#ach whatevs im gonna get up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

m0llygunn · 9 months

Text

deathbed confessions (eddie munson x fem!reader one-shot)

summary: cold and flu season hits you hard but luckily you have your best friend eddie to take care of you. If the cold medicine makes you admit a few things... eddie sure isn't complaining.

contents: 18+, best friends to lovers, r is dramatically sick with a cold (talks about dying but it's just drama), fluff idk a/n: guys i am so sick help me i had to lay on the bathroom floor after braving a shower because i thought i was gonna die (but also i wrote this so maybe im ok) wc: 4.4k+

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Holy shit, did Halloween come early?” Eddie snickers from the door of your room.

All you can muster up is a low groan and that alone makes you feel like your head is on the brink of explosion.

“Jesus, you’re really sick, huh?” he says with the huff of a laugh.

You answer with another groan. Yes. You are 'really sick'.

“Can I do something to help?” he replies, the first hint of empathy appearing in his voice.

“Put me out—” you interrupt yourself with a sniffle followed by a phlegmy cough. “—out of my misery.”

You were supposed to be seeing some double feature with Eddie tonight but yesterday, right before bed, you felt the slightest of tickles in your throat. By morning you were the living dead with everything from your big toe to your forehead aching in one way or another. You called Eddie and before you could even mention that you were sick, he knew from your stuffed up voice.

No matter how many times you told him you’d be fine he was strangely insistent in checking on you at the very least. By the end of the call he’d quickly worn you down and you told him that he has the spare key and he can do whatever he wants but if he gets sick that's his fault— a little mean but arguing was the last thing you felt like doing.

From the time you hung up to now— which has only been a handful of hours, you’ve gotten substantially worse. Earth shatteringly worse. So terribly worse that the simple task of opening your eyes has been too much effort. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, and your lungs are just begging for salvation. That’s why when Eddie called twenty minutes ago letting you know he was on his way you told him no. It would have been wise if he listened to you but instead he replied ‘too bad’ and abruptly hung up the phone.

Cut to twenty minutes later he was at your door, letting himself in. He was willingly walking into his very own death sentence. He clearly thought it was more of a joke than anything.

You hear Eddie’s tell-tale gait as he walks further into your room. You assume that he’s standing over your bed, maybe a hand on the back of his neck, maybe a hand on his hip. Mustering the efforts to confirm your suspicions would take too much of your very limited energy so you continuing laying in your bed, not doing as much as opening an eye.

You hear the ruffle of his hair and he definitely is rubbing the back of his neck as he gauges what to do.

“So…do you want, like, medicine then?” he asks.

“A gun,” you croak, earning a deep belly laugh from Eddie.

“At least your humour’s still intact, that’s good to know,” he says, sitting down on the edge of your bed.

You try to shuffle over to make room for him, but that effort alone makes you wince.

“Call an ambulance,” you whine, sniffling pathetically.

“Really?” he asks, a genuine nervousness creeping into his voice. You feel his hand tug at the blanket you’ve cocooned yourself in, revealing your face for him to see. If you were more cognizant maybe you’d care about Eddie seeing you like this, but you’re too far gone to think about that.

“No,” you answer, nodding your head up and down in contrast to your answer, earning a huff of relief from Eddie.

The blanket slackens from his pull and the bed dips deeper as he leans in further to get a better look at you. Once again, if you were more cognizant you’d probably rather he didn’t, but you wouldn’t have the will to fight it anyways.

“Did you take anything?” he asks.

“It’s been a few hours.”

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah, whipped up a quick 4 course meal earlier, michelin approved of course,” you mumble. You contemplate cracking an eye open to see his reaction but you don’t.

“Right, so no food.”

“No, surprisingly not that hungry when you’re on your deathbed,” you say, sniffling.

“Tell me you’ve at least had water,” he says and from his tone you know that he already knows the answer.

“I had water until the bottle was empty, then I decided I’d rather succumb to death than get out of bed,”

“Funny, funny girl,” he says dryly, obviously not impressed by your answers.

“Tombstone quote,” you say weakly, hoping that Eddie gets what you mean. He laughs softly and you consider that enough of a success.

You hear the slightest bit of shuffling, not Eddie getting up but more like he’s looking around your room. Whatever state it’s in, you couldn’t even work up the courage to care.

“Do you want a movie on or something?” he asks, breaking the lull in conversation.

“Would you do that?” you ask, tilting your face towards him despite not opening your eyes.

“Oh yeah. I’m giving you the mortally ill special— the deathbed works, if you will,” he says, and you can tell he’s smiling. You do your best to smile back but it’s weak and probably looks more like a grimace.

You feel shuffling before the bed rises from Eddie standing.

“Okay, so I’m gonna get you medicine first. Then movie, food, and whatever else, deal?”

Your lower lip pouts out appreciatively for the boy you’ve called your best friend for forever now. If you weren’t deathly ill, you’d kiss him.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you whisper, voice getting caught in your throat for an entirely different reason than your cold this time.

He mumbles back some version of ‘don’t worry about it’ before he’s off, leaving you in the quiet of your room with only your breathing, coughing, and sniffling breaking the silence. It’s barely a few minutes before you hear his footsteps and the edge of your bed dips again.

“This is what you took right? The cold and flu medicine?”

“Mhm” you hum.

“You have nasal congestion?”

You sniffle loudly and nod.

“Right. Nasal pain, sinus congestion, and sinus pain?”

You hum again, catching onto the fact that he’s reading the symptoms off of the box.

“Chest congestion?”

Weakly you swat your hand out trying to find Eddie. When you do, you give him the weakest of taps. “Too many questions,” you muster.

“Well, I know you’re joking about dying but I don’t want to actually kill you,” he says. You hum again.

You hear him fumbling with the cardboard before fumbling with the plastic pill packaging.

“Do you wanna sit up?” he asks.

“I want to die,”

“Well you can’t do that so I’m gonna help you sit up, okay?”

Eddie starts tugging at the blanket and you let your weakened limbs go limp, undoubtedly making the task much harder for him but he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, he pulls you up by your underarms, propping you up against your headboard.

When you feel his cool hands on your forehead, pushing your hair back and out of your face, you open your eyes for the first time since Eddie got here.

“There she is,” he laughs lightly, still pushing back the disheveled mess that is your hair.

“Your hands feel nice,” you whisper, focusing on the coolness on your skin. Before you have a chance to really absorb the relief of his hands on your skin, he pulls away, grabbing for the water he had set down on your bedside table.

“Yeah, you’re really hot,” he replies, passing the water to you.

“Tombstone quote,” you say, catching his eye, making him laugh again. With a shaky hand, you take the water.

“Funny and hot, that’s a killer deal.” He hands you the little cold and flu pill and you place it in your mouth, swallowing it down with small sips of the cold water that feels like ice going down your throat.

You redirect your gaze to Eddie, “you’re gonna get sick, that’s the real killer here,” you say.

“I’ll be fine,”

“You don’t want this cold, trust me,” you say, taking another sip of water before holding it out to Eddie.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeats as he takes the water, putting it back on your bedside table.

You nod. You appreciate Eddie’s help more than anything. Fending for yourself wasn’t exactly going so well— clearly.

“You had this with your other stuff, do you want it?” he asks, holding up the vicks vapor rub.

When you felt the cold coming on you went to the pharmacy and picked up a few things just in case. The vapor rub was on sale and you bought it on a whim but haven’t tried it yet.

“Do you think it really works?”

“Wayne used to put it on me, I guess it does?”

“Where do you put it?”

“On your chest or back,” he answers, looking at the fine print of the packaging. “Yeah, it says chest, throat, and back.”

You open your mouth to reply but instead feel the creeping up of the tickling in your throat. Turning the other way, you do your best to not cough all over Eddie. Sucking in a deep breath, you only trigger another cough that divulges into one of many coughing attacks that you’ve had today. When you’re finally done, you drop your head to the back of the headboard in defeat.

“C’mon, let’s try it on your back for now,” he says, putting a hand on your shoulder encouraging you to lean forward. You move how he wants you without protest.

“I’m just gonna lift up your shirt a bit, okay?” he says, you nod but he pauses, fingers just barely slipping under the hem of your shirt.

“Eddie, with the way I’m feeling, you could see me butt ass naked right now and I could not care less,” you say.

He snorts a laugh before his cool fingers trail up your spine giving you tingles that make you shiver. “Sorry,” he hums but you shake your head. His hand makes contact with your upper back, rubbing the ointment on your skin and it honestly feels incredibly soothing. Whether it’s the rub or the physical contact, you’re not sure, but you’re not questioning it either.

The noise that comes out of you could have been a moan had you not been congested. Instead it comes out like a low, stuffed up groan— not unlike a movie zombie.

Eddie rubs a few more circles on your back before his hand travels back down your spine.

“How’s that feel?” he asks, helping you sit back up straight.

“So fucking good and like I need you to rub my back like that again,” you say, resting your head back against the headboard. Maybe you put a little too much conviction in your words but that truly felt amazing.

The room is silent and you blink open your eyes to see Eddie holding the tub of rub in his hands, paused halfway through closing it. It takes a moment for him to look up at you but when he does, he smiles softly.

“What movie do you wanna watch?”

Had you not been distracted by your sickness, you might have noticed the faintness of a blush spreading across the tops of Eddie’s cheeks. Coughing and forcing air back into your lungs takes up every ounce of your consciousness though, so you don’t notice.

You shrug your shoulder taking a deep breath, “anything, I’ll probably pass out from the medicine anyways,” you reply, turning away again to cough.

Eddie hums before he’s moving to your dresser opposite your bed, angling the TV for you to see it better.

“Sixteen Candles, Children of the Corn, Gremlins, Teen Wolf?” he says, listing off the titles of the different tapes you have sprawled next to the vcr.

“Any.”

“Gremlins seems kind of relevant,” he says, pulling open the clamshell box.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask. Eddie turns to you, smirk spreading across his lips.

“Nothing,” he sings lightly. He turns away from you, pushing the tape into the player and then pressing the combination of buttons to get it working.

“You better not be implying that I look like a gremlin because—” you interrupt yourself with another cough that quickly divulges into yet another coughing fit— worse than the last.

With each cough being so strong it makes your head pound. You don’t notice Eddie crossing your room or him settling back on the edge of your bed. You only notice his presence when he’s encouraging you forward, hand rubbing your back again.

When your coughing finally calms down enough for you to take a good breath, Eddie brings the glass of water up for you to take a sip. You take the cup in your hands, guiding it to your mouth. At the same time, Eddie never fully lets go of the cup, making sure it doesn’t spill. You take a drink, nodding when you’re done and he sets it back down, hand still running up and down your back.

“It’s probably just the rub working, getting all that nasty stuff out,” he says softly.

You nod again, letting your head fall to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. It’s probably not the smartest idea to be so close to him because you're pretty much sentencing him to his demise, but with how terrible you feel you’re desperate for anything to make it better— and right now the only thing making anything better is Eddie.

“The medicine’ll kick in any minute and you’ll feel much better, okay? I’ll go get you something to eat and then I can rub your back some more. How’s that sound?” he says softly, brushing the edge of your face with his chin as he tilts his face downwards towards yours.

Your lower lip pouts out again and you feel your eyes water behind your closed lids. Maybe you were already hyper emotional from feeling so sick, but Eddie being so sweet is also doing a number on you.

“Sounds really nice,” you whisper, sucking in a breath.

“You’ll be okay,” Eddie whispers, hand switching from rubbing up and down your back to rubbing circles at the top of your back. “I’ll take care of you, I got you.”

Before the tears in your eyes have a chance to breach your waterline, Eddie’s shifting beside you, leaning you back against the headboard with the promise of being quick while he gets you food. Only once he’s gone and you’re left alone in your room do you notice Gremlins has already started playing. Opening your eyes, you spare a few glances at the screen that distract you from your teary eyed state.

As Eddie promised, he was pretty quick in his return. You could hear him the whole time, kitchen utensils clanking and cupboard doors closing. Maybe all concept of time is lost on you right now, but it seemed like barely any time had passed before he was taking slow, careful steps back towards your room.

“Alright— got that soup you like, got crackers, and got you some juice,” Eddie announces as he situates the dishware on your bedside table. “I even made sure not to warm the soup too much so you can eat it right away,” he says.

Eyes closed again, you don’t know what you expected him to do but him manhandling you took you by surprise. A hand slid behind your back and another under your upper thighs, he was sliding you right over on the mattress.

“Just giving myself some space here,” he says absentmindedly as he fixes your blanket around you. He quickly settles in next to you before grabbing the sleeve of crackers and settling them in front of you and grabbing the bowl of soup.

Sitting with his legs stretched out next to yours, you let your head dip to his shoulder again, this time like a silent thank you where you cozy your head against him, not unlike a cat.

“For the record, you’re more like Gizmo,” he says, a tease intruding in his voice.

“Hm?” you hum questioningly.

“You don’t look like a gremlin, you’re cute like Gizmo,” he says.

You sink your face further into the crook of Eddie's shoulder, lip jetting out once more. He’s done nothing more than call you a cute gremlin rather than an evil gremlin, yet you feel yourself turning misty eyed yet again. This time you squeeze your eyes shut, closing them on purpose, hiding your sickness induced emotions.

“Soups gonna get cold,” Eddie says, twisting his neck to look at you again. “C’mon, it’ll be better for you if you eat it warm,” he says, using his free arm to move you.

Once you’re finally propped up again in an appropriate position to eat, you feel Eddie’s hand on your cheek— no doubt becoming aware of your tears.

“You okay?” he asks softly, thumb rubbing under your cheek.

“You’re being so nice to me,” you explain, sniffling back your need to cry.

“Just taking care of you. Want you to feel better,” he replies, keeping his voice quiet.

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“You don’t gotta thank me, just gotta eat your soup, okay Gizmo?” Eddie says, making you snort out a snotty laugh before sucking it all back in with an apology that he quickly dismisses.

You take a few breaths, getting your tears under control. Shifting your focus to the soup, Eddie holds the bowl close to you while you slowly feed yourself spoonful after spoonful.

“Crackers?” Eddie offers.

“Maybe one.”

“How ‘bout two?” he replies, peeling back the plastic and pulling two out for you. You nod softly before taking them from him.

You feel yourself running out of energy and it’s exasperating that all it took was lifting a spoon to your lips a measly few times. When you let the crackers sit in your lap for too long, Eddie turns to look at you, resting the bowl of soup down in his lap.

“Y’okay?” he asks.

“Tired,” you answer.

“Just finish those and you can be done, okay?” he says, meeting your gaze. You shake your head.

“Can’t,” you reply.

“You can,” he says, turning his torso to put the bowl of soup on the table. He turns back around, reaching for the crackers in your hand. “Know you can,” he repeats, bringing the crackers to your lips.

“Eddie—” you try to protest.

“Bite,” he says, cutting you off and nudging the cracker into your mouth.

You bite, giving into him. It feels weird being hand fed. It’s probably even weirder when two bites in you close your eyes in an effort to conserve your energy. Regardless, Eddie doesn’t say anything besides positive affirmations about how good you’re doing which you really, really appreciate.

“How about you drink some of this,” he says, reaching for the glass of juice as you chew the last bite of cracker. “Then I’ll help you lay down and I can rub your back s’more?”

“You don’t have to if you wanna go home, you've been here a long time,” you say, swallowing the dryness of the cracker down.

Eddie lifts the cup of juice to your lips, tipping it back for you to sip at. When you take more than a few drinks, you lift a hand lightly pushing the cup away. Blinking your eyes open you look at Eddie as he returns the cup to sit with the other dishware on your bedside table.

“I’m serious, Eddie. You can go home if you want,”

“Don’t want to,”

“You’re gonna be— you interrupt yourself with a yawn this time. “—gonna be so sick,” you say groggily.

“Just let me cuddle you, you know you want it,” he says, a teasing tone hinting in his voice. You blink open your eyes again to see a genuine smile as he looks at you—one that shouldn’t be there considering how gross you feel and are sure you look. Despite that, it’s there and you do want cuddles so you nod softly, making a weak, sad attempt at getting closer to Eddie.

Eddie meets your attempt by gently pulling you down the mattress. He maneuvers you to have your head resting on his chest while his arm snakes around you, rubbing circles on your back. With the sleepiness settling in and your cold symptoms dialing back due to the medicine, you can’t help but hum happily.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he says quietly.

It feels beyond good. Good is an understatement. Having him take care of you like this is making you feel mushy and only highlights your feelings for Eddie. In combination with your partially delusionally, sleepy state the only thing on your mind is expressing your feelings, all of them true no matter how far out of it you are at this point.

“Eddie, if I die, just know that I love you,” you mutter into the fabric of his shirt.

“That’s just the cold medicine talking,” Eddie laughs softly. You find the energy to shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, love you,” you repeat. “Love you so much.”

It’s faint, maybe he whispered it or maybe it’s the fact that you were slipping into sleep but you heard it.

“I love you too,” he says quietly.

As if those words gave you a short lived second life, it had you perking up, desperately needing to clarify just in case he didn’t understand.

“But Eddie I love you as my best friend but also more than that— I love you so much.”

He leaves you in silence but you don’t have the clear consciousness to overthink it, you just keep talking.

“I don’t even care if you don’t like me like that, I love you Eddie.”

“I love you too. Love you a lot, but I think we should talk about this when you’re not tired and on cold medicine, okay?” he whispers softly.

As your thoughts start to drift, you focus on the first half of Eddie's sentiment. He loves you— and he loves you a lot. With that on your mind, intermixed with the comforting friction of his hand on your back, you fall into the deepest and most comfortable sleep of your life despite being so sick. Eddie loves you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Arguably, the best thing that came out of your cold was your confession. It was bound to happen eventually and although it did sort of seem like a deathbed confession at the time, it was genuine— that of which you clarified for Eddie. To your fortune, he also clarified that his reply was true as well. Beyond that, you were still sick and neither of you had done much more than just sharing those little words that one night. So yes, arguably, that's the best thing that came out of your sickly state; however, in your opinion, you think the best thing that happened was that you got Eddie sick too.

It was less than a day after you started feeling normal again that Eddie was running a fever. He ended up staying at your place for the majority of your sickness but he had left once to get some things for himself. Since he had his stuff here already, you offered for him to stay over at yours while you returned the favor of playing doctor.

Eddie took on a much different position as a sick person than you did. Undeniably, you both were on the dramatic end of things but while your cynical humour came out during your time being sick, Eddie was much different in how expressed himself.

Normally, a very touchy feely person, his affectionate side heightened tenfold while he was sick. He was all grabby hands, wanting you closer to him. Maybe it was because the two of you had broken the touch barrier while you were sick or maybe Eddie just turned into a touch deprived baby when he was sick, you’ll never know, but you didn’t deny him of the cuddles that you so dearly appreciated while you were under the weather.

The most interesting part— which shouldn't have came as a surprise, was that not only did he appreciate holding you, but he intensely appreciated you holding him, whether that be hands scratching his head as he rested it on your stomach, or your arms wrapped around him from behind making him the little spoon. Additionally, he was also incredibly affectionate with his words, constantly telling you how grateful he was for you and how much he appreciated you.

Your favourite confession came late one night, probably at the peak of his sickness. Fairly similar to your deathbed confession, but a moment to remember regardless.

You had just finished helping him eat, similar to how he had done for you, and were cuddling with him, smoothing your hands over his side as he rested his head on your chest.

The medicine was kicking in, making him drowsy, eyes fluttering shut as he let sleep take him over. He had kept babbling random thoughts but as he got more and more tired he was eventually reduced to heavy breaths. That was, until he titled his face up to yours. You looked down at him, meeting his sleepy eyes.

“I love you,” he said. “Love you so much.”

“Love you too, Eddie,” you replied, smiling.

“But I love you so much,” he said, voice returning to its babbling cadence. “Love you so much I wanna kiss you and love you and—” his babbling started to slowly fade as his head got heavier on your chest. You couldn’t help but laugh softly as your heart swelled.

You smoothed a hand over his face, brushing back his hair as you stared at him with nothing but love for your very, very sick boy. Like you had given him a second wind, his babbling started up again.

“Wanna marry you. Love you so much wanna marry you,” he said, words slurring.

“Think you’ll have to ask me on a date first, cutie,” you replied quietly, partially under the impression that he was already asleep.

“I will. Love you so much, I will,” he mumbled and with that, he was out like a light.

From there, the rest was history. If curious minds were to inquire, you would say that Eddie’s always been very good at keeping his promises, and mindless babbling or not, he meant every word that he confessed in his sickly, drowsy state.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

thank you! <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #bestfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson friends to lovers

1K notes · View notes

heartpascal · 11 months

Text

or is it loneliness?

▹— (eventual) spiderverse found family x platonic!reader

▹— summary: you need closure, and information. two visits kind of give you that.

▹— a/n: guys idk what im DOING. i have things planned for atsv but not how we’re gonna get there … rn im just yolo-ing. im not a big fan of this one but im gonna start writing the next one asap, which will hide fully be more found family-ish lmao arachnid is gonna start warming up to them all some day i swear

▹— warnings: angst, injuries, not good thoughts, dead parents, sensory issues, explosions, violence, fighting, blood?, damaged hearing for a good minute, peter b parker eating burgers deserves its own warning, food, mention of throwing up / nausea, insecurities about being good enough, refusing help, idk what else, if ive missed anything let me know!!!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree (everything taglist) @justmare @uniquemonstrosity @lacunaanonymoused @erensbbg @dulceteris @noxxing @escherichiacolli @ray-rook @i-3at-kidz @miwagila @stoneforests (is it freedom’verse) — also i only tagged those who explicitly asked to be tagged!

MASTERLIST , part one

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You spend a long time sat on the edge of the open window, staring out at the traffic below after getting back from Spider Society HQ. There’s a tangible relief that comes with returning to your dimension, like a weight being removed, a tension that is finally released from where it had been pulled taut. Your shoulders feel just as heavy as they did when you left, but you try not to think about it. You try to be happy that you’re back.

While you wouldn’t say it aloud, and you hate to even have the thought, you don’t think anybody had noticed you were gone. But then again, who would? You have no reason to be so upset about such a thing.

Time slips by as you diligently sew up the tears in your suit, frowning as you hold it up once you’re finished. It looks nothing like it used to, but then again, neither do you. Things have changed, it only makes sense that your suit would, too. You wonder if travelling through alternate dimensions can alter your perception of things. You’d swear that your suit had been a different shade before you left, lighter, maybe, but you have nothing to compare it to.

At least now, this time, when you put on your suit there is evidence of damage that Gwen Stacy had caused. The stitching along your the material where she had tore into you is a tangible thing, physical, and you run your fingers across it as if it might disappear. It’s almost a relief, to be able to feel where she had caused you pain, as opposed to the invisible ache she had left within you after fighting her the first time around.

Alongside the scar raised on your body, the fight with Gwen had left you with a sort of paranoia. An uncertainty in the back of your mind that has you glancing over your shoulder, has you messing up simple manoeuvres as you panic, thinking you hear her voice.

It must have been your third day back from the HQ that you come to the conclusion that you have to visit Gwen Stacy in her prison.

The decision doesn’t come easily. It comes slowly, torturously so, a realisation that deafens you as you glare through squinted lenses at the city around you. You won’t be able to go on like this, getting yourself hurt in stupid ways all because you’re not certain that she’s back in her prison. You’re meant to be a hero, which means that messing up, despite whatever paranoia that lingers in the back of your head, is unacceptable. It has consequences.

Seeing her in the flesh will likely be the hardest thing you’ll ever do. Except, maybe, not killing her when you caught her in that other dimension. You keep your mind on the fact that she won’t be able to touch you, that she’ll be walled away, to reassure yourself that there is no risk of either of you hurting the other — at least, physically.

But seeing her isn’t the only difficult part.

No, the hardest part is stepping back into an identity that you had lost your grasp on, long ago. You wear your old clothes, clothes that you hadn’t put on in months, and try to remember how it felt to be you, rather than Arachnid.

“Hi, Mrs. Stacy.” You say, when the door to an all too familiar apartment opens just a slither, and you catch sight of her wrinkled eyes. There’s a noticeable change to them when she realises who you are, and she’s slamming the door shut, undoing the chain, and reopening it before you can say another word.

She whispers your name like she can’t believe it’s you — and you can’t blame her.

You had disappeared, months ago, after the death of your father. Going missing was far easier than being placed in a foster system that would only hold you back. It had been so much easier, not having to face anyone, not having to speak at his funeral.

“Hi.” You repeat, when her stare lingers in the silence for far too long. The sound of your voice once again breaks her out of her trance, and she’s rushing forward to pull you into her arms as if you were her child. You suppose, in some ways, it was quite a lot like that. At the very least, your presence will remind her of the daughter she had lost.

“Where have you been? Oh, honey, I was so worried.” Mrs. Stacy says, her voice trembling by your ear as she squeezes you tight, unfazed by your lack of reciprocation. “Come inside, please.”

You follow her through the doorway, closing the door behind you as you had done so many times before. Not looking around at the apartment is near impossible, but you’re not sure how much familiarity you can take. Even just seeing Mrs. Stacey’s aged face makes your chest ache, your legs feeling shaky.

“Sit down, honey, let me get you a warm drink.” She says, a tremor to her voice as she bustles towards the kitchen which is adjoined to the living room. The news plays on the television, and you’re glad to hear a weather report, rather than some city-wide attack. Mrs. Stacy is quiet as she goes through the process of making your favourite drink, but with your enhanced hearing you listen to the telltale clink of a spoon against ceramic. You listen closely to her hitched breathing as her footsteps pad back into the room. “Here.” She hands you the warm mug, and you don’t comment on the way her hand shakes.

“Thank you.” You say, though it feels stilted, wrong, too formal. It’s hard to be normal in this setting, to be whoever you used to be, especially as she stares at you like she’s seen a ghost.

Mrs. Stacy stares at you for a long while before she speaks again, as if she’s still not sure that you’re real. “Where have you been? After—After your dad… we didn’t know what happened to you. Are you safe? Do you need help?” She asks, frantic once she’s gotten started on her questions.

“Mrs. Stacy, I’m fine, really.” You lie, smiling tightly over the rim of the mug as you hold it towards your face. Before, you would’ve burnt your tongue drinking it too fast, but you’re hesitant to drink it at all. The last thing you want is to become too familiar to your old life. “I’ve been staying with some friends, downtown. It’s been good.”

She raises a brow at you, and stares for a moment longer. “Honey… you don’t look well.” She tells you, and raises the back of her hand to press it against your forehead. Her frown only deepens when you flinch away from the touch. You try not to curse yourself too much, but can’t help reprimanding the way you hadn’t anticipated such an action.

The skin on your forehead is clammy, but that’s just the anxiety, the nerves at being back here. Arachnid can’t get sick.

“Listen, I… I was hoping I could ask a favour from you.” You say, hesitantly, gripping the warm mug tight between your hands, but loosen your fingertips against the ceramic when you hear a minute crack.

Mrs. Stacy furrows her brows, looking more concerned by the second, but nods. “Of course, anything.” She tells you, and places one of her hands against yours on the mug.

“I was hoping I could visit Gwen.” You voice, after one last moment of hesitation. The way her face immediately crumples at the request doesn’t give you much hope, especially as her hand withdraws from your own. “I—I know you don’t get to see her very often, and maybe it’s selfish, but… I don’t know. I wanted some kind of closure, I guess.” You ramble on in response to her silence, glaring down at the liquid still swirling in your mug.

“Honey,” Mrs. Stacy interrupts, her voice soft in contrast to the way yours was growing in volume. You quiet immediately, your gaze drawn up to where her tearful eyes stare at you, her expression almost mourning. “I would never deny you that, but you should know… I haven’t visited Gwenny since she was put in there.” She admits, her stare dropping to her lap, almost ashamed.

“Oh,” You voice, softly, in response. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed— I—I mean, I can’t even imagine—”

“No, don’t be silly, how would you have known?” She replies, raising her eyebrows at you strictly. “Now, I can get you that visit. I’ll call my attorney first thing tomorrow, but… really, honey, do you need me to call someone for you? Who are these friends?”

Her voice is familiar, and it’s kind, which makes it all the more painful. It’s strange, seeing the resemblance between her and the Green Goblin, and it makes a part of you ache. Your life wasn’t the only one torn apart by Gwen. In fact, her mother probably faced the worst of it. With her husband being long gone, her oldest son away at college, youngest withdrawn after her daughter became a homicidal maniac, who did she really have left? Who was looking after Helen Stacy?

You smile at her, as best as you can without tearing up, and reach out to grasp her hand, which she readily accepts. “I’m okay, Mrs. Stacy, I… It’s just a few friends of my dad, from his home town. Their kids, too. It’s better than being put in the system.” You tell her, and can only hope that she believes you. You have no way to back up these lies, knowing those friends of your father don’t exist.

“You could’ve stayed here, you know?” She says, teary and squeezing your hand so tightly you can hear your bones creaking. You smile sadly at her.

“You’re a much stronger person than me, Mrs. Stacy. I couldn’t even face my dad’s funeral, let alone be around the memories of somebody I lost. This place, it—it reminds me of her.” You explain, voice shaking as you hold back your own tears, swallowing them down and trying to breathe through the ache in your throat.

The way her heart breaks is almost loud enough for you to hear it, but she nods her head understandingly, regardless. “Of course,” She says, nodding still, “But know you always have a place here, okay?”

“Okay.” You respond, heart clenching so tightly you’re not sure it can pump your blood any longer.

“Now, what’s your number? Your old phone was disconnected.” She says, shaking her tears away to pull out a pad and pen from the coffee table. She sets the notepad against her knee, looking expectantly toward you.

“Oh, right,” You stutter, teeth chattering as you comb your mind for the number of your burner phone. “There was a mixup, because it was in my dad’s name.” You explain needlessly, still searching your mind for the answer. Finally, you remember it. You listen to her ballpoint pen scrape along the paper as she writes the numbers as you say them, and then she clicks the pen off after writing your name beside it, underlining it twice.

“How about I give you a call with the details of your visit, okay, honey?” She asks, nodding with a pleased hum at your affirmative. “Good. Stay for dinner, okay? I’ve missed you.”

Who are you to deny her that?

Though, even as you try to pretend that you help to set up the table for her benefit, and as you hug Gwen’s little brother tightly when he comes home for his, you know, deep down, that it’s for you. That this is a moment of selfishness that you’ll let yourself have, because god, you deserve it, don’t you?

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It’s thirteen days post Spider Society discovery, and you’re starting to regret the way you discarded that watch so carelessly. Not because you want to be a part of some cult of superheroes, but because you wish you had asked some more questions.

Surely Miguel O’Hara must’ve known a way to stop these villains from appearing in other universes? And if he did, had he already implemented whatever it was to stop Gwen escaping again? How exactly did she escape the first time? Was it a coincidence? Is there somebody out there, working behind the scenes, helping her get out?

You, unfortunately, have no way to answer any of the burning questions nagging at the back of your head. While a part of you hopes that you never see any of the Spider Society weirdos again, you also desperately want answers. Especially if it meant you could call off your visit to Gwen Stacy.

But the day arrives as any other does, and you spend every moment before the drive over to the prison desperately hoping that one of the Spider-people will show their face. None of them do, and you’re left to get into Mrs. Stacy’s car and simply brace for the journey ahead.

You’re pretty sure that swinging would be quicker, or easier, but you had no way to explain that way of transport to an interrogating Mrs. Stacy, and so you had to relent to her insistence on driving you. Now, you sit here, shifting in the seat of the car, uncomfortable without your suit underneath the clothes you used to wear on a daily basis. Even the knowledge that it’s stuffed into the bottom of your tattered backpack in the boot of Mrs. Stacy’s car doesn’t bring you any comfort.

Instead, the rough material of an old jacket has your skin crawling like you were being bitten by a thousand mosquitos, and the trousers on your legs itch like you’re allergic to them.

You suppose, really, that the spider bite that gave you so many powers had to have more drawbacks than just destroying your life. It only makes sense that your heightened senses would extend to the receptors on your skin. It makes every movement in these clothes torturous, and you wonder if it had always been this way, or if you were just so unused to wearing your old style of clothes. Either way, you hope that you won’t have to wear them for much longer.

If it all goes to plan, you should be in and out of the prison, just ensuring that Gwen Stacy is actually in the cell as she’s supposed to be. Then you just have to endure the fifty minute drive back to the city with Mrs. Stacy, and you’re free. You won’t have to wear these clothes again, won’t have to use your name, no — you can just sink back into the half life that is being Arachnid. It’s better that way.

“Okay, honey, here we are.” Mrs. Stacy says at last, having shifted her car into park. She pointedly avoids looking at the looming high-security prison ahead, instead focusing on you as you wipe your sweaty palms against your trousers. “Now you take as much time as you need in there, alright? I’ll be just out here, if you need me.”

You smile tightly at her, nodding with what you hope is more of a grateful expression rather than a grimace. “Thank you, Mrs. Stacy, really. I appreciate it, more than you know.”

That much was true — after all, it wasn’t like you could tell her that she was allowing the vivid paranoia you had been experiencing to be put to rest after her daughter escaped to another universe. Mrs. Stacy, from what you could gather, didn’t even know that Gwen had been missing for any amount of time. She had no idea what Gwen had done, how many more people she had hurt, but you assured yourself that it was better that way. Mrs. Stacy already had to deal with plenty, and that knowledge surely wouldn’t help.

She was already dealing with her own grief and feelings on the situation, as well as trying to support her two sons in the matter. Given what Gwen’s little brother had asked of you when he found out about you visiting her, you knew that he hadn’t been to visit Gwen, either. It seemed that he wasn’t coping with it all very well.

“Of course, you’re family. You should know that by now.” She says, smiling with teary eyes, reaching across the console to grasp your hand tightly in her own.

Her words take a stab at your chest, especially considering what had happened to everybody else who had seen you as family. Dead parents, villainous best friend — it really didn’t bode well for your loved ones. You just reassured yourself with the fact that you’d be able to disappear as soon as the two of you returned to the city. You couldn’t put her in any danger, that way, or her remaining kids.

“I’ll—I’ll see you after, okay?” You respond, squeezing her hand in return before quickly letting go and throwing open the car door, getting out and catching a slither of Mrs. Stacy’s surprised reply before you shut the car door.

There are guards waiting for you at the gates, checking you are who you say you are, scanning you for weapons before you even get in the building. They’re satisfied after their searches, content that you weren’t stupid enough to bring a weapon into a highly secure prison. You keep your focus on your breathing as they walk you in, handing you clothes to change into as well as a box to put all of your belongings in.

The scrub-like clothes they give you are even worse than your own, sending shivers up and down your spine at the feeling of each fibre scraping against your skin. You just try to breathe through it. Luckily, the rest of the security checks blur by, which means less time spent on agonising over this visit. You barely hear a word of the statement they read to you before you go in, and your hand cramps as you write your signature against a dotted line of a waiver. All of the other legal things were sorted out by Mrs. Stacy’s lawyer, which you are more than thankful for.

Instead of having to deal with that, you just have to wait.

You think that the waiting might be the worst part of it all. With the scrubs making your hairs raise and promoting uncomfortable shivers up and down your body, as well as the cold metal seat that they sat you on, you’re far too aware of everything around you. You can hear the hundreds of heartbeats in the buildings, the beeping of security doors, the footsteps heading your way. You can smell the coffee that the head guard in the adjoining room to the one you’re in is drinking, as well as the day-old sandwich in his desk. Worst of all is the way your own heartbeat is thrumming in your throat, padding harshly against your chest, so loud in your own ears that it slowly starts to drown out everything around you.

Gwen’s footsteps are heavy, accompanied by the clinking of the chains she’s shackled in. You can practically hear the maniacal laughter that had come from her whilst in that alternate dimension, even though she’s completely silent as she enters the room.

She smiles at you when you look up, and for a moment you’re fooled — it’s soft, gentle, kind. But then you see the glimmer in her eyes that was distinctly not Gwen, and you feel the scar along your side throbbing with phantom pain.

You smile tensely at the guards, who regard you with looks of gentle concern and caution, before they attach her chains to a link on the floor beside a chair three metres away from where you sit. They nod at you, which you return, and you watch as they go and take their positions beside the door before you move your eyes back to the elephant in the room — which is Gwen Stacy.

“So, you missed me?” She asks, baring her teeth in a grin that has too much teeth to be anything friendly. Gwen regards you closely as you stare at her, watch for any signs of flickering, any signs that this isn’t real. Her brows raise slowly, the longer you’re silent, but you’re in no hurry to talk. “No? Is that not it?”

“Sure, I miss you.” You respond after another stretch of silence, tilting your head to study her more closely. You don’t acknowledge the way that your voice shakes as you speak, the way it comes out in something closer to a croak before you swallow harshly against your dry throat. “Thought I’d come to check in.” You add, brows furrowing to make sure she gets your true meaning.

“Ah,” She voices, then laughs, shoulders shaking, chains clanking loudly against her metal chair. “I get it, now.”

Gwen doesn’t add anything else after that, even though you suspected that she may take this opportunity to loudly claim that you were Arachnid, outing your identity once and for all. Apparently, if she does want to out your identity, she doesn’t want to do it like this, as she stays silent until you speak.

You sit forward on your chair, ignoring the way the guards at the edges of the room shift uneasily at your movement. “Your mom arranged this for me, you know?” You say, eyebrow raised. She probably knows what you’re doing, or what you’re trying to do, but she doesn’t voice it. Instead, she just shifts to lean backwards in her own chair, sighing as if relaxing.

“Hmm, so she can visit.” Gwen says, nodding her head as if it’s all making sense now.

“She can, she just doesn’t want to. Neither does Georgie.” You respond, and find satisfaction in the way her eyes flash at the mention of her little brother, the nickname that the two of you both used to call him. She recovers quickly, but you can tell that she knows it wasn’t quick enough. The Green Goblin cracked, right in front of your very eyes. It’s proof that, if anything, her little brother has some meaning. “He wanted me to tell you something.”

Her head tilts across from you, though she doesn’t move from her laid back position.

You clear your throat, and look at the words you’d written on your skin. She tilts her head forwards the slightest amount, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, glancing at the guards who look just as uncomfortable as you feel. “He said that he misses his Gwenny, but he doesn’t want you coming home.” You stare at her as you repeat his message, the one he had told you nervously, as if he was truly afraid that Gwen would escape and come back. Her eyes twitch as she focuses on keeping her expression cool, but you know that the words have hit something in her, even if it’s part of the Green Goblin. “Looks like you even ruined your own family.”

You’re up on your feet as she lurches forwards, flung backward from where she tried to go against her chains to rush toward you. The guards are in front of you in mere moments, but you weren’t in any danger. Not as long as she stayed in here.

It’s almost satisfying, to see her chained up. It’s so different to seeing the Green Goblin on the outside, where she could be your Gwen Stacy. Whereas in here, bound by chains of heavy metal, clothed in uncomfortable looking prisoner scrubs, she was nothing but the Green Goblin. It was reassuring, almost, to be able to pick apart something physical between the two.

She bares her teeth at you, animalistic in a way that Gwen never was, and glares at you as you follow one of the guards out of the room, the others closing in on her, ready to take her back to whatever cell she came from.

The clothes you wear become less overbearing as you keep your focus on the guards taking Gwen away the whole way back through security, only switching back to your surroundings when they hand you the tray of your own belongings to change back into. You’re relieved for many reasons, and you try to focus on that feeling as you approach Mrs. Stacy’s car rather than the way your jacket itches.

Mrs. Stacy looks as if she wants to speak as you get in the car, as if she wants to ask about your visit, but she seemingly can’t bring herself to do it. You keep your mouth shut.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Not a month later, your daily activities are back to normal, uninhibited by the daunting idea of Gwen being free. Still, though, you think about her more often, as much as you did in the time after she was put away the first time.

Mrs. Stacy had tried to call you more than once since, and at the two week mark you’d had to invest in a new burner phone. You just couldn’t risk anybody getting a hold of it and seeing her contact, or the ringer going off and exposing your position in a fight. No, it was better for her not to have your number. Besides, you had hers memorised if you needed to call her.

It was better if you tried to reduce any connections to Gwen Stacy. You’d be much better off, the less you thought about her.

Despite knowing that, you couldn’t help it. And despite seeing that crack in the Green Goblin exterior at her little brother’s words, you didn’t have much hope for her. You don’t think they’d let her out of prison even if you could find a cure, somehow. The fact of it was that Gwen Stacy’s life was over. She had no hope of a future in this world, the Goblin had destroyed that. All you could do was remember her and hope beyond anything that in one of those alternate dimensions, you and Gwen were happy together.

The thought of it played on your mind every day, a lingering pain that stung at your eyes. You thought about it so much that you had even imagined the world where Gwen had never become the Goblin, where you and your Gwen were happy. It was a suffocating image, one without any hope of being true, but you couldn’t help thinking about it.

Even as you fought villain after villain, petty criminal after petty criminal, you thought about it. Even now, as you were swinging around a bridge, dodging all the debris this villain was throwing your way, it played on your mind.

It was a distraction, and it was one you needed to get rid of.

That much became certain as the villain you were facing, Tombstone, managed to get a hit on you, sending you flying across the bridge. You landed on a car with a groan, the windshield cracking below you, and you rolled your eyes as the person in the car held a hand on their horn until you managed to climb off, a distinct Arachnid-shaped dent left in the bonnet.

Well, that would be aching tomorrow, that much was for sure.

He grinned where he was stood across the bridge from you, showing off his filed teeth, as if trying to intimidate you with the pointy edges of them.

“You’ve been a formidable foe, Arachnid,” Tombstone says, his voice barely a whisper above the wind, but you can hear him perfectly. You suspect he knows as much, and that only makes you nervous. “But I think it’s time for our battle to come to an end.”

“I actually agree.” You respond, stretching your aching back and feeling a bone shift when it definitely shouldn’t. You can’t help but wince, gritting your teeth and glaring over at Tombstone across the bridge.

You’re getting tired of these villains, of their constant spiel about how the world should be, about how everything should be how they wanted it to be. What was so wrong with the human population that everybody couldn’t just get along? Surely, if everybody got along, listened to each other, the world’s problems would be solved. But then again, this is New York, and it’s a city in which greed is bred.

A light press against your webshooter has you slinging high up on the bridge, staring down at Tombstone as he watches you intently. You’re planning your next move, considering all the variables, when a burst of orange manifests into the air behind him. He looks confused as you falter in your web slinging, dropping slightly before you catch yourself, and he turns around just in time to receive a curled fist to the face, courtesy of a familiar man in a red and blue suit.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” You murmur, lowering yourself to the bridge to approach this Spiderman, glaring at where Tombstone stands, straining against a red barrier that had materialised from the device Spiderman had placed at his feet.

“I hate that guy!” The familiar voice of Peter B. Parker says, shaking his fist as he hops slightly from one foot to the other, his lenses squinted before he finally turns to acknowledge you. “That guy sucks.”

Your brows are furrowed, eyes squinted behind your lenses as you stare at Peter, confused. This Tombstone guy isn’t an anomaly, is he? While you hadn’t faced him before, you knew that there had been a battle between him and another vigilante down in Hell’s Kitchen. And he knew your name, hadn’t been calling you Spiderman like the last anomaly. So why was he here?

Peter sighed, as if he was disappointed to be met with your confusion. “You got a place, kid? Or a burger joint, maybe?”

With that same amount of confusion, you nodded, brows furrowed as cops came to collect Tombstone, who was still in a fit of rage. You can just barely hear him swearing to get you back, both of you, through the barrier. Peter gestured a hand forwards for you to lead the way, and with slight hesitation, you swung off with him following.

Now, the two of you are sat in a Shake Shack, despite you wanting to head back to the offices you were set up in. Peter had ordered two burgers, one for you and one for him, though you had decidedly rejected the one he pushed towards you. He had only shrugged, and accepted it onto his own plate.

“My wife’s pregnant, can’t even stand the smell of these.” Peter groans, stuffing what must’ve been at least a quarter of the burger in his mouth. You just nod at his statement, though you had to admit you were slightly surprised that this guy was going to be a dad. But then again, you’re pretty sure you can remember your dad scoffing down his favourite food in a similar way. “Now listen,” He continues, speaking with his mouthful and paying you no mind as you cringe at the sound. “Miguel wants to strike a sort of… deal with you.”

“Okay?” You respond, brows furrowed. You look around the place, uncomfortable with all the people staring at Arachnid in a booth beside an old man stuffing his face. The lenses of your mask squint with you as you look at Peter, waiting for him to add anything on to explain his statement. “Then why’d he send you?” You ask, at last, when Peter makes no move to speak of his own free will, too engrossed in his second burger.

Peter held up a finger, gulping down a sip of his strawberry milkshake. “Said something about this being good practice for me,” Peter eventually answers, flashing you a smile. “You know, being a new dad and all.”

He seems to realise quickly that that was the wrong thing to say as your eyes narrow further, visible only through the shift of your lenses. The last thing you need is some random guy trying to father you. Even just the idea of it irritates you, makes the very blood rushing in your veins feel hot with anger. You had a dad, and look what good that did you. He’s gone.

Not to mention the implication of you being a child! You’re far from being a kid. You’ve been looking after yourself for some time now just fine. Whatever deal Miguel wants to strike with you is because they need you. Not the other way around. You knew that you shouldn’t have let that Spider-doctor fix you up.

“I’m not some kid. I don’t need you lot, you need me. Don’t get it all twisted, Peter.” You respond as he continues to look like a deer in headlights, clearly kicking himself for revealing what Miguel had said. You keep your voice low, fighting to stay unheard with the quietened air in the diner. “Now hurry up and tell me about whatever bullshit deal you want to strike with me, so I can say no and we can go our separate ways.”

“Kid,” Peter sighs, before immediately wincing as he realised he just directly disregarded your statement about not being a kid. “Sorry, Arachnid,” He corrects, settling his hands on the table in front of him, finally taking a break from his almost-finished food. “Nobody’s saying you can’t do this.”

“Sounds like that’s exactly what you’re saying.” You mutter, averting your eyes from Peter and instead narrowing your lenses at the people still staring in your direction.

“All we’re saying is that you shouldn’t have to do this alone,” He continues, ignoring your interruption with nothing but a quirked brow. “It’s a tough job. Everybody needs someone to look out for them, you know? It’s in our nature to feel responsible for everything around us, as Spider-people. But you can’t carry the whole weight of the world on your shoulders, it’s too much!”

You stare blankly at him, remaining unimpressed with his whole speech.

Peter sighs once more, looking at you with hesitant hope that you’ll come around. Unfortunately, you’re not about to let these people think that you’re incapable. If anything, Peter’s little speech was just adding fuel to your fire. You liked proving people wrong — it’s what you thrived on. You needed to prove them wrong. Because if you didn’t, what did that make you? You couldn’t let people be right about their assumptions of you. If you couldn’t prove everybody wrong, then that meant some of the things people said about you were right. And with the amount of people who accused you of being responsible for more deaths than you saved, who portrayed you as a menace rather than a vigilante, who said you weren’t worthy of your powers, who said whatever divine intervention had given them to you was wrong, you couldn’t let them be right. You wouldn’t.

“I already told you people. I’m not interested.” You spit out at him, feeling your frustration brimming over the edge. Why would nobody just trust you? Was that so much to ask? You understand that you had made mistakes, that you had cost people their lives, but you were trying. Why couldn’t that just be enough?

Peter says nothing as you slide out of the booth, stomping your way out of the Shake Shack as if you were some kind of grumpy teenager. He could only hope that his unborn child was a less grumpy teen, but then again, he was pretty sure you had every right to be miserable. Correcting himself, he could only hope that his unborn child never experienced your reasons for being so miserable.

You make your way towards your office building, swinging through the streets whilst doing your best to keep your heightened hearing down. You really didn’t want to have to deal with anything else, tonight. All you wanted was to get back, to put on the only clothes other than your suit that didn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin. Even if it was just for an hour, you’d take it.

While you had gotten used to how quiet it was in the building a long time ago, you couldn’t help but think that tonight, it felt almost… eerie. There was something tingling, buzzing at the very base of your skull, but even as you strained your hearing, your sight, everything, you couldn’t detect anything out of place. Everything seemed normal, so you couldn’t understand why you were so on edge! It couldn’t just be Peter’s presence, surely, because he posed no threat to you. So what was going on?

Picking up your backpack filled with belongings, you stared around at the empty office, the breeze that flowed through the open window sending a shiver down your spine, even though you weren’t feeling cold. Something wasn’t right. You just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Hello? Anybody there?” You call out, straining your hearing once more, trying to listen out for even the slightest sound. A movement, a breath, anything, even as you couldn’t help but think that this was the most cliché horror movie like moment that you had experienced to date. Still, you heard nothing, but that nagging feeling didn’t dissipate, and you quickly lost all desire to change out of your suit.

The unease you felt only grew stronger as you stood there, unsure what to make of the feeling. It was quickly growing towards being overwhelming, but you didn’t know what to do.

Luckily for you, you didn’t have to make a decision.

Unfortunately, the decision was made by one of the very people you were trying to prove yourself to.

Peter B. Parker — or at least, you were pretty sure it was him — swung through the very same window you had, only to grasp a hold on your arm and pull you out of the window as he jumped straight back out of it.

Now, you had been Arachnid for a long time now. You had gotten used to the swinging, to the way your stomach dipped and your throat tightened, but you had never experienced it where you weren’t the one in control. Finally, you understand why people you brought to safety had, on occasion, thrown up immediately after you set them down on their feet again. The feeling of falling, of having no choice but to trust somebody else to catch you, it was terrifying.

But what was infinitely more terrifying was the way that the very floor of the building you had just been stood on exploded.

The blaze was blinding, even with your lenses protecting your eyes, but the noise that came moments later was much, much worse. And sure, you had been around explosions before, but never one that big, never so close. And never so unprepared for one.

Your ears were ringing, and you vaguely realised that you had become dead weight in your shock, with Peter struggling to keep his grasp on your arm firm. After a moment, you had the sense to grab his forearm in return, trying to assist him in holding you up. He didn’t seem as effected by the explosion in comparison to you, and you wondered if he’d had the time to put earbuds in his ears as you had sometimes done before a fight. Either way, you were insanely envious as the pain in your ears increased, leaving you struggling to focus on holding on to Peter.

When he set you down, which couldn’t have been more than a minute after he had grabbed you, considering you could still see the office building smouldering, you had to hold a hand over your mouth even over your mask, trying to rid yourself of nausea. Smoke was leaking into the darkening sky, and you saw the flash of sirens below, but heard nothing other than the distinctive ringing that felt like it was melting your brain.

Peter’s hand was squeezing your shoulder, and after a moment in which you didn’t acknowledge him, he was gripping your other shoulder with his spare hand, shaking you the slightest bit. You looked up at him with a groan, squinting past the floating lights in your vision to see that his mouth was moving, no sound coming out. You shook your head, trying to get rid of that incessant ringing, but it didn’t work. You dropped your chin to your chest again, hands bracing against your ears as if they could ease your pain, and you didn’t make a move as Peter removed one hand from your shoulder.

Mere moments later, the same tingling you had felt before the building you were in exploded returned, stronger, more intensely. Your head snapped up, frantically looking around, paying Peter no mind as he spoke into the orange-glowing watch on his wrist. You breathed through your nose, trying not to cough at the smoke permeating the air, and you just managed to push Peter over the edge of the roof of the building, with you diving after him, as another explosive went off.

That explosion was smaller than the last one, and the only reason you had managed to avoid it was because you knew it was coming. You knew what the alarm bells in your head were trying to tell you now, and you spotted the projectile just seconds before it reached your feet.

Part of you was glad that your senses were dulled from the first explosion — your hearing, especially, as it meant you were less effected by the close-range on this one. You saw Peter’s eyes widen as he looked up above you at where the explosion had just occurred. You just about managed to web him before shooting a web towards the next building, feeling something in your shoulder pull sharply with his extra weight and the suddenness of the move.

You squinted down at him as he gripped the web attached to his chest with one hand, his lips moving more frantically as he spoke to a hologram projected by the watch on his other hand.

“Shit, what is going on?” You asked, though mostly to yourself, but the only way you could tell you had even voiced the words was by the way they rumbled out of your throat. That explosion had messed up your hearing, for the moment, anyway, and you quickly realised that with your slow healing and the ringing in your ears, this fight was going to be majorly difficult.

You only had a moment to think that, before something snapped the web that was holding you to the building, sending both you and Peter falling through the air. Embarrassingly, you’re pretty sure that you let out a yell of some sort.

All the air was knocked out of you the next second as something hurtled into you, sending you careening towards the windows of the closest building. Peter, for a moment, had a shocked expression on his face, before he seemingly realised what was going on, smiling and letting out a string of words that you didn’t hear. You groaned as your sore back collided with the window, smashing upon your impact, and you were sent sprawling over a desk, a monitor breaking underneath your sudden weight.

Yet again, there was a hand against your shoulder, and you paid it no mind as your head dropped back, thudding against the desk. You couldn’t help but groan, the duress that your back had been under today was certainly taking its toll, leaving your whole spine throbbing with pain. On top of that, you were struggling to catch your breath, and with the sudden adrenaline provided by the spider-sense fading, the intensity of the pain in your ears was increasing.

Finally, you managed to peel your eyes open to see a concerned Peter B. Parker looking at you, with Miguel O’Hara stood beside the shattered window, staring out menacingly, as if daring whoever it was to attack again. Peter said something else, squeezing your shoulder, and all you could do in response was hold up one thumb.

Miguel seemingly barked out an order over his shoulder, and a moment later, you were squinting against the bright orange light of a portal.

Peter was hauling you to your feet, leaning to hold one of your arms over his shoulder, practically carrying your weight towards the portal looming ahead. “No, no, wait,” You said, and you felt the way your words slurred as you became slightly delirious with a mixture of pain, adrenaline, and desperation. “Stop, I gotta—”

He only shook his head, before tipping the two of you forward until you both fell into the portal.

The dizzying feeling of inter-dimensional travel definitely didn’t help the pounding in your temples, nor the nausea you had previously been feeling, and you had no choice but to try and focus on Peter’s grip on you as you squeezed your eyes shut. When the world finally stopped spinning, or feeling like it was falling away around you, you opened your eyes just enough to take note of where you were — which was back in the Infirmary of the Spider Society HQ.

You shook Peter off, standing on your own weight and waving him away when he tried to assist you as you swayed once more. You glared, eyes narrowed, and turned to head straight back through the portal you had come from, only to see it close before your very eyes.

The same Spider-Doctor from the last time you were here snapped a band around your wrist, and you squinted down at the red and blue band. It made you feel lighter, even slightly, which felt good on your aching bones and muscles. You opened your mouth to speak as the Spider-Doctor led you to sit down on an empty bed with white sheets, but you vaguely saw the way his mask shifted as he presumably spoke. You couldn’t tell what he was saying with his mask on, but a minute later, you felt a sharp prick against the inside of your elbow.

You just about had the lucidity to murmur “You fucker—” before you succumbed to the weight of your eyelids.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

When you woke up, it was to a throbbing pain in your forehead, that only got worse when you tried to open your eyes. At the very least, you were glad to have your hearing returned to you, albeit slightly muffled, which you were only aware of because the sound of voices across the room was the reason for you waking.

“I’m just saying, maybe knocking the kid out wasn’t the greatest idea!” Peter B. Parker’s annoyingly loud voice says, slightly high pitched in the end. Who he was saying it to, however, you couldn’t say, not without opening your eyes. And that didn’t feel like a good idea, the lights even with your eyes closed feeling like too much.

Instead, you just groan, bringing your hand up to rest over both of your eyes. “It wasn’t a great idea.” You say through gritted teeth, more than annoyed over the situation you found yourself in. Honestly, what did these people have against leaving you be? Why did they think they had any right to tell you what to do, or how to handle things, or to overrule you when it came to your own treatment?

“Hey, kid!” Peter responds, drawing the letters out in that typical oh shit voice. From the snippet of the conversation you had caught, at least he was seemingly trying to advocate for your consciousness. However, that didn’t change the fact that he was there when that Spider-Doctor knocked you out. No, you were still pissed. And when you got your hands on that doctor? He was in for it.

Any other thoughts or feelings on the matter were overturned when you realised that your hand was resting over your eyes, not the lenses of your mask.

Who do these people think they are?

You open your mouth to jump into a rant on that exact subject, on the audacity that they all have, but find yourself silenced by somebody grabbing onto your free wrist, and seemingly dropping your mask into your hand. You feel it until you’ve got it the right way around, and then pull it over your face.

The lights are much more bearable with your lenses back over your eyes, but it’s still painful, and still worsens that pounding in your head. But it does mean that you can see who’s around you; Peter, Miguel and the Spider-Doctor. You have half the mind to leap at that doctor, but Miguel is raising placating hands in your direction before you can make the move to do so.

“Let’s all calm down.” Miguel says, placing his hands on his hips when your eyes only narrow at him.

“What is wrong with you? Who gave you people the right to—to take off my mask? To knock me out? Hell, to come to my universe and get in my business!” You practically yell out, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way your back hurts with the movement and glaring when the three of them step forward to help you.

“If Peter hadn’t gotten there when he did, you would’ve died.” Miguel responds plainly, seemingly aggravated by your irritation. One of his arms is raised in a gesture towards the man, who smiles almost guiltily, as if helping you was a crime. Which, in your mindset, it might as well have been. “There was an anomaly, a villain from another dimension targeting you.”

“I can handle myself.” You spit out, though the way the room spins when you stand is almost a direct contrast to your words. Your blood is rushing through your veins, and you realise that there’s a machine beeping next to you, increasing in frequency. As you look, you realise it’s measuring your heart rate, and you yank wires off of you that you hadn’t even noticed before, as if they were exposing you somehow. “And that doesn’t give you the right to take off my mask. Who does that?”

Spider-Doctor raises his hands, as if surrendering, though seems unintimidated by the way your glare switches to him. “It was necessary. Your hearing was severely damaged by the explosion, you needed treatment. You have dampening-buds in your ears now, while your healing catches up.” While that sounds reasonable, it only makes you angrier. Why did these people even care if some anomaly killed you? If your hearing was damaged? Why did they insist on bothering you?

Miguel sighs, pinching his nose, before he lifts his head up to speak to you again. You just about stop yourself from making a snotty comment about his attitude. You didn't even want to be here, and here he was, acting like dealing with you was such an inconvenience to him. It was frustrating. “Your universe seems to be at some sort of epicentre of anomalies, and we don’t know why. Yet.”

“We’re just trying to keep you safe. You can’t deal with all of those anomalies alone, nobody can. Sometimes, you need a team.” Peter says softly, like he could convince you of the matter. “Believe me, you don’t want to learn that the hard way.” He adds on, smiling almost hesitantly, as if there’s a memory he’s thinking of connected to his own words.

You’re sighing through your nose, your teeth gritting together as you regard them. “Okay, fine, you want to come take out your anomalies, or whatever? You do that. But anything more than that isn’t welcome.” You say, at last, your eyes narrowed towards them as you wait for their responses.

You still don’t really understand it, any of it, but it’s becoming clear that you have no choice but to deal with these people. Apparently, they were not budging on all of this stuff, which — fine, so long as they stay out of your way. The last thing you need is a bunch of Spider-people stepping on your toes, or making you seem incapable in front of the citizens of your own dimension when in the end, they’ll all up and leave.

After all, you can remember your mother telling you how important it is to do things yourself. The moment you start accepting help, you relax, and when they decide they don’t want to help you anymore? You’re screwed, your sense of independence reduced to ashes. And as Arachnid, there’s far too much at stake to risk that happening.

“Here,” Miguel says, only nodding his agreement — or at least, that’s what you assume the nod was for. He throws a watch towards you, and you catch it with some confusion. “In case you see any anomalies before we do.” He explains as he watches you fiddle witht he watch in both hands, glaring down at it as if it was offensive. He’s relatively satisfied when you relax at that explanation. While Miguel doesn’t voice what else it’s for, knowing you’d only get irritated and refuse the watch, he’s silently hoping that you’ll understand. It’s so you can come to them, if you need them. They can only hope that they’ll be able to tell you that, one day, before it’s too late, without the offer scaring you off.

“So, I’m good to go?” You ask, looking between the three Spider-Men still staring at you and the watch you hesitantly clasp around your wrist. They nod, or, Peter and Miguel do, while the Spider-Doctor throws his hands in the air, exasperated.

“That dimension is yours,” Peter says, leaning over to see the screen of your watch. “The button at the bottom will input this dimension as the destination. Just press that,” He points to another button, “To open the portal to whichever dimension has been typed in.”

You nod, still pissed that he’d let the Spider-Doctor knock you out, but at least you didn’t give him a snarky comment. Instead, you just pressed the button to go back to your own dimension, and stepped through the portal the moment it was big enough for you to go through.

You didn’t expect for him to follow you through.

“Hey, listen,” Peter says, almost reluctantly, as if he doesn’t want to upset you. When you turn to him, he raises his hands, as if to further prove that sentiment. “I am sorry that he knocked you out, I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

“Okay, fine, apology accepted.” You say, flatly, turning to survey where exactly you are. It doesn’t take you long to notice the remains of the building you had been camping out in, the building charred and the air still thick with all the smoke that had been produced.

“I wasn’t done,” Peter sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose momentarily. “I also wanted to say that I’m sorry about your building. And I wanted to ask, well, mention about how when Doctor-Peter took off your mask, he noticed you don’t have anything protecting your ears, like other Spiders with your level of enhanced hearing do.”

You turn to stare blankly at him, while mulling through where exactly you’re going to stay in your head. If you’re being honest, you’re not paying his words much mind. So what, you don’t have anything protecting your hearing? Sure, sometimes you had stuffed earbuds into your ears when you knew you were going into a rough fight, but you didn’t know when some psycho exploded your building right in front of you. Plus, it’s not like you have unlimited resources to figure out some way of protected your ears under your mask while also letting you effectively use your hearing.

“Okay? And?” You ask, voice edging on the side of boredom. In all honesty, you just want to be left alone. You want to put on your comfy clothes, curl up into a ball and go to sleep so you can dream of a world where everything is okay. The likelihood of that happening is small, but not impossible, right?

“Well,” Peter hesitates then, which piques your interest the slightest bit. “Here, I had these made back when my hearing was crazy sensitive, but it’s not anymore, so I got no use for them!” He says, holding out two blue and red earbuds in a clear case. “You gotta wait until your ears are healed up to use ‘em, but I figured they’d do you more good than me.”

For a moment, you’re ready to deny him. To glare and insist that you don’t need his help. But then, he had said that they were originally for him, and he didn’t need them any longer, so really, would it be so bad to take them? To accept this one thing? To allow yourself to be saved of this tiniest bit of pain?

“You’re sure?” You ask, likely the least aggressive you’d spoken to him, though that’s not to say that it was asked softly. You were still firm on not accepting their help, on doing your own thing, but you could accept this much, surely? It couldn’t hurt.

Peter smiles, a short laugh leaving him, and he waves the box towards you. “I’m sure!”

“…Thanks.” You say, shortly, as you accept the earbuds offered to you. He also hands you the backpack that you had lost track of after the attack, and you accept that far more quickly. You’re glad that it feels the exact same weight as it did the last time you held it, before you shove the earbuds into the opening and zip it back up.

There’s a portal still open on the rooftop the two of you stand on, and Peter backs up to go towards it almost reluctantly. “Also, if you need somewhere to stay—”

“Don’t push it,” You respond, quickly, cutting him off before he could finish what he was saying. He doesn’t take offence to your abruptness, and smiles with a nod, before he disappears into the portal. You stare out at the city around you, looking in the direction of another building you had been very reluctant to return to. “What is my life?” You ask yourself, rhetorically, because you don’t know how you’d even answer that.

You glance behind you to ensure the portal is closed, before jumping off the rooftop, freefalling, relishing in the way the cold wind soothes the pain in your back. Before long, though, you have to shoot a web to catch yourself. You head towards the only place you know will be suitable for you, but can’t shake the way the thought of it chills you.

All you can do is hope that this multiverse stuff will be over with, and soon.

1K notes · View notes

chestharrington · 1 month

Note

🌝 hi im back hehehehe a steve harrington fic where you’re teasing him (grinding at a bar????????? mayhaps?????) and then you turn around to him just 🤠 bc he 100% came in his pants thank u mamas

Heyyyy sexy <3 This is short (sozz) and I took liberties pls forgive me. But the heart of the matter is the same: Steve Harrington WILL bust in his pants. AMEN!

Rating: E (18+) Kinda

Warnings: Drinking (which shouldn’t be a warning. GROW UP!), making out, premature ejaculation

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve had been clinging to your side like a baby duck the entire night, never wandering farther than arm's length. A warm hand on the small of your back as you made your way through the crowded frat house, a warm lap to sit on when your feet started aching and the ugly leather couch started calling your name.

“You don’t have to babysit tonight,” you murmured after you sat down in the , pressing a soft kiss on his jaw.

“I know,” he replied. His hand was warm on your inner thigh, protective and comfortable. His thumb rubbed soothing circles on the plush skin as he looked at you. “I trust you, I just don’t trust these college guys.”

“You’re so adorable when you’re all protective,” you teased, poking his side. “Are you even having a little fun?” His guilty expression and lack of response said all you needed to know.

You stood and pulled him off the couch with a scheming grin. “We’re going to go slam a beer, and then you’re going to dance with me to whatever shitty music they have playing. Then we’re going to try the jungle juice, dance a little more, and after that we’ll bail and go make out in your car.” You raised a brow. “Any questions?”

“No questions. But you’re really sexy when you boss me around,” he said, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on your lips. You grinned at his words and guided him through the packed house to find the nearest cooler.

Things were going pretty well until your first cup of jungle juice. There was definitely some sort of mixer there, but, by taste alone, you would’ve guessed it was just food coloring to turn all the liquor red.

“We’re gonna have to call Robin to drive us home,” Steve shouted over the music as he downed the last swill in his red solo cup. You nodded and poured a little more in your cup, which you easily chugged down.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and stood on tiptoes to press a messy kiss to Steve’s lips. As soon as you pulled away, a smile spread across your lips. “Let’s go dance! I love this song!”

Despite the crowd, you managed to pull him through the crowd on clumsy footing. Everyone was in similar states of carefree and giddy drunkenness, so no one really cared if you bumped into them. You guided him until you were practically back to back with the sound system and started dancing.

You really didn’t love this song. You didn’t even think you’d heard it before. But there was a good beat, and Steve’s hands were warm on your exposed skin, pulling your back right against him.

He was planting clumsy kisses along your jaw and throat as he held you tight, letting you move and sway against him. You relished in the feeling of his fingertips toying with the hem of your shirt just itching to slip beneath.

Your hands settled atop his, guiding them to your hips as you moved. You spared a glance back and felt your heart flutter at the sight of him— hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed.

A few songs later, his hands were back under your shirt and you were itching to escape the crowd. Which is how you wound up down the block in the backseat of the Beamer.

Warm hands splayed across your ass as you straddled his lap, lips barely leaving his except for very necessary gasps for breath. He tasted like jungle juice, but you didn’t care.

“See?” You gasped between kisses. He held you firm on his lap, guiding you as you ground against him. “Told you that we needed to get out for once.”

“Mhmm.” He nodded, chasing your lips, tongue licking into your mouth with a needy desperation. Occasionally, passing cars would light up the interior, but you were both too drunk on each other to care.

Distantly, you could hear the bass shaking the frat house off the foundations, and cheers as someone broke the keg stand record for the night. But after a while, the sounds of Steve’s lips smacking against yours, and soft moans slipping past his lips when you moved against him took over your entire brain.

It could’ve been fifteen minutes or an hour. Time got a little fuzzy when you both got drunk and touchy. His hands were so tight on your hips that it might have actually left bruises, which would’ve been a problem for tomorrow.

You had only just started toying with his hair when he pulled back from the kiss with a muffled whimper, panting softly.

“Did I pull your hair too hard?” You asked sheepishly, giving his scalp a soothing scratch.

“No! No it felt nice,” he insisted. His cheeks were a burning pink, which matched his kiss-swollen lips. You leaned in and gave one chaste kiss, before leaning in to start up the make-out session again. You rolled your hips against his briefly before he grabbed your hips in his hands, keeping them still. “Can we just take a… I dunno… five minute breather?”

You raised a brow and moved your hands between the two of you, only to find a wet patch on his jeans. You bit your lip in an attempt to hide your grin, but it was too late. “Aww… you came from a bit of kissing?” His cheeks flushed impossibly deeper, as you pecked kisses along his cheek. “That is… surprisingly sexy.”

“It’s so not my fault,” he insisted, practically pouting until your words registered. “Wait— it is?”

“Mhmm…” You replied as you began stroking him teasingly over his denim. “Actually… I kind of want to make you do it again.”

#italics went poof when i pasted this here #use your imagination #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #blurbs

262 notes · View notes

thesturniolos · 5 months

Text

guilty pleasures

m. sturniolo x reader

summary: well, yall asked for it 💁🏼‍♀️ it’s part 2 bitches !!

warnings: smut, swearing, sub!matt (why does this even need a warning?), degradation.

tags: @sturnioloshacker @strniohoeee @sturniolopepsi @strawberrysturniolo @lilasturns @lovingmattysposts @m4ttsturniolo @mbbsgf @meg-sturniolo @mattsneezing @malsturns @urfavstromboli @recklesssturniolo @heartsforchrisandmatt @hoesformatt @iheartchrissturniolo @cutesouls @chrisenthusiast @creamoncreamoncream2 @chrisdevora @nickenthusiast @noellesturniolo @mattsturniolosgf @sturniolossmut @struniolos @sturniolosstar @klarasmith @kirby0strombolli @kenzieiskoolaid @kenzieluvssturniolo @justangelheree @matthewsturniolo @mattscokewhore @mattnchrisworld @delusionalsturniologirl @apclyptc @91sturniolo @bernardenjoyer @byechristopher @bluesturniolo333 @bernardsleftbootycheek @biimpanicking @mattsbratt @iammattswife @m4tthewsgf @silly-sturniolos @ducksturniolo @plasticferal

“need help?”

i’m frozen. i’m literally frozen. i don’t care about the ache in my pants anymore, i need her to repeat whatever the fuck she just said.

“w-what?” my cheeks are pink, i know that and even though i’m basically towering over her, i feel flustered and small. a girl has never had this effect on me, never made me feel this way or made me cum this way. how does she just say that and casually smirk like that?

“i’m kidding, matt. god, don’t get so worked up.” she laughs and turns before walking away to the kitchen. i’m sad, i’m sad about her not meaning those words. i’m close to tears about her not helping me with my boner, how pathetic.

i scurry to the bedroom but not to relieve the pain which has been lingering by the pool but the new found pain in my chest of rejection. to think that she actually would’ve wanted to have done that, so randomly too. like one minute she was laughing by the pool with me and then she was gonna be on her knees on my bedroom floor.

pathetic, stupid little tears are begging to fall from my eyes, a reminder that she won’t like me like that and those drunk words really weren’t sober thoughts like everyone claims they are.

she’s everywhere in this house. she’s in the photo frames on my walls, in the background of my phone, in the hallways, her voice echoing the house. she is everywhere and she always has been ever since we were small. which is why i cannot let my feelings get to me because after all she is still a friend, a very good one.

luckily the hard-on i’ve been struggling with has subsided, i wonder why. i was worked up over her after all, it doesn’t really feel the same after that’s happened. but that doesn’t mean i’m holding grudges, i don’t hate her for that, i don’t feel any different. i still long for everything she has. her hugs, her warmth, her kisses, her perfect curly hair, her curves, her gorgeous fucking smile.

im also not saying i didn’t want her to help me, i needed her to help me. help me come undone all over her, needed to see her perfect naked body laid on my sheets, needed to know i was making her feel good. but i also wanted everything else, all the sweet things we could do together.

a knock at my door runs through the room, can i have privacy in this house?

i don’t get long to answer before the door is opened and i see her. god, what are you doing to me? she smiles, poking her head through a small gap, holding up a plate of something.

“i brought you some food?” she frowns looking at me, walking into the room more and shutting the door behind her. oh, great.

“thanks, you didn’t have to.” i say, looking away from her. my acting isn’t great and my sad expression is still very visual.

“no worries, i - um are you okay, matt?” she places the plate on my desk and walks closer to me, standing just in front of me. still in that fucking swimsuit.

“me? oh yeah, im fine. why?” im quiet but im desperately trying to raise my voice to try and convince her properly. why is nobody on my side? like what?

“it’s just i know that i kinda- i kinda messed up out there. like, it was wrong of me to say that, we’re best friends you know? i didn’t mean to make you uncomfy.”

uncomfy? she thought she made me uncomfy? i wasn’t uncomfy, i was desperate.

“oh no, i didn’t even care to be honest. you’re good.” i laugh and look down at my hands. with her staring at me like that i literally cannot focus.

“well you just seemed a little flustered, you know?” she moves her hand up to my face and brushes away a hair that’s fallen. she noticed. i look up to see her doe eyes filled with what looked like concern? or was it something else? whatever it was, whatever she’s doing, is making my throat dry. we’re so close and i’m suddenly aware of my breathing and her breathing and the way she swallows and when her chest falls and-

“a little like you do now.” she smirks and she’s closer, if that’s even fucking possible. her breath is fresh on my lips and she goes to whisper, “it’s cute you know, matt.”

and with that she pushes her lips onto mine and it’s like heaven in a kiss. it’s indescribable, it’s everything i could possibly have imagined, it’s the healing of the small crack in my heart. her lips are warm and welcoming, her teeth slightly tugging at my lips as she pulls back slightly, her eyes opening to meet mine.

she goes to speak but i don’t want her to, i just want to feel her on me again, i needed it. i grab her face and smash her lips against mine again and this time it’s desperation. it’s years of waiting and secret looks in hallways, it’s every candle i’ve blown out on my birthday praying for this, it’s everytime i cried in her arms and she’s cried in mine.

our tongues dance and im pushing her onto the bed, i need her. for all of the times i’ve thought of doing this and refrained and now she’s actually here and underneath me, it’s too surreal.

we lose rhythm and it becomes sloppy, saliva covering both of our mouths, dripping down our chins as i slowly trail down her neck. she whines slightly and i could’ve sworn i came right there, right then. the voice of angel.

i groan against her neck in response, focusing on that sweet spot, hoping to create some kind of mark as evidence that this fucking happened because it just does not feel real. i need something to show in the morning, that it wasn’t a dream.

“matt, i need you.” and that was all i needed to pull the straps of her bikini down and to be fucking blessed with the most beautiful pair of tits i’ve ever seen. it was better than i imagined, her nipples as hard as ever, ones i was eager to take into my mouth and so i did.

i worked on both of them, switching every now and then, making sure they got equal love, squeezing the opposing tit too. the little moans that left her mouth when i sucked and pulled on them made my dick twitch in my pants and was enough to make me pull away from her boobs and drag her panties down.

she sits up, unbuckling my belt and throwing it to the floor all while remaining eye contact with me as i look down at her, ready to pound her into the bed. i needed to see her squirm under my touch, fill her up.

“my turn.”

okay so i’m literally evil and i’m making a PART 3 !! because i wanted to get this out today but i’m tired andddd i wanna make really fckin good smut bur hope y’all like the switch up!!

449 notes · View notes

br4tphobia · 1 year

Note

twinnem!! give me the top three times ony everrrrrr made his girl squirt!! like…….the top 3 most toe curling body jiggling eye rolling times hes made his boo buss it the FUCK open

AAA hey mama twwinnnn !!!! 🤭🤭 — omg its giving squirt contest ???!?!??! (scold me if this isnt to ur liking . 😞😞😞)

minors dni pls 😭

#1 .. your first time, telling him you never squirted 🤷🏾‍♀️

"are you serious.?" his tone is in disbelief, shocked by your words. "yes onyann!" — "You wanna try it? itll feel good, baby." "fuck it, sure.." next thing you know you find yourself exposed infront of your boyfriend, legs held up as he fingers you. “cmon mama.. you got it..” his voice is hushed in your ears, kissing and sucking on your neck. squirming around his fingers roughly abusing your walls, the pad of his thumb brushing on your clit every few flick of his wrist. he was determined to complete his task, nothing else was on his mind. your whimpers n moans are louder by the second, something overwhelming n heavy coming. the feeling of your pussy getting wetter and fluttering around his fingers, your body gets weaker, not being able to hold your legs up like onyan had warned you. slowly lowering your legs, his lips leave yours with his other hand wrapped on your neck, “hold em, baby.” he warns you with a light squeeze. — “f-fuck im sorry papa..!” more and more aching thrusts to your poor pussy that overwhelming feeling approaching you again, knowing what you hopefully thought was gonna happen “papa..papaa!” gripping on his biceps when you finally break. “there you go mama, doesnt that feel good?” cooing in your ear with a couple slaps to your wet cunt blocking your juices splashing on his abdomen a few times. “yes.. oh my god..” “told you.”

#2 ony punishing you for actin out 🤭

“lost that attitude.” his tone is warningly, swiping n typing whatever on his phone. “shut up talkin to me. pissin me the fuck off..” — “bet” you smack your lips with a roll to your eyes. “youre going to do..?” waiting for a response from the man paying no attention to you, all was heard was pure silence which was loud. “just keep that same energy.” meanwhile… “shittt .. im sorry papa!” your voice cracks at his mean pace — “shut that shit up mama.” your head was pushed into the mattress, your pussy aches fro m multiple orgasms in a row but it feels so good, face down your ass up, drool seeping out the corner of your moth, hair being pulled to go deeper in your guts, clawing at the sheets, not being able to do anything but curse n moan while he destroy yo shit. a harsh slap goes to your ass, ripples displaying from constantly being pushed back into his lower abdomen. due to loss of balance you lean off the bed a bit, “aht, where you goin?” — “nowhere baby, oh my godd” whining at his words, regretting your actions. he grabs you by your next to hold you in place, more and more fast, harsh stinging strokes piercing your insides he triggers that one spot. “slow down oya— fuuck!” silent screams leaving you breathless as you gush all over his dick, his pelvis glistening from your liquified orgasm. “mhm~..shit..” stroking you deep to spark more out of you. “might js forgive you for that..but you can give me one more, right?” “wait baby fuck.. shitshitshit” another slap to your ass, cursing n whining at the pleasurable pain. “i asked you a question, answer.” “yes! i can papa..” “thats what i like to hear.”

#3 a lil intimate moment with ony pounding up into you while u ridin 😋

“just like that mama..fuck you ride this dick so good..” moaning n groaning all up in eachothers ear, his hands gripping on you ass with your arms wrapped around his neck. your breasts bouncing beautifully in his face, taking one into his mouth. your nipple leaving the warm wetness soon with the pressure put on your back. his arms wrapped around your waist causing your breath to hitch,, “relax..let papa feel on his pretty girl, yeah?” “mm.. kay.” mumbled through you being lost in the pleasure. onyan tightens his arms around you and starts bucking his hips up, “baby! mphh!” burying your face in the crook of his neck to lower your pornographic sounds, “let me hear you, princess.” the instinct to lift your head up just like he asked took over, your loud moans filling his ears. “papa im gonna—“ cut off my your explosive orgasm. still being fucked through it roughly, dripping onto the silk sheets on the mattress, covering the both of you in your own juices. “makin’ a mess for me?” “m’sorry baby…” , “nono it ain nothing new, so why apologize?” “boy..”

#˗ˏˋ꒰ val you got a message ! 🫂 ꒱#onyankopon #aot onyankopon #onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon x reader #onyankapon #onyankopon smut #attack on titan #snk smut #aot smut #aot imagines #attack on titan smut #﹕🪽・vals drabbles ! ・✩#⟢﹒💙﹕mama twin val !

2K notes · View notes

livingemkayde · 11 months

Text

carousel

neighbor!joel miller/dbf!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: Rated 18+, CONSIDER THIS YOUR COMMUNITY LABEL minors please dni, smut, age gap, oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v, praise kink, light choking, dom!joel, dirty talk, pet names. can you tell i have a thing for car sex. Probably more but…yk.

a/n: im so grateful you guys are giving me the opportunity to share my writing with a huge community. I cant thank you enough. This has been an outlet for me emotionally that i never anticipated. I love writing and i love love love reading your feedback. just for all the love you get double the smut. thank you again. please enjoy.

if u wanna listen to a song while reading, Let The Light In by ldr was playing while i wrote this lol. apple music spotify

wc: 5k (jesus)

this is apart of my small dbf!joel mini series, read the previous parts here:

part i part ii part iii

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

He pumps his cock with your slick on his hand, moving so it's trained at your aching entrance — his hand shoots out above your head and braces himself on the car door. “Fuckin’ in the car like teenagers,” he grunts, running his tip along your clit. “Please Joel,” you whine. You don’t know if you can take it any longer. Joel squeezes the tip in, your walls accept him graciously, the desire to be filled overwhelming your senses. He slides in slowly. You whine for him to go faster. “Need you — please, just —” “Shut up — fuck — not gonna last,” he groans into the crook of your neck.

You try not to think about Joel — somewhere in the back of your mind you know it’s dangerous that he occupies so much of your brain at all times.

But you really can’t help yourself.

Especially when his stares linger a bit too long.

Or when your dad makes burgers and Joel’s thigh grazes against yours under the table.

And definitely not when his hands find your waist when everyone is shuffling around the kitchen, putting dishes away.

And it might physically hurt to ignore him when Sarah convinces you to run into the ocean at midnight and he’s waiting with towels for you on the deck — his hands brushing your ass when he wraps the towel around your body.

You thought you might have been doing an okay job at it, until you find yourself outside his bedroom door, contemplating knocking. You really didn’t want to seem desperate. But the tug in your lower stomach sends you forward, bracing your hand to knock.

You look to your left, Sarah's room is at the end of the hall and your dad’s is around the corner. You tiptoed through the dark hallway to get some water and you couldn’t help but walk past his door — to your surprise the light was on — seeping out under the door into the hallway.

You hear him moving. And the light turns off at your feet. You gasp and move back. But he opens the door, and catches you outside his room.

He meets you with a curious face. You read the silent question etched into it.

What are you doin’?

You shake your head, attempting to convey an overall I wasn’t doing anything vibe but he gives you a knowing look that makes you blush.

He nods his head towards the stairs and moves past you.

You follow his figure. He’s wearing pants that hug his hips and a t-shirt. He’s very simple. Yet he’s very Joel, and you can’t take your eyes off him.

He leads you into the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge, you sit at the table.

When he joins you, it’s almost like you’re both too scared to make any noise, you sit in silence, watching him as he tips the beer, sipping it, while keeping his eyes trained on you.

You aren’t dressed for the occasion, and it's a bit cold, but you don’t think he minds.

“I was just getting some water,” you manage to get out, your voice a bit hoarse.

“Sure,” he replies, tipping his beer towards you, chuckling a bit.

“What? I was,” you say defensively.

“Your room was the other way,” he notes, shrugging.

You blush and try to hide your face.

“Whatever.”

“S’alright, baby,” he says coolly — like his words don’t shoot down right to your core, “Just didn’t know you were so needy.”

“Fuck you,” you mumble, a laugh crinkling your eyes, “You’d like that,” you bite.

He laughs too.

“Maybe I would,” he says.

A few beats pass. There’s enough tension at the table you could cut it with a knife.

“You wanna tell me?”

“Not really,” you tease him with a smirk, “I was just surprised you were awake is all,” you say when he doesn’t respond, leaning back in your chair.

He lets out a huff and downs the rest of his beer.

“Could say the same ‘bout you.”

“I’ve got some things on my mind,” you say sheepishly, teasing.

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“What things?”

You stand, stalking towards him, he parts his legs to let you slot yourself in between his thighs. He looks up at you.

��Don’t be an ass,” you mumble while looking at his lips, “You know what things.”

“I don’t play guessin’ games.”

“I’m not playing any games,” you quip back.

Something in your tone switches the conversation.

It sort of stops Joel in his tracks. He looks up at you, and then his hand finds your hip, pushing against the bone. His fingers dip into your shirt, rubbing over the bruise he pushed into your skin from earlier — he bends to place a chaste kiss to the bruise. It makes your breath hitch. You think he might push you away, or tease you for being bratty with him. But he looks up at you with caramel brown eyes.

“On your knees then,” he says, stone-cold.

Your eyes widen, and you look around the kitchen in shock even though you know you’re alone with Joel.

He looks up at you — maybe a little shocked that you comply so quickly without putting up a fight. But you were a goner the second you walked by his room and your body is dropping in between his legs before you know any better.

Your knees hit the floor and you sit back on your heels, settling in between his feet.

He groans and pushes forward to rest his elbows on his knees, looking down at you. One hand grabs your face, tilting it up so you’re looking at him. The hold on your jaw squishes your cheeks a bit.

“You want it?” he says.

Your eyes intuitively look down to his zipper.

You nod.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” you let out as best you can with his hand on your jaw.

“Fuckin’ dirty girl,” Joel groans. His hand keeps your jaw in place, the other undoes his belt and frees his cock.

“Thought ‘bout me all night, huh?”

You nod out of habit.

“What I just fuckin’ say?” he shakes his head, the hold on your jaw comes down to your throat, squeezing gently.

“Yes — yes,” you say quickly.

You look down to his cock again, the tip of it gleaming with precum. It sends a white heat straight to the apex at your thighs.

“Please,” you whimper, looking up at him, “Can I?”

Joel can’t resist you. You both know that much.

“Alright,” he drops his hand from your throat. “C’mon princess.”

He leans back slightly. You spring to your knees, not waiting for his permission, and take the tip of his cock into the heat of your mouth. The saltiness of it hits your tongue and you whimper around his length. It makes him groan.

“Shit.” you hear him curse above you.

He gathers your hair, raking it up into a mess at the top of your head. You suck and lick his tip, teasing him a bit before he gets impatient and pushes your head down. You don’t mind his advances, bracing your tongue for his length.

But he’s big.

Bigger than the few you’ve had — and you choke when he hits the back of your throat. You brace yourself on his thigh, trying to take the little he’s pushing you down on.

“You can take it baby, c’mon. Slow.”

His words shoot straight down to your cunt. You try but you’re not used to his length.

“Chokin’ on it, c’mere —” he makes a move to pull his cock from your mouth but you whimper and slide in more across your tongue. He groans, “— fuck, baby.”

You want to take more. You know you can take more.

“Doin’ so good,” he grunts when you swallow more of him, “Fuck — you —”

Joel's hand holding your hair moves to your face. He runs his thumb across your cheek. It makes you look up at him through your lashes. His praise rings in your ears, and you can feel your hot slick dribble down your thighs.

He stares at you taking him — mouth slack with lust. His rich drawl, velvet, coaxes you down further.

“Goddamn angel —” he moans, “— so fuckin’ perfect.”

His head tips back in pleasure when you take what doesn't fit in your mouth into your hand.

He wipes the tears that spring from your efforts away with his thumb, looking at you kinda sympathetically.

“Attagirl, fuckin’ made f’me, baby,” he whispers. You look up at him again, because it sounds like he might actually mean that. You press your thighs together at the thought.

His words become quiet whimpers mixed with groans as you bob your head, steadily taking more — replacing your hand with your mouth.

“In your fuckin’ throat,” he hisses out when your nose brushes against the mess of hair at the base.

He slots his fingers through your hair, his hands, frantically touching you anywhere he can scramble to.

When Joel goes silent you know he’s close. His soft breath becomes pants above you.

When he grips your hair hard, you know he’s teetering on the edge and who are you to deny him?

His hips slightly cant towards your mouth, chasing his high, and he spurts down your throat in hot succession. He lets out a string of curses followed by your name. It makes you blush as you swallow.

You release his cock from your mouth, sinking back onto your heels as you rest your cheek on his thigh. His breath rises and falls and you watch the place where his heart should be rhythmically moving.

“Don't fuckin’ look at me like that,” he says, shaking his head and trying to avert his eyes. You look up at him, lazy, the slick between your thighs is enough to put a tortured look through your brows.

His thumb wipes your chin, some cum dragging across your swollen lips, and sticks his thumb back into your mouth as you suck it clean.

“Jesus, baby.”

“What?” you smile back at him.

Joel looks down at you, resting against his knee, in between his legs, your eyes lidded with lust and exhaustion.

He bends down to kiss your lips, and then your forehead, whispering into your skin —

“You’re killin’ me.”

Everyone takes it easy the next morning, Sarah dips into the ocean in the afternoon, you help your dad with lunch.

It's uneventful but it's nice.

Your dad suggests going to the boardwalk for dinner, which you all agree to, Sarah wanted to check out the rides there.

You slip into a dress, your dad said the restaurant was a bit fancy. You’re just grateful you brought a dress in the first place. You meet everyone downstairs, Joel looks up at you descending which makes you laugh a bit. It’s sort of like prom when you first come down the stairs and your date is waiting for you. Or like he’s prince charming and you’re Cinderella.

But you get snapped out of that trance quickly.

“Ready to go kiddo?” your dad says, moving towards the entrance.

You smile at him, Sarah comes to your side, linking arms and goes on about how there's a ferris wheel and carousel on the boardwalk, across from the beachfront restaurants.

You all pile into the truck, Joel in the driver’s seat. It's a short walk but it’ll be easier to drive with so many people.

Your dad was right, the restaurant is a bit fancy. And it feels like you’re suffocating when you sit down across from Joel, Sarah at your side. He looks up at you — you blush and smile to yourself, opening the menu. It’s far too formal for the four of you, but it’s a nice change. And you like seeing Joel in a button down.

Dinner drowns on — you aren’t really paying attention to much because Joel’s foot keeps bumping into yours. Maybe it’s accidental. Or maybe it's a silent plea.

Sarah’s voice snaps you out of it.

“Please dad?” she asks, having cleaned her plate.

You remember them talking in the truck, Sarah saying something about meeting a few friends her age on the beach.

“They down near the rides?” Joel says, gruff.

“Yes, dad. Like I’ve told you a million times,” she rolls her eyes and Joel laughs a bit, waving her off with a twenty and telling her to be safe and get back by midnight.

The two men turn their attention back to you.

Joel’s foot knocks into yours again and you shoot him a look — though he doesn’t seem to be paying it much attention. You’d be lying if you said the uncertainty of his touches left you completely unbothered.

You finish dinner with a coffee, the men have their drinks.

You can't really think about much else until your dad's voice snaps you out of it.

“So, what do you think?”

But he's not talking to you. He's talking to Joel.

“What do I think ‘bout what?” He asks.

“Dude—” your dad is sipping at his whiskey, “Theresa?”

Doesn’t seem like appropriate conversation when you’re present but that doesn’t really cross your mind because who the fuck is Theresa?

“Uh, yeah she’s nice, man,” Joel says awkwardly.

Nice?

“Nice?” your dad scoffs, echoing your sentiment.

Your dad looks over at you — “Been tryin’ to set Joel up with a lady,” he says, explaining. But it feels more like a punch in the face. Your eyes widen, you choke a little on your coffee.

“Oh,” you say. Joel doesn’t meet your eye, “She from the neighborhood?” you inquire, thinking about the woman from the barbecue.

Your dad nods.

“She’s a teacher,” he says. “You probably met her at the barbecue.”

He turns back to Joel.

“She likes you dude,” your dad says. “Think she’d be good for you.”

That feels less like a punch in the gut and more like you got roundhouse kicked in the face and slammed into the ground. You try not to let it get to you.

“Just don’t know if I’m lookin’ right now,” is all he says in reply. You try not to look at him, but your brain subconsciously makes an effort for you, peering up at him through your lashes. He catches your eye quickly — and drops it in just as much time.

Your dad grunts in response, waving down the waiter to get the bill.

“What ever happened to that Liam kid?” he says, talking to you now.

“Oh,” you reply kinda absentmindedly. You haven't really thought of Liam in a couple days. His texts remain unopened in your phone.

“Nothing,” you shrug.

“Hm, nice kid though,” your dad claps Joel on the back, “Ain’t you think so?” he says, talking to Joel now.

“Sure,” Joel lets out in his rich drawl.

Another tap on your foot.

Joel’s eyes stare into yours but he doesn’t look angry — it's more of an expression you can’t read.

He isn’t mad right?

“Yeah,” you say, the conversation dying down.

Your dad doesn’t see your stolen glances.

“Why don’t you go with Joel, kiddo?” he says, fishing bills out of his wallet.

“What?” You ask, shocked.

“Need to handle some work-things back at the house, but I heard the boardwalk here is nice at night,” he nods over to the exit.

You look at Joel tentatively. He nods towards the exit, giving your dad a handshake while you follow him outside.

The cool air hits you. You shiver a bit, wrapping your arms around yourself.

You fall into a steady stroll towards the boardwalk. You can see the lights from the ferris wheel a couple hundred feet ahead of you, the ocean water shining under the moonlight as you walk along the coast.

You look over at Joel, his hands digging into his pockets.

“Good dinner?” you ask, smiling.

“Mhm,” he says.

You settle into the night, walking towards the carousel lighting up the center of the boardwalk.

“C’mon, Joel,” you say, looking towards the small line waiting to get on. The lights shine a white-yellow — lighting up his eyes in the darkness. Kids scream. Adults laugh. It’s a bit too perfect.

He looks at you and huffs. Almost like a no is already trained on his lips from habit. But when he looks at you, he stops himself.

“Alright, c’mon,” he grabs you by your hand, interlacing your fingers and steps in line.

The previous ride ends quickly, Joel steps on the platform first, helping you up, extending his hand.

You both sit on one of the benches meant for parents. He drops an arm around you, like it’s second nature. You snuggle into it.

“Haven’t been on one of these in years,” he says when the music starts and the platform begins to spin. Some kids run by, trying to claim the best animal.

“Me too,” you say in reply.

You remember the last time you’d been on a carousel. Your dad and Joel organized a day trip to the state fair — though it feels like forever ago — during high school.

“State fair, remember?” You say, hesitant.

“Yup,” he squeezes your shoulder.

“Didn’t think you ‘member,” he continues.

“Of course I do,” you look at him, he meets your eye. “You gave me my first sip of beer.”

You wonder if that might strike a nerve. It’s more than a loaded statement — a bomb already counting down.

He huffs a laugh.

“Now look at you,” he says.

“Yeah, all grown up or something,” you say, teasingly.

“Or something’,” he echoes, with a huff, not meeting your eye.

A few moments pass.

You see a particularly pretty horse out of the corner of your eye. You begin to stand on the moving platform, Joel scrambles for your waist.

“The hell are you doin’?” he grabs you, standing.

You look back at him, entranced by the light circling his face. It looks perfect — he looks perfect. Picturesque. Hallmark. Like it could be a movie scene. Maybe in another life he would kiss you — with the horses spinning around you, the night sky staring down when he kisses you like nothing else matters.

But you know Joel.

And you know putting his arm around you was pushing his boundaries.

“C’mon,” you pull him towards the horse that caught your eye.

He grunts but follows you.

You get on, both legs on one side, stumbling a bit on the way there. But you’re having fun, and Joel is here and he doesn’t want to leave.

He stands next to the horse, looking up at you.

“Havin’ fun?”

“Loads,” you smile at him, he smirks back, hiding his face when you touch the spot between his neck and his shoulder, squeezing.

“You look pretty,” he cuts through the music.

You try to hide your shock.

Pretty.

It's not like this with other guys. Sure, they've called you pretty, some even called you beautiful. But with Joel, you feel like he really means it.

It also shoots down to the white heat building in your stomach.

“You clean up nice, Miller,” you say with a blush.

The ride ends, you both settle, walking through the boardwalk. A breeze rushes through, it sends a chill up your spine.

You wrap your arms around yourself to trap some heat even though your efforts are fruitless.

But Joel notices.

“Got a jacket in the truck. C’mon,” he says, turning to walk back to the truck parked near the beach.

You follow him.

It might even be on instinct, but you snake your hand through his, interlocking your fingers while your other hand holds onto his arm where the crease of his elbow is.

You don’t see him smile.

When you get to the truck he opens the back door, leaning in to grab his jacket out of the backseat. He wraps it around your body. The smell instantly fills your nostrils and shoots down to your core. It’s his heavy work jacket and it’s entirely too big for your small frame but you like it — love it.

When you finish putting it on, he looks at you, still standing by the open car door. He leans back against the seat cushion, looking at you with crossed arms.

“A little big,” you giggle, showing him your hands which disappear into the canvas sleeves.

“Looks good on you,” he says with a smile.

You walk towards him, he wraps his arms around you.

“Thanks,” you say into his chest.

Joel hums in response.

A breeze pushes on your legs and you can feel your nipples pebble against your dress — you think Joel can feel it too if his sudden stiffness is any indication.

You adjust in his arms, slotting yourself between his legs.

You can feel him.

“Kiss me,” you say, looking up at him.

“We’re in public,” he doesn’t look down at you, but you can see the muscle in his jaw tick. You don’t know why he’s being withholding. No one is nearby — Joel’s truck is the only one left in the parking lot.

“Please?”

“Not now.”

His tone might suggest he doesn’t actually want to kiss you. But his cock pressing hard against your stomach tells a different story.

“Joel,” you whine, wriggling against him.

“Quit,” he says.

You try to stop moving. But the feeling of him, hard, against you, makes your cunt throb.

He stops you before you make any decisions.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t even do anything.”

“Know you’re thinkin’ of somethin’,” he says, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Needy,” he complains.

You’re about to drop it. But his hand snakes around your waist under his jacket. The movement hikes your dress up, his hand resting on your low back.

You are — needy.

But you just need him.

“Joel,” you say, giving him a warning.

“What, baby?” he says, teasing.

“Please.”

Not a question — a statement.

A plea.

Joel looks down at you for a couple seconds. Then he taps your ass towards the inside of the truck.

“Get in,” he moves so you can crawl in first, spinning around when you get to the other side of the truck’s backseat, shucking off his jacket and hiking up your dress. He crawls in after you, shutting the door.

He’s quick with his belt, undoing his jeans in a frantic fashion — pulling his tucked shirt out of his pants. His cock is free before you have the chance to pull down your panties.

Joel pushes your dress up more, revealing your underwear. He plays with the straps a bit, before pushing them to the side roughly. The sudden movement causes them to rip a little.

“Joel!” you say, as he grabs your panties and stuffs them into his pocket.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he pants, sucking a mark into your hip.

His fingers find your core as you lay down along the back seat, opening your legs, your thighs covered with slick. Joel’s thick fingers slide through your folds. His breath hitches and he lets out a curse to find you soaking wet, staining your legs.

“Fuck baby, you didn’t…?” he trails off, referring to after you had his cock in your mouth and he told you to get some rest.

You shake your head. “Waiting for you,” you pant, breathless.

“Christ,” he groans, playing a thumb on your clit as you writhe under him. “This all for me?”

“Yes — Joel — you,” you say through moans.

He pumps his cock with your slick on his hand, moving so it's trained at your aching entrance — his hand shoots out above your head and braces himself on the car door.

“Fuckin’ in the car like teenagers,” he grunts, running his tip along your clit.

“Please Joel,” you whine. You don’t know if you can take it any longer.

Joel squeezes the tip in, your walls accept him graciously, the desire to be filled overwhelming your senses.

He slides in slowly. You whine for him to go faster.

“Need you — please, just —”

“Shut up — fuck — not gonna last,” he groans into the crook of your neck.

“God—” you moan when he slides home, his hips pressing into your thighs.

Joel can feel you pulsing around him. You’re dangerously close already.

The windows gather condensation from your combined pants.

You try to angle your hips up to meet him, fucking him back as he thrusts slowly, but that makes him groan more.

“Jesus Christ, baby,” he says, his thick drawl wrapping all through the truck, stoking the fire burning in your low belly.

You want more — no — need more.

You push his chest back. He looks at you confused but compiles. He sits back in the seats, you straddle him, pushing his cock towards your entrance.

You look at him. He stares back in awe.

“Baby—” you cut him off by sinking down on his cock, the tip sneaking past your entrance. He lets out a strangled groan.

You take him, inch by inch, feeling his girth stretch you out in an entirely different way at this angle.

“Fuck, feel so good, Joel,” you settle on top of him, both of your chests panting against each other as you grind your hips a bit. “So deep,” you moan out, cockdrunk.

His hands find your waist and hips, begging you to move — to do anything. You look down to his jacket on the seat. His work jacket. That he wears around the neighborhood. You’re not sure why but your dad’s comments about Theresa enter your mind.

“Do you have a crush on anyone in the neighborhood?”

“What?” he asks with a grunt. “I’m literally inside you.”

“I know, but…”

You shift a bit in his lap, the movement makes both of you moan out.

“Said she’d be good for you,” you manage to get out.

“Don’t really remember her,” he whispers, trying to push his hips into you. “‘N don’t agree.”

“You don’t like her? — ah —” you start rocking on his hips, chasing a high that's settled in your stomach on instinct.

“No,” he fucks into you, chasing his own.

“Then what do you think?”

His eyes dart up to yours, holding your gaze for the first time tonight, not breaking it or looking away.

“Think I like you,” he breathes into your cheek.

He says it with such a genuine tone even though he’s deep inside you. It makes your stomach do a flip, finding the urge to ride him incessant through your loud thoughts of what could be. When he says things like that it’s hard to ignore it any longer. When he looks at you like that you know you’re completely done for.

“Fuck —” you say, clenching around him.

You ride him, the notion of his words settling in your chest and pushing you towards your release quicker than you thought possible.

You’re coming before he can respond.

“Oh my — fuck, Joel,” you whine.

“That’s it, attagirl — fuck,” he goes silent, chasing his own high as you relax around him.

His hands urge you to continue moving. He kisses you, like a man starved. All your silent begging through the night erupting with one kiss as you come down from your high. It's like he was telling you at the restaurant — be patient and at the carousel — just wait.

Your stomach tightens at the feeling of his breath on your neck, sucking and biting and just smelling your skin.

You continue to ride him through your post orgasmic haze. He chases his own release like he's done the whole night.

“Oh baby — I —” he groans when you nip at his earlobe.

“Please Joel, wanna feel you,” you whisper into his ear.

He groans at that, pushing you down by your hips faster, you grind against him, a piece of clay destined to be molded to his body perfectly.

“Jesus — fuck,” he groans, wrapping his arms around you, sinking his teeth into your neck, and coming inside you with hot hands running over your back.

When he relaxes under you, he presses soft kisses to your temple, you tremble from the thought of his hot slick oozing out of you through the night.

“Did so good for me, such a good girl,” he whispers into the dark truck.

You slump against him, he holds onto you.

His words ring in your ears.

Think I like you.

You smile when you look at him.

“What?” he asks, a smirk on his lips.

“You said you like me,” you chide, teasing him.

“Shut up,” he breathes, laughing a bit.

“Don’t worry,” you kiss him, “I like you too.”

taglist! (comment or message me if you would like to be added) kisses to you all:

@nostalxgic @iluvurfather

@thatgirlpeaches @prettyangelsthing @loreleiintheskye @ghostofjoharvelle @vickywallace @nevertrustapanda16 @crocodiile @lovely-ateez @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @expir3dl0v3 @koshkaj-blog @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @smol-beb @bbyanarchist @evyiione @dlwrish @mishala005 @mxtokko @faeriemel @caatheeriinee07 @virgils-left-hoodie-string @sorry--for-the-mess

879 notes · View notes