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sunfyresrider · 10 months

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The Company Party

Aegon II Targaryen x Assistant!Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve worked for your boss since you graduated college, and to say he was the best superior you’ve had would be an understatement. After a heated argument at a company event, you both discover some things about each other. Tags: Aegon is a childish rich boy, mutual pining but you’re both oblivious, jealous boy, arguing to eventual smut, p in v, cunnilingus, cringe after talk (pls hes too funny.) Author’s Note: this is just self-indulgent, 5am ramblings of an insane woman (me).

You’ve worked as Aegon Targaryen’s assistant for one year, one excruciatingly long year. You’ve spent more than 75% of your time following his every order like a dog. Unfortunately, you didn’t hate it all that much. It wasn’t like you had a social life you were missing by working. You had sorta become friends in a way or like a partner in crime minus the crime.

He was the perfect boss in a lot of ways. Aegon truly cared about his customers, or well you. There wasn’t a day he forced you to work late, you did that by choice. He always paid you more than he should, gave you more time off than he should and treated you better than other superior you had worked for previously. He also massaged your shoulders once when you said they hurt…

You should be used to it by now, little gestures of appreciation. He always pats you on the back if you impress him enough. He’ll compliment your hard work, your outfit, and sometimes he’ll completely paused in his steps to gaze at you and tell you that you had beautiful eyes. He tells you he’s grateful for you, you’re funny, you’re one of the nicest people he’s met… but it’s all platonic. A very disheartening fact of the matter.

Yet, while knowing this, every single time Aegon does anything you’re immediately turned into a blushing mess. An instant mood improver, a very minor turn on. Maybe it was because you haven’t gotten laid in a century and could be considered a born again virgin. Or maybe you were secretly falling in love with him and refused to admit it to yourself.

At some point you would have to face your feelings, not right now though. You were at a huge event for the company, the goal being to seek out new investors. You didn’t have to come considering he always does the majority of the talking but he also rarely goes anywhere without you. Aegon always needs an eyewitness, just in case.

The rooftop bar is extravagant, more so than what you’re used to. Maybe you should have opted for something other than a black dress with heels… rich people seem to appreciate modesty. Odd, considering they are the ones to buy the most hookers and cheat more frequently. You took your seat at the bar, deciding to drink away your boredom.

“Hey stranger,” the voice from your right caught you by surprise, you whipped your head around to glance at them. “Oh my god, Jacaerys?!” your mouth gaped open in shock. His smile stretched ear to ear, “It’s me, alright! What the hell are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that! My boss has me tag along to all of these events.” You beamed, thinking of Aegon. It was good seeing a familiar face, you two used to date, briefly, in your second year of high school. Though, he had long since grown out of his awkward stage and was fully matured with a sharp jawline to prove it. “I work for the company running this event. It’s kinda my job to be here.”

He blushed, basking in all the attention he was receiving. “We should catch up! I haven’t seen you in years man!” Jacaerys scooted his seat closer, his cheeks lightly flushed. “I’d love that.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were talking to him for what felt like hours, turns out it was only twenty minutes, when you felt someone step behind you, their body lightly pressing against yours. “You remember mrs-” Jacaerys words slowed to a stop as he looked above you.

You turned around, your frown quickly turning into a wide smile. “Mr. Targaryen, how can I help you?” He smiled lightly, nodding in your direction. His gaze turned to Jacaerys and his soft smile fell flat. “Who are you?”

The question came out with an icy tone, which made your eyebrows furrowed together. “Jacaerys Velaryon, marketing director for Driftmark Corporations and you are?” he inquired, his words slow as he kept his eyes locked with Aegon.

“Richer than you. Are you purposely distracting my assistant from doing her job?” Your eyes widened; he had never been this outwardly rude before. “Maybe. She would probably prefer working for someone who doesn’t have a stick up their ass.”

You gaped at the insult, “What the f-” Aegon chuckled, baring his teeth as if he were a wolf. “Little dogs always bark the loudest,” he spat. Your morals told you to defend your old friend, your hormones were telling you to keep watching your boss telling someone off.

Jacaerys was silent for a moment, his fists clenching and unclenching before he spoke, “I see you work for one of these guys… If you ever want to move to a company that treats their workers fairly, please don’t be afraid to reach out.” He slipped you a business card with his information on it.

Aegon scoffed, “We’re leaving… Now!” He snatched your arm and practically dragged you out the door and into the car. You were eerily silent, still trying to process whatever the fuck just happened. Once inside, he looked over at you, his eyes wide and bloodshot. You could see the anger bubbling under the surface.

He gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles turning white. You swallowed the lump in your throat, not knowing what to say to make this situation any less tense. You’ve never seen him angry, not even when his half-sister tried to take his spot as ceo.

The rest of the drive was silent, an awkward tension in the air since you had no idea what to say. You were also a little ticked off how quickly he chased Jace away, granted it was kinda hot. He pulled into your parking garage, parking his luxury car in the far back. You know, just in case anyone tried to break in.

Aegon hopped out of the car silently, opening your door for you. “You don’t need to walk me up to my apartment,” you spoke plainly. “Yes I do,” the tone of his voice was more serious than you’d ever heard it before. Once again, the silent treatment was back on as you walked to your floor.

He walked you all the way inside, even letting himself into your home without your permission. “I pay you too much to live in a rundown apartment.” You closed the door behind you, finally he had said something to make you snap, “What is your problem tonight?!”

“It’s not a problem, just an observation.” You scoffed, “you know exactly what I meant.” His jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring, he looked like he wanted to say something but not too much. “You’re my assistant and you’re meant to be by my side at all times, but you were too busy flirting it up with my competitors.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “I wasn’t flirting with anyone! I was catching up with an old friend!” Aegon’s brows furrowed, he strode towards you, so he was barely a foot away from you. “Oh please! You were practically swooning. Also, you never call me Mr. Targaryen!”

“Are you serious right back!” You spat back, pushing his chest. Unfortunately, Aegon still had enough energy to argue back. “I just don’t want to lose my assistant to a lesser man!” You scoffed; "you've been a fucking douche all night because you’re jealous?!” His jaw fell slack, eyes widening in surprise. “I didn’t say-”

“Dude, are you genuinely blind?! I’ve been pining after you since you hired me, following you around like a fucking dog, doing everything you say and them some! I’ve even thought about having your babies!” The last statement took him off guard, he looked at you like you had two heads. His gaze flitted back and forth as if he were looking for any signs of joking.

Now you were embarrassed, “I didn’t mean that last part-” Aegon stepped closer grabbing you delicately by your arms, eyes still searching for any sign of disapproval. “You think about having my babies?” The question was quiet and desperate, his pupils dilated.

You felt your heart drop in your chest, you swallowed the lump in your throat. You nodded slowly, “maybe.” You stared back up at him, trying to telepathically make him kiss you. You’ve tried this manifestation method before, it did not work.

“I can do that.” His lips were on yours before you could register his words. The kiss was fiery and passionate, even better than what you expected. Your eyes fluttered shut as you relished in the moment. Aegon wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his.

You bit back a whimper, reaching up to intertwine your fingers in his silver hair. Aegon pulled away, his breaths coming out ragged as he gazed at your swollen lips. He wasted no time kissing you again, his tongue dancing across your bottom lip.

His hand moved to grip your ass, squeezing lightly as he picked you up off the ground. You let out a squeal of laughter, gripping onto his shoulders to prevent you from falling. Aegon dropped himself on the couch, keeping your leg straddled around him.

You took the liberty to start unbuttoning his dress shirt, ripping off his bowtie and revealing his toned torso and chest. Aegon was quicker, pulling your dress above your head and throwing it across the room.

His eyes widened when he realized you were braless, his fingers kneading your perky breasts. His lips molded with yours once more, you nipped at his lip, tugging it between your teeth and causing him to groan in approval. Aegon moved your panties to the side, groping your inner thigh and spreading your legs wider across his lap.

His cock was already straining against his pants, but Aegon didn't seem to want to rush. He gently kissed down your jawline and to your neck, licking and nibbling at your ear. Your breathing became shaky, your core growing wetter as he took a nipple in his mouth and began to suckle on it.

"Aegon," you whined. You reached down, wrapping your fingers around his hardness, causing Aegon to moan into your ear. He lifted you up, unzipping his pants and pushing them down along with his boxers.

His member sprang out, bouncing as he pushed you back onto the couch. His cock was definitely the biggest you’ve seen thus far. You gasped when he rubbed himself against your slick, he kissed you again, this time deeper as he slowly thrust his hips forward and entering you.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned loudly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Fuuck you’re so tight,” Aegon thrusted forward, his top hitting the sweet spot inside you almost forgot existed. Your moans grew louder as he pounded into you, his grunts echoing through the living room.

You clawed at his back, pulling him closer as he thumb moved to do circles around your clit. “You’re such a good little assistant for me, hm? Taking my cock so fucking well.” Aegon gripped your ass with one hand, holding you still. He took the opportunity to slow his pace and roll his hips in circles, dragging his cock along your walls. “Mmm sgood,” you slurred.

You rolled your hips against his, earning you a pleased groan. His finger moved faster around your bud, “think you deserve a reward huh?” Your eyes began to roll into the back of your head as his movements quickened. “Yes, yes, yes,” you whimpered.

“Yes, who?” The coil in your stomach began to tighten as he moved his fingers away, “Yes Sir! Please!” Aegon growled into your ear, kissing you again as he sped up once more. The low noise sent shivers down your spine, causing your cunt to clench around him.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned before plunging deep inside you, making you cry out into the kiss. You threw your head back and moaned, your thighs beginning to shake as ecstasy washed over you. You completely tightened around him, your pussy fluttered around him as you rode your orgasm out.

Aegon’s movement stalled for a moment, letting you catch your breath before he flipped you onto your back. Aegon lifted your legs above his head, “you’re so perfect, I think you deserve more than that.” He licked a strip up your slick, pressing a kiss to your sensitive bud.

He used his fingers to spread you apart, greedily licking along your walls and lapping at your sweet juices. You let out a deep moan, your fingers tangling in his silver hair pulling him closer. Your mouth hung open, eyes half lidded as he devoured you.

His tongue skillfully circled around you, his lips sucking at your swollen bud. “Taste so sweet,” he mumbled, sending vibrations that sent tingles down your spine. You began to grind against him, desperate for release. Aegon took it as an invitation to move his hands to grip your hips and begin to fuck you with his tongue.

Your juices were dripping down your thighs, covering his face in a glossy sheen. You felt a new wave of heat wash over you as he pressed his tongue inside you, curling and twisting it. You rolled your hips, fucking yourself against his mouth as your second orgasm began to build.

He groaned against you when your legs began to clench around him, the vibrations sending you over the edge. Aegon continued to lap up your juices, causing you to jerk your thighs around him. His head finally lifted up, a strand of your slick connected from his bottom lip to his chin.

You pulled him towards you, crashing your lips together, he wasn’t wrong you did taste sweet. Aegon grinder against you, wetting his cock before he quickly plunged into you once more, filling you to the brim as he went. You let out a loud cry, gripping onto his back. “You still want more?” He spoke breathlessly.

His thumb returned to your sensitive bud, circling it slowly as he thrusted into you. You squirmed beneath him, his grunts echoed off the walls. “P-please please, sir.” You whimpered, the sound of skin slapping echoing in your living room.

His hips snapped forward, dragging his cock against your sweet spot. “Tell me how badly you want it.” Aegon's eyes flashed up at you, his hips slowed to a teasing pace. "I-I want it so bad," you gasped as he thrusted harder. “I- want to have your b- babies.” Aegon’s thrusts were quickening their pace, "please give it to me sir."

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. His rough thrusts become sloppy. You could feel your third orgasm beginning to rip through you as he circled around your bud. “P-please cum for me, sir.” Your words sent Aegon over the edge, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and his soft moans filling the room. You could feel his cock pulsating inside you, his warm cum filling you to the brim.

Your thighs quivered as your orgasm came crashing down on you, your breathing became labored. He leaned down, kissing you lovingly as his hand caressed your cheek. You could feel his cock slowly softening inside you as he slowly pulled himself out.

Aegon pulled away from your lips and trailed kisses down your jawline and neck. His voice mumbled, “I wish you’d told me sooner.” You couldn't help but giggle silently, petting his hair. “Hm, couldn’t let you fuck me for free could I?” He scoffed, propping himself up to gaze at you with his baby blues.

"This pussy is priceless," he murmured against your lips. “Oh god,” you groaned, how his cringe captivated you, you would never understand. Aegon rolled off you, cuddling close and wrapping his arm around your waist.

You stared at the ceiling, feeling a sense of calmness you haven't felt in forever. "So... does this mean you want to be more than my assistant?" His fingers ran through your hair, “and have my babies for real?” Aegon's voice sounded almost child-like, You giggled quietly, "is that our new contract?" He stared at you for a moment, his eyes lit up with something you hadn’t seen before. "It’s a deal," Aegon smiled brightly.

#aegon targaryen #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon x y/n #aegon fic #aegon smut #aegon fluff #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii smut #aegon ii fluff #aegon ii fic #hotd fic #hotd au

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ghibliwatcher · 1 year

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Can we get more yandere Denji???

INDEED YOU CAN!!!

Denji as your boyfriend | Yandere Denji x reader pt.2

Warning: Might be inaccurate, possessive Denji

Congrats! You both like each other and have made it official!

Spending time w/ a clingy Denji can get infuriating, but you loved him nonetheless

First time cuddling was suffocating, since he would stuff his face into your chest (which left you incredibly flustered)

“Denji…your face is smothering my chest…” You muttered, your cheeks heating up as Denji pulled you closer.

“Good.” His voice was muffled while smushing his face into your chest deeper.

YOU GUYS HOLD HANDS 24/7 BC DENJI CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF YOU

You would assume that your boyfriend is touch starved (and would happily provide him lots of affection)

Denji would always look at you as if you were an angel descended from heaven. He wondered how in THE WORLD he got such a beloved partner like you ❤️

You also hung out with Power now that you and Denji had gotten closer. But Denji would always try to steal you away from Power because he thought you would leave him.

“Why were you hanging out with Power and not me…?” Denki’s face pouted as he put his chin onto your chest, his puppy eyes gazing up into yours.

You sweatdropped at his reaction but kissed on top of his head. “We were just hanging out Denji, no need to worry. I’ll never leave you.”

You got him wrapped up in your little finger. You honestly could imagine him having a dog tail and it would constantly wag around you all the time

But all good things eventually must come to an end. Makima had found out your relationship with Denji and she was NOT happy. She had thought you would only get together and you would view him as a lower being, a pet, but that wasn’t the case.

While you and Denji walked down the street holding hand in hand, you managed to bumped into Makima.

You knew you were dead once you saw Makima’s spiraling eyes boring deep into yours.

Denji looked at you two confused. “Ms. Makima, what are you doing here? Do you need something?”

You knew you were absolutely in deep trouble as Makima’s eyes slid over to Denji’s. The woman provided a cute smile to charm the boy, but he appeared to be unfazed and stood his ground while tightening his hold on you.

Makima answered, “I just need to borrow [Name] for a sec, surely you won’t mind?”

You were about to respond but Denji beat you to it. “We’re sorta busy right now Ms. Makima.” He indicated that you literally had a date going on. You were pretty sure you dug up your grave once you saw Makima’s faltering smile.

Although she appeared to be faltering, Makima gave you two a closed eye smile. “Of course, what I was thinking? You both should continue your date, I deeply apologize.” She swiftly but quietly left the scene.

Denji let out a whine, snuggling his head into the crevice of your neck, “Why did she have to interrupt our dateeee…I swear if anyone else is going to intervene I will gladly bash them.”

You smiled nervously while trying to comfort your boyfriend. He really seemed like a violent puppy.

#chainsaw man #makima #csm denji #denji x reader #denji headcanons #x reader #yandere x reader #chainsawman denji #denji #reader insert #yandere headcanons #yandere #csm x reader

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ohbo-ohno · 6 months

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I'm gripping the bars of my cage desperately, I'm chewing at the bars, begging, pleading for more zombie ghoap x reader au.

zombie ghoap x reader au coming right up chef 🫡

btw this is super similar to charliemwrites' jaw dropping ghoap x reader "the (scottish) cabin in the woods" so you need to go read that immediately (and leave a nice comment because charlie rocks)

cw for noncon puppyplay below the cut

i was talking to ceilidh a tiny bit about this earlier, and i think that johnny and reader met in like a cannibal cult kinda thing. very much so like that episode of TLOU, yknow? they both think they've found a little commune safe haven, but it very quickly becomes clear that that's not the case.

anyways, they end up trying to get out together when they realize what's going on, and have to kill a few of the cult members :/ they've been "stuck together" ever since

they threaten to leave the other for dead (or kill them in the middle of the night) constantly. it hasn't happened yet, obviously, but boy oh boy do both of them bring it up nonstop. they act like they hate each other, but honestly they just need to fuck

but they're sorta stuck together now. you're better off paired up with someone than on your own, that's something they both learned pre-cult fiasco. and, really, they don't dislike each other nearly as much as you might think based on the way they gripe

enter ghost. he spots these two survivors wandering through the forest, one injured and both filthy, and basically thinks to himself "hm. could be good in home entertainment"

(here's the deal with puppyplay like this - it's absurd, and we're just going with it. alright??? just WORK with me here)

if you didn't see, i put in the tags of the original post "#btw - he takes you home then chains you both up outside and says something like “this is where dogs stay” :/#dont worry you're perfectly safe (he has a high fence keeping zombies out) but he likes to hear how scared you get when you're out there all#you're both quite well behaved when he lets you in for dinner the next night <3#he only has to scold you once when you both complain about being made to eat while kneeling on the floor next to him"

you're probably both "behaving" because you don't want him to. you know. fucking KILL YOU. but this is also a zombie apocalypse au, so you're both totally feral too. and this is an apocalypse ghost too, which means he's probably way harsher and way rougher around the edges than he even is in canon

anyways i think soap and reader here are more likely to be like "lets wait this out and try to escape when he's not expecting it" except they're like... really bad at trying to play along

ANYWAYS!!!! ghost takes you two back to his compound, ties the both of you up outside for the night. he wraps soap's ankle first, gives him a stern command to stay off of it, and goes back inside like everything is normal. he watches you two over the camera while planning out how he'll build some outdoor kennels for the two of you

you're both cold and tired and hungry and scared the next morning, so it doesn't take much coaxing on his part to get you inside. it takes a lot more coaxing to keep you two on your knees :/

honestly johnny's ankle is so fucked that it's almost a relief to keep pressure off of it (even if it means crawling around on the floor like an animal) but you care a hell of a lot more. ghost threatens to break your ankles before you finally listen :/

he ties the leashes to your wrists, to keep you both out of trouble as much as he can. it's not like either of you are eager to go very far - his house is warm and you're both chilled to the bone from your night outisde

anyways. that's all i've got like, linearly. but i can offer some random little tidbits about their lives after

ghost makes you both eat from the floor. he gives you plates (no silverware) at first and lets you use your hands, and gradually works the two of you up to eating from bowls with just your mouths

you and johnny bicker constantly and simon frequently makes the two of you kiss to make up :( forces you to make out with each other while he smokes a cigarette and enjoys the show. no matter how mad you are, you both end up needy and humping the air when he finally lets you stop

he tries to have you two sleep in the same crate, but it does not go well. ghost very quickly realizes that you two will try to tear each other's throats out if forced that closely together for an entire night

sometimes one of you will try to get the other in trouble. there's one particular night where you trick johnny into misbehaving and he's stuck in the outside kennel all night - but it rains. and every time you glance out the window you see how sad and cold he looks :((( ghost lets you love on him the next morning, and soap is more than eager for a bit of comfort after such a miserable night

#sometimes i giggle putting a cw for noncon puppyplay cause like. why are you following me if you DONT like that lmao #but then i remember this stuff pops up in people's recommended. and i tag it properly #asks and answers #ghoap x reader #zombie apocalypse ghoap x reader

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xythlia · 5 months

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𓏲 ࣪₊➷ MAKE IT UP TO YOU

› not sorry for this i'd let this man treat me like a dog & i'd bark for his attention (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ

› satoru x f!reader

› word count : 2k+

warnings : toxic relationship, love bombing, dubcon, noncon creampie, emotional manipulation, emotional neglect, mind games, oral (f receiving), ignoring request to pull out, sorta baby trapping you

In a way you counted yourself lucky, set apart from the leagues of women who regularly bemoaned their partners lack of commitment or lack of any effort at all, really.

After you'd initially reciprocated Satorus affections, the first time you'd been called away on a mission for longer than a day you discovered several dozen bouquets of flowers inside your apartment upon your return. You hadn't been able to contain the joy bursting from you, radiating from every pore as you called him, giddy and heart fluttering hearing him say how much he missed you.

It was refreshing after being like those aforementioned women, the ex boyfriends with their clumsy and hollow attempts at making an effort that would only come after days of you prodding and feeling neglected. You had to drag out any drop of sweetness, bleeding empty veins, yet here now was a man drowning you in it and flush with excess.

The breathy, eager I love yous, the adorable calls in the middle of your days that made you giggle to yourself, him making excuses to pop into your classroom just to pull you into a hug that filled your bones with sunlight esque warmth, the stream of texts that would come once, twice, sometimes even five times a day.

You don't leave the school on your own anymore, instead always finding Satoru leaning against your car sporting that ever present boyish smile and his arms resting behind his head. Your workdays usually end with those calloused hands cupping your face, his kiss almost supernaturally overpowering. Always followed by the same boisterous statements: "I love you", "you're so wonderful baby", "I wanna spend the rest of my life with you".

The smarter part of you, eroded against the tidal wave of his affection and the dopamine rush he gives you, knew those things were usually only said by people months, if not years, a long into a relationship. But that ditzy, syrup drowned part of you was larger and said there's nothing wrong with saying it now, is there?

He's just good to you.

—

All good things must come to an end, though.

Satorus attention and affections dried up quickly, and with how fast your life had taken shape around him it was impossible to not notice the drought.

Most days an old familiar ache in your chest was your constant companion. Your phone is devoid of any of those enthusiastically adoring texts and the doorway of your classroom was suddenly carnivorous and cold without him wandering through it to steal your attention.

And when you did see him, he was remarkably reserved, almost frigid towards you and painfully disinterested in anything you had to say or your meek attempts at re-engaging in the flirty banter that used to be a hallmark of his interaction with you. His sudden withdrawal cut deep, each flippant reply like the sharp edge of a chisel being meticulously pounded down against you.

Something was different, it felt like the moment a sinister note rings out clear from an orchestra, the kind that builds from a near whisper into an almost unbearable crescendo culminating in you choking back tears in your car on the way home. It happens without your awareness but your mind automatically diverts to the route to his place, your feet carrying you of their own accord straight to his door and you nearly wail in relief when he doesn't shut you out after you pound against it.

Your eyes feel sore and you hate the way your bottom lips trembles as you look at him in the doorway of his home. "Please," you whimper, "what did I do? Can I make it up to you?"

You don't know if you did anything but you must have, and maybe it's even more egregious because you don't recognize what it is. That must be it, a silent hurt he's been nursing and hoping you would finally have a light bulb moment of recollection about. It makes fresh tears streak hot paths down your cheeks, how horrible it feels to think he's been patiently waiting on you to come to your senses.

You're willing to do anything for forgiveness, it grips your mind in a fervor.

"Oh baby," he says, eyes glimmering with an out of place excitement. "Really?"

You nod, jerkily and overeager, nearly leaping towards him as he moves to embrace you and pulls you into a kiss so heated it borders on painful. A whirlwind of teeth and tongues, the way he bites down on your bottom lip has you yelping into his kiss which he pays no mind to as he tugs you inside.

"Let's make up," he murmurs against your lips and you don't listen for one second to the way his tone sends warning shivers down your spine, you're all too happy to have your Satoru back, reveling in his overwhelming closeness.

He doesn't waste a second, leading you to back up against the kitchen countertop and helping you up to sit on top of it. Time feels more like a sluggish crawl when he kneels between your legs, running a hand up your calf to your inner thigh, making you gasp. It feels like his eyes hold you in their own iron grip, feverish and full of wanting.

"Been waiting on you," he breathes between kisses placed lovingly against your thighs, "fuck-"

You squirm as his eyes turn to your cunt, taking in the way your panties were already damp and his expression made him look more like a long starved animal presented with its first feast.

You whimper feeling his nose brush against your still clothed clit, running his tongue up the crotch of your underwear before pulling them aside, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs enough to make you groan but not enough for you to consider stopping him.

A man of many talents Satoru knows exactly where to lick and suck, pressing his tongue against your clit in tight circles, lapping at your soaked pussy and clearly enjoying the way your arousal smears on his skin. He's devouring you yet paying attention to every single time a particular movement or swipe of his tongue has your muscles clenching, focusing on on it until there's tears in your eyes and you feel such immense pressure built against your nerves its like you're a twine effigy set ablaze, each strand smoldering in reddish black as pleasure burns through your bloodstream.

"Don't stop," you pant, fingers winding tightly into his snowy hair as your hips rut against his face.

Your words seem to renew him, sharpening his tongues movement with renewed vigor. It's nearly embarrassing how quickly you cum, hips stuttering wildly as you wince with your head thrown back feeling his fingernails leaving indents in your skin.

It doesn't deter him though, lapping at your soaked pussy through your orgasm, sucking gently at your clit until you're sobbing his name in broken syllables and your legs twitch violently in his hold.

"Feel good?" He speaks to your pussy, the slight vibration of his voice beyond obscene as he plants a chaste kiss to your puffy overstimulated clit.

"I think you can take more," he muses, more to himself than to you but the exhaustion settling into your bones has you gaping at the thought.

"W-what?" You ask between deep breaths.

A predatory grin paints his features as his fingers spread you out, not giving you a chance to respond before plunging two fingers inside, curling them against your walls and making you moan so loudly that surely his neighbors will complain tomorrow.

"Don't you want me to forgive you baby?" He coos against your throat, nipping at your skin sharply. As his fingers pull out you hear him undoing his pants, whimpering as you see his cock spring free, flushed a throbbing pink at the top and practically dripping precum as he gives himself a few rushed tugs.

You answer before you really comprehend the words leaving your mouth. "Yes," you say meekly, desperately, "Just- just please pull out." You feel devoid of anything save for the ache to please him, and guilt at even placing that one restriction on him.

As your bleary eyes fix on his face you see he looks elated, like he could swallow you whole. "You're so fuckin' beautiful."

You nearly start crying again, it's been weeks since you heard those words from him.

He doesn't waste time, lining up with your entrance and giving you shallow thrusts that leave you squirming against the hard granite countertop. Within seconds you're digging your fingers into his shoulders to signal it's not enough, whining as you pull him in for a sloppy kiss. He presses into you slowly, carefully and groaning into your mouth as your warm cunt swallows him whole.

The drag of his cock against your sensitive walls makes your legs tremble, but before you can start wriggling again he's holding your hips firmly as his thrusts pick up in speed, leaving you to twist your fingers into the fabric of his shirt as fresh tears pool in your waterline.

His rhythm is steady, jostling your body like a ragdoll as you cling to him and cry out broken, nonsensical cries mixed with his name. All of his harshly whispered endearments barely reach your ears, unable to get through the thick cocoon of pleasure constricting around your mind. The pressure in your abdomen is so intense you feel like you might burst whole, a punctured water balloon splattering over the countertop.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he forces through ragged gasps, "gonna cum-"

At his words you feel yourself let go, hiccuping and crying against the force of your orgasm, and his hands move against your thighs encouraging you to lock your legs around his hips. You do it without thinking, feeling overloaded as his hips smack against you in bruising, wild thrusts before he gives one last, deep push.

Satoru grips your lower back like he's clawing for a handhold in rock, the other keeping your head buried against his chest by the back of your neck. Thick spurts of cum flood your pussy as he caresses your neck, pressing kisses to the top of your head. You can't blame him for ignoring your request to pull out, not with the way your bodys sucking him back in and how even now he can feel your walls throbbing, massaging against his cock like you're milking him for every drop.

As you struggle to breathe tucked against his chest it takes a moment too long to register what happened, too long to recognize the gooey warmth spreading inside you.

Panic flares on the edges of your mind, your breathing devolving into frantic gasps again as he shushes you, not pulling out even an inch from between your damp, slick legs. The feeling of his arms encircling you barely registers, your mind zeroing in on only the feeling of his cum seeping inside you, colored by disbelief that you both forgot about pulling out.

"We should think about kids," Satoru hums against the top of your head as you sniffle.

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #gojo x reader smut #jjk x fem!reader

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the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 10 months

Note

hi!! i literally love ur atsv works(also the fact that you're a shifter too,,,like you're giving me so much content for my scripts <33). anyways, i was wondering if i could request an e42!miles x a felicia hardy/black cat variant(name doesn't have to by felicia hardy ofc) who's like a top art thief or something and prowler!miles meets them for the first time in the middle of a heist ?

I only watch the movies & am not really into the comics, so I don't really have an idea on the full character of felicia other than that she's a flirty cat burglar. So go wild on how you'd perceive her in earth42!

thanks!!

-🐈‍⬛

(Hello! lmao, shifting is amazing and these help my scripts and motivation also, lol. So sorry this took so long but I hope you enjoy!)

Felicia Hardy!Reader

You and Miles would have a certain dynamic

Like you guys would sorta be rivals, who could pull of better heists, missions, who gets caught least and who can go undetected and be the stealthiest

Shit like that is a competition to you two

Especially when you guys didn't even know each other

Miles heard about you on the news one day, and it seemed people thought you were pulling off better heists than the Prowler

Miles couldn't have that, no sir

So, he pulled off a bigger one, and this, rivalry began behind the masks

It was sorta entertaining, seeing how you never interacted but seemingly were so competitive

Miles was actually impressed on how you pulled off your stunts and heists

Especially if you hit somewhere big and got a lot of shit on the making

He never knew your plan, you never seemed to go somewhere personal or have connections to there

It seemed you just hit where you want and grabbed whatever was in your way

I think you guys could be great ass partners

And Miles was shocked to see that even Uncle Aaron thought so

Uncle Aaron thought you would be a good asset or you would be a good person to have to work with, not against

Miles was stubborn, of course, and don't wanna admit that he was right

Until he actually met you and came face to face with you

And not gonna lie, Miles was pretty much just staring at you

You seemed to pop up out of nowhere, just sitting on a rooftop as he busy out the door

He didn't even notice you for a minute, he was trying to flee from the cops that showed up and to be honest they got him pretty good on the side before he got to the roof

You actually reminded Miles of a black cat when he first saw you, which held true to the name people around the city gave you

You didn't help Miles out off the roof really, just wanting to see him in person to see if he held up to his name

He did, you got your answer and left with a smile

Miles couldn't help but watch you go before he had to leave himself

He told Uncle Aaron about the whole thing and his uncle laughed at him

Soon after, it seemed like you always were you the same place Miles was

Even if it wasn't a heist, even on his apartment buildings roof

He couldn't tell you were coming, or the amount of times you sat in the dark and watched as he had no idea

You have a habit or watching and sneaking up on him so much he's now looking over his shoulder

But after you guys get past that, you guys actually make a pretty good duo

Maybe crime fighting, maybe regular teens

Miles was not prepared on how flirt you wer

Sure he was shocked at how stealth and smart, but nothing could compare him for the amount of nicknames, and whispering you did to him

Or the fact you were so shameless about it all

He never got flustered, but somehow you always did that to him

He did it a fair amount back, but catch him of caught and babe it's so fun

I have nothing else so here's how you first met:

"Shit…" Miles cursed under his breath, holding his side as he stumbled out onto the roof, leaning his back against the wall.

He could hear police yelling to each other, the dogs barking as they tried to sniff him out.

Miles knew he wasn't about to be caught, he just worried on how he would get out of this without being spotted and followed back home.

Miles grimaced, hissing under his breath as he pushed off the wall, almost stumbling as he walked off to peer over the side of the roof.

Miles cringed at how many police cars say around the building, all ready for him to walk out. Like hell he would.

"Running outta luck?"

Miles almost jumped, turning around quickly in the dark. It took a moment before his eyes settled, finding a figure laying on their back, just above the roof where the door was.

You laid with your arms crossed under your head, turning slightly to look at him, almost amused and with a cat-like smile.

"How long have you been watching me?" Miles glared, but in his mind almost surprised, and impressed, at how long you sat there without him knowing.

You hummed, still smiling as you sat back up, throwing your legs over the edge.

"Since- like, May?" You offered, leaning onto your arm, throwing your head back to think.

Miles looked at you, half surprised and half shocked, trying to form what an actual sentence would mean before your eyes lit up.

You laughed at yourself quietly, knowing that's not what he meant, but loving the look of utter shock on his face.

"Yeah, sorry. Be more specific next time, sweetheart." You shook your head, hopping down from the small platform.

Miles could almost back up, but had nowhere to go, instead standing and watching silently through his mask as you walked towards him.

Your steps were quiet, calculated and almost careful, like a cat as you hummed, a look on your face he couldn't describe as you circled him.

You were looking over his suit, running your fingers on his suit, nodding to yourself as you felt the material.

Something about you made Miles unable to pull away, instead lifting his arm to give you more space as you ran your fingers around his body, stopping in front of him.

Miles was able to see the small smirk on your face, standing in front of him with your hand on the Prowler mark on his suit.

"So, how is the Prowler is stuck on a rooftop with cops around?" You laughed, looking up at him with the same smile.

"Not stuck." Miles denied, not looking away from you as you leaned in, getting a closer look at his mask.

"Oh, then poor you." You mocked, thumbing over his mask, as he surprisingly, didn't say anything about it.

"Why are you here?" Miles finally asked, getting another small laugh from you as you glanced into his eyes.

"Wanted to see if you were the real deal." You shrugged, your face close to his.

"Got what you wanted?" Miles asked, his voice cool and calm, sorta distorted through the mask, but watching perfectly as your hand slipped down.

You looked back into his eyes through the mask, studying almost carefully before you hummed, stepping back.

"Yup. Certainly." You laughed, standing on the edge as you held up a bag. One of the bags Miles had robbed.

Miles patted around his body, feeling one missing from his pockets, looking up to see you with a hand on your hip, holding it out teasingly.

Though it was Miles, he couldn't find it to reach out and take it, instead watching your proud smirk.

"Seems you were too distracted to know." You teased before Miles could say anything else, tucking the bag into your pockets.

"See ya around, Miles."

And with a final wink, you stepped off the ledge, leaving a stunned Miles in your wake.

"Hey- wait!" Miles yelled out, seeing you disappear as he hurried towards the edge, looking down and being shocked as he saw you nowhere around.

He could hear your laugh echoing around him, the bag missing from his side gone with you.

And, you called him Miles.

You were watching him for a while, for too long, and you knew too much.

Miles couldn't wrap his head around it, shaking his head as he thought over every second you stood in front of him, every moment leading up to this.

And the fact he never knew. Never knew you were there. Never knew you were watching.

Miles couldn't help but chuckle, impressed and shocked, looking around the dark for any sign of you, not that he would find it.

He needed to leave, he knew that, but maybe he could add one more thing to his list of shit to do.

From the way he could still feel your fingertips running along his body, the way you hummed, smiled or laughed, and the way you said his name,

Miles couldn't help but want to see you again

#across the spider verse x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse spoilers #across the spider verse spoilers #into the spiderverse x reader #into the spider verse #earth 42 miles morales #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles x reader #miles morales earth 42 x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader

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padawansuggest · 11 months

Text

Hey so if you’re new here and haven’t been around longer than ten minutes you might not know that my fave fave fave tropes ever are 1: time travel and 2: Obi-Wan getting adopted by Mandos, so whenever I find a time travel fic where Obi goes back in time and is promptly adopted by Mandos I get so excited trust me there are a lot but rn what I really really really want is a fic where I combine one of my fave headcanon type things that I like to put in fics with my second fave trope being Force Sensitive Jaster Mereel and then combined with Obi-Wan and Anakin (and probably Shmi too lmao let’s have a force sensitive babies party here) as force ghosts with Jaster and suddenly one of them comes back all ‘YALL I KNOW HOW TO GO BACK IN TIME I FIGURED IT OUT’ and so they all go back in time with the pure goal of saving their peoples (Mandos, Jedi AND slaves okay we makin a trifecta of people who got the worst bullshit in Star Wars two of which got all the blame when literally all of it was Sith and slavers faults) and Jaster goes back in time to Korda 6 and looks around for Jango so they could retreat only for little grunts of ouchies I fell to happen and he looks over to see a small pile of toddlers Obi-Wan, Anakin, Shmi, (Boba and like six other clones you know I have to) and is all ‘oh shit. Please be potty trained please be potty trained please be potty trained’ and now he has to go find Jango to call them back to their ships and tell Jango he in fact has a bunch of new vod’ika all of whom still have adult memories and also can you hold Boba please he’s a crying mess he just wants Jango nvm you can be that one’s Buir he bites lmao NO DONT HOLD HIM LIKE THAT JANIKA I RAISED YOU BETTER and now they’re back to Mandalore and Jaster is all ‘shit. We made this plan to save ALL our peoples. Well fuck.’ And now he’s all wait a sec and calls up the Jedi (yes they had him on hold for 3 hours and he kept bouncing between departments it was very annoying with Obi-Wan’s little fangies teething on his vambraces making the most annoying sound ever the whole time) and now he’s able to sorta blank for a solid 30 seconds before blurting out that they have force sensitive babies and the Jedi can’t have them and then Anakin HANGS UP ON THEM YOU LIL SHIT THAT DIDNT SOUND GOOD and the Jedi sorta like text him back all ‘??? Good for you???’ And now Jaster has to call them again and explain that he needs help with these lil shits teething on his armor and throwing people into walls when they sneeze and the temple is all ‘listen we can send out a master with docs but we’re a lil busy looking for a Stewjoni initiate that disappeared from the nursery’ ‘oh you mean this one?’ *holds up Obi by an ankle who’s chewing furiously on a vambrace’ and says they can’t have him back the kara gave him that baby!!!!! So now they have to send out a team whereupon Plo and Dooku are suckered into a -three way with Jaster- a deal upon which the Mandos will help the Jedi leave the Republic who use them like attack dogs and then they can stop slavery together and raise babies!

Anyways. I just think that would be neat.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #jaster mereel #time travel #shmi skywalker #boba fett #jango fett #deaging #baby wan #tinywalker #plo koon #master dooku

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drawingjester00 · 1 year

Text

I was hoping to finish by Friday but had writers block but I decided to share another small part. @jaytriesstuff

Damian had two encounters with the ghost boy yesterday. The stupid boy was plaguing his thoughts. Damian was on his way to the animal shelter he volunteered at. He almost didn't notice the little mews from the alley. He peered down the alleyway. He saw a noirette boy holding a sphynx kitten.

Damian walked down the alley. He couldn't ignore the poor cat. He hoped the stranger was willing to give it to him without a problem.

"Hey, what are you doing with that cat?"

Danny looked up. It was the rich kid from yesterday. He was in casual clothes and walking full speed towards Danny.

Danny smiled, "I heard this little guy and wanted to help. Is there a shelter nearby?"

"Yes. I'm heading there now if you want I can take the cat."

"Nah I got it you can just lead the way."

"Fine if you insist."

"The name is Danny by the way."

"Well Danny, my name is Damian."

Damian waited for Danny to walk over to him before leading the way. Two cute strangers in two days. Whatever he did to deserve this he apologizes. This was just cruel now because of the all cute normal looking guys this one low-key looked like one of his father's adoptees. The silence was weird but luckily it didn't take long to arrive at the shelter.

"I can take her. They aren't your responsibility."

"Nah I wanna make sure this little one gets the attention they need."

Damian gave him a small smile. He can admire that.

"If you fill out a volunteer form you come to the back with me," Damian handed him the form and pen, "here that way you can help."

Danny smirked, "Do you invite every cute guy with a cat to the back to help?"

"No, because I haven't found a cute guy with a cat yet."

"I have doubts but who am I to question a cute guy."

"I'm not cute and I retract my offer. I find you annoying now."

"Too late," Danny filled out the paper as the cat sat on the ledge, "there now let's get the kitty some food."

Damian scowled and grabbed the paper. He muttered under his breath as he led Danny to the back where the cages are. He grabbed another paper.

"Fill out this as best you can. It basically describes the cat and why you're here. I do need to take her to the back for a regular check-up before we feed her."

Danny gave Damian the sphynx kitten before filling out the papers. Damian brought the kitten back to the other parts of the shelter. He looked for Selina before spotting her in the supply closet.

"Selina, I have another stray cat for you."

She stepped out of the closet noticing the cat in Damian's arms, "you and both know your father or Alfred doesn't want us bringing more cats in."

"Not to adopt but he needs a check-up."

"I can sure do that. Is that cute kid your with the one who found," she checks the cat's gender, "who found her."

"He's not cute but yes. She was in the alley by Grand street. How did you know I came here with someone?"

Selina gestured to the security room, "Poor thing. Let's have a look then."

"Thanks, Selina."

Damian brought the cat to Selina's examination room before going back to Danny.

"Where's my cat?" Danny looked around frantically.

"She's fine. She's getting a check-up by the best vet," Damian smirked, "So she is your cat now."

"I mean I would like her to be."

"Aren't you only visiting Gotham? How do you plan on keeping and bringing her home?"

"Good point but I'll think of something."

"Well while you're formulating a plan you can help me take care of these guys."

Damian shows Danny the routine. They worked pretty well with one another. There were a couple of other volunteers but none of them usually talked to Damian. It was weird seeing him sorta smiley.

They were putting the last of the dogs away when Selina came out holding the cat. Danny instantly rushed over.

"You must be the one who found her. What's your name?"

"Danny Fenton ma'am. "

"Well, Danny it's a good thing you brought her in when you did any longer if the cold didn't get her starvation would have."

"Will she be okay?"

"Yes, she just needs proper food and warmth. Damian. Why don't you two take the kitten—"

"Cleo."

Damian looked at him confused, "what?"

"Her name is Cleo, like Cleopatra except she is a cat. So it's Cleo-paw-tra."

Selina stifled a laugh and Damian groaned. This kid is a dork.

"Okay, then why don't you two take Cleo to what we call the pamper station. She's gonna need a warm bath, food, and love."

"Yes ma'am," Danny grabbed the cat then Damian's hand, "lead the way short stuff."

Damian scowled but his tan skin couldn't hide his blush. He muttered something under his breath and dragged the boy along. Selina smiled as the boys left.

Damian brought them into the pamper room. He started the warm bath and filled it with a bit of bubbles. Damian put on long thick gloves.

"What's that for?"

"These will help protect your arms. She might try to claw us when we bathe her," Damian grabbed the cat, "put on a pair."

Danny listened. It was a weird feeling but it was not any weirder than the feeling of being possessed or possessing someone. Luckily the cat seemed to enjoy the bath. The pair chatted a bit. Damian paused to think about something before looking straight at Danny.

"Have you seen a ghost boy since you came here?"

"A what?"

"Ghost. A supernatural spector."

"Nope. You must have been seeing things."

"I most definitely did not imagine a vampire-like creature fighting with a cute ghost only to be sweeped into his arms after."

Danny turned red. Damian thought his ghost half was cute. It seems to be a trend. To be fair they just met and Damian doesn't know they are the same. While his brain was malfunctioning because of the offhand compliment his pants decided to go intangible. Damian raised a brow. Danny just about completely died.

"Charming. Usually, people have dinner or a movie first before taking off their clothes."

"I can explain."

"Why don't you pull up your pants."

Danny listened, absolutely embarrassed.

Damian chuckled, "so ghost. That's an interesting choice."

"Let's not discuss this. It's embarrassing enough without you complimenting my boxer pattern."

"Mhm. She's all clean. Dry her off then put her on the heated animal bed. I'm gonna go grab her food."

Danny grabbed a towel and dried off Cleo. She was looking better already. He looked around the room spotting the beds Damian mentioned. He brought Cleo over who happily made herself comfortable. Damian came over a few moments later with wet food and a bowl of water. Before either one of them could say anything a big green dog phased through a wall.

"What the fuck."

"Damian, go grab a dog toy. I'll go grab treats."

Damian listened, running to the toy bin. Danny changed into his ghost form. Cujo growled at him.

"What's the matter, boy?"

The dog barked at him. Danny was confused. Cujo is usually a good dog. He changed into his ghost form.

"Cujo it's me. Why are you all worked up?"

Damian squeaked the dog toy. The dog didn't pay any mind to it and instead went for Cleo.

"Is this about Cleo? Aw puppy you're not being replaced, I still love you," he scratched under Cujo's chin, "who's a good boy?"

Cujo shrank to his puppy form, his tail wagging happily. Danny pet the dog for a bit before grabbing the thermos. He pops the cap and the ghost dog goes in. Fanny sighed relieved.

"So Cujo. That's a pretty unique name."

Danny jumped, "hello Uh civilian."

Damian rolled his eyes, "you know if you wanna keep your identity a secret you really should be less obvious. "

"It's not what it looks like I swear."

"Danny, relax. I'm not gonna tell anyone. I'm more embarrassed that you know that I think you're cute."

"I totally forgot you said that."

Damian groaned. Of course this would be his luck. He didn't like the look on Danny's face.

"I would turn back before someone else sees you."

"Awe you care," Danny laughed as Damian threw the toy at him, "alright no need to get violent."

Danny changed back into his normal self. He was a bit worried about Damian knowing but there isn't anything he could really do now. He would have to let Sam and Tucker know later. For now he was just gonna have fun with it.

"So you think I'm cute."

"I believe I have also told you I can kick your ass and will if I feel the want to do so."

"For the record I think you're cute too."

Danny could see the blush take over Damian's cheek. It was super cute.

"How's Cleo?"

Danny looked over. In the time it took to deal with Cujo she ate and was down for a nap. Danny petted Cleo, smiling softly. Damian scurried off to put away the dog toy. Both of them knew Damian was just trying to get away from the situation.

When Damian came back he had a big blanket.

"I don't think Cleo would appreciate being buried with that," Danny gestured to the blanket, "what's it for."

"You. She needs human contact. If you followed we have mats and stuff in the playroom so you can cuddle with her. "

Damian scurried off and Danny scooped up the cat and followed. Damian was walking fast like he was being followed by some degenerates.

"Hey slow down. I don't wanna jostle her."

Damian stopped and mumbled a sorry. He continued to lead him. They ended up in a big room full of toys, beds and cat towers.

Danny put down the kitten. Cleo took a few careful steps before going to play. Damian watched as Danny played with her. It was cute. The minute that thought popped into Damian's head he shooed it out. It doesn't matter how cute Danny is, they also just met. He can't go crazy over him yet. Then it dawned on him. He kissed Danny after being 'rescued'. Although on the cheek it was no less embarrassing.

"Hey Damian you okay looking a little red."

Damian jumped not realizing how close Danny had come to him. He socked him in his arm and muttered a shut up. Danny laughed.

"You're annoying, I regret everything now shoo." Damian pouted.

"Aww don't be like that. We both know you don't actually want me to leave. Plus you're cute when you pout."

Damian scowled, " I'm not cute! Keep it up ghost boy I'm gonna—"

"Gonna what. Kick my ass? Feed me to the dogs? Call a priest? Yeah I can escape from all those situations."

Damian huffed and crossed his arms. Danny chuckled and went back to playing with the cat. They hung out there for a while. It was approaching dinner time when Selina came in.

"Alfred called and said he wants you home for supper. "

"Are you going home now too?"

"Once Brittany comes in I can go if you want to wait for me. Does your friend need a ride?"

Danny looked away from the cat, "No ma'am."

Selina nodded, "Okay get ready to go Brittany should be here soon."

Damian acknowledged her and she left. They clean up the mess and set up Cleo temporary home. Damian seemed nervous. Danny can't think of any reason why. Damian tugged on Danny's sleeve. Danny turned and looked at him. Danny's breath got caught in his throat. He knew in his ghost form he had unnaturally green eyes but Damian's were different. The sparkled almost like a light shining through an emerald.

"I was thinking," Damian shuffled a bit uncomfortable, " maybe we can hang out again. "

"Hell yeah, " Danny handed Damian his phone, "give me your number and we can talk about it."

Damian grabbed Danny's phone. He rolled his eyes at the ghost wallpaper. He put in his name and number. He was excited. Not long after Damian and Selina left.

Danny shot Sam a text asking where they were. She texted back with a map link. He hurried over.

"You guys won't believe what just happened."

"Does it have to do with that stupid look on your face?" Sam asked as she picked off the cheese on her slice.

"This is just my regular face!"

Sam rolled her eyes, "Mhm what happened?"

"You remember the kid I saved yesterday," both teens nodded, "well I saw him again and I got his number."

Tucker choked on his pizza. Sam patted his back until he stopped. Tucker looked at Danny bewildered.

"You're telling you got a billionaire, ward of Bruce Wayne, practically a celebrity phone number."

"Oh yeah I forgot he was wealthy but yeah. He's really down to earth. He's snarky, cute, great with animals, and he was totally cool with the ghost thing."

"He was cool with getting kidnapped," Sam looked at him, "Danny you sure this is a good idea."

"No not with getting kidnapped but me being a ghost anyway there is no way—"

Tucker and Sam stood up at the same time and yelled, "he knows?"

Danny smiled sheepishly, "I wasn't planning on telling him but you know some stuff happened it was unavoidable. I'll explain later."

"Explain now!"

Danny ran through everything that happened. He started at finding the cat and ending with the phone number without leaving out a detail. Both of his friends were stunned. Danny happily stole a slice of the pie and ate. It was a good day.

Selina was quiet the first half of the ride. He knew what was coming though. As if on cue Selina lowered the music.

"So that boy. Who is he?"

"A friend."

"Just a friend?"

"As of now, yes. We just met Selina."

"Mhm. And you already gave him your number."

Damian groaned," it's not a big deal."

"So it totally has nothing to do with the fact he is exactly your type and an animal lover."

"Not going to dignify that with a comment."

Selina chuckled at her son's now red cheeks. Hopefully this boy doesn't break his heart. Dealing with heartbreak after Jon was hard and he just now got to a good place.

"Regardless, I'm in your corner. He seems like a kind kid and it's nice seeing you opening up again. I'm proud of you no matter the outcome."

"Thanks," Damian paused, "thanks mom."

It took all of Selina's willpower not to gush. Damian was the last of the kids to come around after Bruce and herself got married. She smiled and put up the music and focused on getting home.

#danny phantom #batboys #damian x danny #danny fenton #danny x damian #dead serious #dp x dc #dc

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fluffypandabun · 1 year

Note

Uh 36 with lee Wally and Ler Barnaby?

“Oh, you think that's funny?” Barnaby chuckled lowly, reaching up to wipe his now damp face while Wally held a hand of his mouth, trying desperately to muffle his own giggles.

The two of them had been washing the dishes they had used to bake cookies together, that is until the little painter had decided to chuck a very damp rag directly at Barnaby’s face, which had smacked him in the snout with a wet slap before landing on the ground at his feet. The blue beagle shook his head, grinning at the little yellow puppet and flashing his sharp canine teeth.

“Fine. I'll give you something to laugh about."

“Barnaby-Barnaby! Wait wait wait-!” Wally squealed when the beagle started to charge towards him, he dove towards the other side of the kitchen counter barely dodging Barnaby’s attempt at grabbing him.

The two ended in a little cat and mouse, or in this case Dog and puppet, chase around the counter before coming to a standstill. Both standing on opposite sides of the counter, Barnaby panting slightly while Wally held back giddy giggles.

“Y-You.” Barnaby panted, gosh the little puppet had energy. “Can't run forever kid!”

“Yes I can!” Wally chirped, sounding less winded than Barnaby was. The beagle shook his head;

“You must answer for your heinous act against me bud.”

“My heinous act!?” Wally squeaked, looking aghast. “I only threw that rag at you because you came up and squeezed my sides!”

Barnaby let out a low playful growl, “Oh i’m about to do a lot worse then that kiddo, now come’re!”

The blue beagle lunged across the counter and, using his much longer arms, he grabbed onto the smaller puppet and yanked him over the counter.

Wally let out a loud squeal as he was grabbed, dragged and then tossed in the air by the larger puppet. Quickly, and carefully, he was caught safely in the arms of his friend.

Cradling the small puppet easily in one arm, Barnaby lifted his other arm up, grinning down at Wally as he wiggled his fingers teasingly.

“Ohohoho~! I’ve gotcha now kid! Now I'm really gonna getcha good!”

Wally gasped softly before bursting into giggles, kicking out his legs, he reached his hands out as if to try and hold Barnaby back.

“N-Nohohoho! Barnie!”

The beagle winked at him, “That's my name.”

Slowly the beagle allowed his wiggling fingers to descend closer and closer to the squirming and giggling puppet, before suddenly he lunged his hand forward as if he were about to strike.

Wally let out a silly little noise between a squeak and a snort, it made Barnaby let out a laugh of his own.

“Now I don’t think I’ve heard ya make that sorta noise before bud.”

“Barnaby!” Wally whined through his giggles,

“Cuhuhuhut it out!”

Barnaby raised a brow, “Cut what out Walls? Why I’m not even touching ya, you’re the one just sittin here and giggling.”

The blue beagle grinned, once again bringing his wiggling fingers down just a hair away from touching the puppets belly which was shaking from laughter.

“I haven't even started tickling ya yet!”

Wally let out a giggly yelp, jolting a bit in his bestfriends grip.

“Dohohohont-!”

Barnaby cocked his head to the side. “Dont what bubs?”

“Thihihihihickle mehehehehe-“

In an instant Wally's face fell when he just realized he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book, meanwhile Barnaby grinned.

“Tickle you? Well why didn’t you just say so?”

Wiggling fingers finally made contact with the puppets stomach, skittering gently up and down, occasionally doing a gentle well placed pinch to his sides or tweak to his ribs. Or well where his ribs would be if he had any.

Wally finally burst into real belly laughter, throwing his head back his whole body shook with the force of his genuine happy squeak filled laughter.

“Eeeehehehehehe! Barnabihihihihie! Ehehehahahaha-!”

Barnaby's smile went soft as he watched his normally calm demeanored friend lose it with laughter, the beagle tail wagging back and forth behind him as it always did whenever he managed to make one of his friends laugh.

“What's wrong Wally?” He hummed. “I thought you wanted this?”

Normally perfectly curled blue hair a mess from all his squirming, and face flushed redder than an apple, Wally sent Barnaby a glare that wouldn't have made even a kitten scared.

“Youhohohoho are sohohoho meahehehen!”

Barnaby let out a loud exaggerated gasp, eyes going wide before they narrowed down at the puppet.

“Oh that is it you little rascal, i'll show you mean-!”

The larger puppet stopped his playful attack, moving his free hand down to scoop it under the puppet as to lift him up, he shot the confused painter a wide grin.

“You know Walls, my face is still kinda wet.”

There was a sudden spark of realization from the little puppet and it only made Barnaby's grin widened.

“Thankfully though, I’ve got a perfectly good napkin right here! “

With that the beagle buried his snout into Wally's tummy, nuzzling his face back and forth as he ‘wiped’ the water off of his face.

Wally shrieked, arms and legs flailing about making Barnaby feel lucky that he had such a good grip of the little puppet. Little hands pushed against his head as Wally threw his head back in laughter.

“BARNABHEHEHEHEIE!” Wally cackled, letting out a hiccuping snort.

Barnaby chuckled softly with his face still buried in the painter's tummy. “One sec kid! I’ve almost got all the water off!”

He nuzzled his nose into Wally's stomach a few more times before, unable to resist it, he took a deep breath and blew a big raspberry right in the center where the painter's belly button would be if he had one.

Wally let out the loudest snort that Barnaby had ever heard, so loud Barnaby wasn't sure how such a sound came out of the little puppet in his arm.

Now fully laughing himself Barnaby lifted his head away, standing up straight with Wally still in his arms, The blue haired painter was shaking with left over hiccups and giggles, a big smile still stretched across his face.

Shifting the puppet to be able to hold him in one arm, Barnaby wiped a tear from his eye.

“Oh gosh Wally.” He chuckled. “I didn’t think a noise like that could come out such a tiny puppet.”

Now thoroughly messed up hair hanging in his red face, Wally gave him a glare.

“Shuhuhut upppp.” He whined, practically pouting. Barnaby shook his head and gave the puppets side a few more pokes.

“Awww come on bud, I thought it was cute.”

At the poking Wally started giggling again, squirming.

“Wha-hehehey Barnaby! C-cuhuhut it out! A-Ahahahtually s-stop!”

Immediately the beagle stopped, looking down at Wally worriedly.

“What's wrong? I didn’t go too far did I?”

Wally shook his head. “No, No, it's just…dont you smell that..?”

Frowning Barnaby sniffed the air.

“Oh huh yeah, it smells like something's burning.”

There was a silence between the two puppets for a moment before they both gasped.

“The cookies!” Barnaby exclaimed ,raising his paws to his head in panic, completely dropping Wally who let out a yelp.

“Oh-Wally!” Barnaby yelped, quickly grabbing onto the puppets legs so he wouldn’t hit the ground, leaving him dangling upside down.

“Are you okay!?”

“Forget about me! Go get the cookies!”

“Alright! I'm going! Don't panic-!”

“W-Wait! Put me down first-woooAH!”

#Pandabuns post #Pandabuns fics #Welcome home tickles #Ticklish wally!!#More fluff ofc ofc #Had a lot of fun writing this one

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liz-allyn · 1 year

Text

sugar and vice, pt. 10 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Everything you need to know about Peter Parker.

words: 10.6 k

warning: graphic descriptions of violence and gore, including murder. *implied animal cruelty/killing*, dubcon situations, voyeurism, masturbation, references to domestic violence

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. sensual/sexual situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. drug use. coersion. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is far from canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't remember drinking yoohoo in a school cafeteria, keep it moving.

a/n this chapter starts with a time jump, and does a lot of skipping around.

Back to Part 9.

Part 10

EIGHT WEEKS LATER

If there was one thing she could tell you about Peter Parker, it was that he was always more than one thing. He had two sides to him. Two identities. Two names. He was hot and cold. Up and down. Ebb and flow. Darkness and light. Love and rage.

It made her head spin. It drove her crazy. Paralyzed her with paranoia. Made her question everything going on inside and outside her head, dreading that she had read this chapter before. This was just another page out of the same book.

John was that way too. For a while. Until she could eventually see him for what he singularly was: a sociopath. A family man in the sense that he would be a family annihilator one day. A horrible mistake, and a misjudgment of character. A false messiah. He was the Devil She Knew, in every sense of the phrase.

Not everyone had been taken by John’s charms. Rita seemed to know. Rita Nimitz was the 74-year-old woman who lived across the street from the Walkers in Loudoun County. A Westie breeder. Widowed. Former LDS, or “reformed,” as she liked to say.

She knew. She probably saw Mrs. Walker limping to take out the garbage, and she knew. She must have heard shouts coming from inside their home while walking her dogs one day, and she knew. When Rita came to her door, asking for some baking soda (which was probably just a ruse) and saw the poorly-plastered concealer on her face in a futile attempt to cover bruises, she knew.

She knew, and she tried to do the right thing. She called the police. She didn’t know it would be John’s friends who responded to the call.

A week later, Mrs. Nimitz was found dead in her home. Her dogs too. No foul play suspected. And Honey knew in her heart it was because of her.

There’s a saying about everyone having two wolves inside of them. The one that survives is the one that you choose to feed. That’s bullshit. No one should have two wolves. No one should have one wolf.

Why does everyone have to have two sides to them, some sort of ulterior motive, or alter ego? She wasn’t like that. What you see is what you get. Why couldn’t things be simple? Be nice to everyone. Smile. Tell them to have a good day. Remember their names.

Miguel Ferrer O’Hara. Son of Conchata and…actually, who really knows. Probably some daddy issues involved there, she was pretty sure. Had a cushy job at Alchemax before he supposedly got canned for “substance abuse” and lost everything.

He was quick to anger. Cocky, but never callous. He’d take a bullet for his crew. Loyal. Practical. Fair.

“Peter Parker saved my life,” he quietly explained to Honey as he sipped on a beer. “Helped me get clean. I owe ’em.”

She’d learned this during an aside one night, before one of Peter’s meetings at the penthouse. It wasn’t often that Honey got any one-on-one time with Peter’s crew, especially after the Peanut Butter Cookie Incident. (She also noticed that every form of peanut and tree nut had been removed from the kitchen).

But she’d use the opportunity to ask people about themselves and about Peter. To satiate her curiosity. Harmless questions, FYIs. Just for her knowledge. And for John’s.

Despite his loyalty, she’d witness Miguel and Peter butt heads constantly. The two of them always seemed to argue about strategy. About the right path for “the business” to take. About the endgame. Peter always won.

“Whatever you say, Boss,” Miguel would concede with tight lips.

“He helped my sister get out of a tough spot,” Johnny Storm told her. “Helped her disappear.”

Apparently, Johnny Storm was his real name, much to her disbelief. Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm, from a little town called Glenview on Long Island. Mother died in a car accident. Father died in prison. He inherited the looks and charm from his dad, as well as a passion for mechanical engineering. When not working for Peter, he owned his own shop fixing up cars. It was a passion of his, and also a convenient way to smuggle drugs across the border.

Johnny was the only one allowed to touch any of Peter’s cars. She wasn’t sure if Peter made that decision out of admiration for his skill, loyalty, or pure paranoia that he’d end up with a bomb under the hood.

“I’d do anything for the guy,” Johnny stated emphatically, while Honey watched him install a radar jammer into his boss’ Gentian Blue Porsche 911. She hung out in the garage along with Miles and three of the guards. “Love ‘em like a brother, y’know?”

This conversation occurred three weeks after an incident near a shuffleboard table in Peter’s game room. After securing another victory, and this time beating Honey, Johnny reached over and warmly patted her on the shoulder, giving it a little consolatory, slightly-flirtatious pinch. Suddenly, he ripped his hand away, face turning white like he’d stuck a fork in a socket. Honey looked over to spot Peter glaring daggers at Johnny.

Johnny quickly excused himself with a great game, champ, catch ya later!, and hadn’t shown his face without a direct invitation from Peter since then.

In Felicia’s words, Johnny was “the biggest slut in the tri-state area” and had a problem getting into trouble with the women in his life. Particularly their boyfriends. And husbands. Peter wasn’t either of those things to Honey, but the point was made. And Johnny wasn’t stupid.

“Pete gets his knickers in a twist every now and then, but he’s a softie, deep down,” Felicia explained to her. “He’s smart, 90 percent of the time. The other 10, he’s just a sad sack of boring. And a giant dork, 100 percent of the time.”

Felicia Sara Hardy, daughter of Lydia and Walter. Her father was a thief and she followed in his footsteps. It started with small schemes — credit card fraud, petty theft — and progressed into multimillion-dollar artifacts and jewels being stolen and sold on the black market. Honey learned that drug running was just a small portion of Peter’s business. It was her work in stolen goods that was pivotal to the enterprise.

She was an expert in hand-to-hand combat, with or without weapons. In her spare time, she liked to skydive. And rock-climb. And street race. She was a trained gymnast too; almost went for the Olympic circuit. She didn’t take shit from anybody, not even Peter. Unlike the rest of the crew, she wasn’t afraid of her boss. Or of anyone, for that matter.

Honey deeply admired that. Felicia also terrified her. Made her heart flutter whenever directly talking to her.

Felicia acted as Peter’s equal. Peter treated her as such. Honey felt embarrassed that her first impression was that she and Peter were a romantic couple, as it seemed to imply that’s the only way Felicia rose to her station.

Such a distasteful, ignorant assumption. Sex wasn’t the only currency a woman had to offer. Despite her past choices. Despite the things she had to do to escape them.

However, occasionally, Honey still wondered if there had ever been something romantic there. Maybe they kissed once. Maybe they fucked.

Why would she even care? Why would she think too hard about it? It’s not like she was jealous.

No. There was some other reason that Felicia pledged her loyalty, she suspected. Something painful that was kept hidden.

“I have a debt to repay,” is all she’d ever say. Honey respected that.

Peter Parker was protective of the people he cared about. Ferociously so. He’d told her as much. And more than a little possessive.

Honey witnessed it the night Johnny stepped out of line.

In a tone that was more of an order than a request, he gruffly told her ‘time for bed,’ having sought her out wearing nothing but a delicate chain holding two modest wedding rings, and a tight pair of trunks. She ignored the heat rushing to her face as she attempted to avoid looking at his endowment. The prominent outline in the dark cotton of his underwear made her heart race embarrassingly.

She argued that it was too early for bed, she had had too much coffee, she was getting to a good part in her book, and how she didn’t appreciate being commanded like a dog.

“You’re not a dog,” Peter plainly answered back, not relenting an inch. “I don’t own you. You’re not my pet. There’s no collar around your neck.” He fixed her with a patient stare, unfazed by her brattiness. “During the day, your time is yours. Do whatever you want, as long as you’re safe.”

Then, his eyes grew darker. He leveled a stern gaze at her. “But you’re kidding yourself to act like you’re just a guest. And at night, when you go to bed, it’s next to me.”

He set a dominant stare on her that made her stomach weak. “That’s the deal. Understand?”

She didn’t argue further.

Not that night, or the ones after it.

Every night, like clockwork he’d come looking for her in the dark. It was a wordless exchange. She didn’t need to be told. She’d take the hint and follow him obediently into his bed.

On nights where he wasn’t home until late, she’d section herself off on ‘her side’ of the bed and wait for his arrival. Staring at the ceiling. Patiently. Thinking about how he didn’t ask her to wait for him, she just did. A subservient role she slipped into, as good as any collar around her neck.

She thought about how much she regretted kissing him. Kissing him was a mistake. It made things complicated. Particularly for her.

She lay awake and tried not to think about it. The images searing her brain. The taste of him lingering on her tongue.

Possessive. Protective. Especially when it came to her.

A few days after returning from her trip to the hospital, she got into a spat with one of Peter’s faceless guards. She’d entered the penthouse, trailing behind Peter, with her hands buried in her pockets.

One of them stopped them, stepping in between them. “I’m sorry, sir,” he explained to his boss. “We’ve detected an unknown signal. We need to search you both.”

She looked panicked. The guard took a step towards her and she practically shrieked, “No! Don’t you touch me! I don’t want you touching me!” He wrapped a beefy hand around her forearm. “Let go of me!”

“Sorry, miss, it’s for security—”

The guard suddenly went flying. Peter stood in between her and his men, nostrils flaring, fists balled, eyes blackened with anger. The wolf in a defensive stance, defending his territory. “What the fuck is the matter with you,” he snarled, glaring down at the guard at his feet.

Although it wasn’t directed at her, his sudden anger made her quake behind him.

“Didn’t you hear what she said?” his voice bellowed. “She asked you not to touch her.” He looked up at the rest of his flustered guards, a warning flashing in his eyes. “Next one of you that lays a hand on her is gonna lose it, got that?”

They avoided looking directly in his eyes, looking anywhere else.

Peter glanced back over his shoulder, his gaze gentle and placating. “You good?”

It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her. She nodded rapidly, trying to calm her nerves. Trying not to think about how close he was.

Or her proximity to death.

Fire and ice. Always two sides to him. The bad man and the blustering boy. Fists that could damage. Fingers that ached for gentle connection.

Peter Parker was a man of many skills.

On a rare quiet evening at the penthouse, Honey’s exploration led her to the parlor. She was seated on the bench of an eight-foot Steingraeber baby grand with an ebony glaze so polished that she could see her own reflection in the dim light. Shyly, with the silent reverence she once took into cathedrals, she gently pressed on one of the white keys. The note came out as a gentle whisper as she tested the weight of the Japanese spruce and Ivorite bar.

“You play?” His voice startled her. Her head popped up to see Peter leaning with one arm propped up the edge of the sofa. He looked cozy wearing a wool crewneck patterned with a bold black-and-white exploded houndstooth. Watching her quietly, with a half-smile on his lips, he looked uncharacteristically soft in the dim lamplight.

“Jesus,” she hissed beneath her breath, heart skipping. “You need a bell.” His grin widened as he casually approached the piano. Her heart rate struggled to return to its previous rhythm. “Um, no...” she answered his previous question, sheepishly. Almost embarrassed. “We could never afford piano lessons.”

He hummed with acknowledgement, leaning playfully over the rim of the piano at the lid prop. “I got lucky, the lady who lived a couple’a houses down the block taught outta her living room.” He gazed down at the luxurious instrument, running a gentle hand across the finish. “Well, lucky now. Hindsight. At the time, I was pissed about it. Told Aunt May it was cruel to make me waste my whole summer.”

A gentle laugh warmed his chest, but the further it traveled away from him, the more his smile faded. Like using a tiny flickering taper candle to heat up a castle. Nostalgia played in the depths of his honey-hued eyes, as he watched ghosts in the distance.

He sharply inhaled, snapping himself out of his lament. Pushed a smile back on his lips. “Ah.. it was nothin’ this fancy, though,” Peter remarked, gently tapping his knuckles on the cabinetry. “Can’t even remember why I bought this thing...”

The sentence faded away into contemplation. Peter Parker was contemplative. Honey could see it, an entire lifetime of choices whirling behind his eyes. A pathway that led him to who he is today. Whoever that’s supposed to be.

“Do you still remember how to play?” she asked, hoping the question would bring him back out of the dark.

He met her eyes with a boyish smirk, nodding. “A little.”

She scooted off of the bench, her eyes bright with curiosity. Gestured hopefully at the keys. He tried to hide the blush in his cheeks. “Okay, okay,” he groaned, his voice trembling with nerves.

They shuffled around and switched spots, with her now looking down at his trembling hands as they mapped the keys. He refamiliarized himself with the instrument, a delightful tinkling sound filling the space. Honey noticed the way her cheeks stretched into a dopey grin. Her face was beginning to hurt from it.

His wide hands and lengthy fingers organized themselves into chords. First the bright G major. Then adding an F#, deliciously melting it into Gmaj7. Swooping down to a discordant G7. Upswinging to C major, and conversely dropping back to Cmaj6. Up to G major again. The pitch swung playfully back and forth, a pendulum between two extremes.

“You’re just too good to be true,” his normally deep voice was lifted up into a higher register. Her breath hitched, simultaneously recognizing the song and stunned that he was singing to her. She’d never been sung to before.

“Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

She flushed with heat building beneath her face. The bourbon of his eyes poured over her.

“You’d be like Heaven to touch... I wanna hold you so much...”

The slyest of all smirks played upon his lips.

“At long last, love has arrived... And I thank God I’m alive...”

The longer she held his gaze, the more she felt something breaking open in her heart. His sweet croons pierced her, leaving behind a helpless, delicious agony.

“You’re just too good to be true... Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

She was fucked.

Peter Parker could be cold and calculating, but could also be a Casanova. Charming when he needed to be.

Not just with her, either.

She saw it with her own eyes during a particularly tense visit with an associate of his. Oddly enough, it was broad daylight. Next to a parking lot in the FiDi, specifically in front of a taco truck parked on the curb called Tacos El Guero.

This associate would frequent this truck, apparently. She and Peter got in line at the end of the lunch rush. They made it all the way to the front before she realized that the person they were meeting actually owned the taco truck.

Wearing a grease-stained apron and some kind of red-and-black, full-body, zentai suit with a hood over his face, she watched in awe as he diced up Guajillo peppers while simultaneously stirring a stock pot of birria. She admired the sombrero sitting atop his masked head, embroidered with the cheeky phrase ‘My pork tastes better in your taco.’

This—??? —was the infamously-deadly hitman that Peter’s crew nicknamed “the Merc with a Mouth.” “A nut job,” some would say. “The Crispy-Fried Freak,” (which was a little insensitive once Honey learned that supposedly he had burns beneath the mask). And sometimes they’d call him by his chosen name, “Deadpool.”

Peter had his own terms of endearment.

“C’mon, Wade, it’s just one job,” he pleaded, looking up at him with doe eyes as he accepted his order of carnitas street tacos. Honey was midway through her cochinita pibil taco. It did not disappoint.

The truck line had cleared out, and most of the the stragglers were guys taking a break from a nearby construction site, distracted by their own conversations.

“Just one job?” the masked man scoffed, offended. He hung out of the window of the taco truck, like a colonial-era judge looking down at them with disdain. “Webs, you’re sending me into battle to take out Hammerdick—”

“—head—”

“Jesus, Pete, getta hold of yourself. There are ladies present.”

Multitasking as he spoke, he shoved the diced peppers off his cutting mat into the stew. “You’re asking me to take out Hammerhead and his whole crew,” he whined, “without even the courtesy of a reach around!”

Peter rolled his eyes but didn’t lose his good natured grin.

“What about my needs, huh?” the assassin grumbled. Despite the mask, Honey swore she saw the outline of a pout. “You promised me I’d get to be your mafia princess and you’d sail me on a yacht to your safe house-slash-Mediterranean villa in Ischia! When will it be my turn, huh?”

“I don’t have a villa,” Peter coyly shrugged, kindly apologetic. “Or a yacht.” Their rapport was unique, to say the least. It was like she was watching Peter interact with a horny old woman who lived upstairs with a bunch of cats.

“Well, isn’t that just typical!” he spat bitterly. “When you said you’d take me for a ride, I didn’t realize it was a euphemism.” He crossed his arms across his chest and sulked.

The mob boss sighed softly, running a hand through his soft waves, “You’d be doin’ me a real solid here.”

“Nuh-uh! Dirty talk won’t work on me this time.”

Peter gazed back up at him wearing his own brand of pouting. He pinched the cherry flesh of his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Neither will any of your other ruthless ploys, Bambi,” Wade, er— Deadpool— bitterly countered.

Peter tilted his head, wounded, but the amused grin never falling from his face. The masked man’s resolve remained solid. “Next time, put a ring on it, Parker.”

“Wade,” Peter purred, his voice dropping to a lower octave. “I don’t forget favors. Or the people that do them for me.” His heated whiskey eyes glowed — Jesus H. Christ, was he actually flirting with him? omigod he’s really flirting right now? whats happening here do i need to leave— with an almost seductive flame. “You know that.”

Honey nearly choked on her taco. Stunned and uncomfortable, she blinked several times, watching the rising tension between the two men.

Wade let his shoulders drop, slouching in defeat. “I bet you say that to all the YNs,” he grumbled, barely audible. She watched the masked man shoot her a dissatisfied glare from his window perch, whisper-shouting at her. “Usurper.”

Later that night, as Honey stared up at the ceiling, feeling the heat radiating from Peter’s half-naked body, a million questions filled her mind.

Did Peter have that kind of tension with everybody? Was it just in his nature, or was it a tool he used to influence people? Was he trying to make her jealous? Did it work? Did that make her the possessive one?

If he was so confident, then why did it seem like he was flustered around her sometimes?

Did he swing both ways? Was he a top or bottom? Is that really something she should be thinking of while laying next to him in his bed?

She was wrong to have kissed him. It was wrong to lead him on. It was wrong to catch feelings for him. What was wrong with her?

Choose to feed the one you want to live. She only had one wolf. Right?

She built a wall of pillows in between them, fortifying their separation and the ‘no touching’ rule.

Peter Parker was a criminal, after all. A criminal that followed the rules. Mostly.

Honey startled awake on a different night, hearing the panicked sounds of heavy breathing beside her. Peter was raging in his sleep. Again.

This time it seemed worse.

A sheen of sweat coated him. She watched as he twitched and pleaded incoherently, mumbling pathetic sobs into the darkness. She sat up, quietly observing his distress with a worried expression.

Breathless nothing-words spilled from his mouth. She could see his pulse in his neck, the cords of his throat pulled tight. Wherever he was, he was fighting for his life. He was losing.

Timidly, she lifted her hand, gently bringing it closer to him. She settled it down on his chest, feeling the rapid hummingbird beat beneath her palm.

With a gasp, he shot awake, wet eyes full of terror. He roared, teeth bared. He seized her wrist with bullet-like speed and aim. Clutching it in a crushing hold.

She cried out, flinching in pain. “Peter, it’s me!”

The hold loosened immediately. His lashes fluttered with confusion as he blinked away the remnants of his nightmare.

He looked up at her, stunned. Terrified. Eyes full of remorse. Tears building. She heard a choked sob escape his lips, his voice shattering. “Gwen…?”

He dropped her wrist in horror, like it was a serpent. Turned his head towards the pillow, racked with grief, and let out an agonized cry. She sat there holding her wrist to her chest, the first signs of bruises beginning to form on her forearm. Perplexed by whatever it was that had just occurred.

Gwen.

Who was Gwen? She’d never heard that name uttered once.

Gwen. The girl of his dreams.

A jealousy crept up inside of her that she didn’t understand. She sat quietly, listening to him attempting to control his shuddering sobs. He cupped his palm over his mouth, trembling into an almost-fetal position.

She had no idea where that jealousy came from. Nor could she source her urgent need to comfort him.

She broke the ‘no touching rule.’ Cooed gentle words into his ear. Let her fingers card soothingly through his hair. The touch seemed to pacify him. And only then did she feel the slightest bit of relief. When he settled, he finally faced her, laying on his side. Tear tracks stained his face. His lip trembled.

“I-I didn’t mean—” he began with a shaky voice. “I-I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

She shushed him, also leaning on her side. She reached across the gap between him, taking his hand. Squeezing it tight. Threading her fingers through his. Their first real ‘touch’ since the kiss, as chaste as it was. Drifting off to sleep. Together. Hand-in-hand in the safety of his den.

Getting information was the hardest out of Eddie, simply because he made himself sparse. She felt horrible about this. It wasn’t Eddie’s fault that she tricked him in order to escape. It wasn’t his fault that she’d almost died.

She wasn’t sure what Peter said directly to Eddie following the escape attempt, but he didn’t come around for several weeks. It was good news to some of the group, particularly Miles, who had an uncharacteristic contempt for him.

“You know how some people are nothin’ but trouble?” Miles explained to her. Honey knew intimately. “He’s nothin’ but a disaster. I don’t even wanna get into it.”

The next time Honey was present during a meeting, she prepared a batch of cupcakes for the whole group. But really, they were made for just one person.

“No nuts in these,” Honey nervously blurted, with an apologetic half-smile tilting her face. She handed Eddie a chocolate cupcake with a Hershey’s kiss center, homemade buttercream frosting adorning the top. It was presented to him on a napkin, on which she’d written ‘I’m sorry. :-( ‘

Eddie wasn’t impressed. Rejected, she placed the dessert and napkin on the bar next to him and left it alone.

Maybe it was a burned bridge with no hope of repair. Maybe the cupcake was in poor taste. There wasn’t really an appropriate consolation gift for ‘sorry, I almost got you fired.’ Or ‘sorry, I almost got you whacked by your boss.’”

By the end of the night, she was pleased to see that he took the cupcake and napkin with him on his way out the door, licking the icing from his fingertips as he left.

Regardless of how the others felt about him, Peter kept Eddie on the team. He’d argue that Eddie always had everyone’s back. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. And sometimes, in a war, that’s the kind of person you need.

The way Eddie told it, it was the other way around.

“I owe Pete a lot,” Eddie told her one afternoon on the rooftop patio of the penthouse. He leaned back in a redwood armchair, smoking a joint, enjoying another batch of cupcakes. Lemon cake this time. “He’s a good guy.”

Edward Charles Allan Brock, originally from San Francisco. Used to be an investigative journalist of some kind, according to Felicia. Covered the crime beat. Ended up leaving town in disgrace.

“I was in a rough spot,” Eddie said cryptically, taking another drag. “He helped me control my demons.”

Everyone on the crew had a testimonial like that. Each one of his friends had a story. They were all indebted to him, in some way.

“He saved my uncle’s life,” Miles explained passionately. “He saved my family.”

Honey sat with him in the game room after finishing a round of Mario Kart. She listened as he spoke with reverence.

“He’s a hero,” he declared. “But he’d never say it about himself.”

Indeed, the term made her raise her brow.

Miles Gonzalo Morales, son of Jeff and Rio. Smart kid. Wants to be an artist one day. Maybe. Or a game designer. Or something. He’s weeks away from finishing his GED early. Wants badly to go to ESU, but Peter is lobbying for him to choose Stanford.

His father was a former cop, his mother a former nurse. His Uncle Aaron was a career criminal who got mixed up with the Kingpin. Aaron’s mistake was believing he could get involved and just walk away. Foolishly, Aaron tried to escape, but that led Kingpin to his next course of action: punishing Aaron’s brother and his family.

Kingpin sent his goons to kill Jeff and his wife at their home. Jeff killed the intruders, but not before Rio took a bullet to her spine. Not before those goons kidnapped Miles, then only a 13-year-old boy.

Kingpin attempted to use Miles as a hostage to draw Aaron out. It was Jeff who made the connection between the attack on his home in Brooklyn, and a similar attack that happened in Queens years ago.

It was Jeff who sought out Peter’s help.

Peter Parker saved the day. He helped Aaron fake his own death. He helped cover the cost of Rio’s lengthy rehabilitation, although money was little to compensate for never walking again. He made the family a new identity, provided protection, and secured them a home with nursing services far outside of the city.

He also rescued Miles from his captors. And then he beat the men that kidnapped a 13-year-old boy to death with his bare hands.

The act of savagery would’ve terrified anyone else, especially a child. But Miles didn’t see it that way.

As kind as Miles was, as pure of heart as he was, there was a reservation about the way the teenager recanted his story. A quiet part that suggested that a brutal death was, in this rare case, justified.

Peter was Miles’ hero.

There’s also a saying about never meeting your heroes, because they’ll eventually disappoint you.

“I said stop lyin’!”

She heard Miles’ voice raised in anger one night. It cracked like thunder, sharp and bright with blinding heat. Honey sneaked down the stairs to see Peter and Miles heatedly standing toe-to-toe in the foyer. The teenager’s chest was puffed up, standing off against his mentor, his dark eyes brimming with hot tears. “You think I’m stupid?”

“No, Miles,” Peter stated calmly. He remained passive, refusing to react with the same rage being tossed at him. “I’m not lying—”

“I know you, man!” Miles sneered with a betrayed tone, throwing hands in the air. His body crackled like a lightning bolt. “You can fool everybody else in here, but I see you! No jodas! You’re on that shit again, aren’t you?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Este hijo de puta, I told you he was trouble!

“Enough!”

The older man’s voice echoed. The tension reached a boiling point. The two of them glared at each other, unblinking, with a stillness that made her sick to her stomach.

“Nah, whatever—I don’t need this,” the teenager hissed, breaking the standoff. “I’m outta here, man.” He stormed past Peter towards the exit, slamming the door as he exited. Peter was left standing alone in his foyer. Stoic. Still. Steady.

Then he put his fist through his brick wall.

Black and white. Ebony and ivory. No patience for gray. No mercy for it.

“I have to say, this is a little unorthodox.”

Peter and Honey sat at a small table across from a silver-haired man with a graying beard and his lovely wife. Both were probably in their 60s or 70s, but Janet van Dyne looked as if she was maybe 50.

Honey couldn’t take her eyes off this woman’s nearly-immaculate face. The only sign of age on her plump skin were a few faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Long, icy blonde locks flowed in wispy waves down her shoulders. Her neck, ears, and hands were dripping with multiple-carat diamonds. She was the definition of eye candy, and the jewel in the crown of her husband, Dr. Hank Pym.

Dr. Pym was well-known as a brilliant scientist, but an even more lucrative businessman. Having chosen fields in both neurobiology and pharmacology, he was also President, CEO, and controlling stakeholder of Pym Pharma, the most profitable drug manufacturer in North America.

Honey recognized the name from the news. Allegations that his company was pushing their opioid products on patients made them come under recent congressional scrutiny. It was no surprise that Pym’s private lawyers contacted Peter discreetly.

When she asked why they would reach out, Peter explained to her that Pym wasn’t worried about an investigation. There was a pinch of bitterness as he said it. Gravel in his voice. Pym could easily pay the politicians off.

What Hank really needed from Peter was a new distributor.

“I wish you’d have come by the lab first,” Hank said sheepishly. “I could’ve given you the grand tour.”

Peter and Honey were also elegantly dressed for the night out. He wore another black-on-black ensemble, a Saint Laurent suit with wide satin lapels. She wore an Oscar de la Renta dark-floral-print, tea-length gown, with a fit-and-flare cut and 3/4 sleeves. Her favorite feature, however, was that the dress had pockets.

They practically had ambushed Hank and his wife at their private dinner. It was at one of Manhattan’s most exclusive, 5-star restaurants. A favorite of Janet’s, particularly. It was the Pyms’ 40th anniversary, and after several months of planning, Hank had bought out the entire restaurant just for their dinner.

He was obviously surprised to see Peter there. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, though. It was Peter’s restaurant.

“I’ve been to your lab, Dr. Pym,” Peter smoothly explained, as a waiter he knew by name refilled the wine glasses at the table. A 1990 vintage Giuseppe Quintarelli.

Honey figured she was supposed to be Peter’s ‘eye candy’ counterpart for the evening. But she couldn’t keep her eyes away from him. She was hypnotized.

Somehow the candlelight made him look even more suave, more dangerous. Adding an enchanting, sunset glow to the intoxicating bourbon of his eyes. The shadows played enticingly on the sharp lines of his suit as well as the lines of his jaw. “But when I’m considering entering a partnership with anyone, I’m more interested in getting to know who they are. No frills attached.”

Hank chuckled warmly, fondness in his eyes. “I have it on good authority that you know your way around a lab, Peter.” Apparently they were on a first-name basis now, she noted. “One of your early mentors was an apprentice of mine—Curt Connors.” Peter’s jaw locked at the mention of the name. “He’s still a close friend even to this day,” he added with admiration in his voice. “He told me you’re brilliant.”

Honey glanced over to catch the light dimming from Peter’s eyes, melancholy peeking through. “That was a long time ago,” he replied.

Honey turned to address Hank and Janet. “Did you get t-boned?”

The detour in conversation caught them all off guard. The couple stared at her in confusion.

“Like, were you crossing an intersection and, like, someone hit you from the side?”

The couple flicked their eyes towards one another. Buttoning up an amused smile, Hank gazed down at Peter’s companion. “Nothing that dramatic, no,” he answered gently, with a tone reminiscent of telling a child there’s no such thing as Santa Claus. “Thankfully. The car’s a loss, but it could’ve been worse. Right, dear?”

Janet agreed with a simple hum of acknowledgement. She sipped on her wine, lifting the glass with her non-dominant hand. Although concealed by the bell sleeves of her evening gown, Janet’s other forearm was swollen and wrapped in a fresh, bulky cast. A fractured radius. A nuisance, more than anything, Hank told them.

Honey gazed at Dr. Pym, blinking at him with confusion. “What kind of car was it that hit you? Were they speeding? Was it a drunk driver?”

Hank’s next response sounded more like an uncomfortable chuckle. He gave Peter a look, but Peter said nothing. Instead, he passively observed the line of questioning.

“A pick-up,” Hank replied, clearing his throat, “I believe.”

“What color was it?” she asked, fully invested in the story. “Were you in the driver's seat—?”

“You know, it’s funny,” Hank answered swiftly, his agitation bubbling up in his chest. “Sometimes after a traumatic experience, like a car accident, the details get fuzzy. It’s called dissociation. It’s a common occurrence.”

Honey pulled her chin back, frowning. She was vaguely familiar with the term.

Dr. Pym spoke slowly, and chose short words purposefully, as to not confuse her further. “All of these details are being handled by the appropriate authorities, I assure you,” Hank said with a plastic pleasantry. “But we appreciate your concern.”

He looked back at his wife, who shed a tiny smile behind blood red lips. Hank brushed aside the conversation and turned his attention back to the other man at the table. “Now. Peter—”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m just... I don’t understand,” the younger woman cut in again, more persistent this time. Hank fixed her with an impatient glare.

“Sorry, I know it sounds like a dumb question.” She pressed urgently, undeterred by his frustration. “If you both were in the same car accident, then why is she the only one with bruises?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Janet went still, like she had become a mannequin. Hank looked like a deer in the headlights, his heart rate increasing steadily. Blood pressure rising. Honey watched a twitch form on his top lip as he forced himself into a smile.

A wine glass slammed on the table so hard it was a wonder that it didn’t break. Janet came to an abrupt stand. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, flashing her teeth. “I’m going to freshen up.”

The smile she wore as she hastily left the table looked painful. It likely was. Her split lip had opened back up.

Uncomfortable silence passed between them, with Hank attempting to recover while avoiding shooting a dirty glare at Peter’s nosy little whore.

“I need to go too,” Honey announced, jumping at the chance to exit. She laughed nervously as she stood. “Broke the seal.”

When Honey entered the washroom, she saw Janet anxiously dabbing powder at the shadowy ridge beneath her right eye. The light did her no favors, harshly revealing cracks in the facade of her almost-pristine face. The illusion vanished. The tungsten light revealed caked canals of far-too-much concealer that clogged her pores. Like heavy plaster attempting to cover up the stains of purple, yellow, and green.

Honey knew those stains. She knew those canals like the lines of her own hand. It’s not enough to cover them. You need to correct them, applying complementary colors to cancel them out. Yellow for purple. Orange for blue. Green for red.

She knew.

Janet’s gorgeous blue eyes found hers in the mirror, burning a hole through her reflection. Honey frowned at the familiar sight, her heart swelling with sympathy.

“Listen,” she began gently, “I can help you—”

“No,” Janet spun on her red-bottom stiletto, glaring down at the younger woman. Acid spewed through her lips. “You listen. Who the fuck do you think you are,” she hissed with an icy tone, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve got some nerve, embarrassing me like that.”

Her mouth fell open in shock, struggling to find the right words. She wouldn’t have had the chance to use them. Janet was right back at her with another devastating blow.

“You think you know something about my life?” she challenged lividly. “About my marriage? About me?” She glowered down at the younger woman, the way an exterminator observes a cockroach. “I’m not some goddamn damsel in distress, you stupid slut.”

Honey felt the first inkling of a sting in the corner of her eye.

Janet lowered her tone with seething disdain, injecting venom into every word. “You don’t know shit. You’re just a perky pair of tits and a wet pussy for him to shove a couple of babies into. If he even lets you keep them.”

Honey swallowed dryly.

“Regardless,” Janet continued, skewering her with sharp words, “once you’ve served your purpose, he’ll be on to the next one. Step out of line, and he’ll take you out with the garbage. Because at the end of the day, you’re just common.” Eyes narrowed, her voice softened like a feather, as she added, “And we’re nothing alike.”

The younger woman trembled in her shadow. The dressing down shook her to the core. Ripped out her insides. She felt like she was going to cry. And she loathed herself for it.

“Stay out of my business,” Janet muttered, almost sweetly.

Honey’s vision went blurry as she disappeared from view. She heard the clacking of her heels growing more distant, until the sound disappeared beneath the door of the washroom. She bit her lip in an attempt to stop her tears.

Anger burned inside of her. Rage. A hurricane in her heart she wasn’t used to.

Fury that made her feel crazy. Bitter contempt. Like she wanted to run after Janet van Dyne and slap her. Shake her by the shoulders. Let her know she’s so stupid for staying in an abusive marriage. Choke her.

Honey was crying again. Rageful. Goddamn it.

She pictured herself, a foot taller, screaming at the rich lady’s bruised face. Are you insane? He’s going to kill you one day! You know that, right? How could you let him manipulate you after all this time? You fucking pathetic moron, you’re going to get yourself killed and no one’s gonna save you—

“Honey?”

The soft voice jolted her out of her downward spiral. She realized that she was standing alone in the women’s washroom, her whole body trembling. Tear drops that she was numb to streamed down her cheeks. She felt hot, and cold, and clammy, and nauseous all at once.

It was Peter who had come to find her.

The second he saw her face, his brows stitched together with concern. “What happened?” he questioned, a mixture of worry and outrage carving out his voice. His hands instinctively flew to her cheeks as he studied her, thumbs wiping away tears. He looked immediately on edge, hackles up, ready to punch a hole through whatever force caused her pain. He asked again, more akin to a demand, “Who did this to you?”

It was unclear to either of them whatever this was. She felt floaty again, in that terrifying, untethered sense. A stray kite that would come crashing down at any moment. Her stomach dropped out from the Earth’s gravitational pull.

“I...” Honey stuttered, dazed. “I... don’t...”

“Honey,” Peter implored. His voice was gentle. And firm. “Tell me what happened. Please don’t lie. Are you hurt?”

She swallowed hard. Shook her head ‘no.’

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he urged, placatingly. She felt warmth from his lungs on her face. Whether it was from the heat of his passion or his fury, she didn’t know. Her eyes shut, bringing her fingers up to his wrists. Gently, she pulled away from his hold, putting those very important inches between them.

When she opened them again, he looked pained by her action. His lips were in a straight line. He gazed down at her, rejected. Took a long breath, swallowing whatever pain he was feeling. “Tell me what happened,” he repeated, calmer now. “Did somebody put hands on you—?”

“You can’t help him, Peter,” she blurted out. Her mind was also reeling, struggling to get back on course. “He’s... he’s n-not good.”

Peter raised a brow. “Pym?”

“You can’t trust him,” she swallowed, hard. Tried to stabilize the tremor of her voice. “He’s bad. Please. You have to believe me. I know.”

He fixed her with a suspicious gaze, apprehension growing. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s a monster!” she cried out in a pathetic whimper. She bit down on her lip to stop it from quivering, tasting self-hatred on her tongue. “His w-wife, she... He—”

“He beats his wife,” Peter finished her sentence, stoic and solemn.

She blinked up at him with wet lashes. He stared at her with an empathetic frown, matching the sympathy of the one she wore when she confronted Janet. He sullenly scowled, “I know a right hook when I see one.”

Her brows pinched together, confused.

“The second I saw her face tonight, I knew. I’m just sorry you had to see it,” he explained, regretfully. Affection warmed his gaze. “I’m proud’a you, though. For calling ‘em out. Always knew you were a brave girl. Bastard looked like he was gonna shit his pants.”

She gulped dryly, stunned by his reaction. He was... proud of her? And... he knew? And... what was he going to do with that information?

“Peter,” she licked her chapped lips, trying to find her voice. “You can’t be on his side. I-I know I don’t know anything about your business, or-or any of that stuff, but-but y-you can’t help him—”

“You don't need to say it, Honey, I know,” he reassured softly. She was frozen, wondering what else he knew. “I don’t deal in stuff that destroys lives. And I damn sure don’t work with assholes that beat on women,” he stated with resolve, echoing a promise he made the night she first met Peter Parker. “The deal was dead before we even sat down.”

There she went again. Another out of body experience. She looked up at him, swelling with disbelief and a strange sort of pride.

He handed her a handkerchief from his breast pocket.

He put her mind at ease that it didn’t matter to him how many billions Hank Pym was worth. Peter had principles that weren’t for sale.

Peter Parker was a man of integrity. And of debauched perversion.

Peter and Honey spent their time split in multiple places, although the majority of it was in the Queens penthouse. One weekend, however, they traveled back to the cabin in the Catskills. She was surprisingly excited to return there. The property and house was beautiful, and it was still her favorite thing about her new life.

She learned later that Peter had chosen the location because it was near the site of an old campground. The remains of which were on land that was now his. It had been a popular summer destination decades ago, and the place where May Reilly and Ben Parker first met.

Romantic. And a realist.

Small changes had been made to the cabin since she had last been there. Housekeepers had cleaned up the mess left behind from the peanut butter cookie incident. There was now an epipen in every room, and a trusted doctor who had been relocated to a separate house on the property, no more than a half-mile away.

The house was once again spotless, but had also been fortified. Electronic steel locks on the windows and doors. Areas of the home that you needed a key card to access. Cameras visible in every room. Almost every room, she noted, except for the bathrooms and the closets.

It was invasive, she thought. Paranoid. Borderline voyeuristic.

She was bothered by it. Distressed at the idea of Peter watching her through camera lenses. Or so she thought.

Later one evening after dinner, she wandered back into the expansive closet. Her intention was to take another closer look at the wardrobe and choose pieces to take with her back to the city. But as usual, she got distracted. Stuck at the lingerie chest.

It was worth looking over, now that some time had passed and her extreme modesty had eased a bit. She was even wearing shorts to bed instead of sweatpants.

She was never really a fancy lingerie girl. It was an unnecessary expense, as she’d found that the few people she’d slept with were more than willing to fuck her in an oversized t-shirt.

These items didn’t really belong to her, anyway. She recalled feeling like they were someone else’s. Accessories for dolls manufactured for the male gaze. Costumes, like little sweaters on cats or dresses on dogs, transforming her into whatever her master desired.

There was one dress, though.

If she had to choose one that she’d ever think of buying. It would be that one. The one that felt most like her. Or, a version of her that lived in some sort of alternate universe.

It was the lavender silk babydoll dress, the one with the plunging V-neckline and soft pink French Chantilly lace floral accents. Each lace flower created a cut-out effect in the dress. It felt like a cloud in her fingertips. She examined the stitching carefully. It was likely handmade.

Holding it up in her view, her first thought was that there wasn’t very much of it. It was enough fabric to still be called a dress, but the backless, halter cut reduced the weight. The item shifted and flowed with the breeze. Cloudlike.

When she tried it on, curiously she found it felt light and airy on her body too.

Standing in the closet in front of a full-length cheval mirror, she turned every which way, studying the way the dress moved. The V-neckline was kept modestly intact with three dainty ties, preventing any accidental ‘nip-slips.’ The dress was belted into an empire waist with a similar stringed tie, with dainty bows gathering the fabric on either sides of her torso.

From the belt, the fabric cascaded down her hips, rolling down her curves like fog on a mountain crest. It was a waterfall of silk and lace that flowed down front and center, tastefully crashing just above her knees. The skirt was split at the sides, two high slits rising just below the crest of her hips. It was enough to tease just a peek of the matching lace string bikini beneath.

It was beautiful. Soft and feminine. Tastefully enticing. And comfortable. She felt comfortable wearing it, much to her shock. Gazing at her reflection, she didn’t feel like she was looking at someone else. And yet, it looked like it was made for a fairy princess.

It suited her. She liked the way it looked. She liked the way it looked on her. It was, much to her disbelief and astonishment, in a word—

“Beautiful...”

A deep murmur startled her. With a gasp, she turned to see Peter’s lithe form leaning against the doorway of the closet. His head was tilted to the side, with hungry, heavy-lidded eyes trained on her.

In an instant, she was a fawn. A frightened rabbit. Stunned still. Rendered motionless. Trapped in a hunter’s gaze.

His darkened eyes dragged across her body shamelessly. Drinking her in, intimately, in a way that was unapologetically obscene. Irises blown black with lust. The molasses hue was gone, crystalized. Seared off by the fire of his gaze.

His soft lips were parted into a thirsty pout, ravaged red from being licked dry. Desire pulsed through his veins. Want filled his airways. His chest heaved raggedly in slow, shallow pants. He looked feral. Starved for her touch, her taste.

And impossibly hard. She blinked, eyes trailing low. Past the exposed, carved muscles of his torso, down to the bulge at his trunks. She had wondered about his size before. Peter in his underwear was no big surprise.

But now, seeing the way the fabric stretched tightly over his erection, a straining outline of a neglected piece of him that was painfully awakened by her, it felt lewd. It made her squirm. Shiver. Triggering an uncontrollable drip down into her panties.

Had she stopped breathing? She felt dizzy all of a sudden. Why was he looking at her like that? When had her breathing gone shallow?

Suddenly, she flinched, reaching for the fabric covering her chest. She’d been overcome with the irrational fear that maybe she had been exposed after all. Some kind of curse, like in The Emperor’s New Clothes, where the dress had been an illusion.

Or maybe it was some kind of new experimental fabric that turned invisible when it reached a certain temperature.

That was the only explanation, she surmised, for the current look on his face. Like he could see through her clothes. Like she was presenting her naked body to him. Thread by thread, layers being cut away and unraveled with just a look. Slowly taking her apart in his mind. Penetrating her with his gaze.

She gulped, feeling a bolt of heat shoot down her center. The room was suddenly cold. And hot. Sweat beaded at the nape of her neck. Her nipples prickled beneath the fabric, behind her trembling arms. Gooseflesh breaking out across her skin.

She was faintly aware that she had begun babbling at some point. “Pe-Peter, I... you... wha—you can’t—”

“Can’t what?” His eyes trailed up to hers, radiating with challenge.

She was so fucking dizzy. “You... you... You can’t—”

He lifted his weight off the doorframe, stepping through the threshold. “What can’t I do?”

Closing the tiny space between them. She felt her abs tighten. Pelvic muscles flutter. He stalked towards her, eyeing her the way a tiger stares down its prey.

Why was she panting? Why was she so hot? “Please—”

“Shhh... It’s alright,” he whispered, his chest rumbling so deep she could feel the reverberation under her skin. His pacifying voice only fueled the lightning down her spine. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Peter stopped, just an arm’s length away from her. She felt tiny beneath his gaze. The weight of his lust was pushing down on her chest, restricting her ability to breathe. To think straight.

She wanted to faint. Fall right into his arms. Wrap herself around him.

A thousand lewd images flashed through her mind with a blur. Puzzle pieces scattered out, distressing her with their mismatched, disorganized state. She was almost afraid to put those pieces together. To see firsthand the erotic image they would create. Afraid. But curious.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, himself lost in a wet dream. How did he always seem to know what she was thinking? Was she stripped that bare? “It’s okay. I’m just... looking.” She had to peel her gaze away from his pecs, away from the ridges of his torso, away from the pornographic vision of her tongue trailing down his front until she was on her knees in front of him.

“Nothin’ wrong with wanting to watch,” he breathed. She could feel the heat of his breath. There was a glimmer in his eye, a hidden smirk. He took another step towards her. She had to bend her neck to look up at him.

Mesmerized, she was too enchanted to look away, but too terrified to look directly at him.

His voice dived deeper beneath the waves of his lust. “I knew you were there that day. Watching me in the shower,” he crooned with a dangerous whisper. She felt her heart skip a beat, eyes going wide. “Nothin’ wrong with looking. Especially if you like what you see.” He half smiled. “Did you?”

Her voice had left her as swiftly as the air from her lungs. She stood in front of him, dumbfounded, and shaken, and dripping with her desire. He licked his lips, like a cartoon wolf. They stood quietly like that, as he continued to rove over her. He was mocking the ‘no touching’ rule with only his gaze. Eventually, he met her eyes again. He took a step backwards. Then another.

“Just came to tell you,” he said innocently. “Time for bed.” He backed himself up towards the door, letting him have one last deliciously-sinful look. He then turned and strolled out of her room, like he was going for a walk in the park.

She trembled in his wake. Both arms reflexively concealing her nudity. There were two wolves inside of her, after all. Both of them were howling. Both wanted to fuck him.

She shouldn’t have kissed him. It was a dumb thing to do.

It was dangerous, toying with him like that. It was dangerous, imagining herself being ravaged by his hands. Split open by his tongue. Letting her fingers do the work of soothing her growing frustration, secretly giving into the ache he left her with, while breathlessly panting his name in the shower.

Peter Parker was dangerous. There was no alternative.

She heard heated voices coming from the parlor. Then a crash. Shatter. A shout. A roar. It made her hair stand on-end. Rushing towards the source of the sound, she tiptoed up to witness a witch hunt in progress.

The room smelled of sweat and stress. Familiar faces pulled taut, as Peter’s friends stood around anxiously. The pack was huddled together. Heads down, bodies folded up. Giving each other silent glances of concern.

Peter Parker didn’t have any friends. Just people that were indebted to him. Allies in fluctuating phases of fear. Soldiers forced into servitude. Houseguests under the illusion that they weren’t actually prisoners.

Fear settled thickly over the room as Peter raged through it, rabidly pacing, eyes wild with anger.

“There’s a rat in my house and I’m gonna kill it!” he roared, in a state she’d never seen before. The fury in his voice made her want to run and hide under the bed. By the looks of it, she wouldn’t be the only one.

From the side, Felicia fixed her with a warning glare. The slightest shake of her head. So subtle that Honey barely saw it. Before she could think to respond, the whole room jolted.

Peter picked up his foot and shoved the side of the baby grand. It traveled across the room and crashed into the opposite wall, with the ease of a soccer ball landing in the net. The elegant instrument shattered, wood flying and strings popping.

Now she was frozen, like everyone else.

Miguel muttered urgently, his voice barely louder than his racing heart, “Pete, let’s talk about this—”

“What is there to talk about?” Peter shouted, wheeling on him with a glare that could impale. “Hobie is dead!”

Her breath caught in her throat at this information, remembering the friendly Brit with the punk-rock style. Suddenly, she connected the source of his untethered rage.

“He’s dead! Not coming back! Ever!” Peter rampaged on, spitting poison and bitter contempt. “I say let’s honor the old ways, yeah? And eye for an eye. A life for a life.” He barked an order without looking at whoever would receive it. “Get ‘em in here!”

Honey jolted as the doors swung open. Two of Peter’s faceless guards were dragging in the one face she did recognize. It was the man who attempted to frisk her weeks ago. He was bloody. His suit torn. His face beaten, rearranged like a Picasso. Stumbling as he was dragged in front of the court.

“On his knees,” Peter coldly ordered. His guards didn’t need to do much. The man dropped to all fours in the center of the room. He was shaking. Terrified. Tail between his legs.

“We should do this in private,” Miguel protested.

“Let ‘em see!” Peter roared back. “Let ‘em be scared! No one ever got anywhere by bein’ friendly. Let ‘em know! You know what happens to friendly people? They get cut down with bullets! Just like Hobie!” The room went deadly silent.

Peter stepped up to the broken man in front of him, like he was stepping up to the batter's plate. She remembered The Sandlot. Tried to remember that version. Not this ruthless animal in front of them.

He narrowed his eyes, glaring down. “You were the only one who wasn’t telling the truth about where you were. You know how I feel about liars.” There was a horrifying calm in his voice, but his obsidian eyes were anything but. He seethed. “Tell me. How did the Feds know where they were?”

Honey felt like she was going to throw up.

The guard trembled. “Si-sir, I-I don’t—I don’t know—”

Peter reached behind him, pulling a gun from his waistband. Honey covered her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. The disgraced guard gazed at the barrel helplessly. He looked up at Peter like he was a god. He was on his knees, praying for salvation.

“I-I-I swear it! I-I swear on my life!” he begged.

“Poor choice of words,” Peter said, words clipped and bitter.

“No, no, please—I, I can tell you... I can tell you...everything... I... I-I...please—” The man broke down, sobs racking through his body. Piss staining his pants.

“How did the Feds know where they were?” Each word was sharp. A stab between each for punctuation. “How’d they get to you, eh? What’d they promise you? Who’s hands have Hobie’s blood on ‘em?”

“I-I-I don’t know what happened,” he blubbered. “I don’t know, it— No one was supposed to get hurt!”

He cracked an unamused smile. “Good intentions, right? See you in hell.”

Both of Peter’s hands came up to the guard's face. With a ferocious crack, the man’s head went sideways. A full 180 degrees. The sound of every bone in his spine twisting, ribs snapping off all at once, like buttons popping off of a shirt.

Horrified gasps erupted from the crowd. It didn’t hide the awful sound the man’s body made as it hit the ground. It wasn’t a sound that a human body should make. It was a tumble. A collapse into a pile of limbs. His spine reduced to a wet noodle.

Faces unable to conceal their sickened expressions turned away from the shockingly violent sight. Johnny brought the back of his hand to his mouth, swallowing back bile. Miguel flinched, squeezing his eyes shut, turning his back in disgust.

Only Felicia remained still. Her eyes were wide. Forced open. Tears brimming. She’d witnessed an execution and the death of a dear friend in the same moment. The convergence and end of two lives.

Peter Parker did pest control. Honey thought back to that joke. The ‘rat’ was dead.

If there were two animals inside of her, at least one of them was a rat.

She sat quietly on the floor of the bathroom, leaning back against the freestanding tub. The lights were on and the faucet was flowing. Anything less and it would’ve been suspicious. Anything less, and she wouldn’t have been able to conceal her pitiful sobs.

She bit down into her arm, trying to silence them. Trying to push them down. Trying to drown whatever creatures lived within her.

Everyone had two sides to them. Everyone was an animal. She was no different.

She killed that guard, just as much as Peter did.

She killed Hobie, just as much as those bullets did.

Blood was on her hands. On her sharp teeth. On her mange-ridden fur. You can't trust an animal. Animals will do anything they need to survive.

The phone in her pocket buzzed again, startling her. She looked around out of habit, making sure that no one could see her in her hiding spot. Nausea pushed up her throat as she gazed at the 202 number on the screen.

The phone unlocked for her, and she read the message:

> that’s not what i asked, peach.

> do you love him?

Her heart fluttered, but her face didn’t flush red this time. She was getting better at lying.

<<< don’t be ridiculous

His question was wildly inappropriate. Intruding on the strictly business nature of their arrangement. Crossing boundaries that she needed.

She was kidding if she thought she had any control of the situation at all.

> its a yes or no question

... > [IMG_0320.jpg]

She expanded it, always terrified of what she would find. But this photo was from a set she’d seen before: A candid of Bella, having the time of her life with Ariel, with shimmery scales on her cheeks. Mickey Mouse ears on her head.

She bit her tongue. Swallowed back bile. Tapped out a reply.

<<< of course not

<;<< how could i ever love a monster like that

One animal is a rat.

The other is a snake. Slithering in, belly to the ground. Lying through a forked tongue. Destined to consume her soul’s animal counterpart, and everything else, until it chokes on its own tail and dies.

The key was holding onto a fraction of truth in order to sell the lie.

How could she ever love Peter Parker?

She couldn’t even love herself.

Continue to Part 11

[back to masterlist]

a/n - i'm excited about the next arc of this story. and i'm also excited to tell you that no one has predicted where this is going. yayyyyyyy. we're gonna get violence. we're gonna get more walker (he's really bad in this yall). we're gonna get more naughty. hang in there!

also, have you listened to THIS amazing playlist from @raindropstearsandtea??? it's partially inspired by sugar and vice and i can't believe that anyone would ever make art from my art and a;lkjsdfjl;kfdlk;jalkjdf

there's also my 'official' playlist on Spotify, which is just too fun.

thank you so much to everyone who gave me feedback! i can't tell you how honored i am that you're enjoying my nerdy attempt at hack exploitation of shameless tropes!

Reblog to be tagged in the next part!

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cloveroctobers · 9 months

Text

PAUL CHO — summer prompts 🍋

A/N: let’s give it up for our beloved himbo, paul 👏🏽 beef is relatively a good show minus that disgusting being that shouldn’t be welcomed back next season. I was just happy to see Steven in more work and was definitely checked in. Although the posts are now dry in the beef tag, especially for Paul! I’m still going to drop this and head out. The Cho bros deserve some love and something easy, although this is mainly Paul focused! The point still stands ☝🏾

PROMPTS from here + using: i. one passes out from heat stroke & ii. 3AM convenient store run for slushies and snacks.

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Paul knew that the both of you shouldn’t have been outside today. He was perfectly fine being locked up in his empty apartment, streaming live on twitch for income with the AC and fans on full blast. However he let you, his best friend persuade him to get out of the house.

Being locked up in the house became a routine after everything went down. Paul didn’t want anyone inside of the apartment, including his own parents who spent their time in a motel while they waited around wishing and praying on Danny’s well-being. Paul cut most of his other friends off and fell into a dark space as everything that unfolded began to truly settle in.

It wasn’t until you came along, threatening and ready to break the door down did Paul let you in. Even if you weren’t talking, he still sorta enjoyed your company since the apartment felt lonely and stuffier than usual.

Despite the warnings of the heatwave, which made news that it would be approaching the city a week prior, you thought it was a good idea to head out to the pier on a early Saturday afternoon.

The both of you took the hour and in a half ride out to the pier, with you driving Danny’s rusted truck since your 2008 Mitsubishi was in your cousin’s shop with its radiator being worked on. The ride was peaceful enough, with the stereo on blast and the windows down but talking about what transpired was Paul’s boundary that you respected while you still came around.

You hoped he would too.

The sun was roasting down on the both of you as you trailed along the deck, a few people were also walking but not much: one woman with an umbrella who carried on in the opposite direction, a elderly man with a bucket hat on was up ahead by the edge fishing, and a family was tending to each other as the mom attempted to soothe her screaming baby who seemed to be upset that their maybe five year old brother smacked their now melting ice cream to the ground, the father seemed to be hiding his laughter with his own ice cream while he kept a tight grip on the leash of their fluffy white dog, until his wife started fussing him out.

Paul watched them for a moment on your way by, even turning over his shoulder to continue watching them while he held onto a yellow slushie, and you were right beside him with your water filled tumbler that you barely took a sip out of.

“The big brother looks like a turd,” Paul comments as he turns back to face your direction.

You shrugged, “I would have yanked my sister by the edges if she did me like that on this hot ass day.”

“He’ll learn.” Paul answers with a small grin by his lips.

He suddenly stops and hands his passion fruit slushie to you, “Hold this for a sec, I’m taking my shirt off. It’s seriously sticking to my stomach.”

Stopping you take the beverage as Paul swiftly yanks his shirt over his head, and throws it over his shoulder before the both of you carry on walking, “That’s better.”

“Did you even put sunscreen on?”

“Of course I did. You only reminded me thirteen hundred times this morning.”

“I mean on your torso, smart ass.” You motioned while Paul glanced downwards and hummed thinking about it.

“Uh…I didn’t think about that. Maybe I would have considered it if we went to a nude beach,” he smirks and bumps his shoulder with yours.

Scoffing you stop walking and reach out to pull on his wrist. Paul turns to you as your now searching your Prada mini backpack for the aerosol free sunscreen.

Paul gives you a look, “really?”

“Yes, really. You are not getting a sunburn on my watch, bestie. I don’t want to hear you bitch and moan about it later. Now be thankful I care and turn around.” You whirled your finger around, while cradling your tumbler underneath your arm and against your stomach as you shook the can about.

Paul rolls his eyes with a sigh before doing so and says, “I better not catch you looking at my ass.”

“Oh, brother.” You mockingly gag while Paul laughs.

You get to work spraying the sunscreen all over his back, hands feeling hot against Paul’s slightly sticky skin, rubbing the white residue in before gripping his shoulder to spin him around to spray his front.

“Go ahead, I’ve always known you wanted to cop a feel.”

“Nope! You’re gonna do that yourself since you want to act like a pig.” You mockingly give him a smile before twisting the can and shoving it into Paul’s hands.

Paul’s laughing as he did the honors and bites down on his bottom lip, “is this doing it for you?”

“You’re nasty,” you scrunched up your nose before throwing the sunscreen back into your expensive bag which was your first big purchase all on your own due to finding your place in the cam career field, “and I’m strongly considering karate kicking you in the throat.”

“Hey! You’re supposed to be hyping me up.”

He began to flex and pose on the pier. Sunlight hitting him just right along with the gold chain around his neck as his tawny skin shined underneath the rays.

“Not when you do douchebag things, babes.” You snapped and pointed at him before you walked away.

Paul’s getting a kick out of annoying you, it’s his thing. Always has been since the both of you went to high school together with you transferring from the east coast sophomore year. It wasn’t a instant thing of being friends, he just knew you since you were basically a friend of a friend’s sister’s new friend. He didn’t know how you did it being friends with his friend’s friend’s sister since she was a know-it-all who eventually ending up working in real-estate according to Facebook.

Imelda “Melly” Alcantara.

She ended up switching up on you senior year by trying to accuse you of flirting with her no good boyfriend that nobody in the friend group liked. He got handsy with you, legit tried to get up underneath your skirt at the lunch table but she only saw one side of it despite her twin brother telling her off and ready to throw hands at her smug boyfriend. Paul always suspected that Nimuel had a crush on you which you denied (he had quite a few girlfriends, some upper and under class throughout the years—basically he was in and out of relationships but all his exes had to say was, “he’s too sweet.”) once the both of you became close.

It would have been interesting to see where Nimuel ended up, since he was the only one that promised to keep in touch with the both of you out of the group. The both of you lost him not long after graduating, one day before his eighteenth birthday to a drunk driver.

Losing anyone is painful but losing someone you thought and wanted to be around forever is a indescribable feeling. You start to think about the what if’s and play the last memory you had of them along with the good ones. The light of the world dimmed a bit that night and that’s probably one of the reasons why you and Paul held on a little tighter to your friendship.

“You actually look like you need the sunscreen more than me,” Paul tells you as he peeks over at you, faintly remembering how hot your skin felt against his back. The sunscreen had to do something about that right? Paul thought.

The both of you were approaching the end of the pier where the seagulls squawked on and fled the closer you got. The sea smelled like salt and seaweed as the turquoise waves rolled underneath your feet, sparkling like diamonds with each way the rays hit the water.

“Hm.”

Your head seemed to pulsate a bit, along with a throbbing pain that started right after. Leaning against the banister, there was a smile that appeared on Paul’s face as he slurped down the rest of his slushie. The sea was kinda therapeutic and shit if you thought about it, Paul thought to himself while your thoughts were placed on mute.

He began speaking randomly about the water but nothing he said was heard. You fell to your right, tumbler clunking to the floor while you now lay on your side. Paul’s eyes are wide in confusion; it takes him seconds to spring up once he realizes it’s you on the ground. If it were any other time he would have assumed you tripped or something, you were kinda clumsy which is why you never made it on the cheerleading team (or step) with your other friend from the friend group, Shaina Kaylock.

Last Paul knew, she was studying to be a doctor and was all grins as she completed her bachelors that she posted on Instagram which was also her circular profile pic. She was always kinda spacey, loved to do shrooms, and was definitely a horse girl so Paul honestly assumed she would be a vet maybe instead of studying to be a whole oncologist.

A doctor’s a doctor right? Paul kinda wished Shaina was here right now you know? Since you just decided to take a nap on him.

“Hey, what the hell? C’mon, stop playing around.” Paul bends and reached over to pull on your bare shoulder but it’s dead weight as you’re now on your back.

He feels his heart almost spike at this image and his breathing halts at the sight of you. He tossed his empty cup to the side now, down on his knees as he grips your jaw and lightly starts tapping on your face. You don’t flinch even when he starts putting more force into those taps. Paul doesn’t even see any specs of sweat by your hair line and your skin feels dry, which is also weird to him since he saw you applying more black girl sunscreen to your face not long after your Uber dropped you off with a pocket mirror as your guide in his living room.

Your skin should at least feel tacky if not damp.

Paul was for sure not a doctor but this was terrifying to see. He’s screaming for help now but of course the pier is now empty before his eyes settle on a tumbler waiting to slide into the ocean. Careful Paul stretches his long limbs out for the bottle and snatches it towards him; he’s unscrewing the top and dumps some of the water on your face.

Still nothing.

Then it registers for him to check his pockets for his phone and he’s telling Siri to call 9-1-1 while his heart feels like it’s about to fall out of his ass.

A heat stroke.

You were so concerned about Paul not having any sunscreen on and you go and have a heat stroke on him.

The irony!

It’s five (if you could sync your thoughts with Paul, you’d tell him it’s nine but that would turn into a whole argument that you were not willing to waste your breath on) in the afternoon and your eyes are not the size of the moon since they’re still very much closed. Paul’s quietly entering back into the room and he notices that the cooling blanket that’s been on you since they loaded you into the ambulance has been removed.

Which means your shivering must have stopped.

Paul’s eyeing you as he listens to your heart rate, walking around your bed to place some snacks down onto the night stand. The minute he does take his eyes off you, Something to the right of him flings out in his direction making Paul jump.

“What the fuck?” His voice booms.

Your laughing while you pull your hand back to rest against your stomach, “gotcha!” You say before you fall into a coughing mess.

The scowl on Paul’s face turns to concern as he holds the slushie up to your lips, leaving you to take a sip and allow the blueberry slush to melt in your mouth.

“Yeah, I see you’re doing somewhat better.” He places it back on the stand before pulling a chair closer to your bed.

Slowly blinking you say, “…where am I? Who are you?”

“This isn’t a joke. I thought it was over for you and you’re still not out of the woods yet so I’d knock it off if I were you.” Paul folds his arms in front of himself.

So serious, that one.

You already knew this since there was a nurse who was in here not too long before Paul came back. She removed the blanket once there was no shivering and told you they were waiting on your urine test along with some other stuff you forgot, considering you were half-awake. You were sure the doctor would be back whenever since you hardly got any sleep in this kind of place.

“Oh-Kay then Paul, what did you bring me?”

Paul rolls his head to the side as he peeks at the snacks he went out and got for you. He knew how much hospital food sucked taking into account the one night he stayed up here with Danny, telling him exactly how he’s made him feel and that sure he’s wanted him out of his life but that didn’t mean Paul wanted his big brother dead.

He wasn’t sure what the nature of their relationship would be once he woke up and Paul was sure his parents would want them to mend it. However he was tired of his parents wanting him to sweep shit under the rug and ignoring the problem. It was time for Paul to do his own shit, for real this time.

Being in the same hospital Danny laid in was making Paul uneasy and you joking about your health without knowing the end result was making Paul triggered honestly. He’s also saw Amy on his way in but he didn’t want to bring that up either.

“I’ve got all your favorites. I didn’t want you to starve in here, your options are: mambas, sea salt and olive oil popcorn, lemon zing pistachios, or chocolate orange crips.” He blinks back over to you.

You reach for the crisps but Paul smacks your hand down, “I got you, relax.”

He pops the bag open for you while you hold your hand out for the snack. You waste no time slapping the orange crisps into your mouth and hum while exhaling in content, eyes closed.

Paul sniffs at the snack and pops one into his mouth, “it better be worth it for the price I paid for these.”

He shrugs after tasting it before tossing it up into your lap before folding his arms along the edge of the hospital bed. He places his chin on top of his clasped hands while you happily eat your snack before focusing on the energy of the room.

“We’re gonna be alright, kid. What did Bob tell us on the ride up to the pier?”

“I don’t want to quote fucking Bob Marley right now.”

“Well…” you clutched your pearls, “this is my message to you-o-o: thanks for the snacks and being here.”

Paul’s eyes are on yours now, “where else would I be? I’m not going anywhere.”

You shush him, “just take my love and don’t question it.”

“Fine…only if you agree to make out with me.”

“And he’s back! Over.” You respond into a makeshift walkie.

Paul winks just as you poke his cheek with a tired smile. He sits up after awhile, watching the profile of you as you seem to be okay and worked up a appetite when you probably needed more fluids on top of the IV in your left hand right now. You were always stunning to Paul no matter the stage and he almost passed out himself when you stood up from the couch in that tube dress you had on earlier.

Yet he had to keep his composure because you were simply his best friend. Although it slipped out sometimes and you brushed it off as mere flirting majority of the time, there were truths behind a good portion of Paul’s past statements. Putting the shallowness aside, he always admired how you were able to adjust to any situation and if the situation required for you to have a moment, you allowed it to be felt and picked yourself up just to carry on. You were also very nurturing which provided balance to Paul’s tenderness.

“I don’t know…you okay over there Pauly Wally? You’re looking like you’re a little bit in love.” You joke.

I might be.

Paul snorts instead and uses his fingers to close your eyes for you, “I think you need another nap.”

You laugh just as a knock is heard at the door. Both of your eyes turn to the door as Paul’s hand drops to rest against the one that just hid the crips behind your pillow. The both of you feel your lips twitch as the doctor enters the room, one of your fingers lifting to intertwine with Paul’s as the doctor is ready to deliver some news while the heat continues to steam outside.

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Continue along with my summer anthology prompts here.

#Spotify #beef #beef netflix #Paul Cho #Paul Cho x reader #Paul Cho x black! reader #Danny Cho #amy lau #young mazino #summer prompts #summer prompt #queued

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