you can finally see what he's been doing. so you can see what kind of a man he really is.

but oikawa doesn't pull away, bottoming out instead. he takes a moment as if he's waiting for your answer – and when he gets one, the very same he knew would be the truth, his lips stretch even wider.

he doesn't need you to say it when he can read your body better than any other language in the world.

he sees the way your thighs press together. he feels your nails digging into his thighs harder than ever before. he knows his right.

like always.

"yeah... that's what i thought."

iwaizumi thinks he might pass out. his hands shake and the air he's breathing doesn't seem good enough – he's trying his best to not start panting like a dog but you not disagreeing with oikawa is a lot. you want him to hear? you want him to be a part of this?

you want.. him?

"want haji to see you like this, hm? want him to see how well you take me down your throat?"

iwaizumi thinks he might die actually.

oikawa chuckles when you blink up at him with tears in your eyes and coos at you when he takes his dick out of your mouth and you still don't say no. "my little star, yeah?"

you show him your tongue and he groan at the way you give yourself to him. he bottoms for the last time of the night, his messy balls pressed flushed against your drool-covered chin as you struggle to keep your eyes on him. "in— fuck— inside?"

humming around his cock, you give him the last push and then he's already spilling his seed down your hungry throat. you gag around him again, the feeling of cum suddenly flooding your mouth a bit too much. with a hand in your head, oikawa pulls away and watches you swallow as much of him as you can. the rest of it spills out from the corners of your lips and trickles down your chin and neck, successfully mixing with every other type of bodily fluid that's already coating your skin.

and then you give him a smile.

oikawa feels like his knees are going to give out as he throws his head back with a dramatic moan. "ohhh.... "

"what?"

his head snaps back to its place, his eyes finding yours in an instant while you slap a hand over your mouth.

your voice. it's almost completely gone, reduced down to a bare rasp by his relentless thrusts and his need to always give it his all, no matter what he's doing.

a sudden flash of shyness takes over, the tone coming from your mouth sounding so unfamiliar that it's almost impossible for you to accept that it is, in fact, yours. but when oikawa kneels down in front of you, his both hands now on your cheeks and when his heart filled eyes find yours, the feelings disappears.

he presses his lips against your forehead and you feel the fondness spread all over your body. "i love you so much, did you know that?"

his cheeks are still pink and despite the fact that just a minute ago, he was fucking your throat like it was his own personal fleshlight, he looks awfully cute with that bashful smile on his face.

oikawa nudges his nose against yours when you don't speak up again, only nodding your head with a tired smile.

"so cute."

the slap against his chest forces another burst of giggles out of your boyfriend but you're not mad. you do love him afterall. he pulls you into his chest and lets you rest for a minute before tugging you up and helping you clean yourself up.

iwaizumi is gone.

oikawa can only imagine the way his best friend is now shamefully changing out of his ruined sweats, the images of you and oikawa now forever engrained into his brain.

after oikawa carries you back to the couch, he snickers at iwaizumi and his fresh pair of pants. but that's all. nobody says anything – iwaizumi doesn't inquire about why you left him all alone and you don't ask about the flush on his cheeks.

oikawa is the only one that is sitting proudly between the two people he loves the most. his fingers dance over the sensitive skin of iwaizumi's nape while his other hand rests on your shoulder, holding you to him as you slowly doze off into your dreamland.

he's very happy about the progress you've all made today.

[gojorgeous]

"sure thing"

pairing: target!gojo x assassin!fem!reader summary: you've been hired to kill the satoru gojo. how will you pull it off... and what will you do when he figures it out? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, darkish content (all is well in the end), no established relationship, assassins/organized crime, blackmail, mention of a “suicide mission”, attempted murder (uhhhh), hidden identity, intended use of sex as a means to an end, mating press, unprotected sex, p->v, creampie, oral (fem!receiving), praise, pet names (gorgeous/sweetheart/baby), slight aftercare. a/n: me 🤝 describing gojo as having dimples welcome to my second 1k followers event fic! At this rate tho i’m going to hit 2k before i finish the 1k event LMAO. not that i'm complaining hehe. thank you for being patient and for all the support on my recent works! i really appreciate every ask, comment, follow, reblog, everything. they mean the world to me. check out the rest of my 1k event here. enjoy and remember that ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! creds: twitter template by @cafekitsune wc: 7.8k

“Who?!” 

No fucking way. There’s no way he just said what you think he said. 

“You heard me,” he scowls. He glares at you from across the desk. His seat is one of those cushy little office chairs, of course. Yours is plastic– cold and hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you hiss. There’s no other explanation for what he’s asking you to do. He’s lost his fucking mind. 

“We have a client willing to pay big money for this. Big money for just an attempt,” he answers. 

You laugh, but there’s absolutely nothing funny about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Probably because he’s practically invincible. I’ll never even lay a hand on him.” 

Your “boss”, for lack of a better term, only scowls harder, the wrinkles forming near his eyes etching deeper in his skin. “Well, you’d best find a way to make it work. You’re taking this job. That’s final.” You scoff. Maybe you should recommend he see someone… “No. There’s no way. I’m not doing this.” You stand, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Get someone else to go on your suicide mission.” You take a couple strides toward the door before two very large men move to block your path. 

“Not so fast,” your boss calls. You pause, eyeing up your competition. You could definitely take them if you needed to. You sense only a very faint amount of cursed energy coming from each of them– not even enough to make you blink– but something in your boss’s tone makes you turn back. 

“Yes?” You cross your arms over your chest, fingering a blade hidden in your breast pocket. 

He fiddles around in his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up right there in his office. You don’t try to hide the way your nose scrunches up. “You want to do this job.” 

Your eyes narrow. Something tells you you’re not going to like what comes next. “And why’s that?” 

He takes a long puff, letting the smoke flowing out of his lungs with a slow exhale. “Because otherwise that little brother of yours is gonna be…” he pauses to give you a smile that makes your stomach churn. “Hmm… a lot smaller, shall we say? Maybe in several limb sized pieces?”

You think your heart stops. Time halts as ice runs through your veins. Nobody knows about your brother. At least, they didn’t. 

Your boss’s smile grows even wider. In all your time as an assassin, you’ve never wanted to kill someone more. But you know you can’t. Just an attempt on his life will end your brother’s. 

“Don’t worry. He’s all tucked away and safe at home where you left him.” Just a tiny piece of your heart thaws with relief. “But try to run with him, or run yourself, and he won’t be safe much longer.” Your pulse pounds so viciously you’re sure everyone can hear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. “Now, will you accept the assignment?” 

Your jaw clenches. He got you. In all these years of working for him you’ve been careful, meticulous about hiding every piece of your personal life to avoid situations just like this. But he still got you. He got you. 

“Yes,” you breathe. You have no choice. You will either kill Satoru Gojo or you will die trying. 

“Good,” is all he says, and then you’re being escorted out of the office wondering where the hell you went wrong. 

~

It’s been three weeks since that fateful meeting with your boss. True to his word, your brother has remained unharmed, but you see his lackeys lurking around every corner. Neither you nor your brother are truly safe and you never will be again unless you can pull this off and then put together some plan to escape your boss’s clutches. 

You’ll fail. You know you will. The thought eats you up inside with every waking moment. 

You’ve done your best to learn every possible piece of information about Satoru Gojo in the past two weeks. You know you can’t tail him closely– he’d pick up on your cursed energy and notice your incessant presence, so you’ve had to study from a distance with only minimal moments of proximity. You know where he works, who he works with, what restaurants, bars, and clubs he frequents and what days of the week he tends to visit. You know what his order is at his favorite ramen restaurant, where he lives, what time he wakes up. Hell, you know what fucking brand of dish soap he uses. He lives a surprisingly… predictable lifestyle. He makes no attempt to switch up his schedule or cover his tracks. In any other situation he’d be every assassin’s dream, but this is Satoru Gojo and Satoru Gojo doesn’t need to worry about assassins– assassins need to worry about him.

It took you the first week to come up with a plan. You had no clue how you were going to get close to him, much less kill him, and his infinity technique was going to prove particularly problematic. How were you supposed to kill him when you couldn’t even touch him? You had to get him in a situation in which he would willingly let his guard down for you. 

You’d been on the subway when it hit you. Sex. You’d get him to have sex with you. If you could get him to take you home, he’d have to turn infinity off for at least a short time. That would be your time to strike. 

You’d spent the next two weeks primping yourself. You’d bought the most expensive dress you’d ever owned, got a mani-pedi, whitened your teeth, and spent a small fortune on makeup. Considering your circumstances, you thought your plan was quite a good one. You knew when he’d go out to the bar with his friends, which bar he’d go to, how long he’d stay, how he’d get a taxi home. You also knew when you’d arrive, how long you’d stay, and how you’d get a taxi with him– everything planned perfectly to best catch his attention. But for all your planning, there was still one thing you didn’t know. What kind of woman did Satoru Gojo go for? Someone submissive? Teasing? Aggressive? Playful? In all your time tracking him you’d never seen him take somebody home. It struck you as… odd. He was Satoru Gojo, renowned for his power, wealth, and good looks– surely he had women falling at his feet. Maybe he was just a little more… selective. If that was the case you’d have to be even quicker on your feet when you finally met him. And that time is now. 

You’re in your bathroom, checking your makeup one last time before heading out the door. Your brother sleeps soundly in the room down the hall, safe for the time being. You’ve contacted a friend, one who is at least willing to try to get him out if– when– you fail. You doubt it will be enough.

You make your way to his room. A quick peek inside reveals he’s snuggled up with a plushie elephant that he carries around like they’re attached at the hip. You creep inside, a sad smile on your lips. This may very well be the last time you see him. You brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the crown of his head. With one last whispered ‘I love you’, you’re out the door. If you linger, you won’t be able to go– and you have to. For him. 

The streets of Tokyo are cold tonight, like the weather knows what you’re about to attempt, like it’s preparing for death, for failure. For your failure.

The club you arrive at is upscale, and one where you’ve already tipped off the bouncer to let you bypass the line. You hear a few groans from the people behind you as you saunter straight inside. 

You’re conscious of every little move from the second you step inside. At any moment, he could see you and it could make or break your entire plan.

You press your shoulders back. You have a plan– stick to it. 

You make your way over to the bar, weaving your way between groups of people who are somewhere between giggling a little too loudly and tripping over their own feet. 

You find a free space at the bar and lean up onto your elbows, your eyes screening the bartenders. You smile when you see a familiar face. 

“Hey, Dean,” you call.

He turns and the sight of his friendly green eyes sets you a little more at ease. 

“Oh, shit. Hey!” He slings a towel over his shoulder and comes to stand across from you. “You’re back,” he says. You nod and smile softly. Ever since you’d determined this would be the place you’d been coming periodically, chatting up the bartenders. The last thing you needed was to stand around in a corner alone with seemingly no friends. That wouldn’t attract anyone, much less Satoru Gojo. 

Out of all the bartenders, Dean was your favorite– and you’d been oh so happy to learn that his schedule put him on every Friday night. 

“Yeah. Long day at work.” 

A smile pulls at his lips, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “The usual, then?” 

You nod solemnly. “That’d be great. Thanks.” 

You watch him prepare the drink for you, feeling a little bad that it’s all a lie. There’s no bad day at work, you didn’t just happen to come in here one day and strike up a conversation with him. All of this is premeditated, planned, and it feels… lonely. It feels lonely to know that on what is probably your last night on earth you are surrounded by people who only think they know you. 

“So, anything new happening?” Dean drops your drink in front of you and you have a feeling it’s filled with a little more vodka than he’s supposed to put in there. 

Your eyes shift around the bar as subtly as you can manage. As much as you want to seem like you fit in, you also need to find Gojo. It’s a fine balance. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess I just feel like a lot of things are going to be changing for me pretty soon.” 

His brows pull together and the look he gives you is one of genuine interest and concern. It makes your heart wrench. “How so?” 

You swallow. “Dunno. Just… everything.”

There’s a moment of silence and then the tapping of a finger on your glass. “Damn, girl. Drink up. You need it.” 

You can’t help but smile. You have a feeling that Dean would have been a good friend of yours in another life. 

You take his advice, though, and bring your drink to your lips and force a smile. You can’t be moping– not tonight. 

The next twenty minutes are spent with Dean. Even when he’s making other drinks he’s still chatting with you, still being a good… friend. You dread leaving your little haven at the bar. The time is coming when you’ll have to seek out your target.

You’re shocked when it’s the other way around. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” There’s a light brush on your shoulder and you turn. It takes all you have to keep your features schooled and calm. Satoru fucking Gojo just tapped your shoulder. 

Nothing prepared you for how handsome he is up close. All those days of research, of tracking and tailing– none of it does the real thing justice. Even with those stupid sunglasses inside… he’s fucking beautiful. “I’ll pay for all of your drinks tonight if you let me skip this hideous line,” he whines. 

You give yourself no more than a second to recover. You school your features into a smirk. You glance at Dean with an ‘is this okay?’ look. He just smiles and shrugs. 

You turn back to Gojo, bracing yourself this time for the beauty you’re about to face. You meet his gaze and know you could get lost in it. “Be my guest.” 

His smile nearly blinds you and his dimples nearly make you pass out. Still, you keep your cool. 

“Yesssss!” He looks like a puppy just offered a bone. 

He spills his drink order to Dean and it’s far more than could possibly be just for him. He’s here with his friends, then. Probably the blonde man who always looks too tired to be here and the girl with the brown hair who always seems like she’s just along for the ride. 

You bite your lip to hide a laugh when he orders himself two strawberry daiquiris. Somehow you still catch his attention. 

“What?” he pouts. You can’t help but feel a small stirring of surprise in your gut. He’s far more… relaxed than you’d expected him to be. He’s almost… childish? 

You press your lips together and shake your head. You’ve reached the point where your research can’t take you any further. From this point on, it’s up to you to discover what Satoru Gojo likes in a woman. 

You debate how to answer. Play coy? Tease him? Stay silent? Any option could be as correct as the next. You didn’t know where to start… so maybe you’d just start by being yourself. 

“Just, um… not the order I was expecting,” you laugh. It’s halfway genuine. With the way he’s acting, it’s hard to remember that he’s the most powerful man alive. 

His pout only intensifies. “Well, what’s your order?” 

His question is answered when Dean sets another cosmopolitan in front of you. You laugh. “Never said I was judging, just that it wasn’t what I expected.” 

Another smile tugs at his lips and something stirs in your gut that you try your very hardest to ignore. This was a job. There was no room for actually enjoying it. This man was probably going to kill you later, in a matter of hours. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then a slight shift in his demeanor. He leans closer and you see a twitch of his lips. Your heart jumps. 

“You’re a sorcerer,” he says. 

You hold back an exhale of relief. You thought he might be onto you. If he is, he’s choosing not to reveal it yet. 

You nod and take what you hope is a casual sip of your drink. “And you’re Satoru Gojo.” 

A brow arches high enough for you to see it over his sunglasses. “You know who I am?” 

You force a chuckle, smirking despite the pounding of your heart. “Who doesn’t?” 

You’d decided long ago to tell him that you knew exactly who he was. It would seem more suspicious for a fellow sorcerer to have no idea what the Satoru Gojo looked like. 

He flashes you a smile full of white and stupidly fucking perfect teeth. “That’s true, heh.” You press your lips together to avoid a smile. Not too humble, then… 

“So, what’s your technique” 

You shoot him a glance that questions his sanity. Asking a sorcerer what their technique is… is personal. It’s not information you give out to a rando at the bar– even if it is Satoru Gojo.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You take another sip of your drink, trying your hardest to remain somewhere on the border or interested and casual. 

“Bet I could find out.” 

That makes you turn fully, angling your body toward his. “Oh yeah? You challenging me to a fight?” You smirk and shake your head. “I’ll pass.” 

He pouts again, but you see a hint of a smile peeking through. “Aw, come on. That’s no fun…” 

You chuckle and take another sip of your drink. You’re not sure you’re sipping just for appearances anymore. You think you probably just need a little liquid courage to see this thing through. “Sorry. I value my life.” 

You watch as he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just enough for you to get a glimpse of what’s behind. You nearly choke again and this time you don’t manage to hide your nervous swallow when he smirks. 

“You’re so sure you’d lose?” His voice is teasing now and you hate that it’s actually having an effect on you. Job, job, job, just a job… 

You clear your throat. “I like to think I’m not stupid enough to think that I could win.” 

His eyes are blue– so fucking blue– and you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul. Can he see? Can he see your filthy intentions? Your plotting? The rottenness of what you’re going to do? “What if I promise to take it real easy on you?” 

Your drink is forgotten now. You’re lost in what he’s saying– in him. “No thanks.” Your voice is growing lower and you feel like there’s some magnet forcing you to lean into him, to seek his warmth. 

“So you like it rough, then.” The trance is broken and your blood runs hot. Holy shit. This man is flirting with you and you hardly even had to try. He's trying to take you home. Little does he know, you’re a sure thing. 

You watch as he throws back the rest of his strawberry daiquiri with a pleased “ahhh” at the end. When he turns back to you his eyes have a certain spark in them that makes your thighs press together. “You wanna dance with me?” 

Fuck. This is going too well to be real. But you’re not about to pass up a good deal. 

“What about your friends?” you ask and eye the several untouched drinks still left on the bar. It’s risky– giving him an out, but you can’t seem too eager.

He follows your gaze only to bounce his eyes straight back to you. “I’m sure they’ll get a look at ya and understand.” 

The smirk he’s giving you is making electricity shoot straight between your legs. Damn. You really wish you didn’t have to kill him– or at least try to. 

When he extends his hand you only hesitate for a second. Your heart leaps when you feel his skin on yours, knowing he’s let infinity down. He pulls you onto the dancefloor and it’s not long before he’s running his hands all over you– groping your ass, pinching your thighs, nipping at your neck. Pretty soon the dancefloor evolves to a dark corner of the club with his lips on yours and goddamn he’s a good kisser. You’ve got your fingers in his hair and his hand way too close to your boobs when he whispers those fateful words– “let’s get out of here.”

You can only hide your swallow and nod before he’s pulling you through the crowd, leaving the club behind. He hauls you both into the backseat of a taxi and the door’s barely closed before he’s all over you again. You think you hear the taxi driver mutter something about ‘staining the seats’ but you’re too far gone to give a shit. 

Fuck, he feels good. He’s kisses you like he’s starved and your lips are the fountain of fucking life, like he’s never felt something so good and now he can’t get enough. And, god, he’s handsy. You’re forever grateful to your past self for discreetly hiding your blade in your bra– he would have felt a holster on your thigh at least ten times over by now. 

He groans when you arrive at what you know is his apartment building, though you don’t let on that you recognize the place in the slightest. The look on his face makes you think he’s feeling actual physical pain at the prospect of having to peel away from you for even a second. Nonetheless, he tosses a wad of cash at the taxi driver and pulls you straight inside.

He can’t even wait for the elevator to come, groping your waist right there in the lobby and then when the elevator finally does come, shoving you up against the metal wall a licking stripe across your collarbone. 

You can’t deny how nice it feels to be so desperately… wanted. Never once has a man made you feel this way– so consumed by him, him, him. Once again you curse the universe that you’re here with a mission other than getting laid. 

You find yourself giggling when he pulls you out of the elevator and presses his palm to a fucking scanner to get into his apartment. You try to pull yourself together, but when he laughs with you, you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he’s got you up against another wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in your neck. His sunglasses are long gone and you pull at his shirt, popping the buttons straight off the fabric until you slide the shirt down his shoulders and onto the floor.

“That was Versace,” he whines. 

You plaster your lips to his. “I don’t care.” All he does is chuckle. 

“So gorgeous…” he breathes and your head slumps back against the wall, giving him better access to the soft skin of your neck. Any minute now. Any minute he’s going to start stripping your clothes off and you’re going to have to let this charade crumble. You don’t want to. He’s practically worshiping you. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, and you don’t want it to end. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and suddenly you’re moving again– moving, moving, moving until your back is bouncing against the softness of a mattress and you’re fucking giggling again like a lovesick idiot. Maybe you’d had a few too many sips of those cosmopolitans. 

He’s smiling as he crawls over you and the sight makes your heart flutter with both lust and terror. Lust because he’s so fucking beautiful and terror because you know that any moment now you’re going to attempt to end that beauty forever. 

A lump forms in your throat and you try unsuccessfully to swallow it. You have to do this, have to try. There’s no other way, no other option. Not for you.

Your thoughts must not have been as perfectly concealed as you’d thought because he quirks a brow. “Something goin’ on up here?” His lips slide across your temple in a touch that feels far too tender for a hookup. “Don’t worry, baby. It’ll fit.” He snickers at his own joke before burying himself in your neck. His hand slides down your side, pressing you up into him until you can feel every curve and cut of his muscles. 

You bite your lip. You’ve already slipped enough for him to notice your nerves– you can’t let it happen again. You have to do it soon. Now. As soon as you see an opportunity you have to strike. You have to. 

You arch up into him, scratching your fingers down his back, trying to seem as invested in the moment as you can. He gets greedier, leaving open-mouthed kiss down your neck, across your collarbone. You nearly freeze up when he kisses low into the valley of your breasts– as low as your dress allows. Then he moves over your clothes, kissing down your stomach as his hands rub your thighs. 

Now. Now, while he’s not looking.

You slide a hand into his hair and another up to your chest, trying to play it off like you’re touching yourself. You sneak your fingers into your bra, feeling the cool metal of your blade glide across your thumb. Now. 

You fist your fingers in his hair, holding his head down as best you can while you arc the blade toward his neck. Just one good hit, please… 

You think you’re going to strike true– you’re so close– and then a firm hand wraps around your wrist, stalling your attack just as it was about to land. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t look up right away, but you hear him sigh, feel his hot breath fanning over your thighs and stomach. When he finally does look up it’s with the eyes of a teacher who’s disappointed his student didn’t do their homework. 

“Come on now, baby. I was really hoping you’d forget about all this and we could just have a good night together…” He’s pouting, whining, like a child who’s been told he can’t have dessert before dinner. Your shock stills you long enough that he easily maneuvers the blade from your hand, throwing it with a thwack into the wall to his right. It lands perfectly. 

This is it. You’re going to die now. But not without a fight. 

You spring up from the bed, kicking him a couple times in the process. You’ve missed your only chance. Now, if there’s even the slightest chance of escape, you have to take it. 

You bare feet hit the carpet. No time to find your shoes. You dart for the door and hear him groan behind you. For a second you think you might actually make it, but you should know better. 

He appears in front of you, straight out of fucking thin air, and his pout has transformed into something a little more sinister. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s talk it out, yeah?” 

You take a shaky step back, but you know it’s no use. He’s got you. It’s over. 

You swallow and lift your chin– you at least want to die with a little dignity. “Just make it quick. Please.” 

He sighs again and slides his hands in his fucking pockets, like this is just a stroll down the street. He stalks toward you, forcing you back until you’re pressed up against another wall. This motherfucker really likes walls. 

His pout shifts to a smirk that borders far too closely on a grin. “Oh, no. I’ve always had a thing for taking it slow.” 

You nearly snort. He certainly hadn’t had a thing for taking it slow just a minute ago. His arms cage you and your world grows infinitely smaller until it’s just him and those blue-ass eyes staring you down. Some distant part of you thinks you might not mind if it’s the last thing you ever see. 

“Damn, I really thought you might give it up and just let me fuck you,” his pout returns. “So disappointing…” he sighs. 

Your lips part. “You knew?” 

That lights his face up like a Christmas tree. “Sensed you tailing me these past few weeks. Started on theeeee– 21st, no?” 

Fuck. You’d been so careful. You’d only tailed him in public spaces, where your energy would be more diluted by the crowds. You’d stayed far enough away that he should only have caught mere glimpses of you, even suppressed your energy. He should not have been able to sense you. But he was Satoru Gojo– things people were not supposed to be able to do came easily to him. 

But you have one thing on him. 

“The 18th,” you whisper. “Started on the 18th.”

There’s a beat of silence and then his smile is growing wider, wider, wider, until it’s practically blinding you. “Well, shit,” he laughs. “You’re pretty good.” 

You let a tiny smile slip through your terror. “I try.” 

His eyes travel up and down your body, his pout slipping away to a frown. “What to do with you… hmm…” You lift your chin, taking shallow little breaths through your nose. You’re looking death in the face, but you’d never thought it would be so beautiful. He sighs. “I guess I could let you go.” 

You freeze. He notices. 

He quirks a brow, another smirk sliding across his lips. “What? Didn’t think that was an option?” You stay silent. No way he’ll let you go. It’s a bluff. A cruel trick. “It’s not like you could try again, gorgeous. I know your energy now and what you look like. Sorry, but your chance is gone.” That was fine by you. Your breaths come a little heavier, hope pulsing in your veins. “But–” shit. “Letting you go is so… boring. Especially after where we left off, yeah?” 

Your jaw drops. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that we–” 

He cuts you off with a kiss, one that makes your toes curl in the carpet and your stomach clench in anticipation. 

“Oh, yes I am,” he chuckles. You feel his hand sliding down your hip, cool and calculating. “I know you weren’t faking the whole thing, gorgeous. Nobody makes out like that when they’re faking it.” You feel your cheeks heat. “And nobody gets this wet-” his fingers snake beneath your skirt, pressing to the wet patch on your panties. “When they’re faking it.” You gasp and reach out, hands clasping onto his shoulders for support. He only chuckles. “No worries, gorgeous. No need for any more faking tonight. I’ll make sure it’s all real.” 

Somehow you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist again and you’re headed to the bedroom– again. It’s like a replay– a redo. 

“Let’s keep it less killy this time, yeah?” 

Your back hits the mattress, your body bouncing lightly on its softness before he’s crawling after you. It’s simultaneously the best and worst deja vu you’ve ever experienced. 

His hands slide down your body again, fingertips hooking beneath the hem of your skirt and shimmying it up your thighs until your panties are on full display. 

“Shit,” you breathe. He’s moving so fast, like he’s desperate to go further, to get his greedy hands all over your bare skin. 

You can’t say you blame him. You feel the same.

His thumbs hook under the fabric of your panties and you know it’s over for you. You can feel his warm breath skating across your thighs, feel the calluses on his hands scraping against your skin. You reach a hand down, tangling it in his hair, and you nearly faint when he smirks and looks up at you with those blue fucking eyes. 

“I think I’ve seen this film before, sweetheart.” He tilts his head, resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. “No more knives hiding anywhere, yeah?” 

You clench your jaw, trying to control your pounding heart. You can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you doing this? You wish you had a better answer than he’s beautiful and sexy and just a glance at him makes you want to rip his clothes off and climb him like a tree. 

“Silent, hm? Guess I’ll just have to check myself…” 

He’s pressing up the hem up your skirt, more, more, more, until he’s pulling your dress straight up over your arms and running his hands down your bare sides. 

“None there…” His fingers cup your breast and you gasp, unable to contain your shock and the jolt that just rushed through you. He traces the outline of your bra. “You had the last one in here, no?” Your chest heaves under his touch, pressing the flesh of your breast up into his fingers. He smirks. “Best check again.” You feel an arm slide beneath you back and then your bra loosens before it’s completely gone. 

There’s a beat of silence, of admiration. He gazes down on you and you see his snark falter for just a moment, replaced by a sparkle in his eyes. It makes your skin heat. His fingers brush the swell of your breasts, thumb trailing down over a nipple. You arch and gasp again. 

“Fuck. Quit teasing so much.” 

He chuckles and the sound washes over you until it settles in your bones. “Sush. I’m not done checking for weapons yet.” 

You scowl but before you can even move to open your mouth he’s sliding your panties down your legs, hooking them around your ankles and tossing them somewhere on the floor.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you watch him settle himself down between your thighs, eyes never once leaving your center. “Don’t see any knives here, either, but maybe I should double-check…” he breathes. 

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and you shudder, your breaths shaky. Fuck. You were supposed to kill him tonight but if he keeps going like this you’ll be the one deceased. 

He meets your eyes when he takes the first long lick along your folds. You swear he’s smirking.

Your head rolls back and a pathetic sounding groan slips past your lips. You hadn’t realized how much he’d worked you up. Just the slightest touch feels like heaven.

His tongue nudges at your clits and your legs clench, tightening around his head. He laughs into your cunt and his warm breath skates up and over your tummy. Your fingernails scrape his scalp.

“I think you like this, gorgeous.” 

Each word sends little puffs of air against your folds. It’s driving you crazy. You stare down at him, letting a smirk pull at your lips. Your eyes dart over his mouth, wet with your slick, and you don’t fail to notice the way he’s struggling to hold your gaze, eyes flickering back down to your cunt every second. Your smirk grows. “I think you’re liking this, too.” 

He licks another stripe, from you pulsing hole to your throbbing clit, and this time he’s the one groaning. “Damn right I am.”

He eats you out like he kisses you– like a starved man, like he’ll die if he stops for just one second, like he can’t live without your juices on his tongue. 

You whine and bury both hands in his hair, tugging desperately when his lips wrap around you clit and suck. It’s so much, too much, and yet it’s just right. 

Your hips buck and squirm, but he’s got his fingers pressed deep into your flesh, holding you down to take whatever he gives. You think you see heaven when he slides two fingers into your walls, curling them into that gummy spot that has an unbearable heat building deep inside you. 

“S-Satoru-” you stutter and you hear him moan and mutter into your cunt like he’s unwilling to leave it for even a second.

“Fuck, yes. Say my name, sweetheart.” Who are you to deny him? You whisper, whine, and whimper his name with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue. It’s delicious. Every so often he swaps his mouth and hand, thrusting his tongue as deep inside you as he can while his fingers rub dangerous little circles on your clit. Whenever things get a little too filthy he laps his tongue across your entire cunt and along your inner thighs, cleaning up every stray drop. You don’t know how much longer you can last under such a complete and total assault. 

“S-Satoru, ‘m gonna-” He licks a thick stripe through your folds that makes your sentence end in a whine, his lips settling to suckle on your clit again.

God, it’s messy. It’s fucking disgusting. His whole chin is covered in spit and slick– and you love it. “Cum for me, baby,” he breathes. 

You don’t need to hear much more. You let the heat inside you release with a whine, thighs trembling on his shoulders. Your walls pulse and throb around his fingers, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. His tongue continues to rub lazy circles around your clit, working you through your high and making it last so long you think you might pass out.

Warmth spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and your muscles tense and clench with each pulsing throb. You swear to god you see fucking stars.

It seems to go on forever, leaving you limp and shaking when the last waves finally slip away. 

He presses a final kiss to your clit, one that makes your hips jolt from the overstimulation before he’s lifting himself up. “Wow. That looked like a big one,” he chuckles. He runs a soothing hand along your thigh and you don’t even have the energy to give him some sort of snarky reply. There’s hardly even a pause before something shifts in his eyes. “Let’s see if we can get one that’s even bigger, yeah?” 

Before you can even process what he’s said you feel strong hands slide under your thighs, pressing them tightly to your chest as he settles himself close to you

You grasp at the sheets, hearing the clinking of a belt buckle and then the familiar pitch of a zipper being undone. 

“Fuck,” you mutter. He’s big. Long and pretty and with a perfectly flushed tip. Your eyes are rolling back just thinking about having him inside you.

A strong hand smooths along your thighs, folding you in a way that feels more vulnerable and exposing than anything you’ve ever done before. He pauses for a beat, just staring down at you silently.

“Gorgeous,” he finally mutters, and something in your heart squeezes. His hand grips your hip firmly, holding you in place and you gasp when you feel him prodding at your entrance. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Big bad assassin turned simpering little bitch over some good Gojo dick. 

“Just relaxxxxx, baby.” His hand rubs soothing little circles into your side and it’s so divinely distracting that it catches you by surprise when he starts pushing into you. You gasp and he only chuckles. Asshole. 

He’s big– really big – and the stretch is somehow both painful and perfect. You groan into the air, struggling to take him. Every inch feels like it must be the last, but then there’s more. Your walls clench around him on instinct, trying to force him out. 

“Fuck, baby. What did I say about relaxing?” You hiss when his hand skates down your tummy to rub messy circles on your clit. The relief is instant and you moan when you feel him slide in a little further. “There we go. Good girl.” 

He continues feeding his dick into you, inch by inch, until his hips finally press to yours and you think you can feel him in your fucking throat. You hear him exhale, like it’s a relief to finally be fully inside you, like he’s been waiting for ages. 

You expect him to not hold back, to let himself go and pound into you relentlessly, but he doesn’t. He only leans down closer to you, settling in when he starts a pace of slow, sensual thrusts. His brows pinch, his eyes hardened in concentration.

“Ah, fuck. You’re so tight.” 

You want to shoot something back at him, but you’re hardly remembering to breathe with how deep he’s sliding into you. Instead, you just end up holding him tighter, your eyes fluttering shut. 

Lips dust across your cheeks, just below your lashes. “Keep your eyes open, gorgeous. Wanna see you.” 

You blink, thinking that it’s a notion that feels a little too intimate for a hookup. Regardless, you do as he wants, opening your eyes and holding his gaze.

A smile splits his lips and he presses his forehead to yours, picking up the pace of his thrusts. It’s not long before the sound of skin on skin fills the room and you’re both panting. His breath skates across your skin, hot and heavy, hitching with the groans and whines that spill from his chest. You can’t help but pull him closer, raking your nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. The action makes him emit a noise you can only describe as a desperate whimper. “Fuck, baby. Yes.” 

His lips press to yours in a kiss that’s all desperation and teeth and tongue. You kiss him back with equal intensity, your body rocking with each heavy thrust. He’s pounding into you now, frantic for more, more, more of you. You want him to take it, take all of you. 

A familiar heat pinches in your stomach and you know it won’t be long before he’s pushing you to another release. His dick drags in and out of you, prodding at the gummy spot inside you with every thrust and brushing so deliciously against your cervix that you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips. It has you seeing stars again, has you clawing at him and panting into his mouth. 

“Satoru… harder,” you breathe. You need more– more of everything, of him. 

He groans. “You got it, gorgeous.” 

His hips slam into you and it’s so perfect that you can’t help but whimper beneath him. It only gets worse when you feel his fingers on your clit again, hand pressed between your bodies. “Cum on my dick, baby.” Your eyes roll back, that coil inside you rolling tighter. You feel his muscles tensing and shaking above you and you know he’s close, too. “Where do you want it?” he asks, and from the pinched look on his face you can tell exactly where he wants it. You know you’re an idiot for feeling the same. 

“Inside,” you breathe. He groans so loudly it rattles in your ears.

“That’s my girl,” he says, but it’s nearly a whisper with how strained it is. His hand continues at your clit, rubbing perfect little circles that make your legs tremble where they’re pressed against your chest. Your jaw hangs open, but you don’t dare close your eyes. Satoru is still holding your gaze intently, desperately, like he needs to see you. The thought throws you over the edge.

You cry his name, clawing at his shoulder and shaking like a leaf as you feel yourself gush and pulse all over his dick. For the second time that evening you feel the heat inside you swell and burst, washing through you in waves that nearly consume you whole. It’s a struggle to hold his eyes, to not let them roll back into your skull and give into the pure ecstasy of your high– especially when he’s cumming, too. You can hear him moaning in your ear, feel him twitching inside you, feel his hot cum coating your walls and there’s just so fucking much of it. You swear he cums for a minute straight before he slumps down onto you, burying his face in your neck as you pant. 

You’re shaking and so is he, breaths heaving in and out. Reality slowly starts to seep back in, even with his dick still softening inside you and his cum leaking down your thighs. 

You tried to kill him. You failed. You had sex. Now what? Would he really let you go like he’d said he would? You wanted to believe it, but life hadn’t taught you to be that trusting. You should move, untangle yourself from him and escape before he has time to change his mind. 

“You assassins are always thinking so hard,” He mumbles into the curve of your neck. “Maybe you should try to relax for once.”

You swallow when you feel him pressing his lips to your throat, trailing up to your jaw. It’s… tender, gentle, and it feels so nice. You can’t help the way you melt into the touch a bit. You feel him smile into your skin. “There we go.”

His hand settles on your waist, rubbing soothing little circles that send a jolt of urgency up your spine. No. You’re enjoying this– being close to him, laying here with him, breathing him in. That’s not what this is supposed to be. 

You tense again, shifting to get away from him, but he only sighs and presses his weight onto you. 

“Come on, gorgeous. No need to leave so soon. Just stay for a bit, yeah?” He nibbles at your jaw, but it doesn’t work this time. You have to go. You’ve failed your mission. You don’t know what that means for your brother. You’d never thought this would have an ending besides your death. 

“I have to go,” you mutter, pushing at his chest. 

He chuckles, but you don’t miss the strain and… hurt? “Got something more important than trying to kill me?” 

You clench your teeth, trying once again to shove him away. “Yes, actually.” 

He finally pulls back to meet your gaze, brows slightly pinched. “Like what?” 

You push in earnest now, anger and panic rising in your gut. You have to go, have to check on your brother, have to figure out what you’re going to do. “That’s really none of your business,” you seethe. 

You go for another shove, but strong hands clasp around your wrists, pinning them to the bed. His expression has gone flat now, serious. “Actually, I think it’s completely my business. You going to report your failure? Should I expect another assassin soon?”

You scowl, tugging at his grasp and trying to free yourself. “Yeah, probably. He’s an insufferable idiot. I told him it wouldn’t work and it didn’t, but I don’t doubt he’ll send another.” 

His face cracks, his brows pulling together again. “If you knew it wouldn’t work then why’d you take the job?” 

You struggle again, less angry and more desperate now. “Because he’s got my fucking brother at gunpoint and I’ve got to figure out how the fuck I’m going to save him!” you shout.

There’s silence for a long moment– a long, uncomfortable beat of it– and then his expression softens into something… tender. It sends a chill up your spine. Satoru Gojo was never supposed to be tender with you, and that’s all he’s been. 

“I’ll save him,” he says. Your heart jumps and his grip on your wrists loosens, allowing you to slip free. 

“What?” you breathe. He sits back, allowing you to prop yourself up into a slightly less vulnerable position. 

He exhales slowly, but you don’t miss the way his hand settles on your bare thigh, a comforting weight. “I’ll save your brother and then I’ll take care of your boss.” A smirk creeps across his lips. “What? Don’t think I can do it?”

You stare blankly, lips parted. There’s no doubt he can do it, but that’s not the question swirling in your mind. 

“Why would you help me?” You’d tried to kill the man. You couldn’t make heads or tails of a reason why he’d go out of his way to help you. 

He chuckles. “Well, in case you didn’t know, I’m a hero of sorts.” You have to fight not to roll your eyes. “And… there’s something I want from you.” 

There it is– the catch. He wants something. You have no idea what you could possibly have to give him, but you’re willing for it to be just about anything. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

He grins, but you can see the glint of mischief in his gaze. His hand slides further up your thigh, up your side, over your shoulder, until it rests at the nape of your neck and his face is only inches from your own. “What’s your number, gorgeous?”

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[toruro]

— ✧ mr. nice guy

pairing. hong joshua x reader

description. you thought your next-door neighbor was just being polite when he offered to help you carry in your boxes the first time you saw him, but as you adjust to your new home, you start to notice that joshua’s nice in other ways too: nice eyes, nice smile, nice arms, nice fingers, probably nice di—okay you get the point. but just how long can you go with lusting after your neighbor before giving in to your very much not-nice desires? well, lucky for you, joshua also isn’t nearly as much of a gentleman as he likes to let on.

✘ tags. smut (18+), neighbor!joshua, joshua's muscles deserve their own tag tbh, oral (f receiving), alcohol consumption (NOT drunk sex), petnames (sweetheart mostly :pp), biting, spit kink, unedited as always ✘ w/c. 5.3k ✘ a/n. i have had this idea in me for a WHILE so it's good to finally get it out! honestly i feel like the story is a little rushed but whatever

there's a gentle voice coming from in front of you, but with the way you’re holding the large box up right in front of your face, you can’t see who’s speaking. “do you need help with that?”

muscles straining and sweat beading down your skin, you manage to squeak out a quick, “yes please!” a wave of relief washing over your body as you feel the box grow infinitely lighter as this man’s arms wrap around the side. “thank you so much,” you say, still gripping onto the box as you slowly walk over and lead it to the front of your apartment door a few feet away. setting it down carefully, you look up so you can finally see the face of the angel who saved you so much trouble.

“no problem," he replies politely, and as your eyes flicker up, you're taken aback by his kind smile. "you new here?"

"did the moving boxes give it away?" you joke and the man cracks a hearty laugh.

"you got me there. i'm joshua," he tells you, and you think to yourself that there can't be a name for fitting for the man. he points over to the door across from yours. "i live right there, so i guess we'll be seeing each other a lot. what's your name?"

your name falls from your lips in a haze, internally thanking your lucky stars for finding yourself an apartment that was not only close to your work but also in close proximity someone as nice as joshua. "i guess so," you reply looking down the hallway where the movers had left the rest of your boxes. "i don't suppose you'd be down for another few boxes?" you ask hopefully, wincing at the way you're so shamelessly asking for help.

joshua chuckles at your expression and you feel that the ground might as well swallow you up whole. "it'd be my pleasure. it's not often i get new neighbors who are under the age of 50."

"i've noticed that...is there a reason the average age of the residents of place is like 60?" you ask curiously as you walk down to the end of the hallway to the boxes.

"not sure," joshua says. "i guess this place is just popular with them. not that i'm complaining. noisy neighbors are never a problem for me." he gives you an awry look, and you're a bit confused before he's jokes, "unless you plan on making that something i have to worry about now."

"no!" you reply a little too quickly, flustered by the way joshua is so easily coming up with conversation. it seems as if he's so smooth with everything, and with the way you have a million thoughts racing through your head—it's a it hard to keep up. "i mean, i don't do much or anything really," you clarify, reaching down to pick up one box while joshua goes to grab the other side.

"good to know," joshua tells you with a smile, and you try not to focus too much on the way that he grunts slightly when lifting up his end. "you're always welcome to come over to my place for a drink or something," he suggests as you begin walking over to your apartment.

smiling as you set down the box, you adjust your shirt and look up at him. "i'll think about it."

you, in fact, do think about joshua's offer. you think about it a lot.

you think about it that night when you carefully unpack your boxes. joshua's a nice guy, you think to yourself, because it's not often you come across such a person who's willing to give you an hour of their day to help carry heavy ass boxes for someone they barely know.

you think about it two mornings later when you're walking down the hallway with your groceries for the week only to find joshua about to enter his own apartment, clad in a tight fit t-shirt and gym shorts. his skin glows with layer of sheen sweat, his light brown hair pressing against his forehead in an oddly fitting mess. his breath is slightly labored when you call out his name instinctively, turning to look at you with bright eyes.

"hey, how's it going?" he's polite. joshua is polite, and a gentleman. you almost feel guilty when your eyes dart to the arms when the muscles flex as he brings up a hand to grab one of your grocery bags, insisting that it was his pleasure to help you out. something along the lines of, "i just got back from my work out and i can't help a pretty lady with her bags?"

pretty lady. you hope he can attribute your burning cheeks to the hot sun and not his words, because holy shit does he have your stomach doing tumbles. after all, joshua's just being polite right? right?

you think about his offer again three evenings later. you're just leaving your apartment to go on a walk, and joshua seems to have some people over, five boys knocking on his front door, where there seems to be more boys on the other side. you quickly glance at each other as you slip out of your apartment, hoping to hobble off quickly before things get more awkward, but then there's that door opening and you hear joshua's voice and you falter in your tracks for a moment at the way he calls you name so smoothly.

you turn around to face him as his friends slowly shuffle into his apartment, joshua leaning against the doorframe with a bottle of beer. he holds it up and raises a brow and fuck—if you don't stare at the way the bottle is perched between his perfect, thick fingers—fuck. "you wanna join?"

you want to. fuck, you really want to. so why do the words, the simple phrase of, "yeah sure," fall flat on your tongue? maybe it comes from the embarrassment of lusting over a man you hardly know. from the humiliation of letting your eyes dart towards his arms, his hands, his fingers, joshua's collarbone and the little adam's apple that bobs up when he takes a sip of his beer.

"i, uh, i was just going on a walk right now," you tell him, your voice sounding meek and you want to cringe at the poorly planned response. joshua chuckles, and you aren't sure why.

"you don't wanna come? aw, you're hurting my feelings," he coos.

"no! that's not what i meant," you say quickly, averting your gaze from joshua because the way he's peering down at you right now—god, you don't know if you want to go up to him and fall straight to your knees and suck him off or turn around and run away out of pure humiliation. "i just—you know—walks. go on them every day," you try to explain haphazardly.

"no it's okay, i get it," he replies before looking into his apartment when one of his friends yells out his name, "it's bit rowdy in here anyways, so i don't blame you." there's an awkward sort of silence that settles between you and the air is thick as you debate if you should turn around and leave right about now. "i don't suppose you'd want to stop by after your walk?" he asks hopefully, and you figure this is his way of giving you a second chance.

this time, you look up at him and smile. "i'll think about it."

except this time you actually think about, not just sit and wonder of the possibilities. as you pace down the street, your one hour walk that usually make time fly now seems to feel like the longest sixty minutes of your life. you come down to two possibilities at the end of it:

1. you don't show up and joshua thinks you're an indecisive bitch

2. you do show up, have a good time, and things are left at that

of course, putting it like that only really leaves you with one choice to choose, that being the latter. knowing that your own conscience won't let you live it down if you don't end up choosing the latter, you march up to joshua's apartment with a slowly diminishing confidence. yeah, you're eager to see where this night will take you, but you're also not necessarily confident that you're anxiousness won't betray you.

it's just that joshua is so nice and so kind and he has you thinking so many thoughts that your words always seem to jumble up into an incoherent mess whenever he speaks to you. all you can really ever think about when you see him is—well—all of him, which includes his nice smile, his nice muscles, his nice—okay, shit, you really need to control yourself.

doing what little mind-clearing exercises you can cram into the time it takes you to get up to your floor, you're pretty sure your breath is labored from how hard you're thinking alone. before you have any time to let yourself back out of this, you're rushing up to joshua's door, knocking maybe a little too desperately.

in the next moment, you have time to listen in on the other side, the room being quieter than you remember it being an hour ago. all that can be heard is some soft shuffling that can only be identified as joshua's footsteps, and before you know the door is opening, the one and only standing in front of you.

"there she is," joshua greets with a smile, "low and behold!"

the tips of your ears burn at his welcoming, stepping back a little. "h-hi," you murmur quickly, the responses that you planned in your head earlier seemingly fading away in your mind. "is that offer for a drink still on the table?" you ask hopefully, chewing on your bottom lip as you wait for an answer.

"'course it is," he replies. "i was waiting for you to come to your senses," he continues, stepping to the side so you can slip off your shoes and step in, realizing now that all his friends have left leaving only you two. you follow in after him, your eyes glazing over his apartment. it's got the same layout as yours, as expected, only it's mirrored. it's slightly messy, presumably from the mess his friends left from before, but the set up is neat and you can tell joshua has a good eye for color.

"i like those paintings up on the wall," you comment, pointing at a set of wall art hung above his sofa. joshua looks up at it before smiling softly and nodding, walking to the kitchen as you trail behind him.

"thank you, one of my friends that was here earlier got it for me. he's great at interior design, if you're ever looking for someone," he tells you, reaching for the fridge and pulling out a cool bottle of beer. "here," he says, handing it to you before grabbing a bottle opener and popping off the cap for you. holding it out in front of you, you're able to watch his hands up close—they're big and veiny and fuck, you'd be lying if you said you didn't press your thighs together slightly.

you aren't sure joshua notices, and if he does, he doesn't make it obvious. "thank you," you murmur softly, letting him step back and put the opener away before he leads you to the living room. you settle down on one end of the couch, and instead of opting to sit on the arm chair, joshua just sits on the opposite end. throwing his hands back so they lean on the arm rest and the back of the couch, his biceps are stretched out and on display thanks to his short sleeve t-shirt.

"so," joshua begins as he grabs his own beer and brings it up to his lips, "how do you like it here?"

you take your own sip of the cool liquid before responding, "it's hardly been a week...but i like it. it's peaceful, and i like the neighborhood."

"yeah, the people are nice," joshua agrees. you're nice, you think. "how was moving in?"

"i'm still honestly unpacking," you chuckle to yourself, feeling more comfortable now that there's casual conversation being initiated. "i have a bunch of clothes at my friend's place that i still need to pick up," you explain, leaning back into the plush cushions.

"you need help bringing them in? i can lend a hand if you need."

your stomach tumbles at his generosity, but you shake your head. "ah, you've already helped me so much, i don't think that's fair."

"oh c'mon," joshua counters, "you can pay me back with something if that'll make you feel better."

you raise a brow. "now how would i do that? you got venmo?" you tease.

"i was thinking of something a little less materialistic," joshua replies with a roll of his eyes, and you think you might just combust on the spot.

you aren't exactly sure what he means by that until you bring your eyes to meet his and that's when you see it. how his eyes darken, how he gulps even though he hasn't taken a sip of his drink, how he shifts in his seat. suddenly, you're dawned with the realization that on your walk, you left out the option for a third possibility, a.k.a. you do show up, have a good time, and then have joshua rail you into the next dimension.

gaining confidence, you cross your legs over each other and turn to face him better, deciding to go along. "huh..." your voice trails off. "i'm not quite sure what you mean by that joshua," and you swear you hear his breath hitch when you say his name.

he regains composure so quickly it's hard to tell you even threw him off guard in the first place. "i'm not really sure actually. you have anything to offer?"

you shrug as you set down your beer at the coffee table by your feet. "i make a mean maple cake, if you're into sweet stuff." joshua perks up at that.

"i do have a sweet tooth," he mumbles to himself, pretending to be in thought as he follows your movements, pushing his bottle to the side. "that's gonna take a while though," he says solemnly, "you're gonna have to get the ingredients...make the cake...bring it to me...sounds like a lot of work for you..." his voice trails off, and then he's tossing you that look again.

joshua figures you're both definitely on the same page by now and there's no point leaving the tension between his go unrelieved for any longer than he has to, and before you know it he's reaching one strong arm over to grab your wrist, pulling you into his hold so he can kiss you fiercely.

his lips are soft, but the way he's pushing against you, sucking, nipping, running his tongue along you is all but gentle. with joshua's arms leaving your hands and instead running up the sides of your waist, pulling you in roughly, you gasp into his mouth, allowing him the chance to slip his tongue against yours, tasting you, feeling you, being one with you.

one hand comes up to cup the side of your face, tilting your head slightly so he can push his lips against yours harder, his tongue sinking deeper to explore the caverns of your mouth. when he pulls away, you both share heaving breaths of air, mouths connected with a string of saliva before he's leaning back in and capturing you once more.

his other hand on your waist gently nudges you and you're falling back onto the cushions, head hitting one of the pillows as he crawls into the space between your legs. inching up his knee until his thick thigh is pressing up against your pounding core, easing the tension that he's been so carefully building up.

joshua noticed it. the way your eyes lingered on his arms, his fingers—noticed the sparkle in your eyes followed by the immediate embarrassment of your own thoughts. he's not sure if you're just easy to read or if he's just good at reading you but whatever it is, you're an open book to him and fuck it's so cute it has him going crazy.

you whine against his lips, rocking into him to the best of you abilities while you're pinned beneath him. there isn't much space to move around in the little corner of this couch, but you hardly pay mind to the inconvenience when joshua peels his lips and thigh away from you. "ha—no," you gasp out, hips chasing the relief the hard muscle provided. joshua chuckles, shaking his head as you pout.

"relax baby," he coos, and the pet name has you shivering under his touch as he inches his body down the length of the couch until his upper body rests between your thighs, face dangerously close to your gaping cunt. "be patient, okay?" he orders, and you nod your head quickly in agreement. joshua traces his fingers from your knees achingly slow up to the hem of your denim shorts, slipping under the cloth only slightly, leaving you nearly begging for more.

"josh—shua—fuck, more, please?" you choke out, voice broken from pure desperation. joshua clicks his tongue at you, flashing a warning look which shuts your lips real tight as he reaches up to unbutton the shorts. you quickly reach down, helping him out, but he swats your hands away.

"can you keep your hands up for me sweetheart?" he asks so fucking sweetly you almost forget about the mischievous glint that flashes in his eyes.

"uh-huh," you mumble, slowly lifting your hands above your head, gripping onto the armrest of the couch to brace yourself. in the meantime, joshua unzips and yanks your shorts off, tossing them to the side so they fall somewhere in the room. staring down at your now exposed and soiled panties, you hear joshua suck in a breath.

"all this for me sweetheart?" he murmurs, bring two fingers up to lightly pinch your clit, causing you to jerk against his hold.

"all for you," you affirm nearly immediately, squirming when he takes one finger and tuns it down the midline of the fabric. joshua's eyes are gaping down at your core, nearly in the shape of hearts as his mind races with the idea of how you're already so undone, so desperate, so far gone for him. slowly but surely, he hooks one finger on each side of the waist band, peeling your panties off and exposing your dripping folds.

joshua nearly groans at the site of you clenching around nothing, saying, "fuck baby, you're gonna soak my couch."

"s-sorry," you stutter out, averting your gaze so you don't have the chance to look at the mess you've made.

"don't apologize...it's hot as hell." he pauses, then looks up at you. "you mind if i get a taste?"

"god, fuck yes—i mean no—wait," you babble, "i mean—shit—i don't mind, not at all."

joshua's heart swells at your response, waisting no time dipping his head between your thighs and pressing his tongue flat against your folds. you cry out at the warmth and friction, instinctively shooting one hand down to grab at his hair. within seconds, he's pulling his head back and giving you a stern look. "what'd i say sweetheart?"

"hands, sorry." you quickly pull your fingers back and return them to their hold on the couch.

"there you go sweetheart," joshua mumbles before diving back in, wrapping his arms under and around your thighs to hold you in your place. you can nearly feel his muscles bulge against your leg and you twitch against his mouth at the thought. meanwhile, joshua runs his tongue up and down, going and back and forth between hardening at and circling it around your hole before moving up and wrapping his lips around your clit and flicking his tongue over it.

the erratic, unpredictable movements have your back arching off the couch within minutes, moaning out words like, "feels so good joshua," along with quite curses as you attempt to keep your voice down. it hardly takes a few minutes before you're writhing under him, joshua pulling back with his lips and chin coated in a sticky wetness with a grin.

"you look so pretty baby," he compliments, using one hand to continue to rub between your folds and circle around your clit, never halting the shoots of pleasure through your spine. his eyes are flickering between yours and core, and then holy shit, his lips contort for a moment and then he's spitting on your already soaked pussy and the act is so demeaning and dirty and hot that you hardly comprehend the next words that come out of joshua's mouth. "so do you wanna cum now, or on my cock?" he offers, and you figure there's a right answer and a wrong one, but you don't have the brain capacity right now to think about which is which.

pouting, you respond, "c-can't i have both?"

that must be the right answer, because it has joshua beaming at you, smiling against your pussy as he slips two fingers into you and presses his mouth on your clit. jerking your hips up, joshua follows the swivel of your lower half, matching the thrusts and flicks of his wrist to your own movements so his fingers are hitting deeper and deeper every time. you think you're close, but when he's curling his digits inside of you and sucking hard on your nub you know it's coming.

you don't have time to warn joshua about your impending orgasm but the way your walls hug his fingers so fucking tight is warning enough, and he speeds up both his fingers and the flicking of his tongue to the point where you're on the brink of tears as he finger fucks you through your high. humming in appreciation at the way you call out his name as you do, he releases your clit with a filthy 'pop' sound, fingers taking a moment to gently slip out of you as you come down from your high.

"you did so good angel," joshua praises, pressing kisses along your inner thigh, smearing your skin in the mixture of your own cum and his saliva. your breaths are far too erratic for you to respond, but the way you look up at him with heavy eyelids through thick, glossy lashes tells joshua all he needs to know. unraveling his arms around you, he bring himself up and guides your legs to wrap around his bare torso—shit, wait, when did he take his shirt off.

gaping at this man who could quite literally be god, you can't even comprehend what's going on until you're being carried into a whole new room, joshua throwing you onto his bed, the messy covers bunching up around you. he stands at the edge, unbuckling his belt at a painfully slow rate. quickly scrambling up from your laying back position, you crawl to the spot in front of him and help unbutton his jeans. "already wanting more, huh?" he teases, but doesn't push you away, rather putting his hands to his side to watch you do the work yourself. you don't respond, taking this chance to grab both his jeans and boxers, pulling them down in one go.

joshua's cock springs out, thick and beaming with a bead of precum that dribbles off the tip, lightly hitting your face in the process. your mind is foggy and you look up at him with dreamy eyes as you absentmindedly open your mouth and close your lips around his bulbous tip, lapping at the precum. joshua doesn't hesitate to grab at your hair and pull you off of him, and for a moment you're scared you've done something wrong, getting pulled out of your haze.

but then you catch the way his voice drops an octave when he says, "slow down," and your worries are put at ease. "we can do that another time. wanna feel your cunt." another time. those words ring in your head. there's going to be another time. you ponder on that thought for a moment and then you recall the next of what he says and you look up at him with these doe eyes that joshua finds so fucking adorable, he'd be surprised if you don't see his dick twitching.

crawling onto the mattress, your limbs intertwine in a hot mess so that one of your legs is hooked around his torso while the other rests between his knees under him. it's a slightly awkward position, but the thought hardly crosses either of your minds once his fat tip his sliding between your drooling folds teasingly, before you're begging, "c'mon joshie, stick it in, please—need it now."

now joshua isn't one to usually give in—he's good at maintaining his patience. yet, the way you mumble out his nickname as if there isn't a single thought in your pretty head has his mind going numb, losing all semblance of self control until he can't help but sink his full length into you.

and joshua knows he's big, and looking down at how you nearly shake beneath him, it's confirmed that this is a lot for you. he almost feels bad at the way tears stream down your cheek, considering pulling out and pressing kisses along your face until you're ready to try again but then you're saying his name like that—"joshie, joshie, joshie"—and he just knows that neither of you would be satisfied until he's balls deep inside of you.

"takin'—god, fuck—takin' me like a pro, huh sweetheart?" joshua finally finds it in him to grunt out with out his voice wavering from the way you hug him so well.

"yeah-huh," you nod along, holding up your hand in a grabbing motion, joshua not hesitating to hold your hand in his so you can squeeze it tight while you work through the initial stretch. "you're so big, joshie."

"yeah," he breaths out a laugh. "you like it?" he groans, slipping out around halfway, giving you a chance to breathe, before he's shallowly thrusting back into you. "like me stretching out this pretty fucking pussy?" you nod dumbly, and your jaw gyrates as you try to form a response but no words come out, strangled syllables morphing into pornographic moans as joshua begins to drag his cock out further each time, plunging it deeper and deeper as he goes on.

"oh my god," you're finally able to babble, tits bouncing back and forth as joshua begins jamming his hips into yours with increasing force. the sounds of your wet pussy colliding with his cock bounce off the walls and if it isn't the filthiest thing you've ever heard, you don't know what is.

joshua latches one arm to your hip, the other continuing to hold yours as he pins it by your neck and shifting his body over you so his head hovers above yours. this new angle his his cock ramming hard down onto a spot that has you biting down onto your lips and crying out, "fuck, joshie!"

"you're squeezing me so tight," joshua moans as you rake one hand down his back. "suckin' me in, god i can't get enough, sweetheart," he grunts out, dropping his head down to bury it in the crook of your neck as he continues to pound into you. your body feels as if it's on fire in the best way possible, and with the way joshua is pressing open mouthed kisses onto your sticky skin has your hips lifting to meet his sharp strokes.

you feel as if things can't get any better and then you feel his teeth bite down into your flesh and your eyes roll to the fucking back of your head as the pain quickly shoots to pleasure when he sucks on the spot, the patch of skin throbbing—pulsing. "'m so close, joshie," you moan as he pullings away, looking down at your fucked out face. your eyes are droopy and shutting tight every time he fucks into you, mouth slightly agape and never fully closing.

he isn't sure what urges him to do it but then he's shoving three fingers into your mouth and joshua thinks that this might just be true love at the way you don't even hesitate a second to circle your lips against them and run your tongue against them. drool dribbles down your lips as you suck on his fingers and joshua's mind is consumed with the thought of your mouth doing that to his dick and then you moan around his fingers at the way he twitches inside of you and—fuck—he's getting close too, but he just can't allow himself to cum until you have.

slipping his fingers out, he uses the same, slick hand to toy at your clit as you clench around him tighter. "you said you're close?" he groans. "fuckin' cum then, cum around my cock how you wanted to, sweetheart."

it's the way he's gazing down at you endearingly. it's his fat cock pushing itself deeper inside of you, forcing you and your gummy walls to make room for me. it's the filthy words that spill from his lips, laced with his sweet words of praise. it's all of it that comes crashing down on you, the waves of pleasure hitting you over and over and over again until you're reduced to nothing but a thrashing, crying, whining mess with the words, "joshie, fuck," falling from your lips.

you're so lost in pleasure of your second orgasm of the day that you hardly notice it when joshua slips out of you himself, fervently jerking himself off until he moans out your name and there's thick white ropes of cum painting your stomach and clit 'til he's practically milked himself dry.

all the echos through the room now is the sound of your hiccups and joshua's gasps for air until he's finally falling on top of you, head resting on your chest.

"you are so not a gentleman," you gasp out between breaths as he slowly lifts himself off of you, rolling to your side once you unwind your leg from around his hips. he furrows his eyebrows at you with a frown.

"what do you mean?" he whines. "that's literally like my trademark."

"well change it," you grumble, running your fingers over the mark on your neck from where joshua bit you.

"i'm sorry," he murmurs, turning over to you to look at the bruise against your skin. "did i hurt you?" he asks, eyes wide with worry. you want to kick your feet at the way his concern has butterflies coursing through your veins as if this man didn't just rearrange your guts.

you push his face away when he leans down to pepper your neck with kisses, shuffling back onto you. you aren't sure how much longer your poor heart can handle this. "it's too late to be a gentleman now..."

"is it though?" joshua asks with a smirk, looking down at you.

"dunno...guess you just have to prove to me that you're worth the title."

"does this mean i get more chances?" joshua grins.

you roll your eyes. "maybe...it depends on what you have planned."

"well," joshua drawls out. "i'm thinking a nice date...then maybe you, me, my bed and—"

i guess you can tell where it goes from here.

a/n. half the time i think i dont know how to end fics without some stupid dialouge bc wtf.... anyways if u enjoyed pls like and reblog!

[diorcities]

⠀   ⠀ ── 𖥻 🍊‧₊˚⊹ about being caught having sex !

nct dream headcanon.

warning: smut.

masterlist

after the dance practice, mark is so euphoric that he takes you in front of the mirror. his left arm wrapped around your chest so he can hold you close, while his free hand rest on your hip to keep both of you steady. he's so thrilled by it that he only lowered his pants to the height of the pelvis enough to reveal his erection. your jeans are removed to the knees by his eager fingers before he shoves his cock into you and sighs in relief, moving his hand to your belly, feeling the small bulge he makes every time his dick is buried inside you.

“f-fuck,” he breathes, speeding up, 'cause he's so scared someone would come in and see you both like that. however, just thinking about it makes him more excited, although he'll never tell you that. you try your best to not moan at the top of your lungs just by the way he's fucking you, so hard and sharp that your legs and stomach vibrate, both getting frustrated because of the fear someone can come in any second and so the moment is not pleasurable anymore and ends up with both of you having a quicky and wanting to cum already. soon or later he'll find out that the practice room has cameras.

doing watercolors with renjun but in the middle of it you suggest being painted nude. what started as a joke ended up with renjun's eyes glancing at your body as he bites his lip in concentration. the dim light, the soft music; everything connects to leave a calm and comfortable atmosphere. so he draws you, smearing his fingers with pastel colors because he wants it to be just as perfect as you and at the same time can't concentrate with you looking like that. so eventually he just blurbs out “god, let me fuck you, please.” and it's all you ever wanted from the beginning.

so he fucks you there. in his bedroom floor, rough and needy. precum beads already on his slit. pastel colors are smudged wherever he touches, lips parted open in a silent moan because there are people in the room next door. trying to be quiet but that is complicated due to renjun's pants and hisses. he's pounding you at a speedy pace while rubbing your clit, trying so hard to cum quickly so you don't get caught. he almost gets away with it, if it wasn't for the last groan that left his lips that exposed them both. the moment he realizes what he's done, he cums so hard, that his legs would be shaking after the aftermath.

jeno is so fucking eager that doesn't even wait for you to spread on the bed and takes you right there where you're standing. pinning you against the wall with a strong hip on your waist that more surely will leave bruises, he plows his cock in and out with slow yet powerful thrusts. there's nothing you can hold onto so he whispers “on me, baby.” legs go numb that at one point the only reason you're standing on your feet is because of his firm hold on your waist as he smacks the shit out of you. you can't help but whine and moan as your nails bury in his arms.

honestly, if your moans don't give away that you're fucking, his groans will. jeno's so pussy drunk that he's hissing and whining because you feel so good, taking his cock so well. “so fucking tight, wrapping my cock so nicely.” he's so amazed by your grip and the way you stretch so well every time he fucks you. he won't be mad if someone hears you both, that way they'll know how good he makes you feel, and how good you fuck him.

haechan doesn't even care that johnny is in the room with you. he lays down behind you and without warning, tosses your pajama shorts, exposing your buttocks. he uses his hand to spread your ass while the other guide his length into you, squeezing his eyes when he feels your pussy already lubricated with your arousal. the compromised position doesn't allow you to go crazy, so he fucks you with slow-paced thrust, almost just wagging his hips in and out. the position makes the penetration pleasurable due to your legs pressed together which causes your pussy to narrow around his length.

a sudden movement causes both of you to freeze, watching johnny stir in his sleep. and suddenly, haechan's enthusiasm would vanish now that you almost got caught. however, you don't give up and begin to rock your hips into his, being a little more careful.

having a makeout session on his bed lead jaemin to fuck the shit out of you against the mattress, hands reaching the sheets while he crushes his hips harder and rougher. no sound comes out of his mouth other than small exhalations and sighs, and your moans, suffocated by the pillows.

stopping from time to time when he feels dizzy or about to come. hands reaching the headboard so it stops hitting the wall, not caring that much if someone's hearing because he's drunk and high on pleasure and it seems a problem for the future, so he goes back again.

you're washing your hair when chenle pins you against the tile wall. a small yelp falling from your lips from the surprise of his sudden move. furrowing your brows as you try to understand the situation, no longer unknown when he presses his tip at your entrance, leaving you to adjust around him and beginning to penetrate you calm and steady, switching the pace once you start to lubricate his dick with your excitement.

he doesn't give a shit, not suppressing his throaty whimpers and moans, that he suffocates sometimes in your shoulder and goes back again, getting louder and louder because the idea of being caught makes his dick ache, thrusting you harder so the smashing sounds of your wet pussy echo.

jisung is so scared that he suggests doing it in the recording room once everyone has left. taking you to the room where they record the songs so that the sounds cannot come out and can be heard. once one of your (his) worries has been resolved, the boy fucks you relentlessly. bending you over the glass so he can have a view of the door and also your features contracted in pleasure through the reflection. going insane and not containing any groans or grunts as he pounds into you.

he's a bit of a freak, so his hands would be constantly spanking you and choking you. “o-oh, shit.” hissing and groaning, eyes tightly close due to the adrenaline and sensation of the moment. “o—oh, god.” his elongated moans die out between the four walls, which leads him to be quite vocal as he plows you without compassion until you come, one, two, three times and your legs feels like jelly.

[satanghulu]

THIS IS A GUIDE ON HOW TO FALL IN LOVE WITH A DEMON THAT YOU SUMMONED THROUGH YOUR ECONOMIC TEXTBOOK (NO CLICKBAIT AND 100% REAL!!)

✦ PAIRING: satan x g!n reader ✦ SUMMARY: Okay, you didn’t mean to summon a demon nor did you mean to throw a book at him but hey, it’s not like you expected the literal embodiment of Wrath to apparate in your apartment! Now, if only he could go back to where he came from… ✦ WARNING: sort of canon-compliant, Reader has a personality! college!au, mentions of violence, solomon calls you sunshine, made up my own magic system, reader is shorter than satan (mentioned in one scene), mention of alcohol, use of MC instead of Y/N, Hell and Devildom used interchangeably, suggestive at the end! ✦ WC: 14.8K

MAIN STORY | FIC MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

You were going to kill Solomon.

It’s a well-known fact that that guy was shady as hell, but seriously? Was he trying to give you an express pass straight to Death’s doorstep or something? Maybe he had always harboured a secret dislike for you because why on earth did the Economics textbook he lent you summon a--demon?!

“Human. Are you done staring at me?” The man--no, demon? brushes off the dust on the back of his pants. You mourn for the state of your flooring which now resembles the set of a Miley Cyrus hit song.

Wait, were those polka dots you see on his pants? What are those hideous things draped across his neck? And, what was with his disaster of a shirt? For a second, you thought you had teleported to an alternate Jojo Bizarre Adventure universe.

”Your outfit is ugly as hell.” You blurted out, hands delayed in flying up to cover your mouth when you realised the words had escaped you.

The man--no, the demon turns with flashing eyes, his tail swishing dangerously behind him. Oh my god, were those spikes embedded in them? Suddenly, you regret ever opening your mouth – this is why people always tell you to keep your mouth shut when you are in a sleep-deprived state. You could feel sweat beading at the side of your temple as you slowly backed away, edging to the bedroom door.

“Are you courting death, little lamb?” He hissed, taking a step closer. That tail of his had started going wild, destroying one of your night lamps in the process. You would hate to imagine the destruction it would cause to you.

You took furtive glances around the room, swallowing hard when you realised the only makeshift weapon you had was the Economics textbook that Solomon had lent you.

The demon’s eyes had narrowed into slits, breathing coming out hot and heavy as if he was poised to attack you at a moment’s notice. Your grip on the textbook tightened as he advanced nearer to you, now a couple of steps away.

“Answer me, human--” The demon mocked you again, arms stretching forward presumably to attack you as you--

You threw the textbook at him.

Thud!

The textbook bounced off his head with a loud thud as he just stared at you in disbelief. At least, you had managed to get a headshot – your only accomplishment in life alongside the stupidest thing you have ever done. And somehow, you had landed yourself in deeper trouble if the shaking with barely contained rage from the thing was any indication.

You silently sent a prayer to the deity above, hoping that whoever was watching you from above would grant you a peaceful death. Although you weren’t one to believe much in religion, this seemed like a good time to start. Maybe next, an angel would drop from the sky too.

“HAHAHAHA!”

The hands you had raised as a shield were being forcefully put down by the entity in front of you.

“HAHAHA, I didn’t know humans could be this interesting.” Oh. The shaking was from laughter, you noted dumbly. You stared blankly at him before taking another step back, trying to covertly loosen his grip around your wrist.

After struggling in his grip for a good minute, you gave up the fight and waited for his laughter to die down. “HAHAHAHA. I never thought the day would come when I would get bested by a human. HAHAHA.”

Great, it seemed like the “demon” was showing signs of being a maniac too.

The entity in front of you kept mumbling to himself with a crazed look in his eyes. Honestly, you were getting kind of worried for him too. There’s no way getting smacked by a book is as funny as he made it sound. 

After another minute, his laughter finally subsided and his hold on you had loosened enough for you to wiggle out tentatively. The thing stared at you before his mouth curled into an unsettling grin, giving you goosebumps all over your arm.

“So human, tell me why you summoned a demon.”

Well, at least you got your answer to the burning question plaguing you. However, it was not a confirmation you wanted to hear at the moment. It wasn’t reassuring, one bit at all.

“You have piqued my interest, little lamb. Tell me why a measly human like you summoned one of the seven Denizens of Hell. What could possibly be your deepest desires?” said demon asked, voice growly in a way that gave you butterflies in the stomach; but the butterflies were trying to tear its way out to escape.

It took you a few moments to register his sentence. The seven Denizens of Hell? You weren’t familiar with the concept but it seems to indicate that the demon standing before you holds a high rank which means you must be in deeper trouble than you had initially thought.

“Uh.” You started. “I didn’t summon you, I think?” You dragged out your words hesitantly, holding out both hands in front of you defensively. Immediately, his face pinched into a frown as he studied your expression.

“You’re not lying.” He concluded after a second. You wonder how he came to that answer. Are demons equipped with the ability to tell lies? It seemed like an overkill.

“Though, something must have happened for me to be summoned.” He sighed, finally moving out of your personal space to scan around your room – which had been trashed from the black void that had opened up in the middle of your room to teleport the demon.

As you quietly bemoaned the state of your living quarters, the demon strides towards the textbook lying innocently on the ground. “This is it.” He bent at the waist to lean down and studied the title of the cover. “An Introduction to Economics: 1st Edition.” He said stonily, fingers curled around the spine of the textbook.

“How did you know?” It was a curious sight to witness, a demon with actual horns completed with a barbed tail standing in the middle of the wreckage of your room as if he belonged there. You could hardly believe it but sadly, no matter how many times you rubbed your eyes, the scene remained the same.

“I felt the magic radiating off it.” He answered simply as if it was something you should have known too.

“Where did you get the book from?”

“My friend lent it to me because-- Oh fuck.” You suddenly froze, feeling the blood drain from your face. The demon stared at you inquisitively, prompting you to finish your sentence.

“I have an exam tomorrow.”

.

Despite your reluctance to let the demon stay, he had unfortunately made himself comfortable on the singular standing chair in the bedroom as you pore over the book that Solomon had lent you. He had insisted on staying with you, even going as far as to force you to take responsibility for summoning him.

Seeing as there were no alternatives for now, you decided to deal with him after your current pressing issue – The Econs Midterm.

“What are you doing?” The demon asked you curiously. He had somehow donned a human appearance and out of the goodness of your heart, you had lent him some clothes that thankfully fit him. If you didn’t know better, he could even come off as harmless.

In fact, without the scary appendages on him, and if you look at him from the right angle, he was honestly kind of cute.

His voice had also turned less menacing which soothened your heart. You pointed to the textbook in response, squirming in your seat as he leaned close to your face. Do demons not have any concept of personal space?

“Your answer for part (b) is wrong.”

With an intent look, he pulls back after examining your scribbles on the mock exam beside the book. “You should use a contractionary fiscal policy to combat inflation instead.”

Instead of spewing out the first thought in your head, you decided to carefully choose your words this time. “...You study?” 

Maybe, you should have thought through your words more.

Thankfully, the demon didn’t take any offense to it. “Yes. Why? Is it so surprising that a demon had gone through formal education?”

Huh. You didn’t know that demons studied human-world subjects, much less went through a similar educational system to the human world. It was a pretty pleasant surprise, though you would have thought their curriculum would consist of ways to manipulate, slaughter, or seduce humans.

“Kinda.” You muttered, turning back to your notes. You itched to continue the conversation, the urge to know more about the differences between both of your worlds weighing heavily on you, alas the evergrowing pressure from your textbook was calling your name.

Yet, the demon continued to stare at the back of your head from the corner of your eye. You don’t believe that a human head is much different from a demon but you kept your complaints down. For now.

 .

Your pen drummed impatiently on the table as you tried your best to focus on the words in front of you but the insistent staring was getting to your head.

“Is the back of my head so interesting to look at?”

Oh. The words escaped again. Instinctively, your hands flew up again blocking the sight of the demon beside you. You started your farewells to your family, your friends, the neighbourhood cats, wait, who’s going to feed them if you die--

“I’m going to tutor you.”

Maybe you heard him wrongly. Gingerly, you set your hands down demurely on your lap and nodded to yourself. It must have been your hearing that was at fault. There is no way that the demon you summoned just offered to tutor you in a human-world subject. Does he even know what Economics in the human world is?

“I’ve never seen anyone so horrendous in Economics before. I’m tutoring you.” The demon dragged the chair over, situating himself right beside you. This was when you realised this was not a dream or hallucination you had conjured up.

“It’s a disgrace to the subject that someone could be this awful at it.” With every syllabus, it felt like a stab to your heart. Hey, it wasn’t your fault that you were bad at this. You were practically forced to take the subject as one of your modules because you had lost in the bidding stage. And, it wasn’t your fault that you didn’t turn up for the majority of the lectures – You had your coursework to do and there was no mandatory attendance for this.

Okay, maybe it was your fault.

The demon didn’t wait for your answer as he bullied the textbook from your hands amidst your protests. “Do you at least know the basic concepts?”

He must have really thought you were an idiot to ask this. The demon squinted at your mock exam on the table, picking it up to observe it closer. “Is it tested up till Chapter 10?”

You nod.

“Okay, we will skip the basics. Let’s go straight into Chapter 5, Fiscal Policy. Tell me what you know about this.”

Although you were flabbergasted, you still went along with his instructions. And that was how you somehow ended up studying the night away with your new “roommate”.

.

For the first time since taking this module, you were positive you were going to pass. You can’t believe that Pretty Boy a.k.a the scary demon was actually terrific at tutoring. He should consider a career switch – though maybe the demon part might scare people off.

Speaking of which, this entire time you had been referring to the demon as… Demon. It could be your scatterbrainedness, but it was only polite to ask for his name after he did you such a huge favour — he had tutored you into the wee hours of the night, and you barely got three hours of sleep before heading into the examination hall.

“What was your answer for question 2, part (b)?” A familiar grating voice echoed behind you. You immediately spun to see Solomon, the bane of your current evil. His lips stretched into a grin as he opened his arms wide, clearly expecting a hug from you.

With measured steps, you walked over and landed a punch on his shoulder hard. 

“Ow--! What the hell, sunshine?”

Sadly, your punch did not land as hard of a hit as you would have liked but seeing the reaction elicited from Solomon granted you some satisfaction at least. You clicked your tongue loudly and grabbed him by the arm, determined to find a quiet place so that you could talk about your new ‘roommate’.

Yet, despite your resolve, Solomon still had not budged a step. He was pinning you with a stare that practically screamed is-there-a-screw-loose-in-your-head? and his free hand was now planted on his waist, reminiscent of your mother’s posture when she reprimands you.

“Sunshine, I can’t stay to chat with you today.” He started, face creasing into a pained grimace as your nails dug into the skin of his arm.

“Ow--ow! Why are you so violent!” He finally smacked your hands off, bringing his hands up to inspect the crescent-shaped wounds. “I really can’t stay today. I have an important meeting in the Devil-- Uh. Somewhere.” He sends you another wounded expression while backing away, as you brought your balled fists up threateningly again.

“Just shoot me a text. I’ll reply to you as soon as I can.” He made a quick escape, turning around with a flourish as his cape billowed behind him. You could only watch as Solomon made his grand getaway with his long legs. Well, it seemed like fate had made its choice in screwing you up for a little longer.

Begrudgingly, you trudged home.

.

“Human, you’re back.”

You stopped in the doorway while taking off your shoes. The demon was lounging on your sofa, feet kicked up as he flipped through the channels on your television. 

“Oh.” That was all you could muster out from your shock at seeing him in the living room. Well, you hadn’t laid down any ground rules nor forbade him from exploring the apartment but it was still an unusual sight to see when coming home.

On second thought, you would rather him stay in the living room than your bedroom. He didn’t seem like the kind to rummage through your belongings but it was better to be safe than sorry.

After kicking off your shoes, you set your backpack and laptop on the kitchen island before making your way over to him. The demon flashes you a quick once-over before returning to the object of interest – the Television.

For some reason, you felt like you were intruding on his space. Although, it was rightfully your apartment. (Your bedroom was still wrecked to hell and you couldn’t bear to think about the cost of repairing it.)

“How was it?”

Amidst the indistinct pleasant buzz from the television, the demon placed the remote down to face you. You blinked in mild amusement. Was learning how to navigate human world appliances a part of the curriculum too? Even you had difficulty figuring out the controls for this.

“Ah. I think I passed.” You replied, distracted by the film playing on the television. The demon had good taste in films, playing one of your favourites on the screen.

He reached forward, snapping his fingers in front of you. You instantly took notice of the nauseating shade of neon green painted on his nails. For his sake, you hope that the fashion in Hell was vastly different because this shade was assaulting your eyes. But for all you know, he could be one of the pioneers of fashion in his realm.

 “Now, let’s talk about your repayment.”

“Repayment?” You echoed, staring at him as if he had grown a third head. Since when had you owed a debt to him? All you remembered was him helping you with your exam; he couldn’t possibly be trying to claim interest from that.

He nodded.

“You summoned me, didn’t you?” He said calmly, folding his legs up to give you more space on your couch.

“I told you! I didn’t--“

“--But you did.” With his cutting remark, you curled in on yourself and pouted. You couldn’t refute him. You did summon him. Though, wholly by accident.

“Okay fine. I’ll hear you out.” With a flippant attitude, you gestured for him to go on. He raised an eyebrow before sighing.

“Usually, a sacrifice is needed for a summon.” He shot you a glare to keep you from jumping in before he was finished. “But somehow, you’ve managed to bypass that step. So all that’s left is to fulfill a transaction between you and me.”

Meekly, you raised your hand. “Uh. But I don’t need any favours from a demon.” 

“Wrong.” He breathed out another sigh, as though he was speaking to an insolent child. “I’ve already completed my part of the transaction. What’s left is for you to fulfill yours.”

It dawned on you.

“Oh. You smart little--“ His lips twisted downwards into a warning sneer.

“Demon. Haha. Oh, so that is why you helped me out with my exam.” You said with your voice sugary sweet. Internally, you were stabbing metaphorical forks at yourself for accepting help from a demon so easily. You knew you were gullible but you really should have known better.

“That’s right. I’m a demon.” He scoffed, shooting a look that was so smug that you wanted to smack him. You dropped your fake smile, bringing your hands up to faceplant your forehead.

“Urgh. What’s your name?”

“I’m Satan, the Avatar of Wrath.” He said, sitting tall on the couch. Was being a demon really something to be proud of?

“Okay, Satan, Avatar of Wrath.” You started, already feeling a headache thrum in the back of your head. “I swear I don’t have anything to my possessions that you would like. Could you pretty please forget this favour and go back to where you came from? I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, can do.” Satan mocked you, folding his arms across his chest with his head tilted down at you. It was a feat considering that both of you were at eye level.

“I just need to co-habitat with you for a while. Surely, that can’t be too difficult?” You could see the demon staring at you condescendingly from the opposite side of the sofa. 

Many questions ran through your head but you were too overwhelmed to even try and grapple one out.

A pause rang out. Satan for once, kept quiet even as his lips thinned out into a snarl. He looked ready to argue with you at the drop of a hat.

With the extended time given, you decided to weigh your choices in front of you.

Pro(s):

Satan had proven himself to be quite academic, if you could utilise your cards properly, you could probably rope him into being your full-time tutor while he was here.

Although it had only been one night, he wasn’t as fussy as the past roommates you had (which was already a huge plus to you.) and he seemed to keep to himself.

He was pretty nice to look at.

Con(s):

He’s a demon.

Without the fact of his heritage, you would be almost inclined to reward him with the title of the Best Roommate you ever had. (It wasn’t like there was much competition there to begin with, the people you had roomed with were demons in human bodies.)

The demon was also pretty snarky but you had met worse people in college. This was nothing you couldn’t take.

With a deep breath, you made up your mind. It wasn’t like you had much choice in this matter either way. The demon asking was just for formality’s sake — this gives you a little more confidence at least, it proves that Satan cared about politeness and most likely wouldn't murder you in your sleep.

 With a nod, you extended your hand clearly meant for him to shake. 

“What do you want, human?” He stares at your outreached hand, confused. You scooted over to him and grabbed his crossed arm to free one hand to link with yours. “This is a handshake. We shake hands to seal the deal.”

He dropped his gaze to the interlocked hands with a hum. After a few seconds, he pulled away and shook his hand as if getting rid of dirt.

“Great.”

As you pulled your hands away, a vague sense of unease settled within your heart. (It somehow also reminded you of the time you had been coerced to join an MLM by an old acquaintance.)

.

In hindsight, you probably should have asked more about the situation.

After your conversation with Satan, you had assigned him the couch in the living room as his sleeping place. Surprisingly, he was pretty happy with the arrangement, stating that at least his sleep wouldn’t be disturbed here leading you to wonder more about his bedroom in Hell.

You had then turned in for sleep.

Or well, you had tried to go into your room to sleep but there was a suspiciously familiar crevice opening up in the middle again alongside the temperature dropping to the sub-zeros.

“What the hell?” You shrieked, watching as a wisp of smoke danced around a shadowy figure – the silhouette only vaguely human. You somehow had an inkling that this matter involved the person who was currently scouring your bookshelf in the living room.

“Satan! Get your ass here!” 

You hear a groan from the direction of where you had come from before hearing footsteps approach from both ends. Warily, your head turned slowly to where the gap was – it was the same as the one Satan had emerged from.

“Yo.”

Suddenly shy, your gaze flicked away from the demon before you. You certainly weren’t expecting this much-exposed skin this late in the evening.

“You sure took your time getting here.” You muttered crossly under your breath when the other demon appeared in your line of sight. Satan still looked relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets. The only show of acknowledgment was his eyebrows knitted in a frown.

“Mammon? How did you find me?” The Avatar of Wrath questioned, standing in front of you. Your vision was blocked by the sight of Satan’s shoulders as he motioned you to move back. Quietly, you slid away, not wanting to get caught up in the demons’ conversation.

“Ey. Where do you think yer’ going?” The demon, which you had now identified as Mammon, called out. With a blush still high on your cheeks, you took a quick rake at him. The small black horns that protruded at the top of his head were the least eye-catching part of him – your eyes ran over the thin white stripes over his chest and back and with the black straps around his body, you almost want to question if he came knocking at the wrong house. He looked like he belonged in the middle of a BDSM exhibition.

 “Y-yes!” You squeaked, hiding behind Satan’s back which appeared to be more sturdy suddenly. Mammon had a scowl on, as he pointed accusingly at you. You were thankful that he at least had on a bolero even if it was much too extravagant for your taste. The bat-like wings behind him fluttered a little as he moved towards Satan and you.

“Satan, you bastard.” The white-haired demon hissed, as he took quick steps to end up in front of both of you. You clutched onto Satan’s arm like a lifeline, fully hiding yourself behind him. Satan sends you a glare, trying to pry your hands off but failing to do so. “Why do Lucifer gotta send me here for this, huh?”

“To bring me back?”

Mammon sneers at his remark. “What do you think, younger bro?” The blue in his eyes seemed more piercing under the light of your bedroom. You were starting to think if you should be concerned a fight was going to break out.

He let out a huff.

“Who’s that?” The demon leaned forward to peer at you, eyes rounded in morbid curiosity. Satan stretched out an arm to block him from coming too close to you. Your palms were starting to get sweaty, but you persisted in sticking to Satan’s side like a thorn.

“A human,” Satan says matter-of-factly. You almost want to punch him in the face. Even now, he’s still refusing to call you by your name. Though, you vastly prefer him calling you human rather than a lamb.

“We made a contract vow.”

When the other demon looked at you for confirmation, you nodded timidly. The white-haired demon blinked rapidly, whipping his head to look at the Avatar of Wrath in disbelief. Dimly, you noted that he also had manicured nails, white and short – was this part of the job scope to be a demon?

“Ya’ made a pact?!” He gripped Satan by the shoulder, nails digging into the meat of his shoulder. “With a human?” Somehow, you couldn’t help but feel offended by that statement. It wasn’t like you were a willing participant in this. In fact, you were pretty sure you had gotten scammed into this.

 “No, a vow.” Satan corrected him, frowning. “It's like a contract. We learned that in school last semester, Mammon.” The demon sheepishly scratched the back of his head, clearly having no idea of what Satan was talking about.

It seemed like you weren't the only one who didn't listen in class.

“Grr…” The demon in front of you scrunches his face, a pained expression on his face. “Lucifer would kill me if I don’t bring ya’ back.” A thoughtful expression crossed his face as he tapped his feet impatiently.

The next line that came out of his mouth made you shudder.

“How about I eat the human?” You straightened up with a yelp. “Then there will be no vow right?” 

“Don’t touch the human.” Satan’s voice has dropped an octave, and you can see the flicker of his demon form appearing. Obediently, you let go of his arm and stepped aside – in a fight between whales, the shrimp's back gets broken. You would hate to get caught up in their battle.

“Yo, relax.” Mammon scowled, flicking his hand once. He lowered his head to briefly examine your face and immediately started snickering loudly. “It was a joke, chill.”

Was he joking about your life right now? You were pissed but in the presence of two otherworldly entities, you kept your anger in check.

“I can’t go back now,” Satan says again, demon form nowhere to be found after confirming Mammon’s intentions. “It’s a binding contract.” He elaborated with a smug smile. “Lucifer can’t drag me back either unless he wants me to burn in the pits.”

What?

“Burn?” You spoke up loudly as both the demons turned to look at you with surprise as if forgetting you were there. “You didn’t tell me that before we made the vow.”

Satan just nodded in your direction.

Although you haven’t met him for long, it didn’t feel right if you got blood (ash?) on your hands for not upholding your side of the vow. Even if you had been conned into it.

“Ain’t there supposed to be a timeframe or something?” Mammon spoke, looking at you. You squirmed on the balls of your feet as you bravely held eye contact with him. You were pretty astonished that he suddenly seemed to know his stuff.

“Six months?” You offered hesitantly. Satan hadn’t specified anything earlier and you were much too tired to even think through the intricacies of the contract until now. From the corner of your eyes, you could see him give you a discontented look.

On the other hand, Mammon looked satisfied as he pulled back to wave at you.

“I’ll be back in six months then.”

Poof.

Another wisp of smoke materialised from the ground and sheathed the demon like a second skin. When you blinked again, the demon was no longer here.

.

The stupid bastard had stolen one of your jewellery.

After exchanging glances with Satan, you gestured for him to come into your bedroom so you could continue your talk. You had dragged the chair from your table over to your bed, only to realise that the brainless demon had swiped one of your necklaces from where it lay on the table.

“...”

You broke the silence after both of you had settled in your respective seats. “Okay, what’s the deal about burning in the pits of Hell?”

“It’s just a punishment for breaking the vow.”

“Isn’t that harsh?”

“Demons can’t die. We’ll just regenerate, though it may take me thousands of years if I sink to the bottom of the pit.”

You furrowed your eyebrow at his nonchalance. “Why did you make the vow with me?”

“I wanted to get away.” Satan paused. “I needed a fresh change of scenery.”

You still didn’t get it.

“But you didn’t have to enter into a vow, did you?”

“Drop it.” His tone had taken one that was more threatening and you could see him bristle. It seemed like it was a touchy subject.

You still weren’t satisfied with his answer but you decided to stop talking about it for today. You had gone through quite a fair bit of ordeal in the past few days and you could feel the onset of a headache.

“So… six months?” You offered.

The demon sighed, looking very much frustrated. “Since you have mentioned a time frame, the vow would have to abide by that.” 

There was no room for further conversation after that. Abruptly, Satan stood up to leave the room after wishing you a good night.

“Wait.”

He peers at you confusedly as you hover near the door hesitantly with a pinched expression.

“You need to pay me back for what Mammon stole.”

You closed the door in his face.

.

Living with Satan felt like living with a cat that has no regard for you.

He was almost entirely self-sufficient – you could always find him sprawling out on the couch in the living room with a book. (Satan has already gone through your entire collection and was demanding you to get more.) 

Living with another person took some adjustment but thankfully, Satan wasn’t as disgusting as your previous roommates. Though he had a habit of leaving his your books all over the living room. This wouldn’t be much of a bother if not for the fact that you now start your day by stubbing your toes on them.

With your new routine in place, you would like to say that you have been getting along well with Satan – although without your intervention, you were sure that the demon would be half close to death.

(“Do demons eat food?” You asked one day, curious. 

It’s been a couple of weeks since Satan had shown up in your flat and in that period, you hadn’t seen the blond-haired demon take a bite of food. Maybe demons had a different type of feed compared to humans.

You dearly hope it wasn’t human meat that he would need to feed on.

“Ah.” Satan looks up at you from the couch. “Right, I need to eat.” He said, ignoring your question as he slotted a bookmark into the page of the book he was reading.

“Do you have food?”

“Are there any preferences or allergies I would need to cater to?”

“Hell Black coffee.”

You waited for an elaboration that never came. Though, you can safely assume that it was a beverage exclusive to Hell.

“You can’t survive on just black coffee, Satan.”

“Add a Devil Zebra Bacon Sandwich then.”

“Satan, we don’t have that here.” You glance around your kitchen, before striding over to your refrigerator to check on the available ingredients.

“I’ll make a bacon sandwich and some coffee for you.”

The demon nodded at you before returning to his book.

“Do demons need to eat?” You reiterated your earlier question.

“Kind of.” Satan paused, looking as though he was thinking hard about your question. “We do have to eat to be at our peak condition but we won’t die if we don’t.”

You let out a low breath and stare at Satan who had the audacity to look confused.

Even if one doesn’t die by not eating, how could he still skip all of his meals?

“Okay.” You say, “I will be making food for us every day. I am not taking no for an answer.”

“I won’t die if I don’t eat.” The demon insisted, sitting up in confusion.

You shot him a glare and Satan’s response died down.

You then started looking for the ingredients for the sandwich before Satan decided to open his mouth and tell you more about his unhealthy habits.) 

.

You step into the living room, holding a box in your hands. You decided to be benevolent and finally gift Satan your old phone. You figured that it wouldn’t hurt for him to have a way to contact you.

“Is this a D.D.D?”

You've long gotten used to the random terminology that the demon would drop in the middle of your conversation.

“It’s a Samsung Galaxy A6.” With a deadpan voice, you dropped the box into Satan’s lap. The demon continued scrutinising the package, tilting it from side to side. “I’ve inputted my contact information inside. You can contact me if needed.”

“Thanks.” He uttered with absolutely no sense of thanks.

You were about to bicker back when a bzzt caught your attention. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you swiped on the notification as you sat on the couch beside Satan.

[03:15PM] Monnie: Just received ur text.

[03:15PM] Monnie: I’m outside right now. Please open the door.

Jumping up from your seat, you quickly opened the door not wanting to keep your classmate waiting.

“Where is he?”

For some reason, Solomon looked rigid as if he was brimming with barely contained anger. You had never seen him like this, face bland with no emotions and straightened to his full height. He looked different from your Solomon, who was always playful.

“W-who?” You stumbled over your words hurriedly, as he pushed past you and headed straight.

“Solomon?” The demon on the couch frowned, putting the secondhand phone down when he noticed the footsteps heading towards him. “What are you doing here?”

You noticed how Satan flinched at the sight of him. It seemed as if they had some sort of history together. Were they exes?

“You know him?”

“Yes, the Wise Sorcerer.”

 “The Avatar of Wrath, Satan.”

You exchanged brief glances with Satan before opening your mouth in exasperation. “Okay. What’s the deal with you too?”

 “I’m a sorcerer.”

You were starting to wonder if you had a penchant for attracting supernatural beings. Now everything made sense, the fact you had summoned Satan was no mere accident.

“Magic is real?”

“Very.” Solomon moved closer to stop right in front of the demon. “What did you do?” His voice was neutral, face painfully blank.

“We made a vow.” Satan scowls as he shifts in his seat awkwardly as he tilts his head in your direction. You could tell he didn’t like the accusing tone that Solomon was using. “I got summoned here by that human.”

“Summoned?” The sorcerer questioned, biting his inner cheek in thought. “Why did you respond to it?”

That was new information to you – Satan could have rejected your summon but he didn’t. For some reason, the possibility of not meeting him made you bitter. 

The demon lets out a measured breath as he shrugs, not sparing you a glance. “I was bored.” 

“The Devildom had called for an emergency meeting a while back.” Solomon continues, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling. “Mammon said that you were cozying up with a human. I didn’t think it was true.”

You observed the demon’s expression carefully, trying to read his thoughts – you want to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling right now.

“What about it?” Satan’s voice was far too even for your liking, face schooled into a placid smile.

“You made a vow, didn’t you?” Solomon’s lips were starting to curl up threateningly. Once again, it seemed like a fight was going to break out. You wonder if you should start leaving the room. 

“You do know that MC here doesn’t have any magic right?” 

Satan nods.

“What if MC gets injured? Will you take responsibility?”

“Hey--“ You tried to jump into the conversation, but none of them were paying you any attention, too focused on staring each other down.

“I will.”

“Hey-- Ay, what?”

“I’ll leave Sunshine in your hands then.” With widened eyes and raised eyebrows, Solomon takes a step back, patting you on the shoulder as he brushes past you to make a beeline to the kitchen.

“I haven’t eaten all day in a rush to get here, can I whip up something?” 

In a feat to not let the sorcerer destroy your kitchen, all thoughts about the earlier conversation flew out of your head as you ran ahead of him to block his entry.

.

Teaching a demon how to act human was no easy feat.

“I want a Shadow Hog Stir Fry in Demi-glace Sauce.”

The waitress stares at him, pen hovering above her notepad. You forced out a laugh, leaning over to hit Satan on the shoulder teasingly.

“He’s just joking.” You crinkle your eyes up, desperately wishing that the waitress didn’t think of you both as weirdos. At least, you hope that the waitress doesn’t group both of you together – this was one of your favourite dining places, and you would hate to get banned.

Satan narrowed his eyes into slits and was just about to open his mouth to argue. You quickly kicked him from where you were seated across the booth. Begrudgingly, he kept his mouth shut.

“Alright.” The waitress says, not entirely convinced. “What can I get started for both of you?”

“Can I get a Devil Coke?”

“You mean cola, sir?” The waitress's voice was perfectly courteous, even if you could see a glint of chagrin in her eyes.

“Yes, that and a cup of water.” With a loud voice, you cut in quickly. You could see the demon’s bottom lip jutting out in frustration as you tried to keep up the playful act. “You’re so funny today, Sa--“

“Sully.” You end awkwardly, voice strained.

“Right, okay.” The waitress thankfully just ignores your comment, as she flips the pages of the menu and points to the top of the page. “We would recommend the Classic Demi-glace Rice for your companion here. This dish over here is our best-seller too.”

You nodded in the direction of the waitress. “Great, we’ll get both.”

After scribbling down your orders on her notepad, she collected the menu and walked off. After making sure that no one else was in the vicinity, you leaned forward and hissed at him.

“You have to remember that we are in the human world.”

“They don’t have these here? Shadow Hog Stir Fry in Demi-glace Sauce and Devil Coke are everywhere in the Devildom.”

“Well, take a look at the menu. Is it written there?”

Satan rolled his eyes, pointing at the table.

“The waitress took it away. Anyways, why am I Sully?”

“It’s not like I can introduce you as Satan, can I?” You said sarcastically. “I’m not trying to get flagged as a cultist.”

“Why not? They’re a pretty fun bunch.”

“That’s beside the point!”

Satan’s gaze flew up to the ceiling as he ignored your statement. He muttered some insults under his breath, which you pointedly turned a deaf ear to.

Thankfully, you still had time to teach him about human customs –you were determined to drill him about human etiquette before he headed back to the underworld.

.

A week later, Satan somehow manages to coax you into bringing him onto campus. Actually, it wasn’t far-fetched to say that he guilt-tripped you into doing so.

(“I’m bored.” He says.

You raised an eyebrow at his figure by the doorway. You have finally fixed the crack in your bedroom and thankfully, it didn’t cost as much as you thought it would. Though, you hadn’t repurchased any of the furniture that was destroyed during the summoning.

“Hi bored, what do you want?” You snarked back, back still hurting from hunching over your coursework on the ground. The materials were spread all over – you had shifted to the floor when you realised that there wasn’t enough space on your table.

“Stop talking nonsense.” He walked over, leaning over by the waist to squint at your work. “Do you need to head back to school tomorrow to submit these?”

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” You paused your actions and looked at him suspiciously.

“You said that you were going to teach me how to be more human, right?” He started, squatting down to shift your papers aside to make a space for him to sit.

You nodded slowly, unable to see where he was going with this.

“Bring me on a tour of your campus.”

“What?”

“It’s been hard on me,” He says, suddenly slumping his shoulders. “I haven’t been cooped up in the same place for so long since the time Lucifer kept me in the cupboard.”

You couldn’t refute his logic. Satan had indeed been confined in your quarters, not because you didn’t trust him-- Actually yeah, it was because you didn’t trust him.

You hadn’t explicitly forbade him not to go out but the demon seemed to know that you hadn’t felt comfortable enough to let him roam free. The weather had turned chilly lately which further lowered your ambitions to head out – though Satan had seemed pretty immune to the temperature.

Are demons more resistant to the cold?

Satan waits for a bit, before reaching for your sleeve to tug on it. If you stared at him long enough, you could almost swear that you could see tears brimming in the corner of his eyes.

“Please?”

Pretty green eyes stare up at you, wide and pleading. You felt your resolve weaken.)

.

Which was exactly how you ended up in this situation.

The towering shelves seem to extend far beyond your vision, and the grand expanse of the library is filled with countless volumes, making it a scholar’s paradise. The demon stands in front of you, gaping at the sight.

With his love for knowledge, you had purposefully kept the library as your last destination on the tour.

“Please keep the books to a maximum of five.” You told Satan, urging him to go forth and explore the space. “My student ID only allows five to be checked out at a time.”

His eyes had widened into big shiny orbs, alight with curiosity. For once, he didn’t argue back and gently walked ahead to the ornate wooden shelves to start scanning through the books. For you though, you headed over to the table heaving your bag up on the surface.

You decide to get some work done while Satan explores the winding mess of bookshelves.

.

Deep in your work, you barely noticed the tap on your shoulder. Only the call of your name broke the haze of concentration you were in.

“Yuki?” Your eyes widened as you tried to keep your voice down, glancing around nervously at the other library-goers.

“Oh my god, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you around!” Yuki beams at you, arms spaced out to hug you.

“Yeah, we haven’t seen each other since last semester.”

“How have you been doing?” 

Both of you continued to exchange polite pleasantries for a bit, as you pulled out the chair beside you for her to sit down.

“Oh right,” Yuki began, pulling out her phone from her purse. “There’s a party I’m organising coming up soon. Do you wanna come? I invited people from our class last semester.”

You hummed for a second.

It’s been a long while since you went to a party, and even longer since you entertained the thought of drinking. It hadn’t even occurred to you, especially after housing Satan who had occupied all of your time and thoughts.

“Sure, just text me the date when it’s confirmed.” You responded, typing in your contact information when she handed her phone over. It should be fine to leave the demon alone for one night – it wasn’t like he had much of a penchant for mischief.

A voice from behind called, “Which five should I check out?”

Both Yuki and you turn to look at the demon, carrying a stack of books so high that you were worried he was going to topple them on you. Your eyes widened as you quickly stood up to grab a couple of books from him, clearing up his vision.

“Uh.” You had almost forgotten about the third presence with you, too busy trying to direct Satan in the right direction of the table. “Is this, uh, your boyfriend?”

Awkwardly, your hands hover in the air as you reach for another book from the Avatar of Wrath’s arm. “No, uh, we’re roommates.”

Satan nods behind you. “Pleased to meet you. My name is Sa--“

You elbowed him in the stomach, plastering a smile on your face.

“Sully.”

Yuki laughs somewhat stiltedly, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. “I’m Yuki, It is a pleasure to meet you as well.”

Her eyes darted between the demon and you, before widening into a grin again. “Sully, do you want to come along to the party as well?”

You jerked your head to look at her with blown-out pupils. Well, this wasn’t the direction that you had expected the conversation to take. Curiously, you turn to look at Satan. You wonder what would be his response.

“Party?” Satan sounded out the syllabus in his mouth, arching an eyebrow. “Probably not, I have to get through these books as soon as possible.”

He points at the intimidating stack piled up on the table.

“However, thank you for the invite.” He tilts his head down slightly, thanking her.

Now, you were the one who raised an eyebrow. Since when had he learned how to be so polite? He always acted like a minx with you.

“Well, alright then. If you change your mind, you could always just tag along.” Yuki glances at her wrist for the time, letting out a small gasp. “Oh, I’ll have to get going first. See you around.”

She stood up, tugging up her bag onto her shoulder as she waved you goodbye with a smile. Satan and you watched as she walked off.

“Lovely seeing her.” You say.

“Help me choose now,” Satan demanded at the same time.

“Geez.” You muttered, “Where did that polite facade of yours disappear to?”

“Stop talking and start choosing.”

“Fine.”

.

A couple of days later, you decided to bring Satan on an outing around your neighbourhood. It was odd how the conversation from that day stayed in your head like a plague, and when you had seen him sprawling on the couch, you decided to put your plan into action.

“Get ready.”

“Can’t you see I’m reading?”

“I’m bringing you on a tour around the block.” You paused, shaking the bag you were holding in front of his face. “It’s also my turn to feed neighbourhood cats this week.”

You threw the scarf you had dug out from the back of your closet at him. Even if he was less affected by the cold, you still wanted him to be prepared against the weather. (You also wanted to see how he would look like all bundled up in winter wear.)

Suddenly, a hand clamped on your shoulder hard while you were lost in thoughts. 

“You should have started with that.”

Next, you know, Satan was ready by the door, impatiently pawing at your security system trying his best to unlock it. It’s been a couple of weeks since he had intruded into your house per se, but he still hadn’t gotten a hang of the electronic door system you had.

It was adorable watching him fumble around since he was always prim and proper. Well, it seemed like you still were learning new things about the demon every day.

.

“I didn’t know you liked cats this much.”

Amusedly, you handed the can of wet cat food to the blond – who was currently cooing at the tabby cat as it rubbed against his leg. It was admittedly, a cute sight to witness and an unexpected twist from what you would expect from a demon like him.

Would this be what they call gap moe?

“Of course I do.” Satan peers up at you confusedly, face practically screaming with incredulousness. “Cats are an integral part of life, one can never miss out on the joy of running their fingers through a cat’s fur.”

His eyes gleamed with a fiery passion as he continued ranting away. Sighing, you decided to also squat on the ground, grabbing the tabby’s attention as you dumped the wet cat food out on the plate while listening to the demon’s tirade.

“Do they have cats in the Devildom too?”

“Of course they do, human.” Fondly, you watched as his fingers found their place underneath the cat’s chin. His nose had also turned a bright shade of red, resembling Rudolph. “I’ll bring you to the Devildom on a trip to see them in the future.” 

Your heartbeat quickens and a warm feeling settles in the middle of your chest.

“O-oh?” You say.

“Yeah, you can consider this a repayment for letting me lay eyes on the most magnificent creatures in the three realms.”

There’s a moment of pause as you register his comment, somehow swallowing past the lump in the back of your throat. You lowered your gaze to the concrete ground, hands absentmindedly going through the motions through the cat’s fur.

So that’s what he meant.

Before you could get too over in your head, you decided to stand up, ready to move on to the next feeding location, missing the way Satan had looked at you.

“Sully?”

“Oh, I didn’t expect to meet you so soon again.”

You turned your head to the side, the bag of cat food left abandoned on the ground as you inspected the situation in front of you. Satan had also gotten up, giving the tabby one last pet, before he turned to the stranger.

“Ah, this is my roommate.”

Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the demon nudging you to pay attention to the conversation. Bizarrely, he was still warm to the touch despite the red shade of his nose. You quickly put on a polite smile and introduced yourself.

“Ah, I’m Luna.” 

The girl in front of you was petite, with hair that was spun gold and the brightest smile you had ever seen in your life. You ended up speechless for a second, looking at the outreached hand.

Satan elbowed you again.

“Hi, yes.” You started after regaining your composure, reaching out to shake her hand. “Oh, I didn’t know Sully over here, had friends.”

It was a miracle that your voice came out all steady.

Luna raises a delicate hand to titter, eyes crinkled. You couldn’t help but find her adorable, even as something anxious sat in the pit of your stomach, the organ seemingly all twisted wrong.

“Oh, I met her at the library,” Satan says. For some reason, he paused to look at you before adding on. “She’s working at the library as a librarian. I enlisted her help to find some titles.”

The girl nods rapidly, somehow seeming to emit a brighter glow the longer you watch her.

“Are you guys feeding the cats?”

“Ah yes, my roommate is also bringing me on a tour around the neighbourhood since I’m new.”

You nod along, pressing the palms of your hand along your thigh to get rid of the sweat forming there. You couldn't understand why you were sweating despite the cold. “Do you want to come along?”

The demon turned his gaze to look at you, covering his mouth with a hand to mime coughing as he hiss a what-the-hell to you. Bewildered, you just tilted your head in response. 

Wouldn’t this be a good opportunity for Satan to make friends? You thought he would approve seeing as how he was complaining about being “cooped up” in his words.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you guys.”

“Ah yes, it’s fine!” You urged, grabbing onto her arm, and tugging her to walk ahead. Satan reluctantly picked up the bag of wet cat food and trailed after both of you.

.

“Why did you invite her?”

The door to your apartment hadn’t even been fully opened when the demon sprung the question on you. You continued walking in, taking off your shoes in the hallway as you stayed silent. Satan barged past you to stand in front of you, forcing you to look up at him.

It’s been a while since you had found the demon intimidating and the way he was looking at you now somehow reminded you of your first meeting with him, though it was now more of a fond memory.

“I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to make new friends.” You brushed past him, heading to put the empty bag and the takeaway containers on the kitchen island. “I didn’t know you would take offense to it.”

You could hear footsteps echoing behind you, following in your path.

“Take your shoes off. I just mopped it in the morning.”

“I didn’t want her to come along.”

The container of fried rice drops on the surface with a thud, thankfully not spilling open. You would hate to clean the mess up when you are covered in cat fur and tired from socialising.

Did you not like her? Is she not pretty enough? Why do you not like her? Why are you telling me this? 

Multiple questions swarmed in your head but none made it out of your mouth.

“I see.” You say, not knowing what else to reply.

Satan huffed a sigh out, taking out his shoes and placing them in the cabinet next to your door. The silence in the air felt long and stretched out. The only thing you could hear in the apartment was your own beating heart, which was pounding at a hundred miles per second. You had never felt uncomfortable in the presence of the demon before this. You hated it.

“Human, are you not going to ask me about it?” The demon demanded, wrestling the takeaway containers from you and grabbing the utensils from the drawers.

“Do you want me to?” You countered. You don't know why he was acting like this.

“Fine, so be it.” Satan runs a hand through his hair, slamming the container down on the table. You almost winced for the fate of your dinner.

"Continue to act like that.” He says, spinning around to leave the kitchen. Immediately, you regretted the words that came out of your mouth.

“Wait, no.” Your hands instinctively found their place around the edge of Satan's shirt. You twiddled your thumb around the fabric, blinking back your embarrassment. Your head hung low as you avoided his eyes, biting your lips nervously. “I’m sorry.”

You could feel the demon slowly turn around, but you stubbornly kept your gaze on the kitchen floor. You hadn’t fought with him before, the uneasiness of the situation making your insides squirm.

“I’m sorry for inviting her without asking you.”

“You-” Satan’s voice sounded pinched in discomfort. He lets out another deep exhale, hands gently placed on your shoulder.

“You don’t need to apologise. I should have been the one to say sorry.”

“No. I should have checked if you were okay with me inviting her.”

The demon just nods, placing a hand on the top of your head to mimic a pat. Somehow, you found the motion soothing and gained a deeper understanding of a cat's psyche.

Satan then turns back to the island to retrieve the containers again –you had gotten takeaway from a nearby Chinese restaurant because the demon had been craving for it.

“Okay, since both of us are certain that we are at fault. Let’s just forgive each other and move on?”

You head over to the living room first, settling down on the floor as Satan follows closely behind, holding the day’s dinner in his arms. Eating together had become an established norm in your apartment – you hadn’t noticed when both of you had become so close, so domestic, so soft. 

You made a conscious effort to not think about the earlier conversation but it still weighed heavily on your mind. 

What does it mean? Why does he want you to ask about it?

.

“Satan.” You set the bowl of cereal in front of him and then put yours beside his. “I’m heading out for the party later at night. I will be back late.”

He pours milk into your bowl and slides it across the table to you. “Don't you have class today?"

"Yeah until 6, but I'll be back for dinner before heading out for the party."

"Oh, is it the one your classmate invited you to?”

“Yes, wanna come along?”

“Not today. I’m aiming to finish this." He points to the book lying on the couch. "Also, I'm trying out this new recipe I read in this book for dinner.”

You squint at the book on top of the throw pillow, Satan’s favourite, with a picture of a kitten – it was worn out from use, an evident reminder of how the demon had integrated into your life so smoothly.

“Remind me to get a new pillow soon.”

“Sure. Be safe tonight.”

You were almost positive the cereal had gone down the wrong pipe. For a second, you wondered if you were starting to make things up. The demon pushes the cup of water to you, urging you to drink it. It was nearly comical how affected you were by a simple phrase.

“Thanks.”

Satan continues to nurse his cup of coffee. It was truly amazing how he could stand the taste of it. You had tried it once out of curiosity and almost spat it out due to how bitter it was.

(“Why would you do this to yourself?” You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand after washing out your mouth with mouthwash.

Satan shrugged.

“It reminds me of Hell’s Coffee back in my realm,” He explains, taking a sip from the same coffee that you had tried. “The coffee would become bitter if the brewer has feelings for the one they are brewing for. It also changes depending on the magic content.”

“That’s interesting.” You say. “So is your coffee always bitter then?”

He smiles at you, swirling the liquid in the cup thoughtfully. “Sometimes. Though, I’ve never had anyone who tried my coffee say it’s bitter.”

That was… fascinating. You would have expected Satan to, maybe, have more experience.

“Oh.” You muster, still thinking about the implications of his statement.

“When you come to the Devildom, I’ll let you try my version of it.” The demon says before finishing the rest of his drink in one shot, face scrunching up at the acidity of it.

“Okay.” You say, nodding. “Okay, sure.”

Your face was heating up for some reason, and you felt like your brain had been dipped into a bathtub with the toaster plugged in.

You wonder if the coffee he makes for you would be bitter.)

.

You arrived at the party at midnight and amazingly, your host was already knocked out on the couch.

“Yuki.” You shook her once, only getting murmuring as a reply. It was obvious that she had ascended into the astral plane. You were planning to count on her to take care of you but that plan flew out of the window.

You straightened up, speaking to no one in particular. “What the hell? I’ve only just gotten here.”

“Unfortunate.” Someone says sympathetically beside you. You recognise her as one of your classmates from your previous semester, “Go and get yourself started with a drink from the kitchen.”

You winced.

“It’s still early.”

“It’s literally past midnight.” She says, staring at you with a deadpan expression. “That’s what you came here for right? To drink?”

You look in dismay as your classmate shoves you in the direction of the kitchen. Though, she was right. You had indeed come here intending to drink as much as you can.

The demon had been occupying your head as of late, and you were starting to get desperate for an excuse to get out of the house to clear your head.

She pushes a red solo cup into your hand, urging you to take it. “Here you go. Cheers.”

With your safety plan out of commission, you were determined to only drink enough to get tipsy. After all, you were at a college party. Though, you still needed to find a way to hitch a ride home after.

You would hate to worry Satan if you stayed at the house overnight, though you question if he would even expend the energy to be concerned for you. (You think he would, but you can't be sure.)

Your classmate hands another cup of jungle juice to you. You could already feel the buzz of the alcohol in your bloodstream. The concoction was stronger than expected.

“I can’t drink anymore.” You insist. “I don’t want to get too drunk.”

“Just get one of the sober monitors on duty to drive you back.” She pats you on the shoulder, pointing somewhere in the room. You barely register the touch, hanging onto her arm.

“Joshua!” She shouts, your ears ringing from the volume. The bass of the music was deep, drowning out her voice. Thankfully, the man in question turns to you. His facial features were oddly familiar but you couldn’t put a finger to it.

“Oh? It’s been a while.” Joshua smiles at you. You noted vaguely that he was holding a cup of water instead of the red solo cup filled with jungle juice. “We were in the same group last semester, weren’t we?”

Somehow, you were already on your third cup, and you could feel yourself swaying from the alcohol. You hadn’t even realise that your other classmate had already left to mingle around with the rest of the party-goers.

“Yes.” You weren’t sure about it, but it seemed plausible.

“Do you need me to drive you home?”

“Yes.” You said again, sounding very much like a broken record. “Please.”

“No worries.” He laughs again, ducking his head low to talk to you over the music. “Do you want to go now?”

You shake your head. You clearly weren’t drunk enough if thoughts about the blond-haired demon were still rattling around in your head. You hadn’t even noticed yourself metamorphosing his features into the guy before you.

 “You sure?”

You nod again, brushing off his concerns. The alcohol seemed to only amplify your emotions about the demon. You needed to get some fresh air to think. Vaguely, you remember seeing a backyard as you came in.

On your way out, you threw away the rest of your drink before toddling off into the direction of the backyard. You were surprised to find out that you were the only occupant so far – the trees were finally in bloom after the long cold days and you could feel a mild breeze on your skin.

The night air punctuates the day and you inhale, your lungs filling with fresh air as you take your phone out of your pocket, noticing a notification on the screen.

[02:42AM] You have one missed call from Satan

The steady thrum of the music couldn’t drown out the sound of your heartbeat suddenly quickening. The cool air was a god-given gift against your flushed skin as you hovered over the call button.

The phone rang once, twice and then a voice answered.

“Human?”

You kept silent. (You wonder after all these months, were you still just a human to him?)

“Hello? Are you okay?”

“Um yes.”

“Why did you call me? I thought you were at the party?”

You hesitated, looking at your phone again to check that you hadn’t seen it wrong. You have been standing out in the backyard for a while and have sobered up considerably.

“Weren’t you the one who called me?”

“Ah right, I forgot you were out tonight. I was worried that you were out so late.”

“Worried?” You breathed out, fingers suddenly trembling. The temperature outside wasn’t even cold enough to warrant an outerwear, but you couldn’t stop your hands from shaking.

“Yeah.”

All you could hear was his breathing on the other side of the call.

“Can you pick me up?” You blurted out suddenly. “No, I mean. Never min-” You cut yourself off in a panic, crouching to let your head hang between your knees.

This was out of character for you. He must think you were insane, suddenly putting in a request to pick him up. None of the buses or trains were running at this time. The only way possible was if he teleported. You don’t even know if he even had the ability to teleport, let alone even use it to come and find you.

“Just ignore what I sai–”

“I’m here, " the voice echoed in front of you. You refused to lift your head to check your surroundings, refusing to let yourself be disappointed. Your grip on your phone grew tighter, and you vaguely sensed that your stomach was churning.

The shadow cast in front of you suddenly shifts and you recognise the hands gently tugging your phone down.

“I’m here.” He repeats again, tapping on the screen to hang up the call from your phone. You still had your head hung low, staring at the haphazardly worn shoes. It was a mismatched pair of a matching set you had bought on sale – the cat pair had been given to the demon, while you had the matching duck set. You had never worn yours out, leaving it near your cabinet but Satan had utilised his well.

He had worn one side of the cat slipper, and the duck slipper, which were a size too small.

You let out a laugh, your chest heaving up and down. Once, twice, and then you broke out into a full fit of giggles. Your breath quickened, each inhale sharp and shallow. Clutching at your abdomen, you forced yourself to breathe.

“Human.”

“Y-you can teleport?” Your voice came out squeaky, high-pitched as if the air had been knocked out of your windpipes. “Why did you come?”

The demon tilts his head, leaning in close with squinted eyes. “Are you drunk?” He lifts a hand to touch your forehead, hand cool against yours.

“You’re red.” He remarked.

You stiffly nod. The cold wind had helped your heated skin to calm down but it was of no use against Satan. You could feel the full force of the blush burning high on your cheekbones.

“You’re a lightweight.”

“I drank,” Your mind was telling you to lean into the demon’s touch but you staunchly made yourself lean away instead. “I think four cups.”

“Only four?”

“You think you can do better?” You scoffed, inhibitions low enough for you to start running your mouth. “You have noodle arms, you’ll probably pass out after the first cup.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“I’m just saying.”

“You’re on.”

The demon stands up, dusting off his pants and grabbing your hand to drag you into the house. “This way?” You stumble along, your eyes locking on the way his hand fits in yours. He leads you to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of jungle juice – he didn’t let go of your hand, making what was originally a one-person job into two.

He hands you a cup, raising an eyebrow.

“Cheers.”

You muttered similarly, before throwing back the drink with a wince. You’ve never liked the taste of alcohol much, the liquid tasting like medicine and sliding down hot to your stomach. You hadn’t even realised you had squeezed your eyes shut.

“This is nothing,” Satan remarked, barking out a sharp laugh. “You get drunk off this? You’re so cute.” He laughs again, but you can see him sway, holding onto the edge of the counter to maintain his balance.

“That’s…” He trails off, blinking a few times at you. You didn’t know whether to be worried that the person you had called to pick you up was now drunk or find it amusing that he got drunk off one cup of alcohol.

“Bitter.” He finishes with a scrunched-up face.

You burst out into laughter, bending over at the waist to gasp for air. You tried to let go of his hand so that you could clutch at your abdomen but Satan refused, tightening his grip to the point where it was mildly painful.

“Are you actually drunk?” You ask, stifling your laughter with much effort. You couldn’t believe he was this much of a lightweight.

“I’m not, human. But no.”

He was starting to speak gibberish. This made you highly amused. You hadn’t seen Satan be this…openly vulnerable before. It was a far cry from the intimidating demon you first met in the winter.

“Human. Stop laughing.” 

Satan reaches forward, presumably to grab you by the shoulder but overshot, knocking both your foreheads together – both of you tumbling to the ground under his weight, his hands flying behind your head to cushion your fall.

“Urgh, get off.” You tried to push the demon off you but he was persistent on doing his best impression of a slug, sprawling out over you and refusing to move an inch. You would normally be nervous at his close proximity if not for the fact that you are currently having difficulty breathing under his weight.

 “Hey, woah–”

With as much effort as you can muster, you shifted into a better position and spotted Joshua standing in the doorway looking lost at your predicament.

“Please help.”

.

With his aid, you managed to fight coax Satan into the backseat of Joshua’s car.  You were initially planning to sit up front with your classmate to give directions but the demon had refused to let go of your arm, forcing you to stay in the backseat with him.

(“Is he from our school?” Joshua glances briefly at the demon clinging to your arm with an mirthful smile. You can feel the embarrassment burning hot at the tip of your ear.

“Oh, he’s actually my roommate.”

“I’m a demon.” The demon beside you slurred, head knocking back into the seat. For the sake of your reputation, you sincerely prayed that he wouldn't throw up the contents in his stomach.

"Haha, he's been into roleplaying lately." You spun up a lie quickly with an awkward smile. Looking at Satan's peaceful expression, you wonder if you should give him a good smack and call it a day.)

Within minutes, you had arrived at your apartment and Joshua was already opening the car door to help you lift Satan up.

“Only want my human,” The demon’s eyes were half-lidded as he murmured under his breath, all while resisting Joshua’s help to bury his head deeper into your lap.

“You smell nice.”

As much as you wanted to read into this, you couldn’t help but be conscious of the third presence watching both of you. You dearly hope that your classmate couldn’t hear the demon’s drunk mutterings.

“Why does he, uh, call you human?”

Well, there goes your reputation.

“He’s going through his second puberty.” You lied, “Eighth grader syndrome, am I right?” You forced out another polite laugh, before jabbing your fingers into Satan’s side hard.

The demon jolts up with a bolt, covering his mouth as he winced. Joshua took this opportunity to wrestle him out of the car, taking one of his arms to throw over his shoulder as you stationed yourself on the opposite side to do the same.

.

“Thank you for your help.”

Both of you had managed to deposit Satan on the couch and were now catching your breath, winded from the exercise. Thankfully, the lift was working today and you didn’t need to lug the demon up the flight of stairs.

“Do you want a drink before you leave?” You offered, straightening up and determined to play your part as a good host. Although you didn't know Joshua that well, he seemed like a nice guy and you also wanted to make up for Satan's actions.

“Sur–”

“Me first, human.” A voice loudly interjected into your conversation from the sofa, “Hell’s Coke.” The demon demanded, arranging himself into an upright position. He looked clear-headed as if he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol despite how he was slumped over a minute ago.

“Uh–” Joshua started again.

“Human, I said I wanted a drink.”

You looked at Joshua apologetically, walking quickly into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water as you gently ushered him out to the hallway. Your patience was getting low and you no longer wanted him to witness any more of the demon’s tomfoolery.

“Wait!” As you prepared to close the door on him, Joshua paused to look at you expectantly – it felt as if you had withheld a toy from a puppy and they were now expecting you to play fetch. “Can I expect to see you around again?”

You paused, thinking through your answer before opening your mouth to reply–

“--No, bye.”

Satan had shut the door in his face.

.

“...”

The demon’s face was flushed again as he leaned against the door, one hand raised above your head. You tried to even your breathing, closing your eyes to meditate.

“Don’t you think you were being rude?”

“Was I? I’m sorry.”

His face showed no remorse, as he peered at your facial expression closely, his sea-green eyes much brighter than usual. You had the burning urge to shy away from his gaze but you insisted on keeping your grouchy expression.

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“He was trying to hit on you.”

You looked at him, trying to control your emotions that were threatening to spill over. You could feel your eyebrow twitching, and all you wanted to do now was take a long, hot bath and turn in for the night.

“He drove us home safely so the least you could do was to thank him. And why does it matter to you?” You spat out, feeling the words form awkwardly through your gritted teeth. 

Satan had you backed against the door, forcing you to crane your neck just to look up at him. Your thoughts were in disarray; heart puzzled by the sudden affection from him. You wanted a clear explanation from him.

He stayed silent, brows thoughtfully knitted together.

Oh.

The silence gave you your answer. You are left with the residual realisation washing over and you are powerless in the face of it, unable to do anything but exhale deeply with a slow breath – you ducked under his arm to leave the suffocating situation. 

“I think I was jealous.”

You swirled around, eyes wide. Your gaze glosses to the right, unable to meet his eyes. You thought you had heard him wrongly, but the demon stood there, looking as though he had made up his mind.

“You think?”

Had Satan, the Avatar of Wrath, just confessed to being jealous? 

“No, I was jealous.” He corrected with a frown, folding his arms over his chest. “I wanted to cut open his throat for having the impudence to talk to you.”

You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry.

He took a step closer, face set in icy determination. Something about his demeanour reminded you of a predator and you were his prey, waiting to be devoured. Your ears ring a steady buzz, spiraling you into rapid confusion.

“I want my jealousy to be justified, MC.”

His words were no louder than a mere whisper but each syllabus tugged on your heartstrings as he grabbed at your forearm, pulling you in close to him. This was the first time Satan had ever addressed you by name, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be happy; disoriented at the conflicting feelings within you.

“I like you so much, I don’t even know what to say.”

I’ve never felt this greedy in my life before. Was I fated to meet you? I don’t know but the only thing I know is this,” He briefly looks at the clock hanging in the living room and clears his throat, “I want you to remember this moment, at 3 AM on the 20th of April, this is the time I have utterly fallen for you.”

.

Satan sits on the couch, a respectful distance away. You swear you could still feel his touch on you, a lingering sensation sizzling on your bare skin. His stare bores into you, reverberating through your body from your toes to the crown of your head.

You feel seen. Even now, the demon was giving in to you – you know it must be eating him up to wait but he was letting you take things at your pace.

“I’m confused.” You admit in a small voice, trying to gauge his expression. “I can’t stop thinking about the what-ifs.” 

He waits for you to continue.

“No matter what, you’re a demon and I’m a human.” The mood took a sharp left turn at your words, hanging heavy in the air. “Will there ever be a happy ending for us?”

Satan calls your name, eyes gentle as he scoots nearer to you. “You won’t know if you don’t try.”

“But what if we try and it doesn’t work?”

“Then I’ll kill myself and find you in my next life.” He says simply.

The comment was so sudden that you let out a huff of laughter, wiping at the corner of your eyes in disbelief.

“Do demons even believe in reincarnation?”

“We don’t but I’ll make it work.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“This is your only chance to say it now.” He stares at you with earnest eyes, grabbing your hand and holding it up to his face to nuzzle at you affectionately. “Are you willing to take the risk?”

“Okay.” You say, or at least that’s what you think you say, your voice suddenly distant over your rapid heartbeat and the room increasingly getting smaller. “Okay.” You blurted out again because up against a demon like Satan, what can one do except give their whole being?

Before you knew it, you were already climbing onto his lap, and with a gentle motion, you were kissing him – his lips part for you beautifully as you tilt your head gaining more access.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound of his steady heartbeat mixed with yours, a delightful symphony to your ears. Deliriously, you wonder if you could crawl inside and make yourself home.

.

Cold.

The flitting freezing temperature dragged you back to the land of the living – the abnormal heat that the demon beside you was producing was not enough to starve off the chill of the night. 

“Satan.” You garbled, words slurring together as the hands around your waist pulled you in closer. “Close the damn window, it’s so cold.”

“The window is closed.”

The unfamiliar voice should have been the first sign to inform you something was wrong. Unfortunately, you were frankly too worn out from the day’s event to care. Stretching, you turn your head to nuzzle into Satan’s bare chest.

“Satan, Avatar of Wrath.”

You feel the demon beside you tense.

“Lucifer, what are you doing here?”

The call of the name rings a bell in your head. Was this the older brother that Satan had mentioned to you before? You didn't have the best impression of him, especially after what the blond-haired demon had told you.

“This situation has gone on long enough.” Honestly, you were pretty astonished that the demon standing in the middle of your room was nonchalant enough to simply avert his eyes from Satan’s half-naked form.

“How long are you planning to act like a child? You’re even dragging humans into your mess.”

Yikes.

You lifted the blanket higher, making sure to cover your entire self as you blearily blinked the sleep away from your eyes. Once your vision focused, you could vaguely make out the silhouette of the demon – he was at least more decently dressed than the last one, though you wondered about the practicality behind the number of wings.

Somehow it seemed like breaking and entering into humans’ houses were part of the Devildom curriculum because this was already the third demon to enter your house without an invitation.

“Don’t talk to me like I am a child.” The demon behind you spat out all while gently rubbing his hands over yours in a comforting action. Slowly, he lifted the blanket up to get out of bed, stretching as he did so.

“I’ll stop when you stop behaving like one.”

You winced. The tension in the room seemed to thicken and the once sub-zero temperature had disappeared giving way to the rising heat from their words. You shuffled awkwardly under the blanket – maybe if you acted like everything was normal, the other demon in the room would ignore your presence.

Wrong.

“You’re MC, correct?”

“Yes.” You squeaked out, startled by the sudden spotlight on you.

“I apologise for my younger brother’s behaviour. Thank you for tolerating him for the past six months. He will be going back with me now.”

“Wai–”

“Who says I’m going back?” Satan interrupts you, hands placed protectively in front of you. The glint in his eyes darkened and you could tell this didn’t please the older demon one bit.

“Avatar of Wrath, what do you mean by that?”

“I said what I said. I’m not going back.”

You cringed at the use of the title. Even you knew that meant serious business. The inky smooth wings behind Lucifer fanned out, expanding to their full width, a beautiful yet menacing sight. You could practically use a knife to cut the tension in the room. 

Oh no.

“Wait!” You shout desperately, yelping when red piercing eyes turn to look at you. The embedded jewel in the middle of his forehead catches a glint of moonlight from the window beside him, somehow making him look even more terrifying.

“Human, do not interrupt our–”

“Do not talk to my human like that–”

“Hey, I said wait!” You panicked, making a move to get off the bed when a flash of blond hair blocked your sight, a displeased frown on Satan's face as he pulled up the blanket higher to cover you. You had completely forgotten your state of undress in your alarm to deescalate the fight.

“Don’t move just yet. I’ll settle this with him, okay?” He spat out the syllabus, before reaching down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Satan.” You start, reaching out to hold his face. The demon nods, immediately squatting and attentive to your every word. You shake him from side to side, stroking the side of his face delicately. “I think you should go back too.”

“Wha–”

He look struck by your words, dismay written all over his face as clear as day.

“No.” You cut him off firmly before he could rebut back. “You promised Mammon, remember? Half a year had already passed, meaning we both had fulfilled our part.”

Satan still looked betrayed, his eyes round and wide. His lower lip trembled slightly and it was visible that he abhorred the very idea of leaving you.

“Listen, can’t you come to find me whenever you want anyways?” You huffed again, racking your brain for another solution to convince him.

“Or I can just make Solomon summon you every time I miss you. Distance isn’t that big of an issue for us right, honey?” 

You knew you had chosen the right argument when a blush sits high on his cheek. You couldn’t believe it. Does he like the nickname? You take note of the information and store it at the back of your head.

He coughs, hiding his flush behind one hand as he turns around. Standing up, he turns to face Lucifer.

Huh. The more you know, you suppose. 

“Okay, I’ll go back with you.”

The other demon, understandably looks disorientated at the change of heart. He blinked once, then twice as he shifted to a more intimidating stance. “Who said that I approved of your relationship?”

Maybe you shouldn’t have counted your chicken before it hatched. And was it just you? You get the feeling the demon named Lucifer seemed to be very overprotective over his siblings, somewhat like a mother hen. Or maybe this was a Devildom custom, demons needing their older siblings to approve of their relationship. However, with what you have witnessed so far, you get the idea that he was just the demon version of an overbearing tiger mum.

Before you could speak, a voice cut in. You couldn’t help but admire how the muscles on his back flexed as he spoke, “Isn't Lord Diavolo planning a human exchange program in the near future?"

Your demon cleared his throat before continuing, "I believe Lord Diavolo would be happy to find out that I am furthering relations with a human, or would you want to take this away from him?”

The red-eyed demon stays silent, his wings fluttering in agitation. For a long second, you held your breath waiting for a retort that never came.

“Fine,” Lucifer said, tone resembling that of a grumble. Though, you could tell that even he knew he had lost the battle of words. “I’ll report this back to Lord Diavolo first.”

“Though, I expect you to be back in the Devildom by sunrise. You have missed out far too much at RAD and I need you to be able to catch up with all of the work within a week.”

“Understood.”

Satan just nods. Your mouth hangs open, unhinged at the jaw. It was an unreasonable request that the older demon had put in but you couldn't bring yourself to feel too bad for your boyfriend (?) since it was a situation that he had created in the first place.

.

You couldn’t believe that worked.

Honestly, you were almost certain that a fight would have broken out. But somehow one way or another, your apartment lives to see another day.

Satan sits beside you on the bed, tugging you in for a hug. Tilting your head, you place a chaste kiss on his lip which the demon tries to further deepen. With a chuckle, you pull away, watching in delight as he chases after you.

After the whole fiasco, you only had one question on your mind.

“Are we together?” You ask, feeling your face go hot. Even if both of you had confessed your feelings earlier and you were fairly sure that both of you were on the same page, you still wanted verbal confirmation from him.

Satan interlocks your hands with him, humming playfully. You could feel his smile against your neck, as he nuzzled affectionately at you. “I’ll be yours if you will be mine.”

You wiggle away with a pout when he nibbles at the crook of your neck. Though you soon broke out into a smile, unable to stay mad at him for long.

“Guess we should get Solomon a gift for letting us meet, huh?”

“Probably.”

“And you’d still be failing Economics if I hadn’t tutored you.”

“Probably.”

"You know I'm surprised my landlord never found out I was housing another person here."

"Oh."

"Wait a minute, that 'oh' sounded suspicious."

"I didn't do anything bad, just that I may have made him think that the apartment was originally for two people."

"Satan!"

Maybe in some alternate reality out there, you would have been the human exchange student sent to the Devildom for cultural exchange. Or maybe in another reality, you may never even get the chance to meet him, after all, demons are as rare as a sunflower in a desert. But no matter what, you had him in your arms right now and that was all that mattered.

You guess one of the perks of being bad at Economics was getting to meet and fall in love with Satan, as sappy as that sounded. Which reminded you...

“Honey, I have my final exam coming up soon. Would you still tutor me?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I have much of a choice if I don’t want you to fail, love.”

a/n ▸ yippee! i wrote this piece over the expanse of a month and I am glad to finish this lol. i still have a lot of scenes that didn't make it to the main story but will be posting as a side story hehe, I hope you guys love this story as much as I did <3

[beensbaee]

𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒚𝒂𝒎 𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆 ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

summary; neteyam has the girl of his dreams right in front of him - but he cannot have her because she belongs to someone else. (does that stop him though? NOPE!)

word count; 4.2k

HIS SACRED SUN

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Neteyam Sully thought he was able to do anything he set his mind to.

As the oldest son of Toruk Makto, he strived to live up to his fathers image. His parents never failed to tell him of his importance, helping him understand exactly who he was and giving him the confidence to overcome anything.

Until her.

She stuck out like no other na'vi he'd ever meet. Her face something captivating and so charming - yet dangerous. Lethal.

She was the girl that had him turning around for a second glance. The girl that had his heart beating like a crazed drum. The girl he'd kill for.

In his eyes, she was perfect. Perfect in every way. Perfect for him.

Except for the distinctive fact that made her so untouchable.

She belonged to someone else.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Y/n sat with a group of teenage na'vi, all whom were giving their absolute attention to her as she stood tall, arms outstretched as she told them of her recent hunt. Her eyes gleamed with pride as she explained in detail exactly how she managed to escape the animals surprise attack

Neteyam sat towards the back of the group, where he was almost out of her view. He closed his eyes as he took in the sound of her voice

Smooth - so smooth. Like liquid. She spoke confidently. Expressively with the same radiant smile he was so infatuated with

When she finished, she sat back down as the next story teller went up. The girls around her swarmed her figure - raving on how brave she was during her hunt - or how they liked the gems that hung low on her neck

He loved how politely she'd respond to the compliments. Even blushing at some, unable to hide the flush on her cheeks.

As the teens quieted down for the next speaker, he watched Y/n comfortably stretch her legs out in front of her. The beads in her hair clinking together quietly as she moved. Her arms were behind her as she tipped her head up towards the boy who was talking to the rest of the group. He was beginning to tell his own tale

Any word the boy said went right through one ear and out the other, and he could feel his mind slipping and unable to even take in his surroundings as she became the only thing he could focus on

She could sense his gaze. He knew this because her eyes moved directly to him. She held eye contact for a beat. Two beats. Before turning away with a smile.

She didn't look at him again for the rest of the time the teens spent sharing stories. As the last volunteer to share theirs ended with a round of applause, the teens slowly began dispersing into smaller groups and began talking amongst themselves

He looked for Y/n, and after seeing her standing with a group of girls and nodding her head along to whatever they were saying - he seized the opportunity to speak with her.

He was by her side in less than a minute, and her friends gave her a surprised glance as she turned to Neteyam. They respectfully moved so Neteyam could speak with her, giving him room to talk to her privately.

"Neteyam Sully. Oel ngati kameie." She said sweetly, giving him a smile that had his tail flicking behind him lively

"Y/n. Oel ngati kameie. I had to come and say, your encounter with the Slinth was something only someone like you could fight." He said, his words holding true respect as her lips tipped upwards into a familiar grin

"Thank you, truly. But I must say, there is no one else like me." She said, a playful glint in her eyes, and Neteyam was sure his eyes could have been mistaken for hearts with the way he looked at her

He smiled, fangs and all. Just as he was about to speak - the boy he dreaded interrupted their conversation with a scowl plastered on his face

"Y/n, I was looking for you." Arutey said, moving and standing too close to Neteyam - almost as if to push him out of his way

His ears flattened against his head in disappointment as Y/n's eyes moved away from him and towards Arutey

"Yes, Arutey?" She asked, her tone sounding like she was holding in a sigh as he shook his head

"It's private." He said, almost snapping at her as Y/n frowned. She turned to Neteyam and bowed her head in goodbye. She gave him an apologetic look as Neteyam shook his head

"Do not worry about it. We will speak together another time." He said, eyes hard as Arutey stared at him with a hatred he understood. Anyone could've known how Neteyam felt for Y/n with the way he practically gravitated towards her

But he was a boy with honor, and he understood it was not his place to speak to her right now.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but Arutey's hand latched around her arm and gently pulled her backwards and away, towards him. Neteyam hated the way his hand moved from her arm and to her palms as he interlocked their fingers. They were walking away from him now - but Y/n turned around for one more glance

She held eye contact for a beat. Two beats. And then, she looked away. But this time, it was with a frown.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

He walked to his hammock with his head hanging that night. Arutey wasn't right for her. Why? Well, he couldn't answer that.

He wished his initial dislike for Arutey was for something not related to Y/n. But it was.

Maybe it was how rough he could be - Neteyam knows how Arutey behaves when he's angry. Like how he'd yelled at a younger na'vi for messing up during a hunt - the way the child's eyes welled up with tears had Neteyam ready to crack his bow over Arutey's head.

He knew Y/n would've been upset if she'd seen how he behaved sometimes, but they hadn't been together long enough for her to see that side of him yet.

Or maybe it was the boys ego - too inflated for someone as humble as Y/n.

Or maybe it was because it wasn't him at Y/n's side.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It was Toruk Makto's yearly celebration of the day the Na'vi won their freedom from the sky people.

Though the Na'vi had many celebrations where they honored the Great Mother and the life they'd been blessed with, Toruk Makto's celebrations were always one to look forward to

Y/n's top was a beautiful shade of purple - made from the petals of Sun Lilies.

From her legs hung beautiful crystals and ornaments that glowed in the moonlight. Her hair was open and out of it's usual braids - falling softly over her shoulders and curling around her

It didn't take Neteyam long to find her. She looked like a flower in bloom with her colorful attire whilst surrounded by the greenery of Pandora

She was talking to a group of girls, laughing at something one of them said

It was a little embarrassing how much time he'd spend watching her from afar - but building the courage to go up to her was something he struggled with.

He knew he couldn't have her, because she wasn't his. But Eywa, sometimes it felt like he was made for her. He knew how silly he would sound if he said it out loud, but he knew - deep down, the love he felt for her would never leave his heart and soul.

Eventually, Lo'ak found Neteyam and dragged him to where he and a group of boys were sitting idly and speaking to each other - obviously intoxicated with something as they spoke loudly and tumbled over their words - laughing.

"Come on, don't be a loner hanging out all by yourself Neteyam." Was what Lo'ak had said to him

Neteyam just rolled his eyes with a laugh. In reality, Neteyam was even more popular than Lo'ak amongst the teenage boys. But, he didn't usually spend too much time with the other boys. They respected the fact that Neteyam liked to be alone sometimes, not even questioning Toruk Makto's son.

Neteyam finally realized Arutey was sitting amongst this group, oblivious to Neteyam's presence. Maybe it was because of how intoxicated the boy was. Neteyam watched him spill his drink as he stood angrily, storming off at something one of the boys had said

"What's wrong with him?" Lo'ak asked as the boy Arutey had been speaking with grinned. He then snickered, straightening himself a little bit as he noticed Neteyam's eyes watching him, like a predator would to its prey, before speaking.

"Just messing with him - his girl doesn't want him anymore." He said as Lo'ak looked at him confused

"What girl is it?" He asked curiously. But Neteyam's head was already turning to find Y/n

She was still sitting with her friends, unknown to the boy who was approaching her

He stood in an instant, following Arutey with furrowed brows as he watched him approach Y/n and drag her away from the party

He watched her protest, trying to get him to let go of her - but his hand held her arm tightly

It was too crowded for her friends to notice that the boy had taken her, only Neteyam had seen the distasteful interaction

Arutey must have been standing behind some tree now, out of sight from the rest of the party. He was slurring his words a bit as he yelled at her. Neteyam could hear his tense voice - but he could not see where they were, as Arutey had moved swiftly when walking with her - and Neteyam had been too far behind to see exactly where he'd gone

His voice grew louder, and Neteyam's anger was growing to the point where it was threatening to snap

Y/n Y/n Y/n

He was yelling at her. Someone was yelling at her.

Neteyan wasn't stupid, he knew the reason Arutey was yelling at her was because of him. And he wouldn't have it go on a single second longer.

His eyes were practically crazed as he searched for her familiar figure.

He followed the voice - hearing the words "You're a liar." and "Unfaithful." echoing through the forest as the voice grew louder - indicating he was getting closer-

He saw her tear streaked face first. The way her lips were parted in shock at Arutey's cruel words as he kept throwing insult after insult.

Arutey's back was to him - but Y/n saw Neteyam approaching them. He felt his stomach physically recoil by the wounded look on her face - but her expression quickly transformed into relief when she saw him

He was furious that Arutey had frightened her so badly - so mad he could've easily killed him with his fury alone. Arutey must have seen the look on her face -because he was turning around to see what she'd been looking at with such wide eyes

But before he could even get a word out - Neteyam's fist collided with his face. A sickening yet satisfying crack meeting his ears as he threw punch after punch.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

They were on each other - throwing hits so powerful it would've knocked out any other regular Na'vi, but the two teens were warriors, and not ready to back down.

Y/n had taken a sharp intake of breath when Neteyam hit Arutey - but she'd let out a cry when Arutey hit Neteyam

"Stop! Please, both of you!" She tried yelling, and the sound of her desperate voice had Neteyam turning away from Arutey and towards her with concern. Unfortunately, that single second of distraction was all Arutey needed as he threw a punch straight at Neteyam's face

"I hate you!" He yelled at Neteyam - his intoxicated mind ready to give his all in this fight with Neteyam

Neteyam merely gritted his teeth and recovered from the hit in an instant - throwing another punch at Arutey as the two of them pummeled each other with flying fists

It seemed their yells had caught the attention of the Na'vi, as they began walking into the forest to see the source of the screaming and fighting

It didn't take long for Toruk Makto to pull Neteyam off of the boy - and for Arutey's friends to pull him away from the confrontation as well

Both boys looked like they could've gone the whole night fighting each other as they were dragged away

Y/n was yelling at Arutey now, slapping the back of his head as he only sat quietly now. She was visibly upset, and Neteyam could only hear her trembling voice as his father yelled at him

"What the hell were you thinking boy? Hey, Neteyam!" He snapped, angrily snapping his fingers in front of Neteyams face - who's mind seemed to be somewhere else entirely

Neteyam blinked, before shaking his head and wiping the blood he felt trickling from his nose with a frown

"I'm sorry dad, I-" He started, but Neytiri quickly cut him off

"We leave Neteyam. Now."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

After a long lecture from his parents and a proud smirk and slap on the back from Lo'ak, Neteyam struggled to sleep, once again.

He laid in his hammock for maybe an hour before getting up. It took him a second to stand straight, as his head was still a bit dizzy from the hits he'd received from Arutey. 

He sighed uncomfortably before his feet took him out and towards the forest - away from his sleeping family.

Neteyam never got into fights. He really was one of the most civil and peaceful Na'vi in the clan. Fighting was something Lo'ak was known for doing. He didn't even know what was going through his mind when he hit Arutey - but seeing Y/n getting yelled at by that Skxawng had triggered something inside of him.

She was easily the bravest teens amongst the clan - known for her flawless hunting and charming personality. But seeing her with Arutey had always upset him. How did he, of every Na'vi to live, have the privilege to be with her?

He knew he could not interfere with someone else's relationship - but Y/n had been his friend before she began her relationship with Arutey. And Neteyam believed he had the right to protect his friend. His dearest friend, no matter what. He valued their friendship like no other.

"Neteyam?"

He turned slowly at his father voice, seeing him standing sleepily and looking at Neteyam confused.

"Come here kid, come on." He gestured, calling him over as they sat down. He saw how tired his dad was, just barely awake as he sat down with Neteyam. He knew he was in for another lecture.

"Dad, you are tired. We can speak in the morning if you want?" He tried reasoning, but Jake shook his head firmly

"Yea, you think we'll get this type of privacy in the day?" He said, laughing quietly as Neteyam gave him a small smile

Jake was quiet for a moment, almost like he was thinking, before he began speaking.

"Now, tell me what happened. What really happened that made you fight that boy today." He said softly, his tone showing no anger as Neteyam stayed quiet, looking at the ground

Jake waited patiently for Neteyam to gather his thoughts

"Dad... well, there's this girl. Her name - it is Y/n." He started, the words foreign on his tongue as he spoke

Jake raised a knowing brow as Neteyam let out a nervous breath. Jake has heard of Y/n briefly, he knew of the girls sweet nature and skills.

The words were hard for Neteyam to speak because, well, he'd never spoken out loud of his feelings for Y/n before

But they sat for maybe an hour, Neteyam pouring out the feelings and the hurt he'd kept bottled up for so long as Jake nodded along quietly, listening more attentively than ever.

When Neteyam was finished talking, the relief he felt was like no other. Jake grabbed Neteyam gently by the shoulders before speaking

"Now, listen to me Neteyam. She is special to you, I gathered that much. And if someone is special to you - you don't ever let them go. I know that from experience. You know... you're mother was promised to someone else when I met her. Now, I'm not saying to go after someone who doesn't belong to you - what I'm saying is, if you truly, in your heart -" He said, tapping Neteyam's chest gently with his finger before continuing, "If you truly feel she doesn't belong with him, that she isn't happy - then you interfere. The fight you got into... well, I hate to say it, but I'm proud you intervened. Don't tell your mother though -" Jake quickly added concerned as Neteyam let out a heartfelt laugh

"Now - go back to sleep boy. Rest, you're tired, I can tell." Jake said, gently pulling the boy up from where they were sitting as Neteyam smiled

"Goodnight dad." Neteyam said. And right when his head hit his hammock, sleep took over his body before he had the chance to fight it.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Neteyam had spent his morning deep in Pandora's plentiful forest.

Initially, he wanted to clear his mind. But he couldn't stop himself when he saw the array of flowers that were growing plentifully and basking in the suns rays.

He'd seen his father gift it to his mother - a bouquet was what he'd called it.

It became a tradition of Jake's, constantly getting Neytiri bouquets whenever he was out or when she was mad at him. Neteyam loved seeing his mother's face light up when she'd be greeted by the familiar and beautiful array of flowers.

It took him a while to figure out how to create it - but once it was complete, he couldn't have been more proud.

It was colorful, and smelled so sweet that it reminded him of Y/n's own scent. The flowers were all different from one another - two of each kind, one flower to symbolize Y/n, and the other flower to symbolize him.

There were many, and they were tied together by vines expertly. It truly was a beautiful bouquet.

He had hidden the bouquet and spent the entire day with a cheesy grin plastered on his face looking forward to the night - when he planned to seek Y/n out.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Y/n sat quietly tonight, not speaking much expect for a few please's and thank you's during  dinner

Neteyam frowned as he watched her - she was usually so lively and talkative. He loved eating his food quietly and listening to her talk to the clan with her precious smile

After dinner, she excused herself early and was seemingly bidding her goodnights for the evening.

Widening his eyes at her quick departure, Neteyam also swiftly excused himself as his father gave him a knowing nod - granting him permission to leave

He grabbed the bouquet he'd kept hidden, before taking a deep breath and following after her

"Y/n! Wait!" He yelled out

She turned around, looking a bit confused. But once she realized it was Neteyam who was calling her, he watched her ears lift curiously as her tail swayed awaitingly behind her

"Neteyam." She said breathlessly as he stopped in front of her, looking down towards her as his nervousness finally caught up to him

"Yes, I- are you ok?" He finally managed as she blinked a few times, shaking her head as if to assure him nothing was wrong

"Oh Neteyam, I am fine. I actually wanted to thank you for yesterday. I..." She trailed off as she stared at him, her hands clasped together tightly

"I feel horrible for what he did to you. You did not deserve that, and I - I have never felt so horrible before. I wanted to find you earlier, but I didn't think I could talk to you without - " She stopped, clamping her mouth shut as she took a deep breath in

Neteyam felt his heart sink as he understood what she'd been trying to say by the misty look in her eyes.

She thought she'd start crying if she tried talking to him after last night.

"Y/n... oh Y/n, I am the one who intervened. And for your honor, I will always intervene. Please, do not blame yourself for someones else's ignorance." He said softly, moving one of his hands forward as he tentatively reached for her face

He stopped a few inches from her face, suddenly freezing as he realized how intimate it was to cradle one's face. But it was Y/n who moved forward, resting her cheek against his palm and holding it softly.

She closed her eyes, leaning her cheek into his hand as Neteyam's heart beat quickened - so much that he was sure she could hear it.

"Actually, I stopped you for another reason Y/n. There was something I wanted to give you," He said, trying to calm his heart as his mind felt like he was about to go into the most dangerous battle of his life

She opened her eyes, her lashes damp as she looked at him with eyes so mesmerizing he struggled to form a sentence

"I wanted you to have this... I want you to know, I value you. More than anything Y/n. And if... If you ever need me, for anything at all - I am always here for you." He said, slowly moving his arm to reveal the bouquet he'd kept hidden behind his back during their conversation

He will never forget the look in her eyes when she first saw the bouquet for as long as he lived. 

Her lips parted, her eyes stunned as she took in the beautiful sight of flowers in front of her

And finally, the smile he'd missed so damn much overtook her entire face. The light from it alone bright enough to shine over even the darkest parts of him.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

He wouldn't pursue her the night after the fight. He knew she needed time, and he would wait as long as she'd wish for him to

But, their friendship evolved. 

Before, he spent his time watching her from afar. Now that they were closer as friends, he sat next to her - and Eywa, he began to see the little details he'd missed before.

Like the way her eyes would squint when she'd find something hilarious, or the way her face would be completely still, and only her eyes would move when she was hunting. She would be entirely focused - and he'd be just as still when he'd watch her

She liked swimming. They had spent many nights swimming with each other. She'd tell him of her favorite songs to sing when praying to Eywa, and how she loved sunrises. She'd wake up before every single one just to watch it happen.

He found himself opening up too - his heart giving her everything and more as he shared every bit of him to her. He'd tell her of his struggles as the eldest son, and how sometimes his mother would show him her clever tricks with her bow - he promised he'd show Y/n every single one she wanted to know about. To this, she said she wanted to know them all.

She learned everything about him - and he learned and loved everything about her. 

He didn't think he could fall in love with her anymore than before, but he was wrong.

Neteyam awoke early today, it was still dark out, but the smile on his face couldn't have been any more brighter

She'd invited him to watch the sunrise with her. Nobody else knew she'd wake to watch the sunrise - and he felt his heart physically stutter in his chest when she asked him to come with her.

It was a special moment of her day - and she wanted to share it with him.

He saw her sitting peacefully, eyes closed as her legs hung over the edge of the ledge she was sitting on

He sat down quietly next to her, and she turned to him with a smile

"Hi." She said quietly, her eyes twinkling in the dim light. Neteyam felt his heart swoon at the sight of her

"Hi." He whispered back, before the two of them turned to the view in front of them

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, her rays ready to touch the sky as Y/n turned to him

He turned away from the sun and to her, and she moved to hold his hand

"I wanted to tell you something important, Neteyam." She said, her voice gentle as his ears perked up

"Of course, is something wrong?" He asked, his voice genuinely concerned as she let out a quiet laugh

"Nothing is wrong, I just..." She trailed off as she stared at him, her eyes filled with an emotion he didn't entirely understand just yet

He remained quiet and waited for her to speak again, squeezing her hand reassuringly as she shook her head

Moving forward, she pressed her lips to his.

They were soft and gentle and sweet. He blinked rapidly, before leaning into her. His mind immediately freezing as he felt her hand gently hold his face

As she pulled back, the sun's light illuminated her face so radiantly, that Neteyam's breath was simply taken away.

She laughed at the look on his face, her smile enchanting him in a way no one else could've.

"I like you, Neteyam. More than friends. More like -"

"Lovers." He breathed out, still unable to believe what had just happened

She nodded her head, eyes beaming at him with love, he realized

"Eywa, I've been waiting for you to say that." He said lovingly with a grin that matched hers as he leaned towards her and connected their lips once again, the sun's light shining on them both as they enveloped each other longingly.

[crystalflygardener]

“save a cow, milk the milkman.” or let him milk himself…

Milkman/Francis Mosses short drabble where he can't help but (obsessively) pine for MC and that pining brings him to tamper with the milk he delivers to you.

Francis Mosses x GN!Reader

NSFW // CW: obsessive/lovesick and possessive milkman, pining, he’s a little submissive hehe, milkman is actually a horny virgin, breeding kink, it's not only milk in there, anatomically incorrect, lots of horny fantasizing. 1.4k words.

(A/N: he's such a cutie fr; dedicated to my milkman obsessed friends)

He should thank you, he figures, his dick twitches every time he sees you in the lobby. And maybe he purposely forgets his ID or his entry permit, just so you’d stare him down with that suspicious glint in your eye. Thank god all you need to see is his torso and above, or else you might just catch the tent in his pants as he casually strolls through the door you always unlock for him. How kind of you.. He can feel his fingers itching, his cock begging for release while he climbs up the stairs to his apartment. Maybe in the time it takes him to get there, he’ll have calmed down by then. But oh how he wishes that he could stare at you longer, memorize the lines of your face… But what if you start to think he’s a doppelganger? Oh, he would be devastated if you called the D.D.D. on him; all because he doesn’t know how to act around you. And so he’ll keep this ruse going, he’ll let you quietly wonder why his dark circles seem to be getting worse lately. Who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll worry about him enough to ask about it, or at least that’s what he wishes. The moment he enters his apartment and locks the door behind him, he impatiently yanks off his bow tie. It feels too constricting around his neck. In fact, his whole body feels too constricted in general. He finds himself rushing over to his bedroom and sprawling out onto his bed with his fingers frantically working at the buckle of his belt, sliding his pants down along with his briefs. Finally, his cock springs free from its confines, standing straight and proud, the tip beading with enough precum that his hand is able to glide smoothly up and down his shaft. Francis has a certain dislike, for the way you’re content with only a bottle of milk a day. He’d made sure to alter his schedule for you. You’re the only one he delivers milk to everyday, just so you’d never run out. But the reason why he dislikes it though… is because he also never runs out of 'milk'. Even after a hard day of work, he keeps himself up at night. With his back now against the headboard and his legs spread, his eyes shut as he paints pictures of you in his mind.. You teasing him.. You eagerly working your mouth up and down his length… Only for him to open his eyes and see the emptiness, where you should be, in front of him. It’s all simply wishful thinking, that he can finally replace his hand with any part of you he can get. After all, the glimpses of you he catches when you open your door to accept his milk delivery has proved to him that his hands would fit perfectly on your hips and the curve of your ass. Squeezing and kneading your flesh until it’s red while he empties himself inside you (preferably more than once)… (WARNING: SKIP IF YOU DON’T LIKE MILK TAMPERING) Francis enjoys the image of his cum spilling out of you far more than he likes to admit– it gets him off every time. But for now, he’ll settle for emptying himself inside your next milk delivery. What a diligent worker he is, ruining his sleep to provide you with his own homemade calcium. And if you notice the difference in taste, he’ll just tell you that he worries for your health, that he merely added a bit of vitamin D in there. If you, however, find out the truth, can you really fault the man for simply wanting to offer you a part of himself? (END)

[jolalibrary]

had to see you

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

summary: And then, he says, “It’s nice.” “You can tell me if it isn’t, I promise I won’t be offended—it’s not as though I cook often.” “It is nice,” he repeats, giving you a look which tells you to stop worrying as if you have any control over your feelings.

an: eventual smut. angst with happy ending. will-they-won't-they, but they do. smut. he loves you 100%. word count: 5.7k || there’s a part two to this here

simon ghost riley masterlist

You love the rain. 

Not so much when you’re away. When you’re strapped up, weighed down by all your gear. The additional weight of being wet makes for an uncomfortable experience, with hair clinging to foreheads and mud sticking to your skin. It also forces things to rub more, chaff. Your skin is often raw from where the buckles and belts sit. 

But, at home, it’s refreshing. 

It’s why you never hated your nickname, the one given to you in jest—to remind you that you are a female, soft, emotional. Only for it to grow more fitting. Because Rain comes from above, sharp, falling where needed—catching people by surprise, and leaving traces behind, but never enough to know where you’ll land next. 

Rain is also one word. One syllable. Short, sharp and easy.

It can be spat, it can be sweetly said and affectionately called. 

On good days, it reminds you of long car rides, staring out of windows at passing traffic as you watch beads of its travel down—racing. On bad days, it reminds you of more unpleasant memories, ones born in moments you’d sooner forget, an emptiness in your chest from betrayal, loss and bad choices. 

At home, rain itself keeps you rooted. The scent, for one, not allowing your mind to whisk you off too old memories of war and enemy territories. The sound, for another, hits your windows and dulls the silence. All three senses are busied by it. It all blends perfectly together with the crackling of your candles and the low-light vibe you have going off in your flat. 

Plus, there’s nothing more British than bad weather. 

Each time you’re able to come home, you hope it’s raining. Landing back, greeted with cold and horrid rain. Preferably the kind which looks misty through windows and soaks you in seconds when you step into it. The kind which makes it hard to know which speed to put your car wipers on, and socks get drenched as puddles form quicker than people can account for.

You didn’t care that you looked like a drowned rat when you unlocked your flat door. Or that your wet clothes were difficult to remove as steam filled your bathroom because you were always going to have a shower. A routine—a tradition of sorts. 

Hands desperate to wash the months away, let your expensive soaps and scents soak into neglected skin and smother old scars and newly gained ones. Plus, the water was hotter at home, almost scolding your skin as you stood under it, letting each droplet massage a part of your neck and upper back as your living room music drifted through the cracked door.

You dress before you really prune, sliding on silk PJs—the ones which you buy as a treat and wear once, maybe twice a year. Your skin sighs in relief, thankful to forget sand, bullets and bruises, the same as your mind. Busying your hands with preparing a lavish dinner, a large dish too ridiculous for one person—but again, you’d missed it. Home.

The scent of gravy, potatoes and meat.

When asked, you’d been quiet about your plans with the others. Them only having a slight idea of which city you call home. It’s not that you didn’t want to see them—not even sure you’d be able to fall asleep without Soap’s snores, Ghost’s huffs and Gaz’s odd bedtime stories. But, you’d gained new nightmares on the last job—ones which you needed to make peace with before they stole another fraction of your soul.

That’s what it did, eventually. Even to the best of them. 

Bad choices, untested intel and wrong moves left little marks before they claimed a piece of innocence, kindness and happiness. 

It’s a little different with the 141. Without realising it, you’re sure you all help smother each other's struggles away. But it’s only temporary. You know it, you can feel it in the muscles in your back and in the knots in your stomach. So, if you saw them now when you needed to heal—if you relied on them—you’d go back weaker than when you left. And they needed you; you needed them. A team where you could only trust one another—having been betrayed so often, you were all each other had.

It’s why you were taken back by a firm knock. 

Short. Deliberate. 

Pausing, allowing whoever they were to realise their mistake. Even if the sound didn’t appear as though they’d chosen the wrong flat or someone who was cherry-knocking. It was purposeful, direct, and your hands quickly dried on the kitchen towel as your feet crossed the tiles and laminate to your front door. 

When you’d left, you’d asked a friend to check in on the flat—fix the peephole. Something having forced it to get stuck, leaving you blind to whoever was on the other side. Your friend is good, kind, and sweet but forgetful. Something which also reminds you of home as you snort, undoing the chain, and unlocking the door, half expecting them. 

Only to see him. 

“Ghost?” 

He has a hood up, and a scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face. 

His eyes fall over you, taking you in centimetre by centimetre, digging into you as if he’d not expected to see you.

You find it just as odd to see the skin around his eyes not tainted in grey or black and that his frame is still as ridiculously large, even in plain clothes, as he holds a duffel bag in his hand.

Suddenly aware of the thin layer covering your body from him. Especially as his eyes drop from your face to the silk shirt with its three buttons undone and then to your legs, where silk shorts did their best but were futile in hiding thighs, knees or legs from him.  

“You lettin’ me in?” 

Instinctively, you move, not even questioning it. 

Even if he didn’t say it like an order, he was still your lieutenant. Even on home ground, you slipped into your sergeant role too quickly. Watching him pass you, turning to face the direction he moves in before pressing your back against the inside of your door. Fingers sliding to the side of you, turning the lock, the sound filling the small space as you watch him stop at your key hook, slowly sliding his feet from his boots—finding him wearing thick, bobbly socks. 

He turns to face you, eyes washing over you again as his hood remains up as he undoes the scarf. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen his face a handful of times, each time, it still renders you silent, if only for a second. 

Clearing your throat, you rub the back of your neck. “I don’t mean this to come out as rude, but why are you—“

“Someone broke into my place.” 

You move, almost too quickly, from the door. Your hand brushing his shoulder, wanting—needing—to comfort him, soothe him like you would a friend. Before you remembered who this was. 

Almost surprised he doesn’t flinch. Even if he does shoot you a surprised look before you wrench your hand back. 

“S-sorry. Habit.” He frowns, and you wish the floor would swallow you whole. “Not with y—when I’m home, I’m… well, I—did they take anything?” 

“Not sure.” 

Right. “Do you need somewhere to stay?” 

He looks at you briefly before his eyes flick away, the tell-tale signs of him processing and thinking. You’ve seen him do it often, especially when Price is talking and when he reads files. As if he’s choosing where to store it in the filing cabinet, he calls his brain. 

“Please,” he says, the word almost coming out as a whisper. 

As if it’s so rarely ever said. 

You’re unsure what to say, even if there’s so much swirling around your brain. So many questions you want to pepper him with, but he’s not Soap, who’ll answer them all or Gaz, who’ll have already told you everything. 

He’s Ghost. 

Silent. Quiet, Ghost. 

Your oven beeps, his head turning to the sound. 

Sighing, you rub your arms, suddenly aware of how cold your hallway feels, as you cover your chest with your elbows. “You hungry?” 

Silence. 

A beat or two blossoming, your eyes unable to move from his face, even if you know you should, before he licks his lips, saying, “Starving.” 

You smile, “Good. It's not a lot, just some chicken, potatoes… a bit of veg. Nothing huge. And, not quite a typical Sunday roast, but enough to ease me back in.” 

He doesn’t laugh, not that you expect him to. 

“Bathroom is there, to your right. If you need it,” you say quickly, almost stepping past him to answer your beeping oven. “I just need to dish up, and… yeah.” 

You expect to feel calmer by the time he’s back. Especially with your dressing gown on, loosely knotted at your waist, covering more of you from him. 

But you’re more nervous. 

Doubting the food you’ve plated, the scent of the candles, whether the low lights make it romantic and whether you should turn up the acoustic songs playing or let the rain be the soundtrack of the evening. Suddenly aware of how fucking odd this is. 

Him being here. 

And yet, not that odd at all. 

“Hope it’s okay…” you mumble nervously as you place the plate down.

He looks like he belongs at your table, even if your table is small and usually for one-person. He’d helped, in as much of a way as a stranger can in someone’s home, grabbing glasses from cupboards you direct him to, making squash for you and water for him. 

His hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as he waited for further instruction, catching sight of the hood still being up, having noticed he’d swapped jeans for dark joggers before you told him to sit. 

“There’s more gravy… just wasn’t sure how you liked it,” you add. 

Ghost doesn’t answer, not even as you slide into the chair opposite. Your hands have a slight tremble to them as you pick up your cutlery, trying not to watch him take a bite—suddenly feeling like a contestant on a judging show. 

And then, he says, “It’s nice.” 

“You can tell me if it isn’t, I promise I won’t be offended—it’s not as though I cook often.”

“It is nice,” he repeats, giving you a look which tells you to stop worrying as if you have any control over your feelings.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the occasional sound of a fork grazing the plate and the knife slicing through food. It’s almost normal—as though this happens regularly. 

“Your place is nice, too,” he mumbles.  

Lifting your head, you find he’s looking at you already. “You don’t have to lie, Simon. You can still stay even if you think my decor is odd.” 

His eyes widen a fraction before it vanishes like it never existed. A brief moment of you wondering why, until you realise the slip—the way you used his name and not his alias. Making it feel personal. More so than the two of your knees occasionally butting under the table. 

“It’s not what I expected.” 

“You’ve thought about my place?” 

Ghost says nothing, hovering his fork over his dinner as he keeps his eyes down. 

You smile if only to yourself, pushing some meat and vegetables onto your fork, continuing—wondering if he’s hoping you would. That silence would settle over the two of you, the storm outside being enough background noise to keep it from being awkward. 

“I have to ask,” you say suddenly, keeping your gaze down, trying to still your pulse as you manoeuvre food around the sauce. “Why me? I mean… I don’t mind you being here, but I thought, well, I assumed you’d pick Soap—if you needed a place to stay.”

You try not to look, even when you hear a faint snort, seeing his plate—empty, only traces of broccoli stalks remaining—slide closer as the chair creaks in his movement. 

“You were closer.” 

Oh. 

Your stomach drops, suddenly feeling foolish for thinking there could be any other reason. 

Almost wanting to kick yourself for allowing yourself to consider another option, one which you’ve been stuffing down for weeks, months… 

It isn’t as though you were meant to fall for him. The man who originally kept his face a higher guarded secret than his own name. But, it stemmed naturally and out of nowhere. He made you laugh as you moved into an enemy building—nerves humming in your bones. He made it worse when he flung himself in front of you before a car exploded, gripping you tightly against him, not letting go for minutes later before his hand cupped your cheek, mouthing words you couldn’t hear as ears rang and rang.

Smiling, you nod, not sure what else to say as you take his plate and yours, turning your back to him as you hear him clear his throat. 

“I had to see if you were okay.” 

You don’t place the plates down, not immediately. 

Eyes trying to peer at him through the corner of your vision, slowly lowering the porcelain to the counter—too afraid to break the moment with a single sound, even as your heart hammered in your ears, in your chest, and throat. 

He had said it so softly, you have to wonder how long it’s been churning on his tongue. 

Slowly turning, you face him, finding his eyes already on you with an awkwardness in his shoulders as he looks up at you. 

“Well, I’m fine.” 

“Had to be sure.” 

You smile, pulling your dressing gown around you tighter. “Well, that’s because you’re a good lieutenant.” 

His brows knit, lips spreading into a thin light before you notice the subtle shift in his nostrils as though he’s sighed before Ghost nods with his usual professionalism. That’s when your stomach drops, fluttering ridiculously near your feet as you feel you’ve made a mistake.  

“Tea?” you ask. 

Ghost’s face shifts and you’re almost sure there’s a faint smile on his lips. 

“Don’t worry, I know how you like it,” you add, pulling open a cupboard as you retrieve two mugs and flick the kettle on. “I’ve heard you berate Soap for his piss-poor tea skills.”

You make him snort. 

And it does nothing to stifle the fluttering.

If anything, it adds to it. 

Shit. 

Even though it’ll be his bed for the night, Ghost refuses to sit on the sofa and doesn’t allow you to sit in the armchair. Practically insisting you sit how you would if he wasn’t here. Even if you’re worried he won’t be comfortable, the ridiculous chair was bought as a filler—an accessory, rather than something people actually used.

“Fine,” you mumbled, grabbing your blanket and curling up across both seats as he clutched the mug in his hand. 

You put something crap on the TV, the volume low—just in case he doesn’t feel like talking. Your eyes flick to it occasionally, half-listening as you softly wiggle your toes under the blanket—needing something to focus on. Because you couldn’t keep looking at him. 

Not with how your mind was running away from you, imagining ifs and buts and everything else in between. 

He fits here. Your home rarely feels warm and comforting, but with his presence, it does. As though your place has always wanted to be enjoyed by two people, not one person who rarely ever visited it. 

It doesn’t feel weird, even if it should. It makes you feel unsteady, and dizzy. Suddenly unable to stop focusing on the fact there’s a six-foot-something amount of feelings in your chest, twisting and tightening, trying to unlock everything you stuffed down. 

That same instinct and set of emotions which made you try to rip yourself from Soap’s grip when Ghost had entered a blazing building just for a stupid USB; how you’d been so angry, feral—as Soap called it—not able to think, how it had filled you, consuming you. How you’d even told Price you needed benching, unable to even look at your lieutenant, never mind be in the same room. 

He eventually cornered you on the base, pushing you, mixing between berating and taunting you until you slammed your small fist into his shoulder as you called him an idiot, a fucking cunt, a liability, a heartless cunt. How your tiny fist hammered into him with each array of insults until he grasped it tenderly, staring at you until tears bubbled in your eyes. 

You cannot die.

Why?

But, he had to know. His eyes followed a single tear down your cheek as he released your wrist, allowing you to walk away from him and begin the process of stuffing everything down again. 

Then you’d been shot. Through and through. Fire, gasp and fucking pain, your mind rendered uselessly, but he was still the person you called for. Not Soap, who was closer, not Gaz, who could actually stitch you. But Ghost. 

Ghost who came in a flash, telling you what you needed to hear—ordering you to do things like look at him, gripping his arm. 

“What?” 

Blinking, you didn’t even realise you’d been looking at him. Your mind blanking excuses tumbling from your grasp as you offer the quickest smile and a ‘nothing’. 

You forget how good he is at reading people. 

Especially you. Almost sure you make it easy for him, even if everyone else says they struggle. 

Ghost always knows, as though he’s in your head, digging his way through each time he stares at you. You wonder how much you let him in, whether he finds it easy before you want him in there—in your mind, in your heart. 

Now, he’s giving you a stern look, one which makes the truth rattle in your chest and snakes up your throat. 

Sighing, you shake your head. “Fine, I was thinking about how weirdly normal it is that you’re here. That it doesn’t feel weird, alright? That was it.” 

Anyone else, you’d think they’d smirk. 

But with him, it’s the slightest movement of his lip which tells you he has heard you. 

Ghost takes a sip, purposefully holding your gaze as he does so before filling the silence with, “You thought about it, then? Me being here.” 

“Of course I have,” you answer too quickly, wanting to kick yourself as the words hit the air, his brows raising as he sips his tea. “Not… Not like that.” 

“How then?” 

Shit. Swallowing, you sigh, trying to buy yourself time. Shit, bollocks, shit. 

“Should tell you, lying to your lieutenant isn’t smart.” 

You give him a sharp look of your own, and he snorts—actually snorts. Your eyes are all set to roll until he says your name. 

Your real name. 

Not your nickname. Not sergeant or soldier. 

“Fine. I’ve thought about it.”

“It?” 

You groan, pulling the blanket up further—not that it’ll hide the obvious warming of your cheeks or embarrassment. You’re sure that’s painted across the room, likely even doing a jig at your expense. 

“Us. You, me. In a bed,” you mumble. “Happy?” 

Wanting to hide your face, almost about to when the sound of his mug meeting your coaster makes you freeze. Your armchair—the one his frame has somehow fit into comfortably—groans as he moves, and you let yourself see him from the corner of your eye. His forearms leaning on his knees, his hand sliding his hood down as he watches you. 

He’s silent. 

So silent it almost kills you. The adverts in the background do nothing to stop it; the rain, now hammering against the windows, was not stifling it. 

Slowly breathing as you place your mug down, standing before you can even consider the options. “I didn’t realise how late it is,” you say, forcing a yawn. “I should… go to bed. Let you make your bed.” 

You fold the blanket, throwing it over the arm as you try to shrug, and play it off, but he’s quicker at recognising you—he knows you better than that. His hand comes to touch your wrist, like he did months ago, eyes scanning yours.

For what you’re not sure. 

Not wanting to get your hopes up. Not wanting to lose yourself in dreams and imagination. 

So, you smile. As sweetly and as believable as you can as you point to the coffee table chest. “Blankets, pillows, the lot are in there,” you say, almost breathlessly, as he releases you. “Have a nice sleep, Gh—Simon.” 

He swallows, his face remains unreadable as he chokes out, “You too.” 

But you’re already moving, desperately seeking your room—throwing the door open and shutting it as you place your back against it. She’s closing, chest hammering so hard you’re sure it’s trying to escape. 

Go back. 

Go back to him. 

Your eyes slowly open, catching sight of yourself in the mirror as the street lamps partially light your room.

He came to check on you. You. 

Rolling your neck, your fingers flex at your side, twisting your wrists, wanting to shake it all from you. Trying, desperately to rid yourself of the tension and adrenaline. Almost doing so until you hear the floorboards outside your door creak. 

It doubles your heart rate as a lump forms in your throat, suffocating you. You don’t want to give in, but wish to all at once. Your hand cupping your mouth, trying to hide the extra breaths the sound has forced you to make. Needing him. Wanting his calloused fingers to leave marks over your skin, his stubble to slice against your cheeks as his lips capture your breath, words and soul.  

It’s that which makes you shift from the door. Not sure what you’re expecting, what you’re going to see, as your hand twists the doorknob, coming face to face with him all over again. 

His hoodie is gone. 

Expression torn—that same awkwardness in his shoulders.

Your hallway light touches his unreadable expression, highlighting all the lines and shading of his tattoo that stand out against his skin. 

“Tell me to go back to your living room.” 

Inhaling sharply, your hand drops from your mouth and falls limply to your side. 

You are not thinking, thoughts all scattered, scrambled. Not even sure you can find words to tell him you want anything but. That you want him here, right in front of you; you want him to be rough and also kind, you want him to kiss you like he’ll never have the chance to again. 

As though reading you, he moves closer, not even touching you, but your body yearns for him, muscles tensing and spasming at the endless thoughts of what could be—what he could do, what you already know he’d be good at. Suddenly wanting to rid yourself of your dressing gown, of your PJs, of the thin lace between your thighs you’ve already ruined. 

“Words, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart.

Your legs almost give way, a smile wanting to bloom and spread across your lips, up your cheeks until it's radiating from you. 

“Tell me. Or I’ll kiss you.” 

Speechless, your lips part. 

Yes. Please, yes. 

Not even sure you are even breathing as you imagine his hands on you, his mouth against yours, against your neck, descending down and down—

His hand cups your cheek, pulling your eyes to his as he examines you. He studies you like he’s capturing every fucking inch of you: the curve of your cheeks, the position of your brows, the way your lips are waiting for him. The clear crisis you’re going through is rendered and broken at the mere thought of this becoming a reality. 

“Simon…” you manage to whisper.

Hoping it's enough. Needing it to be enough. 

He blinks once more before he lowers his head, his lips planting against yours and you’re sure you explode. Your heart furiously beating, ears buzzing and burning all at once.

Barely focusing on the way his arm snakes around you as your mouth moves to meet each one of his movements. His lips are soft, even if his tongue is rough; his grip tight, purposeful—desperate, even if yours are gentle, nervous. The pads of your fingers slide past the healed scar on his cheek, moving into his hair, his groan vibrating against your lips. 

Gh—Simon is almost lifting you, moving you back as his foot kicks your bedroom door shut behind him, blocking out the light from the hallway. Only the streetlights dance shadows across your room as kisses grow messier, fingers brushing over skin as he hooks a finger in the waistband of your shorts, then sliding, freeing you, until you’re stepping out of them. Your robe next, falling with a thud as your hands slide under his t-shirt, feeling taut, hard muscle and silver scars which paint stories as your legs find your bed. 

He smells different than usual.

Less sweat and fireworks, and more some combination of Ghost meeting sandalwood and amber as the two of you bend down onto your bed, the frame hissing at the weight and movement—not even aware of what’ll be expected to support soon enough. 

“Shit, woman. Y’know how beautiful you are?” 

His teeth nipping, sucking, leaving an answer to your prayer before you feel him unbuttoning your top, all slow and gentle, as if undoing a present he’s waited desperately for. 

“Rip it,” you moan, his teeth grazing over the space between your breasts before he lifts up. 

His eyes burn into yours, the smallest evidence of a smirk on his mouth as he slowly shakes his head. “I’ve waited too fuckin’ long to get here, I’m takin’ my damn time.” 

If you weren’t already soaked for him, that did it. 

All slick, swollen and hungry for him. Not sure if it’ll even take much, not with how precise you can imagine him being—how fucking thick his fingers are, how he’s staring at you like he wants to break you in all the ways he can before sunrise.

And you want it. Desperate for it. So much so that just the fan of his warm breath against your exposed nipples makes you rub your thighs together, needing friction—something he can tell, he must do. 

“Wait.”

It’s sharp, authoritative, and he’s going to be the death of you. 

Your body is so tense, you’re sure it’ll snap if you keep any more still as he undoes the last button and exposes your skin to the cool air and his breath. So focused on his eyes, you’ve forgotten all about his hand until you feel lace dig into your waist, tightening and tightening—snap.

And he smirks.

The devious bastard smirks. 

Your lips part to make a remark—one you’re not even wholeheartedly sure will come out right—but it dies when he touches you, one finger, one thick calloused finger sliding between your thighs, brushing where you need him. 

“Fuck…”

“Part them, sweetheart.”

And you do.

You do it like he’s said open-fucking-sésame. Two fingers sliding against you, diving between your folds. It’s intense, teasing and everything all at once. It’s making you burn and shiver, sweat building on your brow as you pant and whimper. His name falls freely, almost chanting it, like a song you’re the only one who can sing it. He captures what he can, tasting each syllable you say of his name until you’re tightening and clenching, and he whispers in your ear how good you are, how perfect you are, and you meet your orgasm with blinding lights and arched back. 

The sight of him licking your want from his fingers brings you back, his mouth crashing against yours as you pull him down, knee bent against his hip as his hand comes to rest on your hip—the one you hope he’s bruising. Wanting, wishing for him to leave literal fingerprints as your hand slides between the two of you.

You knew before tonight Simon Riley would be big. 

Almost too big. 

The weight of him against your palm is something else, the thickness of his cock in between your fingers as you make him hiss, thumb swiping over the head as he groans. 

He mixes kissing and nipping at your neck depending on what your hand does, the groans of your name making you desperate—needing him inside you, suddenly empty and desperate all over again, but not for his fingers. 

You want him so deep in you you’ll forever feel empty without him. You want to feel every inch of him, want to rock against his hips as you press half-moons into his skin as nails dig into him. 

The ache growing, worsening as his tongue draws a line from your neck to your earlobe, his fist clenching around your bed sheets at your side. 

“Fuck… stop. Stop,” he groans, a hand smothering yours, halting you as he stares at you before pressing his forehead against yours. 

Letting him go, touching his cheek—his eyes full of lust, searing into you. 

“I want you.” 

“Yeah?”

You nod, his lips sliding up into a half-smirk—a Simon special. “I’ll go slow.”

“I hope you fucking don’t.”

His eyes harden. “I’m going slow. I’ll ruin you later,” he whispers darkly, before capturing your lips, a hand gripping the back of your thigh—shifting it just over his hip.

You're set to argue, and comment you can handle it until you feel him lineup, the head of his cock pushing against your folds. 

You gasp as his hips move forward, slowly pushing himself in, your nails digging into his shoulder, into his waist as shivers run down your spine. The stretch being both too much and everything all at once, your toes curling, him slowly burying his cock all the way in as his fingers stroke your jaw.  

“So fu—tight. Fuckin'-shit, sweetheart.” 

“Simon…” 

Your hips roll, moaning at the way it feels, having never felt so full. Never felt so stretched. 

He’s slow, as he has been since he stepped over the threshold. His determination to take things slow, to take his time, not lessening now that he’s deep inside of you. 

You’re sure you’ve left an array of welts and half-moon marks into his shoulders as he begins to roll his hips, his thrusts purposeful, desperately seeking that spot he already knows. 

“Eyes on me,” he says, thumb against your jaw as your eyes lashes beg to flutter, but land on him all the same. “There’s my girl.” 

It’s sinful the moan you let escape at his praise, your legs almost jelly as he steals it with a kiss—as though to taste it. Your mouth grasping for him when he pulls his head back, gripping your hip, helping you both to find a steady pace.

He does ruin you.

Not the first time, the second, but on the third.

Legs so sore, boneless and aching you can barely walk without his aid to the bathroom. 

You’re not surprised he places you down on the side of the bath, taking a cloth you point him to as he cleans between your thighs as your hisses feel the space. You catch sight of yourself, an array of colours developing across your neck, collarbone and waist—just like you wanted.

A painting in colours of his own design. 

You expect awkwardness once you shuffle back, giving him a moment. Finding underwear, sliding it over shaky legs before surrendering the idea of PJs as you slid between your duvet and sheets. When he returns, you brace for regret—for words you wish he’d swallow, face hidden in the scarf or behind a mask, but he’s in boxers and shuts your door with care. 

Simon crosses the room, lifting the duvet as he slides in next to you, reaching out, tugging your back to his chest as he places a single kiss on the space below your earlobe. 

You want to tell him everything. That you like him, could even love him by now. That you look for him too, that you worry, that you care. You'd tell him that he has pierced your heart, and you welcome the sting, that you'd be there, whenever he needed it. Even with knowing he likes space and distance and everything else in between.

"Stop thinkin' so loud," he grumbles against your skin.

Smiling, you fix your eyes across the darkness, finding the outline of your dresser as his hand finds your hip. Whether to soothe you or silence you, it makes your hands clammy.

Unsure if he knows that someone loves him. Someone wants him alive, wants him uninjured.

“I have feelings for you…” you whisper, fixing your eyes on your dresser as you swallow. “In case it wasn’t obvious.” 

He doesn’t tense, doesn’t move. 

Blinking, you try to trace the shapes of your handles, keeping your mind busy, the silence building and building. 

"Say that again." You turn your head, meeting his stare, watching as he raises his knuckles before he traces your cheekbone. "Please."

His touch is so gentle, so soft that it makes your heart swell—your face relaxing as you repeat it again. "I have feelings for you.

"I care about you and...I like you alive, Simon."

You don't expect a reply, a declaration of his own. The fact he hasn't moved and hasn't pulled his knuckles from stroking your cheek, is enough of a declaration. Your lips turn, meeting them, pressing the softest kiss to them as if saying I know, I don't need to hear it. I know.

Letting your eyes ensure the message lands as you hold his gaze, ever-so-slightly nodding.

“I texted him. Johnny," he says. His fingers spread, cupping your cheek, thumb stroking your cheek. “But, I had to see you. Had to be sure.” 

Your eyes lower briefly, feeling your heart almost stammer at his words. “Because I’m your sergeant or because I’m your girl.” 

You’re my girl. Mine. Fuck, you’re mine. Mine. All mine. You hear me, sweetheart? 

His thumb pauses against your cheek, likely remembering the same words he chanted over and over as he fucked you senseless. His eyes narrow ever so slightly as his lips twitch, and yours try not to smile.

“The latter.” 

You nod. Feeling your body flush with warmth, turning your head back away from him, grinning as he pulls you flush against him.

Your heart thumping mine, mine, mine. Hearing him get comfortable against the pillow, a soft sigh blowing past his lips and kissing your skin.

“You make shit tea, though.” 

read part two

a huge thank you to @ghostaholics for this absolutely gorgeous graphic. I can’t believe how much it encapsulates the entire piece and is just so me, and so pretty. thank you so much, I appreciate it so much 💕!

[iikatsukii]

Too Late.

synopsis: they loved you when it was too late. 

pairings: sully family x daughter/sister!reader, neteyam x twin!reader, neytiri x daughter! Reader, jake x daughter!reader

warnings: mentions of death, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts(?), swearing, familial issues. 

word count: 3.6k

a/n: would yall believe me if i said i wrote this while listening to pussy talk by city girls LMFAOOOOO p.s. Happy valentines day (THE RED TEXT IS "FESTIVE" im trynna get into the valentines day spirit :D). I wish i could've given yall part two of illicit love instead of this but i'm not done with it </3. ALMOST THO!!! (gif creds: @world-of-pandora)

(p.s. part two is out now!!)

it was never supposed to end like this. jake's mouth felt bitter. his whole body shook as he let out the most heart-stopping scream when his eyes landed on his eldest daughter. you, neteyam's twin, lay lifeless in his arms. your father cried because he never got to tell you he was proud of you, or that he loved you, or that you didn't need to compare to your brother to still be considered his baby girl. 

it wasn't always like this, though. 

you and neteyam were always happy and playing around together when you were younger. still, as you two grew older, neteyam took on olo'eyktan training and became his father's perfect warrior. where does that leave you? mo'at had chosen kiri to pursue tsahik training because of her apparent connection to eywa. so where does that leave you? lo'ak took on the role of the troublemaker, and tuk, of course, is just the baby of the family. so where does that leave you?

you're lo'ak's babysitter. making sure the boy doesn't get into trouble, but with your lack of training due to your father training your brother more than you, you weren't really the best babysitter. honestly, it was more lo'ak protecting than you protecting him. he kept you from losing balance while in high places, saved you when you fell into the rapids and flew you home when you forgot your way as if you had not lived in this forest your whole life. 

you felt like a burden on your family. 

nothing you ever did was right. 

you went hunting? cool, but you didn't bring back enough for the whole family, so now neteyam and lo'ak have to go out and find more food for everyone else. 

you bead a necklace for your friend? great, but you messed up the pattern she asked for, so she brought it to kiri so she could remake it.

tuk wanted to go play with you? of course! but now she has a sprained ankle from falling into the river while you were looking at flowers a few feet away.

and every time, somehow, some way, your family always managed to say something that felt like a blade stabbed through your heart.

"next time, y/n, just leave the hunting to neteyam and i. at least we know the right amount to bring back." it was lo'ak before he and your twin had to go hunting for more food for dinner a few weeks ago.

"you know, sister, your jewelry hasn't been the same recently. i've had sooo many of your friends coming back to me saying you messed up the pattern they asked for. just try and pay more attention when you're beading." kiri said as you walked into your home. she was re-beading the necklace you gave to your best friend yesterday. 

the one she told you was perfect and that she loved it.

"how could you leave your sister unattended like that y/n she could've been killed?! why can't you be like neteyam? you’re twins, for crying out loud, y/n. do you not care for your sister's well-being?" your father scolded you outside your grandmother's hut. you could hear her cries inside the tent, along with your mother's gentle words of comfort, as she tried to calm her youngest daughter down. 

you were being compared to your twin for the millionth time in your life, and as used to this as you should be, it still hurt just as bad as the first time your father had said it. 

"she only sprained her ankle. it was an accident sempu–" you tried to defend yourself, but you were cut off. 

"NO. it is, sir. do you understand me?" jake yelled at you. in your 18 years, your father had never raised his voice at you, let alone for you calling him 'sempu.' he used to love it when you called him because you were his ite and he was your sempu. but right now, to him, you were just someone who had hurt his child and nothing more than that. you hang your head, eyes falling to the floor in front of you as you didn't want your father to see you cry. 

"sorry, sir." was all you said before walking away. you don't know where you walked, but you found yourself at the abandoned shack. you knew this area was forbidden, so when you realized where you were, you immediately crouched. you were just gonna walk back because your father would kill you if he found out you were over here, but then you heard voices. you looked through the bush to see a group of 3 or 4 avatars. you knew you couldn't escape now, so you pressed on the collar of your neck.

"sempu– sorry. sir, i need help, i wasn't paying attention to where i was walking, and i can hear avatars speaking english and–" your father cut you off.

"where are you?" he, your mother, and your two brothers were patrolling around your land's territories when they heard you through their earpieces. 

you let out a heavy sigh, praying to eywa that he wouldn't chew your ass up for being here, before pressing the button again and saying, 

"i'm at the abandoned shac–AHH! OWW, LET GO, YOU ASSHOLE!!" you couldn't finish as one of the avatars found your hiding spot, grabbing you by your queue.

thankfully your family had heard enough. your twin telling his father he knew a shortcut, they all flew as fast as they could to you. honestly, this was their last straw. everyone was fed up with you constantly making things hard for everyone.

your mother, though, was worried. you were caught by those skydemons all by yourself. who knew what they would do to you?

as you waited for your family, you were roughly held by your queue as they poked and prodded at you like they had never seen a native before. 

"let me see your hands." the man with a buzzcut spoke. 

"why don't you look at my feet instead?" you said. they all gave you a confused look until you kicked quaritch right in his face. you don't know how, but it caused the avatar behind you to loosen his grip, so you tried to make a break for it.

unluckily for you, the female avatar grabbed your arm, pulling you back into her form. she gripped you by your neck, unaware that she had pressed the button on your communicator. you hissed at her. the man you had kicked was only laughing as he wiped the blood dripping from his nose. "she must be one of his. she's defiant. grab her hands, let me see." he said

the avatar behind you grabbed your hands, holding them both out. 

"hm… four fingers. maybe she's not one of his." were they gonna let you go? wishful thinking.

"fine. she may not be one of his but if one of their people go missing they're bound to come for her. keep her." his words made your heart sank. were they gonna take you? away from everything? your home? your family? if you could even call it that. 

but then you thought about it. you really can't call it that. you don't remember the last happy memory you had with someone, anyone, in your family. it clicked to you that it had been about 10 minutes since you had radioed your father, and he wasn't here yet. were they even coming for you? you knew it was a stupid question. they weren't coming for you. why would they when this was the easiest way to get rid of the weak link of the family? it's not like your blood would be on their hands, and their life would be way better without you.

"they're not gonna come for me. i have no family. you killed my family in the last war, you dickhead." you lied to the man you had kicked earlier. 

hearing you say this confused your family. what were you talking about?

"dammit you're an orphan? i didn't know the na'vi had any of those. then what do we do with her. she's useless. nobody will notice she's gone." the woman behind you asked her superior. 

"hmm.. i have a better idea. kill her. use her as a warning to the sullys. this is what we're capable of now. it'll be a threat. give us jake sully and nobody else will die. but this one… this one is our lab rat. we're gonna make you bleed out nice and slow little one." he said as he grabbed his pistol off his waist, pressing it below your jaw. the nickname made you internally gag, but you held your ground. 

these people had no real idea how tired you really were. you were exhausted. you were ready for life with eywa. you wanted your deity to hold you close, keep you warm, and protect you from the harsh real world. the world that your parents didn't adequately prepare you for. the world that you were ready to leave. 

"kill me," you said as you grabbed quaritch's wrist and moved his gun from under your jaw to right above your heart. "and make it quick. nobody will come for me anyways," you said in a monotone voice.

the avatars all looked at you in awe. they had never once seen a na'vi so willing to give up their life. the natives they had all met were vicious, hissing and armed, always ready to kill. but you. you were the opposite.

you were fed up and ready to die. but not for your people. for your own inner peace. 

"no," quaritch said, putting his gun down. that shocked everyone. like he shocked his soldiers and your family, who had been listening the whole time. they were trying to get to you as fast as possible.

hearing how you really felt was a wake-up call for your family. and when they heard bullets moving within the chamber of quaritch's pistol, they all flew their ikrans as fast as possible, weaving through trees and around mountains, trying to get to you.

you looked at the man like he had just betrayed you. 

"DO IT, YOU COWARD! FUCKING DO IT! NOBODY WILL COME FOR ME!! THEY DON'T CARE!! THEY DON'T FUCKING CARE!!" you don't know what came over you, but you tried to wrestle quaritch's pistol out of his hands. your family was only 2 clicks away and could hear you struggling. everyone landed at the same time. the sullys, excluding tuk and kiri, who had stayed with mo'at, caught quaritch's attention, which distracted him enough for you to pull the gun from his grip. 

you distanced yourself from everyone, and looking around, you realized you were surrounded by everyone. your family and these random avatar people. everyone could read you. you were a ticking time bomb and the only person in control of the trigger was you. one of the avatars took a step forward slowly, but you saw him move and point the gun at him. it didn't stop him from moving, but you heard screams of protest when you pointed the gun at your own head. that's when everyone froze. the avatars. your family. nature. time. eywa. you. everything was frozen.

"babygirl…" the nickname made you snap your neck to the man who was the root of your problems. 

"NO! no, you do not get to call me that. if i can't call you ma sempu, don't bother referring to me as your daughter." you said. your energy was depleted, and you knew you would only be able to stand here for a couple more minutes before you opened your own doors and walked to your great-mother. jake tried to take a step closer to you, which only caused you to tense up and pull on the trigger a little bit. everyone immediately backed up, your mother hissing at you through her tears. "MA ITE, PUT THE GUN DOWN," she screamed at you.

"sa'nok…" you whimpered, not even being able to look her in the eyes. 

"sa'nu… i can't" you sobbed. you could barely breathe and your tears were coming down in waterfalls at this point. you couldn't see anything clearly. your tears had blurred your vision. 

you knew your mom loved you. she and tuk were the only ones in the family who had never uttered a harsh word in your direction. though she was busy taking care of tuk, so it wasn't like you got much attention from them either. but there's no way you would blame her or tuk for that. if anything, you're sorry that you have to leave them, but this world isn't for you. you turned on your heels, looking at the man whose gun you took.

"you are a coward. you should've pulled the goddamn trigger. you're fucking pathetic. are you happy now? now everyone here gets to experience what they've waited so long for." nobody had ever heard you speak to anyone like that. honestly, they couldn't tell if your words were directed at quaritch or yourself. 

you inhaled, looking up at the eclipse, your bioluminescent freckles glowing brighter than they ever had in the nighttime as tears cascaded down your face. 

"goodbye," you said as you squeezed the trigger, hearing a loud bang and tons of screaming. you felt no pain, though. you opened your eyes, not realizing you had closed them, and looked around. you noticed your pistol was stuck in the tree in front of you with an arrow clean through it. you turned to your twin with hate in your eyes. he lowered his bow as he read your expression. 

"now you wanna save me?" your voice was weak but filled with venom. 

"why didn't you save me when you noticed i stopped hanging out with you guys? hm? why didn't you teach me when i was younger? huh? why didn't you talk to me other than when you were chewing my ass out for something that was A FUCKING ACCIDENT, GODAMMIT. WHY?!" you felt like your tears were endless. 

"WHY DIDN'T YOU LOVE ME?! ANSWER ME YOU FUCKERS!! WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME?!" you screamed your frustrations at your father and brothers. none of them could look you in your eyes, save for your mother. "you only want to save me because you know how much i don't want to be saved anymore but it's too goddamn late," you said.

you turned to the female avatar who was holding you from before. you noticed her gun earlier and hoped you looked threatening enough for her to use it as you ran in her direction. she didn't know what to do. she didn't know you were a barely trained warrior or that you wouldn't have put a scratch on her. she didn't know you were harmless. all she knew was that you were a native, and the natives were hostile. 

so she pulled her gun out and fired two shots into your chest.

the momentum of the bullet was enough to stop you from running. you felt the searing pain start to blossom in your chest area. falling to your knees, your eyes met the woman who had shot you. you looked at her shirt, reading her name. it was a funny name to you, but you didn't care. she had fulfilled your wish without even knowing it. so you used your last breath to speak.

"thank you, z-dog" you slumped over on your side, as everything started to go slow. your vision was starting to darken, and you let it consume you, not wanting to fight for your life anymore. 

cue the screams and cries from your family and the fleeing steps of the rda soldiers. your chest stopped rising and falling, and your breathing had ceased. your family surrounded your body, trying to stop your bleeding and preserve the life that had already left your body. still, you had been shot twice, and both bullets had exit wounds. it was no use. nearby, na'vi had heard the screams of distress and had called over some hunters and scouts to investigate the scene since they knew the area was near the forbidden old shack.

the hunters and scouts arrived at the scene armed and ready to defend their people, but what they were met with was the last thing they expected to see. the eldest sully daughter was lying on the floor, motionless, with two bullet holes in her chest and her blood sinking into the forest floor. her family leaned over her body, screaming and crying for her to be okay and to return to them. they whispered how sorry they were. they whispered to her how if she came back, they would treat her right, teach her, hang out with her, and love her like they were supposed to. but it's too late.

nobody knew how to react. the eldest sully daughter had died, and nobody but her family knew what had happened. 

“ma ite, oel ngati kameie. i see you. i'm sorry, i'm so so sorry. you don't have to be your brother. being you was just fine." your father cried as he cradled your head. brushing your hair away from your face, getting blood on your cheek since his hands were covered in it. 

neteyam and lo'ak were each holding one of your hands. they cried as they watched their tears pool in your palm and then fall off the edge to drip into the soil below your body. they couldn't believe they treated you like anything less than their sister. they treated you like you were a stranger, a burden to deal with. and now that you were gone, they could not tell you how sorry they were for how they treated you.

neytiri was inconsolable. her firstborn daughter had just died in front of her eyes. willingly. she wanted this. her own daughter wanted to take her life. and she couldn't do anything to stop it. how could she not know? how did you go 18 years hurting in silence? how did she not know you needed to be saved? 

"ma ite. my baby. ma y/n." neytiri's heart shattered when she saw those bullets go through your chest. she cried over your body for what felt like hours, but it was only a few minutes until the male healers came so they could carry you to the healing tents to prepare you for your burial ritual. 

as jake pulled his mate from your body, she started to push against him trying to get him to let go of her so she could return to her daughter. 

eventually, jake lets go, unable to keep his mate from her child. he joined her and just asked the healers to give your family a minute with you. 

they just nodded in understanding, leaving your family to grieve. 

two pairs of footsteps rushed towards the clearing, where the family mourned one of their own. 

kiri and tuk had heard the news and came as fast as they could. tuk screamed, running up to you and curling herself into your chest as she sobbed into your neck. she didn't care if she was getting blood all over herself. you were her older sister, and she didn't even get to say goodbye. she felt nothing but sadness and loss. tuk felt terrible because the last time she had seen you was earlier when you brought her back from the stream because she had sprained your ankle. and now you were lying on the forest floor dead? how did this happen?

"HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! SISTER, PLEASE!!" kiri begged you to wake up as she placed herself where her father was earlier. she rested your head in her lap, looking into your lifeless yellow eyes. you were her elder sister. as much as you didn't know, kiri looked up to you. she knew how hard you tried for the family, and though it wasn't your fault that you would mess up a necklace every once and a while, she couldn't help but feel guilty for the words she said to you in those moments. she knew she could've should've been nicer about it. 

when it was finally time for the healers to take your body, once again, neytiri tried to fight against them. this time everyone in the family had to hold her back as the healer walked you away in a leaf big enough to cover your entire body from the eyes of those around you. once you were gone from her view, neytiri fell to the floor again, sobbing into the ground, 

"GREAT MOTHER, WHY?!!" their mother's screams felt like a knife in their hearts. the sully family felt nothing but guilt and grief upon your death. nobody got closure because there is no closure for this kind of thing. they were the reason you wanted to die, and now that you got what you wanted, they had to live with that guilt. 

you were high in being held in eywa's embrace as you cried. looking down on your family. you did not regret your decision, but you just had one question for your deity. 

"did they really love me, great mother." eywa heaved a sigh before answering you. 

"my ite, your mother and youngest sister loved you everyday, they were just very poor at showing it i'm afraid." you nodded your head, asking a follow-up question, 

"what about the others?" you knew by her face that you wouldn't like the answer, but it was too late. the question was asked. and the answer is precisely the reason why you did what you did.

"they loved you just a little bit too late, my child."

[eroselless]

TOA’ LA NOCHE 

Summary: You meet Carlos at a nightclub and spend toda la noche with him [2.1k]

[carlos sainz x reader ]

MASTERLIST

Warnings: 18+ for explicit language and smut, Spanish (might be a mix between Spain Spanish and Colombian Spanish, which is what I speak lol)

 If there's any I missed let me know!

note: This was inspired by this TikTok that I’ve been obsessed with recently. I’ve been absolutely obsessed with this man. Also, I’m not very versed in writing smut and I’ve only written it a few times so I apologize in advance if it sounds a little confusing lmao. 

here’s the playlist that I listened to while writing

Your skin is starting to feel sticky as find yourself surrounded by mountains of people, all seemingly moving in unison with you. Sweat seems to be beading at the back of your neck and on your hairline. The sultry voices of Feid and Rauw Alejandro echo in your ears, the bass reverberating in your chest. The lights are bright, creating a halo around you. Your hips sway to the beat as you drunkenly and loosely gyrate them against one of your girlfriends. You're a giggling mess as she wraps her arms around and twirls. You let yourself go and give in to the music. The beat is almost intoxicating as you throw your head back and let out a breath.

You feel your friend tug on a strand of your hair before pointing out a group of guys standing just a few feet from you. They're standing in a half circle, dancing with each other, singing along and pumping their fists into the air. A brown-haired one whispers into another’s ear, almost exactly mirroring the interaction you just had with your friend. Your eyes wander over to the dark-haired man next to him and you feel your breath hitch in your throat at your eyes meet. He stands only slightly taller than the other man. He’s wearing a linen shirt, the buttons only done up halfway, exposing his hard chest. His hair is slightly wet, a sign that he combed his fingers through it far too many times. You feel your cheeks warm up, though you weren't sure they could get any hotter under the light, and you let out a shy smirk. 

There are people separating your two groups but between bodies, Carlos can clearly see as you continue moving against your friend, meeting your eyes in fleeting glances. Your friend lets go of you for a second, but you continue moving on your own, hands going up over your head and eyes closed. He weaves through the crowd and towards you, hands finding home on your hips. You tense up slightly before realizing it's him and relaxing in his arms. You feel his hands wander over your hips, threading his fingers in your belt loops. The song ends and another begins, the tempo slowing. You half expect him to let go and move back to his friends but he stays, moving with you. His head falls to your shoulder and you can feel a smile on his lips as he presses them to your skin. His fingers tighten their hold on you, lips now moving higher on the column of your neck. You let out a squeal as he nips lightly at your ear. He presses his hips hard against your bum, letting out a soft hmm as you find yourself burrowing ever more into his chest. He brings his lips to your ear and just over the music you hear him ask:

“quieres salir de aquí y encontrar un lugar un poco más privado?” (do you wanna get out of here and find a place that’s a little more private?)

You look up at him, nodding as his grip leaves you briefly. You see him yell out to his friends and you signal to yours where you're going and you make your way through the crowd and out the doors of the club. Your hands are intertwined as you make your way to his hotel across the street. Between wet kisses and wandering hands, you manage to catch his name as he mutters it out.  You likewise tell him yours as he’s pulling you through the door and into his room.

He doesn’t give you much time to think, pressing you to the door, lips finding their way back to yours. He licks into your mouth as your hands wander over each other’s skin. The pace is fast and needy as you reach into the front of his pants, undoing his belt and giving his hardening length a squeeze. He moans in your mouth, the sound sending a chill down your back and between your legs. His hands pull your shirt over your head, tossing it behind you. 

He pushes off the door, maneuvering you to the bed, sending you crashing onto the sheets. His arms cage you to the bed as his lips wander over your exposed skin. His fingers pull the lace cups of your bra down, pulling the fabric tight under your breast. His lips latch onto your pebbled nipple, the hand not supporting him above you, going to squeeze at the other. You bite your lip, stifling a moan as it tries to make its way passed your lips. 

“dejame escucharte, gatito.” (let me hear you, kitten) he says as his lips travel even further down your body. He licks down the valley between your breasts, blowing on the skin, goosebumps appearing over the area. You let out a shaky breath as he trails his fingers over your navel and down to your ever-moistening panties. He looks up at you with his honey-coloured eyes as if asking your permission to pull your panties off of you. As soon as you give him the green light, he’s prying them from you, hands dragging down your legs as he does so. 

“ay, mor, no seas asi,” (ay, love, don’t be like that) you say as he bites gently into the fat of your thighs, fingers gripping tightly, making sure you stayed wide open for him. His smile is teasing, eyes hooded with desire as he continues to move around the area where you need him most. His tongue is gentle and soft as it finally slides over your slit, his thick bottom lip following quickly behind. He takes his time tasting you, tongue prodding at your hole. He goes slowly, sensually as he eats like a man starved. He pulls away completely, lips and nose coated in your slick. You whine at the loss of contact. He chuckles, pressing more gently kisses to the inner part of your thigh.

“carlos…” 

“dime.” (tell me.) he says, resting his cheek on your thigh, a smirk on his lips. You let out a whine.

“quiero más,” (i want more.) you beg, voice almost broken and dripping with want. He raises an eyebrow, tongue going over his teeth.

“como qué?” (like what?) he asks, an innocent look painted over his face. You let out a huff and he shakes his head gently.

“tranquilla, amor. yo te dare todo lo que tu quieras.” (it’s ok, love. i’ll give you everything you want.)

His pointer and middle fingers trace over your lips, pulling them apart before pushing them into the pink flesh of your cunt. The air gets caught in your throat as his lips return to your clit, pulling it between his lips. Your hand goes to his silky hair, pulling on it. He let out a soft hum, a dull vibration caressing your sensitive skin. He curls his fingers, almost as if he were reaching for a button deep within you. You feel yourself shatter, your eyes squeezed shut as an orgasm crashes over you. Your chest is heaving as Carlos works you through it, gently scissoring his fingers out of your aching core. 

He pulls away, standing at his full height as he seems to catch his breath as well. His hair is sticking up and messy from your hands and there is a pink hue scattered over his cheeks. He’s smirking as he looks down at you, admiring his dishevelled work of art. He peels off his shirt, dropping it at his feet. You push yourself up, hands going to his unbuckled belt and zipper. 

“no es nada justo que todavía tienes esto puesto,” (it’s not fair at all that you’re still wearing all of this) you say, hands going over his tight abdomen. You let your fingers trace over his v-line, moving to right beneath his navel. You press your lips there, letting your tongue wet his skin. Carlos wraps his hand around your jaw, stopping you from going any further.

“por lo mucho que me gusta verte así, ahorita solo quiero esta dentro de ti.” (as much as i love seeing you like this, right now i just want to be inside you) You let out a quiet ok and lean back on your elbows and watch as he fully undressed his lower half. Your gaze wanders down, widening just slightly as you take all of him in. You can’t help but feel your core wetten at the sight. There’s a dark look in his eyes as he crawls over to you.

For a second it’s as if the world slows down. The sounds of traffic outside fade away and it’s just the two of you, enveloped in one another. His eyes meet yours as he holds himself above you. You can see the freckles littered over his nose and the faint mole on his cheek. You drag a finger over his bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. You lick into each other’s mouths, both letting out a long breath. He lines himself up with your sopping cunt and lets out a whine as he fills you to the hilt.

The stretch is delicious, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. Your legs are loosely wrapped around his waist. You're a moaning mess underneath Carlos as he starts to gently push in and out of you. Your hands wander over the smooth skin of his shoulders, fingernails digging crescent moon into his flesh. His nose nudges yours as you breathe in each other’s pants. His eyes are glazed over with lust as he loses himself in you. Your scent, the tremble in your voice, the taste of your skin. He falls to his elbows, using one hand to push your left knee up to your chest. It allows him to fuck deeper into you and you feel him bang into your g-spot.  You let out a gasp and he takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, swallowing your noise.

His breathing is hard, grunting with every thrust, chest heaving with every breath he takes. The sounds of skin colliding and your moans are the only thing you can hear. His whimpers sound like music to your ears as he tucks his face into your neck. You move one of your hands and grip his asscheek, pushing it as close as you could to yourself. 

“joder, me podria perder en esta cosita aqui.” (fuck, I could get lost in this little thing here) he groans out. He pulls out quickly and instructs you to turn around. You get on your hands and knees as he grips your hips from behind. He swiftly pushes into you again, knocking you down to your elbows, ass now high in the air. You let out a cry as his hand rubs over your bundle of nerves. You feel as if you are teetering on the edge of a chasm, only held up by a string that’s ready to break. His growls only grow louder as he continues to pound into you and his pace becomes sloppy.  

“vamos, nena,” (come on baby,) he says into the soft skin of your back. “yo sé que puedes.” (i know you can do it) You let out a cry, letting the string snap and you fall. You feel Carlos pull your arms out and over your head, forcing your face into the soft duvet. He interlaces his finger with yours and holding on tightly he spills into you. After a few seconds, he lets his body weight lay over you, unable to hold himself up any longer. You both hiss as he pulls himself out, revelling in his cum dripping down your thighs. He wraps his hand around you turning you over slowly. He lays behind you as your breaths regain their normal rhythm.

He presses his lips and nose to your back, inhaling the smell of sex and scent on your skin. You let out a giggle as the breeze coming from his lips tickles over your skin. You fiddle with his fingers and slowly turn over to look at him. His skin glistens with sweat but it makes him look more like an oiled-up Greek god as opposed to a man coming down from the highs of sex. 

“fuck, eres extraordinaria, mi amor.” (you are extraordinary, my love)

a/n: oh geez I definitely had too much fun writing this. some of the translations aren’t 100% exact, it just sounds similar and better to me like that lol. let me know what y'all think! comments and reblogs are always welcomed <3

[marlynnofmany]

Other Uses for Packaging

I waved goodbye to the customers — other humans this time — then sat back and waited for the trash pickup. I didn’t blame them for not wanting to take all the packing material out into the spaceport. They hadn’t brought a hovercart or forklift, and had been unprepared for the huge crate full of bubble wrap and foam.

Other times, our little courier ship had done deliveries where time was short or regulations were tight, and all we would have been able to do was advise them on where to rent a hovercart or buy a crowbar. Luckily for these customers’ convenience and my conscience, today we could stick around and help them unpack the custom end table or whatever that was.

They’d left happy, with something much easier to carry, and Captain Sunlight had headed for the cockpit to call in the station’s trash crew. (Apparently this was a regular feature at this space dock, which was a nice change from the last few where we’d had to move the ship’s garbage over to the trash area under our own power.)

Zhee looked over the crate that he’d just taken great joy in disassembling. “Wood may be valuable here,” he said with a thoughtful click of a pincher arm. “If not to the station at large, then surely to another ship. I wonder if the captain thought of that.”

I glanced back at the open cargo bay. “Probably?”

“Probably,” Zhee agreed.

We were both silent for a moment while the spaceport bustled around us.

“I’m going to check,” he said, tapping his way up the ramp on his many bug feet. “Make sure none of that blows away.”

“Sure thing.” I looked at the piles. The only breeze in here was the faint wafting of ventilation systems and the occasional gentle landing of other ships at a safe distance, but I understood the impulse to be careful. That one package awhile ago, full of styrofoam beads, had been memorable. And terrible. The darn stuff was almost as bad as glitter, what with the way it stuck to things with static electricity. Nobody wanted a repeat of that.

This set of packaging was much better. The boards made a tidy stack, the foam was in rubbery sheets that didn’t leak bits everywhere, and even the bubble wrap was in long rows instead of individual panels. This was no top-of-the-line cryo suspension or force field generator, but it was respectable.

I organized the mess a bit while I waited. The rest of the crew either had stuff to do on the ship or out in the station, so despite all the ambient noise, things were quiet.

I started rolling up the bubble wrap, thinking someone might want to use it again, but found that many of the bubbles had gotten popped in the disassembly, leaving it only good for one thing.

The first bubble popped with a satisfying snap. By the third I’d pinpointed which direction the sounds were echoing from most, and I enjoyed the different noises I could get by tilting my head. None of the pedestrians were close enough to pay much attention, so I happily worked my way down the roll. I’d seen multiple other types of bubble wrap, some made by different cultures and different materials, and most of them didn’t actually pop. What a simple joy to find the regular old Earth kind again.

Mur’s voice from the cargo bay asked, “What’s making that sound?”

I sighed and turned. “Don’t tell me, this is another swear word in your language.”

Mur waved a tentacle. “No, of course not. I just wanted to know what’s breaking out here. It sounded like a problem.”

Before I could answer, Paint appeared behind him in a rush. “Is there a problem??”

“No,” I hurried to say. “Everything’s fine. It’s just bubble wrap. See?” I held up the section I’d been working on and popped another bubble.

Paint winced. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“No, it’s just garbage.” I rolled up the part I’d already flattened, then twisted it to pop the next row all at once.

“Okay, that almost sounded like a swear word,” Mur admitted.

I had to laugh at that. “Of course it did.”

Blip and Blop hurried out to join the growing crowd in the cargo bay. “What keeps breaking?” Blip asked, frills waving anxiously.

“It’s just bubble wrap!” I exclaimed. “See?” I held it up and popped another one.

Instead of nodding and going back to whatever they’d been doing, my alien coworkers remained perplexed. “Why does it keep popping?” Blop asked. “Are you doing that?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed.

“Why?” asked both Frillians at once. Paint and Mur also looked curious.

“Because it’s fun?” I replied, scrambling for an answer. I hadn’t thought this needed explaining. But apparently it did.

Paint asked, “How is that noise fun?”

“Well, it echoes—”

“You don’t need to worry about condensing materials for the trash pickup, if that’s the concern,” Mur said.

“Yes, I know—”

“Are there food items on your planet that you have to open like this?” Blip asked. “Large fish eggs, maybe?”

“No, ew! It’s just—”

A shadow loomed taller than the Frillian twins. “It is violensssss,” Trrili hissed, making them twitch. (I don’t know how she found a shadow in the cargo bay. Sometimes I think she brings them with her.) “Small-scale, sanctioned violence. These can be destroyed without repurcussionssssss.” She was choosing which words to hiss on, for effect.

“Sure,” I said, spreading my arms and lifting the bubble wrap. “Let’s go with that.”

Trrili wasn’t done. “Each tiny section can be crusssshed individually, with precision, or multiples at once for maximum volume.” She glided forward on quieter feet than Zhee’s, and the others made room for her.

I held out the bubble wrap. “You want a turn?” Her pincher arms didn’t seem suited to it, but I was curious to see where she’d go with this.

“Plasssssse it on the floor.”

“Sure.” I flapped the row out in front of her like a red carpet, and she moved like the predator she was to crush one after the other. With precision. And shiny black bug feet.

It gave me an idea. “Hey, wanna see who’s faster?” I grabbed another section and laid it out to one side. “You’ve got more feet, but my shoes are bigger.”

Trrili spread her mandibles in her favorite creepy smile. “Challenge acssssssepted.” She crouched like a spider and waited for me to be ready.

I glanced back at the others. “Anybody else wanna race?”

Mur spun on his tentacles and scooted back into the ship. “No thanks! I’m going back where it’s quieter.”

“Me too,” Paint said. “But thank you!” She scampered off.

Blip and Blop looked at each other in silence for a moment, fins waving. Then they turned to me. “We’ll judge,” Blip announced.

“All right!” I said. I wrangled my own section of bubble wrap, roughly the same length as Trrili’s, and struck my own ready pose. “Say when!”

The twins chorused, “Start!” and we were off. Pops filled the air along with Trrili’s delighted hisses and my laughter. There were probably people staring, but that didn’t matter.

Maybe I could talk Trrili into a dance-off afterward. On whatever was left when one of us was declared the champion of small-scale, sanctioned violence.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[dindjarindiaries]

In Peace, There Is Love

summary: Months after Tantiss in the peacefulness of Pabu, you find it impossible to ignore the feelings you’ve always had for Hunter.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x reader

tags: friends to lovers, references to trauma, confessions, fluff with light angst

note: This is inspired by a prompt request from @ladysw01—thank you!

rating: T

word count: 2.846k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

It was hard not to catch the warm chuckle that tumbled from Hunter’s lips from further down the dock. You looked up from where you’d been watching your feet kick up beads of water to see him smiling and nodding as he engaged in conversation with one of the fishers he was helping. The breeze coming off the water rustled through his hair that was beginning to curl thanks to the island’s humidity.

But what really caught your breath were the golden flecks in his brown gaze as his stare found yours for a moment, his eyes creasing as he returned the smile you hadn’t realized you were wearing.

He focused back on the crates he was lifting, and you couldn’t look away. You still hadn’t gotten used to seeing him so much more relaxed, having long since exchanged his tactical clothes for those more fit for island life. It let his skin breathe, and for you, well… it meant the scenery was only getting even better on this beautiful island.

“You should tell him.”

Crosshair’s cool tone startled you, making your head snap towards him. He was sitting next to you on the edge of the dock, smirking as he set a new toothpick between his lips. Island life had started to change Crosshair for the better, too, from his slowly growing hair to his relaxed attire. He was definitely becoming more like himself again, the man you had known back before the end of the war.

You blinked a few times to silence the musings in your mind and focus on his words. When you did, your eyes widened at him. “What?”

Crosshair huffed and gestured with his eyes behind you. “Hunter.”

You glanced over your shoulder, catching Hunter’s gaze again before he looked away. Your heart told you the flush in his cheeks was for you, but your rational mind reminded you of the activity he was doing in the hot sun. “Tell him what?”

When you looked back at Crosshair, you were met with a raised eyebrow, and he had even plucked the toothpick between the fingers on his left hand. “Sunny.” He set the toothpick back down. “You know what I’m talking about.”

You sighed in defeat, tucking your hands underneath your thighs and setting your gaze back on the water again. “I don’t know, Crosshair. That’s probably not a good idea.”

“Why?”

You paused to listen to the droplets of water splatter around your feet as you sifted through your thoughts. “We’ve all found such peace here. Everything is perfect just as it is. If I’m honest with him, and I’m wrong…” you shook your head, “I would feel horrible ruining that peace.”

Crosshair snickered. “You’re not gonna be wrong.”

You furrowed your brow. “What makes you so sure?”

Crosshair said nothing at first, though his gaze yet again gestured to Hunter behind you. His voice lowered even more as he spoke to you. “He’s been staring at you ever since I sat down.”

You shrugged, even as a smile started to tug at the corners of your lips. “Well, I was staring at him too, to be fair. Maybe he thinks something’s wrong.”

Crosshair shook his head. “You’re helpless.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m not!” You crossed your arms and lowered your stare as you searched for a response. “I’m just… careful.”

Crosshair chuckled. “Sounds like something Hunter would say.” You huffed and jostled his shoulder with your own. He kept his smirk. “You’ve been ‘careful’ for years.” You shot him a look, but he continued before you could say anything. “I didn’t need to be here for all of them to know that.”

“You sure are talkative today.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Crosshair’s features returned to his usual severity. “Listen. We’re all at peace, but we’re also all living with a lot of regrets. There’s an absence that’s… heavily felt.” He paused, and you were right there with him. No one had gotten the chance to say goodbye to him, but Crosshair especially. “Do you really want to add another regret to that list?”

You focused on the water again and took a deep breath. It was maddening how right he was. “You’re too much like him sometimes, you know.” Your tone was playful, despite the unspoken sadness of your words.

“Oh, I’m being much nicer about it than he would’ve been.” Crosshair was smiling even if you could still spot the dullness that sat within his gaze for a moment. He then stood, and you were pleased to see that he was getting used to pushing off his left hand. Crosshair raised his brow at you before he walked off. “The longer you wait, Sunny, the harder it’s gonna be. Trust me.”

You heaved another breath as you heard him walk off. Your gaze fell to the water, but this time, you watched it gently ripple over your feet. Crosshair had made it sound so easy to do, as if you hadn’t been mulling over these feelings for years—just like he had said. At least the war, jobs, and brief fight against the Empire had kept you busy enough to make it less of a priority. Now, it was even harder to hide it.

“Hey, Sunny!” You smiled before you even looked up at Omega, who was taking Crosshair’s previous place beside you with a bowl of fruits in her hand. “I brought you a snack.”

You beamed as you took one from the bowl. “Thanks, Megs.”

The two of you ate a few bites in pleasant silence together until Omega was ready to speak again. “You’ve sure taken an interest in the water today.” She wrinkled her brow, unsure. “Or the fish.”

You laughed and shook your head. “No, I’ve just been thinking.”

Omega’s gaze became more curious. “About what?”

You stayed silent, though the guilty smile that started to stretch on your lips gave you away.

Omega let out a quiet yet joyful gasp. “Is today the day?”

You sighed and closed your eyes. “I don’t know. Crosshair’s trying to talk me into it.”

Omega playfully rolled her eyes at you. “Of course you’ll do it when it’s Crosshair.”

You chuckled and set a hand on Omega’s shoulder. “No offense, Megs, but I’m a lot more scared of him than I am of you.” You stole a look at Crosshair, your brow furrowing as you realized he was talking to Hunter. “He’d actually do something to me if I didn’t take his advice.”

Omega’s eyes narrowed. “And you think I won’t?”

There was some kind of mischief in her gaze that you didn’t like. You lifted your hands in surrender as she set the bowl of fruit aside. “What are you scheming?”

Omega looked beyond you, catching someone’s gaze before she nodded and set her attention back on you. “Sorry, Sunny, but you’re gonna want to hold your breath.”

The apology came just before Omega’s leg wrapped around yours and gave it a hard tug. At the same time, her arm gave you a subtle shove, but it was just enough to set you off balance. You slipped off the edge and fell into the bright blue water, disrupting its peaceful surface with a splash that was no doubt much bigger than the ones your feet had been making before.

As soon as you resurfaced, you coughed a few times, having failed to heed Omega’s instructions. You wiped your eyes before you found her, her expression masterfully crafted into one of genuine surprise as she played her part. But she wasn’t alone.

Hunter already had a hand outstretched to you. “You okay?”

You nodded, taking his hand and letting him pull you back up onto the dock with ease. He kept a hand on your back as you coughed a few more times. Hunter only leaned away to accept a towel one of the fishers had handed him, and he was quick to ease it over your shoulders.

“Got a little close to the water there, Sunny.” Hunter’s tone was laced with amusement, but you didn’t miss the concern hiding there, either.

“Yeah,” you responded, your voice slightly hoarse as you narrowed your eyes at Omega. “You can thank Omega for that.”

Omega was so good at acting you nearly felt bad at the way her brow furrowed in genuine worry and regret. “I didn’t think you’d actually try to get that close! I’m sorry, Sunny.”

You smiled at her. You could never stay mad at her for long. “It’s okay.”

Once your breathing was even again, Hunter helped you to stand, despite the fact you didn’t really need his assistance. You beamed as he set his hand on your back again and gestured with his head towards the island. “C’mon. Let’s get you some dry clothes.”

You nodded, letting him lead you away. You spared a look over your shoulder to find Crosshair and Omega, who smirked and waved at you respectively as you walked away. You shook your head at them and faced forward. They were becoming a seriously troublesome duo, even worse than her and Wrecker.

Hunter started to lead you to the stone stairs, but you composed yourself with a careful breath and spoke up. “Can we take the scenic route?” Hunter turned to you and raised an eyebrow. Your stare gestured to the sand. “Along the shore?”

It wasn’t hard to convince him. Hunter smiled and nodded, using his hand on your back to steer you towards the shore. You looked down in shyness, composing your thoughts as you did so. This was such an impractical route to take, and yet Hunter hadn’t hesitated in saying yes. Maybe Crosshair had been right, after all.

But one of you was going to have to be brave enough to speak up, and Crosshair and Omega had deliberately given you this opportunity to do it.

Hunter walked between you and the water, no doubt on the lookout for threats even as he studied you. His gaze was warmer than the sun on your skin. His voice, however, was softer than ever as he spoke. “Sunny?”

You met his stare and let it relax you. “Yeah?”

There was a knit in his brow as he brought himself closer to your side. His voice lowered even more than before. “Your heart is beating really fast right now.”

You laughed and broke your gaze, nodding as you watched your feet tread over the sand. “There’s no hiding from you, is there?”

Hunter’s arm brushed yours. “You don’t ever have to hide from me.”

You beamed and met his stare again. “I know.” You released a steady exhale and looked beyond him for a moment, studying the gentle crashing of the waves on the shore. “That’s why I think it’s time I finally tell you something.”

Hunter softened before his own gaze fell to his feet. There was no mistaking the flush on his cheeks that time, even with the tattooed side facing you. “I have something to tell you, too.”

You slowed your pace. It would have been impossible for him to miss the skip in your heartbeat as you processed his words. “Yeah?”

Hunter stopped, turning to face you fully as he nodded. “Yeah.”

You searched his eyes, watching the golden flecks grow even with his silhouette casting them in a shadow. “Should I go first?”

Hunter was clearly giving you the same assessment. “If you want.”

“I think you already know what I’m gonna say.”

“I’d really like to hear you say it.”

You chuckled and looked down in shyness once again. Hunter’s hand rose to your chin, gently easing your head back up to face him again. He offered you a small smile and a nod.

“You can do it.”

You, however, were utterly lost in him. With the sun at his back, it was as if there was an angelic kind of glow around him, highlighting the curling ends of his hair that were either falling out of his bandana or resting on his neck. His brown gaze was so utterly devoted to you that you forgot anything except the words you managed to form on your tongue. “You’re so handsome.”

Hunter’s eyes widened in surprise before he let out a huff of sweet disbelief. His stare broke away from yours as he looked to the side for a moment, and his jaw circled as he found the faith to face you again. “Is that really what you wanted to say?”

“I had to tell you that first.”

His gaze flickered to your lips. “Did you?”

You nodded.

He was getting closer, and you didn’t stop him. “What else?”

You hummed, a substitution for words that wouldn’t come. He knew. Of course he knew, and you did, too.

“You said you had to tell me that first.” Hunter stopped when his forehead was just about to meet yours, his brow raising before he went on. “What’s the second thing?”

It was your turn to steal a look at his lips. “I’m not really good at explaining.” The corners of your mouth began to rise in a sly smile, one that was hopefully more confident than the incessant pounding of your heart against your chest. “Can I just show you instead?”

Hunter nodded, and that was all it took. The longing and tension of countless years came over you, bringing your hand to the back of his neck and closing the distance that had been standing between the two of you for way too long.

It was impossible to make sense of anything around you the moment your lips met his. He was sweeter and softer than you could have ever imagined, especially as he drew you in closer with a firm yet respectful grasp on your waist. Both your arms clasped around his neck, keeping him as close as you could have him. After all these years of unnecessary distance, you weren’t taking the chance of keeping any space between you.

But then a voice managed to break through your blissful ignorance, whooping with the same amount of joy that was burning your chest. “Yes!”

You and Hunter broke apart and turned your heads to find the source of it. Omega was covering Wrecker’s mouth with his hand as she stood between him and Crosshair on one of the nearby stone staircases, allowing themselves a clear view of the two of you.

It was impossible to stay serious. You laughed and hid your face in Hunter’s chest, and he used his hand to welcome you there as he chuckled with you. It seemed like you two weren’t the only ones who were seeking this relief, after all.

“Let me guess.” You grinned at the mere thought of it and lifted your head to face him again. “Crosshair?”

Hunter nodded before his stare flickered to the three of them. “Omega?”

You lifted your brow. “And Crosshair.”

“Both?” Hunter gave his head a fond shake. “They’ve really outdone themselves.”

You shot them a look over your shoulder. “We really need to stop letting them spend so much time together.”

Hunter reached a new conclusion as his brow furrowed. He gave you a concerned once-over. “Did she push you in?”

You had to keep yourself from laughing for the sake of his genuine worry as you nodded. “Does that surprise you?”

Hunter tightened his jaw, despite the new light of amusement in his eyes, as he looked off to Omega and raised his voice. “Omega!”

Omega’s squeal echoed off the stones as you looked to see her running off with Batcher. Crosshair and Wrecker followed, though they didn’t match her quick pace. You laughed before you shivered as the cool ocean breeze rippled across your wet clothes. “So, about those dry clothes?”

Hunter amusement was traded for severity as he nodded and settled into his caretaker self. “Yeah, we’ll get a move on.” He stole one more breathtaking kiss that felt so much more natural than you could’ve ever expected before he reached for your hand. “No more scenic routes.”

You giggled and nodded to agree. “Unless…” You swung your hands between you.

Hunter gave you a warm look. “Special occasions.” He gently pulled you closer and used his free hand to tighten the towel that was still around your shoulders. “This is an emergency.”

You gave your eyes a roll, despite the way his genuine protectiness warmed your entire being. Crosshair had, of course, been right before: nothing was as sweet as embracing this truth and abandoning all regret. Now, you would never have to imagine a life without having him the way you’ve been wanting for so long.

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831 @yunggoblin @maddiedrmr @molmcb