*Unapologetic Blackness*

—

“Just buy it.” Scott’s voice is clipped, it’s his fifth time telling you, and yet you’re standing awkwardly in the store.

You know he’s not mad at you, just the fact he still has to show you that money isn’t an issue with him. You want to snap his debit card in half, but you’re sure he has a few more stashed away.

Your hands brush over the jacket, then pick up the tag to study it again. You hear him sigh and pluck the jacket, and tag, out of your hands. He drapes it over his arm, adding to the pile of shirts. He looks expectantly at you like you’re just going to toss clothes at him. You want to pitch a fit and demand that he stops spending so much money on you, yet you know it’d fall on deaf ears. Hell, Scott would just use your distracted mind to pick out more clothes for you.

You saunter over to the display of dresses, hand wandering over the fabric of a beautiful green one. His heavy footsteps are behind you. He’s happy to follow you around. Most men get tired after three stores, and that’s pushing it. Scott is different. He gets upset if you don’t at least stop into two different stores. He’s more than happy to trail behind you, holding each article of clothing, your purse, phone, or anything else you might collect.

You grab the dress off the rack and hold it in front of yourself. You can tell he’s looking you up and down when his jaw goes slightly rigid, he’s fully imagining you wearing it.

“Buy it.” Those two pesky words. Your eyes narrow and you pull the dress away from your body. You study him for a minute, “What color is the dress?”

It’s a low move, you know he can’t actually tell it’s green, but if he’s going to force your hand, you’re basically allowed to poke at him. Scott shakes his head, looking down at the wooden floor, “You’re stubborn, you know that, sweetheart?”

“What color is the dress, and I'll get it.” You hold it behind you, so he can’t snatch it out of your hands. You lift your chin at him, defiant. You’re only teasing and he knows it, he enjoys it. When anyone else teases him, it grates at his resolve. But your little teases make him smile.

“Let me guess,” He hums for a moment before answering, “Green.”

He laughs when you groan, basically throwing the dress at him. He takes it happily, adding it to the pile in his arms. “You cheated,” You grumble, already walking towards the register. He walks behind you, smiling wide, “How could I cheat? It’s not like I lifted my glasses, just a lucky guess.”

You choose to ignore his very sound argument and stand at the register. He places each item on the counter, taking time to detangle hangers and hand them off to the worker. Each item being rung up is torture to your ears, and Scott shoos you away before the worker states the total. He tells you to go outside and see if there’s any other shops you want to visit while he pays. You comply, leaning against the side of the building and eyeing each store. Shoe stores, bakeries, jewelry stores, none quite catch your eye, but you’re sure you’ll visit them anyway.

The door swings open and Scott walks out, bags gathered in one hand. His free hand reaches out and laces together with yours. “Thank you for the clothes, Scott.” You sigh, shooting him a pointed stare with no real heat.

He glances down at you and you know he’s wondering why you are even thanking him. “Of course, no need to thank me. I expect a fashion show, though.”

Scott is almost worse when he takes you out for dates.

He bought a pair of too expensive earrings for you the week before he took you out, claiming you needed them ‘just because.’ The dress you wore was bought last night because he just had to see you wearing it. He basically got on his knees in the middle of a high-end store just to get you to oblige. And to make it worse, he drove you to the extremely expensive restaurant in his Porsche. He was a master at showing off everything, including you.

Dinners, shopping sprees, drives around town, outfits, if you look at something, it’s yours before you can even try to object.

You mentioned an iced coffee that sounded delicious during lunch and it was within your hand in an hour. You brought up how your old necklaces were starting to grow a bit worn and that one had already fallen apart and you had a new collection in a week. It drove you mad and brought a smile to your face at the same time.

Scott couldn’t care. He’d silence your complaints with either a lazy smile or a simple kiss, both were equally effective.

You consider slipping into his wallet and stealing all of his cards while he’s away on a mission, maybe chucking them in the trash so he is at least delayed in his rampant spending for you.

You were a breath of fresh air to his system, something that could make him tick to an unnatural degree. And that feeling was strange. Strong and planted deep roots into him into his usual unshakable ways. He doesn't even know how it happened.

Well, that's a lie... He knows how and when it happened.

That conversation a month after they'd found you in that God awful lab. Near death, dehydrated and starving in a cell at the facility you were chained to by a long string of unfortunate circumstances. You'd opened up to Scott about your fear of being close to others since being abandoned at a young age. All because you were born a mutant to "normal" parents.

Forced to fend for yourself on the streets until finding an ad for drug trials. Something that would pay well to get on your feet, only to be stuck in place for years and ultimately abandoned again. Left for dead this time around.

And you can't necessarily control your mutation all the time. Glimpses of the future or past destroy your vision on occasion, slowly being trained to work more for you than forcing themselves upon your psyche. Sometimes terrifying, sometimes calm. All consuming nonetheless.

A struggling match with your own body and brain.

Which is something he understood greatly.

Seeing you be so open, so vulnerable with him was a nice change of pace from what he's used to. Playing the stern and calculated leader he's been trained to be. But being honest with himself, his own shortcomings were brought to light with the simple support of telling you that you aren't alone. He understands you, and he has someone who can understand him on some level other than the woman he once thought was his forever.

You'd gotten closer to him in the moment, leaning your head on his shoulder with a worried mumble. His hand met your back, sliding up and down to help calm you with familiarity. Until a sweet little sigh left your lips as you closed your eyes, drawing the faintest bit closer. He can remember the minute second his stomach flipped and the arrhythmia of his heart felt like a drummer beating against his ribs. Interrupted by the heavy footsteps of Logan. Side left cold as you collide with the gruff man, moony eyed and smiling at him like he's the greatest thing in the world.

Logan may be rough around the edges, but he has his moments. He was a man of few words, a protective streak with an animalistic nature to him. But gentle towards you in everyday life and especially during your times of need.

Often having panic-inducing visions or nightmares of the impending dangers of the future and roaring views of the past. Used to being dealt with on your own, but after joining the Institute and sleeping next to him your brain somewhat simmered down.

Especially when Logan calmed you, he just told you he was there. Caring, calloused hands engulf your cheeks, foreheads touching with an oddly gentle whisper to coax you back to present reality.

What you never told him was his touch would often bring terrifying memories even if he didn't hold them anymore. War, death, experimentation that turned him into the man you slept with every night. But at the same time, it brought comfort knowing it was him attached to them. Pulling you back to the present only to see the darkness of your shared bedroom or the occasional hot spot around the school on particularly bad days.

Things changed after Logan left to go off on his own for a few weeks. Needing a break from the chaos of the Institute for a short while. You decided to stay at the school, not trusting yourself on the road quite yet. Promising you he'd be back, giving you his word just like you saw in a memory he shared with Rogue, leaving you in the hands of yourself again and the rest of the staff.

It didn't take long for worry to consume your mind and be plagued with his past. Torturing you with the images of him in endless amounts of danger or the endless amounts of torture you endured in your past. Only getting worse as his calming touch didn't come to comfort you.

Not able to hear anything through the whirlwind of voices flowing through your head. The gentle touch of two hands wrapping around yours as you're forced to sit up. The memories of torture soon turn to survival, courageous nature and fierceness known only by a powerhouse of a person.

"Come back to us, you're okay... We're right here dear."

Storm.

Her voice fills your senses, everything fading out like the awful dream it was. Your eyes flickering open, pitch black scleras fading back into the original white with the color of your irises coming into view. Pupils no longer swallow your vision as you look at the people in your room.

Ororo sat on the edge of the bed, hands cupped tightly around yours as Scott stood by the door with his arms crossed over his chest with his usual stern expression, the faintest hint of a wrinkle of worry in his brows. Jean peered over his shoulder as a few of the students tried crowding behind them. You blink a few times before the usual flood of emotion hits.

"I'm so sorry,” you mumble, quickly covering your face. Shame dripping over your shoulders like the world's heaviest blanket. Ororo's arms wrap around your shoulders starting to shake.

"It's okay, there's no need to feel ashamed."

Scott turns his head, eyes meeting with Jean's through his shades. She doesn't even have to question anything before turning towards the kids.

"Back to bed, you've all got lessons in the morning. No one needs to dilly-dally." Sounds of disappointment fill the hall as kids start shuffling back to their rooms. Rogue lingers for a minute, glancing up at Scott.

"You too Marie. You can talk to her in the morning." She sighs, grumbling something under her breath as she walks away. He steps into the room, shutting the door behind him, hearing you sniffle as you rub your eyes.

"This is the second time this week." He speaks softly, approaching slowly before crouching in front of your knees.

"I know, I'm sorry I keep waking people up."

"That's not what I'm getting at," he offers his hand out, watching you gently take it as Ororo glances at him. Rubbing up and down your back.

"Then what?"

"You just seemed to sleep better next to someone. With Logan gone you seem overwhelmed." He trails off, looking up at Storm for an approving glance.

"I believe what Scott's saying is you should stay with one of us for the time being."

"What?" You sit up straight, head shaking in disapproval. Accompanied by a patch of stumbling words.

"I couldn't - that's - my problems aren't -" You bite your lip, looking between them with red eyes and tear streaked cheeks. "I don't wanna be a bother."

"You wouldn't be anything. This is what families do for each other." Ororo smiles at you, slowly pulling her hand back with a nod to the door.

"Come, you'll stay with me for the night. And maybe more. We'll see how you do and go from there."

"Storm..."

"I'm not taking no for an answer. Grab what you need and come to my room." She stands, arm wrapping around you for a quick hug before she steps out. His feet move on the old rug tucked under your bed before he slowly sits back next to you on the edge of the mattress.

"You know you're not a burden, right? Everyone needs help at least once in their life. Ororo's needed help, Jean's needed help — I've needed help!" You sniff, watching his lip part for a breath.

"Yeah," you croak out, rubbing your sleeve over your eyes, "it's just really hard seeing all these people who can do so much by themselves and feel... So whole."

"It makes you feel like you're being left behind." Lifting your head you watch him slowly start to smile before you nod.

"Yeah... And with seeing everything all at once it feels like my brain is on fire whenever it happens." He huffs a chuckle, arm raising up to offer you his side. You scoot over, leaning into him with your head rested on his shoulder. His arm slips around your waist with a tender rub up your side.

"I understand that. I used to feel like that when I first started getting used to my mutation... It's a lot, and it's scary. But you've got everyone here waiting to help you whenever you need it." He pauses for a second, thinking something through.

"Especially me," he adds without a second thought. His head turns, looking down at your face as your eyes slowly shut. Your expression softens with such tenderness the only thing he can think about is how much he wants to lean down and kiss you. Make you feel like you're whole again.

"Does he make you feel good?" Your eyes open wide as your head shifts off Scott's shoulder in surprise.

"What?"

"Does Logan..." He pauses, gathering his thoughts, constructing the perfect sentence in his head to not make the situation worse.

"Does he make you feel... Whole?" You let out a breath, eyes scanning him with a thousand different thoughts going through your head.

"He doesn't make me feel as empty."

"So... Not whole?" You scoot, shaking your head slowly.

"I guess not." His lips draw to a line at your uncertainty. "He never says much of anything to me. Sometimes I feel more like a pet to him than someone special."

"You are."

He speaks without precaution, a notch filling his brows out as his grip engulfs your hip. The apple of his throat bobs as he swallows nervously. Trying to correct himself in his hurried expression.

"I mean, not like a pet, not that you're a pet. You're special in a lot of ways."

"You think so?"

"I know so- I do. I have, um, I think you're very... whole? And worth a lot more than he can offer. I mean- it's Logan. He's got a lot of baggage and he's not exactly... Loving." His shoulders tighten with a small sigh. "I'm sorry, I'm not good with words."

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry if it came across as... odd."

"No, no. You have a good point. It's just hard to notice what's in front of you sometimes." You smile at him, hand coming up to hold his chin as you kiss his cheek. Watching his face start to go red.

"I appreciate it, I'd rather you be honest with me than lie to spare my feelings. Thank you Scott." He feels his heart jump at how sweetly you say his name, pulse strumming until his skin.

This is wrong. She's not someone to fawn over. You need to get a grip.

His thoughts win him over, body straightening like a pin. He clears his throat, standing abruptly. With his back turned to you, concealing his sinking expression.

"You should get to bed. Goodnight. I hope it fairs out well with Storm." You can hardly get a response in before he's rushing out of your room. Left to think that maybe he really didn't like your version of a kind gesture of affection.

He's awake early the next morning, unable to fall back asleep. And before he knew it everyone was awake starting their days. Walking through the halls of the school reading through his to do list for the day as he makes his way towards the Professors office. A few of the students go rushing past him, giggles going by as they nearly bump into him. Before he can look back and give them a verbal warning, the office door creaks open ahead when he looks back, spotting you just as you shut the heavy wood behind yourself.

"Hi." You smile at him, fingers brushing your hair back behind your ears as you approach him.

"Hey, everything okay?"

"Yeah, the Professor just wanted to see me after last night. Help me calm my nerves a little bit. You know him." He nods, watching your eyes shift up to his. You're both quiet for the moment, observing each other until you shift a little bit closer.

"About last night," He starts, pausing as your head tilts to the side. "I'm sorry if I overstepped with the whole Logan comment."

"No, you didn't. I told you I appreciated you telling me the truth."

"I know, but I just couldn't help but think it was maybe too much." Your gaze narrows, lips parting with a shake of the head.

"It's not. Whatever you say is never too much to me." He feels his lips start to curl, watching you mess with your hands but not turn away from his red gaze.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You're both smiling in silence when a heavy sound of the familiar voice calling your name down the hall. Logan standing there as you look at him. You quickly walk over to him. Greeting him with a tight hug as he spins you half way around.

Your head leans against his. Logan rubbing over your back as he tells you he thought about you while he was gone. But all you can think about is how disappointed Scott looks before he disappears into Xavier's office.

Ꮺ during his duties as spiderman, if he’s not too busy, he’ll swing through the city until he reaches the venue of your concert. he’ll take a seating on the roof of it and sing along to your words, it’s not the best view but hey, it beats missing your girlfriend’s concert

Ꮺ on the roof, peter snaps some pictures of your concert and prints them off at home. he’ll hang them up on the wall above his desk, along with the many other cute pictures of just you

Ꮺ strangely enough, when you two are out on the red carpets, reporters ask about your views on spiderman. some even ship you with the masked vigilante and you just laugh it off

Ꮺ when you’re not around, he’ll sing some of your songs but definitely won’t tell you. he knows how much of a tease you can be and jokingly calls him your number one fan. of course, that title he won’t deny

Ꮺ whenever you’re at peter’s home, you play a cd of your unreleased songs or demos. you two would just sit and listen to them in peace or he’ll learn the lyrics to sing along. you always give him a copy of the cd before you go home

Ꮺ of course peter has backstage pass to your concerts so he’s usually chilling there until the show starts. he’s there to compliment your outfits, help you go over your setlist, and of course take many pictures of his beautiful pop princess

Ꮺ when things get overwhelming, you go to his home and just rant. you lay on his bed and just talk until you can’t no more, while peter sits and listens to you rant, he’ll rub your back or the top of your head. he would study how your body fluctuates as you vent, for future reference. he would silence sit in for a while than talk you through what is bothering you. whether it would be the lack of privacy, the expectations from fans, fear of failure, insecurities, etc., peter will advise well on how to handle them all. well, at least most of them

Ꮺ if the both of you are not too busy, you would bring him to your studio and show him your song-making process. it’s a very special and private place for you and why not show your loving, supportive boyfriend ?

Ꮺ he would ask questions here and there but for the rest of the time being, he’s quiet. peter would watch you write the lyrics and create a melody, he would watch you scribble and scratch in your journal as he sat across from you

Ꮺ if you appear to become frustrated, he silently hug you and asks if you want a break. he would take you on a walk, and ask more about the song to help you piece it together. sometimes you guys would stop for food, talk more about the song, and figure out what direction you wanted to go for

Ꮺ though, you don’t always have the energy to talk about songs so you would rather chat about your daily life. peter would update you on aunt may and you would tell him about your latest crazy fan experience

Ꮺ if he doesn’t have any advice, he will tell you words of encouragement. he would tell you how proud he is, how far you came, that you’re in control of who you are and not the public. he would remind you of the real you, the raw, organic y/n that he knows and loves. but also reminds me of how happy you look to be on stage or shooting in magazines as the world’s pop princess

Ꮺ speaking of, every shoot that you do for magazines, best believe peter would have every collection. sometime he’ll try to read it in class and some people speculated that he was a fan girl cause there’s no way that every issue always includes you on the front. that’s odd parker, very odd

꒰ TH!PETER PARKER ꒱

Ꮺ your biggest, BIGGEST fan. he’s got all your merch, your cds, you’re his wallpaper. literally he couldn’t be more proud to the boyfriend of everyone’s pop girl, y/n l/n

Ꮺ peter is singing your songs, loudly and bad, posting your new song on his socials, the whole nine yards. I wouldn’t say he’s staying up to listen to your new song but he does learn the lyrics to impress you

Ꮺ I would say your relationship is discreet but not too lowkey ?? like ned and mj knows about the two of you but also you post peter from time to time. If not, then you two would usually hint about the relationship but not give too much information

Ꮺ on red carpet events, peter is recording you from the first step ‘til you hit inside the venue. he’s complimenting and hyping you up, fixing any small details like a loose lash or a small wrinkle on your dress

Ꮺ as bad of a fangirl he is for you, he might be even worse for other celebrities he meets. listen, he is a teenage boy from queens, did he expect to meet gwen stefani or rihanna ? rihannna ? he’s passed out on the floor at this point. if you see one of his favorite musicians, drag him the other way….

Ꮺ now, not all the time he can attend due to his school and his duties as spiderman. but he is sending words of encouragement to fulfill his presence

Ꮺ peter would be starstruck every time he’s out with you. no he’s still not used to being in your dressing room filled with priceless jewelry, clothes that must cost hundreds, and accessories that are so unique and made just for you to wear. it’s like he’s stepped into a popstar’s bubble and very scared to touch

Ꮺ I feel like peter would refuse to believe he’s dating thee pop girl, y/n. like he knows he’s dating you but has he accepted it? let’s just say he still pinches himself every time you text him, ya know, to make sure he’s not dreaming

Ꮺ whenever you’re at peter’s home, you play a cd of your unreleased songs or demos. you two would just sit and listen to them in peace or he’ll learn the lyrics to sing along. you always give him a copy of the cd before you go home

Ꮺ secretly peter has a playlist of just your songs and only your songs. he wouldn’t allow you to see since he would feel embarrassed but ned and mj are for sure teasing him about it

Ꮺ like the other peter, he would have every single issue of your magazine covers. he doesn’t care if they’re small articles of your latest look, he is reading it !

Ꮺ between class times, he would try to watch clips of your interview and blush over how cute you look. certain questions would have him a tad bit concerned but he knows you can handle it well

Ꮺ throughout the day, peter would ask if you’re doing okay, mentally and physically. he understands how draining it is to be well-known in the public eye, especially in the age of social media. If you say no, he’ll stop by your place and comfort you with what is bothering you. also, please don’t lie to him about how you’re feeling cause his spider senses will tell him

♡⃕ lately I’ve been listening to music from the 2000s and it makes me wish to be a pop girl in the 2000s saurrrrr bad. omg-

♡⃕ it doesn’t help that one of my fave shows was hannah montana. the pop princess FRRRR

♡⃕ ngl, tasm peter was VERYYYYY hannah montana coded. I’m sawry she’s like my pop girl inspo 😞

♡⃕ I felt like I kinda didn’t do my best with tom holland peter parker ngl 😭

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: romans 8:26

You looked at him, curious. Your gaze dropped to the small bouquet still clutched in his other hand.

“Nice flowers.”

He held them out before he could overthink it. “U-uh… they’re… uh, housewarming gift.”

Your smile was soft. “Really? Wow, thanks. Most people just brought beer.”

You took them and introduced yourself. Peter took a sip of whatever liquor was in the red cup and nodded.

“I’m uh… Mayn… Maynerd.” He cleared his throat.

Ned bumped in. “Oh. You two don’t know each other?”

“I’m a neighbor,” Peter replied.

“Friendly neighbor,” You said bringing the flowers closer and inhaling.

Peter choked on the next sip. A little cough, eyes watering, muttered “I’m sorry” while the drink threatened to come up his nose.

Ned broke the silence. “So… how was the interview?”

You lifted the bouquet. “I’m gonna go put these in water.” As you stepped away slowly you glanced back. “It was nice to meet you, May… nard?… Maynerd.”

Ned followed you into the kitchen. Peter stayed in the doorway, slowly walking out, watching the way you two moved around.

In the kitchen you filled a vase, trimmed the stems, arranged the flowers while Ned hovered. “Did you go? Please tell me you went.”

“Yeah, I went.”

“And?”

“I got the job.”

Ned’s face lit up, “That’s great!—” You shook your head, adjusting a stem. “And I declined it. I don’t want to work for a soulless corporation.”

“They’re not all soulless…Well…they’re all mostly soulless.”

You kept your eyes on the flowers. “I dunno. It might sound cheesy, but I feel like something’s telling me I’m supposed to be waiting for something…great.”

You looked up. Across the crowded living room, one end to the other, the mysterious guy who had brought the flowers was looking around, red cup halfway to his mouth. You admit to yourself that you found him attractive. He seemed familiar in a way you couldn’t pin down.

Ned lifted his cup. “So uhh… to uh, waiting for something great.”

You raised the vase in a mock toast. “To waiting for something great,” you echoed, smiling.

That was when a really tall guy came in on your left. He moved like it was casual for him to be there, close, proprietary. Ned accepted whatever gift the guy handed him and drifted off somewhere out of Peter’s sight.

Suddenly it was just you and a man talking.

From the far end of the room Peter watched. His spidey-sense stretched across the distance, sharp enough to catch every word now. The guy’s hand came up to your cheek, tilted your face, and kissed you.

“That’s my girl.” The words carried clear.

Peter couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His heart hammered against his ribs. He turned and started pushing through the crowd, needing air, needing distance.

Until the front door swung open as Ned and a cluster of guests hauled a huge cake inside, shouting and laughing, blocking the exit completely. Slight panic flickered through him. No way out. He had no choice but to back up into the apartment again, jaw tight, feeling as if he doesn’t belong here anymore.

You and your boyfriend stopped kissing the moment the cake arrived. You moved away from him to help Ned, but Ned already had it under control, waving you off with a grin. You took a step back and accidentally bumped into Peter.

“Oh—I’m so sorry.” You looked up at him. “You alright?”

Peter nodded too fast, voice rough as he cleared his throat from the lump he felt. “Yeah. Fine. Just…crowded.”

But you were looking at him with that interested curious look. The one he had made himself familiar with after the first year of getting to know you… five years ago.

The party didn’t end all at once. It thinned the way parties do: people drifting toward the door in pairs and small groups, the music turning quieter, the air growing cooler as windows were cracked open. Your boyfriend disappeared somewhere with a group heading downstairs for “one more smoke.” Ned was in the kitchen playfully arguing with someone about Spider Man, sounding half drunk. The living room felt larger by the minute.

Peter found you near the kitchen counter while the last stragglers were still gathering their jackets. He kept his voice casual, almost shy, the red cup long abandoned.

“Hey—uh. Would it be weird if we exchanged numbers? Just so I know when the next party is. I had so much fun.”

You hesitated only a second, then took his phone and typed yours in. “Sure. Don’t be a stranger, Maynerd.” You smiled softly at him.

Peter left with the taste of your name still unsaid on his tongue, the apartment door clicking shut behind him as the final guests filtered out.

That same night, while the city stretched out dark and glittering below, Peter sat upside down at the edge of a construction crane, mask lifted onto his forehead. His phone glowing in his hand. The first message came in just after midnight.

: Hey. It’s me from the party. Thanks again for the flowers. Nobody else brought anything that nice. Housewarming gifts like that don’t happen often. You must be good luck or something

Peter smiled small, almost blushing under the cold night air. He reread the message multiple times before answering.

Glad you liked them. They looked better with you holding them anyway

: Flattery will get you everywhere. Or at least another invitation to the next disaster Ned throws

I’ll bring better flowers next time. Or actual food. Your call.

: Food is dangerous. Ned will make you live here

I’ve survived worse

: Doubt it. You’ve never watched me try to cook pasta

Then I guess I’ll have to see it for myself.

He stayed there longer than he should have, upside down, rereading the short chain of messages like they might disappear if he looked away. For the first time in a long time the city felt a little less empty.

It started slow.

A few days later you texted again

: Ned and I are doing dinner tomorrow if you want to come. Nothing fancy. Just dumplings and whatever’s in the fridge.

Peter asked, carefully, about your boyfriend.

: He’s working late. Overtime. It’ll just be us and Ned

Peter arrived. Everyone sat by the kitchen counter while Ned and Peter talked, the conversations between everyone being so easy and funny.

He watched the way you moved around in the kitchen, offering a hand to wash dishes.

The next invitation came when Ned was at a trip with friends in Boston. The next, Ned had a late shift. Then it was just the two of you, takeout containers open on the coffee table, knees touching as you guys sat on the couch.

One night the conversation accidentally stretched past midnight.

One thing led to another and his hand found your waist by accident when you both were going to reach for the same remote, your laugh turning quieter.

When you guys would eat, he looked at your lips when you licked sauce off your thumb.

The first kiss was tentative.

The second wasn’t.

By the time you pulled him into your bedroom the door was locked and your shirt was already on the floor.

After that it became once a week. Always the same night. Always when your boyfriend was reliably elsewhere. You told him you needed the night for work and deep focus, no interruptions.

And he believed you.

Peter would text, On my way. You’d always meet him at the door. Sometimes you barely made it past the entryway of your room before he had you against the wall, mouth hungry, hands already under your clothes. Other nights it started slower with the two of you talking on the couch until the tension built and you were straddling his lap, grinding down while he moaned into your neck.

One afternoon, a month in, you walked out of the bathroom after a shower wearing his white “I Survived My Trip to NYC” shirt. It hung loose on you, soft from wear, the lettering slightly faded. Ned was in the living room and looked up, confused.

“Since when do you have that shirt?”

You shrugged, tugging the hem down. “Thrifted. Three bucks.”

Peter, who had left it the night before, almost swallowed his own tongue when you texted him the story later with a string of laughing emojis.

It had been a full month of weekly nights when his real name was finally revealed.

You knew he was holding something back by how quiet he’d been the entire night. You were both sitting on the edge of your bed, your knee against his, his hand resting high on your thigh, gently caressing. Before anything more could happen, you both spoke at the same time.

“Maynerd isn’t my real name.”

“We should stop because you’re Spider Man.”

You blinked. “Oh. I thought you were going to say you’re Spider Man…”

He huffed a short, nervous laugh. “No… no, I’m not. Why would I be—You want to stop? We could stop if you feel… uncomfortable.”

“Because every time you text you’re on your way I hear a specific sound that hits my fire escape. Because when you leave, by the time I get into my room, I see the same something of someone swinging past my window. You also show up with bruises you won’t explain.”

“That’s just…parkour. And a coincidence.”

“Well I just figured if you’re Spider Man, I wouldn’t want to keep you away from the city.”

He went quiet. The silence dragged until it broke under its own weight.

“Peter,” he said finally. “My real name is Peter Parker. And yeah… I’m…Spider Man.”

You didn’t inch away. Instead, you leaned in closer. “I already wanted you. Knowing just means I understand why you’re always a little broken.”

That night the sex was slower at first, almost reverent, until it wasn’t, and he was fucking you hard enough that the headboard knocked after every thrust and you had to bite his shoulder to stay quiet.

This time, you’d barely gotten past the heavy make out stage. Peter was still fully clothed. You wore only a thin strapped tank top with no bra underneath paired with black underwear. The thin fabric clung to your chest, nipples already visible through it from the friction. You were straddling his lap on the bed, grinding down against the thick ridge of his cock through his jeans while his hands roamed around your soft skin. His mouth was on your throat, teeth gently scraping against it so he doesn’t leave any evidence. You rolled your hips in slow, filthy circles, the damp heat of your cunt soaking through the thin fabric until it was visible against the denim. Peter groaned against your skin, low and soft and wrecked.

“Fuck—keep doing that. Just like that, baby.”

You listened, rolling your hips and grinding on him, the friction so good it made your thighs tremble. His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing hard as he guided you. Your moans mixed in with each other, the wet sound of your soaked cunt dragging over the denim filled the quiet room. You tugged his hair. He tugged yours back harder. You were both panting, tongues in one another, when the front door slammed open.

“Hey babe?!—“ your boyfriend’s voice shouted your name from the living room. “The front door was unlocked! I’ve been texting you!”

“Babe?” His shouts were louder.

You quickly moved off of Peter, panicking. “Holy shit, holy shit…” you whispered. You look over right beside you to see him gone, confused but not questioning it for now.

You scrambled back against the pillows, heart slamming so hard you could feel it in your throat. Your lips were slightly swollen. The thin tank top was rucked up slightly, underwear still damp. You were visibly panting, flushed, wearing almost nothing.

Your boyfriend walked in, phone in hand. He’d seen you in underwear a hundred times before, but he still stopped and frowned at the state of how you looked: flushed, breathless, barely dressed.

“You okay? You look…. why are you just sitting there like that?”

You forced your voice steady. “Yea—I’m Fine. Just hot. Ventilations being weird and all. I just finished changing.”

He sat on the edge of the bed like he belonged there. “Look… is everything okay with us? You’ve been distant. I feel like I barely see you anymore.” But you were barely paying attention, even at your own words. “Yeah, no. Everything’s fine. I’ve just been really busy with my new project.” You smiled, heart racing as your eyes moved up subtly and there he was. One second he was under you, the next he was on the ceiling, putting his finger against his lips, stuck silent in the corner upside down, above the doorframe.

Peter watched the way the other man’s hand rested near your knee and something dark and possessive twisted in his chest.

Carefully and silently, he shot a thin web through the cracked open bedroom door. He shot a stack of books that were on the coffee table and it toppled with a loud crash.

Both of you turned toward the sound.

“What the hell was that?” your boyfriend stood.

You stood with him. “Probably the neighbor cat snuck in again through the fire escaped. Or the wind. Look—I’m really busy with work right now. I told you not to come over when I’m working. I need focus. Please just… go.” You led him out of the room.

The intensity in your voice made him pause for a moment but he kept walking. He studied your face, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay. Text me when you’re done?”

“Yeah.”

“Love you, text me.”

“Yeah, me too.”

You walked him to the front door, forcing a smile as he kissed your cheek, and locked it the second it closed. The second the deadbolt clicked you were already moving back to the bedroom.

Peter dropped soundlessly from the ceiling. The second his feet hit the floor he had walked towards you and cupped your face with both hands, pulling you close until your noses almost touched. His touch was soft, sweet, almost careful.

“Peter,” you whispered, breath still uneven, “we need to stop.” You leaned in.

He searched your eyes. “You wanna stop?”

Your faces were so close you could feel every exhale. You nodded softly. “Yea… we need to stop…”

His voice dropped even softer. “Then let’s stop, okay?”

“Okay…”

But even as the word left his mouth, his other hand was already moving slow and deliberate, sliding down your side, curling under your thigh, and lifting it up to rest against his hip. He pressed in closer, the hard line of his cock grinding against the soaked crotch of your underwear. The thin tank top did nothing to hide the way your nipples had hardened. He kissed you again, deeper this time, and the soft agreement to stop dissolved under the heat of it.

He walked you backwards once again towards the bed without breaking the kiss, then sat against the pillows propped at the headboard and pulled you into his lap so you could straddle him again. You were still only in the thin tank and damp underwear, rolling your hips back and forth, the wet fabric dragging over the thick ridge of him through his jeans. Peter groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your ass, guiding your hips. You tugged at his shirt. He lifted his arms just enough for you to yank it off and toss it aside. Your palms slid down the warm skin of his chest, over the faint bruises and the rapid beat of his heart, then lower. You popped the button of his jeans, dragged the zipper down, and pushed the denim, leaving him in his boxers. You shifted, grinding against him now, the head of him catching on the edge of your underwear with every roll of your hips.

That was when the familiar hard knock came at the front door.

“Babe—! Wait, babe!” Your boyfriend’s voice carried through the apartment, urgent. “I forgot I came for my business suit! I have an interview tomorrow!”

Both of you froze as you heard the locks move, forgetting he has a spare incase of an emergency.

Panic hit both of you in the face. You scrambled off Peter’s lap so fast you nearly fell. He was already getting ready to crawl back up the ceiling, eyes wide, but before he could do so you panicked and quickly shoved him toward the open window of your room he originally entered from, hearing the sound of the key sliding into the second lock.

“Go—go—” you whispered, frantic.

Peter swung one leg over the sill just as the front door unlocked and opened. You gave him one last desperate push. He dropped out of sight, almost falling but using his new organic webs—he recently discovered— to shoot onto the outer ledge and catch himself, body forced to hang, bare body swinging, arms straining.

You spun, heart in your throat, and bolted for the closet. The suit was right where he’d left it. You yanked it free, nearly tripping over your own feet as you hurried back through the living room.

Your boyfriend stood just inside the doorway, eyebrows raised. You shoved the hanger into his hands.

“Here—sorry, I was—closet was a mess. You really need to stop forgetting things.” Your voice came out too high, too breathless. You were still flushed, lips swollen, smiling widely at your boyfriend. “Interview’s early, right? You should go. Get some sleep…” You coughed awkwardly “…babe.”

He chuckled, low and amused, like there was some private joke you weren’t in on. “You’re acting weird tonight.” He leaned in as if to kiss you; you turned just enough that it landed on the corner of your mouth instead. “Text me when you’re done working?”

“Yeah. Definitely. Go. Get your beauty sleep!”

He lingered half a second longer, then finally stepped back into the hallway. The second the door clicked shut you twisted the lock, spun on your heel, and sprinted back to the bedroom.

Peter was still hanging outside, muscles slightly beginning to tremble with the effort of keeping himself up, dark curls sticking to his forehead, the red glow of a distant neon sign cutting across the defined lines of his back and shoulders. He was trying to hoist himself higher, one arm shaking as he reached for a better grip on the fire escape railing.

You leaned out the window, voice a frantic whisper. “I’m so sorry—I’m so, so sorry—are you okay? Peter—”

He looked up at you, flushed and breathless, a strained almost smile tugging at his mouth even as his arms burned.

“I’m fine,” he managed, voice rough. “Just… give me a second.”

You reached for him, still apologizing under your breath, heart slamming against your chest, the cool air cool against your overheated skin.

Peter finally hauled himself back through the window, landing quietly on the floorboards. For a few seconds neither of you moved. You just stared at each other, chests rising and falling hard, the rush sinking into your skin.

Then the absurdity of it hit.

A breathless laugh slipped out of you first. Peter’s followed a second later, low and disbelieving, as he dragged a hand through his damp curls.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, still half smiling. “He has a key. Of course he has a key.”

“I forgot,” you admitted, voice shaky with leftover adrenaline and something warmer. “I completely forgot.”

He stepped in close, forehead briefly resting against yours while you both tried to steady your breathing. The laughter faded into softer, quieter smiles. His hands found your waist again, thumbs brushing over the thin fabric of your tank top like he needed to make sure you were still real.

“This is insane,” he murmured.

“Completely.”

But neither of you stepped away.

“Finish what we started?” Your eyes met his, and he just smiled and nodded in response.

_____

Sleeping with Armando had changed things. Not enough to ruin the friendship, really, but enough that you noticed things you hadn’t before.

You’d known him long before any of this, long before the first night you’d both stopped pretending there wasn’t something there. He’d been easy to be around then, familiar and safe in the uncomplicated way a friend was supposed to be. You could sit beside him without thinking about the space between your bodies, watch him come home from training flushed and exhausted without letting your eyes linger, let him put an arm around you or lean against him, even fall asleep beside him without thinking twice about it.

Now you knew too much.

You knew there was another version of Armando beneath the one everyone else got to see, one whose eyes went dark and stayed on you until your heartbeat climbed into your throat. You knew how quickly his voice could lose its warmth, dropping low enough that a few words in Spanish could make your stomach tighten before he’d even moved toward you. You knew what his hands felt like when they stopped touching you like a friend, and somehow knowing that had made the normal version of him dangerous too.

Armando had gotten back only a few hours ago. You hadn’t seen him in weeks, but sitting in his apartment again should’ve felt normal. His bag was still abandoned by the door, his training gear somewhere inside it, and the television played quietly in the background. You were curled into your usual corner of his couch while he sat at the opposite end. There was nothing unusual about any of it except neither of you had touched the food sitting on the table.

You could feel him looking at you, but you kept your eyes on the television for another few seconds, trying to ignore the weight of his stare until your pulse started climbing anyway. Finally, you looked over.

“What?”

He didn’t answer.

“Armando.”

His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

“Ven.”

There he was. That version of him, the one you never would’ve known existed if you’d just stayed friends.

You got up and crossed the space between you, stopping close enough that his knees nearly touched your legs. Armando looked up at you but did absolutely nothing. He simply made you stand there while his eyes moved slowly over your face, making you feel every one of the three weeks you’d spent apart.

“¿Qué?” you finally whispered.

His hand settled against your hip, and your breath caught before you could hide it. Of course he noticed. His thumb moved once against your side.

“¿Me extrañaste?”

It was something a friend could ask, but he wasn’t looking at you like a friend. Armando’s gaze stayed on yours as his fingers pressed a little deeper into your hip.

“¿Tres semanas y todavía me vas a hacer esperar?”

Your eyes closed for half a second.

“Cállate.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth.

“Hazme.”

Something shifted in Armando’s expression. His eyes lifted slowly back to yours, darker now, but he stayed exactly where he was, settled into the couch with you standing between his legs. He didn’t need to move. That was what made it worse. His hand remained on your hip, his thumb pressing into your side while he looked up at you, waiting for you to be the one who gave in. You expected him to pull you closer, to kiss you, to do anything that would end the unbearable silence between you, but he didn’t.

“Armando.”

“¿Qué?”

You knew exactly what he was doing. He was making you close the last bit of distance yourself.

Your hand found his shoulder as you stepped farther between his knees, and Armando’s legs opened easily for you. His eyes followed every movement as you lowered yourself onto his lap, one knee settling on either side of his hips. Only then did his hands move, settling heavily on your waist as his fingers tightened around you. Suddenly you were aware of everything at once, his chest against yours, the warmth of his body beneath you, his face only inches away. Three weeks without him felt much longer from here.

“¿Así me extrañaste?” he murmured.

You didn’t answer. You caught the front of his shirt and kissed him instead, and whatever control Armando had been holding onto disappeared. His mouth met yours harder, one hand sliding around your waist to pull you flush against him while the other moved into your hair. His breathing changed when your fingers found the back of his neck, the restraint finally slipping from him now that you were exactly where he’d wanted you.

Your hips shifted against his lap, and Armando went still for half a second, his eyes opening against the kiss. There was that dark stare you knew too well now. You held his gaze and moved against him a second time, slower, feeling his jaw tighten as his hands traveled down your body and slipped beneath the hem of your shorts to settle against your ass. His palms squeezed firmly, pulling you tighter into his lap as your hips continued to move.

You could feel his body responding beneath you, unmistakable now through the thin layers separating you, and the sensation sent your pulse racing. Armando’s eyes stayed fixed on yours as if he wanted to watch you realize exactly what you were doing to him. This was what sleeping with Armando had ruined. You knew what that look meant now, what his silence meant, what the tightening of his hands meant, what it felt like when his body stopped responding to you like you were only the girl he’d known for years.

And you knew exactly what came next, because the first time you’d felt him like this, neither of you had planned for it to happen.

It had been dark then, with Armando pressed against you in his bed and years of friendship still sitting safely between you. Your ex had broken your heart, and Armando had done what he’d always done when something in your life fell apart. He showed up.

You’d fallen asleep together watching television in his bed and woken sometime later with his chest against your back and his arm wrapped around your waist. You remembered lying there in the darkness, perfectly still, because something about being held by him suddenly didn’t feel as innocent as it had every other time.

Armando was barely awake when his fingertips began moving lazily over your arm. His face shifted closer, his breath warm against your neck, and then you felt the soft press of his lips against your skin, once almost absentmindedly, followed by another kiss that lingered just long enough to make your breathing change. His arm tightened around your waist and pulled your hips back against him.

That was when you felt him.

Your entire body went still. For a few seconds neither of you moved, and you wondered whether Armando was awake enough to realize exactly how closely he was holding you. Then his hips shifted behind yours, slow enough that you could’ve convinced yourself it was accidental if he hadn’t done it again.

You should’ve moved, but instead, you pressed back against him.

It was barely a movement, but Armando felt it. His breathing changed against your neck, his hand tightening at your waist as you moved against each other again. There was something almost surreal about grinding against the boy you’d spent years treating like an extension of yourself and feeling the unmistakable proof that he wasn’t thinking about you like a friend anymore.

When Armando finally woke enough to understand what was happening, you both stopped. His heartbeat was hard against your back, his mouth remained close to your neck, and his hand was still holding your waist. For one suspended moment, you were sure he was going to pull away and apologize.

He didn’t.

He pulled you closer, and that was the moment everything changed.

You’d seen his face thousands of times before that night, but never like that, never hovering over you in the dark with his eyes moving over you as though he was trying to reconcile the girl he’d known forever with the woman suddenly beneath him. There was hesitation at first, almost disbelief, and then something heavier when neither of you stopped.

You discovered that night that the shy boy you’d grown up with wasn’t shy with you anymore. Maybe that was what stayed with you afterward. Not simply that you’d crossed the line, but that you’d been allowed to see a version of Armando you hadn’t known existed, the lowered voice, the intensity in his eyes, the confidence in hands you’d only ever known through friendly hugs and thoughtless touches. Once you’d felt his hips moving against yours in the dark and heard the change in his breathing when you pushed back into him, there was no going back to pretending his body was just another familiar thing about your best friend.

Now, weeks later, you were doing it again.

The memory dissolved beneath the pressure of Armando’s hands squeezing your ass. You were still on his couch, still straddling his lap and moving against him, his mouth against yours and his body hard beneath you, the exact sensation that had dragged the memory out of you in the first place. Only now there was nothing accidental about it. You both knew exactly what you were doing.

His hands tightened around you as your hips moved against him again, pulling you closer instead of stopping you. The kiss grew heavier and needier, weeks apart finally catching up with both of you at once. His breathing was no longer as controlled as it had been when he was sitting across the couch watching you. Each breath came warmer and heavier against your mouth, occasionally breaking into a quiet murmur when you moved against him just right.

You felt it everywhere, the tension in his body beneath yours, the way his fingers dug into your skin whenever you pressed yourself closer, the heat gathering between your thighs until the slow friction had you wet enough to make every movement feel more intense. A moan slipped out against his mouth before you could swallow it, and Armando’s grip tightened immediately.

“Mm.”

The sound was low against your lips, more something you felt than heard. It made you move again, and this time his breath caught.

There was something intoxicating about watching the composure he’d been wearing all night begin to fracture. His grip had gone from controlled to hungry, his fingers flexing against your body like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to slow you down or pull you even closer.

Armando’s hand eventually left your ass and traveled slowly up your waist, slipping beneath your shirt. His palm was hot against your bare skin as it moved higher, and you shivered when his fingertips dragged along your side. He felt it, of course he did. His mouth moved from yours to your jaw, his breath warm against your skin as he murmured something too low for you to catch.

You lifted your arms when his fingers caught the hem of your shirt. He pulled it over your head and tossed it aside without looking away from you, then simply stared. His eyes moved over you slowly enough to make your skin burn. There was something different about being looked at by someone who already knew what was underneath your clothes. He wasn’t discovering anything. He was remembering.

You shifted against him again, and a quiet sound escaped you when the movement pressed you harder against his lap. Armando’s jaw tightened.

“Fuck.”

His hand returned to your bare waist and traveled upward over your side until his fingers settled around your neck. The other stayed firmly beneath your arm, holding you against him while his thumb rested beneath your jaw. His chest rose against yours with every heavier breath, and when you moved your hips again, his grip instinctively tightened.

“Armando, please.”

His eyes stayed on yours.

“¿Qué, bebé?”

“Don’t call me baby.”

Something flickered in his expression. His fingers tightened slightly around your neck as he pulled you forward until your forehead rested against his. His breath washed over your lips, hot and uneven now, and for a second neither of you moved before he kissed you again, hard enough to pull a moan from you.

Your fingers disappeared into his hair, his answering breath rough against your lips. His arms closed around you, grip tightening beneath your body, and before you had time to register the change, Armando stood with you still wrapped around him. Your legs tightened instinctively around his waist, his hands supporting you as he carried you away from the couch.

You knew exactly where he was taking you.

His bedroom had once been one of the most ordinary places in your life. You’d spent hours there doing absolutely nothing, stretched across his bed while he played on his phone, watching television together or talking until one of you fell asleep. You knew the smell of his sheets, where he threw his clothes, which side of the bed he automatically chose.

Now you knew entirely different things about that room.

Armando carried you through the doorway with your mouth still against his, his breathing heavy between kisses, and that familiar bed came into view behind him. It was the same bed where friendship had stopped being enough the first time, and somehow, despite everything neither of you said afterward, you kept finding your way back to it.

Armando lowered you onto the bed, but you barely had time to settle before he was over you again. His mouth found yours while your hands reached for his shirt, dragging it upward until he finally pulled away long enough to take it off himself. You watched him toss it aside, your eyes lingering shamelessly on his chest before traveling back up to his face, and of course, he caught you looking.

His breathing was still heavy from the couch, his chest rising and falling as he climbed over you. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and then his mouth was on you again, leaving a slow trail of kisses down your body. Your fingers slipped into his hair as his lips moved lower, occasionally lingering long enough to pull another quiet sound from you, and Armando seemed to notice every one.

By the time he sat back on his knees, your breathing had become uneven too. He looked down at you for a moment, taking in the sight of you spread across the same bed you’d once fallen asleep beside him in without a second thought. There was nothing innocent about the way he looked at you now.

His finger hooked beneath the edge of your panties and pulled them aside.

“¿Qué quieres, amor?”

“Que no me llames así.”

His eyes lifted to yours, completely unbothered.

“¿Qué quieres, mi vida?”

“Armando…”

His hand moved between your thighs, his palm pressing against you before two fingers slid inside. Your breath caught sharply, your hips reacting before you could stop them.

“Armando…”

“Mm.”

His eyes stayed fixed on your face, watching the reaction he’d pulled from you.

“Cómo te extrañaba.”

The words hit differently than they should have.

He didn’t continue. His fingers withdrew almost as quickly as they’d entered, leaving you frustrated and aching as Armando reached for his pants instead. He pushed them down with his underwear, and your eyes closed for a second as every other time you’d been here with him came rushing back at once.

The first time had felt almost unreal. Every time afterward had only made him more familiar, and that familiarity was dangerous.

You hated knowing there had been other women between those nights. Armando hadn’t done anything wrong. You weren’t together or exclusive, and neither of you had ever pretended otherwise. You had no claim over what he did when soccer took him somewhere else, just as he had no claim over you, but jealousy didn’t particularly care about technicalities.

Other women might know Armando like this now, but you had known him before any of it. You knew the boy who used to get shy around girls, when kissing someone was still important enough that he’d tell you about it afterward. You remembered his first crushes, the awkward years, the dreams he’d talked about before soccer became something bigger than either of you had imagined. You knew what embarrassed him and what made him laugh until he couldn’t breathe. You knew the version of Armando who existed before confidence came so easily to him, and you had watched him become the man kneeling between your thighs.

Maybe that was why seeing him like this never became entirely casual, no matter how many times you told yourself it was. There was something almost obscene about knowing both versions of him so intimately, the friend who had spent half his life beside you and the man whose dark eyes were moving over your body now.

Armando’s gaze returned to yours.

“Siempre terminamos así.”

Your stomach tightened because there wasn’t anything to argue with. You always did.

He leaned forward, close enough that his breath warmed your skin.

“¿Lo quieres?”

“Yes.”

“Dímelo.”

Your eyes stayed on his.

“I want you.”

“¿A quién?”

The question made your breath catch. You knew exactly what he wanted to hear.

“You.”

Armando’s jaw tightened.

“Así me gusta.”

He positioned himself against you, dragging himself slowly against your clit instead of giving you what you wanted immediately. The contact sent a shiver through you, your hips lifting instinctively toward him as a moan slipped from your mouth. Armando watched every second of it.

“Así es, bebé.”

His voice was rougher now.

“Mírate.”

You opened your eyes and found him staring down at you. His chest rose and fell slowly, but the control he’d had on the couch was almost gone now. You could see it in the tension across his shoulders, in the way his hand gripped your thigh, in the hunger sitting heavy behind his eyes.

For a second, though, he didn’t move. There you were, naked beneath someone you’d known before either of you really understood what wanting another person felt like. His eyes traveled over your body before returning to your face, and underneath the hunger was that same flicker of hesitation you’d felt yourself.

Every time you did this, it became easier to end up in his bed and harder to remember where the line between friendship and whatever this was had originally been. No strings, no promises, no questions afterward. It worked because neither of you looked too closely at it.

Armando swallowed, his hand tightening beneath your thigh.

“Dime que pare.”

Your heartbeat hammered. You could have, but instead, you reached for him and pulled him closer.

That was all the answer he needed.

Whatever hesitation had crossed Armando’s face disappeared. He pushed into you fast, and the sudden fullness pulled a broken moan from your throat. Your thighs instinctively spread farther around him, but Armando caught them from underneath, gripping you firmly and pulling you closer as he sank deeper.

“Armando…”

His name barely made it out before your voice failed you. His head dipped, his breathing heavier now, and for a moment he stayed there with his body pressed close to yours. You could feel the control he’d carried all night finally slipping in the way his fingers tightened around your thighs.

When he pulled out, you sucked in a breath. Armando’s eyes dropped between your bodies, and a string of spit fell from his lips onto your pussy.

“Amor.”

His gaze lifted back to your face.

“Qué bonita te ves así.”

The word landed somewhere it wasn’t supposed to. You’d spent so much time telling him not to call you that, treating every pet name like something too intimate for whatever arrangement the two of you had made, but looking at him now, you had the sudden, dangerous thought that maybe he should be calling you that. Maybe that was exactly what made it feel so good coming from him.

You pushed the thought away almost as quickly as it came.

Armando’s hand tightened beneath your thigh as he leaned over you again, his chest hovering close enough that you could feel the heat coming off his skin.

“¿Ves cómo siempre acabamos?”

His voice was quieter now, almost against your mouth. You swallowed, still trying to catch your breath, and his gaze dropped between you again.

“Y luego quieres hacer como que no me extrañas.”

There was something especially filthy about hearing it from him when you were like this because he wasn’t really asking. He knew. He’d known from the moment he’d looked across the couch and told you to come to him.

Armando buried himself into you again, slower this time, his eyes fixed on your face. Your mouth fell open as he filled you, and something in his expression shifted when he caught the reaction. He liked slowing down just enough to watch you lose your composure. His gaze dropped between your bodies before one hand settled against your lower abdomen, pressing down as he moved.

“Tus otros amigos no te tienen así.”

Your eyes snapped back to his. There it was, that little possessive streak neither of you had any right to.

“You don’t know what I do when you’re away.”

Armando let out a low chuckle, almost conceding the point. You weren’t his, and he knew better than anyone that the arrangement worked both ways. Still, his hands caught your legs and brought them higher, resting them against his shoulders as he leaned forward. His mouth brushed along your calf and then the inside of your ankle, strangely soft compared to everything else about the way he was handling you.

“Entonces no me cuentes.”

His eyes returned to yours.

“Déjame pensar que nadie te conoce como yo.”

Fuck. That was worse.

His hands returned to your waist, gripping you firmly as his pace quickened, pulling your hips into him with every thrust. The effort was beginning to show on him now. Sweat gathered across his chest and along his hairline, leaving the dark strands slightly damp while his breathing came heavier than before. His attention moved constantly between your face and the slick mess between your thighs, like he couldn’t decide which sight he wanted more.

He shifted one of your legs forward, changing the angle between you, and whatever he saw or felt made his composure finally crack.

“Dios.”

It came out low and breathless.

His hand moved between your bodies, and the added pressure made a moan escape you before you could stop it. There was something dizzying about the whole thing, being touched like this by the same person who knew what you looked like at ten years old, who knew your family and your heartbreaks and every embarrassing version of you that had existed between then and now. He was still your friend, and getting fucked and touched by your friend shouldn’t have made your mind wander toward forever, but sometimes it did.

Not because you secretly wanted some dramatic declaration from Armando. You liked what you had, and so did he. There was freedom in never having to explain yourselves, in being able to miss each other without demanding anything from it. Still, moments like this occasionally let the thought slip through.

What would it have been like if you’d chosen each other differently?

Armando’s damp fingers found your mouth before you could follow the thought any further. You opened for him instinctively, and he pushed them between your lips while his eyes stayed locked on yours. You sucked lightly, and his body reacted immediately, his eyes closing for half a second as a rough groan escaped him.

When he looked at you again, whatever thought you’d been having about forever disappeared. For now, this was what you had, and judging by the way Armando was looking at you, neither of you was ready to give it up.

Something about your reaction seemed to push Armando past whatever restraint he had left. His hands moved to your waist and, with an ease that made your stomach flip, he scooped you up and pulled you over him until you were straddling his lap. He shifted back onto his knees beneath you, taking your weight like it was nothing.

The new position should have given you some control, but it didn’t. Armando was too strong for that. His hands slid down to your ass and took over the pace completely, guiding your body up and down exactly how he wanted while keeping you tight against him. His mouth hovered beneath your chin, his breath hot against your skin, and every time you tried to move on your own, his grip tightened as though reminding you that he had you.

A broken whimper slipped from your throat, and Armando looked up immediately. You could barely hold his gaze. Your head tipped back, eyes rolling closed as another helpless sound escaped you, and his mouth found the underside of your jaw. There was no resistance left between your bodies now, nothing interrupting the rhythm he’d set. Every movement came easily, your body slick enough that he could guide you exactly where he wanted without slowing down.

“Así, linda.”

His fingers dug more firmly into your ass, pulling you down against him again.

“Así.”

The praise sounded different coming from him like this, low, breathless, almost possessive. You opened your eyes and found Armando still looking up at you, his hair damp against his forehead and his lips parted as he breathed. For once, he wasn’t wearing that impossible control he’d had on the couch. You could see exactly how affected he was, and somehow that made you feel even less in control.

His grip tightened around you as the rhythm between you grew more urgent, less controlled than it had been only moments before. Your head fell back, another broken sound escaping your throat as Armando’s breathing turned rough beneath you.

“Así… eso es.”

“Armando…”

“Sí, así.”

You could hear the change in him now. His voice was lower, strained between uneven breaths, the words coming less carefully as the tension between you continued to build.

“Armando…”

Your voice barely sounded like your own anymore. His forehead pressed against you, his breath hot against your skin.

“Sí, preciosa… así.”

Armando thrust into you again, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist while his other hand held you firmly by the ass, keeping you against him. Whatever careful control had survived the night was disappearing now, his breathing breaking against your skin as his grip tightened around you.

Everything else started to disappear with it, the room, the familiar bed, every thought about what the two of you were supposed to be once this was over. There was only Armando, his uneven breathing, the strength of his arms around you and his voice.

“Armando—“

“Así, mami.”

——————

shhhhheeeeeeeeesssssshhh. I had to stop it was getting long. I’m sweatin though. Brian is one thing for me… armando…. he’s. another. love him. writing the Spanish version now. send me requests :)

Jack sighs and returns his eyes and hands to the work in front of him.

“What’re you on about, Ev?” Jack grunts and wiggles the fence post deeper into the hole.

Everett shuffles a little closer to Jack.

“Jack, I promise. Someone must’ve sacrificed to Aphrodite, or Athena or–”

“Ev,” Jack rises and looks Everett in the eye, “kid, I need you to lay off that mythology stuff for a while, okay?” More snorts from the ranch hands. More snickers. “Did you run all the way here from the willow tree?” A smile is finally making its way onto Jack’s face at the mental image of Everett sprinting a mile or two away from a beautiful woman. Behind Jack, a ranch hand guffaws.

“Jack, I'm serious. I was at the creek, just past the old willow tree, and I saw her. Her skin was so dark, but it shone so bright. And she was wearing a beautiful white dress, like a goddess would. Then she threw it off and jumped in the creek. I’ve never seen a goddess depicted with braids but this woman, woah. She had to be one. And how else would she have gotten on the property if not for divine transport.” The ranch hands, at the sound of a beautiful woman throwing her dress off, have stopped working and are now giving Everett their undivided attention.

“Braids?” Jack asks.

There’s one woman Jack knows with braids. One woman he knows with beauty that can easily be mistaken as otherworldly. 

“I’ll go check out this intruder, boss.” Silas, another ranch hand, raises his hand, shit-eating grin on his face. Another ranch hand elbows him in the rib as they all snicker again.

“Nope, no need, Si,” Jack removes his gloves and shoves them in his back pocket. “I’ve got it. You boys keep working, I’ll be back soon.” The ranch hands moan in playful protest.

Jack walks a few yards away to Dahlia, whose deep black coat is glimmering in the heat as she grazes lazily. As Jack approaches, she raises her head and walks a few paces to meet him. She nuzzles her snout into his neck, and Jack sweeps his hand over her coat and gives her a few firm pats.

“C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s go find a goddess.”

The ride does wonders for Jack’s leg. Sitting on Dahlia takes the grating pressure off his prosthesis, and he finds himself taking his time getting to where Ev said you were.

As Jack gets closer, the creek grows louder, its rushing water cutting through the heat. He passes beneath the old willow and approaches the clearing between the trees, his chest tightening for reasons he can't quite place.

His heart is beating faster, and heat that has nothing to do with the blazing Texas sun is creeping up his neck.

Am I nervous? No way. Jack had been through war, medical school, ER pileups. He'd kept his head through things that would make most men break. So why the hell was his heart beating like this?

The shade of the trees cools the air by a few precious degrees. Beneath the canopy, the water rushes over smooth stones, and then Jack hears it—a splash, followed by a soft, absentminded hum.

Humming?

Jack dismounts Dahlia, not bothering to tie her to a branch. Dahlia is Jack’s best girl. Experienced, calm, and nearly impossible to startle. If he leaves her here, she’ll still be waiting in this same patch of shade when he returns.

Walking closer to the humming, Jack spots your dress hung on a large branch to the left of him. He drags his hand down his face. You’re already stunningly beautiful, so beautiful he couldn’t rip his eyes away from you. He’s not sure if he can take whatever you are or not wearing right now.

God, give me strength to resist the siren.

Jack gets to the creek bank edge, where he imagines you dove in and scans the water for you.

There you are.

Floating on your back, almost starfished. You’re smiling so big, eyes closed, and humming some soft little song he can’t put his finger on. 

Jack’s heart squeezes at the joy radiating off of you.

Only after taking in the sheer joy pouring from you does he notice what you’re wearing. You’re wearing the teeniest, tiniest bikini, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Jack groans. He feels like a creep, standing here staring at a beautiful, unsuspecting woman.

Maybe he should leave. Why did he come here and disturb you again? 

He clears his throat loudly to get your attention. You let out a startled squeal and promptly sink into the water. You emerge, treading and frantically looking for the source of the sound.

“You scared my ranch hand,” Jack’s voice carries easily across the water. You finally spot him, and calm down with a smile, moving back onto your back to continue your floating. “He thought you were a goddess, come to grace our presence from a sacrifice.” A laugh bursts out of you that warms Jack’s chest. 

“I have to meet this ranch hand.” That twinkling laugh threaded through your soft, honeyed voice—Jack can’t take it.

“He’s scared of beautiful women.” Jack doesn’t realize he’s smiling, that he’s watching your face’s every move in hopes of seeing what you’re thinking. What you think of him. You laugh again, loud. Unapologetic. You sink beneath the water, intentional this time, then resurface and swim toward the creek bank where Jack stands.

You emerge from the creek, and Jack cannot breathe. Water drips from your skin. In your bikini, Jack gets a good look at the gem in your belly he’s been so interested in. The sun is making the pink stone twinkle, taunting him.

You’re so lush. Dips and curves. Deep, dark skin made glossy by the water. You move your braids to one shoulder and wring them out, then flip them over to your back. As you move past him to fetch your dress, Jack notices how the ends of your braids whisper against the dip of your back.

Get a hold of yourself, soldier.

“You think I’m beautiful, Jack?” There’s a smile in your voice he can hear as your back is to him, putting your dress back on. The white linen sticks to every wet curve of your body, and his mouth goes dry. Jack is quiet for a moment, trying to get his bearings and find an answer to your comment.

He could tease you, brush you off, ignore the statement. Instead, he allows his eyes to follow the lines of your body one more time before meeting your eyes.

“Stunning, ma’am.” Jack feels his ears go hot. He can’t quite believe he said that, admitted he thinks you’re pretty. He can’t believe he’s feeling like this. He’s too old, been through too much, too busy. He can’t remember the last time a woman had such a hold on him.

Jack watches your smile falter just a hair. Maybe you didn’t expect his brazen reply. Or maybe you think he’s too old, too rough to think you’re beautiful.

“Good.” You nod. Jack watches with wonder as you head over to his horse, still barefoot. Dahlia’s drinking water from the cold creek, a few yards away from the two of you. “May I pet your horse? She’s beautiful.” Dahlia lifts her head at the sound of your voice coming close to her.

Jack watches you stop. Not out of fear, but respect for the large animal before you. Jack hurries over to Dahlia, chest brushing your shoulder as he passes you. He runs a hand over her snout.

“Yeah. Her name’s Dahlia.”

“Dahlia.” Jack hears you breathe her name and the sound of you approaching. Dahlia hasn’t moved her eyes from yours. “What a beautiful name. Did you pick it?” You’re almost shoulder to shoulder with him now, just a little bit behind him.

“No, my sister did.” Jack reaches over and grabs your wrist, bringing your hand to Dahlia’s nose. “She’s real nice, promise.” Dahlia sniffs, then snorts. You laugh quietly, then, feeling bolder, use the hand Jack was holding to pet her nose. Jack turns his head to study your face.

Stunning was not a good enough word to describe you. Jack clenches his jaw. Again, he cannot stop staring. 

You and Dahlia are having some kind of moment, looking into each other’s eyes, and Dahlia is pushing her head into your space, inadvertently nudging Jack away.

“Hey,” he exclaims, satisfied with the laughs you’re letting out at his horse’s antics. “Why are you stealing all my animals from me?” You laugh again, louder, and look over at him. Your eyes are twinkling with mirth.

Jack notices you’re shivering just a little, your wet skin beginning to dry in the Texas heat.

“C’mon, we’ll give you a ride back to the house.”

As Jack swings his leg over and climbs onto his horse, you can’t help but think:

I have a freaking crush on this man.

Not only is he hot. Which you’ve already thoroughly observed when he found you swimming, all sweaty. Biceps bulging from the shirt plastered to his chest, wet from sweat. And holy crap that backward ballcap, hair curling under it. 

He seems sweet. He’s quiet, gruff, but he accidentally called you beautiful, then stood by it when you teased him. He’s clearly an animal lover, gentle with his beautiful horse. He’s always staring at you, but you never feel icky, you just feel…

Appreciated. 

Like he’s watching you because he truly thinks what he finds is beautiful.

Back home in New York, you like to flirt. You’re an Aries, you love attention, men and women alike doting on you and watching you. But after a bit, it always feels like too much. You have to retreat to your cocoon, away from all the eyes. 

But you like Jack’s piercing gaze on you, you realize. It lights something up in you that you didn’t realize had been dormant. The more he stares, the more you want to give him more to watch.

Jack’s also capable. You didn’t realize until meeting Jack that you have a capability kink, and watching him is like capability porn. The effortless way he carried your bags upstairs to your room, the way he swung his body over this huge horse. 

And now he’s staring down at you. Heat runs through your veins.

“You ever ridden before?” Jack asks you.

“I had lessons when I was like… five.” You laugh. Jack sighs a little. “You should teach me, Jack.” You watch his fists tighten.

“You’re soaked, barefoot, and in a bikini.” Jack shakes his head once. You look down at yourself, then back up at him.

“Another time then?” Jack ignores you, and leans down. He grabs you by the waist and settles you in front of him onto Dahlia. It happens so fast you barely register the movement before you’re settled in front of him. “Do you workout?” Jack huffs out a breath.

He gives the reins a firm shake, and Dahlia breaks into a canter back towards the house. You’re hyper aware of his solid frame behind you, large arms bracketing you. Now you feel a little self conscious. You should’ve brought a towel, you’re all wet, probably getting a ton of creek water on him. 

The two of you are not touching, not really, but it doesn’t matter. All of him is all around all of you. You smell that delicious scent. Cedar and leather. The same one from his room.

“My whole life is a workout,” Jack says bluntly. A laugh bursts out of you, breaking the ice. You lean forward a bit and rub your hand down Dahlia’s neck.

“She’s incredible.” You whisper. You hear Jack hum in agreement behind you. “Are you and your sister close? You said she named your horse.” Jack clears his throat.

“Yeah. It’s harder now that she lives so far away. But she and her husband, my best friend Robby, and their kids come to see me all the time. And we talk on the phone pretty often.” You nod, intrigued. “You close with your family? Any siblings?”

You pause and shrug. There’s a lump in your throat.

“I have an older sister. We grew up close, but we’re not so much anymore. I love her a lot. Like, a ton. But I don’t know. I think she doesn’t understand me, why I left. None of my family really does. So it’s just easier to… not talk.” You clear your throat and roll your shoulders back. You refuse to get emotional over this. You’re over it. You’re a big girl who doesn’t need family drama.

Jack hums.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” His deep voice and that simple sentence soothe you.

You’re almost to the house, you see it in the distance, when loud barks shatter the moment. Blue comes dashing into view, sprinting over to Dahlia’s side, and then keeping pace next to her. He’s barking excitedly, practically tripping over his own feet as he looks up at the two of you. You laugh brightly, and turn your head as much as you can to look back at Jack. He’s smiling lightly, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes.

“Where did he come from?” Jack shrugs and looks down at Blue, before looking back at you.

“Hell if I know, I kind of just let him roam around, do as he pleases. He deserves it.” You giggle and look down at Blue again. “He’s a war vet. He’s done enough work in his lifetime. Now he deserves to do whatever the hell he does all day.”

That pleases you beyond measure.

“You’re a softie, cowboy.” You smirk back at Jack, and at the statement, there’s a twinge of pink on his freckled cheeks.

“Yeah? Well don’t tell my ranch hands.” You laugh again, and realize you’ve reached the house.

Jack dismounts first. Blue is still so excited, he jumps up onto Jack, front paws on his shirt. Jack huffs a laugh and scratches behind his ears a bit before whistling quickly and sharply. Blue sits obediently, tail still wagging excitedly. 

Jack looks up at you, and there’s that heat again. He grabs your waist solidly, and pauses, as if allowing you to brace yourself. This time you feel the heat of his big hand through your dress. He lifts and lowers you off of his horse easily. You’re almost lightheaded from how attractive that was. He drops you a few inches away from him, and you feel his body heat radiating off of his chest. He’s staring at you, like he always does, and you stare back into his warm hazel eyes.

“What’re your plans for the rest of the day?” Jack asks you quietly. You look around, noticing the sky has gone warm and orange around the edges. Around 4pm, you’d guess. Still plenty of time in the day. But you’re a bit tired from the time difference and all you’d been up to today.

You hum, and it turns into a tiny yawn.

“A nice hot shower, and then bed. Probably.” You kneel down in the grass and love on Blue, petting him and kissing his nose. “May I steal your dog for the evening?” Jack smirks.

“I don’t think I have any choice. He’s gone for you.” Jack nods at you and his dog, and then swings over Dahlia. “Don’t get into too much trouble.” And with one last look at you, barefoot on his front lawn, he’s off.

One of the boys had mentioned the Empire Club to you in passing, an offhanded comment about cheap ‘real’ liquor and the live band they had. You hadn’t thought much of it. You had other priorities to focus on⎯adapting to the harsh climates, tending to injuries, helping Stirling build a somewhat stable system for the platoon to function with, rationing medical supplies. The idea of going dancing or having a drink was pushed to the back of your mind. But, it didn’t mean that every once in a while it did pop up in your head when things were quiet. Though, it was not like you would be able to go anyways. Stirling wouldn’t approve of your leave, normally.

Furrowing your brows together in confusion, you stare at Stirling, unable to process his words. He had approved your leave. No arguments. No blunt dismissal. No reminders of your importance. No lectures. He just signed off on it..willingly. Tightening your grip on the piece of paper, you close your mouth, unable to piece together the right words at the moment. You were thrilled, yes. But, also highly confused. You had sent that request two months ago, and he was barely getting back to you now. It was unlike him. Letting out a low snort of amusement at your stunned expression, he leans back in his seat, propping his foot up. That stupidly smug grin spreading on his face.

“I’m sorry..I just..” You sputter, finally managing to gather yourself. “You’re approving my leave?” 

“The whole platoon is taking a leave, just for a few days.” He waves his hand dismissively, as if this wasn’t out of character for him to approve a leave for the entire platoon.

“Because..?” You press, trying to get a clear reason out of him.

“No reason.” He shrugs, “Just felt like it.” 

“I don’t believe you, you’re never generous.” You narrow your eyes suspiciously, your lips curling into a thin line. “What’s the real reason, David? Who threatened you into agreeing?” 

“No one did, ( Y/n ). You know, not everything has to have some kind of reasoning behind it.” He huffs, rolling his eyes hard at the accusation. 

Bull⎯fucking⎯shit. 

Looking for any hint of deception in his face, he only looks at you annoyed, as if you not jumping for joy about this leave was such a horrid thing. You were happy about it. You were. It’s just that it was just so suspicious, and the fact that it was for the whole platoon didn’t help either. Getting a leave approved was rare. Getting a leave approved for the whole platoon was like seeing Paddy smile and dancing⎯fucking impossible. Placing your hands on your hips, you begrudgingly let out a sigh, shoulders easing slightly. You would get the bottom of this, eventually. One of the boys would eventually crack when you asked.

“Can’t you just be happy about having a few days off?” He questions, cocking his head to the side.

“I am, I am happy. It’s just so unlike you to approve of my leaves.” You argue, “You wouldn’t even allow me a leave when I got a telegram informing me of my sister’s pregnancy."

“Well, I couldn’t back then. We had a few missions planned and I needed a competent nurse on staff.” He straightens up in his seat, nose wrinkling up.

"Are you sure there is no other reason⎯"

“Look, just accept it like the rest of the lads already have. Go dancing..have a good fuck, god knows you need it.” He cuts you off, rolling his eyes hard.

A good fucking?! A good fucking?! Flushing a bright pink from anger at the insinuation that you needed to get fucked, you slap him hard on the arm, earning a loud yelp of pain from him. The palm of your hand stings from how hard the impact was, and you were sure that he'd have a mark. Rubbing the now throbbing spot on his arm, he scoots back in his seat, putting a small amount of space between the two of you. A good fucking?! Oh, you should beat him until he was black and blue for that. Raising your hand up to give him another smack for the comment, he holds his hand up in surrender, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. You did not need to be fucked. Yes, you might have not had sex with anyone for a while now. But, it didn't effect you like the rest of them. You were a professional, and you could handle not having sex for a while.

“I do not need a good fuck, I am perfectly fine as I am, David.” You snap back, shooting him an icy glare for the crude comment.

“Bullshit." He scoffs, unable to stop himself from making the comment.

"David⎯" You threaten, leaning forward to smack him again.

"We all know you’re not fucking anyone, so you’re as pent up as the rest of us.” He argues, “Go to the Empire Club, find some lad and have fun for the night. I guarantee you the rest of the lads will be fucking their ways through the streets of Cairo.”

“I do not need that image in my head.” You scoff, wrinkling your nose up in disgust at the image of the platoon fucking their way through Cairo.

“Too late..” He snorts, digging into his pocket and pulling out a few dollars. “Get yourself a dress, a real one. Have fun.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ EMPIRE CLUB, 1940.

Have fun. Have fun. Yeah, easier said than done, Stirling. Swallowing the dry lump in your throat, you anxiously fix the hem of your pleated skirt, not used to wearing a dress after switching to pants and shorts months ago. You had forgotten what it was like to wear something so loose and flowy..and exposing. Letting out a shaky breath, you hold your head up high, mustering up all of your courage. These were the same idiotic men that you had spent months with. The same men who’d tease and pester you because they needed a good laugh. The same men who you had to baby whenever they got hurt. You had no reason to be so worked up about this. It was only a dress. If you could survive gunfire, you could survive wearing a dress for a few hours.

Looking over your appearance once last time in the mirror on the wall, you turn to your side softly, the pleated skirt swishing with you. The pale periwinkle fabric clashing with the rich red of your lipstick. You looked fine. Sucking on your bottom lip, you resist the urge to fret over your pinned up hair, knowing it’d only make you stay longer in the bathrooms. First it’d be your hair that you stressed over, then it would be your heels. Snatching your purse off the sink, you push open the doors to the restroom, making a swift beeline for the bar. You needed a drink. The familiar sight of khaki British officer uniforms scattered around the club makes your pace slow. Some were dancing. Others nursing drinks at tables. You could only wonder if Paddy was amongst them. 

“( Y/n )?” Someone calls, making your freeze mid-step. 

“Where?” Cooper questions, raising a brow.

“Bloody hell, is that her?” Fraser snorts, “I didn’t recognize her.”

“Fuck me..” Seekings mumbles, shifting in his seat.

“Nah, I rather fuck her if Paddy wouldn’t have my balls.” Kershaw snickers, taking a slop sip from his glass. “Can only dream..”

Ugh, you could hear them. Were they not aware of them?

Slowly turning on your heels, you lock eyes with the group of tipsy men, a slow mortified feeling going up your spine. It felt like when you awkwardly see an old lover again. Letting out a low flirty whistle at the sight of you, you stand up a little straighter, your grip tightening on your purse. God, it was just like getting cat -called back home. Only you knew these idiots. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you let out a tense chuckle, awkwardly smiling at them. You’d remind them when they were sober of how much of an arse they were acting. For now you’d just bite your tongue and be polite about it.

“Fucking hell, ( Y/n )..” Seekings compliments, nodding his head in approval. 

“Boys. Having a good night?” You stiffly nod, pretending like you hadn’t heard them. 

“Better now that you are here. Is that a new dress you are wearing?” Fraser questions, more subtle in his shameless ogling than the rest of them. 

“Yes, it is.” You flash him a half smile, “Stirling paid for it actually. He told me to go and have fun, so..I got myself a dress, a real one.”

“Looks lovely on you.” He nods, stealing a quick glance down.

“Give us a spin, eh?” 

Perking at the familiar sarcastic voice behind you, you sharply turn on your heels, finding Paddy standing there. Grinning brightly at the sight of him, you steal a quick glance over him, chuckling at his appearance. His hair slicked back from his face, beard actually groomed for once. Uniform all ironed and pressed. You had almost forgotten what was under all that beard and sand. Looking you up and down, he raises a brow at the sight of your dress and heels, a low chuckle escaping his lips. It wasn't cruel. But, the voice in the back of your head told you that it was meant to be cruel. The tiniest bit of insecurity bubbles in your stomach, fearing that he thought that you looked stupid in your heels and dress. It was taking a lot out of you to keep wearing it. You felt so..naked without your pants and baggy uniform shirt. Like a woman once again, not a nurse who had survived the front lines of war.

“Paddy! I didn’t think you’d be coming today. Had half expected you to stay buried in the sand dunes." You joke, cracking a small smile.

“Needed a drink.” He lingers on the lipstick you're wearing, “I see you got yourself all dressed up. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing something like this before.”

“Well, I wanted to go dancing.” You explain, cheeks flushing a hot pink from embarrassment.

“Dancing?” 

“Well, yes, I used to go dancing all the time back home with the girls.” You shift in place, “I haven’t been dancing since then. Why else would I be here?”

“For a fuckin⎯” Kershaw pipes in, breaking your conversation.

The sound of a slap recounts in the air, Kershaw rubbing the back of his head as Fraser shoots him a glare to stop talking. Shooting him an icy glare for the crude comment, he promptly shuts up, staring down at his glass of whiskey like it was the most fascinating thing ever. You weren’t in need of a one night stand, not like the rest of the boys did. You were perfectly content with just dancing the night away. It had been too long since you danced and found fun in ways outside of tending to wounds.

Shifting his gaze back onto you, Paddy opens his mouth to respond, but stops himself at the last second. Raising a brow up in confusion at his silence, it was unlike Paddy to be quiet. He'd have blurted out some kind of sarcastic comment by now. Opening his mouth back up to speak, he promptly shuts his mouth softly as if realizing that whatever he was gonna say is gonna piss you off. Good choice. 

“Would you like to dance with me, Paddy?” You offer, grip tightening on your purse.

“Aye..go dance with her, Paddy.” Kershaw snickers, earning another slap from Fraser.  "Twirling around like a fucking idiot."

“I don’t dance.” Paddy argues, shaking his head.

“Neither did I until I started.” You argue, trying to convince him.

"I don't dance, ever." Paddy corrects, a deadpan expression on his face.

"No one will judge you for not dancing the best, Paddy." You nod towards the dance floor, “Just one dance, please? I’ll buy you a bottle of rum for daring to interrupt your brooding for the night.”

Narrowing his eyes hard at your words, he glances over to the dance floor, staring at the couples dancing around the lively beat. Digging your nails into the strap of your purse, you shift from side to side, hopeful that he would accept. You wanted to dance, yes. But, you wanted to dance with him. He always seemed so tense, like his mind was trapped in place no one but the great poets could. His face sours the more he watches the dance floor, like he had downed a glass of purse lemon juice. Your stomach drops at the sight. Swallowing the dry lump in your throat, you hold your hand out softly to him, still hoping that he could accept your offer. Staring down at your outstretched hand, he stiffens up, his jaw tightly clenching. Your stomach drops more and more.

"No." Paddy shakes his head.

"Paddy go dance with her." Fraser encourages, nodding towards the dance floor. "No one will care if the two of you dance, they're too busy getting knackered."

"No, it's fine." You argue, trying to act like it didn't sting.

"Fuck sake's, Paddy! You fucking gunned down Germans for fun, but can't do a little dance?" Kershaw scoffs, "Did you leave your balls back in the sand?"

"Kershaw.." You warn, shooting him a glare for the comment.

"Left my balls?" Paddy repeats, shooting him a icy glare.

"Aye." Kershaw nods, "You bloody loom over her like your her husband and won't let anyone touch her, and now you can't even take her dancing? Fucking take her or let someone else do it."

Grinding his teeth together in anger at Kershaw’s words, you prepare for Paddy to swing at him, to rant and rave about Kershaw ‘getting his goat’. But, he doesn’t. Staring Kershaw down with a darkening look, Paddy does something surprising, taking your hand in his softly. Dragging you to the dance floor, you stare at him with wide eyes, cheeks flushing a bright pink from embarrassment. He was actually taking you to dance. Paddy fucking Mayne was taking you to dance. Standing awkwardly in the middle of the dance floor, he stares at you, broad shoulders tense from not knowing what to do next. He hadn’t thought this far, but neither had you.

“What do I do?” 

“I..” You freeze, shocked that he would actually follow through.“You put your hand on my waist and hold my hand.” 

“Then?” He tensely places his hand on your waist.

“You just sway to the music and lead me.” 

He nods, awkwardly leading you around on the dance floor. 

You could practically smell the tension in his body, oozing out from his pores. He didn’t know how to dance, or what to do. Yet, he still tried. It was endearing in a way. Placing your hand on his shoulder softly, you take the lead, slowly guiding him into a simple sway from side-to-side. It didn’t look like he’d be able to handle swing dancing. Clearing his throat softly, he relaxes slightly as he gets the hang of the simple sway, no longer moving like a stiff mannequin. 

“You didn’t have to..” 

“I know.” He mumbles, “But, Kershaw had a point..the least I could do was give you one dance after all the times you’ve patched me up.” 

“You don’t have to⎯” 

“I am, I will.” He cuts you off, shaking his head. “It’s not that bloody hard.”

There comes a time in every beautiful femme’s life where they will be made to quell the negative self-talk of a loser. May that be a potential fiance who bet the house on the boys in shoulder pads, a boyfriend (that’s-not-your-boyfriend-but-kinda-is) who’s trying to convince you that they’re not the smallest you’ve ever had, or a lover who cries during sex, the time will come. It is every beautiful femme’s canon event.

“I told my mom about us.” You admitted, twirling a string of gum around your acrylic nail. It was an impractical, long, red set that Kyle had paid for with money that he had to commit the tough acts to get, but he paid for them no less. 

Kyle, with his sad and pathetic eyes, looked over to you from the salad he was preparing in your kitchen. “Oh? That’s great, baby, what’d she say?”

He knew you were essentially dreading the moment. Your mother was ruthlessly unforgiving, and Kyle was not anything to write home about. Just a guy who had three pants, three shirts, and two jackets. Who clearly cut his own hair, and no skincare routine. A guy who never really did much of anything aside from follow at your heels and jump from job to job. 

“That… doesn’t matter, puppy. It just matters that I told her.” Rushing to un-press the buttons.

You remembered her words then.

“So he’s just some short guy that folds boxes? Is he funny?” Her heavy tone punted you with her gum smacked behind her lips. Fingers typing away at her mobile keyboard, likely telling your dad that it was urgent he did some errand with no genuine importance by the end of the day sharp. It wasn’t unlike the women in your family to run a strict program. 

You were much the same… just with a different kind of partner.

The rest of the conversation was equally as tense, your mother holding back… something in an effort to be less opinionated, and more attentive to getting details out of you. 

“Baby, you can’t just say that….” He dropped the tongs that were mixing your greens about in a pretty pink bowl. “She knows I’m just dead weight, huh?” 

“Oh, come on!” You pushed off the cream sofa. Pedicured, bare feet and shiny legs moving with a mission to run your flawless, accessorized fingers through the disheveled hair of a man. 

Maybe in three or so years, when you finally decide you were incredibly out of his league, you’d think back to this moment and laugh. Maybe.

“Don’t say that, puppy~” You cooed. “You are not dead weight.” 

Kyle fiddled with the wilted kale he discarded from your perfect salad. “You’re just sayin’ that…”

Obviously. But no one wants to believe they’re dating a dud. And in the moment, everybody does really means it. This act of charity wasn’t just for him. If it was, maybe you’d get the hint that you were too fine to be together. 

You held his face, a cheek leaning into your palm like a cat that can’t get over the scratch of your nails. “Not at all, Kyle, come on… look at me” A tooth rottingly sweet tone lulled his eyes to you. “So handsome.” You smiled genuinely.

He really was handsome. All his life. If he were any cleaner or charismatic, you’re sure he’d be a womanizer. But his down-and-outness stopped him from being an evil man. No, no. Kyle was sweet, a provider with no money, a renaissance man with no focus on maintaining his strength or skill. He was like a pretty, old Mustang that constantly needed check-ups. 

You didn’t know if it was how hopeless he looked, or if it was the fact that he was wearing your pretty pink apron to make dinner right after a ten hour shift just because you asked, but he turned you on so much. 

‘God, you’re so miserable.’ You thought with affection. 

“You’re the best I got. My big, hard-working man…” The praises made a pot roast out of his insides.

Glossed lips gravitated to him without hesitation. Soft smacks and wet dins continued for only a few seconds as Kyle melted easily into you. All until he groaned and pulled away. 

“Baby, you can’t just fuck me and act like no one’s sayin’ anything.” He stared into you with undeniable anguish. “Your friends don’t like me, your mom don’t like me, your pilates instructor even had me wait outside ‘cus she said the floor just got mopped—” Shifting on his feet, he sighed and looked around like it could’ve changed his circumstances. “But I saw a bunch of people comin’ in n’ out of the place. S’not like I was trackin’ mud! I was wearin’ my clean shoes!” He hubbubed as if his words weren’t falling on deaf ears. 

You actually didn’t care at all what other people thought. Everything he said was true, but none of them were fucking you into your headboard or making you fruit bowls every morning.

“Awe, puppy, it’s not like that, they just don’t know you.” You pushed his shoulders, turning him to face you fully. “Take this apron off,” you tugged, “let’s go lie down~” 

Muttering sweet-nothings at him was only gonna get you so far, you knew that. But you were prepared to talk him off a ledge. The helpless man seemed to need that a lot.

He sighed gruffly, but obeying anyway. “I’ll bring your salad…” Kyle grumbled.

“Okay~” You whispered, gathering his Red Bull and a fork.

He was left in stained, pepper colored carpenter pants, Batman socks you bought him for your one month anniversary, and a tight black shirt. His, actually quite muddy, work shoes were left at the door.

Conversely, you wore his stolen navy blue boxer briefs, and a cotton soft camisole that concealed next to nothing. Settling on the couch with him, you put the already forgotten inventory on the end table, and turned your reruns down. The last action was necessary and deliberate, you wanted Kyle to really feel heard. Y’know? Good communication makes a good relationship, and a good relationship makes for great sex. 

This became an average routine for you.

Kyle would leave for work at his delivery driver job– or whatever it was for the month– in the morning, you’d awake some hour or so after, throughout your remote job, you’d eat the food he made you the night before or day of, then you’d get take-out after your work ended at five in the afternoon, do whatever hobby of the day you were into— today, it was yoga and reading, and Kyle would come home, clean up, complain or cry or both, and work you out. 

You always kept your fingers crossed that his face was already tear stricken or that he still had the job. 

“It’s just that…” Kyle started before he even sat down, “I know I’m not the richest guy out there, or the best looking guy–”

“Er!” You interrupted, mimicking an alarm noise like he got an answer wrong with which he responded to by laughing and leaning into your propped up knees. 

“Alright, alright… but they don’t think that. And I wouldn’t mind or nothin’ if they didn’t make a stink about it… like when you went to the bathroom at that winery place, and left me with your friends for a bit. I made that joke about smoking crack–”

“What?” You listened well enough, really only eating the walnuts on the top of your bowl. 

“S’nothin’– you woulda laughed, it was pretty funny–” He giggled to himself remembering his own joke then. “Whatever, I’m just sayin’ they didn’t even throw me a bone! They looked at me crazy, babe… do you think they believed me?” 

‘They absolutely think you smoke crack…’ You thought to yourself. 

“If they do or don’t, it doesn’t even matter– half of them are obsessed with sports betting anyway.”

This gave Kyle pause. And if you wanted him to eat you out any time soon, maybe you shouldn’t have brought up money. He hated wasted potential. ‘The whole thing’s rigged… maybe they broke even, but some CEO’s profitin’ off it like crazy– so crazy, they can’t even imagine makin’ that much in their lifetimes..’ He’d say.

“Oh, what? They think they’re gonna ‘win big’ or something?” He was quieter now in thought and pity for your friends. Kyle had a big heart about how pocket-gutting the whole economic set-up in the world was, it was one thing that really made you look at him so fondly despite how unstable he was. 

“I guess… I mean– I tell them they’re just wastin’ their time and money.” You said. Kyle laid his sandpaper skinned hand against your much more velvety calf, a thoughtful frown tugging at his face. 

“They really don’t get it.” He shook his head. “Well, anyway– I’m not tryna think about that, baby. You know how it gets me.” 

You giggled, at how passionate he could be. Loved him for it. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry about bringing it up…” Flipping onto him, hugging at his waist with your head lying dangerously close to his unexposed member under his pants. “Doesn’t it just bring a tear to your eye?”

He was used to your jesting by this point. How quick you switched from engaged and listening, to purring and scraping at his zipper. “Yes, actually. I’d say it does.” Kyle looked over you, bantering back with a smug smile on his face and his hands lying in the throw pillows. “Y’like seein’ a grown man tear up about that kinda stuff, baby?”

“Yes~” You always dropped the act after a second. Just wanting him to get you bent over or arched. “Why? Do I gotta earn it?”

Lifting yourself high up to his face, your long nails grazing over his crotch. “I wouldn’t wanna tire you out this early.” He leaned forward to kiss you, not easing into anything. 

Every smooch you shared in your apartment started off with tongue. Licking each other’s muscles before settling back into a normal kiss. So it was special and sweet when he gave you little pecks. 

“Probably good I get my mind off of financial insecurity, huh?” His words came out in muffled plosions over your gloss since he didn’t tip back for any distance. 

“Mhm.” You kissed him again, your smile breaking it. “And anyway, you make me feel like the richest girl in the world.” 

Sugar-talking for the man. Buttering-up for the lady. 

“You don’t gotta convince me, baby.” His mouth kissed and lowered to plant hickies at the tops of your boobs. “‘M already going.” He murmured. 

You moaned erotically as he worked your chest and fondled your nipples over the thin material of your lacey tank top. Carding eager fingers through his hair, pushing him into you. You loved how structured his nose is. It served him well to have it, served you well too.

Slanting back to straddle his hips, Kyle took your thighs into his elbows and hoisted your bodies up. Higher, then higher, moving without needing to double check his path. He knew your apartment like the back of his hand. 

He supported your weight with both hands until he reared your knees onto his shoulders like he was planning on overhead pressing you. You groaned and moaned all the while he rag-dolled your chiffon body. Kyle was at your inner thighs, and your pussy. Eating you out through his boxers. You’d been so pent up, which wasn’t saying much since you always wanted to bump uglies to a medically concerning degree.

“Yeah, puppy– just like that.” You whispered.

Ducking you under the doorframe, Kyle pressed you into the wall. Fisting at his hair, you curved your hips over his mouth. His head bobbed and hands lifted you just right for him, like a cup of tea ready to be drained. 

“Kyle!” You whined, his hot breath caged against your wet body, his tongue threatening the fabric. The man gave a shaky breath and dropped you off his shoulders, onto his waist, then onto the bed in a quick calculation. 

Falling to his knees, he crouched at your own. “C’mon, baby, you keep talkin’ about this ‘hard-working man’ stuff.” He pushed your feet up to sit on his lap. Steadying the front of your legs on his mouth, just below your bent knees. He kissed at them and drew a sentence out. “Make me feel like it.” 

In a swift movement, he pulled his boxers off of you. Loving it when he was naughty, you giggled like he wasn’t jumping to every base past third. 

“What? You wanna hear praises for doing the bare minimum?” You spoke hotly, like smoke could be emitting from your throat. With a push of your leg, nearly into his teeth. 

His head bucked back, leaning onto his thick neck. He smiled at you from the ground and tipped back into you like a magnet. “Yeah– somethin’ like that.” He succumbed to you with that crack in his voice you loved so much.

With a smile that challenged the sun, you laughed at him. “Alright,” prompting him to lift from his knees, you pulled him closer. “you wanna feel like the man of the house, puppy? I can do that for you.” 

Scooting all the way back on your big bed, clothed in puma print and pink fuzz, a bed you share with a man whose only concern is to give everything to you. You laid out on angled elbows, grinning behind shimmering lips and mascara-coated lashes.

“C’mon, big guy, show me how you want it.” He rasped a breath and crawled on his hands and knees up to you. You helped pull his shirt off with rushed hands while Kyle undid his zipper, and sat to pull them off. Lying beside him, you watched and waited. His back glistened with the pink hues of a nearby lamp– the image of his tired and roused frame only thrilled you more. Muscles flexing, hair already pushed around and tousled.

Kyle turned back to you and readied to jump your bones. So hungry for you, the man hadn’t even considered the– often overlooked– pack of condoms sitting in the end table near his side of the bed. Or the spare in his wallet, or the one he kept under his rotating stack of books. He just fixed his dick to slap against you, adjusting his balls so that all of him could rest over your mound in an exchange of heat and juices. He sighed like you gave him relief. 

“You want me t’bully your pussy? Is that why you’re bein’ such a headache?” He taunted overhead, and slid his member down. Balls falling to hang against your ass, he picked up his dick and smacked it with your folds some more.

Eyes ever watchful, skin growing hotter. “Uh-huh– I just want your attention.” You raised your hands to grab at the sheets bunching behind your head. “That’s not so wrong, is it?” 

He couldn’t help the smile growing on his face, you were just so pretty. Kyle shook his head. “Not always, but you know I’m busy. Workin’ day in, an’ day out. And then I come home, and you’re askin’ me to do all kinds of things to you.” His hips started moving back and forth, his dick felt weighty on you with his thumb pressing heavy to card his shaft between your skin. 

“Mm~” You brought a hand down to rub at his forearm, and began humping his shaft in tandem with his strokes. “I’m sorry...” Cooing, you bit your lips in a fox-like grin. “But, you can’t tell me you don’t like the way I beg for you.” 

Pushing to get more in his face, you stood on your hands. He sunk to sit with bent knees, just to make sure your genitals don’t stop touching. Still humping over him. “I just want your rough hands tossing me around, making my body do whatever you want it to– you’re always really good at that.” You didn’t need to, but you whispered to him like a threat was being made. 

Kyle laughed at you. He loved how sweet you talked to him– you were really the only person doing that. The jackpot he hit to have scored a dove like you, one who was far too hypnotised by him and all his capabilities. “You like hands that make fourteen bucks an hour?” 

“Is that really your pay? Only noticed how you make me feel.” 

You brought one arm around his neck, then the other. Having both wrapped around to smush his lips into yours, you made out with his crotch rutting into you. Kyle kept both hands on your hips and leaned lower to lie down, continuing his friction over your vulva. Your ass squished into the sheets and legs bobbed in the air, falling open more and more.

Over his lips, you moaned, whined like you deserved how good he worked you. And you did, you were like an emotional support pet in a lot of ways. And in a lot of ways, Kyle was like if a pay pig was also a sex toy. But you both knew that whatever happened, and whatever anybody said, it was only the two of you who could truly give each other peace. And more, obviously.

“You feel so good, baby, y’want me t’put it in?” He squeaked against your lips. You smiled into the next kiss, and gave a drawn out moan to match his strokes. 

“Use me however you want, take it like a real bread winner.” 

Kyle gave you one, sweet, big smooch. And you giggled as he flipped you over to press your face into the blankets. The look of your glossy skin off the brown, black, and pink decor was to die for. Ass up for him to use your pussy. “Just wanna taste you real quick–” It was typical of Kyle to use globs of his saliva as lube, he loved the way you tasted– how you coated his face so well so he could savor you on his tastebuds for the whole fuck. 

Diving downward, he sucked at your unspread mound, purely for the sensation. He knew it served you little to eat at you like this, but he loved the mouth-feel. “Mm, mm~” He made noises throughout the sucking and slopping. 

Finally spreading you, he flicked his tongue over your clit. 

“Ah!” You practically screamed, bracing your hands against the soft comforter. Your hips jut every now and again, you were always pulling them away somehow despite wanting it so bad.

Kyle nearly folded you in half to raise your clit to his mouth, he sucked at it greedily, laughing at the desperate noises you made. The vibrations of it drove you mad, and you were shaking so hard. He only stopped when he felt you shivering like you were gonna cum. Your moans had sped up like you wanted to warn him but didn’t have the words for it. 

You sighed, and your lower half sunk further from you. The bottoms of your feet hit the end of the bed post, keeping you face-down, ass-up. Barely leaving any space for your boyfriend. He shoved you higher up. 

“C’mon, whiney girl, let's get you naked.” Hands pulling to have you stand, Kyle drew the last bit of clothes you had on and threw it to god knows where. “Better?”

Now behind you, the position you knew he’d put you in tickled you. Staring at his face next to yours, you nodded and smiled. “Mhm,” he ghosted his slacked mouth over yours, taunting you, “kiss me.” You whispered. 

Nudging your nose with his, he managed not to have your lips touch. “Y’think you earned it, little missy?” He took handfuls of your tits and massaged them in circles, pinching your nipples at every random pass. He earned moans and gasps that he’d treasure like jewelry. “Hm?”

“I’ve always treated you good, haven’t I? Just, give me this.” You yearned for him like a dying wish, whatever the dirty, underpaid, cracked voiced man had, it kept you in a chokehold. There was no other man who did so much to you just by looking at him. 

But when Kyle stuck the whole length of him slowly into your pussy while kissing you softly over and over again, your arrangement made so much sense. He could have you bent over every possible surface forever, and you’d never tire of it. It was always you who initiated most of the time anyway. 

You mewled out as his length sat in you for some time, it was never really the inches you had to worry so much about. Rather, the girth of him. Despite you holding his dick, it always felt like he was choking you. “It already feels so good in me,” you took in a big breath, “please fuck me, baby.” 

He chuckled out a ‘Huh~’ and started moving steady in you. Letting your chest go, he had you relax back onto your face and hands. The pleasure was overwhelming. He was doing so good.

“Oh my god, Kyle… Ugh! You fuck me just right.” You groaned into the bed, angling your nails to grip the sheets hard. 

“Yeah?” He ran his hands down the sides of your stomach and over your ass, stopping back down by your hips to clutch the fat of them. “You like it like that?” He pounded against your jiggling ass in even-paced, long strokes. From this position, his hips were like water. Rocking so strong, but so methodically against you. 

Kyle loved the way you looked back at him from behind your shoulder. Almost like he was being too rough with you, you always looked at him like you were pleading for something. But he knew you were just asking for more, for him to go harder, faster. 

You nodded. “Yes, Kyle! Fuck– fuck me just like that– Ah!” Hoping the downstairs neighbors weren’t home, Kyle ran his cock deeper into you at an impossible speed. The bedframe banged against the wall and shook over the wooden floors. He’s been meaning to buy a new one for a while, but wanted to make sure it matched with the rest of your design. 

He suddenly gave one, almost hard, smack against your ass. Kyle felt the skin of his palm tingle and felt around for a warmer area of your skin to rub and massage it. “Ugh!” You moaned at the stinging. He’d never spanked you before. 

Smack! 

Only to do it again with how pornographic you sounded. 

“Harder, baby!” You begged. 

Not knowing if you meant spanking or thrusting, he did both. 

“Ah~!” You reached for a pillow to drool and sob into while he pleasured you. The high from when he’d been eating you out earlier was coming back to threaten an orgasm. 

Kyle looked around until he saw it. Your old camcorder. You kept it around because you said it was very ‘y2k vibes.’ And, among other things, held a lot of recently captured ‘home movies’ on there. It was one of Kyle’s favorite additions to your sex life. He wasn’t sure why, but he quite liked being on film with you. 

He flipped the swivel screen to make sure the two of you were in shot. The reason it was always sitting on your bedside end table was because you had no use for it outside of vintage sex tapes that you’d touch Kyle to later. And vice versa, no doubt. He made sure the thing was recording and resumed his placating humps into your pussy. 

Snapping his fingers, he grabbed your attention. Cradling your cheek with a hand for a moment. “Look.” He pointed at the camera. “Say ‘thank you,’ sweetie pie.” 

The camera caught you, arched back, globes of your ass rebounding, red-eyed, and nearly spent. “Thank you, baby.” You panted out and stood on your hands, turning your head to him, hoping to catch good glimpses of his handsome face. 

“For?” He egged on. 

“F-for fucking me so good every night, giving me whatever I want, e-even when you’re so tired… a-an’ for keeping the lights on in our little place.” his thick pumps into your pussy made talking hard, especially with your neck craned to stare at him like a loving dog. “You take such good care of me~”

The end of your sentence had his hips stalling. He wasn’t expecting your sensitivity. “Ah, baby–” He whimpered out. “That’s sweet of you.” He leaned over your tiring body and circled your waist with an arm to give you kisses on your mouth. Thrusting short, quick strokes into you.

You suddenly felt something hot and wet against your cheeks. There it was. 

Pulling away, you looked at him. Red eyed like you, but for other reasons. “You crying, puppy?” 

Looking back, he sighed. He snapped his eyes to the camcorder, almost forgetting it was there even though he set it up. He had that look of embarrassment again, hating how easily moved to tears he could be. Both staring into the lens, you giggled. Kyle’s eyes dropped as more tears welled and fell over you.

“You’re so sentimental, big guy.” Grabbing his jaw, you gave his cheek a few kisses. He scoffed a chuckle, and fucked up into your pussy. Spreading it wide and keeping you choked. “You like playing house maker, baby?” Turning his head down to kiss your mouth. You gave him two fat, wet smooches while he pounded against your mound, and dropped your hand to stabilize your used body. “Wanna be my little husband, puppy? You wanna please me forever?” He whined and moaned over your face. You could feel him nod with your lips intertwined. 

“Mhm~” He mewled out in desperation. 

“Cum in me then,” You rasped out, “prove it.” 

He hurried in his actions then. Fucking you faster, Kyle leaned back to stand on his knees and take you. Wiping his face quickly. He groped along your lower half with one hand and dedicated the other to toy with your slick soaked clit. 

“Mm—!” You noised out at the sudden contact. He rubbed tight circles like his life depended on it. 

Your tits swung and recoiled at how dense his thrusts were. So rigid in you, his thick pole pummeled your tightening walls more and more. “Kyle! Oh–! Baby, I’m gonna cum!” You moaned into your pillow with a shaky breath. 

“M-me too.” His wandering hand moved to roll one of your nipples in between his fingers. 

He laid his head on your shoulder briefly before moving both of you in a quick motion. He lifted your legs and forced them to spread, full frontal for the camera. Presenting you to the lens, Kyle sat on the bed and rested his lower back against the end of the frame. 

“Oh— ugh!” You moaned thickly with how deep he pushed in from the new position.

His quick movements shocked you, and he ended up shoving his cock so deep inside. The mass of him budged your pussy lips apart, making them look like they were slobbering and sucking his shaft. 

You followed like the obedient girl you were and held your legs wide for him to obsess over when you watched it back together. Sitting there while he fucked his cock up your pussy, he managed to hold you up and play with your clit. Flicking it quickly, he reveled in how fast your breaths were, how loud your moans got. 

Pushing the gummy head of his meat into the hilt of your pussy over and over, he wondered if he did it to get off, or if he just liked how your gasps hiccuped every time he hit you deep inside. 

You were buzzing, it felt like your whole vagina was getting stimulated inside and out. Like every bit of you was getting loved on. “Mm~ puppy! You feel like heaven–”

His cock was so stiff, so wide, and it made your pussy feel a delicious ache pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You got so wet just from him humping you earlier, you couldn’t believe the level of stickiness between your thighs now. 

“Jesus, you’re so tight, baby–” Kyle felt his dick twitching the more he fucked you. It was unreal. It was like the first time all over again when he was a twenty-six year-old virgin. 

Vocalizing, Kyle knew you weren’t gonna last the next minute before you came, and he wanted to cum with you so badly. Confident you’d hold up both legs still, he started feeling around to rub his palm against your ass. 

The man mewled moans over your neck until he timed you right. He felt your hot pussy tightening, clamping his dick. Pumping into you faster and faster, he sensed your breaking point.

And in that moment, both of you tensed up on the mattress. “C-cum with me, puppy! I-I’m cumming!” He just nodded and watched you. Moaning and saying nothing. You painted his nuts with a leaking spill of your cum, with your pussy tightening and his cock straining.

You reach up to grab the side of his neck like it’d ground you, and for whatever it was worth, it did. 

“Ah–! Kyle!” You moaned out. A fuzziness in your head. Your hips jolted and shook the more he insisted on rubbing you through your orgasm. “Mm—!” You whined out while he overstimulated you.

He stopped his assault on your clit, and grabbed at the meat of your thighs as you’d done with his neck. Twitching his hips and squirting more cum into you, he sighed when he was all milked out and rested his furrowed brows on your shoulder. Breathing over against you.

Kyle lifted his head quickly, and gave your neck big kisses. You finally let your legs lower to sit without any suspension, he laughed softly. Pulling you off his dick, he made sure it stood far enough to not stain the sheets.

He stood. Lifting you slowly in a bridal carry, he shut the camera off. Then padding into the bathroom, he placed you on the shared counter space and wiped you down.

“You had fun, baby?” He cooed.

Your spent smile told him everything, but you responded anyhow. Nodding, with an ‘Mhm.’ 

“So much, puppy.” Kissing his lips again and again, you moved to his jaw. “You really know how to treat a lady~” you said between peppering his throat and face.

“I try.” He chuckled back.

You kissed him passionately on the mouth. “I know you do.” You whispered. “Thank you for everything, puppy.” A kiss. “I really mean it.” Another kiss, longer, self-indulging. Feeding both of you. Turning into making out with a wad of cum-soaked tissue in his hand, and the edge of the sink counter in the other. Your arms wrapped around his neck until you released his mouth. “I love you, baby.”

Kyle smiled with warmth in his gaze. “I love you most.” He kissed you with a ‘tch-’ at the release, feeling you smiling.

You ran a nail over his collarbone. “Forever?” You asked with an upward inflection emphasized at the end. 

He only chuckled and nodded. “Forever.” Kyle whispered and grabbed your hand. Kissing your knuckles.

Giggling, you kissed him over and over across his face and neck as he cleaned your body and discarded of the stained napkins. Wrapping your legs around his hips. He started back toward the bed, but not without grabbing your sleeping robe.

Settling back into bed, he tucked you in and left to wipe himself off.

Nearing closer, you grabbed his arm before he turned the lamp out. “Just come lie down, puppy.” You said. Kyle smiled at you and nodded, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. 

“Okay.”

He lied down next to you in a new pair of briefs. You curled into him, tucking your head under his chin and hugging his torso.

Sighing in contentment, you let a few minutes pass until… “Puppy?”

“Mhm?” He used the tone he always had when he was seconds from knocking out. Doing the ‘resting my eyes’ thing.

“Can you buy me a new yoga set? It’s like the last one you got me, but in dark red.” Your eyes drifted up, but you couldn’t see anything from your angle.

He paused for a millisecond. “Go get my wallet, then.” You squealed.

He was sitting at his desk, normal as ever— normal as he could pretend to be— squeezing his jaw together like he was biting through metal. 

Can't be normal when nothing was normal about this. 

He followed the rules like any good person would do— like any respectable professor would do. Came to work on time. Taught his classes. Graded papers. Check on the young minds still developing so he can help guide them to a proper conclusion—But maybe he missed a step when it came to you because there's no logical explanation why you were kneeling between his spread legs, fingers tight around the buckle of his jeans while you carefully worked your tongue over the tip of his cock. 

Yeah, normal.

As a man of science, he had a few hypotheses on how this could have happened. Long stares. Late-night grading. Too many inside jokes that went from light-hearted to friendly gestures to shameful flirting. 

Could you blame him? 

You had a personality that was attractive. The kind of person who saw the good in everything even when it didn't matter. On days when he felt lonely, sitting at his desk with his hands tight in his hair, you were always there, patting him on the back with positive affirmations that life could be simple if you made it simple. And you made it so simple when you offered to release all that pent-up stress he so desperately needed. 

"I-Is this helping?" You said between licks, watching his static expression behind his glasses. You wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, pumping him lazily while you continued working your tongue with slow and fast drags that made his voice shudder at every lick. "I-I'm sorry if this is—bad, sir," you murmured, moving to suck him in and letting him go with a light pop. "I don't do this…often."

"N-No—" his hips jerked when the pad of your thumb rubbed over a hardened vein, the underside of his cock the most sensitive it could be. "J-Just not— used to this."

"That's a shame," you pouted, like you were saddened by this new information. "Any girl— or guy, if that's what you're into— would be happy to do this for you."

Any person, sure, but one of his students should not be an exception. 

"You're so smart—" you continued pumping him, taking turns squeezing and fisting your hand around his length, the size of it surprisingly big for someone his age. You've had a few nights with bad mistakes in the form of pretty boys who had too much free time and not enough brains, but Bruce was the total opposite. A genius, handsome, and perfectly endowed like the gods were playing favorites. "—and funny—" you leaned forward, taking him into your mouth again before he had a reason to object. 

"H-Hold on," he groaned, feeling your warmth eclipse the tip of his cock before you pushed down to let him fill your throat. That familiar burn in his stomach lurched forward, leaving him breathless before a heavy gasp dropped from his mouth like a tidal wave. 

His hand, the one that wasn't strapped with a complicated contraption, found the back of your head and he held himself there. Fingers curling through the strands, careful that his fingernails didn't nip your skin. 

He drew his head back the further you sucked him in, lips almost at the base but you couldn't get any further even if you forced yourself there. Or maybe you could, you thought while you felt the heavy tip kiss the back of your throat. If you practiced, relaxed a bit more, you could earn the world's best deep throater with a cock like that as an example. Instead, you used your hands for what couldn't fit, dragging them up and down with extra precaution so you didn't break concentration. 

Bruce was trying his best to keep himself at bay, keep normal, shutting his eyes to think about anything but the beauty between his legs helping him find peace for once, but all it did was hyperfocus his arousal to one place and that wasn't a good thing. He was glad for the suppressant around his wrist, the only reason he's able to be normal and teach at a college, but if he didn't have it, he was sure the other guy would emerge and have his way with you—

He should not be thinking about that. 

Is that wrong? 

Would that even work? 

It never occurred to him to ask about the sexual nature of his green roommate in his head. 

He's so… big. And you're so… small compared to him. 

That would be impossible…

Right?

You pulled back to dislodge him from your throat, panting heavily while taking deep breaths in between to fill in the gap left. "P-Professor?" you rasped, calling for his attention. 

He dropped his head, eyes going wide when he saw your matter of concern. Your face was flushed, eyes glazed over, lips swollen from use but that wasn't the surprising part. 

The surprising part was that he had gotten bigger. The shade of skin darkened into a bruising red, like all the blood in his body was rushing to his cock. While the tips of your fingers could touch midway before, that seemed false now. They were a few inches apart to showcase the increase. A slight difference that only happened because he thought about the impossible at the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

"I-I'm sorry—" 

"What for?"

"I-I didn't know that could happen—" he looked off in shame, his glasses halfway down his face. "Didn't know that was—" he groaned in embarrassment then, "scientifically possible."

"Nothing about this world is scientifically possible," you grinned, "A man in an iron suit, Greek Gods, wizards, the blip, Spider-man—"

"I guess it sounds silly in comparison." 

"Oh, really? Who knew?"

He chuckled softly at that, surprisingly at ease. That personality at work that he found so hypnotic. 

"If you were the only one, I would be…astonished. Maybe even scared— in a good way of course. But after living on this planet for so long, you start to expect the unexpected." 

"You make it sound so simple."

"That's because it is." 

He saw you get into position, shifting your weight to find a comfortable seating on your legs. You looked at him so innocently, dragging your eyes from his length resting in your hand to his red face. You licked your lips, timid, excited, and deeply aroused at the implications of going further. 

"…Sir?" You questioned. 

"Y-Yes?"

"Can I?" You begged without explicitly saying it. Batting your lashes, licking your lips, thighs rubbing together in desperate need. 

"C-Christ—" even after knowing what he was, what he could be capable of, the new revelation of the growth in his size, you still wanted to keep going. "Are you serious?"

He should be fired for fraternizing with his student— worse, he should be in jail for ever thinking about the other guy having his way with you. 

But he can't stop thinking about it.

And that's what excited him. 

"Please?"

You said it so normal he almost didn't believe it was true. 

He did a slow nod, soothing his fingers through your hair without thinking, a slow reminder that you're a bunny compared to his wolfish nature. Soft everywhere, warm, cute. 

He won't stop thinking about this for days after. 

You lead on, preparing yourself. Mouth dropping open to have your tongue loll out, bringing the tip of his cock to the flat of your tongue. You tasted his need all in one, like a spike in flavor, heat pooling into your stomach until you felt the unmistakable wetness stick from your panties to your cunt. You moaned around him instantly, purring the further you pushed him in, relaxing your jaw until the fat head of his cock kissed your throat once more. You watched as his eyes rolled backwards, his glasses slipping further off, barely hanging on with a comedic flair to it. 

"S-Slow— there you go—" he praised, rubbing circles in your scalp with light fingers. You warmed at that, wetness pooling, the need to hear more working its way up. 

When you finally felt relaxed enough, taking deep breaths through your nose, you kept going until you couldn't. You barely touched the base, barely got halfway, but he was satisfied nonetheless. 

You moved. 

Pulling up until he felt heavy on your tongue and dipped down to have him fill your mouth. You kept going, building a pace that felt right, jutting your hand around the base of him that strained with pent-up frustration. You moaned around him, eyes dropping to see the buildup of cum and spit gathering at the patch of dark hair that curled from slickness. You couldn't help yourself from using your free hand to slip between your thighs, grateful that you wore a skirt, an easier access to touch yourself without trying to focus on pulling your pants apart.

Bruce let go, moaning harsh curses and praises simultaneously, his grip in your hair growing tighter and tighter the closer he felt his release. It's been so long since he's had a pretty thing sucking him down, mouth like heaven and your moans like a symphony to his ears. 

"M'sorry—" he moaned, his thighs growing weak. "Feel so good— n-not gonna—"

You rubbed yourself with the pad of your fingers, quick rough circles that made your mouth bob up and down on him faster. Tears swelling into your eyes from the sheer friction that felt unnatural, but it didn't stop you from continuing.

It only made the reward that more important. 

"A-Almost— there—" he groaned heavily, his hand pushing down against your head to make you take him further, "O-Open your mouth—- some more— shit—" Your throat grew tight each time his tip bullied its way past that tight ring at your throat. 

You let him have his way, let him use your mouth like a flesh light, going pliant with the focus to finding your own release by the weight of your hand. You shuddered against your fingers, slipping two in and out and then circling your clit in a brutal pattern that heightened the tension threatening to explode. 

He was ruthless, dragging you along his cock until you tasted nothing but him, your spit coating him in thick messy webs that pooled at the opening of your mouth. It didn't take long for him to come, cursing that he couldn't hold it in anymore, his thighs shaking with the weight of all that pent-up rage, rutting into your mouth until he pushed you down one final time and pulsed heavy liquid in your throat. 

You rubbed yourself through it, holding your breath while you came on your hand, soaking yourself past your wrist like a waterfall. 

It never stopped. 

He pulled your head up, cum gathering along your tongue until your mouth unwrapped from his cock with a heavy pop. 

"I-I'm sorry— ohhh I'm s-sorry," he stuttered, quickly searching to find a dry cloth from his desk drawers, already moving to try and clean up the mess along your cheek and nose. He didn't sound entirely sympathetic but it's the thought that counted. "I-I ruined your makeup— I'm sorry ." 

You dropped your tongue out to show him the traces of white coated on your tongue, a messy trophy that only he could reward you. Cum dripped from your lips to your chin, pooling at your neck like a pretty necklace, his cock still leaking even after. 

You didn't say anything. Breathing heavily, finding a steady pace that felt normal again, but a smirk slowly grew at his concern. 

"You're still a— g-gentleman — even after— fucking my— mouth open?" You panted, catching your breath. 

"It's what a person should do," he laughed awkwardly, tucking a messy strand of hair behind your ear. "Besides…" he wiped the cum from your lips, your lipstick smearing with it. " I'm…scared I might like you like this." 

You looked at him in surprise. "Like what?"

"Ruined—" he breathed, "In front of me. By me. The type of ruin that doesn't cost lives." 

You got up on shaky legs suddenly, finding a seat in his lap, straddling him with your thighs spread open. You ignored the mess pressed against the inside of your thighs, the soaked cotton a terrible reminder that the compatibility between you both was hard to deny.

You touched his hand, taking the cloth from his worried fingers and cleaned the rest from your face. The sticky mess stuck against your skin like a band-aid. 

"Your too hard on yourself." You felt his chest jump when you kissed his cheek, finding comfort in his lap. "You talk about all that quiet rage locked inside of you when the real terror is you. The human side of you." 

He blinked, frozen in place. 

You fixed his glasses next, pushing them up against his nose, finding their place. "It's a wonder how you could cum so much—"

"Please—" he groaned, shaking his head. "Don't remind me—"

"But it's a result. A big one at that." You smiled, dropping the damp cloth on his desk. "I think you look better like this. Having a source for that outlet." 

"Think that…could be you?"

His mouth moved before he could think.

He said it without meaning to, his mouth drawing shut immediately after. He panicked, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips. You held his face in both hands, forcing him to focus on your eyes, thumb drawing light circles along his cheek. 

"Yeah. That could be me." You swiped your fingers through his pepper grey beard, scratching along his jaw like it was a cat post. "First, you gotta take a gal out to dinner. Can't suck you off first and leave it at that." 

"R-Right."

You don't hear the rest of their conversation as you travel out of earshot of it. You don't care to. You're only here for one thing. You stop for a moment as your eyes dart around the chaos. Rubble and debris surround the entirety of the Damage Control building. First responders are littered throughout the area, tending to those who were in and around the building when disaster struck. Your gaze travels lightning-quick as you look over the faces of all these different people, none of them the one you're looking for.

Until your gaze lands on a stretcher, specifically the man strapped to it. Your feet carry you over in the direction of it before your brain has a chance to think of anything else.

"Bruce," you call out, the pure relief evident in your voice. You fall in line with the EMTs moving the stretcher. Bruce's eyes widen in surprise when you come into view. He says your name as a question, confusion coloring his tone.

"What are you doing here?" he says, more to himself than anything. "Did I hurt anybody? Did anybody get hurt? My inhibitor broke, I-"

You cut off Bruce's anxious line of questioning, sliding your hand into his and squeezing it tight. Of course, he's thinking of everyone else but himself. Even though out of everyone you've seen receiving treatment on-site, Bruce looks like he's got the worst of it. Always putting others before himself. It's so like him, it makes your heart ache terribly.

"Came as soon as I saw the news, honey," you say. "You're okay, everyone's okay," you soothe. You don't know if there were any fatalities, but Bruce doesn't need to know that either. For his sake, you hope there were none.

"Good, that's good," he exhales. His head falls back against the solid cushion of the stretcher's headrest.

You don't know what happened. Not really. Not everything. You know there's more to the situation that occurred at the Damage Control's Headquarters than what the news conveyed. You're also well aware how the situation is going to look to the general public. To say the least, absolutely terrible. You fear how they're going to rip Bruce to shreds, claiming that the Hulk's gone berserk when you know Bruce would never intentionally hurt anybody.

You take a long deep breath. There's no need to work yourself up over that right now. You and Bruce don't both need to be panicked. You get yourself under control, hauling yourself up into the back of the ambulance as the EMTs load Bruce into it. You slide your hand back into his once you're seated and use your free hand to cradle Bruce's dirtied cheek, moving away any stray hairs from his face. He leans into your palm, sagging with visible relief. The solidness of Bruce beneath your touch is a physical reminder that he's okay. More than a little banged up, but he's okay. He's alive. That's all you can ask for.

You'll deal with what comes next together.