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some-bunniii · 3 months

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My Charming Red Savior [1]

・❥ You’re harassed by a man following you down the street. Luckily, a rather smiley demon swoops in and claims to be your husband.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

x: no use of y/n. i said this was going to be short and I lied, it’s about 6k words.

warnings: mild swearing

Warning! Battery at 1%! Device will power down in 3..

You stared down at the phone in your hands as the message lit up on the screen. Eyes widening, you quickly tapped the screen, trying to bypass the pop-up and get another glimpse at the digital map you were using.

2…

“Hold on now! Just let me see where I'm going, please!” You begged the small device, your grip tightening around it as you tried to figure out what direction you needed to go.

1..

You peered around the small pop-up. Okay.. Pete Ave was that way, which meant you needed to take a right after the stoplight and go-

Device powering down! Have a nice day :)

“Damnit!” You growled as the screen flashed once, and then faded to black. You squeezed your eyes shut, face lifted to the sky as you took a deep breath to center yourself.

“Move it, won’t ya?” A demon woman chastised as she hurried around you. Lowering your head, you realized you were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, your spot interrupting the flow of pedestrian traffic. Quickly, you backpedaled until your back hit a brick wall of a building.

It was getting late in Pentagram City, and that meant you needed to hurry to get to your friend's place before the worst inhabitants of Hell came crawling out.

She had just gotten married and moved into a rather quaint little home, and you were very happy for her. You had not seen it yet, just in pictures she had shown you on her phone and the one time you drove past it.

“Oh, pleaseeee won’t you come over tonight? I can’t wait to show you all the renovations we’ve done! It looks so much better since we bought it.” She had begged over the phone that afternoon.

You had stood there, your nails clicking against the countertop in your kitchen as you thought. You had nothing important going on, just some light cleaning and shopping. What was the harm in going over there and visiting?

“Okay, sure. Yeah, I can come over.” You finally spoke.

“Ahh! I’m so excited, we’ll have a big dinner and everything. I can even rent a movie for us to watch, what are you into again? Those sappy romance flicks?”

“Whatever you want to watch, it’s your milestone we’re celebrating. I’m not the one picking.”

“Geez, you know how hard it is for me to decide things like that! But, i’ll do it. Oh! Before I forget, could you stop by the store on your way and get some Cajun seasoning? It’s for the meal!”

“Of course. I’ll see you soon.” You had told her, before hanging up. Eyes moving to the clock, you realized you two hours before needing to arrive. Which meant you had to get moving on those dishes and errands.

It didn’t take long before you were out the door. Wearing a nice outfit and new shoes, you strolled down the street. The digital map on your phone guiding you across the city as you moved.

Being so close to the city center, you didn’t have a personal vehicle. Instead, you took public transport all the way past the Entertainment District, your eyes gazing up at the rather tall VoxTek building as the bus sped by.

You didn’t know much about the Vees, other than they were very powerful Overlords with a lot of influence in the media industry. In fact, you didn’t know much about Overlords at all. Were they nasty demons? They must be, if they bartered in souls.

But there had to be better ones, right? You knew of the cannibal, Rosie, and despite her, well.. dietary choices, she seemed to be a rather motherly and courteous demon. In such a way that the residents of Cannibal Town held very high regards for her, which proved her ability to lead in a just manner. She couldn’t be the only one with a more ethical moral code.

Your mind lingered on that train of thought, before you were pulled back into reality by the bus driver’s call for your stop. Quickly, you had hurried out of the vehicle, before continuing your directed path forward.

You arrived at the large storefront, a cozy cottage-like building that whispered of deliciousness as the scents of spices and other meal-making goods wafted through the open door.

Taking a step inside, you quickly darted through the aisles, searching for the Cajun seasoning. What was your friend making tonight? You weren’t too familiar with these kinds of ingredients. Hopefully, it was going to be tasty.

When you found it, you turned it in your hands, inspecting the product. Yep, you’ve never seen this before in your life.

After paying for the item, you quickly departed. Your next destination set on your phone.. but not for long.

Just a few more blocks, and you’d have been welcomed by the two love-birds with open arms. A nice, hot meal and a good movie to finish the night.

Except, how were you supposed to get there now?!

Your phone was useless, and the digital displays around you showed nothing but advertisements and the latest news.

Frantically, you looked around for any familiar landmarks, hoping to rely on your memory to guide you. But the streets of Pentagram City, with their twisting alleys and repetitive buildings, all looked eerily similar in the dimming red light of dusk.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you tried to recall the route from memory. Pete Avenue, right after the stoplight, then… was it a left or a right at the next intersection? You berated yourself for not doing a better job at memorizing the way before you left.

Turning, you raised a fist at the VoxTek HQ building, cursing them for your suffering. Stupid technology and their shitty battery life.

Slowly, you started walking again. Past the neon signs beckoning you to take a glance at what they had to offer, past the girls on the corner who were calling out to you to come have a ‘good time’.

Sometimes, you wished you had someone else to lend a hand at times like these. But, your heart and your home were unimaginably lonely when it came to a romantic partner. It was something that others around you couldn’t stop pestering you about.

“You really need to get out more,” another friend of yours had said one day, while you two dined at a cafe, “there’s this new dating app, called ‘Ozzie’s Love Link’. Everybody is buzzing about it. You should totally give it a whirl!”

You had rolled your eyes at her suggestion, a dating app? Those things were practically a fraud. The demons on there either wanted sex, or their idea of a relationship was twisted and foul. You even had heard stories of people playing into sick traps of the perfect first meet, only to be murdered and left in an alley to rot.

“I want something real, not some.. temporary escape. Have you ever met anyone that’s actually found ‘The One’ through one of those things? And, who knows, maybe the demon of my dreams will just walk right into me one day.”

She had laughed at your words, holding a hand to her mouth to contain her giggles.

“Oh, you. You’re still hanging on to those silly stories of a Prince Charming, hm? C’mon now, this is the real world. Nobody is going to swoop in and save you, and then fall hopelessly in love with you. That's a fairy tale. You need to put in the effort.”

You shrugged. Maybe, she was right. Maybe, those stories you had digested were just fairy tales, meant to enrapture you with promises of the perfect life. You were in Hell, after all.

‘She just doesn’t understand,’ you reminded yourself, ‘all her relationships have been toxic. She doesn’t know any better.’

You weren’t going to let her judgments get to you, you could live your life however you wanted, with whatever dreams you chose.

As you walked down the bustling streets, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It was as if unseen eyes followed your every move, sending shivers down your spine.

‘Stop freaking out,’ you told yourself, ‘it’s just your imagination, there’s people all around you. They have their own lives, they’re not watching you.’

Nearing the curb to an intersection, you glanced up at the street sign. Pete Avenue, finally. Now, think. Left?

Looking left, you peer down the rows of strip clubs and bars. The crowds only got bigger from there, and there seemed to be no residential streets. You turned your head to the right, and it began to branch out into more domesticated buildings and neighborhoods. The farther your gaze traveled, the quieter the sidewalks became.

So, right it is.

You turned the corner of the block and kept moving, your pace quickening as you checked a large digital clock on the side of a building. It was getting closer to the time you had promised to be there.

But, now where were you supposed to go? You turned your head, until your gaze landed on a small imp standing near an alley, a cigarette between his lips.

Walking forward, you raised your hand up in greeting. “Excuse me, do you know where Magdalene Drive is, by any chance? I’ve just gotten a little turned around and would greatly appreciate some guidance.”

The imp regarded you for a moment, his eyes squinted in thought. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, and exhaled a large breath. A plume of gray smoke vented from his lips, and he coughed harshly.

“Yeah, I do. You see that big statue over there?” He pointed to your left, the cigarette hanging between his fingers.

Turning your head, you leaned slightly backwards. Off in the distance, a large marble statue depicting an unknown owl demon practically glowed against the darker backdrop. It seemed to hold resemblance to an Ars Goetia family member, but you couldn’t put a finger on who.

“Right when you pass it, take a left. Go two blocks straight, then take another left. One more block, and another right, and you’re on Magdalene Drive.”

Jeez, that was a lot of directions thrown at you in one sitting. Not wanting to pester the man any further, you waved a thanks and walked away.

How far have you come, exactly? You turned your head behind you, looking down the sidewalk of where you had just come from. Something flickered in your peripheral vision, a dark figure skirting from your gaze. Was someone watching you?

You shook your head. No, it’s just your imagination. Keep moving.

Slowly, you turned back and started walking. The sidewalks were practically empty now, the glow from the street lamps above you illuminating your path as you strolled up the large statue.

Twisting your head to get a better look at it, your gaze skimmed across the royal figure. The owl-demon was staring up at the sky, one arm raised with what seemed to be a ball of energy in his grasp. Swirls of gold marble laced the pearly white sphere. He was holding up, like it was an offering to Heaven.

Maybe, you’d come back later and take a look at the plaque below the statue. There had to be some significance, although you didn’t see yourself as a master of the fine-arts to te-

Crunch

What was that? That sounded like someone crushing a twig beneath their feet. You twisted to face behind you, and saw nothing once more.

‘Alright, this is getting a little freaky.’

You weren’t going to stop now though, you didn’t want any potential onlookers seeing you stalking the perimeter like a weirdo simply because your paranoia was having you hallucinate things.

Keeping your pace, you took a sharp left on the corner and continued down. How many blocks did that guy say? Two, if you could recall correctly.

That’s how many blocks you traveled, before stopping in your tracks. Which way did he say to go? Right? Left?

You rubbed your face with a hand, why did you suck so badly with directions?! If only you had charged your phone before you left, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Turning your head, you tried to figure out which way could be the correct one. There was nothing, though. It didn’t remind you of anything you’d seen when you had driven past her house.

“Hey, you lost?” A gravelly voice came from behind you. Eyes widened, you spun on your heel to face the stranger. He was tall, much taller than you. He sported scars running across his face, one eye half-lidded permanently from some kind of nasty wound.

He sported a dark leather jacket, with a thin sweater underneath. His hoodie was up, masking most of his features like a shadow. His skin was a dark red, and his eyes were a pale yellow. He seemed to be a Succubus demon, being too large for an imp.

There was no kindness in his tone or in his smile. Your brain screamed danger, you needed to get away from him. Quickly, you shook your head, trying to give him a well-meaning smile.

“No, i’m not! I’m just uhh- waiting for someone, they’ll be here soon anyway.”

“People that aren’t lost usually don’t ask strangers on the street for directions,” he chuckled darkly, “why don’t you tell me where you’re trying to go? I can give you a lift.”

As he closed in, you could smell the bitter taste of alcohol on his breath. You had to steel yourself not to recoil at his looming figure. Widening your smile, you attempted to not display any fear as he got closer.

“No, thank you. I would hate to bother you, my.. partner should be here soon, so you can continue on with your day!”

“Don’t you know this place ain’t safe for sweet dolls like you to be roaming alone? C’mon, let me take you to where i’m parked, i’m sure you’ll enjoy my company.”

You quickly stepped backwards, trying to widen the distance from this creep. It wasn’t until your back hit the wall of an abandoned storefront, did you realize you were trapped.

“I said no. I’m not some damsel in distress. Now, if you can excuse me, I need to keep going before it gets too late.”

You turned away from him, trying to break any kind of contact with the demon. Maybe if you kept your cool, he’d abandon his little mission.

That was until you felt his hand snake around your wrist, his grip tightening and pulling you to face him. In your state of shock, you dropped the bag containing the Cajun seasoning. You tried to tug your wrist free, but his yellow nails were practically digging into your skin, preventing your escape.

“What’s the rush, Doll? Scared i’m gonna bite or something? Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna harm you. I just want to show you a good time.”

Your eyes narrowed, gaze heated at the stranger. You frowned, glimpsing at his hand on your wrist in disgust.

“What are you doing? I don’t want anything to do with you, now let go of m-!”

“There you are, my dear!” A masculine voice exclaimed next to you. You felt the creep’s grip on your wrist loosen suddenly. His hand yanked away by another, and your gaze traced the light touch of unknown dark-red fingers gently taking your hand instead.

You snapped your head to the unfamiliar voice, taking in the sight of a second demon standing right besides you, a large grin on his face. He was tall, and he stood a little bit higher than the creep in front of you. His hair was styled in a cropped, angled bob, with an odd pinkish-red shade. Two small antlers protruded from the top of his head, and were those.. ears next to them too?

He was dressed rather formally, with a red pin-stripe coat adorned with a large black bow-tie. Over his right eye, you took note of the small oval-shaped monocle. He held a cane, with an odd looking end. The small oval in the center of it reminded you of an eye. He looked very dapper, like he was from a much older era.

His gaze was soft, as he looked at you. It wasn’t until his eyes snapped to the stranger in front did they take on a cold, dark glare. That smile never faltered, though.

Who was this guy? Why was he touching you? You felt the need to tear your hand from his grip as well.

Except, when he turned back to you, his eyes sent you a hidden message. Something like, ‘Go along with it, if you want to get rid of him.’

Seeing as you were stuck between two strange demons, with no idea what this new guy had in store for you, maybe it was a good idea to follow his silent command. Your hand went limp in his grip, and the deer demon raised it to his chest, patting it lovingly.

“Goodness, I leave for ten minutes to go pick up your favorite herbal tea and poof, gone! You are a slippery one, my sweet.” Static dripped from his voice, seemingly connected to the cane at his side. Was it some kind of microphone?

“Who are you?” The stalker questioned, backing up a step as he regarded the new face.

The red demon laughed, an audible ‘ha ha’, as if the creep just told a rather good joke. He extended his free hand in greeting, and the succubus only eyed the gesture with suspicion.

“The name is Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, sir, quite a pleasure. It’s rare for people these days to not recognize my face, although i’m sure it’ll become familiar soon enough.”

That ‘soon enough’ sounded quite ominous to you. And, was he some kind of celebrity or something? You didn’t remember him from anywhere.

“Well, do you mind? Me and the lady were in the middle of a conversation.” The succubus retorted, a slight growl in his tone.

“The better question is, do you mind, my good sir! Here I am, searching for my dear wife, only to see you bothering her on the corner!”

Wait a second, did this guy just call you his wife? You stood there, shocked, as you listened to the two bicker. Never would you think you’d hear that uttered from a man.

“Not only that, but touching her without her consent? My word, what degenerate behavior!” The demon, Alastor, continued. He shook his head in disapproval, an audible tsk-tsk coming from his lips.

“There was no harm in it, we were only having some fun. Ain’t that right, Doll?” The stalker turned to you, fire in his gaze as if daring you to speak.

You shook your head, your gaze snapping to Alastor. He watched you for a moment, before turning his attention back to the succubus.

“It seems your mother neglected to instill in you even a modicum of respect. If my wife weren’t here to witness, I'd be more than obligated to educate you on proper decorum.”

Something flickered in the creep’s eyes, and for a moment he looked almost afraid. After a moment, He sneered, eyeing you up and down. "I don't see a ring on her finger."

Alastor smirked, and gently lifted your hand forward for the demon to get a look at. His grin was that of triumph, as though he was showcasing a prized possession.

Your eyes widened at the sight, a gasp almost escaping your lips. On your finger, was a small gold ring. It was snuggled nicely around your digit, a perfect fit.

The Succubus leaned in, and so did you. Where the hell did that come from? That was not there a few minutes ago!

On closer inspection, you noticed something about the small band. Engraved in a tiny rose-gold font, was a single letter.

"There, now do you see?" Alastor's grin widened, his demeanor playful yet menacing. His eyes narrowed, as he waited for the demon's response. You felt the air crackle with some kind of energy, it was dark and cold. The hair on the back of your neck began to stand on its end, like static. Which one of the demons was doing that?

The stalker’s expression shifted from arrogance to confusion, then to frustration. He furrowed his brow, studying the ring intently as if searching for some kind of flaw.

Was he going to try and argue? The proof was there, albeit fabricated. Alastor dropped your hand, and instead snaked his arm around yours, locking you in place.

There was no argument didn’t, instead, the succubus took another step back. The demon straightened himself and shrugged, like the scene before him was not a bother, like his filthy plan wasn’t thwarted by the appearance of the powerful deer man.

“Whatever, I ain’t got time for this anyway. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lovebirds.”

As the man turned away, Alastor’s grin widened as he nodded his head. “Farewell, and may your endeavors be as futile as your manners!”

He turned to you, that dark look gone from his eyes as he gently tugged at your arm, still laced with his. “Now, my dear, shall we continue on our evening stroll?”

You nodded slowly, and together, the two of you turned away from the creep and began to walk. You had only made it a few steps before you heard the soft knocking of Alastor’s staff hitting the cement walkway. What was he doing?

Behind you, a strangled cry filled the silence, before a loud thump hit your ears. You jolted at the sound, did something just happen? It sounded like someone got hurt!

Right as you were about to turn your head to look at where the noises had emanated from, Alastor’s head snapped to you and you felt another gentle tug on your arm to turn your attention back to him.

You looked up at him, a smile forming on your lips as your nerves settled. “Thank you, for saving me, kind sir. I could have been a goner.”

“It was no trouble at all my dear, and please, call me Alastor. I was simply in the neighborhood and couldn’t just stand by and let that rapscallion manhandle you like that! Now, where are we off to, if I might ask?”

“Oh, well, Magdalene Drive! It’s a house right at the end of a street, my friend's place actually. She’s expecting me for dinner, that’s why I have this bag of…”

You became suddenly aware of the empty feeling in your hand. Did you forget to pick up the seasoning after you dropped it?! You groaned internally, your head hung in defeat. After all that, you didn’t have the one item you had taken this route to get.

Alastor raised an eyebrow at your reaction, and you quickly explained, “I needed to get Cajun seasoning for the meal they are making, but I dropped it when that.. man was harassing me! I’m terribly sorry, I have to go back and get it.”

Alastor only smiled, as usual, and shook his head. He waved his hand in a sweeping motion, brushing off your attempt to turn around.

“Nonsense! We don’t need to bother that poor soul any longer. Here, let me give you one from my personal collection!”

He lifted his free hand, and snapped his fingers. In a flicker of green light, a small spice jar landed in his palm. Your eyes widened, an amused smile gracing your lips as you watched the little trick. That was pretty cool. Was that the same kind of magic he used to secretly place the ring on your finger?

“Here you are! The best Cajun seasoning you can find in Pentagram City, my personal favorite. I was going to use it for something special, but it seems you are in need of it more than I.”

He lifted his hand toward you, and you took it gratefully. Lifting it to your nose, you inhaled deeply. It was an odd scent, one you couldn’t quite place, but it smelled quite delicious.

“Not many dishes require such flavoring, what is the meal you are having tonight?”

You shrugged, “I'm not really sure, to be honest. She didn’t say.”

“Hm, a pity. Have you ever tried Jambalaya? It is a rather magnificent dish, my personal favorite actually! My mother was quite the cook, indeed, and her craft would never miss when producing such delicacies.”

“No, I've never tried it before. What does it taste like?”

“It is hard to put a description on it. It’s almost like.. fireworkings popping off in your mouth! Ha ha, that is a good way to put it. You really must try it sometime.”

You smiled at Alastor as you listened to his words. Perhaps, you would.

“What got you into this pickle, anyway? Surely you didn’t actually feel like taking a stroll so late in the evening, hm?” He questioned as the two of you continued your pace, “a pretty face like yours will cause quite the stir amongst the filthy rats that like to inhabit this place.”

“Oh, well, I was using my phone for directions. It died on the way here, unfortunately I'm not familiar with this area and couldn’t find my way forward.”

His words finally processed in your brain. Did he just call you pretty? You didn’t get to think about that for much longer as his static-laced voice filled the air once more.

“Ah, of course. This new.. modern technology is nothing short of a fraud, if I do say. What ever happened to the old fashioned paper map? If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be so reliant on such faulty equipment.”

“Is that what your staff is? It looks like a microphone.” You said, pointing to the cane in his other hand.

Alastor glanced down to his cane, and then back to you. “Aha, a clever one indeed! Yes, my dear, I use it for my radio broadcasts!”

You perked at that. Radio? You had one of your own at home. Although it was quite dusty, you did occasionally turn it on to see what latest hits were circling around in the music industry.

“You do radio? That’s actually kind of interesting! Do you have a big audience?”

“Yes, indeed! Back when I was at my highest with it, I had many listeners. Unfortunately, my absence from Pentagram City has led to other forms taking the spotlight. I plan on rectifying that once I've settled in. Perhaps, you could listen in as well to see what I have to offer?”

You nodded at that, perhaps, you would listen in. He had a nice, pleasant voice. It felt like you could sit there for hours and just listen to him speak. Even if the words that came from his mouth was nothing but gibberish, you’d still let his voice drown out your thoughts.

“What about you?” The static dripping from his voice causes you to turn your head, “what do you do for a living?”

“Oh, well, I work at a men’s formalwear store. So, like tuxedos, dress shirts, and all that jazz. I help assist with fittings and greet guests, basically the doorgirl. Nothing too important.”

His ears perked slightly as he listened, and he turned his head to you. “Well, isn’t that interesting! Just recently, I had an awfully rude encounter with another demon, who had torn a piece of my suit. That slippery little serpent got away before I could.. question him about his antics.”

“That’s awful! Who was it?”

Alastor chuckled, rolling his eyes as he recalled the event. “Oh, nobody of importance, I assure you. Just some pretentious upstart fancying himself as an Overlord, with a knack for building rather ghastly creations of destruction. Since that encounter, I've been in the market for a fresh look. If a place of formal employs such splendid characters like you, I think it would be in my best interest to take a look in your establishment for a new coat”

Your eyes widened, he wanted to buy a new suit at your work because.. you were there? How charming.

Taking another glance at him, you realized he was rather good-looking. His red hair popped out against his much paler skin, it shined against the streetlights above. It looked rather silky and smooth, like you could comb them with your fingers and not find a single knot.

And those ears? They were pretty cute, actually. They stuck up from his head, and every so often they would twitch or shrivel in the direction of sudden noises. They seemed so soft too, would they feel as good as they looked if you were to squish them between your fingers?

He was a well-mannered gentleman, a pretty rare specimen in Hell. Not only that, but he stepped in to defend you from that creep when he could have simply walked by. He didn’t, and that made your cheeks heat up. Especially with the fact he called you his wife, instead of something simpler like ‘friend’.

What about when he called you pretty? Did he actually mean that? You never regarded yourself as such, but if Alastor thought that, maybe you cou-

“Is this the house?” Alastor’s words pulled you back into reality. You blinked, before looking up at the pale blue cottage snuggled nicely between two large Victorian homes. The talks you were having must have kept you from noticing the large distance.

“Yes! This is the place!” You exclaimed happily, finally, you were here. You turned to him, before looking down at your arm, still laced with his. Slowly, you pulled your arm free. The cold that replaced his touch was unwelcomed. Which felt odd to you, why did you want him touching you still?

You had only just met him, but perhaps his way of speaking and heroics swooned you enough to miss the warmth of his grasp. Lifting your head to meet his gaze, you tried to see what he was thinking behind that constant smile.

His eyes were unreadable, but the cold stare he had given the succubus, and to the other onlookers that you had occasionally passed was missing as he looked at you. There seemed to be a smile in his eyes, one that was meaningful and true.

“Well, I'm glad I could assist you in finding your way home, my dear. I quite enjoyed our chat, it is refreshing to hear from a new face once in a while. Especially one as eloquent as yours.”

You had to keep yourself from visibly blushing. He really was a gentleman in all regards. You bowed your head respectfully, before meeting his gaze again.

“The only reason why I'm here is because of you, Alastor. Thank you, and I do hope to run into you in the future. Our conversation was very interesting, I'd love to hear more of it sometime.”

He tilted his head at you, as he regarded your words. “Indeed, perhaps we will. Maybe, the next time we cross paths, I can give you a glimpse into my mothers recipe of Jambalaya. I’m sure your friend would be interested in trying something new the next time you sit down for dinner.”

You smiled at him, before waving goodbye. Turning towards the door you lightly rapped your knuckles against its wooden frame. It was then that you realized you never properly introduce yourself.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I never got to tell you, my name is-”

The words halted in your mouth, as you found the space in front of you empty. Alastor had vanished, not a single trace of his presence remained.

He was gone already? Damn, that guy moved quickly. Maybe, he was just a hallucination, a dream too good to be true. You stood there for a moment, before closing your mouth in thought.

Suddenly, the front door was flung open and a hand reached out and grasped your top. You turned your head just as you were yanked inside. Before you had time to blink, the door was slammed shut behind you. The window near it was shielded by curtains in seconds.

In front of you, your friend stood there. She was breathing heavily, a hand to her heart as if she just witnessed the scariest thing in her life. She quickly held your shoulders, scanning your body for any injuries.

“Oh my gosh! You’re lucky I pulled you in here quickly,” She exhaled a breath to calm her nerves, “You could have been that guy’s next meal!”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, an eyebrow raised at her strange demeanor.

“Alastor! The Radio Demon! Y’know, the guy that murdered all those overlords years ago?”

You raised an eyebrow as her words settled in your head. That demon was the Radio Demon? No way! He was such a gentleman, and rather pleasant too!

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not! I don’t know what happened between the two of you, hopefully not a deal, but you need to stay away from him. He’s nothing but a bad omen!”

You smiled, shaking your head at her antics. She was just being silly, Alastor saved you from potentially being kidnapped. You doubted he’d lay a finger on you in a harmful manner.

“Well, I brought that seasoning. Why don’t we go take a tour of the place, hm?” You said, pulling her away from the doorway and down the hall.

She nodded, her face lighting up instantly. “Yes, a great idea! I can’t wait to show you the kitchen, we replaced practically everything. The flooring is a beautiful marble tile and…“

She trailed off as her gaze shot to your hand, her eyes widening at the sight. Quickly, she grasped it, and pulled it closer to inspect it. You tensed, what was she doing?

“..what is that on your finger? I didn’t know you wore this kind of jewelry!”

Following her gaze, you turned your hand slightly to see what she was so enthralled about, and your eyebrows raised in surprise at the sight.

Still perfectly snug on your finger, was that gold ring Alastor had magically placed on you. You assumed that it would have dissolved or vanished when he left, but that small A still glimmered in the overhead light.

“I’ll explain it over dinner.” You simply replied, pulling your hand out of her grip and beginning to walk further into the house.

Your eyes kept landing on the golden band, though. Alastor not far from your mind as you listened to your friend fill you in on all the renovations. It was quite pretty, and it seemed to look great on you. For a moment, a rather odd thought crossed your mind, causing your cheeks to heat as you lamented over it.

Would it be so bad if you just.. kept it on?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

woah, first fic of Alastor! I thought he’d be the perfect guy for this scenario. i wrote the reader as sort of a hopeless romantic bc it’s the complete opposite of al and i thought it was funny

EDIT: Part 2 is coming!!

lmk what you think! :)

#Alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #Alastor #radioapple is my crack ship so it makes sense i give al and luci love on my blog lmao

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hier--soir · 8 months

Text

a lover's pinch | three

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel gets a little birthday surprise, and you get a little too drunk. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, pining, f!masturbation [barely], sending nudes, joel finally locks his office door, dirty talk, the slightest slip of possessive language, uh.. ahem.. biting, protected piv birthday sex, a messy dinner party, excessive alcohol consumption [i'm talking embarassing], irritating men, soft!joel. word count: 10.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: let the pining commence folks. hey siri, play brown eyed girl by van morrison. special thanks to @bageldaddy for the emotional support as i endured the labour that was the final hour of editing this. hope you guys enjoy! this is part three of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two.

Thursday.

A fortnight passes in the slow blink of a bleary eye.

Fall nudges Summer out the door, solidifying its presence in Maine with flaxen leaves and rolling grey clouds.

The rain comes at night. Rivulets of moisture that leak onto the windowsill, seep into the cracked wood there and fill your room with the sweet smell of petrichor. It clears before the sun rises most days, but you unpack of a box of sweaters and hang them in your closet, nonetheless. You enjoy communal coffees in the kitchen and try not to frown when the morning light doesn’t warm your legs the way it used to. Force yourself not to feel mournful when you get home one afternoon and find Pete on the sofa with a blanket over him.

And perhaps that’s why when you wake on Thursday to sunshine—to warm bed sheets, to blue sky, to bright whites and yellows coming through the window—you feel lighter. Start the day with a calm countenance that has you blinking sleep from your eyes and smiling drowsily as your fingers trail the windowsill and come off dry. You share a pot of coffee with Pete; let him explain soil vapour extraction to you for the fifth time. Listen, smile, nod, and don’t roll your eyes when he asks do you get it now? And when the time comes to get ready for the drive to campus, you are smiling. Shoulders loose, eyes bright.

It had been a tiresome couple of weeks.

As the middle of the semester drew closer, you’d spent days on end poring over a laptop with tired eyes and cramping fingers. Writing and editing—and then rewriting and re-editing—your first round of essays and analyses. Balmy afternoons spent nursing glasses of cheap wine with your roommates evolved to late night coffees alone in your room, eyelids drooping as you fawned over every word, every quote, every fucking comma – all of it for him.

Him who you hadn’t been alone with in almost fifteen days.

Him whose texts were seared into your memory, left unanswered on your phone.

Him who you could hardly look at during lectures, for fear of losing your train of thought.

Him who you were hellbent on impressing.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

And as busy as you’d been, it hadn’t stopped the stares. Brief, intimate glances from down the hall in the history commons. The flash of a knowing smile as you shuffle toward the exit after a lecture. The graze of fingertips against your elbow, muddling your mind as you rush to meet a text translation study group.

Watching, waiting, wanting – a near insufferable task since that afternoon in his office.

Late into the first week you’d discovered that, upon focusing hard enough, you could still feel the ache in your knees; the rug burns his carpet had left on your skin. And then you shoved the memory of it down; compressed it somewhere deep inside, hidden away until you had the chance to open it back up again, and take your time with him like you truly wanted to.

And it seems today was that day.

You stare out the window for a moment. Sip your coffee and rake in the greenness of the grass, the cloudless sky, the ray of sun shining across your bedroom floor – and decide you’ll wear a skirt to Joel’s seminar.

The pin on his shirt is blue.

Not cerulean, or baby, or steel.

Not like how the sky was blue as you drove to campus with your windows down. Not like clear turquoise waters on a white sand beach in Greece, or like a robin’s egg swathed in leaves and sticks. But a deep, rich colour. Royal blue. A folded circular pin, with two tassels coming out the bottom of it.

It’s the first thing you notice when you walk into the lecture hall – the thing your eyes snag on repeatedly as you wander towards the third row and tuck yourself into a seat. That vivid splash of blue against a plain white t-shirt. No buttons today; formal wear forgone in place of a simple tee that hugs the vast planes of his chest, snug against the thick span of his biceps. His arms are almost enough to distract you from the gaudy brooch.

Joel won’t stop moving at the foot of the room, pacing the same length of floor over and over again, waiting for the crowd to settle. Hands busy themselves at his waist, wiping a small square of cloth against the lenses of his glasses. A muscle in his forearm twitches with every swipe of fingers against glass, and the sight has a hazy flush rising in your neck. Despite yourself, you try in earnest to catch a glimpse of what the pin says. Bare thighs tensed in your seat as you tilt your torso forward, eyes squinting.

The last students wander in, and he’s shifting, sliding those glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and snatching the slide clicker from the desk. He offers a polite greeting to the room.

It doesn’t take long for someone to speak up. “Special occasion?”

Joel’s hands still, chin tilting down as he glances at royal blue and then back out at the group, a wry smile breaking across his face.

“Just a thing the faculty does here,” he clears his throat awkwardly, laughs a little. It’s a soft sound, his laugh. Tickles your ears and makes you want to smile in return. “Some of the others started it a few years back… they make everyone wear one on their birthday.”

A chorus of surprised well-wishes chime from around the room, and Joel waves them away with a broad palm, shaking his head.

Even from three rows back you can see the pink in his cheeks; the resistance in his eyes as he intercepts the kind words soaring in his direction. You recognise a shyness there, an unwillingness to be the centre of attention, and it surprises you. Joel always seems so confident, standing week after week in front of 30 odd people and talking for hours. But you suppose then he can hide behind his words; behind years of knowledge and study and practice. When it’s about him? He falters. Tries to hide. You almost want to curse at him for being so endearing. And maybe you would – if it wasn’t his birthday.

“Nah, none of that,” Joel tuts, shaking his head. “Let’s get started, alright?”

He claps his hands once, and the sound reverberates through the quietening room. The fabric of his pants clings to the meat of his thighs, tightening around muscle as he rests against the edge of the desk. You fight to keep your gaze on his face.

“Today we’re gonna start with talkin’ about the instigators in our parallel texts.”

And you try to listen, you really do.

Try to focus on his words as he talks, spouting thoughts about antagonists of war, about Helen and Menelaus, about Paris of Troy, but you can’t get past the spread of his thighs against the desk. The way his body moves when he finally rises, wandering to-and-fro across the space. How his thick thumb presses against the clicker in his hand, slides shifting on the wall behind him. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the rough spell of his drawl vibrating inside your mind, spinning it’s yarn, and tangling itself in the space where rational thought normally resides. Birthday. It’s Joel’s birthday. Your hands clasp in front of your face, knuckle snagged between teeth, biting down, clinging to some far reach of clarity; something to bring you back to the ground and halt the dallied trance you seem to come under whenever he’s nearby.

Birthday, birthday, birthday.

As he discusses the Judgement of Paris, your mind wanders to a teacher you had as a child. A stern woman in her sixties who was fearsome among the gang of six-year old’s you roamed in. One year it had rained on your birthday, a spitting storm of hail and thunder. And when you cried, she told you that it only rains on your birthday when you’ve been a bad little girl.

It was sunny the next year, but she wasn’t your teacher anymore, and there was no one around to praise you for how good you must’ve been that year. For how hard you must’ve strived to achieve such wonderful sunshine on your special day.

A wry smile splits your face, tucked into the back of your hand, for you know better than anyone else just how bad Joel has been. And yet today, for his birthday, the sun shines.

He steps closer to the front row of seats, and your eyes glean across the lettering on his pin; the words Birthday Boy laid out in gold. A huff of laughter escapes you, and then your eyes are drifting up, past tan skin and scruffy facial hair, to find Joel staring straight at you. Dark, intrigued eyes. Assessing you, undressing you. Frowning.

“Somethin’ to add?” he clips.

The smile slides off your face. “Sorry?”

“Do you have somethin’ to add?” he drawls, unimpressed. The words slow and paced out as if he were speaking to a fool. “You seemed amused.”

“Oh,” you blink.

You shift awkwardly in your seat, straighten up, aware of every set of eyes in the room on the two of you. Joel’s face is stony, unimpressed. It’s the first time he’s made direct eye contact with you since you stepped into the room, and he is… on edge, clearly.

“No,” you decide on the safe answer, tone firm. “Nothing to add.”

He stares for a moment and then nods. Mutters a stern Pay attention underneath his breath before returning his gaze to the rest of the room. You scoff quietly, and swallow down the stab of embarrassment his words bring. The feeling is sour in your mouth, like the seed of a lemon is stuck behind your teeth.

Two seats to your left you hear a poorly concealed titter. Turn your head to spot a woman, maybe a year or two younger than yourself, giving you a pitiful smirk. You arch an eyebrow. Mouth what?

She simply shakes her head at you and turns to look at Joel, all glossy lips and doting gaze as she listens to his continued ponderings about Menelaus' role in the Trojan War.

You watch her for a moment. Note the way she laughs at his jokes, smiles as he goes off on a mindless tangent about something you aren’t paying attention to; hanging onto his every word. And you wonder if this is how you look to other people when you watch him. Another stark-raving Maenad, thirsting and possessed by the spirit of this Bacchant of a man. The Roaring One. The one with bedroom eyes and cheeks like wine. Joel Miller; fraught, brooding, and willing to embarrass you in front of a room of your peers to feel an inch of the self-control you've so easily ridden him of. A Dionysian fit to oppose the doomed Bacchant inside of you, whose mouth foams and eyes roll in ecstasy at the mere presence of him.

He crosses the front of the room, back and forth, and you imagine him as a bull of a man. Golden locks and thorned head, thyrsus in hand as he commands the attention of an enthralled audience. Corrals them to follow him, to adore him. And yet the image you create is distorted at best, a watered-down version of the truth, for what spites you the most is that he simply… doesn’t have to try. There are no attempts to convince; no persuasion in his voice, no dishonesty necessary as the room swoons for him. As you yourself yearn for him. Covet his touch, his body, akin to that of a God’s.

And perhaps there is some immorality there, some gross misalignment of hubris, that yearns to reset the scale. To remind this man that indeed you have knelt before him, but he knelt for you first.

The thought has your thighs pressing together.

“Well, Juno hates Aeneas because she hates Trojans. And for that we have Paris to blame,” he answers someone’s question with a chuckle. Gains a few scattered laughs in response. “Because we all know how Juno feels about Paris.”

You rise from your chair, legs shifting before your brain can catch up. Take careful, tip-toed steps towards the exit. Joel’s eyes drift in your direction, curious gaze draping over the bare skin of your legs as he talks. Just for a second though, a split second, before he’s looking determinedly back to the room, and you’re disappearing from his line of sight.

“And so, she thwarts the Trojans every chance she gets,” his voice grows softer as you stray farther from the door, until it’s nothing more than a vague purr down the hall. You wander into the women’s bathroom and slip inside an empty cubicle.

Birthday, birthday, pay attention, birthday, they make everyone wear one on their birthday, pay attention.

Your brain is abuzz, nerves alight as you place your phone carefully atop the toilet paper dispenser. Trembling fingers graze the hem of your skirt, the warm skin of your thighs, and yes you’ve been wet since you saw him. Turned on from just the sight of him, the sound of his mellow voice, the idea that maybe, just maybe, today you will get to touch him again. You can feel how it clings to your panties, sweet soft warmth pooling out of you, a dizzying wetness that longs for Joel to come and find you. To take you in his hands, tilt you down to his parted lips, and drink it from the source.

Your fingers are cold against your skin. A delighted shiver swims down your spine as you graze them along the front of your underwear. Barely touching, hardly any pressure, simply grazing over the spot where your clit has begun to pulse. A little firmer now, you press against the thin material of your underwear, let it slip between your soaked folds. You bite your lip to contain a soft sigh, and smile as you feel how wet the material is getting. Once you’re satisfied you pull your hand away, leave a shimmering streak against your leg where you wipe your fingers, and reach for your phone.

Position one foot on the closed seat and rest your back against the cubicle wall, angling the phone between your spread thighs. Tilting your phone this way and that until the camera catches you in the perfect light; the flared material of your skirt bunched around your hips, the shiny smear across your inner thigh, the damp stain of slick against the front of your light blue panties. You take a few pictures. Trail your hand down your stomach and let it appear in some of them as well; fingers poised over the band of your underwear, just a tease. Finally content, you tuck your phone away, splash some cold water on your neck, and wander back into the lecture theatre.

Joel looks up when you walk inside. He’s seated behind his desk now, the room quiet as people jot down notes, eyes flitting between their laptops and the presentation displayed across the wall. Furrowed eyebrows and brown eyes shining with that barely-contained interest they always seem to hold when he looks at you these days. You offer him a nonchalant smile before turning your back to him. Sway your hips with exaggerated emphasis as you waltz up the stairs, slide back into your seat, and take your phone back out.

No one’s watching you now. Not your fellow Maenad, with her sharp judgemental eyes. Not even Joel. Your fingers dance their way into your text thread with him, and you select your favourite from the pictures.

You glance at the two lone messages in the thread, gaze lingering on the second message.

That can’t happen again.

Hesitation grips you, fingers hovering over the screen as you contemplate the seriousness behind the words. And then you hear him answer someone’s question, and the rough drone of his voice has you pressing send anyway.

Happy Birthday Professor x

You imagine you can feel the vibration of his phone. Feel it groan and shift in the pocket of his pants, screen lighting up. You wonder if he’s saved your name in his phone, or if a picture of underneath your skirt just popped up from an unsaved number. You try to focus on the article laid out in front of you. Stare at the messy under linings, at the notes on the margins made in your chicken-scratch handwriting, and wait.

It doesn’t take long to feel the heat of his gaze, almost paranormal in its effect. You can feel it’s weight – how it glides across your skin, sticky, viscous, and impossible to ignore.

When you glance up, you have to resist the urge to shrink into your seat. Joel’s face is a mess of emotions. Square jaw clenched tight; lips sealed. Stormy eyes that dart furiously between you and his lap, where you imagine his phone rests. Previously neat curls are now tousled and stressed over. You watch he glares downward, and drags tight fingers through the locks again. He doesn’t look up for a long time after that. Shoulders hunched forward, chin to his chest as he stares down.

Joel doesn’t stand up for the last 90-minutes of the seminar. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t joke. And he certainly does not look in your direction again. Not until the little hand on the clock strikes 11 o’clock, marking the end of his seminar, does he even entertain your side of the room. And not until the last student files out the door do you rise and meet him by the desk, a knowing look in both of your eyes.

You walk ahead of him the entire way to his office. Joel keeps an all-too casual distance from you, but you can hear the weight of his steps against the hardwood floors. Can feel his looming presence over your shoulder – sense his bursting need to get you alone. You only fall into step beside him when the office door comes into view, and then he’s herding you towards it, palm pressing flat against the small of your back in trivial, insistent shoves.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Joel nudges you inside his office.

There’s music playing inside. Soft waves of sound undulating toward you from the record player, and yet when he drags the door shut behind him you still hear the undeniable click of his key turning the lock. The window is closed, curtains half-drawn, and the air in his space is warm; almost stuffy from lying dormant and empty for hours.

Silently, Joel makes his way across the room to where his record player sits. Your eyes trail him faithfully, trained on how his shoulder blades shift like tectonic plates beneath the thinning fabric of his shirt. The urge to wander forward and pull it off him is intense. To run your nails down his skin and leave marks on his body the way he’s done to you.

“You think you’re funny?” his voice comes, a low murmur that you almost miss through the music. He lifts a hand and pulls the glasses off his nose. Tucks them carefully onto the table.

“Funny?” you reply, mouth suddenly dry.

Joel shifts the needle, restarting the record. Momentary silence swells into a bright intro, and he’s turning to look at you, thick arms folding across his chest. Your heart is a galloping staccato behind your sternum. A bead of sweat glides from the hollow of your throat down your chest, dampening the fabric of your shirt.

“Sendin’ me that picture of your pussy all wet for me,” he tuts softly. “Knowin’ damn well, I couldn’t do anythin’ about it.”

You swallow as he takes a step towards you. His hands drift to the front of his body, and you watch with bated breath as long fingers begin working at the silver buckle on his belt.

“Y’gimme nothin’ for weeks, don’t even pay attention during my fuckin’ classes, and then…” he pauses, almost glaring at you. But it’s not contempt in his eyes. No, it’s something else, something deeper—black brown peppered with frustration and lust and… There’s a lump in your throat. Something heavy that presses against your windpipe and makes it hard to swallow.

“You get off on this, hmm?” he asks, voice gravelly. “Torturin’ me? Makin’ me wait?”

“I’ve been busy,” you murmur, eyes fixed on where he drags leather through the beltloops of his pants. He discards it on the ground between you – an offering, an invitation.

“Busy girl,” he murmurs dryly. “And what about now? Now that I’ve got you here all alone… you gonna make me beg for it?”

Your pussy clenches at the thought of him on his knees, palms clasped in his lap, and it has that slick heat pooling between your legs. You want to denigrate him the way you feel he has done to you. Order him to kneel, to apologise, to fucking beseech you. But Joel’s eyes are dark, face drawn as he watches you. And you know that you’ve already gotten even.

Royal blue swims in your vision and you give him your best smile. Shake your head and say, “Not today, birthday boy.”

Something glints in his eyes, hands twitching by his sides. You mirror him, finally inching forward a step across the carpet. His belt is solid beneath your shoes.

He’s shifting in an instant, swallowing the final stretch of distance between you until his chest knocks into yours. The breath rushes from your lungs at the contact, and his hands are clasping your face, mouth slipping against yours in a brutal collision.

It’s rough, messy, teeth knocking and chapped lips. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since that night at the bar, and it consumes the both of you.

Joel’s body seizes yours, wraps around you and holds you to him, gripping the skin of your arms, your neck, your face, anywhere he can reach. Saliva pools in your mouth and wells into his, low sounds of desire being swapped back and forth between dripping tongues. There’s something desperate about it – how his lips bruise against yours. Something earnest and needy and urgent in the way his thumbs dig into your jaw, fingers tangling in the hair around your ears.

You’re gasping into his mouth, hands dropping to undo his zipper in a frenzied hurry. You can feel him behind the material, a firm bulge that becomes more and more evident as you work to get him undressed. His hands drop to your waist, your ass, and he’s pressing up, up, up the hem of your skirt, nails digging into skin as he squeezes and pulls you flush against him. Broad palms splayed across searing flesh, the tips of his fingers dragging dangerously close to where you’re aching for him. Your fingers shift from his pants to your own shirt, gripping the hem to tear it over your head—but Joel stops you. Bats your hands away and hoists you off the ground instead.

“Shit,” you huff in surprise, holding his shoulders for support as his arms tighten like a vice beneath your thighs and around your waist. He cuts you off with another sweltering kiss, and he’s moving. Stumbling blindly backward, a blurred mess of two people, all harsh exhales and clashing teeth, tilting back, back, back until his calves hit the armchair and he’s dissolving into it, dragging you down with him. Your knees sink into the plush fabric on either side of his waist, and his hands are on you, bunching your skirt up around your hips until your underwear is visible. He breaks the kiss and looks down quickly, lip curling upward as he takes in the sight of your barely covered cunt hovering over his lap.

“Fuck me,” Joel breaths. He cants his hips upward, clothed cock grinding against you. The pressure on your clit is exquisite. It has your nose scrunching up as your shallow breaths flutter the curls across his forehead. “Dress like this for all your classes?” he asks, fingers snapping at the band of your panties before his hand drops to cup your entire sex. “Fuckin’ filthy girl.”

“No,” you gasp as his palm settles over you. “Only—oh fuck, no, no, only yours.”

A rough sound escapes him, and he’s pushing the material of your underwear to the side. Thick fingers glide over the coarse hair on your mound, dipping in between your folds, right to the beating centre of you. You stare at his face while he stares at the swollen mess between your thighs.

“S’damn right,” he grunts. His eyes are ablaze. “Just for me.”

Your eyelids flutter closed, face warming at the words, and you’re whimpering as he rubs firm circles over your clit. Joel’s tongue presses against yours, coaxes your jaw open until it aches.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he marvels into your mouth. “Always so fuckin’ wet.”

A finger drops to your slick hole, slips slowly slowly slowly inside until the tip of it is curling against the soft spot inside you that he reaches so fucking easily. The air in the room is thin, his breaths a hot wash against your face, and a languid moan snakes its way out of your throat.

“Quiet.” Joel adds a second finger. It’s everything and nothing at the same time. Fingers so long, so thick – fingers that pale in comparison to his cock.

“I want you,” you gasp.

“Hmm?” he hums dangerously.

“Please,” your head tilts back, mouth ajar and thighs trembling as he works you open on his fingers. Joel lets out an impatient sound, and then his fingers drop from your swollen core, and he’s holding a condom. He must’ve pulled it from his back pocket, or between the cushions of the chair, but you don’t dwell on it. Don’t care where or how or why, too restless to be filled to ask; just give a pleased nod and lean back so he has enough room to free his cock from his pants.

The thick weight of it rests in his palm. He’s swollen and thick, the tip a deep rosy colour that reminds you of his flushed cheeks, his puffy lips, and has your mouth watering. And it’s wet with slick strands of precome that drip down his length to meet the movement of his fist.

“S’this what you were thinkin’ about?” Joel breathes shakily. “Got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock?”

“Yes,” you bite your lip. Watch him tear open the foil packet and roll latex down his length. You ignore the familiar urge to say forget it just take me I’m here and I’m yours just fuck me. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. Drags his cock against the dripping seam of your cunt. “Say that again.”

“Please,” you repeat, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. “God, Joel, please.”

A sharp wet smack and a trembling gasp fill the air as he taps the tip against your clit, and then rests himself at the notch of your entrance.

“Show me how bad you want it,” he orders huskily, hands drifting to rest on the arms of his chair. “Go on, fuckin’—ride it.”

Breathing heavily, you reach down to grip him. holding his length still as you lower yourself over his lap.

There’s a stinging resistance there – your body pushing back against the size of him, against the angle.

Joel’s fingers drape against your clit and he rubs soft circles above the spot where you’re connected. You grip the back of the chair, face twisted in muted concentration.

“C’mon,” he breaths, jaw set with clear intention. “Fuckin’ drippin’ for me, y’can take it, I know you can. Yeah—yeah, that’s it.”

You sigh, body relaxing, and you’re pressing down, through. Sink down on him another inch, and then another, until he’s bottoming out inside of you and the skin of your thighs is flush with his pants and he’s making this rough, low sound from deep in his chest. Your mind goes blank for a moment, vision whiting out and lungs squeezing as you hold your breath and adjust to the sheer size of him, to the delicious burn between your thighs where he’s stretching you. And everything is soft and hazy around your mind, but you can see Joel’s eyes on you. The glassy, blissed out expression on his face as you clench around him. His hands drift to your waist, fingers groping bare skin underneath where he holds your skirt up.

“Fuck,” Joel pants. “So god damn tight.”

A pathetic whimper catches in your throat as you grind down, clit rubbing against the coarse hairs at his base. You’re so full, every sense heightened by the feeling of Joel, pressing you apart and making a home for himself inside of you.

Slowly—tentatively—you rock your hips forward, rutting against him in short, shallow movements. His hands encourage your body, guiding you along his cock as you gain confidence.

Soon enough your hips are lifting and dropping back onto him, over and over, tilting against him, doing whatever it takes to drag more hopeless sounds from his mouth. The music from his record player is a low, thrumming bassline in the back of your mind, every bright refrain of guitar punctuated by sharp gasps and elongated sighs.

Joel’s eyes shift from the space between your bodies to your face. Pupils blown, sweat beading along his forehead. Watching you, he seems to fall backward, into himself perhaps. His body goes slack against the armchair, head lolling back as he stares.

“Jesus,” he mutters lowly. “Missed this perfect little pussy.”

There it is again. Perfect, perfect, perfect. You clench around him at the word, rut your hips in a particularly rough movement that has Joel’s eyes rolling back and a guttural moan falling from his lips. His chest is heaving with ragged breaths, the tendons and veins in his neck on display as his chin tilts upward. A bright red flush has raised across the exposed skin of his collarbones, his neck. You lean in and lick the skin there, skirt your teeth across his pulsing jugular. Joel’s palm clasps the back of your neck, holding you against him. You can feel his thighs tensing below you, and then his hips begin to snap upward, meeting you thrust for thrust. The angle is harsh, and he's filling you to the brim, the tip of his cock bruising against the deepest part of you. You cry out against his skin, and the hoarse sound only spurs him on.

His wide palm shifts to hover at the base of your neck, slips beneath the collar of your shirt. Splays over your collarbone, dull fingernails grating against the skin above your breast, by your armpit. You lean back to let him see you, and his eyes drop to watch the way your hips roll over his lap. His finger snags on the strap of your bra and it snaps against your skin.

“Take it off,” you mutter urgently. Need to feel his skin against yours. Chest to chest. Heart to hea—

“No.” His hips snap up into yours faster, knocking the breath from your lungs. One hand grips the armchair, one his shoulder, trying to find some kind of leverage as he pistons into you from below. That fucking Birthday Boy pin is still stuck to his shirt, and blue flashes in the periphery of your vision. A particularly rough thrust has a loud moan parting your lips, but as soon as it begins Joel’s hand is crashing over your mouth, fingers gripping your face to silence the sound. Your eyebrows raise, silently questioning overtop his hand.

“Need to shut up,” he grits out. “Gonna—ohhh—gonna get us caught.”

You glide your tongue against his palm, taste the salt on his skin. Feel his fingers squeeze your jaw harder in response. And then your own hand is moving from his shoulder, fingers gliding across the sweaty skin of his neck, to slot over his mouth. You stare at one another, wild eyes locked, palms sealed over slick lips, and something fiery pulls taught between you. Liquid heat spreads through your muscles, tightening and loosening with every movement of his body against yours. You can feel the coil at the base of your stomach tightening. Your pussy throbs in a rhythm sympatico to that of your heartbeat, and your fingers squeeze around his face.

You can feel the vibration of Joel’s moans against your hand, and then his teeth are sinking into the soft flesh of your palm. For a moment you wonder if he’ll pierce the skin. Let your blood seep from the wound and spill across his tongue; a sacrificial offering. Drink you down, devour you as he lies within your body. You bite down on his palm in return, holding his gaze as your bodies grind and rut against each other.

Your back arches suddenly, and your forehead knocks against his as your orgasm steadily approaches. Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours. Your shoulders begin to lock up, thighs burning, but he doesn’t let up. His hips collide with yours at a devastating pace, and his free hand drops between your thighs. The pad of his middle finger circles your swollen clit, and you jerk against him, every nerve inside your body fraying and sparking.

Joel slurs a curse against your hand and then you’re coming with a haggard whine into his hand, walls constricting around him in a vice grip. You close your eyes only to discover that royal blue is stained on the inside of your eyelids, unavoidable. He is unavoidable. Even in the darkness of your own mind, he lurks. The smell of him in your nostrils, the taste of his spit in your mouth. You think you hear a garbled version of your name spoken into your palm, and then a stinging sensation rips across your ass as Joel starts to come, fingernails dragging across skin, as he grinds his cock desperately into your pulsing heat. Your eyes flutter open, body shivering with the aftershocks of your high, and you watch him. Admire the way his jaw softens beneath your grip, teeth retracting and leaving dull indents on your skin in their wake.

There’s a low pinch between your thighs. It rings out minutes later, a sullen ache, as you lift your hips and let him slip from your wet clutch. His hands fall from your body, and you suck in stale air, taking a clumsy step off his lap to stand shaking on the ground before him. There are circular white marks on his cheeks, lingering reminders of how you held him, smothering his wanton groans of pleasure. You watch them slowly fade to pink, and try to settle the unsteady breaths that wrack your frame.

Your fingers drop lazily to adjust your underwear, but then those hands are tilting your hips, encouraging you to turn until your back is to him. They slip beneath your skirt, find purchase on the band of your panties, and slide the drenched material down your legs. You step out of them, and gasp in surprise when he flicks your skirt up again. A shiver travels down your spine as he glides a finger through your swollen cunt.

“Joel,” you whimper, lips poised to say that it’s too much, too soon, that you need a second to breathe.

But Joel exhales a quiet groan, and something sharp nips the sensitive skin of your ass. Peaking over your shoulder, you find Joel’s mouth there, wet tongue soothing over the mark his teeth made on your flesh. There’s a slip of blue clenched in his fist, held protectively in his lap beside his softening cock.

You feel the vibration of something against your skin, a murmur of words that you can’t quite make out, before he pulls back. Retracts all points of contact, carefully removes the condom, clears his throat softly as he tucks himself back into his pants. The tell-tale sound of the moment drawing to a close. You swallow down that familiar tang disappointment and hold out a hand for your underwear.

And then Joel surprises you.

This soft, teasing smirk lights up his face, and Joel knocks your hand away. A huff of surprised laughter escapes you as he rises and wanders toward the desk. You watch, stunned into silence, as he drags open a drawer on his desk and tucks that blue slip of fabric inside. It slides closed with a definitive thud, and Joel falls down into his desk chair. His eyelids must be heavy, because they droop closed while you watch.

There’s a damp patch at the bottom of his t-shirt that has your face in flames, but he doesn’t seem to care, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as his body relaxes into leather. Your legs tremble as you grip the strap of your bag, taking that as your cue to quietly head for the door.

“Liked your essay.”

You pause with your fingers on the door handle. Turn to find that his eyes are still shut.

“You’re only saying that becau—”

“No,” Joel interrupts, the firm tone a sharp contrast to his lax frame. Eyes open now. “It was good.”

You hum quietly and rock back onto your heels. Unsure of what to say, you settle on offering him a small smile. He nods in return. The silence drifts back in, and you find yourself unable to speak until his eyes close once more.

“Happy birthday, Joel.”

So softly, so as to not disturb. And you aren’t sure whether he heard you or he’s already fallen asleep, but you do notice the corners of his mouth tilt upward ever-so-slightly.

Friday.

A crimson tablecloth covers the expanse of the table. Deep dark red, almost brown, reminiscent of old blood.

Plates smeared with remnants of a dinner long-past litter the surface, dirtied knives and forks stacked precariously atop them. Sauces have hardened to thickened globs on the China, sticky and stale and calling out to be cleaned. But the end of the evening is nary in sight, as Ian, your gracious host, deposits another bottle of wine onto the table.

“It’s a Cabernet Franc,” he slumps back into his seat at the head of the table, directly opposite you. “My parents brought it back from their trip to Bordeaux this past Summer. A gift.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes for the thousandth time in three hours. Pour yourself a generous glass and taste it. Say, “I’m more of a Merlot fan,” despite being drunk as all hell and having zero knowledge to help discern between different wine grapes.

Pete offers a supportive smile, and you watch as his friends light fresh cigarettes that send plumes of smoke to the already stained roof of Ian’s apartment.

Ian’s girlfriend Claire, a wildlife and conservation biology undergrad, is draped across the chair to your left. Eyelids half closed; her slim fingers grip a half-smoked joint for dear life, hand hovering dazed in mid-air between her thigh and her face. You think back on the words Pete spoke to you this morning in the kitchen – there’ll be another woman there, don’t worry. And Claire’s great, I swear. You try to reconcile his words with the girl beside you, and the dank smell of burnt weed drifting toward you through the air. She’d been high when she arrived, and after speaking a measly three words of greeting in your direction, had sequestered herself to a chair and smoked through the entire dinner. When none of the others batted an eye, you held your tongue. And their nonchalance became clear when, upon completion of the meal—overcooked chicken, sticky carrots, and undercooked parsnips—Ian and Henry lit up cigarettes at the table too.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to attend the dinner party.

They’re really cool, Pete had blabbered into his mug that morning. We do it every Friday. It’ll be nice to have you meet some of my friends.

Oh, Pete. Cool, they are not.

Henry and Ian, friends from one of Pete’s environmental engineering units, are filthy rich. The kind that you can smell from a mile away. The kind that radiates from their expensive clothes, their manufactured pearly teeth, their god-awful haircuts. The kind of rich boys that have their own apartments in Portland, paid for by a Mummy and Daddy who holiday in Europe every summer—a trip that Ian has managed to bring up at least once an hour since the moment you met him.

The one beautiful, stunning, gorgeous saving grace is that there is alcohol – enough to ply yourself with in order to deal with Ian, who asked what your postgrad was in and replied slyly, “Oh, a fun one.” Ian, who, upon learning about your translation internship in Greece, said, “Sounds like you had a marvellous vacation.”

In return, you sat like a good little house guest—ornament—and listened to the three of them talk ad nauseam about engineering. Consume glass after glass of wine, decline cigarette after cigarette; you get profusely intoxicated as they debate—interrupt each other—the validity of different pollution control policies.

It’s not until early in the fifth hour of the dinner that Ian raises the topic of philosophy.

“It’s curious, that’s all,” he says, cigarette hanging limply between wine-soaked lips. “That these old guys would just hang out all day and… what, talk? Never understood why people rave about Socrates and Aristotle all the time. Just a bunch of sad sacks that liked the sound of their own voices a little too much, if you ask me.”

You hum against the rim of your glass, decidedly unbothered. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times, in a hundred different ways. His dining chairs are stiff, and your ass is aching against the heavy mahogany. Pete shifts awkwardly to your right. You can feel him looking at you, trying to gauge your impending reaction, and your face remains placid, numb from all the wine rushing through your veins.

“Is that what your degree is like?” Ian asks. “A bunch of old guys who love to listen to themselves talk?”

And that almost makes you crack a smile. You respond with a lacklustre shrug that neither confirms nor denies his suspicions, and definitely don’t think about—

“I don’t know,” Henry slurs, shooting a pointed glance in your direction. “I used to date this girl—”

“You fucked her once,” Ian interrupts.

“—Rita—"

“Rose.”

“—and she studied all that shit. Used to tell me about that guy who, he, uhm,” Henry pauses. Belches loudly. “He said something about God committing suicide and like, we’re his body or—wait what is it?”

“Mainländer,” you nod, mildly surprised. “Yeah, it’s a creation theory of sorts – God commits suicide to create the universe, and we’re all living on his decaying corpse.”

“What do you think of that?”

“Of a potential God’s potential suicide?”

“Yeah,” Henry grins dopily.

You sigh. “Would’ve been cooler if he left a note, I suppose.”

Henry guffaws loudly, leans back until his chair is balanced precariously on two legs. The cigarette falls from his fingers to his lap, glowing orange cherry leaving charred ashy marks on his jeans. If you were more sober you might’ve said something. But as if were, you just laugh and drain the final dregs of wine from your glass.

“So, your degree involves stuff like that?” Ian asks then.

“Sometimes,” you hum, already bored with the hint of mockery you sense in his tone. “We study the societies as a whole, so yeah, there’s talk about philosophy on occasion.”

“And mythology,” he wiggles his eyebrows from across the table, fluttering his fingers in the air. “Must be fun to talk about made up ideas all day.”

Henry clears his throat roughly and plucks the cigarette out of his lap, all remaining hints of laughter filtering into silence.

You stare. Feel your hackles rise. Sharper this time, as a more acute sense of irritation floods your system. “You do know that Greece and Italy are real countries with real histories, right?”

Claire moves for the first time in fifteen minutes, takes a long drag from her joint. Exhales in your direction.

“Sure,” Ian shrugs. “But you have to admit, all the stuff about the Greek Gods is a little silly.”

You spare a quick glance in Pete’s direction and find him wearing a tight, awkward smile, looking at you with something apologetic in his eyes.

“Silly,” you repeat the word slowly. It as though your brain is working at a thousand miles a minute, desperate to catch up with the conversation. Constantly two steps behind wherever Ian is dragging you. And he’s giving you this smarmy, sympathetic smile that screams oh your poor thing, you have no idea how poor your future job prospects are, and you’ve seen that smile a hundred times, had this conversation a thousand more, and you can suddenly envision yourself reaching across the table and pouring your glass of wine into his lap.

“And what about the rest?” you ask tersely. The collar of your shirt scratches against your neck, and his cigarette is spilling ash onto the fucking table, and he’s an asshole, and you want to throttle him for getting off on belittling you.

“The rest?”

“The rest,” you nod. “I suppose I can admit that those gods are silly, so long as we’re also admitting how fucking laughable biblical Gods ar—"

Pete says your name sharply. You pause, seal your lips shut. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the wary glint in his eyes a reminder that you’re a guest in Ian’s apartment. Ian’s apartment that was paid for by Mummy and Daddy; Ian’s apartment that has a crucifix above the kitchen entryway.

“More wine?” Pete asks smoothly. He’s rising from the table before you can respond, lifting the bottle and pouring a swell of red into your glass. Ian’s grin broadens, and a fresh round of irritation flares across the back of your alcohol sodden brain.

“Gimme a second,” you mutter, pushing your chair out. Your body sways as you stand, blood rushing to your head. Blinking the dizzy spell away, you grip Pete’s shoulder for leverage and make your way past him, shuffle down the hall and into a swanky bathroom. Your feet are heavy, mind a blur, as you collapse onto the toilet seat and rest your face against the cool tiled wall.

“Silly,” you grumble under your breath. “You’re fucking silly… asshole.”

Digging your phone from your pocket, you squint against its harsh light. Fingers fumble across the screen to your messages app. Tap Nora’s name, and hold your finger against the voice memo button.

“Nora,” you mumble, nose squished against tile. “It’s awful, you... I need you to save me.”

There’s a roar of laughter from the dining room.

“Why do men always have to be the smartest person in the room?” you continue as the sound dies down. The tile is cool against your skin, a welcome reprieve from the boozy flush that’s taken over your body.

“Pete is such an—” hiccup “—asshole for inviting me to this, I swear—”

Your phone hits the ground with a sharp clatter, and you curse, torso tilting forward as you reach clumsily for it. When you tilt the screen back to your face, a jolt rushes through you. You stare for a moment, dumbfounded, at the picture. There’s the soft sound of rushing water in your ears – your pulse, you realise.

“No,” you mutter, senses sharpening the longer you stare at the picture; your soaked blue panties. At the voice memo underneath said picture, that had certainly not gone to Nora. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no.”

A moment of painful clarity comes when you make out the delivered sign below the voice message. Blurry eyes dance across the screen, vaguely deciphering the capitalised word MILLER. Panic swirls in your stomach, a churning writhing thing that feels a lot like nausea.

And then a text appears.

Are you drunk?

Your thighs are still numb from sitting for so long, so you slink dejectedly onto the floor and type out a response.

yes

that wasn’t for you

Ten minutes pass. You stare at the bright screen until worn-out tears prick in your eyes.

Doing okay?

tired

ate bad food, drank alotta wine

Probably time to go home.

cant drive

thought you hada phd? telling me to drunk driev

bad profeseor

Five minutes. Pete knocks on the door to ask if you’re okay and you assure him that you’re fine.

Where are you?

You type out the address carefully. Wash your hands in the sink and combs wet fingers through your hair to tame your appearance before skulking back into the dining room, where the vulture awaits you.

“I’m going,” you announce blandly. Claire is asleep, you think. Ian and Henry are playing an aggressive game of cards. Only Pete looks up.

“How are you getting home?” he frowns.

“Got a ride,” you mutter. Collect your things and give his shoulder a brief squeeze before slipping out the front door.

The air is cool outside the apartment building. A sharp breeze whistles through the parking lot, snakes it’s way beneath your clothes to curl against your skin. You welcome the chill. Rub lazily at the goosebumps on your arms as you glance at the last text from Joel.

Be there in 20.

You’re perched on the stoop when headlights finally appear. You curse, eyes smarting as you duck to avoid the harsh fluorescents, and then a black truck is idling a few metres away, engine purring. The passenger door kicks open and you squint, trying—and failing—to see inside through the darkness. Until—

“Get in.”

You’re barely in the car before Joel is pressing a bottle of water into your hand. The plastic is sweating, damp with condensation, and you sigh in relief. Press it against your neck, your face.

“Drink it,” he says sternly. You crack an eye open and look at him. He’s so close. Just a hairsbreadth from you, in a soft t-shirt and jeans. Glasses on the end of his nose. Fluffy hair—bed hair. There’s a soft frown on his face that dips and rolls in your vision. A downward tilt to his mouth as he puts the car in drive and tears away from Mummy and Daddy’s apartment.

“Hey,” you give him a lop-sided smile.

“Hey."

“Were you in bed?”

“You stink,” Joel ignores your question. “You chain-smokin’ in there? Christ.”

“Not me,” you huff in frustration. Take a small sip of water, careful not to spill on the seat. “They were smoking at the table. While we were eating.”

“Who was?”

“Pete’s friends.”

“Who’s Pete?” Joel grunts. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and his eyes are set on the road. Only when you don’t respond does he look back at you.

“Who’s Pete?” he repeats. Something stony in his voice. You smile.

“One of my roommates,” you offer. “Why? You jealous?”

“Quit it,” he bites out. “You gonna tell me where you live or am I s'posed to guess?”

Your smile spreads into a full-blown grin as you type your address into his phone. He snatches it from your hand and tells you to drink it all. You sit in silence for a while after that. Roll down the window and let your hand rest outside the car, fingers fluttering as the wind whips past them. He’s driving fast, green traffic lights blurring in your vision, and you feel your head spin faster, harder. Mumble under your breath.

“What?” he asks, voice too loud.

“Slow down,” you repeat, inhaling a deep breath. You feel him ease his foot of the gas instantly, a hand coming to hover over your knee.

“You feelin’ okay?” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

You let your eyes slip shut. Just for a second. A minute. And then—

“Hey.” A firm hand is on your shoulder. Thumb pressing into the skin beneath your collarbone. “Wake up.”

You jolt upright in the seat. Rub a palm roughly against your eye. Forget that you’re wearing makeup until you see black smeared across your hand.

Joel is saying something as you climb out of his truck, but you don’t hear it. Too busy pressing the door shut behind you and stumbling up the paved path to your house. Cool metal slides in your palm, numb fingers grappling for purchase. You scratch the key against the door’s aperture once, twice, and then feel it slip from your hand. A wave of dizziness hits as you watch it clatter against the ground.

“Shit,” you grumble. Bend down to pick it up. Rise and try a third time as silver swims in your vision. You hear a car door slam, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and slur another impatient curse under your breath.

“Let me help,” he says from behind you.

“It’s fine,” you protest, skin searing with embarrassment.

“C’mon.” Joel’s warm hand covers yours. Pries the key from your palm and unlocks your front door in a one easy movement. “Let’s get you inside.”

“I can do it.”

“Just let me help you.”

You practically float down the hall, buoyed by the thick arm around your waist, towing you along. In your room, Joel clicks on the lamp in the corner. Dim orange light envelops the space as you fall back onto your bed with a huff, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of your stomach.

“You need more water before you sleep” he says. “And a fuckin' shower.”

“Mmm,” you agree, eyelids fluttering. “I'm… just gonna lie here for a second.”

The responding sound is that of heavy footsteps disappearing down the hall. A fleeting rush of liquid somewhere in the distance. Your eyes close for a minute, maybe two, and reopen to find Joel’s broad frame hovering in the doorway, holding a glass of water and gripping the doorknob as he assesses your most private space. Your eyes are hardly open, but you can see him in the dim light. Glancing into the darkness of the hall and then back to you, slumped messily against the pillows. After a thick moment of silence, he steps decidedly across the threshold, and closes your bedroom door behind him.

As you watch him, you begin to feel a sense of startling clarity.

Joel Miller, in your house. Joel Miller, in your bedroom. Joel Miller… seeing you make a complete fool out of yourself.

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out.

“What?” Joel asks sharply. He rounds the bed in two quick strides, and then he’s pressing a glass of water on your side table and sitting beside you. His weight on the side of the bed has the mattress dipping, your body tilting onto your side to face his back. A wave of nausea strikes suddenly, and you suck your lips into your mouth. No.

“Y'oughta warn me if you’re gonna be sick,” he warns.

“M’not.”

“You better not.”

“I won’t.”

“Think you’ll need about ten of those,” you hear him say. “But one glass is a good start.”

But there’s already an ocean inside you. Rocky, white-wash waves that lap at the walls of your stomach, press against your lungs, and have your mind swaying even as your body lies still. Fingers, moving faster than your brain, seek purchase. Crawling across the sheets to snag your index through a belt loop on the back of his jeans. Chilled skin against worn denim, an anchor. Something sturdy to calm the eddying current inside you.

“What’re you—”

“Did you have a good day yesterday?” you interrupt, eager to distract yourself.

Joel is silent for a while. Keeps looking down at you until he finally says, “Yeah,” so quiet that your ears strain to hear it.

There’s a hint of something there that you can’t quite read. An emotion that he holds clasped in tight hands, just beyond your reach. You let it be, mind distracted by the soft orange light emanating from the lamp. When you close your eyes it glows against the back of your eyelids, vibrant swaths of sunset and marigold that make it hard to fall asleep just yet.

“Seventy, right?” you tease.

An indignant scoff rings out, and you squeak as a set of rough fingers pinch at the skin of your exposed stomach. The quickest touch, just a graze of flesh, before he’s pulling back. You laugh easily, open your eyes to look at him again.

“Careful now,” he warns. But you can see humour in the lines by his eyes, the quirk of his lip.

Your finger wiggles against his belt loop, tugging on the material there once. A tired patience in your eyes as you wait.

“Fifty,” he finally concedes, smile wavering as his gaze darts to the sheets.

“Mhm,” you murmur. Lips part as you let loose a low, impressed whistle. It comes out as more of a lacklustre exhalation of air. Joel’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter when he meets your eyes again, a little more relaxed. “The big five-oh, huh?”

“The big five-oh,” he repeats simply. Tired as you are, you can see the question in his eyes. This searching, curious thing that rakes across your features, waiting to note any hint that you might be perturbed by the fact.

“S’nice,” you offer quietly instead. “Get any good gifts?”

The muscles in his neck strain, shirt tightening around his shoulders as he turns to look at you head on. Soft eyes gleam with something darker, teasing, as his lips pull into a lazy smirk.

“Sure,” he agrees, voice low, suggestive. “Good’s one word for it.”

Warmth floods your stomach and your toes curl. But you falter under the intensity of his gaze, a weary heat rising in your cheeks as your gaze lowers to his collarbone.

“Hey," you say quietly. “Look, I appreciate you helping me out tonight, I just…”

Joel’s eyebrows pinch the middle of his forehead, relaxation dissipating as he stares.

“Sorry,” you grimace, skin on fire. All of a sudden, your finger feels swollen in his belt loop, a promise that you can’t keep, the fabric branding hot against your skin as the words tumble out of you. “I’m just, I’m pretty wasted, and I’m grateful, you know, but I don’t think I can—we probably can’t fuck tonight—"

Joel says your name quickly. His hand is gripping your bedsheets, sun-kissed skin against pale yellow. “We’re not fucking.”

Unwitting relief courses through you, and you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay, I just wasn’t sure if you thought maybe… I don’t know—"

“Thought that if I gave you a ride home you owed me a fuck?” he asks plainly, expression tight. A dark, frustrated laughs spills from his lips and his shoulders are tightening, muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt. “That’s not how this goes, darlin’. So don’t go thinkin’ that way, ever, y’hear me?”

You blink, eyes wide. Suddenly alert. Feel the warmth in your stomach spread to your chest, your thighs. Darlin’.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah, that’s—how does this work then?”

The indent between his brows only deepens as he gazes down at you.

“You call the shots,” Joel says. “I thought that was well established by now.”

His brown eyes look so soft in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Honeyed and golden in the warm orange haze. You stare at them for so long that you lose track of whether or not he’s answered your question. Forget everything that isn’t the lines beside his eyes, the dark speck of his pupils, the wild hairs of his eyebrows. You feel yourself drift closer to sleep again.

“Pretty,” someone says faintly. You. “You’ve got brown eyes.”

“Jesus.” He’s still frowning.

“Brown-eyed girl,” you sing—slur.

“Alright, Van Morrison,” Joel grumbles, the lines in his face softening. “Drink up.”

You do as he asks, gulping down half the water while he watches. His fingers rest cautiously at the base of the glass in case you drop it. And when you’re finished, he takes it from your hands, stands. Another wave crashes inside you when the mattress shifts in the absence of his weight, and you drift, unmoored, onto your back again.

Joel is staring at you. Towering over the bed, hands jammed awkwardly against his hips. His presence so large, so looming. He crowds your small space, his size ensuring that there is no room for another; only you and him, you and him, you and him, and you call the shots. You squeeze your eyes shut, determined to block that thought out.

“I think I’ll go to sleep now,” you mutter. “If that’s alright with you, teach.”

Joel says something, but it’s a far away sound. You tuck your face further into your pillow.

You think you hear him say good night, or some version thereof, but you don’t hear him leave. Don’t hear his boots on the hardwood, or the creak of your bedroom door. Don’t hear his truck start up outside.

And when you wake, alone, you find that droplets of rain have settled on your windowsill, marking another wet September morning. But you don’t frown as you drag a sweater from your closet, nor as you draw the curtains and clamber back into bed. Don’t yearn for the warmth of Summer as the dull ache of a hangover ricochets inside your skull. For you can smell Joel on your sheets; can still feel his presence lingering in the corners of your room.

And that’s warm enough for you.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5

thank you for reading! x [and idgaf okay i was gonna put that birthday boy pin on him no matter what shitty excuse i had to come up with]

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut

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bradshawssugarbaby · 1 month

Text

Urban Cowboy - Jake Seresin x Reader

pairing: Jake Seresin x f! reader

warnings/content: smut, unprotected p in v, mildly mean!dom Jake, teasing, jealous Jake

word count: 3.2k

The sounds of some 80s pop song echoed throughout the Hard Deck, a cheap colourful strobe light flashed around the room, its rainbow coloured beams striking random bargoers as they began to dance along to whatever was playing. It was new idea your aunt had come up with - doing theme nights at the bar once a month as a way to freshen things up and breathe new life into the military bar scene.

Since you moved here four months ago, you’d gotten familiar with the regulars - there was Bradley Bradshaw, a man far older than he looked, with a penchant for comandeering the piano if the bar needed livening up, Natasha Trace, who had a fiery personality and often kept the other guys in their place, especially when the beers were flowing and they started flirting with unsuspecting patrons, Robert Floyd, the shy backseater who was always polite, tipped well and seemed to be the permanent designated driver on nights out, Reuben Fitch, who stood about a foot taller than you, and always had a witty comeback on hand, just in case, Mickey Garcia, who was sweet, but could talk anyone’s ear off about Star Trek, and Javy Machado, resident score keeper and pool table champion.

Leading the group, was your Aunt Penny’s boyfriend, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell. He often would come in, finding a table at the back of the room for his squad before abandoning them to spend the evening at the bar, chatting your aunt up and offering up any excuse to come behind the bar and sneak a hand to her hip or steal a squeeze of her rear. It was sweet the way your aunt and Pete were loved up, like a couple of teenagers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

This afternoon, Pete came in at four o’clock sharp, just as he promised to help set up. As he hung a couple of decorations you and your aunt had managed to find online, he turned to you and smiled, watching as you prepped the theme night’s cocktail menu.

“I forgot to tell you, another one of my guys is going to be here tonight. He’s been off training at a different base for the last few months, just landed in this morning. You’ll like him. He’s a firecracker.”

“Isn’t that your way of saying he’s a cocky asshole?”

“I wouldn’t say asshole. He’s just very…confident. I think you’ll like him though.”

“Are you talking about Jake?” Penny piped up as she looked at Pete, watching as he climbed up the step ladder to hang another decoration from the ceiling.

“Yeah, don’t you think they’d hit it off?”

“I think she might hit him.”

“What? No way. Jake’s not that bad.”

Penny scoffed and shook her head, laughing. Holding her hands up in surrender, she walked away, retreating back to the bar to begin making sure all the key ingredients to your drink menu were where they needed to be. You continued to stuff the evening’s special menus into their plastic protective sleeves, shaking your head at Pete’s attempts to try and set you up with someone from his squad. It wasn’t the first time, you’d been on a date with Bradley once before, but found the age gap was too great between the two of you, with Bradley in complete agreement that you were much better suited as friends than lovers, and on a date with Reuben, who, despite efforts between the two of you, there was no chemistry shared there.

As five o’clock approached, you hurried into the back stockroom to change into your themed outfit for the night, pulling your hair out of the velcro rollers that Penny had helped you wrap your hair up into, creating the perfect 80s voluminous curl that would make even Christie Brinkley jealous. Your tight fitting Daisy Duke style shorts accentuated your curves, hugging your thighs and hips in all the right places, your crisp white button down shirt tied just under your bra, showing off your tanned, soft midsection. A pair of mid-sized silver hoop earrings hung from your earlobes to complete the look. Your aunt’s stash of Aqua-Net hairspray was all you needed to finish it off, stepping out the back door to shake your curls out and spray them with enough hairspray to ensure they wouldn’t budge for the night.

You reentered the bar to find Pete’s friends piling in, the other regular patrons all trickling in and getting comfortable as they came through, turning the bar into a sea of cheesy fake mustaches and 80s style Hawaiian shirts, brightly coloured polos and coordinating Bermuda shorts, wigs and legwarmers. The evening was quickly livening up, and you got to work behind the bar with your aunt, pulling pints and mixing drinks, firing off orders left right and center as the bar filled with partygoers.

An hour into the night, Bradley approached the bar, his aviator sunglasses perched atop his chocolate coloured curls, his loud, brightly coloured Hawaiian print shirt buttoned just enough to allow a few sparing curls of chest hair to peek out from the top. He leaned against the bar, smiling at you, his mustache neatly combed to closer resemble a style from the 80s. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he was trying to emulate Tom Selleck. You’d seen pictures of Bradley’s dad and Pete from back in the 80s, and recognized the shirt anywhere. It was clear Bradley was dressed identically to his father, and you had to admire the dedication he had to the theme.

“What can I get you, Bradshaw?”

“Hi dollface, I’ll take a Budweiser. And a chance to take you for a spin later?”

“We’ve done this before, Bradley,” you laughed as you cracked the top off the beer bottle and slid it across the counter to him. Bradley shook his head as he sipped the frothy liquid, grinning as he set the bottle down on the counter.

“I didn’t mean you. I’m practicing. I can’t be dressed like this and not use some kind of weird 80s shit to impress a girl, right? I’m just…using you for practice. Did it work?”

“Bradley, why don’t you, I don’t know, just, be yourself?”

“Because tonight I’m not myself. I’m some single 39 year old in the 80s trying to get a date, apparently.”

“Well then, gag me with a spoon, that was gnarly. Try a different line. One that doesn’t begin with “dollface”?”

“Got it, thanks!”

You watched as Bradley sauntered away to go try his luck with a pretty blonde over by the jukebox. You smirked to yourself as you heard Bradley start singing along to Madonna, carrying the tune with an impressive baritone that you weren’t expecting. You knew he could sing, but singing Madonna was a whole new side to him. Turning your back for a moment, you began fixing a drink for yourself, mixing together the ingredients for a Shirley Temple. You looked up to see a tall, broad-shouldered blonde man approach the bar counter, his hair slicked back, and a blonde mustache that made poor Bradley’s look unimpressive rested on his upper lip. The most stunning pair of bright green eyes looked at you, and a set of perfectly straight, whitened teeth fresh out of a Colgate commercial flashed a smile at you.

“Hi Darlin’, I’ll take whatever’s on tap.”

“Sure thing,” You nodded, trying hard not to audibly gulp at the adonis of a man standing in front of you.

“Are you new ‘round here?” he drawled, “I’d remember a pretty face like yours.”

“Uh, within the last four months, yeah.” you nodded as you finished pulling a pint of draught for him, the frothy head of the beer perfectly resting in the glass.

“Oh! That’ll explain it. Lieutenant Jake Seresin, at your service, m’am.” He winked, and you felt yourself melt a little at the sight of this human embodiment of a Ken doll flirting with you.

“You’re Jake?”

“Depends who’s askin’, Honey.” His accent was thick and heavy, something straight out of those reruns of The Andy Griffiths Show that your mom made you watch when you were a child.

“I’m Penny’s niece,” you nodded, giving him your name and laughing softly as your cheeks blushed, “I moved down here to help her out with things around here while I try to figure some life things out.”

“I see,” he smirked, sipping his beer, the foam brushing against his mustache as he set the glass down. “And does that list of things you’re figuring out include finding a strong, charming, handsome Southern boy?”

“It might, do you know any?” You quipped, raising an eyebrow as you sipped your own drink, pretending to feign disinterest in the handsome stranger before you.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“That so, hun? Who? Do I know him?”

“Not yet, but I think he sure would like to know you, Darlin’.”

You shook your head, your curls bouncing as you started to laugh, unable to control yourself. Jake was as bold as he was handsome, and you were suddenly realizing what Pete was referring to when he said that Jake was confident. He practically exuded a cocksure confidence from every pore in his body. And while that would normally repulse you and send you heading for the hills, with Jake, it felt different. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, his magnetic charms and graces pulling you in, and your inhibitions wearing down. However, you also knew how to deal with men like this - he was in need of an ego check, and you were just the person for the job.

“Is that right? Well, you tell your little Southern-fried wannabe cowboy of a friend that if he’s interested, he’s going to have to stick around the bar all night. I promised Aunt Penny I’d help her make sure this night went smoothly, and I don’t need a knockoff Dukes of Hazzard cast member distracting me.”

“Wannabe cowboy?” Jake gasped in feigned offence, clutching his chest dramatically as he slipped into an even thicker accent than earlier, “Now Darlin’, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re breakin’ my heart over here. One thing I ain’t is a wannabe cowboy. You know, I used to ride in rodeos as a kid? Was one of the best there was for under 15 year olds, ‘til I decided to join the Navy instead.”

“Oh, so you’re like, a real cowboy then,” you teased, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“S’pose you could say that. Only one real way to find out, ain’t there?”

“Take you to a farm and watch you wrangle cattle on horseback?” you retorted sarcastically.

“You’re funny, I like that.”

“I bet you do.”

Jake leaned in across the bar, a smirk forming on his lips as he looked at you, his bright green eyes fixated on your lips as you spoke. His long eyelashes fluttered at you as he eyed you up, practically undressing you with his imagination. You grinned as you gestured to the sign behind you, reading that if you disrespect a lady, you owe everyone a round.

“Watch it, Lieutenant. If you’re not careful, I’ll go ring that bell and you’ll learn a very expensive lesson.”

“Oh, Darlin’, I can guarantee, I ain’t gonna learn anything from it. I’m just dumb enough to do it again. Can’t help myself around a pretty girl like yourself.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you laughed at his relentless attempt. You knew the only reason he persisted was because you were teasing him, but at the same time, you didn’t mind the attention he was giving you. He wasn’t as tall as Bradley, or as broad shouldered, but he was built like a linebacker, with a solid frame and the accent alone was enough to drive you crazy.

It was almost 11 when Jake stopped you again, this time, outside of the stockroom when you’d disappeared back there for more maraschino cherries and pineapple juice. He leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, causing his pastel-coloured polo shirt to bulge around his biceps. His lips curled up in that annoyingly perfect smile once again as he stood in your path.

“Hey, Honey, need a hand with that?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you shrugged it off, shaking your head as you smirked at him, “You often follow girls into storage rooms?”

“Only the ones worth following.”

“Wow, Lieutenant, with a response like that, it’s a wonder you don’t have a trail of broken hearts following you around.”

“What is your issue, anyway? You got a thing against blondes? Pilots?”

“Please,” you smirked, shaking your head, “I went on a date with Rooster. He’s a pilot.”

“Is it ‘cause I’m from Texas?”

“No, it’s because you’re probably the most arrogant prick I’ve ever had the displeasure of coming across, actually. God, it’s like you think all you have to do is flash that stupid handsome smile and I’ll throw myself at you.”

Jake’s face fell slightly as he raised an eyebrow at you. You could tell he wasn’t used to having a girl put him in his place like this, but his crestfallen gaze was quickly replaced by that shit-eating grin he seemed to never go without sporting.

“Honey, you’re real pretty when you get mean like that.”

“You’re impossible,” you sighed in exasperation.

“But you love it, don’t you?”

Jake closed the gap between the two of you as he spoke, taking a couple steps closer to you. You bit your lip as you hesitated, thinking about the consequences that might follow if you acted on your desires.

Fuck it.

Your hands gripped the fabric of his polo shirt, pulling him down to your height as you crashed your lips into his passionately. You kissed a slow, hot trail up to his ear, a breathy moan escaping your lips as he put his hands on your hips to bring you in as close as possible, his body heat radiating on to you.

“You gonna show me just how good you are, Cowboy?”

“Yes, m’am. I reckon I could show you a better time than any other man in here.”

Jake’s hand slipped down your curves, reaching around to cup your ass cheeks as he hoisted you up effortlessly, wrapping your legs around your waist. You quickly discarded the cherries and juice that were in your hands, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself. Jake’s lips worked their way along your neck, wet, fervent kisses that made your body squirm with pleasure, your arousal growing and burning in your stomach with each second.

“Back door?” He murmured against your neck, his hands keeping a firm hold of your ass.

“Two steps behind me, to the left,” you panted, nodding your head as he sucked on your skin.

It was unseasonably warm for May, the humidity hanging in the air as you left the air conditioned building. Jake pushed you up against the wall, using it as leverage as he quickly reached down to undo your shorts and wiggled them out of the way. He ran two of his thick fingers along the outside of your lace underwear, stroking the dampened fabric as he smirked to himself.

“Someone’s eager, aren’t ya, Darlin’?”

“Just shut up and fuck me, ok?”

“Now, that any way to ask for it?”

A wicked grin appeared on his face as he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, stroking at your clit with a feather light touch, just enough to make you whine for more.

“Jake, I swear to fuck, if you don’t take me right now.”

“Shhh, Sugar, don’t want anyone to hear, do ya? Unless you get off on getting caught,” He purred as he coaxed his fingertips inside of your dripping entrance, pumping them into you with precision.

You tossed your head backwards as Jake thrusted his fingers further into you, each movement harder and faster than before. The determined look in his eye alone was almost enough to send you over the edge. This man was hell-bent on making you orgasm, and he was on the right track to get you there within a matter of seconds.

“Fuck, s-so close, Jake,” you keened, your fingers gripping his thick blonde hair as he brought you to your climax.

“That’s it, Sugar. Look at you, you’re a mess and I ain’t even started on you yet.”

“J-Jake, please,” you whimpered, coming undone as he fucked his fingers into you at a breakneck pace.

“Speak up, sweetheart, can’t hear ya.”

Your head started to spin as he pulled his fingers out of you, causing you to whine at the loss of contact. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, he slammed his hips forwards, shoving his thick cock inside of you, causing you to cry out in ecstasy at the sudden fullness. Trying to be quiet, you secretly thanked your lucky stars that the sounds of Your Love by The Outfield blared throughout the club. Just as the chorus picked up, Jake rocked his hips forwards again, fucking himself into you with enough force to make you feel as though he might blow your back out right then and there.

“That’s it, Sugar, takin’ me so well,” Jake smirked, “What was that you said about bein’ a wannabe cowboy? Bet those other boys can’t fuck you like this, now can they?”

You were practically rendered speechless by Jake’s precise, rhythmic thrusts into your cunt, his masculine grunting and teasing proving enough to throw you back over the edge once again. Your legs began to shake and shudder while he bucked his hips up into you, his eyes full of lust and hunger as he brought you to your second orgasm of the night. Your walls clenched around him tightly, eliciting a low, pornographic moan out of Jake.

Raking your fingers through his hair, tugging on it as you threw your head back, you screamed out his name, louder than you intended. You lost your ability to hold yourself together as Jake’s thrusts became sloppier, his own orgasm following close behind yours.

“Fuck, am I good?” He groaned, his eyes pleading for permission.

“On the pill, you’re good,” you panted, nodding quickly as Jake let himself go inside of you, your name falling from his lips like a sacred prayer as he repeated it over and over, praising you.

“Now, how ‘bout letting a strong, handsome Southern boy take you out on a date so he don’t feel so bad about fucking you until you can’t walk a couple hours after meetin’ ya?” He grinned as he readjusted himself and pulled his clothes back up.

“I think I can fit you into my schedule, on one condition.”

“Mhmm? What’s that?”

“Next time, you come wearing a cowboy hat.”

“Deal, Sugar, I’ll even let you wear it.”

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parkerpeter24 · 10 months

Note

please I beg can you write a Peter Parker x reader one shot where the reader gets injured and when Peter visits her in the hospital her heart rate monitor keeps going crazy and he kind of teases her about it and she’s embarrassed but overall it’s fluffy 🙏🙏 maybe some angst because he’s worried and protective when she gets hurt but then it’s fluffy!! the heart rate monitor could expose her crush or just show the effect he has on her if they’re in an established relationship but that’s up to you <3333

omg i love this idea so much 😭

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader

requests are open (but no guarantee of writing-)

masterlist

the last thing you remembered was the bus hurling towards you. but peter had saved you.

right?

you saw flashes of his costume before you fell unconscious.

to say your friendship with peter was new would be denying the fact that you just started talking to him four months back when you two got paired for a class project. the two of you had mainly bonded over the fact that he was spider-man, obviously after you’d caught him changing into his suit in the music room.

you teased him to no avail over what would have happened if someone like flash walked in on him instead of you.

it was another boring day in queens– just like the one before– or so you thought.

after school, you decided to grab a sandwich from delmar’s. you had become a fan of their subs since peter introduced you to the deli and mr delmar. you took your sandwich and were exiting the shop when you felt the ground shake beneath your legs.

as the glass door slid out of your way, you made an exit, only to notice the commotion and all the noise. your eyes widened as you watched peter– or spider-man– holding a microphone as he spoke to a guy in a big metallic suit that looked like a rhino.

your heart skipped five beats at once as peter swung towards the guy. mr delmar was the one who shook your shoulders, snapping you out of your daze. it was as if you were frozen on the spot. you looked at the man and then back at peter before you were pulled away by mr delmar who ran away from the centre of the event grabbing your arm.

your eyes were focused behind, head turned in the direction of your friend, fighting the gigantic metallic thing. where did the guy even get this?!

when the guy in the big rhino suit stomped, everything from the ground to the buildings around you shook. the police cars were thrown around as peter urged for every citizen to evacuate the area.

the moment his mask eyes met yours, they widened, a sudden panic evident on his face even with the mask on. he swung over to you, his wide eyes meeting yours up close, “what are you doing here?!” he asked, both hands on your shoulders just like mr delmar had done to snap you out of it.

he was quick to pull you into an alleyway, away from the eyes of the rhino guy.

“i-i was getting a sandwich.” you answered, suddenly realising said sandwich wasn’t in your possession anymore, “i lost it…”

“you can’t be- don’t worry about the sandwich, get out of here!” he said, waving his hands around anxiously.

“peter, i’m worried-”

“don’t be. i got it.” he assured. you frowned, clearly not convinced by that.

“but, pete…”

“just go. as soon as this is over, we’ll get a sandwich.” he promised. at least this time you had the adrenaline to blame for making your heart skip a beat.

the two of you then had to part as he escorted you out of the alley, sending you off to the direction opposite to the rhino. you ran as fast as your legs would let you but the bust that rhino threw your way was faster.

and the last thing you heard was peter yelling your name.

your heart was still in your throat when you opened your eyes. you winced at the bright lights. who needed this amount of lights during the daytime. a sound of steady beeps filled your ears as the thumping in your ears subsided.

trying to move was a mistake as you felt the dull pain in the back of your skull. then you noticed it. a hand wrapped around yours, which was resting on the hospital bed.

“hey, hey, you’re okay.” peter’s soft voice fell in your ears as your eyesight slowly adjusted to the lights on the off-white ceilings, “you’re fine.”

“what… what happened?” you asked as your head turned slightly. peter saw your struggle and helped adjust the bed so you could see him better.

“do you remember the fight? with the rhino?” peter’s voice was hesitant.

“yeah… i do.” you said, eyebrows furrowed as he continued.

“y-you were hurt but… spider-man saved you.” he gave you a look of assurance but you could tell he was worried, “you hit your head and the doctors said- they said you might not remember a few things and i thought…”

“i’d forget you?” you finished the sentence he left off and peter nodded hesitantly. your frown deepened, “how could i?”

you wanted to say more but all you could do was squeeze his hand. peter smiled at you and your heart fluttered.

“you okay?” the brunette asked, looking at your heart rate monitor which sped up by a fraction, “it’s normal to be anxious after what happened today, but you’ll be okay.” his voice was worried and you couldn’t help the warm feeling that spread throughout your chest.

did you just get caught by peter. you’d never really acknowledged the heart but peter was quick to read the monitor again as he placed a hand on your shoulder, “y/n, you alright?”

“yes, peter.” you said quickly, “the accident and that big rhino guy, so you know?” you laughed awkwardly, “my head hurts.”

your attempt to change the topic of the conversation became successful as peter nodded, “oh yeah... you were out for a few hours because they put you on painkillers.” he gave you a pursed smile, “might have to stay here a few days.”

“oh?” you asked.

“your parents said they’d bring some necessary stuff so, they must be on their way back now.” peter explained. it took you a few moments to take it all in but then you nodded.

“are you okay though?”

“me? oh, i’m alright.” a soft squeeze to your hand made you realise that peter and you had been holding hands since the moment you opened your eyes and you cussed at yourself for letting your heart speed up at the thought.

peter’s eyes flickered to the heart rate monitor again, “what is it?”

“you’re holding my hand.” you pointed out, feeling your face heat up.

“yeah, but what- oh.” he realised what you were implying and his own cheeks turned a shade of pink, “oh?” not even a second later a smug look overtook peter’s features, “did i do that?”

“i-i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you failed miserably to hide what you’d been trying to all along when the heart rate monitor kept picking up your increased heartbeat, “can we turn this thing off?”

“quite frankly i’m enjoying it.” peter chuckled and you rolled your eyes.

“this is not fair to me!” you tried to sound offended however the smile on your face gave it away.

you two ended up sharing a laugh but as soon as it died down, peter spoke, “you know i think, if i was attached to that ‘thing’, i would have the same reaction.”

“you would?” you raised your eyebrows. it was your turn to give peter a smug look.

peter’s hand made its way over to where it had previously been, holding yours, “maybe after you’re discharged, we can go out, say… get a sandwich?”

you gave him a smile, “it’s a date.”

#peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker #mcu peter parker #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter imagine #peter parker angst #tasm!peter x reader

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daikunart · 2 years

Text

ᴋɪɴɴᴘᴏʀꜱᴄʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

↳ ᴠᴇɢᴀꜱᴘᴇᴛᴇ | ᴇᴘ12

#Little hoes... Love them #Kp ep12 #Vegaspete #Flashing tw #Kinnporsche #Dark scene #vegas x pete #Kinnporsche the series #Kiss scene #Clowngifs

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liyazaki · 2 years

Text

a thousand armies couldn't keep me out. | seven devils

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spiderispunk · 1 year

Note

Just thinking about how Peter would totally hump the bed while he eats you out I mean what 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Pairing: Peter Parker x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Smut [18+]. Oral Sex (F!Receiving). Multiple Orgasms. Pussy Drunk!Peter. Praise Kink. Dirty Talk.

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble HELP!

“Fuck, baby,” Peter groans from between your legs. He pulls away from your dripping cunt to suck down a lungful of air.

He’d been between your thighs for the better part of forty minutes, licking, kissing, and sucking you all over. His movements teasing at first, the faintest suck of his lips against your clit, a barely-there press of his tongue between your folds. Then frenzied, urged by the hot twist of desire in his gut as he listened to the heady pleas and whimpers that dripped from your lips like saccharine honey.

The first time you came, it was with a choked whimper of Peter’s name. The second time, a scream had wrenched its way out of your throat. The third time you nearly blacked out. Now Peter was well on his way to earning a fourth, with no sign of stopping.

He looks absolutely sinful framed by your thighs. Dark curls a mess from your fingers. Cheeks flushed red. Spit and cum cover his swollen lips and chin in a glaze. The heavy-lidded look he gives you is lewd. A wicked grin spread over his face, a quick flash of teeth. Hickory eyes dance with mischief, and the shadow of something darker.

Greed. Maybe even…pride.

If he looked like sin, you looked downright sacrilegious. Fucked out, yet still wanting. Hair a mess, lips parted, eyes wild. Your shirt rucked up over your heaving breasts. Bite marks and bruises covering your skin.

It just made him want to wreck you all over again.

“Look at ya, honey,” Peter mumbles, the words slurred. He presses opened-mouthed kisses up and down your inner thigh.

The scrape of his beard against your soft, sensitive skin makes you shudder. “Pete,” you whine, your voice equally wrecked.

“Hm?” His grin widens. “Something you want?” His gaze burns into yours.

You nod, and Peter clicks his tongue.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Want your mouth on me.”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “Again? Greedy girl.” His voice is infuriatingly smug.

“It’s s’good.” You bite your bottom lip as Peter bites your thigh. He chases the sting away with gentle swipes of his tongue.

Peter chuckles. “You really know how to stroke a man’s ego, baby.” He presses a gentle kiss to your sensitive clit. “But, since you asked so nicely…”

Large hands grip your thighs and pull you back to his face. His lips wrap around your clit, tongue flicking as he sucks gently. His eyelids flutter shut at the taste of you. Peter moans and groans, each needy sound he makes muffled by your pussy. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder to open you up more to his mouth.

“You taste so fucking good, baby. Fuck. Could stay like this, with my mouth on you, forever.”

Before meeting you, Peter never knew what it was like to really crave something. To want something so badly– all the time– that when you couldn’t have it you felt like a piece of you was missing. But then, he got on his knees and buried his face between your pretty thighs for the first time. Now he doesn’t know how he ever lived without that before.

He’s addicted to you. Simple as that. Fixation pure and raw. To the taste of your cunt. To the way your hips rock and your thighs tremble when you’re getting close. The way you sigh and moan when his mouth is on you. The sharp pain of his hair being tugged between your eager fingers. All of it.

He can never get enough of it.

Peter’s fingers dig into your thighs, nails biting shallow crescents into the skin. He licks you up and down, savoring the taste of the three prior orgasms. He swears he can taste the beginnings of the impending fourth.

His tongue slides into your entrance, thrusting in and out as if he’s trying to bury himself in you however he can. You’re gushing on his face, uninhibited. Each slide of his tongue brings a new wave of wetness.

His nose nudges against your clit, and he inhales deeply. God you smell so fucking good.

“Oh shit,” you whine. You thread your fingers through his hair, using your grip as leverage to rock your hips up against his mouth. “Don’t stop. Fuck, that’s it, Peter. God.”

Your praise is music to his fucking ears. It makes his cock twitch in his sweatpants. He thrusts his hips, desperate for some relief from the ache that’s been building for almost an hour. He groans at the friction, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

It feels so good. No. Hopped up as he is on desire and the warmth of your pussy, it feels like fucking heaven.

He sneaks a hand down past the waistband of his sweatpants to squeeze his cock. Precum beads at the head of it, staining his sweats. Fuck, he could come in his pants, like a damn teenager, just from this. From you.

Lewd noises fill the room. Mingled moans and sighs of pleasure. The frenzied smack of his lips against your pussy. And now, the creak of bed springs as Peter thrusts wantonly into the soft mattress.

You’re floating on Cloud 9. Body humming with the tell-tale signs of your orgasm creeping up on you. Whimpers fall from your lips freely, your chest heaves. Your thighs tighten around Peter’s head, holding him in place as you chase the high that’s floating above you, just a breath away.

“Look at me,” Peter pulls away for just a moment. “C’mon, baby. Look. Watch me make you feel good.”

It takes all your remaining strength to slide your eyes to his. They’re intense. Almost black with lust.

You hold his scorching gaze, let the fire in his eyes burn into your soul, spread through your blood and render your body to ashes.

Peter wraps his lips around your clit once more, head moving side to side, and it’s all over. You come with a wail, hips bucking and thrashing. He wraps an arm around your waist and holds you in place, wedged against his lips. Determined to drink down every last drop that you give to him. Wanting to drown in your perfect pussy.

Your back arches off of the bed. Ecstasy shooting through every inch of your body. Your heartbeat thrums loudly in your ears, so loudly that you almost don’t hear Peter’s panting as he himself comes undone.

But you do. Amidst the stilted exhales, you hear the quiet mumbling of your name.

Peter’s hips rock faster. So close to the glorious edge he can feel the tingling in his lower stomach. His shoulders flex under his shirt, biceps curling, and then his whole body tenses. Peter lets out a strangled cry. And then he comes. Hard. Like really, earth shatteringly, hard. His entire world flips upside down with the intensity of it.

Five minutes pass before he’s able to string together a coherent thought, and when he finally can, his first thought is of you.

“Hey, baby,” he whispers, pillowing his head on your thigh. “You okay?”

“Uh huh.” More than okay. “Fucked out and tired, but okay. C’mere.”

He forces his jellied limbs to move, and crawls so he’s resting on top of you. You swipe your thumb over his bottom lip, playing with the evidence of your arousal.

A grin spreads over your face. “You made a mess.”

“Drove me fucking wild. Couldn’t help it.” Peter smirks. “Wanna taste?”

You kiss him stupid in response.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker smut #spiderman x reader #peter parker #andrew garfield #rion writes

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starsval · 1 year

Text

honest

tasm!peter parker x f!reader

Summary: being best friends and maybe in love with Peter Parker is nice, until certain spider changes everything

Word couny: 10k

Warnings: mentions of wounds, kissing, hickeys, and I think that's all

A/N: it's based on Honest by The Neighbourhood, It's nice to have a friend, King of my heart and Sweet nothing by Taylor Swift.

Also, thanks to @myriadmoons for helping me write this <33

Patience, test my patience

If I made it too hard for you, maybe

“What happened?” You ask Peter, approaching him in the hallway. Immediately noticing the bruise on his face, even though he tried to hide it with the hoodie.

“I fell” He tells you, walking to your first class, which, to his displeasure, you had together.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You ask him as he works as your shield among all the students going to their classes.

“Sometimes” He laughs, trying to change the subject as you both sit in your place.

“Pete, I’m serious. Is it Flash again? I wouldn’t care to threaten him again”

“That only worked because he has a crush on you” He smiles, resting his head on his arms while looking at you.

“Yeah, but it worked, so I take it as a win” He laughs softly, trying to ignore the concerned look you were giving him. “What happened?”

“I fell” He knows by the look in your eyes that you don’t believe him, but he ignores it, just like he ignores your sad expression as you turn your head to the teacher.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

“Are you okay?” You ask him, opening your bedroom door so he can get inside. You notice the new bruises, of course you do, you always notice.

But you also notice the look in his eyes, telling you to not say anything about it, telling you to just hold him now.

So you do, you hug him. You let him hug you so tight that you’re afraid he might break you.

“I’m better now” He mutters, his voice muffled by your hair.

“I’m glad”

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

You should have changed it

Say it, you should say it

“You don’t even have to tell me” You had told Peter, sitting on the stairs of your porch. “I mean, it’s obvious that I’m not buying the ‘I fell’ bullshit. So just let me help you”

“It’s okay, someone’s- I’m already getting help” And it’s not you. He had told you, getting up and walking away after waving goodbye.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

“You’re ignoring me” You tell Peter, sitting on his bed with your homework on your lap.

“I’m literally doing homework right now” He says, slightly offended.

“Not right now, I mean lately” He hesitates before talking.

“I’ve been busy, I’m sorry” He finally looks up from his homework, looking at you.

“It’s okay, you know I don’t care about that, just, don’t be a stranger”

“I won’t” He assures you. “Talking about that, I didn’t tell you but I’m friends with Gwen” Then he puts his homework away, because, of course, when it’s about her he has to focus completely. “We started talking the other day and she’s really nice… "

So you just sit there, listening to him, because that’s the most he’s talked to you in days. And because you’re a good friend who’ll listen to anything even though it hurts. Because you don’t want to lose him.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

Waiting, always waiting

You wait. Even though you shouldn’t. You wait for him, for a text, for a call, for a response, anything. You wait for him to fulfil his promise, that he’d be here to do the work with you. The most important work of the year.

You wait for him to answer all your texts, all your calls. You keep waiting as you do the work, as you start it, as you look up information, as you finish it, as you revise it.

You stop waiting for him to start waiting for an excuse when he opens the door. With new cuts and bruises that had already been taken care of.

“Sorry for being late, I lost track of time” He puts his backpack in the usual place and sits on your bed, behind you. “We can start now”

You turn around in the chair, not waiting anymore since you already got your excuse. You watch the hour on your phone before talking.

“At 11pm?” You ask him, looking at his new bruises, sighing and wishing he told you more about it.

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just…” He doesn’t continue, because he doesn’t have anything to say.

“I already did it” You inform him, getting up and laying on your bed as you turn on the TV.

“What? But, we were supposed to do it together” He says, offended as he gets up, to discover that, in fact, you already did it.

“It’s due tomorrow” You don’t look at him, instead, you look at the news, talking about the decrease of crime.

“You could’ve waited for me” You look at him now, foolishly hurt by his words. Because that’s all you’ve done lately. Wait for him. “I know I didn’t answer.” ‘I’m sorry’ He doesn’t add. “But it’s like half of the grade” ‘It’s not fair that you had to do it alone’ He forgets to add, again.

“Fuck you Peter” You tell him, eyes again on the TV, refusing to look at him and at his audacity.

“Look, I know that you’re mad, but I was with Gwen, and I lost track of time, and…” He stops talking, either because he realises he mentioned Gwen or because he realises that you don’t care.

“See you tomorrow” You don’t look at him when he mutters a soft ‘good night’. You do look at him when he turns around, picks his backpack and leaves, closing the door behind him.

You don’t go to sleep immediately, even though you should. You add yours and Peter’s names to the work before putting it on your backpack. Then you continue watching the news. Weirdly entertained by the people talking about Spiderman as he swings between buildings.

You watch his back, just as you watched Peter’s. A back that you know too much, a back that you've scratched, a back that you watched leave earlier. And then it all makes sense, well, you still don’t know why he’s ignoring you. But you know the reason behind the bruises, the cuts, the tiredness in his eyes.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

I wish you could be honest

I wish you could be honest with me

You watch as the teacher corrects the works. Peter watches you. You both watch the teacher walking to your desks. The teacher watches both of you as he talks.

“It’s really good, I still have to correct some things but it’s the better one of the class” He says before walking away, with your work still in his hands.

“You added my name?” Peter asks you, looking at you as you watch the clock, waiting for the class to be over.

“Yes” You answer, now looking at him.

“I didn’t deserve it” He says ‘I didn’t do anything and then made you feel bad about it’ He doesn’t say.

“I know” You keep looking at him, ignoring the shred of hurt in his eyes, and focusing on the exhaustion in them. “Peter, are you honest with me?”

He doesn’t expect the question, but he doesn’t doubt when answering “Of course”

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

Why'd you stick around?

Why'd you stay with me?

Why'd you fake it?

You always did this. It was your tradition. But things have changed lately, so you shouldn't be surprised when he doesn't show up.

You look at the news, waiting to see someone informing you about what Spiderman's doing right now, maybe saving the city again. But nothing. He seems to be sleeping, or ignoring his best friend.

So you give up, put your phone in silence and walk in the cinema. Doing your monthly tradition alone, for the first time.

When you walk out you don't expect to see him there. Looking weirdly anxious. But you don't acknowledge him, you just continue walking.

"I'm sorry" He says as he follows you, standing in front of you when he realises you're not going to stop. You don’t say anything, you just look at him, not even bothering to hide the fact that you’re hurt. Hurt by him, by his actions, by his secrets. “I’m really sorry, I was really occupied and I couldn’t make it and…”

“I can’t keep doing this” You try to walk around him to the door so you can walk to your house. But he stands in front of you again.

“I know, and I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, I promise” And you want to believe him, you really want to, but you can't let yourself get hurt again.

“You could’ve told me” Just like you can tell me that you’re Spiderman. But you don’t say that, because you want him to trust you, although you don’t know why he doesn’t.

“I- my phone-” He stops, because lying isn’t going to get him anywhere. “I forgot”

You smile, even though all you want to do is cry. He forgot his best friend. And why? Before you can ask him, the answer appears behind you.

“Where were you? Oh, hi Y/n” You turn around, to see Gwen smiling at you. You return her the smile and a wave before turning back to Peter.

“Fuck off Peter, and make sure you don’t forget to talk to her” You mutter as you finally walk around him, reaching the door and start the journey to your house.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

As you walk on the pavement, you notice someone approaching you. You wave at him when you notice who he is. Harry, Peter’s friend. He introduced you two a while ago, and to his surprise, you actually got along.

“Hi” He greets you.

“Hi, I didn’t know you were in town?” You ask him.

“Yeah, I arrived a few days ago. Actually, I was going to Peter’s house, do you want to come?” He asks you, oblivious to the whole situation.

“I was just going to my house, but it was nice to see you again” You tell him, resuming the walk to your house when he starts talking next to you. “You don’t have to.” He cuts you off before you can finish.

“Did something happen? The last time I was here Peter told me that he wouldn’t let you walk home alone, because it’s dangerous, you know?” You sigh, because it’s true, he never did that, until today.

“It’s complicated I guess, but you don’t really have to walk me home, it’s just a ten minutes walk from here”

“It’s okay, I’d like to catch up with you” You give up trying to get him to actually go where he was supposed to and start talking about both of your lifes. “Does Flash still have a crush on you? I don’t think Peter got over the fact that he asked you out”

You laugh, remembering that day. When you’d suggested that maybe he was just jealous, he said that it was because he wanted his best friend to date someone better than Flash.

“He still does, but he hasn’t tried to ask me out again” You stand in front of your porch, turning around to face him. . “Thanks for walking me home, Harry” You smile at him, really thankful that you hadn’t spent the whole walk thinking about Peter.

“It’s okay, I always like talking to you. And about the Peter thing, I’m sure you’ll work it out”

You let out a soft ‘I know’ before saying goodbye to him and walking in your house.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

Harry doesn’t bring up the matter when he shows up at Peter’s door. Neither when they both start playing video games. Or when Peter starts talking about Gwen. He talks about it when he says that he went to the mall with Gwen.

“That’s why Y/n was going home alone?” He notices how Peter tenses up immediately.

“What?” Peter asks, like he has no idea what he’s talking about.

“I saw her, and I walked her home, she seemed upset” Peter doesn’t say anything, feeling too bad, knowing that he’s the reason why. “I even asked her if Flash still had a crush on her, maybe the next time I shouldn’t be that discreet”

“What?” Peter turns around, the video game long forgotten as the boys talk.

“Maybe I should ask her on a date while I’m here, the worst she can say is no” Harry keeps talking, and maybe he’s being for real, maybe he just wants Peter to react. But all Peter knows is that he’s getting mad, and he doesn’t know why.

“You shouldn’t” He says dryly.

“Why? Is she seeing someone?” Harry asks, getting up to pick up his things.

“No” Peter answers, his jaw tightened as he watches his friend move around the room.

“Then? What’s the problem?” Harry stops for a second, looking at him.

“I don’t want you to date her” Then he moves again, giving Peter his back as he closes his backpack, hiding his smile.

“I thought you were with Gwen?” Peter frowns at that.

“What? No, it’s all platonic” He swears.

“She must be a good friend then. You left Y/n to go with her” Harry can see Peter's face go through all emotions before talking back.

“It’s not like that” He frowns, again, like it's the most obvious thing.

“I don’t know the whole story Peter, but I do know that she was walking home alone –something that you swore you’d never do– and she seemed hurt” After that Harry leaves. Leaving a confused Peter considering all the choices he's made, while looking at the pictures you two have together.

Pictures he took of you when you gave him his new camera for his birthday. Pictures Aunt May insisted on taking one of the first times you went to the cinema together. Pictures you took of him when he was distracted. Pictures he took of you while you were sleeping, because he thought you looked cute, even though you got embarrassed after. Pictures he took of you while falling(and on the floor), after you had assured him that you knew how to skate.

He remembers that after the last one, you almost made him fall again, he also remembers that your actual words were 'Pete what the fuck??, why didn't you help me?' Like he could’ve done anything to help you

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

I hope you find a way

To be yourself someday

You were doing all you could to avoid Peter. You didn’t know if he was trying to talk to you. But you didn’t care. Maybe he wasn’t trying to find you. It's not like it's something new. But you couldn't known

You couldn't avoid each other in the next class, since you guys sat together(for the next two hours).

“Do you like Harry?” He asks you, neither of you had anything to do, while the others finished their homework, you do all you can to not look at him.

“What?” You fail, meeting his gaze as you talk.

“I think he likes you” He adds.

“Okay” You say, dryly.

“Do you like him?” You can’t believe him, it’s the same shit he did with Flash.

“Just leave me alone” You try to ignore his intense gaze.

“I don’t think you should date him” You stop ignoring his eyes now, looking at him and trying to find where his audacity comes from.

“That’s not your problem” You remind him.

He looks at you, because it’s really not. Even if you were still best friends, it wouldn’t be. But then you’d say something like ‘are you jealous?’.

“I know, I know, but he’s-” You cut him off, tired of his shit.

“I don’t care, Peter, why would I?. If I like him or if I don’t, it’s not your problem, so just leave me alone”

He seems hurt, he really does. But you stop looking at him, because maybe if you don’t see him, you won’t notice. And maybe if he doesn’t look at you, he won’t notice your hurt. Or maybe he does and he just doesn't care.

You stay like that the rest of the hour, fighting the urge to not turn your head to him, even when you can notice him looking at you. You fight the urge to not ask him for explanations, to ask him to come back to you.

As soon as the teacher says that you have a free hour, you walk out of the class as soon as you can.

You walk to the bleachers, waiting for the hour to be over so you can just go home. You’re looking at the sky when Peter approaches you, your immediate response is to get up, to try and run away.

“Please- just…” He stays there, standing in a row in front of you. You sit down again, looking at him.

He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, feeling like he hasn't seen you in forever. He doesn’t talk, you don’t talk. Until you get impatient and try to get up before he talks.

"You don't call me Pete anymore, you know?. You just say Peter, and half of the time is to insult me" You don't know how to react, you don't know what to do with the hurt in his voice. So you just talk, before thinking.

“Are you Spiderman?” You see him trying to say something, trying to lie. But you both know it wouldn’t work. So he doesn’t say anything. He looks at you, frowning.

You laugh.

“You didn’t even try to deny it” You look at him, questioning him, questioning his friendship with you, his friendship with Gwen.

“How long have you known?” He frowns, looking sad.

“Long enough for me to say that you’re not honest” You fight the urge to walk away.

He doesn’t say anything. You know that he’s mad.

You don’t say anything. He knows that you’re mad.

“You shouldn’t know” He finally speaks, looking at you, clenching his jaw.

“I know” Because you do. You know that he’s been trying so hard to hide it from you that you almost lose your friendship, or maybe you already lost it.

“It’s dangerous” He adds

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” You ask him. You both know what you want to hear. I’m sorry for not telling you. I’m sorry for ignoring you. I’m sorry for getting you worried. I’m sorry for almost ruining our friendship.

“What else am I supposed to say?” He doesn’t meet your eyes. Not when you get up. Not when you throw the sweatshirt he’d lent you at him. Not when he barely catches it before it touches the floor. Not when you start to walk away.

“Way to go Parker” You mumble, walking down the stairs.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

Hesitation, is killing me too

But I couldn't save it

I couldn't save it

"I didn't want her to get involved, it's dangerous, and I-" Peter is sitting in Gween’s bed, his Spiderman suit under his clothes, ready for the night guard. A week after his last conversation with you.

"So you're just going to lose your friendship because of that?” Gween asks, her eyes going back and forth between Peter and her homework.

“I don’t want to lose her. I thought that if I wasn’t around her that much she wouldn't discover it” He admits, his eyes looking down at the mask in his hands.

“Do you think she’s stupid?” Gwen asks, knowing for a fact, that you aren’t stupid.

“That’s the thing. She’s too smart, and she found out even when I ignored her” He sighs, laying in the bed. “I don’t know what to do now. I can’t just go to her and apologise, can I?”

“You could try, but it better be the apologise of the century” She tells him, focused again on the papers before her.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

Peter keeps thinking about that as he climbs out Gwen's window. While he's swinging between buildings. As he fights for his life.

But, curiously, he doesn't think about it when he goes to your house, when he knocks on the window. He just does it, like you're a magnet who's attracting him, leaving him no choice but to get close to you. He does it as a reflex action. Like he knows that you'll always be there for him.

And sadly, you will.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

Is this the end of all the endings?

Peter used to go to your house when he couldn’t sleep, he just knocked on the window, waiting for you to get up and let him in. But you didn’t expect him to do it right now. Especially no in his Spiderman suit.

“What the fuck happened to you?” You ask him, not even bothering to close the window. Knowing that he’d close it for you. Like always.

He sits on your desk chair as you look for your first aid kit, the one that you’d bought when Peter started to skate.

"I'm hurt" He talks, slowly moving the chair close to the bed, where you're waiting with all the supplies.

"Yeah no shit" You roll your eyes, carefully cleaning his wounds.

"I'm sorry" He suddenly says, after watching you in silence, admiring you as you healed him.

You admire him too, his hands as he holds tight to the chair, his chest as he breathes in, as he breathes out. His face as you clean the blood out of it. The look in his eyes as you keep your hands on his face longer than necessary.

"What are you doing here?" Your eyes go from his wounded chest to his eyes.

"I missed you" You stop for a bit when he says that, and you're sure he notices, but you quickly bandage the wound and get up to get him some clothes.

"It's not fair, it's not fucking fair that after everything you're just here. Telling me that you missed me. It's not fair Peter" You swear you can see something change in his eyes as he hears the name. "And I'm here, acting like nothing happened, like it's the fucking same, like my best fri-" You don't finish the word. "Like you aren't Spiderman. It's not fucking fair"

You finally tell him, looking through your closet, like the fact that you're far from him will help you ignore the attraction you're feeling.

And then it hits you, you've felt like this for a while. You've been attracted to him for a while. And with everything that had happened, you couldn't stop and think about it.

Because maybe the fact that you lost your best friend hurts more than the fact that you're in love with him. Just maybe.

"I know" He says as he gets up, walking to the bathroom to put on the clothes that you just gave him. He leaves a confused you cleaning your room, feeling your heart shrink a bit when you see all of the tissues covered in blood.

After going to the kitchen to throw everything that you had used, you come back to Peter sitting in your bed. Looking at his hands, only looking away when you sit next to him.

“I’m sorry” He admits, almost in a whisper.

“Stop saying that you’re sorry” You ask him.

“But I really am” He whispers, again

“You should’ve thought of it before you… before everything” You look down, and then at him.

“I know, but it’s not my fault that I’m Spiderman and I’m really sorry” You look away, slightly hurt by the fact that he thinks you would blame him for that.

“What are you even sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for lying to you, for ignoring you, for making you feel bad, for ruining our friendship” He says the last words like they hurt. “I’m sorry for everything, honestly. For talking the way I did about the Harry thing. For not apologising sooner. For ignoring you because of Gwen, who’s just my friend, by the way. I’m sorry” You don’t look at him, because if you do, you know you’ll do something stupid, like hugging him, or telling him that everything’s fine.

“I think you should go, maybe May is waiting for you” You get up, feeling his gaze on you as you continue to pack your suitcase.

“Why are you saying that after I apologised?” You let out a small laugh, looking through your t-shirts.

“Do you think an apology solves everything?” You hear him sigh, passing a hand through his hair.

“I- What? No, I thought you’d be more understanding” You stop for a bit, breathing in and breathing out, trying to not get mad at him.

“What?” You turn around slowly.

“You always say that people deserve second chances” He says, afraid of what your reaction will be.

“And how many chances have I given you Peter, I could’ve fucking left you as soon as you started ignoring me. But no, you hug me and everything's okay, I’m your best friend again and we’re fine. Just for you to go and ignore me, again!. What the fuck do you want me to do? Have zero self respect and go back to you just because ‘you’re sorry’?. And don’t even talk about second chances, because you’d had so many fucking chances, and all you do is fuck it up!.” You throw a t-shirt into the suitcase. “If you want me to just forget everything just because you apologised, it better be the bigger apologise anyone has seen, because I’m so fucking tired of everything“ Now you throw a hoodie. “All I ever wanted was for you to be honest, but you couldn’t even do that, so I just, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Where are you going?” He says, like he just noticed that you're packing your things. Catching a t-shirt before it can land into the suitcase.

“Are you telling me that that’s the part you chose to care about?” You ask him, snatching the t-shirt from his hands and throwing it in the suitcase again. Just for him to catch it.

“Yeah, where are you going?” He raises his arm above his head when you try to steal the fabric from his hands.

"You're fucking unbelievable Peter, I'm going to my aunts" You finally catch your T-shirt and put it on the suitcase.

"What? You won't be happy there?" He replies.

“And who says I'm happy here?” You don't look at him as you pick up another T-shirt from your closet. When you turn around, Peter’s emptying your suitcase. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Don’t be immature, just stay here, there’s no need to go there” He pushes your hands when you try to stop him.

“Oh, so I’m being the immature one? Sorry, Mr. I didn’t want my best friend to find out that I’m Spiderman so I just stopped talking to her” You put the clothes that he’s putting on the floor into the suitcase, just as he does the opposite in front of you.

“Oh, I have to get Harry to walk me home because I can’t do it alone” He replies, determined to unpack your suitcase.

“Oh, I can’t even text my best friend to tell her that I ditched her because I was with other girl”

“I already told you we’re just friends. Are you jealous?” He looks at you for a moment, making you take advantage of him and quickly fill up your suitcase.

“You wish I was jealous” You give up, and just watch as Peter empties your suitcase. “Stop being immature and go home”

“Maybe I do wish that you'd be jealous” He drawls, looking down at his work(your clothes on the floor).

“Just go home” You say again, getting up and walking to your closet. He quickly gets up again, and you think is to leave, but he’s next to you immediately.

“I didn’t want you to worry, or be in danger. So it was better to just stop talking to you, because I didn’t have to see your face when you saw the bruises. And I just couldn’t stand the fact that if you knew, you’d be in danger. And I know I fucked up, I’m sorry, I regret it everyday, I just want us to be okay” He admits, looking down at you.

“Are you fucking stupid?” You look at him, confused. “You didn’t want me to worry? So you just ignored me? You’re the dumbest person I’ve ever known. What if something happened to you? What if you fucking died? I’ll be here not knowing that it was because you’re fucking Spiderman –I mean, I would’ve figured it out, but still–. And the ‘being in danger’ shit, I have no fucking words, you think I care about that? You’re so fucking stupid Peter” You turn around and pick your clothes from the floor as you mutter ‘so fucking stupid’.

“You still care about me?” He asks, looking at you, impatiently waiting for your answer.

“You’re actually dumb…” You consider. “Of course I do” His eyes light up.

“Does that mean you forgive me?” He gets closer to you.

“No, I’m still waiting for the biggest apology anyone has ever seen” You start to pack your clothes again.

“You’re still going?” He frowns.

“Yes, I’m leaving tomorrow, so, goodbye Peter” You finish packing and you stay there, looking through the window, where Peter was just minutes ago.

And you know that he is really sorry, but you couldn't give it to him that easily. You'll forgive him as soon as you see the biggest apology you've ever seen.

Because you miss him, you miss your best friend, the guy you've been pining over for a year, the guy who used to walk you home everyday. You miss the insignificant fights you'd have about the homework, about the movie you'll see. You miss Peter Parker.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

You think about last night as you watch through the window of the taxi, about how close your bodies were for a moment, about everything he said, about the jealous thing. About the fact that you’re still waiting for his apology.

That’s when you see it, the biggest apology you’ve ever seen. Just in front of you everyone, but just for you. After you tell the driver to stop the car you get out of it as soon as possible, looking at the “I’m sorry” made of webs.

Just when you start to look around, Peter grabs you, and you honestly don’t know how but you end up above the words. Looking at him, and hugging him, because, it’s so fucking scary.

“I’m sorry” He says, after taking out his mask. Looking at you with soft eyes.

“I can tell” You say, looking at his eyes, just so you don’t look down, and because you missed his eyes.

“Is that the biggest apology you’ve ever seen?” He asks, suddenly nervous.

“Yes it is” You talk as you look around you, observing the city. “You’re fucking Spiderman, that’s unbelievable, like, out of all the people, you, that’s so fucking crazy” When you look back at him, he looks like he isn’t breathing. “Yes, Pete, I forgive you, I thought about last night and it was kinda funny, you know? The whole suitcase situation. I missed that, I missed you”

Once the words leave your mouth he smiles like he just won a contest and hugs you. He hugs you like he hasn’t done in a while, and you hug him back, happy to have your best friend back.

“Yeah, I get it, but, um, could we get down? Love the views, but it’s scary” You say, smiling.

“Shit, yes sure” He seems to remember where you two are and puts the mask on before taking you to the taxi.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

My broken bones are mending

With all these nights we're spending

"I'm sorry" Peter says as he sits on your bed.

"Don't apologise" You tell him, cleaning the wounds on his neck.

"I'll buy you another first aid kit" You smile, patching up his face.

"Well, I hope I won't need it" He chuckles a bit, knowing that you probably will have to.

"Thank you"

"I'm your best friend Peter, and I have morals, if Spider-man was on my window dying I'll help him"

"What if it's a fake Spider-man?" He grins through the pain.

"You think I won't recognise you?" You ask, indicating him to roll down the top of his suit so you can look at the wounds. "Does it hurt?" You look at the bruises on his side.

"I'm better now" He slowly gets up and grabs the clothes you let out for him.

"I'm glad" You smile, cleaning and throwing everything you've used.

When he comes out of the bathroom, already in normal clothes, you're in bed, scrolling down your phone.

"I should leave" He says as he picks up his backpack.

"Stay here Peter" You talk, patting the space you left him next to you.

"Are you sure? I don't want to bother" He says, even though he's smiling.

"Yes, I'm sure" You don't bother to look up your phone. "There's a lot of gossip we have to discuss"

You do look up your phone when he lays down next to you and covers both of you with the blanket.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

Up on the roof with a school girl crush

Drinking beer out of plastic cups

Say you fancy me, not fancy stuff

You notice people staring at you as you enter the house. You follow Peter through the crowd, and wonder if the music and the smell of alcohol are bothering him.

"I'll get something to drink" Peter talks through the music, once you've found a not so packed corner in one of the rooms.

"If you insist" You smile back at him as he walks away.

You're looking at his back when someone approaches you.

"What are you doing here alone?" Some guy asks you, leaning on the wall behind you.

"Who said I was alone?" You reply, not smiling, rather grimacing from the smell of alcohol he gives off.

"Well, I don't see anyone around right now" He says, looking around, ignoring the fact that you're not even looking at him.

"Maybe it's because I don't wanna talk to anyone" You simply answer.

"You're kicking me out?" He still smiles, even though he wants to look offended.

"I don't know, am I?" You give him a fake smile, just before Peter appears with two cups, and after you grab one, he passes his arm around your waist, facing that guy.

"So you weren't alone" The guy mutters, looking at Peter's arm around you.

"If you wanted to keep her company, you can leave, I'm already here" Peter grinns, oblivious to the look the guy gives him before turning around to bother someone else.

"What was that?" Peter doesn't answer, instead he pulls away and grabs your hand, leading you upstairs, to one of the balconies of the house. "What was that?" You ask again, seeing that he's too focused on his cup.

"He was bothering you" He simply answers, smiling at you, as you both sit on the floor, leaning your back on the wall.

"How did you know that? Maybe I was having a good time" You question, smiling back at him.

"With that look on your face? I doubt it" He raises an eyebrow before raising the cup to his lips.

"Maybe that's my way of flirting. Showing no interest. They seem to like that" You shrug, smiling.

"So you were flirting?" His jaw tightens a bit, looking directly at you.

"What if I was?" You hold his gaze, waiting for any kind of reaction.

But the only thing he does is take out a bottle of alcohol from under his jacket. "What the fuck?" You smile, taking it from as he hands it to you.

"Though it'd be nice to have something just for us" He smiles as you pour it in your cups.

"But you didn't answer" You remind him.

"I mean, I'm your best friend, I have to approve them first" He jokes.

"That's the reason?" You half close your eyes.

"Yes" He looks away, drinking.

"You sure? No other reason?" You insist, stretching out your arm to poke his cheek.

"Yes" He moves away, fighting his smile.

"Are you really sure?" You scoot over to be closer to him, still poking his cheek.

"Yes, I'm sure, okay?" He finally lets the smile out and grabs your wrist as he pulls away.

"No, not okay, I don't believe you" You try to get your hand free, but he holds it tighter.

"Why don't you believe me?" He asks you.

"You don't seem believable" You smile, looking at him as you drink.

"Maybe it's you who doesn't want to believe me" He talks back.

"Maybe" You shrug.

"But for what reason?" He insists, leaning to see your face.

"I don't know" You sigh, drinking the rest of your cup. "But it's true that you don't seem believable"

"So you don't believe me and I don't believe you, we're even" He smiles, knowing there’s no point in trying to get you to talk.

"I guess" You smile back at him.

At some point, maybe when you're talking about the stars or when you finish the bottle. You find yourself on Peter's lap, his lips on yours and his hands on your hair.

You feel the grip he has on you, and how his lips go to your neck, you also feel him smirking against your skin.

And you also hear someone knocking on the door, making you pull away immediately.

You don't talk, not when you get up, or when he holds your hand to lead you through the people. You talk when he's walking you home.

"Can we not talk about that?" You ask, a hand on your neck to feel the hickey he gave you.

"Why?" He says, looking at the hand on your neck, and remembering how it felt to do that.

"We were drunk, Peter, it was a mistake" You remind him.

"Yeah, sure, we won't talk about it" He says, and maybe he means it, because even when he's drunk, he hasn't forgotten about the fact that he's spiderman.

He tries to not be obvious when he's saying goodbye to you, but you still notice him looking at it.

"Peter, stop looking" He smiles.

"I'm not looking" He says, looking directly at your neck.

"You're drunk" You remind him, giving him your back to open your door.

"Kinda" He replies, grinning.

"You should stay" When you turn around, he's still smiling. "Peter if you talk about it i'll kick you out" You remind him as you close the door, both of you already inside.

"Maybe it's worth it" He stops smiling when you leave him alone and walk to your room, mumbling something about a 'mistake', that's all he could hear.

But he keeps his promise and doesn't talk about it. He wants to, but he conforms with having you under his arm while you watch a movie.

He doesn't talk about the next days either, not even when you put makeup on your neck to hide it. And weeks pass, but neither of you have forgotten about it.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

School bell rings, walk me home

Sidewalk chalk covered in snow

Lost my gloves, you give me one

You were walking home from Harry's, after saying goodbye to him, who leaves tomorrow. Peter's walking by your side. He's huffily talking about the fact that some classmate of yours never stops talking.

"You also talk in class" You remind him, rubbing your hands together to get some warmth in them, you accidentally left your gloves in Harry's house, you already texted him to consider it a parting gift.

"Yeah, to you, it's not the same" He says, taking the glove of his right hand off.

"Why not?" You ask when you see what he's doing. "What are you doing, you're gonna get cold" You say, walking away from him when he tries to give you his glove.

"At least let me give you one" He replies, and he's faster than you, so he quickly grabs your right wrist and puts the glove on.

"What about your other hand?" You ask, still refusing to make him cold, even though he's Spiderman, so it's not that of a problem.

"You'll grab it, and then it won't be cold, okay?" He doesn't give you a chance to protest as he grabs your ungloved hand and starts walking to his house. "And it's not the same because you're worth talking to"

"You're biassed" You tell him, smiling.

"Me? I'd never, how dare you say that" He puts the hand you're not holding in his chest, acting offended.

“Of course you’d never, you react the same when I talk and when Flash talks” You remind him, looking at the snow on the floor.

“That’s because you’re not a shitty person” He says, suddenly grumpy when he talks about him.

“You say that ‘cause you’re I’m your best friend” You look at him.

“Everyone can tell that you’re a good person” He says, genuinely,

“You’re still biassed” You remind him.

“Nonsense, even if I wasn’t your best friend I could still tell that you are a good person” He seems ready to defend his argument with his life.

“How could you tell that?” You ask, curious.

“Because of your aura” You look at him, sceptical “And because you’re pretty” You look away, so he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. But of course he notices, and of course he smiles. Because neither of you have forgotten the ‘maybe I wish you were jealous’ thing, or the fact that you made out at that party.

You don’t say anything, instead, you urge him to walk faster so you can get in his house already. When you walk in, you're greeted by Aunt May, who gives you a big hug.

"Oh sweetie, I missed you so much, you should've told me and I'd make sure that Peter isn't dumb, you're the best that has ever happened to him, I can't believe he almost lost you. Men are so stupid sometimes" She talks as she gives his nephews a bad look.

“Thanks Aunt May” He says, taking off his coat before helping you take off your own as soon as May breaks the hug. “My own family is against me, I can’t believe it”

“It’s okay” You assure her “I could handle him on my own. And they’re really dumb sometimes” You agree with her before following Peter to his room.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

Light pink sky up on the roof

Sun sinks down, no curfew

After finishing your homework, gossiping and playing video games, you’re both on Peter’s roof, a blanket around both of you as you watch the sunset.

“What about bug-boy, web-head, spidey?” Peter shakes his head with each nickname. “I don’t care, I like spidey”

“Really? I’d prefer bug-boy honestly” He admits, making you smile before looking at your phone, who just made a notification sound.

“What the fuck?” You mutter.

“What?” Peter asks, leaning over your shoulder to see what you’re talking about.

“Flash just asked me on a date?” You say, still looking at your phone.

“Why does he have your number?” He frowns.

“That’s what you care about, really?” You look at him, and you roll your eyes when you see, that, in fact, that’s what he cares about. “I used to tutor him”

“Oh” He seems to relax, but then he frowns again “Didn’t you reject him once?”

“Yes, but he quite didn’t believe that I didn’t like him, so as a last resource, I told him I had a boyfriend” You tell him, looking at your phone, thinking about a way to turn him down.

“And he just believed you? He didn’t ask who he was?” He says, asking himself why he didn’t know any of this.

“I mean, yes” You doubt before talking. “I told him I was dating you, and I also told him that if he ever bothered you again then he’d actually never have a chance with me, so, yeah” You rant, and when he doesn’t say anything, you keep talking. “I guess he saw that we weren’t that close anymore and assumed we broke up”

“And he just- he believed it? He didn’t question it?” He frowns again.

“Actually, he said that it made sense and walked away” You shrug, looking at your phone.

“What? Do we look like a couple?” He asks and prays that you don’t look up to see the smile on his face.

“Should I tell him that we’re back together?” You avoid the question.

“That’d work” He waits to talk again after you type your response.“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Something gave you the nerve

To touch my hand

“Didn’t seem important” You don’t look at him, instead, you look at your phone, which seems to make him lose his patience. So he grabs the hand you’re using to grab your phone and puts it down between both of you, with his on top.

“It didn’t seem important that people could think that we’re dating?” He asks, thanking the sound of the birds, because he thinks that if it were silence, you could hear his heartbeat.

“Does it bother you?” He almost jumps with the assumption.

“What?- Are you crazy?, no- Why would that bother me?. Does it bother you? Well I don’t think so because you’re the one that said it. But it definitely doesn’t bother me. Like, I’d be honoured if someone came to me and asked ‘Are you dating Y/n’. Actually, I’d be more honoured if we were dating for real, you know?” He stops his ranting when he notices what he just said, and just closes his eyes, thinking about swinging out of this situation.

When you don’t say anything, he looks at you, seeing you wide-eyed, fighting a smile.

“Is that your way to ask me to be your girlfriend?” He doesn’t answer, he just looks at your mouth, just as you look at his mouth, who’s fighting to say something.

But the words don’t come out of his mouth, instead, he gets closer to you, and you back down a bit, slightly opening your mouth, looking down at his.

“Easy bug-boy” You smile, reminding the wound you cleaned up just a few hours ago. Also reminding him that you’re supposed to be his best friend.

“What’d you call me?” He whispers, laughing before sighing, so mesmerised by you. You smile, and back away, feeling like you’re in heaven when he sighs again.

“You said you liked that, I could call you Spidey if you wante-” You stop talking, his lips almost touching yours. The hand that was on top of your, goes to one side on your neck. “Peter, we shouldn't” You talk, trying to not lose your breath almost.

“I know” He drawls. And that’s when you give in. His lips go to your neck and you can’t take it anymore. When he’s in front of you again, you stop backing away and lean forward.

When your lips meet you feel like you’re going to die. The cold that you were feeling goes away. And you don’t care anymore about the people that could see you.

You just focus on his mouth, so needy for you. His hands, touching you to make sure you won't go away. His body, practically hovering over you.

He's fighting so bad his impulses to not bite your lip, because he's been waiting for this for a long time. But he does anyway, and he seems proud of himself when he hears the sound you make.

His hand moves to the back of your neck, and he moves your head so he can kiss you better. You let him do whatever he wants, and you groan when he stops kissing you.

He laughs after seeing your face, and his lips go to your neck immediately. His other hand goes to your waist, and while you use one to support your body, the other goes to Peter's hair. Which you keep touching when his lips are touching yours again.

He's practically on top of you, and he's about to make you lay down, but you hear someone walking down the street.

So you pull away, and after realising what you just did, both of your hands leave each others body immediately.

"That was a bad idea" You say, barely breathing.

"I'm in love with you" The breath you just catched goes away, and his eyes search for your gaze after he rants. "I'm so in love with you I don't think it's normal. Because you're so, perfect, and I know I don't deserve you"

"Don't say that" You frown.

"You're too nice and I'm so…" He looks at his hands.

"Peter, don't say that" You repeat.

"And I know it's selfish for me to tell you, but we just kissed" He smiles. "And I get it if you don't feel the same but-" You don't give him a chance to continue talking, instead. You grab his face with your hands and kiss him again. This time it's softer, and you just wish that he gets what you mean. You hope that he knows that you're also in love with him, that you love him so much you want to die.

When you pull away, you rest your forehead on his, closing your eyes, because you're sure that the intensity of his gaze might decompose you.

"I love you so much you don't get it. And don't ever say that you don't deserve me. You're so…" You sigh, not able to express it right now. "I'm in love with you, Peter"

"Are you sure?" You look at him, actually wondering if he's being for real.

"We just kissed?" You tell him, to make sure if he remembers.

"You kiss a lot of people that you don't love" He says, thinking about the parties you used to attend every weekend.

"Did you give me a hickey?" You ask, touching your neck.

"You're changing the subject" He closes his eyes halfway. You sigh.

"You're the one changing the subject" You talk back.

"Why would I change the subject?" He sounds offended, even though he's smiling.

"Because you don't want to believe that I'm in love with you" He smiles "Because you think you don't deserve me" He stops smiling "Which is the dumbest thing you've ever said, and it's saying something, because you say a lot of stupid shit" He smiles again.

"Because it's true, it's dangerous, what would they do knowing that you're Spiderman's girlfriend?" He stops smiling, and looks away, regretting everything.

"I'm already your best friend" You remind him.

"It wouldn't be the same, they love that cliche where they get the hero's girlfriend" He scowls.

"They probably think we're already dating" You see him fighting a smile.

"But still-" You roll your eyes, tired of this.

"I'm sure, I'm in love with you" You tell him. And he smiles, he looks so fucking happy, especially when he talks again.

"I did, in fact, give you a hickey" He looks at it, and grabs your wrist when you try to hit him. He doesn't let it go, instead, he puts it down and grabs your hand. "Does that mean you want to be my girlfriend?"

"No, we just ate each other's faces and confessed our love but I won't be your girlfriend, idiot" You say, sarcastically.

"Is that how you talk to the boy you love? No wonder you're single" He rolls his eyes.

"We aren't even together and you're already leaving me" You frown, but it quickly turns into a smile.

"I would never" He assures.

"Yes Peter, I want to be your girlfriend"

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

"Weren't you already dating?" Is what uncle Ben and aunt May ask you when you walk in holding hands a week later.

"What? No" You both say, at the same time.

"Oh, congratulations then" May says, having an excuse to hug both of you again.

"Took you long enough to get the girl" Ben says, but smiles anyway, giving Peter's back a pat.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

It’s nice to have a friend

You were walking around Peter's room, he just came back from his usual duty as Spider-man, and was finishing some homework.

"This is new" You tell him, taking a book out of the bookcase, and showing it to him.

"What?" He looks up, and when he sees what's in your hand, his face goes red. Making you frown.

"What's this?" You ask him, smiling as he gets up slowly, afraid that a sudden move might make you open the book.

"Nothing" He lies, walking a step forward, making you back away immediately.

"That's not true, what is it?" You ask again, and before you can look at the book, it flies away from your hand. When you look at Peter, he's taking the webs out of the cover.

"Nothing" This time you're the one who walks forward, closing your eyes halfway.

“What are you hiding?” You’re getting closer to him, actually afraid that he might jump out of the window.

“What do you mean? I’m not hiding anything” He talks as he hides the book behind his back. Once you’re in front of him, he sticks the book on the ceiling and grabs your face so he can kiss it when you look upward.

“Kisses are not going to get you out of this, why are you so embarrassed of a book?” You don’t move when he continues kissing you.

“I’m not embarrassed” You look at his face, almost as red as his suit. “And how are you going to get it out of there anyway?”

“I’m sure May would love to see that” You start to walk away when he wraps his arms around you, laughing.

"Promise you won't laugh at me" He talks, with his arms still hugging you.

"I promise" You assure him, and after he hears it, he jumps and effortlessly sticks to the ceiling, grabbing the book.

He gives it to you and turns around, muttering something about homework.

When you open it you see a lot of pictures, professional ones, polaroids, and even printed from his phone. There's photos of both of you together, of you, and of the things that you like.

Photos of you trying to do your makeup, reading in class, studying, sleeping, crying from laughter. You petting a dog, a cat, running away from a bug. You holding a test that has a 100 written on it. You sitting on a bench while reading a book.

Selfies that you took when he was distracted, when he was texting Flash to leave you alone, when you arrived at your first party. Photos of him doing homework while you sat in his bed. There's one of May and you trying to bake while Peter and Ben are trying to help. You kissing his cheek, and him kissing yours.

Photos of the flowers you saw on the street once and said that you like, a certain street that gave you good vibes, some of the drawings you made of both of you in class. Photos of the matching keychains you made for you to share.

Apart from the date in which the photo was taken, there's annotations under every single photo. Some of them say 'I love you so much', or, 'You fell down right after I took this photo'.

He put his thoughts under each picture, even when it's just 'You look hot in this one'. And that photo was from when you two were just best friends. He also put 'I made that ;)' under the photo where you can see a hickey on your neck.

The book is full of every moment of your friendship, even when that moment was you trying to cut Peter's hair. There was everything, sad thoughts, happy thoughts, normal teenager thoughts.

After you look at every single page, you look up to see Peter watching you.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" He asks after you two just stare at each other.

'What? Why would I think that?" You frown, sitting next to him in his bed.

"Because I made that" He avoids your gaze.

"And it's beautiful Peter, I love it, it's amazing" You hug his side, leaving the book on the chair.

"Are you lying?" He asks and you laugh, rolling your eyes

"You're the dumbest person I know" You lay down as you talk, making him lay down next to you, he turns around so you're facing each other.

"You say that a lot" He frowns, looking almost offended.

"Because it's true, why would I lie? I love it" You see him fighting a smile.

"Thank you" He stops fighting and grins.

"Did you really think I looked hot that day? I remember that you took a lot of photos" He hugs you and hides his face on your neck, and laughs.

"Really?" He talks with his face still on your neck.

"Yes, because if I remember well, we were best friends, you know? Do you think it's normal thinking about your best friend that way?" You grab his face in your hands, making him look at you as you talk.

"Like you're one to talk" He rolls his eyes.

"I'm sorry? I've never thought that" You add, innocently.

"Because I didn't see you almost drool when I wore that outfit you bought me" You smile thinking about it, wondering how you got him to accept your gift.

"You looked hot, you should wear it again" You smile, giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Didn't you say you never thought that?" He closes his eyes halfway, leaning in to kiss you again.

"But we're already dating, dumbass" You smile

"Right"

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

They said the end is coming

"What if something happens to you because of me?" You see him trying to hold the tears in his eyes.

"No, listen, listen-" You try to talk, but he doesn't seem to care.

"No, wait, wait, wait" He cuts you off, not willing to let you talk. "I cannot let that happen"

"Listen to me" You get closer to him, so he has no choice but to lean on the wall behind him. "You're Spider-Man, and I love that. But I love Peter Parker more, I always loved you, with no Spider bite and all, with glasses, contact lenses or whatever, that's not gonna change" You search for his gaze. "That's worth it to me"

"I can't lose you" He says, looking directly into your eyes.

"If because you can't lose me, we can't be together, who does that work out for, Peter?" You ask, already knowing the answer.

"I can't, I'm sorry Y/n" You look away, laughing as the tears begin to fill your eyes.

"Wow. You've done this to me again and again Peter. I can't live like this" You take a step backwards as you talk.

"I know, I'm sorry" He doesn't move, instead, he looks at you. "We should break up" He says, so quietly that you have to lean forwards to make sure you heard him right.

"What?" You ask him.

"We should break up" You stare at him, not showing any emotion.

"No" You simply say, crossing your arms.

"What?- You can't say no to a break up?" He frowns.

"I can, and I do, we are not breaking up" You remind him.

"Y/n… It's for the best" He looks down.

"No" You cross your arms. He sighs, passing a hand through his hair.

"Look-"

"I said I can't live like this, but not in that way. You can break up with me when you stop loving me, or when being with me hurts you. But not because of self sabotaging" You don’t talk for a second, letting him process the information. “So, I’m gonna go, talk to me when you don’t want to break up with me”

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

When you open your shared playlist the morning after, you see that the most recent added song is Afterglow-Taylor Swift

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

Everyone’s up to something

You don’t see Peter until the night after your ‘break up’. He is on your door, with flowers in his hands and sorrys on his lips.

“I’m sorry” He talks as you let him in, scanning his body for new bruises.

“Are you okay?” You ask, grabbing the flowers to put them in a vase.

“You’re too good for me” He mutters as you lead him to the couch, making him sit next to you.

“Stop saying that” You remind him, grabbing his hand.

“I’m sorry” He looks at you, nothing but honesty in his eyes.

“You came here to tell me something, didn’t you?” He nods, still looking for madness in your eyes. “Then do it”

“I don’t want to break up with you, but I don’t want to lose you. If something happened to you because of me, I’d never forgive me. But you make me happy, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, I don’t want to lose you” He hugs you, not sure if you’re the one who’s going to break up with him.

“You won’t lose me Peter, they won’t hurt me, if I survived Flash’s tries to flirt with me, I’ll survive anything. I promise” He stays silent for a moment, chuckling at the Flash's mention. Then, he talks.

“I love you”

“I love you too”

He stays there for the night, giving you nothing but kisses, hugs and sweet nothings.

🕸 ⊹ ⋆

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

“Shut up” Peter says, finally getting up from the chair and walking to his bed, where you're laying.

“No, I’m being for real, hear me out” He suddenly lies on top of you, leaving you unable to get up, but you keep talking. “We make T-shirts with exclusive pictures, and boom, we’re rich”

“You really want to sell my pictures?” He puts his head on your chest, closing his eyes.

“What about one with no shirt and the mask, to keep your identity safe-” Even though he’s not looking, he can feel your smile as he covers your mouth with his hand.

“Let’s sleep” You laugh, pulling his hand away from your face.

“We could be rich” You remind him.

“Shut up” He chuckles, lifting his head to look at you.

“Okay, maybe not sell them to the press, but” He waits for you to finish, raising his

eyebrows.

“Don’t you think Flash would want a T-shirt from the actual Spiderman?”

He doesn’t react for a moment, considering if you’re being serious or not, then, he kisses you, a quick peck, giving you no time to react.

“I’m so in love with you” He says, his head on your chest again.

"I'm so in love with you too" You tell him, with your hand through his hair.

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter fluff #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #best friends to lovers

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