Gemini Flanagan’s Personal Assistant.

A few gasps and murmurs sounded from the audience at his answer.

Tony Stark awkwardly chuckled, and said, "How so?" Placing his hand under his chin like he was listening to the latest tea. 

James folded his hands in his lap and looked around the studio before looking at Tony. 

"Doing this movie cost me my future. It was the worst decision of my life." 

He felt his co-star tense next to him on this god forsaken tiny sofa. God, he just wanted to leave so he could get to you and apologize for the 1000th time and make things right. 

Out of the corner of his eye, James could see his agent Alexander Pierce glare at him, then face palm. His co-star Natasha laughed and said, "Now James, you knew what you were getting into when you signed on..." Making a few members of the audience chuckle. 

Fuck, he was an idiot for taking this role. 

"You got to work with Natasha here in some pretty compromising positions, am I right?" Tony pointed to his co-star and wiggled his eyebrows making the audience laugh. 

"That seems like it's nothing to complain about and a regular day at the office." The audience hooped and hollered at the host. 

James looked over at the woman sitting next to him. Natasha had moved close to his side and draped herself on his arm. 

"We had an AMAZING time filming this movie together, right babe?" She ran a finger up his arm making James cringe and turn away, shaking her off. 

He looked down at his lap and frowned. 

"The box office numbers are killing it." Tony exclaimed while the audience clapped at the numbers that were flashed on the screen. 

James scowled, then scoffed and said, "Whatever."

Natasha quickly started talking about the filming process and the locations they filmed at while James zoned out. All he could think about was you. What were you up to? Were you still in the city, or did you go back home? His mind was completely occupied when he felt everyone's eyes on him. 

Oh shit, was I asked a question? 

"What was that?" 

Tony awkwardly chuckled and repeated, "I heard there's plans for a sequel. Would you entertain the idea?" 

"God no." James immediately said, shuddering to himself. 

Tony's eyebrows shot up at his guest's quick response. 

"We can look at that later." Natasha purred next to him. 

James shook his head no. 

"No. I'm not doing a sequel. Not with you, or anyone for that matter." 

Natasha's eyes widened in shock. The studio got quiet and Tony was left speechless, a rare instance for the popular and outspoken late-night host. 

"In fact, I'm going to be taking a break. From acting. From LA."

 Tony looked around the stage, almost like he was pleading at someone, anyone for that matter, to right the sinking ship that was this interview. 

"Well, you've earned it and with that, we'll be right back folks." Tony said as the audience clapped and the band started playing the talk show theme song. 

James looked around and chuckled to himself, looking over at his agent. 

"We're done here." James stood, pulling the microphone clip from his suit jacket lapel and tossed it to the small sofa. 

Natasha stood and tried to get him to sit but he averted her grasp. 

"I'm leaving. Please don't ever contact me again. We're completely done; you've ruined my life." James calmly yet firmly said to Natasha, then stepped off the stage as his agent trailed after him.

"James!" Alexander Pierce called but James kept walking. 

"James!" his agent yelled again while fighting his way through the cluttered backstage area as James headed out mid-interview. 

Sam, James' assistant trailed behind, trying to keep up with what just happened. 

"Where do you think you're going?" 

James stood by a waiting sedan, turned, and rolled his eyes. Sam caught up and stood on the other side of the vehicle, ready to jump in. 

"To get my fiancé back. You're fired." He said before he got in and sat down, leaving the interview and his agent behind. 

Sam climbed in and sat next to his boss. James' PR team will have a nightmare to deal with and he's sure there are a bunch of texts, calls, and emails Sam will have to field, but all he could think of, was to get to you. 

He's just hoping he didn't completely screw things up beyond repair.

------

"That'll be all, thanks guys." You said, giving the movers a generous tip. 

You locked the door and sighed, looking around your small lake house rental. You had broken things off with your fiancé and moved out of Bucky's penthouse in LA and moved back to your small town. 

You are Canadian and grew up in a small lakeside community surrounded by lakes, cottages, and the wilderness. After living in LA for a few years and dating an actor, you desperately need to reset and recharge. 

You are lucky you can work from almost anywhere since you're a photographer, and you're excited at the possibility of setting up your own studio in your small town.

You always knew you would return home. The plan you had with Bucky was, you were going to get a second home in your small town and live and work there whenever Bucky was in-between jobs. 

The penthouse in LA was fine, but you preferred a quieter and more natural place to live, as did your fiancé, or you think he wanted something quieter seeing as how he is a complete and utter gas-lighting piece of garbage liar. You scowled to yourself as you grumpily unpacked your boxes. 

What else did he lie to me about? 

Thoughts ran through your mind while you set up your kitchen, thinking back to the night of the premiere and what has transpired since.

...Flashback...

"You look gorgeous." Bucky said as you met him in the foyer of the penthouse. 

"You think?" Your black gown hugged your curves well. 

"I do." He kissed your cheek, then he moved his lips to your neck, slightly nipping you making you giggle since you're ticklish. You had your hair and makeup done for his newest movie premiere you were attending with him.

Bucky was a well-known actor. You met him when you were doing a photo shoot for a watch brand and he was your model. You hit it off and he asked you out when you were done, but you were nervous. 

Him being famous and recognized everywhere he went, you felt a little unsure since you don't love being in the spotlight, but he was charming and protective of your privacy, so you agreed and the rest was history. Bucky arranged quiet intimate dates away from the public eye and you got to know him outside of his Hollywood leading man persona. 

To you, he was just Bucky and to the world, he was James Barnes leading Hollywood actor and handsome heartthrob.

You started dating and a few of the tabloids picked it up, but his PR team and assistant Sam were excellent, handling any issues and concerns that came up. When things got serious, that's when your life started to spiral. 

His agent, Alexander Pierce pushed him to take on more roles, which he did. According to his agent, Bucky being in a relationship hurts his potential of landing more roles as a leading man, but Bucky never suffered because of this. Bucky picked up lots of roles he was on locations for a few months at a time with little to no contact with you.

At first, it was hard to adjust to his busy schedule, but you knew this was part of his job, so you got through it. Bucky always managed to make time for you as best he could, but it was still hard being away from him for long periods of time. You would visit him here and there, but only for a day or two at the most. Add in the fact that his agent was a complete dickface to you, your relationship was sometimes stressed.

Alexander Pierce ignored you and slighted you every chance he got, but Bucky stuck by him because he was getting all the major scripts sent his way along with endorsements, partnerships, exposure, and fashion sponsorships. You brought it up with Bucky a few times with the way Alexander Pierce talks to you when Bucky leaves the room, but he always assured you his agent was the best in the business and works hard on his behalf. He always said he would have a conversation with him, but you're certain Pierce never listened or gave two shits about you, even after Bucky 'supposedly' talked to him.

Whenever Bucky was contemplating taking on a role, he would tell you about it and want your opinion. You always listened to his concerns and offered him advise but always told him his roles were his choice to make and not yours. 

When things got more serious with him and you moved in together, you had a conversation with him about the roles he was being offered. You asked he not do any intimate scenes with anyone. Kissing/hand holding, and implied intimate scenes were ok, but you told him you were uncomfortable with anything else. 

That was your only request and he agreed. You gave up your personal freedom to be with him and date him, and all you wanted in return was for him to not take those roles, or if they were offered, for him to not participate. Body doubles were an option he always proposed back to his agent, and you could tell Alexander Pierce was annoyed, but you didn't care. You don't feel comfortable watching your boyfriend on screen be that way with another. 

Is it selfish to ask him of it? Perhaps, but this was something you had discussed when you first started dating him. He completely understood and had taken a few roles where intimacy wasn't a factor or he could have a body double for "those scenes" and it worked, up until it didn't.

This new role in the movie you were going to the premiere of, was going to be a romantic comedy Bucky was excited for, but you weren't. Not the fact that it was a romantic comedy, in fact, those were some of your favourite movies, but this one involved his ex, well known actor Natasha Romanoff. 

This one was also the most he's ever been paid for a romantic comedy which would bump up his net worth considerably and solidify him as being a top a-list actor in Hollywood striking while the fire was hot. James and Natasha had been linked as a couple years prior, but Bucky had assured you he had zero contact with her when they broke things off up until this point, and this was strictly professional.

You were apprehensive but you encouraged him to take the roll and that turned out to be a huge mistake. Late night calls with her in private, early morning shooting schedules, pre shoot meetings that went well into the night, trailers that were practically right next to each other, caused some issues when you visited the set. 

You trusted Bucky, but something about this movie shoot was different and felt wrong to you. It felt like when you last visited the set, the crew and director weren't telling you things, like they knew something was up, and you weren't in on the secret but everyone else was. Bucky assured you multiple times everything was fine. 

He called you as often as he could, sent flowers and small gifts while he was away saying he was thinking about you, so you just dealt with it and told yourself you were just being paranoid because it was with his ex.

When the shoot was done, Bucky had taken you on a small vacation. You talked for hours and reconnected when you walked along the shoreline of the beach you were staying on. Bucky proposed to you a few days later, before the start of the press tour for this latest movie, and you were thrilled, eagerly saying yes. 

He promised you wedding planning would start soon but would have to be put on hold while he was out on his press tour and the movie was released in theatres, and you agreed to wait. Looking back now, you were glad you hadn't thought of planning a wedding since that all blew up in your face spectacularly.

"Are you nervous?" You asked from inside the limo. 

Bucky seemed distant to you, but you assumed he was anxious for his movie to do well. 

"A little." Was his lame reply. 

This movie was going to skyrocket his career. He had two other movies coming out within a few months of each other he was also starring in, but this movie was all he could talk about, so you wanted to be supportive.

When the limo pulled up outside the theatre, the usual press was there along with the red carpet and photographers clamouring for their shots. You walked alongside Bucky as he posed for pictures, chatted with reporters, news outlets, and took some shots for social media for his team. You stepped aside and watched him in an interview when you saw Natasha come up to him and greet him. 

Your stomach clenched on itself and was in knots watching her. She was beautiful and was dressed in an amazing maroon gown. Camera flashes went off as the two embraced, Bucky smiled wide at her, and she looked up at him with heart eyes. 

You felt dismissed and ignored as they laughed and chatted with each other while like they were long lost best friends. Her arm was wrapped tight around his waist, and he was smiling wide as the photographers yelled out their demands for their shots.

"Hi Y/n." You were interrupted by Sam, Bucky's assistant. 

"Hi Sam." You gave him a quick hug. 

"You look lovely. Are you ready for the movie?" 

"I guess." 

"I hear it's a good one. One of his best." Sam seemed proud of Bucky and stood by with a few other people from the PR team. 

You gave them small waves and greetings as you heard the chaos from the photographer's end. 

"Looks like Pierce is talking with James." 

"Oh?"

 You saw Bucky's agent talking to him, watching you the whole time. 

"When are the wedding plans starting?" Sam waggled his eyebrows at you making you chuckle. 

"I guess soon Sam." 

You felt an arm circle your waist and Bucky bent down to your ear. "Hi." You turned slightly and gave him a soft smile. 

"Let's head in." Sam ushered you down the red carpet and inside the theatre.

You got your seats, noticing Natasha and her team were in the row in front of you. She gave you a glare when Bucky helped you sit. He then sat next to you, and you could tell something was off. 

"Are you ok?" You quietly asked.

 "Fine." He cleared his throat and looked around. 

"Just nervous, you know?" 

You patted his arm reassuringly and the movie started.

Bucky nervously bounced his leg up and down as the movie played on the screen. There were some cute and funny parts to it as people laughed along with the characters. You chuckled at a few scenes, but Bucky wasn't laughing. 

"Do you need some air?" 

"No." He quickly said. 

He was checking his watch and was looking up and down the row. Something was off, but you continued watching the movie. Halfway through, things started making sense for you on why he was so nervous. You noticed the chemistry Natasha and Bucky had on screen, and that's when you froze and your heart plummeted in your chest. 

Up on the big screen right in front of your eyes, the scene played out with Natasha undressing your fiancé who eagerly returned the favour. 

"What the fuck?" You whispered. 

You felt Bucky's leg stop bouncing and felt him tense next to you. You couldn't look away from the screen. 

Clothes were coming off as he wrapped her in his arms and tossed her on the bed, performing all kinds of things to each other, making you feel sick to your stomach. 

It's just a movie, it's not real, it's just a movie...You told yourself in your head.

At one point you saw Natasha turn around and smirk at you, but you didn't respond; your eyes were glued to what you were seeing. Bucky lied to you. He lied about this movie, about doing intimate scenes, you wanted to get up and run out of the theatre, but you didn't. You felt his hand slide into yours, but you quickly snatched it back from him and placed your hand under your arm, so he couldn't get to it. 

"Sweetheart..." 

"Not. A. Word." 

"I can explain..." 

"I said zip it, James..." You whisper spat at him. 

You saw him wince at the use of his real name. He insisted you call him Bucky, his childhood nickname since only a select few people do. He's known by everyone as James but wanted you to call him Bucky. 

"I'm sorry." He whispered making you tense up. 

"Unbelievable." Was all you said.

The rest of the movie played on while your mind reeled with what you witnessed. Not only was there a steamy scene you wanted to bleach your eyes out from watching, but there were two more later in the movie, both just as explicit and the kicker was, the intimate scenes didn't really fit with the movie. Sure, it was a romantic comedy, but the heavily detailed intimate scenes felt forced and inappropriate to the lighthearted script.

Did she insist on them? Why did Bucky agree to this? Why did he lie to me? 

Your head was a mess and when the movie ended and the lights came on, your face was red, but you forced a pleasant smile on your face, feeling numb to your surroundings. There were too many cameras around to cause a scene. You stood still as a statue, feeling embarrassed and awkward as people came up and congratulated Bucky and Natasha on a great movie, unaware of your inner turmoil.

You stood off to the side as you saw Natasha and Bucky talking with a reporter, his arm around her as she smiled at him adoringly making your stomach lurch. 

It's for the promotion, nothing more you kept telling yourself. 

When the reporter was done, they thanked them leaving when you saw Bucky lean down and kiss Natasha as they hugged before he came over to you. 

The fuck? 

You saw her saunter off with her team but look back at you and wink before she left the theatre. You didn't say anything to Bucky, turning and leaving to catch your ride back.

"I can explain..." Bucky said as you made your way inside the apartment. 

You didn't talk on the ride back, preferring to sit as far away from him as humanly possible. 

"Sweetheart...let me explain..." 

"Shut up Bucky, just shut up." You snapped, flinging off your shoes as you made your way to the bedroom. 

He quickly followed you, undoing his tie and dress shirt. 

"I didn't know there was going to be those scenes when I signed on to do the movie...the initial script I read and approved of didn't have any scenes in it...I took the role because..." 

"Money? You have gobs of money and roles being shoved down your throat...what more do you need? Natasha? Was it to star alongside your ex?" You bitterly snapped at him, angry with yourself for letting your insecurities get the better of you. 

"It's not like that and you know it." 

"Do I? You're quite good at lying to me because of your acting capabilities, so how should I know?" 

"The movie...It paid me a lot." 

"So, you sold yourself out for the money? Went behind my back for the money? Lied to me for the money? Fucked her on screen for the money?" 

"It's not like that...Pierce said there could be sequels for the movie, and I want to be tied to the franchise..." 

"Fuck Pierce, that slimeball." 

"He's my agent Y/n..." 

"Save it Bucky. Your decision to go along with your ex and the fact that you told me you won't do those scenes, even though you did them anyways, makes me sick. Do I not mean anything to you?" 

He just stood and stared, like he was listening to you for the first time. You headed into the ensuite and slammed the door. You quickly undressed, leaving your dress on the floor when you walked into the closet, picking a simple pair of pajamas to change into, heading back into the bedroom.

"When I took the role, there were none of those scenes in it...I swear..." 

"And you just what, rolled over to her demands? The studios? Bucky, the movie DIDN'T FUCKING REQUIRE ANY OF THOSE SCENES!" 

He flinched seeing as how you rarely raise your voice. He looked down and fiddled with his hands. 

"You disrespected me by agreeing to do those scenes and not telling me about them. I'll bet Natasha demanded to include those scenes because it's YOU." 

Bucky scowled and shook his head no. 

You stood and crossed your arms. 

"Did she? Was she the one who insisted on doing those scenes with you?" 

"Maybe..." He whispered back. 

"Unbelievable." You threw your hands up in the air. 

"It didn't mean anything, it's acting..." Bucky stood up and faced you. 

"Oh really? Taking her clothes off, having your lips ALL over her body, tell me James...you didn't feel ANYTHING for her when you were doing those scenes? On the CLOSED set? With your intimacy co-ordinator? Those positions were awfully close..." 

"It's not like that and you know it. It's professional..." 

"Save it James, I don't want to hear it." You growled back. 

"The fact that you were on set with her doing those things with her...then when I visited, you went from her to me. I feel gross knowing where you were, then with me..." You shuddered to yourself. 

You got to your side of the bed and threw the pillows off, pulling back the covers. 

"I guess in your mind, it's easier to ask for forgiveness rather than permission then?" 

"It's not like that." He stepped towards you but stopped. 

"Get out." You pointed to the door. 

Bucky was about to reply, but you could see him close his mouth and shuffle out of the bedroom with his head hung low. You walked over and closed the door, locking it. 

"I have that meeting tomorrow...with my team...then I have to go to the airport and head to New York for more promotion..."

 "Have fun." You called through the door.

You heard him make his way down the hall as you walked over to the bed, grateful you had your phone with you for something to distract you. You got in and sighed, pulling the covers over you. Your head was a mess. You started thinking perhaps you overreacted, but the anger and hurt you felt was still coursing through you. 

You felt betrayed and blindsided and foolish, thinking THAT was the feeling you felt when you last visited the set. Everyone knew there were intimate scenes and the director knew of your request with Bucky, but no one told you, not even your own fiancé who promised he'd never do those scenes with anyone. He must have told everyone on set not to say anything, which makes it somehow worse.

You opened social media, seeing the posts and talk online about the premiere and one post made you almost puke. Natasha posted on her account a behind the scenes photo of Bucky, shirtless lying in a bed with a sheet draped over his waist while he was listening to the director. The image was somewhat blurry, but his body was the focus and the caption read, "I get to have this all to myself...again..." Making you gag. 

You scrolled down, and your heart sank at what you saw through your blurry eyes. Bucky had 'liked' the photo making your heart stop. 

"What the fuck?" you blurted out. He LIKED that post? Fucking unbelievable. 

You scowled and tossed your phone to the side. You fiddled with your engagement ring, twirling it on your finger and looked around the large bedroom you were in. 

"This isn't me." You whispered to the darkened room. You let your tears flow as you turned over, burying your face in the pillow.

The following morning, you woke feeling groggy and sore from tossing and turning all night. You listened to see if you could hear Bucky, but there was no noise coming from the rest of the penthouse. You grabbed your phone and found a bunch of unread messages from Bucky, mainly apologising and saying how sorry he was, but you ignored them. You found a message from your friend, who still lived in your hometown. 

Wanda had texted you asking if you were ok. She had seen the images from the premiere and what Nat had posted knowing you were engaged to one of Hollywood's leading men. 

She was the one who encouraged you to go on a date with him and when you opened the message, you snorted to yourself. 

Wanda: Hey, you looked amazing at the premiere last night, your dress was unbelievable. Too bad that skank ruined it for you with that post. Can you believe it? Well, I can, but still...call me/text me so I know you're ok. Oh, and the studio space is going to be available next to my shop next month...there aren't any offers on it...just sayin' and I have a rental house you could use...it's conveniently empty btw...call me!!

You sighed, looking around the room. "I need to get out of here." You muttered, pulling yourself out of bed.

You cleaned up and opened the door to head to the kitchen when you almost tripped over a large bouquet of your favourite flowers sitting in the hallway. 

"Fucking asshat." You muttered, stepping over and ignoring them. 

You saw an unmade 'bed' on the couch and rolled your eyes, getting to the fridge to make something when your phone rang. 

"Hello?"

"Flights are a decent price and available..." Came Wanda's voice on the other end. 

You chuckled and said, "I know. I looked earlier when I was changing." 

"So, come home for a bit. I'd like to see you and the kids miss their 'aunt'." 

You smiled to yourself and shoved a piece of dry toast in your mouth. 

"I can't believe he liked that photo. There are others I saw...but he didn't like those, I checked." 

"Wanda..." You sighed. 

"What? I'm just sayin'. Take some time and come home, we miss you."

 You smiled to yourself and ran a hand over your face. 

"I'll see what I can do."

 "Yes!" She cheered making you laugh.

...End of flashback

You stood on the deck of your rental house, overlooking the lake. You saw the interview Bucky had done with Tony Stark, but that didn't make you change your mind about things A small part of the fortress around your heart cracked, but it was going to take a lot more than that to convince you he was a changed man. 

You breathed in the fresh lake air and relaxed, looking over the glistening lake and the sounds of the water lapping against the shore, revelling in the calmness of it all.

You didn't take Wanda up on her offer and stay at her place since you wanted a quiet place to yourself. 

"Hey!" Wanda peered around the corner and came up on the deck. She helped you arrange the temporary rental house you were in. 

"I can't believe you didn't take me up on my offer and rent my house." 

You chuckled and said, "I love you Wands, but not enough to live with you. Your house is chaotic at the best of times and right now, I need quiet. I'm just glad this was available." 

 "So, you've officially broken things off with him?" Wanda leaned on the railing. 

"Yup. Left the ring on the bedside table, gave back my security ID at the building, sent an email to Sam, packed my shit, and left him a note. He can now take whatever roles come his way and have as many intimate scenes as he wants."

"He didn't deserve a note, but I'm happy you're here." 

"I know and thank you." 

"I can set you up with touring the studio space if you want..." 

"I know and appreciate it. For now, though, I'm just going to do my own thing. I've got a shoot in Miami next month, so I'll see what I want to do in the meantime. Maybe start a website and do some word-of-mouth local shoots. I've got some editing to do from my last two jobs so that'll keep me busy for now but if you want, you can spread the word I'm back and available if someone needs some photographs done." 

"Ok. So, you'd be down for doing weddings? Landscapes? Corporate head shots?" 

Your stomach flopped at the possibility of you going back to do weddings, but you're damn good at it and you will need more money coming in since you're renting a place. 

"Yeah, I'm open to whatever. I just need a little time to think things through." 

"Sounds good." 

"Oh, I've got some landscape and wildlife cards I can make. Would you be willing to sell them in your store for me?" Wanda owned a small tourist shop in town that featured souvenirs, art, jewellery, candles and more made by the locals. 

"Absolutely. Let me know the price points and I can get them into my inventory." 

"Thanks Wanda." 

"So, let me know when you're settled and we can go for supper or a drink, or coffee, whatever. I'm just glad you're back." She gave you a big hug before she left.

 "See you, Wanda." You waved at her as she left.

🎭🎬

"I'll be away indefinitely Sam." 

"I know." Sam held his phone in one hand and balanced a laptop on his lap. 

"So, what, I'll keep things going here? Media wants an update on your relationship status with Y/n...what do I tell them, especially after the interview with Stark..." 

Bucky sighed. He didn't want to cause any more work for Sam, but it was inevitable from what happened on the show. 

"Tell them I'm taking a personal break, nothing more." 

"Ok, but be prepared for the speculation..." 

"What speculation Sam?" 

"With Natasha and the movie. Those scenes were something else and that liked post..." 

"I didn't like that post, I swear to god..." 

"Hey, I'm just the messenger..." Sam raised his hands up at his boss. 

"Someone from Pierce's team liked the post..." 

"I know..." Sam shrugged. 

"This is such a mess..." Bucky sighed.

He glanced over at where your ring sat and he cleared his throat at the sudden emotion that bubbled up inside him. When he came back from his mini press tour on the east coast and discovered you had left, calling off the engagement, leaving your ring behind, he lost it and cried for the entire evening. 

He'd never cried that much, not even when his own father had passed away. He royally screwed things up, but he was determined to fix this, make it right, and get you back, whatever it took. You were the best thing that ever happened to him, and he was a complete and utter moron for what he did to you. 

"Go and catch your flight. If I need you, I know how to find you." Sam said as Bucky walked over to the bedside table and snatched the ring up, throwing it in his bag, then zipped it up and saluted Sam before he left.

🎭🎬

You had just done the last edits on one of the shoots you did when you decided you were going to go and sit on your deck with a glass of wine, but you froze when you got outside. 

"James?" 

"Hi Y/n." 

James Barnes stood in your yard, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a black baseball hat pulled low over his eyes. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" 

"I..." He looked confused, looking down, then back up at you, running a hand over his neck.

 "I don't know honestly...I just know I need to be close to you. I'm sorry and I love you Y/n." Y

ou didn't move or offer him to sit in one of the outdoor chairs. 

"Well, you can leave anytime." You pointed to the way he came. 

"Uh, right. I-I just wanted to..." 

"What?" You were getting impatient.

 "Y/n, I miss you. I-I needed to see you..."

 You glared at him, not saying anything. 

"I'll be on my way..." James turned and scurried away, heading back to the main road. 

"What the hell?" You said, shaking your head.

Your phone dinged with a new message. 

Wanda: I think I screwed up.

You looked at the message funny but then an incoming Facetime call came in from her, so you answered it. She was still at her shop. 

"I rented my place to James..." she blurted out. 

Your eyebrows shot up. 

"In my defense, I didn't know. The booking came from a Sam Wilson..." 

"James' assistant..." 

"Fuck, I'm sorry..."

 "No, no it's fine...He was just here actually..." 

"Really? What did you do? Throw a paddle at him? Drown him in the lake? Toss a feral raccoon his way?" 

You snorted wishing you had. 

"I told him to leave." 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner it's been busy at the shop today. I saw him earlier when he checked in to get the key with me, but I lost track of time. I almost didn't give it to him, but I could use the money..." 

"Wanda, it's fine really, you didn't know and I expect you to rent your little house to whomever, honestly, it's ok." 

She sighed with relief. 

"Ok. I just wanted to tell you. I feel better after stressing about it all day." 

You chuckled at her. 

"Are you sure you're ok? I can have Thor come and check on you. He's the sheriff on nights this week." 

"I'm fine Wanda, honestly." 

"Ok, well, I'm heading home to cook dinner for those monsters of mine. I'll talk to you later." 

"Later Wanda" then the call ended.

🎭🎬

Word on the street from the locals was, big fancy Hollywood actor James Barnes was taking refuge in your sleepy little cottage town. Most locals know you and know you were with the actor, but surprisingly, very few people asked about it and left you alone if you went into town to get groceries or to visit Wanda. 

You got a few stares and whispers here and there, but no one said anything and that's what you liked about your small town. If only you could prevent the man from randomly sending you flowers, gifts, and notes every day of the week, then you'd be perfect.

🎭🎬

"Is that another one?" 

You brought Wanda a vase of flowers to her shop and placed them at her front counter. 

"He keeps sending me these..." You huffed, brushing your hands on your thighs. 

"Well, I'm not complaining, they are beautiful even though they're from an asshole." 

 "Anyways, if I get any more, I'll let you know." 

"I hate to say it, but you're going to have to talk to him at some point." Wanda made a gagging sound making you snort. 

"I know. I'm just not ready yet." 

You know she's right, but you weren't ready to face that head on. 

"Ooh, I hope the next flowers are red roses..." Wanda tapped her chin in thought as you playfully rolled your eyes, then headed out of her shop so you could go back to work.

🎭🎬

"So, that was what I was thinking...for the website." You said, going over your notes. Steve Rogers, graphic artist and web designer sat across from you at the café while he made his notes. 

"I can do some mock ups for you and have them ready to approve in a few weeks. Send me the file and I can get my team working on them." 

"That works for me, thanks Steve." 

You went to school with Steve and he stayed in town after graduation. He had a successful design business that included graphic design, websites, and promotional materials. You placed your file in your tote bag and sipped your cooling coffee. 

"So, you're back for good?"

"Yup." 

He finished his latte and sat back in his seat. You had a sneaking suspicion Steve was into you in school and by the way he was looking at you, he was still interested. 

You had messaged him a few days ago and decided to meet at the café to go over your website. 

"And you're renting the lake house?" 

"Yeah. I really like it. It needs a bit of updating, but for now, it suits me. I was going to contact the renter to see if I can make some changes, maybe even offer to buy it..."

 "I know him. I'll send him a quick email to let him know you're going to be reaching out." 

"Thanks Steve." He smiled and typed away on his phone.

The café wasn't busy, but you noticed the door open and a dark figure walked in. It was James. You tensed up at seeing him again. You watched him order a black coffee and head to a table in the back corner, sitting down to face you. 

Was he just going to creep about the town? 

Steve noticed where you were looking and then he cleared his throat. 

"Want me to shoo him away?" 

He knows about your history with the actor as you're certain most of the town does. 

"No, it's ok. I'm leaving soon anyways." 

"Ok. So, I was thinking..." 

"Steve..." 

"Would you maybe want to grab a cup of coffee with me sometime?"

 You flashed him a warm smile. If this were literally any other timeline you would take him up on his offer. 

"Steve...I just broke things off with my fiancé so I'm not in a place at the moment..." 

"Oh...right...I forgot..." 

"But if I ever get there, then I'll let you know." 

"Ok." 

Steve fidgeted with his empty cup before he sighed, getting up from the table. You joined him and reached over and gave him a hug. 

"Thanks again Steve, it was nice seeing you again."

 "You're welcome. I'll be in touch about the website." Steve said before he grabbed his file and left. 

You looked over at James who was scowling at you from his booth. 

Was he mad you hugged Steve? Tough shit. 

You gathered your tote and left the café for home.

🎭🎬

A few weeks went by, and you've been busier than ever. Your website was up and running along with a few bookings for weddings and family portrait shoots along the lake. You were glad you were keeping busy since your ex-fiancé had the tendency to show up wherever you are and it's becoming annoying. 

Between the longing looks he's been giving you, morning and evening text messages you don't reply to, the random groceries he has delivered, flowers that randomly show up to your house, it was a lot. You received a message from Wanda one morning and you almost lost it. Not that you were angry or sad, in fact, it was the opposite as you covered your mouth from laughing.

Wanda had told you she found a raccoon in her yard but wasn't exactly sure where it came from. She hadn't the heart to get rid of the thing and just left it since it wasn't causing her any issues with her house. 

Her kids had taken to naming it Agatha and it was apparently reigning terror on her renter. You opened the video she sent you to hear her snickering and chuckling in the background seeing Bucky running around the yard with Agatha chasing him followed by another shot of the raccoon hissing and snarling at him while he tried entering the house. 

Seeing him scared and lose it on a woodland creature was the highlight of your morning until one morning, you received a phone call from the hospital.

"What's going on James?" You said, entering the small exam room. 

He was sitting on the bed holding some gauze to his arm.

 "That fucking raccoon again...bit me and hung on as I stepped out of the house for my run." He muttered. 

You had to hide a snicker. 

"What raccoon?" You innocently asked. 

"The one at your friend's place. It's living in the attic of my rental house." 

So that's where it's been living. You may or may not tell Wanda about that. 

"Why am I even here?" 

You saw him shrug, but wince as his arm moved slightly. 

"I never changed my emergency contact information..." James rubbed his arm. 

"Clearly. How bad is the bite?"

"Need stitches and a rabies shot. I offered Wanda to call an exterminator, but her kids lost it when they overheard." 

You chuckled but cleared your throat. 

"Yeah, the boys see the raccoon as a buddy." 

"Well, this thing attacks me every day, like it's evil or something..." 

"Well, the nurse will stitch you up and you'll get your shot. Can I go now?" 

Just as you said that a nurse walked in. 

"Hello. Oh, I know you!" 

The nurse eagerly flopped on a chair in front of Bucky and smiled widely. 

"Your movie was awesome. I mean, those scenes with Nat were fire!" 

He rambled on. You raised an eyebrow at the over excited nurse. 

"Yeah, well, that was a mistake. I'm no longer doing movies." 

You looked at James funny. 

"Aw, man, really? I can stitch your arm, so it won't scar..." 

"Doesn't matter. Can you just get this over with?" 

The nurse shrugged then got his station set up. He went to work on stitching the bite as you watched. 

"So, you're what? Taking a break from Hollywood for the summer?" You asked, your curiosity getting the best of you. 

"Forever." James muttered, watching the nurse stitch his wound. 

Your mouth popped open, but you scoffed. 

"Yeah, ok." 

You didn't believe him, just another lie he was telling you. James looked at you and his eyes were serious.

"I'm serious. I sold my penthouse, moved everything into storage, and now...I'm here. Not sure where the future will take me, but it's no longer acting and Hollywood." 

Holy frigballs, you were stunned as was the nurse. 

"I'm trusting you not to say anything...I'll sign whatever you want if it keeps you quiet." James scowled at the nurse who nodded to him.

 "I promise..." He said, finishing the sutures.

"There we are." The nurse smiled, inspecting his work. 

"The doctor will come in and check on you. I'll go and get the shot ready..." 

The nurse pointed to the door before he slipped out. You were left with James in the exam room as he inspected the bandage. 

"I...I'm shocked..." You whispered, not sure what else to say.

 Acting was his life. Roles were coming into him like a non-stop conveyor belt. He had his pick of roles, co-stars, pay, and endorsements. Companies and designers wanted James Barnes wearing their clothes, using their products, all while making movies and attending red carpet events. 

"Well, that's...unexpected..." 

James looked at you and you felt a zing when his eyes focused on yours. You cleared your throat as the nurse came in with the shot followed by the doctor. 

"So, after the shot, rest and relax. You should be good to go after a few days. The stitches are dissolving ones, but if you have any issues, come back and see us." 

"Ok." James said as he was given his shot. 

"There we are." The nurse said proudly.

"You're free to go. Come along Peter, let's head to the next room and see what awaits us." The doctor excused himself as did the nurse, leaving you once again, along with James. 

You're not sure why you stayed but were glad you did. 

"Well, bye James." You said, turning to the door. 

"Wait, I don't have a way home..." He rose from the bed. 

"I guess I can drive you..."

🎭🎬

"So, your website looks good." James quietly admitted. 

"Mm mmm." 

You drove out of the hospital and back onto the road. 

"Been busy?" He asked, trying to fill the awkward silence. 

"Yup." 

"Good, I'm glad." 

"Where am I taking you?"

 "Just back to the house. I should rest." 

"Ok."

 "I didn't like that picture. It was someone from Pierce's team..." James blurted out.

You didn't want to hear it. 

"It was the last thing Pierce did to me before I fired him." 

You pulled up in front of Wanda's and parked. James undid his seatbelt and went to open the door before he stopped and faced you. 

"I really am sorry Y/n. I quit and am committed to living here for as long as it takes." 

"For as long as what takes?" 

He gripped the handle and opened the door, but he stopped. 

"Until I get you back" he said before he left your vehicle, closing the door.

The sound hit you like a punch. The bark wasn’t high or frantic. It was deep enough that you felt it vibrate in your ribs before you heard it. You couldn’t help yourself - you let out a high-pitched scream. The coffees flew out of your hands and the bagels hit the floor.

The dog sprinted in your direction.

“No. NO! NO!”

You stumbled backward so quickly your shoulder slammed into the front door. The dog skidded to a stop only a few feet away, body still rigid, barking so violently you could see every single tooth in his mouth.

“WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!”

“Oh God!”

You slapped both hands over your face on instinct - before realizing you couldn’t see him anymore which was the absolute wrong decision. You dropped your hands again.

He was still there. Still staring. Still barking. Tail stiff. Blocking the hallway. As if you would attempt to sneak past him. You weren’t stupid - or suicidal

“I’m sorry!” you whimpered. “I’m sorry, doggy. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”

Your back pressed harder against the front door. And the barking somehow got louder.

The bedroom door flew open with a loud thump - and Jack appeared in the hallway, only wearing boxer shorts, a baseball bat in his hand.

His eyes flickered from his dog to the coffee puddle on the floor - to the terrified woman plastered against his front door.

“... Jesus Christ.” He let out a sigh and lowered the baseball bat. “Enough.”

The dog stopped barking immediately.

“Tabasco - place!”

The dog’s ears twitched. He hesitated for half a second, his gaze never leaving you, before turning reluctantly and disappearing into the bedroom.

Jack leaned the baseball bat against the wall, then crossed the hallway in three quick strides. His prosthetic leg clicked against the hardwood and hitched for a step as if he’d buckled it on in record time.

“Sweetheart!” He wrapped his arms around you - and everything you’d been holding together (badly) fell apart.

“I’m so sorry” you choked out, clinging to him. “I… I didn’t know… I didn’t think about the dog. I just wanted to surprise you.”

“I know.” His hand cradled the back of your head while the other rubbed slow circles across your back. “I know.”

“I thought he was going to eat me.”

Jack chuckled softly. “He wouldn’t do that. His meal plan purely consists of stupid interns and pharmaceutical reps.”

A quiet wet laugh escaped you. “He sounded like he wanted to kill me.”

“He exactly sounded like a dog who’s convinced someone just broke into his apartment” Jack replied softly. “He never met you before. As far as he knows you’re a stranger walking right into his house.”

“I had a key.”

“He’s a dog. He doesn’t know that.” Jack pressed a soft kiss on top of your head.

“He hates me” you said with a sniffle.

Jack leaned back just enough to brush a kiss against your forehead. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“He definitely hates me.”

“Give him about twenty-four hours.”

You looked up. “That’s a long time.”

“Twelve if you let him have the bagels you just dropped.” He shrugged. “He’s clever as hell but also very bribable.”

That made you smile. He returned it and gently wiped another tear away from your cheek.

“I’m really sorry, Jack.”

“Ah, sweetheart, you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I scared your dog.”

“In fact - you scared me” he said with a chuckle, resting his forehead against yours. “If you’re trying to kill me next time just wake me up with sex.”

You stared at him.

“I’m fifty. My heart’s probably questionable already.” He kissed you softly. “Seems like a much nicer way to die than getting woken up by Tabasco convincing me someone’s breaking into my apartment.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The dog appeared in the hallway. His head was tilted slightly and he still stared at you suspiciously. Jack turned around. “My fault” he said with a sigh. “He heard his name.”

Your whole body went stiff as you watched him standing there. You gulped. “He’s enormous.”

Jack had to hide his grin. “He has a good size.”

“He stares at me” you whispered.

“Yeah, because you’re new and pretty and you make more interesting noises than his squeaky toy.”

You glanced at him horrified. “He wants to chew on me?”

“No.” Jack chuckled. “I want to chew on you. Exactly on that sensitive spot right here.” He kissed the spot right under your ear which made you gasp.

But not even this helped you relax. “Jack, he’s still staring.”

He pulled away with a small sigh then turned around. “Tabasco, come here.”

The dog started walking toward him and stopped right in front of him.

“Sit.”

He followed immediately - and started wagging his tail.

“See? He’s friendly.”

You took a step back, pressing yourself against the wall again. “He still wants to eat me.”

Jack laughed. “Okay, come on - I’ll bring you back to bed and then I’ll clean up this mess and then I’ll show you there is only one Abbot here, who wants to eat you.”

“WOOF!”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “No, Tabasco, that’s my girlfriend. I’m the only one eating her.”

“WOOF! WOOF!”

“Did I allow you to backtalk to me? Huh?” Jack lifted his eyebrows - which was enough for the dog to fall silent. “Yeah, thought so.” He bend over and started ruffling his ears. “I’m the only one taking care of her, okay? She’s mine.” He paused for a moment. “She wouldn’t want you anyway. She’s not interested in neutered guys.”

Tabasco blinked.

“Sorry.”

“Woof.”

It wasn’t one of the staff, he’d long since memorized all of their natural scents and could pick them out blindfolded. No, this was new. He shrugged, figuring it must belong to a patient even as his instincts were screaming at him to find the source. He stretched his neck then shook it off. He had work to do.

“Forget it,” he muttered to himself and went back to the chart.

Twenty minutes later he was discussing next steps with a patient that Nazely was working on. The college kid had tripped over his own feet in his drunkenness and cracked his head on a concrete planter. The scent came again, stronger this time. He paused then turned, scanning the immediate area. No one but him, Dr. Toomarian and the drunk frat boy. The scent lingered then faded and Jack returned to the conversation.

When he left the room, he tried to track it down but nothing. Then he was called away for a consult on a case. The scent hit him again at the hub while he was scanning the board. He stopped, one hand on the counter and inhaled. There. Faint but unmistakable. It pulled at every instinct he had. He straightened, ran a hand through his hair and did a slow lap around the department. He caught traces of it again once or twice but nothing more.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” he said then ran a hand over his face.

Midnight came and went. Jack stood at the hub reviewing test results for the patient in Twelve. Parker slid up beside him, her arm brushing his as she reached for a tablet.

The scent hit like a punch to the solar plexus.

He went completely still. It was coming from Parker. The same scent that had been driving him quietly crazy for hours and it had been right there with his senior resident all along.

He cleared his throat.

She glanced at him, brow lifting. “You okay, boss?”

“Yeah.” His voice came out rough and he cleared his throat again. “Fine. Just—” He hesitated a moment. “Are you wearing perfume?”

Parker blinked as genuine surprise crossed her features. “No, of course not. Why?”

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “This scent has been driving me crazy for the whole shift. It seems to be coming from you but I know it’s not yours. Maybe I am going crazy.”

Parker glanced down at herself. Her gaze catching on the faded hoodie she was wearing. Her expression shifted and a slow smirk crossed her face that Jack did not like at all.

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding apologetic in the least. “Must be the hoodie. I’ll stash it in my locker.”

She peeled the article of clothing off in one smooth motion and headed for the locker room. She looked just a little too pleased with herself. Jack stood at the hub, teeth clenched, and watched her walk away.

Parker closed the locker room door behind her and chuckled lowly. She’d been in a hurry tonight and had grabbed the first jacket she’d seen. It just so happened that the one she picked up was the one you’d worn yesterday. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened in the years you’d been first friends, then roommates. Though normally it was you stealing her clothes rather than the other way around.

Parker folded the hoodie and put it in her bag inside her locker then she pulled out her phone to send you a quick text. You’d still be working but she knew you’d get it when you got off and could check your phone.

Hey roomie. Bring me food? Please? I’ll love you forever. You’ll have to bring it in though. Busy night.

She always met you outside when you brought her anything during shift. It was about time her colleagues met you. She smirked, locked her phone and headed back to the floor.

The night was young and it was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

You peeled the last of your suppressant patches off as you walked through the casino parking garage, wincing as the adhesive tugged at your skin. The things itched like crazy and you always removed them the moment you stepped outside of the building. You tossed them in a nearby trash can without much thought. You rolled your shoulders as you shook off the sensory overload that was your place of employment. Too many people crammed in too small of a space with overly bright lights and the clamoring noise of the slot machines.

You waited until you got into your car to check your phone, not wanting the distraction in the dimly lit garage. You cleared your notifications, snorting in amusement when you saw Parker’s text. The last thing you wanted to do after your shift was to go into the hospital, but she rarely asked. And lord knows she’d ran enough weird errands for you over the years.

Food options were limited this time of night, but between you and Parker, you’d found them all. Your favorite was the food truck that served nothing but mac and cheese. Yes, please. You ordered for both of you then got back in the car and made the short drive to PTMC.

This time of morning, the waiting area was emptier and the line was short. You held up the bag when you got to the window. “I come bearing food for Dr. Ellis.”

She smiled. “She told me you were coming. Go on back. Head for the big desk in the middle of the floor. They’ll find her for you.” The door to the right buzzed and you pushed through.

The desk was easy to find. You sat the bag on the counter and waited for the woman on the phone to acknowledge you. She held up a finger, finished her conversation and looked at you with a smile. “How can I help you, hon?”

“I’m looking for Parker Ellis. I brought her food.”

Her smile turned into something less customer service. “And how do you know our Dr. Ellis?”

“Roommate/besties,” you said with a grin.

“Well, you’re fine to wait there. She’s in with a patient but she should be out in a minute.”

“Thanks.” You tapped your hand softly on the counter as you bounced your foot. You were always wound up after a shift. You caught movement from the corner of your eye and turned your head.

A man had left a room a short distance away and stopped in his tracks. You ran your gaze over him, taking in the auburn hair scattered amongst the gray curls. He wasn’t overly tall and his build suggested he spent time in the gym. He was just your type from head to toe.

You checked his neck first. Finding no mating bite, you looked at his hand. Wedding ring. Damn. You made the mental adjustment you needed at knowing he was unavailable. It was disappointing, but not surprising. You were just dropping off food for your roommate and the attractive doctor was—

The attractive doctor with the wedding ring was staring at you.

His jaw worked, but his eyes didn’t move from your form. He stepped closer until one hand gripped the edge of the counter a short distance from you.

“Ah, Dr. Abbot. This is Parker’s roommate. This is our senior night shift attending.”

Parker’s boss. She’d mentioned him before, several times in fact. “Hi,” you said because it seemed like the thing to say.

Abbot opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“Hi,” he said finally. His voice was rough, lower than you’d expected.

You couldn’t stop the small shiver that crawled up your spine. Fuck.

That delectable scent he’d smelled all night until Parker ditched her hoodie slammed into Jack the moment he opened the door to the patient room he’d been in. His head snapped up as he sanitized his hands absently, zeroing in on you standing at the hub.

The small sampling he’d had earlier had nothing on you here in person. My god, you smelled delectable. There was no question in his mind that you were his Omega. He forced himself forward, one step, then two, until he was holding onto the counter.

He didn’t know how to go about this, how to broach the subject. His wife had been a beta, there was no need to have the ‘hey, you’re my mate’ conversation. Did he just…tell you? No, that didn’t seem right.

He vaguely registered Lena introducing you as Parker’s roommate. He managed to stutter out a greeting but before he could say anything else, Parker appeared from the room she’d been in for the last ten minutes. She zeroed in on you and pulled you into a hug.

Jack’s hands flexed at his sides as he reminded himself that Parker wasn’t a threat and that you had no idea who the fuck he was.

Parker draped an arm across your shoulders. “You are a goddess.”

You hummed in agreement. “Fat Cats.”

She groaned. “I owe you my first born. Maybe my second, too.”

“I’d be concerned about being saddled with your random children but I know you don’t want kids.”

Parker laughed then turned to Jack with a smirk. “See you met my roommate, boss.”

Jack huffed. “You could have just told me.”

She shrugged. “Could have. Didn’t. This is so much more fun.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked between the two of them. The look of confusion was absurdly endearing. “Am I missing something?”

Jack was at a loss for words which was entirely unlike him. Parker grinned wider and turned to you. “Dr. Abbot here would love to take you to breakfast. And you want to let him.”

Silence stretched for a beat before the two of you spoke in unison. “I do?”

Jack’s head snapped to you to find you already looking back. The corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. “I mean…I do. After shift?”

You glanced at Parker. She gave a small, deliberate nod.

“Sure. I can do breakfast, I guess, if Parker’s gonna be weird.” Your gaze dropped to his left hand, to the ring he hadn’t been able to bring himself to remove. “Your wife will be okay with that?”

“Widower,” he said, deciding it best to just be blunt.

You blinked once, glanced to Parker who nodded again before you looked back to him. “Sure. Breakfast sounds good. I can meet you here, I was picking Parker up anyway.”

He nodded, hoping the surge of happiness he felt wasn’t completely evident on his face. He should have a little decorum dammit. “I’ll meet you by the bay door?”

“Yeah, sure. Parker can let me know if you’re running late.”

So, you didn’t want to give him your number yet. He understood that. After all, you didn’t know what he did, his suppressants firmly in place. “I’m looking forward to it.”

You gave him a small smile at that. “See ya, doc. Parker.” The narrow-eyed look you shot Parker had him chuckling.

You’d no sooner gotten out of sight when Parker’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and laughed as she typed. “Her exact words? ‘What the fuck was that?’”

Jack crossed his arms and shifted his weight. “And what did you say?”

“I told her to trust me.” She put her phone away and grabbed the bag. “Now I am going to eat at least part of this before I get called away again.”

Jack’s gaze trailed her as she walked toward the break room. She turned around part way there. “Oh, and Abbot? She my not be my mate, but she’s my person. Don’t hurt her.”

He held Parker’s gaze, sure and steady. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You waited near the bay doors, off to the side where you’d be out of the way. A couple of people going inside had glanced in your direction but kept walking without questioning you. You must look harmless enough for them to leave you alone. You tapped your foot as you wondered if this was really a good idea or not. You’d dwelled on it all night, your brain circling back to the odd conversation with Parker and her boss that you seemed to be missing a piece to.

The door hissed open and you glanced up to see Parker stepping out. She had your hoodie thrown over the top of her scrubs. She gave you one of her famous grins and waved, car keys in hand. You hadn’t given much though on how you were supposed to get home  after this…date? Yeah, you supposed it was. Dammit, Parker.

She didn’t stop to talk to you, just calling back. “He’ll be out in a minute. You can thank me later.”

You stared after her, shaking your head. “I’m going to murder you. Slowly,” you yelled after her.

Her laugh floated back to you. “You’re welcome!”

You were still shaking your head, mouth curled into a crooked smile when the scent reached you. Rich, citrusy with a hint of cedar. Alpha. Yours.

You inhaled deeply and turned your head slowly to the side to find Jack Abbot standing a few feet away.

The scrub top was gone, leaving him in a fitted gray t-shirt. His curls were damp around his face, like he’d splashed water on it before coming out. He gave you a real smile. Not the small one you’d seen earlier. A wide, careless gesture that crinkled the skin around his eyes.

“Oh,” you said. That was inadequate but you were still processing that this was your Alpha. Yours. And Parker had obviously known and let you walk in blind. Damn her.

Finally, you said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoed as his warm gaze took you in. He held out a hand, not in greeting but rather in invitation.

You took it, his touch everything you needed as he laced your fingers together.

As you leaned against the wall, waiting for your husband to emerge from the Pitt, your mind wandered. Max had been right about your family. Of course he had been. Their attorney had been unable to come up with any more ‘evidence’ of your grandfather not being of sound mind and the judge had dismissed the case as having no merit. Max immediately filed an injunction to reclaim the money your family had been left due to the no contest clause in the will. In the end, you’d let them keep the money and you’d given your uncle and father a choice. Retire with all their benefits intact or be fired with nothing. They’d retired. Last you heard they’d all moved out west somewhere.

You’d set up a Pittsburgh office for the business and the charity in the building your grandfather had left you. He’d taken care of most of the renovations even. It didn’t take much effort on your part. You worked three days a week, matching your shifts to Jack and Robby’s. You had people you trusted running the day-to-day operations at both locations. People who had worked for your grandfather for decades. People that looked at you and saw him.

The doors slid open again and you glanced up. Robby stepped out this time. He looked tired but the moment he saw you, his face changed. It was the smile. The one he didn’t give to anyone else except Jack. Wide and unguarded, maybe a little crooked. The lines around his eyes deepened.

Long strides brought him straight to you. “What are you doing here?” he asked before kissing you gently.

You smiled into it. “Dinner. Jack’s in the car.”

He laced his fingers with yours and you started toward the lot. Your thumb traced the line of his wedding band. All three of you wore rings. Yours was far simpler than they’d wanted to buy you, but it was perfectly you. They wore simple bands that matched, your wedding date engraved inside.

Legally, you were married to Jack in a little courthouse ceremony, him wanting to ensure you got his veteran’s benefits. Practical but unnecessary. But in every way that mattered the three of you were married to each other. You introduced them both as your husband to anyone that asked.

Sam officiated the real ceremony. Your friends and family packed into the backyard of the house you’d all found and bought together. A little bigger. A little more private with a wraparound porch. It was perfect. Sam had worn a suit and tie and wiped tears away through the entire ceremony. Rick recorded it all on his phone and posted it online, making sure to tag Sam and the bar. There was no one present you didn’t wish to be there. You doubted your parents were even aware of the wedding. All three of you went by Abbot-Robinavitch now. No one outside your inner circle knew exactly which legal pairing was on file and no one asked.

Jack got out to meet you when you reached the car. Robby released your hand to greet his husband with the same soft kiss he’d given you. “So, what’s the plan?” he asked.

“Chinese at the park,” you answered.

He smiled wide. “Sounds perfect.”

The drive was short and you normally would have walked, but not today. Not with Robby coming off a shift and Jack hurting whether he wanted to admit it or not. They’d both cut back on their hours, not picking up extra shifts if they could help it. Leaving on time when they could. All of you making the relationship a priority. Ensuring that all of you felt loved, cherished.

Jack parked and the three of you walked into the park together, food in hand. Robby’s hand stayed tangled with yours and Jack’s shoulders brushed yours as you walked. The park was quiet, the evening hours less inviting for families. You found a table not far from a lamp post. Robby and Jack set the bags on the table and you got to work unpacking the food and drinks.

Robby sat beside you on the bench while Jack took a spot across from the two of you. While you ate, the three of you made small talk. Telling each other stories you’d heard a hundred times before by this point, but none of you minded. Jack told one that made you laugh so hard, you leaned sideways into Robby’s shoulder. His arm came up automatically to wrap around your waist and keep you steady. His own laughter vibrated through you and you weren’t certain if he was laughing at the story or at you. You supposed it didn’t matter.

His thumb traced small, absent circles against your hip and you pressed closer into his side, letting the warmth of him seep into your skin. With his free hand, he stole a bit from your container without asking. You didn’t bother protesting. The three of you had been sharing food for as long as you’d been a trio. You reached across the table and stole one of Jack’s spring rolls.

He pretended not to notice for approximately one second before his hand shot out and caught your wrist, his grip gentle, thumb tracing the skin. “Thief.” The word was fond.

“You ordered them knowing I’d steal at least one. That’s entrapment.”

Both men laughed and Jack released your wrist. He flicked a grain of rice at Robby who returned one of his own. Your lips twitched as you watched a scene you’d seen a hundred times and would gladly watch a hundred more.

Gradually, the conversation and laughter faded into a comfortable silence as you just enjoyed being in each other’s presence. Robby kept his arm around you. His beard tickled your skin when he bent down to press a kiss against one of the two blooms that had joined the rest on your bicep. You’d gotten them inked the day after they proposed.

You were exactly where you belonged. Robby beside you. Jack within reach. Wedding bands on your fingers and smiles on your lips. You had fought for this. All of you had. You had your scars but they’d healed into something stronger. Robby sometimes still watched you as if he was afraid you’d disappear. Sometimes, Jack still tensed up when you and Robby snapped at each other. And you? Well, sometimes you feared it was all a dream and you’d wake up and find yourself back at the bar alone on the dance floor.

Thankfully, those moments became less frequent as the time passed. As you made memories eating Chinese in the fading light of day at a table in the park with the men you loved sitting close enough that their warmth became yours.

You closed your eyes and let the moment settle into your skin. This was everything you ever wanted.

A church.

A splintered cross bound to its head by whatever power God had left in this world.

You’d been walking for weeks without a compass, without respite, nor food.

The gun that you’d taken from Terminus had run dry days ago, and the stitches they’d inserted into your face had beenremoved long ago. So, with your desperation for refuge, you entered a place that’d become foreign to you over the years.

The house of God.

Daryl’s lighter sat tucked under your fingers as your feet found momentary refuge before the crucifix.

You still couldn’t remember.

All those days, weeks, and yet—

No mercy was ever granted upon you, but rather the weight of torment and turmoil placed upon your back.

You’d never taken yourself for a coward.

But now?

It just seemed easier to accept a fate that you’d been running from for so long. In some ways, you hoped a walker would make the decision for you whilst your back was turned.

It never did, because, despite how much you craved death, something was still keeping you going.

Someone.

It sounded almost cliché to you now to be running on the pure adrenaline of fulfilling somebody else’s hope.

All you could see was his face.

Daryl.

The way he looked as he held the lighter out towards you. The way his hair fell messily over his face, blue eyes obstructed by the brown strands. You didn’t even want to imagine his face when reading your letter.

That’s if he even got it.

Your body sank to the floor between the rows of benches, legs crossed, posture slouched.

The lighter sparked in your trembling hand—close enough to feel the heat against the hardened flesh of your fingertips yet far enough to not cause pain.

Your wearisome eyes travelled up towards the crucifix again, paying much closer attention to it this time.

You had lost faith in God a long time ago.

You’d prayed for better times when you were a child.

Nothing ever came of it then.

Nothing ever came of it now.

Your throat seemed to have locked up all the words you wanted to say, your eyes wetting with the depravity of your emotion.

You couldn’t swallow it down anymore. Your bottom lip quivered once, then all you felt was the agony of fire on flesh.

Pain that wasn’t internal.

Something so physical yet so temporary as the guilt of your actions crept up your throat and projected from your mouth.

The lighter clattered onto the floorboards with a thud.

All you were left with now was an empty stomach and bare hands. You fell back onto the floorboards behind you. You lay there with tears rolling down your face and a growing ache bursting through burnt flesh.

“Stupid!” You yelled out through sobs into the empty room. You weren’t careful to stay quiet anymore.

You didn’t care.

Your vision hazed as your eyes fixed on the ceiling above you, almost as if you were waiting for an answer to all your questions.

Why you?

Why had this happened?

Silence answered again; all quiet in the house of God.

So, you lay there on the hard flooring until all your tears shed, glossing over the purple painted bags under your eyes.

“Stupid…”

The black void of unconsciousness waved over you, claiming you under its state of vulnerability.

Exhaustion.

The early morning light poured through the stained glass windows surrounding you at either side. It cracked through your eyelids, yet—

It wasn’t what had dragged you awake.

A bundle of warmth clawed at your stomach, a small heartbeat colliding against your skin.

Weight of the living.

Your hand instinctively moved out, contacting the thickness of fur. Your eyes snapped open, bleary at first, then clear.

You thought you were dreaming at first when you noticed the pointed ears and bushy tail snaking around your side.

A cat curled up like the pit of your stomach was the safest place that it could be.

“Oh…” you whispered, your voice gentle.

You didn’t know what to say.

You didn’t know if this was even real; you wouldn’t have been surprised if it wasn’t.

You sat up slowly, trying your hardest not to disturb the creature, but it proved no use.

Your movements had startled it.

It jumped from you, creating distance as it stared at you through timid eyes seven feet away.

“Hey…” you uttered, reaching out slightly to offer the cat your scent. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

It didn’t move, muscles tense beneath dirtied white fur.

You didn’t move.

Your arm rested on the floorboards below, fingers relaxing over the wood.

“It’s alright…”

The cat’s tail whipped side to side.

Your eyes slowly trailed down towards your arm, a blister forming over the burn.

A reminder.

“…Looks worse than it feels.” You lied.

The cat studied you a moment longer, then it moved again, closing the gap that it had previously created.

You didn’t move.

It’s wet nose brushed at your fingertips, taking in your scent before its head collided against your hand with force.

“There you go…” you chuckled slightly, fingers wearily moving to its chin.

The cat gave no protest, melting against your touch. Its eyes slipped closed as your fingers moved through its fur, the quiet rumble of a purr vibrating against your palm.

The encounter wasn’t something you’d expected. You hadn’t fathomed that something so small could’ve navigated its way around such harsh environments.

It hadn’t been injured, just malnourished.

A collar sat wrapped around its neck, a name tag dangling just beneath it. Your fingers moved towards the circular piece of silver, capturing it between your index and middle fingers.

Roxy.

Even the sound of repeating it over in your head felt wrong. It felt all too familiar, and your mind could do no more but focus on the harsher memories.

It had taken a while to remember the details of your dog's death, but after weeks of being alone—

You could no more but piece things that’d been lost due to your head injury together.

Oh, sweet Rocky.

Too old to run.

Too heavy to carry.

His fate was decided by cruelty.

You let out a shuddering breath, eyes glued to the name tag. The guilt of it all suddenly weighed down on you.

The cat's head hit your fingertips again, clearly wanting your attention, snapping you back.

“Roxy, huh?” You questioned hoarsely.

The cat purred in response.

Your fingers carefully flipped the underside of the name tag; a small message sat transcribed in the silver.

‘Roxy is an indoor cat. If you see her outside, please call—‘

The number was no longer visible, worn over time.

You had so many questions.

How had she survived so long?

Had her owner died?

You didn’t even get a chance to phrase it verbally, a groan cutting you off before you got the chance. Your eyes scanned the room, looking for the source.

Another groan followed, and the source became clear to you then; a door sat ajar just by the altar.

Walker.

“Stay here, okay?”

Your fingers brushed once more through Roxy’s fur before you stood.

The hinges whined as you pushed the door open, a putrid smell that you hadn’t noticed upon entering the church.

A body dangled from a noose twisted through the gaps in the wooden columns on the ceiling. A white collar peaking through just beneath rope.

A priest, corpse rotting with the extent of the turn.

The guilt returned with the knowledge of knowing that suicide didn’t count unless it was through the brain.

“Shit…” you whispered, eyes flickering over the body.

He groaned, legs kicking out, arms reaching towards you. You watched him for a moment longer before your eyes dragged away hesitantly.

You scanned over the room.

A blue duffel bag sat squashed into one of the corners scruffily. You approached it immediately, hands digging into its insides.

Luck didn’t fail you.

The cool metallic barrel of what you knew was a shotgun met your callus-riddled fingertips. Grounding despite the gruesome scene behind your turned back.

“Bingo.”

A few cases of ammo and a hunter's knife were tucked in just beside it.

This must’ve been somebody's stash.

You pulled the knife from the bag and, without a second thought—

You turned and began moving towards the rope. You kept your distance, slicing through the restraint quickly.

The body dropped to the floor.

The priest's arms reached out towards you, but before he even got close enough, you pressed the blade through his skull.

God hadn’t been here to save this man.

God hadn’t been here to save anyone.

You wiped the blood from the blade and shoved it into the pouch on your thigh.

The odd feeling of having a weapon there that wasn’t yours originally coursed over you.

You hoped the others had gotten your knife.

You hopped Daryl had gotten it because part of you was screaming that you’d intentionally left it for him. If he hadn’t received it, what was the point in leaving it back at terminus in the first place?

You turned back towards the blue duffel bag; you couldn’t carry all those cases of ammo single-handedly. You’d have to take the bag with you.

What harm could it do?

You pulled the shotgun out, gripping it tightly in your hand before throwing the straps of the duffel bag over your shoulders.

A meow beckoned from the doorway.

You turned immediately.

“I told you to stay out there.” You uttered, moving away from the corner and closer towards your new friend.

Roxy blinked once before her trusting green riddled eyes settled back on you.

Trust.

A cat’s trust must’ve meant something, and you weren’t just going to leave her.

You couldn’t.

“Come here,” you whispered gently, crouching slightly, offering your arms out.

She approached you quickly, and you wasted no time scooping her up in your arms.

You glanced once more over the priest's now dead corpse.

Then—

You were out of there, picking up Daryl’s lighter from the floorboards on your way out.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

The skies had dimmed completely now, the only visible light coming from the fire you’d managed to build.

The smell of rabbit filtered through the air as it cooked over the flame; Roxy, somehow, had managed to catch a small one on your walk over here after squirming from your arms after catching movement.

You killed it cleanly with a twist to the neck.

You pulled it off the fire when it was done, ripping a portion of meat off for Roxy and another portion for you.

Roxy tucked in straight away.

You didn’t.

For a moment, you froze, looking down at the meat.

The smell of it grew stronger now that it was out of the fire and it seemed to have triggered something hidden in your mind.

Something familiar.

You couldn’t place it at first, so you took a bite and suddenly—

Carol's face was pictured in your head.

The scene in your mind clicked. You remembered telling Carol you’d help with cooking a deer that Daryl had caught, but—

She had started without you.

You remembered asking something about a lighter.

“Lighter,” you spoke to yourself, trying to jog the memory back. “…lighter.”

Nothing came.

You rubbed a hand over your face, cursing yourself internally for forgetting every last damn thing.

God, did you feel useless.

Your hand trailed towards your back pocket, pulling Daryl’s lighter back out. It shimmered in the orange glow beside the blister.

You couldn’t feel triggered by the sight of it now, not when something so substantial could be on the rise.

“Lighter…”

Your hand trailed over the steel, one of your nails falling in an indent.

The woods spun around you, yet—

You stayed perfectly still.

You didn’t even have to look at what it was. You already knew.

D.D.

His initials.

It all came rushing back to you then: thick and fast.

“Shit…”

The lie.

The realization.

The prison.

The cabin.

And the…

Kiss.

The embarrassment it’d made you feel was nonexistent now; rather, the remembrance of it all had left a hollow pit in your stomach that could only be filled by the person that’d caused it all in the first place.

“Oh my god…” you uttered quietly, your heartbeat thumping so hard that it threatened to fracture your ribs.

Then, a group flashed front row in your mind. You couldn’t remember their names but…you could remember their faces.

You remembered killing the grubby-looking one and then running with Daryl, which led you to finding Rick, Carl, and Michonne.

It all made sense now.

Well, most of it.

The snap of a twig cut your thought process off completely. You reached for the shotgun immediately, pushing to your feet.

The sound of footsteps followed.

Roxy’s ears tilted backwards, her back arching upwards slightly, and her tail pin straight.

“Who’s there?” You questioned sternly, shotgun raised, finger looped around the trigger.

You could sense the hesitation of the person from a mile away.

They weren’t here to hurt you.

You didn’t lower the shotgun despite what your gut was telling you, finger clenching hard around the stick.

Roxy let out a hiss.

“Answer me!” You yelled into the distance.

Nobody answered.

A beat.

Then your name filtered through the air in the form of a genuine question rather than a threat.

Your brows knitted together, your mouth ran dry.

You knew that voice, yet you couldn’t quite place a finger on who you knew it from.

Feminine.

Southern.

Roxy hissed once more.

Another beat.

Then—

The figure emerged from behind the trees, blonde hair draping loosely over their shoulders, dirt plastered over their face, and—

An unmistakeable blue glint shone from their eyes within the flickering light of the fire.

You stepped forward, shotgun lowering, when that all-too-familiar face became clearly recognizable to you.

“…Beth?”

A/N: Oo we left on a cliffhanger hehe! Guys I swear Daryl and reader will reunite with the rest of the group soon!! I do hope you guys enjoyed.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the Taglist!🖤

He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.

“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now. 

You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”

“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”

“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”

You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back. 

He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual. 

The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could. 

It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong. 

“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.” 

The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours. 

The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him. 

His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face. 

That had been one year ago. 

After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account. 

So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)

Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought. 

Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine. 

When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.

Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend. 

Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero. 

He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.

Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night. 

A promise was a promise. 

Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.

“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.

He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that. 

He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully. 

“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?” 

He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable. 

“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”

You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer. 

“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.” 

The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.

“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused. 

“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks. 

“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes. 

“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”

“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.” 

“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”

“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully. 

You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him. 

“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement. 

The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions. 

Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday. 

Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.

Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room. 

Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins. 

And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out. 

“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…” 

The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence. 

“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”

“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”

“Message already sent.”  

He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am. 

He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you? 

Oh fuck. 

You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–

“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.

The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now. 

He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and– 

“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him. 

You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful. 

“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?” 

You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again. 

“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.” 

The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch. 

He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.

You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams. 

This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago. 

It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it. 

“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?” 

“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”

You nodded, turning toward the workstation. 

“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment. 

“EV?” 

The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light. 

“Online.”

“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.” 

“Beginning diagnostic.” 

You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye. 

Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe. 

This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him. 

But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head. 

There was only you. 

Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor. 

Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment. 

The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again. 

That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes. 

He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly. 

This was wrong. So wrong. 

His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.

He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you. 

What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–

“Diagnostic complete.” 

Your heads snapped toward the screen. 

“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.” 

“What biotoxin?” You frowned. 

“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.” 

Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was. 

Tiny, microscopic potato, she would say.

The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.

He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead. 

He suddenly felt the need to lick it off. 

Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–

“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.” 

“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier. 

It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything. 

“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”

Mating response. He stopped breathing. 

Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants. 

That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–

He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer. 

“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly. 

“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”

He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.  

Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.

You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual. 

“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment. 

His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.

Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse? 

“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”

Heat rose to your face once again. 

“What does that mean?” 

Don’t say anything, don’t–

“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.” 

He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin. 

Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed. 

“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.  

You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat. 

The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin. 

“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.

White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth. 

“No.”

His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up. 

“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.” 

His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that. 

The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable. 

His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions. 

Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.

His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric. 

Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.

He hated it.

He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain. 

“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side. 

“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”

“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”

“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely. 

“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?” 

“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”

“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”

“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”

“You wouldn’t hurt me–”

“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles. 

The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second. 

One second enough. 

“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”

The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest. 

“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”

He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be. 

Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes. 

The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.

He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.

You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs. 

His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly. 

You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals. 

He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence. 

Too hard. 

Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure. 

It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out. 

“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”

“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.” 

He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it. 

“But my offer still stands, spidey.” 

What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’

Fucking hell. 

“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”

You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.

“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…” 

He wasn’t. 

“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”

For God’s sake. 

“I think I can help.”

By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him. 

His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with. 

“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide. 

“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?” 

You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed. 

His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation. 

Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.

It wanted more.

His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you. 

“Sorry–”

“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder. 

He was burning.

The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly. 

“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm. 

“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”

“Breathe,” you reminded.

His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down. 

Just take her, man, she’s right there–

Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. 

“Please.” Was all he said. 

Leave it on. 

It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life. 

“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”

See? She wants it. She needs it so bad. 

He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.

Fuck it.

In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core. 

His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses. 

“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”

You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw. 

“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”

You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you. 

“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”

His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand. 

“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”

“What do you need? More what?” 

“More contact.”

His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt. 

“Can I?” He whispered.

You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull. 

“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air. 

He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask. 

His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you. 

“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”

“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air. 

You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away. 

You weren’t wearing anything underneath. 

“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”

Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours. 

“Can–can I–?”

You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs. 

Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert. 

His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life. 

“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”

He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound. 

“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”

His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right. 

“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”

Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers. 

“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”

“Not stopping, baby.” 

He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts. 

“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”

“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–

“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”

The plea undid you.

You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there. 

It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him. 

You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you. 

Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up. 

He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him. 

You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact. 

The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you. 

“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly. 

You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.

His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger. 

You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first. 

“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”

Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.  

Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand. 

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately. 

Fuck her. Fuck her right now. 

“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”

You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.

He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.

You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him. 

When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver. 

He could feel it coming. The change. 

You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away. 

His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal. 

Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.

The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.

That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out. 

“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up. 

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.” 

He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again. 

“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”

“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”

A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–

“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused. 

“What–what happened? I was about to–”

“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”

That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face. 

Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now. 

Good. 

He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room. 

His bed.

He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.

“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”

You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth. 

Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets. 

“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you? 

Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him. 

He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it. 

“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”

Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk. 

“Peter…” 

“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”

Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so. 

God. He was never going back. 

“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.” 

He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again. 

“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”

“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”

“Need what?”

“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”

He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up. 

“Yeah?” 

Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him. 

He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine. 

But something made him stop. 

“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”

The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through. 

“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”

You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again. 

He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands. 

The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”

“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow. 

“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”

He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect. 

Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper. 

He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back. 

“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”

He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again. 

What? What is–

The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back. 

“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”

He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color. 

“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“

“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”

The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again. 

“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again. 

“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”

His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.

“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”

“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…” 

He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up. 

You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you. 

“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”

The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you. 

When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin. 

Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths. 

You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–

“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.” 

EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence. 

It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened. 

“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered. 

“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”

“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath. 

“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets. 

That was your call back to reality. 

Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking. 

“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.” 

“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead. 

“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”

He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet. 

“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”

There it was. He said it. No turning back now. 

At least it got a chuckle from you too. 

“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”

Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you. 

“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”

“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation. 

You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again. 

Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did. 

There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined. 

Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth. 

So young. So earnest. So yours. 

Not spidey anymore. Just Peter. 

Your Peter. 

Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.

Feedback is always appreciated 🕷️

Divider by @andromeda-graphics

Jim had never felt this kind of a hurt before. A hurt so raw and brutal, it made him want to pack up his bags and move somewhere. Anywhere.

Sure, he knew what a risk it would be to confess to Pam, especially with her wedding lurking around the corner. But god, he'd hoped that in those stolen glances and warm smiles, maybe she loved him back.

His lips tingled with the feel of her lips on his. Not a good reminder. He didn't enjoy kissing her like he thought he would. Instead of everything clicking into place like he dreamed, it reminded him of everything that was wrong with the world. And the worst part? He didn't think he could ever move on.

Jan, the ever-so-stern boss, took some sympathy on Jim and gave him a heads-up about Stamford, where he demanded a transfer after what happened with Pam. It wouldn't be the same anymore, staying in Scranton. Without he and Pam's shared jokes, the office wasn't worth staying at anymore.

But of course, fate is funny.

Jan told him Stamford was to shut down anyway, due to their boss, Josh's "betrayal." So a few of the best employees would be transferring to Scranton. As well as the new hire. And to soothe his disappointment, Jim got a pay raise, and a fancy new title to put on his desk plaque. "Assistant Regional Manager." He couldn't wait to see Dwight's reaction to that.

He's nice enough to the fresh blood, sure. He isn't exactly the "welcoming committee" type. He only realises he has to actually try when Michael instructs him to train the new hire- a fresh graduate, who Josh promised to train himself before, well, the Great Betrayal.

"Anyhoo, Jimbob, Jimmy Jam. Show her 'round the office, see if she's got good pipes."

Jim sighs and leaves before Michael decides to make more inappropriate comments about the newbie. He hadn't noticed her when she first walked in with the Stamford transfers. He was too busy trying to avoid Pam's gaze and ignore Andy's desperate pursuit of her. The new hire is sat at the only available desk behind Kelly, her eyes locked blankly on her computer screen as Kelly runs her mouth about the most exciting new news about Justin Timberlake and Cameron Diaz's breakup (He knew all the details already because she managed to find him alone in the break room earlier). Jim leans on the partition between her and Toby's desk, exchanging a look with her. She gives him a tight-lipped smile, universal for "Save me, please."

"Kelly, you mind if I borrow the new kid for a minute?"

"Sure," Kelly smiles up at him. "She probably needs a minute to process the drama."

"Totally right," the hire stands, quickly rushing to Jim's side. "I owe you big time for getting me out of there. I haven't been able to work a wink since I arrived."

"I'd consider Kelly one of the more sane ones here. You're in for a treat." He spins to face her, really looking at her for the first time. She was nothing like Pam. She was nothing like any girl he'd ever been with, really. She was beautiful, but in a haunting way. Like a girl you'd see at the airport or a cafe, and you would just stop and stare, but never actually go up to her. She would linger in your thoughts and show up in your dreams but you never knew her name. But here? He knows her name.

"Martin and Tony have already quit. I'm just starting, so I wanna tough it out." Her words snap him out of his directionless ponder.

"And I'm here to help you with that. Jim Halpert." He thrusts out his hand. She takes it, her hand soft.

"I know. You're the assistant manager." He nods, smiling in his signature way.

"And as assistant manager, I'm promoting you to the desk beside me and not Kelly. So we have some chance of getting work done?" She lets out a breath of relief at his offer.

"I. Love. You." Then she scurries off to her desk, presumably to pack her things.

Those words can't leave his head as we walked back to his desk. She'd been joking, of course. He can't care less about her.

He trains her how he would anyone else. But she's a clever girl. Quick learner. They must be putting these kids through hell in college. Back in his day, they'd be lucky if the professor showed up to class. Soon enough, she's competent enough to ride solo, showing better results this early in than the others did in their whole careers. And she's funny.

The dashboard clock clicks to 4:15 PM.

The heat in the car is a welcomed contrast against the late autumn chill outside. He keeps his eyes on the Pennsylvania highway. She is rifling through the glove box after her first ride-alone with Jim.

"You have six packs of napkins from three different fast-food chains, but not a single pen that works," she says. She holds up a dried-out ballpoint. "This is a hostile work environment."

He snorts, turning the wheel slightly to merge onto the interstate. "Those are a prized collection of napkins. For coffee spills. And Dwight probably stole the pens."

"Dwight spent twenty minutes this morning measuring his desk with a ruler because he swears the alignment is off by two millimetres."

"Did you help him?"

"Obviously. I told him magnetic forces from the breakroom microwave were warping the wood. He’s currently wrapping his desk legs in tin foil."

He laughs out loud. It's not the polite, corporate chuckle he uses for Michael's terrible conference room jokes. It's real. Like he used to with Pam. It fills the quiet space of the Corolla.

He glances at her from the corner of his eye. She's looking out the passenger window, a tiny, satisfied smirk playing on her lips. For the first time in three years, the drive back from a client feels short.

"That's evil," he says, though his tone is entirely fond.

"Evil? This is tame, Jim. The stuff you've done is far worse and let me remind you-- I learn from the best."

"I had no idea business school taught you how to use psychological warfare."

"I had to survive somehow."

They pass the "Scranton welcomes you" sign. Usually, a knot of boredom tightens in his stomach right about here. Today, he finds himself slowing down, wishing the traffic back home was just a little bit worse.

They walk back into the building, the chilly autumn air outside instantly replaced by the familiar hum of fluorescent lights. Instead of heading straight back to the bullpen, she makes a sharp detour toward the breakroom. Jim follows her like a puppy, not having the time to think about it.

She stops in front of the vending machine, leaning her forehead against the cool glass to inspect the rows of chips.

"Tragedy" she sighs, pointing a finger at a vacant metal coil. "The baked potato chips are gone. Kevin must have had a stressful morning."

"Kevin doesn't need stress to clear out the machine," Jim says, leaning his shoulder against the soda machine next to the vending machine. "He works on a strict biological clock. But if you're looking for tragedy, look at row D-4."

She follows the number, squinting. "An expired pack of strawberry licorice?"

"From 2004. A Dunder Mifflin relic," Jim nods solemnly, a playful smile on his face. "We keep it there to remind us of our mortality."

She laughs, a sharp, bright sound that echoes off the linoleum walls. She reaches up to adjust the collar of her cardigan, the sudden movement kicking up a wave of air right between them.

Jim takes a breath, and his brain completely stops.

He catches the full, concentrated hit of her perfume. It isn't the sickening, suffocating pine spray Phyllis uses, nor the medicinal lavender Angela favours. It's diferent. Light, crisp, and hits him right in the chest, smelling faintly of sweet citrus mixed with a warm, clean vanilla. The scent fills the cramped space between them, and for a second, Jim completely forgets what they were talking about. His eyes lock onto the small slope of her neck where her collar shifted. It is intoxicating.

"Hey," she says, snapping her fingers right in front of his nose. "Halpert. Are you staring at the licorice or dissociating?"

Jim blinks, forcing his eyes up to meet hers. He clears his throat quickly, hoping his voice doesn't sound as choked up as he suddenly feels. "Uh, neither. Just calculating the odds of that machine eating your dollar."

She looks at him, her eyes narrowing in amusement. She steps a fraction of an inch closer, holding up her wrist right beneath his chin. "Wait, smell this. Honestly. Does this smell like 'Sandalwood Citrus' or does it smell like the industrial cleaner Michael uses when he spills chili?"

The proximity makes his chest tighten. The warmth radiating from her skin mixes with that sweet vanilla scent, making his heart hammer a shaky rhythm against his ribcage. He leans his head down just an inch, taking a wary sniff.

"Definitely cleaner," Jim says, his voice a little rougher than usual, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I hate you," she laughs, pulling her hand back with a dramatic eye-roll. The lingering scent of her perfume is still floating between them, thick and warm in the air, making the thought of going back to his desk feel completely impossible. But he does. And he steals glances at her over his computer. He watches her face prop up on her hand as she scrolls through emails, looking miserable. A hair strand falls into her eye. She blows it off with a huff. He can't look away.

"You’re like a skyscraper," she mutters, her voice dropping as she slides her chair closer.

She peeks under the gap where their desks lock together. His long legs fill the narrow space, leaving her nowhere to put her own feet. The tight fit makes every slight movement electric.

She taps the heel of her pump sharply against his shin, letting out a soft giggle. "How tall are you anyway? Six-five? Six-four?"

"Six-three."

She goes quiet. She is too busy using his knees as targets, tapping and bouncing her shoes against them like she is playing a slow game of under-desk beer pong.

"You're like invading my desk space."

"That was never a problem before you," he withdraws his legs from under the desks and angles them away. "You're disrupting my comfort."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere so..." He chuckles at her, shaking his head, tongue in between his teeth.

He walks home that night in the biting cold, coat wrapped around him but it's not what's bringing heat to his cheeks. The way she laughed at him was burned into the back of his eyelids. His phone buzzes- "4 new voicemails" with the number for the Dunder Mifflin reception phone. Pam. He feels sick.

He puts the phone to his ear, stopping his walk so he doesn't collapse. He didn't want to hear what Pam had to say, didn't want to shadow his giddiness with the sadness that never truly left.

"Hey, Jim. It's me. I took over Pam's phone line. Michael has me staying late. He has some initiation ritual for me," Jim stands frozen on the dark sidewalk as she fills his ear with her exasperated complaints, her voice warm, breathless, and entirely undoing his resolve. He hadn't expected her at all. "I think he's pretending to knight me like he's the Queen of England. Was it just as rough for you when you started?"

"Jim. Me again. I think I'm gonna die. He has me riding a broom named "Maximus". He put on a wig and is pretending to be a maiden in a tower. I'm using a cucumber as a sword. Save me, Halpert."

The voicemails detailed her wild evening into his ear on the sidewalk, and the heavy knot in his stomach just evaporated. It felt like the exact second the rain stops and the sky clears.

He flashes Pam a tight smile on his way in the next morning. And then approaches his desk to find a coffee takeaway from his favourite place down the street. With a small note on a post-it. "I'll be out with Michael today. Don't do anything too fun without me x." He must've been grinning like an idiot, because Dwight notices.

"Her handwriting's terrible."

"I think it's fine. It's cursive-y." Jim places his blazer on the chair, bag under the desk. The space felt too empty without her.

"Cursive is meant to be slanted. Hers is entirely standing straight. It's barbaric."

"What's really barbaric is that she isn't here today," Jim mutters.

"She's unfit to reproduce with. A man requires a woman with ample breasts and child-bearing hips."

"I'm not looking to reproduce with her," but his voice was unconvincing in the way it came out. "And I think her breasts are good." Dwight snorts but doesn't say anything else.

Jim shakes the soda machine to retrieve his bottled water in the break room, later. He saw her opting for water a couple days ago, so he thought he would too. He'd been putting on a few pounds anyway. The soda had probably gotten to his head at this point. It finally releases when Kevin walks in.

"Hey Jim," the man drawls.

"Hey, Kev. What's up?" Jim asks, unscrewing the lid of his healthy alternative.

"Well, we were curious who you were gonna sleep with this week."

"Why, Kev, you wanna book an opening?"

"No but we have a bet and I wanna win."

"Okay," Jim leans against the machine, pretending to think long and hard. "What are my options?"

"Well, Pam. And the new hire." He freezes at the mention of her. Why was she even being considered?

"Oh, Kev, the newbie and I are friends. She's my trainee."

"You keep telling yourself that, but we've seen you look at her that way." For once, the sarcastic James Halpert, who always had an answer to everything, was speechless. Kevin drones on in the background about which one would be better suited for him (the new hire, because that's who he placed his money on) based on physical appearance. But Jim doesn't listen. Dwight's comment earlier and now Kevin's question, made him feel sick. He hadn't thought of her that way, had he?

He sits up in his bedroom, moonlight drowning the room in silver. He flicks her note in his fingers. He brings it up to his nose and breathes her scent in. "I'll be out with Michael today. Don't do anything too fun without me x." No one had ever cared for him enough to remember his coffee order, and even leave a note explaining their absence. No one had ever cared enough to put an x at the end of their notes. No one smiled at his dumb jokes like she did. Or touch him so casually it drove him insane. No one looked at him with that glint in their eye. No one whispered to him so lovingly.

It is in this moment that Jim forgets about Pam. He didn't mean to, obviously. But the heartache that had been eating away at him for weeks and the fleeting glances she gave him (subject much to his overthinking) didn't take up space inside him anymore.

He remembers her laugh, her perfume, her witty remarks, her eyes, her jokes. Jim Halpert's shattered heart and even lower self esteem is beginning to be healed again. And for the first time in a long time, there is hope.

Jim's old spontaneity resurfaces. He grabs his sweater off his chair and puts it on, grabbing his car keys. He first grabs shitty flowers from CVS, then takeout from that Chinese place she opts to go to every time they go out for lunch, and drives to her place (he hadn't mean to memorise her address but he couldn't help it). Before he can talk himself out of it, he raps on her wooden apartment door. He waits a beat. Two. Three. He hears a soft "meow" before the door opens. And there she stands. Soft, sleepy, hair tousled, makeup clearly not removed, legs deliciously peeking out her nightgown.

"Jim?" she yawns, rubbing her eyes.

"Hey. I know you'll probably hate me for waking you up but...I missed you today." He holds up the peace offerings in his arms. She just stares, dumbfounded.

"You woke me up to talk," she glances back at the clock. "At 2:13 am?" He nods, swallowing thickly. He knew this had been a bad idea but he'd been too giddy not to see her. "Oh my god, is that China Moon?" Nod again. She breaks into a grin, clapping her hands lightly. She steps aside to let him through, her white fluffy cat trailing him.

She's just finished eating her egg roll when he speaks. "I saw your note today."

"Yeah? I wanted to say hi but you were late."

"I know, that's why I came here."

"I had a crazy day. I think Michael is insane." Jim chuckles at that, nodding.

"Yep. I've been trying to get him to do an MRI for years. To see what's wrong up there," he watches her wipe her hands on a tissue, voice dropping. "I think...Everyone in the office thinks we're a thing." She goes very still, watching him for any indication of his thoughts on the matter.

"That's...ridiculous. You're my...trainer."

"I don't think it's that ridiculous," he whispers. The last time he confessed, it had felt wrong. Heavy. Now he feels lighter than ever. He meets her softening eyes. "After Pam, I remember thinking 'this is it.' I never got the woman of my dreams. I fell in love with a woman who was never gonna be mine. I think I gave up. But then you come along..." he lets out a shaky breath, warring with emotion. "God, you..."

He must've been making a fool out of himself, for she cups his face, with hands so soft and warm, they'd made his body tingle. She moves to her knees on the couch, hands sliding into his hair. His eyes flick down to her lips. She takes the hint, softly pressing them to his own.

When he kissed her, he knew she was the one. Instead of reminding him of everything that was wrong with the world, the kiss, clicked everything clicking into place like he dreamed.

And no one mattered but her.