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fondnesses · 4 years ago

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roscoe’s notebook post

A while back I said I was going to write a post about the way I use notebooks for writing projects. This is the first of several posts about Writing Process I’ve been tossing around in my drafts for a little while as a result of conversations with friends, so bear with me.

I. Love. Notebooks. I genuinely would have to deeply overhaul my whole Process of writing anything on the longer side if I were to go paperless; I find physical paper pretty invaluable when I’m outlining, brainstorming, and researching, and I still probably write ¼-⅓ of all my actual content on paper first. (That proportion used to be a lot higher, but I’ve gotten better at being productive on a computer in recent years, which is great.) I’m a very visual person, so notebooks really help me visualize my ideas, story structure, etc. It’s very helpful to be able to use arrows and diagrams and physically strike things through, and the tactility is really soothing to me. If I show people my notebooks or talk about them, I often get a response like “this is so organized”, which is sort of true, but I have to stress that it’s “organization for a disorganized mind”; I can’t misplace ideas or notes if it all goes into the same physical object, vs. electronic notes, which are much more, like “Did I say that in a voice memo? PM it to myself on Discord? Leave it in a desktop sticky note? Write it directly into the Google Doc? Who knows! It’s lost to time!”. It’s very much an ADHD management strategy.

It helps that I’m a very neophyte stationery hobbyist and appreciate any excuse I have to use my pens, but I also will go off at any opportunity about how helpful I find them for writing projects, which is why I decided to just make a post about it. Right now I mostly use them for (fan and original) fiction projects, but I used a notebook for a very similar purpose when I was working on my undergrad thesis, and I have a slightly different but equally necessary-to-me approach to notebooks I use at work.

My typical structure for a notebook that’s devoted to one project only looks like this:

I always leave the first couple pages blank so I can go back and retroactively index bujo-style. I don’t always actually do the index, because sometimes I get too lazy, but I like having those blank pages there to give me the option. I also usually put epigraphs/inspo quotes on the first page.

After that, there’s often (but not always, I’ll talk about it) a couple pages at the start where I’m frantically jotting down loose brainstorming ideas before they've coagulated into a story structure. Just, like, vomiting into the void.

Stemming out of that, I usually write out about like 5-10 pages of outline-style notes in chronological order, laying out all the main story beats and charting out the story trajectory. This will inevitably get revised and rewritten many times, but I find the process of writing these wide-angle synopses really useful for dislodging ideas, making connections re: thematic threads, etc. from my brain.

I’ll devote a couple pages after that to specific things like "sex scene brainstorming", "random scene ideas/minor details that don't have a clear place in the outline right now but I'll turn to for inspo later" [this is what I refer to as “bits” in one of the later photos], "page where I just outline the Motifs And Themes", "research notes", "to-do list", "stuff to check on a second pass", "things to put in the a/n and AO3 tags", etc.--the specifics vary with the story.

Then, I skip ahead to approx. halfway through the notebook and cordon off the rest of the pages to be “free writing” space, AKA writing of actual content rather than planning, with the expectation there will be no internal organization and I’ll transcribe to laptop as I go. Writing on paper feels less binding than typing something on a computer; it’s like a little secret kept with myself, and it doesn’t need to go anywhere or be seen by anyone if I decide I don’t like it. Setting aside pages in the back half of the notebook means that, as more things come up re: planning, I can go back and add those in the rest of the pages that were intentionally left blank. This is how I avoid (for the most part) having the whole thing be a jumbled mess where there’s no separation between the notes and the actual story writing; I learned this the hard way via the first notebook I’ll show you in a second. I’ve recently gotten really into using Muji sticky note tabs to label any pages/sections of particular import that don't want to have to refer back to in the index and would rather just flip to instantly.

I do use notebooks that aren’t specific to any one project, but those are much less organized and less worth sharing.

Before I look at more recent stuff, here are some selections from my notebook for the project that got me into writing longfic, my Golden Kamuy canon divergence AU (with apologies for the bad photos, my phone’s camera is trash). I worked on this from Sept 2018-July 2019. It was a learning experience in a lot of ways, and notebook utilization was one of those. I’ve always used notebooks for keeping track of writing projects, as I said earlier, but before this it was largely without much organization or structure; just total chaos. Having a physical notebook became really important for this project because it was a sprawling multichapter story with rotating POVs and a lot of historical research. I also learned a lot about what not to do with a notebook, personally, or at least things that don’t work so well (for me). This was a college ruled spiral-bound Decomposition Book, for the record.

By the time I bought a notebook for it I already had a (very basic) plot outline in mind, so I wasn’t doing that very initial ground-zero brainstorming in here; I was copying out of my phone’s notes app, basically, and then going from there.

This is one of the first pages in this notebook; I wanted to visualize the relationship web between the four central characters in the story in terms of how they feel about one another. The two colours correspond to the POV characters (Sugimoto in orange, Ogata in pink), and I used this colour-coding throughout the notebook with highlighters, etc. to keep track of information that was more relevant to one character than the other. Tsurumi and Yuusaku aren’t POV characters, but they’re prominent in the story and their presence impacts the central relationship between Sugimoto and Ogata, and it was helpful to me to map out the emotional ecosystem, as it were.

(There are coffee stains all over this, because I wrote the vast majority of the story in coffee shops because I didn’t want to be around my roommates, lol. This is part of why I never do fiction writing in notebooks that are too nice, I get neurotic about needing to keep them tidy. I can’t use ones that are too shit though, either, so it’s a bit of a narrow window. I’ll talk more about brands and paper quality etc. later.)

As you can see, this is the first page of many I set aside specifically for jotting down different pieces of historical information relevant to my story. It’s about fictional characters who are members of an army division that existed in real life, and both the canon and my fic involve a high level of attention to detail with regards to which divisions were present for which battles, etc., as well as general historical details specific to the Russo-Japanese War setting--what did people eat in the trenches? What did they do to fill time? How did they get through the winter? What did third party observers have to say about the conditions? What were the specs of their weaponry (particularly important because one of the POV characters is a sniper and gun nut)? I did a lot of reading (and watching of antique gun collector Youtube videos... the things I do for love, eh), and it came in handy so many times, because it turns out it’s much easier to write trench warfare slice of life if you have factual details to pull from when you don’t know what to do with a scene! Imagine that!

This is the first of three “grid outlines” I made; this is a way I sometimes like to visualize a story outline all on one page, with the columns representing chapters and the squares within the columns representing sections/scenes within the chapters. As you can see, early on I was hoping to get this done in five or even FOUR chapters (whatmakesyouhaha.mp3), with POV switches happening internally within the chapters. This proved to be unwieldy for many reasons, so I revised the outline:

Here I’d come to terms with the fact this story was going to have a lot more chapters than I’d planned, and I rearranged things so that it would happen in ten, with each chapter belonging to only one POV character. This also needed revising later, and in the end the story looked a bit more like this (though it did in fact end up being twelve chapters, but only because Chapter Ten was like, 12k, and needed to be split in two chunks):

I must have remembered to bring my fineliners to the coffee shop this time, lol, because as you can see it’s properly colour-coded this time. This outline was made when I was already four posted chapters into the fic, which hopefully gives you a sense of the way in which I am sort of a planner and a pantser; I can’t get into a longer project without an outline, but the outline inevitably changes many times throughout writing and I often end up with a finished product that looks pretty different from what I was intending. My creative M.O. as always is Do The Maximum! Amount! Of! Work! Possible!

This is what a “free writing” page looks like, for me. In this notebook I didn’t set aside any specific spaces for free writing so it’s strewn throughout the notebook in a really disorganized way and I was constantly flipping through looking for bits I’d written and forgotten to transcribe, and I decided to be more organized in future as a result of that. If something’s crossed through, that means I transcribed it. As you can see, they’re often small sections, sometimes just a coupled decontextualized sentences. About 3/4 of what I write in a notebook makes it into the story, I’d say; some of it never goes anywhere, and that’s OK. I have less of an issue killing my darlings if they never make it off the paper page.

A very brief, top-down chapter outline, where the goal was not to get too bogged down in details and just to visualize the beats and pin down what they’re trying to accomplish. Chapters for this fic typically ran about 6k, and five or six scenes per chapter was pretty common, so the average scene length was about 1-1.25k words/scene. IDK why I called it storyboarding when I didn’t make drawings. (Margin numbers are to keep track of word count, since I was using a daily word count tracker while writing this.)

This page was, as titled, for keeping track of the various balls in the air when I was about 2/3-3/4 of the way through the story and really feeling the pressure with regards to tying up the various loose ends. This was... a struggle. I hadn’t ever written anything longish (this fic ended up just under 70k) that had an action plot before, let alone a canon divergence scenario where I had to engage with and explain away various canon plot elements so I could maintain the audience’s suspension of disbelief.

Now, I mentioned earlier that I learned various “things not to do” with my notebooks while working on that project. One of those lessons I learned is to be more realistic when assessing how big a project is likely to get, not least because I RAN OUT OF PAGES around the chapter 9-10 mark. In my defense though, that’s because I’d never written anything even half this long! But I know better now, and try not to be in denial. Finishing the notebook early was a way bigger problem than I’d anticipated, and was part of the reason the last few chapters took several grueling months to finish. The issue was that I needed to be able to use a notebook to maintain my workflow--attempting to do it only on a computer was dismal--but it seemed silly to start a notebook of a similar size to the one I’d finished (80pg, approximately B5 dimensions) when there was no way it would need that much space, especially since the reference pages, like the historical notes, didn’t need to be transcribed over. I was also pretty broke at the time and didn’t want to spend money unnecessarily, lol. I tried to get by using a Moleskine Cahier for a month or so because I had one lying around, but it was horrid; it was too small to be used comfortably, it wasn’t spiral-bound so it wouldn’t lay flat, the ghosting is terrible and I hate the way Moleskine paper feels, etc. Eventually I caved and went to Muji and bought a 30ish page A5 with closer to lay-flat binding, and I finished the story in there. I would take a comparative pic for you of the relative notebook sizes and include some of the scene staging diagrams, etc. I put in there, but I can’t find it :(

So I learned that specs really do matter, and it’s okay to be picky if the pickiness is going to make the difference between actually using a notebook or not. Things that are important to me in my notebooks:

Ruling (gotta have ruling, I can suffer through grid but blank or dot is a no-go)

Size (I can’t use anything smaller than at least a medium-large notebook, I find it claustrophobic and get miserly about page space)

Binding (twin ring is my preference because it looks and feels better than a classic spiral but has the same comfort of use with regards to bending the pages back to suit workspace size and laying flat with ease)

Paper quality and colour (I don’t like anything too slippery/smooth or with too much visible ghosting, and I strongly prefer an off-white paper to bleached paper--part of why I don’t use Decomposition Books anymore, the paper is scratchy and it’s too damn bleached!)

Pagecount relative to size of project

Portability (in non-COVID times; anything bigger than a B5 wouldn’t fit in the satchel I used to bring to work at my old job), etc.

But everyone’s taste is different in this respect, and the only way to figure out what works for you is through trial and error, I’m afraid. I also suspect I’m more neurotic and particular about the sensory experience of using a notebook than most people are, but I yam what I yam.

Now to talk about the notebooks for my current projects, where I’ve refined my approach somewhat. I’ve included less photos for these because they’re ongoing WIPs I don’t want to spoil completely, but I’ve tried to include some outline-type stuff to give you an idea.

My big bang fic is in the very ugly twin ring notebook on the right; I got it at a dollar store by my house because I needed something to work in and didn’t want to wait for an online order, but it’s been very serviceable for my needs. The paper isn’t even bad. The bigger notebook (B5) is my Sangcheng fic.

I wanted something with a lot of pages for this, because I knew it was going to be a long story, and for some reason the fact it’s smaller than my usual preference doesn’t bug me (I think it’s an A5?); it just fits this story, somehow. I’m not sure exactly how many sheets are in here but I’d guess about 150.

Because this notebook has upwards of 100 sheets, I made a lot of use of sticky-note tabs to label high-priority pages. The colour coding of these doesn’t mean anything, it was just whichever ones I had at hand at any given moment. These are those tabs from Muji I mentioned, I’m really obsessed with them--the shape makes them so much less obtrusive and more practical than conventional squares/rectangles OR flag shapes, IME.

My big bang story is nonlinear, so, similarly to what I did with colour coding for the two POVs for my GK fic, this story has two main colours corresponding to whether a given section takes place in the “before” or the “after” portions of the timeline, with blue as “after”, yellow as “before”. This is what the most current version of the outline looks like in there:

If you squint, you can see the alphanumeric notes in the top right of each section entry; I gave them each a code like “A3″ or “B5″ corresponding to their position in the story sequence (so, it goes A1, B1, A2, B2, etc., through to B9 and then the epilogue). [Unintentional that this schema overlaps with notebook size labeling and so is kind of confusing in the context of this post.] At first I was just keeping track of the sections via the highlighted titles, but it got confusing because I’d write down “Wedding” or “Yiling” in my notes and then refer to the notes later like “but there are multiple marriages?? and multiple scenes in Yiling??”. Stuff gets struck through with a straight line if it’s been written in a more-or-less complete form and crossed out with a squiggly line if it’s been cut from the outline or made redundant.

As I said earlier, I started out all the initial brainstorming for my Sangcheng fic in its notebook, instead of brainstorming it in someone’s DMs/my notes app/a voice memo/etc. and then transcribing it into the notebook in a somewhat more organized fashion, which is how my stories usually start out. Because of this, the first five-ish pages are basically just stream of consciousness rambling where I was trying to jot down every disconnected thought I had about the story concept. I don’t have photos for that because it’s too spoilerific for later developments in the fic, but I can show you some of the stages the outlines went through, once I was able to corral those initial notes into a story structure:

All the chapters in this fic have their own highlighter colour, so when I started trying to make sense of my initial brainstorm notes I just went through and highlighted stuff in the colour of the chapter it would make the most sense for, and then transcribed things more-or-less in chronological order into the relevant chapter outline. I later ended up rewriting all the chapter outlines AGAIN to refine them and divide them internally by the individual scenes, which makes them a lot more legible and less wall-of-text-y. They look like this now, with about four sheets per chapter:

Because this fic is on the longer side, I have some pages that are just for keeping track of other story elements, like this, where I refer back to whatever the fuck the “themes” are supposed to be whenever I forget what this fic is about:

It’s all about the visionboarding... Anyway, that’s most of what I have to offer, since most of these two notebooks is Forbidden Content.

With regards to brands/supplies, I really like this Kokuyo Campus Wide notebook that I’m writing Sangcheng in, it’s pretty perfect for me. I also like the B5 Muji twin rings, but those only come in 30 sheets, so I wouldn’t use it for anything above a ~20k project. The B5 Maruman Spiral Note 6.5mm ruled/80 sheet is another good one, though I wish it was twin ring instead of spiral. As you can tell, I like Japanese stationery brands because it’s easier to find decent paper quality and minimalist design without shelling out $$ than it is with American/European brands, at least IME. I like Rollbahns too. But honestly, I can usually find pretty serviceable random notebooks that aren’t brand-name from Asian dollar stores; it’s really not something where you need to shell out tons of money.

#notebooks #writing #idk how to tag this!

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terramythos · 4 years ago

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TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 29 of 26

Title: The House in the Cerulean Sea (2020)

Author: TJ Klune

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Comedy, Romance, Found Family, LGBT Protagonist, Third-Person

Rating: 10/10

Date Began: 10/13/2020

Date Finished: 10/18/2020

Linus Baker, a forty-year-old caseworker for the Department in Charge of Magical Youth (DICOMY), lives a solitary and mundane life. But when he’s summoned by Extremely Upper Management and given a top-secret case, everything changes. Linus is sent to the classified Marsyas Island and tasked with investigating an orphanage housing six dangerous magical children-- including the Antichrist. He is to live among the residents for one month, record his observations, and report back to the organization. No more, no less.

The master of the house, Arthur Parnassus, is a mysterious and enigmatic man. But Linus soon learns that Arthur will do anything to protect his wards. As Linus grows closer to Arthur and the children, a secret from the past and prejudice of the present threaten to destroy the orphanage and their way of life. Linus must decide if he can abandon the world he knows in order to help the ones that need it the most.

"Fire and ash!” Lucy bellowed as he paced back and forth. “Death and destruction! I, the harbinger of calamity will bring pestilence and plague to the people of this world. The blood of the innocents will sustain me, and you will all fall to your knees in benediction as I am your god.”

He bowed.

The children and Mr. Parnassus clapped politely. Theodore chirped and spun in a circle.

Linus gaped.

“That was a lovely story, Lucy,” Mr. Parnassus said. “I especially liked your use of metaphors. Keep in mind that pestilence and plague are technically the same thing, so it did get a little repetitious at the end, but other than that, quite impressive. Well done.”

Minor spoilers and content warning(s) under the cut.

Content warnings for the book: Semi-detailed discussions of child abuse and trauma. Internalized fatphobia (challenged). Structural discrimination, and hatred/prejudice associated with that, some of it internalized.

I'm going to have a hard time reviewing this book, because it was so goddamn good I don’t think I’ll do it justice in a few short paragraphs. So here’s the fast version: The House in the Cerulean Sea was a fucking delight to read from the first page. It’s full of genuine humor, magic, and charm, while being just this side of heart-wrenching. Though geared toward adults, it’s the first novel I’ve read in a long time that captures that childlike enthusiasm I used to have when reading a good fantasy book. It takes place in a world with magic (obviously), but it’s 98% character-driven. Both the main plot and the (queer!) romantic subplot are woven together so well that neither feel tacked on or lacking. The found family hit me in the emotions again and again and again. I read books out loud, and I spent the last third of this book struggling because I kept fucking crying and having to take regular breaks before continuing. And then I went through the whole book to find a good quote for this review and ended up fucking crying again. So yeah.

Ok. Got that off my chest. Usually in these reviews I talk about what I liked and then what didn't work for me or confused me. The good news (?) is I have zero complaints or critiques on this one. So you just get to hear me gushing about it for a while.

Since this is a character-driven book that’s where I’ll start. Linus Baker, the protagonist, is great. Let me just say I love speculative fiction books starring older characters. At forty, Linus isn’t old, but it feels like the majority of spec fic stars people under thirty. Linus is also a conspicuously ordinary guy; prim and proper to a fault, no magic, oblivious in many ways (including to his own loneliness), but with a hidden sense of justice and protectiveness for people that comes out more and more. His development over the course of the novel and how much he grows to love and care for the other characters is just so good. The writing draws attention to this through repeated phrases and jokes one doesn’t expect to make a comeback (more on that later). Seeing him come out of his shell and stand up for what’s right is cathartic as hell. As a side note, it’s also nice to have a fat protagonist who struggles with his self-image but gets warm affirmation and support from his family and love interest.

Arthur Parnassus, the deuteragonist and said love interest, is more of an enigma. A lot of his motivation and behavior makes sense once you get his Tragic Backstory (TM), and I think this will be a fun book to reread based on that. I picked up on some of it before the reveal, but not everything. But without spoiling it, I do love seeing an older (mid-forties) father figure who would do literally anything to make sure the children on the island have the care and love they need. Seeing his patient love and acceptance of them tugs my heartstrings. Maybe I’m a bit of a sap. Linus and Arthur’s obvious mutual crush on each other is also really cute, okay. There’s something about older queer people finding love that makes me smile.

And the children are great too, of course. I really liked each of them and thought they were all unique and interesting. My favorites are probably Lucy the six-year-old Antichrist, Sal the were-Pomeranian (his arc just really hit home for me), and Talia the gnome. They all have such distinct and fun personalities, and seeing them interact is great and often hilarious. I’m not very paternal, but I love seeing children with sad/abusive pasts blossom into their best selves with love, guidance, and support. It’s uh, a little personal. I’d be remiss not to mention Zoe, the resident island sprite, who brings a whole lot of personality and rounds off the group.

When I say the story is character-driven, I mean it. While a fantasy novel, there’s not any significant violence or action in the story (except for maybe one scene if you squint). The House in the Cerulean Sea is carried by its characters, interactions, and worldbuilding. The humor and inherent charm helps too -- and manages to do so without ever feeling trite. I can’t help but admire that. I was never bored; I honestly enjoyed every page because I liked the characters so much. Not to say there isn’t an overarching conflict with the whole DICOMY thing, but most of the focus is Linus struggling and coming to terms with his discoveries-- about the others and himself, and how he can make a difference on a grand scale. To me that kind of stuff is captivating. And boy does seeing someone find the place they belong get me. As I said, found family is a big thing in this book.

Aside from that, the writing is just super; it literally had me laughing from the first page. I can’t believe the fucking lemur joke came back at the end, too. But on that subject, I love that this book utilizes recurring jokes and phrases to show Linus’ character development. In particular, “see something, say something” and “don’t you wish you were here?” have VERY specific meanings to Linus at the beginning of the story, and over time transform into the polar opposite. I’m holding myself back because I don’t want to spoil shit, but if you read it you’ll see what I mean. There’s also a lot of meaningful callbacks to certain dialogue earlier in the story and I eat that kind of stuff up. But even small details, like the early quip about Linus forgetting his umbrella, come back to deliver an emotional gutpunch near the end. So thanks for that, Mr. Klune.

The book really takes a turn in the second half of the story, which is a tad darker. Avoiding the Actual Spoilers, this is where prejudice and hatred of the outside world become a bigger part of the story. We learn what’s really at stake, and that this wonderful found family in the first half is threatened by a world that hates and fears them. Boy does that shit get emotional REAL quick. Yes the allegory is obvious. No, that’s not a bad thing. Ultimately, The House in the Cerulean Sea becomes a story about love, hope, and change; and boy does that shit strike my gay little heart right where it hurts.

If you’re looking for a (literal) magical pick-me-up (ignore my comment about crying a whole lot) with INTENSE found family vibes and a side helping of queer mlm romance, dear God read The House in the Cerulean Sea. I don’t think I did it justice in this review; just trust me, it’s real good. My only complaint is that it ends; I want more, damn it!

#taylor reads #2020 reading challenge #BONUS ROUND #10/10 #i added content warnings right under the cut. idk if i will do that consistently but why not #anyway this book wrecked me

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babbushka · 5 years ago

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Anniversary (Just A Job Epilogue)

Hello everyone! Some of you may be familiar with a fic I wrote a while back called Just A Job, which was a Flip Zimmerman x Jewish!reader fic that took place during the time of Blackkklansman.

To celebrate the one year anniversary of the film, I thought I might write a short epilogue for the fic, to see how our favorite couple has been doing! I hope you enjoy <3

Word count: 5k

Warnings: NSFW content, mentions of pregnancy (pregnant sex), mentions of war, potential PTSD, minor angst, mostly fluff :^)

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It had been a year.

One year since the Big Case, as everyone called it. One year since the most dangerous fucking case Flip Zimmerman had ever taken on.

Sometimes, he still can’t believe that it went as well as it did.

Sometimes, he’s not so sure it did.

You were asleep, lying next to him in your bed. Your eyelashes brushed against your cheek as you breathed gently, softly snoring from where your nose was pressed into your pillow. God you looked so peaceful, lost in what Flip hoped were good dreams.

Flip watched you, breathed in time with the rise and fall of your chest. Outside the world turned around you, the gentle engine of cars could be heard on the main road just outside your neighborhood, next door the Johnson’s dog barked in the front lawn, chasing the sprinklers. Flip heard bird chirps and airplanes and kids laughing on their way to school, but in your bedroom there was only you, and the rise and fall of your chest.

It was a shame to wake you, he knew that, but he needed to make sure you were real, needed to make sure nothing had happened to you. He had grown so protective, over the course of the year. Not that he hadn’t always been protective, because he had, oh he had. But now it was more acute, he was more aware of all the dangers.

Sometimes he thought of the look on your face that day at the station, dirt staining your sweater as you sobbed and sobbed.

The thought made his stomach sink.

He shuffled closer to you under the covers, watched as the sunlight caught the little floating specs of dust and fibers that his movement kicked up into the air. He lowered his face to yours, softly, ever so softly, nuzzled his nose against yours.

You smiled, shut eyes crinkling at the corners as he pressed sweet kisses to your lips, to your cheek, your eyelids. You reached for him blindly, hand searching the covers. He liked that you did that, even in that state of not quite awake, you reached for him. Flip gently held your palm, brought it up to his cheek.

You cupped his cheek, pulled him down by the ear so that you could kiss him properly.

He smiled against your lips, parted your mouth with his tongue, lazily made out with you until you were all the way awake, eyes blinking open properly.

“’Morning.” You hummed as he rolled over you, propped himself up on his elbows as he kissed down your neck and shoulders, across your chest.

“Morning.” He replied, sighing into your skin as he tugged down the covers to expose your breasts.

He gave them each kisses, rubbed his face in-between them, pressed his face against you and breathed you in. Your hands roamed around his back, soothing circles and gentle caresses. One of your hands wandered into his hair, scritched at his scalp in the way that always made him melt.

“You doin’ okay?” You whispered, and Flip sighed, knowing what you meant.

He’d been having trouble sleeping lately, with the anniversary of the case coming up. Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night completely covered in sweat, freezing cold and shaking with all the covers thrown off. Other times he couldn’t fall asleep at all, no matter how many hot cups of milk or cocoa or tea you would make him.

You stayed up with him those times, and he hated to see it wear you down too. He’d tried telling you to just ignore him and get the sleep you needed, but there was no way you’d hear it.

“It’s Saturday,” Flip sighed. “Can you believe it? A whole year on Saturday.”

“I believe it.” You nodded, “Have you talked to Ron? Is he going through it too?”

Flip helped you maneuver onto your side. He had read in one of the books that laying on your back wasn’t good once you were far enough along, so he went out and bought more pillows than was probably necessary to help prop you whichever way was most comfortable.

Flip helped you settle, and then he settled in against you, a big warm hand smoothing over your stomach.

“We talk at the bar, I think it’s affecting him. It’d be strange if it didn’t.” Flip said quietly, “All that hard fucking work, and for none of it to go public.”

“Maybe you can try again, now that some time has passed?” You asked with a hopeful smile.

Flip sighed, nodded. He scrubbed a hand down his face and sucked his teeth. It was something he’d wanted to do for a long time, these past four months especially. It wasn’t enough to have gotten the scum off the streets, it wasn’t enough for him to get a big raise and a medal from the city and all the other shit.

“The people deserve to know what goes on in their town.” Flip said, frowning just a little, determined.

You smiled, rubbed your finger in-between his eyebrows to get rid of the frown lines there. He let a little huff of a laugh out when you did that, like he always did, thought it was sweet the way you wiped away his worries.

“Anything I can do to help sweeten the chief up?” You asked, making him smile and shake his head.

“No, you’re sweet enough as it is.” Flip kissed you, gathered you up in his arms as best as he could and kissed you some more, “And I don’t want to share.”

Flip breathed into your kisses, let all the tension slip away from his shoulders. You were fine, you were there, in his arms safe and sound. If he had his way, you’d never leave this bed. He’d never leave it either, but work was a bitch and most days he had to deal with it.

Not today though, much to both of your relief.

“Are you going in today?” You asked, stretching and sighing as you popped and cracked your joints.

“Is it Wednesday?” Flip asked in return, unsure of anything. The lack of sleep was getting to him, he was starting to lose track of what day it was. Luckily it was still early enough in the day that if he did need to go in, there would be time for a quick shower and a speedy drive to the station.

“Yes sir.” You said with a big smile, canceling all of those plans.

“Then no, I’m not going in today.” Flip responded, dragging the covers over his head dramatically and making you laugh.

You ducked under the covers with him too, and even under the sheets you looked like an angel. White cotton framing your beautiful face, he swooped in to kiss you, had to kiss you right then and there or else he might just die.

“Good, because I don’t think I’d let you go even if you did.” You grinned against his lips, holding him close. Your hands were so hot and sweaty on his back, but he found it endearing. He reached for one and pressed little kisses along the palm and fingertips.

“Can we do something fun today? Something out of the house? I swear sometimes I feel so fuckin’ old.” Flip groaned, trying his damnest to get as close to you as possible.

“You’re thirty-six, that’s not old.” You rolled your eyes, making him groan.

He felt like he had aged another ten years over the course of that fucking case.

Just last week he swore he saw a silver hair or two peeking at his temple. You had instructed him not to pluck them, because you loved them, but he wasn’t so sure. It just made him feel tired. He’d been working so hard, ever since you started showing especially. For some reason it didn’t feel real to him, until then.

You’d both been trying for so long, months and months, and now he could see the result of all that, could feel it.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, carefully rubbing soothing circles on your stomach.

“Not so nauseous anymore, I think it’s slowly subsiding.” You hummed at the touch, eyes closing just from the peacefulness of it.

“Good.” Flip had been so worried, had read in all the books that morning sickness was normal, but was still so worried. He hated seeing you bent over the toilet, hated the way you cried as he held your hair and kissed the spot in between your shoulder-blades.

“Speaking of which, bathroom?” You asked, your body catching up with your mind.

Flip helped you sit up and the two of you walked to the bathroom, going through your morning routines.

With bladders emptied and teeth brushed, you retreated back to bed just for a little while longer. It was barely seven o’clock in the morning, Flip didn’t want you doing anything more than you absolutely had to, and right now, all you had to do was be beautiful.

Because you were, with that glow everyone had mentioned. You were glowing all the time now, radiant. You were always radiant, but now Flip had an excuse to tell you even more than usual.

He took such pride whenever someone complimented you at the station, how healthy your hair looked, the flush on your cheeks. Flip was proud to have him on your arm. He especially loved buying you new clothes to better fit your changing body.

You weren’t so big yet, only four months along, but he had gone out and gotten you so many dresses that you had absolutely fawned over; pretty florals and ginghams and plaids that had the most breathable draping so you wouldn’t overheat in the hot summer weather. He wanted nothing but the best for you.

“You’re so beautiful.” Flip sighed, tucking his head against your shoulder, shoving his face into your neck.

“It’s good you think that because I feel so gross.” You groaned, making him pull back, looking scandalized.

“No one said pregnancy was easy, or clean.” He said simply, kissing your cheek over and over again “You’re gorgeous, radiant, glowing – !”

You laughed when his goatee tickled you, and the two of you wrestled very minorly in bed, trying to get a hold of the other’s face for kisses.

“I think doing something fun sounds like a great idea, I love being home but I’m starting to feel cooped up. Besides, it’s such a lovely day.” You held his hand under the covers, and Flip nodded.

“What would you like to do?” He asked, and you laughed.

“I don’t know, all our attraction spots are hiking.” You chuckled, probably imagining trying to climb a mountain in your current state.

Maybe a month or so earlier, Flip might’ve entertained the idea, but not now.

“Yeah I’m not letting you hike.” He shook his head with a smile, humming in thought. “Maybe we could go to the park for the day? Get you some sunshine and have a picnic, then go out to dinner and watch a movie?”

He’d been taking you out to eat more and more frequently. It just wasn’t fair or right to have you cook dinner, and god knows Flip tried his best but none of his ever worked out. Even with you sitting right next to him telling him what to do, he still managed to burn or undercook or over-salt or underseason everything. Most days you insisted, and made something light, but a couple times a week Flip would insist on just treating you to an evening off, where someone else was in charge of doing the dishes.

“That sounds like just what the doctor ordered.” You smiled like you were up to something devious, a glint in your eye that Flip recognized as only one thing, “But first…”

You pressed him flat onto the mattress, swinging a leg over his hips and straddling him.

“Oh?” He swallowed, grinned, hands immediately coming up to grasp your tits, massage them in his hands.

If his cock wasn’t rock hard yet, it was then.

“Please? I’m so hot for you honey.” You bit your lip, leaned over as much as you could and kissed his chest, sucked marks onto his neck.

“Fuck I like you like this,” Flip groaned, lifting your hips to line his cock up and slide into you making you let out the most satisfying moan he’d ever heard. “You’re so beautiful – oh fuck.”

Your sex drive had been out the fucking roof lately. Sometimes Flip felt like he was going to die a happy man, that your cunt would actually be the end of him. You’d always loved sex, but now it was crazy, the smallest thing could set you off, get you wet for him. You blamed it on the hormones, and Flip certainly wasn’t going to complain.

“Good, you better like this, because I’m going to want more kids.” You laughed, a laugh that broke off into a sharp gasp as you started moving your hips, riding Flip with a vigor he was thrilled to meet.

“I’ll give them to you, get you knocked up as much as you want – we’re gonna have such a big fucking family.” Flip nodded, licked his lips and grabbed your waist, fucked up into you.

Your mouth had dropped open and your chest was practically fucking heaving, your pussy so hot and wet for him, like velvet wrapped around his cock as he rocked his hips into you.

Like everything else, he had been so nervous when you wanted to have sex, was terrified it would hurt the baby. You laughed and told him that just because he had a big cock, didn’t mean it was going to do any damage. It only took a couple days of convincing before Flip was fucking you all over the damn house, making you come again and again on just about every piece of furniture you owned.

“Oh shit!” Your eyes flew open suddenly and one of your hands smacked against your back.

Flip stopped immediately, pulled out of you and laid you back down.

“Wait, here – ” Flip said, mind going into overdrive. You’d been having cramps a little more frequently, not yet used to the weight of the baby. Flip helped you get on your side, supported by all those fucking pillows, and sidled up behind you, sliding his cock back in. “Better?”

“Oh, Flip – yes!” You gasped, looking over your shoulder to kiss him as he thrust into you on your side.

Trying to find the right positions had been tricky in the beginning, but you both had a pretty good handle on things now.

You were crying from pleasure, which was Flip’s absolute favorite fucking thing, the way you chanted his name over and over as he fucked your hot cunt and pinched at your nipples – which proved to be a bad idea.

“Oh fuck ketsl, I’m sorry.” Flip immediately apologized as your tits started leaking all over his hands and getting onto the sheets.

“It’s okay! Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” Your head was thrown back over his shoulder, and you shouted, coming on his cock.

Flip thrust into you only a couple more times before he pressed his hips as close to you as he could, and came, blowing his load so deep into you that he had to bite your shoulder just to stop himself from shouting too loudly.

“I love you.” You panted, completely blissed out and covered in sweat and all sorts of fluids that meant Flip would definitely be changing the sheets for the third time that week.

“You’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that?” Flip said back, equally out of breath, his own orgasm still shaking through him.

“I know.” You laughed, and he laughed too, because of course you did.

After a long shower where the two of you scrubbed yourself clean and stole soapy kisses from one another, Flip helped you prepare a big lunch to bring to the park.

You had recently purchased a ton of new Tupperware containers from one of your friends at the moms to be classes, and Flip loaded them up with some leftover fried chicken, egg salad sandwiches, club sandwiches, bags of chips, fresh fruits that you let Flip slice, and bottles of water to fend off the heat of the day.

Flip loaded the basket and a blanket into the trunk, and helped you into the passenger seat of the truck held your hand the whole way across town.

The drive down to the park was beautiful, but he couldn’t help but steal glances at you every now and again.

You were wearing one of the new dresses, a floral one. You just looked like absolute sunshine, the way your hair blew around in the breeze, how your necklace sparkled in the light. He kissed you at every red light, made you laugh and tease him, telling him to keep his eyes on the road, even though he only had eyes for you.

“How are you feeling?” Flip asked once you were settled on the picnic blanket in the park.

There weren’t too many parks like this in town, just pretty fields of soft grasses and wildflowers, where kids and dogs could run around and people could picnic in the sunshine. Colorado Springs boasted beautiful mountains, but Flip wanted to keep you far away from treacherous trails and water falls – for the time being, anyway.

“My ankles are swollen to all hell and my back is killing me, but other than that I’m great.” You chuckled, shifting on the big pillow that Flip had laid down for you so you could comfortably be propped slightly onto your side.

You had both enjoyed a delicious lunch, the remnants of it packed back away in the wicker basket that weighed down the blanket in the cool breeze.

“Can I listen?” Flip asked, gesturing to your stomach.

“Just be careful.” You nodded with a gentle smile, “They’re feisty.”

The baby had been very active the past week or so. Kicking was more and more frequent, and on more than one occasion when Flip had leaned down to rest his ear against your skin, he’d felt the small jab of a foot.

“Well of course they are, just look at their mother.” Flip grinned up at you as he laid down on the blanket, using your stomach as a pillow of sorts.

“Oh no no no! You can’t blame this all on me, Detective Zimmerman.” You tugged on Flip’s ear, making him laugh, “This baby is going to be just as much of a troublemaker as you are, I’m fully prepared for that.”

“I am not a troublemaker.” Flip scoffed, and you arched an eyebrow, combing your fingers through his hair nonetheless.

“Do you remember our first date? How you broke us into the zoo after hours and we got to feed the giraffes even though we were absolutely not supposed to? And then security chased us all the way to the front gates?” You hummed, reminiscing.

“I only remember kissing you by the lion enclosure.” Flip blushed, “And excuse me, Mrs. Zimmerman, but I’m pretty sure the zoo was your idea to begin with.”

“It was not! I wanted to go ice skating.” You laughed, making him laugh too.

The baby kicked, Flip smiled at the thought that they liked the sound of your voices.

“Oh yeah.” Flip admitted, “But then remember, I took you ice skating and you fell so many times you almost broke your tailbone?”

“I do remember that.” You laughed. Flip had put a heating pad on your back for a week until you weren’t sore anymore, and that was only three weeks into dating.

“Do you think they’ll be good at ice skating?” Flip asked, wondering out loud, feeling your heartbeat through your skin as he listened to his baby.

“Looking for an Olympian, are we?” You hummed, your eyes closed, soaking up the rays of the afternoon sun.

“I used to want to be an Olympian.” Flip suddenly got strangely sentimental.

He’d been doing better, about the whole discussing his feelings thing. Especially now that he was going to be a dad, he didn’t want to ever be the kind of father that was silent all the time, that was reserved and uninterested, that buried his feelings. He wanted to teach his kid all the things he wished he had learned growing up, and this was one of them.

“One-hundred meter sprint, I remember.” You encouraged Flip, you always did. Never made a big deal about him opening up, never made a whole to-do about it. You just supported him and encouraged him like the angel you were. “I liked watching you run, I still do.”

“Maybe baby Zimmerman will be an Olympian, or an artist, or a doctor – not a lawyer.” Flip grimaced at the thought of his baby being a lawyer, and you laughed, tugged on his ear again.

“Hey, half our family are lawyers.” You reminded him.

“They’re the half we don’t talk to.” Flip teased, making you laugh again.

He loved the sound of your laugh.

“And here I thought you’d want them to be a cop, like their dad.” You mused.

Flip frowned, for some reason that had never occurred to him.

Once the park had grown too hot and crowded for both of your tastes, Flip packed up the truck and drove you to a lovely little Italian restaurant nearby the house.

You ate sitting side by side in a booth, pushing the table forward enough to accommodate your stomach. You had been craving garlic, and Flip couldn’t think of a better place to let you get your fill – Gino’s had unlimited garlic rolls.

You laughed about his sunburn that he got on the bridge of his nose, and he teased you for the spinach you had stuck between your teeth, and you kissed by the candlelight and ordered two different cannoli’s for dessert.

You both decided to skip the movie, the only thing that was playing was that new horror movie, The Exorcist, and Flip had promised Jimmy he’d go see it with him on Friday.

So, the evening found you and Flip sitting up in bed, reading over some case files as usual.

“Do you like that I’m a cop?” Flip asked, putting down the file he had been leafing through.

It was an old one, from the case. He’d been going over them more and more lately, wanting to do something about the whole fucking situation.

“What do you mean?” You asked, laying down on your side, taking his hand in yours and kissing the knuckles.

“Ron and Patrice, they get into this argument sometimes.” Flip said, running his other hand through his hair. “She doesn’t like that he’s a cop, feels like he’s betraying his own people by putting on a uniform.”

“I don’t blame her. People in those uniforms terrorize them.” You replied simply.

“Yeah.” Flip swallowed.

“They terrorize people like us too. Like our friends. People like Ron and Patrice and Harry and Bridges, all of us.” You said, softly.

“But I’m not just a shitty beat cop, I’m a detective.” Flip tried, even though he knew it didn’t hold any real weight.

“Do you remember when you left to go to ‘Nam?” You asked, and Flip went silent. “I almost hated you for that. I wanted to, I was so angry with you. You had just proposed to me and then you were leaving.”

You shuffled over enough to rest your head on his chest, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, hugged you close.

“I thought I’d never see you again, I thought you’d go and die in a war that no one wanted, that you shouldn’t have left for, that I was going to be all alone with just the thought of you.” You continued.

“I know.” Flip said, remembering how terrified you looked.

“And do you remember what you told me?” You asked.

“I told you that I had to go. They picked me and I had to, that I didn’t have a choice.” Flip’s voice caught in his throat.

“You were so young then, do you remember? How your ears stuck out so far when they shaved your head?” You asked quietly.

“I remember.” Flip nodded.

He had been barely 27, but still not the youngest guy in his team. He wrote you letters whenever he could, wasn’t able to deliver any of them to you, but he wrote them.

“When you came back home I don’t think I ever cried harder – and then you went and joined the police. And there was that fear, all over again, that you would go out and follow someone else’s orders, that you would die playing someone else’s game.” You looked up at him, at his wet eyes, remembering how dark things felt all that time ago.

He hadn’t felt anything that dark in a long time, but this whole business with the case, that made him feel it too.

“There’s always a choice. But just like you made yours, I made mine. I chose to stay with you because I love you, because I know you’re a good man.” You kissed his hand, kissed it and kissed it again, kissed the gold band that lived on his finger.

Flip watched you, his heart thudding wildly in his chest.

It was quiet, so quiet in the house. He could hear every cricket and frog and buzz and chirp outside, could hear all the way down to the city. It was so quiet, felt like time stood still.

He looked down at you, brushed your hair behind your ear, put the case files on the night stand and slid down the bed to lay next to you, to take your hand in his and kiss your knuckles.

“You’re the only reason I do all this, you know that?” He whispered, not wanting to be too loud, not wanting to be overheard by the nature that surrounded him. “You and this bun in the oven we’ve got.”

“Phil.” You said, eyes soft, sad at the way his voice broke.

“I’ve seen so much shit, I know how bad the world is. I joined because I want to keep you safe, above everything else. You’re the only fucking thing that matters to me. I want you and our kids to walk around town and not feel like you’ve got a target on your back for the necklace around your neck. And maybe I didn’t make the right choices, maybe I didn’t know what the right choices were, but I made decisions that I thought would keep you safe.” He didn’t know why he was saying all this.

“I know honey.” You nodded, encouraging him, always encouraging.

“And then, last year, for the first fucking time I thought, maybe this was another wrong one. Maybe I’m not keeping you safe, maybe I’m putting you in more danger than before. Maybe I’m perpetuating a system that’s designed to only help a very small group of people, maybe I’m part of the problem.”

That last bit were Ron’s words from the bar, but they felt real, felt like they could be his own.

“I think, that just the fact that you’re aware of all this, already has you ten steps ahead of so many other people. You have done good work. You’ve made this community a safer place for everyone, you’ve helped catch and get rid of bad cops, and bad people.” You rest your forehead against his, “You asked if I liked that you’re a cop, and the answer is no, of course I don’t. But I love you, I see the good that you do. I see the way you’re not like them, how you try and be better, do better. Everyone can always do better.”

“You’re so brave, do you know that?” Flip asked, thinking about a year ago, thinking about how you looked evil in the face and stood tall, “You’re so brave. I don’t know how you do it.”

“We’re Jewish, we don’t have any other choice but to be brave.” You let out a wet laugh, brushing a tear away from your cheek, and from his. “’If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I? If not now, when?’”

“If not you, who?” Flip said softly.

“Hm?” You asked, not familiar with that last part.

“Kwame Ture, he said that line at a rally last year. Ron went undercover, Jimmy and I listened in the car.” Flip explained.

“That’s a quote from Rabbi Hillel.” You smiled, “It’s a good one.”

“I’m going to make Bridges publish the case.” Flip decided, suddenly determined.

“Okay.” You said, a big grin on your radiant face.

“Tomorrow I’m going to talk to Ron, we’re going to force his hand like we should’ve last year.” Flip said, and you chuckled.

“Just don’t go getting yourself fired.” You pointed out, “Not now.”

“I want you to be proud of me.” Flip said, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“I’m already proud.” You assured him, placing a hand on his cheek as you kissed him again and again, pressed smooches to the corner of his mouth where you couldn’t quite reach his lips. “I wouldn’t have stuck by you all these years if I wasn’t.”

“Oh.” Flip said, swallowing hard around another one of those sentimental lumps.

“Surely you must know that.” You tugged sweetly on his ear, making him blush.

“I do, it’s just hard to believe it’s real sometimes.” Flip sighed. “I get so caught up in what the fuck I’d do if I ever lost you, the past year has been...”

He shook his head, unable to bring himself to even think about it.

“I know, but when you go to sleep, I’ll be here. And when you wake back up, I’ll still be here.” You gave his hand a firm squeeze, “If I’m not throwing up all of dinner, anyway.”

“It was a good dinner.” Flip looked at you and grinned.

As you laughed, the baby kicked, and Flip knew that even though he had made poor decisions in his day, one look at you told him he had at least made one good one.

Taglist! @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @plomblooms @venusianmaiden @kylo-renne @kyloxfem @formerly-anonhamster @johnlennonchewinggum @callmehopeless @imaginedreamwrite (idk who else to tag im sorry if i’ve forgotten you!)

#reader insert #flip zimmerman x reader #flip x reader #jewish!reader #just a job #blackkklansman #blackkklansman anniversary #my writing #yeehaw #lol

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imaginexmeintheuniverse · 7 years ago

Text

Just a Pretty Face

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Steamy kissing? So much fluff you’ve been warned

Word Count: 12, 175

Summary: Reader is Peter Parker’s best friend and realizes they are hopelessly in love with him while sifting through all the milestones in the relationship.

Masterlist

A/N: This is my very first fic! I know it’s really long; I may or may not have gotten carried away. It’s mostly a series of memories leading to the point I guess? I read this over before posting it and cringed for my life but here goes nothing! I am a science student, not a writer so please forgive its crappiness. I hope you enjoy it!

I learned early on in life that being a female I’d have to face many more challenges than any male whether it was in a school setting, career or even buying a god-damned car. My mother told me that even something so mundane like buying car would be another challenge to face with sexist stereotypes. When a man walks into a dealership he is asked what kind of car he is looking for; the specs and all. When a woman walks into a dealership she is asked what color she’s looking for.

This being said, let it be known that I was always told how pretty I was growing up; relatives gushing over the ribbons in my hair, how I’d break a lot of hearts and assuming I’d want to be a princess when I grew up (aka implying that I would marry rich as if I didn’t have any career goals). My mother always made sure that I never let any of that get to me, hence teaching me that life will be tougher on me than any male specimen I will encounter. With all this being said, I decided to retract into my shell; throw myself into my studies and hide any evidence of outer beauty. I was tired of never being taken seriously, being told I was too pretty to be smart, teachers thought I was cheating off the kid next to me in class, but the worst was the way some people took the long way to get to class out of fear of running into my friends and I.

I knew being popular meant having an intimidating and glorified image but I didn’t realize until the beginning of sophomore how bad it was. I won’t get into the details right now but it was enough to smack me with a reality check like I should’ve had a V8. Always being the more quiet and reserved one in my group of friends it wasn’t too hard for me to alienate myself. After some much needed introspection, I realized that I lost my way and the people I called my friends didn’t really know me and everything was on the surface; shallow. I did a complete 180 on my previous reputation; from being part of the crowd who is envied and at the center of high school attention and gossip, to completely forgotten, as though I had never existed. This is exactly what I wanted.

I took drastic measures to disappear: I started by tackling that fear-of-missing-out attitude, hence the realization that my friends were all fake. The constant pressure of having to go to every party and cheerleading practice where we were the center of attention was exhausting. I missed dancing but sometimes I managed to catch the school dance studio empty and still took a few classes. Bless New York for being one of the dance capitals. The hardest was having to sacrifice my style. Not that I threw all my clothes out or stopped taking care of my hygiene, I simply just wore comfortable clothes to school. No more cute dresses or flashy outfits that are fully accessorized. I let my hair grow long, it didn’t really bother me since I always had it up in a ponytail or messy bun or covered with a hat. I never wore much makeup other than for special occasions like school dances or cheerleading purposes so it wasn’t that big of a hit to take. I hid any trace that I could be an “it” girl or cared what people thought of me.

It didn’t even take that long for me to stop being pestered to go to practices, parties or after-school mall hang outs. It’s been two years since then, it’s senior year now and I just have to stick it through so I can get out of the revolving shit hole that is high school. Macey was the only one who still talked to me from my old group, we’ve been friends since the second grade and she was the only one who really knew me. We didn’t hang out often, but when we did nothing between us ever changed.

So how does an adorable dork like Peter Parker come into all this? We were friends when we were kids and only lived a few blocks away from each other’s apartment buildings, not to mention my mother and his aunt were high school friends. We used to spend a lot of time together, almost best friends you could say, but come middle school and social hierarchies, we drifted I guess. With my transformation, came sort of a renewed friendship that awkwardly formed as we got to know each other all over again when I joined the mathletes and robotics club.

I supposed it could be classified as “going full nerd” although to be perfectly candid, I genuinely have always been interested in all that stuff and Peter and I have grown close through late nights of studying and binging on both food that was bound to one day give us heart attacks and whatever TV show we were currently into. We were both awkward at social interaction in general but our conversations had this natural flow and we’d always have something to talk about. When we didn’t there was a comfortable silence.

I am almost certain he had somewhat of a crush on me when our weird friendship started but I didn’t think much of it, since it would either disappear over time like my image of beauty or if it was real he would probably say something about it. Peter is without a doubt the cutest, however he clearly had a thing for Liz Allan. Who could blame him? She was popular, super pretty and kind; her mere existence could attract anyone.

Something did change with Peter during sophomore year, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, it’s as though he had this new found confidence. He probably never realized that I noticed he had grown into a more muscular stature, he was insanely strong and his reflexes were lighting fast. Whether it was our friendship reaching a certain level of comfort or the on-going internship he had with Tony Stark, it did him a lot of good. Of course he was still nervous and geeky Peter, that would never change.

“Have you been going to the gym or something?” I had playfully squeezed his arm.

“W-what are you talking about?!” he flinched away from me and all I could do was giggle at how red his cheeks got.

“I bet Liz will think that you’re a total hottie now,” I sang as I lean on him and fan at my face dramatically.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he pouted.

For some reason he’d still let himself be pushed around by the Neanderthals at school. I knew it was all an act because he didn’t hide his quick reflexes when we were alone or if some object came hurling at me he’d catch it. Like the other day, we were walking past an open basketball court on the way to his apartment and I saw the ball heading straight for my face but I froze. I would’ve probably had some sort of a minor concussion if it weren’t for Peter.

There have also been other episodes of strange behavior like bailing on me early when we’d go out, turning the volume low when we’d listen to music and always being so tired during our night hang outs. He was always the first one to fall asleep but I just assumed it was because he’s a sleepy child whereas I barely slept at all unless it was at Peter’s home, snuggled up to his side. The worst was seeing him with random bruises or scratches, which he refused to talk about. This worried me to no end. So I did my best and tried to treat his wounds whenever I caught them.

I guess he kind of was my best friend and I was his but was sort of an unspoken thing until I bluntly asked him around the summer of sophomore year when we were having our third Star Wars Marathon. I just straight up asked him around 3am while we shared a blanket. Despite it being extreme sweat-inducing temperatures during the day, that night was rather chilly and the small waste bin was filled with wrappers from junk food we had devoured. “Peter, am I your best friend?” I simply asked.

“Huh, wha- ehm I-” he said groggily. He had trouble keeping his eyes open, and here I was wide awake shooting out this question out of nowhere. Side note: I have my bouts of insomnia which he is aware of, so it didn’t surprise him that I was talking to him even though he was clearly falling asleep.

“Because you’re my best friend,” he sat up and rubbed his eyes awake as I realized how ridiculous I must sound, “d-don’t worry about hurting my feelings or anything, I uh, just wanted you to know.” I mentally slapped myself for sounding like a complete imbecile. Surprise, surprise I’m not really one to subtly hint nor am I one to “beat around the bush”.

“Yeah,” he simply stated. I had to do a double take because I was too busy mentally scolding myself. This kind of stuff means a lot to me considering I didn’t really have any true friends other than Macey so having someone who I could mutually call a best friend is a huge deal for me. Peter is the only person I trust to know all of me, all of my quirks and insecurities. I stared at him wide-eyed, so he continued, “well, I thought you already knew. Now, shhhhh, sleep is good.” With that, Peter closed his eyes, tightened the arm that was wrapped around my shoulders and sank us down to a more comfortable position. He stroked my hair absent-mindedly with his other hand and I somehow managed to fall asleep to the sounds of the Death Star being blown up.

When I say he’s my best friend, I mean no sugar coating, we have a cute friendship with cuddles and deep talks about life but it’s way more than that; it’s real. We fight, not often though and besides we couldn’t go more than two days without talking to each other and I can actually talk to him about real problems. We tell each other everything from daily embarrassments to the kind of cereal we ate for breakfast. Or at least I thought we did. Peter is the only person I trust completely because he is good. It’s a short reason but even though I knew he was hiding something from me, I trusted he had a good reason and it was what he knew to be the right thing to do.

I definitely was not shy about letting him know when it was that time of the month and I was especially not to be messed with. I kept my dancing to myself for as long as I could, but it didn’t take long before he found out.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a dance recital this weekend!” he had looked at me in total disbelief and I looked at him in wide-eyed shock, “Hell, why didn’t you tell me you still dance! I had to find out from Aunt May. Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me,” he was shaking me by my shoulders.

Oh mom, you did not…

“Because, it’s not a big deal,” I mimicked him by shaking his shoulders, “and you so don’t have to come.”

“Too late,” he said with a smirk, “your mom got us tickets.”

“I’m gonna-” as my hands were retreating into fist alongside my body, he trapped me in a bear hug before I could stomp away. He wouldn’t let me go until the frown slipped off my face and I gave into his hug.

Our friendship was slow at first, getting to know each other all over again. But once we did we got comfortable real quick. I don’t know exactly which moment specifically fast forwarded all that, it could’ve been his aunt inviting my family over for dinner when she found out he and I were friends again. The timing was really bad because it was during midterms (which we totally aced, just gonna throw that in) so Peter and I spent most of the night studying in his room, but he still took the time to play video games to entertain my little sister. Despite the dread of exams hanging over my head, the scene gave me nice warmth; my sister totally wrecking him at Mario Kart with his aunt and my mother catching up and conversing like they were still in high school.

It could’ve also been our first sleepover (not counting the ones we’d have as kids). It was my turn to choose what marathon and I chose Star Trek, much to Peter’s chagrin.

“You’ve never watched The Next Generation?”

“There’s no way will it be better than Star Wars.”

“You are ridiculous!” I utter as I slip the disc in.

A few hours in I could tell he was enjoying himself, so I nudge at his ribcage and look up to him with a pleased grin.

“Star Wars is still better,” he mutters.

Thus started a four-hour long debate with no resolution. It resulted with us on opposite ends of the couch, cross-armed and not talking to each other. That went on for a while with both of us stealing glances to check if the other was close to cracking. Over the span of an episode we ended up inching our way back, meeting each other halfway; literally but not figuratively. That debate is still not resolved to this day. We eventually fell asleep curled up together and my mom wasn’t going to wake us up to send him home that late.

From there, we slept over at each other’s homes whenever and got really close. When we’d hang out he’d always have an arm around my shoulder while marathoning and I’d curl into his side. We’ve fallen asleep countless times with my head nuzzled in the crook of his neck and his head resting on mine. Whenever we’d go places together in the outside world, I’d jump onto his back and we’d always hug each other for pictures and selfies.

All the physical affections were isolated incidents the first few times but became natural overtime. So we never stopped and it rose exponentially from there. We were so close that I wasn’t even surprised when I’d come home from a dance class to find him already studying in my room with the books already laid out on my bed, but for some reason he was still jumpy sometimes when I’d be waiting for him in his room. It goes without saying that there was evidence of our friendship all over our rooms; his hoodie slung over the back of my desk chair, my baseball cap hanging off his lamp, his biology text book laying on my night table, the list goes on, at that point we gave up on trying to return each other’s stuff.

Eventually, we got so close that from an outside perception we could easily be mistaken as a couple. There have been a few incidents where we studied really late and mistakenly wore each other’s clothes to school.

“Hey Peter, isn’t that hoodie a little short for you?”

“Did your mathlete shirt somehow grow in the laundry?”

We stared at each other wide eyed in embarrassing realization for a few seconds before laughing at our predicament. It wasn’t super obvious since my new wardrobe was basically the same as his. Except sometimes he was better dressed like when he wore button down shirts or nice sweaters. I usually just wore cardigans or hoodies over a loose t-shirt with a pair of jeans or leggings and sneakers. There was this one time where Peter found all my old clothes, which I didn’t have the heart to throw out, and asked me why I never wore them. I told him what I was wearing was just more comfortable. This was before we got as close as we are now but the subject never came up again, so I never told him why I had my change of heart.

Aside from having the other person’s crap all over our rooms, there was the previously mentioned physical aspect to our relationship. Most of these occurrences were accidents at first but soon became habits. Definitely never doing any of this at school, but when going out and in our natural home habitats, we started holding hands, giving each other quick pecks and I started to walk with my arms enveloping one of his around the elbow while smushing my face on his shoulder.

Peter had been wanting to see the dance center I take lessons at so I took him to Manhattan where it was located. Being used to walking the streets downtown, I’m an expert jaywalker, but Peter being the good boy he is, liked to wait for the lights to give the go.

“Come on, there are six seconds left! We can make it if we sprint!” I tugged at his arm.

“Not happening, Y/N, we won’t ma- gah!”

He stumbled a bit as I grabbed his hand and dragged us across the street with oncoming traffic. He looked totally petrified, probably thinking I was going to get us both killed. He was probably about to lecture me about why I shouldn’t jaywalk when I cut him off, “See? one second to spare we’re fine!”

I continued to lead the way down the side walk when I suddenly realized we were holding hands. I became really self-conscious about it and stayed quiet the rest of the way but he didn’t let go until it was time for me to attend the class.

The second time we held hands, Peter took me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for my seventeenth birthday because I had been dying to go ever since I missed the school field trip due to being sick, which also ruined my perfect attendance record (I’m still sour about that). We were waiting in line for the pyramid exhibit and he had gotten a call from his aunt but I was so excited when it was our turn that I caught his wrist to pull him out of his daze. When he took a step forward, my hand slid down to his hand. He stiffened at first, making me all self-conscious again and my cheeks flamed up. Thinking he was probably freaked out by it, I started to loosen my grip but he simply laced his fingers through mine and continued walking.

That day was also the first time he kissed me (don’t get the wrong idea here kids). If it were up to me I would’ve spent the entire day there till closing time but Peter insisted we had to go back to my apartment, Aunt May saying there was some sort of emergency. Little did I know, while Peter took me to the Met, my mother and May had been setting up a surprise party back at home. I didn’t see anyone when I first walked through the door, so I made my way to the kitchen with Peter in tow.

“Mom, I’m home! What’s the emerge-”

“Surprise!”

I’m not a huge fan of surprises, but this was pretty great. Being a total spazz however, my hand quickly left Peter’s and went up to rub my forehead where I had smacked it on the kitchen doorframe. The pain subsidized quickly after seeing my family, Macey and May with their hands thrown up in the air over the table that was covered with decorations and food, including a cake that my sister baked. The party wouldn’t have been complete without my sister shoving my face in the cake immediately after I blew out the candles. Macey had to leave early, thus, I opened the presents with a face full of cake and icing. Not before making sure everyone else had icing on their faces as well. When it was Peter’s turn, I side hugged him and just full on smashed the side of my face on his. After opening Macey’s gift and thanking her, I walked her to the door to say good bye. I was happily surprised that Macey and Peter got along well during the party. While we alone, she not-so-subtly asked if he and I were secretly dating.

“Am I imagining things, or were you guys holding hands when you walked in?”

“What?! No,” I panicked. She raised an eyebrow, to tell me she wasn’t buying any of the bullshit I was selling, “I mean yes, but, it’s not what you think.”

“You guys are totally dating! Why didn’t you tell me?!” she gushed.

“We-we are not!” I yell-whispered as I took her outside and close the door behind me.

A shit-eating grin spread across her face, “Oh really? So you wouldn’t mind if he took someone else to prom next year?”

“Well, that’s kind of far away to even start thinking about, isn’t it?” Peter and I usually skipped out on the school dances, but I hadn’t really thought about prom. My mom would have my head on a stake if I didn’t go to prom. I figured Peter and I would go together but not together.

“That’s interesting, because I heard that after breaking up with her douche bag boyfriend, Liz is looking for a really nice guy. One who could clean up nicely in a suit. Particularly an adorable geek who’s had his eye on her since freshman year,” she drawled on, “of course she won’t make the first move, but if you’re telling me that you are 100% fine with it, I’ll tell her to go for it. She would never go for someone’s boyfriend, she’s not a man-stealer.”

“He is not my boyfriend!” I denied, “And everyone has had their eye on her since freshman year; she’s Liz Allan!”

“Whatever you say,” she sang, “don’t worry, I won’t give Liz the green card just yet.”

There was no way I was going to convince her so I rolled my eyes and hugged her goodbye before returning inside to open the rest of the gifts and eating cake. My mother sister and May had cleaned their faces already but Peter still had some icing on the side of his cheek and my face was still a complete mess.

I went to the bathroom with Peter, handed him a facecloth and wiped myself clean. I started laughing when I noticed that he kept missing a spot under his jaw even though he was standing right in front of the mirror.

“What’s so funny?”

“You keep missing it,” I giggled. I took a step towards him and pointed at the spot, which was utterly hopeless, so he handed me the cloth. I hesitated for a moment when I realized how close we were standing. Normally it wouldn’t bother me; I was used to Ned teasing us, but for some reason Macey’s words kept running through my head. I had to do something to fend off the awkwardness in my head and licked the icing off his jaw. Clearly not having thought it through, I didn’t mean for it to be sexy or anything. He jumped back in shock and I couldn’t help but bursting out in laughter.

He open and closed his mouth a few time to protest against what I had done, but I guess he couldn’t find the words so he picked me up and swung me around. As he put me back down I knocked my head on the towel rack in the same area as earlier and winced. Peter being Peter, became a nervous wreck and apologized profusely whilst wrapping his arms around my head and rubbing the small bump that started to swell. I continued to laugh.

“Okay now you must be delirious.”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad Pete,” I mustered out in between giggles.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you need ice,” he planted a quick kiss on the bump and I freeze. Before he could start nervously rambling, I slipped my arms around his waist and buried my face in his chest.

“Thanks for today,” I mumbled into his shirt.

“Any time,” he whispered as he rested his chin on my head. We stayed like that until my mom called us for clean up.

From there on out everything just kind of flowed.

Which brings us to present day along with the crippling realization that I had fallen for my best friend. Typical, I know. I don’t know when it happened or when I started noticing, but it just hit me like a ton of bricks as we speak.

After the rush of winter semester midterms and University applications, here we are lying on Peter’s bed listening to music. He’s sitting with his back against the headboard, bobbing his head and fiddling with my hair while my head rests on his lap and I drum my fingers on his stomach. I hate admit it as much as Peter hates to admit how much he secretly enjoys romcoms, but they weren’t kidding when they said all that crap about the love songs making sense. Maybe not “making sense” so much as having something, or someone, to relate it to.

Ever since my birthday this summer, what Macey said has been stuck in my brain. I have been repressing the hell out of it and it’s all crashing down on me now. I’m having one of those rewind moments where I’m tracing my steps back through the past few months to see where I let myself fall like a penguin trying to fly. I’m tracking how all the things we always do make me feel, for lack of a better word: different. My breath stuttered whenever he’d give me peck on my temple before running off, my heart raced whenever he took my hand, I’d get goose bumps when he traced random patterns on my back or arms. I found myself having an overall feeling of extra-lovely warmth that wasn’t there before when he was around and felt cold after he was gone.

“You okay?” as he asks this I realize that I stopped drumming and he must have noticed. Good thing he can’t hear how much my heart rate spiked, because I can hear it pounding in my ears.

“Y-yeah,” I manage to stammer out and remember what Macey said, “So, who are you taking to prom?” I see the tip of his ears turn pink.

“Well, ehm.. I haven’t really thought about it.”

This sends me into a nervous ramble, “Really? It’s in a couple of months and most people already have a date. Haven’t you noticed all the prom-posals around school?”

“Not real-”

“And most girls already have their dresses picked out.”

“Do you have your dress? Or a date?” his question stops me dead in my tracks.

“W-well no, and no, but um,” my rambling continues, “don’t wait too long to ask someone, or else someone else might ask them first,” I can’t stop my downwards spiral, “I heard from Macey that Liz doesn’t have a date yet, you should totally ask her.”

Oh my lord I’m a train wreck.

“Y-you think I should go with her? Would she even say yes to someone like me?”

“Yeah. Yes. You should. Macey also said Liz was kind of interested, in a way that I would interpret her saying yes to you. But um, you know, maybe you should talk to her first.”

It’s like I can see myself in the train wreck I’ve made of myself.

“I don’t think it’s going to happen,” he mutters.

“Oh come on, Peter, you’ve been ogling Liz forever,” I roll my eyes.

“You’re serious about this? What are you going to do for a date?” he takes a serious tone.

I sit up and face him, “Yes you are asking her. Stop being a chicken. As for the other matter, I don’t need a date.”

Can I please unsay all this?

“Oh, so you don’t need a date but I do?”

“Why are you pushing this? You’re infatuated with her, I don’t see the problem here!” my voice raises.

“The problem is,” he stops and clenches his fists.

I let out an impatient huff. I don’t know why I’m acting like this, it’s like I can’t stop it. Peter is always so patient with me and I’m usually just as patient but there’s so much going on my mind right now.

“Never mind,” he looks away.

“No, say it,” I press him.

“No! It doesn’t matter.”

I stand up and snap, “Stop lying to me! We’re not supposed to lie to each other. You always leave abruptly or cancel our plans last minute and then you look like you got the absolute crap beaten out of you the next day, and I doubt Tony Stark has you doing all those things as part of an internship,” I start packing my things into my backpack. I know I’m being unreasonable and suddenly changing the subject to be angry at something completely different, yet I can’t stop it at this point.

“Wait! I-I can explain,” he stands up frantically, placing a hand on my shoulder and turns me around to face him.

“What?”

“I, I” he opens and closes his mouth as if to say something, perhaps the truth. I guess I won’t know, because instead he looks down at his feet and says no louder than a whisper, “I can’t.”

The sound of his voice cracking paired up with the overwhelming amount of emotions, I can feel the sting of tears pricking at the back of my eyelids.

I will not cry. Not here, not now.

I swallow back the tears and coldly shrug his hand off my shoulder as I slip on the straps of my backpack. I only stop for a second to see Peter frozen, looking at me through his long eyelashes whilst his head still faces downwards. The sight makes my heart break. All I want to do is rush over to him, bury my face into his chest and tell him that I understand and forgive him, but I can’t. So I leave, closing his room door behind me.

It must have taken him a moment to process since we rarely fight. Ss I press the elevator button, I hear his front door burst open and Peter calls after me. He soon catches up, stopping right next to me to catch his breath. I plaster a stoic look on my face and stare at the unopened elevator doors, hoping he can’t hear how loud my heart is pounding.

“Look at me,” he pleads, turning me to face him with a hand on my shoulder like he did before. I refuse to meet those big brown eyes of his, knowing I’ll crack if I do. Instead I look down at the tips of our shoes that are only inches apart. “Please just trust me,” he pleads, bending down and angling his neck so his face is in front of mine. “Please.”

He’s got me trapped in his gaze and I follow it up as he straightens himself. I suddenly take notice of how our noses almost touch and how much I want to close the distance between us as the “ding” of the elevator drags me back to reality.

I shake my head, eyes closed to fight the tears and barely whisper, “I can’t,” my voice just as sad as his was when he said the same thing earlier.

I catch a glimpse of Peter through the closing elevator doors. He stands there frozen, staring at his hand as though I’d burned it. The tears spill out as soon as the doors close and I immediately wipe at them furiously so there’s no trace left when I get out.

This night will go down in the history of my life as one of the worst, my insomnia seems to be kicked into hyper drive because all I can do is replay the two seconds of the closing elevator doors. Laying on my own bed, I stare at the glowing stars on my ceiling but all I see are Peter’s soft features contorted in pain. Part of me wants to call him and tell him everything will be okay but the other part is hurt that he doesn’t care about our friendship enough to tell me what the hell is going on with him. That part of me also feels guilty. What kind of best friend am I that the kindest soul I’ve ever met can’t trust me.

Peter has been there for me throughout all of my now less frequent, but used to be almost daily anxiety attacks. It might seem out of character for him to be the calm and collected one, since in public he appears to be the awkward, bumbling geek. In reality, he was the one who made me feel safe; my rock. I can count on my hands the amount of times I’ve cried in the time that I’ve known Peter and he was there for all of them. Even a strong, independent young woman such as myself has moments of weakness. He was always able to calm me with his soft voice and soothing gestures.

The first time Peter witnessed one of my attacks was at school. We had barely started hanging out, mostly studying in the library and I had just started eating with him and Ned at their lunch table. It was the hands down one the most stressful days in my high school career with a test in every class and an oral presentation during last period was the awful cherry on the panic sundae.

I was re-reading my notes in front of Peter who was sitting with his chin resting on his fist with his elbow on the table. I was halfway through my speech and noticed he was staring right at me, or right through me. I turned around to see Liz Allen giggling wither her friends behind me and chuckled when I turned back to Peter who seemed to have snapped out of his daze, “Earth to Casanova Parker.”

He realized who I was referring to, “What?! No- It’s not-”

“You mean you weren’t just staring at Liz Allen?” I purposely said a little too loud for Peter’s comfort.

“Shhhhh! N-no-”

“Of course not,” I smirked, “now will you please time me, I was ten seconds over when I practiced last night and I am not letting that get in the way of my perfect term grade. Honestly, public speaking terrifies me and was my weakness. I did well in language classes up until it was time for presentations.

As our short break was coming to an end, the fear of speaking in front of people and the sleep-deprivation along with all the information crammed into my brain was getting to me.

"Are you okay?” Peter asked as he looked down at the index cards shaking in my hands.

“Y-yes, yeah I’ll be fine,” I stammered, “I think I just need to go to the bathroom to breathe a bit.”

I made my way to the bathroom with Peter following close behind, clearly not buying my crap about being fine. I tried to keep it together until I could get to the bathroom but I sprinted through the last hallway and flung the door open so fast it slammed against the wall. My hands started shaking uncontrollably and I felt the horrible familiar tightening around my chest that made my breaths short and ragged. Thanks to the warning bell, the bathroom was empty leaving the echoes of my unsteady breathing to be the only noise. I sank down behind the door, not caring if it hit me if someone came in, with my back against the wall and my head resting on my knees. Like most of my anxiety attacks, I felt like I was going to die. I tried to steady my breathing with no avail and started to panic more when the bell rang meaning I was late for class. My vision became blurred by tears welling up and my throat ran dry while tried to hold back a sob. Hearing everything but nothing at once, I felt like m head was going to explode so. After what could’ve been either a few minutes or an hour Peter burst in the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

“Where are you?!” he frantically looked through all the stalls before noticing my disheveled figure sitting in fetal position on the floor.

He tossed his bag and books on the floor and knelt down, placing a hand on my knee. I jolted up in surprise but relaxed a bit when I saw who it was. Up until then Peter usually got all nervous and didn’t know what he was doing, but this is when I first saw the side of him that would later become my rock. He only hesitated for a moment after seeing what a wreck I was; random hairs had been pulled out of my ponytail and my face was a mess of tears and redness.

“I want you to look at me,” he requested in the softest voice I’ve ever heard as he took my hands which were balled up into fists with my nails dug into my palms, “breathe with me okay?”

It’s like I was brought back down to Earth when I looked into his eyes and became conscious of what I must look like, which kicked it up to hyperventilation. “Slow down, just take a breath when I do,” he started to take deep breaths and I tried to follow. I started to relax, my grip loosened and my breaths only had a slight hiccup. When I became more stable he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me up to my feet. As soon as he began to pull away though, my knees wobbled and I collapsed into him. He didn’t even miss a step, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and rubbing slow circles on my shoulder with his thumb while I had my face pressed to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled into his shirt.

He pulled away, holding me steady by my shoulders, “What was that?”

“I’m sorry, I ruined your shirt.”

“Don’t be-” he stopped and peered down, “does that hurt?”

“Does what hurt?” I followed his gaze down and saw my bloody palms with little crescent shaped gashes. “I didn’t even realize,” I started to choke up out of shame. His hands slid down my arms to cup around the backs of my hands.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he curled his grasp around my wrists, careful not to crush my hands and led me to the sinks.

I was still in a bit a daze, so I let him guide me around and stayed silent as he rinsed off my palms and wrapped them up. Apparently he keep bandages in his backpack but I didn’t question it. His hands lingered, keeping my hands nested in one of his as the other traced over my palm.

Reality suddenly came crashing down on me as I started ramble nervously, “My presentation! Oh no, Mr. Matthews is so not going to let me off the hook on this! I’m going to fail, I’ll be booted off the dean’s list, my-”

I was silenced by Peter gently grabbing my shoulders, “Everything is going to be okay, I’ll take care of it.”

Peter scooped up my books, ignoring my protests and explained the situation to the teacher. Mr. Matthews was surprisingly understanding, but didn’t want to shift the presentation schedule around. That’s when Peter stepped up and volunteered to switch presentation slots with me even though he had another day.

“No Peter, you can’t,” I insisted. I wasn’t going to let him go, he was probably just as scared of public speaking as I was.

“It’s only a day. Besides, I finished my speech last week,” he assured me. Before I could tell him to sit back down, he went up and gave his speech.

It was then that it dawned on me how special Peter was. He swallowed his own fear and anxious feelings to make sure that I didn’t completely break down. There was something about him; something heroic.

I’m totally exhausted and barely made it through the week. It already took a lot of energy to avoid Peter considering he’s in most of my classes and extracurricular activities. Of course the universe couldn’t let me get away in peace though.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?” Liz surprises me as I’m closing my locker.

This is exactly what I need right now.

I definitely don’t hate Liz, in fact I do like her and we used to talk since we were in the same crowd, but like everyone save Macey, I haven’t spoken to her since sophomore year. “What’s up?”

She looks around to make sure the hallway is clear of any potential eavesdroppers, “Do you think Peter would want to take me to prom?” when I don’t answer she continues, “Sorry, it’s just that Macey said I should ask you since you’re best friends with him.”

“Uh, well-”

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, he’s probably taking you right? I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, I just think him and I would get along well, but if you two are-”

“No!” I cut her off, putting my hands up for emphasis, “No, were not dating or anything. In fact, I think he would love to go with you. He’s just too shy to ask.”

What the hell is wrong with me?!

“Oh, great!” her eyes brighten with excitement, “There he is right now, I’ll go talk to him. Thank you so much!”

I look back to see Peter walking towards us with an awkward wave. Naturally I bolt, but not before Liz pulls me into a quick and awkward hug.

“Peter! Just the man I was looking for,” she bounds over to him.

“Oh uh- Liz! H-hey!” I hear Peter fumble for his words in the distance. I don’t dare look back while I make my escape to the dance studio.

Despite the fact that I hadn’t slept at all last night, I know that I sure as hell won’t be able to sleep now. Much like Chandler suggested, I dance my troubles away. I’m a little sloppy and slow due to pure exhaustion, but it’s lifting a weight of my shoulders. I’m finishing off with stretches to make sure I won’t be sore later when I hear to studio doors open. Peter walks in with his hands shoved in his pockets and all I can do is stare at him as I continue stretching.

“Mind if I stretch with you?” I don’t say anything in response and go back to stretching. He sets his bag down next to mine and sits next to me, copying my movements. I’ll never understand how he became so flexible. After a few minutes, Peter decides to break the uncomfortable silence, “Liz asked me if I was going to prom with anyone.”

“She asked you to prom?” I say nonchalantly.

“Well, sort of. She kind of asked me to ask her to prom,” he scratches his head, “like strongly suggested that if I asked her she would want to go with me.” When I don’t respond he continues, “So I guess I’m actually going to prom with Liz Allen. Unbelievable. We’re, um, also going on a date soon.”

My movements stutter only for a split second when he tells me this. It’s like I’ve been hit by a ton of bricks. I finally speak up, “A date, huh? Sounds like you’re pretty serious about her.”

“W-well, you know, were just going to- Hey wait! Where are you going?”

I can’t take it. I want Peter to be happy but right now I’m hurting and for me to be okay, and for us to go back to the way we were I can’t be around him right now. Once I’m over him everything will be okay.

Who am I kidding, I’m not getting over him.

He rushes over to where I’m pulling my sweater over my head and getting ready to go home. He picks up my bag before I can, but I’m so not in the mood for this right now, “Peter, give me my bag.”

“No.”

“Give. Me. My. Bag.” I try to sound threatening but my tone falters near the end.

“No,” he repeats softly, “not until I know you’re okay. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I’m fine,” I reach out to snatch my bag but he moves his arm out of my reach. Damn his reflexes.

“You,” he knits his eyebrows in worry, “are not fine. Don’t even try to lie, I can see the dark circles under your eyes,” I notice the dark circles that rest under his own eyes and I know he didn’t sleep either, “and I need to know that we are okay.”

We stay there, eyes locked, breathing being the only audible sound. Until I can’t stand it anymore. I want my best friend back. I know he wouldn’t dare touch me in fear of me pushing him away again, so the call is mine to make. I crash into him so hard, practically leaping to wrap my arms around his neck. He stumbles back a bit in shock, then drops my bag to the ground to snake his arms around my waist, holding me up so that the tips of my toes barely touch the ground and buries his face in the crook of my neck.

“Gross, Peter. I’m all sweaty,” I mumble into his shoulder.

“Don’t care,” he tightens his arms, “are we still on for Friday night movie marathon at my place?”

“Duh,” I lightly shove him playfully, “don’t be silly.”

Today was Peter’s date with Liz. I spent the last week or so since Peter and I made up slowly distancing myself from him, meaning I haven’t been sleeping much. I blamed it on university applications. He is probably out with her right now, meanwhile I have an interview for a summer internship at Stark Industries. I’m hoping it will continue when I’m at NYU next year since the location is convenient being close to home and all. Peter probably forgot about it since he helped me with my application a while ago.

I dug through my old wardrobe and matched a navy summer dress with a light grey cardigan. I admire my the perfection of my neat bun in the mirror after tucking in a few flyaway strands. I wanted to look nice for the interview and enjoy the warm weather. I’m pretty sure the interview went really well, and I might end up working alongside Peter during the summer. I walk out of the building with a sense of confidence when I bump into someone.

“Peter?” he looks just as surprised to see me here.

“What are you-” an expression of realization crosses his face, “Oh right! How was the interview? I bet you did great! You look…” he looks me up and down.

“What? Is my hair messed up? Do I have something in my-”

“No! Not at all! You look,” I swear his cheeks get a little bit of a blush, “wow. I-I mean good- you look good.”

This in turn makes my cheeks turn bright pink. “Thanks Pete,” I giggle. I suddenly remember his date, “aren’t you supposed to be out with Liz right now?”

“Uh, yeah,” he runs a hand through his hair, “it was earlier, but um, it ended.”

“Oh, alright. You wanna hang out? Did Mr. Stark call you in for something important?”

“Yeah, but if you don’t mind waiting it shouldn’t be long,” he smiles.

With a smile and nod I walk over the cafe across the street.

I’m just about finished my cup when Peter waves at me through the window. I can’t help but smile at how cute he looks in his two-toned short-sleeved button down and simple blue jeans. “We kind of match.”

Looks down at his outfit, then back to me, “Yeah we do,” he chuckles, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

“I know you’re my biggest fan and all, but you’ve got to stop copying me,” I laugh as I hand him the coffee I got him. He presses a hand to his chest in mock-hurt before taking the cup and thanking me. I hadn’t really noticed before how toned his arms had become since he usually wore sweaters or cardigans over his t-shirts.

“I forgot,” he slides his hand into his pocket as I loop my arm around his elbow, “Aunt May is out of town for the weekend so I have to go grocery shopping. It was last minute, so she didn’t have time to go.”

“Sure I’ll go with you. Maybe I should also supervise your cooking since it didn’t go so well last time,” I poke at him.

“It wasn’t that bad…”

All I do is look up at him with my eyebrows raised and an offended expression take over his face.

“The muffins didn’t turn out that bad,” he tries to reason.

“You’re lucky the fire department wasn’t called,” I smirk.

“Yeah, well,” he searches for a comeback while tossing his empty cup in a nearby trash bin. He can’t seem to find a reply so he settles on pinching my cheek with his free hand.

“Hey!” I can feel my cheeks turn red from the pinch. Possibly also from the contact.

“You,” he grins, “are adorable with a blush on those soft cheeks of yours.”

I stick my tongue out at him as his fingers release their grasp and he throws his head back, laughing in triumph. Are we flirting? Peter Parker flirting with me. We’re best friends; we tease each other all the time. I’m probably over thinking it because of my feelings so I push the thought to the back of my head.

We both laugh the rest of the way to the subway station and listen to music off my phone while we wait. We sit in the same position we were walking in; his hands in his pockets with my arms loosely looped around one of his, but my head rests on his shoulder and our legs are pressed together. I find myself staring off into space. I probably wouldn’t have noticed that the subway had arrived if it weren’t for Peter sliding his hand out of his pocket and taking my hand, tugging me along.

We take our seats still connected by our hands and earphones. I lean into him to resume the way we were sitting before, this time with our intertwined hands resting on his lap. He strokes up and down my thumb with his, the soothing gesture making my eyelids feel heavy. I could be imagining things, but I swear I felt him press a soft kiss to my hair line as I doze off.

I wake up to Peter gently squeezing my hand and softly repeating my name, “Y/N. We get off on the next stop.”

I lift my head off his shoulder and blush when I realize I had fallen asleep. I look up at Peter who tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear and turn to face an elderly woman with kind eyes beaming at me.

“This is my new friend, Ruth,” Peter gestures towards her.

I introduce myself to her and shake her hand before Peter and I stand up to exit the cart, having arrived at our stop. She bids us a lovely day on our way out.

“What was that all about?” I ask Peter as we walk through the automated doors of the local grocery store.

“Made a new friend,” he smiles, “she kept me company while you were being a sleepy head.”

“Sorry,” I chuckle, “haven’t been getting much of break from my old friend, insomnia.”

“So, where do we start?”

Face him with a big grin on my face, “Grab a cart.”

Grocery shopping with Peter is a blast. I’m surprised we didn’t get caught fooling around with the grocery cart, taking turns pushing each other and running through the aisles. His aunt left him some money and a shopping list for some food items with a bit of extra cash for some goodies of our choosing.

Once we had calmed down a bit and actually started collecting the food, I see one of the girls I dance with is shopping with her mother. She smiles and motions for me over.

“Be right back,” I let go of Peter’s hand and make my way to go greet her.

After a quick exchange of hugs and after I’ve introduced myself to her mother, she immediately leans in closer to me and gushes, “Is that your boyfriend? You didn’t tell me you had such a cute guy in your life. You guys are so adorable!”

My face must have turned into the same color as the tomatoes her mother was picking out, “Oh, oh, Peter? He’s not my- We’re just-”

“The cutest thing ever?!” She hadn’t seen Peter yet since she was new to the group but all the other girls had talked about the pair of us, constantly teasing me. “And he’s coming over right now!”

My face somehow turns a few shades darker when I spin around to see Peter approaching with the cart. While I’m too flustered to properly process what’s going on, she sticks a hand out and introduces herself. They make small talk for a few minutes, Peter shoving his hands in and out his pockets and occasionally running a hand through his hair out of sheer awkwardness. Her mother calls her over a few aisles and she bids us goodbye, walking away giggling.

“I think we have everything,” I say, hoping my face has returned to a normal color. Peter and I stroll over to check out and walk over to his apartment.

Cooking with Peter turns into a huge mess since neither of us quite know what we’re doing. “We have two of the highest GPA’s in the area, I’m sure we can figure this out,” I try to reassure him as I nearly sliced my thumb off two seconds ago. I generally don’t spend much time in the kitchen other than eating, but I know how to bake pretty well. Which is why I decided to let Peter take care of the cooking while I bake cupcakes. Okay, well more like he laid out all the ingredients for me and would not let me near the knife again.

Peter is horrible at baking considering he nearly burned down the kitchen last time, but not a bad cook. Actually, the food he prepared is surprisingly decent.

“So your date? How was it?”

“Good,” he smiles and then quickly changes the subject, “How’s my cooking?”

“Not bad Parker,” I grin.

“You’re too kind,” he chuckles sarcastically.

Finishing that off and cleaning up, it’s time to ice the cupcakes. I’m not as great of a pastry chef as my little sister, but I still like to get artsy with the decorating. We decorate in a comfortable silence, quietly passing the tubes of different colored frosting back and forth. I finish off my fourth cupcake, add it to the plate of decorated pastries and realize that mine are the only ones there. I glance over to see Peter attempt to draw something that just ends up looking like a blob.

“Having some trouble there champ?”

“No,” his brow creases in frustration as he struggles to squeeze the icing out of the bag.

I chuckle, “You don’t need to squish the bag so hard,” I lean over and place my hands over his, “relax a little.” He hesitates for a moment before letting me loosen his grip and apply a light pressure to the bag, “See? Just go with the flow.”

I let go and watch him finish cupcake. It looks like a blob surrounded by smaller blobs. “What is that supposed to be?”

He looks at me incredulously, “It’s a heart.”

“And what are those?” I motion to the little blobs.

“They’re little hearts,” he scratches his head.

I laugh as he sets his cupcake next all my other ones with a pouty face. I grab my tube and dab some icing on his nose in an attempt to wipe the frown off his face. He looks at the pink dollop cross-eyed which only makes me laugh more. He wipes it off his nose with a finger and tries to bop it on mine. I push his hand and he ends up smearing it across my cheek instead.

“This means war, Parker,” I giggle while spattering icing of every color all over his face. He does nothing to stop me and ends up looking like a rainbow threw up on his face. “Ah yes, my greatest masterpiece,” I sigh, licking the icing off my fingers. I’m about to swab some off his cheek when he grabs my wrist and pulls me into a hug, squishing his face to my cheek. “Peter!” I yelp as try to wiggle out of his clutches.

“Oh good,” he pulls back to admire his work, “I didn’t get any on your dress.”

“Meh,” I shrug indifferently, “I have other clothes here anyways.”

“But I like your dress. You look really nice today,” I blush from the compliment which sends him into a nervous ramble, “ I remember you used to dress like that before and I know you still keep all those clothes at the back of your closet, how come you never wear any of it?” I look down remembering I never told him about any of this, “I-it’s just that I was wondering because- It’s not that you don’t always look nice- I think you always look great- I just always thought you hated wearing dresses or something-” he takes a deep breath, “Sorry I’m babbling-”

“It’s fine,” I look up to him, “I’ve ever told you about it.”

I lean back with an elbow on the counter and tell him my reasons for ditching my old friends and style. “I love wearing both my old style and whatever I wear now, but no one takes you seriously; I’m just another pretty face otherwise.” Peter stays quiet and lets me go on, “That’s why I always have my hair up and wear clothes that drown out my form, I’m tired of being cat-called in the streets or being groped at parties; I definitely don’t miss any of those,” I laugh a bit at the last part, averting my eyes in an effort to combat the awkwardness I felt in confessing all this. “I know it sounds ridiculous-”

“Not at all,” he interjects. He takes a long step towards me and I tilt my head up realizing that we stand less than a foot away from each other, “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”

“I didn’t think you’d understand the first time you asked about it,” I notice that he’s slowly inching closer, “I guess it just never came up again.” He’s leaning down, our noses are barely two inches apart. He probably doesn’t even notice. “We should probably finish decorating the cupcakes and clean this up, or finals will be the least of your worries,” I awkwardly laugh and busy myself with the cupcakes. He hesitantly goes back to decorating.

After his third cupcake, Peter gives up on icing. He watches me from across the counter with both his elbows on the counter top and his face in between his hands. “If you’re just going to watch me, maybe you should clean yourself up,” I giggle, the dried frosting on my face cracking. He laughs at this and disappears to the bathroom.

Peter comes back just as I’m adding the final touches on the last cupcake with a wash cloth in one hand. I barely notice that he’s wiping my cheek, being concentrated on the marble design I’m trying to achieve. I can’t help but let out a giggle as I place the last cupcake on the platter; seeing the obvious difference between my work and Peter’s. I offer him one the cupcakes I made and he devours it almost immediately, “This is the best cupcake I’ve ever had,” he gestures to me, “you need one too.”

I take a moment to observe the options and settle on the first cupcake Peter decorated. I flash him a cheeky grin as I show him my choice before eating it.

We clean up the mess we’ve made in the kitchen and settle down on the couch with the cupcakes among other sweets covering the coffee table and a movie playing on the television.

“About earlier,” Peter breaks the silence, “you said you had to hide your beauty for people to take you seriously-”

“I didn’t say I was beautiful,” I stop him, hoping I hadn’t come off as that vain.

“No, but,” he pauses for a moment, “you shouldn’t care what people think. You have one of the highest grade point averages in the school, you’re incredibly talented and you should be able to do all that and be confident regardless of your appearance.”

All I can do is stare at him. Say something. I can feel the heat rising up to my cheeks.

He scoots closer to me, “I noticed you dressed differently, but it didn’t even occur to me that you were trying to hide your beauty because-” he stops short to take a deep breath, “Because I think you are always beautiful.”

My face feels like it’s on fire. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” I look away and cover my cheeks with my hands.

“No,” his hand reaches up to gently tug elastic off my head, letting my hair cascade down in loose waves created by my bun. I let my hands drop from my face to my sides and study his face as he tucks a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “Your hair’s gotten so long,” he says quietly while sliding his finger all the way down the strand of hair as though to measure how long it is.

I am totally frozen. Shit.

He raises his hand back up to push more hair that has fallen over my face. His hand slowly comes to a halt, cupping the side of my face. He scans my features, “I’m not just saying that.”

I try to resist the urge but our faces are so close I let my gaze quickly diverge to his lips and then to my shaking hand. I’m so far gone, my heart is pounding in my chest and I try to steady my shaking hand by balling it up. Peter sees this and takes my hand in his free one. My hand relaxes almost instantly. My eyes barely have time to look back up at him before I feel him press his lips on mine. It’s quick, but gentle. He pulls back and releases his hold when he sees that my eyes are wide in shock.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-” he turns back to face the TV and curses himself out, “Shit! I’m such an idiot,” he mutters under his breath, burying his head in his hands.

There are so many feelings circulating within me, the most prominent one being joy and I can’t contain a giggle when I acknowledge the possibility that he might feel the same way I do. Hearing me, it’s his turn to widen his eyes and become totally confused. Feeling a rush of confidence, I reach out, grab the collar of his shirt and slowly pull him back up to brush my lips over his.

He starts to ask, “What are you-” I cut him off with a kiss. A long one.

It takes him a moment to react. He kisses me back and he puts his hands on either side of my face. Shakily at first, but they steady and become firm as he deepens the kiss. I pull back to catch my breath and rest my forehead against his. I peek up to see his eyes are still closed and a slow breath escapes his slightly parted lips. “Wow,” he sighs, opening his eyes. I let out a small laugh as I snake my arms around his neck.

He slides his warm hands slide down my neck where he pauses to push my hair off my shoulders, proceeding to smooth it down until he reaches the small of my back and pulls me closer. Just as he tilts his head and closes his eyes to kiss me again, I remember that he was just out with the most sought after girl in the school earlier today. “Peter,” I draw my face away from his a few inches, “what about Liz?”

His eyes fly open, “Oh right,” I start to pull back but he holds me firmly in place, “I told her I couldn’t date her or go to prom with her.”

“Why? You’ve had your eye on her for so long,” I ask wandering why he’d ever want me over her.

“But you’re the one I care about,” his grip loosens to give the option to back away, “a lot.” His eyes lower as if he expects me to leave. Fat chance.

I jolt forward, crashing my lips into his. He moans out of surprise at first, then tightens his arms around me. I move my legs onto his lap so that we can somehow be even closer than before, our torsos fully pressed together. I let my fingers roam through his hair and deepen the kiss. Things get heated but remain mellow and soft at the same time.

Eventually, we need to take a breather. Peter leans back into the couch, pulling me with him by my waist. I lay my head on his shoulder and plant a quick kiss on the crook of his neck before nuzzling into it. He brings a hand up to stroke my hair as he softly presses his lips to my forehead.

“I really like your hair,” he whispers, “you should leave it down more often.”

“Maybe I’ll start wearing clothes that don’t always look like pajamas as well,” I murmur into his neck, “speaking of, I want to take this dress off.”

“Uh…” I look up and see Peter’s face is beet red.

“N-not like that!” I panic, “I meant pajamas! It’s pretty late,” I point that the clock indicating that it’s almost midnight. Wow. We had been kissing for a bit over an hour. I stand up with the shade of my cheeks matching his, “Mind out of the gutter Peter Parker!”

I’d be lying if I said that I am currently not the most flustered I’ve ever been in my life. I am in love with my best friend who is the person I trust the most and am closest to, but I don’t want to rush into things. I want to take it slow; at our own pace.

He laughs nervously as he stands up to take my hand and lead me to his room where he hands me one of his t-shirts and a pair of leggings I had forgotten here. I go to the bathroom to change while he changes in his bedroom. I make my way back to his room to leave my clothes with my purse on his desk. Assuming that he would take less time than I would to get changed, I end up walking in on him with his shirt stuck and his arms in the air.

“You’re supposed to unbutton the shirt genius,” I quip as I step closer to undo the rest of the buttons and pull his shirt off.

“I got lazy,” he laughs. I become immobile when my attention is brought to the fact that Peter is toned, shirtless and right in front of me; we’re talking only a few inches separating our bodies. I can’t help but let my eyes wander over every inch of his torso, memorizing how small shadows were cast in the small dips between muscles, a few thin outlines of healing scratches and scars that never would, every angle; every detail. Just like I had done with every feature of his face over time. He flushes noticing that I’m basically checking out his half naked body, but just stands still other than lightly shivering under my slightly cold fingers that brush over some fading bruises on his abdomen.

“What the hell did you do?” I say quietly, “Who did this to you?"He puts his hand over mine and guides it up to his lips to press a kiss to my palm before swiftly throwing a t-shirt on. I approach him once again, lifting his shirt and shamelessly examining the brown and purple marks that stain his pale skin, "I’m serious, what is this?”

He sighs, recalling our last big fight, “Please, today was perfect,” he cups a hand around my jaw, looping his index behind my ear, “I don’t want us to fight; especially not now,” he plants a kiss on my forehead, “I promise I will tell you really soon, just not now. Please trust me.”

I find myself lost in his warm eyes. Peter must have a good reason for not telling me, so I decide to hold him to his promise and let it go for the time being. My arms wrap around his neck and press the side of my head to his chest. His heart beats fast but steady. His hand wind around my waist to pull me into a tight hug as he buries his face into my neck.

I figure that if he was brave enough to kiss me first I should have enough courage to tell him how I feel “Peter,” I begin.

“Hmmm?” he hums in my ear.

“I-I,” just say it, “I love you.”

“What?” he pulls back and gazes at me with an unreadable expression. I have no idea whether he feels the same or if I just freaked him out.

“I-I said,” I stutter, “I’m in love with you.”

He leans closer, “What?” he whispers with a shit-eating grin plastered on.

“Not saying it again, you heard me that time,” I frown.

He lifts me off my feet and kisses me passionately. He literally swept me off of my feet. I’m breathless when he sets me down and says, “I love you too.”

It’s like a tsunami of both joy and confusion hits me in that moment. How long has he felt this way; I thought he liked Liz since freshman year. “I thought you liked Liz; you’ve been ogling her for the longest time.”

“W-well I did,” he rubs the back of his neck, “but a long time ago, haven’t since. ”

“I caught you staring at her just the other day at lunch,” I deadpan.

“I wasn’t looking at her…” My jaw drops.

“You were- Wait- Me?” I point at myself in disbelief. Had I really missed all the signs? I knew we were really affectionate, but the more I reflect, the more I realized how blurred the lines of our friendship have been.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “but I couldn’t very well tell you that, now could I?”

“Why didn’t you?” I pout.

“I had no way of knowing how you felt about me, and I value our friendship too much to risk it. Not to mention that you are- well you. ”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I raise an eyebrow, “Am I that scary?”

“Sometimes,” he grins, “I’m Peter Parker; the geek and you are- well you’re considered to be way out of my league. It took a major confidence boost to kiss you back there.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“So am I.”

I push myself onto my tip toes and smile into the kiss I press to his lips.

“What does that make us now?” I ask him as we snuggle into each other on the couch back in front of the television.

“Best friends? I guess- I don’t know,” he starts to panic a bit.

“Let’s just go with the flow,” I smile, softly repeating my words from earlier and he instantly relaxes.

“Go with the flow,” he repeats in a whisper as his lips gently kiss my temple.

#peter parker x reader #spider-man: homecoming #spider-man #peter parker #peter parker imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #potatowrites #tom holland imagine #spider-man x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #spider-man imagine #cringe #like real bad #just a pretty face #my writing

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nitewrighter · 8 years ago

Note

#26 symmetra and pharah

Okay since it’s march, I’m probably going to switch gears and put out a different prompt list, but I feel like this one’s a good note to end on for the Valentine’s day prompts. I think I’m going to do something different this time and have the first couple paragraphs of the fic out for a preview, and then the rest under a cut.

26. Date gone completely awry

———-

“So charming,” said Ana, straightening Pharah’s tie and collar. “Oh—hold on.” She grabbed a loose eyelash that was on Pharah’s cheekbone, then thumbed away the specs of mascara that were there behind it. She took a few steps back. “Okay, now stand up straight.” Pharah scoffed and smiled a little and straightened her back and struck a bit of a pose. Ana covered her mouth with her hands and her one remaining eye sparkled. “Oh ḥabībtá,” she said, and then gasped a little, “Reinhardt can you—?” Reinhardt was at her side in a second, handing her a camera.

“Mum,” Pharah said with a roll of her eyes, as Ana took pictures of her, “I’ve been on dates before.”

“And I’ve missed so many of them,” said Ana, taking another picture, “Let me be an old fool.”

Pharah snorted and folded her arms, “You keep making a big deal of this and you’re going to jinx it,” she said, with a grin.

“Fareeha—-you don’t still believe in that silly curse, do you?” said Ana.

“Curse?” said D.Va as Reinhardt took his seat back across from her at the virtu-Chess board.

“Oh mum don’t tell them about the—” Pharah started.

“It started back when she was 14,” said Ana and Pharah slapped her forehead.

“I was talking to someone I really liked and I was about to tell them how I felt and…then a bird pooped on me,” said Pharah.

D.Va snorted.

“It was right on my head!” said Pharah, angrily, “How often does that happen? And it kept happening! Age 14: Bird poop. Age 15: my period starts 2 weeks early at a pool party my crush was at! Age 21: My date gets norovirus from the restaurant we were at and I had to spend an hour and a half in a movie theater bathroom while she cried and puked into our popcorn bucket. They call it two exits, no waiting.”

“Well at least it was your date that other time and not you,” said D.Va, moving a chess piece.

“That’s not the point! Every time there’s someone I really like, something goes horribly wrong and they never call me again! So thank you for reminding me, Mum!” Pharah huffed and folded her arms.

Ana just chuckled a little. “It’s going to be fine, ḥabībtá,” she said, dusting off the shoulders of Pharah’s jacket and then cupping Pharah’s face in her hands and forcing Pharah to stoop slightly so she could kiss her forehead.

“I guess…” mumbled Pharah, “Well… we did have the movie night and those other dates—If something could go wrong—it would have gone wrong already, right?”

Ana laughed and gave Pharah a playful punch in the shoulder, “That’s the spirit! Now you go out there and have a great time!”

—-

“This is Fareeha Amari! Callsign ‘Pharah!’ Requesting backup at the Hassoun Gala!” Pharah barked into a comm.

“Jeez, Pharah, the date can’t be going that bad, can it?” McCree sounded over the other end of the comm and Pharah frustratedly held up her comm so that it could capture the sound of gunfire from beyond the overturned table she and Symmetra were hiding behind.

“Talon has hostages! Requesting immediate backup!” said Pharah.

“…You got it, kid, backup’s on the way,” said McCree.

“Of course,” muttered Pharah, reloading the gun she had gotten off of a felled security guard, “Of course Talon attacks tonight. Of course Talon attacks a fancy party thrown by fancy botanists and architects. Of course that happens!”

“…Are you all right?” said Symmetra, glancing up from setting up another sentry turret against the wall where they were entrenched.

“I’m fine,” said Pharah, peeking over the table’s edge but ducking down again as a hail of gunfire flew overhead.

“We must rescue the remaining hostages,” said Symmetra. She glanced at the fallen Talon agent her sentry turrets had dispatched, “If we can break through their main defenses, I can open a teleporter and get the hostages out of the building.”

Pharah glanced over the edge of the table. “They have a chokepoint set up at the ballroom doors,” she said, frowning, “What I wouldn’t give for my armor. Or at least my rocket launcher.”

“And this would be far easier with a photon projector, but none of those were gala-appropriate,” said Symmetra, dusting off her dress.

“At least we look good,” said Pharah, grinning. Symmetra arched an eyebrow, but then smirked.

Pharah grabbed the felled Talon agent by the foot and dragged him behind the table and wrenched the assault rifle from his hands. She held the sidearm out to Symmetra, “You know how to use one of these?”

Symmetra gingerly took the gun from her hands and frowned at the weight of it, “Positively medieval compared to a photon projector,” she pointed and aimed it, “But… yes.”

“Can you get a shield up?” said Pharah, moving into a crouched position. She watched as Symmetra waved a hand over her shoes and the intricate white straps running up her legs and her stilleto heels dematerialized, leaving a relatively plain white peep-toe flat.

“Yes. Give me the signal when ready,” said Symmetra, “Oh—and Fareeha?”

“Yes?” Pharah turned around and was met with a brief kiss on the lips and the light fingers of Symmetra’s prosthetic hand against her face.

“Do try and stay alive out there,” said Symmetra, breaking away.

“Oh…” said Pharah, “U-understood.” Pharah sort of sat there awkwardly for a few seconds.

Symmetra cleared her throat. “Give me the signal whenever you are ready,” she said.

“The signal—Oh! The signal!” said Pharah turning around, “Right…” she peeked out to see the group of Talon agents positioned at the doors of the ballroom. “Hold position,” said Pharah. She watched as two of the guards manning the chokepoint moved to the interior of the ballroom, presumably to deal with an unruly hostage. “Now,” said Pharah, and both rushed out. Symmetra brought up a photon barrier with a wave of her hand as the remaining three guards fired on them, and Pharah ran and gave retaliatory fire, forcing them to the sides of the doorway, but not before Symmetra caught one Talon agent right between the night-vision goggles with a shot from her sidearm.

“Get down!” shouted Pharah and she rolled and downed two Talon agents with two short bursts while Symmetra dispatched the last one at the door’s chokepoint. Pharah pretty much tackled Symmetra to the side of the door as gunfire filled the air and Symmetra gasped hard.

“Fareeha—please tell me you’re still there,” Ana’s voice came over the comm.

“I’m fine, Mum, I—” she glanced over at Symmetra, who was gripping her side, her turquoise dress staining red beneath her hand, “Oh no…” She stumbled forward and helped Symmetra put pressure on the wound.

“I am fine,” Symmetra winced, “A minor setback.”

“Mum—we need a medic here,” said Pharah, taking off her jacket and placing it around Symmetra’s shoulders.

“We’re almost to you. I’m repositioning right now. Is Symmetra well enough to get that teleporter set up?”

“I am,” said Symmetra, struggling to sit up.

“Set it up now,” said Ana.

“But the hostages—” said Pharah.

“We got you covered. Set it up,” McCree said over the Comm. Symmetra inhaled, then flinched from the pain, then brought a projection out of her prosthetic and materialized a teleporter, then produced several sentry turrets around it for good measure.

“Teleporter online,” she said before slumping against the wall, “I…” she exhaled a shuddering breath, “I have opened the path.”

“Hey—stay awake,” Pharah leaned forward and put her hands on Symmetra’s shoulders, “You told me to stay alive so you have to—…”

“Fareeha—” Ana spoke over the comm.

“Mum, now’s seriously not the time—” said Pharah, tucking some of Symmetra’s hair out of her face and keeping pressure on Symmetra’s wound.

“Just move to the left for me, dear,” said Ana.

Pharah scooted to the left. “Why—” she started and then Symmetra suddenly gasped and convulsed as she was hit with a biotic cartridge.

“Just a scratch,” said Ana over the comm, “You’ll be fine.” Symmetra lifted her hand to see that her wound had stopped bleeding. “Sorry for shooting your girlfriend, ḥabībtá,” said Ana.

“She’s not exactly my…” Pharah trailed off, and looked at Symmetra, who just smiled at her with a crinkled brow. Pharah exhaled. “Thank you, Mum,” she said.

“Don’t thank us yet,” said Ana.

“Us?” said Pharah. It was then that Reinhardt and D.Va emerged from the teleporter.

“Get behind me!” said Reinhardt, projecting his shield.

“You’d better get out of the way!” said D.Va, rocketing forward in her MEKA in a hail of Talon gunfire.

“Both of you get out of there,” said Ana, “We can take it from here.”

“But the hostages—” Pharah started.

“Gotcha covered,” McCree spoke over the comm, “Y’all know what time it is.”

“Thank you,” said Pharah, scooping her arms under Symmetra bridal-style and then leaping through the teleporter. In a blue flash they found themselves standing in a quiet garden, the Orca hovering nearby. Pharah carried Symmetra onto the Orca and laid her down on the bench there, then walked over and grabbed a MediKit from the opposite wall. She gave Symmetra a quick shot of painkillers to try and keep the shock from setting in, then checked for an exit wound (There was one, no worry about the bullet still being inside,) and began working on bandaging Symmetra up.

“I’m… I’m so sorry about all this,” said Pharah, laying down disinfectant on the wound, causing Symmetra to sharply inhale.

“Either I have lost far too much blood, or you are apologizing for a Talon attack,” said Symmetra as Pharah worked on bandaging her.

“It’s the curse,” muttered Pharah.

“The what?” Symmetra repeated incredulously after her.

“Oh—I—forget I said that. That was silly,” said Pharah.

“Tell me about this curse,” said Symmetra.

“Oh it’s nothing it’s just—” Pharah sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, “Every time I like someone, something goes terribly, terribly wrong. It used to be just silly, embarrassing things, but this is the worst it’s been yet.”

Symmetra scoffed. “You think this,” she gestured at her wound, “Is part of your ‘curse?’”

“…I said it was silly,” said Pharah, glancing off, but Symmetra placed her hand on the side of her face to make her look at her.

“You are not cursed, Fareeha Amari,” said Symmetra, “This was a party hosted by brilliant and affluent scientific minds. It makes sense that Talon would be enticed by it.”

“Well…yes…” Pharah said, pressing her hands against the gauze of Symmetra’s bandage, “But still…”

“Belief in curses only lends power to such negative thinking,” Symmetra said, “It becomes a vicious, self-reinforcing cycle.”

“…You’re saying that with a bullet wound,” said Pharah.

“Very little deters me,” said Symmetra and Pharah couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Well…” Pharah folded her arms, “I mean… the date was still ruined.”

“You gave me your jacket,” Symmetra pulled the jacket close around her with a grin, “Swept me off my feet…”

“Because you were shot,” said Pharah, “That qualifies as a date ruiner.”

“Perhaps,” said Symmetra, sitting up, “However—I assume you must watch over me until our teammates have secured the perimeter with Talon, yes?”

“That is protocol,” said Pharah.

“So we are together,” said Symmetra, “Technically, the date is still going.”

Pharah opened her mouth to argue, then blinked a few times and got to her feet. She grabbed a biotic field dispenser from the medkit and installed it, putting Symmetra in a ring of yellow light. Symmetra sighed in relief as the biotics further worked on her injury.

“Stay right there,” said Pharah, hurrying out of the Orca. She grabbed a handful of flowers from the Oasis garden, hurried back into the Orca, slammed them down on the table next to Symmetra, then hurried up the stairs to the Orca’s cockpit and hurriedly looked through the music files for the Orca’s speaker system. She swore to see that the playlist was almost entirely Jack and Reinhardt’s music, bit the bullet and hit ‘random’ on a ‘Best Oldies Love Songs’ Album, (Symmetra raised an eyebrow to hear ‘Ignition’ come over the Orca’s speaker system) and then hurried back down and fumbled through one of the cabinets near Symmetra and pulled out a few tea candles and a lighter, and lit them, positioning them a safe distance from the flowers, then dimmed the Orca lights. With that, Pharah plopped down onto the bench near Symmetra, and Symmetra adjusted herself so that she was laying across Pharah’s lap. Pharah slumped against the wall, exhaling. She glanced down at Symmetra. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I am feeling far better than most with a bullet wound,” said Symmetra, smiling. She snickered, “Congratulations, Fareeha. You’ve broken your curse.”

“I thought you said I wasn’t cursed,” said Pharah, smirking.

“Well if you were, you’ve broken it,” said Symmetra. A long pause passed between them, filled only with the music of Reinhardt’s oldies album. “If you want though, we could give it another try sometime?”

“Yes,” Pharah said the word on reflex and Symmetra snickered again. Pharah bent and kissed her on the corner of her mouth and they listened to the music.

#symmarah #symmetra #pharah #fareeha amari #overwatch

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