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demxters-recs · 3 months ago

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OMG TASM INSPO OKAY OKAY!

I saw this prompt a while ago that said: one small kiss before fully devouring the other person and I thought it would be perfect for pining idiots Peter and r. Maybe they dare them to kiss at a party or they get tipsy enough to be very affectionate which leads to the kiss. But then one of them is like shit I ruined our friendship and ghosts the other until they talk and get back together and kiss again 🥰

AN | If there is one thing I love it’s blind fools in love! Enjoy ❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 4.5k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He was so pretty like this.

Wild, unruly hair, plush lips, pink cheeks and eyes like rich honey.

“What’re you lookin’ at, huh?” he reached over and brushed a lock of your behind your ear, so close that you could smell the sweet alcohol that lingered on his lips. Your heart skipped a few beats at the tender touch; it was nothing new but every one of his touches felt like the first time. He rested his palm against your cheek as you swallowed the lump in your throat, “you’re being weird.”

“Nuh uh,” you narrowed your eyes at him but your weak attempt at being serious did nothing for him. Instead he laughed, a sugary sweet sound you wanted to bottle up and keep as yours and yours only forever, “you’re being weird, Pete.”

“Whatever you say,” his long, lithe fingers ghosted along your jaw before he retracted his touch. You missed the warmth of his skin on yours almost immediately, “I think you’re drunk.”

“Shut up,” you groaned and finished the last bit of the hard cider in your bottle. You were so far from drunk, having nursed the same bottle over the last hour and a half just as he had with his beer. Neither of you were even tipsy, just enough to feel a slight buzz in your bones, let alone drunk, “‘m not. Just tired of you.”

“That’s a lie,” he whispered as you nodded meekly. You could never lie to him, or even fool him in the slightest. He’d been your best friend for almost a decade; he knew you better than anyone ever had.

“It’s a lie,” you confirmed, shifting your gaze away from him. You looked around the room, trying to focus on literally anyone else at the party. Unfortunately, no one else seemed to capture your attention - at least not as much as Peter Parker did. You could feel his gaze trained on you, and part of you was worried for a moment that he was almost able to hear every single thought you had running through your mind. You turned back and immediately felt your warm up, “Pete?”

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, voice so soft that your ears were playing tricks on you. When you saw the quiet and determined expression on his face you could tell that you had actually heard what you thought you’d heard.

“What?” you’d leaned in closer, inadvertently, but found yourself inches away from the pretty boy. The corner of his mouth tipped up in a very Peter-esque smile - that your smile. You wanted to bottle it up and keep it safe in your heart forever. You huffed when he just stared at you like you were magic, “Peter. What did you say?”

“C’mon Bee,” you could hear the subtle groan in his voice, “you heard me. I want to kiss you.”

“Why?” your brows knitted together in confusion; you were so ridiculously cute especially with the way your nose scrunched, “me? Pete, you’re just drunk.”

“Yeah you,” an incredulous huff escaped his lips. How? How did you not know that he was in love with you? Especially since he’d fallen for you days into your friendship so many years ago, “I like you, you know. And I’m not drunk. Not in the slightest.”

“Of course you do,” he was drunk. He had to be despite his insistence that he wasn’t. Right? You swallowed thickly, “you’re my best friend.”

“No, you don’t…” he put a hand on your neck, his thumb brushing along the soft skin under your ear, “I’m going to kiss you, okay?”

“Okay,” your voice was so small it was basically a squeak, but it was enough to set him at ease to actually do what he’d been dreaming of for so long.

Peter closed the small gap between the two of you, pressing his lips to yours - softly at first, questioning and learning. When you didn’t panic or pull away. He deepened the kiss, earning a small moan from you. That sound made electricity shoot throughout his entire body; he wanted more, he wanted it all. All your sounds just for him.

Before you let it get too far, you pulled back, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and taking his hand away. Peter stopped immediately and looked at your in surprise and… hurt? on his face. You held up your hands, both of them shaking, your mouth opening and closing a few times as you searched for the right words.

“Bee?”

“I-I can’t do this,” you scooted your chair back and stood up, shaking your head, “this was a mistake. I’m sorry, Peter. I gotta go.”

You grabbed your bag and started to push your way through the throng of crowds to leave. Peter had jumped up to his feet and attempted to follow you, “wait - Bee!”

But you didn’t wait. By the time he got to the door, you were already long gone. He sighed heavily, banging his head against the wall as he tried to figure out what he did wrong. But, he figured, he’d give you space tonight and then check on you tomorrow. Surely this was all just…a misunderstanding.

Surely you felt the same things he did. He’d been wishing for nothing else for so long.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter’s hopes that he would be able to talk to you and get to the bottom of what was going on were quickly dashed the next.

He didn’t hear a peep from you - but it wasn’t for the lack of trying. He texted and called and even showed up at your apartment to no avail. In reality you’d received and read every text, sent every call to voicemail, and ignored his knocking. You just couldn’t face Peter, not today…make not ever.

You were still trying to put all the pieces of what had happened together. He’d told you that he liked you and that he wanted to kiss you.

And then he did exactly that.

But it didn’t make sense. Peter Parker was your best friend, and best friends definitely didn’t kiss like that. He said he wasn’t drunk but there couldn't be any other reason, right? Why else would he suddenly want to kiss you? Part of you was afraid that you’d taken advantage of Peter to get what you wanted. Of course you wanted to kiss him; you’d been in love with him for years. Instead of risking anything, you’d kept yourself thoroughly in the best friend zone. You’d rather pine for him and suppress those feelings and keep him in your life, than potentially risk losing him completely.

Life without Peter Park wasn’t anything you wanted to experience.

And in a few moments of inhibition, you might have ruined everything after all. You couldn’t face him ever again. The thought of that alone was enough to make you want to curl up and cry.

You were being dramatic…you knew you were. You needed something - someone - logical to keep you from spiraling. Grabbing your phone, you quickly found her contact and called her, pacing around as you waited for her to answer.

“MJ,” you let out a sigh of relief when she picked up after a few rings, “I did something bad. Can you come over?”

You heard her sweet laugh on the other side, “of course. I’ll be there in twenty? Shall I bring a bottle of wine?”

“Yes please,” you rubbed at your forehead, “two bottles if you have it.”

“On my way!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Little did you know, MJ was already way ahead of you. She was already well aware of what had happened; Peter had called her, close to tears, about an hour beforehand. He was quick to spill his guts out to her, trying to make sense of everything…and definitely panicking that he’d never see you again.

MJ, meanwhile, was terribly amused at the panic both of you were displaying. She was well aware that the two of you were in love with each other, even if you the two of you weren’t aware. To be fair…everyone was aware but the two of you. It was so obvious to anyone that spent even a moment around you that you were in love. Somehow that just didn’t get through to you - not yet but Mary Jane Watson was determined to finally get you both to realization and clarity.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hi honey,” MJ let herself into your apartment with the key you’d given her long ago. You raised your hand and gave her a small wave from where you were curled up on the couch, buried under a heap of blankets. She set the bottles of wine down on the coffee table before raising an eyebrow at you, “and just what do we call this?”

“It’s calling wallowing,” you huffed, sitting up and looking at her with an upset expression on your face, “I fucked up.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” she insisted softly before going into the kitchen and grabbing a couple of wine glasses and a bottle opener. You made room for her on the couch, and sat down next to you, carefully opening a bottle and pouring a couple of glasses. You picked yours up and clinked it against hers, “cheers. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Peter,” you took a huge drink before allowing yourself to look at the giant grin on MJ’s face, “it’s Peter.”

“And…what about Peter?” she was prying, gently doing so, but curious to know. If there was someone that knew Peter almost as well as you it was her. She’d dated him for a few years in high school after all, “what did he do? And/or what did you do?”

You sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly just as you’d learned in yoga class. You pinched the bridge of your nose before setting your glass down and angling your body closer to her, “hekissedme.”

“Pardon?” oh, she’d heard you loud and clear and you both knew it.

“Peter kissed me,” you said more slowly, letting the words wash over you as the memories of last night popped, “and I…kissed him back.”

MJ was practically giddy with excitement, barely holding back her smile. She was definitely the president, vice-president, secretary, and treasurer of the ‘you and Peter fanclub.’ She took another sip of her drink before setting the glass down and reached for one of your hands, “and what’s the problem with that? The two of you are clearly in love! It’s about time one of you made a move!”

“What?” you tilted your head to the side and looked at her in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“Oh my god,” she threw her head back with a loud groan, “how are you so smart and dumb at the same time?!”

“MJ-”

“I know how you feel about Peter,” you’d confessed your love and adoration for your best friend many times - tipsy, drunk, and sober. And it wasn’t like either of you did anything to hide it. You huffed and looked at her like a lost little puppy, “and I know how he feels about you. I’m not sure what the problem is…”

“Peter doesn’t….he was drunk.”

“Peter doesn’t get drunk,” she raised her eyebrows in a sort of tell me I’m wrong expression, “but what exactly led to him finally making a move?”

“We were at that party at Beth’s and we were just hanging out and talking. I’d had a few drinks and he did too,” ugh. The way he’d looked at you was like something else, “and later on he told me he wanted to kiss me. I asked him why and he just sort of…made it seem like it was obvious. I asked if he was drunk but he said no and I don’t…fuck, I don’t know.”

“It is obvious, all things aside,” she waved her hand, “but if he says he wasn’t drunk, what’s wrong? Was it bad?”

“No. No,” it was anything but bad. In fact, you were ready to admit that it was easily the best kiss of your life. That made you both nervous and excited, “it was good.”

“But you didn’t want it?”

“I did, I do,” you drained the rest of your glass before pulling your legs up and hugging your knees to your chest, “I liked it and I want to do it again. You know I do. It’s just…what if he thinks its a mistake? What if he hated it and it’s ruined everything. I don’t want to lose him, MJ. He’s too important to me.”

“Honey,” she mirrored your position and her face turned serious, “I mean in the most loving way possible, but you are so incredibly obtuse. Peter is in love with you. You’re in love with Peter. What else could you possibly need to know?”

“I know I love him,” you agreed, “so much. But how can you be so sure?”

“Because he’s told me!” she threw up her hands as your eyes widened in surprise. She put her hands on yours and gave you a little shake, “he’s told me that he’s in love with you. More than once. I’ve just been…the two of you are so damn stupid. You’re so clearly in love with each other but neither of you can just admit and move forward. You’re not going to lose Peter, I swear on that. But sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith and move forward. Otherwise nothing is ever to change.”

“MJ-”

“It’s not even that big of a leap,” she whispered gently, “it’s Peter. He’s always going to be there to catch you.”

You swallowed thickly, blinking back the tears stinging at the back of your eyes, “I’m scared, MJ.”

“I know,” she gently brushed her knuckles against your cheek, “and it’s okay to be scared. But this is a sure thing. But, for now, let’s have some more wine and watch a bad movie and order pizza?”

“That sounds perfect,” you agreed sniffling slightly, “thanks MJ.”

You hoped she was right. You hoped that this leap of faith would be worth it.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As it turned, your great leap of faith…was a little delayed. As in one thing led to another and your nerves and anxiety got the better of you and you hadn't seen or talked to Peter in two weeks.

It was the longest you'd gone in the decade you'd known him without talking or seeing each other. It sucked. You knew Peter was a huge part of your life but you hadn't realized just how much…until he was gone.

And it was definitely your own fault. Peter kept trying and trying to get through to you. That part warmed your heart and made things worse at the same time. You almost wished he could let it go but you knew that wasn't his style at all. His persistence and big heart were some of the many things you loved about him. You were going to talk to him at some point…you just needed to work up the courage. Soon hopefully. Soon.

Soon, as it turned out, came on a chilly fall day as you saw at your favorite cafe. You were halfheartedly sipping on a coffee as you worked on your laptop. You had hoped that getting out of the house and the office to work in a different space, one you normally loved, would help to cheer you up but it didn’t work. Not that you had anyone to blame but yourself.

With an unwittingly heavy sigh, you looked up and stared out the window, watching the rain drizzle down. The city was beautiful this time of year; only this time it didn’t feel as lovely.

What you didn’t expect, however, was to find Peter Parker stopping mid-walk and looking straight back at you. A tentative little smiled up the corners of his mouth as held up his hand in a small wave; a white flag gesture. You let out a nervous huff of laughter before smiling back at him and holding up your hand in response.

He stood there for a moment before mouthing something at you, motioning with his to see if you’d come out. This time you didn’t hesitate as you shoved your laptop into your bag and almost ran outside to meet him. You didn’t know where you stood with Peter, but even just seeing him already made your heart feel so much better.

“Hi,” he sounded almost nervous as you stopped in front of him, neither of you caring that you were getting wet.

“Hi,” you whispered back, unsure of what to say or do. But this time you couldn’t run away or hide; you had to face up to what was going on, “can we talk?”

“Yeah,” he took your bag from you and hooked it over his shoulder, starting to walk in the direction of his apartment. You fell into step with him, neither of you saying anything, but walking close enough so that the backs of your hands continued to gently brush against each other. The tension hanging in the air between the two of you was palpable but you were afraid to say anything to break the silence.

Peter didn’t seem to harbor any ill feelings as he continued to open the doors for you. By the time you were inside the apartment, he closed the door and leaned against, watching you closely. You stood there nervously, trying to think of what to say, all the while hoping that Peter would say something instead.

The two of you looked at each other in silence for what seemed like a small eternity. The next thing you knew, Peter came over to you and took your face gently in his hands, warm doe eyes searching yours. You offered him the tiniest of nods before he leaned in and kissed you. This time, instead of over thinking anything, you allowed yourself to live in the moment. At first Peter was afraid that you didn’t want this and he’d somehow read the signs wrong, but then he felt you loop your arms around his waist and kiss him back.

And it felt like pure magic. It was everything you could have ever dreamed of and then some more. Kissing Peter felt so…right. Judging by the way he refused to pull away from you until you were both breathless, you were sure that he felt the same. He pressed his forehead against yours and let a small, wistful sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered softly, unable to get your emotions in check from what had just happened. The only thing you knew was that you loved Peter; that was all that mattered, “Pete.”

“Don’t apologize,” he traced his fingers along your jaw and down your neck, causing goosebumps to explode all over your skin, “just talk to me please.”

You nodded, allowing yourself to look into his eyes. There was no malice in them, only…well, you weren’t absolutely sure what it was, but it was…something. There was a hopeful expression on his eyes as you nervously played with your hands.

“Pete,” he loved the way you said his name; it always made him weak in the knees, “when you kissed me last time, were you drunk? Tipsy? Anything?”

He made a small sound, but shook his head, giving you the answer that you had already known was true, “no.”

“Why did…want to kiss me?” you were adorably; adorably blind. Peter looked at you softly, tilting his head to the side as he tutted.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked as you bit your lip. He moved towards his bedroom and motioned for you to follow him. When he stepped inside, he went to his dresser and dug around for a few moments before pulling out a big cardboard box. You watched with rapt attention as he took off the lid and poured the contents out on the bed. It was a large pile of photo strips, receipts, notes, and other silly little trinkets, “I have kept every silly note, every set of photobooth pictures, every receipt from anything important or special that we’ve done in the last decade.”

“Oh,” your eyes started to sting with tears as you looked at everything. You reached for a strip of photos - the first ones you’d taken together - and looked them over. It was the two of you, about nine years younger, making silly poses. Except in the last photo; you were making a silly face but Peter wasn’t. He was looking right at you with that same expression he’d always had just for you. Just for you. You looked at him and found him watching you intently, his cheeks tinged with a pretty shade of pink. It was like everything suddenly clicked in your mind, “oh. Peter…”

“It’s been a long time Bee,” his voice was so soft and low, “all this time, I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”

“You never…” you sifted through the other photos and gathered them all up, looking through them. Fuck, you were an idiot. Every single time there was that look, “you never said anything.”

“No,” he admitted, “I was sure you’d get there eventually, and I’d always be here.”

“But at the party,” you felt even more stupid now; he had basically when telling the same thing then but you just didn’t want to believe that it could be true, “you said something.”

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. You’re so beautiful,” he watched the smile on your face grow as you looked at some of the silly post-it notes the two of you had exchanged when you still worked at the same lab, “I never can. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Wait,” you sat at the edge of the bed, clutching one of the notes tightly in your hand, “can you just…spell it out for me? I-I don’t know if my brain is working properly right now.”

“Bee,” he crouched down in front of you, large hands settling on your thighs, “I love you. Not just as a best friend, but as everything. I want everything, but only if it’s with you.”

You put one of your hands on his and gave it a gentle squeeze, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” he turned your hand over and traced a finger along the heart and life lines on your palm, “I’m in love with you.”

“Peter.”

“I was wondering when you were going to catch up,” he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to your palm, “MJ’s been trying to get me to tell you for a long time.”

“This whole time?” he nodded as you looked at him with a most ardent and loving expression, “when did you know?”

“It was at that first fair we went that summer after we met,” you remembered that day so clearly. From the sounds and the smells to what the two of you were wearing, to all the whispered conversations and longing looks, “you were wearing that pretty sundress - the yellow one with the little daisies on it - and I almost lost it. I think I knew that night. I really wanted to kiss you then.”

“I wanted you to kiss me then too,” you admitted sheepishly, feeling your entire face warm up, “it was that New Years Eve for me. You took me ice skating and I really wanted to hold your hand so I pretended to be super bad at skating. When it was midnight and kissed my cheek, I knew it was always going to be you for me.”

“I knew you were faking,” he laughed softly, eyes sparkling with happiness, “but I really liked holding your hand and didn’t want to let go. I’ve taken every and any excuse over the years to hold your hand or touch you.”

“I’m…I’m scared, Peter,” you couldn’t imagine a life without him. He was the biggest part of your heart, “what if something happens and we can’t be friends anymore? I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”

“I promise you that you are never going to lose me,” you hoped it was true; you desperately wanted it to be true, “not as Spider-Man and not as plain old Peter. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Pinky promise?” you held up your other hand and extended your pinky towards his. He hooked his finger around yours without hesitation.

“Pinky promise,” he repeated, “and you know the pink promise is law. No one can break them. It’s for life.”

“What if you start to hate me?” that would be your worst fear, “if we start dating or something.”

“I hate to break it to you, honey,” he plopped onto the floor and gently pulled and maneuvered you into his lap. Yeah…that might have become your new favorite spot, “we’ve basically already been dating. It’s really not going to change much. Just some…added benefits.”

And at that, you relaxed, allowing yourself to melt into his body, laughing softly as you rested your forehead on his shoulder, “I guess you’re right. But, Pete-”

“I’m sure,” he put his hand under your chin and turned your face up to his, “I always have been sure. It’s always going to be you.”

“Me too,” you took advantage of the moment and leaned up to steal a quick kiss from him, “I am sorry though, for ignoring you for the past couple of weeks. I was scared and then I didn’t know how to approach you after that.”

“I knew you were doing okay…ish,” he immediately knew what he was going to say next, “MJ kept me updated.”

“She’s going to kill me,” you sighed, “she’s been so mad at me for how I’ve been acting - not that I blame her. She told me to tell you how I felt. She told me it was just a small leap of faith.”

“I’m right here to catch you,” of course he was. He had been since the day he’d met you, “how do you feel, Bee? Tell me.”

“I’m in love with you, Peter Parker,” the smile on his face was beaming. It was enough to warm your heart a million times over, “I want you.”

“You have me.”

“I know,” you took his hand in yours and laced your fingers together. You’d held hands before but it felt so different this time around, “you have me too, you know.”

“I know,” he mirrored the actions with your other hands, “I’ve always known.”

“Hmm,” you closed your eyes and hummed in content, “will you kiss me again?”

“Gladly, Bee,” he brushed his nose against yours, “always.”

MJ was going to flip when she heard the news.

#f: marvel #tasm peter parker x reader

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demxters-recs · 3 months ago

Text

this was so freaking cute 🥰🥰🥰

Lessons in chemistry - Peter Parker

Synopsis: Your best friend Peter tries to teach you how to skateboard, but distractions occur.

AN: it's one in the morning, and I gave in to the delusions. They have taken me in as one of their own, and they said they would let me go if i posted this.

"You gotta trust me, okay?" Peter's got one foot on the skateboard, holding it steady as you stand a fair distance away, hesitant and unsure why you agreed to this particular day.

Peter had offered to teach you to skateboard, and while the offer seemed perfectly reasonable and fun at the time, being here now was an entirely different story. You were beyond clumsy and hopeless when it came to learning new things. Peter knew this, yet he seemed so certain you could do this one activity.

"I don't think this is a good idea, Peter." You're squinting as the sun beats down at you, and the concrete you stand on currently seems far too menacing to learn to skate on. Peter had originally offered to start you out on grass, but to do that you would have had to go somewhere more public to find some, being in new york and all, and you weren't fond of embarrassing yourself in front of more than just Peter.

"Just c'mere." Peter is waving you over to him, and the gentle smile on his lips is enough to bribe you closer.

"Okay, now give me your hands."

You do as you're told, and he gives your hands an encouraging squeeze.

"I'm holding the board steady. It shouldn't go anywhere when you get on, okay?" He's trying to make you feel better, but the anxiety within you picks apart his words.

"It shouldn't, but it might." You mumble, eyes down on the board, glaring harshly at its existence.

"Can you just trust me madame pessimism?" There's a humorous sigh that falls from him as you get up the courage to step on the board, and when you do, it seems okay.

"See? There you go. The first step is done." Peter squeezes your hand again, and you wobble a little on the board despite Peter keeping it from rolling away.

"Well, this was fun. Time to go home now." It comes off as a joke, but you're more than serious as Peter shakes his head.

"Give it a chance."

You look up at him, and you're oddly close. With your hands in his, it's almost as though you're about to dance under the old overpass at which you stand. "Okay, Parker, I trust you." You mean it, but that doesn't mean you're at all comfortable with what you're about to do. Part of you wishes you'd stayed home, while the other is glad to be here with Peter.

"I'm gonna take my foot away from the board now, okay? It's gonna roll a little, but I got you so don't worry."

"I'm worrying Peter."

He laughs. A beautiful laugh and a wonderful smile accompanying it before he begins the fated count down. "On three, one, two–" he lets the board free, and you don't move much, being on flat ground and all, but still the slight adjustment freaks you out just a little. Again, you sway on the board, and Peter holds you steady.

"I hate this so much." You whine, unable to contain the true depth of your feelings. The situation is so far out of your comfort zone that it feels as though your skin is crawling with you inside it.

"Well, it's not like I can tell or anything. I mean, you look like you're having a great time. You know, with the tense shoulders and genuine panic in your eyes, I would have assumed you were having fun or something." his sarcasm does little to ease you, but it's so truly Peter. So authentic to his person that you can almost imagine yourself standing on flat ground beside him, rather than supported by the wheels of his old and flimsy skateboard.

"Let's just get this over with." You try for a smile, but it's hard to do, every muscle in your body preoccupied with trying to stay as still as possible.

"We're gonna try and move now, just a little."

"Fuck."

"Yeah," Peter laughs "fuck."

And just like that, you're rolling along, heart beating quickly as Peter sends encouragements. You're stable for a few moments before you get into your head and feel yourself tilting backward. Letting go of his hands, you rush to grasp Peter's shoulders, his hands falling to your waist as he pulls you toward him and off the board.

"Woah, okay, that was a good first attempt."

You're gripping him tight, too tight, as the board rolls away from you both. Peter will go get it later, but for now he's with you.

"I almost died." You mutter, a death grip on Peter's jacket.

"You were fine." Peter chuckles, pulling you in for a hug. You accept it, despite the fact you're slightly upset with him for making you do this. And when you pull back, squinting up at him you lose all the stress from before.

Peter loses himself entirely, thinking things nowhere near the topic of skateboarding and closer to the topic of kissing.

"You did great... really great." Peter insists one hand running down your back as he tries to stop the thoughts racing through his head. He'd always liked you, as more than a friend. He'd always wanted to wake up beside you, hold your hand, take you to prom. He'd always wanted you.

He clears his throat, and you look away from him, almost disappointed.

"You want to try again?" He asks, trying to get back on track. You shake your head and look back to him, and in your eyes, he sees something different. A sort of confidence.

"What do I get if I do?" You're teasing him. He thinks you are, at least, but the mischief you're offering is tempting.

"What do you want?"

"A dinner date, somewhere where there's pasta." You answer, so sure of yourself, and Peter's brain freezes up.

"A date as in a date or...?" He sounds so stupid like this, and he realizes just how close he still is to you. Where his hands are placed softly on your hips and where your fingers hold fast to his shoulders.

"Whatever you want it to be, Peter. Now, if we have a deal, I would like to try again." You look to the direction the skateboard had gone and see it paused a small distance away, but you don't get to retrieve it. Before you can, Peter's hand comes up to your face, fingers placed gently on your jaw to turn your gaze back his way.

It's not what you expect from him, and in honesty, it's not what Peter expects from himself either but he leans in closer, pausing just long enough for you to pull away if you want to.

"Do it." You whisper, your breath brushing over his lips, as if painting the grin that spreads onto his face.

The kiss is gentle, his nose bumping awkwardly with yours as he leans closer, closing the gap. He can feel the heat in your cheeks when he places his hands there, thumb brushing over the skin as he breathes you in. Your fingers grip his shoulders harder now, moving up toward his neck to hold him closer, and there's something about the way you move with him so perfectly that makes him think this can't possibly be real. But it is, and when he pulls back for air, he examines your features, hoping for your reaction. You speak first, before he can.

"That was weird," you say, breaking his heart a little. "But in a good way. I'd like to try it again sometime, if that's okay with you?" You mend the break easily, and soon he's grinning again, one hand finding it's way into your hair.

"It's definitely okay with me." Peter mumbles, eyes drifting back down to your lips in anticipation.

"Should I book a time with your secretary for our next appointment?" Your head tilts to the side as you watch every expression that crosses his face. He's beautiful, definitely, and his heart is yours.

"As a matter of fact, I have an hour or two free right now. I was skateboarding with this girl I really like, but I think her mind is wandering elsewhere."

You smack him hard on the arm, but before you can remark anything back, he's kissing you again, sending you into a blissful silence.

You're learning very little about skateboarding, but it seems your time is well spent anyway. Peter doesn't care how long he's here for, and he'll forget his skateboard under the overpass in favor of walking you home. He'll hold your hand the whole way there and kiss you goodbye on the doorstep before he leaves. He'll have everything he's ever wanted by the end of the day, skateboard or not, and that's more than okay with him.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @heliads @candywh0r3 @hiya-itsamber @s00buwu

MARVEL GENERAL: @5kyyyy

TASM PETER PARKER: @arignipanja574 @winter-soldier-vibes

#f: marvel #tasm peter parker x reader

655 notes · View notes

demxters-recs · 4 months ago

Text

screaming, crying, throwing up this was the sweetest thing ever

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧

Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k]

c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isn’t good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

Fall

Peter Parker is a resting place for overworked eyes, like warm topaz nestled against a blue-cold city. He waits on you with his eyes to the screen of his phone, clicking the power button repetitively. A nervous tic.

You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet he’s heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand.

“Good morning!” You pull your coat on quickly. “Sorry.”

“Good morning,” he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. “Should we go?”

You follow Peter out of the cul-de-sac and into the street as he drops his phone into a deep pocket. To his credit, he doesn’t check it while you walk, and only glances at it when you’re taking your coat off in the heat of your favourite cafe: The Moroccan Mode glows around you, fog kissing the windows, condensation running down the inner lengths of it in beads. You murmur something to do with the odd fog and Peter tells you about water vapour. When it rains tonight, he says it’ll be warm water that falls.

He spreads his textbook, notebook, and rinky-dink laptop out across the table while you order drinks. Peter has the same thing every visit, a decaf americano, in a wide brim mug with the pink-petal saucer. You put it down on his textbook only because that’s where he would put it himself, and you both get to work.

As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and can’t help wondering what it is that’s missing. Something is, something Peter won’t tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, he’s busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could.

Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. “I wish I had more time,” he says.

“It’s fine,” you say, “you can’t help it.”

“We’ll do something next weekend,” he says. The lie slips out easily.

To Peter it isn’t a lie. In his head, he’ll find the time for you again, and you’ll be friends like you used to be.

You press the end of your pencil into your cheek, the dark roast, white paper and condensation like grey noise. This time last year, the air had been thick for days with fog you could cut. He took you on a trip to Manhattan, less than an hour from your red-brick neighbourhood, and you spent the day in a hotel pool throwing great cupfuls of water at each other. The fog was gone just fifteen miles away from home but the warm air stayed. When it rained it was sudden, strange, spit-warm splashes of it hammering the tops of your heads, your cheeks as you tipped your faces back to spy the dark clouds.

Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere you’d never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet.

You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip.

He feels you watching and meets your eyes. “I have to tell you something,” he says, smiling shyly.

“Sure.”

“I signed us up for that club.”

“Epigenetics?”

“Molecular medicine,” he says.

The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. It’s still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. It’s gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peter’s bag and sort through his jumble of possessions —stick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodega’s worth of protein bars— and grab his camera.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,” you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder.

“Technically, I signed us up a few days ago,” he says.

You snap his photo as his mouth closes around ‘ago’, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. “Semantics,” you murmur. “And molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?”

“It has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.”

“I like oncology,” you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, “and I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.”

“I can’t go without you,” he says. Simple as that.

He knew you’d say yes when he signed you up. It’s why he didn’t ask. You’re already forgiven him for the slight of assumption.

“When is it?” you ask, smiling.

—

Molecular medicine club is fun. You and a handful of ESU nerds gather around a big table in a private study room for a few hours and read about the newer discoveries and top research, like regenerative science and now taboo Oscorp research. It’s boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going.

He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks you’re not looking. Only when she isn’t either.

—

“Good morning,” you say.

Peter holds an umbrella over his head that he’s quick to share with you, and together you walk with heads craned down, the umbrella angled forward to fight the wind. Your outermost shoulder is wet when you reach the café, your other warm from being pressed against him. You shake the umbrella off outside the door and step onto a cushy, amber doormat to dry your sneakers. Peter stalks ahead and order the drinks, eager to get warm, so you look for a table. Your usual is full of businessmen drinking flat whites with briefcases at their legs. They laugh. You try to picture Peter in a suit: you’re still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back.

“Tell the joke,” he says, slamming his coffee down. He’s careful with yours. He’s given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers.

“I was thinking about you as a businessman.”

“And that’s funny?”

“When was the last time you wore a suit?”

Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesn’t know. Later, you’ll remember his Uncle Ben’s funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you don’t remember yet. “When was the last time you wore one?” he asks. “I don’t laugh at you.”

“You’re always laughing at me, Parker.”

The cafe isn’t as warm today. It’s wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. There’s no fog but a sad rattle of rain, not enough to make noise against the windows, but enough to watch as it falls in lazy rivulets down the lengths of them.

Your face is chapped with the cold, cheeks quickly come to heat as your fingers curl around your mug. They tingle with newfound warmth. When you raise your mug to your lips, your hand hardly shakes.

“You okay?” Peter asks.

“Fine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?”

“Don’t think so. Did you ask nicely?”

“I did.” You’d called him last night. You would’ve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it —you don’t want Peter’s help, you just wanted to see him.

Looking at him now, you remember why his distance had felt a little easier. The rain tangles in his hair, damp strands curling across his forehead, his eyes dark and outfitted by darker eyelashes. Peter has the looks of someone you’ve seen before, a classical set to his nose and eyes reminiscent of that fallen angel weeping behind his arm, his russet hair in fiery disarray. There was an anger to Peter after Ben died that you didn’t recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didn’t matter —he was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice again— until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears.

His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like he’s up late. If he is, it isn’t to talk to you.

You spend an afternoon working through your equations, pretending to understand until Peter explains them to death. His earphones fall out of his pocket and he says, “Here, I’ll show you a song.”

He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Should’ve Come Over. It feels like Peter’s trying to tell you something —he isn’t, but it feels like wishing he would.

“You okay?” you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less.

“I’m fine, why?”

You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. “You look tired, that’s all. Are you sleeping?”

“I have too much to do.”

You just don’t get it. “Make sure you’re eating properly. Okay?”

His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest you’ll ever get. “You know May,” he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, “she wouldn’t let me go hungry. Don’t worry about me.”

—

The dip into depression you take is predictable. You can’t help it. Peter being gone makes it worse.

You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when it’s dark and you know it’s a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New York’s not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You can’t count how many times you’ve heard the same story. A man followed me home, saw me across the street, tried to get into my apartment, but Spider-Man saved me.

You’re not naive, you realise the danger of walking around without protection assuming some stranger in a mask will save you, but you need to get out of the house. It goes on for weeks.

You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you don’t really care. You’re not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and it’s fine, really, it’s okay, everything works out eventually. It’s not like it’s all because you miss Peter, it’s just a feeling. It’ll go away.

“You’re in deep thought,” a voice says, garnering a huge flinch from the depths of your stomach.

You turn around, turn back, and flinch again at the sight of a man a few paces ahead. Red shoulders and legs, black shining in a webbed lattice across his chest. “Oh,” you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, “sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? I scared you.”

“I didn’t realise you were there.”

Spider-Man doesn’t come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. You’ve never met before but you’d like to see him up close, and you aren’t scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival.

“Can I walk you to where you’re going?” Spider-Man asks you. He’s humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot.

“How do I know you’re the real Spider-Man?”

After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldn’t want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible.

You can’t be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. “What do you need me to do to prove it?” he asks.

He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. “I don’t know. What’s Spider-Man exclusive?”

“I can show you the webs?”

You pull your handbag further up your arm. “Okay, sure. Shoot something.”

Spider-Man aims his hand at the streetlight across the way and shoots it. He makes a severing motion with his wrist to stop from getting pulled along by it, letting the web fall like an alien tendril from the bulb. The light it produces dims slightly. A chill rides your spine.

“Can I walk you now?” he asks.

“You don’t have more important things to do?” If the bitterness you’re feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesn’t react.

“Nothing more important than you.”

You laugh despite yourself. “I’m going to Trader Joe’s.”

“Yellowstone Boulevard?”

“That’s the one…”

You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. It’s a short walk. Trader Joe’s will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and you’re in no hurry. “My friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.”

“And you’re going just for him?” Spider-Man asks.

“Not really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.”

“Do you always walk around by yourself? It’s late. It’s dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,” he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match.

“I like walking,” you say.

Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, he’s running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. You’re having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man you’re walking beside now.

”Is everything okay?” he asks. “You seem sad.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Maybe I am sad,” you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joe’s already in view. It really is a short walk. “Do you ever–” You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, “Do you ever feel like you’re alone?”

“I’m not alone,” he says carefully.

“Me neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.”

He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking you’re being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world,” he says. “Even here. I forget that it’s not something I invented.”

“Well, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?” You smile sympathetically. “It must be hard.”

“Yeah.” His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then there’s a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. “I’ll come back,” he says.

“That’s okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.”

He sprints away. In half a second he’s up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away.

You buy Peter’s chips at Trader Joe’s and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesn’t come back.

—

I don’t want to study today, Peter’s text says the next day. Come over and watch movies?

The last handholds of your fugue are washed away in the shower. You dab moisturiser onto your face and neck and stand by the open window to help it dry faster, taking in the light drizzle of rain, the smell of it filling your room and your lungs in cold gales. You dress in sweatpants and a hoodie, throw on your coat, and stuff the rolled tortilla chips into a backpack to ferry across the neighbourhood.

Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. You’d been in awe of it when you were younger, Peter and his Aunt and Uncle, their home-cooked family dinners, nights spent on the roof trying to find constellations through light pollution, stretched out together while it was warm enough to soak in your small rebellion. Ben would call you both down eventually. When you’re older! he’d always promise.

Peter’s waiting in the open door for you. He ushers you inside excitedly, stripping you out of your coat and forgetting your wet shoes as he drags you to the kitchen. “Look what I got,” he says.

The Parker kitchen is a big, bright space with a chopping block island. The counters are crowded by pots, pans, spices, jams, coffee grounds, the impossible drying rack. There’s a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida.

You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven you’ve eaten from a hundred times. “There,” he says.

“Did you cook?” you ask.

“Of course I didn’t cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. I’m an excellent chef.”

“The only thing May’s ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Hope you like marinara,” he says, nudging you toward the stove.

You take the lid off of the Dutch oven to unveil a huge cake. Dripping with frosting, only slightly squashed by the lid, obviously homemade. He’s dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries.

“It’s for you,” he says casually.

“It’s not my birthday.”

“I know. You like cake though, don’t you?”

You’d tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. “Why’d you make me a cake?”

“I felt like you deserved a cake. You don’t want it?”

“No, I want it! I want the cake, let’s have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, it’ll be amazing.” You don’t bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. “Thank you, Peter. It’s awesome. I had no idea you could even– that you’d even–” You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. “Wow.”

“Wow,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. “You’re welcome. I would’ve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.”

“It must’ve taken hours.”

“May helped.”

“That makes much more sense.”

“Don’t be insolent.” Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesn’t let go for a really long time.

He extracts the cake from the depths of the Dutch oven and cuts you both a slice. He already has ice cream, a Neapolitan box that he cuts into with a serrated knife so you can each have a slice of all three flavours. It’s good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.

“Sit down,” he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. “Remote’s by you. I’m gonna get drinks.”

You take your plate, carving into the cake with the end of a warped spoon, its handle stamped PETE and burnished in your grasp. The crumb is soft but dense in the best way. The ganache between layers is loose, cake wet with it, and the frosting is perfect, just messy. You take another satisfied bite. You’re halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back.

“I brought you something too, but it’s garbage compared to this,” you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth.

Peter laughs at you. “Yeah, well, say it, don’t spray it.”

“I guess I’ll keep it.”

“Keep it, bub, I don’t need anything from you.”

He doesn’t say it the way you’re expecting. “No,” you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, “you can have it. S’just a bag of chips from Trader–”

“The rolled tortilla chips?” he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. “You really are the best friend ever.”

“Better than Harry?”

“Harry’s rich,” Peter says, “so no. I’m kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.”

“Eat your own.”

Peter plays a great host, letting you choose the movies, making lunch, ordering takeout in the evening and refusing to let you pay for it. This isn’t that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesn’t check his phone, the tension you couldn’t name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. You’re flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You won’t look a gift horse in the mouth; you won’t question what it is that had Peter keeping you at arm’s length now it’s gone.

To your annoyance, you can’t stop thinking about Spider-Man. You keep opening your mouth to tell Peter you talked to him but biting your tongue. Why am I keeping it a secret? you wonder.

“Have something to tell you.”

“You do?” you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw.

“Is that surprising?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No. Just. I’ve been not telling you something.”

“Okay, so tell me.”

Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. “Me and Gwen, we’re really done.”

“I know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.” Your stomach pangs painfully. “Unless you…”

“She’s going to England.”

“She is?”

“Oxford.”

You struggle to sit up. “That sucks, Peter. I’m sorry.”

“But?”

You find your words carefully. “You and Gwen really liked each other, but I think that–” You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. “That there’s always been some part of you that couldn’t actually commit to her. So. I don’t know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe it’ll break your heart, but at least then you’ll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.” You avoid telling him to move on.

“It wasn’t Gwen,” he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you.

“Obviously, she’s the smartest girl I’ve ever met. She’s beautiful. Of course it’s not her fault,” you say, teasing.

“Really, that you ever met?” Peter asks.

“She’s the best girl you were ever gonna land.“

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.” After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, “I think we were done before. I just hadn’t figured it out yet. Something wasn’t right.”

“You were so back and forth. You’re not mean, there must’ve been something stopping you from going steady,” you agree. “You were breaking up every other week.”

“I know,” he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch.

“Which, it’s fine, you don’t–” You grimace. “I can’t talk today. Sorry. I just mean that it’s alright that you never made it work.” You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, “Doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re never a bad person, Peter.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You don’t need me to tell you.”

“It’s nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.”

You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I should’ve said it the moment I got home.

Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips.

Good, because I have so much I’m keeping to myself.

You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned.

—

He visits with a whoop. You don’t flinch when he lands —you’d heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby.

“Spider-Man,” you say.

“What’s that about?”

“What?”

“The way you said that. You laughed.” Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. He’s got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but it’s not as though each of his fights are bloodless. They’re infamously gory on occasion.

“Did you get hurt?” you ask. You’re worried. You could help him, if he needs it.

“Aw, this? That’s a scratch. That’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.”

You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and it’s not like you and Peter made it up, but suddenly, the man in front of you is Peter. The way he says it, that unique rhythm.

Peter’s not so rough-voiced, you argue with yourself. Your Peter speaks in a higher register, dulcet often, only occasionally sarcastic. Spider-Man is rough, and cawing, and loud. Spider-Man acts as though the ground is a suggestion. Peter can’t jump off the second diving board at the pool. Spider-Man rolls his shoulders back in front of you with a confidence Peter rarely has.

“What?” he asks.

“Sorry. You just reminded me of someone.”

His voice falls deeper still. “Someone handsome, I hope.”

You take a small step around him, hoping it invites him to walk along while communicating how sorely you want to leave the subject behind. When he doesn’t follow, you add, “Yes, he’s handsome.”

“I knew it.”

“What do you look like under the mask?”

Spider-Man laughs boisterously. “I can’t just tell you that.”

“No? Do I have to earn it?”

“It’s not like that. I just don’t tell anyone, ever.”

“Nobody in the whole world?” you ask.

The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps that’s all November’s are destined to be. You and Spider-Man stick to the inside of the sidewalk. Occasionally, a passerby stares at him, or calls out in Hello, and Spider-Man waves but doesn’t part from you.

“Tell me something about you and I’ll tell you something about me,” Spider-Man says. “I’ll tell you who knows my identity.”

“What do you want to know about me?” you ask, surprised.

“A secret. That’s fair.”

“Hold on, how’s that fair?” You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. “What use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesn’t bring me any closer to the truth.”

“It’s not about who knows, it’s about why I told them.” Spider-Man slips around you, forcing you to walk on the inside of the sidewalk as a car pulls past you all too quickly and sends a sheet of dirty rainwater up Spider-Man’s side. He shakes himself off. “Jerk!” he shouts after the car.

“My secrets aren’t worth anything.”

“I doubt that, but if that’s true, that makes it a fair trade, doesn’t it?”

He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, “Alright, useless secret for a useless secret.”

You think about all your secrets. Some are odd, some gross. Some might make the people around you think less of you, while others would surely paint you in a nice light. A topaz sort of technicolor. But they aren’t useless, then, so you move on.

“Oh, I know. I hate my major.” You grin at Spider-Man. “That’s a good one, right? No one else knows about that.”

“You do?” Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy.

“I like science, I just hate math. It’s harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.”

Spider-Man doesn’t drag the knife. “Okay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.” He clears his throat. “I told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. I’m trying really hard not to tell anybody else.”

“How come?”

“It just hurts people.”

You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road.

“Tell me another one,” he says.

“What for?”

“I don’t know, just tell me one.”

“How do I know you aren’t extorting me for something?” You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. “You’ll know my face and my secrets and even if you tell me a really gory juicy one, I have no one to tell and no name to pair it with.”

“I’m not showing you anything,” he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street.

Peter’s shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesn’t ask for secrets. He doesn’t have to. (Or, he didn’t have to, once upon a time.)

“Where are you going?” Spider-Man asks.

“Oh, nowhere.”

“Seriously, you’re out here walking again for no reason?”

“I like to walk. It’s not like it’s dark out yet.” You’re not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden —Flushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. “Walk me to Kissena?” you ask.

“Sure, for that secret.”

You laugh as Spider-Man takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. It’s exciting that Spider-Man of all people wants to know one of your useless secrets enough to ask you twice. The attention of it makes searching for one a matter of how fast you can find one rather than a question of why you’d want to. It slips out before you can think better of it.

“I burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,” you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. “It blistered and I cried when I did it, but I haven’t told anyone about it.”

“Why not?” he asks.

He shouldn’t use that tone with you, like he’s so so sorry. It makes you want to really tell him everything. How insecure you feel, how telling things feels like asking for someone to care, and half the time they don’t, and half the time you’re embarrassed.

You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. “I didn’t think about it at first. I’m used to keeping things to myself. And then I didn’t tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldn’t make sense. Like, bringing it up when it’s a scar won’t do much.” It’s a weak lie. It comes out like a spigot to a drying up tree. Glugs, fat beads of sound and the pull to find another thing to say.

“It was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.”

“Maybe I’ll tell someone tomorrow,” you say, though you won’t.

“Thanks for telling me.”

The humour in spilling a secret like that to a superhero stops you from feeling sorry for yourself. You hide your cold fingers in your coat, rubbing the stiff skin of your knuckles into the lining for friction-heat. The rain has let up, wind whipping empty but brisk against your cheeks. Your lips will be chapped when you get home, whenever that turns out to be.

“This is pretty far from Trader Joe’s,” he comments, like he’s read your mind.

“Just an hour.”

“Are you kidding? It’s an hour for me.”

“That’s not true, Spider-Man, I’ve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,” —you try to meet his eyes despite the mask— “my heart in my throat. Weren’t you scared?”

“Is that the secret you want?” he asks.

“I get to choose?”

Spider-Man throws his gaze around, his hand behind his head like he might play with his hair. You come to a natural stop across the street from Kissena Park’s playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame.

“If you want to,” he says.

“Then yeah, I want to know if you were scared.”

“I didn’t haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?” He shifts from one foot to the other. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it before. I wasn’t scared of the height, if that’s what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didn’t have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.”

“When they lined up the cranes–”

“It felt like flying,” Spider-Man interrupts.

“Like flying.”

You picture the weightlessness, the adrenaline, the catch of your weight so high up and the pressure of being flung between the next point. The idea that you have to just do something, so you do.

“That’s a good secret.” You offer a grateful smile. “It doesn’t feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.”

“So tell me another one,” he says.

—

Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where you’d text him and he’d ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasn’t that you couldn’t like him, angry as he was; there’s always been something about his eyes when he’s upset that sticks around. You loathe to see him sad but he really is pretty, and when his eyelashes are wet and his mouth is turned down, formidable, it’s an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other.

It was after. When he started sending Gwen weird smiles and showing up to the movies exhilarated, out of breath, unwilling to tell you where he’d been. Skating, he’d always say. Most of the time he didn’t have his skateboard.

You’d only seen them kiss once, his hand on her shoulder curling her in, a pang of heat. You were curdled by jealousy but it was more than that. Peter was tipping her head back, was kissing her soundly, a fierceness from him that made you sick to think about. You spent weeks afterwards up at night, tossing, turning, wishing he’d kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person.

You’d always held out for Peter, in a way. It was more important to you that he be your friend. You were young, and love had been a far off thing, and then one day you suddenly wanted it. You learned just how aching an unrequited love could be, like a bruise, where every time you saw Peter —whether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyone— it was like he knew exactly where to poke the bruise. Press the heel of his hand and push. The worst is when he found himself affectionate with you, a quick clasp of your cheek in his palm as he said goodbye. Nights spent in his twin bed, of course you’ll fit, of course you couldn’t go home, not this late, May won’t care if we keep the door open —the suggestion that the door being closed might’ve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you.

Now you’re nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasn’t tried to stop her, but he’s still busy.

“Whatever,“ you say, taking a deep breath. You’re not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time won’t change a thing. “It’s fine.”

“I’d hope so.”

You swing around. “Don’t do that!”

Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. “I called out.”

“You did?”

“I did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesn’t know how to get a goddamn taxi!”

“I like to walk,” you say.

“Yeah, so you’ve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? It’s freezing out, Miss Bennett!”

“It’s not that bad.” You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. “I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong with staying at home?”

“That’s not good for you. And you’re one to talk, Spider-Man, aren’t you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.”

“I don’t do this every night.”

“Don’t you get tired?”

Spider-Man’s eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. “No, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?”

“I don’t know. You’re in a full suit, I can’t tell. I guess you don’t… seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.”

“Want me to do one?”

“On command?” You laugh. “No, that’s okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.”

“So where are you heading today?” he asks.

There’s a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. You’re surprised he can’t feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. “I can see your stubble.”

He yanks his mask down. “Hasty getaway.”

“A getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, that’s not very gentlemanly.”

You start to walk toward the Cinemart. Spider-Man, to your strange pleasure, follows. He walks with considerable casualness down the sidewalk by your left, occasionally letting his head turn to chase a distant sound where it echoes from between high-rises and along the busy street. It’s cold and dark, but New York is hectic no matter what, even the residential areas. (Is there such a thing? The neighbourhoods burst with small businesses and backstreet sales, no matter the time.)

“Luckily for you, crime is slow tonight,” he says.

“Lucky me?” You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. “You realise I’ve managed to get everywhere I’m going for the last two decades without help?”

“I assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.”

“That’s what you think. I was a super independent toddler.”

Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. “Sure you were.”

“Is there a reason you’re escorting me, Spider-Man?” you ask.

“No. I– I recognised you, I thought I’d say hi.”

“Hi, Spider-Man.”

“Hi.”

“Can I ask you something? Do you work?”

Spider-Man stammers again, “I– yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.”

“I was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.” You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. “I couldn’t do what you do.”

“Yeah, you could.”

He sounds sure.

“How would you know?” you ask. “Maybe I’m awful when you’re not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.”

“No, you don’t. You’re not awful. Don’t ask me how I know, ‘cos I just know.”

You try not to look at him. If you look at him, you’re gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. “Well, tonight I’m going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said he’d buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Benny’s. Have you tried that?”

Spider-Man takes a big step. “Tonight?” he asks.

“Yep, tonight. That’s where I’m going, the Cinemart.” You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. “Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna throw up.”

“I can hear– something. Someone’s crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?” He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. “Bye!” he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof.

Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. He’s lithe.

Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than you’d agreed to meet.

“Sorry!” he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. “God, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. You should beat me up. I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck happened?” you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. “You’re sweating like crazy, your hair’s wet.”

“I ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Don’t answer that. Fuck, do we have time?”

You usher Peter inside. He pays for the tickets with hands shaking and you attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve. “You could’ve called me,” you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, “we could’ve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?”

“Forget about my favourite girl? How could I?” He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. “Now shh,” he whispers, “find the seats, don’t miss the trailers. You love them.”

“You love them–”

“I’ll get popcorn,” he promises, letting the door close between you.

You’re tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle.

You turn away and rush to find your seats. Hopefully, the popcorn line is ten blocks long, and he spends the night punished for his wrongdoing. My favourite girl. You laugh nervously into your hand.

—

Winter

Spider-Man finds you at least once a week for the next few weeks. He even brings you an umbrella one time, stars on the handle, asking you rather politely to go home. He offers to buy you a hot dog as you’re walking past the stand, takes you on a shortcut to the convenience store, and helps you get a piece of gum off of your shoe with a leaf and a scared scream. He’s friendly, and you’re getting used to his company.

One night, you’re almost home from Trader Joe’s, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, “Hey! Running girl! Wait a second!”

Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You don’t know his name, but Spider-Man’s a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.

He jogs toward you.

You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you.

“Hey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?”

You blink as fat rain lands on your face.

“You okay?” Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. It’s sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s go,” —he takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside him— “it’s freezing!”

“Peter–”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Peter, what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building.

Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly.

“I wanted to see you. Is that allowed?”

“No.”

Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. “No?” he asks, a hair’s width from murmuring.

“Shit, my groceries are soaked.”

“It’s all snacks, it’s fine,” he says, pulling you to the stairs.

You rush up the steps together to your floor. Peter takes your key when you offer it, your own fingers too stiff to manage it by yourself, and he holds the door open for you again to let you in.

Your apartment is a ragtag assortment to match the one next door, old wooden furniture wheeled from the street corners they were left on, thrifted homeward and heavy blankets everywhere you look. You almost slip getting out of your shoes. Peter steadies you with a firm hand. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook, prying the damp hoodie over his head and exposing a solid length of back that trips your heart as you do the same.

“Sorry I didn’t ask,” Peter says.

“What, to come over? It’s fine. I like you being here, you know that.”

All your favourite days were spent here or at Peter’s house, in beds, on sofas, his hair tickling your neck as credits run down the TV and his breath evens to a light snore. You try to settle down with him, changing into dry clothes, his spare stuff left at the bottom of your wardrobe for his next inevitable impromptu visit. You turn on the TV, letting him gather you into his side with more familiarity than ever. Rain lays its fingertips on your window and draws lazy lines behind half-turned blinds. You rest on the arm and watch Peter watch the movie, answering his occasional, “You okay?” with a meagre nod.

“What’s wrong?” he asks eventually. “You’re so quiet.”

Your hand over your mouth, you part your marriage and pinky finger, marriage at the corner, pinky pressed to your bottom lip, the flesh chapped by a season of frigid winds and long walks. “‘M thinking,” you say.

“About?”

About the first night in your new apartment. You got the apartment a couple of weeks before the start of ESU. Not particularly close to the university but close to Peter, your best, nicest friend. You met in your second year of High School, before Peter got contacts, ‘cos he was good at taking photographs and you were in charge of the school newspapers media sourcing. You used to wait for Peter to show up ten minutes late like clockwork, every week. And every week he’d barge into the club room and say, “Fuck, I’m sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,” until it turned into its own joke.

Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited.

“Fuck,” he’d said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, “sorry. My last class is on–”

But he didn’t finish. You’d laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasn’t about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you.

But Peter’s been distant for a while now, because Peter’s Spider-Man.

“Do you remember,” you say, not willing to share the whole truth, “when you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?”

“So you didn’t need me,” he says.

“I was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.”

Peter holds your gaze. “Is that really what you were thinking about?”

“Just funny,” you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. “So much has changed.”

“Not that much.”

“Not for me, no.”

Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. He’s found a crack in you and he’s gonna smooth it over until you feel better. You’re expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but you’re not expecting the way he pulls you in —you’d slipped away from him as the evening went on, but Peter erases every millimetre of space as he slides his arm under your lower back and ushers you into his side. You hold your breath as he hugs you, as he looks down at you. It’s really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. He’s never looked at you like this before.

“I don’t want you to change,” he whispers.

“I want to catch up with you,” you whisper back.

“Catch up with me? We’re in the exact same place, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. “Of course we are.”

Peter… What is he doing?

You let yourself relax against him.

“You do change,” he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, “you change every day, but you don’t need to try.”

“I just… feel like everyone around me is…” You shake your head. “Everyone’s so smart, and they know what they’re doing, or they’re– they’re special. I don’t know anything. So I guess lately I’ve been thinking about that, and then you–”

“What?”

You can say it out loud. You could.

“Peter, you’re…”

“I’m what?” he asks.

His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again.

If you're wrong, he’ll laugh. And if you’re right, he might– might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like it’s gonna put you to sleep.

He’s Spider-Man.

It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course it’s Peter. It explains so much about him, about Peter and Spider-Man both. Why Peter is suddenly firmer, lighter on his feet, why he can help you move a wardrobe up two flights of stairs without complaint; why Spider-Man is so kind to you, why he knows where to find you, why he rolls his words around just like Pete.

Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesn’t tell you much, but you trust him.

You won’t make him say anything, you decide. Not now.

You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter.

“I was thinking about you,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“You’re quieter lately. I know you’re having a hard time right now, okay? You don’t have to tell me. I’m here for you whenever you need me.”

“Yeah?” you ask.

“You used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldn’t be home to make sure I wasn’t alone.” Peter’s breath is warm on your forehead. “I don’t know what you’re worried about being, but I’m with you,” he says, “‘n nothing is gonna change that.”

Peter isn’t as far away as you thought.

“Thank you,” you say.

He kisses your forehead softly. Your whole world goes amber. He brings his hand to your cheek, the thought of him tipping your head back sudden and heart-racing, but Peter only holds you. You lose count of how many minutes you spend cupped in his hand.

“Can I stay over tonight?” he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain.

“Yeah, please.”

His thumb strokes your cheek.

—

Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as you’ve craved, and Spider-Man disappears.

He’s alive and well, as evidenced by Peter’s continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesn’t drop in on your nightly walks.

You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peter’s increasing affection, but now that you know he’s Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you would’ve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know he’d do to you. After all, he’s been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parker’s ears.

You find it hard to be angry with him. A thread of it remains whenever you remember his deception, but mostly you worry about him. Peter’s out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesn’t seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connors’ and got that huge gash in his leg. His leg is soiled deep red with blood but banded in white webbing. He limps as he races across a rooftop, the recording shaky yet high definition.

It’s not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what he’d said, how he wasn’t scared, but not being scared doesn’t mean he wasn’t hurting.

You chew the tip of a finger and click on a different video. Your computer monitor bears heat, the tower whirring by your thigh. Your eyes burn, another hour sitting in the same seat, sick with worry. You don’t mind when Peter doesn’t answer your texts anymore. You didn’t mind so much before, just terrified of becoming an irrelevance in his life and lonely, too, maybe a little hurt, but never worried for his safety. Now when Peter doesn’t text you back you convince yourself that he’s been hurt, or that he’s swinging across New York City about to risk his life.

It’s not a good way to live. You can’t stop giving into it, is all.

In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesn’t lift his mask, seemingly aware of his watcher. You laugh as he angles his head down, suspicion in his tight shoulders. He relaxes when he sees whoever it is recording.

“Hey,” he says, “you all right?”

“Should you be up there?” the person recording shouts.

“I’m fine up here!”

“Are you really Spider-Man?”

“Sure am.”

“Are you single?”

Peter laughs like crazy. How you didn’t know it was him before is a mystery —it couldn’t sound more like him. “I’ve got my eye on someone!” he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when he’s Spider-Man lost to a good mood.

Your phone rings in the back pocket of your jeans. You wriggle it out, nonplussed to find Peter himself on your screen. You click the green answer button.

“Hello?” Peter asks.

You bring the phone snug to your ear. “Hey, Peter.”

“Hi, are you busy?”

“Not really.”

“Do you wanna come over? I know it’s late. Come stay the night and tomorrow we’ll go out for breakfast.”

“Is Aunt May okay with that?”

“She’s staring at me right now shaking her head, but I’m in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?”

“She’s always allowed as long as you keep the door open.”

You laugh under your breath at May’s begrudging answer. “Are you sure she’s alright with it?” you ask softly. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You never, ever could be. I’m coming to your place and we’ll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?”

“Not yet, but–”

“Okay, I’ll make you something when you get here. I’ll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?”

“I have to shower first.”

“Twenty five?”

You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing you’re not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. “How about I’ll see you at seven?”

“It’s a date,” he says.

“Mm, put it in your calendar, Parker.”

—

Peter waits for you at the door like he promised. He frowns at your still-wet face as he slips your backpack from your shoulder, throwing it over his own. “You’re gonna get sick.”

“I‘ll dry fast,” you say. “I took too long finding my pyjamas.”

“I have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.” Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. “I would’ve waited,” he says.

“It’s fine.“

“It’s not fine. Are you cold?”

“Pete, it’s fine.”

“You always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,” he laughs, “super stern.”

“I’m not stern. Look, take me home, please, I’m cold.”

“You said it wasn’t cold!”

“It’s not, I’m just damp–” Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. “Handsy!”

“You like it,” he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments.

“I don’t like it,” you lie.

“Okay, you don’t like it, and I’m sorry.” Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. “Now let’s go. I gotta feed you before midnight.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Apparently, nothing is.”

Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, you’ve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands.

“I see Peter hasn’t won this argument yet,” you say in way of greeting. Peter’s desperate to do his own laundry now he’s getting older. May won’t let him.

“No, he hasn’t.” She looks you up and down. “It’s nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me you’ve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Can’t you buy a treadmill?” she asks.

“May!” Peter says, startled.

“I like walking, I like the air,” you say.

“Can’t exactly call it fresh,” May says.

“No, but it’s alright. It helps me think.”

“Is everything okay?” May asks, putting her hand on her hip.

“Of course.” You smile at her genuinely. “I think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I don’t know what Peter told you, but I’m not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.”

She softens her disapproving. “Good, honey. That’s good. Peter’s gonna make you some dinner now, right?”

“Yeah, Aunt May, I’m gonna make dinner,” Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes.

Peter shouldn’t really know that you’ve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joe’s or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you haven’t mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. That’s information he wouldn’t know without Spider-Man.

He seems to be hoping you won’t realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that he’s about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. “Warm up,” he says near the back of your head, forcing a wave of shivers down your arms.

He makes soup in one pan, grilled cheese in the other, two for him and two for you. Peter’s a good eater, and he encourages the same from you, setting a big bowl of tomato soup (from the can, splash of fresh cream) down in front of you with the grilled cheese on a plate between you. You eat it in too-hot bites and try not to get caught looking at him. He does the same, but when he catches you, or when you catch him, he holds your eye and smiles.

“I can do the dishes,” you say. You might need a breather.

“Are you kidding? I’m gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.” Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. “Warmer. Good job.”

You shrug away from his hand. “Loser.”

“Concerned friend.”

“Handsy loser.”

”Shut up,” he mumbles.

As flustered as you’ve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When he’s done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed.

You look down at your socks. Peter’s room is on the smaller side, but it’s never been as startlingly small as it is when Peter’s socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy.

“There’s chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,” he says.

You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think you’re in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. “I’m all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go ’cos you think I do then I’m fine.”

“That’s such a long answer,” he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. “You don’t have to say all of that, just tell me no.”

“I don’t want ice cream.”

“Wasn’t that easy?” he asks.

“Well, no, it wasn’t. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.”

“Because I’m adorable?”

“Persistent.”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands.

“Peter…?” you murmur.

“What?” he murmurs back.

You touch a knuckle to his chest. “This– You…” Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once —Peter doesn’t like you as you desire, how could he, you aren’t beautiful like he is, aren’t smart, aren’t brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. It’s why his being with Gwen didn’t hurt; she made sense. And for months now you’ve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But it’s not you, it’s never you, and whatever Peter’s trying to do now–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, taking your face into his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“What?” He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. “I can’t hear you.”

You raise your voice. “Why did you invite me over tonight?”

“‘Cos I missed you?”

“I used to think you didn’t miss me at all.”

Peter winces, hurt. “How could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? It’s like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.”

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. “…College isn’t hard for you.”

“It’s not easy.” He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. “What’s wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?”

You’re being wretched, you know, saying it isn’t hard for him. “You didn’t. Really, you didn’t.”

“But why are you upset?” he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.

“I’m not–”

“You are. It’s okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?” He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. “Even if it takes a long time.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“How would you know?” you finally ask.

Peter stares at you.

“I know you,” he says carefully, “and I know you aren’t struggling like you were, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.”

“I didn’t realise that I was,” you say, licking your lips, “‘til now. I didn’t get that it was on the surface.”

Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. “I’m here for you forever, and I’ll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,” he says, scrunching your shirt in his hand.

After the hug, he tells you to change and make yourself comfortable while he showers. So you put on your pyjamas and climb into Peter’s bed, head pounding as though all your energy was stolen in a fell swoop. You press your nose to his pillow and arm wrapped around his comforter, gathering it into a Peter sized lump. The shower pump whines against the shared wall.

Things aren’t meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you —holding you— was the deepest of your desires, but you feel now exactly as you had before he started blurring the line, needing Peter to kiss you so badly it becomes its own kind of nausea. Why are you still acting like it’s an impossibility?

When he comes back, you’ll apologise. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but don’t you keep one too? He’s Spider-Man. You’ve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept.

You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.

Peter returns as perturbed as earlier.

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck.

“I’m sorry for being weird.”

“You’re not weird,” Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly.

“It’s just ‘cos things have been different between us.” And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because you’re not just Peter anymore, you’re Spider-Man. I’m only me, and I can’t do anything to protect you.

Peter gives his hair a long scrub before draping the towel on his desk chair. He rakes it messily into place and sits himself at the end of the bed. You sit up.

“Yeah, they have been. Good different?” he asks hesitantly.

“I think so,” you say, quiet again.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I don’t want you to feel like I don’t want to be here. I just worry about you.”

Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, “Jesus, please don’t. That’s the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.”

You curl into the lump of comforter you’d made. Peter lets himself rest beside you, his back to the bedroom wall, tens of Polaroids above him shining with the light of the hallway and his orange-bulbed lamp. His skin is glowing like it’s golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupid’s bow deep. How would it feel to lean forward and kiss him? To catch his Cupid's bow under your lips?

You brush a damp curl tangled in another onto his forehead.

You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs.

“Am I going too fast?” Peter murmurs.

You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely.

“Is it something else?”

You don’t move.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.

“No.”

Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. “Alright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. You’re still cold.”

You resent the loss of a shape to hold when Peter slips down beside you and wrangles the comforter flat again, spreading it out over you both, his hand under the blankets. His knuckles brush your thigh.

He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, “Is this alright?”

“Yeah.”

He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. “Please don’t take this in a way that I don’t mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry you’re gonna get stuck in your head forever.”

“I like thinking.”

“I hate it,” he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, “we should never do it ever again.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Would you? For me?”

You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good. I’d miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.”

You relax under his arm. You aren’t sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. “I’d miss you too.”

May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. He’s holding your arm, and you’re snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms.

“Door open,” she says.

“Not that either of us want it closed, May, but we’re adults.”

“Not while I’m still washing your clothes, you’re not.”

He snorts. “Goodnight, Aunt May. The door isn’t gonna close, I promise.”

“I know that,” she says, scornful in her pride. “You’re a good boy.” She lightens. “Things are going okay?”

Peter covers your ear. “Goodnight, Aunt May.”

”I have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I can’t ask a simple question?”

“I love you,” Peter sing-songs.

“I love you, Peter,” she says. “Don’t smother the girl.”

“I won’t smother her. It’s in my best interest that she survives the night. She’s buying my breakfast tomorrow.”

“Peter Parker.”

“I’m kidding,” he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. “Just messing with you, May.”

You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers.

—

To your surprise, Spider-Man comes to find you after class one evening. A guest lecturer had talked to your oncology class about click chemistry and other molecular therapies against cancer, and the zine book she’d given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it.

You pull it out and pause beside a bench and a silver trash can, the day grey but thankfully without rain. The pages of your little book whip forcefully in the wind. It’s chemistry, sure, but it’s biology too, wrapping your and Peter’s interests up neatly. If it weren’t for Peter you doubt you’d love science as much as you do. He’s always been good at it, but since you started college he's been a genius. Watching him grow has encouraged you to work harder, and understanding the material is satisfying, if draining. You take a photo of the middle most pages and tuck the book away, writing a quick text to Peter to send with it.

Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!!

The moment you press send a beep chimes from somewhere close behind you, all too familiar. You turn to the source but find nobody you know waiting. Coincidence, you think, shaking yourself and beginning the trek to the subway.

But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Man’s webbing.

You wait until you’re at the alleyway between Porto’s Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters.

“Spider-Man?” you ask, shoulders tensed in case it’s not who you think.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You gasp as he hops down in front of you, his suit shiny with its dark web-pattern caught by the grey sunshine passing through the clouds overhead. “Shit, don’t break your ankles.”

“My ankles?” He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you don’t know; what a fool you’d been for falling for his put upon tenor. “They’re fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?”

“You just dropped down twenty feet!”

“It’s more like thirty, and I’m fine. You understand the super part of superhero, don’t you?”

“Who said you’re a superhero?”

“Nice. What are you doing down here?”

“I was testing my theory. You’re following me.”

“No, I’m visiting you, it’s very different,” he says confidently.

“You haven’t come to see me for weeks.”

“Yes, well, I–” Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. “Hey, you’re the one who told me to take a day off.”

“I did tell you to take a day off. It’s not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. That’s a lot of responsibility for one person to have.”

“But it’s my responsibility,” he says easily. “No point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I don’t mind it.”

“Do you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?” you ask, cheeks hot.

“No,” he says, fondness evident even through the mask, “just you.”

“Do you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but it’s not that far.”

Spider-Man nods. “Yeah, I’ll walk you back.”

He doesn’t hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You can’t believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he can’t pretend to save his life.

“Are you having a good semester?” he asks.

“It’s getting better. I’m glad I stuck with it. I love biology, it’s so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, it’s not something everyone understands.” You give him a look, and you give into temptation. “My best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.”

“It’s definitely for dorks.”

“Right, but I love being one.” You offer a useless secret. “I like to think that it’s why we’re such great friends.”

“Me and you?” Spider-Man asks hoarsely.

“Me and Peter.” You elbow him without force. “Why, do you like science?”

“I love it…”

“You know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like we’ve been friends for a long time.” You’re teasing poor Peter.

He doesn’t speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise he’s stopped, you turn back to see him.

Peter’s gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. It’s the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didn’t want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: you’d meant to wind him up, not make him panic.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Can you hear something?”

“No, it’s not that…” He’s masked, but you know him well enough to understand why he’s stopped.

“It’s okay,” you say.

“It’s not, actually.”

“Spider-Man.” You take a step toward him. “It’s fine.”

He presses his hands to his stomach. The sun is setting early, and in an hour, the dark will eat up New York and leave it in a blistering cold. “Do you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?”

“Yeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. It’s not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.”

“I know you were,” he says, emphasis on know, like it’s a different word entirely.

“But meeting you really helped. If it weren’t for you, for Peter,” —you give him a searching look— “I wouldn’t feel better at all.”

“It wasn’t his fault?” he asks. “He was your friend, and you were lonely.”

“No–”

“He didn’t know what was going on with you, he didn’t have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldn’t tell anybody, and I know it wasn’t an accident, so what was his excuse?” His voice burns with anger. “It’s his fault.”

“Of course it wasn’t your fault. Is that what you think?” You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. “Yes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I don’t know many people and I– I– I hurt myself, and it wasn’t as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?”

“Peter’s fault,” he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesn’t bother enthusing it with much gusto.

“Peter, none of it was your fault.” You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, don’t let me ruin this. “I was in a weird way, and yes, I was lonely, and I really liked you more than I should have. You didn't want me and that wasn’t your fault, that’s just how it was, I tried not to let it get to me, just there were a lot of things weighing on me at once, but it really wasn’t as bad as you think it was and it wasn’t your fault.”

“I wasn’t there for you,” he says. “And I’ve been lying to you for a long time.”

“You couldn’t tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.”

“…I didn’t even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.”

You hold your hands behind your back. “Well, he was a familiar one.”

Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms aren’t in his reach. “It’s not because I didn’t want you.”

“Peter,” you say, squirming.

He steps back.

“I have to go,” he says.

“What?”

“I have to– I don’t want to go,” he says earnestly, “sweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But I’ll come back, I’ll– I’ll come back,” he promises.

And with a sudden lift of his arm, Peter pulls himself up the side of a building and disappears, leaving you whiplashed on the sidewalk, the sun setting just out of view.

—

You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isn’t there. You check your phone but he hasn’t texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasn’t been seen.

You aren’t sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said he’d come back, but he didn’t, not ten minutes later, not twenty. You made excuses and you went home before it got too dark to see the street, sat on the couch rehearsing what you’d say. How could Peter think your unhappiness was his fault? Why does he always put the entire world on his shoulders?

Selfishly, you worried what it all meant for his lazy touches. Would he want to curl up into bed with you again now he knows what it means to you? It’s different for him. It isn’t like he’s in love with you… you’d just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache you’d suffered before.

But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time.

—

You and Peter found The Moroccan Mode in your senior year at Midtown. The school library was small and you were sick of being underfoot at home. When you started at ESU, you explored the on campus coffeehouse, the Coffee Bean, but it was crowded, and you’d found yourself attached to the Mode’s beautiful tiling, blues and topaz and platinum golds, its heavy, oiled wooden furniture, stained glass lampshades and the case full of lemony treats. The coffee here is better than anywhere else, but the best part out of everything is that it’s your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose.

You hide in a far corner with a book and an empty cup of decaf coffee, a slice of meskouta on the table untouched. Decaf because caffeine felt a terrible idea, meskouta untouched because you can’t stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. It’s served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest.

The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time you’ve seen it in months, warming rays kissing your fingers and lining the walls. You turn a page, turn your wrist, let the sun warm the scar you gave yourself those few months ago, when everything felt too big for you.

Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon you’ll be ready to talk about it.

The author in your book is talking about bees. They can fly up to 15 miles per hour. They make short, fast motions from front to back, a rocking motion. Asian giant hornets can go even faster despite their increased mass. They consider humans running provocation. If you see a giant hornet, you’re supposed to lay down to avoid being stung.

You put your face in your hand. Next year, you’ll avoid the insect-based electives.

Across the cafe, the bell at the top of the door rings. Laughter falls through it, a couple passing by. The register clashes open. A minute later it closes.

You don’t raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee.

“Did you eat breakfast?” Peter asks quietly.

His voice is gentle, but hoarse.

You tense.

“Are you okay?” he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. “You don’t look like yourself. Your eyes are red.”

You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur.

“What are you reading?” He frowns at you. “Please don’t cry.”

You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. “I’m okay.”

He nudges you across the booth seat and sits beside you. His arm settles behind your shoulders. He smells like smoke and soap, an acrid scent barely hidden. “Can you tell me you didn’t wait long for me?”

“Ten minutes,” you lie.

“Okay. I’m sorry. There was a fire.” He rubs your arm where he’s holding you. “I’m sorry.”

“Will you go half?” you ask, nodding to the sandwich he’s brought you. It’s tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. You’ve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating.

“I know you’re hungry,” you say, tapping his elbow, “just eat.”

You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peter’s here, you don’t feel so sick —he’s not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach won’t be ignored.

Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. You’ve never seen him stop before he’s done.

“It was in the apartments on Vernon. I– I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.”

You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. “Are you hurt?” you ask, coughing.

He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. “How long have you known it was me?” he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck.

You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. “The night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ‘running girl’. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,” —you whisper, weary of the quiet cafe— “Spider-Man, and I realised it’s him that sounds like you. That he is you.”

“Was that disappointing?”

“Peter, you’re, like, my favourite person in the world,” you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. “Why would that be disappointing?”

“I thought maybe you think he’s cooler than me.”

“He is cooler than you, Peter.” You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. “I guess you’re the same person, right? So he’s just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.”

“You flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.”

“Well, he flirted with me first.”

You chance a look at his face. From that moment you can’t look away, not from Peter. You like when he wears that darkness in his eyes, the hint of his rarer side so uncommonly seen, but you love this most of all, Peter like your best memory, the way he’s looking at you now a picture perfect copy of that moment in a swimming pool in Manhattan with cracked tile under your feet. His arms heavy on your shoulders. You didn’t get it then, but you’re starting to understand now.

“I’ve made a mess of everything,” he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

“I haven’t, either.”

“I want to ask you for something,” Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. “You can say no.”

“You’re hard to say no to.”

“I need you to talk to me more,” —and here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your space— “not just because I love your voice, or because you think so much I’m scared you’ll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.”

We do, you think morosely.

“It’s not your fault,” he adds, the hand that isn’t holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, “it’s mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldn’t have let it be a secret for so long.”

“No, I doubt they’re stupid,” you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. “It’s not easy to tell someone you’re a hero.”

His palm smells like smoke.

“That’s not the secret I meant,” he says.

You take his hand from your face. Peter looks down and begins pressing his fingers between yours, squeezing them together as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.

“So tell me.”

The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. “You want to trade secrets again?” he asks.

“Please.”

“Okay. Okay, but I don’t have as many as you do,” he warns.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I don’t. It’s not a real secret, is it? I’ve been trying to show you for weeks, we…”

He tilts his head invitingly.

All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isn’t a secret.

“I’ll go first,” he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks.” He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. “What’s your secret?”

“Sometime I want you to kiss me so badly I can’t sleep. It makes me feel sick–”

“Sick?” he asks worriedly.

You touch the tip of your nose to his. “It’s like– like jealousy, but…”

“You have no one to be jealous of,” he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, “Please, can I kiss you?”

You say, “Yes,” very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldn’t be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.

It isn’t the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesn’t hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. It’s so warm you don’t know what to make of him beyond kissing him back —kissing his smile, though it’s catching. Kissing the line of his Cupid’s bow as he leans down.

“I’m sorry about everything,” he mumbles, nose flattened against yours.

You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. It’s still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peter’s hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest.

Peter drops his hand. “Oh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didn’t snow, we’d be blind.”

“I can’t be cold much longer,” you confess. “I’m sick of the shitty weather.”

“I can keep you warm.”

He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown.

“Did you want my meskouta?” you ask.

Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow.

You let the sunshine warm your face. Two unfinished sandwich halves, a mouthful of coffee, and a round slice of meskouta, its flaky crumb and lemon drizzle shining on the table. You would ask Peter for his camera if you’d thought he brought it with him, to take a picture of your breakfast and the carved table underneath. You could turn it on Peter, say something cheesy. This is the moment you ruined our lives, you’d tease.

“You never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.”

You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. “They could make a novella of things I haven’t told you about,” you murmur wryly.

Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, we’ll work on that.

—

Spring

“Sorry!”

“No, it’s–”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m– shit!”

“–okay! All legs inside the ride?”

“I couldn’t find my purse–”

“You don’t need it!” Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. “You don’t have to rush.”

“Are you sure you can drive this thing?”

“Harry doesn’t mind.”

“I don’t mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?”

“That’s not funny.”

You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. “Nothing ever is with us.”

Peter grabs you behind the neck —which might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thing— and pulls you forward for a kiss you don’t have time for. “If we don’t check in,” —you begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lips— “by three, they said they won’t keep the room–” He clasps the back of your neck and smiles when your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes closed, kiss him fiercely, and pull away, hand on his chest to restrain him. “And then we’ll have to drive home like losers.”

Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. You’re rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. “Sorry, am I the one who lost her purse?”

“Peter!”

“I can’t make us un-late,” he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips.

“Alright,” you warn.

He reaches for your knee. “It’s a forty minute drive. You’re panicking over nothing.”

“It’s an hour.”

Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peter’s hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesn’t question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. There’s so much to do around Manhattan; you could visit MoMA, Central Park, The Empire State Building or Times Square, but you and Peter give it all a miss for the little known Manhattan Super 8.

It’s been a long time since you and Peter first visited. You took the bus out to Lenox Hill for a med-student tour neither of you particularly enjoyed, feeling out future careers. It’s not that Lenox Hill isn’t one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), it’s that all the blood made him queasy, and you were panicking too much about the future to think it through. He got over his aversion to blood but chose the less hands-on science in the end, and you worked things through. You’re a little less scared of the future everyday.

You and Peter were supposed to get the bus straight back home for a sleepover, but one got cancelled, another delayed, and night closed in like two hands on your neck. Peter sensed your fear and emptied his wallet for a night in the Super 8.

The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasn’t anything special but it was invitingly cool, blue and white tiles patterned like fish below; you clambered into the water in shorts and a tank top and Peter his boxers before a worker could see and stop you.

It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, he’d looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, you’re cute, and let you waste the afternoon recounting one of your more embarrassing pangs of longing. A few days later he told you to clear your calendar for the weekend, only spilling the beans on what he’d done when you’d curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me.

He’d hung his head over you and scrunched up his eyes. Cheater.

The best thing about having a boyfriend is that he always wants to listen to you. Peter was a good listener as a best friend, but now he has his act together and the secrets between you are never anything more than eating the last of the milk duds or not wanting to pee in front of him, he’s a treasure. There’s no feeling like having Peter pull you into his lap so he can ask about your day with his face buried in your neck, sniffing. Sometimes, when you text one another to meet up the next day, you’ll accidentally will the hours away babbling about school and life and things without reason. Peter has a list on his phone of your silliest tangents; blood oranges to the super moon, fries dipped in ice cream to the world record for kick flips done in five minutes. It’s like when you talk to one another, you can’t stop.

There are quiet moments. You wake up some mornings to find him awake already, an arm behind you, rubbing at your soft upper arm, fingertip displacing the fine hairs there and trailing circles as he reads. He bends the pages back and holds whatever novel he’s reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when you’re sleeping.

There are hectic, aching moments —vigilante boyfriends become blasé with their lives and precious faces. You’ve teetered on the edge of anxiety attacks trying to pick glass from his cheek with a tweezers, lamented over bruises that heal the next day. It’s easier when Peter’s careful, but Spider-Man isn’t careful. You ask him to take care of himself and he’s gentle with himself for a few days, but then someone needs saving from an armed burglar or a car swerves dangerously onto the sidewalk and he forgets.

He hadn’t patrolled last night in preparation for today.

“Did you know,” he says, pulling Harry’s borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, “that today’s the last day of spring?”

“Already?”

“Tonight’s the June equinox.”

“Who told you that?”

“Aunt May. She said it’s time to get a summer job.”

You laugh loudly. “Our federal loans won’t last forever.”

“Harry’s gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.”

You nod emphatically. It’s barely a thought. “Obviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?”

Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. “Better than the Bugle.”

You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. It’s not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. There’s a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel he’s ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain.

“There it is, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, “that’s what dreams are made of.”

The blue and white tiled pool. It hasn’t changed.

It’s about as hot as it’s going to get in June today, and, not knowing if it’ll rain tomorrow, you and Peter change into your swim suits and gather your towels. You wear flip flops and tangle your fingers, clanking and thumping down the rickety metal stairs to the pool. There’s nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes.

Peter eases in first. Towels in a heap at the end of a sun lounger, his shirt tumbling to the floor, Peter splashes in frontward and turns to face you as the water laps his ribs. “It’s cold,” he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs.

“I can feel it,” you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge.

“You won’t come in and warm me up?” he asks.

You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers.

“I’m trying to prepare myself.”

“Mm, you have to get used to it.” He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that he’d want one still makes you dizzy. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’ll have to move.”

Peter steps back, a ripple of water ringing behind him, his hands raised. He slips them with ease under your arms and helps you down into the water, laughing at your shocked giggling —he’s so strong, the water so cold.

Peter doesn’t often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. He’ll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when you’re on his side to force you sideways.

“Oh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!” he says.

“How will I run?” you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck.

Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that he’s precious with you, too. There’s devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. “I don’t need you to do a running start, sweetheart,” he says, tilting his head to the side, “I’ll just lift you.”

“Last time I laughed so much you dropped me.”

“Exactly, you laughed, and this is serious.”

The world isn’t mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8’s parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peter’s breath is half laughter as he pulls you further from the sidelines, ceramic tiles slippery under your feet. In the distance, you swear you can hear one of those songs he likes from that poor singer who died in the Wolf River.

He’s a beholden thing in the sun; you can’t not look at him, all of him, his sculpted chest wet and glinting in the sun, his eyes like browning honey, his smile curling up, and up.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

You rest an arm behind his head. “The rash guard is a good look?”

“Sweetheart, you couldn’t look cuter,” he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. “I wish you’d mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I would’ve prepared to be a more decent man.”

“You’re decent enough, Parker.”

“Maybe now.”

“Well, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,” you say.

You’re teasing, but Peter’s eyes light up with mischief as he calls, “Oh, great idea!” and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You can’t avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface.

He shakes himself off like a dog.

“Pete!” you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes.

“It just didn’t help,” he says, pulling you back into his arms, “you know, the water is cold, but you’re so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and you’re just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds ago–”

“Peter,” you say, tempted to roll your eyes.

Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile he’s sporting, they look like anything but tears. “Tell me a secret?” he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back.

A soft smile takes your lips. “No,” you say, tipping up your chin, “you tell me one first.”

“What kind of secret?”

“A real one,” you insist.

“Oh…” He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. “Okay, I have one. Ask me again.”

You raise a single brow. “Tell me a secret, Peter.”

He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. “I love you,” he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose.

You’re lucky he’s already holding you. “I love you too,” you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. “I love you.”

Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You can’t know what he’s thinking, but you can feel it. His hands can’t seem to stay still on your skin.

The sun warms your back for a time.

Peter lets out a deep breath of relief. You lean away to look at him, your hand slipping down into the water, where he finds it, his fingers circling your wrist.

“That’s another one to let go of,” he suggests.

He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye.

You and Peter swim until your fingers are pruned and the sun has been blanketed by clouds. You let him wrap you in a towel, and kiss your wet ears, and take you back to the room, where he holds your face.

“I’ll start the shower for you,” he says, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, each stroke of them encouraging your face from one side to the other, just a touch, ever so slightly moved in the palms of his hands.

“Don’t fall asleep standing up,” he murmurs.

Your eyes close unbidden to you both. “I won’t.”

He holds you still, leaning in slowly to kiss you with the barest of pressure. Every thought in your head fades, leaving only you and Peter, and the dizziness of his touch as he lays you down at the end of the bed.

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat —thank you for reading❤︎

#f: marvel #tasm peter parker x reader

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demxters-recs · 4 months ago

Note

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

UGHHHHHLAKSHSKSHDK this was the perfect amount of angst/hurt/comfort i loved it

"they're giving me a few minutes to try and talk some sense into you." With Jason? As either the speaker or the one being spoken to? 🙏

This one was a thinker to come up with an idea for but it was fun to write!!

jason todd x gn!reader. reader is a civilian turned rogue from experimentation and is jason's ex. reader has poison ivy-esque abilities. tw violence, threats, angry reader who tries to hurt jason. happy ending.

****

You've lost count of the days. You're not even sure where they're keeping you. It's a cell, but it's not in an asylum. It's not in a prison either.

Wherever it is, it makes your teeth itch. You haven't seen another human since you got caught. Once, someone tried to leave you food through a slot in the door, but you messed that up by grabbing their hand and trying to claw them.

So now the food trays get dropped from the ceiling. You're too weak to attempt any crawling ivy up there.

You're sitting against the wall dozing when the door slides open with a quiet chirp.

Jason Todd walks in, dressed like a civilian. He looks comfortable in his Gotham U sweatshirt and jeans, but you know better. You see the small blade in his pocket and the way he sets his shoulders. You knew him too well and for too long to think that this is a regular visit.

Still, you're shocked to see him. After all, he broke up with you.

"Well, this is special," you say, unable to keep the bitterness from your words. "Am I finally being interrogated?"

Jason looks at you mildly. "They let me have a few minutes to talk some sense into you."

You scoff. "They sent you to do that?"

He's quiet for a moment. Then he walks over and sits across from you, on the floor. He crosses his legs.

You can touch him from this distance. Hurt him.

"I can help," Jason says. "If you'd let me."

"Is that Batman I hear coming out of your mouth?"

That renders him silent. You take the chance to speak, drive the knife into his gut.

"So I wasn't enough to stay for before, but as soon as I cause a little trouble, get experimented on and become a real threat, you come running? Was my old self too boring for you?"

"You didn't bore me. You know that's not why we broke up."

"I don't know, actually," you snap. "You dropped off the face of the earth one day and now you're here."

Jason shakes his head. "I know. I'm sorry. I should've—you deserved better than me. I thought I was doing you a favor by leaving."

"Oh, God, you're a cliche!" You throw your head back and laugh, the sound hollow. "Don't give me that martyr bullshit. We were happy. You were a coward."

"I was," he says. "I was cowardly and selfish and stupid."

Your eye twitches. Jason's softness rankles you. What happened to the Red Hood who beats rogues into submission? Talking sense wouldn't mean an actual conversation.

Then again, Jason probably doesn't take you seriously. He only remembers you as the harmless civilian that would tend to his bruises and make him eggs in the morning. He didn't see you break out of a lab or destroy everything in your path until Batman restrained you.

He thinks you're good. Gentle. Easy to love. You'll prove him wrong.

"I could've killed if I wanted to," you say. "Did you see what I did to Dick? I did a lot of damage."

"I saw," Jason says, leaning back on his hands.

You grit your teeth. "Well, I'm sure he'd prefer me locked up. Bruce, too. And you. Two problems solved in one."

"No one wants to lock you up. Anyway, I wouldn't let 'em. I know how to recognize someone in need of a second chance."

That pushes you over the edge, referring to you like you're just a common thief on the street in need of mercy. You don't need anyone's mercy, least of all his.

You lash out, savagely bracing your arm and aiming for Jason's throat. He feints your attack and catches you both, landing on his back on the floor. You just as quickly wrap your other hand around his throat.

Your powers are weak in this cell after they injected you with something that burned, made the hatred inside of you shrivel up for a brief respite. In this weakened state, you have to make skin contact to inflict any real damage, and Jason knows that. Jason's beyond smart enough to figure out how your abilities work.

You manage to push out a single vine from your hand. It's a little brown, a little dead, but it's strong enough to curl around Jason's neck and hold on.

You hear noise outside, a muffled shout of alarm. Jason raises a hand calmly, signalling them to back off. You feel him swallow against your vine.

"'S okay," he says, loud enough to carry outside of the cell, steadily looking at you. "We're just talkin'."

"Is that what we're doing, Jason?" you ask, rage tunneling your vision.

"Sure it is. If I say we're talking, then we are."

"Even if I hurt you?" you snarl. "I'm a criminal. I went crazy. That's why they put me here."

Slowly, Jason rests a hand on the middle of your spine. It's warm and solid. Your stomach jumps at the feeling. It's been so long since he's touched you. It used to be your normal, Jason touching you, holding you, sharing your bed.

"You're not a criminal and you're not crazy," he says softly. "You're in pain, and you're angry, and this feels like your last resort."

Something cracks in your chest. The day you said those words to Jason rushes back to you. It had been raining and you'd found him on your fire escape, helmet off, eyes thick with tears. He hadn't been able to go through with his plan for Bruce.

"Why don't you use the knife in your pocket?" you ask. He could sever your vine at the root. It would sting and make you cry. He could make you weak.

"'Cause I don't wanna hurt you," Jason says. "If this is what you need to feel in control, so be it."

Your grip tightens. Jason grunts and rubs his hand up and down your spine. His other hand goes to your hip and squeezes.

"I can hurt you," you say, trying to believe it.

Jason nods. "That's okay, baby. It'll heal."

Tears spring to your eyes and you close them. "Don't call me that. You left me."

"I'm sorry. It's the worst mistake I ever made."

More tears pool. Your voice shakes. "They did awful experiments. They—I'm not normal anymore. An' I'm so angry."

"I know, sweetheart," he murmurs. "I know. 'M so fuckin' sorry. I'll kill 'em. When I find 'em, I'll hunt down every single one that did this to you."

"You just came back because I'm a case to solve," you say. Your vine is slipping. You want Jason to hold you instead.

"I came back because I missed you and because I wanna help you. It was a mistake to leave."

"What if this is how I am? Permanently?" you whisper. It's been in your head since you were lucid enough to realize what they did to you in that lab. What your attackers called a blessing feels more like a curse. And it might not ever go away.

"Then we'll go on from there," Jason says. His hand goes from your hip to your face. He strokes your cheek.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Your vine thins out and slackens completely. Tiny, red flowers bloom as Jason pets you. You quickly retract the vine, hot with embarrassment.

Jason graciously doesn't say anything about it.

"I wanna go home," you confess.

Jason nods. "I got you. Let's go home."

#f: dc #jason todd x reader

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demxters-recs · 4 months ago

Text

this is my favorite trope and this fic executes it perfectly

i also think that rafe is the best character to write the “mean to everyone but you” dynamic with

i haven’t even watched obx past season two nor am i hardly in the fandom anymore but this fic alone just gained back my interest!!! 🫶🏼

only you my girl, only you babe

PAIRING: rafe cameron x pogue!fem!reader

SUMMARY: four times your “enemy” rafe hinted he cares for you and the one time you actually caught on it. OR you thought rafe doesn’t like you because he hates all pogues. little did you know he has always looked at you differently.

WORD COUNT: 6.7k

WARNINGS: drinking, drugs, swearing, blood and wounds, kinda canon rafe (omg kez????), obx cliches (mainly the whole ‘kooks vs. pogues’ thing from S1), extremely ‘only soft to you and no one else’ vibes, fluff, angry confessions, heavy pining, mentions of y/n

EDITH SPEAKS: oh. my. god. if you were there on my old blog you would know how long it’s been since I first introduced my idea of writing this fic. I got stumped on it way too often and then forgot about it for months, and then decided to abandon it. But I found it again and I got my inspiration back and now I’m so so happy it’s actually finished!! <3

major thank you to @zyafics who helped me last year when i was writing the fic and helped me brainstorm ideas for it :’) kissing your beautiful mind just like always zya xxx

this really is a labor of love and I genuinely couldn’t be happier 🥹I would highly appreciate all kinds of feedback and reblogs, because they really are extremely motivating and fun to get back to! I hope you enjoy reading, and i hope these 6k words are worth all your time and attention :)

masterlist / join my taglist / requests

PROLOGUE

“Stay off Figure 8!”

The all too familiar deep voice boomed across the beach, a completely dead silence started to surround the atmosphere. A loud groan was heard along with the unsteady thump of a person falling onto the sand, causing people standing around to gasp.

JJ struggled to get up from the ground, the big punch he received from the one and only caused his nose to bleed non stop, and when he barely opened his eyes, he was met with a pair of icy cold blues staring back at him.

“You hear me, Maybank? Stay. Off. Figure. 8. You and all your filthy pogue friends.”

JJ tried getting up and talking back, he really did, but the one and only Rafe Cameron punched him so hard he lost all his balance. Blood kept on flowing in a never ending fashion, and JJ could see dark spots in his vision, his mind feeling light headed.

“JJ!”

Rafe froze in his position, not looking up from JJ at the sound of JJ’s name being called out. The voice, the perfume, the general aura of the presence; Rafe didn’t have to look up to see who it was.

“JJ oh my god please tell me you’re okay,” you mumbled, your voice almost trembling with the worry dripping from your words. You got on your knees and gently cradled JJ’s face, pulling it into your lap as you brushed his hair aside to look at the extent of damage on his face. JJ mumbled something incoherently and you let out a sigh, relieved he wasn’t completely knocked out.

Rafe stood there on the side, his eyes widened as he saw how your fingers ran through his hair and wiped off his blood, he saw how careful you were with him, he saw how you mumbled small words of sweet nothingness to him.

Rafe didn’t know what to say, he stood there limply as he watched you help JJ up, let him loop an arm across your shoulders so you could help him walk back to The Cut.

As he saw you both walk back, he felt his blood boil. The rage built in him slowly like a thunderstorm, his breathing started to become erratic and his fists clenched tightly on his sides.

“FUCK!”

Rafe’s foot kicked across an empty beer can buried in the sand, causing it to fly and topple a few meters further from him.

He wouldn’t have done anything to JJ, heck, he wouldn’t have looked at him if he knew you were on the beach too.

The look on your face when you saw how hurt JJ was, the concern clouding all over your facial features; from the furrow of your brow to the frown on your lips, he knew you now hated him more than ever. He knew you would never want to look at him ever again. He knew you would never acknowledge his presence ever again.

He knew there was no chance you would look at him the way he looked at you.

ONE — THE PARTY

It was crazy.

The lights were neon and bright and they pierced your eyes harshly. The people at the party were almost sticking next to each other, their sweat, weed, alcohol, and an ungodly mix of expensive and cheap colognes being the only thing you can smell.

You almost gagged as you maneuvered your way through the sweaty crowd, but you finally did, finding yourself taking deep breaths as you leaned against the countertop of the makeshift bar in the kitchen, letting the awful smell wash away from your nose palette.

When you started feeling better, you got yourself a nice cold beer, letting the icy liquid run down your throat, sending chills down your spine but in a way you relished deeply.

It was a scene like any other party; there were people dancing, some catching a smoke break at the side, some making out on the other side, nothing new.

And it wasn’t anything new when a fight broke out.

You didn’t know who the boys were who started to fight; all you saw was them go at each other like wolves, their courage mostly coming from the plethora of drugs in their system, profanities after profanities spilling out their mouth, and you were just watching from the side, completely nonchalant about it.

But you were not so nonchalant when glass bottles were involved in hurting the other; you being in close proximity to the fighting pair resulted in one of the flying broken piece of glass cutting your hand, making you yell out at the sharp pain. The cut looked deep as the blood didn’t stop gushing out, but no one focused on you. Everyone was too busy watching the fight, trying to stop it, or just enjoying it for the heck of it.

You hissed in pain, your own beer bottle set aside as you squeezed your eyes shut from the stinging pain spreading from your hand to your forearm. The blood started to trickle down from your palm down to the floor, and you had no idea what to do or who to go to.

It all became a huge mess very quick, you on the side with your hand bleeding, and the rest of the party too busy to peg the immature boys on.

You felt a tall shadow stalking over you, the scent of the rich cologne all too familiar.

“That looks bad,” you heard in your ear.

You turned to be face to face with Rafe. He was stalking down your wound, the blood flow not really stopping as the drops dripped down on the hardwood floor. His expression wasn’t one of worry. But it wasn’t one of detest either. It was just… emotionless.

“Yeah no shit,” you muttered, looking down at your wound too.

“Here,” he said, fishing out his handkerchief from his pocket. “This should help for the moment…” he muttered as he gently took your hand and wrapped the handkerchief around your cut.

You looked at his hands working around your hand, covering up the cut. The pearly white cloth was quickly stained with a deep red of your blood, slowly spreading throughout the cloth.

“You should get that checked once, just in case you need stitches,” he said, tying a knot to fix the cloth in its place. Just like his facial expression, his voice is also emotionless, monotone words leaving his lips.

“Why are you doing this?” You couldn’t help but ask, out of all the people, Rafe was there to help you with your wound.

“Because you’re bleeding a little too much,” he said, taking a step back from you. His hands then buried in the pockets of his jeans as he shrugged at you.

You looked up in his icy blue eyes, not a single emotion in them. You weren’t sure what to say, finding yourself to be quite stunned which was never really the case; whenever Rafe talked to you, you were always quick to talk back, never letting him be the one who said the last words.

“Right… thanks,” you muttered, looking down at the securely tied handkerchief around your hand.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod of his head, and left you alone.

TWO — THE FAILED DATE

You clutched on the tablecloth out of utter anxiousness, your eyes darting around the room. You took a look at your watch for the umpteenth time, and saw that the time you were supposed to be meeting someone got farther and farther in the past with each passing second.

It had now been over an hour, the waiters had politely asked you if you would like to eat something, and all you asked for was a simple glass of water, because what if he shows up?

But now you could very clearly see that he won’t.

You had a date, which unlike the past dates you had been on, really excited you. You thought he was a nice boy, someone you met while you were buying some beer for you and your friends. You don’t remember how the conversation started, but you both used to talk quite often, numbers exchanged and texts sent under the pale moonlight of 3 am.

He finally asked you out on a date, and you were thrilled, to say the very least. But now, here you were at a fancy restaurant on Figure 8 which you barely got to go to, absolutely impatient as your knee bounced up and down out of anxiousness and embarrassment.

You felt tears prick your eyes but you were quick to not let them fall, wiping them away from your waterline. You looked down in your lap, your fingers nervously pulling onto each other as the reality of being ditched settled in you. You took another look at your phone, desperate for any text, but there were no notifications.

But then, you felt the sunlight falling onto you from the window next to you being blocked by a huge shadow, and when you looked up, you saw Rafe.

Of course, Rafe, out of all the people.

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you; your slightly red eyes and the tears accumulated in them didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Why are you here all alone?” He asked you, still standing in front of you.

You just shook your head as a reply and picked up your belongings from the table. “It’s none of your business Rafe… I’ll just leave…” you muttered, but before you could do anything else, Rafe sat in the seat opposite to you.

He took a look at your outfit, noticing it’s something different than the attire you’re usually sporting, something more formal.

It didn’t take him long to connect two and two together to figure out everything.

“You got ditched huh?” He said silently. His tone came off condescending to you, even though he didn’t mean to sound that way at all.

You mentally braced yourself to get embarrassed by him, ready to hear a comment or two from him, because that’s what he did: say rude things to people, especially Pogues, because he felt like it.

But he didn’t say anything.

Absolutely nothing.

You looked up at him, small streaks of tears had started making their way down. “I told you it’s none of your business,” you said, sniffling.

He only sighed as he leaned back in the chair, watched you carefully as your head hung low, silent sobs escaping you as you occasionally wiped away your tears.

“Listen, it’s not your fault okay?” He mumbled. You looked up from your lap with your eyes filled with tears. “I know you must be feeling really bad right now, and there is nothing wrong about it, but don’t think too much about it,”

“I… I got ditched Rafe. I am sitting here all alone in this expensive restaurant crying my eyes out. How can I not think too much about it?” You whispered, your eyebrows creased together.

He leaned a bit closer to you. “I’m trying to make you feel better…” He said softly.

“Well,” you sniffled, looking away from him, “I didn’t ask for it, okay?”

These were the last words you said, before you got up from your chair and left the restaurant, whilst Rafe watched you walk away, wanting to hold your hand and to stop you, but he just couldn’t.

THREE — THE BEACH CLEAN UP

You looked up at the sun, wiping the sweat off your forehead as you took in a deep breath. The summers only seemed to be getting hotter this time around, and the fact that you were at a beach clean up at noon was not helping your situation.

You liked to pick up work like beach clean ups in between your main job at the island club so you could make a little side money.

As you got back to picking up the trash from the beach, throwing it in the little basket you’re carrying with yourself, you looked up to hear some chatter besides the otherwise quiet beach and the other people working quite silently.

It was a group of Kooks – their expensive clothes and accessories shining under the bright rays of the sun completely unmissable. And in the group of them, a pair of electric blue eyes had its gaze fixed on you intensely.

You didn’t even know why Rafe was there. Or why the other Kooks were there. They didn’t have any need to participate in these kinds of jobs. Everything was just handed down to them, daddy’s money being what they thrive on.

You ignored them and got back to working, focusing on clearing the trash from the specific area of the beach you were at. Just a few minutes later you felt the sunlight being blocked by a huge shadow, and when you looked up, you saw Rafe right by your side, separated from his Kook friends.

You wanted to say something, but you weren’t sure what, so you peeled your focus away from him and got back to picking up the trash and throwing it into the basket.

“Here,” he said almost suddenly, causing you to look up at him. “I’ll hold it for you,” he gestured the basket in your hand, and even proceeded to hook two of his fingers into its side, holding onto it.

Before you could have protested, he gently pulled the basket from your hand, causing you to let go of it. You wouldn’t lie, your basket had started to get heavy from the innumerable aluminum cans and other trash sitting in it.

“Thanks,” you murmured under your breath and from the corner of your eye, you saw Rafe acknowledged you with a nod of his head.

For the next hour or so, you went around picking up the trash and Rafe followed you holding the basket for you as if it weighed nothing, and you kept on dropping the trash in it. It was oddly comfortable, the silence between you two as you weren’t sure what to say – and frankly, you thought that was the best.

As the clean up came to an end, everyone was sitting in the sand, and light laughter and chatter filled the group. The afternoon had started to turn into evening, the bright rays of the sun turning into something more warm, more comforting instead of burning. You sat in the sand, leaning back on your forearms a little away from the rest, just letting the summer breeze blow past you gently.

Rafe sat down next to you, and held out something. You saw it was a glass of iced lemonade he got from the little surf shop.

“You didn’t have to,” you mumbled, eyeing the glass in his hand, the condensation on the surface causing water droplets to slide against the smooth glass.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’ve worked all afternoon. Have it, it’s my treat.”

You took another second or two before taking the glass from him, sipping on the cool, sour yet sweet liquid and allowing it to run down your throat. He remained seated next to you as you both watched the waves crash on the shore, the seagulls flying over and the sun only delving you into a comforting warmth more and more with each passing second, and slurped on your little lemony drinks.

FOUR — THE TIP

The day was slowly turning into dusk, the bright afternoon light leaving to welcome darker pink and orange streaks cast by the almost setting sun. This was the time when the island club started filling in more and more, the bar being one of the first parts of the club to get exceptionally occupied.

You were busy serving an older woman, your mind completely occupied to make the martini, when out of the corner of your eye, you caught the all too familiar gist of a head of dirty blonde curtain bangs.

You turned your head to meet Rafe’s blue eyes looking intently at you. The way he was focused on you, his gaze not wavering for even a fraction of a second, and the strong intensity behind them made you feel like the only girl on this planet. Though, of course, that feeling was short-lived when you were snapped out of your daze by a customer calling out for you.

You were quick to rush over to the customer, who had just finished the drink you had served him. He left the money for his drink where he was sitting and was already making his way out of the club.

You picked up the dollar bills to see he paid completely for the drink, but the tip wasn’t even touching the bare minimum. You didn’t know what the reason was, you had been kind to the customer, made his drink perfectly and served it on time, and even presented it as aesthetically as you could. Even then, your tip wasn’t up to the mark. Sighing, you made your way over to the other end of the bar counter where you kept your tip jar, which coincidentally also happened to be where Rafe was sitting.

“Everything alright?” He asked, eyeing your woeful expression as you were putting the newly received ‘tip’ (if it can be even called that) in the jar. His eyes raked over the jar, and he couldn’t help but find it a lot more empty than it should be.

“Yeah everything’s fine,” You mumbled, keeping the jar aside. You wiped your hands once on the towel slung in the loop of your apron before looking up at Rafe. “What can I get you?” You asked.

“A neat whiskey’s fine,” He said and you nodded. You served him the neat whiskey, setting the glass right in front of him. He gave you an acknowledging nod and wrapped his fingers around the glass and bought it closer to his mouth, drinking from it.

You decided to work around the bar a bit, just cleaning everything up, preparing everything you may need in advance, practically anything you could get your hands at – because anything was better than having to talk to Rafe, who, by the way, didn’t take his eyes off you for even a second. His gaze was firm and jaw was set as he just saw you work around the bar, silently sipping on his whiskey.

You kept yourself wonderfully distracted as you served the customers and prepared everything behind the bar, but every so often, your gaze would magnetically be pulled back to Rafe, and you would always catch him looking at you.

When you noticed Rafe’s almost done with his glass of whiskey, you made your way back to him.

“Another one?” You asked, and he only silently nodded as his reply. You refilled his glass with the neat whiskey, and leaned back against the counter, just simply glancing around the scene of the bar and the club and catching a small break.

A silence fell over the two of you, the light chatter and the music playing in the club thrumming against your eardrums. Rafe was just silently sipping the whiskey, not saying or doing anything, just sitting there and having his drink.

“So uh… you’re alone here tonight?” You asked, your words feeling cautious. “I mean, you’re usually here with Topper, or with someone, atleast,”

He set his almost finished glass at the counter, his fingers still wrapped around the clear glass. His gaze found yours, a warm blue instead of the usual icy one sinking into your eyes.

“Topper was busy,” He muttered, “so I came alone,”

You just quietly hummed at his words, and from the corner of your eye you saw one of your customers finishing their drink and leaving their money on the counter. You went to get it, and when you did, you saw it’s the same thing repeating itself: the ‘tip’.

You sighed, slightly aggravated as you made your way back to where the top jar was, and dumped the money in it.

“Will it kill them to just pay something to their bartender?” You sighed, leaning against the counter and tilting your head back, closing your eyes for a moment. Your shift was close to coming to an end and if that’s the money you had to go home with tonight, well, it’d be kind of fucked.

You could feel Rafe’s gaze on you, but he didn’t say anything, just finished the last sip of his whiskey in a gulp. You were about to ask him for another refill, but you heard someone calling you out.

You turned around to see it was one of your coworkers, who told you were being called inside. You turned to look back at Rafe, but he just shook his head, and gestured to you to leave. You followed your coworker and went inside to where he was leading to.

After being freed from the quite useless meetup with your manager, you finally walked back out to the bar after 15 minutes. When you did, you saw Rafe’s stool was empty, and there was money kept on the counter.

You approached the counter, and the moment you saw the money, your eyes almost fell out from how wide they got.

Ten crisp hundred dollar notes sat unfolded on the marbled counter along with the money for the whiskey, and you couldn’t believe your eyes. For a second, it felt unreal. You reached your hand out and your fingertips touched the paper, and you realised the money was real. You picked the notes up, your lips parted in shock as you gaze at them.

Rafe tipped you $1000.

1000 fucking dollars.

Your gaze immediately turned towards the exit of the bar, and of course, you couldn’t spot Rafe – you had completely missed him.

You carefully kept the notes in your tip jar and sealed the jar shut. Through the glass, you couldn’t remove your gaze from the notes, your mind now completely clouded with Rafe, and his tip.

ONE — THE BROKEN DOWN CAR

You let out a frustrated groan, kicking the tyre in utter vexation, which helped you release just the tiniest fraction of your rage. You fished out your phone from your pocket just to see it was nothing more than a dead device, serving you no purpose. You almost had the urge to throw the phone, but you stopped yourself at the right second, because you realized, you can’t afford to hear the sound of the glass screen cracking.

Instead, you just kicked a pebble in your path and slumped against the side door of your beat up car which decided to stop working halfway across your journey from Figure 8 to the Cut. You were at the side of the road, watching other cars and vehicles pass by as you sat there on the roadside, not having a single clue on what to do.

10… 15… 20 minutes passed and you were still in the same position, not knowing what to do and not making any effort to find out either. The road fell silent a few minutes ago, no vehicles crossing, but the silence was short lived when you heard the revving of an engine from the distance, and it came to a stop right next to you.

An all too familiar red and black bike stood next to you, the rider’s face covered by the helmet. But the bike, the gold signet ring on the index finger of the left hand, and the taut muscles peeking from under the t-shirt were more than enough to confirm who it was.

The helmet came off and Rafe’s piercing blue eyes found yours.

“What happened?” He asked, getting off his bike as he ran a hand through his hair, his curtain bangs pushed back momentarily before they fell down on both the sides of his face in a ragged middle part just like always.

“My car broke down,” you muttered as you looked up at him.

“Hm.”

He rounded around you and lifted the cover of the engine, holding it up with one hand as he inspected the engine carefully. You watched him intently, trying to figure out what the expressions on his face meant, but there weren’t any to begin with. It was a face so cold and plain, suiting well with the cold blue eyes.

“There’s some issue with the battery. You most probably need to get it replaced.” He declared, letting the cover fall back in its place.

“Oh great,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your words as you threw your head back against the door of your car. “That’ll probably cost nothing, won’t it?”

Rafe caught the sarcasm of your words very well but didn’t comment anything, just wiped the dust off his hands as he gazed down at you.

“Come on,” you heard, and as you looked up, you saw he was holding his hand out for you. “You were probably going back home yeah? I’ll drop you.”

You opened your mouth to argue but he cut you off the next instant.

“No ifs, or buts, or ‘Rafe’s, you hear me? You’re letting me drop you off, and are letting me take care of this,” he said, gesturing to your car. “I’ll call a mechanic who’ll get your car towed from here and will work on it. Now come on, none of us have got all day.”

By the end of his words, you knew whatever you’ll do is equivalent to pointless, so you gave in. You gently held his hand and helped yourself up from the road, brushing a hand over your clothes as he led you to his bike parked aside.

Rafe put his helmet on top of your head and adjusted the strap, and you heard a faint click as it fixed in place. You wanted to ask ‘what about you?’ when the only helmet was now sitting on your head, but you decided against it. He mounted the bike and gestured to you to do the same, revving the engine twice or thrice before taking off.

He was definitely faster than what you had expected, and you couldn’t help it when you gripped the sides of his t-shirt, fisting the crisp material in your fingers to provide yourself some stability. For a second, he took one hand off the handlebar and reached for your hand scrunching his t-shirt. He gently took your wrist and you let go of the fabric in the process, allowing him to tug your hand and place it on his waist. Your other hand followed suit, and both of your arms were firmly wrapped around his waist. His hand landed back at the handlebar, and he only sped up more, the wind whipping past you at a phenomenal speed.

The ride to The Cut came to an end when Rafe reached your home, and you didn’t want to admit to him or to yourself, but you felt it was short. The ride was nothing short of exhilarating, the wind whipping past your skin, and the way your arms found purchase around his waist gave you the comfort you needed.

You got off the bike, firmly planting your feet on the ground as you did so, and Rafe’s hand instinctively wrapped around your arm to make sure you remained stable. You carefully took off the helmet and handed it back to him.

“So uh,” You muttered, clearing your throat subtly, “thanks for the ride. Really,”

He shook his head, kicking the stand of the bike in place and allowing it to lean on one side. “Don’t worry,” He said, still sitting on the bike.

“You, you really didn’t have to,” You said, your fingers intertwined with each other behind your back.

“And do what? Leave you alone at the side of the road? With a broken down car and a dead phone?” Rafe sighed. “I wasn’t gonna do that y/n, you know that,”

You know that.

Yeah you do.

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat as a small silence fell over you two as none of you said anything, and you kept on contemplating how you could possibly return such a massive favor.

“You…” You began, your voice low, the words on the tip of the tongue feeling experimental, “you wanna come inside for a moment?”

Rafe’s response didn’t come out the very next second, and that small pause felt like years to you.

“Sure,” He said, getting off his bike. You let out a sigh of relief and nodded, leading him towards your place.

“It’s nothing big…” You muttered as you climbed up the stairs of the porch and he followed suit, watching you unlock the front door. “But it’s home, I guess.”

Knowing he had grown up in the richest part of the island, surrounded by everything he could possibly need and want, you had a feeling he’d definitely make some snarky comment. Cause isn’t that what he did? Rafe Cameron: the Kook prince, but also the biggest asshole?

But he was completely silent when he followed you inside and only quietly sat down on the couch you led him to, which you definitely were shocked to see, but nevertheless you didn’t really let it show on your expressions.

“So uh…” you began to speak, wanting to break through the awkward air around you two, “anything you’d like? Water? Or some tea maybe?”

He shook his head silently, and a moment later, gestured to the empty seat next to him.

“Come sit,” he said, words simple and direct, no beating around the bush, just like always.

You took a sweet moment to let his words settle in you, but when you did, you walked up to the couch and sat down next to him, a small distance maintained between the two of you. Your gaze remained fixed on your shoes, your hands perfectly intertwined in your lap, and your habit of pulling onto them – something which only tended to happen you felt really anxious – came back.

The awkward air was around you two again, settling over you two like a blanket that is way too warm for hot weather, making you feel uneasy and has got you squirming for any sort of cooling.

“Why do you do that?”

There it was.

It was out.

You blabbered out the question as if it meant nothing, when in reality, it carried so much more weight than you could possibly ever imagine.

When you were met with silence for a moment, you looked up, and saw Rafe sitting with his hands on his knees, his own gaze fixed at something on the floor. What was it exactly – you couldn’t tell.

When he still didn’t speak anything, you decided to take the chance.

“You’re always… there for me, in one way or the other. You patched my hand up at that party weeks ago, when you could’ve just ignored the situation. You saw me crying to myself when my date didn’t show up and came up to me when you could’ve just ignored the situation. You helped me at the beach clean up and carried my heavy bin for me when you could’ve ignored the situation. You saw my lack of tips and paid me a massive one when you could’ve ignored the situation. You could’ve always ignored the situation, Rafe. Just like you always do with the other Pogues. With them, you don’t care for even a damn second. But… why are you doing so much for me?”

The silence kept on greeting you, and you could feel yourself beginning to get impatient. Your gaze flickered over Rafe, and you didn’t miss the way he flexed his fingers over his knee, as if gripping it tightly.

“I, I don’t know…” He mumbled weakly. You had never heard his voice take such a softer tone. It’s as if you didn’t even know it existed.

“What– what do you mean you don’t know?” You sighed, turning your body a bit so you could face him. “That’s fucking ridiculous Rafe!”

“It’s not ridiculous I just can’t explain it the way you wish I could–”

“Well you should be able to cause I need explanations–”

“Not everything can be given a logical explanation come on–”

“Yes it can if you try hard enough–”

“I care for you okay!”

His words were loud, much louder than any of his previous words. Their loudness and conviction shut you up right at that moment, your eyes widening, and your lips slightly parted as you stared at him with a look of disbelief in your eyes.

“I–I Rafe began, running a hand through his messy bangs, and you had to control the urge to run your own fingers through them and gently push them out of his eyes, “I don’t know why, but I just can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, or being sad, or going through any discomfort. I just can’t okay? Each time I see you that way I– I immediately get to solving it cause I can’t bear to see you all troubled. I don’t want to see a single scratch on your skin or– or a single furrow in your brow I just… want to see you happy. Cause you look... so so pretty when you’re smiling, y/n, it’s… it’s unexplainable,”

A silence fell over you two as you let his words sink in you, which was a lot harder than you’d like, but you were doing it.

“And i just… wish that one day… you’d smile that pretty smile of yours because of me,” He murmured, “because I made you smile,”

You could see Rafe’s own words taking a massive toll on him, just as it was taking on you. You parted your lips to say something but you were just so horribly stumped, you couldn’t utter a single word.

He ran a ragged hand through his hair once again and stood up, clearing his throat.

“I should leave now,” He muttered, standing in front of your seated form but not facing you, but instead facing the door. Your own gaze was fixed at the floor, and you could hear your heartbeat thumping loudly in your eyes, his words repeating over and over like a broken record in your mind.

You didn’t say anything to stop him, so Rafe silently walked out the door, closing it behind himself with a silent click.

You were left all alone in your living room, Rafe’s weighted words lying heavy on your heart and mind, and the distant noise of his bike’s engine revving a bitter reminder that he wasn’t next to you anymore.

Just two days later, when you woke up in the morning and looked out your window, you saw your car parked. Not only was the battery replaced, a whole paint job was done, the ripped car seats were replaced with some fancy leather, the tyres were exchanged for upgraded ones, and for a second, you didn’t even recognise your own car.

You noticed a piece of paper held in place by the windshield wiper, and when you went outside and took the piece of paper and unfolded it, you saw a small phrase scrawled in black against the white of the paper.

don’t mention it. – R.C.

EPILOGUE

You let out a deep sigh as you watch him laugh, patting his friend’s arm in the process. A smile of pure contentment crosses your face, watching the rays of the bright, afternoon sun hit his bare skin and making it shine, his muscles seeming more pronounced than ever.

You watch him turn around and glance at you over his shoulder, his smile wide as he gives you a flying kiss. You can’t help but chuckle at the endearing action, causing you to send one his way too. He lifts up two fingers in the form of a peace sign and gestures to his friend next to him, silently conveying to you that he will be by your side in just two minutes. You give him an understanding nod and watch his head turn back to the front, getting delved into the conversation with his friend again.

You sip on your drink as you lean your head back, the sound of the boat rushing past the waves of the ocean filling your ear drums deeply. You close your eyes and just listen to the sound of waves, your mind shutting out the chitter chatter of the conversations of the other people on this boat.

Soon enough you feel the sunlight being blocked and as you open your eyes, you see him standing right in front of you, a smile on his face. The chain around his neck along with the little gold capital letter of your initial hanging from it catches the sunlight and gleams more than it usually does. He sits down next to you and silently wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You smile as you lean into him, your fingers going immediately to fiddle with the chain, feeling the edges of the cool gold initial under your fingertips.

You take a glance up at him, running your other hand along the side of his now buzzed head, feeling the short, prickly hair gently tickle your fingers.

“Are you having a good time so far?” He mutters softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, your head tucking in the crook of his neck.

“Yeah, yeah I am,” you say quietly, your fingers mindlessly continuing fiddling with the gold initial on his chest. “You?” You ask, slightly lifting your head up from his neck.

“Oh, the absolute best time,” He says softly, looking down at you with a gentle smile on his face. “We’re on our boat, and I’m with my gorgeous girlfriend, what else could I need?”

You can’t help but softly chuckle at his words, silently shaking your head as you lean your head against his shoulder again and resume fiddling with the chain. You do it often, almost each time you get your hands on him, and he loves it; feeling the occasional brush of your fingers against his skin and the gentle tugs on the chain.

He allows you to relax against him completely, his arms around you to keep you close to him as you both sit silently, only the sound of the water and the light chatter of your friends accompanying you two.

“Thank you,” Rafe says softly, his fingertips tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder.

You furrow your brows at his words, slightly confused, as you look up at him. “What for?” You ask.

Rafe only keeps on gazing at you, a gentle smile pulling his lips. He quietly shakes his head, and with a gentle pull, he allows you to rest against him again.

“Nothing.” He stays quiet for a moment. “Everything.”

Your own lips can’t help but upturn in a small smile too. “Well, in that case…” you murmur, leaning back to look up at him, one hand coming to rest against his cheek as you gently caress the soft skin, and you slowly lean in, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss.

“Thank you,” you mumble softly against his lips. Rafe’s hands grip your waist and he pulls you closer, not letting you pull back from the kiss. His fingers splay across your back as he kisses you, his lips moving in an unhurried, tender motion against yours.

A moment or so later, he pulls back, his eyes opening by just a fraction. You let your arms hook around Rafe’s neck, keeping him close to you.

“You’re the only one for me, Rafe,” you mumble quietly. “You’re the only one I’ll ever want.”

He leans his head against you and takes a deep breath, your scent and the smell of the ocean around you filling his nostrils deeply.

You both let the moment just simply sink in you, the sun rays bathing you in the warmest light, along with the presence of each other, which might be warmer than the sun any time of the day.

“Only you, my girl,” he mumbles quietly. “Always and forever.”

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @drewstarkeys-world / @inthelibrarybtw / @mileyraes / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @khaisdrz / @weirdowithnobeardo

specific tags for this fic: @writingmeraki / @ghoslyethastaryn / @congratsloserr / @helloloverz / @littlelamy / @eolsens / @wtfdudesblog / @jkrafe / @onlyrealjoy / @husherstan / @lilithblackkk / @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

tagging some moots: @runningfrom2am / @b1mb0slvt / @nemesyaaa / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @jjsbank444 / @ladyinbl00d

#f: obx #rafe cameron x reader

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demxters-recs · 4 months ago

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my heart is full, this was so soft and lovely and felt like a big warm hug. bob makes me so soft 😭🫶🏼

I'll be home for Christmas - Bob Floyd x reader

Summary: 1.4k words. Your husband has been deployed for 5 months. The holiday season is in full swing and you’re missing him. This is my entry for @lewmagoo's holiday celebration!

Warnings: language? Pining, angst, fluff & some more fluff

a/n: I wrote most of this in one sitting LAST MONTH. aaaaand then finals season descended upon me like a hoard of rabid locusts. so y'all get this holiday fic now, where it's technically still Christmas in some time zones!

One hundred sixty-seven days.

It’s been 167 days since you last saw your husband.

Rather appropriately, the U.S. military wanted to ensure its service members and their families could celebrate Independence Day.

July 4th at the Floyd household was truly a sight to behold. Penny brought half a dozen pies, Bradley’s family brought Carole’s famous potato casserole, and the rest of the squad brought beer. Lots and lots of beer. Phoenix, however, had more taste than the rest of the boys–as you had repeatedly told them over the years–and brought over your favorite drink to share. Natasha helped you and Bob decorate your humble bungalow early that morning and helped you with food prep throughout the day in anticipation of the 4th of July cookout.

On the surface level, the party you hosted was simply to celebrate the national holiday. It was arguably also a send-off party, given that half the aviators illuminated by fairy lights in your backyard would be shipped off to an undisclosed location less than 24 hours from that moment.

167 days is equivalent to 4,008 hours or 240,480 minutes, according to your recent Google history.

December 19th welcomed you with a cold embrace and increasingly painful longing. In defense of December and the holidays and all the commercialism you found yourself falling willing victim to, you kind of did this to yourself. At no point were you required to watch three and a half hours straight of shitty Hallmark movies over peppermint bark and eggnog. But you did, as was your right and freedom as an American citizen, you mused to yourself against the lip of the lukewarm mug.

Uncle Sam was not your best friend as of late.

Being away from your husband for five and a half months didn’t make for the most pleased military spouse.

You normally counted your blessings when you could. At least during this deployment, you were able to have semi-regular and reliable contact with Bob. Unlike some of his other deployments, the worst being the 10-week stints with no contact or details whatsoever. But now, as you watched the female lead–who looked like every other holiday Hallmark leading lady you’d seen today and yesterday and the day before and the day before that and–who left her impressive job in the city kiss her generically handsome high school sweetheart in front of their small town’s Christmas tree farm, you were not counting 4,008 consecutive hours away from your husband as a blessing.

Bob’s initial deployment orders ensured he’d be home by the beginning of December. Some classified delays that were above your level of security clearance pushed that date back to December 23rd. When Bob had the misfortune of sharing this news with you, he thought the Facetime connection had frozen from how long your jaw remained dropped.

The daily countdown displayed front and center on the fridge was reminiscent of a prisoner’s tally marks.

The second worst part of long deployments like these was the funk you’d fall into. You were a strong independent woman, dammit. But you were also a woman who was deeply in love with her husband. You aren’t ready to accept it yet, but you’re nearly certain this specific deployment has deepened some wrinkles and brought forth a few strands of grey hair.

“You are beautiful, my love,” Bob would tell you, sweet as ever, anytime your thoughts crept toward self-consciousness.

You were still young and hip enough to go out on a Thursday night, right? The thought quickly left your head as you inspected the old sweatpants you wore and the nearest clock reading well past 10 p.m.. Bedtime. You didn’t want to get up off the couch and do the dishes or fold the blankets or turn off the TV or do anything, but because you’re a responsible adult, you at least start the Sisyphean tasks.

A shrill ringtone emanated from the living room and you damn near tripped over said blankets while sprinting to pick up the phone before it’s too late. With soapy hands, you swiped to answer–unsuccessfully at first; the dish soap suds were evidently plotting your downfall–and were relieved to hear the signature soft static of the connected call.

“Hi, honey,” Bob greeted gently. He was tired, you could hear it in his voice and you knew you’d be able to read it on his face too.

“Bobby!” A grin brighter than you’d felt in days broke out across your face. There is comfortable silence just for a moment where the two of you enjoy each other’s presence. You know his time for phone calls is limited, so you cherish every moment. Even the quiet ones. You spared a glance at the time, knowing now that it is unequivocally past bedtime. Not that any concept of time mattered right now.

“What time is it where you are?” you ask him, prying for details you don’t have the security clearance for. You both know better, but he still humors you.

“It’s getting a little late…” he says smugly, scratching the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick, one that you can’t see at the moment. You hum in response. He can rarely tell you any specific details about where he is or what he’s doing. After years of this, you still bug him. He will swear until the day he dies that his greatest pleasure in life is being bugged by you.

You tell him about the shitty Hallmark movies you’ve been watching. You catch him up on the drama with your coworkers. Bob doesn’t want any kind of drama in his life, but he does indulge in some gossip about people that he’s never met. You tell him about the weather, about the shelter pets you’ve almost adopted close to ten times now, but agreed Bob should meet the fluffy friends too before welcoming them to their forever home. He listens as you review the final touches you’ve placed on the Christmas decorations, highlighting the anniversary ornaments hung proudly on the tree and the row of photographs from Christmases past with any and every Santa impersonator the two of you saw out in public. Because it’s totally normal for two adults to have a collection of such selfies.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the line and you’re half-worried you’ve rambled the man to sleep and the phone slipped from his grip. He hadn’t responded in a while–he was content to let you speak, or maybe he was snoozing.

“Bobby?” You say softly, hoping to get his attention, but not wanting to rouse him if he fell asleep. He deserves the rest.

Before he can answer, there’s a knock on the front door. What the fuck? You’d certainly considered ordering a pizza for delivery as dinner part 2, but you hadn’t actually placed the order. Or so you thought?

“Hold on, Bobby. Someone just knocked on the door…” you trail off, hesitantly tip-toeing toward your home’s entrance.

“Huh. That’s weird,” Bob remarks. You peer through the peephole and your heart stops. The phone clatters to the floor–the screen might’ve cracked, but you could not care less–as you wrench the door open, revealing the tall, handsome man you’ve been missing for 240,480 minutes.

“I can’t imagine someone would come to the door at this hour. It’s a little late, don’tcha think?” He says cheekily. You all but launch yourself into his arms. You bury your face into his warm neck and can’t stop the steady stream of tears flowing down your flushed face. Bob squeezes you tight like he’ll never let you go. His glasses are crooked on the bridge of his nose from the force of your body meeting his like a magnet, but he couldn’t see anything through his tears anyway. Eventually, you pull back, gasping for air as your eyes dance wildly across every inch of his body, making sure he’s really there and you aren’t dreaming. The feel of his firm lanky frame dressed in khaki and the way he simply smelled like home confirmed that for the first time in a long time, you felt complete.

“You’re here! You’re home!” you squeal, capturing his lips in a kiss that would have your neighbors clutching their pearls. Bob smiled into the kiss, every second of it rich in love and passion and making up for lost time. “I told you, honey,” Bob begins, punctuating every few words with kisses across your face. “I’ll be home for Christmas.”

a/n: Happy holidays!! Reblogs & comments are much appreciated 🥰

Find more of my writing on my master list.

#f: tgm #bob floyd x reader

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demxters-recs · 4 months ago

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oh we are so back. this single-handedly brought my love for theo raeken and teen wolf back from the dead.

dating theo raeken includes

pairings — theo raeken x fem!reader

summary — how it would be to date theo raeken!

word count — i’ll do word count later (i’m so exhausted and drained but im posting this because i wanted to post SOMETHING since i haven’t been writing a lot on here for QUITE a while)

warnings — mentions of theo's past, both loads of angst and fluff (obviously), mentions of reader's grief / loss of losing allison and watching her die, mentions of stiles's trauma and past with the nogitune, love confessions, kisses, use of a pet-name [princess], mentions of anxiety and mental health, theo is very protective, mentions of the 'i hate everyone but you' trope, sort of enemies to lovers trope but it's really just hints at it, forehead kisses, cuddles.

notes — i hope this isn't rushed. i'm currently in the middle of TRYING to finish my eddie fic (which, i've decided is just going to be a short tooth-rotting fluff type instead of the complicated one i wanted to do, because i'm really struggling with both writer's block and my mental health and illnesses taking their tolls on me), so this is just me trying to get this done as soon as possible before work again tomorrow. so please bear with me! gif and divider creds to owner!

p.s., feedback is very much encouraged and appreciated </3.

main masterlist

-meeting this boy is certainly very confusing for [y/n], to say the least.

-not only because of the fact that she's like a little sister to both stiles and scott, but also because she doesn't know whether or not to listen to stiles when he says that his childhood friend is bad news.

-and especially, because of the fact that her best friend is simply just paranoid about literally everything, it's hard to believe him.

-though, this is why she takes his comment seriously when she first meets theo, because she knows that he has a right to be paranoid — after everything he went through with the nogitune and the torture and guilt of hurting innocent people when he was void and from his guilt over blaming himself for allison's death.

-also the fact that theo is so adamant to get her to believe that he's genuine to her just confuses her more.

-though, after finding out how theo's sister died — how he couldn't save her, much like how it felt with her losing allison — she began to second guess both herself and stiles.

-not only did she feel immensely guilty for not giving him a chance, but also for how stiles had treated him.

-though, did she really need to feel guilty when it ended up being true that stiles was telling the truth?

-nevermind this fact that it doesn't get revealed at this point in time yet. what does get revealed, is the fact that [y/n] begins to feel badly for not giving him the benefit of the doubt.

-also, the fact that she's the type of person to do exactly just that, made her feel even more guilty than before.

-because of the guilt and regret constantly affecting her, she eventually stopped listening to stiles' warnings and decided to give theo a chance.

-they bond over both of their own experiences of grief and loss.

-stiles doesn't like this so much — protective big brother mode activated!

-theo and [y/n] grow closer every day, despite how much stiles tries to get in the middle and ruin their semi-growing relationship.

-no matter how much he tries, stiles can't get in between the two traumatized teenagers.

-and despite her own very heavy trust issues, [y/n] is very quick to trust him.

-maybe it was just the fact that despite everything she's been through, she always believes in the best of people — theo himself being one of those people.

-though, stiles isn't too thrilled about this.

-but, despite how much everyone isn't too excited about them getting so close and connected, there's something about how much they've grown to care for each other that they're all grateful for — at least, until everyone finds out the truth.

-and let me tell you, the betrayal she feels when she finds out the truth? well, that's just a complete understatement.

-because the one time she finally decides to open up and let someone in, it not only happens to be theo, but he also ends up being a betraying, liar.

-but, let me tell you, when she finds out that he tried to kill scott and did all of the rest of the things that hurt the pack? well, that anger and heartbreak was something unlike anything she's ever experienced.

-sure, she went through many hurtful experiences — like losing her best friend, or being treated like she wasn't enough, and never would be. but, there was nothing like realizing the fact that she'd been tricked into falling in love with someone she'd been warned about in the first place.

-the second she found out about the betrayal, all she could think about and remember was the countless times stiles had kept telling her that theo was bad news, that there was something off about him.

-and all she could do was think about how wrong she was — how she couldn't have been more stupid for trusting him, especially over one of her best friends.

-needless to say, she spent most of her time avoiding him as much as possible.

-she didn't see him for most of the time he spent 'helping' their pack.

-though, when it came to where kira came to save the day and sent theo back to hell with his now tragically-dead sister, [y/n] had been quite literally right in the middle.

-although theo had kept [y/n] out of danger in his own discreet way, not even that could've made her change her mind about him and step in to protect him — or to at least try to save him.

-and trust me, in her head, she really wanted to. as mad as she was at him for using and betraying her, she knew couldn't do it.

-she'd already felt like she betrayed the pack when she found out that she had been hanging out with the actual enemy.

-how could she try to save him, especially after everything he put them all through?

-so, despite the clear connection between the both of them — even after the betrayal and heartbreak he just recently put her through — and the streaming tears on her face, she doesn't move.

-even when he begs her and scott for help, she still stays in her place — no matter how much it kills her to ignore his pleas for help.

-the months after he's gone, a new dark hole fills inside of her heart, and she quickly becomes distant and unwilling to ever let anyone else in.

-when everyone meets up for their normal meetings or when they're on one of their missions to save some people, [y/n] would obviously join.

-but, her heart would no longer be in it anymore. and the distance between all of their relationships with her is a total understatement.

-even the pack realizes how different she's become because of losing theo, no matter how many times she refuses to admit it to any of them.

-and when liam brings theo back, everything changes for her.

-theo tries to show her that he feels remorse for what he did to everyone, and especially to her.

-at first, she's not willing to listen to anything he wants to say or do for her.

-but, eventually when they have to work together against the ghost riders, [y/n] is forced to be civil with him. but, she does make it quite clear of how much she detests him in the beginning.

-and then, they're forced to work together and face the trauma and tension between them.

-with theo, he's both struggling with his trauma and ptsd and trying to prove to both the pack and [y/n] herself that he's really trying and trying to be better.

-the whole time, since he's gotten back, she's been hateful towards him, and rightfully so. but then, things change when she begins to notice the big change in him.

-seeing him try to constantly save liam, or trying to cover for the pack when they're supposed to be on the run from monroe and her hunters, she's forced to accept that he's changed.

-a part of her wishes that he could've changed for her. but, if only she knew that she's one of the reasons that he wanted to change.

-i mean, for sure, he definitely wanted to do it to be a part of the pack and for himself. but, also, it was for her too, because he wanted her to care about him.

one day, after things with monroe have settled — after scott and the pack have finally ended things with monroe and her hunters — theo and [y/n] finds themselves alone in her house, after a pack meeting and after everyone left.

“why haven't you kicked me out yet?” theo asks with a fake smirk and matter-of-fact tone of voice.

she gulps, turning to face him with nervous eyes.

he immediately notices the change in her behavior, but he can't call her out on it because she speaks before he can, “you've changed, theo.”

he's startled by her statement.

he opens his mouth to respond, but once again, she interrupts him, “ever since you got back — earlier this year — you've changed. you haven't been the same since.”

he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and like this conversation isn't a big deal.

she inhales, preparing herself for what she's about to do and say.

“when you first got back,” she gulps, raking her fingers through her hair anxiously. “i...i didn't want to think about the possibility — i didn't even want to admit — that you changed. even when you sacrificed your life and freedom to save me and liam from the ghost riders.”

theo's eyebrows knit together in confusion. “okay... what does that have to do with anything?”

her breath hitches in her throat, moving to sit down at the kitchen counter, avoiding his eyes. “it's because i'm finally seeing it — the change.”

“okay... ” he trails off, moving to sit on the opposite side of her.

she sighs in defeat. “i feel like... things have changed between us. like recently.”

“what are you saying?” he asks.

this time, she looks up at him now with tears in her eyes. “i know we've both been acting like i hate you. but... ” she trails off, gulping. “i think we both know — maybe this whole time — that i never really hated you.”

“what's changed?” he asks, leaning his arms against the counter.

“i think maybe... ” she says, looking down again as she fidgets with her hands on the counter. “when you first got back, all you wanted was to live. and then, i think you saw some of that family bond that everyone in the pack has and you wanted it too — i think you realized how important it was and you felt like you owed it to scott and the others to protect them.”

he nods. “you're right.”

she inhales, once more. “a part of me...wishes you wanted to change for me too.”

she lets those words sink in, but then she starts to overthink what she said. “i—i don't mean like actually change for me, but that you wanted to, to prove how much you cared. about me, i mean.”

theo's face is unreadable.

because of this, she looks away. “but... the truth is, it hurts.”

the tears blind her vision this time, before they fall and her breath becomes shaky as she speaks again, “and well, the whole truth is that... when we first met and we became close in the way that we did, i felt like — for the first time in a long time — i felt hope that... ”

“i felt hope that maybe you'd be different this time — different than every other person that ever hurt me. i hoped that we could be something — more than just friends.”

she's left theo speechless, at this point.

“are... are you saying what i think you're saying?" he asks, tears in his own eyes — surprisingly.

wordlessly, she looks up at him and nods.

a shaky breath leaves his lips. “and you're not messing with me?”

she laughs. “messing with you? why would i be joking around about this?”

he clears his throat as she starts to feel anxious and nervous that she's really just screwed everything up.

sensing that she's about to shut down, he reaches across the counter to hold her hands in his own. “you're one of the reasons i did all of that in the first place.”

she looks up in shock. “what?”

“it's the truth,” he confirms, squeezing her hands gently. “i swear i've loved you from the moment i met you.”

she lets out a shocked and shaky breath. “really?”

he nods, smiling over at her.

“i... ” she trails off, finding the courage to tell him what she's known from the start too, “theo, i love you too.”

he sighs in relief as he takes his hands away from hers.

her eyebrows furrow together in confusion, almost missing the feeling of his hands over hers, but that feeling goes away when he walks around the counter and over to her.

"i love you so much that being away from you and thinking you hated me was killing me, princess..." he murmurs as he walks over to her and bends down, before lifting her chin up and kisses her softly.

-everything after that day changes for them.

-and everyone sees it.

-they spend a lot of their time with each other.

-to be completely honest, they make each other happy — they're so cute that the pack has to accept it.

-stiles is still extremely protective over her — he and theo had a very intense conversation about how if he ever hurts her again he would absolutely kill him for it.

-forehead kisses.

-the cutest cuddles.

-she's the only one that sees his soft side — he's all tough and reserved around everyone else, but with her, he shows that side only to her.

-his protective instincts are an understatement.

-if anyone hurts her — both physically or emotionally, and mentally — it's over for them because he would let the world burn to protect her.

-he becomes an even better person for her and the whole pack sees it.

-she helps him through his trauma and helps him get into therapy to work through it all.

-they're relationship works.

#f: teen wolf #theo raeken x reader

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demxters-recs · 9 months ago

Text

kicking my feet, twirling my hair, and giggling like a school girl i love grumpy jason being a softie for his s/o

Banished

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason misses his girlfriend

warnings: extremely mild angst, he’s just mopey (he’s fine)

Jason sits slumped over the kitchen island, head lying in his crossed arms. His now soggy cereal disregarded after barely a few bites.

Dick’s been rummaging through the cabinets for the better part of twenty minutes and Tim sits atop of the nook table shoving donuts in his mouth for the better part of thirty.

Damian trudges past them to the nook bench, taking out a knife and beginning to whittle away at a block of wood.

He glances at Jason with a scowl. “If you’re going to be so miserable, can’t you do it in your own home?”

Jason just grunts.

He wishes. You and Bruce had conspired to trap him at the mansion for the week so he could heal from injuries sustained during the last mission without risk of him suiting up and sneaking away from you in the middle of the night.

It’s not even the fact that he’s basically being babysat that’s got him so disgruntled. He wouldn’t mind it at all if you were here too. But you were dead set that the manor was too far out of your way for work, so you’d stay behind. A lose-lose for Jason.

“He’s just mad his girlfriend kicked him out.” Dick teases, swiping through the fridge.

Tim snorts from the doorway, “Me too. He’s a lot more depressing on his own.”

Jason kept his head down as he blindly reached for the spoon in his cereal and chucked it at Tim’s head.

Tim catches it without thought, continuing, “A lot more irritable, at least. Why isn’t she here?”

“She’s gotta work.” Dick says, scanning through the pantry.

Damian peeps his head up from his project. “But Todd has a rather large supply of less than legally obtained money, does he not?”

“Yeah, but she said she wants to pay her own rent, I think.” Dicks hums, finally giving up on his quest for a snack.

Damian pauses.

“So she wants to live in a tiny apartment?” He asks, a mixture of confused and horrified.

“Watch your mouth.” Jason mumbles.

“It was a genuine question!” Damian protests, face screwed up.

Jason finally lifts his head up, turning to his little brother with a raised brows. “And I’m genuinely going to break your nose.”

It’s an empty threat, maybe. But it was enough to shut Damian up anyways. Jason turns back to his cereal and swishes the bowl around.

Dick rests his arms on the counter across from Jason and speaks lowly. “You know, it is just a few days. She’s coming back.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Jason was never one for showing his feelings—let alone talking about them.

He misses you, plain and simple. Dick could see that much clearly, though the longing looked unfamiliar on Jason.

Bruce lingers in the hallway, just past the island, listening.

He’ll admit (to himself) that he’s worried about Jason. It’s been three days and Jason has yet to show a crack in this demeanor. And while it’s not uncommon for him to stow himself away, there is something quite wrong with the way he hasn’t countered his brother’s jabs at him or teased them.

And while he could do without the blatant threats, he’s proud to hear his son defending his girlfriend, even over trivial things. It’s one of the few moments where he feels like he did right by him as a father.

And now here’s his son, caring about someone else more than he cares about himself. Someone who’s a good person, no less. It had been your idea to trick Jason into staying at the manor, you were scared that he would push his body past its limit when you couldn’t do anything to help.

Bruce knew you didn’t feel great about basically banishing him for the week but he could see that you just wanted what was best for Jason. He could see it so clearly. Maybe Bruce could never have been a perfect father, could never have given his son everything he needed despite having more money than he could ever use. Maybe he couldn’t help him, even now.

But you could.

Bruce peers around the corner, leaning up against the doorframe.

He watches Damian give up on carving at his block and start into the leg of the table.

He watches the bickering that broke out after Tim grab the last glazed donut, which was apparently the only thing Dick could possibly fathom eating.

And he watches Jason.

As Jason’s phone lights up on the counter next to him. He glances down at it with a frown before his face absolutely lights up.

He scrambles to pick the phone up and starts typing away. A quiet action that catches the attention of all of his brothers.

He types and types, waits for ten seconds for a response and types and types again—smile on his face.

The Waynes didn’t need to be the greatest detectives in the world to know who he was texting.

✨ reblog or face the block button ✨

#f: dc #jason todd x reader

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demxters-recs · 9 months ago

Text

“You’re everything to me.”

GOODBYEEEEE this was the perfect amount of fluff and angst and pining…. i want to cry.

— IT’S SO SWEET

pairing: jason todd x best friend!reader

summary: the 3 times jason takes care of you and the 1 time he lets you do the same. alternatively, jason thinks he's invincible, but his best friend needs to be protected at all costs.

warnings: unedited. again. pls don't kill me. swearing, kissing, mentions of blood/weapons/injuries, mentions of periods, reader is a nursing student, best friends to lovers!!! <3

author’s note: *shoves it at you* another one of these fics with the same format, this time with jason :) listen to 'sweet' by cigarettes after sex while reading this btw. and let me know what you think!! drop an ask or a message, don’t be shy!💌

1. when finals are going to kill you.

Sometimes you think being a vigilante like your best friend is worth the constant risk of dying if it means you never have to open another textbook again. When you voice this to Jason, he scowls like you've just threatened to kill a kitten in front of him.

"That's not funny. Don't even joke about that," he scolds, still frowning at you from the opposite end of your kitchen island. His Red Hood suit is sprawled out in front of him as he stitches up a loose hem, compliments of the last goon he most likely beat to a pulp. You make a face at the fact that his sleeve is covering your anatomy notes, ignoring the way he leans down in attempt to catch your eye. He resorts to snapping his fingers in your face. "Hey. Hey, I'm serious."

"Jason," you sigh, setting down your pen and resting your chin on your hand as you talk to him. "I'm studying for nursing school finals in my kitchen, because I didn't want to walk the five more steps it takes to get to my bedroom after making instant ramen. Do you really need me to tell you I'm not being serious about becoming a vigilante?"

His shoulders relax very slightly, but his expression stays annoyed. "You're going to give me an entire head of grey hair before I'm even thirty."

"Well, at least we know it'll suit you," you say through a yawn as you point to the white streak running through his hair. "So, if anything, you're welcome."

He gives you another withering glare, going back to his stitching. The tiny needle in his large hand distracts you for a minute until you realise that Jason has stopped sewing and you're actually staring into nothing now. He notices your eyes that have glossed over and immediately reaches over to slam your textbook shut, startling you back to attention. It isn't until he does this that you feel the exhaustion seeping into your bones, emphasised by the knot in your neck and the cramp in your writing hand.

Jason drags your textbook away from you, along with your notes. You take a second to appreciate how careful he is not to crease the pages, knowing you'd lose your mind. "Okay, you're done for today."

"Huh?" you mumble stupidly, his words registering in your mind too late and you realise he's just hijacked your study material. "Wh- Hey! Give it back, Jay, I have-"

"Finals, I know. Last I checked, you need to be alive to take finals and I don't see that happening unless you take a nap," he says, voice a little too calm for someone who you're about to pounce on and claw at until you get your textbook back. You sluggishly clamber off your stool and step in front of Jason, who immediately raises his arm to hold your textbook out of reach.

You look up at him and attempt an intimidating glare. "Hand over the textbook, Todd."

Jason raises his eyebrows, huffing out an exasperated laugh. "Lift one of your arms to get the book and its yours."

Your finger doesn't so much as twitch, but you sway a little until you reluctantly accept that maybe he's won this one. And maybe a nap does sound pretty good right now, you think with a groan, dropping your head so it rests on Jason's chest. Your arms hang floppily at your sides. "I'll kick your ass after my nap," you mumble into his shirt.

"I'm terrified," he deadpans, and you hear the thud of the textbook on the counter before his large hands come up to grip your waist so he can walk you backwards to your couch, knowing you well enough to anticipate your grumbles if he were to attempt to take you all the way to your bedroom. You smile into his chest.

"You've met your match, Red," you say as dramatically as you can for someone who's practically the equivalent to a sack of potatoes against Jason right now. When you feel the back of your legs hit the couch, you grip onto the bottom of Jason's shirt and tug at the fabric before he can let you go. "You're my human pillow, where do you think you're going?"

Before he can answer, you nudge him onto the couch and he obediently lies down so you can nestle in next to him and plop your head back onto his warm, muscled chest. You blame your exhaustion for your shameless behaviour.

Despite the tiredness, you can't help irritating Jason just a little bit more. "Hey, Jay. What would my vigilante name be?"

"Shut up," he says without any bite, resting his chin on top of your head. You snicker into his shirt, half delirious with fatigue but awake enough to feel his face moving as he smiles when he thinks you're not looking.

"Something cool. Like Nightwing," you mutter sleepily, poking the bear.

"What? Nightwing is not as cool as-" Jason starts incredulously, but cuts himself off. "Whatever. Go to sleep."

You hum, eyelids feeling heavy and you start drifting off, the last thing you register being Jason's fingertip tracing circles on your back.

When you wake up, Jason and his suit are gone, but you have a blanket tucked around you and a box of your favourite cookies on the coffee table.

2. when, apparently, you aren't immune to the streets of gotham.

Considering you live in the most corrupt city in the world, you probably should be a little more cautious about going out at night. It's not like you don't take precautions, though. Like every woman in Gotham, you're loaded with pepper spray every time you leave the house. Unlike every woman in Gotham, you also have multiple vigilantes in your phone with whom you share your location with.

Even then, you aren't stupid enough to step into any alleyways. You wish that were enough to stay out of trouble, but as soon as you realise the streets have completely emptied while you've been distracted with your thoughts, you start panicking a little.

You're fine, you reassure yourself as you slide your phone out your pocket to pull up your recent texts. You keep your screen open just for some reassurance, gripping the sides of your phone tightly when you hear some distant footsteps.

It's only ten more minutes to the convenience store, so you're more irritated than scared when you hear the footsteps quicken behind you, catching up. Your fingers fumble to text an SOS to Jason, but you accidentally tap send on your chat with Dick instead. With slightly shaky hands, you try and send one to Jason as well, hoping it's gone through when your phone is suddenly knocked out of your hand.

"Oh, for the love of-" you hiss, when you hear the cracking noise of your screen against the pavement and you don't risk reaching down to grab it. Instead, you turn around slowly to face a dark figure, clad in a cliche, all-black outfit and stood in a threatening stance. God, you hate Gotham.

"Hand over your-"

"Wallet, money, most prized possession," you cut the man off, probably very stupidly. "I know the drill, hang on."

He falters for a moment before anger clouds his expression and he pulls out a knife before you can get your wallet out. You try not to sigh in relief. For anyone else that might sound crazy, but knives you could manage. Being best friends with Jason Todd means of course you've been made to learn self-defence. Disarming someone with knives was doable enough to learn as a nursing student. Guns, on the other hand, are out of your league.

The fact that you know how to defend yourself doesn't make the knife look any less threatening and sharp, though.

"Hey, look, I'm not gonna be difficult," you say, dropping your voice to a low murmur as though you're trying to coax a cat out of a tree. "I'll give you my money."

"Yeah. Yeah, you do that," he rushes out, sounding confused. You kind of feel bad for him. Most people confronted with a mugger would probably be a lot more scared than you're acting and it's clearly throwing him off his game. You almost regret bothering to send your SOS and as you're thinking about how you're going to apologise to Dick for wasting his time, you go to grab your wallet to try and stall before the mugger becomes violent. "Stop! Put your hands up. I'll grab it myself."

You furrow your brows, about to argue that no, he fucking won't. But you see that the man's face suddenly becomes ten times paler than before and he's looking behind you instead. Your shoulders sag with relief as you spin around to see Nightwing in all his black and blue glory.

"Is there a problem, ma'am?" he lowers his voice an octave and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. He seems to be focusing hard on acting like strangers, because anyone with eyes would see the problem very clearly in the form of a man wielding a knife.

"Please, help me," you respond, drily. Dick raises a brow at your flippant attitude, so you clear your throat, kicking it up a notch. You glance at the man behind you and try to look more terrified than you feel. "Please help me, Mr Nightwing. This guy's got a knife, and he's going to stab me with it."

The man frantically shakes his head, dropping the knife immediately and backing up. "I wasn't! I swear, man, I was just trying to scare her. Look, I'll just-"

"Hey." You hear another familiar voice boom, this time through a modulator. You sigh, lifting your head to see Jason, all the more threatening as Red Hood. His guns are already in either hand by his side and you have to respect the mugger for not passing out where he stands. If you didn't know it was Jason behind that mask, you'd be terrified to death. He tilts his head, evaluating the man. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Nowhere, I-"

"Exactly," Jason's warped voice comes out tight, and you hear the cocking of his gun, making you whip around to send a panicked look to Dick. He runs closer to you and you drop your voice to a whisper.

"I've got Hood, you take care of the guy."

"Don't do anything stupid," he says, not unkindly and the two of you snap into action.

You run back over to the mugger and step in front of him, making Jason falter in his movements and lower his gun. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths like he's exercising real control. "Move."

You stay as still as possible, arms splayed out in an attempt to cover the man behind you, despite the fact that Jason definitely possesses the skill to take him out even with you in the way.

"Put your guns away," you hiss when Dick has successfully restrained the man out of earshot and is dragging him away with ease. Jason steps towards them, but you stay in his way, using both hands against his chest to stop him. It's more of a symbolic gesture than anything, since you know you wouldn't be able to budge him an inch even if you threw yourself at him with full force. He stops anyway, looking down at you with his hands gripping his firearms tightly. "He was practically harmless. Let Nightwing deal with him. Please."

You're talking him down, trying to waste time so Dick can leave before Jason is able to do anything. You know you've succeeded when he tucks away his weapons, albeit reluctantly. Dick is too far away with the man now, anyway.

"What the hell were you doing out at this time?" he says, raising his voice instead of the usual quiet, deadly anger he reserves for the people who deserve it. It's how you know he's worried, when he doesn't try and control his temper. "And without dropping me a text first, so I could check on you? You do understand where you live, right?"

"Don't yell at me!" Your voice cracks in the middle of your sentence and you feel your lower lip tremble slightly. Jason stills. You refuse to cry, cursing your damn hormones and the fact you're a woman and the fact that you're cramping again. You aren't in the mood to talk to Red Hood right now. You want Jason. "And turn off your stupid voice thing!"

He obliges quickly, stepping closer to you. You're angry at one less thing now that his voice is back to normal. "I'm sorry for yelling. Please don't be upset with me, I was just worried-"

"You were going to kill that guy."

"Damn straight," he fires back, defensive again.

You glare at him and he has enough sense not to speak further. Shaking your head, you let out a frustrated groan. "He was a lousy mugger. That hardly deserves a bullet through the head."

"Are you forgetting that he had a knife?" he exclaims, throwing his hands up. Suddenly, as though he's remembering something, Jason folds his arms across his chest. "Why'd you call D- Nightwing for help first?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. How about next time, I'll ask the guy with the a knife if he can hold off for a second while I select the right contact number!" you grit out, hit with another wave of cramps, extremely tired of this conversation. "It was an accident, you idiot. I meant to text you first."

You can't see Jason's expression beneath his Red Hood mask and you aren't going to ask him to remove it in the middle of the streets, but you imagine he's mollified with the way his shoulders relax a bit.

Huffing, you walk away to get your phone, gingerly picking it up to inspect the newly made cracks all over. You vaguely register Jason standing over your shoulder before you shove your phone in your pocket, a problem for tomorrow. You turn around to face him and clutch at your lower stomach, breathing turning shallow.

"I was on my way to the convenience store," you explain, gritting your teeth. "I assume you're coming with me now?"

"Why did you need to go so late?" he questions, typically not letting it go. Instead of responding, you screw your eyes shut and puff out a few pained breaths. He immediately grips your shoulders and begins inspecting you. "What? Are you hurt? What happened, did he get you?"

"I have cramps, you ass," you groan, shoving his hands away. He ceases looking for an injury, and you don't need to ask him to remove his mask to know that he's relieved. "I was going to the store so late because I'm out of my sanitary products."

"Oh," Jason says gruffly, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his voice due to his excessive worry. "Well, I kept a whole box of pads and stuff from the other month in my apartment. It's closer, come on."

You sag with relief, dragging your feet to follow him as the two of you walk to his place. You're in his apartment so often that you're not surprised it's stocked up with period products as well as your usual things for when you stay the night. You feel a funny little flip that has nothing to do with cramps when you consider how he kept everything.

"Do you need me to carry you?" Jason asks, completely serious, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I know how bad the cramps can get."

"I took some meds a couple hours ago, they're not the worst yet," you explain, shaking him off and trying not to think about him offering to carry you all the way to his apartment just because you have cramps.

You reach his complex quickly and he sends you up while he enters through the fire escape from a back alley as not to expose Red Hood's living quarters. By the time you've entered through his door, Jason is already there, judging by his helmet sitting on his kitchen counter.

"Be out in a second," he calls from his bedroom and so you flop down on his couch, face down in one of the cushions as you try to think about something other than the sharp needles stabbing your lower belly. He walks out while you're writhing in pain and sets down some pads, two painkillers and a glass of water on the coffee table. "Here, take them now and go sleep in the bed. There's some snacks in my nightstand if you get hungry. Do you need me to stay home?"

You reluctantly turn over onto your back and see that he's also holding your fluffy panda hot water bottle. You might combust, there and then. Pouting, you reach out for the panda, grabbing it to hold it close to your body and sighing at the slight pain relief. "I'm okay, you can go back to patrol. Thanks for looking after me, Jaybird."

"It's nothing," he shrugs, turning away to hide the pink flush appearing on his cheeks and grabbing his helmet. He shoves it on quickly and you try not to let out an unattractive snort of laughter. He turns on his voice modulator. "Text me if you need anything."

With that, he slips out of his window, making sure to shut it tightly behind him. You stay on the couch after knocking down a couple of painkillers and try to entertain yourself with some TV while you wait for Jason to come back.

You mournfully scroll through your phone, trying not to cut your fingers on the broken glass. The actual phone seems to be giving up on you as it takes forever to click on one thing to the next. Giving up, you toss it on the table and close your eyes. Making make a mental list in your head of things to do tomorrow, you add buying a new phone to it and prepare to say goodbye to a healthy chunk out of your bank account.

You don't remember dozing off, but your alarm startles you awake and you grab around for it on the nightstand next to you. Turning it off, you decide to brave the world outside the comfy sheets and realise you're in Jason's bed. He must have gotten back late and put you there, you think with a smile, suddenly happier than you were when first waking up. This happy attitude sours a bit when you nick ur finger on the broken glass of your phone screen trying to turn off the rest of your alarms.

Making your way out of his room and following the smell of toaster waffles, you see Jason plating up some breakfast for you. "Morning," you yawn, plopping down on a kitchen stool. "How was patrol?"

"Same old," he says, giving you the usual, non-descriptive answer. For all you know, he could have taken down an entire drug ring single-handedly and you'd be none the wiser. He sets down a plate in front of you, as well as a rectangular box. "Here."

You inspect the box, confused and wanting to focus more on the food before you process what it is and your jaw drops. "Jason Peter Todd. What the hell did you do!"

"Your phone broke," he says, gruffly, clearly trying to downplay the fact that he bought you a brand new smartphone, a later model than the one you already have. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

"Of course I'm going to make a big deal, Jay," you say, frowning. "I was going to get one myself today. Why did you waste your money on me? How much was it?"

"Don't worry about it," he says flippantly, plating up his own waffles. You should have known better than to ask. There's no way he's taking money from you.

You sigh, shoving your waffles and the phone out of the way to make your way over to him. "Jay," you say softly, grabbing his face in your hands. His eyes widen slightly and you fight the urge to smile. "I can't accept it."

"I said it was nothing," he replies, furrowing his brows and you release his face in favour of hugging him instead. "And it's not a waste if it's on you. You're taking the phone."

"It's everything," your voice comes out muffled by his hoodie. The cost of a phone really is nothing to Jason. It wouldn't have made even the slightest dent to his bank account, but that's not the point. "You need to let me take care of you for once. Oh, one more thing."

He hums in question, resting his chin on your head and wrapping his hands around you.

"If you buy anything for me again, I'm cutting a heart shaped hole in your suit."

Jason huffs out a laugh and you feel the vibration through his chest. "What about the coffee I get you after class every Friday?"

You stay silent.

He snorts, knowing he's got you. He drops a kiss on your head and grins when you look up to frown at him. "That's what I thought."

3. when this guy just won't take a hint.

Jason owes you big time. You've had the longest week of your life and yet here you are, in a floor length, dark red dress and heels, for crying out loud.

Realistically, this is the least you could do for him, showing up to a gala thrown by his father to keep him company. You're more than happy to do this as a favour to him, but that fact doesn't make the heels pinch at your toes any less.

"I haven't worn this dress since high school," you grumble, twisting it around your waist where it fits snugly. You're thankful for the fact that it falls loosely past your waist, or you'd have ripped it from your body by now. "If I eat one thing, it might actually tear."

"I'll give you my jacket when you spot the appetisers," Jason says, absentmindedly. You squeeze his bicep gently in thanks from where your arm is looped in his as he leads you into the venue. "Anyway, we'll be in and out, as always. Just making an appearance for Bruce."

"In and out," you repeat, lowering your voice as the two of you enter a more populated area. You know even though Jason moans about these events, he wouldn't be here if he really didn't want to be. He cares, even though he'd never admit it.

Groups of businessmen, celebrities, entrepreneurs; basically a bunch of rich people who are dressed in clothes that are definitely more expensive than your rent are milling about, every one of them with a drink in their hand. Their unwavering smiles and the constant trips to the bar are nothing new and you wrinkle your nose at the atmosphere of the place. "Do they even know what charity Bruce is throwing this for?"

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Bruce could be throwing this thing for homeless badgers and they'd be none the wiser," he mutters, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. Rolling his neck, he takes a deep breath. "I should go say 'hi' to him, while he's talking to a bunch of people. Prove that I actually showed up. You wanna come?"

You almost agree, not wanting to be left alone, but just before you reluctantly trudge over to a group of Bruce's boring business associates, you thankfully spot Jason's brothers by the bar. "I'll just go hang out with Dick and Tim, is that okay? I can come with though, if you want."

"Nah, go ahead," he says, detangling his arm from yours and giving you a reassuring smile. "Come grab me when they start getting annoying."

"Be nice," you warn, gently shoving him towards the group of men as you make your way to Dick and Tim.

"Hey," Tim greets you with a smile, glancing up quickly before returning to his phone. He does a little double take, eyes snagging on your dress and his smile turns devious. "Well, you look nice. You're wearing a very... nice colour..."

"Tim," you heave a deep sigh. Dick rolls his eyes, but he can't help the corners of his lips quirking up. "You can't keep doing this every time I wear red."

"I'm not doing anything, just making an observation," he shrugs, rocking back and forth on his heels in an attempt to look casual. Tim glances around to see make sure no one is in earshot before lowering his voice. "Hey, totally unrelated, but I heard Jaybird nearly shot a guy for almost mugging you."

"Tim."

"Leave her alone," Dick intervenes before Tim can needle you further. He definitely enjoys it too, but ever the golden boy, he seemingly wants to keep the peace. "How are you doing after that, anyway?"

"Fine," you nod reassuringly. "Thank you, again for showing up, Dick. I really appreciate it."

"Don't be silly, it's-"

"I heard he got you a brand new phone, too," Tim pipes up, cutting his brother off.

"Tim," you groan, thwacking him in the arm with your clutch. He barely flinches. "For the last time, Jason and I are just friends."

Tim opens his mouth to respond, but his eyes dart behind you and he thinks better of it, choosing to just smirk like the troublemaker he is.

"That's good news." You whip around to locate the source of the voice, finding yourself looking at a guy you've never met before. He seems to be around your age, dressed smart and very rich looking. You stand there stupidly.

"For who?" you ask, chuckling nervously.

He shrugs, giving you a charming smile. "Anyone who wants to buy you a drink. May I?"

Understanding dawns on you and you glance at Dick and Tim with wide eyes, feeling a little awkward that they're here for this interaction. Dick keeps his expression carefully neutral as he considers the man, whereas Tim frowns when he meets your eyes, jerking his head as subtly as possible in Jason's direction.

This has you glaring at him and just to prove a point, you plaster on a wide smile of your own and return your attentions to the stranger. "Yes. You may."

The two of you walk closer to the end of the bar and away from the others. You pointedly don't look at them. "What was your name?" you ask the stranger, mostly for the sake of being polite.

"George." A rich guy name, you think to yourself. If Jason were here, you know he'd have a million things to say.

He asks your name and you give it to him as he orders you a drink without actually asking what you want.

"Pretty name," George remarks, handing you a glass of something you've never had before. You pretend to take a sip, smiling in thanks. "So, what's your story?"

You try not to outwardly cringe at the question, sorely regretting tonight's decisions despite the fact you've been here less than half an hour. "I'm just here to keep my friend company." You keep the story short, not bothering to explain how you know the Wayne family.

"Ah, well. I dont blame you for looking so bored. I'm just here because I have to be as well," he mutters, swirling the contents of his glass. "Business connections and such."

"Oh." You find yourself being less and less interested in this conversation. "Do you know what the fundraiser tonight is for?"

"God, no," George laughs, taking a sip of his drink. You try your hardest not to grimace, mentally checked out of the conversation already. "It's always the same shit, anyway. Forget all that. Drink up and we can get out of here."

You nearly choke on your own saliva at his sheer confidence and set down your drink. "I really shouldn't. I'm, uh, I'm okay staying here."

"Aw, come on," he leans in a little closer than you'd like and you try to look as imperceptibly as you can for Dick or Tim, but it seems they've left you to face the consequences of your own actions. Traitors. "You don't look like you're enjoying yourself. What, you don't like me-?"

"Hey." You feel Jason's presence at the same time as hearing his voice. You almost laugh at how relieved you suddenly feel and you and relax into his hold when he places both hands on your waist. Jason drops his voice to a murmur that only you can hear. "Ready to go home?"

You nod, turning to leave. About to bid a quick goodbye to George as not to be rude, you open your mouth but get stopped in your tracks.

"She's fine right here, man," George says, voice as smooth as glass. If the glass is shattered into sharp, pointy spikes that are as uncomfortable as this conversation, that is.

Jason's previously polite smile hardens as his front is now practically plastered against your back. "She can talk for herself."

"She was actually just-"

"She's right here," you interrupt, squirming out of Jason's arms to step back. He drops his hands immediately, but doesn't look at you. Instead, he assesses George through a narrow eyed gaze. You can't decide if George is being brave, or stupid for not cracking under the weight of Jason's intense glare as he stands there, all six foot two of him posing a threatening picture. "Right, well. I'm just going to-"

"Hey, hold on," George says, averting his all-too arrogant gaze back to you and gripping your upper arm, jerking you slightly. You flinch a little when he moves into your personal space. "You aren't going to give me your number?"

His grip doesn't hurt, but it's a world away from gentle and you almost gape at the fact he doesn't seem to be aware of how uninterested you are.

Jason immediately clocks this, stepping forward. "Yeah, I don't fucking think so," he says darkly and then he shoves at George. Hard.

The people nearest to you gasp and titter when they see George careening into the stools at the bar and you slap a hand over your mouth, shocked. Shocked that Jason had actually gotten violent as Jason and not as Red Hood. All over a random creep, no less.

Before George even has the chance to recover from the surprise of Jason's brute force, you pull harshly on Jason's suit jacket, steering him out of the venue and into the hall. He follows you without protest, still breathing heavily.

"What the hell was that?" you hiss, trying to keep your voice quiet, despite being alone out in the entrance hall.

"He grabbed you," Jason says slowly, as if he's confused as to why you're upset. His expression is tight, like he's being careful to control his anger even now that you're away from George. "I would have done a lot fucking worse to him if you hadn't dragged me out of there."

"You cannot go all Red Hood when you're Jason! It's suspicious as hell. Not to mention how you were practically back-hugging me like some sort of reverse bulletproof vest."

"I always do that," Jason says, calmly. The fact that he isn't raising his voice just spurs you on to raise yours higher. The multitude of emotions swirling around in a confused whirl around your stomach makes you nauseous.

"You hate being touchy in public," you say, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "Last month, you punched Tim in the stomach for putting his arm around your shoulder. Anyway, that's not the point! You're so occupied with trying to take care of everyone that you never consider yourself. Or let anyone else do so. Yeah, that guy was an asshole. But he was just an asshole trying to talk to a single girl. He wasn't some... some crime boss or villain or evil freaking mastermind for you to take down!"

"I don't need looking after. And he didn't know you were single," Jason scoffs, running a hand through his neatly combed hair, mussing it up. If you weren't so irritated, you'd take a moment to appreciate how much you prefer it when he looks like this. Real and raw, like the current expression on his face rather than closed off and emotionless. "You came here on my arm, wearing my colour, like Tim's always fucking going on about. You... you're my..."

"Your what, Jason?" you ask, hysterically. You're almost yelling now, finally ready to snap at Jason's inability to share his thoughts with you. He stays silent, face going blank again, an indication that he's closing himself off to you. Your shoulders sag from exhaustion. "Come talk to me when you can give me an answer. I'm going home, I'll get Dick to give me a ride."

You don't wait for a response as you walk back into the venue. Thankfully, Dick is near the entrance and you don't have to subject yourself to too many stares before he takes you home. You don't glance at Jason on your way out.

4. when he asks for your help.

You're moping. You don't bother trying to deny it, but you're definitely moping around your apartment since your fight with Jason. You wake early every day and get dressed and study, but your movements are almost robotic in nature.

Dick has tried texting you a few times, but you've decided to just avoid looking at your phone, because it's the one Jason bought and it just makes you feel even worse. You aren't sure if Jason's tried contacting you, but your phone stops going off around the same time as Dick's evening patrol and you don't let yourself dwell on it further.

The two of you have never gone this long without speaking and aside from the pit of unease in your stomach as well as the sadness hanging over you like a dark cloud, you're also just bored. You have acquaintances from your nursing course, but no one close enough to do anything with this late at night.

Oh, well, you think to yourself, Chinese food and Grey's Anatomy for the second night in a row it is.

You take a quick shower, standing under the hot water for longer than necessary to let the time pass. Getting out, you change into your second pyjama set of the day, opting for a hoodie when you feel a chill in your room that wasn't there before.

You go to shut your bedroom window with a frown, not remembering why you opened it. The handle is stiff and you internally curse your landlord for still not fixing it as you finally succeed in shutting the damn thing after a particularly hard tug.

It shouldn't have taken that much energy out of you, but you're panting when you walk out of your bedroom to enter the living room so you can sit in front of the TV and order the takeout that you probably shouldn't be eating.

Before you can even attempt to regulate your breathing, you look up in the direction of your couch to find Jason sitting there in his Red Hood suit and slap a hand over your mouth to smother your shriek.

"Oh my God," you gasp, your free hand flailing out frantically to grasp the door frame in an attempt to steady yourself. The minute it takes for you to catch your breath is enough time to take in the state of the vigilante sitting in the dark of your living room.

You switch the light on and Jason winces at the sudden brightness, but you take the opportunity to give him a thorough once over. His dark hair is disheveled and falling into his eyes from hours of confinement in his helmet and he has a fresh bruise blossoming across his cheekbone.

You hardly ever use the main light, usually opting for a warm-toned lamp instead, so when the main light casts the cuts and scrapes on Jason's body in a harsher light, you want to turn it off even more.

Jason's eyes flutter shut for a second and you immediately rush forward to assess him for any injuries causing major blood loss. "Did you get stabbed?" you ask clinically, your voice void of any emotion. "Are you bleeding under your suit? You need to stay awake-"

"I'm fine," Jason mutters, opening his eyes to peer up at you through tired eyes. "I'm not bleeding or anything. Just wiped out from patrol."

You relax slightly, taking a step back to create some distance between the two of you. "Oh. You snuck through my window to tell me that you're tired?"

"Anyone could have snuck through that damn window," he says, brows furrowing in disapproval. He's been hassling you about the security of your apartment since you can remember and you usually wave him off, but in this moment you bristle.

"You don't get to be annoyed at me right now," you say, crossing your arms and glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "Why are you here, Jason?"

He grimaces at the use of his government name coming from you and takes a deep breath. "I haven't slept."

"So, go home and take a nap," you say, exasperated, letting your hands fall to your side as you're about to turn around and walk back into your room. Before you leave, you hear your Nursing teachers' voices in your head, reprimanding you and you sigh. "And you want to clean those cuts before they get infected."

"Could you do it for me?" Jason asks quietly, barely audible. His jaw clenches with the effort of asking you the question. "Please?"

You blink at him. "But, I- You've never..." you trail off, not knowing what to say. Jason has always refused to let anyone else patch him up after patrol. Hell, he's even learned how to do stitches on himself when you're the one learning how to do them for a living.

"I want... to let you look after me," he whispers, looking at you imploringly like you're going to refuse. Your irritation immediately melts into something else that you don't want to analyse any time soon.

"Oh," you exhale softly, heart twisting unwillingly. You nod slowly, words escaping you again. "Okay."

Jason's head flops back onto the couch cushion and he sighs like all of the tension is leaving his body. His hair covers his eyes, but you don't miss the dark circles under them, contrasting starkly with his skin, pale from exhaustion.

You consider letting him stay there, but you know it'll be easier in the bathroom where you keep all of your first aid supplies and the lighting is better for when you're practicing your techniques. "Come on. Up," you say, gesturing to the bathroom with a jerk of your head and you walk away, allowing him to come in his own time.

While you're digging through your bathroom cabinet for all the supplies you've haphazardly thrown in after using them, Jason slips in and you glance over at him quickly. "Sit down," you mutter, reaching up for the disinfectant. It sits on one of the higher shelves and you have to get on your tiptoes to reach it. Jason instinctively moves to help you but you shoo him away, managing to grasp it yourself. "Sit down."

"Yes, nurse," he huffs out a quiet laugh and you bite back a smile, opting to roll your eyes at him instead. Setting your supplies down behind Jason, you focus your attentions on unzipping his suit. The way his arms are resting limp in his lap tells you that he's not wanting to move anytime soon. You bring the zipper down yourself and pull off each sleeve cautiously, not wanting to rip the suit further where the torn fabric is clinging to the bloody cuts in his skin.

Once the suit is hanging loosely around his waist, you see from the black tank he's wearing that the cuts are localised to his now bare arms from where he's been defensive, whereas the fabric on his chest and abdomen are intact.

Jason's eyes track your face as you assess the extent of his injuries and when you lift your face to look at him, he's unabashed, continuing to look directly into your eyes. Your cheeks warm and you stutter out a sentence "I-I'll be right back, one sec."

You rush out of the bathroom and into your kitchen to pull open the freezer and scramble around for a bag of frozen anything. Settling on a bag of peas that you have no intention of cooking anytime soon, you hurry straight back to the bathroom.

Jason eyes the peas warily and you raise a brow, daring him to challenge you. When he stays silent, you move forward to shove the peas onto his cheek where the bruise is a darker red mark than before. He hisses when the icy bag makes contact with his face, flinching away from it.

"Ouch," he mumbles belatedly, giving you a sheepish smile when your mouth sets in a line. You should probably be gentler with him considering it's the first time he's allowing someone to physically care for him and it's you he's choosing to cross that boundary with. It's not like you want to scare him off so he never asks you again, but you can't help still being annoyed with him after your fight.

You sigh, trying to relax your face into a non-threatening expression. "Sorry. Keep it on your face to stop the swelling."

Jason grasps the bag slowly as you let go, letting his fingers brush over your own. You clear your throat and focus your attentions on the cotton pads, dousing them with disinfectant. Jason looks at you through one open eye, the other obscured by the bag of peas. "You shouldn't be the one apologising," he says, after a beat.

You purse your lips, bringing a cotton pad up to Jason's shoulder. "I know," you say simply before you press the disinfectant into one of the larger cuts, harder than probably necessary. Jason screws his eyes shut and works his jaw, but stays quiet. "Did that hurt?"

Jason shakes his head immediately, letting out a short breath he was holding. "Nope. Felt good actually. Kinda like a cooling effe- Shit," he hisses, tensing his arm. You think that's enough torture for now, instead continuing to gently wipe away the blood and dirt.

"I won't apologise about that one," you say, shrugging. Jason cracks a smile and you find yourself hiding one of your own as you clean off the other, smaller cuts and scrapes that don't need bandaging. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Promise I'll be nicer about it this time."

Jason shakes his head again, so you dispose of the cotton pads and get the band-aids, the only noise in the bathroom being the sound of you rummaging through your supplies. When you spot the choice of band-aids, you grin. "Pick one."

Surveying the two that you hold in your hand, Jason's gaze lingers on the dinosaur patterned band-aid, before flicking his eyes up to yours and raising an eyebrow. He points to the other one. "I'll take the Hello Kitty."

Your grin widens, knowing he's only choosing the pink Hello Kitty band-aid to appease you. You're certainly not going to challenge him about it as you carefully peel off the backing to stick it over his shoulder. Stepping back, you tilt your head to evaluate him and nod. "You look very pretty."

Jason smirks, but the slight blush creeping across the cheek that isn't covered by the frozen peas doesn't fool you. "Pretty enough for you to forgive me for being such an ass?"

"That depends." You take a tentative step towards him, crossing your arms. "Are you going to stop being stupid?"

Jason lowers his arm holding the bag of peas and places it behind him. With both hands, he reaches over to your arms, uncrossing them to bring you forward until you're standing close. He's so impossibly tall in your tiny bathroom that even standing up, you're only eye level with him as he sits on the closed toilet seat.

"I can't promise that I'll never be stupid in front of you again. You kind of have that effect on me," he says, sighing like it's some curse inflicted on him. You thwack his rock-solid arm and he grins. "I can promise I'll let you take care of me from now on, though. And that I'm going to stop lying to you."

"What?" you ask, eyebrows furrowing. You're even more confused when Jason places his hands around your waist to guide you onto his lap, both your legs hanging off one side of him. You raise both eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his answer, but he merely stares at you, smiling. "Jason. When have you lied to- mmph-"

He cuts you off by pressing your lips together in a kiss, one hand still holding yours, intertwining your fingers while the other tilts your chin up so he can kiss you deeper. You're a little slow on the uptake, frozen from shock for a second, but it isn't long until you're kissing him back just as eagerly. You shift in his lap, lifting one of your legs to swing over to his other side until you're straddling him and Jason takes a sharp inhale, sitting up straighter and pulling your body closer to his.

He pulls away for a millisecond, before his lips reattach to your jaw, travelling down to pepper soft kisses down your neck and you let out a noise halfway between a sigh and an embarrassing whimper. Jason groans at the sound, nipping at your neck and you feel like you can't breathe enough air.

He pulls away again to catch his own breath and you take the opportunity to come to your senses and lean back, gently pushing at Jason's chest. You breathe hard, trying to lift your gaze from Jason's swollen lips and he seems to be having a hard time looking away from your own.

"Jason," you say, voice shaky and uneven.

"Mhm?" he hums distractedly, pressing a soft kiss on your jaw before looking at you again.

"You kissed me," you point out, stupidly. "You really, really kissed me."

"I did," Jason murmurs, both hands cupping your face. He swallows, expression going from dazed to nervous before he speaks. "You asked me what you are to me before you left the other night."

You nod slowly, head still reeling from the kiss. Truthfully, you were willing to pretend the conversation never happened if you could go back to being friends again. You missed Jason.

"You're everything to me." Jason's shoulders are relaxed, his face free of tension as he says this. You're so shocked by the fact that he doesn't seem to be in pain as he opens himself up to you, that it takes a minute to process the actual meaning of his words. Your lips part but he shakes his head, continuing to speak. "You're everything. And sometimes I can't even think about that too much, let alone speak it, because I'm scared it'll consume me. I'm scared you'll consume me. The idea of compromising your safety, the idea of you loving me back, all of it. I'm... I was scared."

You lift your hand to place it over Jason's, still resting on your cheek. "That's okay. I can think and speak enough for the both of us," you tease and Jason laughs quietly, his breath tickling the inside of your wrist and sending a shiver down your spine. "You're everything to me as well, by the way. And sometimes all I can think about is loving you. I was just waiting for you to say it first."

Jason smiles and you think the corners of his lips lifting up and his eyes lighting up is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, each time blowing you away like it's the first time you've witnessed it. "Does that mean I lose? Kinda feels like I've won," he tilts his head, pretending to think about it.

"Oh, you've so lost," you furrow your brows in a mockingly serious frown. "And I'll be telling Tim as much."

Jason stills. "Please do not tell me that he bet you fifty dollars I'd confess first as well."

Your jaw drops. "That little bastard was playing both of us?"

You start laughing when Jason lets out an irritated groan, dropping his head onto your shoulder to bury his face in your shirt. You thread your hands in his hair and wrap an arm around his neck. He sighs, half content and half resigned. "I say we don't tell him for as long as we can get away with it. Live in peace for a while."

"We're talking about Tim here," you remind Jason, leaning back to lift his head and look at him. "I wouldn't be surprised if he already knew. And he'd literally never talk to you again if he knew we were hiding it after he finds out."

"I don't care," Jason says, lifting your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles. He leans back to run his eyes over your face, drinking you in like looking at you is a rare occurrence that he doesn't get the opportunity to do much. "You're all I need, anyway."

#f: dc #jason todd x reader #idek how i got here but im here and im in love

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demxters-recs · 9 months ago

Text

let me drown || chapter IV - jake's summer part I

Summary: Moving on is all about accepting what has happened to you. Jake reflects on his visit to Virgina while finding out that the future has in store for the Floyd siblings.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of jealousy

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x OC (past), Jake Seresin x OC (future)

Authors Note: And we're finally moving on from Bradley's summer. Let's see what the future has in store. Minors DNI. Each chapter will be labelled with warnings individually.

Thank you to my betas @demxters & @imjess-themess! I love and appreciate you ♥️

California, Lemoore Naval Air Station, Spring 2019

Jake waited patiently for his mother to pick up the phone, leaning against the wall. He only had a few minutes to spare and he hoped she was home. As he waited, Jake let his mind drift.

It had been two weeks since he left Virginia after visiting his cousin. He hadn’t heard from Athena since but Jake hadn’t reached out either. There had been something strange about her when he came to visit but Jake hadn’t pushed, not wanting to be on the receiving end of another of her somewhat half-witted stories.

His father has expressed his concern about her the last time they spoke but Jake had been too busy to genuinely spend time thinking about it. Something about her parents. Jake couldn’t truly remember.

Thinking about his cousin brought up another memory to mind. Thea. She had been a breath of fresh air as he spent time in Virginia. He vaguely remembered Bob talking about his sister when they were deployed together but meeting Thea in person was different.

He couldn’t deny that she was beautiful and her smile stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. But she had a boyfriend, so Jake had settled for getting to know her as a friend. Despite people’s opinions of him, he wasn’t a complete asshole. Even though Jake felt like she could have done better than Bradshaw, he wasn’t about to get in between the two of them.

Thea was as easy to get along with as her brother and Jake was delighted to find out that she could beat both Bob and him at golf as easily as he flew a jet. They had a great round and spending time with the Floyd siblings was easy. He had known Bob for years and it felt the same with Thea. Their relationship, however, had made Jake miss his own siblings and home.

Just as he was about to hang up, his mother picked up the phone. “Jake, is that you?”

“Ma, hi! Am I interrupting?” Jake asked, finding solace in his mother’s voice. Whenever he missed home, talking to her always made him miss it less. Her voice was warm and soothing.

His mother laughed and he could see her prancing around the kitchen, phone pressed to her ear. “Of course not. I hope you’re calling to tell me that you’ll be coming home in time for Oliver’s birthday. It’s in three weeks, if you haven’t forgotten.”

“No, I haven’t forgotten. But I won’t make it.” He told her sadly. He didn’t want to disappoint his nephew or mother but this time he didn’t have any choice.

“JACOB THOMAS, you’ve known about his party for weeks,” Claudia scolded, making Jake hang his head, even though she couldn’t see him. “You know how excited he is.”

“Ma, I did try, but getting a leave for a birthday party isn’t exactly standard protocol. I’ve sent a gift and an apology that I can’t attend. ” Jake sighed, leaning sideways against the wall. He scrubbed a hand down his face, listening to how disappointed Oliver would be that Uncle Jake wouldn’t show up to his sixth birthday.

He felt bad, he did. But without a leave he wasn’t going anywhere and his family knew that. “Ma, I would be there if I could, you know that.”

Claudia sighed. “I know, baby. I just wish you could be here. He looks up to you.”

Torpedo appeared in the hallway, patting Jake on the shoulder as he walked past. “Hangman, five minutes, and then we have to get ready.”

Jake nodded and straightened up. “Ma, I have to go. I’ll call you when I can. I’ll try to call Oliver and wish him a happy birthday. I love you. Say hi to dad.”

Hanging up the phone, Jake leaned his head against the wall for a moment before straightening up and following Torpedo down the hall. As he entered the rec room, he knew it was going to be a long day. Critter and Blaze were already arguing over something stupid, no doubt.

“Alright,” Torpedo clapped his hands together excitedly. “Hangman, you’re with Maple and Silver for today’s exercise. I’ll be with you two idiots.” He pointed to the arguing duo in the corner, both of them saluting sloppily.

“Captain Porter has the rest of the instructions for you in the hangar. I’ll see you up there.” Torpedo nodded towards the door, Jake following closely.

They walked in silence for a while, the rest of their squad chattering behind them. Critter and Blaze could still be heard arguing and Jake was glad he wasn’t supposed to fly with them. They were a good match but got on each others’ nerves all the time, as well as the rest of the squad.

Jake wished Torpedo good luck as they parted ways, heading to their respective aircraft. He felt a sense of comfort and calm as he prepared his jet, going through the familiar motions.

Jake tapped the nose of the plane for good luck, a ritual he’d kept up since he started flying. Maple saluted him as he climbed into the seat, making sure that all the safety straps were adjusted and he saluted back, winking. He hoped they’d touch down in time for dinner, he was in no mood the spend the entire evening doing the same exercise over and over.

As the familiar rumble of the engines washed over him, Jake felt himself relax as he adjusted the final touches. As the jet took to the skies, Maple and Silver hot on his tail, he finally felt at home.

Jake left the locker room after his shower, hoping for a quiet evening. For once he wasn’t in the mood going out with his squad. Keeping his head down, he navigated the halls on his way to his room. He knew Torpedo wasn’t going to be in for the evening so he looked forward to catching up on some reading and just relaxing.

As he kicked off his shoes and slung himself across the bed, his phone lit up with a text. Groaning, Jake reached for the device to see Coyote’s name.

Did you hear the news?

No?

Floyd is transferring here. Replacing Cork in Eagles.

Shit! What made him leave Oceana?

I was hoping you knew, since you saw him a while back!

No idea, he didn’t say anything.

Jake dragged a hand down his face, falling back against the pillows. Bob hadn’t mentioned a transfer while he was in Virginia. He wondered if there had been any trouble. Pulling up Athena’s contact info, he sent off a quick message.

Hey, you know anything about why Floyd is transferring to Lemoore?

He didn’t have to wait long before his phone buzzed again.

Why the fuck do you care?

No need to be a bitch Athena. I was just asking. He didn’t say anything about it when I was over there

Jake sighed, already regretting reaching out to his cousin. Her behaviour during his visit was suspicious, especially her attitude towards Rooster. She had spent a significant portion of their time together complaining about Thea as well. It didn’t sit right with Jake but he also didn’t want to get involved in whatever beef she seemed to have with her pilot.

Something about his sister? Idk, higher-ups quoted some bullshit about personal reasons. Not my problem honestly

Jake sent a simple thumbs up back before tossing his phone aside.

‘Something about his sister’ could mean that something was wrong with Thea. Jake wanted to reach out to Bob and ask but didn’t feel like it was appropriate either. They were friends but Jake didn’t know if interfering in family matters was the right thing to do. Hopefully, he’d catch Bob on base at some point.

Jake felt the worry creep up and tried his best to force it down again. What had happened? Why would Thea be involved in anything having to do with a relocation for her brother? He hoped everything was alright. He liked both Floyd siblings and hated that either of them would have run into some kind of problem.

Trying to get his mind off the matter, Jake picked up the most recent book he was reading, flipping through the pages until he reached the bookmark. It was a worn picture of him and his siblings, taken the summer before Jake was supposed to start first grade. He smiled, remembering how Paul had ruffled his hair right before the picture was taken, somewhat ruining Jake’s good mood.

His phone pinged with another text but this time from his sister. She told him that she understood that he wouldn’t make it for Oliver’s birthday. The “we miss you” at the end made his heartache. Jake hadn’t seen his sister or parents in person for almost two years and he missed them a lot. He almost pressed the button to call her but Torpedo’s key in the lock interrupted him.

“We missed you tonight.” the man chucked his shoes off, before haphazardly removing his jacket.

Jake snorted. “Sure you did. I’m the life of the party.”

Torpedo slung himself onto the top bunk, not bothering to undress. Jake groaned as the familiar fumes of sweat and alcohol filled his nostrils. “Dude, at least take a shower. You reek.”

“Fuck off, Seresin.” the man jabbed but did as Jake asked anyway.

Jake closed his eyes, putting the book down as he leaned back against the pillow. Maybe if he was lucky, he could fall asleep before Torpedo came back or at least ignore the other pilot.

A short buzz from his phone alerted him to another text. Jake wondered what the hell Coyote could want now. But it was Bob’s name that showed on the screen and Jake was embarrassed to say that he struggled to unlock the phone.

I’m transferring next week. You still with the Vigilantes?

Hey man, yeah, heard it through the grapevine. I am!

Let me guess, Coyote? He’s always been a gossip

You said it, not me. How come you’re coming out west?

Personal reasons. Anyway, I thought I’d give you a heads-up. See you soon!

Appreciate it man! Glad to have another sane person around.

The indication that Bob was typing popped up but disappeared and his friend only reacted with a thumbs up instead.

Jake wanted to pry and ask what the personal reasons were since they concerned Thea. Was she coming with him? And what about Rooster? Was he transferring too? After what Jake had seen at dinner, he didn’t think Bradshaw would like to be away from her. The man’s possessiveness had bothered Jake but it wasn’t his place to say anything, so he kept his mouth shut, hoping that Bob had seen it too and voiced his concerns to Thea.

He didn’t know if Bradshaw had acted the way he did because Jake was there or if it was just how the man behaved but the way he had demonstrated that he and Thea were a couple didn’t sit right with him. He respected it, of course, but Rooster made it look wrong, making it look too possessive.

Jake hadn’t really asked Thea about her relationship during golf, getting to know her instead. She had been kind enough to indulge in his inquiries. He had found himself feeling very drawn to Bob’s sister, who shared the same easygoing and kind nature as her brother. Jake knew that he had developed some sort of attraction to Thea during his short visit to Virginia but she was spoken for and that was it.

Suddenly curious about whether Bradshaw would be showing up as well, Jake sent his cousin a text.

Is Bradshaw transferring as well?

Fucking coward got himself deployed out to sea with a new squadron.

Jake didn’t bother to answer, brows creased as he read the text over and over. So Bradshaw wasn’t coming to Lemoore. Athena’s text told him more than he needed to know, her choice of words regarding Rooster very similar to the ones she’d sprouted during his visit.

Jake realised that he shouldn’t speculate too much and just hoped he’d catch Bob at some point to ask what was really going on. Whatever it was, he just hoped Thea was alright.

“So, did you get any information?” Coyote asked as they sat down in his seat across from Jake. He rubbed his hands together, eyebrows raised, and a hint of excitement in his voice.

They had their weekly dinner, if their schedules allowed it and this time Javy had chosen a quiet but nice Japanese restaurant not far from Lemoore.

Jake studied the menu, rolling his eyes. “Information on what?”

“Floyd? About how he’s coming here! You’re the last one that talked to him.” Javy exclaimed excitedly, almost bouncing in his seat. Jake couldn’t help but snort as he thought back on his and Bob’s conversation last week.

“Bob was right. You are such a gossip!” Jake joked.

Javy made a faux wounded noise, hand over his chest. “I’m hurt. I simply like to be in the know.”

Jake shook his head, putting the menu down and reached for his glass of water. “You’re like an 80-year-old lady who keeps track of everything that happens on her street. Sitting there with binoculars, just waiting for the drama to happen. I don’t know how Phoenix puts up with you.”

Javy pretended to sniffle, putting on his best puppy eyes. “Nat loves me for who I am. Same can’t be said for you, asshat, who is supposed to be my best friend.”

Jake subtly kicked his friend under the table, rolling his eyes at the same time. “Being your best friend is exhausting, I’ll have you know.”

Javy gasped dramatically, shaking his head. Their server interrupted the moment to take their order and then they were left in peace for the time being. Jake thought back to his exchange with Bob earlier that week and pulled out his phone to show Javy.

“That’s all I know.” He concluded, hoping that Javy would be satisfied.

“So both Bob and your cousin said personal reasons. Do you know anything about it?” Coyote asked.

Jake leaned back in his seat, putting the phone screen down on the table. “I just said this is all I know,” he paused, Athena’s words seeping into his mind. “Joanna mentioned his sister as well but I don’t know how much of what she says is true. She talks a lot of shit.”

Javy snorted into his water as their server came back with their food. “She does talk a lot of shit.”

“Either way, I don’t know anything else. I just hope Thea and Bob are okay.” Jake said, pushing the wakame salad around on his plate.

“Thea, huh?” Javy asked with a smirk, expertly picking up a salmon roll with his chopsticks and dunking it in soy sauce. Jake had made the mistake of telling Javy all about his trip to Virginia, including Thea, a few weeks prior. Javy had immediately picked up on the way Jake had talked about Bob’s sister and had not so subtly asked what the deal was.

“So, is she pretty?” Javy wiggled his eyebrows, knocking their knees together.

“If I say no, will you stop asking about it?” Jake grumbled, reaching for his beer on the coffee table. Fleetwood Mac poured from the speakers, people chatting all around them. A beer pong table was set up in the corner and Jake could spy people on the garden through the open glass sliding doors.

Javy shoved a handful of peanuts into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously loudly. “Stop that, it’s disgusting.” Jake shoved at him and Javy shoved back before they leaned into each other, giggling as they watched Torpedo school one of Javy’s squad mates in darts.

Their laughter died out and Jake sighed. “She’s beautiful. But that’s not the point. She’s funny and quick. You should have seen her beat both me and Bob out on the course.”

“Man, you sound like a love-sick school girl.” Javy teased but raised an eyebrow questioning as well.

“I found her interesting, that’s all. But she’s got a boyfriend. And that’s fine.”

Coyote opened two new bottles of beer, handing one to him before answering. “Bradshaw, right?”

Jake hummed. “Yeah.”

“Bummer. Sounds like you really like her.” Javy nudged his side, in a way Jake guessed was supposed to be a comforting gesture but he didn’t know if Javy was trying to comfort him or insult Thea’s choice in boyfriend.

Jake sighed. “I did. I do. But she’s also a really good friend. We had a lot of fun together,” he paused, peeling off the label around the bottle. “You’d like her. She’s a lot like her brother.”

“Man, I love Floyd. He’s the quietest guy I’ve ever met but snarky as hell. And his dog is the cutest, - OH, speaking of dogs, I’m trying to convince Nat that we should get one and I need your help -“ Javy rambled.

“Javy, there’s no way you two can have a dog. Both of you are still on active duty and don’t have a permanent place. Floyd’s got a civilian girlfriend, which probably helps.” Jake interrupted, bumping their shoulders together.

Coyote gave him a side eye before rolling his eyes. “Couldn’t you have pretended at least?”

“What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t give you a reality check every now and then?” Jake joked.

“We’ve been over this. She’s got a boyfriend, end of story. Yes, she made me feel.. something, but it’s not relevant.” Jake picked up a roll and shoved it in his mouth.

“Did Bob say anything about her?”

Jake shook his head. “‘Nah.”

“What about her? Have you two talked?” Javy inquired, picking apart the sushi on his plate.

“Not really? We texted back and forth after the golf session but she’s been quiet since. She’s probably busy.”

Javy stayed quiet, prompting Jake to stay quiet as well. Maybe he should have reached out to her when he found out Bob was coming to Lemoore. Being around Thea had been easy and he genuinely thought they’d make great friends.

“So, you said Bradshaw acted like a child?” Javy interrupted his musings.

“Huh?”

“Rooster? You said he behaved like a dick while you were visiting?” Javy glanced around as if they were being spied on.

Rolling his eyes at his friend's antics, Jake leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. I didn’t like how he acted with her. I smiled and introduced myself and he put on a whole show making sure I knew she was off limits. Like, I know I’m an asshole but I wouldn’t go after a girl who’s taken. His behaviour just struck me as odd.”

“Well, you’re not his favourite person,” Javy joked. Jake made an agreeing sound and they sat in silence. Javy was shifting back and forth, face drawn in a tight grimace despite his earlier jab.

Jake sighed. “Spit it out.”

“What?” Javy rebuffed, crossing his arms defensively across his chest.

“You obviously have something to say.”

Coyote hesitated a moment before speaking. “Don’t you think you’re looking too much into this? I understand that you’re worried but I’m sure that if something was wrong, Bob would have picked up on it. From what you’ve told me, he and Thea seem pretty close and I don’t think Floyd would let anyone hurt his sister.”

Jake opened his mouth to protest but Javy beat him to it. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I do. But I just don’t want you to get too attached to Thea. You said it yourself, she’s got a boyfriend. It’s not your job to worry. Bob would probably put his foot down if Bradshaw is acting up.” He finished, face apologetic.

Jake knew Javy was right. It wasn’t his problem and he was sure Bob would keep an eye on Thea. It just felt off. But he knew he needed to take Javy’s words to heart.

Thea had a boyfriend. He was just a friend. He had no right to say anything about their relationship. All he could settle for was to be a good friend to Thea.

“You’re right.” Jake admitted defeat. It didn’t feel right but it was for the best.

Javy nudged his shin, face still drawn into a tight smile. “Of course I’m right, I’m always right. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I know you like her.”

Jake gave him a tight smile, shrugging slightly. “Like I said, you’re right.”

They made small talk for the rest of the dinner and promised to try and get together the next week.

As Jake walked back to his place, he tried his best to not think about Thea. He thought about what he should send as a present to Oliver for his birthday, if Torpedo would have left his stuff all over the floor as usual.

He tried so hard to think about anything else than Thea. And as his phone lit up with her name, he failed spectacularly.

After a gruelling day consisting of mostly everything going wrong, Jake just wanted to lie down and forget that world existed.

But he opted to head to the gym, headphones on to not be disturbed. There weren't many people there when he arrived and he claimed a spot in the far back for his warm up routine.

He checked his messages once more, hoping that there would be a text but was met with disappointment. Not that his latest message required an answer but he had hoped for the conversation to continue after Thea reached out after dinner.

Her message had been short, a question only and Jake had probably answered a little too quickly.

Are you still stationed out in CA? - Thea

Jake had immediately replied yes and then tentatively let her know that he knew Bob was being transferred. She never replied and Jake wondered if he crossed a line.

In hindsight he was probably overthinking the whole thing and as he stretched, he decided that he was going to try and take Javy’s advice. Whatever was going on, he didn’t need to get involved.

Even he desperately wanted to know. If something had happened to Thea, he wanted to be able to be there for her if she needed it. But it wasn’t his job. So he put his phone on ‘don’t disturb’ for the reminder of his time in the gym.

On his way back, he spoke briefly with Paul about Oliver’s birthday party and its success. His brother made sure he knew that Oliver got Jake’s gift and how excited he was even though Jake couldn’t attend.

“…and then Maria said she met this guy at a study group and wanted to know if she can go on a date? Over my dead body.” Paul whined and Jake could imagine his brother's horror at his eldest daughters dating adventures.

“If I remember correctly, we were all allowed to date at 16.” Jake mused, waving to Torpedo as he passed him by.

Paul snorted. “Yeah and I also remember what being 16 is like. She’ll go on that date when hell freezes over.”

Jake opened his mouth to respond but the sight of Bob Floyd had him backtracking and quickly ending the call.

“Floyd! Didn’t know you were here yet.” Jake greeted as he approached the WSO, extending his hand for a handshake. Bob, as usual, surprised him by pulling him into a brief hug before leaning back.

“Just left the air boss's office actually. Heading out soon, I just wanted to catch you before I left.” Bob explained, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked on edge, a tenseness in his shoulders that Jake hadn’t seen the last time they were together.

“Not staying on base then?”

Bob shook his head. “I’ll get my bunk tomorrow. I'm staying with Thea tonight.”

At the mention of Bob’s sister, Jake felt his heart accelerate but tried his best to hide it. “Oh, so she’s here? Didn’t think she’d leave.”

Bob shrugged, hands still buried deep in his pockets. “She needed to leave.”

He doesn’t elaborate and Jake’s dying to ask why but he doesn’t want to come across as nosy. So he settles on a safer topic.

“What about that fiancée of yours, where’s she?”

Bob starts toward the parking lot and Jake follows, his gym bag slung across his shoulder.

“She’s still in Virginia. Her job won’t let her leave right away. She’ll join us when she can.”

Jake clicked his tongue, mimicking Bob’s stance by shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Bet you miss the dog more, huh?”

Bob snorted and huffed a laugh, opening the car door. “Listen, you should come over for dinner soon. Thea will be happy to see you.”

“Will she?” Jake heard himself ask, hoping that the nervousness that had snuck up on him the moment Bob mentioned Thea wasn’t noticeable.

“Yeah, she will. I think she needs it.” Bob assured, handing him a handwritten note with an address on it.

Jake thanked him and they decided on a day next week, so the siblings could have some time to settle before bringing guests over.

Bob requested that he bring Javy along if the man was free and Jake promised to let his best friend know about the invite the next time they spoke.

As Bob got ready to start the car, Jake voiced the question that had been nagging him since he found out about Floyd’s transfer.

“Hey, is Thea okay?”

Bob stopped short of turning the key in the ignition, taking a deep breath. The lines around his eyes hardened and Jake felt like he had asked the wrong question.

“No, she’s not. She will be, eventually. It’s not my story to tell. All I can say is that Bradshaw isn’t in the picture anymore.”

So they broke up. Jake’s suspicions had been right.

“How come?” He wondered, toeing the line between being polite and outright asking.

Bob leaned back in his seat. “Like I said, not my story to tell.”

He felt mildly disappointed but took it in stride, the corners of his mouth curling upwards. “Well, if you need help to hide the body, you have my number. See you Wednesday, yeah?”

They parted ways, bidding each other good night and Jake headed back towards his room. As he walked, he pulled out his phone and opened his text messages, scrolling until he found his conversation with Thea.

Spoke with your brother. Whatever happened, I’m here for you, if you need a friend. Don’t hesitate to reach out.

He put away the phone, reaching for his book as he made himself comfortable on the bed. Jake felt slightly calmer now that he knew something rather than nothing but he still wanted to reach out. If Thea didn’t want to answer him, that was okay. He just wanted her to know that he was there for her, for whatever she needed.

He turned out the light after two chapters, exhaustion hitting him. As he turned out the light, a quiet chime from his phone alerted him to a notification.

It wasn’t an answer but it was enough for him to know that she had gotten his message. A red heart marked his last sent message and Jake fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Taglist: @wildbornsiren @ryebecca @imjess-themess @reels-and-wheels @antiquitea @writercole @hederasgarden @yanna-banana @bobfloydsbabe @hollandorks @anniesocsandgeneralstore @ereardon @luminousnotmatter @roosterscock @thedroneranger @fandomxpreferences @top-hhun @princessmisery666 @bradshawsbitch @a-reader-and-a-writer @green-socks @angstybluejay @seresinhangmanjake @ayorooster@notroosterbradshaw @indynerdgirl @gigisimsonmars @girl-in-the-chairs-void@bradshawbabes @unhinged-btch @horseshoegirl @sadpetalsstuff @bradshawbaby @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @ummjustfics @septemberrie @somenamewithepineapple @seresinsweetie @crescentwolf @seresinhangmanjake @waklman @roosterforme @rosiahills22 @dempy @i0veless @ilovewriting06 @kmc1989 @demxters @amortentiadrops @teacupsandtopgun @hangmanscoming

#f: top gun maverick #jake seresin x oc #hangman x oc

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demxters-recs · 9 months ago

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let me drown || intermission - learning the truth

Summary: Bob learns the truth.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, swearing, mentions of infidelity/cheating, mentions of violence

Word Count: 5.1k

Authors Note: Writer's block has been a bitch. Thank @demxters for curing it. Minors DNI. Each chapter will be labelled with warnings individually.

Thank you to my amazing beta @writercole, who is the sole reason this chapter even sees the light of day.

Virginia, Oceana Naval Air Station, Fall 2018

Bob’s POV

Bob rifled through his locker after a long day of drills. He was looking forward to meeting his fiancée at home, ordering a pizza and watching a movie. He needed something to distract him from the fact that he hadn’t heard from his sister since Saturday when he dropped her off from their round of golf.

Taylor, being the fantastic, supportive fiancée that she was, reminded him that Thea had her own life and that she would let him know if she needed him. That idea comforted Bob through Sunday. And Monday. And Tuesday. But it was now Wednesday and his texts weren’t even marked read. Delivered but not read. And it worried him.

Finding his phone tucked away in his gym bag, he opened the device, clicking into his contacts to find his sister’s number. Hovering over the call button, he was interrupted by the door slamming against the wall, the rest of his squad piling into the locker room. The last thing he needed was them to listen in to a private conversation, so he pocketed the phone again, looking for his watch and glasses instead.

“Nice work today, Floyd.” Orca, clapped him on the back, opening his own locker. Spot made an agreeing noise as he settled onto the bench next to them, Rover in tow. Bob’s pilot gave him a thumbs up, pushing his hair back from his face.

“Dude, you need a haircut, you look like Kurt Cobain,” Spot jabbed, reaching out to ruffle Rover’s hair. Rover pushed his hand away, kicking Spot in the calf at the same time. “Fuck off Spot.”

“Boys, let it go. Who’s up for drinks tonight?” Choruses of yes echoed through the locker room but Bob stayed silent. Orca rolled his eyes as he shut his locker.

Bob knew what was coming before Orca even opened his mouth. “Floyd come on, drink with us.”

“Ah no, I have plans. Sorry. Thanks though,” Bob declined. Both Rover and Orca looked disappointed at his refusal to partake in their usual intoxicated shenanigans.

“Come on, Floyd,” Rover coaxed. “You never come out for drinks.”

Bob coughed, lips drawn in a tight smile. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

Rover rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to no doubt continue to try and convince Bob to join them. Orca had long abandoned the conversation, opting for the showers. Spot was already drying off.

Bob beat Rover to it. “I have plans with Tay. Another -.” The sight of Bradshaw walking past the locker room stopped him mid-sentence. He excused himself, grabbing his bag and headed in the same direction as Bradley had gone.

“Rooster!”

Bradley swivelled around at the sound of his name falling from Bob’s mouth, eyes wide open in something akin to horror. Bob’s brows furrowed as he approached his sister’s boyfriend.

As Bob got closer, he got a better look at Rooster. The man looked terrible. His cheeks were hollowed in, skin clammy and dark bags beneath his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. On top of that, he kept twitching, shifting his weight like he wanted to bolt from Bob at any second.

“Bradshaw. What’s going on? You look like you’ve been awake for 72 hours straight. You okay?”

“M’fine.” Rooster mumbled, his eyes downcast as he fiddled with his fingers.

Bradshaw was evidently lying but Bob had more pressing concerns. “Have you talked to Thea? Is she sick? I haven’t heard from her for days and I’m getting worried.”

“I don't know.” Bradley squeaked, the mere mention of Thea’s name causing him to visibly pale. He looked more stressed, eyes darting back and forth between Bob and the exit.

Bob let his gym bag onto the floor, crossing his arms across his chest. “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’? Did you two have a fight or -”

“What’s it to you?” Bradley suddenly interrupted, nostrils flaring. “Why don’t you stay out of Thea’s relationships? She’s a grown woman,” he snapped, walking backwards away from Bob, tripping over his own feet in the process.

Bob immediately reached out, trying to steady Rooster. The man hissed as Bob grabbed a hold of his upper arm. “Don’t touch me. I said, it's none of your business.”

“My sister is my business, Bradshaw. Now what the hell is going on? Thea won’t answer my calls and you look like shit -”

“I SAID I’M FINE, FLOYD!” Bradley shouted, shoving away from Bob, breath laboured.

The sudden outburst made Bob recoil. He stood staring in shock as Bradshaw spun on his heel and stomped around the corner, disbelief that Bradshaw even had that much ire in him. After a moment, Bob recovered and shouldered his duffle again, heading towards the corner that Bradshaw disappeared around. Rooster knew something and Bob had reached the end of his patience.

He couldn’t fight the sinking feeling in his gut. Something was going on and he was going to get to the bottom of it. He walked at a brisk pace, trying to catch up to where Rooster had disappeared. Raised voices from a room further down the hallway Bob had just entered stopped him in his tracks.

“Athena, I told you to stay the fuck away from me,” Rooster growled, his voice unmistakable. Bob crept closer, trying to stay quiet. He peeked through the open door, catching a glimpse of Rooster and Athena. Bradley had his shoulders hunched up high, hands balled into tight fists. Athena on the other hand was leaning lazily against the desk behind her, mirth dancing in her eyes.

“Aww, Bradley. You act like you have a choice. We work together,” she cooed. She straightened up, reaching out to run her manicured nails along his bicep. “Besides, it’s not like you didn’t have fun with me. It’s not my fault that you spilled your guts to the princess.” She said the last part slowly, gleefulness dripping from her voice.

The fact that Bradley didn’t shy away immediately from her touch had the warning bells ringing in Bob’s head. He had overheard enough conversations on base to know that Athena liked to refer to his sister as princess, a jab he hadn’t fully understood until now.

“Don’t call her that. And don’t fucking touch me.” Bradley spat, echoing the words he had told Bob just a few minutes ago. He took a step back, although a minute too late for it to be genuine.

Everyone on base knew that Bradshaw and Simons had been somewhat of a thing, or at least being involved in a friends with benefits situation since they started flying together. It had never been a secret but Bob had assumed it had ended sometime before Bradley met Thea. Watching the two of them together, Bob finally understood what was going on.

He was starting to connect dots and lines and felt a deep wave of anger build in his chest, radiating out through his veins. He backed away slowly, death grip on the strap of his bag. He tried to stay silent, refusing to let his anger take over and give his eavesdropping away.

He stopped to control his breathing, hands balled into tight fists. He didn’t know everything but he knew enough. Rooster and Athena’s conversation had told him plenty. Closing his eyes for a moment, Bob took a deep breath before heading towards the parking lot. He dug out his phone on the way, dialling Taylor’s number.

“Hi darling, I am sorry but can we reschedule for tonight? I’ll make it up to you, I promise. There’s something I need to do.” Bob kept the phone between his shoulder and ear as he looked around for his keys.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Tay asked, concern evident in her voice. He could hear Charlie in the background, little yips as he probably raced around Taylor’s legs.

“It’s Thea. I just need to do something.”

Taylor relented after hearing Thea’s name. “Of course. I’m actually kind of relieved, work has been a lot and I could clock some overtime catching up on stuff.”

“Are you sure? And please don’t overwork yourself, darling. You need to rest as well.” Bob put the keys into the ignition, transferring the call onto the truck’s speakers via the bluetooth.

“I’m sure. Me and Charlie are going to have a quiet night in with takeout and I’ll just catch up on some work. You go and deal with whatever you need to do.”

“I love you. I’ll call you when I’m on my way home.”

Taylor echoed back his sentiment before Bob ended the call, tossing the phone in the passenger seat and reversed out of the parking lot. The rest of the squad liked to frequent a bar about 15 minutes from base, so Bob reached his destination quickly.

He hadn’t bothered to get back into his uniform after the shower so he was dressed in his civilian clothing. Bob found a baseball cap in the trunk, putting it on before heading inside.

He could hear both Orca and Spot the moment he stepped through the door, so he kept his head down as he made his way through the crowd. He made sure to keep out of sight from there most of his squad was seated, walking past the bar and opted for a lonely booth in the corner, hidden from sight. He could see them clearly, and hear but Bob was pretty sure no one had noticed him, which was his goal. He didn’t want to raise any suspicions if his plan would actually work out.

He watched as Spot and Orca teamed up to try and beat Rover at pool. The rest of their squad was scattered around, watching the game. Orca huffed a laugh suddenly, leaning across the table to whisper to Rover. Bob’s pilot smirked, pocketing a solid before speaking.

“You serious? What the fuck happened?”

Orca shrugged, nudging Spot. “Tell him.”

“Tell me what?”

Spot smirked over his beer bottle. “You hear about Bradshaw and Floyd’s little sister?”

“Bradshaw was waxing poetic about her some week ago, what about it?” Rover reached for a new bottle, pushing his empty one aside.

Orca laughed. “Did you know Athena made a bet that he couldn’t get her between the sheets in two weeks?”

Bob’s blood boiled but he forced himself to stay seated, wanting to hear the rest of their conversation.

“Shit man, and he agreed to it?” Rover laughed, sinking another solid.

“Nah, not a first, but -”

“Last I heard, he did. Claims he fucked her till she cried.” Spot interrupted.

“And then they got in a fight and he went and fucked Athena that night. He’s been looking like shit because she kicked him on his ass.” Orca joined, laughing as he clinked his bottle with Spot’s.

“Well, that explains a lot.” Rover snorted.

Bob saw red as his teammates laughed together. He stood slowly, quietly making his way out of the bar, once again evading the attention of his coworkers.

The drive to Thea’s passed in a blur, anger blazing coursing through his veins. He had trusted Bradley with Thea, trusted him to take care of his sister. And Rooster had betrayed her. He’d deal with Bradshaw later, now he needed to take care of his sister.

After parking in Thea’s driveway, heart breaking at the sight of the darkened home, Bob texted Taylor asking her to stop by Thea’s place on her way home.

He exited the car, taking a few deep breaths before climbing the stairs onto the front porch. The place seems empty. There was no light coming from the windows, nor sound from inside the bungalow.

He tried the doorbell first, twice, but received no answer. “Tiny! Open the door!”

When nothing happened, he knocked, fist pounding against the door. “Thea!”

There’s still no answer so Bob reached for his keychain, easily finding the spare key Thea had given him when she moved in. “I’m unlocking the door now.” Bob announced as he stepped over the threshold. “Thea, are you home?”

Thea’s POV

What day is it? Thea stared blankley at the muted TV in front of her. It felt like years had passed since her fight with Bradley and the aftermath. When he admitted to cheating on her, when he called her Athena’s name. Everything felt numb. She wasn’t sure if she had actually moved since collapsing onto the couch after she had forced Bradley out of her home. He had pleaded with her, begging her forgiveness but she had all but shoved him out onto the porch, telling him to leave and never come back.

She had watched as Bradley drove away, heart breaking as she thought back on the event of the last few days. She had then numbly taken a seat on the couch and stayed there.

At first, she had expected to cry more. She had expected the anger, heartbreak and everything that came with being betrayed in such a vile way by someone you loved. What she hadn’t expected was the inability to feel anything other than the numbness spreading through her body, the absolute acceptance.

A loud noise broke through the haze, echoing through her house. The doorbell. It rang twice and when she did nothing, a few rapt knocks echoed through the house.

“Tiny! Open the door!”

That’s Bob. She wanted to get off the couch, unlock the door and let him in but her limbs wouldn’t move.

“Thea!”

She wanted to call for him to come in but no sound escaped her mouth when she opened it. She could hear the keys in the lock, and felt relief as she remembered that she had given her brother a set of spare keys when she moved in.

Thea didn’t move as she listened to her brother moving through the space, watching as he came into the view from the hallway. He smiled gently as he took her in, approaching her slowly.

“Hey kid,” he whispered as he squatted in front of her, “you had me worried. You’ve been MIA for days.”

She didn’t answer him, hiding her face from him as she felt the tears building at his concerned tone, not wanting to cry in front of her brother. The couch dipped beside her and she felt her body lifting, warm arms wrapping around her.

“Talk to me, Tiny.”

And the dam broke. The numbness that had engulfed her since the weekend was suddenly swept away and all the emotions that had been repressed came flooding, as she sobbed against her brother’s chest. Bob stayed quiet, rubbing her back slowly while she cried and cried. He offered no words of encouragement, just let her wail against his shirt until her tears had soaked the material of his shirt. His lips were pressed against her forehead, his back taunt as if holding himself back.

Once the tears started, she couldn’t stop them. She hiccuped repeatedly, trying her best to stop them but it was futile. Being held by her big brother made her feel safe, comfortable. It felt like he would protect her from anything bad ever happening again.

“Shh, Tiny. I’m here.” her brother whispered, one hand gliding through her hair. It was something all of her brothers used to do as kids when she was upset.

She felt herself calming down as he repeated the motion. Her sobs eventually stopped and turned into sniffles. She still clung to him, not wanting to let go, not wanting to lose the feeling of being comforted by Bob.

They sat on the couch for what could have been hours but in reality was only thirty minutes. Bob’s phone buzzed a few times but neither paid any mind to it. After she had calmed down some, she leaned back to wipe the remaining tears from her cheeks. Bob still hadn’t spoken, one of his hands wrapped around hers.

“Why haven’t you called me? Why haven’t you told me?”

Thea had assumed that her brother had seen Bradley at base but never gave any thought that he would have found out what had transpired over the weekend. “How did you find out?”

Bob chuckled humorlessly. “Ran into Rooster who was acting odd. Then I overheard a couple of conversations. I don’t have the full story though, but I think I know enough.”

Thea hiccuped again, reaching for the tissue box on the coffee table. Bob beat her to it, offering her a tissue. “I didn’t want to bother you, mess up your life -”

“Thea, there’s no way you could ever mess up my life.”

“I did. I never should have gotten involved with your coworker. Now you’re stuck between me and -”

“I’m not stuck anywhere, baby sister,” Bob assured her. He was looking at her now, making sure that she kept eye contact as he spoke slowly. “Now, what happened?”

Bile rose in throat as she thought back about the past weekend. She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to revisit the betrayal Bradley had put her through. She hiccuped, slapping a hand over her mouth as she hurried to the bathroom. She emptied the contents of the stomach in the toilet, sobs wracking her frame again. Just thinking about Bradley made her feel sick to her stomach, heart breaking all over again.

Bob followed closely, holding her hair back and rubbing her back soothingly.

Thea leaned against the tub when she was done, gratefully accepting the glass of water Bob held out to her. “Thank you.”

Her brother waved her off, swallowing thickly. “Tiny. I need you to tell me what happened.”

She shook her head. Ratting Bradley out could have consequences for Bob, seeing as her brother looked minutes away from storming out the door to find Bradley and put him into the ground. “I don’t know if I can tell you. It’s -”

“Don’t protect him, he doesn’t deserve it.”

Thea choked up. She didn’t want to get Bob in trouble. “I know what will happen if I tell you. I’m not going to let you get in trouble over me.”

Bob held out his hand, pulling her off the floor. He wrapped his arms around her, guiding them back to the couch.

“I promise to stay right here, no matter what you tell me, okay? I won’t get in any trouble. I won’t go looking for him. You don’t have to worry.” He promised, tapping her nose gently, a common gesture throughout their childhood.

Biting her lower lip anxiously, Thea debated doing as he asked. She knew he would find out the entire truth sooner or later. He already seemed to know the key parts.

Seeing her hesitate, Bob opened his arms so she could lean into his embrace as he held her close. He murmured soft assurances that everything would be okay and he just wanted to know the truth.

Hiding her face in his already tear-soaked shirt, Thea started tentatively to tell him what had happened after she and Bradley had left the dinner with Athena, him and Jake.

Bob’s POV

It had taken Thea over an hour to explain in full detail what had happened between her and Bradshaw. Bob felt his anger rising once again as he held his baby sister close, wishing desperately that he hadn’t promised her that he would find Rooster.

The more he found out, the angrier he got but for Thea’s sake he tried to stay calm. After she had sobbed her way through the entire thing, she had fallen asleep in his arms, most likely exhausted from the emotional turmoil. Bob had carefully picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, making sure she was comfortable under the covers.

He then went through the bungalow, cleaning up as he went and then sat down on the couch with his head in his hands. He felt helpless, powerless even. He had allowed someone to hurt his baby sister and now he didn’t know how to help her. The urge to find Rooster and take a swing at him rocked through his body but he stayed put. He had promised Thea and unlike Bradshaw, Bob kept his promises.

A tentative knock on the front door was heard and followed by the soft sound of paws padding along on the wooden floor. Charlie came into view, the corgi yapping happily at the sight of his dad. Taylor appeared behind him, takeout bags in hand and a worry etched across her face.

“What is going on?” She set the bags down at the table, returning his hug as he stood to embrace his fiancée.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bob sat down again with Taylor by his side, their hands intertwined. “Bradley cheated. Thea’s a mess. I don’t know what to do.”

Taylor made a surprised noise, her eyes widening before anger overtook her features. Her mouth opened and closed in shock, trying to find the right words. “He did what?!”

“He fucked Athena after he and Thea got into a fight about Hangman, which I’m still trying to wrap my mind around.” Bob snarled but reminded himself to stay calm. Charlie huffed unhappily at being left on the floor, nudging Bob’s leg.

“Fucking bastard. I ought to run him over with the Rover.” Taylor looked as angry as Bob felt. “Where is Thea?”

“Asleep in the bedroom. She passed out after telling me what happened.”

Taylor reached down to pick up Charlie, getting off the couch. “I’ll go and see if she wants some cuddles. There’s sushi in the bag, her favourite.” Bob’s heart swelled at the obvious concern his fiancée showed for his little sister.

He opened his mouth to respond when his phone rang, interrupting him. Marcus’ name flashed across the screen and Taylor motioned for him to answer as she made her way towards the bedroom. Bob watched as she quietly opened the door, slipping inside with Charlie in her arms.

Bob swiped to answer the call. “Brother,” Bob greeted, “to what do I owe the pleasure?

“Have you heard from Thea? I’ve been trying her for days and all I’m getting is straight to voicemail,” Marcus demanded immediately.

“Hello to you too, nice to hear from you after so long,” Bob snarked.

“Robert…” Marcus warned.

Bob sighed as he debated how much to divulge, ultimately settling for the whole truth. “That guy she was seeing from my squadron? Bradshaw? He, uh,” Bob paused, clearing his throat before continuing. “He fucked her, bragged about it to my squad, and then cheated on her.

The other end of the line was eerily quiet and Bob wondered for a moment if his older brother had hung up the call. “Marcus?”

“Tell me you’re fucking joking, Bobby. It’s a joke, right?”

Bob sighed. “I wish, trust me. But she just spent the last two hours sobbing in my arms and I had to practically pry the whole story out of her,” he paused, letting the information sink in. “I ran into Bradshaw at base earlier and then overheard a couple of conversations while doing my wallflower thing. I got the gist of it but needed to hear her version as well.”

“Please tell me you got a couple of swings in.” Marcus seethed. Bob leaned back against the couch and scrubbed his hand down his face.

“No. I promised her I wouldn’t go after him. Piece of shit would deserve it but she’s worried about it affecting my job. You know how she is.”

Marcus snorted. “Yeah. How is she?”

“Bad,” Bob sighed as he spared a glance into the bedroom where Thea was buried underneath the duvet. “Asleep, though. I’m still at her place. Don’t really want to leave her alone. Taylor’s with her right now.”

“Do you need us to come out there?” Marcus asked. Us meaning himself and their two other brothers.

Bob set his jaw and shook his head even though his older brother couldn’t see. “No. I’ve got it handled.”

“Layla says her mother can come stay with her and the girls if you need me to come and kick some ass.” Marcus’ wife was pregnant with their third child and the last stages of the pregnancy had taken its toll.

Bob rolled his eyes. “No, I said it’s fine. Stay home. And tell August and Richard the same. I got a plan.”

“Well then, remember, leave your phone behind, cash only, hide your plates, and it’s only murder if they find a body,” Marcus said before ending the call abruptly. Bob could only shake his head, mouth turning upwards in a faint smile.

Taylor returned from Thea’s bedroom sans Charlie. “What did Marcus say?”

Bob snorted. “He told me it’s only murder if they find a body.” Taylor joined him on the couch again, leaning into his side.

“And what about the others?”

“Marcus didn’t say anything but I’m assuming he’s reporting back right now. But I told him to tell them to stay put. I haven’t heard from them yet though I have no doubt that I will soon. Hopefully they’ll trust me to handle what I’ve broken.” Bob choked up on the last word, and swallowed hard. Taylor laid her hand on his face and he leaned into her touch, craving the comfort of his future wife.

“This isn’t your fault, sweetheart.”

He swallowed harshly, trying to get rid of the tears threatening to burst forth.

“It is. I trusted Bradshaw with her. I never should have introduced them.”

Taylor shook her head, a watery smile on her face. “Darling, you couldn’t have known. Stop blaming yourself. Now, what’s next?”

Bob was quiet for a while, not sure how to tell her the way he wanted to uproot their lives. “She needs to leave this place. I want her as far away from Bradshaw as possible. I can request a transfer and I know Thea’s job has offices all over. But I need to know what you think first.”

Bob hated to ask her to be the deciding factor, to leave her home and her job. She had always supported him and his dreams. Flight school and then all the deployments. To throw this at her with no warning was the last thing Bob wanted but he knew Thea couldn’t stay here. She needed to heal, preferably a thousand miles away from Rooster.

Taylor brushed a hand over his hair. “If we need to leave, I’ll find work elsewhere. It’s no problem. I might not be able to move as quickly but if this is what we need to do, we’ll do it. I love you and I love Thea.”

“Are you sure?”

“Robert Floyd, I will follow you wherever you go. You know this. I know how important Thea is to you. And I know how important Thea is to me.”

Bob felt tension bleed from his shoulders as he embraced her, choking up once again the obvious love she held for not only him but his family as well.

“I’ll put in a request for transfer as soon as I’ve talked to Thea. She might not want to move but she needs it.”

Taylor kissed him gently before leaning back. “I’ll talk to my boss then,” She looked over to the bedroom. “Why don’t you wake her up and I’ll unpack the food. I think we all need food.”

Bob stretched as he stood before pushing the door to Thea’s room open. “Tiny, wake up.” He reached out to brush some hair from her face. She stirred awake, eyes blinking against the light coming from the hallway. Charlie was snoring at her feet, paws moving as he dreamed.

Thea yawned as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after seven. Taylor brought sushi, will you please eat some?”

She turned away from him, hiding her face in the pillow and mumbling something that sounded like a no. Bob sighed.

“Thea Olivia, please come and eat. You need it.” He didn’t raise his voice but left no room for argument either. Thea sniffled into the pillows before sitting up.

“I’m not very hungry, Bobby.”

“If you don’t come and eat, I’ll tell Marcus that he can come out here and he’ll probably bring August and Richard with him.”

Thea whined, pulling the duvet over her head. “You told them?”

“Marcus called. He was worried that you hadn’t answered your phone.” Bob told her gently, pulling the duvet away from her face.

“I didn’t want him to worry,” Thea mumbled. Bob smiled, wrapping an arm around her.

“And you were going to succeed in doing that by not answering your phone?” he joked lightly, hoping to lift her spirits.

Thea laughed, a genuine laugh that reminded him of coming home from school and meeting her in the front yard as he hopped off the school bus. “I just don’t want anyone to get in trouble because of me. Or worry too much,” she whispered, scratching Charlie behind his ears.

Bob tapped her nose. “We’re your big brothers, Tiny. We’re always going to worry.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching Charlie occasionally kick his little feet as he kept on sleeping.

Thea broke the quiet first. “What if I never stop feeling like this?”

It was a whisper, barely audible but Bob heard her. It broke his heart and filled him with rage at the same time. Bob knew that there wasn’t anything he could do to ease his sister’s pain and there was nothing he could do to retaliate and teach Bradshaw the lesson that he deserved. His job would be on the line, his livelihood, his entire life. And he had promised Thea.

Bob didn’t consider himself to be a violent man. He preferred to use his words instead of his fists. He was calm in fast paced situations, which is why he was so good at his job. But as Thea quivered in his arms, he fought the urge to cause further bodily harm to the man who had promised to take care of her. Rooster had failed to deliver on his end of the promise he had made Bob in the beginning of his and Thea’s relationship.

“Okay. Just don’t break her heart.” Bob’s voice was soft but stern, arms crossed across his chest.

Bradley smiled, dragging a hand through his hair. “How do you know she won’t break my heart?” He asked jokingly, bouncing his leg.

“She might. But if she does, I don’t have to pick up the pieces.” Bob clapped him on the shoulder and walked away.

Unable to find the right words to comfort his little sister, he simply pulled her into an embrace, kissing the top of her head.

“You’ll be okay, kid. I’ll see to it.” He had no choice. He would never fail her again.

Taglist: @wildbornsiren @therebeccaw@imjess-themess @antiquitea @fuckyeahhangman @writercole @hederasgarden @yanna-banana @wkndwlff @bobfloydsbabe @hollandorks @anniesocsandgeneralstore @ereardon @luminousnotmatter @roosterscock @thedroneranger @fandomxpreferences @top-hhun @princessmisery666 @bradshawsbitch @princessphilly @a-reader-and-a-writer @green-socks @angstybluejay @seresinhangmanjake @ayorooster @notroosterbradshaw @indynerdgirl @gigisimsonmars @girl-in-the-chairs-void@bradshawbabes @unhinged-btch @horseshoegirl @sadpetalsstuff @bradshawbaby @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @ummjustfics @septemberrie @somenamewithepineapple @seresinsweetie @crescentwolf @seresinhangmanjake @sylviebell @waklman @roosterforme @rosiahills22 @dempy @i0veless @ilovewriting06 @kmc1989 @demxters @amortentiadrops @teacupsandtopgun @hangmanscoming @bradleybeachbabe

#f: top gun maverick #jake seresin x oc #hangman x oc

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demxters-recs · 9 months ago

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let me drown || chapter III - bradley’s summer part III

Summary: People aren’t always what they seem.

Warnings: Allusions to smut, jealousy, swearing, angst, cheating, drinking

Word Count: 6.3k

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Authors Note: It’s here. Enjoy. Minors DNI. Each chapter will be labelled with warnings individually.

Thank you to my amazing beta @writercole, this fic wouldn’t be what it is without you. I love you.

Virginia, Oceana Naval Air Station, Summer 2018

Bradley slammed on the brakes a bit harder than necessary, knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel too tight. Thea was quiet in the passenger seat, playing with the hem of her jean shorts as he sat in silence in the driveway.

Dinner had been tense, to say the least. Bradley’s mood had only gotten worse as Athena continued to pester them. At first she had taken an interest in Thea, asking her all sorts of questions. It was innocent enough but Bradley knew there was nothing innocent about his WSO. He had kept quiet though, hand resting on Thea’s knee as she answered Athena’s rapid questions.

Bob and Hangman had seemed oblivious to the tension at first, eager to catch up since they last saw each other. Bradley hated how well they seemed to get along. Like Hangman and Bob were actual friends. It felt wrong. Hangman wasn’t a friendly guy and Bob should know that. Especially if they spent months together on a carrier. He couldn’t exactly put his thumb on why it bothered him so much, but it did.

Keep reading

#f: top gun maverick #jake seresin x oc #hangman x oc

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demxters-recs · 9 months ago

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let me drown || chapter II - bradley’s summer part II

Summary: The butterflies in his stomach didn’t settle, nor did the tingling sensation all over his body. Every time he thought of her, his heart sped up just a little. If this was how it felt being with Thea, spending time with her, he couldn’t wait for the rest of his life with her.

Warnings: Allusions to smut, jealousy, swearing, fluff, angst

Word Count: 5.6k

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Authors Note: Writer’s block has been hell. But it’s here. Minors DNI. Each chapter will be labelled with warnings individually.

Thank you to my amazing beta @writercole, this fic wouldn’t be what it is without you.

Virginia, Oceana Naval Air Station, Summer 2018

“I had a great time.” Thea whispered against his lips, hands fisted in Bradley’s shirt. He only hummed in response, deepening the kiss. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of kissing her.

Bradley knew he should be getting back to base but he didn’t want to leave. Not when Thea gasped as he pressed closer, trapping her against the side of the Bronco. Not when her hands snuck under his shirt, fingertips tracing his lower abdomen. He groaned as her hands continued their exploration, sneaking around back to map out the muscles of his back.

Thea’s nails dug into his skin as he left a trail of kisses down the side of her throat, teeth scraping lightly against her collarbone. “You taste good.” he murmured gently as he straightened up, pressing a featherlight kiss to Thea’s lips.

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#f: top gun maverick #jake seresin x oc #hangman x oc

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demxters-recs · 9 months ago

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let me drown || chapter I - bradley’s summer part I

Summary: Bradley has many regrets. A whole lifetime of them. His biggest? Losing her. Watching someone else pick of the pieces of what he broke kills him inside and Bradley doesn’t want to let go of the past. No matter how much the past tries to slip through his fingers.

Warnings: Swearing, jealousy

Word Count: 3.8k

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Authors Note: Minors DNI. Each chapter will be labelled with warnings individually. Rating will go up as we get further into this fic. We’re in for a wild ride fam! Enjoy!

Thank you to my amazing betas @writercole and @imjess-themess!

Virginia, Oceana Naval Air Station, Summer 2018

The common room was quiet, which is a nice change of pace. Usually, this place was full of life, the noise was ever-ending and so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. Bradley tipped his head back, dropping his shoulders and letting out a deep breath. It was quiet now, letting his mind run wild. He almost wished it didn’t.

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#f: top gun maverick #jake seresin x oc #hangman x oc

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demxters-recs · 9 months ago

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Sneak Peek

Chapter I - Bradley’s Summer Part I

Chapter II - Bradley’s Summer Part II

Chapter III - Bradley’s Summer Part III

Intermission - Learning the Truth

Chapter IV - Jake’s Summer Part I

Chapter V - Jake’s Summer Part II

Chapter VI - Jake’s Summer Part III

TBC

#f: top gun maverick #jake seresin x oc #series: let me drown #❥ 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒

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demxters-recs · 9 months ago

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huge rant about how much i love this fic beyond the cut

Jake wondered how it would look after Thea put her personal touch on the place. Thea herself was so warm and kind, so maybe that was her choice of decorations too. Jake hoped he’d get to see what it looked like then.

he’s most definitely, not at all in love with thea. no sir. this entire paragraph sent me into cardiac arrest with how tender and sweet jake is.

It doesn’t go unnoticed how Bob chose to not put Thea on the spot by asking her to tag along even though the invitation was there.

brother of the year award goes to bob mf floyd everyone. i also love how he calls thea “tiny”. he’s so precious.

“Well, I swear I won’t hunt him down.”

Bob laughed humorlessly, clenching his jaw. He was angry, Jake realised. “After I’m done telling you, you might want to.”

MIGHT IS AN UNDERSTATEMENT BOBBY.

oh lord, where to even start. i’ve missed jake and thea so much and even though this is the very start of their journey together, i can already feel how deeply jake cares for her. fe, your writing reminds me time and time again how much i love these characters and Thea. she may not canonically be part of the TGM universe but in my heart she is. you write her so seamlessly into the narrative that i can imagine her as an actual character in the movie.

also each character in this chapter got their own moment in the spotlight which i absolutely loved. i love how none of them felt like they were in the background and they each played a part in moving the story along.

ugh i am jake and thea’s #1 fan and yours as well!! as usual, this was amazing and definitely worth the wait (as all of your fics are). i cannot wait to read what happens next!!!

let me drown || chapter V - jake's summer part II

Summary:

Warnings: Swearing, a lil bit of angst

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x OC (past), Jake Seresin x OC (future)

Authors Note: It's been forever since I've updated this series but we're finally getting somewhere! Minors DNI. Each chapter will be labelled with warnings individually.

Thank you to my beta @a-reader-and-a-writer, you're amazing! ♥️

California, Lemoore Naval Air Station, Spring 2019

Jake was cooling down on the treadmill after his morning workout when Javy’s name flashed across his phone. He lowered the pace on the machine as he answered the call. “Hey man, what’s up?”

“You’ll never guess what I just found out!” Javy exclaimed, a tone of excitement obvious in his voice.

Jake rolled his eyes. “Uh, you found out Phoenix finally grew tired of your gossiping and decided to leave?”

Javy gasped on the other end. “If you’re going to be mean, I won’t tell you.”

“I’m very sorry for being so inconsiderate of your feelings, will you please share your news with me?”

“You’re such an ass.” Javy complained and Jake could picture his best friend’s expression.

“Anyway, I found out where Bradshaw is now.” He sounded smug, like he was sharing something he shouldn’t, which was probably the case.

But the tidbit of information intrigued Jake. Thanks to Bob, he knew something must have happened for Thea and Bradshaw to call it quits and for Bob to request a transfer across the country to get his sister away from Virginia Beach.

“Do tell.” Jake said as he looked around and found himself in a now somewhat deserted gym. Turning off the treadmill completely, he wiped it off before picking up his bag.

“Okay, but you can’t tell anyone. Nat swore me to secrecy.” Javy whispered conspiratorially, like he was leaking top-secret government information.

Jake rolled his eyes as he walked back to his bunk. “So you’re not supposed to share this with me?” Coyote hesitated for a moment, making Jake smile. “I swear that I won’t utter a word of what you’re about to tell me.”

“No, I’m not supposed to share but now that you’ve sworn…-” Javy dragged out the ‘o’ before continuing. “He’s off the coast of Japan, with the Golden Warriors.”

“I knew the Warriors were deploying, I spoke with Badger when I was visiting Athena and he said they were leaving after Christmas.” Jake recalled, remembering meeting up with his friend from flight school while in Virginia Beach.

They discussed the new information for a while and Jake made sure to leave Thea’s name out of it. He still didn’t know anything except for what Bob had told him. And while he knew Javy would keep his trap shut, he didn’t want to speak about something he had limited information about.

“Well, I guess they broke up? Do you know why?” Javy asked.

Jake sighed. “No. Bob just told me it was over and that Thea wasn’t doing so good.”

Coyote hummed. “Well, count me in for dinner. I haven’t seen Floyd in forever.”

Jake promised to text the address Bob had given him before they said their goodbyes and hung up.

It still bothered him that whatever had gone down between Thea and Rooster, Thea was the one who was suffering for it. He wanted to be there for her but he also didn’t want to push his luck. After his last message, he hadn’t reached out, deciding that he would let her decide if she wanted to continue the conversation. He wanted to let it happen on her terms.

His stomach still fluttered whenever he thought of her but Jake tried his best to push it aside. Even if Thea’s smile made him feel like he could soar, he stayed true to his words to be her friend.

Javy had teased him relentlessly about his crush, taking the opportunity that he was the one pining for once and not the other way around.

Thea had texted him back but their correspondence was inconsistent at best, a few late night messages here and there. Jake was happy she wanted to speak to him at all, so he gladly told her about his day or whatever he thought she’d enjoy reading about. He’d sent some book recommendations, remembering how she had talked about how she needed to get back into reading books while they met in Virginia.

After forwarding the address that Bob had given him to Javy, Jake decided the best way to stop obsessing over tomorrow was to just try and not think about it. He could at least try.

On the way over to the Floyd residence, Jake felt oddly nervous. He hadn’t seen Thea since his trip and he was excited. It would be nice to talk face to face instead of the texts they had exchanged.

Javy had picked up on his nerves on the way over and snickered but Jake made sure to shut him up before they arrived.

“Just be quiet about it, yeah? Can you do that?” He asked as they walked up to the cottage, a bottle of wine and a freshly bound bouquet for Thea.

Javy laughed, bouncing on his toes. “You’re very adorable, Hangman. But yes, I will be quiet. I’m looking forward to meeting the girl that’s made you all cute and shit.”

Jake retaliated by punching Javy in the arm playfully as they waited for someone to open the door. They could hear footsteps from within and after a few moments Bob opened the door, bbq tongs in one hand.

“Hey, come on in!” He invited, beckoning them inside. “Shoes off, please. Thea has weird rules.”

“FLOYD, c’mere boy! It's been too fucking long.” Javy grabbed onto Bob before the poor man could escape, trapping him in an embrace whether Bob wanted it or not. Jake shook his head at Javy’s actions, subtly looking around the hallway. When he found no sign of Thea, he turned his focus back to Javy and Bob, only to find both of them already looking at him.

Javy was wearing a shit-eating grin while Bob was observing him with a calculated stare. It wasn’t hostile but Jake felt exposed under the older Floyds’ gaze so he held out the bottle of wine as a distraction. “Thanks for having us, man.”

Bob rolled his eyes, stepping forward to trap him in an one-armed hug. Jake returned it, careful not to crush the flowers.

“I’m glad you could make it. Yes, you too Javy.” Bob joked as he led them into the kitchen. There were boxes in the hallway and a few more stacked against the corner of the living room.

Bob offered them both a beer as they sat down at the kitchen island, an offhand wave towards the boxes. “Sorry about those, we haven’t really unpacked everything yet.”

“Do you live here or on base, then?” Javy asked, taking a handful of peanuts from the bowl Floyd offered.

“On base, I’m just keeping a few things here for storage. Thea doesn’t mind and most of the boxes are hers anyway.” Bob said as he grabbed a few plates from the cabinet.

Upon closer inspection, Jake could see how bare the cottage looked. There was furniture and the like but it lacked a personal warmth. It made sense though, it hadn’t been long since the siblings arrived.

“So, when do I get to meet this sister of yours? I’ve heard a lot, and it feels like I know her already.” Javy clapped his hands together as he looked around.

Bob pointed to the open sliding door leading into the backyard. Jake could spy a wooden deck and grass beyond that.

“She’s outside by the grill. C’mon.” Bob took the plates with him. Jake grabbed the pitcher with water and followed him outside.

As promised, Thea was standing behind the grill placed on the deck, staring at the ocean that could be viewed from the backyard. She looked smaller than Jake remembered, curled in on herself. His heartbeat picked up as he studied her, feeling strangely at peace now that he was in her presence again. He had missed her, despite their brief interaction last time they saw each other.

“Tiny! Come say hello!” Bob called, breaking his sister out of whatever trance she was in. Jake could tell that her smile wasn’t genuine as she approached them, but said nothing. Javy beat him to greet her, smiling gently.

Jake watched as Javy extended his hand and introduced himself, trading hellos. He felt uncertain about how he should approach her. She had hugged him goodbye after their roundabout of golf and lunch but he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate now.

“Earth to Jake. Hello?”

He was broken out of his inner monologue by Javy smacking him on the chest. Jake slapped his hand away and refocused his attention on Thea. She was standing close to Bob now, almost hiding behind her brother’s 6’2 ft frame.

His heart thudded against his chest as she smiled timidly at him. Thea didn’t speak so Jake decided to go first. “Hi, Thea. It’s nice to see you again.”

Thea awkwardly looked around, wrapping her arms around her midsection as to protect herself before greeting him. It hurt him to see her look so small.

“Hi, Jake. It’s good to see you too.” She was more soft-spoken than he remembered but when she smiled at him, Jake still felt those flutters return.

Bob and Javy moved away towards the grill, chatting animatedly and leaving him and Thea by themselves. He wanted to ask how she was doing, how she was feeling and if there was anything he could do. But Thea beat him to speaking.

“I picked up a few of those books you recommended.”

While it wasn’t what Jake was looking for, Thea looked so on edge that he figured it was a safe topic for her. Revisiting his earlier attitude about space, he smiled happily. “I’m glad. I hope you enjoy them.”

Thea smiled then, a tentative small smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Crime isn’t really my thing but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to branch out.”

After hesitating, Jake decided to stop beating around the bush. He opened his mouth to ask her if something was bothering her but Bob interrupted him, calling out that the food was ready.

Thea made a vague gesture towards the seating area. “We should join them.” She almost looked relieved to be interrupted, as if she could sense what he was about to ask her.

DInner was pleasant, the conversation between Jake, Javy and Bob flowed easily but Jake kept an eye on Thea through the entire meal. She participated whenever Javy asked her something or Bob turned to her but she was more subdued than he remembered from his dinner with the siblings back in Virginia.

Whatever Bradshaw had done, it had obviously done a real number on Thea. And Jake hated that. He hated that his gut feelings about the man had been correct. Bradshaw was the same man he remembered and he loathed that Thea had seemingly paid the price for his actions. She deserved better.

“So, Bob mentioned you graduated from UPenn? Architecture, right?” Javy asked, directing his attention to Thea.

Thea nodded, putting down her glass. “Mm. You know anything about it?”

Javy laughed, chewing on a potato. “I think my cousin’s wife is an architect and I know you guys design buildings. That’s about it.”

They all laughed and, with some more prompting, she launched into an explanation of her degree and new workplace. She lit up when describing the project she’d been put on and it was clear that this was her passion.

“Okay, I admit defeat. You guys do a lot more than designing buildings.” Javy mused.

“Yeah but I know that’s what most people think about when they hear the word architecture.” Thea assured him, stabbing a broccoli with her fork.

They had let Thea talk without interrupting but it felt safe to ask questions now. “What’s your focus?” Jake asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Focus?” Javy asked at the same time as Thea answered his question. “My main one is landscape architecture but I’ve done some projects in interior design as well.”

Javy looked bewildered between the two of them. “There’s different fields?”

Bob snickered behind his glass, the upturn of his lips making Jake smile in return. Thea smiled as well and Javy grimaced. “I did not know that. Interesting.”

She angled her body towards Javy more, explaining the different types and what had prompted her to choose that specific field.

Jake took the opportunity to turn his questions towards Bob. “So, how’s Taylor?”

Bob shrugged. “She’s fine.”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

Bob faltered, shifting uneasily. “She was supposed to hand in her notice. She said she could find another job here, that she was willing to move but when I asked her about it, she admitted that she hadn’t turned it in yet - and she couldn’t give me a straight answer as to why.”

Jake’s heart went out to Bob, who was obviously struggling with this dilemma. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand though, you said she was coming with us.” Thea spoke up, having listened in on their side conversation.

“She’ll be here, Tiny.” Bob reassured but it didn’t sound as confident as Jake guessed Bob wanted to come off as.

The conversation came to a halt, nobody knowing how to continue. A few moments passed before Bob spoke up. “It’s fine, you guys. Does anyone want coffee?”

They all helped clear the table, the tension from the previous conversation ebbing away. Thea shooed them from the kitchen, rinsing the dishes in the sink. Javy and Bob took her gesture to heart and headed back outside but Jake decided to linger.

“You don’t have to stick around.” Thea busied herself with the plates, keeping her eyes on the sink. Jake leaned against the kitchen island, shrugging his shoulders.

“Figured you could use some help.”

Thea laughed, a genuine sound this time and Jake’s heart did a somersault in his chest. He immediately scolded himself silently for his reaction, keeping his face neutral. “What?”

“I know you three haven’t been around each other in a while. You really want to help me load the dishwasher instead of catching up with your friends?” Thea snorted, rinsing another plate.

Jake rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know my mama raised a gentleman, I’m nothing like those two heathens who just abandons a lady with chores.”

He went for the joke, hoping that it would ease up on the slight apprehension he could feel from her. She was smiling but her body language told him she wasn’t totally at ease with him. He wondered why.

“Hangman! Get out here!” Bob called, waving at him through the window.

He turned towards Thea but she waved a hand in the direction of her brother. “Go. I’m almost done here. Take the mugs with you, please.”

He did as she asked before casting one last glance her way as he left the kitchen. She didn’t notice, busy with cleaning off the counter.

He watched her through the window, noticing how she relaxed slightly the moment she was alone. Trying to not feel hurt by Thea’s apprehension, Jake took a seat again, easily catching up with the conversation between Coyote and Bob.

No one mentioned anything when Thea didn’t join them again until he and Javy were standing on the porch, saying their goodbye’s.

Javy trapped both Thea and Bob in a hug before either could protest, which made him smile. Jake was used to his best friend’s behaviour but Bob looked like he might have forgotten since they were all together last time.

“Listen, don’t be a stranger! You need anything, just give us a call. If Bob can’t help you, of course. And when she gets here, I’d love for you to meet my girlfriend. I think you two would like each other.” Javy rambled, adding himself to Thea’s contacts.

“Nat’s visiting?”

Javy nodded happily. “In two weeks. Maybe we can all go out to dinner?”

“Sounds good! We’ll plan later.” It doesn’t go unnoticed how Bob chose to not put Thea on the spot by asking her to tag along even though the invitation was there. Jake echoed his agreement instead of saying anything and Javy immediately started planning a group chat.

Turning slightly towards Thea, Jake decided against a hug, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. “It was good to see you again. Like Javy said, if you need anything -”

“Thanks,” she interrupted, biting her lower lip, “I appreciate it. I’m glad you guys stopped by.”

They waved their goodbyes when he’s reversing out of the driveway and Jake could feel Javy’s eyes trained on him.

“What?”

Javy shrugged. “Nothing. Thea seems nice. A bit quiet though and sad.”

He didn’t answer, instead choosing to focus on the road despite it being nearly empty. He didn’t want to think about all the reasons Thea had changed so much since he first met her. While she was still there, Jake could see how much the breakup from Bradshaw had changed her.

“But I liked her and most important of all, I can see why you’ve got a massive crush on her.”

Jake snorted. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it isn’t. Man, she’s been the only thing you’ve talked about since visiting Oceana. And, I’ll admit, I did tell you to not get involved because she had a boyfriend and a protective older brother. Also because I didn't want to see you get hurt, y’know?” Javy had taken on a more serious tone now.

He continued without letting Jake talk. “And at the time, I was right. But maybe you should now.”

The last part made Jake turn his head, eyebrows rising. “Seriously? Were you not at the same dinner as me? She was uncomfortable around me, although I don’t know why.”

“Maybe you should ask her why? You can’t fix it if you don’t know what’s wrong.”

Jake pulled into the parking lot, killing the engine. “I don’t want to back her into a corner and it’s not like she owes me her friendship or anything. We hung out twice and while we really clicked, something has obviously changed. I’ll see if she even wants to spend time together first before making demands.”

“You know, you’re smarter than people give you credit for. I guess you’re more than just a pretty fa - HEY!” Javy swatted his hand away as Jake tried to slap him on the side of the face, laughing as he ran away.

“I’m reporting you. You can’t go around damaging government property!” Javy cackled as he headed in the opposite direction. Jake flipped him off even though Coyote couldn’t see him.

“Sleep with one eye open, Machado!”

“I’ll talk to you later, Hangman!” was the only answer and Jake could hear him still laughing in the distance.

Javy had sent him 10 snaps when he got back to his room but he went straight to bed, wanting to catch some much-needed sleep.

And despite everything, Jake thought about Thea as he fell asleep.

“Can I ask you something?”

Bob shrugged. “I don’t guarantee an answer.”

Jake hesitated, sparing one moment to wonder if he should ask or just forget about it. Floyd didn't seem to notice, immersed in his phone.

“Have you heard from Taylor?”

Bob fixed him with a stare that reminded him of his own mother, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. “That’s not what you want to ask and we both know it. But to answer it, not really? We’ve texted back and forth but she still can’t give me a straight answer.”

“You don’t seem too worried.” Jake observed.

Bob sighed. “I am but I also have other things to think about.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Jake voiced his concern. “Like Thea?”

Bob rolled his shoulders back, cracking his neck. “I still worry about her. I thought moving here would help and it has but I guess I was being a bit too convinced it would fix everything. And the whole situation with Taylor isn’t helping, at all. I feel like I’m being stretched too thin at this point.”

Jake felt bad for his friend, wishing he could help. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’d be down. Don’t want you to run yourself into the ground worrying about everyone.”

Bob huffed, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve been worrying about Tiny since the day she was born, it’s not going to stop anytime soon.”

He was reluctant to add to Bob’s burden but a question had been eating away at him since dinner last week. Jake had tried to let it go but he couldn’t.

“Thea appeared a bit off at dinner. Which isn’t a surprise, considering what has happened. But I couldn’t help but notice that she seemed uneasy around me. Uncomfortable. I’ve been chalking it up to just being nervous but something has changed.” Jake spoke slowly, spilling his thoughts.

“I know it’s not my place and you said it’s not your story to tell but even I can see that whatever happened between her and Rooster has hurt her. And I just want to help.”

Jake knew he sounded a bit pathetic at the end of his rant but he didn’t care. He was worried about Thea, and Bob to an extent, and while his reputation painted him as a man who only cared about himself, Jake did care about his friends and family.

Javy was right, he could be an asshole but not when it came to the people closest to him.

“Do you really want to know what happened?” Bob asked, observing him with a calculated look that oddly enough made Jake sit up a bit straighter, as if he was being judged.

He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not as much as knowing what happened but about helping and being there for your sister. I really care about her.”

Bob closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you. But you have to understand, not even I know everything. She won’t say anything but I know there are still things she hasn’t told me. But promise me one thing, same as I promised Thea concerning Rooster.”

“What did you promise?”

“I promised I’d stay out of it. That I wouldn’t go after him.”

Jake cleared his throat, trying to picture Bob hunting Bradshaw down. It wasn’t crazy but he had a hard time imagining it. But if Thea had made Bob promise not to, he would as well. “Well, I swear I won’t hunt him down.”

Bob laughed humorlessly, clenching his jaw. He was angry, Jake realised. “After I’m done telling you, you might want to.”

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