Tom's newest scheme requires him to get uncomfortably close to someone else. Lilith takes it about as well as expected. OR In which Tom is a smug bastard, Lilith is an angry bastard, and they've long since realized they can say the cruelest things imaginable because they'll always find their way back to each other. | w.c 2.9k
There were few places in Hogwarts one could reliably find Tom Riddle. Fewer where one wouldn't also find Lilith right there with him.
Tom sat tucked into the corner of an emerald sofa, absorbed in his book, while Lilith lay draped upside down over the opposite couch with a Gobstone rolling idly between her knuckles. Neither had spoken for the better part of an hour. Neither seemed particularly inclined to.
It was, by all accounts, an ordinary afternoon.
“Tom, someone's asking for you,” a passing Slytherin called over his shoulder. “A girl from Ravenclaw.”
Lilith’s Gobstone stopped dead between her fingers.
She knew exactly which girl this was. And the girl could barely take a step without mentioning her so-called big shot of a father. Lilith was convinced the girl chewed on the tip of her wand for mental stimulation.
The Slytherin disappeared into the distance, and then there were two.
Lilith barely allowed a second to pass before she let out an exaggerated gag.
“Oh, for—” Her eyes rolled so dramatically they disappeared into the back of her head. “Seriously?”
Her glare landed on Tom, incredulous.
Tom spared her a single, vacant glance before returning to his book.
The barest acknowledgement from him was enough for Lilith to begin her spiraling. “Her?” Lilith sat up so abruptly the Gobstone nearly slipped from her fingers. “Really?”
“It's hardly any of your concern.” Tom dismissed, eyes dragging back to the book in his hands.
“It becomes my concern when you eventually start slumming it with her in some closet.” Lilith spat each word with ire.
Behind his book, she was glaring at Tom something fierce, as if she was hoping the heat of her gaze would be enough to set his goddamn book on fire. At least then he'd set that stupid book down and keep his eyes on her.
“If you really wanted an invitation,” she continued, “there has to be a better way than climbing into her knickers.”
“Always so vulgar.”
“Oh," Lilith smiled thinly, her voice devoid of humor, "I’m just getting started.”
“You have an odd way of showing it.”
He calmly closed his book and stood.
“I've no interest in discussing this further,” Tom said simply, with an air of finality as he slinked off his chair.
“Because you know I'm right.”
“No,” Tom replied, smoothing a wrinkle from his sleeve, “because this conversation is beneath me.”
“It’s just what has to be done.”
“If you were half as clever as you think you are, you'd find another way." Lilith seethed, her back ramrod straight as she probed him,
“I told you, I could do something, but no-“
“Do what, exactly?" Tom provoked tightly, "I hardly think beating some unsuspecting person into a pulp would get us into one of the most exclusive parties in Magical Britain." Each word punctuated with his perfect, hard-practiced pronunciation. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to ache.
He sighed—not irritated so much as resigned. His voice was almost placating, if only to quell a storm that would only grow the longer it stewed.
“I spend five minutes indulging a girl convinced she's in love with me.”
"Five minutes wasted. You're wasting your time entertaining her. Letting her drag her perfect little nails all over you." When you could be spending time doing more important things, like being with me. "She's insufferable."
“I tell her precisely enough to keep her cooperative.” Tom continued, “I give her the bare minimum.”
Lilith's eyes narrowed. “So you say.” “But who knows what you actually get up to?” Lilith questioned, voice accusing and layered with implications upon more implications that flattened something in Tom's expression.
“Enough,” he commanded curtly, reprimanding.
“I entertain enough mindless sycophants outside this room,” Tom chided, his patience finally wearing thin. “I'd appreciate not having to do the same inside it.”
His robe swayed in the air as he turned toward the portrait hole.
“Whatever,” Lilith called after him, her voice loud enough to echo around the common room.
“Have fun swapping spit with that buck-toothed bitch.” Her tone was venomous-- her tongue practiced in using the vilest words to dismantle anyone she disliked with an unbelievable lack of poise.
Lilith spoke and insulted like she punched. With pure, unadulterated hatred, and the force of a cornered wolverine. And though she be but little, she is fierce.
“Lovely as always, Lilith," Tom commented as if he was speaking of the weather. Then, he turned and disappeared through the portrait entrance, off to his newest tool.
Lilith watched it swing shut behind him.
The bubbling heat inside her finally boiled over. The Gobstone slipped from her fingers as she hurled her arm forward.
"Prick!"
A dull THUD rang through the empty common room.
…
The castle had settled into its peculiar midnight hush. Lilith stalked into the Slytherin common room long after curfew. Empty. Exactly as she'd hoped. Purpose radiated from every stride as she crossed the room.
Tom was already there, reclining in the corner of the velvet sofa as though he'd never left. A book rested in his hands, his attention wholly consumed by its pages, as if he hadn't just returned from whatever little rendezvous he'd arranged with the Ravenclaw girl.
Without a word, she practically threw herself onto the opposite couch, limbs sprawling with deliberate excess, occupying as much space as physically possible.
She glowered at him, and he didn't even look up.
"Done with your tantrum?" Tom asked mildly, turning another page.
Lilith barked a humorless laugh. "Far from it." She let a beat pass before she pulled the metaphorical trigger.
"So? How was she?" She asked, malice threaded between every syllable.
Tom remained silent. Long, sinewy hands remained still as stone as his focus remained on the blasted book in his hold.
She reached across the table in one swift movement and slammed his book shut against the mahogany with a resounding THWACK. A painful silence stretched between them, and Lilith caught the vein that pulsed near his jaw.
The sound echoed through the deserted common room. Only then did he raise his eyes.
“I asked you a question, asshole,” Lilith growled; her hand remained planted firmly atop the book. She glowered at him with fire in her bottomless black eyes.
Tom loved to mention that her eyes were startlingly expressive despite how stripped they were of color. Lilith's mind flashed to another time, his sculpted fingers holding her chin gently as he remarked on the unrelenting anger that rippled across her eyes. Like heat over asphalt, he mused. Admiring.
But right now, with the way Tom's gaze burned into her, with practiced patience, and a flicker of irritation passing through his eyes- she guessed he felt anything but admiring in this moment. He bored into her with the same measured stare that sent half the castle tripping over themselves, eager to quell any of his displeasure.
But Lilith had long since become immune.
She leaned over the table until only inches separated them, one forearm braced against the polished wood. An electric current passed in the space between them as she approached with all the subtlety of a rabid dog. Dauntless, seething, and eager to bite the hand that fed her.
“How was her pussy, hm?" Lilith asked, every syllable sharpened; she knew how to wield the vulgarity he hated against him. "Loose enough that you could barely keep inside, I bet.”
Lilith watched him under the fan of her lashes, searching for minute reactions and completely devoid of fear. Like she wanted to press his buttons, and didn't care for the aftermath.
Tom didn't answer. His silence only poured oil over the fire.
"Oh, I see." Her laugh was brittle. "Can't even deny it."
“How many times," Tom warned, low, with narrowed eyes, "have I told you to watch your language?” His eyes flickered across the emptiness of the Common Room before it landed back on her. "Stop this now,"
“You’re not going to give me a straight answer?" She straightened, throwing her hands into the air with theatrical exasperation. "I'll answer for you, then."
She took two exaggerated steps backward and cupped her hands around her mouth as though preparing to address the entire castle. Madness rushed through her eyes all throughout. Tom's shoulders tensed at the tell-tale sign that she was about to do something he'd have to clean up.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" she cried into the empty room. "The esteemed Tom Riddle has revealed himself to be nothing but a wanton whore who just gives it up for every slut with her daddy’s galleons to spare!”
It takes Tom less than a second to rush forward and clamp his hand over her mouth. For the first time throughout their conversation, proper fury blazed underneath his brown eyes.
At that, Lilith’s own eyes sparkled.
Tom didn’t say a word as he kept his hand over her mouth and dragged her like she was nothing but a ragdoll to the nearest place they could be alone— his Prefect bedroom. Lilith struggled in his pull, but there was no use. Tom Riddle could summon Herculean strength when it came to reigning in his prized mutt. Lilith ignored the heat swelling in her gut at how quickly he wrangled her— and how the muscles of his forearm flexed against her throat.
Click. The door behind him locked with a sharp wave of his hand as he threw Lilith onto the edge of his bed. Her elbows dug into the mattress as she caught herself. In his rage, he didn’t spot the smirk tugging on Lilith’s lips as she watched Tom Riddle lose his composure with her. She took it as a small win.
Lilith was quick to wipe the glee from her face when Tom rushed at her. His hands pinched her chin harshly as he yanked her face close. Even then, she was sitting on the bed, forced to look up at him as he glowered— standing over her.
“You have forgotten your place.” Tom hissed.
“And you’ve lost your touch.” Lilith snarked back, despite the feeling of his fingers digging into her chin.
She didn’t back down, and she wouldn’t. Her eyes remained trained on his, the same ones that looked at her like he was barely stifling the urge to kill her on the spot.
Lilith let out a crooked almost-grin even in his harsh grip, bitterness dripping from her voice. She revelled in the way the only thing she could spot in the reflection of his eyes was her, her, and her. “Does she get this special treatment too?”
“You are nothing but a petulant child.” Tom punctuated the insult by throwing her head aside like she was poisonous. The jerk was enough for a sting to crawl up Lilith’s neck, but she refused to let out a groan. Instead, she stared right back at him.
“I find your lack of self-preservation endearing, but not when you drag my reputation through the mud with you.” He spat. “Your behavior is unacceptable, no matter what you are to me, Lilith.”
“Isn’t that just the crux of it all, though, Tom? I’m not a who to you— a person. I’m a what, a thing. The mutt and loyal little soldier who just does whatever she’s told.”
“Don’t go crying about your place in this,” Tom gestured between them. “now— As if I’d believe that your unsightly tantrums are because of some newfound awareness of your self-worth.”
“No… This—" Tom cut himself off with a short, incredulous laugh. This is about your infatuation with me.”
Lilith's face flooded scarlet. “What—“
His expression barely changed, but something in his posture settled into that familiar, infuriating composure. Calm. Certain. As though he'd finally solved an equation. His voice lowered, dripping with honey and measured distaste.
“Do you think me blind, Lilith?" His eyes probed her face for any sign of weakness, his voice omniscient. "I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.”
Heat crawled mercilessly up her neck. Naturally, Tom noticed that, too.
“You are so painfully obvious," he continued, almost sounding disappointed. "I'd find it endearing if you didn't make it your life's purpose to be so utterly burdensome.”
“All because of your jealousy.” He spat the word as if it tasted foul. His mouth curled into something cruel. “How unbecoming.”
“Unbecoming?” Lilith echoed, the word tearing from her throat. “You sanctimonious—”
“Is physical intimacy what you're after?” Tom interrupted smoothly. “Is that it?”
He adopted a pitying tone, encroaching closer and closer into her personal space. Tom knew what he was doing as he pushed her backwards with his proximity, his knees brushing against the side of his mattress.
“Do you need me to fuck you better?” he murmured, lowering his voice until it sounded almost intimate. The sound tickled her ear and sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. “Hm?”
Each word landed with surgical precision.
He invaded her space with practiced ease, speaking as though he were indulging a child throwing a tantrum instead of gutting someone alive.
Her jaw locked so tightly it ached. Her fingers dug into the bedsheets until the cotton stretched beneath her nails, every instinct in her screaming to wrap those same hands around his throat instead.
Of course.
Of course he knew.
Tom always noticed.
And in typical Tom fashion, he'd found the single quickest way to grind every humiliating little fantasy she'd ever entertained into dust.
“Fuck.” She swallowed hard, her voice trembling with rage rather than grief. “You.”
“If that’s what’ll get rid of this childish behavior of yours,” Tom replied with a dismissive shrug, looking at her with anything but affectionate fondness.
Thwack! The sound of skin smacking against skin echoed in Tom’s private chamber. She had smashed a fist into his face. His left cheek throbbed painfully— Tom’s face was knocked to the side, and his hair obscured the look in his eyes from where Lilith was standing. For a second, he didn’t move. The corner of his mouth bloomed red. The silence lingered in the aftermath of Lilith's punch, inflating with something dangerous.
"Not so mighty now, are you, Tom?" Lilith taunted from where she looked up at him, lips hooked into a snarl.
Once he finally looked back at her, his hair out of his face-- Lilith registered how he gazed at her with an alarming emptiness, as something clicked in his brain.
Then he closed the distance.
His mouth crashed against hers with none of the tenderness she'd once stupidly imagined he might possess. The feel of his lips against hers was exactly like he was-- decisive, possessive, and wanting everything she had to offer until there was nothing left.
She shoved at his chest on instinct, fists landing against his firm chest with all the remnants of her fury. Tom didn't budge.
"Tom—"
The protest died against her lips as his hands snaked down, sliding around her waist. His touch was slippery as his fingers travelled and spanned at her sides with practiced confidence. He tugged at her, drawing her inexorably closer until no space remained between them. The soft plush of her body was pressed against the rigid lines of his– The way his fingers dug into the flesh of her hips to anchor himself closer, and closer to her, made her feel as though he'd wanted to mesh their two souls, alike in rotten dignity, into one.
He tilted his head, changing the angle just enough to steal what little fight she had left. Her mouth hung open for the briefest second to catch air, and he rushed to swallow any she might've taken. His lips melded against hers with an untrodden hunger as his thumb brushed absentmindedly along her ribs. Slow, deliberate strokes that petted her softly, meant to soothe the rage she held so close to her heart. In the recesses of her mind, she knew what he was playing at.
But knowing what he was trying couldn't stop what she was feeling. The anger she'd been clutching so tightly began to slip through her fingers, elusive like sand. It was impossible to hold when she was distracted by a heated passion from a boy so cold.
Damn him.
He catches her lower lip between his teeth—not enough to hurt, only enough to make her breath hitch—before soothing it with a fleeting brush of his mouth. It's infuriatingly gentle for someone who exercised casual cruelty to everyone. Especially her.
When he finally pulls away, it's only by an inch.
Lilith finds herself following him before she can stop herself, chasing the warmth she'd spent the last hour insisting she despised. For the briefest second, the world was limited to them and their breaths that had unknowingly synchronized in the heat of it all. And in that second, she let herself believe in the world where Tom allowed himself to be hers. In the way she was so wholly his. She let herself believe a fantasy she'd buried years ago.
He broke the kiss with a hand that settled on her shoulder and pushed. Holding her there, away from him. She should've taken it as the first sign.
She stared into his umber eyes, so close that the rest of the room dissolved into nothing. Left and right lost all meaning. She could only see him.
And it gave her a front-row seat to the corner of his mouth curling in a way she was all too familiar with. Cruel, and bathing in personal victory.
"Not so mighty now, are you, Lilith?" He asked. His voice velvety and most of all, exultant.
Lilith hates Mulciber with every fiber of her being. Tom is, regrettably, an enabler. Alternatively, a blurb in which Lilith reminds everyone that hatred is, in fact, a skill. | wc. 1120
"See, she doesn’t look it," Mulciber was saying, languidly spinning the stem of his wine glass between his fingers, "but Agatha’s the easy sort, if you know what I mean."
A ripple of amusement passed around the table.
"Generous of you to put it so delicately," Avery remarked dryly.
"Fine," Mulciber shrugs, an unabashed grin spread across his face. "She’s looser than she looks."
"Frankly, that knee-length skirt’s is all theatre.” Mulciber rambled on, willing to talk the ear off anyone who entertained his inane stories. “She lets anyone lift it if you ask nicely enough."
"Pig." Lilith sneers from the other side of the table.
The amount of contempt in the single word was enough for every eye on the table to pull towards her.
Mulciber’s smile sharpened. "Jealous, Harker?"
"You flatter yourself." Lilith scoffed.
“Come on, Harker. I wouldn’t mind giving you a piece if you wanted.” Mulciber replied, leaning in and flashing his perfect, pearly white teeth. “Show you a whole new world— If you’d just stop pretending that you aren’t interested.”
Lilith regarded him with all the enthusiasm one might reserve for something unpleasant stuck beneath a shoe. Then, after a beat just long enough to suggest she was genuinely considering the offer… She tipped her head.
"What, for all of 20 seconds?" Lilith snarked easily, her large canines peaking through as she rolled her eyes. The table erupted.
"You little—"
The doors flew open with enough force to rattle the iron hinges against the stone.
Conversation vanished.
A rush of cold air swept through the room, carrying with it the scent of rain and damp earth as Tom entered, unhurried despite the abruptness of his arrival. His robes billowed faintly behind him before settling once more around his frame, and though his expression remained as composed as ever, there lingered the unmistakable impression that he had already heard enough before crossing the threshold.
His gaze drifted across the room, taking stock of the lingering amusement, Mulciber’s half-risen posture, and Lilith’s expression of undisguised satisfaction.
"It is remarkable," he observed mildly, removing his gloves finger by finger as he approached the table, "how reliably the two of you manage to derail every meeting before I arrive."
The room remained silent.
Tom rounded the head of the table with measured ease before allowing his attention to settle fully upon Mulciber.
"Mulciber," he said, his tone as smooth as polished glass, "if you would be so kind as to keep your adolescent exploits to yourself during meetings." Tom phrased it like a request, but everyone knew Mulciber had no choice in the matter.
Mulciber opened his mouth regardless, pride momentarily winning out over sense, but whatever protest had formed dissolved beneath the weight of Tom’s gaze. His jaw worked once before snapping shut again.
The silence that followed was scarcely a heartbeat long before Lilith, smelling blood as keenly as any wolf, leaned across the table.
"What Tom means is that you should learn keep your pencil-dick in your trousers, Mulciber." Lilith goaded, and she looked positively delighted with herself as she did it.
A collective wince travelled around the room.
Her elbows found the tabletop despite every ounce of etiquette Tom had ever tried to drill into her, her chin propped upon her palm as she watched Mulciber with bright, expectant eyes. There was a restless energy to her, an almost childish anticipation, as though she had lobbed a stone at a sleeping beast and was now waiting, barely containing her excitement, to see how spectacularly it would wake.
Mulciber obliged.
And then got everything he dished out, back tenfold.
"Say it again. I fuckin’ dare you."
Lilith’s practically growling, her knee pressed against Mulciber’s neck.
"You crazy bi—" Mulciber starts, choking up when she adds more pressure.
"That didn’t sound like a sorry to me." She threatened, her voice lilting as her head drooped closer to his. Pure insanity burning in her eyes.
The hair on Mulciber’s arm prickled once he met the frenzied look in her eyes. And for the first time, he feels what it’s like to be truly in danger.
He’s calling out a name before he even realizes it.
"Tom…"
It comes out breathless, his hands stretching uselessly to his sides, fingers trembling as if he’s reaching for help, his face turning an alarming shade of red.
Tom barely spares the scene a glance.
He regarded the scene with a look resembling complete, utter boredom. And Mulciber would’ve believed it, if not for the hint of ire that burned deep in Tom’s eyes. Tom uttered a simple command as his gaze met Mulciber’s. "Apologize."
Lilith bursts into a grin that stretched from ear to ear, her smile resembling bordering more on a snarl at Tom’s affirmation.
Lilith burst into a grin resembling something more like a delighted snarl at Tom’s affirmation, and Mulciber watched as the room went quiet. The air seemed to flex as Nott, Malfoy, and Rosier look on with stiff expressions.
In the brief second of inaction, Mulciber arrived at the realization that no one was going to save him if she killed him right here. Right now.
"Don’t look at them." Lilith growled, her voice sickeningly sweet, yet low, and right up against Mulciber’s ear. "Look. At. Me."
His next words come out in sputters, the veins in his neck protruding beneath his skin, a brighter red flush crawling up his throat. His body physically rejecting the words coming out of his mouth with vehemence.
The unfamiliar syllables crawled up his throat, pained. "I’m sorry…"
And then she’s removing her knee from his neck, coming in close to grip his chin in her hand with force not belonging to someone of her stature. Her nails dug crescents into his jaw as she pressed her mouth against his ear.
"That’s what I thought."
Before shoving his face away with enough force to knock the wind out of him, like she’s disgusted by even the idea of her bare skin touching him for a second longer.
His limbs are already flailing upwards, ready to scurry off, and just as he begins to stand upright—
"Mulciber."
His head snaps behind him.
Her wrathful gaze meets his, the snarl on her lips resembling something almost like a smile. All toothy, and full of razor sharp edges.
"Don’t let me see you anytime soon…"
A pause.
"…if you know what’s good for you."
He can’t even control the way his pupils shake at the sight of her.
He nods, and scurries away with all the elegance a pure-blood of his caliber could muster when so thoroughly humiliated.
Author's Note: Lilith can barely tolerate the other Knights of Walpurgis, but she conflicts the most with Mulciber. Maybe because he acts as Tom’s other ‘muscle,’ and she needs to establish her dominance over him whenever she can. Not to mention that she hates it when he talks about women, it's to the point that Lilith's the one begging for him to have some class. She has no idea why Tom even keeps him around when he has her. She’s always pestering Tom to leave him whenever he fucks up the slightest bit. Maybe it's because a tiny part of her is deathly afraid that he could be her replacement.
Some Men Just Want to Watch The World Burn (And Some Girls Let Them (ONGOING)
Tom Riddle x Unhinged! Reader/OFC
"You hold the devil like he's precious." "He is precious to me."
In which two strange and powerful children are told they're destined for hell—and spend the rest of their lives dragging everyone else down with them. Alternatively: Tom Riddle finds the only person cruel and power-hungry enough to understand him—and foolish enough to love him anyway.
OR
Where Lucifer and Lilith Meet Again in a World of Magic and Wands.
Tags
Toxic Codependency. Religious Trauma. Dark Romance. Tom Riddle Is Not a Good Guy. Both magic-users in an overtly religious orphanage, aka Wools, who learnt to survive with the help of one another. Both of them are also slightly psychotic. Tom Is Bad at Feelings, Unhinged! Reader/OFC, A Romance Between Two Apex Predators, Sly Bastard x Angry Bastard, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader/OFC is a Mutt Personified, Slytherin! Reader, They Both Need Help, They Enable Each Other AF, Character Study.
ONESHOT
Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be
Tom's newest scheme requires him to get uncomfortably close to someone else. Lilith takes it about as well as expected. OR In which Tom is a smug bastard, Lilith is an angry bastard, and they've long since realized they can say the cruelest things imaginable because they'll always find their way back to each other. | w.c 2.9k
Blurbs
IN WHICH LILITH REMINDS EVERYONE THAT HATRED, IS, IN FACT, A SKILL.
couldn't get these out of my mind, so here goes...
Hates overly sweet coffee, cheap beer, people touching his hair willy-nilly, someone telling him to ‘calm down’ when he’s already calm, and overly cynical people.
He gets irrationally annoyed when someone doubts his competence.
Likes dogs, old rock, diner food— and by that he means an All-American Fry Up, that or a tower of pancakes with a heap of butter— No syrup because it’s ’too sweet‘. Also likes being able to fix things himself, and people who are direct.
In terms of music, he likes a little bit of everything. He just, in his words, ‘likes what he likes.’
He’s terrible at accepting sincere compliments.
He’s extremely loyal, which is a trait that goes into overdrive during extremely stressful situations, e.g Raccoon City.
He gets attached fast, Exhibit A) “I miss her already.” When talking about Ada like you knew her for an hour, my guy. Now, imagine how much worse it’ll be with R because they’ve been together the entire night.
He's a freaking dork. Someone catches him staring, and now he’s suddenly extremely interested in the wall.
“I don’t know.” Is actually his default response to most things, which drives R up the wall. Because he’s such a guy, that it hurts.
He’s not eloquent whatsoever. He finds it hard to serenade someone or talk about his feelings introspectively unless he feels like he has no other choice.
He doesn’t realize that he’s coming off as flirting 99% of the time. He's just unbelievably oblivious and sincere, and yes, maybe if he has a lil' crush on you, it'll seep out in how he talks to you.
He gets a lot of attention from other people but doesn’t really entertain it.
He’s patient with children but doesn’t really know how to interact with them— Exhibit A, “Leon, this is Sherry.” “…Okay.”
my prized collection. fics that i rushed to save on a doc. fics that have marked my soul indefinitely. i'm unbelievably picky so here goes..., i put this up instead of sleeping, always adding and unfinished!
currently includes: leon kennedy, ethan winters, joel miller, tom riddle
LEON KENNEDY X READER/OC
hindsight by LittleG98
kat's tags: re2! leon, angst with a happy ending, badass! mc, leon managing to piss me off SEVERELY because of ada, one-sided pining but god is it good
synopsis: Raccoon City is in ruins. Fires burn, shadows stretch across crumbling streets, and the dead are hungry. Stuck with two strangers -a rookie cop and a desperate sister - you must navigate the chaos and find a way out.
But as the city falls apart, questions linger. Where did this nightmare begin? Who can you trust? And most terrifying of all... who will make it out alive?
the alphabet virus by junieyes
synopsis:
“Leon – Leon, shoot the eye! Shoot the eye!”
“You shoot the eye!”
“You trust me that much?!”
“I can duck!”
“Bullets?!”
Frantic and too anxious to use the handgun, you throw a flash grenade. It doesn’t do anything. Despite being chased by a mutated and inhuman monster, Leon still has time to throw you an incredulous look.
In your stupidity, you forgot to pull the pin.
(Alternatively: It is September 1998. You are nineteen years old and living in Racoon City. Or, you were, until about five days ago. Now you're just surviving, and badly at that. But hey, at least you've got Leon Kennedy by your side, right?)
(Alternatively alternatively: Your life sucks. The end.)
kat's tags: an almost crack fic, you & leon are dumb but so cute, somehow fluffy aka “you shoot the eye!” “you trust me that much?”
TOM RIDDLE X READER/OC
catharsis by daffydarling
kat's tags: tom has an actual personality in this, angstfest, the one with the “traitor” scar, top 10 tom riddle fics to date, i actually like them as a couple, dead harry as oc’s boggart
synopsis:
"The people who often times do terrible things, are the same ones who have had terrible things done to them."
After Lord Voldemort murdered Harry Potter in the Battle of Hogwarts, the world became plagued with a darkness unlike anything it had seen before. Muggles were slaughtered in the streets, the Dark wizard's opponents were executed for show, and all those who had fought with the Order were forced into hiding.
Avalon Hendrix had lost everything- her friends, her peers, her loved ones. Everything. So, when she was thrown back in time to 1943, she knew that it was up to her to change the course of time and rewrite a new history- one in which she must find the Horcruxes and murder Tom Riddle before he could ever become Voldemort.
Tom Riddle.
Avalon Hendrix.
Either she was going to kill him, or he was going to kill everyone she loved. They were nothing more than two products of extreme circumstance that chose two very different paths, yet had time for their roads to converge.
ETHAN WINTERS X READER/OC
swamps, strangers and search parties by anon
kat's tags: strangers to lovers, infidelity? kind of, ethan in here is so perfect that is literally my dream man, sexual tension is done SO well holy crap, still mad i didn’t get a full smut scene mind u, reader is ethan’s photography muse, he literally has an undying devotion to her holy crap, i LOVE them oh my god, ethan walk ‘em down winters af as fuck, if it isn't my close personal friend ethan winters
synopsis:
On July 19th, 2017, you drive to Louisiana with nothing but a suspicious email and revived hopes of bringing your missing fiancé home. But upon your arrival nothing feels right, between the ominous town of Dulvey, the dilapidated mansion you were summoned to, and the hardheaded stranger who insists on breaking and entering.
Cue the longest summer of your life.
(Alternatively: The AU where Ethan goes to the police first and chaos still ensues.)
JOEL MILLER X READER/OC
a fragile line by cinnamongorll
kat's tags: super duper grumpy joel which makes the end 10x worth it, oc with very traumatic past involving religious trauma and cults aka peak angst, overprotective joel
synopsis:
Three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town.
Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.
whiskey sour by kiwisbell
kat's tags: dbf! joel but done good, estranged daughter & father, the dbf fic where i actually feel for the dad, no outbreak au, no sarah au, short and sweet, the way they talk to each other is so cute, “you’re so handsome, and so strong, and so good to me.”
synopsis:
Reuniting with your estranged father while you finish college in Austin has unintended consequences.
His best friend, for one.
lavender by JustAGalWhoWrites
kat's tags: in which i developed the obsession for ‘if you don’t let me inside you..’
aka you’re sarah’s babysitter, joel falls in love with you, the world goes to shit, and he acts like a complete dumbass
synopsis: Joel couldn’t say the real reason he needed Sarah to stay home that night. You were in a fucking sundress with a ribbon in your hair. A goddamn ribbon. And you’d been cooking, the whole house smelled like heaven and you were in a fucking sundress with a goddamn ribbon in your hair and now he was going to be home alone with you all night.
Not that anything was going to happen. Nothing was going to happen. Not a damn thing.
promises we keep by betterthantherapy
kat's tags: very very grumpy joel and i’m also very very into it
aka
you have an almost niece that convinces joel to escort you
synopsis:
You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry. You were left alone to fend for yourself and a child. You didn’t know how. Fuck, you’d never even had to look after a fish, and now some laughing deity had put a child in your care.
But you made a promise.
You’d give your life trying to keep her safe.
Even if that meant following a stranger, who seemed to hate your existence, to a settlement you had never heard of.
What else was there left in this world for you?
...
Set 15 years after the outbreak if Joel was never asked to take Ellie to the fireflies. Instead, he continues his quest to find his brother, finding you and little more than he bargained for on his way.
The last thing you remember is falling asleep; the first thing you remember is wanting to die. | wc. ~750
tw. body horror, medical horror, loss of bodily autonomy, non-consensual medical procedures, psychological horror, graphic desc. of violence
Synopsis
Katherine Warren was just one of Chief Irons' many victims. There were others. Most of them lost in the carnage.
Or: You wake up in 1998, trapped inside the body of one of the girls Chief Irons left for dead. All you want is to make it out of Raccoon City—a world that was supposed to exist only in fiction—alive. And all you know is that Leon S. Kennedy might be your only way out.
Except nothing is what it seems, and you're beginning to learn that not all monsters look the part.
Sometimes, they wear tattered white dresses and streaked mascara. And sometimes, they look just like you.
You’ve heard the horror stories: patients waking mid-surgery when their anesthesia failed. Bodies paralyzed as surgeons cut into their skin, trapped inside themselves, unable to scream through the agony of being sliced open. Imagining the pain was one thing.
And then it happened to you.
One second, you were drifting off in the comfort of your own bed. Blankets weighing you down, and your pillow cool beneath your cheek. You remember thinking, distantly, that you should probably get up and turn the light off.
Then— white fluorescent light flooded your vision.
Your eyes burned at the sudden onslaught, but you couldn’t close them— Something sharp and cold was digging into the edges of your sight, poking your cornea and prying your eyelids wide-open. Beyond the glare, you barely made sense of creamy white walls the color of exposed bone.
You could barely take in your new surroundings before every nerve ending in your body had been lit on fire—singed until they frayed into a million hot, stringy pieces. Unfathomable heat tore through your limbs, flowing through you like magma poured down your throat.
You tried to move. You wanted to thrash and flail. And you strained— strained until you could feel the vessels behind your eyes burst. Nothing. Your fingers wouldn’t twitch. Your toes wouldn’t curl. And your lungs were locked in a stasis, refusing to expand. You must be dreaming, right? But even if that was the case— What the fuck kind of a dream was this?
WAKE UP.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
But nothing had changed. Your terror creeped up on you, slithering through your spine and then came the realization that something was horribly, horribly, wrong. No dream could ever hurt this much.
Cold, crisp, air kissed your skin— But it couldn’t alleviate the feeling of your internal organs melting into your skin. Something hot and vicious was eating its way through your chest, and it wasn’t letting up.
The only thing you had the barest control over was your line of sight. But even that was rapidly blurring. You forced your eyes away from the sizzling burn of the operating light above you and met the side of a stout middle-aged man sporting a thick, grey mustache. He paid no heed to you, occupied with the task in front of him.
Your gaze drew downwards, where he remained focused. Down his rolled up sleeves, down to his fleshy hands that bulged inside tight latex gloves, and down to his stubby fingers firmly wrapped around a syringe that pushed a thick, long, needle right into your inner forearm. On an arm that didn’t look like yours. What the—
Arms unfamiliar to you stuck to your sides, tied down by silvery metal shackles connecting to the surgical table you laid vulnerable against. Pliant under this man’s hands.
A scream itched to escape from your lips. Instead, the eerie silence of the room, and the distant whirring of a fan smothered you.
And once you had redirected your gaze back up, you met two pools of black-brown eyes that bore into you. They were vacant as they watched your helplessness, a hint of perverse satisfaction seeping through them that chilled your very bone.
He looked at you like you were nothing but a hunk of meat that he couldn’t wait to play with. You were fucking terrified.
A wetness settled and dripped down your cheek at the idea of not knowing what was going to happen next. And at your pain, a shallow grin stretched across the man’s face. Filled with morbid delight at your pain. His slimy tongue darted out to wet his lip, and a sudden coherent thought occurred in the midst of the inferno scrubbing your insides clean.
Mommy, I’m so scared.
The voice cried out. Weak, pained, and so, so, tired. You didn’t know whose voice it was. Just that it wasn’t yours.
Under the haze— Black creeping up the edges of your vision and your consciousness slipping further, and further away— You only knew that somewhere beneath the pain, someone else was equally as terrified. The voice called out again, fainter as your hold on reality slipped.
Someone, please…
…
On September 27, April Bishop died. Away from her loving home, alone, and at the mercy of a man her Raccoon City lauded.
And on the third day, she rose again.
Except, she wasn’t the one who came back.
You did.
Author's Note: Fun Fact! I chose April Bishop for the initials A. Bishop to be scrawled on the edges of Irons' notebooks later on. Because she's just one chess piece in the grander scheme of Irons horrors. And possibly in the 'greater' story of Leon S. Kennedy's life. Get it? Haha..
You and Leon have just barely escaped a horde of zombies after he freed you from Irons' captivity, and you exchange proper introductions in the form of getting your feet manhandled. Alternatively, a blurb in which Leon S. Kennedy manhandles your feet. | wc. 1098
PROLOGUE, A BODY FOR TWO
"Do you.. need help?” Leon asked tentatively, watching you from a few feet away. His shoulders tense as he looked pointedly at the gauze in your hands.
“No, no, it’s okay.” You refused frantically, your head shaking.
“I can do it on my own. Thanks, though.” You shot him what was meant to be a reassuring smile, but it felt like more of an awkward grimace.
The roll of gauze felt clumsy in your hands as you leaned forward– your fingers fumbling with the edges of the scratchy material for a few good seconds before it became abysmally clear to you that you had no idea what you were doing. And it looked like it became clear to Leon too. The way you felt his gaze practically burning the back of your head told you exactly that as you all but keeled over to wrap your bloodied feet.
“Okay, you need help.” Leon said firmly.
Before you could protest, the gauze was wrestled out of your hands and steel-toed boots caught the edge of your vision.
A mop of dirty blonde hair that you would’ve killed to run your fingers through a day ago met your eye, as Leon S. Kennedy kneeled in front of you, and– Oh my god. “Here,” Leon said softly as his hand settled beneath your calf with impossible care, and placed your leg over the top of his knee with surprising ease.
A warm tingle made its way down to your gut and your throat bobbed at the sight. His feather-light grip on you inspired a lot of feelings that you really didn’t want to unpack right now. Were the cracks in the floor tile this interesting before?
“You really don’t have to, Officer–” You coughed, bordering a wheeze as you tried to maintain a sliver of dignity. Just yesterday, he was a cluster of pixels on a screen. Except now, he was here, and smelling like cedar, drenched denim, and white musk, and most importantly, man-handling you.
“Call me Leon.” He shot you a small, wry, grin from his kneeled position, curious eyes peering at you under thick eyelashes. Woah.
“I’m pretty sure we’re around the same age.” Heat threatened to climb your neck. He was so stupidly boyish that it was infuriating.
"I didn't catch your name..." Leon trailed off, watching you carefully. His fingers stilled against your leg, waiting.
The familiar syllables of your name rose to the tip of your tongue on instinct—
...Except that was a terrible idea.
You had no clue whose body you were in. For all you knew, this body already had a name. A family. A driver's license tucked away in a wallet somewhere. Introducing yourself as your real name could come back to bite you in the ass in ways you couldn't even begin to predict.
"...Right." Leon cleared his throat. "Maybe you can tell me later."
Maybe it was the fact that he'd just pulled you out of what was very clearly a fucked up surgical room hidden inside the walls of the R.P.D. Or maybe it was the way you looked thoroughly spooked out of your mind, dressed in a porcelain-white slip that had absolutely no business being worn in the middle of the apocalypse.
Whatever the reason, he let it go. But any thoughts contemplating the reason for his patience with you disappeared as his long fingers grazed your soles.
Every one of your muscles locked on instinct. You clamped your lips tightly shut to not gasp in surprise.
Suddenly, there was nowhere safe to look—not at his hands, not at his hair, and definitely not at him. Leon S. Kennedy, aka Leon ‘S stands for Sex’ Kennedy was kneeling in front of you right now and touching your freaking feet.
The only saving grace you had was that the girl you had woken up in clearly took care of herself– the glint of your bubblegum-pink painted toes being your proof.
You caught the way his brows furrowed, and how the hand holding up your ankle paused mid-inspection. His head snapped up to you, and his dreamy– Get a grip, woman– blue eyes found yours with a look of deep concern painting them. The pause stretched a bit too long for your comfort, “Um..”
Leon blinked rapidly, like he was catching himself. “You’re really banged up,” He tilted your foot upwards, “You have some shards in here that I might have to take out.”
Great, more of Leon S. Kennedy playing with your fucking toes. What you wouldn’t give for the ground to swallow you whole right about now.
“I’m surprised you were even able to run like this.” Leon commented, a flicker of guilt making its way to his face. You surmised that it was because he had dragged you with him in a mad dash ten minutes ago. For good reason! There was a slew of undead that had locked in on him the moment he took you out of Irons' clinical prison. You guys barely had the chance to exchange a 'Hi' before you were running for your lives.
You didn’t blame him one bit. Really. “I didn’t notice.” You blurted, voice soft and attempting reassurance, Leon shot you a look of disbelief as you continued, “It.. It must’ve been the adrenaline or something.”
Your feet didn’t sting at all, despite the crimson blood steadily dripping onto the floor of the Main Hall. It was kind of weird, actually.
His expression darkened at your dismissal, and you had no doubt in your mind that he was beating himself up about this. That is, if the ‘action-hero’ archetype you knew him as proved to be true.
“This is going to hurt a bit.” Leon warned, his right hand holding tweezers he had nabbed from the nearest first-aid kit.
“I’ve had worse.” You said dismissively, your mind wandering back to the feeling of literally being baked from the inside the moment you woke up in this girl's body.
Leon winced at your admittance. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“That.. wasn’t reassuring at all, was it?” You backtracked, sheepish. You were so not cut out for this whole ‘meeting your heroes’ thing.
An airy huff tinged with laughter blessed your ears, and Leon glanced up. His 90s bangs failed to obscure the twinkle in his eyes as he met your gaze for the second time.
“No, not really.” The barest smile tugged at his lips as he studied you quietly.
“Glad to be of help.” You squeaked out as he brought his hand closer.
You held your breath.
Author's Note: No better way to start a relationship than touching each other's feet at first meeting, am I right? P.S This is my first time posting and writing for my faves… Please be gentle...
Katherine Warren was just one of Chief Irons' many victims. There were others. Most of them lost in the carnage.
Or: You wake up in 1998, trapped inside the body of one of the girls Chief Irons left for dead. All you want is to make it out of Raccoon City—a world that was supposed to exist only in fiction—alive. And all you know is that Leon S. Kennedy might be your only way out.
Except nothing is what it seems, and you're beginning to learn that not all monsters look the part.
Sometimes, they wear tattered white dresses and streaked mascara. And sometimes, they look just like you.
Tags
Leon Kennedy x Reader, Leon Kennedy x OFC, Isekai’ed! Reader, R is one of Chief Irons’ victims, Damsel in Distress! Reader, Or Is She?, Misunderstandings, Trauma Bonding, Codependency, Body Horror, Angst and Fluff, Angst with Open Ending/Happy Ending, Slow-Burn, Ada is a BAMF, Character Study, Reader is a BAMF, Canon-Typical Violence/Gore, Isekai and Transmigration, No Ada Bashing, Reader will progressively become more comfortable with Leon, I promise, No Beta Reader We Die Like Luis Serra, F! Reader, Reader is Described as Female, Vague Physical Description for Reader.
Note: This is my attempt at exploring the 21 year old Leon behind The Action Hero™ and giving RE2! Leon more of the love he deserves.
Prologue, A Body for Two
The last thing you remember is falling asleep; the first thing you remember is wanting to die.
Blurbs
Little moments in their universe that may/may not make it to the final work. Moments of domesticity that happen in the dark.
𑄝੭ IN WHICH LEON MANHANDLES YOUR FEET.
You and Leon have just barely escaped a horde of zombies after he freed you from Irons' captivity, and you exchange proper introductions in the form of getting your feet manhandled.
Please let me know if you wanted to be added to DGW's taglist!
your neighbour thinks you’re cheating on leon
wc: 1.48k ┋ sequel to calling leon by his middle name (18+)
the day was really bright and sunny to stay indoors. and with you at work, leon had been bored to death. and then he thought, might as well do something productive, right? his car had last been washed three weeks ago. now that wouldn’t do. that made leon get his ass up and outside.
the good weather had even brought the elderly neighbours outside. mr. ashford, the old man in his late sixties, was mowing the lawn while his wife sat on the porch, reading a book. when he spotted leon, he gave a polite nod, which leon returned.
and then he began washing his car, dragging the hose across the driveway, the rubber snaking and catching against the concrete until it reached the car. when he twisted the nozzle, the water burst out in sharp hiss, splattering against the hood of the car.
even as leon dunked the sponge into the bucket at his feet, all his mind could think about was you and what happened last night. you had so prettily moaned not his name, but his middle name. scott. and he’d loved it. hell, he’d even blushed. and you had teased him all night long.
the memory itself brought a faint flush and smile on his face. he looked around to see if anyone noticed, and his gaze locked with mr. ashford for a second. now that just wouldn’t do. he shook his head slightly, as if to shoo the memory away. and then he resumed washing his car, crouching slightly to scrub the lower panels, where dirt clung more stubbornly, streaked from the last rain.
when he rinsed it all off, the suds slid away in sheets, revealing the paint underneath. darker, cleaner, almost gleaming. he tilted the nozzle, chasing away the last patches of soap, until the water ran clear and smooth over the surface.
for a moment, he just stood there, hose still in hand, watching the droplets gather and fall, the car looking almost new again. “there,” leon patted the bonnet of the car, feeling proud. “as good as new again.”
around the same time, mr. ashford turned off his lawn mower. the sudden silence filled the air, making leon look his way. mr. ashford, as leon recalled, was usually the introvert and rarely struck up a conversation with him. but today, he did look like he wanted to say something but was hesitating. but leon was not the type to approach people either, so he decided to let it go.
he picked up the hose and dragged it back towards the water source. when he came back, he picked up the bucket that had soapy water in it, and started walking back inside the house, climbing the porch steps.
“leon!” a voice interrupted from behind, making leon stop and turn around. he placed the bucket back on the ground and walked back to his driveway, where mr. ashford stood now.
“morning, mr. ashford. how can i help ya?”
“hey, um... can i ask you something? it’s a bit personal...”
leon was mildly confused but polite, and nodded. “sure.”
“just wanted to check in... everything okay between you and your wife?” mr. ashford asked calmly, though he looked very awkward. it was evident the old man did not want to have this conversation.
that made leon frown, genuienly trying to figure out where was this coming from. he could say mr. ashford wasn’t being nosy, he wasn’t that kind of neighbour, but why was leon’s marriage his business? “yeah... why?”
mr. ashford begins in a awkward low voice, “i don’t want to overstep... but i- uh... i heard your wife and she was-” but then he trails off, embarrassed.
leon still didn’t get it. what did you do last night? “heard her what?” he asked.
“she- uh, she was calling someone else’s name...”
“what?” leon asked, dumbfoundedly.
“yeah... she said scott. more than once.”
one could see the realisation dawning on leon’s face immediately. the confusion, then the processing of the information, and mr. ashford’s awkward behavior finally clicking in place.
now, leon absolutely does not explain. his sex life wasn’t anybody’s business. he just gives a small, controlled nod. “right... yeah, i’ll keep an eye on that,” he says bumblingly, a hand scratching the back of his neck.
“let me know if you need any help, alright?” mr. ashford pats leon on the arm and walks away, thinking he did a good deed by telling him about his wife’s supposed infidelity.
leon is left standing there, half amused and half embarrassed. all he could think was: oh my god, she was that loud. and he could feel his face flushing up all over again.
he picks up the bucket and goes back inside. he spends the rest of the time thinking how he’s going to break it to you when you come home from work, and he keeps laughing in amusement throughout.
a few hours later, when you come back home from work in the evening, leon is sitting on the couch, looking all serious. the house was all quiet. normally, leon would be watching tv and drinking some beer occasionally but the silence makes you pause in your tracks. hesitatingly, you remove your shoes, and walk inside, keeping your work bag on the console table.
“everything okay?” you ask softly, plopping to the couch next to him.
“no.”
the stern answer catches you off guard. “...okay. what’s wrong?”
“we need to talk,” leon says calmly, but his expression betraying nothing. it almost made you nervous. what the fuck did you do? what happened? a thousand thoughts running inside your mind currently, and none of them comforted you.
“okay... go ahead,” you say, trying to hide your irritation away. why was he acting this way?
“the neighbour told me you were cheating on me. said he heard you take some guy’s name,” leon finally told you, his face all stoic and emotionless.
“the fuck?” the curse left your mouth before you could form a proper response. “why would he say something like that?”
“yeah, he said so. he came up to me this morning after i was done washing the car and asked if everything was alright between us,” leon recounted what happened in the morning. though not fully. he was having too much fun, and struggling to keep his face from breaking out into a smile. “seriously, though. if you were so unhappy with me you could’ve just said it. there was no need to go behind my back.”
“the fuck are you talking about? i am not cheating on you! you know it,” you said, a little more harshly than what was needed.
“well, i recall the neighbour telling me something else, so...”
“oh fuck that old man. he’s obviously lying! and i can’t believe you chose to believe him!” you were on your feet, about to go back outside and at the ashford’s to ask why would he lie to leon. but before you could do that, leon breaks out into a laugh, which makes you stop and turn around to look at him.
“you... you baboon!” you gasped when the realisation dawned on you. “it wasn’t funny!”
but leon kept on laughing, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. “baboon?” he said through the laughter. “sweetheart, that’s new—ow! don’t hit me, i’m fragile.”
“if you ever try to fuck with me like that again, you’re going to sleep on the couch for a month.”
that makes leon stop laughing instantly. and all the amusement was gone as well. “you’re joking.” but knowing you, you weren’t. “fine. i’m sorry.” he cracked a mischevious smile again. “but it was funny. the neighbour thought you were cheating on me.”
“what?” you whipped your head right back towards him. “i thought you were joking?”
“yes—i mean, no. well he thinks you’re cheating on me with a guy named scott. he heard you moaning it last night.”
your face flushed with embarrassment at that, hand coming up to cover your mouth. “wait... was i that loud?”
“apparently. though it’s a good thing ashfords aren’t nosey. or it would become a neighbourhood scandal by now,” he scoffs in amusement.
“it isn’t funny!” you chided, still embarrassed, but broke into a disbelieving laugh yourself. “maybe a little bit.”
leon grins widely. another idea pops in his mind. “sooo wanna fuck before your husband gets back home?” he says, voice low and conspiratorial.
“oh god!” you giggled, smacking leon’s chest again. “seriously? you wanna roleplay about this?”
“why not?” he says smoothly, beaming with amusement. “your husband isn’t home. perfect time for us to sneak in into the bedroom and for you to let me have me have my way with you.”
“fine,” you play along, equally amused. “but maybe be a little gentler this time, scott. the neighbours already suspect i’m cheating on my husband.”
Summary: You hadn’t been bothered by not knowing your neighbour when you first moved in, but each encounter leaves you both wanting more… (post BND!Peter)
Word count: 6.6k
Warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive, mentions of blood, mentions of drinking, reader has her own lil life <3, probably some misspells here and there - I think that’s it :)
-
Rainy days in the city always carried a certain charm to you. The gloomy grey sky, the cool breeze that promised autumn was on its way and the smell that came from a billion little droplets against the pavement. Rain drops glistened against the window panes of the high rises you gazed out at from your bedroom, your own window open welcoming in the abient sound of the weather, letting it fill your small 3rd floor studio apartment.
You’d only just moved in a month ago, the place wasn’t anything grand but it was a safe place to come back to after a long day of work. Your neighbours seemed nice enough, too. The blonde woman who lived across the hall always said hi to you whenever your paths crossed in the corridor, you’d make friendly conversation about the weather or the news and occasionally fuss over her dog when she brought it out.
You didn’t see much of the man who lived at the end of the corridor, only in passing really. He was around your age and kept to himself, that was all you knew. The pair of you did share a wall, he must have been clumsy because you heard a surprising amount of crashing sounds from his place, it didn’t typically bother you- only when it happened at 4am, which was more often than not once you thought about it. But the rent was cheap and it was close to work so you couldn’t complain too much. One noisy neighbour wasn’t the biggest issue.
Life in Manhattan wasn’t quite what you expected so far, not necessarily in a bad way, but it was a little less Sex and the City-esque than you’d hoped. Working at a fashion magazine also wasn’t as glamorous as your college professors had made it out to be in your final year, but you supposed that was just a tactic to keep you from dropping out. At your current position you didn’t have much responsibility, you went on coffee runs, answered emails and printed samples for people who made more in a week than you will in a year. For now at least. The chief of the magazine was stern but fair, from what you'd heard she’d started out the same as you and worked her way up. If all goes well you’d be more than just a glorified delivery girl in just a few short years. It was a light at the end of a very long tunnel, but a light nonetheless.
The rain outside pounded down heavier now, some drops splashing off the metal grate of your fire escape and against the skin of your arm, the cold water pulling you out of your thoughts.
A tired sigh left your mouth as you forced yourself up from your seat against the windowsill, your feet padded along the creaky floor of your apartment lazily making your way to the kitchen counter where your phone sat.
A couple of notifications lit up the screen as you picked it up, a text message from your co-worker piqued your interest.
“Gina: Hey, kid! A few of us are planning on grabbing a few drinks tonight if you’re up for it ;)”
Kid you giggled, while Gina was your supervisor she was only 5 years older than you. She was a lovely woman, taught you well and didn’t speak down to you like you’d seen some of the other superiors did to the new staff in their teams. You’d never hung out with her outside of work but from what you gathered, she would definitely be the kind of girl to show you a good night out in the city. It was Friday night, you’d spent the whole week working your ass off and fuck it you were young, a few drinks with some colleagues couldn’t hurt.
“Y/n: Hey! Thanks for the invite, I’d love to come just let me know when and where :)”
Her response was instant, “Great, wear something slutty. ;)” she’s lucky you liked her otherwise she’d be in HRs office first thing Monday morning. You could’ve predicted the text, she’d been trying to set you up with so called “eligible bachelors” from the second you walked through the revolving door of your work building a month ago, no doubt one of the “few of us” grabbing drinks tonight would be one of the men who she was raring to set you up with.
A relationship wasn’t something you were interested in at the moment. You had just come out of a 2 year relationship with your college boyfriend two months ago, it felt a little too soon to start dating seriously again. Fooling around with someone was one thing but committing your already limited time to someone didn’t feel like the best plan of action right now.
You took your time getting ready, applied your make up, nothing too much but enough to show you’d put a little effort in. You left your hair down, pulling a hand through it to keep it out of your face every now and again. Once you were ready getting dressed you stood in front of the full length mirror that sat against the wall beside your bed. Your outfit was simple but you couldn’t deny you looked amazing, sheer black tights underneath a black mini pencil skirt with a white lace tank top that did wonders for your chest. A pair of black heeled boots and an oversized maroon leather jacket. Not too slutty, but you figured Gina would be satisfied with the amount of leg and tasteful cleavage displayed.
A quick spritz of your favourite perfume and you were ready to head out, trying your best not to let the growing feeling of anxiety pooling in your stomach get the best of you. Tonight will be fun.
Grabbing your handbag you left your apartment. Your night was already off to an awkward start when your mysterious neighbour also stepped out of his apartment and made his way, head hung low, towards where you stood waiting on the elevator.
You gave him a small smile, hoping to ease the tension you felt. You hated awkward silence, normal silence was lovely but this? Whatever you two had going on was painful.
After a very long minute the elevator finally came and you stepped in first, the man following behind you. You hadn’t had a chance to get a good look at him before now, brown eyes that looked tired, sad even. Messy brown hair and broad shoulders. Cute.
Your phone ringing broke the silence, fishing it out of your bag you saw Gina’s name and answered, tucking your hair behind your ear and pulling the phone up to listen. “Hey, Gina. Everything okay?” You kept your voice quiet, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself in the small space.
“Don’t be mad,” she started, “But we need to take a rein check.”
You groaned, “Seriously?”
“I know, I know. I’ll make it up to you I promise, just something came up and I really can’t say no.” Her voice was gleeful and you couldn’t help but laugh.
“James?” You asked, already knowing the editor from the floor above your offices who she’d been playing a long game of, making eyes and casual fleeting touches with was the reason you’d be spending your Friday night alone.
“Yes!” She squealed delightedly, “you’re not mad are you?”
You couldn’t help but smile, “No. But I want all the details on Monday.”
“Down to the measurements!” You grimaced but let out a laugh.
“Ok, I’ve heard enough. Have fun, stay safe and call if you need anything.” You said, smiling now at least someone would have a fun night, you brought the phone away from your ear, hanging up and sighing.
To your side you could feel eyes on you, god you must look like such a loser, stood up on a Friday night. All dressed up and nowhere to go.
You cleared your throat, uncomfortable now. This elevator was talking forever. Shit. You were gonna have to go back up. You’d never wished an elevator would plummet to the ground while you were in it but as you reached forward and clicked the button for the 3rd floor, you hoped the wires would snap.
The doors eventually opened and your neighbour walked out, actually looking at you before leaving, a small smile playing on his lips, “Have a good night.”
“Yeah, you too, thanks.” You gave him a small wave, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Well, at least you finally got a word out of him. His accent was strong, clearly from New York. That was one less thing to guess about him. He was clumsy, made a lot of noise, from New York and handsome. Oh, and he now knew all about your Friday night plans to go back to your apartment alone. You were pretty happy with that amount of information.
-
The night went by relatively quickly and you woke up on Saturday morning without a hangover which was definitely a positive of not going out the night before. You’d watched a movie, had a glass of wine and went to sleep at a reasonable hour. Only to be woken up at an unreasonable hour by your neighbour bulldozing through his apartment again. You weren’t a light sleeper either, he was loud. Thankfully you never had an issue falling back to sleep.
At around 9am you rolled out of bed, sliding your sock covered feet across the floor and pulling your curtains open to let the morning light in. The rain had stopped in the night but a few drops clung to the glass still. Your phone buzzed from your nightstand, lighting up with Gina’s name. You just knew it was gonna be good.
“Gina: You are NOT going to believe where I woke up this morning…”
A giggle passed your lips, you paused for a moment before replying.
“Y/n: It wouldn’t happen to be in the bed of the cute editor would it?”
Three texts came in quick succession.
“Gina: BINGO”
“Gina: Best night of my life”
“Gina: That man is hung like a goddamn horse”
Another laugh filled your space, she wasn’t joking about giving you those measurements. You started making yourself a cup of coffee as you typed your response.
“Y/n: I know you’re older than me but god am I a proud mother right now”
“Gina: You took one for the team last night, kid. Did you end up going out?”
A scoff left your mouth before you could stop it.
“Y/n: Oh you’re bringing me MY coffee for the next week. My surprisingly hot mysterious neighbour was in the elevator with me when you called, heard you cancel and then watched me press the button back to our floor before we even hit the lobby 💀”
There was a long pause before the next messages, three dots appearing and disappearing for a few moments as you sipped your coffee.
“Gina: How hot are we talking?”
You pursed your lips, you hadn’t really thought about it other than as a passing observation. You looked out into your apartment and tried your best to remember exactly what he looked like before you replied.
“Y/n: Super. Like if I saw him in a bar I’d need to be at least two shots deep before I could approach him.”
“Gina: Ok well then I’ll certainly be bringing you your coffee next week…”
“Gina: Not to rub it in but James is taking me out to breakfast so we’ll continue this later. Be free tonight I’m calling you. Xx”
You couldn’t help smiling at your phone, you’d finally surpassed coworkers to friends.
With that you tossed your phone onto the counter and took your coffee towards your sofa, switching on the TV. The news showed the latest breaking story about Spider-Man stopping a robbery downtown last night, it was nothing new even after only a month of living here you knew that if you turned on the news, he’d be there.
Your letterbox snapping against your apartment door tore your attention away from the TV. A few envelopes fell through to the floor.
Wandering over to the door you picked up the envelopes, flicking through them you noticed one that didn’t have your name on it.
Peter Parker.
It had to belong to the guy at the end of the hall. He was the only guy on the floor other than the woman across from you whose boyfriend sometimes stayed with her. It looked like a bill, and as much as you didn’t want to face him so soon after your encounter last night, it was probably important that he got his mail.
With a groan you dragged a hand through your hair and grabbed a hoodie, pulling the oversized material over your head. You were only going down the hall so you figured pyjama shorts and a baggy hoodie would be fine. Before leaving you slipped on a pair of slippers and headed out to the hallway. When you got to his door you realised that he didn’t have a mail box, maybe why you’d ended up with his mail.
Without thinking you knocked on his door. After a few seconds you saw his silhouette stumble up to the door through the frosted glass panel. He cracked it open, sticking his head out with an expression you couldn’t quite read. Surprise? Fear? You weren’t sure.
You gave him a small smile, shifting your weight from foot to foot, “Hey, sorry to bother you,” you started and when he didn’t say anything you pushed on, raising your hand to show him the letter, “your mail came to my apartment. Just wanted to drop it off but you don’t have a mail box so…”
He stared at you blankly for a moment before his tired eyes blinked back to life and he straightened up behind the door. He gave you a grateful look and took the letter from your hand, his rough fingers brushing yours briefly. “Thanks a lot.”
You flashed him a smile, “No worries, Peter.”
His eyes widened at the sound of you saying his name. Skittish, another word you could add to the list of things you knew about him. Maybe he was a drug dealer. You couldn’t help but laugh at his expression, you pointed a finger to the envelope you’d just given to him, “Your name was on the letter.”
“Right,” he laughed, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. His arms were huge, you tried your best to not look too mesmerised by how his biceps flexed as his hand moved against his nape, “Right, um, thanks again…” he trailed off, arm dropping back to his side.
“Y/n.” You answered with a grin. “Well, I’ll see you around.” You turned to walk back to your door, breathing a sigh of relief when you heard his door shut behind you.
-
Peter didn’t speak much to anyone these days. Things were better than they had been in the past four years. He’d reintroduced himself to MJ and Ned, though it hadn’t gone exactly as he’d expected it was still something. He wasn’t a complete ghost anymore, for the moment that was enough. It had to be. His routine was ridged and consistent; wake up early to patrol the city, come home and get cleaned up, work on his tech then at night go back out to patrol the streets of NYC, sleep where he could. Once a week he went to go visit his Aunt May’s grave, always making sure to replace the flowers. Some days he stopped by Ned and MJ’s place, not too often though. The heartbreak that came with the girl you love telling you she doesn’t love you was insurmountable, every time he saw her those words echoed through his rib cage, battering his heart each time. He held onto the hope that one day things would go back to normal but each passing day the reality cemented itself in his brain that the relationships he had prior to Dr Strange’s spell were gone, they could potentially be recreated but they’d never be what they were.
Things only changed ever so slightly a month ago when the new neighbour moved in down the hall, with his spider mutation at full capacity he could hear absolutely everything that happened around him. Not that he was actively trying to eavesdrop on his neighbours but sometimes he couldn’t help it. The walls were thin as it was, with accelerated hearing abilities you may as well be sitting in his apartment. He noticed that every time he’d clamber back in through his window a little more unbalanced than usual in the middle of the night you always woke up, let out an annoyed groan before going straight back to sleep. It was to the point that Peter actually anticipated it now, your little groan with the occasional grumble of “There he goes.” As if you were expecting him to wake you up. He’d passed by you a couple of times in the hallway, you weren’t like the other woman who lived opposite you, you never tried to initiate conversations with him, you always gave a smile of acknowledgement and then went back to minding your own business. He liked that about you. For the first time in a long time he had actually been the one to initiate conversation, not that he could even call it a conversation. When he rode down the elevator with you he couldn’t help himself in talking you in. Though he was heartbroken over MJ, he wasn’t blind. He had to admit you were gorgeous, make up done and jacket unzipped showing your figure that was more than flattered by the short skirt and lace top you had on. When he heard your friend bailing on you through the phone, forcing you to press the elevator to take you back upstairs, he couldn’t help but throw you a bone. It was a shame he thought, if he was a normal guy out at a bar on a Friday night he would’ve been praying for a girl like you to walk in. But he wasn’t a normal guy, and the thought came and went so quickly he barely had time to register that he’d thought it in the first place. When he got back that night he heard you grumble about the noise, only incoherent half asleep muttering that even with his hearing he couldn’t make out. It was quite comforting, no matter how late he stumbled in he could always count on a grunt or groan from your side of the wall. The sound was probably the most consistent thing in his life at the minute. Which was way sadder than he cared to admit.
The knock on his door that morning had woken him from his post-patrol nap. He wasn’t expecting anyone, he never was. But sometimes the mailman would knock, or the landlord. So groggily he shuffled towards the door and cracked it open just enough to see who was there. He definitely hadn’t been expecting to see you standing there, hair slightly tussled wearing nothing but an oversized sweater and shorts, he really hoped you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes ran down your frame. It took him far too long to realise he had just been staring at you, wondering what you were doing at his door instead of acting like an actual person and speaking to you. You’d done the neighbourly thing and brought him his mail. He was embarrassed to admit the electricity that shot through him when his fingers brushed yours and then again when you said his name. He felt guilty about it at first, how excited he got at the sound of his name on your lips. He hadn’t let himself indulge in anything like that since MJ had made it clear that she wasn’t his anymore. Despite her clear and firm declaration he couldn’t help but feel like he was being disloyal, he had to remind himself that she’d moved on. Maybe he should too. He supposed having a harmless crush on a hot neighbour wasn’t a bad place to start.
-
The weekend came and went without any more run-ins with Peter. You only heard him through the walls, stomping around and keeping you up. The commotion came later than usual this morning. It was 6:15am when the crash came and woke you up only 15 minutes before your alarm was due to go off.
“Awh, how considerate of him.” You mumbled sarcastically, cutting your losses and rolling out of bed, begrudgingly getting ready for the day.
The rain was pouring down hard again this morning, you made sure to grab an umbrella as your work attire of a knee length pencil skirt and a long sleeve button up wouldn’t cut it with keeping you dry.
The walk to your office was only around 15 minutes, you managed to make it without getting soaked. You shook off your umbrella and closed it outside the revolving door then headed to the elevator, pressing the button for the 12th floor once you stepped inside. When the doors opened you saw Gina, sat atop your desk already waiting for you with a huge grin on her face. You made your way towards her, she picked up a steaming take out coffee cup from beside her and held it out to you, “One large dirty chai latte for the queen of my heart.”
You giggled, accepting the cup gratefully and raising an eyebrow, a teasing grin pulling at your lips, “Queen of your heart? How good in bed was this guy?”
She threw her head back, groaned out an exaggerated sigh and clutched her chest, “Otherworldly.”
Nodding in understanding you plopped into your desk chair in front of where she was perched on your desk, taking a sip of your latte, “I thought there were other people going out on Friday, how come I’m getting all the love?”
She shrugged, manicured nails tapping against the white wood of your desk, “Nobody else was actually going, I just said that so you’d come.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, “Y’know you don’t need to lure me out under false pretences, Gina. I’m always up for a girls night out.”
Gina stood from your desk, straightened out her skirt and shot you a wink, “And that’s why you’re my favourite.” She began to walk away, stopping halfway to her desk, pointing at you with determination, “Don’t make any plans for this Saturday, I’m going to make it up to you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” You called back, laughing under your breath at her triumphant smile.
The day dragged in, the same as most Monday’s did when you had no real work to do. You replied to emails, arranged meetings and checked in with Gina every couple of hours. Gina was working on her latest “Dos and Don’ts” column for the magazine, what to wear and what not to wear to a first date, job interview, impress your crush and so on. Your job at the minute was to essentially sound board ideas for her and think up layouts and then send final drafts to the guys upstairs who would then get it ready for print. Eventually you hoped to be able to write your own entries but that was a ways away just yet.
Five o’clock eventually came, you packed up your stuff and strolled towards the elevator where Gina was standing, waiting for you with her jacket folded over one arm. “Wanna grab a drink?”
You shrugged your shoulders, and gave her a soft smile, “I wouldn’t say no to a glass of wine.”
Gina threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you in, her cheek resting against the top of your head, “You are just too perfect.”
Playfully, you shoved her off, giving her a pointed look, “I usually don’t start telling my friends they’re perfect until after I’ve had a drink.”
She only smiled, holding her hands up in mock surrender, “What can I say? I’m just so full of love.”
“Full of something alright.” You chuckled out, yelping when her bony elbow made light contact with your ribs as she laughed in disbelief.
“Ok well for that comment first rounds on you, little miss.”
-
The bar was barely 10 minutes down the street from the office, thankfully on the way back towards your apartment building. You held your umbrella above both you and Gina as you walked to the bar, your arms linked as she mused about her ‘magical’ night with James from upstairs.
Once you made it to the bar Gina grabbed a table by the window while you headed up to the bar to grab the first round. An aperol spirtz for Gina and a glass of white wine for you. When the drinks were served you made your way back to Gina who was staring out the window, analysing every passer by while absentmindedly twirling a strand of her red hair around her finger.
Sensing your arrival, she brought her gaze back to you with a smile, “So, down to the real business.” She started with a mischievous expression, a small whine left your throat. You knew exactly where this was going.
“James was telling me about one of his friends that works a couple blocks away at that OzCorp place- single of course but more importantly; stupidly attractive.” She explained, wrapping her lips around the black straw bobbing out from her cocktail and taking a sip, her blue eyes never leaving yours.
Narrowing your eyes at her, you picked up your glass and held it in front of your lips, “How stupidly attractive are we talking here?”
Her smile was nearly devilish at your response, her hands immediately fished her phone from her bag, “Let me get a photo.”
You let out a small sigh but couldn’t help smiling, she really got a lot of joy playing Cupid. While she was looking on her phone, presumably texting James for a photo of his friend to show you, you turned to watch the street outside. People walking home after work, umbrellas held high as the rain pelted down. One figure walking down the street caught your attention, no umbrella in his hand, only the black fabric of a hoodie sheltering his brown curls from the rain. Then you realised.
A sharp gasp left your lips and you reached your hand across the table clutching Gina’s forearm, “Oh my god, Gina. In about five seconds look out the window at the guy in the black hoodie.” She immediately turned to the window to look, eyes analysing the stranger you’d pointed out. “Hottie alert.” She murmured against her straw as she took a long sip from her spritz.
“Gina, that’s him,” you whispered as if he would be able to hear you through the glass, “that’s my mysterious neighbour.”
Her eyes widened, smirk catching her lips within a millisecond as she placed her phone screen down on the table, “Well, forget James’ guy. What are we going to do about this?”
You groaned, by this point Peter has passed the window continuing on his way wherever he was headed, thankfully not catching you staring at him like a creep. “I have no idea, he’s pretty elusive. I only just found out his name yesterday.”
Gina hummed, nails tapping against her glass, “He introduce himself?”
You shook your head, “No, I got his mail so I went to give it to him. He was kind of skittish.”
“Drug dealer?” She asked, brows furrowed pulling a laugh from you.
“I thought the same thing at first but I don’t think so, the tiny peak I got into his place gave me the impression he was some sort of tech guy.” You replied, taking another sip of your drink.
“Hmm,” Gina took a long sip, nothing but ice left in her glass now, “He see you all dressed up on Friday?”
A scoff fell from your lips, “Yeah in the elevator ride from hell.”
She grimaced slightly, smile never leaving her lips, “Sorry again… but more importantly what were you wearing?”
You shot her a quizzical look, opening your phone and showing her a mirror selfie you’d taken after finishing getting ready on Friday night.
She pursed her lips and nodded her head enthusiastically, “I don’t think he’ll be elusive for very much longer.”
“Messing around with a neighbour is kinda messy, no?” You countered, smiling despite your logical brain urging you to not go down this line of thinking.
Gina sighed, wistfully, her palms pressed against the sticky wood of the high table, “Does that not make it even better?”
With a giggle you finished your wine, “Listen, I want nothing more than to make you proud, but if I start indulging in thoughts of my neighbour pressing me up against the wall of the elevator I’m never going to be able to look at him in the eye so unless he approaches me I’m keeping my hands to myself.”
“So responsible,” Gina sighed, pouting slightly, “You need to let yourself have some fun, consequences be damned.”
“I’m sure there’s fun I can have without sleeping with my neighbour.” You countered.
Gina only scoffed, “Nobody said you had to sleep with him… though nobody would blame you if you did.”
“Alright, that’s enough. One more glass of wine and I will be knocking on his door asking if I can get some sugar.” You joked, grabbing your bag as Gina did the same.
“If you do just make sure you’re wearing something revealing.” She quipped, giving you a hug as she stood from her chair, “I’m gonna grab a cab, you’re all good to get home from here?”
You hugged her back, “Yeah, my place is just five minutes away I’m all good. I’ll see you in the morning.”
-
Patrol that night was rough, a standard bank robbery had gotten a little out of hand. One of the masked robbers had managed to slash Peter with a knife before he’d managed to web him. It wasn’t anything serious but enough to rip his suit at the shoulder and cut through the first couple of layers of skin.
When he’d gotten back to his apartment window he let himself fall in, making a bigger crash than usual, a loud groan of pain leaving his lips as he landed clumsily against the wooden floor. He found himself listening out for your complaining groan, but what he heard was the sound of your footsteps, followed by the sound of your door opening then a quick flurry of knocks against his own door.
“Shit.” He muttered, quickly pulling his mask off and letting his suit fall to the floor, he clumsily pulled a pair of shorts on while walking towards the door.
When he swung it open you stood there, tired eyes, hair messy fresh from jumping out of bed and in nothing but pyjama shorts and a tank top. He tried his very best not to let his eyes linger on your chest, the cool air of the corridor making sure he knew that you weren’t wearing a bra. A concerned look painted your face.
“Hey, sorry.” You said, voice barely above a whisper, “I just heard you crash a little louder than usual, you okay?”
His heart jumped a little at the care in your voice, it really had been a while. He didn’t think about the gash on his shoulder when he opened his door a little wider. Your tired eyes shooting open wide at the sight of the blood.
“Oh my god, you’re bleeding!” You shouted in a whisper, brows furrowing together with concern, “What happened?”
Peter tried his best to give what he hoped was a reassuring smile, “I’m alright really, please don’t worry. Just clumsy.”
Your brows furrowed even closer together, eyes glaring now. It was a pretty inconvenient time for him to be noticing how pretty they were, he chastised himself silently. You clearly weren’t buying what he was selling.
“Right…” You trailed off, analysing the cut. “You have a first aid kit or something?”
Peter’s face twisted into what was clearly a very fake confidence, his voice raising in pitch, “Pft, yeah! Yeah of course I have one.”
You only raised an eyebrow in response, “You’re a terrible liar.”
“What? No I’m not! I’m not lying!” He defended, trying to keep his voice quiet.
You rolled your eyes at him, “Look I’ve seen it now, I have a first aid kit in my place, just let me help you and then we can both go back to bed.”
He felt his heart drop into his stomach, “That’s really not necessary.”
“Peter,” you huffed out, rubbing your hand down your tired face, “If I know you’re in here bleeding all over the place I’m not going to be able to sleep. And trust me you do not want to be the reason I don’t get at least 6 hours.” You warned, voice low nearly threatening. Was it weird that he kind of liked it?
You threw your arm out pointing a finger in the direction of your door that you hadn’t bothered to close, “Go.”
Peter sighed, though he didn’t know you well he had a feeling there was really no getting out of this one. With a grunt he closed his door behind him and walked towards your open door, stepping in he tried his best not to let the smell of your perfume get to his head. He always liked it. He could always smell it lingering in the hallways after you’d left in the mornings or come back in the evening, it was understandably stronger in your home, mixed with the scented candles that littered the small studio. It was simultaneously comforting and maddening. He realised in that moment that his conclusion that it was ok to have a harmless crush on the girl next door was going to be the death of him.
You reentered behind him and shut the door, motioning him towards the couch and smiled triumphantly when he diligently walked over to it. You couldn’t help but gaze at his bare back as he walked away. Jesus. You physically shook your head, hoping the thoughts of how ridiculous his body was would disappear with the motion. You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and pulled your green first aid kit down from the top of one of the cabinets. You made your way towards the man on your couch and handed him the bottle of water as you sat down next to him, “Thanks.” He murmured.
“Mhm,” you hummed, already opening the first aid kit and grabbing some disinfectant and a cotton ball, “Sorry, this may sting.” You apologised as you began to wipe the cut clean, it wasn’t too deep that it would need stitches or anything. Thank god, you thought, you’d be way out of your depth if that was the case.
Peter hissed slightly at the contact, his eyes closing for a moment.
As gently as you could you finished wiping down the cut, tossing the bloodied cotton ball onto your coffee table. You picked the bandages out of the box and cut a section the size of the cut, pressing it softly to the wound, and taping the fabric securely against his shoulder letting the palm of your hand linger, unconsciously trying to memorise how the hard plane of his chest felt. Peter all but melted into your touch, the caress of your palm warm and inviting. His eyes hadn’t moved from your face, just inches away from his. Concentration painted your features, your brows in a slight furrow and you lip between your teeth and your eyes locked in on his injured shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding his breath until your eyes flickered up to meet his.
“All done.” Your voice came out in a whisper, eyes drifting down to his lips, only for a second before returning to his warm brown gaze. Neither of you moving.
“Thanks.” He could feel your chest moving against him, slightly brushing his arm from where you sat beside him, feel your breath against his face, smell your shampoo and more importantly hear your pulse racing. Your hand still pressed to his chest. He wanted to kiss you. Truthfully he wanted to do more than just kiss you. But just as he started to entertain the idea of pulling you closer and tasting your lips, your hand slid away from the bandage, grazing his abs lightly before disconnecting. The loss of warmth from your touch immediately leaving him craving for more. You cleared your throat, and shifted away only slightly, “Can I ask you something?”
Peter only nodded, watching your face morph into a nearly anxious expression,”You’re not a drug dealer or something, are you?”
A shocked laugh left his lips, his torso twisting so he could face you fully, a disbelieving smile on his face, “What!?” He lowered his gaze to meet your eyes as you ducked your head out of embarrassment, “You thought I was a drug dealer?”
You held your hands up in surrender, meeting his gaze again the open mouthed smile on his face forcing a melodic laugh from you, “Ok, I’m sorry but you’re always coming in late and crashing around. I just thought maybe you were into some sketchy business.”
He raised his eyebrows, face turning into something softer, “If you thought I was so sketchy how come you came to check on me?” He challenged, his smirk causing you to roll your eyes and lightly nudge his knee with your own.
“Just because you were potentially a drug dealer doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve some neighbourly love.” You teased.
Even as you stood from the couch, Peter couldn’t take his eyes off you, stuck on your laugh that sounded so full. Nothing like the hollow sound he’d been forcing himself to push out for the past four years. Shaking himself from his thoughts he stood from the couch and started towards where you were leaning against your kitchen counter.
“Well… thanks, Y/n.” Peter said, hand already on the door handle. Pulling it open and stepping out into the hallway. You pushed yourself off the counter and faced him in the doorway, smile soft and genuine, inciting a flurry of butterflies in his stomach. “Anytime, Parker.”
“Need me to walk you home?” You joked, stomach flipping as he laughed, throwing his head back without a care in the world. He shook his head smile bright and accent strong, “Think I’ll be alright, sweetheart.”
“Well, if you get injured again you know where I am.” You called out in a singsong tone that made his smile widen as he faced you one last time, one foot through his own doorway.
“Get some sleep. You need your six hours, remember?” With a light roll of your eyes you closed your door.
You all but threw yourself across your room to grab your phone that was charging on your night stand. The clock read 04:45am, without a second thought you went into your messages and tapped on Gina’s name, typing frantically.
“Y/n: You are NEVER going to guess who was just shirtless on my couch…”
-
That was my first time writing a Peter Parker fic in genuinely like 10 years 😭😭 hope you enjoyed and if you’d like a pt 2/more Peter fics lmk ;)
pope cody ﹏ (★) new mattress : (✷) two worlds apart (incoming) :
☆ BONES AND ALL.
maren yearly ﹏ (✷) hunger hits :
lee ﹏ (✷) with the guilt (incoming) :
☆ CHALLENGERS.
duo / trio ﹏ (★) aesthetics (artrick) : (★) nerd and emo (artrick) : (✷) love me to death (apt, part I) : (✷) love me to death (apt, part II) : (✷) love me to death (apt, part III) : (★) spit roasting (art + patrick) : (★) cucking (kinktober / metalhead!art x reader x scenemo!patrick) : (★) humiliation (art x patrick / kinktober) :
art donaldson ﹏ (★) sweet sweat : (★) the way you tremble : (★) ftm messy and beautiful : (★) ftm strap : (★) ftm strap 2 : (★) ftm racket : (★) metalhead headcanon : (★) drummer & corpse paint : (★) submissive metalhead : (★) corpse paint off : (★) where it doesn’t hurt : (♡) washed ashore : (✷) half of a heart : (♡) black roses & pink hearts : (★) don't you dare stop : (✷) the memories :
patrick zweig ﹏ (★) tinder dates : (★) scenemo headcanon : (★) pierce the veil concert : (★) cherry lipgloss and emo boy : (★) magic cross lover : (★) piercing aftercare : (✷) a missing piece : (★) tits lover : (♡) ftm patrick : (♡) patchwork heart : (★) hot thoughts : (★) emo fuck : (★) dumbification (kinktober) : (♡) knight!patrick x royalty!reader headcanons :
tashi duncan ﹏ (★) goth headcanons.
☆ CRIMINAL MINDS.
spencer reid ﹏ (♡) just relax : (★) say that again : (★) what he knows : (★) in the closet : (★) special date night :
aaron hotchner ﹏ (★) in my office
☆ GEN V.
jordan li ﹏ (★) spanking (kinktober) :
☆ MARVEL.
benjamin poindexter ﹏ (★) p!links : (★) out of control :
rafe cameron ﹏ (★) ft. jj maybank all eyes on you : (✷) amnesia : (♡) lost boy : (✷) kildare's campus kill (smau) : (★) good boy : (♡) great power and great interruptions : (★) slap me again : (★) dad's best-friend : (★) sand on skin :
jj maybank ﹏ (★) silver platter : (★) back to the banks : (★) just like that :
☆ OFF CAMPUS.
dean di laurentis ﹏ (★) karaoke party : (★) love smoke :
garrett graham ﹏ (♡) kissing tattoos : (♡) seraphic :
