CK

'she doesn't have to go with you. do you want to stay behind and help me start on dessert?' you feel torn between the two, peter lowers the pressure. 'don't feel obligated to stay and don't feel obligated to come.'

'what's for dessert?'

may's smile widens. 'pie.' you look at her a little more enticed. 'homemade crust?' she nods, you hold your hand on top of hers. 'i'm staying. i've been dying to learn how to make homemade pie crust. it doesn't seem super hard but... oh man! do you know how to make biscuits? please teach me how to make biscuits.'

'of course i can teach you how to make biscuits. we'll do it tomorrow morning. have peter wake you up,' she stops, looks over at her nephew and points at the door. 'why haven't you left?' he opens his mouth, she points more aggressively. 'go!'

the second the lock latches shut from the outside, may pulls you into the kitchen with a giggle.

'i forgot the cream on purpose and he knows it. i told him if he kept you away from me, i'd find a way to get you to myself.' the last time you visited, he made sure to be there the entire time, refusing to let may get a moment alone with you.  may hands you a bowl from the fridge, cubes of butter piled up. 'the secret to homemade pie crust and biscuits is the same thing. cold butter. as cold as you can get it without freezing.'

may's got a corner of the counter cleared off, she starts digging for other ingredients in the cabinet. 'you can set that down right there, honey. grab the measuring cups from that drawer on the right side of the stove and a mixing bowl in the cabinet above you.'

once she's got an armfull of stuff, she arranges them in order on the counter. 'alright, ready for what peter was trying to avoid?' you feel a frown pulling on your lips, may gestures towards the bag of flour.

'two and a half cups.'

you start scooping. 'what's peter trying to avoid?'

'you and i talking about him. when he first told me about you, he told me it would be dangerous to have us around each other. he said he would feed into each other.'

the sugar is next. 'half a tablespoon.'

'did he really say that?' she nods and hands you a salt container. 'half a teaspoon. he likes you. i feel like you know, but in case you need someone else to say it, someone who knows him, i'm telling you.'

you pour a little too much salt, you look to may for reassurance, she shakes her head like it doesn't matter. 'sometimes i think he likes me so much, he pulls away.'

a whisk comes from nowhere. 'combine. peter doesn't really talk about it much, not even with me. and i'm sure he'd be upset if i told you but i think ben dying hurt him a lot more than he lets on. he told me he talked to you about his parents recently.'

you nod. a brutal tragedy peter tried to make light of, your heart hurt thinking of how many times he'd had to retell the story, each time adjusting it to make the recipient feel better about his life.

'when ben died, he didn't just lose the last tie to his dad but he also lost his father figure. i know he has me but i also know there's some things you want a dad for.'

may digs around under the cabinets for a food processer, you keep swirling the ingredients in the bowl. you always knew he was scared of commitment, you just didn't know how deep it was.

'peter told me you and ben put him in therapy when his parents died.' you wonder if he did it again when ben died.

she dumps the dry mixture into the processer, she points to the bowl of butter, you add it. she snaps the cap into place. 'i tried, i offered, i pushed, he wanted nothing to do with it. it took me a while to figure out that he thought if he kept that anger and hurt inside him, a part of ben would still be alive.'

you always felt like there were puzzle pieces and layers to peter and it always frustrated you but for the first time you're starting to understand it.

'press this button right here, you just want to pulse it.' you press once. 'how'd you help him feel better? did he bottle it all away or eventually work it out?' you press twice.

'i allowed myself to be a mess in front of him. i felt like i had to hold it together for his sake but i stopped hiding it and eventually he let himself be a mess too.' you hold it down a third time, may checks it and tells you the texture you're looking for, says it looks perfect and slides a small glass of cold water in front of you. 'seven tablespoons, mix in between. i'll tell you when it looks good.'

may looks over at you, 'what i'm trying to say with all of this, is that i think he's really scared of getting close to someone and losing them. he's been through it too many times and i'm sure he's tired of it.'

'i haven't gone anywhere yet.'

'he knows that. and he appreciates it, even if he doesn't show it. i know he doesn't show it enough, he told me himself. and that's why we're talking right now.'

you pour, mix, check and repeat until may gives you the thumbs up.

'i feel like things could work a lot easier with him if he talked to me about this stuff but he doesn't. i guess if i asked him he'd tell me but those aren't things you casually bring up.'

you watch may knead the dough, you mimic her movements, she tells you that you're a natural. 'the next time you're alone with him, ask him about thanksgiving when he was twelve. it'll spur into a hundred different stories and questions. boys are stupid, you need to trick them into getting what you want.'

'you're a genius, may.'

'and peter's worst nightmare. let's wrap this baby up.' she points a roll of plastic wrap at you, you politely decline. 'i suck at plastic wrap. when i'm at peter's place and i help clean up, i either use containers or make peter do it.'

may handles it with the same expertise peter does. it must be in the parker genes. 'alright, but you tell him it needs to be a tight seal.' she shows you a scoop and flip method, you make her show you three times before pulling out your phone and recording it.

'i just know peter's going to tell me he's doing it fine and i'll have video evidence that he's not.' may bears a grin and puts the dough back in the fridge to keep cool until you’re ready to use it. she checks on dinner, then at the stove clock.

'he should be...' she trails off, she doesn't know what he's doing or who he might be right now and she doesn't want to alert you to his absence. 'how about we get fun with it? ask me about peter, i'll make sure to embarass him tons.'

'um,' every question you've ever had disappeared from your mind, you let out a shy laugh at the ground. 'what does he say about me? he's not that great with words around me, he's more of an acts of service type.'

may takes a seat at the kitchen table and pats the tabletop to invite you to sit next to her. she's playing it cool but her eyes are smiling, she's honored to share what her nephew has said away from your ears.

'when he told me about you i asked to see a picture and when he showed me, he told me he had no idea how he landed a girl like you. he said you challenge him in the best ways, and that you can truly light up a room just by walking in it. he told me you're funny and that sometimes he has to hold it together and pretend to be upset over a joke you made because he refuses to encourage bullying against him.'

may's running through the rolodex in her mind.

'oh! he said you make him feel like a manly man because you call him anytime you need him to fix or build something for you, and he said you make him feel super smart because, according to him, you treat him like he's google. what else... what else... okay, here's a weird one. when i asked him why he likes you he said 'she calls me peter,' no idea what that means but it seemed important to him.'

she gives you a sly smile. 'he also told me under no circumstance are you to find out how much he likes it when you call him petey.' she taps her fingers on the table, 'but you didn't hear that from me.'

'didn't hear what from you?'

your eyes shoot up, peter's locking the door with a quart of whipping cream in his hand. you pop up with a smile, shuffling across the floor in your socks and greeting him with a hug.

'hi, petey. i missed you.'

peter's one armed squeeze tells you the same thing, even if his mouth doesn't. he walks towards the kitchen, you let him force him to drag you along. 'what'd you tell her?'

may hides her face and turns up the heat on the stove. 'i didn't tell her anything.' peter shakes his head and hands over the ingredient she sent him away for. 'nuh uh, look at this, see what this is?' he gestures to your body glued to his. 'a long hug. and long hugs mean mushy feelings.'

'i'm not mushy.'

peter pats your back. 'no, you just found out i'm mushy and that's even worse.' he looks at his aunt, 'and you're lucky i'm cool with that because i purposely walked the long way back to give you more time to gossip.'

'it only benefits you, dear.'

you rub your cheek against his chest and let out a whisper.

'trouble, you're hurting my heart. how can i help you right now?' you don't answer, peter's grasping at straws and can only think of one thing that always seems to make you feel better.

'do you want to give me a hug?' he feels bad for not offering it before, you're on your knees in seconds and reaching out to him like a toddler that took a too hard tumble. his arms are looped around your waist, tugging you into him as close as you could get. your fingers dig into his back, as if you're terrified he'd leave you.

you cry into his chest with stuttered breaths, peter's never felt the need to care for something so hard before. 'oh, my baby.' he rubs your back, 'you're okay, trouble. i'm right here.' it barely calms you down. 'what's got my baby so sad? hm?'

'i just,' you inhale shakily, peter's hands wash up and down your back. 'i just really miss home right now.' you're crying again, peter tries to squeeze you back together. 'that's okay, i miss home a lot too. but then when i go home and stay there for a while, i miss here too.' you nod your head, you know what he means.

'maybe once you calm down you can call your parents. i know it's not the same but sometimes just talking to them helps.' you loudly sniff and rub your face into peter's shirt to dry your cheeks. 'when i miss home i call may before i go to bed, hearing her say goodnight to me makes me think of her giving me a hug every night before bed before i moved and it makes me feel better.'

'your hugs make me feel better.' just because he knows it's working, he holds onto you a little longer. 'if you wanted a hug, you could've just asked me. you didn't have to scare me and cry.' you laugh under your breath, peter's heart soars. 'i didn't scare you.'

'you had me terrified. i thought spider-man died or something.' you pull away from his chest to gasp and stare at him in horror, 'don't you dare say that.' peter softly grins and gently wipes his thumbs under your eyes. 'that's how much you scared me.'

your eyes are a little red and your lips are puffy. he's not turned on but he might be a little bit of a freak for thinking about you like this, because he's never thought it about another person, or thought it was possible. 'you're a pretty crier. i know you're sad, but you look really cute right now.'

you blink up at him, you can feel how wet your eyelashes are. 'really? you think so?' he nods his head and cups your face, you know he's thinking about kissing you but you also know he's not going to. 'i knew you'd make me feel better.' you fall forward and attack him with another hug, peter doesn't mind one bit.

you did? 'you did?' peter didn't know he seemed to have the ability to make people feel better.

you nod your cheek against him. 'mhm.' you push him back again, an excited sparkle in your eye. 'you called me your baby.' peter shakes his head, 'no i didn't.' you poke his arm, 'uh huh. you said it twice.'

'i did no such thing.'

'yes you did. i heard it loud and clear, mr. i don't do pet names.' you've pointed out a million times trouble is a pet name but everytime you bring it up, he tells you it should be your actual name. 'panic attacks can cause auditory hallucinations. you might have experienced something like that.'

'don't be mean to me.' peter clicks his tongue, 'me?' he gives you a half-grin, he knows exactly what he's doing. 'i could never be mean to my baby.' your heart skips a beat, peter whips his head around, 'woah! who said that?'

you can't help but giggle, something about him saying it makes you giddy. 'you did!' peter shakes his head again, 'no...' he drags it out, you clasp your hands together. 'say it again.'

'it again.'

you tug at his shirt, 'please? pretty please with me on top?' peter heaves out a sigh and leans in, he brushes his lips against your cheek and whispers in your ear, 'my baby.' you squeeze his arm, he pulls away like he didn't just make you melt into a pile of goo. 'for the record, i didn't hear anything.'

'oh, i did. you whispered it right in my ear.'

'whispered what?'

'something about how i'm your baby.'

peter gives you a secretive look, he's telling you he'd never admit to it. but he said it and it counts, you just really hope it's not the last time he does. 'nah, i'd never say that. that doesn't sound like something i'd do.'

'except it is because you did.' peter tilts his head at you, 'you're trouble.' you smear a cocky grin on your face. 'and your baby.' peter slowly nods his head, 'you're right,' you sit up straighter, all traces of sadness are finally gone.

andrew can see through peter, you think that’s why he’s lingering behind you. ‘so if you’re just friends you wouldn’t mind if i made you a drink, right?’ you nod your head and take a step away from peter but he’s not dropping his arms, you’re still landlocked in his hold.

‘cute. but i make her drinks, you’ll get the ratio off and she’ll wait until you’re looking away before telling me to chug the rest, and honestly, i’m not a rum fan.’ you refrain from rolling your eyes, andrew doesn’t bat an eye and stands up a little straighter. ‘that’s fine, dude. you can make her drink and i’ll keep her company.’

peter wasn’t expecting the flip. you can feel him pause behind you, he can’t take it back so he backs away, spins you around and gives you one of the most possessive, bruising kisses he’s ever given you. when he pulls away, your ears feel like they’re full of cotton and it’s not from the music blaring from the speakers, peter’s kiss left your head spinning.

andrew waits until peter walks past him. ‘he hates me.’ you shake your head, ‘he doesn’t hate you,’ you watch peter expertly pour rum, ‘he hates that you make him a walking contradiction.’ andrew holds a straight face before breaking out in a smile, he looks at the ground and shakes his head. ‘it’s wild to be friendzoned by a guy that’s banging you.’ you glance up, peter’s got his eyes narrowed on the back of andrew’s head, like he knows what he’s saying. peter’s gaze tightens before he shakes his head and grabs your favorite mixer.

‘if it’s crazy to you, imagine how i feel.’

‘i get that he’s attractive but is it really worth it?’

you look over at peter again, objectifying his body like it’s only yours. you let out a deep sigh, you’ve grown exhausted of having the conversation with yourself, let alone with another person. ‘unfortunately, yes.’

andrew crosses his arms over his chest, he checks behind him, peter’s still occupied. ‘we can have a little fun with it… let me flirt with you.’ you immediately shake your head, you’ve done it before and you regretted it. ‘it’s funny for a couple of minutes but then he gets upset and then i get upset when i remind him i’m just playing by his rules.’

andrew talks lower, you lean in to hear him better. 'maybe if we get him upset enough, he'll change the friend title.' you snort, your friend is just a hopeful romantic. 'you know nothing about peter and it shows but i'm glad to know you're always down to have a little fun.'

peter touches the small of your back, a cup pushed into your hand. 'i'm also down for a little fun, isn't that right, trouble?' andrew perks up, 'trouble?' you hide behind two big sips of your drink, you know peter's about to reach his limit. 'i think that's a very fitting nickname for you... trouble. it's got a little ring to it, i like it.'

'yeah, you can fuck off now.'

your eyes widen, you hit peter's arm with the back of your hand. andrew looks impressed, 'very friendly, parker.' peter takes a step closer, by consequence you're nudged a little behind him. 'like i told you before, different definitions.' andrew winks at you, you shake your head back and forth behind peter's back.

'what's stopping me from being friends the way you are?'

peter's jaw clenches, 'nothing. just make your own fucking friends.' you raise your hands, drink included, and get in between them. 'peter, he's messing with you. i told him it wouldn't be funny-' you glare at andrew, telling him 'i told you this would happen' with your eyes, '-and it isn't funny,' it's a little funny. 'is it, andrew?'

andrew bows his head and takes a step back, 'nope. not even a little.' he smiles to both of you, most of his attention on peter as he backs away. 'hey, you buddies have a good night.'

peter keeps his focus on andrew until he's out of sight, the second he's behind a group of bodies, peter gives you a sour look. 'that guy sucks and i hate him.'

you raise the cup to your mouth, you've decided on getting drunk. 'you don't hate him, you hate how he makes you feel.' peter's quick to brush you off, 'no, cause who thinks it's funny hitting on someone else's girl in front of them?'

you barely hear him, you're more focused on your gulping sounds.

'friend.' you resume your chug, you finish with a gasp and hand your empty cup over. 'refill, please.' peter tilts his head at you, 'what?' you tap the plastic rim, 'refill, please.' he takes it from you but he's not going anywhere yet. 'yeah, i heard that. what did you mean by friend?'

'you said someone's girl, we're friends.'

'that's not-'

you tap your nails on the plastic cup, 'drinky drink.' peter purses his lips and eyes the counter full of liquor bottles, he's not giving you a pass tonight. 'yeah, drinky drink. but then you're gonna talky talk with me, got it?' you nod once, 'okay, i'm going outside.' you spin on your heels, chugging your drink was the best idea you've had in a minute.

'no, wait! just wait on- hey, take my jack-' peter holds in a sigh and repours your drink, a little heavier on the rum. when he finds you outside, you're standing a little too close to the backyard playset to not be thinking about climbing in the miniature tower.

'you wanna go up there?' you look behind you and back at the plastic slide hanging off the side. the backyard playground was from a few chapters ago, it's stayed in good enough condition to justify keeping it. 'i wanted to sit on the swings but someone else took them.' you look at the front, little wooden slats would take you right up and the entire thing, sans the swingset, is open.

'i've never been up on this, i think.'

'neither have i.' it's decided in your mind, you take the first couple of steps, each one more inclined than the last, peter's right behind you incase you slip. once you're on the deck, you sit down and wait for peter to join you. it's clear it's made with children in mind, your knees are pressed against his, both of your bodies block off either side of the playset.

you take a sip of your drink, give it the hum of approval, and set it behind your back, just far enough it couldn't get bumped or spilled but close enough for an easy reach when you wanted it. you sit in a comfortable silence before you lean your head on his shoulder, 'i thought you wanted to talky talk.'

'we're dating.'

you rip yourself away to stare at him. you might've had a couple drinks but you're buzzed and nowhere near make believe territory. peter softly laughs, he picks up a twig from a fallen tree above and twirls it in his fingers.

'i do a lot of run arounds, i know i do. we're not just hanging out anymore, we're way more than friends, and we're far past just being exclusive. i think i forgot you can date someone without making it official, without the boyfriend and girlfriend title.'

your mouth feels dry, it's the admission you always wanted. peter watches the stick roll back and forth between his thumb and pointer finger. 'so, the next time someone asks, we're dating.'

'but you know if i say that people are going to assume you're my boyfriend, right?' peter shrugs, he tosses the stick to the ground below, you both follow it with your eyes even though it stops being visible halfway down. 'let them. everyone assumes you're my girlfriend and i've never corrected them.'

your head feels like it's spinning. 'you haven't?'

'no.' he puts his hand on your knee, 'i had that epiphony a couple days ago, i just forgot to bring it up. we're dating and if people want to assume we're a couple, fuck it, i can think of worse things i could be instead of your boyfriend.' you roll your eyes, 'jeez, don't sound too happy about it.'

'listen,' peter licks his lips. 'if you want to correct them and explain the details, go ahead. but if you just want to leave it as we're dating and let them make their own conclusions, i don't care.'

you feel ten steps ahead of where you've been the entire time.

'you understand you're officially taking yourself off the market with that, mr. parker. you're gonna have to start batting girls off and tell them you're dating someone.' peter's smile stretches across his face, he pulls you in close and brushes his nose over yours. 'i think i've been waiting my whole life for this.'

“Hello.” I spoke, using my best attempt to sound nonchalant. I heard her scream again and turn around.

“Peter. You scared me.” She said breathlessly. I could hear her adjust her towel tighter around her body so I kept my eyes glued to the ceiling.

“Sorry.” She spoke again. “I didn’t think anyone was home.”

“Hello.” I said again. Nothing in the world was gonna take my eyes off the ceiling. And wow, I have left a lot of fingerprints up there.

“You said that already.” She chuckled softly. An embarrassed flush spread from my cheeks all the way to the tips of my ears and I hoped she couldn’t see it.

“What matter?” I asked her. Not much better and definitely not proper English, but at least I didn’t repeat my greeting for a third time. I heard her chuckle again and it helped me take my mind off the fact that the girl I’d been what some might call in love with for three years was standing in front of me in just a towel.

“There… there was a spider in the shower.” She said with hesitation in her admission. Oh my God, was she embarrassed too?

“The pervert.” I clicked my tongue. That got a full laugh out of her and I couldn’t help smiling with pride.

“I wouldn’t have run out here like this if I knew you were home.” She continued.

“Like what?” I asked with a shrug. Obviously, we both knew she was in nothing but a towel. But I didn’t want her to feel embarrassed and maybe she’d believe I didn’t see anything.

“Like, butt ass naked and soaking wet.” She replied with a snort. I felt my face flush even more and considered faking my death to get out of this situation.

“What? Are you naked?” I asked in way too high a pitch. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You hadn’t noticed?” She asked with a laugh that meant to challenge me. “Then how come I’m just now finding out you have a freckle under your chin?”

During our conversation, I had gone from directing my eyes up at the ceiling to fully tilting my head back to give her as much privacy as possible. My neck was cramping and I could feel the blood rushing to my head but I would not dare look down.

“I’m exercising my neck.” I lied. “Not everything is about you.”

She laughed again and suddenly, I felt her hand on my chin. Our eyes met once she tilted my face down and I could see the droplets of water hanging off her eyelashes. In the three years I’d known her, I’d never seen her this stripped down. And it was more than just her clothes. No makeup, hair undone and clinging to her face, and more skin than I’d ever seen at once. And God, was she beautiful. A truly divine being standing before me. I couldn’t look away.

“Are you gonna go talk to it?” She asked me, breaking me out of my soliloquy.

“Talk to it?”

“The spider. Isn’t that like your cousin or something?”

“No.” I laughed and shook my head. “Wait, maybe?”

“Well can you please tell your cousin to leave so I can rinse my body wash off?”

“Yeah. I can do that for you.” I said decidedly.

She gave me an appreciative smile and stepped to the side. I walked past her and went into her room, a room I’d only ever seen through her open door. It smelled like her. I wanted to walk around and look at every little thing she deemed important enough to keep in her room, but I had a task to complete. It sparked a newfound confidence in me that had chosen me to get rid of the thing that scared her. And yeah, maybe I was the only one home. But still, in nothing but a towel, she came to me for help. That had to mean something, right?

“Be careful. It was licking its lips the last time I saw it.” She called after me as I walked towards the bathroom connected to her room.

“I’ll be careful.” I called back to her. Footsteps sounded behind me and I suddenly felt her hand on my mine.

“Peter?” She asked, making me turn around.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” She said sincerely. She dashed out of the room before I had a chance to respond, but anything I had to say would’ve just come out as a pitiful squeak.

“Bring me its head.” She called from the safely of the hallway. I cracked a smile and stepped into her bathroom. The shampoo and body wash bottles that she had knocked over during her escape were scattered across the floor. I scanned the room and quickly spotted the fairly large, black spider that had sent her running just moments ago.

“So. You like to look at girls in the shower, huh? Dirty bastard.” I shook my head in disdain as I approached the spider crawling up her shower wall.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m not gonna kill you. But I do have to get you out of here.” I told it. Ignoring the discarded bra and underwear on the floor, I grabbed a glass cup off her counter and quietly opened a few drawers until I found an index card with a recipe to a hair mask on it.

“Did you find it?” I heard her ask me from the hallway.

“Yep. I found it.”

“What’s it saying?”

“He said you should really switch to a better conditioner because this one is doing nothing for you.” I shouted back. I heard her laugh which made me sigh in relief.

“Thank God. She laughed. That was risky.” I mumbled as I carefully placed the cup over the spider. The index card slid under with ease, making for a successful capture of the beast. I quietly made my way to her open window and held the cup out of it.

“Gross gross gross gross gross gross gross.” I whispered as I shook the index card. The spider clung on for a minute and eventually fell away.

“And stay out. Punk.” I hissed before closing the window. I put my materials back where I found them and went to spread the good news.

“He’s gone?” She asked as she met me in her room.

“He’s gone. He was all, “wait, this isn’t the water spout”, but I knew it was a coverup. He knew what he was doing.” I replied, making her laugh again. I would do anything to keep hearing that laugh.

“You can’t actually talk to spiders, can you?” She asked with a knowing smile.

“No.” I admitted. “But I don’t think I’d want to anyway. They seem really needy.”

“Still. Thanks for getting rid of him.” She said with a squeeze of my arm. It’s like she went to the school of how to make the guy who likes you absolutely lose his mind.

“No problem. You can get back….” I trailed off when something behind her caught my eye.

“What?” Her face dropped when she saw how startled I must have looked.

“Um, did you perchance start decorating for Halloween early?”

“No, why?”

“Don’t look up in that corner.” I told her, to which she immediately looked up in the corner. Tucked into the upper left corner of her bedroom was the unmistakable and quite nauseating sight of a spider nest. It wasn’t that big, but it was enough to send the both of us running for our lives out of that room. She screamed all the way to the kitchen and I followed after her.

“What are you doing?” I asked through labored breath as I watched her clutch her towel with one hand and frantically rummage through a kitchen drawer with the other.

“To get a lighter. We have to burn the tower down.” She answered me and I honestly thought she might be crying.

“We can’t do that. Your dad will kill us.” I insisted and pulled her away from the drawer by her shoulders.

“Fine. I know where Bucky keeps his guns.” She said and tried to leave the kitchen. I pulled her back and kept my hands on her shoulders to try and calm her down.

“Slow down. We can figure this out.”

“Figure this out? Peter, there is a spider nest living in my room. My room! Where I freaking dream! How am I ever going to feel safe in there again knowing those pervs set up a permanent residence in my room without me knowing?”

“It’s not your fault. They don’t exactly make any noise or put up signs when they make a nest. Why don’t you finish showering in my room and then we can figure out what to do?”

“Are there any spiders in there?” She asked in the tiniest voice I’d ever heard from her. I wanted to pull her into a hug and tell her I wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to her, but that seemed a little too intimate for two people currently having their longest conversation to date.

“If there are, we can do your gun idea.” I said instead, making her smile weakly.

“Okay.” She reluctantly agreed. I walked her back to my bedroom with my hand on the small of her back. She’d never been in my room either and took a second to look around. In the reflection of my dresser mirror, I could see her smiling as she picked up an old picture of me and my parents.

“Cute.” I heard her say to herself. While she looked around, I gathered some of my clothes for her to put on since neither of us were brave enough to go into her room. I included a pair of my boxers after mentally going back and forth with myself before ultimately decided it was up to her if she wanted to wear them or not.

“So, um, our showers should work the same. You can use anything you need in there. And it’s spider free. I’m pretty sure. I’ll be waiting in the hallway if it’s not.” I told her. She gave me a grateful smile before going into my bathroom. I went out into the hallway to give her some privacy and considered what should be done about the spider nest. Maybe her gun idea wasn’t so bad. Or maybe an exterminator should be involved. Oh, yeah. Maybe I should call one of those.

“Peter?” I heard her calling my name soon after the shower turned off.

“Yeah?”

“You can come back in.” She answered, sounding more timid than usual for her. I chalked it up to her being embarrassed about the whole ordeal and went into my room.

She was standing near my bed with her hair still wet, but that wasn’t what caught my attention. We’d hardly had a full conversation before today and now she was standing in my room, fully decked out in an ensemble made of my clothes. I’d given her some soft shorts and my biggest shirt so she’d be as comfortable as possible. And she ended up wearing the boxers.

“What?” She asked me, making me realize how long I’d been starting at her.

“Nothing.” I blushed. “Sorry. You just look…pretty.”

“Oh.” She said in surprise. “Thank you.”

An awkward silence followed where neither of us wanted to make eye contact. That was fine by me because if I looked any longer, I’d probably end up confessing my love to her.

“I feel like Adam Sandler.” She said to break the silence.

“That’s a great way to feel.” I replied, making her look at me and smile. She sat down on my bed and returned her gaze to the floor. I stood frozen in my spot until she playfully rolled her eyes and patted the spot next to her. My heart skipped a beat and I quickly followed her orders. I could tell she used my body wash once I got close to her and it was like smelling it for the first time.

“Thanks for the clothes. And for getting rid of the first spider.”

“You’re welcome.” I said and wished I was cooler and had a better reply. Silence fell between us again and I took the blame. This was my chance to finally talk to her one and on and I was throwing it away.

“Your underwear fits me way too well.” She was the one to break the silence again and sounded shy doing it. We both laughed and thankfully, that took some of the awkward tension away.

“I feel embarrassed.” She admitted to me as she looked into my eyes.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t I a little too old to be running away screaming from a spider?”

“I don’t think there’s an age limit. As far as I’m aware.” I replied, making her chuckle.

“I guess not. I just feel childish. Before he left, my dad and I got in a fight because I wanted to join him on the mission and he wouldn’t let me. You probably heard us.”

“Yeah.” I admitted. “But I wasn’t trying to.”

“I know. You can’t help it when I’m right across the hall.” She waved her hand. “So, you probably heard me shout “I’m not a child” at him?”

“Once or twice.”

“Yeah. I just get so angry at him when he treats me like I’m still a little girl. Then I go and do the most childish thing ever and run screaming from a bug.”

“In your defense, it was a pretty big bug.” I said to try to cheer her up.

“Still. I want to do more than just sit home and wait for you guys to come home. I want to be helpful. I know I don’t have any powers or an iron suit, but I can still be useful. I wish my dad could see that.” She sighed and rested her head in her hands. My hand instinctively went up and landed on her back. I timidly rubbed small circles and was relieved when she didn’t swat me away.

“You are helpful.” I assured her. “We all eat the granola bars you pack us. And I always drink the electrolytes you give me. You never give me the gross flavors. Only the ones I like.”

“But I want to do more than just snacks.” She grumbled.

“I think you do more than you realize.”

“What do I do?” She laughed sadly and gave me a look. The look was screaming for someone to see her, and I hoped I could assure her that I did.

“You give your dad a reason to fight. You give him someone to come home to and remind him it’s worth it to almost die once a week if it means he gets to see your face again.” I said before I could overthink it. The look on her face told me that I miraculously said the exact right thing.

“Did he say that?” She asked with all the hope in the world in her voice. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that that’s actually how I felt and only had it on good authority that her dad felt the same way.

“Oh, yes. He says that all the time.” I lied and hoped she didn’t pick up on the uncertainty in my voice.

“Thanks, Peter.” She smiled so wide that it nearly killed me. “That makes me feel better, actually. You’ve saved me twice today.”

“I’m just paying you back for all the snacks you’ve packed me.” I joked. She turned her body to me suddenly and drew her legs up on the bed.

“You know, you’re the only one that says thank you for that.” She told me. “The others kinda just chuckle and roll their eyes at me when I hand them their snack packs. I know they mean it endearingly, but that’s the kind of stuff that makes me feel like everyone just sees me as Tony’s dumb kid.”

“I actually know exactly how you feel. When I first started out, I had to beg to be given actual tasks to do. Your dad just saw me as the kid who returned bikes and helped old ladies cross the streets for the longest time. And I was really frustrating because I knew I could be doing more but I couldn’t get him to see that.”

“So what did you do? How did you get him to see you?”

“Well, I did a bunch of really dumb and dangerous stuff first and he got mad at me.” I began. “But then I did some heroic stuff which was also pretty dumb and I earned back his trust. So maybe skip the first part and go straight to the heroic part.”

“But what can I do? I’m nothing, human…nothing.” She shook her head repeatedly and but her lip in a way I’d never seen her do. My face must’ve shown I was confused because she rolled her eyes.

“Okay, well clearly you’ve never seen Twilight and now I’m double embarrassed because I just did a perfect Bella impression and it went right over your head.”

“I’m sorry.” I blushed. “I haven’t seen it. But I’m sure your impression was really good.”

“It was.” She insisted. “Not that you would know.”

“I’ll give it a watch.”

“I guess I’m not really helping my case by quoting a dumb vampire movie.” She sighed. “I don’t know. I just want to be seen as an equal. Is that stupid?”

“That’s not stupid at all.” I quickly assured her. “And if it means anything, I see you as an equal. I know that might not mean as much as if Nat or Sam said that, but I do. I always have.”

“It means a lot. Thanks, Peter.” She said with a soft smile. Before I knew what was happening, her head was on my shoulder and my breath was caught in my chest. I guess she really needed to hear that. I wasn’t really sure what to do but I didn’t want the moment to end so I rested my head on top of hers. And it felt nice. We stayed like that for a minute before she sat up and awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Uh, sorry.” She said, sounding embarrassed.

“That’s okay! You can put your head wherever you want.” I told her, not sounding as cool as I had hoped. The awkward silence returned and I decided this time, I’d be the one to break it.

“I called an exterminator while you were showering, by the way. She’s gonna be here in an hour.”

“Hm. The exterminator being a woman makes me feel better about getting a man to kill the spider.” She said with sheepish smile. I couldn’t help but smile at the small win of being the man she called when she needed help.

“I’ll always be here to get rid of spiders that are bothering you. Or any bug, really. Maybe even a rodent or a small person.”

That made her laugh, thank God. I could tell she was at ease now and that put me at ease too. Maybe I wasn’t blowing my chance with her.

“Is there anything you’re afraid of that I can promise to help you with in return?” She asked me, making me stop and think.

“I don’t like opening cans.” I admitted.

“What? Why not?”

“Because I’m always scared I’m gonna slice my finger open on the rim of the lid. If you pull the lid back with the tabby thingy, it could fling off and cut you. If you use a can opener, it could cut you when you open it up. I haven’t eaten black olives in six years because of this fear. Or soup. Imagine six years and no soup.”

“Wow, Peter. I would not have expected this from you. And now I want black olives from a little can.”

“Should we?” I scrunched my nose and asked as if I was proposing we do something terrible. To answer my question, she grabbed my hand and pulled me to the kitchen cabinet that held the canned goods. I was glad that she turned away from me to look for the olives because that meant she couldn’t see the bright pink blush that was covering my entire face.

“I got this, baby girl.” She assured me as she opened a can of olives using a can opener.

“Wow. You make it look so easy.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” She asked and took a step closer to me to cup her hand around my ear.

“It is easy.” She whispered, making me laugh and shoo her away.

“Hey, I didn’t shame you about your fear.” I pointed out.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s a very valid fear to be scared of a little can lid.” She said as she handed me a slotted spoon.

“They’re sharp! Lots of people cut themselves on them.” I insisted while she jumped up in a cabinet to sit. I moved closer to her so that we could share the can of olives. And also, I just wanted to be closer to her.

“Yeah, but don’t you heal super fast? Does it really matter if you get cut? Won’t your finger just grow back?”

“Your knowledge about my abilities is very inconsistent.”

“I guess it is. But this is probably the most you and I have ever talked, so you can’t blame me.”

“Why is that?”

“Why’s what?”

“Why don’t we talk more? I mean, we’re the same age. We’re both here all the time. I’m your dad’s employee, sort of. How come we never really became friends?” I wondered. It wasn’t the type of thing I ever thought I’d ask her, but we were opening up to each other and I wanted to know.

“I’m not that good at friends.” She answered me without looking up.

“Neither am I. So if you’re bad at it, I won’t know.” I told her, which brought out a smile.

“I mean, we did form a trauma bond today. I guess we don’t really have a choice but to be friends now.”

“Guess not.” I shrugged and turned away so she wouldn’t see my smile. I could not believe after three years of pining after her, all it took was killing one spider to get her attention.

“And since we’re friends, I hope I can count of your help to show my dad that I can do more than just pack lunch and schedule meetings.”

“I think I have an idea.” I said as my eyes drifted to the vacuum hanging on the wall. She followed my gaze and turned around, instantly picking up on what I was thinking. She looked back at me and was about to protest before I jumped in.

“Do you trust me?” I asked and held my breath. If she said no, it would probably put an end to this moment we were having. Instead of answering, she hopped off the counter and grabbed the vacuum off the wall.

“I trust you. Come on.”

We made our way back to her bedroom and began to form a game plan outside her door. The idea was simple, point and suck. The vacuum had a long hose attached so all she had to do was hold the end of it and stick it in the nest.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” She asked as she nervously fiddled with the vacuum hose.

“Well, if it doesn’t, we can go with your burning the house down idea.”

“But is getting rid of a spider nest really the grand gesture I need to prove to my dad that I’m capable of bigger things?”

“Absolutely, yes.” I insisted. “Your dad hates spiders. I’ve seen him scream at a frequency that would make dogs bark over the tiniest ones. When we tell him you got rid of this nest all by yourself, he’s gonna see you are more capable than he thinks.”

“What if he’s just like, “oh, okay, cool” and doesn’t care at all?” She sighed and gave me a worried look. I put my hands on her shoulders, bold move I know, and that seemed to calm her down.

“Then we come up with plan B.” I said in a calm voice.

“We?”

“We’re friends now. That means you have me to help you with whatever you need.”

“Okay.” She answered, and I could swear I saw the slightest blush cross her face. She put her hand over mine and gave it a gentle squeeze before picking the vacuum back up.

“Okay, so when you get in there-“

“Shhh!” She cut me off. “They can hear you. We need the element of surprise.”

“I don’t think the spiders can hear me.” I whispered back, just in case.

“You don’t know that.” She hissed. I endearingly rolled my eyes and moved closer to her so that I didn’t have to talk loud.

“When you get in there, have the vacuum on already. Try to stick the hose right in the middle of the nest on your first try. That should suck the whole thing up.”

“What if the baby spiders jump out of the nest when they hear the vacuum and land on me?” She asked and it honestly sounded like she was about to cry.

“Then I think you just have to kill yourself.” I shrugged. That brought her back and made her smile. She took a deep breath and twisted the hose in her hands.

“Let’s get this over with before I change my mind.”

“Go in. I’ll be right behind you with the garbage bag.” I assured her. She put her hand on the door handle but then turned to me with un unreadable look.

“Aren’t you gonna kiss me goodbye incase I die?” She asked me. I was taken aback at first but quickly complied and leaned in. I was met with a vacuum hose being pressed to my lips, which I probably should have seen coming.

“Woah. I was joking. That bastard in the shower isn’t the only spider perv around here I see.” She snorted and took the hose away.

“You’re evil.” I shook my head and laughed as my face turned a deep red.

“Then why’d you want to kiss me so bad?”

“Shut up. I didn’t. It was the adrenaline from the spider execution we’re about to commit. That’s all.” I laughed again and her expression changed. She put her hand on my shoulder and pulled me closer to kiss me on the cheek.

“Thank you for helping me. Again and again and again.” She said sincerely as she stared in my eyes. All I could do in that moment was nod my head.

“Okay. No fear.” She blew out a nervous breath and put her hand back on the door handle.

“No fear. You got this. Aim and suck.” I instructed. She responded with something like a battle cry and flicked the vacuum on to its highest setting. I was right behind her as she burst through the door with the hose pointed up. Just as instructed, she stuck the hose in the center of the web and screamed while it got sucked up.

“Open the bag, open the bag!” She was still screaming and I think I was screaming too. I opened the garbage bag and she quickly dumbed the contents of the vacuum inside. I sealed it tightly and threw it out the window which I knew had a dumpster below, thus concluding the spider nest problem. As I was turning back around, I felt her jump on me with her arms wrapped around my neck and legs around my waist.

“We did it! It’s gone!” She exclaimed in celebration. “We got rid of a spiders nest by ourselves!”

“That was all you. I just held open the bag.” I told her as I hugged her back. I was more excited about the hug than the nest. She let me go after a tight squeeze and I gently placed her down on the ground. Even with her feet on the floor, she didn’t remove her arms from around my neck.

“Hey, we went from barely be friends to hugging in one day. I wonder what we’re gonna do tomorrow.” I said jokingly.

“Probably make out or something.” She joked back, making me laugh in embarrassment. She stared into my eyes and for a second, I almost thought she was gonna kiss me.

“Yeah.” I said after a beat. “Or something.”

Maybe it was my imagination, but her head started to lean in. Before anything could happen, the unmistakable sound of Tony and the rest of the team entering the tower sounded through her open window.

“My dad’s home.” She said, sounding surprisingly disappointed.

“Want to go tell him what happened?” I offered and she reluctantly nodded.

“Yeah. Sure.” She replied as she withdrew her arms from around my neck.

The walk to her dad was quiet and filled with a tension that I did not understand. I let her tell him on her own because I wanted her to get all the credit. She had given me a soft smile and my hand a squeeze before she went in, which made me hopeful that she really did mean we were friends now.

While they talked, I ran to the store to get something for her for when she was done. If the talk didn’t go the way she hoped, maybe I could at least cheer her up a little. I went to her room when I returned and knocked on the door.

“Hey. Come in.” I heard her voice. I felt awkward going I because I wasn’t really sure where we stood now. She was sitting on her bed so I shut the door behind me and walked up to her.

“Here. I saw you had a diffuser in your room so I picked this up for you.” I said as I shyly handed her the bottle of essential oil I had gotten. She looked at me in disbelief before taking the bottle.

“Peppermint?” She read off the label.

“Yeah. Spiders hate peppermint. I thought it might be helpful at keeping them away.”

“And you went out and got this….for me?” She said the last part like it was completely nonsensical that I would do such a thing. I was kind of happy to know I had not made my feelings for her that obvious because she clearly had no idea that I would do anything for her.

“Of course. I wanted your room to feel safe again. I thought this might help.” I told her as I sat on her bed. She smiled softly at me and then cracked open the bottle. I instantly gagged at the smell and she quickly screwed the cap back on.

“Are you okay?” She asked and put a hand on my shoulder. There was an awful lot of shoulder touching between us today. Whatever that means.

“Yeah, sorry. Whatever spider bit me gave me its aversion to peppermint. I’ll leave so you can use it.” I said and started to get up. She gently tugged on my arm to keep me where I was.

“Peter, wait.” She said, earning my full attention. She stared into my eyes for a minute before seeming to change her mind.

“I, uh, I just wanted to say thank you for all your help today. You’ll be happy to know my dad is letting me tag along next week on a mission. It’s super low stakes and I’d probably be more at risk in a Jersey Mike’s, but it’s a start. And that’s all thanks to you.”

“You didn’t need me.” I waved my hand. “I was just the brains. You were the muscle. And that’s exactly what I’m gonna tell the chief of spider police if they come looking for us.”

“Well, I like your brain.” She laughed. “And I’m glad we’re friends now.”

“So am I. And I hope you know that you’re the only girl I’d kill my own kind for.”

“Why’s that? Why do it for me?”

“Um, I don’t know. I guess I’m just really weird and into super cool, funny, fearless girls who are really pretty and have dads that would kill me if they knew where I was right now.” I said without looking at her. I really had to tread lightly now. That was almost a full admission of my feelings.

“Imagine if my dad found out I was in your room with no clothes on today.” She snorted, making me flush at the memory.

“Were you?” I asked in a squeaky voice. “I don’t remember that like at all.”

She laughed again and I felt myself relax a little. But I tensed right back up when she moved closer to me so that our knees were touching.

“You know, I happen to think you’re pretty too.” She told me like it was just some casual statement to make.

“What’s that now?” I asked and leaned closer because there was almost no way I was hearing her correctly.

“And cool.” She continued. “And funny. And pretty fearless since you did kill that first shower spider.”

“Yes. Kill. There was certainly no cup and index card involved.” I said as my eyes darted to the side.

“Aw.” She chuckled. “You didn’t have it in you to squish him?”

“I didn’t. I scooped it up and tossed it out the window.” I admitted, and that seemed to make her move closer. What was going on right now?

“Why do I find that so attractive?” She asked, more so to herself than to me. I froze for a minute and then watched her face carefully, hesitant to believe she was telling the truth

“Is this some kind of psychological test where your dad is gonna either make me an official member of the team or drop down from the ceiling and smite me depending on how I respond?” I asked her.

“Um, no. This is me telling you I like you and I thought I got the feeling you liked me back today and if you don’t that’s okay but I’m gonna reinstate the spider nest and just let it kill me because I’ll be too embarrassed to face you.” She said, it all coming out in one breath.

It took me a minute to process what she was saying, all the while she was staring at me and holding her breath. On the off chance this was really happening and not one of those dreams that made you feel disappointed when you woke up, I delivered my answer.

“Yes?” I replied, but it came out like more of a question because I forgot what question she asked me.

“Yes? That’s your answer?”

“Was there a question?”

“No.” She realized. “I don’t think so actually.”

“You like me? Because I’ve liked you forever. But I never thought you liked me back.”

“You’re the only one that says thank you for the snacks. You know what it’s like to not feel seen. You refill my water and think I don’t notice. And you got rid of a spider for me. How could I not?” She shrugged, drawing a shy smile out of me. With the security of knowing she felt the same, I felt confident enough to take her hand in mine and give it a squeeze.

“Hand holding? What is this, Pre-K?” She asked. Before I could respond, she took my face between her hands and pulled me into a kiss. It was both everything I imagined and beyond my wildest dreams. I kept one hand holding hers and slipped the other behind her head. I didn’t know how long we kissed for and I actually didn’t know so much as my name while it was happening because Oh my God, it was happening. And it was perfect.

When we pulled away, my lips were buzzing and hers were a little swollen. We exchanged shy smiles at each other but kept our hands where they were.

“Hm. And we said we wouldn’t make out until tomorrow.” She chuckled before pulling me in again.

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@ciarahollands

You’re tired. Feet dragging as you enter the kitchen of your partner’s restaurant. He’s standing there, in his chef’s white, sleeves rolled up. His hair is a tousled mess; your favourite. His face reveals how tired he is, but his eyes are bright, a slight smile toying on his lips. He’s looking at his phone, typing something to someone. 

“Mhmm, my Bearypie? Can we go?” You murmur, your voice half-yawn, half-prayer. You walk around the prep table, fingers skimming the edge for balance. The kitchen is dim, humming with the afterglow of service. Stainless steel and citrus oil. The scent of roasted bones in the air.

When he looks up, his eyes flash with that usual intensity. Still hungry for something, even now, even after hours. You catch that familiar glimmer and steel yourself. Whatever he’s about to say, it can wait until tomorrow. It has to. 

“Honeypie,” he says, voice low and careful, biting his lip. He’s holding something back. You can tell. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet a little, like he does when there needs to be a menu change. Whatever it is, it’s not sleep. You just want home. You just want bed. You just want to be horizontal, your hand in his, your leg tossed over his thigh, his breath steady beside yours. And tonight, for once, you might actually get that. 

You raise your brow, worn-out and wary, “Mmmm?”

He holds his phone out to you. Screen bright, thumb hovering like he doesn’t quite want to let it go. There’s a conversation happening. Your eyes flick to the contact name. And freeze. 

Luca.

Your breath catches before you can stop it. A name you haven’t heard in years. A face you haven’t seen since - god, what was it? Pre-pandemic? Longer?

But of course you remember him.

Tall. Broad. That blonde halo always curling slightly at the nap from heat and sweat. Arms roped with muscle, flour-dusted and knife-calloused. And that voice, soft and rich and devastating. His British accent laced with humility and warmth, with a kind of slow-burning joy that made everything he said sound like a compliment. Even “pass me that bowl” somehow felt like poetry. He and Carmy staged together, back in the day. Back before Carmy was Carmy, before Michelin stars and broken glasses and therapy. 

How could you forget about Luca? How could you forget how his body filled yours? How could you forget how he stuffed you beyond capacity and had Carmen eating for days?

A blush creeps up your neck, adding rosy color to your cheeks. 

His first message is innocent enough. “Hey, mate. Heard you opened something wild. Congrats!”

The rest is Carmy, practically gushing. Full paragraphs about the menu, pickles, pacing, and plating. Luca keeps up, just as nerdy, just as warm. It’s all brunoise and butter ratios and chefs being chefs. 

Then comes a newer one. 

“Would love to catch up with you both.”

And then, a minute later:

 “You still into 🪑🐔 ?”

Three words. Two emojis. A chair. A chicken. No soft landing. Straightforward.

Your gaze shifts to your Carmy, who’s been watching you this whole time. Lips curved, just barely. God, you love the way he studies you, like he’s trying to memorize you again and again. You’re his lighthouse, and he’s the ship, always coasting home to your shore.

“Well?” You slip into him, body fitting against his like second nature. He’s warm, all fatigue and adrenaline, and he smells like mirepoix reduction and late-night sweat. Your fingers push his hair back, tangling gently.

“Are we?” 

You kiss the hollow of his neck. His favourite spot. It gets him every time. A low, slow hum rumbles from his throat, and he tilts his head back, finally letting go of some of the tension he’s carried all night. You kiss the spot again, this time letting your teeth graze it. He inhales sharply, chest rising.

“Are you?” Carmen breathes. His eyes flutter open: blue flame, hot and untamable. Everything he feels lives there, right on the surface. No armor. No mask. Just him.

Your cheeks warm, giving a small nod. “Bear…you know I am.”

Your voice comes out softer than you expect. Timid, even. You’ve always been on the same page, instinctively aligned. But this one kink of his, this quiet possessiveness, took you time. And even now, even in his arms, you feel a pang of guilt admitting how much it turns you on. 

Because the truth is: your mind is trying not to think about Luca.

Carmen glances around, instinctively. The kitchen is quiet. Still. He sent everyone home an hour ago. Just the two of you left, closing up. Mostly, it’s him. Working out tomorrow’s menu, fighting his perfectionism. And you, orbiting him. Walking the space like it’s muscle memory. Double, no, triple checking everything because that’s what you do. Because it’s easier than naming the heat gathering at the base of your spine. 

His hand touched your waist, fingers splaying across your navel, claiming territory. Holding you there. His head tilts, eyes half-lidded, voice dipping into something low and husky. 

“Hmm. What was it you said you liked about him again?” It’s not accusatory. Not quite. More like a dare. A spark thrown into dry kindling.

You huff a breath. Half-laugh, half-warning. And rest your palm flat against his chest. His heart’s already picking up. Carmy leans in, mouth brushing just beneath your jaw, “You said he had, what - a British accent? Big hands? Right?”

You roll your eyes. He hums, pressing a kiss below your ear. “Oh, no, wait. You said he has a massive cock, and it's bigger than mine.” 

You feel the smile against your skin. His fingers are pressing inward and downward. “It’s been a while since you’ve been filled… hmmm, hasn’t it?” 

Carmy is right. It has been a long time. Way too long. 

Between the death in the family and the chaos of opening the restaurant, you and he haven’t had a moment to reconnect in the ways you’re used to: the old rhythms, the extracurriculars.

“Mm,” is all you can manage, distracted. Your thoughts drift to Luca’s unexpected but strangely welcomed reappearance. The timing feels almost fated. Because lately… you’ve been frustrated. Not at Carmy, not really. But at the restaurant. This stupid, beautiful, all-consuming thing he built that’s eaten every spare moment of his attention. 

If he’s not here, he’s thinking about it. Dreaming about prep lists. Stressing about staff. He’s been stretched thin, turning you down more often than not. Not because he doesn’t want you, but because he simply doesn’t have the space to be with you.

The restaurant has become the world’s most persistent, infuriating cockblock. 

Carmy’s not broken. That’s not the issue. He can perform, and when he’s present, he’s there. But being a chef is who he is, and sometimes it just gets in the way. You get it. You’ve always gotten it. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. And Carmy knows that. He knows. He’s never judged you for needing more. Just… hasn’t always known how to give it. This is what led to him opening the door on cuckolding.

“Tonight?” You ask, voice soft, hopeful.

Carmy raises an eyebrow, teasing. “Honey, weren’t you just yawning and complaining about how tired you are?”

But his smile gives him away. Your eagerness is a balm. He looks at you like you’re the last clean thing in the world. With such tenderness, such aching love, it almost breaks your heart. This version of him: quiet, open, yours only comes out when it’s just the two of you. And God, you’ve missed him.

He presses his forehead against yours, “Your cute little pussy just needs to be filled, hey?” 

You nod, face flushing, excitement blooming low in your belly. You love Carmy. You’ve always loved Carmy. 

Since the day your family moved in across the street and saw that wild-eyed, shy little boy peeking out from behind the tree in your front yard. You’d asked if he wanted to play… and he ran. But he came back the next day. And the next.

That was over ten years ago. And still, he’s by your side. Always has been. Always will be. You really can’t imagine life without him. He’s the crackers, you’re the cheese. “The gluey kind,” Richie once joked. “No one even wants it unless the other one’s there.” Richie had said, smirking at Carmy but clearly meaning you. It was stupid. It still makes you laugh.

“Mhm, you go ahead, okay? I just need to-” 

You pout before he can finish, cutting him off with a whine. “Bearrrry…”

You want him to come. You want him to watch. It’s always been better when he’s there. Hotter. Realer. Sharper. 

Carmy leans in and kisses you sweetly. “I’ll be home before you even get there, I promise.”

Then another kiss. Deeper. His tongue sliding into yours, deliberate and slow. You groan into it, your whole body winding tight with want. 

But he pulls back too soon. 

“Go,” He murmurs against your lips, breath warm, “I’ll text Luca you are taking an Uber over,” 

And just like that, your pulse stutters. Your breath catches.

Because now, it’s real. 

-

You step into Luca’s place. 

You smile as he helps you out of your coat, like he’s handling something fragile. His touch lingers just a second too long on your arm. That’s always been Luca. Gentle, thoughtful, precise. 

Luca hasn’t changed. Not really. 

Still tall, still broad, still carrying that quiet warm like it’s stitched into his bones. His accent is exactly the same. Velvety, low, every syllable drawn out just a touch longer than it needs to be. But there’s something different in him now. A stillness. A quiet confidence. 

You remembered how Luca used to look at Carmy like he was lighting. Brilliant, but untouchable. Now? He seems less daunted by the idea of walking alongside him. Like he’s finally figured out he’s made of fire too.

His place is bare, but not empty. A studio apartment that’s clearly just been claimed. Clothes folded with care across the kitchen appliances. No furniture yet, except a single chair pushed into the corner and a bed. Frame and all, neatly made. Clean lines. Solid. Lived-in, but only just. And on the counter, beside a stack of folded chef whites, are two water glasses and one wine glass. A bottle of white you recognize immediately - your white, crisp and floral. Just the way you like it.

Luca remembered. 

He presses a hand to the small of your back, guiding you gently into the place. “Welcome to my humble kingdom,” he jokes softly. “All… seventeen square feet of it.”

You both laugh. It feels easy. Familiar. Maybe too easy.

He gestures vaguely toward the room. “So, yeah. That’s the tour.”

You arch a brow. “Very impressive layout.”

“Right?” he grins, “Open concept. Cutting edge.”

And then, Luca’s tone shifts. He turns toward you, eyes soft but serious. 

“Are the rules still the same?”

You know what he means. 

With Luca, there were always rules. Not out of distance, but respect. Every touch, every pause, every breath between you was deliberate and careful. But they weren’t just your rules. They weren’t just his.

They were Carmy’s too.

Rules drawn in quiet conversations. Shared glances. Agreements unspoken, but deeply understood. Boundaries set not because of fear, but out of love, for each other, and for what this was allowed to be. Because in your worlds, everything has a rule. Timing. Rest. Temperature. Space. Boundaries are how things stay intact. Boundaries are what made this possible at all. 

You meet his eyes. The room feels quieter now. Closer.

And you have to ask yourself, as your pulse steadies and the wine waits on the counter: does the recipe still hold?

You nod.

There are rules.

No kissing on the lips. Cheek kisses are okay. Forehead too. Anything else gets…complicated. No staying over. You go home. Always. Almost immediately. Everything must be prepared beforehand, emotionally and physically, no surprises. No sharp edges. No one walks away with cuts that weren't expected.

The three of you came up with these together, once. Quietly. Respectfully. In the margins of long nights and after-hours wine. A system that worked. That kept things clean.

Luca takes the answer in stride. He nods, like he already knew what you’d say. Like he hoped, but didn’t count on it. Then, he turns toward the counter and pours you a glass of the white. No questions. No assumptions. Just an offering. 

You take it, your fingers brushing his. 

“Thanks,” you say.

“Of course,’’ he murmurs, voice soft, gaze steady. He drinks water from one of the plain glasses. Of course he does. Luca always paces himself.

There’s a pause, but it’s not awkward. Just charged. Measured. Like everything between you. 

You set down the wine, barely touched, and toe out of your shoes. His eyes flick to your feet, then back to your face. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to.

You sit at the edge of the bed. He follows. 

Nothing rushed. No sudden movements.

This isn’t about hunger. It’s about reverence. Muscle memory. Knowing exactly how this goes and still choosing to feel it fully, each time. He kneels in front of you, hands on your thighs. His forehead rests against your knee for a beat. Breathing you in. Grounding himself.

Another rule: If it ever stops feeling good, we stop.

It still feels good.

You exhale slowly, your hand finding the back of his neck. His hair is soft. Shorter than you remember. 

“I missed this,” he admits quietly. 

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. 

Because your body is already answering for you.

Your fingers are still resting at the nape of his neck. You feel him exhale against your leg, a warm, steady breath that makes your skin prickle. Luca doesn’t move until you do. 

You slip your hand beneath the collar of his shirt, just enough to tug him closer. He rises from where he kneels, moving with care. His hands ghost up your arms, over your shoulders, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt like a question. 

You lift your arms in response. No words are needed. This is choreography. One you’ve done before, one your bodies remember.

He pulls your shirt off slowly, folding it once and setting it on the chair. Always tidy. Always gentle. 

You undo the buttons on his shirt in return, one by one, your fingers working at a pace that betrays your heartbeat. It’s fast. Anxious. Anticipating something sacred. You pause at the last button, gaze drifting up to meet his. He’s already looking at you.

There’s a pause. Worship. 

Then you slide the shirt from his shoulders, his skin warm beneath your palms. You sit back on the edge of the bed, and he is in between your knees, hands hovering just above your waist, waiting. 

“Okay?” Luca’s question is quiet, and gentle. 

You nod, pulling him in. His fingers find the zipper of your skirt, and  you catch his wrist, not to stop him, but just to feel it. To anchor yourself. He leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. Then your temple. His lips linger there, soft and steady. 

It’s not about rushing. It never has been. It’s about the yes that lives in every breath between you. 

You let go of his wrist. He takes his time. 

Your skirt slides off. Then his jeans. Layer by layer, the space between you dissolves. Bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but skin, breath, and muscle memory. 

You lie back, and Luca follows. And for the first time in a long time, you feel seen. Not as someone left waiting. Not as someone trying to make space. But as someone wanted. 

Right now, here, completely.

Another rule: once the clothes are off, you make the first move.

Not Luca. Never Luca.

It’s about choice. Control. Safety. It always has been. The only way this works is if you’re the one who initiates. If he follows. And tonight, like always, he did.

Luca’s hands were always the first thing you noticed. Not because they were large (though they were), or strong (though they were that too). But because of how he used them. Careful, thoughtful, devoted. He touches like a craftsman. Like everything he holds might bruise if he’s not careful. And maybe that’s the point. He is careful. Always has been. 

It’s not hesitation; it’s respect.

Your hand finds his, your fingers curling around his without a word. The size difference is ridiculous. Yours all but disappear inside his. He could hold both of yours in one palm and still have space left over. You guide him south, his gaze following with. There’s nothing frantic, yet. 

You move his hands like you're in no hurry to get anywhere. Because once his hands land, they don’t take.

They offer.

His hand flexes as you hover above your navel. You can feel the warmth and excitement radiating off of him. You watch his throat as it bobs, a nervous swallow he can’t suppress. He’s inches away now. A bead of sweat slides down his temple, disappearing under his jaw. Impatience clouds his eyes, but he waits. So fucking patiently. 

You let him down, let him go, and immediately, Luca cups your pussy, holding it, cradling it. His finger slides with such precision down your slick slit that it makes you both groan. Your thighs fall apart and you lie back, pressing into his clean sheets. It’s your sign that you're ready, that you give him permission to do what he wants.

He moves closer, on his side, rutting his body against yours. His cock is heavy as it rests against your thigh. Precum glazing your skin. You can feel it practically pulsating, and you want to touch it. But you can’t. Not yet. 

“Always so ready,” His voice pulls you in. Luca still knows how to work your body even after all this time.

The muscles in his arm are strained, he’s holding so much back. And you hate it. You want him just to fucking take it already. You want him just to fuck you already, and that is the cruelest part because that’s why rule number three was made in the first place. You couldn’t take his cock without having one orgasm beforehand, at least. There’s been times when you needed two, or even three -

Just then, your vision’s edges go fuzzy and your chest shudders. His thumb has brushed over your clit. Barely. The ghost of a touch if anything. You’re not expecting what comes next: the insertion of not one, but two of his fingers. A sharp gasp spills forth from your parted lips, his name follows: “Luca,” 

He lifts his head and smiles at you. It’s the kind of smile that starts in one corner of his mouth and creeps out like it’s not entirely sure it has permission to be there; it’s like he’s surprised he can pull that kind of reaction from you. 

“Mmm, s’okay?” It’s not a question. 

Your muscles are tight, and Luca gives you a second to get used to it, before his fingers start going in further. Your hand flies to his wrist, not to stop him, but to anchor yourself to something because you swear you can feel every goddamn ridge and knuckle of his against your walls.

“Oh, this… is going to take some time,” He breathes with an airy laugh. 

You swallow hard, barely able to get out an answer, when Luca presses his thumb against your clit, making actual contact this time.

“Luca -” You say his name again, arching against him. 

“I know,” he replies, “Patience is a virtue.”

Patience is a fucking bitch, you want to say, but you can’t because Luca is working you open now. Relentless, yet gentle. Still taking his time, still savouring your tightness. There’s nothing but gasps and whimpers coming from your throat, and he thinks it's so goddamn delicious to hear you. Because sometimes you forget to use your words, and your little noises just remind him that he’s doing a good job. 

From between your thighs, he sees and hears how wet you’ve become. Fuck, if only, he could bury his tongue into your pussy. If only he could give you a proper tongue lashing. He’d surely have you over the edge by now, but it’s forbidden. Off limits. 

It’s Carmy’s peach only. 

Luca never thinks about breaking many of the rules, except for this one. He sits up, lowers himself on the bed. His one hand pushes your thighs further apart, pinning it against the mattress. You're displayed across his mattress now, your cunt practically glistening in the light. 

A feast, a fucking delectable feast, that has been denied to him. He groans, cock twitching. Just one taste, his head dips before thought can catch up to impulse, but you are quicker. You stop him, a mere inch away. His tongue could almost…

“Luca, no.” That tone. A warning. 

He’s quickly brought back to his senses. Luca gives you a wickedly, wretched apologetic look that almost has you breaking too. How could you deny him? 

Instead, you watch as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your hole, a mess of juices clinging to them, and brings them to his mouth. Luca sucks the sweetness away and the sound he makes, a low groan in his throat, is more vibration than noise. 

The way his lashes flutter, as if you’d fed him something sacred. Something forbidden. As if Luca was Adam taking the apple from the garden. When his eyes met yours again, they were soft at the edges, the blue gone hazy like steam over a simmering pot. 

“Sweet,” he whispers. A shadow clings to his features, “But not sweet enough…”

His fingers are back inside. Three this time. More stretching. Moving vigorously. His free hand settles on your pelvis, pushing down. Your abdomen grows tight, like a breath catching mid-inhale that refuses to leave. Once again, you hold onto him. Not out of need, not entirely out of want. But because you like feeling him work.

The tension in his back. The slow, controlled movement of muscle and breath. The way Luca listens and responds, always so carefully, like he’s plating something delicate. It tells you that he’s here. Not back at the restaurant. Not dreaming up sauce pairings or obsessing over reductions. But here. 

Present. 

With you. 

And working. 

Luca is putting in the hours, not just with his hands, but with his attention. And you feel it in every shift of his body. He’s showing up. Not just for the moment, but for you.

There's a tension unfurling low and warm, stretching to the edge of too much, but not quite. Your muscles once drawn tight loosen. Just enough to feel it. You've been waiting. For this moment, this touch, this closeness.

And now that it’s here, it’s… quieter than you expected. Not bad. Just smaller. Less than the ache made it seem. It eases something in you, but doesn’t erase it. Takes the edge off, but doesn’t fill the space. It’s not everything you wanted, but it’s enough. For now. 

Luca doesn’t say anything right away. He sits there for a moment, steady, still, letting the air settle. His arm still drapes across you, hand resting on your pelvis, fingers twitching like they want to keep moving.

You feel it. Not in what he says, but in what he doesn’t. He’s good at hiding it. The quiet dissatisfaction. The stretch of days that feel the same. The lack of spark in a kitchen that isn’t his. He’ll never say it aloud. Not yet. But you know him. You know what it feels like when you're being fed by his work. 

Luca bites his lip, that small, tight movement betrays him. He’s watching you breathe, chest rising and falling. His gaze softens, eyes tracing the slight tremor in your ribs. Almost imperceptible shift that tells him everything he needs to know.

The itch he didn’t scratch. The need you didn’t voice. It’s there, beneath the surface, quiet but aching. He can see it now, in the way you hold yourself. In the spaces between your breaths, in the way you let the silence fill the room. He knows exactly what it means. 

Luca sees the quiet neglect. The kind that doesn’t get spoken about. The hunger you’ve learned to sit with. The one you’ve never complained about, never asked for more of. You’d never admit it. He knows that. But he sees it. And it makes something tighten in his chest. 

The thought of you going hungry, of not being fed, of your needs being overlooked, when he’s the one who should be taking care of it? It gnaws at him. It’s nothing he can just ignore. His jaw tightens, then he exhales, a slow, controlled breath. His fingers twitch again, itching to fix it, to make it right, but all he can now is watch you. Trying to let the moment breathe, knowing the longer he stays, the more he’ll want to do something about it. 

He wants to show you how good it can be. How you deserve the kind of warmth and light that makes your whole body tingle. Fireworks exploding from your chest and behind your eyes. He wants to make you feel those sparks, to see them burst, bright and wild, just for. Because you’re worth it. Because you deserve the fireworks.

Luca didn’t know when, or if, he’d get another shot at this. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. But you are waiting, breath held, and that is enough. So he’s back at it, working his fingers harder and better than the first time. You’re gasping, begging, but not for him to stop. He knows you need this too because he knows how uncherished your pussy is; Luca knows how Carmy gets when he’s locked in.

Luca just doesn’t understand how Carmy can overlook your needs. The quiet ways Carmy lets you go hungry when it comes to what matters most. To Luca, it feels selfish. Because you deserve so much more. You deserve to be worshipped. To be cherished. To have every day feel like a celebration of you.

If you were only Luca’s, he knows you’d have it. He wouldn’t let a single moment pass without showing you just how much you mean. How deeply you’re seen. How fiercely you’re wanted. It’s not just desire. It's reverence. And that is what Carmy is missing. 

Luca swallows the bitterness, tucks it away, and lets his hands do the talking. There’s an aggression to his movements now. A possession almost. He’s curling his fingers with a purpose, pressing deeper, marking territory in a way that’s as much about need as it is about claiming. He’s not just touching you. He’s reminding you. Reminding himself. You belong here. With him.

A slow smirk curves at the corner of Luca’s lip, the flicker of satisfaction quiet but unmistakable. He knows, he fucking knows, how to get you there. How to make those sparks fly when it counts. That’s why he has to do this. Why he has to be the one. Because Carmy can’t. Not really. Luca remembers the look on Carmy’s face the first time Luca managed to get the job done right. Right and proper. The surprise. The grudging respect. The unspoken acknowledgement that sometimes, despite the love and years, he just couldn’t. It wasn’t a failure; it was a truth.

Because you deserve fireworks. Because Luca can give them to you. Your body is squirming beneath his touch. Your chest and throat are tight, breathes coming out short: “Please, please, please, mmm’fuck, please, Luca, o’fuckfuck.”

It pulls tight low in your belly. Urgent. Aching, like holding something in too long. Sharp with anticipation. Almost unbearable. Your body is begging for relief. Not from the pain, but from the pressure. That rising and demanding pressure. You don’t know how to form proper words anymore; you’ve been reduced to a blabbering and incoherent mess.

Then, it happens. The levy breaks. It comes in a tiny swell before the entire current spills from your wrecked and trembling cunt. You're holding his wrist so tight that there’s going to be a bruise there tomorrow, but Luca doesn’t mind. He already knows he’s going to jack off to the image and lingering scent of you tomorrow.

Luca removes his hand that had you pinned and runs it through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face. You can’t help but watch him again, in awe with the slightest adoration peaking through. You’re both thinking the same thing, too bad you can’t say it out loud.

But Luca knows. He fucking knows. If only he met you first. You’d be all his, and he’d be all yours. You wouldn’t need to ask or search, because he’d take care of you. Take care of everything. He’d keep you so well fed, so utterly satisfied, that you’d never want for seconds from somebody else.

“Fuck,” Luca grunts, more to himself than to you. A self-deprecating laugh follows. He’s gazing down at you and you’re just stunned. Heavy eyelids, parted lips, drunk on the moment. Every blink comes slow, syrupy, as if you’re afraid to break the spell. 

“Was that okay?” He murmurs, fingers tracing idle patterns over your skin. He’s memorizing the topography of you. Luca’s blue eyes hold too much. Worship. Tenderness. A devotion that makes your pulse stutter. 

God, Luca is so maddening. 

You remember now why you had to distance yourself from him. Because he does this. Asks like your answer is scripture, touches like your skin is sacred, looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth seeing. You want to drag him closer, to finally press your lips to those stubborn, pink pouty ones that he keeps biting. But instead, you force yourself to exhale sharply through your nose. 

“Yeah, s’okay,” you lie.

Because it’s not just okay. It’s everything. Too much, too fast, too real. And that’s what scares you. Luca unravels you, stitch by stitch, and part of you wants to hold on tight, while another part is desperate to pull away before you lose yourself completely.

He smiles, knowingly, thumb brushing your hip. “Just ‘s’okay’?”

Bastard. 

You grab his hand with yours and press it against your ribs, where he can feel your traitorous heartbeat. A silent confession: you’re wrecking me. Keep going. 

Luca runs a hand through his hair again, pulling harder than necessary. He needs to remind himself that you aren’t his, and he has to return you. But not until he’s stuffed you full of his cum and fuck, he’s been saving up for weeks. It’s been nothing but edging to thoughts of you and holding himself back for this exact moment. And now that it’s here, he’s determined to make it count. Because you’re worth every saved cent, every restless night, every risk.

He shifts closer, moving your hips as he settles in between them. Fuck, you’re so fucking wet. The head of his cock sits at your flushed entrance. Your pussy is so swollen and dripping with pleasure. He nudges his member forward sliding just the tip inside and the friction almost wrecks him right then and there. 

You shift on the sheets, eyes closed, but your face betrays you. A flicker. Barely there. A slight tightening around your mouth, your brows. A pained look that passes across your face like a shadow. You don’t make a sound, but Luca sees it, feels it. You’re taking something you can’t quite hold. And for a moment, Luca stills. He hates that he’s part of it, that he’s both the pleasure and the ache. 

He leans in just enough to kiss your shoulder, barely a brush. And you shift, small and instinctive. Trusting. He pushes his cock, inch by inch, inside. A low grunt escapes from his chest. He could spill everything then, but Luca has always been disciplined. Always measured. That’s what makes him good at work, at his craft, at this. He knows how to hold the line. How to keep it together. And right now, it takes every ounce of that control not to unravel. Not to give you everything he has - 

“Mm’so fucking big,” Is all you can manage as you feel it deep in your belly. A fullness that’s impossible to ignore. Exquisite. Not just from the act itself, but from what it means. The weight of being wanted. Of being given to. Of being filled with something more than just touch. 

It lingers, warm and heavy, blooming outward like honey spreading across hot skin. It grounds you, centers you. Makes you feel held. It hums through your bones and settles low, slow, and satisfying. 

“Just a bit more,” His words ghost out, but a little bit more… and … he bottoms out. There’s a lot of breathing. It’s heavy and harsh. Both of your chests are rising and falling in sync. Your unused walls are fluttering around his cock and fuck. Luca holds still. He’s in no hurry to start, but he’s vibrating with tension.

Then, he starts to move. In and out. A slow, agonizing rhythm that has you clawing at the sheets below. It’s delicious, but you need more. You always need more. And Luca is going to give it to you. Because it’s his job, and he takes his job very fucking seriously. The pace picks up. Your body has gotten used to him, to his length, to his girth. It’s easier for him to glide in and out, easier for him to control himself. He wants you to go over the edge before he does. It’s only fair.

The heel of Luca’s palm slides down and rests against your clit, and just like that. Your mind goes hazy before going blank. You’re already cumming. No warning. His cock twitches inside of you, rolling his hips as your body sinks into pleasure. It feels good. Too good.

The way Luca touches you like he already knows what you need before you do, it lights something up inside of you. Something you’ve been pretending that doesn’t exist. And God, you feel guilty. 

Not just for being here. Not just for wanting it. But for enjoying it this much. For melting into it; for melting into Luca. For the way your body reaches for him even when your mind screams you shouldn’t. But the guilt doesn’t dull the sensation. It sharpens it. Makes every brush of his hands feel more dangerous. More electric.

Luca makes you feel seen. Taken care of. Fed.

And for a second, just a second, you let yourself forget everything else. Because in his hands, you don’t have to ask. You don’t have to explain. You just feel. And it’s the best thing you’ve felt in a long, long time. 

He’s watching you in the shifting light. You’re breathing slow, lashes low, that hazy content clinging to your skin. And it notices it again. What he always notices after you’ve cum. The way your body changes color. Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just glows. Faint traces of pink across your chest, your neck, the tops of your thighs. A warmth that blooms just beneath the surface. 

And he wonders, does Carmy even care to see it? Does Carmy know how your skin flushes when you’ve been properly touched? Properly fucked? How your breath catches in your throat before you let go? The way your limbs go heavy and boneless, but your fingertips still twitch like they’re holding onto something visible? 

Because Luca does, and Luca knows. God, he knows. He closes his eyes. He shouldn’t be the one who knows your body this way. But he is.

He buries his cock deep. To your hilt. He doesn’t hold back. He never does. When he gives, he gives everything. Every inch, every breath, every ounce of himself poured into you like it’s his only purpose. He goes deep, not just in the way his body moves with yours, but in how he stays there with you. Present. Steady. Locked in.

His hands anchor you. His voice is low, coaxing, reverent as it grounds you. And when he moves, it’s with a precision that comes from knowing exactly where you need him the most. Not by chance. By devotion.

His teeth graze the side of your neck, murmuring against your skin, “All yours,” Because this is the part that wrecks him the most: not that you’re here, not that you let him in. But that someone else gets to call you theirs… and that Carmy doesn’t even realize what he has.

And even as guilt coils tight in your chest, the pleasure outweighs it. Because no one’s ever given like this. No one’s ever offered you like this. You take it. You take all of it. His rhythm, his depth, the full force of everything he’s too careful to say out loud.