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

[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 café, 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❤︎

[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.

[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."

[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!

[neteyawne]

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)

[peppertoastuniverse]

more than a late night snack – gojo satoru chapter 8: strawberry shortcake

contents: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru & reader, ieri shoko & reader, extreme friendship, swearing, fluff, gojo just being a brat, jealous!gojo, gojo calls you babe.

summary: when gojo finds that he’s surprisingly irritated observing your growing friendship with geto, ieri has some advice for him. wc: 6.2k

“but seriously next time I get to choose the movie – “ “oh big talk coming from the guy who chose the movie where we both instantly fell asleep.” gojo raises an eyebrow, falling asleep together? was there something that suguru wasn’t telling him? he told gojo everything, what would there be to hide – unless.. and you, the playfulness in your tone – he’s never heard you like this before.

previous chapter ll master list ll next chapter

gojo sighs heavily, his lonely footsteps echoing down the dark hallway. a week long mission alone? pfff easy – it was a mere grade 2 but the real difficulty lay in fighting the never ending boredom.  if someone – shoko or suguru or you –  were there with him it would’ve been way more fun. he wouldn’t have had to rely on watching shitty hotel tv or playing snake on his phone for the hundredth time. gojo was restless, he wanted something to do, someone to talk to, someone to bother. a specific someone.

reaching in to his pocket for his phone, he feels the cool beads of his matching phone charm. and he thinks about you.

would you be up right now? maybe he should go see you, say hi, hear your voice again - no, no – it’s too late, you must be trying to sleep.

lately, gojo realises that he easily found you in almost everything. while he was on his mission his thoughts often wandered to you: how would’ve enjoyed the oden he had at that small booth in takayama. when he took a photo of his meal and sent it to you, he couldn’t help his satisfied smile when you uncharacteristically responded quickly, asking where he got it from. he made a mental note to remember the stall to bring you one day. he thought about you when he passed the ads in town of the sequel to that sci-fi movie you mentioned last week, maybe you would watch it with him. he thought that time when he carried you to bed as he lathered his hands with the hotel room soap, lavender in the air – another reminder of you.

over the past couple of weeks, gojo was happy to see that you were returning to your usual self. he wasn’t sure what changed but he was happy that you had that light in your eyes return. you smiled when you talked to ieri in class again, laugh loudly when you would tease geto again and playfully roll your eyes and scoff at his comments again. he was even more pleased that you started responding to his texts more often, sure there were usually only a few words in response – but it was still something.

opening his flip phone, he checks his messages hopefully:  

gojo: b <3 what u doingggg (2:31pm) omg so boring here (2:34pm) hehe look at this looks like a butt [image]  (2:31pm) ♡ grumpy lil babe ♡ gross gojo (3:45pm) gojo: ( • ᴖ • ｡) wyddddd (3:47pm)

♡ grumpy lil babe ♡ reading (3:50pm) gojo: what r u reading (4:15pm) do u miss me yet??? (4:23pm) dw im heading home soon  (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ (4:23pm) ♡ grumpy lil babe ♡: be safe   (4:30pm) gojo: dw b, im the strongest  ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ im the best the most handsome (4:25pm)  ♡ grumpy lil babe ♡:  stop gojo (4:30pm)

a reverberating thud followed by a familiar muffled laugh interrupts his thoughts, bringing him back to the dark hallway.

what was that?

“suguruuuu! stop – i swear to god, i’m going to murder–“ a playful muffled voice.

eh? it was definitely coming from next door. was that.. was that you and suguru? 

your door promptly opens, warm light spilling out into the darkness of the hallway. gojo sees the surprising sight of his best friend exiting your room/

what was he doing there at this hour?  usually you’d be trying to sleep at this time.

why were you up?  

“but seriously next time I get to choose the movie – “

“oh big talk coming from the guy who chose the movie where we both instantly fell asleep.”

gojo raises an eyebrow, falling asleep together? was there something that suguru wasn’t telling him? he told gojo everything, what would there be to hide – unless.. and you, the playfulness in your tone – he’s never heard you like this before.

“oh really? if I can recall, you said quote “that was the best nap ever, suguru!!” when you woke up.” geto’s smug voice light with laughter, pitched up playfully mimicking your intonation.

gojo moves closer to source of the lively chatter, finding geto stalling by the threshold of your room, dressed down in comfortable clothes, loose hair, with a soft smile on his face.

gojo would’ve laughed at his strangely accurate impression of you if he didn’t feel his blood pressure rising, sourness coating his stomach, acidic and fuming. what were you and suguru doing in there? were you - “i didn’t say it like that, dumbass!” you scoff  “that was only because I had just come back from yokohama but you have no excuse –" "dude you were snoring so lou –“, he hears the shuffle of your feet as you move closer to pinch geto’s arm before stopping, noticing him. “ouch! don’t pinch me – oh hey satoru!” geto turns to greets him, rubbing his arm, eyes shooting you a bemused eyebrow quirk. geto’s methodical amethyst eyes quickly sweep over gojo’s tall frame, a smile adorns his face as he confirms that his best friend is predictably unharmed.

your head pops out of side of your door, dressed in comfortable pajamas, hair messy and tousled falling over your eyes.

“oh hi, gojo.” you say nonchalantly, eyes flickering to his face before quickly looking back at geto, “sugu, next time don’t forget the snacks,” you say with a slight pout.

“okay, okay. I wont next time, promise.” geto says shaking his head with a smile, “how was the mission, satoru? simple?” he conversationally adds, smacking gojo’s shoulder.

“easy as usual … and what were you guys up to tonight?” his eyebrows wiggle, “ha babe, if we’re going to share –  I want suguru on monday to –“

“pfff gojo, he’s not a child of divorce.”

gojo doesn’t miss the way you dodge his question.

he whines your name, “do we need to take this to court?”

a cheeky smirk dances on your lips, “you just want suguru to call you daddy.”

geto snorts before meeting your eyes in a shared mischievous glee that gojo doesn’t miss to his annoyance.

gojo’s eyes twinkle in return easily matching your mischief, “oooh babe, does that mean you’re momm–“

“good night, suguru.” you deadpan, rolling your eyes in gojo’s direction. he feels his geto’s eyes burning a hole through the side of his face, his smug smile is a bit too knowing for gojo’s liking, prompting a questioning look from latter.

“whaaaaaat?” he says exasperatedly. here we go again. suguru with his bullshit.

gojo hates it when he gets like this, all high and mighty like geto was privy to a secret. “you’re an idiot you know that?”

“sugu, just out with it.” he sighs, hands weaving through his hair.

“y’know satoru, there’s easier ways to get their attention without being annoying.” geto says tilting his head.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dude.“ slender arms crossing his chest as gojo glances at your closed door.

geto rolls his eyes at his best friend’s stubbornness. for someone blessed with the six eyes, he was really blind.

“i’m just saying, man.” geto says smacking gojo’s shoulder as he passes, heading into his room to the right of gojo’s.

narrowed blue eyes follow geto’s receding figure before turning the doorknob to his own entrance way and strolls in, huffing as he walks in. what did suguru know anyway?

you sighed as you opened your door, tossing your school bag on your desk without a care. you stretched with a groan, rolling your shoulder to ease the tension that your fatigued body carried throughout the day.  it was nearing the end of a long week –  extra practices and lessons coupled with the shorter days of the autumn left you feeling more fatigued that usual. but despite the creeping darkness of the day, you felt lighter. you were sleeping better than ever – you were thankful that you didn’t have as many nightmares as before. perhaps it had to do with the growing comfortability you felt with ieri, geto and gojo. you remember the conversation you had with gojo: he was right, it was weird having friends. it still surprised you when geto would call you out of the blue or when ieri would get an extra coffee just for you. when you didn’t have anyone you had more time, more peace –loneliness cushioning your pounding thoughts.  but recently you found that you were busier than ever. ieri would want you to accompany her into town because she wanted your opinion on the new lipsticks that just came out. you’d laugh when she bought both anyway.  geto would gently knock on your door asking if you wanted to go for a walk with him on the school grounds, listening intently as you told him about your day. gojo would constantly text you sending you photos of anything that he thought would make you laugh or he would pop by whenever he pleased, moaning about being bored or wanting a cuddle with bun bun. you always had someone to talk to, voices in your head being replaced with boisterous laughter.

stretching out on your bed, you stared at the ceiling wondering what ieri was up to. maybe you’d call her to see if she wanted to do something.

you flip open your phone to check your messages, unconsciously playing with the black beads of your phone charm. on your screen you hum as you see the usual messages from gojo which you ignore in favour for the one from ieri.

ieri shoko: come w us to that café I was talking about at break (5:04pm) btw us is satoru, sugu, me n u come, don’t b boring (5:15pm)

ah. right. she mentioned to you that she wanted to try that cozy café in shibuya that she saw, the one with the cute lights and the pretty drinks.

you: what time? (5:17pm) ieri shoko: in 30 (5:18pm)

getting up with a groan you begin to get ready, the promise of a matcha latte energizing you.

after appropriately layering up to match the fall weather, you hear your doorknob turn - 

“heyyyy, y’ready or what?” your head whips to the tall white haired disturbance.

 “would it kill you to knock, gojo?” you snap, your hands buttoning up your coat.

­“I did! but you were taking too long!” gojo grins, moving into your room, swinging his arms, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“what if I was changing or something?”

he smiles brashly, “heh, then that’d be even better– “  

you roll your eyes. “don’t you dare finish that sentence, gojo, ugh.” lips pursing.

his slender hands up in defense, “im just joking, babe – really! how low is your opinion of me” he pouts, his whole body drooping at your expression, “I wouldn’t do that to you, I swear.’ he hastily says trying to rectify of your unmoving frown and unimpressed stare.

“…you forgot this, by the way. “ ah, that’s where it went. he gently holds out your scarf bundled up in his left hand, caressing as if it was a secret shared between the two of you.

“you uh, left it on my desk the last time..” he mutters, moving closer to you, he takes the scarf in his hands and drapes the soft fabric around you, a hug he didn’t have the courage yet to give you. “.. are you feeling better now..?” you hum, trying to distract yourself from the sudden wave of nervousness you feel. the combined softness of the scarf around your exposed neck and the strange tenderness of his gaze was enough to make you feel unsteady. “mhm, yeah much better –  i can breathe again, all thanks to you.” he says brightly, blue eyes focused on your scarf. looking up at him, you couldn’t help but notice how close he was, the air in your room growing heavier when electricity. you observe how his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, trying to recreate the exact way you wore your scarf in sapporo. he had a freckle on the side of his left cheek – you hadn’t noticed that. you wonder what it’d feel like against your palms or against your lips, if your fingers traced his lips would it remind you of the way – 

what was wrong with you? you almost cringe at your own intrusive thoughts – this was gojo. the dumb boy who poked your cheeks to get your attention, who loudly teased you about the stupidest things, making your head spin with ridiculous requests and crazy plans of mischief.  satoru gojo: just another boy, just like everyone else, just another dumb boy. satoru.  

he senses your stare, meeting your eyes, “hm?” “you good? it looks like you’re in pain or something.” “i..uh, yeah.” you clear your throat, leaning closer to him. “uh, i’m good, are you good?” his eyes flicker to your lips. soft. pretty.

“m’ good.” he smiles at you. you wish he wouldn’t. “ta da! now you won’t get cold anymore.” he softly grins, remembering how you shivered in sapporo. he wouldn’t mind having to warm up again though he thinks, the admittance simultaneously confusing him and bringing him comfort. you hum, looking up at him.  his hands still holding the ends of your scarf around your neck, hands unable to let go. “y’know, babe.. I–“ a soft knock on your door.

“that’s probably them,” you whisper, still staring at him. “mhm, we should go,” his hands dropping hesitantly from your scarf, moving to brush some hair out of your face. you close your eyes sighing, you didn’t know what was going on with you – lately you’ve been more willing to withstand gojo’s company. you found yourself laughing more around him, not even minding his crude jokes and annoying pouts.

this was uncharted territory for you – having friends, having anyone – you had to be careful. now you had something to lose, you had to be prepared for the inevitable.  your hands twitch at the thought of his.

“I told you sugu, it’s because you keep eating that kimchi, it’s gone off I swear – “

“– uh huh, you sure about that? i gave you some the other day and you didn’t have any stomach issues –“

gojo ears perk up hearing your playful tone, watching you and geto walk in front of him and ieri. the autumn sun low and waning, doing little to warm his pale face. he thinks the cold weather is the reason why his fists keep clenching.

were you and geto always this close? when did this happen, do you and geto hang out all the time or something? when did he miss that? gojo has to remind himself to loosen his tightening jaw as watches as your hand gesture wildly as happily chat with geto, a cute bounce in your step. “- and then yaga told me, that if he finds out that it was you and suguru that switched all the sugar and salt in the kitchens again that he’s going to shave both of your heads, so maybe lay low for a couple of weeks.” ieri sighs, tucking her cold hands into her pocket beside him.

half listening, gojo irritatedly tousling his hair while mumbling something incoherently.

“gojo, what did i just say?” she glaces at him, his uncharacteristic silence deafening.  

he sighs before putting on a thin smile. “that suguru and I should lay low even though I swear – it was babe who switched it this time.”

“okay, then what died?” ieri asks amused at gojo’s stony expression, his usual bouncy stride heavy and stiff with the weight of something unspoken.  “what are you talking about?” he asks as ieri rolls her eyes, “I can sense your cursed energy going off the rails.”

“eh? nothing!” he waves his hand, attempting to brush away his intruding thoughts. “everything’s fine and dandy, boo! you keep thinking of me though, do you like me or something because – “ ierri’s nostrils flare, she quickly curls her hand into a first before roughly punching gojo’s shoulder, earning her a satisfying whine.

she hates when gojo does this, trying to mask his feelings when it was so easy to read him. who did he think he was he fooling? subtly was never in the cards for gojo, he too up too much space, he was unapologetic in every sense. why couldn’t he be honest with himself? she scoffs, having no patience for his nonsense. “whatever you say, dude – “ she says reaching over to take his glasses from his face.

“how come you always beat me up, shoko!” he complains, rubbing his eyes.

“because you deserve it.” she says, putting on his dark glasses on her, side eying gojo’s thinly veiled smile and fidgeting hands as he watches you and geto walk closer together, laughter fading in the background.

shoko stops abruptly, stopping gojo with her arm. she tilts gojo’s glasses down her nose with a pointed look. “what?” he asks, turning to fully face her. “satoru – if you like them, just tell them.” “what? what are you talking – “ “don’t play around, satoru. im serious.” she looks into his blue eyes. “shoko, I have no idea what you’re talking about.“ this dumbass. she tsks. taking off his glasses to put them back onto his face. “im not playing around –“ “then, be straightforward with them, if you don’t youre going to hurt –“ gojo scoffs impatiently, pushing his glasses up “i would never hurt them,” mild offence coating his words. “i know you won’t mean to but sometimes you’re reckless. even if you have good intentions, it doesn’t mean that your actions wouldn’t hurt someone, yourself included.” ieri says adjusting her coat, her sigh weighing heavy in the air. “whatever it is, just don’t be more of an idiot today – they’re just friends.” she states plainly watching you sneakily collect the falling gingko leaves, attempting to tuck them into geto’s bun without him noticing. your eyes sparkling when you catch ieri’s eye, a mischievous smile prominent. it didn’t look like just friends to him as he watches you animatedly talk to geto, teasing smile on your face, soft hands generous with your touch casually slapping his arm as geto turns to you softly laughing.

“yeah… everyone’s friends,” gojo mumbles, eyes stormy behind his glasses, arms crossing against his chest.

“satoru, seriously –“ she starts, her name serves as an interruption silencing ieri’s rant.

“shoko!” you call out again, smile still prominent on your face as you turn back to get her attention. ieri watches as geto takes hair down to brush the leaves out of his hair. he mumbles something exasperatedly before retying his bun up, bangs blowing softly in the gentle breeze.  “which one is it again?” “just the one on the corner at the very end!” she shouts back as you and geto look up at the signs of the small cafes lining the street. ieri chuckles as she catches a glimpse of geto trying to sneakily put some leaves into your scarf.

gojo cant help but take in your face, flushing from the cold. he notices the way your eyes reflect the light of the shop windows. he liked the gentle way you would bounce on your feet when you saw something in the shop windows that peaked your interest, a small hand grabbing geto’s elbow to halt his long stride to point something out. he suddenly didn’t feel so hungry anymore. watching you and geto he felt like his stomach was filling of something that he didn’t understand, but far too acidic and harsh to be pleasant. the longer he stared, he couldn’t help but let it consume him.   

ieri abruptly nudges him, “– hey, stop staring, we’re here.” she mumbles, seeing you slowly approach gojo with a curious look.  

ieri swiftly flashes gojo a shit eating grin that he doesn’t catch, before joining geto inside the café, the bell of the door jingling announcing her leave.

“hm, what’s with the face?” you ask him, waiting for him at the entrance. “why? you’ve been staring?” he puckering up his lips playfully, the sound of your voice easing the acidity. “nope.” you easy answer, looking at him as if trying to study gojo’s face.  He holds the door open for both of you, “you’re just weirdly quiet.. what are you planning?”

how to kill suguru without you noticing.

he grins stalely, easily masking the lump growing in this throat, “nothing, nothing. why babe, thinking y’thinking ‘bout me?”

he leans closely to your face, taking advantage of the limited time he has with you. your eyes widen at his sudden closeness, cheeks flushing in surprise.  “hmm, what’s with the face, babe?” he mocks, looking into your wide eyes. “it’s a face of disgust,” you answer weakly, “you should be used to it now.” rolling your eyes as you turn around to easily slot behind ieri and geto in line who were  busy chatting thoughtfully about the menu. the café was small but cozy, wooden accents contrasting between cool black metal. there was an aesthetically pleasing drinks menu and a beautiful case filled with various pastries and cakes. it definitely suited ieri you thought. “suguru? could you just get me my usual please? I have to use the restroom.” you ask suguru in front of you, gently pulling the back of his jacket to get his attention. “do you want the almond milk this time or regular?” he asks, leaning down slightly to hear you better, still looking at the menu.

gojo can’t help but roll his eyes behind his glasses, foot tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm, jagged staccato echoing the heaviness in his heart.  “maybe regular this time and ahh.. a slice of cake? whatever you think is good – you always know what to get anyway.” you say thoughtfully, unwrapping your scarf. “yeah, baby? can you get something for me too? you’re so big and so strong, maybe you can carry me to the table too – “

“gojo, I know for a fact you’d giggle like a school girl if suguru carried you. maybe for your birthday.” you shut his jabber down immediately, patting his shoulder patronizingly before making your way across the café to the bathrooms. geto narrows his eyes at gojo’s gaping at your back before turning his gaze to ieri who he catches biting her lip to stifle her laughter.

oh. oh this will be fun. catching shoko’s twinkling eyes, geto thinks it’s about time that gojo get the push he needs to figure this out.

“i can pick you up if that’s what you really want, satoru.” he purrs as he moves closer to gojo, ruffling his hair.

“shut up suguru.” he pouts, brushing moving away from his teasing grasp to order his food.

choosing the cozy banquet near the back of the cafe, you gaze out the window watching the sun go down. you slowly take off your coat, hands brushing your scarf, loose ginkgo leaves falling to the ground.  your mind easily drifts to his soft hands brushed your hair away from your face.

why were you thinking about this? it’s just a stupid scarf, that smelled like his room – like him. you clear your throat. you had to get it together. stop it. “so, I was thinking,” ieri says brightly, plopping down in the seat next to you while balancing a plate with a rather large chocolate croissant, “ – did you wanna go shopping with me sometime next week?” “what did you want to get?”  “a disposable camera. i think we should take some photos, I realised I don’t have any of us together.” says ieri nonchalantly, “and I’d rather have you all over my walls than these two.” she jerks her head at an approaching geto holding a slice of strawberry shortcake in each hand while a slightly less grumpy gojo trails behind him closely carrying a tray of various cake slices. geto smiles at you as he slides you your slice of cake, claiming the seat in front of you to gojo’s dismay.

ieri’s eyes widen at gojo’s diabetic feast. “eugh satoru, save some cake for the rest of japan.” ieri says, nose crinklling, watching gojo balancing 3 different slices of cake. it looked like a beautiful matcha one, a delicate tiramisu and a rich double chocolate layered cake. “see, that’s what I told him…” geto murmurs under his breath. “hey! I don’t say shit when you buy your magazines-“ he murmurs, demolishing a third of the matcha cake in a single bite. geto shoots gojo a disgusted look before turning to you and ieri, “our drinks are coming by the way, they’ll send someone over.”  as he passes you a spoon as you thank him.

“so, babe. let’s get that camera next week, okay?” shoko teases, turning to you while chewing a piece of her chocolate croissant happily.

“eughhhh, if you don’t ever call me that again we can go.” you groan, taking a small bite out of your cake enjoying the light whipped cream pillowing the crisp fresh strawberries.

“hmm, I dunno…” geto playfully comments, “I think it suits you though, babe,” resting his cheek on his palm.

a clang echoes through the air. gojo’s fork falling noisily on his plate as he chokes on his mouthful of cake, it sliding heavily into his stomach settling like a rock.

you turn your head to gojo, “you okay gojo? don’t eat so quickly – chew!”

ieri has to turn around to stifle her giggles at gojo’s ridiculousness, shoulders shaking silently. she couldn’t wait to tease him about this tomorrow.

gojo coughs as geto pats his back roughly. “oh yeah babe, i’m just amazing.” gojo wheezes.

“and you, don’t fucking start.” you say rolling your eyes, kicking geto gently under the table.

“yeah sugu, only I get to call them that.” gojo grumbles, loud enough for only ieri to hear.

ieri’s snort announces the arrival of the table’s drinks –  an iced hazelnut latte for ieri, a hojicha tea for geto, a triple hot chocolate with whipped cream for gojo and a matcha latte for yourself.

“shoko, what were you saying about yaga sensei wanting to shave our heads?” geto asks, passing you your drink carefully.

ieri snickers with a wolfish grin, “he told me before lunch. it’s because he thinks that you and satoru were the ones who switched the salt and sugar in the kitchens again. that’s why they just had instant ramen and those pork buns for lunch today.”

you laugh. “good. the kitchens need to taste their food more or something, that oyakodon needed way more season–“ “aww, satoru, cmon.” geto moans.

you turn your head to catch gojo reaching over and triumphantly taking the large strawberry decorating the top of geto’s cake, popping it into his mouth with a cheeky grin.

“you have like 3 pieces of cake, and you still want some of mine?” geto smacks gojo’s shoulder unimpressed. judging by his deadpan voice combined with the looseness of his shoulders, you think that geto’s used to this behaviour from his misbehaving puppy – silent disappointment colouring his words.

“it’s okay you can have mine. here -“ gojo watches you with wide eyes as you gently scoop your strawberry off of your half eaten cake with your spoon with an irritating sense of causality, like you’ve done this a thousand times before. you lean across the table to lifting the spoon up to geto’s mouth.

he pulls away with a slight frown on his face, searching your face, calling your name. “y’sure? i know you love strawberries...” “s’okay, sugu.” you mention nonchalantly, moving the spoon closer to his mouth. “I want you to have it, you paid for it anyway.” ieri grips the glass of her iced hazelnut latte before quickly taking a sip through the paper straw, not trusting herself from bursting out laughing. her brown eyes dart to a frozen gojo, mouth etched into a hard line, leg bouncing up and down irritatingly watching the scandalous scene unfold. ieri knew that you and geto were just friends, close friends in fact but nothing more. she would have had some sympathy for gojo, but after weeks of catching him staring in your direction or catching how his ears would perk up when ieri casually mentioned you in passing. she’d even asked him outright if he had any sort of feelings towards you to which he always brushed off, claiming that ieri was watching too many romance dramas. she had enough – this was getting painfully ridiculous. with a scoff ieri thought that in this light, jealousy looked good on him. it would do him some good.

sensing geto’s hesitation, you say with a bit of bite to your tone “dude, im sure. just take it  – or do I have to start making airplane noises for you?” geto scoffs at your impatience. he allows you to gently guide your spoon into his awaiting mouth, “mhm, thanks –“  geto hums chewing on fruit.

ieri thinks she might cry trying to hold in her laughter at gojo’s murderous pout.

he turning his best friend, moving his bangs out of his face, “holy shit, satoru I forgot to tell you – in roppongi last week  – “ gojo watched you at the corner of his eye lick off the rest of the whipped cream on the spoon, moving to take another spoonful of your cake, engaged in a conversation with ieri about your new training regimen that yaga implemented.

occasionally you look over at gojo, his dark glasses covering his stormy eyes, his slender fingers drumming restlessly against the countertops. regardless of what he said when you entered the café, it seemed like something was on his mind.

what was he thinking about? was he okay? “– I don’t know man,” geto continues, “you can’t just do whatever you want like that. at least call him yaga sensei, no wonder he automatically assumes you’re –“

“ah… do we not have napkins?” your voice rings out, cutting through the static.

“oh– I can, grab some if –“ geto starts, moving to get up.

“no, no – i’ll get some for you don’t worry!” he shoots up enthusiastically walking across the cafe, cutting geto off rudely.

“oh – ah. thanks.”

geto forces down a smirk and shoots a pointed look at ieri. look at this idiot go, eh?

 ieri rolls her eyes in response, hand shooting up to cover her mouth to prevent a laugh escaping. I know. I told him to cool it. dumbass.

“here, babe.” gojo returns, handing you a few napkins.

“thanks.” you smile softly at him as your fingers brush his. geto notices gojo’s lingering stare as you wipe your lips with a napkin. “hey, shoko?” geto calls wearing an enigmatic smile as he sips the last of his tea,“didn’t you want to grab some cigarettes?”

“right!” ieri’s eyes light up, catching on quickly, slightly disappointed at geto’s saintly behaviour, she wanted to see gojo suffer just a bit more.  “yeah, I’ve just run out. since we’re finished, let’s go grab some really quick.”

you nod, folding your napkin, “mhm, call us when you’re done.” “we’ll see you in a bit!” geto says over his shoulder, as you wave at them. geto smiles at how gojo easily slides into his seat in front of you, shaking his head in amusement. “how’s your cake, babe?” gojo asks leaning towards you, scraping his spoon against the dainty plate to catch the remnants of the chocolate ganache. “really good, actually. we should come back here another time, your chocolate cake looked pretty good.” you mention, taking a long drink out of your matcha latte. “yeah? you like this place? let’s go to this other café me and suguru stumbled upon last week – “

you sit in a comfortable silence, listening as gojo chatters about how this other café had pastries shaped like “ these cute fucking cats and puddings shaped like ducks! I’ve never seen anything like it, babe –“ finishing your drinks, you watch as the streets outside slowly empty, darkness overtaking the grey sky.

“shall we go, grumps?” he suggests as you nod, shrugging your coat on and grabbing your scarf.

gojo opens the door for you, as you quickly follow him onto the quiet streets, the street lights illuminating your way home. clutching your scarf, you quickly wrap it around yourself.  “did you have enough to eat?” he asks hands in his pockets. “yeah, the matcha was nice,” you answer, taken aback by his thoughtful question. “your usual you said – you always get a matcha latte?” “mhm, yeah. it was a thing for me and my dad. he’d always sneak me matcha candies when mom wasn’t looking and my sister was asleep – he’d say that it was our little secret. so now.. whenever I have matcha I think of him.” you say, eyes focused on the lights in front of you. you didn’t know how it became so easy to speak to him, but you didn’t mind.   “have you matcha from kyoto? the best matcha is in kyoto.” he asks adjusting his glasses. “mhm, I haven’t. ha, what?” you say with the tilt of your head noting his unusual silence. what was up with him today?  “why gojo, don’t like kyoto?” “nah, im from there,” he answers easily, warmth slowly returning to his voice. your eyes widen slightly. you didn’t know that. huh. “the estate is there, so they make me go there every couple of weeks to do clan shit.” “and I assume that clan shit isn’t just sitting around and drinking matcha at home, eh?”  he chuckles, stretching out his lanky frame carding his hands through his hair. “nope. home is not exactly the… warmest place in the world. y’know – the estate.” “home can be a complicated word.” you say shrugging your scarf on tighter. “more like fucked up, babe.” “that too.” you laugh, a bright and airy sound. gojo smiles. “we used to move a lot as a kid, and my sister used to cry and cry about it. my mom used to always say that home wasn’t a place but a person.” you say softly.

gojo turns his head to look at you, your forlorn smile, eyes searching the starless sky. he thinks that you look beautiful. maybe your mom could be right.

“hey! we should go to that ice cream matcha ice cream place in asakusa” he says excitedly, as your face lights up and his suggestion, “it’s way closer to than kyoto but just as good.” “hmm yeah, we should go. I wanna try those matcha parfaits –“ you say happily, arms swinging playfully. you turn to him abruptly, moving your face closer to his “but you can’t share with me –“ wagging a finger in his face, “you need to get your own.”

gojo stops in his tracks, deep pout on his face. “wooooow, babe. you’re seriously not gonna even share with me!?”

you laugh, a bright and fleeting sound. he thinks he could live in your laugh.   “gojo, come on,” you poke his cheek, “i know you can finish a whole one by yourself, you just ate fucking 3 slices of cake!” another poke. “you’re so greedy, grumps.” he whines, appalled by the injustice.

“i’m the greedy one?! gojoooooo!!” you pout back. gojo feels like he might explode.

“that doesn’t matter – it’s more fun if we share!!” he pokes your cheek back, a grin fighting its way on his face, blue eyes crinkling in the dark. “but I want the whole damn thing!” you whine back, noticing the way gojo’s hand settles to plays with a tassel of your scarf. “ah, ah, ahhh - what about the babe tax?” “what the fuck is the babe tax, gojo?” ­ you gape. “I get to have a bite! I buy you all your snacks anyway,” he grumbles. “… is that why you took suguru’s strawberry?” “exactly.” “but he paid for his own – “ you try to reason. “the baby tax is different, babe – i dont make the rules”

fuck. he had a point. you pout. separating yourself from him, your small strides leading the way. like a magnet, gojo catches up to you easily, standing beside you, unsure of your next move.

“only one bite.” you hesitantly say, weighing your words carefully.  “…and you still need to get your own.” he laughs with his whole body, excitedly throwing his arm over your shoulder, squeezing your frame enthusiastically.   you smirk. there he was – that was the gojo you knew.  “hehe, I knew you’d let me babe!”  his joy engulfs you, white and blinding. you can’t help but laugh along with him, you feel a bit dizzy but it’s probably from all the sugar anyway.

“ I swear it’s the best fucking matcha ice cream ever. they even have those fancy matcha drinks–“ with his arm around you gojo notices an unfamiliar feeling blooming in his chest, something that was previously hidden in the shadows but only now, nurtured the right conditions, it steps boldly into the light. maybe it’s the way you let him keep his arm around you until you reach the station together, pleasantly surprising him when you move closer to bask in his warmth. your relaxed shoulders moving up and down in silent laughter when you pretend not to find one of his jokes funny. either way, it hits him all at once, and almost overwhelmingly so.   he chuckles as he realises that shoko was right.

snackies!tags: @starmapz @ghost-buddies

a/n: im alive! ahhhh! jealous gojo is wild. he just wants some attention... thanks for sticking with me (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ -- super special thank you to @yung-notorious for providing feedback and suggestions and moral support for this chapter, thank you, love you, appreciate you! check out her fic, Never Lose Me! -- head image credit: Watashi ni Tenshi ga Maiorita dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

[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

[heavenlyraindrops]

♱Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Two♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Two Warnings: profanity How to find the other chapters in my pinned post

♱ In which the purest soul in Heaven falls from grace… for the Devil. ♱

[Chapter Two]

“[name]!”

You turned your head, before seeing Emily racing towards you to tackle you to the ground in a hug. You laughed, although it came out as more of a wheeze under her crushing grip, and hugged back. She raised her head, eyes watery. 

“Adam said you disappeared,” she said, and the barely restrained fury at him was evident in her voice, which dropped to an incredulous whisper. “Where were you? What happened? Sera’s mad as hell-“

“He didn’t leave me,” you managed to crack a reassuring smile, and Emily’s shoulders drooped at your next words, “I flew off.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he neglected his responsibility. And, frankly, ignored my direct orders to keep you safe.”

You raised your head to see Sera, her forehead creased in a stressed frown. “Come with me to my office.” She began to turn, then paused, eyebrows pulling right down, deepening her frown. “Is that blood on your clothes?”

You glanced down. The dark patches seemed to be covered with a thin gilded sheen. “I-it’s nothing, really,” you babbled, scrambling to wipe it off, only to see most of it had dried.

Sera didn’t seem convinced.

Emily pulled you up before you followed them hesitantly, the confusion on her face at the situation evident, even though she was smiling at you nervously.  You gulped. 

Charming. 

♱♱♱

“So, to be clear, you let [name] fly off and put herself in harm's way even though she has no experience as an exterminator?” Sera turned from Adam to you. “[name], this is only a one time thing. You are most certainly not accompanying the exterminators down to Hell next year. After Adam has proven how neglectful he is-“

“No,” you gasped, the words flying out your mouth without you even thinking about them.

 The entire room seemed to freeze.

Awkwardly, you cleared your throat and continued, more gently. “No, it wasn’t his fault. See, what happened was-“ you glanced over at where Adam was seated next to you. He raised an eyebrow, face flat, and you swallowed. Your throat felt like a desert. 

“I flew off,” you continued. “He went after me, I mean, he really tried I swear. But I shook him off and ended up tearing my wing on a branch, hence the blood- he found me a while later and healed me up. The wound wasn’t too serious. It only broke some skin, and- and, I could still fly. We just lost each other in the crowd going back up to the Pentagram is all.”

What am I doing? What the hell am I doing? You could almost feel the beads of sweat forming on your brow as you smiled at her stiffly. 

Sera turned and looked at Adam, waiting for his confirmation. He looked over at you, grinning wide. You pointedly stared back, which wasn’t necessary- he didn’t miss a beat. “Yup. That’s what happened. I was tryna tell ya the whole time and you guys just weren’t listening.”

“Please let me go next year, Sera,” you pleaded, eyes widening. She chewed her lip, contemplating, as you continued. “I was perfectly fine. And I may not be an experienced exterminator, but you know more than well enough I can hold my own against a couple of mere sinners.” You shot a look at Adam.

”Yeah, [name]’s powerful as fuck-“

“I wouldn’t say powerful-“ you began, but was cut off by Sera.

“You’re far too modest, [name],” Sera smiled at you tiredly. “And what you said seems to add up. I know you’d never lie to me-“ she side-eyed Adam, who didn’t notice, continuing to pick at his nails. “-Or to anyone, for that matter. Yes, you may go again next year if you wish.”

You looked at the ground. “Thank you, Sera,” you said, your own voice ringing small in your ears.

♱♱♱

“Jeez, sugartits, I didn’t think I’ve ever heard you lie before,” Adam smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You glared at him in fury, before jabbing a finger at his chest. You were both in a hallway, Sera’s office door at the end of the corridor where you had come from. 

“Watch it, Adam,” you hissed, then took a deep breath, calming yourself down. “I did it for you, so be grateful.”

“…thanks.”

You smiled at him. “No problem.” 

You both stared at each other for a few moments, before Adam spoke.

“Are we gonna fuck right now?”

“No!” You hissed, exasperated, feeling your face burn. “No, we are not. Here’s what is gonna happen, Adam. Next extermination, you’re gonna let me fly off by myself, mind your own business, and not tell Sera, and if you don’t do that, I’ll blab and tell them everything. And then they’ll hate you forever.”

He stared at you for a second, blankly. You gulped, your blood pounding in your ears. Crap. Dumb idea-

Adam finally raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want to go off sneaking around Hell during the extermination, sugartits? Got a secret?”

“Most certainly not,” you snapped. “I simply want to explore Hell alone.”

Adam stared at you for a moment. “You never say what’s on your fuckin’ mind, do ya, sugartits? You always gotta water it down to be nice. If I annoy the shit outta you, just say that.” 

Your gaze softened, then you shook your head and stared at your feet. “I’m not a mean person.”

“Not mean if it’s the truth.” He shrugged. You looked back up at him. He was wearing that familiar, shit-eating grin again. You huffed and rolled your eyes, kicking at the pristine floor. 

“Sure. Well, some people have a filter.” 

“Meh. Whatever.”

“So, will you do what I asked you to do?”

Yeah, I’ll do what you want.”

“Wait really?” You stared at him. 

“Yeah, I don’t give a fuck. Do what you want, you saved my ass from a three hour lecture back in there anyways.”

You watched him walk away until he rounded a corner and disappeared, shocked at his nonchalance, and then pressed your back to the wall and sank down, head in your hands. 

Did you seriously lie to the Seraphim just to be able to go back to Hell next year? Why? Why?

Was it because of- no way. Don’t be ridiculous. You knew Lucifer had the quality of being ‘tempting’, from what the Bible said, at least, but there was no way you were being led to temptation from a small interaction with absolutely no ‘tempting’ aspects to it. Whatsoever. 

Hell is a nice break from Heaven. And it’s interesting to see what it’s like. I’m just curious is all… 

You stared at your hands, mind flashing back to something Sera had said a while ago.

Curiosity killed the cat. 

“[name]?”

You looked up. Sera was staring down at you. “Are you alright?”

You cursed internally, your heart almost leaping out of your throat. “Yes, Sera, I’m just… thinking.”

“Perhaps I could help?”

You studied her face. It was wearing the specific, reserved look she wore for when she was suspicious but didn’t want to show it. You smiled and shook your head. 

“I’m just trying to figure out what I ate this morning that could make my stomach hurt this much.”

Sera’s face relaxed, nodding. You knew that she wouldn’t believe that you’d lie to her. You knew it would be easy to squash her suspicions. 

“Well,” Sera said, “Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded smiled weakly again, watching her steady, deliberate steps as she disappeared around the corner, then hung your head again, sighing.

You prayed you weren’t digging yourself into a hole.

♱♱♱

A/N: Stay Tuned!

Taglist: @boredlime, @ica1, @tremendoushearttaco, @sweetadonisbutbetter, @lucky-flowey,@kitty-kei, @thornwolfy235, @w31rd3rg1rl, @marxo5, @lvstyangel

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 3

Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they truly are until it's too late.

This Chapter: Your brother warns you against Elijah, so you get a Tarot reading to clear things up, only to be interrupted by Klaus.

Warnings: Brotherly Warnings, Witches, Alcohol, Tarot, Compulsion, Negging, Manipulation, Holding Hands, Kissing, Biting, Blood Play

Word Count: 2.7k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

“That Elijah guy really creeps me out, you know.” Austin tells you as he haphazardly enters your apartment. He makes his way over to the middle of your living room before throwing himself down on the sofa, opening his Styrofoam container of pad Thai

“Creeps you out? You met him for like five seconds!” You juggle your to-go box and two bottles of water as you kick the refrigerator door shut, setting them both down on the coffee table next to him. Your brother always had something bad to say about the men whose company you kept, but he seemed painfully vigilant about this one. “What do you even mean?”

“I dunno, sis, there’s something off about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but like… who wears a three piece suit like that in New Orleans?” He shakes his head and takes a bite of his noodles as if he hadn’t eaten in days, which very may well be the case. “And an all black one, at that?”

“Maybe he’s a local,” you argue with a shrug, having noticed that particular strange detail yourself. “Maybe the heat doesn’t bother him like it bothers us?”

“No, his accent isn’t from here.” He shakes his head and takes another bite before taking his time to swallow. “Whatever it is, I don’t like it. You’re always way too trusting of people, and it’s going to get the best of you one of these days.”

“Oh, shut up, you don’t like anyone.” You roll your eyes and twist the noodles onto your fork, slightly blowing for them to cool. “Maybe he just came from a funeral… or maybe he’s a vampire, and that’s why he’s cold enough to wear all those layers.” You joke with a dramatic tone, finally taking your first bite.

“Vampires aren’t real, sis. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Despite living in the most magical city in the world, your brother remains one of the most defiantly skeptical people you’d ever known. He refuses to believe in the supernatural despite the local legends, convinced instead that Louisiana has the highest homicide rate in the country due to the fault of human beings alone.

“So, what is it this time, then, huh? The vibes are off? His handshake wasn’t as strong as you wanted it to be? He didn’t look you in the eye for the correct amount of time before looking back down at the floor?” You call him out of his chronically obsessive behavior, referencing reasons he’s given you in the past for not liking certain people. “All we did was talk about books, anyway.”

“Uh-huh.” It was his turn to roll his eyes as he chewed on his noodles. “I know that look.”

“What look?” You ask sheepishly, hoping you weren’t imagining how Elijah was staring at you in the library.

“Just be careful.”

———————————————

The city is more alive after your brother passes out on your couch, and you slip out into the heavy night air, leaving him nothing but a note that you locked up tight and would be back before morning. You know you’d never hear the end of it if you didn’t tell him where you were, even if he had never done the same for you in return. Classic Austin.

The absence of the sun does little to bring down the temperature and humidity of this place, making it feel as if a thick blanket of heat rests on your shoulders, wrapping itself around your torso and legs as you attempt to seem unaffected by it, the beads of sweat on your skin no doubt giving you away. Everyone else in the crowd around you either seems to embrace it, not to notice, or be far too inebriated to even care. You duck in between a few drunk and disorderly tourists, a splash of watermelon slushie getting spilled in your hair before you’re able to walk into the voodoo shop that most people were too scared to enter.

“You shouldn’t be here, baby. It’s dangerous after dark.” The old lady behind the counter tells you, looking up from her ancient spell book. The wrinkles on her face tell the story of decades of magic, of life in the quarter that your brother would never even pretend to believe as the power within her vibrates the air around you, reminding you of what drew you to this city to begin with.

“The sign out front says that you do tarot readings.” You pull a twenty dollar bill out of your pocket and gently place it on the counter, pushing it toward her. “Would you be willing to do one for me?”

“You sure you want that?” Her voice is cautious as she looks you over, her eyes whitened with age as they peer into your very soul.

“I’m sure.” You’ve been dying to have your cards read so that you might know what to expect, to see if the fates can prove your brother wrong about his misconceptions about the man in the library.

“Alright, baby.” She smiles and shuffles the deck, slowly singing a song to herself in the process as three cards slowly fall out onto the counter in front of you. “Let’s see, here.”

She turns the first one over slowly before looking up at you, almost as if to make sure you’re paying attention. “The Moon. You’re going to have to choose between two paths, although it may not be clear which one is good and which one is bad. You can rely on the light of the moon to guide you, though, child. Don’t forget that.” She wags a finger in your face and turns the next card over. “The Emperor, a strong masculine figure will enter your life. He is rigid on control and order, but he’s also one who will serve you well. Don’t dismiss him too quickly, now.” She smiles at you before her hand hovers over the last card for what seems like forever, shaking a little before flipping it upright.

“The King of Swords… reversed.” She gives you a wary look, inhaling deeply before lifting her palm up to face you, as if that will help ease your mind somehow. “Don’t you worry now…”

“Don’t worry? You look worried!” Your eyes widen as your heart begins to race, wondering what could be so damn scary about this card that could frighten this old woman to the point of shaking.

Before she can answer you, the bell jingling above the door breaks your train of thought. The woman’s face suddenly drops as if she’d just seen a ghost, her expression far worse than when she saw your third card. She pats your hand affectionately as if to tell you that she’s all done with you, that you can go now, before letting go of your fingers. Without a word, she hurriedly collects your cards, making sure to shuffle them evenly back into the deck before taking a deep breath and glancing up at the new customer.

“What have we here? A little midnight tarot reading, is it?” You’d recognize that voice anywhere as it resonates deep within your bones, his very presence prickling your skin into an uneven pattern of excitable gooseflesh. “Consulting the fates before deciding to give me a call, love?”

“No harm in that, is there?” The woman answers for you, plastering a more believable smile onto her face as your benefactor slowly approaches the both of you.

“I suppose not.” He looks at you with a dark grin before addressing her again. “And what did the cards tell you this time, Marie? Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

“You know I can’t tell you that. The reading’s for her, and her alone.” She continues to shuffle the deck, making sure to lose your cards along the way. “Although I’d be happy to read your cards if you’d like.”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary.” He smirks, standing right next to you as he leans against the counter. “I’ve had them read more than enough times in my lifetime.”

God, he smells good.

“What can I do for you this time, wolf?” Marie asks him with a pained familiarity.

“Wolf?” You repeat, trying to make sense of the growing knot tying into your stomach.

Klaus laughs nervously, turning that angelic face of his toward you. “That’s just a little term of endearment Marie uses for me.” He pauses and waits for her to agree with a silent nod. “Wolf, baby, love, darling… you’ve heard one, you’ve heard them all, isn’t that right, love?”

“That’s right, ‘love’,” she corrects herself.

You can tell that Marie’s afraid of him. You can see it in her eyes, plain as day, but for some reason, as soon as Klaus looks at you, you hear a voice in your head telling you not to fear him. It calms your nerves and reassures you that her trepidation is unfounded, telling you that you can trust him with your life. It’s a new, very odd feeling that makes the knot in your stomach seem to unravel and disappear entirely without much of an explanation at all.

————————————————

“I was right about you, wasn’t I? You’re a believer.” Klaus glances over at you knowingly as you lead him through the quarter toward your apartment. Although his tone is light and flirty, his eyes are very serious.

“A believer? What happened to me being morbidly disturbed?” You vaguely remember the three cards Marie had given you, but decide not to focus on them for now. Instead you decide to focus on how closely his hand brushes against yours with each stride, how electric it makes you feel as he walks beside you.

“I don’t see why the two can’t coexist within that beautiful body of yours.” He raises an eyebrow as his pinky finger hooks in between your thumb and forefinger, sending a jolt of warmth up your spine. “As your benefactor and mentor, I find it my duty to inform you of the dangers that lurk in the darkest corners of this city, witches being one of them.”

“Witchcraft is real?” You ask point blank, cutting through any witty banter you might otherwise throw his way.

“Oh, I’m afraid so, love. Every story you’ve ever heard hushed whispers of, every suspicious tradition carried on by the locals, every legend of lore uttered by a tour guide…they’re all true. It’s a way of hiding in plain sight. They get to practice their way of life while the tourists are none the wiser. It’s a pretty convenient arrangement, really.”

“And you know all this, how?” Your heart skips a beat as he speaks so plainly about the supernatural presence in this city, giving you hope that you’ve found a like-minded person. You’ve always suspected that the stories were true, but never talked about it with anyone this openly.

“Oh, I’ve lived here for centuries,” he exaggerates with a cocky glare. “But it won’t take you that long to notice all the magic that’s in this city, to see just how dangerous it can be for someone like you.”

“Someone like me? What does that mean? Every city is dangerous, Klaus.” You take his warning with a grain of salt, but you still heed it, keeping his words in the back of your head and saving them for later. “And what do you mean, my mentor?” You allow him to take hold of your hand completely, wrapping his fingers around it with a squeeze.

“Did I fail to mention that I’m a painter, as well?” He laughs as you turn a corner on the sidewalk, your apartment building just a few doors down now. “It must have slipped my mind the moment I saw you and your work.” He gives you a beguiling smirk, his lips flushing a light rosy hue. “You were both so enchanting.”

“Really?” You smile at his confession, blushing at his compliment. “What do you paint?” That smirk of his suggests that he feels the growing warmth that’s spreading all over your chest and neck as it slowly makes its way into your core, that maybe he’s been feeling it all along.

“I tend to focus a bit more on abstract ideas, landscapes, skylines, things like that. Painting for me is a way to… clear my head when I need to escape, but it’s nothing as political or bold as your work.” He pauses, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “That being said, with the right funding and guidance, I think yours could be astoundingly better.”

“Better?” You try not to sound offended, but his words cut like a knife as you arrive at your doorstep, steeping in the awkward silence before he speaks again.

Does he even like your artwork at all?

“Oh, don’t be cross with me, love.” He releases your hand and slowly turns toward you, plating both palms over your hair to better look into your eyes. “The things I could show you if only you’d let me into your mind, into your creative process, in here,” he presses his middle and forefinger against your chest, pointing at your heart as he brings his face closer to yours. “I could help you discover so many new things, teach you techniques you haven’t even dreamed of, make you see stars brighter than the hottest summer’s day.”

Is he still talking about art?

His words fan that warmth inside you into a spark, unable to stop your body’s chemical reaction to his touch or the hypnotic sound of his velvety voice. You know deep down that something that burns this hot can’t possibly keep you alight for very long, but like a moth to the flame, you can’t help but be drawn to the fire within him. It’s been so long since you’ve allowed yourself to be consumed by anyone else’s madness, to be engulfed by their passion, but if this is what burns you down to mere embers, then so be it.

“I can do that.” You nod, eyelids fluttering as his lips feather over yours, parting ever so slightly before you decide to stand on your tiptoes and kiss him.

He tastes just as good as he smells, the faint flavor of whiskey and copper parting your lips as you breathe in his citrusy scent, committing it to memory. You moan as his tongue clashes against yours, exciting every neuron in your body as your hands end up in his dirty blonde curls, tugging and pulling him in even closer to you. You can feel his breath quicken as his chest rises and falls against yours, his hands mapping out every inch of your neck and shoulders as he greedily sucks your bottom lip between his teeth. Step by step, he walks you backward against the wall, his hips needily pinning you in place as his kiss greedily deepens to the point of breaking your skin.

You gasp as he pulls back just enough for you to notice your blood on his lip, his eyes seeming to darken with desire before he languidly licks it off, looking you in the eye to see how you’ll react.

Your eyes widen, uncertain if you’re actually witnessing what you think you are. Did he just bite down hard enough to draw blood and then… lick it?

He holds onto you with that wanton stare, watching the wheels turn inside your head as you try to register what’s happening. He tilts his head to the side to see if fear or disgust will override your carnal desire for him before he gently brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, collecting the rest of your blood. The salt of his skin stings your exposed tissue as he tugs it downward before bringing it up to his own mouth to taste.

“Klaus,” you start, the pain in your lip barely outweighing your need to keep kissing him.

The sight of your blood on his lips somehow triggers something deep within you, something he already knew was there from the very second he laid eyes on you. Like some kind of dark and twisted Manchurian Candidate, he knew exactly how to draw it out of you, how to give you just enough to make you want a little bit more. How did he know something about you that you didn’t even know about yourself?

He merely grins in response, sucking his bloodstained thumb as he keeps those enchanting eyes of his locked onto yours. “I look forward to mentoring you, love.”

[reminiscingtonight]

Dinner

Lia Wälti x Williamson!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

[WOSO Masterlist]

It all began with a dinner.

Well, a dinner and a movie, but a dinner nonetheless.

Practice had been light today. With no games coming at the end of the week, Leah had invited her Swiss counterpart over for a little movie night. The two used to have them on the regular, but it’s been a busy past couple of weeks, neither having had the time to indulge in their weekly hangouts.

Until today. 

Arriving at the familiar address, Lia lets herself through the door. Leah had stayed behind to talk to Jonas for a little bit, giving Lia the all-clear to enter her home with the spare key the Swiss possessed. After stopping by their favorite dinner place, Lia did exactly that, heading straight for the kitchen after her arrival. 

It isn’t until she actually reaches for the cupboard left of the sink that she realizes something is off. Namely, since the last time Lia’s been over, Leah’s apparently reorganized all of her plates, bowls, and cutlery. 

Swearing under her breath, Lia starts opening cupboards and drawers at random. Where the plates are supposed to be now sit wine glasses. Where the forks are supposed to be now sit paper, pens, and rulers. 

Groaning, Lia comes to the realization that this is going to take longer than she originally thought. Leah’s about to get the talking-to of her life when she gets back.

So caught up in looking for the necessary plates and utensils for their dinner Lia doesn’t hear the sound of the shower stopping. Nor does she hear the click of the bathroom door opening. Nor the footsteps padding her way. 

What she does hear is an alarmed shriek.

Spinning around, Lia’s eyes widen at the sight of another woman, clad only in a towel as water drips from the ends of her hair. 

She finds her eyes following a particular bead of water that drips down your neck, disappearing underneath--

“Who the hell are you?!” comes a not so confidently yelled accusation, startling Lia out of her staring. Blushing, the Swiss puts her hands up to show she’s not a threat, gently backing into the counter as you stand your ground.

Of course, leave it up to Leah to not warn her about her girlfriend staying over. Or for Leah to not warn her girlfriend that Lia was coming over.

Though Lia can definitely see why the English captain would choose to date someone as beautiful as--

Lia stops herself before she goes down the trail of thinking about how hot Leah’s girlfriend is. 

“Sorry, Leah didn’t tell me someone else was going to be here,” comes the apology, the Gunner quick to make up for her previous silence. Your shoulders still haven’t untensed, hand clutching onto your towel for dear life. 

“Leah had to talk to Jonas about something but wanted me to grab food and head over.” Lia slowly gestures to the takeaway sitting on the counter next to her. She sees your eyes hesitantly glance at it before locking back onto her. “We, uh, we were planning on having a movie night.”

A period of silence follows as she sees you working through her explanation. If anything, you seem to be even more tense, from the cold or something else, Lia couldn’t be too sure.

Before either of you have a chance to say anything more, there’s a noisy jingle at the front door. Lia only has a few seconds to prepare herself before the door flies open, revealing the woman in question. 

Leah blinks, eyes darting between you and her teammate as she holds her bag over her shoulder.

You look unamused, shivering a bit at your state of undress while Lia’s quick to open her mouth in defense of herself.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

Leah frowns, gaze focusing on you. “Fancying a post-shower, still towel-clad conversation, eh?”

You roll your eyes. “A warning that you were having company over would’ve been nice.”

Lia’s confused when the blonde grins, coming over to smack a loud kiss against your cheek and push at you with her hands. “Off to get dressed, you. America has really taken away your manners.”

You rub at your cheek in disgust before you shove back ferociously, nearly toppling Leah over. The blonde stumbles, using Lia as a stand to steady herself. 

There’s no time to retaliate as you stalk away. Only the lingering smell of your shampoo and body wash tells her that you were ever there.

It’s quiet then as Leah helps the Swiss find her plates and take out the food. The two of them work in silence, carefully dishing out their meal before making their way to the living room.

The TV clicks on with a quiet hum, illuminating the room in a soft hue.

“Er, she seems… nice.” Lia supplements, trying to ease into the weird atmosphere. If Leah wasn’t going to introduce her girlfriend to Lia then Lia would just have to get the stone rolling herself.

To her surprise, Leah simply rolls her eyes, a small smile still present on her face. “(Y/N)’s a menace.”

There’s a muffled shout from somewhere deep in the apartment and Leah flinches when she realizes you can still hear her.

“I heard that, you arse! You’re the fucking menace.”

When you appear again, Lia’s lost in your soft look, a faded blue sweatshirt covering your previously towel covered body, that she almost misses what you say next.

“The least you could’ve done was have Wally bring me some food as well.”

When she realizes what you’ve just said, Lia can’t stop her mouth from dropping open in shock. 

“So you do know who I am?” she questions, instantly clocking how Leah hasn’t spoken her name out loud since she’s been back. Lia’s referring to the first words you uttered to her tonight, but she still receives the look of disbelief from you.

“Of course I know who you are. I’ve watched all of Leah’s games through the years. Only fitting I pick up everyone’s names from that.”

“But you--” Lia breaks off, stopping herself from talking the two of you into circles. Some battles are better lost than fought. Though she doesn’t miss the way you said ‘through the years.’ Just how long have the two of you been dating? Leah hasn’t mentioned dating anyone since her split with Jordan, but from the way you’re talking it seems as if you’ve been together for years.

“I’m just messing with you,” you grin, setting butterflies off in her stomach. “I’ve really only memorized the name of Lee’s prettiest friends.”

Lia’s mouth drops open in shock, eyes quickly darting to gauge Leah’s reaction. As hot as you are, flirting with Leah’s girlfriend right in front of Leah felt like a sure way to get herself killed. 

Only… Leah doesn’t even seem phased by the conversation happening in front of her. 

Without taking her eyes away from the screen in front of her, Leah throws out a: “Lotte was not joking when she said you flirted with everything that moved, huh.”

“Hey! Take that back!” you gasp, jumping on top of Leah. In the midst of wrestling the blonde to submission, you turn your head around, shooting Lia a genuine smile. “Don’t listen to her. I actually think you’re quite cute.”

“Oi, I’ll send you to live with mum if you don’t behave!” Leah grunts, trying to shake you off her.

You tighten your legs in response, pressing Leah harder against the couch. “Just you try! As if she’d take your word over her favorite daughter’s.”

It’s right here, right as that sentence is uttered that Lia realizes her error. That her previous conclusion was totally incorrect.

You’re not Leah’s girlfriend. 

You’re her sister.

And when you look back at her in the middle of your bickering with Leah, eyes lighting up at the acknowledgement that Lia’s still looking your way, Lia comes to an even worse conclusion. 

You’re Leah’s sister and she might have the tiniest crush on you.

---

It gets worse.

Lia comes to learn that night that you’ve been away in the States for college.

She learns that you played at UNC with Lotte, that your family’s footballing prowess doesn’t just end with your sister and brother.

She learns that you love photography more than you’d ever love football, hence why you haven’t continued your football career since returning to England, turning more towards capturing the game than playing it.

She learns that you love making her laugh, eyes always finding hers in a crowd when you’re out with friends.

The other Gunners have really taken a liking to you, inviting you into the squad as if you’re one of their own. It obviously helps that you’re Leah’s little sister, but soon you can be found having tea with Kimmy, hiking with Steph, out playing pool with Katie.

The more you become enveloped in the circles surrounding her life, Lia comes to an even worse conclusion than the one she made the first night at Leah’s.

Lia might be a little bit in love with you.

Despite sharing the same blood as a certain blonde defender, you’re always looking for Lia when the game ends. Lia comes to look forward to the proud smile you have on your face as you pull her in for a hug, pressing the smallest kiss to her cheek as you break apart after every game. 

You always ignore every other player on the pitch until Lia makes her way towards you. Lia feels her cheeks heat up whenever Jen pokes fun at her for it, knowing very well that she just wants to make you hers.

And she would. Lia would definitely take you out on a real date, treat you the way you deserve. 

Only… there’s Leah. There’s Leah who is your sister and her best friend. There’s Leah who might be the most loyal friend she’s made in a while, but also overly protective of you. Just last week Leah nearly took the head off of a random girl at the bar who tried to buy you a drink. You had apologized with a wave as the girl rushed off in tears, never to be seen again.

So yeah. Maybe Lia’s just the tiniest bit terrified of the older Williamson to ever think about asking you out. 

.

.

.

Though maybe she really doesn’t have a reason to be afraid. 

Lia’s crush began with a dinner. Seems fitting it ends over one too. 

The girls have all been invited over on behalf of Leah. With an international break coming up, Leah really wanted everyone to have a fun time over a meal. Though that really means you cooking dinner for the full squad.

Lia’s quick to offer you a hand, ignoring all the teasing left behind by the others in the living room. You make quick work of all of the dishes, working in sync with one another. 

There’s shy smiles exchanged every here and there when you accidentally get into each other’s way, but it’s awkwardly laughed away as always. 

Lia’s lost in thought, really deciding if she should risk the wrath of Leah when she spots you pulling out the last tray from the oven.

“Smiley fries?” Lia laughs, not having seen you put them in.

“For the child in the family,” you wink, head nodding towards the woman who just so happens to make her way into the kitchen at this very moment. 

“For me?!” Leah gasps, grin on her face as she skips over.

‘Child,’ you mouth at Lia again, quickly putting on a fake smile when Leah’s head swivels your way again. 

“You’re my favorite sister, have I ever told you that?”

“I’m your only sister,” you mutter under your breath, choosing to just take the praise without a fuss. 

When all’s said and done and all of the Arsenal girls are sprawled out in your living room in various conditions, Lia finds herself sat on the couch, barely an inch between the two of you. You’ve taken her hand into your lap, gently playing with her fingers, and Lia can feel the heat rising to her face at the domesticity of it all. 

You’re grinning at something Steph is showing you on the other side of the couch and Lia can’t help but watch the way your eyes light up, body buzzing beside hers. It would be so easy to pull you into her lap right here, but as a familiar shadow falls over the two of you, Lia’s brain grinds to a halt. 

Both of you look up to see a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in your direction, Leah less than amused to see the lack of space between you and her friend. 

Or at least that’s what Lia assumes until the groan falls out of Leah’s mouth. “Jesus, put the poor woman out of her misery.”

You glare at Leah, trying to kick out at her legs. “Go away, Leah! No one invited you.”

“This is my home,” the blonde shoots back, expertly avoiding your feet before plopping down right between the two of you. She’s half in your lap but quickly wiggles her way in the tiny gap between you and Lia, much to the Swiss’s disappointment. You try to throw an elbow into Leah’s gut but she takes it like a champ, simply throwing one arm over you and the other over Lia. 

“Now then, my sweet, sweet, innocent gays. Do I have to do all the hard work for the two of you?”

Lia risks a glance your way, noting the frown set upon your face as you don’t even bother looking your sister’s way. Blue eyes are quick to lock onto hers though, and Lia finds herself under the scrutiny of Leah.

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leah mocks, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, give me a break. If I have to see the two of you give each other ‘fuck me’ eyes one more time, I might actually kick (Y/N) out so you guys can jumpstart your u-hualing experience.”

Lia’s mouth clicks shut, deciding to take a page out of your book. 

Head darting back and forth between the two of you, Leah lets out a loud groan again. “Guys! C’mon. Do I really need to ask her out on your behalf?”

---

It’s three years later. 

Lia makes you cry when she drops onto a knee. 

Leah’s more than ecstatic when you ask her to be your maid of honor. 

“I can’t wait to tell the world how I got the two of you together.”

Lia has to stop you from taking back your offer.

[imagine-shenanigans]

Ugh I neeeeeed more of that ghost fic where he basically assigns himself as your boyfriend after defending you from a creep 😭😭 he’s so yuck but also where my men at

great news i started writing it as a oneshot but in the meantime heres some extra ideas to tide you over that im not sure if theyre going in the fic or not

Ghost doesnt end up touching you sexually at first, its all just grounding to him. Almost reverent, at times, when you wake up to him in your bed and he wasnt there before, fingertips running along your skin, eyes half lidded. Like something he never thought he could have. Presses his face to the crook of your neck and breathes. Its so soft and... well, tender, that you almost forget he broke in again. (Almost.)

calling the cops on him does absolutely nothing. every complaint is wiped from the database, any time you try and report him to a commanding officer... nothing. He's a fucking ghost, what did you expect? To invite him in and be done wirh him when he gets scary? No sweetheart, you take the whole of him whether you like it or not. (And you will like it, he will make sure of it.) The first time you call the cops and go to a hotel room, he flips you onto your stomach and spanks you raw, makes you cockwarm him with your mouth for an hour at least while he tells you exactly what you did wrong. Slips a remote control vibrator in you and then a chastity belt and sends you on your merry way back home when he's done. Sets the vibrator off at random times during the night

The first time you complain to Price, the captain just raises an eyebrow, and sighs. Tells you that he's not going to get involved in anyone's marriage, and you blink at him, dumbly, until Ghost walks in. When Price repeats himself, this time to Ghost, Simon huffs and takes you home. He spanks your pussy hard between edges, but eats you out reverently for the rest of the night, rutting his hips into the mattress as you sob and writhe against where your wrists are bound behind your back. When you're all wrung out he slips a ring on your finger and warns you not to take it off.

Simon pulls you into his lap while watching movies, running his hand along your sides soothingly. He doesn't watch horror movies, or slashers, surprisingly enough. He won't entertain the idea of anything even remotely scary and flicks it off with a displeased hum, turning it to cartoons when you try and put on Scream (half to make a point, half for the joke) and pulls you down onto hsi chest so youre cuddling.

This Simon hates to see you cry, hates discomfort, hates anything negative (but understands ehen it happens). You're his girl, and hes your man, and so that means you should be happy. He wants to treat you right, even as he chips your phone so he can find it anywhere. Can find YOU anywhere. Won't take no for an answer. He does whatever he pleases, because you're his. And you do whatever you please because he's YOURS. Gets rock fucking hard if you push him down and ride his face or his cock, hell if you lay next to him, and press his fingers to your clit he'll take care of you for hours until you stop.

You punish HIM once, just to see if you can, and are astonished when Simon lets you mark him up with hickies because he was out too late drinking. He lets you edge him for an hour, and takes it because youre his wife and he knows he fucked up. (Only lets you do this when he feels like it though. When he decides you're right. Or thinks its fun.)

Also gets rock hard when you're jealous - even if you try not to be. to remjnd yourself that hes invented a relationship in his head, that hes a creep, etc... he just presses you into the mattress and coos softly at you, his thick cock pumping in and out of you as tears bead in your eyes. Tells you how precious you are, and fucks the jealousy out of you for hours if need be. Then he holds you close, making you cockwarm him. He presses soft kisses to your head and runs his hands over your skin. Lets you drool on his chest and snore and shuffle around in your sleep. Chuckles when you snuggle into him