waitttt what does peter do if one of the frat dudes refer to trouble as his bitch, or if he heard anyone call her that? it happened to me before, but was such a let down because he actually just let his friends say it 😻 we’re no longer together btw
while peter's in the bathroom you butt into the group and voice your opinion, 'i think you guys should do the maze! everyone does haunted houses.'
one brother didn't like your opposing opinion, 'why do you think you have a say in anything we do? you're just parker's bitch.' you freeze on the spot, you didn't mean to offend anyone, or try to impose, you were just trying to voice an outsider opinion.
your brow furrows, 'okay, well, i was just thinking that-'
'no one cares what you think.' it's aggressive for no reason, you want to stand strong but feel yourself slinking to the back of the group. another member catches your mood, he jabs an elbow and gives a supportive smile.
'you know he didn't mean it like that, he's just on edge.' you give a barely there nod and drone out the brothers proposal, feeling sorry for yourself until peter returns and has his hand resting on your lower back.
when no one spoke up for you it felt like it was mutal agreement, you didn't feel welcome in the house that night. you slide closer to peter and mumble softly.
'i just got a call from ally, i gotta go.' you don't even give him time to respond, high tailing it from the frat house and back to where you can not feel like such a bother.
you weren't going to make a big deal of it, and you knew if you told peter, especially in the moment, he'd make it a big deal and your embarrassment would increase tenfold. it doesn't make you feel any less bad when peter looks disappointed and confused.
----
ten thirty in the morning you’re standing outside peter's front door humming. playing off last night as a fluke, you don’t feel so judged. you think the other brother was right, the comments weren’t coming from a place of resentment but because you just confirmed his anxieties about his party turning out to be a dud.
ethan greeted you at the door, you gave him a quick hug before squeezing by him. ‘good morning, friend.’ ethan wrapped his arm around yours as he tugged you further into the house, turning for the kitchen.
‘your boy is in the shower, want some breakfast?’ you nod and smack your lips watching him make you a plate from the earlier meal. tearing a piece of french toast with your teeth you peer up to watch the brother from last night pass by.
you give a small wave, testing to see if he was still bitter from last night, he wasn’t. but you became extremely upset looking at his face as he turned to wave back. the bar chair spins by how quick you drop, making it to him in three steps, you tug at his chin.
‘did peter fucking hit you?’
you already know the answer, he has a black eye to prove it.
‘i know i was out of line last night, i shouldn’t have-‘
‘no, no, no.’ your mind spins, this isn’t what you wanted. that's why you didn't say anything, you wonder who tattled. you shake your head in dissapointment, you pull in the brother for a tight hug.
'i am so, so sorry. i didn't tell him to do anything, i didn't even tell him anything!' he gives a nervous laugh, 'i shouldn't have-' you push him away and hold his arms, 'nothing you said warrented that, okay? i'm sorry, i'm really, really sorry.'
he shrugs it off, he does seem mostly unbothered, but it makes you shake in fury. peter doesn't understand that he just proved his claims right. peter punching a guy for calling you his bitch, made you feel like his bitch.
you stare at ethan and raise your arms, 'tarrent.' you roll your eyes, of course he'd be the one to gossip. without second thought you stomp up to peter's room, going straight into his bathroom and slapping the glass on the shower.
peter jumps in alert, you're giving him a dirty glare behind a slight fog. 'hey, trouble. did you have some french toast?' you stay silent as you tug the shower door open, you barzenly step in, peter does his best to block your clothes from the showerhead with his body.
'you are such a douchebag, peter. what you did? that was such a douchebag move.'
he knows what you're talking about, you make him feel shameful. he was, but only to a degree. he probably shouldn't have punched him, but he also shouldn't have called you a bitch and sent you running away.
'no one should speak about you like that.'
'you shouldn't put your hands on people like that.'
peter narrows his eyes, 'is this what we're doing?' you cross your arms, 'i want you to apologize.'
peter keeps his hold for a few seconds, then he deflates and looks to the side. 'i'm sorry. i shouldn't have punched him.' he warms up when you coo and rub his arm.
'aw, petey. yeah, that sounds perfect. let me know when you're coming downstairs so i can grab him.' the second you leave the shower he stops you, 'hey! what does that mean?'
you hold a hand to your chest, 'you didn't punch me, i don't want your apology for it.' peter turns the water off to wrap a towel around him, 'just- hold on.' you're followed back into his bedroom, you do your best to ignore water droplets over his chest.
'you want me to apologize to the guy that called you a bitch?'
'i want you to apologize to the guy you gave a black eye to.'
'for calling you a bitch.'
you slap your hands on your thighs, 'for calling me your bitch, peter! and when you go around punching guys that say that, you make them right!'
oh.
when you say it like that it's painted in a new light, all peter could think about the blatent disrespect, he didn't think about how it would affect you.
'i mean, the guy was petrified to see me. he kept saying sorry and wouldn't look at me, that doesn't make me feel like you protected my honor, it feels like you tarnished it.'
peter can't even look you in the eye, he feels horrible. you already felt like you weren't liked because of his frat brothers comment, and now you would feel like everyone would be scared to talk to you.
peter just made you feel more uncomfotable in his house than a passing comment could ever.
'i didn't think about it like that. i'm sorry, trouble.'
he sounds sorry, you accept the apology, but just this once.
'the next time you punch somone on my behalf, it'll be because i asked you, agree?'
peter nods quick, 'yeah, yes, agreed.' you look him over, he still has some shampoo suds in his hair. 'i'm going downstairs to finish my breakfast, and the next time i see you, you better be ready to give an apology.'
he's still annoyed at the thought, but he'd do anything for you. 'yes, ma'am.'
--------
ethan had just taken your plate away to wash it when peter came down the stairs, he was fully dressed this time and his hair was only slightly damp.
he raised his eyebrows at you before taking a deep breath, calling for the brother by his last name. peter stretches before shaking out his shoulders, he called out again, but for a house meeting.
you were weary at the least and curious at the most. staying in your seat you watch carefully, each member at the house stood around in a half circle.
'it's been brought to my attention that my actions last night were out of line and childish. i let myself, my brother and my frat down. it's a rule we try to solve things with words first, and i didn't do that.'
a few eyes flash towards you, you know they're all thinking about how you got him to apologize.
peter turns to look at his brother with a purple ring coating his left eye. 'i should've never hit you and i'm sorry.'
'ah, it's alright, man. i came after your girl, i'd do the same.' your eyebrows turn in with how quick things turned around. guys are so easy.
peter still feels like it's not right, so he speaks up.
'the apology may have been prompted by someone else,' everyone knows who, 'but this part wasn't.'
peter looks at his fellow member, 'i want you to punch me.' soft oo's pour from the groups mouths, you feel choked up. the brother looks nervous, 'are you sure?'
'yeah, it's only fair. i punched you, you punch- oh, son of a bitch!’ a righthook to his jaw, he didn't see it coming.
peter held his face and hissed, 'fuck me, that sucks.'
'yeah. tell me about it. my eye's still pulsing.' peter winces, 'yeah, still sorry about that.'
a red splotch painted peter's jawline, making sure to look at the small crowd when he spoke. 'if you guys have a problem with my girl hanging around, you let me know, not her. and i promise, no punching.'
when no one adds anything he looks to his friend, 'we good or you need another hit?' the brother raises a fist, before lowering it and cracking a smile. 'we're good bro.'
the members disperse, you slow clap for peter.
'very impressed, parker.' his nose scrunches, he hates when you call him by his last name. 'does that mean i'm out of the dog house?'
you reach out for him with a pucker, he gives a slow kiss, it's the first one you've given him since you've seen him.
'hm, i'm gonna need at least three more kisses before i think about it.'
peter has no quelms in finishing your request.
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❄️ December Writing Challenge ❄️
Day 26. Bookstore Date
Pairing: Ezra x GN!Reader
Words: 1118
Warnings: none
December Writing Challenge masterlist
The bookstore is enormous. Spanning fifteen floors, nine cafes, a rooftop terrace with an alcohol-free bar, and a creche on the first floor, you’re beginning to think meeting a stranger (that you’d been exchanging messages with on the inter-planetary web) here is a terrible idea. But you’d chosen it because it’s public and easily accessible from your pods charging station, plus when you mentioned books to him your conversation came to life. It buzzed with talk of childhood favourites and guilty pleasures; which ones were for reading in bed and which you preferred on the go. So the bookstore is the perfect place, but you worry you’ll never find him.
His name is Ezra, he’s a little older than you and he’s spent most of his life mining for gems on forest moons but he’s looking for stability now, and a friend to keep him company. You wanted a similar life, maybe settle on a university planet like this one, study for a few years and find steady work that had you hanging up your landing pod for good.
You’re standing in the fantasy section on the second floor, browsing the spines for your favourite book when you hear a beeping coming from your comms device. Pulling it out of your jacket pocket you squint at the thin line of screen that slowly reveals Ezra’s message.
-I have retrieved my
-book. Will meet in
-blue room on sixth
-floor
You pick out the book you’ve chosen and rush to the elevator before the doors close. Pressing the button for floor six you thumb the pages of your book nervously. He seemed like a great guy over texts; he was conversational but never talked over you, he asked questions and was open about himself too. And because he couldn’t send a picture he described himself; scar on cheek, missing his right arm from a work incident, streak of blonde in his hair. He shouldn’t be difficult to spot.
Stepping onto the sixth floor looks like every other floor of the bookstore. You seem to be in the classics section, and along the lefthand side are different coloured doors that lead into various quiet rooms for people to read in. The third door along is blue, so that’s where Ezra must be. You feel your stomach flutter but you hurry across the floor regardless.
You knock once, then twice, then a third just incase he hasn’t heard it. The door swings open to reveal Ezra, exactly how he described himself, wearing black corduroy trousers and a knitted jumper. He looks cosy, sophisticated, blending into his bookish surroundings. He calls your name as a welcome and to ensure the right person has come knocking. He has a deep voice that, along with his appearance, has you weak at the knees. You can only nod in response.
“Come on in. I have left you the armchair nearest to the window. It has a fine view of the park and children playing ball games. I find it too much of a distraction if I am to converse with a companion.”
You saw a smidge of his wide vocabulary in his texts but the way he speaks has you hypnotised into wanting to hear him speak more. You take the seat near the window, unwind your scarf and pop the buttons on your coat to relax into the cracked, leather chair. Ezra sits next to you on a loveseat, side on, legs crossed next to a book whose cover you recognise.
“You chose Wilde?” you ask, resting your own book on your lap. Ezra hums, tracing a finger along the gold lines of a picture frame, a haunting image of a skull resting at the top.
“The Picture of Dorian Gray. A classic. And one of my all-time favourites.”
You think it an interesting choice of book for meeting someone for the first time. It speaks to his character: he could have chosen to impress you with non-fiction, or go for something lighthearted, but no, it’s an honest choice and you’re grateful for that. You talk about the exploration of themes, about youth and beauty and the absence of both the older you get. It’s a deep conversation that lasts most of the hour until Ezra has to bribe one of the bookstore staff to let you have the blue room for another couple of hours. Time is passing quickly, just as it does in Ezra’s book, until the children outside have long left the park to go home.
“And what about you? Which book did you choose?”
You’d completely forgotten about your own choice of book, so much so you had to dig it out from where it had slid between the cushion and the side of the chair. You describe the plot of your favourite book, one Ezra hadn’t heard of. It gives you a chance to speak of your own moral beliefs, Ezra chiming in where he agrees or disagrees which always leads down pathways of discussion that fly far from your original topic. Ezra is a fascinating, clever, funny, understanding man who you can see yourself spending eternity with, if only to hear more of what goes on in that head of his.
It’s late before long, and you and Ezra are asked to leave so the store can close for the night. You stand outside, bundled up in your Winter clothes, leaning against each other for extra warmth, not really wanting to leave but knowing you can’t stay on the sidewalk until the store opens in the morning.
“Well I hope you don’t mind me saying, it has been an extraordinary evening. One that has far exceeded my expectations.”
“I’ve surprised you?” You ask, a cheeky smile gracing your lips. Ezra chuckles deeply.
“Yes, but don’t take that personally. It is rare to find such a like minded individual, especially when I am looking for someone like me.” His tone is self-deprecating and gives you pause. You don’t want to leave Ezra tonight, so you curl your arm around his and don’t let go.
“There must be a late night hub, or an all-night bar we can find in this town. Let’s not part ways just yet.” You stare hopefully into his large, brown eyes and see the moment where his sadness for the night ending turns to relief when he processes your words.
“I would be happy to walk these roads until dawn if you asked me to,” Ezra admits, stepping off the curb and pulling you alongside him.
You’ve found something in Ezra that you see in yourself. Maybe it’s loneliness, perhaps it’s a passion for books. Whichever it is, you’ll be holding onto him for good.
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