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belovedjeju · 3 months

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The Deal (I Can’t Go Inside)

Show Me How (To Love) Chapter 2

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Synopsis: The time has come for you to head to the Lee residence and start your new life as Bada’s fiancée. Hope you can handle the pressure!

Note: Any pictures used are for aesthetic purposes only, and aren’t indicative of the reader’s body type/race. Any relations to real people and events are purely coincidental.

Tw: Physical abuse, cursing, unrealistic depictions of sleepwalking

Word Count: ~10.4k

When you come to yourself, you find yourself staring out the window, the morning rays of sunlight shining in your eyes. Looking down, you see your phone in your hand, unplugged and low on battery. 6:42 am is the time, long before your door is ever unlocked. Letting out a sigh, you plug your phone back up, your back, hand, and wrist stiff from the lack of movement.

You wonder how long you were sitting like that, out of it and ruminating. Your eyes feel heavy, and with every blink they sting from the lack of sleep. All you can do is groan as you lay back down, rubbing your eyes is frustration. You can already tell that you aren’t going to fall back asleep, but your body feels so heavy that you can’t move even an inch more.

So, you lay there.

You lay there as the sky outside gets brighter and brighter. You lay there as you hear the bustling of people outside. You lay there as your stomach growls, reminding you that you barely ate the night prior, and now you’re craving an orange.

Thinking about the night before only gives you a headache, realization kicking in about your entire situation.

You’re getting married. The revelation hits you like a truck. You’re getting married in the place of your sister, and you know nothing of what’s to come. You don’t want this marriage, by any means, but knowing that your parents’ lives are on the line makes you suck it up and go along with it –as if you have a choice–.

Soon enough, you hear the click of your doorknob as it unlocks, and you sit up in bed before your mother enters.

She immediately frowns as she looks at you. “What are you still doing in bed? Get up, now!” She says as she taps her foot on the ground, key to your room door in hand.

You listen to her, body sluggish. Your feet meet the hard floor instead of your house slippers, which confuse you, as you always put your house slippers in the same place by your bed before you sleep. You look around the room, seeing one of your shoes by the door, and the other by the closet.

You were walking around last night, you realize, internally sighing as you move to grab your shoes and your outfit for the day. You put your slippers on as you walk to your bathroom and shut the door. Your forehead meets the door, and you like the way it feels against your warm skin.

Fuck, you can’t handle this right now. You can’t handle any of this.

“Calm down, calm down, calm down,” you whisper to yourself, “You’re alright, you just need to get through this and then you’ll be alright.” You don’t have time to calm yourself down further, as your mother’s voice cuts through your ears.

“Choi (Y/n), hurry up! Do not keep us waiting.”

You push away from the door, moving to get ready. One look into the mirror shows your disheveled and tired state, and you wonder if Bada will turn you away as soon as you appear in front of her.

The long, dark maxi dress and long sleeve shirt you have on underneath hides your body well, but you hope your mother doesn’t think it’s too revealing.

You leave the bathroom and face your mother, waiting for her to give you an order.

“Come here,” she says, and you obey, stepping closer, but keeping a bit of distance between you two. Your mother grabs your wrist, pulling you closer, and you let out a gasp at how tight she’s gripping your arm. Her face is extremely close to yours, and her stern eyes bore into yours. You want to look away so bad, but she grabs your chin and makes you face her. “You will not embarrass your father and I today, do you understand me?” You nod rapidly, eyes squeezing shut at the pain. “You will not complain, you will serve Bada in any way she needs, and you will obey her.” You don’t want to protest, but you have too many worries to not say anything.

“But mother, what if she’s violent? What if she gets angry and hits–” your mother squeezes your cheeks, silencing you.

“If you upset her, fix yourself and do better. You will do whatever she wants,” she says through gritted teeth, shoving you away. “I swear, Soo Ri should’ve been the one to do this, not you.” She looks like she wants to spit on the ground you’re standing on, but she turns and walks away, leaving you to rub your cheeks with tears in your eyes.

You sniff and rub the tears out of your eyes, legs feeling weak. You look around your room, trying to gather your bearings.

Walking to your dresser, you grab your phone so you can look at your appearance in the camera. You unlock it, only for your phone to open the message app.

What you see only makes you want to break down and cry more.

On the screen are your texts to Soo Ri from last night, dozens of green messages taunting you. They start out written properly, showing clarity in your actions.

‘Hi, my lovely unnie.’

‘Where are you.’

‘Come home.’

‘I hope you’re sleeping well.’

But as you continue to read them, they become short, unintelligible, with terrible grammar and no structure. In between the key smashes and word vomit, you can read a few things.

‘Scared’

‘Please’

‘Send away’

One text catches your eye, however.

‘Don’t let the cat get you’

Memories rush to the forefront of your mind, clouding your vision. Glass breaking, screaming, the feeling of suffocating into your pillow, beady yellow eyes staring up at you.

You feel your breathing getting harsher and harsher, phone dropping out of your hand as you stumble down, eyes darting everywhere.

You feel your heart beating faster and faster, threatening to pop out of your chest.

You try to dig your nails into your palms, trying to ground yourself back to reality, but you are quickly slipping away.

You hear yourself sobbing, you feel the tears slide down your cheeks, you feel the pounding in your head as you try and grab onto anything to calm you down.

You are so, so stupid, you tell yourself. You don’t deserve anything.

When you come to, you’re curled into yourself, arms close to your chest and tears pooling below you.

You faintly hear your parents’ voices downstairs through your open door, and it snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Thank you so much for escorting our daughter. I was up all night worrying about her journey to the Lee residence,” you hear your mother speak, using the tone she reserved for speaking with guests. It’s time for you to go.

You quickly get up, grabbing your phone and charger shoving them in your purse. You rush into the bathroom, wiping your face with water and fixing your hair. You plant a smile on your face and grab your suitcase –you had shoved all of your shoes into one suitcase the night before, thinking two would be too much– and your box, walking out of your room without looking back.

You walk down the stairs slowly, hands shaking. Once you make it to the bottom of the stairs, your mother’s voice gets louder.

“She’s always been a little more reserved, and she doesn’t really eat much unless prompted, so please don’t let her stay to herself and neglect her needs. And oh! She really likes to eat beef as well, and she doesn’t really like sweets, and she gets cold really easily too.” With the way your mother is rambling, she comes across as a caring, concerned mother, and no one will guess that she had just admonished you earlier.

You’re not sure you want them to.

“Oh honey, (y/n) will be fine. She’s a big girl and you should trust that she’ll be ok,” your father says, voice kinder than you’ve ever heard before.

“I know, but she’ll always be my baby,” your mother sounds close to tears, and you wonder how long this performance will last.

Well it’s not like you aren’t performing as well, so you might as well match their energy.

“Mother, father, I’m ready,” you say as you arrive near the door, where your parents are standing with another woman, or girl, you should say. She has a very cute face, round cheeks and burgundy colored hair. But her clean suit, cold face and tall posture made her look older than she seemed to be. You place your box on the floor next to you and flex your fingers.

You bow to the girl in front of you, and she bows back.

“(Y/n), this is Sowoen, and she will be escorting you to Ms. Lee’s home,” your father says, adjusting the glasses on his face. You nod in acknowledgement.

Your mother starts to sniffle, holding your cheeks in her hands, much gentler than earlier.

“Oh, how you’ve grown. I remember when you first came to us like it was yesterday. And now you’re getting married,” she pulls you close to her in a hug, and you fight the urge for your body to freeze. “Don’t fuck this up,” she whispers in your ear, and squeezes you harder. You put your arms up to hug her back, though you feel awkward doing so.

When was the last time you hugged your mother?

“Ok honey, you have to let her go now,” your father says as he separates your mother from you. Your father doesn’t hug you, but he does hold your hands in his.

His touch makes your skin crawl.

“Please, stay safe my dear. Know that you will always have a home here,” he says, his voice soft. You just nod again, trying your hardest to keep the smile on your face. You pull away from him first, wrist still hurting from earlier.

You go to grab your stuff, but Soweon steps in before you could. She grabs your suitcase and box with ease, and you feel embarrassed at having her do the work for you. You also don’t want her to see how little you have.

“Is this all, Miss?” Soweon asks you, and you can only nod silently, hands itching to grab the load off her hands.

A maid holds the door for the both of you, and you don’t look back at your parents as you follow behind your escort, though you can feel their gazes burn into your back. You can’t help but shiver.

~~~

The ride to Bada’s home is uncomfortably silent. You want to speak to try and break the awkwardness, but nothing comes out. Plus, Soweon’s tight grip on the steering wheel and her eyes locked forward is probably a hint for you to keep quiet.

She must be mad at you, you think as you fidget with your hands, for not being the one her boss wanted to marry.

You lock eyes with her in the rear view mirror, and quickly look away, mind going far.

To get to the Lee mansion requires one to go through large gates flanked with security, who quickly lets the car pass once Soweon shows her ID and they do a quick check in the trunk of the car, which makes you nervous.

Soweon drives the car down the pathway, and into a cul de sac, where at the end sits the Lee mansion, your new place of residence.

Your heart beats loudly in your chest as you stare at the utterly huge mansion in front of you.

You’re living here? Even your parents’ vacation homes aren’t this big!

You’re scared to see what it’s like on the inside. Maybe you can just live in the car and you won’t have to see Bada ever!

No, that’s ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. You’d need to pee at some point.

Before you know it, your hand is reaching for the door only for it to miss as the door swings open, Sowoen looking at you expectedly as she stands on the other side.

“O-Oh…” you stutter as you stare at her in bewilderment. You must’ve been keeping her waiting for too long. “Sorry,” you apologize, stepping out of the car. You don’t notice Sowoen’s hand held out to help you out of the car, looking towards the trunk for your belongings.

“I’ve got it, Miss,” Sowoen speaks up, taking your things out of the trunk for you. You continue to stare at her in confusion.

“You… you don’t have to do that. I can do it…” you say as you reach for the suitcase, but Soweon only pulls it away from you.

“It’s alright, Miss. It’s my job,” is all she says before walking towards the mansion steps.

“But, but, they’re my things. I don’t want to have you do all of the work,” you try and say, trying to catch up with her quick steps. “Can I at least hold the box, please?” You ask, clasping your hands together. “There’s a lot of important things in there to me,” which isn’t exactly a lie, but it would still be better just to hold it.

Soweon sighs, which causes you to think that you’re probably being a bit annoying, so you take a step back from her and place your hands by your side.

“Here,” she says, holding the box out to you. You blink, but quickly move to grab the box from her hold before she changes her mind.

“Thank you…” you whisper, following her up the stairs without another word.

The inside of the mansion is just as grandiose as the outside. Bright lights and long halls leading to who knows where. You could see the giant glass chandelier hanging from the high ceiling if you tip your head back far enough. There isn’t a spec of dust as far as your eyes can see –which, frankly, isn’t far–. To the sides you can see stairs leading to the second floor. You wonder how many rooms there are in this whole place. There has to be at least thirty, right?

A maid greets you both with a respectful bow and you bow back, although Sowoen doesn’t.

“Shall I take this to your room, Miss?” She says, holding out her hands expectedly. You clutch the box closer to you, not wanting to give the maid all of your load like you did to Sowoen.

“Miss, we’re going to be seeing the boss first, so it’s best you put your stuff down,” Soweon says, nodding towards the maid. You look at her hesitantly. You could just take the stuff to your room directly, but you don’t want to keep Bada waiting, so you reluctantly give the box to the maid, flexing your hands awkwardly once she took it away.

You follow Sowoen down the hall, keeping an eye on the back of her burgundy head. Your heart beats hard in your chest as you stop by a large wooden door with a very antique gold door knob. Sowoen knocks on the door, and opens it when she’s given permission to enter. You hesitantly follow behind her, blurry gaze landing all over the room.

You enter into an office, one bigger than you’ve ever seen. Near the wall in front of you sits a desk, full of stacks of paper and pens, and two small chairs in front of it. Against the other two walls are dark green sofas, with a small, glass coffee table to the side of each. Everything in here looks expensive, even the rug you’re standing on, it only makes you even more nervous.

Standing in front of the desk is none other than your fiancée, tall and intimidating, just like the day you first met. On the couches sit multiple other women, though you don’t know who they are.

Bada’s face is neutral, nary an emotion can be gathered from her gaze, hands clasped in front of her. Hands that could hurt you at any moment…

‘You will not complain, you will serve, and you will obey her’, your mothers words repeat in your head as Bada stares down at you.

Remember, you tell yourself, this woman can kill you and your family at any moment, so maybe listening to your mother will be wise.

You bow to Bada, eyes kept to the floor, waiting for her to address you.

“How was your trip,” her voice is deep, resounding throughout the room and bouncing off of your ears.

“It was fine,” you manage to say without stuttering, hands gripping your dress. You still don’t look at her, but rise anyway. “Thank you for having someone escort me here,” you say. You hope it scores you half a point for your respectfulness.

“This will be your home now,” Bada starts, voice still level. “So there are a few things you must know, especially since your parents did not inform you of a single thing prior to our meeting on Friday. I’m assuming that is still the case, correct?” You wince, feeling all of your hopes of them sparing your family’s lives being shredded to bits. You feel a lot of eyes burning into your back and elect to keep your head down.

Should you be honest and just say yes? Will lying spare your family even just a little.

“Choi (y/n), I asked you a question.” Despite the authoritative nature in her voice, it was still the same tone and pitch she spoke in moments earlier. It made you push lying out of your mind.

“That’s… that’s correct.” You’re going to pass out any second now. If you beg her to kill you, will they spare your parents' lives? Soo Ri’s?

“I see. While you are here, your safety is one of the top priorities for both my team, Bebe, and I,” that is, until you piss her off and she kills everyone you’ve ever loved. “You must follow the rules set in place to ensure your safety, understood?” You nod, staying silent. “One, you will never walk around without a bodyguard, ever. There’s too many risks out in the world for you to walk around without one. Sowoen here will be filling in that role for now.” You don’t know if you should feel relieved that it’s at least a somewhat familiar face or not. Bada continues, holding up two fingers.

“Two, you must not lie to me, ever. I despise liars, and you seem to come from a family of them.” You wince again, squeezing the wrist your mother grabbed earlier. The pain brings you back down to Earth. “I will not spare you if I find out you’re lying to me.” You can only nod, voice not coming out properly.

Bada holds up a third finger, “Finally, this is simply a business deal, so I expect you to act accordingly to fulfill the terms of the contract that you and your parents agreed upon, understood?”

You agreed to the contract? Since when? What did you agree to, you can only wonder. Maybe Bada took your begging for your family’s lives as an agreement. Yes, that must be what it is.

“Y-Yes, I understand, Ms. Lee,” you finally manage to say.

“These are all of the members of my team,” you turn around to face the women on the couches, and Soweon, who sits on the couch to your left. “To your left are the junior members. Soweon, whom you’ve met already, Minah,” Bada points to a girl with black hair, “and Cheche,” she points to a girl with orange hair. Their eyes bore into your figure, as if they’re studying you, waiting for you to slip up, which you will most likely do soon.

Bada gestures to your right, “These are the senior members. Their word takes precedence over the junior ones, so what they say goes first.” You nod again. The gazes of these women feel a bit more hostile, but you couldn’t tell from the lack of emotions on their faces. “This is Tatter,” she points to a woman with light blonde hair, “Kyma,” a woman also with blonde hair, but a shorter face, “and Lusher, my second in command. If I am not here, you listen to her. Are we clear?”

“Yes, we’re clear.” You repeat obediently.

“Good, Sowoen will give you a tour of the residence, and will help you get settled in. And here,” you turn to her, and she holds out a black credit card. You blink at it, then look up at her for the first time since you’ve entered. “Use this for anything you need. There’s a lot of money on here, so do not worry about it running out of funds anytime soon,” she says, card held loosely in her hands.

You aren’t receiving an allowance? That’s… confusing. You thought everyone received an allowance from the head of the household.

“Take it,” Bada says flatly.

Don’t complain, serve, and obey.

You blink again at the card, gently grabbing the edge from her as if it were a foreign object.

“Thank you, Ms. Lee.” You grip the card in your hands to make sure it’s real.

“You are dismissed,” Bada says, and Soweon holds the door for you as you leave. You bow to Bada and the girls before you go down the hallway, Soweon following behind you.

Bada sits down on her chair, sighing.

“Do you trust her?” Lusher asks, breaking the silence in the room.

“I don’t need to,” Bada says, picking up a piece of paper and a pen. “As long as she does what she was brought here to do, I don’t really care whether or not she’s trustworthy. That’s for you all to figure out.” She taps her pen on the counter. “Alright, here are your tasks for the week. Cheche, fill Soweon in later,” Bada states before starting their meeting.

~~~

The Lee mansion is too big for your liking. Dozens of bedrooms, a cozy living room, giant catering kitchens, a library, a theater room, a tennis court, a gym, a ballroom, and apparently, a giant garden somewhere else on the property. You’re getting overwhelmed at Soweon’s explanations as you pass the giant pool. There’s even a fucking jacuzzi in the corner of the pool.

As you stare down at the water moving with the slight breeze, you imagine yourself under the surface, holding your breath until it hurts, eyes staring at the sky above you.

You wish you hadn’t been told about the pool, you think. You feel like you’ll be coming here often in your sleep, whether you like it or not.

“Miss,” you hear Soweon call you. You tear your eyes away from the pool to look at her. “Shall we end the tour here?” She asks, with a tilt of her head. She must be tired of talking to you. It’s best to listen to her and end the tour.

You nod, and follow her to a bedroom.

“The boss has prepared this room for you, but you can change anything around as you please,” Soweon says, never passing the threshold of your room. You look around, taking in the large queen sized bed in the middle of the room, the white vanity to the left and the giant walk-in closet to the right, along with a desk by a giant window.

You wonder if you can ask them to bolt it shut for you. Would you sound insane? Is that a normal request for someone to have? You really aren’t sure.

“Please let me know if you need anything, Miss,” Sowoen says to you, and you nod.

Sowoen bows to you as she goes to shut the door, and you bow back. Once the door’s shut, you let out the deep breath you were holding, but you still feel no relief. Instead, you feel as if you’re suffocating. You’re now in the lion’s den, and one wrong move could mean you and your whole family being torn to shreds.

You look at the door, noticing the lock on the inside. You’d be able to lock and unlock your door with ease. That fact scares you.

To distract yourself from the thousands of worries in your head, you start to unpack your suitcase, finding your closet already filled with hangers for you, which you appreciate, though most of them are left unused because of your lack of clothes, but oh well.

You go to unpack your box, opening it up with a key on your wallet. Only for you to end up putting it down because you become face to face with that porcelain cat. The cat that you thought you left in the nightstand at home.

Its yellow eyes pierce into your teary ones, mocking you, reminding you of all of your mistakes, and when you pick it up, your skin crawls, the scar on your back burning once more.

You put it in the nightstand dresser and hope you forget about its location later.

You continue to unpack your items, tears in your eyes.

When you’re done, you place your house slippers on the floor by your bed, and crawl under the covers.

Exhaustion is catching up with you, you’re hungry, you’re craving an orange.

You decide to sleep.

~~~

Sowoen’s days have been very uninteresting lately. Instead of the hustle and bustle of her normal, everyday life, doing reports, following her seniors around as they worked, testing out different types of poisons on others (and herself in secret), she has spent the last few weeks watching her boss’ new fiancée.

Bada says it’s to teach her responsibility as the youngest, and she is grateful for the opportunity. However, she is just… just so, so bored.

Every morning at 5 am, she wakes up and goes to stand at your door at 6, and hears you wake up around 8:30. You don’t open the door for a while, sometimes for hours, until Sowoen wonders when you’re going to eat something, and knocks on the door.

You look bewildered every time she opens it, like the action is unusual or something, even when you tell her to come in with a confused voice. Sowoen doesn’t really care as to why you think it’s weird, only wanting you to not starve to death and have Bada be disappointed in her, so she asks if you’re going to eat something.

The first few days here you ate a proper meal, but after that, you just ate oranges. And then you would retreat back into your room, until it was time for dinner, where you would eat a proper meal at 9. Then at 10:00, you turn in for the night. She would stay outside your room for a few more hours, just in case you need her again, but at 1am she goes to her room to sleep –she’s already used to getting little to no sleep, so there’s no issue with that–.

It’s just weird. Of course she should mind her business. You being quiet and not stirring up trouble is a good thing. However, Sowoen doesn’t trust you. She may be slightly –curious isn’t the right word, maybe wary?– about your skittish behavior and notes the familiarity in your actions, but she doesn’t trust you, or your family. Your family lied to Bada, and that is something that cannot be forgiven. Who knows what else you’re lying about.

And on top of all that, Sowoen is just bored. She’s so, so bored.

Even when she listens through the door –not actively but just generally listening out for sounds– she doesn’t hear you moving at all. No music playing, no talking on the phone, not even singing to yourself. Are you in solitary confinement or something?

At times like this she wishes she had Kyma’s scary hearing ability, at least so she can see if you’re alive or not. She could always just go in your room herself and check on you, like a bodyguard should do, but Bada also warned of giving you your privacy, a sliver of respect while you’re here.

But she cannot, in good conscience, let you isolate yourself like this.

Sowoen, always the softy, she can hear everyone saying, causing her to sigh.

“Mind your business, Sowoen, mind your business,” she whispers to herself.

Sowoen thinks of dark spaces, no room to move, aching bones and everlasting silence.

She sighs once more, turning around to knock on your door, but is stopped by a voice.

“Sowoen,” it’s Cheche, voice leveled despite the small smile on her face. It’s been a while since she’s seen the other junior members, her best friends, because she’s been stuck to your side –or rather, your door–, so it’s a surprise to see her here.

“Hi, Cheche. What’s up?” Cheche stops a little always from the door, not exactly in front of Sowoen.

“The boss wants to see you,” she says, eyes flickering to the door behind Sowoen. “I’ll watch over the Miss in your place, ok?”

Sowoen is hesitant, not wanting abandon the job Bada assigned her to do.

“Here,” Cheche says, holding out her hand, a hand that holds Bada’s family ring. The request is legitimate, not just a trick to test Sowoen to see if she’s doing her job. It’s also unrefusable –not that she can or would ever refuse Bada anyways–.

Sowoen nods, taking that ring and holding it tightly in her hand, stepping aside so Cheche can take her place.

The walk to Bada’s office isn’t a long one, but she is curious about why Bada wants to see her. She’s been doing her job correctly as far as she knows. You’re still alive, maybe not healthy, but you’re alive!

She makes it to Bada’s office, knocking six times to let Bada know it’s her.

“Come in,” Bada says, and Sowoen enters, giving Bada a slight bow.

“Morning, boss,” Sowoen greets her, holding out her ring for her to take, which she does.

“Morning. Have a seat,” Bada gestures to one of the chairs in front of her desk, and she sits. Bada is sitting behind her desk, in her pressed suit and glasses low on her face. She taps her pen on the desk as she looks at Sowoen.

“What’s your assessment of her?” Bada asks, referring to you. The question comes as a bit of a surprise to Sowoen, as she didn’t expect Bada to ask her about you, nor care enough about you to ask. Though she figures that it’s a matter of just keeping tabs on you, which she did expect Bada wanted. “You can speak honestly. There will be no penalty for doing so.” Despite saying that phrase plenty of times before, Bada always makes sure to reassure her, and for that, Bada has Sowoen’s trust.

“If I’m being honest, there really isn’t much to say,” Sowoen starts, picking at her nails but still looking Bada in the eyes. “She doesn’t do much at all. She doesn’t leave her room much, only to eat, and she barely does that,” Bada’s expression doesn’t change at that information, so Sowoen can’t gather what she’s feeling. “When she’s in her room, I really don’t know what she’s doing, I really can’t hear anything when she’s in there,” Sowoen furrows her eyebrows. “Not that I’m intentionally listening on her or anything. I want her to have privacy, but just… y’know.” Sowoen realizes she’s rambling and closes her mouth.

“Thank you for sharing that, Sowoen.” She feels herself blush at the praise. Bada leans back in her chair. “So there’s no one she talks to? No places she likes to go?” Bada asks, clasping her hands together.

Sowoen shakes her head, “No, it’s like she isolated herself. No calls to her parents, nor do I ever see her texting anybody either. It reminds me a lot of…” Sowoen shuts herself up, quick, not wanting to be reminded of the past,

“I see,” Bada says, understanding what Sowoen is referring to.

“But I don’t want to intrude on her life, y’know? I think it’ll be rude if I said something,” Bada nods at that.

“It’s ok to give suggestions, as long as you’re respectful, right?” Sowoen nods, not saying anything more. “Bring her over,” Bada says, and Sowoen snaps to attention.

She didn’t expect her to say that. She thought that Bada wouldn’t want to see you at all after what your parents did. But who is she to question her superior, so she gets up and goes to retrieve you.

Before she leaves, Bada calls out to her.

Her face is serious as she looks at Sowoen.

“Do you trust her?” Is all she asks.

“No, boss, I don’t.”

~~~

Your days at the Lee mansion have been very uneventful. You wake up, covered in bruises from your body hitting things in your new bedroom when you walk around at night, not used to the new layout just yet. You then wait for your door to be unlocked, but you end up waiting for hours until Sowoen knocks on your door asking if you’d want to eat breakfast, leaving you to remember that doors aren’t just generally locked all the time from the outside. You then go to eat breakfast, but you’re too nervous to keep anything down so you just eat oranges. Then, you retreat to your room and just lie there until dinner, where you sit by yourself for thirty minutes and eat a little bit of food –just like at home, but you don’t want to think about that right now–.

What else is there to do anyways? Your only source of entertainment is painting, and all of your supplies are at home. You’re too scared to walk around the mansion and explore, fearing that you’ll just end up sleepwalking to places and burdening Sowoen and Bada later on, and you don’t want to ask Sowoen or a maid to get things for you, because then you’ll feel like you’re being bossy and pretentious.

So, you just sit in your room and think.

Sometimes you read the books you brought from home, sometimes you scroll through videos on your phone, switching from app to app, but mostly, you just end up thinking.

What is your role in all of this?

Are you just an accessory? A thing to parade around to make Bada look good? But why settle for you? Why not find someone else from another family who didn’t lie to her?

Is it just to get back the money your parents owe her? If so, does that just make you a hostage?

The thought makes your throat close up in fear.

What rights did you have in this mansion? Could you go where you pleased? Or were you just stuck in this large home, waiting to be used and discarded. You’re too scared to ask, fearing Bada’s emotionless stare, or the annoyed looks from the Bebe girls.

If you’re a hostage, that means Soo Ri was also supposed to be a hostage, right? But knowing Soo Ri’s personality, you can’t imagine her settling down and taking that.

You imagined she’d come here, with her endless confidence that you’ve always envied, demanding to be treated right, and probably getting whatever she wanted, too.

But what are you supposed to do, then? Just lie there and wait for Bada to make up her mind on what she wants?

Would she take her anger out on you if she had a rough day? Would she come into your room and…

You don’t allow yourself to go down that road, mind already dredging up things from the past.

Don’t complain, serve, and obey.

You blink, remembering your mother’s words and turning over in bed, hugging a pillow to your chest.

If Bada ever does anything to you, it’s not like you have the power to fight back. You’d probably have to just cry in silence when she’s done with you, hoping that the next day will be better. Maybe if you don’t complain she’d leave your family alone.

Yeah, just think of the benefits for your parents. They’ll be able to just pay Bada back, and then be done with her while she just keeps you to the side, at her mercy. You’ll gladly be at her mercy if it means they’ll be happy.

Before you can sit in your thoughts more, there’s a knock on your door. You wait for it to open, but then remember that your door isn’t locked.

“Come…come in,” you say, the words still feeling foreign on your tongue.

The door opens and Sowoen appears, face still serious. Her hair is down today.

“Miss, the boss wishes to see you,” she says, never passing the threshold to your door.

You blink in confusion, but get up anyway.

You haven’t seen Bada since your first day here, and she has not called for you since then. Are you in trouble? Is your family in trouble? Is Bada going to kill you? Has she finally gotten sick of you? All you’ve done is stay still! You haven’t been a burden to anyone, at least you think you haven’t! Maybe you’ve unintentionally upset someone, but you swear you’ll get on your hands and knees and beg for forgiveness!

You must’ve done something wrong, you think as you walk through the halls, gripping your wrist in your hand. Bada is going to kill you. She hates you.

Too soon do you end up in front of her office, large wooden door taunting you as you raise your hand to knock on the door.

“Come in,” Bada says, voice sounding much more secure than yours. You wonder if you’ll be able to get the words out to defend yourself.

You open the door, which creaks as it moves, the sad sound announcing your presence in Bada’s clean space. The door closes behind you, and when you turn around, Sowoen isn’t there.

Which means you’re alone with Bada, for the first time. You’re alone with a woman who hates you.

You bow to her, and wait for her to give you an order, or yell at you, or do something.

“Sit,” Bada says, gesturing to the chair in front of her. You do so, without question, avoiding her gaze. You feel it burning into you, probably waiting for you to confess your wrongdoings. Maybe if you apologize first, she’ll go easy on you.

“Um, Ms. Lee,” you start, voice wavering. “I sincerely apologize for my actions, truly.” You dig your thumb in your palm, rubbing it in circles.

Bada raises an eyebrow at your words, wondering what you could’ve done. She decides to see what you’ll apologize for, and stays silent.

“I, um, I promise to do better… as, as your fiancée. I know I should have learned better from my parents, and for that I apologize… for being clueless, I mean. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t mean to upset you, but if you tell me what,” you blink rapidly, looking down at your hands, “if you’re willing to tell me what I did wrong, then I’ll be sure not to make the same mistake again…” you finish, biting the inside of your cheek.

“And what exactly are you apologizing for?” Bada asks, staring down at you despite the lack of eye contact on your part.

You start to stammer even more, “You, you called for me, so I thought… I thought I did something wrong,” you blink again, bouncing your leg. “Is it not that?” Bada watches as the gears turn in your head, trying to find an explanation for why she called you here.

“If it’s about Soo Ri and the switch, I, I sincerely apologize for that. I know that what we did isn’t forgivable, but I promise to –”

Bada silences you with a rise of her hand.

“Enough,” she says, effectively stopping your apologies. She places her pen down, never looking away from you. “What are you doing here?” She asks you, and you look up at her for the first time since you arrived. Her expression is still void of any emotions as her brown eyes look you over.

Does she think you are overstaying your welcome? Is she going to send you back home? What does that mean for the safety of your family? What will your parents think of you coming back home so early?

Don’t complain, serve, and obey.

“I… I’m here to be your fiancée,” you answer, uncertain. Bada just blinks at you.

“There’s no need to stay inside. Go, visit your parents, get groceries, go shopping for clothes, do whatever you want,” Bada orders you, and your eyebrows furrow.

She didn’t want you here, it seems, even though you thought you were behaving.

But it’s best if you don’t argue.

“For how long?” You ask for clarification, trying your hardest not to cry. Were you failing the one thing you were asked to do?

“For as long as you wish,” is all she says, writing down something on a piece of paper. It’s not an adequate answer for you, but you won’t fight her. “Sowoen will keep by you as you go, so do not try and stray too far from where it is safe.” You nod, voice failing you at the moment. “You are dismissed,” Bada says after a beat. You nod, getting up and bowing before leaving her office.

Sowoen is waiting for you at the door, closing it behind you and following you to your room. Once you get there, you turn to Sowoen, not meeting her eyes.

“Um,” you start, clearing your throat, “Ms. Lee told me to, uh, not be inside? Do you have any place I could go?” Your tone conveys your shyness, not used to talking with the woman who follows you around just yet.

Sowoen pauses, nodding her head as she thinks.

The boss must’ve seen her underline concerns, despite her attempts to hide it, and reassured you that you could go wherever you wanted.

Bada knows Sowoen better than she knows herself sometimes.

“There’s a shopping district further into the city,” Sowoen starts, “There’s a bunch of different stores you can go to, you browse around if you like.” Sowoen suggests. The stores there are all ones Bada provides protection for, so you shouldn’t be in any danger there.

You nod, entering your room to get ready.

You dress in a long black maxi skirt, and a dark blue sweater that is a little bit itchy due to it being so old, and some of your old sneakers. You need to buy new ones, but you’re waiting for you to have enough money to buy your glasses first before getting anything else. It is a bit warm outside for the outfit, but you’ve learned to tough it out.

You wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea by you showing skin.

When you’re done getting ready, you grab your purse and your phone, opening the door and waiting for Sowoen to lead the way. She takes you to the front, and the sun hits your eyes as soon as you leave the manor, not used to the brightness after staying inside for so long.

You wait for Sowoen as she goes to get the car, warmer arm causing you to fan yourself with your hand, and walk down the steps to meet her. With each step you try not to think about what you’re going to do once you get back.

If Bada doesn’t want you to be in the manor anymore, you’re going to have to pack, right? But then where will you go? Can you even go back home? If the contract your parents signed says that you are supposed to be living with Bada, then you really can’t go back home.

Will you just be living on the streets?

You ball your hands into fists at the thought.

You couldn’t go through that. Not now, not ever.

You’d rather die.

Before you can dwell on it any further, Sowoen opens the car door for you before you can do it yourself. You blink at her in bewilderment, but she just gestures for you to get in the car. You still aren’t used to people doing things for you, but you get in the car so you don’t upset her.

The drive to the shopping district isn’t long, but it does feel longer because of the fact that your cheap headphones broke completely. The speakers blew out as soon as you turned your music on, so now that’s another expense to the list. You could only sigh as you try and wrack up how much everything you need will cost in your head.

You just didn’t have the money for any of this. You don’t even know why you’re going to shop when you still need to buy glasses and get a new eye exam. It’s all so, so stupid. But Sowoen suggested it, and you don’t want to make her or Bada mad by not listening to them.

Once you're at the shopping district, Sowoen is quick to open the door for you, and she even offers her hand to help you out of the car. You take it, hand shaking, but you can’t help the confusion that sits on your face.

“This way, Miss,” she says as you walk forward.

You follow her, looking around at the multitude of shops around you. Even in the early afternoon, there are a bunch of people walking around, and you feel Sowoen’s presence close behind you. You look around, squinting to see your surroundings. Through your blurry vision you see clothes shops, electronic stores, even a few food places here and there.

Smelling the food reminds you that you only had an orange this morning, but you decide not to dwell on the subject.

You and Sowoen walk around in silence, you peering at the shop windows once you got close but not ever going in.

That is, until you pass by an art store. Through the window you can see the warm toned lights, the tubes of paint, the fabrics and the sketch pads. You stop by the window, deciding to look upon the items for a bit longer than usual.

You haven’t painted or drawn anything since the day you met Bada, and it’s been making you antsy. You miss it, but all of your supplies are at home.

“Shall we go in, Miss?” Sowoen says, standing by the door. You blink at her –you seem to be doing that a lot today–, a bit embarrassed at being caught. But if Sowoen suggested it, you should probably listen.

You nod, walking in when Sowoen opens the door for you. You walk down the aisles, passing by yarn and crochet hooks, fabrics and needles, even canvases and desks to sit at.

When you get to the paint, you stop, staring at the Beginner’s paint tubes. There’s a lot more options than the five tubes you have at home, which excites you, even for a little bit. You have to bring them up to your eyes to see what colors they have, though, which reminds you of your much needed and lack of glasses.

Bummed that you can’t buy them, you pout and put them back.

“What about these, Miss?” Sowoen speaks up, and you look over at her. She’s over at the Professional grade paints, looking at the tubes quizzically. “The sign says that these ones last longer, and that the colors are better.”

You shake your head, a small, bitter smile on your face. “I don’t have the money for those. I was just browsing, anyways,” you say, and Sowoen blinks at you.

“Did you leave the boss’ card at home?” She asks, and you shake your head. It’s in your purse now, tucked away in your wallet.

“It’s not my money to spend,” you say as you look at a red tube of paint. “I’d feel bad about using Ms. Lee’s money to buy stuff without asking her for permission first.”

Sowoen is confused. It’s your money. Bada gave you that money to spend. She repeats this fact to you.

“The boss gave you that money to use for yourself, Miss,” Sowoen says, not understanding what you find so difficult to understand.

You bite your lip, bringing a tube of yellow paint close to your face to read the label. “I… still, I wouldn’t feel right using it. I don’t want to burden Ms. Lee more than I already have.” You put the tube back in its place, turning to face Sowoen.

Sowoen is really confused, and she feels like she’s doing a bad job at hiding that confusion on her face.

“Do you want me to… ask the boss if you can use your money?” Sowoen says it slowly, hoping that it will allow her to understand the issue you have.

You shake your head quickly. “No! I mean… no, you don’t have to do that. Ms. Lee is busy,” you nervously chuckle, as if you’re telling a joke, “Plus, I don’t think I’m allowed to have these things anyways. You know, it smells and stuff, because of the quality and stuff! And the paint can get everywhere and ruin everyone’s nice things if you aren’t careful and,” you continue to ramble, trying to pull out every excuse you had, all the while Sowoen stares at you like you have two heads.

Sowoen blinks, once, twice, as she tries to understand your reasoning. “You can just… get the higher quality paints…” Sowoen explains to you, tilting her head as she points to the paints she was looking at earlier.

“But then that’s expensive! I don’t want to waste Ms. Lee’s money on things that aren’t important!”

Sowoen is confused –no matter how many times she admits it, it doesn’t stop the confusion at every new sentence you utter–. Aren’t you rich? Why are you so frugal with money? And not in the rich and stingy way, either.

“If you enjoy it, then it’s not a waste of money…” Sowoen argues, trying her hardest to keep her voice level and clear of judgment. Keep it respectful, just like Bada said.

You tilt your head at that, as if Sowoen is talking in a foreign language. No one has ever said that to you before. Whenever you needed something, you had to earn it, and it had to be useful to you –well, your parents–. You funded your art through your own allowance, saving up for months to even buy a good easel, so that you wouldn’t burden your parents by asking for things.

But now that you don’t have an allowance, you struggle to see how you could do or buy anything. You were never allocated more than fifty-five thousand won per week, sometimes even less depending on how bad of a mood your parents were in, and so you had to scrounge by with what little you had. It meant that you had to really want what you bought. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was your money.

To use Bada’s money just leaves a bad taste in your mouth, especially when it isn’t important to Bada that you’re entertained.

You shake your head, going to move out of the aisle when Sowoen speaks up.

“The boss said that it’s ok for you to use it, like an allowance.” You turn to Sowoen, eyes widening just a bit. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Sowoen. “That money belongs to you, no one else, and the boss will give you a certain amount of money each month for all of your needs.”

Well, Sowoen’s lying.

She doesn’t know why she’s so invested in you buying these paints. She should’ve left it alone when you said no the first time. However, your assumptions about the money Bada gave you are just wrong, and your relationship with money is so familiar to her. And this is the first time she saw you have interest in something. So the lie just slipped out, and then they kept slipping out more and more.

“You shouldn’t refuse the boss’ generosity, Miss,” Sowoen says, not meeting your eyes all the way. “The boss may find that rude…” Sowoen speaks from experience, and doesn’t want you to unnecessarily make the same mistakes she and her friends have made before, but to you it just looks like another threat, another choice you don’t have the right to.

You don’t want to make Bada angry, but you thought maybe being humble would show her that you’re not a threat.

“Oh, ok…” you say, looking away from Sowoen, your heart squeezing in your chest. “If it isn’t rude to Ms. Lee, then I guess I’ll do it…” You pick up a tube of the Beginner’s paint, but Sowoen stops you.

“You said the quality of those weren’t good, Miss. Shouldn’t you get the better ones?”

“I used these all the time at home, so it’s nothing I’m not used to. Plus they’re cheaper,” you try to reassure her.

Sowoen just looks at you, and you put the tubes back as you begin to falter under her blank stare. “But maybe I can get one or two of the good ones, right?”

“Right,” Sowoen nods, watching you as you go towards the Professional grade paints.

This is the first time you’re seeing these types of paints up close. Even in college you only allowed yourself to use the Intermediate level ones when your classes required it, but now you have the opportunity to see the real deal.

But which ones should you get? You need the primaries, plus white and black, but there are so many to choose from that it’s making your head spin. Plus the price, it’s damn near half of your weekly allowance for one small tube of paint.

You can’t help but wince at the price, looking over to Sowoen, who just watches you with the blank stare of hers.

“What colors, uh, what colors do you like? I can’t decide…” You ask tentatively, looking down a bit. Sowoen comes up beside you and immediately chooses a few colors. She must’ve been eyeing them earlier.

You look at her selection as she presents them to you, like a kid showing what she got for Christmas. She picked out two reds, a bright yellow, a green, a purple similar to her hair color, and three blues. You pick up the brighter red, the yellow, and a muted blue from her hand.

“Are you not going to get all of them?” Sowoen asks with a tilt of her head. You shake your head.

“No, this is enough. I don’t want to spend more than…” You feel like Sowoen thinks you’re stupid with the way she stares at you.

“Miss, you have the money for it, and you should have options for things, right?”

“I… I guess, but we still have to buy the canvas and an easel and those can be expensive and–” You cut yourself off as Sowoen puts the paints in your hands. “Ok…” You resign yourself to the fate of spending money that you don’t want to use.

Sowoen makes you follow her as she goes to get a basket, and then proceeds to pick more colors out for you. You have twenty different paints now, more than you’ve ever had in your life, and you’re nervous, but a tiny part of you is excited. You also grab a few canvases, a couple of brushes, paint thinner, and a retractable easel. You close your eyes when the cashier tells you your total, and shakily hand over Bada’s card to her. It is damn near a month and a half worth of your allowance back home, and you just (reluctantly), spent it like it is nothing.

You walk out of the store with Sowoen holding most of your bags–you begged to at least hold the bag of paints–, feeling a little bit giddy.

“Are you sure Ms. Lee won’t mind me having this?” You ask Sowoen for the nth time as you walk towards the car.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Sowoen says, holding the door open for you. She wanted to see if you would go to another store, but with how reluctant you were to buy the art supplies, she just figures that one step at a time is enough.

Not that Sowoen cares, though. She’s just glad that you aren’t isolating yourself in your room. Seeing you do that just brings up bad memories for her, so it’s better that you have something to do. Plus, it is good that she knows you’re not decomposing in your bed doing nothing, so she knows that she’s not failing at her job at watching you. You place your things in the back seat with you, and a small smile threatens to come across your faces.

“Shall we go back to the manor, Miss?” Sowoen asks as she starts the car. Your head snaps up, confusion on your face.

“I thought… Why are we going back to the manor?” You ask, blinking a few times.

“Is there anywhere else you’d like to go, Miss?” Sowoen asks, looking at you in the rearview mirror.

“No…” you say, “But, Ms. Lee said that… that I shouldn’t be in the house. I thought that she didn’t want me to be there…”

Sowoen feels her brows furrow and then straightens her face out. “Why… why would the boss say that?”

She can’t imagine Bada going through all of this effort to move you to the manor only for her to kick you out this early. Especially without getting her money from your parents. You blink at Sowoen, Sowoen blinks at you.

“I don’t know…” you answer, and you sit in silence for the rest of the car ride, thoughts swirling wildly in your head.

You arrive to the manor and follow Sowoen inside, and a maid takes your things to your room. You go to follow her until you stop, turning to Sowoen behind you.

“Um, can I… do you think that… I can go and visit Ms. Lee for a bit?” You ask, playing with the sleeves of your sweater, picking at the threads. Sowoen blinks at you, not expecting you to ever ask that question in your life.

“If she’s not busy, then sure,” Sowoen says, trying to keep her voice level.

You nod, turning on your heel and walking towards Bada’s office, hesitance in your steps. You stop in front of the door, raising your hand to go and knock, but you get too nervous and put your hand down. You repeat the motion two more times before wiping your slightly sweaty hands on your skirt, looking at Sowoen, who is staring at you.

“I’m nervous,” you whisper, stepping back from the door.

“Don’t be,” Sowoen whispers back. “The worst thing the boss could say is that she’s busy.” Well, that’s not entirely true. There are a lot of things Sowoen can imagine her saying that are worse than that, but she wouldn’t tell you that when you’ve gathered the courage to come here.

You lift your hand up once more, going to knock on the door until it opens, revealing Lusher and Tatter on the other side, about to leave the office. You quickly step to the side, bowing slightly, missing the incredulous look they give to Sowoen, and the confused shrug Sowoen gives back. They say nothing as they leave the office, giving you a slight bow back before they round the corner.

You’re embarrassed about being caught at the door, and you are about to scurry back into your room when you hear Bada’s voice from inside the office, sitting at her desk.

“What do you need?” She asks, and you faintly hear the scribble of her pen as she writes on the papers in front of her. You look back at Sowoen, who gestures for you to go inside.

“May… may I enter?” You ask, not moving across the threshold. Bada just nods, and you take a step forward, hands clasped in front of you. The door closes afterwards, and you start to miss Sowoen shadowing behind you. You speak after a beat, “Um, I just wanted to thank you, for, um, allowing me to come back to the manor.” Bada’s hand stops writing momentarily, but she soon continues before you can even notice it. “I know you wanted me to stay outside, but I had bought some things earlier, and Sowoen suggested coming back, so I assumed it was ok for me to be back here,” you ramble, not looking at Bada. “And about the buying-things-with-your-money thing, I really apologize for that, I should’ve asked for permission, I know I should have. So please, if there’s any way for me to pay you back or earn–” Bada looks up at you for a few seconds, silencing you.

“You can buy whatever you want,” Bada says and continues to write on her paper. You stay silent for a second, information turning in your brain.

“Um, yes, but with the card, it’s–”

“You can buy whatever you want. Must you make me repeat myself so often?” Ah, now she is annoyed, and you really should shut up.

Don’t complain, serve, and obey.

You close your mouth, stopping the protest you had on the tip of your tongue.

“No, I apologize,” you say, bowing slightly. You sit there, waiting for her to say you can go.

“You are dismissed,” Bada says after a second or two more. You turn to walk away, and Bada’s voice stops you, “Did you like what you got for yourself?” You turn back to her, thinking about how you have more paint than you’ve ever had before, how the canvases you got aren’t cheap and easily breakable, how the easel you have is brand new and not wobbly. You want to smile.

“Yes,” you answer with a nod.

Bada looks up at you once again before looking back down.

“Good. You may go.”

You exit the office then, chest still not filled with relief, but a little less hesitant about the things ahead of you.

#bada lee x reader #bada lee #lee bada x y/n #bada x reader #bada x fem reader #bada lee x y/n #lee bada x reader #team bebe #lee bada #swf2 #swf2 x reader

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chiriwritesstuff · 3 months

Text

The Girl in IT - 6. The Adults are Talking

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

The LIST │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Summary: Sugar finds her voice amongst the people who want to see her fail.

Chapter Warnings and Tags: No outbreak AU, Boss x Employee Relationship, Sugar Daddy Lite, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, Age Gap, Older Man/Younger woman, So much dirty talk, Office sex, Breeding kink, Sugar's parents are the worst and treat her like garbage, Sugar finally finds her voice and stands up to her father, Some angst, No beta we die like men!

Word Count: 5.3K

A/N: And here we go, the chapter where Sugar and Joel finally face off with her parents. This does edge onto angst, as I really wanted to showcase just how Sugar's upbringing really affected her mental health, and how she overcomes it. I cried writing this chapter, because I know how it feels to have people in your life just waiting for you to fuck up, and it's something Sugar has had to deal with all of her life. Honestly, this chapter makes me nervous because I know you all are expecting all of the fluff and smut that Joel and Sugar should be having, but I promise this will probably be the only chapter with heavy stuff. It'll be smooth sailing after this!

"So, I heard an interesting rumor floating around the club lately."

"Good morning to you too, Mother," you mutter, keeping your eyes on the road. "Who's the poor unfortunate soul this time?"

There's a brief pause before your mom responds, her voice almost hesitant. "Well, darling, you know I usually don't pay attention to the ladies and their gossip, but-"

"Just tell me already, Mom!" you exclaim, turning into the office parking lot.

"Well," she starts, "I heard that Joel Miller has gotten himself a... what do you call them? A Sugar Baby? Marcia told me that Lenore from Neiman Marcus said they had-" she clears her throat, "sex," she whispers, "in the dressing room! How scandalous! I heard she's a pretty little young thing! I swear, if that was my daughter, I would die of embarrassment!"

You slam on the brakes suddenly, your eyes widening in shock. Someone honks behind you in response, but you can't pay it any mind. The blood rushes to your ears as you start to hyperventilate.

"Sugar? Are you there? Is it true? Have you noticed anything at work lately?" you hear your mother from across the line. "Hello?!"

You take a deep breath, pulling into the nearest empty stall. "I'm here, Mom," you say shakily, cutting the ignition and resting your head on the steering wheel.

"Well, it's shameful, that sort of behavior," your mom continues, "It's a good thing your father and I raised you right!" she tsks, and you imagine her shaking her head in disgust as she inspects her nails. "Besides, I have nothing to worry about when it comes to you, baby."

That's what gets your attention. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, baby. That kind of behavior isn't something I would associate with you," she coos, "besides, the girl they said Joel was with was really pretty-"

"Are you implying that I'm not attractive enough for someone like Joel?" you ask incredulously, your hands gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white. "What if that girl in the rumor was me, Mom? What then? Would you actually die from embarrassment?"

"... but it wasn't you, Sugar. I raised you better than that, no matter how pretty you could be. I mean, if you just weren't so plain, maybe I would believe that it was you that was in that dressing room with him, but those kinds of girls, baby, that ain't you-"

"Mom," you sigh, feeling the impending headache that usually accompanies conversations with her, "I'm hanging up now."

"Wait!" your mom sputters, "Don't forget about the dinner tonight!"

"What dinner?"

"Oh, don't tell me you forgot!" your mother exclaims, a hint of outrage in her voice. "It's our Ruby wedding anniversary! I sent you an invite. How could you forget? Your father is looking forward to seeing you. Now that you have your big girl job and live on your own, acting like we don't exist. You would think after paying for your education, you would be more grateful-"

"Fine, Mom, I'll be there! What time is it?" you cut her off, the tears already forming at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to be subjected to another one of her guilt trips, fully aware that she'll win, every time. "And I assume it'll be cocktail attire?"

"Oh, yes," your mother purrs, "At 6. I'll make sure the caterers add a place setting for you. Do you need to borrow anything of mine to wear? I'm not sure if you were able to shed those ten pounds I've been telling you to lose. I don't know if anything I have would fit those hips of yours-"

"Two."

"What was that, darling?" you take note of the hesitation in your mother's voice.

"Tell the caterers to put two more settings at the table, Mom."

"Why?" your mother asks, clearly in shock. "Sugar, are you seeing someone? Who is it? Is it someone we know?"

"I guess you'll have to wait to find out," you say, a hint of satisfaction in your tone. "See you at 6!" you say hurriedly, hanging up before she could pry further.

"Fuck." You mutter, slamming your head against the steering wheel once more. "Fuck my life."

Groaning, you snatch up your phone and purse, slamming the door of your Tesla as you stride into the office. With a determined look etched on your face, you attempt to breeze past Connie, resolute in avoiding another interrogation as you navigate down the hall.

"Good morning, Sugar!" she chirps. "So, about yesterday-"

"Not now, Connie!" you mutter, briskly pushing past her, laser-focused on reaching Joel's office. He's already at his desk, his gaze intensely fixed on his iPad, an apple pencil dangling from his mouth as he reviews schematics. You slam his office door behind you, his eyes darting toward you as you drop your purse on the floor. You discard your blazer, shove his office chair back, and settle onto his lap. Burying your face into his neck, the tears you've been holding back start to flow earnestly from your eyes.

Joel's arms instinctively wrap around you, drawing you close as he gently pulls back to get a good look at your face. "Baby, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" he asks, his face etched with genuine concern. "Did Connie corner you in the lounge again? I swear Tess gave her the warning of a lifetime yesterday-"

"Are you busy tonight?" you cut him off, gasping for air, the weight of anxiety from your mother's conversation finally sinking in. "I know this is really last minute, but my mother-"

"Baby," Joel repeats, his hands firm on your arms, steadying you. "Breathe. What happened?"

"They know, everyone in Austin knows about us," you admit with a sniffle. "My mother called, mentioning that her friends at the club were gossiping about you having a sugar baby, and I completely forgot it's my parents' wedding anniversary tonight. I might have told her to add another place setting for you..." you stammer, "... and now I have nothing to wear. I can't borrow anything from her because I didn't lose the ten pounds she asked me to"

"Easy, Sugar," Joel murmurs, his lips grazing your forehead as his hands trace up your arms, providing a soothing touch. "Start from the top," he suggests, leaning back in his chair and gently pulling you against his chest, his fingers rhythmically rubbing your back. "You spoke to your mother today, and she mentioned a rumor going around about us, right?"

"Lenore might have let slip to one of her clients about our... moment in the dressing room," you confess against his chest.

You feel him sigh deeply, the gentle rumble of his chest against your face. "If they only knew that wasn't the case," he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. "You know that, right? You're everything to me, baby. You ain't no sugar baby, not to me."

"I know, Joel," you reply with a tiny sob. "It doesn't mean it hurts any less, though. It's like they want to see us fail, see me fail."

Joel pulls you away again, a serious look in his eyes. "Are you ashamed of this? of us? Do you see yourself as how they see you? Do you think I care what those old bitches say about me?"

You shake your head frantically. "No, Joel-"

"No one gave a damn about my life before all of this," he gestures toward his office, taking your hand in his, "and now that I finally have some worth in their eyes, it's like... I'm cattle being led to slaughter. I'll never get used to it."

"I grew up surrounded by that shit my entire life," you whisper sadly. "Every move I made was up for debate – what clothes I wore, who I decided to bring into my life. It was always dissected and analyzed as if everything I did could have a double meaning. I hated it, this constant scrutiny. I always had to be 'good,' never step out of line, and always know my place."

"Is that why you always felt the need to hide yourself all the time?"

"It's what made things easier, honestly." You fiddle with the button of his flannel. "I hated the attention, I hated that my mother would go into my closet every day and make sure I wore certain things that wouldn't embarrass her, that she would only feed me rabbit food so I wouldn't 'let myself go'. She came from nothing, you know? She was my father's secretary, getting swept away with his money and his connections. She was in my place, once. You would think that she would show me mercy." You laugh to yourself, bitterly. "I was always an embarrassment in my parent's eyes, not pretty enough, not smart enough, not driven enough. I worked my ass off, and they still treat me like they did when I was a kid. "

"Yet, here we are," Joel murmurs, a gentle understanding in his eyes as he reaches to caress your cheek. "You've overcome so much, and you're not defined by their standards. You're your own person, and you've earned your worth on your own terms."

You lean into his touch, finding solace in the warmth of his hand. "I never thought I'd find someone who sees past all that, someone who appreciates me for who I am. Crazy family and all."

Joel smiles tenderly. "Well, you have, and I see a remarkable person in front of me. The past is just that – the past. We're building our own story now, and you're not defined by anyone else's expectations."

You smile sadly at Joel. "I hate thinking about this, about my parents. It always puts me in a terrible mood. Can we talk about something else, please?"

"What do you need me to do, baby?" Joel breathes, "Do you want me to help you forget?" He helps you onto your feet, leaning your body against the edge of his desk. He pushes the hem of your dress up your thighs, the edge of your stockings being held by a garter exposed as your breath hitches on your throat. "Fucking exquisite," he says, his lips kissing your thigh. "What do you need?" he repeats, almost begging.

"I need you to fuck the pain away, Joel," you whisper, spreading your legs further. "Help me forget, please," you beg, your back arching as his hands travel up beneath the fabric of your dress. His fingers make their way up to your core, and his fingertips graze the gusset of your thong, adding pressure as he traces along your slit through the wet fabric. Your legs start to shake as his finger slips beneath the fabric, the edge of his fingertips probing at your entrance. Joel hums in satisfaction. He slowly inches his fingers into you. "Do you think you can come, just like this?"

"Yes," you moan, hitching your leg higher as you place your foot on his desk chair. He slides his fingers into you, the squelch of your wetness echoing throughout his office walls as he prods into you, his eyes dark as he watches his fingers being swallowed whole in your pussy. "Fuck Joel, just like that-"

"Should we check something off from my list?" he asks, moving his fingers away from your pussy as you whine from the loss of sensation, putting the glistening digits into his mouth, savoring your taste.

You nod eagerly. "Yes, Joel. Please-"

"Turn around for me, Sugar," he softly commands. "... and grab onto something." You oblige, slowly turning so you are facing his desk, his hands pushing your back so your chest is resting on its surface. Your hands grab onto the edge of it, pushing your ass higher as he lifts the hem of your dress, exposing your ass. You swear you can imagine his smirk as his hands travel up the globes of your asscheeks, his grasp harsh, squeezing the plumpness of it. He grips your thighs and spreads them wider, lifting your ass to be level with his cock. He starts to grind into your core, your body trembling in his wake.

He hooks his fingers through the elastic edge of your panties, ripping it off your hips. You turn your head to face him, watching as he pockets the scrap of lace into his back pocket. "You won't be needing this," he whispers, and you watch as he unzips his jeans, pushing it down along with his boxer briefs, his cock swollen and leaking at the tip. You gasp at the sight, rolling your bottom lip against your teeth. He rubs his erection through your folds, notching the tip of your entrance. "I'm gonna need you to breathe, okay? Can you do that for me, Sugar?"

He slides in before you can reply, and your voice gets caught in your throat, the feeling of him inside of you so delicious you moan out in pleasure. He starts to fuck you slowly, deeply. "Fuck Joel, just like that-"

"Fuck baby, you feel so fucking good, so fucking tight!" he harshly grabs onto your hips as he begins to cant his hips against yours, the angle he set hitting you just right. The entire desk starts to shake as he pounds into you, and you have half of a mind to say something, but Joel continues his pace, his head thrown back, eyes closed. Thank god for the carpet, you think to yourself.

He gathers your hair, pulling your body towards his as he continues to thrust harshly into you. "You're so good like this, baby. So fucking good for me, right Sugar?" he rips your dress from the front, the buttons flying throughout his office, pulling your breasts from the cups of your bra. He's pumping into you relentlessly, his mouth latching onto your neck. He grabs your breasts, kneading and squeezing. "One of these days you'll let me fuck these," he breathes in your ear.

"Joel, my dress!" you exclaim. "I can't walk around the office with my tits out!"

"We're going shopping after this, baby, don't you worry. You can wear the shirt off my back for all I care, gonna have to teach Lenore a lesson for having a big fucking mouth-"

"Can we not talk about another woman when you're balls deep inside of me?" you whine, meeting his thrusts as you pull on his shirt, trying to keep your moans as silent as possible, not wanting the entire office to hear Joel railing you into oblivion. "Fuck Joel, can you fuck me harder?"

Joel halts, pressing his cock deep inside, his hands harshly grabbing onto your hips. He reaches behind him, rolling his desk chair towards him to sit as he pulls you onto his lap, impaling you. "You're gonna have to be real quiet for me, okay baby?" he whispers against your throat. "We shouldn't be doing this, but I can't fucking get enough of you. Want to claim you on every fucking inch of this office, do you want that, baby? for me to fuck you on every single surface of this office?"

"Yes!" you scream, hopping on Joel's cock as he thrusts up into you, the position allowing you to feel all of him. "Fuck Joel, I feel so fucking full, how are you this massive? Fuck-"

"I'm going to fill you up, make you take all of my cum, make you mine completely. Remember when I sang you that song all those years ago? I looked into your eyes and swore I saw my future children in your eyes, fuck, It's all I've thought about," he groans, and it stirs something deep inside of you, the thought of your children, with Joel's brown eyes and smile, running around in the house, laughing, playing, living a life you were denied as a child. "Are you going to be the mother of my children?"

"Yes! Yes, fucking fill me up, make me yours, I can take it, I can take it! Fuck a baby into me, baby, I'll be so good, so so good-"

Joel's hand goes to your clit, his fingers rough against the nub, rubbing it furiously as you chase your release. "Then fucking come for me, Sugar," he commands. Come for me on my cock and I'll give you the entire fucking world-" He covers your mouth with his hands, his thrusts slow and deep as you fall apart completely. He braces your hands on the edge of the desk as he kicks his chair backward, pounding into you as he chases his release, his face in your neck as he sucks on your pulse point. "You think it'll take this time? You gonna give me baby?"

"Yes! Fill me up, I want all of it!"

Joel groans at that, thrusting into you once more as he falls apart, coming into you deep. You feel his cum fill you so much to the point that it starts to leak out of you. Joel keeps himself inside, panting heavily against your neck. "Fuck baby, I love you so fucking much." He kisses your cheek, pulling himself out of you slowly as he slumps onto his chair once more, his head thrown back in exhaustion. He unbuttons his flannel, throwing it towards you. "Put this on," he says, shrugging his jacket on as you straighten yourself. You raise your eyebrows at him as you button on his shirt, drowning in it. Joel gives you a wry smile. "Cancel all of your appointments, we're going shopping."

"Oh yeah? Just drop work, just like that?"

"Yeah," he replies nonchalantly. "I think it's time we visit our good friend Lenore. Have a little chat."

"Are you ready?" you nervously ask Joel as the two of you stand at the front door. "We can always turn around, say that I'm sick or something-" You fiddle with the hem of your dress, straightening yourself. "Don't you think this dress is a little much?" you ask absentmindedly.

"I think the real question is if you're ready, baby," he replies, a small reassuring smile on his face. "I've been telling you that I've been wanting to scream from the rooftops, yelling that you're mine-"

"I am yours like you are mine." You smile, placing your hands on his chest as you pull him towards you, his lips meeting yours. "I've never been so sure in my life, Joel. I think it's time we stop fucking around, right?"

"I've been yours since the first day I saw you, I was a goner-" he leans in for another kiss as you greedily accept, kissing him deeper, and deeper, and his hands travel lower, and lower, and your hands travel higher, and higher, until they reach the hair at the nape of his neck, and you're pulling, pulling, pulling, getting lost in his embrace. How can something that feels so good and so pure be so terrible to those around you?

"Sugar?!" Your mother's surprised voice slices through the air like a warning shot, abruptly shattering the enchantment between you and Joel. "Mr. Miller?!?" Her exclamation hangs in the tense moment, her gaping mouth and contorted expression revealing a mix of shock and embarrassment. "What on earth is going on here?"

"Mom, I-" you stammer, clearly struggling for words.

"Ma'am," Joel interjects, cutting through the tension. He gracefully presents her with the bouquet that rests on the bench, the vivid orange lilies contrasting against the soft pink of the Rhododendrons he had chosen at the florist. "How do you say 'Fuck you, I've won?'" he whispers with a smirk to the florist while sliding his black Amex across the counter. The resulting display is a beautiful arrangement, yet it carries an unmistakably direct message – as if declaring, "I love and desire your daughter, but I loathe you, so stand the hell back." Joel continues, "It's been a long time; I see the roof is holding up nicely-"

"Yes, well," your mother chokes, hastily grabbing the bouquet from his outstretched hand. "These are beautiful, Mr. Miller-"

"Come on, we're past pleasantries. Call me Joel," he smirks. "Happy anniversary, by the way... and thanks for the invite. Sugar said you guys were talking about me earlier today, so she thought she could surprise you by bringing me along with her."

"Joel. Right," your mother mutters to herself. "I was just asking how she was getting along working with you since she's been so busy, she barely comes around now!" She clears her throat, straightening herself, and glances at you, her eyes darting to the tightness of your dress. "Sugar, baby, what a... beautiful dress you have there. Are you not cold with how short it is?"

Joel squeezes your hand in his, giving you a wink. "Doesn't she look stunning in Herve Leger? Lenore has a great eye, right?"

Your mother fidgets nervously, chuckling to herself. "Lenore at Neiman Marcus? Yes, yes, well... she certainly knows how to flatter the female figure. I wasn't aware you were a client of hers-"

"Well, I had to introduce her to Sugar, you know, considering she always takes good care of me and my girls," he muses, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. You could swear you see your mother gulp at the gesture, her gaze dropping to her nails as she struggles to formulate a response.

"Well, what are we doing out here? Come in, come in!" she says suddenly as if her role as a doting, perfect entertaining housewife finally reboots in her brain. "Sugar's father will be surprised to see you after all these years, you made quite a name for yourself with your multi-million business-"

"Yeah, we did okay, I expect that this government job that we're bidding on might just push us over a billion next year if all goes well." He smiles widely, putting his arm around your shoulder. "Shall we, Sugar?"

You nod aimlessly, letting Joel gently guide you towards the dining room, the laughter of your parents' friends echoing through the foyer. Your body starts to shake slightly, the nervousness of facing your father gradually taking over.

"Stop shaking, baby. I'm right here, alright? I ain't gonna leave your side for a second, okay?" Joel whispers suddenly in your ear, pressing a reassuring kiss to your hair. You nod once more, tightening your grasp on Joel's hand, finding comfort in his presence.

"Everyone, you remember my daughter, Sugar?" your mother announces abruptly as you enter the dining room, her gaze immediately meeting your father's as she holds up the bouquet. "Joel bought us a lovely arrangement. I'm just going to find a vase. Why don't you sit by your father, baby?" A wave of judgmental eyes from your parents' friends descends upon both of you, and you can't ignore the audible gasps of shock that fill the suddenly quiet room.

"Joel Miller," your dad suddenly remarks, his eyes narrowing at your clasped hands. "Now, that's a face I didn't expect to see again." His gaze lingers on yours, a subtle twitch in his eye revealing his displeasure as he presses his lips together. "Sugar, care to explain why your boss is gracing us with his presence tonight?"

"Uh-" you stammer, closing your eyes briefly. "Everyone, I would like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Joel."

The sound of glass breaks in the distance, your mother's surprised gasp shortly following, as if she was hovering past the kitchen in an attempt to eavesdrop on the inevitable showdown between your Father and Joel. You see your mother's maid run towards the door, excusing herself as she attempts to help your mother. You see your mother's friend from the club whispering to the man beside her, shaking her head as she links two and two together, a knowing smirk on the man's face as he looks at the both of you.

"I see," your father responds, adjusting his collar to maintain composure. "Well, what's keeping you both standing there? Take a seat!" he commands, a forced smile directed at his friends. Joel moves to the chair beside your father, a playful raise of his eyebrows as he settles in, and you follow suit in the adjacent seat.

"Sir," Joel murmurs, his hand extended for a shake. Your father eyes the offered hand, clearing his throat before accepting it, engaging in a handshake with Joel. "It's been what, ten years?"

"Has it truly been that long? I recall warning you to steer clear of my daughter even then," he retorts wryly, sipping his drink leisurely.

"Honey," your mom interjects shakily, taking her seat beside you, opposite your father. "Our guests might prefer not to dwell on the past-"

"Dad, stop." You say softly, your head cast down. The emotions that you are going through are reminiscent of the emotions you felt when you were a kid, and you find yourself anxiously fiddling with your hands under the table, your bottom lip quivering slightly. "Please stop."

"What was that?" your dad asks menacingly, setting his fork down harshly. "If you have something to say, you might as well look at me! How did I end up with such a weak-minded naive little girl who opens her legs at the first rich old man she can find-"

"That's enough." Joel cuts in suddenly, his fists clenched together tightly, his knuckles white.

As you glance at your mother from the corner of your eyes, you notice a slight tremor at the edge of her mouth. It's at that moment that you realize you share a vulnerable connection with her. Your mother looks just as horrified as you feel, her hands shaking while your father continues his tirade. The tears start to well up at the corners of your eyes, making your vision blurry. It's a tough moment, and you can't help but see a reflection of your own emotions in your mother's eyes.

"Tell me Miller, how long did you wait to seduce my daughter after you hired her at your firm?"

"Honey-" your mother interjects, shifting in her chair uncomfortably. "We have guests-"

"Or how long did you take until you seduced poor Mr. Miller here?" your Father spits, shaking his head in disbelief, his gaze going to your mother's shaking form. "What can I say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree..."

"THATS ENOUGH!" you suddenly scream, slamming your fists on the table. You wipe the tears from your eyes, not caring about the mess it'll make at the makeup that the woman at the Laura Mercier counter meticulously placed upon your face earlier when Joel took you on an impromptu shopping trip for your cocktail dress. "Just stop it, STOP IT!"

Your father rises from his seat, his eyes drunkenly narrowed at you as he points at Joel. "You know, when they were talking about the little slut that was fucking Joel Miller at some dressing room who looked a lot like my daughter, I thought to myself, 'No, it couldn't be my little girl, she should know better', but then I see you in front of me, wearing that," he motions to your dress, "Maybe I misjudged my daughter after all. Congratulations, I guess, you managed to sleep your way to the top, just like your mother-"

"I said THATS ENOUGH!" you scream, rising from your seat, meeting your father's gaze.

"Baby," your mother calls out in near tears. "Just let it go, you know how your father gets when he's drunk-"

But it's like you can't hear her.

"So it's okay for you, a rich man in a powerful position to 'seduce' a young woman, make her your wife, and force her into a life where she plays the doting perfect housewife, never allowed to pursue her dreams, always under your thumb? Is it okay for you to think so poorly of your child, your flesh and blood because I decided to fall in love with someone you don't approve of?" you're full-on crying now, not caring that you have an audience, tired of being that scared little girl who never spoke up, never had a voice of her own.

"I did everything right. I wore the clothes you wanted, stayed away from any scandal, followed the rules, and earned an advanced degree at a decent school—all on my own merit. Only to be reduced to being seen as your 'little girl', unable to stand on my own two feet? Is it so bad that finally, I found someone patient enough to wait for me? Do you have any idea how long I've loved Joel? Only for you to tear us apart? Joel Miller is not like you, Father. He's built himself up from the bottom, proving himself to everyone who doubted him. He works tirelessly, supports his family and friends, and is the best boss anyone could ask for. And most importantly, he loves me, never gave up on me, and worked hard to prove himself. But here's the truth—I would have loved him even without all of this," you motion to the opulent interior, "richer or poorer. He never had to prove himself to me. I love him, and that's all that matters."

You glance down at Joel, who's clearly in shock by your confession. His mouth is agape, but there's awe in his eyes, and you know he's proud of you for standing your ground and finally finding your voice. He clears his throat, taking a sip of wine. "Thank you, baby," he whispers. You nod, wiping away the last of your tears.

Surveying the now silent room, your mother's eyes downcast, and your father staring into the distance from his seat, you offer a smile. "I apologize for the outburst, but I believe Joel and I have overstayed our welcome. I'm sorry for disrupting your dinner, Mom and Dad, but I don't think I belong here anymore." You raise your hand to Joel, who is already two steps behind you, and he rises from his seat, taking your hand in his. "I won't be part of a family that doesn't accept me any longer. Let's go, Joel."

"Sugar, baby, please-" you can hear your mom call out behind you as you lead Joel away from the dining room, determined to get the hell out of there. You hear your father telling your mother to sit down, to just let it go.

"What are we gonna do now, baby?" Joel asks, engulfing you in a hug, and kissing the top of your head as you stand in the foyer.

There's a glint in your eyes as you take his face in your hands, meeting his lips in a kiss.

"Do you want to dish out some sweet fucking revenge?" you ask, your hands traveling down to his bulge in his slacks. "Give my poor father one last parting gift?"

His eyebrows raise in curiosity, groaning as you grab onto his cock harshly. "What did you have in mind, baby?"

"Follow me," you whisper, looking around to make sure no one is around, grabbing his hands as you lead him up the stairs, stopping at the door of your father's study. "Shall we?" you ask, opening the door. Joel nods eagerly, a small smirk on his face as he follows you into the room, closing the door behind him. You start to strip out of your dress, pushing the fabric slowly as Joel watches from behind. You push the fabric off your hips, sliding it from the slopes of your ass until the dress falls onto the ground, only leaving you in the black lace thong you asked Lenore to get you, a surprise for Joel. Joel groans in satisfaction as you lean against your father's desk, a wicked smile on your face.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" you breathe, "Are you going to fuck me on my father's desk or not?"

Joel smiles, unbuttoning his shirt. "I thought you would never fucking ask, baby."

Taglist:@sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat, @gwendibleywrites, @joeldjarin, @brittmb115, @thewiigers,

@auteurdelabre, @quicax3, @casa-boiardi, @amyispxnk, @untamedheart81,

@paleidiot, @bbiophiliaa, @laurrrra, @la-vie-est-une-fleur29, @missladym1981 (I apologize if I missed anyone, but if you are looking for any of my fic updates, please feel free to follow my updates blog @chiriwritesstuffnotifs!)

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guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom · 8 months

Note

You should do earth 42!miles x cheerleader! Reader that would be so fun!

Be Aggressive! B-E Aggressive

Earth 42!Miles Morales x fem!reader

Earth 42!Miles Morales x black!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Language, kissing, brief mentions of drugging, and mentions of steroids.

Requested: yes

A/N: ITS BEEN SO LONG, I’m so sorry school started two days ago to requests may slow down but they’re still coming slowly but surely, this is my first time doing headcanons and I feel like the blurbs or drabbles or wtv their called end so abruptly but this has been a WIP for a month now so I’m putting it out there, I hope you enjoy while I move on to the next request.

300 Follower Special <3

Masterlist

-Carries ibuprofen on him 24/7 because he knows you’re gonna ask for it.

“Here,” Miles held his hand out in front of you revealing two small red pills.

You turned to him grabbing your cheer bag out of your locker, the picture of confusion.

“For your headache,” He explained.

“I don’t have a headache, you tryna drug me?”

“With ibuprofen, really?” He deadpanned “Take it so I don’t have to hear about your headache later,”

“Awww, you’re so sweet,” You pulled him into a hug gushing over how considerate he was to not want you in pain.

“Shut up,” He turned his face away without pulling away from you.

Although he would never say it to your face he’d gone entirely soft for you.

-Goes to football games despite not fully understanding it to see you

“Miles!” You squeaked when he came up behind you on the bleachers and wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you down onto the bench.

You turned around, facing him to find a tray of nachos in his hand.

He placed it down next to you for you to grab before sitting down on the step behind you.

You let out a groan and glanced back at your coach who was still standing by the benches on the football field.

There were only 12 minutes left of halftime and now that you were standing still you realized truly just how cold you were.

“Baby, you’re shivering,” Miles ran his hand up and down your arm.

“I know,” You whined. “Reina forget her warm-ups so coach won’t let us put them on,”

He hummed gesturing for you to stand up, you did and he pulled off his jacket helping you slip your arms into it, and zipping it all the way up.

He pulled your hair out of the back.

Still unconvinced that you’d gotten any warmer he pulled you into his lap surrounding your waist with his arms.

You raised your eyebrow at him but you felt so comfortable that you relaxed into him and let it slide.

That was until he started running his hands up and down your exposed thighs.

“Miles.” You warned your voice tight.

He continued what he was doing, acting oblivious.

“What ma, I’m just warming you up,” He leaned forward picking at your skirt. “It’s so short I know you’re cold,”

You pushed one of his hands away and he immediately put it back returning to his affections.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” You complained. PDA was very clearly outlined in the forbidden behaviors in your cheer contract.

“C’mon,” He rolled his eyes glancing down at your coach “She’s not even looking, relax”

“Alright,” You cautioned, moving to stand up.

He rushed to pull you back down into his lap.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” He stilled his hands. “One kiss and I’ll leave you alone,”

-carries you on his back after practice

Cheer practice ran 2 hours late and you already hadn’t gotten much sleep last night trying to finish your homework. You were aching and exhausted.

Trudging up to your boyfriend at the edge of the track you gave him a meek nod of acknowledgment. Knowing you were drained he just slid your cheer bag off your shoulder before pulling it onto his.

After your third stumble into Miles’ side, he stopped walking, giving you the opportunity to fully lean on him.

Your eyes were drooping and appeared to be as if you were one strong breeze from falling over.

“Get on my back,” He suggested.

You nodded through a yawn, shuffling to get behind him.

He quickly knelt down making it easier for you to simultaneously wrap your arms and legs around him.

Hoisting you up with him to his full height he readjusted your bag on his shoulder.

He held both of your thighs securely while your arms dangled around his neck. Your head dropped into his neck and you let out a content hum.

He continued his pace to get to the front of the school.

With your calf’s swinging back and forth your grip on Miles’ neck loosened.

He asked a small “You comfy?”

When he was met with silence he chuckled to himself knowing you were asleep.

Once he’d finally made the trek to the front of the school he located your brother's truck.

He was sitting in the front seat on his phone with his head down before Miles knocked on the window.

Pulling the passenger door open with a click, he slid you off his back before lifting you up into the passenger seat.

You huffed making a sound of discomfort, shifting in your seat when your brother finally verbally acknowledged Miles.

They both froze before your breathing evened out and you stilled with your neck below the headrest.

Satisfied with the knowledge that you weren’t going to wake up, Miles responded to your brother.

“Alright, I’ll see you later,” He closed the door before stepping back and watching your brother drive off with your sleeping figure in tow.

-stares at and distracts you when you do comp. makeup

As you were struggling to get your larger-than-life lashes to fit to your lash line you felt a pair of eyes on you.

Glancing in the side of your vanity mirror you saw your boyfriend lying on your bed watching you.

“Can I help you?” You asked turning back around and grabbing your eyelash curler.

Seconds later you felt a presence at your back, looking up you made eye contact with Miles through the mirror.

Not leaving your question unanswered he asked what that was.

“What’s what?”

“The thing in your hand,” He replied as if it were obvious.

“Ohhh, my eyelash curler,”

He seemed satisfied enough with your answer to continue his silent staring. That was until you held the tool up to your eye.

“You’re gonna poke your eye out,” He startled you.

“It doesn’t even touch my eye,” You pulled it away from yourself.

“Is it hot?” He asked, reaching for it.

You pulled your hand away before standing, lifting the item to his eye. “Let me show you,”

“Hell no,” He pushed your arm away, wrestling you back down into your chair.

“C’mon please,” You whined.

He simply shook his head and took a step back from your chair. At first, you were just trying to be irritating, but now you were really interested in curling your boyfriend’s beautiful and freakishly long eyelashes.

You kept begging and although you kept receiving denials, you knew you could break his resolve.

“If you keep fucking around, you’re gonna be late,” He reminded you.

“We would’ve been gone by now if you weren’t being a baby,”

“Y/N! Let’s go, I’m leaving!” Your brother and ride yelled from the front door.

“Okay, I’m coming!” You answered before turning towards Miles again. “Just one eye really fast, please,”

Before he could open his mouth to say no you leaned up wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips to his.

He sighed, grabbing your lower waist with both hands.

He rested against your vanity and pulled you to stand between his legs. He kissed you harder than appropriate for the time constraint and you pulled away before he could take it further.

He was panting against your face so when you said “I’m just gonna do one eye,” and because you knew you could break his resolve, he didn’t protest.

-his only media on his Instagram is a highlight of videos of you cheering and photos of you he doesn’t even have a pfp

Today, 7:37 PM

miles 😋❤️: Send me that picture

you: what picture?

Miles 😋❤️: The one I took of you on your phone from the last game

you: i’ll havr to look for it

have**

miles 😋❤️: Okay so look fast

you: nigga don’t tell me what to do

just wait

miles 😋❤️: Yes ma’am 🫡

Today, 7:46 PM

you: Sent 3 attachments

Putting your phone back down on your desk you started on your math study guide.

That you knew would take all night. Your math teacher never believed in giving students with extracurriculars extensions.

He wasn’t even supposed to give tests on game days, but he never followed any of the rules.

After graphing another equation your phone screen lit up with a notification.

m.morales added a photo to their story

Picking up your phone and unlocking it you opened Instagram to find a collage made of the pics you’d just sent him.

You couldn’t help but smile looking at the story of you in your cheer uniform smiling widely at the camera. The last verse of Dark Red by Steve Lacy playing over the story post.

Shifting your thumb to the heart icon on the bottom right you liked Miles’ story before moving to reply.

y/u/n: thank you this is the cutest most sweetest thing in the world 🫶🏽 💋

m.morales: Yw, my mom said you looked very pretty

y/u/n: tell her I said thank you

m.morales: I will

y/u/n: you should've tagged me

m.morales: No I don’t want nobody tryna dm you

-doesn’t let you kiss him on the lips w lipgloss/lipstick on (secretly does like seeing the marks left on his face tho)

You gasped, placing your hand over your heart in faux pain.

“How dare you?” You asked.

Sitting with your knees bracketing Miles' waist on the edge of his bed you questioned him on dodging your kiss. With how clingy he is he would never turn down affection.

“Wipe that stuff off your lips and I’ll kiss you,”

“Toxic masculinity is not a good look on you,” You tsked.

“Nothing toxic about not wanting sticky shit all over your mouth,”

You rolled your eyes at his response before speaking up. “My bad, forgot you were autistic,”

“I’m not autistic,” He fired back immediately.

“M’kay Mr. Sensory Issues,”

Instead of defending himself again or trying to change the subject he just leaned back into his wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and pouted.

You tried not to laugh at how childish he was being and instead cooed at him pressing a kiss to his cheek, then the other.

Pulling back you viewed the two lip marks left behind and the small involuntary smile on his face.

Leaning back in, you returned to your ministrations amongst his skin.

When all of your lipgloss and stick was transferred off you sat back on your heels admiring your work.

Extending your body you reached for your phone resting near his pillow. Returning to your previous position you grabbed his face taking pictures of him with closed eyes and the goofy smile on his face.

Clicking on the small photo icon to enlarge it you flipped your phone around to show your no longer pouting boyfriend.

Squinting to see the picture Miles looked at the kiss marks littered across his cheeks, forehead, and jaw, he pretended to not care, while he forced himself to conceal the giddy smile that wanted to break out across his face.

-his mom loves you more than he does “calls you her mini daughter-in-law” but disproves of the “short” skirt

When Miles first introduced you to his mother she was skeptical. You were her baby’s first girlfriend, he was all she had left. How did she know if you were trying to take him from her?

But now you were all she could ever talk about. She treated you like a daughter.

“When’s Y/N getting here, I want to see her before I leave,” Rio asked in her blue scrubs grabbing a banana off the counter.

“She texted and said she’s 2 minutes out,” Miles answered sitting on the couch in his Visions uniform, his backpack on the floor next to him.

Down on the street, you closed the door to your brother's truck before throwing your backpack strap over your shoulder.

Saying goodbye to your brother you ran up to the Morales’ door.

Immediately after opening the door, Mrs. Morales pulled you into a tight hug.

She asked how her “little daughter-in-law” had been but before you could finish responding she was releasing you from her arms.

Once you were at arm's length she spun you to the side. Furrowing her brows she plucked at the fabric of your cheer skirt.

With a sigh and a shake of her, she muttered to herself “What is the school thinking, making these outfits so short,”

Sliding past her as she moved to finish off her morning routine, you greeted your boyfriend near the couch.

You pressed a quick kiss to Miles's cheek and he immediately perked up from his fatigued before-school mood.

He stood up a little taller, his display of confidence was however broken by a loud laugh from across the apartment.

With your boyfriend’s and your attention on her, Rio explained the cause of her amusement.

“Look at how much happier he is, 5 minutes ago he was like an angry old man,”

She moved closer to the both of you to coo at her son.

“How cute, he missed you. Every time you leave he goes into his room and-“

Before she could embarrass him even more Miles interrupted.

“Mami, you’re gonna be late for work.” He attempted to usher her out the door.

“Miles don’t be rude, let her speak,” You chimed in wanting to hear whatever embarrassing thing she had to say now.

“No, no,” Rio dismissed you with a wave of her hand. “He’s right, I’ll just tell you later,”

She gave each of you and Miles a kiss on the cheek before grabbing her messenger bag on her way out the door.

As the door clicked shut you smiled up at your boyfriend.

“So…” You dragged out, “You gonna tell me what she was talking about?”

-reluctantly goes to fundraisers you have to cheer/be present at

You sat on your couch pouting up at Miles as he stood in front of you.

“Don’t you have friends you can go with?”

“Yeah, but I wanna go with my boyfriend, or do you not love me anymore?”

He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Don’t start,” He warned.

“I don’t understand, why won’t you love me?”

“Baby it’s hot outside,”

“I have to go though, so just come with me,”

It’d been a whole 5 minutes of you trying to convince Miles to accompany you to the school-sanctioned car wash. It was mandatory for the cheerleaders to attend. Your coach had a habit of enthusiastically signing you all up for fundraisers that she would only have to work the snack booth while you did all the work.

“I literally never see you anymore come on,” You whined trying a different approach.

“I’m literally standing in front of you now,” He mocked you.

“Miles,” You whined.

“Y/N,” He copied you with the same inflection.

Giving up, you told him you didn’t even care if he went anymore.

Pouting again you closed in on yourself. Miles sat back down next to you and you scooted to the other end.

Scrolling through your phone you obnoxiously laughed out loud every few minutes and when Miles asked you what was so funny you pretended not to hear him.

He knew you were going to continue your childish antics until he gave in and went to this carwash in the high 90° weather.

“Alright, I’ll go with you,” He conceded.

With a satisfied smile on your face, you hopped up off the couch. You leaned over and pressed a peck to his lips muttering a small thank you.

“Let me go change,” You ran to your room. “Don’t leave, I’ll be quick!”

“Where would I go?” He yelled back.

-Gets phantom pains from your tight ponytails

“Does that not hurt?”

“It does but you get used to it,”

You’d grown accustomed to the pain that came with having your hair pulled up into a tight high ponytail for the majority of AAU and comp season.

Miles however was appalled by this revelation. Every time your face so much slightly twitches in pain he was obnoxiously groaning claiming that you two were connected and he could feel it.

“I don’t wanna look at it anymore,” Instead of turning away as any sane person would’ve done, he reached over and slid the hair tie out of your hair.

The release of the tension pulling on your head lets you relax a bit more, your headache slowly fading away.

“Ridiculous,” You heard your boyfriend mutter.

“What?” You asked unsure if that was meant for your ears or not.

“Look at your hair,”

Narrowing your eyes at him you pulled up the camera on your phone to find a sizable dent in your hair where the rubber band had once been.

“That’s why you have a headache all the time,” He lectured, moving over you, to massage your scalp.

“Probably,” You answered, sighing and leaning back into his arms. He complained again about how your hairstyle was too tight claiming “all your hair is gonna fall out”

“‘Kay, I won’t do it so tight next time,” You lied.

-believes you should 100% be captain doesn’t matter if there’s someone “better” than you

“Catherine is like objectively better than me at cheer and she’s a senior there’s no reason she shouldn’t be captain,” You had to explain to your boyfriend after the cheer positions had come out that you were only a sophomore and having a position on varsity was actually really good.

He however didn’t agree. “She’s probably on steroids,”

You laughed at the absurdity of his claim. “No one is taking high school serious enough to do steroids,”

“I think she should get tested anyways,”

“Not everyone that’s better than me is on steroids,”

“‘Nobody’s better than you,” He argued. “And if they were it’s only ‘cause of steroids.”

©guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom

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albatmobile · 5 days

Text

parent teacher conferences and other places to meet a pornstar pt. 2

[1] [2] coming soon: [3] [4] || ao3

𓅪 Rated: E | 8k includes: cam girl AU, teacher AU, masturbation, public sex, caught, fingering, voyeurism, come swallowing, facial, deep throating misunderstandings, confessions

𓅪 cam girl fem!reader x jason todd, cam girl fem!reader x roy harper, cam girl fem!reader x jason todd x roy harper

After your wild night out, you’re not expecting to be approached by Roy- Mr. Harper, you correct yourself.

“It doesn’t feel right with me knowing,” He paces into your classroom as soon as you open the door for him.

“Well, hello to you too, Mr. Harper,” You rub at your temple, feeling a headache stirring.

You follow behind his quick gate, stopping yourself just barely from laughing as he plops into the small kid chair that sits in front of your desk. You move to sit behind your desk, noting how you’re suddenly an inch or so taller than him in your position.

You’re wearing a tight, white v-neck, long sleeve bodysuit over top form-fitting professional pants, red heels and your signature glasses. The low-cut top leaves Mr. Harper at eye level with your lofty cleavage, something he evidently becomes distracted by. He shakes himself from it quickly enough, though, to focus back on your confused face.

He seems to disregard your words as if too lost in his own head.

“I’m sorry,” He finally says. His guilty green eyes peer up at you.

“For…?”

You’re quickly losing patience and he’s quickly losing confidence.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” He begins quickly. “The tip was a mistake. I was going back and forth on it, but again, I seriously didn’t mean anything by it and I-“

“Mean anything by what?” This dude is not making a lick of sense. What tip?

His eyes search yours for something, but you only offer him confusion in return. He seems to notice and continues on with his ramblings, “I swear I didn’t know it was you at first. Once, I did I just-“

He continues to babble and you find yourself tuning him out.

Your hair keeps falling in your face and this is already the second time you’ve pushed it back behind your ear but it’s obvious it won’t cooperate. Maybe if you’d been paying more attention, you’d notice the way Mr. Harper’s eyes linger on the hair tie you have around your lithe fingers. Maybe you’d even notice how he trails off, mouth agape as you tie your hair up and out of the way.

When you go to stand to put an end to this, he pops up as well and it’d be hard not to notice his-

“Mr. Harper,” You trail off uncomfortably as you eye the growing situation in his pants. You can’t help but be reminded of the voyeur in the alley last night. “What exactly’s going on here?”

He quickly grabs a folder off your desk to cover himself, something you grant him the consideration of ignoring as you edge closer to the door.

“Jesus,” He uses his free hand to run a terse hand through his fiery locks. “I’m not trying to- Look. I just,” He trails off in frustration. “I know what you do,” He says, sounding the calmest he's been ever since this weird conversation started.

You freeze, hand on the door as you face the disheveled man in front of you. You don’t necessarily think he poses a threat, but you don’t fucking know and he obviously knows what you are.

Knows what you do.

You’re fucked. You’re fired. Sayonara, bitch- that’s how this always ends.

You mentally prepare yourself for the tough road ahead, figuring ending this conversation is the first step to fucking moving on, but he won’t even grant you the mercy.

“Then say it,” You urge defensively, hand curling more around the handle with each passing second.

“avid_reader,” He says, watching as your hand tightens around the door handle.

You’re debating just leaving him there in your classroom, but your shit is all still on your desk. You probably should leave him in here and go get help, but you don’t. What would you even say, anyway? ‘Hey, I’m a cam model on the side and this dude who jacks it to me just figured everything out. Please help?’ Yeah, that’s not going to work.

Instead, you stand there feeling tidal waves of embarrassment and anxiety washing down on you.

“You’re not the first person to figure it out,” The words snap out from your mouth before you can stop them. You cross your arms across your chest as a means of comfort, but it only puffs out your cleavage even further. You sigh, dropping your arms as you approach the redhead. You don’t mean to but you stop closer to the man than you’d meant, leaving him to back against the desk behind him as you continue forward. “If you want to transfer Lian, I understand,” He’s shaking his head, eyebrows furrowed like you’ve got the wrong idea, but you continue. “Just please don’t tell,” You plead with him. “I can’t afford to lose this job again.”

He looks completely stupefied by how this is unfolding.

You half expect him just to walk out the door as you’d planned to do not even seconds prior, but he doesn’t. If anything, he seems relieved (?) by your reaction.

“Why do you even need the side job?” Out of all the things to come from his mouth, you’re definitely not expecting that.

“Technically, if we’re talking pay, this is my side job,” You gesture to the classroom around you halfheartedly. “35k a year doesn’t exactly pay bills, or well, much of anything at all,” You snort humorlessly. “Again, I totally understand if you want to transfer Lian, though.”

His mind still looks like it’s reeling from the reveal and his dick still obviously is too as it remains half-mast.

His voice is gruff as he stares down at your smaller form. Even though he’s the one being cornered, you still somehow feel like the prey.

“Why would I do that?” He asks quietly.

There’s an obvious heat behind his eyes, one you’d have to be dumb not to miss. It’s clearly not escaping either of you that your close position is reminiscent of your infamous scene.

You watch as his lips open, then close as if debating whether or not to take it further. His eyes are half-lidded, almost like he’s high on your presence alone.

He gulps, watching your eyes trail across his every minute reaction as if it might stop at any second.

It has to stop.

It’s one thing to be a cam girl and it’s another to suck off one of the parents in the classroom. Yup, nope. Not doing it.

You grant him the satisfaction of staying a finger-width away from his chest for just a moment longer.

“I don’t have time for this superfluous conversation, Mr. Harper,” You send him as stern of a look as you can manage.

“Damn, you’re killin’ me here, babe- Miss,” He says your name again and watch as his breathing sputters under your slitted gaze.

“It’s best we keep this completely professional. Just because I…” You trail off knowing he gets the point. “Doesn’t mean we can ignore the circumstances I’m under. I really care about these kids and I wouldn’t want anything to jeopardize this position.”

You know he’s holding off on a comment about the position you’re both currently in in favor of backing away in understanding. “Totally got you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable at all.”

You sigh in relief. Out of all the confrontations you’ve had about this topic, this has definitely been the easiest. Dare you say that Mr. Harper even seemed like a pretty cool dude. If you weren’t his daughter’s teacher, you’d definitely-

No, you can’t allow yourself to think like that.

“Thank you for, you know,” You hesitate, “not ratting me out.”

“Never,” He assures you with the most seriousness he’s displayed since you’ve met him.

You move, opening the door for him and getting blasted by whatever delicious cologne he’s wearing as you see him out.

He hesitates as if he wants to say something, but you beat him to the punch.

“Have a good day, Mr. Harper,” You grant him a small, genuine smile before shutting the door behind you.

You know he hasn’t moved and you know he knows you haven’t moved. The two of you stand there on either side of the door reveling in the last dregs of whatever the fuck that conversation constituted as.

Finally, you hear the tell-tale sign of his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum and you finally allow your heels to clack back over to your desk. You slump in your chair, head in your hand wondering what the fuck you’ve just gotten yourself into.

➸💋➸

You received your annual invite to the Wayne Holiday Gala months ago, though you honestly had considered not coming this year. However, after your run-ins with Jason, you decide to show up.

You end up spending most of the night with the kids in the daycare area. As unappetizing as it may sound to some, making small talk with the stuffy Gotham elites in the other room definitely sounds like the shittier end of the bargain.

You’re in the middle of a makeover session, which seems to involve a lot of poking and pulling when you hear it.

“Oh, no fucking way,” Your body stiffens at the familiar voice. “This is so rich.”

“Mr. Harper,” You say without turning around. You thank the little kids around you for the glitter bomb they’ve set off on you as you rise. Your form-fitting, high-slitted dress unfurls as you do so, revealing the extravagance of your gown. (x)

He cleans up very nice.

You try to hide how you check him out, but it doesn’t seem to matter too much as he’s preoccupied with raking his eyes up and down your curves. You watch as his freckled cheeks turn red.

“How’d you know?” His voice is extra scratchy tonight and it’s doing things to you.

“You’re the only one of my parents who curses like a sailor no matter who’s in the room,” You gesture down to the kids who’ve made you look like you’re going to Coachella rather than a gala.

The little girl closest to you keeps trying to tug at your hair, but Mr. Harper sits down and offers her his long locks in your stead.

“Are you,” He trails off, looking away from your eyes to fiddle with his black tie. “Is it okay that I sit here with you?”

It’s a vulnerable question after the clear shift after him approaching you in your classroom all those a few weeks ago.

“I don’t own the place,” You shrug as you sit back down with crossed legs beside him. “So, what are you doing here tonight?”

“My friend’s back in town and said he might be here tonight, so,” He trails off as he motions to his cornflower blue tux. It’s fucking ugly as shit and somehow it couldn’t look better on the muscular man.

“Where’s Lian?” You ask, blushing as soon as you realize you’ve asked.

Roy, however, seems pleased by your question. He points over to the other side of the room where she’s playing some combo of hide-and-seek and tag with a group of kids.

“She loves these kinds of things,” He says. “She wouldn’t let me miss out once she heard we’d been invited.” Lian catches your eye and waves excitedly before she’s pulled back into the game. “What about you?”

His voice lulls you into an easy smile, “Didn’t expect to see me here?”

“I didn’t say that,” He jests back as he tries to navigate the minefield that is this conversation. “You look good,” He says finally, though his eyes are forcibly focused on Lian.

You follow along as she gets chased around to avoid being tagged. The smile that’s adorned your face ever since he came in the room has yet to dull, something you’re sure he notices as his cheeks burn red.

“Thank you,” You say quietly. It’s your turn to blush when you feel his eyes finally shift back to you. You make the hard decision to focus on the kids running around rather than on his stunning, verdant eyes. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

It seems like your words have given him the confidence to… well, you’re not exactly sure, but he definitely seems more cocky now. However, a tiny voice interrupts before he gets a chance to respond.

“Go!”

“No, you!”

Your head turns to the gaggle of well dressed kids currently shoving each other your way.

“Excuse me!”

“Hello,” You smile at the cute display.

“They said you’re a princess,” A small girl in a tutu sidles up to you, wringing her hands behind her back as three other girls stand behind her shyly.

Before you can think of something to say, Roy swoops in.

“She’s 100% a princess,” Roy winks at you playfully. “Right, princess?”

You snort, trying not to be affected by the wink, “Right.”

You’re covered in shitty body glitter in a gown that anyone else’s here easily dwarfs. You feel far from a princess. Hell, the only reason you’d even been invited anyway had been because of your mom’s legacy.

The kids convince you to play heroes and robbers. Roy watches from the sidelines as you use a pink bow and arrow toy to stave off the waves of robbers that now includes Lian. Soon, she drags her dad to play, convinced that he needs to show you how to use the arrow for some reason.

“You’re not lining up the arrow right,” He says as he comes up to stand behind you.

“Mr. Harper,” You can hardly contain your eye roll, “it’s plastic.”

“Is this okay?” He asks as his hand hovers above your own.

Is it?

“Yeah,” You say before you lose the courage.

His firm chest presses against your back as he guides your hands on the bow. His soft hands trickle along your skin effortlessly teasing you all the while.

“You know, we’re not at school,” You startle at what he murmurs against the shell of your ear. “You can just call me Roy.”

You hesitate.

Is this crossing a line?

It’s just a name, you reason before giving in, “Alright, Roy.” You know he’s smiling big and a curious glance behind you proves it’s even dorkier of a grin than you’d imagined. “Don’t make me regret this,” You huff, settling back around the bow with his gentle guidance.

“Never.”

You release the arrow and, for once, it actually hits the target. The kids go nuts like you’ve just told them they get candy every day forever.

This is exactly when he shows up…

“Figures I’d find the two of you here.”

You startle, turning around with the toy bow and arrow still poised in your hands to find, “Jason.”

“What’s up,” He looks highly amused, though his only tell is the blatant mirth behind his emerald eyes.

Roy removes himself from around your smaller form to face your friend, who also seems to know Roy.

“I thought you didn’t come to these things anymore,” Roy says, confusing you even more.

“You know Jason?”

Roy backs away with an unreadable gaze as he shoots back a question your way, “Have the two of you met before?” It sounds pointed, like he somehow knows you guys fucked in the alley.

Your eyes flicker over to the darker haired gentleman, wondering if Jason didn’t want him to know. He’s smiling like he’s in on something you aren’t, though, so you take it as a sign you can divulge.

“A couple of times,” You respond nonchalantly.

“A couple of times?!” Roy repeats in disbelief, shooting Jason a look he has no choice but to laugh at. After this, Jason and Roy seem to be holding a conversation with their eyes alone.

You hand off the bow and arrow to the little girl who asks to use it before turning your attention back to the men who seem to have come to some agreement without ever having spoken.

“I should’ve known the horndog dad she was talking about was you, Harper,” You look embarrassed to have been caught talking about Roy, but Roy’s too embarrassed that his flirting’s been so obvious. “So,” He drawls with his hypnotizing deep voice. “What’ve you guys been up to?”

“Just this mostly,” You gesture to the glitter and toys scattered around. Your heels are starting to kill your feet, so you make to sit down again.

Both men, much to your amusement, help you down before sitting beside you. The kids immediately come up and try to play with his hair like they were with you and Roy, but it’s too short. They ultimately resort to makeup and more glitter, leaving you to wonder just who the fuck was giving these kids body glitter?

The three of you amuse the kids for a bit longer before Jason signals the two of you to follow him.

Roy tells Lian he’ll be right back and to stay in the childcare area while he’s gone. You watch after the two of them, not feeling Jason’s calculating eyes on the side of your face until you turn and meet them.

“What?”

He just shakes his head with a light smirk. An attendant walks by with a fresh tray of champagne flutes and Jason asks for them to stop and takes the tray from their hands. You raise a questioning brow when he hands you one before downing a glass.

Yeah, you could stand to get fucked up.

You smile, following suit as you down the glass, then another. Soon, Roy sidles up beside you and joins in on a few. Jason easily out drinks you and you’re not trying to get to the point where you’re too drunk. Right now, you feel a pleasant, tipsy hum vibrating across your tingling skin.

Roy takes the drinks slower but still downs one or two.

By the time the three of you are done, the tray of 10 glasses is completely empty.

From there, Jason takes you and Roy around the parts no one else dares venture, ultimately stumbling upon Bruce Wayne’s office.

“Holy shit,” You gasp as you walk into the ornate room.

The entire room is covered in deep, rich wood and is filled with shelves upon shelves of old-looking literature. It looks like what the two cheap sets you’ve been on were trying to emulate but could never come close to.

Your fingers trail delicately across the fabric spines of books that adorn the wall-to-wall bookshelves in appreciation.

“Yeah,” Jason sidles up beside you to pull out the copy of ‘The Happy Prince’ you’ve been eyeing. “Haven’t been in here since I was a kid, but it still holds up to what I remember,” He stares down at your pick before handing it off to you. You hold it delicately, something he chuckles at. “You’re not going to fuck it up; trust me, he wouldn’t notice even if you did. Old man doesn’t have time to read anymore.”

“Oh?” You say, not sure what else to say.

Jason merely nods, “I used to sneak in here or the library after patro- bedtime,” He coughs as he corrects himself. “Wilde is one of my favorites.”

You feel the all-telling stare of Roy from behind where Jason has you trapped against the shelf. When you turn around, however, he pretends to be preoccupied with the random knickknacks on the desk.

“Who’s your favorite, Roy?”

He looks up from the paperweight he’s holding as if surprised to be addressed by you, “John Knowles is always good. Can’t go wrong with Ray Bradbury.”

You nod in approval, missing how Jason’s eyes flash mischievously as he glances between the two of you.

“‘A Seperate Peace’ has always been one of my go-to’s,” You add shyly.

You don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s because you’re not at the school, maybe it’s the fact you’re far away from the party, but you actually feel nervous around Roy right now. What’s making it worse is that Jason seems to notice. Much to your chagrin, he ups the ante between the two of you as if finding amusement in seeing the two of you blush so profusely.

Jason suddenly moves from beside you and off somewhere in the corner to fiddle around with an antiqued globe. You watch, trying to ignore Roy in your peripheral, as the top half of the globe opens to reveal crystal glasses and containers.

While Jason pours the three of you more drinks, you and Roy get to talking about, well, just about everything. The cadence and ease at which the two of you switch from topic to topic is incredible. You feel like you’ve known the redhead forever by the time Jason’s handing you a heavy, intricate glass.

You thank him, quirking a brow at his knowing smile. He just shakes his head, “You two are fucking hilarious, you know that?”

You don’t.

A quick look at Roy proves his confusion as well. However, one glance at his friend leads to another one of their eyes-only conversations that seems to bring Roy in on the joke. You, on the other hand, are left to flounder in front of your attractive company.

“And why is that?” You finally bite.

Roy seems content to sip at his glass with raised brows as he watches the scene unfold.

“I’m just surprised you guys haven’t up and fucked already.”

You and Roy begin sputtering at the same time. Luckily, Roy seems to gather his bearings fast enough to respond so you don’t have to make a fool of yourself.

“Jay, what?”

You and Roy still, looking at Jason to gauge the seriousness of his words. Roy then looks down at you to judge your reaction.

You know you shouldn’t fuck him. You really shouldn’t fuck him.

You can’t fuck him but…

“Guess it’d only be fair,” Roy snorts at Jason’s words, but you don’t understand. “I don’t mind sharing with friends.”

The three of you return to a silent stare down of who’s going to be the first to make a move.

Fuck it. You’re tipsy and horny and there are two attractive as fuck men in front of you. This is definitely a far cry from the boring night you thought you were in for.

“Are you sure, Jason?”

Roy’s breath catches audibly in his throat once he realizes you’re seriously considering it, “Princess, you’ve had a lot to drink. I don’t think- I wouldn’t want you to feel like this is,” He trails off, eyes searching yours.

He’s cute and thoughtful, okay? How can you not fuck him now?

With Jason’s blessing, you push forward, corralling Roy against the desk until your chest is flush against his.

“Takes more than liquor and a few glasses of champagne to count me out, Mr. Harper,” You realize too late you’ve used the wrong name, though it doesn’t seem like he minds in the slightest. “Sorry,” You start, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t be,” He bites his lip. “It’s really fucking hot,” His hands close around the mahogany desk behind him as if keeping him from ravishing you right then and there. “Gotta admit, though, it’s been a few years since I’ve done anything,” He begins the tell-tale signs of his signature rambling, but you cut him off with a deep, slow kiss. It steals the rest of the words from his mouth as your body melts against his. “You don’t care that I’m out of practice?”

You slowly wipe at the spit you’ve left on his lips before allowing your eyes to flicker up and meet his. He’s already looking at you when you do, like he can’t believe this is actually happening.

“Not at all,” You smirk lightly at his surprised look as you turn his words back on him. “It’s hot.”

He groans at your words as if he’s holding himself back from flipping your position and fucking you against the desk. He doesn’t, though. Roy sits back against the desk and lets you do whatever you please.

“Really?” He stares down at your wandering hands with wide, uncertain eyes.

You nod, biting at your bottom lip, “I can help you practice.”

His jaw drops and you can’t help but laugh alongside Jason.

“Can I touch you?” His deep voice rumbles across your skin, further spurring the stammering beat of your heart. You nod, but it’s not enough for him. “Tell me you want me.”

You smile up at him, “I want you, Roy.”

“Fuck,” You watch as his dick twitches against the pants of his ugly suit. “Jay, are you sure you want to share?”

He’s sitting in the large chair behind the desk behind Roy, palming himself through his pants, “Just fuck already.”

Jason looks absolutely sinful. His thick thighs are spread temptingly in the head chair with his button-up completely unbuttoned to reveal his toned stomach. His suit jacket remains on, as well as his tie, though it’s loosened and strewn lazily across his shoulder.

Roy exhales sharply before flipping your position in the blink of an eye.

Suddenly, you’re being lifted onto the desk with Roy slotting between your thick thighs before your mouth is overtaken by his. You arch extra for Jason, who’s behind you and break away from the redhead to turn around and lean down slightly to kiss the other man.

Jason’s rough thumb runs along your jawline as he flicks his tongue teasingly against yours. Meanwhile, Roy’s hands roam your body tentatively as if he’s scared he’ll do something wrong.

“Jason,” You breathe against his soft lips as you pull apart, “tell him he’s not going to break me.”

“Tell him yourself,” Jason huffs like he can’t believe you pulled away to say that. Soon, he’s shoving his calloused hands into your dress to cup your lofty tits and expose them to the room. You gasp, something he uses as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, though his hands eventually move, finding Roy’s hands and moving over top of them to sink them into your skin.

“Shit,” Roy groans as he finally allows himself to divulge in your curves.

He throws off his blue suit jacket, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his dress shirt before focusing back on you. His eyes linger over your tits as if memorizing them.

It’s cute.

Your finger beckons him hither. Your half-lidded eyes slip close as two sets of hands and mouths descend upon you in all the right places.

Jason moves to stand behind you at the desk, caressing up and down your exposed skin. His mouth leaves slick kisses along your neck, stopping to suck every few seconds to draw airy moans from your plump lips. Meanwhile, Roy’s mouth attaches to your collarbone, moving lower to suck your tits into his mouth with an appreciative whine as his fingers explore lower.

“Jay,” Roy’s voice breaks, leaving you to moan in response. His fingers trickle close to the top of the slit of your dress, begging to go further. “I don’t think she’s wearing any underwear.”

Suddenly, they’re on each other, kissing over your shoulder with a clashing of tongues and teeth. It’s aggressive and honestly, some of the hottest shit you’ve ever seen. You spread your legs even further before allowing your fingers to trickle up to your pulsating clit, but Roy stops you.

You look at him in dazed confusion, just wanting some fucking relief, but he won’t allow it. “Please,” You beg, shifting your hips flush against the bulge in his pants, but he refuses to relent. “I need you to touch me.”

“Say my name,” He says darkly, fingers hovering right above where you’re desperate for it.

You meet his wanton gaze head-on, whimpering as Jason leaves hickeys across your shoulders. You so desperately want to buck into Roy’s hand, but his firm grip on your hip prevents you from doing so.

“Roy,” You moan, using your cam voice.

He seems to notice because his resolve seems to crumble. “So good, baby,” Roy starts to ramble. “You’re so fucking sexy. You want to get fucked?”

Jason’s breathing sputters against your ear as he finally allows himself to unzip his pants. His hard member rocks against the top of your ass and lower back with his hands reaching around you to tease your nipples. You arch backward against him with a loud cry.

“Please,” You’re not even necessarily answering Roy’s question. You just need something, anything from either of them and you need it right now. You squirm in the hold, bucking and writhing for any kind of contact you can get, but both are playing hard to get.

“Should we give her what she wants, Harper?” Jason ignores your pleas completely.

You mewl when Roy finally rubs his thumb against your aching clit. However, the contact is gone as quickly as it began, leaving you just as desperate as you’ve felt this entire time.

“I don’t know, Jay,” Roy responds sadistically. “Maybe we should make her wait a little bit longer.”

If they’re going to tease you, you’re definitely willing to do the same.

If they weren’t going to touch you, you’d just have to touch them. You waste no time in latching on to Roy’s sweaty neck, nipping and sucking hickeys into his collection of freckles as you mouth along his exposed shoulders.

“How are we doing this?” Jason asks gruffly, stirring excitement in your lower stomach.

Regardless of all the talk, you knew neither would be able to resist much longer.

Roy bites his lip, eyes trailing down your exposed body with his bottom lip bit cheekily as he considers the question. “I’m going to bend her over this desk, fuck her ass up,” Roy gauges your reaction and, when he sees no hesitation, does just this. “Feel free to join in, I don’t care,” He says to Jason as he rubs his clothed erection against your arched ass as if testing the waters, “This alright, beautiful?”

Roy’s cock against your ass, or the dangerous look Jason has in his eyes as you come eye-level with his leaking cock.

“Answer him,” Jason demands cooly. He lifts your head with an assured grip as he draws your gaze from his twitching cock to his dark eyes.

Your body responds earnestly to all the stimulation, moaning his name with a broken, “Yes.”

The tip of Jason’s tongue pokes out to lick at his lips. You watch as his eyes flicker to Roy behind you with palpable desire as he brings his leaking tip against your pliant lips. He slips in with a groan, hands falling to the edges of the desk, curled white-knuckled to prevent himself from completely ravishing your throat right then and there.

“So good,” He praises. His thumb trickles at the corner of your mouth gently while his hips snap slowly but roughly into your mouth. “Now, show Roy how good you are.”

You groan around his thick cock, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he picks up the pace. At the same time, you feel Roy lining himself up with your cunt and suck Jason more ardently.

Roy’s cock pushes against your tight entrance, slipping in slowly with an appreciative sigh from both of you. You feel him bob up and down from within you as soon as he settles. A quick look behind you proves how his orange locks cascade deliciously in front of his flushed, freckled cheeks.

“You feel so good inside me,” You wiggle your ass around his thickness, spurring an accidental snap of his hips. The sharp momentum sends you forward into Jason who merely cups your face and draws you up for a deep, edging on rough kiss that leaves you backing helplessly against Roy for relief. “Fuck!”

He finally offers it, probably knowing he wasn’t going to last for shit anyway.

His hands caress and spread your cheeks as he sputters out uncoordinated, breathy thrusts into your tight heat. All the while, he spews the absolute most obscene things you’ve ever heard.

He wraps your hair around his hand, forcing the rhythm on Jason’s dick as he fucks into you with reckless abandon. This only lasts for so long before you feel the shakiness in his thrusts.

“Jason,” Roy calls out from behind, “I need to tap for a second.”

Jason merely rolls his eyes, drawing you from his cock to his mouth for a lewd, terse kiss that leaves you breathless. You watch as his muscular form moves around the desk to settle behind you by Roy.

“You still good with this?” Jason asks, still a ways back from your ass that’s arched over the desk.

You look at him from over your shoulder with a playful glint behind your eyes, “Just fuck me already, Jason.”

Jason wastes no time in pushing his tip in. He remains like this, creating lewd noises as his tip bobs shallowly in and out of your slick cunt. “Please,” You beg after he continues like this for another beat. “I need you deeper. Jay, please!”

He chuckles darkly, “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

It’s all the warning you get before he pushes into you fully. He remains seated as you squirm against the large intrusion with desperate gasps and moans spilling from you as you do.

Jason’s thrusts start out innocent enough, exploratory in a sense. They soon grow more desperate and harsher as he responds to the wanton cries you produce each time he bottoms out inside you.`

Soon, Roy’s tapping back in and the fun truly begins.

That’s how you end up bent over the desk in your dress and heels, holding on to the edge of the desk for dear life as both men taking turns fucking in and out of you. It’s completely sadistic how they use your body just the way you need, drawing noises and reactions from you that you’ve never experienced before. If this had been a stream, you know you’d rake in a record amount of tips- how could you not when you looked this wrecked?

You see yourself in the window in front of you, staring at your tits as they bounce in time with the varied thrusts. Eventually, they seem to catch on to what you’re doing and meet your unfocused gaze in the reflection as they make a mess of you.

“Shit,” Jason groans when his tip catches against your entrance as he slows down the pace once again to tease you. It works. You’re left mewling and bucking helplessly against his firm grip that keeps you in place from doing so.

Roy decides he wants you to get a taste of him and take the position Jason had earlier for you to suck him into your mouth. His member is slick and tastes like your pussy, only serving to make you moan wantonly against his thickness. The vibrations only amplify when Jason smacks your cheeks in quick succession, then moves to cradle and soothe them.

You feel completely and utterly used.

Soon, Roy’s breathing sputters in just a way that Jason knows to pull out. He begins to jack off over your jiggling ass as Roy slips inside of you once again. Their lips connect and you watch their sensual kiss through the reflection on the glass as you feel pressure mounting within you.

Your tongue lulls out without you even realizing it.

Jason, however, does.

“Two guys in your pussy isn’t enough for you?” Jason questions darkly as he makes eye contact with you. “You need a cock in your mouth too?” You bite at your bottom lip, giving him all the answers he needs. “Tell me where you need me.”

Like he doesn’t already know.

“I need your cock shoved down my throat,” You maintain eye contact through the reflection in the window as you respond coquettishly. “Will you fuck my throat, Jason?”  “Say please,” He retorts in a dangerous voice that leaves you bucking back against Roy’s dick with a breathy moan.

“Please, Jason?”

“Good girl.”

He complies easily, choking you with his length as he thrusts against your pliant lips.

Roy doesn’t last much longer after you beg Jason to fuck your throat again“Fucking, damnit,” Roy curses, pulling out of you before you can even comprehend what’s happening. “Man, what the fuck?”

You pull off Jason’s cock with a lewd ‘pop’ as you look over your shoulder.

Roy’s got one hand cupped under his dick to collect his come, with the other running aggravatedly through his hair. It’s definitely not the ending you were expecting and you can’t help but laugh. He’s such a fucking loser and it’s only making you more and more attracted to him for some reason.

“Yeah, that’s what everyone wants to hear from a pornstar they bang,” His words only make you laugh harder. He smacks you lightly on the hip, motioning for you to turn over so you can press your bare body into his firm chest. “Give me a sec, babe. I’ve got you.

“I’m actually quite flattered to be called me a pornstar,” You jest as you wiggle into the new position.

“Well, what would you consider yourself?”

“A random bitch who does porn.” He looks at you like you’re insane, “Your video got in the fucking millions, dude.”

He draws another easy laugh from you, “'Dude’ is seriously what you’re calling me right now?”

“No,” He starts lowly, “but feel free to start calling me Mr. Harper more often.” At this, his dick slightly twitches back to life, leaving you to roll your eyes.

You inadvertently gasp when he drops to a crouch, now eye-level with your pulsating cunt. You inadvertently attempt to close your legs, but he won’t allow it. He pries your thick legs open with greedy eyes and a firm grip, preventing you from shutting them again. You groan, arching against his restraint in anticipation of what’s to come.

Jason runs a calloused hand through your hair that’s splayed out across his father’s paperwork. He then collects as much of your hair as he can and grips it, using the hold to force your head back onto his dick. His one hand remains in your hair while the other trails down from your tits to rub at your clit.

Your appreciative moans vibrate around his large member, drawing the most erotic noises you’ve ever heard from the man.

Roy’s tongue finally trickles out, teasing you with light licks along your folds, then pressured kisses to your inner thighs.

“‘M so fucking lucky, babe,” He groans against your cunt as he finally picks up the pace. His tongue seems to know all the right places and all the right pressure to get you bucking against his smirking mouth. “I’ve dreamed about this shit,” He meets your half-lidded gaze as he licks a long, thick trail from your entrance up to your clit. “Fucking you just like this, getting to taste your sweet little pussy,” As if to prove his point, he mouths along your cunt, slurping your juices into his already dripping mouth. “Forced me to sleep in underwear so I don’t have to change my sheets every night, princess.”

“Roy,” You push further against his tongue, hips sputtering against his skillful appendage for more. Your head falls backward, taking Jason back into your mouth with a forcefulness that has him tightening the grip in your hair.

“That’s right, baby,” He says lowly. “Say my name just like that.”

He eats you out, only removing his mouth to shove a finger inside of you when you’re getting close again.

You let out an embarrassing cry, leaving Jason to remove his cock. He smacks your flushed cheeks with his cock so he and Roy can both hear the full extent of you coming undone.

“Please,” You beg, arching off the desk. “Right there, Roy- fuck!”

With two different people working your pussy, you know you won’t last long.

Jason’s calloused pad against your clit and Roy’s expert tongue is all too much. You’ve never had it feel like this before- not even close. All the while, Roy continues to use moves you’ve never felt, but damn do you want to feel them again.

Preferably soon.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby. I need your come on my fingers,” He says your name like a demand.

You have no choice but to obey when he finally manages a second finger.

You come against Roy’s expert tongue. Your hips sputter sporadically against his curled fingers inside of you, all while you force Jason back down your throat, effectively giving you the best orgasm of your life. When you finally catch your breath, you lift yourself weakly onto your elbows. The sight that meets you makes you laugh as both men are standing in front of you, ready for another round.

Fuck.

This round is hazy and steamy as the three of you find a new, sensual rhythm that drives you crazy.

They continue taking turns fucking into you with sloppier movements, taking turns kissing you and each other as Roy plays with your clit and Jason plays with your tits. At some point, Jason places his calloused hand on your lower stomach in a way that makes every thrust feel so much more intensified. You know you won’t last long.

Your hips snap tantalizingly against Roy’s thrusts. against his fiery hair with reckless abandon as you feel another orgasm drawing near.

“That’s it, baby,” He coos as your face scrunches up in absolute pleasure. “There we go. Give it to me, I want your come all over my dick. Good,” His fluid thrusts milk out your second orgasm of the night.

Your breathing sputters as you release on his hard length, squeezing down as you spasm around him until he’s forced to pull out. You’re still twitching in Jason’s arms as Roy spatters his come across your pussy and lower stomach.

“So fucking good,” You groan, allowing Jason to support the majority of your weight as you slink against his toned chest.

Roy stares at your fucked-out form in disbelief. He notices your smirk and blushes, beginning his usual rambling that you can’t help but be enamored by.

“If you want, my roommate won’t be in for most of the night,” Jason snorts, you assume, at Roy’s attempt to get you back to his place.

You surprise everyone in the room, yourself included, when you ultimately agree, “Alright.”

➸💋➸

You wake up with a headache in an unfamiliar room.

There’s a random drum set in the corner, as well as various band tees and posters littered across the walls.

Memories flood back to the forefront of your brain as you stare at the picture on the nightstand and groan.

Mr. Harper. No- Roy.

You hear the shower going from somewhere close by and use it as a chance to look around and gather your bearings.

You remember the office sex, driving back with Jason so Roy could put Lian to sleep. You remember coming back to Roy’s place and fucking, changing into one of his loose shirts, then watching some dumb movie on his bed with tequila. After that, though, the memories all carry a hazy edge.

You find your dress lying across the desk in his room and silently pad over to it. Underneath the satin fabric is his partially opened laptop that dings out a familiar tone as if on cue. You change back into your evening gown, looking at your phone that lights up with a notification reminder about your stream later tonight.

It’s too much of a coincidence for you not to sit there and debate snooping. Ultimately, curiosity gets the best of you as you open the screen fully.

What you find stops your heart.

He currently has tabs pulled up about some sort of mechanical issue with a motorcycle engine, the other tab is about nearby kids museums and activities. It’s the flashing tab all the way at the end that sends chills up your spine.

It’s your cam page.

Not only that, but it’s his chat log with you, showing the last message he sent.

inmyarsenal: have to stop coming by your streams. tAke this as compensation- no refunds :)

Holy shit, he’s a stalker.

Holy shit, you walked right into it.

The shower’s still going when you finally find yourself able to move again. You waste no time in rushing out of his room, searching desperately for an escape. The front door is too close to the slightly opened bathroom door for you to be able to sneak out of. You turn around and find a balcony, sighing when you realize this is your best bet.

Fire escape it is.

Donning last night's dress and remnants of body glitter, you slip out onto the balcony for your first and worst walk of shame ever.

No, actually, it gets so much worse.

“Well, this is a new one.”

You startle, turning to face Jason who’s smoking, “Jason?” You’re entirely confused. He’s Roy’s roommate??? You move over to the ledge where he’s standing and look down at the ten flights you’ll have to traverse down in your heels with a sigh.

It’s going to be a long day.

“He slept on the couch, you know,” Jason says, taking a drag before offering it to you. “Nothing happened after the movie. I promise.”

For some reason, you believe him, but that doesn’t mean you’re not still seriously disturbed by what you’ve found. For fuck’s sake, Roy had watched your stream before the parent teacher conference knowing it was you and tipped you after. It’s entirely fucking creepy and way too contrived to be a mistake.

The pounding in your head takes over your senses as you take a hit of the cigarette. You sputter as soon as the smoke hits your lungs, immediately wishing you hadn’t taken the shit at all. Thankfully, Jason holds in the laugh you can tell is bubbling in his throat, something you appreciate.

Inside, the faucet squeaks off and you quickly realize that if you’re going, you better go.

You hand back the cigarette and shuffle down the first few stairs before looking back at Jason, “You never saw me.”

By the time you get to the bottom, you look up to find the man’s already gone.

You need a fucking aspirin.

A/N: this issss not editedededd :( lemme know what you think, tho!

work has been stressing me out and I recently got diagnosed w an autoimmune disease so we b dealing with that shit. i saw the eclipse tho and it was p cool!

last thing, promise! be sure to check out my pinned post to show my other fics some love and go to the top right corner of my blog to turn on post notifs!

[next: coming soon] || masterlist || pinned

#reader x roy harper #reader x jason todd x roy harper #jason todd x reader #reader x jason todd #my fic: parent teacher conferences and pornstars #dc x reader #x reader

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0blobthefish0 · 16 days

Text

Partygirl Part 2

leighton murray masterlist | main masterlist

Part 1

Leighton Murray x Female Reader 1769 words

a/n - finally, it is here! i literally had this all written out except for the last part before the 17th, but I am incapable of writing cute date scenes, so this'll have to do 😅

You stir awake and your mouth falls open in a silent scream as you screw your eyes shut. Throbbing pain was incessantly stabbing at your brain, there was no way you didn't have any nerves in there because all you wanted to do was take the damn thing out. What the fuck did you drink last night, the whole bar?

Letting out a defeated sigh, you slowly opened your eyes and brought a hand to your head in an attempt to soothe the ache. Wait..

You froze.

Where were you? You questioned as your eyes adjusted to the dark. God, did you actually follow through with a one night stand? You could now hear, and not to mention feel, the soft puffs of someone breathing. You chewed on your bottom lip, nervously, as you wracked your aching brain for a solution. You nearly choke on a gasp when you feel a pair of arms tighten around your waist, pulling you flush against the other person.

Your eyebrows furrow - boobs? What the hell happened last night? And you almost feel proud of yourself until, you realise that you're still fully clothed, and now you feel horrified; how did you half fail a one night stand?

God, this was so embarrassing.

But then, you smell something familiar, expensive, and you finally pull yourself together enough to take a peek at the mystery person.

You hear yourself squeak and a hand flies to cover your mouth and you can't tell if looking was a good idea because, somehow, your heart is beating faster than it already was. You feel her hand slip from your waist and you feel as if your soul has lifted itself outside of your body.

"Y/n," you hear her croak out, her voice thick with sleep.

You let a stretched-out moment pass before replying, "Yes?"

"You okay?" She whispers softly, and you move to lay on your back.

"Yeah, I just- I wasn't expecting to see you there," you explain and Leighton can hear the nervous smile in your voice.

"You were pretty drunk last night," she recalls and she sees you wince in response. "There's some aspirin outside, if you want."

"Ugh, yes please," you say quickly.

You're sat on the sofa when Leighton passes you a bottle of water and an aspirin before taking a seat next to you. You pop the pill into your mouth and take a swig of water, smiling softly to yourself when you find that the bottle was already open. Your pounding headache seemed to dissipate instantly, it may just be a placebo effect, but you were thankful for it nonetheless, and you turned to her with a relieved smile.

"Better?" She questioned and you nodded your head. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, just listening to the quiet through the darkness that no longer seemed so dark.

Leighton couldn't help but be thankful that the room was still dark, otherwise you most likely would have picked up on the pink tint that was dusting her cheeks. The image of you pulling her in close, your hands on her face, the way you looked at her with those drunken eyes and your voice when you called her pretty was all that she could think about. Goosebumps began to litter her arms as she shook herself out of her daze.

"I should probably get going," you announced quietly and Leighton turned to see you hugging your arms.

"You could always stay y'know? I'm sure your roommate wouldn't be too happy with you," Leighton inputted, "and you do live in the other building." You had to fight the hopeful feeling from growing as you turned to look at her; did she want you to stay? No, she was just being nice, anyone sane would offer the same.

"Really, you don't mind?" You smiled sheepishly.

"No, I wouldn't have offered if I did," she shrugged and got up from the sofa to stand in front of you. "But you need to wear something more comfortable first cause," you watched as Leighton eyed your outfit before lightly shaking her head and gave you her hand to help you up from the sofa.

Quietly, the two of you made your way back into the bedroom and you stood beside her as she rifled through her draw for something for you to wear.

"You can get changed in here, or step outside if you want," she whispered to you as she passed you a pair of neatly folded clothes. You nodded your head in reply, quickly spinning on your heel as soon as you saw Leighton reach for the waistband of her jeans. You took a moment to collect yourself and settle your nerves before swiftly slipping out of your dress and pulling on Leighton's shirt and shorts.

"Done?"

"Yeah," you whispered quietly and turned to see her slipping into the bed.

Leighton watched you as you moved closer to her; something about seeing you in her clothes was making her stomach erupt with butterflies, you looked cute. She didn't know why she did it, maybe it was the time of night, or maybe it was an unconscious decision, but she opened up her arms - inviting you in closer - and to her relief you accepted and crawled into her.

"I meant it, y'know?" You confessed and let out a slow yawn.

"Meant what?"

"Nothing, sorry, I'm just tired," you whispered sheepishly, your one second of courage quickly leaving you as soon as those words left your mouth. What you wanted to say, was that when you had drunkenly told her that she was pretty, you were being earnest. You felt Leighton nod her head above you and then the two of you slowly drifted off to sleep once again.

---

You saw Kimberly send you a small smile and you made your way to their table, food in hand.

"Speak of the devil," you hear Bela sigh out as you place your tray on the table and taking the empty seat next to Leighton.

"Why are we talking about me?" You questioned.

"Bela's in a mood-" Whitney began before being promptly interrupted.

"Why didn't you two fuck?" Bela nearly shouted accusingly.

"Woah-"

"Okay! No need to be so crass."

"Just because we both like girls, does not mean that we automatically want to jump each other's bones," you defended with a hushed voice, hyperaware of the people around you.

"Speak for yourself," Bela mumbled, upset, taking a not so discreet jab at Leighton.

"Hey," Leighton gaped, "you're the one that encouraged me!"

"Yeah, I guess I did. I'm just mad, my ship needs to sail; like you literally have all of the materials, get to building!" You shook your head at that with a slight laugh and soon enough the conversation drifted away from the two of you.

You took a forkful of your lunch before turning to Leighton, the movement catching her eye.

"How'd your quiz go?" You asked her.

"Uh- yeah! It was um," Leighton was struggling to hide her shock, she had only mentioned the quiz once, maybe twice, a week ago, "it went well," she nodded with a smile on her face.

She couldn't remember if you said anything after, too concentrated on the way that she was feeling and the way her face was heating up, so much so that she had to turn away and focus in on the conversation at the table.

---

The following week flew by quickly. You were resting on your bed, the relief of finally sitting the exam washing over you, when you felt your phone vibrate. You felt for it and at seeing the caller ID you squinted suspiciously.

"Leighton?"

"Hi."

"Are you.. okay?" You questioned with confusion; Leighton never calls you.

"Yeah, I- is your roommate there?"

"No, she wen-"

You stared, dumbfounded, at your dark screen. She hung up.

knock. knock. knock.

The fuck?

Almost cautiously, you get out of bed and tip-toe your way to the door before cracking it open ever so slightly and then swinging it fully open.

"Leighton? Are you sure you're okay?"

Standing before you, in all her glory, was Leighton Murray dressed to the nines like she always was whilst you stood in pyjamas. It wasn't even necessarily late, possibly just half-past six, but you enjoyed living in comfort.

"Of course, never better," she replied, moving into the room after you turned to the side to let her in.

In reality, Leighton had never felt so anxious in her life. If she hadn't called you on a whim, she most likely would have been back in her dorm by now. She spun around as you closed the door and, were those her pyjamas? She had let you keep them that night, and just seeing you in them was giving her whiplash to last weekend.

"I want to ask you out, on a date," she stated. "I know you said that thing a few days ago about how just because we both like girls we aren't automatically attracted to each other or whatever, and that other thing of people in a relationship should be in different friend groups, which was basically a big fat sign saying 'we're just friends', but you honestly make me feel insane and I can't stop thinking about you like all the fucking time and maybe, hopefully, you like me back or maybe I'm just crazy and delusional and all the signs are just figments of my imagination."

You stared at her with a growing smile as she ranted and now she was partly out of breath as she searched your eyes, and swallowed nervously.

You nodded your head tentatively and Leighton took a small step toward you.

"I need you to say it," she whispered softly, the words barely passing her lips, her wide, Bambi-eyes on you. She needed to know it was real.

"Yes," you nodded again, "I'd love to go on a date with you." You saw as she visibly relaxed.

"When are you free?"

"Umm.." you began as you sifted through the busy days ahead for a potential gap.

"Now?" Leighton offered and your eyes snapped to her.

"I mean- yeah?"

"Great." You felt Leighton take your hand and begin to lead you out of your room.

"I'm not changed."

"You don't need to be, plus you look cute in my pyjamas."

"Yours? They're mine now," you grinned as the door shut behind you and the two of you made your way out of the building.

"Do you have a plan?" You questioned as you stepped outside.

"Drive."

#female reader #x reader #reader #reader insert #wlw #fluff #leighton murray #leighton murray x reader #the sex lives of college girls #Blob's fics

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whats-it-mean · 3 months

Note

🦐 anon here.

I want you to write me a fanfic. I have (not) read the rules and hope that this falls under (alright) decent guidelines

request below:

t w e e l s (+ Azul)

give them s n u g g l e s

Like not even individually. Just a pile of people. Like you, Jade is probably there rubbing your head, Azul is huddled up in your lap, Floyd is probably in some inhumane position.

Fuck, throw Ace in there too. Why not.

GROUP HUG ☆

Floyd Leech, Jade Leech, Azul Ashengrotto, and Ace Trapolla x Reader

A/N - Interesting character pairing but I LOVE IT. fucking love ace and floyd together bc they would fight like siblings. change my mind i dare you

C/W - Cussing (on Ace’s part)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You weren’t exactly sure what brought you here, but you couldn’t exactly complain about your current situation. It was just… weird.

“…..How have I not fired you yet.” Azul hissed, and despite not being able to see him very clearly from where you were, you could imagine his face, covered with a stubborn flush and scowling.

Floyd giggled, a raspy sound that you could practically feel as it run through the air. “This ain’t so bad! Right, Crabby?”

Ace just sighed, exhaustion seeping into his voice, and you could only imagine the headache he must have by now.

“I’d agree with Floyd,” Jade chimed in. “I quite like our current situation, Azul. And the prefect doesn’t seem to mind either.”

“It’s not.. bad..?”

You weren’t lying- It wasn’t like you were opposed to the current situation. You’d been chatting idly with Jade and Azul in their reserved booth inside the lounge, when a certain Floyd Leech came running at you, dragging Ace with him, which had somehow led you to where you were now.

You were laying in the booth up against Ace’s chest, Jade next to you playing with strands of your hair absentmindedly. Azul was cuddled up in your lap, undoubtedly enjoying it much more than he’d like to admit, and Floyd was sprawled out next to you in a position that was difficult to describe, in perfect Floyd fashion.

“C’mon, Azul! This ain’t bad at all!”

There was an annoyed grumble from your lap, and you found yourself struggling to resist a sudden urge to pet him. “…It’s fine.” He huffed, voice quiet and face flushed from what you could tell.

Jade giggled, and glanced up behind you to where Ace lay. “You’re quiet. Don’t tell me you’re opposed to all this?”

“No,” He quipped, a certainly annoyed edge to his voice. “I’m ‘opposed’ to the fact that Floyd fucking pulled me over here by the shirt collar.”

Floyd laughed again, and you could feel the noise resounding off of you. “You’re fine, Crabby.”

“Am not! It’s a wonder you haven’t killed me by now- you know I’m not a basketball, right!?”

Floyd tilted his head in an almost confused manner, and now it was your turn to burst out with laughter.

There was a rustling near you, and you glanced to your side to find Jade offering his blazer to you.

“It’s been a long day everyone, and the lounge is closed for now- Let’s all indulge in a little nap, yes?”

Ace let out another sigh, although this time much more content. “Fuck yeah it’s been a long day. I don’t care if y’all stay up, i’m sleeping whether or not you guys like it.”

Azul mumbled something of an agreement, voice still shy, although his blush was beginning to subside. You glanced to your other side again, and Floyd was already asleep by some miracle.

“Does he usually—“

“Every single night.” Jade said, one of his rarely more sincere smiles on his face. It wasn’t long until soft snores came from Ace, and Jade’s hand slowed it’s movements through your hair. It wasn’t long until you found yourself drifting off too, and once you had, it was the best sleep of your life.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── End

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silencedrowns · 10 months

Text

hi I’m a very long time cosplayer (20+ years experience) who has chronic headache and migraine problems and this is a post about how to prevent your cosplay wigs from giving you painful headaches! Nobody likes wandering around the con in blinding pain and so hopefully this post will help you reduce the chances of this happening.

1. If your wig is way too tight, don’t use it. Get something with a bigger cap. tbh I often wear slightly too big wigs to reduce the pressure! Find out what brands and sellers sell wigs that are comfy on your head and prioritize buying wigs from them! I made a big master list of cosplay wig sellers a while back so here’s a few you might not have known about. Arda (and its Canadian and European sites) sells by far the biggest wigs, but I personally find Classe the most comfortable for my specific head. It’s all very YMMV and it’s totally possible for a wig to not actually be too small but fit your head in an uncomfortable way (Blue Beard on taobao does this to me every time), so just don’t buy from suppliers that do that. Also consider resizing wigs to be larger! For wig clients with extra large heads I like to nip the edge of the wig right behind the ear where your ear and hair from above will cover it and add in a little godet of elastic.

2. Reduce weight! A heavy wig will make head pain much more likely, so here’s a few tips on wig weight reduction!

A) if your wig doesn’t need a ton of volume and is already very dense, rip out some wefts in the bottom half. Anything on the part of your head from the ridge where your head starts going in towards your neck won’t really show unless your wig is very short and it’ll obviously reduce weight instantly! You can replace any missing volume with light crimping or light heat and tease, or leave the wig as is for a natural and silky look without the unnatural volume of a cosplay wig.

B) if you need more volume in your wig, instead of going straight to adding wefts for more volume, see first if combining crimping with heat and tease at the roots will give you the extra volume you need! Crimping or heat and tease adds volume and if you straight up destroy the fiber in the first two inches from the scalp by doing both repeatedly, it’ll add huge volume without you needing to add extra hair! When I do this I like to heat the fiber near the roots, tease it, let it cool, crimp the teased part, let THAT cool, and then brush it out. You can flat out double the perceived volume in the back of the wig this way!

C) if your character has a high ponytail or high pigtails, consider using clip on ponytails that you can easily remove if you need the weight off your head right the fuck now. here’s two tutorials I swear by for making a short wig + clip on combination look more natural! They’re in Japanese but easily comprehensible if you use machine translation thanks to the clear photography. They also help with spreading out the weight on the wig itself, and if your hair is long enough, using a clip on with a fishnet wig cap and clipping through the wig and into your real hair will also he lp make it more secure and distribute weight more evenly.

if your character has high pigtails

if your character has a high ponytail

D) when you need extra wefts, opt for sewing in wefts rather than gluing whenever possible. Glue doesn’t seem heavy but enough of it can make a wig get real heavy REAL fast.

E) redirecting the weight to your entire head and not just the front hairline will feel lighter and give you less forehead tension, which is one of the biggest causes of wig headache. Toupee clips sewn evenly around the edges and a Wig Fix https://therenatural.com (the name brand one, the knockoffs genuinely don’t work half as well) can help with doing this. A Wig Fix will also let you use fewer pins to keep your wig on, which is another cause of wig headache. Can’t suggest trying those enough. There are also some velvet wig grips out there but I find those don’t work quite as well, but they’re by far better than nothing.

3) make sure your wig is easy to remove. A lot of characters have horns or veils or other head things on top of the wig so make sure those can easily come off if you need a wig break! I’m a big proponent of using wig glue or double stick tape to glue strands (face framing layers etc) to your face for a more natural and more flattering look, but if you get headaches from wigs, keep that glue or tape in your bag so if you have to de-wig for a bit, you can get it back on!

4) take the ibuprofen or whatever BEFORE you put the wig on, and not when your wig is already making your head miserable! It’s like taking the ibuprofen before you wear the horrible shoes for a special event; it’s more effective in advance.

5) what are your normal headache triggers? Make sure you’re doing the work to EXTRA avoid them before wearing a cosplay wig. Stay hydrated. Keep up with your electrolytes. If you have any food triggers, make sure you’re managing them properly.

6) try multiple types of wig cap before deciding which ones to use! I’m a big fan of the fishnet kind because I’m in agony every time I try to use the stocking kind. Some people find relief in doing pin curls under their cap, and @/battleangelgif on twitter suggested doing this with damp hair the night before you wear the wig. There are tons of methods! Stretching out fishnet caps can be done more effectively when they’re slightly damp and that’ll make them pinch less. Experiment with what you like best to keep your irl hair in place and once you find a method you like, go for it! Make that your go-to!

7) always remember: wearing a short wig is less miserable than wearing a wig to your ankles. consider very carefully whether or not you can actually handle that wig that’s as long as you are tall. sometimes you just can’t and that’s okay! reduce the length of any super long haired character to hip length and it’ll be FINE. I swear. It’ll still read as super long and it won’t be as terrible.

8) always remember you can just. take the entire wig and cosplay off if you’re in agony. it’s not worth it. don’t do that to yourself. If the migraine hits anyway, just take it off.

Hope some of this might help you out! Focusing on reducing and redistributing weight is what helps me out the most 😌 feel free to reply or reblog or message with questions and I’ll try and get back to you ASAP!

#cosplay #cosplay tutorial #wigs #wig tutorial #cosplay tips #reducing wig weight #I just want to save everyone from blinding cosplay wig induced migraine #nobody likes head pain at the con #hope I was clear enough hhhhhh #yes this is an expansion of a twitter thread I wrote #y’all get the better version

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ninmnoi · 5 months

Text

— Stop, you’re losing me.

mingyu x reader || angst.

summary ; trying to save an already failing relationship is a lot harder when he forgets your birthday.

(not proof read lol)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Its your birthday, you’ve never made a big deal about it tell you met him. You still remember his shocked face and loud “WHAT” when you told him you dont found your birthday a big deal, its just another day. Ever since then, he always celebrated your birthday in fun surprises and dinners. He made it so important and meaningful for you, and the big part of that is because you know he’ll be there.

So your nothing short of despair when its past 5pm and he hasnt once messaged you. It’d be another thing if he just didnt message happy birthday, you wouldve been okay with goodmoring.

You sigh putting your phone down, bitting your lip as your eyes water. It shouldnt be this serious, you’ve never even cared about your birthday before, so why dose it hurt so bad now?

Mingyu

That god damn Mingyu.

He used to be such a soft spoken soul, aiding to your needs as you do with him, those first few years of your relationship. He confessed to you in your own backward, he put his effort and time into it. You can even smell the flowers that lead to Mingyu, see the lights that brightened his soft smile, that swift hair and tall figure standing nervously fiddling with the bouquet in his hands. And who could forget the blush that tainted his face and ears, tears threatening to jump out after you said “yes.”

Now, your even lucky if he stays with you a whole day. Its always this or that driving him away. When he left your sisters engagement dinner because a friend of his needed help moving in, or when he canceled a date because he forgot a “really super duper important project” as he said. The nights he wouldnt call, the empty king bed. The second toothbrush that hasnt been moved in 2 weeks.

It drove you insane, but you still gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Maybe he’s busy”

“Hes probably sleeping”

“God his phone must’ve died”

Your friends would yell at you over text, spamming you with the reality check you needed, but never could deposit. After pacing around the kitchen trying to ignore the cute cake you bought with a sad candle slowly sinking into it. You pick up your phone and call him.

Ring…

*click!*

Did he just hang up on you..?

No, he would have to be crazy.

You call again.

Same fucking thing, even quicker just 2 rings in.

You open his contact info, trying to see where his location would put him.

“No Location Found.” You curse, what is he hiding? Your mind leads to the one scenario you’ve been dreading, infidelity. The thought of him cheating makes you wanna throw up, but sadly its a most common event. You’re just so done with everything, putting the cake away into the fridge and changing clothes. Its now 6:42pm and with the major headache you have, you simply decided to sleep it off. Hugging the build-a-bear Mingyu bought you a year back, it muffles your sobs, soaking in the tears.

It’s cold and dark when your awaken by an extra weight adjusting it’s self onto the right side of the bed. You recognize it all to well. Mingyu pulls the covers over himself, giving you a small peck on the tip of your ear.

“You’re home” you say, your drowsy and hurt voice clear.

“Yeah- im sorry im so late” he whispers to you

“There's cake in the fridge”

“Cake? For what”

You sigh, “My birthday”

You can hear his breathe hitch.

“Fuck- Baby im so sorry. I didnt mean to forget. I was just so bus-.”

You sit up.

“Busy,? from what? So busy you couldnt even text? Because clearly it wouldnt have taken as much time as hanging up on me and turning off your location did. So if ‘busy’ is some new slang for ignoring then that makes way more sense.”

“I didnt even know you called, i swear. My location should be on babe.. I” He mumbles on

“Then whos hanging up on me? Making sure i dont know where your at? Is she fun?”

Mingyu’s eyes widen

“What are you talking about?”

“Her, you know.. Is she attractive? What is it huh? Skinner than me? Or maybe blonder? Or is because you dont need to be responsible for her?

“Baby no, its none of that.” He grabs your shoulders.

“I love you, calm down”

“How can i?” You exclaim, jumping off the bed.

“You missed my birthday! I waited for you like some stupid dog! I felt so stupid.”

“I dont understand, birthdays were never that big of a deal for you”

“They werent until you made it a problem! Now look at me” you say, the tear stained face and puffy cheeks evident.

Mingyu gets up, walking over to you.

“I know ive been distant, let me make it up to you”

“Where were you tonight?”

He stays quiet for a moment, taking a deep breathe

“My friend he uh… invited me to a club” he quietly says.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Okay..?”

“Mingyu, get out”

“What?” His heart drops.

“Get out! Did the club music deafen you?? I want you gone” You yell, tears streaming down your face as you push him out. Though you have little to no affect of moving his body, it makes it all the more depressing.

“Okay…Okay..” He quietly says, grabbing his phone off the dresser. Looking down at you with remorseful eyes. His heart aching at the messed up state your in. And its because of him, god.

You slam the door behind him, locking it. You sigh before faintly walking back to your bed.

And theres your build-a-bear, ready to be hugged and to soak all your tears again.

Atleast, that comforts you.

#xreader #mingyu #oneshot #angst #mingyu x reader #seventeen #seventeen x reader #mingyu smut

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spider-stark · 7 months

Text

A DARK AGE pt.2

previous part -

series summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, Gwen Stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

chapter summary - desperate to get Harry Osborn out of your head, you find yourself following a lead that sends you straight to Peter Parker.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, series will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. please read at your own risk.

word count - 12.8k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts // newspaper headline //

YOU HAD been worried that the ice-cold stare of Harry Osborn would remain stuck in your brain for the entire cab ride back to New York City.

Fortunately, by the time you’d made it to Yonkers, about thirty minutes out from Ravencroft’s facility, the distressing imagery in your head faded as your ears were suddenly blasted with a series of rushed ding-s from your cell phone.

You welcomed the noisy distraction, even if it only further agitated the throbbing headache you felt coming on.

All the messages were from Betty Brant and likely could’ve been summed up in one long message rather than a dozen short ones. And, for the most part, all the texts did were confirm your fears: her search for Peter’s whereabouts had been a fruitless effort.

Well, almost fruitless.

You couldn’t quite give Brant credit for the one lead she’d received given the fact that it had essentially just fallen in her lap, but you still typed back a simple—good job, nonetheless.

While you were off pointlessly torturing yourself behind Ravencroft’s iron gates, a woman had called the Bugle and had the misfortune of being answered by Jameson himself.

According to Brant, the lady asked for you by name, and when Jameson told her you were busy and she’d need to call back later, she turned frantic. He said she sounded as if she were on the verge of tears, begging him to get a message to you ASAP.

Please tell her to stop by my house! Tomorrow afternoon! She knows the address already, I promise! Tell her it’s May Parker, okay? M-A-Y P-A-R-K-E-R!

Of course Jameson knew who the crackpot (his words) was once she said her last name, having spoken to her once or twice during Peter’s limited time at the Bugle.

What he hadn’t told Brant was that it took everything in him to bite his tongue, to not tell the woman every horrible opinion he held in regard to her nephew. Jameson knew that it would do no good. He also knew that it wasn’t her fault that Peter hadn’t shown up to the hospital that night.

Still, he couldn’t help but find himself seething with rage, speaking through gritted teeth until he could finally hang up the phone. He had absolutely no interest in finding Peter Parker, even if he was the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man.

Good riddance had become his motto when it came to both Peter and Harry. You were one of the few things in this world that mattered more to Jameson than a good lead, which was exactly the reason why he had no interest in Peter’s whereabouts when he first went awol and left the Bugle without notice—he didn’t care. Even if Peter had come back to work, he would’ve just been fired anyway. Jameson had no interest in keeping him around, regardless of the quality of his work.

But despite his hatred for the boy, he knew you were looking for him. While Jameson was unaware of Peter’s secret identity, he knew for certain that Peter had connections to Spider-Man, given that it was the whole reason he had employed him in the first place. You figured there was likely no one in this world that Jameson wanted to keep you from more than Spider-Man. But in what was surely not an easy choice to make, he begrudgingly passed the message from May along to Brant, messily scrawled onto a Doughnuttery napkin that had been stained with chocolate frosting.

He refused to withhold a lead from you.

Of course, when first deciding to track Peter down, you had considered going to his aunt, but she was always meant to be a last-ditch choice. After all, rumor had it that Peter had abandoned her too, moving out shortly after Gwen’s death. You didn’t see a need to add to her grief unless it felt necessary, yet it seemed she wanted you to.

A part of you hoped that the mystery surrounding why May was so adamant about speaking to you would serve as a distraction for the night. You didn’t want to think any more about Ravencroft, and certainly not about the boy they kept locked behind those iron gates.

Deep down, though, you knew that wasn’t possible. Try as you might, there was nothing in this world capable of distracting you from the thoughts of Harry Osborn.

He was a plague, one that you had been fighting off ever since that night; and seeing him in person seemed to have only granted him the opportunity to further sink his claws into you.

You often found yourself reliving the moment you first saw him—the Green Goblin. A monster composed of distended veins and spindly bones, appearing so completely and utterly inhuman—so unlike the boy you knew that you didn’t even recognize him at first. At first, there had just been fear, a sense of pure unbridled terror.

But then, once he spoke, you knew. You knew what he had done, recognized him in spite of the monster the serum had transformed him into. Bile instantly stung at your throat, threatening to spill past your lips and onto the asphalt beneath your feet. You couldn’t stop thinking of how much it had burned, swallowing it down over and over again, as many times as it took before your body finally stopped trying.

You fought so hard against that visceral reaction, the sensible part of you that had seen this new form he’d taken on and screamed at you to run. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. You couldn’t bear the thought of turning your back on your friend, even after seeing what he’d turned himself into.

But then he grabbed Gwen and once she was in his arms you realized that he wasn’t the same anymore. Then once he’d finally let her go, once you’d watched her take her very last breath, you swore you’d always hate him. Harry Osborn was not your friend; it was a simple fact that you still stood behind.

But trauma was a peculiar thing.

Usually when Harry haunted your thoughts, the Green Goblin was always the focal point. Flashes of Gwen’s lifeless body dangling from Spider-Man's web, the sounds of squelching flesh and cracking bones. You would remember the metallic taste that filled your mouth as you looked over at him that last time, just before everything went black.

Tonight, though, you’d found yourself thinking not of the Goblin, but of your friend. The friend that had once been good as dead to you. Memories that had once been shoved aside in favor of sinking into the tragedy you’d experienced, only to be brought back to light after seeing his face today.

You tossed and turned in your bed, your head pounding as thoughts of posh charity events, late-night talks, and inside jokes fought to keep you awake. It wasn’t until the next day when you’d finally arrived at Aunt May’s house that you received a much-needed break from him.

The thick plastic covering on the couch crinkled loudly beneath your weight as you sat down. You used every ounce of effort in your body to try and appear calm as she moved past the coffee table, sitting across from you in a sage green armchair.

It was new.

“I’m so glad you came, y/n.” May offered you her sweetest smile, the gesture accentuating the thin lines around her eyes. She looked older somehow, even though it hadn’t even been a year since you last saw her. “I was worried that bitter man at the newspaper wouldn’t tell you I called.”

You barely stifled your laughter, then immediately wondered if she could tell that even that sliver of emotion was fake. It was second nature to put on an act, especially when it came to work matters. To appear excessively friendly, using it as a tool to quickly build some sort of rapport with someone, hoping it would get them to spill whatever information they might have.

It didn't seem necessary to put up an act around May, but you found it difficult to turn it off.

“Jameson can be a little… testy, at times.”

She immediately snorted at your words, believing them to be a drastic understatement.

“But I’ve gotta say,” you continued, trying to steer the conversation, “I was a bit surprised when he said you called.”

Guilt settled over her soft features, dusty pink lips settling into a thin line as she stared down at her lap, watching the steam rise from her cup. “I know. I meant to call sooner, more often, but I just...” she sucked in a breath, lifting the cup to the edge of her lips, “I didn’t want to make a big fuss of things.”

She was drinking chamomile tea. You knew this because you were offered some as soon as she opened the front door, cheerfully telling you that she’d just boiled a fresh pot of water. While you didn’t consider yourself an expert on May Parker, you couldn’t help but make note of the fact that you’d never seen her enjoy herbal drinks before.

You leaned forward a touch, your elbows resting just above your knees as you did so. “What would you make a fuss over?”

This meeting was different than Ravencroft.

At Ravencroft you were a sheep grazing among lions. Showing weakness would gain you nothing, save for failure and potential death. But in a place like Aunt May’s home, the roles immediately reversed.

Here, you were the lion. And, to gain the trust of sheep, you needed to come off as if you were entirely transparent. Wear your heart on your sleeve, bare every emotion you had, and express as much concern as possible, fooling them into believing that you were truly on their side.

But this time was different, you tried to remind yourself, working diligently to ensure your emotions didn’t come off as fake or exaggerated. You could be genuine. You really were on her side, right?

“Peter’s been...” She hesitated as her wedding ring clinked against the porcelain cup in her hands as she nervously tapped her fingers. She never took it off, even after Ben died. “different.”

Your chest tightened, elbows digging further into your thighs. “What do you mean?”

“He changed after what happened to Gwendolyne.” she began to explain, though she remained hesitant. “It started off small. Quitting the newspaper, refusing to finish his college applications. And maybe that’s when I should’ve stepped in, tried to snap him out of it or something. But after what he’d gone through... what he had lost...”

There was a knowing look in her eyes, a sense of understanding. It was then that it fully clicked for you, realizing that May had been through something similar to what Peter went through. She knew what it was like to have your entire world change in the blink of an eye. “I just hoped that with time it would pass.”

“And it didn’t, did it?” You guessed, painfully aware of the answer.

If it had changed, if he had gotten better, then you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

May shook her head. “No.” She uttered, her hooded gaze still avoiding yours, remaining fixed on her cup. “It got worse.”

There was something in the way she spoke, the solemn tone you’d never heard her take before, that sent chills running down your spine.

“How so?”

"Little ways, at first.” Her voice broke, clearing her throat before taking another sip of tea. “He started acting out. Getting mean. Rageful.”

Your heart ached for the woman, fighting the urge to reach out and hug her as you watched her hazel eyes turn glossy.

“He was almost never home anymore, and then one day he just... didn’t come back.”

She wiped away the unshed tears, lightly shaking her head and muttering an apology.

“Where is he?” You asked her, instinctively looking towards the old staircase that led to his bedroom.

Years had been wasted in there, sitting cross-legged on his worn-out rug and exchanging complaints about Flash Thompson or Miss. Ritter. On good days, the two of you would build Lego sets and eat your fill of junk food. On bad days you’d both tuck yourselves away in his bed, hidden underneath a stack of blankets as old movies played from his laptop.

It had been a while since you’d let yourself think of those memories, and you hadn’t quite expected it to hurt as much as it did to acknowledge that those days were gone.

“Columbia.” She spoke.

Your eyes widened as your head cocked to the side. “University?”

Warmth spread across your cheeks as embarrassment settled in, feeling a bit silly for speaking the thought aloud. Of course she had meant Columbia University. Still, it shocked you a little when she nodded, confirming your thoughts. Given the way she spoke of Peter’s decline, you hadn’t expected him to be attending college.

“So, you still talk to him?” You quickly followed up with another question, this one less painstakingly dumb than the last.

May scoffed, the loose hair framing her face swaying about as she shook her head. “I don’t know if I’d call it talking. But he checks in on occasion, just often enough to keep me from having a heart attack.”

You glanced down at her cup of tea, willing to reason that maybe Peter had been the reason for her sudden interest in herbal drinks. After all, they were known to reduce stress, and Peter seemed to be causing a great deal of it.

There was another sound of disapproval, a click of her tongue as her voice went low again. “You raise a boy for over ten years,” she started, the smallest spark of anger burning within her, “only to end up getting a postcard in the mail every month.”

“A postcard?” You wondered aloud, likely looking as puzzled as you felt. “You don’t have his phone number?”

She snorted. “I don’t know if he even has a phone anymore.”

For a moment neither of you spoke, and you found yourself studying her features, looking for any sign that she might be lying. You knew that there was no point in it, that May had no reason to lie to you. There would be nothing for her to gain, plus she had reached out to you for help. Still, it was second nature for you to remain apprehensive.

It was hard to believe that Peter had all but completely cut ties with his aunt. May had raised him, practically given her entire life just to ensure that he had everything he could ever need, only to up and abandon her out of the blue—just as he had done to you.

Nothing about it made any sense to you, and the thought alone was enough to fill you with not only rage, but also fear. Was Peter that far gone?

You didn’t want to think about that right now, instead focusing on the sharp pain sneaking up your left side from sitting hunched over for so long. Forcibly relaxing your muscles, you leaned back against the couch cushions, listening to the way the plastic squelched as you shifted.

“Is that why you called?” You finally asked, pressing a hand to your ribs and rubbing over the sore area. “To see if I could help Peter?”

May took another long and thoughtful sip of her tea. Then, once she was finished, she leaned forwards and placed it on the coffee table that stood between you both. “No.” She stated firmly, only for her eyes to narrow and then go back on the declaration, “Not entirely, at least.”

You frowned at her, confused.

“I wanted to call because I realized that you needed someone, too.” You froze instantly, suddenly feeling as if the air had been knocked from your lungs. “I’ve been so caught up with Peter and trying to find a way to help him that I nearly forgot he wasn’t the only one who lost someone.”

May glanced up for perhaps the first time in this whole conversation. You couldn’t help but feel as if the roles had changed, sinking further into the cushion behind you. She took note of everything, your stiff posture, the subtle bouncing of your leg, the timid look in your eye. You had become the sheep, being carefully discerned by the lion.

“I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was—still am, for your loss, y/n. You didn’t just lose Gwen that night, you lost all three of them.”

Her heedful words landed the final blow, feeling like a piercing knife against your throat.

Suck it up, you kept repeating to yourself, change the subject.

Scrambling to compose yourself, nearly choking on your own tongue, you tried to ignore the look of concern she gave you. You didn’t need sympathy. “I’m managing.” You told her roughly, only able to conjure a barely believable smile. “It could be worse.”

“Sure,” May tentatively agreed, “but it could also be better.”

You decided it was best to not acknowledge her words.

“You said not entirely.” You reminded her, working hard to ensure that your voice didn’t shake. You weren’t sure why it was shaking in the first place, torn between naming anxiety or anger as the culprit. “When I asked if you wanted me to help Peter, that’s what you said. What makes you think I can help him?”

May’s face screwed up, staring at you as if it were obvious. “Because no one else can. The three of you—you, Harry, and Gwen—were the only ones that could ever get through to him.” She paused, considering her next words. “And you’re the only one left.”

There was a weight that settled on your shoulders, shoving you further into the couch. You didn’t like the way that it sounded, for more reasons than one. There was too much responsibility that came with it.

“Columbia’s campus is big.” You told her, void of any emotion. “Do you know where he’s staying? Anything that might help me find him?”

This time it was May’s turn to sink back into her seat, shoulders slouching forward as she turned apologetic. “I know he’s living on campus, but I don’t know which building. Whenever he writes he always keeps the details to a minimum.”

As much as you appreciated any information she offered, it wouldn’t help you much. You had been right in your earlier statement; Columbia was a big school with at least two dozen residence halls. Finding Peter amongst those students was comparable to finding a needle in a haystack.

You knew that you could enlist Betty Brant’s help, but even then, it could take days before one of you happened to find him.

Finally, a bit exasperated, you dared to ask. “Anything else?”

May smiled, weary and filled with regret. “Just be careful, y/n. I’m not sure what Peter had gotten himself into, but I’ve seen the news.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “I know what they think he did. What Spider-Man might have done.”

She spoke the vigilante’s name like a forbidden word, as if it were one she had sworn she’d never speak aloud, and your eyes grew wide as you just barely breathed out, “You know?”

May’s smile remained despite the somber gleam in her eyes as she told you simply, “No one washes the flag.”

You found the students at Columbia University nauseating.

Most of them were pretentious assholes that stunk of cigarette smoke, not because they actually smoked them, but instead because letting them lazily hang from their fingers matched their desired aesthetic.

They were all desperate to give off the same vibe as a fifteen-year-olds dark academia Pinterest board, leaning against a wall with a copy of Allan Ginsberg’s Howl tucked beneath their arm. You wondered if any of them had ever read it, snorting to yourself when you thought of how they’d likely dogeared a few pages to make the book look worn.

“This place is huge.” Betty Brant marveled from beside you, spinning in a circle as she took in its vastness. When she was done making herself dizzy, she looked at you. “This is gonna be impossible.”

You smiled at her inept observation, challenging her. “Why?”

Her brows snapped together, a single hand incredulously waving around the two of you. “Have you looked around?” She quipped. “There are literally thousands of people here! If we find him today, then it’ll just be dumb luck.”

You didn’t judge her for her innate pessimism. After all, you felt just as overwhelmed as Betty Brant did currently when sitting on Aunt May’s couch, listening as she told you that she had essentially nothing to offer in terms of helping to find Peter. It was easy to assume the worst in a field where you’re so often dealt the shittiest of hands—but Jameson and the other seasoned reporters at the Bugle had taught you well. There was always a way to turn things around.

“Know your target, Brant.” You lightly chastised, a teasing smile that Brant felt looked out of place on you. While she still didn’t know you well, she’d seen you around the office a lot, and she struggled to remember a time when you didn’t have a permanent grimace etched on your face.

Your fingers delved into your bag and reached for a few papers that you’d printed off at the Bugle, just moments before you’d snagged Brant up by her arm without warning and forced her to come with you to Columbia University. You held one of the papers out to her, which she swiftly took and began reading.

"There are only two programs offered at Columbia that Peter would care about: photography or biochemistry.” You explained to her. “I went on their website and got an idea of a mock schedule for both and copied down the names of the buildings they’re in. It’s still not a sure shot-”

“But it gives us somewhere to start.” Brant finished your sentence, her big eyes flickering back up to yours as she lowered the page you’d given her.

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“So, we’re splitting up?”

She was nervous about that idea, clear by the way she started to tug at the edge of her royal blue cardigan. If it were someone other than Brant you might be concerned, but Brant always came off a little antsy, making it easy to brush it off; although it did leave you wondering why the girl stayed so high strung. One day you’d ask her about it, you thought, but not right now.

"It’s better that way. We'll cover more ground.” You told her, your pitiless statement doing little to quell her nerves as she gave another sharp tug to her garment, anxiously looking around at the swarm of students passing around you both.

You did your best to look sympathetic, “Just call me if you need me, alright?” Brant stared back at you, resembling a small child whose mother was dropping them off on their first day of school. It was pitiful, and you nearly groaned as you forced yourself to say, “If you call, I’ll answer. Promise.”

Brant hesitated for a second before nodding, still uneasy but far more willing now to leave your side. As you turned away from her you reminded yourself to never have children, desperately hoping and praying to any God who might listen that Brant would not call you.

As you started to meld into the crowd, falling into step with a group of girls around your age, the thoughts of Brant and her child-like anxiety were replaced with something far more juvenile. You had just barely glanced at the girls walking next to you, at first only giving them a quick glance. Soon, though, as you continued towards your destination, you found yourself fixating on them.

They smelled like cloves and bergamot, probably the scent of some over-priced perfume you’d never even dream of taking off the shelf and their clothes were nicer than anything hanging up in your closet. One had a Tiffany’s necklace dangling around her throat like a collar and another had pin straight platinum hair. In short, they looked expensive. But, at the same time, they looked incredibly beautiful.

It made you hyper aware of yourself, of how different you looked in comparison. You weren’t wearing any nice jewelry, and your hair was messily tied back, making you feel as if you were the opposite of both the girls that had caught your attention. Realizing this, you looked around at the other girls surrounding you, noticing that all of them looked that way. Posh, put-together, and completely and utterly gorgeous.

A strange feeling crept up your spine, one you hadn’t felt since you were in high school. Self-loathing.

There was a time when you prioritized your appearance, or at least more than you do now. You could still remember what it was like to stroll into an Oscorp charity event, dozens of eyes glued to you. Men would watch with bated breath as you passed them, silently dreaming of a day where you’d actually notice them.

That would never happen, of course.

You always went to those events with either Harry or Peter, and they often left you with little reason to acknowledge anyone else in attendance. Even so, you remembered the power you held. Remembered what it was like to feel desired by someone, even if it wasn’t by who you wanted.

After the accident, though, you’d stopped caring about how you looked. It felt so trivial to put any more effort than necessary into your looks, often throwing on the same outfit several days in a row to save time in the mornings. But in this moment, you found yourself feeling differently, insecurity slipping into your mind. Had you let yourself go? Surely not...

It didn’t matter! You suddenly shouted at yourself, fists balling up at your sides as you tried to silence the thoughts that were fueled by foolish insecurity. Despite believing every word of the statement, it didn’t help to make you feel any less self-conscious.

Passing by the mirrored windows of the mess hall, you found yourself slowing down, falling behind the group of girls as you hesitantly turned to catch a glimpse of yourself. You cursed yourself for looking, hating that you even cared about this sort of thing right now. But once you looked into the reflection you froze, realizing that it wasn’t yourself that you saw in the reflection. It was Gwen.

“It’s not that bad!” She would lie to you, her voice jumping several octaves as she did. A hand would reach out, sage green fingernails combing through the frizzy mess that framed your face, trying to flatten it. “It just needs a little...” her head cocked to the side, teeth exposed as she sucked in a breath, “work.”

Gwen was always a terrible liar. She wasn’t like you; she never had been. She was completely incapable of hiding her hand, always living with her cards exposed for the world to see—for them to take advantage of. It was what you’d always admired most about her, her willingness to trust in everyone, to see the good in anyone. It was also what you despised the most about her, and you tried not to dwell on the complexity of that.

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter!” Gwen’s shoulders lifted exponentially, a mess of blonde curls violently swaying as she shook her head about. “You still look hotter than half the girls here, alright?” She grinned at you, the same sweet smile that you missed more than anything. “I promise!”

And she meant it every word of it, but rather than offering you any comfort, the words just filled you with envy. You envied Gwen far more than you liked to admit. You wanted to be like her, even now, to be able to see the good in every situation, to be even half as lovely as she was.

You tried to swallow your guilt, though it only made your stomach hurt. You had promised yourself that you were done envying Gwen.

But you weren’t done missing her.

Still entranced by her doe eyed stare, you felt your phone begin to buzz in your pocket, distracting you enough that you turned your gaze to your bag, instinctively going to dig for the device. By the time you thought to look back up, the vision of her was gone and you were looking at only a reflection of yourself.

You wasted no time in looking away.

When you sobered up enough to read the caller ID, you groaned loud enough to turn a few heads of students passing by. Now, in an interesting turn of events, you wished that Brant was the one calling you, staring down at Director Samson’s name flashing across the screen. You silenced it.

Not today. You started walking again, effectively trading your thoughts of Gwen for ones of Ravencroft and Harry Osborn. Or ever again.

Dodge Hall was the first stop on your list.

You were willing to bet that of the two programs you listed to Brant that Peter likely picked photography, which was precisely why you had delegated the biochemistry labs to Brant.

There was a chance that you were wrong and that he’d decided to major in biochemistry, maybe in some desperate attempt to be like the father he swore he hated, but you held out hope anyway. You wanted to believe that even in whatever odd stage of life Peter was in he was working to forge his own path, rather than following the one he’d once considered his birthright.

Stopping in front of the building that housed most of the University’s photography classes, you grimaced. It significantly lacked character, offering nothing more than a bunch of lifeless bricks with boring cement pillars on either side. You had yet to see anything about this school that made it seem worth the astronomical tuition students paid to attend.

“I know that look-” a high-pitched voice filled the air, the grating sound intensifying your already sour expression, “Dodge might not have the most intricate architecture on campus, but for what it lacks in appearance it makes up for in its rich and extraordinary history!”

You didn't want to turn around, fully recognizing the chirpy she-devil by diction alone. Still, you forced yourself to do it anyway, realizing that there was no possible escape route. “Mary Jane!” The vile taste of her name in your mouth left you feeling queasy, “what’re you doing here?”

No, seriously, what the fuck was she doing here?

A perfectly manicured hand flew to her overly plump lips, packed full of filler and overlined with a red lip pencil. An exaggerated gasp somehow managed to slip past them. “Oh my gosh!” The copper-haired beauty squealed, sounding as if she had inhaled at least a few liters of helium. You forgot how much you hated her voice. “y/n! I didn’t even recognize you!”

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” You droned, likely appearing just as displeased as you sounded. It was difficult for you to sound pleasant around Mary Jane.

Mary Jane had always been a thorn in your side. For the most part she was entirely harmless, but her ever-so-perky attitude always left a bad taste in both your mouth and Gwen’s. On top of that, she lacked morals, made clear by the last time you’d seen her.

It was immediately after Gwen’s funeral, and you’d just happened to find Mary Jane and a few other reporters from the Daily Globe swarming the Stacy family, pining for an interview. It was disgusting, and if you’d been in better shape, you swore that you would’ve knocked her square in the face that day.

Mary Jane reached out and touched your forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so good!”

You didn’t even bother thanking her, instead deciding to brace yourself for what might be coming next. You had known her long enough to know that all her compliments were a double-edged sword, an insult waiting just around the corner.

“After Genna’s funeral you looked so thin and sickly,” her button nose scrunched up as she looked you up and down, “it’s so nice to see you look far more...” a slight tilt of her head, accompanied by a sickeningly sweet smile as she squeezed your arm again, “plump!”

The smile you gave in return was far less pleasurable than hers, bearing a closer resemblance to a snarl. “Gwen.” You pointedly corrected, choosing to ignore her weak attempt at insulting you. “Her name is Gwen.”

She only waved her hand, dismissing your correction. The simple act made your blood boil, teeth grinding together as you fought to stay silent. You didn’t have time to start a fight with her.

“Ugh, silly me! I’m so bad with names!” She pretended to laugh it off, playing it as an innocent slip of the tongue. You could see the malice behind it, though, her emerald eyes glistening with spite. Mary Jane was a journalist, which meant that remembering facts was quite literally her job. Pretending to forget Gwen’s name was just another idle attempt at getting under your skin.

It worked.

“Did you check out the Globe yesterday?” She started right back up, trapping you in another conversation and preventing you from finding an excuse to slip into Dodge Hall and start your search for Peter. “Who am I kidding! Of course you did!” Mary Jane twirled a strand of red hair around her finger, her egotism on full display as she beamed. “Dozens of newsstands sold out within the hour! Amazing, right? To sell out physical copies in this digital age!”

You only hummed in response, aware that she only wanted to hear herself talk. But God, you hated the way she spoke. Her constant need to enunciate every other word, her squeaky voice filled with false sincerity, always searching for validation in every conversation.

”Bushkin agreed that we only sold out because of my story on the front page! He said my talent for writing could be enough to revive print entirely!” Her chest swelled with pride; hands clasped over her heart as nonsense continued to spew from her.

Barney Bushkin was the publisher for the Globe, which made him Mary Jane’s boss. He also had a reputation for being a sick old pervert with an affinity for girls that were far too young for him. His opinion meant nothing to you since you knew that he would say absolutely anything if he thought it would increase his odds of getting a quick look up one of Mary Jane’s too-short skirts.

”I’m not surprised you sold so many copies,” you egged her on, taking immense pleasure in the way her smug smile grew at what she mistook for praise, “fear mongering has always been a useful tactic for sales.”

For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw her eyes turn as red as her hair, fiery rage coursing through her veins at your comment. But it was gone nearly as soon as it had appeared.

”Well,” she cleared her throat, smoothing the wrinkles out of her white blouse, “I’d hardly call my article fear mongering. I just presented the facts.”

You couldn’t deny that Mary Jane was a pro at composing herself, remaining collected even when you knew she wanted to explode. Image was important to her, meaning she couldn’t ever afford to let her nice girl act falter.

”You called Spider-Man a murderer.”

You didn’t always share her skillset, willing to let yourself come off as brash and plain-spoken.

”And last I checked there’s an active warrant for his arrest.” Mary Jane retorted sharply, the only sign she was willing to give that you were annoying her. “So, like I said, I presented the facts.”

You sucked in a breath, holding back your argument. You wanted to tell her that her facts were skewed, that she was reporting with only one source and effectively trying to demonize a man who had saved the city countless times. But you didn’t. Fighting with her would be a waste of time, and you had better things to do.

"Yeah, well, I should really get going.” You gave a curt smile, nodding in the direction of Dodge Hall. “Always good to see you, MJ.” You took care to place extra emphasis on the nickname, fully aware of just how much she hated it.

Still, she barely let it get to her, hiding her own scowl as you started to edge towards the building. You noticed the way her left eye twitched, though, showing that she was nearing a breaking point. If you had more time, you’d likely try and push her over the edge.

“Why are you here?” Mary Jane suddenly mimicked the question you had first asked her, the one she had never actually gave an answer to.

You paused, only having made it less than a few feet away from her. “Visiting a friend.”

If all went to plan, that wouldn’t technically be a lie.

“Peter?” She blurted his name out in a way that left you feeling strange. There was a hesitant look on her face, almost as if she were afraid that you’d say yes. You didn’t like it.

“Yeah, actually.” You frowned, watching her face drop at the confirmation. “Why?”

She refused to meet your stare, staring past your shoulder at the entrance of the Hall. “He’s not in there.”

In all the years you’d known Mary Jane, you’d never heard her sound so uncharacteristically dispirited. Her perky persona seemed to vanish in thin air, leaving behind someone that was entirely unfamiliar to you.

It was incredibly uncomfortable.

“Wait, do you know where he is?” You asked.

“Of course I do.” She quickly answered, cutting her eyes at you. “But if you’re the one meeting him then shouldn’t you know where he is?”

Jealousy settled in. Why did she know where Peter was? Mary Jane and Peter had never been particularly close, likely due to the lifelong rivalry that you and Gwen had held with her. The idea of him even interacting with Mary Jane left you feeling unsettled.

“Well, we were supposed to meet here.” You lied, turning a tad defensive as you shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the building. “But it’s been a busy morning. He might’ve forgot.”

You paused, debating whether you wanted to continue. There was a good chance that you didn’t want to hear the answer to the question resting on the tip of your tongue, and yet you made yourself ask it anyway. “Were you just with him?”

Please say no-

“Yes.” Her answer came quickly. “We had plans to get dinner but-um,” she suddenly became extremely focused on her own feet, awkwardly kicking at the sidewalk, “he had to... cancel. Said he was gonna be too busy developing photos all night.”

Her too-perfect face screwed up in an unsightly sort of way. You almost thought that you should feel guilty for accidentally making it seem as if Peter had ditched her for you. But you didn’t. Instead, you felt sickly satisfied, taking pleasure in her sorrow. You reveled in it, finding it easier to focus on that than the idea of why she and Peter were going to get dinner together in the first place.

”Mm, that sucks.” You let out a disinterested hum, taking a page from her book as you continued without waiting for a reply, “Is that what he’s doing now? Developing photos?”

Mary Jane gave a stiff nod.

”Great.”

Despite how painful it had been to sit through what felt like a never-ending conversation with her, Mary Jane had ended up being of vital importance. If Peter was developing images today, then that meant he had to be in the darkrooms. And, thanks to your Google research, you knew exactly where they were—Watson Hall, just a brief walk from where you were now.

You wasted no time with stepping around Mary Jane, having no intention of even wasting a goodbye on her as you started towards your destination. But, as you moved around her body, she reached for you, her thin fingers once again wrapping around your forearm. She squeezed harder than last time, your head snapping in her direction, eyes narrowing in a threatening stare as she held you there.

Surprisingly, she gave you a threatening look of her own.

“Before you go,” you found it eerie the way her voice remained syrupy sweet, a sharp contrast to the menacing expression she wore, “I just wanted to tell you how much I adored that little sympathy piece you wrote for your friend in the looney bin.”

You pulled your arm from her grip, your body going tense at the mention of the article you’d written to try and sway the public during Harry’s trial. Jameson hadn’t allowed it to go to print, reminding you that your judgment was still clouded by grief. He didn’t understand why you were so desperate to keep Harry out of Ryker’s Island, but he had hoped that by letting you at least post the article on the Bugle’s website that it would offer you some sort of closure.

It hadn’t. It was shortly after publishing the piece that you had went straight to Harry’s lawyers, giving them all the information they would need to plead insanity.

Mary Jane stepped closer, ignoring your effort to create distance from her. She was close enough that you could nearly feel the heat radiating off her body. You didn’t like it, but you refused to let yourself back away from her.

“I can’t say that Peter agreed.” Her lips curled into a cynical smirk. “I mean, honestly, after the reaction he had to it I’m shocked that he can even stand to be in the same room as you!” The sound of her laughter infuriated you. “I suppose it’s true what they say about time, yeah? That it heals all wounds—even a knife in the back.”

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think.

All you could do was stare at the devilish woman in front of you, seething with a type of hatred that you were certain could eat you alive. Your nails sunk into the heel of your palm, an effort to refrain yourself from using them to claw that nasty complacent look right off her face.

Mary Jane noticed this and decided to take your silence as a sign of her victory.

“It really was great seeing you, y/n.” She gushed, the false tender statement only fueling your anger. As she turned to walk away, she glanced over her shoulder, winking at you. “Don’t be a stranger.”

One day, you swore to yourself with a particularly loud huff, spinning on your heel and stomping in the direction of the darkrooms, you would kick Mary Jane’s ass.

When you posted the article—the one you hoped would sway the public’s opinion of Harry—you knew Peter would see it. More than that, you knew that he would be adamantly against it.

Unlike you, Harry hadn’t given Peter a reason to care whether he lived or died.

If anything, he had done nothing but give Peter motive to kill Harry himself. You hated that thought. While you didn’t believe that Peter had murdered Sytsevich, you worried that if given the chance he would have killed Harry that night. You wanted to believe that he wouldn’t have been capable of following through with it, though. Just as you weren’t capable of sitting idly by as Harry was sentenced to Ryker’s Island, knowing that he would be as good as dead in there.

Maybe you’d been stupid not to consider that the article was one of the reasons why Peter had never bothered to reach out to you, even once things had settled down. Maybe it was your own fault that he’d abandoned you, that the article had been the final nail in the coffin of your friendship.

Your stomach ached, your mind still reeling as you shoved open the large doors of Watson Hall. A rush of frigid air washed over you, goosebumps erupting against your skin.

Was it possible that Peter hated you as much as he hated Harry?

No. It couldn’t be. What Harry had done was beyond abominable, something that could never be forgiven. You hadn’t done anything nearly as bad as him.

Yet, on the other hand… is the one who comes to a monster's defense just as bad as the monster? You weren’t sure of the answer to that question, though you started to rationalize it to yourself anyway—you weren’t defending him, you just didn’t want to watch him die if there was something you could do to stop it!

But why not? Gwen wasn’t a monster, yet you still watched her die, standing on the sidelines and doing nothing to try and stop it.

There was nothing I could’ve done! Your mind screamed in defense of itself as you approached the staircase leading to the second floor, roughly gripping the rail as you started climbing up.

Why had Peter talked to Mary Jane about the article in the first place? That question was easier to think about than the others, infuriating but still less emotionally taxing, so you let yourself fixate on it. As far as you knew, Peter hadn’t liked Mary Jane any more than you and Gwen did, always keeping his distance from the she-devil.

When did that change?

At the top of the stairs, nestled in a corner of the left, there was a single door with a large black sign hanging off of it. The words DARKROOM IN USE were written in bold letters. You stared at it for a moment, your mind finally going blank as you did.

Peter was behind that door—your best friend, Peter.

Your palms started to sweat as memories started flooding back. Instantly, you bit your cheek, trying to ignore them. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down memory lane, especially not when you could still recall the bloody way that road ends.

A knock echoed through the somewhat barren Hall as your first collided with the door, your nerves growing with every passing millisecond. All you could do was focus on the different feelings fighting to consume you, the thudding of your heart, the slickness of your hands, the churning of your stomach.

“Peter?”

Saying his name felt wrong, but you said it anyway as you knocked again, a bit harder this time. “It’s y/n,” you told him, as if it were even possible for him to forget the sound of your voice, “can I come in?”

Once again you were met with silence.

You considered turning around. Maybe Jameson had been right in thinking that you shouldn’t chase this story. After all, it wasn’t your job to prove Spider-Man's innocence, and if Peter wanted your help, then he knew how to find you. You could call Brant right now and tell her that today was a bust, or even lie and say that Peter didn’t want to help with the story. You could walk away.

But you didn’t let yourself do that, once again feeling that weight of responsibility that May had unintentionally placed on your shoulders. There was no one left in Peter’s corner, no one that would be willing to dig him out of whatever dark hole he’d landed himself in.

You had fought to save Harry’s life, and so it only felt right that you tried to do the same for Peter.

Without bothering to knock again, you reached for the knob and twisted, hastily slipping inside the room, trying to limit the amount of light the leaked in behind you. You didn’t know a lot about developing photos, but you’d never forgotten the way Peter would groan whenever you’d come in unannounced, accidentally letting the light ruin his work.

The door clicked shut behind you as you looked around. It wasn’t a big room, just large enough for two or three people to comfortably fit inside. Any more than that, though, and they’d likely be bumping elbows the entire time. There was a table in the center of it, lined with tubs holding various chemicals that you’d never learned the names of. A clothesline hung around the perimeter of the room, a few newly developed photos lazily dangling from it. On the far wall there were two desks, various images and tools scattered across them.

Everything in the room looked sinister, courtesy of the red tinted light that hung overhead.

”Fucking creepy.” You muttered to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as a chill inched down your back. This room felt significantly colder than the rest of Watson Hall, only adding to its unsettling vibe.

The darkroom was empty, despite the sign on the door saying it was in use. The realization nearly made you breathe a sigh of relief, a part of you finding comfort in the thought that you wouldn’t actually have to confront Peter right now. But as you stepped further into the room and towards the twin desks, all your newfound relief dissipated.

Resting against the leg of the desk was a fluorescent yellow bookbag, decorated with a variety of cheap pins ranging from local bands to images of outdated memes. You remembered the first time you ever saw that bag, lying on the floor of Peter’s bedroom just a week or so before the start of Junior year. He threw a fit when Aunt May had come in, tossing the ugly bag on his bed and raving about how she had gotten it on sale just in time for back-to-school.

You made fun of him for months, always making note of the way its vibrancy clashed with his darker style. Secretly you had loved that bag, silently appreciative for how easy it made it to find Peter in the crowded halls of Midtown High. He would always beg Aunt May to get a different bag, but she refused, saying that they shouldn’t buy another until he had worn the yellow one out.

Looking at it now, it seemed that he had finally achieved that goal. The yellow fabric was a touch duller now, though not by much, and there was a noticeable tear in the seam of the front pocket. Kneeling beside it, you traced your finger over a trail of blue thread, having been carefully used to stitch the fabric back together.

You wondered why he had decided to fix it instead of just replacing it like he had always wanted.

Straightening back up, you scanned over the rest of the desk. There was a black reusable water bottle perched on the edge, a set of keys attached to a Deftones lanyard lying beside it. A bit of sweat trickled down the edge of the bottle, collecting on the surface of the desk. You reached for it, shifting it just enough to hear ice knocking against the metal walls. It had barely melted, meaning that it hadn’t been long since Peter had gotten here. Still, you had no clue where he was now.

Closer to the center of the desk was a neat stack of already developed photos. A girl graced the top of the stack—pale skin with bleach blonde hair, neatly pushed back by a black headband. You reached for it without hesitation, a single digit tracing along her grinning face.

Peter took pictures of a lot of people, you included, but it was undeniable that Gwen had always been his favorite subject. Looking at this photo, you couldn’t help but understand why. She was effortlessly beautiful, capable of taking your breath away without even trying.

You could never blame Peter for always trying to capture that beauty, fully aware that if you were him, she would’ve been your favorite too.

Without much thought you decided to slip the image into your bag. Peter had dozens of pictures of Gwen, while you only had a measly few. He could spare one.

The other images were far more recent than the first, with only one or two others featuring Gwen. There were snapshots of random Columbia students, a few cityscapes, and even one of the devil herself—Mary Jane, posed in front of the same mess hall that had ensnared you earlier. In the reflection you could see Peter, smiling from behind his camera.

You gritted your teeth and rolled your eyes at the image. Were they really friends? The picture seemed to serve as enough of an answer, but you still couldn’t help but hope that you were wrong. Had Peter truly traded you in for Mary-fucking-Jane?

You roughly shoved that photo to the back of the stack, doing your best not to think about it as you continued to snoop through the rest of them. None were particularly interesting, save for the last two. Their dark composition offered a stark difference from the rest, while simultaneously making it difficult to tell what Peter was even photographing.

Taking one in each hand, your eyes darted back and forth between them, squinting as you tried to make out the subject, a task that was made all the more difficult by the rooms dim red lighting. You brought one closer to your face, making out a few trivial details. At the far edge, there seemed to be a street sign's corner, and in the middle a few streaks of dim light reflecting off a rain puddle.

Moving it away from yourself, you shifted your focus to the other one, thinking it appeared to be just a close-up of the first image. Then, slowly, you realized your mistake. It hadn’t been just a zoomed-in shot, as the reflection in the puddle made it something else entirely—a self-portrait.

But it wasn’t the warmth of Peter’s familiar brown eyes being reflected in the hazy liquid. Rather there was an outline of the two lifeless white lenses that belonged to his other self, the version of him you sometimes wished to forget.

The sight made you feel sick, sweat starting to form along your neck as you hastily flipped the photo over, desperate to avoid his sickening stare. However, what you saw on the back of the image was almost as bad as being forced to stare at Spider-Man's reflection. Scrawled in Peter’s barely legible handwriting was the date APRIL 2ND.

A new panic quickly trickled into your veins, fully replacing the one that had been born from the lifeless gaze of his mask. You read yesterday’s date over and over again, as if it would suddenly change. It never did, and a sizable knot formed in your throat as you slowly began to look up, shifting your focus to the forgotten photos pinned to the clothesline.

Your jaw fell slack, the photos in your hands following suit and landing on the desk below them. When you first entered the darkroom, you hadn’t paid much mind to the photographs hanging up, assuming they weren’t of much importance. Now, though, you recognized them for what they truly were—the sister images of the ones you’d been holding. Flashes of 102nd Avenue, Aleksei Sytsevich lying lifeless on the ground, milky white shards of bone peeking through his flesh. And there were photos of his mask, and those goddamn white lenses, spattered with Aleksei’s blood.

Peter hadn’t just been at the crime scene; he had documented it.

Your palm pressed roughly to your mouth, fingers digging into your cheek as you made yourself swallow the vomit fighting its way up your throat. Your own trauma fought desperately to rear its head as you analyzed the gory images, but you refused to let it take hold, scrambling to keep control as you forced yourself to snap into action.

After grabbing your phone, you wasted no time snapping pictures of the photographs hanging from the line, of the ones sprawled on the desk, of everything you could find. You didn’t know yet what you would do with them, but you refused to leave this room without collecting every bit of evidence you could find.

Once you were certain you had gotten it all, you worked to straighten the stack of pictures you’d gone through, adjusting them so they appeared as if they’d never been touched in the first place. Then, with your heart hammering inside your chest, you darted for the door without a second thought, paying absolutely no mind to the strange looks given to you by passing students as you rushed for the stairs.

You couldn’t stop moving, only slowing your frantic pace once you’d nearly made it to the exit doors. You rounded the corner as you tried to pull up Brant’s contact with shaky hands, wanting nothing more than to call her and get the fuck away from this campus. But, as soon as you went to press her name, your phone went flying from your hand and slid across the linoleum, your body pressing smack against another.

Sugary notes of vanilla flooded your senses, making your thoughts turn hazy. Your palms were flush against the soft cotton of someone’s shirt, and you could feel their fingers wrapping firmly around your shoulders, trying to steady you enough that you wouldn’t stumble back from the impact.

”Oh-shit!, sorry! I didn’t even see you-”

Their voice wasn’t the first thing you recognized, instead you found yourself caught up in the material beneath your hands. They were wearing a black Ramones t-shirt, a barely noticeable tear on the edge of the collar. But you noticed the tear instantly because you were the one who had bought the shirt. You got it at the record store on 6th Avenue—Rough Trade, was the name of it—and the man behind the counter gave it to you for half off all because of that tear.

You only ever got to wear it once before Peter nabbed it off your bedroom floor, never to return it.

”y/n?”

Your body betrayed you, immediately melting as the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips rang through your ears. Your heart had still been pounding in your chest this entire time, yet as your eyes met his for the first time in months, it fell still.

Peter didn’t fully share in your reaction. Instead of appearing as if he were lost in the same nostalgic haze you were caught in, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. His skin blanched, eyes growing unnaturally wide. For a moment you thought he was going to say something else, his lips parting, yet nothing came out.

In your lifetime, you had only known of a few things that could render Peter Parker speechless. You had now become one of them.

”Hi.” You squeaked out, a single hand lifting from his chest and offering an awkward wave that filled you with humility.

This wasn’t easy.

You weren’t sure how to act around him, how to behave. For nine months you had envisioned this moment, conjuring up countless things to say to him, all the insults you wanted to hurl his way. But now that it was happening, you found yourself torn between wanting to hug and choke him.

It seemed best to do neither.

”Um, hi?” Peter’s grip on your shoulders tightened, just for a second, as if he were trying to prove to himself that you were really standing in front of him. Once he seemed satisfied with your physicality, he stepped back and released his grip on you entirely, subsequently making your other hand fall from his chest.

”You’re not-I mean-you don’t go here.” He rasped, laughing awkwardly as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself.

”You’re right, I don’t go here!” You pointlessly confirmed, voice raising several octaves as anxiety took over. “Very observant.”

You cringed at the statement. Very observant?-you thought to yourself, biting down on the edge of your tongue as you watched Peter’s brows knit together-could've said anything, and that’s what you picked?

He didn’t even acknowledge the useless comment, only letting it hang in the air between you as he continued to wait for a true answer.

“I came to see you.” You choked out an honest answer, starting to shrink beneath his heavy gaze. You tried to step back, instinctively wanting to create distance between the two of you, but all you achieved was pressing yourself against the wall.

There was no escaping him.

He was quick to respond, making it clear just how high-strung he was. ”How did you find me?”

”I’m a reporter.” You reminded him, offering it up as a vague answer to his question. He’d likely expected the response, given the way his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Finding people is part of my job description.”

Peter always said that getting an answer out of you was like playing a game of charades, one that others very rarely won. You were a pro at dancing around the facts, only ever revealing them when they served to benefit you.

It was one of the many reasons you were so good at your job.

“Is that why you’re here?” His question carried a sharp edge, his irritation growing stronger now as his jaw tightened. “For the Bugle?”

Your body became tense, your shoulders squaring off as anxiety once again tried to shove to the surface. As you thought of the images you’d seen, the ones that were hanging just upstairs, your blood ran cold. You did your best not to let it show, instead trying to hide your fear behind a look of confusion. “Why would I be here for the Bugle?”

At first, he only stared at you, his brows raising in an incredulous manner. You forced yourself to stare back despite the discomfort it brought you. Then, finally, he answered. “You wanna talk about Spider-Man, right?”

Your heart sank into your stomach, lips turning dry as they parted. There was nothing good about the way the vigilante’s name rolled off his tongue, and you didn’t like it one bit. The semi-hushed tone he’d spoken in, laced with an essence of bitterness that one wouldn’t expect from the person that donned the mask.

Hesitantly running your tongue along your now chapped lips, you responded in a shaky voice. “Why would I wanna talk about Spider-Man?”

Harry’s advice rang through your mind—the same advice that had been mirrored by Aunt May, to remain wary of Peter—and you suddenly felt lightheaded. There was no way he could know that you found out about his identity that night, right?

No, of course not. It was impossible.

Peter appeared far more relaxed than you, his shoulders lazily lifting into a shrug. He didn’t seem to notice the sweat forming along your brow, making you think that you were doing an alright job at hiding your emotions. “Jameson wants new pictures of him, doesn’t he?” He threw out a guess.

Your shoulders instantly sagged with relief, your lungs aching as you lightly blew out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Given what you’d seen upstairs, you decided it would be best to stick to Harry and May’s advice. Peter didn’t need to know that you were aware of who wore Spider-Man's mask. Not right now, at least.

“I'm right, aren’t I?” Peter insisted impatiently, interrupting your racing thoughts and snapping you back into reality.

“Do you have new pictures of him?” You hastily snapped back.

“No. I don’t.” He lied straight through his teeth, once again running a hand through his already messy hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was obvious that he wasn’t planning to share any details of Spidey’s newly developed photoshoot hanging in the darkroom, and it would be against your best interest to press further, so you stayed quiet. When he opened his eyes again, he stared directly into yours. “And I don’t plan on taking any, so if that’s why you’re here then you’re wasting your time.”

You couldn’t recall ever hearing Peter sound so exhausted before. His recent lack of sleep was made painfully evident by the varying shades of purple painting the skin around his eyes. How long had he looked this way? Has it been since Gwen? In some sick way you hoped that you were right, knowing that grief being the cause was better than the alternative—the idea that his lack of sleep related to his involvement with Aleksei.

A part of you still refused to consider the images you’d seen as damning evidence that Peter had been the one to kill Aleksei Sytsevich. You couldn’t let yourself think that, refusing to believe that Peter Parker was anything even close to a murderer. It wasn’t possible.

But, as much as you hated to admit it, they proved that he was in some way involved. An accessory, at least. For some reason, hopefully a good one, he hadn’t stopped Aleksei’s murder from happening.

That came with its own dangerous implications.

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to decide what direction you wanted to steer the conversation in, which angle would serve you best. With a deep breath, you made your choice. “Well, it’s good that that’s not why I’m here then.”

He looked surprised. “Wait,” he laughed awkwardly, “you’re not writing a piece on him?”

There was a thin line creasing the space between his brows, a strange expression on his face. His reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially because you were known for your articles on Spider-Man. But this wasn’t a look that showed he was shocked to hear you were passing up on a story, it was a look of pure offense.

You fought the urge to ask him why he cared so much, curious to find out if he had been expecting you to rush to Spider-Man's defense in the media. The only reason you held yourself back was the fear that maybe you were wrong, that maybe he hadn’t wanted you to defend him at all; perhaps he just wanted more press for his potential crimes.

”Seems like the Globe has it covered.” You told him, trying to sound disinterested. You hoped that he would buy your act. “No need to waste anymore ink on a story that’s already been told, right?”

Peter knew you well enough to know that there was more to it than that. Fortunately, he was willing to reason that your potential avoidance of Spider-Man related to that night, the last night all of you were together, and the events that neither of you wanted to talk about. Besides, even if he did want to mention it, he couldn’t do so without exposing his identity to you, an identity he wasn’t aware you already knew about.

So, as much as he didn’t want to let it go, he had no other choice.

”O-kay.” He stretched the word out, shaking his head lightly as he worked to regain his bearings in the conversation. As he did so, a few strands of hair fell against his forehead. He was quick to push them back. “Well, if that’s not it, then why are you here?”

There was only a second of hesitation, air hissing between your teeth as you sucked in a breath, crossing your fingers behind your back. You hoped Gwen would forgive you for the lie you were about to tell.

”Helen Stacy.”

The first emotion to wash over Peter was pain. It was obvious, showing in the way his shoulders slumped forwards and his bottom lip trembled, wincing as the surname of his dead lover echoed through his ears. It was the second emotion that was harder to detect, having been more cleverly concealed than the first. Anger.

You could see it in his eyes, his pupils dilating as he started to see red. Your own gaze flickered to his sides, stopping on his clenched fists, knuckles turning a pale shade of white. It made you feel uncomfortable, especially since you were the one on the receiving end of that look. You nervously cleared your throat, starting to fiddle with the strap of your bag.

“She called the other day and asked about running a memorial piece for Gwen’s anniversary. Obviously, she thought it would be best if Gwen’s friends put it together—you know, do it how we used to for the school paper. I’ll do the writing; you take care of the pictures.”

It was hard to sound confident as you elaborated upon the fabricated situation, too busy trying to focus on anything other than his heavy gaze. You focused on the floor, mostly, staring over at where your phone still laid on the ground. Still, even without looking at him, you could feel the weight of his attention. The air around you began to grow thin, every breath turning into a battle. You felt like you were being slowly suffocated by his fury, your lungs burning within your chest.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-”

“You can’t say no, Pete.” You cut him off, forcibly lowering the walls surrounding your own trauma, using it to manipulate him. You didn’t feel bad about it, either. “We both lost our best friend that night, and that sucked. But Helen lost her kid. This is the least we can do for her.”

As the last word fell from your mouth, you forcefully pried your gaze off the ground and begrudgingly met his once again. Terror slid into your veins as you did, your body already preparing itself for that seething look of his—but it vanished. There was no trace of anger on his face. All that remained was the slightest glimmer of remorse.

His fists unclenched, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. Then he sighed, followed by a reluctant nod. “You’re right. She’s been through a lot, and if this will help bring her some sort of... I don’t know-” he waved his hands slightly, looking troubled by his own choice of words, “closure, then I’ll do what I can to help.”

Your mouth curved into a smile.

It seemed like a good sign, you figured, that he was willing to help. It reignited whatever hope you had left that despite whatever mess he had gotten into as Spider-Man, that he was still the same selfless Peter Parker you’d always known. He could still be saved. And, fortunately, you had now crafted the excuse you needed to get closer to him and figure out how to save him.

”Great!” You spoke a little too loud, your excitement coming off a touch too strong. You tried to lessen it, though the uncharacteristic reaction certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by Peter. “Meet me at Sylvia’s tomorrow at six, okay? We can start going over everything and make a rough outline for the memorial!”

Peter immediately went still when he heard the name of the restaurant the four of you used to frequent. He hadn’t set foot in Sylvia’s since Gwen’s death, too afraid to face the memories hiding within its walls. He tried to speak, tried to tell you no, but he didn’t have the chance as you interrupted him again.

“Here,” You pulled a business card from your bag, thrusting it towards him with a pointed look, “in case you forgot my number.”

You didn’t hide the animosity behind the statement, using it as another tool to play on whatever guilt he might harbor for what he’d done to you. It seemed to work, given the fact that he promptly shut his mouth and chose not to argue. Instead, he cautiously reached out, plucking the cards from your fingers.

“Try not to ghost me for another nine months.” You playfully added on, the words joined by a smile that resembled something of a threat as you reminded him, “After all, I know where to find you now.”

Peter just returned the smile, tight lipped and far less ferocious than the one you’d given him. He knew that eventually you’d want an answer as to why he’d been avoiding you, but not right now. Now wasn’t the time for it.

So, he stuffed the card in his pocket as you skillfully skirted around him, going to grab your phone off the floor. Once you had it in your hand, you started towards the exit, already starting to dial Brant’s number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.” Peter called after you, watching as you pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.

There was an eerie sense of familiarity accompanying his goodbye, one that left your heart swelling as the words sought to soothe any of the still-bleeding wounds that remained from that night. The comforting feeling was almost enough to make you forget about the images you’d seen in the darkroom, the ones that now also lived within the camera roll on your phone.

Almost—but not quite.

Brant answered on the first ring, seemingly overjoyed as another lie easily fell from your lips, confirming with her that Peter agreed to help take photos of Spider-Man so you could try and plead his case to the public—the reason she thought the two of you were searching for Peter. She was just as eager as you were to leave Columbia’s posh campus, swiftly agreeing when you asked her to meet you outside of the mess hall so the two of you could head back to the Bugle.

Now, waiting alone in front of the mirrored windows, you stared silently at the reflection in front of you. A girl with platinum hair, neatly tucked back by a black headband, stared back at you with her familiar bright green eyes. They were filled with enough dismay to make your chest ache, ridding you of any comfort that Peter’s familiarity had given you.

”You’re gonna have to see him again.” The somber tone she used was unbefitting of someone that you could only think to describe as sunshine personified; everything you ever wished you could be. “You’ll need his help.” Gwen told you. “You know that don’t you?”

You knew she wasn’t talking about Peter.

When you didn’t reply, she decided she needed to convince you further, tailoring her approach so it had the best chance of swaying you. She reached a handout, and you knew that if you had closed your eyes, you would be able to feel her fingertips brush against your palm as she squeezed your hand.

God, you missed that feeling. You missed her.

And it was because you missed her that you refused to close your eyes. Refused to let your brain mimic something that was no longer real.

Gwen’s doe eyes turned glossy, her rosy lips puckering into a pout that could make even the most unyielding man fold. ”He’s gonna need your help, too, y/n.”

You bit your cheek, thinking of the bottle of pills laying in the bottom of your bag, the ones you hadn’t had to take in so long now. You were getting better.

"You can’t save one without saving the other.” Gwen tried to tell you, although it only served to make you angry at her, unable to figure out why she would feel that way. She shouldn’t want you to save Harry, not when he was the reason she wasn’t here right now!

If she were here, really here, then maybe you would tell her that. Remind her of how well her altruistic lifestyle had ended.

But she wasn’t. So, you didn’t.

Instead, you turned on your heel, forcing yourself to turn away from the reflection. You immediately saw a flash of royal blue in the sea of students as Brant forced her way through the crowd. Fine—you thought to yourself, offering Gwen a silent answer as you started to make your way towards Brant.

”This place is a goddamn maze!” You heard Brant huff noisily once you were in earshot of each other, her bobbed hair swaying manically. She clearly hadn’t had a good time, but you weren’t really interested in hearing about it, either. Instead, you found yourself distracted by her appearance. Her neatly styled hairstyle, sharp winged liner, and stylish outfit. It made you think of the girls from earlier, the ones who had made you so self-conscious, and it gave you an idea.

If you were going to do this—follow Gwen’s advice and save both of your boys—then you needed to try and save yourself, too. And, luckily, you and Brant seemed to be about the same size.

“Do you wanna go shopping?” You asked bluntly, watching as Brant doubled-back, clearly not expecting your question.

She blinked, thinking it over before hesitantly replying, “Um, sure?”

Ravencroft could wait until tomorrow morning.

tag list - @pompeygirl89 @pockyandme

a/n - hi anyone who's bothering to read this! i'm super excited about this chapter for a variety of reasons and i hope that you enjoyed it! feel free to leave any comments or tips, i always appreciate them and can't wait to write more harry & dark!peter content in the next part <3

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