#i just really NEED some music to write you know

[nottswitch]

need us having a guy over and hooking up with him while sister’s bf!theo is there and he can hear. how would he react?

⋆˙⟡ sister’s bf!theo hears you fucking his bsf mattheo

well hi there. we’re fucking his bsf matty here, i hope you don’t mind 🤭 i’ve been waiting to write this for so long, and finally we’re getting to it, so buckle up !!

warnings: 18+ mdni, voyeurism, masturbating (m), implied unprotected p in v, implied creampie, hair pulling, cursing, mentions of cheating

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; theo m.list ; sister’s bf!theo

the sound of music coming from of your room is pretty much a habit at this point. theo isn’t surprised when he hears a faint sound of some chase atlantic song, chuckling to himself – god, you’re annoying with this band, much like his best friend, who always puts them on when he’s on aux duty. theo places his spare keys on the small vanity at the door – he’s come to wait for your sister, who had to run some errands this afternoon.

but as he walks further into the apartment, planning to make himself some coffee in the kitchen, he has to stop and listen closer. the music is suddenly not the only thing he can hear. his eyebrows knit together as he starts to distinguish… moans? he’s never heard you moaning like that before, that freely and loudly. whenever you were with him, under his mouth and fingers, your sounds were always low, stifled, always under threat of being exposed. now… you were unashamed and loud as hell.

despite himself, theo starts walking in the direction of your room. he can’t help being drawn there, and he curses quietly as he feels his cock starting to harden in his jeans – you sound that good. however, as he closes in, he hears something else, something that makes his frown deepen significantly. another set of moans and groans, male. there’s no fucking way.

surprisingly, or not, the door to your room is cracked open. of course, theo is a weak, weak man, and he has to know, has to confirm his assumptions. as he peers into the crack, he nearly chokes on air. there, on your bed, you’re in a very delicious position, ass up face down, your hands fisting the sheets as a guy pounds into you from behind, his fingers firmly digging into your hips. and not just any guy – theo’s very best friend, mattheo.

fucking chase atlantic. should’ve been a dead giveaway.

theo feels a wave a pure jealousy wash over him as he watches his friend take you in a way that theo could only dream of. he’s gonna kill him, he thinks – mattheo is fully aware of everything going on between you and theo, and still, he decided go against every single variation of bro code in existence… he almost groans aloud, having to bite his bottom lip to silence himself. the scene in front on him has no business being this hot.

without really thinking, theo unzips his jeans and pulls them down along with his boxers, his hard cock eagerly springing out and already leaking at the tip. his hand closes around the base, his breathing turning shallow as he watches mattheo grab a fistful of your hair to pull your body up against his chest.

"you feel so fucking good, baby," he hears his friend growl into your ear, thrusting deeper and eliciting a sweet, high-pitched moan out of you. theo grits his teeth as his hand starts stroking his cock, the rage he feels towards mattheo mixing with his burning arousal. precum drips down his length, his fingers smearing it all over, and he has to be slower than he wants to be in order not to give himself away by the slick sounds of him jerking off.

"my mate is a fucking idiot, missing out on all this." mattheo’s words make theo’s free hand curl into a fist, the desire to punch his friend overridden only by the pleasure he’s feeling as he starts pumping his other hand faster. he knows mattheo is right – theo has been the one refusing to fuck you so far, because apparently that would be cheating on your sister, and him dry humping you into oblivion every chance he gets isn’t. but this realization doesn’t make it easier; it makes it harder, in more ways than one.

mattheo’s pace inside of you grows quicker, the sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room, and at this point, the entire apartment. theo’s lips part as he watches your body move along with his friend’s thrusts, your tits bouncing up and down and making his mouth go dry. his cock twitches in his hold, and he feels his orgasm inching closer and closer with every moan you let out.

"you close, baby?" he hears mattheo’s ragged whisper, and your frantic nod is almost all it takes to bring theo over the edge. he can’t believe himself – he’s jacking off to the sight of his best friend fucking you, and he’s about to witness you cum on his dick. no wonder you will, he’s seen mattheo’s dick himself, it’s a goddamn fuck machine…

when your whole body shakes, and your voice grows hoarse from the pleasured moan you let out at your orgasm, theo can’t hold himself back – he spills into his hand, bracing himself against the wall by leaning on his forearm. the sticky mess of his cum seeping through his fingers is a shameful reminder of what has just happened – he jerked himself off watching his best mate fuck you. god, was it really worth it? the post-nut clarity is strong, and it only gets worse when he witnesses mattheo not even thinking of pulling out when he cums. this fucking bastard…

theo decides for himself right that moment that he absolutely needs to fuck you, his pride be damned – not like he has much of it left anyway. and maybe punch mattheo a couple of times.

[schlatt-love-bot]

I NEED more Schlatt smut😫 you write it so good. Ive seen hc's that Schlatt would call reader Momma or Ma, both in a sexual and non sexual way. Think we can do somthing with that?👀

Absolutely I think we can do something with that! Just thinking about Schlatt grumbling out “momma” in bed….PHEW! I apologize, anon, for how long this took me to get out there, I honestly wanted it perfect before posting…here goes nothing! 

IF YOU ARE A MINOR, DO NOT CONTINUE READING! NSFW CONTENT!

“Old black water, keep on shinin’..” You hummed to yourself, dancing around the kitchen as you cleaned. The holidays had just passed, and you needed to do a deep clean of your and your boyfriend, Schlatt’s, shared kitchen, as it had seen so much action in the past few days—hosting dinners, cookie baking, pie making..the list goes on. That, plus, you were tired of seeing your holiday decorations up, it was almost February and all they were to you was a solemn reminder that the holidays had come and gone, and now you had to wait a whole year to enjoy the warm, fuzzy feelings they brought you once more. Schlatt had asked you to wait for him, knowing you would climb up on countertops you definitely shouldn’t in order to get things off the tops of the cabinets, but you didn’t listen to him. You wanted to surprise him with a nice, clean kitchen when he was done work for the day, and so there you stood on one of the countertops, winding up string lights and taking down pine garlands off the top of the cabinets, singing along to Black Water at a quiet level, as to not disturb Schlatt at work.

Little did you know, Schlatt had stood in the doorway to the kitchen for a good 5 or so minutes now, just watching you. Watching as you stood on the countertop, completely entranced by the music you were playing, dancing in your little pajama shorts and sleep shirt. He knew he should be pissed off at you for both not listening to him when he asked you to wait for him, as well as for not listening to him when he specifically asked you not to go climbing on countertops, but he couldn’t help himself from standing and enjoying the show you were putting on. Every so often, you would scoot-shuffle yourself in a way that made your shorts peek just enough that he began to develop a taste for what was now on view for him. 

“I’d like to hear some funky Dixieland, pretty mama come and take me by the hand!” You sang ever so slightly louder, standing on your tiptoes to reach a very tucked-back deer ornament you needed to grab to properly dust the tops of the cabinets before hoping off. As you reached, your socks betrayed you, causing you to slip, losing your balance and falling off the counter, heading to the tile below. You braced yourself for the impact…that never came. 

“Alright, pretty momma, you gotta start watchin’ yourself…what did I tell ya earlier?” Your cheeks flushed as you opened your eyes, realizing that you were not on the ground, but in fact in Schlatt’s arms, as he called you “momma.” A chill went down your spine, as Schlatt raised an eyebrow at your flushed expression. 

“What’s wrong, toots? Cat got your tongue?” He teased, shaking his head at your flustered state before he gently lowered your feet to the ground, his hands finding their familiar place on your hips. 

“Nothin’, baby…my bad.” You managed to say, shaking your head as you tried to clear your mind once your feet were firmly planted on the ground below. He let out a laugh, rubbing his thumbs against your hips before retorting. 

“Nothin’, really? I can tell something’s brewin’ in that pretty little head of yours. Spill…”

“Nothing, really, baby…just like the new nickname is all.” You admitted, cheeks burning a brighter shade of pink as his eyebrow cockily peaked on his face. 

“Liked bein’ called, momma, huh? I think I can use it more often for ya if ya’d like…” He said, teasingly, as he pulled your body closer to his. “Can’t believe you…not listenin’ to me, wagging your little ass up there on the counters…specifically what I told you not to, huh?” 

“Someone had to get it done around here…you’ve been too busy working to help me take down all the Christmas decorations, y’know.” You groaned, taking a step back to put the ornament still in your hands into the box, turning to face him again. “Too busy working to help with other needs too.” 

He hummed, cocking his head slightly before looking you up and down. 

“What typa needs are we talkin’, baby?” 

“Oh, pretty boy…you know exactly what type of needs.” You purred, slowly stepping closer to wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you, so you’d be at the perfect spot to whisper in his ear. 

“I’ve been so needy for you, Jay…and you’ve been nowhere to be seen…doesn’t sound fun, does it?” Your warm breath on his ears sent a chill up and down his spine. Unable to speak, he shook his head, knowing exactly where you were going with all this. 

“Think it’s about time pretty boy gets punished, don’t you?” Your fingers lightly traced his jaw, before gently bringing his face to look at yours. 

“Yes, ma…” He said, his voice no louder than a whisper, as you smiled. 

“Good boy…now…take us to the bedroom, hmm?” Almost immediately, Schlatt stood tall, wrapping your legs swiftly around his waist, not wasting any time by practically sprinting to the bedroom while keeping your legs locked around him. You let out a giggle, clearly you weren’t the only one who was feeling a bit hungry and eager.

Once inside your bedroom, he instinctively plopped you down on the bed, hungrily connecting your lips, needing to feel your tongue against his with a groan. You laughed, slowly disconnecting his head from yours with a tug of his hair, looking at how swollen and desperate his lips looked from not even a full minute of making out. 

“Pretty boy…I think you’ve forgotten who’s in control tonight, huh?” His eyes widened, a blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“Sorry, (Y/N)…not used to all this…” You chuckled, ruffling his hair slightly before guiding him to sit down on the bed, hands slowly traveling down his chest to the hem of his shirt, playing with it in your fingertips slightly before returning your gaze to his hungry eyes. 

“It’s okay, baby..I know. Not used to seeing this side of me…but you’ve gotta pay for just how neglected you’ve left me lately..” You slowly began to peel his shirt off, admiring the body you loved oh so much before beginning to plant a trail of kisses against his collarbones. He hummed at the sensation, not used to being on the receiving end of all this affection…but he couldn’t deny that it definitely felt good. He brought his hands down to his pants, beginning to unbutton them as you grabbed them, forcing him to stop with a groan. 

“Nope…at my pace, baby. Not yours… keep your hands to yourself, and this will be a better experience for both of us.” You said, returning to his collarbones, leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kisses and a mixture of scattered hickeys, some in not so noticeable areas, others…were definitely going to be seen. He groaned watching you, knowing you were really going to drag this one out. You giggled against his skin, your hands trailing up and down his sides as your mouth left his collarbones, trailing down his chest, meeting the start of his happy trail. His breath hitched, as you lifted your face up, looking up at him. 

“What do you say, pretty boy?” 

“Fuck…please…” 

“Please, what, baby? Use your words…” 

“Fuck…momma please…need your mouth on my cock, like…now.” He said, the words sheepishly leaving his mouth…he wasn’t so used to being wrapped around your fingertips like this. You hummed against his skin, pressing a kiss to the top of his happy trail once more, looking back up at him. 

“Say it like you mean it, big guy. What do you want me to do?” He hissed, watching your mouth reconnect with the sensitive skin of his lower belly, nipping at it to leave a little mark of love for only he and you to remember later. 

“Momma, please…need you to suck me off, bad!” His head went back into the pillows, eliciting a giggle from you as you swiftly licked your tongue from the top of his happy trail down to where his jeans sat, already unbuttoned due to his prior impatience. He squirmed under your touch, a string of profanities leaving his lips. 

“Good boy…sounds like you really need me, hmm?” You purred, pulling his jeans down to see his member already rock hard, tucked in a way that the head of his member was practically sticking out of the leg hole of his boxers, glistening already with precum. 

“Mmm…looks like somebody was excited…just as needy as I am, aren’t you, pretty boy?” You said, making a quick lick at his tip before palming him through his boxers, earning yourself a throaty moan from the man lying under you. 

“Fuck, please…need you..” His voice weakly trailed off, his senses becoming easily overwhelmed by just how badly he needed to feel your warm mouth engulfing his length. You laughed at how much he was squirming under your light touch, nodding your head in understanding as you finally peeled his boxers off his body, his cock quick to spring up, slapping him in the tummy as he left a bit of his leaking precum there. You hummed, standing on the edge of the bed as you licked your lips, watching as his cock twitched, waiting for any sort of sensation to come from you. 

“Such a pretty sight…my pretty, handsome boy. Don’t get to see you like this under me that often, huh?” He groaned, picking his head up slightly to look at you. 

“Please…need to feel you…” You hummed, crossing your arms slightly as you gave him a knowing look. 

“Please, please, ma…need your pretty lips around my cock…” You smiled, hearing those words sent a chill up your own spine as you slowly went to action, leaning yourself above him, lightly breathing on his hardened member, watching it twitch under your breath as he groaned above you. 

“Such a fuckin’ tease…” he whispered, praying you hadn’t heard. You smirked, rubbing your finger against his red tip, looking up towards him. 

“What did you say, pretty boy?” His eyes widened, feeling as your fingers stopped rubbing and began just holding steady pressure against his throbbing member, causing him to groan. 

“Nothing…nothing, please..!” He squirmed, needing to feel more than the steady pressure you were teasing him with, causing you to giggle. You shook your head, applying more pressure down on his throbbing tip, causing him to hiss. 

“Don’t be a brat, pretty boy…won’t take care of you if you keep actin’ up…” You muttered, staring him in his half-hooded eyes, to see whether or not he understood what you were asking of him. 

“Sorry…sorry, momma…won’t do it again, promise.” He whispered, his eyes pleading for you to do something, anything to give him some pleasure. You hummed, satisfied by his begging, nodding your head as you brought your hand back down to his hardened member, slowly beginning to stroke him from the base of his cock all the way to his tip. He hissed at the touch, lightly bucking his hips up, causing you to laugh at his needy state. 

“Pretty boy…watch yourself…I’ll stop right now if you don’t stop fuckin’ my hand…” He groaned, rolling his eyes as his head went back to the pillows under him, needless to say, he wasn’t used to the dominance currently dripping from you. A blush began to spread from his ears to his cheeks, making you bite your lip, quickening your strokes. 

“Look at you…such a mess in my hand…only my mess, yeah? You look so hot when you’re this submissive, baby…” You hummed, your eyes hooding over with your own lust…you began to feel your own needs growing bigger and bigger. He moaned at the combination of the dirty words leaving your lips and your quickened movements, his mind going numb. You smiled down at him, by how much his cock was twitching in your hand, you could tell he was close. Swiftly, you took your hand off his member, leaving him unsatisfied. 

“What…? What the fuck!” He whined, picking his head up off the pillows slightly, looking straight at you. You giggled, slowly climbing back up his body, your face hovering a few inches above his, a smirk adorning your face.

“What, thought I’d let you cum that quickly, baby boy? You need a taste of your own medicine…how long do you think I’ve been waiting for this myself?” You whispered into his ear, nibbling at his earlobe when you were finished. He groaned, rolling his eyes at you. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, ma….please..! I promise I’ll…I’ll do better…fulfill your needs…I…I..just..” He droned on, panting slightly as his mind couldn’t work hard enough to complete a single sentence. 

“You just, what?” 

“Fuck…need to cum, momma…please!” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips, deepening it slightly to taste him, gauge just how badly he needed you. He eagerly deepened the kiss with his tongue…giving you just a slight idea of how badly he needed you, your touch, your taste…you groaned into his mouth. Pulling away from him, you continued your trail of teasing kisses and nips all the way down his neck, across his collarbones, down his chest, back down to his happy trail, making eye contact with him once again. He groaned, knowing exactly what you were going to do, his cock twitching in anticipation. 

You licked from the bottom of his belly button down to the base of his cock, breathing heavily on it. He groaned at you once more, resisting his inner urge to lace his fingers in your hair and pull you down onto his cock. 

“Hmmm…I don’t know if you need me…what do you think, Jay?” 

“Fuck…I need your…your mouth on my cock..so bad, so bad ma…” He muttered out, eyes watching you full of a mix of anticipation and lust that drove you wild. You smiled, pleased with his answer.

“Good boy…now you’re gettin’ it.” You praised, quickly and swiftly taking his cock into your mouth, hearing his moans like music to your ears as you continued to take as much of his length in your mouth as you could. Slowly, you were reaching your choking point, causing you to wrap your hand around the rest of his length that wouldn’t fit. 

Keeping your eyes on him, you began to slowly bob your head up and down, using your tongue to add friction to the underside of his cock. He let out a low growl, instinctively bucking his hips up slightly.

“Fuck…s-sorry, momma…can’t help it. You…you feel so good..!” He grumbled, his eyes unable to open from the pleasure he was experiencing. You were enjoying just how much of a mess he was becoming underneath your touch, quickening your pace as you hummed against his hardened member. After bobbing for only a few moments, you felt him begin to twitch in your mouth…all the pent up frustration from your early ended handjob were shining through, he was close to release. You gave him a look, patting his thigh, a signal that whenever he was ready, he could cum. He damn near lost his mind at that moment, a string of profanities mixed with moans. 

“Fuck, momma! Gonna…gonna…!” He couldn’t get his last warning out before he began to paint the inside of your mouth and cheeks white with his seed, cursing out in a moan as he felt his release. Your cheeks were pleasantly full as you felt some of his seed slowly trickle down your throat, continuing your motions on his cock to make sure you got every last drop of his juices out from him. Overstimulated, he muttered nonsense to himself as his head dropped to his pillow one last time, panting hard at how intense his orgasm truly was. 

You popped your mouth off his cock with an audible “pop,” looking him in the eye as you swallowed every last drop of his seed in your cheeks. He smiled, eyes glazed over as he watched you join him on the pillows, still caught up in the high feeling he had gotten from his release. 

“Damn…maybe I need to call you ma more often…that was so fuckin’ hot, babe.” He panted, lazily looking over at you as you laid with a smirk on your face. 

“It was pretty damn hot, but…momma has some needs that need to be fulfilled, hmm?” 

With that sentence alone, his hunger was reignited in his eyes, as he sprung back to life, eager and more than willing to show his momma just how badly he appreciated her, and just how badly he needed to taste her, care for her.

[stevie-petey]

i lied

The air is sweet between you, tender, though there’s a homesickness to it that neither of you can shake.  “Do you think we were doomed from the start?” You ask Peter as you continue to look up at the stars. You can’t take your eyes off of them. They’ve finally decided to spare you their beauty, their final dance just for you and Peter.  You feel him shrug. You’re both drunk and open and vulnerable. 

Summary: you and peter were drunk when you first fell in love at the edge of a rooftop. it was always going to end this way.

Rating: mature, slight cursing, suggestive themes but no real smut

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, underaged drinking, mentions of burns and scars, reader has boobs

Words: 14k

Before you swing in: who wouldve thought that itd take me over a year to write my first peter fic ?? me ! anyways, here she is and she was inspired by an absolutely evil playlist that my beloved val (@southelroy) made for me specifically to write to. the songs are very sad so pls blame her ! please enjoy, this one is long n bittersweet <3

-

Sticky July air clings to Peter’s skin. The dampness of it leaves everyone else’s skin slick with sweat as their bodies knock against his. Music reverberates the apartment walls and Peter’s senses are going haywire.

He never attends parties for this very reason. They’re an overstimulating nightmare full of people who make him want to scream. 

Peter’s skin vibrates uncomfortably as he’s surrounded by a haze of drunken teenagers and sloppy movements. His eardrums sting when a girl next to him screeches something about needing another drink. The back of his fingers burn when said girl drops her new drink and he finds himself catching it before it can spill. 

“Woah,” the girl giggles, breath reeking of alcohol as she presses against Peter and paws at the drink he’s saved. “My hero.”

All Peter offers her is a tight lipped smile. The flashing of the lights are making him nauseous and he really doesn’t understand why he allowed Ned to drag him here tonight. He hands the girl her drink and shoves his way through the crowd, anxious to find his friend before he has a complete meltdown.

In the time it takes to find Ned, the guy is already incredibly drunk, and Peter has to take several deep breaths to calm himself down. 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t drink tonight,” is all he says to Ned, ducking his head down so that he can be heard over the music. 

Ned’s head almost knocks into Peter’s and he gives him a wide, messy smile that matches his glassy eyes and slurred speech. “Peter! What’re you doin’ here?”

“You dragged me here, remember?”

“No way!” Ned laughs gleefully, as if this is all some silly instance that warrants amusement. “That’s-that’s crazy, man. You’re like. Super strong! How’d I drag you?”

Peter runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “By guilt tripping me with us going to different schools soon, Ned. You made a whole deal about it.”

“Wait,” Ned’s eyes widen. “We’re goin’ to different schools?” 

“Alright, that’s it.” Peter grabs the teen’s shoulders and forces him to look in his eyes. He knows that whatever he’s going to say to Ned will be long forgotten tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. “We’re going home. This is stupid–”

“Peter!” Ned groans his name, long and child-like. He would stomp his foot if he could, but in his drunken state all he can manage is a slight wobbly step and pout. “We jus’ got here. Loosen up! Someone brought this yummy pink flavored drink and it’s–” he hiccups, startling himself, before continuing with his ramble. “It’s really good.”

“I don’t want to drink anything that’s ‘pink’ flavored.” Peter tries to push Ned through the crowd and out the front door, but the tiny apartment is overflowing with people and it’s damn near impossible to even take a step. 

Cursing under his breath, Peter looks around wearily. “This is definitely a fire hazard.”

“The obscene amount of alcohol or the sheer volume of people?” A voice from behind him says. “Either way, this apartment is definitely a fire hazard.”

Peter spins around, heart beating in his chest. For years now he’s relied on his senses to tell him where everyone is around him, but now, as he stands in front of a girl he’s never seen before, he’s disarmed. 

“Then again, it seems unfair to disqualify the fact that this building is in no way up to the city’s fire code. I mean, did you see the broken sprinkler system in the hallway?” In your hand is a bright blue solo cup, its color vibrant against the dark. You bring it to your lips, eyes never leaving Peter’s, and smile from above the brim as you drink. 

You’re waiting for him to say something, Peter realizes. 

“I, uh. Didn’t.” He breathes out, overwhelmed already with your presence. You’re standing really close to him now, almost as if you recognize him by the way you’re so familiar with his space, yet Peter is sure he would remember a face like yours in every lifetime he came across it.

“Not a man of words, are you?” You say, stepping even closer to him. 

Peter swallows heavily. His heart is racing and he forgets that he’s supposed to be taking Ned home. Distantly he wonders where his friend has slipped away to, but for now, with you in front of him, all Peter can think about is how strongly the scent of your perfume invades his senses in a dizzying manner. 

“I–” He can’t breathe. You’re so close and there are bodies everywhere and Peter is convinced that this is some type of purgatory because he’s in hell where your face resembles an angel that the gospels wail over. 

“It’s okay,” you step even closer to Peter, and now he can smell the woody undertones of your perfume. He has to stop himself from inhaling too deeply. “I can do all the talking for us. I’m Y/N, and no, I don’t come here often. This is my first time, actually.”

“I-I’m Peter,” he manages to laugh, small and amused as he unravels before you. “Do people really use that line on you?”

“Hello, Peter.” You smile even wider saying his name. “And you’d be surprised. It’s awful, so I figured I’d spare you the embarrassment.”

“Seems you’ve saved me, then.” Peter isn’t sure where this comes from or why talking to you puts him at ease. Your voice almost seems to dull the roar in his head. 

He can’t get enough of it. 

“Why don’t you repay me by getting me another drink?” This close, Peter can see flecks of glitter that line your eyelids. The movement of light behind you rains incandescent blues and reds across them. 

“Well?” You tilt your head at him, expecting an answer, and he knows he’s already lost. 

Peter’s hand lands on your waist. The flesh there is exposed, your shirt having ridden up slightly during your conversation. You’re warm, soft. Peter can’t help but squeeze the skin beneath his fingers and when you shiver, his heartbeat finally settles. 

“Let’s get you that drink.”

– 

Peter has spent a lot of time on rooftops. It’s a part of the job description, hanging around the tops of deserted buildings as he patrols. Senses on high alert. Waiting for a scream or a lonely passerby to trail home and ensure they remain safe. 

On every rooftop Peter has been on, he’s always felt a sense of unease. Even with his webbing and ability to stick to surfaces, he’s never been able to get past the feeling that one day he will slip and there won’t be anything to catch him. He would simply fall; there wouldn’t be anything he could do to save himself. 

Yet tonight, drunk and infatuated with you, Peter is on a rooftop dangling over the edge with a security he’s never felt before. 

“God, I hate rich people.” 

Peter’s head turns to you, his movements slow and messy. He’s lost count of how many drinks you’ve both had. “Why’s that?”

Your hands motion towards the sky, your movements also uncontrolled and childish. “The stars, dude. They’re all gone and it’s all their fault.”

Peter laughs, looking up as he lays on the ground with you next to him. Originally the plan had been to sneak up onto the rooftop and lay down together and stargaze. In your drunken states, it had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. Romantic, even.

Both of you forgot that you live in New York and that the stars always remain hidden behind clouds and smoke. 

“I don’t think they deserve all the credit,” Peter lazily responds. The July heat makes the night air thick and warm, but the alcohol in his system makes everything more tolerable. Especially with you next to him. “I mean, didn’t society doom the stars from the start?”

“That sounds very philosophical,” your head lands on his chest, and he curls into you. “And normally I love philosophical-ness, but I’m drunk and you smell good and it’s making my head all fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy?”

“Fuzzy.” You’re giggling now and Peter finds himself giggling with you. 

One of your hands rests against your chest and Peter reaches for it, the itch of being closer to you driving him insane. His fingers interlock through yours and your palm is flush against his and Peter thinks his hands were made to hold yours.

You hum at the contact, moving your body against his. You link one of your legs over Peter’s and angle your body so that you’re practically laying on him and his heart thumps every time you move. 

“‘Doomed from the start’,” you murmur Peter’s earlier words, lips dragging across his t-shirt. “Think everythin’ is like that?”

The numbness of the alcohol suddenly wears off. Peter stiffens slightly at your question and every cell in his body constricts. The reaction far exceeds the question, he knows this, but he’s reminded of everything he was trying to forget tonight. 

In a lot of ways, Peter does think his life was doomed from the start. The loss he’s experienced, responsibility he never asked for, an entire city to look after. All before the age of fifteen. 

“Peter?” 

He doesn’t look at you, and you think he hasn’t even heard your soft questioning. When you first saw him lost in the crowd, it had been his naivety that drew you to him in the first place. How delicate Peter’s face was, the way his eyes seemed to hold lifetimes unbeknownst to anyone.

Now, staring up at him after his body has gone cold from your mindless question, all that you see is a hardness in Peter’s face. Stone-like and secluded. A hurt and loneliness that sculptors yearn to replicate. 

“Is everythin’ okay?” Your hand comes up to his face, gently coaxing him to look at you. “Did I lose you over there?”

The tender way you hold his face rattles Peter’s ribcage. He exhales shakily, shyly, and to ease the worry that’s creased your brows, he places a kiss on your palm. “I’m fine… Still here.”

It isn’t enough for you, though. “Did my question offend you?”

“No,” he’s quick to reassure you, kissing your palm once again. “No, ‘course not. Just… caught me by surprise. That's all.”

“Too philosophical?” 

The adorable way your eyebrows scrunch in concentration lessens the remaining sting in Peter’s chest. He draws you in, wraps you around him so that he can feel all of you. “Not at all. I don’t think everythin’ is doomed from the start. Do you?”

Your head falls back against his chest. He feels you exhale deeply, yawn, before wrapping your arms tighter around him. “No,” you say sleepily. “I like to think this isn’t doomed.”

Peter pokes your nose. “What isn’t doomed?”

Your smile melts into his bones. It’s mischievous and teasing, holding the vague words to your chest, and you don’t let him in on your secret. Instead, you admire how pretty Peter looks under the moonlight. 

“What’re you starin’ at?” He asks you, voice hoarse and quiet. 

Your eyes roam the length of his neck, down the angle of his nose, across the moles that line his face and the eyelashes that fan his eyes. They’re a warm, deep brown. Almost black in the dim lighting. Youthful, trusting, yet guarded. 

Alcohol blurs your vision and yet you know that Peter is the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. 

“I kinda like your face,” you breathe out, hands coming up to cup his cheek. 

Peter leans into the touch with an almost embarrassing air of vulnerability. You’re warm. He forgets what the two of you were even talking about in the first place. “You like my face?”

You hum. “It’s charming. You’re charming.”

His face burns from your words. Something within him screams at him to run, to make up an excuse and leave you and the blurred lines alone. But he can’t. He finds that he doesn’t want to ever leave you alone. 

“Handsome,” your breath fans his face now, lips ghosting over the edges of his cheek. “Really handsome.” 

Peter doesn’t breathe. He’s worried that if he does, he’ll scare you away.

“I like your face,” your entire body rests on top of his. Your shirt rides up again and Peter has to bite his lip at the urge to grab the exposed skin. You notice this and you press your face against the base of his neck. “It’s a good face.”

“Yeah?” He’s overwhelmed with the possibility of you.

“Can I kiss it?” You ask him sweetly, honeyed and warm. You’ve never kissed anyone before. No one has ever left you wondering how their lips would feel against yours until tonight. 

Peter swallows hard. His ribcage threatens to crack open. He’s never kissed anyone either, but he really, really wants to try with you. You’re staring up at him with open and wide eyes and it’s over before it’s even really begun. 

He grips the back of your neck and you taste like the sweet strawberry daiquiri he’s poured for you all night. The taste of it emboldens Peter, craving more of it, and his hesitancy morphs into something deeper, darker. He holds your face between his hands and drinks from your lips as you take everything from him. 

The kiss is a combination of every contrasting conjunction Peter can think of. Rushed and slow. Soft and hard. The kiss is perfect in a way that only something messy and needy can create. 

Your hands find their way under Peter’s shirt, nails scratching the sensitive skin kept hidden. He shivers, kisses you harder, swallowing the laughter that pours from you. The sound of it makes Peter’s head spin. He squeezes your ass, creating a dizzying pressure against his jeans, and soon your teasing laughter turns a breathy moan.

“There you are,” he sighs against your open mouth. He rolls his hips up, hisses when you land right where he needs you. “Stay right there for me, sweetheart.”

You muffle a moan against Peter’s neck, biting at any skin you can reach. “I’ll stay,” you whisper over and over again; a promise that won’t be recognized until it’s broken.

The rest of the night is spent exploring each other’s skin and drawing sweet sounds from parted mouths. In the early morning sunlight, something sacred is formed. When your head lands against Peter’s chest for the final time that night, the finality of it is lighter than the weight of everything else that sits within it. 

Neither of you knows who ends up falling asleep first. Peter thinks it was you, he remembers playing with the strands of your hair for a while before his eyelids became too heavy. You swear that it was him, remembering the steady heartbeat beneath you slowing to a quiet rhythm. 

Regardless, when the two of you do wake up the next morning, you greet the other with laughter and teasing. There is no awkwardness from the night before; only something delicate. 

“Thank you for sacrificing your back for me,” your arms stretch above your head, the muscles pulling taut. Peter can hear something crack and you wince under your breath. “I obviously already have enough back problems as it is.”

“Who said I willingly served as your pillow last night?” Peter tries to fix his hair, though he knows it’s no use. “You could’ve tricked me into it.”

“I’m trying to praise you here, Peter.”

“Horrible mistake on your part.” 

You laugh, and the way you do so is still as open and carefree as Peter remembers it being from the night before. His chest warms, everything is so easy with you. Gentle and lovely. 

Before he can convince himself not to, Peter grabs your hand and kisses the back of it, and in doing so, he laces his fingers through yours. In the daylight, he sees how pink your cheeks get when you blush. 

“C’mon,” he stands up, arms instinctively wrapping around you to help you stand. “I’m sure whoever owns this rooftop will kill us if we stay up here any longer.”

You roll your eyes, though you accept Peter’s help and allow him to guide you back downstairs. “As if Veronica’s landlord even remembers that he owns this building.”

“Veronica?”

You frown at Peter. “Veronica Haynes?” When he shrugs helplessly at you, your frown deepens. “The girl who threw the party? The one we literally attended last night?”

“No idea who she is.” He’s sheepish, desperately hoping that he isn’t insulting a girl who might be your friend. “I-I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, buddy.” You pat Peter’s shoulder sarcastically. “I’m just really confused as to how you even got into the party if you don’t know the host.”

He opens the building’s door, revealing the summer morning heat as the two of you start walking down the block. “My friend Ned invited me. Said he knew a girl who attended Rockefeller High through his AV club who was throwing a party. Guess that was Veronica?”

“AV club,” you snort. “Bringing people together since the dawn of nerds.”

“Hey, I used to be in the AV club.”

“And my point still stands.”

Peter shoves you lightly, causing you to stumble into him, and he laughs when you shriek in terror. You whip around to face him, eyes alight, before he holds his hands up in surrender. “Easy, now. I was just defending my honor.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you knock your shoulder against his. “Otherwise we’d have some serious problems.”

Peter sticks his tongue out at you, throwing an arm over your shoulders and pulling you close. He’s sure May is expecting him home soon, but he doesn’t want to say goodbye to you. 

“So,” Peter says, kissing the top of your head. “Where am I taking you?”

“Ideally? France. Realistically? Home.”

“Home I can do,” he sways your bodies side to side, zigzagging across the sidewalk playfully. He tries to ignore the disappointment of walking you home. “I’ll need an address though, sweetheart.”

Even though Peter is a stranger with a last name that is unknown to you, you tell him where you live. He walks with you the entire eight blocks. Not once are either of you quiet. Reminiscent of the night before, you talk about everything and nothing as his arms remain around you. 

Peter asks about where you went to school, how Rockefeller compared to Midtown. You ask him what his favorite word is, if he’s ever regretted a haircut that he couldn’t hide. The two of you gossip about shared classmates and the colleges they’ve chosen, and inevitably you realize that come fall, you’ll both be attending Empire State University. 

“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, then.” You’re at your apartment building now, though you linger, not wanting to let go of Peter just yet.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He raises an eyebrow at you, not wanting to let go of you, either. 

“Never said it was.”

Peter smirks at you. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Your nose brushes his before you kiss him. Unlike last night, this time he tastes slightly salty, earthy. His lips are chapped, rough around the edges, and you can’t get enough of it. But you have to leave, soon your mom will be wondering where you are.

You finally pull away, lips tingling. “I’ll be waiting.”

Peter smiles wide, and unable to help it, you kiss him one more time, then two more, then three, before you’re lost in it all over again. 

“Just…” Pulling away again, you look at Peter and find the hesitancy in his eyes has returned. “Don’t make me wait too long, okay?

But almost as if you’ve imagined it, the hesitancy is gone. Instead, Peter smiles wide at you. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

– 

When Peter first revealed to May that he’d been accepted to every college he applied to, she hugged him tightly and rambled about how proud she was for five straight minutes. 

Then, when he told her that he’d be choosing Empire State over MIT in order to continue being Spider-Man, May hit the back of his head. 

“Patrolling every night while balancing chem labs and papers?” She had laughed right in Peter’s face. “You’ll be wishing you were dead before the first semester even ends.”

Unfortunately, as usual, May had been right. 

“Drink up,” a steaming mug gets placed in front of Peter. Its warmth seeps into the air and tickles his face, lazily coaxing his exhausted eyes to open. 

You wink playfully at him when you see that he’s finally opened his eyes. Setting down your own mug, you join Peter at the kitchen table. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Guessing I fell asleep at the table again?” Peter rubs his eyes, yawning. He isn’t surprised that you’ve let yourself into his dorm. He gave you a key the same day you gave him his. 

After spending the night on the rooftop in July, the two of you became inseparable. Dinner excursions, museum hopping, movie nights at your apartment, anything to stay together in the wonderfully intoxicating world you built together. 

Nothing changed when school began. If anything, the close proximity to one another and shared classes only made the two of you more unbearable. You joined the same clubs, befriended the same classmates, and now spend every waking second with the other. 

“Found you face down when I walked in, so.” You laugh at him, flicking his ear. “We’ve been in school for a month and you’re already falling apart.”

“Don’t remind me.” Peter drops his head back down onto the table. Peter’s roommate, Jude, is out of town for fall break, so at least he was spared the embarrassment of anyone else seeing him like this. “I just wanted to finish my lab report.”

“And did you?”

“No.” 

Though he really did mean to get work done last night. Peter had gotten back from patrol early specifically so he could at least format the report. Instead, his exhaustion won in the end. Again. For the fifth time this week.

Peter should really start listening to May. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair. “Poor baby,” scratching his scalp, you slowly begin to massage the tense skin. “If only you came to my dorm instead like I so graciously offered.”

“Y/N.” Peter tries to sound stern, but he finds himself sighing into your touch. Your words leak into his bones. He doesn’t want to give them a response, knowing that if he does, then he’ll spend the rest of the morning in bed with you. 

“All I’m saying Peter is that you could’ve spent a sleepless night with me instead of orgo.”

“I told you I couldn’t,” he winces, turning his head to look at you. “I’m convinced my professor is trying to kill me with this report.”

Which isn’t a total lie. He really does think he’s going to die at the hands of organic chemistry one way or another, but truthfully the reason Peter turned you down was because he had to patrol. 

You hum, stroking his cheek. “I’d admire your devotion to academia if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

“Finding me passed out on the kitchen table is a turn off?”

“Utterly so, lovely.”

Peter’s cheeks burn deeply at the pet name. You started using it the second week of sleeping together, whispering it against his ear so softly that he wasn’t sure he had heard you at first. As if he wouldn't be able to hear you over everything. 

You aren’t together. At least, not really. Sure, Peter spends most nights with you on his tongue, but he doesn’t stay. The moment he’s done, the moment you pull apart, he kisses your forehead goodbye and is patrolling thirty minutes later. He doesn’t tell you where he goes, and you don’t ask. 

The space Peter places between you in his life and Spider-Man is deliberate. It’s how it has to be. Even if neither of you are willing to talk about it.

“I’ll make it up to you later,” he grabs your hand and kisses it, silently apologizing for the lies you’re unaware of. “Scout’s honor.”

“Please don’t reference the Boy Scouts while flirting with me.”

Peter laughs and it’s the first time he’s done so since leaving your dorm yesterday afternoon. He tries not to think about how he only ever seems to smile these days because of you. Everything is easier, lighter, with you. 

After finishing your coffee, Peter helps you make breakfast. There isn’t much in his fridge, always inexplicably empty, but it’s become a sort of tradition between you. Quiet mornings at Peter’s dorm, using Jude’s coffee machine and toaster to make misshapen eggs and toast. The two of you work smoothly around the other, working together without saying anything. Synched and harmonious in a way only old habits can create.

“Gwen asked about you again yesterday,” you say, cracking an egg onto the pan Peter has already warmed up. “Says she expects you to be at her party tonight.”

“Is that so?” Peter hums, not really paying attention as he grabs his own egg to crack. 

“Yup.” Hot oil bubbles and move your hand quickly away. “I think she has a small crush on you.”

Peter looks at you, unsure how to gauge what you’ve just said. He finds that you aren’t even looking at him as you say this. Instead your gaze is focused on the eggs, watching to make sure they don’t burn. Your expression is cool, body relaxed. 

“Oh.” He stupidly says. It’s all he can come up with.

It’s not like Peter didn’t suspect Gwen’s feelings for him. He met her through his physics lecture and thought she was interesting enough. Similar to you with cunning eyes and a quick mouth. He had invited her out to coffee with you after class, figuring the two of you would get along, but the tension that followed told Peter that he had made a grave mistake. 

“You sound like I’m holding you at gunpoint, Peter.” You hit your hip against his, laughing. “Relax. I think it’s cute that she thinks has a chance.”

Peter nearly drops the egg he’s holding, making a pathetic squeaking sound when he scrambles to save it. You watch his reaction with interest in your eyes, lips turn upwards in amusement. 

He coughs, hitting his chest to try and dispel everything unspoken that gets stuck in his sternum. “She-uh. She doesn’t?”

You brush your hair over your shoulder, perfume invading Peter’s senses. Neck exposed, you tilt your head to the side and stare up at him. Eyes dark and wanting, Peter’s body draws to you without being commanded to.

When you have him right where you want him, head dangling down to try and kiss you, you whisper. “She doesn’t stand a chance, Peter Parker. Want to know how I know?”

He shivers. “Yes.” Voice weak and wanting. 

You lean in close, lips poised to his ear as if about to tell him a secret, before suddenly the warmth of you is gone. Peter is left grasping at air, and you’re across from him once again, giggling at what you’ve done. Cheeks flushed, pleased with yourself, you go turn the stove’s burner off and grab a plate for you and him to share. 

“That wasn’t funny, sweetheart.” Peter complains, helping you set the table. 

“You’re right.” Setting down the plate, you hand him a fork and sit. “It wasn’t funny. It was hilarious.”

Peter throws a napkin at you and you erupt into giggles again. He sits down next to you and nudges his fork against yours. You retaliate, stealing the piece of egg he’d been trying to get. It goes on like this for a while, eating together and sharing the small plate that has become a battle ground. 

“Do you really think Gwen doesn’t stand a chance?” Peter asks you, shoving the final bite of food towards you. He isn’t sure why he’s brought the conversation back up, or if he even wants to know your answer.

Yet, as you always do, you answer him with a quick thought and clever smile. All you ever seem to do is leave Peter standing at the edge of a cliff, holding his breath, anticipating a fall. 

“Lovely, orgo is going to kill you before she can ever sink her claws into you.”

It isn’t the answer Peter is expecting. There’s a slight sense of disappointment, but it gets masked behind his amusement as he snorts at what you’ve said. 

“Don’t jinx it, please.” Peter kisses your forehead, getting up from the table to start the dishes. “I’ve grown rather fond of annoying you.” 

“I think you’ve just grown fond of me.” You murmur, catching his hand before he can walk away. Your touch burns his skin, the hidden meaning behind your words chokes him. 

You understand Peter in a way that seeps terror into his bones. There are things you don’t know, that you can’t know about him, and yet you seem to always welcome the secrets with a warm embrace. Never questioning them. Never leaving.

It’s this warm embrace that first drew Peter to you. The solace in case he falls. Sometimes he wonders if this acceptance and way of seeing under his skin will hurt you in the end. 

“I’ll wash, you dry?” You spare Peter the trouble of admitting anything to you, grabbing the plate from him and turning the faucet on. 

Your face is neutral, content. As if you haven’t just toed the line. Hands under soapy water, you hum to yourself, the acknowledgement of Peter’s presence gone. 

– 

That night the two of you do end up attending Gwen’s party. Peter finishes his lab report earlier than expected and you end up outlining an essay a week ahead of schedule. 

Gwen’s apartment is huge, a penthouse in Chelsea that is almost impractical for her to have all to herself. All your friends will be there, alcohol is always provided, and the music is bearable. In all honesty, the only downside of attending would be the host herself.

“It’ll be fun.” You straighten Peter’s shirt, delaying the inevitable of ringing the doorbell and seeing Gwen’s delicate face. 

“Famous last words.”

You hit his chest and he clutches his heart, feigning pain. Rolling your eyes at him, you breathe through your nose and finally ring the doorbell. Music can be heard through the thick walls already and you think you can hear someone shriek in excitement when the bell rings. 

“Y/N!” Lily screeches when she opens the door. Suddenly she throws her body around you and Peter has to grab your hips to prevent you and the girl from tumbling over. “We missed you!”

“Hi, Lily.” You wheeze out with a laugh, touched by her sincerity. “How many drinks have you had already?”

“Only two.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m just excited to see you!”

“I’m here too, you know.” Peter playfully glares at the girl. “Not that you seem to care.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t care less,” Lily looks at him, smug. “But you know who might care a bit too much?”

“Is that Peter?” Gwen’s shrill voice cuts through the conversation. The music immediately gets turned down and the click of her heels announces that she’s already on her way over.

Lily sighs. “She’s found you.”

Peter gulps and you laugh at his misery. Looping your arm through Lily’s, you spin her around and leave him to fend for himself. You flee the scene just as Gwen arrives, perfume heavy as she clutches at Peter’s shirt. 

“What took you so long?” She purrs, ignoring you entirely as you leave.

Peter cranes his neck, nervous to let you out of his sight. He only came here tonight because you asked him to, and now you’ve abandoned him to deal with Gwen all alone. 

He should’ve seen it coming, honestly. 

“Y/N and I had some work to finish up.” Explains Peter, forcing a smile on his face. “Actually, she’s the only reason I’m here right now.”

Gwen’s seductive smile drops, quickly replaced with a scowl. With a huff, she turns around, not even bothering to say anything else to him. She leaves just as suddenly as she came, and Peter is left exhaling deeply, longing for you once more. 

He finds you with Lily and Harry, head thrown back mid-laugh as rum spills down your hand. Lily is saying something and Harry is looking at you with fondness in his eyes that makes Peter’s stomach twist. 

“Harry, back me up here.” Lily begs him, forcing him to look away from you. “You agree that Y/N should email her hot TA, right?”

“Sounds pretty unethical to me.” He knocks his drink with yours. “Isn’t he like, twenty-five?”

“Which would mean he has money, Harry.”

“You do realize my last name is Osborn, right? If you’re looking for money–”

Peter rushes to break up the conversation. “Okay!” He wraps a protective arm around you, exchanging a silent glance with Harry. “What are we talking about?”

Lily stifles her knowing laughter with her drink, but you don’t bother to hide your amusement over Peter’s poorly hidden motives. Sending Harry an apologetic smile, you lean against Peter’s body and offer him your drink. 

“According to Lily, I should ask out the TA I was telling you about,” then you point your drink at Harry. “And this one over here is yet again bragging about his rich father.”

He shrugs. “Isn’t that the whole point of generational wealth? Being able to brag about it?”

“Some would say it’s donating money to those who need it.” 

You elbow Peter’s side. “Ignore him. He’s just upset that I’m not giving him enough attention tonight.”

Harry snorts seeing the blood drain from Peter’s face and Lily cackles into her drink. You raise your drink towards them, laughing as well, and all Peter can do is shake his head at you fondly and tug at your side. 

“C’mon, you little menace.” 

“Where’re you taking me?” You try to resist, wanting to spend more time with your friends, but Peter’s hands are warm and his cologne is addicting. You leave without really meaning to, missing the pointed looks Harry and Lily share. 

Peter grabs your hand. “To the rooftop. Apparently you haven’t given me enough attention tonight?”

Your breath catches, stomach alight with desire, and you nearly stumble in your haste to follow after him. Rooftops have become something only for you and him. Whether it be at a party, inside the university’s library, or bored in your dorms, you always end up on a rooftop together. An homage to the night that started it all. 

The second the October air kisses your face, Peter is already kissing yours. 

He inhales you, lips aching and fast against your wanting ones. He doesn’t waste any time having you all to himself. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, squeezing your thighs, cupping your breast. Anywhere he can touch, anywhere that elicits soft moans from you that he adores. 

You let Peter do whatever to you. Allowing him to set the pace, to swallow the sounds he draws from your lips, to hold your hips against his and grind. When his hair gets caught in your fingers, every tug causes him to push harder against you. 

Peter uses his senses to find the nearest wall, desperate for more friction. He’s needy, he can’t get enough of you, and the moment your body lands on the wall Peter is moaning against your mouth. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he sighs into your neck, your entire body moving with his. He rolls his hips, feels the sweet heat between your thighs that he craves. “Fuck.”

Teeth graze your neck as Peter places his knee where you need it most. You throw your head back, moving even faster against him. He pinches your nipple through the fabric that traps it, sucking your lip with every gasp. 

“Stars,” you tug Peter’s hair harder, forcing him away. “The-the stars.”  

He makes an offended noise. “What?”

“There are stars.” Your heartbeat hasn’t slowed down yet. 

“Okay…?” Peter looks up, confused as to why you’re focusing on the stars when he has you throbbing underneath him. 

But then he sees it. Everywhere, across the entire sky, there are stars. Millions of them, more than he’s ever seen in his entire life. More than New York has ever had enough room for in its smoke infested skies. They glow bright. Winking down at Peter as if to say, about time, right?

“Oh, my God,” Peter can’t believe it. He’s spent endless nights patrolling under a dark sky. “Where’d they come from?”

“This might sound crazy, but I think stars are from space.” Peter pinches your waist in retaliation. You twist your body away, trying to avoid his attack. “Hey!”

“You know what I meant.”

You don’t respond, choosing to rest your arms around Peter’s neck and play with his hair; your eyes trace the sky. “We never did get to stargaze that night.”

The night you met. 

Peter draws you into him. Your head is against his chest. He kisses your forehead, staring up at the sky above as well. “Maybe the stars aren’t so doomed after all.”

He feels your laugh more than he hears it. The earlier desperation is gone. Your touch doesn’t burn Peter’s skin anymore and his lips don’t tempt you to open them. Instead, the two of you relish in the quiet together. A moment alone with only the stars as a witness. 

After the cold has set in and you ask to go inside, Peter finds that he no longer fears the rooftop’s edge. 

– 

Your parents announce that they’re spending Thanksgiving in Hawaii the day you’re supposed to go home for break. 

The announcement doesn’t necessarily surprise you, nor their lack of remorse for leaving you alone during the holiday. What surprises you in the end is the fact that they actually inform you before deserting you. 

Seems there’s a first time for everything. 

“Have you packed yet?” Peter asks you while he digs through his closet for clothes to bring home. “You leave in like an hour.”

You sit on his bed. “Nope.”

“Don’t you think you’re cutting it a little close?”

“Not really.”

“So you’re just going to pack when your parents get here?”

“They aren’t coming here.”

Peter pauses. He pokes his head out the closet and looks at you. “Are you taking the train home, then?”

“No.”

Your shoulders are drawn in. You avoid Peter’s concerned eyes, but he joins you on the bed anyways. You’ve never really talked about your parents, but beneath the indifference you’ve always presented, Peter has pieced together the hurt that keeps it in place.

“You’re not going home for Thanksgiving.” He doesn’t say it with any pity or accusation. 

You let out a bitter laugh. “Thanksgiving in Hawaii. Who knew that was a thing?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Peter’s parents died a long time ago, but he can’t imagine the pain of losing parents you never really had in the first place.

“It’s fine.” Your voice doesn’t hold its usual confident cadence. “I mean. Guess now I have time to start prepping for finals. We have to present a case study for physics, remember?”

Peter can’t believe that you’re trying to spin this into some academic advantage. “There’s no way I’m letting you spend Thanksgiving break alone.”

“Not really much of a choice, buddy.”

He laughs at you. When you try to ask him what’s so funny, Peter shushes you and pulls out his phone. “Watch this.”

“What–”

“Hey, May!” 

You don’t move from the bed, terrified of the scene before you. Peter paces the room, chats with his aunt about his packing progress and when to expect him, before he turns to you with an evil grin. “By the way, May. My friend doesn’t have anyone to spend Thanksgiving with. What are your thoughts on that?”

Twenty minutes later you’re in a taxi heading to Queens with Peter’s smug grin bearing down at you. 

“Stop looking so amused.”

He flicks your forehead. As if he was going to let you win. “You’re so naive. It’s cute.”

May Parker is what you can only imagine the word “warmth” would be if it were a person. She’s soft, maternal and lovely, but there’s also a bite to her that cautions you to do as she says without argument. 

You fall in love with her the moment she shoves past Peter to hug you first.

“It’s so good to finally meet you!” May squeals, still holding you in one arm while she snaps her fingers at her nephew. “Peter, get her bags. Don’t just stand there.”

“Yeah, Peter. Get my bags.”

You stick your tongue out at him, pleased, and he rolls his eyes. Peter isn’t upset, though. If anything, he’s missed being commanded by May. He enjoys it even more now that she has you to help her order him around. 

“Yes, dears.” He says dryly, leaving you and May to talk as he gets the rest of your things and his. 

“You raised him so well, May.”

“Oh, he’s only being nice to me because you’re here.”

Peter sighs. He’s already resolved himself to a long week. He takes your things to his room, figuring that’s where May has planned for you to go anyways. There isn’t a guest room in their small apartment, and she knows that you’re special to him. While he hasn’t told his aunt the specific details, she understands that Peter really likes you.

“Peter Parker, don’t you dare unpack your things in your room.” May’s stern command causes Peter to jump. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest with you next to her. “You’re not sleeping here.”

He blinks slowly. “I’m… not?” 

“No. Y/N, honey, you can take his bed.” May turns to Peter. “As for you, you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

Peter looks at her as if she’s crazy. “May!”

“I can take the couch, Mrs. Parker–” You also jump in, struck by a sense of intruding. You feel bad enough for barging into their home, but kicking Peter out of his bed feels extreme.

“I don’t want to hear it.” May holds her hands up at the two of you. “Like you said, I raised my nephew right. He’ll sleep on the couch, you’ll sleep in the room. There will be no sharing of beds so long as you’re under my roof.”

You cover your mouth, terrified of her implications. Peter’s face is on fire and he coughs awkwardly.  “Mrs. Parker, Peter and I aren’t–”

“This conversation is done.” May claps her hands together. “Now, who wants to help me bake some cookies?”

–

Unknown to you, the Parker apartment regularly hosts a Thanksgiving feast for all of Peter’s friends. It’s tradition, and there’s a warm tug in your stomach at the idea that you’re now a part of it. 

You meet Ned first. He’s a sweet guy, a bit shy, and he spends the entire time talking to Peter about the latest Star Wars installment and stories from MIT. His girlfriend Betty is a sweetheart who asks you nonstop questions about who you are and what you do. Flash is loud and obnoxious and you have to throw a roll of bread at him to get him to shut up, but eventually he grows on you and you offer him some advice regarding his girlfriend back home. MJ is quiet, but interesting, and towards the end of the night you end up sharing analyses regarding your favorite poets together.

As for Peter, his eyes don’t leave you the entire night. 

He watches how easily you get along with the people he loves the most. How you’re patient with Ned’s stammering shyness, how you entertain Betty’s journalistic interests, that you manage to defend yourself against Flash, and how MJ opens up to you within minutes. 

Peter has never let anyone see into this part of his life so intimately. Without fear and unease. Everyone falls in love with you that night, and, one night years from now, Peter will realize that this is the night he fell in love with you, too. 

“She’s great,” May hands him a plate to wash, looking over her shoulder to admire you as you talk to everyone in the living room. 

“She is.” Peter smiles down at his hands, shy. 

May grabs another plate, clearing any leftover food on it before handing it to her nephew. “Are you going to patrol tonight?”

“I have to,” he sighs. “It’s a holiday. You know how people can get.”

May doesn’t give him a response. She only hands him more dishes to wash so that she can store leftovers for tomorrow. They work quietly together side by side, neither disrupting the silence. Peter knows that May is still uncomfortable with Spider-Man, and she knows that he will never give it up.

“Does Y/N know?” 

Peter’s body freezes. He doesn’t look up at May, afraid that if he does, he’ll collapse. 

“No.” He coughs slightly. “She doesn’t.”

“She’s smart, Peter. You have to know that she’ll figure it out eventually.” She isn’t disappointed in him. Not really. May understands that there are aspects of being Spider-Man that she will never agree with.

Peter drops his head. “I know.”

“Then why haven’t you told her?”

He doesn’t know how to answer his aunt. How can he explain to her that the reason Peter kissed you that July is because you quelled the roar in his head? That being with you is easy and nothing in his life has ever been easy. That when he’s with you, Peter can pretend that he’s normal. That death doesn’t hang over his head every day. 

There’s a quiet that comes with being with you, and all Peter’s life there has only been excessive noise and thunder. 

If Peter tells you who he is, he’s terrified that the quiet will fade and all that will be left is blinding sound.

“It’s too dangerous for Y/N to know.” And it isn’t a lie. The more people who know his identity, the more people Peter is putting in danger. 

His aunt pinches the bridge of her nose. “And what about me? Ned and MJ? Why do they get to know, but not Y/N?”

“That’s different.” It isn’t. Not anymore. But his hands are shaking and Peter has to remind himself to breathe. 

May sees his loss of composure and she finally backs down, placing a comforting hand on her nephew’s arm. She rubs small circles, rhythmic and soothing, just like she used to do when he was a little kid.

“I only want what’s best for you, Peter.” She kisses his hair, though he’s grown since she’s last seen him and it isn’t as easy to do anymore. “There’s a spark in Y/N that I admire, but she also seems very prideful. I’m worried that hiding who you are will only jeopardize your relationship and hurt you both in the end.”

“We aren’t in a relationship, May.” The words are bitter on Peter’s tongue. “She’s just a friend.”

May finally looks at him, pauses slightly as she takes in the boy she raised. For the first time tonight she sees the exhaustion in his eyes. Bruises that line his knuckles, the scar on his eyebrow. The slouch of his shoulders from the weight he always seems to carry. 

“That’s why you haven’t told Y/N.” She whispers, eyes softening in understanding. Peter wants to ask her what she means, but when her gentle hand touches his face, all he can do is lean against it and rest his tired eyes. 

“I hope one day you allow yourself to have everything you’ve ever wanted, Peter.”

Someone calls May’s name, forcing her hand to fall from his face. She leaves Peter standing alone in the kitchen with nothing but her words to bear witness to his self destruction. 

He thinks of slow mornings spent with you. The curve of your neck. Coffee stained mugs. Your cold fingers through his underneath the covers. Late night study dates. Chasing one another through empty alleys. Rooftops and the buzz of something deeper than lust. 

Peter already has everything he’s ever wanted. Even if it isn’t really his.

– 

As long as the bullet doesn’t hit any major organs, Peter can heal from a gunshot wound in roughly eight hours. Sure, he’s sore for a while and it leaves a faded, silk-like scar, but he still thinks it’s pretty cool. 

If he’s stabbed? Peter is up and running again in less than six hours. Unless he needs stitches. Then it gets a bit trickier. Overall though, he can’t complain.

But a fire that takes out six entire blocks in the east village that the mayor is calling the worst incident New York City has seen since 1990? Currently, Peter is on day two of laying in soaked t-shirts and aloe oil. 

“Have you changed your wraps yet?” May asks him over the phone. She’d seen the fire on the news and wasn’t surprised when Spider-Man appeared. 

She also wasn’t surprised when the newsreel catches him crashing into a wall of fire five seconds after saving a little girl. 

Peter shifts in his bed, wincing when the fabric rubs against his raw and burned skin. “Changed them an hour ago, May.”

“And you’ve been icing?”

“If you count a bag of frozen peas as ice, then yeah. I’ve been icing the burns.”

“Peter.”

“It’s a little funny, May. C’mon.” Peter hears her sigh. He closes his eyes and softens his voice. “Look, I’m fine. No need to worry about me, okay? I’m just… a little warm, right now.”

May doesn’t dignify what he’s said with a response. Instead, she reminds him to apply a fresh coat of aloe before hanging with an exasperated goodbye. 

Peter tosses his phone down, ready to go back to staring at the ceiling because that’s all he can physically bring himself to do right now, but then a message appears on its screen. 

earth to peter?

Suddenly his entire body is cold. Your name accompanies the text and your face greets him. Peter hasn’t seen you since the night of the fire. He hasn’t spoken to you, either. 

Half of his body is burned to shit and he inhaled so much smoke trying to get everyone out that it sounds like he’s smoked twenty packs a day for five years. How the fuck is Peter supposed to explain any of that to you without revealing everything he’s worked so hard to mask?

peter? 

anyone there?

The influx of messages only further constricts Peter’s chest and doesn’t know what to do. 

it’s been almost two days, dude. answer me or die.

unless you’re dead. in that case: please come back to life. i miss you :( 

Cursing under his breath, Peter carefully picks the phone up and types what he hopes is enough to satiate you. 

I’m alive! Just sick right now. Bleh. 

But, predictably, this only makes everything worse because you immediately call him. Peter tries to hit decline, but with burned fingers and sore bones, he answers, and he really wishes the fire had knocked him into a coma instead of singeing his eyebrows. 

“Peter?”

He holds his breath. 

“Peter, I can hear you holding your breath.”

“Can you?” He cringes at how broken his voice sounds. He clears his throat, ignoring the sting of smoke still lingering. “I-I mean. Hi.”

“Jesus.” On the other end of the line, you sit up in bed, worried. “You sound horrible.”

Peter fake coughs, though it then turns into a very real, very painful cough. “Sick.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Wait–”

“I think I have all the ingredients for chicken noodle soup, and I remember seeing celery in your fridge a few days ago. Is it Jude’s? Actually, he’ll probably let me borrow some if I offer to make him some soup as well–”

Peter manages to raise his voice slightly, desperate to get your attention. “Y/N. You can’t come over.”

You’re silent for several long moments. This is the first time he’s ever denied you. “And why not?”

“I’m… sick?”

“And?”

“I’m contagious?”

You laugh, short and slightly endearing. “Lovely, are you forgetting that we literally swapped spit at the New Years party? I’m probably already contaminated. It’s fine.”

Peter really, really hates how stubborn you are sometimes. “But why risk it?” He coughs again into the phone, emphasizing how rough and disgusting the fake illness is. “Hear that? You really want to see the consequences?”

“I really want to see you, Peter.” You pause again. “Why are you being so weird about this?”

She’s smart. You have to know that she’ll figure it out eventually, May’s voice echoes in his head. He really needs to start listening to her. 

“I take respiratory health very seriously, Y/N.”

Both you and Peter know that he doesn’t, but you’ve been spiraling over his silence these last two days and at the very least, you know he’s okay. Taking whatever you can get, you give in. “Fine. But can I at least drop the soup off on your doorstep?”

The sincerity in your voice, the willingness to still take care of Peter despite his insistence not to, is what makes him give in, too. “Of course, sweetheart.”

He hears you smile, a sound he loves, even if he doesn’t know the name for it yet. 

“Hey, Jude!” Peter calls through the wall after you’ve hung up the phone. 

A thud. “Yeah?”

“Y/N is bringing me some soup and leaving it on the doorstep. Do you think you could bring it in?”

“Depends,” Jude has long become familiar with your presence in the dorm. “Can I have some?”

Peter rolls his eyes at his roommate, though he isn’t surprised. Jude adores everything you make for him and Peter. He’s even made it a rule for you to not make lasagna without him. 

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Wait, is it tomato soup? I don’t like tomatoes, they taste too red.”

Peter drops his head in his hands. He doesn’t have the energy to respond. Instead, he shifts in bed and carefully re-wraps the bandages that litter his body. When he crashed into the literal wall of fire, his suit luckily took most of the damage, but not without Peter’s skin searing and losing all body hair. 

Not that he had a lot of body hair to begin with, but still. Tough loss. 

Peter is about to call May to ask her if he should take an ice bath when his phone rings. He looks down at it, confused, and his confusion grows more when he sees your name flashing once again. 

“Y/N? Did you finish already–”

“Cut the shit, Parker.” 

His blood drains at the ice in your vocal chords. “I-I’m sorry?”

“You’re sick, correct?” You sneer at him. This is the most venom Peter has ever heard drip out of your plush mouth. 

Even without his spidey-sense, Peter would know that he’s on the precipice of a trap. “...Yes?”

“Funny. When I called your aunt to see if I should bring you anything else, she was touched that I was helping you take care of your sprained ankle.”

He’s so unbelievably fucked. 

“I, uh. Forgot about that!” Peter laughs nervously. “Sprained my ankle real good. And got sick. At the same time.”

“And how did you sprain it?” You don’t miss a beat. 

Another trap. Peter wracks his mind, tries to think of what May could’ve possibly told you, but he’s in the palm of your hand, ready and wilting. 

“Riding a bike?”

“Go to hell, Peter.”  

His heart jumps in his throat. “Y/N, let me explain–”

“You know, if you didn’t want to see me, you could’ve just told me.” The anger in your voice dissipates, slowly replaced with something akin to hurt. Peter can hear the slight tremor as you speak. “But lying to me is fucking pathetic.”

“I do want to see you,” Peter rushes out, practically begging. He hasn’t felt your touch in days and his skin misses yours. “God. Of course I want to see you, sweetheart.”

You want to believe him. Silence stretches over the phone, hesitancy that longs for solace. With every breath you take, every second that passes between you and Peter, he can feel you trying to hold onto the idea that he’s yours and good and whole. 

“Then why did you lie?” Whispered and raw. Everything that there’s left to give Peter.

“Y/N…” But he’s a coward. 

You take his silence as absolute. “Goodbye, Peter.”

The line goes dead. 

– 

Peter doesn’t hear from you for the rest of the day. 

The next morning, he checks his phone before his eyes have even opened, but there’s nothing. By the afternoon, Peter starts to lose his mind. His skin itches at the loss of your voice, he can’t sleep, his stomach is in knots, and all he wants to do is whisper apologies down your spine as he traces your back with his lips.

I’m sorry.

Peter’s thumb hovers over send. He rereads the message over and over again, convinced somehow that the words are blurring together. 

He deletes it, types something else. 

Can we talk?

You hate it when he grovels. 

Just call.

Too demanding. 

I miss you too.

Too vulnerable. 

Peter has never been good with words. He’s never had to be when it comes to you. You’ve always been able to read him, handing him water before his body can even recognize the thirst. In the six months he’s known you, you’ve become intertwined in the webs that surround him. 

It’s this worry for you and intertwinement that leads Spider-Man to your windowsill. 

This isn’t Peter’s proudest moment, he’ll admit. Using his masked identity to crouch in front of your window, hidden in the dark of the night, aching to catch a glimpse of you. He tells himself that he’s only doing this because he cares about you and that the burns that still mar his body aren’t healed enough for you to see him yet. 

But really Peter knows there’s something else behind why he’s doing this; he just isn’t ready to face it yet.

You’re in your small, cramped kitchen. The university dorms are hardly big enough for one person, let alone two, but your roommate Emma is gone for winter break and it’s only you home tonight. 

Peter’s heart lodges in his throat when he realizes that you’re wearing one of his old Midtown High hoodies. You stole it months ago, claiming it was vindicating to rep a school that your soccer team won against when you were sixteen, but Peter catches your nose buried in the collar when you think he isn’t looking. 

A dog barks and the screech of car tires force Peter’s attention elsewhere. He narrows his eyes, ears ringing trying to locate the source of the sound, but the night falls quiet again. He sighs, turns back around, only to find your window open, staring directly at him. 

Peter yelps in surprise, nearly slipping on the lamppost he’s on. 

“You’re smaller than I imagined,” you watch him trip over his feet in a desperate attempt not to fall. “I figured you’d be broader.”

Peter catches his breath, unsure what to do in this situation. You’re leaning out the window, hair falling over your shoulders, and the moonlight illuminates the apples of your cheeks. Your eyes don’t leave him, curious, amused, but tired.

Your eyes are tired. 

“What, are you just gonna let me imply that you’re scrawny?” You laugh at your own joke. “Thought you were known for your quips.”

“It’s ‘thwips’, actually, ma’am.” Instinctively Peter deepens his voice as he speaks, but the fact that he’s even responded at all, on top of his horrible joke, makes him want to slam his head into the lamppost. 

Your eyebrows scrunch together, though they do so as you smile. “‘Thwips?’”

“My webs, they make this…” Peter shrugs helplessly, thankful his mask hides the embarrassment. “Thwip sound? And I’m known for–well. My webs, I guess?”

“You didn’t plan this joke out very well, did you?”

“Not at all.”

The admission is quick, he doesn’t hesitate to confess to you that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and the stark difference between Spider-Man’s response and Peter’s is a harsh reminder of everything you still don’t understand about him.

“Well, at least you’re honest.” You laugh, the edges of the sound tinged with bitterness. Nails picking at the window’s frame, you swallow hard. There’s always a lump stuck in your throat these days. “How heroic.” 

Peter closes his eyes. The words are aimed at him, and yet you have no idea who you’ve revealed this to. 

He swallows hard as well, reflects your own uncertainty. “Do you, uh. Want to talk about whatever is on your mind, ma’am?”

You tilt your head. “I didn’t know Spider-Man had an emotional touch to him.”

“Oh, trust me. Everything about me is emotional. I cried the other day saving a mouse from a glue trap.” Peter risks jumping onto the ledge of your window, landing softly with your body now inches from him. You gasp, surprised, and he smirks down at you. “I can be very cathartic to talk to.”

You don’t move away, the hum of his body next to yours is familiar, as if the skin underneath the suit remembers you, but in the years you’ve spent living in New York you’ve never encountered Spider-Man before. His skin has never met yours. 

“Was the mouse okay?”

Peter knew you’d ask him this. “He was fine. Bit my hand, but I like to think he did it with love.” You laugh, and he scratches the back of his head, not wanting to ruin this just yet, but he knows he has to. “But, um. Are you okay?”

The laughter dies and the smile lines on your face fade. You look away from Peter, nails picking at the window once again. “I met a guy at a party this summer.”

“Do we like this guy?”

“He’s my best friend.” You confess, a slight tremble in your bravado. “He’s-he’s more than that, even. I think he’s nestled himself between my fifth and sixth ribs, but to him I’m just…”

Unable to finish, your voice trails off. You can’t bring yourself to look at Peter, and he can’t bring himself to look at you. 

“There’s this hurt in him that he won’t let me see; he doesn’t trust me to see. Burdens he has to carry, that he thinks I don’t know are there.” Peter watches as your eyes harden, though there’s still a fondness for the boy you’re talking about that he knows is in his own eyes for you. “But I know him. I know Peter. Even if he doesn’t want me to.”

“He’s only been in my life for six months.” You inhale, close your eyes, and open them upon release. Your eyes find Peter’s and you hold his gaze, long and steady. “But I’ve memorized the dip of his back, the freckles around his thighs. He lets me touch him so softly, but he still thinks I don’t know who he is.”

Peter hangs his head, breaking his eyes from yours. His skin crawls. You know too much, and yet you know nothing at all. 

“I think knowing someone can be stifling,” he says, crouching down to face you. This close, he can see the flecks of remorse that line your eyes. Your breath ghosts his face. “Maybe Peter is still learning to breathe you in how you want him to.”

Give me time, he pleads silently. You fill my lungs every time you whisper my name, but everyday I choke on what I can’t tell you.

“Real poetic, Spidey.” You cup his cheek, the fabric of his suit softer than you expect it to be. Your gaze is sad. Lips downturned, bittersweet with melancholy. “I hope someday someone allows themself to breathe me in.”

The last of Peter’s resolve crumbles. He’s never seen this side of you, vulnerability lacing your weathered insecurity. The insecurity that he put there. All because he thinks this is what’s best for you. Holding you at a distance, the separation marring your bodies with longing. 

You’ve bled yourself dry for Peter, and the realization leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

I hope one day you allow yourself to have everything you’ve ever wanted, Peter.

This isn’t what he wanted. You fell into Peter’s fragile hands and he hadn’t caught you. What he wants, what he has to allow himself to do, is catch you before the fall kills you both.  

“I’m sure Peter will be ready one day.” To you, the words are merely reassurance. To Peter, they’re a promise. He’s tired of hiding. Of suffocating you both with secrets only meant to be his demise. 

“Goodbye, Spider-Man.” Your hand drops. He misses your touch the moment it’s gone. You move away from the window, he thinks he sees tears in your eyes, but then you’re gone, and it’s only Peter and a lonesome dog beneath him. 

The next day, the rest of the burn scars fade away. Peter’s skin is left baby-pink, new and sensitive. His hands still ache when he flexes them but his body aches even more being apart from you any longer.

Peter knocks on your door with flowers in his hand. He’s going to be better for you. He’s going to finally try, breathe life back in what’s gone stale between you. When you answer, you hold onto Peter so tightly that for a second he’s afraid you know everything he’s hidden from you. 

“You came,” your tears wet his chest, but neither of you pull away. 

Peter’s hands cradle you, holding you with the delicacy that he should’ve from the start. “I always will.”

And you know he means it, you know that the flowers Peter has brought you symbolize more than just an apology, and it’s almost enough.

–

The distance grows. Everything is cold where it used to be hot. A harsh winter wilts the flowers from Peter, its petals dead upon your desk. 

Everyone has secrets, trust comes with fallacies of vulnerability, but Peter’s soak through your stained hands and he slips through your fingers. 

You stop calling. Plans go unmade. Early morning breakfasts together become lonely. Some nights Peter is still yours, he kisses your breast and hovers over your heart, but as the days pass the pleasure turns into a hurt and slowly it all comes to an end. 

It isn’t Peter’s fault. None of this is, really. You’ve come to love him in a way that terrifies you and yet this was never something he wanted. It isn’t his fault that he can’t be honest with you, not when he never asked you to hold him accountable. 

“Still haven’t called Peter?” 

Spider-Man has become your new friend in the wake of losing your dearest one. He comes to your window most nights and his humor and mannerisms remind you so much of Peter that you can’t bring yourself to turn him away. 

“You’re oddly invested in my pathetic love life for someone who wears spandex every day.”

Peter snorts. “Sue a guy for needing breathable material to save civilians.” 

“But did you really need to wear a bodysuit?”

“I’m confident in my body, thank you,” He stands tall, long ago having been invited to sit in your kitchen for your late night talks. Gesturing to his chest and down, he stands proud and tall. “Can’t hide all of this from New York.”

You shove him, ignoring how strong the man’s chest is under your palm. “I thought heroes were supposed to be humble?”

“I’m the most humble person I know, Y/N.”

Peter’s response makes you laugh, and it feels so good to be able to do that again. Winter has taken its toll on you, paling your skin and sallowing your eyes. March is slowly creeping upon you with its fresh rosebuds and blue skies, and for that you’re thankful. 

“So,” Peter sits back down, kicking his feet up on your window. “Any exciting plans for spring break now that Peter is dead to you?”

“He isn’t dead to me.” You shove his feet down, hurt simmering under your ribcage. “I miss Peter, and I still care about him deeply, but until he figures out how to be honest with me and let me in, I’m done picking at an open wound.”

Peter holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I get it. The guy has problems, but who’s to say he isn’t working on them?”

“We sleep together every time we’re alone in a room. Can’t exactly get over any problems when you’re under them.”

“Not really understanding how Peter being unable to keep his hands off you is a bad thing.” He says, looking at you smugly. “I mean, you’re hot. I don’t blame him.”

You blush at Peter’s bold words, but the irony isn’t lost upon you. “Lust and love aren’t the same thing, Spidey.” 

“And if he does love you?” Peter leans across the table, his suit stretching the length of his body and accentuating the lean lines of his muscles that you force yourself to look away from. “Then what? Still going to give him radio silence over spring break?”

Have I lost you? He wants to ask, but you haven’t called Peter in a month and if this is all he’ll ever get from you again, talking with you while disguised as someone else, then he isn’t ready to let go of you just yet.

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t love me, and as for spring break, I plan on getting incredibly drunk with my friends and pretending that for once in my life I can get what I want.”

And you do. 

The following week Lily invites you to some club with her and Harry, and before it’s even midnight you’re already drunk. Harry pays for everyone’s drinks, Lily spins you around as you dance together, and for a brief, addicting few hours, you forget. 

Bodies press against yours. Lily grips your hands while Harry finds your waist. The music in the small but packed room is nearly deafening. You’re sweaty and your hair clings to your neck but you don’t care. Harry’s hands feel good against your skin. The heat of his palms, the scratch of his nails. 

“Gwen’s here,” Lily shouts, pulling your attention from Harry. “I’m gonna go get her. Are you good with Harry?”

You look at him, finding him already looking down at you with interest, and you squeeze Lily’s hand. “Go, I’ll be fine!”

She smiles coyly at you, sending Harry a knowing wink, before leaving. “Have fun, lovebirds.”

Harry laughs, pulling you even closer, and his hands slide down to the curve of your ass and the weight of his touch feels different from Peter’s. His is softer than Harry’s. More protective than possessive, but alcohol burns your tongue and the grief of a love you once had clouds your mind. 

“This alright?” Harry asks you, lips skimming your ear. You nod, shivering at the sensation. With your permission, Harry draws his lips down your neck. 

Your head moves to the side, allowing him more access, and Harry murmurs something into your skin, but you don’t bother to ask him what he’s said. All you want is for him to keep kissing you, to trace over the path Peter once carved himself, to erase any excess of him that you’ve missed. 

Harry’s hands squeeze your ass and he pushes his hips into you. His hard on digs into you, he nips at your collarbone, and it’s all too much. None of it feels right. Peter never bites into bone, he doesn’t shove against you without satiating you first. 

Your stomach lurches, all the vodka from tonight threatening to return, and you pry yourself away from Harry. He says something, but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your head. Your legs manage to find an exit and you collapse onto the filthy sidewalk outside the club.

Hot tears run down your face. You’re a child, lost and alone. 

Numb fingers fumble for your phone. The screen is bright and you’re crying so hard that your entire body shakes. You try to type his name into your phone, to call the only person you can think of, but your fingers keep missing the “P” and you can’t breathe.

“Hey, miss? Are you alright?” A body lands next to yours. Their hand gently touches your shoulder and when you look up, all the air escapes him. “Y/N?”

Spider-Man kneels before you, arms encasing you as you tremble against the night’s cold. Phone forgotten, you cry into his chest, finally allowing every ache, every hour spent mourning, to fall down your cheeks. 

“What happened, sweetheart?” He whispers against your ear, hand running through your hair. The term of endearment only makes you cry harder, and all Peter can do is hold you through it. He doesn’t see any injuries on you. The smell of alcohol strong, your hair matted. 

“I wan’ to go home,” you slur out, breath hitching with fresh tears. “Please.”

Peter helps you stand up and gently instructs you to wrap your arms around his neck. You comply, and when he’s sure you’re secure, he grips your legs and wraps them around his body. He hasn’t held you like this in what’s felt like years. To have your hips around him again, to hold the weight of your body in his arms, it’s almost too much for Peter. 

But then you cry again, your head tucked against his neck, and he knows that he would bear the pain of relearning your touch over and over again if it meant your nose always remained pressed against his skin. 

Thankfully the club Peter finds you at isn’t far from your dorm. He swings as slowly as he can, weary of how many drinks you’ve had tonight. You don’t react in his arms. The view of the city below you goes unnoticed as the wind drowns out your cries. 

Emma is asleep when Peter carefully sets you down through the window. You’re shaky on your feet, body still pale and weak. He crawls in after you and rests his hand on the small of your back.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” 

You don’t say anything. Peter guides you to your room and in your drunken state you don’t think to question how Spider-Man knows which room is yours. He pulls the bedding off your bed, helps you lay down, before he brings the blanket just under your chin. 

When Peter goes to get you a glass of water and some tylenol, your hand stops him. 

“Stay,” you whisper, looking so small in your twin sized bed.

He bites his lip. “You need to drink some water, get some electrolytes in you–”

“Please,” begging, pleading. Liquid honey and nostalgia that is like sap in Peter’s blood. 

Weak for you, drawn to you as he always is, Peter crawls into your bed and you welcome him home. You place your head on his chest, splay your hands around his waist, wrap your body around him as you’ve always done. 

Peter’s heart pounds in his chest; you still remember your way around his body. You still smell like peonies and copper. You still press your nose to his neck as if it were made to fit where his collarbones rise. 

“Doomed from the start.”

He almost doesn’t hear you. He almost doesn’t ask you what you mean, he doesn’t want to bring it to light. “What’s doomed, Y/N?”

And, like the very first time you whispered the vague words to him, you hold them close to your chest. Only this time you don’t smile up at Peter, you don’t etch your name into his skin with lazy kisses. All that’s left within your words is despair. 

“I fell in love with a ghost,” you murmur, eyes tracing Peter’s masked face, as if you can see past the material. As if you know who lays underneath it, the freckles you’ve kissed before. “He won’t leave.”

“Y/N…”

Your eyes close. “I miss you.”

Peter tightens his arms, relishing in the proximity and admission of grief, even though you’ve mistaken Spider-Man’s body for someone else. Your breathing becomes steady, and he knows that he’s lost you again

That night, Peter doesn’t sleep. He spends the hours tracing his fingers over your skin, memorizing the lines of your skin, the scars and freckles that make you whole. Once, this body was his to worship. 

Morning comes and sunlight floods the room. You don’t stir, body exhausted still from the events of the night before. Your phone buzzes to life and Peter finds himself looking down to read the messages. 

Most are from Lily.

Babe, where did you go?

Harry said you got upset?? Did you go home??? Please call ASAP.

I called Emma. She said she heard you come in late last night. Call me when you wake up, ok? I love you!! If I need to kill Harry, I will <3

The final message is from Harry himself. 

I’m sorry about last night. I know you and Pete aren’t talking right now and I shouldn’t have acted on my feelings so soon. Whenever, or if ever, you want to talk, I’m happy to take you to coffee in a strictly platonic way. 

Peter wants to be angry at Harry, his fingers itching to flex into a fist on instinct, but when he looks down at your sleeping body, he knows he can’t. You were never his. Harry respected him enough to keep his distance while Peter kept you at arm’s length.

All he ever did was keep you at a distance, and now he’s learning how painful it is to be displaced. 

Peter sneaks out the window before you wake up. He almost leaves a note, asking you to call him, but then he remembers that it was Spider-Man who came running when you called, not Peter Parker. 

Both will always find their way to you, but last night it hadn’t been the one you needed.

– 

Months pass. Spring turns to summer and freshman year ends in a hazy and slow manner that Peter can’t quite remember. He doesn’t see you on campus. You stop going to all your usual places. 

Lily stops sitting next to him in bio, Gwen gets a boyfriend, and Harry stops greeting Peter whenever he sees him.

Summer break comes and Peter moves home.

“Will Y/N be visiting?” May asks him, prodding for an answer as to why you’ve stopped calling her. 

Peter shakes his head, silent, and it’s all his aunt needs to know that you’re gone. The smile she gives him is sad, understanding, and Peter misses the smile she’d give him when you called and teased him alongside her. 

He still patrols the city as he’s always done. A local pizza shop posts an ad for a delivery boy and Peter figures that the work will be a welcome distraction from everything that reminds him of you. It’s grueling and exhausting running around Manhattan, but the pain is enough for him to forget how you looked naked and on top of him. 

Ned stops by every day. He never asks Peter what happened and where you went, but he’s full of new stories from MIT to fill the silence you’ve left behind, and Betty sometimes tags along. Flash asks if he can still call you for girl advice and Peter doesn’t bother to answer him.

MJ isn’t as delicate and she punches his arm the moment she sees him. It hurts and leaves a bruise, but Peter doesn’t mind. He knows it’s what you would’ve wanted, and he misses knowing your wants and needs.

June seeps into July and there’s a party that Ned insists on attending. 

Peter knows he shouldn’t go. He worked all day and can’t afford to skip a night of patrol, but Ned doesn’t feed into his excuses and suddenly they’re in the same fire hazard apartment building from last year. 

He doesn’t know when he starts drinking or when Ned leaves, but he does know that when he sees you again after months of depravity, Peter’s heart stops. 

You’re dressed in red. The dress is short, it glimmers in the light, and your hair is pinned back and loose and your makeup is smudged and you smile wickedly when you notice him staring. 

“You come here often?” You’re around Peter now, the music is loud and you’re so beautiful. 

He laughs at you, remembering the way you warned him to never say that pickup line to you when you first met. His hands run up and down your waist, eager to relearn every inch of you, and Peter is drunk and so in love that it hurts. 

“I was here once last year,” he shouts over the music. He plays along. “There’s a rooftop I think you might like.”

And then you’re running through the crowd of people, giggling like little kids together, racing to the rooftop of where everything began. Peter opens the door. The July air greets him kindly, welcomes him back after being apart for so long. 

You sit on the concrete and Peter joins you. Your head rests on his shoulder and his arm hangs loosely around you. Up above you there are stars, bright and alive despite the city that tries to choke them. 

The air is sweet between you, tender, though there’s a homesickness to it that neither of you can shake. 

“Do you think we were doomed from the start?” You ask Peter as you continue to look up at the stars. You can’t take your eyes off of them. They’ve finally decided to spare you their beauty, their final dance just for you and Peter. 

You feel him shrug. You’re both drunk and open and vulnerable. 

“I was an idiot,” he mumbles. “I still am.”

“You were,” you agree softly. 

“I tried so hard to be what you needed.” The regret in his voice pulls you to look at him, and Peter is still as devastatingly handsome as the night you met. 

“I know.”

“I’m…” He hesitates, at the palm of your hand, before he accepts that this is how it will always be when it comes to love. Peter holds his breath, his fifth and sixth ribs tremble, and he reveals everything to you. “I’m sorry for the ghost that never leaves.”

The echo of the words that fell from your drunk lips in the spring meant only for Spider-Man to hear. 

“I know, Peter.” You tell him, undoing the weight of a secret that crippled Peter almost his entire life. “I always knew you were Spider-Man. I knew. I was just waiting for you to trust me to help you carry the weight of it all.”

But he never did. The shame of it burns Peter’s face, deteriorates his muscles. How naive he had been to think that it was easier to keep you in the dark than to have shared the light with you. 

Dread fills his chest, accompanied by the longing of what could’ve been, and all Peter can do now, all that’s left to do now, is hold you beneath the stars, stargazing together like you used to. 

“I loved you, you know.” Cards on the table. Peter shows you his hand. He hopes that the cards you dealt to him a year ago are still the same as the ones tonight. 

“I know.” And that’s all you have left to say.

-

⌑ writing masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ please feel free to like, reblog, and comment. i adore hearing from you guys :)

[inthelibrarybtw]

get to know college!basketball!captain!rafe

college!basketball!captain!rafe who has loved sports since he was a kid, fell in love with basketball when he was around 10 and took it seriously from that moment on. he wants to go professional after college if he can but is also working on his finance and administration degree. He has always been very smart and doesn’t worry a lot about grades but understands the importance of them, reason why he got a full ride in college and got recruited for the basketball team. who is very disciplined with everything that he does, once he commits to doing something he will do it and will do his best. he loves going out with his friends but also likes to stay in, secretly he loves cooking all thanks to his mom and his sister. 

college!basketball!captain!rafe who is very cocky and a flirt, knows he is good-looking and that’s the reason why everyone thinks he’s a player, he has never had a girlfriend in college. Everyone seems to know him and or fall for him, he doesn’t really care about it but it boosts his ego. He has been around a bit yes, but not as much as people think, he is picky even if he doesn’t like to admit it. He thrives on teasing people, especially his friends but he’s also very kind and intentional, not everyone gets to see this side of him. His family is very important to him, he has a good relationship with his parents and sister. 

college!basketball!captain!rafe who is very easy to please, just some good food, music, and his friends and he can be the happiest man alive. who loves watching movies and of course, never misses one basketball game, usually watches them with his dad or his friends, it’s his favorite thing to do. Has never missed one basketball practice since he was 10, just the very counted times he has been sick. His love language is physical touch, gifts, and acts of service the last two he prefers giving them than receiving them. Quality time could be added to but in very specific scenarios. His favorite artists are J. Cole, The Weekend, and Kanye. who is also a dog guy, every time he sees a dog he asks if he can pet them. 

college!basketball!captain!rafe who loves being an older brother but sometimes he wishes the age gap wasn’t that big, fortunately, he has a cousin his age who might as well be his sister. they grew up together and are kinda inseparable thanks to that. He usually goes to her to talk about his feelings, since he knows he won’t get judged by her. he’s not the best at showing his feelings, or so he thinks, usually his eyes speak volumes, and anyone can see it but him. no, but really, talking about how he feels sometimes can be the hardest thing he can do. he tends to put everyone first and even if he’s this confident guy when it comes to his feelings he’s anything but. 

college!basketball!captain!rafe who is incredibly perceptive about how other people feel as long as the feelings are not directed at him because then he’s blind. who likes to take time to get to know someone and help as much as he can. who also can easily get angry when things don’t go his way and when this happens he prefers not to talk to people in case he says something he doesn’t really mean. If he’s really frustrated he tends to isolate himself to calm down but if he needs to talk to people he will be very cold towards them, and he immediately regrets it.

authors note: i always have trouble writing intros because i don't know what you should know before reading and what you should discover while reading but i finally finished it. i'm very obsessed with him, and i hope you guys too :)

taglist: @zyafics @maybankslover @niaunoffical @marleymarleymarleymarley @rafesbabygirlx @akobx @papercranesandinkstains @masonmountme69 @winterivory if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :)

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

[girl-named-matty]

Random Sebastian Sallow Headcanons pt.5

Just really random headcanons about Sebastian Sallow, what more can I say?

Loves reading biographies. It's always an opportunity to learn, and we all know how he feels about that. However, I think he'd like reading autobiographies even more since he thinks it's more interesting coming from the perspective of the actual person.

That being said, he also has a diary he writes in quite often. And yes, he doodles in it constantly.

Pretty decent in Wizards Chess; however, he's only beaten Garreth once because we all know how good those Weasleys are at Wizards Chess. But Sebastian is 100% definitely the kind of guy to over-analyze every single move to the point where it's hardly fun to play with him anymore, but hey, at least he's determined!

Definitely the "rules are meant to be broken" kind of guy, but he understands the difference between important rules and useless rules (kinda 💀).

Coffee was definitely different back then; however, he'd probably be a bit of an addict, to be honest. I just KNOW that boy is staying up wayyyy too late and needs the caffeine to stay up. (He hates the taste, but it gives him energy before it makes him go kaput lol.)

He's an extrovert, but put a good book in his hands, and he might as well have become an introvert with the way he's ignoring people.

Big fan of exploring, whether that's the grounds around Hogwarts or exploring some book/literature. He likes being out in nature, so you can best believe he's been to the Forbidden Forest quite a few times.

He's quite a big flirt but doesn't know much of what to do after that. Flirtatious behavior comes naturally to him as he's a pretty confident guy, but once the other person actually shows genuine interest in him, he gets a little stuck because he was not expecting it.

He's clumsy; let's be real here.

Can trip on his own shoes, up the stairs, down the stairs, on air; literally anything. It happened a lot more when he was younger, and he's gotten better about fixing his balance, but he used to have bruises all the time from where he had fallen. (Me too, Seb. Me too.)

A tad impatient but not out of malice, he's just the kind of guy to really want to get up and do things, to try and get them done. Dwelling on issues has never brought him any peace of mind, so he's ready to get in there, do the job, and get out. Which could possibly lead to quite a few of his issues LOL. (ifykyk)

You know how his hair is hard to draw? (artists, I can hear you screaming from here). Yeah, well, it's hard to style as well. Ever since he was a boy, his hair was always quite messy, and his mother used to try her best to tame it, but he was a rather energetic boy, so it didn't really stay how it was styled.

And he never got old enough with his father for him to teach Sebastian how to do it, so he kinda had to learn it himself. But hey, we all love Sebastian's iconic hair. (Let's be real; we all probably want to run our hands through it.)

Behind his teenage-ish recklessness, his ambition contributes to his devotion. He's a very devoted person, whether that's to what he believes in, what he does, family, friends, or lovers; he's just a really devoted guy.

If he were in modern times, he'd have great music taste. I can't tell you exactly what he'd listen to since I have too many opinions about that overall; however, I can tell you that it absolutely rocks.

Over all, as much as I like to joke about this little twit, I love him. ;)

[niniwritesxo]

‘cute coffee guy’

roh jaewon x fem reader

summary: you enter a cute coffee shop having no idea what to order, what happens when a cute guy decides to help you out?

꩜ .ᐟ————————————————————————

the bell above the door jingled as you stepped into the daily grind, a cozy coffee shop tucked away on a quiet street corner. the smell of freshly ground coffee beans immediately wrapped around you, warm and comforting against the chilly morning air outside. the shop was charming, with mismatched furniture, chalkboard menu’s filled with handwritten specials, and shelves lined with quirky mugs.

soft indie music hummed in the background, and the buzz of quiet conversation gave the place a peaceful, lived-in feel.

as you made your way to the counter, the barista,

a guy with messy hair and a tattoo peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeve flashed you a smile. his name tag read alex.

“morning,” he greeted, his voice warm and casual. “what can I get for you today?”

you opened your mouth, but before you could respond, a voice from behind you spoke up in a tone that made you tense.

“are you seriously just standing there?” the woman behind you, clearly in a rush, tapped her foot impatiently. “there’s a line, you know. It’s not rocket science. just order something already.”

you blinked, taken aback by her bluntness, but before you could apologize, she muttered, “i don’t have all day,” and crossed her arms.

‘‘alex, give her a vanilla iced, oh and put it on my tab’’ a man sitting at the window, his laptop in front of him speaks up.

after a few minutes alex hands me the coffee the random man told me to get, great.

you look for a quiet place to sit and spot the man again, he has medium black hair, round glasses and is wearing a north face puffer jacket.

‘‘mind if i sit here?’’ you softly ask looking at the man sitting down, typing what seems like a essay.

when the man looks up you can see his full face, the way his eyebrow raised up when you spoke up, the way he stopped typing to look at you.

this guy was handsome, gosh.

‘‘oh yeah yeah, go ahead’’ he says before quickly standing up to pull the chair a bit.

as you sit down you thank him for the coffee and explain how you weren’t really that big of a coffee person.

“you’re welcome, jaewon by the way,” he said, offering his hand.

you introduced yourself, and soon the two of you fell into easy conversation. he asked what brought you to the coffee shop, and you explained you were escaping the rain and taking a break from work. when you returned the question, his eyes lit up.

“i write,” he said simply.

“like… essays or something?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“something like that,” he replied, chuckling. “poems, mostly. and books.”

“oh, that’s cool,” you said, genuinely impressed. “do you do it like full-time?”

“i do,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “i’ve been lucky. a few of my books have done pretty well actually’’

“that’s amazing,” you said, your curiosity piqued. “what kind of books?”

he hesitated for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “mostly poetry, but I’ve dabbled in fiction. stories about connection, loss, love and kind of all sort of things that make us human.”

‘‘oh i’ll definitely check it out some time!’’ you answer with a kind smile.

there was a quiet passion in his words, a depth that made you want to hear more.

by the time the rain had stopped, you realized you’d spent hours talking to jaewon. as you gathered your things to leave, he tore a page from his notebook and handed it to you.

“a little something to remember me by,” he said with a kind smile.

a few hours later you were sitting on your couch, eating take away noodles like your life depended on it. you haven’t ate since the morning and really needed these noodles.

when you grab your phone you see a text from your best friend ellie.

ellie <3:

hiii y/n, what have you been up to girl?

you:

hey elle! met the cutest guy at the coffee shop today, he bought me a coffee #iaminlove

ellie <3:

omg spill.

you:

okay so he was like a writer? apparently he is quite popular, i think he mostly writes poetry.

ellie <3:

don’t tell me his name was roh jae-won

you:

wait how..how do you know that???

ellie <3:

IT WAS? CALL ME RN

you were confused, no way he is THAT famous right?

as soon as you call ellie she goes on about how famous jae-won actually is, she told you how he has the best selling book in south korea right now.

you decided to look up his name and there it was, blogs, a sorts of new channels and fan pages talking about him, you click on the tumblr link you see with his name in it.

roh jae-won published today at 19:34:

and though the rain has gone away,

the memory still chooses to stay,

of the girl who made the coffee shop

a place where time forgot to stop.

and there you were, sitting behind your phone screen with your eyebrows scrunched together wondering if that poem was about you.

ellie <3:

no way, cute coffee guy has a crush on the one and only y/n??

you laugh at the message your friend send you, but jae-won was probably at that same coffeeshop daily so you bet it was just coincidental.

꩜ .ᐟ————————————————————————

(english is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes my apologies xo)

[theshadowsingersraven]

Just some POV to support OP: I don't think anyone here would doubt that I love Azriel. And I absolutely did this in my own writing.

Loving a character doesn't just mean blindly wanting surface good things for them. It can also mean wanting them to face the music for their actions and becoming better for it. This is how I handled Azriel rightfully feeling shame for how he treated Lucien:

Azriel deserved that. He knew he deserved that to the point where he felt an apology creeping up his throat. But his pride snatched hold of it before the traitorous words could leave his lips.

Lucien sighed. “Perhaps one day you can view me as Solara does—a friend. Not just a cage thrust upon Elain, demanding her compliance. I've never thought badly of you until now, Azriel.”

Friend.

Azriel was purposely hurting Solara’s friend, purposely choosing each word as if it were a torture instrument. As if he were no better than the witch she'd sacrificed so much to kill. And a part of him knew that, deep down even then. How disgusted would she be when she learned of the other aspects of his work? For how Azriel was speaking to her friend? Solara would be furious, so disappointed, and—

“I…” he found himself fumbling for words he had no desire to say, but everything in him screamed that he needed to say something. Needed to remedy the harm he caused, even if it was only for the spiteful words he'd just spewed. “I couldn't do what you do. If I were in your position…it would kill me. I do not know how you are not miserable.”

“I never said I wasn't. It doesn't particularly feel good to see your mate falling for a male who gets to be around her. Who she can actually tolerate. Not that you have to worry about that with your mate. You had the privilege of knowing her, being her friend first. You knew what her laugh sounded like and how she liked her coffee before you tasted her fear and panic. I was not so lucky.”

Azriel averted his gaze, keeping his mask of indifference in place despite the tempest of emotions whirling in his chest. The shadows hung off of him instead of curling up like normal. They were probably as exhausted from this day as he was.

As their gazes finally met again, Azriel didn't say anything—couldn't, really. It's not as though Lucien was wrong.

After a pause, the russet-haired male sighed. “I'm not going to lie to her for you, Azriel. That's all I'm saying.”

“Understood,” Azriel murmured, his nostrils flaring slightly, wings tucking in tighter.

Lucien turned on his heel and made his way toward the front door. Azriel watched him close his hand around the ornately carved knob, and then he found himself taking a slight step forward. Found himself saying despite his pride's protests, “I judged you sooner than what was wise. You…You are an honorable male. More honorable than me, I think. By a large margin.”

It wasn't an apology. The Mother knew he was too prideful to apologize, but this was something, at least. And though he doubted this was what his shadows had in mind when they told him about singing the truth, they seemed to perk up a little. Azriel also knew that it was a rather lackluster comment despite the fact that it was enough to give Lucien pause. He heard the slightest sigh come from Lucien, and he looked over his shoulder back at him.

As he pulled the door open, the emissary said, “Well, I believe that is perhaps the one thing we agree on. Farewell, Azriel.”

Azriel’s hands flexed at his side. He deserved that, too, really. Deserved every word from Lucien's mouth, and deserved worse, probably. But he had to keep trying—had to do better. Be better. Even if it was just so he could stand next to his mate and not feel like he was so undeserving of her and the fire she embodied. The fire that seemed to warm and melt every frigid layer of ice he put around himself. And if Azriel wanted any of this to go well, he needed to at least feel like the male Solara would finally find underneath all those protective, icy walls was more than his scars, his anger, and his bitter jealousy. Azriel wanted the male underneath it all to be worthy, no matter what it took.

I really want Azriel to know and feel for himself the depth of the mating bond, so that he feels shame, true shame, for what he did to Lucien.

[ourpickwickclub]

What has been your favorite season of ‘The Voice’?

Favorite season of "The Voice"? The season I got to kiss Blake.

Were there any collabs that were especially magical on ‘Bouquet’?

Yes, yes! This album was magical and special and a miracle. It's a pure miracle I received these songs. I was like, "What? Again? I get more?"

There was one really unexpected collaboration and that was that Blake Shelton hopped on a song called "Purple Irises." That was pretty special because, you know, everybody wants him.

The other huge collab was this producer called Scott Hendricks who is more of a country producer. But it's not a country record. It's a Gwen record.

How have your dreams grown throughout your musical journey?

The longer I get to be part of the world and try to fulfill the purpose — my purpose — of making songs, you want it more and more and more. Because it's got to be over soon. It's got to be. Once you get that love, once you got to share your life with people, it's hard to stop. The dream just keeps getting bigger in a way, and the gratitude keeps getting more as well.

What was it like seeing yourself as a Lego in Pharrell's movie?

Seeing myself as a Lego is something I never dreamed of or thought would happen in my life. There's a lot of stuff that happened that I didn't think would happen, but that was definitely a shock. Thank you, Pharrell. I couldn't dream that big.

Is there anyone you've collaborated with that you'd like to work with again?

There's never been a time where I haven't like absolutely enjoyed collaborating. Collaboration is when I feel like I shine the most. That's when like I feel like I'm the best. I would definitely go back in the studio with any collaborator that I've ever worked with and write a song. I love writing music. It is the one thing that makes me feel like I'm worthy of something to be on this planet for. I need to keep pressing that button and try to write songs. You want to collaborate, I'm right here, guys.

What are some of your most cherished memories from your No Doubt days?

My most cherished memory of the early days of No Doubt? Have you seen that movie "Finding Nemo"? That character, Dory? That's me. I don't remember anything.

I think one of my cherished memories — if I really, really thought about it — popped in my head right when I was saying that.

I was sitting on the tour bus, and we had been on tour for a while. I was actually making a baby blanket for my sister. I was like sewing this blanket by hand, everyone else was like doing other stuff — I won't say what — and I looked out the window and I see all these girls coming to the concert. I was like, "Oh my gosh, that girl, she's dressed like me." It was just this amazing ... how is that happening right now? It just made me feel like impossibly good.

Who is inspiring you in the music industry currently?

I think there's a lot of good music out there. I kind of went backwards in the last couple of years. As I've been writing this record, I rediscovered a lot of the music I was listening to when I was a kid. Back in the station wagon, going to church, listening to soft rock.

One of my favorite new artists that my son turned me on to is Zach Top. I love that record so much; such good lyrics and voice and melody. I'm going to come and see the concert.

Rapid-fire round:

Favorite type of flower bouquet?

Wedding bouquet.

A fashion trend you'd bring back from the '90s?

Cutoff tank tops.

Oklahoma home-cooked meal or dining out in California?

Oklahoma home-cooked meal. Duh!

Country music or soul music?

That's really hard! I would probably have to go with ... now I'm a grown-up, I'd probably have to say country. Oh my God, they're going to hate me. I'm in love! What can I say?

Red lip or pink lip?

Red.

VIDEO:

https://www.today.com/popculture/citi-concert-series/gwen-stefani-8-before-8-interview-rcna187857

.

[urauntiefaye]

Can I request Maki nsfw headcannons?

Maki NSFW Head Cannons 🔞

WC: 480

TW: Smut, spanking, sex, oral(receiving and giving), finger sucking, photo taking, not proof Read, let me know is i forgot anything!

A/N: I'm writing this while binge listening to Epic The Musical….anyways i hope you enjoy 😁💕

Makis love language is physical touch, so his hands has to always be on you

If they're not then his body has to at least me touching yours in some kind of way

During sex his hands are ALWAYS on you, either on your ass, thighs, chests, neck, in your hair, gripping your jaw ANYWHERE

He just needs to feel you and he wants your hands on him as well

Doesn't care for bondage because it keeps you from touching him

Loves to take you from behind and pulling you up or laying down to have his chest flushed against your back

Wants you to call him Daddy

Loooooves when you wear lingerie

But also nuts his pants seeing you in his hoodie

Finds you so sexy in casual clothes

He prefers being a Dom because he loves taking care of his partner but even when he's doming he wants you to show some interest and to touch him as well. You don't have to be dominant just show you want him just as much as he wants you

Low-key loves that lazy sex shit, where no one is really taking a position of sub or Dom, you're both just cuddling up and being needy

Can't get enough of dry humping when making out with you

PLAY WITH HIS HAIR

You playing with his hair does two things 1. Calms him down and 2. Turns him on (sometimes both at the same time)

Will come anywhere actually

Bruuuuh when it comes to you giving him a blowjob he wants you to worship it

Will rub his dick across your lips and might even slap your cheek with it

Has to take a photo of you when he covers your face and chest with his cum

100% calls you “my pretty” and “my baby”

Is super possessive over you so he uses possessive words towards you

Spanking>>>>>>>

TAKE.HIS.FINGEES.IN.YOUR.MOUTH

He wants you to suck and swirl your tongue around his fingers to the point to where it's so coated in your saliva

When he eats you out most chances you're sitting on his face

69 is one of his favorite positions

Probs won't do shower sex but won't mind it

Def cleaning the entire bed after sex because he likes to be neat

Dirty in bed - clean afterwards

I don't really see him being into anal, might try it but I don't think it's a big kink for him

Sends thirst videos and photos and expects you to do the same

Phone sex is a MUST when he's away

Has a playlist for when you're having sex…

Loooooves leaving hickeys on you and wants you to do the same

Cuddles and food after sex is a must

Is an ass man but loves a good tit job

If you have tattoos expect him to cum on them btws

[milla-frenchy]

Get to know your moots

Thanks for the tag @yxtkiwiyxt @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ace-turned-confused @thundermartini @joelmillerisapunk 🙏❤️

what's the origin of your blog title?: Milla Jovovich in the 5th element, and also I wanted people to know why my grammar is awful 😶

favorite fandoms: ppcu

OTP(s) + shipname: Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling

favorite color: black 

favorite game: tlou (both games)

song stuck in your head: spite - Omar Apollo. I’m obsessed with it

weirdest habit/trait?: I have a ton, but none of them are weird (to me 😁)

hobbies: video games, tv shows, writing fics, listening to music

if you work, what's your profession? I check whether construction projects comply with the law

if you could have any job you wish what would it be? if I could I wouldn’t work tbh. But I think I’d be happier if I worked in a bookstore or a flower shop

something you're good at: listening, I think. And if I’m invested in something I need it to be perfect, so if someone asks me to do something, it should be nicely done

something you're bad at: I don't always know where my boundaries are until I realize I crossed them, and it's too late. I'm done with the thing or the people that asked too much of me and I disappear (and I didn't even see it coming)

something you love: calm. Being at home, quiet

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: honestly when I’m comfortable with the person, I can talk about everything

something you hate: a lot of things, I can be super grumpy 🙃 Yesterday I was at the movies. Some people were talking too loudly, others were eating during a silent scene and I just wanted to throw them out. In general I don't like noisy people and I hate rudeness. I’m not comfortable with intrusive people or when people come too close to me physically

something you collect: tickets (plane, activities done while traveling, movies, concerts…) I live in nostalgia, and keeping them is a need for me

something you forget: I have a very weird memory. I can remember some details from 15 years ago, and forget something you told me 2 min ago. I still don’t know how this damn memory works

what's your love language?: acts of service, listening, being there when they need me

favorite movie/show: the silence of the lambs, seven, narcos, friends, luther, the last of us, 6 feet under

favorite food: we have some really good meals with cheese and potatoes in France (raclette, gratin dauphinois, tartiflette…) and I love them. And pasta never disappoints (I love italian food)

favorite animal: I’m a cat person, but I’m fascinated by orcas

what were you like as a child? I was quiet and shy, already anxious af and didn’t want people to know it

favorite subject at school? english, geography, history

least favorite subject? maths and sciences. I feel dumb af when it comes to that

what's your best character trait? I’m a good listener, I think. When I love, I love hard. If my friends are attacked I feel like my heart is ripped in two

what's your worst character trait? I overthink everything. And when I don’t, I don’t give a fuck. Which is very disturbing, even for me 🤯

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be? I’d stop working and lie on my couch. But today’s a good day, I work from home, so it’s ok

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet? Honestly if I could travel in time I’d just want to see my mom again

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!): raider!joel @toxicanonymity is my roman empire. I said it a million times, and I’ll say it again 😍🖤

I’m working on a list of my all time favorite fics that I will share soon, I hope. I have old lists here

npt: @aurorawritestoescape @iamasaddie @toxicanonymity @604to647 @schnarfer

@sawymredfox @iknowisoundcrazy @baronessvonglitter @bonezone44 @magpiepills

@pascalssbabyy @tateypots @sunshineispunk and whoever wants to 🙏

[northernthiefcranberry]

finding a suitable playlist for your text means writing with all possible inspiration, then starting to sing along, and then hanging out for a few minutes, shaking your head, only to then curse yourself and go on to finish writing.

and if this is not the case, then it’s the wrong playlist at all.

[chloecherrysip]

Just Beyond My Reach, There's Someone Reaching Back For Me (speculative mario movie fic, mario & luigi centric, around 3600 words.)

[OK SO i literally could not stop thinking about this post in the mario movie tag from last week, which turned into me trying to write out my thoughts about how the scenario could unfold, which then turned into me writing a full-fledged fanfic that's over 3,000 words long??? I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. I've truly lost my common sense, but I just felt like I HAD to get this out before the movie arrives and their reunion is nothing like this in any way whatsoever.

This is a speculative fic of just one possible scenario out of millions, no actual spoilers; i'm working off info we've seen in the trailers/TV spots/promotions/etc, and all the characterization is based off those too, so it might ultimately be off-base. Please don't @ me after the movie comes out and get on my case about details being wrong! I AM IN THE PAST (and jealous of you in the future for having already seen it).

I present to you: A Version Of Mario & Luigi's Reunion in the Mario Movie That Would Cause Me Irreparable Psychic Damage.]

----

Mario hears him first. He would know that panicked yelp anywhere. 

By that point, he’s lost count of how many of Bowser’s minions he’s tried to interrogate as he fights his way through the airship. There’s so much shouting and clanging all around him, and his voice hurts from yelling loud enough to be heard over it, but he can’t stop. “Where do you keep prisoners? Have you seen someone who looks like me — but tall, skinny, and green? If you take me to him, I’ll go easy on ya, I swear—” 

it’s hard to tell if they’re just refusing to answer him, genuinely don’t know any useful information, or can’t actually communicate in a way he understands — probably some in each column. But he’s about to grab another angry Koopa by the shell and try again when there’s a commotion far off in the distance. The yell that echoes out to him is faint, but it tugs hard at Mario like a rope tied around his middle. Something from his memories, the nightmares he’s been having this whole adventure that he hasn’t told Peach and Toad about. Something instantly, certainly familiar to him in a way that few things are. 

His heart is suddenly lodged in his throat. He barrels his way past the troops and the Kongs fighting them, moving fast towards it.

The area of the airship he’s in starts to slope down further ahead, surrounding a huge open space that, judging by the flickering embers in the air and heavy heat that’s got him sweating through his shirt already, has a whole bunch of lava simmering at the bottom. On the other side of the chasm, there are a whole group of what look like angry blue penguins beating down some feisty stacks of Goombas with their bare flippers. There’s also what impossibly looks like a star, with a face and everything, beaming bright and doing twirling cartwheels in the air, giggling at the carnage underneath. And behind all that, he can see—

Mario reacts without having to think. He jolts forward against the railing, reaches a hand out, and yells as loud as he can. “LUIGI!” 

He can only see glimpses of his overalls and green hat at first amidst all the other chaos, but then pieces of the ongoing fight tumble further to either side, giving a clear view. Mario watches wide-eyed as his brother frantically swats away Goombas, shrieking and flailing his arm furiously when one snags some teeth through his sleeve until it comes loose. He looks terrified and a little queasy, but also very determined, even jumping in to help when one of the penguins gets pinned down. They seem to be working together. 

Luigi is here. He’s really here, alive and fighting and still in one piece. Mario isn’t too late. It feels like a 20 pound weight’s suddenly gone from his back that he hadn't even realized he was carrying around.

His yell is half-drowned out by the chaos, but Luigi’s head still snaps up, eyes wide and stricken and bright with recognition. “Mario?” He cries out, his voice cracking badly. He kicks another Goomba away and then starts spinning, searching the surrounding area with increasing desperation. “Mario!?” 

“Over here!” Mario wishes he had another raccoon powerup so he could just fly across the gap and reach him right then and there. He has to settle for taking off his cap and waving it in the air like a flag. “Luigi! Over here!” 

Finally, their eyes meet across the gorge. It’s not necessary at that point, but Luigi still tears off his own hat and starts flailing it around too overhead, as if just to make absolutely sure his brother knows where he is. “MARIO!” He shouts, his tired face instantly transforming into a relieved, overjoyed smile. 

“Are you okay!?” 

“Y-Yeah! I mean, define “okay,” but I, I'm not hurt or anything like — wait, how did you get here!? We’re way up in the air!”

Mario’s face already hurts from how wide he’s grinning. “Not anymore! And whaddya mean? What do ya think I’ve been doing all this time? Looking for you! You don’t think I could find you wherever you are, even if it’s a million miles in the air? Give your big bro some credit, eh?” 

A laugh bursts out of Luigi, surprised and shaky. Mario has missed that sound so much. “Right, right. I did think…I mean, I hoped, or…” His brother shakes his head, his voice failing him. He lets out a deep breath, so deep that it’s almost like he’s been holding it in ever since they were separated, still smiling like the sun. “I knew you would. Mario, you — look out!” 

Mario turns just as a hammer goes whizzing past his ear, tumbling down into the lava pit. He dodges the next one more capably and then catches the third one that comes his way. In one smooth, lightning-quick motion, he throws it back at the attacking Hammer Bro, nailing him in the face and knocking him out cold.

“Whoa!” He turns back to see Luigi staring with his mouth agape. “When did you learn how to do that?”

“It's kinda a long story!” There will be plenty of time to get into all the details about his adventure when he’s gotten Luigi safely out of an active warzone.  “What about you? I thought you were a prisoner here!” 

“I am! Or I was, I guess! We — me, and the penguins, and Lumalee,” he gestures wearily up overhead, where the blue star-thing is idly playing with a pinwheel that it somehow conjured out of thin air, “and the others — we broke out! We, ah, we’ve been trying to find a way outta here ever since, but this place is a maze and we need some kind of hot air balloon or one of those floating clown-car thingies to even get away in the first place, and—”

“Spinies at four o’clock!” One of the penguins shouts, at the same time that Mario yells “Luigi, on your left!”

Luigi jolts at the sight of the three spiky, spinning shells approaching fast. He jumps high enough to leapfrog right over them all, causing them to ricochet off the wall unexpectedly and careen off the side straight into the deep pit. 

“Nice, Weegie!” Mario cheers. “You always were the better jumper.” 

“Keep your head in the fight, soldier!” One specific penguin calls out to Luigi. He’s wearing a very fancy gold crown — probably their king? “We’re not done here yet!” 

“I know, I know, but look!” Luigi gestures excitedly across the chasm. “My brother’s here! He made it!”

“Good show! If he’s as brave as you said, he can help us beat back these dastardly troops once and for all! We’ll all see the light of day again soon!”

The rest of the penguins cheer, thrusting their flippers victoriously into the air, and then let out a wave of new, guttural battle cries. The Penguin King smiles over at Mario and salutes him before rejoining the fray. There are more of Bowser’s minions crowding the walkways on both sides, Mario realizes with a newfound wave of worry. He needs to get to Luigi now. 

“Stay right there!” He calls, starting to run alongside the railing. “Don’t move! I’m coming!”

“Are you kidding!? Wait!” Luigi starts running too, mirroring Mario. “I can meet you faster this way!” 

Mario laughs. “If you can keep up with me!” 

“You’re on!”

The road ahead of him is pure chaos, filled with attacking enemies and whooping Kongs and weapons flying every which way, but Mario runs. He runs until his heart burns, dodging and weaving, almost tripping here and there because he can’t stop looking over the gap to make sure Luigi’s still there on the other side, stumbling his way through his own gauntlet. The two areas are winding closer together, slowly but surely. They must meet somewhere. He’ll find it. He has to.

“Hey, Luigi!” He yells, breathless and happy. “Remember when we were fixing Mrs. McGrady’s sink a couple weeks ago and talking about the future? Did you imagine it’d be anything like this?” 

“Whaddya think!?” Luigi shouts back jokingly. “I-I mean, I imagined people being mad at us, but those were customers. There was definitely a lot less lava, and magic, and crazy green pipes that send you to places from your literal nightmares!” He laughs, which swiftly turns into a yelp when he has to dodge away from a red Koopa. The next words come out thicker, almost strained. “Mario, you, you’re really here, you — I missed you, I…”

Even with the distance and the distracting noise and the heavy breathing, Mario can hear the familiar tearing in his brother’s voice, and it pushes him to run faster. Luigi is so much braver than many people in their life have given him credit for, but he has a breaking point, and Mario can recognize it like the back of his own hand. Heck, he could use a good cry right about now too. They're so close. Just a little further.

He’s never been the biggest hugger — that title belongs squarely to Luigi, who always holds on a little too long, especially when Mario protests, swinging him up into the air until Mario has to grab him in a headlock and wrestle him down, both of them laughing by then — but he genuinely doesn’t know how he’s ever going to let go of his brother again once he’s within arm’s reach. 

“I missed you too! Every day!” He calls out, and if his voice cracks, well, that’s okay. “Hold on! It’s gotta be just up ahead!” There’s a solid wall coming up where they won’t be able to see each other across the way any longer, but the sharp curve of it looks extremely promising. “I’ll meet you on the other side!” 

“Okay!” 

The wall comes between them. Mario's finally in the clear, having left all the attackers in the dust. His legs and chest hurt, but it doesn’t matter. He's about to get his brother back. He feels invincible, unstoppable.

“I told you, bro!” He can’t hear Luigi at all any longer, but he shouts anyway, hoping the words reach him.  “Even if it didn’t turn out like we thought, it’s all gonna be okay! This is crazy stuff, but as long as we're—” 

Mario turns the corner and skids to a sharp stop. The words die in his throat, turning to ash.

Bowser is in front of him. 

The King of the Koopas nearly fills the entire space wall-to-wall, hulking and monstrous, even bigger than what Mario imagined. He breathes out an angry, deep growl that prickles at Mario’s skin, star-bright embers scattering in the air, the smell of burning getting stronger and stronger. But none of that is what Mario is focusing on. He’s frozen in place at the sight of Luigi, wriggling in one of Bowser’s gripped hands. A thick, scaly finger is coiled tight over his brother’s mouth too, keeping him from making any noise besides a variety of muffled, panicked sounds. 

“Thought you didn’t know him, Greenie,” Bowser says in a low voice to Luigi. “Wasn’t that what you said? Boy, you wouldn’t like what I usually do to liars. It involves fire — a lot of it.” His rows of sharp teeth part, just enough for a big exhale, tinged with molten heat. Luigi cringes, turning his head away as far as he can manage. He’s trembling. “But lucky for you, turns out you’re not entirely useless.”

It takes a moment for Mario to come back into his body, remember how to move and think. But slowly, his hands ball into fists. A voice erupts out of him that barely sounds like his own, grave and angry, angrier than he’s ever been in his life. 

“I’m only gonna say this once, ya overgrown turtle,” he says, shifting his footing into a fighting stance. “Let my brother go now.” 

Bowser looks down at him with a derisive sort of amusement for a long moment before laughing outright. "Give me a break, shortie! You’re even punier in person — 50 of you couldn't stop me. But that hasn’t stopped you from trying, has it? You and your little friends  — your pathetic excuse for an “army,” if that’s what you want to call it. But that all ends now.” 

As if on cue, Mario hears DK and a few other Kongs turn the corner, whooping and hollering, only to pause too at the sight of Bowser. “Let’s get ‘em! He can't take us all at once!” Someone says, and there’s a rush of new movement behind Mario. Bowser turns Luigi in his hand, holding him out a little closer to Mario with a shake of the wrist — a taunt. One of his claws pulls up just a little from the rest, the sharp tip arched and pressed lightly to his brother’s neck. The implication is clear. 

“Stop!” Mario shouts, half-strangled. He must sound serious enough that DK yells “hang on, hang on!” to his brethren, grabbing them with both arms and holding them back from attacking. On Bowser's other side, Mario can see the penguins watching what’s unfolding too with wide eyes. Even all the minions in the area have gone still, weapons lowered, waiting to see what Bowser does before making their next move. The space is suddenly quiet. 

The claw finally relaxes again. Luigi’s eyes are very wide, and there are tears on his face as he stares at Mario. He tries to say something, the sound of it hopelessly muffled against Bowser’s hand — an apology, or a plea, or simply Mario’s name. 

Mario is shaking. He grits his teeth hard, desperately tries to hold himself steady again. He hopes Bowser can’t see it — but there’s a gleam in the King’s eyes, and it couldn’t be any clearer that he does. 

“Do you know how long I worked on this plan?” Bowser says, his tone softer, more thoughtful all of a sudden.  “Orchestrating these invasions, gathering forces far and wide to serve me, taking the almighty power star for myself. I’ve wanted this for years!” His wide mouth curves up, plainly wicked and self-satisfied. “And now here I am, about to rule the world like I deserve, and a couple of useless, pipsqueak plumbers from who-knows-where think they’re just gonna waltz right in and ruin it for me.” Bowser chuckles to himself. It’s a dangerous, sharp-edged sound, echoing on and on. “Ain’t that a laugh, Mario?” 

Mario doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even know if he’s breathing any longer. All he can do is glare.

Bowser shrugs. The large fingers on his occupied hand flex ever so slightly, a slow, malicious ripple of movement, all the scales glinting in a wave. “You’re less fun than I thought you’d be,” he says gruffly. "What does the princess even see in you? A tiny little killjoy who loves ruining things for others. Guess it’s only fair I ruin something of yours to make us even."

There’s no further warning or fanfare. In one brutal motion, Bowser crushes his grip tighter around Luigi. His brother’s mouth is still covered, but the way he cries out is starkly, unmistakably pained. 

Mario’s vision floods with red. Something inside of him, the patient, careful part that was still desperately clinging to one last scrap of self-control, snaps cleanly in two. He runs at Bowser full-speed, fist cocked back, teeth bared. 

“I said LET HIM GO!” 

He doesn’t make it there. Bowser, grinning outright, moves so much faster than Mario would have ever guessed he could. He spins, and his tail comes out of nowhere. The impact is like an oncoming train, catapulting Mario into the nearby wall with a sickening crack.

There’s a horrible ringing sound in his ears. His head hurts. He hears Bowser laugh, followed by a roar and a burst of fire breath, awful-smelling and close enough to singe. There’s a lot of shouting, and panic, and thunderous footsteps, moving in a hurry. He can’t think any longer. Why can’t he think? All that comes to mind is—

(They’re fifteen, hiding in their bedroom with some smuggled bandages and antibiotics from the medicine cabinet because if their mom finds out Mario punched out a kid behind the school, she will LITERALLY murder him. Luigi wraps each bruised knuckle carefully as Mario winces and complains about the stinging ointment. His brother looks angrier than he’s ever seen him before, though, and that makes him quiet again in a hurry.)

“You want him so bad?” Bowser is much further away, his voice a distant rumble over the flickering flames. Get up, Mario tells himself. He’s gasping, struggling to push himself back up with useless, trembling hands. His legs feel numb. Get up! “Then come and get ‘em already!”

(“You never stop and THINK first, y’know?” Luigi shakes his head, badly trying to hide the tears budding under his eyes. “And now you’re hurt, and it’s all my fault, and — and I don’t need you to do stuff like that for me! I can handle it, e-even if you think I can’t!”) 

“Mario!” That’s Luigi, terrified and wheezing, finally able to talk again. An intentional decision by Bowser, no doubt, just to be cruel. Mario can barely hear his brother at all, and the sound of his voice keeps growing fainter. “No! Let go! MARIO!” 

(“What are you even saying? That’s not why I did it at all!” Mario insists, using his uninjured hand to flick Luigi’s nose with a few fingers. His affronted expression at that makes Mario laugh, and the motion quickly turns into them trying to be the first one to swat each other in the face without getting blocked. At least the tears are forgotten, which is what he wanted from the start. “Don’t ya get it? I know you can take care of yourself. But if anyone wants to hurt you, they’re gonna have to go through me first. I’M the big bro, and that’s just how it is forever.”) 

Luigi! 

He’s standing again, even as his body protests every pull and push of the way, even as he’s still struggling to open his eyes. Someone strong and furry offers some extra support on his right side. 

“You okay, man?” Donkey Kong asks. “Geez, that looked like it hurt. Hey, anyone have an extra mushroom?” 

Stars are flashing across his vision, but finally they fade away. There’s a line of fire in front of them like a makeshift barrier, slowly but steadily dying out. Sure enough, Bowser and Luigi are gone. Mario’s heart lurches hard against his ribs.

“Setting a devious trap for sure,” The Penguin King grouses from further away. “Using one’s own flesh and blood! Does that dastardly Koopa’s depravity know no limits?” 

“I’m fine. Never better,” Mario groans. He points past the fire. “He went that way, right?” 

DK blinks, looking a little uneasy. “Uh, yeah, but we should probably regroup first and — hey! Wait a second, you idiot!”

Mario’s already charged full-speed ahead, jumping over the flames. Others yell after him too, saying it's too dangerous, but he’s running anyway, chasing the smell of molten heat, the faint, far-off echoes of yelling that feel like pinpricks in his lungs. 

He knows it’s a trap. He knows. He just doesn’t care.

He already let Luigi literally slip through his hands once before. Heck, he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to forgive himself for that alone. No matter where he has to go, who he has to fight, how much abuse he has to take, he's getting Luigi back right now, and he's gonna pound that overgrown bully's face until he regrets every life decision that led to him daring to hurt Mario's little brother.

It can't be too late. He can't have screwed this up again. He'll do anything. Even if...

The feeling of something on his cap startles him out of the thought — the softest boop-boop-boop, like someone very small is bouncing on it. He assumes he’s just imagining things until the blue star-thing (Lumalee?) floats down further, easily keeping up with his top speed, humming what sounds like a lullaby. Mario gawks in its direction. 

“The biggest sacrifices are often the ones that burn the brightest, out in space,” it says, bright and sing-song. “Did you know that?”

“What are you even talking about!?” Mario yells. “Sorry, but I’m a little busy here!” 

It’s unbothered by that, twirling close enough to give his mustache a little, playful poke. “Not existing any longer is natural, inevitable. We all go into the light someday.” The way it’s staring at Mario is unnerving, as though this little, creepy star knows exactly what he was just thinking about. “You look scared of that. Are you?” 

Mario swallows thickly. 

“No,” he says. “If that’s the only way, then…” His eyes are burning at the edges, just a little. “If the people I love are safe, then it doesn’t matter what happens to me.”

Lumalee smiles a dreamy, thoughtful smile.

“Oh,” it sighs, little more than a breath. “This is going to be so much fun.” 

And then it floats away. 

Mario doesn’t have time to stop and wonder what that was all about. He throws himself deeper and deeper into the airship, even when a heavy metal gate slams down behind him to separate him from the others, even when the slabs of rock under his feet sink down into the lava from the weight and don’t resurface, erasing any way out. Mario thinks of his training, of Princess Peach and Toad cheering him on, of the exhilaration and hope he felt looking out over the Rainbow Road, of Luigi smiling in the warp zone right before they were ripped apart. He steels himself for what’s coming next.

Further ahead, he hears his brother call out for him.

Mario runs.

[keeps-ache]

hehe. crackling

[infectedzoology]

tag dump

🔬 // musings // all girls wanna be like that ; bad girls underneath like that 🔬 // about // been through some bad shit ; who would have thought it'd turn me to a savage ? 🔬 // memes // you cling to your papers and pens ; wait until you like me again 🔬 // open // i've been here all night ; i've been here all day 🔬 // music / playlist // i'm just trying give you something to remember through the summertime 🔬 // likes / aesthetic // because tonight i'm making deals with the devil ; and i know it's gonna get me in trouble 🔬 // visage // i only wanna die alive ; never by hands of a broken heart 🔬 // starter call // right now ; i'm in a state of mind i wanna be in like all the time 🔬 // ooc // don't kick that trash can over ; it'll make a mess 🔬 // ic // i don't wanna hear you lie tonight ; now that i've become who i really am 🔬 // psa // one last time ; i need to be the one who takes you home 🔬 // writing // nothing to prove and i'm bulletproof and know what i'm doing 🔬 // wishlist // feel my blood runnin' ; swear the sky's fallin' ; i know that all this shit's fabricated 🔬 // promo // you could hold moonlight in your hands 🔬 // self promo // i don't wanna tiptoe but i don't wanna hide ; but i don't wanna feed this monstrous fire 🔬 // wardrobe // a little bit dangerous ; but baby that's how i want it 🔬 // abilities // when all is said and done ; you'll believe god is a woman

[danidoesathing]

I agonized over which to pick because I just want to ask about all your fics in progress!! I narrowed it down to two and that's just going to have to be ok

the world is staged and the script is set (you cannot change the ending)

Jukeboxes and Maple Syrup

its very funny you pick those two because those like. two of the only three on that list that ISNT lord huron related lmao. those are both hatchetfield fics ive started in secret. regardless those are the main ones im working on right now SO

the world is staged and the script is set (you cannot change the ending) is a fic based on the ending of TGWDLM where like. you know how in the credits where Emma starts begging the audience for help? and like. you know how in TTO how the audience is also referred to by Bliklotep's title? soooo the fic is the ending but i throw him in the mix and ramp the already existing horror of "begging for help and being ignored a cheering crowd" by going "realizing said crowd has been treating your suffering and death as a source of amusement right before you die". only fun times in hatchetfield

"She stumbles to the edge of the stage. The stitches in her leg have come undone and there’s blood seeping through the bandage. That is real. Emma is real, and she needs to help right now."

Jukeboxes and Maple Syrup is a fic that takes place directly after the end of Yellow Jacket that focuses on Daniel and Sophia like. right after the ending. we dont really see them after the Otho fight and we still have no clue is Sophia is even ALIVE and also i miss them dearly. the fic mostly focuses on Daniel trying not to have a panic attack in Miss Retros because one friend is missing after almost dying and the other is in the hospital after also almost maybe dying and he doesn't really know what to do. Not a whole lot of plot it's mostly him trying to deal with that whole. mess. luckily he's got Miss Holloway and Duke to make things a bit easier (responsible adults? in MY hatchetfield? its honestly only these two but its better than nothing)

"He feels so stupid. Sophia is in the hospital and she might never wake up. Hannah is missing and could be kidnapped or dead or worse. And he’s just sitting here in a cozy diner with pancakes and orange juice, and Hannah’s Jacket but not Hannah and not Sophia."

[yesyourstalker]

Makeup artist:.......... Are you nervous?

Baja: a little bit.... This isn't like in front of a studio audience right

Makeup artist: No sweetie, it's just a one-on-one interview.

Baja: that's good. Who are we interviewing?

Makeup artist: You're going to have to ask the show-runner, Mickey.

Mickey: let's go. Let's go. Let's go what takes so long putting powder on a face. He has perfect skin anyway. We had to get him to the dressing room. We start filming in a couple minutes

Makeup artist: I'm finished. Just need to map down some scales and he's...... All done. You're free to go sweetie

Baja: thank you

Mickey: So you must be then host of the show. Sorry I wasn't able to meet you sooner. I was on vacation. Oshi told me you're a really good candidate for this show. You seem to be competent you know your way around music....*sip* ..... Coffee?

Baja: I don't really drink that much coffee. I like tea though

Mickey: Green tea! *Snap*. .*snap*

Assistant: your green tea

Baja: thank you

Mickey: Well I know one thing for sure. She was right about the pretty face. Now as you get dressed head to the studio so we start filming promotional material Ramon should be there with you. After your interview which will count as the pilot

Tammy: Mickey listen I really think you should reconsider about not casting me for the show

Mickey: No....*sip*

Tammy: but I really think you should I mean I can at least be co-host. I'm great to be around! Tell him, baba

Baja: it's Baja

Mickey: No, we need to bring up the sea slug viewership

Tammy: I can be the second co-host

Mickey:....*sigh*...... Tammy listen to me. You didn't get the job all right. You just don't fit the criteria we need for this show and this channel. But hey you have other opportunities for other networks alright. You're pretty, you're bubbly and you have a nice rack. You can get a job anywhere with those qualities around here.... You're just not going to find it at this station

Tammy: but-

Mickey: goooooood byyyyyyyyyyyyyeeee Tammy!!

Security guard: Right this way ma'am

Tammy: Mickey!!! I'll have your fucking job!!

Mickey: we'll see you next week Tammy we're filming the season finale

Baja: she seemed pretty upset

Mickey: eh she'll get over it ... She's been in a couple of shows here and there on the network. She plays Kate the baby sitter on 'dock and dingy' ......*sip* ..... She'll be fine. Here Is your dressing room your clothes should be folded

Baja: alright... and I just head to set after

Mickey: yep your's and Ramon's chairs will be the brown arm chairs. The musician or celebrity will be sitting on the loveseat and will perform on the stage behind you

Baja: they're going to perform?

Mickey: yeah.. yeah they're starting their Solo career

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Ramon: hey... You look good. They spruced up your wardrobe too

Baja: yeah. I wonder if we're able to take this home with us

Ramon: probably. I think it'd be easier just to keep in our dressing rooms for now. Keep our work clothes separate from our regular clothes. Feels like bad energy to mix them together.

Baja: how so?

Ramon: I mean this nice brand name stuff fancy designs, colors and a hefty price on it. It's nice but it isn't really me. It's what the studio and the producers want me to be and I rather keep that at work when. I go home I wear my regular off-brand jeans, my 8-year-old sweater and a pair of kicks with a hole in it. That's me. That's who I am. A regular person, I'm not above anyone and I don't want to feel like I am. Get what I'm saying

Baja: yeah... I get it. You don't want the job to change you

Ramon: exactly

Mickey: All right! Hitch you got the shot?

Hitch: Yeah I got it. We can use this for commercials

Baja: you were filming?

Mickey: Yeah yeah no worries. We just wanted to film you guys interacting. We didn't tell you cuz we wanted to look natural.

Hitch: we didn't have any mics on so we couldn't hear what you were saying so don't worry about it. I'm the director by the way names Hitch. Nice to meet you..

Baja: hello

Ramon: hey

Mickey: alright so we're going to start filming the show in 30 minutes. Kikura is their dressing room.

Ramon: Kikura from C-side?

Mickey: yeah

Kikura: sorry I'm late.. I tend to procrastinate when I'm getting ready for these types of things...... Not a good excuse but... yeah

Mick: Well that's perfectly fine. We'll be filming in a couple minutes this is Ramon and this is Baja. They're going to be the ones interviewing you

Kikura: hey

Hitch: while we wait for that, let's do some more advertisements

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Assistant: alright..... Advertisement 2 take one...[clap]

Baja: Hi my name is baja and I'm the new host of the inklab's new show 'music at midnight'.... Me and my new co-host Ramon

Ramon: sup

Baja: we're going to be interviewing musicians from all walks of life

Ramon: and different genres.

Baja: We're going to have nice conversations getting to know them, telling us some really cool stories.

Ramon: a show airs Thursdays at 11:30 p.m. can't wait to see you there!

Hitch: CUT!.... Great! We're going to do some more editing and maybe some reshoots on that but here is your intro You're going to do this during every episode you introduce yourself. You tell them what show they're watching and then you tell the current news what's going on in the music world..... You're also going to have to do that when you start writing articles for the blog, but we'll get to that later. ... Here's the monologue script. If you want to go off script feel free... Go over it, memorize We'll film in 15...... Oshi! Good to see you..*mwah mwah* how are you baby

Oshi: Hitch! Hope everything is going well I just wanted to check in on everyone

Hitch: yes... You're going to start filming soon so have a seat....(Pat...Pat)

Oshi: alright..... I'm getting a call.....*ugh*..............[inhale].....[exhale]...... Hi Shimi! How are you doing dear?... Are you having fun on the farm? I saw some pictures warabie posted on squidder. You look cute riding the tracker hehhe....... Well you only have one week left honey..... yes I've enjoyed my break..... The church? If that works for you honey I guess it gives you a purpose.........*sigh*...(Eye roll)....acting is also your purpose I know...how's warabie is he having fun?......well tell him to try to enjoy himself..............yes ...... alright good bye hun.............

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Shimi: hm.....

Merv: Shimi it's your turn to take the manatees out to graze, take your son with you. Noiji start up the tractor I need you to harvest the octoberries, ikkan pack up squidmelons and head into town. Koi would you help me harvest some of the squid lemons

Koi-koi: I'd love to

Merv: Cirrina sweetheart you said you're going into the city for a school project?

Cirrina: Yeah just for 2 hours. When I get back I'll feed the krill and clean out their coop

Merv: All right, be safe

Shimi: warabie help me load up the manatees

Warabie: yeah..... What were you calling Mom about?

Shimi: It's none of your concern she didn't let me talk anyway............

Warabie:... All right, the manatees are in (bump...bump).....

Shimi: alright...................

Warabie:............so what's mom up to at home?

Shimi: she's working on project O.E.T network

Warabie: that's nice she's been working on that for years

Shimi: *humpf*.... We've been working on for years.... Typical of her to go behind my back and do things without my permission or opinion

Warabie:...... Oooookkkaaay...........hm.................hey mahi

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Mahi: hey dude

Warabie: what's going on at home?

Mahi: nothing much. Baja got a new job...... stop!........ Yeah, he's going to be on TV now. That's pretty neat

Warabie: tv?!

Mahi: some talk show.... Midnight music...... Music at midnight something.....neta stop spawn camping!

Neta: I'm not spawn camping

Warabie: he got the job!? How did he get the job?!

Mahi: I don't know, I really haven't had time to talk to him. He's been in and out of the apartment for like days now..... cod damn it!.... Let me leave the base at least...... fuck!

Neta:hehehehehehehe... I'm sorry .hehehe

Mahi: sorry... Neta's being an asshole...uhhhhh...Baja honestly hasn't been here and when he is here he's just there to get dressed and then leave.

Warabie:*sigh*....... good for him... Guess he's going to be the new breadwinner

Mahi: hey so when are you coming home?

Warabie: end of the week I should be home

Mahi: great apartments too quiet and-Neta!

Neta: what?! What am I doing wrong? I'm just playing the game. It's not my fault you always end up in my range of sight. Get good at the game

Mahi:*huff*... Can you come home faster? I miss you

Warabie: aww I miss you too mahi.. I honestly want to go home too. This place sucks ......I'm tired of scooping Manatee shit and hauling crates of squidmatoes

Neta: ask him the question

Mahi: *ugh*........are you able to bring home fresh produce and milk

Warabie: I....... I'm going to have to ask ikkan's dad that

Shimi: we're here unload the manatees

Warabie: I got to go.... text you later..........

Mahi: bye..... I'm not playing with you anymore! I'm done with this game....

Neta: One more round. I want to get a gold badge on this weapon I'm two games away. You can be on my team this time

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Cirrina: .......this must be the address..........(Knock knock)

Bayou: Cirrina! You showed up!

Cirrina: yeah....hehehe sorry if I'm a little early ...

Bayou: no worries. Come in, come in you can use your shoes on the shelf right here. So what do you want to know about krillarney?

Cirrina: I'm just you know the origins and the history of krillarney...... You lived on the surface for most of your life, right? Is that true for most octolings here?

Bayou: yeah... Most of us here spent their whole lives on the surface though there are some who moved here who previously lived underground

Cirrina: Interesting......so... And did your family move here?

Bayou:...... I think you might get more information from my nan.... Nana!!....... You remember my Nana. from church?

Nana: yes!? Bayou? What is it love?.....oh... Dear the little girl from church. Nice to see you again sweetie

Cirrina: hello..

Bayou: Nan do you mind if she asks you a few questions?

Nana: I have no problems sweetie

Cirrina: It's just a couple questions .. . I'm doing a five-page essay on octarian history in other countries

Nana: wasn't that nice? Well what do you want to know dear?

Cirrina: uhhhh .... When did you move here

Nana: oh I have no idea sweetie It's been years...... The war started when I was around......10 of 11 years old. I lived with my two sisters in a small village My mother was a School teacher and my father passed away years ago.

Cirrina: *writing*

Nana at the time my village was not affected by the high tides but it was targeted with conflict over land and resources. Next thing you know, I was being drafted for the war along with my two sisters. They just turned 13. They never held a weapon before. My mother couldn't even imagine them going to war, it was only after the first bomb we decided to leave. We had to leave quickly so we weren't able to bring a lot. All we had to pack was whatever we could fit in our backpacks. I packed two dresses, pair of pants, three shirts and one skirt. I also packed my Adva doll she's the only toy I played with for years.

Cirrina: *writing*

Nana: My mother was good friends with a man who moved to our village before the war happened. He was a nice inkling man Mr. Doal he offered to help us leave. His son got drafted and passed away early in the midst of combat. He told us about a developing sovereign country called krillarney that was currently taking in anyone and everyone across the world who wanted to get away from the war

Cirrina: *write*..... So how did you get to krillarney

Nana: we were informed that there were fairies and ships offering to help people leave. We set our trip in the middle of the night and met up with Mr. Dole and other people who wanted to leave as well. The walk was 3 hours straight. No brakes, no rest until we made it to the coast and we got onto a ship. It was a squid beak ship if I remember, The S. S. Escargot. We sailed for a week to krillarney making several stops picking others in similar situations.

Cirrina: was it just inkfish who were escaping?

Nana: oh no there were so many people from so many walks of life on the ship. Urchins, fish, cephalopods, Crustaceans. So many were affected by this war. I remember seeing some still wearing their military uniforms. It was their only chance to leave and they took it

Cirrina: when you got to krillarney what was it like? Was different from how it is today.

Nana: Well I can tell you one thing we didn't have these malls, outlets or a nice studio apartment like I have now hehehe. .... When I first got here My mother could only afford a nice small house with two bedrooms. Our neighbor was young octoling and his wife was a bass. They were enlisted in the military for years. When the war started they were completely against it. They were planning on having kids at the time they couldn't do that if they were at war. Unfortunately they weren't able to have kids but they watched me and my sister so many times that they kind of saw us as their kids hehehe

Cirrina: *writing*...... Do you ever think about your old village? What happened to it?

Nana:............. Well....um..... Like I said at the time the high tides didn't affect my home but.............. Soon enough it was............. Everything was wiped out and everyone......... From what I know now....... The water levels have subsided and it is inhabitable but............ I just never went back. Everything I know about that place is gone. My home my toys.....some of my old friends

Cirrina:.... I'm sorry.......

Nana: it's alright love

Cirrina: ....... I think I asked enough questions

Nana: are you sure? I could tell you more

Cirrina: oh that's ok really.... I have enough to write my paper. I have to get home to do my chores

Bayou: alright..... Do you want me to walk you to the fairy dock?

Cirrina: (blush).... well........ok...

Bayou: great..... I'll be right back Nana

Nana: Come back safe

Cirrina:..........................

Bayou:...........................

Cirrina:..................

Bayou:..............you know we have tons of historical sites here if you ever want to check them out..... Add some photos for extra credit

Cirrina: that would be nice but I really need to get home

Bayou: we don't have to do it today.

Cirrina: I leave at the end of the week

Bayou: Well you can plan something for this week maybe Tomorrow maybe?....

Cirrina: I can see.... Yeah I think tomorrow would be good yeah..

Bayou: All right so why don't we meet up here again at 2:00 and I can take you to the lighthouse, The bridge of new beginnings and I can even take you to the museum

Cirrina: Great! It's a date! I mean....uh... No! It's not a date..... it's a day out....an outing yeah it's it's it's an outing we're going out......for the day! We're going out for the day

Bayou:..heheheheheh... Here's my number....... I'll text you tomorrow. See ya Cirrina!

Cirrina: bye..hehehehehe........*sigh*..........

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Assistant director: 'music at midnight'.... Introduction take three!.....(CLAP)

Hitch:go!

Baja: welcome, welcome! Welcome my name is Baja! And this is my co-host Ramon

Ramon: hey!

Baja: I'm very excited to say that this is the first episode of our very new show called 'music at midnight'. What is music at midnight? Well as the names in the title says we're going to be talking about music and it's going to be airing during midnight.

Roman: yep so while we sit here and talk and do interviews. You're going to be sitting on your couch or in your bed and your nice warm jammies.....

Baja: I wish we could wear pajamas

Ramon: Right? We should ask the exacts for a pajama day

Baja: hahahaha...(CLAP)..... All right, let's get started.... Today's music news....... But before we do that, who's who's with us today

Ramon: today we have Kikura sitting in our guest seat

Kikura: hey everyone

Baja: so we Kikura here today and there the guitarist for the band c-side and she's a part of another group riot act.....now Kikura is it true that riot act actually came before the band C-side?

Kikura: uh....oh my cod.......uh wow..... Yeah actually that is true. It did come before C-side... Technically yes but at the time it was not called riot act.... It was actually called 'no boys allowed' uhhehe.... We were in high school that was our original band.... We were in an all-girls school. We were just a couple of weird kids just screwing around... We were all in theater together and we used to hang out under the bleachers and I don't remember who mentioned it but one of us said "wouldn't be funny if we started a band and we had no idea how to play the instruments"....and heh That's how it really started

Baja: it started out as a bit?

Kikura: Yeah it started out as a bit. We started to borrow instruments from The music room and we started to play, used to write music together like we had our own group chat and everything ... It started to get serious during second year of school. It started out as a joke and then just kind of started to really get into it and we really just stopped seeing it as a joke and started seeing it as more of a hobby and soon after we started to book gigs, shows and sets in people's basements. It just kind of took off after that.

Ramon: so what made you join C-side?

Kikura: so C-side started after I met Beika it was a small underground club. He recognized me from my band and he was really excited to see me! He told me that he was a bass player and his old roommate was a drummer and they needed a guitar player. He had a couple songs that he's written and he wanted my opinion on it. He wanted to see if I was able to do a demo track for him.

Baja: *nods*

Kikura: a couple weeks of talking I went to the studio and I met Uotora... He's such a sweetheart oh my cod.... We did rewrites and we wrote some more music. We did some test tracks and 5 hours later I was officially a part of the band...

Baja: what was your first concert like.... You played in sesame hall as the opener for wet floor

Kikura: I was surprisingly calm during the whole show. Really thought I was going to panic and freeze up because this is the first actual concert like a concert concert like it wasn't just a group of people hehehe in a backyard. I remember the crowd wasn't that enthusiastic when we came up but after playing 'click bate' people really just started to really get into it and we just formed a fan base after that.

Ramon: are you still a part of that band? After you released your new album with riot act

Kikura: oh yeah definitely. I'm still a part of the band I'm not going anywhere. This ain't that kind of band. Do we treat each other with respect...hehehe...hm... But no this is just a side project. We all just started talking again and it's just a passion project we're just doing really

Baja: and speaking of passion projects, let's get to the news....Nami one of the members of beloved yet controversial bands front roe has enough that branching off and starting a solo career. Today on Inkstagram she announced that she's working on a new album and writing her own songs she even took a selfie of herself in the studio showing in the recording booth.

Ramon: I think nami's very underrated in the band. It's good to see she's getting out there

Kikura: I'm so happy that she is. I only met her two times. It was during the black square music festival and the seashore awards she is so nice, she's so kind and so pretty. We were talking and I brought up keeping my music in a notebook and she did the same thing too. She has several notebooks of music that she really wants to make but it doesn't really fit the sound of 'squid squad'..... Well I guess it's front roe now but she's kept those book for years... I truly hope she's putting those to good use

Baja: You know this actually isn't her first solo work. She worked on a soundtrack for 'high-rise falling 4'. It was a video game for the gamer boy x system.

Kikura: really?

Raman: Yeah I know that she composed background music for the menu and she also made The third boss Battle song. Man If they ever make the movie of high-rise falling

Baja: they are never going to make that movie.... It's always in production hell for years now

Kikura: I've only played the second and third game in that series, but I heard the movie is going to be starting off with The fifth installment and going backwards which doesn't make any sense

Hitch: what is high-rise falling? I don't know what that is. What are they talking about?

Oshi: It's just a game that these kids play. The audience will know what they're talking about

Ramon: they should bring her back for the movie. It would be really cool if she remixed her original tracks. I love that for him. I'm happy that she's making music. I'm really excited..... What else we have for the news

Baja: SashiMori are no longer doing fall tours or winter tours like they used to

Raman: oh?

Baja: So one of the members, Paul. He's no longer able to travel because he has school so they're going to have to do summer tours

Ramon: that makes sense.... I remember their last tour was during fall during spook fest. Everyone dressed up in costumes and during their last set, people were giving out candy.... Folks was handed a bucket before they got into the arena. it was good candy too like people were getting full size candy bars..... What type of candy do you like? I like gum.... You could never go wrong with gum..... Good flavor, good texture... And you can blow bubbles with it. What about you?

Baja: I enjoy chocolate... I love a good piece of chocolate..... Especially if it has a filling in it like marshmallow or something.....Kikura?

Kikura: I would say I'm a hard candy type of person.... I enjoy jawbreakers

Baja: really

Kikura: Yes, it lasts longer than most candies and..... Besides lollipops It is the only candy that is socially acceptable to take out of your mouth

Hitch: do we have any chocolate sponsors?

Oshi: no but I can get with the marketing team and see what we can do

[one hour of banter later]

Baja: Well folks that's our show! Thank you for being here for our first ever episode. The riot act album will be released on the 22 so make sure you check your local stores for it....now enjoy one of their debut songs 'No planned survivors'

[riot act performing in the back ground]

Mickey: what are the viewerships right now?

Assistant: Right now the viewerships are sitting at 89.4 million...and online..... only 20k views... But that number might rise in the next week

Mickey: [inhale].....[exhale]...... What do you estimate the viewership for ink lab plus?

Assistant: Well..... Judging from the viewership on TV and the viewership on the app we might be able to gain..................... 100 million first episode maybe even more...

Executive: I don't understand it! they talked about video games and then candy, went on a tangent about handbags and backpacks. How is this popular?! This is supposed to be about music and celebrities.

Oshi: Kids today aren't really all that interested in celebrities showing off their fancy cars, expensive clothes and lifestyle. They're bored at that and so are the newer artists. They just want to know who they are as a person....if knowing about their favorite candy and opinions on games keeps them engaged and interested in their music and our show I see no problem with it

Mickey: hmmmm.....

Hitch: I think we might need a meeting for this. I have an idea

Oshi: what's the idea

Hitch: we haven't had that much traction on the app for a while. instead of making a recorded video the next time we film we do a live stream and have the audience involved with the conversation

Mickey: I like that. Keeps the audience engaged and keeps the viewerships high. it saves money on editing

Hitch:......... These kids are going to make us a lot of money

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Neta had 12 kills in one match and 6 of them were mahi

lmao fish was fighting for their life @fish-at-fish-fish-resort