summary : peter, hopeless romantic that he is, has a cache of love letters, all addressed to you, hidden under his bed and expertly crafted. he never anticipated them being read, or the feelings he has for you being returned.
word count : 3.1k (holy fucking hell i’m sorry)
Peter couldn’t help it, the way that he was. He was a romantic at a heart, though the awkwardness of him had a tendency to prevail rather than the confident, smooth talking, small part of him that had a desperate desire to reveal itself. Spider-man was as suave as a fifteen year old boy could be; Peter Parker was awkward, inept at participating in normal, human conversation and often incapable of forming coherent sentences more often than not. He wasn’t the best at talking to people besides Ned and Aunt May and- on occasion- Tony Stark. Especially not you. If there was one person that he turned into an absolute bumbling, ridiculous mess around, it was you. He loathed himself for it, sure that you thought that he was weird, annoying, the same way that anyone who didn’t know him assumed he was.
Ned, however, continuously insisted that you found Peter to be a sweetheart, like anyone who got to know him well enough did, and that you liked him very much- perhaps more than a friend, though Peter had immediately scoffed at the notion. It was out of the question, downright ludicrous. But, of course, Ned had implanted the idea in Peter’s head, and now the boy’s ever creative mind refused to stop constructing various scenarios in which you were Peter’s girlfriend and he was as happy as he had ever been.
While he had been a perfectly charming boyfriend in each and every one of those little dream sequences of his, he was hopelessly lost for words whenever you approached him, unable to even ask what class you had next, let alone reveal the pure adoration he had been holding on to ever since you had been placed beside him in Bio in your freshman year. You had always been the one to stick up for him and smile at him and treat him like a decent human being, and so of course he fell for you, and now he could barely look you in the eye without his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. So, he bottled his feelings and let them out in a way he had never known could help him.
He wrote to you every single day and poured his heart out in every single letter and expressed every thought he knew, in his heart, he would never be able to say out loud. Writing what he felt was so much simpler than saying the words out loud. That was what he assumed, anyhow. He took his pen and placed it down on the paper, starting it the same way he always did.
Dear Y/N… As always, the words spilled over from his mind to the paper as if he wasn’t thinking, just writing and writing and writing until he had filled two pages without lifting his curly head from the paper once. When he finally finished, a yawn stretching across his mouth, he noticed Aunt May standing outside his door. He turned his chair around, raising his eyebrows at her.
“Writing to that pretty girl again?” She asked, hand on her hip but wearing a knowing, soft grin. Peter, not bothering to feign shock, nodded solemnly and placed his pen down the paper. “You should think about maybe, oh I don’t know, actually giving her one of the letters you’ve written?”
Adamantly, Peter shook his head. “May, I could never. You don’t get it.” He swiveled around in the chair, spinning it until he was dizzy. “These letters are embarrassing. They’re practically my whole heart and soul on a piece of paper. She’d scream and run away if she read how I felt about her.” He sighed, placing his elbow on the edge of the desk and resting his cheek in his hand. He stared up at his aunt, still craving her sage advice. May stared back at him thoughtfully.
“Well, in my personal experience,” she came over and gave Peter’s shoulder a squeeze, eyeing the letter that was signed with Peter’s name, “girls are suckers for love letters. And you Parker men write the best ones out there. Trust me.”
Peter bit his lip. “Yeah, sure, I’m not an awful writer. But, I still can’t give them to her. I just can’t.” Before she could say anything else, he was folding it up and placing it on top of the shelf on his desk next to his books for English. “Uncle Ben was different. He was charming. You know that.”
May smiled wistfully. “I do.”
“And that’s one thing that I didn’t get from him,” Peter finished, shrugging his shoulders as he stood up from his swivel chair. “It’s fine.” He waved it off. “I’m happy suffering in silence. I’m gonna go to bed. Big English project starts tomorrow. Love you,” he kissed May on the cheek as she left his bedroom, switching the light off in her departure. He stared at the wall once he was situated in bed, mulling the conversation over in his head. Maybe May’s right. Maybe telling Y/N wouldn’t be as bad as I’m thinking. Maybe I’m overreacting. Actually, never mind. She probably hates me. Ugh. Life sucks.
That morning, when he arrived in his English class, you were sitting in the seat that had been previously occupied by Ned pretty much every class since the beginning of the school year. Sucking in a breath, Peter took his first step into the classroom. He knew he was a little late to today’s lesson, but he hadn’t realized he was a full fifteen minutes behind schedule. Ned was in the back with Michelle, giving Peter an encouraging thumbs up when he noticed his best friend finally arrive on the scene. Peter gave him the finger.
“Mr. Parker, lovely for you to join us!” Ms. Matthews declared when he decided to shove himself through the door, his heart jackhammering away in his chest and making its way up to his throat. He kind of wanted to throw up.
“Um, yeah, well, you know, sleep and whatnot- overslept, haha,” he coughed out a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. The teacher nodded with faux sympathy, though he could tell she didn’t care that much for his explanation. “I’ll just, um, sit. Down.”
“Next to Y/N, please,” She instructed, waving her hand in your direction. “Since you were late and unable to choose your own partner, surprising since usually Ned is so eager to work with you, Y/N offered to be your partner.” The teacher gave you a fond smile, as every teacher did. “She can explain the details of the assignment.”
Peter gave her a stiff nod before sliding into his chair, and you noticed how rigid he was as he turned toward you with a slight frown. He seemed extremely upset to be working with you, but you wouldn’t let that get in the way. You liked Peter. Really, truly liked him. He was a sweetie whenever he actually talked to and different than the rest of the guys at Midtown. He was genuine.
Giving him your full attention, you beamed at him. “Hey, Peter,” you said cheerfully. He gave you a small smile in return, wringing his hands under the desk. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. Your own smile dropped, which he noticed immediately and felt awful about. “Sorry you didn’t get paired up with Ned,” you continued, taking your books out of your shoulder bag. “I know you would’ve preferred it that way-”
“No!” He interrupted quickly, practically slamming his hands down on the desk so hard you jumped in your seat, eyes wide. “Sorry, sorry, I just, um,” he laughed a little, his cheeks burning, “I’m, um, happy to have you as a partner. Really, I am,” he added as an afterthought, just to make sure you knew.
Your shoulders relaxed as you looked at him. “You’re not just saying that, right? You seem awfully stiff,” you teased, poking his uncomfortably positioned arm as you quirked a brow.
“Do I?” He was practically sweating.
“I was just joking, Pete. It’s cute, anyway.” Peter’s eyes, a shade of brown that you had come to think of as warm as honey, went wide and he gaped at you, but you pretended not to notice. “So, for the assignment we have to write a short story based on one of the assigned reading books this year.”
She called me cute.
“Shit… I think I forgot all of mine,” you were mumbling, your head practically stuck in your bag. “Did your bring yours, Peter?”
Oh my god, she thinks I’m cute. She thinks I’m cute. I’m going to faint.
You snapped your fingers in front of his cherry red face, trying not to appear as amused as you felt. He blinked owlishly, an apologetic half smile, half grimace on his face. He was cute most of the time, but especially when he smiled, even if it was only a forced, awkward one. “Do you have your books, Peter?” You repeated kindly.
“Um, sorry, I’ll check,” he answered, embarrassed about his utterly obvious staring that had just occurred. He rummaged around in his backpack before realizing he had forgotten them, as well. He popped back up, curls in disarray as his head brushed against the fabric of his bag. “I forgot them, sorry,” he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. It was kind of adorable.
“You need to stop apologizing for everything, Pete,” you laughed. “It’s fine. We can get started after school. My place or yours?” You were already packing your things, and before he could think about what he was about to do, he said, “Mine.”
“Cool,” you grinned again, a grin that made him want to smile for the rest of his life. “Which one of is doing the writing? Or do you want to split it?”
“You’re a, um, fantastic writer,” he told you, having read your submissions to the school newspaper more times than he could count. “If you wanna take over, you can. I can edit and stuff.”
“Aw, I’m not that good,” you shook your head abashedly, looking down at your lap. “But thank you, Peter. I’m sure you’re great, too, though. Are you sure you don’t wanna write some of it?”
“I’m not much of a writer.”
So, you were in Peter Parker’s room. He was having his third heart attack of the day, and was incredibly grateful that he had managed to keep his wits about him for majority of the day. He had only tripped over his words five times, tripped literally twice, and dropped his Metro card once, but it was fine. You helped him back each time he fell with your usual grace, barely acknowledging his multiple social faux pas and only laughing once because he fell over a small dog- which even he would admit was pretty funny.
Still, his palms were sweaty around you and he didn’t know how he was going to survive working so close to you for the next week while the English assignment was occurring. He lead you into his apartment and you noticed that his hands were shaking slightly as he twisted the keys in the lock. You walked into the apartment, the first thing crossing your mind was how cozy and homelike it was. You liked it very much.
“It’s really cute in here,” you said, smiling around the room as Peter busied himself with a glass of water. He downed it quickly. “Where’s your aunt?”
“Work,” he replied, catching his breath after the gulping down of his water. “Here, let’s go to my room.” He placed his glass of water on the counter and motioned for you to follow him, opening the door to his room and wincing at the mess in there. “It’s a mess, sorry about that.”
You rolled your eyes at him playfully. “Didn’t I say stop apologizing?” You entered his room as if you had been there many times before, taking your shoes off and setting them by the door. You threw your bag on his bed and took a seat in his swivel chair, and he liked how natural it seemed for you to be in his room. He liked how comfortable you were, sitting there. Something about it made him happy.
“Yeah, my bad,” he shrugged. You tilted your head, pointing your finger at him while he raised his hands defensively. “It wasn’t technically an apology!” He took a step out of the room. He was finally being normal around you, he realized delightedly. He would still need more water, though. He could feel his mouth getting dry. “I’m gonna get more water. Want anything?” You shook your head, spinning around in the chair as he left.
Your eyes scanned over his desk, taking in every inch of Peter Parker’s life. He had bad books stacked everywhere, his desk was a mess, there were clothes thrown about the room. Star Wars posters, Avengers posters, notes scattered across the desk. You admired the artful messiness of it all. You leaned up to where his English books were, spotting the one you were most interested in and yanking it off the shelf. As you did, a folded piece of paper fluttered down off the shelf, just when Peter was walking back into the room.
“I thought you said you weren’t a writer, Pete,” you raised your eyebrows at him, holding the letter in your hand and waving it at him.
He almost threw up right there. “Um, I’m not, please give that back,” he reached for it, but you jumped out of the chair, raising the letter high in the air. “Y/N!” He whined, grabbing for it again. “C’mon, please,” he pleaded desperately, pouting at you with such intensity it almost made you want to give it to him.
“Can’t I just read a sentence, Peter?” You pushed out your bottom lip, batting your eyelashes at him.
He almost gave in. “No, Y/N. Seriously, give it back.” He sounded scared now, upset as well. You pursed your lips, handing it back to him. He was so anxious about you reading it that it dropped on the floor, opening far enough so that you could see your name scrawled across the top in Peter’s defining chicken scratch handwriting.
“That says my name, so now I have to read it.” You stood directly in front of Peter, hands pressed together in a pleading motion, the expression on your face so genuinely interested that he had to give it to you. He picked it back up with a lump in his throat and handed it over, scared as ever. But this was what May had advised. Maybe she’d be right.
“Dear Y/N,” you read aloud in a loud, terrible accent, glancing back up at Peter as you read the line after that. He was staring down at the floor, preparing himself for what you were going to say when you read the letter, read his heart. You sat in his chair, realizing it’d be better if you didn’t read it so publicly. He sat down on his bed, waiting.
Dear Y/N. This is maybe the tenth letter I’ve written to you, and each time I say the same thing, so if one day you are reading this in proper succession, I’m sorry for being so utterly repetitive. You’ll probably never read this, though. And that’s why it’s so easy for me to write. I think you’re the only person to ever truly be interested in me when I’m talking about science. Not even Ned has an attention span that long. But you do. And you don’t know how much I want to thank you for that. You make it really difficult to not like you, to not be in love with you. I think that’s what it is… love. And if I’m not in love with you yet, then I’m certainly falling for you. Who wouldn’t? You’re a wonderful person without trying, you’re a beautiful hurricane, a sunset on the horizon of my bleakest hours, and you make me feel as if I’ve been standing in the sunshine for my entire life.
You put the letter down, smoothing it over your lap. You didn’t need to read the rest. That was enough. Peter gazed at you now, the way you’ve yearned to be looked at before, and you shamed yourself for being so blind these past two years. He wasn’t simply just staring. He was looking. Admiring. You slid next to Peter, placing the letter behind you. He moved his hand, curling his fingers around yours tentative as ever. Your free hand grazed up the side of his face, toying with the hair on the back of his neck before resting on his cheek. He shut his eyes. When he opened them again, you were so close that he was able to count each individual eyelash that you had, every single fleck of pure beauty in your deep eyes.
“I like you very much, Peter Parker,” you murmured. He felt his heart soar, and then, he felt himself kiss you. It was an out of body experience. He was there, he was the one kissing you, the one who had initiated it, but it felt like he wasn’t. He was up in the clouds, too far lost in the way it felt to run his hands through your hair as he had always dreamed of to notice Aunt May sneaking past the door, overjoyed to see Peter finally with the girl he had been loving in silence for far too long. You pulled away from each other, eyes opening slowly and hesitantly and your lips practically still connected.
He wanted to tell her that he adored her, but Aunt May’s voice flowed from the kitchen too loud to overpower his thoughts. “You read her the letter, didn’t you? I told you it’d work! Worked for your Uncle Ben and I was right as I always am!”
He jumped up from the bed, sticking his head out of the doorway and pressing his finger to his lips. “Maaaayyyy, you’re embarrassing me,” he whispered-yelled, practically whined. “You were right, okay? Thank you, let me go get a girlfriend now. The girlfriend.” She beamed at him, but no one’s smile could shine brighter than Peter’s.
He retreated back into the room, and you were clutching the letter in your hands. You looked up at him hopefully. “I was thinking that maybe you could read me the other nine letters. If you’re up for it.”
Peter couldn’t possibly say no, taking a page out of his Uncle Ben’s book the way he should have done in the first place as he found the hiding spot for the stack of letters he had been writing for the past few months, sliding them over to you and feeling confident for the first time in a long time.
The One Where Marcus Loves A Cheerleader (Jeff Atkins)
Request: Maybe a smut where you’re a nerd dating Marcus and you walk in on him having sex with a cheerleader. He says that he cheated because you’re a prude who didn’t want to have sex with him. Jeff Atkins comforts you, admits his feelings and smut ensues. Later in the locker room, everyone teases Jeff asking where all his hickeys and scratches on his back came from and he looks straight into Marcus’s eyes and goes Y/N and Marcus doesn’t believe it until he sees you guys kissing in the hallway later.
“I just don’t understand why you can’t come out tonight. It’s just Bryce’s place, we’ll be there an hour, two hours max.” Marcus argues, rubbing his hand over his head in pure, unadulterated annoyance.
You take a special kind of pleasure in annoying him, and you can’t help it. He’s your boyfriend, but he’s clingy. He’s annoying.
“And I just don’t understand why you can’t go by yourself.” You retort, dry and humorless. “You keep asking, and I keep saying no. This is getting repetitive.”
“I just –” Marcus stops himself for a second, breathing in slowly. “I don’t get why you can’t study for Heitzman’s exam tomorrow night. It’s not like you’re gonna spontaneously combust if you relax for one fucking hour.”
“That’s literally – no, Marcus, that’s literally rich coming from you. ‘Relax,’ what the fuck?” You bite out with a sharp laugh. Marcus Cooley, telling you to relax. That’s a fucking joke.
“Jesus, fine. Fine, I’ll stop asking you, annoying you, whatever. It doesn’t matter, I’ll just go with the guys.” He relents, sitting himself on your couch, a thick layer of ice building between the two of you. He’s taken to acting like a petulant, whiny kid lately, and it’s exhausting.
“I’ll go to the next one Bryce has, okay?” You sigh, and Marcus gives you a curt nod. You feel your eye twitch in annoyance. “Seriously, I’ll go to the next one,” you persist, genuine this time, twisting yourself on the couch until you can lay your head on his lap. You nudge his knee. “Bitch, if you don’t answer …”
A smile cracks on his face.
“All right – but I’m holding you to that, understand?” He says, mockingly stern. “I’m gonna make you have fun if it’s the last thing I do.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
You grin when he kisses your forehead, laughing as he makes his way down to your lips. His own lips are chapped against yours, but you think you might like it.
Well, you think glumly. There are worse boyfriends to have.
It’s hours later and you’re in your room, two textbooks and three notebooks spread messily across your bed. You’re neck-deep in calculus when your phone vibrates for the umpteenth time for the night. You almost ignore it. Marcus and Sheri have been blowing up your phone for the the past hour, ranging from “bitch I know you didn’t make Marcus come by himself” to “bitch I can’t believe you actually made me come by myself.”
Tough love, you shrug to yourself. Only when your phone buzzes again do you look at it.
From: Mulholland Drive U should seriously come I’m begging. Watch ur boy make a fool outta himself he’s tryna play beer pong rn lmao
You snort. Of course he is.
To: Mulholland Drive pics or it didn’t happen
You look at your next message. The smile that slaps on your face is big enough to make you feel almost guilty.
From: JoJo The Fool where u at?
To: JoJo The Fool At my humble abode
From: JoJo The Fool I see ur boyfriend here, lookin lonely. U should stop by and join him
To: JoJo The Fool Lemme take a wild guess and say
To: JoJo The Fool u at Walker’s place
From: JoJo The Fool ding ding!! u right
From: JoJo The Fool seriously come over. bored without u. everyone’s left me
From: JoJo The Fool acknowledge me or face the consequences
You laugh, typing out a quick reply before you can help yourself. And you literally can’t help yourself. Jeff is unnaturally kind. The type of kind that makes you feel bad for not being just as kind, if not more. Disappointing him is like metaphorically kicking a dog: it’s unforgivable and you’re probably going to hate yourself afterwards.
To: JoJo The Fool needy bitch!! leave me alone lmao I’m studying for Heitzman
From: JoJo The Fool ew stop. come over and I’ll help you study later. I actually have an A in his class
You lay your phone down. You’re not going to go, you tell yourself. You need to study. You need good grades. Good grades matter in life, parties hosted by an asshole don’t.
From: JoJo The Fool guarantee I can get u white girl wasted in 30 minutes
Well, fuck it. There’s always tomorrow.
To: What’s Cooler Than Being Cool? moi petite fromage I’m coming to bryce’s now. Sheri and Jeff wore me down
To: What’s Cooler Than Being Cool? be excited I’m coming to play beer pong wit ya ass
To: What’s Cooler Than Being Cool? hullo¿
The drive to Bryce’s house is quick and fast, your temporary lust for shitty beer getting the better of you. You park relatively close, and when you arrive past the gate, you’re greeted with shouts.
It’s ridiculously crowded. The lights are bright and glimmering off of the pools, filled to the brim with over-exposed bodies. You can practically smell the over-sexed teenagers.
“You came!” Sheri shouts, and you grin, taking her extended hand and letting yourself be pulled past the pool. You stop at one of many tables piled with beer.
“Well, you missed beer pong,” she exclaims over the music, grabbing a beer bottle and setting it in your hand. “But I know Marcus went in the house about fifteen minutes ago. Probably throwing up on Bryce’s rug right about now.” She titters, and you groan.
“Jesus, maybe I shouldn’t have come after all,” you snicker, taking a heavy sip. “Designated driver, once again.”
“What happened to getting white girl wasted?” A voice comes from behind you, and you roll your eyes as Sheri quirks her brows expectantly.
“Another night, Atkins.” You say. “Tonight, I’m stone-cold sober.”
He’s smiling at you when you turn around, and you feel something in your chest tighten by about twelve notches. He leans against your shoulder and grins, sparkling and bright, like the lights against the pool.
“I thought you came for me, now I’m just dissapointed.”
“Came for the beer, stayed for the boyfriend.“ You shrug, batting your lashes playfully. “Speaking of, I have to track him down before he blows all over Bryce’s house.” You take a mournful last sip from your bottle, giving it back to Sheri.
Jeff perks from next to you. “I’ll come with you,” he sets his own bottle down. “If he’s too faded then I’ll just drive you two lovebirds home myself.”
You raise your brows. “Sober enough for that, Atkins?”
“Three beers, max. I’m a sloppy drunk, can’t have people from school seeing that.” The smile he gives you is almost infuriatingly sweet, like he’s smiling just for you, and you want – god, for a second, you wish – that you could live in this moment for just awhile longer.
If you weren’t dating Marcus, the thought pops in your head before you realize what you’re thinking. If you weren’t dating Marcus, Jeff would –
“Let’s go in the house,” you shout suddenly, almost shoving yourself out of Jeff’s reach. “To find Marcus. My boyfriend. My boyfriend, Marcus.”
“Sorry, who’s Marcus again?” Jeff looks amused, and you roll your eyes. You ignore the part of you that wants to scrub away every part of your skin that’s come into contact with him.
You say your goodbye to Sheri and march across the lawn, Jeff following behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. It feels like it’s boiling you from the inside out, and you decide to ignore that part of yourself, too.
You’re two steps into Bryce’s ridiculously large house when he takes your hand.
“Here, pretty sure he went into one of the guest rooms.” He pulls you to the left, and you try your best to ignore how sweaty your hand is. You try even harder to ignore that Jeff’s the reason why it is.
You just try to ignore.
It’s nearly empty in the house, most of the crowd outside, save for the few people lounging on the sofas and hanging at the kitchen bar. Those that are still conscious stare as you and Jeff make your way down the hall, smirks and sneers twisting their faces. You’re not entirely sure you want to know why.
The first door you knock on goes unanswered, the room empty when you open it. The next two consist of – surprise – hormonal teenage sex, which you’re only too glad to close the door on. The third isn’t any different, and you and Jeff stutter out the same apologies as the previous ones.
“God! Sorry, I’ll just, uh, leave. I’ll close the door–”
Jeff grabs your arm. “Uh,” he stops you, eyes wide and staring into the room. His face pinches in disgust seconds later, and you stop yourself from shutting the door when you realize exactly who’s in the room.
“Dude, get the hell out!” Nina Burbank shouts from the bed, breathless and moaning, but you stand there, watching your boyfriend plow into Liberty High’s head cheerleader.
“Get out! What the fu –” Marcus begins to shout. To his credit, he manages to stop himself when he looks at you.
You’re staring at them – at him, and you don’t know what to do. You’re stunned. You’re disgusted. You’re vividly imagining him being run over with your car.
You decide to settle with just staring. It’s less embarrassing than trying to stutter out your shock and anger. Luckily, Marcus manages to do that for you.
“Shit – shit! This isn’t – no, baby, I swear I didn’t mean –”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” You say suddenly, and he shuts his mouth with a tight, audible snap. You don’t stutter when you speak. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Jeff is ramrod straight from behind you, and you refuse to be embarrassed that someone else is here to witness this – this entire fucking mess.
You refuse to be embarrassed for something that isn’t your fault.
“Baby, baby – this isn’t anything, I swear to God. This is nothing –” Marcus practically throws himself off of the bed, and you throw your arms out when he makes a move towards you.
“Don’t!” You shout, and he jerks back at the sound of your voice. You ignore the sharp burn of tears in your eyes, how hot they feel against your cheeks. “Seriously, get the fuck away from me. Get the fuck away from me, Marcus.”
“Baby,” he steps towards you again, his hands held out and his voice near pleading. “Let me explain. I can explain this.”
“Explain this?” You scoff, and the laugh you give is manic and empty. “What the fuck? How do you explain having sex with someone else? Are you even listening to yourself?”
“This – just listen to me. This,” Marcus gestures around the room, and he’s shouting back now. “This happened because we have nothing. You’re my girlfriend, and I love you, and we have nothing.”
You nearly choke.
“We have nothing? What – what does that even mean? Are you … oh, my god. Are you seriously using us not having sex as an excuse? What are you going to say next, that I’m a – a what? A fucking prude?”
The answer you get is silence, and you feel your face burn.
“Jesus,” you bark out. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“You don’t have to listen to this,” Jeff says coldly and quietly from behind you, the first he’s spoken since opening the door. Marcus turns to him and spits venom.
“Stay the fuck out of this, Atkins!” He practically hisses, and you round on him. He doesn’t get to talk to Jeff. He doesn’t get to say anything.
“Don’t talk to him like that!” You shout just as Jeff says, “Calm down, man.”
“No, seriously, why the fuck are you even here, Jeff?” Marcus questions. “Just leave! Get the fuck out, this doesn’t involve you, man!” He screams and throws his hands towards the both of you, and you jut your head back in disgust.
“I’m not listening to this,” you turn and grab Jeff by the arm. “We’re fucking leaving.”
You still hear Marcus shouting even as you walk down the hall, practically dragging Jeff with each hurried step. The last things you can manage to make out are two simple words.
“Are you okay?” Jeff asks as he pulls into your driveway, and you shake your head with a scoff.
“That can’t be a serious question right now, dude.”
“I’ll go back there and kick his ass, if you want me to.” He suggests, and you snort. You could do that yourself, if you wanted to. But you know he’s being painfully genuine now, and you can’t bring yourself to say yes, please hurt him, bring one of your baseball bats if you have to.
You can’t bring yourself to say it, because you want to do it yourself.
“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll just wait until Monday to run him over at school.” You half-joke, but it’s empty. There’s silence again for a few minutes before you decide to speak. “I just – I know I didn’t do anything wrong, but … what did I do wrong?”
“Nothing,” Jeff says quickly, and god, you can hear the pity in his voice. “There was nothing you did that led to this. Marcus is just a – he’s just a dick.” He finishes lamely, and you laugh.
“Yeah, well, he’s definitely that. It’s just … I mean, Nina Burbank?” You question, incredulous. “I’m worth more than fucking Nina Burbank.”
Jeff’s laugh is one of surprise.
You shake your head. “No, Jeff, I’m serious. He could’ve picked anyone and he chose Nina Burbank. God knows if I ever cheated on him, I would’ve chosen someone better than her.”
“Like who?” The questions is light and airy, a joke, but that doesn’t stop you from looking at him, eyes narrowed in contemplation.
“You mind being a rebound for the night?” You ask, your laugh mirthless and dry and god, you’re such an asshole. You shouldn’t even be joking about something like that.
You expect anything but the laugh he gives back to you, his eyes bright and his smile sweet.
“Well,” he begins, and the smile on his face turns even sweeter. “If it’s any consolation, you’d be my rebound, too. You’re …” He stops. His eyes soften, and you feel your heart stutter and stop in your chest. “You’re everything.”
“Stop.” You laugh, and you’re blushing, but Jeff shakes his head.
“No, seriously, you’re … god, I shouldn’t even be saying this right now.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re someone I’ve wanted to be with for … a while. And I mean, like, a while, and I –” He forces himself to stop, swallowing heavily. “I’m just gonna stop talking now.”
Silence, again. The heat you feel in the car is sudden and rising, and you’re sure your heartbeat is audible.
“Do you want to come inside?” You ask, breathless, and no. No, you shouldn’t be doing this. It’s wrong, it’s too fast, it’s dirty, but you don’t care.
When Jeff says yes, you get the feeling that he doesn’t care too much either.
Your parents aren’t home, you tell Jeff, and you close your front door with a heavy bang and grab him by the collar of his shirt. Your kisses are blind and fleeting, traveling from his lips to his neck, and he stumbles to hold you against the wall leading to your kitchen.
It’s only when his hands rub over your chest do you truly realize you’re about have sex.
It’s nothing to be nervous about, you tell yourself in the midst of Jeff’s rough hands quite literally tearing your clothes off. This isn’t the first time you’ve had sex, it won’t be the last. It doesn’t even have to feel good right now, you just have to feel.
None of that stops you from literally gaping in shock when you feel him against you, because oh.
Oh, holy fuck.
You know Jeff’s big – you know. But god, he’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had in your goddamn life and – holy shit. You can’t breathe, your chest heaving as he grinds himself against you, wanton and hot and excited. He whines. The heavy pressure against you is enough to have you feeling the beginning of the end, every nerve on fire and waiting for that wave of ecstasy to extinguish it.
You only burn hotter when he whispers in your ear, “I want you. Oh, my god, I want you.”
He’s smooth and hard compared to the rough wall behind you, his skin burning with every touch, coaxing himself between your legs. He get what he wants, which is exactly what you want, and he doesn’t waste time.
He pushes himself into you, slow and delicious because god, god, god, he’s thick and long and fucking perfect. It hurts you, realizing how perfect he is, and you love it.
He’s breathing just as hard as you are, teeth nipping at your shoulder, and he bites down – hard – once he’s finally balls deep.
You’re almost positive that he’s licking the bruised skin, sucking harshly as he pulls out and thrusts back in, his exhales shakey and fast. He’s got one hand pulling your hair and another hand grabbing your hip, meshing yourselves together.
The slap of skin against skin is all you can hear, all you can feel, and god, it feels unbelievable.
There’s something almost violent in the way he grabs your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. He’s going to leave bruises, you think faintly, and you smile lazily while he thrusts into you, each rough movement of his hips pushing you up and down the wall in small jolts.
You can leave bruises too.
It’s Monday and Jeff feels the scratches on his back sting as he takes his shirt off. They only vaguely hurt now, most of the cuts scabbing over and healing over the weekend. The bruises are different, though, he thinks with a smile. They’re like faded ink splotches against his skin, and he feels a twisted sort of satisfaction every time he thinks about it.
“Atkins, Jesus.” Bryce whistles once he catches a glance at Jeff’s back. “Who the hell attacked you?”
“It’s, uh, nobody.” He smiles faintly. He’s not about to say anything. Not now, when the locker room’s jam packed with every single male in Liberty High.
“Come on, Jeff,” he gets a nudge from Monty, and Zach grins from behind him. “Looks like one hell of a lay.”
“No, seriously. I’m not about to tell you guys –”
“Why not, Atkins?” Marcus’ voice overlaps his, cool and harsh, and Jeff feels his jaw lock.
He turns to look at Marcus and feels nothing but a heavy weight of disgust and anger in the pit of his belly. For a second – just a second, he swears – he fantasizes about landing a hard one right on his nose. The break would be clean and nobody would hold him back. He would probably get away with it.
He snaps out of his fantasy and sighs to himself. No. No, he wouldn’t.
So he settles for the next best thing.
“You really wanna know? Your girlfriend, Cooley.” He says, his voice loud and harsh in the locker room. It’s suddenly quiet. “Don’t tell me you didn’t recognize her handiwork.”
He slips his shirt on quickly and grabs his bag, shouldering Marcus roughly as he leaves. He ignores the sudden onslaught of jeers coming from the locker room as he walks out.
He finds you in the hallways soon enough, and he feels the smile take over his face before he can do anything to stop it. He doesn’t really want to stop it.
He grabs you by the waist and grins. “You know, I think I might have mentioned something about having an A in Heitzman’s class.”
You hum thoughtfully, pressing against him. It makes him feel warm inside. “That’s right. I think you also mentioned something about helping me study for his exam.”
You scoff. “Don’t be cute, Atkins. Doesn’t really suit you.” You lean towards him, lips soft and just barely grazing his own.
Jeff grins. He can only just barely see Marcus from the end of the hall, and he decides, yeah, the bruises covering both of your bodies are well worth the look on his face.
Going to be hard to write this weekend, I really should have staggered this better, oh well, hope this is good (sorry for the notable change in tone, it’s been months since I last worked on it and argh)
“Six months!” Chieftain Bjorn beamed, standing behind his daughter and squeezing her shoulder. “We look forward to the ball good princes.”
Thor beamed back at the chieftain, clapping Loki on the shoulder happily as he made his farewells to Bjorn. “And farewell to you, your daughter will have quite the competition, as there will be many eligible maidens there but best of luck to her, she would be quite the lucky catch for my brother.”
week leading up to your surgery you felt mostly numb. You weren’t scared or
anxious. Just numb. Your parents had come to Texas and were staying in your
house while you still stayed with Jensen. Jensen had noticed your change in
demeanor and while he was trying to change it by staying upbeat, he wasn’t
pushing the issue. He didn’t want to come on too strong.
that the IV was out of your arm you could go in the pool and that was where you
could be found most of the time, floating on a raft or just on your back in the
water, eyes closed, lost in thought. “Hey.” Jensen approached, sitting on the
side of the pool and dangling his legs into the water. “Everyone’s gonna be
here soon for dinner. Unless you wanna cancel.”
can’t cancel now.” You sighed and dragged yourself out of the pool. “Besides,
your parents are coming and I’ve never met them. I don’t want them to hate me
wouldn’t hate you.” Jensen grabbed your towel and wrapped it around your body.
“You’ve talked to ‘em on the phone. They love you just as much as I do. We’ll
make dinner quick and kick everyone out and then it’ll just be me and you.”
“She’s supposed to be vegan,” Golden-eyes said without lifting her eyes from her textbook.
Her roommate had gone a few days before. The burn mark on her arm from where she had touched a stove-top coil was in the wrong place when she stumbled back through the door one night. That was how Golden-eyes knew in the first place. The moment the being that looked like her roommate had walked in the door, she’d known.
Mark one up for belonging somewhere other than Humanity.
This was her second semester at school, a different roommate this time, and both of them had been taken. It was like they were trying to keep an eye on her, the calling-home getting louder each time. Golden-eyes the Changeling. Made for an interesting story, she did.
But back to the current happening.
Her roommate, the one that was replaced, she was eating whole eggs. Not hardboiled. Just…Raw. In the shells and uncooked. Out of the carton.
It was frustrating.
“I was going to bake a cake tomorrow,” she added, putting the cap of her highlighter in her teeth. Her next words were muffled but understandable. “Rather rude of you, eating my ingredients. I was going to share,” she spat the cap out, finally looking up. “Freely given.”
“…?” her roommate made a questioning noise, her two-shades-wrong eyes tracking the movements Golden-eyes was making.
“Yeah yeah, just…” Golden-eyes sighed, shutting her highlighter in her book and standing up. “I have too much free time tomorrow, I hate not having something to do. And she’s supposed to be vegan.”
The questioning noise again.
“It means she doesn’t eat eggs or dairy of any kind.” Golden-eyes held out a hand. “I need those back. We’ll get you set up with something that probably tastes better. Again, freely given. We can swap it out for the carton of cream I have specifically for you. I also have honey. And,” she looked at the clock. “She has about nine hours until her next class. She took morning ones. So unless you can get all the rest you need, it’s going to be you drinking the cream with the honey and then sleeping. She needs her grades to stay up.”
Slowly, her roommate handed over the eggs, following when Golden-eyes waved for her to.
“And if you really do like eggs like this, just tell me.” She continued scolding, making her way to the mini-fridge they kept in the corner of the room. “I’ll buy you more and mark them for you. Just leave mine alone. If I have ingredients, it’s because I have something planned. It’s just rude to eat someone’s stuff without permission.”
She handed over the cream and honey, putting the eggs back in their place. With that done, she moved back to her bed and resumed studying.
(Sorry, the return of Golden-eyes who will one day be a teacher naming herself Drummis. Watching a baking show, felt the urge to return.)