#getting freaky on a friday night yeah | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

too-deviant · 1 month

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freaky friday

OR… that one time you woke up in luke castellan’s body, told from the perspective of percy jackson.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Fem!Demeter!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Content: the most loser loser!luke has ever loser-ed. this is sooo unserious like pls.

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Percy Jackson had only been at camp for a day, but he was completely sure that something was wrong.

It started early Sunday morning — well, when he thought back on it, he guessed it might have started late Saturday night, when he woke up to a few of the older campers (Luke included) sneaking off out of the cabin and not coming back until the sun was peeking through the horizon.

But he didn’t really think about it until Sunday morning — when the thing that startled him out of sleep was a loud shout of “Holy Fuck!” echoing from the bathroom. He sat up, startled, and eyed the door along with everyone else. Then there was a yelp.

“Oh my gods. No — this is, this isn’t real. Am I still — oh don’t touch that. That’s not yours. Jesus, Luke — No. Stop looking. Oh my gods.”

A few campers shared some wary glances, asking the silent question of who’s going to investigate? Eventually, Chris (Percy thought, one of Luke’s friends from yesterday), stood up with a sigh and a raised brow, stepping over sleeping bags until he stood outside of the door. He looked at them all, the curious eyes of literally every kid there, and knocked slightly. There was another yelp.

“Uh…” Chris blew out a puff of air, “Are you okay in there?”

A few seconds of tense silence, then the door cracked open and Luke Castellan stuck his head out. He looked at Chris, at all the kids staring at him, and smiled stiffly, “I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”

He shut the door once more, the force blowing Chris’ hair back for a brief moment. The boy shrugged and nodded at everyone else to start getting ready because it was almost time for breakfast. He headed over to Percy, asked how his first night was, and left him to gather his bearings before they had to leave.

The kids attempted to forget about Luke’s debacle in the bathroom, but when they started to get impatient about his hogging it, all disregard of his personal business went flying out of the window. One kid mustered the balls to knock, and then another shouted through the wood for him to hurry up.

Just as one of the Stoll brothers was about to pick the lock himself and check out the situation, the door flew open, and Luke frowned at them from the doorway, “I’m done, my gods.”

They looked at him — he was leaning against the now open door, hip bucked out and not a care in the world that he was in nothing but his underwear. He glanced at them, then at the kid who Percy thought was called Conor, and sneered in his face until the kid flinched back. When he did, Luke pushed the bathroom door until it hit the wall and gestured dramatically inside, “In you go.”

Percy didn’t think he was the only one who was shocked by Luke’s sudden show of attitude. Sure, he’d only known the guy for a day, but he’d been super nice the whole time. Even when Percy was ready to give up on finding his skill, Luke was supportive and kind. Now, he just looked irritated at everyone in the room. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person.

Yeah, that was probably it.

Percy decided to let him wake up a bit instead of irritating him with questions about how the morning routine at camp usually went. Instead, he followed the lead of the kids around him and got himself ready before lining up along the wall. His face bloomed red when someone had to tell him to go to the back because he was new, but other than that he was doing somewhat alright.

Chris and Luke were arguing quietly in the corner, being careful to ensure nobody else could hear their murmurs. At one point, Luke stepped up so he was nose to nose with Chris and the boy put his hands on his chest to push him back — only for Luke to sharpen his eyes down at them with such a scandalised look that even Percy was slightly confused from where he stood and watched. Luke folded his arms over his chest indignantly and Chris sent him a dumb look before muttering something that made Luke straighten and drop his arms once more.

When the boys ceased their conversation and walked over, the kids pretended as if they hadn’t been watching their entire time

“Okayyy.” Luke spoke, huffing out a breath. He shot his hands out and waved them, “Let’s go.” Nobody moved, and he furrowed his brows, “Uh, onwards and upwards? Hop to? En guarde?” Silence greeted him and he rolled his eyes, clapping loudly, “Can yall just fuckin’ move?”

The kids at the front flinched slightly, deciding it best to just leave rather than wait for him to say his usual morning pick-me-up. Clearly he was having a bad day and they chose to leave him to his own devices. Percy followed at the back, and couldn’t help but listen as Chris muttered to him once more from behind him.

“Can you at least try to act like a normal person, please?”

“I am acting normal.”

“Luke Normal.” He paused, waiting. Percy guessed Luke must’ve agreed silently because the next thing he said was, “Thank you. Now get to the front of the line like the cabin counsellor you are.”

Luke huffed, pushing past Percy to get to the front of the line. Chris followed, whispering something about Luke having a bad day and to just ignore him before jogging to catch up. The blonde boy had never felt so awkward — the only friend he’d made and the guy was skulking around like he hated the world only twelve hours after they’d met.

He tried to brush it off by focusing on his breakfast — blue pancakes, blue cherry coke. Okay, not the healthiest option but he was having a bad weekend, let him live.

Chiron came to find him a bit after that, asking Percy how he was settling in and if he was ready for the Capture the Flag game they were playing later.

After that, Percy tried to avoid the prying eyes of Annabeth by spending his free hour in the Hermes cabin where she couldn’t get to him — only to walk in on something a lot more awkward.

Luke was lying on the floor, groaning in pain. The smiley Demeter girl he had introduced Percy to the day before was on top of him, also groaning in pain.

“Uh, are you guys okay?”

They flinched, scrambling off each other and pulling themselves to their feet. Luke brushed himself off and looked at Percy wide eyed, “It’s not what it looks like!”

“Seriously.” The girl said when Percy raised his brow. She shook her head slowly, “We would never —“

“Yeah.” Luke scoffed, “Like never ever.”

The girl — Percy was still trying to remember her name — turned her head and looked at him blankly, “Okay. That wasn’t needed.”

“I’m just clarifying.”

“You didn’t need to sound so disgusted about it, though.”

“Oh my god.” Luke scoffed a chuckle, shaking his head, “You’re such a guy.”

Percy screwed up his face, and Luke suddenly backtracked, “Uh, I mean — such a lie…er.” Even he looked confused by what he’d said. He straightened up and scoffed, waving his hands, “She wants me so bad. Right? Bro?” He held out a fist, but Percy just looked at it.

The girl, who had swiftly knocked his hand back to his side and stepped slightly in front of him, smiled kindly like she had yesterday when she’d asked how Percy was feeling about the sudden change in his life. “Sorry for scaring you, Perce. We’re just talking about something. Did you have a question?”

“Yeah, actually.” He looked at her, “Are you in pyjamas?”

She looked down at herself like she was just remembering her white tank top and fleece pyjama pants with bats printed on them, and Luke laughed into his fist. Upon hearing his chuckles, she swivelled back to glare at him, “Hey, don’t laugh at me! Would you rather me undress you?”

“What?” Percy asked. He was ignored.

Luke took a step back and held up one finger, “Uh, no. I don’t need you looking at my tits, perv.”

“What?” Percy tried again.

The girl scoffed, looking away from him and muttering under her breath, “Kinda hard not to when they get hot in the night and climb out of your shirt.”

Luke gasped and put his hands to his chest, “Oh my gods.”

“I tried not to look but they were right there — !”

"Well — " Luke stammered for a rebuttal, eventually pointing in accusation at the girl beside him, "You had morning wood!

"What — ?!"

“Hey, guys!” Percy finally interrupted, and they looked at him in surprise like they’d forgotten he’d been standing there the whole time. “What the hell is going on?”

The two shared a look, but it was you who stepped forward and looked at him kindly, “Nothing you should worry about. You’ve had a tough weekend already, just pretend you never saw us.”

Percy was tempted to refuse and force them to spill the beans, but they were two older campers who could very well send him to detention or whatever it was they did here for punishment — he wasn’t keen on finding out. So he left with a nod and closed the door behind him.

Your voice drifted through the window, “—can’t believe you wear batman pyjamas.”

“At least I wear pyjamas.” Luke responded, “You left very little to my imagination this morning.”

He walked off before he could hear anymore.

He didn’t see either of you again until just before lunch. He was walking through camp with Grover, half-listening to his friend yap about a blueberry bush he thought was cute, when they passed you and your sisters giggling about something near the forges.

“Gods, he’s cute, though.” One of them was saying, eyeing up a boy with soot all over his face. Percy couldn’t see much of him to determine him as cute, but your sisters seemed to agree with a loud dreamy sigh.

“He is, don’t get me wrong.” Another girl added, “But consider this: Lee Fletcher.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“He’s got potential. He’s got potential.”

Percy found himself slowing down, the teenage boy in him wondering if someone would mention his name. Of course they wouldn’t — he’s twelve, and they’re all around yours and Luke’s age, but a boy could dream.

One of the girls clicked her tongue, looking at you, “Who was it you said was sorta dreamy the other day?”

Percy watched you freeze, suddenly looking very awkward. You took a deep breath in and pretended to think about what you were going to say, but one of your sisters chimed in for you.

“It was Astor. The Ares kid with the curly hair.”

“Oh yeah!”

“What?” You exclaimed, scrunching up your face. When your sisters looked at you all confused, you backtracked, “Uh, I mean yeah he’s…cute.” You forced the word out with difficulty, “But, I dunno. There's cuter guys out there.”

“Oh?” Your sister said, interested, “Who are you thinking?”

Now you were on the spot. You swallowed, making these exaggerated facial expressions that Percy assumed were you trying to convince the girls that you had just come up with this idea, when you’d actually probably been wanting to say it the whole time you’d been talking and just needed an excuse, “Oh, I don’t know…” You shrugged, “Luke Castellan’s sorta…y’know?”

The girls looked between each other, and you watched with slight anticipation. Then one of them, the one who had mentioned Lee Fletcher earlier, said, “I swear you said he was too full of himself.”

“What —?”

“Yeah, she did.” The other chimed in, “You said he would be cuter if he didn’t — what was it? — flaunt around camp like he had the biggest cock out of all of ‘em.”

The girls laughed, and you attempted a weak chuckle, but it sorta looked like you were in pain. Percy thought it best to walk off after that, looking for Grover who had long since left him to his eavesdropping devices and presumably wandered off into the forest to look for Blue the blueberry bush.

So maybe Percy should’ve pressed harder when he’d cornered you and Luke earlier that morning. He thought he could brush it off, even when he kept seeing Luke lift up the hem of his shirt and poke at his abs in wonder, or when he saw you pushing your hair out of your face once every ten seconds before finally putting it in the messiest ponytail he’d ever seen. It was as if you had lost all sense of self overnight, like you'd never actually seen your own bodies before. It creeped him out, but he held back on asking. Maybe it was a demigod thing he hadn't been taught yet.

The straw that broke the camel's back, however, was after dinner. Usually when the nymphs take the plates away and the campers start to trickle down to the campfire, a few odd groups would stay behind at their tables, gossiping or finishing their desert until they had to get up and go — not only were you and your siblings part of this group of people, but so were Luke and Chris (and, by default because he had nobody else to hang out with, Percy).

So the newcomer had the fortunate opportunity to bear witness to possibly the greatest series of events he’d ever seen (and he once saw a rat the size of a small dog eating a small dog).

It all started when a girl from the Aphrodite table stood up and walked over to where the boys were sitting.

“So, if you do ever want to sneak out to the forests, don’t go through the pavilion.” Chris was explaining, “Mr D has a birds eye view of the whole place from his bedroom window, so you gotta sneak as close to the Big House as you can get. But make sure to duck under the windows just in case Chiron is trotting around in there.”

“And be careful around cabin four.” Luke butted in, “They have vines that spring out of the floor whenever a non-Demeter kid gets too close during the night.”

Chris turned to his brother with a look, “How do you know that?”

“Oh, uh — ”

“Hey, Luke.”

Three heads turned to the edge of the table where she was standing — a pretty girl with short blonde hair, a few strands dyed pink near the front. She was smiling at Luke cheekily and Percy noticed Chris send his brother a smirk.

“Uh, hi…” Luke trailed off, squinting.

“Laura.” She finished with a frown.

“Laura!” He exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “I knew that. I did.”

“Cool.” She said slowly, brushing off the moment and bouncing around the table to sit next to him on the bench. She leaned on her elbows into his side and Percy watched him shuffle back, only for Chris to push him right back forward. “So, uh, I had fun…last night.” She side eyed Percy across the table, but the boy just pursed his lips awkwardly.

“Really?” Luke responded, a little shocked. He nodded, “Well, uh, me too?”

Laura grinned widely at that, back straightening, “I’m so glad we agree.”

Percy wasn’t so sure Luke agreed, he wasn’t even sure the guy remembered whatever saucy interaction she was referring to. But he was pretending to, for her sake. He blinked at her silently, but she just looked as if she was waiting for him to say something — Percy was only young, but he’d seen enough movies to know that she was waiting for him to suggest they do it again sometime.

He did not. Instead he twisted his body away from her and back towards Percy, smiling at him, “Wanna head to the campfire, get some good seats?”

The boy was moments away from responding, but Laura clearly wasn’t taking his silence as an answer. She pulled Luke back to face her by his arm and blinked up at him, “I was just about to suggest we skip the fire tonight. Just us, y’know?”

Chris cleared his throat and stood, ushering for Percy to do the same, “Let’s go, lil bro.”

“Wait — “ Luke stood with them, staring back with a silent plea of help. Chris wasn’t having it, just grinning at him.

“Have fun, Luke.” He snorted, “See you later.”

“No, you can’t — ” He started, but Laura was yanking him back with a high pitched giggle.

“You heard him, Luke.” She smirked, “No one's gonna notice we’re gone, loosen up.” She ran a slow finger down his torso, and Percy watched him visibly tense up. He didn’t understand why she hadn't taken the hint already.

Chris seized Percy by the wrist and began to pull him away, occasionally looking back and giggling like a schoolgirl, with the odd snort. The younger boy didn’t really want to look back, but then when he heard Luke yelp like a girl, well…

He had to. And thank the gods he did.

Luke was sprawled on the table like a scared rabbit and Laura was standing with one hand hanging limply in the air, looking confusedly at his stance. Chris burst into loud laughter when he noticed Luke’s legs were spread and the boy was trying really hard not to look at his own crotch.

They walked over when it was clear someone needed to intervene, and Percy noticed the Demeter girls from before joining them — you were at the front, looking panicked and slightly annoyed.

"What's going on?" You asked, looking between the two of them.

"Nothing." Laura said plainly, "We were just talking."

Luke looked at you, “She — uh, she grabbed your — uh, your — ”

He gestured between his legs with a shaky hand. Percy raised a brow, as did everyone else at the scene. Except for Laura, who began to cackle loudly, bending over at the hips and bracing her hands on her thighs. The rest of the kids stared at the pair with varying expressions, and Laura straightened up, wiping under eyes with a giggle before pointing between you and Luke.

“You guys — oh my gods — ” She laughed again, shaking her head and trying to breathe long enough to get her words out, “Holy Hades, Castellan. I’m — I’m sorry.”

She held her hands up in surrender, looking at you now, “I am. I didn’t know you guys were dating. I guess I took mine and Luke’s conversation the wrong way, but — ” Another wheeze, “And I shouldn’t be laughing, but he just referred to his penis as yours, and I — ”

“Laura, it’s not like — ” You stepped up with a wince, trying to alleviate the growing tension between the group. The Aphrodite girl wasn’t listening.

“I just think that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard since…” She took a moment to think, catching her breath and smiling at herself as she thought about it. Eventually, she gestured to you with a laugh, “Well, since last night when you called Graham Lee an extra-terrestrial ass-kisser.”

Luke licked his lips, taking a deep breath in and pushing himself off the table and to his feet. He went to say something to Laura, face serious, but then he stopped and knocked his head back in a slight movement. He looked around at nothing, as if he was recollecting a memory, and then he gasped and pointed a finger at you, “I did do that.”

“You called Graham Lee an extra-terrestrial ass-kisser?” You tilted your head at Luke, “Why?”

Luke shrugged, “He grabbed my ass.”

Laura scrunched up her face, looking between the pair of them, “Are you guys on drugs?”

"There aren't any drugs at this camp." You blanked. You brother laughed.

"Says the drug dealer."

You raised a brow in shock, like you'd had no idea about your own small business. You looked at Luke intensely -- Percy thought maybe you were trying to keep your drug dealing thing a secret, and Luke had gone and spilled the beans. That would explain why he suddenly looked so sheepish. It wouldn't explain why you then said, "Well I am not on drugs."

"Then what is wrong with you guys?" Someone finally asked the question Percy had been sitting on since he watched you hover your hands over your own boobs before retracting them quickly as if it was against some demigod rule to touch your own body — only for Luke to see from afar and have some very stern words to say about it.

Finally, after ten seconds of intense eye contact, you and Luke took in simultaneous breaths. It was you who spoke first, addressing the whole crowd — which consisted of Percy, Laura, Chris, and the Demeter kids — “We’re in eachother’s bodies.”

The Demeter kids made grossed out faces, but Chris just snorted into his fist and let the conversation go on. Percy had never been more confused in his entire life — and he had once thought his dad was Jesus.

Laura chuckled, “Yeah, we know that. His penis is yours, or whatever freaky shit yall are up to.”

“What?”

“No — ”

You and Luke spoke at once, each taking a single step forward. You paused, looking at each-other until you gestured at Luke with a sigh, letting him speak. He nodded, “We’re serious. We are in each other's bodies.”

“Freaky Friday style.” You jumped in before anyone could make a sex joke. You sent the group a sharp look, and then zeroed your eyes in on Percy, “That’s why we were acting so out of it earlier.”

It was silent for a long stretch — everyone looking between one another. Percy didn’t even know what to say. It did explain their strange behaviour, but —

“How the hell did you end up in each other’s bodies?” A demeter boy asked, holding a finger up like he was in class. The rest of them nodded, wondering the same.

“Well…” Luke sighed (or You sighed, he guessed. He was still confused), “At first we had no idea, but now I think it was Graham Lee.”

Another Demeter girl hummed, “He is a Hecate kid. It’d make sense that he put some freaky spell on you after you insulted him.”

Chris coughed, still red in the face from laughing into his shirt, “Okay, but why Luke?”

You shrugged, “Dunno. I’ve never done anything to the guy.”

Suddenly, Laura let out a long, “Oooohhhh.”

Everyone eyed her. She pursed her lips in embarrassment, although Percy definitely saw amusement in her eyes. She tucked some hair behind her ear and winced, “So, maybe we went to the clash together.”

“The what?” Percy asked, finally speaking up. The rest of the group looked at him as if only just realising he’d been standing there, suddenly looking sheepish.

“Uh, it’s a party.” Chris scratched behind his ear, “Older campers only, but if you don’t tell anyone about ‘em you can come to the next one.”

He shrugged, “Deal.”

“So, wait.” You pointed at Laura, “You went to the clash with Graham? Like with him?”

“Yeah.” She folded her arms indignantly, “But he was literally staring at you the whole time, so I left to flirt with Luke.”

Your cheeks dusted pink, and both Laura and Percy realised she was talking to Luke, not you. She turned to Luke, clearing her throat, “Sorry. He was staring at you the whole time. So I left to flirt with…uh, Luke.”

A collective breath ran through the group, everyone putting the pieces together in their own heads. Percy was still a little unsure, but he had the gist (maybe). Just as he was about to suggest they go find this Graham guy and ask him to undo his spell, one of the Demeter girls Percy had seen talking to you earlier gasped and looked between you and Luke with wide eyes.

“So when we were talking before…” She looked at you, “We were talking to Luke?”

You — or Luke, but as you — stammered, and Percy couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. Luke looked on, confused, and the girl looked at him with a smirk,

“Earlier, we were gossiping about hot guys.” She chuckled, pointing at you, “And Luke suggested his own name, as you!”

“What?” Luke exclaimed at you, partially appalled but also holding in a laugh.

You stammered for an excuse, but then her face contorted and she zeroed Luke with an accusatory stare, “Well, you said I walked around camp acting like I had the biggest cock out of them all!”

Luke scoffed, “You do.”

“I do not!”

“You kind do.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“You sorta do, man.”

You turned to Chris, scandalised, “Bro.”

The boy shrugged, “Sorry man. It’s true.”

Eventually, you managed to convince the kids to finally go to the campfire and leave Luke and yourself to fix your problem with Graham when you got down there. They agreed, although not without making as many jokes as they could on the walk down to the clearing.

“So, how did you guys pee?”

“Have you seen each other all naked and stuff now?”

“Did Luke have morning woo — ?”

“Alright.” You smacked Chris hard on the back for that one. “To your sections, please.”

Percy sat down on the end of a log, and watched as the two of you walked over to Graham and spoke to him in hushed but harsh tones. At one point, Graham was looking between you two with the most genuine look of confusion and Percy assumed he only agreed to reverse the spell because it was making his mind go all wobbly just talking to you.

When he saw Luke again, it was at lights out. Percy was tucking himself into his thin sleeping bag when the boy came over, crouching to his level and dropping something on his lap.

He lifted the bag of coins to his eyeline and then raised a brow at Luke, “What’s this for?”

“Drachmas.” He explained, “Just enough to get you a new shirt at the camp store. Or a thicker pillow, some three ply toilet paper. Whatever you want, really.” He shrugged, “Partly a welcome to camp gift, partly hush money.”

“Right.” Percy lowered the bag and levelled Luke with a curious look, “How was being in another person’s body? Weird?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded, looking into the distance like he was having some awful flashbacks. Percy remembered seeing you walk out of the bathroom earlier, a look of terror plastered in your eyes.

He cleared his throat, “Well, thanks for the money.”

“No problem, kid.” He patted him on the shoulder, “Get some rest. It’s capture the flag day tomorrow and guess what?"

"What?"

"We're teaming up with Demeter."

#i can’t believe i wrote this #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo #crack fic #loser!luke

1K notes · View notes

trashmouth-richie · 27 days

Text

eddie x reader ; a very light hint of steve x reader

a follow up to this which is a follow up of this

tw 18+ content, tied up, temperature play, steve is baby girl himbo in this very s3 coded, eddie is jealous + mean.

“that tickles, wow, cold— ow, very very cold— shit, shit!”

You slap a hand over his mouth, wide eyes staring into yours as if he is scared beyond belief.

“Shhhhh..” you press a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw.

Your body was pressed in his, an ice cube held limply in your fingers as you traced it along his veiny shaft. Leaving goosebumps on his summer tanned skin.

“Eddie is home, do you want him to know that we’re fooling around? Cause I prefer to keep my bedroom adventures private.”

“No, no! You’re right, it’s just— really cold, when you said you wanted to get freaky I thought maybe you had a friend or something to go up my ass? I don’t know!”

You stare at him, waiting for him to say he was kidding but it never came. You sit up, the ice melting on your fingers dripping onto his sack, little whimpers from his mouth.

“Alright… King Steve is curious about assplay, noted. We can unpack that another time— for now, it’s either the ice or nothing, you choose.”

You kiss his chest, waiting for him to decide. He’s mumbling to himself, and you work your fingers in between the tufts of hair, eyes on him, your nipples skimming over his hot skin.

“…okay! Okay fine! Can I kiss you maybe?”

Steve was stretched like a voodoo doll across your bed, large hands tied to each bed post, unable to reach you, his lip in a pout as he attempted to wiggle his wrists free.

“Keep trying to get out of your restraints and you won’t be kissing me anywhere.”

He huffed, a strand of caramel hair tousling into his forehead, “I mean they’re tight— like really tight, you sure this is normal?”

You rolled your eyes and sat up again to examine the human ken doll that was played by Steve Harrington for the evening.

His wrists were red, fingers pale… fuck.

You tug at the knots, trying to wedge your fingers beneath them, and after five minutes of you trying you could see Steve’s hands looking worse.

“Alright— don’t panic!” you announced, sliding from the bed and pushing your arms through the red silk robe hanging from your closet, “and don’t move…. I’ll be…” scissors! “yeah, I’ll be right back!”

“What!? You can’t just leave me like th—!” he hollers your name and you try to muffle his calls of distress by shutting your door quickly.

Eddie was in his room, you could hear him playing his guitar— and he prayed he didn’t hear the muffled pleas from Steve.

Rifling through the kitchen junk drawer you find everything but the scissors. Chopsticks from too many late night orders of chinese takeout, ketchup packets, pens, a pack of markers, Eddie’s fake ID he had in high school, Wayne’s expired ID he tried to use at the gas station when you were sixteen and more rope.

The pair of you didn’t own a knife set, never having cooked anything that required culinary skills— you were at a loss— the only option left was to ask Eddie for his pocket knife. Goddamnit.

The walk to his room felt like miles long, and honestly you would have preferred if you never got there. His door was open, the low times of his acoustic guitar filled the air along with a haze of smoke.

A quick rap on his door and Eddie was looking up at you, cigarette limp from his lips, as he motions to the other side of his room with a nod of his head.

“…ham & pineapple no pepperonis, cash on the dresser.”

“What? Oh yeah, sure— forgot it’s Friday. Hey, ummm. I need a favor.”

Eddie smirks and shakes his head, “I’m not loaning you anymore bud, you already owe you twenty.”

“No— I’m not here for free weed, I need your knife.”

His eyebrows quirk and he waits for you to ask his silent “why?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Your boss sucks sweetheart, 100%— but you can’t kill him.”

“Eddie shut up,” you whine, stomping your foot, “I just need to borrow it—I'll give it right back!”

He rolls his eyes, leaning over to grab his knife from his back pocket, “tell me what you need it for.”

You stare at him, mouth open, “I…can’t.”

“Okay? and why not?”

Your name is heard in a wail from your room and your cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“is someone in there?”

Scrubbing your hands down your face you finally admit it, “Yes! Jesus fuck! Now will you please either help me or give me the knife, he’s stuck!”

It takes everything in Eddie to try not to laugh, but he simple hides his lips and nods, thinking to himself what kid. of shit you’d gotten into now, and with who?

He follows you into your room, watching your form move beneath the silk robe, trying to keep his eyes from staring too long or imagining what lie beneath the thin fabric.

Your eyes are covered when you open the door so you miss the shock on Steve’s face to see his best friend walk into your room. His dick is still out, laying against his hairy thigh, and the only thing he can do is an awkward jock head nod followed by a “sup?”

Thankful that he has a good poker face, Eddie nods back, ears crimson in anger, biting his tongue as he flips the blade out with flare. Behind his dark eyes He was fuming.

Steve?

STEVE HARRINGTON?

Of all people you could have tied up in here in some makeshift attempt at whatever you thought you were doing— it had to be him.

Heads would fucking roll when this was over and him and Steve were alone.

Slicing through the ropes like they were nothing, Eddie simply raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, leaving with his mind grinding like gears on how to stop this from happening again.

—

“Thanks for calling Family Video. Our hours are 10-10 Sunday through Saturday, stop in to rent our latest releases, this is St—”

“Harrington.”

“Hey man, hey— thanks for uh, helping me out the other night. I really o—”

“Yeah, you do,” the cord bounces on the floor as Eddie turns the corner, looking back at you in the living room asleep on the couch— walking to his room, “that’s why whenever she calls… you are going to make up whatever excuse that big hair of yours can..”

“Wait..?”

Eddie grits your name out through clenched teeth.

“If she calls to hang out, you will find a reason not to, y’ catch my drift, pal?”

“Ye-yeah, sure thing… what should I say?”

“I don’t care Harrington, make something up… tell her you have a girlfriend, you have the measles, I really don’t give a fuck what it is, as long as I never have to walk into her room and see your dick again.”

Steve narrows his eyes, blurring the neon lights in the video store, “dude, what the hell?”

“Sarah is single— I’ll give you her numb—”

“Okay? But so is she, why are you acting like an asshole right now?”

You. He was being a dick because of you. Sick and tired of you not willing to admit you both had feelings for eachother, and he was ready to pull out the big guns in order to make it happen.

“Don’t worry about it.”

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devilfic · 4 months

Text

❝small favor❞

V. the christmas special.

parts: previously / next plot: it's the most beautiful time of the year. pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: christmas shenanigans, alcohol mentions, harry gets drunk for norman osborn related reasons, peter is a little ball of anxiety because he likes you, can I share with you what jobs I think ned and mj got after graduation. words: 8.4k.

a/n: this was gonna be a two-parter but I thought. no. so instead it's just super long :D

Peter has started visiting more.

There were the surprise visits on weekends. Something was just too important to wait a week, and too important to give you a call, and you liked that he made a note of bringing you food for the trouble. Then he was popping in on Wednesday nights—sometimes Friday mornings—because he'd forgotten to tell you this or he just couldn't wait to tell you that.

And he has texting you more, too. Not super serious things either, and after a few days of it, you had worked the fight or flight reaction to his ringtone out of your system. At some point, you had started feeling like this was becoming... a genuine friendship.

"I mean... I... yeah. We talked about it, didn't we?" Peter stops pouring, brownie batter dribbling off the lip of the bowl, "Friends. I- I think of you as a friend. If you think of me... as a friend."

You gnaw on your pen as you study him. It's another weekend surprise visit, and this time he's brought you boxed brookie batter as an olive branch. You'd actually been busy this time, and so you'd put him to work baking it while you made your vacation list, "It's just... crazy. I mean, we went from being strangers to only seeing each other once a week—purely professionally—and now you bake me things. And we hang out."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing! It's just weird," he continues to pour as you talk, "I used to see you as this unattainable hero. I couldn't believe you trusted me, felt comfortable enough to tell me your name, to care enough that even EDITH knows who I am. And now we're friends."

Peter's nose scrunches at that, and you've never wished more than now that you could see the rest of his face. He starts placing balls of cookie dough in the batter, "You talk about me like I'm Beyoncé or something."

"You're the Beyoncé of superheroes."

"Hey, that is not true. That title goes to Captain Marvel."

"Not to me."

"Well, of course not to you. You're my biggest fan."

"Wow, demoted to a fan already."

Peter slides the pan into the oven, "You know what I mean. You're biased."

"You're starting to sound like Jameson now."

He kicks the oven door closed and hops up onto the kitchen counter next to you, nudging your knee with his knee, "Oh, you haven't heard my Jameson impression. Watch this." Peter clears his throat, clenches his fist, and shakes it in the air, "Spider-Man is a menace and should be charged with domestic terrorism!"

You giggle, "Do more."

"5G isn't giving your kids cancer, it's Spider-Man leaving his webs all over the city!"

"More!"

"Spider-Man is laying eggs in our city's sewers so that one day, all his freaky spider children will rise up and take over New York!"

"Please, keep going."

Peter groans. You see his head tilt toward the notepad in your lap, "How's the vacation going? Or vacation planning, I guess."

You sigh. Your list to pack kept getting longer, and yet, anytime you tried to focus on what to bring, you would just remember something else you needed to do before leaving New York. "How do you think, based on my utter lack of excitement?"

Peter raises a brow, "Whaaat? You're not excited for Miami?"

"I was, but... everything in the world is happening at the same time. Jameson wants me to get two more articles out before I leave and my family wanted me in Florida three days ago. At this rate, I'm just barely going to make it there before Christmas. Not to mention..." You trail off as you look to Peter, whose mask eyes have gone comically wide in interest, "I don't want to leave you all alone."

"You know I've been Spider-Manning since I was like, 14, right?"

"Well, yeah, but- wait, 14?" Peter grimaces. You gloss over it before he can worry himself about it, "Anyway, I just worry. I mean, with Fisk turning the PR tide and God knows what he's planning, I don't wanna just fly to the other side of the country. It feels wrong."

Peter smirks, "Nah, nah. It's fine. I can take care of myself."

"Don't make me remind you about how all of this," you gesture between Peter and the oven, "started." He looks away from you, sheepish. "You know what I mean, right? Maybe I'm overestimating my worth to you, but-"

"You're definitely not. You have no idea how much you mean to me." That stuns you. It stuns both of you, clearly, if Peter's frantic peek at your face was anything to go by. His mouth gapes like a fish out of water for a moment, "I just mean that... you've made being Spidey... easier on me. It's nice knowing someone's actually on my side in this city. So yeah, it will feel really weird without you being just a swing away."

"You can still call, Peter. I won't mind."

"And when your family asks who's bothering you while you're sunbathing on the beach?"

"I mean, my little cousins will be impressed if I name drop Spider-Man."

He smiles. He kicks his feet out, heels bumping the cabinet doors beneath you while silence settles. You take this chance to examine a slight fraying on the fabric of his suit, a hole beginning to form on his upper thigh that you could just fit your pinky through. You remembered a time when his suit was made out of sweatpants and a dream.

He was 14 when he first started all of this. When you were 14, you were stressing over high school essays and alien invasions. You couldn't help but think that maybe he'd lost his youth to this thing. This thing that brought you together.

Spider-Man who, back then, was really a kid. He'd had to grow into it. You couldn't imagine having to grow into that. "Well, that's enough about my holiday plans. What about you?" Peter prepares to answer, then deflates. "What's up?"

He bites his bottom lip, "I don't... have any."

Your heart sinks, "What? Why not?"

"No, no, it's fine. I'll probably be out on patrol making sure everybody else is having a safe, criminal-free winter break."

Sliding off the counter, you come to stand in front of Peter with your arms folded, "Absolutely not."

"Okay, before you say anything-"

"It's Christmas, Peter! You're supposed to take time off! Be with friends and family. If you never take a break, you'll wear yourself out."

"Just hear me out-"

"No! I won't have it. You're not the only hero in New York. You're taking Christmas off. I don't care if I have to stuff you in a carry-on and take you with me but you will not be working-"

One hand clamps around the back of your head and the other silences you, turning your complaints into mush, "If you would let me finish..." you huff indignantly against his hand, "you'd know that a friend of mine is throwing a Christmas party and I was invited. There. I have plans."

Your face softens. "Really?" You ask, but the sound is muffled and it comes out more like, "Will-ee?"

Peter laughs, hand slipping from your mouth, "Really. I'll at least take a few hours off. Maybe more if I fall into a food coma."

Peter's other hand is still cradling your head, but you don't bring it to his attention. "You promise? I won't have to fly back early and check up on you, will I? 'Cause I'll do it."

"I wouldn't stop you." You glower, making Peter's mask eyes squint with amusement, "I promise."

"Sometimes I think you like making me worry over you."

"Would you believe me if I said that I'm just this awful all the time?"

"Yes, but that would make me worry even more."

The hand at your neck gently curls around the side of your throat, Peter's thumb angling your chin up to his own. The brush of it makes you tremble just slightly.

Was he trying to make you dissolve into a puddle?

"I'll be okay. Just... come back to the city, will ya? Don't fall in love with Miami."

You place one of your hands over the hand on your throat. The other hovers somewhere near his knee on the countertop, unsure of yourself. When you admire his exposed mouth, you think of Peter. Parker.

You remember you hadn't actually talked about that since it happened. It was Peter's intention to skirt around Parker, regardless of how certain you were that they were the same person. It was all in jest, sure, but some small part of you (some incredibly small, minuscule, microscopic part of you) wondered if your reporter brain just fit the two pieces together because it wanted them to fit.

Perhaps he wasn't Peter Parker. Perhaps this really was all a coincidence, and perhaps aliens didn't fall from the sky and gods didn't save the world.

You wouldn't push him on it. You wouldn't look into it either, because reporter brain be damned. You cared more about the Peter you knew than the Peter you didn't.

You smile up at him, "How could I? Miami doesn't have you."

"Nice to see you could finally make it, kiddo." Jillian is grinning at you when you arrive, her baby tucked at her hip and her wife entertaining the little monster over her shoulder. She sees the winded look on your face and immediately motions you over, pressing a hand to your cheek, "Did you crawl out of a snowdrift? You're freezing!"

You lean into it, chasing the warmth in hopes that it would restore some feeling to your skin, "The storm's getting awful out there."

"Came outta nowhere, didn't it?" Jillian's wife snorts, booping the baby's nose. "We almost didn't risk coming with the little one, it was so bad."

Said little one looks perfectly warm wrapped up in her blanket, an envious sight as you shiver and shuck off your coat to hang. You would offer the kid a boop on the nose yourself, but with your fingers frozen solid around your offering—a plate of sugar cookies—you don't want to make her cry. You give her a smile instead.

"Oh, and would you believe it?" Jillian whispers, sidling up to you, primed for gossip, "We've got a real treat here tonight. Take a wild guess who decided to show up."

"Jonah's wife?"

Jillian cackles, "God no. The stalker."

As soon as she says the name, your eyes zero in on him.

He's wearing that plaid shirt again, but the collar and cuffs are all that peek out from underneath a wrinkly blue sweater. His hair is free and gelled back, revealing his nervous expression more clearly. Nursing a cup of apple cider, he just barely looks like he wants to be here. But then he catches your eye across the room.

And he waves.

"Oh my," Jillian teases, "you must've left quite the impression if he came all this way just to see you."

"He did not come just to see me." You reply in a hushed tone, but she laughs at you all the same.

"Sure. And that's not him heading over right now, even though he's been hugging the wall all night."

You jerk your head to where Parker was standing, and, sure enough, he's pursuing you.

You part from Jillian before she can get the chance to embarrass you (she accepts your cookies as payment), and so you all but jog to meet him halfway.

He doesn't get the chance to be polite before you're interrogating him, "Where did you go?"

"Uh... What?"

"At the gala. When I ran back inside the ballroom, I couldn't find you anywhere."

Peter's eyes slowly widen, "You went back inside?"

"Answer the question, please."

"Wh- I... I was there. You didn't see me?"

"No, I didn't."

"It got crazy after Fisk rushed the stage. I got swept up in the crowd. You must've missed me."

"Really? 'Cause I was with the crowd, you know. In front of the building? Where Fisk was giving his big speech about how he saved the day? I didn't see you anywhere."

Peter blinks, then gasps as if he'd just remembered something important, "You know what? That's right. I went to go find Harry. I wanted to make sure he was alright, and then I couldn't find you in the crowd so I just assumed... I'm sorry for leaving you back there all alone." You watch as he fumbles for something convincing, "I texted Spider-Man about it, though. He said you were safe."

You fold your arms, "...Is that all he said about me?"

"Well, that. And something about your conspiracy theory?"

"Conspiracy theory."

The topic change gets some of the tension in Peter's shoulders melting away, replaced with a smile faint enough to not pass as overtly smug. He waits for one of your co-workers to move out of earshot before continuing, "You think... I'm Spider-Man."

Your jaw tightens. You know that anyone would draw the same conclusions you did after that night. You also know that no matter how logical your reasoning is, you sound highly illogical when you admit to it out loud. If you brought up the same accusation to Jillian or Jameson, they'd both laugh you out of the office.

You have to stand your ground, though. If there was one thing you were learning about Peter, it was that he was easy to fluster, "And if I do?"

"I'm flattered, really, but I don't really have the hand-eye coordination."

You know it's bullshit. He should know you know it's bullshit. If it hadn't been for his quick thinking, you and Harry would've been trampled under the masses at the gala. It's bullshit and he's waiting for his checkmate that will never come.

You do not give it a second thought. You toss your phone at Peter's head.

And he catches it. Of course he does. He stops it mere inches from his face.

If anyone saw you try to give him a concussion, they don't come over to question you on it. "Can you..." Peter starts after a breath, a bit dazed, "...can you stop trying to hit me?"

You go to defend yourself because, at the very least, you hadn't meant to try to punch Peter—which meant it didn't count—when someone barrels right into you.

And, to prove you right twice in a row, Peter is quick to catch you. He scoops you up into his arms before you end up a reporter pancake on the floor. One of your co-workers, already blitzed off spiked eggnog, had bumped you on their way to the drinks table for what looked like the umpteenth time tonight, and didn't have enough marbles to apologize before bumping someone else.

Peter is careful in how he holds you. There's that unmistakable strength behind his grip, but also... he was gentle. He felt safe.

You don't make to escape just yet, all your bravado knocked right out of you. "Jesus, you okay?" His eyes dart over to your co-worker and a scowl turns his expression sour, "Jonah should put a cap on the drinks."

You feel more than embarrassed stumbling to your feet, even more so when Peter still coddles you after you're standing upright. "I'm fine. Thanks." Peter's looking at you, brows drawn together, with so much concern it makes that second thought from earlier come in hot with a sizable topping of shame, "Talk about instant karma."

Then it's gone. Peter laughs and... it sounds just like your Peter. Undeniably. You can't help but give in. For a fleeting moment, the question of secret identities has melted away and it's just the two of you, giggling about something silly.

You're ashamed enough to apologize for throwing your phone at his head when the laughter dies down. You succeed in stealing it back and lead him over to the windows, far away from any more drunken disasters, "It's alright. I've had worse thrown at me before."

You raise an eyebrow, "Oh? Like what?"

His voice catches in his throat at first, "A... carton of expired milk. High school bully, Flash Thompson. We were both on the same academic decathlon team but he never gave up on his dream of professional baseball."

"Flash Thompson? You mean, Silicon Valley, MIT grad, tech startup millionaire Flash Thompson?"

Peter winces, "The one and only."

You frown at the distant look on Peter's face, aware of some regret there at the mention of Flash. "You and Harry went to ESU together, right? Is that where you always wanted to go?"

Peter shakes his head, but a smile comes to his face regardless, "MIT was my first choice, actually. But... even with a scholarship, I just couldn't imagine leaving New York behind. So I stayed. Went to ESU. Helped my Aunt May with the mortgage on her first house since my... my uncle passed. And now I'm selling pictures of Spider-Man to pay my rent."

You can't help the way you soften. "I'm so sorry about your uncle, Peter. Your Aunt May is lucky to have you around."

His eyelids flutter closed for a breath, and his smile grows wider. If it were even possible. "I'm lucky to have her."

You stand there together in silence after that, but it feels more comfortable than before. All the scrutiny and speculation you'd come in with had faded away, and now you were left wondering more about Peter. His hopes, his dreams, his life before all of this. What would it have been like if he'd gone to MIT? Where would you be? Or Spider-Man?

Peter's eyes peel open, "So, what about you?"

"Oh. Well, I took a shine to my school newspaper. After... everything in 2012, I knew the world would never be the same. So I had dreams of becoming a journalist, covering the street, being the first on the scene. Took my ass to college on part-time jobs and a dream, and interned at nearly every newspaper in the city before Jameson gave me a shot here. As much as I can't stand the way he talks about Spidey... he's not that bad of a guy. All things considered."

Peter agrees, "He did hire you, so..."

"Yeah, well," you lean your cheek against the window, glass cooling your blush, "At least Spidey doesn't hold it against me... but, I have to ask: why the Bugle? I mean, with photos like yours, you should be fighting off every publication in the city. Instead you turn in these... absolute masterpieces, freelancing, for a guy who can't even give you due credit, and you only stop by for a paycheck."

Peter looks to the window, the wind howling over a crooner's cover of Santa Baby. The storm was still raging on outside, and you dreaded the thought of having to walk through it to get back home. The taxis wouldn't have much luck either from the looks of it. "I... like my job, but it's not what I wanna do forever. I don't care about fame or Pulitzer prizes. It's always been about taking care of me and my Aunt May, and Jameson is a lot of things but he's always understood that. He pays me enough that I can have a place of my own and a little leftover for my aunt, and he doesn't ask questions.

"I don't need to be seen. And that's the whole point, isn't it?" His expression gradually warms as he recalls something, "It's not who's behind the lens that matters, but who's in front of it."

Your expression warms too, "I can see why Spidey likes you."

A notification disturbs the moment. Raising a finger at Peter, you check the latest notification... and your stomach drops.

Peter takes a step forward, sensing the change in atmosphere, "What? What is it?"

"My flight's been cancelled. I was leaving tomorrow for Miami but the storm..."

"Oh. Man, I'm sorry."

"I should've left sooner, I should've left when my family..." You lose the motivation to even finish your sentence, feeling exhausted all at once, "It doesn't matter anymore. I'm stuck here for Christmas."

Peter stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet as he searches for something to say. You're about to tell him not to worry about it when he speaks up, "You know," he starts, the uncertainty in his voice giving you pause, "it's no... Miami, but my aunt throws this Christmas party every year? For Christmas Eve. We invite a few friends over for dinner. She'd love it if you came."

"Oh, Peter, that's sweet but... I don't really want to intrude on a friend thing-"

"No, no, it's okay! Anyone can come. It'll just be my aunt, some of her co-workers from F.E.A.S.T., a few of my friends, my ex-girlfriend-"

"Your- what?"

"Oh. Well, I mean, we were friends before we dated. Well... technically? She sort of just... hung around me and Ned in high school and then we started dating for a while but then we broke up in university. But we stayed friends. Became better friends, actually. So, she's my ex but also a really good friend. I promise it's not weird or anything. She's super cool about it. And I am too! Her name's MJ. I think you'll like her."

You stare at Peter. You think you see a bead of sweat twinkle on his forehead underneath the Christmas lights above.

He insists that you're welcome to come, and staying home alone for Christmas would be pretty hypocritical after your argument with Spider-Man.

Spider-Man.

"...and Spider-Man will be there."

Spider-Man?

You abruptly lock eyes with Peter. "Spider-Man?"

Peter's smile is tight-lipped, "Yeah." His voice cracks. "I mean, he's just stopping by real quick, but I invited him. He might not come. But... he also might."

Was this the friend of his throwing a Christmas party? Why in the world would Peter (Parker) invite you to the same party Spider-Man would be at, unless he could stand in the same room as him at the exact same time? There'd be no other way to convince you otherwise, and you'd be forced to accept that they really were two completely different people.

Yeah, right.

You'd go to this party and suss it out for yourself.

And it wouldn't hurt, would it? Peter was nice, if not the most awkward person you've ever met. To offer you a place at his aunt's Christmas dinner not long after hurling an object at his head was a sign of true Christmas spirit. You could learn a thing or two from him, "Okay. You've convinced me. What's your number? You can text me the address."

Peter blanks for a moment, "Um... yeah, um..." You watch him flounder, growing increasingly suspicious, "Can I see your phone?"

You drop your phone in his hand. His fingers move quickly across the keyboard before returning it to you. Peter Parker is now in your contacts. You check the number against Spidey's but there isn't a match. "Thanks," you glance at his wobbly smile, "I sent you a text."

Peter gestures behind him, "Oh, cool, awesome. Will you excuse me for a sec? I gotta use the restroom." And he doesn't wait for you to affirm before he's rushing down the hall and out of sight.

A full minute passes before you receive a text back from Peter.

15 Amfan Ave Forest Hills, NY 11375 7pm :) Hope you can make it! He never shuts up about you *I *shut

Hm.

So... I hear you're throwing things at people now Who told you that? You lose one phone, then you try to bludgeon an innocent man with another. I should lock you up and throw away the key I wasn't trying to bludgeon him, because I knew he'd be perfectly *fine*. And he helped me prove a point Which was... That the chances of him being you are more likely than either of you would have me to believe Could it be that you just have a thing for attractive, masked men? That is That is irrelevant to the conversation HA you so do Literally nothing to do with anything I just said It's okay. The mask makes it really easy to project one's ideal man onto me. Or so I've learned through Twitter I'm not projecting *anything* onto you Do you picture Ryan Reynolds when you talk to me? It's okay if you do Peter, shut up Maybe someone more boyish like Timothy chalet Timothee Chalet Timothee Chalamett I'd say you just like hearing yourself talk but this is a textual conversation I like that we can talk like this :) I like it too :) What about Tom Holland? We've got the same jaw If you think me accusing you of being Parker is me projecting a handsome man onto you, I can only assume you think he's hot. Which means I can assume you have a thing for him. Because I can also make things up Like Batman and Clark Kent? Are you saying Parker is the Clark Kent in our fictional relationship? More like Superman and Jimmy Olsen And you're my Lois Lane? ... Goodnight, Peter

Aunt May's home is beautiful. There's a lovingly sculpted garden out front that has since given into the snow, but you can tell it's a sight in the spring. For now, the Christmas garland lining the doorframe—wrapped in a rope of rainbow lights—brightens up the porch. As does the collection of little striped sweater-wearing gnomes gathered around the front door.

There's a commotion of voices behind it as you approach. You shift your plate into one hand, pressing the doorbell with the other, and the voices get louder. You swallow down your nerves when the door is ripped open by a stranger.

The stranger in question is staring out into the dark at you like they weren't expecting you. Your eyes quickly dart to the plaque beside the door and see a bold "15" emblazoned there. Nope. This is the house.

Their eyes zero in on the plate in your hand. Smiling, they open the door wide and step back, "Sweet! Peter said you'd bring dessert."

You kick the snow off your boots before stepping inside. The stranger shuts the door behind you before any more of the cold could get in. "It's peppermint bark," you explain, returning a smile of your own, "but I hear May's making a cake."

"May and Peter. May's great with everything but the oven- don't tell her I said that. I'm Ned, by the way." Ned holds his hand out for a shake.

Ned is really talkative, you find out. He holds your peppermint bark as you undo your boots and coat at the door, rattling off about how Peter and he had been friends at Midtown. He tells you about his job as a cybersecurity specialist, a job he'd naturally floated toward after graduating from MIT, and how he'd stayed with the Parkers for a few months after moving back to New York. It's how he knows that the downstairs bathroom door won't close unless you lift up when you shut it. You only remember about half of what he says by the time you get to the living room.

There are considerably fewer people than you expected, one of which makes his way over the minute you catch his eye.

"Hey," Harry grins. Unlike the nice suit he'd worn to the gala, he's dressed down in jeans and an ugly sweater with "I've been naughty" printed in big letters across the front, looking a lot less tense than when you'd first seen him, "Fancy seeing you here."

"I could say the same." You can't help but ask, "Don't the Osborns host Christmas Eve at Oscorp tower every year?"

Harry's good mood fizzles out right before your eyes. You feel pretty awful about it. "Uh, yeah. Norman does. But it's more business than anything, so I dipped. I'd rather be here watching Pete fuck up a perfectly good cake."

"I heard that!" Peter's voice calls from a room away.

Harry's good mood returns, "Well, it's good to see you at the annual Parker holiday celebration. And I'll forgive you for poking into my family business if you hand over those treats."

Bashful, you let Ned pass the plate into your hands before passing it to Harry, "Sorry. Reporter brain."

Harry's nose scrunches up, "Don't apologize. Unless these taste like ass."

"I promise they taste better than ass."

"Good enough," he backs away, turning his head to shout down the hall, "Peter! Get in here already!"

When the redhead is immersed in a game of UNO, you turn to Ned, "And that doesn't... feel weird? Having Harry Osborn at family dinner?"

"There are weirder things about Peter. Speak of the devil."

The ugly sweater is the first thing you notice. A companion to Harry's, it is nearly the exact same design, except for the "I've been nice" where the "I've been naughty" had been. He's dusting his hands of something when he comes around the corner. His eyes soften when he sees you with Ned, "Hey, you came." He says in a much too gentle voice. Harry and his opponents nearly drown him out with their cheers and boos.

Unlike at the office party, you notice, Peter's hair isn't tamed by hat nor hair gel. Instead, it curls incessantly around his flushed cheeks. He looked like a damn Keebler elf. It was frustratingly adorable. "Of course. I heard there'd be cake."

"How is that cake, Peter?" Ned pulls on a piece of the ugly sweater as he walks by, and you realize that some of the red had been singed. You follow Peter's frantic gaze from the hole to you.

"This was unrelated to the cake."

"You burned something else?"

"No! One of the stockings fell into the fireplace and I-" Peter trails off as you begin to smile, "you don't get to laugh at me if you didn't bring sweets."

"I did! Harry stole them." You nod over to the coffee table where the group is devouring your peppermint bark with reckless abandon. At least you knew they didn't taste like ass. Peter rushes over to steal the plate before they could polish off the last handful, much to their protest.

"Dinner's almost ready, I swear. You've met Ned, uh, Harry..." Peter scans the group, using his free hand to point out people, "...that's Yolanda, Katie, Lexie, Eduardo: all May's friends. May's in the kitchen but I'd stay out of her way until the ham comes out unharmed."

You notice that out of everyone gathered in the house, he does not mention his ex-girlfriend. "And MJ?"

You wait for an answer. Instead, something heavy shakes the house from above. It doesn't sound like it came from outside, but rather somewhere in the house. Not quite above your head. Weirdly enough, only you seem to be concerned about it.

Peter just glances at the ceiling, "And MJ."

MJ is tossing an empty storage bin to the side when you crawl up through the floor behind Peter. She's crouched on the balls of her feet, shoulders slouched, the sharp bones of her back poking through her tight graphic tee. Her head snaps toward you both when she hears you grunt up the last rung of the ladder. Her eyes narrow on you, then Peter, "I can't find it."

Peter offers you a hand to hoist you further into the attic, "Did you check the-"

"Yes. And I checked the one next to it. And the one next to that."

You look at Peter for an explanation, but he doesn't provide you with one. He walks over to where MJ has now fallen back on her ass, rifling through one of the bins. His mouth twists to the side. "Maybe she meant the box next to her old CDs?"

"There's like 15 boxes in here, Peter."

Off to the side of the room, where MJ was currently facing the mysterious dilemma, were about nine—not 15—storage bins in disarray. Two were off to the side, emptied of their contents: there were piles of men's clothes, women's clothes, baby blankets, and more. The third box that MJ was poring over had Halloween decorations in it.

"Well, you're getting close." Peter encourages.

The way MJ grumbles resentfully has you squirming. As time ticked on, your presence unannounced, you were starting to feel like an intruder. You clear your throat and MJ looks over at you for the second time, "Maybe I could help?" You offer.

At this, MJ brightens. "Finally! Someone cares about my plight. I don't know you, do I?"

You crawl over to where MJ is sitting and Peter gestures to you, "MJ, I told you about the reporter from the Bugle, right?" You give your name for good measure, and MJ's eyebrows raise. She gives a quick, indecipherable look to Peter. He returns it. Then she examines you.

After a moment, she dusts her hand off on her khakis and holds it out for you to shake, "Michelle Jones. Call me MJ." You repeat her nickname warmly. "Peter never shuts up about you."

Peter chokes on his spit.

"He... he does?"

MJ continues shaking your hand for longer than necessary, smiling secretively now, "Oh, yeah. He's got your blog bookmarked too. Post notifs for your Twitter, the works." You cut your eyes to Peter, appalled that he'd ratted you out to someone else, but MJ is quick, "I figured it out on my own ages ago."

"Is it really that obvious it's me?"

"No." And she smiles wider.

Peter is about to cut in with something when a woman's voice rings out, shrill and clear despite two layers of flooring in between you. He's needed with the ham. He looks between you and MJ, reluctant, "Look, if you can't find it-"

"We will." MJ's reply is confident, leaving no room for failure. You feel a little pressure applied to "we".

Peter nods. He mouths an apology at you and skitters out of the attic.

Left alone with MJ, you notice that she is staring at you now. You feel like you've been left alone with an oracle, prepared for your innermost being to be laid bare before you: past, present, and future. She looks like the type to know what makes people tick.

"What are you looking for?" You try to break the silence, though your voice comes out meeker than you'd have liked.

She doesn't look away from you as her fingers grip the container in between her legs, "Uncle Ben's favorite Christmas sweater. All I know is it has a reindeer holding a beer on the front."

Reinbeer. You almost laugh at it. You imagine it would tickle an uncle pink too. "Then I'll get to looking."

You've only just crawled over to a bin of your own when MJ asks you outright, "You like Peter, right?"

Your hand stills as it pries the top off. You feel her eyes burning into your back. "He's... nice, yeah."

You can hear how unimpressed she is with that, "I don't know if it's obvious, but Peter isn't exactly popular." You think that's kind of a cruel thing to say about someone you consider a friend, but MJ keeps going, "All he had was Ned back at Midtown. And me, eventually. I've known him since high school and he's made maybe a handful of friends, maybe less. The last time he invited someone new to Christmas dinner was Harry."

And that had been at least a few years, judging by how long Harry had been away at Oxford.

But why was she telling you this?

"He likes you." You yelp when you realize MJ's voice has gotten close. You turn, and she's kneeling behind you with no interest in your fear. "But do you like him?"

In her hands is a faded, toy Iron Man mask. "I... I think he's nice. I mean kind," you correct yourself when MJ frowns, "but I... I don't really know him. I mean, I don't think I do. I've only actually spoken to him twice and one of those times, there was a gun involved. Everything I know about him is through his pictures and Spidey, and I trust Spidey. So, I trust Peter."

"And Spider-Man?"

"What?"

"Do you like Spider-Man?"

You swallow. Like didn't really sum up how you felt about him. He was a hero, an inspiration, a friend, and also... yeah, you felt something more there too.

You think about why she would ask. Why it would have anything to do with you liking Peter or not. You look at her and it feels like she hasn't really asked you that different of a question at all. Your answer is much more definitive this time, "I do. I like him more than I know what to do with."

MJ leans back on her haunches. She appraises you, "He's pretty great, isn't he?" Her tone is considerably softer.

"Yeah. He really is." You smile.

MJ hands the mask to you and you take it, admiring the chips in its paint and the lovingly worn edges. She scoots between you and the bin you'd been looking into and pops the lid off. Almost immediately, she swears in relief. Sitting folded on top is the most gaudy sweater you've ever seen. A deformed reindeer is embroidered on the front, and sure enough, holds a can of beer in its hoof. When MJ shakes it out, little specks of dust fly everywhere.

This, too, she hands to you. You look at her in bewilderment. "You'll wanna make a good first impression with May," she advises, "just be prepared for the water works."

And there are water works.

May throws her arms around your neck and just about sobs her thanks to you, squishing the sweater between your chests. You note that she smells like candy canes. When she draws back, her glasses are all askew, "And I'm so glad you could make it! Peter wouldn't shut up about you. Isn't that right, Petey?"

Peter's eye twitches. "I'm gonna set the table. Ned, you wanna set the table?" And he scoots past you and May without waiting for a response.

"Don't mind him, he gets testy when he's cooking. Did Petey give you the tour?" You shake your head and May kisses her teeth in Peter's direction, "Okay, this is the kitchen, around the corner here is the dining room. You've seen the living room and the attic. The bathroom is by the front door, and the bedrooms are upstairs. If someone's in the bathroom down here, do not use the bathroom by the stairs. That's Ned's favorite when he gets bubbly guts, and he will get bubbly guts."

Ned complains under his breath as he walks by.

"If you need somewhere to get away from the festivities for a bit, backyard's that way and my room's upstairs, first door to the left. All good?" She pets your shoulder. Then, she looks down at the sweater still in your hands and takes it from you, tenderly. "I'm gonna go change into this and then dinner is served. Help yourself to anything, okay?"

May leaves you in the kitchen with that. Around the corner, Peter and Ned are fussing over where to put the ham and sides. Around the other corner, Harry is drunkenly singing Christmas carols with Yolanda. MJ watches on from the corner of the room, recording on her phone. She catches your eye and mouths, "For blackmail."

You peek into the dining room and Peter is worrying over one of the chairs. You can hear Ned scold him, "Sit next to them. You don't wanna talk over the ham. It'll kill the mood."

"But how do I... subtly get them to sit in this chair and not next to MJ or something?"

"Tell MJ not to sit next to them."

"But what if-" You jolt a little when Peter suddenly spots you eavesdropping. He straightens up with a death grip on the chair he'd been messing with, "Hey! Hi. This is your chair by the way." And he tops it all off with a smile.

It's warm in May's home.

You don't even register the cold at first. You do register Harry's frenzy, the way he grabs far more napkins than he needs to, pressing them to your stomach where the majority of his spilled drink had gone. When you finally do comprehend what just happened, you place your hands over his, "How long have you been plotting your revenge?"

Harry is red-faced. He lets you hold the napkins there while May rushes to find a towel, "Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was- sorry."

You don't get to dwell on the déjà vu of it all. May is ushering you up the stairs with a beach towel pressed to your front, muttering about how she'll have to put Harry on ginger ale for the rest of the night. She guides you into what you're certain is Peter's old bedroom.

It's been cleaned out, and most of his personal belongings must be at his own place, but there are still old posters on the wall, and a calendar dated in April, two years ago. His bed is ruffled like he'd slept overnight. It's neat, and looks like it usually is neat, but there are traces of him everywhere, like picture frames with Peter and May and a man you don't recognize.

"Peter probably has something here you can wear. It's all stuff from college." She digs through the top drawer of his dresser, finally stopping on a sweatshirt with Empire State University in college block across the chest. "Here! You think this'll fit?"

She stretches it out and you nod, thankful, "Yeah, thank you so much, May."

She smiles, "Okay. Bathroom's across the hall if you need to wash off. I can run your shirt through a wash while you're here if you'd like. Just let me know, okay?"

May is, perhaps, the sweetest woman on earth. She leaves you with a thumbs up and shuts the door behind you, reminding you to lock it after she leaves.

Your shirt had absorbed most of the drink, and you're relatively unscathed besides some sticky residue. You wipe at your stomach with the towel she'd given you and slip Peter's sweater on. It feels... odd, wearing it. It smells like May's house with little traces of Peter.

Your eyes drift back to the picture frames.

One such frame sits on top of the dresser, a photo of Peter and the man who you assume is Uncle Ben. He holds Peter in a headlock but they're both smiling at the camera. You smile too, tracing a finger around the wooden edges.

Another picture is of Peter and MJ and Ned, standing outside of MIT with their fingers pointing at the school. Another is of Peter and MJ sharing cotton candy at Coney. Another is of Peter as a little boy, with two people flanking his side that you do not know. You realize you'd never asked about Peter's parents.

There are other photos of him around that age with May and Ben, and as you piece together what feels like an undoubtedly tragic story, you catch something outside the window.

A person. Hanging onto the side of the house.

Your heart hammers in your chest as a hand pushes the window up, and then, "Did I scare you?" Spider-Man perches on the sill with what you can imagine is a shit-eating grin.

You stomp over to the window and shove at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge in the slightest, "You almost gave me a heart attack! Were you watching me get dressed?"

The mask's eyes blow open, "What? No! I swear I just got here."

"Do you ever use the front door?"

"Not if I can help it," he crawls in, staying planted by the window, "don't tell me you're snooping through Parker's things."

"I was just... looking. At the pictures. And Harry Osborn spilled his drink all over me so I had to borrow Parker's shirt."

"Hm. ESU looks good on you."

You look up at Peter, who keeps his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall by the window. "Aren't you gonna say hi to the party? Make Parker look cool?"

"Eventually. Maybe. Might just watch from afar."

"No, nuh-uh. You said you had holiday plans and that you were going to a party. That doesn't count if you're watching from afar."

Peter's head sways to the side, "I never said this was the party I was going to."

"Is there another?"

"Well... maybe. Maybe not."

"Peter-" You whine, but he cuts you off.

"I'm not a party guy! Sue me."

"Well, then Parker's got you beat two for two. Unless you're lying, since I haven't given up on my conspiracy theory."

Peter presses himself off the wall, sauntering toward you in a zig-zag. Your eyes follow him, back and forth, back and forth, until he's a step or two away. His hand reaches out to play with one of your sleeves, its seams resewn with mismatched thread, "Leaving a party as Peter Parker to come back as Spider-Man. Give Parker some credit. That's the kind of plan you come up with in high school."

You shrug, trying not to act like Peter playing with your sleeve wasn't giving you goosebumps. "You never know."

Peter nods, "Yeah, you're right. I mean, he was really excited to see you."

"Oh yeah?" You swallow.

"Yeah. Was kind of pathetic, actually."

Peter shoots a web at the ceiling and twists, catching the web between his feet so he could hang upside down. The suddenness makes you stumble back with a breathless laugh, "That's not a very nice thing to say about a friend."

"Weren't you the one who said he'd be shaking and crying if you yelled at him?"

You sigh, "I was... I was teasing you."

"Because I'm Peter Parker."

He says it matter of fact. You stare at him, "Yeah," you whisper, "that's right."

He pulls himself up the web until he's face to face with you, "Then that wouldn't be very nice to say to a friend, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't. If you were Peter Parker, I guess I'd have to apologize to you."

"Yeah? How?"

You breathe deep. Everyone is still laughing downstairs. You become hyper-aware of the fact that you hadn't locked the door. At any moment, someone could walk in and...

Peter waits, curious.

Your fingers trace the lines of his jaw, pressing into the fabric of his mask, feeling over the ridges where black lines broke red. You know what you want to do. And you also know that there is no going back if you do it.

Your fingers reach the place where the mask meets the rest of his suit. Hooking two fingers under the fabric, you pull.

Your fingernails trace over the curve of his Adam's apple as it bobs, over the jut of his chin. Peter's breath is heaving. One of his hands releases its grip on the web and you see it glide toward yours out of the corner of your eye. You just feel the skin of his bottom lip under your finger when you realize how this might look. What he might think you're trying to do.

Mask in hand, questions of his identity hanging in the air, your curiosity and his vulnerability. You release the mask, awash with worry. You want to get it out before there's any misunderstanding, but as your hand drifts back to yourself, his catches it. You would give anything to know what he's thinking right now.

Peter lets your fingers fall. Silently, he drags the mask over the tip of his nose and leaves it resting there. An invitation. "I trust you." He promises. And kisses you.

He has to stretch a little to reach you. You understand this and press closer, taking the back of his head in your hands and holding it steady for you, but you know you're trembling. You curse yourself for how much your body reacts to this, how uncool you must look, how you shake with all the excitement and terror of this. You kiss him and feel silly about how you claimed to know his lips so well before now. That was nothing.

This is everything. So many things. Each time you go back in for more, you lock away some new little detail about him.

Peter places a hand against your neck and tugs you even closer, but the momentum makes him swing a little bit so his nose bumps your chin. You're too stiff to laugh, but he does, "Sorry," his voice is raspy, "this looked cooler in my head."

You lean into him, dizzied, "Was this... did you plan for me to kiss you? When you got up there?"

"I've wanted to kiss you plenty of ways." Peter's admission is followed by a sigh. He presses a hand to your chest and nudges you back a step before he's dropping to his feet and advancing upon you once more, bumping you against the dresser as the picture frames rattle. Your fingers sneak under his mask at the back of his head so they can sink into his silky hair.

He probably kisses you a hundred more times after that. Every kiss you think might be the last, but then you feel a tug in your chest and go in for one more. An itch that no scratch can soothe.

Peter's mask starts to slip and you feel one of his hands leave your waist to fix it, but the warmth your fingers had snuggled into disappears and-

You keep your eyes screwed shut, "Peter." You gasp against his mouth. Your fingers twitch in his hair, finding no resistance.

"It's okay," he nudges your nose with his, still pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth, "it's okay."

"But-"

"Don't you wanna know if you were right?"

You squeak when his lips find the underside of your jaw, "I don't need- you don't need to-"

"You're always right," Peter interrupts you, kissing down your neck, "I was never fooling you. You're so smart, you know that?"

"Peter." You say his name with no real plans for it to do anything, letting your head fall back.

"Please." He says back. Urging.

You lift your head, heart hammering away, and meet the eyes of Peter Parker.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes @bi-andready-tocry @thescarletfang @spider-biter @hufflepuff-n-fluff @daydreamdrive05 @mentalidrainedfangirl @gwennesy

#peter parker x reader #peter parker scenarios #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman scenarios #spiderman fic #spiderman fluff #tom holland peter parker #marvel #mjwrites #if you see any mistakes in this no u didn't #this has gone through a few revisions and uh. i'm sleeby

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pi3tros · 10 months

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LAST FRIDAY NIGHT 🪩

summary: Jungkook hosted an yearly summer pool party, a event that everyone looked forward to. It was the same every year, hundreds of people, insane amount of alcohol, and sex. Jungkook never participated in all that tho, he just monitored and played beer pong with his friends. Well, that was until he got a girlfriend of course who wouldn’t stop getting hit on.

pairing: frat boy ! jungkook x f sorority girl y/n (reader is black coded if u don’t like that tap out) established relationship

genre: strangers to friends, smut, a lil bit of fluff

rating: 18+

warnings: marijuana, vaping, alcohol, mentions of fighting, mentions of blood, p in v sex, hair pulling, choking, titty worship, they have sex in the private jacuzzi lolol, big! d jungkook, reader is lowk a city girl Ifykyk ,jungkook owns a gym, freaky asf, he dominant, brat taming, baby it’s hot girl summer you already know wsp

the swimsuit — 👙

the hair — 💁🏾‍♀️

wet n wavy bundles bbyyyy 😝😝😝

You were getting on Jungkook’s nerves, badly.

One, you kept shaking your ass on tables with your ratchet ass friends for everyone to see. Two, men where coming up to you. Three, your tit accidentally came out rapping FNF. Jungkook knew that was gonna happen to because he warned you about getting a size smaller in swimsuits. And four, he got into a damn fist fight because a dude wouldn’t take no for a answer. Now his knuckles where all bruised, and blood got on his marble floors!

His party was turning into a monitor over ___ day so she doesn’t slip up and bust her head, rather than, play pool and smoke. In general, your boyfriend was getting stressed the hell out.

Currently you and your girlfriends lingered by the edge of the pool, singing Versace on the floor. Sipping your martini, fixing your bikini top from revealing your nipples once again. “___, jungkook said come here.” Your friend Mariah pointed towards him, his eyes focused on you.

He did a come here motion with his two fingers, your tip twitched upward giving him a mean mug mouthing ‘what?’.

Smoke coming out of his notrils, rolling his eyes at you. Doing the same motion but more aggressive. ‘Get over here.’ He mouthed, passing the blunt to Taehyung. Who was talking to one of your homegirls, seeming to like to conversation. In all honesty, a whole lot of stuff you were doing was on purpose. He was funny when he was mad, and you wanted the dick so.

“Be right back,” you alerted your friends, getting out of the pool getting a little bit dry from the harsh heat on the island. Even tho it was dark out. Walking towards the outdoor couches as he manspreaded, tapping his lap.

You say next to him tho.

“Stop playing.” He grabbed you by your throat sitting you down on his lap, his arm wrapping around your waist tightly. Thumb going up and down slowly against your tummy leaving goosebumps. Giving the side of your neck a small kiss.

“You having fun?” He whispered in your ear, softly biting your earlobe. Pushing his head away since it tickled.

“Yeah.” You responded back dryly, wrapping your arm around his broad shoulder. He looked at you weirdly, hand trailing down to your right cheek, squeezing the flesh as his fingers dug in your skin.

“What happened?”

“Nothingg,” you whined out of annoyance, he took his hand off of your ass and put it on the back of you neck pulling you closer. Sitting on top of his semi hard cock, feeling it through his Burberry swim trunks. You honestly weren’t annoyed, you just wanted to get on his nerves so bad he dicked you down.

He kissed his teeth, “why do you have a attitude?”

“I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

“No I don’t.”

He shut his eyes close taking a deep sigh, patience running thin. “Are you purposely doing—”

“And imma’ ride you like a rodeo,” you randomly started singing the city girls song that was playing, rolling your hips against his. He stared at you blankly, shaking his head rolling his eyes.

“Here go with your friends, there in the twerk circle for like the 100th time.” He tapped your thigh, seeing Namjoon and Jin approach. The group always having good conversations, reminiscing about there boy band in high school.

“You don’t wanna hang out with me?” Pouting, rolling your hips once again making him hiss. Quickly grabbing your waist to keep you still.

Tapping your hip, “we will later, go have fun.” Leaning forward giving you a kiss on your cheek. Slowly getting up.

“Hey Joonie, hey Jin.” Namjoon leaned down giving you a friendly hug, Jin doing the same as the two sitting down next to Jungkook immediately filling him in on something that happened.

You walked back towards your group of friends, continuing the fun night.

“You single?”

“No…” you laughed awkwardly, sipping your drink mix as the pineapple flavor left a aftertaste. The muscular man in front of you trying to shoot his shot. It’s been atleast a hour since you’ve seen jungkook, you and your friends running around your boyfriends property having a good time.

Now you resigned inside the mansions large kitchen, making yourself a drink then he randomly approached you.

“Awww okay…” he paused, eye contact strong as he licked his lips. “You can have friends tho, right?”

“Nah she can’t have friends.” You felt arms wrap around your waist, your boyfriends giving a sarcastic smile to him. His chin pressing into your shoulder. Giving it a peck. The man nodded, he knew who Jungkook was and don’t even want to try it.

“I can speak for myself you know.” He ignored that, taking a sip of your drink hovering above you. Slapping your thigh a couple of times watching your skin giggle. Rapping the Drake song in your ear as you ignored him.

“Baby get offff, you’re heavy.” Trying to yank his arms off of you as he weighed you down, loudly cackling in your ear as you almost fell going up the step. “Jungkook!” You yelled, the man rubbing up and down your stomach.

“Let’s go to the jacuzzi.” He whispered, giving your ear wet kisses. You cringed, trying to get him off once again as he dragged you upstairs. Your head trapped in between his muscular arm as he typed in the code, door unlocking as he pushed you into the dark room.

He shut the door close, locking it. Taking of the Burberry piece throwing it on the bed. The room was familiar, when you went on vacations to the island the two of you always went to the house. Opening the balcony door that faced the side of the mansion, taking off the Gucci platforms that he had got you for Valentine’s Day.

Dipping your legs into the water, humming in approval from the warmth. He didn’t take to long, Golden skin shining from the moonlights glow. Tattoos decorating his soft skin. Giving you a cheeky smile as he trailed towards you in the water, grabbing your chin tilting your head up. Gently pushing his lips against yours.

He moaned into the kiss, lips fitting like puzzle pieces as he gripped your chin. Backing his head away once the two of you ran out of breath. “Now you wanna be nice?” Giving you a look, thumb pressing against your lip.

“What are you talking about?” Furrowing your eyebrows at him, his thumb slowly sliding inside of your mouth. Eye contact not breaking as his dark eyes lowered down your body then back up.

“I don’t like when you play dumb, your to smart for that.” He mumbled, thumb sliding farther down your mouth. You knew exactly what he was talking about, but you shrugged. Tongue gliding around the pad of of his thumb.

He slowly moved his thumb in and out slowly, eying the way your plump lips hugged against his skin. Moving his thumb faster in and out, slober dripping down the side of your mouth. A obvious print through his shorts.

Sliding his thumb out. Leaning down slamming his lips against yours with more passion, sloppy sounds being heard other than the rnb playing in the background. Lips tasting like the pineapple drink you had earlier.

Arms caging you as he gripped the jacuzzi. Opening your mouth as he slid his tongue in, pushing it down your throat. Tilting your head to the side as he grunted, slowly pushing his head back panting lightly.

Hovering above you as he reached forward, untying the string of your top. Laying it down on the jacuzzi, gripping your boob, putting the other one in his mouth. Sucking onto it lightly, teeth grazing against your nipple. Acrylic nails grazing his hair gripping onto the locks as he took a long stride on your chest, sucking harshly leaving deep marks.

“O-oh!” You gasped from his finger pinching your nipple.

“Feel good?” He muffled, focused on the marks he was creating. Your nipples sensitive and puffy from his constant abuse. Water splashing against his back as he adjusted his position, leaving a hickey on your side boob.

“Uh-huh.” You nodded, your legs resting on each side of his torso. Back arching as he pressed against you, holding himself back from rolling his hips against yours. But he didn’t have to worry about that, because you did it first. His cock rubbing against your clothed cunt, letting out a whimper.

Popping your tit out of his mouth, chest covered with hickeys and bite marks. Grabbing your neck, pushing you upward. Taking ahold of your thighs spreading your legs. Untying both sides of your swimsuit, hands skillfully fast. Putting the bottoms by your top. He didn’t hesitate to run his thumb down your slit, earning a shaky breath for you.

“Pussy so pretty baby,” he whispered, forgetting about prepping you from how damn horny he was. Flipping your around as your stomach pressed against the jacuzzi edge, ass up in the air as he took out his cock. It slapped against his stomach, tip a pretty dark shade of pink as pre cum leaked out.

Stroking himself with a groan, grabbing your ass cheeks spreading them. Gargling up spit, spitting it directly on your hole watching it slide down as he lined himself up, not hesitating to push his fat tip in. Immediately feeling the burn, reaching your arm back as your nails dug into his abs. “A-ah, slow down..” you moaned, head dangling.

“It’s just the tip baby.” He laughed, giving your ass a tap as he waited for you to adjust. Painfully throbbing inside of you as slick trailed down his veins. Smiling through the pain.

“Alright you can— go!” You flinched as he slammed himself inside of you, head dangling as he slid out letting out a pop sound. Hips stuttering as he began slamming into you at a brutal pace, ass clapping against his hips as you let out porn like moans.

His cock curved, beating against your puffy gummy walls. His grunts and groans loud, cold rings brushing against your neck as he used you as his personal flesh light. “B-bet that boy couldn’t fuck you this good, hm?” Knuckles turning white as he leaned forward, gripping the jacuzzi.

To fucked out to even speak, eyes squeezed shut as his tip kissed your cervix. Tattooed hands forming a ponytail with his hand, pulling you forward as water splashed against the two of you. “Answer me.”

“He c-couldn’ttt, slow—mmph! down!” you whined, letting out a scream that was probably heard over the music. His foot raising on the seat, hitting it from a different angle that had your vision turn white. Head going limp as he dipped his fingers in the water playing with your clit.

“You can take it.” He simply said, sliding out grabbing you by your hips flipping you around. Breast pressing against his chest as he slammed himself back in. Strokes slow and hard as your foot hit against his back, water splashing against your jaw.

“Fuckkk,” he groaned, squeezing him tight as he pressed his face in your neck. Strokes getting sloppier and his whines louder.

“Gonna—”

“I know, I know.” His hand gripped your lower back, thumb rubbing up and down. Teeth sinking into your neck to hold back his moans. Pushing your right leg up against your chest, other hand gripping your thigh to steady himself as he slammed his hips against yours. Skin turning red.

“Jungkookkk, oh—” he slammed his lips against yours, a sloppy kiss as you moaned loudly in his mouth. Creaming his cock as your legs shook, slapping his shoulder as he kept going. Not stopping his pace, ignoring your cries of overstimulation as he pulled out.

“A-ah fuck..” he whimpered, cum painting your chest.

“Jungkook, you idiot, you got some in my hair.”

“Shut up.”

#jungkook smut #bts fic #jeon jungkoooook #jungkook fic #bts smut #jungkook #jungkook drabble

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fatalgraft · 6 months

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[ GET FREAKY ON A FRIDAY NIGHT, YEAH ! ]

#friday night funkin #fnf #fnf fanart #boyfriend fnf #fnf boyfriend #bf fnf #fnf bf #girlfriend fnf #fnf girlfriend #gf fnf #fnf gf #fatals flair

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lolahasmoxie · 1 year

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I'll Tumble for You - E.M.

WORD -

WARNING - Mentions of smut, mentions of injury, fluff, drugs

Random thought. Enjoy!

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Sitting in an emergency room on a Friday night wasn't how you had planned for your weekend to start. Yet here you were, wearing Eddie's boxers and a hooded sweatshirt, as you waited for the doctor to come in with your x-ray results.

"Eddie, get out of there." you chided as your boyfriend started looking through the various cabinets in the waiting room. He turned with a slightly guilty look before sitting next to you.

"Can't help it; we've been here forever."

"Yeah, no thanks to you!" you grumbled as he took your hand. "I told you to put the grips on the shower floor, but no, you said we would be fine." Before Eddie could offer a rebuttal, the door opened, and a doctor appeared.

"Sorry about the wait; so I have a few questions before I give the diagnosis. You told the triage nurse that you fell in the shower?

"Yeah," you started as you absently rubbed your leg. "we just got a new tub and haven't had a chance to put down some grips." The doctor nodded in sympathy as he wrote a few notes on your file.

"Yeah," Eddie interjected. "We need to put some down before we decide to get freaky deeky in there again for sure." Eddie turned to look at you and felt his face drop when he noticed your absolutely horrified expression. He then looked to the doctor, who barely contained his laughter as he made another note on the chart.

"Well," the doctor said, coughing to cover up his laughter. "X-rays don't show tears or a break, so it looks like a nasty sprain. Stay off the leg for a week, and use ice and ibuprofen as needed. The nurse will be in shortly with dismissal paperwork and a pair of crutches." You nodded to the doctor, your hands playing with the hem of your sweatshirt. He paused at the door, turning to face you and Eddie. "And my advice, no more shower sex."

Eddie gave the doctor a thumbs up; you buried your face in your hands and muttered "jesusfuckingchrist" under your breath. Eddie's hand rubbed your back when the door closed.

"See, baby, you'll be fine in no time!"

"You realize we need to move and change our names now, right?" You looked between your fingers at Eddie and frowned. "And could you please wipe that shit-eating grin off your face while you're at it?"

"C'mon," he said before moving to sit between your legs. His warm hands came to rest on your calves, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your skin. "So the doctor knows we have a healthy, invigorating sex life. It's not a big deal,"

"You're not the one who got an injury during sex, asshole," you said with a groan.

"At least the slip happened after you came, right?" He giggled when you smacked his shoulder, but he knew there was no real anger behind it, not with the small upturned smile on your face. "C'mon, we'll be out of here in a jiffy, and then I'll take you home and order a pizza, ok?"

You nodded and continued to make small talk while you waited for your paperwork and crutches. Eddie kept trying to reassure you that no one would find out about your little sexcapade, but when the nurse walked in, you both knew that wouldn't happen.

"You going to stew in silence the rest of the ride home?" Eddie asked as you headed back to the trailer.

"No one will find out; you're being paranoid," you said as you parroted Eddie's words back at him, arms crossed across your chest.

"How the hell was I supposed to know that Ashley Bennett was a nurse?" he asked as he turned into Forest Hills. The biggest gossip from Hawkins High had apparently returned home after graduating from Indiana University. After speeding out of the room, you knew she hadn't outgrown the habit of being a horrible gossip.

"Name change. We have to change our names and move now."

"Babe, we are not moving or changing our names." Eddie parked the van in front of the trailer, both of you noticing Wayne's pickup. Eddie hopped out of the van, then ran to the passenger side to help you.

"Hey, you two," Wayne said as he descended the trailer steps. "I came over when Eddie called. Everything is all finished; what the hell happened to her?" Wayne asked as he pointed at you.

"You called Wayne?" you asked, mortified.

"Had to," he replied before turning back to his uncle. "She tripped in the shower and sprained her knee. Can you stand in front? I'll get behind her while she goes up." Wayne nodded as Eddie placed the crutches under your arm. It was slow going, but with the Munson men covering you, you made it up the stairs in one piece.

"There you go, sweetheart," Wayne said as you plopped on the sofa. "All this from a fall?"

"Well, we were having sex when she fell," Eddie interjected from the kitchen.

"OH MY GOD, EDWARD!" you yelled at him, face again buried in your hands.

"And that's my cue to leave," Wayne said with a straight face. "Don't use the shower for 24 hours; you gotta let them dry first before you use it again. I'll call tomorrow." With a wave, he bid you both farewell, and once the door was closed, you could hear Eddie finishing up on the phone with your favorite pizza place.

"Babe, you ok? Do you need anything? Pillows, meds?"

"How about a new boyfriend who doesn't tell his uncle I got injured having sex with his stupid nephew." you groaned as you rested against the back of the sofa. You glanced back at Eddie, a lovesick look on his face as your brow furrowed in confusion. "Wait, what did Wayne mean about letting them dry first?"

"I called him while you were getting your x-ray," he said as he helped you place your leg on the coffee table. He placed a pillow under your knee, his hand resting on your thigh. "I asked him to come over and put down those shower decals since I was an asshole and didn't do it the first time."

"You make it really hard to stay mad at you, you know that, right?" you asked as you reached out to cup his chin. Like a big overgrown cat, he hummed in contentment and leaned into your touch.

"Can't have my best girl mad at me," he said softly. "Now, the pizza should be here in about 30 minutes. What could we possibly do to pass the time?"

"I'm pretty sure you have something planned," you replied with a slight grin.

"You know me so well," he said as he retreated to your bedroom and returned momentarily with his rolling tray and supplies. He sat next to you on the sofa and put an arm around your shoulder, kissing your temple softly. "First, I'm going to roll us a joint. Then we're going to dine on some pizza," you paused as he leaned in and nuzzled his nose against your cheek.

"And then?" you asked softly, turning your head until your lips were just inches apart.

"I know you're still mad at me for having no filter, so I plan on eating you out until you either forgive me or pass out."

"I love you, even if you are a freaking loud-mouthed butthead," you muttered, leaning in and kissing your boyfriend.

"Love you too, Princess."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

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fxckn-sxck-fr · 2 months

Text

𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄

Yandere Dick Grayson x GN Reader

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓: This AU came to me in a dream. The best honor you can bestow on a character is a yandere Ghostface fic, so I obviously had to give one to my man.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: yandere content, Ghostface Dick Grayson, stalking, blood, stab wounds, reader is implied to be a college student, reader likes horror movie trivia, Dick’s kinda freaky in this, OOC Dick (since he’s obviously not a serial killer in canon), the writer’s poorly disguised blood kink (nothing NSFT-worthy, but it’s definitely there).

… Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring…

Honestly, the phone ringing from the kitchen might’ve been the best jumpscare of the night. At least it was unexpected, unlike the tactics of this low budget slasher film you were watching (what was it called again? Agh, you’d have to look at the channel menu, and you lost the remote long ago). With a small sigh, you pulled yourself out of the couch and stretched your arms outwards, reveling in the satisfying pops elicited from your shoulders.

… Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring…

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled. “I’m coming.”

The phone was in the middle of a fourth ring when you finally reached the kitchen. Picking it up with a loose arm, you punched in the answer button and brought it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

An unfamiliar voice greeted you on the other end. It was low and velvety, with the slightest gravelly texture around the edges that made the back of your neck feel prickly. Your brows furrowed at their teasingly flirty tone, not liking where this could be going. “And who is this?”

“You tell me,” replied the unknown caller.

“Sorry, got no idea.” You leaned against the kitchen counter, facing the living room so you could at least half-tune into movie still. “So… can I help you with anything, or…?”

“What’s your name?”

Okay. Whoever this guy was, he was seriously starting to creep you out and piss you off. “Dunno, you tell me,” you mockingly answered. “How did you get this number?”

“No need to be so rude,” the voice cooed at you. “I just wanna talk, is all.”

“Not very fond of talking to strangers,” you distastefully mumbled.

“You must not make a lot of friends, then.”

“Well,” a puff of air left your lips, “I manage.”

“Sure doesn’t look like it.”

… Huh?

Vocal chords feeling suddenly dry, you thickly swallowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Come on now, gorgeous.” There was a chuckle before the caller continued. “It’s a Friday night. Shouldn’t you be out with friends instead of watching old scary movies all by yourself?”

Your blood turned ice cold.

What the fuck. What the actual fuck. Who the hell is this weirdo, not only giving you a random call, but also spying on you? Was this some sort of prank from that dumbass fraternity down the street? Some sort of tradition they have to call up new residents in the townhouses and try to scare them shitless? But if that’s the case, how the hell did they get your number?

Another chuckle snapped you out of your thoughts. “Don’t look so tense, love. I only wanna talk, remember?”

“Talk,” you flatly echoed, turning around slowly to face the kitchen window. While you didn’t see anyone out there from where you were standing, it was too dark to know for sure. “About what?”

There was a long pause. All you could hear for several seconds was your quickening heartbeat and over-acted screams from the TV. It lasted for so long, wondered if your trembling fingers somehow accidentally hit the hang-up button.

Finally, the unknown caller spoke up again.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

Your brows furrowed at the question. Why the fuck did he want to know that?

“Can’t say I have a favorite,” you shakily answered.

“Everyone’s got a favorite,” reasoned the caller. “Even I have one.”

“Yeah?” Your eyes darted between the window and the backdoor, praying you remembered to lock both of them. “What’s yours, then?”

“Guess.”

“… Friday the 13th?”

“Nope.”

“John Carpenter’s Halloween?”

“Guess again.”

“Nightmare on Elm Street?”

“You’re really bad at this.”

Either your eyes were playing tricks on you, or a shadowy figure was emerging from behind the bushes. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you began to slowly back out of the kitchen. “Well… then I give up. Tell me.”

“Nuh-huh, sweetheart. The game doesn’t work like that. And besides…”

You were now at the threshold in between the kitchen and the living room. “Yeah?”

“Three strikes and you’re out.”

A click, then a low beep; the call was dead.

Just like you’ll probably be if you stick around.

While you weren’t exactly sure if “out” meant he was going to kill you, you sure as hell didn’t want to find out. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know that only murderers made ominous quips like that. So, dropping your phone to the ground and spinning on your heals, you made a b-line towards the front door and fiddled with the lock. If he could see you from the kitchen, then that obviously meant he was out back; he’d have to circle around the entire line of townhouses if he wants to catch you in the front. That would give you enough time to start banging on doors, and at least someone would have to let you in, right?

As soon as you threw the door open, however, it became shockingly apparent that you made the wrong decision.

Looming in the doorframe was a broad figure in black robes. He wore a porcelain white mask with exaggerated mouth and drooping eyes, reminding you for a split second of some sort of Scooby-Doo monster. The only difference between one of those and this fucker, however, was the rather sharp-looking knife he were twirling in their gloved hand.

He gave you a tiny wave with his free hand.

You began to book it back into the kitchen.

Before you could even clear the living room, however, a sharp pain exploded in the back of your shoulder, causing you to cry out as your knees buckled. You were sent careening towards the ground as something ripped out of your skin; his knife, you realized with complete and interr horror. With grunts of agony, you struggled to push yourself off of the linoleum floor in hopes to get back to your feet.

An impressed whistle pierced the air. “Took that like a champ, sweetheart. So proud of ya.”

You finally managed to get yourself to a semi-crouched position, only for a hand to grab at your wounded shoulder and shove you down. The shout that was ripped from your chest was cut off as your jaw harshly slammed against the linoleum floor. Metallic blood flooded your mouth as your teeth caught your tongue in the impact, only adding to the cacophony of pain. There was still a firm hand on your shoulder, which squeezed tighter so he could roll you over and face him.

“You look so pretty when you’re terrified,” your attacker cooed, his blood-splattered mask only inches away from your face. He lowered himself to straddle your hips, his body weight pinning you against the floor. “Way better up close.”

“Please,” you pathetically pleaded, some of your bloody spit dribbling down your chin. “Please…!! Please, just let me go!!”

A low rumble came from him — a weird mix between a laugh and a groan — as he held the knife up against your neck. The blade was still warm, your own dark blood staining your skin. “Yeah, go on... beg for your life, love.”

God, why was this happening to you?! All you wanted to do was watch some cheap slasher movie and take it easy for the night, and now you’re one slice away from certain death?? Was this seriously gonna be how you go out; murdered in your own living room with old reruns playing on the TV? A choked sob left your lips at the pitiful thought.

“Please don’t kill me,” you whimpered, feeling the edge of the knife catch your skin as your throat bobbed from swallowing. “Please…”

“Good job, gorgeous,” he condescendingly praised. “Just like that. Don’t you know how hot you look right now?”

Christ… this guy was fucking disgusting. The way he seemed so into this made your skin crawl. His free hand came up to caress your cheek, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind with it. Swiping his thumb across your lower lip, he hooked his index finger under your chin and tilted your head upwards. It took you a few moments to register that the weight of the knife’s blade was removed from your neck, now being held gently against your cheek as he let out a hum.

“You’re quite the catch,” he mused, pressing the blade harder against your cheek to draw blood. You couldn’t help but sharply inhale at the stinging sensation.

“Why are you…” a noise of pain interrupted your sentence as he slowly slid the knife down to your jawline, “doing this..?!”

He didn’t seem to care for your question. Instead, he released your chin from his leather hand, bringing it up to his mask and stroking the elongated jaw. It was as if he was pondering something, his fingers smearing your speckled blood downwards until he got to the tip of his mask’s chin. Then, in a slow, deliberate movement, he began to tug the mask upwards to reveal a crooked smirk. Your stomach dropped entirely when you realized he was confident enough about this to let you see part of his face; he really was going for the kill.

“I’d like to think this thrill is a lot better than the cheap scares in movies,” he teased, bringing the knife back to your throat and leaning closer to your face. You could feel his hot breath against the cut on your cheek as he finished with, “and I think you’d agree.”

Your shoulders jolted at the sudden wetness against the side of your face, and it dawned upon you that the fucker was licking you. His tongue ran up your shallow gash, clearing away whatever amount of blood that bubbled from it. You felt your face crinkle up in disgust as he continued to lap at it, like he was a little kid licking an ice cream cone (you could even hear him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth and swallow; this fucking psycho was actually consuming your blood).

Once he seemed satisfied, he pulled away a few inches to run his red-stained tongue over his lips. “You know… my favorite scary movie is actually Dracula. I was always into the classics.”

“Dracula,” you shakily repeated, feeling cold sweat collect on the back of your neck. “1930s? Tod Browning?”

He let out a hum of approval. “Wow. You seem to know your stuff, sweetheart! Didn’t realize you were that into the genre.”

“I… I guess…”

“Yeah?” The leather of his gloves creaked as he clenched the hilt of the knife tighter. “Isn’t this perfect for you, then? Getting to live out the real deal? Lot’s of horror movie junkies out there would absolutely kill to be in your position right now.”

Your limbs felt numb, petrified to the floor with pure terror. “Never thought I’d s-star in one…!”

“What a shame,” he tutted. “You’re a perfect fit for the victim role.”

The blade began to dig deeper into the meat of your neck.

This was it. This is how you were going to die. You could barely hear the resolution of the movie in the background over your palpitating heart as the blade dug deeper into the meat of your neck. With any luck, he’d make this a quick one, putting you out of your misery so you didn’t have to suffer through a slow, painful death. If he wasn’t that nice, however, your vision was already spotty from blood loss, so there was at least the possibility of you passing out before it got too agonizing.

But then, just as you could feel your own blood dribbling down your collarbone, the pressure was alleviated.

“Come to think of it, though…” he pulled the mask back down his face, giving it a little jostle to make sure it was correctly oriented. “Killing you off so soon would be disappointing.”

He leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“I want to see you in the sequel.”

Without another word, he slowly pushed himself off of you to stand up. You took this as the perfect opportunity to desperately crawl away, wide and careful eyes still trained on him in case he lunged at you again. Fortunately, it seemed as though he truly was done for the night, taking a few steps back from you as he twirled the knife in his one hand. With the other, he gave a tiny wave, and practically skipped out the front door, even having the courtesy to slam it behind him.

He just spared your life.

You could practically feel yourself melting into the cracks of the linoleum floor. Holy shit, he just spared your life. After all of that — finding your number, calling you outside of your house, stabbing you, and having the perfect opportunity to finish you off — he decided to spare your life. What the fuck just happened.

Well, it’s not like you had time to deliberate on that; you were kinda still bleeding out right now. He did stab you, after all.

So, rolling yourself over on all fours, you clutched the bloody wound on the back of your shoulder and began to crawl towards the kitchen as the ending credits rolled on your shitty slasher film.

So… as it turns out, the phone ringing was not the best jumpscare of the night.

#❥ TW: YANDERE #❥ GHOSTFACE AU #❥ YANDERE CHARACTER #❥ ROMANTIC(?) YANDERE #❥ YANDERE DICK GRAYSON #❥ YANDERE DICK GRAYSON X READER

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