#and how one is unaware of how obvious he is being about his feelings and the other is using it to show his feelings
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men in Japanese bl leaning on their hands admiringly is my new thing
#old fashion cupcake#love is better the second time around#Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto#nozue sanae#iwanaga takashi#every time iwanaga leaned on his hand all I could think of was nozue#and how one is unaware of how obvious he is being about his feelings and the other is using it to show his feelings#and both gestures turn me into goo#very deep analysis over here
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can I request some cute fluff with Astarion - I think something cute would be tav’s never worn a dress and they put one on and Astarion is just mindblow by how good they look? 🥺
maybe he can do some chivalrous acts as well~
She Looks Breathtaking
pairing : astarion x (fem) reader
summary : astarion has never seen you in a dress, you haven’t been in one since you were taken from baldur's gate. you both find it hard to hide your excitement.
warnings : none :)
authors note: I hope you like this anon! (first, i finally played baldur's gate. second, i'm going to try and pump out the requests that I haven't gotten to.)
“Oh! Look how pretty this is!”
You turn your head to look towards Karlach’s booming voice, much too loud for the small space you were in. She held up a dress, something you hadn’t thought about wearing in months. You hadn’t had any important events to attend.
Walking over to her side, you take the fabric between your fingers. “It’s beautiful..”
“You should get it. I think you’d look great, and I bet Astarion would like it too.” She nudged at your side, teasing. Your face flushed, and you ran your fingers along the hem of the dress, avoiding Karlachs gaze. She likes to poke fun at the obvious crush you had developed on Astarion, and everytime she did you regretted telling her more and more.
Eventually, you find a small paper attached to the fabric showing the price of the dress, eyes widening at the disgustingly low price.
“When would I even get a chance to wear it? It would go to waste, just weigh my bag down.” Karlach huffs, taking the price tag and reading it for herself.
“Are you kidding me? Even if you don’t wear it, you’d be a fool to ignore this price. Maybe you will attend some noble party when we get to Baldur's Gate!” She was way too excited but her energy almost made you agree with her, the dress was so cheap even if it went unworn for a long time. And you hadn’t worn one in..you couldn’t even remember.
You thought about it for a moment before moving for your coin pouch, pouring the amount into your hand and handing the coins to the trader. They slip out of your hand much faster than you'd care to admit, hiding your excitement from Karlach proving to be a challenge. “Don’t say a word to anyone, Karlach, I mean it.”
“Fine. But I better get to see you in it, at least try it on for me when we get back to camp!” You shake your head, amused by Karlachs childish antics, but you yourself can’t help but feel a little bit excited by the idea of dressing up.
When you returned to camp that night you had forgotten about the dress in your bag, slipping your mind amidst the constant thought of being attacked or having to talk your way out of a hostile situation.
So when Karlach came bouncing over to your side, your tent tucked away in a corner secluded from most of your party to keep your privacy, you could only give her a confused look. She seemed so excited and you had no idea why, and she was beginning to return the confusion.
“You gonna put on the dress or just make me stand here?” Oh! You let your bag fall to the ground, crouching down to rummage through its contents, searching for the dress.
When you found it you laid it over your bag, standing back up to remove the leather from your body. You could hear Karlachs giggles as you shimmied out of your much too tight leather pants, only to have to pull the dress over your body right after.
Your hair was up, but you untied it and allowed your hair to fall over your shoulders. When you turned back to her, she stared at you with awe. “Woah..”
“What?”
“You look..nice.” You giggled, which made her laugh along with you, both of you unaware of the approaching footsteps. His eyes trace along your figure, and he allows himself a moment of greediness to take in the full effect you have. You seem so happy, a smile appearing on his cheeks as he watches you smile gleefully and so..so..carefree. You're finally allowing yourself to have fun, and not worrying about protecting everyone else around you. And Gods.. you’re breathtaking.
He would never admit to a living soul, or a non-living one for that matter, but he had been infatuated with you since the moment you asked him to join your party. You made him weak, and with his newfound freedom he wasn’t sure what the correct way to deal with it was. Obviously he could use his charm to lure you into his bedroll, but he wanted more, he wanted to be the reason you felt giddy enough to show your teeth with a smile. He wanted to be the reason you laughed, and fooled around, the reason you felt safe enough to have fun.
He takes a deep breath in, to regain his confidence and charm, and he proceeds towards the two of you.
Until his voice filled your ears and caused your eyes to shoot in his direction, “Well well..don’t you look nice.”
“Astarion!” He approached the two of you slowly, staring at you and paying no mind to Karlach’s presence.
“I’m gonna leave you two alone..” Karlach let out an awkward chuckle, making eye contact with you with wiggly eyebrows before sneaking away.
You look back towards Astarion, who is unable to make eye contact with you as his eyes roam along your body, preoccupied. You're certain he doesn't even realise Karlach has left from beside the two of you.
“Where did you get this pretty thing?” He looks back up to meet your eyes, smirk big enough to show his fangs which sends a nervous shiver through your body. A tingle in your neck reminds you of the favour you allowed him. Your arms cross against your chest, suddenly more nervous in his presence than ever before.
“Just something I picked up from a merchant..”
“In all the time I’ve traveled by your side , I’ve never seen you look so.. elegant.”
“Wow thanks..” You roll your eyes with a snort, crossing your arms tighter across your chest.
“Now c’mon darling..you know I mean you no disrespect. Only pointing out the obvious. May I?” At first you're unsure what he’s even asking permission for, but when you see his hands reaching out to touch you, you give him a nod.
He doesn’t hesitate, hands finding your hips. “See…usually you’re wearing that menacing leather, always so serious.” Your face scrunches up at his words, you’ve never thought your armour to be very menacing nor did you believe you were ‘always serious’. Only when the situation called for it.
The heat of his skin can be felt even through the fabric. His thin fingers squeeze into the plush of your hips, then run along your waist, feeling the fabric between his fingers. “But right now, in this dress, with your hair undone,” He brings his hand up to run his fingers through your hairs, “You look so free. You’re beautiful darling..so beautiful.”
You feel your face relax, and it only softens more when Astarions eyes meet yours once more and his pupils are blown . The softest smile blossoms on his face, which turns out to be contagious cause not soon after a cheek burning smile is on your face. Face hot as you look into his eyes, his hands still on your waist, thumbs massaging your skin through your dress.
“I should take it off, I don’t want to get it dirty.”
“Could you humor me?”
“Humor you? How so, Astarion?”
“Keep it on, just for an hour. It’s been a long time since I spent an evening with a woman as beautiful as you..”
#astarion#astarion x reader#baldurs gate astarion#x reader#oneshot#drabble#female reader#baldur's gate 3#fem reader#bdg3#bg3#bg3 astarion
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Please be aware of the user @/saintsugu also known as Ezra.
Past pseudonyms include (but are not limited to: @/aces_high
I never thought that I would have to create a post like this. In my near 12 years on the internet, I never thought I would have to write down the words I am about to type, especially about a fellow fanfic creator, one I used to enjoy before I found out about the type of person he really is. I apologise for the long post, however I want to make sure I am as thorough as possible so I can bring this person to justice.
Before opening the read more/ continuing with this post, please read the trigger warnings. This will deal with heavy topics, ones that make me sick to my stomach. I apologise for all of the censoring in this post as well.
TW: P*DOPHILIA, UNDER*GE, SEXUALIZATION OF EDS AND SH
I would just like to start off by saying how difficult this post is for me to write. I have had to take multiple breaks while typing this out. I have felt disgusted since I first saw the posts on his twitter. Like I need to take a shower and scrub myself clean, however, at the same time I feel like I cannot sit idly by while Ezra still has a platform.
The posts I have seen on his twitter, what he actively endorses is just disgusting and predatory in nature. I have done my best to censor them so as to not continue the spread of such material. As of the time of this post, his twitter is still public.
HIS TWITTER (X) IS CURRENTLY UNDER THE NAME @/ezr_ace
First, I’ll give evidence I have to prove that the twitter account stated above is in fact his. I was wary at first as well, however, I believe this evidence in fact proves that beyond reasonable doubt that the account is his.
The obvious reasoning is as follows: Ezra goes by the pseudonym Ezra currently, and has gone by the pseudonym Ace in the past. Both the twitter account and his tumblr state that he is 21. Both twitter and tumblr themes are the same in nature, featuring manga panels of Suguru edited in the same way.
If you’re familiar with Ezra at all, you would know that they are very close with another user, Flora, also known as @/fyogasm. Previously known as @/pussydrunkfyodor on tumblr. When going through the followers of this twitter account, I noticed someone by the name of Flora following him (one of about 34 followers), with the user @/floratumblr. This account had their tumblr linked in the bio of the profile, and it led straight to Flora’s tumblr. Screen recording is posted below:
UPDATE: since Ezra has been called out, Flora has unfollowed Ezra’s Twitter as well as deleted her account. I can only assume it is to try and dodge the backlash of being associated with him. Here are screenshots proving they are moots/ interacting with each other.
Note: I do not know what this means for the content of Flora’s character. All I can say for certain is that she is close friends with him (to the point they have each others numbers), and that she follows his Twitter. I did not dive deep into her Twitter before she deleted it. But I can say that I do believe she knew the content he was posting about, otherwise she wouldn’t have deleted her Twitter the second he was called out while remaining mutuals with him on tumblr.
UPDATE 1/19/24 1:50 pm: Since creating this post, Flora has reached out and stated that they have broken all contact with Ezra. They state that they are not frequently on twitter, and was completely unaware of the type of content he was posting on the account. They state that the content found on the account has made them feel sick and that they are no longer friends anymore.
Back to the main point, this only adds to the similarities listed above. A close mutual that he has been seen actively talking to on his tumblr also follows him on twitter, endorsing his behavior. This alone was too much for me to ignore. However, one final factor came into play that solidifies that user ezr_ace and user saintsugu are the same Ezra.
He not only posted to his tumblr about hateful anon messages, but also his twitter at the same time. Right after the messages were sent, he tweeted the following, as well as posted the following messages on his tumblr. Screenshots with time stamps posted below:
This for me, confirms that the two accounts are the same. There are simply too many coincidences for me to ignore. I feel that there is no argument about the validity of the accounts, as there are just too many similarities to ignore. Now, I can delve into what the post is really about. The content of the Twitter account.
P*DOPHILLIC ACTIONS AND UNDRE*GE CONTENT.
To put it simply, I was horrified when I first opened the profile to be greeted with Shotacon artwork. Full on artwork of an adult Toji a*saulting a child Gojo. In this artwork, Gojo looks as if he can be no older than 10. Most of the image is censored for obvious reasons, however, part of the screenshot appears in the video above as well. Proving that it cannot have been doctored in any way.
As you can see, the post is tagged with tw sh*ta. For anyone unaware, the definition of Sh*ta is as follows: “Sh*ta is a term used in manga and anime fandoms to indicate sex involving an under*ge boy.” (Fanlore.org) Aka, CP.
It is disgusting to see someone who I once enjoyed, once trusted, interact with literal cp. Drawing or not, the effect of it is still massive. Viewing children (ANYONE UNDER*GE) in a sexual nature is harmful to everyone. It breaches past dark content into something horrible. Something dangerous.
I felt sick seeing someone be as brazen as to repost a picture of a child being a*saulted. To get off on it. It is p*dophilic. That is the only way it can be put.
Further on this, he has written smut of, in his words, “not necessarily under*ge” Suguru in highschool. There is a whole thread on it on his profile, however, I will not be showing it here. The screenshot below describes the nature of the whole post from his own words.
When I first read “not necessarily under*ge”, my first and only question was literally, what the fuck does that mean? Either he is under*ge or not. There is not some fuzzy grey area coating the world between adults and children.
But sure, give him the benefit of the doubt. That does not excuse him liking multiple posts tagged with under*ge content. The most recent being less than an hour ago. Posts censored to the best of my ability below.
These posts all point to the same thing. The disgusting, undeniable truth that this man is attracted to under*ge content. Content depicting minors in sexual scenarios. Content that no member of society should ever consume. He is a p*dophile. For viewing this content of his own accord. For liking it, for reblogging it. For creating it on his own. He is a disgusting person.
FOLLOWING MINORS.
Him interacting with content like that above, consuming it in any capacity at all makes him unsafe to be around. For anyone. Especially minors.
Even though his blog is 18+, even though he preaches that minors should stay away from his blog. He still found himself following a 16 year old. Becoming mutuals with them. The fact this person is 16 is clearly displayed on their blog as well (in their pinned post).
Screenshots shown below. The individual’s user is censored out as, once again, they are a minor and I don’t feel they should have to be wrapped up in this mess.
Once again, Ezra is someone who preaches about minors staying out of adult spaces. Multiple times he has complained on his blog about minors following him and having to block them. You would think he does the same and would be more careful about curating his online spaces, however it he fails to do that.
I don’t believe this can be boiled down to a simple case of missing the age in their bio— this user has their age in their pinned post, as well as their about me. Along with the sexualisation of minors prevalent on his Twitter, it makes me extremely uncomfortable to know that he is following a minor in any capacity. I’m sure it would make anyone.
SEXUALIZING EDS AND SH.
To end the laundry list of posts on his twitter, we have him writing smut glorifying eds, as well as liking posts depicting sh in a sexual light. As always, screenshots are shown below, censored to the best of my ability.
In the post listed above, Suguru is described in a way that is hard to stomach. While it is not nearly as bad as everything else stated above, I feel it is still necessary to include, especially because in this pairing he has often described and implied Suguru to be a minor. There is a line and he has crossed it several times, this is just another example of such. Serving as the cherry on top to further demonstrate his mindset.
Dark content and discussion of these subjects in fiction are not the problem. The disturbing part of this is that Ezra often uses these tropes within his min*r/adult sexual fantasies, and when paired with the sh*ta and under*ge content, leaves a very poor taste in the mouth. It comes across as not only a gross f*tishization, but a gross f*tishization of taking advantage of a minor that way.
A DISCUSSION ON THE LIMITS OF DARK CONTENT.
In this section, I feel that it is important to touch on how dark content plays into all of this. I’d like to expressly state that this is NOT a condemnation of dark content or its consumption.
Dark fiction and dark content are a fine line. It’s a fantastic tool for exploring taboos and emotions or experiences that aren’t often talked about openly. DC creates what is essentially a safe space for exploring things that are not typically done or seen in the real world, with the knowledge that writing or engaging with it does not necessarily mean condoning it. That being said, this callout post is NOT about being anti-dc. Dark content is a literary or artistic tool. Keeping all of this in mind, to actively engage with sh*ta content in which a character is depicted sexually not only as a minor, but as a child, and to be sexually aroused by that image is the definition of p*dophilia. Writing or drawing children and engaging with that content in a sexual capacity is p*dophilia and at the very least, has p*dophilic tendencies. This is not dark content, this is p*dophilia.
It is one thing to write or create dark fiction between adults for the purpose of gratification or exploration of social dynamics and it is entirely another to engage with art of a child engaging in sexual acts with an adult for (seemingly) the intent purpose of sexual gratification. Everyone draws their own line, but it is also important to acknowledge that there are some depictions of taboo subjects that border (if not fully step-into) harmful, p*dophilic content that perpetuates behavior and mental tendencies that truly are dangerous.
To engage with a drawing of a child and a full grown adult in sexual acts for the purpose of sexual gratification is incredibly fucked up. And the fact that minor and adult p*rnography are not just common, but dominating Ezra's twitter page, should be an absolute red flag. It’s okay to acknowledge that dark content is a medium for fiction while also acknowledging that there are some ways of engaging with it that are harmful, especially when it is so glaringly obvious that the content is between a child and an adult (the art I am talking about specifically really is a child. I don’t urge anyone to look at it, but it is gojo depicted as a child of maybe 8 - 10 years old. I’m not using the term child as an umbrella term for minors here).
The problem, stated very plainly, is that the post/s he is engaging with are sexual depictions of a child with the purpose of sexual gratification. That’s the point here. It’s not the dark content, but rather that he is retweeting posts depicting a child of about 8-10 engaged in sexual acts and created for the purpose of sexual gratification.
Once again, this is not a condemnation of dark content. Dark content can be used in so many valuable ways— facing trauma, dealing with taboo subjects, exploring the literary world in a safe and healthy way. As someone who actively consumes dark content, I will be the first to tell you this. However there should always be limits to the types of content produced. Gaining any kind of gratification from looking at a child being a*saulted is disgusting. It is p*dophillic. Especially when he actively engages with minors on his platform.
This is not a conversation of morals— which side is right and wrong. But rather a conversation about the safety of children. This is not a conversation about ageing up as that is not what he is doing. The characters being depicted here are not being aged up, rather are being depicted as minors, or literal children being used for the sexual gratification of adults.
The issue here is a p*dophile. Not dark content. Not anything else.
CONCLUSION.
I’ll be honest, post was extremely hard for me to create. Discovering that someone I once thought was close to me is this kind of person feels disgusting and abhorrent. I honestly wish I never had the displeasure of meeting them in the first place.
Hopefully, by the end of this post you are able to see the kind of person Ezra really is. I could not be silent about this. I knew that the moment all I found all of this out. This post has been very difficult for me to write, but I hope by the end of it some good will come. Some people will be able to avoid interacting with this man.
I believe Ezra needs professional help, and truly hope that he is able to get it some day soon.
Please be careful with who you interact with on the Internet. Adults and minors alike, there are predators everywhere. Please try your best to stay safe in your own online spaces. All of the love in my heart goes out to anyone who has survived child expl*itation. I hope for nothing but the best for you in the future.
Thank you all for taking the time to read this post. I know it is long and triggering for most people. I hope you all have wonderful days and try your best to take care of yourself.
Listed below are some important numbers I would like to bring awareness to before this post is over.
National Child Ab*se Hotline (USA): 1-800-422-4453
National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (USA): 1-800-843-5678
The National Sexual A*sault Hotline (USA): 1-800-656-4673
Childline (UK): 0800-1111
International Child Helpline: 116-111
TLDR: Ezra has a Twitter account where he retweeted artwork of a child gojo being a*saulted by an adult toji. He liked as well as created posts depicting under*ge characters (literally tagged with ‘under*ge’). All while being mutuals with a 16 year old on tumblr.
Tags used to try and spread awareness. I tried to mostly include fandoms that he is in.
UPDATE: lmfao, he has since deleted the retweet of sh*ta gojo after he was called out. Literally proving that it was him.
#jjk x reader#tokyorev x reader#bluelock x reader#jujutsu kaisen#gojo x reader#toji x reader#jjk#gojo satoru#itadori x reader#choso x reader#mahito x reader#megumi x reader#nobara x reader#jjk fanart#nanami x reader#tokyo revengers#mikey x reader#baji x reader#hanma x reader#rin x reader#sae x reader#isagi x reader#tw discourse#saintsugu
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Chris giving reader his hoodie even though they are just friends but like each other secretly
friendly cuddles - c.s
you stood outside a restaurant in LA with madi, the triplets and nathan (who was visiting from boston) as you waited for them to get the other guests seated before letting you in.
nick had made plans for all of you to go out to dinner before nate had to go home, wanting his friends last night in LA to be with everyone.
despite having on a relatively warm outfit, especially compared to madi’s, you were still shivering up a storm in your space between nick and chris. the movements were enough for nick to speak up about it,
“why are you shaking like that, girl?” nick looked away from the camera, the one recording for their vlog, and over to you.
“i’m cold.” you simply said, not feeling the need to push the matter any further.
“how?” madi furrowed her brows, a small smile covering her features, “you’re wearing more clothes than me.”
it was true.
while she wore a dress and a thin jacket, you opted for something on the more comfortable, yet cute side.
“she gets cold easily.” your bestfriend, chris spoke up for you, silently removing his own jacket to wrap around your shoulders, unaware of the eyes watching his every movement.
he stepped behind you so the natural heat coming from his body could push towards you. you sighed contently, wanting to melt in his arms at the contact.
from the corner of your eye, you could see matt and nate share a look, the pair of friends raising their brows at one another.
it was no secret within the friend group that you and chris felt some way about each other.
even you and chris knew you liked one another.
the only thing was that even after the many hints and obvious signs that you two liked each other, you both weren’t very good with commitment — far too scared of getting hurt, so your relationship now was something you were both completed okay with.
you weren’t too good with communication either.
you sort of just came to a silent agreement that you were together without actually being together. best friends who cuddle and hold hands but never risk furthering the relationship by kissing. but neither of you would dare to talk to anyone else romantically.
“how cute is that?” nick teased, earning an eye roll from chris, the boy wrapping his arms over your shoulders, fully pressing his chest to your back.
he let out a small hum. he could smell the perfume he got you for your birthday waft towards him, almost tempting him in a way, begging him to pull you closer.
he prayed that you wouldn’t feel the intense pounding of his heart through the large amount of fabric covering your goosebump covered skin.
“so cute that it makes me wanna spew.” nathan smiled, holding his hand to his chest.
“you guys are hilarious.” chris mocked them, subconsciously rocking your bodies side to side.
“i know we are. what’s even more hilarious is your denial of love.”
“we’re not denying anything…”
“yeah, there’s nothing wrong with friendly cuddles.”
“we know how we feel and we’re fine where we’re at.” chris finished, earning a nod of agreement from you.
it wasn’t a lie. you were both completely fine how you were as of right now. conversations need to be had eventually. but for now, you were chill.
“and now you’re finishing each others sentences?” matt gasped playfully, earning laughs from the other three, “you’re practically married already.”
“bro, shut up. like she said, it’s just friendly cuddles.”
despite pretending he didn’t care, chris’ couldn’t help the way his cheeks warmed up. he pulled you closer to him, if that were even possible, pressing a very friendly kiss to the top of you head.
taglist: @hearts4chris @timmyandsturniolo @mayhem-72 @luvsturns @knowingnothingnoel @mrsmattyb @itzdarling @julliaaaaaaaaaaaaa @dracoflaco @heartsforchrisandmatt @lily-strnlo @alliehansson @stinkytwinkwinky
#sturniolo triplets#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo
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The Decision
Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader, minor Harwin Strong x Velaryon!Reader, Rhaenyra Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader
Again another AU with the reader of The Sea Dragon, The Clubfoot and The Green Queen (you don't need to read it to understand this one shot because this story starts LONG BEFORE the canon of that universe).
Summary: When King Viserys announces that he plans to marry you, you make a decision to avoid becoming the king's wife.
Now you can read this bonus!
TW: This is NSFW (if you don't like it you can read only the Rhaenyra and Harwin parts)
I was dying to share this with all of you so I hope you like it!
If you want to read more of this Reader and Daemon, don't hesitate to let me know in the comments or in my inbox 🤭
REBLOGS, comments and likes are always greatly appreciated 🥰🥰💖💖
Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. Also this is my first smut so sorry if it's weird to read.
You felt your heart hammering as you waited for the king to make his announcement. Your stomach wouldn't stop spinning and you have no idea how you still hadn't vomited up what you had for breakfast.
With every passing second you have to keep yourself from running out of the council chambers. You couldn't stop looking at your father, a part of you wanted to take his hand and ask him to get you out of here but you didn't trust him anymore. You were in this situation because of him. You always knew that your father is a proud and ambitious man but you never thought that his ambition would be greater than his love for you. If your father really loved you he wouldn't have sent you to the king's chambers. He wouldn't have made you start wearing dresses that showed more skin for your visits with him. Gods, you wanted to hit your father so badly, you wanted to wipe the smile off his face because both he and you knew what Viserys was going to announce. Everyone knew it, you noticed that Otto Hightower was trying to hide his annoyance from everyone, the only one who seemed unaware of the tension in the room was Rhaenyra.
“I have decided to take a new wife,” the king began and you noticed how he and Rhaenyra exchanged a look. You were surprised to see your cousin nod as if she was permitting him to move on. Did Rhaenyra know? Did she approve of this? “I intend to get married,” he continued, this time looking at you and your father. You forced a smile as you dug your nails into your palms, feeling helpless for being in this situation “with Lady Y/N Velaryon before spring.”
Your eyes met Rhaenyra's purple ones. There was none of the love or fun you usually saw. Now she was looking at you with a mixture of pain and fury. The pain in your stomach got worse. Nyra had never looked at you like that. This shouldn't be happening.
It was obvious that she didn't know that her father was planning to marry you. You wanted to scream, you wanted to hug her and tell her that this wasn't what you wanted, that you weren't trying to steal her mother's place, that you would never do anything to hurt her.
"Rhaenyra" the king called her but the princess left the chambers anyway. You couldn't take this anymore so you went after her, ignoring your father's calls.
You followed the princess. You could feel the fabric of your dress sticking together due to perspiration, you didn't know if it was because of your nerves or because you were practically almost running after Rhaenyra. It was uncomfortable but right now you didn't care. You needed to clear things up with her. You couldn't stand that she hated you.
"Nyra" you called when she finally stopped. You two were in the gardens, in front of the heart tree. Where more than once you had Rhaenyra lay with her head in your lap while you sang her any song she wanted. Where you two used to stay out in the sun complaining about the septa's lessons while you combed her hair. This tree has so many good memories and now you fear there will be no more.
"How could you?!" she yelled at you furiously. She couldn't believe how you had been by her side, comforting her, accompanying her in her grief, remembering the stories the both shared with her mother so that later you went behind her back to conquer her father. When her father told her that he needed to take another wife she thought it would be Laena Velaryon. Not from you. Never from you. You were supposed to be hers.
"Please, Nyra, don't hate me" you begged and grabbed her hands desperately, pulling her closer to you "I swear I didn't want this but my father" you shook your head and forced yourself to continue talking trying to ignore the knot in your throat "I'll find a way to fix this, I promise" you kissed her hands.
The princess studied you for a few minutes. She needed to check that you weren't faking this just to avoid her anger. Your eyes seemed to be glazed over from the tears you were holding back and your hands clung to her desperately.
“I believe you,” she finally said and you sighed in relief.
"Thank you", you said with a shaking voice
This time it was Rhaenyra who kissed your hands and rested her forehead against yours. You closed your eyes feeling at peace for a moment knowing that she didn't hate you.
"I won't marry your father, Nyra. I promise."
If it weren't for the fact that she was now the heir to the throne, Rhaenyra would have told you that you would run away with her, that the two of you would go together on your dragons and travel the world together, and that you didn't need a husband, that if you wanted her, she would take you as a wife. But now she had obligations, she couldn't abandon everything for you even if her heart screamed for her to do so.
After clearing things up with Rhaenyra you went to your chambers. Of course, your father was waiting for you, he scolded you for your abrupt departure but he left you alone once you told him that you had managed to calm the princess's annoyance. Being alone you decided to put your plan into action, first you took a bath with the purpose of relaxing and getting rid of any trace of nerves you had before, then you put on one of your simplest dresses and placed a hooded cape on top to hide your hair. You were leaving the castle and you didn't need anyone to follow you.
You successfully slipped away and headed out into the streets in search of Harwin. You knew that today he had to stand guard on the streets of Flea Bottom. A girl in your position shouldn't be here but you didn't care. You needed to talk to him as soon as possible.
“Harwin” you called him when you finally found him.
“Lady Velaryon, you should not be here,” said the guard, gently hugging you by the shoulders and taking you to a corner further away from the people.
It felt bad to hear him call you in such a formal way when for weeks he had been calling you by your name or “sunshine”, the nickname he had given you. You remember like it was yesterday when you kissed him for the first time after he explained to you that the reason he called you that was because you brightened his days every time he saw you.
This sudden formality was like a slap in the face and he confirmed what you already feared.
“You know,” you declared sadly.
“My father told me,” he admitted, releasing you. You weren't surprised since Lyonel is on the council and had been present at this morning's meeting. You suspected that Harwin's father thought it would be best for him to find out from him rather than from someone else since you were sure that Lord Strong and your parents knew about the meetings between you and Harwin. You thought it was no secret that he was courting you, but apparently, not everyone knew because otherwise, Viserys would not have chosen you as his wife. Or maybe he knew but didn't care.
“This doesn't have to change what's between us,” you said as you stood on tiptoe to have his face closer to yours. “I don't want to marry the king. I want you” you whispered against his lips but without touching them. Harwin had to control himself from closing the small distance between you and kissing you. “Make me your wife,” you asked before capturing his lips with yours.
You froze when Harwin walked away from you.
“I can't,” he whispered and closed his eyes to avoid seeing the disappointment on your face.
“I thought you loved me” In your voice there was more anger than sadness but your body language was different, you found yourself hugging yourself trying to comfort yourself. You were disappointed.
“I do,” he stated firmly, opening his eyes so you could see that he spoke sincerely. “I love you. If it were any other man he would fight for you but…”
His silence told you everything. He loved you but it's not enough to face the king.
“You're a coward,” you spat and left the way you came.
You didn't really think Harwin was a coward but you were hurt by his rejection. You felt stupid to believe that whatever Harwin felt for you would be bigger than any coherent thought but you can't blame him after all any intelligent person would be afraid to go against the king's wishes and steal his fiancée…
But all was not lost, you knew someone well who was not afraid of Viserys and could help you. It was a desperate move and your parents would think you were an idiot for this but you refuse to be the king's wife. You had seen how as the years went by and with each pregnancy, Queen Aemma deteriorated. You didn't want the same thing.
You wrote to Daemon. You told him that the king wanted to marry you but that you were seeking to avoid this marriage and that you needed his help. You waited anxiously for his response while you had to feign excitement every time someone talked about your wedding preparations. Luckily it didn't take that long for a crow to arrive with the rogue prince's answer. There were no reassuring words in his letter, the only thing the scroll said was "Come to Dragonstone."
And that's what you did. Nobody suspected when the next day you went on the back of your dragon since everyone knew that there was not a day in which you did not disappear for a couple of hours to go flying with Nightwing.
"My prince, Lady Y/N Velaryon!" The guard announced your arrival before letting you enter the chambers where the prince was staying.
Daemon, who had seen you approach with Nightwing from the window, had his back turned but turned to look at you. He hasn't seen you in months. Your hair was longer and you seemed to have changed the way you dressed. The blue dress you were wearing seemed to have more cleavage, it wasn't anything scandalous enough for the court to talk about but it did draw attention.
"It's good to see you, Y/n" Daemon stated making you smile. You were sure that this was the first sincere smile you had given in days.
You waited for the guard to leave. Once you heard the sound of the door closing, you began to walk towards the prince without haste, trying to show as much confidence as possible. Normally you wouldn't be nervous around Daemon but you hadn't seen him in months and he was the only person who could help you. You didn't want to ruin this.
*I'm wondering the same. These months without you were boring "You weren't lying or trying to sugarcoat it to achieve your goal, it was simply the truth. Every time he leaves court you wish for his return.
"You still didn't come after me" Daemon held back his smile when he saw the surprise in your eyes.
He liked seeing that look in your eyes. Every time he brings you something new from his travels, every time he teaches you a new move in the training yard, every time he asks you for his favor in tournaments. How he had missed seeing her. He wouldn't tell you but he had missed you these past few months. So imagine his fury when after so long the first news he receives from you is that his brother plans to marry you. You are too much of a woman for Viserys. Her brother wouldn't know what to do with you. You would spend the rest of your life bored. Daemon couldn't allow it.
"I didn't know you wanted that," you said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"I invited you to go with me on my next trip, didn't I?"
Before Queen Aemma's death, when you helped Daemon put on his armor for the tournament you complained about the lengthening of his travels. The prince's response was to invite you to go with him next time. You were so excited to accompany him on his trips that you didn't wait for the tournament to end to ask your parents for permission. But then Aemma died and you didn't dare leave Rhaenyra.
You laughed. “That wasn't a trip, Daemon. Viserys exiled you.”
"And now he will exile you" he mocked, making you irritated but you quickly forgot about your irritation when Daemon placed his hands on your waist and pulled you closer to him, leaving your bodies pressed together. You should be uncomfortable with this but you're not. "You understand? Right? You know what you were asking for when you asked me for help?" He asked, studying your reaction. He needed to see that you really understood what you were about to do. This was your time to repent. But he didn't find uncertainty in your eyes if not desire, you looked at him with pure desire.
"I know," you responded, trying to ignore the flutter of emotion you felt at the intensity of the prince's gaze. You should be against doing this after all your reputation would be ruined but deep down you always wanted to have even a little bit of Daemon.
In reality, there was always a tension between the two of you. More than once you two ended your fights in the yard more irritated than you were before you started because after so much friction, touching, and sweat you both wanted to do something else that you couldn't. You didn't want to be the other woman and Daemon for once wanted to make things right with you. He hoped that one day Viserys would annul his marriage to Rhea Royce to take you as his wife. That day never came but that didn't matter anymore.
"You will take me as your second wife" While you spoke your eyes couldn't help but stop a couple of times on his lips.
Daemon tilted his head a little and gently brushed aside a strand of hair to whisper in your ear "I'll do it. If you want that" you shivered as you suddenly felt his breath on your neck. It doesn't take long for you to feel his warm lips against your skin. You unconsciously stretched your neck, leaving him free to continue spreading more kisses. With each kiss, you felt your body warmer. You can't help but wonder how his lips will feel just as good on another part of your body. “People will talk about us,” he warned, snapping you out of your fantasy.
You knew what Daemon was referring to, not only would it be a scandal if the king's fiancée married another but also if that other is Daemon Targaryen, the king's brother, and an already married man. People who don't understand his family's customs won't think your marriage is legitimate, and if you were to have children with him people would probably think of them as bastards. Also, the court could compare your marriage to one of Maegor Targaryen's many marriages. The kingdom would talk a lot about you two, even your family's name and respect could be damaged by this. Your father might never want to speak to you again in your life and your mother would be disappointed in you. You had thought about all this at night before receiving the prince's response. And yet you were determined to go ahead with this.
“Are you worried that the court will call you Second Maegor? Because I'm sorry to inform you but they already call you that” you said, managing to make Daemon laugh a little. You smiled when you heard him but your smile was soon replaced by a gasp as you felt his teeth biting into your neck.
“A wife shouldn't make fun of her husband,” he said making you roll your eyes, knowing that he wasn't serious and just wanted to mess with you. “If you marry me, this will not be just a marriage in name.”
You weren't an idiot. It wasn't enough for you to just marry Daemon. Viserys might still want to annul the marriage if he saw that you were a virgin but if it was known that Daemon had already had you then the council would tell the king that he should take another wife.
You walked away from him. “Are you afraid of taking me as your wife? You keep walking around instead of ordering them to start preparing everything for the ceremony. “The prince could see the challenge in his eyes and he loved it.” I'm not a little girl, Daemon. "I know what I'm getting into by marrying you."
And those words were enough for Daemon to finally join his lips with yours. There was nothing soft about his kiss, not like Harwin's. This kiss was hungry, you felt like he was devouring your mouth but you weren't far behind either, taking him by the neck, pulling him closer to you. It seemed as if neither of you two could get enough of the other. Finally giving free rein to the desire the both felt for a long time. You felt his hands trying to untie the back of your dress so you walked away from him with heavy breathing.
“Ah, ah, ah,” you hummed, now placing your hands on his chest, hoping to keep a little more distance. “You can't have me until we're married,” you declared, looking at him mischievously.
“You're so fucking annoying” Daemon complained and tried to kiss you again but you pulled your face away with a teasing smile. "Good. But then you won't leave the room until I'm done with you,” he warned you and he gave you a little squeeze on your waist before leaving, determined to prepare everything in the shortest possible time.
Daemon thinks he'll never get tired of this. See how you move on his cock, how focused you look with every jump you take in search of your pleasure, how you open your mouth and let those sinful sounds escape when you finally find your sweet spot, and above all the feeling of your cunt squeezing his cock.
Hearing Daemon's groan overwhelms you. It overwhelms you because, for the first time, you realize that you have power over him. It's too much to hear him say your name like you're a god while you're riding him. See how hungry he is for you, how he can't seem to get enough of you, how he can't go a minute without his mouth on you, without biting or sucking on your neck, without having his hands touching you. By now your body was covered in hickeys, marks, and bruises leaving the trace of your crime on display. You're sure that tomorrow when the maids came to help you dress they would be horrified to see the mark of Daemon's palms on your thighs after he held you for what seemed like hours while he devoured your cunt over and over again.
Your husband noticed that you were starting to get tired but you still didn't want to stop, not when you were already so close to cumming again but you were too proud to ask him for help.
“Let me take care of it,” he said, stopping to suck on one of your nipples.
He knows how stubborn you are so he didn't even give you a chance to refuse when he lifted you off his cock. You groan against his neck as he pushes you down onto his cock again. He begins to move you up and down as if you weighed nothing.
"Faster" you demanded with heavy breathing, feeling dissatisfied with the pace of his movements.
Daemon doesn't hesitate to follow your orders and makes you bounce faster. His grunts and moans do nothing but send heat to your core. You feel your legs tremble at the speed and depth of his thrusts. You want to have your share and leave your marks on your husband too but you can't focus as much time on biting or sucking on his neck when he's fucking you so good. You sob when you finally feel the knot in your stomach release and you cum on his cock.
Suddenly one of his hands leaves your waist and pulls your hair, stealing a gasp from you, making you stop hiding your face in his neck and thus trap your mouth again in a messy kiss.
"You take me so well," Daemon gasped against your lips, feeling your warm cunt not stop squeezing his cock.
The sound of skin slapping only increases the temperature of the room. Like the groans and gasps. Neither Daemon nor you were trying to be quiet, it was more like you were both competing to see who could make the other louder. You should be embarrassed and try to be quieter, that's what a good lady would do but you couldn't care less what people thought, not when you felt so good. And while you felt how Daemon filled your cunt with his seed a petty part of you couldn't help but think that you were hoping that this would reach Viserys' ears, that one of the servants would write to the king to inform him of the spectacle you and Daemon were putting on so that Viserys wouldn't want to have anything more to do with you.
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Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (II)
The two yokai men reach an agreement and you begin your journey together, searching for clues regarding the mysterious case of your incomplete reincarnation. You learn about the third of the Legendary Yokai, a gargantuan monster worshipped in times of war.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guide]
The next swish of the mysterious man's sword is parred by Kiritsubo, who managed to make his way to you in time.
"Wait! It's not entirely him, Murasaki, I can explain!" He shouts frantically.
"So you let him live. This is why you've never been good for anything." The dark haired man snarls in a low voice, disgust seeping through his sharp teeth.
It becomes obvious rather quickly that he has the advantage in terms of battle experience. You can only stare in fear, stuffing your wound with your jacket sleeve. What else can you do? You're bleeding profusely and if a demon of Kiritsubo's stature cannot compete, you'd be even less helpful.
"Listen to him, man, I genuinely don't know anything about your master!" You beg as your limbs are flooded with a prickling sensation. They're slowly going numb. "Please. I just want to go home."
Damn it. You have no idea whether the bleeding will stop anytime soon. Is this how you die? You won't even get a proper burial. Even worse, your family will live on thinking you vanished without a trace, unaware you've been stabbed to death by a crazy jackass in feudal Japan. You wish you could make them stop.
You squeeze your eyes tightly, trying to think of a way to escape, when you hear both men groan in pain. You look ahead to see them on the ground, clinging tightly to their chests, faces twisted in a grimace. Huh? They couldn't have killed each other in the few seconds they were out of your view. What is going on?
After a few agonizing moments, the yokai seem to calm down. Kiritsubo is gasping for air, clumsily pulling himself back up. Murasaki remains on the grass, forcing himself to appear collected despite the cold sweat coating his forehead.
"That's...what...I...meant..." The silver haired demon groans between hitched breaths. "Whew. You see it now, don't you? She doesn't emanate enough power to pull this off. It's coming from somewhere else."
Murasaki clicks his tongue in visible annoyance.
"So then, what do you suggest?"
"I don't know. But something is stopping you from killing her and there's a chance she's connected to the source."
"What are you guys whispering about?" You inquire, crawling closer towards the horned men. "And why did you suddenly collapse? You scared the hell out of me!"
"You didn't feel anything?" Kiritsubo questions you with raised eyebrows.
"Besides the, I don't know, stab wound? No, thankfully." You respond sarcastically.
Without a word, Murasaki stands up and approaches you. He crouches down to your level and nonchalantly slaps your hand away from your shoulder.
"Hey!"
"Have you ever tended to a wound in your life? You're shit at it." He uses his sword to cut off your sleeve and folds it over your gash with calculated movements. You hiss at the pain and glare at him. "Bite down on a stick if you can't handle it. Better than being dead."
The white haired yokai flashes you an awkward but reassuring smile.
"He might be an ass about it, but he knows what he's doing."
"Why are you helping me, anyways?" you point out, somewhat wary. "You literally tried to kill me a moment ago."
"I changed my mind. You'll help us find the damned bastard or whatever it is he's using to control us."
"What, the priest? Hell no, I'm going back to my world. I've had enough action for the rest of my life."
Murasaki finishes bandaging you and gives you one final press, almost as if messing with you, and you wince. He stands up and slides his sword back in its sheath.
"If you focus a little, you will find there was no question or request in my words. I'm not negotiating with a weakling like you."
Kiritsubo squats down before you and claps his hand together, pleadingly.
"Please think about it, (Y/N). I know you don't owe us anything, but there's a chance we could finally break the seal and be free. If you'd consider helping us. You can walk away, but that won't change the fact you're part of Abe no Nakamaro. He will want his powers back at some point, and we can protect you when the time comes."
You cross your arms and frown thoughtfully, pondering the options. He did save you twice already. So in a way, you're indebted to him. And if he's right, and you will have to deal with more crazy encounters in the future, it's probably better to have two powerful demons by your side.
"Alright, alright. I'll help you." You exclaim with a confident nod.
Kiritsubo grins, satisfied, and Murasaki huffs and looks away. There's a prolonged silence as you wait for them to continue with further instructions, but the men remain quiet.
"So...what now?" you eventually speak up.
"Oh. I thought you knew where to go next." the silver haired man retorts, confused.
"Idiot. She's not a compass." Murasaki scolds him. "Can you stand?" He adds, turning to you. "There's a shrine a few kilometers away that belonged to him. If we leave now, we should make it before sunset. Maybe we can find something there."
You try to prop yourself up, but Kiritsubo promptly scoops you with his sinewy arm and throws you on his back again.
"I'll carry you. Just hold on."
A faint blush dusts your cheeks, but you don't have the energy to argue it. You clutch onto his broad shoulders and nod.
The walk is uneventful and both yokai seem to be distracted. The gentle swaying is causing you to be more comfortable than you'd like to admit and your eyelids become heavy with exhaustion. Before you know it, your head drops against the toned back and you fall asleep.
By the time you open your eyes again, you've already reached your destination. You yawn and stretch, lazily scanning the surroundings. A heavy shadow looms over you and you glance up. Still groggy from your nap, you scream before you can fully process the object towering above.
It's a statue. A colossal statue of some sort of monster. A demon with thick, wide bull horns sprawling out imposingly, almost eclipsing the ridiculously muscular build. The creature has four arms, flexed in a threatening manner, with one hand gripping a heavy spear and the other a skull. The crimson light of the sunset creeps through the windows and reflects against the chiseled clay, giving the statue a devilish glow. You feel insignificant.
"That's Suma."
"W-what?" your head tilts to Kiritsubo.
"He's one of us. You might meet him soon, if he's been alerted of your presence. This is a shrine built for him, to bring good fortune during times of war."
You cannot help but gawk at the structure.
"Is it, uh, life sized?"
"Heh, almost. He's a little taller than this." He chuckles, slightly nostalgic.
You swallow dryly. Just a moment ago you thought Kiritsubo was unusually big.
"I'd rather not meet him, to be honest." You shiver at the idea.
"Don't worry about it. Now that Murasaki has joined us, you're pretty much safe from anything. He's the strongest of us." The yokai remarks with a sad smile.
"Really?"
You peek at the dark haired man, currently flipping through dusty manuscripts, and briefly observe him. Compared to Kiritsubo, he's quite slender, with noble, elegant features. And he'd be able to defeat this enormous beast? Then again, the glimpse you've caught of his swordsmanship is enough of a convincing argument.
What a bizarre gathering of creatures beyond your understanding.
You remember to look away when Murasaki grunts and throws the remaining scroll of paper. His lips form a thin line as he rakes his mind for the next step.
"Nothing here. But I'm rather certain he has to be at one of his hideouts. We'll check each and one of them if we have to."
"Wait, are you saying he's still alive? We saw his body before Sekiya and Sakaki took him for the embalming and burial."
Murasaki scoffs at his partner's gullible nature.
"And you believed it? That parasite spent his entire life searching for ways to prolong his reign. He's probably hiding somewhere, waiting for his renewed part of the soul to return to him."
He rests against the wall and points a clawed finger at you.
"This must've been his solution. Releasing his remaining energy until it found a proper vessel to grow stronger, and patiently awaiting the body swap. Then we go back to being whipped dogs fulfilling his whims."
It's your turn to be outraged, twisting your mouth downwards.
"No way, I'll pound that old man into sand!" You bark and throw a jab against the air, emphasizing your threat. "As if I'd just hand myself over."
"I'm not sure if it'll be that easy, (Y/N)..." Kiritsubo glances at you with a hurt expression. "He's a terrifying, vengeful bastard."
"Not if we find him first and take him out." Murasaki counters with a glint of determination in his eyes. "Humans need to rest, don't they? We'll spend the night here and tomorrow we head out. Kiritsubo, find me a map so we can keep track of the locations. I'll bring the wood for a fire."
And with this, he marches out. Kiritsubo scurries to his duty and you quietly follow his movements. He seems to be used to executing Murasaki's orders. You hadn't considered their group dynamic much, but it appears to have some rather complex hierarchies involved. You almost wish you could witness all of them together, wondering how they'd interact with each other.
Who knows? If you stick around, it could happen eventually. Murasaki was surprisingly easy to convince, so the other yokai might as well agree to keep you alive until you find their source of misfortune. Heh. Almost like a harem, or something. You snicker to yourself.
Which reminds you...
The fire has been lit and Murasaki mumbles something about guarding the perimeter. This time you hurry outside after him. You reach out to the dark haired man and pull on his kimono sleeve.
He turns to you, mildly irked.
"What?"
"Teach me how to use a sword." You state with the assertiveness of an order.
"Why? I can assure you I'm more than enough. I've never been defeated." He stares at you, incredulous.
"I don't want to rely on you all the time. You're already this close to being unbearable", you explain, pinching your fingers together. "Besides, if I'm going to be stuck among beasts, I'd very much prefer being the one doing the cool stuff."
And with that, you pretend to slice through an invisible enemy, whistling the sound of your sword cutting through the air. You furrow your eyebrows, imitating the engrossed expression of a seasoned samurai in the middle of a battleground. Murasaki quickly lifts a hand to his mouth - did he chuckle just now? - and responds, the faintest amusement in his voice:
"As you wish. But I'm warning you now, I won't hold back."
"I've been injured twice in less than 24 hours, I'm sturdy enough." You answer, patting your chest proudly.
Next time one of the Legendary Yokai comes for you, you won't be as vulnerable. That's for sure.
#female reader#yandere#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#monster x reader#yandere yokai#yokai x reader#yandere demon#yandere monster#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines#male yandere x reader#yandere original character#yandere oc#original character#original work#yokai oc
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HOW THE GENSHIN MEN FIND YOU DRUNK
pairing(s). kaeya, diluc, zhongli, childe, ayato, thoma, tighnari, kaveh, wanderer x gn!reader
genre. fluff + mentions of alcohol use ofc + reader is a lightweight (welcome to my life guys <3)
wc. 400-800 for each character
an. SOOOOO this was inspired by a cdrama i watched back in 2021 and when i saw it i just HAD to write about it <3 also i think i had a bit too much fun on zhongli’s and childe’s i hope its not so obvious dear god. also??? for some reason the ones i had the hardest time writing for ended up being the longer parts omg
kaeya alberich
after spending some time upstairs with a couple of treasure hoarders who were completely unaware of being thoroughly deceived by the cunning cavalry captain, kaeya decides to head down and run over the knowledge he collected with mond’s famed beverage, death after noon.
but as he walks down the staircase, he spots a familiar figure sitting by the bar. he squints his eye slightly, almost not believing the sight in front of him. is that y/n? on the high stool by the bar? dozing off to only a few shots of liquor? tonight just became even more interesting. now he’s starting to wonder what things you would say under the influence—for no shady reasons, obviously, as he genuinely enjoyed your company and witiful mouth. he’s just a curious man with the goal of unveiling a few other things about you.
he makes a beeline to the bar, setting himself on your right side so you’re in his line of vision. glancing around, he motions for charles for his death after noon. kaeya only turns to you once his drink arrives, quickly giving you a once over. seeing as how it looked like you came to angel’s share after work he might as well stir up a conversation.
your vision is blurry but you can definitely feel the presence of another person beside you. as you lift your head from your crossed arms, your brows crease in irritation. which imbecile decided to disturb your time alone? you’re literally brooding over the fact that captain kaeya would never be yours, so you irresponsibly decided an hour ago that some liquor would magically help you forget your worries.
you’re ready to scare the person off with a glare but what you’re met with is quite literally, much worse (because your glares don’t work on him and also because he's part of the reason you’re in your drunken state).
kaeya chuckles at your expression. “why the long face? it’s just me.”
you rub your eyes, groaning from the bitterness lingering in your throat. of all people, you weren’t expecting him. “you never stop by on wednesday’s. is something up?” you ask drowsily as kaeya watches you pick up your glass, clumsily squinting at the bottom of it to see if there was any more of your liquor left.
kaeya dodges your question, humming, “y/n sweetheart, you look like you’re on the brink of passing out.” he tilts his head, observing your flushed expression. if you can’t handle your liquor, he doesn’t mind taking you back home if it means securing your safety.
“am not,” you reply, turning your gaze to him. it’s all thanks to the alcohol that you can do so when in reality you actually struggle to maintain eye contact with him. “you… you haven’t answered my question yet. why’re you here?” your voice is hoarse and you’ve made enough voice cracks to entertain a crowd, but kaeya finds it rather endearing instead.
kaeya could reply honestly. but this conversation is one to be forgotten after you woke up tomorrow morning. he could lie and you would never know he did, but for a reason unknown the lie he was supposed to tell never left his lips. instead he blurts out the plain truth.
“somebody has to be responsible for you, y’know,” kaeya teases you with a grin but his actions are the opposite of his tone. he stands from his seat, pulling your arm over his shoulders to support your weight even when you attempt to resist his help. he keeps your body close to his so you don’t fall over. hopefully you’re drunk enough to be oblivious of the erratic beats of his heart alongside the cautious and warm touch of his hand on your waist.
diluc ragnvindr
he still can’t believe he has such a massive crush on you. it’s almost embarrassing to let others know about this secret because nobody would expect someone like diluc to have a thing for you. it’s even harder to hide that fact when you’re sitting at a table with venti and kaeya. they’re laughing their asses off at some joke you told them.
“cheers to y/n!” venti hollers, cheeks undeniably pink. “you are paying for this, right?” he leans back down momentarily, making you release another burst of laughter from your lungs at the way he mentioned it. “of course!”
after chatting, you decide to greet the man of the house by the bar. it’s been a while since you’ve seen the master diluc of dawn winery anyway. as you get up from the table to make your way over, you accidentally bump into a crowd of big, brawny adventurers who’ve just arrived.
“oh—!” tripping backwards, your hands fail to find something to keep yourself on your feet before your fall is cushioned by someone.
they hold onto your shoulder as your back collides with their chest. the force from being pushed aside has you breathing unsteadily, and it doesn’t help that you’re pretty tipsy right now too. however, despite how tipsy you are, you feel as though air is sucked right out of your lungs when you spot a tuft of crimson red hair from the corner of your eye.
you stand right up immediately, facing the person you fell onto.
“master diluc!” the dazed and naive look on a drunkard's face normally doesn’t appeal to diluc but this expression on yours actually makes you look rather adorable. your eyes are half-lidded and your smile is lopsided, and oh if he could squish those cheeks of yours-
“uh, master diluc?” you blink, toning your voice down a bit.
“oh.” diluc slides out of his mindscape, paying attention to your words. “yes? would you like a drink on the house?” because if you actually asked that, he would have sent one your way on the spot.
you wave your hands dismissively. “n- no no, not that! i was just asking how you were doing. you haven’t stopped by angel’s share since last month, i thought something was up so when i heard you were here today i…” you trail off, realising that you’re rambling and that diluc probably didn’t want to be greeted like this after taking a month off but when you look back at him, he’s still looking at you (and has been since you fell into his arms).
diluc raises his brow when he no longer hears your voice. but when he sees an expectant look in your eyes, he offers you his arm with a smile. “how about you tell me everything by the bar? that way i can serve you properly.”
your cheeks burn like a wild bonfire as you take his arm, now struggling to find excuses to somehow change the topic of conversation because if you continued your sentence from a minute ago, you would have exposed your secret attraction for the man in front of you.
(funny how you don’t even need kaeya or venti to expose you, you’re already the man for the job!)
diluc senses your sudden nervousness at the invitation. he does his best to bite away at the fond smile making its way to his lips. if he can help calm your nerves then maybe you’ll tell him about how much you missed his company at the tavern.
zhongli
zhongli didn’t know that his late night stroll around the streets of chihu rock would include witnessing your drunk state at third-round knockout. the streets have thinned out and it’s rather late too. he wonders what brought you over to the distinguished tavern.
the curious adeptus makes silent haste to peer over your shoulder. a cup in your hand and your head is lolling over. putting two and two together, you must have had your fill of alcohol for tonight.
zhongli finds himself chuckling before neatly folding his hands behind his back. “i wonder how y/n is faring on this wonderful night?”
your head snaps out of your drunken state momentarily, the coherent cells in your brain recognise that voice immediately but your vision is blurry. so instead of being able to greet the gentleman with dignity and grace, you end up tripping over the levelled bricks below you.
“oh—!”
zhongli is quick to open his arms and catch you, his reflexes still polished despite his retirement as the geo archon. your head bumps into his chest as you grunt at the slight fright. and after regaining your foothold on the bricked ground, it comes to your attention that your body is flat against the man in front of you. more specifically, his arms are wrapped around your waist to keep you steady and your hands are fumbling awkwardly in the air because you don’t know where to put them.
looking up to meet zhongli’s eyes is exactly what you expected but you can never maintain eye contact with him. it’s not your fault he’s so handsome! his kind gesture makes your cheeks warm up, and he probably doesn’t even mean anything out of it but sometimes your mind likes to be a little creative and indulges you in a variety of impossible scenarios.
“archons, zhongli i’m sorry—i didn’t see you i—”
“it’s not a problem, y/n. shall i walk you home?” zhongli offers, voice gentle and non-judgemental, like you didn’t just trip over a couple of bricks.
you shake your head, earning a raised brow from him. “i only live a few minutes away. plus, look at the time, we’ll look weird.”
“holding you in my arms will not make us look weird, rather i believe this is appropriate for us both. don’t you think?” the way zhongli tilts his head to the dominating tone in his voice makes you feel so small.
“i mean—sure but,” you reply, not daring to look directly into his eyes unless you were going to expose your hidden feelings for him. “but i’m drunk. it’s my fault, i can take myself ho—” your words are caught in your throat when zhongli lifts you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style down the steps and continuing down the street to bring you home.
this extra pinch of boldness is something that lays dormant within zhongli. but it always comes alive when you’re around. he has spent enough time around mortals to pick up the signs of the heart. your reactions to his touch, your flickering gaze and the heat from your face is no brainer. however, he will have to properly communicate with you when you’re sober.
for now, he only hopes that you will disregard the warmth radiating off his neck when you lean in to rest your forehead there.
childe
he’s dancing. dancing to his heart’s content. the band plays the second to last song but the harbinger barely feels like he’s lived up to the heights of the night. he requires more vigour, more energy from his dancing partners. sure, they were all wonderful dancers but he’s really only waiting for someone else to enter his field of vision.
childe knows you’re around here somewhere, you told him personally a week before the ball that you and your father were invited. after all, only the most distinguished noblemen and women were eligible to attend. and you, being the one and only child of one of the leading snezhnayan trade merchants, are an obvious guest on the list of invites.
childe dances, switching and gliding between different and eager dance partners, secretly hoping that the next gloved hand he would take would be yours. unfortunately, for the second to last song, he still doesn’t manage to find you amongst the crowd of participants dancing. so when the music stops he makes sure to return everyone a wave and entertain those who greet him warmly, doing everything in his power to stop the itch of impatience showing on his sweaty face. thankfully, he manages to maintain a calm and composed expression.
childe’s head perks up to a certain sound. amongst the music, the cheers and the clings of wine glasses he recognises a laugh. a laugh, to the extent of his knowledge, only he’s able to get out of you. he brings his wine glass away from his lips, licking the remnants of it from his bottom lip as he captures the sight of you chatting away with other guests.
scanning the guests’ faces, he concludes that they’re harmless thanks to information he was told prior to the event. so he makes his way over, smoothly including himself in conversation just to make an excuse to the other guests to ‘borrow your attention’ for a moment.
you take his arm that he offers you, holding your wine glass in your other hand. childe has always been a gentleman towards you, such a passionate person with excellent manners. you’re almost always guaranteed to have a grand time whenever he invites you out (obviously as friends, which you two have made known to the entire town).
“so ajax, tell me about your journey to liyue—” your throat interrupts your speech with a very clear hiccup. “—harbour.” your cheeks burn, quickly apologising for your lack of manners under your breath.
childe hums, loving how you used the name he told you to use when it’s just you and him. “your grace, are you drunk?” he gazes at your flushed face and how your styled hair looks more undone. he thinks you look better this way actually.
“i might be,” you sigh, wanting to hand your glass over to a butler but childe stops you before you can, taking your glass to quickly down the last sips of your beverage.
“ajax, what are you doing?!” you tap his arm repeatedly with concern, telling him to slow down.
you just got that glass a few minutes ago! but besides that, he’s drinking the wine you just had?! what if his lips touch the part yours did on the glass? not that you mind at all—you wouldn’t dare say that out loud but your thoughts are as clear as day on your expression.
childe enjoys the look on your face, satisfied and relieved that you didn’t show a hint of dissatisfaction. “i’ve not had the honour to dance with you tonight.” he passes the empty glass onto a passing butler’s tray. “shall i have the pleasure now?”
kamisato ayato
by this time in the evening, you, thoma and ayaka are probably done playing the hot pot game. which is alright since ayato knew he would return home from business later than usual tonight, but that doesn’t stop him from checking up on all of you. so when he slides the door open to see his faithful retainer, his sister and you sleeping soundly in the designated hot pot room at komore teahouse, the lord cannot help but stifle a fond laugh.
it then comes to his attention that the room reeks of alcohol. oh dear. that explains why everyone’s blacked out.
“‘yato?” he watches you lift your head from the table. ah, you’re still awake… and definitely drunk. no wonder you dropped the formalities all of a sudden. if you were sober you would have rushed to greet him by the door and refer to him by “my lord” despite all the protests he’s made to call you by his first name instead.
ayato hushes you gently, ignoring how his heart skips a beat at the mention of his first name leaving your lips and sits himself beside you. he’s almost taken aback by how you immediately lean onto his body for support. he knew you were an affectionate person but you normally asked before proceeding with anything just in case he felt uncomfortable (surprise! he never did). so seeing this side of you is rather refreshing to his eyes.
“what’re you doing here?” you blink hardly at him but it’s to no avail as the alcohol in your veins distorts your vision.
he brings you closer, gloved hand rising to caress the back of your head. “i just came to visit. however, it didn’t occur to me that you would all have so much fun without my presence.”
“nonsense!” you claim dramatically, a satisfied smile immediately appearing on ayato’s face at your predictable reaction.
you poke his arm you don’t realise is already sat on your waist. you’re too ready to defend your lord from his own words to notice anyway.
ayato scans your face. lavender eyes find your plumped lips, the thin sheen of sweat along your cheeks and your hair attempting to escape the confines of your hairpin—hold on a moment, he got you that hairpin!
the way ayato has to physically restrain a grin from showing on his face is uncharacteristic of him. he’s noticed that he uncovers new parts of himself whenever you’re beside him. such an interesting person you are…
“we were waiting for you—hic—however, we got a little distracted.” you admit, gesturing at ayaka who sleeps soundly on thoma’s jacket. you look up at ayato through your eyelashes, giving him a lopsided smile.
“i remembered your—hic—advice when you said ayaka can’t drink more than a glass. she might even have it worse than me. but thoma, on the other hand, was a completely different story. that man was a mess!” you move your head to look at thoma’s body sprawled over the floor, ugly giggles leaving the back of your throat at how much of an idiot he looks like right now.
your hair tickles ayato’s chin but he pays no mind to it when he’s so immensely amused by your relaxed nature when drunk.
thoma
thoma mentally checks his list of things to do before retiring for the night. his lord is in his office, accompanied by a freshly made pot of tea, his lady should already be sound asleep and the other retainers are also readying to retire too. he sighs to himself, patting his jacket down as he heads to the kitchen to finalise his cleaning.
when he enters the kitchen, he is baffled at the sight in front of him. he stares blankly for a moment to process it.
there’s remnants of sake dripping out of a tipped-over tokkuri and his lover who plays with the o-choko absentmindedly with their finger, drawing invisible lines along the rim. thoma stifles a giggle, a curled finger covering his lips.
his giggle sends your consciousness back into focus. you only have the power to tilt your head ever so slightly to the right, your movements pausing on the o-choko when your gaze falls upon the view of your lover.
“tho—ma,” your cracked voice calls for him, making him rush toward you in such fondness so he could pinch your cheeks.
“oh, y/n, what are you doing?” thoma asks as giggles leave his lips, watching you squint at him dazedly. “it’s dripping from the corner of your lips as well!” he takes a napkin, sitting next to you to wipe it away gently.
“wh- where’ve you been, pretty?” your words are slurred but thoma hears you perfectly well.
the pet name makes him blush, but you’re too drunk to notice. “i’ve been doing my job—oh, honey—” he huffs when he brings you to lean on him instead. the longer you lay your head on the table, the more you’ll want to throw up later (and thoma makes sure to prevent that from happening).
you giggle at the little voice crack you hear when he calls you by your pet name, leaning onto his chest as your head rests on his shoulder blade. taking advantage of this position, thoma presses a cool ceramic cup filled with water by your lips and when you lazily open your eyes, you see that it’s the glass that’s been sitting on the side from earlier.
“drink up, honey.” you can’t refuse such a request when it’s mumbled so affectionately by your ear. you’re probably even warm at your cheeks from it, but then again, the sake has kept your cheeks warm for a while. you can’t even tell anymore.
after taking a few sips of water, your throat feels fresh and renewed—if thoma heard your thoughts, he would deadpan at you and say “y/n. it’s called getting hydrated” in a sassy little voice. this scenario amuses you and it causes a small laugh to leave your lips.
above you, thoma is confused. “what are you thinking about?” he asks curiously with a smile.
as you rest your head on thoma’s shoulder again, you reply, “you. i’m just thinking about you.”
tighnari
a shout from outside tighnari’s lodging brings his attention away from his documents, brows furrowing and pushing himself up from his chair to see why his forest rangers are making such a fuss at an ungodly hour (yes, tighnari was awake at said ungodly hour but that wasn’t because he was with his fellow rangers after a night out!).
“tighnari, we’re back!” a drunk forest watcher waves and yells at the figure of tighnari, who has his arms crossed in front of him.
a sigh leaves tighnari’s mouth, one of exhaustion, to be precise. “do you intend to wake all of gandharva ville up? go find yourselves home and rest.” he turns around to head back inside until another forest watcher pipes up.
“wait, tighnari! y/n’s black out drunk!” a female forest watcher, who’s eyes can’t even look at a single point any longer due to the alcohol running in her veins, displays your figure with your arm dangling over her shoulders. “you need to take them back, i don’t know where they live!”
tighnari raises a brow and chuckles, shaking his head. “yet you’re sober enough to tell me this.” he walks towards the group of drunkards and collects you easily from the forest watcher, carefully placing your arm over his shoulders while his other hand holds your hip.
you barely know where you are and what’s happening but it appears that your assigned guardian angel for the night has retired and put you in more capable hands—or, arms. you blink in an attempt to gather knowledge of your surroundings but it’s to no avail when everything is a blur of darkness with hints of warm light from the dew lights.
a grunt escapes your lips in slight frustration as you walk away with this other person, but they’re quick to hush you gently and in a soft voice you hear, “i promise we’re almost there, just walk with me, okay?”
“yeah, okay,” you reply promptly but to tighnari’s ears, he’s never heard such a tone in your voice ever since you were recruited. his heart skips a beat and his ear twitches along. it’s rare to see you so vulnerable and he can tell you have no idea that he’s the one carrying you back to… well, his lodging. because your lodging is simply too far away (it’s only a bridge away) and he can’t have you walking any longer when you look like you’re on the verge of passing out!
he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him when his gloved hand holds onto your forearm to keep your body steady against his as he walks you to his lodging. his body is going against him and his heart can only take the blame for such ridiculous delusions. what does he think he will get out of this?
he’s just your chief forest watcher, that’s all he will ever be to you—is what tighnari thinks. but in reality, you only went out with the others to spiral in alcohol due to your failed attempts of romancing your handsome superior. it seemed that the sumeru roses and the letter you left at his doorstep were blown away by the wind (you had to commit blasphemy on that day and curse the anemo archon), the pita pockets you made for him were stolen away by some petty treasure hoarders when you weren’t looking and overall, your thoughts were a mess thinking about your failed attempts. it was like your beloved archon forgot to bless you with wisdom to avoid these situations.
“see! i told you he had a soft spot for them!”
“it’s so obvious the feelings mutual, i can’t believe they didn’t believe us.”
“they’re literally the only one who can’t see it!”
tighnari clears his throat loud enough for the group to hear him. he turns around and gives them a pointed look until they’re all skipping away to their respective lodgings.
he glances at your drunken face for a brief moment and smiles to himself, continuing to walk you back.
it appears that all his worries were meaningless.
kaveh
the sight of you leaning against the door to his home almost makes his soul fly right out of his body.
“hello y/n, i thought we were meeting for dinner?” but when kaveh finally makes it to where you are, you are nowhere near sober. no wonder your figure was leaning against the wood so flimsily. you were akin to a ragdoll at this point. “great heavens, is the end of the world upon us? why are you drunk before me?” he hesitantly collects you in his arms while mehrak hovers beside him. he can’t have you just leaning like that!
“went to… birthday party… drinks…”
that’s enough information to bring kaveh up to speed with the situation. but also… why did you decide to go to his house?! was it instinctive?
kaveh cringes at his thoughts and opens the door with his free hand while his other hand supports you by your waist (he can feel his palm warming up to the touch on your body and it’s making the poor man sweat). “come on in, let’s sober you up.”
when you’re sat nicely on the couch, your eyes are still closed with zero awareness of your surroundings. how your head suddenly tilts backwards at such speed almost brings the most horrific yelp out of kaveh, he’s relieved to know his reflexes are still sharp enough to have caught your head before it snapped right off your neck.
“archons, you’re going to give me a heart attack!” he holds the back of your head and somehow manages to bring your body to lean against the spine of the couch. he doesn’t forget to put a pillow behind your back either, because you being drunk doesn’t mean you’re drunk enough to not feel discomfort.
after collecting himself from that scare, he returns with a cup of water, hands carefully hovering it in front of your lips. “here, drink up,” he says but you keep moving your mouth away from the cup that it’s slowly beginning to irritate him.
“y/n, you need to sober up if you’re going to walk home later,” he tells you in a more serious voice which makes you groan, throwing your head forward into your hands.
“you don’t understand.”
“what don’t i understand?”
what am i doing here? i swear i was in front of my friend's place… how is it that my drunk feet led me here? out of all the places on this continent, why did i take myself to the one place i’m trying to avoid?!
kaveh raises a brow and puts down the glass of water. “is something wrong, y/n? i haven’t even seen you since last week.”
“i’ve been… busy…” trying to keep my feelings at bay!
“i see,” kaveh responds before adding, “do you still feel drunk?”
“i wouldn’t say i’m drunk to the point of passing out—i did feel like that earlier but now that i’m sitting i can at least participate in conversation.” you remove your face from your hands.
why is his face so pink? you think to yourself, grabbing the glass of water from the table to take a sip before leaning back with your free arm supporting you. you grin to yourself, feeling a little cheeky.
you offer the glass of water you just drank from to kaveh, hovering it in front of his lips and you swear you almost watch his eyes fall out of their eye sockets.
“what—what are you doing?!” kaveh’s voice shakes and you let out this cute drunken giggle that makes his heart leap.
“i know i’m the one drunk, but for some reason you look drunk without even having drinks!”
kaveh touches his face and he purses his lips. his cheeks are so used to being hot from being in your presence that he didn’t even realise!
“allow me to assist you.” you lean your body a little closer so you can press the chilled glass of water against kaveh’s cheek.
his bottom lip falls and quivers when you lean closer towards him. last time you were this close, you were putting medication on his face after a run in with fungi.
the coldness of the glass somehow gives him time to think to himself—rationally. maybe in this moment right now he could…
“thank you, y/n.” you’ve never heard this tone in kaveh’s voice, it’s unfamiliar and so… tender. what he does next makes you finally meet his scarlet eyes.
a warm hand wraps around your wrist that holds the glass to his cheeks, your skin immediately lights up in fire at the contact. it makes you gulp so embarrassingly loudly before him.
he leans into the coolness of the glass, gazing at you with such gentle eyes that it’s tempting you to look away. as his thumb gently caresses your skin, he smiles. “it helps.”
wanderer
wanderer returns to his home a little later than usual tonight. he made sure to leave a note on the dining table to let you know of his whereabouts for the day. he knows you have the propensity to worry about him, despite his claims that he’ll be perfectly fine because of how well-versed he is in the arts of defence (and nasty attacks). which is why he left the note on the table, and he acknowledges how it was moved to another spot on the table from this morning.
you’ve seen it. he thinks to himself and now he wonders where you are. you’re not normally out at this time and from your cute daily schedule reports you tell him before bed, he doesn’t remember you mentioning that you would be out until this time. or if you were going out with friends.
that’s alright. wanderer can wait.
the tapping of his own foot is driving the man on edge. it’s been two whole hours—the sun is far beneath the horizon and the birds are already snoring. where the hell are you? wanderer cannot do this anymore, he rises from his seat and takes flight with his anemo abilities.
the city is rather easy to navigate at this height. in the dark, the city is at least still lit up by streetlights and with the help of one nearby lambad’s tavern, he spots your curled figure sitting on the floor very easily.
he hovers over the cement before landing smoothly on his feet. “what are you doing here at this time? it’s so late,” wanderer remarks with irritation, standing in front of you with his arms folded. he stares at your figure with a frown.
“h-huh?” your voice comes out hoarse, lifting your head and your eyes slowly make out the figure of wanderer. “o-oh it’s youi… where’ve you been?” you manage to say despite how the world shakes around you.
“tch, what do you—” wanderer stops himself, raising a brow then finally taking the time to scan your face and posture and it hits him.
you’re fucking drunk.
“you’re insane,” wanderer scoffs, kneeling down to silently take a closer look at your face and body for any drunkenly bruises. “do you even know what time it is? i was waiting for you.” he doesn’t exactly know what to do with his hands but he decides to offer you one to help you get up on your feet.
“you think i’m insane but really, you’re the one doing insane things all the time! you know, like fighting fatui agents in the rain… to avenge a bird!” you put emphasis on the word ‘bird’ and wanderer scoffs at the finger you point at him.
“it was in danger,” he replies simply before sighing, “but that’s not the point. you’re drunk outside at a time like this so i’ll be taking you home now.”
talking to him magically makes you more sober with every passing second. you decide to play with him a little, leaning back on the brick wall as the crease in your brow melts away. “ooh, shouldn’t you take me on a date first?”
wanderer groans, pulling his hand back. he’s never had to deal with you drunk before! so he thinks for a moment, and he stands tall on his feet, turning his head the other direction. “if this is how you will continue to act then i will leave you to your own devices, however if you come back crawling to me—”
wanderer almost gasps at your figure suddenly standing beside him, steady on your feet as you give him a hard and long stare. “you don’t have to tell me twice about how you wait for me at home, i’m well aware of that. complain all you want about me but your words aren’t consistent with your actions, my love.” you slide your hand down his arm to reach for his hand as you lean your head on his shoulder.
you feel him tilt his face in the other direction. curious, you briefly lift your head for a moment to spot your pretty artificial lover gritting his teeth as a sheet of pink blankets his cheeks.
“fool,” he whispers, but there is no malice behind it.
#kaeya x reader#diluc x reader#zhongli x reader#childe x reader#ayato x reader#thoma x reader#tighnari x reader#kaveh x reader#wanderer x reader#genshin x reader#genshin fluff
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Dc x Dp Prompt #31
This is inspired by the various fics & prompts about twins Damian and Danny being separated one way or another, and Damian finding out that Danny was alive this entire time. But think about it this way: what if Damian knew where Danny was this entire time and vice versa?
Because let's think about it:
Danyal and Damian were raised together by the League ever since they were born. Damian was raised to be the future head of the League while Danyal was raised to be his shadow: ever following and watching out for what could possibly be out to attack the future head of the LEague of Assassins.
Truly Danyal didn't have much to call his own. His thought and actions were all surrounding his brother and ensuring that he was old enough to take the mantle of their grandfather. The only thing he could proudly say that he knew about himself was how often he liked to gaze at the stars whenever he had the chance.
Cut to when Talia removes the twins from their grandfathers hold and is telling them about their father. Bruce Wayne: A multi-billionaire and was supposedly unaware of their existence. Because of course he was.
While Damian argued with their mother of leaving them to an unknown man that didn't know about them, Danyal spoke up with own thoughts.
"Damian should go on his own."
The statement shocked both his brother and mother as they stared at him with evident shock at the thought.
Damian called him crazy for suggesting such a thing. That as brothers they would surely show their father how superior they were as their blood sons. But Danyal didn't budge.
Danyal was determined for his brother to go on his own, because from the sound of their father, that life didn't sound like one he could deal with. Being in a large mansion, surrounded by all the needless things. And with their fathers fame, they were bound to be in the limelight one way or another. No. That didn't sound like the life he wanted. But he knew that Damian would fit in such a position.
He tried to convince him that it would be for the best. That he would be better fitting for being Bruce's son while Danyal should go somewhere else. Someplace that wasn't in the limelight of their father. Damian argued that the attention was their birthright while Danyal said that the both of them being there would put an obvious target on their backs, despite their training.
The argument went on for what seemed like hours before it was stopped by Talia. And she agreed that Danyal needed to leave. The decision surprised both brothers. Danyal because she was sure she would have agreed with Damian, and Damian because he was betrayed that their own mother thought that the two was separated.
While relieved that his mother believed that the two separating was a good idea, Danyal noticed that Damian looked truly broken over the idea. And while he did feel a tiny amount of guilt that he was the one separating them, he knew that he needed to do this. To find out his own person.
The twins said their goodbyes to one another. Damian turning to leave before Danyal stepped forward and briefly hugged his brother. With a brief promise that he'll see him again, Danyal pulled away and quickly disappeared into the night, leaving Damian to be guided away by their mother.
That was the last time the two saw each other. In person that is. Damian on his way to meet his birth father. And Danny was going off to find some place to call home. He didn't know how far he traveled but he remembered falling asleep in what he thought was a secluded place to be woken up by a child. A small redhead with blue eyes that seemed to gleam in the light, behind her was a taller male with black hair and a woman who looked like an older version of the child. They were the Fentons. And they were Danyal's new adoptive family.
Time Skip for a bit to see how the boys adapted to their families.
Danyal, now named Danny, had taken the Fentons like a duck to water. Thankfully they weren't a normal family, so it wasn't hard to act dumb when they caught him doing strange things.
He lied to the Fentons and said that he was a foster child that escaped a bad family, whose names and faces he seemed to forget after his long time of being on his own.
Jack and Maddie, or mom and dad they insisted he call them, took them in without a second doubt. It was hardly a week before he was adopted and named Danny Fenton: the youngest child of the Fenton family.
His adoptive parents were something called ecto-biologists. They believed in ghosts and were working tirelessly in order to prove that they exist with their inventions.
He would admit that they were a bit negligent with the needs of their children, but that was fine with him. He had plenty of time to explore the small town that they called home and even make some friends on his own. And having a sister like Jazz was a total plus as well.
Of course, his sister made up for the attention their parents didn't give. It was annoying at first, but Danny found that he....liked the attention his sister gave him. The sudden closeness that he had with his new sister was something he wished he had with Damian back when they were in the league.
A bit of time passed and he managed to make a two friends with the kids of Amity Park. A Samantha Manson and Tucker Foley. The three of them becoming a thick as thieves in record time.
Time passed and Danny became accustomed with his new life. Though, there were times where he would sneak off and do a small bit of training back when he was in the league. But the more he got comfortable with his new life, the less that happened.
He also looked up the Wayne family for any news about Damian when no one was around. When his twin made his first debut to the public, Danny almost laughed himself to death at the sour expression he wore in the photo.
But then, the accident happened.
Danny had gotten so comfortable living with the Fentons that he partially forgot how dangerous their inventions could be, even when they didn't work how they supposed to. So when he went to go turn on the portal in the basement, he wasn't prepared for what came after.
Pain. Pure pain that coursed through his body like nothing he's felt before. Worse than any injuries he's earned. Worse than any punishments he's been dealt by his grandfather. It felt like he was truly dying.
And upon opening his eyes, he found out he did. Because standing over him with horrified expressions were Sam and tucker. Looking at him as if he shouldn't be alive.
Glowing green eyes and hair as white as snow greeted Danny when he found a mirror, and he knew just how badly his decision was.
That was when Danny officially became Phantom, and that lead to him slowly losing his mind.
Sam and Tucker helped out with ghosts whenever they could. And when Jazz found out, she helped him out with hiding it from their parents and patching up any wounds he had. But that wasn't enough to keep the stress of making sure both this world and the Ghost Zone from collapsing. From either the wrongdoings of his parents or the GIW.
He hadn't really thought of it before, but what if he had stayed with his brother and went to stay with their birth father?
Would he be alright with twins instead of the one? If he left now, as a halfa, would he still be accepting? Would Damian be accepting of what he become?
No. Probably not. So for now, he kept the deep thoughts that told him to run and find his brother in the back of his head
Damian on the other hand, was slowly coming to terms with everything.
Upon arrival to Wayne manor, he introduced himself to both his father and the family butler when he answered the door. During the obvious shock between the two, wondering how they would've reacted if he had arrived with Danyal at his side.
When on his way to his fathers' home, Damian came up with the decision of keeping Danyal's existence a secret for the time being, or whenever his brother decided to come to their real home. While he was upset that his father had already adopted several children prior to his arrival, he knew that he would soon win over his father in showing him just how much better a son he was in comparison to the others. Whatever it takes.
Of course, he's thrown off with how friendly the others seem, especially the oldest. He wants Damian to call him Dick but he would never stoop so low to say such a name.
But all of that kindness didn't matter to him because no matter how kind they acted, they weren't his real brother. And Damian made sure to treat them as such.
And in return, they treated him the same. Well, most of them anyway. Richard was always energetic and trying to bring the family together. His jokes often reminded him of Danyal and Damian would upset himself thinking how well the two would get along together. Making puns and laughing the night away.
When he became Robin, he was monitored for a while, but that didn't bother him. No, what bothered him was the lack of a familiar person on his right side as he stood at his spot on the left. He and Danyal made an excellent team in terms of combat, both in training and off the field. But now, it felt odd doing this without him.
Some nights, he would look at the night sky and try to find the constellations Danyal told him about, wondering if his brother were looking at the exact constellation.
Over the years, the brothers grow and adapt in their own way. With secrets hidden from both of their families of who they were. And secrets hidden from each other.
Danny knew where Damian lived, and he took advantage of it. The League taught them ways of how to send messages and how to make sure they weren't caught. And once he settled in, he began to send his messages. They were short and to the point. Giving small details about the family that adopted him and word to his brother about what he's been doing. About learning new hobbies, the friends he made, and anything else he could think of. He would even give messages of when he saw certain things about the Wayne family on the news, constantly teasing him about having to deal with more than one brother now, especially with some of the headlines talking about some of the mischief they got into.
Damian enjoyed each and every letter. Even though he knew he could not send a proper reply, it still felt that he was with his brother in some aspect. And from the sounds of it, he was adjusting better to a civilian life than he was. Especially with how fondly he spoke of his friends and newfound family members. He made sure to hide the letters in a secure place in his room, so that Alfred or any of his snooping siblings would find it if they went looking through his room.
But as time passed, the letters became less and less. And by the time they were fourteen, Damian was lucky if he even got a letter once a month. He began to fear that something had happened to his brother to make him stop writing altogether. Like something happened with his adopted family or worse: he forgot his twin.
Still, it had been years since the two had been separated, and while Damian had been worried about what happened to his brother, bringing it up now would cause more curiosity and suspicion. Even living in Wayne Manor and working to make himself more trustworthy, he knew that someone of them still didn't trust him fully. Not yet.
So for now, he waited. Wondering what could've happened to his brother that made him stop writing so suddenly.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"This..couldn't be right." Tim thought as he stared at the Batcomputer in pure confusion and disbelief. "It has to be glitch."
No matter how many times he went through the computer, trying to retype or recalibrate the information given to try and create a new result, it was always the same.
Right there. On the screen, was a teen who looked almost-no exactly like Damian. The only difference was the piercing blue eyes in comparison to Damian's bright green.
The name of the supposed clone was named Daniel Fenton. But his name goes by Danny. He was adopted into the Fenton Family a few years back with no prior notice of where he could've possibly came from. Any other background research for any possible foster homes or orphanages came up blank with both the name and image came up with zero results. That could only mean one thing.
But what would a clone from the League of Assassins be doing all of the way in the midwest? It just didn't add up.
And besides, if Tim found out about him, it wouldn't be long before the others found out. And who knows how Damian would react at the truth of a possible clone.
Before he could think about his next plan of action, the sound of a door leading to the batcave opening and the sound of multiple yet silent footsteps rang in Tim's ears.
Panic filled him as he worked quick to try and hide his findings from whoever entered the cave. Knowing that if one bat knew, it wouldn't be long before the entire family knew.
"Hey Tim! What are you working on? You haven't been on it all night, have you?" The familiar voice of his older brother and mother hen, Dick.
A familiar tsk was also heard, causing Tim's panic to spike as he worked to try to quickly hide the files on the large screen before him.
"Of course not, Richard. Drake becomes addicted to his technology whenever he is on a case, even more so than he usually-"
Silence followed the no doubt berating statement, but the suddenness of it told Tim that Damian was currently looking at the clone on the screen.
"Tim. Who is that?" Dick asked tentatively, and Tim finally turned to see the reactions.
Dick was staring at the photo on the computer with obvious shock, curiosity, and caution. Caution that was directed towards Damian as the older male glanced towards him to see his reaction would be.
But instead of the sudden angry tirade that would come from Damian, Tim saw Damian staring at the screen....fondly? That couldn't be right.
But no, it was. While there was surprise and shock at the sight of the photo, Damian's demeanor instantly relaxed as his eyes flashed with recognition and them relief.
"So he's alive." Damian breathed out in relief, shocking the Tim and Dick with the sentence. He knew this kid? Was he not a clone and perhaps another assassin that escaped the league?
"Do you know him, Damian? Is he a clone or something we need to watch out for?" Dick asked, taking a small step closer to him to stop him from any possible outburst that has yet to come.
"There's no need. He was apart of the league, but he isn't a clone," Damian said, the corners of his lips turning upwards in what many viewed as his smile. "He's my twin brother."
That admission had Tim and Dick stare Damian with wide eyes. Even as he sat at the control station, Tim still felt as if his knees were going to give out.
A twin. Damian had a twin brother that they didn't even know about. That Damian didn't even mention.
"What the fuck?"
(That is all, and I would also like to announce that I've started writing commissions. So feel free to look at it here.)
#danny phantom#dc x dp#dp x dc crossover#dcxdp#dp x dc#dp crossover#dp x dc prompt#dpxdc#Again#in my drafts for MONTHS
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angel unaware
ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader
ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.
ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort
ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)
ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k
ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3
ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!
The spider bit you first.
It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.
In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.
You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.
But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.
You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.
Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.
Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.
"You. You just–"
"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.
It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.
The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.
Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.
He’s the only one who gets it, of course.
He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know. "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.
"What do you mean?"
"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"
"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"
He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"
You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.
"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.
Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.
"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.
"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.
"Comes from my fingertips."
"No fucking way. You gotta show me."
"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.
"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.
You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.
"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.
"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."
"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.
You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.
"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"
"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.
"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.
He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.
____
He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.
But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.
Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.
"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.
"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.
"And yet you’re here."
"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."
You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.
"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.
"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.
"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."
Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.
"Am I a good patient?"
"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.
"What, I don’t get a treat?"
"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.
He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.
It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.
"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.
You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."
"Rabbit."
You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.
"What, Pete?"
"Why don’t you patrol with me?"
"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.
"It’s better when you’re around."
"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.
"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."
"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."
"I think she’s right, though."
You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.
He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."
"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."
"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.
"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."
He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.
____
You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.
You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.
It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.
Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.
Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.
He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.
The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.
Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.
You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.
He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.
"Still as indecisive as ever."
"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.
"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.
"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"
He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.
"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.
"And you love it."
More than you’d ever know.
You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.
When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.
The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.
It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.
"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.
____
You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.
You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.
No, that feels too selfish to say.
But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.
You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.
Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.
"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"
Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.
____
January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.
You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.
Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.
Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.
And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.
It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.
Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.
"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."
God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.
"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.
The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.
He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.
Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.
Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.
But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.
He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.
You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.
As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.
"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.
"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"
He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.
Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.
"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.
"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."
"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."
"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."
"Hey!"
Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.
"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."
Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.
"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.
"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.
"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."
You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.
"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"
"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"
"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"
Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."
You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?
You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.
____
The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.
It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.
He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.
But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.
"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"
"Yeah, sorry."
"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"
Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.
"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.
The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.
Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.
"Hey, you."
"Hey."
Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.
You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.
"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.
"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course," she nods incessantly.
"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.
"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."
It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.
You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.
"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.
"Since when do you drink so much?"
"It’s a party," he shrugs.
"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."
"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."
Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.
Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.
"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.
"What do you mean?"
"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."
You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."
"Seriously?"
You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.
"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."
You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.
A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.
"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.
"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."
You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.
"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.
You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.
____
You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.
He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.
"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.
"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.
Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.
"Dude!"
"What? I’m turned around!"
Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.
His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.
"Idiot."
"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."
"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"
"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.
"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"
"‘m fine. You go home."
"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"
Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"
He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.
"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."
Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.
"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.
"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"
You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.
It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.
"Yeah, I’ll take him home."
____
"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.
"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.
"Not if you were with me."
"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."
"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"
You sigh. "No, he’s not."
"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.
"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.
He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.
"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"
"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.
"‘m not gonna puke."
"I think you might, Peter."
He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.
Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.
"What?"
"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."
You sigh.
"I should get going–"
"Can you stay for a little?"
Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.
"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.
"You didn’t."
"You were gonna go home with Cam."
"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."
"Like a chore."
"Not like a chore."
"Yeah, okay."
He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.
Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.
You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.
His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.
Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.
He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.
You close your eyes.
"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.
"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.
You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.
"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."
"What?"
"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."
"What am I doing?"
Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.
"You’re with MJ."
"I… I know."
Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.
"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.
"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.
"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.
He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.
____
It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.
You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.
But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.
It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he’s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.
Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.
"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.
"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.
"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."
"I’m fine, Em." A lie.
It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.
He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.
____
Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.
He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.
Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.
He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.
After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.
"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.
"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.
Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.
In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.
When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.
He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.
Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?
The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.
The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.
An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.
"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."
He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.
He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.
"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.
"Peter. You’re hurt."
"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"
"You’re fucking limping."
You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.
Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.
A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.
"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.
You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.
A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.
Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.
"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."
He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.
When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.
"C’mere."
It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.
You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.
There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.
You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.
"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."
"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."
As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?
It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.
"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.
"For what?"
"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."
"‘m not all that good, Peter."
But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.
"I’m sorry for not being around."
"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."
He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.
"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.
"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."
"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."
"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.
"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."
You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.
____
Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.
After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.
You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.
Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.
"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.
You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.
So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”
You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.
"Less overwhelming?"
"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."
I missed you.
Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.
"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.
"You get what?"
"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."
We. We. We.
"There are cows upstate," you snort.
"You know what I mean."
"We can do a road trip."
"You can’t drive."
"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.
He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.
"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.
"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."
"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."
You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.
There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.
You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.
So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.
"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.
"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.
You mock him, of course.
"English, yeah?"
He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.
"We broke up."
You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?
"Shit. You really fumbled, then."
"Shut up," he laughs.
"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.
"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."
"Classic MJ."
"Yeah."
"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.
"I’m not a piece of meat."’
You click your tongue.
"Oh, right, you’re an insect."
"Hey, so are you!"
____
You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.
Or maybe it’s the wine talking.
It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.
It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.
You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.
Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots
If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.
He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.
Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.
His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.
Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.
Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.
“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."
"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.
"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"
Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."
Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.
By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.
"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.
"You're already in my room."
Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.
Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.
"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.
"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."
"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.
"I'd like to see you try, angel."
It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.
It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.
Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.
Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.
He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.
His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.
"Wha--"
"Fuck."
"What is it?" He frowns.
"I owe Ned twenty bucks."
"What?"
"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."
"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”
“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”
“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.
“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,” you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.
“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”
He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.
You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.
“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”
“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”
A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.
“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.
“You are.”
Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.
He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.
You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.
A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.
“Please,” you beg.
“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.
“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”
Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.
“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”
He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.
“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”
He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.
You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.
You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.
“What do you wanna do?”
“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.
“Tell me about it, Spidey.”
“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”
“And how exactly will you do that?”
“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”
There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.
“You want it that bad, huh?”
“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.
You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.
He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.
“You want me to go slow?”
“Of course not.”
You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.
Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.
“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."
Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.
“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.
“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”
You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.
You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.
Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.
“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.
“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.
“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”
You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.
“Pete.”
“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”
“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”
He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.
He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.
It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.
“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.
Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.
“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”
Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.
Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.
He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.
“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.
“Yes, angel?”
“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”
He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.
“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.
“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”
“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”
He laughs and it sounds like heaven.
“You said you loved me,” you tell him.
“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”
You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.
“I love you, too.”
You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.
“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”
“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.
“You’re cute.”
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“How come you call me angel now?”
Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.
“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”
Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.
“I have a proposition.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.
“Okay. What is it?”
“We should use our webs next time.”
He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.
“Deal.”
tagging mutuals: @meliapis @cutetomholland @userholland @sparklingsin @tomdutch @userholland @vendettaparker @selfcarecap @simplykenni @uhlxis @cordiformity @sapphicsoie @seolaseoul @honeyspidey @logangarfield @justapurrcat @arachine @cocoamoonmalfoy @ohcaptains @aniqua
#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#spiderman x you#peter parker fluff#peter parker smut#peter parker angst#spiderman x reader#mcu!peter parker x you#tasm!peter parker x you#tom holland x you#tom holland x reader#tom holland smut#peter parker x you
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“Just good friends” [Tom!Glynn-Carney X Actress! Reader]
Warnings: none
Summary: You have a very close relationship with your friend... But everyone thinks there's something more between you two.. something special behind the scenes.
It was clear for everyone how close Y/N were to Tom as he was to her. the two of them are literally were stuck together like puppies.
She didn't want to fall in love with her best friend Especially after she get out of a previous failed relationship before. Even if it was years ago. she felt like she didn't want to trust love again. After all the pain it caused to her.
Now she want to focus on her career and business.
They were just a good friends.. or at least this what they were saying about themselves. But deep down they both knew that they were something more. They always knew... but were afraid to admit it. The sexual tension between them was palpable, sometimes even uncomfortable, and the actors around them thought they were secretly hooking up.
It was almost like a scene from a romantic comedy, where everyone knew that two people liked each other, except those two people. The two of them were unaware of their own feelings, and unaware of the fact that everyone could see it... except them.
And so they were together in this comfortable silence for a moment, their relationship being an open secret to everyone in the set, yet unspoken between the two of them.
It was like the two of them were just waiting for the realization to set in, just waiting for the "a ha!" moment... when they'd realize that they obviously liked each other.
But they hadn't reached that moment yet.In the distance there were whispers, people and the fans around them were whispering, gossiping, joking about them.
The whole set knew, as was obvious. It was like that old cliche, everyone was waiting for them to just say it... except the two of them.
And so, in the background, the whispers continued. Gossiping and joking about the two of them, about their "closeness". The two of them sat there in the quiet of the dressing room, unaware, almost oblivious to it all. And so the moment of that realization, of that quiet realization that they'd both liked each other for so long, was still far off in the distance.
And so they sat there in the silence of the dressing room, just looking at each other...
The silence had been hanging there for a moment too long. Something had to be said. It was like the air was slowly growing heavy from the tense silence. And Tom was the one who spoke first.
"I... uh..."
Tom continued, his voice still quiet, his nerves evident despite their apparent "romance". He was not used to talking with Y/N about this, or anything like it.
And so he was a bit awkward, despite his usual smooth demeanor in most situations.
“You look nervous.. what's wrong? ” she replies.
"Do I?"
Tom smiled weakly at her.His usual easygoing attitude and charm seemed to have left him for the moment. Instead he was a clumsy, awkward, and almost nervous mess.
His eyes darted around, seemingly not knowing what to do as his nervous demeanor was clear to see. And so, in spite of all his attempts to hide it, he was evidently nervous.
“Maybe you are”. she smilies softly and looks at him.
He smiles back softly, trying to seem more confident than he actually was. He was always charming and confident in front of the camera, in the spotlight.
But in the dressing room with her he was an awkward, nervous, almost clumsy mess of a guy. He tried to play it cool, but his awkwardness was clear for her to see.
The silence between them remained awkward and quiet, with Tom continuing to shift around in his seat. He was obviously nervous and uncomfortable, despite trying to hide it.
The two of them just sat there quietly, as the pressure between them increased. The tension was obvious, and their attraction to each other was evident in that silence
“Do you want to hang out after filming?”she suggested.
"Yeah, I'd like that... yeah."
The tension was lifted slightly as he answered. Despite his nervousness, he was a bit relieved that she'd suggested hanging out together. He was always looking to be with Y/N.
He'd wanted to ask her to hang out himself, but he hadn't been able to find the right words. So when she suggested it, it made him so happy, and he excitedly responded.
After completing filming some scenes Y/N was sitting on Tom's lap, while he was smoking and talking with Ewan.He had his arm around her, and was chatting with Ewan, smoking and casually talking about nothing in particular.
It was like a casual afternoon after filming was all done, and the two of them were having a nice relaxed smoke.
They looked happy and comfortable, a clear contrast to the awkwardness that had been in the dressing room earlier.She looked very stoned, and Tom seemed to be enjoying hanging out with her.
They were almost like a cute couple together, just relaxed, casual, and having a chill moment together.
But the casualness between them masked something else, something deeper, the two of them unaware. They were close and comfortable, but there was something else behind that closeness.
It was almost like a relationship, but with neither saying anything.It was like an unspoken connection between the two of them, a quiet, subtle intimacy that was clear for everyone to see... with the exception of them.
They both thought they were just friends, even though the connection was deeper than that.
“The lovebirds are very comfortable it seems”. Ewan chuckles and teases them.
He did so, taking a quick glance toward the two of them with a playful smirk. He was aware of their close relationship, and he knew the rumors that were going around.
Tom and Y/N were seemingly unaware of the rumors, but in reality, the whispers around set were not so quiet. And so there had already been talk of romantic connections between Tom and Y/N, rumors that the two of them were more than just friends.
And so Ewan smirked at the two of them as he took in the scene.
"Right... right, definitely. Just good friends. Good very close friends."
Ewan's tone was slightly playful, with an obvious tone of mockery to his voice. He knew that they were more than just friends, and so he was poking a little fun at them.
Tom and Y/N looked at each other for a moment, and just quietly laughed. They were aware of the rumors circulating about them, and aware that they weren't just friends, yet they continued with their casual tone and demeanor.
They were just in denial..
Part 2
#tom glynn carney#tom glynn carney x reader#hotd#aegon fanfic#aegon ii targaryen#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader#aegon headcanons#fanfiction#imagine#aegon x you#hotd aegon#my writing
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Sharing a bed
The best way to end a friendship?
Lorenzo Berkshire imagine
You invited yourself to sleep in Enzo’s bed, unaware of his feelings for you. The next morning everything becomes clear.
Warning: fluff and a bit of smut
A/N: I thought this was cute. Hope you like it my dear tumblr people. And per usual, feedback is appreciated!
I added part 2: read it here
The party is over and your friends head up to their dorm. When you see Pansy leave together with the guys for a little after party, you get slightly jealous. Why does she still get to hang out with them while I have to be on my own?
You grab Lorenzo’s hand and walk with him in the direction of his dorm. “I’m coming with.” You say with determination and your best friend raises an eyebrow. “Pansy gets to come.” You explain and he smiles. “Yeah, but Pansy sleeps with Blaise. Where would you sleep?”
Your slightly drunk mind thinks it over. “With you of course.” Enzo feels his whole body heat up at the idea of being in the same bed as you. “Uhm, I-uh I-don’t-“ Mattheo interrupts Enzo’s stammers. “Yeah, Enzo, why don’t you let her stay in your bed? Nothing wrong with being cuddled up with a pretty girl. She’s your best friend, you’ll behave right…” There’s an obvious grin on Mattheo’s face that worries you a bit, but you chose to ignore it. “So?” You urge as you take a step towards Enzo.
“Sure.” He says with a weak voice. Great, most beautiful girl at Hogwarts in my bed, but no touching. I’m gonna need to put a pillow between us.
***
Falling asleep was easy since the after party you guys had, was exhausting to say the least. The next morning you find yourself in Enzo’s bed, wearing one of his shirts and trying to clear up your hazy memory. A vague recollection of Pansy telling you that Enzo had a crazy crush on you fills your head. Followed by a memory of drunk Blaise whispering about how Enzo hated the idea of having to sleep with you and not getting to ‘sleep’ with you. Blaise’s unsubtle winking makes you smile as you remember last night's conversation.
“Enz, you up?” You ask when he moves a little. A soft murmur is the only answer you get since he’s still stuck in the world between awake and vast asleep.
You chuckle and roll closer to Enzo, who’s starting to panic. No, not too close. Too late, you’ve already snuggled up to your best friend, embracing his warmth. Maybe she won’t notice. “Oh, you’re definitely up, Enzo.” You softly wiggle your thighs against his morning wood. She noticed! Enzo’s face heats up and his eyes fling open to find yours are still shut as you’re innocently snuggled against him.
Lorenzo’s eyes scan the room and he’s relieved to see that all his roommates have already left for breakfast. “Just-um-ignore it.” Enzo finally manages to say before taking a deep breath to relax himself. You try to suppress the cheeky smile tugging on your lips. “It’s hard to ignore Enzo.” You tease as you rub yourself against his hard member and entangle your body with his, leaving no space between you two.
You open your eyes to see a very flustered Lorenzo, who quickly looks away. “Don’t play with me.” Enzo breathes out, you smile and nudge your nose against his cheek demanding that he looks at you. Hesitantly his puppy eyes meet yours and you brush lips over his in an effort to make him relax. Your hand moves over his chest while you whisper. “Am I really not allowed to play with-“ An unexpected moan leaves Lorenzo’s lips as you palm his hard one, feeling it twitch in his boxers. You can’t help but bite your lip as his soft eyes fill with hunger for you.
Your lips are met with a needy kiss as Enzo pushes himself against you, finally giving in to his desire for you, his best friend. “Play with me, I beg you, play with me like I’m a toy.” His husky and desperate voice does a number on your brain and body. You slip your hand in his boxers and grab his dick, while you kiss him with a similar hunger.
Word count: 660
Picture source: https://pin.it/6bYlKDSfs
#slytherin#slytherin boys#enzo berkshire imagine#enzo berkshire x reader#enzo berkshire#papercorgiworldwritings
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Yunho ღ NSFW Alphabet [M]
ღ Ateez - NSFW Alphabets
ღ Ateez Yunho x gn!reader (some parts might work better with fem-bodied!reader)
ღ words: ~3.5k
ღ genre: smut
ღ warnings: none
A = Aftercare (what he’s like after sex)
He’s soso sweet :( oftentimes he already thought of preparing the essentials beforehand - some water, towels, some snacks,... and he won’t hesitate to provide you with anything else you might want or need after having sex. Takes especially good care of you if you’ve been going at it for a long time and/or if he got a little rough with you. He enjoys staying up with you afterwards, holding you close while just talking about literally anything, and he always wants to know whether you enjoyed yourself, if there’s anything you want him to do differently next time, and so on.
B = Body part (his favorite body part of his partner)
Your waist. He just loves the shape of it, loves tracing his fingertips along your sides, and though he’s trying not to make it obvious at first, it really just is obvious. Blushes a little when you ask him why he likes it so much and just tells you it’s pretty before pressing a kiss to your lips. Even when he’s looking at you from afar he can’t help but let his eyes trace your shape over and over again, and when he’s finally alone with you, you will catch him marveling at your beauty, wishing he could spend all day mapping out your shapes with his lips and worshipping your body.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum)
Your pleasure is his top priority when having sex with you, so it’s likely you’re gonna cum more often than him overall. And of course he eventually wants to chase his own high as well, but he just can’t stop searching for all the different ways in which he can get you off because he gets so addicted to the way your body reacts to him. His favourite is having you cum around his fingers, showering you with praises as if he got drunk on the feeling of your contracting around his digits. As for him, he loves it when you simply let him cum into your fist as you’re giving him a handjob. Idk, something about seeing his cum dripping down your fingers just really does it for him.
D = Dirty secret (a dirty secret or secret desire of his)
That time he caught you getting off by yourself and he just couldn’t bring himself to walk away. He didn’t even see anything, he just walked into his apartment, not knowing you had already come home, and he didn’t seem to be the only one unaware of the other’s presence. Because even when he deliberately closed the door loudly, your moans didn’t stop. And so he stood there, frozen up, and feeling himself being very much affected by what’s unfolding in the other room. And he just can’t stop himself from getting painfully turned on by the sounds falling from your lips as you’re bringing yourself closer and closer to your high.
He’ll keep this a secret from you for a very long time, because he knows he should’ve just walked back out and returned a bit later instead of listening in on you. But eventually he’ll tell you about it, once you’ve been dating for long enough to be sure you wouldn’t feel awkward about this anymore.
E = Experience (how experienced is he?)
Average I’d say? He’s had sexual partners before, but not that many. He doesn’t seem like the type to jump from relationship to relationship, and I also think one-night-stands are more of an occasional thing for him, but overall I think he has at least some experience!
F = Favorite position
Depends on what mood he’s in, but usually a kind of position where he can observe you well. An all time favourite of his has got to be you having your back against his chest, while you’re standing or sitting in front of a mirror. He wants to see all your reactions and watches your reflection with great interest as he touches you. Plus, there’s just something very hot to him about also seeing himself taking you from behind in a mirror… When he’s frustrated or being rough with you however, he’ll prefer to bend you over the nearest surface and to have his way with you like that.
G = Goofy (is he more serious in the moment? is he humorous?)
There’s definitely gonna be the occasional giggle when you’re sleeping with him. He’s super chill about embarrassing situations, and will always want to convey to you that everything’s okay - sometimes you’re just gonna be clumsy about something and he actually finds that endearing more than anything. But even then, especially when you’re having very sweet sex, he will make you laugh time and time again to keep a lighthearted mood. However, if you’re being more rough and having kinky sex he’ll be more on the serious side, because he wants to make sure everything that’s happening is alright with you, and that you’re feeling good at all times!
H = Headspace (how much does he think about it/you during the day? how elaborate are his fantasies?)
I think he actually doesn’t think about sex super often? But when he does it’s usually deliberate. He’s very good at keeping his self control in case a sexual thought does pop up in his mind every now and then at an inappropriate time, so it’s also very hard to get him riled up if you’re trying to tease him in public for example. However, when he’s in the comfort of his own home he will let his thoughts wander from time to time, indulging in his own fantasies (whether it’s about a specific person or just anyone in general) and he will usually end up getting off to his own thoughts in the end.
I = Intimacy (how passionate or romantic is he?)
I think he’s both very passionate and very romantic deep inside, though the passion-side doesn’t always show very obviously. He’s responsible and more concerned about your pleasure than his own most of all, so even when you can undeniably see the passion burning in his gaze, he’ll stay in control most of the time and not let it take over - especially if you’re having rough sex. Though that might just make the times when his passion and need for you break through that much hotter… As for his romantic side… that will show most if not all of the time, he just can’t help it. Whether it’s in the way he communicates with you, always making sure you’re on the same page at all times, or in the way he gazes at you lovingly whenever he has the chance, or how he whispers sweet nothings to you throughout. If one thing’s for sure then it’s that this guy will make you feel loved at all times! He might get a little shy about classic romantic acts, you know, like putting on some background music to get in the mood, or candles or rose petals scattered all over the bed, but if you mention to him that you’re into that kind of stuff he’ll definitely one day surprise you with it!
J = Jack off (how does he masturbate and how often?)
I don’t think he gets off all that often? Though he seems like the type to use it to let off some steam at the end of the day, but then it’s really just a quick orgasm and nothing more. As I mentioned above, he will sometimes let his mind wander, and if he’s caught up in his fantasies he might just end up taking more time with pleasuring himself sometimes. But I think that especially when he has a partner, he’d choose having sex with them over masturbating any day.
K = Kink (one of his kinks)
Gonna go with a choking kink here because… if Yunho then hands, and hands around throat just makes him soso horny even when he’s just thinking about it. He occasionally likes having your hands around his throat too, whether you’re just resting them there or actually applying some pressure, but he definitely prefers it the other way around. So if you’re into that too, he will do it quite often. Just the image of his big hands wrapped around your throat is so pretty to him, and he’ll be very responsible about the power that gives him over you. Loves having you watch yourself in the mirror as he’s getting you off with one hand, the other hand around your throat keeping you in place and forcing you to watch as he whispers dirty praises in your ear, but he also loves simply having you underneath him in missionary, fucking into you as he applies pressure to your throat, watching as you’re slowly losing your mind.
L = Location (favorite places to do it)
The comfort of his or your home is definitely by far the nr 1 for him. He’s not a public sex type of guy at all, like the most public he’s willing to go is in the car usually. If you like the thrill of it, he’ll sometimes be willing to get you off in a semi-public space, but in the end he’d really rather be somewhere the both of you can get comfortable and won’t have to worry about being caught or being too loud, etc. However, that doesn’t mean y’all always have to go at it in the bedroom. If you’re both very horny he’ll take any surface available - the couch, the dinner table, the kitchen counter, even the floor. There’s actually something very enticing to him about taking you on the dining table and making you moan his name where he knows friends or family will sit and have a meal with you on another day, without even so much as suspecting what he’s done to you in that very same place.
M = Motivation (what turns him on, gets him going)
Praise! I think praise has got to be his biggest motivator. Hums at you when you tell him how good he’s making you feel and then somehow manages to make you feel even better. This guy could spend all day just getting you off in various ways, fuelled by nothing but the way you praise him, and how he can feel your body reacting to his touch. Even the subtle things, like you melting into his touch or leaning into his hand at the small of your back will make him go crazy about you. And the tension is undeniable when he’s coming closer and closer, not yet giving you that kiss you’re craving or his sweet touch you’ve been longing for all day - it’s his way of riling you up and making you need him, and once he succeeds in making you almost beg for him he’ll be all over you in no time.
And even when the tables are turned, and you’re the one taking care of him, every praise falling from your lips will sound like heaven to him. He WILL blush as you keep praising him while bringing him closer to the edge, and the sounds you can get out of him as you continue sweet-talking him towards his orgasm will be so sinful and perfect, and yet not something he’d ever let you hear otherwise.
N = No (something he wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Receiving pain can be a big turn-off for him. Unless done right, he’s just not into it, and actually finds it kind of awkward? It just doesn’t feel right to him most of the time, and will ruin the mood so fast. However, in certain situations, when he’s about to cum, that definitely changes, and a slightly painful sensation like you pulling his hair a bit roughly or digging your fingernails into his skin might serve to enhance his pleasure!
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He’s pretty decent at giving oral I’d say. And though his favourite way of getting you off is simply using his hands, he’s more than willing to give you head rather often as well. There’s just something so intimate and sexy about the way his eyes will be glued to your face the whole time, checking for even the slightest reaction to his touches. This helps him figure out what you like and what drives you crazy very quickly, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t put that knowledge to good use. Loves the taste of you and how it feels when you cum into his mouth.
The other way around he’d never say no to receiving oral from you, and prefers it when he can just lean back and enjoy the ride. Won’t really do much except telling you how well you’re doing, until he’s coming really close or if you’re edging him. Then he’ll eventually reach the point where he can’t take it anymore and he’ll buck his hips up into your mouth or grab your hair (if possible) to keep you in place and fuck your mouth until he reaches his high.
P = Pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Yunho is naturally more on the sensual side, with everything. Whether he’s giving you just his fingers, head, or his dick. But the thing with him is also that he’s pretty versatile and is willing to adapt to his partner’s likes quite a lot. So if you’re into a fast and rough pace, he’ll give you exactly what you want, and he’ll definitely end up enjoying it too! Though if it were entirely up to him, he usually prefers going slow and taking his time worshipping your body and mapping out all your favourite places to be touched. Only when he’s very desperate or his very dominant side comes out he’ll become rougher, but even then he tends to still be slow, to savour every single moment, every sound coming out of your mouth and every sensation flowing through your bodies.
Q = Quickie (his opinions on quickies?)
He’s the type who would rather take his time with his partner usually!! However, at certain times a quickie is an appreciated change of pace so to say. If having sex with him normally is all about your pleasure, then a quickie is usually more about him, and so he tends to get a bit rough during them (unless you tell him you don’t like that of course). He just needs you right here and right now, and if you’ve been out or one of you haven’t been home, there’s a chance the frustration has been boiling deep inside for a while, and now that he finally has you to himself, all of that will come bursting out of him at once. You can tell how much he needs you by the way he kisses you impatiently and how he manhandles you into the exact position he wants you in. It’s not rare for him to cum quickly in a situation like this, and not leave enough time for you to reach your high as well. So if the situation allows for it, he’ll slow down once he’s caught his breath and make sure you get your fair share of pleasure as well. But then it’s not really a quickie anymore so alksdöfjs yeah, he really is the type to want to indulge properly after all.
R = Risk (does he like to experiment or take risks?)
He’s not a risk-taker at all. That said, he prefers having sex when it’s guaranteed there’s no risk of getting caught in the act (it kinda ruins the mood for him ngl). However, I do think he loves the sight of watching his cum dripping out of you, so if it’s about not using a condom he’s down for it, so long as you’re using some other form of protection instead.
S = Stamina (how long does he last?)
Has A LOT of stamina. He doesn’t really need a long recovery period until he can go again after cumming once, but even then he knows more than enough things to do in between - whether that’s making out with you or going straight to getting you off again. I think he can last several rounds, and he knows just what to do to make sure he’ll have the energy to keep going for as long as possible.
T = Toys (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?)
I do think he’s a fan of toys! Might have one or two for himself, but definitely has a few to use with a partner! Loves getting them out for in between rounds, so he can continue pleasing you while he rests. Toys to him are mostly about enhancing your pleasure, so he’ll pick them accordingly and discuss with you what you want him to use on you. He likes watching your reaction to them, and tbh he also enjoys that they allow for him to have a lot of control over you while being able to give you multiple orgasms once you’ve figured out what works best for you.
U = Unfair (how much he likes to tease)
Yunho isn’t much of a teaser originally, it’s really not something that needs to be a part of sex for him. He’s more of a praise kinda guy, but if you like being teased he’s up for trying! And seeing the reactions he can get out of you with it, it’ll quickly become something you do often. Vice versa, it can go two ways. If you’ve established a dynamic where he takes on a very dominant role he’ll definitely make you regret teasing him by teasing you back harder and maybe even going as far as not to let you cum until you’ve begged for it. However, if there’s no such dynamic between you two he’ll probably be super flustered if you tease him. Especially if your teasing is verbal while you’re going at it, he’ll be blushing so hard and won’t know how to respond cjxnxnxn
V = Volume (how loud or vocal is he? what does he sound like?)
He isn’t really loud. He definitely talks a lot - ongoing communication while you’re having sex is very important to him, plus he finds it hot too. Some dirty talk certainly gets him going! Otherwise he’s pretty quiet, but you will hear him moan as he gets closer, and then sometimes he’s just gonna let out the most unholy sounds you didn’t think he’d be capable of producing…
W = Wild card (a random headcanon)
Your mind clouded by pleasure and your knees weakening, you’ve melted fully into Yunho’s touch. He has his arm around your waist, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re coming close to your orgasm you might’ve been embarrassed about your fucked out expression you find in the mirror right in front of you. Yunho has his face buried in your neck, kissing and nipping at the skin there, his slender fingers ghosting just above your core as he mutters a praise.
“So pretty for me…” he breathes and you arch your back just a little more, immediately feeling him hitting that sweet spot inside you.
“Y-yun… ‘m close…” is all you can whine, and you hear him hissing a curse below your ear.
“Fuck, me too,” he growls through gritted teeth, all while never taking his eyes off the mirror. “Wanna see your pretty face when you cum.” You let out yet another desperate whine at his words, and when his fingers come in contact with your core for some extra stimulation, you know you won’t last another ten seconds.
“C-coming… Yun… I’m-” Your high crashes down on you, and you feel yourself shaking violently in his hold as he lets out a strained groan and releases inside you, muttering once again how pretty you look in the mirror.
X = (X) as a mark (does he like marking you/being marked? where?)
While he doesn’t want any marks on his or your body to be visible when you’re wearing clothes, he does quite enjoy the sensation of getting marked. You marking him actually activates his possessive side, and is one of the ways to make sure he’ll get rough with you afterwards. Might mark you back, though he prefers doing it with his fingernails dragged across your skin than giving you a hickey. As mentioned before, he’s overall not the biggest fan of being made to feel pain during sex, but if you’re both very close and you end up biting or scratching him in the heat of the moment, that will very much add some more pleasure for him!
Y = Yearning (how high is his sex drive?)
Somewhere in the middle I’d say? Not suuuper high, though his sex drive definitely increases when he has a partner, especially when you haven’t been together for long. He’s not the type to want sex everyday - he’d much rather do it only a few times a week, on days where you can really take your time and enjoy yourselves. But don’t let yourself be fooled, once he does get horny he gets reaaaaally into it!
Z = Zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterwards)
As I already mentioned, he’s really big on aftercare, so most often he will stay up with you for another while after having sex. In general I don’t think he’s that easily tired out, so won’t be the type to blackout right away.
#ateez smut#yunho smut#ateez x reader#ateez scenarios#ateez imagines#ateez drabbles#ateez reactions#yunho imagines#yunho x reader#smut
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First ofi love your Jason fic's, they are really great and they made me think could you write for Damian as well?
What about Damian x reader (gn or male pls) where they are really great friends but the family thinks they are in a relationship? You know the typical teasing girls usually experience as soon as she talks about a boy "oh is that you boyfriend" the same thing happens too Damian, and now he dreads bringing the reader to his house because his family always had something to say (except Alfred he's cool like that) and it also makes the reader uncomfortable. And one day Damian snaps at them for their weird behavior, telling them that they are the reason why the reader won't visit anymore
I hope this makes sense, if you don't like this, just ignore it.
Have a great day
Damian hated when he brought you over to the Manor and it’s not for the reasons many might expect. It was more so to do with how Dick, Tim and Jason seemed to always have something to say whenever you two were in a room together, only ever doing mundane activities but to Dick, Tim and Jason, it was viewed under an annoyingly unnecessary romantic context.
They firmly believed that in due to you being able to withstand Damian’s presence for as long as you have, that there must be romantic undertones integrated in every interaction between the two of you. The classic trope of friends being in love with each other but not knowing how to cross that line without ruining everything that was pre established from your longstanding friendship; Which was factually incorrect for so many reasons.
You and Damian weren’t anything more than friends and you both were content with that conclusion. However that didn’t stop you from feeling uncomfortable whenever Dick, Tim or Jason said anything about your suspected secret relationship that you’ve been poorly keeping from them. Damian hated that you couldn’t come to the manor without wanting to leave within the first five minutes of being there, he didn’t want to either but knew that you needed him for support whenever it does happen; and it was unfortunately an reoccurring theme within the Wayne manor.
The first time this happened you and Damian were in the library, reading. Your head was innocently resting against his shoulder and all because of the lack of sleep you had from binge watching the midnight release of the latest season for your favourite show. Had you been anyone else Damian would’ve laid you out flat but since it was you, Damian didn’t seem to mind but he then choice to chastise you for your lack to keep to a healthy sleep schedule.
‘You’re helpless.’ He stats and you pouted at him. ‘But Damian it was the last season! I had to binge watch it before people start spoiling it all over social media!’ You defended yourself but it was obvious that your friend wasn’t buying it for a second. ‘Tch. So was our test today but due to your habit of binge watching, and yet you just barely managed to somewhat passable score.’ He replied, not once looking up from his book as you leaned more into him. ‘Rude.’
‘I’m merely stating the-‘
‘Spare some room for Jesus there lovebirds.’ Both you and Damian looked over to see that Jason had entered the library when you were unawares and had a wolfish grin spread across his face. You tensed up at the implication, wordlessly removed your head from Damian’s shoulder and shuffled to the far side of the couch that you were both sitting on. All the while avoiding eye contact either him or Jason.
The latter (Jason) believed that this was done out of the fact that you had gotten caught but to the former (Damian) it was because you had grown uncomfortable with the comment made towards the nature of your assumed relationship to him. So all he could do without making the situation worse for you was to glare daggers into Jason, who only took this as Damian being mad that he interrupted his quality time with you.
The second time this mistake happened was when you and Damian were in the kitchen taking a much needed break from constant studying for the upcoming test at school, replenishing your hunger by wolfing down on some snacks. ‘You’ll choke if you keep that up.’ Damian said between bites of his own snack.
‘No I won’t.’ You rebutted, swallowing down the remains before shoving another bit of food into your mouth hastily and allowing for some crumbs to cling onto you in the strangest places, though mainly your cheek. Damian sighs and reaches across the table to rub the crumbs off with a handkerchief, muttering about how much of a messy eater you are. ‘Can’t even eat properly, never less sleep the required amount needed for proper functionality.’ He mutters under his breath.
‘Will you never left me live that down?’ You asked.
‘No.’ Damian replied without hesitation and you wondered if the question was even worth asking when he answered them in such a confident and sure fire way. Before you could get a chance to speak, Dick’s voice from the doorway butted in. ‘Do my eyes deceive me or is Damian being a gentleman for his lovely partner? Has hell truly frozen over?’ Damian was quick to retract his hand but it was too late, Dick saw everything and much like Jason, took it out of complete context.
‘We should get back to studying now.’ You said uncharacteristically stiff as you pushed yourself out of your chair and walked out of the room without so much of a word, shoulders hunched and head down when you passed by Dick, who watched in slight confusion as to what just happened. Damian on the other hand was starting to reach his limit with his brothers constant teasing, for how could they not see that it was clearly making you uncomfortable even if some of the teasing wasn’t aimed at you directly.
You took it personally on his behalf and he hates that in due to this it made your eagerness to spend time at to the Wayne manor dwindle. You were his first true friend and he didn’t want his brothers to be the reason you decided that you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. Damian wouldn’t admit it but deep down he was scared that he’ll loose you because of it, and that the only way to save your friendship would one day be reliant on your interactions during school hours. Damian knew he wasn’t the easiest to get along but he had to applause your persistence in wanting to befriend him, so much so that he didn’t want you ever thinking that he didn’t bother fighting for your friendship, because he would fight for your friendship with everything he had and then some.
For you’ve become a large part of him that he doesn’t think he could ever imagine living without now that you were so deeply integrated into his very being.
The third and last time you visited the manor was what made Damian snap. All you were doing was have a slow day with the added company of Titus, who was resting his head in your lap as you petted him; The poor dog missed you and it showed with how he whined whenever you dared to stop the pets, it would be made even more difficult not to as he would then paw at you persistently on top of all that.
‘I swear one of these days Titus will follow me home.’ You joked as you reminisced about the times when Titus would try and follow after you as pup and always disregarding Damian in favour for you and your cuddles. ‘He almost did once when you had to go home after our sleepover.’ Even Damian smiled softly at the memory of seeing Titus’ little head pop out of your bag after almost tearing apart the manor for the little mischief maker. He reached over to scratch the dog behind the ear -just how he liked to be scratched- and watched as Titus kicked his back leg in response.
‘He obviously still loves me a lot to be using my lap like this despite being too big to doing it anymore.’ You chuckled, looking down at the big dog with so much love and affection. Damian scoffed. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Titus only likes you because you pamper and baby him.’ You gasped, covering Titus ears. ‘Don’t say that! Titus is still a baby in my heart!’ You exclaimed. The fully grown Great Dane then sneezed in his sleep and you acted as though he said something meaningful before looking back towards Damian ‘see, Titus agrees.’
‘Tch. You’re such a pain.’ Was Damian’s response as he looked away from you, only to see Tim stood a few feet away, watching you both much like how Dick and Jason did and Damian knew what was about to come out of his mouth before he even said it.
And apparently so did you as you managed to stand up, waking Titus up in the process, who was trying to get his bearings back as you said sombrely to Damian. ‘I’ll see you at school tomorrow, yeah.’ Before walking back towards the manor with Titus at your heels.
Before Tim could ask Damian shot him a murderous glare. ‘Batcave. Two days from now. Make yourself useful and bring Todd and Grayson with you.’ Was all he said before storming off towards the manor himself, leaving an taken aback Tim. His limit has officially been reached.
‘Why are we here Damian? Are you going to tell us that you need help with your partner-‘
‘Stop. Just stop with this nonsense you, Drake and Todd seemed to be hung up on because this false narrative you’ve created about myself and y/n is entirely make belief. And we’re suffering from it.’ Damian cuts Dick off but Jason was quick to speak next.
‘Why? Are you lovebirds not together anymore?’
Damian clenched his jaw but couldn’t contain his anger and annoyance towards this entire situation, wanting nothing more than for it to come to an end. ‘WE NEVER WERE TOGETHER TODD!’ Damian exploded. ‘WE WERE ONLY EVER JUST FRIENDS BUT DUE TO YOURS, GRAYSON AND DRAKES’ SHARED STUPIDITY, YOU’RE MAKING THEM UNCOMFORTABLE INTO EVER VISITING ANYMORE!’
‘Why didn’t either of you say anything-‘ Tim tried to talk but was quickly silenced by Damian who still had a lot more to get off of his chest. ‘WE TRIED BUT YOU WE ALL TOO BUSY TEASING US FOR BEING SOMETHING WE NEVER WERE!’ Damian liked to think he wasn’t the type to be quick to anger and how it was such a foolish thing to do. However Dick, Tim and Jason overstepped one too many times for Damian not to speak up about it, making sure it gets into their thick skulls that their weird behaviour almost cost him his friendship with you.
Jason, Dick and Tim felt stupid now and a little ashamed that their teasing could’ve quite possibly drove you away. It wasn’t their intention to do so, but they guessed that they admittedly got slightly ahead of themselves that they didn’t take into consideration of how you felt about all this. Now they felt like right dickheads.
‘I believe they’ve got the message master Damian.’ Alfred said as he looked at Dick, Tim and Jason who looked like a bunch of kicked puppies. ‘How about we invite master Damian’s friend for dinner so that you may tell them you’re sorry for your recent transgressions?’
Dick smiled softly at the butler whom had became another father figure to them. ‘That’s sounds perfect Alfred but only if y/n is comfortable to come.’ He, Jason, Tim and Alfred then all looked towards Damian who had calmed down significantly from his earlier outburst. ‘Tch. I’ll ask but I’m not guaranteeing anything.’ He says to them as he took out his phone to text you, adding a picture of an impatient Titus sitting at the front door waiting for you to come back for added effect, knowing how you couldn’t resist him.
It didn’t take long for you to reply with; ‘fine. I’m willing to bury the hatchet but as long as Titus gets to lay in my lap. That’s my only condition.’
Yep everything was going to be alright.
#damian wayne x reader#damian wayne imagine#damian wayne x y/n#damian wayne x you#Damian Wayne imagines#dc x y/n#dc x you#dc comics x reader#dc x reader#dc imagine#dc fic#dc fanfic#dc fanfiction
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Drive: Four
– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader
Requested: @sarcanti 🫶🏻
For this anon too since it's pretty much the same thing!!
Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.
Sipping intermittently from your room-temperature drink, your eyes reached Ghost's across from you. He was settled on a bar stool, watching you as you leaned against the bar, trying to avoid his penetrating gaze.
Music hummed from the speakers, a loud buzz inside the bar as it began to fill. It was late- dark and cool, nearing midnight without a shortage of people filtering in.
The two of you were content in your own world, hardly paying much attention to the conversation beside you; idle chatter from Soap and Gaz and a few other men you vaguely recognized from previous deployments.
Your leave was almost over; a few more days and you'd be back to base, far away from the cycle of unfamiliar habits. You missed the routine, knowing exactly what to expect day-after-day, but a break from the organized chaos and a little bit of freedom was enjoyable.
Simon opted to stay with you- a decision you'd not expected from him, brought up after he complained of having to stay in his own 'lonely flat'.
You'd meant it as a joke, an offer thrown into the air with no strings attached. It was another step toward something more serious than you were sure he was ready for, maybe more than you were ready for.
A nonchalant 'alright' was all he'd said, before he packed his bags and drove the two of you there.
In an effort to contain the growing relationship between you, you maintained that you were spending your leave with family. Your squad-mates were entirely unaware that the two of you were sharing your apartment, and you desperately wanted to keep it that way; you stayed light on alcohol to avoid any drunken confessions.
The bar was grimy and sticky, smelling like an ash tray and spilled beer, but it was comfortable. No obligations, no expectations- only Simon's blackened eyes undressing you from across the bar.
You were flustered, reasonably so, thighs squeezing together with the imagery of his long fingers gripping your waist instead of the glass in his hands. You broke eye contact, moving your attention to Johnny who'd been chatting away the entire time before it became obvious you were fantasizing about him.
You liked to keep your personal life private, especially from coworkers, even before yourself and Simon founded your new situation, if it were to be called anything. You liked things that way, and it came with an added bonus; no one ever pried.
It made your secret affair a bit easier to keep secret. The only downfall being that with the eyes of your teammates watching every move, there was no palpable excuse as to why the stranger across the bar couldn't buy you a drink.
You could've lied, said you were married or seeing someone, but it would've created another layer of secrets you'd have to remember to keep. So, you sucked in a sharp breath, smiled politely and nodded curtly as he slid onto the seat beside you and handed you a beer.
Simon watched the entire exchange. His rationale had nearly all but gone, mostly replaced by a stinging sensation in his chest that threatened his temper. Even as your eyes met his across the table, and he could see the nervous smile on your lips, he felt nothing but betrayal.
You could feel the warmth radiating off of him. His eyes had finally left yours and were honed in on the smiling stranger leaning in close, brushing your arm with his. It made you cringe to imagine how it made him feel- Simon already had a bad temper, inexplicably enraged by the smallest things, and this man coiling himself around you was sure to make him combust.
You sneaked a glance up, your eyes meeting, offering an apologetic expression. It didn't seem to have the intended effect, as Simon stood from his seat, pushing off without a word.
"Where're you off to?" Johnny spoke up, catching Simon before he could slink away.
"Gotta piss," He muttered.
You watched his shoulders sway as he sauntered to the washrooms, an overwhelming amount of guilt settling in your gut.
You made polite conversation, but your body was stiff as a board. It was difficult to allow yourself to play into the charade of interest, especially with the man you truly cared about fuming just metres away.
Simon had reappeared, finding the man with his hand on your waist, his body caging you off from everything and everyone else. He couldn't handle it- watching the exchange made his stomach churn, his chest tighten with anger. He abruptly left his seat, lunging for the exit.
You cleared your throat, throwing back the final sip of beer before turning to the stranger with a meek smile.
"Thanks for the drink. I've got to get heading out, though," You mumbled, your attention focused on Simon.
You offered a short goodbye to Johnny and Kyle, who seemed just as perplexed by your quick escape, before sliding from your standing position. The stranger didn't have a chance to reply; you were dead-set on the exit, hurriedly walking out to escape the clutches of his unwanted advances.
You found Simon leaning against the rough brick of the building, a lit cigarette lighting up the outline of his lips.
You wanted to blurt out, 'I'm sorry', but a trickle of resentment- and pettiness- made its way to your thoughts before that- you hadn't had the conversation yet. Maybe you never would.
You knew your situation was wrong, entirely wrong, and illegal- but the part of you that hadn't yet become numb to normal interactions wondered if that was what he even wanted; if he wanted only you.
"You done with your li'l show?" He asked, nonchalant, uncaring, but it had a bite to it.
"My show?" You repeated, watching him stand to his full height as he scuffed out the cigarette.
"With that bloke," He nodded his head, gesturing to the bar. "Lettin' him buy you a drink, touch you." His tone was venomous, accusatory- and you hated it.
"What was I supposed to do?" You scoffed.
"You've got a mouth, haven't you?" He was stepping toward you.
"That's not fair," You said, tilting your head. "People were watching."
Your voice faltered as he closed in on you, your eyes meeting his and finding the glazed-over expression of pure anger in his gaze. It made you feel guilty; maybe not irrationally so, but guilty nonetheless.
You wanted to go home, wanted to forget how you made him feel, forget how guilty your conscience was even when the stipulations of your situation weren't clear.
You turned on your heel, heading toward the parking lot at a leisurely pace, hoping he'd catch on that you wanted to drop it and go home.
"You want fuckin' fair?" He called, quickly catching up to you with fewer strides, slowing as he watched you pull the door of his truck open. "I ain't the one bein' felt up right in-fuckin'-front o'you." His hand reached the side of his truck.
You exhaled sharply, before turning to face him. Your glare was suffocating, standing to your tallest height as you furrowed your brows. He had cornered you against the truck, scowling down at you, though your expression could more than contend with his.
"You haven't asked me not to fuck or see other people," You threw your hands up, continuing before he could interrupt you. "Maybe if you had, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
There was silence for only a few beats, before he moved even closer. You knew it wasn't entirely true- neither of you had made the effort to discuss where exactly you were headed. Your flustered judgement got the better of you.
"You been fuckin' other blokes?" He asked, suddenly stepping closer, his voice quivering ever-so slightly. It wasn't sadness in his tone, it was jealousy, anger.
You tilted your head, nearly astonished by his ability to avoid the most prevalent argument in your statement. Regardless- it wasn't entirely the lack of commitment that lead you to accepting the strangers advances, it was the presence of your squad mates. Nonetheless, you'd honed-in on his noncommittal attitude and had no patience for hypocrisy.
"You expect me to believe you haven't been sleeping with other people?" You shot back, watching his eyes dart back and forth between yours.
You held your breath, subconsciously; you knew the answer you wanted- you wanted him to tell you it was special. You were special- but your Lieutenant wasn't that kind of man.
"Yeah," He answered, deadpanned and stern. "'Cause I haven't." He leaned in even closer, nearly nose to nose as he shrunk himself down to your face. "Answer my fuckin' question."
You gave a harsh no, hidden behind gritted teeth and tight lips. He was shrouded by anger, and instead he spoke over you, pupils expanding in the darkness, redness pooling in his neck and chest.
"Got me on a fuckin' leash while you're out shaggin' other people," He spat.
"I haven't slept with anyone else," You said. "But if you don't want to be tied down, you've always been free to leave." Your hands flailed as you fought back the tears welling in your eyes.
It had been a while since you'd been close to tears; especially because of a man. The familiar sting in your eyes, the lump growing in your throat. You'd had little expectation that Simon would be much different from others before him, and a part of you hoped otherwise, but it still caught you off-guard.
He straightened his back, still caging you in behind his arm. He released a quiet breath, his shoulders dropping as he took a moment to process the conversation.
"Didn't say that," He uttered, reeking of nonchalance, and a hint of surrender.
"You did," You said. "If it's how you feel, maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore." Your gaze pored into his, unbreaking and persistent.
Your vision was blurrier than before, your voice threatening to waiver, crack, but your composure was held together by the pitiful hope that he'd do what you wanted- what you needed.
He retracted his hand, idling awkwardly while he searched his mind for a response. You watched his eyes dart from yours, cogs turning.
"That what you want?"
Your brows furrowed. "No."
He was quiet again- a common reoccurrence but not usually with you. He had his moments of silence, though his stone-like stance put you off. The calloused part of you had already begun to wall-off the the feelings you'd since developed for him, blinking away the tears gathering in your eyes and clearing your throat.
Sudden chatter outside the bar alerted you both, remembering that inside were the coworkers you'd been trying to avoid. Simon cleared his throat, standing up straight.
"Get in," He muttered, holding the door as you slowly turned to jump into his truck.
Once settled beside you, he turned the truck over, heading for your apartment. There was more silence- hardly even the sound of breathing. He didn't look your way, or rest his hand on your thigh, and a part of you took it as a premonition for the difficult conversation to come.
You'd poured a glass of wine by the time he returned from your room- dressed in only his sweatpants, void of his mask; vulnerable. You stood at the counter's edge, taking a slow sip to avoid speaking while he stared at you.
There was only the sound of deep breaths, a stalemate while you locked eyes. Simon knew he'd crumble- you'd grown too valuable to let slip away- but not without delving into the evening's events.
You sighed as he neared, wandering almost aimlessly through your apartment. Your shoulders collapsed in defeat; growing tired of the silent war waging itself between you.
"What are we doing? Where is this going?" You sighed, catching his eyes as you looked up.
As badly as you wanted to fix the anger and frustration brewing beneath your skin, you knew it would take a lot- maybe more than he'd give. You'd known from the start he wasn't like usual men, and you didn't expect him to be, but the issue at hand was starting to snowball.
"Whad'you want? You want a ring? A kid?" He tilted his head, chest expanding as he neared the kitchen island.
You shook your head, ignoring the mockery in his tone, "I need to know you want me. Only me. Even just for now, not forever. But if not-" Your lips rubbed together. "I can't keep risking my job for something going nowhere."
"My arse has been on the line too," He reminded you, his hand finding the counter. "A lifetime's worth of hard work and shite I ain't proud of- threatened by you. I wouldn't've bothered with any of it if I didn't want you."
"That's not what I meant," You tilted your head, examining his eyes. "I appreciate the risks of our situation-"
"I don't think you do," He moved even closer. "I'm riskin' everything just by bein' here. That ain't an answer for you? Doesn't tell you how fuckin' much I want you?" His breaths were heavy once he'd finished his sentence.
You blinked- shocked by the unexpected passion coming from a man whose stoicism was unmatched by anyone you'd ever known.
He set his jaw, working up the courage to solidify what you wanted desperately to hear. It was like he was choking for air, his chest tight, deeply afraid to offer his trust and commitment, aloud, without something tangible to prove you'd reciprocate it.
His jaw clenched again, his eyes flickering between yours, deciding once and for all that he'd without-a-doubt take what you'd offer without a second thought, even if he had to lay his peace of mind on the line.
"'M with you. Only want you." He stared at you, moving closer. "Don't want anyone else havin' you, either. Call it whatever you like but I ain't been subtle about it."
His words melted away the grudge you'd been holding, finding solace in his words. You had no intention of holding on to anger, especially not as he peeled back the layers of armour protecting him from being hurt. Your lips pursed, biting your lip before meeting his eyes.
"I feel the same," You answered, nodding firmly, meeting his eyes. There was a brief pause, preparing yourself to offer your commitment. "I should've said so sooner, but I only want you, Simon." Your words softened, melting slowly into his ears before settling in his stomach with weight and warmth.
It was so genuine, so utterly vulnerable he was nearly overwhelmed. For a moment, he almost forgot how poorly it could end. It was just the two of you; two people in a normal, mundane relationship, in the dim light of your kitchen, exchanging a stare that dared to pull you into an alternate universe where you didn't have to worry.
He hummed softly- a surrender. He gently, almost begrudgingly, pulled you into him by the fabric of your shirt, a soft kiss against your lips that was like sealing a deal- an exchange of commitment.
Still a bit irritated at your lack of observation, he threatened to pull away. Before he could, you teetered on your toes, moving to drape your arms around his shoulders as he wrapped an arm around your waist. You held him close, pressed against your body as you reconnected your lips.
"I'm sorry," You whispered. "I should've known better."
When he hummed in response, you kissed his lips again. He was stiff against you, though you felt him relax into your touch while you spoke in his ear.
"I'm glad you're here. Happy you're here."
His eyes searched yours for a moment, before he pulled you in by your waist, his lips engulfing yours with warmth and wetness.
You hummed softly, leaning into his touch, standing taller to press your lips against his. You exhaled softly as he slid his tongue against yours, parting your lips with force.
His warm, strong hands tugged you closer, hand moving to hold the side of your face as he guided you against his lips.
He grunted as he lifted you to his hips, large palms and fingers digging into the back of your thighs. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as he began heading for your room; you kept your arms tangled in the short hair on the nape of his neck.
He sat down, your thighs landing on either side of his as you straddled his lap. You pulled your shirt over your head, breathless and rushed, before pulling him back in. His lips fit perfectly together with yours, his tongue sliding between your lips to collide with yours.
His hand clung tightly to your waist, while his other dipped beneath your waistband and panties, gently finding his way over your clit. Rough fingertips traced it softly, a jolt running up your back at the sudden pressure.
"Simon," Yoir voice was airy and desperate, your hands grabbing pulling him closer.
He grunted in response, hardly recognizing his name from your needy mouth, and instead was focused on how soft and wet you were, his warm lips making contact with your neck.
You moaned, cradling his head as he nipped and licked, biting softly at your neck, the cool air of the room bringing goosebumps to the surface of your skin. You writhed against him, your thighs squeezing his between them, trying to stay still while his hand explored the flesh of your pussy.
Your soft moans were muffled by his neck, panting quietly into his skin as your fingers grasped at his back. Your lips made contact with his neck, sloppy and haphazard, making your way to the sharp crease of his jaw before finding his lips. He couldn't help but press into you, grind his already-hard cock against you, finding some measure of relief and pleasure.
"Doin' my fuckin' head in, you know that?" He breathed, warm breath against your neck that made you shiver.
A subtle nod between soft moans was accompanied by a meek and stubborn, "Yeah. I'm sorry."
His hand slipped from your pants, reaching for his sweats as he began to slide them down his hips.
You stood from his lap, slowly pulling your jeans down your thighs until they pooled on the floor, nudging them with your foot before dropping to your knees. You inched forward, your eyes meeting Simon's with an apologetic look- one that intrigued him as much as it turned him on.
"Go on," He nodded. "Let's see how sorry you are."
Your cheeks flushed as his hand came to your cheek, following your lead as your lips puckered around the tip of his cock. He nearly shivered- each time was like the first all over again, unable to overcome the feelings of pure lust when he watched you on your knees.
Your lips wrapping around his cock, eyes locking with his when you'd take him deeper into your throat. The feeling of your throat closing when you'd gag on his dick made him grunt quietly and subconsciously grab a fistful of your hair while he resisted the urge to fuck your throat until you couldn't breathe.
He liked watching you struggle to take it all- the desperation to please in your eyes, the shift in your hips to ease the growing discomfort of your swollen, almost sore, clit. He'd take care of it- always did, always would.
He'd close his eyes only momentarily to listen to your mouth; sloppy sounds of saliva and sucking in sharp breaths. He preferred watching, though, especially when your eyes began to water, your nose began to run, and you'd be sliding your hand up and down his cock to ease the pain in your jaw.
You met his gaze again- eyes half-shut, cheeks flushed, his hand on the back of your head as he guided your lips up and down his cock.
"That's good," He muttered, "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart."
Your heart would race when he praised you, soft murmurs of thanks that vibrated against his cock. He grinned momentarily while you tried to talk with a mouthful of his cock.
"Come 'ere," He leaned back. "Come sit on it, love."
You stood, allowing him to guide your hips over his lap, his eyes settled on yours as he helped you slowly take every inch. Your mouth fell open with disbelief- your lubricated walls drew him in without resistance, his calloused hands on your waist helping to lower you down.
"Right there," He muttered, finally exhaling as your bodies were flush together. "Good fuckin' girl."
Sitting up straight, his hand moved around to grab a handful of your ass, suddenly pulling you forward. A sharp gasp left your lips, falling into his chest with your palms.
You couldn't resist, regardless of how sore your hips were, stretched out from the position, your thighs aching; you rolled your hips forward, a shiver and quiet moan of satisfaction coming from your lungs.
Your arms draped around his shoulders, enthusiastically grinding your hips against his, slowly rising up and lowering yourself to feel his cock push back up inside you. Your soft pants hit his ear, warm breath bringing goosebumps to the surface of his skin.
He pulled you close, his own quiet grunts could be heard in the quiet of your room, especially as your pace sped up. His fingers would squeeze your waist and ass, gripping tightly so you wouldn't stop.
"How's it feel?" He asked, turning his head to watch your lips part with a deep moan. "You like ridin' my cock, don't you, sweetheart?"
"Yes," You mumbled. "Yes- fuck, please touch me," you whispered against his neck, your body hunching over his.
His spread his thighs, his fingers finding your clit as you continued to bring yourself up and down on his cock. Your head fell back, fingernails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, eyes squeezing shut.
Encircling your clit, his touch, combined with his girth sliding in and out, was more than enough to have your stomach tightening. Your moans had turned to choked gasps for air as you neared your climax, strong fingers still keeping their pace on your clit, black eyes watching you fall apart on his cock.
You froze, squeezing his cock as you came, harsh waves of pleasure that made you shudder. He sounded strained, holding in every sound that threatened to spill while your pussy clenched around him.
Rather than waiting for you to gather your composure, he lifted his hips up and began thrusting into you. It was slow at first, quickly turning needy and desperate when he saw the sweat on your brow, and disheveled expression.
"Fuck," He grunted. "Will y'let me cum in you?"
You nodded, too dazed for words, and his own anticipation got the better of him.
"Oughta get you pregnant," He huffed. His hand trailed up your waist, to gather your hair in his fist and pull. "You want it? Wanna be all fuckin' mine, don't you?"
You nearly sobbed, a quiet cry leaving your lips when his grip on your hair tightened and he forced your hips forward to meet his.
"I'm all yours," You answered, nearly all air, breathless amidst his chase for orgasm. "All yours, Simon."
Your words pushed him over the edge, a crippling hold on your waist holding you in place as he thrusted a few more times, forcefully. A low growl against your ear as he came inside you made you shiver, especially as his warm cum filled you.
"All mine, yeah?" He said, his breathing heavy.
You nodded against the side of his head, exhaling harshly.
You couldn't help but feel conflicted at the bittersweet revelation. You were his- entirely, but decades of playing pretend was not what you'd expected for yourself. You fell into him, ignoring the gnawing in your gut and pretending that the reality you'd created for yourselves was forever.
#cod mw2#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#cod mwii#ghost smut#mwii#simon riley#simon riley smut#strlingsavwrites#drive series
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i love your preggo wife drabbles soo much!!! could you write one where joel takes care of reader with her morning sickness? 🫶🏻
Joel dealing with Preggo Reader: Morning Sickness
Notes: Idk why I keep making reader so mean but he's such a trooper! I'm also no pregnancy expert obviously so plz take my minimal effort in research with a grain of salt.
Warnings: mean reader, language, vomitting, morning sickness
- - - -
"I hate your penis."
Joel rolls his eyes. It's only the 11th time you've said it today while being hunched over the toilet, with Joel caringly hovering over you, holding your hair out of the way as you take a deep breath and hurl the breakfast he made you this morning.
"I hate—"
"I know, sweet pea. Just breathe."
You nod in an almost drunken state. He knows its because you've got no energy in you to really fight him, with the baby giving you all the first batch of hell in the life long journey of headaches in child bearing.
He rubs over your spin, caressing the shivers raking over your body so you can focus on not dying right now.
"I hate your toes. I hate your shampoo. I hate your fingernails. I hate your toast. I hate—"
"Ah huh..."
At first he was pretty upset and angered by how much you loath him, but at some point he's tuned it out and just holds and shushes you. While you pout your disdain for the man, you don't oppose his touch.
For now.
"Doin' so good, baby. It's only temporary, baby's just making sure you're a tough momma—"
"Shut the fuck up and get me some water."
Joel stands, his knees reminding him of his less than youthful age, before running downstairs and grabbing a bottle.
You were both a little surprised that all the morning sickness you were warned about hadn't really given either of you trouble in your first trimester. It came with a surprise by the middle of your second, and comes and goes on a daily basis. Today is honestly not so bad: it's your attitude shift that really gives him whiplash.
By the time he gets back up, you're already meandering out of the bathroom like a lost soul with puffy, sleep deprived eyes, and over to the bed, slowly crawling over the mattress, muttering "too tall". You feel his hand supportively on your back, but you snap "fuck off" and get in the bed yourself. He goes to tuck you in with the sheet, but again your hand slaps his away and you close your eyes into darkness.
You can still feel his annoying presence. "What!" You yell, eyes shooting open to see the bottle dangling from his hand. You snatch it without a thank you and gulp.
Joel's just got his hands on his hips, staring at you.
"Kern I hEp ouu, Hondah?" You gurgle through your water sloshing in your mouth.
He just chuckles to himself. "You're cute like this."
You swallow. "I'll fuck you the fuck up."
He laughs even harder, seemingly unserious in your threats. To him, you looked even smaller than before, despite the obvious roundness growing in your tum tum. You seemed like some small puppy finding her growl, or toddler pointing her finger trying to be intimidating but unaware of how badly you're failing.
"So amusing? Why dont you make yourself useful and rub my feet," you demand.
"You need to eat food, baby girl."
"BaBy GiRl" you mock with puppet hand mouth. "NAG nag NAG. I Don't WANT food. I want my FOOT. In your HAND. before I put it up your ASS."
Joel can tolerate the baby cock-blocking him for a few weeks and the endless assult of your words, but he puts his foot down when your basic needs arent being met. "I need you to eat food. You need energy. Baby needs energy."
"Fine! Crackers, you crackhead. Then—" and you thrust your leg in the hair and wiggle your foot in his face so he gets the picture.
"Okay okay!" And he walks out the bedroom.
Joel spends a record 4 minutes downstairs hurriedly putting together a fancy array of cracker options, from Saltines, to Townhouse, to Ritz. He also pops a few cubes of diced ham in his mouth and then holds a few in his hand to snack on later since he too had to abandon breakfast to service you.
By the time you're conplaining "it's been hours!" He's trotting up the stairs, you wiggle your bum so you sit upright in bed, hand over gurgling belly as he brings the tray to you.
Just as youre about to feast on these dry ass cardboard squares, your nose twitches. You see Joel chewing something in his grasp, popping one cube of pale meat quickly into his mouth, and it takes all of 2 seconds for the smell to travel to your brain before you're throwing the tray on the ground, crackers spilling all over the carpet and b lining to the bathroom again to throw up.
As he hears your dramatic gasps and hurls, Joel pulls out his little note pad he's been documenting your pregnancy so far. He writes "no ham" in the lines , right under "hates my penis", before tossing the paper on the bed and stroking your hair lovingly again as you empty your entire organs in the toilet.
By the time you finish, you've got snot and tears running down your face. "but I LOVED HAAAMMMMM" You screech.
It's true. You used to wrap a thick spread of cold butter on a slice of cheap deli ham and eatnit like a cannoli— something he thought was a weird aquired taste BEFORE he even got you pregnant.
Joel grabs a tissue and plants it firmly in your face, and you squeeze your eyes tight and blow right into his palm like a little snot nosed trumpet. He rubs his fingers in your nostrils to get all the boogers out before tossing it and helping you up to your feet again.
All the while you're bawling "l-l-loved—my hh-ham—n cheese" with gross babbling as he tucks you back in the duvet. You were fine with giving up other aversions like tomatoes, pizza crust, and yogurt. Even sex (occasionally). But your beloved ham is one baby step too far.
"Your—"sniffle— "big—"hiccup—"ugly—"choke—"WORM —" cough—"DID THIS TO MEEE," you accuse his crotch and wail into the air.
Then you hiccup very loudly and go quiet entirely.
You look around with curious eyes, fresh tears suddenly unbothering you at the moment.
"Mmmmmmmn crackers," you moan. "Gimme that one," and you point to the mess on the floor.
"What one?"
"That one!"
He bends down and picks up a piece.
But you shake your head. "No that one."
"No." "No the other." "No."
"Which one!" He shouts, unable to contain the lace of frustration.
"The one I'm pointing to, stupid!"
He finally picks up one hes pointed to 3 times already and you clap your hands.
You snatch it out of his grasp, pull a hair off its curved cracked edge before munching on it happily.
He looks at with uncertainty on his face.
You swallow the dry mushed bits and hum contently. "Mmm. Salty."
-
Not even 12 hours later you two are getting ready for bed, and you mood has completely changed. Still sick, but instead of being unable to stand Joel's entire existence, you praise it.
"Joel, honey? Can you please prop my feet up Under this pillow. I'm sorry. I just can't seem to reach it myself."
"Baby? I'm a little thirsty. Can you get me some water?"
"Im so sorry, Joel. I just can't stomach this food, I know you put so much effort into it. Ugh! I loved this, I really did! I don't know what's wrong with me."
You rub over the discomfort in your slightly swollen tummy and try to be a brave girl and fight the tears, as Joel's been so attentive to your needs, aches, cries and cravings, only to hurl them back up.
You sniffle and look up to him.
He's a bit tense, almost in a fight or flight stance with fear behind his eyes.
"W-whats wrong, Joel?" you ask with a honey song voice.
"Who are you and what have you done with my wife?"
- - - -
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Little Black Dress
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Pairing | Neil Lewis x reader
Summary | Neil stands behind a stranger in a crowded subway car.
Warnings | Smut, non con, 18+, sexual content, non consensual everything lol, Neil being a creep, reader is unaware, public masturbation, a lil misogyny.
Words | 1.5 k
Notes | The amount of fic ideas that I’ve gotten from watching porn is… too many💀 Also I wrote this in one day so I’m sorry if it’s bad🫣
Ao3 link | <3
Masterlist
You stood in front of him, so close that he could smell your hair. His gaze trailed down your body, eyeing your exposed arms and the swell of your ass beneath the tight dress you wore. And then down your long legs, leading to your strappy heels. You must be going out. He lifted himself up on his toes a little bit and leaned forward the slightest amount— he was already much taller than you so it didn’t take that much effort. He had to bite his lip to stifle the groan that almost escaped when he saw your tits. The dress you wore flattered them nicely… as in.. they were almost spilling out of it.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to get a grip. He could already feel his cock fattening up in his pants. When the subway turned, you stumbled into him a little, your ass pushing into his crotch.
“Sorry.” You said sheepishly, turning around to give him an apologetic smile as you stepped away from him again.
Fuck— your face. You were wearing makeup, but not the trashy kind that makes women look worse. This just complimented your features in a subtle but pretty way. And your lips… His cock throbbed at the thought of them wrapped around his length.
“No worries..” He chuckled awkwardly, no doubt blushing by now.
His breathing picked up and when he looked down, the tent in his pants was obvious. He was just glad he was hidden behind you. Reaching down, he tried to subtly adjust himself, but all that did was give him a taste of the stimulation he could have, making him even harder.
He cleared his throat and looked around, trying to see if anyone was watching, but everyone was either on their phone or engaged in conversation. So he hesitantly took a step forward until his cock just barely brushed your ass. It wasn’t enough pressure for you to notice it, but it was enough to make his lips part in a silent moan as his brows scrunched together. He moved his hips side to side a little, just barely touching your ass, trying to get a little more stimulation.
He wanted to grab it. He wanted to turn you around, take your ass in both hands, and roughly grope you, pulling you into him as he rutted against your clothed heat. But he knew he couldn’t. So he settled for this.
For a while, he kept teasing himself with barely there touches. But then the subway stopped and the doors opened and more people were flooding in, pushing you back into him even more. He could smell your perfume now too.
You cleared your throat and tried to step forward once you noticed how close you were, but there wasn’t anywhere for you to go. You were close enough that he could feel your body heat through his clothes and he could see over your shoulders without needing to raise himself up. He stared at your tits from above as he breathed heavily, trying to control himself and not buck his hips forward. He had to be subtle about this or it would end far too soon.
Suddenly struck with an idea, he grabbed his wallet from his pocket and “accidentally” dropped it so that it landed in front of you.
“Excuse me?” He rasped, voice thick with arousal. He cleared his throat and you turned your head a little to look at him. “I dropped my wallet. Could you grab it for me please? It’s just right there.” He pointed to the floor in front of you and you gave him a small smile.
“Sure.” You leaned down to pick it up and his mouth fell open when your ass pushed into his crotch because of the tight proximity. He wanted to grab your hips and grind his cock against you with abandon. With you bent over like this, he could just barely see the lace panties you were wearing under the skimpy dress. The train jerked and he used the opportunity to buck his hips forward, making you almost lose your balance. You leaned back up— far too soon— and let out a heavy breath of exertion as you handed it to him.
“Here you go.” He took it with a shaky hand and gave you a shy smile.
“Thanks.” He noticed that because of you leaning down, gravity made your tits fall up, causing them to spill out of your dress even more once you stood again. He pocketed his wallet then took out his phone and “accidentally” dropped it at his feet. “Such a klutz today.” He chuckled, trying not to sound suspicious as he squatted down to pick it up, but you didn’t even notice that he said anything.
He stayed down there and pretended to tie his shoe as he looked up your dress, getting a better view of your panties. He wanted to know what you smelled like— what you tasted like. Feeling bold, he slowly moved closer, being sure not to breathe on your leg so you stayed unaware. Once his nose was brushing your dress, he moved a tiny bit closer, then inhaled deeply, trying not to moan out loud at your scent. He didn’t want to push his luck, so he moved back and stood up again, palming his bulge.
Keeping his phone out, he opened the camera and took a few pictures from his point of view, showing the curve of your ass. Then he moved the phone down and pointed it under your dress, taking a few more. He hesitated for this, but looked around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly brought his phone up to his eyeline to get a picture of your tits. He lowered it quickly and looked around again, breathing a silent sigh of relief when he saw that he hadn’t been caught.
He looked through the pictures, his hand moving more purposefully over his bulge now. They were perfect. He took a few more under your dress, wanting to get as many angles as possible. When he cursed under his breath, you turned over your shoulder to look at him.
“Did you say something?”
“No— no sorry.” He cleared his throat again, giving you a reassuring smile, and you turned back around. He was practically jerking himself off through his clothes now, getting more and more desperate, but he paused when he got another idea.
Releasing his cock, he stepped closer again until it was brushing your ass, then took a few more pictures. Once he was satisfied, he quickly resumed fisting his cock, getting closer to his orgasm.
He wanted to come on your tits, maybe even on your face or your panties. He wanted you covered in his seed— marked… owned. Plus, you’d look so pretty wearing his own personal pearl necklace. He could feel himself getting closer just thinking about it.
He wanted to turn you around and shove you to your knees so that he could hold your head still and hump your face instead. Forcing you to smell his musk, feel his hardness. It was your fault anyway. He wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t push your barely clothed ass on his cock and get him hard. He wouldn’t be doing this if your tits weren’t out.
If you actually wore shorts under your dress, he wouldn’t have had to take pictures. Why else would you wear such skimpy, lacy panties if you didn’t want him to do that?
His breathing was growing more and more ragged as he got closer to his release. He looked through the pictures of your panties, focusing on your mound under the see through fabric. He wanted to see what your bare pussy looked like. Were you wet? Would you get even wetter if you knew what he was doing? Your clit probably gets so red and swollen when you’re all needy.
He imagined what your cunt would look like when he was done with it. Probably red and puffy, your hole gaping as his come slowly trickled out of it…
He could barely even finish the thought before he quickly freed his cock and started properly jerking himself off, closing his eyes and letting his head drop down as he finally came. White ropes of come covered your black dress and anyone who saw it would know exactly what it was. He stroked himself until his orgasm was finally finished, then cleared his throat and looked around again— people’s lack of situational awareness almost amazed him.
Lifting his phone, he took a few pictures of him rubbing the last bead of come from the tip onto your ass, then tucked himself away. He took more pictures of your ass, getting different angles and trying not to groan when it started dripping down the fabric. He pocketed his phone, then let out a heavy sigh.
Before he even had the chance to consider doing more, the subway was stopping again and you were walking out the doors. He watched your come covered ass sway with each step and felt his cock twitch at the sight. But his enjoyment was cut short by the doors closing and the subway continuing on.
Part 2
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