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futureplayboibunnie · 10 months

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Aphrodesiacs

Miguel O’Hara x fem! spidey! reader

yk that bit of spiderman lore between silk and peter where they were bitten by the same spider and can’t be near each other without feeling….

yeah this is that but with Miguel. SO NSFW. i love blue balling y’all. PART 2 IS UP NOW!

There were certain things that were absolutely not up for discussion when it came to Miguel: his leadership skills, his authority, his ability to lead this society, his daughter and…you.

There were too many issues to discuss about your strange…he didn’t even know what to call it at this point. See, you were both bitten by the same spider which everyone deemed highly impossible, but it happened. What came with being bit by the same spider were chemically and biologically bound side effects no one knew the first thing about. You and Miguel were more enhanced than the others, in many ways, many uncomfortable and impossibly distracting ways. You were physically drawn to each other, unable to physically feel anything but an intense primal, primitive and animalistic sexual attraction to one another. Neither of you could be in the same room without wanting to fuck like bunnies. The chemical compounds in your brains were the same, and it made you both become aphrodesiacs for each other. No one knew about it other than Lyla and Jess.

This was a problem, he was your boss and you couldn’t actually look at him without feeling hot and wet, you had fangs the same way he did but no one knew about it, Lyla made sure of it. Miguel on the other hand was a wreck because of it, his blood would burn at the mere thought of you. He worked his body out to the bone, he would work out and sweat the thoughts and desires away from him. It never worked. But he needed to pretend it did. Neither of you would anticipate how drastic it could be. You knew it was the genetics and the chemicals from the same spider that bit you which made you weary of ever getting close to one another but Lord, the desires were still there. It felt like you were muzzled and on a leash, hindered by moral righteousness. You both knew you couldn’t give in but that was rather difficult when you actually needed to see one another.

You ripped a hole in your suit, where your waist was and only Miguel seemed to have the supplies to fix it. A massive horizontal gash that exposed your skin. Your brain was dreading to see him, your heart said otherwise and your pussy throbbed at the mere idea. It was like you were magnets, constantly avoiding due to the the impossibility to be pulled apart. Taking a deep breath to keep a cool calm head seemed to work momentarily and then you walked into his lair.

Miguel could smell you from here. His skin tightened and his muscles tensed when he felt your scent wrap around him, like a warm golden glow. He would taint you in red. He would break you. He knew this. That’s why he could never….

“You know you can’t be here.” He sighed, ignoring your presence as he was staring blankly at his screens. “You know I can’t concentrate.” He added quietly.

You swallowed thickly and closed your eyes, wincing slightly. “I know we’re not- Look, I just need you to fix my suit and Lyla told me I had to fix it immediately or the wiring would go to shit. You know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need to.”

Miguel paused and blinked slightly at the last thing you said. You did need to see him. You did need to be here but neither of you wanted to talk about the true reason. He turned his head to face you. He wanted to groan at the sight of you.

Miguel had to force himself not to stare at your body and the way your suit clung to it, there was a massive gash in it that exposed the skin of your waist. Why did God always have to test his patience? Lord above give him strength. Even with his impeccable self control and strength, it took everything in his power to resist the urge to throw you against the floor and...Miguel groaned softly and rolled his eyes. “If that's what it takes...”

“I know you want to get rid of me quickly. I promise it won’t take long.” You say hurriedly as you hop onto his platform. You were really close to each other now, You swallowed and your breathing became slightly more shallow. Please let this be quick. Please. You begged silently. “I just need you too stitch my suit on my waist for me.” You say. “Quickly…” You added breathily. You had to get closer for him to actually help you and as he sat in his chair and pulled out his supplies, he raised an eyebrow to lure you closer. He felt his body tighten as you breathed so near him. The electricity was sizzling between you. Your heart beats synchronized and your minds only on one thing.

You got closer and you were practically standing inbetween his legs, you saw his breath hitch slightly but Miguel was a master at not letting his mask slip. He was good at pretending. His brow furrowed slightly, making a fruitless effort of avoiding that fucking look in your eyes. That face. Fuck.

This was bad, this was so dangerous. Being this close could end in a catastrophe for the both of you.

He paused before he put his fingers on your suit, a spark of electricity caused your body to still. He just closed his eyes and breahed out hurridly. He bit the bullet and grabbed your waist for you to stumble closer.

He needed to get this over and done with. No matter what it took, he needed to get you away from him. You gasped a little when he did that and he could feel that sound travel all the way to his dick. He tried to ignore it by getting to work and scanning your suit and then stitching up. His fingers worked at the speed of light. Your eyes just widened, continuing your mindless gawk as hazy thoughts of grabbing his hair and lowering his head further down between your thighs clouded your head. You tried to shake the sensation of his hands gripping your waist but it felt impossible, part of you genuinely wanted to grit your teeth until they shattered- the tension hurt.

Miguel always seemed to be perfectly fine on the outside, he had masked emotions other than anger or annoyance very well but this was causing that picture of himself to falter at the seams. Internally, he was breaking apart. Weakened by desperation. Lord, you were his weakness.

Images of you flashed through his head as he stitched, he wanted you tied up. Yes. With your own webs. Letting him have his way with you, pounding you until you cried and begged him to stop. He would fill you up, make you guzzle his cum as you pleaded for more. He let out a soft grunt at the sheer idea.

His fingers moved quickly as he sewed your torn suit together. “Why are you always getting hurt?” Miguel's voice was raspy, and he was unable to control his breathing. Miguel did his best to look away, but the smell of your exposed your skin was making it hard for him to think clearly. Your body was perfect. Jesus, it was like it was made for him.

You swallowed hard, your thoughts became hazy as he was this close. His hands were brushing on you and you tensed slightly at his fleeting barely there touchs. “Mm- I’m not always getting hurt.” You say softly, if you said it any louder you were sure you would moan.

“Right,” Miguel mumbled softly, his words catching in his throat. “I'm sure you were just passing by when you ran into trouble.” Miguel kept his eyes down to avoid meeting your gaze. All you could do was scowl at him. He finished his work and immediatly grabbed your waist and pushed you away as he got up from his chair to stare at his screens again as a means to avoid looking at you. “Don’t come back here.” He muttered at you seriously.

“I won’t.” You glowered at his broad and muscular back. You lied though, you were sure you’d be back. “But…I can’t keep going on like this.”

His ears pricked up at your admission and he felt the exact same way. Miguel's body was on fire. He wanted you. Right now. He didn't know what would happen if he gave into his urges. His body was shaking, and he had to make a conscious effort to keep his hands to himself. He was trying not to touch you, but every move you made, every tiny shift, only made your body more desirable. “Please, go.” Miguel choked, his voice harsh and strained.

You did as you were told and you hurriedly left. Praying that this would naturally wear off as long as you stayed away from him.

It had been a few days since your interaction and you had both successfully avoided each other since then but he could still feel your presence whenever you were at HQ. He could still feel the air in his office carrying your scent.

Now it was 2AM and he was still in his office. He was banging another hookup over his desk, she was bent over just so he couldn’t look at her. She was pretty but she wasn’t you. As his dick slid in and out, her moans fell flat to him, he only wanted to hear you. He was praying that this one would be the one that made him forget about you, that this one would tamper down his sexual anger and frustration but no. He got angrier. Animalistic. All he could think about was you. He was pretty sure he was hurting her when he was like this. His mood soured when he wondered what he would do to you if he finally gave in. Would he hurt you? God, what if he did….

He never wanted to hurt you.

He knew you would never be able to take it, to take all of it.

You on the other hand were in your apartment, also fucking a random hookup. You were hoping it would help your predicament but if anything it was making you more frustrated. He wasn’t fucking big enough. Yeah, his dick was better than average but it didn’t have the girth that Miguel would- You shook your head out of any thoughts of him and decided to be in the moment. You decided that it was a terrible moment. There were much more irritating things than faking an orgasm like your incessant need for Miguel.

Even though you were being fucked by another guy all you could thing about was: Miguel, Miguel, Miguel.

Nothing was working, for either of you.

Your mind wandered towards another way to fix this. Maybe there was a suppressant or an antidote to help keep down these primal urges and desires. These thoughts were keeping you from doing any sort of work, you couldn’t concentrate properly. Your mind was burned alive by constant thoughts of him in so many different situations. So you decided to talk to him about it. He’d probably end up killing you for even thinking about it but you were way passed that.

You sighed deeply before thrumming up the guts to see him again. Entering his lair was never a welcome idea to anyone but you and him were struggling and he was lying to himself. Miguel felt your presence again, your scent, your skin. He tampered down the jumping urge to drag you by your ankles and-

“I know you didn’t want me here again but we need to talk.” You crossed your arms but it further accentuated your chest, his stare lingered for a moment and he looked blank. Then he looked back down at a new suit he was fixing up and seemed unamused. That look just made you even more wet and desperate for his attention.

“No… we don’t.” He said thickly and your knees started buckling under the pressure. You swallowed.

“Uhm…there has to be an antidote for this or a suppressant for whatever…this is.” You said hurriedly. “Maybe I can manufacture one, I think I might be able to if I could genetically scan the spider and take it’s DNA and change its raw qualities…” Miguel watched you pace desperately as you rambled on, not even looking at him, you were pleading for a solution to this and he was getting more and more annoyed.

He stared at your lips as you spoke. Flashes of you on your knees, drooling and gagging on his cock pierced the forefront of his mind, causing his legs to feel nothing but limp. The things he wanted to do to you. He was an addict because of you.

“There is no cure for it!” He grunted loudly, cutting you off. “Hell, I’ve tried to make one since the first day I met you and all you’ve done is make me lose my fucking self control. You just standing there is enough to make me go crazy for you and I. Can’t. Help. It. I can smell you, I know you want me too but we have to fight it. We have to manage this because if you let me get close to you, I know I’ll hurt you and I won’t let that opportunity arise.” He admitted in a frenzy, his teeth almost shattering against each other, jaw clenching and unclenching. He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair as his eyes bore a ruby hue and his breathing became uneven and heavy.

You bit your lip at his angry outburst, not being able to deny how turned on you were by his rage and lack of self control. Part of you thought your mind was playing tricks on your or that you were hullicinating all of this as you were dulled by a cloud of lust, but no. You were very aware now that it was real. You were both feral for each other. You just glowered him.

“I have denied every single impulse I have ever had for you.” You grit out. “Maybe I want you to make it hurt, because any other kind of hurt right now is better than the pure need for you to fuck me right here, right now. You are not the only one who is capable of making another person hurt. Maybe I blame you. Maybe I can’t get you out of my head. Maybe I need your cock in me. Whatever….I just need to do something about it or else I’ll go fucking insane.” Miguel watched your brows furrow and your lips loosen as you uttered those fated words. His eyes glazed over twice and widened, your words were sharp and unfeeling. He believed that if you weren’t this way you wouldn’t find a need to be cruel and direct, the way your eyes glimmered yet darkened with need and passion caused him to halt in his tracks, now you were inching closer to him and he didn’t know what to do.

“It's impossible to create an antidote,it genetically and chemically changed our code.” Miguel mumbled, his voice husky and strained. “We're stuck like this...” He sighed, trying to collect himself. “Look, we just have to learn how to handle this," Miguel muttered, trying to convince himself more than you. “We'll learn to control ourselves. This...this is manageable.”

He didn’t believe any of the lies he spewed. There’s no way this was managable.

“Why do I get the feeling that that is not true.” You say softly, biting your lip and blinking up at him. Neither of you knew how you got this close now, it was like you were drawn to each other.

“Stop giving me that look. I-I can’t-“ He breathed heavily, trying to rescue himself or beg for your mercy. He didn’t know which one. Miguel hung his head and quickly turned his head as to not face you. “I’ll hurt you.” He added stoically.

“I. Don’t. Care ”

#spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara

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jgracie · 1 month

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⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ SPEED DRIVE!

↳ part two!

ferrari driver!percy jackson x fem!reader

masterlist | rules

warnings one swear word!

on the radio . . . speed drive (charlie xcx)

percy knew it was a bad idea leaving his house without at least a pair of sunglasses to conceal his identity. he was craving cookie dough ice cream, the grocery store wasn’t too far away and it was the middle of the night - who would possibly recognise him at a time like this?

the answer is many people. while percy did love his loyal fans, both tifosi and others, even he had to admit they were a little crazy. all it took was for one to snap a photo and post it on twitter and the rest seemed to immediately spawn all around him

“percy, is it true that luke might lose his seat next year?” he heard one voice say as he attempted to weave through the thick crowd of people. why couldn’t he have one second of peace? unfortunately, percy had made another awful decision that night - walking to the grocery store

this left ferrari’s golden boy with two options: either tough out the wall home with fans and paparazzi alike swarming him, or find someone who was willing to drive him home. with cars on the street in front of him were stationery thanks to the red light, percy made his decision

he bolted for the first one that caught his eye, a car that was small, (ironically) bright red and most importantly had an open roof. percy also had to admit the driver was kind of pretty, at least from what he could see from that far away

the light turned yellow and you prepared yourself to continue driving. you’d only recently gotten your drivers license and this was your first time driving without someone more experienced with you in the car, so you were just praying to end up at your apartment in one piece

just as the light became green and you began to drive, some random guy jumped into the passenger seat of your car, causing your heart rate to increase dramatically and your foot to immediately press on the brakes - out of shock or fear (or both), you weren’t sure

“drive!” he nearly yelled at you. you just stared at him, your mouth agape. it was way too late at night for this. at your state, percy huffed and leaned over to the wheel, beginning to steer for you

this snapped you out of the daze you were in and you slapped his hands away, your brows furrowing in anger as you drove, “who the fuck are you and what do you think you’re doing in my car? i’m pulling over right now, you need to get out.”

“no, please, i promise i didn’t mean any harm! can you just drop me off at my house?” he asked. you didn’t need to look at him to know he was incredibly desperate. who was this guy? as you recalled his face from when he first got into your car, you realised he did look a little familiar, but you still couldn’t figure out his identity

at your silence, percy continued, “i’ll do anything, do you like car racing? i can get you tickets for that!”

okay, so he was rich rich. you didn’t know the first thing about racing, but one of your friends was obsessed with formula one. specifically, a driver called peter jameson (or something along those lines). still, you rolled your eyes at his offer, disliking the way he attempted to bribe you

“no, it’s fine, you don’t have to do anything. where do you live?”

after percy told you his address, the car ride was silent. neither of you knew what to say to the other. you were still shaken by his sudden appearance, and percy was trying to conceal the blush that coated his cheeks. he was right, you were beautiful. the moon made your skin glow and your eyes brighter. from the death grip you had on the wheel, percy could tell you were new at driving. cute

“thanks a lot, you have absolutely no idea how much you helped me tonight,” percy said as he got out of your car. part of you was a little sad to see him go. sure, he freaked you out, but something about him was magnetic - maybe it was those sea green eyes that put all of poseidon’s oceans to shame, or the light dusting of freckles you hadn’t noticed until now

giving him a small smile, you said, “you’re welcome. have a good night.” you stayed for a little and watched as he entered his home, a bittersweet feeling tugging at your heart

once you’d gotten home, you noticed he’d left something on the passenger seat. a strip of paper with a line of messily scrawled numbers lay on the leather

call me. (917) 173-1839 — PJ

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson #percy jackson x fem reader #pjo #pjo x reader #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson blurb #f1 driver pjo #f1 driver percy jackson #f1 driver percy jackson x reader #cynwrites

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improbable-outset · 5 months

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📂 '𝐓𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎3 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.8k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Fingering, Bratty!Reader, Miguel humbling you, innuendos, finger licking, orgasm denial. This can be read as fwb or established relationship 🤭 I kept it vague here but I prefer the former

𝐀/𝐍: Okay, a seasonal special fic even though I don’t celebrate Christmas myself lol. This is more smut heavy than festive. I had fun with this one though icl

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It’s the holiday season and for some reason, you thought it would be a good idea to rile Miguel up more than you usually do. That was until you were taken back to his lab and he gained the upper hand over you.

He couldn’t remember how he even allowed something like this to happen in his sanctuary. Something so unnecessary, so tedious. A waste of time really.

Initially, it was Peter who came up to him and asked about throwing a party in the Spider Society cafeteria.

Immediately declined.

His flamboyant demeanor and exasperated tone only added to Miguel’s accumulating annoyance. But the following day, you approached him to ask the same question but this time around, he was very hesitant to say no.

But he didn’t accept it so easily either. Not without enough persuasion and coaxing from you. He didn’t need to think too deeply to know that you both definitely discussed this beforehand and planned on how you were going to approach him.

How insufferable. Reluctantly he gave in.

Now here he was, leaning against the far corner of the cafeteria with the place far too festive for his liking.

He gripped in vexation onto the plastic cup that was half-filled with booze in his hand, crinkling the plastic. He took a prolonged sip, hoping he could drown himself with enough alcohol to blur out the scene that was folding in front of him right now.

The room filled with the sounds of laughter and banter from the Spider People that surrounded him.

Even with some of them greeting him, he still felt disconnected from it all, like a fish out of water. Everyone’s ease at each other’s company made his own solitude more apparent.

He could be back in HQ in the familiar confinement of his office. Even if he didn’t like looking at the monitors and watching the multiverse all day, at least he was comfortable.

The only reason he was here right now was because he could use this as an excuse to admire you. Why did he have to give in to you like this? Why were you his biggest weakness? Your persuasive nature, while it can be irksome at times, held a strange allure and he hated that it had him on a chokehold.

After roaming his eyes around the crown, he finally caught sight of you. As expected, you were engaged in a hearty conversation with a group of Spider People, including Peter and Jess.

You always drew people in like a magnetic force and though Miguel hated being too social, he still found you captivating. As you graced through the room, you left a trail of laughter and sweetness behind you.

Your gaze eventually fell on him, where he stood in the corner of the room before you glided your way to him through the maze of the crowd, carrying the warm air with you.

“I know this isn’t your type of scene but you don’t need to be sulking in the corner like that.” You quipped as you leaned against the wall beside him. You had your spider suit on, just like everyone else, in addition to a few red and green tinsel around your wrist and your hair that shimmered under the cafeteria lighting.

“I’m not sulking.” He resorted back, giving you a sideways glance to maintain his eye contact, instead of turning to fully face you. The last thing he wanted was to be caught staring at you.

You wavered your hands in response, almost dismissing his comment. “Right, right. Observing, brooding — same difference.”

“What are you trying to get out of this?”

“Nothing— you think I’m that cruel that I’d try to prod something out of you.” You said, moving from your position so you were standing in front of him, leaving him no choice but to look down on you. “You can let loose a little, you know. You might enjoy it.” Even with the aroma of various food from the buffet lingering in the air, Miguel still caught a whiff of your scent that overshadowed it all, which triggered a sudden rush of heat to reach his cock under his digital suit— but not enough to give him a hard on, thankfully.

“I find enjoyment in…other things. Not festive gatherings.” He countered, attempting to maintain his composure despite your subtle teasing. The way you were leaning in wasn’t helping his case.

“Shame. I’d assume you’d loosen up especially since it is the holidays,”

He only recoiled in response. “You’re relentless.”

You were more than that. The past few days before this event, you’ve been progressively trying to push his buttons; it only gotten worse each day.

It started off when a new recruit joined the Spider Society and you volunteered to be his mentor and give him private sessions. He knew you only did it to flicker the flame of jealousy within him.

Fortunately he managed to keep his shit together and was nonchalant about the situation, knowing it would disappoint you to see no reaction out of him.

But then you would resort to being more physical with your teasing.

You would squeeze past him and ‘accidentally’ brush your ass against his crotch. At first he thought it was a coincidence until you tried to do it again.

“Mhmm, guilty at charge. Tell you what, I'll let you stay here and sulk in the corner for a little while and then we can go back to the lab later and I’ll take the ugly Christmas sweater off of you.”

Shocking hell, please do.

You were killing him but he wasn’t going to let you get to his head that easy.

“Thanks for the privilege…” he mumbled lowly into his cup he had been nursing, before taking another swing.

You flashed a smile in response before mingling back into the crowd. Miguel could only chew on his lower lip to suppress the amusing smirk that tugged on his lips.

The next few hours felt stretched out. But finally, he was back in the privacy of his lab with you. The door closed behind with a quiet click before Miguel instructed Lyla to lock it.

It was easy to tell that the decor in the lab was a reflection of Miguel’s personality: equipment was stringently organised with no additional decorations, showcasing his no-nonsense approach to his work. The room ambiance was a testament to his preference for efficiency and purpose, with low lighting for his sensitive eyes.

Miguel lifted you up from the waist, his muscles flexing briefly, before placing you on one of the empty countertops.

“You know, if I had to take a wild guess, I’d say you were purposely sulking just so I could save you back there,” you commented, a daring tone in your voice. A coy grin played on your lips as you watched him intently. Miguel overlooked your tease and leaned in until he was eye level with you.

“You realise I can see right through you. I noticed your behaviour over the past few days and how bratty you’ve been acting.” He was staring intently at you to catch any falter in your expression. Even if you did have the upper hand over him the last few days, this was all still amusing to him, watching the way you acted.

“Oh, should I dial it down for you?”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it”

He drew himself closer until his lips were close enough to brush against yours. His hands glided along your sides before grasping your waist to pull you close.

He wasn’t going to kiss you, not yet. If he was going to get you back for teasing him, he was going to drag this out for as long as he could, just to throw you off and see how long you’d last.

The ghost of your exhales from your parted lips fanned against his before you pulled your face away completely and slipped from his grasp and got yourself down from the desk, leaving him perplexed.

“Do you want some empanadas?” You asked, holding up a paper box stacked with napkins before flashing him a sugary smile.

Miguel had to blink a few times before he lost his composure. It took him a few heartbeats for him to fully process what just happened.

You seemed to have completely snapped him out of the sensual mood you were sharing.

“What?” His voice gave away his confusion.

“I got them from the cafeteria. I know you love them, so I got enough for both of us.”

He couldn’t tell if your sudden change of behaviour was to mess with him or if you genuinely just wanted to share some food with him. But knowing you, he had a strong sense that it was the former.

“You went from nearly eating my lips to offering empanadas in a span of two seconds.”

“I’m hungry.” You pouted before opening the box to reveal the steaming empanadas inside and held it out to him. “They’re still warm, you know.” You prodded, gesturing to him to take one.

There had to be a catch from this but nevertheless he took one of the pastries from the box. The savoury scent was too good to resist.

You helped yourself to one before you settled yourself back on the desk. He watched you to see if you had anything else planned or if you were going to dial up your seemingly bratty behaviour before he took a bite out of the pastry. You kept your gaze at him and watched him eat.

“Something you want to say?” He asked. You finished off the empanada in your hand before you spoke.

“I think chicken empanadas are better.” You stated.

Miguel couldn’t tell where you were going with this but for now, he played along.

“The beef ones are definitely better,” he replied, finishing his own empanada in his hand before wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“But the chicken one is more tender,”

“That doesn’t make it better. It’s about the flavour not texture,” he further added to his argument.

For a moment, he dismissed everything that had just happened a few minutes ago and now fully concentrated on debating on which empanadas are more delicious. This was a hill he was prepared to die on and he waited to see what you’d say next.

He didn’t expect you to lean in closer from your seat but he didn’t break eye contact with you just yet. You took another empanada from the box and held it near his mouth.

He cocked an inquisitive brow at you in response. The aroma was filling his senses again and he was getting tempted as you moved your hand closer.

“Bite,” you simply commanded. He gave in and bit down on the empanada you provided for him. He chewed carefully before looking back at you again. “It does taste better when you’re being fed by your girl though,” you teased.

“Now you’re just gloating. But I do have to agree it does taste better this way,” he said before taking another bite. The steam from the filling of the pastry wavered around his nostrils.

There was the last bit of the empanada still in your hand, small enough for him to finish off in one bite. As he took the bite, his lips lightly grazed against your fingertips. The touch was subtle but enough for you to freeze up in your seat.

It wasn’t intentional but after seeing your reaction, he couldn’t help his lips from curling up to a satisfied smirk.

He noticed there were a few flaky crumbs of the pastry on your fingers still. Before you could regain your wits and say something, he reached out and started licking the crumbs from your fingers.

He kept his eyes on you to see your reaction, watching your face fall even more.

“What are— what are you doing?” You stuttered out.

“What does it look like? I’m just cleaning up the mess on your fingers.” He continued lapping up your fingers, dragging his tongue slowly over each digit.

You couldn’t do anything but watch in astonishment. At times, Miguel had the upper hand over the two of you and would do something that would leave you speechless, just like now.

You stifled out a low moan and clamped your legs together. Miguel picked up on your body language and his breathing became shallow.

“Someone’s enjoying this more than they should…” He placed a hand on your thigh while lapping up the last flake from your thumb.

You seemed to be drawn back to the present now as your gaze was glued to his hand on your thigh. His hands glided to your inner thigh and stopped at the crease where your thigh meets your torso.

He leaned in to reach the back opening of your suit with his lips feeling the pulse on your neck increasing alarmingly fast.

His ears filled with the subtle swooshing sound of your suit now as it stretched and adjusted to its removal. After a few tugs and pulls, he finally got the suit off you.

He pulled off your panties immediately after to reveal your slick cunt.

“Shocking hell,” he let out a low chuckle at the raw sight of you.

“Be quiet-” you grunted

“Or what?” He slipped a finger through your slick and into your folds, causing you to jolt in surprise.

Your walls fluttered before squeezing around him as he dragged his fingers in and out of you. You grasped onto his biceps and rested your forehead on his shoulders, a low wimped slipping from your lips.

“Mig-” you whimpered.

He continued pumping his fingers in your heated core, feeling how desperate you were for him. The way you rolled your hips in sync with his fingers got his own body responsive.

He felt the familiar heat that rushed to his pelvic area, making his cock twitch desperately under his suit.

The room filled with the squelching sounds from his fingers that was overshadowed by your low moans and it served as a fuel to his perverse delight.

He learned every crevice and every micro expression you made as you frantically tried to reach your high. And he knew how your body responded to all his touches.

He recognised that you were reaching your peak the way your walls tightened even more and how your body shuddered, preparing you for the overwhelming relief. However, just at the very last second, Miguel withdrew his fingers, immediately halting the sensation you were experiencing.

You pulled yourself away when you could feel his fingers anymore, your face dropped in shock.

“Miguel, why?” You croaked out, your voice hoarse from the bliss.

Miguel’s finger was glistening from your wetness. He used his other hand to hold your chin as he spoke.

“You really think I’m going to let you finish after the way you’ve been behaving over the last few days?” He said, almost growling now.

“You can’t be serious…”

“I’m dead serious, muñeca.”

You huffed out in frustration and Miguel felt a surge of satisfaction growing in his chest. He finally had the upper hand after being tormented by you for so long.

But he wasn’t going to do anything that would purposely hurt your emotions. This was just to give you a taste of your own medicine. You gazed back up at him.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry for my behaviour. Now could you please let me finish…” you begged.

“Promise me.”

“I promise, please…” your voice was becoming more frantic now and it only made his cock twitch even further, making it harder for him to deny you even more.

He knew that if he was going to let you release now, your orgasm would be more mind shattering and intense from built up tension from the delayed climax.

He slipped two fingers in this time, feeling the warmth of your walls immediately contracting in response. Your muscles were like velvet and steel at the same time— soft and pliant yet having a vice-like grip on his fingers.

Your eyes followed his hand movement but Miguel lifted your chin with his other hand again so you would look back up at him.

“No me quintes los ojos de encima muñeca.” He instructed. You obeyed.

He watched as your face warped and your brows furrowed as you were lost in the heat of your pleasure while he let his fingers do the talking.

It didn’t take long for your walls to squeeze tighter around him along with your moans becoming more frantic, a familiar trance of your impending release.

Your body convulsed as you unraveled and his fingers were bathed from the sweet nectar of your arousal.

Miguel pulled his fingers out of your heated core, both digits now slippery and sticky from your natural lubricant.

“Be good to me and I’ll let you cum on my cock next time,” he kissed your forehead.

You, on the other hand, we’re still breathless from your bliss. You gulped before you opened your lips to speak. “Thanks for the privilege…”

Icl, I kinda ate with the dialogues here 🤭🤭 God bless c.ai otherwise I would’ve never written that empanada scene

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #spiderman atsv #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 #miguel smut #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #♦︎— spicy #★— ayrus writes

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ckret2 · 3 months

Text

Chapter 42 in human Bill Cipher's imprisonment in the Mystery Shack about to get a whole lot worse, featuring:

A history lesson on a second dimensional cult and its obnoxious child leader.

And Dipper making the mistake of asking Bill what "reality is an illusion" means.

And most importantly... The Eclipse: Prologue.

####

The source of light is a completely hypothetical phenomenon.

Just a couple of centuries ago, scientists postulated that perhaps light was a side-effect of magnetism generated by the poles of planets, and that someday the study of magnets might explain how light shifted over the course of a day.

But modern scientists theorized that light emanated from some force or object in a higher dimension, and that the unseen movements of this source-of-light explained how light ebbed and flowed around the perimeters of objects over the course of a day. Physics experiments backed up this hypothesis of a "third dimensional" origin of light.

Scientists adopted the term "sun" to describe this hypothetical light source. Experiments also suggested the third dimension might have a multitude of weaker light sources that provided much less illumination—perhaps spread across the third dimension like water droplets suspended in fog—which they dubbed "stars."

Roughly once a year, light (or rather, the "sun") was eclipsed. This was a very long time; a child born just after an eclipse might already be in school, have mastered measuring angles and reading, and begun learning multiplication and division by the time they saw their first eclipse. Some years were skipped, such that they wouldn't have an eclipse for two, three, sometimes even four or five years—it was possible to almost reach middle age without seeing an eclipse—with no discernible pattern to these gaps. Eclipses usually occurred around the new year—indeed, New Year's Day was fixed to the average date of the eclipse—but eclipse season ranged up to three months in either direction.

Experiments were being conducted to test ideas about the nature of eclipses—the two most prominent theories were that the sun naturally flickered off and on like a lamp, in a rolling pattern that accounted for how eclipses didn't affect the whole plain simultaneously but had been proven to move; or that the sun was obscured by some object in the third dimension, like a ball thrown in front of a lamp. There were solid arguments in favor of either theory, and thus far the data on hand couldn't disprove either.

But where science petered out, religion took up the baton.

A new religious movement called the Higher Dimensional Gate was picking up steam in the northwest. The cult (as some watchdog organizations called it) had been started a few years ago by a married couple—line and trapezoid—who gave largely inoffensive New Age-flavored sermons about spiritual purity and enlightenment. Their shows would have been unremarkable if not for their inclusion of their child—a charismatic young equilateral triangle they claimed had an "inner eye" that granted him clairvoyance. Every show, they put him on stage for a few minutes, where he'd point out audience members and offer seemingly-psychic insights into their lives. As he approached adolescence, he was given more and more stage time, which he'd use to recite the same sort of rhetoric as his parents while tossing in some novel claims about the third dimension that reflected the public's modern scientific fascinations.

It wasn't until the line's death that they evolved from a traveling psychic sideshow with a few zealous supporters into a burgeoning religious movement. The trapezoid adopted a background role as the precocious triangle took over all their speaking engagements, which he used to spin a novel mythology describing the third dimension as a separate spiritual plane found in an unseeable direction "upward, but not northward" from the mundane mortal plane. It was at this time that they adopted the name Higher Dimensional Gate, and their young leader announced that his spiritual contacts in the third dimension had granted him the title Magister Mentium—teacher of minds (or, perhaps more ominously, master of minds).

Higher Dimensional Gate aggressively recruited new followers, with the Magister leaving school to support a frenetic pace of traveling speaking engagements. More and more devotees followed him from town to town, overfilling hotels wherever they went and flooding parking lots with a caravan of RVs and trailers. Fliers they left in their wake offered mail-order pamphlets, sermon recordings, and religious paraphernalia. But the cult didn't break into the national consciousness until a couple of theoretical astrophysicists published a paper debunking pop culture misinformation on the third dimension.

Along with referencing several sci-fi shows spreading the idea that the third dimension allowed time travel, the authors dove into the bizarre beliefs of several New Age authors, speakers, and religious movements. They particularly maligned the ideas put forth by Higher Dimensional Gate, calling their descriptions of angelic aliens and spirit guides "misleading fairy tales" with no scientific basis in reality. They said the Magister Mentium would have done better to finish a basic public education before making claims about the third dimension.

The paper didn't receive much notice outside popular science magazines—until the Magister Mentium released a vicious public rebuttal that made national news for its absurdity.

Soundbites from his twenty-minute rant were broadcast in news segments about fringe religious movements and scientific literacy. Talk shows played quotes as fodder for jokes. Editorialists predicted that the young triangle was the sort of crooked cult leader who'd be on trial in a decade for cheating his worshipers out of their life savings. Only a few programs played even as much as a full minute from his speech:

"These scientists want you to think that the third dimension is some dead realm hidden behind a door you'll never see—and I'm telling you it's not! It's the dream realm! It's the realm of spirits and positive energy! It stretches into all possible futures, and if you could peer into it, you'd see the road to your own best possible future!

"And I know this. Because unlike these pessimistic brainiacs who mock what they don't understand, I can see the third dimension. I can witness the 'sun' in all its glory—a blazing white circle, more dazzling than anything you've ever seen, so bright it burns like fire to stare at it! I can see it pass through the pinpoint white lights of the 'stars'!

"And I can prove it.

"The most 'educated' minds in the scientific community can't predict an eclipse. They look at their historical records and they do a little math, hope they'll get lucky, and shrug if they're wrong—what do they know? All they can do is guess!

"But with my own all-seeing eye, I've personally witnessed a phenomenon that scientists can't even imagine. I know what passes between the sun and our plane—and I know when it's coming.

"I note all my detractors are in the camp that thinks the sun flickers.

"So let's run a scientific experiment. I challenge the scientific community to predict the next eclipse more accurately than me. I'll give it to you within the minute. In fact—I'll sweeten the deal! I'll give a million dollars to any nerd who can guess more accurately than me! I will personally hand you the prize money!"

"But if you want the prize, you'd better guess soon. Because the eclipse will be here in two weeks. I can already see it on the horizon."

It was nearly seven months until New Year's.

Sources close to the Magister's family claimed he was a spendthrift with nowhere near a million dollars on hand.

When asked to comment on the public ridicule his challenge had inspired, the Magister snidely replied, "We'll see who's laughing after the eclipse."

####

Gideon approached the Mystery Shack disguised in a pair of sunglasses and a camo jacket from his father's closet. The jacket was as long as a dress on him. It was hot.

He kept outside the tree line as he circled the shack, passing the gift shop, the house door, and finally the long side of the house where tourists never parked and the residents rarely ventured.

Gideon peered anxiously at each window for witnesses. He looked up at the attic dormer which once held the window of Bill's face; he caught a flash of bright golden curls pulling out of sight, and flinched. No, that was fine. That was who he was here for. Weren't any other blondes in the house.

When he was sure the coast was clear, he ran across the open ground from the trees to the side door, heart threatening to beat out of his chest. By the time he reached the door, Bill was already downstairs in the floor room, hands and grinning face pressed to the window like a child awaiting a special delivery. He waved excitedly at Gideon.

Gideon hissed, "Shh!" and immediately felt stupid about it.

He partially unzipped his jacket, pulled a manila envelope out of an inner pocket, knelt, and shoved it under the door. As Bill had promised, the door had poor weatherstripping and the envelope slid in easily.

A napkin covered in faint dry marker writing slid out. Gideon picked it up and read it. "Nice work ☆ Boy! I'll pass you the next message at Town Hall. Get yourself something nice, my treat. ◡̈" Inside the napkin's fold was a $5 coupon to the hardware store. It was expired.

Looking at the coupon, Gideon asked himself what a powerless imprisoned demon could really do to help his father's business.

Inside the shack, Bill checked the doorway to ensure no humans were coming for a few minutes, flopped onto the flat old sofa, and pulled several sheets of notebook paper out of the envelope: the answers to all the questions he'd told Gideon to ask his worshiper. He skimmed past her name to the second question: how had they located Bill?

At the sight of a familiar name, his heart leaped into his throat, then slowly sank into its cage again as he read the rest. "Someone calling himself Stanford Pines reached out, claiming to be an ex-cultist wanting to help other victims of the cult. He said the cult's 'founder' was incarcerated. He sounded like an enemy, but they thought he might know something about your disappearance and sent Sue."

Until the last moment, Bill had held onto a sliver of hope. As much as Ford said he couldn't stand Bill, somebody had had to contact his artists, and who else...?

But there it was. It had been Ford; but he hadn't been trying to save Bill. He'd just been trying to rip the nails out of one more thing Bill had built.

Fine. Bill wasn't wasting time on lost causes. He'd never really seen Ford as a friend, anyway. If Ford was stupid enough to throw away a god's favor, that was his loss. Bill could kill him with the rest when he had his power back. He didn't care. He'd just... really thought he could win him back over.

He crumpled up the pages, tossed them on the floor, and hunched forward to rub his eyelid with his hand.

Well, trying to get Ford back on his side had just been a way to pass the time. He hadn't taken it seriously. Not really.

He leaned back, flopped his head on the backrest cushion, and sighed; and then he fished the pages off the floor and smoothed them back out.

He read through the rest of the information Gideon had obtained. His girls in Death Valley had indeed been awaiting his arrival "as Bill requested"; and when he didn't show up on schedule, they'd taken to waiting for him in shifts for half a year before giving up. The way Bill had "requested" was to stack themselves into a human throne for him—he imagined Sue hadn't wanted to mention that detail on the phone with a kid. And they'd kept that up for six months? In shifts? That was hysterical. What a bunch of lunatics. He couldn't wait to meet the gals in person, he was just going to love them. Sue was set up at an inn a few towns west—not a lot of motels in this lonely part of Oregon—and there were a couple more girls in Portland who could be here in an hour.

They'd also made contact with a few devotees of Bill's teachings in Washington, but hadn't told them his exact location. Unsurprising—if they were the devotees he was thinking of, they were less "hardy New Age hippie spiritualists looking forward to the creation of a bright new world" and more "paranoid doomsday preppers anticipating being the last survivors of the doomed old world." The Death Valley group probably didn't trust them. Just about all of Bill's "students" were freaks of one sort or another—if not when he met them, then by the time he was done with them—but different varieties of freaks usually clashed. He had to keep them safely corralled into separate sects to maintain the harmony and their loyalty.

They were all so, so close—all these humans just waiting for an opportunity to meet him, touch him, save him, serve him, love him. They were so close he could almost reach out and grab them.

But "almost" wouldn't get them into his hands.

Something would come up soon. He was sure. He could feel it.

####

Sometimes, stairs just weren't worth the effort.

Bill understood, intellectually, that stair steps had a "top" surface and a "side" surface. He also understood that, given how gravity worked in this dimension, you could only step on their top surfaces. He knew this. He was smart. He'd personally worked out the equations to calculate how gravity worked in this dimension ages before an apple beaned Newton.

It was just that, when he looked at a staircase, he couldn't shake the impression that someone had simply taken a 2D plane and artistically folded it into a zigzag. And on a folded 2D plane, there wasn't a "top" surface and a "side" surface; there was just the surface, and a 3D body could stand anywhere atop the surface with no problem.

So he would try to get from the attic to the kitchen, subconsciously decide that rather than walking "down" the stairs standing vertically he wanted to walk "up" the stairs standing horizontally, and he'd try to lean forward to put his foot on the side of a step—and then his face was on the floor again.

And even when he kept his ups up and his sides sideways, sometimes over-concentrating on where to step distracted him into tripping anyway.

The stairs in the Quadrangle of Qonfusion never gave him trouble. They worked fine both vertically and horizontally, he'd designed them that way. And also he didn't need to use them. He could float. They were mainly there for the outerplanar Henchmaniacs and because Bill liked the zigzag motif. He was much less fond of stairs these days. When he got home, he was ripping them all out and replacing them with ladders and slides.

He was better with stairs than he'd been when he first occupied this body. But when he didn't focus on every single step, he still tended to slip up. He often got to the stairs and saw his body crumpled on the landing fifteen seconds in the future. If the damage wasn't too severe, sometimes he just resigned himself to the bruises and stepped off the ledge. Had to get downstairs somehow, after all.

But sometimes the future held a broken leg, or an unconscious heap, or a lot of blood. When that happened, sometimes he'd shuffle his footing a bit until the future looked less painful and then try descending. Sometimes he'd creep down to the last safe step and then look for a less fatal route the rest of the way down.

And sometimes he got halfway down the stairs, saw looming disaster, couldn't for the life of him figure out how to avoid it, and thought forget it and just sat down in the middle of the staircase. If he waited there long enough, eventually whatever he'd been about to instinctively do would change, and he could safely finish his journey.

Stairs were, by far, the most frequent and most stupid of his inconveniences as a human.

He never thought to bring something to read in case he hit unexpected delays on the stairs. There was nothing interesting to do, and he didn't so much as have a window to look out of. He got bored. He was constantly sleep-deprived. Sometimes he fell asleep, leaning against the wall.

He'd overheard the humans speculating on why he liked to nap on the stairs. The leading theory was that it had been normal in his home dimension, followed closely by runner-up theory "just to annoy us." None had asked him directly. They usually just left him alone on the stairs. But not today.

Bill flinched out of sleep as his leg was kicked. A fizzling field of white pinpricks filled his vision and faded as he opened his eyes. "Mruh?"

"You're blocking the stairs," Dipper said. This time Bill had fallen asleep on the stairs below the landing, slouched down with his shoulders and head against the wall, legs stretched across two stair steps and knees raised.

"And you're disturbing my sleep." Bill yawned and glanced downstairs. Coast was clear. He could get to the living room with nothing but a fumble on the next to bottom step now.

"Get out of the way." Dipper kicked his leg again.

Well, now Bill didn't want to get up. He kicked Dipper back. "No. Your ancestors lived in trees, act like it."

"What?"

"Climb, monkey boy."

Dipper grumbled, but surveyed his roadblock thoughtfully. He experimentally lifted a foot over Bill's abdomen, considered how far down it was to the next step, and scooted down to Bill's feet instead. Bill watched with a smirk as Dipper clung to the railing and gingerly stepped over one foot to the edge of the stair step, and then the next. Bill briefly considered tripping him, decided it wasn't worth getting in trouble, and instead twitched a foot up as Dipper passed over and laughed when he jumped.

"Jerk," Dipper muttered. "This is why you only have one friend."

The jab ripped at a raw sore in his chest. Ex-cultist. "Whatever!" He laughed loudly. "My real friends are all one little interdimensional rift away, I didn't come here to make pals with humans." He jerked his hood down over his eyes and slouched lower, arms crossed tight. "I don't even care. This entire universe is a hologram and nothing's real anyway."

There was silence. Bill congratulated himself on getting the last word in; and then Dipper said, "What does that mean?"

"What kind of stupid—it means I don't care about you, what do you think it means? You're made from the exhaust belched out of a star's tailpipe—"

"I meant, the hologram thing. You're always saying stuff about the universe not being real, what are you talking about."

Bill thumbed the hem of his hood up and glanced down at Dipper. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up determinedly. He'd pulled out his journal and pen. He was serious. He was all ready to learn about the secrets of the universe.

Ford's little wanna-be protégé with his little knock-off Journal, wasn't he adorable. He wanted so much to be just like his great uncle. And in many ways, he was like a younger Ford. The ignorant, arrogant, insecure, naïve, easily-flattered, easily-exploited younger Ford, back before he grew a personality. Except even back at his most boring, Ford had found the strange beautiful where this kid only found it interesting. You don't have what it takes to be Ford.

Bill was already filling this brat's head with gunk—bogus conspiracy theories, wild goose chases after lucid dreaming, nightmares about whole dimensions that existed only as parables for somebody else. What was a little bit more? He could give this kid something to talk to his therapist about. Something that—in his darkest, lowest, loneliest moments—would come back to mind, and remind him that nothing he did would ever matter.

Plus, he hoped Ford would look in on the living room and seethe about not being his student anymore.

"All right kid, sure! Fine. You just so happened to catch me on a day when I've got nothing to do." Bill stood, stretched, and sauntered down the stairs. He fumbled on the next to bottom step. "You wanna know about the universe? You wanna know the big secret?"

"Uh..." Dipper eagerly flipped through his journal, looking for a blank page. Apparently he hadn't expected Bill to actually indulge his curiosity. "'Secret'?" He trailed after Bill into the living room.

"Okay, okay, maybe it's not a 'secret'—a secret suggests somebody's trying to hide it. It's just that nobody thinks you're important enough to tell and you're too primitive to see it for yourself."

Bill turned around, a lecturer on a stage. Dipper sat on the couch and tried to position his journal on his knees to take notes. He looked so attentive. He thought he was going to enjoy this.

"So you remember what I told you about the second dimension. That from the third dimension's perspective, it's nothing but shadows cast on a wall."

"Plato's cave. Yeah."

"Your dimension is a lot like that. There are higher dimensions than this, and your entire universe is being projected down from one of them. If being in the second dimension and seeing into the third is like being a shadow looking at the entrance to the cave, then being in the third and seeing into the fourth is like a character on a movie screen looking out at the film projector. While you're distracted by the movie, I'm studying the film reel and watching the frames coming up. It's how I tell the future—and you can't even tell yourself I'm lying about that, because you've seen me do it."

Dipper grumbled, "You've spoiled the killer on Duck-tective."

"I've spoiled the killer on Duck-tective! Twice!"

Dipper was furiously taking notes. "Wait—so, the fourth dimension really is time? Mabel and I kinda visited the fourth dimension once, but I wasn't sure if it being 'time' was, like, some kind of metaphor..."

"Ha! Listen to you! That's like asking if the third dimension is light. No. Time isn't the fourth dimension. It's just in the fourth dimension," Bill said. "And for the record you didn't really visit the fourth dimension. The glowing blue tunnel with floating clocks and calendars? That was a metaphor."

"Aw man," Dipper muttered, disappointed.

"So when you say you can see the future, you mean—you literally see it? With your eyeballs?"

"All-seeing eye," Bill said smugly.

"Can... you teach me?"

"No. It's not a learnable skill. You're either born with an inner—what's the human phrase?—a third eye, or you aren't."

Dipper processed that. "How do I find out if I have—?"

"You don't."

"Aw."

Bill waited for Dipper to scribble down a couple more lines before he casually dropped the next bombshell: "In fact, not only have you never been 'in' the fourth dimension—your universe isn't really even third dimensional."

Dipper's pen gouged into the page. "What do you mean, it's not third dimensional!"

"I mean you've got two dimensions and the third's an illusion. Hologram, remember?"

"What are you—" Dipper waved a hand around in the air. "I'm moving my arm through the third dimension right now!"

"No you're not."

Dipper threw his pen on the ground. "Okay, you're messing with me!"

"Not this time. Listen. Got a little riddle for you: what do Plato's cave and a movie theater have in common?"

Dipper pursed his lips angrily, but he'd been issued a riddle and couldn't resist trying to solve it. "Sitting in the dark, staring at shapes?"

"Ha! Look at it, it still thinks it's part of the audience!" Bill wagged a finger disapprovingly. "In both cases, everyone and everything in the show is an illusion—just light and shadows projected on a flat wall."

"But—! The world would look flat if it was 2D—"

"It does look flat. 2D is all you've ever seen," Bill said. He held his hands out, thumbs and forefingers forming a rectangle like a picture frame, his exposed eye staring through it at Dipper. "Your eyes only see a pair of two-dimensional images that your brain interprets as 3D because it's been trained to. Depth perception is an optical illusion! You can't actually witness the depth of an object—your brain uses context clues to guess it! And the context clues are lying to you."

Dipper scowled. "But." He paused. "It's different."

"Uh-huh." Bill leaned against a wall, feigning a yawn. "Okay, wow me with your philosophy."

"Pictures on paper are 2D, and they don't look 3D, so since the real world does look 3D..."

"Hey, you know that autostereogram art your sister's friend likes so much? Magic Vision Posters?" Bill asked. "Cross your eyes a little and a 3D illusion pops out of the page?"

Dipper's frown deepened.

Bill's smile widened. "And those are just manmade pictures. The projectors I'm talking about are cosmically complex. If it's so easy to trick your brain into seeing something three dimensional in a flat image, then how do you know, really know, that everything around you is 3D rather than an infinitely complex 2D hologram?"

"Be... cause..." Dipper looked around, grasping for another defense of reality as he knew it. He picked his pen off the floor. "Because I can touch an object and feel it's 3D! Even if my eyes can be fooled, I can... look, I can feel the curve of the barrel and everything."

"And?" Bill asked. "If your laundry comes out of the dryer unexpectedly cool, you think it's damp because your species didn't evolve wetness-sensing nerves. And you still trust your sense of touch?"

"Wait, that's why that happens?"

"Uh-huh. Water is wet, your t-shirts aren't, and your third dimension's an optical illusion."

Dipper slouched back on the couch, arms crossed, chewing his pen, brows drawn and eyes unfocused. Bill watched with a smirk as Dipper's faith in an objective observable reality slowly eroded before his very eye. For someone so eager to burrow into the strange, Dipper wanted so much for the world to make sense. That was why he was burrowing into the strange in the first place: to shine a flashlight on the things that go bump in the dark.

Maybe that was what rubbed Bill so wrong about this kid. Bill was sure that, deep in his heart, Dipper didn't really know how to celebrate the weird; he only wanted to expand the boundaries of normal. Disgusting.

Finally, Dipper mumbled, "How did you find this out?"

"This little shadow peeled itself off the wall and flew out of the cave—do you think I stopped there? I've seen further! What looks like an inescapable labyrinth to a two-dimensional Minotaur is nothing but a fun maze in a puzzle book when you can see over the walls from the third dimension's perspective. And once you can see the fourth dimension, your so-called 'third' dimension looks no different! I can see through walls, into boxes, past barriers; and I can see just how flat your world really is. Like taking a photo and looking at it from the edge."

"Hm." Dipper was still staring into space.

Bill's smug smile drooped into a frown. Dipper didn't look like he'd absorbed anything Bill just said. He hated an inattentive audience.

He crossed the room, planting a hand on the couch backrest by Dipper's head to lean over him, and waited until Dipper looked up into his eye. Bill said, "And I can tell you, beyond a shadow of a doubt: you're no more real to the things projecting your universe than the shadows in Plato's cave are to you. This. Entire. Universe. Doesn't. Exist. And nothing that happens here matters."

That little look of doubt edging into dread was so, so satisfying.

Bill pushed himself upright and sauntered to the door, his hex cast, ready to leave Dipper alone with his budding existential crisis. "So that's why I try to have fun with it! Your whole dimension is like an amusement park. Why hang out in a cave unless you're leaving cave paintings, who cares what the shadows think about the graffiti?"

"What's in those higher dimensions?"

Bill paused, glancing over his shoulder. "'Scuse me?"

"Something's gotta be running the 'projector' or whatever, right?" He asked it with an edge of desperation, like if Dipper could just make it that far, the world would make sense again. "Movies have audiences. Who're they?"

Bill stared at Dipper—and then slowly grinned again. What a glutton for misery. Feed him a bitter spoonful of poisonous knowledge and he asks for the bowl. But of course—tell him that reality isn't real and the next thing he wants to know is where to find reality.

Okay, fine, Bill would keep playing—this was almost fun. "Higher dimensional beings! Duh."

"What are they like?"

"Wretched incomprehensible shapeshifting contortions of flesh and bone that appear to gorily mutate as their vast bodies pass through the dimensions your limited eyes are capable of viewing. Seeing them will drive you mad."

"Ah. Great," Dipper said. "But what are they like as people?"

"From your perspective, all-knowing and unknowable. Talking to them will also drive you mad."

"I'm detecting a theme here," Dipper grumbled.

Bill gave him a polite golf clap. "Another win for human pattern-detection instincts! Give 'im a hand." (Oh, Bill wished he had his powers. It would be so funny to give Dipper a giant disembodied hand.)

In spite of his visible irritation, Dipper was still taking notes. "Is it possible for a human to meet one?"

"You've got more pattern-detection instincts than self-preservation instincts," Bill said wryly. "But sure, of course it's possible. In fact, I think you already met one."

That got him looking up from his journal. "I did?"

"Sure! Not here, but in a parallel universe that doesn't exist anymore. No clue what you talked about, I steer away from that guy when I can. But hey, maybe you'll remember it someday."

"How can I remember it if it happened to a parallel me in another universe?"

"When things like him speak, they leave vast echoes. Even across timelines."

Dipper considered that. "Could I meet him again?"

"Maybe if he takes an interest in you. Pray he doesn't. Prayers won't actually help, but it's something to keep your mind occupied!"

"Is it possible to be more proactive about meeting one of them?"

Bill laughed. "Kid, you're stupid. And that makes you very entertaining."

"Great?"

"But if you wanna break into some cosmic horror's living room, sure! If they don't come down here, all you need to do is go up there."

And back to taking notes Dipper went. "You gonna elaborate, orrr..."

"Ha, fine. The issue is you're not built for higher dimensions. Like I said, you might seem real to yourself here, but there you'd just be a light on a wall." He made a circle between his forefinger and thumb, turned his hand upside down, and peered through the circle like a monocle. "If you want to ascend, you need an aperture to translate between dimensions—something through which fourth-dimensional spacetime can be compacted enough to appear three-dimensional, or pseudo three-dimensional spacetime can be augmented with a fourth dimension. With an aperture like that, you can climb up and down the dimensional ladder to visit anywhere level of reality you want—from the zeroth dimension to the billionth."

"Including wherever our universe's projector is?"

"Bingo. Unfortunately for your suicidal ambitions, inventing an aperture capable of manipulating spacetime like that needs a lot of science humanity is nowhere near mastering; but with the materials humanity currently knows how to manufacture, I bet building one would be pretty simple if you got instructions from a species that's already done it." Bill arched his brows mockingly. "Hey, might even make a fun little summer project, if you don't mind going insane. Something to take to the science fair next year, huh?"

"Shut up," Dipper said. "And—if you got out of your dimension—do you know about species that can give those instructions?"

"Suuure! Heck, give me a couple pieces of paper and a pen and I could probably whip up the blueprints myself."

Dipper nodded. Dipper processed that. Dipper glared at Bill. "Wait a minute. Are you trying to get me to build another portal for you?!"

Bill cackled, doubling over. Voice shrill, he said, "I was wondering how long it'd take you!"

"Oh my god."

He groped for an arm chair and dropped down, still laughing. "I was this close to saying 'why don't you ask your uncle for the blueprints' to see if you'd get it!" He wheezed, "Can you imagine the look on his face!"

Dipper chucked his pen at Bill. "I hate you."

"Hook, line, and sinker! You idiot!" He slid halfway out of his seat, covering his face with his hands.

Dipper groaned. "So you made up all that stuff about the third dimension being fake and the universe being a hologram?"

Bill struggled to control his laughter enough to catch his breath. "No—no, all that was true. A hundred percent scientifically verifiable!"

"Shut up, man." Dipper got off the couch, kicked the back of Bill's armchair as he passed, and trudged into the gift shop.

####

"Hey Grunkle Ford? Is the third dimension actually an illusion being projected out of the fourth?"

"Been talking to Bill again, have you?"

Dipper winced. "I mean. Well. But he's not telling the truth, is he?"

"Mmm..." Ford waggled a hand uncertainly.

"What."

"Based on our current knowledge of quantum mechanics, it's not impossible," Ford admitted. "And it would explain some things about black holes."

"Ugh. That's the worst thing I've ever heard." Dipper rubbed his eyes. "How do you live with that?"

"With what?"

"Thinking the entire universe might be, just... some kind of projection? Like a movie?" Dipper said. "I mean... what's the point of doing anything if everything's fake. That's awful."

Ford pressed his lips together.

####

1981

"The universe is what?" Ford asked.

His muse shrugged apologetically. "Sorry to break it to ya, kid! I figured you'd rather hear it from me than—"

"But—but that's amazing!" Ford started pacing across the dreamscape's translucent grid floor. "The implications for physics, for faster-than-light travel, for, for—for religion?" He looked at Bill. "Is the projection a natural phenomenon or someone's creation."

"Uh," Bill said. "Creation?"

"Then who made it? Descartes' 'evil genius'? A demiurge? God?"

Bill laughed. "Kid, depending on your interdimensional political opinions, those are three names for the same guy."

"He's real?"

"Define 'real'," Bill said. "And 'he.' And 'is.'"

"I... I cannot do that!" Ford resumed pacing, muttering again about the implications.

Eye crinkled in amusement, Bill said, "I've gotta say, Stanford, you're taking this pretty well. Most humans don't like hearing they're secretly flat."

Ford barked a laugh. "'Most humans' didn't like hearing that the Earth isn't the center of the solar system. I'm a man of science! If we could prove this, it would be the biggest leap forward in physics since special relativity!" He beamed at Bill. "Do you realize what this means?"

Bill pointed at their portal calculations. "It means if you want to get this working, you need to zero out all the depth values."

"Ah." Ford's shoulders sagged. "Yes. That too."

"Wish you'd taken that fourth semester of Fifth-Dimensional Calculus now?"

"Hush," Ford said sourly, and was immediately mortified at himself for being so disrespectful to his muse; but Bill laughed with what sounded like genuine delight.

####

2013

"Right," Ford said self-consciously. "Awful."

####

At three a.m., Dipper lay in bed, gnawing at his shirt collar, staring at the ceiling.

Yeah. Oh yeah. He could feel it. Wondering whether reality was real would haunt him the rest of his life.

####

Bill slept like a baby.

Nothing like bullying a child to improve a miserable day.

####

Bill woke the next morning from a nightmare about—what had it been about. Being trapped in the bathroom as a metaphor for... something or other. Being trapped in general, probably. Great, had that incident given him trauma? Was he gonna start having recurring nightmares? Would this be a thing he had to deal with? What a miserable malfunctioning species humans were.

He could see the beforeimage of Mabel coming upstairs; not enough time to pull out his dream diary. He'd just have to remember it to write down later. He sat up, cracked his sore neck, and shuffled to the stairs in search of breakfast.

His foot missed the first step and landed on empty air, his stomach lurched, and he braced for a rough landing. In the split second he hung in the air, he thought that he wasn't supposed to fall, he'd looked. Hadn't he looked? He was sure he had—he didn't remember looking, but he could always see, if there'd been an injury in his imminent future he would have subconsciously noticed it and stopped to evaluate, the fact that he'd just walked meant there was nothing for him to notice—right? Idiot, why hadn't he double checked before he just walked off half-asleep—

It occurred to him that this split second was lasting a lot longer than it was supposed to.

He caught the handrail. His fall stopped as he gently bumped into the wall.

"Huh." He straightened up, gave the stairs a puzzled look; and then, experimentally, did a little hop. He went higher than he'd meant to, and hung in the air longer than he should have. He repeated the experiment a couple of times; and then, took a bigger jump forward, aiming for a couple of steps down. He seemed to float in the air for a moment before his feet gently settled on the wooden board. "Oo-oo-ooh." He looked around the stairwell, baffled; and then he looked up, eye burning as he stared through the roof and into the sky.

A chill ran up his spine. "Uh-oh."

####

Dipper frowned at his syrup bottle as the syrup painstakingly oozed out. When he let up his squeezing even a little bit, the syrup sucked back in.

"Come on." He squeezed again and shook the bottle over his pancakes. Like morning dew on the fruits hanging above the head of Tantalus, a round drop of syrup glistened under the skin-softening kitchen light, but never fell. "What's the problem?" Dipper wiped the drop onto his finger and wiped his finger on his pancakes.

Mabel slammed the door open and pounded into the kitchen. "Dipper! Come outside, I need to show you something!" They ran out.

Mabel stood on the edge of the porch, held up an orange glitter-filled super bounce ball the size of a walnut, and said, "Watch this!" She flung the ball down on the porch step as hard as she could.

It rocketed up into the sky, arcing away from the Mystery Shack toward the forest. Dipper's jaw dropped. "Whoa!"

"I just lost four balls that way!" Mabel planted her hands on her hips, watching with satisfaction as the pinprick point of the latest ball soared upward until it disappointed. "I'm gonna get some more!" She ran inside and bolted up the stairs.

Ford passed from the gift shop into the living room, frowning. He picked up a magazine left on the dinosaur skull, flipped through it, and observed how slowly the pages fluttered. "Hmm."

From the entryway, he could hear Stan down the hall on the office phone: "Hello? Doctor? This is Stan Pines. Yeah, I got a medical question. I stepped on the scale this morning, and it says I lost twenty percent of my weight overnight. Do I have cancer?" There was a pause. "Eighth call this morning?! What is this, some kinda bug going around town?"

Dipper closed the door as he came back inside. "Hey, Grunkle Ford? I think there's something..."

"Something strange going on? Yes, I've noticed," he said. "It seems that gravity is about twenty percent lower than usual." He pulled his sparkly birthday pen out of his coat pocket and dropped it from several feet up into his other hand. It fell just a bit slower than normal—not enough that it looked like it was on the moon, but enough that the motion looked uncanny.

"What's going on?"

"I don't..." Ford trailed off as a flash of bright yellow appeared in his peripheral vision. He turned toward the stairs.

Bill had stepped onto the landing. He looked at the bottom half of the staircase with a critical, calculating gaze; and then jumped off the top step. In a single smooth, slow arc, he leaped over all the stairs and descended, slow as a feather, to land lightly on the floor.

"Whoa." Under his breath, Dipper said, "That's a lot more than twenty percent lower."

It just figured he had something to do with this. "Bill," Ford snapped. "What's going on?"

He wasn't expecting Bill to give him such a solemn look.

"There's an eclipse coming," Bill said. "I'd give it three days."

####

(Be honest how long did it take you to figure out Bill was just seeing if he could get Dipper hyped about building a portal. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!! We're heading into the biggest storyline so far—plotwise, lengthwise, and emotionwise—so I'd love to hear what you're thinking and expecting so far!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #dipper pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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ineffable-rohese · 5 months

Text

Neil's picks for Aziraphale & Crowley's Angelic Playlist were Cry Me a River (Julie London), The Book of Love (Peter Gabriel), and The Show Must Go On (Queen).

Three songs. Two about the aftermath of a break up, and one about coming together in love. So very clearly, we can infer a Crowley POV song, an Aziraphale POV song, and a song for the two of them and their happily ever after. (Song lyrics for all three after the cut for reference.)

The Book of Love is a perfect wedding song. It's a song to play under two people declaring their desire to spend eternity together. With lines about dancing and reading and it's perfect. It's originally a Magnetic Fields song that was released in 1999. Peter Gabriel recorded a cover in 2004 for the movie Shall We Dance about which I know nothing but the Wikipedia summary. But since we know how movies are important here... It's a standard rom-com with a bored Richard Gere secretly taking up ballroom dancing after following a pretty lady from the train (J-Lo). His wife (Susan Sarandon) thinks he's cheating, turns out nope, just dancing, drama ensues, he gives up dancing but eventually his wife becomes supportive and he realizes he loves his wife. And dancing. And they live happily ever after, with both of them getting what they want. Maybe we can draw some parallels here? But I think the song speaks for itself better than its connection with what sounds like a standard early 2000s romcom.

The individual songs are where it gets interesting.

Cry Me a River was first released by Julie London in 1951, but became popular after she sang it in the 1956 film The Girl Can't Help It starring Jayne Mansfield as an aspiring rock 'n roll singer. Again, relying on Wikipedia here, but there is an interesting bit about a blossoming forbidden relationship, wiretapped phones, and someone editing the recordings to keep the love affair secret. But again, it's probably a stretch to look too deeply into the movie.

The song has a very classic jazz feel. It's from a decade and a half later, but if you were, say, an angel who enjoyed Moonlight Serenade or A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square, it has a similar feel. You definitely wouldn't say it's bebop. The lyrics are about someone who was in love and had their heartbroken. Their former love (who never shed a tear over the break up) has returned and wants to make up. The singer essentially says "you love me? Prove it. Cry me a river like I cried when you left." Which, fair, but in our context, ouch.

The Show Must Go On is a Queen song, and we know how much Queen we hear in association with Crowley in particular. But this just isn't any Queen song. It was written by Brian May about Freddie Mercury's struggles as he neared the end of his life, and it was recorded in 1990. (Coincidentally or not, the year Good Omens was published, a book co-created by friends, one of whom would die too soon, and the other of whom would reflect on his friend's end of life struggles as the story was told more fully. Yes, I'm crying about this.)

In the song, the singer is fighting to reach a place of freedom, away from empty spaces and heartbreak. They are fighting with pure will, and even though their heart is breaking they smile and carry on because the show must go on.

What I really appreciate here with the POV songs, is that they are cross-coded. Queen is Crowley-coded, but the song about someone fighting through heartbreak to achieve something vital, while forcing a smile for the audience? That's absolutely Aziraphale in Heaven. And the 40s/50s jazz ballad is absolutely Aziraphale's style, but the jilted lover who may be willing to give their love a second chance but needs to see proof that the lover cares as much as they do is Crowley all the way.

It's almost like... Well it's almost like even in their separation, they are each carrying a piece of the other. The book of love has music in it, indeed.

The Book of Love

The book of love is long and boring No one can lift the damn thing It's full of charts and facts, and figures And instructions for dancing But I I love it when you read to me. And you You can read me anything.

The book of love has music in it In fact that's where music comes from Some of it's just transcendental Some of it's just really dumb But I I love it when you sing to me And you You can sing me anything

The book of love is long and boring And written very long ago It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes And things we're all too young to know But I I love it when you give me things And you You ought to give me wedding rings

Cry Me a River

Now you say you're lonely You cry the whole night thorough Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

Now you say you're sorry For bein' so untrue Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

You drove me, nearly drove me out of my head While you never shed a tear Remember, I remember all that you said Told me love was too plebeian Told me you were through with me and

Now you say you love me Well, just to prove you do Come on and cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

The Show Must Go On

Empty spaces, what are we living for? Abandoned places, I guess we know the score, on and on Does anybody know what we are looking for?

Another hero, another mindless crime Behind the curtain, in the pantomime Hold the line Does anybody want to take it anymore?

The show must go on The show must go on, yeah Inside my heart is breaking My makeup may be flaking But my smile, still, stays on

Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance Another heartache, another failed romance, on and on Does anybody know what we are living for? I guess I'm learning I must be warmer now I'll soon be turning, round the corner now Outside the dawn is breaking But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free

The show must go on The show must go on Inside my heart is breaking My makeup may be flaking But my smile, still, stays on

My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies Fairy tales of yesterday, grow but never die I can fly, my friends

The show must go on The show must go on I'll face it with a grin I'm never giving in On with the show I'll top the bill I'll overkill I have to find the will to carry on On with the show Show Show must go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on

#ineffable playlist #good omens #good omens meta #ineffable lovers #ineffable divorce #queen #peter gabriel #julie london #neil gaiman #terry pratchett

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the-kr8tor · 11 months

Text

Silk & Cologne

Hobie Brown x Silk!Reader Relationship Headcanons.

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Silk! gn Reader/ Spider-Punk x Silk! gn Reader

Word count: 3.8k

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, TW needles, TW injuries, canon typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, Kinda soulmate AU.

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

You meet Hobie while you're running away from his team of spider-people.

You are an anomaly who accidentally entered a different dimension from yours, but you didn't know that at the moment. Your biggest worry right now are the various spider-people going after you for some reason.

Running and swinging from unfamiliar rooftops, you feel an invisible rope tug at you, this is probably your silk sense telling you where to go, you thought, so you follow it on instinct.

Unbeknownst to you, Hobie Brown aka Spider-Punk feels the exact same invisible rope pull him towards somewhere. He just got out of the inter-dimensional portal when he felt an unfamiliar feeling.

Also thinking it's his spidey senses keeping him on his toes, he follows it. He ignores all the calls from his comms to follow his instincts.

You both swing towards the mysterious pull, until you both almost collide in the air with each other.

You and Hobie both lean away last minute from each other to prevent the collision.

Your eyes lock with his for the first time.

You both feel the invisible rope stop pulling, it's replaced by longing and an unidentified urge.

As you both swing in the air you get a good look at each other. Time seems to be in slow motion as you both swing in a circle just watching each other.

The others catch up to the both of you, stopping at a nearby rooftop, watching you both curiously.

"What the hell am I watching?" Gwen Stacy asks as she watches you circle each other.

"Looks like some sort of mating dance" Peter B. Scratches his neck.

"Oh God, they're a silk variant, Lyla, Get Miguel and tell him to bring the silk blockers, this could get ugly" Jess says in her comms.

"Ohh, Dramaa. Miguel's on his way" Lyla reports.

It seemed to be hours just circling each other, waiting for either one of you to make a move.

Suddenly you both get tackled at the same time, landing on a dirty rooftop, you bite and scratch at the assailant.

You see from your peripheral that he's getting manhandled by someone in a blue suit, you watch as he quickly injects something in him, that makes your stranger go limp. The same invisible pull you felt dulls a little bit.

You turn back to the woman holding you down, your eyes widen before she plunges the needle with the same color in your neck.

Darkness wraps you immediately. The last thing you see is the sunlight bouncing off the metal on his suit.

You wake up from the noise of different voices arguing.

You're in a futuristic prison of some sort, you listen to the conversation for some answers, the magnetic pull seems to get stronger every second.

"Hobie you didn't see how they reacted, they're like feral or something!" Gwen pleads.

"Yeah, because you bloody tackled them!" Hobie uncharacteristically screams at Gwen.

"Let them go now" He demands Miguel.

"Don't you see Hobie, you're already captivated, it's because you were both bitten by the same radioactive spider, it created an irresistible attraction between you two, it will overwhelm you once the blockers I injected in both of you wears off" Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose "You two are linked together. You need to take this pheromone blocker to see reason"

You see him hold a blue pill.

"Take it before you become a danger to yourself and them" Miguel points at you.

They all look towards you, now awake, your pupils blown up like a balloon, with all the eyes on you, your only attention is on the leather clad form.

Hobie looks at you then to the pill, every second he wastes not taking the medication, he feels the pull towards you get stronger, it's almost painful.

Listening to Gwen, he grabs the pill quickly downing it.

He sighs as the pressure subsides.

Hobie feels like himself again.

You sigh as you feel it too, the pain without him next to you dulls. It's like an itch you can't scratch.

Hobie crouches next to you.

You lock eyes, the attraction still there, but you both don't have the animalistic need to be with each other.

"They need to take it too, so the medicine can take full effect" Miguel gives Hobie an identical pill.

"Where am I? Who are you?" You meekly speak for the first time.

"My name's Hobie Brown, apparently we were bitten by the same spider, we're linked with each other," Hobie looks towards Miguel "open it, they won't do anything"

"How'd you know?" Miguel raises his brow.

"I just know"

Miguel deactivates the orange glow around you.

You stand up to your full height, Hobie mirrors your movement. He hands you the pill, your hands brush against each other, electricity cackles around Hobie's hand.

You swallow it down dryly. Feeling the pressure completely alleviate, you finally feel normal.

Hobie feels the same, he still feels connected to you, somewhat. Like a lingering aftertaste. But there's no feeling of suddenly jumping your bones in front of everyone.

"Okay, now where the hell am I?" You push past Hobie, he gets surprised with your sudden change of tone.

Miguel gives you the spidey orientation added with some context on silk variants.

Learning that you were bitten by the same spider feels kinda weird. Like how Lyla put it simply "it's like your soul mates, kindred spirits" then she sighs while holographic hearts float above her head.

Then finding out what you both felt hours ago, was actually an animalistic urge to mate? That is the weirdest thing ever.

After hearing the word mate leave Miguel's mouth, you take a step further away from Hobie, you just met the man and you were ready to rip off each other's clothes the second you saw each other?

Miguel, the boss of the entire spider society, you just learned, offered you a place in their elite group. As long as you and Hobie keep taking the medication of course.

You accept the offer. A few hours ago, you thought you were the only person with spider powers, being locked in a bunker alone for almost ten years makes you lonely. Now that there's an entire team who understands you and a man who's basically your soulmate you cannot say no.

You don't want to be lonely ever again.

You've been part of the spider society for a few weeks now, becoming friends with the other spider people.

You were afraid of coming out of your assigned room for the first few days just in case there's another spider-person out there who was bitten by the same radioactive spider. You definitely don't want to ever feel that way again.

Miguel tasked you to train so you could hone your skills.

In your surprise you see Hobie in the training room, honestly you were avoiding him, with how weird you two first met, who wouldn't?

"O'hara, really?" You glare at Miguel.

Weirdly enough, you and Miguel have become fast friends, probably because he keeps you closely monitored in case your 'charms' go haywire again.

You call it your 'charms' since you didn't like that everyone called it pheromones, it gave you the ick.

"Being in close proximity to each other helps in training you in keeping your urges in check" Miguel informed you both, "you've taken both your meds, right?"

"Yes bossman, otherwise I would be all over them right now" Hobie teases you both.

You almost broke your own neck with how fast you turned to look at Hobie.

Miguel sighs "Whatever just keep it PG" He leaves, the doors hiss closed once he stepped outside.

"I like your suit" Hobie breaks the ice as he roams his eyes over your form.

"Thanks, I made it from my own webbing" you lift your arms to show it off.

"That's -"

"Please don't say hot"

"I was gonna say punk rock, but that works too"

Ignoring his last comment, you walk towards the console to start up the training simulation.

"You've been avoiding me" he says matter-of-fact.

"Hmm, I wonder why" you play with the console's settings, continuing in ignoring him.

Suddenly you feel strong arms caging you in, you turn around, and find yourself trapped by Hobie, your back gets blocked by the console so you don't have anywhere else to go.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You can feel his warmth with how close he is. You look up at him through your eyelashes.

"It bothers you then? Our connection" Hobie tilts his head in question.

"No it doesn't, it's just weird and awkward. I've already wasted ten years of my life locked up, I don't want a spider defining the rest of it, do you?" Despite your brain telling you to just swing away, you fight it off and speak your mind.

Hobie smirks, oh how he likes that fire, he intends to feed it, let it spread, he would let it burn him as long as he gets to see the real you without the pheromone fog clouding his thoughts.

"No I don't, but we've both been away from each other for a while, and yet you still feel it don't you? The want to be near each other, the need to protect each other" Hobie rambles on, "I think it's our shared spider senses telling us something, it would be a shame to not explore it"

"What a shame, then" taunting him, you lean up closer, your breaths mixing with each other.

Suddenly Miguel's booming voice surrounds the large training grounds "LEAVE ROOM FOR THE HOLY SPIRIT!"

You both pull away snickering at Miguel's comment.

No matter how hard you try to ignore what Hobie said you can't, because he's right, even though you take the medication, you still feel him. Every time he goes back to Nueva York, for some reason you feel his presence even though you didn't see him around the building; same goes for when he leaves, you feel some sort of emptiness inside you.

You ask Miguel whether his medication isn't completely working.

"It's not the medication's fault, there'll always be that lingering feeling. You're connected to each other, whether you like it or not" Miguel has his back turned to you, "best to just ignore it"

You huff at his comment, dissatisfied with his answer.

You try to ignore him, you do but it's basically impossible since you're friends with his friends and you both work at the same place. You keep seeing him EVERYWHERE.

Hobie does it on purpose though, whenever another spidey gets partnered up with you on a mission, he convinces them to swap with him.

"You, again?!" You scoff. "Lyla said I would be partnered up with Noir this time"

"He had something come up," Hobie shrugs. "Right Lyla?"

Lyla appears suddenly "yep, some goons to punch and what not"

"Ugh!" You swing away.

Hobie winks at Lyla as she shapes a heart with her hand.

Whenever you come to the mess hall with a long line of hungry spider-people, Hobie's already sitting down with an extra tray of food next to him. He nonchalantly looks at you with a smug smile on his lips.

You would ignore his invitation but he's always with backup, he would be with Gwen or Pavitr, whom you have grown fond of over the last few months. So you reluctantly swing towards them.

It also doesn't help that he's your assigned trainer, all the lingering looks and touches when he's correcting your form, wakes up the butterflies in your stomach.

You spend so much time with him, it's impossible to ignore the feeling.

Hobie loves leaving you cd's of movies and music you missed from the last decade in your dimension. He drops it on your doorstep every chance he's got.

One time you got hurt while on a mission without Hobie, you tried to hide the deep gash on your shoulder from your team, but of course you stubbornly deny it.

Entering the inter-dimensional portal, you feel the stabbing pain on your shoulder. Ignoring the pleas from your team, you give them a pained smile, telling them that your enhanced healing will fix it.

When you reach the hallway where your room resides, you see Hobie leaning on your door, you feel the magnetic pull towards him. With no choice but to confront him, despite the pain, you saunter towards your door with your head held up high.

"I don't remember ordering a doormat" You tease him, You felt a chill run through your body from the pain and blood loss.

"I felt that y'know, the cold" He stares at you seriously. "I felt the exact moment you got injured, I never want to feel that ever again" he straightens up, anticipating what comes next.

"Hobie I'm - " You feel nauseous, you fall towards him, he catches you in one swift motion.

"Stop being so bloody stubborn. Let me help you please" He softly says right next to your head.

You shift your head to look at him directly, memorizing every detail of his face, counting every single one of his piercings.

He shakes you out of your stupor, "Oi, stay awake for me, yeah?"

You swallow down the pain, "Okay, Hobie, you can help me"

Without missing a beat he carries you towards the med bay, expertly weaving through spider-people.

The entire time you were in the med bay, he was there with you, with every stitch to close your wound, he was there. You instinctively reached for his hand to hold on to.

When you finally woke up, he was sitting on a chair next to your bed, asleep. You take note of his hand still holding yours. You watch him, his chest moving up and down, taking note of every single detail of his suit, every crease of his boots; the different pins he has on his vest. You count every callus he has on his fingers.

When Miguel finally approves your proposal to finally go back to your own dimension. Now that you're both stable enough to be around each other; your stomach flips when you remember it's also Hobie's dimension.

With your reintegration back to society, you ask Jess, (the only adult you trust) to help you in finding a place to live in. And possibly a Job, to feel like a normal human again.

Thanks to Jess your transition back to your own dimension was pretty smooth. You still feel the pull here and there, but now you've gotten used to it. So used to the feeling and his presence, you didn't notice him perched on your windowsill.

"Nice place you got here" Hobie whistles.

"Christ!"

"Just me, lovey" he takes off his mask and enters your abode. "D'you need a doormat?" Hobie holds a brown rectangle in his hand.

"What?" You take it from hobie with a raised brow, "Come back with a warrant" laughing once you read it out loud.

"Glad you liked it, nicked it from another flat" Hobie smiles hearing your laugh, he goes towards your fridge to rummage through it.

"Wait, what! Please don't tell me it's from a neighbor" You follow him, opening the freezer, showing him different kinds of soda he can choose from.

" 'Course not, got it from another building in a nicer neighborhood" he opens a can of orange soda.

"So you basically swung around the city, holding this" you hold up the doormat. You must like me a lot. You wanted to add but you bite your tongue.

"Yeah, what of it?" He rummages through your cupboards. "You got any food in this dump?"

You roll your eyes, knowing his schedule you hand him a packet of biscuits for his patrol. You wish he could stay though.

Whenever you're both free from your responsibilities and obligations, Hobie mysteriously appears in your flat, holding a dvd of another movie you missed and a large bag of popcorn, three feet tall, how and where in the world did he even get that?

Sometimes though you're the instigator, instead of movies and a comically large popcorn, you bring him to different places around the city. Museums, a walk in the park, cafés, and concerts of bands that Hobie likes (that you like too but you don't specifically tell Hobie that)

When you're swinging together on patrol, you point at places that have changed since you were in your bunker. Telling him stories about your experiences in some places.

Whenever you feel hungry, sad or in pain, Hobie feels it too. He's there waiting for you and you do the same thing for him. You take care of each other.

Once you two got bored in your flat and decided to make a conspiracy/theory board on how and when you two got bit by the same spider. Both of you were so invested in it, you didn't sleep till five am.

You woke up from the soft snores and the strong arms around you. You force one eye open, the first thing you saw was the large board you two made, riddled with pins, and pictures of places you've both been to all connected with red strings tied around the pins.

You hear him snort in his sleep, you smile softly. Cuddling further onto his chest. He hugs you tighter, half lidded eyes looking down on you.

"First I was a doormat, now a pillow" He says in his gravelly voice from just waking up.

"Go back to sleep or you'll be a punching bag next"

You were in Nueva York, just hanging around with Gwen, when suddenly you felt a painful pang in your chest. You hold on to a nearby wall to steady yourself.

"You okay?" Gwen asks.

"I think -" another stabbing pain but in your skull this time. Your eyes widen in realization.

You look up at Gwen "Hobie" you gasp, swinging towards Miguel's command center. Gwen following your move.

You didn't waste a second once you landed in his area. "Where's Hobie?!" You scream in your urgency for him to answer you quickly. Miguel's up on his platform, his back turned.

"They didn't ask for backup, stand down, Silk" he watches his numerous monitors.

"I don't give a shit, O'hara! Tell me which dimension!" You demand.

Miguel finally turns to you, he looks down on you menacingly "I said stand down"

You feel the pull again, a lot stronger this time, it's a primal need to protect him.

Gwen, noticing the tension in the air, decides to simmer it down. "It's okay Miguel, we uh, understand we'll wait for them to call for backup" she stares at you to wordlessly say: play along.

"Fine" you say, faking a smile.

Miguel grunts and finally turns around back to his monitors.

Gwen subtly knocks your shoulder with hers.

Lyla appears on a nearby table, hiding behind a console, she beckons you over.

You crouch in front of her, she puts her index finger on her lips, she summons a board out of thin air, written on it is the dimension where Hobie is.

You mouth a thank you to Lyla. She makes a heart with her hands.

Wasting no time, you run away from Miguel, finding a spot to open a portal, Gwen and you swing towards it quickly.

Once transported, smoke and chaos greet you. Your eyes roam around the area where various spider people swing around the giant mech of an octopus, clambering up the buildings.

You panic, not seeing the familiar glint of his spikes.

"Gwen go help the others, be careful" you instruct her.

"Go find him" She nods.

Without being able to see him, you panic, so you use the invisible web that ties you both together. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on finding the other end of the web. You try to remember his smell to help you in locating him.

Reaching the end of the rope you finally feel him, you can hear him breathing out slow breaths, you feel every cut and bruise on his body. A tear slides down your cheeks, but you don't have time, so you swing towards him.

Dodging mechanical octopus arms, you ignore Miguel's orders ringing from your armband.

You finally reach him inside an abandoned restaurant. He's sitting down on the floor, back against the cashier counter, his head down low, chin on his chest.

He looks up at you the moment he feels your presence.

"You come 'ere often?" He jokes despite the pain.

"Hobie Brown, you're an idiot" you walk towards him.

"Yeah, but you're the one who came here, so who's the bigger idiot?" He coughs out the last part of his sentence.

You carefully grab his chin to assess the damage. His mask torn from the side, his brilliant brown eyes now dull, you get a glimpse of a dark red gash on his chest.

"Let's get you out of here, okay?" You hold his face, keeping him awake with your touch.

"Have I ever told you that You're the most gorgeous person I've ever seen?" He managed to get out.

"No, but you show it often," you smile. "Will you let me help you?"

He gives you a blood soaked smile, "Yeah, you can help me, love"

You both feel the tug and pull of the web, straining against itself, now taut, it finally breaks.

You kiss him on his bloodstained lips, ignoring the taste of iron. He kisses you most fervently.

You feel like a dam just broke in you, overflowing your senses with just Hobie flooding every fiber of your being.

Hobie feels rejuvenated, like he can get back out again and fight the giant octopus by himself.

You both pull away for air. Gasping and staring in each other's blown out eyes. Hobie leans forward and kisses you again, as if he hadn't seen you in years.

"We need to take out doc oc" Hobie whispers against your lips.

As if on cue, the octopus mech falls down on the ground with a loud crash, followed by the cheers of the spider-people.

"Guess they didn't need us" you chuckle.

You hold him up by his arms, slinging one on your shoulder, you help him up.

The sunlight greets you both as you step out of the building.

You hear Gwen yell out your names. She drops down gracefully.

"You're both Okay!" She bounces on her feet in happinesses.

"It takes more than that to kill me, Gweny" Hobie holds on to you tighter.

Gwen opens a portal back to Nueva York. You all step in.

You sigh in relief when the three of you finally reach the med bay. You get Hobie admitted, you hold his hand the entire time he gets treated. Thank goodness for 2099 medicine.

He finally falls asleep, still holding your hand. Miguel enters the room, one angry look from you, he grunts as if to say 'another time then' before leaving you both.

When he woke up you made sure that the first thing he sees is your face.

"Hey, trouble" his gravelly voice making you smile in relief.

"You're okay?" Tears threaten to spill over your eyes.

"Come 'ere," Hobie brings out his arm so you don't crush it as you lay down next to him. He moves his head towards you for a kiss, you close your eyes, anticipation flooding your senses.

His kiss reminds you that you'll never be truly alone in this world.

A/n: that awkward moment when you realise that you almost accidentally wrote an a/b/o fic lmao I had so much fun writing this! Couldn't even sleep without finishing it up. Is this still technically a headcanon when it's this long lol. Hope you liked it! As always comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*image above is from pinterest*

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spiderpussinc · 10 months

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are the 2099 comics THAT bad in terms of racism plus other weird writing choices??? i'm starved for miguel content and would like to read the original comic run but i keep seeing the debate of the original comics being problematic and/or downright just BAD bad (not to mention miguel is supposed to have mexican heritage but he's straight up a white redhead lol)

Some people may disagree but speaking as a latinx writer; it's bad because it is racist, yes! On multiple fronts!! And beyond that, it's also bad as a complete failure of comics structure and compelling narrative.

Longpost, on readmore;

I say this as a long-time capeshit reader, as politely as possible: Miguel's comics are a *paycheck* book. As in; a series a writer does monthly to be paid for it, but with middling aspirations and downright negative characterization depending on where their mood is.

The first few issues of his 1992 run are relatively complete and well-balanced, may even trick you into thinking this story is going somewhere; but that's only because they're the /character pitch./ Ill skip to the end and tell you upfront. That 1992 series ends with the implosion of the whole "2099" line of comics (an universe that included other books, like ghost rider, doom, etc, by other writers) due to dwindling public interest and mass cancellations. The end of that run is basically meaningless, since the whole thing got retconned - and even before that a guest writer had came in and made mistaken character reveals pdavid wasnt happy with and wanted to erase before the finale. The event book that wrapped up that universe was unironically, literally called -- "2099: Manifest Destiny."

Now, I don't like Peter David's writing. I think he's obsessed with the idea of building harems out of his female characters (when he's not fridging them, or making them act ~crazy~ to further alienate them from the protagonist) and it is the kind of grueling, joyless reading experience I can only describe as making you feel Oily Inside. This goes as far as multiple stalking plotlines, the inclusion of a guest appearance from AU s/x slaver Hulk in later years, Miguel's mother being strongly implied to have been forced into conceiving him by his real dad who's the evil CEO of alchemax, general torture painporn. His broader supporting cast is so interchangeable and disposable that they were literally disposed of.

In terms of the racism; I have mentioned how he uses cultures as tokens and does 0 research whatsoever. The way it feels and the way it is deployed is through a lens of Exoticism - tourism. Miguels suit is allegedly "a dia de los muertos costume" b/c pdavid seems to think that holiday is mexican halloween. In the orig book, you'll see plenty of broken japanese and stereotypical orientalist caricatures - after killing his first love interest, pdavid introduces a japanese girl who is unironically, literally named "Xina" (that pretends to be chinese on occasion) to fill in the vacant role. Miguel himself falls right into all the usual latino stereotypes — short tempered, drug addict, sex magnet "latin lover" (this last one also applied to his brother Gabriel, who for the longest time is characterized by just Going Through A Lot Of Girlfriends). And it's kind of insane bc he's still being drawn as a deeply deeply white man, but not even that takes off the burden of the racial microagressions!!! They're the only times pdavid seems to remember that heritage! Then there's the commemorative hanging page. Since you mention the redheadedness; thats another insane thing to me. He has 0% of irish in him. His dad is Blond. Who is this man?

Most of the info in the 2099 run is either revealed to be a lie midway thru (miguel is not mr o'hara's son, nor addicted to rapture) or completely retconned away to be rewritten in new runs. Different writers have tried to come in and do miguel in other team/event books but frankly nothing stands out and most of them get marked as alternate-miguels. Unfortunately, every time marvel decided to give another shot at spider-man 2099 they also brought pdavid back. The newer books were never a success, and theyre just as filled w/ the garbage i mentioned earlier (wow! Steampunk spider-woman is given to pdavid for *ONE* issue and instantly tonguekisses gabriel before leaving, so novel. More fridging ensues. Stalking. Etc.) 2099 as an *universe* has been retconned so many times Nothing is consistent and Nothing is set on stone and frankly i think they should make it an AU separate from main canon and build a whole new world already.

The art in the 2015 + runs consists mostly of tracing, and more of that oily weird feeling applied to fem chars. Perhaps you have noticed in this entire hate review have never once spoken about Miguel's heroic plots and memorable villains --- he has none. At least nothing I can remember or distinguish. (Interchangeable, disposable, etc) There is a vague inkling of "this is an anti-stabilishment spiderman, he fights against The Public Eye, the Corporation Cops!" at the start but much like his cultural illiteracy pdavid has no real insightful politics commentary, so that dissolves into the background in time. Its all buzzwords. All of his plotlines are solved in circuitous or soap operaish extradrama ways; and while some of this is present in other superhero comics, what stands out to me MOST is how utterly fucking joyless Miguel's comics are. It's like going through a slog on obligation. They genuinely gave me a headache every time.

ATSV does a great job of reinventing Miguel and rebuilding the parts of him that showed real promise. Being a different tone-swapped spiderman, futuristic, being more on the tech-science side of crime fighting. Him being a single dad with a daughter is also new. (And he is single! There is no singular mention of marriage or a wife anywhere, he's a geneticist, multiple spider-men we see in this movie were literal clones made in tubes - i am fond of the idea he's a transmasc dad but even if you think he's cis he could have made that baby himself. Adoption is also always there.) I think its very clear ATSV didn't want to bring any of pdavids major weird shit w fem chars to the big screen on the hopes that miguel gets rebooted eventually. I think he's gay. Nobody can prove me wrong.

On that note, Steve Orlando (queer writer, also wrote for DC's midnighter/apollo) did some of the latest 2022/2023 Miguel miniseries. Another reboot! Those were "2099: Exodus" and "Spider-man 2099: Dark Genesis" - i think its campier/trying to tackle superhero plots more head on and trying to do something wide wacky cast focused at Marvel's personal request, but Miguel's future is very up in the air rn. I do really hope they reboot him into something closer to ATSV with latines at the center soon.

What I always reccomend for people curious abt miguel: read his first 3ish 1992 issues, get a general feel and close the book as soon as you feel annoyed. It won't get better. Remember none of it is canon nor has been relevant in over two decades. If you want to know the wider context of his messy chronology, check out some of the 2099 "all comics" type of youtube videos, theres some pretty easy to digest summarizations if u dont wanna waste ur time reading stuff that just got retconned again lol. Most writers now are operating on vibes and that is a freedom you should also allow yourself in your own fanwork.

Putting his panels out of context can be very funny though. (For further curiosity or tangents, there's always my meta tag)

#meta tag #asks #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #atsv #my spider stuff #atsv miguel #miguel atsv #marvel comics #spiderman #itsv #2099

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waitimcomingtoo · 1 year

Text

Joke Me Something Awful Just Like Kisses On The Necks of Best Friends

Pairing: Peter Parker x Best Friend!Reader

Synopsis: Peter deals with the aftermath of kissing his best friend

a/n: is it obvious I got dumped and rewatched new girl 😍😍

Masterlist

“can I come over”

Peter picked his phone off the floor of his fire escape to read the text from you. Peter frowned and got the sneaking suspicion that something was wrong but decided not to worry until he knew there was something to worry about.

“always :) come out the the fire escape when you get here” Peter texted you back.

Ten minutes later, you crawled through Peters window from inside his living room and took a seat next to him on his fire escape. Before you said anything, Peter could tell from the look on your face that you had been crying. His heart hurt to know something had made you cry and he grew determined to make you happy again.

“Hey, Parker.” You said in a quiet voice.

“Hey kid. What’s wrong?” Peter asked and reached over to put a hand on your back.

“What makes you think somethings wrong?” You smiled sarcastically and pulled the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your hands.

“Probably the panda eyes you got going on.” Peter chuckled and used his thumb to wipe your the mascara that had pooled under your eyes. You gave him an woeful smile and wiped the rest of the mascara away with your sleeves.

“You know that guy I’ve been talking to?” You began. Peter felt white hot jealousy course through him as he was reminded that Brad Davis had asked for your number three months ago and you’d been talking to him ever since.

“Brad? Yeah. I know him.” Peter said without looking at you.

“Well, we had a date tonight after him flaking on me past few weeks. We’d been on a handful of dates at this point so I hoped this would be the one where he finally asked me to be his girlfriend.”

“Did he?”

“Nope. And I could tell he wasn’t going to ask about twenty minutes into the date. So I decided that if he wasn’t gonna ask me, I was gonna have to ask him. And you know what he said to me when I asked?”

“What did he say?”

“He told me the “date” I was so excited for and spent hours getting ready for wasn’t a date to him. In fact, I learned tonight that none of our “dates” were dates to him. He didn’t see them as that. He saw them as us hanging out or whatever.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Peter frowned. “I thought he liked you?”

“So did I. But he never did. He just liked the attention and the compliments and the praise I gave him. I never actually meant something to him. And I know that because he looked me in my eyes tonight and told me he didn’t want to be in a relationship because he didn’t see me romantically. But this whole time, I thought we already were in a relationship. I just thought we hadn’t labeled it yet. But no. We were on completely different pages and now I’ve wasted three months of my life that I can never get back. I just feel so stupid.” You said and started to break down. You covered your face with your hands and cried into them as Peter rubbed your back.

“You’re not stupid.” He assured you. “Brad is stupid.”

“No, I am.” You sniffled. “I can’t believe I gave him my first kiss. I can never get that back.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t even had my first kiss yet. Having one with a jerk is better than not having one at all, right?” Peter offered weakly. It stung him to learn that you had kissed another boy, but he knew he couldn’t be upset about that right now.

“You haven’t kissed anybody?” You asked and cracked a smile.

“Don’t look so happy.” Peter gasped and playfully shoved you. You covered your mouth with your hand to hide your smile while secretly feeling relieved that Peter hadn’t kissed anyone yet.

“I’m sorry. I think that’s sweet. You’re saving it.”

“Am I saving it? Or is it that no girl wants to kiss me?” Peter laughed wryly.

“That’s not true. Believe me, I wish I saved mine. It would’ve been way better with a boy who liked me.” You told him. You locked eyes for a minute and felt a magnetic force pulling you towards Peter. Your eyes dropped to his eyes but before anything could happen, he looked away. He didn’t want to, he just panicked.

“He’s an idiot. And you deserve better.” Peter said to avoid an awkward silence.

“Whatever that means.” You smiled sadly before resting your head on his shoulder. Peter rested his head on top of yours and you stayed that way for a while in comfortable silence. Knowing you were still upset, he brought up a story he hoped would make you laugh.

“You know, when I was little, I thought the first kiss always happens on the first date. Like, there is no other possible scenario where a first kiss would happen. And the first date had to be at a sit down restaurant at a table for two. It was the only situation that my mind could generate in which a kiss could happen. And I would lie awake at night and try to figure out how two people could kiss when there was table between them.”

“And the table absolutely has to be there?” You teased him.

“Of course it does. Because if it’s not there, that means they’re not on a date. And if there’s no date, there’s obviously no kiss.” He scoffed, making you smile again.

“Well I can see why this kept you up at night. There’s a lot to think ago it.”

“Uh huh. And that’s not all I laid awake at night thinking about. Because then I had to consider logistics. Like, when the kiss happen? Right as you sit down at the table or after you finish eating? Or just sometime during the date? And after they kissed, does that automatically mean they’re boyfriend and girlfriend? Or would one of them have to ask? It kept me up at night. It’s all very confusing.”

“It really is. And now it’s even worse. Because now, it’s not just dating. Now, there’s the talking stage. The talking stage didn’t exist when we were little and hopeful about love.”

“I know.” Peter agreed. “The only thing I knew about love back then was that the boy and the girl kiss at the end of the movie. I wish it was still that simple. It doesn’t make any sense anymore. Why is it that you can be dating someone but not in a relationship with them?”

“I can tell you why.” You smiled sarcastically. “Because not everyone wants to use the word “relationship”. Instead, they just kiss you and hold your hand and take you on dates and tell you they like you and treat you like their girlfriend but never actually call you their girlfriend. They never actually give you the satisfaction of admitting that you mean something to them. And you know what the worst part is? My entire view of myself has shifted meanwhile he is probably totally fine. He’s unscathed by this and I was maimed. I just feel so angry. I’m angry because it meant something to me and he ended it like it didn’t. How could he do that to me?”

“Maybe you can’t understand why he did this to you because you would never do this to another person.” Peter said, catching you by surprise. You looked at him and gave him a soft smile to let him know what his comfort meant to you.

“Yeah. Thanks, Pete. Thanks for listening.” You said and gave his hand a squeeze.

“I’m always here to listen. And I’m sorry he broke up with you.” Peter said as he rubbed small circles on your back.

“He didn’t though. Because he was never my boyfriend.” You laughed sadly. “We never got to define what we were because he didn’t want to. But I wanted to. My feelings had a name. He just wouldn’t let me speak it.”

You fell silent for a minute as you replayed all the times Brad had made it seem like he liked you in his head. You debated if you were crazy and imagined the whole thing or if Brad just couldn’t admit his true feelings. Your bottom lip began to tremble when you thought about how everything was going to change now and felt a tear slip down your face.

“I fear it’s all just fucking impossible.” You said quietly. Peter looked at you for a moment while you looked down at your hands. He wanted so badly to take your pain away, or to at least take your mind off what had happened.

“I’m just thinking out loud here. And it might be totally stupid and insane and a horrible idea.” Peter began.

“Say it.” You prompted out of curiosity.

“You said you wanted your first kiss to be with a boy who really likes you, right?”

“Yeah? So?”

“Well, I’m a boy who really likes you. And I haven’t had my first kiss yet. I think we have ourselves a real two birds with one stone scenario here.” Peter said, making you laugh. He smiled now that he had you laughing again and hoped he has succeeded in cheering you up.

“Peter Parker.” You playfully gasped. “Are you suggesting we kiss right now?”

“I might be. Think about it, you get a do over first kiss and I get an actual first kiss. Plus, we’re best friends so you’ll always remember your first kiss as being with someone special. And then we can just pretend it never happened. It’s a win win for both is us.”

“The offer is very tempting.” You said and tapped your chin.

“Right?” Peter laughed, happy that you were playing along.

“Oh my God. Remember that episode of ICarly where Sam tells everyone Freddie’s never kissed anyone and he gets bullied and then she reveals that she’s never kissed anyone either and then they kiss? It would be so Sam and Freddie of us if we kissed right now. We’re even on a fire escape like they were.”

“If I told you that’s where I got the idea from, would you be too cringed out to kiss me?” Peter asked sheepishly. You grabbed his shoulder as you broke down laughing, sending a blush to Peter entire face.

“No. I don’t think so. Honestly, it makes me want to kiss you more.” You said through a laugh that made Peters blush deepen.

“Okay cool. Come here then.” Peter said and put his hands on either side of your face. You both leaned in before pulling away laughing. You both knew it was just a joke, but you secretly both wanted it to happen more than anything else in the world. When your laughter died down, you looked at each other as a comfortable silence filled the air. A look of realization dawned on both your faces as it became clear to you that the other was down to really do it.

“We’re not actually gonna kiss, right?” Peter asked as his eyes fell to your lips.

“No. That would be way too weird. But thank you for the offer.” You smiled and leaned towards him.

“Anytime.” Peter said right before your lips connected.

You pulled away after just a few seconds and gave Peter a wide eyed look. He nodded to show that he was still into it and you immediately leaned back in. This time, he cupped your face as your hands wrapped your his wrists.

At first it felt weird and hesitant and you couldn’t stop thinking about how this was the guy you’d been calling your best friend all your life and had seen do a million embarrassing things.

Then it, it changed. This kiss became assured and confident and all you could think about was how you’d wanted this all your life.

The innocent kiss became heated quickly when you found yourself climbing into Peter’s lap while slid his hands up your back.

“Oh shit.” You whispered once you pulled away. You looked into each others eyes as Peters face turned so scarlet, it was maroon.

“How was that for a first kiss?” He whispered and tucked some hair behind your ear.

“I could say the same for you.” You smiled before leaning in to kiss him again. You only got to kiss for a few minutes before you heard Mays voice.

“Dinners ready.” She said, making you and Peter jump apart.

“God May!” Peter exclaimed. “Don’t you knock?”

“Knock on what? You’re outside.” May pointed out.

“The freaking windowpane! I don’t know!” Peter continued to shout while you covered your face in embarrassment.

“When you’re done sucking face, dinners on the table.” May smiled innocently before walking away. You and Peter couldn’t look at each other for a long time as the reality of what just happened settled in. You sat in a palpable awkward tension until you finally mustered up the courage to speak.

“We should probably…” Peter trailed off and pointed inside.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” You nodded and quickly got up.

The three of you sat at the dinning room table in complete and utter silence. You pushed your food around on your plate, too consumed in your thoughts to eat anything. You wished you had gotten chance to talk about the kiss and what it meant but that was impossible with May sitting there. Meanwhile, you and Peter kept making awkward eye contact across the table before quickly looking away.

“So what have you two been up to?” May asked, making your entire body cringe.

“May.” Peter whispered in disappointment.

“What? Just asking.” May played dumb.

“We were just having a chat.” You said weakly.

“Kinda hard to talk when your mouth is pressed against someone else’s mouth though, isn’t it?” May shrugged as you choked on your drink.

“May!” Peter exclaimed and covered his face.

“What? Am I not supposed to address it?” She asked. “I used to give you guys baths together. Then I walk into my own humble home and find you frenching on the fire escape.”

“May!” Peter squeaked as his entire face turned red.

“That was so Sam and Freddie of you.” May snorted.

“I know right?” You laughed as well and accidentally made eye contact with Peter. You quickly stopped laughing and looked away.

“So are you two a couple now?” May asked causally and took a bite of her food.

“May.” Peter said in a grave voice.

“No. That was our first kiss.” You said, making Peter look at you with wide eyes.

“Y/n!” He exclaimed.

“What? What am I supposed to say right now? Please tell me and I will say it. I am genuinely asking. This is the most confusing day of my life.” You whimpered and looked back down at your plate.

“Maybe we should just go back to silence.” May suggested and you both nodded in agreement. You ate the rest of your dinner without saying anything, thinking the hard part was over. After you put your dishes in the sink, you awkwardly stood in the kitchen and looked at Peter.

“What do we do now?” You whispered to him.

“I don’t know. What do we usually do when we hang out?”

“I have literally no idea. I don’t remember what we do.”

“You guys usually go to Peter’s room.” Mag said with an instigating smile.

“Oh. Right. Peters room.” You gulped and looked at Peter again. He gave you and shy smile and a weak wave.

“Would you like to go to Peters room?” He asked in a soft voice. You finally stopped feeling so awkward and let yourself relax.

“Would Peter be there?” You asked and cracked a smile.

“If you want him to be.” Peter answered.

“Okay. Let’s go.” You smiled and started walking towards his room.

Once you were inside, you shut Peters door behind you and leaned your back against it.

“Sooo…” Peter drew out the word and looked at you with puppy dog eyes.

“So.” You repeated and struggled not to look at his lips.

“What do you wanna do?” He asked and took a step towards you.

“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to do?” He repeated as he leaned over you.

“We could watch a movie?” You shrugged as you tilted your chin up towards his face.

“Yeah. We could. Or we could…” He trailed off and slipped an arm around your waist to pull you closer.

“Yeah. Or we could…” You trailed off as well as you nodded your head.

“Or we could…” He whispered before connecting your lips in a kiss. He pressed you against the door as his hands slipped up beneath your sweatshirt. You tangled your fingers in his curls, something that you always wanted to do, and gave them a tug.

“What is happening right now?” Peter asked against your lips.

“I have no idea.” You laughed against his mouth and went back to kissing him.

“Do you want it to stop?” He pulled away briefly to ask you.

“I never want it to stop.” You told him before bringing him right down into a kiss. Peter smiled against your lips before picking you up to carry you to his bed. He carefully laid you down on his Star Wars sheets without ever breaking the kiss. You made out on his bed for a while and lost all sense of time. Peter kissed your lips softly before trailing kisses down your neck. He didn’t do that for long because he didn’t want to stop kissing your lips. You felt butterflies in your chest as you kissed Peter, something you didn’t feel when you had kissed Brad. Peter felt the same warm excitement in as he tried to memorize the way your heart beat against his chest. The perfect kiss was only disrupted by the sound of your phone ringing. You and Peter jumped apart and he rolled off of you as you pulled your phone out.

“Shoot. Sorry. It’s my mom.” You sighed in annoyance when you looked at your phone.

“Oh my God. It’s 9 pm?” You shot up in bed when you realized the time. Your curfew was 8 pm and you were ten minutes from your apartment.

“Mommy?” You said in a weak voice when you answered the phone.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Peter heard your mother scream on the other end of the line. You scrambled out of Peters bed and went over to his mirror, leaving him with a feeling of disappointment.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how late it got. Peter and I were just…studying.” You lied as you smoothed your hair and rubbed off the rest of the lipstick Peter had smudged.

“I’m on my way home now. I swear.” You told your mom before hanging up. You gave your appearance one last look before turning to Peter. He was sitting up now with a pillow his lap and a yearning look in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked with his messed up hair, unbuttoned shirt, and budding hickies on his neck.

“I, uh, I gotta go now.” You said and pointed to his door. You couldn’t take your eyes off each other, each desperately wondering what the kiss had meant to the other. Peter nodded slowly but couldn’t mask his disappointment.

“I’ll walk you home?” He offered and got off his bed.

“Sure! Just uh…” You trailed off and gestured to your neck. Peter looked down and realized how many buttons you had managed to unbutton on his flannel. He blushed in embarrassment and quickly buttoned his shirt back up.

You and Peter walked to your apartment complex in total silence, hand accidentally bumping every now and then. Neither of you knew what to say and neither wanted to say the wrong thing, so you said nothing at all. The third time your hand bumped into Peters, he went to reach for it but you tucked it into your pocket. You reached your lobby eventually and turned to look at Peter.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You said and looked into his eyes. You desperately tried to read his expression but it was too dark to see anything.

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nodded, never taking his eyes off you. He stepped closer to kiss you goodbye, then took a step back. He didn’t know if that’s what you wanted and don’t want to impose. You noticed his hesitation so you stepped forward yourself and kissed his cheek.

“Night, Parker.”

“Night, kid.” He smiled softly. You disappeared and that was the last he saw of you.

All night, Peter tossed and turned his bed and he replayed the entire evening. He couldn’t stop smiling and pinching himself to see if he was really awake. As much as he hoped this meant you would finally be together, he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He didn’t know if the kiss was just a one time thing only happened because you were upset. He didn’t sleep all night in anticipation of seeing you the next day to find out where your relationship stood.

Peter focused his eyes on the passing crowd when he stood at his locker the next morning. Ned was telling him some story about a TV show he had watched but Peter couldn’t hear a word over how hard he was concentrating on finding you. He desperately wanted to tell Ned what had happened between you two, but he wanted to wait until he had discussed it with you first. Just when Peter had given up hope on finding you, he heard your voice behind him.

“Hey.” You said out of nowhere, making Peter jump out of his skin.

“AH!” He screamed. “Jesus Christ.”

“Sorry! Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth with your hands as you apologized.

“You scared me. Like a shadow you are.” Peter panted as he held a hand over his pounding heart.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to approach you.” You grimaced, knowing you had already blown it.

“Not like that.” Peter said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sorry! Oh my God. I need to go.” You panicked and started to walk away.

“Kid, wait!” Peter called out and ran after you. You quickened your pace but he still caught up to you and gently grabbed your arm.

“Slow down. I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” You asked and avoided making eye contact.

“Last night. And what happened.” He said in a quiet voice as his face blushed from the memory.

“I wanted to talk about that too.” You relaxed when you realized he wasn’t going to pretend it never happened like you feared he might.

“Good, good.” Peter smiled shyly. “So what does this mean-“

“Hey guys.” Ned appeared out of nowhere, cutting Peter off.

“AH!” You and Peter both screamed.

“Damn. What’s with you two?” Ned laughed in confusion.

“Nothing.” You and Peter said in unison.

“Real creepy vibe between you guys. Just so you know.” Ned said as his eyes shifted between you and Peter.

“I have to go.” You blurted and ran away.

“Wait! Don’t go!” Peter protested.

“Gotta blast!” You called from down the hall before disappearing behind a corner.

“Do I wanna know what that was about?” Ned asked Peter.

“I’m gonna tell you. I just have to talk to her first.” Peter assured his friend and went to try and find you. He didn’t have any classes with you before lunch and had no luck spotting you in the hallways. Finally, he smelled your perfume wafting in the air once he sat down at his usual lunch table. He turned around and smiled as you sat down beside him. Ned and MJ noticed the way you and Peter looked at each other and immediately felt that something was up.

“Hi.” You smiled flirtatiously at Peter as you set your lunch bag down.

“Hey, kid.” He smiled shyly in return. “Did you change your hair?”

“Yeah. I had to take a test so I put it up.” You said and touched your ponytail, feeling pleased that he had noticed the simple change.

“I like it. It looks pretty.” He complimented you.

“Oh, thanks.” You laughed shyly.

“It’s nice. You look good with your hair up.” He remarked and reached up to touch it. You both got flashbacks to the night before and made knowing eye contact. Ned and MJ exchanged a look as they watched the usual behavior in front of them play out.

“Do you want a baby carrot?” You offered to break the tension.

“Yeah. You want an Oreo?”

“Sure. Cheers?” You asked and held up the Oreo.

“Chin-chin.” Peter smiled and held up his carrot.

“Oh, uh. Neck neck?” You laughed in confused as you knocked your Oreo into his carrot.

“Chin-chin means cheers in Italian.” He explained to you when he saw you confusion.

“Really? I didn’t know that. You’re so smart. I feel like you know so many random little facts.” You complimented Peter and leaned on your hand to stare at him.

“I don’t really. You’re the smart one. You know way more than me.” Peter replied. You smiled in appreciation of his compliment and gave his arm a fond squeeze.

“What the hell?” Ned asked, breaking the lavender haze you and Peter had slipped into. You both looked at Ned, having completely forgotten that he was there.

“What?” Peter asked innocently.

“What…the…hell?” Ned repeated. You and Peter exchanged a nervous look before playing dumb.

“What’s wrong?” You shrugged and took another carrot from Peter.

“That my question. What wrong?”

“Ned, you’re dropping articles again.” Peter whispered.

“I not!” Ned exclaimed.

“Nothings wrong. Everyone calm down.” You mumbled in embarrassment.

“No. Something is definitely going on between you two.” MJ jumped in in agreement.

“Hardly anything is going on.” Peter said, making you look at him angrily.

“Hardly anything?” You whispered harshly.

“You know when I lie I get a stummy ache.” Peter mumbled to you. You immediately felt bad and put a hand on his face.

“All right. Not that I particularly care about any of you, but I enjoy drama. What happened between you two that’s making you act so weird?” MJ inquired.

“Nothing.” You repeated. “Nothing happened.”

“Uh huh. Sure. And Peter, could you confirm that for me?” MJ asked and turned her attention to Peter. Peter looked between you and MJ in a panic before coming clean.

“A lil sum sum happened.” He mumbled, almost inaudibly.

“Peter. Why would you tell them that?” You groaned and covered your face.

“He didn’t have to tell us anything.” Ned stated. “You think we couldn’t tell from the moment you sat down? You think we can’t smell it on you?”

“Fine. You really want to know what happened? We kissed. That’s all. Y/n and I kissed.” Peter said in the most nonchalant tone he could manage at this time. You held your breath and waited for your friends reactions as their jaws dropped simultaneously.

“You kissed?” MJ asked.

“On the mouth?” Ned add.

“A bunch of times.” Peter nodded proudly as you hide your face again.

“Oh my God.” You mumbled.

“When did this happen?” MJ a questioned.

“None of your business.” You said at the same time Peter said “Last night on my fire escape.”

“On your fire escape? Like Sam and Freddie?” Ned asked.

“Exactly!” Peter nodded in excitement while your face palmed. Peter noticed your reaction and felt bad for letting that slip.

“I’m sorry.” Peter apologized and rubbed your back. “I didn’t mean for them to find out right away. I wanted to discuss this with you before we told them.”

“I know. Me too. But I guess the cat is out of the bag now.” You sighed and looked at Ned and MJ, who were still sitting in stunned silence.

“So you two hooked up? In May’s humble home? In her good Christian household?” Ned gasped and pointed between the two of you.

“First of all, I’m Jewish. And second, we didn’t hook up. We just made out a little.” Peter said and tried to make it sound like it wasn’t as big of a deal as he felt it was.

“You made out?” MJ laughed in surprise.

“You’re Jewish?” Ned whispered in an equal amount of surprise.

“Yes and Yes.” Peter nodded proudly. He snuck a look at you to see how you were reacting to all of this and you looked like you had just seen a ghost.

“I’m flummoxed. I’m absolutely flummoxed by this. My my my. I feel I might faint.” Ned said and fanned himself.

“I mean, I definitely saw this coming.” MJ shrugged and went back to reading her book.

“Wait, so are you two a couple now?” Ned asked, making you and Peter freeze. You looked at each other and struggled to come up with an answer since you never got a chance to talk about what last night had meant. You both started to say sentences that didn’t really seem to go anywhere.

“I mean, we didn’t really get a chance to-“ Peter began.

“-it only happened last night so we haven’t-“ You added.

“There’s still a lot we need to talk about but, um…” Peter looked at you and hoped you’d finished his sentence for him so he could know what page you were on.

“Yes?” Peter said at the same time you said, “No?”

Peters face immediately crumbled as you slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“No, no, it’s fine.” Peter cut you off. “I didn’t mean to answer so quickly.”

“I don’t even know what we are. I didn’t-“

“It’s okay. We haven’t talked about it yet, so.” Peter smile sadly at you before looking down at his lap. The guilt over giving the wrong answer was killing you and you needed to remove yourself from the situation.

“I have to go.” You said and got out of your seat.

“Please don’t go.” Peter asked and took your hand.

“Gotta blast.” You pulled your hand out of his and ran out of the cafeteria.

“Damn it. She keeps blasting off when I try to talk to her about our relationship.” Peter grumbled.

“Don’t ever say she’s blasting off ever again.” MJ grimaced.

“But you saw that right? I tried to talk to her about us and she blasted.”

“Please. I’m begging you. Stop saying it.”

“You just have to get her at a time where she can’t blast.” Ned suggested.

“You too?” MJ cringed.

“What am I supposed to do?” Peter asked desperately.

“Well what do you want to do? Do you want to be her boyfriend?” Ned asked him.

“Yeah. I do. Of course I do.” Peter smiled softly.

“Then tell her that.” Ned urged.

“No.” MJ spoke up.

“No?” Peter frowned.

“Don’t tell her. Show her.”

“Show her? What do you mean?”

“Last night, she told me about Brad before she went to your place. You know, before your little fondling party happened. Anyway, she told me that what hurt her the most is that Brad could never admit how he felt about her. He was always playing games and leaving her guessing about how he felt. So if you want to be with her, you gotta do the opposite. Show her that you like her and you’re not afraid to admit that to anyone.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same?” Peter worried. “What if she doesn’t want me to show her how I feel?”

“She does.” MJ insisted. “I know she does.”

“How do you know that?” Peter furrowed his eyebrows. MJ sighed before deciding that if this was gonna be solved, she had to tell Peter your greatest secret.

“Because I was the one who had to convince her to give Brad a chance in the first place since she was still hung up on you.” MJ admitted. Peters eyebrows raised in surprise before a smile tugged at his lips.

“She was?” He asked in disbelief.

“She likes you, dude. But she never knew how you felt. Nows your time to tell her.” MJ told him. Peters smile grew as he realized what he had to do. Now that he knew how you felt, he felt confident enough to seal the deal.

“Not that I care.” MJ added after a beat of silence.

“Thanks MJ. I’m gonna go show her how I feel.” Peter said and got up to leave.

Meanwhile, you were standing by your locker and trying to remain calm. You were freaking out thinking you had just ruined your relationship with your best friend forever. You shut your locket and leaned your forehead against it, cursing yourself for messing everything with Peter up.

“So. You and Parker, huh?”

You turned around and saw Brad standing behind you with a disappointed look on his face. You thought you’d feel sad to see him, but you just felt annoyed that he was talking to you.

“What? How do you even know about that?” You asked when you realized what he said.

“I heard you and your friends talking about it at lunch.” Brad replied. You opened your mouth to tell him to mind his business, then decided to give him some of his own medicine.

“Yeah. Me and Parker. What about it?” You asked and folded your arms.

“Nothing. Just wasn’t expecting you to move on so fast.”

“Move on from what?” You asked him, making his face drop.

“From…from me.” He said quietly.

“From you? Oh my God, did you think we were dating?” You laughed in his face. Brad’s jaw tightened and you could see his hands ball into fists.

“Yeah but we were talking for three months. And we went on dates and stuff.” He reminded you.

“Dude, we were just friends. Sorry if you got confused.” You laughed again and rolled your eyes a little.

“Oh. Yeah. That’s cool.” Brad nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Peter was watching this interaction from down the hallway with a proud smile. You had made Brad feel as badly as he made you feel and it couldn’t feel better. Peter let you have your moment before joining your side.

“Hey.” He smiled at you and wrapped an arm around you.

“Hey.” You smiled in return and leaned into him. Brad watched the two of you and felt a twinge of jealousy in his chest. Peter sensed like and looked at him as if he was just now noticing he was there.

“Oh, hey Bart. What are you doing by Y/n’s locker?” Peter smiled innocently. You turned your face to the side to hide your laughter as Peter purposefully called Brad the wrong name.

“It’s Brad.” Brad said, his annoyance evident in his voice.

“Is this guy bothering you?” Peter whispered to you but purposefully did it loud enough for Brad to hear.

“This guy? You know my name.” Brad scoffed.

“No. Sorry. I don’t.” Peter played dumb, making you chuckle as you leaned into him.

“I literally just told you.” Brad snapped. “It’s Brad. Brad Davis? ring a bell?”

“Bread? Bread Davis?” Peter asked and cupped his hand behind his ear.

“Brad.” Brad repeated and emphasized the “d”.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Braz David. Just to circle back, what were you doing by my girlfriends locker?” Peter asked. You raised your eyebrows in surprise when you heard what Peter called you but warmly accepted it. This caught the attention of students passing by which made Brads face heat up in embarrassment and anger.

“Nothing. I wasn’t doing anything.” Brad mumbled and averted his eyes. He looked around at the people snickered and whispering about him and shrunk into himself.

“Cool. Bye then.” Peter smiled wildly and waved goodbye. Brad rolled his eyes and gave you one last look before walking away. As soon as he was gone, you turned to Peter with an excited smile.

“That was so good! We totally got him back for what he did to me!” You whispered in excitement.

“That was all you. I just put the final nail in the coffin.” Peter smiled shyly.

“I heard. So, girlfriend, huh?” You smiled coyly and wiggled your eyebrows at him.

“Yeah. If you want.” He in a way that was confident to show you how much he wanted you but still allowed you to turn him down.

“I do want. And not just because it would be super embarrassing for you if I didn’t want to after you so loudly called me your girlfriend in front of all these people.“ You smiled teasingly and gestured to the hallway full of students.

“Well thanks for sparing me the embarrassment, kid.” Peter said as he took your chin between his fingers.

“Anytime, Parker.” You chuckled before closing the space between you to kiss him.

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starboy-sirius · 11 days

Text

may 7 & 8 | allure & silk | @jegulus-microfic | 1105 words

James Potter is magnetic.

It’s clear as day, as the sky is blue, that James Potter is truly like no other. The way he walks through the corridors of Hogwarts minding his own business, laughing with Remus and Peter, roughhousing with Sirius, one arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder. People come up to him with bright smiles and enthusiastic waves and James responds to them in kind, referring to them by name and asking how their family is. He knows little tidbits of information about their lives and he makes them feel good about themselves as he remembers it, making them feel like he cares.

The way he moves on a broom is stunning, the allure so strong that even those repelled by Quidditch come to watch all of Gryffindor’s games just to get a glimpse of the wind in his hair, his determined face as he scores yet another ten points, the flex of his thigh muscles as he clings to the wood.

He’s breathtaking, a sight to behold. The crowd chants his name like a long forgotten god, worshipping his every move as he waves to them. As if he’s the sun personified, lighting up their dark world with his effortless charm.

And yet, in the dark of his bed, curtains pulled tightly and spelled shut, he doesn’t feel bright like the sun, doesn’t feel important. Truly, he feels like he’s a ticking time bomb just waiting for the moment that people realise he isn’t good enough, that he doesn't shine quite as bright as they expect him to. He feels like an imposter.

The only person who makes him feel like he’s worthy of love and affection, of any sort of worship, is Regulus Black.

His best friend's brother.

It makes him feel endlessly guilty as he spends his nights wrapped up in the Astronomy Tower with Regulus, naked bodies curled around each other as Regulus kisses every inch of his golden, toned body. It’s an entirely new kind of worship, one that runs bone deep and lights his entire body on fire. Sirius is but a thought very far in the back of his mind until Regulus is casting cleaning charms, pressing delicate kisses onto his eyelids, his nose, and all over his face. He’ll end with one on his lips, deep and passionate and James thinks he might drown in the abundance of emotions Regulus makes him feel.

And fuck it. If Regulus makes James happy then who is he to deny himself a chance at happiness? Doesn’t he deserve it? He spends all his time catering to other people, trying his hardest to do what’s best for others and helping them that he barely ever thinks of himself.

Well, this time he’s going to do something for himself.

James leans in to press a tender kiss to the soft skin of Regulus’ neck where it meets his shoulder and breathes in deeply, bracing himself. Regulus, who is sitting in between James’ legs with his back to James’ chest, tenses as he senses the oncoming conversation. He keeps his head forward where they’re looking at the night sky, the view perfect from the Astronomy Tower.

“I want to tell him,” James announces quietly, pressing another kiss to his neck.

Regulus swivels around and looks at him with wide eyes, hope burning dangerously within. “You do?”

James nods, a smile growing on his face as one does on Regulus’, but because Regulus was taught to expect the worst growing up, his face turns sombre. “What changed your mind?”

It has been a problem between them for a while now, James wanting to wait before telling Sirius about them. He isn’t even sure what he’s waiting for, which bothered (read: infuriated) Regulus because he couldn’t fathom why James wouldn’t want to tell his best friend. He thought that James was insecure about their relationship, embarrassed about him. Needless to say it caused a few arguments, but James was adamant about telling Sirius at the right time.

James looks at Regulus now and thinks that he wants the entire castle to know that this boy is his. “I realised that you’re the only person that I feel like I can truly be myself around. I never have to pander to any expectation, never have to worry about whether I’m being too much or not enough. I can just be. And I’ve been observing the way I act with others, always trying to make sure they’re happy, and I just thought: why can’t I focus on making myself happy? And you? You make me happy, so why wouldn’t I want to tell everyone?”

He shrugs afterwards as if he hasn’t just said one of the most romantic things Regulus has ever heard, and the latter surges forward to press a heated kiss to his lips, twisting so that he’s sat in James’ lap facing him. James takes the change in position in his stride, pulling Regulus in by his hips and pressing their bodies tightly together. He accepts the tongue that swipes at his bottom lip and opens his mouth, groaning when Regulus expertly licks into his mouth.

James runs a hand down to Regulus’ arse, dipping his fingers into his trousers and moaning gutturally when he feels the hint of silk and lace underneath. Regulus smirks against his lips. “I thought you might like that.”

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

Regulus hums. “Nope, but Sirius might be.” He reconsiders his words after James pulls away and sends him a wounded look. “I’m joking, James. He’ll be fine.”

“But what if he isn't?” James whispers, pinching his eyebrows together. “What if he feels betrayed that we didn’t trust him enough to tell him straight away? He’s my best friend.”

“And he’s my brother. That’s way worse when you think about it, but I’m not worried. He’ll strop for maybe a day or two and then he’ll demand to be our flower girl. You know how he is,” Regulus soothes, uncharacteristically gentle with his words. James loves these soft moments almost as much as the biting ones.

James sends him a coy smile. “You thinking of marrying me, Black?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “In your dreams, Potter.”

He doesn’t inform Regulus that he does in fact dream of marrying him. He thinks he’ll cross that bridge once they’ve told Sirius. For now he pulls a squirming Regulus back into his lap and kisses him silly, for if James is the sun then Regulus is the star of his universe, lighting up the sky when James doesn’t have the power to do so.

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #james x regulus #regulus x james #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus microfic #microficmay2024 #marauders #the marauders era #the marauders #the marauders fandom #writing #hogwarts era #secret relationship #sirius black #dead gay wizards

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preciouslandmermaid · 4 months

Text

🕸🕷 my heart is a hornet's nest 🕸🕷

Pairing: Insomniac Peter Parker/Spider-Man x Fem!Reader (code name: “Huntress” + she is Kraven’s daughter)

Rating: T

Summary: It's been thirteen months since Kraven was killed by Venom. Despite everything, you're still in the city and helping a nerd - named Peter - in his garage try and save the world. It's hard to ascertain where your old life as a hunter ends and your new life begins. Somedays you can't even tell if you're moving forward or not. But, the pull you feel towards Peter is magnetic. And it's bound to end in catastrophe if you pursue him.

Even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around. He can't risk it. He can't risk you. And the long nights in his garage are really, really starting to wear at him.

Prompt: "Are you afraid of me?" / "Do I look afraid?"

tags: enemies to Lovers/enemies to friends to lovers, no use of y/n, secret identity, unresolved romantic tension, first kiss, light angst, slow burn, mutual pining !!

🕷🕷 ( read on ao3 ) 🕷🕷

Kraven snaps your name like a whip.

“You’ll oversee this one, huntress.” he says without looking away from the screen.

A mixture of pride and trepidation curdles beneath your skin. Kraven is trusting you, but he trusts plenty of his hunters. You lick your lips. The transfer of Martin Li. You promise Kraven that you’ll put the team together and leave before the hour.

No one questions Kraven’s decision. You don’t get special treatment purely because you’re his blood. In fact, if you look closely (which you won’t), you’d say that Kraven treats you worse than his other hunters. He expects—he demands – more of you.

There will be a target on your back when Kraven completes his hunt and finds a worthy enough predator to kill him. But that’s nothing new. You’ve had a target on your back since you were young enough to understand the way of the world; predator and prey, hunter and hunted, kill or be killed.

You lift your arm-- THUNK!—the throwing knife hits its bullseye.

“Huntress,” a hunter named Erik approached you, “you want five VTOLs?”

THUNK! This one is a little off-center and you blame Erik for distracting you. You exhale, balancing your weight, and lining up your shot. Erik is bold. Kraven named you the leader of Li’s abduction. He shouldn’t be asking questions. Your eyes narrow.

You pivot on your heel, fast as a viper’s strike, and flashing silver spins through the air. It’s beautiful.

Erik makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Your throwing knife wobbles from where its pinned Erik’s hood to the wall. His eyes flick to the blade. He’s lucky you didn’t miss. Otherwise the blade would’ve sank into his throat or he would lack an ear for the mission ahead.

“That’s what I said,” you yank the knife from the wood, freeing him, “wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Erik says, voice tight and clipped, and his eyes darken. You know he is loyal to Kraven, not you. If he managed to kill you – Kraven would be disappointed, but he wouldn’t mourn you. Nature is cruel and so is your father. You sheath your throwing knives while keeping one eye on the hunter.

Erik hasn’t left which means he could be planning his next move. You tense and wait for the inevitable blow. Come on, you think, try it. You’d be happy to fight off your frazzled, nervous energy. You should probably conserve your strength in case things with Martin Li go bad.

Erik nods, “huntress,” and leaves.

You roll your shoulders and return to the weapons cache. I’ll bring Martin Li to Kraven and he’ll have his wonderful fight. He’ll achieve his dream.

Nothing will go wrong. Nothing could. You’ve been planning this for months.

******

Peter wobbles to his feet, his head ringing. Whoever these guys are—they’re serious. The tech they’re using is insane. Invisible drones. Laser swords. What’s next? A few giant mecha-robots intent on crushing Harlem? He shouldn’t think about it – he doesn’t want to jinx it.

He stares into the face of the capable, dangerous stranger with smoke burning his nostrils and scalding his throat.

Dark soot clings to your clothes, your expression venomous and focused, furrowed and tight. The light frames you, bouncing off the east river in sparks, and refracting over the small throwing knives clutched between your knuckles. She’s fast, like really fast. Fast enough that he’s concerned you have a spider-sense of your own. Who the hell are these guys? Miles kicks a drone in mid-air and metal-on-metal crunches together like a compacted soda can.

Peter jumps before the blade can slice through him. It whistles through the air, hits and – literally bounces! -- off a metal pole. His lenses widen. He twists his body. His nerves ignite with impending danger, but he’s in the already dodging the first blade.

He’s Spider-Man.

He can’t stop physics.

Your second blade cuts through the air and burns when it cuts his shoulder. He lands on his feet, a sharp inhale drawn through his teeth, and resists the urge to check the injury. She can’t have that many knives on her!

Your lips quirk, “are you afraid of me?”

“Do I look afraid?”

“Hard to say,” you make a gesture around your face, “with the mask and all.”

“Where’s yours?” he propels through the air with his webs slung behind him, “I thought--” you deflect his punch, “most bad guys—” you stumble backward when he kicks your chest, but recover quickly, “want to keep their identities a secret.”

“I have no shame in who I am,” your leg swings over his head.

“So uhhh...who are you?” he quips. His palms land flat on the cold, metal surface and his spine curves, his body moving like a question mark, and avoiding the onslaught of your assault.

“Serious question!” he says a little louder this time while your silver knife dances through the light as it carves his webs into flimsy pieces.

A burst of green flares flash against the gray smoke. His heart flips. The raft jolts to the side. They’re going to drag the ship underwater! The heavy-duty spears punch through the metal as if it was made of tissue paper.

“We gotta get this ship free!”

Peter spares a final glance over his shoulder and you leap from the other side. Are you landing on another boat? A life raft? Are you going to swim away? He has no clue. He can’t spare any further brain cells on it though. He slides down the tilted raft toward the giant spears that function like fish-hooks into the industrial, military transport raft.

***

It’s been approximately thirteen months since Kraven met his end.

You’ve found that keeping count provides some strange, twisted comfort. You wake up, check your calendar, and strike another tally mark into the wall. It feels good to carve the line into the sheet-rock, little flecks of white catching on your thumb and falling like cremated remains onto the hardwood floor and clinging to your socks.

Sometimes you run into old hunters, vying for territory, and hoping to claim some scraps that Kraven left behind. Many, however, fled to Kraven’s homeland to play out the tragedy of a power vacuum and continue Kraven’s legacy.

None of them have impressed you. Not the ones that have sought you out, hoping to kill Kraven’s kin, and earn glory. And definitely not the ones who you’ve run into accidentally. Those are the worst. They’re cowards. They’re mice. You stumble upon them, trying to eat the crumbs off Kraven’s table, and your retribution is swift and bloody and a pain in the ass to clean up.

You wonder what Peter Parker would say if he knew. You pull your sweater over your head. Peter, the nerd running a research foundation out of his garage, happens to be your only...well, friend is the wrong word...but he’s your only something in this city.

You aren’t supposed to have ‘somethings’. Attachments, as Kraven would call them. Attachments made you weak. You thought it was hypocritical for your father preach this advice when he had a wife and multiple children. Not anymore though, you finish lacing up your boots, everyone’s dead now except for me.

The cassette clicks with a satisfying ‘CLUNK’ into the player and you slide your headphones over your ears. The player was a gift from Peter. No. Gift is the wrong word. It’s on a loan.

“What’s this?” You cradled the cassette player, “it looks ancient.” You twisted the sharp-grooved circles. They remind you of strange teeth. You click the play and pause button. It’s clunky. It’s right-angles and lackluster chrome and the buttons make noise.

It’s the antithesis of the technology you grew up with around Kraven.

You love it.

Peter rolls his chair over to you, “it’s not ancient. Maybe vintage. God, do we call it vintage?” he sounds so baffled that you almost smile, “you know, record players and vinyl are making a big comeback so it’s only a matter of time before Walkman do too.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, “do you want it?”

“Huh?”

“I’m not using it obviously.” He smiles, “I think I have a few cassettes lying around and there’s no shortage of music shops in Brooklyn.”

Your fingers tighten around the device. The wild part of you, the part that Kraven nurtured through violence and toxic loyalty, wants to throw the device on the ground. See how sturdy it is and compare it to the tactical, military-grade equipment you grew up with. How many pieces will it break into? A dozen?

You gaze into Peter’s earnest face. His eyes are warm, light mahogany. There are soft lines that kiss the corners of his eyes. You think when he is old, he will have many wrinkles around his eyes, and it takes a second longer than normal for your lungs to refill.

“I’ll borrow it,” you say, unable to accept his random kindness, “and return it before our work is done.”

“Great!” Peter coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, that sounds good.”

The cassette clicks, whirring warm in your palm, and switching the song. The subway rushes past in a gust of tepid, moist air that smells both stale and greasy. You scan the crowd. The citizens range from individuals wearing jean jackets with sewn patches, to baggy street wear, to plastic bags on shoes, to gym athletics and smart watches.

Someone gets on the train wearing a camouflage parka. Your spine stiffens. Your fingers twitch to the weapons hidden inside your coat. Do I know your face? You shift your body and peer at the subway windows, allowing the ghostly transparent reflection to reveal the stranger’s face.

As you wait for the right angle, the right lighting, you consider your options. Tail them out of the train—could be a trap, but their numbers are never that high. Get close, press the blade to the artery in their thigh, let them see your face before you sink the blade in and leave on the next stop. The timing would be tricky, but not impossible. Not for you. Bail on Pete and spend the next several days tracking the stranger until you’ve found and confirmed their hideout. An ambush. Quick and silent.

The stranger coughs into their sleeve and your fingers fall away from your knife.

You’re glad Pete isn’t here. You’ve never traveled together and you likely never will. It’s safer that way. It keeps him out of your personal life.

“That’s the problem with attachments,” you mumble to yourself, “you start wondering what they might say if they knew you.”

*****

Pete rubs his eyes with his fists, “do you hear birds or is that just in my head?”

You don’t lift your head from the microscope, “it’s birds.”

He yawns. There have been plenty of late nights in his garage shared with you, but this one feels different.

Maybe it’s because of the mercurial light flickering along the planes of your face.

Maybe it’s the notes by your hands, the edges of your fingers smeared black from ink.

Maybe it’s the unplugged headphone wire dangling from your throat and brushing ever-so-often against your exposed collarbones.

Shit. He blinks, looking away. He can’t get mixed up. He’s grateful to you. You donated the notes first, but then pieces of Kraven’s equipment, and then...you came around more and more. You wanted to see what he was doing, wanted to see his progress, or ‘see how helpful your notes are.’ He likes it. He likes having you around.

But, even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to risk you too. And it’s not because you can’t fight. To him, you’re finding your place outside of Kraven’s shadow and he doesn’t want to mess that up. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around.

The sequences before him blur into gibberish. He peeks up through his hair back to you.

Your name is the first word out of his mouth, followed shortly by “you’re bleeding!”

“I tried to catch the sample,” your voice is laced with frustration, “I can’t believe I dropped it.”

“It’s fine,” he opens the first-aid kit that’s stowed beneath the desk, “let me see.”

***

You blink at Peter. Earnest, helpful, kind Peter. You cradle your hand to your chest. It stings, but you’ve faced hornets stronger than this. The tiny shards of glass bounce colorful reflections from the holiday lights strung around Peter’s garage. The wild voice tells you to dig the shards out with your nails.

The blood is starting to stain the hem of your sweater.

Peter doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch away. His offered hand holding the gauze doesn’t shake.

You swallow. Why isn’t he shying away from the woman made of shrapnel? Doesn’t he know you’re lethal?

“What?” his eyebrows lift, “are you afraid of me? Or is it medical care in general?” soft humor folds into his brown eyes, “I promise my co-pays are reasonable.”

His words shatter the stiffness of your muscles.

You say, “do I look afraid?” you extend your bloody hand to him.

His fingers curl lightly and gently around your wrist. He flushes the wounds with water before plucking the glass out with a pair of tweezers. His brow furrows in concentration. Your neck prickles and a tingling sensation travels down your spine.

You’ve seen his furrowed brow a hundred times. However, you’ve never experienced it as the subject. Peter holds an antiseptic wipe between his long fingers. His touch is unbearably gentle and you wish you had something to compare it to.

“This might hurt a bit,” the soft, low rumble of his voice is strangely intimate.

The words fall out of your mouth, “I’m used to it.”

“Are we going to unpack that?” He slides the wipe across your angry, throbbing skin.

“No,” your lips twitch, “unless you have a psychology degree I’m unaware of.”

You’re fascinated by the way his fingers move along yours, light and precise, carefully wiping away the blood and wrapping your hand in gauze.

He says, “maybe it’s time for a career change.”

You smile. “What career?”

Peter chuckles, “okay, I walked into that one.”

His eyes lift to yours and his jaw slackens, like he’s finally caught the creature stalking him in the woods, and his fingers twitch on your wrist. The charged moment hangs undisturbed in the air, sending signals through the ether and rearranging the flow of blood in your veins.

His cheeks flush rosy and sweet. The pink hue reminds you of that pivotal morning a few months ago when Spider-Man gave you a sunrise and Pete’s number and a hope for a different future. Your fingers curl into his. And the carefully wrapped gauze prevents you from feeling the warmth of his palm. The wild voice tells you to rip the bandages off and run home. Your knees bump into his.

There’s always so little distance between you.

It’s a small garage, after all.

You tilt forward and hear Pete’s sharp inhale. There isn’t a moment of hesitation. Not for you. You know when to strike, when to move, and when to hide. It’s been drilled into you since birth. Hesitation is a lack of courage, in confidence, and you’ve never lacked either of those.

Peter’s mouth collides with yours.

Your ever-present and paranoid guard slips and you close your eyes to savor it—savor him.

The pliant softness of his lips melds into yours and your exhale shudders between your lips. His hand slides from your throat and holds your cheek, his thumb pressed into your cheekbone, and your hip bumps into the side of his workbench when you stand.

Peter remains on the stool, his neck arched, and his lithe legs part for you to enter the space between them. The thrill illuminates your chest like a red flare against a black sky. His lips play against yours, eager and a little clumsy, and you clutch the front of his wrinkled cotton shirt.

He mumbles your name.

“Shh,” you nose skims along his, recapturing his lips, because you think words might ruin it. The hanging lights flash their merry little dance. There’s fragments of glass under your boots. Ink stains your fingers, blood stains your sweater, and Peter’s tongue stains your lips.

You’ve experienced blood lust. You’ve felt it pounding through your ears and sharpening your focus into razor-thin virulence. You’re familiar with the excitement of a good hunt, a worthy opponent, a well-matched fight. Spider-Man, you think, I’ve felt this with him. But those were mixed with violence, and blood, and bruises.

This – this moment with Peter – is wholly different. Your heart pumps the same blood, pushing it through arteries and valves, but your hands move to caress, to clutch, and stroke through the fine strands of his hair. Your lungs tremble, not in pain, but in elation. The passion rolls through you in waves of syrup and brushes your skin like branches of fir.

Peter’s phone buzzes – loud and incessant – and he groans before tearing his mouth from yours. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes bright, and his chest heaves with hungry gulps of air. You’re glad to know you aren’t the only one affected by the strong pull of – whatever this is – between you.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta--” he lifts the phone from the table, “hello?”

You watch Peter’s face while he talks on the phone. He’s too expressive. He’d make a terrible hunter. And probably a bad poker player, too. You want to kiss him again just for the hell of it. And feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms, feel his breath mingling with yours, his tongue and the blunt force of his teeth.

“I have to go out, um, do you want to come with?” he tilts his chin toward the garage door, “we could – uh – get something to eat along the way?”

You hands twitch at your sides. Your coat, draped on the desk chair, is laden with hidden pockets for knives and darts and small vials of poison. An arsenal for protection, an arsenal for vengeance, the truth of your soul. A soul that Peter cannot – should not – bear witness to.

“Can’t.”

His expression deflates, but he recovers with an easy-going smile.

He shakes his head, “that’s cool,” and says, “another time then.”

You make a noncommittal sound.

***

You finish setting up the tripwire at your apartment door and wipe your palms on your sweatpants. The windowpanes glisten with raindrops, painting the empty corners dark blue, and blurring the myriad of ever-changing traffic lights.

You scratch beneath your ear, upsetting your headphones, and flop onto the couch. The cassette whirs like a little hamster running through its wheel as the song fills your head and blocks out the honking below. You’ve grown to like the city of noise, the city that never sleeps. It’s a concrete jungle. A unique hunting ground.

Tap, tap, tap --

You jerk upright and your head whirls to the noise. Spider-Man perches on the ledge of your window, his red and blue suit shiny and dripping. You cautiously close the distance and begin to disarm the trap before unlatching it. It creaks noisily as it slides open and old paint chips cling to the windowsill.

The cool wet air is tinged with the scent of exhaust fumes.

“Weird time to visit,” you say.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He slips through the window like a salmon and lands soundlessly on the hardwood floor.

You’re going to have to move. You don’t want Spider-Man keeping tabs on you.

“But this isn’t a social call,” he continues, “I need your help with something.”

You lift one eyebrow, “I’m not a mercenary,” then you add, “and even if I was, I doubt you could afford me.”

Spider-Man laughs. “It’s nothing like that!”

You fold your arms across your chest. Spider-Man gives you the vague details of a criminal that he’s had trouble tracking down, could use your expertise, and fighting skills, and so and so forth. It’s a good pitch, you’ll give him partial credit for effort, but you’re not interested in becoming a vigilante – or a hero.

“So, what do you say? We’ve teamed up before.”

Against the symbiote. But, your motivations were selfish. You weren’t helping Spider-Man or trying to save the city. You were weakening Venom.

“No thanks.”

“What?” His lenses widen, “seriously? After my whole speech and everything?”

“Try a power point next time.” You shrug, “I’m retired. No more fighting for me.”

Spider-Man glances around your apartment and there’s evidence of your hypocrisy across every surface. A case of black, tactical arrowheads sits on your coffee table. There’s several target posters hanging on the wall across from your couch with pockmarks embedded into the paper. There’s unfinished gadgets and an open toolbox on the floor near the kitchen where you like to eat breakfast and tinker.

“You’re a bad liar,” there’s a smile in his voice, “just this once, huntress, that’s all. For old times sake.”

You muster the energy to glare at him, but it lacks true heat. “You mean the old times when I was actively trying to kill you?”

Spider-Man shrugs languidly, “we all have bad days.”

That wildness, the hunter that lives inside you, under your skin and in the marrow of your bones is grinding its teeth and trashing into your ribs. It’s hard to determine where you begin and the hunter ends or if they’re destined to forever be intertwined.

You’re a wildcat, unable to be truly domesticated and all your attempts have been in vain.

But, then you remember the warmth of Peter’s lips, his gentle hands, and genuine laughter. You tell yourself, there is room for softness inside of me, for even tigers can purr.

You tell Spider-Man to wait while you get dressed.

“One time,” you hold up a finger, “that’s it.”

“One time.” he agrees with a nod.

Together, you rush into the monotone rain-soaked evening for your first hunt since Kraven’s death.

#spider man x reader #spider-man x reader #reader insert #insomniac spider man #insomniac peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfiction #enemies to lovers #insomniac spider man x reader #insomniac peter parker x reader #no use of YN #marvel reader insert

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annab-nana · 2 years

Note

🐚 leaning over to help the other with homework + peter parker (maybe a college au?)

you got it bestie :)

warnings: flustered!college!peter, peter goes dumb at the slimmest sight of boobs

❀ masterlist ❀

"are you getting negative twenty-three? i keep getting negative twenty-three but the website says that's wrong," the curly-haired brunet questioned exasperatedly, very much getting fed up with either his or the website's mistake. it had to be the website though, right? he'd worked out the problem on a couple sheets of paper at least three times and still, he was getting negative twenty-three.

you looked up and pushed aside your laptop where you were doing your own math homework. college-level calculus was no joke, but thankfully, you sat next to peter on the first day, bringing you a new friend to share your confusion and to help each other figure this shit out. it didn't hurt that he was adorable when he was slightly frustrated too.

"let me see," you requested as you reached out for his work. he handed you the two sheets of paper that were littered front and back with his poorly-scribbled calculations. his handwriting was subpar typically, but when he was working out math problems, it was even more difficult to read.

after some time of struggling to interpret his work, you finally got through it. to you, it all appeared to be correct. you put his papers to the side and lifted yourself out of your seat to lean against the table to be closer to peter or more so, his laptop.

you were sitting straight across from him and were now leaning in front of him. you had your weight supported on your left arm, your forearm flat on the tabletop while your right arm stretched out to turn his laptop around, but peter wasn't focused on the math problem anymore. his eyes were on your chest.

you wore a button-up sweater that was a little low cut, but for your modesty and some more warmth, you threw a cami on underneath. your cleavage was covered fairly well by the tanktop when you were sitting up straight, but when you were leaning forward, there wasn't much left to the imagination for peter.

he didn't mean to look down. he would never ever disrespect you in any way. but once his line of sight went south, it was hard for him to pull it up. it was like his eyes were magnetically forced down toward your chest which made it way more difficult to move them away. he was so honed in that he didn't hear you calling him an idiot.

you hadn't noticed where his focus was initially, but when he hadn't commented on your name-calling, you knew something was up when you didn't get a response or even a small pout.

"peter?" you called him by his preferred name and dipped your head down a fuzz to get a better look at him. the way his eyes snapped up to yours and widened in addition to how a rosy pink shade dusted over his cheeks and nose, it all told you what you needed to know and a smirk grew on your lips.

"is something distracting you, peter?" you asked tauntingly, leaning forward even more and bringing in your right arm to push your breasts together to make them even more noticeable. the boy before you visibly gulped and you knew him well enough to know what came next: the nervous rambling.

"wha- no, i- i'm good, never better actually. uh, did you, um, figure out what i d-did wrong?" he stammered, focusing extra hard on maintaining eye contact with you so his eyes wouldn't drift elsewhere.

"for starters, you practically undressed me with your eyes without asking me on a proper date first, but as for the math problem, you forgot that dr. hightower said to make sure you put in the negative sign, not the subtraction symbol because this website won't take that and will mark your answer as incorrect," you explained with a grin, loving to tease him.

"oh."

"yeah," you muttered before sitting back in your seat. you two got back to your work in a comfortable silence that lasted all of maybe thirty seconds before peter spoke again.

"hypothetically speaking," he started, pulling your attention away from your laptop screen, "if i were to ask you on a date, would you say yes?"

your smile returned shortly and you leaned against the table, shifting forward a bit just to tease him. "theoretically, it would depend on what you were thinking of doing on this purely suppositional date."

"i was thinking we could go try that new indian place near campus two buildings down from the coffee bean," peter stated before adding, "strictly notional, of course."

"of course," you agreed before pretending to ponder his 'hypothetical' request, "i'd have to say yes i would think."

"y/n, would you like to go out with me to the new indian place near the coffee bean this friday night?" peter inquired, still visibly nervous but not nearly as bad as before.

"are we still speaking in theory or are you being literal?"

"as literal as i've ever been," he responded, a hopeful grin tugging at his lips.

"then, it's a literal date."

remember to support writers & reblog :)

turn on notifications for @annab-library to be notified when i post something new!

#anna's 5k beach bash #starryevermore #blurbs #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker blurbs #❀ kayla ❀

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sweetly-yours-and-mine · 11 months

Text

Summary: B reading and A watching with their chin on B's shoulder

Pairing: Jonathan Levy x Reader

Warnings: boring dialogue?, probably me self-inserting in the self-insert i wrote

Word Count: 944

When you enter the bedroom, Jonathan can tell immediately that you've been crying. There are tear tracks on your face, and your breath, usually his anchor during his asthma attacks and like the flow of the river, comes in short little tides of gasps. You're trying to calm down but he doesn't think it's working.

Letting his book fall face-open on his chest, "What's happened, baby?" He’s chewing away at some Nicorette gum, absent-mindedly, the repetitive motion keeping his mind just faintly occupied enough so he can focus on what he’s reading.

He has a sneaking suspicion about what it was but he doesn't want to belittle you and assume things.

"Nothin'," you give him a weak smile, your eyes tired and glistening. Your voice breaks, "I was just watching a movie."

"Oh?" He shifts up on the bed, resting against the headboard. With his age, he's been forced to put pillows behind his back now, otherwise he'll wake up in the morning with a knot and he won't be able to get out of bed without your help. "Which one?"

You hesitate before looking down at the ground and murmuring, "It's a Wonderful Life."

Jonathan's not surprised. You loved that one, no matter how cheesy. You'd showed him photos of your college dorm and there was a big movie poster tacked up on the wall across from your bed.

For your birthday, he'd bought you the colourized CD and now like tradition, you watch it when the holidays roll around.

And like tradition you break down into tears at the end of it.

To my big brother George, the richest man in town.

"It's summer, honey, what are you doing watching a Christmas movie?"

You shrug, coming over to join him on the bed. You click into his side like a magnet. "Wanted to watch it again."

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Mmhm.”

He shifts and moves down again, his book sliding just that way to the left of his body. “Well, that’s all that matters then.”

Cuddling closer, so that he feels your breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, as it starts to regain its normal music, “What’re you reading?”

“Oh,” he holds up the cover for you to see. It’s a beaten-down, yellow, almost identical to the colour The Man in the Yellow Hat wore in the Curious George books, though that’s about where the similarities end. “The Life You Can Save. Peter Singer.”

“What’s it about?” Your hand follows down the trail of his chest, starting from his shirt collar, and rests on his lower tummy.

You were unlike anyone he’d ever dated after his divorce. You’d been shaped and moulded by your past like him. Craving touch and running away when it was given to you.

You’d been hurt. A guy you hadn’t named yet but talked about sometimes, just enough so Jonathan would be able to tell just what kind of accommodation you were asking of him.

The first time Jonathan kissed you, you didn’t even give him a chance to say good night before you were gone, the lock turning sounding like the door of a coffin closing.

Though that had been three years ago.

Now, you tuck your head into his neck and touch his tummy. Sometimes, you get a little scandalous and run your hands up his inner thighs.

But always in private, always alone, sharing your solitude with Jonathan.

“The morality of people knowing about poverty and doing nothing to stop it,” he says, flipping through the pages with his thumb at the edge of the book, before he closes it and hands it over to you.

You take it with a frown, and for a few moments, you go quiet as you read the back of it. “Is this for one of your classes?”

Jonathan’s just glad that you’re not thinking about the movie anymore, even if you claimed to enjoy it, he doesn’t like seeing you unnecessarily cry; another little of those funny knacks leftover from Mira, like when you stay the night at someone else’s and they tour the house, teaching you how to handle every temperamental doorknob and tap.

“Yeah, Intro to Ethics.”

“I didn’t know they had you teaching junior-level courses again.”

You place the book back on his chest, replace your hand where it rightfully belongs.

He shrugs, “I taught it a couple times during my postdoc…just trying to refresh my mind. Update the content a bit.”

With a little sigh, “I wish I had professors like you when I was in college.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. He cups the back of your head with his hand, “I do too.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your reading.”

He shakes his head, “It’s alright.”

But Jonathan hears what you wanted to say and picks up his book, flipping back to where he was. On cue, you place your head on his shoulder and tilt up.

Since Ava moved away to college, Jonathan’s got a lot more time on his hands. He’s finally gotten around to building you that window seat you always wanted, finishing up shows that he’s been meaning to watch for years now. Reading, writing, sleeping, eating.

He goes on long walks with you these days, pumping fresh, clean air into his lungs and making his attacks infrequent and far between. He hasn’t touched a cigarette or a lighter in months now.

It’s almost strange the amount of time he gets to spend on himself and you now. Maybe it’s a brief taste of what retirement is going to be like.

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here. Summer Drabbles here.

#jonathan levy #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy x you #jonathan levy x y/n #jonathan levy x female!reader #jonathan levy fluff #jonathan levy angst #jonathan levy fanfiction #jonathan levy fanfic #jonathan levy fic #jonathan levy x f!reader #jonathan levy imagine #scenes from a marriage fanfiction #scenes from a marriage #scenes from a marriage imagine #scenes from a marriage fic #oscar isaac

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bigfan-fanfic · 5 months

Text

Settling Down (Peter Parker x Percy Jackson x Dick Grayson x Reader)

Requested by @jayfeather965 for Short fic request! Moving to the Pokémon world with Dick, Peter, and Percy?

A slight modification in that we're assuming they're already in the Pokemon world, and helping you choose your first Pokemon/general headcanons about them with Pokemon. Dick has a Lucario that he taught Acrobatics. Peter has a Pikachu that knows Electroweb. And Percy has a Dewott.

With the three loves of your life being lifelong Pokemon trainers, it may be surprising to some that you have never had one.

But you've never had the time, or the room, or inclination.

But with two vigilantes and a demigod as your partners, now you have all three.

Your apartment, a floor-through space, though technically Dick owns the whole building, is Pokemon friendly and accommodating. Percy uses the water room for training along with his Dewott, which is way more disciplined than he is - though sometimes they train with Dick and his Lucario in the gym area. There's a lab for Peter's experiments where his Pikachu helps expend its excess energy by producing the electricity for his machines when not utilizing the solar power grid.

But, since it's a chill day before you've asked your partners to help you actually find a Pokemon, you decide to see if they have any final advice.

Peter and Pikachu

Peter got his Pokemon the conventional way, from a Pokemon Professor.

He was a shy kid, and his Pikachu helped him come out of his shell, so to speak, mainly because it was so outgoing.

And quick to electrocute his bullies.

Getting his superpowers was, pun intended, quite a shock.

But now he finally had the strength and the speed to keep up with his zippy little friend. He could swing around New York with his little buddy zipping along like a lightning strike.

It was probably that that cemented their relationship.

They looked out for each other, developed new techniques, and perhaps most crucially, finally exhausted the little mouse of its boundless energy.

So with a much calmer and less aggressive companion, Peter and his Pokemon seem at peace.

When you find him, he's in his lab, and his Pikachu is playfully bouncing sparks around in the little wire cage they use to expend the surplus electricity.

"Hey! Excited about tomorrow, babe?" Peter chirps, grinning at you.

"Yeah. Just... trying to see if there's any last minute tips you have."

"Well... don't count out a Pokemon just because they seem too different from you. Pikachu and I get along so well, but we were so different at first. It took a while to realize how much it likes napping on me, even if it makes my hair stand up, haha."

Moves - Electroweb, Quick Attack, Electro Ball, Magnet Rise (speedy moves + floating to easier maneuver with Peter)

Dick and Lucario

Dick only got his Lucario from Bruce. It was an egg that hatched into a Riolu.

Bruce had been endeavoring to help Dick learn some responsibility.

So Dick raised the thing from a Riolu pup, taking care of it. A task he took to like a fish to water.

At first, he didn't want to take the Pokemon out with him on patrol, knowing it'd be in danger.

But one day he came home injured, and the worried Riolu sat with him all night, working so hard on something.

When Dick awoke, he realized his Pokemon had evolved. And not only that, it had learned Heal Pulse to try to help him.

Dick felt so bonded with his Pokemon then, and they began to work together, even on patrol.

So they trained together, with Dick's style even helping his Lucario learn a move it ordinarily couldn't - Acrobatics.

Dick trusts his Pokemon partner with his life, and it him - so much so that it rarely, if ever, is in its Ball. It tends to just chill in its own space.

"Your Pokemon tend to teach you as much as you teach them. Don't think about what a Pokemon can do for you at first - instead, just focus on feeling that starting connection. You're finding a friend for life."

Moves - Acrobatics, Heal Pulse, Aura Sphere, Bone Rush

Percy and Dewott

Percy caught his Oshawott in Montauk - perhaps it was sent to him by Poseidon.

Unlike Dick or Peter, his Pokemon tends to be a lot different than him - instead of strengthening what he knows, it covers some of his deficiencies.

His Pokemon is both more childlike than him, and more disciplined.

Which means it tends to help him him relax when he needs to, and urges him to train and focus when he should.

Meanwhile he can be the midpoint between its playful and focused moods.

When it became a Dewott, they made the choice to have its scalchops edged with Celestial bronze, and it helps destroy monsters with as much aplomb as Percy does.

They have both made the decision together not to evolve it further, as Dewott likes to be able to use tools.

Of the three, Percy tends to use his Poke Ball the most to take care of his Dewott. It's a quick way to get it out of danger, and Percy doesn't like when it wanders off.

He'll have it stored in his Poke Ball in public, usually, and unleashes it to battle or at home for leisure.

You encounter Percy listening to music and chuckling as the Dewott tries to dance.

"You can't worry about it all that much." Percy says to you with a smile when you ask for advice. "Your Pokemon will choose you just as much as you choose it. They're not just pets, they're partners too."

Moveset: Razor Shell, X-Scissor, Icy Wind, Air Slash

At the end of it all, you feel pretty excited at the prospect of finding a Pokemon of your own.

Dick has reminded you to focus on the connection, and not the potential capabilities of a partner.

Peter has told you to keep an open mind.

And Percy has reminded you that it's a two-way process.

With all these tips, your anxiety is mostly calmed.

And of course, it's forgotten before bedtime when Dick playfully lines up their Pokemon and makes them "promise" to make your new buddy feel at home.

Pikachu chirrups playfully, Dewott nods seriously, and Lucario crosses its arms and holds one paw out, trying to do a thumbs up.

And you just know that no matter what happens, your new friend will be coming to a great home...

#peter parker x male reader #dick grayson x male reader #percy jackson x male reader #batman x male reader #pjo headcanons #spiderman x male reader #marvel headcanons #dc headcanons #headcanons #pokemon x male reader #pokemon headcanons

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howlyourmelancholy · 11 months

Text

Like A Virgin

summary: she was a virgin. and he wasn't. sirius have a reputation. oh, merlin, did he had a reputation.

pairing: young!sirius x ofc (Emalia)

warnings: loss of virginity. fingering. oral (fem receiving). heavy making-out. unprotected sex. multiple orgasms.

words: 7.8k

a/n: emalia is my own original character. please keep in mind that these characters are portrayed at sixteen years old, the age of consent in my country. this got away from me and ended up a bit longer than intended. i hope you enjoy!

It was just past midday when the rumble of a motorcycle disturbed the peace of the day. It was an out-of-the-ordinary sound for the neighbourhood, one that enticed people to open their doors or peek through windows to investigate with judgmental stares. Emalia smiled to herself, knowing precisely who it was that had come visiting, and made her way downstairs.

Sirius Black.

He knocked, and she opened the door without hesitation. With a single brow lofted and arms crossed against her chest, she leaned against the door frame, preventing him from entering. Emalia peered up at him with a patient and playful gleam in her soft blue eyes.

"Hey, Ema." He had a voice like melted chocolate, all smooth, deep, and delectable, even when he wasn't intending it to be. His charisma was effortless and magnetic. But if she wasn't mistaken, he sounded a little bit sheepish, almost as though he was apologetic for not having called ahead. It hadn't bothered her. His presence was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

"Get this: James and Lily are on a date." She nodded, indicating she had already known. There wasn't much she and Lily didn't share given that they were best friends, and it was to be expected that the redhead had told her about their upcoming date. "And Peter and Remus are busy with 'family affairs', whatever that means."

She cracked a smile but didn't say anything. She just continued smiling sweetly and patiently up at him, still not making a move to allow him inside. He either didn't notice or didn't care because he went on.

"I am bored out of my skull at home, and I figured you were free and that I'd come around. So, can I come in?"

There it was, the reason for his out-of-the-blue visit—he was bored.

This wasn't surprising to hear. Sirius was a social creature; he liked being around others and was only alone when it suited him. It hadn't even bothered her that he would assume she was free and come over unannounced. After what happened last year, when her mother passed away and she struggled to come to terms with it, she and Sirius had grown closer.

He had become a constant presence in her life, where once he had just been Remus' friend. But he had been there, impulsive and reckless, when she pushed everyone away. He helped drive away her sorrows with his silly jokes and ridiculous behaviour, and he was there to comfort her when it became too much to handle. She'd lost count of how many times he had held her as she cried.

"Of course you can, Sirius. I just wanted to see how long you'd wait to ask," she said with a laugh. The sound was light and carefree, unlike anything she had done a year ago. She stepped aside to make room for him to pass, and she closed the door when he had done so. Her father, Alberic, wasn't home, but he knew Sirius well enough that she didn't think he would be bothered by the visit.

"I was just getting ready, actually. Lily and I are going to a high tea after their date." Emalia made certain the door was locked before turning back to him and motioning for him to follow her.

"So, a tea party." Sirius joked as he followed her upstairs. She could hear the smile in his voice and imagined the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he teased her.

"No. It's a high tea. You know what that is, Sirius."

"A fancy tea party then." He went on as he took a seat at the end of her bed. Emalia was seated in front of a vanity; it was matte black with a large mirror and looked out of place in her bedroom. He wondered, just for a moment, if it had belonged to her mother. "Besides, you look pretty much ready to me."

"I need to finish my hair, then put on my heels, and I haven't decided what perfume to wear, so I'm not really. You'll just have to sit and watch, won't you?"

He laughed at her playful banter and watched her reflection in the mirror. Her expression was serious as she pulled a brush through her raven-black hair without too much difficulty. Every now and then, he saw the corner of her mouth twist in discomfort as she worked a knot loose.

After a few minutes, maybe five or so, he started counting the strokes, and when he reached thirty, he chuckled. It was a deep sound, reverberating from the middle of his chest. Emalia stopped and was staring towards the mirror, brush still held in hand, brows drawn together in confusion.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just that I've watched you brush your hair about thirty times now. I think you're done, Ema."

He saw the worried expression soften in the mirror and cracked a small smile.

"I'll only be a few more minutes, then I'll give you some attention, Pads."

"You know, I'm pretty sure I could run my fingers through your hair and it wouldn't get tangled; you've brushed it that much."

It was this comment that made her thoughts pause as she looked over her shoulder at him. If it had been any other woman, he would have thought the look she gave him was purposely seductive, but not Ema; no, she wasn't that kind of person. But maybe he was mistaken because the way she was smiling at him made him swallow hard.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you're flirting with me, Mister Black. Maybe even trying to seduce me." Her tone was soft, like a whisper, as she gave him a playful wink. It wasn't unusual for them to poke fun at each other; the occasional flirty comment or sarcastic remark that might have led to hurt feelings if they hadn't been so close. Emalia wasn't a flirt like him, though he knew she had had boyfriends in the past.

But knowing that didn't stop his thoughts from racing to a hundred different scenarios.

"And if I was?" He replied with a sudden seriousness in his deep voice.

Emalia didn't need to see him to hear the challenge in his words. Her face flushed a soft pink, and she quickly looked away, but he saw it in the mirror's reflection.

"Is it working?"

She didn't answer; she couldn't find her voice to do so.

Sure, she had thought about him that way; she had fantasised about how his hands would feel on her body, touching her and pleasuring her, his fingers wrapped in the heat of her core. She had even touched herself on more than one occasion, imagining it was him. His name was often a heaven's prayer on her lips as pleasure swept through her body, leaving her breathless and wanting more. But those thoughts had been buried deep down, hidden alongside the ones about Remus.

He was her friend; they all were—as thick as thieves, James would always say. Emalia had never been willing to risk their incredible friendship for anything. Not love, not sex, not anything. But she would have been lying if she said she wasn't tempted.

With a gentle sigh, she placed the brush down and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. She laughed softly and shook her head. He was teasing her again. He always did this.

"You are a dork, Sirius." The words came out halfheartedly as she stood and took a step towards the wardrobe. But he caught her by the wrist before she had taken even two steps and pulled her back towards him.

Surprised by this, she stumbled around, only to have him catch her.

It all happened so fast.

One moment she was standing, and the next she was practically straddling his lap. Her hands were on his shoulders now, clutching at him for balance, a knee resting on the mattress beside his thigh. His hands had settled on the swell of her hips, firm, warm, and strong. And then, without warning, he shifted, pulled her down onto the mattress, and held her there.

Emalia made a startled squeak but otherwise didn't resist him. She was too surprised by his bold behaviour to protest. And, if she were to be honest with herself, she had fantasised about situations exactly like this a few too many times before. She had imagined how his body would feel nestled between her thighs, what he would do when she was naked beneath him, and how he would kiss her, touch her, and love her.

One of his arms was around the small of her back, the other propping him up on an elbow. She was staring up at him with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted, and her fingertips digging into his shoulders as he hovered over her like some falling shadow.

Sirius was between her legs, making her skirt ride up her thighs, and he was breathing deeply, evenly, and calmly. His breath was washing over her mouth and nose like sickly sweet rum—it made her head swim.

"Is it working?" He repeated the question, his voice dropping an octave so that a shiver ran down her spine. Emalia still couldn't find her voice to answer him; she couldn't stop her heart from going into overdrive or the moisture pooling at her core.

His denim trousers rubbed against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs as she shifted beneath him. The ends of his long, inky black hair tickled her cheeks as he stared down at her. She could feel him staring at her, watching her, waiting for an answer.

Her tongue slipped out from behind her teeth to slowly lick her lips. He watched this with a smirk and enjoyed when she chewed nervously on her lower lip. Her chest was rising and falling, brushing against his each time, and her ebony hair was sprawled around her on the bed like the night sky.

"That depends." Emalia finally answered, her voice barely a whisper.

She couldn't deny her feelings. She wanted this—she wanted him.

Sirius leaned closer, pressing more firmly against her, stroking his nose softly against hers.

"Hrm?"

"Are you going to kiss me or not?"

He didn't answer, not verbally.

Instead, he kissed her, as was requested of him. His lips touched hers gently at first, soft and warm, moving slowly and testing the waters, but when she released the breath she had been holding and kissed him back, it was game on.

Sirius deepened the kiss, chasing her taste. Vanilla. He could taste it on her lips. Her lip gloss tasted like vanilla and sweet almonds. It was a delicious combination, and he found that he couldn't get enough of it.

He had plenty of experience in these situations and was deep in his element, so he took the lead without question. He parted his lips and swept his tongue against her plump lower lip, requesting permission. This made her head swim and made her moan softly into the kiss. Emalia parted her lips, then his tongue delved into her mouth without hesitation. He tasted like cigarette smoke and danger, pure rebellion, drowning her senses in him.

She moaned again, louder this time. Emalia shifted beneath him to wrap an arm around the back of his neck and pull him closer. His fingers trailed fire across her back as he pulled his arm from beneath her and spread it along her ribs. Sirius pushed against her, rolling his hips against hers, his arousal evident, straining against his jeans.

His mouth was making her delirious, and her head was swimming with pleasure because of it. Sirius was like fire, scorching her skin with his touch and searing her mind with his gentleness. And she was like putty in his hands—inexperienced, innocent, and all too willing to learn.

His hand trailed up her body, from her hip to her ribs, before settling over a breast that was just a little bit too big to fit in his palm. He could feel her nipple through her clothes, hardening as he ran his thumb against it. It was begging to be freed, begging to be sucked.

Emalia said his name in a quiet plea when the kiss was broken for a much-needed breath. He kissed her from her chin to her neck, stopping to suck here and there, leaving little red marks in his wake. She was writhing beneath him, pushing her hips against his, pushing her breast into his hand.

She still had an arm around his neck, and now the other had a fistful of his hair. Her fingers were buried deep in his thick locks, and she tugged on them roughly, making him growl as she dragged his mouth back to hers. Emalia was breathing heavier now, faster and harder, and her knickers were wet with excitement as their tongues touched and twirled together.

Sirius drew her lip between his teeth, biting it gently, and gave her breast a firm squeeze before moving his hand down her body. He enjoyed the way she writhed beneath him, how she kissed him with urgency, and how she moaned his name each time he did something new.

His hand reached her thigh, which was now curled against his hip. And then it drifted back up, beneath her skirt this time. Her skin was soft and warm to the touch and prickled with goosebumps. His fingers found the band of her knickers, curled around the cotton fabric, and tugged them down.

It was then that Emalia made a noise. The sound was somewhere between protest and panic. Her hand left his hair and found his beneath her skirt. Small fingers encircled his wrist and held tightly to halt his explorations. He could have kept going—he knew that, she knew that, but he was as still as stone.

She was panting and staring up with lust-filled eyes that were wide with uncertainty once again. The last virgin of their group—even Peter had finally gotten some now that he was dating that pretty Ravenclaw girl he was so keen on. This thought made him smile. She was so eager but so unsure.

"We should go out first. To dinner or something."

Her words were like a sledgehammer shattering a panel of glass—sudden and unexpected. Sirius was struck silent for a moment before the corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk. So she wanted to be wooed first. He could do that.

He kissed her without warning. Hard, slowly, thoroughly, just because he could. It made her moan and made her toes curl.

"Yeah, let's do that."

"Sirius."

"Emalia."

The warning in her tone had him grinning from ear to ear—not that she could see it, but she could certainly hear it in the sound of his laugh. Emalia shuffled along with an arm outstretched, feeling the way while he crowded behind her, his chest brushing against her back as he kept her eyes hidden behind his hands.

"I’m serious," she warned him again, this time trying to escape him. He'd blindfolded her the moment they arrived, his large hands covering her eyes, intent on not letting her ruin the surprise. Sirius hadn't told her when he would take her on a date, where he'd take her, or any other details.

And then one night he sent her a message, instructing her to dress nice and be ready by seven. Normally, she would have resisted his dominance and rebelled against his authority. But this time it made butterflies fill her stomach, making her nervous and excited, so that she had to squeeze her thighs shut to fight the ache between them.

He’d dressed nice—casual but nice. Dark denim jeans and big black combat boots. He had a leather jacket over a simple white tee and rings on at least half a dozen of his fingers. Emalia hadn't been able to hide the way her eyes moved up and down his body, taking in every detail of him, or the flush that had crept into her face when he caught her staring.

He had been equally transfixed when she opened the door. Her long ebony hair hung in loose curls down her shoulders, falling over a black blouse that was tucked into a red floral skirt, but his gaze remained on her feet. Six-inch heels, studded and strappy, towering, impossible to walk in, or so he thought.

Escaping him proved to be impossible. Sirius wrapped an arm around her waist—a tight band of muscles—as he lifted her, making her shriek in surprise. "No, you’re Ema. I’m Sirius." He chortled in response, and she could hear the tease in his words and feel the laughter vibrating through his chest and against her back. "Now behave; we’re almost there."

She was laughing in spite of how he carried her as though she weighed nothing, unhindered by the way she wriggled in his grasp. "Put me down, you buffoon!"

He didn't, not until they reached the entrance. He held onto her as her heels sank into the snow, keeping a hand on her hip and her back pressed against his chest.

He watched her face as she stared in awe at the winter wonderland before them. The ice rink had been decorated with wreaths of twinkling lights and fresh snow, and the ice was beautifully illuminated by those very same lights along with the moonlight glow. There were a couple of booths selling snow cones, hot chocolate, and other treats. There was a distinct chill in the air.

Emalia looked at him over her shoulder with a sweet smile on her lips. The lights reflected in her soft blue eyes in a way that stole the breath from his lungs. "Sirius, this is so lovely."

He frowned. "But?"

"I can’t skate very well," she admitted quietly, not wanting to ruin his surprise. "Or at all, actually."

He grinned in response, his shoulders dropping as the tension bled out of them, and suddenly he could breathe again. Sirius narrowed his eyes playfully. "It’s alright, angel. I’ll show you." His arm snaked around her waist again, his palm pressing firmly against her stomach, fingers splayed possessively, the warmth of his palm penetrating straight to her core as he pulled her tight against him. "Besides, it gives me a reason to hold you like this."

"Oh, you need an excuse for that, hrm?"

"A reason. You give me plenty of those," he mused with a hum, his mouth ghosting over hers, swallowing the little gasp of surprise. She tasted like vanilla again, her soft pink lips parting under the dominance of his. Her eyes, his eyes, drifted shut. Her tongue slipped past her own lips to lick his lower one, softly and shyly, asking for or giving permission; he couldn't figure out which because his head was swimming.

It was only the shriek of someone falling on the ice that pulled them from the moment and reminded her that they were standing somewhere very public. Sirius noticed that her eyes were glossy when they opened, but she smiled at him sweetly and innocently, as though she had no idea what effect she had on him. Emalia tangled her fingers with his, enjoying the warmth of them wrapped around hers, which were cold as ice.

Sirius had always run hot like a furnace, the heat of him seemingly clinging to the air, chasing away the cold. She noticed that his fingers were calloused, just a little bit, probably from years of holding a bat and beating bludgers away from his teammates.

He didn’t object as she tugged him to the booth where they could rent their skates. He enjoyed the way she acted so bossy, calm, and confident while making small talk with the man attending the booth. Sirius laughed when she got her skates, a size seven, and Emalia retaliated by smacking the back of her hand against his chest.

Her shoe size shouldn’t have been surprising, and really, it wasn’t. It amused him that she wore such a small size in comparison to his ten and a half. Sirius was taller than her, which was an understatement, to say the least. If Emalia hadn’t been wearing those heels, he’d have been a foot taller than her, maybe more.

She was small, delicate, and fucking smart-mouthed.

Emalia watched how Sirius laced his skates, his fingers plucking at the laces with practised movements, no doubt from how often he’d had to lace up those combat boots. She followed his movements, pulling them tight around her ankles, making sure they were supported and that she wasn’t about to end up with a broken bone. And then she was following him to the rink, leaving behind her heels beside his boots, the sight of them drawing a chuckle from him that had her shooting him a warning glare.

Sirius marvelled at how she could walk in the skates with utter confidence, perched on them like a ballerina, until she stepped onto the ice. Then she was the polar opposite. Emaila stumbled and shivered from both the cold and nervousness, her expression one of tight-lipped concentration. She clutched at the railing, her arms shaking as she managed to catch herself when she slipped.

She didn’t talk to him. Didn’t even look at him. Instead, she was staring at her feet as she edged her way around the rink once, twice, and a third time.

Sirius was the complete opposite.

He moved with confidence and a natural swagger. The wind whipped at his hair as he whizzed past her, weaving in and out of the crowd, somehow avoiding colliding with them even though his attention was entirely on her. At times, he wasn’t even watching where he was going. After a while, he grew tired of watching.

Sirius skated towards her quickly, turning his skates at the last minute and finishing with a hockey stop, covering her legs in a spray of ice flakes. "You dog!" Emalia shouted with a glare, which only made the young man grin.

"What?" he barked out with a laugh, watching as she brushed the ice from her skirt, almost falling while doing so. "I needed to get your attention somehow. You seem pretty intent on that railing; should I be jealous?"

Emalia sneered at him. "That’s because someone took me to an ice skating rink. And as I recall, I've already told you I don't know how to skate."

"Here, let me show you," Sirius said, holding out a hand.

"I’m quite happy right here," she replied indignantly.

"Don’t you trust me?"

"Not on your life!"

That wasn’t entirely true. Emalia did trust him. She trusted that he would hold her close, that his hands would wander her body, and that his lips would steal the breath from her lungs. She trusted that he would tease her and keep her safe, but she didn’t trust him not to let her fall and be covered in snow and ice shavings as a joke.

Sirius drifted closer, not taking no for an answer. He caged her between his arms, his chest pressing firmly into her back, forcing her against the railing to prevent an escape. The warmth of him was immediate; it made her head spin and made her dizzy. She found herself leaning into him to chase away the cold.

He pried her small fingers from the railing one at a time, laughing against her shoulder, his warm breath wafting against her neck, making her shiver and squeeze her thighs together. She swatted at his hands, huffed out warnings and threats between laughs, and pushed against the rail and into his chest to create space for an escape. It was only as she moved to turn, stumbling as a skate slipped out from beneath her, that she gave up the fight.

Sirius caught her around the waist, an arm around the small of her back, the opposite hand grabbing her hip. He was laughing, and so was she, as he hauled her back to her feet. "Trust me, angel. I won’t let you fall."

She made a sound that was unladylike, indignant, and very unbelieving. Emalia held his forearms tightly, her manicured nails digging in, so he felt the pressure through the sleeves of his jacket. Sirius just grinned through it.

"Don’t look down," he instructed, his tone gentle as he moved slowly backward with just a little bit of momentum. "Watch me, Ema, and keep your back straight. If you tilt forward, your balance will be off." Sirius held her forearms firmly, staying about a foot away to avoid their skates coming together.

He towed her along slowly, encouraging her to match his stride and move with the opposite foot each time he moved. He praised her when she got it right, earning himself a coy little smile and her cheeks flushing a pretty pale pink. And when she stumbled, he caught her, soothing her and telling her it was alright.

They were both silent for a while. Emalia concentrated on her footwork, her hold on him tightening a few times when she stumbled before finding a rhythm that worked for her.

"You know," she said softly, still staring down at her feet while struggling to keep her balance. Sirius captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up. For a moment, she stared at him with pretty doe eyes, curious, nervous, and wanting. She licked her lips. "I don’t think I ever thanked you."

His brow furrowed. "For what?"

And he generally couldn’t think of what she might be thanking him for. He thought it was plain as day that he was enjoying himself on this date. Emalia was pleasant company—polite and sweet, undeniably sassy and smart-mouthed, which he found amusing.

It wasn't that he'd never considered dating her. She was an attractive young woman and had had her fair share of boyfriends and would-be suitors. But Sirius had made it a general rule to steer clear of his friends', the important ones anyway.

"I don't know," she laughed, her gaze wavering from his for a second before returning. The smile on her mouth was sweet but sad, and it plucked at the strings of his heart. He hadn’t seen that smile in a while, not since her mother had passed away and she’d tried to put on a brave face for the world. He hated it as much now as he did then.

"For everything you do. I don’t think I ever thanked you, Sirius. You stuck around even after I said those terrible things. Even when I pushed all of you away. Everything was so heavy, and you shouldered so much for me, and I don’t remember saying thank you. Or apologising."

"You were grieving, angel. You've got a free pass to be a little bitchy," he said, his hand moving to her hair and stroked it. He let the silken strands run through his fingers, marvelling over how, as he predicted, he could run them through her hair without it getting tangled. He smiled at her, gentle and reassuring. "Besides, that’s what friends are for, right? Staying around when things go to hell."

His words warmed her heart and plunged a knife into it at the same time.

Emalia was grateful to have him as a dear friend. She was so completely appreciative of everything he had done for her, how he had helped her and her family. He’d been so kind to her mother while she was confined to the hospital, lifting her spirits and making her laugh every time the doctors had bad news. But in that moment, she didn’t want a friend; she wanted more.

She was the one who moved first.

Her hands moved to his shoulders, and her lips melded against his, plump and warm, clumsy and desperate. The sound of their skates clacking together erupted between them as he hauled her closer to deepen the kiss.

His fingers burrowed deep in her hair, his cold nose gliding against hers as he tilted her head back, giving himself better access to her parting lips. The other hand held her hip, fingers pressing in firmly, feeling her curves. They were warm, spreading fire through her blood as it rushed through her veins, igniting an ache that spread from her belly and down into her hips.

The world had fallen away until it was just the two of them, clinging together like star-crossed lovers. They drifted gently on the ice, carried by his confident skill. Sirius felt her tremble against him, leaning desperately into his kiss. Her hands glided up his body, burrowing into the thicket of tresses at the back of his neck, drawing him in deeper, and he was lost in her—the smell of her shampoo, the taste of her chapstick—utterly and hopelessly lost.

He pressed his palm into the small of her back, bringing her flush against him, the other clutching at the back of her head to control their kiss. His teeth nipped at her lower lip and sucked it between his lips, and she couldn’t help but whimper.

It was that sound that brought the night careening back to reality.

Sirius pulled away, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. He kept her close, kept his hand in her hair, and kept his lips brushing against her. Their eyes half-opened and met. His hand stroked down her back, feeling her shivering, hearing her whimper, and feeling her lips open against his mouth for another needy kiss that he happily obliged in giving her.

"Sirius." Her voice was shaking, barely a whisper above the conversations around them. He felt her words rather than heard them. He bit back a groan when she bit his lip. "Take me home."

The two of them arrived on the porch of her family’s estate in record time. Her back slammed against the mahogany door as he pinned her to it, the force enough to make the hinges rattle. Emalia gasped into his mouth, caught off guard as a whisper of pain shot up her spine, only to be forgotten a second later when his hands splayed possessively at her hips.

She buried her fingers in his hair, taking a fistful to hold his mouth to hers, making him growl as his scalp was tinged with a pleasurable sort of pain. Sirius felt her nails scraping at his shirt, clawing their way down his chest before curling around his belt. With his hand hooked under the bend of her knee, he hitched her leg over the curve of his hip, allowing himself to paint his body firmly against hers.

His hips trudged against hers, strong, dominant, and rough; his cock was already hard and straining in his jeans, and she couldn’t help but use the hold of his belt to pull him closer. Emalia kissed him desperately and deliriously, her lips parting to welcome his tongue into the warmth of her mouth as he started to work his hands beneath her skirt.

Her legs turned to jelly when he took her arse in his hands, squeezing it as he ground his hips against hers so that she could feel his erection through the layers of their clothes. And then she was pushing his hands away so that she could turn towards the door.

Sirius did not stop as she fumbled with the doorknob.

"You taste so sweet," he said, his voice gravelly with lust. Sirius’ lips were warm as he kissed her neck, leaving little wisps of fire licking at her skin as he sank his pearly whites into the junction of her shoulder just hard enough to elicit a little gasp.

"Inside," she managed to gasp out, her voice trembling, "we need to get inside." Sirius silenced her with a kiss, their teeth knocking awkwardly together because of the angle, but neither minded. Emalia arched her back instinctively to allow their lips better contact, desperate to taste more of him, her arse pressing hard against his aching cock.

His hands found their way beneath her blouse, palms rough and like molten lava against her skin. He was pleasantly surprised to discover her bra unclasped at the front. He made quick work of it, her breasts freed to his wandering hands. Sirius cupped the weight of them in his palms, enjoying their soft warmth and the way her nipples hardened into peaks when he rolled them between his fingers.

It was a miracle Emalia got the door opened before they started stripping. Together, they tumbled inside—a tangle of limbs, heavy breaths, and hot kisses. It was followed by fumbling up the stairs when the kissing didn’t stop, and then they were naked on her bed and the nervousness was bleeding back into her veins.

Emalia watched him undress and, for a moment, was utterly terrified of how badly this was going to hurt. Especially with how... big he was.

And it all came racing back to her.

She was a virgin.

And he wasn’t.

Sirius had a reputation. Oh, Merlin, did he have a reputation.

Emalia had heard their schoolmates whispering about him in the back of the library. The girls talked about the delicious stretch of his fingers when he was fingering them. Or the wickedness of his mouth and how they could taste themselves on his tongue after he had gone down on them.

And it was those same girls who talked about his size—how he was above average with an impressive girth that sometimes made it uncomfortable for a few days after being with him.

She had heard the rumours; some nights he was soft and sweet, gently rocking his hips until his lover climaxed with a soft moan. Other nights, he was wild and untamed, rutting into them from behind until they couldn’t think straight.

And knowing all of this made her incredibly nervous. It made her heart stammer in her chest so hard that it might break through her breastbone, but it did not make her stop him when he started to move down her body.

"Is this okay?" Sirius whispered against her neck, his breath balmy against her sweat-slicked skin. His stormy eyes had closed, and his lips skimmed over her racing pulse and to the hollow of her throat. He took her hips into his hands, his fingertips biting into her skin just a little too much as he waited for her answer. She could feel his cock pressing against her thigh, feel how hard and big he was, and shuddered with anticipation.

Emalia whimpered in response and nodded in approval. Sirius was magnetic, and she found she could not deny him. He was fire—chaotic and beautiful—and she was a moth to his flame.

Sirius nipped at her racing pulse, making her gasp out loud. He immediately laved his tongue over the hickey to take the sting from it. The delicious combination of pleasure and pain had her mind blurry with lust and her core clenching.

She felt so vulnerable, like he was going to eat her alive.

And she wanted desperately to satisfy his hunger.

Sirius took his time, as though he had all night for the young woman beneath him. He took one of her hardened nipples into his warm, wet mouth and sucked on it, swirling his tongue around it.

"Sirius," she whined his name when he switched breasts, this time taking her nipple between his teeth and tugging on it just enough to entice her to arch her back from the mattress.

He chuckled when she whined again. "Patience, baby." He hummed while kissing a trail of fire down her belly. He took the time to admire the rise and fall of her chest as her breath came faster, how she moved restlessly beneath his mouth, and how her pussy glistened with obvious arousal.

Sirius placed a kiss against her hips and then on the inside of her thigh, so close and yet still so far from her core, making her breath hitch. He kissed and nibbled until she was writhing beneath his mouth, trying desperately to get him where she wanted.

And then he smeared his tongue against her pussy, tasting the sweet nectar of her essence and letting it slide down the back of his throat like a fine wine. Her body quivered beneath him, and his name escaped her in a breathless moan.

Sirius couldn’t explain what it was—either inexperience or curiosity—but virgins were so quick to get wet. They tasted different on his tongue—innocent and sweet. And she was no exception.

Her nerves cracked and popped like lightning as his tongue circled her clit, making her hips buck up. He could feel her heart racing beneath his palms; her nipples hard beneath the touch of his fingers as he caressed them down her body, memorising the feel of her skin until he found her wet heat.

She made this sound—a little gasp of pleasure—that sent arousal rocketing through his veins and straight to his cock when he pushed a finger into her tight pussy. His fingers were thicker than hers, larger and longer, reaching deep and rubbing against all of her nerves.

Emalia grabbed a fistful of his hair to hold his mouth against her when her hips bucked, pushing her pussy against his mouth when he began moving his finger. The stubble on his jaw scratched beautifully at the inside of her thighs as they tightened around his head, trapping him there when he added a second finger, stretching her more.

She came without warning, her walls clamping tight around him and her hips rising from the mattress as the world shattered into sweet oblivion. Sirius kept his lips encircled around her clit, sucking and fingering her through the climax as crystal shards of pleasure shot through her entire being. It felt like a bolt of white-hot lightning had scored her soul and set her world ablaze.

Emalia had touched herself before. She was no stranger to pleasure; she had kissed young men other than Sirius and gotten handsy with them. She’d had cum countless times with her fingers or the toys in her nightstand. But this was like nothing else.

Sirius was the son of the devil, with the face of an angel.

Her walls continued to flutter as she came back to earth with her head swimming and her thighs trembling. He withdrew his fingers to lick them clean. Sirius climbed the length of her body slowly, his lips leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses from her clit, up her belly, and between the valley of her breasts until she was tasting herself on his tongue.

She stroked his dark locks as he positioned himself between her thighs, their tongues twisting and twirling together in a delicious dance of dominance. He won, of course, and she lost gleefully. Sirius groaned against her lips as he rubbed his cock along her slick folds, her arousal lubricating him as the tip nudged her sensitive clit.

"Sirius," she moaned softly, her eyes pleading for more.

"Are you sure?"

"Please."

He did not need to be told twice. He bent his head to kiss her, his lips gliding over hers and swallowing the little gasp she made when he entered her. He moved slowly, trying to give her time to adjust to the stretch, but even so, her fingers tightened around the muscles of his shoulders when he buried himself completely, leaving little crescent moons in their wake.

The sound she made was strangled, her body tensing beneath his as she tried to will herself to relax. Pain blossomed through her core and radiated through her hips. Her eyes were scrunched shut, tears dancing on her lashline, but she didn’t tell him to stop.

Sirius knew that it was uncomfortable for her. He was not a small man, and he knew that he was above average. Emalia was so slick with arousal that if she hadn’t been a virgin, it might not have been so demanding to accommodate him.

His mouth skimmed over her chin, her cheeks, and her forehead, leaving a trail of sweet kisses behind. "Doing okay?" He asked, his voice straining as he held himself perfectly still. Emalia peeled her eyes open to stare into his stormy gaze, her breath shaking as it escaped.

"Yeah," she said in a whisper, her voice trembling.

"Try to relax," he encouraged, "it will feel good."

Sirius groaned when she loosened her grip on his shoulders, her nails leaving a sting in his heated skin. She made a sound in response, an apologetic whimper, "S - sorry!" The pitch of her voice rose as he slowly withdrew, her lips trembling against his, her expression somewhere between wanting him to devour her and wanting him to stop.

"S’okay, angel," he said, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at her. Sirius teased his lips against hers, plunged his tongue into her mouth, and devoured her moans. He pulled out until the crown of his cock was nestled in her snug walls, and then sank back in.

He kept a slow rhythm, stretching her and giving her plenty of time. And then it happened. Emalia wound her legs around his waist to pull him in deeper while she clawed at the sheets, grasping fistfuls of the Egyptian cotton while tossing her head back and arching her back. Fresh waves of arousal washed over his cock.

She moved with him, her hips rising to welcome the piston of his, her movements delicate and desperate—in contrast to his. Sirius moved with control, dominating her with each thrust and fucking her into the mattress until she was clawing at his back and moaning in his ear. He was a little bit rough, holding her so tight that her skin was sure to bruise in the shape of his fingers, his teeth nipping at her lips until they were slightly swollen, devouring every sound that was torn from her throat.

"Sirius!" She screeched his name, her voice high-pitched and strained, when he adjusted his position to thrust deeper, hauling her legs higher on his hips. The tip of his cock crashed into a spot that sent her suddenly skyrocketing.

"Oh."

There was nothing that could have prevented the smug smirk that found its way onto his lips or the surge of pride that welled in his chest. If she had seen it, she might have smacked him. He thrust again, deeper and harder, to hear her scream again. He moved his mouth to her ear, his breath hot, his teeth tugging on her earlobe.

"That’s it, isn’t it? The spot."

Her thighs were quivering as she arched off the mattress, her head thrown back, and her lips parted in a silent scream. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Sirius fucked her at a merciless pace, his cock catching on every mind-maddening spot along the way, crashing into her repeatedly, but it was the rough pad of his thumb swiping over the fantastic bundle of nerves that made her pussy spasm around him. Emalia screamed as her world was struck by lightning again, set on fire, shattered, and changed.

The sound of the headboard against the wall was a constant thump, thump, thump. Some part of him thought he should feel bad for being rough, especially given that this was her first time. He should have held her and loved her softly, as a gentleman would have. But he could tell from the way her pussy was squeezing him, how she was grabbing at his back to pull him closer, and how she trembled and shuddered beneath him that she was enjoying this.

"That’s it." He growled against her ear, sending shivers down her spine. He rubbed harder at her sensitive clit, fingers slick in her arousal, gliding, circling, rubbing. "Cum for me, baby."

"I-I-" She stuttered and stopped. Her mind was screaming that the pleasure would kill her, break her, and ruin her. She would have said it if her throat wasn’t constricted with breathless gasps and moans, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, because it felt so fucking amazing.

"You can," he replied, knowing what she was going to say, once again not accepting no for an answer. "Cum for me, angel, I wanna feel you cum on my cock."

The third orgasm came from nowhere, ripped through her without warning, and crashed into the second. Emalia couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see straight, and couldn’t think through the haze he invoked. She clung to him as the storm swept her away; her nails dug so deeply into his skin that Sirius was certain to be bleeding.

She came undone beneath him, shuddering, panting, and moaning, her hips bucking into his as he fucked her with deep strokes. Her walls clamped so tightly around him that he groaned against her ear. His name spilled from her lips like a prayer to heaven, over and over again, like it was the only thing she could remember.

Sirius buried his face against her neck, biting and sucking, leaving behind hickeys that were sure to embarrass her later. His thrusts became wilder and less controlled as he chased his own release. He fisted the pillow beneath her head, grunting against her neck as his abdomen tightened, white dots decorating his vision. He kept going, moving on primal desire, until something snapped. His mind went blank and fogged as his body shuddered, his nerves cracking like they’d turned into life wires.

He reached his high and tumbled over the edge while kissing her, his fingers curling into fists around duck feather pillows, his knuckles white under the pressure. With a final thrust and a deep groan, he buried himself in her, his hips nestling tightly against hers. Ivory ribbons decorated her walls and filled her, and his tongue wrestled with hers.

Sirius waited until his vision cleared and her nails had lessened their hold before pulling out, leaving her feeling empty, sore, and satisfied. He fell onto his side, thankful for the cool sheets against his heated skin. With an arm wrangled around her waist, he dragged her against him, making her squeak and stare wide-eyed at him.

His fingers were buried in her hair again, dragging her mouth to his so he could kiss her with the fire of a thousand suns. Emalia couldn’t explain what it invoked; she couldn’t have imagined this moment.

They lay in a tangle of limbs, one of his arms around her, strong, pinning her to the wall of his chest, the other buried in her hair and refusing to release her lips. She cradled his face with one hand, nails of the opposite hand pressing into his chest. Their lips were inseparable.

It was comfortable.

And she wanted more.

#sirius black #sirius black x original character #sirius black x ofc #sirius black x emalia grace #sirius black smut #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black one shot #ride or die kinda love

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jell0buss-37 · 11 months

Text

Why not? (Peter B. Parker x reader) pt. 4

He is so broken. I just know I can fix him.

THIS. HOLY SHIT. Okay, so this is just oozing with honey sweet fluff.

Warnings: slight angst of insecurity, a steamy kiss, my heart was racing while writing this

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

You've known. You knew the first time you felt his lips gloss over your own. You tasted his musk on your tongue, a hint of something sweet to accompany it.

He wasn't one to easily accept help. He hated asking for it up front. You knew he can't act worth shit, and you knew when he was lying. You knew when he was uncomfortable, and when he was at complete peace. And you were scared, because it had been a month now. And you didn't know where he was and if he was okay.

You sit in your living room, the rain outside a constant downpour. A glass of wine in your hands, you sit in the dark, a single candle that reminds you of him sitting on your coffee table, as you go through the various article clippings, all written by him. You always would collect the first copy of anything with his work, carefully cutting them out and placing them in a box that you keep under your bed. You wore a hoodie he had left, the smell still almost fresh. So you knew he wasn't dead or anything. Thankfully, you still at least knew that much.

You knew it was him every time you shared a passionate moment with his spider clad self. And you knew it gave him confidence whenever he wore that suit. He was an insecure man, his pride too big to let himself admit that fact. And you would take what you could get.

After the first kiss, it wasn't until about two months later you'd share another. Peter had been distant, not like he was shutting you out, that would break him. But you noticed that there was an obvious line he was entirely too scared shitless to cross.

He'd avoid touch in general, and he never knew how much he'd actually been craving it from you, as you with him. You weren't exactly sure what was going on, but you knew to be patient with him.

At the time, it was really only just a sneaking suspicion that he was the vigilante hero. In fact, it seemed that Peter wasn't the only one avoiding you. You'd be there occasionally whenever there was some sort of crime to be stopped, and see him there. You'd hope to talk to him, about the kiss you had shared with him. And yet he'd disappear before you even got the chance to even try.

You were walking home from work that night, feeling your patience seriously start to tax. Peter had usually walked you home on later nights, but he once again had cancelled on you. You understood that he has his own affairs to handle, his own life and whatnot. But dammit, if it didn't hurt to be rejected whenever you'd ask him to do something he'd usually be more than up for doing. You started getting seriously irritated with him, coming up with a plan to confront him the next day to be honest. That is until you were suddenly knock to the ground in an alley. "Alrighty toots, you can make this easy for yourself if you just don't squirm-" before he could even finish, he'd been webbed to a wall across from you, his mouth webbed shut as well. You looked up to find your hero, his red suit a blur as he drops down before you, wordlessly helping you up and handing you your things.

Before he can swing off again, you already had a firm grasp on his hand. "WAIT- uh, just h-hold on a sec. Please." You plead with him he stops whipping around to look you in the eye. He was tall, an air of confidence about him. It was intimidating, and so… magnetic. Attractive. Your words dying on your tongue as your own confidence slips away, suddenly shy.

"Uh… I-I just. Um. Can I get maybe a lift home?" Your ears are flushed in embarrassment, beyond flustered. Now he definitely wasn't gonna talk to you ever again. And yet, he laughs. Laughs. His shoulders relax immediately. The knot in your stomach loosening at the sound, so comforting and familiar.

"Alright, fine. Hold on tight, pretty girl." He teases, wrapping an arm around you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your cheek to his own, feeling even hotter than before somehow. You feel the wind whipping around you, stinging your warm cheeks, your heart in your throat from the sudden weightless around you. You squeeze your eyes shut, too scared to look down, until you feel you guys at a standstill. Just hanging there.

"Open those pretty eyes, honey." He whispers into your ear, his warm breath fanning over your ears and neck, which blossomed in a deep red now. You listen to him, opening one eye slowly, then the other as they're blown wide from the view.

It looked like you guys were hanging from the roof of another building, and when you look down, your stomach drops as well. You hadn't expected to be so high up. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, tightening your hold on him, and he laughs, also wrapping his arm around you tighter, ensuring you felt safe. He's quick to swing you to the roof of your apartment building, landing safely. And yet, neither of you move to leave eachothers arms.

You breathe in his scent, the smell of warmth and familiarity dripping from his musk. You stare up into his eyes on his mask, as he does you. "Why… did you kiss me?" You breathe out. He huffs out another chuckle, warming your heart. "Couldn't help myself." "Do you do that a lot?" You question. "What, kiss the girls I save? No. Your the first." He says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "No, I meant do you always know where everyone lived?" You tease back. It's his turn to be flustered, as he scrambles for an excuse. "I-I, well… I just ha-had that uh, intuition! Hah, something like that- woah, whatcha doing there?" He moves his face away from you, as well as his body, his hands on your wrists, which where on the edges of his mask to lift the bottom.

"Relax, I won't take it off entirely. I just wanna see something…" You chide. He's hesitant, pondering what you could be doing. The possibility of another kiss flashes his mind, and he feels a sudden pull at his heart strings. A sudden ache taking over his gut at the idea, and he's quick to relax in your hold, giving up complete control to you eagerly.

You back him into a wall on the rooftop, leading to the entrance of your building. He rests his hands on your waist comfortably. You lift his mask, ever so slightly, exposing his lips and the bottom of his nose. Just a little more, you lift it on the bridge of his nose. It's just as you'd suspected. He has his eyes closed, waiting with baited breath to feel your heat on his own, when suddenly he feels this searing pain on the bridge of his nose. "A-AAAH, DAMN-" You'd repositioned his nose, which he had broken that same night on an excursion with a certain rhinoceros villain before this little adventure with you. Before he can let curses spill from his lips however, he feels them completely encompassed by your own. You slip your tongue past his lips once he's been taken aback from surprise.

He whimpers into your mouth, his own tongue eagerly lapping at your own. His hands going to pull you into his own body, a hand carding through your hair, the other slipping beneath your shirt on your back, feeling the heat from your body. Your own hands exploring him, a hand on his neck and jaw, the other brushing your fingers along his chest, the feel of his heart hammering against your palm causing your own to race. The feeling causes chills to deliciously run down his spine.

The kiss is sloppy, but deep. Experimental, and yearning. Your mouths disconnected with a slight pop, a light string of saliva breaking from between you two, leaving you panting. He however, was completely breatheless.

You knew he had a broken nose from the slight blood spot on his mask, as well as his wincing. You weren't a nurse, but you knew that adrenaline was the perfect pain killer, and what better way to get his blood pumping than an extremely steamy kiss? You kiss his jaw, and another light peck just beneath his ear, feeling his pulse quicken. You smile, as you whisper against the shell of his ear. "Sorry. I couldn't help myself." You smirk. And with that, you leave him to stand there, completely frozen from shock, as the door to the building shuts behind you.

Peter was a lot more responsive to you after that. Jumping at any opportunity to follow you around after the event. This definitely confirmed your suspicions, especially given that his nose was crooked after that. You'd trusted him to come to you in his own time, truly.

The appearance of Spiderman was much more frequent after that as well. Suddenly stopping by almost two to three times a week, heated kisses and passionate moments being shared between you two. He'd even stop by in the night, coming to rest with you in your bed, cuddles and exploring hands, watching over you as you slept, feeling completely at ease. "Almost like twilight! Except I don't like, wanna eat you or anything." He'd joked once. This went on for about a year. You two feeling like two teenagers again, even though you guys were just 28 and 30 at this point in your lives. You two having been close friends for over a decade now.

When the time came that he told you about his identity, he was absolutely terrified. He didn't know what you'd think, absolutely scared of losing these timid moments with you, some of his most peaceful memories, as well as you. And so he'd whispered it against the skin of your chest, your back, wherever his lips had rested, with his mask off, whenever he thought you'd not be listening, too deep in sleep. But you'd smile every time he breathed these words to you.

One night you had decided to finally admit your own secret to him. After a night of shared vulnerability, he'd whispered it again, and you'd turn around to face him, looking into his soul, as he waited with baited breath for your response, scared shitless. And yet, all you did was smile, pressing a light peck to his now crooked nose, "I know. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." You whispered against his own skin, thus drifting off to your own dreams. His heart pounding so loud in his ears, so much relief flooding his veins, his heart swelling. He had never felt so calm, all of his anxieties dissipate into the night air within the safe confines in your room.

You were a goner from the beginning, and you always knew he was too. From the beginning, you'd known.

#peter benjamin parker #peter b parker #peter b parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse

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