Bsf!Peter Parker who... can't help but watch you whenever you two hang out. His eyes trace simple patterns and equations across your body, wishing they could be the freezing hands he wears everyday.
Bsf!Peter Parker who... is nonstop thinking about you after your last hangout. Even when he's working on a new variation for his webs, he can't get it right. Not even when he's at his most focused, sweat gathering on his brow, as he tries to be as nimble as possible. Which ultimately, he fails.
Bsf!Peter Parker who... seems to disappear a lot more around you, which you notice but don't pay much mind to. At school he had been his normal—well as normal as Peter Parker could be; Normal geeky awkward self. Out of school? That was an entirely different story.
Bsf!Peter Parker who... 's school bag was found webbed to a trashcan? Almost as if Spider-man had mugged him and left his beaten and battered backpack.
Bsf!Peter Parker who... swings up to his bedroom window, changed back into his school clothes to avoid any suspicion from anybody near-by. He freezes with one foot in the window to find you sitting on his bed with his backpack in both hands.
Bsf!Peter Parker who... panics and falls face first through his window and into a crouch on the floor by his desk with a small yelp. He quickly scrambles to his feet, hastily swiping at the grime and blood smearing his face.
Bsf!Peter Parker who... answers a bit more rushed than usual to your question, "Peter, are you being bullied by...Spiderman?"
What to Expect When You're Expecting (A Vigilante)
Dick Grayson x plus size reader
DC Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Alfred Puts His Foot Down (Part 2) | Jason Avenges Her (Part 3)
What happens when you fall in love with your best friend’s older brother and get pregnant after a one night stand with him? What happens when the father is Nightwing and your best friend is Red Hood?
A/N: Requests and taglists are open! See my masterlist for fandoms/characters
Warnings: smut, angst, unprotected sex, friends-to-lovers, pregnancy, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader, sassy Alfred, mentions of dead parents and orphanages, insecure!reader, insecure!Dick, Jason and reader grew up in Crime Alley so warnings for drugs (neither use), assault, stealing, sickness, etc., low-key pregnancy trope so if you don’t like that, scroll on, size kink (Dick is 6’3”), pubic hair, pet names (bunny), spitting, oral (m and f receiving), bad self-image, self-hate
WC: 4.1k
Minors DNI
Part 1
End of a Friendship
“Fuck baby you’re so fucking sexy.” Dick kissed up the young woman’s neck as her head lolled back on the ratty old couch they were sitting on, moaning loudly, her fingers threading through his silky black hair and tugging gently. She had no clue how this had happened. This was just supposed to be a movie night with her best friend, and now she was making out with his older brother.
Y/N Y/L/N and Jason Todd had been inseparable since they met on the streets of Gotham when they were both 9 years old. They stole food to survive, pickpocketed for their money and when Jason got involved in drug-running, she followed. But then that fateful night, Jason attempted to steal the tires off the bat mobile. Y/N was sick, she needed medicine, her little 11 year old body couldn’t handle the flu sweeping through Gotham without it. He needed the money but it ended up with him getting adopted by Batman and Y/N being left behind.
The former Robin spent years searching for her, both before and after his death, but after he left, she had disappeared into the foster-care system. Even Bruce couldn’t find her. But then, like some kind of miracle, they bumped into each other when Jason went to pick up Tim from school where she had been walking in to apply for a job.
“Y/N? Is that really you?” “Jay?” Tears were in both of their eyes as they hugged for the first time in 9 years, his now 6’5” frame towering over her plump body. “Jason, can we go home now?” “Shut up replacement.” And all of a sudden, they were inseparable again. He brought her to the manor a week after.
He was surprisingly nervous about it. “They should’ve been your family too. But I failed you.” “You never failed me Jason. But right now this fat girl is starving, I need some food!” Dinner had been awkward at first, Bruce’s own guilt making him ask incredibly weird questions like what her favourite textbook was from school. Jason gave him a weird look for that. Both her and Dick broke out into laughter at the same time.
“Oh man, I never thought THE Bruce Wayne could be so awkward!” Dick leaned over the table to regale her with a story. “Seriously?! There was one time at a gala where this older woman was flirting with him and he had no idea how to respond so he just shouted ‘CHEESE!’ AND RAN AWAY!” Dick and Y/N were now cackling, Bruce had a small pink tint to his cheeks at the story. “Not my best moment.” He muttered under his breath. “Ok that’s good but you have nothing on that time Jason tripped over-“
She was cut off by her friend clapping his large hand over her mouth. “Well that’s enough of that. What the hell?! Did you just lick me?!” He pulled his hand back, the palm wet. “Yes, don’t interrupt me again when I’m trying to embarrass you. Don’t forget, I could still beat you up.” “Tt,” Damian scoffed, “I highly doubt it.” Y/N just smiled wider. “You say that now but Jason’s a little wuss. He’s got this one spot between his ribs that makes him laugh hysterically. I used it so many times. If you do that and then sit on him, he just gives up.”
The youngest Wayne perked up at the prospect of tormenting his older brother. “Please continue. How else can I annoy Todd?” The entire night was filled with laughter, embarrassing stories were exchanged, mostly making fun of Bruce. “Listen Y/N. I’m really sorry I didn’t adopt you. I truly had no idea you existed until Jason told me.” Y/N placed her hand on Bruce’s arm as he walked her to the front door. “I don’t have any ill-will towards you. I am just grateful that you gave Jason the opportunity to escape that life.” She gave each of them a kiss on the cheek before walking outside to Jason’s motorcycle.
“Don’t you even think about it Grayson. She is off-limits.” Jason shoved his brother as he was trying to get a look at her ass. “What makes you think I would try to flirt with her?” “I know you. You break hearts and I won’t let you break hers.”
Soon enough, Y/N was ingrained within the Batfamily (she learned about their secret identity when she saw Robin sitting on Red Hood and poking him in the ribs on the roof across from hers one night. It was pretty easy to figure it out after that). Damian came over after school to eat freshly made cookies that she made especially for him, Tim loved to drink coffee and gossip at the cafe down the street, Jason spent most nights at her place but Fridays were always reserved for movie nights, Dick loved to come over in the mornings to get some free breakfast (even though he lived off of Wayne money), Alfred helped her shop on Sunday mornings, and Bruce just appeared every once in a while to leave money hidden all over the apartment as some sort of ‘Sorry for abandoning you’ gift which she always found a way to give back.
It was a Friday night when things went wrong. Jason had texted her earlier to let her know he couldn’t make it to her place because of Outlaws business but would make it up to her later. Y/N put on a movie anyway and settled into a blanket burrito, regretting her choice of the Conjuring (a suggestion from Tim who she never should’ve trusted). She screamed when someone knocked on her door. “Y/N! Answer the door! Are you ok?” She stumbled forward and yanked the door open to a very worried looking Dick.
“Heyyyyy how’s it going?” She leaned against the frame, attempting to play off her nervousness in front of the god before her. “You good Y/N? You seem a bit nervous.” “Psssh me? Never. Is that food?” She locked onto the take-out bag in his hand, snatching it away and gesturing for him to come in. “Jason said to check in on you. He hates ditching you ya know.” The 6’3” man collapsed on her shitty couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table while Y/N gathered some utensils for the Italian food he had brought.
“You didn’t have to do that Dick. I’m just fine on my own.” He raised one perfect eyebrow. “Yeah I bet. Cause you definitely didn’t scream bloody murder when I knocked.” Y/N plopped down beside him and pointed a fork at his face. “That was not my fault. I blame Tim and his horrible movie recommendations.” Nightwing just laughed and wrapped a thick arm around her shoulders, starting the movie again.
A jump scare made Y/N yelp and fall back onto Dick’s chest. Her soft body coming into contact with his hard pecs sent shivers down her spine. “You alright bunny?” A stupid nickname he had given her when she got sick and her nose kept twitching “like a little bunny”, it never failed to make her heart flutter. “Yeah yeah I'm ok, just got a bit scared…” Her voice trailed off. Their faces were incredibly close together, she could see those gorgeous blue eyes dilate, the black of his pupil slowly encompassing those hypnotic irises. He brought his hand up and cupped her jaw, rubbing his thumb along the apple of her cheek. “Don’t worry bunny, I’ll always protect you.”
And then he kissed her.
Everything about Dick was perfect. The way his slightly chapped lips (she should remind him to start using lip balm) met her own, how the hand resting on her shoulder dropped to the back of her neck to keep her close as the other fell to one of her large thighs, gripping it tightly, making her arch into him. The kiss was slowly starting to heat up. His tongue licked the seam of her mouth and Y/N tilted her head slightly to deepen the kiss, letting him in. She held tightly to his shirt, his hard muscles moved deliciously beneath her hands.
Dick moved, his lips traced the line of her jaw, then licking down the pulse in her neck. “Fuck you make me so hard bunny. You’re so fucking sexy.” He bit down hard on where her heart beat was strongest, making Y/N throw her head back and let out a pornographic moan. She buried her fingers into his perfect hair and gave a slight tug, Dick groaned, his hips thrusting forward into her side. “Fuck this.” He growled before standing up and throwing Y/N over his shoulder.
“Dick! Put me down!” He only responded by biting her ass cheek and laughing. “I’ll pick you up whenever I want bunny.” Dick threw her onto her bed. He stood over her, pulling his way too tight shirt over his head, revealing his toned body from years of fighting crime. He shucked his jeans down his thighs. ‘Who knew Nightwing likes to go commando?’ Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of his cock. A perfect 7 1/2 inches that slapped against his hairless abdomen. “How’d you get it so smooth down there?” “I wax.” He seemed way too proud of himself. “Well don’t get too excited about my no no square Grayson, it’s a bit of a jungle down there.” He huffed. “Well it’s a good thing I used to be a boy scout, I love exploring the wilderness.” “Oh my god! You are such a dork!” He just jumped on top of her, kissing along her collarbone.
“You sure you want this baby? You can say no, there’s no obligation.” She wrapped her arms against his broad shoulders. “I want this, I want you.” “Such a good little bunny.” “Oh fuck.” She moaned. “Yeah that’s right, make those pretty noises for me.” His hands wandered under her shirt as they began to kiss again. Her nipples pebbled under his touch, her back arching into his warm palms. “Let me get you naked baby girl. I need to see your gorgeous body.” Y/N pulled her leggings down along with her panties. “Dick, you have to take your hands off my tits if you want my shirt to come off.”
“No thanks, I’m good here.” She wrangled her shirt over her head without the man-child moving his hands. “Holy fuck I knew you would be hot but you are perfect bunny.” He kissed her again, softly this time, savouring the way their lips fit together. His plump lips wandered down, kissing his way down her body. “Wait wait.” He froze. “Oh god, do you not want this.” He panicked slightly, eyes going wide in embarrassment. Y/N gave him a quick peck. “I do want this, I just wanna suck your cock first.”
Dick settled back against the headboard, perfectly sculpted body and dark hair giving him the appearance of a Greek God and Y/N was so ready to worship at his feet. She crawled up his body, licking his hard abs, relishing in the way his stomach tensed and blue eyes fluttered shut. “Please bunny, stop teasing.” The whines that escaped his mouth made heat pool between her thighs, she couldn’t deny him for long.
She gripped his length tightly with one hand, giving an experimental tug before licking from his balls to his slightly purple tip. The taste of his pre-cum, which had already gathered in a large bead at the end, made her moan. Without any hesitation, she sucked him as far down as she could, using her hand to jerk the rest. “Yes! Such a good bunny!” Her head bobbed, twisting her wrist in time so every part of him was simulated. Dick was hypnotised by her movements, the way she seemed to predict exactly what would get him closer and closer to spilling down her throat.
He gently laid a hand on the back of her head, guiding her further down his shaft. “That’s it. Such a good girl taking care of me like this. You like sucking me off don’t you. Look so perfect like this. I love looking at those tits by my cock.” He wiped away a few tears from her cheeks as she began to gag, the nails of her non-dominant hand digging into his thigh almost painfully but she kept going. “Good~ ah fuck~ making me feel so good.”
Y/N focused on his tip, hallowing her cheeks and swirling her tongue. “Bunny if you keep going like this, I’ll cum in your mouth.” She surfaced for air but continued to jerk him off. “What doesn’t the great Nightwing have more than one round in him.” “Oh you’re in for it now. Open your fucking mouth.” She dutifully obeyed, her jaw relaxing and tongue rolling out. Dick tightened his fingers around her throat and spit into her mouth. “Keep sucking.”
She moaned as she descended on his cock again, eyes rolling back as she took him deeper and deeper, not stopping until her nose was flush with his smooth pelvis. Swallowing desperately to prevent herself from gagging, Y/N stayed like that for as long as possible before coming up for a breath and then sinking back down. Dick was going wild beneath her, muscles tensing, thighs shaking, moans and groans rumbling through his chest as he got closer to his orgasm.
“Yes baby! Gonna cum!” Large hands held her down as his cum slid down her throat, warming her belly. She moaned around him, massaging his balls to milk his orgasm. “Fuuuuuck. Come back up here bunny.” Y/N let go of his cock with a wet pop and giggled as she was pulled back up to her lover’s chest and he kissed her again. “I can see why so many women fawn over you, you taste delicious.” His head fell back and he laughed. “I don’t think that’s the reason, let me show you the real one.”
Without missing a beat, Dick grabbed her thick hips and lifted as he kneeled on the bed. “What are you doing!” She screamed, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. He just chuckled and lifted her higher so her core was level with his face. “You know I usually do this standing up but I really don’t want to bash your head on this low ass ceiling.” And with that, he dived forward, furiously devouring her. Y/N wrapped her plump thighs around his head, cutting off his airflow. But Dick kept going.
The hood of her already sensitive clit was pushed up by his nose as his tongue fucked into her hole. “Oh god oh god oh god.” Her orgasm was coming on unbelievably fast, faster than she could even do it herself. Her hands tugged at his har, trying to pull him away and push him closer at the same time. He hummed into her pussy and that’s what did it.
Y/N screamed, back bowed backwards as her body trembled, pleasure shooting through her in waves, the man between her legs slurped down everything she had to give him. As she started to come down, Dick pried her legs apart, just enough to take down a few huge gulps of air before going back down, fingers digging hard into her asscheeks. “Dick please no more!” He ignored her, instead focusing his assault on her clit, expertly sucking it into his mouth, just barely scraping his teeth against her. Another orgasm slammed into her, then without any warning, the next one peaked.
Blackness started to cloud her vision as another high built. Her screams had gone silent, mouth opening and closing like she was the one struggling for air, not Dick. Her body suddenly relaxed, slumping over his head, eyes rolling back into her skull as the blackness completely took over.
Dick’s hand slid up her back so he could lay Y/N down gently on the comforter. He pried her thighs from around his neck and laid her down flat. “Come on bunny, come back to me now.” Light kisses were pressed to her face, the soft brushes of his lips bringing Y/N back from the darkness.
Her e/c eyes fluttered open and was met with Dick hovering over her, smiling brightly. “There she is. How are you feeling?” “Like I was just held up and tongue fucked.” “Well good, that’s what I was going for. Now, you think you can handle one more?” “Don’t challenge me Grayson, you’ll lose.” He licked a stripe up her throat to her ear, biting the lobe before whispering. “Oh baby, I never lose.”
Lips locked, hips grinding against each other, Dick fumbled around the second-hand nightstand by the bed, searching for a little foil packet. The kiss slowed down when he didn’t find any. “You know it takes two people to do the horizontal tango right?” “Condoms?” “Fuck, I gave Jason my last box.” The silence was thick as they debated what to do. “I’m on the pill, and I’m clean.”
“I’m clean too. But just… Are you absolutely sure?” She nodded. “I need you please.” Light pecks soon turned into passionate kisses as Dick lined himself up, dropping his head to her shoulder, pushing in.
“Oh god yes!” The stretch of his cock was perfect, just bordering on painful as he filled her, the curve immediately hitting her g-spot. The way his hard edges fit to her soft ones, how he curved around her to keep her in place, pinning his body down with her legs and arms, like neither one could bare an inch of space between them.
The thrusts started off slow and deep, almost grinding but then, the desperation became too much. Y/N rolled her generous hips up into the bigger man, a growl vibrated through his chest and he began to punch into her, short, powerful strokes that knock the breath from her lungs and stop her voice for calling out for more.
Headboard slamming into the wall, bed frame trembling. “Please please.” Dick shifts slightly so he can wedge a hand between them to just graze her clit, she tightens like a vice around him. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he’s hurtling towards the edge but he doesn’t care.
“Cum.” And she explodes, limbs instinctively tightening, drawing him in deeper and deeper until he couldn’t stand it, his own high washing over him. Shallow thrusts helped them come down.
Their foreheads rest together, breathing the same air, not daring to make a sound, too scared to break the afterglow. Neither of them knew how long they lay like that, Dick leaning most of his weight on his forearms by her head, still between her legs. Then he got too soft to stay inside her heat and he just flopped out.
The resounding slap from his cock slapping Y/N’s plump thigh made them both laugh. “Oh my god that was the weirdest noise I’ve ever heard.” Her head rolled back. A little kiss landed on her cheek before Dick got up and pulled her into his arms so he could bring her to the bathroom. A quick clean up of their messes, led to the pair snuggled under the covers. her head on his chest, his arms keeping her safe.
Y/N winced as the morning light shone into her eyes. “Dick can you please close the curtains.” She rolled over, reaching for the other side of the bed, in search of her companion but her hand only slapped the empty space, sheets cold. Eyebrows scrunched in confusion, she forces her eyes open only to confirm that she was, in fact, alone.
With a blanket wrapped around her, she waddled into her apartment, but there was no trace of anyone besides her having been there the night before except for the soreness between her legs and bruises on her hips. Dick had left, no note, no goodbye.
The only text on her phone was from Jason, promising a make-up movie night that night. A heavy weight settled on her chest, a light squeeze around her heart. She knew it was only going to be a one night stand, Dick was a playboy, he didn’t commit. But it still hurt, she thought their friendship meant more than that.
She shoved her feelings deep down and set about for the day, rubbing the entire apartment of memories, stripping the bed and cleaning everything, another shower and clean clothes lessened the pressure. By the time Jason clambered through her window, she felt numb but ok.
“Since when do you watch horror movies?” Y/N forgot that they had simply let the movie keep running in their haste. “Tim suggested it, it was a bit too scary for me.” “Let’s watch it again. You know I’ll always protect you.” Tears stung in the corner of her eyes but she simply smiled and settled into her friend’s side, hoping he would notice her silent cries.
The months since that night passed by quickly, Y/N rarely ever saw Dick anymore, only in passing. Her heart had cracked when she saw him in a club Jason and Roy dragged her to. He was grinding up against this skinny goddess, her dark skin glowing under the club lights as their hips gyrated together. Y/N’s stomach wound tighter and tighter as the tension between the pair increased, the red dress covering her curves suddenly felt too revealing, too tight. She fought her way through the crowd, bursting into the bathroom.
The remnants of her lunch quickly came back up as she heaved over the toilet bowl. A hand rubbed up and down her back, trying to sooth her. “Do you want me to get Jason?” The bathroom floor was sticky and cold but she didn’t want to leave it right now. Roy’s vibrant red hair was already covered in glitter in the ten minutes they had been in the building. “No, I think I’ll just go home, I don’t want to stop you guys from having fun.”
“Alright, but let me at least wait outside for you while you wait for a cab.” She nodded and he lifted her from the ground, supporting her weight as he shoved through the crowd. As soon as they stepped out onto the street, the cold air rushed through her lungs, tamping down the last bits of nausea in her gut. The archer held her close, his body heat keeping the chill away as they waited. “Are you sure you’re ok?” “Yeah yeah I think my period is coming up so I tend to get a bit sick.” He nodded but didn’t look like he was convinced.
“Just text me to let me know you’re home safe. Take this just in case.” He handed her a small knife as a taxi idled in front of them. She raised an eyebrow but took it anyway. “Tell Jay I’m sorry for leaving early.” With a kiss on the cheek, she was off. By the time she got home, Y/N was so mentally exhausted that she fell asleep on the couch.
Alfred was quiet as he and Y/N walked through the farmer’s market, tote bag already full of fall goodies. “You’ve missed two dinners at the manor.” “I-I’m sorry Al. I’ve just been so busy, I-“ “Do not lie to me young lady. I respect you enough to be honest with you, I expect you to do the same for me.” Her eyes looked down in shame, she hated getting scolded by the older man. “Dick and I hooked up. And we just stopped being friends. He hasn’t called me, hasn’t even acknowledged what happened and now I’ve been getting sick. I’m so scared that I’m pregnant. I don’t know what to do, Al.”
“Ok. Let’s start with one thing at a time. There’s a pharmacy nearby. We’ll get you a test and go from there.” The butler wrapped her arm around his own. Everything after that was a blur. She didn’t remember buying the three pieces of plastic or the drive back to the manor. Alfred made her tea as they waited in silence.
The timer on her phone went off but Y/N made no move to check them, so Alfred did. He laid a hand on her shoulder and then the tears started.
You’re a single mom who’s just moved into a new house with your boyfriend, and your 6 year old has decided that now is the time to give him a new name
Warnings: mom!reader, f!reader, fluff, bit of crack humour, plus size reader, established relationship
WC: 1.4k
Minors DNI
Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library
Dating a single parent had its challenges, sure, but Dick had been ready for them the moment you laughed so hard you snorted in the fancy restaurant where you had your first date. It had been a blind date courtesy of Alfred who frequented your tea shop cafe. There was something about you that had his heart pounding and his mind buzzing with ideas of a future he never thought he could have. And the news that you had a little boy waiting for you at home did little to shake him from the haze of infatuation that settled over his soul.
He took it slow, a hell of a lot slower than he was used to, but it was worth it. After two years of Friday night date nights at the arcade or your apartment, emergency pickups from kindergarten when your tyrant of a boss kept you late, and family cuddle piles on your bed, you were finally moving in together.
“Dink!” Dick looked back over his shoulder as he placed the last box into the kitchen. Sean stood in the empty dining room across from him, dinosaur shirt pulled tight across his chubby belly with the way his arms were crossed. Dick fought the urge to coo at how adorable he was, that had earned him a solid 10 minutes of being ignored the last time.
“Yeah chum, what’s up?” His frown deepened at that.
“I’m not chum.” Dick raised a dark eyebrow at him. Outside, he could hear the moving van start up before puttering down the quiet street, you should be back inside soon.
“And I’m not Dink.” He retorted as he stepped around the kitchen island to face this 6 year old head on. Sean was scowling, whatever it was, his original request now forgotten. It was almost funny how much he looked like you when he was mad; bottom lip jutting out, nose scrunched up and eyes narrowed. His heart flipped at the sight and Dick so desperately wanted to scoop him up and kiss away his frown almost the same way he did with you.
“You’re Dink.” Sean stomped his chunky leg, making his whole body shake with the force. He had been a lot more opinionated in the last couple of weeks as he started kindergarten and realised that he was not the only adorably tiny person in the world.
Dick just smiled at him. “No I’m not, sweetheart, you know that.” Two thuds against the front door, you had kicked off your shoes like you did every time you walked into your home. Sean looked over his shoulder, waiting for you to appear and defend him.
You creeped around the corner, your shoulders rolling back as you put yourself back together for your son. Your tired smile widened at the sight of the pair.
“We’re moved in!” You cheered, perhaps overly happy but Sean’s glare didn’t waver. You raised an eyebrow at Dick. “Why are we so grumpy?”
Dick slid around the kitchen island and to your side, winding his arms around your plush waist. Your body relaxed into him just like he wanted, your smile now dulling to something so soft he wanted to bottle it up and keep it as close as he could to his heart. Dried sweat lined your hairline, your skin burned with being out in the sun all day, and your eyes had that haze of exhaustion over them that meant as soon as your boy finally went down to sleep, you were not going to leave bed for at least 18 hours. And as Dick’s gaze flicked down to your chapped lips, he could only think that you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on.
“Dink!” Sean screeched and launched himself at your legs. Ever the mummy’s boy, he refused to be out of your attention for even a nanosecond. You grunted in pain, but caught him all the same, scooping him into your arms like he wasn’t a bowling ball with jabby limbs.
“Dink? Baby, that’s Dick.” You cooed, brushing your thumb over the apple of his perfectly chubby cheek. Sean melted into your soft arms, a smile finally making an appearance for the first time that day.
Dick’s heart leapt to his throat at the sight. This was everything he didn’t know he wanted, needed, right there in his arms. Unable to help himself, he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, inhaling the addicting smell of you.
Apparently that was Sean’s final straw.
“No! He Dink! Dick bad word! Dink! Dink! Dink!” He thrashed in your hold as he tried to push Dick away from you for the sole reason his name happened to also be a ’no-no’ word.
You noblely bit back a laugh but your chest heaved with the effort, further jostling your little boy who very certainly did not appreciate the mockery.
“My name isn’t a bad word.” He grumbled.
“Yes it is! My teacher said so!” Sean whipped his head around to glare at Dick with all the might he could muster. And despite his man-ovaries trembling with the cuteness of it, Dick refused to relent. If this little creature started permanently calling him ‘Dink’ he would never live it down. It would be the end of any reputation he had with you and the rest of his family.
“Well sometimes it is but-“ You snorted and their collective glares turned to you.
“Sorry, continue.” You squeaked out.
“It can be a bad word but not when it’s someone’s name.” Sean’s eyebrows pinched together.
“Dats dumb. You’re dumb.”
“Hey.” You took a step back from Dick to make eye contact with your boy. “That’s not a nice thing to say baby. We don’t call people or their names dumb because we don’t understand. Can you say sorry to Dick? You’ve been really hurting his feelings today.” Your hand cupped the back of his head, your thumb smoothing down the length of his small neck as Sean took a deep, shaky breath.
He went still in your arms and let his head fall to the crook of your neck. You continued to hold him close, patiently waiting for him to go through all those big feelings.
Dick just stood there, in awe of the woman you were (and perhaps wishing a little bit that it was him in your arms).
Sean’s eyes, an exact copy of your own, met his through his thick lashes. Dick could now plainly see the exhaustion all over his little face and nearly punched himself for being so blind to the fact that this little boy probably just needed a big cuddle and a long nap before he would be back to his usual cheery self.
“But my teacher said it was a bad word. That-that the right word was something else.” He heaved.
“I know baby but that doesn’t mean that we yell and call people other bad names.” Sean hiccuped but didn’t protest any further.
“‘M sorry.” He wiggled closer to the warmth of your body, his voice now having lost all its fire. “You’re not dumb.” He reached out for Dick, giving him a small grin when the man stepped close enough for him to reach. His dimbled fist curled into the material of his t-shirt as he let out a pleased grumble.
“It’s ok chum. I know you didn’t mean it, you’re just a bit tired from helping us so much with the move aren’t you?”
Sean nodded but muttered quietly under his breath. “Not tired.”
“I know, baby.” You kissed his temple as your body began to sway, rocking him gently into the nap he needed.
“Love mom.” He grumbled, fist tightening to keep Dick close to you both. Sean wiped his nose along the length of your shoulder as he gristled. “G’night Penis.”
Dick startled back, your swaying stopped but Sean was out like a light, his little body completely slumped against you in a dead weight.
“Where the fudge did he get that from?”
“At least he isn’t calling you Dink?” You giggled and pressed your lips to his.
“You are not helping.” He rolled his eyes but kissed you all the same, cradling you both in his arms as the sunset washed over you. Despite the gravely condescending nicknames his near-step-son was giving him and your apparent amusement with the whole situation, Dick refused to trade this moment for anything. Just maybe something less demeaning than ‘Penis’ would be nice.
you're only like this with him. no one else. and he has proof.
he has seen you effortlessly chatting with chan.
he has seen you help minho in the kitchen, and his hyung smiling and laughing right alongside you.
he has seen changbin doing yoga with you, after his hyung had lost a bet. you'd tease him and laugh whenever his hyung would struggle and mess up.
he has seen you discuss in grand detail kdrama plots with hyunjin. both fangirling over characters on the screen.
he has seen you indulge han in his obsession with his current hyperfixation.
he has seen you bake batch after batch of cookies with felix before settling down for video games. or rather, felix plays while you provide moral support.
and last but not least, he has seen you get dragged by jeongin when he goes on his shopping spree or wants to go on late night walks.
and thats just the tip of the iceberg.
but with him? nada. zero. nothing.
he has seen your smile.
heard your laugh.
never directed at him. not once.
and god, does he wish it had been.
and what does he get?
only a blank expression.
a rigid posture.
arms crossed over your chest.
a face so unreadable he'd long since mistaken it for annoyance.
whenever he sits next to you, you move.
he says hi, and you barely mumble a response back.
if he luckily manages to hold eye contact with you, you quickly look the other way.
his answer to all this? you hate him. he has no other possible explanation.
the truth though? you have the biggest, fattest crush on him.
you can't help it.
whenever he's near, it's like a short-circuit goes off in your brain.
words disappear.
your face forgets how to smile.
eye contact becomes physically impossible.
and before you know it...
you're speed-walking in the opposite direction.
you try your hardest not to make a fool of yourself, and yet, you're sure he hates you.
like, seriously, honestly hates you. or at the very least, is actively annoyed with you.
but you try.
god, do you try.
if the constant stream of don't be weird, don't be weird, don't be weird. running through your head is any indication, at least
but then...
then you see him.
god, he looks so cute today.
waving at you.
abort mission.
walking towards you.
this is fine.
you're fine.
sitting next to you.
fuck.
he says hi to you.
you're not fine.
fuck this is hard.
he smiles at you.
you're done for.
so done.
oh god.
and just like that...
every coherent thought you've ever had packs its bags, clocks out for the day, and leaves you to fend for yourself.
as if you weren't a fully functioning adult. cause you are.
warnings ! fluff. mild talk of insecurities. dean is literally so sweet.
wc ! 1.8k
author's note ! don't you worry my loves i have at least two more parts planned!!
to be added to my taglist.
part one.
You were nervous. A nervous wreck, really. Part of you was convinced this was all some ploy, but Hannah told you otherwise. "He's not like that, I promise," she said. And you chose to believe her. You had to believe her.
You wanted to.
You spent an hour getting ready, taking multiple pictures and sending them to Hannah and Allie for feedback. By the end, you were satisfied, even if still nervous. You waited anxiously on your couch for the text from Dean.
Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on your door. You swallowed. You hadn't expected him to actually come up to your door, but then again, you hadn't expected any of this. You stood up, walking over and opening the door.
Dean was holding flowers, a small smile on his face. His eyes raked over you, slowly and with no intention to hide his gaze. "Wow," he breathed out. You felt a little uncomfortable, not because of him, but because you weren't used to such an intense stare.
"Hi," you greeted softly, a small smile on your face.
"Hi," he repeated back. He held his hand out with the flowers, and you took them slowly. "I, uh, I asked Hannah what your favorites were."
You smiled a little brighter at that, sniffing the flowers and nodding. "That's sweet. Come in, let me put these in a vase."
He followed you inside, sitting on your couch as you searched your kitchen for a vase and set the flowers up on your countertop. Once you were done, Dean stood up, holding out his hand. "Shall we?"
You nodded. "We shall."
He chuckled, leading you out of your house, letting you lock your door, before leading you to his car. He opened the door for you, before rounding the car and getting in. "Where are we going?" you asked.
Dean smiled. "That's a surprise, sweetheart." You swallowed, not the biggest fan of surprises. Dean glanced at you. "Trust me. Hannah gave me all I needed to know."
That made you feel a little more at ease. You thought it was sweet he took the time to ask Hannah about you, but you tried not to let it go to your head. After all, you needed to be realistic. You doubted very seriously that you two were actually compatible.
Still, he let you pick the music and the talk in the car was easy and friendly, like it just flowed. You didn't get into deep conversations and you didn't ask many questions outside of the basic ones, saving all of that for when you got to wherever you were going.
Soon, you pulled up to your all-time favorite restaurant, and a small smile encompassed your face. Dean looked at you, a smile on his. "See, some surprises are worth it, hm?"
You giggled, nodding. Dean got out, rounding the car and opening your door, holding his hand out. You took it gladly, letting him guide you out of the car and into the restaurant. You were seated in a booth, Dean across from you as you both ordered your drinks.
"What do you like most about this place?" Dean asked once the waitress left.
"The atmosphere. I'm big on energy, and the energy here is always so good."
Dean nodded, eyes studying you. Not critically or anything, just a small glint in his look that made you aware he was taking notes. "I have to ask," you started. "Why'd you wanna go on a date with me?"
Dean tilted his head, like the question was the most puzzling thing in the world. "Why wouldn't I? You're beautiful and kind."
You shook your head, giggling. "No, I mean...you're not the type to go on dates, Dean."
Dean nodded, his throat working as he swallowed. "Well, maybe it's time to change that."
It was your turn to tilt your head, but the question remained unasked as the waitress brought your drinks. You both took a few minutes to look at the menu before ordering your food. By the time the waitress left once again, the energy had changed slightly.
Not bad. Just...different.
"So, hockey's not your thing. What is?"
Dean's forearms were on the table, him leaning in slightly as if what you were about to say was the most important thing in the world. You smiled slightly. "Peace."
The answer was simple, but somehow, Dean didn't need to ask any follow-ups. He just nodded, taking note of what you said.
"What's your favorite thing about hockey?" you asked.
Dean thought for a second. "The team. Nothing's better than a good team. Sure, the ice is nice, the game is cool, and the winning is amazing, but I'd be nothing out there without my boys. Don't tell them I said that, though."
You giggled, a genuine smile on your face. That was honestly the last thing you expected him to say, especially as a defenseman. "Secret's safe with me, Dean."
"Thanks, sweetheart." He smiled back at you, soft and small like it was the most raw thing he'd ever done. "Favorite place?"
You tilted your head in thought. "I think maybe the creek behind my old house. It's full of nature and peace and I really enjoyed reading out there. Like nothing could get me when I was with the Earth."
Dean smiled. "Hannah tells me you're an art major. Why's that?"
You shrugged. "It's just always drawn me. I get to be creative and speak through what I make. I can be anything, I can do anything, and I think that's pretty beautiful."
A nod from him. "That is pretty awesome."
You giggled. "You're pretty good at the whole 'date' thing."
His smile widened. "Yeah?"
You nodded. "Yeah."
"Well, good. I'm glad it's not miserable for you," he teased, but there was an underline of truth.
You shook your head. "Not at all."
The conversation flowed easily. It was comfortable and nice, like every word each of you said was meant to pass your lips and reach the other's ears. Dean's smile never faded, and neither did yours. He asked every question you'd never expected him of all people to ask.
You asked the ones you wanted to know the most. Things were easy and simple with him, and you were finding yourself a lot less skeptical than you were when the date started. Somehow, someway, it felt like you and him were compatible.
You tried to stay neutral, you tried not to get your hopes up, but it was hard. He was Dean, and he was staring at you like the world was at your feet. It felt unreal, truly. Like this was all some dream you'd wake up from and it'd be over.
But it wasn't.
The food arrived, and you took your time eating. You'd trained yourself in the art of eating slowly, to lessen the image that people automatically had over you. Dean, however, was not a slow eater. Nor did he care.
Nor did he have to.
You took a bite of your pasta, eyeing Dean as he cut into his steak. His thirty-five dollar steak. You honestly couldn't believe he'd pay that, but you should've known better. "So why Briar U?" he asked, taking a bite of his steak.
You raised an eyebrow, swallowing your bite of pasta. "Hm?"
"I mean, why'd you choose it? Hannah's mentioned just how smart you are."
You blushed slightly, shaking your head. "She's dramatic."
"I doubt that."
You giggled. The honest answer was a heavier one. One you weren't sure he really wanted to hear. Despite that doubt, you decided to tell him anyway. Honesty was something you were fond of. "Out of all the colleges I got accepted to, it was the best one that was furthest away."
Dean paused at that, questions in his eyes that you weren't sure he'd ask. "Furthest away from what?" You swallowed softly, like you were scared to answer, but were going to anyway. Dean noticed. "You don't have to answer that. I'm being nosy."
You shook your head, a soft smile on your face. "It's okay, I don't mind." You shrugged, taking a sip of your pink lemonade. "My family, mostly. They're...something. I dunno. It's best if we're on opposite sides of the country."
Dean nodded slowly, not pushing anymore. Even if it was clear he wanted to. "I assume you chose Briar for the hockey program?"
Dean smiled. "Yeah, couldn't really pass up that."
You giggled. "Guess not, huh?"
Dean was halfway done with his steak by the time you got a quarter of your pasta down, and honestly, you were already kind of full. You ate just fine in front of Hannah or by yourself, but right now? The thought of eating the entire dish made you slightly nauseous.
You weren't sure why, probably some deep-rooted problem you weren't putting effort into figuring out.
Dean eyed you for a second, eyes flicking down to your plate. "We can take that to-go, if you want," he said, his voice smooth and soft.
You nodded slightly. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry."
Dean furrowed his brows. "For what?"
You shrugged, chuckling softly. "Just feels like I'm wasting, even though I know I'm not."
He tilted his head. "Even if you did, I wouldn't care. Don't force yourself."
You looked at him, eyes searching his for a moment. "Yeah," you whispered.
Dean put his cutlery down, calling a waitress over for two to-go containers. "You don't have to—"
"No, it's okay. I'm already kind of full and I did promise Logan some steak anyway," he said, a smile on his face like this was no trouble at all.
You smiled back softly, even if you didn't really believe him. The gesture was sweet.
Once your food was in to-go containers and Dean paid for the meal, you were leaving the restaurant. Dean opened your door for you and you got in his car, watching as he rounded it. You let out a small, shaky breath before he got in.
Once he was in and the car was on, he looked at you. "Am I taking you home, or is there anything else you wanna do?" he asked genuinely.
You looked at him. "Honestly? I'd love to keep this going, but I have an assignment to finish unfortunately." You looked at him apologetically, and he nodded.
"No worries, sweetheart. There's always next time." He flashed his award-winning smile at you, and you giggled.
"Oh, so there's going to be a next time?"
"Only if you want there to be, of course."
Dean started down the street. You nodded. "Yeah, I do."
His smile widened, but he didn't say anything. The ride to your house was filled with random music from the radio and the occasional short conversation from the two of you, but it was comforting. Warm and soft like it was right where you were meant to be.
When you pulled up, Dean did what he'd done all night. Got out and opened your door, helping you out of the car and then walking you up to your house. You turned around and looked up at him as you reached your door.
"Thank you for tonight, Dean. Really."
He smiled softly. "Anytime, sweetheart."
You stood on your tip-toes, kissing his cheek softly, before pulling back. Your faces were close now, and you didn't miss the way his eyes glanced at your lips. He didn't make a move, though. "Goodnight," you whispered.
"Goodnight," he whispered back.
You turned around, unlocking your door and walking in, giving him one last wave before closing your door and locking it. You sighed out contently, a small smile on your face that stayed for the rest of the night.
summary ! you catch dean's attention, but quickly shut it down because you don't do casual. dean persists anyway.
warnings ! fluff. mild talk of insecurities. dean is over being casual about everything. cutie patooties.
wc ! 2.7k
author's note ! i loved writing this and def think i will write more briar u boys with golden!reader !! not proof-read.
to be added to my taglist.
You did not want to be there. Hockey was a violent sport and you didn't like it. However, Hannah's boyfriend just so happened to be the captain, so you were sucked into far too many games for your liking.
"Listen, if I can get over it, so can you," Hannah told you, smiling.
She had a point, you supposed. Her reason was much more valid than yours, and yet, you found yourself upset anyway. Not irrationally or anything, just mildly. Still, you sat with her in the crowd, eyes latching onto the game.
If you were here, you might as well watch. You knew the players, Hannah was around them all the time so that meant you'd come to know their faces, even if you never personally interacted. You tended to stay clear of men like them.
The game was brutal and violent and by the end you felt a little nauseous. Not because you couldn't watch violence, but because you hated the unnecessary kind. And this seemed the most unnecessary there was.
Still, you stayed silent. You cheered with Hannah when Briar U won and you found yourself even a little happy. No, you didn't like hockey, but if someone had to win, it might as well be your team.
Hannah dragged you with her to wait down the hall of the locker rooms. "This is stupid," you grumbled, crossing your arms.
Hannah laughed. "It's not stupid! I want you to meet my friends!"
You sighed, giving in easily. You had a soft spot for Hannah, and you were glad she had found some more people to be comfortable with. Allie was supposed to be here, but she got way too caught up in the upcoming play and ended up passed out in her room.
You two left her be.
Soon enough, men were piling out of the locker room and you felt a little uncomfortable. Not because you felt unsafe, but because they were all staring at you. You weren't shy or anything, not even really that insecure, but it was reasonable that a group full of men staring at you made you uncomfortable.
Hannah introduced you to the guys, and you gave a small wave, an even smaller smile on your face. Not out of rudeness, but out of comfort for yourself. None of them seemed to mind. "You coming to the party, Wellsy?" Dean asked, tossing his arm around her shoulders.
"Depends. Are you coming to the party?" Hannah's eyes were on you.
You widened your eyes, pointing to yourself. "Me? Um...no?"
Dean boo'd, and Logan smacked him upside the head. "Be nice, dickwad."
That earned a little giggle from you. "Come. It'll be fun, and I'll personally bodyguard you if need be," Garrett said, his eyes soft and warm as they reached you.
You sucked in a breath, looking at Hannah who had a little pout on her face. You gave in again. "Okay, I'll come."
Dean and Hannah cheered, slapping palms together. You chuckled, shaking your head. You turned around, heading toward the building doors.
This was a bad idea.
Still, you found yourself walking into the hockey house a few hours later with Hannah at your hip, your eyes darting around the place. You'd never actually been in it, and it was smaller than you expected.
People were packed everywhere, girls all over the guys and they were eating it up like Christmas dinner. Especially Dean. Hannah waved at Garrett, who smiled, walking over to you two.
It was nice for all of two seconds before you decided that being suffocated by the love of those two was not something you wanted to be subjected to all evening. You pulled away from Hannah, a polite smile on your face.
"I'm going to get a drink."
Hannah tilted her head, but nodded. She knew you enough to know that, while you loved love, sometimes it was too much. You hated it, really. It made you feel guilty. There was no reason for you to feel so...envious of Hannah.
She deserved all she had, and you wanted that for her.
Still, something inside you ached a little every time she was with Garrett. Some little voice in your head that told you that could never be you. You ignored it. You had to. You couldn't let that stupid voice consume your life.
Even if, sometimes, it felt like it would.
You sighed, walking over to the kitchen and making yourself a drink. You heavily inspected the cup before deciding it was safe. It took two sips for you to realize you hated whatever it was. Well, it took one sip. But you took another one just to be sure.
You were definitely sure, making a sour face and pouring the liquid down the drain of the sink.
"You know, that's perfectly good alcohol right there." Dean's voice invaded your ears. You looked beside you, seeing him leaning against the fridge, a small smirk on his face.
"Good is a stretch," you replied, shaking your head in an attempt to get the sour taste out.
He chuckled. "Nice freckles." The comment was an odd one, but it ignited some sort of feeling in you. "Never got to see you close enough to notice before."
You managed a smile, a breathy chuckle accompanying it. "That happened to be the goal."
He tilted his head. "How come?"
You swallowed. "Don't you have some girl to make out with?"
A smile from him. "Depends. Are you that girl?"
You crossed your arms. "No."
"Then no."
You narrowed your eyes at him, studying him. His demeanor was calm, collected, cool. Like he belonged right where he was, talking to you in his kitchen as a party happened around the two of you. You weren't quite as collected.
"You didn't answer my other question," he pointed out.
You bit the inside of your cheek. "Well, it was a stupid question."
"Humor me."
You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "You're impossible."
"Oh, you have no idea, sweetheart."
The pet name usually made you feel sick. But Dean didn't say it like a catcall. He said it like it was natural. Like it was a name meant for you. You were positively confused. A little concerned. Mostly focused on making your exit.
Dean noticed. "Some place to be?" He stepped closer. One tiny little step. It made you feel hot.
You swallowed. "Lots of places to be. None of them are here."
"How come?"
The repeated question caused a fire to spread up your neck until you felt the blush across your cheeks. Dean smiled. Not smirked. Smiled. "You're cute when you blush."
You had never felt more of an urge to push a man than you did right then. Not out of anger, but out of embarrassment. No way were you blushing in front of Dean Di Laurentis. "Shut up," you mumbled, tightening your arms around yourself to feel a little more protected.
Dean's eyes scanned over you, his gaze making you squirm slightly. You didn't enjoy being inspected, especially by some manwhore hockey man. Still, you stayed silent. His eyes met yours, something in them you weren't too familiar with.
You could still place it, though. You'd seen it a couple times. It was hunger.
Your chest felt a little tight, and you refused to fall at the feet of him. Your eyes scanned the room. "I make you nervous, don't I?" he asked softly. Not judging or teasing, just a genuine question.
"A little, yes," you replied, eyes staring next to him at the fridge instead of at him.
"How come?"
"Can you stop asking me that?"
"Can you start answering me?"
You bit back a smile. "Fine. You get one question, make it good."
Dean thought for a second. "Why don't you come around?"
You sucked in a breath. "Why would I? A house full of men isn't exactly my idea of a good time."
Dean tilted his head. "So what is?"
You shook yours. "You don't really care about that."
"Hm?"
"I can see it in your eyes, Dean. You're not interested in knowing what I do for fun. You're interested in how much fun I can give you."
Something passed Dean's eyes, something that made you regret what you said, but he easily recovered. "True. Partly."
"Partly?"
"I'm not blind, sweetheart. You're a gorgeous woman in my kitchen, I'd be stupid not to flirt. Still, I am actually interested in what you have to say. I don't only think with my dick, you know?"
You tilted your head. "Hm, that's not what I've heard." Dean chuckled, you smiled. "Okay, fine. You get another question."
This one came with no hesitation. "Are you enjoying yourself tonight?"
"Not entirely," you answered honestly. Dean tilted his chin up.
"You wanna go home?"
"Can't. Allie dropped us off."
"Not what I asked."
You sighed. "Yes."
"Then let's go."
You furrowed your brows. "Dean-"
He shook his head. "The party will live without me. I'd be cruel to make you suffer through it." He peeled himself off the fridge, holding out a hand.
You chuckled softly, slipping your hand into his. His fingers wrapped around your hand easily, and the warmth of his skin caused goosebumps to erupt. You ignored them. You found Hannah quickly, she was drunk.
You were glad she felt comfortable enough to be that way now.
You said goodbye to both Hannah and Garrett, and then followed Dean out of the house. He led you to his car, opening the passenger door for you. You got in silently, and once Dean got in, you gave him your address.
The ride was silent, but comfortable. Music hummed lowly through the car and Dean's eyes flickered to you every once in a while. You never looked back. You were smarter than that. You knew better. You had to know better.
You weren't going to one-night stand yourself into some complicated feelings over Dean fucking Di Laurentis. No, you were more aware of your faults than that. More aware of your inability to be casual about anything.
He pulled up to your house, a small one bedroom in a quiet neighborhood. You sighed softly. You regretted the words before you even got them out. "Do you want to come in?"
There was a pause, before Dean nodded. "Yeah."
You ignored the feeling in your chest as you got out, digging your keys out of your pocket and walking up to the front door, Dean following behind you silently. The door creaked open, and you flicked on the light, kicking your shoes off at the door.
Dean followed your example, trailing you as you walked into your cozy living room. It was full of books and plants and, honestly, it was everything Dean thought it would be. Maybe more.
"Cute," he said softly, almost too softly. His fingers grazed the chipping wallpaper on the wall, and you sucked in a small breath, sitting down in your hanging chair.
Dean followed, sitting down on the couch.
"Why'd you come in?" you asked suddenly, but quietly.
Dean smiled. "Why not?"
"Not an actual answer, by the way."
He chuckled. "Honestly? I wanted to see what kind of place you lived in."
You tilted your head. "And?"
"It's everything I expected from you."
You chuckled. "You can go back to your party, you know?"
"I know."
"Yet, you're still sitting on my couch."
"That I am."
Silence. You sucked in a small breath, turning your head away from him. You felt his stare. You ignored it. "Why do you do that?"
Dean's question was soft and quiet, but full of a weight he didn't know it carried. "Do what?" you asked. Your eyes still weren't on his.
"We get somewhere, and you shut down."
"We don't get anywhere."
"Yes, we do."
You closed your eyes, sucking in a breath through your nose. Your hands tightened at the edges of your chair. You slowly looked at him. "Honestly? It scares me."
Dean tilted his head at your answer, his eyes soft and searching. "What does?"
"You. This. All of it. I don't..." You shook your head. "I don't flirt. I'm smarter than that. I don't get my hopes up. I'm better than that. And I certainly, certainly don't invite a hockey man into my house."
Dean ignored the last part for now, more focused on what you said before. "Hopes up about what?" he asked curiously.
You laughed. A self-deprecating one that made you cringe internally. "You're not dumb, Dean. You know who you are, and so do I. And I know who I am. It's just..." You shook your head once more. It wasn't like you didn't know your worth.
You did.
You just also knew when you were in over your head. Sometimes it got the better of you. You hated that it did, but you couldn't help it. Dean moved then, slowly and soft like you were going to run away if he moved too quickly.
Maybe you were.
He found his place in front of you on his knees, eyes looking up at you. You sucked in a breath. "So who are you, then?" he asked quietly.
Your eyes searched his. "I'm the girl who's smart enough to know that this isn't happening. Not really." He tilted his head. You continued. "You'll flirt and maybe you'll get what you want, or maybe you won't. Either way, you'll go home and it'll be over for you. You're a casual man, Dean."
He swallowed. You didn't stop. "Casual's cool. It's nice, I guess. But it's not me. I'm not that type of person. I can't be. It's not realistic, and it's certainly not something I'm capable of."
Dean sucked in a breath. "It doesn't have to be casual."
The words hung heavy in the air. You furrowed your brows. "What?"
Dean shrugged. "It doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be. It doesn't have to be sex." He leaned in, just slightly, his hands resting on either side of your legs. "What do you want?"
You scoffed, soft and really with no insult behind it, shaking your head. "I-" You swallowed. "What?" You couldn't fathom what he was saying right now. Dean Di Laurentis of all people.
"What do you want?" he repeated, softer this time.
The question was heavy. It crushed your throat and filled your chest with cement. It was the type of question you never answered honestly. Tonight, it felt like you had to. "I want to be wanted. Really wanted."
Dean nodded, eyes searching yours. He stood up slowly, holding out his hand. For some reason, you just took it. No questions asked. He pulled you up with ease, and you gasped softly as his arm wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest.
"Why don't we start slow?" he asked quietly. "See where it goes."
"I'm not having sex with you."
He smiled. "Not what I meant, sweetheart."
You tilted your head, genuinely curious. "What did you mean?"
He brought a hand up, thumb brushing over your cheek that was still burning with a blush. "I take you on a date, we get to know each other. Something...un-casual."
You sucked in a small breath, eyes searching his. "You're serious?"
"Deadly."
You bit your lip, slowly nodding. "Okay."
He smiled, soft and warm and it filled you with something you weren't sure you wanted to place. You were fucking terrified. Still, your veins pumped with excitement. "Does it count as un-casual if I kiss you?"
You giggled at his question. "Only if you don't immediately leave after."
He shook his head, tucking some hair behind your ear. "Not happening."
You nodded, giving him the green light. His lips met yours softly, full of warmth and passion and you felt dizzy from it. He pulled you closer, hands roaming your body in a way you've never felt. You moaned softly into the kiss as his tongue slipped into your mouth.
Dean pressed against you harder, but not insistent. Like he just wanted to be close. What usually made you feel uncomfortable made you feel warm now. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, deepening the kiss slightly.
Dean's hands slipped under your ass, picking you up in one swift motion. You gasped, grabbing onto his shoulders. He carried you over to the couch like you weighed nothing, sitting you on his lap as you two made out.
His lips traveled to your jaw, sucking softly on the skin as you let out a shaky breath, hand running through his hair. He pulled back slowly, licking his lips as he looked at you. You could feel him growing harder under you, and it was hard to ignore.
He noticed. "Don't worry about it," he whispered, caressing your hair. "No sex, remember?"
You giggled, leaning in and kissing him softly. He groaned into it. "You are so not how I thought you'd be."
SUMMARY. after a long time of being forgotten, peter parker shockingly meets someone who remembers him: a girl he used to see in high school. but their relationship doesn't start off with sunshine and rainbows; they will have to learn to choose each other, even when it's the harder thing to do.
WORD COUNT. 17.4k
CONTENT. post no way home. female reader. dual pov. hurt / comfort (emotional & physical). angst with hopeful ending (blame the trailer for having angsty vibes). both peter and reader are sad. peter needs a hug. peter carries reader while swinging. loneliness and finding the one person who understands. a lot of crying. canon-typical violence. reader gets a gunshot wound. blood. explosion. death (of no one named). crime organization. reader has to fight at some point (i tried). not beta read. home-related title yay.
NOTES. i really hope you like this. let me know your thoughts in the comments / reblogs / my inbox! also let me know if i'm missing any tags. english isn't my first language, and i've never been to new york. if there are any inaccuracies, consider it the mcu version of the city. the gif is by @manny-jacinto
it was a rainy morning, dark clouds had covered the sky, and the atmosphere was melancholic. you had just stepped out of the book cafe you usually went to study or read in, it was a hidden gem in the ever-crowded streets of new york city, usually quiet and peaceful. this time, you’d just paid a visit to buy a drink with some pastries.
today’s gloomy weather felt right to you, somehow, it spoke to your soul and fit your mood. you’d stuffed the pastries you’d bought into your bag, and you were going to walk around a little bit, holding your drink in one hand, your umbrella in the other. you thought you might sit somewhere, maybe go to a park after walking for twenty or so minutes, you enjoyed the smell of rain mixing with earth to bring life to the world.
and that’s when you saw him.
he was standing at the other side of the road, wearing a simple hoodie, getting wet from the rain. an expression on his face as gloomy as the weather. he’d grown, his face had taken a sharper shape, his hair had curled on the tips from meeting with water.
peter parker, the boy from your ap chemistry class, from days long forgotten, and much less destructive.
you froze, your gaze set on his face, which had been painted in subtle and few scars, and bent downward from either the rain getting into his eyes, or life. the regular noise of the city was reduced to background buzzing in your ears, all the pedestrians walking past you, and the people waiting to cross roads around peter had turned blurry and faceless, the cars passing by had become trails of colors. the boy, or perhaps now man, you had just noticed, was someone you’d never thought you’d see again.
peter parker had been the smartest student in the class you took together, you used to keep notes and read ahead before every lesson, and he’d come sleep-deprived, busy himself with unrelated trinkets, and answer every unexpected question coming his way correctly. later, when you learned that he was spiderman, you realised he must’ve been so tired and out-of-it every day for saving lives and fighting crime.
you had learned of his superhero activities, like everyone else in the world. you didn’t use to see him outside of your shared lecture hours, not because you were actively avoiding him, fate just hadn’t coincided a conversation between you two. after you’d passed the course and stopped seeing peter entirely, you hadn’t busied your mind with thoughts of him, until that incident with mysterio. learning that he’d been trying to help people every step of the way, back when you used to see him, had changed your view of him.
and then, suddenly, no one remembered anymore. you saw it all happen. you saw the sky shatter and shadows watch the earth through its cracks. you saw what you could only describe as hundreds of aliens preying on your planet. you knew spiderman fought to save the world from their clutches. yet when it was all over, no one remembered the hell-torn skies. or peter parker.
no one remembered he was spiderman. no one remembered he was peter parker. no one remembered peter parker was. no one from your old high school, not even his best friend, not even his girlfriend. they all looked at you as if you spoke of a ghost, he was a painted over memory, he’d escaped from the weak grasps of the growing brains of the youth and the ever-tired minds of the grown.
he’d even escaped from records and photos, like how short-lived cherry blossoms disappeared in a week, as if trees had never been pink. like how spring never lasted. you’d questioned whether you’d made him up, if something was wrong with you. but how could you make up a whole person, that you simply never had a relationship with? he wasn’t an imaginary friend, he had never been a friend.
trying to catch a glimpse of his existence had been like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. and yet, now, he was standing right in front of you, waiting to cross roads. waiting to come towards you.
the lights turned green for pedestrians, and peter snapped out of his stillness, he gained motion, he slowly came closer. people around you made noises indicating they were annoyed at your inaction, but you could barely hear any of them. you were focused completely on one person only.
he crossed the road, and started walking the opposite way from where you had been nailed to the ground, unable to take your eyes off him.
no, don’t go. i must know. i must talk.
you ran after him, forcefully making yourself a way amongst bodies covered in layers of clothing. you closed your umbrella, so it wouldn’t get tangled in others’. you caught up to peter, and grabbed his arm.
he turned instantly, gripping your arm in return, a shocked expression on his face, ready to take you down, had you posed a threat. he looked into your eyes; questioning, confused, hesitant… sorrowful? how had he grown so solemn? how had he lived forgotten?
“peter?” you asked, “peter parker? is that you?”
his eyes widened, grip loosened, lips parted. he looked completely dumbfounded, drops of water dripping down strands of his hair, and the tip of his nose. he searched for something in your eyes, just silently thinking. trying to process, you assumed.
he opened his mouth to talk, and his breath hitched.
“you…” he started, seemingly talking feeling like labor to him, “you know who i am?”
you couldn’t help giving him a sincere smile, he really was peter parker. the boy from your class who was remembered by no one. he was real.
“i was in the same ap chemistry class as you in high school,” you explained, he might not have remembered you, as you’d never interacted outside of topics regarding course materials, “if you don’t remember.”
“no, no,” said peter, his voice still laced with shock, and a tune that dropped a tiny piece of despair into your chest, “i remember. you were the smartest student in class.”
“that’s… debatable,” you said, your surprise clearly read from your face.
“it wasn’t,” he said, defensive, “everyone borrowed your notes, and you always had the correct answers.”
“so did you,” you said softly, the bitter taste of nostalgia repainted with a blue hue catching up to you, tightening your chest, placing a lump in your throat. “what happened, peter?” you asked, “why have you disappeared?”
peter closed his mouth, and his grip slightly hardened, he hadn’t let your arm go. you hadn’t let his go, either.
he lowered his head, and fixed his gaze on the grey stone ground. you couldn’t quite name the emotions you saw in his eyes, but they made you tear up. what must it have been like to suddenly cease existing? what must he have been through? what must he have thought, watching his chosen family from afar, like a vampire looking at a mirror, erased from his own reflection?
the cloudy weather truly felt fit for the day, maybe peter had been feeling it too, today. raindrops fell on earth like shattered glass pieces, you thought you might’ve been bleeding with your umbrella down, but peter wasn’t, was his skin thicker?
“would you like to sit down somewhere, peter?” the tale must have been long, how else could a person, and a rift in the atmosphere, be erased from the minds of billions? “like a bench at the park, or maybe my place?”
he looked deep into your eyes, thinking.
“okay,” he said at last, determination adorning his words now, “we can. we can,” he said while nodding.
“okay,” you repeated after him, and finally let his arm go.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
peter had been on his way to his small apartment, by himself, as always, after another long, sleepless night, that rainy morning. clouds had covered the sky, obscuring the sun, as if to match the weather inside his ribcage. the sun hadn’t shone on him since it had seen space ripped apart because of him, for his mistakes.
it was a day the same as any other; he was walking in the crowd, unseen without a mask, faceless. then, someone he hadn't sensed had touched him, must have been because no harm was intended, yet he'd felt alarmed.
a girl, he'd realized, a familiar face. that wasn't strange, he was used to seeing people he used to know, what was strange was... the look you had in your eyes, almost like you recognized him. a kind of tiny beam of light in your irises, aimed at him.
and then you called out his name.
the world tilted. he felt as if hit by a shockwave, rolling backwards, losing the tightness of his grip on reality, on you. he’d been completely dumbfounded, he could barely process what was happening. someone remembered him. you remembered him. you knew.
he looked you over again, he remembered, too. he remembered how you sat at the front seat, carefully trailing the teacher with your eyes, focus unbreakable. you didn’t use to look his way unless he was asking or answering a question related to the course, he wouldn’t think you would recognize him under normal circumstances, without happenings made foggy through magic, let alone when the whole world has left him behind. the whole multiverse.
he couldn’t get out of the shock he’d been thrown into, not even enough to wonder the why, the how, or think of the implications of the possibility that someone(s) might not have forgotten. he had been erased even from stone and paper, ink had evaporated, computers had lost their binary numbers. human memories couldn’t even be held, they must’ve been so easily broken apart and mended without wholeness again, didn’t people always forget things, anyway?
that had been hard to accept, of course. the fact that the feelings people reserved for him were fragile and unresistant, that they could be so fully erased, that they could be erased at all. but you remembered, was your mind stronger, or was it the impression he’d left on you? was it you, or him?
he hadn’t even been able to ponder if this was a good thing at all, if he should be worried, if he should accept this, how he should react. the past year had been so soul-crushing, so lonely, that after slightly getting over the initial shock that had hit him, holding back his tears had been all he could manage to do. you were wet from the rain, a drink forgotten and an umbrella folded in one of your hands, the other one holding him, looking at him expectantly, worried. you had come after him. you were holding onto him. he tightened his grip again.
you’d even wanted to talk more, to learn of his story, to listen. so he’d agreed, he suspected he would chase you on that road if you’d walked away. his chest had been closing in on his veins and heart, increasing the pressure and twisting his organs, breathing had become harder every day for the past year, he was suffocating. you’d held his arm like a tree branch offered to a drowning kid, an olive branch offered to a warring people, a willow… willows were hunched and weary, weren’t they? he was like a willow, layers of leaves covering his face, unseen.
he didn’t have anywhere to go, or anyone waiting for him. he hadn’t wanted to let you go, now that someone had finally, truly seen the shape of his face. so he had just followed you, let you draw a destination for two.
you had brought him to a small apartment, similar to his own, in an austere street lined with buildings that were short compared to the signature buildings of new york city. you’d told him you were staying there for the time being. your place, as you’d put it. the inside was much nicer than his living space, expectedly, and it contrasted with the grey view of the street from your windows and the pipe-filled outer layer of your apartment building. the floor was covered in soft carpets, the living room was filled with books, its walls covered in bookshelves, academic books left open and stationary scattered about on a table, notebooks filled with your handwriting, it was lived in.
you had taken him to the kitchen, said you’d just bought pastries and had some leftovers to reheat for him, he’d insisted it wasn’t necessary, but you’d shut him down. “how could i send my guest off on an empty stomach?” you’d asked, made him sit down at the kitchen table, and gotten to work on the countertop. the living room had smelled of a flowery incense he couldn’t name, the kitchen was now smelling of baked dough and vegetable soup, making him feel his hunger. he hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast, or during the night.
“i apologize for the mess,” you said, while putting two bowls of steamy soup on the table, “i wasn’t expecting a guest.”
“oh, no, no,” he quickly scrambled to apologize himself, “i don’t mind at all, i’m sorry for… for…” he gestured around himself, trying to find the right words. being a burden? interrupting?
“for accepting my invite? i’d say that was the polite response,” you said, finally sitting opposite to him, having brought the pastries you’d sliced and placed on plates nicely, and the fruit salad you’d quickly put together. “thank you for that, by the way.”
he didn’t know what to say, he looked down flustered, “i- of course- i mean, thank you for inviting me,” he said, gesturing towards you with his hand, a slight smile on his face. how long had it been since he last smiled? it sure didn’t feel like an every day occurrence.
you gave him back a smile that made him… feel warm. he was still on the verge of tears, he was barely holding it together, focusing on the moment, trying not to let all the overwhelming feelings leave his body.
“please, enjoy,” you said, as you slid the plates closer to him, and he nodded in gratitude. he was hungry, and looking at the warm vegetable bisque… he hadn’t eaten a homemade meal in a very, very long time, especially one that was delicious, one that was warm.
and it was delicious. it tasted like a hug, a hearthfire, a blanket. it tasted like something you would eat at your home, like something your mother would cook for you. “this is,” he started, in between spoonfuls, “this is great. you’re a good cook.”
“thank you,” you said, and then started explaining. “i roasted tomatoes, carrots, zucchini, potatoes, bell peppers, and an onion, and blended them with vegetable broth and cream, so probably the easiest way to make something like…” you trailed off as you realised peter was… crying. he was looking down on the bowl of soup in front of him, and tears were silently rolling down his cheeks, as he kept taking spoonfuls.
peter was mortified at his reaction, he quickly scrambled to wipe his face with the tissues you’d placed on the table, and apologize. you told him it was fine, and he could take however much time he needed or wanted. you let him eat and think in silence for as long as he needed, you gave him time and space as he filled his stomach with warm food and sweet fruits. he didn’t know why tears had won against his willpower this time around, considering how good he’d gotten at holding them in. he didn’t know why just eating in your kitchen, with you, had made him feel emotions overwhelming enough to rush out of him. he was embarassed, despite your reassurances. it was the first time he was meeting with you in years, the only person who still remembered him, and he had started crying over a soup. he wasn’t a teenage high schooler anymore, why was this happening?
after a silence long enough to make someone less patient uncomfortable, he finally felt he could talk, and decided to tell you everything that had happened. all of it. you were the only person who knew him now, was it wrong to want to be known fully? to be understood?
so he told you everything, from the start… from a time too early, one might’ve thought; from before he even became an avenger. there had been people in his life who knew of his journey, how he became a hero, how he became an avenger, who he fought against, who he fought with, what really happened with mysterio, and then… then aunt may’s death… then everyone else’s little deaths.
peter used to be talkative, he used to converse with even the people he was actively battling, yet telling you all he wanted made him realise it had been a long time since he’d spoken so much. so transparently, willingly. had life crushed him under a fallen bridge without him noticing? he had been feeling it, but couldn’t guess how dire his cuts and walls had been drawn.
you listened all of it, without looking away once, without looking at the time. and then, once he concluded his speech and drifted off to silence, you let it fester. it seemed as if you had a hard time proccessing everything peter had dumped on you, or maybe couldn’t find the right words to continue with. this time, peter left you in your own silence, his hands slightly shaking in nervousness. what was your reaction going to be? what were you thinking?
“i’m truly sorry,” you said at last, a rueful expression adorning your face, making you look older than you had when telling him of the soup recipe. you had grown older, peter had noticed, more beautiful. “i’m sorry about your aunt, too. i had no idea. i thought… i guess i assumed at least your family would remember you.”
“yeah,” said peter in defeat, “there is no one.”
you looked deep into his eyes, pain visible on your face, “i remember,” you said. “and now i know.”
peter sighed and put his face in between his hands, closing his eyes in despair. “there is nowhere i belong, now. i fight for this city, and… and no one cares.”
this was horrible. truly horrible. a weight had been lifted off his shoulders when you’d recognized him, listened to him, welcomed him into your home. but he also felt bothered by it, too. had being known always been so scary? he hadn’t meant to say the last bit, he hadn’t even thought that to himself before. he’d been on the verge of it, but hadn’t actually thought it. why did he say it out loud now? why did he tell you?
you took a deep breath, “a lot of people care, especially the ones you save. you’ve been making a huge difference, peter. yours can be a thankless job sometimes, but many are grateful.” you paused for a moment, “i’ve always been grateful. when i learned how you’d been fighting for people this whole time, my respect for you skyrocketed. i thought i would help you in any way i could if it ever came to that.”
peter pressed his hands harder on his eyes, he didn’t want to start crying again. he didn’t know if you realised how your words had fallen into the deepest part of his soul. it was strange, how only a few words could help people keep going, how humans could be built merely by caring, and how humans could be so worn-out that they could stop tasting without even realising.
his phone vibrated silently in his pocket, taking him out of spiraling. he sighed again, what was it now?
strong fire in a building, spreading speedily, authorities unable to protect the citizens despite doing their best. he stood up abruptly, “i should go,” he said.
“what is it? what happened?”
“fire in a tall building, i need to save those people,” he said while walking towards the door, you trailing behind him.
“okay- be careful, peter. and come back here after you’re done there, okay? even if it’s late, because i’ll wait for you, and if you don’t come back, i’ll wait until morning,” you said quickly as he was wearing his shoes, the door to your house open.
“okay,” he said, stuttering slightly, “thank you.” truly. you’ve made breathing possible for me again. thank you.
and he left you behind like that, because he never had a break. he didn’t know if he deserved a break. none of that mattered though, there were people suffering, and he couldn’t leave them behind, no matter what.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
you were leaning on the metal handrails of your small balcony, looking at the few people and cars that passed by the road in front of your apartment. it was desolate, compared to most of new york, but it was steadily never-ending, there never was a time when people stopped in this city. your view was made up of other grey apartments like yours, sharp corners and square shapes, nothing tasteful added to their designs. could this be good for the soul?
you looked up at the sky, to watch the stars, but as always, not many were visible. you counted four stars that could be clearly seen from your balcony. the same as yesterday. you sometimes wondered: if you could reach greater heights, would more of them shine on you? the city had offended the stars in an effort to be independent from them, brighten night time, they didn't show their faces anymore. even if they wanted to, they couldn't be seen.
peter had been shining since he was a kid; clever, kind, righteous, fair-faced in a way the cleanness of his heart had reflected on his features. how big of a loss was it for the world to be forsaken from his face? it was lucky that peter was good-hearted, for he kept showing up under a mask anyway, offering those who looked a glimpse into his light.
it was past midnight already, and peter was still nowhere to be seen. he'd left you a little past noon, the fire had been extinguished by now, and spiderman had left the premises after saving dozens of lives (that the firefighters would've been too late for, despite their best efforts), and yet, peter was nowhere to be seen. it worried you, you wished you had asked for his phone number; you'd considered asking, but decided against it, thinking he might be bothered by the request.
after you'd talked to michelle, his girlfriend, some time back, and she hadn't remembered the boy she’d been in love with, you'd been thinking of peter regularly. even if you had made him up in your mind, it had just flooded your chest with such profound sadness, that you had decided at least you would remember him, whether it would matter to him or not.
and, he was real, he was spiderman. and he’d been so lonely. graveyards had become his only sanctuary, teenage diaries and late night messages had been buried next to the corpses of anyone who'd ever taken care of him, and he did not know their hiding spots. he just wandered around graves, knowing they were somewhere under his feet, to stay there forever. if he tried to dig them out, he would be swallowed up by lava, dooming the rest of the world to a volcanic apocalypse.
it seemed like volcanos had already been erupting behind his eyes, in his lungs. the peter you remembered used to be a jolly kid.
your head perked up as you heard your doorbell ring, and quickly rushed to open the door. a smiling peter greeted you, clothing changed. he looked more put-together than he had in the morning; a clean shirt under a black jacket and denim pants, not the baggy sweats he had on before.
you welcomed him inside, and brought him to sit on your couch, in the living room.
“are you all right?” you asked, “does anywhere hurt? do you need anything?”
he hesitated for a moment, a little surprised. “no, no- it’s fine. i didn’t fight anyone, so didn’t really get injured… much. it’s fine. i took care of it.”
you looked at him in silence for a few seconds, thinking. “liar,” you said.
“what?” he said in low voice, sounding worried. did he think he’d messed up somehow?
“you gave me your word that you would come straight to me, instead you took your sweet time tending to your injuries and changing your outift? you showered too, didn’t you?”
“i… i-” he quickly started talking, and then stopped to think. that was fine, he didn’t need to rush a response, never with you. he would learn that you’d always wait for him patiently. with time, he’d become more comfortable. you assumed this must be… somewhat of an uncomfortable experience for him, after being alone for so long. “i thought-”
he didn’t know what to say, you supposed.
“did i sound mad? i’m sorry. i was just worried. i.. uh, i’d wanted to help you with your injuries and stuff, too,” you weren’t exactly used to these kinds of conversations either. “since you’re not alone anymore… and all.”
“oh…” was all he could say.
“i mean, i’m glad you’re okay, and you look great, and i don’t mind that you had some alone time before coming and all, but you could, uh, if you want to, just come straight to me as well. after a fight or whatever. and you can take care of… your stuff here,” you forced the words out, you had to take these kinds of initiatives, if you wanted to have a closer relationship with him. because he wouldn’t impose anything on you. “if you want to, of course,” you added.
“i… thank you, i would, uh, yeah,” he said. you supposed that was a positive answer.
“so, what happened?”
he recounted the fire and the struggles in detail, how he saved the people trapped, how he had to deal with the authorities after him, how he got injured (only a little, he emphasized), and then how he went home to wear something better to come back to you. he’d wanted to rid the smell of ash and soot off his skin.
“i got tired just listening to you,” you said.
he chuckled slightly, “ah, yeah, things like this happen sometimes.”
“would you like anything to eat or drink?”
“no, no. not necessary, thank you,” he said quickly, raising his hands.
“okay, just tell me if you need anything.”
“all right, thanks… again,” he had a beautiful smile, but it looked like guilt had mixed into his skin, stopping him from smiling fully, with his eyes, or eyebrows. you wanted to tell him that none of this was his fault, he wasn’t responsible for the cruelty of others, he wasn’t at fault for being a victim. his aunt hadn’t died because he’d shown mercy, he was just being humane, the fault lied solely with the… whichever supernatural freak had done that, it was getting harder to keep track of them now. and the spell hadn’t gone wrong because of him, couldn’t doctor strange tell that he obviously wouldn’t want his own family to forget him? why wouldn’t he automatically add that to the spell? and the second time? surely he could’ve just kept two people out of his spell. none of it was his fault.
but you couldn’t bring yourself to, you didn’t want to push too hard, or overstep your bounds. peter didn’t know you, not really. you assumed he must be happy that someone remembered him, but you wouldn’t be too surprised if he had forgotten you.
why had you remembered? you weren't magical, as far as you knew, so what had gone wrong? wasn't this... somewhat bad news? if you remembered, could it be possible that someone evil might, too? you didn't know, you supposed maybe you should try to ask doctor strange, somehow.
after a while of silence, you decided telling him how you feel, being straightforward, should be better than leaving thoughts to go back and forth in your head, bothering you. “peter,” you started, “i know what kind of a person you are for the most part. i know that you have a good heart, and you’re loyal, and honest. i… don’t doubt that you’ll be a good friend, that’s why i can be… this comfortable with you. i know, because i’ve been able observe you quite well until now.”
he was listening to you, eyes getting wider and smile dropping slowly, as you went on.
“i also know that you don’t really know me as well, so i’ll have to prove my character to you, in the way that you’ve already proven yours,” you quickly added, which was the point you’d wanted to make. “so, uh, i just wanted to say that… is the reason why i would like to be… good friends with you, even though we didn’t interact much back then. telling you just in case… you were wondering.”
he gave you a shy smile. "thank you," he said, occasionally glancing away.
then a small chuckle escaped his lip. “all i’ve been doing the whole day has been thanking you."
you giggled in return, "i thank you as well."
"for what? i haven't done anything."
"for saving this city and the world over and over again."
his expression turned serious, thoughtful. "i just do what i should. it’s my responsibility."
you leaned back on the couch, observing him. was it? did he really have to do what he did? he didn't have to, no one had to do anything. but it was right that he did. you supposed, being able to help people did mean you should, would it be wrong if he didn't interfere?
"what are you thinking?" he asked.
you hummed. "i think you are right, but then it's our responsibility to be grateful, and to help you in any way we can, even if that's just emotional support." you looked into his eyes carefully, "you've been doing your duty, but most others in the city haven't."
"that's all right," he said. "i don't expect anything. i don't do this to get anything in return."
"well," you started, "you can expect things from me, and feel free to let me know."
the shy smile returned to his face, "thank you again," he said. "you as well," he hastily added, raising his eyebrows while gesturing at you.
you were glad he seemed to be in a better mood now, compared to this morning. he was more put together, and somewhat more confident. you assumed having more time to process your situation must've helped.
the two of you talked for around another hour, peter got more talkative as you went on, and by the end, he was the only one talking. he'd started to tell you all about the various villains he'd been fighting, and you were very interested; you enjoyed listening to him.
but the time was getting closer to two in the morning, and you were having to fight your own eyelids to keep yourself from dropping to the floor right at that moment.
peter stopped abruptly mid-sentence, looking at you concerned. "oh," he started "i'm sorry, it's really late, i talked too much."
"no, no," you said, shaking your hand, "i really want to know about all of these things. let's continue tomorrow?"
"okay, sure," he said, smiling. "i'll get going now, and uh, see you tomorrow."
"get going? i could arrange my living room for you, if you'd like to stay the night? should you be alone when you're injured?"
"i don't want to bother you," he said as he stood up. “it’s fine, this isn't really all that bad, I've had much worse."
"okay, but call me if anything happens. i'll be more upset if you don't," you said as you followed him to the door.
"i will. you call me too," he said, having gotten out, wearing his shoes.
"deal."
“good night."
"good night."
and he was gone.
and you were so sleepy that you could fall asleep standing there. as you made your way to your bed, you decided to go over today's events tomorrow, when your braincells wouldn’t be forming a union to counter your abuse.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
peter opened his curtains to look outside, as soon as he managed to get out of his bed.
the sun was shining down on him, bathing his room and face in its light. he opened the window, and took a deep breath in. the air had the beautiful smell of rain, still lingering, left from yesterday.
he leaned on his window, and for the first time in forever, a smile graced his lips for the sun, for the day ahead of him.
he wanted to put on his spiderman suit and swing around in the city, not out of obligation or because he didn’t have anything else to do; he had an unfamiliar motivation in him to do something with his day.
so he did. he quickly got ready for the day, and all the steps felt less intimidating today. even brushing his teeth had become a tiring chore. he'd supposed it must've been because he was so tired all the time, but today, it had been easier, all of it. even breathing.
and it wasn't like he'd gotten more sleep than usual, either. sleeping was something out of routine for peter. sometimes he could only get a few hours at night, having to be spiderman. sometimes he would stare at the ceiling, unable to drift off to sleep. sometimes he would end up sleeping for more than ten hours, not wanting to get out of his bed, forcefully scraping his body off of it with a mental spatula, skin tearing apart from muscle, using every bit of his willpower. but, no matter which scenario happened to play out, peter would never feel rested.
he got mad at himself sometimes. for sleeping. or not sleeping. surely none of this was supposed to be this hard, everyone always did them just fine. so why was he like this? what was wrong with him?
he shook his head, getting out of his window as spiderman, and started wandering new york from the tops of buildings. not today, though. today he felt rested. and like something good could happen, strangely. and his chest could host the air he breathed in, unlike any day he could remember in months. he hadn't realised how air had been refusing to get into his lungs, until it finally did today.
he watched people walking towards their destinations without looking anywhere else. the streets of new york were always overfilled with motion and a million faces, and no one stopped to look at one another.
how had you seen him, yesterday? were you looking? were you always looking at people? were you searching for someone, something?
clouds had poured more rain on the city at night, and towards the morning. it was almost as if they had only stopped momentarily for the fire in the building to spread.
peter had gone to his apartment as soon as he was done rescuing civillians from the fire. he'd wanted to wear something nice, look cleaner for you. he was sort of embarrassed that your first meeting had been when he looked... less than ideal, let's say.
while showering, he'd spaced out, and ended up thinking for almost an hour. mostly about you.
he'd tried to remember everything about you, any kind of clue about your exceptional situation, but there was nothing. you used to mostly keep to yourself, peter hadn't even interacted with you all that much.
despite that, you'd been so accepting of him so quickly yesterday. he had wondered why, before you explained that you… knew him.
not only remembered, you knew him. not completely, but enough to trust. his heart fluttered in his chest, making a gentle movement for the first time since the last time he'd been called peter by anyone at all. thinking about your words excited him, energized him, made him move faster,
you wanted to get closer. you offered to patch up his wounds. you weren't afraid or displeased. you wanted to be close. his friend.
he would call you around noon, he'd decided. he'd kept you up quite late and didn't know when you would wake up. then maybe you could meet up this evening. outside, perhaps? he could take you to... he would come up with some ideas, by then.
he stopped and perched on top of a building, examining the back alleys. he knew the way to your house from where he was, he was really looking forward to seeing you again. was that why waking up had been easier today?
he shook his head and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the day, and the task in front of him. he needed to focus, do his job. he would get to see you when the time came for it. you would respect him more for his service, anyway... or at least he hoped so.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
the the sun had just started setting, the orange hue of dusk hadn't settled in the sky yet. you were sitting on the stairs at the entrance of your apartment building. the ground was still wet, but the upper part of the stairs had been protected from yesterday's rain thanks to the architecture of the building. you would just need to dust off its filth once you stood up.
peter was supposed to come any minute now, he'd called you around noon and asked if you'd like to meet up this evening, and he could take you to see some places. you had started preparing some hours ago. you hadn't known what to wear, or what he had in mind, and had been too nervous to feel completely good about an outfit. you didn’t want to mess this up. at last, you'd just decided to get out of your house and wait. sitting on cold stairs. you were beginning to regret your choices slowly.
“hi,” appeared a head suddenly in front of your nose, making you yelp in surprise and slide backwards on the stairs. you put your hand on your mouth, wide-eyed, and finally processed what the dangling head in red was: peter. he was hanging from your building, held by his web, upside down, in his spiderman suit. he wouldn’t be as instantly recognizable from afar, as he was wearing a jacket, pants, and sneakers on his suit. it looked good.
“sorry,” he said, landing next to you, but not moving towards you. “sorry,” he repeated quickly. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”
“my goodness, peter,” you said, exhaling a deep breath. “no, sorry, spiderman.”
he chuckled lightly. “did i make you wait too much? sorry about that, too.”
“no, no, you are…” you looked at your watch, “right on time, actually.”
“uh,” he started, then hesitated for a moment before taking out a piece of cloth… no, a mask from the pocket of his jacket. “this should be really comfortable, i brought it in case you wanted to, you know, keep your identity hidden.”
“oh, you will stay in your spiderman costume?” you asked, taking the mask, and putting your hand in it so see what it looked like.
“yeah,” he said, “i can’t do what i want to do with you without my suit.”
you looked at him questioningly, “what is it that you want to do with me, peter?” you asked with mock seriousness.
he made a low-volume laughing sound. “i was planning on carrying you in the sky with me. if that’s okay.” he raised his hands in hurry, “it’s okay if you don’t want to, of course. just… i just thought you might like it, is all.”
you looked at the mask, and swiftly wore it. fixing it on your face, you looked at peter. “how do i look?” you asked.
“wait, let me help,” he said as he came closer to you, and fixed the back of the mask.
“thank you.”
so peter took you to the skies.
you held onto him like your life depended on it (it did), arms wrapped around his shoulders. his movements in the air were fast and sharp, the wind felt like a slap to the face at points. yet, you didn’t feel an ounce of fear, if anything, excitement and joy would be descriptive of your feelings. peter had a strong grip on you, somehow, you trusted that without doubt, he would never drop you.
──────
he had taken and placed you on top of a skyscraper, with a view of busy streets and the decorated balconies of shorter buildings. having ascended on the city as rain yesterday, clouds in the sky had thinned, and the atmosphere was clear. the sun was half gone by now, and all your gaze rested upon was dusk-touched; bathed in the burning scarlett of the sun’s farewell.
you smiled, looking over at the city. the wind was caressing your face gently, and breathing had become easier since seeing peter. being where you stood now, it felt freeing.
“this is amazing.” you glanced at peter briefly, and saw he’d been looking at you.
“i’m glad you like it,” he said, then joined you in gazing towards the horizon.
──────
you’d been sitting where peter had caried you to, on top of the skyscraper, for a while now. topics chased each other with ease, built onto each other, and you ended up talking about things you’d never told anyone before. but peter listened, contributed, he seemed truly interested, and then he outclassed your yapping, so words ended up spilling out of your mouth naturally.
“my favorite tree is willow, actually. i love willows, they are so pretty, they have leaves like drapes. they look magical," you said, adding onto the conversation that you’d ended up talking about because… the city layout, then parks, then trees, then if many people have favorite kinds of trees, then his being olive trees…
he looked into your eyes carefully, like you'd said something that struck a cord, something he'd considered before.
"really?" he asked, then turned his gaze towards the city again, eyebrows laying heavier, eyes looking below. "willows look hunched," he said, "they look weary."
was he hunched? had he grown tired? was he trying to tell you that was how he saw the world now? hunched, instead of magical?
"hmm, " you thought for a moment, "do you know why willows are hunched?"
he looked at you questioningly. "no?"
"i've been told a story from someone who'd been told a story; there once was a willow next to a lake. you know how willows like wetlands. and there once was a child sweet as a sugar beet, yet did not know how to swim. choose one day from the countless days the old willow had seen, the sweet child fell into the lake right next to its roots, he couldn't stay on the surface, so he asked the willow for help. the willow bowed its leaves as fast as it could, to offer a branch to hold onto, but it was too slow, and the leaves touched the water too late. after that day, the willow's leaves never rose again. word spread to every willow with time, and they lowered their branches one by one, so if a child were ever drowning, they would never be too late."
he was still looking down, but his expression had changed lightly. his brows were slightly tented, his eyes seemed watery. you studied him, it looked like the story had touched him; he was quietly in thought.
was he a willow? had he failed to save a drowning child? had he been hunched?
had he realized being hunched didn't have to be ugly?
"stories are great," you said, not to fill the silence, but because you now felt comfortable enough to share your thoughts with him. "they can verbalize things you keep in your head, and make you realize; oh, someone else thought the same thing back when who knows how many years ago, and i’m not the only one."
he nodded after another moment of silence. "that was a beautiful story," he said, looking at you, "do you know many like it?"
"short tales like these? not many. i generally read novels."
"maybe i should start too."
you perked up. "you could!" you said, voice coming out too excited for your liking, "i'll lend you some."
"okay," he said, smiling in his usual, reserved way, "thank you."
poor, innocent peter. he had no idea what he'd just signed up for, basically accepting to be subjected to a reader's propaganda of their favorite books.
"i should be thanking you," you responded, "for bringing me here."
the sun had fully gone down, no traces of orange left in the sky, although it hadn't gotten fully dark yet. the moon could be seen, finally getting out of the sun's shadow. or more so, light. too bright for anything else to stay visible near it, yet nothing on earth would be visible without its light, including the moon.
you looked down at the ant-sized citizens of new york, ever-moving, flowing like a river. the wind was caressing your face, chilly, up here was colder than down below, yet it didn't feel as hostile.
"i used to really like it," he said while nodding, a half-smile left on his face from your previous conversation, and perhaps memories of years gone.
"sitting atop buildings?"
"yeah. sitting or swinging or... just height."
"it is kind of freeing."
"and just... you know, a different kind of perspective."
"yeah, i get it," you said, looking at your ant subjects, "why don't you like it anymore?"
he seemed to search for words for a moment, looking around. and then shrugged. "i guess i just... don't really like things anymore."
you sighed, nodding. "well, it's a miracle that you liked my below-average vegetable soup, then."
"it was very much above average!"
"as i said, a miracle."
"why am i having to defend my tastes in the middle of a date right now?"
he stopped abruptly, his smile fading, eyes widening. "i mean!" he quickly scrambled to fix his mistake, "not like- not a date like a date date, you know, i was just saying... just-"
was this a time for you to interrupt? he didn't seem like he wanted to finish that sentence.
"i know," you said, chuckling, "don't worry. i'm also really glad we're doing this. take me soaring the skies more often."
"i wouldn't necessarily call it soaring."
"well, whatever it was."
and then, once again, hours chased one another, carrying your long-winded conversation back and forth, and the deep black of night had fallen on the two of you like a blanket.
peter was sweet, it was like honey dripped from his lips; you hadn't found a conversation so enjoyable in years. you were glad he'd opened up more, back in high school, you had no idea he was so talkative.
you had brought a homemade meal with yourself, considering how much he'd appreciated that yesterday. and you’d shared it over the hours you’d spent together.
peter seemed to relax more and more around you, smile actually coming naturally to his face now, dangling his feet with comfortable, quiet joy.
“ah,” he said at some point, “this is… somewhat hard.”
“what is?”
he thought on it for a moment. “no, nothing. forget i said anything.”
“nooo,” you grabbed his arm and slightly shook him, “i’m curious now!”
he chuckled, “no, it’s embarrassing.”
“peter, listen to me,” you started with mock seriousness, “whatever it is, it cannot be as embarrassing as my cringeworthy memories, so i won’t even register it as embarrassing.”
“okay,” he said after a short silence, “i guess… i guess i got used to being alone too much, now i find it kind of hard to… be known, i guess. it leaves me with a kind of anxiety.”
“it wasn’t like that before?”
“no,” he turned his gaze to the city, “i don’t remember it being like this.”
you hummed, nodding your head. you were going to tell him that you understood, that you felt similarly occasionally, that it was normal, but he kept going before you could.
“at least, the bad parts.”
“what bad parts?”
“you know, my mistakes and flaws and other such things,” he took a deep breath before continuing. “i told you everything but… i wish you didn’t know some of it, now.”
you studied his face; he definitely looked more youthful, like the weight of the world wasn’t crushing him anymore. like he could put his burden down for a moment, take a break. peter didn’t seem like a person who would have a hard time being vulnarable, or being known, but pain did change people. was it just being alone, or being alone with what he thought were his mistakes, scenes repeating over and over in his head as he stared at empty walls, with no one to talk to?
“i like you as you are,” you said, “with your mistakes and flaws; that’s being human, and you’re not lesser for any of it. not objectively, and not in my eyes.”
he was looking into your eyes now, he’d become more comfortable resting his gaze upon yours; you found it comforting, you tried to make him feel the same.
“isn’t that the part of being known that matters?” you asked. “knowing the imperfect parts, the harder to accept parts, and accepting anyway, and loving anyway. doesn’t it make you feel better that i know you fully and like you even more for it?”
peter seemed truly lost for words, for the second time since you’d met. you’d wanted to make him feel welcome into your life, so you’d done your best to tell him things you’d wish to hear yourself, and they were the truth, but you really hoped it would come across right. he wasn’t the only one to overthink conversations.
he opened his mouth to give an answer, and then, suddenly, chaos erupted.
the thunder of a bomb going off shook the ground and the buildings around you. screams mixed into a deafening whistle of the wind that carried them as people ran away from the sound collectively, pushing each other.
peter stood up instinctively, looking towards the explosion. it had happened close enough that you’d felt the shockwave.
“what was that?” you yelled, trying to be heard over the sound, clumsily standing up next to peter, as you were quite high up. he held your arm to steady you.
“i’m not sure, but i think i know who’s responsible for it,” he said with a serious expression on his face, brows furrowed, thoughtful, voice lower than yours, but you could still hear him.
“are you going to go?”
“i have to, this is… these people are dangerous, you should go home.”
he grabbed you by your waist and brought you down to the ground in a hurry, gently placing you. “i’m sorry,” he said, “i’ll come back, uh, to your house, if that’s okay?”
“of course,” you responded, “i’ll be waiting. and don’t be sorry.”
and he dissapeared into the sky, swinging.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
peter hated villains, truly. criminals who committed heinous acts of terrorism, knew nothing but cruelty, unashamedly hurt people, kidnapped, wounded… there were so many of them, too. he kept defeating those hurting new york, and new ones kept popping up.
well, he thought he hated them, but he didn’t know how exactly he felt. he remembered a time when feelings so negative and irritating hadn’t ever been inside him, it was like they added onto each other. one would think it would get easier with time, that he would get used to repeated things. like losing… but not only had losing aunt may been harder than losing uncle ben, he was now more bitter, and more mournful over the past deaths he’d thought he’d gotten over, as well. or, how instead of growing numb to seeing horrible crimes unfold, every act of abuse and cruelty made him angrier, every time he hated… he hated more, although he wasn’t sure exactly what he was hating.
when he tried to track the target his hatred was pointing at, he saw blurry pictures. villains were a part of it, surely, but he didn’t feel a burning rage while fighting them, it was more so weariness, or disgust, mostly, he just wanted all of it to be over. he didn’t want to… ponder more on it, after that point. he had tried once, and then felt an untangible pain. he couldn’t admit it to himself, but he was afraid of what else he could find in that blur. himself? tony? aunt may? mj? new york? the world?
so the picture stayed anonymous, and he couldn’t fully direct his fury at anything, and he disliked all the villains, but could hardly muster up the energy to truly hate them. and perhaps it wasn’t in his nature, either. anger and hatred, he’d never been very good at those. was that why his heart was withering? because he couldn’t feel well? because those were all there was to feel in his life now, and he failed at it?
he felt so done with everything, currently. was he not going to be able to spend time with you uninterrupted? the conversation was going well, too. or at least he thought it was. he hoped you would agree.
back in high school, he knew you were smart, and funny, and would be a good friend if anyone could approach you, but you’d prefered to stay away from him, and he hadn’t had the courage to initiate a relationship with you, he’d found you intimidating. now getting to know you better, he wished he’d just done it, back then. but maybe not. maybe then he would lose you too.
would he lose you now, as well? he’d lost everyone, hadn’t he?
or he’d break your heart, maybe. he’d left liz, he’d left mj, he’d left ned. thrice taken, something was wrong with him.
he arrived at the site of the explosion, looking from above. the thick, suffocating hotness, the pain-filled wails of the survivors, the rubbles of the building crumbled down, his eyes searched for certain signs in between the horrors. he would first save those who couldn’t save themselves, then he would stop whoever was responsible.
as he started carrying survivors out of flames and rubble, he also started scanning everything around him carefully. a sign, a clue, a mistake on the culprit’s part… he knew who it was, he was almost sure the organization he’d been tailing down for the past few months was responsible for this. they were onto him, too, they knew.
he’d found out the position of their base was last week, a site with several factories and buildings in it, towards the border of the city, in a mostly desolate area, as it used to just be an industrialized site, but had now turned into an unpreferred place for bussiness. he’d wondered if they had something to do with that as well, but he supposed that didn’t matter much, in the grand scheme of things.
he would go there, and… and confront them. fight them. end them. something. somehow. the police were rendered useless for the most part, when it came to these underground syndicates, some were bought puppets, some were too powerless, peter knew better than to give away his knowledge now. he’d been burned enough. he would have to do it himself, and do it quick, before any other disasters struck his city.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
you hadn’t gone back home, you were waiting next to a shop near the place peter had left you, looking at the exploded building from afar. you were growing more worried by the second; peter had seemed serious, and talked about a criminal organization who would bomb a whole building like it was a normal thing. was he engaged in a fight, currently? how often did things of this magnitude happen to him?
your phone buzzed, you immediately looked at the screen, it could be important in these circumstances. peter. peter was calling. he’d gone to fight, said he’d come back to you, and now was calling-
“peter?” you answered before you made any assumptions.
quick gasps cut short responded to you, and peter’s voice had taken the shape of slow, low wailing, or wheezing, or… regardless, it was obvious he was in pain.
“i…” he started, clearly having a hard time speaking, “i’m stuck. it was a trap.” he was breathless, his voice kept cracking.
“you- where?” you asked, choosing your words carefully. he was stuck. trapped. time. time was important. ask only for the information that matters right now.
“the building- that- there were people, i wanted to save them,” he was crying, it was obvious. “but i couldn’t, they are stuck too, and unconscious, some are dead. i couldn’t-” he cut his sentence short, taking quick breaths, most likely trying to keep himself awake, or too pained to continue. you understood it anyway.
“where are you, peter?”
“the building crumbled down, and it’s all rubble- but, it’s a huge- a huge, i don’t know. i’m under a heavy part, big, i can’t move it. not safely. i can’t try anything too dangerous, or the- the others might get crushed,” he managed to say in between his gasps and pained groans.
your heart sank, an awful dread dropped into the pit of your stomach. what to do now?
“i’m sorry,” he said, “i just- i didn’t know what to do, and i’d told you i’d come back, i don’t know. there is no one else i could call, i’m not- i’m sorry.”
no one else.
“don’t apologize,” you said, voice firmer, having gotten slightly angry. you weren’t angry at peter, you were angry at… at the reason why peter was hurt. it had only been two days since you’d truly gotten to know him, and you wanted to scream into a void at the top of your lungs already.
you started walking towards the road, looking for a taxi, or you would call one. the initial chaos had subsided, but now people wanting to immediately go back home around you had taken its place, taxis were working, you just didn’t know how fast you could go to wherever peter was.
“send me your location or describe where you are,” you said.
you could only hear his gasps for a moment. “no,” he said, “no, no, i don’t want you to come, that’s not why i-” his breath hitched, he started coughing.
your eyes had gotten teary, you blinked harshly a few times to get rid of the blurriness. would a bicycle be faster? a… motorcycle, perhaps? you started looking around to see any unclaimed ones, you could maybe pay someone-
“i’ll come either way, i’ll help you,” you said, as you started walking towards the site of the explosion, you thought finding an abandoned vehicle might be easier there… maybe even one that no longer had an owner. maybe even a gun. “send your location or i will go into the flames and try to find a clue.”
another pause.
“okay,” he said, exhaling in pain, “but be careful, run away the moment you see anyone dangerous. okay?”
“all right.”
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
it had been a long while since peter had been in such peril, had he underestimated his opponents? had he been too rash, reckless? it was highly unlikely that his street-level work would be as dangerous as the avengers-level threats, and he’d survived those, hadn’t he? so why was he crying now?
when he’d arrived at the site, and looked around a little, he’d found people, kidnapping victims, being sent to somewhere. he’d thought he’d needed to act fast to save them, but he’d fallen into a trap. not a trap specifically set for him; it more so looked like a last resort to cover up their traces while killing anyone at their tail, just destroying the building with evidence and their enemies in it. peter was just one person though, was that enough for them, or had they not bothered to check?
he didn’t know where exactly he was wounded under the rubble, everything was hurting. somewhere on his abdomen, he assumed, and legs, they were stinging like a thousand needles were sinking into his flesh at the same time.
he sighed, putting his forehead on the fallen stone in front of him.
he hated himself. that was it, yeah. that was the true target of his hatred. more than anything else. he realised so when he admitted it to himself; hating had suddenly gotten much easier, much deeper.
he’d just killed the last person on earth who knew him. why had he called you, anyway? he should’ve just… done as he always did before meeting you, deal with it himself. or die. the world wouldn’t lose much if he did, there was no one to mourn him. well, maybe you could get a little sad, but it wasn’t like you were particularly close to him, you’d never really been friends before. and you had a life, other people around you, you had no reason to hold onto him like he did you. so why were you even coming? why would you do this to him?
he killed everyone around himself. he would kill you. he would kill you. he would lose you.
no, no, stop. you could survive this, right? sinking into despair had never been helpful. he would need to stay sharp for you. he would… you could survive this much, right? and then he would never see you again. he would block your number, and… good thing he hadn’t brought you to his apartment.
he’d been so selfish, thinking only of himself, the happiness he felt at being remembered. what was he thinking? he should’ve never talked to you. he should’ve told you to raise your umbrella and go home without getting wet. he’d been erased from existence for a reason, hadn’t he? had he forgotten why he hadn’t gone back to mj and ned? how could he do this? how could he keep doing this? why did he never learn from his mistakes?
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
you were breathless, having ridden a bicycle (that you really had managed to find abandoned next to the explosion) until a point where traffic wasn’t jammed, then taken a taxi to the point where the driver would be willing to drive to, then ran until you could see the eerie factory site peter had told you about. you’d stopped to catch your breath briefly, your throat was hurting, sweat was coming down on your face like rain had been on the morning you’d grabbed peter’s arm. you put your hand on the right of your abdomen, you had a bad case of side stitch pain. you were holding a metal pipe in your other hand, you hadn’t been lucky enough to stumble upon a gun lying around, unfortunately. you had wanted to find a shield of some sort, but the blown off car bits were mostly too heavy, and couldn’t be carried on a bicycle.
there it was, the area of a dangerous mafia organization. how many cameras were there? you wore the mask peter had given to you, even though you really didn’t want to when you needed so much air.
you could see the remnants of a big dust storm behind a few buildings, you would need to get closer to truly figure it out, but you assumed you could go towards that direction to find peter. your heart was drumming against your chest, your fingertips had suddenly gone cold. a tiny portion of it was because of your previous marathon, mostly your nervousness and… fear were the cause.
but you had to do this. there was simply no other choice. someone needed to save peter, and the authorities wouldn’t do it, and the heroes wouldn’t do it, and you were there already. so you got a move on.
you mostly walked behind walls and next to corners, nervous about being seen and shot dead on the spot before you could even get into the mafia’s base. you reached… a chain-link fence, surrounding the complex.
“NO TRESSPASSING” the sign on the fence read, “PRIVATE PROPERTY”.
well, you’d already stolen a bicycle.
you took a shaky breath, and put your foot into one of the chains. you’d never climbed over a chain-link fence before, but everything had a first time, right? so you gripped the chains for dear life, and although you probably looked ridiculous and unnatural doing it, managed to climb to the other side. you did scratch a few places on your legs and hands, but it was mostly a success.
now you needed to sneak deeper into the complex, somehow.
you walked half-crouched down, mostly next to walls, looking around yourself nervously, yet as fast as you could. as you got closer to the collapsed building, you started hearing screams, and gunshots. there was a commotion going on somewhere close to you, was it the kidnapped people? the ones peter had been able to save, the ones who’d gotten out? you stopped where you were and pressed your back to the building next to you, where did you go from here? where were the gun noises coming from? what did you need to do to avoid that, yet still reach peter?
your hands had started shaking, would it be possible to find an abandoned gun as you walked closer? it would be so easy for them to kill you.
you'd only managed to make a few turns from that point before you were caught. by a man with a gun in his hand.
"look at that," he said, as he pointed the gun at you. “it seems a little mouse sneaked in, in this chaos."
you stopped, completely frozen. your heart was beating in your throat, your hands were trembling, you'd forgotten how to breathe. you'd never been so fear-stricken in your life.
what could you do? one shot and you would be dead, what could you do with the metal pipe in your hand? you couldn't look away from the man to see what else you could use.
he started walking towards you slowly, saying things that would only distract you and make you more nervous if you focused on them, so you blocked them out.
he was clearly enjoying cornering you like a prey animal, that must have been why he was walking closer to you; to scare you. you fought against your urge to back away, to protect a distance between you two; you had a metal pipe. a gun was a long-range weapon, being closer might make it harder to run away, but would make it easier to fight back, and running away in this situation would do you no good. if he missed the first time, he would get you in the second. so you forcefully nailed your feet to the ground, ignored the alarms setting off in your mind, and tried to prepare yourself for a confrontation. your legs were trembling; you hoped the man would just think you'd frozen in fear.
he came close enough to put the gun to your head, just an arm's length of a distance between you. “you can't run even when the gun is in your face?” he asked mockingly.
would begging work? would it keep you alive long enough to catch an opening?
you would die. you would die.
you hadn't opened your mouth to form a single sentence since this man had found you, and you didn't think you could now. one wrong word and it would be over. you needed to act.
was there anyone else around? why was he alone? had you lucked out, somehow? they weren't going to take you into custody, you were a transgresser, they were going to kill you. you assumed this man had stumbled into you coincidentally in the ruckus, and hadn't felt the need to call for reinforcements. even if there were others in places you couldn't see, you had no choice but to act now.
the gun's tip was touching your forehead. seconds. i must act in seconds. by bending your knees, you ducked your head faster than he could process what happened and pull the trigger, and while ducking, swung the pipe in your hand as fast as you could, with as much force behind it as you could muster, and hit him in the groin.
you immediately made a move to get behind him while he buckled over; there was no running away from someone with a gun.
should you hold his hand with the gun, or hit it with your pipe? he was turning his face towards you, and would shoot you the moment he got a good view.
no, you’d taken too much time to think, and he’d already directed the gun at you, pulling the trigger. you immediately hit his hand with your pipe. the shot wasn't completely wasted, however, and grazed your leg.
you screamed in pain.
he reached for you with his other hand, grabbing your hair.
no time.
you gripped your pipe with all your strength, and hit his hand again while he was yanking your hair. and then kept hitting his hand, lest he direct the gun at you again. one, two, three, four, five— he kicked your leg. you buckled over in pain as he put your head to the ground, your hair still entangled in his hand. he was saying something, eyes bulging, looking very mad, but you weren’t proccessing any of it. your ears were still ringing because of the gunshot, and the pain in your leg was so powerful that you couldn't focus on anything. it was as if endless knives were constantly stabbing you. it was unbearable.
his hands were occupied with your head and the gun, you were nowhere near strong enough to set free from his grip, but he'd forgotten you were still holding onto the pipe. or maybe he'd just thought you'd be in too much pain to use it now. or maybe he just hadn't had the time to do something about that yet, everything was happering in seconds.
you swung it again in one last, reckless effort to fight back, and hit his head. the momentum tossed him to the side while taking you with him as he hadn't let go of your hair. before he could turn to face you back, you hit his head again, with all your might. he let go of your hair while balancing himself with his other hand, and hit you across the face before you could land your third hit, but you planted yourself to the ground, and landed another hit anyway. his head was bleeding, and he was clearly distraught.
what now? a few seconds. this had given you a few seconds of decision time. what now? should you keep hitting him? take the gun, somehow? how could you get rid of him?
you tried to move reflexively, to get away. but your leg was done for, you couldn’t get up. no. no. you couldn't move.
your heart was going to burst out of your chest, your nerves were completely wrecked; you couldn’t get up.
what, then? did you have to… kill? you were going to throw up. your hands started trembling even more violently. you couldn't. you just couldn't.
you wished you could yell for help. but you were supposed to be the help. it was as it had always been before, pick yourself up and dust yourself off.
no time to think.
you hit his head again, and when he flailed, this time you put his head to the ground, climbing on top of him, twisting his gun-holding arm under his body. now… now you could... how could you stop him? if you managed to take the gun, and told him to stay put until you could run away... you couldn't move, though. you couldn't even properly restrain him because you were having to drag one leg. the concussion he had was doing most of the heavy lifting.
an idea did come up in your mind. you supposed you had no other choice.
──────
you were lying on the floor, your back towards the sky. you’d left your unconscious attacker where he was lying, and managed to drag yourself for a few centimeters before you’d stopped, and leaned your forehead against the ground. you needed to get away, you knew. at least near a wall, somewhere you wouldn’t be seen so clearly, but your leg was hurting too much to use.
you couldn’t raise your head, and just started sobbing openly. you’d already been crying, but trying to hold back, keep quiet. you needed to sit up, and look at how bad the wound was, and how much blood you’d lost. the pain was all you could think about, your head was hurting from stress and forcing yourself to think through the pain, your eyes and throat were hurting from crying (and maybe also sleep-deprivation, as time was diving deeper into the night), your face was hurting from the hit you’d taken, and yet, nothing could be compared to the pain you felt in your leg. you wanted to take off your mask, it was suffocating enough even without it, but any cameras catching your face would be more of a disaster long term.
you took a deep breath, and put your hands on the ground. you pushed yourself up while shaking, and turned around. you looked at your leg, and immediately regretted it. it was bleeding a lot, and your flesh had been ripped apart. you didn’t know what to do, there was no one you could call.
you took out your phone from your pocket, and found peter’s number. you really didn’t want to, but you had no other choice.
peter answered by calling out your name questioningly, his voice came across better than last time; it still did sound like he was in pain, but he was calmer.
“peter,” you said, failing to sound like you weren’t crying. “a guy shot me. my leg is hurt.”
“a- what? where are you?”
“i’m near the collapsed building you should be in.”
“i- i-”
you took a second to breathe. “no, no, i… i just don’t know what to do,” you said, sniffling and gasping, “i can’t get up. i, uh, should i wrap something around my leg?”
“yeah,” he said, “a piece of cloth until you can get out, how close are you to the exit? you should call an ambulance or a taxi or—” he also had to stop to take a breath in pain, “i don’t know— i’m sorry. i’m really sorry.”
“what are you sorry for? it’s the fault of this piece of— well, garbage. at least i have a gun now.”
“who was it? is he still there?”
“i don’t know, some random guy. he’s unconscious.”
“… how?”
“well, i… kind of strangled him? he was,” you huffed, “he fainted because he couldn’t breathe, he’s alive though. i did hit his head a few times, i don’t know how that bodes for him.”
“probably not well,” he said, now with a hint of surprise and amusement in his voice, “you, uh, you did well. very well.”
“huh, thank you.”
good, this was good, hearing peter’s voice had been good for you. you pushed yourself up somehow, and sat up straight.
“what happened?” he asked, “why is the pain worsening?” probably because of your increasing groans.
“i was trying to sit up. i need to find a piece of cloth.”
you looked around, and decided to take anything you could from the man who attacked you. you went through his pockets, and sure enough, found a knife. you cut a piece off of his shirt, and used it as bandage.
“how tight should it be?”
“you should be able to slide a finger under it.”
next, you needed to drag yourself away from the middle of the road, to somewhere you could hide—
no.
no, that wasn’t why you were here.
“how are you doing, peter?” you asked, but couldn’t add that you would be there soon.
“i’m…” he started, but drifted off. and then you heard silent sobbing. “i’m sorry,” he said.
“you have nothing to apologize for.”
“no, it’s all my fault. i never should’ve dragged you into this mess.”
“you didn’t drag me into anything, i stole a bike and ran a marathon to get to you,” you’d sounded firmer now, although still couldn’t stop your crying; the pain just wasn’t getting any better.
“i let you down along with everyone else,” he wasn’t listening to you, “and i don’t know what to do, i can’t come to you, i don’t know how to get you out,” his voice had gotten frantic again.
you sighed, trying to get your sobbing under control, and think of a reply. was it his fault? no, you were certain it wasn’t. had he let you down? no, the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. should he stay away from you? were you afraid of pain or death? would you rather live a more stress-free life than stay with peter?
you closed your eyes to let the tears roll down your cheeks as the realisation that you couldn’t immediately say “no” set in, you felt betrayed by yourself. you’d thought about this, yesterday… or two days ago, you supposed, as it was past midnight. he’d told you everything, so you knew the risks, and you’d thought about it. you’d decided it would be fine; worrying for his safety or being at risk yourself. and if you got injured, then you could handle some pain. and if you died, well… there was no getting ahead of death. if you died, that would mean your time had come.
so where had your conviction gone to? had the pain been too much, after all? it was the pain, the stabbing sensation was making your brain foggy, demanding all the attention be on it. you hated it, you hated everything. you were mad at yourself; why couldn’t you just be better?
“peter,” you cut him off, “i know i can’t understand you fully, but i get it,” you’d decided to just ramble. you couldn’t come up with the perfect answer to make his worries disappear, so you would just… tell him whatever was going through your mind.
“i lay awake some nights, randomly afraid of the dark. then i curl up under my blanket, and try to comfort myself. because there is no one to lie next to me. i look out from my window and see grey walls. i look up at night and see no stars. i walk outside and hundreds of people just walk past me without even looking at my face, and i don’t remember any of theirs the next hour. all i hear all day are the honks of cars, and depressing news. abuse. crime. kid died. alone person went missing. don’t go out at night. don’t talk to anyone. there is no one anyway, who would i talk to?” you paused to sniffle again, and catch your breath.
“i come home and say ‘hello’ to emptiness and darkness, i turn on the lights myself, then think about what i’ll eat. and i don’t properly eat most days, because i just don’t want to prepare something only for myself. yesterday, i was so happy you liked the food i made, i wanted to cook something for the first time in months while waiting for you,” words were just coming out of your mouth without restraint now, was it the sleep deprivation?
“in high school, i used to watch you and your friends, and wish i could find someone who would be in sync with me too. i used to wish i had a reason or an excuse to join in when i saw you three laugh or talk. i go to university now, and i attend lectures, and i make small talk with a few people, and then i drown in my own thoughts the whole day. i tell myself that i’m fine by myself, but i feel like my soul is getting thinner by the day, looking at walls. is it just me, or is everyone just disconnected now, i don’t know.”
you finally stopped, and let silence stretch after your words. your crying had gotten worse as the suffocation of your life had built up enough to rush out of you; you didn’t cry much, not really. sure, you sometimes shed silent tears, sitting by yourself on your couch, but normally, you just kept going without thinking much about it. you had your exams, and job, and volunteer work, and projects to worry about, so pitying yourself was at the bottom of your to-do list. but now? you were crying waterfalls. was it because you’d finally found someone to tell what you were really thinking? no, it was probably because of the pain you were already in.
peter didn’t answer, for a long while, it was just silence.
“you were right,” you said, “being known with your negative sides sucks.”
“no,” he said, “you were right. i’m glad to know you as you are.”
he didn’t sound good. he didn’t sound good at all. you sighed in resignation, closing your eyes tightly shut to clear your view of tears. “i’m closing now, peter, wait for me,” you said, and closed the call before he could reply.
you looked at the ground, and furrowed your brows in concentration. you would get up. you had to. you had no choice. peter had called you for help. he had no one. no one else to call. no one else to save him from making a choice between death and killing innocent victims under rubble. no one else to save him from death.
you gritted your teeth, your leg hurt as the deep cut touched the bad guy’s shirt, and in some parts, the cold air of the night. the wound kept bleeding, and hurting more by the second. but you gritted your teeth anyway, through your tears and gasps for air that you had an abundance of, but your lungs refused to take in. you put your hands on the ground, and pushed yourself up, using all the strength you had.
you whimpered and groaned in many attempts to stifle your screams before they could come out, and alert whoever was close enough to hear, and managed to set your back straight. it was unbearable, the pain was holding you from the collar, trying to drag you down, making your vision red, exploding in your brain.
it’s just pain, you kept repeating to yourself, it was just a feeling, you could move through it. so you would walk now. towards peter. as quickly as possible. you needed to reach him, that was why you’d come this far, how could you let pain make you forget? it was simply unacceptable, the thought of peter dying under that rubble.
so you put one foot in front of the other, and made your way to peter through every force working against you.
──────
"peter?" you asked, trying to walk through the rubble, and then heard your name back.
"i'm here!"
you tried to reach him at least enough to see his face, as fast as you could, but it was still taking too long with your injured leg. too long for your impatience currently, anyway.
"i'll remove the victims so you can get out of there," you said as you stretched your head enough to see his face, not being able to get closer. he was... he'd taken off his mask, and he looked horrible; his eyes had become red from tears and most likely his injuries, his face was covered in dust and some drops of blood. looking at him stung your chest. "tell me where they are."
──────
peter was strong. he truly was. not only mentally; you were currently watching him lift what was essentially an entire ceiling with other pieces of rubble on it off himself, with most likely many crushing injuries. insane. he was insane. no wonder he couldn’t move with all with those unconscious people around.
you had somehow managed to move them out of his way, seven people in total, much more than you’d anticipated. how could you get them out of here now? you were injured, peter was probably in worse condition… although he did seem to be able to carry significant weight. maybe you could carry them until the exit and call an ambulance, for yourselves, too.
──────
peter walked towards you until he was a breath away, his face was covered in sweat on top of everything else, and he was gasping for air, as were you. he looked at your leg.
“i’ll carry you,” was all he said. he seemed so tired.
“we need to carry these people first.”
“no, i’ll carry you first. until you’re out of this complex.”
──────
you were sitting on the sidewalk, waiting for the ambulance you had called. well, ambulances, as they’d be carrying nine people. you had, also, finally taken off the mask you’d come to despise at this point, associating it with very negative feelings.
you saw peter swing down with the last one of the survivors. he landed, placed the unconscious man on the sidewalk, and sat right next to you.
you sat together in silence for a while, until you took a deep breath, and chuckled lightly. it was over. you’d done it. everyone was alive.
peter looked at you questioningly, although it was hard to read his face; he’d turned mostly expressionless. because of how much effort it must have been taking to even stay awake for him, you assumed.
“it’s over,” you said, “we did it.”
he looked away again, to the desolate road in front of you. “you did it,” he said, “i messed up.”
“how so?”
“i acted rashly. i should’ve been more careful. now they’ll find a new base, and i have to start from nothing to track them down again. and they know i’m after them. and i couldn’t change anything in the end, i just made things worse. all of this was for nothing, it could have been completely avoided. it started with the collapse of one building and then it ended with the collapse of another for no reason.”
you were watching him carefully. lines of exhaustion had formed on his face, the sorrow and… and whatever it was that dropped a boulder of burning despair into the pit of your stomach from when you first met had come back; you’d thought the youth had somehow returned to his face this evening.
“so,” you started, taking another deep breath, “you came here after they exploded a building to stop them, like, end them in general, or at least weaken them, do something. that makes sense to me. then you acted rashly here? why?”
“i saw… the kidnapped victims, and they were suffering, so i wanted to save them.”
“then you didn’t mess up, right? you saved them.”
“not all of them, and i wouldn’t have without you.”
“well, a big majority of them, you did save. all of them would die without you. and what else could you have done but to directly interfere? you did the only thing you could.”
he just stayed silent, was he not convinced?
“i don’t think this was a failure, peter. i think you did well and saved many people, and i think it was worth it.”
his eyes were teary, but he didn’t look at you again, he turned his gaze to the ground, and just stayed silent.
──────
you had decided on what to tell the authorities before the paramedics had arrived, and then you’d been separated, put into different ambulances.
then… well, the rest was as you imagined it would go. still a lot of pain, and a lot of hasty doctors as they asked questions and barked orders. it was horrible, really, with the way your head had been aching, but at least they were numbing your leg. and you would most likely be allowed to drift off to sleep at some point, right?
──────
you lied on the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. it was almost noon, and you’d waken up not so long ago. you just kept playing what happened again and again in your head, trying to make sense of every detail.
it was a miracle you were alive. you’d faced off a gun. an actual gun.
it was good that all you could do by yourself in this hospital bed was think; you’d been asking yourself the same questions for a while now. did you still want to be involved with peter? you’d known him only for two days, and you’d ended up in a hospital already.
you’d considered every outcome and every reason, every choice you could make. in the end, it boiled down to a few core options. would you rather live a less risky life by yourself, or risk getting hurt like this to be with someone? someone who can meet you as deeply as you crave?
not just that, human bonds were too important to be disregarded because of what external threats might arise. the reality now was that you loved peter, he was a good person, he didn’t deserve to be abandoned because of what evil people did. your choice didn’t come out of loneliness; even if you had a dozen bonds like this, you would still choose to stay with peter, because you’d formed a relationship with him now. and that was that.
out of every outcome you considered, the worst one was definitely living your life without peter, and then getting news that spiderman just died somewhere, by himself. even the thought of it was nausiating. then again, the thought of just him getting hurt like this, and having no one to go to was just as horrible. so you needed to choose the opposite of what would cause that outcome to happen.
it hadn’t been that hard a decision to make; staying involved with peter. you’d already been tangled, it wasn’t much of a possibility to untangle yourself now, a part of you would be left behind.
besides, you somehow remembered him, didn’t you? that had to mean something. there had to be a reason for it.
──────
after finally being discharged, the first thing you did was look for peter, but he’d somehow gotten out before you. not because his wounds were less severe, quite the opposite, the nurses had said he’d been restless to get out, and they couldn’t keep someone against their will.
the orange of dusk had faded away, although it wasn’t fully dark yet. you were on your way to your apartment while you kept ringing peter’s phone, he was stubbornly refusing to answer.
you huffed as another attempt turned out to be in vain. you looked at the taxi driver, who did not acknowledge your existence, and then turned back to your phone.
“peter, are you okay? is everything all right?”
you messaged him. then waited for him to see. aaand waited. still waiting.
you huffed again, three minutes of staring at your screen impatiently and he wasn’t responding.
although you’d asked him if he were okay, you knew the truth. it wasn’t that he couldn’t answer, it was that he’d decided to go through with his stupid “i’ll never see you again because i’m ruining your life” nonsense. in your heart of hearts, you knew. so you sent another message.
“if you’re thinking about cutting ties with me, then do it properly. come and talk to me about it.”
and then looked out the taxi’s window for the rest of your journey.
────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────
you were right, peter knew. after everything that happened, opening up to you and accepting you into his life, if he wanted to step away now, he needed to respect you, and tell you about it properly. so he was standing in front of your door now, trying to gather up the courage to ring your bell, and tell you he’d never see you again. this door had seemed so inviting one night ago, and it had tricked peter. he was not supposed to be invited into any house, didn’t your house know that?
he took a deep breath, and rang the bell. when you opened the door, you looked tired. not your expression, but the lines on your face and the look in your eyes gave it away. that was his fault, wasn’t it?
you stepped aside to welcome him, and he followed you into the living room, the couch he’d sat on the night he’d told you everything.
bidding you farewell was going to be hard, he didn’t know if he could be brave enough, or selfless enough. he’d been so when he had been wiped from the memories of every living being, and that was much harder a task, wasn’t it? so couldn’t he do it a second time?
but he hated waking up every day, and hated… well, he couldn’t even properly hate. getting up, putting one foot in front of the other was becoming harder every day, he didn’t want to do anything, anymore. so circumstances had changed since then, but he still kept fighting every day, and he still kept doing what he thought was right. so he could do this too.
or you would die. he’d lost enough people. to love was to lose. to love was the possibility of loss eventually.
he shouldn’t even have sat on this couch, actually, why had he done so? he should’ve just told you he was leaving, and then leave. he made a move to get up again, you grabbed his arm to stop him.
“you should stay seated,” you said, “i’ll bring something to eat for dinner.”
“please don’t, i’ll be on my way shortly anyway.”
“no,” you said as a statement, firmly, and left him alone in the living room.
peter never should’ve come. you deserved to have one last conversation, but how could peter move on from you? he supposed it would’ve been impossible even if he hadn’t come to your place today, even if he’d told you to turn back without getting wet the day you first recognized him. he would just have to live missing you forever, and that wasn’t unrealistic. it’s what he was doing now, missing everybody he’d ever known. and he was living, wasn’t he? well, he was alive.
you brought pasta with chicken, obviously freshly made, and put down two plates on the couch.
“we could eat in the kitchen,” he said.
“couch is comfier.”
he sighed, looking at his plate. he really didn’t want to eat anything made by you again, he didn’t need more things to miss. you’d said you didn’t feel like preparing a meal just for yourself, that he made you want to cook something… he remembered everything you said, of course. that you’d apparently wanted to get closer to him in high school too, why had he been so nervous? afraid?
it was for the best, though. otherwise, you might’ve died years ago. no matter what you felt, he couldn’t be selfish enough to assume he could be there for you, or good for you.
“so,” you started, “you decided to go forward with your plan of ignoring my existence for the rest of your life?”
“it’s not ignoring,” he had a defensive tone, “i was wrong to even confirm i’m peter at the start, i’ll fix my mistake.”
“it wasn’t a mistake, how can you say that? would you prefer i believed i’d lost my mind?”
you had a hard time walking now, limping although you tried to hide it, and several wounds were visible on your face. you’d beat up a man with a metal pipe, what kind of damage did that leave on your psyche? peter didn’t know, he’d been warring since he was fifteen.
“you wouldn’t be in pain, at least.”
“you’re unbelievable,” you sounded exasparated, and seemed offended, but peter didn’t know what else to say. it was the truth. “i’d rather know the bitter truth, or suffer from its consequences than believe a lie any time. besides, you couldn’t have known this would happen, it’s not on you.”
“you can’t tell me you would still get a gunshot wound yesterday if we hadn’t met two days ago.”
“maybe not, but i don’t blame you for it and i don’t care.”
“you don’t care?!” peter was getting angry, was it because you were getting angry? he was angry at himself, was it dripping out of his chest into his tongue as poison?
“no,” you backtracked, “i mean, i’m fine with it. i can live with it. and i don’t hold it against you, i don’t have any resentment for you. i don’t know how else to explain this.”
he took a deep breath to hold back his tears. he couldn’t let your words get to him, make him feel better about what had occurred. he needed to protect you, he kept reminding himself.
“i can’t put you in harm’s way,” he said.
you paused for a moment.
“do you take care of your wounds by yourself? you did so after the fire the other day, and you basically ran away from the hospital this time around.”
peter was taken aback. “uh, yeah?” he answered.
you grabbed a bag that was positioned right next to the couch on the floor, and took a… first aid kit out of it. and then a salve, and bandages, and… what was going on?
“i bought these today after being discharged, figured you might need some.”
“i’m… fine?”
your expression was very unimpressed when you looked at him.
“so you think i don’t see your arm, or the way you have a hard time eating or breathing, or even just your hands?”
ah, right. his hands were bruised, not enough to warrant bandaging though, this happened regularly. and his arm did hurt, but the pain would go away in a few days or so. his abdomen… that was taken care of, too, the dressing they did at the hospital would be enough.
“it’s all taken care of,” he said.
“we need to put salve on your hands, and then wrap-”
“we don’t, this happens all the time.”
you looked at him in surprise for a moment. “this happens all the time and we don’t need to treat it?” you repeated with your eyes wide, tone something between offended and shocked.
he didn’t know what to say, so you just started doing whatever you’d set your mind to even before he came to your house. you gently held his hand, and started applying the salve. he sighed, and closed his eyes, leaning his head to rest on the couch. he shouldn’t have, but you didn’t give him much choice.
“i’ll learn how to suture,” you said, “and anything else that’s necessary.”
peter spoke your name, “i’m sorry,” he said, “i am so, so sorry. i don’t want to leave you either, but you saw what happened. mj and ned have forgotten me, and they are happier for it. this is what i need to do.”
“peter,” you said, as you started wrapping the bandage around his hand, “i haven’t forgotten you, and if you leave now, i still won’t forget. i don’t know how mj and ned are doing, having forgotten, but you can’t compare me to them. and even if i had forgotten, i still would want to know. how else can i put this?” you searched for the words, “i care about you more than i care about happiness. i’d choose you over happiness, i’d rather be in pain with you than be painless by myself.”
peter had straightened his back, his gaze fixated on your eyes, as you spoke. a lump in his throat, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks in his eyes, his hand in your hands… a warmth in his chest, how he hadn’t felt in so long. your words did soften his edges, but he couldn’t accept it. he still held back his tears, and still wanted to escape. run away. was that why he wanted to leave you? was his true reason to protect you, or his fear? he wanted to run, he wanted to run as fast as he could and hide, from anyone who could see him.
it was too much, but he couldn’t exactly tell what was too much. he was afraid of hurting you, but that wasn’t all he was afraid of, yet he couldn’t recognize what else scared him so.
“but,” you continued, “being with you will make me happy anyway, do you understand? i’ll be happier with you than alone, even if my life is at risk, and even if guns chase my back.”
you had teared up too, peter realised, but were wiping your tears away, to keep your vision clear while working on his now other hand, he assumed.
and that was it, the last drop of water to make his glass overflow. silent tears started finding their way to his chin, his gaze lowered in embarrassment. he’d already cried a dozen times in front of you, and he wished he hadn’t, he wished he could be stronger, firmer, he wished he could aspire confidence instead of silently crying. he hadn’t been able to cry for a while, before meeting you. even when it hurt deep inside his bones, his tears had dried up. were they all spilling out now?
he wanted you to stay, too, he was tired of being alone. he was tired of imagining “what if”s. he was tired of walking directionless with his hoodie covering his face, face a blur in crowds, never known by anyone. if you could bandage his hands every time after a fight, or have your textbooks scattered around in his room, then-
he didn’t want to imagine it. he just couldn’t accept it.
you were done with his hands, even though peter didn’t want you to let go. “how about this,” you started, “why don’t we give it some more time? i mean, how many times did mj or ned get wounded while knowing you?”
“… never, really.”
“yeah, so, either i’m also cursed, or this was a rare occurrence. either way, me staying with you won’t change anything. so, instead of making a rash decision like this, why don’t we try to be friends first? and if it doesn’t work out, then you can put some distance?”
that was… peter thought on it. and then his silent tears turned into straight-up sobbing. because that could work. he could accept that, it made sense to him.
he leaned down and buried his face in his hands. you started caressing his hair, which made it impossible for his tears to stop.
when everyone had forgotten, you'd remembered him. when faced with a gun, you'd survived. when injured, you'd walked. maybe he really was cursed, considering what had happened to you after you just met, but you seemed determined to break it.
and it might not be perfect, but it would be.
it must’ve been hard for you to make such a decision, you must’ve thought about it; staying with peter. you’d chosen him anyway. he could do the same, too. despite his fears, his horrible instinct to shrink and escape, he could stand his ground, and choose to stay, as you had. and maybe with time, it could get easier.
he stopped his sobbing, calmed down enough to face you, and raised his head.
“i don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” he said with a hint of nervousness in his voice.
“right,” you smiled, “exciting, isn’t it?”
ghost towns (youtube music) by radical face... as we part ways for now.
i had to stop reading for a few minutes so i could crash out about the fact that i'm in my living room and not on top of a skyscraper talking about trees with the love of my life
a princess wed to a dashing knight should be living a fairytale—but gwayne hightower is also the son of the schemer who would soon plunge the realm into civil war. how long can you resist his charms... when he proves time and again that his affection is as genuine as his honor?
genre/warnings:
arranged marriage, unrequited love, hurt/comfort, yearning, jealousy, mentions of injury & blood, fluff and lots of kissing afterwards, sunshine!gwayne and grumpy!reader, political drama, targaryen!reader (reader is rhaenyra's younger sister), spoilers! takes place in season 1 of house of the dragon
notes:
gif by @/bladeofdreadfort. wc. 4.5k ! hotd s3 is finally here and so does my man gwayne <3 i really loved writing this so i hope you’ll enjoy it!
For the longest time, Gwayne had known that the matter of his marriage were not his to ponder. As the son of the Hand of the King, his future was a tapestry woven by him in a series of cunning, calculated moves.
Yet, he had never truly expected to be betrothed to you—a princess of the realm.
The young princess for the queen’s brother. By every measure, it was a masterful stroke of politics and his father had once again outdone himself. After binding his sister to the king, it was now his turn to seek the heart of the realm’s most coveted maiden after the Princess Rhaenyra.
However, to Gwayne, you were more than just a political alliance. You were a paragon of beauty, the girl haunting his dreams, the princess who has stolen his heart—
But seven hells, were you also one hard lady to entice.
Every charming smile he threw your way was met with an arched, unimpressed brow. Every poetic compliment he rehearsed tasted like ash and shattered against your coldness. You didn’t swoon like the ladies at the tourney grounds, nor did you soften at his obvious attempts to woo you.
Instead, you looked at him as if you could see right through the nervous man underneath.
Your assessing gaze was currently fixed on him from the shade of the courtyard gallery. Down in the dirt, Gwayne was sweating through his padded doublet, trying his absolute best to look formidable as his sword clashed against his squire’s shield—because he knew you were watching.
He has to look good. Your wedding was in three weeks, so he was fighting to impress—determined to give you a show of how your betrothed was as dashing as the realm claimed him to be.
With theatrical flair, he executed an aggressive sequence before driving his squire back with a heavy strike, deftly sweeping the poor lad’s legs out from under him, and sending him sprawling into the dirt with a breathless thud.
Breathing heavily, Gwayne smoothly rested the point of his sword near the fallen boy’s chest in a classic pose of victory.
“You are just dead,” he declared with his signature grin, before turning to where you were.
You leaned against the stone balustrade, looking down at him with an expression of mild, patronizing amusement. He flashed you a hopeful, boyish grin that begged for even a shred of your approval.
And as if deciding to grace him with your presence, you descended down the stone stairs. Gwayne’s smile widened, and he met you halfway as you reached the bottom.
Ignoring the staring stableboys, he dipped his head and took your hand, placing a kiss on it.
“Princess,” he greeted, his dark blue eyes meeting yours with an excited crinkle.
“An impressive display, Ser Gwayne,” you replied, smoothly pulling your hand back from his grasp. He was giddy, about to thank you for the compliment, when—
“I must commend your passion. It takes a truly remarkable knight to exert such effort against a boy half his size who is actively paid to lose to him.”
Gwayne winced slightly, but the grin quickly returned to his face, refusing to let your sharp tongue deter him.
“A knight, no matter the age, must practice for all manner of foes. It shall be a good lesson for my squire to learn,” he countered softly. He had always been a naturally courteous man, but he had been practicing an extra measure of gentleness ever since the betrothal was announced, even when you remained frosty.
He hoped that you would recognize it—that you would see he was willing to bend his pride just for you.
However, you merely lifted your chin higher, your eyes flashing with a challenge.
“Is that so? My, what a chivalrous soul you are. I suppose I shall sleep soundly knowing you are defending the realm with your immense prowess and formidable army of squires.”
One thing he could never truly understand, though... he hadn’t asked for this match any more than you had, yet why did you look at him as you would a liar?
And it hurts because... he remembers how the more innocent, younger you, who had wiped blood from his face, hadn’t looked at him as you do now.
“We are to be married in no less than a moon,” he reminded you, still with a smile. “Tell me, Princess... what must a man do to earn a genuine compliment from his bride?”
You held his gaze for a beat, letting the silence stretch just long enough to watch the slight twitch in his jaw. Then, a devastatingly sweet smile graced your lips as you tilted your head.
“Compliments are but wind, my good ser. If we are to marry soon anyways, what use would flattering you with empty words do?”
Gwayne let out a defeated chuckle. “I shall just continue striving to become a man worthy of your hand, then.”
You had just insulted him and mocked his swordsmanship in the same breath, and yet, somehow, he still found himself tethered to you still.
What a fool he was.
He didn’t give up just like that, of course. Gifts was also Gwayne’s language of affection.
He had commissioned a seven-pointed star necklace for you in Oldtown, crafted from the finest silver and diamond. He had watched his late mother and sister find such profound comfort in it, and so he had believed it would make a fine gift for you.
Yet, now that he presented the gleaming jewelry to you, you were rendered silent.
“You do not like it,” he realized, a note of disappointment building through his usual confidence.
“It is exquisite. Truly,” you started, your voice gentle but lacking the reverence he had anticipated. “But... you must not expect me to wear it often.”
“Is it the design? If it offends your sensibilities, I can have it redone, or—”
“I assure you, I know your intentions are kind,” you looked at him, a certain sternness in your eyes. “It is just a matter of preference, is all. I treasure this necklace from my mother rather greatly, and wearing it is how I keep her close to me.”
The tragic death of Queen Aemma was not so easily forgotten, least of all when you resembled her so much. Gwayne’s smile faltered, the enthusiasm in his eyes dimming when his gaze found the sapphire necklace of Arryn falcon on your neck, a heirloom passed down.
He looked down at the silver star resting in the wooden box, suddenly finding it so plain, before forcing himself to meet your gaze again.
“I just want you to know that... you are in my thoughts, constantly,” he murmured, his gaze rising to meet yours again. “Whenever I see something I consider beautiful, I think of you. I want you to have it. You should know I have no underlying intentions other than that.”
You gave him an appreciative nod, pursing your lips together. “Your kind thoughts are much appreciated.”
So he had failed, again. Sigh.
What better way to impress your betrothed and prove to the entire realm that you were worthy of her hand than by claiming victory at the King’s nameday tourney?
Even you would at least bestow a real smile upon him. That was what Gwayne was after.
Or at least, it was until his gaze drifted to the edge of the battlement grounds where the knights were assembling. There, he saw you.
With Criston Cole.
The sight struck him. You, who usually looked at him with indifference, were attentive, your eyes bright in a way Gwayne had never managed to make them. Cole, in turn, had a reserved smile, his attention entirely locked onto you.
It could have been anyone but Criston—the Dornishman!—Cole. Why him?!
A sharp spike of resentment flared in his chest. He decided right then and there that this cannot stand, and marched towards you both.
“Good day, Ser Criston,” Gwayne greeted with a forced smile, his voice dripping with a courtly cheer that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Cole returned his greeting, and he turned to you then. “My betrothed, fancy to have found you here. You shouldn’t have to sully yourself with the dirt.”
“I was merely wishing Ser Criston luck in the lists.” As always, the corners of your lips curled into that faux smile whenever facing him. “The competition looks fierce today.”
What about him? You hadn’t thought of wishing him, your own groom, luck?
“Fierce for some, mayhaps,” Gwayne nodded, his smile sharpening as he took another step forward, deliberately cutting off Criston Cole’s line of sight to you. He reached out, his gauntleted hand gently but firmly taking yours.
“But I sure do not fear a crowd of knights of modest beginnings and second sons. And I have hoped that I might find you in the stands later, and you would bestow upon me your favor to assure me of my victory.”
He looked down at you, the forced arrogance in his eyes momentarily cracked. He wanted you to look at him the way you had just looked at Cole, really.
But cruel, relentless you never granted it so easily.
“Your romantic sensibilities are commendable, ser.” You let out a soft sigh, as if lamenting, “but victory is still guaranteed by skill and the favor of the Seven, and not merely from a scrap of silk.”
The rejection was subtle, but in the presence of Criston Cole, it felt like a public execution.
“It is said even a scrap of favor from one’s bride can turn the tide of many battles,” Gwayne replied, his voice dropping an octave as the last traces of courtly cheer evaporated. “Unless, of course, your favor has already been promised to someone else?”
His eyes flicked towards Cole, searching for a reason to draw steel before the tourney even began. And that Dornish wretch had the gall to look at him in the eyes and retorted:
“May the best knight win, ser.”
Your betrothed had become terribly displeased and you knew it. Your hollow smile deepened, you stepped forward and smoothly slid your hand into the crook of his arm.
“No, no. You are free to ask me for it later, of course, my dear.”
Gwayne knew better that the honeyed words held no real affection. Yet, like a moth drawn to a flame, he couldn’t help but fall for it each and every time.
You held his leash, and you knew exactly how far you could play with and stretch it. But as he looked at you, a quiet ache settled in his soul.
Is it truly so wrong of him to seek your heart? How much longer would he have to endure this torment, giving everything while his affections remained completely unreturned?
“From today to the day we breathe our last, all that I am is yours.”
That was the first thing he told you when the betrothal was announced. In a den of vipers, Gwayne Hightower was entirely his own man.
He didn’t possess the calculating ambition of his father, who viewed every living soul as a piece in his game of thrones. Nor was he prudent like his sister, Queen Alicent, whose motto in life was duty and sacrifice.
You know that. You really knew that your chosen betrothed was everything but unkind. He was everything the songs promised a knight should be— genuine, posh, with a touch of arrogance that made him charming. He held you in high regard, and his attempts to make an impression on you were sweet.
Despite how you behaved around him, the truth was... it took everything in you not to fall for Ser Gwayne Hightower.
But he is still Otto’s son. You hated the Lord Hand with every fiber of your being—the man’s thirst for power had already forced your childhood companion Alicent into your father’s bed, turned your sister Rhaenyra into a scheming cynic, and your own betrothal to Gwayne was just another piece of his grand design.
However, watching the tourney unfold from the royal box, your thoughts swirled with guilt and anxiety. In the end, he hadn’t asked for your favor at all. Ironically, his sudden silence unsettled you far more than his persistence ever had.
Looking back on your interactions, the weight of your biting marks pressed heavily against your chest. You had rejected him so many times, using your faux smiles and sharp wit as shields. Every time you remembered the look of hurt that crossed his face before he masked it with a patient smile, a fresh wave of guilt washed over you.
Did he deserve to be punished just for pursuing you? Was it fair to make him pay for his father’s sins?
Down in the dirt, Gwayne rode beautifully, unseating two seasoned knights from the Reach and splitting lances with a Lannister to thunderous applause from the crowd. For a moment, watching his silver and green armor gleam in the sunlight, a spark of pride flared in your chest.
Then, Ser Criston Cole rode onto the field.
The tension between the two men was palpable even from the high stands. They charged— one lance shattered, then a second. By the third pass, it was clear it was a matter of pride.
And on the fourth pass, the collision was catastrophic.
With a terrifying crack that echoed across the grounds, Cole’s lance struck dead center. Gwayne was violently unseated, flung from his saddle to hit the earth with a sickening crash.
A collective gasp sucked the air from the stands. Through the rising dust, you saw your betrothed lying completely still. Cole’s lance hadn’t just broken— it had compromised his armor. His steel breastplate was shattered to pieces, the shards visibly lodged into his chest, dark blood already pooling through the fractures.
Your breath hitched, your hand flying to your mouth in horror.
Six years ago, a similar scene had paralyzed your heart the very same way. Blind to the rules of propriety, you bolted from the royal box. Pushing past lords and ladies, you sprinted down into the arena—desperate to reach him.
The maesters and several squires had already swarmed him, unbuckling the undamaged pieces of his armor with hurried hands. Gwayne was propped up against a wooden barrier, half-conscious, his head lolling to the side as his eyes struggled to hold focus.
“Will he be alright?” your voice cracked, almost shrill, the composed facade of a princess shattered as you hovered over the maesters working on him. “Tell me he will be alright.”
“The steel hasn’t pierced the heart, Princess, but we must move him to immediately to extract the shards,” one of them mumbled, wrapping a temporary cloth around the wound to stem the bleeding.
Gwayne let out a low, guttural groan at the pressure, his eyelids fluttering. Through the haze of pain, he recognized your voice. He knew you were there.
Driven by a sudden, overwhelming surge to comfort him, you dropped to your knees beside him. Your hands were trembling as you reached out, using the hem of your sleeve to wipe away the grime and blood that smeared his pale cheek.
But before your fingers could trace his jawline, Gwayne’s gauntleted hand came up. With a sudden burst of remaining strength, he swatted your hand away—
“Do not touch me,” he rasped.
The words were raw and bitter, dripping with an icy venom you had never heard from him before.
. . .
Gwayne refused to meet your gaze. He pressed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly the bone practically strained against his skin.
It wasn’t just the physical agony tearing him apart. It was the suffocating, absolute humiliation.
He had lost. He had been unseated and laid low in the dirt in front of the entire realm—and worse, in front of Criston Cole. He couldn’t bear to see the pity in your eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at the woman he loved and see confirmation that he was exactly what you always thought of him: unworthy.
“I’m— fine,” he choked out then. “So... go back to the Keep.”
It was funny how this was the same thing that had happened to him six years ago, during the Heir’s Tourney. He had been brutally unseated by Daemon Targaryen then, and just like now, you had come running to him, wiping the blood from his broken nose with your kerchief.
He fell in love with you then... and he has been in love with you ever since.
The girl holding his heart was a princess, and he had never dared to hope for more, never dreaming his conniving father would actually arrange your hand for him. He had thought it a blessing.
But his pursuit of you the past three moons had yielded nothing but a bitter truth— you despised him.
So he preferred to choke on the blinding pain, to let it consume him entirely, rather than suffer the indignity of your comfort.
You are in love with him.
You had spent weeks trying to resent the circumstances that led to your marriage with Otto Hightower’s son, reminding yourself over and over that he had fractured your family, sowing seeds of rebellion that would break once Alicent’s son came to age, and it would spell disaster upon you all—
But the wounded knight with broken nose six years ago had long since owned a part of your heart, and one week without Gwayne Hightower persistent on your heel, you had found yourself... sad.
“Mrawgh...”
“I’m not lonely,” you mumbled petulantly, brushing a hand against Grey Ghost’s silver scales as the dragon curled up, blinking his golden eyes shut to rest.
To occupy yourself, you spent the days with your dragon in the Dragonpit. Tending to Grey Ghost made the long hours pass faster— he was a recluse and not keen on flying often, but his quiet presence matched your somber mood.
Leaving him to his slumber, you walked away lost in your thoughts, entirely failing to notice how slippery the stone ledge had become.
Your foot caught on a heavy iron ring embedded in the floor. The world tilted as you stumbled backwards, losing your footing entirely. You braced for a painful impact against the stone floor, but a pair of strong arms wrapped securely around your waist, arresting your descent.
A sharp, ragged gasp left your savior’s lips. As you stabilized, you realized your hands had instinctively braced against his chest—pressing right over the bandages of the fresh wound.
“Steady there,” the redhead managed, a strained smile tight on his lips as he gently set you back on your feet. His green tunic made you realize who he was—
“Gwayne!” you breathed. Your hands hovered over him, trembling, almost terrified to touch him again. “Why are you—your wound! I didn’t mean to—”
“I am fine, truly,” he assured you, his voice softening as he offered a warm, comforting smile. “It is but a scratch, Princess. It takes more than a clumsy tumble from you to injure me.”
Just like a hundred times before, Gwayne Hightower sought you out. You could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead and how he looked pale still—
From today to the day we breathe our last, all that I am is yours.
“You are supposed to be resting!” Your voice rose despite yourself. “Why are you here?!”
This wasn’t what you wanted to tell him. You wanted to tell him a lot of other things! Like he was a fool, and that you would forbid him to enter the lists once you two were wed, that you couldn’t bear the thought of losing him—
His blue eyes crinkled with that familiar kindness as he reached out, softly tucking a stray strand of your loose hair behind your ear.
“If I wasn’t here, then you would take a fall.” His voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “I can’t very well let my betrothed hurt herself before our big day, can I?”
This was the first time since King Viserys announced your betrothal three moons ago that you looked genuinely worried for him. It made something inside him burst with joy, even if it was tinged with a bitter aftertaste.
Gwayne’s thumb gently brushed across the back of your hand that was still pressed against his chest.
“Tell me... Is this the only way I could truly have your attention? Must I be grievously injured, a step away from Death’s door, for you to look at me like this?”
Your eyes widened by a fraction. Precious, precious girl. He chuckled softly, a teasing glint brightened his eyes.
Just this once, could he be allowed to be just a little bit cruel?
“Even if you keep looking at me with those beautiful eyes...” he whispered, his smile turning a little wistful, “...my heart might just run out, one of these days.”
He gave you one last, kind smile—a look of affection that no longer held expectations, or reeked of the politics that bound your families. Then, he gently gripped your hand, pulling it away from him before turning on his heel to leave you to your own devices.
When your fingers fell limp into the cold air, a stinging realization pierced through you like a dagger:
Is this how he feels? Is this what he endures every time I evade him? How has he survived it over and over?
As his warmth retreated into the shadows of the Dragonpit, something sharp tore deep inside your chest.
You didn’t want him to go. The walls you had spent weeks building to protect your heart against the Hightower name crumbled into dust. Your eyes burned with tears that blurred his retreating figure.
He was nearly out of the pit when you gathered your skirts, abandoning your pride, and ran after him.
“Ser Gwayne!”
Before he could turn back, you lunged, throwing your pride and your fears to the wind. You crashed into his back, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist, burying your face against his spine. He stiffened, almost flinching—
But then he heard you sob.
“Princess...?” he asked softly. His tone shifted, turning from startled confusion to a protective concern as he carefully turned around within your embrace. He reached up, gently tilting your chin up, only to find your cheeks flushed and wet with tears.
Realizing you were truly, genuinely weeping, Gwayne’s breath hitched in his throat.
He didn’t think. He didn’t let past rejections dictate him. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his uninjured side.
“Shh, please do not weep,” he said in your ear, his own voice suddenly thick with emotion as he rocked you slightly. “Darling... please.”
Darling. Why did the word sound so devastatingly sweet in your ears? As you clung to him, you realized with absolute certainty that you wanted him to call you that for the rest of your days.
As he held you, feeling the warmth of your hands anchoring yourself to him, the pieces finally fell into place:
Has she... returned my feelings?
When your sobs finally quieted and your breathing turned calmer, you gently pulled back just enough to look up at him. Your eyes met his, and an ache settled in your chest.
He was such a beautiful man. Red hair, blue eyes, with ghost of dimples— still the very same wounded knight you had secretly harbored affections for with all those years ago.
Driven by a clear wave of clarity, you didn’t wait for him to speak. Reaching up, you stood on your toes and pulled him down by his collar—
—and pressed your lips to his.
Gwayne went rigid at your sudden boldness. But as your fingers tangled into his soft hair, any lingering shock vanished. With a low groan, he leaned into you, capturing your mouth in a kiss that felt like the bursting of a dam.
He drank in your sighs, his lips moving against yours with a desperate longing, as if he were trying to memorize the taste of you. He pulled you closer, his hands tilting your head back, anchoring you to him.
“You really are—” he growled against your mouth, his breath hot and ragged, “my utter undoing, Princess.”
Before the words could even fully register, you gasped as he gathered you up and hoisted you backwards, setting you down onto the broad stone railing.
Gwayne stepped between your thighs, pinning you to the ledge as his mouth descended on yours once more, even more ravenous than before. The kiss became a blur of lips, tongues, and breathless gasps—
His hands left your face to map the lines of your body, his palm sliding down the column of your throat to the curve of your shoulders. In his mind’s eye, he was already stripping away the heavy, suffocating layers of your gown, picturing the soft, aching swell of your breasts and the intoxicating dip of your waist.
In less than a week... as soon as you swear your oaths before the Seven, he would be graced by that sight.
Gwayne dragged his lips down from your mouth, leaving a trail of scorching kisses along your jawline before burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“Ser Gwayne—” your voice came hitched, and that what brought him back to reality.
He bit softly at the sensitive skin there, swallowing the fire that was about to consume him. When he finally pulled away to breathe, his lips lingered against yours.
“Well, you did kiss me first, Princess,” Gwayne murmured, his eyes twinkling, voice delightfully raspy as his arms settled loosely around your waist. “If I had known a broken rib would finally get you to kiss me, I would have marched up to Grey Ghost and asked him to toss me by the tail weeks ago.”
“Please don’t,” you giggled, circling your arms around his neck.
“Ah, but think of the romance— a dashing knight, battered and bruised, crawling back from the Dragonpit just to collapse into his bride’s arms.”
A breathless laugh escaped your lips, giving way to a very sweet, genuine smile. To Gwayne Hightower, this was the prettiest you had ever been, and his heart throbbed.
Oh, so she does, he realized, a quiet reverence settling into his soul. She does return my affections.
Gwayne leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, finally certain that his heart was safe in your hands.
“You might not know it,” he whispered, “but I have been in love with you for a very long time.”
You looked up at him, your eyes bright with unshed tears, and he met your gaze with a look of such devotion it stole the breath from your lungs.
“So let me say this once again. From before, now and until the day we breathe our last, all that I am... is yours.”
In that moment, you couldn’t have known that the realm would soon be plunged into a senseless civil war, pitting your sister against his in a dance of dragons and blood. You couldn’t have foreseen the ashes, the betrayals, or the heavy price the Hightower green and the Targaryen black would have to pay.
None of that matters right now. All you wanted was to lose yourself in his embrace and savor the fragile perfection of your wedding to the man of your dreams... for as long as it would last.
Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin
Just a gentle reminder before you write characteristics that assume whiteness and exclude your black/indigenous/poc supporters-specifically in 'x reader' works.
I love and appreciate writers, but this is a recurring avoidable issue (going on for decades now).
"your dusky pink nipples" "your face turned just as red as his" "he could see the blush on your face" “your cheeks furiously blushed” “your ears burn bright red” “The look in your reddened face” “your knuckles white with effort” “bruised purple against your light skin”
Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.
Anyone can say "Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment" or "Your face flushed" but wouldn't you rather say "A burning heat rushed across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling right underneath the surface. You look anywhere but him, hoping your newfound interest in the buildings ceiling tiles will ease the fire tightening beneath your skin" And instead of the other character pointing out that the readers face is red, they can point out the obvious flustered facial expression/body language.
If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.
↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.
I am not talking about OC fics or fics where race/skintone is x specified in summary or warnings. This is specifically about unspecified "x reader" where whiteness is assumed as the default
Put in the comments good replacements for writers to use!
• azriel only enters rooms after you; he waits, and always lets you take the initiative. after you sit down and get comfortable, he moves closer and stays nearby until the end.
• he watches you like someone remembering a dream, as if every glance were a small prayer.
• when you touch him — something simple like a light hand on his arm, or the brush of fingers — his shadows tense around him as if trying not to return the touch.
• he often has thoughts about you, as if he already had you. he thinks about how you’d look bathed in candlelight beside his bed. but then he hates himself for wanting you that way when he hasn’t even won your heart yet.
• he notices absolutely everything about you: the way you tuck your hands into your sleeves when you’re cold, the way you hum quietly when you’re lost in thought, how you look when you’re worried, happy, anxious. everything is noticed by his admiring gaze.
• his greatest fear is that you’ll choose someone else, and he won’t even have the right to be hurt.
• sometimes, he stands outside your door at night, not close enough to be seen, only close enough to know you’re safe.
• during meetings, when someone interrupts you or dismisses your opinion, he becomes still; his power barely contained. but his gaze is piercing, his shadows angry toward that voice he wishes he could silence just so he can delight in the sound of yours again.
• he dreams of you holding his hand without hesitation. saying that you see the worst parts of him, but choose him anyway.
Cassian
• cassian makes you laugh constantly, but inside, it hurts not being able to tell if it’s only friendship. if that’s all you see.
• he flirts as if it’s harmless, but his eyes always watch your reaction as if it matters more than anything.
• when you’re not around, he talks about you as if you’re already the center of his life. “she said something brilliant about that the other day, gods, she’s so intelligent...” and he ends up lost in affectionate daydreams about you and everything he loves and admires about you.
• he started wearing nicer shirts, slightly cleaner armor, neater hair just as a precaution, in case you notice (and you do.)
• he teaches you things — how to fight, how to fly, how to swear in three languages — not because you need it, but because it means spending time close to you.
• sometimes, he lets himself imagine; you in his bed, laughing beneath the morning sun. you sitting on the kitchen counter while he makes breakfast. he could spend the entire day lost in these imaginary moments with you.
• he tries not to feel jealous, after all, you’re only friends, but he fails constantly. the instant he catches azriel looking at you? or mor reaching her hand toward you? his stomach twists.
• if you’re tired, he notices first and will do the possible and impossible to help you with whatever you need. if you’re sad, he sits beside you and doesn’t leave.
• he looks at you as if saying, “i’m yours, completely, if you want me” and can hardly wait to say it out loud to you, without fear.
Mor
• mor watches you with silent amazement, as if she still can’t believe someone like you exists. she desperately wants to touch you — your hand, your cheek, the small of your back — but she never does. unless she knows you want it.
• when you’re laughing with someone else ( especially a man) mor turns away. she smiles and pretends it doesn’t shatter her while trying to avoid looking at you.
• she gives you small gifts: a warm cloak, a ring woven with silent protection, a piece of sunstone that she claims is “simply beautiful.” she never explains what they mean, but if you look a little closer, you’ll see that her heart comes with those gifts.
• she starts dressing differently when you’re together; softer fabrics, gold jewelry, a touch of vulnerability in her appearance. she wants to be seen, admired, but only by you.
• when she drinks too much wine, she almost confesses: “if you knew how beautiful you are when...” but she stops. always stops. and simply stares at you with eyes shining with love and longing.
• she writes your name in the margins of a journal. only once, but she keeps that page with her.
• every time you talk about the future, mor longs to ask: “can i be part of it?”
• she dreams of kissing you beneath the moonlight, but wakes before it happens.
• when she hears others talking about you — admiring you, wanting you — mor laughs politely. but inside, her heart breaks a little more.
Rhysand
• rhysand doesn’t flirt with you, not the way he does with others. he respects you too much to treat you like a game, and he wants you to know that he wants eternity with you, not just a moment.
• he becomes gentler around you; still intelligent, still powerful and perceptive, but with less sharpness, less mask, and more sensitivity.
• he watches how you move through a room; where you choose to sit, who you listen to, which subjects make your eyes light up. he notices everything.
• when you speak, he falls silent. even when others interrupt you, he never does.
• he starts writing again; poems, letters, fragments, and never sends them. you live in all of them.
• he doesn’t feel jealous, but he becomes quietly possessive. not controlling, but more attentive. when you talk to someone for too long, his jaw tightens and he analyzes every second of the interaction and how he can insert himself into it and have your attention again.
• when he talks to you in private, it’s never about power or politics, but about life. about your dreams, your past, what makes you feel alive. he wants to listen to you and know you like no one else does.
• he buys books, accessories, clothes, and anything he thinks you’ll like. he leaves them in your room without a note, but you know it was him.
• the idea of you choosing someone else doesn’t make him angry, it leaves him deeply empty.
• the first time you accidentally call him by a more affectionate nickname without title, without distance, he leaves the room, just for a moment, just to breathe.
• he hasn’t told you he’s in love with you, but his entire soul already has.
Lucien
• lucien falls in love quietly at first; not because he wants to, but because he learned that wanting something often means losing it.
• he memorizes you before anyone else does; the way you laugh at something you genuinely find funny (and how he catches himself smiling while watching you). the way you observe people when you think nobody is looking. he memorizes every detail and small things make him think of you; a beautiful song, an old but lovely book.
• his teasing becomes softer around you, less about getting a reaction and more about seeing you smile.
• he remembers every story you tell him, even months later, he casually asks: “how did that book end?” and you realize he had been listening the whole time.
• he gives you pieces of himself without realizing it; a favorite book, a special poem, a childhood memory. truths he never said out loud, but that he trusts you blindly to hold; he tells you stories late into the night. stories he normally keeps locked away.
• when you’re upset, he never pressures you. he simply sits beside you and waits until you’re ready. his presence is comforting.
• he starts looking for you unconsciously; in crowded rooms, at parties, even in places where he knows you won’t be. he’s always the first to turn his head whenever he hears your voice.
• his gaze lingers on you constantly, not possessively, almost melancholically.
• his greatest concern is that you deserve someone better than him. so he tries to improve, tries to change, tries to become someone worthy of your love.
• he would cross every court in prythian for you without hesitation.
Eris
• when he realizes he’s developing feelings for you, he actively avoids you for weeks. not because he wants to, but because eris knows exactly how dangerous love can be, and he doesn’t know if he wants to risk it — and risk you.
• around everyone else, he remains perfectly composed. around you, small cracks begin to form.
• he notices when you’re cold before you even realize it. a warm cloak appears around your shoulders. he pretends it wasn’t him.
• he memorizes your preferences with unsettling precision; your favorite wine, the books you reread, which flowers you admire during walks.
• nobody notices how often he watches you, but you do. and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do about it.
• his affection manifests in actions, never words; an obstacle removed before you ever encounter it, a problem solved before you know it exists.
• he becomes protective in almost imperceptible ways. if someone insults you, they often find themselves dealing with consequences they cannot explain.
• he respects your intelligence more than your beauty; your beauty unsettles him, but your mind captivates him.
• eris isn’t naturally gentle, but with you, something strange happens; his voice becomes lower, his temper calms, his hands become careful.
• he never assumes you need to be saved. he simply makes sure you always have a choice.
• he offers you honesty before he offers you affection. which, for eris, is the greatest gift.
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