Title inspired by (You Drive Me) Crazy by Britney Spears
Summary: you decide to wear tights to work, and the sight of you drives Aaron crazy.
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), mentions of stretch marks, mentions of insecurities, Hotch being a bit of a perv!
A/N: First Hotch fic, first Criminal Minds fic. I’m so happy with this. this idea came to me as soon as I knew I wanted to do Plus size BAU!reader. I had to write it while the idea was fresh in my mind. Please continue to send in Criminal Minds requests, Hotch requests, and Plus size BAU!reader requests. Also in a Harvey Specter fic that I wrote which still needs to be posted I tried using American terms since it’s an American show and it just didn’t feel right. So in future I’m going to write using British terms since I am British. If there’s any terms you aren’t sure what they mean please let me know. I just can’t write using American terms again it feels wrong.
Divider Cred: @thecutestgrotto @anitalenia
Aaron Hotchner did not think he would have to restrain himself from doing unspeakable things to you, when he entered the office that morning. Those tights would be the death of him.
Hotch knew he shouldn’t be having these thoughts about you. He knew it was wrong. But the way the nylon clung to your legs, was driving him crazy.
If he had his way, he’d call you up to his office and rip those tights off of you, and do filthy things to you.
Hotch was pulled out of his filthy thoughts by a knock on his office door.
“Come in.” He said.
He really wished he hadn’t because as soon as the door opened, there you were. He felt his cock straining against his trousers.
“Is everything ok?” He asked trying not to think about his hardening cock at the sight of you.
“Yeah I have that file you asked for.” You said as you placed it down on his desk in front of him.
You raised an eyebrow noticing something was wrong with Hotch.
“Is everything ok Hotch ? You’re looking a little flushed there.” You said noticing the way he was turning red, and the way he looked like he was getting hotter by the second.
You placed the back of your hand against his forehead, that little bit of contact was enough to make him shudder. His skin felt scorched where you had just touched him.
“Hotch you’re burning up.” You said concerned.
“It’s fine. Just find it a bit warm in here that’s all.” He said.
“Are you sure? From the heat radiating off of you seems like you might be coming down with something.” You said.
“I promise I’m fine. Just find it really stuffy in here.” He said offering you a small smile to show you he was ok.
“Ok well let me crack open a window. Take your tie off and undo a couple of buttons on your shirt.” You said as you made your way over to the window.
Hotch liked the sound of you telling him what to do. He felt himself getting hotter at the dirty thoughts again. This time he was snapped back to reality by the sound of you opening the window.
You made your way back over to Hotch’s desk and noticed he hadn’t done what you told him to.
“Hotch I thought I told you to undo your tie and top buttons? Do I have to do it for you?” You asked.
“Maybe you should.” He said smirking at you.
“Get your mind out of the gutter Hotch.” You teased as you undid his tie, and top two buttons of his shirt.
“Take your suit jacket off too.” You said to him.
He nodded and then took his jacket off.
“I think you just wanted me to touch you.” You said jokingly.
So what if I did. Can you blame me when you’re dressed like that? He thought but didn’t say out loud.
“Do you need anything else?” You asked him.
“A glass of water if you don’t mind.” He said.
You nodded, then left his office to go grab him some water. You came back not a minute later a glass of cold water in hand. You handed the glass to Hotch who took a quick sip before placing it down on his desk.
“Thank you.” He said smiling at you.
“Feeling better?” You asked him.
“A little.” He said.
It wasn’t entirely a lie but having you in such close proximity to him was driving him wild. He had to resist the urge to reach out and touch you.
“Good. I’m going to head back to my desk but if you need anything just let me know.” You said offering him a warm smile before retreating back to your desk.
Oh he needed something alright. He needed to fuck you silly. He felt his cock straining against his trousers again. Fuck. He needed some kind of release otherwise he wasn’t going to last the day.
Five times. Five times that day Hotch had to relieve himself. He felt disgusted with himself having to masturbate in the work toilets. He knew it was wrong but he couldn’t help himself. The release was only temporary each time though because as soon as he saw you in those damn tights again, he was a wreck.
It was finally the end of the day. Everyone had already left for the day. It was just you and Hotch left. Your car was currently in a car shop for some work, so Hotch had been driving you too and from work for the last few days, since the two of you lived fairly close to each other.
“Come on then.” He said as he noticed you were still working.
“It’s fine Hotch I’m going to stay a little longer I’ll get a cab home.” You said.
“No no. I’m not having that. You’ve been working too hard recently. Come on I’m taking you home.” He said turning off your computer.
You knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to protest so you grabbed your stuff, and headed out with Hotch.
The car drive was extremely tense for Hotch. He found himself occasionally glancing at your thighs.
“Hotch please can you keep an eye on the road. I don’t want us to be killed.” You said noticing he wasn’t paying much attention to the road.
“Sorry.” He said gripping the steering wheel hard and trying not to let his focus shift from the road again.
A few minutes later he was pulling up to your house.
“Thanks Hotch.” You said.
“No problem. But you know you don’t need to call me Hotch all the time.” He said.
“Noted. See you tomorrow.” You said before getting out of his car and making your way inside your house.
Hotch watched as you left. He really wanted to say something but he couldn’t seem to find the words. He didn’t move for a few minutes contemplating what to do.
When you got inside your house, you immediately kicked off your shoes. Placed your bag down and grabbed yourself a stiff drink. You didn’t drink often but you occasionally had one after a very stressful day or case. Today you just had a lot of paperwork to catch up on and it had been stressful.
You were about to sit down and watch some tv when there was a knock on your door. You opened it to see Hotch stood there.
“Did I leave my phone in your car?” You asked confused as to why he was there.
“No but you did leave something.” He said placing his hands on both sides of your face and smashing his lips against yours.
You pulled away and asked “Hotch what are you doing?”
“Aaron. My name is Aaron.” He said smiling at you.
“Ok then. Aaron what the hell are you doing?” You asked.
“Are you upset with me?” He asked confused.
“I’m just confused as to why you kissed me.” You said.
“Ok look I’m sorry I’ll go, I clearly overstepped.” He said as he turned to leave.
“No don’t go. Come in.” You said.
Hotch looked at you and nodded before entering your house.
“I thought you’d want me to leave.” He said, as the two of you sat down on your sofa.
“No of course not. I’m just confused. You’re my boss. I just didn’t expect it.” You admitted.
“You’re a beautiful woman how could I not want to kiss you.” He said.
“Haha, that’s funny Hotch.” You chuckled.
“I’m being serious.” He said looking you in your eyes.
“Come on stop pulling my leg. I know you’re not being serious. I mean come on look at me. I’m not skinny. A lot of guys don’t like that.” You said referring to your size.
“I mean I’m surprised I’m even on the team to be honest. Especially being in the field.” You added, looking down to avoid Hotch’s gaze.
He grabbed your chin and lifted your head to look at him.
“Hey don’t do that.” He said.
“Do what?” You asked.
“Put yourself down like that. You’re gorgeous, and you’re an amazing field agent.” He said.
“Oh yeah, because getting out of breath when running after an unsub is great.” You said rolling your eyes at him.
“Who cares? You still manage to catch as many unsubs as the rest of us. Your size doesn’t stop you being a great agent. And your size doesn’t stop you being beautiful. You’ve been driving me crazy in these damn tights all day.” He said placing a hand on your leg and stroking.
“Hotch.” You said shocked as his hand trailed further up your thigh.
“Ah ah ah. What did I say?” He said.
“Aaron.” You managed to just choke out.
Hotch smiled before his lips were on yours again.
“I’ve been thinking about ripping these tights off of you all day.” He muttered against your lips.
“Then maybe you should do it.” You said kissing him again.
“Bedroom now.” He said pulling away.
He let you lead the way upstairs to your bedroom. He couldn’t help but peek under your skirt as you were ahead of him.
As soon as you got to the bedroom his lips were on yours again. He gently pushed you down on the bed. Hotch pushed your skirt up so he could get a better look at you in those tights.
“May I?” He asked biting his lip.
All you could do was nod. You couldn’t get any words out you were too excited to say anything. You had dreamt of your boss having his way with you for such a long time. You never thought it would become a reality.
Hotch smirked at you before ripping your tights to reveal a pair of lace red panties. He groaned as he felt his cock getting harder at the sight of you.
“Do you know how many times I had to go relieve myself in the toilets today?” He asked as he pulled your panties to the side to reveal your already wet pussy.
“How many?” You asked biting your lip at the thought of Hotch masturbating over you, and at work of all places.
“Five. I had to touch myself five times because these tights and you have been driving me crazy all day.” He said before diving face first into your pussy.
He licked between your slick folds before nibbling on your clit.
“Oh fuck Aaron.” You said grabbing a fistful of his hair pushing his head closer to you if that was even possible.
Hotch lifted his head from your pussy, his lips and chin drenched with your juices. He smirked at you and said “you taste so good baby, but I need to fuck you.”
Hotch helped you strip completely naked before stripping himself. He stared at your naked body biting his lip.
“So beautiful.” He said hovering over you and kissing you passionately again.
Hotch slowly started kissing his way down your body. Paying special attention to the lightning bolt shaped marks that littered your stomach.
“These are beautiful.” He said, which made you blush.
No one had ever called your stretch marks beautiful before.
Hotch kissed his way back up your body. Kissing your asymmetrical boobs.
“These are beautiful too.” He said.
You had never had anyone make you feel this good about yourself. You didn’t think there were guys like that out there. He had been right in front of you the whole time. You just wished this had happened sooner. You just never thought he’d be interested in someone like you. Not after Haley. She was beautiful. Skinny. You were nothing compared to her.
Hotch noticed something was wrong by the look on your face.
“What’s wrong? You don’t want this? I can stop.” He said.
“No no, I was just thinking.” You said.
“Come on tell me.” He said placing a gentle kiss on your lips.
“It’s fine honestly.” You lied.
“Y/N. You can’t lie to me. I’m a profiler remember. You’re feeling insecure again aren’t you?” He asked.
You simply nodded.
“Now let me guess. Based on the fact that you’re insecure, and thinking. You must be thinking what do I see in you? Or you feel insecure because you’re comparing yourself to other people?”
“Haley.” Was all you said.
“Sweetheart don’t compare yourself to her. I was never with Haley because of her size. If she had curves like you I would still have loved her. I love you for the way you are.” He said.
You weren’t expecting that kind of admission from Hotch.
“Aaron I.” Was all you could say.
“Shh you don’t have to say it back. But I do. I love you. I’ve been falling for you these last few years. Even when I was still with Haley I felt some kind of pull towards you. I know that’s wrong of me, there’s just something about you. I crave you. I need you. And most importantly I love you.” He said as he kissed you again.
“Fuck me then lover boy.” You said smirking against his lips.
Hotch smirked too before passionately kissing you as he slowly inserted his cock inside of you. At first he thrusted slowly, wanting to savour every moment of this. But then you begged him to go faster and he couldn’t control himself.
He thrusted fast and deep inside of you. It wasn’t long until you both met your release. He cummed deep inside of you, neither of you caring about the potential consequences.
Hotch collapsed next to you on the bed, and pulled you into your arms. He placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head as he held you close.
“How about I stay the night? And I can cook us something.” He suggested.
“I would love that.” You said.
“Just like I love you too Aaron Hotchner.” You said snuggling into his chest.
“I should hope so. Because you’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.” He said.
“Maybe I should wear tights more often. I have Penelope to thank for taking me shopping for new outfits.” You said.
“If you want me to spontaneously combust then go ahead sweetheart.” Hotch chuckled.
You never thought your day was going to end this way, when you put those tights on that morning. You would definitely thank Penelope for it tomorrow.
Pairing- Jock! Peter x Nerd! Reader (enemies to… lovers?)
Word Count: 4.3k
Summary: Peter Parker constantly nags you, and you hate his guts (naturally). So what better way to mellow the hate by being paired together for a class project? And why, if you hate his guts, do you want to touch him so bad?
Warnings: Making out, suggestive sexual content, dry humping, teasing, swearing etc…
Notes: It’s been a while, I apologize if my writing is a bit rusty! I hope you enjoy nonetheless, I had a fun time writing, and I really did miss it (Taylor Swifts new album really inspired me too!) I am using my phone to post for the first time, I hope to go back and format/ edit if need be when I can use my laptop again. Thank you for all the support :)
“Don’t look at me like that.” You huffed, eyes sharp as daggers as your cool gaze slid over to your target and struck its mark.
Peter Parker. Bullseye.
You could feel his lingering attention solely focused on you, a coy smirk upon his lips as he tapped his pencil against the wooden desk, its dull echo like nails on a chalkboard. A taunting metronome in the back of your mark as he leaned over to tower over you in his seat.
It was too close to yours for your liking.
“Like what pipsqueak?” he murmured, drowning out the professor's droning voice as he dragged on. You wished you could hit him with the textbook in your bag. Both of them, honestly.
“Like you’re thrilled for this. Don’t act like you like me.”
“Well I do like you.” He smiled, beaming ear to ear.
For him, it was the best day of his life. Getting randomly paired with “whoever you’re sitting next to, I don’t care.” (the professor's words, not yours), was a thrill for him, he got to pick on the quiet, shy girl more than usual.
Which would be a shock, considering the sheer amount he did already, always finding his way next to you to tease you, especially with and to his stupid jockey friends. This project was worth thirty percent of your grade. You couldn’t afford this.
“Well I don’t like you. So fuck off.” You heard a low whistle from behind you, a chuck alongside it from his friends. “Kitty has claws?” Peter whistled, eyebrow raising in mock surprise as you shifted your legs to the other side of the chair, angling away from him.
“Oh you’re in for it now Parker” Bucky laughed as you covered your ears in an attempt to drown them out. You felt like you were in middle school again, the way they mocked you. And what made it worse was that it got to you. Not that the jokes and remarks meant anything much, but it was just the sheer annoyance of it all.
You had thrived to be a straight A student your entire life, and in this class… you could feel them slipping. Taking a deep breath, you clenched your pen harder in your hand, pressing so hard the page snagged as you wrote.
You could still feel his eyes on you, flickering over from under his glasses ,his muscles flexing subtly under his blue t-shirt. You pretended not to look, and to not focus on the fact he was extremely attractive. You spent the rest of the hour doing just that, scolding yourself for any indecent thought you had ever had about him, ever. By the time the professor had snapped his laptop shut, the projector turning dark as students started to talk amongst themselves as they packed up, you had half a page of notes, max.
“I’ll be in touch.” he leaned down and whispered, hand lingering by your chair as he slipped by. “Fuck you.”
He just threw his head back and laughed, his friend group joining him as he looked back. And winked. You groaned. This was going to be three weeks of hell.
—————————————————————————
It was a Thursday when you got a text from him. An unknown number flashed on your screen as you lay face down on your bed, contemplating life and if this class was seriously worth it or not.
The buzz of the phone had your head snapping up, confused until it suddenly dawned on you.
Unknown: Think we should start brainstorming for this thing pipsqueak?
Well fuck, you thought, wanting to throw your phone across the room. This class wasn’t that important, right? (It was).
Taking a deep breath, you sat up as your thumbs started to fly across the screen.
You: Who is this?
Unknown: I’m hurt, pips. Truly.
You: I think you have the wrong number.
You smirked. Okay, who were you kidding… this was kind of fun. Kind of.
Peter: It’s Peter, you jerk. Are you really going to make me spell it out for you?
You: Peter who? Doesn’t ring a bell.
Good. Knock him down a few pegs. You giggled to yourself, quickly stopping once you realised why exactly you were kicking your feet like a school girl, for who exactly. You layed back down, head muddled with meaningless thoughts that jumbled as you waited for his response. Grabbing a stuffie, you hugged it close to your chest, feeling it rise and fall as you caught your breath, grounding yourself. Why on earth did this mean so much to you? Why did his texts, something so easily ignorable- suddenly a waiting game?
Peter: Ha ha, very funny pips.
You: How did you even get my number anyways?
Peter: Long story, I had to go on a bit of a hunt. A friend, of a friend of a friend, you get the point. I can be very persuasive ;)
Nope. You thought. Don’t give into this.
You: I’m sure.
Peter: You wanna come over on the weekend or meet at Braxston’s to start… brainstorming?
You: I don’t want to do anything of the sort, but if that gets this over with as soon as possible- then sure. Only one of us has a brain to storm anyways.
Peter: You’ll regret that pips.
You clicked off your phone, a ghost of a smirk on your face. His threat surprisingly didn’t seem like a real threat, but actual light hearted teasing, not the kind he often did.
Fuck. You were supposed to be hating him. You did hate him. It was only three weeks with him. You weren’t sure if you meant that with relief or disappointment.
————————————————————————————
It was disappointment.
You sighed, closing your eyes as you rubbed your creased temple. It was nearly midnight , and your books were still scattered across the desk you occupied, the library a ghost town considering it was a Friday night. Braxston library tended to be on the empiter side, which is why you preferred it. It was the oldest library on campus, smelling of old pages and cedarwood.
Sometimes, when you needed a break you would get up and run your fingers across the leather spines, or climb the ladder for a change of view of the stained glass windows. But tonight, you lacked the motivation to even bother standing. It had been a long night, filled with cramming and stress. Pen and highlighter stained your hands as you shook them out, cramped and aching. For the last hour you had solely focused on the final you and Peter had to pull out your ass, coming up with backup plans with the worry he would abandon you completely.
Topics, ideas, theories- god you didn’t even know anymore. Your body lacked caffeine, your iced coffee long gone. You grew tired of this mindless work, sliding off your headphones to admire the near empty room around you.
Suddenly, you wished it was completely empty.
Peter looked just as shocked to see you, eyes widening in surprise, backpack slung over his shoulder, hair ruffled and eyebags prominent as if he had fallen asleep and been startled awake.
“Pips? I thought we weren’t supposed to meet until tomorrow?” He made his way over to you, inviting himself to lean over you, on your desk. You stared up at him with a look of amusement.
“We don’t have to meet at all. It’s very bold you assume I’m here to see you, of all people.” you snorted. His eyebrow raised. “So who are you here to meet?”
“Two papers and exam prep. You?”
“More or less the same” he smirked, and you felt butterflies start to churn in your stomach. “Sounds like great fun. I’m sure they’re lovely.” you said, snarky comment slipping out before you could stop it, turning in your seat as you often did around him so he wouldn’t see the fluster and nerves in your demeanour whenever you were near him.
He leaned down, breath warm against the column of your neck. You couldn't breathe. You could not fucking breathe with him this close to you. The rich scent of his cologne made you dizzy, it intoxicated you as you stared at your laptop screen, as if it possessed the knowledge of the entire universe.
“You know, you can’t avoid me forever. You’re gonna have to confront me at some point, pip.”
“I don’t know what you're talking about” you snarled softly, staring at the coy, cockly little smirk you wanted to wipe off his face as he stood. “Sure you don’t.” He nodded his head towards your screen, with a wink.
“Good song.” he smiled, before he was off. You continued to stare at him as he walked out the door, not looking back once. Not a care in the world as he slipped on his own headphones, and around the corner.
Eyes moved down to stare at the pause button of your song, lyrics burning into your ears at the thought of him listening to it- and enjoying it.
Down bad, waking up in blood, staring at the sky, come back over and pick me up- fuck it if I can’t have us, I might just not get up, I might stay down bad.
You were so incredibly fucked.
———————————————————
You took a deep breath. Then another.
You let the crisp, cool night air wash over your burning skin, the faint smell of weed tickling your senses, probably from a house down the street. It was a pretty busy neighbourhood, full of students you recognized from afar on campus. You didn’t associate with the more ‘popular’ kids, if that could even be considered a thing past high school.
You tried to shake off the uneasiness that stuck with you, cracking your knuckles as you tried to prepare yourself to not only see Peter, but to interact with him- in his house. Most likely for hours. You knew you probably looked like a complete idiot out on the sidewalk, just near his house but you had to muster some form of courage.
All you could see was a faint light from what looked like the living room, and a light upstairs- you presumed his room. No sign of life other than that.
You thought of his words, how twisted they sounded. You can’t avoid me forever. You’re gonna have to confront me at some point, pip.
Fuck it.
You slipped from your hiding spot (from Peter, you were placed behind a large tree in his front yard, but god knows what people driving by thought), and mentally prepared yourself for his roommates to answer the door, making fun of you before he put the cherry on top. Practically leaping up the porch stairs, you raced to the door, knocking quickly.
You wanted this over and done with. Your palms were clammy and your stomach churned viciously as you heard footsteps near the door. It took everything in you to stay rooted to the ground and to not flee, and when Peter appeared, you feared the opposite.
How the hell you were supposed to move with him in that slutty little fit, a pair of grey sweatpants slung low on his waist, his v-line and happy trail on full display… his toned abs and arms in a little white muscle shirt… gods you didn’t know. You were sure your tongue fully hung out of your mouth like some cartoon character as you took him in.
“Took you long enough” he said with a snort, adjusting his glasses, sliding them further up his nose. You didn’t even know he had glasses. Did he wear contacts? Had he worn them and you just didn’t notice? No, surely that wasn’t the case, you noticed everything he did. It was like he sucked all of the air out of the atmosphere whenever he walked in a room. It was suffocating, in a way. Of course you had to look at him, and you were sure you weren't the only one.
“I was admiring the greenery.”
“I saw that. I wasn’t sure the maple needed to be examined that long.” he smirked, and your felt your fists instinctively clench.
He had saw you- so you were fucked and now the only logical thing to do was to run into a brick wall. Perfect, got it.
“I enjoy living in the moment, and I don’t take nature for granted.’ you huffed, attempting to compose yourself as he stepped aside, motioning for you to enter. “I’m sure. Don’t worry it was cute.” he smiled, running a hand through his tosseled hair.
You slid off your shoes, setting them next to his worn in converse you always saw him wear. You noticed the other pairs were missing, not even a missing lace to be found.
“Where are your roommates?” you asked as entered, surveying the open space. It was surprisingly tidy for a boys place, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of Peter rushing around attempting to clean up before you came (though you doubted he would ever do that). Still, it was nice to think about.
Little traces of “boy” still lingered, silly little signs scattered across the walls, flags and such, empty, crushed beer and poking out from the recycling bins. “I kicked them out, because I figured you would want to contentrate.” he said.
Yeah like I’m going to be able to conetrate with you looking that fucking fine. Ha.
“That’s considerate. I’m surprised you even know what that is, Parker. I’m impressed.”
He snorted, throwing a little look back your way as he lead you up the stairs, presumably to his room. “I’m surprised you know how to walk up stairs. You have Bambi legs.” he teased, mocking your clumsiness. You cursed him internally. Maybe out loud too, judging by his laugh.
You tried to stifle down the butterflies. You were not about to flirt with him. You were not about to let your developing feelings expand. You hated him. He was mean and he was an asshole.
You were simply here to get this project done. That’s it.
“You’re an asshole.”
“I know.” was all he said, turning down a hall to an open door, light glowing faintly- beckoning to you. You appreciated his refusal to use the overhead light- not that you’d tell him that. He’d probably look at you like you were insane.
“I see you clean for girls you bring over.” you noted, observing his (surprisingly) decently clean room.
“Bold of you to assume I cleaned. Maybe I’m always this tidy.” he smirked, arms flexing over and behind his head as he sat down in his office chair, man-spreading as he stretched.
You tried so hard not to stare. And failed miserably.
“I would’ve thought you cleaned up for ladies you bring to bed.”
His eyebrows arched. “Should I have prepared then?”
Something like churning fire burned in your belly, slithering lower and lower.
“Don’t start with me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it pip.” he smiled coyly, knowing he had gotten you flustered. “May I?” you nodded to his bed, trying to ignore your feelings as you sat down. Fanning your skirt out, you tucked your legs in before opening your bag, attempting to cover your thighs with your bag as much as you could- his cool gaze staring lasers into your bare skin.
“So… if we have to base this on a creature in the wild…”
“Jumping straight to the point aren’t we?” he asked and you frowned in confusion.
“What did you want me to do foreplay or something beforehand?” you asked, your word choice more than intentional. You swore a little pink tinted his cheeks as he swiveled around.
“Right to it then. Okay, I was thinking spiders. Specifically their venom and social behaviours.”
You blinked. Jesus okay he had thought about this. This was not what you were expected.
“Elaborate Parker.”
He smiled. “ From what I’ve seen, not a lot is known about the venom entirely. From a predator-prey aspect.. I’ve mainly seen stuff on specific components evolving to target specific sites on cell membrains of prey tissue, we could work with that to start. Maybe expand on the social aspect and evolution.”
You were stunned. This was… more than you could’ve hoped for. Suddenly you felt bad for all the doubt aimed towards him over the few days leading up to this meeting.
“Hmm. I like it.”
“Did you have any ideas you had brewing in that genius brain of yours?” he asked, making you blush internally.
“I had some stuff just in case, but it was just random jots I’m not too proud of.”
He scoffed. “You came prepared with backup stuff?!”
You just shrugged. “Do you blame me?”
“Kinda.” he laughed. “Start thinking of me more highly pips. I even have access to a brown widow, we could do some experiments.”
You winced at the thought of actually studying a spider up close, but it was part of the job. Whatever could get this done the fastest, and you had to applaud him for providing some of your own evidence you could actually showcase.
He caught your wince, and you could feel the teasing start to start. It was like bait for him, he loved it. “The spider may bite, but I won’t. That is, unless you want me too.” he winked, and you fought the urge not to chuck your laptop at his handsome face.
“You’re gross Parker.”
“Oh I’m sure you think I am. Doesn’t make a difference to me.”
You were going to strangle him. “Let’s just focus and get this project done as soon as we can, yeah? Please.”
You riffled through your bag, grabbing different coloured pens and your notebook, skimming through your random thoughts and jots.
“Whatever you say pip.”
“Start researching Parker.” And that was that.
—————————————————————
A few hours had passed, and so far you were quite impressed with how much the two of you had gotten done. For the most part, the two of you had stayed on opposite sides of the room. If he wanted to make a move, he wasn’t physically doing it, and his roommates still hadn’t come home yet.
Though as the hours passed, he had made his way closer to you- ever so slightly. From his desk he nudged over closer and closer, his laptop landing in his lap as he worked.
“What source are you working from right now?” you asked, not bothering to cast your gaze up as you continued to type, fingers flying over the keyboard as you bit your lip in concentration. You failed to notice his eyes darting between your lips and your breasts that poked out slightly as you slouched over, licking his lips hungrily.
“Some research paper. Here.”
You let out a little oomph in surprise as he plopped down beside you, sprawled across his bed as he enveloped you in his makeshift fortress. He stared at you with such longing you felt faint, having to stop your work to pull yourself together.
Fuck.
He nodded towards it, and you realized you had been staring at him longer than you intended, forgetting about the paper completely. “Oh, yeah okay let me look.” you murmured, taking the laptop from his hand to slide it across your lap, the fan whirling softly, the warmth of it adding more coals to the fire you felt already.
He was still staring.
Please look away before I want to kiss you. Or do more then kiss you. I’m supposed to be hating you, stop please.
You tried your best to read and concentrate, but it was next to no use. All you could focus on was him, his fingers drumming on the comforter near your thigh (what man has a comforter anyways?!), and his gaze on you, that was heavy with something. Want, perhaps? Lust? Or you were delusional. Very possible.
“It’s um, it’s good. I like it, I think there’s lots of good… stuff here.”
“Good stuff huh?” he asked sarcastically, a smirk plastered across his face.
He knew. The fucker knew you were down bad.
“Yeah. You know what I mean.” you grumbled, staring back down at your screen.
“I do know what you mean. Do you know what I mean?” he asked, hand inching closer and closer to your thigh- teasing you. You took a deep breath, grounding yourself.
You could push your hatred aside for just a few minutes. It was okay, just this once. Right?
You bit your lip, and fuck if that didn’t turn him on even more. Nodding to him, as if he could speak to you telepathically.
Yes, this is okay. Please touch me. Just a little, even is fine.
“Maybe you should explain a little more, Parker.”
His fingers skimmed the edge of your skirt, warm to the touch as they stroked your skin softly, just a whisper of him lingering. Goosebumps lingered in their wake, and you pushed your laptop off to the side, not caring where it landed on the bed. Just not next to him.
“How much more?”
His voice was low. Deep. Needing. You wanted more.
Another stroke of his fingers on your thigh, closer to where you wanted him the most made you shiver, toes curling. His gaze never left yours, never faultered. Instead of its usual lightness, his teasing and bullying- his eyes were dark with lust. Nothing but his full attention was on you, and you couldn’t help but shudder as he leaned in closer.
Another hand landed on your thigh. “Yeah?” he asked, voice rough as you nodded quickly. “Mhmmm..- oh!” you let out a little gasp as he swiftly grabbed you, swinging you over to straddle his lap, tossing you as if you weighed nothing.
You hated that you found it hot.
He smirked, leaning forward- so close you could feel his thudding heart with a small hand gesture sliding across his chest, could feel his breath catching. Just a small little gap between his lips and yours.
“You’re going to regret this.” you murdered, fingers curling into his shirt, twisting the soft fabric.
“I won’t. Will you?”
“I might.”
His smile grew.
“ I still hate you, you know.”
“I know. And you look so damn hot when you do.” He pulled you closer, fingers digging into your skin, needing you closer and closer despite the two of you practically forming one being.
A clash of teeth and tongue happened, rough and harsh- full of hate and need. A hatred for your need for him. Why did you need him? Of all people?
Because he was so fucking fine.
A hand slipped under your skirt to cup your ass, squeezing it slightly. You ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it as your hips moved on their own account- causing a groan to slip from his lips.
You’d do anything to hear it again.
“This is so wrong.” was all you could moan as his lips worked their way down your neck, tracing your jaw before nipping at your earlobe.
“I don’t do right, pips. You know this.”
“Mhm. But you hate me.”
He laughed against your skin, and you rocked your hips again, a little slap to your asscheek making you jolt.
“Whatever makes you sleep better at night, pips. Whatever you want to think.” he sighed, massaging the skin as you toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.
You needed his lips on yours. You didn’t want to even try to decipher what his words meant, your head was foggy with want. You were slipping into a puddle of bliss, finally letting the restraint you held on a tight leash go- freeing the want and pure desire.
Yes, you wanted him. Yes, you hated him. And yes, he teased you. It hurt- but this didn’t. This was a soothe to his constant jabs, a salve to the wounds he caused.
“You feel so good. I want you so bad.” you confessed, causing him to moan again.
Yes. Yes, please.
“You’re killing me.”
“Good. It’s payback for the way you treat me.” you smirked, kissing him again. Hard, fast, rough. Mean.
Until he just… stopped.
Pulled away slightly, making you raise an eyebrow with confusion. His cheeks tinted slightly pink, hair messy and eyes wide with excitement, eager to keep going. To go further. So why did he just- stop?
“Parker?”
He smiled coyly.
“Don’t we have work we need to be doing?” he asked sarcastically- and you felt your stomach drop. He was teasing you. He was doing this just to get under your skin, to leave you high and dry and needing. Knowing damn well nothing could possibly get done now but him.
“You- you just want to get back to work? After that?”
“I want to do the dirtiest things imaginable to you, pips. I want to do so many things. But if we keep going and get nothing done, you’ll regret it and hate me. If we get work done, you’ll hate me too. I rather you hate me but feel secure with this, at least.” he murmured, brushing your cheek with his thumb.
It was tender, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “So you just, want to work? Did I do something wrong?” you asked.
“Gods no. But it’s too easy if I just give it to you like that. You know me, pips- I tease. Maybe if you’re good and get more work done we can have some harmless, regretless fun.” he winked, sliding his hands down to your hips, picking you up again to toss you gently on his pillows, kissing your hand with a wink as he stood to go back to his desk.
Oh you were fucked. So, so fucked.
“I heard that.” he laughed, and you buried your head in your hands. This was going to be a long three weeks indeed.
Summary: Bucky (Beefy!Bucky because 🥵) and reader are good friends and end up becoming friends with benefits. After a couple months, Bucky realizes he has deeper feelings for her, but he’s terrified to tell her. It’s fluff, it’s angst, it’s smut. Plus, there’s a little bit of sub!Bucky in here.
Warnings: 18+ please…not a massive amount of smut, but it’s there. Talk of torture and death. Unprotected sex (wrap it up kids). Cursing. Choking (in a non-sexual way).
Author’s Note: Story is not canon with the MCU, so FYI.
Summary: You and Dean are always at each other’s throats, making it hard to hunt with each other. What you two need is a good way to release your frustrations, no matter who is around to hear it.
Square Filled: one bed for three (2021) for @spndeanbingo
Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3
x
Hunting with the Winchesters brings out two emotions: excitement and annoyance. Excitement because you love hunting with them, saving people, and killing monsters. You can do it by yourself but they’re so good at what they do, it makes sense to want to do it with them. Annoyance because you can’t stand Dean. He’s cocky, arrogant, bossy, and always thinks he’s right about everything. You can’t stand the man. Sam is usually the buffer between you and Dean and can often keep both of you calm but if you’re alone with the older Winchester, things won’t end well.
You’re also pissed off because he’s so hot. You’ve roomed next to him before; he knows exactly what he’s doing when he has a woman in his bed. Women fawn all over him whenever he walks into a room, and can you blame them? It pains you to admit but you often thought about being one of those women in his bed at times.
Not only does he piss you off, but you piss him off, too. You hunt just as well as he does if not a little better, and it drives him up a wall when you don’t listen to him. You go off on your own and do whatever it is that you want despite you always telling him you can handle it. It always seems to work out in the end for you which is what pisses him off.
Sam, on the other hand, is one of your best friends. You two get along great which is why you agreed to go on this hunt with them. He asked for your help knowing he and his brother wasn’t going to be enough. Dean’s been driving for nearly an entire day to get to Maine, so he decides to stop at some hotel instead of a motel. They have Men of Letters money so they can splurge on sleeping comfortably tonight.
There is a convention happening in town so there is only one room available by the time you get to them. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem since you took turns sleeping in the bed whenever you were with the Winchesters. As long as there were two beds and a sofa bed, you’d be alright. However, when you get to the room, you are disappointed to see only one bed--a California King.
“Tell me there is a sofa bed,” you say. You walk over to the couch and lift the cushions only to be disappointed again. “Shit.”
“It’s fine. This is big enough for all three of us. Just sleep in the middle,” Sam says.
You barely look at Dean. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Don’t be a pussy,” Dean rolls his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“Is sharing a bed with us that traumatic?”
“Yes, actually because you’ll be in there,” you sneer.
“Will you two quit it? We’re here to hunt, and we can’t do that if you’re at each other’s throats. Can’t you two just get along?”
“I know I can,” you say and cross your arms.
“I know I can,” Dean mocks you in a faux female voice.
You resist the urge to throw something at his fucking smug face.
“Fine, I’ll sleep in the bed with you two.”
“Fine.”
You grab your bathroom bag and lock yourself in the bathroom to do your nighttime routine. It takes twenty minutes to complete the entire routine, and you leave the bathroom once you feel refreshed and ready for bed. You grab your moisturizer and lift your right leg to rub the lotion onto your skin. Dean peeks at you from over the gun he’s cleaning. After doing your right leg, you do your left leg and Dean doesn’t take his eyes off you the entire time.
You put the lotion aside and crawl into bed between the two brothers. Dean finishes with his gun and puts it away to crawl in next to you. Sam is already snuggled under the covers with a book in his hand.
“Fuck,” Dean mutters.
“What?”
“You expect me to lay here and smell that girly shit?”
“If you don’t like it, sleep on the couch,” you smirk.
“Both of you, shut up and go to sleep,” Sam scolds you two like children.
Sam is the first to fall asleep since he can fall asleep anywhere, but you and Dean are a different story. You always have trouble falling asleep in beds that are not your own and this is no exception. It doesn’t help you’re in the middle of a Winchester sandwich. Sam is a heavy sleeper so he doesn’t feel you moving to get comfortable, but Dean does. He had to be a light sleeper to look after Sam so he can’t sleep unless you’re still.
“If you’re going to keep moving, go to the couch,” he hisses.
“I can’t get comfortable.”
Dean rolls onto his side, grabs your hips, and pulls you into him. You freeze the second you feel his hard cock on your ass. Dean’s hot breath falls over your ear and neck causing shivers to rave down your spine.
“Stop moving and go to sleep.” It’s kind of hard to go to sleep now when you can feel every inch of Dean’s cock pressed between your ass cheeks. You shift as you try to think about anything else, but him and you end up pressing your ass further into him. Dean’s teeth nip at your ear and he growls his next words. “Do not move.” Okay, now you’re moving just to piss him off. You can play him so easily. Dean’s hand slides over your hip to the front of your body where he presses his fingers to your clothed pussy. That causes you to still. “If you want to play this game, sweetheart, I’ll play this game. One rule. Don’t wake Sam.”
Dean’s hand slips underneath your silk pajama shorts, pleased to find you’re wearing skimpy cotton panties. He passes the cotton barrier and presses his fingers against your clit. You jerk against his body but he holds onto you tightly so you don’t move much. He runs two fingers down the length of your slit, gathering the wetness he feels.
“I haven’t even touched you and already, you’re so wet for me.”
He pushes one thick finger into you, and you bite down on your bottom lip to keep from crying out. Sam would kill you if he knew what was happening mere inches away from him. Dean pushes in a second finger and curls them to press against your g-spot.
“Fuck,” you gasp quietly.
“Do you feel what you do to me? You get me so fucking hard. It takes everything I have not to bend you over and fuck that attitude out of you,” he whispers against your ear.
It’s somehow hotter that he’s whispering to you instead of speaking normally. So intimately… so close.
“So do it,” you smirk.
Dean slams his fingers into you rapidly and rubs your clit in hard small circles. The pressure is becoming too much not to make noise, and you arch your back as much as possible. It’s a good thing Sam is a heavy sleeper otherwise he’d hear your heavy breathing and slick sounds from your pussy.
“Fuck, Dean,” you whimper.
“Are you gonna be a good girl and come for me? Hmm?”
You can’t respond to him even if you want to. The pressure builds deep in your core, and he can feel you tightening around his fingers. Fuck, he can only imagine what you’d feel like around his cock and tongue. Next time. His cock is rock hard and pressing against your ass, begging for release, but he’s not going to take care of him until he takes care of you.
“Shit, I’m gonna come,” you whisper.
“Go ahead. I got you.”
He circles your clit hard and the pressure inside of you explodes, and you feel your entire body start to float from ecstasy. Your pussy clenches and unclenches as you come, and he continues to thrust his fingers in and out to ride out your high. When he knows you have no more to give him right now, he pulls his fingers out of you slowly to tease you. You don’t have to look at him to know he is sucking you off his own flesh.
“Damn, sweetheart. Next time, I want to feel you come on my tongue.”
“Okay,” you whisper.
“That’s just another thing I’m better at than you.”
“What thing?”
“Making you come,” he smirks. Your jaw drops several inches at his remarks, and he lets you go to give you some space. He turns over in the bed so that his back is facing you instead of his chest. “Go to bed.”
How the hell can you think about sleeping now when all you can think about is Dean and the possibilities he and his cock can give you?
x
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SUPERNATURAL M.LIST
all works are gender neutral, reblogs + feedback are greatly appreciated !!
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI WITH MY NSFW CONTENT. YOU WILL IMMEDIATELY BE BLOCKED !!! all nsfw fics are clearly labeled MDNI, this applies to ageless blogs.
p for platonic! f for fluff, a for angst, h/c for hurt/comfort, s for smut, su for suggestive!
SAM WINCHESTER
DRABBLES / ONESHOTS
⟢ something about being close | 9.5K, a, f
⟢ makes you wonder | 5.2K, f
↳ ⟢ part two : now you know | 6.8K, f, h/c
⟢ better than a sight for sore eyes | 1K, su, MDNI
⟢ take my breath away | 13.7K, a, f, h/c
⟢ give and take | 0.7K, f
⟢ warm brown jacket | 1.3K, f
⟢ you’d dance with me? | 1.4K, f
⟢ three seconds | 1.2K, f
⟢ literary parallels | 3.6K, a, f
⟢ this is real, it’s right | 3K, h/c
⟢ my boy only breaks his favorite toys | 10.6K, a
↳ ⟢ part two : to leave him with love | 8K, a
⟢ forget-me-nots | 5.6K, f
⟢ but daddy i love him | 11.3K, a, f
⟢ some other time |1.1K, f
⟢ just an observation | 1.3K, f
⟢ hold me, it’s enough | 1.6K, h/c
⟢ breathe, baby | 4.1K, s, f, MDNI
⟢ only got eyes for you | 2.7K, f
⟢ dead eyes | 2.4K, h/c
⟢ abstract (psychopomp)| 1.9K, h/c, a
⟢ love you again| 2K, f, h/c
⟢ motel room, 10:00 p.m. | 545, f, h/c
⟢ book shop, 12:00 p.m.| 515, f
⟢ motel shower, 12:00 a.m. |629, h/c
⟢ cabin, 3:17 a.m.| 658, h/c
⟢ campus library, 7:00 a.m.| 658, f
⟢ the impala, 4:00 p.m.| 608, f, h/c, p
⟢ drooling honey | 1.1K, s, MDNI
⟢ our girl | 1.2K, s, MDNI, w/jess
⟢ i got you | 4.1K, s, MDNI
⟢ you can take it | [tfem!sam]. 1.3K, s, MDNI
⟢ worship you | 1.5K, s, MDNI
⟢ my hands are yours | 2.8K, h/c
⟢ sweet smile | 1.9K, f
⟢ noticed | 1.1K, h/c
⟢ soft 'n sleepy | 1.3K words, s, f, MDNI
⟢ like a miracle | 1.1K, f
⟢ laundry machines | 1.7K, f
⟢ love you like that | 783, f
⟢ the object of his affections | 1K, f
⟢ in the morning | 959, f
⟢ smirking and butterflies | 783, f
⟢ blabbermouth | 845, h/c
⟢ no one else here | 908, f
⟢ ruined (not really) | 1.4K, f
⟢ green couch | 898, f
⟢ sweet potatoes |1.2K, f
⟢ hallway hardwood floors | 676 f, su
⟢ natural | 5.3K, f, s, MDNI
continued ! bc theres a character limit for a block of text :(
⟢ liked it too | 1.9K, s, MDNI
⟢ just a little bit | 1.7K, s, MDNI
⟢ lucky charm | 1.4K, f
HEADCANONS
⟢ random boyfriend hcs | 1.6K , f
⟢ nsfw boyfriend hcs | 1.6K, s, MDNI
⟢ pirate!au | 1.1K, f, a
⟢ with adhd!reader | 0.8K, f
⟢ with talkative!reader | 0.7K, f
⟢ fake-dating!au | 1K, f
⟢ with angel!reader | 2.4K, f
⟢ tfem!sam x tmasc!reader | 1.3K, f
FAKE TEXTS
⟢ gen z younger sibling | f, humor, p
↳ ⟢ part two | f, humor, p
౨ৎ
DEAN WINCHESTER
DRABBLES / ONESHOTS
⟢ the language of love isn’t dead | 2.4K, f, a
⟢ flower shop, 11:00 a.m. | 644, f
⟢ gas station, 3:04 a.m. | 615, h/c, p
HEADCANONS
⟢ best friend!dean | 1K , f, p
౨ৎ
BOTH
DRABBLES / ONESHOTS (all platonic)
⟢ sorry won’t cut it (rewrite) | 4.1K, a, h/c
⟢ broken, fine for tonight | 1.3K, h/c
⟢ easy, maybe | 3K, h/c
⟢ safe now | 1.4K, h/c
HEADCANONS (all separate)
… nothing yet !
౨ৎ
RUBY
DRABBLES / ONESHOTS
⟢ abandoned church, 5:30 a.m. | 540, f
⟢ cry for me | 1.2K, s, MDNI
⟢ lick it better | 1.2K, s, MDNI
⟢ indulge | 1.2K, f
⟢ real cute | 3.5K, s, MDNI
⟢ don't mind | 597, a
HEADCANONS
⟢ girlfriend hcs | 1.3K, f
౨ৎ
CHARLIE BRADBURY
DRABBLES / ONESHOTS
⟢ make you feel so good | 1.K, s, MDNI
HEADCANONS
… nothing yet !
౨ৎ
JO HARVELLE
DRABBLES / ONESHOTS
⟢ so pretty | 1.7K, s, MDNI
⟢ hooked | 1.6K, s, MDNI
Summary: you wanted ro send nudes to guy you were talking to and without even realizing you sended them to rafe. He shows up at your house and he fucks you pretty
Warnings:(Explicit sexual content (18+), Rough, raw, and unprotected sex, Best friends-to-lovers tension, Possessiveness/jealousy, Strong language, Slight dominance themes, Mentions of nudes/sexting, Brief edging/denial)
Your house was too quiet. Too empty. The kind of silence that made you restless, forcing you to find something—anything—to keep yourself occupied.
You had already scrolled through every possible social media feed, tried binge-watching a show, and even considered taking a nap, but nothing seemed to cure the boredom eating at you. The guy you’d been talking to—the one you had a… thing with—hadn't texted you all day, and for some reason, that only annoyed you more.
With a sigh, you plopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling before an idea popped into your head. A reckless, stupid idea. But an exciting one.
Grabbing your phone, you opened the camera app, biting your lip as you hesitated. Then, without thinking too hard about it, you started posing, taking pictures of yourself—fully naked.
The longer you did it, the more confident you became, experimenting with angles, capturing the way the dim lighting cast shadows over your skin. By the time you finished, you were beyond pleased with how good you looked.
Your finger hovered over the screen as you scrolled through the pictures, feeling the rush of power that came with it. Maybe if you sent them to him—the guy you’d been talking to—he’d finally give you the attention you deserved.
Without another thought, you selected a few of your best shots and hit send.
The moment was thrilling. You smirked to yourself, placing your phone aside as you basked in the satisfaction of it all. You left your phone unattended for a while, assuming he’d take his time responding, so you didn’t bother checking right away.
It wasn’t until an hour later, when you absentmindedly picked up your phone to see if he had replied, that your stomach dropped.
36 new messages.
But they weren’t from him.
They were from Rafe.
Your heart stopped. Your entire body froze as dread crept up your spine. Confusion clouded your mind until you clicked on his name, your blood running cold as you read the first message.
Rafe: Tell me you didn’t just send that to me.
Your breath hitched. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you scrolled.
Rafe: Are you serious right now?
Rafe: Fucking answer me.
Rafe: Jesus Christ, what the fuck?
Rafe: Are you out of your mind?
Panic overtook your senses as you finally understood what had happened. Your fingers shook as you scrolled up, only to confirm your worst nightmare.
You hadn’t sent those pictures to the guy you’d been talking to.
You had sent them to Rafe.
Your best friend.
The same Rafe who had seen you at your worst, who had been there through everything, who—until now—had never seen you like that.
You felt sick.
Rafe: I swear to fucking God, tell me that was a mistake.
Rafe: Are you ignoring me on purpose?
Rafe: Do you even realize what you just did?
You stared at the messages, paralyzed with horror, your mind racing with what to do. There was no taking it back. No pretending it never happened.
Your phone buzzed again, and another text popped up.
Rafe: I’m coming over.
Your stomach flipped.
Oh. Fuck.
You barely had time to process the messages before loud, impatient knocking shook your front door. Your heart jumped into your throat.
Shit.
Rafe was already here.
Panic surged through you as you scrambled off your bed. You weren’t even dressed—still completely bare from your little photoshoot. With no time to properly throw on clothes, you grabbed the first thing within reach—an oversized shirt that smelled faintly of cologne. Rafe’s cologne. It was probably his shirt, one he had left behind on one of the countless nights he crashed at your place.
You barely managed to pull it over your head, the hem brushing mid-thigh, before the knocking got louder.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"Open the damn door."
His voice was sharp, edged with something you couldn’t quite place—urgency, frustration… something more.
Taking a deep breath, you smoothed out the shirt, schooling your expression into something nonchalant. Like you didn’t just send your best friend a full spread of naked pictures. Like you weren’t freaking the fuck out inside.
You swung the door open, greeting him with a bright, innocent smile. "Hey, Rafe."
His eyes flickered over you immediately, scanning your barely covered frame. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. "You’re fucking joking."
You tilted your head, feigning confusion. "About what?"
Rafe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a sharp breath before stepping inside, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary. "Don't do that. Don't act like you didn't just—" He stopped himself, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as his eyes dragged down your body again, lingering on your bare legs.
You crossed your arms, biting back a smirk. "Didn't just what?"
His jaw ticked. "Send me those pictures."
You shrugged. "It was an accident."
His blue eyes snapped to yours, dark and dangerous. "An accident?" He took a step closer, forcing you back slightly. "Tell me, how exactly do you 'accidentally' send someone half a dozen nude pictures?"
You swallowed hard, nerves creeping up your spine, but you refused to back down. You weren’t about to let him see how flustered you were. "I meant to send them to someone else."
His expression darkened, something flickering behind his eyes at your words. His voice dropped, lower, rougher. "Yeah? Who?"
Your lips parted, but no words came out. You weren’t sure why, but suddenly, saying his name—the guy you’d been talking to—felt wrong. The way Rafe was looking at you, staring through you like he was barely holding himself together, made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t prepared for.
His fingers twitched at his side. "Who were they meant for?"
You hesitated. "It doesn’t matter."
"Like hell it doesn’t," Rafe snapped, stepping in again, this time leaving no space between you. Your breath hitched. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his chest barely brushing yours. His gaze flicked to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking onto your eyes again. "You were really about to send those to some other guy?"
Your mouth felt dry. You blinked up at him, struggling to find your voice. "It’s not a big deal—"
His laugh was humorless. "Not a big deal?" His fingers curled at his sides like he was physically restraining himself. "You seriously don’t get it, do you?"
"Get what?" You whispered.
Rafe exhaled sharply, his jaw clenched so tightly you swore he might break his teeth. Then, in one swift motion, he grabbed your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to look at him. Your breath caught in your throat.
"Don’t ever send shit like that to another guy." His voice was low, dangerously soft. "Not when you have me."
Your heart stuttered. "Rafe—"
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly like he was at war with himself. His grip on your chin tightened just enough to make you dizzy. "Do you have any idea what you just did to me?"
You swallowed, your skin buzzing under his touch. "I—"
"You think I didn’t like it?" He scoffed, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "You think I’m mad because I didn’t want to see you like that?"
Your stomach flipped.
He leaned in, his lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "I’m mad because now I can't stop fucking thinking about it."
A sharp breath left your lungs.
His other hand trailed down, gripping the hem of your—his—shirt. His fingers brushed against your bare thigh, sending shivers up your spine.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured.
But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
The second you didn’t tell him to stop, Rafe took that as a green light.
Before you could process it, his hands gripped your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifted you off the floor. A startled gasp left your lips as he placed you on the nearest surface—the hallway counter—knocking over a few things in the process.
Your legs instinctively spread, your oversized shirt riding up your thighs, exposing just how bare you were beneath it.
Rafe wasn’t blind. He saw everything.
And fuck, he wasn’t about to pretend he didn’t notice how worked up you already were.
A dark smirk tugged at his lips as his hands slid up your thighs, fingers tracing your soft skin. "You didn’t even think about putting something on, huh?" His voice was low, teasing. "Almost like you wanted me to see you like this."
Heat crawled up your neck, but before you could snap back, his fingers were already moving.
Without hesitation, he slipped between your thighs, brushing against your slick heat. A breathy moan slipped past your lips as he ran two fingers through your folds, feeling just how wet you were for him.
"Shit," Rafe groaned under his breath. "Look at you."
Your head tilted back slightly, hands gripping the edge of the counter as he teased you, his fingers barely dipping into you before pulling away again. Your hips bucked slightly, chasing the friction, and he chuckled.
"Needy, huh?"
"Rafe—" Your voice was a quiet plea, but he wasn’t feeling merciful tonight.
He pushed two fingers inside you with ease, the stretch making you gasp. He wasted no time, his fingers curling just right, pressing against that spot that made your entire body shudder.
"That’s it, baby," he murmured, his free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread for him. "Fuck, you’re already squeezing me."
Your legs twitched, the pleasure overwhelming as he pumped his fingers inside you, slow but deliberate. His thumb found your clit, rubbing small, calculated circles that made you whimper.
"Bet you weren’t even thinking about that guy when you took those pictures," he taunted, his pace never faltering. "Bet you were thinking about me."
You didn’t answer, but your body betrayed you—the way you clenched around his fingers, the way your thighs trembled.
He leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours, but never closing the distance. "Say it," he murmured. "Tell me who you really wanted to send them to."
Your pride held on, but your body was already giving him the answer.
You didn’t answer his question. You couldn’t. Saying it out loud would mean admitting it—to him, to yourself. That you never meant for those pictures to go to anyone but him. That the only person you wanted to see you like this, touch you like this, was Rafe.
But your silence didn’t matter. Your body told him everything he needed to know.
You gasped, yanking his wrist, pulling his fingers out of you before you could tumble over the edge. Rafe’s brows furrowed, his fingers glistening in the dim light, but before he could question it, your hands found his waistband, tugging at his jeans.
He let out a low chuckle, but it was rough, almost breathless. "That desperate, huh?"
You ignored him, too focused on shoving his jeans down. The second they pooled around his ankles, you took a moment—your breath hitching as you took him in.
Fuck.
You already knew he was big, but seeing it—thick, hard, already leaking at the tip—had you swallowing hard.
Rafe didn’t give you time to think. He grabbed your hips, dragging you to the edge of the counter, spreading you wider. He didn’t bother with teasing or stretching you any further—he knew you could take it.
And you did.
The moment he pushed inside, a strangled moan left your lips, your hands flying to grip his shoulders.
"Shit," Rafe gritted, his fingers digging into your skin as he bottomed out in one sharp thrust.
It was rough. Raw. Deep.
He didn’t give you time to adjust—he pulled back just enough before slamming into you again, knocking the breath from your lungs. The counter rattled beneath you with every thrust, his grip bruising, his pace relentless.
"Look at you," he groaned, watching the way your body took him, how you clenched around him with every movement. "This is what you wanted, huh? Not him—me."
Your nails scraped down his back, a broken moan escaping as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot that had you seeing stars.
"You feel that?" Rafe panted, his forehead pressing against yours. "This is mine. You're mine."
You couldn’t even argue.
Not when you were falling apart around him, your body trembling as you came, his name spilling from your lips like it was the only thing you knew.
And Rafe? He followed right after, burying himself deep, groaning your name as he spilled inside you, claiming you in every way possible.
A/N || This story has been sitting finished on my Drive for a little while now, and I'm beyond excited to finally be able to share it with you all! I want to thank @ccbsrmsf1 for all the love and support while writing this, and for the proofreading, too! This wouldn't be anywhere near this long without your suggestions and cheerleading. I love you, bestie! 🤍
A/N 2.0 || This story includes multiple drabbles from my Summer Of Drabbles challenge. The following drabbles have been included: Drabble #1 | Drabble #2 | Drabble #3.
EVENTS
@fandom-free-bingo Frosty || x plus 1
@fandom-free-bingo Pride || Inclusivity
@fandom-free-bingo Wild || Nobody took the couch
@julybreakbingo Post-JBB || Noticing and/or experiencing the intelligent side of someone seen as unintelligent
@tonystarkbingo #8005 || Protectiveness
GIF: @ccbsrmsf1 || All the other graphics in this post are made by @nicoline1998enilocin
Main Masterlist || Tony Stark || Summer Of Drabbles
Today’s story starts at the ceremony where you officially started working for SHIELD, as you caught the eye of none other than the self-proclaimed ‘genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’ himself: Tony Stark. You’re the only woman in a crowd of male soldiers, but that’s not what stood out to him; the determination that dripped off every move you made and every word you spoke is what caught his attention. It didn’t take long for him to come up to you and introduce himself.
“So, what does a beautiful girl like yourself do between all these men? Aside from outshining them in every department, of course,” he says with his signature smirk, and you nearly choke on your drink as you hear his voice like honey. Growing up, you’ve always looked up to him and everything he has accomplished, so it is surreal that he is the one who came up to you, let alone complimenting you the way he did.
“Well- uhm…” you say as you try to gather your composure again, not wanting to look weird in front of the Iron Man, though you can’t help but feel that idea has gone out the window as soon as you nearly choked on your champagne.
“I- I am a SHIELD Agent, actually, specializing in nanotechnology. I’ve written and published a paper about it and some of its uses inside the human body not too long ago,” you tell him proudly, and his eyebrow raises slightly.
“Nanotech in the human body, hm? What do you think of maybe coming to my lab later so you and I can talk about that paper of yours? And to have a drink on your acceptance to SHIELD, of course.” Your eyes widen in surprise, but you’re eager to accept his once-in-a-lifetime offer from Tony. Heat surges through your cheeks at the thought of being alone with him soon, and you can’t stop smiling as you try to hide your nerves by taking another sip.
“I’ll be there in 15. Don’t keep me waiting, Beautiful,” he says with a smooth wink, and the nickname has your legs feeling like jelly as he turns around. That night, after arriving in Tony’s lab, you two have talked a lot about nanotechnology, and he even let you take a look at the arc reactor, too. After getting some useful insights, Tony immediately went to work, and you didn’t stop yourself from taking a peek or two at his bare torso when he did. And he didn’t mind, whatsoever.
When it was finally time for you to go, Tony insisted on getting into the Uber he ordered with you to know you arrived home safe. From that moment on, a tradition was born where you would often visit his lab and he would bring you home no matter what time of day it was, or how bad New York weather has become. Your bond has become stronger than you ever could have imagined, and the moment you became an Avenger, he was the person who applauded hardest and the first to hug you with congratulations.
But that’s not all, because over time, you and Tony have not only become the best of friends and each other’s biggest crush, but also mission partners, and that is exactly how you find yourself in the situation you are in now. Nose to nose with the man you love as you’re trying not to be recognized during your mission. While you’re both wearing outfits that make you pretty much unrecognizable, it’s still cutting it close when you’re face to face with one of HYDRA’s supervisors.
“What do we do now?” you whisper to him, your grip on his arms tightening with every footstep that’s audible from the hallway. While you two are stuffed in the first broom closet you could find, trying your hardest not to be found out in your hiding spot, you can’t help but take in the closeness between you two right now. While you and Tony have been close in many different ways before, you’ve never been this type of close.
“Well…” Tony says softly as the corner of his mouth lifts into his signature lopsided smirk, his hand slowly rising to your cheek where he gently tucks a piece of the long wig you’re wearing behind your ear. Your skin feels like it’s on fire as his calloused fingertips make contact, and his eyes flick from yours to your soft, pink lips and back. It feels like every inch of you is on fire, and your heart might leap out of your chest if he does what you think he’s about to do.
For months you’ve been thinking about what it would be like to kiss him, how his lips will feel on yours and how he will taste. In all honesty, it’ll most likely taste like coffee as that is what he’s most known to drink if he’s not indulging in the adult drink variety. It’s been on your mind a lot more than you’d ever admit to anyone, but now that it’s this close it’s all consuming.
Your eyes slip shut as Tony leans in, his warm breath ghosting over your lips as he takes a moment to let it sink in that he’s finally about to kiss you. After all the years you two have spent together, you’re finally about to have the release you’ve been desperately searching for. Until…
“It’s over, everyone. Natasha shot him, so our mission is done here,” you hear Steve say over the earpiece you’re wearing, and you jump back - or as far back as you can in the small broom closet you're inhabiting with your crush. A massive wave of disappointment soars through your body when you realize you were extremely close to finding out how soft Tony’s lips are. Now your entire body is on fire from rage instead of lust, and you’re looking forward to punching one of the punching bags when you’re back at the Avengers Compound. If you don’t hit Steve first, for interrupting your moment.
It’s been a little over a month since the mission where you and Tony almost kissed, but you have spent nearly every waking moment thinking about it. Whether you were alone in your room, eating with all the other Avengers or spending some quality time with some of them, Tony has been the topic of your thoughts 99% of the time. And you’ve been on his mind, too.
“I- Fuck! I’m still mad that he had to finish the mission right when we were about to kiss! Can you believe it?! I almost kissed the love of my life, but somehow Steve had to fuck it all up again,” he grumbles angrily, though there is no one other than his robot Dum-E to listen to his ranting. He’s been tinkering a lot more with the Iron Man suit lately, locking himself in his lab whenever he gets the chance. The only interruptions he accepts are when you visit him, but you haven’t visited that much since the ‘incident’.
“I’m a bit worried about her, in all honesty. She used to spend most of her time with us, but now she’s barely here and I miss her,” Tony says in a sad tone, which Dum-E answers with a low whirring noise, as if he’s expressing his own sadness about you not being there. From the moment Tony introduced Dum-E to you, you’ve always been happy to see him, even if he's just a robot who helps Tony out in his lab.
Then, as if his prayers were suddenly answered, Tony hears a soft knock on the glass leading to his lab. He turns his head around much too quickly, accidentally hurting his neck as he looks at who’s behind the glass. You.
Tony rubs his neck with a pained look as he orders JARVIS to open the door, and you slowly make your way into his lab so as to not accidentally knock into something or step on anything. As soon as you’re in his line of sight, he smiles at you, his insides being set on fire as his eyes find yours. The sparkle he sees is one he missed a lot over the past month, but he’s happy to see it again.
“You know, you could have just asked who’s at the door instead of hurting yourself over me. I’d rather not be the reason you’re in pain,” you say jokingly, and Tony smiles widely as he nods in response.
“I can’t help it, Beautiful. As soon as I heard a knock I was actually hoping it was you again,” he says, his voice rough from lack of use other than to grumble something to Dum-E. You walk over to stand behind him, so you’re able to massage his neck and shoulders a little, hoping to take away the worst of his pain in the process. He groans deeply when you work your usual magic, and you can’t help but clench your thighs at the sound of it.
“I’m glad to say your hopes have come true,” you say softly before finishing up and walking around him again to sit on your usual stool. This is when he finally noticed you’re wearing one of his MIT hoodies, the sleeves being much too long for your arms and the fit of it being very oversized, but it’s your favorite from the moment you first borrowed it. He cannot get enough of seeing you in it, and he’s more than happy to let you have his hoodie.
“Can I ask you something?” your gaze is focused on your fingers as you tug on the cuff of Tony’s hoodie. Tony’s brows furrow in a mix of worry and curiosity, but he hums to give you the go-ahead for your question.
“Will you come to a bar with us tonight? It’s been a while since you’ve come out of your lab, and I miss spending time with you. As much as I love spending time with you in your lab, I enjoy it even more when I get to experience fun things with you.” Your voice is soft, your gaze still focused on your lap as he lets the words sink in. You hear his chair rolling forward, and one of his hands stops you from fiddling, while the other lifts your chin gently, making you look at him.
“I- I’m sorry for not leaving my lab as much, Beautiful. It didn’t occur to me that this was going on, but to make it up to you I’ll gladly come out of here and have drinks with everyone. And if you want, we can also order some take-out and eat it together in my penthouse while we watch a movie,” Tony offers, and the corners of your mouth lift into a hopeful smile.
“I’d love nothing more, Tony! I’ll go tell the others you’re coming tonight and I’ll be in your penthouse at 7,” you tell him, to which he nods in answer. His thumb gently strokes your fingers, and you don’t want to go just yet, so the two of you stay for a little bit longer, letting the moment last a few more moments before he pulls back, allowing you to share the news with everyone.
“Thank you for everything, Tony. I’m looking forward to dinner,” you say before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek, which results in a deep red blush on his face, making him look adorable. As promised, you’re at his penthouse at 7, and much to your surprise, he has ordered your favorite pasta, and the movie you two love to watch is ready to be played. He has thought of everything, and you couldn’t be more grateful.
After dinner, you and Tony both got ready to go to the bar, and while he went for a casual outfit, you opted for a black jumpsuit with a low-cut neckline and a pair of heels, accentuating all your favorite parts of your body in the best way possible. What you didn’t expect, however, is Tony’s reaction as soon as he saw you walking in to meet everyone before you’re heading out to the bar.
An audible gasp filled the room when everyone went silent as they took in your outfit, and Tony quickly hid behind the marble counter in the kitchen, his knuckles turning bright white as his cheeks burn to a bright red color as he’s trying his hardest to get his boner to go down. He’s had this reaction to you walking in and looking like this before, but each time it’s still embarrassing, as he feels like a teenage boy with a massive crush on a girl in his class.
“Hi everyone, you’re all looking amazing,” you say as you walk into the room, most of them dressed in their comfortably casual clothes, but when you look over at Tony, you can’t help but raise your eyebrows in concern. He almost looks like he’s in pain, and you quickly make your way over to him to see if everything is okay.
“Tony, what’s going on? Is it something with your arc reactor? I can have a look at it right now if you want-” is all you can say, but he just shakes his head, his cheeks feeling hotter with every passing moment. He’s praying that you’re not seeing the hard-on he has for you, but you’re so close it’s almost impossible not to.
“I think he’s a big fan of the way you look tonight, Detka,” Natasha pipes up, her signature grin flashed at you when you’re looking over at her. If it were possible, Tony would have been swallowed by the ground as he’s still trying his hardest to hide, but it’s becoming more and more impossible with every second. Then, it suddenly clicks what Natasha talks about, and you stammer a sorry before stepping back with equally hot cheeks.
“I- Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Tony! I didn’t mean to embarrass you-”
“It- It’s okay, Beautiful,” Tony groans, the fabric of his jeans shifting across his painfully hard length, and he feels like he’s going to blow any second now.
“Just go ahead without me, I- I have some business to take care of,” he says with his most convincing smile, and you whisper a soft okay before walking out of the kitchen with the other Avengers, Natasha by your side the entire time. The entire time, she can’t stop smiling, and your curiosity is getting the best of you.
“What’s going on with you? You haven’t been able to stop smiling like… this the entire time,” you say as you point at her face, but she shakes her head in response.
“I just can’t believe that you two won’t admit it already. You’re both horny for each other-” is all you can say before you put your hand over her mouth, silencing her with the gesture. A small whimper escapes her lips as you do it, the move catching her off-guard as you two come to a standstill, the other Avengers continuing without noticing you two.
“We’re not horny for each other, Nat! We’re just friends, and you know it!” you hiss at her when the others are out of earshot. As you hear the words fill the air, you can’t help but think that it’s all a big lie, because you have been fantasizing about Tony more than once when you had some time to yourself at night, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Oh come on, you two are practically undressing each other with your eyes each time you’re in the same room together. And based on Tony’s reaction, he really enjoys the way you look tonight.” As you listen to her words, your cheeks are set on fire, her words ringing more true than ever before. It’s only now that you realize why Tony was hiding the way he did, and what kind of business he meant.
While you’re one of the smartest people in the field of nanotechnology, you’re not always the best in picking up these kinds of social cues, and embarrassment is settling in more and more the longer you look at your best friend. Suddenly, everything clicks in your mind and you finally realize that Tony has feelings for you, too.
“I’m sorry for the interruption, ladies. Are you both ready to go?” Tony asks with a smile, his voice causing goosebumps on your entire body. After a nod, the three of you walk outside to join the others who were waiting, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to be sitting in a large booth in your favorite bar, and you’re settled in next to Tony thanks to Natasha.
Each time one of you moves and your arms touch, you’re both flushed like a lobster, and each time he leans in a little closer to hear what you’re saying, you can’t help but let your gaze fall to his pink lips. The entire time, you’re clenching your thighs, too, as the closeness you’re now experiencing is intoxicating in its own right, and you’re wanting him more and more with each drink that passes your lips.
Then, out of nowhere, Tony leans in close to whisper something in your ear, and you’re getting full-body goosebumps when his voice drifts through the air like the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard, his voice soft as silk as he asks you a question. Not that you know what he’s saying when he’s this close, as your brain has gone into stand-by mode, every function of your body running on autopilot now.
“Mind catching some fresh air, Beautiful?” Tony whispers in your ear, his warm breath ghosting over the shell as you hold your glass tight, your eyes slipping shut as you listen to him. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re in a crowded bar, you’d definitely let out a deep moan at the sound of his voice, but you have just enough self-control left to not let that happen.
Once the words settle in your fuzzy brain, you nod slowly as you look into his eyes, the brown of his irises looking more beautiful than ever. For a moment, there’s nothing but you and him, all the voices drowned out as you’re getting lost in each other. Natasha cannot get enough of the sight in front of her, snapping a few photos with a wide grin as she looks at what’s happening between you two.
Eventually, Tony manages to rip his gaze away - much to your dismay, you could’ve stared into his eyes for the rest of the evening if he’d let you - to get up, his large, calloused hand outstretched in order to take your soft, small one. A zap of electricity shoots through your body as you make contact, a soft gasp falling from your lips. When you rise on your feet, he steadies you, as the high heels you’re wearing are not really working in your favor.
“Steady there, Beautiful,” he says as he encloses his hand around yours, holding it the entire time you’re both walking to the front door of the bar, the cool air already filling the room as you’re closer to the outside world. Holding his hand feels nothing short of right, and you can’t help but want to touch more of him, in any way you can. Running your fingertips over his muscles, letting your fingers glide through his messy hair, or wrapping your hand around his length as he groans deeply.
“I’ve been thinking about you, a lot,” Tony says as soon as you’re both outside, effectively pulling you out of your dirty daydream. For a moment, your brain is failing to comprehend what he’s saying, and you look at him with a goofy look as you try to understand what he means by it. Being this close to the man you love, combined with the alcohol you’ve consumed already, is taking a toll on your brain, though you’re trying your hardest to get it to work. Even if just for this conversation.
“Really?” Your voice is soft as you look at him, his heart swelling with love as he sees a sparkle in your eyes at his words.
“Hm-hmm. Been thinking about your pretty face, and your stunningly beautiful body.” As soon as the words leave his lips, he turns bright red at his confession, and you’re left with your mouth agape, his honesty bringing a fire to your cheeks as well as between your thighs. While Tony is known for being brutally honest - sometimes to a fault - you have never been on the receiving end of these kinds of comments before.
“You’re beautiful too, Tony. You’re a sight for sore eyes actually.” You reach out to touch his arc reactor and the muscles it’s encompassed by, but before your hand can make contact with his body he wraps his hand around your wrist , pulling you closer until there’s once again only a few inches between you both. Just like when you were trapped in the closet a month ago.
“You know what else I’ve been thinking about?” You shake your head, and he smirks before telling you exactly what’s been on his mind.
“The softness of your lips when we’re kissing, and how you will taste. The way we will fight over dominance with our tongues until there’s no air left in our lungs. Me pulling you closer until there’s no space left, and the way your fingers will pull my hair when we’re so hot and bothered that we cannot stop each other from ripping off clothes.”
As if your body is running on autopilot, you reach up to let your fingers glide into his hair, a soft groan leaving his lips as you do. While you’re not pulling yet, Tony’s pupils get bigger until they’ve taken over almost the entirety of his irises, lust visible as he pulls you flush against his body. His lips are mere millimeters from yours when you hear the door swing open, and a very recognizable voice cheers your names in excitement when she sees you both.
"Y/N! Tony! I missed you guys, you were suddenly gone and now here you are again!” Natasha exclaims excitedly, but you can’t help but feel disappointed when you step away from Tony, the heat of the moment you two shared is now gone. While you love her with all your heart, you wish she hadn’t interrupted you, as this would have been a perfect moment otherwise.
From the moment you and Tony have become mission partners, the bond between you also grew stronger, and there’s not a single person who you trust more than the man sitting beside you as you’re returning from a mission together. With this, his protectiveness has also grown, and not just on the battlefield, but outside of it as well. He’s always looking out for you wherever you two go, and this mission wasn’t any different.
“I can’t believe you actually ran into that building to help that man. It was on fire for crying out loud!” Tony says as he puts the Quinjet on autopilot. You shrug as you get comfortable in the seat next to him, your legs stretched out as you’re taking full advantage of the leg room.
“You would’ve done the same thing, Tony, don’t act like you wouldn’t. We both know I did the right thing by saving him, and I got out of the house unscathed,” you tell him matter-of-factly, and even though he knows you’re right, he doesn’t like it when you put yourself in situations like this, and he’s not afraid to let you know about this, either.
“That may be so, but I still think I should’ve gone in instead of you. At least I have a suit that protects me,” he bounces back at you, and you know he’s right. Still, you’re proud of what you have accomplished, and you close your eyes as you take a moment to yourself. It’s become a bit of a ritual as you take the time to decompress, but there’s something else on your mind that you can’t shake off.
“Tony?”
“Hmm?” The hum is soft as he turns his head to face you, a small smile on his lips as he takes in your beauty.
“Do you ever think about that night at the bar? And what might have happened if Natasha didn’t interrupt us?” The nerves are swirling through your stomach, and it feels like the butterflies are having a good time in there as you meet his gaze. Your heartbeat rises, and your cheeks start to burn as you fiddle with your fingers to distract yourself just a little.
In turn, Tony’s cheeks turn bright red at your question, because he has thought about that moment a lot, and he has never been able to find a way to bring it up without completely embarrassing himself. There’s a silence between you two as he thinks over his answers, and you’re not at all disappointed by his words.
“I have thought about it a lot, actually. It’s been on my mind nearly 24/7, and it sometimes makes me unable to function normally. When I’m doing very simple things like taking a shower or eating some breakfast in my lab you’re always on my mind, but when I’m working on my suit or my arc reactor, you’re also the main thing on my mind. It’s all-consuming in the best way possible, and I honestly wouldn’t want it any other way,” he says as he looks at you with an admiring gaze.
“And… And what is it you think about? When you think about me, I mean?” Before you can think about it, your curiosity takes over as you ask the question, and Tony blushes even harder, the redness now creeping to his neck as he rearranges his position so he can get comfortable again.
“What I mainly think about is what life looks like with you as my girlfriend, and as my wife. From the first moment I met you, I knew I would get to marry you. No matter how long it would take, or how many people I would have to fight in order for it to come true. But-” he hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should lay out the rest of his thoughts.
“But?”
“But I also think about you carrying my babies. How gorgeous you’ll look when you’re pregnant with my babies, and a giant rock on your finger that is fit for a queen. Because that’s exactly what you are, Beautiful. You’re the Queen in my world, and I think you deserve to be treated like one, too. And there’s nothing more I would love than to take you out on a date so I can show you what that feels like. Even if it’s just for one night, I want to show you how I will treat you when you’re mine, and show you how a Queen is treated.”
For a long moment you take the time to think it over in your head, though you deep inside already know the answer. There’s nothing more you want than everything Tony is willing to offer you.
“I’d love to share a night with you so you can show me what it’s like. It’ll be a dream come true,” you say with a broad smile, a sparkle in your eyes that is only reserved for the man you love. Tony smiles widely too, his eyes shining back at you with nothing but pure love, and you still can’t believe you’ll actually go on a date with your mission partner and best friend.
Then, he reaches for your hand, and you place it in his before he brings it to his lips, his facial hair tickling slightly as he presses a soft kiss on it. Your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest at the gesture, your cheeks on fire as you look at everything that’s happening. Before either one of you can say anything, JARVIS lets you both know that you’re about to land, and Tony returns to handling the Quinjet again, while you’re on cloud nine.
In the days leading up to Valentine’s Day, you and Tony could barely stay apart from one another. Every waking moment you two spend together, whether it is in his lab, the gym or anywhere else doing your own thing, you two are inseparable. Now, the evening before Valentine’s Day, you have offered to watch a romantic comedy with all the Avengers, though you barely have eyes for the screen.
“I still can’t believe you said yes to going on a date with me,” Tony whispers in your ear as you’re cuddled up in the back of the theater room with him. All the others are sprawled out in front of you watching the screen, but you’re still trying to keep as quiet as possible, so you won’t attract any attention to yourself.
He keeps peppering your cheek in kisses to try and make you giggle, which didn’t go unnoticed by Natasha as she looked over a couple of times, but decided against saying anything. She’s more than happy to see you two this close, especially after you told her all about the date you’ll go on tomorrow.
“It’s impossible to say no to you, Tony. I would be stupid if I said anything other than yes,” you tell him, and his cheeks turn red, which thanks to the darkness in the room is barely noticeable. Still, he feels the burning on his cheeks, and you can’t help but smile up at him with a loving gaze. He’s head over heels in love with you, and it is becoming more clear with every passing second.
“I’m glad you think so, Beautiful, but you’re always allowed to say no if I ever do something you’re not comfortable with. You know that, right?” he asks, his tone serious as he looks at you. As you try and suppress the whimper that wants to escape, you nod in response, and he smiles before gently kissing your forehead.
Then, he pulls you closer against him, your hand resting on his arc reactor while he is drawing abstract figures on your arm. The rest of the movie you two spend in each other’s arms, and when you fall asleep in the last stretch of the movie, Tony smiles before kissing the top of your head and whispering a soft ‘sleep well, Beautiful.’
“I’m going to bring Y/N to her room, she fell asleep during the movie so I will see you all later,” Tony says as he holds you in his arms bridal style. The entire trip to your room is going too quickly for his liking, but as soon as he’s tucked you into bed, he leans in for a last kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering for a few seconds before he leaves again.
“Sleep well, my beautiful Angel. I love you,” he whispers before getting up and leaving your room, not knowing you heard him say that, though you will never admit it to anyone. This will forever be between you and him, and you can’t stop smiling until you finally fall asleep again, excitement for your date tomorrow even more present now.
The next morning, you’ve decided to have brunch with Natasha in your room in anticipation of the date with Tony, so you can talk through your gameplan, as well as get ready with her. From the moment you joined the Avengers, she has been very helpful and kind, and it has grown into a strong friendship over time. Now, you two spend all the time you’re not with Tony together, though it hasn’t been as often after Tony asked you out.
Right when you’re done getting dressed - a pair of sport leggings and Tony’s MIT hoodie being your outfit of choice - you hear a few knocks on your door, but the person on the other side isn’t who you were expecting.
“Tony? Why- I mean, hi. What are you doing here?” you ask in bewilderment, as you were expecting Natasha to be standing in his spot. Still, you’re more than happy to see him, even if it’s unexpected.
“I couldn’t wait until tonight to see you, Beautiful. I’ve been tinkering in my lab nearly the entire night out of excitement, and I… well… I wanted to see you,” he admits shyly, his cheeks reddening once more. The flush on them makes his boyish charm more present than ever, your heart beating even faster as you look at him. It’s impossible not to be in love with him, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of him.
“It’s okay, Tony. I’m actually glad you stopped by because I was thinking of going down to your lab later to ask you what I should wear tonight,” while it wasn’t completely untrue, it wasn’t the sole reason you were planning on heading down there later. You were also hoping to see him before tonight as well, to see how excited he is for tonight.
“Well- uhm-” he rubs the back of his neck nervously as he thinks of an answer that isn’t ‘nothing’, the thought of you being nude in front of him being one that’s hard to push to the back of his mind.
“I think you should wear whatever you feel most beautiful and confident in. If you want to show up in a pair of pajamas that’s okay, but if you want to show up in the tightest dress and highest heels you own that’s fine too.” The blush on his cheeks now spreads to his neck and chest as he tries his hardest to maintain eye contact with you, but it’s difficult when you set every single inch of him on fire.
“In that case, I think I have a nice outfit in mind for tonight. But don’t worry, I won’t show up in pajamas, I’ll save that for movie nights when I fall asleep again,” you tell him with a wink, and he smiles at the thought of you falling asleep by his side not too long ago.
“Perfect. I- uhm… I should go and- and get ready.” Before you can say goodbye, Tony has practically bolted out of your room, though you don’t know it’s to hide the fact that he’s been getting harder and harder at the thought of seeing you in a tight dress and high heels. His mind has gone into overdrive, and he can’t help but give himself a hand when he’s in his penthouse, your name a chant throughout the air the entire time.
Now, Tony’s cheeks are flushed for a completely different reason when he steps into the shower, the thought of you never quite leaving his mind. As soon as he’s done he’s running around his penthouse to get everything ready for tonight, and the private chef he hired to cook a delicious dinner arrives not long after, giving him a little piece of mind.
In the meantime, Natasha has finally shown up at your apartment, armed with two large coffees and a large breakfast spread to get you both through the entire process of getting ready. After many hours of gossip, reassurance and cheerleading, you’re finally ready for your date, and you’re getting increasingly nervous the closer it gets. As you’re wearing a pair of black jeans, a beautifully dark red, lacey top and black heels, combined with a dark make-up look with dark red lips, you couldn’t feel more confident, all due to Natasha’s help.
“Good luck tonight, and I don’t expect to see you anytime soon,” she says with a wink, as you two have been discussing the possibility of sleeping over at Tony’s apartment after the date. While it’s not a given it’ll happen, you still like to be prepared all the same, and now it’s officially time to head up to Tony’s penthouse.
As the elevator takes you up there, Tony is rocking back and forth on his feet, nerves settling in as he looks at his watch at every possible moment. Even though there’s still 10 minutes before you two said you would be there, he’s already impatiently waiting by the elevator, hoping you will be early. Much to his delight you are indeed early, and the elevator doors open to a beautiful sight of fairy-lights and dimmed lighting, giving it a romantic look.
And then, there’s Tony. He’s dressed from head to toe in a black suit, though his glasses are the exception as he went for a beautiful, dark red pair that compliments your outfit perfectly. It’s as if it was meant to be, and you’re curious what else this night has in store for you.
“Wow…” is the first thing you hear when the elevator doors open. In front of you is Tony who is dressed like a true god, a small, rectangular box in his hands as he takes his time to take in the sight of you in front of him. A small smile slowly spreads on his face as you step in, your heart feeling like it’s about to beat out of your chest with every step you take.
“You look amazing tonight. Dare I say, you look Beautiful,” he says with his signature smirk and a suggestive wink, your cheeks burning from his compliment and the clever use of the nickname he only reserves for you. You whisper a small thank you as you step closer, and you’re greeted by Tony as he places a soft kiss on your heated cheek. As he pulls back, you can’t stop smiling at the feeling of it, happiness filling every single inch of your being.
“I got you something as a little surprise. And as a thank you for agreeing to this date, as well.”
As he hands you the small box, you can’t open it quick enough for your liking, curiosity building as you reveal a necklace with a small version of his first arc reactor on it, of which the big one is proudly displayed in his office after Pepper gifted it to him with the inscription “Proof that Tony Stark has a heart”. It’s where your bond started, and you chuckle as you take a good look at it.
“I can’t believe you got me a miniature version of your arc reactor, Tony! Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore it, but I also can’t believe you would do something like this for…well… me,” you say softly as you close the box, a softness in your eyes that’s only reserved for the man in front of you. His brows are furrowed as he takes in your words, as he can sense a bit of self consciousness in your words.
Without saying a word, he gently cups your cheeks to raise your gaze to meet his, the warmth of your cheeks feeling nice against his large, calloused hands.
“There’s not a single thing on this earth I wouldn’t do for you, Beautiful. If you’d ask me to go to the other side of the world I would without a second thought. If you’d ask me to go to the moon and back ten times in a day, I’ll figure out a way to do it. I’m giving you the necklace because you deserve it, and it reminds me of where it- where we started. It’s a token of my appreciation, and a reminder of why we’re here tonight.”
“Thank you,” you whisper almost inaudibly, but Tony smiles before leaning in and placing a lingering kiss on your forehead. Your eyes slip shut as you hold the box in your hands, and you can’t help but let out a sigh when he lets you go, the warmth of his lips gone with him as he takes a step back. You couldn’t have wished for a better start of your date, and you’re looking forward to everything else he has planned.
“Will you do me the honor of following me to the dining room? I ensured we will have the most delicious dinner you will have ever had, and I can’t wait to hear all your thoughts on it,” he says, and you nod before hooking your arm in his, your hand resting on his bicep as he leads you through his penthouse. There is a low tune playing in the background while the entire penthouse is filled with the most delicious smell of food, but it’s nothing compared to the table you’re seeing.
There’s a white tablecloth that’s decorated with silver and white plates, silver cutlery, red roses and a few candles, and a small menu on each plate that will tell you exactly what you will be enjoying throughout the evening. Then, Tony moves to pull back your chair, and you graciously sit down before he slides it back in, allowing you to be seated first.
During the course of your meal, you and Tony have some light-hearted conversation, but you also discuss some deeper topics like inclusivity in the field of nanotechnology. It’s always been something you have struggled with as a woman in a male dominated field, but Tony has always been an advocate for women in the field of tech.
“Honestly, the worst part of this inclusivity issue is that men assume I’m unintelligent, or at least less intelligent than they are just because I’m a woman. It’s definitely why I keep pushing myself in the field of nanotech and why I wrote the article about nanotechnology in the human body, and while many people have noticed my ‘intelligent’ side as they call it, there’s still many that haven’t, or they’re too ignorant to want to notice.”
As you talk about it, Tony can sense your frustration so he reaches for your hand, and without a second thought you put yours in it to calm yourself down. The way he holds it so lovingly makes you feel less and less angry with every passing second, and the way he attentively listens and nods along is something you’re very grateful for.
“You’ve been working hard all your life, Beautiful, and I’m extremely proud of you for doing so. Inclusivity in the field of tech will always be an issue, but I’m happy to go against that and work with you. You’re the most intelligent and beautiful woman I know. Without you, I might not have been alive to tell the tale of it all, as the earlier versions of my arc reactor could have killed me by now, but I’m here because of you, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”
“You have practically given me a new lease on life, and I plan to make every single second count. That’s exactly why I would like to dance with you.” He gets up from his chair while still holding your hand, and you get up as well, a large smile on your face as he pulls you on your feet. Then, as you’re getting closer to him, you feel your heartbeat steadily rising, your cheeks heating in excitement at the closeness.
As you slowly sway back and forth, your gazes are locked on one another, a smile on your lips as you enjoy the moment. Not a single care in the world, only you, Tony and the music that fills the room around you. The clicking of your heels on the floor slowly fades away with the music as his eyes go from yours, to your lips and back up, his intention clear as day. Without saying another word, you both lean in, meeting in the middle to experience your first kiss with the man you love.
You two have been building up to this moment for years, and the outcome is even more satisfactory than you could have ever wished as his soft lips work in tandem with yours, everything around you two forgotten. His fingers dig into your hips as you open your mouth, allowing his tongue to dance with yours, a soft moan being swallowed as he pulls you closer against his body. The temperature in the room slowly rises as you gently rake your nails through the hair on the nape of his neck, and the sexual tension between you is finally reaching an all-time high.
“God, I’ve been dying to feel your lips against mine, Beautiful - it was like tasting heaven. And I can’t help but notice that you say you don’t love me, but you kissed me back like you did,” he says in a playful tone, referencing all the times you have told everyone you’re not in love with him. Each time someone asked about it, you always said you love him like a best friend or a brother, but nothing could be further from the truth, because you’ve been in love with Tony for years now.
“I- I do love you, Tony. I have, for as long as I can remember, and I’m stupid for not saying anything sooner-”
Before you can finish your sentence, your air is kicked from your lungs as he cups your cheeks and kisses you again, effectively making you shut your mouth in the best way possible. You melt in his hold as you two take your time to explore each other’s mouths, the feeling of desire growing with every passing second. A pang of disappointment fills your chest when he pulls back again, though it won’t last long.
“I love you too, Beautiful. I love the way you smile and how you laugh when I make silly jokes. I love how your nose scrunches when you’re deep in thought or concentrated, but most of all, I love you. I’ve wanted to say this for such a long time, and I’m glad the universe finally let us do our thing,” he says with a smile, making you laugh out loud.
This moment has been a long time coming, but it has been worth every single second of the wait now that you’re finally telling him about your true feelings.
The moment you felt Tony’s mattress underneath you is one you often fantasize about in moments of need, as it has given you a whole lot of pleasure each time. Still, none of those moments will ever live up to the amount of pleasure he’s about to give you tonight, as he has made it his mission to make your first time one never to forget. After slowly peeling every last layer of your clothes - leaving you entirely bare for him - he does the same to himself, and you can’t help but bite your lip as he pulls down his pants.
“You like what you see, don’t you?” he asks, his confidence shooting to an all-time high as he sees the look of lust on your face. Every last inch of his long, thick cock is beautifully displayed between his thick thighs, your eyes roaming over the veins running all along making you want to give him the blowjob of his life before swallowing every last drop of his sweet cum as he shouts your name.
“You know I do,” you say as you slide towards the edge of the bed, your pussy dripping and your nipples pebbling as you get closer to where you want to touch him most. Nothing will ever compare to his beauty, but when the moonlight hits him the way it does now, he looks downright angelic.
“Can I have a little taste before we move on?” you ask softly, a hint of innocence in your voice he can’t resist.
“Fuck, if you keep this up, I won’t last long.” His words are followed by a deep groan as you reach out to him, your hand barely wrapping around the base of his cock. For a moment you keep it there as you look up in order to look at Tony’s reaction. His eyes are shut as his hands are balled up by his side, though the muscles in his abdomen are tensed as he tries his hardest to not cum yet.
Without saying a single word, you make a move that nearly drives Tony up the wall of pleasure as you start stroking him from the root of his length to his tip, while you take his soft, pink tip in your mouth to suck away the beads of pre-cum, a soft moan leaving your lips as you do. In an automatic move, he reaches for your head to keep you there but also ground himself, as he didn’t expect this in the slightest.
His head falls back as he groans deeply with his teeth clenched, his hips moving on their own volition as he thrusts his length into your mouth. The feeling of your mouth and hand on his cock are overwhelming in the best way possible, and it is better than anything he could have ever imagined. Your hand slowly makes its way up and down the hard flesh, his veins adorning it beautifully as you move the velvety skin back and forth.
“Tastes so good,” you murmur before taking him into your mouth again, slowly working more and more into your mouth as he tries his hardest to keep his orgasm away. The heat of your mouth compared to the softness of his hand and the nails digging into his ass are ensuring his brain turns off, and all he can do is moan, groan and chant your name as you work him towards his first orgasm of the evening.
“Please- Just- fuck! Just the tip, Beautiful. Give some love to the tip and I’ll cum for you, give you every last drop of my cum like you want,” he pants, his chest rising and falling quickly as you look up at him, your mouth still enclosed around his cock. You hum, which makes an electric spark shoot down his spine, before pulling back and doing exactly as he asks.
“That’s it, good girl,” he praises you, making you moan as you clench your thighs, the praise immediately going to your desperate pussy. While you’ve always had a thing for praise, it’s even more powerful coming from Tony, which he has stored in the back of his mind for future reference. As soon as you’re in position, he instructs you to play with his balls the way he likes, and with a deep groan you can feel and taste the first spurts of his warm cum on your tongue.
“Hmmm, you’re such a good girl for me! Following my instructions so well, playing with my balls as you suck on the tip. Gonna give you all my cum, Beautiful, you can have it all to swallow and enjoy.” He takes his time to work himself through his orgasm as you happily swallow every last drop of his large load, a satisfied smile on your lips when you finally pull back to release his now soft cock.
“And here I thought I couldn’t possibly love you more than I already did,” Tony says as he lifts your chin with his index finger, his lips capturing yours as he bends over for a mindblowing kiss that has him moaning at the taste of himself in your mouth.
“Such a beautiful girl who knows how to put her mouth to good use in more than one way, I have to say, I’m definitely the luckiest guy on Earth to be spending my night with you,” he says as he guides you to lie back on the bed, taking his place between your now spread legs in the process. The entire time, his gaze is locked on your dripping, pink pussy as he licks his lips, anticipation going through his entire body as he takes his time admiring you.
Once you find a comfortable spot on the bed, your head on the pillows and your legs spread as wide as you can to accommodate the man between them, he smiles up at you before moving any further. He takes in the moment before he’s about to ruin you in the best way possible, wanting to commit this moment of beauty to memory as the moonlight highlights your soft skin beautifully through the large floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse.
“Ready to be the subject of the best body worship you’ve ever experienced? This sweet, delicious, dripping pussy and amazing body deserve to be worshipped every single day, and I want to show you exactly how I’d do it if you’re mine,” he offers, and you nod with burning cheeks from his admiring gaze. Still, you can’t help but notice he said if you’re his, because you’ve always been his from the moment you met.
“I am yours, Tony,” you say softly, and his gaze immediately snaps up to meet yours.
“I always have been wholeheartedly yours. There’s no one else I want more than you, and no one else I’m more in love with than you. I love you, Tony, and I want to grow old with you.”
For a long moment, the words hang in between you two as he lets the words settle in, but when it finally does he smiles widely, his cheeks turning red from excitement and knowing you’re his girlfriend, and he’s your boyfriend. His dream is coming true, and your Valentine’s Day has quickly turned into one to never forget. As you push yourself forward to lean on your elbows, you lean in to let your fingers glide over his hot cheeks, you can’t help but smile.
“I love making you so flustered, you get so cute when you’re like this,” you tell him, which causes the flush on his cheeks to intensify even more, though in response he buries his face between your thighs, his tongue dragging a long stripe from your dripping entrance to your sensitive clit, his facial hair adding the perfect amount of stimulation as you fall on your back with a loud moan of his name.
His arms wrap around your thighs to hold you in place as he expertly works his magic on your clit, his lips wrapping around and sucking when his tongue isn’t delving into your wanting pussy, your walls clenching and pulsing around him as your body grinds against his face while every last thought of yours melts away under his touch.
“Tony-” His name sounds like honey as it falls from your lips when you’re nearing your high.
“I- I want you to keep- keep going forever!” you nearly scream as he lets one of your thighs go in order to work two of his thick digits into your pussy, which is exactly what sends you over the edge. His expertly timed thrusts of his fingers together with the stimulation on your sensitive clit has you screaming his name and clutching to the sheets as your back arches, pushing you even closer to his face as he works you through a mindblowing, trembling orgasm.
While you thought you have had amazing orgasms before, you have never experienced anything like you are now with Tony, as it is starting to become an out-of-body experience. Your mind has also gone entirely blank as you try to catch your breath, and you only move after you feel Tony flopping down on the bed beside you, pulling you against his side so you can catch up with everything that’s happening.
“Having fun so far, Beautiful?” he asks as he places kisses on your head, and you nod with a shy smile as you let your fingers glide over his chest and the scars surrounding his arc reactor. The warmth of his body against yours makes your eyes feel heavy, and together with the abstract figures he’s drawing on your soft skin, you’re soon finding yourself in a light slumber in his arms.
After you’ve woken up for your sleep - during which Tony has not left your side for a single second - the two of you had a talk about what the rest of the night will have in store for you, and you expressed wanting to go a step further, but on one condition.
“I- uhm… I hope it’s okay with you, but I prefer having sex with a condom-” is all you can say before Tony stops you in your sentence.
“Beautiful, I’m sorry for interrupting you, but I need you to know something, okay? There’s not a single thing I would do without your consent. If you told me you’d want to go take a shower and go to sleep I would be more than happy to turn it on, wash your hair and dry you off at the end, and if you’d tell me you’d rather sleep in your own room than do anything else, that’s also okay. Yes, I am completely okay with using a condom, as your pleasure and safety comes before anything I want. Okay?"
His thumb rubs your cheekbone as he’s on his side, his voice soft as he explains his side of it.
“Okay. Then… Then I’d be more comfortable if we use a condom for the first time. I love you deeply, Tony, and one day I will definitely want to experience what it’s like to make love without one, but tonight is not going to be that night. What do you think?”
“I think that it’s perfect,” he whispers before placing a kiss on your forehead, making you smile before he turns onto his other side to pull a condom from his nightstand. He quickly rips open the package before stroking his half-hard cock to full hardness - for which he only needs three strokes at the sight of you - and rolling it on, effectively protecting both of you before your official first time.
“I love you, Beautiful. And I promise to go slow, okay? If anything hurts, or you want to stop, please let me know and I’ll stop immediately. How does that sound?”
“Perfect.” He leans down to capture your lips with his, but instead of giving you the kiss you were expecting he nibbles on your bottom lip, which has you clutching onto his arms before he has even done anything. When he pulls back, you immediately catch his gaze, your pupils blown with lust as he looks at you. Then, like a true gentleman, he takes his time sliding in for the first time, constantly checking in as he does.
“How’re you feeling, Beautiful?” he asks as he’s fully inside you, your pussy gripping him like a vice as he allows you to get used to every inch of him inside you. The fact that he’s taken his time and kept talking you through it all has you floating on cloud nine, and you don’t ever want to come down if he keeps treating you the way he is now.
“Good,” you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper. You reach up to cup his cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss that leaves you both breathless by the time he pulls back. Every single one of your senses is turned to its highest capacity in this moment, and your entire body feels like it’s on fire in the best way possible as he gently starts thrusting, earning himself a long moan in response.
“You feel so fucking good, Beautiful. Feels like heaven,” he says as he nuzzles his face into your neck, his body working in tandem with yours as he lavishes the sensitive skin of your neck with small kisses. Your hands slide into his hair, and when he picks up the pace of his thrusts, you tug on the roots, making your boyfriend groan deeply in response.
“Do that again, please! Pull my hair again,” he nearly begs, and you do as he asks while he keeps upping the pace of his thrusts. Each time he hits your sweet spot with his cock, you moan his name louder and louder while also tugging harder until you’re on the brink of another orgasm, needing a few more thrusts to fall over the edge.
“Pull my hair, Beautiful. I’m so fucking close- Pull it and I’ll cum with you,” he pants in time with his thrusts, his body adorned with a thin layer of sweat as he bed starts to creak louder, too. The only thing you can think about is Tony and the way he makes you feel as you’re close to your climax. With one last pull on his dark locks, he screams your name as he fills the condom he’s wearing, wishing he could fuck it into you, instead.
“Yeah, that’s it! Cum on my cock, squeezing me like a vice. Good fucking girl,” he praises you while trying not to crush you under his weight as he rides out both your orgasms. You’re trembling from the force of the orgasm washing over you, and the stars you saw on the edges of your vision slowly disappear when you’re coming back to earth, too, your breathing still ragged as you’re holding onto Tony.
“I love you, Beautiful. So, so much. Wish I’d said something much sooner,” he says as he presses his forehead against yours. The love, adoration and lust are all still visible in his gaze, but you couldn’t agree more. You also wish you had said something sooner, as you’re finally able to live your dream with Tony by your side as your partner.
One of the most important parts of intimacy for both you and Tony is aftercare, during which you can both decompress and catch your breath after everything that just happened. Your first time with Tony was nothing short of spectacular, and you can’t help but look back at everything while you’re snuggled in his arms while the hot water of the bath he has drawn is keeping you warm, while simultaneously relaxing your sore muscles and joints.
“I still can’t really believe we just did that. We had sex for the first time together! Sex! It’s not like I never fantasized about it, but to know I actually got to share this intimate part of myself with you is… beautiful,” you say with a smile, thinking about all the times he has used that word to describe you.
“Hmm, you have fantasized about us, huh? And what else has been going on in that brain of yours aside from our work together? Now you got me curious what my girlfriend thinks about when I’m not with her,” he says as he kisses your temple, a goofy grin on his face the entire time.
“If you must know, I’ve been thinking about what it would be like if we did it in all sorts of positions and in different places, too. The shower, your lab,” as you admit that last part, you can’t help but blush as it is where you usually spend most time with him. It’s become his natural habitat of sorts, and each time you think about what it would be like to have sex with him in there, you can’t help but touch yourself to the thought.
“Maybe we should put it on a list of adventures. Having sex in my lab,” Tony says suggestively as he rubs your thighs, his thumbs caressing the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thighs. It leads to full-body goosebumps, and you’re already looking forward to this fantasy becoming a reality.
“Yeah,” you say as your eyes slip shut, the feeling of his hands on you being enough to melt every thought away. The rest of the night, you and Tony keep feeding each other the fruits he has brought between sharing more fantasies and stories, making the night come to a perfect ending. As soon as the bath water started turning cold, you both got out before drying off and heading back to his king size bed, where you will enjoy more cuddles before falling asleep again in his arms.
The next morning, you’re woken up by the sun illuminating the bedroom through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and you can’t help but look at your boyfriend as the sun makes his skin look like a golden sculpture of pure perfection. His chest rises and falls with every breath, his arc reactor shining beautifully in the sun’s warm rays as well.
“Good morning, Beautiful,” you hear after a while, and you instantly smile before looking over at Tony as he’s still waking up. He’s never been a morning person, but seeing you first thing in the morning shifts his mood drastically, as he doesn’t mind waking up early as he sees you.
“Good morning,” you whisper before leaning in and giving him a lingering kiss, the events of last night still fresh on your mind. His arms wrap around you to pull you on top of him with a squeal, making him chuckle as you get comfortable.
“You were much too far away for my liking. Figured I’d do something about it,” he says, and you smile before leaning in for more kisses. This is something you can both get used to, and the mornings suddenly got a whole lot better now that you’re waking up next to the love of your life.
“How did you sleep? I’m sure it must have been nice to not sleep alone in this ginormous bed of yours,” you tease him, and he nods.
“I slept amazing, but I have a feeling that the lovemaking we did last night also had something to do with that. I couldn’t have wished for a more perfect first time. And to top it all off, now I don’t have to think of ridiculous reasons to see you. Now I can just go and see my girlfriend whenever I miss her, which is going to be all the time, by the way.”
“I’ll miss you all the time too, so I’m happy to see you even more now,” you seal your words with another kiss, but then you suddenly remember the plans you had made with Natasha, and you scramble out of bed as quickly as you can, leaving Tony lying there alone and a little confused about what’s going on.
“I- I’m sorry for getting out of bed like this, but I promised Natasha I would have breakfast with her to talk… well… to talk about our date, and I’m already 2 hours late!” you say with bright red cheeks as you pull on one of Tony’s boxer briefs - your own panties completely ruined from last night - and one of his oversized hoodies.
“Beautiful, can you come here for a moment?” he asks as he’s sitting up with his legs thrown over the side of the bed, and you stop in your tracks before looking at him. As you go to stand between his legs, he rubs his large hands over the backs over your thighs and ass to reassure you, and calm your thoughts down, as well.
“I’m pretty sure Natasha knows exactly where you are. She’s been trying to get us to hook up for a long time, so I think she’ll be very understanding of you being late. She’s not an unreasonable person. And I know for a fact she’s been spending the night with someone else as well, so you’re going to be totally fine. I promise.”
He always knows exactly the right thing to say, and you sigh softly before letting your fingers glide through his messy hair.
“I’m still sorry for rushing out of bed the way I did. I didn’t mean to startle you,” you say, and he smiles at you with nothing but love in his gaze.
“It’s okay, Beautiful. I promise. Now, I would like to get my kisses before you run off and tell Natasha all about our date. I love you, and I can’t wait to see you again tonight during dinner,” he says, and you bend down to capture his lips with a smile, already looking forward to the moment you get to see him again. After a few last kisses you grab your stuff - giving Tony a perfect look at your ass as you do - and you head down to your apartment to get changed, and much to your surprise you run into Natasha as she’s on her way to her own room, too.
“It looks like we both have a lot to catch up on, huh?” you say jokingly, and she smiles widely before slipping past you and into her room. After a quick change into something more comfortable you head to the kitchen to grab some breakfast foods and coffee, ready to take them to Natasha’s room where you two can gossip all day.
“So?” is the first thing she says as soon as you’re in her room.
“So, I think I deserve to know who you spent the night with. I’ve rarely seen you this happy while sneaking into your room,” you say, to which she nods with a deep red blush on her cheeks. Her hair is pulled out of her face with a loose ponytail, which means she can’t hide behind her fiery red hair like she usually does.
“Fine, I spent the night with Bruce. Are you happy now?”
“I’m definitely happy, but I’d be even happier if you tell me everything about what happened! You two have been pining after one another for forever, so there must have been something in the air last night! First me and Tony, and now you and Bruce?!” This catches her attention at the mention of you and Tony, and it’s your turn to blush like crazy.
“You and Tony, hm? So you’re together?” You answer her question with a nod and a broad smile before gesturing for her to continue her story about her night with Bruce.
“I’m happy for you, Detka. You deserve to be loved by someone as amazing as Tony,” she smiles before grabbing one of the pastries you brought and getting into every last detail of her night with Bruce. It was almost as beautiful as your night with Tony, because nothing will ever top the experience you two shared last night. Well, until the day you find out you’ll become a Mom, but that’s something for the future-you to think about.
Now, you’re basking in the glory of your new relationship with the man you love.
Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k]
c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isn’t good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery
｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ
Fall
Peter Parker is a resting place for overworked eyes, like warm topaz nestled against a blue-cold city. He waits on you with his eyes to the screen of his phone, clicking the power button repetitively. A nervous tic.
You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet he’s heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand.
“Good morning!” You pull your coat on quickly. “Sorry.”
“Good morning,” he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. “Should we go?”
You follow Peter out of the cul-de-sac and into the street as he drops his phone into a deep pocket. To his credit, he doesn’t check it while you walk, and only glances at it when you’re taking your coat off in the heat of your favourite cafe: The Moroccan Mode glows around you, fog kissing the windows, condensation running down the inner lengths of it in beads. You murmur something to do with the odd fog and Peter tells you about water vapour. When it rains tonight, he says it’ll be warm water that falls.
He spreads his textbook, notebook, and rinky-dink laptop out across the table while you order drinks. Peter has the same thing every visit, a decaf americano, in a wide brim mug with the pink-petal saucer. You put it down on his textbook only because that’s where he would put it himself, and you both get to work.
As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and can’t help wondering what it is that’s missing. Something is, something Peter won’t tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, he’s busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could.
Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. “I wish I had more time,” he says.
“It’s fine,” you say, “you can’t help it.”
“We’ll do something next weekend,” he says. The lie slips out easily.
To Peter it isn’t a lie. In his head, he’ll find the time for you again, and you’ll be friends like you used to be.
You press the end of your pencil into your cheek, the dark roast, white paper and condensation like grey noise. This time last year, the air had been thick for days with fog you could cut. He took you on a trip to Manhattan, less than an hour from your red-brick neighbourhood, and you spent the day in a hotel pool throwing great cupfuls of water at each other. The fog was gone just fifteen miles away from home but the warm air stayed. When it rained it was sudden, strange, spit-warm splashes of it hammering the tops of your heads, your cheeks as you tipped your faces back to spy the dark clouds.
Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere you’d never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet.
You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip.
He feels you watching and meets your eyes. “I have to tell you something,” he says, smiling shyly.
“Sure.”
“I signed us up for that club.”
“Epigenetics?”
“Molecular medicine,” he says.
The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. It’s still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. It’s gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peter’s bag and sort through his jumble of possessions —stick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodega’s worth of protein bars— and grab his camera.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,” you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder.
“Technically, I signed us up a few days ago,” he says.
You snap his photo as his mouth closes around ‘ago’, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. “Semantics,” you murmur. “And molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?”
“It has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.”
“I like oncology,” you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, “and I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.”
“I can’t go without you,” he says. Simple as that.
He knew you’d say yes when he signed you up. It’s why he didn’t ask. You’re already forgiven him for the slight of assumption.
“When is it?” you ask, smiling.
—
Molecular medicine club is fun. You and a handful of ESU nerds gather around a big table in a private study room for a few hours and read about the newer discoveries and top research, like regenerative science and now taboo Oscorp research. It’s boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going.
He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks you’re not looking. Only when she isn’t either.
—
“Good morning,” you say.
Peter holds an umbrella over his head that he’s quick to share with you, and together you walk with heads craned down, the umbrella angled forward to fight the wind. Your outermost shoulder is wet when you reach the café, your other warm from being pressed against him. You shake the umbrella off outside the door and step onto a cushy, amber doormat to dry your sneakers. Peter stalks ahead and order the drinks, eager to get warm, so you look for a table. Your usual is full of businessmen drinking flat whites with briefcases at their legs. They laugh. You try to picture Peter in a suit: you’re still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back.
“Tell the joke,” he says, slamming his coffee down. He’s careful with yours. He’s given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers.
“I was thinking about you as a businessman.”
“And that’s funny?”
“When was the last time you wore a suit?”
Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesn’t know. Later, you’ll remember his Uncle Ben’s funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you don’t remember yet. “When was the last time you wore one?” he asks. “I don’t laugh at you.”
“You’re always laughing at me, Parker.”
The cafe isn’t as warm today. It’s wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. There’s no fog but a sad rattle of rain, not enough to make noise against the windows, but enough to watch as it falls in lazy rivulets down the lengths of them.
Your face is chapped with the cold, cheeks quickly come to heat as your fingers curl around your mug. They tingle with newfound warmth. When you raise your mug to your lips, your hand hardly shakes.
“You okay?” Peter asks.
“Fine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?”
“Don’t think so. Did you ask nicely?”
“I did.” You’d called him last night. You would’ve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it —you don’t want Peter’s help, you just wanted to see him.
Looking at him now, you remember why his distance had felt a little easier. The rain tangles in his hair, damp strands curling across his forehead, his eyes dark and outfitted by darker eyelashes. Peter has the looks of someone you’ve seen before, a classical set to his nose and eyes reminiscent of that fallen angel weeping behind his arm, his russet hair in fiery disarray. There was an anger to Peter after Ben died that you didn’t recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didn’t matter —he was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice again— until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears.
His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like he’s up late. If he is, it isn’t to talk to you.
You spend an afternoon working through your equations, pretending to understand until Peter explains them to death. His earphones fall out of his pocket and he says, “Here, I’ll show you a song.”
He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Should’ve Come Over. It feels like Peter’s trying to tell you something —he isn’t, but it feels like wishing he would.
“You okay?” you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less.
“I’m fine, why?”
You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. “You look tired, that’s all. Are you sleeping?”
“I have too much to do.”
You just don’t get it. “Make sure you’re eating properly. Okay?”
His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest you’ll ever get. “You know May,” he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, “she wouldn’t let me go hungry. Don’t worry about me.”
—
The dip into depression you take is predictable. You can’t help it. Peter being gone makes it worse.
You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when it’s dark and you know it’s a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New York’s not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You can’t count how many times you’ve heard the same story. A man followed me home, saw me across the street, tried to get into my apartment, but Spider-Man saved me.
You’re not naive, you realise the danger of walking around without protection assuming some stranger in a mask will save you, but you need to get out of the house. It goes on for weeks.
You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you don’t really care. You’re not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and it’s fine, really, it’s okay, everything works out eventually. It’s not like it’s all because you miss Peter, it’s just a feeling. It’ll go away.
“You’re in deep thought,” a voice says, garnering a huge flinch from the depths of your stomach.
You turn around, turn back, and flinch again at the sight of a man a few paces ahead. Red shoulders and legs, black shining in a webbed lattice across his chest. “Oh,” you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, “sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? I scared you.”
“I didn’t realise you were there.”
Spider-Man doesn’t come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. You’ve never met before but you’d like to see him up close, and you aren’t scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival.
“Can I walk you to where you’re going?” Spider-Man asks you. He’s humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot.
“How do I know you’re the real Spider-Man?”
After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldn’t want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible.
You can’t be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. “What do you need me to do to prove it?” he asks.
He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. “I don’t know. What’s Spider-Man exclusive?”
“I can show you the webs?”
You pull your handbag further up your arm. “Okay, sure. Shoot something.”
Spider-Man aims his hand at the streetlight across the way and shoots it. He makes a severing motion with his wrist to stop from getting pulled along by it, letting the web fall like an alien tendril from the bulb. The light it produces dims slightly. A chill rides your spine.
“Can I walk you now?” he asks.
“You don’t have more important things to do?” If the bitterness you’re feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesn’t react.
“Nothing more important than you.”
You laugh despite yourself. “I’m going to Trader Joe’s.”
“Yellowstone Boulevard?”
“That’s the one…”
You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. It’s a short walk. Trader Joe’s will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and you’re in no hurry. “My friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.”
“And you’re going just for him?” Spider-Man asks.
“Not really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.”
“Do you always walk around by yourself? It’s late. It’s dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,” he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match.
“I like walking,” you say.
Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, he’s running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. You’re having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man you’re walking beside now.
”Is everything okay?” he asks. “You seem sad.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Maybe I am sad,” you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joe’s already in view. It really is a short walk. “Do you ever–” You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, “Do you ever feel like you’re alone?”
“I’m not alone,” he says carefully.
“Me neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.”
He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking you’re being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world,” he says. “Even here. I forget that it’s not something I invented.”
“Well, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?” You smile sympathetically. “It must be hard.”
“Yeah.” His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then there’s a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. “I’ll come back,” he says.
“That’s okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.”
He sprints away. In half a second he’s up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away.
You buy Peter’s chips at Trader Joe’s and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesn’t come back.
—
I don’t want to study today, Peter’s text says the next day. Come over and watch movies?
The last handholds of your fugue are washed away in the shower. You dab moisturiser onto your face and neck and stand by the open window to help it dry faster, taking in the light drizzle of rain, the smell of it filling your room and your lungs in cold gales. You dress in sweatpants and a hoodie, throw on your coat, and stuff the rolled tortilla chips into a backpack to ferry across the neighbourhood.
Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. You’d been in awe of it when you were younger, Peter and his Aunt and Uncle, their home-cooked family dinners, nights spent on the roof trying to find constellations through light pollution, stretched out together while it was warm enough to soak in your small rebellion. Ben would call you both down eventually. When you’re older! he’d always promise.
Peter’s waiting in the open door for you. He ushers you inside excitedly, stripping you out of your coat and forgetting your wet shoes as he drags you to the kitchen. “Look what I got,” he says.
The Parker kitchen is a big, bright space with a chopping block island. The counters are crowded by pots, pans, spices, jams, coffee grounds, the impossible drying rack. There’s a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida.
You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven you’ve eaten from a hundred times. “There,” he says.
“Did you cook?” you ask.
“Of course I didn’t cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. I’m an excellent chef.”
“The only thing May’s ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Hope you like marinara,” he says, nudging you toward the stove.
You take the lid off of the Dutch oven to unveil a huge cake. Dripping with frosting, only slightly squashed by the lid, obviously homemade. He’s dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries.
“It’s for you,” he says casually.
“It’s not my birthday.”
“I know. You like cake though, don’t you?”
You’d tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. “Why’d you make me a cake?”
“I felt like you deserved a cake. You don’t want it?”
“No, I want it! I want the cake, let’s have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, it’ll be amazing.” You don’t bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. “Thank you, Peter. It’s awesome. I had no idea you could even– that you’d even–” You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. “Wow.”
“Wow,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. “You’re welcome. I would’ve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.”
“It must’ve taken hours.”
“May helped.”
“That makes much more sense.”
“Don’t be insolent.” Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesn’t let go for a really long time.
He extracts the cake from the depths of the Dutch oven and cuts you both a slice. He already has ice cream, a Neapolitan box that he cuts into with a serrated knife so you can each have a slice of all three flavours. It’s good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.
“Sit down,” he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. “Remote’s by you. I’m gonna get drinks.”
You take your plate, carving into the cake with the end of a warped spoon, its handle stamped PETE and burnished in your grasp. The crumb is soft but dense in the best way. The ganache between layers is loose, cake wet with it, and the frosting is perfect, just messy. You take another satisfied bite. You’re halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back.
“I brought you something too, but it’s garbage compared to this,” you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth.
Peter laughs at you. “Yeah, well, say it, don’t spray it.”
“I guess I’ll keep it.”
“Keep it, bub, I don’t need anything from you.”
He doesn’t say it the way you’re expecting. “No,” you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, “you can have it. S’just a bag of chips from Trader–”
“The rolled tortilla chips?” he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. “You really are the best friend ever.”
“Better than Harry?”
“Harry’s rich,” Peter says, “so no. I’m kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.”
“Eat your own.”
Peter plays a great host, letting you choose the movies, making lunch, ordering takeout in the evening and refusing to let you pay for it. This isn’t that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesn’t check his phone, the tension you couldn’t name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. You’re flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You won’t look a gift horse in the mouth; you won’t question what it is that had Peter keeping you at arm’s length now it’s gone.
To your annoyance, you can’t stop thinking about Spider-Man. You keep opening your mouth to tell Peter you talked to him but biting your tongue. Why am I keeping it a secret? you wonder.
“Have something to tell you.”
“You do?” you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw.
“Is that surprising?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“No. Just. I’ve been not telling you something.”
“Okay, so tell me.”
Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. “Me and Gwen, we’re really done.”
“I know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.” Your stomach pangs painfully. “Unless you…”
“She’s going to England.”
“She is?”
“Oxford.”
You struggle to sit up. “That sucks, Peter. I’m sorry.”
“But?”
You find your words carefully. “You and Gwen really liked each other, but I think that–” You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. “That there’s always been some part of you that couldn’t actually commit to her. So. I don’t know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe it’ll break your heart, but at least then you’ll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.” You avoid telling him to move on.
“It wasn’t Gwen,” he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you.
“Obviously, she’s the smartest girl I’ve ever met. She’s beautiful. Of course it’s not her fault,” you say, teasing.
“Really, that you ever met?” Peter asks.
“She’s the best girl you were ever gonna land.“
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.” After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, “I think we were done before. I just hadn’t figured it out yet. Something wasn’t right.”
“You were so back and forth. You’re not mean, there must’ve been something stopping you from going steady,” you agree. “You were breaking up every other week.”
“I know,” he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch.
“Which, it’s fine, you don’t–” You grimace. “I can’t talk today. Sorry. I just mean that it’s alright that you never made it work.” You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, “Doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re never a bad person, Peter.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You don’t need me to tell you.”
“It’s nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.”
You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I should’ve said it the moment I got home.
Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips.
Good, because I have so much I’m keeping to myself.
You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned.
—
He visits with a whoop. You don’t flinch when he lands —you’d heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby.
“Spider-Man,” you say.
“What’s that about?”
“What?”
“The way you said that. You laughed.” Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. He’s got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but it’s not as though each of his fights are bloodless. They’re infamously gory on occasion.
“Did you get hurt?” you ask. You’re worried. You could help him, if he needs it.
“Aw, this? That’s a scratch. That’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.”
You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and it’s not like you and Peter made it up, but suddenly, the man in front of you is Peter. The way he says it, that unique rhythm.
Peter’s not so rough-voiced, you argue with yourself. Your Peter speaks in a higher register, dulcet often, only occasionally sarcastic. Spider-Man is rough, and cawing, and loud. Spider-Man acts as though the ground is a suggestion. Peter can’t jump off the second diving board at the pool. Spider-Man rolls his shoulders back in front of you with a confidence Peter rarely has.
“What?” he asks.
“Sorry. You just reminded me of someone.”
His voice falls deeper still. “Someone handsome, I hope.”
You take a small step around him, hoping it invites him to walk along while communicating how sorely you want to leave the subject behind. When he doesn’t follow, you add, “Yes, he’s handsome.”
“I knew it.”
“What do you look like under the mask?”
Spider-Man laughs boisterously. “I can’t just tell you that.”
“No? Do I have to earn it?”
“It’s not like that. I just don’t tell anyone, ever.”
“Nobody in the whole world?” you ask.
The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps that’s all November’s are destined to be. You and Spider-Man stick to the inside of the sidewalk. Occasionally, a passerby stares at him, or calls out in Hello, and Spider-Man waves but doesn’t part from you.
“Tell me something about you and I’ll tell you something about me,” Spider-Man says. “I’ll tell you who knows my identity.”
“What do you want to know about me?” you ask, surprised.
“A secret. That’s fair.”
“Hold on, how’s that fair?” You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. “What use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesn’t bring me any closer to the truth.”
“It’s not about who knows, it’s about why I told them.” Spider-Man slips around you, forcing you to walk on the inside of the sidewalk as a car pulls past you all too quickly and sends a sheet of dirty rainwater up Spider-Man’s side. He shakes himself off. “Jerk!” he shouts after the car.
“My secrets aren’t worth anything.”
“I doubt that, but if that’s true, that makes it a fair trade, doesn’t it?”
He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, “Alright, useless secret for a useless secret.”
You think about all your secrets. Some are odd, some gross. Some might make the people around you think less of you, while others would surely paint you in a nice light. A topaz sort of technicolor. But they aren’t useless, then, so you move on.
“Oh, I know. I hate my major.” You grin at Spider-Man. “That’s a good one, right? No one else knows about that.”
“You do?” Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy.
“I like science, I just hate math. It’s harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.”
Spider-Man doesn’t drag the knife. “Okay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.” He clears his throat. “I told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. I’m trying really hard not to tell anybody else.”
“How come?”
“It just hurts people.”
You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road.
“Tell me another one,” he says.
“What for?”
“I don’t know, just tell me one.”
“How do I know you aren’t extorting me for something?” You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. “You’ll know my face and my secrets and even if you tell me a really gory juicy one, I have no one to tell and no name to pair it with.”
“I’m not showing you anything,” he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street.
Peter’s shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesn’t ask for secrets. He doesn’t have to. (Or, he didn’t have to, once upon a time.)
“Where are you going?” Spider-Man asks.
“Oh, nowhere.”
“Seriously, you’re out here walking again for no reason?”
“I like to walk. It’s not like it’s dark out yet.” You’re not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden —Flushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. “Walk me to Kissena?” you ask.
“Sure, for that secret.”
You laugh as Spider-Man takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. It’s exciting that Spider-Man of all people wants to know one of your useless secrets enough to ask you twice. The attention of it makes searching for one a matter of how fast you can find one rather than a question of why you’d want to. It slips out before you can think better of it.
“I burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,” you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. “It blistered and I cried when I did it, but I haven’t told anyone about it.”
“Why not?” he asks.
He shouldn’t use that tone with you, like he’s so so sorry. It makes you want to really tell him everything. How insecure you feel, how telling things feels like asking for someone to care, and half the time they don’t, and half the time you’re embarrassed.
You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. “I didn’t think about it at first. I’m used to keeping things to myself. And then I didn’t tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldn’t make sense. Like, bringing it up when it’s a scar won’t do much.” It’s a weak lie. It comes out like a spigot to a drying up tree. Glugs, fat beads of sound and the pull to find another thing to say.
“It was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.”
“Maybe I’ll tell someone tomorrow,” you say, though you won’t.
“Thanks for telling me.”
The humour in spilling a secret like that to a superhero stops you from feeling sorry for yourself. You hide your cold fingers in your coat, rubbing the stiff skin of your knuckles into the lining for friction-heat. The rain has let up, wind whipping empty but brisk against your cheeks. Your lips will be chapped when you get home, whenever that turns out to be.
“This is pretty far from Trader Joe’s,” he comments, like he’s read your mind.
“Just an hour.”
“Are you kidding? It’s an hour for me.”
“That’s not true, Spider-Man, I’ve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,” —you try to meet his eyes despite the mask— “my heart in my throat. Weren’t you scared?”
“Is that the secret you want?” he asks.
“I get to choose?”
Spider-Man throws his gaze around, his hand behind his head like he might play with his hair. You come to a natural stop across the street from Kissena Park’s playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame.
“If you want to,” he says.
“Then yeah, I want to know if you were scared.”
“I didn’t haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?” He shifts from one foot to the other. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it before. I wasn’t scared of the height, if that’s what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didn’t have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.”
“When they lined up the cranes–”
“It felt like flying,” Spider-Man interrupts.
“Like flying.”
You picture the weightlessness, the adrenaline, the catch of your weight so high up and the pressure of being flung between the next point. The idea that you have to just do something, so you do.
“That’s a good secret.” You offer a grateful smile. “It doesn’t feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.”
“So tell me another one,” he says.
—
Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where you’d text him and he’d ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasn’t that you couldn’t like him, angry as he was; there’s always been something about his eyes when he’s upset that sticks around. You loathe to see him sad but he really is pretty, and when his eyelashes are wet and his mouth is turned down, formidable, it’s an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other.
It was after. When he started sending Gwen weird smiles and showing up to the movies exhilarated, out of breath, unwilling to tell you where he’d been. Skating, he’d always say. Most of the time he didn’t have his skateboard.
You’d only seen them kiss once, his hand on her shoulder curling her in, a pang of heat. You were curdled by jealousy but it was more than that. Peter was tipping her head back, was kissing her soundly, a fierceness from him that made you sick to think about. You spent weeks afterwards up at night, tossing, turning, wishing he’d kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person.
You’d always held out for Peter, in a way. It was more important to you that he be your friend. You were young, and love had been a far off thing, and then one day you suddenly wanted it. You learned just how aching an unrequited love could be, like a bruise, where every time you saw Peter —whether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyone— it was like he knew exactly where to poke the bruise. Press the heel of his hand and push. The worst is when he found himself affectionate with you, a quick clasp of your cheek in his palm as he said goodbye. Nights spent in his twin bed, of course you’ll fit, of course you couldn’t go home, not this late, May won’t care if we keep the door open —the suggestion that the door being closed might’ve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you.
Now you’re nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasn’t tried to stop her, but he’s still busy.
“Whatever,“ you say, taking a deep breath. You’re not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time won’t change a thing. “It’s fine.”
“I’d hope so.”
You swing around. “Don’t do that!”
Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. “I called out.”
“You did?”
“I did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesn’t know how to get a goddamn taxi!”
“I like to walk,” you say.
“Yeah, so you’ve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? It’s freezing out, Miss Bennett!”
“It’s not that bad.” You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. “I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong with staying at home?”
“That’s not good for you. And you’re one to talk, Spider-Man, aren’t you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.”
“I don’t do this every night.”
“Don’t you get tired?”
Spider-Man’s eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. “No, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?”
“I don’t know. You’re in a full suit, I can’t tell. I guess you don’t… seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.”
“Want me to do one?”
“On command?” You laugh. “No, that’s okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.”
“So where are you heading today?” he asks.
There’s a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. You’re surprised he can’t feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. “I can see your stubble.”
He yanks his mask down. “Hasty getaway.”
“A getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, that’s not very gentlemanly.”
You start to walk toward the Cinemart. Spider-Man, to your strange pleasure, follows. He walks with considerable casualness down the sidewalk by your left, occasionally letting his head turn to chase a distant sound where it echoes from between high-rises and along the busy street. It’s cold and dark, but New York is hectic no matter what, even the residential areas. (Is there such a thing? The neighbourhoods burst with small businesses and backstreet sales, no matter the time.)
“Luckily for you, crime is slow tonight,” he says.
“Lucky me?” You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. “You realise I’ve managed to get everywhere I’m going for the last two decades without help?”
“I assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.”
“That’s what you think. I was a super independent toddler.”
Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. “Sure you were.”
“Is there a reason you’re escorting me, Spider-Man?” you ask.
“No. I– I recognised you, I thought I’d say hi.”
“Hi, Spider-Man.”
“Hi.”
“Can I ask you something? Do you work?”
Spider-Man stammers again, “I– yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.”
“I was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.” You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. “I couldn’t do what you do.”
“Yeah, you could.”
He sounds sure.
“How would you know?” you ask. “Maybe I’m awful when you’re not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.”
“No, you don’t. You’re not awful. Don’t ask me how I know, ‘cos I just know.”
You try not to look at him. If you look at him, you’re gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. “Well, tonight I’m going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said he’d buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Benny’s. Have you tried that?”
Spider-Man takes a big step. “Tonight?” he asks.
“Yep, tonight. That’s where I’m going, the Cinemart.” You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. “Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna throw up.”
“I can hear– something. Someone’s crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?” He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. “Bye!” he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof.
Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. He’s lithe.
Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than you’d agreed to meet.
“Sorry!” he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. “God, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. You should beat me up. I’m sorry.”
“What the fuck happened?” you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. “You’re sweating like crazy, your hair’s wet.”
“I ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Don’t answer that. Fuck, do we have time?”
You usher Peter inside. He pays for the tickets with hands shaking and you attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve. “You could’ve called me,” you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, “we could’ve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?”
“Forget about my favourite girl? How could I?” He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. “Now shh,” he whispers, “find the seats, don’t miss the trailers. You love them.”
“You love them–”
“I’ll get popcorn,” he promises, letting the door close between you.
You’re tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle.
You turn away and rush to find your seats. Hopefully, the popcorn line is ten blocks long, and he spends the night punished for his wrongdoing. My favourite girl. You laugh nervously into your hand.
—
Winter
Spider-Man finds you at least once a week for the next few weeks. He even brings you an umbrella one time, stars on the handle, asking you rather politely to go home. He offers to buy you a hot dog as you’re walking past the stand, takes you on a shortcut to the convenience store, and helps you get a piece of gum off of your shoe with a leaf and a scared scream. He’s friendly, and you’re getting used to his company.
One night, you’re almost home from Trader Joe’s, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, “Hey! Running girl! Wait a second!”
Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You don’t know his name, but Spider-Man’s a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.
He jogs toward you.
You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you.
“Hey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?”
You blink as fat rain lands on your face.
“You okay?” Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. It’s sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s go,” —he takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside him— “it’s freezing!”
“Peter–”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Peter, what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building.
Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly.
“I wanted to see you. Is that allowed?”
“No.”
Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. “No?” he asks, a hair’s width from murmuring.
“Shit, my groceries are soaked.”
“It’s all snacks, it’s fine,” he says, pulling you to the stairs.
You rush up the steps together to your floor. Peter takes your key when you offer it, your own fingers too stiff to manage it by yourself, and he holds the door open for you again to let you in.
Your apartment is a ragtag assortment to match the one next door, old wooden furniture wheeled from the street corners they were left on, thrifted homeward and heavy blankets everywhere you look. You almost slip getting out of your shoes. Peter steadies you with a firm hand. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook, prying the damp hoodie over his head and exposing a solid length of back that trips your heart as you do the same.
“Sorry I didn’t ask,” Peter says.
“What, to come over? It’s fine. I like you being here, you know that.”
All your favourite days were spent here or at Peter’s house, in beds, on sofas, his hair tickling your neck as credits run down the TV and his breath evens to a light snore. You try to settle down with him, changing into dry clothes, his spare stuff left at the bottom of your wardrobe for his next inevitable impromptu visit. You turn on the TV, letting him gather you into his side with more familiarity than ever. Rain lays its fingertips on your window and draws lazy lines behind half-turned blinds. You rest on the arm and watch Peter watch the movie, answering his occasional, “You okay?” with a meagre nod.
“What’s wrong?” he asks eventually. “You’re so quiet.”
Your hand over your mouth, you part your marriage and pinky finger, marriage at the corner, pinky pressed to your bottom lip, the flesh chapped by a season of frigid winds and long walks. “‘M thinking,” you say.
“About?”
About the first night in your new apartment. You got the apartment a couple of weeks before the start of ESU. Not particularly close to the university but close to Peter, your best, nicest friend. You met in your second year of High School, before Peter got contacts, ‘cos he was good at taking photographs and you were in charge of the school newspapers media sourcing. You used to wait for Peter to show up ten minutes late like clockwork, every week. And every week he’d barge into the club room and say, “Fuck, I’m sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,” until it turned into its own joke.
Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited.
“Fuck,” he’d said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, “sorry. My last class is on–”
But he didn’t finish. You’d laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasn’t about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you.
But Peter’s been distant for a while now, because Peter’s Spider-Man.
“Do you remember,” you say, not willing to share the whole truth, “when you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?”
“So you didn’t need me,” he says.
“I was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.”
Peter holds your gaze. “Is that really what you were thinking about?”
“Just funny,” you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. “So much has changed.”
“Not that much.”
“Not for me, no.”
Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. He’s found a crack in you and he’s gonna smooth it over until you feel better. You’re expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but you’re not expecting the way he pulls you in —you’d slipped away from him as the evening went on, but Peter erases every millimetre of space as he slides his arm under your lower back and ushers you into his side. You hold your breath as he hugs you, as he looks down at you. It’s really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. He’s never looked at you like this before.
“I don’t want you to change,” he whispers.
“I want to catch up with you,” you whisper back.
“Catch up with me? We’re in the exact same place, aren’t we?”
“I don’t know, are we?”
Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. “Of course we are.”
Peter… What is he doing?
You let yourself relax against him.
“You do change,” he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, “you change every day, but you don’t need to try.”
“I just… feel like everyone around me is…” You shake your head. “Everyone’s so smart, and they know what they’re doing, or they’re– they’re special. I don’t know anything. So I guess lately I’ve been thinking about that, and then you–”
“What?”
You can say it out loud. You could.
“Peter, you’re…”
“I’m what?” he asks.
His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again.
If you're wrong, he’ll laugh. And if you’re right, he might– might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like it’s gonna put you to sleep.
He’s Spider-Man.
It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course it’s Peter. It explains so much about him, about Peter and Spider-Man both. Why Peter is suddenly firmer, lighter on his feet, why he can help you move a wardrobe up two flights of stairs without complaint; why Spider-Man is so kind to you, why he knows where to find you, why he rolls his words around just like Pete.
Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesn’t tell you much, but you trust him.
You won’t make him say anything, you decide. Not now.
You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter.
“I was thinking about you,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“You’re quieter lately. I know you’re having a hard time right now, okay? You don’t have to tell me. I’m here for you whenever you need me.”
“Yeah?” you ask.
“You used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldn’t be home to make sure I wasn’t alone.” Peter’s breath is warm on your forehead. “I don’t know what you’re worried about being, but I’m with you,” he says, “‘n nothing is gonna change that.”
Peter isn’t as far away as you thought.
“Thank you,” you say.
He kisses your forehead softly. Your whole world goes amber. He brings his hand to your cheek, the thought of him tipping your head back sudden and heart-racing, but Peter only holds you. You lose count of how many minutes you spend cupped in his hand.
“Can I stay over tonight?” he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain.
“Yeah, please.”
His thumb strokes your cheek.
—
Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as you’ve craved, and Spider-Man disappears.
He’s alive and well, as evidenced by Peter’s continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesn’t drop in on your nightly walks.
You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peter’s increasing affection, but now that you know he’s Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you would’ve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know he’d do to you. After all, he’s been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parker’s ears.
You find it hard to be angry with him. A thread of it remains whenever you remember his deception, but mostly you worry about him. Peter’s out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesn’t seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connors’ and got that huge gash in his leg. His leg is soiled deep red with blood but banded in white webbing. He limps as he races across a rooftop, the recording shaky yet high definition.
It’s not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what he’d said, how he wasn’t scared, but not being scared doesn’t mean he wasn’t hurting.
You chew the tip of a finger and click on a different video. Your computer monitor bears heat, the tower whirring by your thigh. Your eyes burn, another hour sitting in the same seat, sick with worry. You don’t mind when Peter doesn’t answer your texts anymore. You didn’t mind so much before, just terrified of becoming an irrelevance in his life and lonely, too, maybe a little hurt, but never worried for his safety. Now when Peter doesn’t text you back you convince yourself that he’s been hurt, or that he’s swinging across New York City about to risk his life.
It’s not a good way to live. You can’t stop giving into it, is all.
In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesn’t lift his mask, seemingly aware of his watcher. You laugh as he angles his head down, suspicion in his tight shoulders. He relaxes when he sees whoever it is recording.
“Hey,” he says, “you all right?”
“Should you be up there?” the person recording shouts.
“I’m fine up here!”
“Are you really Spider-Man?”
“Sure am.”
“Are you single?”
Peter laughs like crazy. How you didn’t know it was him before is a mystery —it couldn’t sound more like him. “I’ve got my eye on someone!” he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when he’s Spider-Man lost to a good mood.
Your phone rings in the back pocket of your jeans. You wriggle it out, nonplussed to find Peter himself on your screen. You click the green answer button.
“Hello?” Peter asks.
You bring the phone snug to your ear. “Hey, Peter.”
“Hi, are you busy?”
“Not really.”
“Do you wanna come over? I know it’s late. Come stay the night and tomorrow we’ll go out for breakfast.”
“Is Aunt May okay with that?”
“She’s staring at me right now shaking her head, but I’m in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?”
“She’s always allowed as long as you keep the door open.”
You laugh under your breath at May’s begrudging answer. “Are you sure she’s alright with it?” you ask softly. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You never, ever could be. I’m coming to your place and we’ll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?”
“Not yet, but–”
“Okay, I’ll make you something when you get here. I’ll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?”
“I have to shower first.”
“Twenty five?”
You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing you’re not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. “How about I’ll see you at seven?”
“It’s a date,” he says.
“Mm, put it in your calendar, Parker.”
—
Peter waits for you at the door like he promised. He frowns at your still-wet face as he slips your backpack from your shoulder, throwing it over his own. “You’re gonna get sick.”
“I‘ll dry fast,” you say. “I took too long finding my pyjamas.”
“I have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.” Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. “I would’ve waited,” he says.
“It’s fine.“
“It’s not fine. Are you cold?”
“Pete, it’s fine.”
“You always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,” he laughs, “super stern.”
“I’m not stern. Look, take me home, please, I’m cold.”
“You said it wasn’t cold!”
“It’s not, I’m just damp–” Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. “Handsy!”
“You like it,” he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments.
“I don’t like it,” you lie.
“Okay, you don’t like it, and I’m sorry.” Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. “Now let’s go. I gotta feed you before midnight.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Apparently, nothing is.”
Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, you’ve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands.
“I see Peter hasn’t won this argument yet,” you say in way of greeting. Peter’s desperate to do his own laundry now he’s getting older. May won’t let him.
“No, he hasn’t.” She looks you up and down. “It’s nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me you’ve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Can’t you buy a treadmill?” she asks.
“May!” Peter says, startled.
“I like walking, I like the air,” you say.
“Can’t exactly call it fresh,” May says.
“No, but it’s alright. It helps me think.”
“Is everything okay?” May asks, putting her hand on her hip.
“Of course.” You smile at her genuinely. “I think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I don’t know what Peter told you, but I’m not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.”
She softens her disapproving. “Good, honey. That’s good. Peter’s gonna make you some dinner now, right?”
“Yeah, Aunt May, I’m gonna make dinner,” Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes.
Peter shouldn’t really know that you’ve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joe’s or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you haven’t mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. That’s information he wouldn’t know without Spider-Man.
He seems to be hoping you won’t realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that he’s about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. “Warm up,” he says near the back of your head, forcing a wave of shivers down your arms.
He makes soup in one pan, grilled cheese in the other, two for him and two for you. Peter’s a good eater, and he encourages the same from you, setting a big bowl of tomato soup (from the can, splash of fresh cream) down in front of you with the grilled cheese on a plate between you. You eat it in too-hot bites and try not to get caught looking at him. He does the same, but when he catches you, or when you catch him, he holds your eye and smiles.
“I can do the dishes,” you say. You might need a breather.
“Are you kidding? I’m gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.” Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. “Warmer. Good job.”
You shrug away from his hand. “Loser.”
“Concerned friend.”
“Handsy loser.”
”Shut up,” he mumbles.
As flustered as you’ve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When he’s done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed.
You look down at your socks. Peter’s room is on the smaller side, but it’s never been as startlingly small as it is when Peter’s socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy.
“There’s chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,” he says.
You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think you’re in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. “I’m all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go ’cos you think I do then I’m fine.”
“That’s such a long answer,” he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. “You don’t have to say all of that, just tell me no.”
“I don’t want ice cream.”
“Wasn’t that easy?” he asks.
“Well, no, it wasn’t. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.”
“Because I’m adorable?”
“Persistent.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.” He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands.
“Peter…?” you murmur.
“What?” he murmurs back.
You touch a knuckle to his chest. “This– You…” Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once —Peter doesn’t like you as you desire, how could he, you aren’t beautiful like he is, aren’t smart, aren’t brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. It’s why his being with Gwen didn’t hurt; she made sense. And for months now you’ve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But it’s not you, it’s never you, and whatever Peter’s trying to do now–
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, taking your face into his hand.
“What are you doing?”
“What?” He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. “I can’t hear you.”
You raise your voice. “Why did you invite me over tonight?”
“‘Cos I missed you?”
“I used to think you didn’t miss me at all.”
Peter winces, hurt. “How could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? It’s like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.”
You bite the inside of your bottom lip. “…College isn’t hard for you.”
“It’s not easy.” He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. “What’s wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?”
You’re being wretched, you know, saying it isn’t hard for him. “You didn’t. Really, you didn’t.”
“But why are you upset?” he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.
“I’m not–”
“You are. It’s okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?” He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. “Even if it takes a long time.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“How would you know?” you finally ask.
Peter stares at you.
“I know you,” he says carefully, “and I know you aren’t struggling like you were, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.”
“I didn’t realise that I was,” you say, licking your lips, “‘til now. I didn’t get that it was on the surface.”
Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. “I’m here for you forever, and I’ll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,” he says, scrunching your shirt in his hand.
After the hug, he tells you to change and make yourself comfortable while he showers. So you put on your pyjamas and climb into Peter’s bed, head pounding as though all your energy was stolen in a fell swoop. You press your nose to his pillow and arm wrapped around his comforter, gathering it into a Peter sized lump. The shower pump whines against the shared wall.
Things aren’t meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you —holding you— was the deepest of your desires, but you feel now exactly as you had before he started blurring the line, needing Peter to kiss you so badly it becomes its own kind of nausea. Why are you still acting like it’s an impossibility?
When he comes back, you’ll apologise. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but don’t you keep one too? He’s Spider-Man. You’ve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept.
You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.
Peter returns as perturbed as earlier.
“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck.
“I’m sorry for being weird.”
“You’re not weird,” Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly.
“It’s just ‘cos things have been different between us.” And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because you’re not just Peter anymore, you’re Spider-Man. I’m only me, and I can’t do anything to protect you.
Peter gives his hair a long scrub before draping the towel on his desk chair. He rakes it messily into place and sits himself at the end of the bed. You sit up.
“Yeah, they have been. Good different?” he asks hesitantly.
“I think so,” you say, quiet again.
“That’s what I thought.”
“I don’t want you to feel like I don’t want to be here. I just worry about you.”
Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, “Jesus, please don’t. That’s the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.”
You curl into the lump of comforter you’d made. Peter lets himself rest beside you, his back to the bedroom wall, tens of Polaroids above him shining with the light of the hallway and his orange-bulbed lamp. His skin is glowing like it’s golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupid’s bow deep. How would it feel to lean forward and kiss him? To catch his Cupid's bow under your lips?
You brush a damp curl tangled in another onto his forehead.
You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs.
“Am I going too fast?” Peter murmurs.
You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely.
“Is it something else?”
You don’t move.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.
“No.”
Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. “Alright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. You’re still cold.”
You resent the loss of a shape to hold when Peter slips down beside you and wrangles the comforter flat again, spreading it out over you both, his hand under the blankets. His knuckles brush your thigh.
He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, “Is this alright?”
“Yeah.”
He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. “Please don’t take this in a way that I don’t mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry you’re gonna get stuck in your head forever.”
“I like thinking.”
“I hate it,” he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, “we should never do it ever again.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Would you? For me?”
You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good. I’d miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.”
You relax under his arm. You aren’t sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. “I’d miss you too.”
May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. He’s holding your arm, and you’re snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms.
“Door open,” she says.
“Not that either of us want it closed, May, but we’re adults.”
“Not while I’m still washing your clothes, you’re not.”
He snorts. “Goodnight, Aunt May. The door isn’t gonna close, I promise.”
“I know that,” she says, scornful in her pride. “You’re a good boy.” She lightens. “Things are going okay?”
Peter covers your ear. “Goodnight, Aunt May.”
”I have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I can’t ask a simple question?”
“I love you,” Peter sing-songs.
“I love you, Peter,” she says. “Don’t smother the girl.”
“I won’t smother her. It’s in my best interest that she survives the night. She’s buying my breakfast tomorrow.”
“Peter Parker.”
“I’m kidding,” he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. “Just messing with you, May.”
You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers.
—
To your surprise, Spider-Man comes to find you after class one evening. A guest lecturer had talked to your oncology class about click chemistry and other molecular therapies against cancer, and the zine book she’d given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it.
You pull it out and pause beside a bench and a silver trash can, the day grey but thankfully without rain. The pages of your little book whip forcefully in the wind. It’s chemistry, sure, but it’s biology too, wrapping your and Peter’s interests up neatly. If it weren’t for Peter you doubt you’d love science as much as you do. He’s always been good at it, but since you started college he's been a genius. Watching him grow has encouraged you to work harder, and understanding the material is satisfying, if draining. You take a photo of the middle most pages and tuck the book away, writing a quick text to Peter to send with it.
Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!!
The moment you press send a beep chimes from somewhere close behind you, all too familiar. You turn to the source but find nobody you know waiting. Coincidence, you think, shaking yourself and beginning the trek to the subway.
But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Man’s webbing.
You wait until you’re at the alleyway between Porto’s Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters.
“Spider-Man?” you ask, shoulders tensed in case it’s not who you think.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
You gasp as he hops down in front of you, his suit shiny with its dark web-pattern caught by the grey sunshine passing through the clouds overhead. “Shit, don’t break your ankles.”
“My ankles?” He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you don’t know; what a fool you’d been for falling for his put upon tenor. “They’re fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?”
“You just dropped down twenty feet!”
“It’s more like thirty, and I’m fine. You understand the super part of superhero, don’t you?”
“Who said you’re a superhero?”
“Nice. What are you doing down here?”
“I was testing my theory. You’re following me.”
“No, I’m visiting you, it’s very different,” he says confidently.
“You haven’t come to see me for weeks.”
“Yes, well, I–” Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. “Hey, you’re the one who told me to take a day off.”
“I did tell you to take a day off. It’s not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. That’s a lot of responsibility for one person to have.”
“But it’s my responsibility,” he says easily. “No point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I don’t mind it.”
“Do you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?” you ask, cheeks hot.
“No,” he says, fondness evident even through the mask, “just you.”
“Do you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but it’s not that far.”
Spider-Man nods. “Yeah, I’ll walk you back.”
He doesn’t hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You can’t believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he can’t pretend to save his life.
“Are you having a good semester?” he asks.
“It’s getting better. I’m glad I stuck with it. I love biology, it’s so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, it’s not something everyone understands.” You give him a look, and you give into temptation. “My best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.”
“It’s definitely for dorks.”
“Right, but I love being one.” You offer a useless secret. “I like to think that it’s why we’re such great friends.”
“Me and you?” Spider-Man asks hoarsely.
“Me and Peter.” You elbow him without force. “Why, do you like science?”
“I love it…”
“You know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like we’ve been friends for a long time.” You’re teasing poor Peter.
He doesn’t speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise he’s stopped, you turn back to see him.
Peter’s gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. It’s the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didn’t want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: you’d meant to wind him up, not make him panic.
“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Can you hear something?”
“No, it’s not that…” He’s masked, but you know him well enough to understand why he’s stopped.
“It’s okay,” you say.
“It’s not, actually.”
“Spider-Man.” You take a step toward him. “It’s fine.”
He presses his hands to his stomach. The sun is setting early, and in an hour, the dark will eat up New York and leave it in a blistering cold. “Do you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?”
“Yeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. It’s not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.”
“I know you were,” he says, emphasis on know, like it’s a different word entirely.
“But meeting you really helped. If it weren’t for you, for Peter,” —you give him a searching look— “I wouldn’t feel better at all.”
“It wasn’t his fault?” he asks. “He was your friend, and you were lonely.”
“No–”
“He didn’t know what was going on with you, he didn’t have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldn’t tell anybody, and I know it wasn’t an accident, so what was his excuse?” His voice burns with anger. “It’s his fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t your fault. Is that what you think?” You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. “Yes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I don’t know many people and I– I– I hurt myself, and it wasn’t as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?”
“Peter’s fault,” he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesn’t bother enthusing it with much gusto.
“Peter, none of it was your fault.” You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, don’t let me ruin this. “I was in a weird way, and yes, I was lonely, and I really liked you more than I should have. You didn't want me and that wasn’t your fault, that’s just how it was, I tried not to let it get to me, just there were a lot of things weighing on me at once, but it really wasn’t as bad as you think it was and it wasn’t your fault.”
“I wasn’t there for you,” he says. “And I’ve been lying to you for a long time.”
“You couldn’t tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.”
“…I didn’t even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.”
You hold your hands behind your back. “Well, he was a familiar one.”
Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms aren’t in his reach. “It’s not because I didn’t want you.”
“Peter,” you say, squirming.
He steps back.
“I have to go,” he says.
“What?”
“I have to– I don’t want to go,” he says earnestly, “sweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But I’ll come back, I’ll– I’ll come back,” he promises.
And with a sudden lift of his arm, Peter pulls himself up the side of a building and disappears, leaving you whiplashed on the sidewalk, the sun setting just out of view.
—
You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isn’t there. You check your phone but he hasn’t texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasn’t been seen.
You aren’t sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said he’d come back, but he didn’t, not ten minutes later, not twenty. You made excuses and you went home before it got too dark to see the street, sat on the couch rehearsing what you’d say. How could Peter think your unhappiness was his fault? Why does he always put the entire world on his shoulders?
Selfishly, you worried what it all meant for his lazy touches. Would he want to curl up into bed with you again now he knows what it means to you? It’s different for him. It isn’t like he’s in love with you… you’d just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache you’d suffered before.
But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time.
—
You and Peter found The Moroccan Mode in your senior year at Midtown. The school library was small and you were sick of being underfoot at home. When you started at ESU, you explored the on campus coffeehouse, the Coffee Bean, but it was crowded, and you’d found yourself attached to the Mode’s beautiful tiling, blues and topaz and platinum golds, its heavy, oiled wooden furniture, stained glass lampshades and the case full of lemony treats. The coffee here is better than anywhere else, but the best part out of everything is that it’s your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose.
You hide in a far corner with a book and an empty cup of decaf coffee, a slice of meskouta on the table untouched. Decaf because caffeine felt a terrible idea, meskouta untouched because you can’t stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. It’s served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest.
The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time you’ve seen it in months, warming rays kissing your fingers and lining the walls. You turn a page, turn your wrist, let the sun warm the scar you gave yourself those few months ago, when everything felt too big for you.
Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon you’ll be ready to talk about it.
The author in your book is talking about bees. They can fly up to 15 miles per hour. They make short, fast motions from front to back, a rocking motion. Asian giant hornets can go even faster despite their increased mass. They consider humans running provocation. If you see a giant hornet, you’re supposed to lay down to avoid being stung.
You put your face in your hand. Next year, you’ll avoid the insect-based electives.
Across the cafe, the bell at the top of the door rings. Laughter falls through it, a couple passing by. The register clashes open. A minute later it closes.
You don’t raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee.
“Did you eat breakfast?” Peter asks quietly.
His voice is gentle, but hoarse.
You tense.
“Are you okay?” he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. “You don’t look like yourself. Your eyes are red.”
You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur.
“What are you reading?” He frowns at you. “Please don’t cry.”
You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. “I’m okay.”
He nudges you across the booth seat and sits beside you. His arm settles behind your shoulders. He smells like smoke and soap, an acrid scent barely hidden. “Can you tell me you didn’t wait long for me?”
“Ten minutes,” you lie.
“Okay. I’m sorry. There was a fire.” He rubs your arm where he’s holding you. “I’m sorry.”
“Will you go half?” you ask, nodding to the sandwich he’s brought you. It’s tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. You’ve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating.
“I know you’re hungry,” you say, tapping his elbow, “just eat.”
You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peter’s here, you don’t feel so sick —he’s not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach won’t be ignored.
Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. You’ve never seen him stop before he’s done.
“It was in the apartments on Vernon. I– I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.”
You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. “Are you hurt?” you ask, coughing.
He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. “How long have you known it was me?” he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck.
You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. “The night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ‘running girl’. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,” —you whisper, weary of the quiet cafe— “Spider-Man, and I realised it’s him that sounds like you. That he is you.”
“Was that disappointing?”
“Peter, you’re, like, my favourite person in the world,” you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. “Why would that be disappointing?”
“I thought maybe you think he’s cooler than me.”
“He is cooler than you, Peter.” You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. “I guess you’re the same person, right? So he’s just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.”
“You flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.”
“Well, he flirted with me first.”
You chance a look at his face. From that moment you can’t look away, not from Peter. You like when he wears that darkness in his eyes, the hint of his rarer side so uncommonly seen, but you love this most of all, Peter like your best memory, the way he’s looking at you now a picture perfect copy of that moment in a swimming pool in Manhattan with cracked tile under your feet. His arms heavy on your shoulders. You didn’t get it then, but you’re starting to understand now.
“I’ve made a mess of everything,” he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. “I haven’t been honest with you.”
“I haven’t, either.”
“I want to ask you for something,” Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. “You can say no.”
“You’re hard to say no to.”
“I need you to talk to me more,” —and here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your space— “not just because I love your voice, or because you think so much I’m scared you’ll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.”
We do, you think morosely.
“It’s not your fault,” he adds, the hand that isn’t holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, “it’s mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldn’t have let it be a secret for so long.”
“No, I doubt they’re stupid,” you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. “It’s not easy to tell someone you’re a hero.”
His palm smells like smoke.
“That’s not the secret I meant,” he says.
You take his hand from your face. Peter looks down and begins pressing his fingers between yours, squeezing them together as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.
“So tell me.”
The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. “You want to trade secrets again?” he asks.
“Please.”
“Okay. Okay, but I don’t have as many as you do,” he warns.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I don’t. It’s not a real secret, is it? I’ve been trying to show you for weeks, we…”
He tilts his head invitingly.
All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isn’t a secret.
“I’ll go first,” he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks.” He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. “What’s your secret?”
“Sometime I want you to kiss me so badly I can’t sleep. It makes me feel sick–”
“Sick?” he asks worriedly.
You touch the tip of your nose to his. “It’s like– like jealousy, but…”
“You have no one to be jealous of,” he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, “Please, can I kiss you?”
You say, “Yes,” very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldn’t be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.
It isn’t the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesn’t hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. It’s so warm you don’t know what to make of him beyond kissing him back —kissing his smile, though it’s catching. Kissing the line of his Cupid’s bow as he leans down.
“I’m sorry about everything,” he mumbles, nose flattened against yours.
You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. It’s still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peter’s hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest.
Peter drops his hand. “Oh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didn’t snow, we’d be blind.”
“I can’t be cold much longer,” you confess. “I’m sick of the shitty weather.”
“I can keep you warm.”
He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown.
“Did you want my meskouta?” you ask.
Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow.
You let the sunshine warm your face. Two unfinished sandwich halves, a mouthful of coffee, and a round slice of meskouta, its flaky crumb and lemon drizzle shining on the table. You would ask Peter for his camera if you’d thought he brought it with him, to take a picture of your breakfast and the carved table underneath. You could turn it on Peter, say something cheesy. This is the moment you ruined our lives, you’d tease.
“You never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.”
You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. “They could make a novella of things I haven’t told you about,” you murmur wryly.
Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, we’ll work on that.
—
Spring
“Sorry!”
“No, it’s–”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m– shit!”
“–okay! All legs inside the ride?”
“I couldn’t find my purse–”
“You don’t need it!” Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. “You don’t have to rush.”
“Are you sure you can drive this thing?”
“Harry doesn’t mind.”
“I don’t mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?”
“That’s not funny.”
You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. “Nothing ever is with us.”
Peter grabs you behind the neck —which might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thing— and pulls you forward for a kiss you don’t have time for. “If we don’t check in,” —you begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lips— “by three, they said they won’t keep the room–” He clasps the back of your neck and smiles when your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes closed, kiss him fiercely, and pull away, hand on his chest to restrain him. “And then we’ll have to drive home like losers.”
Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. You’re rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. “Sorry, am I the one who lost her purse?”
“Peter!”
“I can’t make us un-late,” he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips.
“Alright,” you warn.
He reaches for your knee. “It’s a forty minute drive. You’re panicking over nothing.”
“It’s an hour.”
Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peter’s hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesn’t question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. There’s so much to do around Manhattan; you could visit MoMA, Central Park, The Empire State Building or Times Square, but you and Peter give it all a miss for the little known Manhattan Super 8.
It’s been a long time since you and Peter first visited. You took the bus out to Lenox Hill for a med-student tour neither of you particularly enjoyed, feeling out future careers. It’s not that Lenox Hill isn’t one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), it’s that all the blood made him queasy, and you were panicking too much about the future to think it through. He got over his aversion to blood but chose the less hands-on science in the end, and you worked things through. You’re a little less scared of the future everyday.
You and Peter were supposed to get the bus straight back home for a sleepover, but one got cancelled, another delayed, and night closed in like two hands on your neck. Peter sensed your fear and emptied his wallet for a night in the Super 8.
The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasn’t anything special but it was invitingly cool, blue and white tiles patterned like fish below; you clambered into the water in shorts and a tank top and Peter his boxers before a worker could see and stop you.
It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, he’d looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, you’re cute, and let you waste the afternoon recounting one of your more embarrassing pangs of longing. A few days later he told you to clear your calendar for the weekend, only spilling the beans on what he’d done when you’d curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me.
He’d hung his head over you and scrunched up his eyes. Cheater.
The best thing about having a boyfriend is that he always wants to listen to you. Peter was a good listener as a best friend, but now he has his act together and the secrets between you are never anything more than eating the last of the milk duds or not wanting to pee in front of him, he’s a treasure. There’s no feeling like having Peter pull you into his lap so he can ask about your day with his face buried in your neck, sniffing. Sometimes, when you text one another to meet up the next day, you’ll accidentally will the hours away babbling about school and life and things without reason. Peter has a list on his phone of your silliest tangents; blood oranges to the super moon, fries dipped in ice cream to the world record for kick flips done in five minutes. It’s like when you talk to one another, you can’t stop.
There are quiet moments. You wake up some mornings to find him awake already, an arm behind you, rubbing at your soft upper arm, fingertip displacing the fine hairs there and trailing circles as he reads. He bends the pages back and holds whatever novel he’s reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when you’re sleeping.
There are hectic, aching moments —vigilante boyfriends become blasé with their lives and precious faces. You’ve teetered on the edge of anxiety attacks trying to pick glass from his cheek with a tweezers, lamented over bruises that heal the next day. It’s easier when Peter’s careful, but Spider-Man isn’t careful. You ask him to take care of himself and he’s gentle with himself for a few days, but then someone needs saving from an armed burglar or a car swerves dangerously onto the sidewalk and he forgets.
He hadn’t patrolled last night in preparation for today.
“Did you know,” he says, pulling Harry’s borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, “that today’s the last day of spring?”
“Already?”
“Tonight’s the June equinox.”
“Who told you that?”
“Aunt May. She said it’s time to get a summer job.”
You laugh loudly. “Our federal loans won’t last forever.”
“Harry’s gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.”
You nod emphatically. It’s barely a thought. “Obviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?”
Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. “Better than the Bugle.”
You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. It’s not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. There’s a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel he’s ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain.
“There it is, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, “that’s what dreams are made of.”
The blue and white tiled pool. It hasn’t changed.
It’s about as hot as it’s going to get in June today, and, not knowing if it’ll rain tomorrow, you and Peter change into your swim suits and gather your towels. You wear flip flops and tangle your fingers, clanking and thumping down the rickety metal stairs to the pool. There’s nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes.
Peter eases in first. Towels in a heap at the end of a sun lounger, his shirt tumbling to the floor, Peter splashes in frontward and turns to face you as the water laps his ribs. “It’s cold,” he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs.
“I can feel it,” you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge.
“You won’t come in and warm me up?” he asks.
You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers.
“I’m trying to prepare myself.”
“Mm, you have to get used to it.” He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that he’d want one still makes you dizzy. “Thank you,” he says.
“You’ll have to move.”
Peter steps back, a ripple of water ringing behind him, his hands raised. He slips them with ease under your arms and helps you down into the water, laughing at your shocked giggling —he’s so strong, the water so cold.
Peter doesn’t often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. He’ll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when you’re on his side to force you sideways.
“Oh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!” he says.
“How will I run?” you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck.
Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that he’s precious with you, too. There’s devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. “I don’t need you to do a running start, sweetheart,” he says, tilting his head to the side, “I’ll just lift you.”
“Last time I laughed so much you dropped me.”
“Exactly, you laughed, and this is serious.”
The world isn’t mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8’s parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peter’s breath is half laughter as he pulls you further from the sidelines, ceramic tiles slippery under your feet. In the distance, you swear you can hear one of those songs he likes from that poor singer who died in the Wolf River.
He’s a beholden thing in the sun; you can’t not look at him, all of him, his sculpted chest wet and glinting in the sun, his eyes like browning honey, his smile curling up, and up.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
You rest an arm behind his head. “The rash guard is a good look?”
“Sweetheart, you couldn’t look cuter,” he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. “I wish you’d mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I would’ve prepared to be a more decent man.”
“You’re decent enough, Parker.”
“Maybe now.”
“Well, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,” you say.
You’re teasing, but Peter’s eyes light up with mischief as he calls, “Oh, great idea!” and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You can’t avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface.
He shakes himself off like a dog.
“Pete!” you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes.
“It just didn’t help,” he says, pulling you back into his arms, “you know, the water is cold, but you’re so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and you’re just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds ago–”
“Peter,” you say, tempted to roll your eyes.
Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile he’s sporting, they look like anything but tears. “Tell me a secret?” he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back.
A soft smile takes your lips. “No,” you say, tipping up your chin, “you tell me one first.”
“What kind of secret?”
“A real one,” you insist.
“Oh…” He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. “Okay, I have one. Ask me again.”
You raise a single brow. “Tell me a secret, Peter.”
He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. “I love you,” he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose.
You’re lucky he’s already holding you. “I love you too,” you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. “I love you.”
Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You can’t know what he’s thinking, but you can feel it. His hands can’t seem to stay still on your skin.
The sun warms your back for a time.
Peter lets out a deep breath of relief. You lean away to look at him, your hand slipping down into the water, where he finds it, his fingers circling your wrist.
“That’s another one to let go of,” he suggests.
He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye.
You and Peter swim until your fingers are pruned and the sun has been blanketed by clouds. You let him wrap you in a towel, and kiss your wet ears, and take you back to the room, where he holds your face.
“I’ll start the shower for you,” he says, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, each stroke of them encouraging your face from one side to the other, just a touch, ever so slightly moved in the palms of his hands.
“Don’t fall asleep standing up,” he murmurs.
Your eyes close unbidden to you both. “I won’t.”
He holds you still, leaning in slowly to kiss you with the barest of pressure. Every thought in your head fades, leaving only you and Peter, and the dizziness of his touch as he lays you down at the end of the bed.
｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ
please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat —thank you for reading❤︎
Summary: the one where derek morgan realises that you had fallen for him
Wordcount: 1.8k
Derek Morgan was everything that every girl wanted. He was tall, dark, handsome. That was what every woman wanted. Not only that, but he had the best personality. He was so kind, and charming, good with kids, funny. What list didn’t he check? There was so much that you could say about your co-worker of 18 months and yet that in itself would take thousands of words.
It was November and there was a chill in the air, one you had gotten used to in your 18 months working at quantico. You remembered your first day there, locking eyes with the federal agent who was now walking alongside you. He had made you feel so welcome the moment and eased all of your nerves on the first day. It was like the planets and the stars had aligned, bringing you both together.
From that first day, the two of you had clicked instantly and it was like you had known each other for forever. There was nobody else in your life that you had ever bonded with so quickly.
The only issue with him is that he was a bit of a playboy. He had so many women that he would talk to and they would all love him and have sex with him and that was all you had ever wanted from him. Knowing that you would never get to have that side of him made your chest ache.
You looked up at him to see that he was already looking down at you, his deep brown eyes staring at you so intently in a different way than normal; or at least, you had never noticed this gaze before.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked.
“Like what?” He quirked an eyebrow up, like he knew exactly how he was looking at you but was not ready to explain it yet.
“Like there’s something on your mind,” you were both profilers, there was no way of avoiding the questions. You could read each other well enough by now.
“You know there’s not usually anything on my mind,” he teased, a slight pull of his lips.
You snorted at his comment, he never failed to make you smile. Derek smiled at the way that you laughed shortly at his comment, the way your head tipped back, the crinkle by your eyes. He would never get bored of the sight.
You shook your head, dropping the subject, “Whatever,”
“Whatever?” He repeated your comment with the same inflection.
You shrugged your shoulder before looking right in front of you, avoiding eye contact. If he wasn’t going to tell you, you weren’t going to bug him, ”You don't have to tell me,”
“I know,”
You hummed in response. There was something going on here that you weren’t sure of. You would figure it out soon enough, you promised yourself, you always did. He couldnt hide anything major from you.
You had been close ever since your first case, where you had sat next to him nervously on the plane, explains your irrational fear of planes. Reid told you that it wasn’t irrational, spewing facts about the amount of Americans afraid of flying. Morgan just promised you that he would sit by your side the whole time. And as the plane came down to land, he held onto your hand as you squeezed your eyes shut.
That was the kind of man Derek was, one who would sit and hold a complete strangers hand just to make sure they were comforted. The touch of his hand had lit a fuse inside of you and you were still reeling from his touch.
So why was he being weird?
as a profiler, your mind started to race a hundred miles a minute as you wondered what you could have done to make him act this way. Maybe you had gone too far with a joke, made him uncomfortable somehow. God, had you flirted with him?
“You cold?” He asked and you looked up at him, his voice breaking you out of your destructive thoughts.
You hadn’t even noticed the way that your arms were wrapping around your body in an attempt to warm up, the cold was bothering you but you would never admit it to him, not after he had annoyed you.
You shook your head, “I’m a big girl,”
He left it there, muttering something under his breath about how you should just accept it before the two of you started walking in silence again along the tree lined street.
It was peaceful with him, it always was. He could never bother you for long, but as you walked along the trees, orange leaves falling off the trees and landing on the ground beneath your boots, there was something off.
As you walked along, you couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on a couple across the street. They were holding hands and after a few moments, the guy took off his coat and draped it over the girls shoulders. She smiled at him bashfully, cheeks warming up before they kept watching. You tilted your head back to look at them for a moment longer.
You could feel your face warming. That was all you wanted, someone to love you like that, to the point of carelessness for themselves. There was that all consuming loneliness that had been bothering you ever since you realised your fruitless crush on SSA Derek Morgan.
Derek noticed that your eyes had lingered on the couple a little longer than most people’s would and he wondered what was going on with you.
“Take my jacket,” he demanded after a few steps, pulling off the leather jacket that he had been wearing all afternoon. His arms were covered in goosebumps within seconds but he couldn’t care less.
“No thanks,” you shook your head, folding your arms across your chest.
He scoffed, “No thanks?”
“I didnt realise I was walking with a parrot,” you spat back at him, speeding up your walking to get away from him.
He did the same thing in response, jogging slightly to catch up with you. He shook his head, confused as to why you were acting like such a brat today.
“Why can’t you accept my kind gesture?” He questioned.
“I am fine,”
“You want it, I know you do! So what’s your problem?” He reached over, a hand coming down on your shoulder and he felt how cold you were.
You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and his shoes skidded to a halt to stop alongside you and that is when he saw how angry you were, brows pulled together, “My problem is that if I wear it into that building I am going to get the same spiel that I normally get behind my back!”
the admission made your cheeks heat up. Nobody had ever liked you as a kid and you had schemed and begged to make friends. Everyone was always talking behind your back about you and although you had friends here, you always worried they were still talking about you
“What are you talking about?” He questioned. This was it, he had finally cracked why you were being so pissy towards him.
Your chest heaved at the thought of admitting everything to him and you pondered for a second on the consequences of your actions, on how you would have to go back to the office feeling like shit. And before you could even stop yourself, all the words were spilling out of your mouth, “Everyone in the office can see that I have feelings for you! It is so painfully obvious and I can see them whisper every time we talk and-“
Derek cut you off with the sound of your name and you froze, letting the word wash over you. there was something about the way he said it that calmed you in an instant.
He was looking at you with a face that you had never seen on him before. That’s a lie you had seen it before, it was a face that was reserved for the family members of victims at work. It was pity. The face made you sick.
You furrowed your brows together, anger boiling in your veins again, “No. They think I follow after you like some lovesick puppy, like I am always dragging you around places and they think it’s just me being delusional and I know that so-”
Derek shook his head. The face he was pulling wasn’t one of pity, it was of adoration, that kind of love that poured out of every pore in your body as the person you loved made themselves look stupid.
He took a step towards you, his hands coming to your face and you froze, the crease between your brow deepening as you tried to figure out what was going on but before you could say anything, he was leaning in.
“Shut up pretty girl,” his voice was low and there was a look in his eyes you had seen directed at you hundreds of times before but you had never known what it meant. It was love.
He leaned in slowly, watching as your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. The first kiss shared between the two of you was the definition of perfect. His head tilted to the side slightly as he pressed his lips against yours, pressing with just the right amount of pressure to make your head dizzy with desire.
he pulled away after a second and your head fell down to his shoulder, a giggle escaping your lips as you realised what had just happened. Your hands came up to his shoulders, grounding yourself.
there was a heat spreading through your body and you weren’t cold anymore. This explains why he had been so weird earlier, because he was waiting to admit this to you.
“Does that seem delusional to you?” He asked when you pulled your head away from his shoulder.
You shook your head, hoping he couldn’t tell how flustered you were at the whole experience.
He looked down at the jacket that he had been holding onto in his free hand the whole time and lifted it up so you could see it, “Take my jacket,”
You nodded your head this time, not trying to fight him this time. Derek slung it over your shoulders, it smells like him.
You smiled up at him like this was the best day of your life and he only made it better with the words that slipped from his mouth afterwards at the sight of your joy, “I’m taking you to dinner tonight, you tell them all that, let ‘em whisper,”
You always thought that you had been the one in control but maybe he was the mastermind the whole time, and now you were his and he was yours.
Plot: After a drunken confession and a gentle rejection, there was only one way to describe how seeing Daryl made you feel. Burned. The two of you grow distant while your wounds still sizzle. Daryl finds himself facing a choice he never expected: let you slip from his grasp or admit his deepest secret. Loosely inspired by “Heartburn” by Wafia.
A/N: hey! long time no see. I haven’t written anything other than university papers for like three years, so i’m sorry for any mistakes! i’m honestly nervous to post this, but the more I keep rereading and editing it the longer it gets… and its already pretty long haha. so screw it, here ya go!
I hope you enjoy it! :)
—————————————————————————————
There were plenty of ways to describe love and loss. Many that you had learned firsthand before the world ended. Yearning. Heartache.
What you’d never known before was what you felt when you saw Daryl’s face.
Heartburn.
That was the best way to describe it. The only way you could. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t endearing. It sounded painful and bitter because it was. Your heart burned when you saw him. Those familiar hooded eyes, his long and curling bangs, and that goddamn vest. It felt like every little pump of blood spread the flame through your body. The feelings you had for him were consuming, hot, and nothing like you’d ever felt before.
You’d take butterflies over this, any day.
But he’d already made his decision. Friends. Nothing more. The rejection was supposed to make these feelings dissipate. It’d only made them worse.
Summary: Trapped in space, alone and heartbroken, Bellamy and Y/N find solace in each other. As time passes, feelings begin to flutter between them. The only problem is that everyone seems to notice but them.
I suck at summaries, it's cute I promise!
Warnings: set sometime between season 4 and season 5 (yk when Bellamy and the rest are on space), friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, fluff so much fluff, a little angst (Bellamy and the reader miss their friends on earth), Fem!reader (she/her pronouns)
English is not my first language
Word count: 4000+
Notes: I wrote this a long time ago and I completely forgot about it until a few days ago. I reread it and thought the concept was very cute and it was a shame that I never shared it with anyone. I asked you guys if you would like to read it and you said yes so here we are! I have a couple more fics that are almost ready to post so you might see more Bellamy on my blog.
Also my requests are open for the 100 if you guys have any ideas you would like to see. For now I only write for Bellamy, but we’ll see if that changes
Y/N walked through the dark corridors of the spaceship in silence. She was upset. She had spent the last few hours tossing and turning in her bed trying to fall asleep but it was impossible. Her brain refused to shut up. It wasn't the first time this had happened to her. Ever since they had returned to space escaping the second nuclear apocalypse Y/N had started having trouble sleeping. Ironically, living there once again was much more peaceful and safe than her time on Earth. For the first time in years she could close her eyes without fear of being attacked by an enemy. But now what kept her awake was not the fear or guilt, but the uncertainty. There was so much she didn't know—when they would be able to return to Earth, how their friends were doing down there, what they would find when they got back—that she found it impossible to stop thinking about it. When the lights went out and she was left alone in the silence of what was now her room, all her brain did was think. And that night was no exception.
Tired of tossing and turning and frustrated at not being able to sleep, Y/N decided it would be best to get up and try to clear her head. On Earth she probably would have taken the opportunity to go for a walk in the woods, letting the gentle breeze of air hit her body and clear her mind. He couldn't do that now, but over the course of days she discovered that looking out the ship's windows into space had a similar effect. So every night she settled in for a couple of hours to watch Earth from a distance and made a silent promise that she would return for her friends someday.
This time when she arrived at her special place she discovered that someone else was already there. Bellamy was standing in front of the window with his hands inside his pants pockets. His eyes were fixed on Earth, but when Y/N approached she noticed his gaze was lost, probably immersed in his own destructive thoughts. She placed a hand on his back to let him know she was there causing him to turn for a moment to look at her.
"You can't sleep either, huh?" she said breaking the silence as she settled into her usual corner. Bellamy simply shook his head. "The thoughts that emerge when you're alone are the worst."
"Is that why you come here almost every night?" Bellamy finally spoke. His voice sounded deeper than usual and for a moment Y/N wondered if he had been crying.
"Yes," she admitted. "For some reason it makes me feel better. It's like they're a little closer to me even though they're not really."
"Doesn't it make you feel worse?" he asked, sitting down next to her. "Knowing they're there and we're here and there's nothing we can do about it?"
"Sometimes." She shrugged. "I miss them and I'm worried about them, but I know they're strong and they'll be okay. So when I feel bad I just look down to Earth and promise them I'll see them again." She admitted and Bellamy looked at her with a tired smile, amazed at her positivity.
"I wish it were that easy."
"It's not, but it's all I can do for now so I can get a couple of hours of sleep."
The room fell silent. They both stared into the space in front of them again, lost in their own thoughts, reflecting on the situation and how much they missed their friends. Bellamy appreciated Y/N's words. While they didn't ease the heaviness he felt in his chest, they gave him a different, more positive outlook, and helped him not feel so alone.
Without saying a word, Y/N rested his head on Bellamy's shoulder. Her eyes were still glued to the window, her gaze lost in the distance as she let out a slight sigh. Bellamy leaned in to look at her for a moment, before leaning his head back against hers in a subtle gesture of support.
"This will pass. We'll be back on Earth and everyone will be safe and sound wondering what took us so long." She broke the silence, resting a hand on his leg in an attempt to reassure her friend. Y/N knew exactly what kind of thoughts were going through his head because she had those same thoughts herself, but they had to stay strong. And she also knew that it was difficult for Bellamy to process those thoughts and emotions in a healthy way. He was a natural leader and a very empathetic person, so his instinct was to care about others before himself. He spent his days encouraging others, making sure they stayed positive, when he was struggling with that too and had no one to talk to.
"You will see Octavia again and you'll hug one more time. This is not the end. Raven will find a way to get us back to Earth, you'll see."
Bellamy didn't respond with words because he feared that he would end up crying if he did. He simply smiled and put an arm around her to pull her closer to his body. She snuggled into his chest, giving him gentle soothing caresses to which he responded by depositing a kiss on the top of her head. Y/N understood what he wanted to tell her even though he had not used words. Over time she had learned to read Bellamy as if he were her favorite book—and in a way he was.
They stayed there, entangled in each other's arms and enjoying the warmth their bodies radiated for longer than they should have. Without either of them anticipating it, their eyes began to feel heavy. The exhaustion of the day was finally winning them over. The pose they were in was not the most comfortable for sleeping, and if they were in that situation with anyone else they would probably not be able to fall asleep. But there was something strangely comforting about being snuggled together like this, they just couldn't help but relax. Y/N was the first to fall asleep. The warmth Bellamy provided and the rhythmic beating of his heart was all she needed to finally be able to close her eyes and rest. Her breathing slowly stabilized and by the time Bellamy realized it, his eyes were already closing from exhaustion.
They were discovered by Raven and Emori the next day, who woke them up with cheeky smiles on their faces. Y/N was puzzled by their expression, but after joining the others for breakfast she understood the reason behind their smiles. Everyone teased them and looked at them funny for the rest of the day, singing childish songs about how they were in love and making heart shapes with their hands every time they were together. It was pretty annoying, but neither Bellamy nor Y/N said anything about it. It was the first time since they had been back in space that they saw their friends genuinely laugh. They didn't mind having to endure a couple of harmless jokes if it meant their friends could clear their minds even for a little while.
"What's with you and Bellamy?" Raven asked nonchalantly, taking Y/N by surprise.
"I thought I was here for you to teach me something useful." The young woman replied, trying to evade the question.
"And I will, but we can chat in the meantime."
Y/N looked at her blankly and rolled her eyes. It had been kind of nice to see everyone focus on something fun and lighthearted for once, but things were starting to get out of control. It had been weeks since that incident and she was still dealing with the consequences. She understood that the days on the ship were boring, but the constant comments from Raven, Emori and Harper especially were starting to get to her. She and Bellamy were good friends, but now she had to make sure none of them were in the room before approaching him unless she wanted to have to endure the stares of the girls pinned to her back.
"I prefer to work in silence, it helps me concentrate." Y/N muttered without much encouragement and this time it was Raven's turn to roll her eyes.
"Oh, come on, don't be mean. I just want to know."
"There's nothing you need to know because there's nothing between us, Raven. How many times do I have to repeat myself?"
"I can understand if you don't want to tell me, but at least don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying to you."
"Come on, Y/N, we're not stupid." Emori spoke. "We know there's something between you."
"We're just friends." Y/N interrupted her before she could continue.
"Friends who sleep together every night?" Raven asked sarcastically. "I always see you two getting up together in the mornings and the other night I saw you sneaking into his room when you thought no one saw you."
"It's not what you think. We just stay up talking when we can't sleep." She excused herself, feeling the blood all over her body pool in her cheeks. She understood that that could be misinterpreted, but there was really nothing going on between them. They were just two friends finding solace in each other. Bellamy trusted her enough to open up about his feelings, and if there was anyone who needed a shoulder to lean on, it was Bellamy. Their talks were important to both of them, falling asleep together was just an accident that ended up happening. It wasn't her fault that in his arms she found the comfort and peace she needed to fall asleep. It didn't mean anything, did it? They were just really good friends.
"Yeah, right." Raven let out a sarcastic laugh.
"I'm telling you the truth, it's not my fault you don't want to believe me."
"Let me get this straight, you're telling me that you guys spend all day together, you even sleep together, you act like idiots when you're around each other, but you're just friends?" The engineer asked, looking at her friend with a raised eyebrow.
"We don't act like idiots when we're together!" Y/N complained. What was that supposed to mean anyway?
"Girls, leave her alone," Harper said, finally joining the conversation.
"Thank you! Finally someone who's on my side."
"Clearly she hasn't realized she has feelings for Bellamy yet. When she's ready to face it she'll tell us."
"Wait, what?" exclaimed Y/N in surprise. She definitely wasn't expecting that to come from her friend's lips. "I thought you were on my side!"
"And I am, but I can't deny what I see. It's pretty obvious when you're together, the way you look at each other says it all. You may be in denial now, but when you accept it I suggest you talk it over with Bellamy because it's obvious he has feelings for you too."
"I'm not in love with Bellamy and he's not in love with me! How many times do I have to say it? We're just friends."
"So you wouldn't mind if I asked him out?" Echo asked, suddenly joining the conversation. She looked at Y/N with a raised eyebrow, analyzing her body language as she waited for a response. The young woman opened her mouth to speak, but closed it almost immediately as a knot formed in her stomach. For some reason the idea of Echo and Bellamy together bothered her. But still that didn't mean she was in love with him, did it?
"No, of course not!" she rushed to reply as soon as she found her voice. She hoped that was enough to convince them, though the look on Echo's face told her otherwise.
"Why did you hesitate?" Raven pressed her with a smile on her face, fully aware that her friend was about to hit her to force her to shut up.
"Oh for god's sake, would you just give it up already!" Y/N exclaimed, exhausted.
"Okay, okay!" Raven laughed and put her hands up in defeat. She then went on to explain what she would be teaching him today, but no matter how hard Y/N tried she wasn't able to pay attention. All she could think about was Harper's words, echoing in her mind without giving her rest. Fortunately for her, Emori was paying attention and was able to follow Raven's lesson without her noticing her distraction.
For the rest of the day her mind continued to be distracted, too wrapped up in her own thoughts to focus on the world around her. And what made her situation even worse was that she couldn't even look Bellamy in the eyes without remembering Harper's voice and Raven's looks. He noticed something was wrong with her, he was always able to tell when something was bothering her. Y/N saw it in his gaze, which was why she decided to lock herself in her room for the remainder of the day. She knew Bellamy would ask her what was wrong sooner or later and since she wasn't in a position to answer him at the moment, she made sure she had some time to clear her thoughts.
After much debate with herself in the solitude of her room she came to the conclusion that Harper's words were ridiculous. It was impossible for her friend to know how she really felt about Bellamy before she herself realized it. That whole conversation had been ridiculous. They were just bored and looking for something to entertain themselves with.
But then she remembered the strange feeling that coursed through her body at the very idea of someone else starting a relationship with Bellamy.
'It wasn't just anyone, it was Echo', a voice in her mind said. 'It just bothered you because you don't know her that well and Bellamy is your friend. It's a normal reaction from a friend who cares about her friend and nothing more', continuó, en un intento por convencerse a sí misma de que ese comentario no había despertado celos dentro de ella.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone entering her room. Y/N didn't even have to look up to know who it was. Bellamy walked over to her and in a whisper asked her if she was awake, something they always did when they would walk into each other's room unexpectedly. She answered him and moved aside to make room on the bed for him to lie down. Soon she ended up cuddled by Bellamy's body heat with her head resting on his bare torso as he stroked her back. That relaxed her, the tension she hadn't realized was building up in her shoulders soon disappeared. A smile formed on her face at the irony that he was the only one who could calm her in that situation.
"Are you okay?" Bellamy asked her in a whisper. "I noticed you were acting strange today and then you just disappeared."
"Yeah, I'm fine." She assured him. "I just had a lot on my mind, but I'm fine now."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. At least not for now." She murmured against his chest, not daring to look into his eyes fearing he would be able to read in them the thoughts that were going through her mind. "Why are you here? I feel like you didn't come just to ask me about my mood."
"And you'd be right." He admitted letting out a sigh. "I couldn't sleep."
"The dreams again?"
"Yeah, only this time Clarke showed up too."
"You need to stop blaming yourself for that. It was her decision and we both know damn well we couldn't have changed her mind. We were all going to die there and she would never let that happen."
"No, but we did let her die."
"Bellamy..." Y/N whispered. It hurt her to talk about it as much as it hurt him, but for some reason it hurt more to know that he was having those horrible thoughts and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
"I know, I'm sorry." He interrupted her, letting out a tired sigh as he ran his free hand through his long hair. "You're right about everything, I know, but that doesn't make it any easier."
"I know how hard it is. I miss her too, but this is what she wanted. She saved us and now it's up to us to live our lives honoring her sacrifice and her memory."
A comfortable silence formed in the room as they both enjoyed each other's company and tried to clear their minds. Y/N concentrated on the rhythmic beating of Bellamy's heart and the gentle caresses his fingers traced over her back, drawing imaginary figures on her skin. For a moment she forgot everything that had been bothering her during the day. The comments of her friends that had had her so anxious, faded out of her mind. It was as if all of a sudden everyone else had ceased to exist, as if the universe around them had disappeared and the only thing that continued to exist were the two of them. That was the special effect Bellamy had on her. He was able to bring her peace just with a simple hug or just a look.
"Thank you" Bellamy murmured, catching Y/N's attention.
"Why?" the young woman asked. She lifted her head to look at him, resting her chin on his chest as her curious eyes rested on his.
"For always being there for me when I needed it."
"You don't have to thank me, I'd do anything for you, Bell, you know that."
"I know, but I still want to. You have no idea how much you helped me with all this stuff we're going through. I honestly don't know what would happen to me without you by my side."
"You'd be fine because you're strong, Bellamy. You're a survivor."
"I don't know, after everything we went through I don't think I could have made it this far without you," Bellamy said, his voice cracking. Y/N's heart squeezed in her chest. "If I had lost you there too I wouldn't have been able to continue.... I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm glad you're here with me."
"Oh, Bellamy" Y/N whispered, deeply touched by her friend's words. She cupped one of his cheeks in her hand, gently stroking the skin with her thumb. He leaned his head over her hand and closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of calm and happiness that the touch of Y/N's fingers awakened in him. When he opened them again he met his friend's intense gaze, charged with love and tenderness. Then, without realizing what was happening, they shortened the distance that separated them and joined their lips in a kiss.
It was tentative at first. They had both let themselves be carried away by what they felt deep inside, and were testing whether it was a good idea or not. Y/N thought she would feel strange kissing him, that as soon as their lips brushed a feeling of awkwardness would run through her body and force her to pull away. But, much to her surprise, she felt quite the opposite. Their lips moved in perfect harmony, fitting together as if they had been created to be joined together.
A tingling sensation spread throughout her entire body, starting at her lips and going to the tips of her toes, as Bellamy intensified the kiss. He pulled her closer to his body and she ended up sitting on top of him, one leg on either side of his waist. He cupped Y/N's face and deepened the union of their lips, their tongues caressing each other curiously. With his free hand, he explored every inch of skin within reach, arousing waves of electricity that coursed down Y/N's spine. Her skin felt like it was on fire, but despite that she couldn't tear herself away from Bellamy. His growing beard felt rough against the sensitive skin of her face, but the strange tingle only added a new sensation that mingled deliciously with the pleasure of the passionate kiss.
They kissed like they were desperate to feel each other's company. Like they were afraid of vanishing into thin air if they were separated. Like it was their last day left to live and this was the only chance they had to feel their soft lips together.
They kissed with the desperation that came with having hidden —consciously or unconsciously— what they felt for each other. They needed to feel their lips together. They needed to feel the warmth of their bodies pressed together, the delicate touch of skin against skin awakening a flame inside them. They needed each other. They had spent too long pretending they were nothing more than friends to be able to control themselves now.
They only separated when the need for air forced them. Their breathing was rapid and their hearts were pounding in their chests. They rejoined their lips once more in a short, sloppy kiss before they had to separate once more. Only this time it was not because of shortness of breath, but because of the giggles Y/N was unable to control. She hid her face in Bellamy's neck in an attempt to calm down, taking the opportunity to deposit a couple of kisses there in between giggles.
"What's so funny?" Bellamy asked, puzzled by Y/N's sudden change in attitude.
"Nothing, its just that today I almost beat Raven to get her to stop insisting that there was something between us that we weren't telling her." She murmured against his neck. This time it was Bellamy's turn to let out a laugh.
"I guess everyone figured it out before we did."
"She won't stop teasing us when she finds out," Y/N groaned, figuring her friend wouldn't stop reminding them that she was right from now on.
"Probably, but it's worth putting up with his comments from time to time, isn't it?" Bellamy inquired, hiding in his words what he really wanted to ask her.
Was it worth risking it all to bet on a relationship?
He was more than willing to do it. Now that he finally understood—and accepted—his feelings he would do anything to be with her.
Y/N understood the true message behind his words as soon as she heard him utter them. By now they knew each other so well that they were able to understand each other without even speaking. She pulled her head out of its hiding place in Bellamy's neck and sat up to look at him. His eyes watched her intently, waiting for the answer to her implied question. Y/N noticed a special sparkle in them, one she hadn't seen in him in a while. His eyes were shining with happiness. That put a smile on her face. Nothing made her feel better than seeing Bellamy happy. She reached out one of her arms to gently caress his cheek, sliding her thumb back and forth over the soft skin. He responded to her gesture by resting his hands on her waist, delicately touching the exposed skin her shirt didn't cover. Each brush of his fingers awakened a new tingle inside her. She could not understand how such a simple act could provoke such a reaction from her body. She had never experienced anything like that before. Only he had that effect on her.
"Of course it's worth it!" assured Y/N. "I'm willing to put up with Raven teasing me for the rest of my life if it means I can kiss you again."
Bellamy smiled and was quick to rejoin their lips. It was a slower kiss than the last, much sweeter and more sensual. They had no reason to rush things anymore, they knew they both felt something more than friendship. They would have plenty of time to be together and memorize every corner of each other's bodies. It was better to go slowly, to enjoy every moment together, every caress, every kiss, as if it were the first. Find out exactly how they felt about each other and whether their relationship would have a future. Although judging by the way her body reacted to every slight touch of Bellamy's hands, Y/N was confident that they would be together for a long time.
Thea, She/Her, 20, unfortunately American. I write what I feel like, for better or worse. That usually means long (very long) series, but sometimes it means one-shots or mini-series.
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For my masterlist, keep reading!
Series
No Love Lost - Soldier Boy x supe!Reader
Three years ago you were normal, but then you met Homelander at a stupid party, and woke up the next morning in a cell.
After almost two and a half years of you being Homelander's little project, Soldier Boy was woken up only go rouge and be put back under. Somewhere in there, you escaped. And before Queen Maeve went underground, she told William Butcher about the Anomaly, a powerful supe who recently escaped Vought captivity and may have an agenda against Homelander.
One month later, the Boys found you.
You spend the next five months helping them best you can, though your control over your powers is weak and your fear of Homelander makes you useless in combat. But you get an idea. A stupid, dangerous idea that turns you into Soldier Boy's keeper, giving him a second chance to take down Homelander, you hanging over his shoulder, a threat should he want to go nuclear again. It's exhausting and frustrating, and you might kill him and yourself as soon as this is over, but you said whatever it takes.
And this is what it takes.
Babylon the Great - Dean Winchester x Reader
There's something wrong with you that's not wrong with other people. You're a hunter, and a damn good one, but you might be a monster.
There might be something in you that needs to be put down. Something broken that can't be fixed.
It's why you've had one rule your whole life. The only thing your father has ever made clear is that, no matter what, you need to stay away from John Winchester. He can't even know you exist, or he'll kill you and never blink.
And when your paths cross a hunt, you should've run, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because you looked at Dean Winchester, and something changed inside of you. Something called you to him, and you can't figure out what it was, but you know it's strong. And you know that, whatever Dean's doing to you, you don't really care to fight it. Things are broken in you, just as much is broken in him, and you fit perfectly together in a way you'll never be able to describe.
But it's more complicated than that, though. The world pulls you and Dean apart again and again.
And you find your way back, again and again.
Mini-Series
Willing to Break - Dean Winchester x Reader
With the Mark of Cain getting out of hand, you and Sam convince Dean to try something different. A spell that won't fix the Mark, but will change it. Make Dean crave good things, things he likes, instead of death and blood.
It doesn't exactly go according to plan.
One-Shots
To Need Somebody - (Dean Winchester x Reader) After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing
I Could Have You - (Dean Winchester x Reader) Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.
Falling Into Me - (Dean Winchester x Reader) You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you. You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.
Hold You Tight In My Mind - (Dean Winchester x Reader) You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement, and
Still You Want Me - Request! (Dean Winchester x Reader) Dean's fought the worst evil in the world, but only one thing has really managed to scare him. His pregnant wife.
Every Day That You Want - (Dean Winchester x Reader) You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.
Holy to Me - (Jensen Ackles x Reader) You feel out of place at a red carpet premiere, not quite believing that you belong there. Jensen thinks differently, and he plans to show you.
Just Giving In - (Dean Winchester x Reader) You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.
Making Me Crazy - Request! (Soldier Boy x Reader) Ben overhears you doubting his generosity in bed, and immediately sets out to prove you wrong.
I'll Crawl Home - (Dean Winchester x Reader) You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.
If You Only Knew Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Request! (Soldier Boy x Reader) Ben is experiencing feelings. Real feelings. For a woman. But his reputation his proceeds him, so trying to win her over is taking a while. Once he gets a chance, he simply fucking refuses to blow it.
What You Do - This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this. But the asshole is still going to try.
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving, fingering), light angst, light fluff, sex pollen, no use of y/n
Summary/Warnings: This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this.
But the asshole is still going to try.
Author's Note: Back on my (not) sex pollen bullshit. Enjoy!
Title from Shadowboxer by Fiona Apple
Word Count: 7.6k
Sometimes you wish Dean was just a little bit worse of a person.
He seems to think he’s a worse person. He thinks he’s a bad person.
He’s not.
Because a bad person would have left you to writhe and moan on the floor after you got hit with this stupid curse, snapping at you to stand up and pull it together. But Dean had fallen to his knees at your side, brushing away your hair and wiping sweat and blood from your skin. With his hands. Big hands. Big, warm, rough hands with strong, deft fingers that always move so deliberately, that can bruise and mark your skin and fill you up and-
You wished you’d had the strength and mind to push him away in that moment. To grab those hands and shove them away from your face, because where they were usually sparking fireworks, they were setting off nuclear explosions. You wished you’d screamed at him in that moment to at least stop cradling your face, brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones and sending lighting through your blood and into your gut.
But you hadn’t understood what this was. You’d really thought that you were just high on adrenaline and Dean’s touch, the combination making you hornier than usual.
You’d been so fucking wrong. And now Dean won’t stop being a good person, and it’s going to kill you.
He’d insisted on carrying you. You’d taken two, shaking steps, your knees had bucked in an attempt to relieve the pressure between your legs, and Dean had simply refused to let you fall.
“Dean, I can get it, I just need to keep-“
“You say trying,” He’d snapped your name, hooking his arm under your knees and hauling you up his chest. “I’ll fucking shoot you.”
Normally you would’ve protested—insisting that you did need to keep trying, and Dean was just being dramatic—but he’d been warm and strong around you, muscles flexing and shifting as he walked back to the Impala, and your face had come into dangerously close contact with his neck.
You’d bitten through your lip in order not to brush soft kisses over his jaw, suck a spot on his neck, or bite him and see what he’d do to get you back. You’d only made it to the car—and later, into the motel—because you’d been able to bury your face in his skin, and it had tided you over. The smell of Dean—evergreen and spice and gunpowder and something you knew to just purely be him—acting as an anesthetic. Dulling the stabbing, throbbing, and aching pain between your legs and in your gut, soothing your heart back down from the franticly paced rhythm it had set since you’d been hit by that spell.
When he’d set you down on the bed, there had been a brief moment of relief—no more reason to worry about accidentally jumping on him at the worst possible time—before it had all gotten worse. Dean had drawn away, and everything had become a white-hot flame on your every nerve and a sore, blistering cold on your skin. You’d screamed, Dean had rushed back to your side, and he’d started to touch you again. Looking for a wound or mark on your body that he could blame.
There wasn’t one. This was entirely the curse. And every time Dean drew away it was worse—sweat staining your clothing and shivers moving up and down your spine—so you’d agree for him to just stay near you. On the edge of the bed, not touching you because that made everything worse in a different way. Proximity was the best he could offer.
But it wasn’t a fool proof. You were still going out of your mind with desire. And Dean was not helping. He was still being a good fucking person, and he wouldn’t leave you alone. You’d been rolling and moaning into the sheets, whining and humping the air, and Dean had just sat there.
His arms had been braced on his knees. You’d almost started crying as the memory of those knees being shoved between your thighs had sent a newer, stronger wave of desire through your body.
Just another reason Dean needed to go. He’d been refusing to look at you—only staring at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen—and that makes your lungs feel like iron in your chest because why. Why wouldn’t he look at you.
It could be is that he was disgusted by the sight of you. That he’s only ever seen you like this in low, glowing darkness, and when you’re cast in the shifting sunlight between the blinds, he can’t pretend you’re just another body in a bed. Maybe this is making that too real for him. That you’re the one that makes those desperate sounds that always make his hips stutter. You’re the one who grinds like this onto his dick, and who scratches at his back the same way you’ve been scratching at the mattress.
But then sometimes Dean would look at you, and it was far worse. You couldn’t read that expression, either because he didn’t want you to, or because nothing existed outside of Dean when he looked at you. Things like reading him—studying his every breath and shift in the chair—didn’t matter. He was so handsome. Strong jaw and tanned skin, small freckles you could map in your sleep—you’ve certainly done it before, in the dead of night when he couldn’t know—and green eyes that were almost too pretty. They were like falling stars. Bright and colorful and never yours to just reach up and take. Passing by you in the night. Never colliding with you in a way that would leave a damage you’d love to suffer through.
Dean would look at you, and you’d get lovelorn and drunk on his attention, and then you’d make a lewd sound you couldn’t swallow and buck off the bed.
And he’d cough, sit up a little taller—more vigilant, like he could just defend himself for the horrible sight of you—and look away.
And you’d be left in pain and want again.
He’d kept trying to talk to you, while you waited for Sam to call him back with a name for this curse, and a way to cure it.
“So, uh.” He’d cleared his throat, the sound had been gravely and rough, and you’d almost flown out of your skin. “We’re gonna have to stick around for a few days, to make sure this isn’t a coven situation, but we can do whatever the hell we want. Long as we’re in town. I was thinking, I saw a movie theatre-“
You’d gasped, something jumpstarting in your chest and shooting into your gut at the idea of going to see a movie with Dean. His hand on your thigh in the dark, wandering up your leg and tracing pattens, leaning down to your ear to whisper bad jokes, chuckling when you told him to shut up, but fully laughing when you’d joke back-
“Shit, are you-“
“I’m fine.” You’d said, and you don’t think he’d believed you. Fuck, you hadn’t believed you. “Movie sounds good.”
“Yeah, uh, I saw a diner too. We could do a movie, and get dinner.”
You hadn’t been able to see him. You’d started to lie flat on your back a few hours ago, and Dean had been nothing more than a deep, strong voice that sounded like rainfall and crackling fire in your head. Drowning you in the sound and echoing it around your skull, ravaging through you with just noise and igniting an iridescent light on every part of you he’d touched before.
He’d touch you everywhere before. He’d touched you at a diner. Bumped his foot with yours under a table, raised his brows in a silent question, and smirked when you’d given a small nod. He’d knocked on your door that night. He’d been gone from your bed the next morning.
And dinner and a movie wasn’t what you and Dean did. You did things like that.
But Dean had been suggesting it. Saying it casually in that impossibly powerful voice. You’d had to bite down a scream at the idea of getting to lean over the table in the diner—wiping some crumbs off his lips as he grinned at you—and he’d still been talking-
“Then I saw an awesome looking carnival a town over, we could check that out-“
You’d passed out.
When you’d woken up, Dean was hunched at the side of the bed, muttering low words into his phone.
The first one you’d been able to make out was Sam.
You’d never moved faster in your life.
You’d grabbed the phone out of Dean’s hand, ignoring his grunt of protest and how touching his hand had made you a little dizzy. “Sam Winchester, if you can’t tell me what the fuck is wrong with me, I’m going to throw your fucking hair mousse-“
“I don’t- Uh-“ Sam had cleared his throat through the speaker. “How did you know about-“
“I get bored and snoop.” You’d snapped. “Nothing gets past me, Samuel, and I swear to god I’m going to take all the razors you hid and let Dean shave your head-“
“Jesus,” Sam had muttered your name, and it hadn’t been a good sign that the didn’t sound mad or annoyed. He’d sounded like he pitied you. It had made your whole body tense. “It’s really that bad, isn’t it.”
You’d frowned into the air. “I don’t-“
“The curse. You’re really pissed, Dean says you get like that when you’re, um…“ Sam had trailed off, and you’d scowled.
“When I’m what?”
“I don’t wanna say it.”
“Sam-“
“Pent up.” Sam had muttered, the words clipped through the speaker, and if the thought of him dead didn’t make your heart fracture and splinter, you would’ve killed Dean right there. The asshole.
He’d still been sitting on the bed. If you’d leaned a little closer, you would’ve collapsed over him. He’d needed to stop looking so fucking worried. Being so warm you could feel it radiating from his body and seeping into your skin and stoking that need-
“Sam,” you’d whispered, your fingers curling in the sheets and your nails pushing into your skin. “What’s going on?”
He’d let out a long breath, only static silence on the phone for a long moment before he spoke. “I think it’s a famine curse.”
“Oh.” You’d said, then blinked into the air as the words actually sunk in. “What?”
“Look, just so you know, I told Dean it was a sex curse. This isn’t really my thing to tell him, and it’s not technically a lie, but you are going to have to tell him or this, it will kill you-“
“It will what?” Your voice had cracked, and Dean had frowned.
“Are you-“
You’d given Dean a thumbs up, lowering your voice to a hushed, nervous whisper. “Sam, please just say it, I don’t know what going on and I’m so tired and it hurts-“
“It’s-“ Sam had sighed, his voice far too fucking gentle. “The thing you’ve been starved off and craved the most, you need to have it, or you’ll die.”
You’d shaken your head, falling flat onto your back. “I don’t know what I-“
“Yeah, you do.” Sam had said, and now you understood the sympathy. The pity. The rambling and awkwardness.
Because Sam knew. You’d gotten really drunk and cried about the thing to him a year ago. He rarely mentioned it, but he knew.
And this wasn’t going to get better. Not until you made it better.
Until Dean made it better.
So you were fucked.
“What do I do?” You’d whispered into the phone, closing your eyes to pretend Dean wasn’t only a few feet away. “This isn’t going to- There’s nothing that will- Sam, what do I do-“
You’d started to cry, Dean had moved to hold you in a flash—taking the phone and muttering to Sam that he’d deal with it before hanging up—and after your breathing had steady back to a ragged rhythm, you’d gotten a text from Sam.
Tell him.
You’d stared at the screen, ready to throw it across the room or smash it to pieces so you could just die in peace, and another message had come through.
Please.
And now you’re here. And Dean’s still being a good person, and you can’t do this.
He thinks it’s a sex curse. Sam had apparently said that you needed intimate connection, Dean had taken that to mean sex curse, and Sam hadn’t correct him. In Dean’s defense, it really does seem like a sex curse. You’re twisting and grinding and moaning on the bed, your skin long bare because clothing stuck to your skin and felt acidic on your body, and you’re pretty sure he can smell your arousal, but you don’t crave sex.
Dean offers you plenty of it. You haven’t wanted for sex in almost three years.
What you want is going to be impossible to have. Because Dean Winchester doesn’t do love.
And he still won’t stop being a good person.
He tells you it’s okay to rub one out. He cares so much that you’re comfortable. He keeps putting water on the bedside table so you don’t pass out again, and he coaxes you out of bed for food with slow, firm words.
“You need to eat.” He mutters, reaching for your body but flinching back at the last second. You have to bite down a whine. “You look like shit, sweetheart, and until you let someone help you, we’re going to need to keep your energy up.”
You shake your head, burying your face in a pillow and bunching the blankets between your legs, managing to relieve enough pressure to speak. “I don’t wanna.”
“Don’t wanna-“
“Move.” You mumble, rubbing your thighs together. “It hurts-“
Dean says your name, his voice low and rough and not at all helpful. “I’ve told you I’m okay dealing with this-“
“No.”
“Why the hell not? It’s nothing I haven’t done before, and you know we’re good together-“
Your gaze goes a little blurry, and you almost pass out again. He can’t keep saying shit like that.
“Dean, I-“ You roll onto your back to glare at him, and it’s a mistake. He looks concerned. And handsome. And a little flushed as he watches you hug your chest and fuck the mattress.
You can’t look him in the eyes.
You can’t really do anything at all.
“Please just drop it.” You curl further into yourself, praying he’s started to stare at the floor again. “Please.”
Dean lets out a long breath, but he does. He drops it, on the condition that you eat. And when you do, he keeps trying to talk to you, and you’re too exhausted to tell him to shut up.
“What’d you mean, when you told Sammy you snoop?” He asks, and it takes three steady breaths to answer him.
“Sometimes you guys go out, I stay behind, and I get… bored.”
“Bored?”
You nod, fidgeting with your fingers and trying not to hump your chair. “I go around and find where you’re hiding things.”
“Like...” Dean pauses and you can hear his confused frown. He’s probably making an adorable face. You wish you could look at him and not moan. “Hair gel and razors?”
“And romance books. And a secret laptop for personal use.” You drop your brow to fully rest on the table, raising your voice. “And a Taylor Swift cassette tape, and a very soft blanket, and three emergency pies-“
“Alright, alright I get it.” Dean chuckles, and the sound rolls right through your body. “You’ve really just poked in our business, huh, sweetheart?”
“You poke in mine all the time, Dean-“
“I don’t know where your secret stash of shame is-“
“And you never will,” you mumble, a small smile pulling at your lips. “I hid it where even demons wouldn’t want to go.”
Dean hums. “Sammy’s room.”
“No.”
“Your room?”
“That would be a terrible hiding spot-“
“My room?”
You’re silent for a second too long, and Dean’s tone becomes disbelieving.
“You hid it in my room?! What’d you do that for?!“
“Shut up.”
“Nah, baby, you’re gonna have to explain that one-“
“Dean!” You snap, glaring up at him. “Shut up!”
You’re looking at him. His eyes are darkened. And you’d misread his tone. It’s awe on his face. Awe and confusion.
You fall out of your seat with a moan.
Dean catches you.
“Fuck this,” he mutters, half dragging you back to the bed and placing you carefully on the mattress before digging through his jeans. “If you’re not going to let me help you, I’m calling Sam and he’ll- fuck- he’ll do it-“
“Dean, no-“
“Yes.” He snaps, shooting you an almost violent glare. “I don’t know what the fuck I did that you don’t want to touch me, and I’m not gonna cross that line, not for nothing, but we’re still fixing this. You don’t want me, you get Sam. You don’t want Sam, I’m calling Cas. You don’t want him, you better start brainstorming, sweetheart, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to just fucking sit here and watch you die-“
You’re going to start crying again. It’s all too much. He sounds angry and your cursed and addled brain can’t handle it. You’re burning up from the inside. You’re breathing and it doesn’t feel like oxygen because Dean’s mad and you can’t do anything-
“Please don’t call them.” You mumble, pulling your knees up to your chest. “They won’t be able to help.”
Dean shakes his head, his focused, furious determination not breaking. “Then what the hell will help?! Because you’re going to have sex! You’re not allowed to clock out on me,” he shouts your name, and now he just sounds pained, and it’s worse. “I don’t- I’m not- If I can’t be the cure for this we’re finding someone who can-“
“It won’t work-“
“Yes, it will! Sam said you needed to fuck, you’re-“
“That’s not what Sam said.”
There’s a long pause as Dean blinks at you, and then-
“What are you talking about.”
“He said I needed an intimate connection.”
“Yeah, sex-“
“No-“
“It’s a fucking sex curse, baby-“
“Stop saying that!” You scream, and the room seems to be spinning a little bit. “Stop calling me baby! It’s not fair, and I- I can’t- You’re making it worse, Dean! Just stop being so fucking nice!”
The silence is going to suffocate you. It’s like oil and gasoline leaking into your lungs and surrounding your body, and you’re going to drown in what feels like nothing at all as Dean’s just silent-
Dean says your name, his every word slow and measured. “What kind of curse is it.”
“Dean-“
“You said it’s not a sex curse.” He snaps. “So what the hell is it.”
You swallow, and you’re too far gone now to push back. “Famine curse.” You whisper. “I- I need something that I’ve been starved off. And craved.”
You can hear his frown. “But we fuck all the time-“
“We do.” You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your palm over your pussy. It doesn’t really help. “It’s not just about the sex. It’s- I need more.”
“More…” Dean trails off, and you’re defiantly crying now. “More intimacy? Would we like, need to cuddle or something-“
You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “More than cuddling. It’s- You’d have to- I-“
Dean says your name in a low warning, and you might break that hand between your thighs. ‘What-“
“You’d have to mean it. You’d have to, um, fuck me and-“
“And mean it? I always mean it-“
“You have to love me!” You almost scream, your mouth moving faster than any sense of self-preservation or will, and you’ve fucked it.
You’d said the thing. You weren’t even supposed to think it. You’d trained yourself to keep it only a ravenous, deep and insatiable feeling inside your body that picked up and rioted when Dean was around you and grew bitter and heavy when he wasn’t.
But you’d said it.
And he’s not gone. He didn’t fly out the door or scramble off the bed with wide eyes. He’s not reminding you in gentle but firm words that that is not what you two are supposed to be.
But what he does is worse. He leans over your body to look at you, takes your face between his hands and scans over your slack, open features, and says your name.
You pass out again.
It’s not hard, waking up. This time it’s simple and slow, a comfortable weight draped around your shoulders a sense of ease filling your whole body.
There’s a strong arm wrapped around your stomach, and a warm thumb rubbing small circles on the bare skin of your waist, and nothing is aching or painful at all.
Oh.
Oh, no.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is low in your ear, and you almost moan again. He’s not naked behind you, but he’s changed into sweats, and his shirt is gone. You can’t stop the frantic grind of your ass back into him, or the desperate sound that leaves you when Dean’s grip tightens, stopping any further attempt to move on him.
“Please,” you whisper, squirming against him, because if you’re going to die from something as dumb and pathetic as this, you might as well go out with Dean buried inside you. “Dean-“
“None of that right now.” He mutters, completely pinning you against his chest. “Not yet. We gotta talk first.”
“Dean-“
“You want me.”
“Yeah.” You mumble, and Dean hums, his voice slightly hoarse.
“You love me?”
“I love you.” You can’t stop the words, and he’s still not gone.
His hand starting to drift lower. And when he speaks, and his voice is almost a growl, and you’re going to implode or explode or something. Burst into flames somehow, because that’s his I’m going to fuck you so good, baby, voice.
“You need me to mean it?” He mutters in your ear, and you nod weakly.
“Yeah, Dean, but you don’t have to-“
Dean grabs your chin and angles your head back, slamming his lips into yours with a bruising but careful force, and you don’t explode. You melt. Molding against his body and going slack in his arms, leaning your head back to try and devour the taste of him. Cheap coffee and mint and that purely Dean thing that’s always been like a drug. Always hooked you and dragged you right into him.
This won’t be different. It might end in your heart literally breaking, but you’ll still be chasing him until your legs give out. If he catches you, he catches you. If he doesn’t-
There are worse deaths that this.
“Sit back, sweetheart.” Dean murmurs against your skin, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. “I’m going to mean it so hard you’ll see stars.”
“Dean, I- It’s more than that-“
He cuts you off with another kiss. He needs to stop doing that, because now he’s being soft and sweet, running his tongue over your teeth and letting you melt all the way into his touch without thought. Teasing you with a deep hum that you can feel in his chest behind you, making your eyes flutter close as you let yourself get lost in him. How good he is, how he good tastes, how good his hands feel as they start palm at your tits-
You gasp as he pinches and rolls a nipple between his fingers, and you’re already so overstimulated from nothing at all that it’s like being slammed with a freight train. A good freight train. A freight train that’s made of Dean’s mouth starting to wander down your neck, and his thumb rubbing soothing circles around the peak of your breast.
“I know, baby.” Dean keeps speaking against you, and it only stokes the borderline maddening need for him in your body. “Trust me. I’ve got you.”
He’s got you. You’re drowning in this almost primal need for him, and he still hasn’t said the thing that would save you, but he’s got you.
And you’d trust him. With everything you have, you trust Dean. Every single shadowed and scarred and mauled part of you has long known that, even when you have nowhere and no one, you have Dean. Not the way you want, but at your side in the day and above you in the dark. He can be a protector and a secret. You really could’ve lived with both, if it wasn’t for this stupid fucking curse.
But Dean says he’s got you, and you can’t think of anything to do but believe him. Especially because this isn’t the dark. There are lamps on, and he can see you. All of you, naked in his arms, and making lewd sounds as his knee shoves between your legs and his mouth starts to suck small marks on your neck.
He’s never done that before. Dean’s only marked you between your thighs and on your breasts. You think he’d liked that only he would be the one to see them. He’d been possessive every time he’d put laid them there, muttering low praise and gripping you tight enough to bruise your hips, tracing rough fingers over the dark spots with a gleam in his eyes you’d never allowed yourself to read into.
He’s being possessive now, too. Every time he moves to a different spot on your neck, he kisses the mark he’d just left, and he’s trapping you against his knee with an arm over your stomach, growling as you grind against him and throw your head back on his shoulder.
“Dean,” you gasp, your nails digging into his skin as he flicks your nipple. “God, please, I- I need- Need it-“
“’S alright, pretty girl.” He mutters, and your hips jerk against him. “Just let go, I’m here-“
You scream as you cum, and Dean grabs your chin, keeping your head against him as he swallows the sound with a groan.
“There’s one.” Dean smiles against your lips, and your wiggle against him as he rubs his knee back and forth on your cunt. “Good work, baby.”
For a second, everything is okay again. Dean’s kisses wander over your jaw, he’s still holding you, and the bliss in your body is only a clear, dazed light in your head and gentle warmth in your gut.
But then the light becomes blinding and searing in your skull, and the warmth becomes fire. Leaving blisters on your organs and making your skin spiked and wired and burnt-
You barely have a moment to shriek before Dean’s kissing you again, and it dulls everything but the pleasure. Just Dean’s tongue pressing onto yours, his hands gripping you by your hips and rolling you onto your back, his body covering yours entirely as he pulls away with a wide, almost boyish grin to look at you.
You’re a mess. You must be a mess. You’re wet in every possible sense of the word—arousal leaking between your thighs you know he’d been able to feel on his knee, sweat pressing your hair to your brow and staining the sheets below you—and you’re flushed and panting and a little fucking dizzy as you hang on the edge of. This isn’t how you’d want Dean to see you. Not like this, not for the first and last time, not when your breathing is ragged and you’re already wrecked and he looks like a god-
“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, shaking his head like he almost can’t believe. “Shit, baby, you’re gorgeous.”
You whine, because it’s all your mouth can manage to figure out how to do, and if you’re hot Dean’s volcanic. His nostrils are flaring as he scans over you, his skin looking like it fucking glows and his body carved from your deepest desires, and his cock is big and proud and poking on your thigh, and his eyes-
There’s a gleam in them. The possessive gleam you’ve never seen in full light. It’s intoxicating, and aimed at your soul like the barrel of a gun.
Dean starts to move again, and all you can do is let him work. Let him leave those same marking kisses down your chest—between and across your breasts, briefly sucking each nipple between his lips and flicking it with his tongue before moving on—and over your stomach, trailing feather-light touches over your torso and arms and waist, driving you out of your mind as you focus on breathing. Just breathing as your body starts to roll and rush with pleasure, and your head just spins around Dean. Everything smells like him, and you can hear him groaning against your skin, and you can feel him everywhere.
He’s reached your abdomen. And when his mouth finally drops lower, all he does is press one, soft kiss right over your clit before drawing back. Letting two broad fingers run over and between your pussy lips, spreading your folds wide for him to see and pressing his thumb right over your cunt without breaching inside.
“So fucking wet,” Dean says your name, and you really wish you could see his face right now. See if he looks as awestruck as he sounds.
You make a strangled sound that’s supposed to be his name, and he chuckles.
“Jesus, babygirl, you’re fucking soaked. Bet this pussy is ready for a proper fucking.” He presses his thumb slightly down, and if you had the energy to spring off the bed, you would. “But I think you’re going to need to hold it for a second. Let me get you nice and ready to take this cock.”
Your fingers curl in the bedsheet as you try to figure out how to scream at him to just take you, to stop being so fucking good and just fuck you, but you can’t. All you can do is listen to Dean’s deep, lustful drawl and hope you look half as pretty as he pretends you are.
Dean drags your hands from the sheets to tangle in his hair, and all you get is a small squeeze of your thighs before he’s shoving them fully apart and burying his face in your cunt.
It’s unfair, how good Dean is at this. He can’t be handsome and funny and able to ruin you with just his mouth, but he is. He knows exactly how to touch and taunt and toy with you, how to play with your pussy until you’re higher than fucking heaven. He tongue-fucks your cunt with an almost brutal fervor, and his strong nose rubs back and forth of your clit, and fuck, his hands are teasing at your thighs and keeping your legs split open for him to devour you.
You’ve never made these sounds before, and it’s spurring him on. Dean starts to circle your clit with his tongue, licking and sucking and rolling until you’re in a frenzy, and his stubble is perfectly soft and rough on your skin, and his teeth are grazing you ever so slightly-
You don’t scream this time. You moan and choke on air as you cum, and a flood of warmth rushed through your dripping cunt as you tug at Dean’s hair.
He rises up, wiping his face of something shiny and wet that you might have put there, and grins at you with bright, sparkling eyes.
“I didn’t know you could squirt.” He examines his fingers, looking back to you with a wide grin “We’re gonna have to figure out how to make you do it again, though, because that was fucking hot.”
You didn’t know you could squirt either. And you’d linger on how you might not have an again, but this relief is lasting longer, and Dean decides it’s a good idea to lick his fingers clean.
You’d had just enough strength to push up on your palms. You almost collapse back down at the sight, the ache starting to reignite between your legs.
But it’s not enough to hurt, though. This orgasm seems to be cresting, tiding you over for a little until the curse regains its hold on your body, and you plan to take full advantage of that. Dean’s still hard. And massive. And fucking throbbing.
You need him. Now.
When you move to your knees, crawling forward on the bed, Dean’s eyes widen.
“Shit, wait, sweetheart-“
You surge up when you meet him, crashing your lips to his and hanging off his body as he holds you upright. Thank god, he lets you have this. Dean groans into your mouth and ruts into your thigh, tugging on your hair to grant himself further access to your lips and throat.
You lower yourself to your knees and take Dean’s cock in your hands, slowly pumping him as he keeps a hand in your hair, shaking his head slightly.
“Baby, you don’t have to-“
“I do.” You whisper. You have to. Not for the curse, but for you. He needs to feel good too. You have to taste him, feel him heavy on your tongue and hear him groan when you touch him-
“I-“ He lets out a low groan as you run your thumb over his already weeping slit, and God, he’s so handsome. “Are you feeling-“
“I’m good. I promise.” You stroke him one last time before leaning back, rising your arms over your head as you hold his gaze. “Please.”
“Jesus,” Dean mutters your name, rubbing his jaw. “You’re- shit, okay.”
You smile at him as he moves to straddle your chest, bracing one hand on the headboard and the other in your head.
“Don’t know what the hell I did to deserve you, baby.” He mutters, pressing his dick on your lower lip and grunting when you part for him. “So fuckin’ pretty. Gonna fuck your mouth until you scream, sweetheart, so you need to-“
You grip Dean’s thighs, fully opening your mouth in a silent invitation, and his eyes flash, his hand tightening in your hair.
It’s all the warning you get before Dean shoves his cock between your lips and starts to rut into your mouth. He’s bumping the back of your throat and groaning your name above you, and he looks divine and tastes like salt and earth and Dean.
“God, you feel so good,” his words are fully slurring, low and almost a growl as you hollow your cheeks. “Shit, babygirl, you’re a fucking sin, look so beautiful suckin’ my cock, so fuckin’ good-“
He’s so fucking good. Dean’s head thrown back and his eyes hooded and trapped on yours, his biceps flexing as he leans forward and angles your head, and the ache is starting bubble over again so you drift a hand between your legs, and every time his hips jerk you whine and swallow around him-
“Fuck-“ Dean hisses, and he pulls away from you with a pop and groan, grabbing your wrist and pinning it back above your head. “Can’t do that yet, I told you we need to hold on-“
“Please,” you whisper, the pain starting to become overwhelming again. It’s worse this time. You feel like you’re being flayed alive every second Dean’s skin isn’t pressed to yours, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on for. “Dean, I need you, please.” You almost sob, and his jaw clenches. “I’m sorry, I just, it hurts-“
This is the softest kiss so far. Just a press of his lips on yours, the type of kiss you’d give a real lover, just to assure them you’re there. That you’ve got them and you’re never letting go.
“I know, sweet girl, I know. I’m gonna take care of you.” Dean scans over you, his voice so painfully gentle. “How do you-“
“However you want.” Your voice is barely a breath, and you spread your legs as wide as you can, praying he’ll just take what he wants.
But he’s a good person. So he doesn’t. Dean presses one last kiss to your brow, rolls you above him, and guides you down onto his cock.
You make a loud, shameless sound of relief as he bottoms out. You’re in a daze of pure Dean—filling you up and pressing deep inside of you and so good—and when you start to rock your hips, he lets you. Dean just watches you grind onto his dick with a dark, slightly glazed expression, grunting when you roll in a circle and holding you upright by your waist.
He lets you set the pace, lets your hands wander over every scar on his chest and your body writhe above him.
“Dean-“ You gasp, falling forwards to kiss him deep and desperate into the pillows. “I- you’re- God-“
He sucks on your upper lip, his voice only a growl that rumbles right into your cunt. “Say it again.”
“Dean-“
“No.” His hips jerk up, his grip tightening slightly. “Say the thing.”
“I love you,” you moan, and this time there’s no panic. He already knows. And whatever he asks of you, you’ll offer. Anything to stay here. Stuffed with Dean’s cock, a little high on how he’s watching you like you’re the first sunrise. “I love you, Dean, you’re- fuck, you’re so good-“
The sound that leaves Dean is feral, and he flips you over without effort. Pulling out briefly to reposition you beneath him, slapping the head of his cock on your clit, and shoving back into you with a groan and deep, rough kiss.
His pace doesn’t change from what you’d set. It’s almost in perfect time, rolling his hips to press against the deepest part of you and kissing all over your face as he drags you right back up to the edge.
“Look at you, baby. Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ good,” he grunts in your ear, his skin slapping against yours. “So pretty, such a tight, sweet pussy, so good, all mine-“
You moan, squeezing around him, and Dean groans, speeding up just enough to slam against at gooey, needy spot inside of you.
“There we go, sweetheart, gimme one more-“
You shake your head, clinging to his shoulders as he starts to rub furious circles on your clit. “Dean- I can’t-“
“You can. I know you can, baby, you gotta cum-“
“Dean-“
“C’mon!” He growls your name, and he sounds almost desperate. “I’ve gotcha, baby, I’m here, you just gotta cum for me, fuckin’ cum-“
You think you scream his name. You’re not really sure. Pleasure numbs your every other sense as your orgasm hits, and all you can hear is your blood pounding in your ears and Dean’s voice, right next to your ear.
“I love you,” he says your name, and you really wish the world wasn’t just light and hazy warmth right now. “So much, and I- fuck- I need you. Please.”
The next few moments are utter oblivion. You can’t tell if you’re cured or not, because all you can smell and feel is Dean and warmth leaking between your thighs, but all you can hear are Dean’s words bouncing around your head, and all you can see is white.
He loves you.
He needs you.
And when you come back down, your vision clearing and every bit of pain evaporating into the air, you feel good.
Dean’s no longer above you. He’s moved you into his lap, and he’s holding you to his chest as if you’re a stuffed animal. Your face his pressed into his neck, and his voice is low enough you can’t make out exactly what he’s saying, but it sounds like he’s praying.
You wait a second as your mind returns to your body, and he’s not praying. He’s mostly just saying your name, over and over again, but his tone is heavy and rough, and it sounds like a prayer.
“Dean,” you whisper, pushing slightly off of his chest to meet his wide eyes. “I-“
He kisses you. But this isn’t one of the soft, reassuring kisses, or the heady, lustful ones. It’s long and deep and careful, and it feels like he’s trying to push his breath into your throat. He’s holding you like you’re fragile and—when he pulls away and presses his brow to yours—looking at you like just his gaze might turn you to mist in his hands.
“Did it work?” His voice is strained, his fingers digging slightly into your skin like he’s trying to tether you together, or drag you into his body. “Are we good?”
You nod, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth because you can’t help yourself. “We’re good.”
“Thank fuck.” He lets out a long breath, his eyes squeezing shut. “Son of a bitch, I had the three orgasms down, but Sam said you I’d have to say it during climax, and he didn’t say if it would be mine or yours so I had to take the gamble-“
“Sam said?!” You lean away from him, gaping slightly. “When did you ask Sam-“
“After you said you love me, then passed out.” Dean gives you a flat look. “You weren’t going to be helpful, sweetheart, and I needed to know how to fix this.”
“You-“ You swallow, flushing as you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Did you- Did you know you could fix it? After I told you how?”
Dean nostrils flare, and he nods. “Yeah.”
“And did you mean it?”
A small smile plays on his lips. “Curse wouldn’t have worked if I didn’t, sweetheart.”
You roll your eyes, whacking his arm. “Shut up, I’ve had a long day-“
“You’ve had a long day?” Dean raises his brows, his grin becoming shit eating. “The girl I love almost just died because she would just let me fuck her-“
“Well how was I supposed to know you loved me! You’d never said it-“
“Neither had you-“
“Yeah, but- you-“ You scowl at him, even as you drop your brow back to his. “You never fucked me with the lights on.”
“You never asked me to fuck you with the lights on.” Dean lets out a long breath, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I thought you just didn’t want me to.”
“Oh.” You sigh. “Well, fuck.”
Dean chuckles in agreement, nodding. “Also, did you tell Sam and not me-“
“By accident-“ You pause, your eyes widening on Deans. “Wait, he didn’t know that you-“
“He was the only person that knew. The little bitch.” Dean grumbles, and you giggle, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Sam is not little.”
“He’s gonna be little when I’m done with him. Letting me think you didn’t love me when he fucking knew-“
“I did tell him not to say anything.” You offer. “There were threats of stabbing.”
“He shoulda risked it.” Dean snaps, and you just hum against his skin.
You could get used to this.
You really need to make sure it’s real, and that the oblivion wasn’t actually death, and you’re not just in heaven right now. You probably wouldn’t actually make it to heaven, but it could also just be a really creative hell, so you have to check.
“Dean?”
He grunts, tracing pattern on your hips, and you let out a slow breath.
“How long have you… loved me?”
“I-“ He sighs, not quite meeting your eyes. “A while.”
“How long is-“
“Long enough that I don’t remember.”
“Oh.” You mumble, and he lets out a dry chuckle.
“How about you?”
“Forever.” You whisper, scanning over his face to figure out if you can find what you’d somehow missed before.
And there it is. In the light, it’s easy to see. Clear, soft and solid love written on Dean’s every feature, all of it designed for you. It’s not really in his eyes or the curve of his lip, or how he’s holding you or shifting to keep you comfortable above him. It’s all of it together, spelling out so obviously that Dean loves you.
You wonder if he can see something similar on you. If that’s why his eyes flash and his lips part, his hands stilling on your body and his voice growing rough.
“Are we- Is this it?”
“This-“
“Us.” He mutters, and you’ve never seen him nervous before. Bowing his head as he blushes, leaning a little closer to your body like he could move into you forever. “Together.”
“I-“ Your fingers trace over a scar on his abdomen, and you take a long breath. “Do you want to do this? Us?”
“More than anything.”
“Oh.” You swallow, and Dean looks up at you with an almost panicked expression.
“Do you- I get it if you don’t, Sammy and I don’t have a great track record, but I fucking swear, baby, I’d-“
It’s your turn to cut him off with a kiss. And when you pull back he looks a little dazed, and you smile.
“I want you, Dean. More than anything.”
Dean drags you into a deeper longer kiss, he really is the best person you’ve ever known.
A worse person wouldn’t hold you like this. A worse person wouldn’t say they love you and make sure you feel it in your bones. A worse person could never smile like Dean does—wide and toothy and bright—or light up your whole world with just his presence and voice.
“You and me, baby?”
“Okay.” You smile back, and he’s so good. “You and me.”
“Awesome.”
End Note: Is it even porn if it isn't emotional??? Am I even me if I don't make it emotional??
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A/N: Thank you for all the lovely messages about this series! I'm so happy y'all are loving it and are excited to see it continued <3
Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.
Aka it's a road trip, strap in.
CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)
WC: 2200+
Part I | Masterlist
“You got a girlfriend, Brad Bradshaw?”
Bradley looks over at you, sitting in his passenger seat in a green sundress, fiddling with a charm on your bracelet. “No,” he replies rather hoarsely, unsure how to interpret your question.
“Why not?” you continue, your tone light and carefree, as though you’re just asking about the weather.
“I dunno,” Bradley mutters uncomfortably, returning his attention to the road.
You look up at him abruptly and he throws you a brief glance; just long enough to see the concern on your face. “Think about it,” you suggest.
Bradley sighs, making a concentrated effort to check his blind spot before switching lanes – like driving could distract him from this conversation. Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend? He’s never really thought about it so, clearly, it hasn’t been at the top of his priority list. “The last girlfriend I had was in college. Didn’t last long, either,” he says, hoping this might appease your curiosity enough for you to change the subject.
“Hmm.”
He looks over at you again, wondering what you’re thinking. Wondering if you might consider this little detail a red flag. “I haven’t really met anyone I wanted to spend all my time with,” he says. Until now.
“Interesting,” you muse, leaning back into your seat as though you’re satisfied with this response.
“Is it?” Bradley asks, his gaze inadvertently coasting over your bare thighs every time he glances at you.
You shrug mildly, your fingers once again toying with your bracelet.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Bradley asks, feeling temporarily bold.
“Mmm,” you deliberate, dropping your hands into your lap and slanting your head back against the headrest. “We’ll see.”
Bradley furrows his eyebrows, now watching you more than he’s watching the road. “What does that mean?”
“It means, we’ll see, sugar,” you respond absently. Then, suddenly, you spring up in your seat. “Apple orchard ahead!” you exclaim, pointing at the sign on the side of the interstate.
Bradley, more confused than ever, blinks between your outstretched arm, the billboard, and the road. “You want to pick apples?”
You give Bradley a look and say, “They’ll have pie!”
“Oh!” Bradley chuckles. “Say no more.” He makes a few lane changes so as not to miss the fast-approaching exit.
“We can have the pie for lunch,” you say, glancing at the clock on his dash.
“We can stop for lunch and then get pie,” Bradley proposes, hoping to once again enjoy the pleasure of your company at a restaurant.
You consider his offer and then counter with, “We can have some pie, then have lunch, and then have some more pie.”
Bradley laughs. “Sold.”
…
About an hour later, Bradley is sitting with you on a small dock overlooking a creek, the open pie box positioned in between the two of you.
“That’s a fresh pie,” you comment, sticking your fork into the flaky crust.
Bradley grins at the top of your head as you lean over the box to take a bite. For some reason, your obsession with pie supremely amuses him. “You’re fucking adorable,” he says before he can stop himself.
You freeze with the fork in your mouth and then slowly blink up at him, your eyes searching his for a moment before you sensually draw the fork out of your mouth and then lick it for good measure. Bradley nearly has a heart attack. You smirk at him playfully and then get to your feet. “You think?” you ask, as though you want to hear him say it again. You bend over slightly and lift your leg to remove a sandal.
Bradley watches you gracefully step out of your shoes while beads of sweat collect under the collar of his t-shirt. How could he have let that kind of thing slip?
“Fancy a dip, Rooster?” You eye him mischievously.
Bradley gulps as you bunch up your sundress, exposing more of your legs than he should ever get to see, and dip a toe into the water. The current bubbles around your foot.
“It’s cold!” you squeal, lifting your foot out of the water with a laugh.
Bradley chuckles, getting up as you hop in your excitement on the edge of the dock. “Careful,” he cautions, holding his arm out in case you fall. “Don’t slip.”
You plunge your whole foot into the water before promptly removing it with a splash and a yelp.
“Come on,” he says. “How cold can it be?”
You giggle, taking a hold of his arm as you once again lower your foot into the creek.
Bradley lets his hand close gently around your elbow, steadying you while your toe makes circles in the water.
“How deep do you think it is?”
And before Bradley has a chance to respond, you make your way to the bank and take several steps into the creek, squealing as you go. Bradley shakes his head with a laugh as you wade further in.
“What’re you waitin’ for, handsome?” you call to him when you’re about knee deep in the water.
Bradley, who’s pretty sure he’s going to be replaying that line in his head for the next week, strolls up the dock toward the bank. He slips off his shoes and stands on the slope for a moment, letting the water lap at his bare feet.
“It’s freezing, right?” you exclaim giddily.
Bradley shrugs as he finally enters the – admittedly frigid – water. “It’s nice,” he says. “Refreshing.”
You snort as he strides toward you and, when he’s close enough, you dip your hand into the water and splash him.
“Hey now,” he cautions. “Don’t start something you wouldn't want me to finish.” He’s deep enough now that the bottoms of his shorts are skimming the surface of the water.
You giggle and splash him again – harder this time.
Bradley shakes his head, lowering his hand into the water. “Just remember,” he says, “you asked for this.” And then he glides his hand along the surface, sending a cluster of water droplets in your direction.
You screech, covering your face and, not a moment later, start a boisterous aquatic attack, showering him with icy water and completely impairing his visual field. The skirt of your dress floats in the water like a lily pad as you retreat deeper into the creek.
Bradley, who’s now soaked from head to toe, peels off his t-shirt and tosses it onto the dock. Then, he follows you deeper. “You’ve been warned, princess,” he says, gathering a wave of water and sending it in your direction.
You scream as the giant splash drenches you entirely. You stand still for a moment, accepting your fate, and then you wrap your arms around your shoulders, shivering as you glance up at Bradley whilst water drips from the tip of your nose. “I’m all wet!” you shriek.
Bradley laughs, finally approaching you. “What did you expect?”
“That you’d let me win!”
Bradley eyes you with a smirk. “Let you win? Honey, you don’t know me at all.” Bradley can’t remember the last time in his life he’d used so many pet names, but, looking at you, they just keep rolling off his tongue.
You pout at him, your lashes dripping water every time you blink. “I’ll get you back when you least expect it,” you say.
Bradley chuckles. “Your lips are turning blue,” he says, noticing that your teeth are starting to chatter.
You let Bradley lead you out of the water and, once you’re back on the bank, you start to wring out the bottom of your sundress. The wet material sticks to your curves invitingly and Bradley begrudgingly looks away.
…
“Want me to drive for a while?” you ask, approaching the car.
Bradley looks over at you with an amused smirk as he pulls open the passenger door. “Nope,” he responds.
“You don’t trust me with your precious Bronco?” you ask playfully.
Bradley chuckles, shaking his head. “I just don’t mind driving.”
“Neither do I.” You shrug.
Bradley ponders for a moment before replying, “Next time.”
You raise your eyebrows at him. “Planning another road trip with me already?”
Bradley feels the unwelcome – but vexingly predictable – stutter of his heart as you continue to hold his gaze. He tightens his grip on the frame of the door he’s still holding open because he can’t very well sink his hands into you. Not only are you much younger than anyone Bradley’s ever dated, you’re also Hangman’s little sister, a reality so unfortunate that it almost feels contrived. Of all the girls in the world, why does he have to be so utterly infatuated with you? After a few seconds of – we’ll call it deliberate – silence, he grins. “If you’ll have me,” he says.
You smile. “Fun,” you say, drawing a little closer to the passenger door – a little closer to Bradley. “Where are we going?”
Bradley gulps uneasily. “Anywhere,” he says, his voice raspy and uneven.
You graze your teeth over your bottom lip and Bradley could swear that the heat of the afternoon sun is about to melt his very bones. “I’ve always wanted to take the scenic route to Alaska,” you muse, pursing your lips.
Bradley watches you unblinkingly. “Let’s go,” he says.
You let out a peal of laughter and slap him lightly on the chest. “Can you imagine?” you exclaim.
He can. “It’s a bit in the opposite direction,” he says somewhat ironically. “But anything’s better than the desert,” he concludes, slowly shifting his weight after standing very still for a very long time.
You smile at him sympathetically, as though you can tell he’s suffering greatly. “Rain check?” you ask softly.
Bradley, who is absolutely sure that there isn’t a single organ in his body left uncooked, comments facetiously, “Does it ever rain here?”
…
“Let’s stop for some coffee,” you say about half an hour after getting back on the road.
If Bradley didn’t know any better, he’d think you might be finding excuses to extend the trip. “With a pinch of salt?” Bradley teases you, but obediently merges onto the offramp.
“I’m thinking of switching majors,” you say quietly, as though you’re unsure whether you really want to share this information.
Bradley glances over at you as he pulls up to a red light. “Sounds like you might need something a little stronger than coffee.”
You snort loudly and then let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m thinking you might be right, darlin’.”
Bradley’s heart races as he pulls into the lot of the first bar he sees. Frequenting watering holes is absolutely on the list of things Bradley should not be doing with his colleague’s baby sister. But you seem like you need to get something off your chest. And Bradley can’t imagine a more ideal way to spend an evening.
The tavern is low-lit and crowded, and you shift slightly closer to his side upon entering. Bradley instinctively places a hand on your back, like it’s meant to be there or something. He guides you through the packed bar toward an empty table near the back and waves down a server before taking a seat across from you.
He slides you a cocktail menu and watches you peruse it without saying a word. When the server arrives, you order a paloma.
Bradley orders a whiskey neat and fixes you with a weighty look once the server departs. “You want to talk about it?” he asks.
You shrug. “We can.”
Bradley continues searching your face. “Do you want to?”
You sigh and look down into your lap. “Nobody knows yet,” you admit. “I’m halfway through my junior year so switching would really set me back.”
Bradley nods sympathetically. He knows all about being set back. “What are you thinking of switching to?”
“Psych,” you respond hesitantly.
Then the drinks arrive and you fall uncharacteristically silent. Bradley takes a sip of his whiskey while you down a quarter of your cocktail in one gulp. “You want my advice?” he asks. “Or are you just sharing?”
You meet his gaze distantly. “My parents are gonna flip shit,” you says monotonously, as if you haven’t even heard his question.
Bradley smirks at you. “It’s their job to overreact,” he says. “They just want to protect you.”
You absently run your finger around the rim of your glass. “My brother’s gonna question my judgement. Say I’m making a mistake.”
“Your brother has questionable judgement, himself,” Bradley points out.
You let out a small chuckle. “I wish I knew both outcomes before making a decision.”
Bradley could sure relate to that feeling. “Sometimes, you just have to go with your gut. It may not apply here, to be honest, but this guy I know – one of my superiors – he uh, he has this motto: ‘Don’t think, just do.’ I’m not saying yours has to be a split second decision. But, if it were, and you had to decide this minute, without weighing the consequences or talking it over with your family, what would you choose?”
You blink up at him soberly and state, “Naval Academy.”
Bradley’s eyes widen stupidly as he processes your words. “That” – he croaks, then clears his throat – “that’s not psychology.”
You suck in your cheeks and solemnly shake your head.
