purple pink skies

“he seems serious this time.”

it was clear that was the case. for years, sukuna had threatened to attack stivaria, the kingdom ruled by his estranged younger brother, yuji. yet, he never made a move. it was all talk, which is why this predicament left yuji shocked; he never expected him to have the courage to actually do it.

yuji stood up from the desk, padding his feet over towards the window to look out amongst the land. even from miles away, he could make out the stampede of horses at the front gate.

“shit,” he swore, gritting his teeth, “they are moving too quickly.”

“i will gather the knights, sir,” kento said, “you can trust that we will drive them out.”

yuji nodded, turning to face kento again. “please,” he agreed, “i have faith in you.”

“that will be six p–”

bang. your eyes shot wide open, body jolting away from the counter, startled, as your gaze fell towards the front door of the bookshop. the customer you were helping dropped her book onto the ground with a screech, noticing the charge of knights rushing in the streets just a few feet away outside of the shop’s entrance. there were muffled screams and loud clangs violently erupting, your heart pounding horrified in your chest.

you ran around the front of the counter, wrapping your arms protectively around the woman’s shoulders. thankfully, there was no one else in the shop to worry about.

“come,” you said gently, tilting your head towards the back office.

you should have known hiding in the closet would lead to a dubious fate– but what other choice did you have? the only exit was blocked by the army.

“sir,” one of the men said, glancing between you and the woman huddled together, bodies shaking in fear, “what shall we do with them?”

sukuna stepped further into the room, turning the corner to see the two of you standing in the cramped space. something panged in his chest for a moment once his eyes landed on you. he scanned your bodies from head to toe, you swallowing nervously as you awaited your demise.

“take them to the castle,” he said simply, “have the handmaidens dress and feed them well.”

yuji was pacing in the courtyard, biting his nails anxiously as kento explained the dire situation further.

“nearly five hundred women have been taken, three hundred men are dead, and thousands are injured.”

yuji squeezed his eyes shut, chest pained. “and the knights?”

“two hundred injured, one hundred dead.”

“christ.”

unlike his predecessor, yuji cared about his kingdom; he did his best to listen to their plights and offer sound solutions. he was left with a huge mess to clean up when he was crowned king, having to rebuild everything from the ground up. this attack filled him with fear that everything he worked so hard for was now back at square one.

so, when he decided to sneak out of the kingdom on his own time in the middle of the night to spy on his brother, it was apparent it came from a place of true concern for his people resting in his heart. no king would put their lives in danger like that unless they had deep compassion.

he took nothing but a small oil lamp, a bow, and his horse, hooves digging into the slightly damp soil as he rode through the forest. of course, he had to find a round-a-bout way past the walls of akhadia, sukuna’s kingdom– being the ruler of a rivaling land, he could hardly just waltz in there casually without causing a ruckus.

fortunately for yuji, his aim was impeccable. from seven hundred feet away, he shot three poisoned darts at the guards idling in front of the furthest, most hidden entry point, the sharp heads landing perfectly on their shoulders. he’d read in his botany book about an herbal elixir that would cause those who ingested it to fall asleep for a few hours. it was painless– mostly– and acted as an anesthetic. administering it through the skin was an alternative, effective option, if direct ingestion wasn’t possible. he tested both methods out on himself, once steeping it into a tea, another time with a cut to his palm from a saturated blade. he confirmed the recipe was a success, waking up hours later groggy with a slight migraine both times.

he watched as the three men dropped like flies while he finished tying his horse, violet, to one of the nearby tree stumps; she would be far enough out of sight there, should anyone look out in her direction whilst he was away. he kissed her mane softly and gave her a gentle pat before cautiously making his way towards the gate to enter.

the street was quiet, barren. it was 2 am, but still, it was almost… eerily silent.

when he reached the base of the castle garden, he didn’t expect to see you.

yuji hadn’t been to your shop in a while, the last trip he made a few months prior consisted of stocking up on a huge haul of books– one of which was the current one he was enjoying so much.

he also didn’t expect to see you smiling and talking with his brother, especially in the wee hours of the night.

“what the hell?” he cursed quietly aloud to himself, brows furrowed. “has she been a spy for akhadia this whole time?” he couldn’t help but catastrophise. “no,” he shook his head, refusing to believe that was true. “she had to have been taken. perhaps she is infiltrating from the inside.” he was nearly convinced. “yes, that must be it.”

he didn’t know everything about you, but what he did know was enough to persuade himself into believing you weren’t an enemy.

but, right now, he wasn’t so sure of that.

“y/n,” nobara, the woman you tried to protect in the bookshop and who had become your closest friend amongst the handmaidens, called your name as she softly rapped on the doorframe of your room, stepping past the threshold, “the king is asking for you.”

you placed your brush down on the vanity, smiling at her through the reflection. “thank you, no, i will be there in a moment.”

she nodded, sending you the same smile back.

things turned out far different than what you expected when you were taken by the akhadian army. you expected them to kill you and nobara on the spot that day, or force you into a brothel if not, but instead, you were both given a role as handmaidens inside the castle grounds.

and you, something very clear to the rest, were the king’s favourite. sure, the other women were spread throughout spacious rooms of the castle in groups of twos and threes– all of which provided well for everyone’s needs– but you, you were given your own space, one on par with that of a betrothed.

perhaps that’s what sukuna’s intention was with you. you had thought about it, honestly, attempting to read between the lines of this arrangement; you weren’t sure how to feel about it if it were the case.

he had been nothing but sweet to you, truly treating you delicately and seeming to deeply care about you.

but, your stomach twisted every night, feeling sick to the point of vomiting in the marble bathtub of your private bathroom when you remembered he had kidnapped, hurt, and murdered many from your homeland, including yourself.

it didn’t matter that your nightgowns were decorated in gold, nor that you got to eat expensive cuts of meat and perfectly steamed vegetables every day. it meant nothing that he was kind to you and never touched you nonconsensually. everything left a bitter taste in your mouth when you reminded yourself that sukuna was actually a very vile man. even though he didn’t personally carry out any of the deeds, they were his orders, thus the blood rested on his hands.

you even feeling just a tinge of care for him had to be nothing other than stockholm syndrome. that’s what you believed, anyway.

you would do everything in your power to keep yourself unharmed, even if it meant playing the part inauthentically, wrapping him around your fingers with manipulation.

you bowed as you entered the throne room before slowly approaching sukuna. he was holding what looked to be a letter in his hand.

“you are remarkable with words, if i presume correctly, from your occupation as the keeper of a bookshop, yes?” he asked once he took notice of you, motioning you to step closer.

you obliged. “i suppose so, your highness," you responded gently, falling into your role.

“marvelous,” he smiled, passing the letter to you. “i received this message from my brother, but i am having trouble deciphering its meaning,” you took the paper from his hands, “do you think you could assist in helping me understand? unfortunately, yuji has always excelled in language and riddles, whilst i have just been more of a man of physical strength myself,” he chuckled.

you forced out a laugh. “i will do my best.”

the letter was chaotic, to say the least, nearly impossible to dissect– that is, if you weren’t thinking about the meaning properly.

four fifteen three the night is near you and me the clock is ticking tick tick tick turn your head bow to the sky if you come to find me i will not hide a beautiful woman and a man take a closer look you’ll see they are the same

somehow, you picked up on the subtleties immediately. your heart began to quicken, restless and hopeful.

the first five lines referred to a time and place. april 15th at 3 am, meet by the giant clock tower in the commerce district. turn your head, bow to the sky was a reference point of where, exactly, yuji would be waiting near the clock tower. you remembered there was a hidden alleyway close by that actually led to the inside of the tower, having noticed it one of the days sukuna took you with him into town. the next two lines simply stated that he would be there, a promise.

what struck you immediately that this letter was not actually meant for sukuna, but for one of the women in the castle, was the mention of a beautiful woman in the tenth line. then, the final two lines clarified which of them he was referring to. that yuji, and this particular woman, were the same, as in, they both despised sukuna.

there were several handmaidens that disliked him nearly, if not just as much as you did. yet, you felt like this letter was meant for you, specifically. yuji was acquainted with you, having stopped by your shop often. he knew your name and asked how you were doing each visit. after the first few times, he quickly learned that you, like him, were a grand dealer of words; it was fitting for an owner of a bookshop such as yourself.

of course, there could have been another woman taken from stivaria that had the same skills as you; but, it seemed like you were the intended audience. you figured he must have noticed you were no longer at the shop and concluded that you were amongst the group of women who were taken, if not dead; that he took his chances on that hunch, hoping somehow his words would reach you. all you could do, similarly, was take the risk of the message being directed towards you with caution, keeping well prepared in case you were mistaken.

you couldn’t reveal the truth of the letter to sukuna. you had to lie to keep things a secret, to successfully meet with yuji without his knowledge.

“i am deeply sorry,” you apologized, putting on a sympathetic expression, “these words i cannot seem to understand. i will attempt to ponder on them for some more time, but right now, i am just as lost as you are.”

sukuna sighed, taking the sheet of paper back as you returned it to him. “it is quite alright, thank you for trying,” he lifted the corner of his mouth with disappointment, but appreciation of your effort, “you may go.”

the days leading up to your secret meeting with yuji felt neverending. sukuna, thankfully, didn’t suspect a thing. and nobara, being the beautiful soul she was, offered to help you sneak out, and to act as an alibi and decoy if needed. you two had grown to trust each other over the months, thus you willingly shared the contents of the letter with her.

“are you sure you want to do this?” you asked her, frowning with concern, voice hushed. “if you get caught up in this, you could get seriously hurt. or worse.”

she nodded. “if it is going to save our people, i will do anything.”

you hugged her tight, then kissed her cheek. “thank you.”

she assisted you down from the third floor window, having the brains to create a rope contraption from sheets, towels, curtains, and the like that were sitting around the supply quarters. the weeks leading up to your escape, she slowly collected items and stashed them away in the wardrobe chest at the foot of her bed. no one thought twice about it, as retrieving new rags and such was a normal activity for a handmaiden.

she sent you a wave and fist in the air for encouragement, mouthing 'godspeed' as you looked up at her from the ground. you nodded, determined, heart pattering wildly in your chest.

you wrapped your cloak further around your body and threw the hood up, hiding your unlit oil lamp underneath it as you cautiously slipped into the night– it would be a risk to light it until you were off the castle grounds. getting past the guard of the side exit was easier than you expected; you had been observing all of them since you had read the letter, taking note of who was the ditziest so you knew which exit to take. throwing a rock against the wall opposite from you was enough to grab his attention and cause a distraction for a moment so you could quickly slip away.

the streets were quiet, apart from a few late-night pubs that remained open. you stayed attentive of your surroundings, keeping your lamp on the lowest setting so you had just enough illumination to help light your path without drawing attention.

“it must be here,” you muttered to yourself, head popping around the hidden cutout in the far left corner of the alleyway beside the clock tower.

yuji was there, sitting quietly, wrapped in a dark cloak of his own with a dagger in hand. his eyes flickered up when he heard your footsteps approaching him, readying himself to attack. he let out a sigh of relief when your face came into view.

“oh, thank god,” he breathed, “it is just you.”

“greetings, your highness,” you smiled, bowing respectfully.

“lift your head,” he said gently, “there is no need for that.” you blushed, slightly embarrassed, standing back up straight. yuji grinned at you warmly, hoping the little voice in his heart that told him you could be trusted was actually correct. “it is good to see you, y/n,” he said softly, “i was afraid… well, so many people have died because of akhadia’s recent attack, so i am just delighted to know that you are still alive and, hopefully, well.”

“likewise,” you agreed, “truth be told, those of us who were taken to the castle are treated very well there.”

“really?” he seemed surprised, fully assuming his brother to be ruthless. “that is quite a shock to hear.”

“but,” you continued, “none of it matters to me. i want sukuna dead. he harmed my home, i will accept nothing less than it being returned to him sevenfold.”

yuji broke out into a smirk, one that convinced him that you, in fact, were on his side. “that makes two of us,” he agreed, “i am glad my gamble worked, that my letter reached you.”

“your brother seems to have taken a special liking to me,” something sickening twisted in yuji’s stomach when you said this, “i was the one he immediately asked to help him decrypt your message.”

“is that so?”

you nodded. “i think his apparent favoritism could be used to our advantage.”

he was listening now, more intently than before. “do elaborate.”

sukuna was receiving your increased affectionate language well. in fact, it didn’t take long for him to rely on you more once you had moved onto adding subtle, physical touches, too.

his skin would burn hot beneath your fingertips, lingerings that he was convinced were possessive, but really, were secretly riddled with plans of sabotage. in order for you and yuji’s plan to work, you needed him to trust you, to open his heart up to you, to believe that you were falling in love with him.

“y/n,” his voice was rough, hand intertwining with yours in the garden. it was nightfall, the two of you taking your regular stroll together in the lowlight. you had to convince him to move your time spent together to earlier than before, having been doing so in the wee hours of the night for a while– but now, you needed those strictly to sneak out and meet with yuji. “i must confess something.”

“go on,” you nodded.

he was smiling, glowing, and your heart flipped– and not in the bad way. "remember who he is," you warned yourself silently.

“i want you,” he said, simple and confident, squeezing your hand, “this desire just keeps growing within me as we pass our days together and, god, i want more.”

you knew this was likely; playing into his attraction for you was part of the plan. your stomach tied into knots, pulse quickening. you loathed him, truly, but you weren’t above finding him handsome solely on the outside. his eyes were beautiful, scars framing them ruggedly attractive, body built and sturdy– unfortunately for you, you were a sexual being, and that came with needs.

you fell into a smirk, one that was calculated and intended to be manipulative, moving your body forward to press your chest against his. he inhaled sharply from the impact, eyes flickering to your lips. he didn’t move yet. he wouldn’t until you told him to.

“your highness," you whispered, low and sultry, “shall we take this inside?”

sukuna was on his knees in no time once the two of you reached his chambers, pressing your back against the wall while he hiked your skirt up and removed your panties. he groaned at the sight of you, glistening and dripping.

“god,” he huffed, “all of this for me?”

you bit your lip the moment he ran his fingers through your folds. “yes,” you moaned, dropping your head back against the wood. it wasn’t a lie. you could be aroused by someone despite their horrible personality. “please, touch me more.”

he leaned forward and flattened his tongue against your clit, licking and sucking messily as his fingers pried open your entrance. you hummed blissfully, one hand snaking its way into his hair, whilst the other lifted to squeeze your breasts.

“tastes so sweet,” he muttered against you, quickening his pace.

your legs were shaking, the coil in your stomach on the verge of snapping. you tugged his hair, hard, when his fingers curled into your pleasure point, a loud cry escaping your throat. “fuck, sukuna, fuck!”

the use of his name, rather than the usual honorifics, made him feel insane. he moaned against your sex, moving at an incalculable speed as you began to release around his fingers.

“so perfect, darling,” he hummed, eyes rolling, “give me all of your cum.”

you broke, squirting on his face while your body shook violently. he gripped your thighs firmly to keep you from losing your balance, making sure to drink every last drop of your sweet juice. he parted from you with a loud pop, standing back up to his feet and placing a soft kiss on your lips. it quickly turned heated, your back pressed against his mattress not too much later, both of your bodies now completely bare.

“holy shit,” he whistled, “you are so beautiful.”

your heart fluttered in your chest. fuck, things were already starting to get messy. you had to constantly remind yourself that this was for the sake of saving your kingdom, for ridding his existence, that any budding feelings for him were simply false and a result of being caught up in the moment.

“fuck me, sukuna,” you cooed, holding his shoulders steady as he hovered over you.

he growled at your command, so confident and needy, moving to slip inside of you. you both groaned in unison, the burn of the stretch filling you up ecstatically. his lips were on your neck, biting and sucking purples and blues into your pulse points.

your back arched as he picked up speed, pace relentless, pelvis smacking against your ass while he kept your legs thrown over his shoulders. he palmed your clit once, a whimper releasing from your throat as you began to reach your peak again.

“fuck, y/n,” he choked, hips threatening to slow, “you are so tight around me, my god, i want to ravish you forever.”

“i–i am so close,” you moaned, grabbing his wrist in desperation to come, “keep going.”

he did, raspy sounds dripping off his tongue as he felt you become wetter and wetter from his pace. “jesus,” he groaned, hips beginning to stutter, “i am about to come.”

“fill me up, sukuna,” you cooed, lost in the moment, quickly placing your fingers onto your clit to circle yourself to orgasm, “show me how much you want me.”

he whined at that, eyes rolling backwards violently as he let himself go, spurting his hot seed into your battered hole. with a loud moan, your stomach snapped, your cum trickling down the sides of his cock as he steadily came to a still.

“oh my god,” he exclaimed once he could finally breathe again, “that was incredible.”

“yeah,” you smiled, only half lying, “i agree.”

he asked you to stay after the two of you cleaned up. you took the opportunity, despite feeling a bit uncomfortable, knowing it may allow you to pull some information out of him.

you lay there in his arms, his fingers running through your hair– in it of itself, it felt nice.

“how are you, really?” you asked him. you hoped this simple question would ease the way into the conversation you needed.

“well,” he sighed, “strategizing how to conquer another kingdom is no easy feat.”

“tell me more.”

he raised his brow at you. “why do you sound so eager? if i did not know any better, i would assume you were conspiring against me.” he chuckled, clearly joking, but you didn’t fully believe he was.

you tensed, but not enough for him to notice. you had to think of a cover up and fast. “never,” you purred, leaning your head up to feather kisses along his neck. he sighed, his hands that were still moving on your skin coming to a halt as he immersed himself into your touch. “i have always hated stivaria,” even to lie about your home felt sickening, “i am actually highly grateful you brought me here.”

he backed away for a moment to look down at you in the face. “really?” he smiled. “i am glad to hear that.”

then, he started to reveal his plans to you, a little bit at a time. truly, men were such simple creatures– at least sukuna, specifically. he was so easy to manipulate. you could really get away with anything when he was pussy drunk.

“he is going to attack in a fortnight.”

you and yuji were together at the usual place a few weeks later, hidden, discreet, discussing plans low and carefully.

he inhaled sharply at your words, dropping his head with a grit of the teeth. “fuck,” he hissed, “did he mention how many men? his methods at all?”

“he mentioned a few thousand, but did not go into specifics on how he was going to deploy the strike. i do not think he trusts me enough yet.”

he sighed, nodding in understanding. “what you have told me is still very helpful, thank you.”

you both sat there, quietly, under a nearby landing that kept you dry from the growing downpour. the whistling hum of the cool, night wind of may in your region brushed against your cheeks, causing you to shiver. yuji noticed, instinctively wrapping his arms around your shoulders to warm you up.

“sorry,” he apologized, “i know meeting like this is not… ideal.”

you smiled sympathetically. “we must do what we have to do.”

despite your shivering, you felt warm, skin heating up from his body pressed firmly against yours. you could feel the faintness of his breath ghosting your neck.

“are you… are you okay? you know, with everything we agreed upon in the plan?” he asked after a few minutes of silence, genuinely concerned.

you nodded. “it is not so bad, but, i do hope things will be over soon.”

yuji felt guilty, chest twisting disgustingly. he was starting to hate himself for getting you involved. “does… do you let him touch you?”

you froze, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t make out his words at all. “why do you ask?” you questioned, feeling a pang of shame rise in your stomach.

he scratched the back of his head nervously. “just curious, i suppose.”

you swallowed, figuring if you were working together on something as dire as trying to murder his brother, you might as well be fully honest. “sometimes,” you admitted, voice low, “i think it is necessary to gain his trust.”

he opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it, losing his confidence. he wasn’t sure if he should allow those words to leave the confines of his head.

the air was thick, only growing more so with each passing second. clearly, something had been ignited between the two of you from the exchange, a predicament you never expected to be in.

yuji couldn’t keep his feelings and apparent jealousy hidden anymore, taking a deep breath before asking the pressing question on his mind. “is it good?”

you knew what he was referring to. you didn’t need to ask. when you looked at him, he seemed almost desperate for you to say no. like if you didn’t, it’d shatter him somehow.

you nodded, eyes darting to the slick pavement below you, “yeah,” you admitted, “it feels nice.”

his breath stuttered beside your ear. “that is good, then,” his voice was quiet, somewhat pained, “at least it is enjoyable if you, you know, have to do these things to see the plan through.” he was trying to be supportive, understanding the reasoning behind it, but it didn’t hurt any less.

yuji had always liked you, seen you, wanted you deeper than just friendly conversations in the bookshop. but, with his status in comparison to yours, it was looked down upon, taboo, almost forbidden, for him to love a commoner such as yourself. for that reason, and just being so focused on doing his best to keep his kingdom safe, he never looked at another woman after the realization– he just stayed on his own, trusting only kento beyond himself with all things relative to stivaria’s well-being.

“i suppose,” you agreed, “but without any emotional substance involved, it feels empty,” you confessed, “it is solely physical for me.”

he perked up, curious to learn more. “have you ever had that? someone that made you feel safe emotionally?”

you shook your head. “not in sexual matters, no.”

he frowned, feeling saddened. he didn’t like knowing you weren’t treated the way you should be when it came to such intimate acts. he tensed beside you, fingers involuntarily pressing into your shoulders he still kept ahold of for you two to stay close and keep your bodies warm in the cool, rainy night.

“yuji?” you called his name gently, noticing the shift in the atmosphere. “is everything alright?”

he sighed, turning to look you in the eye. your heart threatened to leap out of your throat once you realized how close your faces were to each other.

“not really,” he bit his lip, darting his gaze away from you, “hearing you say that makes me feel angry on your behalf and… and jealous of sukuna.”

“jealous of sukuna?” you questioned. “what for? you are better than him in every aspect as far as i am concerned.”

he blushed. “thanks, but, i just mean– fuck,” he paused for a moment, “i just mean that i–i want to be the one touching you, but not in the same way as him.”

your eyes widened, pulse quickening. “w–what?”

he was looking at you now, really looking at you, dropping his hands to find yours. you let him take them into his.

“y/n,” he started, voice more assertive than before, yet still kind and sweet, “getting to know you in the bookshop over the years, and now these past few weeks with this unfortunate situation, has been amazing,” your cheeks were flushed, surprised to hear him say these words to you, “i–i always found you beautiful, but never said anything. you know how it is,” he looked at you apologetically, “a king and a commoner would surely make people talk, and not in a good way.” you nodded in understanding. “being with you like this, away from the fortunes of the castle, fending for myself in ways that i never had to before, has taught me many beautiful things,” he squeezed your hands tighter, “one of them being that i am in love with you.”

you gasped, lips parting as you stared at him, stomach flipping, heart skipping a beat, really allowing his words to sink into you. “yuji…”

“i am not asking for anything in return,” he continued, “and even if i was, it would not be now when we have work to do,” he rubbed his thumbs over your knuckles, “i just needed to tell you, because if things go wrong, if you or i–”

“we are not going to lose.” you interrupted firmly.

he sighed, lips pulling into a melancholic smile. “regardless, i just could not hold off being honest with you any longer. burying my feelings for five years is long enough.”

then, you kissed him, the quiet patter of the rain on the soaked pavement blocking out everything else, both in your mind and your physical surroundings, other than yuji. his eyes slowly began to shut after the initial shock, arms moving to grip your waist and fall deeper into your lips. your hands found his cheeks, palms resting there, just holding him. he let out a soft whimper as your tongue slipped past his teeth, him tightening his grip at your sides. the kiss was growing heated, and neither of you wanted to part, but given your circumstances, it was best to do so. you pulled away resting your foreheads against each other, desperate, panting breaths hovering each other as you just sat there basking in one another.

“wait for me,” you whispered, thumb brushing across his cheek.

yuji squeezed his eyes shut, “i will,” heart struggling to settle, “just like i always have.”

back in akhadia, things inside the castle were chaotic, stressful, everyone walking on eggshells so as to not upset sukuna. it was nearly time for the akhadian army to attack stivaria, much of the days filled with finalizing plans and courses of action for the siege.

you were on high alert, monitoring his every move. of course, at this point, you had gained a fair amount of intel from him– all you had to do was make him come and he'd spill everything to you without even needing to be asked. what a fool he was.

your best bet of administering the poison– an elixir yuji had made and given to you during one of your regular meetings– would be during a steamy night together. if you could somehow convince him to drink tea with you after he was fucked out, things would, theoretically, run smoothly. you had a small dagger hidden in your boot as a last resort. the aim was to kill him before the war began, thus, hopefully, preventing it from occurring at all.

“y/n, darling, come sit,” sukuna sang, splaying himself out on the loveseat in his bedroom, blouse unbuttoned and hair slightly disheveled. he patted the empty space beside him. “let us celebrate, for tomorrow stivaria shall fall.”

you swallowed, forcing on your mask. you sat beside him with a smirk, leaning over to place a searing kiss on his lips whilst your palm came to rest on his revealed chest. “stivaria shall fall,” you repeated.

there was tea already prepared, him mixing two sugar cubes into both of your cups. “these leaves are straight from the alishan mountains in taiwan, they are absolutely scrumptious.”

you took a sip, humming from the warmth. the body extracted from the leaves was delicious, just as he insisted.

he stood up for a moment, “i just need the loo, be back in a moment,” making his way towards his private bathroom a few feet away from the couch.

once the door was shut completely, you searched for the poison vial hidden in your corset. you frantically flickered your gaze between the bathroom door and sukuna’s tea cup, making sure to pour it in a timely and discreet manner. thankfully, you managed to shove the empty glass back underneath your clothes right before he finished relieving himself.

there was a peculiar look in his eyes, one that watched you from his peripheral as he sat back down and sipped at his tea once again.

you felt it instantly, the shift in the atmosphere. something was very wrong.

“is everything alright, y/n?” sukuna asked. his voice sounded distorted, almost demonic. you felt sick. “you look like you have seen a ghost.”

your eyes started to twitch violently, heart tightening in your chest to the point where you could hardly breathe. you choked, dropping your own tea cup onto the floor with a piercing shatter.

“what a shame,” he pouted mockingly, “this set was a gift from my brother.”

your eyes widened, the temptation to jump and stab him right there lingering. but you couldn’t move. you were paralyzed.

“w–what have you done to me?” you wheezed, sweating profusely, awful sounds of desperation for oxygen clogging your throat.

through blurry eyes, you managed to see sukuna take a vial of his own out from his pants pocket, quickly downing the white substance– an antidote. “oh, sweetheart,” he cooed. your body felt like it had been set ablaze, as if you were already in hell, “i am always one step ahead.”

“you fucking–”

“save your breath,” he interrupted. you looked at him, body beginning to fall into a deep slumber, “do not be frightened, my love,” he purred. you wanted to throw up, “you will only be out long enough so as to not interfere with my plans tomorrow,” you parted your lips to speak, but nothing came out, “but after i have my brother’s head, i will make the rest of your life torturous.”

everything went completely black.

yuji was huddled in the throne room with his army, completely ready to dispatch once the signal was sounded. prior to the siege, he had made an announcement to the commoners to leave the kingdom, and if they couldn’t manage to do that, to lock up and hide in their homes to the best of their ability. all he could do was offer, hopefully, a way for everyone to stay safe during the inevitable strike from the enemy.

the room was quiet, everyone on guard and full of fear. yuji would only know if yours and his plan worked if the signal was not sent. additionally, there hadn’t been a war in over twenty years, and many of the knights– as well as the commonfolk– weren’t even alive yet when it had broken out. yuji, himself, was only a baby at the time. the anxiety was viable.

kento stepped away from the window, nodding towards the men. “the signal has been deployed.”

yuji, despite the complaints of kento and the like, made the decision to join the frontlines. clearly, the plan to have sukuna poisoned, thus stopping the war from starting, was unsuccessful. therefore, he made it loud and clear he would be the one to send his brother to his death.

back in akhadia, you awoke to a pounding headache, mouth dry and coughing uncontrollably. you slowly lifted yourself up off of the cool surface you were laying on, soon realizing you were locked in a cell.

“what the fuck?” you cursed, frantically looking around. “how did i–,” you paused, beginning to recall the events leading up to what you assumed landed you here.

you remembered drinking tea with sukuna, how he managed to poison you– presumably through the sugar cubes– feeding it to himself willingly with full trust in the antidote he had prepared. somehow, he figured out what you were up to, though you had no idea when he began to suspect you, being sure to sip at his cup he had already known you tainted so you would believe you had the upperhand. you truly thought you had won. but of course, you should have known better– should have known sukuna was much smarter than he led on. it all started to make sense, why he waited so long to strike stivaria. he had been plotting for years, making sure to be as thorough as possible before deciding to attack.

you curled your legs up against your chest, metal chains clanging loudly on the cold, dirty gravel floor as you began to cry. your heart shattered, feeling like you let yuji– and your entire kingdom– down.

“i am so stupid,” you sobbed, feeling nothing but pain and shame. “i am sorry i have failed all of you.”

“y/n,” nobara’s soft voice unexpectedly entered your ears. you looked up quickly, expression falling into one of shock as you saw her standing on the other side of the bars with keys in hand. “thank god you are awake,” she exhaled in relief.

“w–what are you– how did you get–”

the prison door screeched open, nobara squatting down to help release you from confinement and up to your feet. you were extremely weak, but managed, her holding you in a way that allowed you to rest upon her body.

“the ladies and i have been planning, too,” she smiled, hopeful. “i did not say anything, because i believed with your central role in all of this, there was the possibility of you being caught. if you were, everything would fall apart.” she shifted your body, “if this was going to work properly, the rest of us had to keep it only between us.”

you understood her logic, and agreed. if sukuna was able to read through you and figure out your plan with yuji, he would have figured out theirs all the same if the knowledge resided within you.

“his favouritism came in handy,” nobara added, carefully guiding you up the steps and out of the cellar, “you kept him distracted well.”

upon entering the ground floor of the castle, you immediately took notice of how quiet and dark it was. then, you saw the bodies– countless guards and other supporting staff of sukuna’s wrapped up in chains, mouths tied shut with rags, eyes closed. weapons and shields were missing from them. you saw maki, one of nobara's other good friends, finishing up the job on one of men.

“oh my god,” you exhaled, impressed and terrified. “what is all of this?”

“well, half of us perfected various poisons, the other stealth,” nobara smiled proudly, “and we all taught ourselves how to fight. some of us learned how to use a bow, others swords.”

when she took you through the front gate and outside into the garden, you gasped, seeing all of your beautiful, fellow handmaiden suited up and ready to save your kingdom– even those that weren’t from stivaria.

“we have had enough,” maki said, now standing on your other side, “the gentle treatment of us inside these castle walls is scum of the earth to us,” she spat, “it means nothing when innocent people are being destroyed under our very noses, no matter a foreigner or native.” she turned to you, sending you a warm smile. “many of us akhadians despise sukuna just as you do.”

you couldn’t help but laugh in relief, feeling so inspired by these beautiful, powerful women that surrounded you. there must have been at least two hundred of them.

“take me to the knight’s commons,” you said, “i must suit up,” turning towards nobara, “i am going with you.”

her face faltered. “but, you are hurt–”

“i refuse to sit around and do nothing.” your voice came out more dominant than anticipated.

even though she was hesitant, nobara broke out into a proud grin. she felt over the moon to have such a kind, strong friend by her side. “alright,” she nodded, “let us kill that son of a bitch.”

“shit, on your right!” kento’s loud voice sliced through the clanking of swords to warn yuji.

he hissed, ducking just in time to avoid getting his head cut off, sending a quick stab into the man’s stomach. with a cry, he stumbled backwards and onto the ground. he pulled the sword out of his abdomen, spitting in his face before stabbing him straight in the neck.

“you, sir, have fucked with the wrong kingdom.”

most of the fighting was a blur, yuji’s brain deeply focused on nothing but making sure he kept himself as unharmed as possible and protecting his men.

stab. duck. cut. kill. these were the words on constant repeat in his mind.

inevitably, he was losing steam. he was strong and in shape, but not quite as much as the rest of the army. on the surface level, joining the front lines was a very foolish decision, but he was so determined to protect his kingdom and end the war by his own hands.

many broken ribs, wounds, and hours later, he was panting, darting his eyes everywhere amongst the crowd of knights. he still hadn’t seen sukuna yet. he laughed bitterly in his mind, convinced he wasn’t going to show up at all.

“coward,” he spat quietly to himself, “fucking coward.”

he was wrong.

“halt!” sukuna’s loud, brute voice rippled through the crowd.

everyone stopped, startled by his sudden entrance. kento looked sideways at yuji, searching for further guidance on what he should do next, if they should really pause or keep fighting.

yuji held up his hand, signaling him to stand down. “part!” he commanded his men, standing up straight.

there was hesitancy in the crowd, sukuna chuckling at his seemingly weak brother. really, yuji’s men just wanted to be sure they should risk ceasing the battle and possibly get blindsided by akhadia’s army, not because they believed he was incompetent.

“you heard him,” sukuna smirked, “step aside!”

the knights parted the red sea, allowing space in the center for the two kings to face one another. it fell silent, everyone’s eyes now on them.

yuji glared, hissing with each painful step of his battered body, while sukuna stayed smug, completely untouched.

once yuji was closer, he began to laugh hysterically. sukuna was confused, but kept still, unwavering in his place.

“you,” yuji spat, “showing up here without a scratch after so many of your men have died,” gritting his teeth, “is the most spineless thing a man, let alone a king, can do.”

sukuna’s smile faltered and he licked his teeth, grabbing him by the collar. “watch what you say,” he warned.

yuji laughed harder. he was bleeding and exhausted. “you stand here, acting all high and mighty,” he continued to taunt, “but really, you just make everyone else do your dirty work for you while you sit back and let them destroy themselves for the sake of your arrogance.”

sukuna slapped him hard across the face, then unsheathed his sword and pressed it taut against his neck. there was a shuffling of clangs erupting in the crowd, the knights readying themselves to attack again when prompted.

yuji put his hand up once more in demand. “no need,” he announced.

sukuna kept his stare intensely on his brother, but offered a similar phrase to his own men. “stand down,” he said, “this one is mine.” he let go of yuji, backing away to ready his stance.

yuji, dizzy and near ready to pass out, gathered every remaining bit of energy he had and did the same as him.

but before they could begin their face off, there was a rush of flying arrows and screams from the men surrounding them. they both looked around, confused, trying to figure out what was going on. then, yuji caught sight of someone in a red cloak, quickly cutting off the head of one of akhadia’s men.

and then he saw three more. sukuna noticed, too.

“what the hell–” sukuna was interrupted by a sharp pinch in his leg, he growled in pain, glancing down at his calf to see he had been struck by an arrow, “shit!”

the moment his eyes moved upwards again to observe the crowd, he caught a glimpse of one of the cloaked figures' faces. he recognized her, a woman, one of his handmaiden.

“fuck, how did they…” he cursed. he glared at yuji, then spoke again, voice loud and clear. “attack!” he demanded his men, tsking in annoyance, “do not let them walk out of here freely!”

yuji gritted his teeth, commanding his army to do the same. “fight, my men!” he yelled, demanding, “for this victory shall be ours!”

you were hidden in the aqueduct with nobara and maki, eyes watching the battle unfold below you. your stomach twisted in fear, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as you watched your people fight for their– and the entire kingdom’s– lives. you still felt weak, but could stand and walk. your throat tightened when you saw sukuna knock yuji onto his knees.

“no,” you called her softly, “if you can get me close enough, i can strike sukuna right in the neck.”

she cocked her head curiously. “how so?”

“i never told you, but, when i was younger, my father taught me how to use a dagger,” you continued, “turns out, i can make a pretty damn good throw from a notable distance,” you smiled, “and according to the amount of deer we brought home to feed our family, it’s lethal.”

nobara nodded, trusting you in a heartbeat. she turned to maki a few feet away, motioning her to step closer so the three of you could conduct a plan. you were grateful your dagger was still hidden tightly in your boot.

you could see yuji was struggling once you, maki, and nobara made it to one of the lower columns of the aqueduct. your heart panged in your chest, worry spreading throughout your veins. you trusted yuji would be okay, you truly did, but sukuna was vile and merciless; and as much as yuji hated him, he was still his brother. you knew that with the amount of kindness held in his heart, there was a possibility for hesitancy when it came to seeing through ending his life.

you could stomach the aftermath, living with the truth you murdered someone. but you weren’t so sure if he could.

“here,” you whispered to the girls, rooting yourself to the gravel with a straight shot in view, “this is perfect.”

“can you really do it?” maki asked, genuinely wanting to be sure you wouldn’t accidentally strike yuji instead. “will you be able to kill sukuna from here?”

“do you trust me?” you asked, looking at her with confidence and assurance.

she nodded, slowly at first, but soon felt that you were completely serious and skilled to complete the task. “yes,” she exhaled, “yes, i trust you.”

you smiled, turning your attention back to the two kings in the crowd. it was messy, chaotic, and loud, yet somehow, yuji and sukuna managed to stay off to the side enough for you to see them clearly.

to say this wasn’t a risk would be a lie, but you truly believed you had enough space and distance to avoid harming anyone surrounding them, as well as yuji himself.

you couldn’t hear anything anymore, the sounds of smacking shields and sheathing swords fading into the background, muffled like you were underwater.

one.

you slowly pulled your arm back, taking a deep breath as your focus kept steady on sukuna’s movements.

two.

carefully, you slipped your grip on the handle down to the very edge. you needed to hold it loose enough, yet just right, so it would fly directly at the target.

three.

“son of a bitch,” yuji growled, bruises and cuts covering his face, sukuna’s sword inches away from entering his heart. he lifted his shield in time to block his piercing. “i will not die here!”

sukuna cackled, loud and brazen, smirking heinously. he pressed harder against yuji’s forearm, licking his lips insatiably. “my dear brother,” he cooed, mocking, “i am sorry that you have believed a lie as such.”

yuji screamed, lifting his sword again to make one, final move. that’s about all he had left in him. if he failed, he accepted that he would meet his end.

suddenly, sukuna fell backwards aggressively onto the gravel.

yuji froze mid-air, slowly tilting his head down at his brother to see what had caused the abrupt decline. it wasn’t him– his sword hadn’t even come in contact with him yet.

yuji’s lips parted slightly, taking notice of the dagger pierced straight into the center of sukuna’s neck. his emotions began to go haywire, a mixture of anger and gratitude that sukuna, as a wretched human, was seemingly dying, but sadness and pain, because he was his brother.

sukuna was choking, eyes wide, hands fisting the handle of the dagger. he tried to speak, but failed. he couldn’t do anything other than lie there and let himself die. your dagger hit his vital nerve, and pulling it out would only make his death come quicker with the immense blood loss. he was as good as dead.

yuji’s heart was thumping wildly, gaze sifting through the crowd to locate where the dagger had come from. everyone else was seemingly still preoccupied with each other. it didn’t look to have originated from any of them.

“what the hell?” he huffed, “where did–,” he looked down at sukuna again, noticing he was staring behind him and a bit off to the side. slowly, yuji turned his body around, seeing three of the red-cloaked figures a couple hundred feet away. he squinted, trying to make out their faces, but the distance was too much.

when your hood fell off your head and to your shoulders for a moment, and the gold headband you were always wearing reflected in the sunlight, that’s when he knew. he recognized it immediately, the distinct reflection of the headpiece. his eyes went wide in shock, legs tempting to run over towards you, but he stayed frozen in place. “y/n…”

“sir,” kento’s sudden voice beside him cut his attention away from you, “sukuna… is he dead?” he looked between yuji and sukuna’s limp, nearly cold body.

yuji kneeled down beside his brother, placing his ear against his chest, fingers tracing his wrist and side of the neck in search of a pulse. there was reminiscence of one, but only for a moment. a few tears escaped from yuji’s eyes, but his sadness was quickly replaced with disgust.

he glared at sukuna as his eyes finished fully glazing over, the last bit of life leaving him. “to think you would still be alive if you were not so heartless,” is all he said, before stepping away from him.

he nodded at kento.

kento made the announcement. yuji couldn’t stomach it, body filled with rage, remembering all of the chaos his brother had brought upon his land, as well as mourning.

he was hospitalized for a couple of weeks, along with the rest of his injured men, leaving him alone with nothing but his thoughts for hours on end.

you visited him, but only when you knew he was asleep just to check in on him. you didn’t want him to know you were there watching him, afraid it would cause him to become too distracted from focusing on healing. you would speak with him once he had fully recovered.

you, nobara, and maki cared for your fellow handmaidens in a separate hospital wing, assisting the nurses when tasks became overwhelming for them.

“i was so uncertain for a moment,” you confessed one evening over a cup of tea with the two of them. “for a second, i thought stivaria was really going to be destroyed.”

maki frowned, nodding her head in agreement. “yeah,” she replied, “i was not sure we would survive, either.”

the pain weighed on you, and you knew it would for a while, but you still felt happy; to know that your kingdom was safe brought immense joy and warmth into your heart.

yuji was in his study, finishing his book on botany, when he caught the faint scent of your perfume entering through the open doorway. instinctively, he launched himself out of his chair, running over to reach around the threshold and pull you into the room with him; he only hoped it was actually you and he wasn’t mistaken. surely, someone else could own the same fragrance as you.

you yelped, your back shutting the door behind you once you were fully inside the room, then gasped, rolling your eyes.

“yuji,” you sighed, “you frightened me.”

“my apologies,” he cooed, “i just could not help myself.”

“y–yu,” you sighed, weaker this time, inhaling sharply when his lips touched your neck. you began to falter. “someone could hear us or walk in–”

it wouldn’t be the first time. you and him had quickly fallen into a rhythm once he had recovered, keeping your promise to each other.

“shhh,” he hushed, poking your pulse point with his tongue. you involuntarily let out a soft whimper, “just focus on me, love.”

your eyes fluttered shut as he began to leave bruises, hands rubbing along your torso up to cup your breasts. you reached for his hair, pulling at his strands as he kneaded them with his palms, pinching your erect nipples through the fabric of your dress. you bit your lip, leaning your head back against the door, falling prisoner to his touch.

he hummed against you, sliding your sleeves off of your arms before pushing the neckline down to spill out your breasts in all of their glory. he moved to kiss your lips, hot and wet, one hand teasing your thigh under the hem of your skirt, whilst the other rolled your nipples between his thumb and pointer.

“f–fuck,” you moaned, hands dropping to his shoulders to dig your nails into them. you hissed when his hand cupped your sex.

yuji teased above the lace, tongue hitting the back of your throat whilst he continued to toy with your breasts. you were already panting, desperate for him to do so much more. when he finally slid his fingers between your wet folds, you sighed in elation, slowly rutting your hips into them.

he groaned in your mouth, “look at you, baby,” cock twitching in his trousers with each thrust, “you are already falling apart for me.”

you reached for his wrist, forcing his fingers closer to your entrance. “fuck me with your fingers, yuji,” you cooed, kisses growing sloppier and more heated.

he did as you asked, plunging two into you deep and steady. he let out the prettiest sound once he was completely doused in your slick, curling up into your gummy walls with intention. he broke away from your mouth to look you in the face, chest heaving, lips puffy and red.

“dear god,” he huffed, “you are fucking dripping for me, baby.” and when he moved his hand from your breast to circle your clit, your body began to shake, white flashing in your vision as he drew you closer and closer to orgasm. “let me feel you,” he purred, licking his lips as he watched your changing expressions, “soak me with your cum.”

with a loud cry, you spilt onto his hands, body threatening to slide down the door; if it weren’t for the friction of his body pressing against yours keeping you upright, you would have met the floor by now. he smirked, gently pulling out of you before shoving his fingers into his mouth to swallow all of your juices.

“mmm,” he hummed, rolling his eyes at your sweet taste, “perhaps i should use you to sweeten my afternoon tea.” he grew smug. “what do you think?”

your cheeks began to heat up whilst you bit your bottom lip from his filthy words. yuji chuckled at your reaction, helping you fully remove your dress before giving your ass a hard slap. you squealed, thighs pressing together.

“i always make you so flustered.” he observed with a wicked grin.

it was true; something about yuji made you feel insane, made your body react in ways it never had before. he was so… so good and attentive. he took care of you in the ways you needed– whether that was giving it to you slow and sweet, or fast and rough– without hesitation. he truly loved you and wanted you to know that.

“p–please,” you whimpered, pussy begging for his cock to be inside of it. it felt so cold and empty without him filling you up. “i need you, yuji. i need you so bad.”

he stripped himself, kissing you passionately to the point of spit spilling down your chins as he turned you around and pushed you backwards towards the desk. without a care in the world, he slid his forearms across it, knocking whatever was sitting atop onto the floor with a thud.

“yu–”

he cut you off with a nibble to the tongue. you moaned. once your back was flat against the desk, he was all over you, leaving soft kisses and licks from your sternum down to the navel, hands prying your thighs open wider with force. you closed them around his waist after he stepped between them. you bit down on his bottom lip, causing a groan to erupt from deep inside his chest, his cock twitching against your abdomen.

he took his length into his hands, slapping his tip against your clit a few times to ready himself, gentle whines escaping from your lips as he did.

you both sighed in unison as he slipped inside of you and bottomed you out, pace starting off deep and slow. you were already drooling, arms splayed across his desks to grab the sides of it whilst he moved against your walls.

“jesus,” his voice cracked, “i will never get tired of being inside of you.”

your lids were fluttering shut, body completely succumbing to him making you feel so full. you never wanted this to end.

yuji couldn’t help himself, picking up speed as your arousal began to increase around him. he kept one hand firmly on your thigh, moving the other to cup your jaw. he squeezed, but not too tight.

the way your head was tilted backwards reminded him of your perfect shot at sukuna’s throat. he felt filthy for being so turned on by your act of violence, but he had always secretly had a dark side.

“have i ever told you how sexy you are for murdering my brother for me?” you clenched around his cock, earning a growl from him. you were just as crazy as him, it seemed. “oh?” he smirked, slowing for a moment to send you one deep, hard thrust; you nearly felt him in your stomach. “i guess you like being violent.”

“he deserved it,” you gasped as he brushed against your pleasure point, “and i would do anything for you.”

that sent him over the edge, his thumb finding its way between your lips as he began to piston into you mercilessly. you bit down on his finger, arms thrashing atop the desk as you tried to keep yourself steady. the desk was shaking beneath you, the legs lifting up off the floor and landing down again with a series of loud thuds.

“shit– mph–” you cursed around his digit, sweat drenching your face, “i am going to come, oh fuck!”

he was leaning over you now, hand once in your mouth now gripping the desk above where your head lay as he pounded into you hard and raw. you were a whining mess, not even bothering to keep quiet. yuji didn’t give a damn, either, allowing his whimpers and cries to leave his throat without inhibitions.

“christ,” he choked, hips sputtering against you, “i will fill you up, god, i will fucking fill you so good.”

he gritted his teeth, sending you one final thrust as he spurt his hot, creamy cum into your battered hole. your throat broke, ragged, spilling yourself onto his cock shortly after. the room was filled with heavy breathing and soft whines, foreheads pressed together whilst you both came to a still.

“i love you,” he whispered once you had both finally settled, “you have saved mine and countless others lives. you are truly worthy of being a queen.”

your eyes went wide, breath hitching in your throat. sure, those in the castle already knew of your relationship and didn’t seem to mind, but still, the lingering anxiety from the taboo of a king and commoner uniting was still resting inside of your chest. perhaps things were changing, though.

“yuji,” you breathed, “a–are you–”

he kissed you soft and sweet, feathering his thumbs along your cheeks before dropping to his knees. he couldn’t stop his feelings from pouring out at that moment. it was a bit comical that he was about to propose whilst you two were post-sexual intercourse and fully naked in his study. it was hardly romantic.

but, nothing about you and yuji was normal, starting with your differences in societal ranking.

“y/n,” he looked up at you, eyes glistening. he looked so perfect, so enamored like that. you wanted to say yes, then fuck his brains out again. “obviously, i do not have a ring on me at the moment, but,” he chuckled at the reality of the current situation, “i want you to marry me. i want you beside me, ruling stivaria, until death do us part.”

CHOSO

he watches as you sit up in his bed, tossing your legs over to the side and stretching out your arms. he admired the soft expanse of your back, the way it transitioned perfectly to your ass. he turns over to his side, enjoying the view for a moment. this enjoyment did not last long when he watches you stand and walk right over to where your clothes were lying on the floor.

"don't you want to get cleaned up?"

his voice snaps you out of your trance, not expecting him to even say anything before you could get a foot out the door. you turn around to face him, clothes in your hands.

"oh- um, i'm okay. i can clean up when i get home."

"you're going home?"

his voice was soft, but there was a notable pout on his lips at the thought of you leaving him already. he sits up, letting the sheets pool at his hips. your eyes betray you and roam over the expanse of his bare skin, the sight of his toned body making you rethink whether or not you actually want to leave. he holds out one hand to you. you hesitate but drop your clothes back on the floor and rejoin him in his bed.

he instantly pulls you against his chest and presses a soft kiss to your hairline. he knew that you'd both mentioned the night before that this would only happen once. but, deep down he was hoping that the exact opposite would happen. he wanted to see you and hold you like this again, so he made sure you knew that.

"stay and i'll order us food, okay? i don't want to fall asleep alone tonight."

how could you say no to that face, a soft pout that would probably give you the worst ick if it came from anyone else. you nod and let yourself melt into his embrace, soaking up the moment in hopes of there being another in the near future.

NANAMI

he could immediately sense that something was off when he rolled off of you and tried to lay beside you. you sat up almost immediately, holding the sheets over your chest. you'd hardly caught your breath before you start to get out of the bed and reach for your clothes.

"something the matter, sweetheart?"

he uses a gentle tone, hoping that it'll get you to pause and reconsider leaving him so soon.

"oh- no. i just figured we were done."

he quickly noticed the way you refused to meet his gaze as you spoke. the uncertainty and hint of shame was starting to roll off of you in waves. he sits up, reaching for your arm. you freeze at the warm touch, clearly not used to feeling this wanted after a sexual encounter.

"mind staying here with me instead?"

he tries not to make it a big deal, in an effort to not scare you off. his thumb gently rubs over the soft skin on your bicep. you nod slowly, letting yourself be pulled back into bed. you couldn't bite back the soft smile appearing on your face as nanami holds you close, like you'd actually disintegrate if he let go.

HIGURUMA

it wasn't often that he brought someone home. he tried to make the most of this rare occurrence, hoping that you'd be willing to stay and keep him company. the disappointment settles in quickly when he watches you sit up right after finishing, hardly even letting him hold you afterwards. the furrow in his brow is evident as he rests back on his hands, watching you silently.

you try to sneak a peek at him over your shoulder, sensing that you were being stared at. you flinch slightly when you're already met with his intense gaze.

"sorry... just don't want to hang around longer than necessary."

you mutter nervously, trying to flip your clothes from being inside out. he clears his throat, making you pause.

"what counts as necessary?"

you didn't have an answer for that, unsure of what to do with your hands now.

"come back... please."

you'd never heard him speak so gently before. you turn around, taking in the genuine expression and want in his eyes. you felt your cheeks heat as you drop your clothes and make your way back over to him. he lifts the covers, making room for you in his open arms. you crawl back into bed with him, instantly relaxing when you feel his warm embrace around you.

GOJO

having been through his fair share of hookups and fwb situations, gojo was used to people wanting to leave, but also wanting to stay the night. by the time he was finished, he usually had a decent understanding of what his partner at the time was going to choose. when it came to you, he thought... or perhaps, really hoped, that you would want to stay the night. his expression fell when you subtly removed yourself from his arms after finishing.

"you know, cutie... it's usually seen as a sign of respect to leave a man with at least a kiss before you go home."

you freeze, unsure of how to react to his undoubtedly cheesy attempt to get you to stay. you awkwardly turn around to face him, earning yourself a chuckle from the white-haired man. he gently snakes an arm around your waist and yanks you back toward him.

"nice try, pretty girl. i know you don't really want to leave me."

you don't even try to deny his cocky ass attitude. because he was right, almost as if he could read your mind. ever the show-off, he peppers your face in kisses, causing you to erupt into a fit of giggles. his heart leapt in his chest hearing and seeing the genuine amusement in your expression. he really was the perfect guy (just ask him, he'll tell you).

GETO

one night stands really weren't geto's thing. when he met you during an outing with his bestie, gojo, he didn't expect to take you home that night and be intimate. he wasn't used to anything like this. sure, he'd had sex plenty of times, but none where he'd actually been interested and doing anything else with the person. yet, for some reason, he couldn't shake the heavy feeling in his chest as he watched you climb out of his bed and attempt to get dressed.

"i had a nice time."

"me too..."

"when can i see you again?"

the question makes you pause, not realizing that he even wanted to see you again after tonight.

"i don't know if that's a good idea."

you reply, letting out a quiet sigh.

you blink and he's standing behind you, running a hand over your hair in a tender gesture. he wraps his arms around your waist, gently guiding you back into the bed. he was sure that no words from his mouth would be as convincing as his actions. he pulls you into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

SUKUNA

he lets out an unamued grunt when he feels the bed get lighter beside him. he opens one eye, watching you pick up your clothes from the floor. once he realized what you were trying to do, he sat up straight.

"where the hell are you going, woman?"

you jump at the sound of his stern voice, not expecting him to notice that you had even gotten out of bed.

"i'm going home, i have work in the morning."

"my car works fine, get your ass back in this bed."

his tone wasn't harsh this time, almost sounding pleading. you turn around to look at him, confused at his shift in attitude. but his heavy glare doesn't leave room for argument, so you let your clothes fall back to the floor. as soon as your within arm's reach, he's dragging you back against him under the covers.

"try that again and i'll tie you to this damn bed."

TOJI

he wasn't interested in spending time with anyone once he'd had his fill of whoever he'd have sex with. he'd yet to meet a single person that interested him enough to warrant spending the night with them. even as he watches you get out of his bed, he doesn't say anything. his eyes don't leave your form as you pick up your clothes off the floor. but when he sees your legs wobble ever so slightly as you try to put your pants back on, something in his mind switches.

"just leave them off... i'm not gonna pick your ass up if you fall over."

you almost come up with a snarky retort, but it dies on your tongue when a pair of black boxers and a way-too-large t-shirt is tossed at your head. you nearly drop them, turning around to look at him.

"put them on before i change my mind."

you nodded and slipped into the boxers and oversized shirt. toji felt something protective flare in his chest at the sight of you in his clothes. he now knew that he wasn't letting you go anywhere but to bed with him tonight. he sits down on the edge of the bed, beckoning you forward with his thick ass fingers (damn...). you can't resist the hungry but affectionate look in his eyes.

Apollo was powerful, yet Eros was unkind. After he poked and played and had his fun, Apollo left Eros alone in the forest, giving him no mind. He didn't know, however, that the God of Love would prove far more wicked than he had thought.

As with his hurt pride, Eros plucked a few creamy feathers from his wings and prepared two arrows. They were completely different, one creating love, the other banishing it entirely. A savage decision, truly, yet how could a prideful man of Eros's sort leave Apollo without the fruit of his wrath?

So he drew the arrow of love and shot it right through his bones. Letting it seep deep and gravely, spreading the lustful obsession of the most wicked charm. The utterly deadly one, making one obsessed and wretched over the darling of their desires.

Usually, his arrows were meant to strike those who wished to be deeply in love. Yet, as the rage was ravaging Eros's mind, he decided to make Apollo the most obsessed yet unhappy man in the entire world.

As for the other one, meant to banish the love, he shot at the daughter of the River's God.

The most beautiful nymph of all, with a face carved by the waves themselves. A chin utterly kind and cheeks wholly sweet, as eyes carried a gentleness of petals' peppered kisses. A wild birdie she was, basking carefree beneath the searing sun, as she lay and drank and danced without giving a mind to no mankind nor other little divinities. Nothing plagued her cheeky mind, and no worry could ever haunt her velvety forehead.

After all, she was the River God's most precious child, and he allowed her everything, guided by a parent's blissful love.

Her giggle bloomed in the nearby trees, and tender gaze lit the powdery midnight sky. A true beauty of utterly rare sight, so impossible it seemed too not be caught in Apollo's sight!

The God of Sun and Music and Poetry had never been in love. He enjoyed the bodily pleasures rather often, yet had never come upon a thing so deadly and wicked called love.

He knew that Gods and mortals joyed in it with the passion seething in their blood – for there were Hades and his Persephone, Aphrodite and Ares, even Orpheus and Eurydice, too, although it seemed that love of humankind was of a rather cruel sort.

Apollo, or, well, Satoru Gojo, as his true name was, never gave it much thought. The Goddesses and Gods were utterly beautiful, true, yet none of them had ever made his heart race with the swell and tenderness that all the poets wrote of.

He had never felt this tickling pinch his spine, nor the sudden blissful pain puncturing through his heart. No lover had ever bewitched his soul in an almost maddening way, and so he thought that the thing called love was simply not a part of his fate. Even if, that was rather fine too.

And yet… the serpents of fate are wicked.

Another summer evening it was, while Dionysus threw a joyous party as Gods usually liked to do. With wine spilling all over the golden cups and jolly laughter swirling through the tall grasses of the midnight land.

Gods there were of all sorts – trees and rivers and plants, each with loveliest offspring too, joined the grand feast.

It happened thirty moons or so before Eros shot Satoru with an arrow of maddening love. One evening, when the God who devoted his mind to no one set his eyes on… you.

A Goddess? Dearests, no.

As if you were the Goddess, he would fear that Aphrodite, driven by jealousy, would quickly pluck your eyes out. For the moment you entered the banquet held on the hidden beach, where waves rolled in deep foams, and moonlight spilt its cold kisses onto the heavy stones, Satoru needed to hold his breath.

This feeling, which he had read – written – about so often, suddenly bloomed in the swells of his heart. His hand flew towards his chest, crumpling the ivory tunic that covered the sizzling skin. His mind was struck, as if by a trickery spell, making him lose interest in the men and women chirping by his side.

The lyre in his hands felt heavy as he plucked the crystal strings, producing an unpleasant tone. But how could he not, if his eyes were devouring a beauty he'd never seen before?

And that evening, he followed you like a lost pup. With an ocean gaze lingering longer on the swells of your body, wrapped in a flimsy dress, and on your sweet cheeks, giggling foxily as the salty breeze smooched them. The flicker of the candles peppering long tables cast a lovely flame upon your skin, basking it in gold and warmth, as he imagined licking it clean.

Satoru Gojo was a poet too. A God of Poetry, after all, yet his mind was miserably empty whenever he tried to put your beauty into words. No one had ever shone brighter than you, and no giggle forced this weird, foreign feeling to seep through the marrow of his ribcage.

He was always responsible for the music and jolly, while his dearest friend Dionysus spilt the wine into guests' cups. The merry atmosphere tickled him in a pleasant way, and the mere thought of going back to one of his temples with a few little birdies forced a cheeky smile upon his brazen lips.

The women, Goddesses, and little divinities who didn't wish to be smooched by Satoru's muscular arms were indeed few. Yet the nymph who bewitched his mind in the utmost wretched way didn't bestow him with lovely eyes even once.

Dionysus noticed Apollo's frown crumbling, so he jumped to his side with a whisper, "Hm, isn't she your type, my dearest God?"

Satoru glanced at the slyness on Suguru's lips and bit the inside of his soft cheek. "That's the problem. And yet it seems I'm not quite hers."

Suguru pushed a raven lock of his hair back behind his ear, and lavender eyes oogled your giggling body with a slight grin. "Do you wish me to give her a bit of my special wine?"

The special wine was simply spiked with an aphrodisiac. Some Gods loved to use it to heighten their own sexual pleasure, while others too… made the object of their desires a bit mellow. A bit more balmy and sweet, and so Satoru already imagined your body melting beneath his fingers as he held it dearly within his delicate grasp.

Feeding you the special wine would be easy. And yet, Satoru didn't wish to be a bastard.

"Oh, but you are," Suguru chuckled, sensing the thought in his friend's mind. "I don't think there's any God more selfish than you."

Satoru knew it was the truth, for his character was rather… oh well… let's simply say he wasn't known to be the kindest and most lovable pick among the women. The most beautiful one? Surely. The best in offering sexual pleasures? Indeed. Yet he was the most arrogant bastard on the Mountain's peak, and every creature living beneath the Midetarrean sun knew of it far and well.

You most likely knew it too, so that's why the stars bouncing off your eyes did not look his way even for a second.

His head fell against Suguru's shoulder, the heavy wine coating his tongue with a sweet taste. His mind buzzed with a clash of drunken and desperate thoughts, a pulsing desire already flowing like liquid through his veins.

"I want to approach her in a nice way," he muttered, feeling Suguru's body tremble with wicked laughter.

"You can only dream, my God. She had rejected all attempts to woo her. The men and the Gods were rebuffed before they could grasp the weight of her eyes," Suguru hummed, feeling Satoru's head suddenly grow heavy on his shoulder.

"Is it her father's fault?"

Suguru shook his head. "The River God wishes for nothing more than to see his grandchildren's blooming cheeks. It's she who sniffs at all her suitors. After all, she is a virgin huntress, bound by Artemis's chastity laws." Satoru's head grew heavier. "You'd better forget about her, my God."

But how could he! His heart raced for no one but her. And even if she was a virgin beauty, Satoru didn't mind it at all, for he truly believed in the power of his charming soul. The arrogant confidence of the Sun God was truly impossible to dim!

And so that evening, Apollo decided to fulfil your father's deepest wish and become a man worthy of his daughter's hand. The one who would turn the virgin huntress into his most delicate, lovely petal.

At first, he began strolling around the meadows you usually spent your time in. Where the river curved and bent like a serpent's snake, and crystal droplets smooched your body, immersing you deep. You often sat with other sisters, and Satoru would approach you all with his foxed smile, dripping with a few sweetish words about your utter charm.

The other nymphs giggled, blushing gently at the lyricism spilling from his lips, as if the words of the most passionate, heart-throbbing kind were meant for them indeed. They looked at your unfazed face with a sly smile, knowing that their sister would reject Apollo's advances as she did with all her other suitors.

The Sun God knelt on the riverbank, looking down at your naked body hidden beneath the water's gentle swells. He could see nothing but the swell of your breasts, with perked nipples smooched by the river's kisses. You were meant to stay a virgin, true, but no one said you couldn't use the charms of yours to make the men spill miserably right beneath your feet.

So you glanced, for the first time, at God's idyllic face and waved your hand with a soft sigh. "I don't need your courtship, my God. There's nothing you can say that will force my mind to change. And to answer the question you most anticipate – no, I won't marry you."

Other suitors would back away instantly, feeling the intimidating air your glance carried across the lush plains. Your head tilted wickedly, lips curving into a playful beam, as if you knew the wretched state you always left them in.

Because a man's nature was to challenge his luck. Who didn't think that maybe their fate would be to change the virgin's mind? As all of them thought of you as the gentle, timid petal, not knowing that the virgin huntress was indeed a true beast hidden beneath the loveliest female cheeks!

But the Apollo, of course, couldn't be more turned on by your harsh rejection. The truth was that he almost didn't hear a word. No, instead he focused on the way your lips curved into a tricky smile. How crystalline droplets clung to your half-dipped breasts, with liquid sun spilling all over your warm skin. He traced them one by one, dripping from the damp hair and down the chest. His eyes seemed to be enamoured by your heavy gaze, slightly squinted and teasing, as if you already knew that your rejection would pinch his wretched heart.

And so a truthful, "My Goddess, you're ethereally beautiful with this wrath-wrinkle of yours," fell with his deep, obsessed sigh.

The nymphs gasped, covering their lips with gentle hands. Their mingling eyes glanced between your squinted gaze and the God's wretched sigh, as they awaited how this concern would unfold.

"I'm not a Goddess, and I don't need your praise," you said, your voice dripping with disinterest. "Find yourself another muse, my God. There's no need to waste your precious time on a simple nymph."

You bounced off the river's edge and swam to the other one, where the Sun God knelt. With the golden halo smooching his pale cheeks and ivory tunic crumpling on muscular shoulders. Feet clad in long, serpent sandals, golden laurel laying high on frosted head.

You've seen men of his sort, yet he was the first to look down on you with such a wretched gaze. Like a doomed lover, trapped in a circle of unrequited love, as if his heart had never swelled for any beauty but your gentlest soul.

He watched you carefully as you swam his way, unhurriedly, slowly. Water flowed over your body in soft waves, and warm wind shook the sole strings of your hair as it fell.

Your arms rested on the lush grass as you looked up at him through a curtain of wet lashes. "My God, I think it's time for you to go."

Satoru smiled – foxily, slyly, yet truthfully – before his hand reached out to cup your lovely cheek. You quickly pulled back, letting the tips of his fingers only catch a whisper of your soft lips.

His head tilted, a few creamy strands falling loosely over his straight brows. "I don't wish to hurt you, my Goddess." He grabbed the hem of his tunic. "I simply hope you'll grant me a chance."

He was kneeling, propping himself on his toes, as his fingers itched to grab a single lock of yours.

"I won't. I pledged Artemis my virginity. I'm a huntress, not your silly muse. Leave this place, or you'll taste the blood of my arrows."

And these words had indeed been bold, as all three realms of this world knew that no man had been more skilful in archery than Apollo himself.

If anyone else had spoken them in such a daring manner, the wrath of Apollo would bring painful consequences.

Yet when he heard it in this lovely yet viper-like tone of yours, a shiver ran down his spine. His hair stood on end as if electrified, and an ethereal aura smouldering around his figure suddenly intensified.

He wasn't afraid, oh surely no.

But rather, the swelling enamour, pinching his fingertips, washed over his heart. Your wicked personality wasn't an issue of any sort, but rather made the Sun God burn with an unexplainable desire. Heat that seeped down to his loins as he took a whistling breath.

"My Goddess, do you know who you're threatening to?"

You knew, of course, yet the urge to play with his boastful ego suddenly proved stronger than the choice to simply leave him be. You've met men like him before – too proud, too arrogant, the ones who'd never heard the word no. Yet of all you'd rejected, Apollo – Satoru Gojo – was the worst of all.

He was the Sun God, after all, who took satisfaction in the fact that the world, indeed, revolved around him. A personification of vanity and smugness, surpassing even Narcissus's pompous pride.

He knew what spell his wicked beauty cast over the nymph's petal cheeks. He knew the virgin maiden would fall for him most pitiably, needing only a single glance from his lustful eyes. His touch was soft, and his hands roamed over the women's tender bodies in the most loving way, yet never leaving them with the true tenderness that should fill his heart.

Satoru Gojo was a simple scum you wished to have nothing to do with. A cheeky smile tugged at your lips as you rested your arms on the river's edge and lifted half your body out of the water.

He didn't try to hide the ocean gaze, immediately snapping down towards your perked nipples, with crystal droplets dripping down the lush glass. Your head tilted, eyes turning kitty-like, as the blessed kisses of sunshine, of his sun, peppered your wet cheeks.

"To just yet another miserable man," fell almost mockingly, prompting a sudden movement around his hips. You've noticed it, and so you turned your lips into a disgusted grimace. "Go away, my God, and know my mercy. I won't be that nice next time."

You fully lifted yourself from the water, standing next to his kneeling body, naked. His gaze followed up your thighs, the mound of your pussy, the plush of your belly, tracing every crystalline line carving into your body. When it finally met your eyes, his throat bobbed.

"My Goddess, you're truly underestimating my feelings for you."

A scoff slipped past your lips as your eyes rolled. "For the God of Poetry, I expected more flowery words."

And so, ignoring whether he wished to say anything next, you simply passed him by. Going deeper into the woods, leaving the Sun God with nothing but the lingering fragrance of your blooming skin in the air, and the painfully, wickedly wretched pleasure bubbling in his loins.

𖤓 𖤓 𖤓

You truly thought that he would give up.

That the Sun God, like any other man, wouldn't wish to pursue a woman who looked at him with nothing but a deep scowl between her beautiful brows.

And yet, for the next thirty moons, he always seemed to be there. Somewhere around, following you like a shadow, with eyes and lips and mind always speaking loudly, giving you neither peace nor serenity among the quiet fields of your home.

Whenever you went hunting, his arrows sliced through the air faster than yours, striking the animals and beasts with power that crumbled the heavens themselves, and a gasp always slipped past your lips.

Quiet, voiceless, yet somehow leaving you speechless upon seeing the strength the Sun God possessed.

He found you every single day, appearing like a spectre by the riverbank, a bow slung over his muscular shoulder, gold and softly feathered, mingling beneath the rising sun.

"Where are we going today, my Goddess?" He jumped to your side with a smile, immediately sniffing the fresh, flowery scent that clung to your sparkling hair.

You gave him no mind, simply following deeper into the warm, moist woods. The sun was barely high, and so you watched the trees wake from the slumber's tight arms.

"I'm going for breakfast, and you can do whatever you want."

Yet you knew that no matter how mundane your day was, Satoru Gojo would follow you nonstop. Just to steal a glance at your lips as you wrapped them around the orange's sweetest juice, the sugary stickiness dripping down your blooming cheeks. To watch the way your back bent whenever you drew yet another deadly arrow. How muscles beneath your flimsy tunic worked, and the sweat bubbled at the back of your neck as he traced it with a hungry gaze.

A few weeks had to pass before you started to tolerate his daily company.

He still acted bold and proud, often boasting like a peacock right in front of your irritated eyes, yet tried to keep his hands away, even though you'd noticed how his fingers curled whenever your tunic brushed their tips.

But then one day… something had changed.

You didn't know what, but well, he did.

Eros's wicked arrow had struck his bones, making his gut leak with maddening love. He was aware of the wretched ache in his heart, yet only after being struck by a love-spell of sorts did something beastly unlock in his mind.

As for the arrow meant to banish love, Eros shot it towards Apollo's dearest one. As all the Gods on Olympus already knew of his wretched state, Eros played his dirty trick, ensuring that the sweetest nymph would never glance at Apollo again.

But… well. A man in such haunting love is truly a hellish creature himself.

When the love-bound arrow struck his back, he took it with a wicked pleasure. Yet, when he saw another one flying boldly towards the curve of yours, he grabbed it swiftly, before the leaking peak could ever brush your skin.

It was a sudden movement as he stepped closer, his hand shooting toward something over your shoulder.

It happened yet another day, as you both walked the serpentine paths through his temple's lush garden. There's a little cove I wish to show you. How about a quick dip? After spending a month in his presence, you sighed and nodded, as nothing gave you more wicked pleasure than seeing him lose his mind at the sight of your naked body in fresh mountain waters.

And so, while your tunic fell to the ground and a warm wind brushed your hair with a soft tickle, he suddenly stepped closer.

Too close. Before a sudden crack of splintering wood sounded behind you, he drew an arrow, his long fingers clenching it.

"What is it?" you furrowed, looking at the long wooden arrow crushed in his strong grip.

He threw it to the side, taking the ivory tunic off his body. "Nothing, probably someone's lost arrow. Give it no mind."

But how could you, when something deep in your chest panged? You were a huntress, after all, so how could you not notice an arrow slashing at your side? There was never a moment when you would let your guard down, and yet, being in Satoru's presence somehow pulled a blissful laziness to seep into your mind.

He was always there – looking, watching, carefully observing each of your moves. Swooshing away a few men who dared to approach your side while he kept his eyes on you for too long.

To tear their limbs apart and unleash plagues across their lands with a single arrow. Something… you didn't know about, since there was no need to trouble your sweet mind. To reveal a sinister side of him that would shatter the gradually improving image you held of him.

His mind was already wicked. Heart wrenched by the pull of love so strong that it seeped into him from the inside. So the moment the love arrow struck his back, the feelings he had tried to keep within his heart suddenly burst with brutish, uncontrollable force.

He simply needed to make you his.

So you hummed softly, taking the first step into the little cove, with water slipping in from the nearby sea. A crisp chill hugged your limbs as you took a deep breath.

He watched you with a smile before dipping into the water too. "Rather good, isn't it?"

You nodded, leaning your arms over one of the sizzling stones. "Mhm."

Your bashful eyes roved over his ethereal body, lingering a moment longer on the broad, muscular back and meaty thighs. A warmth seeped through your loins, so you quickly looked away.

But he saw it. Of course he did, and so his body drifted a little closer, just to feel the saltiness wrapping your skin. Your hair fell loosely over your wet shoulder, and warmth crept up your soft neck.

The slight ache from the morning's hunt still pinched your muscles, so you turned to him again, only to see that he had suddenly come far too close.

A soft cough escaped your throat as you pressed yourself closer to the stone. "Could you, hm, give me a quick massage, my God?"

Satoru chuckled. "A massage? Is that how you wish to use the powerful Sun God?"

A scoff slipped past your lips as you turned back and rested your cheek against the warm stone. With eyes slightly lidded, you knew he, anyway, would give you whatever you wanted.

"Is there anything else you're good for?" A cheeky question slipped past your lips, followed by a low sigh.

He stood mere millimetres from your arched back, and the heat radiating from his body was smouldering your drenched skin. Long, thick fingers settled gently on your shoulders before he began pressing the muscles. Your body melted beneath his strong touch, and your mind went all fuzzy – nothing but soft moans and sighs would fill the little, hidden cove.

"I'm sure you can find a few things you could make good use of," his voice dripped with seduction, tickling your hair-covered cheeks.

A tsk fell past your lips. "You have only filth in your mind."

Well, how could he not? When your back arched so deliciously, with water hugging solely your slightly dipped hips? He could see the swell of your ass almost brushing his thighs, and if he took a little step forward, the tip of his leaking cock would surely brush your skin.

It was a blessing that you lay pressed to the stone in a blissfully unaware state, not knowing that the Sun God was going through pure torture right behind your back. With the fat, long cock sticking to his abdomen, little pearls of precum dripping down the veiny curve.

"You make me act filthy, my Goddess."

A month ago, you would have smacked his cheek and left him be. But now, with his fingers digging deep into the muscles of your back, a lovely laugh slipped past your lips.

"It's a pity I'm a wretched virgin, hm?" You straightened your spine, as if trying to give him a better view. "My God, you truly have extraordinary restraint."

Oh, how he loved this cheeky side of yours. The pure filth spilling from your virgin lips, eyes taking on a nasty look whenever you caught him staring at your nipples peeking through the tunic. The way you always undressed yourself in front of him without blushing like a birdie, taking full pleasure in the fact that he couldn't touch you as he wished.

Who said that a virgin should be timid and cowardly? If you could keep your chastity while still enjoying the wretched state you put men in?

And which God would be more fun to tease than the one who slipped through numerous affairs?

Satoru hummed, pressing your back a little harder. Slipping lower, and lower, through your ribcage and waist, rolling the little dimples just above your hips. "Have I? I'm afraid this restraint might one day snap."

A shudder ran down your spine as you tried to keep your head steady. Your bow lay still on the river's bank, and if he tried to misbehave even a bit, you would simply shoot him clean.

And yet, your hips rolled, as if trying to chase the pleasure his touch gave. "I'll be there when it happens." You looked over your shoulder, not missing the squint he gave you… "And I'll make sure to bring you to your senses," …and the reddened tip sticking to his hips. "I think you might wish to take care of it. Maybe with one of your muses?"

Or whores, as you actually wanted to say.

His cock trembled as you looked at it, and Satoru could only chuckle. Nastily, mischievously, with the fingers pulling your hips a bit closer. Yet not close enough for your wet pussy to feel the meaty shaft graze her lips.

"You are my muse, Goddess," he leaned closer, his warm breath brushing your cheeks. "Do you wish to hear the poems I've written about you?"

The sizzling sun licked your spine, eyes followed as his plush lips leaned to your ear. "Are they as filthy as your mind?"

He nodded, fingers slipping down towards the swell of your hips. Rolling deep circles, loosening the tightness in your muscles. "How could they not?" Snowy hair almost tickled your ear. "Who do you think I pleasure myself to? You may be a virgin, my Goddess, but I have my needs too."

With a sudden movement, he flipped you over, pressing your back to the warm stone. His thick cock stuck to the white trail of his abdomen, yet still not touching your dripping cunt.

You may've pledged chastity, yet you couldn't control your body's simple needs.

"You can't do anything to me," you said, yet something in your voice quivered.

His head tilted wickedly, and his eyes shone as he gripped the fat shaft. "But you can watch, hm?" A thumb swirled over the pearly tip, smearing the sticky cum over the reddened head. "Or is it also against your chastity?"

Maybe it was. Yet your head shook as back pressed closer to the stone. The water swelled over your hips, leaving your breasts bare to his starving gaze.

"Hm, thought so." His fingers slipped to your cheek, brushing a few wet locks away. "My Goddess, you truly are a wicked creature."

Pleasure, distress, haunting desire clashed with each other in your mind, yet your body froze in place. Lips fell only slightly open, eyes bulging like porcelain plates, seeing the fatness he gripped. Leaking with creamy droplets of precum, soaking his long fingers and veiny thickness.

Saying he was large would be an understatement.

Something in your belly squeezed, imagining his bulging head hit the deepest–

"Stop," the word slipped out in a shudder as you turned your head away. With warm cheeks and a trembling lip, as if the Sun God's look of himself pleasuring himself solely on your blooming face were against every pledge you had made. "Go and find one of your filthy muses."

Satoru chuckled before his fingers pinched your chin, turning your head back. He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing yours. "I can't think of anyone but you, my Goddess. Look what a wretched man I am because of you." His thumb brushed your lower lip, then slipped boldly onto your tongue. "Do you truly wish to put your Sun God through such a tor–"

Yet before he could finish, your hand met his cheek. A slap bounced off the water, turning his face left. To bring it back to face your wrath, you slapped it again.

His creamy face bloomed like the softest rose, and a shiver of pleasure ran down his spine. Excitement pinched his heart as fingers clenched around the fat shaft with a low, groany moan.

He bit the inside of his cheek, looking down at your face, burning with rage. "Slap me again, my Goddess, and I'll make you arch that pretty ass of yours for me again."

You didn't know where this sudden change had come from, yet the man standing in front of you was not the one who had pestered you for the past thirty moons.

No, as Satoru Gojo, who now stood mere millimetres from your body, with his musky scent clouding you tight and his fat cock trembling at the sheer look of yours – look much, much madder.

Wretched, obsessed, with the flame dancing behind his watery eyes and a wicked smile tugging at his rosy lips

Another shiver ran down your spine when he started pumping his shaft faster. Smearing the creamy cum all over the bulging veins, throwing his head back yet still following the gentle rise of your trembling breasts.

The rage bubbled beneath your heart, and a tiny thread of heat smouldered on your cheeks. He leaned a bit closer, and closer, and closer, until his forehead rested against your shoulder. He didn't touch you in any other way, yet the sole impact left you breathless.

"My Goddess, you smell so good," he took a deep breath close to your neck, letting another groan escape his lips. "So delicious, ah, I can only imagine how sweet the scent is down there."

A shuddered breath escaped your tightened throat, feeling his muscular, massive body looming over yours like a deathly threat. Long fingers pumped his cock faster, breathless moans hit your drenched skin, before he finally stilled.

With the gentle, petal kiss upon your shoulder and his cheek nuzzling against your skin.

Something warm spilt over your belly. And you didn't need to look down to know what it would be.

"You're disgusting," fell in pure wrath, as you pushed him away. "Nothing but filthy scum. I hope this satisfied your hunger, because the next time I see you, my God, not even your wicked arrows will be able to save you from my rage."

You left the water with a shuddering, vexing tremor washing over your spine, and this little, agonisingly rubbing feeling that spilt hotly all over your mind.

Satoru followed your body with a slick smile, the saltiness of your skin still tasting heavy on his lips.

The Sun God was of a cunning nature. Wicked and wrathful, always doing things one way. His way. 

Three weeks had passed before he had a chance to see you again.

His heart heaved in agony as he couldn't find you anywhere. As always, he came at the first break of day to join you on the morning hunt, but you simply weren't there. Waiting for him with a scowl, yet still giggling at all his foolish jokes and accepting a bit of help.

He was waiting by the river's bank from morning till night, yet you hadn't appeared even once. As if the waves themselves had trapped you beneath the surface.

He asked around – the nymphs, the Goddesses, the plains – yet everyone said they hadn't seen you for days. Or maybe they simply lied to him, as you couldn't simply disappear.

And so for the next three weeks, he walked through the lands like a shadow. He barely enjoyed anyone's company, sitting in his temple only to get drunk on the sweetest wine, letting his creamy skin be scorched beneath his own, merciless sun. A shadow of a man he was, as his heart simply couldn't bear the separation you imposed with such anger.

After two weeks, he met his twin sister, Artemis, to whom you pledged your chastity. He loved his sister dearly and knew her like the back of his hand. Thus, with a single glance, he could tell she knew everything that had happened between the two of you.

And based on her furrowed forehead and tsk that fell when she saw his grinning face entering her temple – she wasn't happy.

"I won't tell you where she is," she murmured, brushing her long, creamy hair aside as she enjoyed the warm kisses in the sun.

She lay on the sofa by her pool, with nothing but a long tunic gently wrapped around her body. Satoru hung over her wrinkled forehead and pressed a finger to satin skin. "My sister, such a beautiful woman you are, and yet you always seem so angry."

Shihori smacked his hand, glancing up at his brother with the same blue eyes. "Because you always make me angry, fool."

Satoru lifted her legs and rested them on his thighs as he joined her on the sofa. "Tell me where she is."

Shihori couldn't care less about her brother's wicked wish, so she shook her head. "You know she pledged her virginity, hm?"

Satoru hummed, playing with the long tunic as he brushed his sister's ankles. "I do."

"So you also must know what will happen if she breaks her vow?"

Of course he knew. That's why he came here.

"What if I told you I love her?" he asked, drawing his sister's attention. "I want to make her my wife. Give her to me, and I promise I will be in your debt forever."

Shihori propped herself up on elbows, letting long white hair brush her rosy cheeks. She was as beautiful as her younger brother – by a minute only. Possessing the same archery skill and a power that trembled the heavens.

With a slim chin and wicked eyes, matching the proudish smile. Strong and bold, with neatly carved muscles bulging beneath her satin skin and an authoritative tone that always made Satoru slightly squirm. But she was his older sister, after all, so how could he not feel the utter love and respect for the same blood?

"And why would I do that?" Shihori lifted her straight brow. "Why would I change my rules for this little nymph?"

"Because you love me," Satoru grinned. "And I suppose it would be rather proper to remind you that enjoying women's company also counts as losing one's virginity. My dearest virgin-goddess sister."

Shihori squinted, kicking his side with her foot. "Whatever I do with my nymphs is none of your business."

Satoru grabbed her ankle before biting her big toe, just as he used to tease her when they were children.

"I suppose some Gods would be interested in how the protector of young women and their virginity fucks with her dearest followers," he chuckled as she kicked him again. "You're no better than me, my sister. The same scum-blood runs in our veins. So let me have her, and I won't say a word."

Shihori glared at him. Morality and the need to give her little brother everything were clearly at war in her mind before she waved her hand and lay back down.

"Fine, I won't punish her. Just don't do anything stupid," she laughed, feeling Satoru's sweet kiss on her cheek. "She'll join another feast in a week. Just wait for her there. Oh, and bring me some of this Suguru's special wine."

Satoru tilted his head, another wicked grin already tugging at his lips. He knew his sister wasn't the saint everyone took her for, yet he had no idea how coy she was.

"And what do you need an aphrodisiac-spiked wine for?"

She opened one eye, shooting a set of daggers straight at his heart. But before another bark could pass her plush lips, Satoru chuckled once again. "Ah, what was this rumour, hm…" His eyes gleamed with a foul grin.

"What rumour?" Shihori asked through her teeth, yet the rosy warmth hit her cheeks.

Satoru stood up from the sofa, giving his muscular back a long, groany stretch. He scratched his chin before looking over his shoulder towards his sister. Oh, her anger only fueled his playful mind.

"Nothing, just that our dearest stepmother has been surprisingly benevolent lately," he observed, another wave of warmth wrapping around her neck. "I suppose it's because Hera truly enjoys the company of her stepdaughter. I wonder what makes her so happy that even Zeus no longer gets scolded for all his affairs."

Shihori slipped a pillow from beneath her head and threw it at his head. "Go out, before I change my mind!"

And so he left, with a crackling chuckle bouncing off the temple's walls and his older sister burning from embarrassment.

Yet now, with his sister's blessing, there was nothing that could stop him from pursuing your love.

And so he knew that the next time you met, he would make you his, whether you liked it or not.

𖤓 𖤓 𖤓

The moon spilt coldly over the feast's heavy tables as the Gods and Goddesses gathered around the flickering candles. The night was warm, as the summer breeze tickled the cheerful cheeks of the giggling nymphs, who listened to Satoru playing soft harp tunes.

An ivory tunic, as always, fell down his muscular shoulders, as the moon spilt dripping kisses on the lightened side of his face.

Finger played softly through the harp's gentle strings, yet lingered on your laughing cheeks. Something panged deep in his chest at how carefree you were with other divinities. You sipped your wine without giving Satoru much thought, as if you hadn't disappeared from Earth for the past three weeks.

Your laugh sliced sweetly through the air, tickling his ears. He desperately tried to force eye contact, yet you gave him nothing but the lovely side of your cheek.

An irritated tsk escaped his lips, an unpleasant anger bubbling deep in his chest. A few Gods approached you with a smile, forcing another wave of rage to wash over Satoru's spine.

Before he could step in, seeing how you slowly warmed yourself to some small God's side, a low, chuckling whistle slashed through the air.

"It seems like things didn't work your way," Suguru said, brushing Satoru's arm with his. "What? She rejected you?"

Satoru sighed, rolling his tense shoulders. "She's just a little nervous."

Suguru squinted his lavender eyes, clearly dissatisfied with such a roundabout answer. Raven hair tickled Satoru's cheek as he tilted his head. Satoru rarely saw his friend concerned with anyone but him, yet his forehead furrowed with a gentle wrinkle.

"Give her some of this wine," Satoru mumbled.

Suguru drew in a long breath, shooting his head towards Satoru. "But you said–"

He started, but Satoru quickly added. "I know what I said." He bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes squinting furiously. "Give her a little. Just to soothe her a bit."

Suguru chuckled, hitting his friend's back. "As you wish, my God."

"Ah, also, prepare a bit for Shihori."

Looking over his shoulder, Suguru rolled a laugh. "Your sister? What does she need it for?"

Satoru gestured with his chin towards the start of the table, where three of the brothers and their wives sat among the elite. With Persephone straddling Hades's hips, a quiet goddess wrapped around Poseidon's arm, and Hera… sitting utterly bored and giving Zeus's drunken laugh no mind.

Suguru followed his gaze before a devilish laugh escaped his throat. "Don't tell me she fucks with the queen mother herself?"

Satoru crossed his arms over his broad chest and let out a soft hum. Suguru tilted his head, admiring Hera's gentle cheeks. "Well, she's quite beautiful. No wonder she's stopped going crazy over Zeus's affairs lately."

Satoru watched as his friend took another pot of wine before rejoining the Gods. His golden tongue whispered the sweetest secrets, and the divinities laughed and blushed beneath Dionysus's soothing lines. After all, a God of Laughter, Wine and Theatre, he knew exactly how to play on people's minds.

You weren't an exception. As he approached and wrapped his arms around you and your friend, a gentle laugh made your eyes lift. Satoru bit the inside of his cheek, catching Suguru's sly glance, while his fingers clenched around your soft arm.

But still, he poured you another cup of the sweetest wine, watching you close as you took a sip. And another, another, another, before humming softly about how delicious it tastes.

A few minutes passed before something warm began to spill across your chest. A kind of fog clouded your mind – sweet and gentle, yet sizzling like the sun.

The nymph sitting right next to you grabbed your arm, looking at your hottish face with a furrow. "Hey, are you okay? Do you need some water?"

You drew in a sharp breath, feeling her cold skin against yours. Your head shook as a soft "I'm fine" barely passed your lips.

Excusing yourself, you rose from the chair and headed to a quieter part of the beach, where gentle waves lapped inside the small cove. Surrounded by the forest and shielded by tall trees, the spot offered a peaceful retreat. The salty breeze gently touched your cheeks, while your throat felt parched, and you scratched it with long nails.

The fog clouding your head was getting thicker, denser, spreading all over your body till the fingertips tingled with a pinching pleasure.

Something wet dripped down your inner thighs, and as you hid yourself behind a tree and slipped a hand beneath the long dress, you felt the stickiness coating your sizzling skin. But more so… the moment your finger brushed your swollen folds, a low bounce of the softly rolling waves.

"Fuck," slipped in a whisper, as you felt the burning pleasure fill your lower belly.

You looked around, seeing that neither mortal nor God peered into the little cove. The bay seemed completely private, with nothing but moonlight spilling onto the smooth sand and soft whispers rolling off the crystal waves.

You took a deep breath, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together. Just to feel a faint friction, yet too embarrassed to slip your finger up again.

You've never felt it before. This… sensation.

Pleasure.

Or maybe you did, yet your mind refused to accept that Apollo, or Satoru Gojo, was the only man who woke a dangerous flame deep in your chest.

Maybe you simply wished to forget about the warmth that boiled deep within your lower belly when his muscular body stood right in front of yours. The look on his handsome face, lost in utter pleasure, and his long fingers wrapped around his filthy cock.

You tried not to think of it again, as the moment the image of his shaft slipped again into your mind, another moany sigh rolled past your lips. Your pussy clenched around nothing, letting another batch of stickiness coat your thighs. Trickling down the skin, till you've noticed a little, wet drop landing on the sand.

"Fuck, fuckfuckfuck," you cried, feeling the burning sensation pinch your skin harder. Perking your nipples, softening your body, as if preparing you to accept the pleasure that needed to be spilt.

Bracing yourself against the stony wall, you took a few steps. On trembling legs, you felt the weakness slowly seep into your marrow. You walked slowly, trying to go deeper into the nearby forest, just to reach the river.

Somewhere safe.

You moved slowly, with wetness dripping down your legs and heavy breaths escaping your burning lungs. Your eyes were misty, nearly teary, as the feverish, floral heat enveloped your entire body.

Waves rolled past your bare feet, sandals long forgotten somewhere in the back. Your burning body couldn't bear the dress clinging to your skin, so you began to undress unconsciously.

One cloth after another, before falling down your knees, to crawl towards the river's banks.

"Do you need help, my Goddess?"

Someone's voice filled your balmy mind.

No, not someone's.

His.

Of the God whom you wished to see the last, as the sole fragrance of his skin pinched your senses in an utmost sinful way.

And, oh, he must've watched you now in such an embarrassing stance!

Kneeling with your sizzling body, you shed the sea-drenched dress behind you. The intense desire overwhelmed your reason as you presented yourself fully before his daring gaze.

"Go away," you barely breathed. "You can't see me in such a state."

But Satoru merely chuckled before you heard his heavy footsteps coming your way. Ocean eyes hummed at all the garments you'd left behind before settling on your clenched thighs and slightly arched back as you tried to crawl towards the nearest river.

He squinted, seeing the wetness dripping down your thighs and a gentle shimmer from your swollen pussy.

"My Goddess, it seems that you do feel unwell," He chuckled, taking another step your way. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Your head shook as you tried to crawl faster, only to get away from him as fast as you could. An attempt to stand up ended in a miserable fall onto the sand, drawing a soft giggle from Satoru's lips. He knelt by your side, brushing away a few strands of hair sticking to your cheeks.

"Oh my," he hummed, seeing the utter loveliness of your drugged face.

With cheeks sweet as fresh cherries and eyes softened by an alluring scowl. A gentle pout tugged at your lips as you unconsciously nuzzled against his skin. Another hand cupped your cheek as he held your face in a possessive grip. His big thumbs, tight yet delicate, brushed your skin.

"What is it, my Goddess?" He whispered, allowing a lenient sigh to spill past your lips. "What happened here, hm? Are you a bit too drunk?"

You nodded, thinking of nothing but the pleasant grip of his fingers.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you were slowly giving in.

A miserable attempt to push him away ended solely with you even more pathetically landing on the soft sand. Your back hit it with a dull thud, as Satoru placed his fingers on your knees. Thumb rolled gently in circles, as if he knew how much pleasure your body took from each brush of his skin.

"Say it," he muttered, leaning closer. Plush lips brushed one of your knees, eyes never leaving your fogged face. "Say that you want me to help you, my Goddess. I know how to make you feel good."

Oh, and you knew too, which is why your knees tried to close again. But his grip was too strong, and he brutally forced them forward, folding you in half.

With your bare pussy dripping filthy onto the sand and perked nipples waiting to be softly brushed by his thumb.

The moonlight kissed his handsome, sharp side as he leaned in once again. To hang right over your face, observing with wicked pleasure the tears forming beneath your lids. As if he could see the fuzzy mess of your mind, with morality and a simple, human need drawing a brutal tight.

"I c-can't," you mumbled, feeling the heat drip down your tongue. It felt much heavier than before, barely touching your feverish roof. "Stop, I can't, the chastity–"

"Shhh," Satoru cooed, pressing your thighs to your chest. Till the swell of your ass glued off the drenched sand. "Artemis will forgive you."

His nose traced the plush of your cheek. Lips peppering your skin softly, leaving traces down your chin. His tongue swirled sweetly around one of your nipples, through the burning neck, perked breasts.

You wished to fight it – you truly did, yet a sugary moan slipped past your lips.

"No, she–ah!" you cried, as he softly bit your nipple.

"It's alright, my Goddess. Don't resist it," he murmured, with one hand feeling your breasts as his lips traced a path down your body. He gently bit, grazed, and nipped your skin before resting his cheek against your mound. "Allow me to take care of you. Just say you want it," he whispered, as his finger rolled your nipple, causing another cry to escape your lips.

"I'm a v-virgin, wait…" Your hand landed on Satoru's head, tugging softly on his hair.

Satoru groaned, feeling your gentle finger scratch his scalp. "I'll take good care of you. It won't hurt, I promise," he mumbled right into the drenched mound of your cunt, as the fragrance of sugary juices already hit his senses. "Fuck, my Goddess. Just let me have a taste. I won't put it in…" promise?

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling his warm breath almost brush your core. Not quite, yet the mere sight of him, lying so handsomely between your thighs, was enough to force a nod.

A nod, which would never happen if your mind wasn't on the verge of spilling. If your body wasn't melting beneath his touch, thighs spreading even wider, just to open your cunt to his starving mouth.

It was utterly embarrassing, humiliating, mostly sinful act and yet… when his tongue finally licked the juices off your clit, a shuddering moan bounced off the cove's stones.

He didn't waste a time, pushing the drenched muscle right inside your spasming cunt. Slurping, ravishing on the waves of wetness that spilt from your hole in unnaturally large bursts. Droplet after droplet, trickling down his chin and landing softly on the sand.

"My Goddess, fuck, I knew you would taste so good," he slurred, letting your juices stick to his lips. "My sweetest love, mhm, I was waiting a month for you."

Your fingers clenched around his hair as you tried to slightly pull him back. "W-wait, that's–nghhh–too much, my God!"

Your body had always been much weaker than his, but now, with neediness running through your blood, it seemed impossible to do anything but allow yourself to be wrapped in his lips.

He took your hand, slipping it down your belly. Down to your clenching cunt, only to press your two fingers against the swollen clit.

"Do you feel it, my Goddess?" He chuckled, looking up at your warm cheeks. "Do you feel how wet you are? That's what you wanted to take away from me."

He directed your pads to press softly, pinchily, till another moan spilt past your lips. His tongue slurping on your tight core, fingers of one hand rolling your nipples. Squeezing the plush breasts, till a painful pleasure tickled your spine.

And the other hand…

"Wait!" You screamed, quickly catching his wrist. "N-no penetration… just…" Oh dearest, how embarrassing it was to say out loud! "… use your tongue. I can't lose my virginity."

My sweet foolish nymph, Satoru thought, before an innocent, "Of course, my Goddess," fell past his plush lips.

The waves and waves of ethereal pleasure washed over your spine as he devoured your sweet pussy with a starving need. Nose all glued with your juices, cheeks nastily squeezed by your trembling thighs, tongue working on your clit and hole, trying to stretch her as much as he could.

His creamy forehead furrowed with a wrinkle, brows tight, as you pushed a few soft strands of his hair away.

"My God, please t-take a breath," you cried, yet the spilling lustfulness seeped like a flame through your skin. "I'm–mhmm–t-there's something…" Before you could point at your lower belly, his hand pressed right there.

Squeezing your little pouch, as if trying to feel the slick, filthy cum splashing beneath your skin.

"You need to cum, my Goddess," he mumbled drunkenly, sucking on your plush clit. "But for that, I need to put my finger in."

You bit your lower lip, looking down at his wretched face.

His cheek nuzzled against your soft thigh, kissing the clit softly. "Please? Just a finger. I promise, it'll be fine."

Oh, he looked stunning. With those alluring eyes and innocent pout, as if aware that his angelic face alone was enough to make your head spin.

So you nodded, rather unconsciously, and watched him push one finger in.

"Oh," slipped moany at the new feeling. "Oh, my God, mhmm, i-it's–"

"Now you can cum for me," Satoru whispered, going back to sucking your clit.

He knew where your sweet spot was – how couldn't he? – so within a second, you started squirming beneath his grip.

One of his hands rested on your belly while the other was deep inside your tight, clenching walls. He kissed, brushed, and lightly peppered your most sensitive spot with his finger until your thighs finally clenched around his head.

Locking him in a tight, shuddering embrace as he drunkenly moaned over your spilling juices. With a single flick of his tongue, you melted beneath his maddening touch, squirting all over his cheeks, chin and nose, till the Sun God was left nothing but a wretched man, hugging nastily to your velvety skin.

Your head felt a bit less feverish, with the crimson fog finally clearing from in front of your eyes and fresh summer air finally filling your lungs.

For a mere second, you felt normal again.

Satoru still lay between your spread legs, kissing the slippery skin of your inner thighs softly.

"Welcome back, my Goddess," he muttered, licking the last juices dripping from your pussy.

You watched him with pure terror swirling behind your eyes. "I… this feeling…"

"Mmm," he hummed, softly biting a plush of your thigh. "Someone must've spiked your wine, my Goddess. Have you angered anyone recently?"

Oh, he was such a scum.

Your lovely brows furrowed, a drop of sweat slipping down your temple. "No, I… I don't know. There was…" you, wanted to slip, yet you bit down on your tongue.

Satoru pouted, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. "My Goddess, I vow to find that bastard and slash his throat," he whispered, kissing your thigh and moving upward, even biting gently into your calf. "But for now, brace yourself for another wave."

And true to his promise, the heat once more kissed your cheeks. It climbed up your neck, seeped into fingertips, curled beneath lower belly, and caused another slick to slide down your cunt.

A fogginess once again swirled in front of your eyes, and an anxiety bubbled somewhere deep in your tightened throat.

Satoru flipped you onto your belly, with a soft, "Shhh, it's fine, my Goddess. You'll be fine."

Gentle, wet kisses landed on your shivering spine, leaving hottish traces down the skin.

"What a-are you doing?" fell shuddered.

But you didn't catch his reply. Truly, you heard nothing at all but the swoosh of his tunic as it landed close to your sand-plastered face.

"My God–ah!" Slipped in a pitched moan, as something fat poked on your swollen pussy.

The heat was teasing, gently pinching your damp folds, rolling waves of intense pleasure whenever Satoru stirred your cunt. His fingers spread the heat in a soft hum, and something heavy, round, pressed against your tight entrance.

"My God, what–"

"My love," Satoru let out an utterly innocent whimper, as if trying to stifle the tears wracking beneath his lids. You couldn't see the devilish smile tugging at his lips, his face tightly pressed into the sand. "Allow me to make you feel good. I can make the pain go away, just let me…" His swollen head slipped in a little, forcing a shattered moan from your throat.

"Wait!" You tried to crawl away, but he pressed a hand between your shoulder blades. Keeping you tight in place, with his massive body fully resting on yours.

"It's okay, my love. It won't hurt, I promise," he hummed, another hand massaging the swell of your hips. Spreading your drenched folds a bit farther to see the tip of his cock getting sucked by your weeping cunt. "My Goddess, don't make her wait any longer. She's just wishing to get fucked, ahh."

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stop your hips from slamming against his. As, dearest heavens, the way his sole head stretched your cunt brought an unparalleled, maddened pleasure, bubbling deep inside your belly. The pledge you made re chastity was trying to fight the aroused, lustful thoughts. The thick, warm fog that made your body liquefy beneath his touch, and your mind go all hot.

"My virginity–" You started, yet Satoru quickly snapped back.

"I talked to my sister, love. She won't punish you," he whispered, leaning down to lick a long stripe down your spine. "Because now you're mine. So say you want it, hm? Say you want me to fuck your tight cunt and fill her up."

He bit, licked, kissed your skin, while slowly, oh so painfully slow, poking your drenched hole.

"Just the tip, my love," he whispered, brushing away a few strands of hair hiding your lovely side. "I don't want to hurt you, my Goddess. I'll slip just a little tip."

And with an arousal fogging your mind, you nodded. Forcing a wicked laugh past his plush lips as he kissed your cheek.

"Mhm, that's right, my love," his cock slid through your tight walls, snugging inside your plush warmth. "Oh fuck, my Goddess, you truly are a fucking virgin."

You drew in a sharp breath, feeling his heavy cock slip into your belly. It was anything but the tip, forcing a sudden burst of tears to roll down your cheeks.

The pain mixed with pleasure as his shaft forced its way deep inside your pussy. You could feel every pulsing vein throbbing against your walls, the pumped head smooching your sweet spot, as he pushed and pushed, while pressing your body to the sand.

A moany cry bounced pitifully off the crystal waves before he quickly rolled you again.

This time, your back hit the sand, thighs folding up to your chest.

And when you looked up at his face… oh.

The Sun God hung over your crying cheeks with nothing but an utterly wicked, handsome smile. Eyes shining beneath the cold moon, adding to their ocean-blue hues a kiss of sin. He giggled, kissing the single tear that soaked your cheek.

And an angel, no, rather a demon, keeping you in his tight, possessed embrace.

Your hands pressed to his chest, as he pushed harder. "My God, you said just the tip," fell harshly, seeing a grin coiling in his gaze.

"My Goddess, you truly are ruthless," he leaned down to place a soft kiss on your lips. "How could I ever lie to you? I'm barely in, I promise."

Yet when you tried to look down, his strong fingers grabbed your chin, keeping your eyes fixed on his.

"You don't trust me?" He pouted, peppering your skin with soft kisses. "Don't look down there, my love. Focus on me."

Your head lulled right as he bit the side of your neck. Licking, sucking on it gently, while still forcing his cock through your walls.

It wasn't just the tip, and although you should be angry, the way he kept you folded left little room for movement. With his single arm pressing your legs tight, fingers keeping your chin up, and massive, heavy body leaning on yours.

He started to move faster, faster, faster, pumping you poor, weeping cunt with his heavy cock. It hit every inch of your lower belly, brushing past the sweet spot and smooching up to the slowly swelling womb. You could feel his round head nuzzle deep inside your pulsing warmth, as your tight walls wrapped around him, as if trying to lock him in.

A low hiss slipped past his rosy lips as you cried out in painful pleasure. Your blood ran hot as he tried to fuck each drop of aphrodisiac from your veins, pushing your body deeper into the sand.

The nasty squelch bounced off the water, spilling deep into the cave and catching in your scattered hair. He brought your face back, giggling at the sight of your utterly fucked eyes.

"My beautiful Goddess," he whispered, before slipping his hand down your belly. At this point, with heat bubbling in your belly, your thighs stayed open, pressed to your chest, as if your body was freely inviting him in. "My sweet, beautiful Goddess. Tell me how good you feel."

His demand forced wrath and balmy submissiveness upon your fucked mind, and so a sweet, honest, "G-good, ahh, you're filling me s-so good," fell embarrassingly past your lips.

As no matter how much you wanted to refuse, it did feel good. Dearest, it felt amazing, handling his hefty cock fully sliding inside your warmth, till wet balls hit your lifted ass. Head kissing your womb, veins pulsing in rhythm with your plush walls, as they pushed out waves and waves of fresh cum. Coating his full length in your juices, till whenever he pulled out, a crystal thread formed between your cunt and his creamy, happy trail.

His hands kneading your softness turned your mind to balm, and fingers playing with your swollen bud forced a moan, so you truly, shamefully so, allowed your body to give in to his touch.

"My God, nghh, I'm going to–"

Before you could finish, he crashed his lips against yours. He slipped a groan deep inside your throat as he started to fuck you faster. More relentless, brutal, forcing upon your virgin cunt a strength you weren't used to.

"My God, p-please–ahhh–slow down," you cried into his lips, yet received only a low chuckle.

"I know how to make you cum, my love. Your pussy needs to be fucked properly," he licked the tears dripping down your cheeks before capturing your lips again. "You're close, hm? I can feel it in your belly."

His hands pressed to your lower pouch, feeling his cock hit the soft skin, before slipping down to your cunt. Rolling your clit in mean, squelching pinches.

"S-satoru," his name finally escaped your throat, as you wrapped your arms behind his neck. "So good, you're–ngh–filling me–ahhh."

He chuckled, seeing your lidded eyes and messy blabber falling past your lips. "I know, my Goddess, your–ahh–pussy feels so fucking good. My sweetest, I promise to take good care of you."

He hid his face in the crook of your neck before finally going still. Your back arched, nipples pressing to his chest, before a soaked cry ripped from your throat. Juices gushing all over his abdomen, cock, as he hit your womb painfully, filling it with sticky ropes of cum. Till you felt the heavy creaminess sticking to your walls, stuffing you heavily, madly full.

A filthy fog once again seeped into your mind, and for a single minute you felt your strength return to your body. For a mere moment, it allowed you to smack his fair cheek. It left him fully unfazed, with a cheeky grin still plastered to his handsome face and a low chuckle forcing its way past his lips.

"My Goddess, is that how you should treat your future husband?" he asked, then brutally turned you back onto your belly. You tried to crawl, kicking him back, but he simply smacked your ass. "Come on, my love. Don't try to fight me. If I hadn't found you, who knows who would?"

Your breath hitched when you felt his cock harden again. Still snuggling deep inside you cunt, as you felt his shaft stretch your poor, weeping walls.

"I–ahh–I fucking hate you," you snapped through gritted teeth, your hips slowly rocking against his. Whatever you'd drunk still flowed in your veins, forcing another fog over your mind. "I hate you, so, s-so–mhm Satoru, just, fuck, p-please–"

His fingers dug deep into your perked-up ass, ocean eyes glimmering at the sight of your arched back. Sweat beaded on your neck, and your teary gaze looked over your shoulder in a furious, desperate, pleading manner.

He chuckled, taking a little vial from his tattered tunic. Opening it with his teeth, he handed it your way.

"What is it?" you asked, trying to sound at least a bit suspicious.

His eyes squinted, lips turned wickedly up. "Just a simple water. You'll feel a bit better."

"Drink it first."

"You don't trust me?"

You bit down your lip, shaking your head a bit.

Satoru hummed before taking a sip of the liquid without hesitation. It seeped warmly through his body, dripping down to the burning loins.

Seeing that he truly acted normally, you took it from his fingers and drank it all in one go. But… oh.

You shot head his way, seeing nothing, but a nasty grin. "This…"

He leaned closer, pressing his hand back between your shoulder blades. His face drew nearer, then he licked your lips with his wine-sweetened tongue. "Tastes similar, my love?"

A wave of heat was rolling faster, an even stronger aphrodisiac flowing through your veins. Breathing became harder, your mind already blind, as he pushed your melted body into a deeper arch.

"I love you so much, my Goddess," he whispered, peppering your sizzling cheek. "I'll make you feel so good. So fucking good, I promise. My sweet, beautiful wife. Just trust me."

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Yesss, I'll write Artemis!Femjo and Hera!Reader, because we're the milf and she's the MOTHER FUCKER

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to search for that moment in your brain. It’s there somewhere, but you can’t recall all the details, as though someone hit you over the head when it happened. You can remember looking down and seeing the web shooters on your wrists, two red covered arms steadying you, hands holding your forearms and tracing the piece of tech as muffled words were explained to you. But why were you there with Spider-Man? Why didn’t you even know his name if you were so close?

You scroll back up to the video and feel your heart pause in your chest for a moment longer than normal as you’re exposed to a video of you and Spider-Man hugging each other tightly in the middle of a battlefield. You pause the video, rewinding it a couple of times so it bounces back twenty seconds, hoping to return to the beginning of the clip. You can’t really wrap your head around which battle this is from, but you have a limp in your right leg as you try running, and now glance down to find the long scar across your thigh.

The video creates a pit in your stomach, and you can’t believe that someone would record a moment of you in such a vulnerable state, clearly yelling something that the phone doesn’t catch. Instead, the phone pans to where Spider-Man is standing, turning over large pieces of rubble. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, and he’s quickly hopping out of the mountain of rubble to find you. When he can’t get to you fast enough, he shoots out a web that sprawls on your chest and yanks it hard, sending you leaping across the battlefield.

Spider-Man catches you with open arm that he quickly tightens around you, and you feel your cheeks go wet as you watch yourself hug him back like he’s someone you loved, digging your face into the crook of his neck as your chest heaves with a sob, shaking in his hold. The camera stays on the two of you for a long moment, until Spider-Man pulls away from you and gently lifts your mask halfway up your face to wipe dirt and tears off your cheeks.

Pausing the video, you take a moment to stare into space. It's like you're supposed to remember him. Spider-Man was the first person you ran to after a life-threatening battle and you can’t remember him. There's someone there behind that mask who you must have known, so why isn't he here?

You push yourself off the couch, inhaling deeply when you feel your legs shake. You pick your phone up off the couch, opening tik tok and typing quickly ‘spiderman and startfire’. The three words are riddled with spelling mistakes from the way your hands shake, but instantly, videos are loading onto your screen, big texts spelling titles ‘What happened to Spider-Man and Starfire?’ and ‘Why did the best superhero duo fall apart?’ You can’t believe you’re relying on other people to tell you about your own relationships, but you click on the first video you see anyway because to your knowledge, you were never close enough to have fallen apart in the first place.

The man in the video is a heavily tatted blond man who’s sat at his desk, text in the top corner marking the date he filmed the video as he begins speaking with an accent foreign to you. He doesn’t look like he should be sharing any type of news, but his video has 9.2 million likes, so you watch it anyway. “What happened to Spider-Man and Starfire? This superhero duo has caught all our hearts over the past few years, and many have been speculating that they’ve caught each other’s. But over the last few weeks, sightings of them together have come to a complete halt. It’s no surprise that the avengers have had a tough few years after the blip and losing a loving member of their big family, Tony Stark, but the two youngest avengers have always been together, through thick and thin. Some news outlets are theorising that their falling out has been caused by their latest fight, The Multiverse Rip, in which they fought countless monsters from other universes. But they’ve all been defeated, so what truly happened between these two heroes? Were they romantically involved and this entire falling out is the cause of a nasty break up? We don’t have any answers to that, but if either Spider-Man or Starfire are watching, the world needs its friendly neighbourhood superduo.”

The video was posted three years ago. For three years, everyone in the city has been wondering what happened to you and Spider-Man, when it’s only been a few months that you’ve been wondering why bits of your history are missing. Has he been wondering the same thing about you? About his masked friend with a secret name he doesn’t know? Does he lie in bed at night and think ‘Who is Starfire?’ in the same way you’re asking yourself ‘Who is Spider-man?’

This time when you lift up your phone, all you type is your superhero name in the search bar, waiting for the results that come up. A video you haven’t even clicked on begins playing, and you shut your eyes tightly as you hear the words “Where is Starfire?” You let the video play on, listening to the same voice as before that ponders about your whereabouts. “Whilst Spider-Man has constantly been roaming through the cities of New York to save its citizens from evil, Starfire has gone completely awol. An anonymous resource has provided me with the knowledge that she has been taking a bigger role with the New Avengers, helping them tackle stronger threats to our society while staying out of the spotlight they and Spider-Man are earning. Could this be-”

You click off the app, shutting down your phone.

Maybe it’s time for you to get some questions answered, you think. And maybe it’s time to let people know you’re still alive and well. Or maybe - maybe it’s time to put Spider-Man in his place. So you trudge over to your room and hastily put on the slick suit you’re not used to wearing anymore. The pristine sleek black suit the new avengers have given you hangs in your closet like a sick reminder of what your life has come to and you huff. You’re going to get your answers today one way or another.

With one look out of your bedroom window, you debate with yourself how to go about this. Go out into the world and just hope Spider-Man is out there somewhere, or wait until he swings by? Either way, you’re not jumping out of your window to let the entire world know where you live, and take the boring route up to your roof. You’re standing there for maybe a total of five seconds before someone yells “Look!” and your eyes rolls so far back into your head you’ll be lucky if you can still see after that.

There’s already a phone pointed in your direction, so you decide the harm is already done as you run towards the edge of the building and leap off it. Someone below you screams until they realise who you are, watching as you soar off into the distance.

Come on Spider-Man. What does a girl have to do to find the hero she worked with everyday? What are you even going to say to him? Will you give him a hug, will you punch him in the face? You keep flying higher up into the sky until you can get a view of what feels like the entire city. And of course, you’re not looking for five minutes before a flash of red and blue catches your eye. You follow it.

All the way back down between the buildings where people yell your name and wave their hands for your attention — but your gaze is set elsewhere. You don’t stop moving even as the hero in front of you does, unsure of how to trap the man he’s after, but you’re already moving, eyeing the police car that pulls onto the street as you continue after the criminal, hands enclosing around his biceps when you’re close enough and lifting him off the ground. You do a short lap in the air as the police car comes to a full stop, then immediately land him in the back seat of the car as the policewoman opens its door.

When you turn around to catch Spider-Man’s eye, the goggles of his mask are blown wide, and he’s limply hanging from a web attached to a lamp post as he stares at you.

“We need to talk.” You tell him, and Peter swallows thickly, unable to answer you as he takes in your appearance. Of course, he’s kept tabs on you over the past three years, stopping on the rooftop of the building facing yours so he can catch a glimpse of you cooking an impressive dinner or watching from afar as you made your way to the new avengers’ tower for a mission debrief. But it’s been years since you’ve worn this suit — years since you’ve come out into the daylight as Starfire, and he’s absolutely speechless.

“Starfire.” He breathes out, pulling himself to the top of the lamp post so he can stand closer to where you’re floating above him. “My apartment or yours?” You ask, and Peter instantly grows nervous. This is the first time you’re speaking to the man who used to be your best crime fighting friend, and you’re pulling him for a conversation that can only be had in the safety of one of your homes. “Yours.”

You start moving without another word, leading Peter to the rooftop of the building you just vacated and climbing down the steps to find your apartment. Peter halts outside the flat. It feels wrong to come inside as the superhero Spider-Man instead of your best friend Peter Parker, but when you shoot him a pointed glance as you walk into your home, Peter feels forced to follow, shutting the front door behind him. His breath hitches when you pull your mask over your face, fully exposing yourself to him, and he makes the most of this moment — you looking at him with complete consciousness that he doesn't have to turn away. You stare at him as though testing him at something, and when you shake your head in disappointment, Peter knows he’s failed. The mask gets tossed aside onto your couch as you sit down, patting the emptiness next to you, but Peter is too busy looking around your apartment.

Unlike him, you have the salary to afford a nice place, and Peter can only imagine how much this apartment costs in Manhattan, and how much that couch costs in front of such an expensive television. He sits down, almost sighing at the comfort that welcomes him. He hasn’t experienced anything like this in maybe years, but he doesn’t get to enjoy anything yet, because you immediately ask “Have you ever taken your mask off in front of an avenger?”

Peter’s mouth parts awkwardly, because he truly has no response to offer you. “Because, I’d expect if you did, it would’ve been to me, right?”

“What do you mean?” You squint your eyes at him, standing up and grabbing your remote. Peter watches as you turn on the screen, and it immediately opens on the last frame that had been on the television before you’d turned it off. Peter gasps loudly, reading the title of the video.

He’s seen it before - of course he has. Peter has watched every single video with a title even remotely similar to this. Spider-Man and Starfire being best friends for 10 minutes. Everyone’s favourite superhero duo. Spider-Man and Starfire being the silliest avengers. Spider-man and Starfire forgetting they’re avengers to flirt for 6 minutes straight. He’s seen them all. Mostly, he’s seen them in the dark of his room when he’s feeling particularly lonesome and filled with self-loathing, or when he misses the feeling of your arms tightly wrapped around his waist as you snuggled into him on calm nights. Now, it’s like he’s being punished for everything he’s done — for keeping this secret of his identity from you after he promised that he’d instantly reveal himself to you after the spell was cast.

Peter moves his attention from the screen to your face, frowning underneath the mask at the sight of you so gutted over the video. Your eyes are glued to the screen, and Peter looks back just in time to see the clip of you running into his arms after battle. It sends a pang in his chest, because he knows that after every single mission no matter what, being reunited with you guaranteed a bone crushing hug. But you don't know that.

“Does this mean anything to you?” You whisper, looking towards him. Peter sighs, bringing his hands up to hold his head as he thinks of how to proceed with the conversation. Is this an appropriate time to tell you the truth? Would you believe him? Would you be mad at him? “Because everything leads to the fact that we know each other and yet I’ve never seen your face in my life.”

“That’s not true.” Peter hesitates for a long moment before bringing his hands to the back of his mask and pulling it over it head. His hair flops into his face with the movement, and when he lifts his face up to look at you, he can see your eyes desperately scanning his features, as if looking for any recognition within them. “You’ve seen my face before. A lot.” Peter can’t help but breathe out a sad laugh as he shakes his head, taking in the confusion pooling in your eyes. “For hours and hours everyday, you saw my face.” It doesn’t help Peter that you're already tearing up, that you know something is missing from your life, and he feels his own eyes water as you shuffle closer to him on the couch, shakily asking him “Then why can’t I remember it?”

Peter reaches into the only pocket in his suit for the paper he’s kept on him for the past three years. He unfolds it, then stares at the letter that begins with ‘Hi, my name is Peter Parker’. He blinks quickly as he opens his mouth, preparing to read it for you, but he can’t get a single word out before a lump is forming in his throat. So instead, he holds it out for you to take. And you do.

“Peter Parker.” You say, testing the way his name feels on your lips. Peter inhales sharply at the sound of you saying his name for the first time in so long, and you look up at him with a sad expression as you read past the first paragraph. This gaping hole inside you hasn’t just been there because you’re missing memories of your best friend, it’s there because you’re missing memories of years from your life. Hours from your day — every day — just wiped from your memory.

You fold the paper back up when you’ve finished reading his letter, and you just stare at your lap, only looking up when Peter calls your name. “We weren’t just best friends.” You whisper, and Peter shakes his head, squeezing his hands into fists to target his energy somewhere. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried,” Peter gasps, shrugging his shoulders “I tried and every time it got too hard.”

The boy watches as your hands come up to wipe your face, taking in all the new information. You don’t know how to process this all. You have so many questions, and yet what will it change if Peter answers them if you don’t remember anything?

“Can you tell me about us?”

Peter nods, sniffling as he nods. He comes closer to you on the couch, and you bring your legs up as though curling up for a bed time story. “We went to high school together, but we weren’t really friends until we joined the avengers. I was Tony’s trainee, and I guess because he and Steve were always competing, they brought us into it to. They each wanted to make the better avenger, and we both found it so ridiculous, so we started going out at night to protect the city and show them we could become better avengers together. It was better training for us than whatever they had going on.” Peter pauses, letting out a shaky sigh as he thinks back to the years.

You place a hand on his thigh, and he goes still, looking up to meet your gaze. Peter furrows his eyebrows as he tries smiling, unable to act normally about the entire situation. “We got close at school?” You ask, and Peter nods.

“We sat together in every glass, spent every minute of break together, we’d go straight to the tower after to train and learn weird avenger skills.” You nod at that, laughing softly at his wording. “Then you’d come to mine and aunt may’s until it was time for us to do our rounds of the city. We’d watch movies or build legos after, and I had a bunk bed so you slept over a lot. It didn’t take us long to fall in love.” Peter’s last sentence has your breath hitching in your throat. “And we were so obvious about it and all the avengers knew.” Peter pauses to laugh about it, tears decorating his cheeks, and he’s both thrilled and gutted to find you smiling with him.

“Tony and Steve didn’t let us go on any missions together. We were always mad at them for it, but they had a point. And then people outside the avengers started catching on, so we made sure to let it all out in our normal lives so we could be subtle when we wore the mask.”

“Did it work?” You ask, wiping your nose softly. Peter shakes his head with a smile. “It got bad pretty quickly actually. We had meeting after meeting with Tony and Steve, but you kept saying it was okay because Natasha, Bruce and Clint thought it was funny. We got caught, you know?”

Your eyes widen in panic and you instantly question “Got caught how?”

“By some kid. We were- we were kissing behind a building in our suits and when we pulled away there was this kid holding up a phone and recording us. There was a lot of negotiating done in order not to get that video posted on the internet.”

“Oh my god!” You bring your hands up to lay flat on your cheeks as you laugh in surprise, unable to believe that the boy in front of you is telling you stories about your very own life. Peter smiles softly, but it disappears when the light in your eyes dim softly, and you mutter “It sounds like we were fun.”

“Yeah,” Peter breathes out a sad laugh “We were fun.”

He runs a hand through his hair, leaning on his side which rests against the couch’s back. He doesn’t want this conversation to end. Sure, you don’t remember him but you’re here. You’re here and you know his name and you may be crying but you’re also smiling and asking about life with him.

“We had our first kiss when I taught you how to use my web shooters.” Your eyes light up and you softly mention “I remember.” You frown, shaking you head as your voice goes quiet and you clarify “Well, I don’t remember remember, but I know you taught me to shoot your webs.”

Peter’s face softens, and his eyebrows raise slightly in what appears to be an attempt at teasing you when he asks “Do you remember how?” You scoff, bringing your shoulders up as your superhero arrogance takes over. “Of course I do.”

The words leave your mouth before you can even think about regretting them, so when Peter stands and begins taking off his web shooters, you feel your eyes go wide with slight panic. You chew on your bottom lip, letting Peter take your forearm to fasten the web shooter onto your suit as he says “These haven’t been working great for me lately, so if you figure them out, you can keep them.” He settles himself behind you, nervously swallowing, though there’s a smile on his face nonetheless as he grabs your forearms, turning you to point your entire body towards the window. He looks over your shoulder to watch as he grazes the web shooter, mumbling “Just extend your arm, point, and press down here. Quickly though.”

You nod, though the feeling of Peter’s breath against the side of your face renders you jittery. You extend both your arms, pointing straight at the large pane of your window before quickly pressing down on the web shooters. The force sends you stumbling back into Peter's arms a little bit, but you look up and -

Thwip!

You freeze as the familiar sound brings you somewhere entirely different. Somewhere years ago, when you had jumped away from Peter’s hold and jumped high in the air, yelling “I did it! I’m Spider-Man!”

Peter had laughed loudly, shushing you as people looked your way despite having to be quiet in the closed down construction site that you’d broken into. He grabbed you by the biceps, pulling you away from any potential onlookers, and pressed you against a dark, cold metallic structure that hid you in a small nook. “I did it.” You whispered again, taking your mask off your face to show Peter how widely you were smiling. Peter nodded, mimicking your movements and struggling out of his mask as a laugh bubbled in his chest. “I mean, Spider-Woman does kind of have a nicer ring to it that Spider-Man, doesn’t it?”

“Shut up.” Peter mumbled, and you grinned, tilting your head to the side and fully leaning on the wall behind you as you countered “Think you can learn to convert ultraviolet radiation into energy for battle?” Peter’s eyes squinted, and he jutted his chin out, nodding sarcastically “Well yeah.”

The two of you stared at each other for a long moment before going into a fit of quiet laughter.

“Hey, Peter?”

The boy looked up at you with a short hum, eyes going wide when you brought a hand up to the back of his neck, tugging his face closer to yours. The smile had slipped off Peter’s face at the recognition of what you were about to do, and he leaned in, nudging the side of your nose with his, eyes fluttering just in time for your lips to connect in a sweet kiss.

A call of your name snaps you out of your daze, and you find yourself in your living room with your arms still extended and two identical spiderwebs on your window. You blink twice in quick succession, turning around to look at Peter, whose face is laced with concern.

His expression now is identical to the one that had been on his face when you’d pulled away from a heated kiss with him only to find a kid with a skateboard standing by your side, his phone pointed in both your faces. “Woah, kid!” Peter had called out, putting on his Spider-Man voice and tugging his mask down his face from where it was bunched up at his forehead. You cursed lightly, covering your face too as Peter ran over to the younger kid, tilting his head to the side and pleading with him to delete the video. The kid had squinted his eyes at your boyfriend, bragging “Not my fault you guys were kissing.”

Peter dropped to his knees, bringing his hands together and begging “Please dude, we’re gonna get into so much trouble from our boss if they find out this happened.”

“He’ll sign your skateboard and take a photo with you if you delete the video.” You instantly suggested, trotting up to the pair. Peter had nodded eagerly, putting his hands out in a weird shrug, and the kid stared for a moment before nodding with a sense of finality. “You got a pen?” The kid asked, and you laughed loudly as Peter actually nodded, pulling a sharpie out from his single pocket. The kid turned his skateboard over, waiting for Peter to sign it before he handed you his phone, tilting his chin up to pose with your boyfriend.

You giggled as you took a couple of photos, holding a finger up as you went through the kid’s camera roll to delete the video he had taken of you and Peter.

“Hold on!” Peter had called out, pulling his own phone out. “Send me the video first.” He mumbled, and you laughed, airdropping Peter the video before deleting it off the kid’s recently deleted too. “Thanks, kid!” Peter called, laughing nervously.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks, and your entire face softens as you fondly mutter “You made me send you the video of us kissing before deleting it from that kid’s phone.”

Peter drops his arms by his side, face showing no emotion. “You remember?” He asks in what you can barely consider to be a whisper. “And Tony found the video on your phone anyway and pulled you in for a really awkward conversation.”

Tears are instantly flooding Peter’s eyes, but he shakes his head, muttering “Almost all of my conversations with Tony were really awkward.”

“You should’ve come find me.” You mutter, bringing your hands up to brush against Peter’s biceps. His hands instantly come to your waist, and he pulls your body flat against his as he nods, skin pulling as he frowns and gasps “I know. I’m sorry.”

Leaning your forehead against Peter’s you shake your head determinedly. “Don’t be sorry, I love you.”

“I love you too.” Peter sniffles, though he doesn’t pull his face away from yours to wipe away at his tears. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, nose resting against the side of yours like he had done all those years ago before connecting your lips together. He instantly wants to tell you everything about the last few years you’ve missed, though there isn’t really much to tell, but most importantly, he wants to know all the details about your life — about the stupid superhero admin you always had to complete after missions or the early morning training sessions you couldn’t get out of.

But for now, Peter enjoys the sensation of you wrapped in his arms and your lips against his. And when the two of you are out together the night after, clad in your superhero suits, Peter can’t help but keep his eyes on you when teenage girls across the street wave excitedly at you, asking for your picture. He hops softly onto the cement below him, grinning when you trot over to them in your heeled boots that you always used to get scolded for by your mentor. “I barely ever even walk! I’ll be fine!” You had sassily told Steve, who still didn’t get the grasp of fathering a sassy teenager.

Now though, you pose as an example for these girls, smiling as you lean in to take a photo with them despite your mouth being covered. Then, you rejoin Peter, who wraps a secure arm around your waist, tugging your body close to his. He’s ready for whatever headline the Daily Bugle will sport tomorrow, especially when he hears how loudly it makes your heart thump in your chest, your pulse quickening in slight humiliation as you read the words:

Starfire returns from the shackles of the New Avengers, and it seems Spider-Man’s love for her has never left!

It only took one search to unravel the rest.

When he mentioned he mostly traveled for work? F1 Racing on weekends in championship cups. Which you guessed was what he meant when he said he liked cars. But what man didn't?

Why the fuck would you assume some guy you met at the beach would be the current first driver's seat for fucking Ferrari?

You didn't know shit about the sport. Or well, any sport.

Strangely enough, you still felt almost betrayed, something stinging at the fact he hadn't bothered to bring it up. You didn't think you were special, or that this was serious. But you didn't like feeling stupid either.

"You're glaring," He commented, stuffing his face full of some high protein meal meant to keep his physique up, a black compression shirt clinging to his chest like he'd come from the gym.

"Okay," You shrugged, picking at your own food.

He picked a place with hardly any people today. No one to catch him with a nobody.

"Are you gonna be a brat all night?" He sighed, dropping his fork and scowling back at you.

"Maybe," You shrugged again, glancing away from him to stare at the cash register. Your wallet was in your purse, the temptation to get up to pay for your half and go getting stronger by the second.

"Fine," He grunted, taking one last big bite before tossing too much cash on the table. You guessed he could do that with how much he was getting paid to drive dangerously and toe the line with death. "Want me to fuck that attitude out of you?"

For all his skills, he still hadn't managed to do that two rounds later.

Both of you panting and sweaty, one palm pressing down on the slight bulge of your stomach where his cock was currently thrusting and the other pressing your thighs up higher, folded into a mean full nelson.

"Fuck, you feel me there?" He groaned, biting yet another bruising hickey into your neck while you nodded weakly.

Your limbs ached, feeling more like accessories than body parts by now, a doll for him to fuck, a way to blow off steam before you both returned to your real lives. His cock stretched you out with each searing pump, splitting you open so his kisses and rough reassurances could stitch you back together.

He stalled inside you with his tip smashed against that spongy spot in the back, holding it there just to make you squirm in his arms. His nose grazed against your ear, his breath warm on your skin before he murmured softly, "Stop holding out on me."

"Oh, a-am I annoying you?" You breathlessly teased, and his little huff sent a shudder through you when he tried to push himself in deeper, that extra inch or two leaving your hips struggling to break free and jolt from him, already filled to the brim and about to spill over.

"You keep runnin' from me," He grunted, and in two blinks, he was switching positions, rolling you over on your stomach and pushing your back into a pretty arch before climbing back over you to prone bone.

Shoving his cock in and pinning you to the mattress with his weight, one of his big hands pressing down on the nape of your neck while he bottomed back out inside you.

"S-Sukuna," You gasped, but then he was leaning down and his mouth was on yours, claiming you with a bruising kiss.

"Again," He practically growled against your lips, his canines nipping at them.

"What?" You blinked, the desire still coiling in your stomach and the cum leaking down your legs and even just the scent of his cologne sticking to the sheets starting to melt the confusion from your mind on how you felt about him..

"Say my name again," Sukuna demanded, barely disguising his own moan when he slammed into you. All your muscles were tense, everything oversensitive already, flying so high you were pretty sure you'd crash any moment.

"Ego maniac," You muttered instead, and he readjusted to deliver a harsh spank across your ass, the pain quickly converting to pleasure when you gasped and squeezed around him.

But then he refused to move, buried to the hilt and not budging.

Sukuna didn't say anything. He didn't have to. He was waiting on you.

You were just as stubborn as he was though, biting your lip and hiding your face in the pillow to try to wait him out, counting on him being impatient or getting pissed off. His cock was throbbing inside you, begging to move, your clit aching for relief of it's own.

But you were both two idiots who couldn't admit what you wanted. Even if it was each other.

"I can stay like this all night, sweetheart," He murmured in your ear, dark and dangerous and delicious.

"Me too," You mocked back, adding a fake yawn and cradling your head over your forearms like you might fall asleep in this position.

He bent first. Or maybe he'd convinced himself he could make you break.

And yeah, amidst the blur of blunt thrusts and love bites, you did end up crying his name more than once when he lifted your hips enough to slip one hand under to play with your clit while he used the angle to practically abuse your poor g-spot, slamming into it every time with damn near surgical precision. Chuckling at the way you whined and shuddered, clenching desperately around his huge cock until he was abruptly pulling out and cumming on your back in thick spurts.

You showered together in silence.

Him passing you the soap and you washing his hair, his arms wrapped around your waist for extra warmth. He draped the towel around you afterwards, and you used an extra one to dry off his hair. Falling asleep in bed tracing the tattoos on his face.

In the morning?

You woke up before him, creeping out of bed to get dressed as quietly as possible.

He still hasn't told you about his career. Or anything really about himself outside the barest of basics. You resigned yourself to keeping the biography you'd read through about him the day before to yourself. What was the point of telling him you knew who he was when you wouldn't see him again?

Your vacation was over. Not wasted, but you were leaving more wistful than when you arrived, a deep and uncomfortable knot tangled in your stomach staring at the handsome man sleeping on the bed and the wrinkled sheets and blanket next to him where you should be.

You would go home. Go back to work and sleeping in your own bed and cooking your own meals until maybe you found some nice, normal guy to settle down with.

He'd go back to bigger and better things. Fucking models instead of a random girl he just happened to meet on his break. Too busy to be with someone like you anyway.

"Where are you going?" Sukuna grunted, scowling as he sat up in bed, running his fingers through his soft hair.

"I've got a flight to catch," You murmured, fixing the strap of your dress and hurrying to collect the last of your things you'd left here over the past two weeks of fucking.

"Oh."

You didn't say anything else, shoving an extra pair of panties from under his bed inside your purse, but it meant getting close enough that he reached out to touch you, fingers ghosting over your hip.

"If I paid, would you stay another day?" He asked, and you really had no clue what the fuck to make of that. His dark eyes had softened, shades of purple ringed underneath them, but they weren't harsh, didn't threaten to cut you down.

It didn't feel like the type of casual sex where you couldn't talk about your personal lives when he stared at you like that.

"I have to go back to work," You mumbled, wishing you didn't just as much as you wished you wouldn't miss him.

"I'll call you."

You didn't believe him.

But three days later, when you were curled up in bed and hating how empty it was, how cold it felt, your phone rang.

"Hi," You breathed, answering on the fourth ring after getting over your surprise.

"Hey," Sukuna grunted.

The phone calls became a common thing. Some weeks every day, others where you barely heard from him at all. But he tried though, even if it was just for a few minutes at a weird time. You answered even if it was at one in the morning or afternoon, forcing yourself to stay awake or sneaking out to the bathroom at work to hear his voice.

He begrudgingly admitted what his job actually was after a couple weeks, downplaying it to just racing. If it wasn't for the odd hours and the short calls, you had a feeling he would've tried to skip over the subject entirely. You tried to accept it. Asked if he'd be weirded out if you looked him up or watched his races. Sukuna's whatever wasn't exactly reassuring.

But it was pretty easy to piece together that he lived and breathed racing.

He'd been born into it. Karted as a kid and grown up behind the wheel.

You guessed you were the only thing in his life that was just for himself, outside of all of that.

"You sound stressed," You commented, cuddling a pillow to your chest and suppressing a yawn. There wasn't a real routine to this, but after a few months, you'd gotten comfortable with his calls instead of spending all day nervous and stressed over them.

"Gojo's trying to take my seat," Sukuna scoffed. He rarely talked about this sort of stuff with you, barely brought it up, so you knew it was bothering him much more than he let on. He never opened up, not the way most people did, just dropping occasional bits of information that you had to stitch together with what was publicly available.

Unsupportive family, a more rough upbringing than the rest of his competitors, rivalries that'd started long before he ever qualified for F1. Despite everything, he'd still won the world championship four times in six years, the past two consecutive wins.

"I mean, can he do that?" You asked, unsure how exactly those sort of decisions were made. You knew Gojo was still a couple years younger than Sukuna, but probably his biggest competitor. Rumors had started to swirl about the white-haired pretty boy moving to a different team next year after his contract was up.

"Over my dead fuckin' body.'

A lump too large for you to choke down bubbled up in your throat, a newfound fear you'd recently discovered after looking up clips of him racing in your free time. The idea of his crashing or doing something reckless and getting himself killed had implanted itself in your head no matter how many times you tried to shake it out.

"You still there?" He grunted.

"Yeah, I am," You swallowed hard, doing your best to force those thoughts down too.

"What are you doing?" Sukuna asking sounded more like demanding, but his voice had taken on a different quality now. Darker, more hoarse. In desperate need of relaxing.

"I'm in bed," You admitted, rolling flat on your back in anticipation.

"And?"

"I'm wearing your favorite pair of panties," You murmured, face flushing already.

"And you weren't going to send me a picture?' He tch-ed.

"One second," You muttered, readjusting to open your camera and try to pose, despite how unnatural it felt. You snapped a few photos, then flipped the camera around, pulling up your loose t-shirt to take a couple more pictures of your tits, careful to make sure your face wasn't in frame.

They were immediately marked as seen once they were delivered.

"Fuck," He murmured, and you could hear the sharp inhale he sucked in.

"Do I get one too?" You giggled, heat already starting to pool between your thighs at the idea of him touching himself to you.

He hung up, a request to video chat almost immediately popping up instead. You nervously accepted, fixing your hair and chewing on the inside of your cheek before flipping the camera down to where your panties were clinging to your skin, slipping a hand down between your thighs teasingly.

"Sukuna?" You said, the picture on the other side grainy as it connected before you got the view of him stroking his pretty cock, his huge hand furiously pumping up-and-down over the thick veins, his tip almost as pink as his hair.

"It should be you here," He grumbled, his voice cutting out for a second afterwards.

"Yeah? You just miss fucking me?" You softly laughed, your heart straining in your chest at the rough timber of his voice.

"Wanna see your face," He gritted his teeth, like it was something difficult to confess.

You didn't want him to see you blush, but he was hard to say no to, harder to convince yourself you wanted whatever scraps of him he offered to you.

Hesitantly, you flipped the camera around to your face, and he let out a hoarse moan, his hand working faster, sloppy strokes that didn't match his usually calculated precision.

"Touch yourself for me," He muttered, all gravelly.

"You're gonna talk me through it?" You teased, and the sound he made was half a scoff and half a chuckle.

"Whatever my brat wants."

It was embarrassing how much you wanted to just be his.

You slowly pressed two fingers over your clit through the lace of your panties, making slow circles over the fabric just for extra friction.

"Should I flip the c-camera?" You asked, your breath hitching as you increased the pressure, thighs tense as you watched him jerk off, not sure if it was pre-cum or lube making his hands so slick.

"No," He huffed. "Need to see your face when you cum."

A flash of heat washed over you, your inhales starting to get shaky, your fingers twitching as you began trembling with each harsh circle you traced.

You scrunched your eyes shut, reclining your head back against your pillow and struggling to focus.

"Eyes on me, pretty," He chuckled, and you whined, pouting at him when you peeked them back open, barely able to hold yourself together staring at his cock on screen as you picked up the pace. Wishing it was your hand instead of his and his instead of yours, wishing for him to just be here instead of countries away, for him to fuck you the way he had months ago.

"Are you gonna cum for me, baby?" You murmured, his hand twitching and stalling for a second while he made some hissing sound, like he barely stopped himself from finishing them and there.

"Jus' waiting for you first," He growled, and you could practically hear his clenched jaw. Watching the veins of his cock pulse, the way it twitched at every little flicker of your expression, imagining how it'd feel in your mouth or buried deep in your cunt. You gasped a little, the pressure building and teetering on the verge of snapping, your hips arching up to chase the high. "Close, princess?"

His voice shoved you over.

Headfirst and falling hard as you unravelled in front of him, your common sense snapping with it when you moaned his name, murmuring something about how much you liked him and hoping he didn't hear it. He was cumming too, coating his strong, sturdy fingers white.

You were both breathless, coming back down in the same comfortable quiet you shared in person.

"You make a cute face when you cum," He eventually said, and you couldn't decide if it was a compliment or just him mocking you in some casually cruel way.

Sukuna was a hard man to understand. But you guessed that was by design. He didn't want anyone to know him.

"Do I?" You dryly asked, yawning out loud this time.

"Would I say it if you didn't?" He grunted.

"You just like to tease me," You complained halfheartedly, curling back up on your side.

"So?"

You shrugged, too tired to offer a better response tonight.

"I'll get you plane tickets. There's a race I want you to come to next month," He grunted, confident that you wouldn't say no.

"Seriously?" You hesitated, hoping it wasn't written on your face.

"Yeah," He insisted, like he was exasperated he had to reiterate it.

There was another race next weekend, but you wondered if maybe he'd just be too busy for you then. Or what other reason he had to wait for the one next month.

"Okay, sure, I guess. Um, I'll request off from work," You mumbled, a faint fluttering starting to stir in your stomach at the realization you might be seeing him again soon.

"Good."

Somewhere along the way, all the lines between friend and girlfriend had gotten blurred.

In your head, the dim hope that maybe he offered to fly you out was to make whatever this was official.

But when you tuned into watching his press conference the next Thursday for his upcoming race?

You hadn't realized how clearly he'd draw the boundaries back. It was stupid. Him scowling as some reporter baited and asked him a question about if there was a special someone supporting him or cheering for him before he rolled his eyes and said he wasn't in a relationship so they should stop asking.

Ouch.

You didn't watch any of the races. Ignored his two-sentence text where he didn't even apologize for being too busy to talk. Didn't answer his call two nights later.

He sent a bunch of questions marks in response.

Which might've made you laugh if you weren't already crying for getting too attached when you knew better.

The next day you'd send a congratulations message for him winning or placing or whatever the fuck he'd done, giving some excuse for being too busy with your own work to chat.

You went a week without calling. Barely replying to his texts hours afterwards, trying to untangle him from your heart.

Gojo, the guy in the second Ferrari seat, posted photos of them together though, ones that got plastered on a bunch of stupid sports news sites you'd forgotten to turn off notifications for, ones where they were at some club you'd never be able to get into, pretty girls next to them, diehard fans, apparently.

So when one of your coworkers asked you on a date?

You said yes.

Got dressed up, put on your makeup and plastered a bandaid over your heart. He picked you up with flowers in hand, waiting outside while you hurried to put them in a vase before walking back out with a shy smile.

"You look gorgeous," Geto hummed, a warm hand pressed against your back as he lead you to the car.

"Thank you," You blushed, but you couldn't tell if the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering or being stabbed.

Geto was a smooth-talker, all soft-spoken words that soothed your blistered disposition and dreamy eyes it'd be easy to lose yourself in. So why couldn't you?

The date was picture perfect. Not a detail out of place.

But when he dropped you back off, you couldn't bring yourself to invite him inside. You let him kiss you, his lips soft and tasting like wine as he caressed your cheek.

"I'd like to take you out again sometime," He murmured, apparently not put off by your reluctance. "I had fun tonight."

"Yeah?" You asked, wondering if maybe you needed more time to move past the man still lingering on your mind.

"Yeah."

You watched through a window as he drove away.

Changing into pajamas before digging your phone out of your purse, planning on scrolling through videos before you saw two missed calls and six missed texts.

You'd only read through a few of Sukuna demanding to know why you weren't talking to him before he was calling again.

Your thumb hovered over the button before you begrudgingly answered him. "Hello?"

"God, do you know how long I've been trying to call you?" He gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed already.

"Sorry," You shrugged. "I was on a date."

"A date?" Sukina was about to blow a fuse. That one vein that sometimes throbbed on his forehead was probably about to explode.

"Yeah?" You hummed, unbothered.

"That's not funny," He scoffed.

"Good thing I'm not joking," You sighed, walking around to fiddle with the flowers now sitting pretty in your vase, fingers grazing over the individual petals.

"What the fuck?" He huffed.

"Is there a problem with that?" You asked, walking the line between being an asshole and being apathetic. "I mean, didn't you just say you weren't in a relationship?"

"Shit, you saw that? I'm sorry, it's not like that, just look-"

Yeah, shit.

"It's fine, I get it, you play by a different set of rules than the rest of us, right? My fault for thinking I meant more." You accepted the blame because there was nothing else you could do with it.

Everything else hurt.

"It does mean more," His voice was low, like it took all his pride to admit it.

"Uh-huh," You dismissively nodded, tucking your phone between your ear and your shoulder.

"Did that prick even treat you right?" He grumbled, having an easier time hating someone else than focusing on his issues.

"He brought me flowers. Paid for my dinner. I had fun," You offered the smallest details, just enough to irritate him. To rub salt in his wound too.

"Are you going to see him again?" He asked, acidic and harsh.

"Maybe."

The silence was heavy this time, thick with tension and crackling with some charge you could feel even when he was in a different country.

"Don't."

"Why?" You genuinely asked this time.

"Give me a chance," He grumbled, before reluctantly murmuring, "Please."

"I'll think about it," You hummed noncommittally.

"Just, get on the plane, okay? I'll take care of everything else." Sukuna was probably scowling even when he was begging you.

The next night there was a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers delivered to your door along with your favorite food, and you didn't need to read the card attached to the flowers to know it was all from him. But you read it anyway.

I'm not letting you go. Sukuna.

You hadn't quite believed it until he'd actually managed to pick you up from the airport a couple weeks later, surely missing some kind of practice or press event, a sign made with your name on it. You almost didn't recognize him when he had on a hoodie and dark shades, probably trying to go unnoticed.

But the second he saw you, he was walking fast over to you, pulling you into him with a crushing hug, like he needed to know you were real.

That you hadn't given up on him yet.

He kissed you the second you got into the passenger seat of his car, his hands in your hair and his mouth on yours, trying to memorize your taste again after so long.

"I was an asshole," He admitted.

"Yeah," You scoffed.

"Sorry," He gruffly apologized. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what? That you're a dick? Or that you don't want people to know about us?" You sarcastically murmured between kisses, and he was hurrying to pull you onto his lap, his hands on your ass and his mouth trailing down your throat.

"That I'm an idiot in love with you," He grunted, and you froze, completely stiff as his sturdy thighs tensed underneath you.

"Don't be stupid," You huffed, refusing to believe him.

"Too late," He chuckled, his teeth sinking in to leave a light love bite above your collarbone. "Gonna show you off all weekend long."

And Sukuna rarely said anything he didn't mean.

His hands refusing to leave your waist when he showed you around the paddock, introducing you as his girlfriend and grumbling when he got dragged into media events.

"So you're actually real, huh?" A cheeky voice teased, aligning an arm around your shoulder while you sipped on an overpriced drink Sukuna had insisted on getting you.

You shoved Gojo off, recognizing him from voice alone.

"I'm Satoru Gojo," He grinned, sticking his hand for you to shake.

You didn't get to shake it before Sukuna returned from talking to their team principal, your boyfriend swatting his hand away from you.

"No touching my girl," He grunted.

"Are you his girl?" Gojo pouted, pushing out a plush, pink bottom lip. "Come on, you could do better, this guy's such a buzzkill."

You thought Sukuna was going to punch him.

"Are you trying to say you're better?"

"Don't fuckin' answer that," Sukuna scowled at him, pulling you back and leading you somewhere else, maybe to show you his real car up close like he'd promised on the way over.

It was prettier in person, a dark shade of red and sleek design. He ran his hands over it, pride glinting in his eyes.

And it kinda terrified you still, to picture him inside that death trap, but you liked watching him in his element, the way it seemed to be a second skin to him.

"Eyes on me out there," He murmured.

You don't think your eyes left him once the rest of the weekend.

In the haze of heated touches or when he was on the circuit, watching on the screen and unable to rip your attention away. He drove with the same control that he lived with - like he couldn't die.

No one was surprised when he took the top spot this time.

What did was him going to you first after he won. Kissing you in front of the crowd and picking you up in a tight hug.

Instead of an after-party, he dragged you back to his hotel room, pulling you back on top of his lap, already tugging your dress up and shoving your panties aside to push himself in after fingerfucking you stupid on the ride over. Your head was a little dizzy from the champagne he popped, your giggle turning into a gasp as his thick tip grinded up into you.

"Easy," You laughed, his fingers squeezing your sides as he guided you up-and-down slowly, savoring each second of being inside you.

"Can't I get my trophy?" He complained with a huff, brows furrowed together as he dragged you back down on his dick, distracting you from the stretch with a long kiss.

"I'm your trophy?" You giggled again, tilting your head back for him to decorate your throat with more hickies.

"My favorite one," He taunted, holding your hips in place and groaning at the way you squeezed around him.

He wasn't used to taking anything slow, but he was trying for you.

"What'd you think?" Sukuna asked as you tangled your fingers through his hair.

"Of what?" You hummed, relaxing into his touch.

"Everything. Did you like it?" He cocked his head to the side, leaning back against the bed's headboard and pulling you closer. The VIP lanyard still dangling around your neck bounced with the force, but you laughed. You were still nervous, still anxious and unsure of how it'd be to adjust to long-distance and what life with him meant. But the past few days had been a high you didn't want to give up.

Sukuna was someone you didn't want to give up.

His hands settled on your waist instead, enjoying being ridden for once instead of in the driver's seat.

"I like you."

You hate your life.

Dodgeballs hit the ground and shoes squeak across the glossy floors. It’s your least favourite subject, especially now, after you’ve gotten hit in the head with a dodgeball.

Peter Parker holds an icepack to your head as you glare at your fellow students.

“They should really watch where they aim.” He says mournfully, like it’ll change anything about your current predicament. 

You huff as if smoke could come out of your nose and continue pouting. 

“Their mom couldn’t even beat that idiot in office?” Someone gasps.

"Didn't they almost lose their apartment?" You hear a student snicker before promptly getting hit with a dodgeball.

You pretend not to hear.

“I hate this school.” You scowl, and it's not just because of the flying dodgeballs. It’s the bullying. 

Ned Leeds and Flash Thompson seem to get a particular kick out of ruining your day, pushing you into lockers and leaving writing on your desk. 

After your mom lost the mayoral election, people all around the school have not stopped making fun of you.

You’re worse than a nobody, you’re somebody who’s only seen as joke material. Every attempt at being special is seen as a new opportunity to mock you. 

You have one person, Peter Parker, but he’s not so special either. 

“Dodgeball should be illegal. Some of the kids in our class are actual giants.” He says, looking worriedly at a nerd about to get a faceful of rubber. "You know... statistically speaking, dodgeballs are basically weapons."

“Maybe we’re just weak.” You say bitterly and Peter looks at the floor, unsure of what to say. 

“You’re crying.” He states.

You sniffle. “I’m not crying.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m crying because I hate dodgeball.”

Peter laughs. “If you can survive advanced algebra, you can survive sports.”

“I barely survived that.”

“But you still survived it.” He nudges your shoulder encouragingly, trying to get a smile out of you.

You shake your head, unaffected by the attempt. “I’m so tired, Pete.” You sigh. 

“Tired of what, bug?” He asks.

“Life.” You state simply. “I want a different life.”

“Why would you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m sick and tired of being treated like a joke. I’m tired of checking restaurant menu prices and being reminded my mom isn’t a winner. I want money, I want friends, I want a mom worth respecting, I want a life worth living, I want people to stop looking at us like we’re failures.” You rant, nails digging into the palms of your hand. 

You could break something right now, but you don’t frighten Peter, he’s seen you on worse days. 

“I think you’re pretty amazing the way you are, bug.”

“Peter…”

“I mean it.” 

“I don’t need your pity.”

He shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

It doesn’t mean much coming from him, he’s your best friend, he’s supposed to say things like that. And he’s a fellow nobody, so his opinion doesn’t matter in the real world. 

You take the ice pack from him and press it against your head as the moisture drips down your hand. 

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m so mad.” You explain

Peter shakes his head, too understanding for his own good. “It’s fine.”

“Say, why don’t you head to my place after school. We could have a sleepover and watch a movie? Your mom wouldn’t mind.” He suggests with a smile, he knows what’ll win you over every time. 

“Alright…” You reluctantly give in. “Can we watch Spider-man?”

He smiles. “Of course.”

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You show up with your pillow and bag with the spider-man keychain Peter gave you, and knock on Peter’s door. 

A masked vigilante greets you. 

“Pftt, what are you wearing?” You laugh out loud. He’s wearing Miles Morales’s famous black and red costume with obnoxious eyeholes cut into the mask.

“Can’t you tell who I am?” He turns around to fully flaunt his outfit.

You roll your eyes and tug at your pillow. “No, who are you?” You reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Peter puts a hand over his face dramatically. “Are you sure you wanna know? My story isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“Peter? What’s taking you so long?” Aunt May’s voice calls out from the kitchen and Peter blushes. 

“Coming!” He pulls you into the house and you manage to get the door shut in time. 

It’s a tiny place, not much bigger than your own house, but it’s cozy and comforting, especially since it’s practically your second home. 

The beautiful Aunt May comes from the kitchen to give you a hug. 

“Hey, angel! This is probably the 3rd time you’ve come over this past two weeks, is everything okay?” She asks like a worried mother. You hate how people are so easily able to see through you. Or maybe it’s just Peter and May.

You hug her back tightly. “I’ve been fine, just needed a bit of cheering up today.”

“Well you’re welcome anytime, honey, don’t forget.” She kisses your cheek and heads back into the kitchen to pull out the frozen lasagna from the fridge.

You eat dinner with the Parkers and it’s so easy, so simple. Nothing extravagant, just a homemade meal and inside jokes. Peter always makes sure to include you in the conversation when he gets too caught up in telling May about today’s homework.

The apartment is small.

The TV is old.

The people are nobodies.

But it’s sweet.

Aunt May warns you not to stay up too late as you head to Peter’s room.

You’re watching Spider-Man once again and you’re fawning over Miles. 

Something about the superhero has you in awe, you’re obsessed. He's somebody, he can make change.

Peter shakes his head in disbelief. “You only like him cause he’s got spider powers.”

You nod. “Yes exactly! He’s special.”

Peter flails his hands as Miles swings across the screen. “So you wouldn’t like him if he was just a normal student?”

“Nope.” You laugh.

By the time the end credits roll, Peter’s fallen asleep. You shut the computer off and place it on his cabinet. You tuck yourself into bed, watching the stars on the other side of the window, and dream of a better life.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

When you wake up, the sheets don’t feel familiar. 

You open your eyes and the blur you awake to isn’t recognizable at all. This isn’t Peter’s bedroom, this isn’t the room of anyone you know at all. 

The curtains and covering floor to ceiling windows, the bed is huge and unbelievably soft, the floor is waxed, and the room is gigantic. 

You’re laying on a silk pillow, and your phone won’t stop buzzing. 

Before you can freak out there’s a knock at your door. 

“Uh, come in?” You allow. 

A woman you’ve never seen before enters, carrying a tray of food. 

“Breakfast. Your mother is doing an interview downstairs.” She explains. 

She hands you way too much food, and places it on your lap. 

“Uh- thank you?” She gives a little nod before exiting the room. 

Maybe you’re in some sort of hotel room? Why would anyone be interviewing your mom, she’s not a government official?

You check your phone and see notifications. 

Nediwankenobi: Flash is having a party tom! Byob.

Lizloveu: u look so pretty in this picture <3

Flashthompsonofficial: u coming?

Betty_brant: We have to hangout soooon! 

What the hell? Is someone pranking you? Why are people who wanted nothing to do with you yesterday messaging you?

You get out of bed and head to a mirror. Maybe it was just a bad sleep but you look… older. Like, you look like a young adult straight out of college, old enough to drink. You fix your hair in the mirror and look away, uncomfortable by the sight. 

You eat your breakfast in your bed, alone. You were sure you had fallen asleep next to Peter… maybe your mom picked you up and you were too sleepy to remember.

You carry the tray full of empty dishes and you’re completely full for the first time in a while. You exit the room and navigate the outside. It doesn’t look like you’re in a hotel, it looks like you’re in a mansion. You carefully walk down the stairs when you hear your mother’s voice.

“And as I said, my focus will be on making the cost of living affordable for all New Yorkers.” She finishes. A reporter on call thanks her for her time and the interview ends. 

“Oh, hi, honey. What are you doing with that tray?” She greets you from the couch, fixing her hair.

You’re completely confused. 

“I’m just taking it to the kitchen?”

“Aw, you’re so kind, honey, have one of the help do it instead. Clarise!”

When your mother calls the name, another woman you don’t recognise takes the tray from you and heads to what you presume is the kitchen. 

“Mom, what’s happening? Are we rich?” 

Your mom laughs. “Well, I wouldn’t say rich, but we’re comfortable.”

You breathe out. That’s exactly what a rich person would say.

“Why were you talking like you were mayor a while ago?” You ask carefully.

Your mother tilts her head in shock. “Honey, did you forget I got reelected?”

Reelected. As in… she won and then she won again?

She’s looking at you like you’re crazy, and you shrink a little. You decide to stop asking questions and just accept your reality, not wanting to seem stupid. 

“Oh, right, right.”

You’re living in a dream, that’s the only natural explanation. That or you time-traveled to the future where everything miraculously got better. 

You head back up the stairs to the big room you woke up in, and as you look around and observe you realise all your things are there. Your hairbrushes, your clothes, even your stuffed animals. 

It’s like you lived here all along.

But this isn’t your house, you’d like it to be, but that’s not your reality. You could get lost in this place, but you live in a tiny apartment with two bedrooms.

You’re dreaming. Again, that’s the only explanation. You open the balcony doors, cause apparently you have a balcony, and you swing your legs over the railing. 

“If this is a dream….”

Your hands grip the railing behind you.

“...then I can fly, right?”

Right as your hand starts to let go of the railing and your body begins to fall, a red blur flashes in front of your face. 

“Don’t do it!” A deep voice begs. 

A white string seems to be attached to your torso as you’re pulled into the arms of some masked hero.

You look to see… Spider-man?

He’s wearing a pretty accurate recreation of Miles Morales’s suit, but in red and blue. When he looks at you, he stares, like he’s confused, then shakes like he just got a chill.

“Uhm- who are you?” You ask. 

The spider-man cosplayer backs away. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that dreams probably have less gravity.” You state plainly. 

The man stands frozen in front of you, in pure disbelief. 

“You can’t… this isn’t…” He starts and stops multiple times. “You could’ve hurt yourself!”

“No, I couldn’t. This is a dream.” You repeat. 

The Spider-man shakes his hands frustratedly. “I can assure you that this isn’t a dream.”

“Then how the hell am I talking to Spider-man?”

His gloved hand slaps his masked forehead like he’s completely stressed out by you. 

He gets an idea and pinches your arm.

“Ow! Hey!”

“See! Pain. Not a dream, right?”

You rub your arm with a frown. But your expression slowly shifts from pain to realisation.

Holy shit. This isn’t a dream.

Your mom is the mayor.

You live in a mansion.

You have friends.

And Spider-man is real.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You sit on your bed, and you want to message Peter to ask what the hell happened in the span of one night, but you can’t seem to find his contact anywhere. 

“What the-”

You frantically search your message history, but you can’t find him. Not under any of your silly nicknames, not under his full government name, you can’t find him on instagram, and the most you can find is a faceless facebook profile with 0 friends.

Peter is gone.

You head downstairs, it takes you about ten minutes before you finally find your mom’s new office. 

“Mom, do you have Aunt May’s number?”

Your mother dismisses you. “Honey, I’m busy. And you don’t have an Aunt Kay.”

You groan in frustration. “No, Aunt May. Peter’s aunt?”

Your mom turns in her chair to face you, looking pissed off. “Honey, who are you talking about?”

“Peter? Peter Parker? My best friend?”

Your mother scoffs. “You have a new best friend every week, how am I supposed to keep track? Now go, I have work to do.”

You exit her office in a huff and sit on the leather living room couch. 

Genuinely what is happening?

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

We are young by fun. plays in your headset you share with Peter. 

“It’s good right?” He asks, desperate for your approval.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” You reply. “Very you.”

Peter blushes at your response. 

“I have something to tell you.” He stutters out.

You stop walking to look at him. 

“What is it?”

He stares at you and takes a deep breath.

“I…” He doesn’t know if he can do it. “I didn’t bring any cash.”

You roll your eyes, he always does this. 

“Fine, but you owe me for the movie tickets.” 

Peter smiles, but you don’t catch how it fades when you stop looking at him.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

“You have a gala tonight.” One of the help says. 

You immediately panic. “But I have nothing to wear.”

The woman cocks her head at you. “You could always reuse one of the outfits in your closet.”

“My wha-”

You turn around and notice the giant walk-in closet in your room. 

“Holy-”

You open it and find literally every outfit you could have ever wanted. 

Rows and rows of colourful shoes, every top you ever saved on pinterest, and expensive jewelry in glass displays. 

You could get used to this.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

“What if I take you out to lunch for once?” Your mother asks, barging into your room mid solo fashion show.

“You always do, mom.” You laugh.

“Really? The last time we went out was your birthday.”

You make a confused face. “No, it was…” You remember not everything is the same in this current universe and nod your head.

“You’re right… sorry, it hasn’t felt like that long?”

Your mother kisses your forehead. “You’re such a good child.”

She takes you to this amazing skyline restaurant, buying expensive food without even checking the price tag!

“Who’s this Peter you were talking about earlier?” She asks, cutting into her steak.

“Peter? Oh, just a friend. Not important.” You reply.

“Is he cute?”

“Ew, no, he’s… Peter.”

Your mom chuckles. 

“I can always see right through you. You like him.”

You make a disgusted face. Peter? You can’t imagine ever being with Peter.

“He’d have to wear a mask every day if we dated, I can’t stand his face.” You huff.

Your mom laughs once again. 

“I miss this.” She places a hand on yours and you can’t help but smile.

Suddenly, her phone rings and she picks up.

“Hello?”

She has a conversation you’re not quite paying attention to, you’re too focused on the mind-blowing steak you’re eating.

Suddenly, you mom pats your hand again and gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry, honey, but I have an emergency at the gala.”

“What?”

“I have to go now, here’s my card, just remember to show up to the gala at 7 PM, okay?”

She places an american express card on the table and kisses your forehead. 

How could she leave just like that? You suppose this is the cost of being a mayor’s kid.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You roam the city at night, trying to figure out your new life and what’s different. You’re no celebrity, but a couple people turn their heads and point you out when you pass by. 

“That’s the mayor’s kid!” Multiple people have whispered around you by now. It’s still a fright to hear that.

The city looks almost exactly the same, maybe one of two posters about this new Spider-man, and apparently other comic superheroes exist in this world, but that’s it. 

You tried to spend time at home but your mother was too busy to bother, and the entire place just felt so empty. 

You sit on a bench, scrolling through people’s instagram stories. Everyone seems to be having the time of their lives currently. All of your fellow classmates look much older, and have college universities in their bios. 

You seem to have traveled a couple years into the future, but every stranger you ask is acting like Spider-man’s existed since you were in Highschool. 

You got into your dream college apparently. You have no memory of that. You scroll through your phone and see lots of photos of you sobbing while studying for midterms. 

You texted back to a couple of the people who had messaged you saying you would love to hang out, but nobody actually wanted to make plans. 

You sit alone, outside a subway, eating Peter’s favourite sandwich. Turkey, no tomatoes, extra pickles. 

Wait. 

You check your bag.

It’s still there.

Your spider-man keychain. 

It’s a different colour now, but it’s still there. 

Peter got this for you in a random garage sale, it’s got the same dents and chips as it did yesterday. 

Nobody seems to know who Peter is, but this is proof that he was real.

You never thought you’d miss that stupid nerd, but here you are. You have thousands of followers but no one to talk to.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You’re sitting in a lone chair at some kind of fancy gala. You can’t help but feel completely out of place amongst government officials and their trophy partners.

You mom hands Spider-man the key to the city, and everyone bursts into applause. 

You clap as you stare at the hero, observing every inch of his costume, trying to process how this is reality. You two make eye contact, at least, you think so, it’s hard to tell with his goggles on. 

You head out to the balcony of the building for some fresh air.

You don’t know how to appreciate this new life. It’s everything you wanted, but it’s here all too quickly. 

“Please tell me you’re not going to jump off.”

You hear a voice so similar to Peter’s that you jump. You turn around to see the masked vigilante himself approaching you. 

“Don’t you have a party to be at?” You ask with raised eyebrow.

“Don’t you?”

“Touche…”

He approaches you and you two stare out at the grasslands outside the government building.

“I know you’re not from here.” He says. 

You slowly turn to look at him, you didn’t choose to come here, but you feel like you’ve been caught. 

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I’ve never felt my Spider-sense react like that.”

“React like what?’

“Like something’s different about you.”

“I tend to have that effect on people.”

He punches your shoulder playfully and you fake offense. 

“Yeah… I don’t know what happened.” You pinch the ends of your fingers. “Look, this is going to sound crazy, but this is a completely different life than I was living last night.”

“I’ve dealt with crazier, you can tell me about it.”

You let out a sigh of relief and tell him everything, from the sleepover all the way to tonight. He looks at you interestedly, well, as interested as a mask can look, and he nods carefully.

“That’s… insane. Straight out of a movie.”

“No, you’re straight out of a movie.” You retort. “How are you even real?”

Spider-man shrugs and turns around to rest his elbows against the balustrade.

“Wanna get out of here?”

“Yes, please.”

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You expect Spider-man to swing you to the nearest IMAX theatre, but instead he swings you to one of the oldest theatres in town. $5 a ticket.

“Could you pay? I’ll owe you.” 

You roll your eyes and pay the fee to get two tickets for some cheesy action movie.

You two sit together in the theatre and you have to wonder how well he can see through that mask. 

“You can’t keep doing this, John, you’re putting all our lives in danger!” The female lead pleads. 

“John’s kinda hot.” You whisper, stuffing your face with popcorn.

“You only like him cause he has guns and can do flips.”

“Exactly.”

He lifts up his mask just enough that he can take a few bites of popcorn. 

“Holy shit, you’re white?” You gasp. He didn’t really sound like Miles Morales at all, so you figured it was a different person, but getting the confirmation that he’s white kinda disappoints you.

“Uh- yeah?”

“That’s messed up…”

“I-I’m sorry?”

You recognise him from somewhere, but you can’t seem to place it.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You get sandwiches after the movie, your treat once again but he swears with his whole heart that he’ll pay you back. 

The guy making the sandwiches already seems to know what his order is exactly. 

Turkey. No tomatoes. Extra pickles. 

You laugh slightly. “Oh, I just had that earlier.”

“You have good taste, bug.” Spider-man notes. 

You frown at the nickname he gives you. 

“I’m sorry, have we met before?”

He quickly stares at you, almost like you’ve caught him in a lie. 

“Don’t think so.”

You don’t believe him.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

When you get home, your mom doesn’t even ask where you were. She’s too busy in her room. 

You roam around the dark and empty house. The place is still unfamiliar to you. 

You decide to explore, discovering a library, an indoor theatre, and a pool. 

You tried to ask an assistant where the kitchen was earlier and she replied “Which one?”

The help is asleep now, so you’re the only moving thing in this house.

You eat a snack alone at the dining table, nobody to chatter in your ear.

You stumble up to your room and get another notification reminding you about the party tomorrow. You hope you’ll actually get to talk to someone then. 

You collapse on your bed in your formal outfit, and you’re too tired to change. 

Tears start to fall out, you can’t help it, you’re just so scared.

You miss the cold lasagna.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You’re shivering in class. The teacher changed the seating arrangement and placed you directly under the air conditioner. 

You’re sniffling and shaking, and Peter notices. 

“Hey.” He bumps you with his hand.

You notice he’s holding his blue hoodie and giving it to you.

“Peter, you don’t-”

“I do. Just take it.”

You relent and put the hoodie on. It’s comfortable, it smells like Peter.

“Didn’t you have a blue hoodie?” Aunt May would ask a month later. 

“Nope.”

You suppose he didn’t want it back.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You’re walking home from a party where nobody talked to you. 

You keep getting invited to these things just so you can bring alcohol, but nobody ever seems the care that you’re there. 

And nobody ever cares when you leave.

Despite all the people who seem to be friends with you, you don’t see many photos of you on your phone partying or hanging out with anyone. 

There are posts people tag you in, concerts you apparently paid for, designer gowns you apparently gifted, you scroll through multiple conversations of people asking “Could your mom do me this favour…”

You stop midwalk.

What’s the point in going home? 

Your mom is going to ignore you because she has work, your footsteps are going to echo throughout the empty house until you fall asleep from pure boredom. 

You’ll eat food that’s too much for you at a silent table and go to sleep missing Peter.

That’s when a certain webbed hero comes to the rescue. 

He’s holding a box of cinnamon rolls as he clumsily lands in front of you.

“What happened to your web shooters?” You notice.

“Uh, I’m using organic now.”

“Organic? Like… it comes from you?”

“Yeah…”

There’s an awkward silence.

“Anyways, I’m pretty sure, I owe you?”

You smile as you grab the cinnamon rolls from him. 

“You’re damn right you do.”

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You’re sobbing at your table, hiding in a classroom to avoid the science fair.

Peter finds you, because of course he does, and rushes towards you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

You wipe a tear aggressively. 

“It’s broken. I failed.”

You point to your torn cardboard display, and Peter takes it from your desk. 

“Give me ten minutes.”

He runs out of the classroom and leaves you alone and confused.

He comes back with a taped and decorated display, better than anything you could have done. 

You’re speechless and he hands it to you, acting like it’s no big deal. 

You won second prize at the fair and you gave Peter a giant hug.

He blushes harshly, and pats you on the back.

“You act like you’ve never been hugged before.”

“I have, you’re just… enthusiastic.”

You ignore him and wrap your arms around him tighter.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You’re sitting on the roof of your mansion eating $2 hotdogs with Spider-man. 

“And then Flash had the audacity to ask if I could buy tickets to the next Bad Bunny concert for him?”

You chew angrily. “So screw him, I’m buying tickets for myself.”

Spider-man listens attentively, mask half up his face as he eats. 

It’s a nice day, the sun is about to set so the sky is a dark blue, and the wind is just the perfect amount. 

It’s nice having an actual person to talk to, someone who makes time for you. You love your mom, but she just can’t do that. It’s not her fault, you’re happy she has the job she has, and you understand it comes at a cost. 

Sure, you have multiple friends, but they have other friends, and they have their own parties to attend. It feels like you and Spider-man only have each other. 

He squeezes a ketchup packet onto his hotdog and accidentally squirts some onto your leg.

“Whoops, sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” You scoop the little drop of ketchup with your finger and taste it. 

“Why do we always seem to have the same taste in food?” You randomly point out. “It’s like you know exactly what I like.

Spider-man chuckled awkwardly, you get a weird sense of deja vu whenever he does that, like it’s something you know but different.

“I’m just a good food guesser?”

“Is that one of your powers?” You ask snarkily.

“No, I’m just naturally gifted.”

You have half a mind to push him off the roof top now, but you wouldn’t have anyone to share hot dogs with, so you don’t.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

The mansion has a game room.

A gym you'll never use.

A wine cellar you aren't allowed in.

Three kitchens.

Three.

You still only ever eat in your bedroom.

Most mornings you wake up after your mom has already left, the silence becomes your only company in the house.

You wander the halls in oversized pajamas, reading the little plaques under paintings you don't recognize.

"Donated by..."

"Gifted to Mayor..."

"Commissioned in..."

Every room feels like it belongs to someone wealthier, older, more put together than you.

Sometimes you purposely take the longest route downstairs just to hear your own footsteps echo.

It reminds you that you're still here.

One morning you discover a piano.

It's beautiful. Black, polished, probably worth more than your old apartment.

You press a single key.

The note rings through the entire house.

Even making noise feels expensive here.

You start sleeping with the bedroom television on.

Not because you're watching it.

Just because silence has become unbearable.

In your old apartment you could always hear something.

Cars outside.

Your mom humming while folding laundry.

Arguing neighbours.

Anything.

Here… there’s nothing.

You scroll through your camera roll instead.

Thousands of photos.

Fancy restaurants.

Award ceremonies.

Vacation beaches.

Designer dresses.

You’re smiling, but you wonder if this version of you actually was happy. Cause you’re certainly not.

...

The next afternoon you try calling Liz.

She doesn't answer.

Flash replies to your text with,

Busy rn lol.

Betty reacts to your message with a heart.

And Ned doesn’t even bother to read it, but he’s still posting stories that nobody will watch.

Nobody asks if you're free.

Nobody asks how you've been.

Eventually you stop trying.

...

Spider-Man becomes the only person who checks on you without wanting something.

Sometimes he'll appear upside down outside your balcony.

Sometimes he'll leave takeout hanging from a web.

Once he accidentally left halfway through your conversation because someone was robbing an ATM.

He came back forty minutes later carrying two melted milkshakes.

"I still owed you dessert."

"They're soup now."

"They're... milkshake soup."

You laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

It's the first real laugh you've had since arriving here.

Spider-Man just watches.

Like hearing you laugh is enough.

"You know," you say between giggles, "you're really bad at dramatic exits."

"I know."

"You keep coming back."

He goes strangely quiet.

"...Yeah."

For a moment the air changes.

Like there are words sitting behind his teeth.

Then police sirens echo somewhere downtown.

He sighs.

"Duty calls."

"You know..."

He pauses before shooting a web.

"...you never ask me to stay."

You blink.

"I figured you always had somewhere more important to be."

He looks at you for a long second.

Then laughs behind the mask.

"Yeah."

But it doesn't sound amused.

It sounds disappointed.

He swings away before you can ask why.

You stand alone on the balcony again.

The mansion somehow feels even bigger after he leaves.

Without thinking, you pull your phone out.

You scroll all the way down your photos.

Past vacations.

Past birthdays.

Past galas.

Until you find the tiny picture of a red-and-blue Spider-Man keychain hanging from your bag.

The picture is blurry.

Probably because whoever took it was laughing while they did.

You smile despite yourself.

"I miss you, Pete."

The wind carries the words away.

No one answers.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You stand outside your school building. It’s pouring rain and you didn’t believe your mom when she told you to bring an umbrella. 

Peter, the always prepared, stands next to you. 

“How are you gonna get home?”

You sigh. “I could just wait two hours until my mom gets out from work.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “No, no, no absolutely not.”

He hands you his umbrella without a second thought. 

“Peter, you’ll get soaked.”

Peter steps out into the rain with his arms open wide. 

“I already am.” 

You can’t help but smile. 

You open the umbrella and step out into the rain. 

You give Peter one more look before parting ways.

But he’s already smiling back at you.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

Spider-man swings you across buildings as you scream. The building passes by you in grey and blue blurs as Spider-man swings you all the way to your house.

“This is so much scarier than it looks!” You say horrified.

“But isn’t it fun?”

You shut your eyes and feel the wind against your hair. Though scary and very dangerous, it’s surprisingly calming, like riding a motorcycle. “Yeah!” 

It’s another level of exhilarating being with Spider-man. The mystery of who he is and the danger of being around him along with the casual comfort of having a friend.

“I’m slipping, I’m slipping!”

“You always say that.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

“What’s this Peter like, multiverse bug?” Spider-man asks as he eats a burger.

“Kinda like you, actually.” 

“Handsome?”

“Annoying.”

He nearly chokes on a piece of his burger. 

“Ah, you love it.”

You laugh gently. “Yeah, I do.”

You kind of stun him into silence after that. 

“He’s also smart. Like really smart.”

“Oh really?”

“And kind.”

“I bet.”

“Probably the sweetest guy I’ve ever known.”

“Oh.”

You get a pain in your heart, suddenly reminded about how much you miss that stupidly smart boy.

You turn to see Spider-man staring at you with his mouth hanging open. 

You put his jaw up to shut his mouth. 

“What, you’re not gonna ask if you’re the sweetest guy I know?”

“No, no, I… I know I could never compete with him.”

You smile but it’s true. There’s no replacing your Peter Parker.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

“Happy Birthday.”

At school, Peter gives you a sparkly little baggie. There’s a tag attached with your name on it.

You open it and see a little lego spider-man keychain.

“Oh my god, Peter, it’s so cute.” You wrap your arms around him.

“I know you like Spider-man so… I bought it when we went on that field trip.”

“That was ages ago. You were thinking about my birthday all the way back then?”

Peter’s ears turn red, he looks away embarrassedly.

“Yeah, I have.”

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

Spider-man swings you home after another night out, you cling onto him a bit tighter tonight. 

You finally land on your balcony and your gaze lingers on him a bit longer. 

“You haven’t let go yet.” He notes.

“I don’t wanna go home.” You shakily admit.

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t feel like home.” You sigh. “You’re the only thing that feels familiar these days.”

You hear a shaky breath under the mask. 

“God, I feel like I know you.”

You place your fingers under his mask, you give him the chance to pull away, but he allows you.

You carefully pull the mask up, just enough so you can see his lips. 

Your heart thumps carefully as you lean in. 

“I can’t.” He grabs your hands and pushes you away.

You feel rejected. “What? Why?” You’re not mad, just upset.

“Because you wouldn’t be doing this if you knew who I was.”

“What? Who are you?”

He chuckles dimly. “Are you sure you wanna know? My story isn’t for the faint of heart.”

Oh.

Oh.

You reach for his mask, but he webs your hands together. 

“Don’t…” But he sounds more scared than angry.

“Peter?”

He takes off his mask. 

It’s the face of the boy you know.

The boy you love.

Worn down by time, cuts and bruises from long late night fights. He has a stare that makes you feel seen but an aura that’s unfamiliar to you. It’s so easy to understand but so hard to believe.

He undoes the webs on your hands. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought I was alone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Peter, you should’ve told me.”

“I know.”

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

Peter makes a choice after he swings away and leaves you in that empty house.

He doesn’t call you, he doesn’t come over, he doesn’t swing by, just… leave you alone.

You check your phone every day, follow the Spidey tracker Ned Leeds created, just trying to see where he is. You send a friend request on facebook that never gets accepted. 

It looks like Spider-man, no, Peter, is trying to avoid your house. 

Your mom notices how closed off you’ve become and enters your room unannounced one day. 

“Honey, are you alright?” Her gentle voice asks. 

You look up at her, wrapped in your weighted blanket.

“Huh? Oh, I’m… I’m…” You can’t even lie, you start breathing quickly and your mom runs to you to give you a hug.

“I miss him.”

“Peter?”

“Yeah.”

You don’t even know which one you miss. 

“Mom, if you had the choice between this life and a perfect life, what would you choose?”

Your mother clicks her tongue as she stares at the ceiling. “I would choose this life.”

“Why?”

She chuckles. “When I was your age, I wanted a completely different life too.”

“What happened?”

“I had you.”

Oh.

“And I was so scared, so worried my life would be over, but you know what? I got the best part of my life out of you, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

She kisses your forehead, and you have to let the tears streak down your face.

“Because a perfect life would mean losing all the imperfect things that I love.”

You’re fine being imperfect if it means you have your loving mom. Maybe an imperfect life wasn’t so bad, but how can you get it back?

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

Peter used to listen to songs he hated just to share earphones with you.

He’d let you copy off his tests even though he thought it was wrong.

He’d give you his umbrella if it meant you would stay dry.

And he did all that to the worst version of you.

God, he really did love you, didn’t he? How couldn’t you see it?

You slept with his hoodie on every night, crying into your pillow, longing for the boy you knew, and the boy you just met.

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You were having a normal day. As normal of a day you can have in an alternate universe where superheroes exist.

You were eating lunch with your mother on her computer when you hear a maid gasp. 

“Spider-Man is in critical condition.”

You and your mother stare at your TV in horror, dropping your phone, cracking your screen. 

“Peter…”

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You weren’t allowed in the waiting room, and you couldn’t explain who you were to the hospital workers, so you sat outside with all the other Spider-man fans. 

People held signs saying “We love spider-man!” and “Get well soon, spidey!” as they played music and talked, waiting for any sign that Spider-man was okay. 

You were in the middle of talking to a kid in a Spider-man beanie when people started getting up and cheering. 

“Look, it’s Spider-man!” 

You see an oddly buff Spider-man waving from his hospital room window. You’re confused until you hear the hospital door open and see Peter walking out, out of mask. 

He catches your eye and freezes before you approach him. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

His eyes drift down to the sign in your hands.

‘Your life isn’t for the faint of heart’

He chuckles and looks up at you.

“Wanna come with me?” he asks, still a bit hesitant.

“I would like nothing more.”

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

You enter Peter’s new apartment, it’s covered in tech and webs, but it feels so… him. 

You see a picture of you that you don’t remember taking on his desk. 

So you were friends. 

“I should probably explain.” Peter says in his squeaky voice, and you sit in his chair, interested in what he has to say.

“Years ago, we were friends. Like, really good friends, and I liked you but I never had the chance to tell you before my identity got revealed.”

"At graduation, I almost told you. Outside the science fair, I almost told you. On your birthday, I almost told you. I kept thinking I'd have another chance.” He recounts.

Silence.

"Then I ran out of chances."

He stares into the ground, recounting hard memories. “A bunch of terrible things started happening and I had to make everyone forget I existed to stop it. That’s why nobody knows who I am. And… your life just seemed so much better when I stopped being a part of it. You got into your dream school. You made all those new friends. I watched from a distance. I kept thinking... Today's the day they won't miss me anymore. I promised you I’d remind you who I was, but I didn’t because I didn’t want to ruin your life again.”

You stare at him, and your eyes sting hard. You shake your head, how could the universe put this boy through so much pain when all he ever did was good?

“You shouldn’t have made that decision for me, Peter.”

He sighs like he’s disappointed in himself. “I know… I know.”

You want to forgive him, but it’s also not really your place. This Peter wasn’t friends with you, he was friends with another version of you.

“I wish I never became Spider-man sometimes. Maybe we could’ve been together.”

You shake your head mournfully. 

“No, we would just drive each other insane. All we do is homework and argue.”

Peter chuckles at that, but then he makes direct eye contact with you. “I know you would’ve broken my heart even then, but I would choose to just do homework and argue with you if it meant I got to hear you say my name.”

You don’t know what to say. You and Peter get close to each other, you place your hand on his cheek and your lips interlock.

But it doesn’t feel right.

You pull back, foreheads touching. 

“I used to spend my whole life wishing I was someone else, then when I finally got everything, I was missing the one thing that was truly mine.”

“I’m here now.”

“That’s the problem. I have you now, but you’re not my Peter.”

“I know.” He clicks his tongue. “I wish I was.”

Peter sighs with a smile. 

“I didn’t kiss you that night because I knew whenever you looked at me, you were seeing someone else.”

“Yeah…”

“It just hurts that that someone else was me.”

He pulls away from you and pinches his fingers. “I finally got you back… and you already belonged to me, but not to me."

You don’t have anything to say to him, because he’s right. You wish you could love him, but you could never love someone as much as you love Peter.

“Was he good to you?”

“He drove me insane.”

“Sounds like me.”

You fall asleep in Peter’s apartment in a bed that definitely wasn’t made for two. 

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

“Kids, get up, breakfast is ready!” Aunt May’s voice echoes throughout the apartment.

You rub your eyes and wake up to the familiar smell of a boy’s bedroom. 

Holy shit.

You turn to the side and see a drowsy Peter waking up beside you. 

You immediately tackle him.

“Woah, woah, what’s gotten into you?” He giggles.

“This.”

You press a deep and intense kiss to his lips, your arms clawing at his star wars t-shirt.

When you pull away for breath, he’s looking at you like you’re a goddess. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since I was 14.” he breathes out. 

“Ew, morning breath.”

“Hey, you’re the one who choose to kiss me!”

“Shut up!”

“I heard that!” Aunt May enters the room with her arms crossed. “No more sleepovers with the door closed.

“Aunt May!”

๋࣭ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷✧˖°

It’s been a lonely few months since you left. Peter had a feeling he was saying goodbye to you so he swung you back home before you could wake up. 

He hasn’t seen or heard from you in a while, so he’s just gone about his normal routine. 

He was getting coffee when… out of the corner of his eyes… he saw someone.

It wasn’t you, it was the person he had been in love with for years.

There they were eating a waffle while reviewing something on their laptop intensely. 

Peter had a choice, walk away a let them live their life, or finally let himself get closure.

He chose the latter.

He approached the table and pointed to the Spider-man keychain on their bag. 

“Nice keychain.”

They look up at him, almost shocked to see him standing in front of them. 

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.” He scratches the back of his neck, ready to leave. 

“No, same! I’m sorry you just… feel so familiar.” They say. 

“I get that a lot.” He says. Then he quickly back tracks. “Actually, I don’t get that a lot, I don’t know why I said that.”

They laugh, and there’s a spark in the air.

As if something had come over them, they feel this urge to talk to him. “Sorry if this is weird, but would you maybe wanna sit down and get some coffee with me?”

“You don’t even know my name” 

“What is it then?” 

you tip your head back.

he lies several feet above you with one arm folded beneath his head, his shoulder blades pressed flat against the ceiling as though gravity has become an optional inconvenience. the sweatshirt he pulls over the suit has ridden up along his stomach. one bare foot hangs through the torn cuff of his pant leg, revealing a darkening bruise across his ankle.

you set down your pencil.

“peter.”

his breathing continues evenly.

you reach for the eraser beside your notebook and throw it. the small pink rectangle strikes his forehead.

peter jerks awake, and his entire body releases from the ceiling at once.

you barely have time to push away from the desk before he drops toward your bed, catches himself with one hand against the wall, and swings upside down above the mattress. loose hair hangs away from his forehead. his eyes move across the room in quick, unfocused passes before settling on you.

“what happened?” he asks.

you stare at him.

peter glances toward the window. “is someone here?”

“you fell asleep on my ceiling.”

his attention shifts upward as though the ceiling might explain itself. “oh.”

“you said you were leaving ten minutes ago.”

“i was.”

“from the ceiling?”

“i sat down for a second.”

“that is not sitting.”

peter lowers himself until his feet reach the floor. the room seems smaller once he stands inside it, though he keeps his shoulders drawn inward as if trying to take up less space. rainwater still darkens the ends of his hair from patrol, and a shallow cut crosses the corner of his mouth where someone catches him hard enough to split the skin.

you reach toward it.

peter turns his face before your fingers touch him.

“it’s nothing,” he says.

“you’re bleeding.”

“barely.”

“it’s on my rug.”

he looks down. a small red mark stains the pale fibers beneath his left hand where his knuckles brush the floor.

“sorry.”

you rise from the chair and walk toward the bathroom. the floorboard near the door gives its familiar creak beneath your heel, followed by the softer sound of peter trailing after you.

your bathroom is narrow enough that he has to lean against the doorway while you search beneath the sink. bottles shift against one another as you move them aside. by the time you straighten with the first-aid kit, peter has taken off the sweatshirt.

the suit beneath it is torn along his ribs.

you stop.

peter follows your gaze and immediately pulls the fabric closed with one hand. “that looks worse than it is.”

“you say that about everything.”

“because everything usually looks worse than it is.”

“the tower bridge looked exactly as bad as it was.”

something passes through his face.

the change is brief, but you see it anyway. the line of his mouth tightens. his fingers curl into the torn edge of the suit, hiding the exposed skin more firmly.

you set the first-aid kit beside the sink.

“sit.”

“i’m okay.”

“peter.”

he looks toward the bedroom, calculating the distance to the window.

you fold your arms.

peter exhales and lowers himself onto the closed toilet lid.

the overhead light hums faintly. rain runs against the small frosted window above the shower, turning the streetlights outside into dull patches of yellow. you step between peter’s knees and take hold of the torn fabric before he can object again.

the injury is not deep. a scrape follows the lower curve of his ribs, already beginning to close around the edges, but dried blood covers more of his side than the wound should produce.

“what happened?” you ask.

“car thief.”

“the car thief had a knife?”

“crowbar.”

you wet a strip of gauze with alcohol. “that’s not better.”

“it’s less sharp.”

“thank you, peter.”

“you asked.”

he watches your hands as you clean the blood from his skin. his body remains unnaturally still beneath your touch, every muscle holding itself in place despite the instinct that usually keeps him moving. you have seen him catch a falling glass without looking, turn toward sirens before anyone else hears them, and flinch when the radiator begins knocking three apartments away.

now, his attention stays fixed on you.

“you should have called me,” you say.

“while the guy was hitting me?”

“after.”

“it was late.”

“you climbed through my window at twelve thirty.”

“technically, i climbed down the wall.”

you glance up. the corner of his mouth lifts, pulling slightly at the cut.

you touch the gauze to it before he can smile wider. peter winces, more from surprise than pain.

“hold still.”

“you attacked me.”

“with gauze.”

“it could be contaminated.”

“it it literally sterilized.”

“you never know with those amazon first-aid kits.”

you try not to laugh. the effort lasts until peter looks at you with exaggerated suspicion, then something escapes anyway—small and tired, softened by the hour.

his expression changes.

the humor remains, but it settles beneath something quieter as his eyes move across your face. you become aware of how close you are standing, one of his knees against the outside of your leg and your fingers resting beneath his chin.

peter reaches for you slowly. his hand settles against your waist, light enough that you could step away without resistance. the material of your shirt gathers slightly beneath his fingers.

“you’re tired,” he murmurs.

“you’re concussed.”

“i’m not.”

“you fell asleep on the ceiling.”

“that’s happened before.”

“that doesn’t help your argument.”

his thumb moves once against your side.

the bathroom continues humming around you. water drips from the cloth into the sink. somewhere outside, tires pass over the wet street, their sound rising briefly before fading into the rain.

peter looks toward your mouth.

you kiss him first.

his hand tightens against your waist, pulling you between his knees while his other palm settles along your jaw. the cut at the corner of his mouth makes the first press careful, almost hesitant. then you angle your face, and whatever restraint he brings through the window with him disappears.

peter kisses you like he has spent the whole patrol trying not to think about it.

his fingers slide into your hair. your hand finds the back of his neck, where damp curls soften beneath your palm. the suit feels cold under your other hand, but the skin visible above its collar is warm.

he draws you closer until the first-aid kit catches beneath your hip and falls into the sink. plastic clasps strike porcelain with a sharp crack.

you pull back.

peter’s eyes remain closed for half a second longer. when they open, his breathing is uneven.

“that was loud,” he whispers.

“thank you for identifying it.”

“your parents—”

“are across town.”

“right.”

“you knew that.”

“i forgot.”

“you came through my window because they’re gone.”

peter looks toward the bedroom again. his hand remains around your waist.

“that wasn’t the only reason.”

the words settle between you without explanation.

you wait for him to continue.

he does not.

instead, peter lowers his forehead against yours. his breath warms the space near your mouth while rain presses harder against the window.

“i should go,” he says.

his fingers do not loosen.

“probably.”

neither of you moves.

peter kisses you again, softer this time, as though the decision to leave makes every second before it more important. his thumb traces the edge of your jaw. your hand stays against his neck, feeling the quick rhythm of his pulse beneath your fingers.

then a siren begins several streets away.

peter hears it before you do.

his head lifts. his body turns toward the sound with an instinctive sharpness that leaves the rest of him somewhere behind.

the siren grows louder.

you step back, and peter’s hands fall from you.

he stands and reaches for the sweatshirt, pulling it over his head without looking away from the window. the mask disappears into one pocket. a web cartridge rolls from the other and strikes the bathroom floor.

you pick it up before he notices.

“you’re low,” you say.

peter takes the cartridge from your palm. “i’ll make more tomorrow.”

“you said that yesterday.”

“tomorrow keeps changing.”

“that isn’t how tomorrow works.”

“it kind of is.”

he pauses in the doorway. the collar of his sweatshirt has folded inward, and you fix it without thinking.

peter goes still beneath your fingers.

“what?” you ask.

“nothing.”

his gaze moves over your shoulder toward the mirror, where the two of you stand reflected together beneath the bathroom light. your hair is disordered from his hands. his mouth is red where you kiss him around the split skin.

the image looks like an answer to a question neither of you has asked.

peter looks away first.

“i’ll text you,” he says.

“when?”

“when i’m done.”

“that isn’t a time.”

he gives you a small, apologetic smile. “soon.”

you follow him into the bedroom. peter opens the window, letting cold air and rain into the room. one hand sticks easily to the outside brick as he climbs onto the sill.

“peter.”

he glances back.

you almost ask what this is.

the question reaches the back of your teeth and stops there. you don’t know what answer you expect from a boy wearing a superhero suit beneath your old sweatshirt, already halfway out of your bedroom because someone he has never met might need him.

“don’t bleed on anyone else’s carpet,” you say instead.

peter’s smile becomes real.

“no promises.”

then he disappears into the rain.

—

peter’s sweatshirt is still hanging over the back of your desk chair the next morning.

you find it while searching for your jacket, which seems to have disappeared along with him. the sweatshirt smells faintly of rain, laundry detergent, and the sharp chemical trace of web fluid that never entirely washes out.

your phone remains silent on the bed.

peter does eventually text after patrol, though the message arrives at four seventeen in the morning and contains only three words.

home. alive. sorry.

you read it twice.

then you take his sweatshirt.

midtown smells like wet coats and industrial cleaner when you arrive. students crowd the entrance, shaking rain from umbrellas and complaining about the weather as though new york has personally betrayed them. someone has taped a photograph of mysterio above one of the trophy cases, surrounding it with handwritten messages and a strip of black ribbon.

you avoid looking at it for long.

the trip to europe already feels strangely distant. people talk about london as if it belongs to a movie rather than something that happens around you—fire breaking across the bridge, drones filling the sky, spider-man swinging through collapsing illusions while the rest of you hide inside the tower.

peter returns to school with a bruise along his jaw and tells everyone he falls in the hotel bathroom.

no one except you, ned, and mj knows to stop asking.

you find mj in the cafeteria with a book open beside her tray. she occupies the same table near the windows, though ned and peter’s chairs remain empty.

“where are they?” you ask as you sit across from her.

mj turns one page. “ned said they had to do something.”

“something?”

“that was the official description.”

you look toward the cafeteria entrance.

mj looks at you over the top of her book.

“what?” you ask.

she lowers her eyes to your clothes.

peter’s sweatshirt hangs past your hips. the academic decathlon logo has faded from years of washing, and a thin white stain marks the cuff where he spills web fluid on it two nights ago.

you pull the sleeve over your hand.

mj closes the book around one finger.

“is that peter’s?”

“maybe.”

“you know i’ve seen him wear it.”

“lots of people have this sweatshirt.”

“with web fluid on the sleeve?”

you glance down.

mj watches your face.

“you could at least try lying,” she says.

“you already know.”

“i know he’s spider-man.” she rests her elbows against the table. “i don’t know why you’re wearing his clothes.”

you reach for the straw attached to your milk carton. the wrapper refuses to tear beneath your fingers.

mj waits.

the cafeteria continues around you, filled with plastic trays striking tables and students talking over one another. flash stands near the vending machines, showing three girls the same photograph of spider-man above tower bridge. he claims they are close personal friends now because peter introduces him to spider-man once in a hotel hallway.

“i’m seeing someone,” you admit.

mj’s expression does not change. “okay.”

you wait. she reopens her book.

“that’s it?”

“did you want applause?”

“no.”

“good. i don’t have any.”

you nudge the bottom of the book until she lowers it again. mj looks from you to the empty chair beside you, then back toward the sweatshirt.

understanding settles across her face one piece at a time.

“no,” she says.

“i haven’t told you who.”

“you don’t need to.”

“you could be wrong.”

“i’m not.”

mj leans across the table, lowering her voice even though the students around you are too absorbed in their own conversations to listen.

“oh my god,” she whispers. “are you seriously saying you’re with peter?”

heat moves into your face.

“could you say it louder?”

“probably.”

you catch her wrist before she can lift a hand toward her mouth. mj looks down at your fingers, then back at you with open satisfaction.

“you’re with peter,” she repeats.

“i didn’t say that.”

“you’re wearing his sweatshirt.”

“he took my jacket.”

“that explains everything.”

“it explains the sweatshirt.”

“how did he take your jacket?”

the straw wrapper tears between your fingers. you stare at the thin strip of plastic rather than answering.

mj’s eyes narrow.

“was he in your room?”

“he visits sometimes.”

“through the window?”

you finally push the straw through the carton. “the front door would involve questions.”

“questions like why peter parker is entering your bedroom after midnight?”

“those kinds of questions.”

mj settles back in her chair. her expression has changed from suspicion to the focused stillness she usually develops while watching documentaries about unsolved disappearances.

“how long?” she asks.

“a few weeks.”

“weeks?”

“keep your voice down.”

“you kept this from me for weeks?”

“i was going to tell you.”

“when?”

you take a drink of milk to delay answering. it is lukewarm and tastes faintly of the cardboard container.

“eventually,” you say.

“that isn’t a time.”

“neither is ‘soon,’ and peter uses that constantly.”

mj glances toward the cafeteria entrance. “does he know you’re calling it seeing someone?”

the question catches against something unprotected.

you lower the carton.

the answer should be simple. peter climbs through your window after patrol. he lets you clean blood from his face and sleeps beside you when his senses refuse to settle. he kisses you until neither of you remembers the conversation that comes before it, then leaves before morning with apologies and promises to text.

sometimes he holds your hand beneath the table while the four of you study together, hidden behind ned’s laptop and open textbooks. he keeps a toothbrush in your bathroom because the first time he stays until sunrise, you complain about his coffee breath. he knows which floorboard creaks outside your bedroom and how to close your window without making the frame stick.

but peter has never called himself your boyfriend. you have never asked him to either. 

“i don’t know,” you admit.

mj’s eyebrows rise. “you don’t know if he knows you’re involved?”

“i know how that sounds.”

“do you?”

“we haven’t talked about it.”

“you’ve established a secret window-entry system, but not a relationship?”

“the window thing happens naturally.”

“of course it does.”

you look toward the entrance again.

peter and ned were supposed to arrive several minutes ago. peter probably hears the cafeteria from wherever he is in the building. the thought makes your skin feel warmer.

mj steals one of your fries.

“does he come over as peter or spider-man?” she asks.

“mj.”

“it matters.”

“he’s always peter.”

the answer leaves before you consider it. mj’s hand stops above your tray. you look down at the milk carton, rubbing one thumb through the damp ring it leaves against the table.

“even with the suit,” you continue, quieter now. “he’s still peter.”

mj lowers the fry.

“that was disgustingly sincere.”

“forget i said it.”

“absolutely not.”

you reach for the fry, but she eats it first. a small smile touches the corner of her mouth while she chews.

“what do you talk about?” she asks.

“things.”

“helpful.”

“school. movies. patrol.”

“his patrols?”

“sometimes.”

“does he tell you everything?”

you hesitate. peter tells you about the people he saves. the little boy who cries when peter returns his lost dog. the elderly woman who offers him twenty dollars for stopping someone from stealing her bicycle. he tells you about the strange noise his web-shooter makes when one of the cartridges jams and how difficult it is to swing when the wind changes between buildings.

he does not tell you when he is frightened. that part arrives in the tremor of his fingers while he locks your window. in the way he startles awake at ordinary sounds. in the nights when he lies beside you without sleeping, his attention fixed on every distant siren until you place your hand over his chest.

“not everything,” you say. “but more than he thinks.”

mj studies you for another moment.

“you love him.”

your elbow strikes the milk carton. mj catches it before it tips, sliding it safely toward the center of the table.

“i didn’t say that,” you whisper.

“you didn’t have to.”

“it’s only been a few weeks.”

“that doesn’t answer me.”

“you sound like a detective.”

“you’re doing whatever this is with spider-man. somebody should investigate.”

“i’m not doing anything with spider-man.”

mj’s eyebrows lift. you pull the carton closer.

“it’s peter,” you correct. “that’s different.”

a tray lands on the table beside yours with enough force to make the silverware jump.

peter stands over the empty chair, slightly out of breath. his hair looks as though he runs both hands through it repeatedly, and the collar of his shirt folds inward beneath his jacket. ned arrives behind him carrying his tray.

“sorry,” peter says, looking between you and mj. “mr. cobbwell needed help with something.”

ned’s expression tightens. “a projector,” he adds.

“right.” peter nods too quickly. “the projector.”

mj looks from peter to ned. “did the projector attack someone in the east stairwell?”

ned nearly drops his tray.

peter lowers himself into the chair beside you. “why would you ask that?”

“no reason.”

you reach over and fix his collar before you can stop yourself. peter goes still beneath your fingers. the movement is small, ordinary. you have done it in your bedroom without thinking, usually while he talks too quickly about something that happens during patrol. here, beneath fluorescent lights and mj’s attention, it feels more intimate than kissing him in the dark.

you let your hand fall. ned looks at mj. mj looks at peter’s sweatshirt around your body. peter follows her gaze. his eyes widen.

“oh,” he says.

“yeah,” mj replies.

peter turns toward you. “you told her?”

the question is quiet, almost lost beneath the cafeteria noise.

you study his face, unable to decide whether he is embarrassed or upset. “was i not supposed to?”

“no. i mean, yes. obviously, she knows about—” he glances around the room before lowering his voice. “everything.”

“then what’s wrong?”

“nothing.”

mj snorts. peter looks at her. “what?”

“you don’t have a nothing face,” she says. “that isn’t it.”

his ears begin turning red. peter reaches for the unopened water bottle on his tray, but his fingers miss and knock it sideways. you catch it before it rolls from the table. he stares at your hand around the bottle.

“what did you tell her?” he asks.

you set it upright. “about what?”

“you know, me.”

mj’s mouth curves. peter notices and points toward her. “don’t.”

“i haven’t said anything.”

“you’re doing the face.”

“i have several.”

“that one means you know something.”

“i know lots of things.”

ned sits across from peter and slowly opens a packet of ketchup as though he wants no involvement. the packet tears too far, spreading ketchup over his thumb.

“ned,” peter says.

ned reaches for a napkin. “i’m staying out of it.”

“you’re already in it.”

“i don’t know what she told mj.”

“but you know what i told you.”

silence settles across the table. peter’s face changes, and ned closes his eyes briefly.

mj leans forward. “this is interesting.”

“it isn’t,” peter says quickly.

you turn toward him. “what do you tell ned?”

“nothing.”

ned wipes ketchup from his hand. “that’s not true.”

“dude.”

“you brought me into this.”

“because you said you’d stay out of it.”

“yeah, well, i changed my mind.”

peter looks as though he might crawl beneath the table. his knee presses against yours, restless and warm through your jeans.

mj props her chin against one hand. “apparently, peter wants to know what girls say about boys.”

“i don’t,” peter says.

“you just asked what she told me.”

“that’s different.”

“how?”

peter opens his mouth. nothing comes out. you watch the flush spread from his ears into his cheeks. his fingers curl around the edge of his tray, worrying the plastic rim while his attention moves anywhere except your face.

the cafeteria continues around you. flash’s voice rises from the neighboring table as he insists he could have helped spider-man in london. someone drops several quarters beside the vending machines. outside the windows, pale afternoon light catches against the courtyard doors.

you touch peter’s wrist beneath the table. his hand turns immediately beneath yours.

“what do you want to know?” you ask. his thumb brushes once across your knuckles.

“i don’t know.”

“that isn’t true.”

peter glances toward mj and ned. mj opens her book again, though she holds it upside down. ned becomes intensely interested in arranging fries by length. peter leans closer. his voice drops until it belongs only to the space between your chairs.

“did you tell her about last night?”

your heartbeat catches.

“which part?”

his gaze flickers toward your mouth. the answer moves through him visibly. his fingers tighten around yours beneath the table.

“never mind,” he says. before you can stop him, peter releases your hand and reaches for his water.

—

mj waits until peter and ned leave for physics to ask what happened last night. you tell her almost nothing

not because you are protecting peter’s identity, though. mj already knows about the bite, the suit, the web-shooters, and every disastrous decision he makes in europe. there is no secret left to guard except the shape of peter’s mouth against yours and the way he falls asleep in your bed because his body finally relaxes somewhere. those details feel different.

they do not belong to spider-man. they barely belong to you and peter, because neither of you has decided what to call the collection of nights accumulating between you. you tell mj that he gets hurt. you tell her you clean the blood from his face. you do not tell her that he kisses you with both hands shaking after difficult patrols, or that sometimes you wake with his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades and his arm around your waist. mj watches you with increasing suspicion as you avoid every important part.

“so he visits,” she says while the two of you carry your trays toward the bins. “you perform emergency medical care, and then he leaves.”

“sometimes he sleeps.”

“in your room.”

“where else would he sleep?”

“his house.”

“may worries when he comes home injured.”

mj drops her plastic fork into the trash. “and you don’t?”

you scrape the untouched half of your lunch into the bin.

“that isn’t the point.”

“it seems like the point.”

students move around you toward the cafeteria doors. the next bell is still several minutes away, but the hall already fills with the sound of lockers opening and shoes striking tile. mj steps aside to let a freshman pass.

“what do you call him?” she asks.

“peter.”

“you know that isn’t what i mean.”

you balance the empty tray against your hip. “i don’t call him anything.”

“sweetheart?”

you stare at her. mj’s mouth twitches.

“absolutely not,” you say.

“lover?”

“you need to stop.”

“boyfriend?”

the word catches differently. you place the tray on top of the others with more care than necessary.

“he hasn’t asked,” you say.

mj studies the side of your face. “have you?”

you turn toward the hallway.

“we’re going to be late.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“you spend too much time with peter.”

“he avoids answers worse than you.”

you walk away before she can ask again.

—

peter asks ned about the conversation during physics. he tries to wait until mr. harrington turns toward the board, but waiting requires a kind of patience peter does not possess when you are concerned. he leans across the lab table before ned finishes copying the formula.

“what do you think they talked about after we left?”

ned keeps writing. “you.”

peter’s pencil stops. “you think?”

“mj was staring at you like you were part of an unsolved crime.”

“she always looks like that.”

“then why did you ask?”

peter glances toward the classroom door as if he might be able to see through two walls and across the building to wherever you are.

“i didn’t know she knew.”

“she knows everything.”

“not everything.”

ned looks at him.

peter lowers his voice. “about us.”

“there’s an us?”

the question hits harder than ned intends. peter looks down at the blank page in front of him.

“i don’t know.”

ned’s pencil stills. “you don’t know?”

“we never talked about it.”

“you’ve been sneaking into her room for a month.”

“three weeks.”

“that is the least important part of what i said.”

mr. harrington glances toward them from the front of the room. peter bends over his notebook and writes the first equation he sees on the board. he completes it before the teacher turns away. ned waits.

“it isn’t simple,” peter whispers.

“why?”

“because of everything.” he gestures vaguely toward himself, though the movement contains the suit beneath his clothes, london, the drones, tony’s glasses, and every siren he follows instead of answering his phone.

ned understands, and his expression softens. “does she know you think it’s complicated?”

peter rotates the pencil between his fingers.

“probably.”

“because you told her?”

“because she’s smart.”

“dude.”

“i don’t know what she wants me to say.”

“you could ask what she wants.”

“that sounds dangerous.”

ned stares at him.

peter looks toward the board again. “what?”

“you fought an army of drones.”

“that was different.”

“how?”

“the drones were trying to kill me.”

“and this is worse?”

peter presses the eraser into the corner of the page until the paper begins to tear.

“maybe.”

—

you find peter waiting near the stairwell after the final bell. students move around him without stopping, splitting naturally around the place where he leans against the wall. his backpack hangs from one shoulder. a faint red mark crosses the bridge of his nose, probably from whatever happened with the projector before lunch. he straightens when he sees you.

“hey.”

“hey.”

you stop in front of him. the hallway windows reflect a dull silver sky, and rain begins gathering again against the glass.

peter looks at his sweatshirt you’re wearing.

“you can keep that,” he says.

“you have my jacket.”

“right.”

“you wore it home.”

“it was cold.”

“you can lift cars.”

“that doesn’t make me warm.”

“you were wearing a suit.”

peter shrugs and reaches for the cuff. his thumb rubs across the white mark, though the dried fluid does not move beneath it. his fingers remain around your wrist.

students continue emptying from the hallway. a teacher pushes a cart of textbooks past the stairwell, one wheel producing a high squeak every few feet. peter flinches at the sound. you step closer.

“headache?”

“a little.”

“come over.”

his eyes lift to yours. “now?”

“unless you have something else to do.”

peter’s attention shifts toward the nearest window. you recognize the movement.

“patrol,” you say.

“i should.”

“okay.”

you try to pull your wrist away, but peter keeps hold of you.

“i could come over first,” he says.

“you just said you should patrol.”

“i can do both.”

“you always do both.”

something in your tone makes his fingers loosen. you don’t mean for it to sound sharp. you are tired from sleeping in fragments, listening for his messages, and wondering whether every quiet period means he is busy or hurt. none of that is his fault. none of it is something you know how to explain without asking for more than he has offered.

“sorry,” you say.

“no, you’re right.”

“i didn’t say you shouldn’t go.”

“i know.”

peter lets go of your wrist. the absence of his hand feels immediate. his gaze drops toward the floor between you.

“what did you tell mj?” he asks. the question appears unrelated enough to leave you briefly disoriented.

“when?”

“at lunch.”

“we talked about lots of things.”

“about me.”

you study him. his posture remains deliberately casual, one hand curled around his backpack strap, but the muscles along his jaw tighten while he waits.

“why does it matter?”

“it doesn’t.”

“you brought it up.”

“i was wondering.”

“about what?”

peter looks toward the students passing at the far end of the hall. “what you say.”

“i told her the truth.”

his attention returns to you. “which truth?”

you almost smile.

“you’re going to have to be more specific.”

peter doesn’t answer. instead, he pushes away from the wall.

“i should go.”

“peter.”

“i’ll text you.”

“soon?”

the word makes him pause. his mouth curves faintly, though the expression does not reach his eyes.

“yeah,” he says. “soon.”

—

he does not come through your window that night. a message arrives shortly after midnight.

busy. safe. don’t wait up.

you wait anyway. rain continues until morning, moving steadily against the windows while headlights pass in pale bands across your ceiling. you keep the desk lamp on beside unfinished homework, though the equations stop making sense long before midnight.

peter’s sweatshirt stays around you. you wake at four with your cheek pressed to an open textbook and the phone beneath your hand.

there are no new messages.

—

by monday, peter decides mj cannot be trusted. he reaches this conclusion after asking whether you call him ‘sweet’ and receiving seven uninterrupted seconds of silence. the four of you sit in the library beneath the watchful attention of a librarian who already warned ned twice about opening snacks near the computers. peter occupies the chair across from you, though his eyes lift from his notes every few minutes.

you pretend not to notice, but mj notices enough for everyone.

she closes her book and looks at peter. “what?”

“nothing.”

“you’ve looked at me fourteen times.”

peter’s eyebrows pull together. “you counted?”

“i count lots of things.”

ned lowers his voice. “that’s creepy.”

peter glances toward the librarian, then lowers his voice.

“did she call me sweet?”

you look up from your chemistry notes. mj’s face remains perfectly still, and ned slowly sets down his pencil.

“what?” you ask.

peter’s attention snaps toward you. “nothing.”

“you just asked her something.”

“about the assignment.”

mj opens her book again. “peter wants to know if you call him sweet.”

the librarian looks toward your table when ned chokes on his own breath. peter closes his eyes. you stare at him.

“you asked her that?”

“not exactly.”

“those were your exact words,” mj says.

“i was asking in general.”

“generally, ‘does she call you sweet?’”

peter pushes his chair back an inch. “i’m going to move.”

ned catches the leg with his shoe. “no, you’re not.”

the librarian clears her throat. all four of you lower your voices.

you lean across the table. “why do you want to know?”

peter looks down at his notes. “i don’t.”

“you asked.”

“i was curious.”

“about whether i think you’re sweet?”

“forget it.”

mj turns a page she has not read. “she called you a freak.”

peter becomes still.

you look at her. “mj.”

“what?” she asks. “he wanted to know.”

“context matters.”

peter’s gaze remains on the paper in front of him. “what context?”

“you were asleep on my ceiling.”

ned’s head lifts. “he does that at your house too?”

“too?” you repeat.

peter looks betrayed. “ned.”

“sometimes he does it during sleepovers.”

“you said you’d never tell anyone.”

“i assumed she knew.”

“why would she know?”

the question leaves peter before he considers the answer. silence settles around the table. mj’s mouth twitches behind her book. peter’s face turns red. you reach across and touch the back of his hand.

“you were asleep on the ceiling,” you repeat quietly. “you’re allowed to be a little bit of a freak.”

his eyes lift to yours. something wounded remains behind them. you turn your hand beneath his and fit your fingers against his palm.

“i also said it affectionately.”

“how do you say ‘freak’ affectionately?” ned asks.

mj looks at him. “tone.”

“right.”

peter’s thumb moves across your knuckles.

“did you tell her anything else?” he asks.

the question is meant only for you now. you think of what mj says in the cafeteria. you love him. you think of how quickly you deny it, not because it is wrong, but because saying it would make the feeling solid enough to lose.

“probably,” you say.

peter waits. when you do not continue, his fingers slowly loosen from yours.

—

the first time betty asks about the sweatshirt, you tell her it belongs to a cousin. the second time, you say you borrow it from lost and found. by the third, even you recognize that the lie is becoming insulting.

betty sits beside you on the gym bleachers during a school fundraiser, carefully painting letters across a poster for the academic decathlon booth. the gym smells like tempera paint, dust, and the pizza flash convinces a local restaurant to donate in exchange for several social media posts. peter and ned work across the room, attempting to hang a banner without a ladder. ned stands on a folding chair. peter holds the back of his shirt to keep him from falling, though either of them could complete the task more easily if the gym were empty.

“so,” betty says, dipping her brush into blue paint, “is there a guy?”

your hand slips. a line of yellow paint cuts through the letter you are outlining.

“why would you ask that?”

betty looks toward the sweatshirt tied around your waist. “because you keep wearing someone else’s clothes.”

“it could be mine.”

“it says parker inside the collar.”

you look across the gym. peter’s back is turned, but with his hearing, that means almost nothing.

“peter lends it to me,” you say.

betty’s expression brightens. “peter?”

“we’re friends.”

“just friends?” the question lands loudly despite her quiet voice.

you dip the brush into paint again. “it isn’t like that.”

across the gym, the folding chair scrapes sharply against the floor. peter catches ned before he falls. several students laugh. ned climbs down, speaking too quickly while peter keeps one hand against the banner. his face has gone carefully blank.

betty follows your attention.

“are you sure?” she asks.

you press the brush against the poster until paint spreads through the paper.

“peter and i aren’t together,” you say. the words are technically true, but they sound wrong anyway.

peter looks toward you. the distance between you is too great for an ordinary person to hear, but his eyes meet yours immediately. he lets go of the banner.

“i forgot something,” he tells ned. then, he walks out of the gym.

—

you follow him to the roof. the door resists beneath your hand until you remember to lift it before turning the handle. cold wind crosses the rooftop, carrying the smell of rain from clouds gathering above queens. peter stands near the edge with both hands braced against the concrete wall. his shoulders tense when the door closes behind you.

“you heard that,” you say.

“heard what?”

“peter.”

he looks across the neighboring rooftops. “you were talking to betty. i wasn’t listening.”

“you hear everything.”

“not everything.”

“you heard me.”

his jaw tightens. you move closer, though several feet remain between you when you stop.

“she doesn’t know,” you say.

“about spider-man.”

“about any of it.”

“right.”

“i can’t tell her.”

“i know.”

“then why are you upset?”

peter turns. wind pushes his hair across his forehead. the pale mark along his nose has almost healed, but exhaustion darkens the skin beneath his eyes.

“i’m not.”

“you left.”

“i forgot something.”

“what?”

he opens his mouth. nothing comes out.

you fold your arms against the cold. “that’s what i thought.”

peter looks away again. traffic moves below the building, filling the silence with distant engines and horns.

“you said we aren’t together,” he says.

you step closer.

“are we?”

his head turns toward you. the question moves between you, more frightening in daylight than it ever seems in your bedroom. peter looks at your face as though he is searching for the safest possible answer, one that cannot hurt either of you.

“i don’t know,” he admits.

you nod. peter’s expression falls.

“then i didn’t lie.”

“no.”

“i couldn’t tell betty about you.”

“i know.”

“why do you keep saying that like you don’t?”

“because knowing doesn’t make it sound better.”

you look past him toward the skyline. buildings rise through dull afternoon light, their windows catching what little sun remains beneath the clouds.

“you never asked me,” you say.

peter becomes very still.

“asked you what?”

“anything.”

“i ask you things all the time.”

“you ask whether i finish homework. you ask if my parents are home. you ask if you can come through the window.”

his hands curl against the concrete wall.

“you never ask what this is.”

“neither do you.”

“i’m asking now.”

peter looks at you. for one second, hope moves openly across his face. then something louder than either of you interrupts from the street below—a crash of metal, followed by several car horns and someone shouting.

peter turns toward the edge. you close your eyes. of course.

“go,” you say.

“i can stay.”

“someone might be hurt.”

“this matters too.”

“then come back.”

peter hesitates. you step close enough to take hold of the front of his jacket.

“come back when you have an answer.”

his eyes move across your face. then he nods.

peter climbs onto the ledge. the suit is hidden beneath his clothes, but the web-shooters already circle his wrists.

“i will,” he says.

you release his jacket. he falls backward from the roof.

your heart lurches even though you know what happens next. a web catches somewhere beyond the building, pulling him into a wide arc above the street.

he does not look back.

—

peter does not have an answer when he returns. he does not return at all. your phone receives three messages over the next two days, each of them apologetic and none containing enough information.

big thing downtown. safe.

helping happy. sorry.

can we talk tomorrow?

tomorrow arrives without him.

at school, he moves between classes with ned. he looks toward you whenever he thinks you are not watching, but does not approach. you do not wear his sweatshirt.

mj finds you in the library after school and lowers herself into the chair across from you.

“you look terrible,” she says.

you turn a page. “thank you.”

“peter looks worse.”

“good.”

mj raises an eyebrow. you close the book.

“not good,” you correct. “you know what i mean.”

“unfortunately.”

she rests her folded arms against the table. students work quietly around you while rain begins tapping at the high windows, soft enough to disappear beneath turning pages and computer keys.

“he talks about you,” mj says.

you look down at the closed book. “i know.”

“no. you know he talks. you don’t know what he says.”

“did ned tell you?”

“ned tells me everything when he’s stressed.”

“is peter stressed?”

mj stares at you.

“right,” you murmur.

she leans closer. “he asks ned whether you’re mad every twenty minutes. he asks whether he should text. then he writes a text, deletes it, and asks whether deleting it makes things worse.”

“it does.”

“i told ned that.”

you trace one finger along the edge of the book cover.

“does he say anything else?”

mj’s expression changes slightly. “you could ask him.”

“he asked you what i say.”

“and i told him to ask you.”

“did you answer?”

“not really.”

“why?”

“because it isn’t my job to tell peter you love him.”

your fingers still. mj doesn’t look away.

“you don’t know that,” you say.

“you talk about him constantly.”

“we barely talk about him.”

“you told me he makes a different face when he hears ambulances than police sirens.”

“that came up naturally.”

“you told me he hates bananas but eats them because may buys them.”

“she forgets he doesn’t like them.”

“you told me he apologizes to furniture.”

“he walked into a chair and said sorry.”

“you told me you can tell when he’s smiling beneath the mask.”

your throat tightens. mj sits back.

“you talk about him,” she says. “you just don’t use the word.”

“what word?”

she gives you a tired look. you look toward the rain-streaked windows.

“he hasn’t used it either,” you say.

“maybe he thinks you don’t want him to.”

“he knows i want him.”

“does he?”

the question remains after mj returns to her book.

—

ned finds peter in the chemistry lab after sunset.

peter sits beneath one of the work lights with a web cartridge dismantled in front of him. every component is arranged in careful rows across the table, though he has not touched any of them for several minutes. ned closes the door.

“mj says you’re being stupid.”

peter does not look up. “she says that every day.”

“she says you’re being more stupid than usual.”

“great.”

ned pulls out the stool beside him. “did you talk to her?”

“i tried.”

“what happened?”

“someone crashed a van into a taxi.”

“after that.”

peter rotates a small metal spring between his fingers.

“i got busy.”

“for two days?”

“there was the van. then happy needed help with damage control from london. then may had a fundraiser.”

“you could text.”

“i did.”

“you sent her three words.”

“one message had four.”

ned closes his eyes. “dude.”

peter places the spring on the table.

“i don’t know what to say.”

“tell her the truth.”

“which part?”

“all of it.”

peter looks toward the dark windows. his reflection appears faintly above the lab tables, a tired boy beneath harsh fluorescent light.

“i don’t know what she tells mj,” he says.

ned’s eyebrows draw together. “you’re still thinking about that?”

“she told betty we aren’t together.”

“you said you aren’t.”

“i know.”

“then what’s the problem?”

peter rubs both hands over his face. “i don’t want that to be true.”

the admission leaves the room quiet. ned waits. peter lowers his hands.

“every time we’re alone, it feels like…” he stops, searching for something precise enough to hold the feeling. “it feels bigger than it should.”

“bigger than what?”

“me.”

ned’s expression softens.

peter looks down at the cartridge again. “then we come to school, and i don’t know if i’m supposed to sit beside her or touch her or act like nothing happens. i don’t know if she tells mj i’m some guy who climbs through her window or if she tells her she wishes i’d stop.”

“she wears your clothes.”

“because i stole her jacket.”

“she waits for you after patrol.”

“because she worries.”

“she kisses you.”

peter glances toward him. “how do you know that?”

“you told me.”

“i did not.”

“you spent twenty minutes explaining why your lip was bleeding more after you left her house.”

peter looks away. ned pushes one of the web components back into line.

“what do you say about her?” he asks.

“to who?”

“me.”

“nothing.”

ned stares at him.

peter sighs. “fine. things.”

“you told me the exact sound she makes when she’s trying not to laugh.”

“it’s noticeable.”

“you told me what shampoo she uses.”

“she asked me to buy it once.”

“you told me she keeps the window unlocked for you.”

peter’s hands become still. ned looks at him.

“you talk about her like she’s already your girlfriend.”

the word pulls something tight across peter’s face.

“she isn’t.”

“because she doesn’t want to be?”

“because i haven’t asked.”

“why?”

“people change," he shrugs, looking away from ned.

“what?”

“we’re eighteen. everything changes.” his voice drops. “six months ago, mr. stark was alive. two months ago, i thought beck was a hero. three weeks ago, i didn’t know she would ever look at me like this.”

ned does not interrupt.

“what if i ask for something i can’t give her?” peter continues. “what if she gets tired of cancelled plans and windows and me showing up hurt? what if she says yes now and hates me later?”

“what if she doesn’t?”

peter swallows.

“that might be worse.”

“why?”

“because then i have someone else to lose.”

ned sits with that for a moment.

outside the lab, a cleaning cart rattles along the hallway. peter turns toward the sound instinctively, then forces himself to look back at the table.

“you already have her to lose,” ned says.

peter’s eyes close. “yeah,” he admits.

—

peter comes through your window the following night.

you are awake, though the lights are off. the city fills the room instead—headlights moving across the walls, red aircraft lights blinking above distant buildings, and neon from the pharmacy sign at the corner turning the ceiling faintly blue.

the window opens without a sound. peter climbs inside and closes it behind him. he wears the suit with the mask pushed above his mouth. one lens is cracked. dirt marks the red fabric across his shoulder, but you see no blood. you stay beneath the blankets.

“are you hurt?” you ask.

he turns. “no.”

“are you sure?”

“yeah.”

you nod toward the chair beside your desk. “your sweatshirt’s there.”

peter looks at it. the folded fabric has remained untouched since the fundraiser.

“you can keep it,” he says.

“you already said that.”

“right.”

he removes the mask. flattened curls spring unevenly around his face, and a faint crease crosses his cheek from the edge of the fabric. neither of you speaks.

peter sits on the desk chair rather than approaching the bed. the distance feels deliberate, though your bedroom is too small for it to become convincing.

“you came back,” you say.

“i said i would.”

“three days ago.”

“i know.”

“you’re late.”

“i know,” he repeats.

his hands turn the mask between them, twisting the fabric until one white lens bends inward. you push back the blankets and sit against the headboard.

“you’re going to break that.”

peter looks down. he smooths the lens with his thumb.

“sorry.”

“stop apologizing.”

“sorry.”

you stare at him. a tired smile touches his mouth before disappearing again.

rain begins outside, not yet heavy enough to reach the window. the weather has spent the entire week threatening a storm it cannot seem to produce.

peter looks toward the sweatshirt.

“what did you tell mj?” he asks.

you release a slow breath.

“you came here to ask me that again?”

“not only that.”

“but it’s still bothering you.”

“yes.”

the honesty surprises you. peter sets the mask on the desk.

“i know it shouldn’t,” he says. “i know you have to lie to people who don’t know, and mj already knows everything important. i know it isn’t my business what you say when i’m not there.”

“but?”

his fingers curl around the edge of the chair.

“but i need to know.”

you wait. peter looks at you directly.

“when you talk about me, who am i?”

the question quiets everything else. you look toward the window. raindrops begin catching against the glass one at a time, each one dividing the city lights into smaller pieces.

“you’re peter.”

“i know.”

“do you?”

his brow pulls together. you slide your legs from beneath the blankets and sit on the edge of the bed.

“betty doesn’t know about spider-man,” you say. “she thinks you’re the boy who disappears from class and loses his backpack twice a week. flash thinks you’re spider-man’s ‘assistant.’ my parents think you’re the polite kid from school who helps me with biology.”

“you don’t need help with biology.”

“i know, that’s why it’s a useful lie.”

peter’s mouth almost curves. you continue before he can retreat into the joke.

“mj gets the truth.”

“what truth?”

you look down at your hands.

“i tell her you’re sweet when you aren’t trying to convince everyone you’re fine. i tell her you’re a freak when you sleep on ceilings and hiss at the vacuum.”

“it was loud.”

“i know.”

“and i didn’t hiss.”

“you absolutely did.”

peter lowers his eyes, but a small smile remains at the edge of his mouth.

“i tell her you steal my clothes,” you continue. “i tell her you leave before morning, and that sometimes you don’t text until i’m already imagining every terrible thing that could happen to you.”

the smile fades.

“i’m sorry.”

“peter.”

“right.”

you move from the bed. he watches while you cross the small distance between you. your knees touch when you stop in front of the chair.

“i tell her you’re impossible,” you say. “that you cancel plans. that you show up bleeding and expect me not to react. that you hear every lie except the ones you tell yourself.”

peter’s hands loosen from the chair.

“do you tell her you wish i’d stop coming?”

the question is so quiet that you almost miss it. you look at him.

“is that what you thought?”

he doesn’t answer. you reach down and take the mask from the desk. the damaged lens catches the city light as you smooth the fabric between your hands.

“peter, i keep my window unlocked.”

“that could mean anything.”

“no one in queens keeps a fourth-floor window unlocked by accident.”

“then what does it mean?”

you set the mask aside.

“what do you tell ned?”

peter blinks. “what?”

“you want to know what i say. i want to know what you say.”

“that isn’t fair.”

“why?”

“because ned repeats things.”

“mj doesn’t?”

“not to me.”

“exactly.”

peter looks down at your knees touching his.

“i tell him about you,” he admits.

“what about me?”

“things.”

“helpful.”

“i tell him you make tea and forget to drink it. i tell him you leave the hall light on when you know i’m coming over. i tell him you can tell when it’s too loud for me even if i don’t say anything.”

your breathing slows. peter touches the edge of your sleeve. you are wearing your own shirt tonight, but his fingers still move as though looking for something familiar.

“i tell him you don’t treat spider-man like someone different,” he continues. “you don’t ask me to take the suit off before you touch me. you don’t act disappointed when it’s just me underneath.”

“peter.”

“i know that sounds stupid.”

“it doesn’t.”

his fingers close gently around your wrist.

“i tell ned that when something happens, you’re the first person i want to talk to. even if i can’t.” peter’s thumb presses over your pulse. “i tell him i think about your room during patrol because it’s quiet here. not actually quiet, but…” he glances toward the window. “quiet in my head.”

the rain begins falling harder. you don’t move.

“what else?” you whisper.

peter’s gaze lifts to yours. fear appears there before the words do.

“i tell him you take my breath away.”

your throat tightens. peter’s hand slips from your wrist as though the confession requires him to release you.

“i don’t understand it,” he says. “i know we’re young. i know everything changes, and i can’t promise i’ll be good at this. i can’t promise normal dates or that i’ll always answer my phone. i can’t even promise i’ll use the door.”

“the window is faster.”

“it is.”

“and less awkward.”

“usually.”

you step closer. peter looks up at you from the chair.

“you still haven’t answered,” you say.

“answered what?”

“what this is.”

his lips part. you place one hand against his cheek. the faint crease from the mask remains beneath your thumb. peter leans into your palm before he can stop himself.

“i want you to be my girlfriend,” he says. “i should’ve asked before. i think part of me thought if we didn’t say it, then nothing could change. you couldn’t decide you didn’t want it later because i never actually gave you anything to leave.”

the honesty hurts more than hesitation would. you brush your thumb beneath his eye.

“that isn’t how it works.”

“i know.”

“you could still lose me without calling me your girlfriend.”

“ned said that.”

“ned is smart.”

“don’t tell him that.”

you laugh lightly. peter’s hand rises to your waist, but he doesn’t pull you closer yet.

“do you want to?” he asks.

“want to what?”

“be my girlfriend.”

you make him wait, but not for long. only enough that peter’s fingers tighten once against your shirt and the fear in his expression becomes impossible to tease.

then you lower yourself onto his lap. the chair creaks beneath the added weight. peter catches your hips automatically, surprise passing across his face before you settle with one knee on either side of him.

“yes,” you say.

his breathing stops.

“yes?”

“yes, peter.”

“you’re sure?”

you touch your forehead to his.

“you’re a sweetheart and a freak. i know what i’m agreeing to.”

a breath of laughter leaves him, warm against your mouth.

“so i’m your boyfriend?” the quiet hope in his voice makes your chest ache.

“you’re my boyfriend.”

peter smiles. it begins slowly, pulling at one corner of his mouth before spreading across his entire face. you barely have time to see it before his hand slides into your hair and he kisses you. there is nothing hesitant in it now.

peter pulls you against him while your arms circle his shoulders. the chair shifts beneath you, one wheel catching against the edge of the rug, but neither of you pays attention. his mouth moves against yours with the urgency of every question he doesn’t ask soon enough. your fingers catch in his hair. the mask falls from the desk and lands beside the chair. peter kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, his breath uneven against your skin.

“wait,” he murmurs.

you lean back enough to look at him. his hands remain around your waist.

“what?”

peter’s eyes move across your face. the fear returns, but it is different now—more open, no longer protected by uncertainty.

“did you tell mj you love me?”

your heart stops. peter seems to regret the question immediately.

“you don’t have to answer,” he says. “forget i asked.”

you keep one hand against the back of his neck.

“do you tell ned you love me?”

his gaze drops toward your shoulder.

“yes.” the answer comes so quietly that the rain nearly takes it. 

you wait until peter looks at you again.

“then we tell them the same thing.”

he becomes completely still beneath you.

“you love me? the way i love you?”

“probably more.”

“that seems scientifically unlikely.”

“i have evidence.”

“what evidence?”

“you.”

peter’s expression breaks. he kisses you before either of you can say anything else, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades while the other cradles the back of your head. the kiss softens after the first desperate second, becoming something slower and almost careful.

when he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours.

“i love you,” he says.

the words sound unfamiliar in his voice, as though he has carried them long enough that hearing them aloud surprises him.

you brush your nose against his.

“i love you too.”

outside, the storm finally breaks over queens.

—

mj does not react when you tell her.

she sits across from you at lunch with her book open beside her tray. ned and peter are still in line, arguing about whether two cartons of chocolate milk count as a complete meal.

you take peter’s sweatshirt from the back of your chair and put it on. mj turns one page.

“peter asked me to be his girlfriend,” you say.

“finally.”

you stare at her. “that’s it?”

“did you want applause?”

“maybe.”

“i don’t have any.”

the corner of her mouth lifts.

you pull one sleeve over your hand. “you could pretend to be surprised.”

“you’ve worn his clothes for a month.”

“that doesn’t mean anything.”

“he fell asleep with his head in your lap during study hall.”

“he was tired.”

“he threatened a vending machine because it kept your change.”

“it was two dollars.”

mj looks toward the lunch line.

peter stands beside ned with one hand in his pocket. even from across the cafeteria, he finds you immediately. the tension leaves his shoulders when your eyes meet. he smiles.

mj follows your gaze.

“oh my god,” she mutters. “you’re seriously with peter.”

you smile into the collar of his sweatshirt. “yes.”

peter and ned reach the table moments later. peter sets his tray beside yours with more care than usual, then lowers himself into the chair. beneath the table, his hand finds yours. this time, neither of you hides it.

ned sits across from him. “he told me.”

“i assumed.”

“at four in the morning.”

peter’s face reddens. “you were awake.”

“because you called me.”

“you said i could call whenever.”

“i meant during emergencies.”

peter looks toward you.

“it felt like one.”

you squeeze his hand.

mj closes her book. “did he ask what you tell me?”

“eventually.”

“did you tell him?”

“eventually.”

peter’s thumb passes over your knuckles. “she made me go first.”

“good,” mj says.

ned opens his chocolate milk. “what did you say?”

peter looks at him. “none of your business.”

“you called me immediately afterward.”

“that was different.”

“you cried.”

peter nearly drops his fork.

“i did not,” he says, his voice higher than usual.

ned looks at you. “he cried.”

“there was rain,” peter says.

“inside your bedroom?”

“the window was open.”

“well, i don’t think rain sniffles.”

you lean against his shoulder. peter looks down at you, embarrassment softening into something warmer. around you, the cafeteria continues as it always does. flash talks too loudly from the neighboring table. coins strike the floor near the vending machines. someone argues about mysterio, insisting spider-man could never have defeated him without help.

for once, peter does not turn toward every mention of his name.

“Maybe I am,” she purred. Felicia stalked over to Peter and he stood stiff.

“You wouldn’t be here to take anything, are you?” He asked as she stood before him. Felicia pouted.

“Maybe I’m returning a book I boroughed.”

“It’s trespassing all the same,” Peter said looking around. Nothing appeared to be touched.

“Just a small commission. Ex wife wants her family jewels back. Honestly I’m doing something good. Then we can talk about going to bed,” Felicia said biting her bottom lip before grinning. Peter cursed himself for looking down at her lips for longer than he should.

“Why didn’t they just take it to court? Why hire you? She clearly has money,” Peter said walking around the room.

“He’s one of Fisk’s guys. Could win a court case with his hands tied behind his back,” Felicia said standing behind Peter as he looked at the items on the dresser. She slid her hands across his back.

“What’s in it for you,” Peter said turning around. Felicia pulled him close. Peter was losing his will to stay on task. He pulled his mask off.

“Take anything else I want. Make it look like a simple robbery. You might get some evidence on Fisk too,” she whispered in his ear before nibbling the lobe. Peter gulped.

“What if I take you in instead?” He asked.

Felicia turned in his arms and offered her hands behind her back, her ass jutted out towards Peter. “Arrest me then.” Peter couldnt resist running his hand up her back. Felicia chuckled.

“Why don’t we work together instead?” She said turned back to face him. “We’re always better intertwined together.”

She moved to the jewelry box and began picking out items. Peter inhaled quickly. He grasped her wrists and she sat down the bag.

“Spidey, don’t make this hard,” Felicia purred and turned in his arms. She circled her arms around his neck and she peppered soft kisses on his cheeks. She evaded his lips before finally kissing them. Peter’s hands went down to her waist.

“We have time to kill. No one will be back for hours,” Felicia emphasized. “Me and you, alone?” She propositioned.

Peter hesitated before his hands slid down to grab the back of her thighs. She jumped to wrap her legs around him and he walked to the bed as they kissed. She made soft noises as he kissed down her exposed cleavage. She unzipped her suit and Peter pulled it down as he kissed down her body. She kicked it off her legs and lay nude beneath him.

Peter kissed down her stomach and she panted at each new kiss. His rough fingers in the suit ran up and down her legs. Peter laid down between her legs and nipped at Felicia’s inner thigh. She gasped and giggled. He rewarded her with a firm kiss to the clit. Felicia mewled at the touch.

“Mmm Spidey,” she moaned. Sure, she knew he was Peter Parker but why spoil the fun of fucking Spider-Man?

He lapped at her while looking up at her face. She closed her eyes before opening them in a gasp. It wasn’t the first time they had been in this situation and he was always good at his job. It wasn’t long of his ceaseless ministration that her thighs began to shake and she gripped his hair.

Knowing the signs of her body, Peter quit right before she came. He pulled away and she whimpered at him.

Peter pushed the button on his suit for it to drop and they were similarly nude. He slid up her body to kiss her roughly. She could taste herself on his lips.

“Fuck me,” she purred, gripping his back. Peter complied with ease. Felicia wrapped her legs around his waist and moved to meet his thrusts.

Peter leaned back on his knees and pulled her legs up and on his shoulders. He bend down to kiss her as he moved. Felicia gasped as the deeper angle. She had to admit the lack of control was also kinda nice. Peter wasn’t making love but was instead fucking roughly and she couldn’t help but like this side of him.

Peter slid his hand down and a finger circled her clit. Felicia moaned freely and her thighs shook. She was close again and she just prayed that Peter wasn’t teasing her again. Nope. Not this time. A few more thrusts later and she clenched around him moaning “Spidey.”

He moved through her high before pulling out to cum on her stomach. Felicia grinned like a cat up at him. She rolled off the bed and slipped in the bathroom to clean up and dress. She went back to the jewelry box. She scooped up her bag and a few extra pieces before Peter could get his suit back on. Peter winced as he realized that she had played him.

Felicia kissed his cheek and slipped from his grip before climbing back up to the window. “See you around, Spidey. Hope we can play around again soon,” she said with a wink before leaving. She had disappeared in the fog.

You both know you’re just trying to ease your conscience. Peter has a girlfriend and you’re still sleeping with him. Pretending you feel bad is the least you can do.

Peter’s the real asshole anyway, and not you. He isn’t showing any signs of remorse though, rubbing your clit while he thrusts into you. He’s pulling your legs to rest up against him, your ankles by his shoulders.

“God this pussy feels so good,” he moans as he fucks you, he’s so strong that he barely has to move, he’s just pulling you by your hips, his cock driving into you.

“Fuck you feel so good, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you whine, sounding so fucked out, you’d be embarrassed your whole life if anyone but Peter heard you.

“Still want us to stop doing this? You say you don’t condone cheating, yet you’re begging me to fuck you.”

He’s making you feel too good, so you can’t answer with anything but a moan.

“Such a good slut for me, gonna fucking cum,” he grunts.

You somehow manage to turn around, getting on all fours for him so he can cum on your back.

He thrusts back into your pussy a few times, groaning as he pulls out again, jerking himself off so he cums over your back, some of it landing on your ass.

As soon as his orgasm is over, you feel his tongue on your clit, licking thick stripes up and down. He’s holding on to you, a hand on your ass that’s covered in his own cum.

His tongue finds your pussy and fucks into you as deep as he can reach, thumb rubbing your clit.

You arch your back as you moan, pushing your pussy further into Peter’s face. “Make me cum, make me cum,” you plead.

His hand finds your lower belly, tongue moving back to your clit.

Peter harshly flicks your clit with his tongue so fast you wonder how it’s even possible, gasping when your orgasm washes through you. Your arms give out and your face meets your pillow, broken moans muffled by the satin of your pillow case that’s now coated in your drool.

You see stars as Peter starts sucking on your clit, continuing to lick up all you’re giving him.

“Fuck,” you moan one last time and he can hear the exhaustion in your voice, his touch slowly faltering.

He delivers a last, gentle slap to your pussy and your whole body jolts. You look back at him, shyly smiling and his smirk softens as your eyes meet.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You lie on your tummy as you wait for him. He’s always thoughtful after sex and even if you’re something similar to a mistress, he never treats you like one, making sure you’re cozy and comfortable before he leaves. Every single time.

When you first had sex, he told you how he’d been fantasising about you, imagining what you’d look like naked, imagining what you’d look like beneath him, imagining he was fucking you while he was fucking his girlfriend.

But despite him fucking your brains out every other night, his respect for you has never been higher and the kindness he shows you on the daily has doubled from since you were just friends.

He returns from the bathroom with a warm, wet cloth, gently dabbing along your pussy and cleaning his cum off your back.

“‘Need to pee,” you mumble, barely finding the strength to lift yourself up.

“Here,” he says, reaching under you to carry you to the bathroom.

“I uh, think I can go from here,” you say as you reach the door and he reluctantly lets you down again.

You leave the bathroom after a minute and Peter’s standing there in his boxers, offering you some underwear, “I uh got them from your closet. And I changed your pillow case,” he’s blushing and shy, not even standing up to his full height.

“You shy after you fucked me like that?” You tease as you put on your panties and get a pyjama top.

“Yeah I um... so,” he starts while you settle on your bed, drinking from the bottle on your bedside table. His phone interrupts him, and he picks it up with an irritated look in his eyes, declining the call and throwing the phone to the floor and he quickly looks up at you with wide eyes, “Sorry. Sorry, sorry,” his hands are up, letting you know he didn’t mean to be quite that loud.

You raise your eyebrows for a second but don’t say anything. He switches his phone off and drops it into the pocket of his jeans that he mindlessly threw to the floor earlier.

“What I was going to say,” he breathes in heavily, shakily, “Um, maybe—“

“Stay the night,” you say, Peter’s shoulders relaxing.

“I... I shouldn’t.” Now he’s doing what is usually your job. Pretending to not want whatever you’re about to do so you don’t feel as bad when you actually do it.

“We shouldn’t be doing any of this anyway,” you remind him.

“You’re right,” he says, “I’ll stay. I want to stay. If you’ll have me.”

Harry made Peter jealous. It was always an unwarranted jealousy considering you had never shown any interest in Harry. Ever. But you wouldn't lie, Peter's jealousy made your lower stomach tighten marvelously.

"I missed you," he moans and leans in to kiss you again, pulling on your lip this time until he drops it and kisses you again, this time with hunger you have never seen from him.

"You saw me this morning!" You laugh.

"Your point?" Peter asks seriously, disconnecting your lips and staring at you like you just said the most scandalous thing, "I missed you, okay? I missed your nose, your hair, these beautiful lips. I missed seeing you like this: hair mused and skin exposed. Can't I miss my lovely girlfriend?" 

You beam at him. "If you missed me so much, kiss me again."

Peter obliges without complaint. He kisses, and kisses, and kisses, you until your lips begin to swell. You moan, arching your back.

As much as you love his kisses, you had missed him too and you didn't understand why he wasn't making any moves to, well, have sex. 

"Please, do something, I want you," you whisper, giggling as his hair skim your cheek and goosebumps scatter across your skin when his lips intentionally leave his mark.

"I want to fuck you but," he pauses and then abruptly his lips disappear from your skin. You look at him curiously as he sits up. When he hooks his arms under your thighs and pulls you lower onto the mattress so he's really towering over you, you squeal happily.

"I want to fuck you as Spiderman," he finishes, looking at you with darkened pupils. You choke on air at this confession and quickly lean up onto your elbows, your hair spilling across your shoulders.

"What?" 

"You heard me," Peter grins, stroking your exposed thigh with his thumb. He then begins to bunch up your skirt and your eyes flutter shut. "Kinda like role playing? Imagine you don't know I'm me? If that makes sense? It would be so fucking hot, baby." He groans, leaning down to kiss your lips again as he rubs his palm over your panties.

You can't deny that that sounds super hot as heat pools in your core and you bite your lip, "W-would that mean I would be cheating on—you?"

Peter laughs, hand moving a little quicker and you buck your hips, seeking the pleasure he's creating, "Yeah, I guess so," he shrugs but then he grips your thigh with his other hand and whispers hotly against your ear, "But I'll forgive you, if you want it." 

He looks down at the dampness of your panties with amusement, "You're dripping, princess. You want my fingers, don't you?" 

You whimper as a response, cheeks warm as you look at your boyfriend. He looks beautiful from this angle. His hair toppling over his forehead and he's wearing that lopsided smirk you love so much, "Words love, use your words," Peter chastises, pulling at your panties and letting them snap back onto your clit.

"Yes! I want your fingers," You say breathlessly.

"What about Spiderman, do you want his fingers too?" Peter taunts as he pushes your panties aside and dips his index into your pussy. 

You arch your back again, moaning and automatically nodding your head with enthusiasm. You shut your eyes once more and groan when Peter adds another finger, pumping them in and out. You can't see him but you're sure his hazelnut eyes are burning into your skin as he watches you squirm beneath him. 

"Good girl," he praises as he presses his thumb on your clit, rubbing a little and causing you to whine out as your legs shake. "You want to come all over my hand, huh? Is that what you want?" 

You nod, "Please," you plead and suddenly, his fingers curl up. In surprise, you jerk up and attempt to close your legs as the pleasure becomes too much. 

"Oh!" Your moan is smothered by his kiss. One hand pushes on your thigh, preventing your legs from closing as you come.

When Peter removes his hand, your smiling up at him and he smiles back, bringing his fingers to your lips. 

You let them slide into your mouth and you begin to suck on them, tasting your juices. "You should leave your window open tonight, Spiderman might visit if you're lucky."

Peter's smile is devilish.

Your own sleepy smile widens, "I'll wait up then." 

* * *

It's almost midnight as you lay in your twin-sized bed, listening intensely to the sound of the wind and to any movement happening near your window. Your roommate was visiting family meaning it was only you and the darkness. 

You turn onto your side, playing with the silk pajama shirt you had on as you chew on your lip. It was exhilarating, knowing that when Spiderman comes in, you would pretend to have no clue he's Peter.

Your mind began to wander, imagining Peter's—Spiderman's—lips on yours and the way his spandex covered hands would tighten on your hips as he drives his dick into you.

You stifle a moan.

Suddenly, you're pulled from your thoughts as the window opens wider and instantly you shoot up in bed, cheeks burning and core already throbbing as you stare at Peter—no, Spiderman.

He's at your window, perched on the sill, and he tilts his head, simply continuing to stare in silence. You pull your legs closer to your chest, "Hi," you croak out, not sure how Peter wants this to happen. When he doesn't answer, you lean more into the fantasy, "Spiderman? W-what are you doing here?" 

He jumps down and stands, walks closer. "I'm here for you," he says out you're instantly reassured by hearing Peter behind the mask. You blink at him when he raises his arm and in a blur, you're thrown against the headboard as your hands are restrained at either side of your head.

Webs, he's holding you in place with his webs.

You can't talk when Spiderman approaches you. You want him to kiss you but because he's wearing his mask, you don't think that's an option. 

Only you're proven wrong because as Spiderman crawls over you, basically straddling your hips, he pulls up his mask a little over his nose and captures your lips in his. His hands cup your cheeks and you lean into his touch.

"Mmm you're an obedient little thing, aren't you?" Spiderman whispers roughly, smiling into your mouth. You can't help but smile too because deep down, this is all just a little bit funny. All this pretending as if you didn't know that under the mask it's Peter.

Your Peter.

"I have a boyfriend."

Still, it certainly is fun to pretend. 

"And you've made no attempts to push me away," Spiderman chuckles, sliding his finger down your cheek until he slips his thumb into your mouth. In the dim moonlight, he looks even more alluring and in some way, almost ominous. You like it.

"Some shitty boyfriend you must have."

When he removes his thumb, you almost laugh but he kisses you instead. You want to tease him and tell him that you have the most amazing boyfriend but you can't because he's talking again. 

"Did you wear this for him?" He pulls on the collar of the shirt you're wearing and quickly you look down and then up at him again, nodding innocently. "I think he would have loved it. I know I do." You smile as he leans down and begins to kiss and suck across your neck and collarbone. 

"Pe—Spiderman!" You exclaim when he unbuttons the shirt and slips one hand inside to knead your breast. You squirm up, pulling the webs holding you in place as he lifts your shirt to take your nipple in his mouth. 

His other hand travels lower and lower, pushing the blankets aside. You hold your breath. When you feel his hand halt over your middle and see him look up at you, mouth ajar, you smile. 

"Oh, so you're also a slut?" Spiderman taunts, palm resting nonchalantly on your bare pussy now. Your cheeks burn and you shake your head. Spiderman only nods, "Oh but you are! Such a dirty slut. Mmm, I wonder if you're as wet as I think you are."

You groan and clench your hands when he runs one finger over your slit and you feel embarrassment creep up your cheeks when he laughs. "Wow, you're wetter," he chuckles and lightly slaps your pussy, "Slut." He grins and you bite your lip. 

Your mind is become hazy. "Kiss me," you whisper.

Hearing those words, he slips his finger into you and you buck your hips, "What was that?" Spiderman taunts again.

"Kiss me!" 

"What about your boyfriend?" It's a game and Peter's enjoying it way too much. He grins as you suppress your moan and he begins to fully finger-fuck you under the bunched up blanket. 

"I don't care, just kiss me!" You whine pathetically. He moves faster and harder now and you can feel your stomach tighten. You're so worked up, you're not going to last much longer.

"I'm going to—" you whimper but he interrupts you with a kiss again, also pulling his hand away. He doesn't give you time to protest when the minute he disconnects your lips, his hand covers your mouth.

"You come when I say you come. Now listen closely, I'm going to unbind your hands and turn you around. Then, you're going to show me that pretty ass of yours and let me do whatever I want with you, okay?"

You quickly nod, eyes blown wide with lust as his roughness turns you on. You want him to manhandle you this time, "And do you know why?"

You shake your head.

"Because that's how you treat cheating sluts." 

You can't help but smile behind his hand, that word sending pleasurable shockwaves into your pussy and you nod even quicker than the previous time. You feel dirty but, somehow, you like it. It's the good kind of dirty, the safe kind. You know you're always safe when he's around.

When Spiderman removes his hand, you stare up at him with that purposefully innocent look in your eyes and say, "Fuck me." 

"God," he mutters quietly, "So impatient." Spiderman cautiously pulls on the webbing from around your wrist so as to not hurt you, but the minute your hands are free he lifts you up and turns you around. 

You squeal when your head hits the pillow, your hair toppling over your eyes. Spiderman is pulling your hands behind your back and binding them with webs again so you can't prop yourself up and you hear him laugh.

"Honey, let me," he says condescendingly as his arm slides under your waist and roughly pulls you up so you're resting on your knees, ass in the air. You moan when he slaps your ass, his hands kneading the skin.

"You're such a pretty girl," he compliments and you have to bury your head in the pillow to suppress your needy sounds when you feel his hot breath on your pussy. You squirm when he licks a strip up your core, hands pushing open your thighs, and begins to suck gently on your clit. 

He has never had to opportunity to do this to you before , no one has, and it feels like you're about to burst. You moan and squirm around as he only works quicker, smiling into your pussy and kissing it, "You like it when I do this?"

"Uh huh," you nod, voice hoarse. He licks you again and again until you're seeing stars and begging to come. 

"You're wetting my mask with your juices, dirty girl," Spiderman taunts, leaning up onto his knees and you hear him start to shift around and take the suit off. 

"I'm sorry, please, I'm so sorry. I need you! I need you so badly." 

"Who do you need, slut?" He whispers roughly as he lines up his dick with your slit. He's whispering dirty things in your ear as he teases you and you're crying now, tears wetting the pillow under you. When his hand bunches up your hair to pull your head back, you can't hold it in and you come on his dick. 

"Did you just come?" Spiderman asks a little surprised. However his hold doesn't loosen on your hair, it hardens and he pulls your head back harder, "I said, did you come, slut?" 

You nod, biting your lip as your breaths steady, "What are you going to do about it, tiger?" You tease, your voice airy, smirking through hazy eyes. 

You swallow your own words when you feel him press into you in one quick thrust, "Shut up." He demands when you groan. "Damn, I'm going to enjoy this," he growls, pushing your head down as he thrusts into you harder and harder. 

"Who do you need?" He hisses, punctuating his words with a hard thrust.

"You!" You moan without thinking, stomach tightening again as you cry out in pleasure.

"Say my name! Who's slut are you?"

"Spiderman's slut," you pant, eyes wet.

"Damn right, you're mine now. Mine. I might have to take you all night and every night from now on you feel so amazing. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He's rambling, fucking you harder than he has ever done and it's like you're floating. You can only nod meekly as you make needy sounds to match his thrusts.

"I know you would." 

His hand tightens around your hair again, fucking you with passion. It's animalistic and rough and you've never experienced pleasure like this. You're kind of ashamed of how much you're liking it.

"It's always the innocent ones that are so cock hungry." 

You groan.

"Spiderman, I'm going to come again!" You warn and his thrusts slow a little, making m you moan in frustration.

"You come when I come," he explains and begins to suck across your neck and jaw, "Now, be a good girl and fuck me back a little, I'm doing all the work."

You move your hips to his thrusts, opening your mouth wider as you continue making those desperate sounds he loves so much.

"Good girl," Spiderman praises and kisses your neck again, his hand slowly going to rub your clit. When he begins to play with the sensitive skin your moans become louder.

"Ah- Y-You're going to make me come again."  

"Good because I'm coming too." And sure enough, he's spilling into you as his grip tightens on your hair. Feeling him come makes you come, and you mumble his name.

His real name; Peter's name.  

Suddenly it all becomes a little too much in your post orgasm haze and you begin to shake, "I'm sorry. I-I," You're not sure you want to end the scene but this is the first time you've come this hard and you can't seem to breathe normally as you feel weaker than ever.

"Peter. I need Peter. Please," you croak out, continuing to cry from the pleasure and an unknown feeling in your chest. 

Spiderman drops his hold on your hair gently, quickly shifting and pulling out. He uses his strength to break your bonds and turns you around. When you look up, it's not exactly Spiderman anymore but Peter, his mask already discarded on the ground.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong? What happened? It's me, it's only me, did I hurt you?" 

He cups your cheeks and uses his thumb to wipe your tears as he examines your expression with concern. You sit up to hug him, "Peter." You mumble his name like a chant and bury your hands in his hair.

"You're okay, shh, it's okay. Was this too much?"

You shake your head, "No, no. I just, it's dark and I've never come like this and I couldn't see you and it all suddenly scared me. I'm sorry I ruined the moment, I just wanted you!"

You hug him tighter, skin on skin as your breathing calms. Peter wraps his arms around you too, pulling your disheveled shirt down your stomach again as he kisses your shoulder.

"I'm here," he promises.

Once you've regained your bearings, you pull away and smile at your boyfriend. You're both half-naked and covered in sweat. Peter's suit is opened down his chest and you have his come inside you and on your inner thighs. 

"How was it?" he asks nervously.

You reach for his hand.

"It was amazing. Simply amazing. I don't think I have ever come so hard in my life." You squeeze his hand when you speak again, "But, Petey, you know you're enough for me, right? Because you being Spiderman is amazing and all but I love Peter. No one can fuck me like Peter can and this," You point between you and him, "Only proved that." 

He lights up at you comment, grinning as he pulls you in to kiss him again, "Good," He mumbles, "because no one but me can fuck you." 

"Oh," you grin, nuzzling your nose against his, "Only you and Spiderman?"

evil, i’ve come to tell you that she’s evil

most definitely

Peter can clearly remember the first time he saw you.

It’d been months ago, too long to remember how many weeks had passed. He was hell-bent; beyond exhausted after busting an underground mob from attacking another underground mob. And all he wanted was to go home to May for the weekend, maybe watch a movie with her, then go to bed.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

The night was chilly and dismal, with an almost grey sky due to pollution. It didn't, however, stop the balmy scent of crisp winter from slipping beyond the murky fog that shrouded New York. It was snowing, snowflakes covering Peter’s suit.  His heater was broken and all he had for warmth was his breath that blew on his hands.

He’d sent a laconic text to May, explaining how he’d be there the next day rather than tonight. But really he could have been there immediately – but there was something wrong.

His senses had been warning him to stay after he busted the mob, as if it had been telling him there was something more upcoming. But that had been hours ago.

Peter’s still waiting.

He’d entertained himself by making a small web hammock supported by two poles on top of a building, swaying cautiously with a game on his phone for leisure. And he waited there for what seemed like hours until he realized –

That it was already 3 in the morning.

Sighing impatiently, he hopped off the hammock. But his foot got stuck between and he tripped, falling on his face with a loud grunt as his cheek made contact with the pavement.

He then heard a giggle.

Peter pushed himself up, craning his neck upward to get a glance of the person who giggled.

Then he saw her.

Her legs were slender and long, shadow towering over his body that was still on the ground. And with the darkness, the only telltale sign that she’s wearing something was the moon that reflects on her leather bodysuit. Her weight was shifted on her right leg, hand placed on the curvature of her waist; evoking the elegance of the ocean's waves.

After a fair amount of time observing her suit, his eyes finally shifted to her face.

God, did it make him speechless.

His eyes first landed on her lips, engraved to a smirk from the aftermath of her giggle. Its color was vibrant, perfect against her skin. The front of her teeth were barely visible between her lips, bright and aligned. Peter’s eyes trace the impeccable shape of her cheekbones until they reach her eyes.

There’s this thing about paintings, where all that imagination and dedication always led to one thing: its core appeal, the subject. It’s the thing that captures people’s attention – to enthrall them, maybe even hypnotize them. And the aspect’s always unique enough to be so incrementally beauteous to its ambiance.

And if she's the masterpiece that leaves him bewildered after a diligent appraisal of her sui generis splendor, her eyes would have been the artwork's cynosure.

With trauma and innocence sequestered beneath, all Peter perceives is the ferocity to which defiles amiability; pupils wide with curiosity and wonders she’s yet to see. Being the punctilious person he was, he senses that she might have slightly let her guard down when she saw him.

But that doesn’t make feel inferior. Doesn’t make him not at least revocable to his determination of doing his job.

“Hey,”

(A voice so arousing to the ears, Peter thinks it might have been doused in hemlock – beautiful but so full of venom)

“Hey,” Spider-Man repeated, standing up from the ground. “You’re new.”

“Am I, now?” she cocked her head to the side. “’d the bad guys you fight not wear skintight suits?”

He shook his head. “Nah. More like they’re all guys.”

“So you’ve never fought a girl?”

“No.”

Her nose crinkled, the mask covering the bridge of her nose wrinkling with. “Do you like a challenge? A change of things? Fighting someone other than greedy men?”

He bit his lip. “Yeah. Maybe. What are you supposed to be?”

She examined her attire before spinning about, her silver hair practically wrapping around her torso. “I’m a cat. Isn’t it that obvious?”

“Don’t cats usually have ears and a tail?”                                                            

“Don’t spiders usually have eight legs?” she teased, dropping down the ledge she’s standing on. But she’s shorter than him – maybe an inch or two – so she had to look up. “You have two legs and you don’t see me complaining.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Alright, smartass.” His eyes shifted to the hands behind her. “What’d you got behind you?”

“Oh this?” Her hand emerged from behind, a captivating ring dangling on her protruding nail. Perhaps to compensate for the lack of a tail and ears, her hands approximate a cat's paw with the tiny retraction of her nails. “Just something I got along the way. Ah, correction, stole.”

His eyebrows furrowed.

“I know what you’re thinking. ‘Why didn’t my senses alert me from her talented thievery? Oh, am I failing my duties as the city’s favorite crime-fighting spider? Oh the misery! I’m such a shame!’”

“Oh wow,” his eyebrows raised, his mask copying his expression as he reacted from her dramatic mocking. “Yeah. Yeah that’s exactly what I feel. But really, I don’t think you’re supposed to tell me that you stole that.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

He chuckled, even almost snorting. “I’m not telling you how to do your job. I’m just telling you that you shouldn’t have told me because now I’m going to have to take it away from you.”

“Moi! Take this from me?” She played with the ring on her finger. “I think you’re underestimating me, Spider. Because I’m not gonna let you take this from me quite easily.”

(To be fair, she was right.)

Peter couldn’t remember what happened next aside from the fact that he chased her from building to building, like he always did, following her like an obedient tail.  And as most nights with her ended, he’d been hoping to catch her before she fell off the ledge.

And catch her he did.

It's the first time Peter has seen the phantom wings behind her swell, engulfing both of them as his arms wrap around her waist; an amoral of a sinful cherub. The web clasped tightly in his palm, noses almost touching, and breaths swallowed.

He thought maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the devil she claimed to be. That maybe she was just an angel beneath those vindictive eyes.

But Peter was proven wrong. Because months later, she’d become the notorious dulcet renegade everyone knew her to be. And she was nothing but hellacious.

“What’s your name?” he asked her, both dipped dramatically off the ledge as their feet balance on the side of the building.

Her nail traced his cheekbone, so sharp that it almost cut off the fabric. And she leaned in to whisper in his ear, lips teasing.

“Black Cat.”

And as she fell with the snowflakes that shattered on the pavement, Black Cat disappeared on him for the first time.

“(y/n)’s black cat”.

Peter’s fingers dance on the keyboard of his cracked phone. How are you so certain?

He looks behind her after he hits ‘send’, your presence still nowhere to be seen. And he patiently waits for MJ’s response. When his phone vibrates, he picks it up immediately.

MJ: (Sent a video.)

With trembling fingers, he presses the triangle in the middle of the screen, watching as the video starts to play.

It’s a blurry capture of Black Cat from afar inside the gallery. Albeit she lacks the signature silver hair she adorns proudly on the crest of her head. Lexi, who Peter assumes was the one who took the video, zooms closer.

The figure is unclear, but he could very clearly see the silver hair on you shoulder that contrasts to everything.

And then, you look directly at the camera. Peter pauses.

It’s…you.

MJ: believe me now?

He leaves her on read.

Peter feels…perplexed.

The scenario as a whole is erroneous. Why are you helping him in finding Black Cat - why are you helping him in finding yourself? Have you done this to perfect yourself in his eyes? Make it appear as though you were a good person notwithstanding your crimes? Or was this a game you meant to play with him in the first place?

His mind becomes muddled with unanswered queries, but that isn't what he is bothered about right now;

It’s the betrayal that fills his heart which weighs heavily on his chest. Peter feels as if he’s in the midst of the ocean – the waters of adage pervades his body that flails helplessly for air, but his blind oblivion pulls down on his feet, plunging him down to the deep depths of the ocean until he can no longer see the light.

He pathetically tries to salvage the flawed revelation. Peter recalls the night before and the moments that occurred between the two of you. How you got to know each other, the maybe commonalities between the two of you, and when you were fucking him deeply as he whispered submissive words into your moaning mouth.

Earlier this morning, the thought made his cock twitch. But now it only put a pang in his heart.

“No man should own me. But I’m yours.”

The words reverberate in his brain like a litany, taunting him for his gullibility. Mocking him because, while you spoke those things, he half-heartedly wished someone else had said them as well.

He hadn’t known that that person was also you.

Peter suddenly feels light-headed, abruptly standing on his feet that he stumbles sideways on his footing, accidentally knocking over something beneath the bed.

It fell softly but with his senses heightened and his eyesight bearing itself like a flipped magnifying glass, it stings his ears and leaves a painful ringing tone.

He looks down on the mess he made.

Peeking beneath was a half a silver band, shiny and dainty. He frowns whilst he bends down to pull it away.

It's little, yet it feels heavy on his hand, despite the fact that the emerald weights just a sliver amount of the guilt he hopes you'll possibly feel. It’s also enough of a confirmation that you are Black Cat.

Could your name be an anagram, too?

(He also spots a very tiny dent on the edge of the gem – he thinks it’s where you left the small piece of gem that he thought was glass back at the first time you met him as yourself)

“Peter?” you call out. “Pete, you alright?”

He lies. Maybe you’re used to that too. “I’m alright. I’m-I’m coming.”

As he gruffly steps out the bedroom, he feels the emerald dig into his palm, almost cutting the epidermis. He’s clutching the ring tightly, knuckles white with frustration.

It’s unfair how beautiful you get every time he sees you, naked or not. Unfair how you always had that angelic glow that pushes your accost brutish deviancy beneath.

Now that he’s aware of the truth, the hints of your alter ego is presumptuously ubiquitous to a very observant person – maybe even to a normal person.

“Peter?” your voice is merely a distant echo. “Are you okay?”

He sees you furrow your eyebrows in concern, and he’s left to wonder if it was genuine or not. And as his eyes stop itself from burning your body alive, he blinks rapidly.

“I think,” Peter replies. His hand grasps the ring so tightly that it’s trembling. “I just feel a bit dizzy, ‘s all.”

“You should rest then,” you softly smile at him, refocusing your attention back at the painting. “Can’t have you dizzy when you’re solving. I kinda need your brain intact.”

Your words make him livid – because (a.) you're being brutally pompous, and (b.) the falsehoods glide from your tongue with no mistakes, as if your words – your lies – had been rehearsed too many times before you began to toy with him.

In another world, you might have been an actor (and maybe he would have been, too.)

“Yeah,” he forces out a smile.

“What did Ned say?”

Peter stays silent.

Your smile fades as you set the brush on the table beside you, wiping your palms on your pants. Peter catches the tense bounce on your knee as your tongue flies out to lick your dry lips.

“You didn’t text Ned, didn’t you?”

He lifts his head, jutting out his chin. Peter rolls his shoulders and tries an attempt to tower over you as you walk towards him, looking unbothered yet accusatory.

After what you did, you had the audacity to look at me as if I had done something wrong?

“What did you find, Peter?” the tone is soft, albeit flat. Unreadable.

Peter takes a long breath, preventing himself from doing anything to you: like wrapping his hand around your neck; slamming your body to the ground; beating all the bullshit out of you until all that's left is the truth.

Furrowed eyebrows, eyes deemed afraid but amalgamated with relief, lips twitching.

All the lies and you’re beautiful still.

“Did I find this by accident?” he shows you the ring, a scoff leaving his lips. “Or did you leave this out in the open for me to find just like you planned?”

Your breath hitches and your eyes look away from his to the ring that sits trembling between his fingers. Your jaw clenches, swallowing thickly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” he scoffs again. “You’re telling me that if I look beneath your bed or destroy your room to look for all your bullshit I wouldn’t find anything?”

Sans the lies he clearly sees rushing to your head that easily slips past your abetted lips, you lean closer instead to ‘observe’ the ring. “I don’t have anything to hide,” you say. “That’s not mine-”

When you reach out to retrieve the ring from him, Peter's hand promptly clutches around your wrist, tugging it closer to him. And his touch is anything but delicate, holding it with such fierce that he hopes it fractures.

You’re cruel to me, I’ll be cruel to you.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, (y/n),” he snarls, eyes wide and lividly feral. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me.”

Angels are supposed to be candor; ethical, attentive, apparition to vast ingenuity that adorns you sophisticatedly. You were supposed to make his life better like he pitifully expected when he met you.

But now your voice is a cacophony of duplicity and unnerving assertions that almost makes his ears bleed.

He changes his question at your silence. “Why did you help me?” his tone softens, but his grip remains venomously tight.

“My father wanted me to watch over you,” you answer him. “He thinks that if I gave you a clue it would take you a while to solve it. That maybe you’d stop being Spider-Man for a while because all your attention would be in here.” You let out a disbelieving scoff with a smirk that follows. “And, fuck, I can’t believe he was right-”

“Why did you do it?” his voice drips with pain from the betrayal, eyes searching any remorse from the stoic he sees. But he struggles reading you, anyway, worried the sadness you show him was another play. “Well?”

You don't respond again, which enrages him. Helpless, his mind replays the events as if they were projections, fast enough that all he sees is a flash of white and he slams you against the wall, your wrists now immobilized on the side of your head.

Wincing, you speak. “Just give me the ring, Peter, please-”

“I’m not giving you shit,” he spits, leaning closer to you. “I don’t owe you shit. You’re not getting this.”

With all the nerve, you begin to menacingly glare at him, jerking forward with all your might to see if he might budge off. He doesn’t. “Give me the fucking ring, Parker.”

“No.”

“Fine,” you laugh harshly. “I’ll just take it from you.”

You knee him on his crotch. Peter lets go of your wrists, hunching over with a loud groan. He meets the heel of your socked foot next the force searing the bridge of his nose as he falls to his back, his hold on the ring diminishing.

Nails scratching his scalp, you pull on his hair and force him to look at you. “Give me the ring and I’ll tell you everything. Just give me the fucking ring.”

God, does he wish he had both his web shooters with him to make this easier.

Instead, he pulls on your hair, toppling you to the ground beside him so he can straddle your waist, tapping his wrists together so that his right web shooter appears to coat the muscly limb, aiming to web your hands to the ground.

“How ‘bout you tell me right now?” he seethes. “Or I can always just strip this place to pieces and look for your father so I can lock the both of you up.”

“Full of surprises, huh?” you chuckle, unbothered. The webs on your hands untangle, ripped where your fingers are placed and your sharp nails emerge from the sticky substance. “You’re not the only one.”

A loud slap rings around when his hand catches your wrist as you tried to claw at him. But he doesn’t expect for your other hand shove his face away with the heel of your palm.

As he stumbles back, you dig a nail on the back of his hand. Peter yells in pain and on instinct, his hand opens. You snatch the ring from him and run to your bedroom.

There’s a small crack that Peter hears when he pulls you back to him with his web, your bodies colliding abruptly that he’s had to almost dig his feet on the floor to stop you both from falling once more as he wraps his arms around your whinging body.

He takes the ring from you as quickly as you took it from him. “See, I would have liked to hold up your end of the bargain,” he whispers in your ear. “But you didn’t ask nicely. And I like to do things my way.”

You scream and stomp on his foot. You jerk your head back, causing your skull to strike a hard impact with his forehead, knocking him away from you.

Peter hears a deafening ringing in his ears, nose throbbing from your hard skull. Though he doesn’t let go of the ring, he clutches his pulsing nose and stumbles backward.

When he sees you reach forward through watery eyes, he tosses the ring in the air, followed by the soft, sticky thwip of his wrist aiming for the accessory. The ring sticks to the ceiling, where, to his knowledge, seems impossible for you to reach without a ladder.

But you, ever the fighter, vies stubbornly to claim the precious ring. “You cunt,” you seethe, gyrating your neck until he faintly hears a gentle crack. You leap at him, propelling yourself aloft by kicking his chest and jumping until your claws can sink into the ceiling.

With your right hand proposing as a handle to help you remain hanging on the ceiling, your other cuts the web off the ring. But Peter recovers and pulls you by your legs, slamming you to the ground.

It’s clear in Peter’s eyes he’s had enough. He grew irritated – so easily in fact that he feels like he’d been irritated since this morning from how intense it felt.

When he clamps your wrists to the ground with his bare hands and uses all of his vigor, you groan tiredly because he wouldn't budge from all your squirming, your yells turning into choked sobs.

“Let go of me!” you yell, kicking your feet. “Fuck – let me go, Peter.”

“Not so tough now, huh, cat?” he chuckles.

“Well, it’s easy to hide your fear behind the mask. You should know that. Shouldn’t you, Spider-man?”

“Why did you do it?” he asks you, and he's so close to your face that he swears he can see everything behind your eyes; thoughts and feelings — rage, frustration, pain, fear. Peter slams your hands to the floor. “Fucking answer me!”

“My father wanted to distract you!” you shout at him, sobbing. “He wanted you gone for a while. He knew it’d take you a while to solve the clue and he sent me to make sure it did while he was doing his job. He didn’t want you to give them a hiccup so he distracted you!”

“All that so I can’t stop him?” he scoffs disbelievingly. “And after I solve it what happens?”

“You figure out the location,” you whimper, whinging in his grasp as you try to stretch your body away from him. “And-and after you figure it out, he’ll kill you.”

“Why?”

“Greed,” you cry silently. “You’ve been stopping his meetings and my father’s losing clients and he’s still striving for more wealth. He wants you dead so he can have it all: the money, the fame, the title of being the person who gets to kill Spider-Man. Everything.”

His grasp on you loosens yet persists when his chest doesn't heave hard as if he's drowned. And when he thinks you’re done speaking, his parted mouth snaps shut.

“It wasn’t supposed to go on this long,” you whimper. “It was only supposed to be at least a week or two. Maybe three. Says once he’s done with business I can bring you there. But I wanted to stall. I needed to plan on my own so you could help me.”

“Help you on what?”

“Remember when I told you I had a gun to the back of my head?” Peter doesn’t say anything, let alone nod. But you take his silence as a confirmation to continue. “My father told me if I didn’t send you there, if he ever finds you out in the streets, he’s gonna kill me.”

He leans back, his hands now hovering above your wrists, taking pity because he certainly doesn’t want his hands on your wrists to add weight to your possibly heavy heart. “He said that?”

“Not to me, anyway. I overheard,” you sniffle. “Shocking, right? Said that about his own daughter. You know what else he said?”

Peter breathes out. “What?”

“That Peter Parker’s too sympathetic and gullible,”

You pick the nearest thing to you – a vase – and slam it on the side of his head. The loud glass shattering pervades his painful yelp, sending him to the ground which allows you to have the upper hand once more.

With your knees on either side of his thighs, your hand places itself firmly on his torso before you let your nails sprout and dig into his skin, all five pins stabbing his reddening skin.

“Fuck!” Sobs racket Peter, tears brimming in his eyes from the pain. “You fucking – fucking bitch.”

“Stay still.”

“I thought you said no one should own you,” Peter echoes your sentiments from last night, harshly chuckling as he lets his rage consume him. “Guess that must’ve been another fucking lie. You’re letting your father control you. Own you like some kind of fucking property. ‘s that why you’re doing all of this? So you can still have daddy’s money?”

It's what causes you to come to a halt in your movements. When Peter peers into your eyes, he sees nothing except indignation, humiliation, and, to his bewilderment, betrayal.

He groans when you wrap your hand around his neck; not out of pleasure, because now your skin against his is almost painful – unbearable. He can’t even stand breathing the same air as you at the moment.

You hold his cheeks between your forefinger and thumb. “You don’t know what it feels like to be underestimated, Parker,” you spit. “You don’t know what it feels like when you’re being judged by incompetent men all because you’re a woman – a little girl,” you say the word venomously, as if taboo. “He doesn’t have a gun to the back of my head. But my father does. And I’m behind that trigger.

“I’ve been doing their jobs for years, uncredited. And my capabilities have been reduced to nothing but a distraction because I'm a woman that's being objectified by complacent men. And trust me, if I didn’t have a plan to bring my father down, I would have left the minute I was born,” you huff out of your nose. “I’d love to tell you my plan and let you help me. I really do. But now that I think about it, you’ll just be as useless as they are. So I’m doing this alone.”

Peter feels a stinging prick on his neck, similar to an ant's bite. And then, in a split second, his visions whirl like mixed paint, his hearing is clogged as if underwater, and his vivid, lucid state dissipates into an unending pit of black as he sinks into darkness.

evil, ornery, scandalous and evil,

most definitely

Everything you told him was a half-lie.