#one of which involved a spider on my pillow and I couldn’t move

[johnlockifconvenient]

I was visited once more by the sleep paralysis spider

[wild-blue-sonder]

Although most of my fics have been put on hiatus due to me getting a job and becoming more involved with my free company in FFXIV, that doesn't mean I've neglected my writing entirely! One of my WIPs is a three-part PPG story featuring color-coded ships, beginning with Blossick. The premise was inspired by The Promised Neverland and the 2005 movie The Island (starring Scarlett Johansson and Ewan McGregor). Click the read more for a snippet of this story!

Also! I'm no longer posting new stories or updating existing stories on FFN because it sucks. All of my works are now AO3 exclusive, and you must be a user to read them. If you would like an invitation to join AO3, I'd be happy to give you one, so don't hesitate to ask!

Habitat

She lived in a twelve-by-twelve room during the formative years of her life. Her first memory was looking up at round, brightly colored things she later learned were flowers, which she was named after. They spun in a slow circle while emitting music, and she always fell asleep watching them. She recalled looking to either side of herself, finding white bars that were too close to crawl through and too high to climb. As time passed she grew taller and stronger, and one day she hoisted herself over those bars. Suddenly her cage became a lot larger, but it was still a cage with no windows and only one door she couldn’t open no matter how hard she pushed or pulled.

She read a great many books from the ages of four to six such as The Very Busy Spider, The Rainbow Fish, Stellaluna, Little Monsters, and her favorite, Chickens Aren’t the Only Ones where she learned the words oviparous and ovoviviparous from Latin ovum. She learned that as a human female, she too carried eggs, but they didn’t have hard shells. They were very small like the size of a pinhead and would exit her body on a monthly basis in a process called menstruation. Once her ovaries released all their eggs, she would experience menopause. Both words came from Greek mene, and as she had never seen the moon, her caretakers rewarded her on her seventh birthday with a light that allegedly glowed like it.

She experienced several other major events after turning seven years old. The greatest one was moving out of her small room into a new habitat. It seemed to stretch on forever but was still encompassed by four walls; however, these ones buzzed with electrical currents that made her hand go numb after a while. She had an entire dwelling to herself with a big bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, a dining alcove, and a den with sofas and pillows for lounging or reading on. She preferred the latter, having developed a disdain for idleness. The more she read, the more her caretakers indulged her requests, such as cooking. She needed fruits, herbs, and vegetables, so they gave her tools and seeds to cultivate a garden. Once her plants had matured, an unexpected specimen was introduced to her habitat.

A boy.

He wasn’t a permanent addition, he was just visiting from elsewhere in the facility. Having only interacted with adults in positions of authority until now, she wasn’t sure how to engage someone her own age. The boy explored her habitat as she followed him in silence, observing, forming opinions. He was more impulsive than her, promptly climbing a tree when they reached the woods. “Why are you doing that?” she finally spoke.

“So I can see farther,” he answered.

“What are you looking for?”

“I just wanna see everything.” He glanced down at her with reddish-brown eyes. “There’s nothing like this in my habitat.”

Until today, she had been under the assumption that she was the sole child in the facility since the caretakers never mentioned otherwise. She must have surpassed some milestone allowing her to interact with them, which filled her with excitement. “What’s yours like?” she wondered.

The boy gazed at the lush fields, the quaint cottage, the meandering brook, and the peaceful grove. “I don’t have grass, trees, or a little house like yours. I just live in a room.”

“That sounds boring.”

~*~*~

They spent the whole day together. He taught her to climb trees and she showed him how to blow on a blade of grass to make silly noises. They splashed in the brook, picked more berries, and laid in the field as the sun started to sink beneath the glass dome overhead. A caretaker finally arrived to collect the boy. The girl walked with them toward the only exit from her habitat, stopping at a cement pad lined with red and yellow paint. If she stepped over that line, she got a warning buzz. If she touched the door, she got a nasty shock. “Hey, wait!” she called as the boy crossed the threshold, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Brick,” he replied with a grin.

“Brick.” She also smiled. “I’m Blossom.”

[moonlight-prose]

PARALLEL HEARTS | PETER CUBED

a/n: part two if FINALLY here. i think i'm more in love with andrew garfield now than i was when the movies came out. i wasn't sure where i wanted this fic to go. thankfully my brain has decided to work again. i definitely don't think this is good writing, but i don't want to rewrite it. ignore the mistakes.

SPIDER-MAN NO WAY HOME SPOILERS AHEAD

summary: spider-man's accomplice should have a sweeter ring to it and yet there you are. stuck in the middle of a mess you didn't make.

word count: 5k+

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader (not tom)

warnings: not explicit, cussing, minor angst, TONS of fluff, and kissing.

previous chapter | next chapter

Waking up to find a missing Spider-Man from your living room isn’t how you planned your day would start.

Although handling a superhero situation surely would have made your day begin with a bang and it seemed this was just how to kick it off. Late into the night you had fallen asleep at the table, your face pressed against a textbook as Peter organized the pile of paper beside you. He figured it was the least he could do since you put him up for the night.

After your eyes shut and your brain turned off, you couldn’t remember anything. Like how you ended up in your bedroom, under your covers with the pillow from the couch laying beside you. Some small part of you recalled the sensation of being moved from one room to the other. A voice murmuring to you that it was okay. Everything would be okay.

You assumed it to be Peter which made things even worse. He must have left before you had the chance to wake up, which meant you wouldn’t be able to wish him well on his journey home. If you had the resources - or even the power - you would assist him. Yet all you held in the palm of your hand was a dead phone and a folded up piece of paper that was taped on top of it.

“Dammit,” you sighed, rubbing the sleep out of yours while you simultaneously fought the urge to pass out for a few more hours.

Getting up felt harder than before, but with a disgruntled groan you managed to actually get your feet to touch the cold hardwood floor. If he was gone that meant you didn’t have to involve yourself in this problem any more than you already had done. Helping him for one night would be good enough. Except the small pit in your stomach that began to fester wracked you with guilt at the knowledge that he was now on his own.

“No,” you muttered, running your hand over your face. “I can’t do this.”

You shouldn’t do this.

Stumbling into the kitchen you didn’t notice that your recently shattered window had been put back together. Small pieces of webbing holding the broken glass together. It wasn’t until you were brewing your coffee and searching your rather empty fridge for some food did you realize the apartment was warm. There wasn’t a draft anymore. Glancing behind you, the sight of the window made you smile. A rarity before you had some caffeine in your system, but how could you not.

When Spider-Man himself had tried to help in any way he knew how.

You hummed, the faint scent of your coffee slowly beginning to rouse you from the haze you were trapped in. The books from last night were piled neatly in the center of the table, a small note stuck to the spines.

Thank you for everything.

-Peter^2

“You’re welcome,” you whispered, laughing silently at the way he signed off. In a way it was true. He was the second Peter of this world and while that seemed like a strange concept last night, it felt oddly comforting now. Whatever he was going through…he wasn’t alone. There was another Spider-Man out there ready to help him, even if that Spider-Man was a kid in many ways.

Too immersed in staring at the note in your hands you didn’t hear the window slide open gently. A now properly dressed Peter Parker climbing in balancing several things at once in his hand. It was the coffee being placed in front of you that had you jumping backwards and losing grip of your mug.

“Shit!” he said, the still unfamiliar sounding thwip hitting your ears right after.

“Do you do that a lot?” you shouted, clutching your hand over your chest in the hopes of slowing down your now racing heart. That was the second time he had scared the ever living fuck out of you and something told you it wouldn’t be the last.

He huffed out a laugh, setting the mug down gently. “I’m too quiet for my own good sometimes.”

“You think?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He offered you the bag he was carrying of something that smelled eerily like your favorite types of bagels.

“You left,” you said outright. Some part of you knew that you should have let it go. So what if he left without saying goodbye? He wasn’t yours to keep. Well…the version of you now in this universe didn’t have a hold over Peter.

He looked down, glancing at the mug you had nearly dropped. “I did.”

“And now you’re back?”

He nodded. “I thought I could leave you out of this - I wanted to leave you out of it.”

“But…”

“But you’re the only one who so far hasn’t looked at me like I don’t belong here.” Sighing, he pulled out the chair from last night and took a seat. Leaning against the table. “I thought maybe the other me - Peter - could help, but he’s just a kid.”

“He is a kid. I thought…it would be better if you left and never came back. Except then the guilt set in,” you said, sitting beside him. “Which I never like to deal with. So I’m at your service Parker. With whatever you need.”

Briefly glancing down at the coffee he was holding, he smiled. “You know you’re a lot like the you of my universe.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, catching your eyes as you fought to bite back the smile that threatened to show. He would only be here for a minuscule amount of time. Certainly not enough to actually catch any feelings for you whatsoever, so you shouldn’t be doing that either.

Focusing on the problem at hand would be your only priority.

“So, what do we have to do to get you home?” you asked, biting into the bagel and feeling some of the coffee settle into your system. One day – when all of this was over – you’d finally come to terms with the fact that you were one of the people who was lucky enough to interact with someone from an alternate universe.

The notion alone left you speechless. You were speaking to someone who lived in a different universe.

“I need to find the source of where it happened and why.” Pulling the small notepad the both of you had started last night, he began to jot down things he needed. What he remembered about being pulled into this universe. “If we can somehow make the collision happen again-”

“We can get you home?”

“It’s a long shot, but it might be easier than we think.”

The ding of your phone turning on after being plugged in for a bit let you know that a single voicemail was still in your inbox. You thought that seemed a bit strange, until you recalled what occurred yesterday. Calling Stephen, letting him know what was going on. It was – like Peter said – a long shot, but it was worth trying. He might know more than either of you at the moment. Who were you kidding, he probably knew about everything that was happening.

“Hang on.” Playing the message, you heard a high pitched noise in the background.

“Hey smarties it’s Stephen.” – you scoffed at the old nickname – “I don’t know if it’s appropriate to call you that anymore, but I got your message. And yes. I know what you’re talking about. Peter is with me currently so you must be talking about another Peter. Which if you are, then that complicates things here. If you can come to 177A Bleecker Street, I’ll explain as much as I can.”

A singular beep followed, letting you know that this was the only message he had left you. 177A Bleecker Street. You’d never actually been there before. Seeing it on the news was one thing, but seeing it up close in person was another thing entirely. Scribbling down the address on a post-it note you handed it to Peter before getting up to find something else to eat for breakfast.

“Do you eat a lot?”

What kind of question was that?

“I think…”

“No I meant-” Sighing, you attempted to reiterate what you meant in a different way. “How much breakfast am I making? Does your metabolism burn through food faster than the average human or am I good with just making a batch of pancakes and some eggs?”

“The pancakes and eggs are good enough,” he chuckled, getting up to throw away the now empty coffee cups. “Do you want me to help?”

In all honesty you wanted to go back and tell yourself that this was happening. Externally you seemed fine, at ease with what was happening – keeping things under control – and yet internally you were panicking every way you knew how to panic. Breathing heavily would get you nowhere. This was the epitome of what you would deem a breakdown and you weren’t quite sure how to end it.

“You can grab the bowl?” It sounded more like a question than a suggestion. The reassurance of his smile seemed to calm you slightly, but still you worried. There wouldn’t be a part of you that didn’t worry the whole time he was here in your universe.

While he stood by and helped in the process of making the food, you ran through every option you had learned about the multiverse. There wasn’t much to go on; really anything to go on. The lack of information only meant that you would be going off of what Stephen knew. Not exactly a comfort in your case. What did he know about all of this? Was he the cause of all of this?

That was another question entirely. One you didn’t wish to delve into.

At least not right now.

“After we eat I guess we can head out to the address given.” You wanted to adhere to a set sort of list, because the madness of yesterday had left you frazzled beyond belief.

He nodded, shoving a forkful of pancakes – practically dripping in syrup – into his mouth. Some small part of you wondered how exactly he met you from a different universe. It felt like territory you had no business in, but curiosity was always a scientist's greatest downfall. This case just happened to be more personal than anything else. You could see yourself falling for someone like him and while it was selfish of you to even think it – you didn’t want him to leave so suddenly.

Shaking your head, you forced your mind to focus on the objective in front of you.

Getting him home was priority number one as of right now. Dealing with the intense emotions of longing for someone who didn’t technically belong with you was another thing entirely. That could be handled later on. When your head was properly screwed on and things weren’t so chaotic.

“What does this guy do?”

“Do?” You knew what he was implying. Answering him however felt like a plight you would rather avoid at any costs.

He swallowed. “Is he a scientist?”

“He’s a…” How do you phrase this answer that explains how wizards exist in this universe? To be fair there had been a fair few more things that sounded far more shocking than the existence of wizards. “He’s a doctor.”

You were such a chicken shit.

“How – How is a doctor going to help?”

Sincerely…you had no clue. The extent of your knowledge on Stephen being a wizard was just that – he was a wizard and it ended there. You weren’t sure what he did or how he did it. Calling him had been a last resort of sorts, yet it was one you jumped to first.

“He’s going to help us – uh – get you home? He can do things that I’ve never seen a normal person do,” your replied, shoving the pancakes in your mouth to keep yourself busy.

The rest of the breakfast the both of you sat in silence. Focusing instead on the textbooks that were still sprawled around you, each page loaded with post-it notes. Scribblings that might help the situation you were currently in. If not they may help you understand what had to be done in order to help. You couldn’t do magic, didn’t know the first thing about how to wield the powers of the universe, but if there’s one thing you could do. It was science.

Science was simple to understand.

Science had results and solutions and in your case you needed that now more than ever.

“I’ll grab my coat,” you said, grabbing your half filled notebook of notes shared between you and Peter.

He was fixing something on his wrist with a small screwdriver while you made sure that you brought everything needed. Of course, Stephen had his own textbooks and the information you found might very well be useless. That wouldn’t stop you from trying. It took you shoving yourself out the door to actually go through with this plan. Part of you was still wracked with terror at the thought of being apart of a problem this massive. Yet the other part of you – the one who used to thrive in situations where the unknown surrounded you at every turn – couldn’t have been happier.

Finally, life held a meaning again.

Finally, you had a purpose.

After graduating college, it felt like you were meandering about in life. Attempting to fill a void that left you aching for something to do – something where you weren’t completely useless. This felt like that something.

“We can take the subway.” You reached for your wallet. “Nobody knows that you’re Peter Parker and well you look completely different from the one in this universe. It shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Sounds like a plan. Just one really small question.”

“Yeah?”

“Will – uh – will that be an issue?” He pointed to something behind you.

Your head swiveled to the billboard that currently plastered a video of what looked to be Stephen Strange fighting Spider-Man. Things couldn’t go your way once could they. Sighing, you rushed to yank your phone out of your back pocket, dialing Stephen’s number instantly. The video playing before you was live, which meant that his phone…

‘This is Stephen Strange. I’m not available at the moment so leave a message and I’ll see what I can do about getting back to you.’

…would go to voicemail.

“What the fuck Stephen,” you spit out, loud enough for others passing you on the street to spare you a quick glance.

“Is that the doctor?” he asked, watching the screen, seemingly hooked at the sight of another him fighting. “He doesn’t look…like other doctors I’ve seen.”

You chuckled dryly. “What, they don’t have magical doctors at hospitals in your universe?”

A smile flashed across his face as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know. They might. I don’t have health insurance so I don’t see many doctors. Well…any doctors really.”

“You don’t have-” Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, you turned to stare at him, absolutely positive that an incredulous expression was all he saw. “Aren’t you a superhero?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“And you don’t have health insurance? How the hell do you heal?”

A shrug followed your question; as if he was just thinking about it now for the very first time. “The spider that kind of – you know – bit me-”

“I didn’t know a spider bit you.”

He paused. “Oh- Well…that’s how I became who I am.”

“Which does what? Give you spectacular healing powers?”

“Basically,” he said, apologizing as someone shoved into him.

Learning that a superhero was surviving solely on wits alone in the middle of a busy street in New York was not how you expected this day to go. Wasn’t the you from his universe making sure that he didn't end up killing himself? A loud noise echoed behind you as the screen changed to show something large terrorizing people on the street.

“Is that one of yours?” you asked, watching open-mouthed as the man turned to…sand.

Peter was in the same boat you were. “Definitely not.”

“I’ve never seen it before.”

Now it was his turn to look shocked. “Does that mean…”

“There’s another Peter Parker running around New York?” You hoped not. “Fucking fantastic,” you muttered, turning away from the screen and heading towards the subway entrance. “We’ve got to get over there!”

“Isn’t the doctor gone?” The sound of his shoes slamming against the steps behind you let you know he was running behind you.

“Yes, but he might come back. Hopefully.” You slammed to a full stop on the center of the stairs as a realization hit you hard. If it wasn’t for Peter wrapping an arm around your waist you would have fallen over when he accidentally slammed into you. “Fuck!”

“I’m sorry,” he stumbled over his words.

You ignored the flutter of your heart as his arm remained around you; even as you turned to face him he still didn’t let go. “No, not you.”

“Oh. What’s wrong?”

“The other Peter,” you said.

He nodded, not following your thought process at all. “What about him?”

“He doesn’t know what’s going on. Which means he might be looking for this universe’s Peter as well.”

“So you’re saying instead of finding this doctor-”

“We have to find Peter.” Apologizing loudly to the people that were walking around the two of you with sheer annoyance on their faces, you grabbed his hand, running up the stairs with him in tow.

To your relief, the billboard still showed Spider-Man swinging through the air and you scribbled out the address of where the helicopter following him was. Somewhere outside of Queens at an apartment you didn’t recognize. Whatever was going on, the news sure was keeping track of where this kid went. You only hoped that when all of this ended, he was left alone completely.

The pungent smells of the subway fill your nose as Peter and you get on a different train completely. Heading towards the apartment was your only chance in figuring out what the fuck was going on. You only hoped that the third Peter would have the same sense to do exactly what the two of you were doing. The rumbling of the subway helped you to lose sense of time for a bit – instead focusing on something other than the fact that you were heading somewhere dangerous.

“Why don’t you have health insurance?” The question popped out of your mouth quicker than you could reign it in.

Peter reared back, pulling himself out of his own thoughts. “I- What?”

“You said you don't have any and I’m just wondering why the me of your universe would allow that to happen?” This was none of your business. “It’s just – you should have a back up plan. I know it’s ridiculous and you can heal fast, but it’s still sensible that a-” You trailed off at the sight of his face. He was smiling at you with a glint in his eyes you couldn’t read fully. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Laughing, he ducked his head down to shove the false glasses further up his nose. “No I’m sorry it’s just – your rant reminded me of…well…you.”

“Me?” He nodded. “Oh! Me. So I’ve had this conversation with you before?”

“Yeah actually – you have this conversation a lot with me. Every time I come back a little bruised.”

“A little?”

Another laugh had you definitely considering the ramifications of asking him to stay here. “You say that too.”

“I’m very smart,” you said, a small grin playing on your lips.

“Part of why I love you.”

The sentence slipped out and it took him a few seconds of realizing what he said to actually react. His eyes widened, mouth opening to quickly withdraw his comment, but the screeching of the subway stopping cut him off. Ignoring the punched out breath you let out, you turned away from him and got off at the stop. He said it without thinking. You were identical to the you of his life. In a way that must have confused him for a second.

It was the only logical reason you could come to. So why did it hurt so much to finally settle on that answer?

The building was a few blocks down the street and you figured bursting into the place wasn’t the best option. Which left you with one option; waiting until someone came out. Heading into the bodega on the corner you figured it would be better to get lunch and perch somewhere until something panned out.

Peter followed along beside you, stuck in his own thoughts at the moment. Maybe it was better this way. You weren’t together, you weren’t in each other's lives, shit you weren’t even friends at this point. No, this was merely a courtesy you were doing to assist him. Nothing more – right?

“It’ll take awhile to see any action so I suggest some lunch.” Tossing him a pre-packaged sandwich, you watched him catch it without looking.

“Where do we wait?”

You shrugged, snatching the last bag of chips off the shelf and a half a sandwich to go with a drink. “I’m sure there’s a rooftop we can occupy around here.”

“A rooftop? You sure?”

“It’s a concrete jungle. There’s loads of rooftops.” Your indifference to the situation was showing; or maybe that was you being numb to everything around you. The shock factor had worn off the second he said those words. What did you have to feel this way about though?

He wasn’t yours.

Paying what the food cost, you followed Peter outside, glancing up at the building currently housing the other Peter. The two of you only needed to wait for a few hours. So, you picked the building across the street and began to walk quickly to avoid the oncoming barrage of cars. He was quicker than you though, yanking you out of the way and into his chest as a car’s horn echoed sharply in the air behind you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, tilting your head back to see you better.

This position, his eyes, the concern clearly showing on his face, all of it felt far too intimate. You weren’t meant to be in this state with him and yet there you stood. Admiring how the brown of his eyes almost shined when they caught the sun. Pulling away from him slowly felt like more of a hassle than almost getting hit by a car, but it would have to happen eventually.

He had to go home.

That shook you out of your doe eyed state.

“Let’s go,” you mumbled.

It was another apartment building that you had to try and get into. Pushing the buzzer for a random attendant, you glanced behind you just in case someone was looking to get in with you. Only once had you done this before and it was to get to a rooftop on new year's eve to see the fireworks.

“Hello?” A man’s voice came through the crackling speaker.

“Oh hello!” you exclaimed. “I’m locked out of the building. Could you-” The buzz of the door unlocking cut off the rest of your question. “Thank you.”

Peter grabbed the door, rushing in after you and up the stairs towards the roof before someone could spot you. It wasn’t normal to know your neighbors in New York, but for all you knew this building regularly checked in on who lived near them. You knew yours. Well…only Mrs. Sanders who lived next door, but that was mainly due to the fact that her cat regularly found it’s way into your apartment.

“Do you have super vision?”

“I – don’t think so,” he replied, smiling as you tried to unstick the door to the roof. “Let me.”

One shove of his shoulder into the door and it slammed open. Louder than you had anticipated.

“Well I can’t see what’s going on across the street so I was thinking that you might be able to.”

Shaking his head, he handed you the sandwich you bought earlier before finding a place to sit. “That’s not really how it works.”

“How does it work exactly?” You took the spot next to him, opening the bag of chips and offering him one.

“As in, what powers do I have?” You nodded. “Oh – uh – okay well I have this kind of sense where I can pick up on things. You actually joked around and called it my spider sense. That name kind of stuck eventually. Uh – I’m strong?”

“Like superman strong?”

He laughed, opening his apple juice. “Kinda. I can stop a bus with nothing but my hands.”

“Wow. That’s…wow.” Squinting to see across the street, you thought you noticed some movement from the apartment. “Anything else?”

“I’m sticky.”

Choking on your drink was involuntary as you laughed and it was enough to make him join you. “Sticky? As in…actually sticky? What do you just attach to things?”

He grimaces, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “I learned that the hard way. On a subway station.”

“Please tell me everything about that situation.”

Leaning back against the stack of boxes behind you, he smiles. “It started by me being asleep.”

Four hours passed quicker than you expected it to. After hour number three you had gone back across the street to get some more food in the hopes that it wouldn’t take much longer. Once hour number four passed though you were beginning to lose hope. Eventually you’d have to go home and the longer you sat there, the more you wondered if they were actually in that building.

Peter stood beside you, breathing in the musty fresh air as horns and sounds of traffic echoed around you. If the fact that he had to go home wasn’t an issue, you would have actually found this to be quite a romantic moment.

“I just have to say-” He turned so swiftly that you nearly jumped.

“Yeah?”

“When I said I love you earlier it wasn’t like I was saying I love you to…”

Your heart sank. “Oh – I know.”

“No I mean-” He watched you so intensely that you were sure he must have spotted something on your face. “It’s just that you’re exactly the same. I don’t even know…I’m not sure…”

Nodding, you picked at the chipped nail polish that covered your nails. “It’s really okay I know that you were confused.”

“I was, but now I’m not anymore.”

Catching his gaze, you couldn’t move. Once again you admired the brown, enraptured by the sea of emotions that played in them. If you were stuck on a roof with anyone else you would have lost your mind, and yet with him – you felt like days could pass and you wouldn’t notice. You had looked up the scientific term for soulmates last night to humor yourself and yet…it seemed that things such as that – trivial things – were somewhat true.

“You’re not?” you breathed, the sound of traffic tuning out in the background.

He shook his head subtly, leaning in even closer. “Why are you so…”

“So?”

A warm palm cupped from your cheek, sliding towards your neck to pull you closer. “Perfect,” he whispered, capturing your lips with his in a swift kiss.

Inhaling sharply, you found your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him even closer as one hand tangled in his hair. Kissing him shouldn’t have been this electrifying. It shouldn’t have made your toes curl and your pulse quicken to a point of nearly being lightheaded. In spite of all of that, it still did and you found that you couldn’t pull away from him.

His arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you towards him as he licked at your bottom lip asking timidly for permission to deepen the kiss. One which you gave without question. If you thought you were dizzy before, this caused you to melt into his body. He tasted like apple juice, chocolate, and something purely him. The warmth of his mouth pressed against yours left you reeling, but it was something you wanted to relish in for as long as you could.

It seemed…you spoke too soon.

An explosion shook the building you were in, causing you to stumble. Peter – looking thoroughly kissed and flushed – cupped your face to check on you before turning to see the situation. Across the street, the bottom of the building had been nearly blown to bits with rubble strewn everywhere.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, gaping at the sight.

A green figure flew out, going over where you and Peter stood before vanishing into the night. Whatever caused this explosion was from them. Which meant that the other Peter had been in there the entire time. You turned to tell Peter that the goblin creature had to be found, only to see him yanking a red mask out of the bag he’d been carrying.

“I’m sorry,” he said, already dressed in his suit. “I’ve got to find him.”

“I’ll go with you,” you replied, grabbing the bag and strapping it across your shoulder.

“No.”

You scoffed. “I can help you. I know how to- What are you doing?”

He leaned over the edge of the building. “Please stay away from this.”

“Peter no I can-”

“No!” he shouted, running a hand over his face. “Please. I know what will happen when you get involved and I can’t…I can’t do that to someone I care about. Not again. Please.”

The look on his face, the raw pain that he showed you, was the final factor in this decision. “Peter.”

“Don’t fight me on this-”

Getting closer, you cupped his cheek, pressing your lips against his quickly. “Be safe.”

He smiled tightly before you were watching him leap off the side of the roof. A now familiar thwip echoed in the night sky as he swung off into the distance, following whatever flew from the building. How you ended up in this predicament you’d never know, but there you were. Standing alone and trying to figure out a way to help him despite everything he said.

“I’m definitely not cut out for this,” you muttered to yourself as you began to take the stairs down all the way to the bottom floor, wishing you had superpowers that would allow you to swing from buildings.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Realignment

Prompt: I love when Remus is a lot smarter than he lets on, so I’d love a prompt where Logan is overworking himself and not taking care of himself and one tic of the clock away from either passing out or having a full on mental breakdown (not the type you can recover from in a day). Remus notices the little signs Logan shows, and hears the intrusive thoughts Logan has. Remus really becomes concerned when Logan’s intrusive thoughts start to involve taking breaks, going to eat properly rather than inhaling granola bars, and even sleeping. Remus storms in and is like “Logan tf????” Then gets hella soft once he realizes the state Logan is in

Thank you for the prompts, babe! I liked this one the best so I picked it. 

GUYS PLEASE VIEW THIS AS A C H E C K P O I N T if you've been scrolling for a while (and you probably have) pause here! drink water! get food! walk around the room for a little bit! stretch! do something please! you are very important to me and I care about you very deeply!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: discussions of self-harm, nothing explicit, some self-destructive tendencies and behaviors. 

Pairings: focus on intrulogical, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic i don’t care

Word Count: 2410

Realignment: to align again.

Realignment: to reorganize or make new groupings of.

* * *

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

The problem arises when the shit he starts to hear isn't weird at all.

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

 The more appropriate definition would be ‘fucked up like you wouldn’t fucking believe,’ but one of us has a problem with particularly strong language and shit doesn’t have to be censored in a lot of media anymore. Which is so convenient! For some of us!

 It’s fucking great.

Anyway. Point being. Fucked up shit.

 Intrusive thoughts literally fall under his purview. It’s the fun stuff! The stuff you don’t wanna think about that makes your skin crawl and your eyes pop open at the witching hour and stay awake until the sun rises. That’s Remus’s job.

 And it’s like the whole Mindscape is whack-a-mole that he gets to play with! Buttons here and there, squeeze this part and watch the eyes bug out of this part, bap this one on the head, see which one pokes up next. Who’s gonna have nightmares tonight? Who is having a nightmare tonight?

 It’s fun.

 Point. Right. Right.

 It’s normally pretty easy to tell whose intrusive thoughts are whose. They taste different. Patton’s taste like sugar so sweet it’ll fill your mouth with cavities. Virgil’s taste like spiders, crawling around his mouth. Janus’s taste like salt. So much fucking salt. Dry as hell.

 Roman’s taste like blood. Problem is, Remus’s mouth normally tastes like blood, so…

 Yeah, they gotta work that out.

 Logan’s taste like ink. Which is why it took him so long to figure out that Logan was having them. Not just because the nerdy wolverine was so convinced he couldn’t have them—rationalizing them as philosophy principles, come on—but because Remus isn’t exactly an expert on pens. Writing like normal people. Ugh.

 Normal people.

 What a lie, Janny probably gets a big kick out of those.

 No one is normal and normal is boring.

 Logan. Right.

 Okay, so here’s the thing.

 Logan’s thoughts aren’t really…standard? They are to some extent, you don’t really get a whole lot of variety from him—even when Remus has been so helpful in making his room safe for him to be in during bad days, there’s such a lack of imagination there that he wasn’t sure exactly how to feel—but it’s the recent ones that’ve been getting…weird.

 Remus chews thoughtfully on the kraken tentacle. He swings up to the chandelier and hangs by his ankles, letting the blood run to his head. Makes it easier to think sometimes.

 It hasn’t been very long since they found out…well, since they found out.

 Remus frowns. Why is he censoring himself? It’s not like he can’t fucking say self-harm, it’s not like he can’t describe what it was, it’s not like he can’t close his eyes and see it happening again.

 Then his mind jumps helpfully to the shocked, panicked look on Logan’s face and the soft, furious resignation on Roman’s, and his jaw snaps shut.

 Oh.

 Right.

 He cares. So he has to be gentle with them.

 He growls, swinging himself up to perch on the chandelier proper. He turns the kraken tentacle over and chews on the rubbery side.

 The others are delicate. Not that they’re more breakable than any other metaphysical humanoid, but their minds are fragile when it comes to Remus’s side of things. Could they handle the full spectrum of his side of thoughts and shit? Probably, they’re stronger than they give themselves credit for. Should they have to? Hell to the fuck no. But it means that Remus can’t just throw them in the deep end and see if the kraken spits them out whole or in chunks. Could they survive? Absolutely. Would they still be…them? Doubtful.

 Remus lets one of his legs go, hanging by one knee as he tips over.

 Plus they’re always a little more fragile when it comes to these thoughts anyway. Poking and prodding too much would hurt. Like, the bad kind of hurt.

 They’re not supposed to get hurt. Not like that.

 So. Gentle it is then.

 Right. The others. He has a point, he’s just gotta get there.

 Roman…fuck he’s missed his brother. They got—they got so much shit to still work out but they’re gonna do it together and fuck he loves his brother so goddamn much. Roman knows that, he knows that, and he’s always there to pull Remus out of his head when he needs it, hit him with a pillow, or tackle him onto something and hold him tight. He’s—his thoughts taste like blood and Remus hasn’t bitten anything since so that he’ll never miss it again.

 But with Logan...

 Logan is…odd. It hasn’t been long since they first found out—or rather, they confronted him about it, and Remus hasn’t tasted ink without it disappearing very quickly or knocking on someone’s door to please go get your fucking nerd, please. But the ink has only written the usual suspects, whispering the theorems in dark corners, muttering about the incompleteness of a set, the need for Logic, not Logan, and how to jump through the little loophole again.

 It’s not exactly hard for the others to tell.

 Lolo hasn’t been looking great. Sure, he’s all pressed and dressed, glasses perfectly in place, tie done up just so, walking around like everything’s just totally and completely fine, but it’s in his face. Object impermanence aside, normally when Remus bugs him, he reacts in some way.

 Sass is an emotional response and you won’t convince him otherwise.

 Whether it be a wry comment, effortlessly fixing whatever Remus has done to him this time, or even just a look, Lolo does something.

 Not anymore.

 Now he’ll just kind of…sigh and move on? He’ll fix whatever it is only if it’s directly interfering with what he’s trying to do, or when Patton or Virgil come round the corner and freak the fuck out because you’re bleeding! Then he’ll fix it.

 Remus wouldn’t say he’s bored, but he’s worried.

 Mainly because the intrusive thoughts…aren’t what he’d consider intrusive anymore.

 Take a shower.

 Eat something that isn’t just a granola bar.

 Go to sleep.

 Ask someone for help.

 See?

 If those are Lolo’s intrusive thoughts, then what the fuck is normally going on in his head?

 Remus waits. Waits. Keeps waiting.

 The instant his mouth tastes like ink again, with a question of whether or not Logan should take a break, he sinks straight into his shower. He washes his hair thoroughly, gets every single bit of grime off him he can, and puts on the softest pajamas he has—thank you, Roman—and drops himself outside of Logan’s door.

 He strains, mouth still full of ink, to hear anything other than the soft click, click, click of Logan’s keyboard.

 He can’t.

 Fuck.

 He knocks.

 “One moment, please.”

 Indeed, a few seconds later, the door opens to reveal Logan, looking as annoyingly pristine as he always does, surprised to see him.

 “Remus? Did you need something? Why…” he trails off as he takes in what Remus is wearing. “What’s wrong?”

 “Can I come in?”

 “Of—of course,” Logan stammers, moving aside to let him in, “are you alright?”

 “Should be asking you that, Lolo.”

 “Remus, you’ve just knocked, first of all, on my door and asked to come inside.” Logan adjusts his glasses as he sits at his desk. “This is extremely out of character for you.”

 “Uh-huh.” Remus flops onto the bed. “You know what else is out of character?”

 “Not wearing your costume?”

 “Not hearing intrusive thoughts.”

 Logan’s eyes widen. “Has—is there something wrong? Are you not hearing any? Do I need to get Roman?”

 Remus frowns. “Why’s it so easy for you to do that?”

 “Do what?”

 “Care. Try and take care of me.”

 Logan blinks. “Because you deserve to be taken care of, Remus. Your needs are important.”

 Remus idly toys with a loose thread on one sleeve. “Why?”

 “Why? Why are you important?” Remus nods. “Because you’re—you’re an important part of Thomas, you’re important to us, and we care about you.”

 “So it’s easy for you to care for me because…you do?”

 “As simple as that sounds,” Logan says with all the softness that should be directed at himself, “yes.”

 Remus nods. “I’m not having problems with hearing intrusive thoughts.”

 “You’re—you’re not?” Logan sighs, relaxing a little back into his chair. “Then why did you say you were?”

 “Because the thoughts that I am hearing aren’t really what I’d consider intrusive.”

 Logan frowns. “Like what?”

 Glad you fucking asked.

 “‘Take a shower,’” Remus says, his eyes fixed firmly on Logan’s face, “'eat something,’ ‘take a break,’ ‘go to sleep.’”

 He watches Logan’s face tense.

 “Sound familiar, Lolo?”

 “You—I—my apologies,” Logan manages after a moment, adjusting his tie, “I did not mean to be an inconvenience. You are correct, those are not intrusive thoughts, I’m not sure why you’re hearing them.”

 He turns to his desk and begins to fish around for a notebook.

 “That is quite intriguing, I wonder what the possibilities for hearing other types of thoughts are, considering—“

 “Lolo.”

 Logan pauses, turning back. “Yes?”

 Remus fixes him with a look, getting up and walking toward him. “They are intrusive thoughts, Logan. The issue is that your intrusive thoughts are about you taking care of yourself.”

 Logan freezes.

 “W-well, I’m sure that it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

 “So either you can admit that was a lie or Janny’s about to get summoned.”

 “Remus,” Logan sighs, “it’s fine. As you said, these aren’t what are traditionally considered intrusive thoughts, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

 “No, Lolo, it is,” Remus argues, “because it means that the thought of you taking care of yourself is so foreign, so fucking out of the ordinary that not only does it happen to cross your mind—“ he takes Logan’s chair and spins it around— “but you try to force it out.”

 Gotcha.

 Logan looks anywhere other than Remus’s face and tries to stand. Only to wobble and crash back down.

 “Easy,” Remus says quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder, “you haven’t eaten in a while.”

 “But I have work.”

 “But you need food.”

 “Remus—“

 “Logan.”

 At Logan’s honest-to-fuck pout, he sighs, dragging the poor nerd up and out the chair and sitting him on the bed.

 “Why do you think you don’t deserve to be taken care of?”

 “I didn’t say that—hey!” Logan blinks up at him, scandalized and covering his stomach. “Why did you poke me?”

 “’S what I do when Janny won’t tell me the truth.”

 “I wasn’t—okay, okay!” Logan covers his stomach protectively as Remus readies another poke. “I just…I’ve already asked for help for this before. I shouldn’t have to again.”

 Remus sighs and lightly flicks the side of his head.

 “Hey!”

 “Virgil tries that too.” He stares hard at Logan. “Come on, Lolo, you can do better.”

 “It’s not your jobs to take care of me.”

 For fuck’s sake…

 Remus reaches out and tugs gently on Logan’s tie.

 “Remus, what—“

 “You taking more books outta Patton’s library now?” Remus tilts his head. “You don’t have to beat around the bush, Lolo, just be honest.”

 “I am being honest!”

 “You’re not lying, but you’re not being honest.” At the poor nerd’s confusion, he sighs and fixes his glasses on that cute nose. “Just talk to me, Lolo.”

 “I—“ Logan sighs and oh fuck why does he look so tired?

 Well, because he hasn’t been sleeping.

 Or eating.

 Or taking care of himself.

 Unbidden, part of his conversation with Roman flashes into his head.

 “Self-harm can be self-denial too.”

 “Lolo?”

 “It’s bad enough that I’ve made you all worry about me,” Logan says finally, “I would hate to be a burden.”

 Oh, Lolo. “You and Roman, huh?”

 Logan looks up warily. “What do you do with Roman?”

 “You know what I do.”

 Logan sighs. “May at least take my glasses off first?”

 “You might wanna change too, I’m not letting you up for a while.”

 Logan stretches to place his glasses on the nightstand and poofs himself into a t-shirt and boxers. He sighs and opens his arms.

 Remus takes two running steps and tackles the poor nerd onto his bed.

 “Ah!”

 “Am I hurting you?”

 “No, no, just—just a little startled.”

 “Mm.” Remus snuggles closer into Logan, his arms wrapped tightly around him. “So. Wanna try one more time?”

 Logan sighs, deflating them both to the bed. His head lolls to his left, eyes on his open computer screen. Remus follows it, barely suppressing a growl as he stretches his arm out to save whatever’s on screen and shut it.

 “I know what I’m supposed to be doing,” Logan whispers, “I understand the process, I am aware that healing is not a linear concept, I know it’s going to take time, I—I understand.”

 Remus looks down, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “But?”

 “It’s hard,” comes the soft confession.

 Oh, Lolo.

 “I know,” he murmurs, leaning down to hug him properly, “I know, Lolo, I know it’s hard. But you can’t try and do it all yourself, you’ve gotta remember that we’re here for you, we care about you.”

 “But why?”

 Remus smiles and cuddles him tighter. “You said it yourself, Lolo. We care because we do.”

 “O-oh.” He feels Logan’s throat work as he swallows. “Thank you, Remus.”

 “Of course, Lolo. I’m guessing that sinking us to the living room so everyone else can spoil you is a bad idea, right?”

 “Yes.” Finally, finally, he feels Logan shyly tighten his grip on him. “Can we just…stay like this?”

 “Do I have your permission to hold you hostage until you fall asleep?”

 “Yes.”

 “Then go to sleep, Lolo,” Remus murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere.”

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[theweasleysredhair]

When Sparks Fly [F.W.]

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 1891

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: “You’re scared of fireworks?” “Scared is an understatement.” In which Fred plans a birthday surprise for his girlfriend without the crucial knowledge that she is terrified of fireworks.

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: I bloody loved this request

also to the requester: I hope I got this right bc I actually adore fireworks so I had to get myself into the mind-frame of being scared of them to write this so fingers crossed I did an okay job. enjoy my love!

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

“What are you talking about now?” Ron asked the twins as they were chatting about something loudly.

“It’s my Y/n‘s birthday next week,” Fred announced. “And we’ve got something spectacular planned,” George grinned, folding his arms over his chest.

You smiled at them and shook your head with a laugh, “I’m kinda worried what the two of you are working on to be honest. You’ve both been awfully mysterious about it all.”

“Oh don’t you worry about a thing, love! Things are gonna take off,” Fred replied with a smirk, “Gonna have a cracking-”

“-Absolutely sparkling-“ George added.

“Time,” they finished the sentence simultaneously.

You smiled at them, hearing a few chuckles from the others as they wandered away, heads bowed together as they conspired about something or other.

“Shit,” you said as soon as they were out of ear shot.

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked as he grabbed a bar of Honeydukes chocolate he’d left on a nearby table.

You sighed, “Their plan involves fireworks.” “Don’t all their plans involve fireworks?” Hermione asked with a small smile.

“Well yes but... this plan is for me. And from the hints they’ve been dropping, fireworks are a big part of the plan,” you chewed on your lip in thought and nervously clasped and unclasped your hands together.

Harry cleaned his glasses with the bottom of his jumper before returning them to his face, “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Well... usually no. But in this case... I thought I’d be able to go a bit longer without saying anything but... I don’t like fireworks. And by ‘don’t like’ I mean I am curling-into-a-ball-and-freaking-out petrified of them,” you admitted, looking down at your hands and sighing again.

“You’re scared of fireworks?”

“Scared is an understatement. Some people are scared of spiders - Ron - some of snakes, of clowns, of werewolves. My thing is fireworks.”

“But your boyfriend is Fred Weasley,” Ron said incredulously through a mouthful of chocolate.

“Oh yeah, cheers for that, Ron, I had almost forgotten,” you replied sarcastically.

Ron smiled before shaking his head, “No, I know, I just mean... well, how have you gone this long without telling him?”

You shifted in your seat, and avoided looking at any of them, “I just... haven’t. He loves them, doesn’t he? I can’t just tell him to stop using them just for my benefit.”

And that was the truth, really. You would never ask him to stop something he loved, and him and George used fireworks a lot in their pranks and such. It wouldn’t be fair to turn around and ask him to stop.

“Well... how badly are you afraid of them?” Hermione asked, tapping her chin in thought.

“I am more afraid of fireworks than Snape is of shampoo,” you joked, “No but seriously, I’ve had quite a few panic attacks over them - bad ones. I just... I can’t help it. I wish I liked them but I’m just terrified. And now Fred is planning something for my birthday and it’s very obvious that it involves fireworks. I don’t have the heart to tell him but... my heart’s thumping just from thinking about them.”

Hermione reached over to squeeze your hand reassuringly, “I’d speak to him beforehand, I’m sure he’d hate it more to do something that scares you.���

You smiled thankfully at her, “Yeah I’ll um... I’ll try and speak to him.”

***

Your birthday arrived much quicker than you’d hoped, and you’d woken up with an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. You hadn’t gotten the heart or courage to confront Fred about his plans for your birthday - he seemed much too excited any time you saw him - and by any means you didn’t want him to feel as though he had to change everything he’d been working on. You appreciated the effort and adored the lengths he went to to show you how much he cared and didn’t ever want him to know you weren’t as excited as him for what was to happen.

Your day went by quite normally, your friends and other students passing by to wish you a happy birthday. The only oddity was you hadn’t seen the twins all day, and it was nearing evening. The thought put you on edge, as you assumed they were working on whatever it was they’d been planning. Despite this, you couldn’t help but miss them - particularly your boyfriend - and hoped they’d make an appearance soon.

You’d just finished your evening meal when your eyes flickered to the ginger boy entering the Great Hall, a carbon copy of your doting boyfriend however completely different in your eyes.

“Happy Birthday, Y/n!” George grinned as he sat beside you on the bench and gave you a side hug, “Sorry we haven’t seen you all day, must’ve been rubbish without us, eh?” You smiled back, “Thank you Georgie! Yes I suppose it has - potions was definitely more boring than usual. You um... haven’t seen your dear twin at all, have you?”

“Ah, you wouldn’t happen to be referring to Freddie boy there, would you? I have indeed seen him and the main reason I am here is to escort you to him,” George stood you and held his hand out. You shook your head fondly and took it, allowing him to pull you up and out of the hall.

He led you down the main hallway and towards the doors of the castle, then out onto the Hogwarts grounds.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you followed the younger twin across the grass.

“You’ll see! You’re gonna love this, Y/n! Fred has been planning this for ages - with my help, of course,” George boasted as he shot a grin over his shoulder at you.

You faked a smile, hoping it was believable enough to look like excitement as you tried to hide that your heart was trying to escape your chest and you could hear blood rushing in your ears.

“George..?” You began.

“Yeah?”

Taking a deep breath, you continued on as you glanced down at your feet, “It’s probably much too late to say anything now but I really don’t like-“

“Happy birthday, darlin’!” A familiar voice interrupted you, halting your sentence in the middle. Your eyes flickered up to rest on the welcome sight of your boyfriend and you couldn’t help but smile when you saw his messy ginger hair and cheeky grin.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a warm hug, one you accepted instantly and happily as you hadn’t seen him all day.

George made himself sparse, leaving you alone with your boyfriend who pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, making up for the fact he’d been gone all day.

As you pulled away, he immediately moved back in to kiss you again, mumbling how much he’d missed you (even though it had only been a day), before finally placing a last chaste kiss to your swollen lips. He then grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the Forbidden Forest, where you noticed lights twinkling in a nearby clearing.

He led you over, his fingers locked around yours as he bit his lip and looked at you, “Surprise, love!”

Your eyes locked on the scene, a blanket laid out with your favourite foods on top, bags of Honeydukes items sitting beside it and a pile of presents - wrapped messily in brown paper and tied with wonky bows - scattered across the grass next to the blanket. Small, glittering lights hung from the tree branches around the clearing, casting a light glow and illuminating both the food and the dozens of pillows that you noticed were also piled around.

“Thought we could spend some time together without anyone interrupting us or anything. Also got some new things we’ve been working on that I want to show you before we show anyone else,” Fred explained, nodding over to a stack of what you assumed were Wizard Wheezes products.

“Oh Merlin... this is beautiful... it’s amazing,” you murmured.

And it was. It was so lovely and thoughtful. You adored it.

Yet, as you were staring at the scene, in awe at how beautiful the fairy lights were, you couldn’t help the voice in the back of your mind reminding you about the fireworks, not knowing when they were going to go off but sure it would be soon.

Suddenly, you heard Fred chuckling beside you and you frowned as you looked over at him. “What’s so funny?” You asked nervously.

“There are no fireworks, love,” he said simply, shoving his hands into his pockets, the hint of a smile resting on his lips.

Your jaw dropped almost comically, “What? What do you- How did you- How could you possibly know I was thinking about them?”

“You keep looking around as if you’re waiting for something. Just letting you know there are no fireworks so you can relax, babe. I know you’re terrified of them so they were never part of the plan. You really think I don’t know you well enough to know that?” He mocked with a playful grin.

Your mouth opened and closed as you stuttered out, “I-I never told you-“

“Didn’t have to, I saw your reaction to the small sparklers me and Georgie made to throw around and realised then. I notice everything about you, love,” he said sincerely.

You turned to him with shock on your features, jabbing him lightly in the chest as you scolded him, “Then why in the name of Merlin’s saggy left ballsack would you make me believe your plan relied on fireworks?!”

“Just like to mess with you, love,” he gave you a cheeky grin, and you wanted to be mad but looking at him, you couldn’t bring yourself to be. Still, you tried to be as you gave him a fake glare, “Fred! I’ve been working myself up over this for days! You’re a right prat!”

However, you couldn’t help the relieved giggle that left your lips as you rested your forehead against his chest and sighed contently now you were back at ease.

“I’m your prat though.”

“Hmm, I suppose so,” you mumbled into his jumper as his hands rested on your waist, him leaning his chin on the top of your head. You stayed stood up, in his arms, for a while before you decided to speak again, “Doesn’t it bother you that you’ll probably never be able to use fireworks in my vicinity?”

Fred pulled away for a moment to look down at you, his features softening as he took in the sight of your nervous demeanour, “Honestly? I’d give up fireworks forever if it meant you’d stick around.”

You smiled wide, blushing as you hid your face again in his chest, “Don’t get too sappy on me, Weasley.”

“Me? Sappy? Never.”

“Hmm..” You hummed, unconvinced. “Just want you to know I love you more than anything, and that includes fireworks,” he said earnestly, the corner of his mouth flicking up into a small smile.

“Stop being so cute,” you grumbled.

“No can do, love, I’m the cutest!” He announced, laughing as you pulled him down by his collar. You smiled and shook your head just as your lips grazed his,

“Well I guess I can’t argue with that.”

[retrievablememories]

fool me once | ten (m)

title: fool me once pairing: ten x black!reader genre: smut request: “Hi I’m new to your page and I just wanted to say I love your writing so much and I’ve started writing my own because of you🥺and also if requests are still open can you do a black Poc with Ten and she does a prank on Ten which ends up with her ass up and face down or anything with Ten being a dom🤭” word count: 2.7k warnings: dom!male, sub!female, fingering, orgasm denial, spanking, use of restraints, use of vibrator, overstimulation, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay, dirty talk a/n: i planned to write this one later, but i needed to get this off my chest now because it was haunting me lmao. don’t try any of these pranks at home 🚫

Playing pranks on your boyfriend is one of your favorite pastimes. Maybe to your own detriment. 

You’d been messing with him all week, but mostly because you hadn’t seen him in a while, and in your reasoning, it was your way of showing him how much you missed him. Some people’s love language involves buying gifts and writing sweet poems for their loved ones; yours just happened to involve getting on your boyfriend’s nerves.

He wasn’t very happy when you tricked him into eating an Oreo with toothpaste in the middle instead of cream. Or when you hid one shoe in every pair he owns so he had to leave the house in mismatched ones. He was even less amused when you wrapped his entire car in saran wrap the night before he was supposed to go meet up with the WayV members.

You’d been wondering when it would happen, almost certain that the saran wrap prank would take him over the edge, but Ten finally hits a breaking point after your latest idea. This time, you invited him to come over to your house and left the door unlocked for him to get in by himself. 

You listen quietly from the doorway as you hear him pulling into the driveway and coming up the front walkway, your hand over your mouth to stop your giggles from bursting out. You rush into the kitchen before he comes in.

The only thing Ten can register as he opens the door is what looks like a dozen spiders jumping out at him, which makes him scream and fall back on the porch. He trips as he jumps back, which causes him to bust his ass and go rolling down the porch steps. When he manages to get himself upright again, he notices one of your neighbors watching the spectacle from their yard, looking at him like he’s a complete fool.

You watch it all happen from your spot where you crouch in the kitchen doorway, laughing the entire time. Ten stumbles back to the entryway and quickly realizes the “spiders” are just a row of fake toys glued to a clear string, and he rips it off the top of the door. When he spots you, you laugh even louder at his red face and upset expression. “Y/N! What the fuck is this?!”

Ten slams the door shut behind him and throws his bag to the floor, and you immediately take off when you see him coming towards you. All you hear is his feet hitting the floor as he chases you through the kitchen and up the stairs. You duck into your bedroom and try to slam the door to slow him down, but he pushes his way in before you can even think about locking it and ends up wrestling you to the bed.

“Ow! Quit manhandling me, you’re so mean!”

“I’m mean? You’ve been tormenting me with this shit for days now!”

Ten manages to get you on your stomach and put his weight on you, then begins searching underneath your pillow for something. When he finds it, he pulls it out triumphantly and ties your hands behind your back with it—your own headscarf. You can guess that he’s chosen it because he knows you won’t struggle too hard against it, not wanting to rip the material. “This is so fucked up,” you say breathlessly, though you’ve yet to stop laughing.

“You’ll find out real quick that you can’t always get away with everything.” He resituates himself so he can pull you over his lap and grab a handful of your ass, and you already know what’s coming. Still, when he pulls back and spanks you, you yelp from the shock of it. There is a part of you, though, that enjoys the feeling of it—of his hand coming down hard on your ass, leaving a sharp sting even through the fabric of your shorts.

He makes you count to 20, which leaves your ass burning fiercely by the end of his punishment. When Ten feels you’ve had enough, he strips your shorts and underwear off together, caressing your stinging skin with an unexpected gentleness. You know him well enough to understand that there’s something else on the other side of this merciful behavior, though, and you try to brace yourself for whatever that might be. 

As you thought, Ten nudges your thighs apart a tad wider, and that touch is all the forewarning you get before two of his fingers are knuckle-deep in you. You gasp and tremble against his body at the sudden stretch and pleasure of him pushing his way inside you. Your toes curl from it, and you try to draw ragged breaths as he fingerfucks you, thrusting into your tender g-spot. He’s always known exactly where to strike to weaken all your defenses.

“Tennn, this isn’t fair…” Your arm muscles ache from their positioning and from you trying to resist the urge to struggle against your bonds.

“You think this isn’t fair? We’ve barely started.”

There isn’t much you can do except lie across his lap and take what he’s giving you, whimpering quietly all the time. Unfortunately for you, what he gives you turns out not to be as much as you thought it’d be. It doesn’t take long for that familiar tightening in your abdomen to start, and you push your hips up more, trying to reach that peak faster. Ten doesn’t cave to your desires, though, and stills inside you, letting you clench fruitlessly around his fingers.

“Please don’t stop,” you moan, though your imminent relief is already slipping away from you.

“You’ll come when I decide you should, Y/N.”

When your pleasure has dropped down from its former peak, Ten begins moving his fingers in you again, building you right back up. He pulls them out at one point to rub your clit, making your muscles tense and release as he massages that oversensitive part of you. The way his graceful fingers circle around your pearl makes your head swim, and you have to try not to drool a bit from the ecstasy of it.

This time you keep yourself as quiet as possible as you get nearer, not wanting him to find out you’re about to come and stopping it again. That doesn’t work though—of course. He knows you better than that. As soon as you think you might actually get to come, he pulls his hand away from you yet again. You twist around impatiently on his lap, which makes him slap your ass.

“Stop being such a brat and behave for once. Do you think I’m gonna give you my dick with you acting like this?”

You keep your lips pressed together, some part of you not wanting to let him have the upperhand even though he’s already long had it. You have to open your mouth to scream, though, when he spanks you harder than before.

“Answer me, Y/N.” The sound of his demanding voice makes you twitch around his fingers, and you’re sure he can feel it.

“I-I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” 

Ten removes his wet fingers from you and rearranges your body on the bed stomach-down. You sigh deeply, still upset at getting no orgasm, but you let him maneuver you however he likes. He pulls your hips up so your head is resting on the pillow and your ass is offered up to him.

“Arch your back for me,” he says, his hand pressing against the small of your back. You moan softly at his words, doing as he asks.

You can’t see what he’s doing behind you, but you hear him moving around. Your body jerks at the sudden feeling of his dick sliding through your lower lips.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” His tip teases you but doesn’t enter, and you’re almost ready to shout with how pent-up and frustrated you are, though you also know doing that will only make things harder for you.

“I’ll be good,” you say quietly.

Ten spanks you on a sore spot, which makes your legs shake a bit as you try to hold your positioning. “I couldn’t hear you.”

Your voice trembles as you speak louder. “I promise I’ll be good, just, please…”

“Please what? Do you want to drag this out all night?”

“Please fuck me.”

There’s no concealing the groan that comes from your lips after he finally decides to settle himself inside you, especially with it being so long since you’ve felt him properly. You want to push back on him, but he holds your hips still. Your hands twist aimlessly, wishing you could feel him under your fingertips.

His first thrusts are not very fast but more forceful than anything, making your skin slap together loudly. Your forehead is shining with sweat as you try to keep your breathing even, though it’s hard to inhale properly between the noises spilling from you.

“If only the neighbors could hear you right now. Should we open the window so they can listen to you scream my name?”

“Fuck, d-don’t.” You can’t tell whether he’s being serious or not, but you don’t want to take the chance. You’re too busy savoring his deep thrusts inside you, his tip rubbing against your tender spot.

“Don’t lie.” Ten’s hand creeps to the back of your neck, tugging at your hair—only gently, though, as he knows not to go yanking shit. Still, the extra stimulation at your nape makes you cry out. “You like embarrassing me in front of the neighbors; why don’t I embarrass you?” When he quickens his pace, you find it impossible to keep quiet, begging him to please let you cum this time.

“I’m gonna come, Ten, p-please, let me…” Your words turn to babbling even as you try to keep your mind straight. The pleasure clouding your brain lessens, though, when he slows his thrusts a bit. You think he’s going to edge you again, and you nearly sob from frustration.

“Mmm….should I?” The way he moves his hips into you is fluid like water, the smooth rocking motion of it more than enough to make up for the slower pace. “Do you deserve to come?”

It takes you a few moments to get your voice stable enough to reply, especially with him still fucking into you the entire time. Your orgasm is looming on the horizon despite him insistently denying you, and you hope that he’ll give you permission. Either way, you don’t think you can hold it back anymore. “Y-yes, I’ve been a good g-girl. Just like you t-told me to. Please....”

Ten smirks from behind you, though you can’t see this. “Then let me feel you. Come on me, baby.”

His free hand slips to your clit and this is enough to tip the scales for you, a pure flood of euphoria running through your veins and enveloping your nerves. He keeps his other hand in your hair so you won’t try to muffle your noises in the pillow, and you’re left to cry and pant his name into the air, your speech quickly becoming incoherent.

Ten spills deeply into you not long after your own end, holding himself there and letting his cum paint your inner walls while a litany of pretty moans cascades from his lips. When he pulls out, he quickly pushes his fingers into you again, making you pant desperately, unsure whether to push closer to his probing hand or pull away from the overstimulation.

You don’t have to think about it too long, because he soon takes them back out and shuffles up the bed to be at eye-level with you. You let your bottom half sink back to the mattress, feeling incredibly well-fucked. While staring into your eyes, Ten pushes his wet fingers against your lips—the ones still covered in both of your fluids. You willingly accept them, and he watches as you clean everything up.

You’re getting sleepy now, and you lie prone as you let Ten untie your scarf and set your wrists free, finally. He massages the skin there, which is a little indented from the fabric. Your eyes drift closed as he does this. You don’t think of anything suspicious when you feel him turning you on your back; nor do you bother to open your eyes when you hear the bedside drawer opening.

He shuffles around on the bed some more, and it’s only when you hear a familiar buzzing do your eyes fly open. Ten sits there in front of you holding your Hitachi wand like it’s a threat.

“We’re not finished yet.”

“You can’t be serious,” you say, your heart rate picking up again as he slips his way down your body. “Ten, I don’t think I can take anymore—” Your legs shake involuntarily when he presses the round tip of the vibrator against your clit, and you gasp loudly. He situates himself neatly between your legs to keep them open as he presses two of his fingers into you. He momentarily removes them to slide them through your lower lips and across your clit, using your combined cum as lube to make the vibrator move against you more smoothly.

Soon, Ten’s back inside you like he never left, hooking his fingers into your g-spot and circling the vibrator over your clit in a tight rhythm. You grasp at the pillow and sheets beneath you, trying to hold onto some sense of stability as he pushes your oversensitive body even further. Your whole being is electrified, your hips arching and legs twisting recklessly as Ten gives you more than what you think you can handle.

The sound of him fingering you is magnified by all the slick between your legs and his own cum, and it makes a mess of the sheets as he does. He’s mostly unphased by all your moving around, keeping the vibrator on you and his index and middle fingers deep inside you as you plead for him. You try to bite your shirt to silence yourself, but it doesn’t do much good to quiet you.

Something you haven’t quite felt before rises inside you as you edge closer to yet another orgasm, and you’re a little afraid of it.

“W-wait, this feels—Oh my God, I think I’m gonna—” Fueled by your cries, Ten turns the vibrator up to its next speed, which makes your legs tense up. You’re almost crying as you cum, squeezing tightly around his fingers, except there’s more gushing out of you this time. You end up wetting his forearm and the sheets underneath you from it. 

Ten pushes his face into you to taste you, his tongue and the vibrator working you over and causing you to squirt again. You’re a little shocked and embarrassed about cumming on his face, though you don’t have too much thought to give to those emotions as you’re swept up in a slew of smaller orgasms.

You’re not entirely sure when it all ends, convinced you must’ve blacked out at some point. All you know is that your face is wet with tear-streaks and your body is saturated with tremors afterwards. Ten is face-to-face with you now, pulling a few pieces of hair away from your cheek.

“Are you still alive?” He laughs, though his voice is tender.

“...Just barely.”

Ten reaches for the nightstand again and your whole body reacts as you use what strength you have left to tug on his arm. “No!! I’m not kidding Ten, I’m going to die—”

Ten looks at you with amusement, holding a water bottle in your face. “I’m only getting this. You’re probably dehydrated...you squirted like, everywhere.”

Your skin warms at that. “Whose fault is that?” you say tiredly, glaring at him, though you accept the water when he puts the bottle to your lips.

Ten gives you a small smile and runs his finger along the bridge of your nose. “Think about that the next time you try to play a prank on me.”

[t-lostinworlds]

...and Action! (Tom Holland)

A/N: This was not planned at all. i wasn’t going to do a birthday fic ‘cause i have no idea what to write and birthday surprises can be so redundant (since i’ve written two of it already lmao) but then this idea came to me this morning and here we are a couple hours later. Wrote this quickly so bear with me aha. Hope you still like it! x

Pairing: Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was Tom’s birthday, a surprise shouldn't be at all surprising. But he never expected his girlfriend to pop-up in the most unlikely way while on set.

Warnings: Just fluff really and a bit of a steamy moment in the end?

Word Count: 3.1k+

Masterlist in Bio

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"No, no, it's okay love, don't worry about it. Yeah, thank you darling, and yes, I'll try and have fun. I love you too sweetheart. Okay, I'll see you soon, bye..."

Tom lets out a groan after he hung up, throwing his phone on the pillow before his whole body plopped down on the hotel bed with a soft thud.

"Who was that?" Harry asked, feigning concern by his brother's sudden change in mood as he tried his best to keep a steady face.

"Y/N. Something came up with work and she couldn't fly out here. She's not coming for my birthday," Tom answered dejectedly. Though his face was covered with both hands, the sadness in his voice was too obvious to miss.

"I'm sure she tried her best Tom," his brother reassured, small smile plastered on his lips.

"I know. It's just—it's so last minute and I was looking forward to seeing her today since I haven't seen her in months," Tom shot his brother a frown. "I just really miss her man," he added.

It wouldn't be such a big deal to him if it wasn't so sudden, if he had time to prepare for it basically. Tom was already getting ready to pick you up at the airport, excitement filling him up head to toe. But with an hour and a half to go, you suddenly called and said you couldn't make it. To say that his heart dropped in the pit of his stomach at the news would be a huge understatement.

You were apologizing profusely on the other line, voice filled with regret saying how it was out of your control and Tom does understand. You have a life too after all, but it doesn't make him feel any less disappointed by the whole thing.

"Want to walk around the city for the meantime?" Harry proposed as he sat on the edge of the bed, giving his brother a comforting pat on the leg.

"Let's just go to set a bit early," Tom sighed, flashing Harry a small smile. He then stood up from his place begrudgingly, heading to the en suite to pack his essentials for today's shoot.

The plan was now completely thrown out the window. He was supposed to meet you at the airport, bring you back to the hotel for you to settle your things, and then you'll go together to set so that you can watch what he does for a living. And to have you there would've been an added energy boost, his cheerleader as you've said that one time.

But with you still in London and him in New York, there was no possible way that it could happen now. Unless you teleported which was highly unlikely.

Tom will have to celebrate the day with you miles away, as heartbreaking as that sounds.

***

"Ready to go?"

Tom only answered his brother with a hum and a nod, energy at a low given that his excitement was robbed away from him.

Harry did feel kind of bad to see his brother so down, and he was itching to say something. But with that said, he's more scared of you than Tom, and he wouldn't want to be the one to ruin everything, so he kept his mouth shut.

Once inside the cab, Tom sat at the very corner with a sigh, head pressed against the window, all overly dramatic that Harry tried his best to suppress a laugh.

Pulling out his phone, the younger brother then quickly typed in the text and hit send, making sure he was being discreet as possible to not spoil the surprise.

Message to Y/N: We're in the car now. I already told the front desk to give you the key then you can put your things in his room. I'll meet you on set later.

Tom had no idea what's in store for him.

***

"Harry! I missed you, you dork. How's he doing?" you greeted with glee as you got off the couch of the make-up trailer to give the younger brother a warm hug, him returning the gesture with just as much enthusiasm.

"Missed you too. And he's still moping. He has no idea you're here, at all," Harry chuckled as he pulled away.

You couldn't help but frown a little at that. Of course you feel bad, it was his special day and the first thing he's heard wasn't the greatest of news. But then again, every birthday always has a surprise. His wasn't an exception.

"Right, how do I look?" you asked, gesturing towards yourself from head to toe. It was a waitress' uniform what you wore, your hair up in a ponytail with a visor to hide your face just a little. The fabric from head to toe was a shade of light pink, save for the shoes and apron that were both white.

"A little different, but still recognizable," Harry pointed out with a knowing smile. "He won't be able to tell it's you right away though, the mask doesn't let him see much," he added with a chuckle.

"Good, great... okay wow, why am I suddenly nervous?" you laughed shyly, bouncing on your toes anxiously despite your task being as simple as holding onto him.

You've already talked to Jon Watts on what needs to be done. In fact, he was the one who pitched the idea in the first place. You were supposed to go for the typical pop-up with a cake when everything was wrapped for the day. But Harry accidentally spilt the plan on Jon who then got excited and offered an alternative route, which wasn't at all simple for sure but it would be great fun if it worked.

Then it resulted to the planning, Tom's manager getting involved, and then the crew helped you test it out and rehearsed it earlier this morning. Preparing was a bit of a handful but Jon was enthusiastic all throughout, saying that he wanted to surprise Tom in a not-so-normal way.

Quite frankly, most of everyone was in on it. Except Tom of course, just as he always is, in the dark with most things.

"Don't worry, you'll do great," Harry chuckled as he gave you a side-hug, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze before making his way towards the door. "I need to get back to Tom before he gets suspicious. I think you're going to get called to set in a bit."

"Okay, see you Harry."

***

"Tom, last scene for the day and then you're through," Jon said, shooting the lad a sympathetic smile at the tiredness that was obvious on his face.

Tom nodded with a small smile of his own. He was slightly confused because the scene before this was supposed to be his last, but you never know with Marvel. New things get added even at the last minute.

"It's just a short scene, you're simply going to swoop in and save a woman who's about to get hit by fallen debris. And then when she thanks you and runs the other way, you then look up all shock and then cut," the director elaborated, Tom quick to get the drift given that he was already hooked up to wires, and that he's done this countless of time before.

Thankfully, due to movie magic, they don't need to do the actual swooping off the ground, just the swing with the women already in his arms and then him placing her back on the floor, said woman whom Tom has yet to meet.

Tom was quickly ushered to his place on top of a tall platform, and after he's put on the mask—with a bit of help—just then he noticed a figure standing right next to him who stayed awfully silent and still.

Maybe she's just shy.

"Hi, I'm Tom," he introduced sweetly, completely having no clue that it was his girlfriend he's talking to.

"Hello, big fan," you answered softly as you changed the tone of your voice a little. Your nerves were eating you up in fear that he might recognize you—and the fact that you were so high up, but you were hooked up to wires too, so it's all good—but you also can't hide your excitement given that Tom was right here beside you, finally after so long.

You wanted to just hug him, to pull him close and kiss the living daylights out of him, but composure and control is key as it is not the time for the reveal just yet.

"Right just hold on to me," he spoke kindly and you couldn't stop the grin from erupting on your lips as your wrapped your arms around his shoulders, very much amused at the fact that he still has no clue despite being so close now. Maybe it was the suit constricting his senses.

"Good, hold tight and don't look down," he playfully added.

"Ready!" One of the crew yelled, you and Tom putting your thumbs up at the exact same time.

"We are rolling... and action!"

With only one arm wrapped around your waist as the other pretended to take hold on to his web, Tom jumped. No hesitation, no warning, no countdown, just pure confidence as he full on jumped.

The short squeal you let out was quite embarrassing as you held onto him tighter, wind moving pass your face in top speed that you couldn't bear to keep your eyes open. It was only five seconds tops that you stayed in air, your feet touching the ground in no time. But still, your heart hammered against your chest loud and fast, a pure rush of adrenaline coursing through you despite already having done this a couple of time just hours before.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked, Queens accent now in full play as he lets go of your waist to hold you in arm's length. You kept your head low as you nodded, acting your best on being out of breath and a little shaken—which wasn't that hard since that genuinely was a high swing.

"Y-yes, thank you for saving me Spider-Boy," you spoke in the squeakiest tone you can muster, still trying your best to hide your real voice just to play with him for a little more.

"Uh, it's Spider-Man," he corrected unknowingly, the confusion clear in his voice because Jon's instructions weren't being followed, but he can improvise.

"I don't think you're there yet though," you answered normally this time, Tom's whole body going rigid at the sound of the familiar voice.

Both his hands lets go of your shoulders in a haste as he swiftly pulled his mask off, eyes growing wider once it landed on your beautiful face.

"No way," he gasped, stumbling back away from you in utter surprise, hands going on top of his head to tug at his hair as he tries to comprehend what was going on, if what he was seeing was real. It felt like he's just seen a ghost, one gorgeous ghost that is.

"Hi there birthday boy," you giggled, the whole set erupting in cheers and wolf whistles while Tom still kept a fair distance from you. He was completely awestruck at the sight of you standing there, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as his brain tried to process everything.

"I—what?" He looked around set in pure bewilderment, his eyes meeting his brother's who only gave him two thumbs up, that's when he realized Harry was in on it too. Tom shook his head before looking back at you, tears now starting to well up in his eyes as he jutted his bottom lip out in a cute pout.

"Do I not get a hug?" you teased as you opened your arms wide. The boy didn't waste any more time as he ran towards you just like how they do in movies, he's an actor after all. He didn't even bother to put his brakes a little as he jumped into your arms. A soft 'oomph' came out of you at the impact, quickly followed by hearty laugh as you wrapped your arms around him, sighs of reliefs coming out of the both of you at the familiar feeling of warmth.

"It's actually you," Tom whispered as he buried his face on the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin and his grip around you tightening sweetly, your familiar scent filling him up with nothing but joy.

"Of course it is. Did you really think they'd find someone who looks exactly like me?" you flashed him a wide smile as you pulled away a little just to get a better look at him. Tom mirrored your grin as he rested his forehead against yours, eyes coated with adoration as it stared right into your own, and oh how much you've missed this boy.

"No, because you're one of a kind," Tom gushed, grin all wide as he nudges the tip of his nose with yours lovingly, just so glad to finally be so close to you after being away for far too long, to feel the softness of your skin after months of being deprived from it.

"That was so cheesy," Jon interrupted with his megaphone, tone playful which was soon followed by laughter echoing around the whole space.

Tom groaned, head falling softly on your shoulder in an attempt to hide the shade of red on his face, completely forgetting that you were still on set surrounded with a bunch of crew members. He had no problem being cheesy, but those lines were saved for only you and him, so when other people gets a chance to hear them unintentionally, Tom can't help and get all shy about it.

You rubbed his back with a giggle, turning to place a soft kiss on the side of his head making your boy let out a satisfied hum, Tom squeezing your waist in response.

"Right you two, let's start from the top and get this done so that you can go off to your little honeymoon," the director called out again, laughter obvious in his voice.

"Wait is this scene actually going to be in the movie?" Tom called out to Jon. "Yes, but don't take of your mask. And except for the part where you run off looking all scared of her, and then the part where you looked like you were about to cry and—"

"Got it Jon!"

With that, you two were back on the platform again, Tom sporting a wide ass grin as he never did take his eyes off of you, not even for a split second.

"Quit staring," you muttered with a pursed of your lips, cheeks heating up at the attention he was showering you. He only answered with a sweet laugh, leaning closer to give you a peck on the temple that's made your heart melt.

"Are you okay sweetheart? You look a bit nervous for someone who's already done it once," Tom teased, noticing how deep you we're taking in your breaths.

"I auditioned for this part months ago Tom, I have to do my best," you grumbled, face all serious that made him furrow his brows at you in question. "Wait, really?"

"No," you puffed out your cheeks with a laugh. "See, this is why it was so easy to surprise you. You are so gullible," you teased, earning a scoff from your man.

"Shut up and just let me save you from distress," Tom retorted with a light-hearted tone, shooting you a playful eye roll before he puts the mask back on, but never did he deny your statement.

Once everything was ready and set, you did the scene again, but without the extra shenanigans this time.

***

The party was a blast.

Granted, it wasn't all extravagant or over-the-top, it was just simple, a casual dine and drink. But when you spend it with the right people then it will always turn out better than expected.

A small local restaurant was pleased to host it, food and drinks delicious, ambiance great, and company even better. But as the night took its course however, especially with all the alcohol in his system, Tom hasn't been able to keep his hands to himself.

His smile was casual as he kept his end of the conversation with the people around him. But you knew better, especially with his hand going up—too high up—and down your leg in a way that wasn't good for your sanity. And the fact that you wore only tights paired with a skirt wasn't at all helping your case.

He was the one who called it a night for the both of you soon after. The moment you placed your hands on top his bulge as payback, he just lost it completely.

Once the door of his hotel room was shut close with the click of the lock to match, he was onto you in a split second. His lips were pressed on yours in a searing, hungry kiss, hands touching everywhere just so he could pull you as close as he possibly could.

"I missed you so much," he groaned between the kiss, hand gripping on your waist as he stirs you towards the bed. But you had a plan for the night too, so you quickly turned around and pushed him back instead, Tom landing on the edge of the mattress with surprise written on his face but pure fire swimming in his eyes.

You leaned down to kiss him again, only slowly, teasingly this time. You raked your fingernails up and down his jeans, the feeling already making Tom feel ecstatic and hot as he lets out another low groan. But before he could lift a hand up to bring you down to him, you pulled away with a knowing smile, slight mischief laced on your lips but more of it found in your eyes.

"What do you have in mind love?" Tom asked, voice a deep grumble as he watched your every move with intent. With your palm flat against his chest, you pushed him back a little more, up until he leaned back on his hands, whole body now spread out, and what a tasteful sight it was. You leaned forward towards him with a sweet smile, both hands resting palms flat on his jean clad thighs.

"The birthday boy deserves a private show, don't you think?" you whispered in a honeyed tone, tilting your head to the side as you gave his thick thighs a playful squeeze.

Tom lets out a shaky breath at that, eyes raking up and down your body, making sure he wasn't discrete about it before he met your gaze again, eyes coated with lust just as much as yours are.

With a pleased smirk, Tom opened his legs wider for you to easily slip in between them, voice deep and gravelly as he said,

"Sounds wonderful, darling."

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Like, Reblog, and Leave a Comment if you enjoyed and lemme know what you think! x

Tom H. Taglist: @spacebitch2 @hollanddolanfangirl @keepingupwiththehollands @hollandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @unbelievableholland @vinylmendes @kittenruby

send me a message/ask if you want to be added/removed to the tom h. taglist loves!

[parkersbliss]

Chaos On Set | T. Holland

Pairing: Tom Holland X Female, Chaos Walking screen writer, reader

Warnings: no-no words, Tom being a bit of a pervert, but in a cute way? and fluff so fluffy you might get cavities.

wc; 2.5K

Synopsis: Tom really really likes you, but he doesn’t know if you feel the same. Especially when you can never get a moment together.

Request: Heeeeeey soo I don’t know if you take requests, but your writing is AMAZING and I was wondering if you could do a Tom Holland x reader where she wrote the screenplay for the movie he’s in (maybe Chaos Walking, if you know what that is, if you don’t, no sweat!😁😁) and he really likes her, and just make it fluffy and stuff? Idk, but thank you!!! Your writing is amazing, keep it up!! 😁👌🏽❤️

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List 

—

Tom was smitten for you. It was quite obvious to everyone on set, except, well, you. It wasn't that you didn't like him (you did) it was just that being a screenplay writer has you pulled to every part of the set. It was hard to even get one moment alone with Tom. You enjoyed working with him, he was a phenomenal actor and took your advice seriously, but when you're the screenplay writer of Chaos Walking it was like the whole world wanted a piece of you. Any time spent with Tom was either watching him on set or revisiting his lines. There was never a moment for you to catch your breath, not even in the morning. It was always get up and go. This morning had been particularly rushed as you spent the night tweaking a few scenes on set. The best part of being the screenplay writer was not having to dress all fancy. Although, you did just in case you saw Tom. This morning, you didn't care all that much. Instead, you slipped on a pair of lounge shorts and a hoodie, throwing your hair up and popping on some sunglasses to conceal any signs of lack of sleep. Yawning, you grabbed your script full of notes and walked onto the set. You immersed yourself in the script, going over the scenes for today and reshoots that were taking place.

"You look comfortably," Tom greeted. He was already ready for the day, clad in a dirt-covered gray (it might've been white, who knows) tank top that did nothing to hide his toned arms. His hair was still short from shooting Cherry a couple of months prior, but he pulled it off.

"Uh, yeah, late-night," You mumble, trying to straighten your wrinkled hoodie. Tom finds it adorable as you try to look a bit more presentable to him. He watches as you pull at the frayed edges of your clothing, small pout as it refuses to straighten up. You tug at it a few more times before huffing and giving up.

"So," He starts, rocking back and forth on his heels, his cheeks flushed. "What do you think of the movie so far?"

"Are you kidding me? It's amazing! You're a great Todd. It's like every girl's dream to watch book characters be brought to life."

He laughs, eye crinkled slightly, "I thought every girl's dream was an all you can buffet."

You tap your chin, pretending to think about it, "yeah that too."

Tom smiles, fiddling nervously with his fingers, trying to think of what to say next. He's not sure if you've ever had a conversation this long before.

"I really hope we can become friends," You blurt out, instantly regretting it. Tom's taken back, eyes wide as he tries to think of some type of witty reply. What if he wants to be more than friends? Scratch that, he does. But he knows that you've only known each other for two weeks and this is the longest conversation you've had.

"No," He said, watching as your face fell. "I mean, uh, shit, best friends?"

You give him an awkward smile, a little shocked at his first reaction. "Okay."

"Okay," He repeats, nodding his head slightly. "Yeah, okay. I should go. Not that I want to, but they need back on set. I mean, I think they do. They probably do," He rambles on. You giggle slightly as he continues spitting nonsense. You place a hand on his exposed bicep, "I get it, Tom. You can go, I have to be on stage three anyway."

Tom's staring at your hand on his arm, he's internally panicking but you don't know that. At least he doesn't think you do. He's probably sweating ten times more now. "Right, yeah, I'm sorry for keeping you. I should really pay more attention to that. I, uh, I'll see you around?"

You smile softly at him, a slight pink tint to your cheeks, "Yeah, I'll see you around." You pull your hand away from him and give him one last smile before jogging to the other stage.

"You couldn't be more obvious," Daisy jokes.

Tom sighs, dragging his hands down his face, "Do you think she knows?"

"Honestly, no. Shocker really."

Tom rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder with hers playfully. "Whatever."

Daisy wiggles her eyebrows at him, making kissy faces. Tom pushes her away, "Okay, okay, I get it! What crazy thing are we doing today?"

"Into the woods we go!"

"Lovely."

...

"(Y/N)!" Tom calls out as he jogs toward you. He's soaking wet, a navy shirt thrown over his form, slowly staring to dampen. His hair flopping haphazardly around his head. You stand up from your chair, hand outstretched. You were called over to supervise the scene Tom had just finished, which involved a very dirty pond of water. It had been three weeks since you first decided to become friends and it was safe to say, it had worked out. You spent a lot more time around each other, becoming much more comfortable and holding conversations longer than five minutes.

"Nuh-uh mister. I don't want your dirt, water, sweat mix over my nice shirt."

He pouts, arms falling to his sides, "You care more about a shirt than me?"

"Yes," You deadpan. Tom rolls his eyes, taking a few steps closer to you, while you take a few steps back.

"Tom," You warn as you back up against your chair. He grins at you and wraps you in his arms as you squeal.

"You're cold!"

Tom laughs into your neck, his wet hair tickling your chin and you try to push him off you, but he's much stronger and clings to you like a koala, his arms secure around your waist. Ultimately, you stop trying to pry him off accepting the fact you're soaked and he wasn't moving anytime soon.

"You're warm," He murmurs.

You roll your eyes, "Are you going to continue to hug me or let me change out of my now soaked clothes?"

Tom raises his head from the crook of your neck, giving you a loopy smile. "What's the rush? We're done shooting for the day."

You sigh out of relief, "that's great, but you're still cold."

He groans and finally pulls himself off of you. Your clothes are now soaked and sticking to your shivering body. Tom's eyes widen when he notices your bra peaking through your see-through shirt.

"What?" You ask, quirking an eyebrow at Tom's blushing face.

He clears his throat, still staring, "Your uh, your bra," He mumbles. You barely make out what he says, but follow his gaze to your now see-through shirt.

"Oh my god," You gape, then add, "Stop looking, Tom!"

He turns around immediately, "sorry!"

"Give me your shirt," You said.

"What?"

"I can't walk around set like this!"

"I can't walk around shirtless!"

"Have you seen yourself, Tom? Yeah, you can. No one's going to complain. Just give me the shirt, please."

Tom blinks in surprise at your comment, he stumbles over his next few words, "I -- uh, um, okay."

He strips his shirt off, struggling a bit as the fabric clings to his skin, now a bit soaked through. When he eventually gets if off he hands it to you and you do the same, balling your old shirt in your hand. You take a few moments to admire Tom's back muscles, before coughing. He turns around and you grow hot as you eye his toned figure. My god, he was built like a god. Is this even legal? You wonder, still staring at his abs.

Tom laughs, "so I can't stare at you in your bra but you can stare at me topless?"

You shake your head, tearing your gaze away from his perfect form. "yes indeed, now I'm going back to my trailer to change into something not soaking wet."

Tom nods his head, pushing back some of his wet curls, "Okay." He almost mentions you giving his shirt back, but he decides you look much better in it anyway.

"Uh, one thing," He said, causing you to turn around. "Do you, maybe, want to watch a movie later?"

You grin at him, "I'd love too, but only if there's food involved."

"Deal."

...

This wasn't a date, right? No, it wasn't. Tom never said it was, but he wanted it to be. He sits nervously on the sofa, knees bouncing in anticipation of your arrival. It wasn't a date, but it was still the girl he really likes watching a movie with just him and only him. Tom's hair was still slightly damp, although now he wasn't shirtless and instead slipped on his classic midtown hoodie from Spider-Man and a pair of sweatpants. There's a knock at his door and he almost falls off the couch. Tom clambers to the door, swinging it open and leaning against the doorframe pretending he didn't just trip on his way here.

"Hey," You said smiling. You reflected Tom's choice of clothing in only a pair of sweatpants and wrinkled tee, but by god did you pull it off. Tom blinks, tearing his gaze from you. "hi."

"Are you going to invite me in or...?"

"Right! Yeah, of course. Come in." Tom steps aside, holding the door open for you and letting it shut softly. You toss him a lopsided grin over your shoulder.

"So, what are we watching?" You ask, flopping down on the couch, instantly wrapping yourself in the blanket Tom had left out.

"Oh... uh, do you wanna watch Spider-Man?" He scratches the back of his head, cheeks tinted pink.

You wiggle your eyebrows at him, "Are you trying to impress me with your acting skills?"

Tom scoffs, grabbing a pillow from the couch and hurling it at you. "No, I'm obviously showing off Robert's skills."

You playfully roll your eyes, flinging the pillow back at him. He catches it with ease. "Whatever, I haven't seen it anyway."

Tom gasps, "What?"

You throw your head with back with laughter at the expression on his face. He's jaw is hanging wide open, eyebrows knitted together in shock.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I just bruise your ego?"

Tom clicks his tongue, throwing the pillow back at you, hitting you square in the face. "no, but I think I just bruised your face."

"Very funny."

"I get it from my dad."

You purse your lips together, thinking of some type of witty comeback. "yeah, well you didn't get his height."

Tom places a hand on his heart, faking hurt. "Alright, well--"

You cut him off with a pillow to the stomach as he doubles over with an oomph. You howl with laughter as he glares at you.

"Oh love, you don't know what you're in for," He smirks.

"Wait, Tom--" You don't finish your sentence as Tom flops onto you, pillow separating your bodies and you squeal. Tom lays on top of you, pillow resting on your stomach as he grins at you.

"Tommmm," You whine, trying to push him off. He doesn't budge and you pout, resting your arms at your side as his lay by your head.

"Sorry, love, you started it."

"What about the movie?"

"Honestly you're getting an even better view of me like this."

"I only want to watch it because of Zendaya."

"Fuck you."

"You wish."

There's a heavy silence as you take in Tom's comment and the irony of your position. Tom wiggled his eyebrows seductively, smirking.

"Get off me, you weirdo!" You said, finally pushing off of you. He lands on the floor with a satisfying thud and you peek your head over the sofa to check on him. A hand shoots up to grab you and pulls you down on top of him. Tom groans as your body weight land on him, now realizing what a stupid move he had made. Your heads smack together and you wince in pain.

"Shit, sorry love," Tom apologizes, reaching up to hold your head in his hands. He hesitantly places a soft kiss on your temple and you instantly melt in his touch. His hands slowly travel away from your head to wrap around your waist and hold you captive.

"Tom?" You question, arms resting on his shoulder, simultaneously playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He hums, "Yes?"

"Can we watch the movie now?"

He laughs, the vibrations rumbling in his chest, and instinctively you snuggle closer to him and his warmth. He sits up, almost knocking you off, but his arms keep you secure in his lap.

"Yes, we can, but you have to get off me."

Your ankles cross over his waist, "No, I don't wanna. You're warm." You said, face buried in his neck. Tom's happy you can't see the blush on his face as he stares at the girl in his lap. He slowly stands up, one arm still holding you close to him as the other picks up the remote. He turns the movie on, sitting down on the couch. You pick your head up from his neck, glancing at him only to find him already looking down at you. Tom pushes back a few stray pieces of hair from your face and your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second.

"Can I- Can I kiss you?" He asks, breath tickling your face.

"Please," You whisper. His free hand cups your cheek, thumb rubbing over your cheekbones before he dives in and seals your lips with his.

...

"Baby!" Tom exclaims, jogging toward you and picking you up in a bone-crushing hug.

"Bubs, I was only gone for an hour," You laugh, combing your hand through his curls.

"Still too long," He murmurs, kissing your lips.

"Tom!" Daisy calls out, walking toward him. "We need you back on set. You know, if you can detach yourself from (Y/N) for five seconds."

"She's right, bubs," You said, prying him off you.

He whines, "But babyyy."

"No buts, Mister. You have a job to do and so do I."

"Yes, your job is to give me your undying love."

You give Daisy an apologetic smile as she fake gags from behind Tom.

"No, that's my job later. Right now I'm the screenplay writer who's telling you-- the actor -- to get your ass back on set before they fire both of us."

Tom groans, knowing you're right, "wait, you're not coming with me?"

"No, bubs, I have to be on stage five."

"I'm starting to think they're keeping you from me on purpose."

"I can see why."

"Hey!"

You cup Tom's cheeks, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "Kidding, now go fulfill my dreams."

"I think you should fulfill mine."

"Tom," You warn.

He laughs, grabbing your hand and squeezing it lightly before pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "'m joking."

You give him a pointed stare, "partially," he adds.

"I'll see you later."

"You and that ass most definitely will," He winks.

"don't make me write Todd a death scene."

"Joking! Again. I love you!"

"Uh-huh, you just love this ass."

"Well-"

"don't, I'm leaving now," You said, tugging your hand of out his grip and walking away.

"Sorry baby! Love you!" He calls out.

"Yeah, yeah I love you too. Now seriously, get back on set before they fire us."

—

🏷 Taglist: @harrymysunflower @peterspideyy @cams-lynn @runway-to-my-aid @yoinkyourheart @keenmarvellover

strike through- tumblr won’t let me tag you

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 17 - Chasing Pirates

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Fred receives another letter from Angelina and must face some tough questions from George. 

Hermione struggles with her want to keep Harry informed, but is happy things are finally back to normal with Ron and Fred -- but are they really? And how will she cope with some unsettling news?

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

We’ve got internet babies!!! 

As always, please, please, please feel free to like, comment, and reblog. I LOVE interacting with you all!!

Masterlist

<<<Chapter 16

                           In your message you said, you were goin' to bed,

But I'm not done with the night. So I stayed up and read, but your words in my head, Got me mixed up so I turned out the light.

And I, don't know how, to slow it down. My mind's racing from chasing pirates.

Fred figured it was just his luck that in the confusion of everyone running from his mother, he ended up in his bedroom with George and Hermione. He also figured it was just his luck he was too angry with his twin brother to censor his words.

“Are you fucking kidding me George?” Fred seethed, trying to keep his voice down as they were in fact still hiding from their mother.

“Oh lighten—”

“No! No, I will not just lighten up! Why?! What was going on in that evil little skull of yours?” Fred’s hand tightened on the towel around his waist as he paced back and forth. He was angry. Angrier than he had ever been at his brother, which was saying something because he’d never actually been cross with George before. Sure, he’d been miffed and on the odd occasion annoyed by his twin brother, and vice versa of course, but never like this. No, he was well and truly pissed off. Which meant this was entirely new territory for the both of them as Fred tried to manage his emotional tirade and George tried to manage Fred.

“Well, I—”

“You know how things are with Angelina right now and you knew how I felt and then you had to go and do this? I mean, why would you—they—”

“Fred—”

“—especially after what I told you this morning. I mean, I know we’re in it for a laugh and all most of the time, and to be fair this was quite funny. If it were anyone else, it would’ve been a real gut buster. But come on. This was just cheap!”

“Fred—”

“And to include Ginny in it? What? Did you tell her?”

“FRED!” George whispered harshly, putting a stop to Fred’s pacing, and clamping his hand over his brother’s mouth. At first, Fred’s instinct was to rip George’s hand off of his mouth and continue his rant. He was upset. Therefore, he was entitled to as much whinging and scolding as he pleased.

But then he saw George’s eyes flicker to a very confused and sheepish looking Hermione sitting on the edge of George’s bed and that instinct vanished. His eyes grew wide, realizing only then that he’d been freely ranting about Hermione and himself with the girl in question sitting right there. Fucking arsing balls, Fred cursed in his head. How much had he said? Enough to give anything away or only enough to make himself seem like a raving lunatic? He thought about subtly asking George but didn’t get the chance.

Their mother’s angry footsteps sounded from the top of the stairs followed by her equally angry voice, “Someone had better come out here and face me or I’ll be knocking down every single door in this hallway.”

Fred’s head swung from his brother to the door and back. “You have to go out!” Fred whispered in a panic.

“Me? Why me?” asked George.

Fred looked down at his towel-clad body pointedly and then to Hermione who was still sans shirt. “First of all, you owe us. Second, I wonder how mum will feel when she finds Hermione in here with us like this,” said Fred.

George’s face contorted in conflict as the pros and cons of taking the blame for waking up Walburga once again, or having their mother find a half-naked girl in their room. Finally he gave a sort of whiny sigh.

He was just shy of opening their bedroom door when he turned and pointed a finger in Fred and Hermione’s direction. “I want you two to know that I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart and that by going out here I’m fully proving my remorse for this afternoon’s prank.”

“Just go!” Hermione squeaked, shifting uncomfortably, and holding her arms tightly across her chest.

George took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before opening the heavy oak door with flourish and slamming it behind him quickly. “Mum! You’re looking lovely this afternoon,” said George, his voice muffled as he now stood in the hallway.

“I should have known—” she sounded aggravated and slightly defeated, thought Fred “—let’s go. You’re going to help me shut that old bag up and then I think the basement closet needs de-spidering, George Weasley.”

“Come now mum, surely by now you’d be able to tell that I’m Fred.”

Fred sighed, shaking his head, and smiling against his better judgement. Leave it to George to have the last laugh. “Wanker…” Fred mumbled as he crossed the room to his dresser. He dug into one of the drawers and pulled out an old shirt. Throwing it in Hermione’s direction, he politely averted his eyes and began to grab clothes for himself.

“I didn’t know you were a Puddlemere United fan.”

“What?” Fred turned, her comment catching him off guard. While it was a Puddlemere United shirt, you couldn’t know that unless you were familiar with the navy-blue colour and golden crossed bulrushes.

“Puddlemere United,” Hermione repeated, staring strangely at his hand, and then looking away with a slight blush. Fred look to his hand to find that he was still grasping a pair of striped, blue pants. He turned around again, grabbing a pair of trousers – a brand of muggle jeans Lee had turned him and George onto – before grabbing a clean white shirt.

“Yeah. George is a bit more of a Falmouth Falcons fan, but I’ve always preferred Puddlemere. I didn’t know you knew anything about quidditch.”

Hermione let out a snort that while rude, Fred found to be quite endearing. “Please, you can’t be friends with Ron and Harry and not know at least a little bit about quidditch. I’ve read Quidditch Through the Ages at least five times.”

“Never would have guessed it from the vacant expression you get on your face every time it’s brought up,” Fred laughed, pulling his shirt over his head. The cotton material felt nice and light in the warm room.

“That’s because it’s usually Ron going on and on about the Chudley Cannons or how much the Slytherin house team sucks. The same story gets a bit boring over time. Now, if he wanted to talk about the history of quidditch rules and legislature, or the statistical odds of certain teams winning or losing, I might chime in.

“Just when I thought I had you figured out, ‘Mione.” Fred turned but paused, looking between the clothes in his hand and Hermione staring at him once again. While he certainly wasn’t shy, he didn’t really fancy Hermione getting a full view of his…full frontal for a second time that day. Especially when she hadn’t seemed all too cheery about it the first time. “Do you mind?”

“Oh! Um, of course—” Hermione turned, covering her eyes with her hands “—sorry.”

“S’alright,” Fred laughed. Something about Hermione’s embarrassment made him feel a whole lot better about the situation. “You know, I guess I was right.”

“About what?” asked Hermione, still facing the other way as Fred zipped up his trousers.

“Last summer when I guessed you were trying to see me and George naked.”

“Oh piss off!” Hermione cried, the tremor of a laugh in the back of her throat.

If Fred weren’t trying to tease her to make himself feel more comfortable, he probably would have gaped in pure delight that Hermione Granger had just told him to piss off. But, he was, so instead he continued, “You know if you really wanted to get a look, you just had to ask. I’m taken, but George would probably say yes…and Ron,” Fred hesitated to say the last part. The words had come to the tip of his tongue without him even trying, giving him pause to wonder why his brain was at all interested in what Hermione thought of seeing Ron naked. Because you fancy her, you daft git, scoffed the little voice in his head. Ah yes, there was that he supposed.

Hermione made a disgruntled sound, “Yes, I suppose that’s why Ginny was involved. She probably told George all about how she thinks Ron has a crush on me.”

“You can uncover your eyes now. I’m all decent.” Fred crossed the room and settled himself onto his bed, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione in a teasing manner. “I’ve been burned twice already today. I’m not quite sure I’m ready for a third time.”

“Shut up. You’re fine,” Fred laughed, throwing a pillow at the bookish girl.

“Oof,” Hermione grunted, the pillow knocking her to the side but making her laugh all the same. She brought her hands down, hugging the pillow to her chest.

“And how do you feel about that?” Fred asked Hermione, trying to make his voice sound as casual as possible.

“About what?” she questioned, running her hands over her mussed hair.

“You know, about Ron liking you or whatever.”

“Honestly?” Hermione asked, sounding like it was a topic she was entirely tired of talking about.

Fred perked up at this, watching Hermione crawl up George’s bed until she was parallel with him.

“I’d rather he didn’t,” sighed Hermione, tucking her legs underneath her and scrunching her nose in the way that made Fred’s stomach flip. He watched as his shirt hung on her frame, engulfing her upper half and the top part of her legs. If he didn’t know already that she was wearing shorts, he could have easily assumed she was in nothing but her knickers and his shirt. Merlin, he really needed to stop giving her his clothes if this was the direction his brain was going to go every time. He looked away, down at his hands that he’d moved to his lap, now laced together by the fingers.

“Why? Holding out for someone else?” It was more of a joke than a serious question really – a call back to her hesitancy to accept Viktor Krum’s invitation to the Yule ball. In fact when Fred said it, it was in such a sardonic tone that he never even considered that he might be hitting the nail directly on the head. Fred’s heart gave a sort of leap in his chest when she didn’t answer right away. He expected her to tell him off, or throw a pillow at his head, but instead there was silence.

Looking up he was surprised to see Hermione had gone slightly pale, mouth open and eyes wide in panic. “I—”

Before the girl could answer a tap at the window pulled their attention. Fred hopped off his bed and walked to the window where the same stately owl he’d seen a few days prior sat on the ledge. His stomach gave a strange pull as he realized who the owl was most likely for and from. He wasn’t prepared for the harsh wave of heat that washed over him when he opened the window. It felt like it had gotten at least five degrees hotter outside. How could it possibly be any hotter? Fred wondered, taking the letter from the owl, and closing the old window tightly as it flew off into the sun-hazed sky.

He held the letter addressed to himself in sweat-slicked hands. Glancing at Hermione who now looked curiously in his direction, Fred thought for a moment that he should perhaps open it later. That way he wouldn’t have any questioning looks, or expectant faces. On the other hand though, the curiosity was killing him. He had not written Angelina back since the last time she wrote. Truthfully, the letter didn’t feel like it warranted a response and of course he’d been quite busy with the troublesome distraction that currently sat in the room with him. He’d picked up a quill a few times since but staring at the blank page he felt at a loss for words. What should he write? All things currently of interest in his life felt quite shady and untoward and everything else felt inconsequential. Finally, he decided to just get it over with quickly.

The envelope only tore a little as he opened it carefully before sliding out a letter that was pleasantly longer than the last one he’d received from his girlfriend.

Dear Fred,

I finally got to reading the rest of your letters. I’m sorry to hear that your summer isn’t going as fun as you’d hoped. Where exactly are you anyways? From your letters it sounds like you’re in London. Why didn’t you tell me you had family there, you wanker? I would have made you visit them one of these past summers and we could have hung out. London has a lot of cool spots – wish I were there to show you around, but camp lasts all summer long. I guess the only upside to that, is I don’t have to listen to my mother whing on and on about my chores or my clothes or whatever else she’s decided to have a go at for the week.

Fred laughed lightly at the mention of Mrs. Johnson. Angelina had been in a tense war with her mother for the past two years. She swore up and down that her mother was unhappy with anything she did, no matter what. Fred could relate to that. The two of them often swapped stories about their mothers’ disapproval and the wild things they’d done to stir up trouble in their families. He remembered the amount of begging Angelina had had to do that past spring in order to convince her mother to let her go to the summer-long camp. Mrs. Johnson wasn’t too pleased with how athletically inclined Angelina was – convinced that her daughter should be a bit more proper. Secretly, Fred figured Mrs. Johnson finally relented to Angelina’s request just to have an end to the constant badgering.

Have you thought about taking the day off? You’re 17 now and you’ve got all those galleons from Harry (lucky bastard). Surely you and George could sneak off to Diagon Alley for the day or even muggle London! I can give you a list of places if you’d like.

Things are still busy here.

A large drop of smeared ink painted the parchment after the last sentence, as if she’d spent a long time contemplating on what to say next, allowing the ink to drop from her quill before messily attempting to clean it up.

Oliver’s been helping me a lot these past few weeks and it’s actually been pretty great! I know what you’re thinking, how can I possibly be surviving? Don’t get me wrong, he’s still obsessed with the game in that overly intense way, but he’s not nearly as bad as he was in school. Turns out when he’s not consumed by winning the house cup, he’s quite a cool bloke.

I’m making a lot of new friends as well! There are some guys from Ilvermorny here, the American school. They’re quite loud and brash – it reminds me of you.

Anyway, I should probably wrap this up. Oliver’s promised to show me and a couple other people some defensive techniques he’s learned from Puddlemere.

Best,

Angelina

P.S. – There’s something I need to tell you once we’re back at Hogwarts.

Fred was left with a sour taste in his mouth. What could Angelina possibly have to tell him that she couldn’t have written in a letter? And what was this whole business with Oliver being a ‘cool bloke’? Up until that point he’d only ever heard Angelina talk about how much she hated him. He was a crazy, obsessive, misogynistic pig – she’d said it at least a thousand times over. Especially in the times that Oliver disregarded the women on the team and referred to them all as ‘men’ or ‘guys’. And what about those guys from Ilvermorny? What were a bunch of Americans doing in England anyways? Didn’t they have quidditch camps in the states? Lastly, there was the fact that she’d signed it ‘best’ and not ‘yours’. It was a small thing, but she always wrote ‘yours’, even when they weren’t dating.

“Who’s it from?”

Hermione’s voice startled Fred. So immersed in the letter and his thoughts of Angelina and Oliver and guys from Ilvermorny, he’d completely forgotten she was still there.

Fred cleared his throat, “Angelina.”

“Is everything alright?” asked Hermione, furrowing her brow, and staring hard at the letter in his hand.

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” Fred’s voice came out high and crackly, making him feel foolish and completely invalidating his statement that everything was alright.

“Well…it’s just that you’ve been frowning at that letter for about five minutes now and earlier—” she took a deep breath “—earlier you said something to George about Angelina. It sounded a bit like it was something unpleasant.”

“Oh…you caught that?” Hermione Granger had to be the most annoyingly astute witch he’d ever met.

Hermione nodded and stood from the bed, crossing the room to stand before him. She looked nervous, like she was using all her courage to say her next words, “Do you want to—”

“Hey!” The door to the room opened and Ginny and Ron came barrelling through. “The coast is clear. Mum’s got George cleaning out spiders in the basement,” said Ron, now fully clothed and looking a bit pink around the ears as he avoided looking directly at Hermione.

“I just know he’s going to lord that over my head,” sighed Ginny, leaning against the wall and crossing her legs at the ankle. “The whole thing was his idea anyways. Seems fair that he should take the brunt of the punishment.”

“You still haven’t dealt with the punishment you’ll be getting from me Ginevra,” bit Hermione, sending a disapproving look at the younger girl.

“Oh come on, Hermione. You know I only had the best intentions. S’not my fault George mucked it up and you had to see Fred’s bits as well,” said Ginny, pulling a face.

“I very much would have preferred to see no one’s bits.”

“Can you please stop calling them ‘bits’?” asked Ron, frowning. Fred had to agree with his little brother. There was something incredibly emasculating about the word.

“Men—” Ginny rolled her eyes “—such fragile egos. Come on, I think there’s some lemonade in the kitchen and I’m parched. It’s so bloody hot!”

Ginny pushed off the wall and sauntered out of the room followed closely by Ron. Hermione hesitated for a moment, looking up at Fred and then back down at the letter in his hand. Fred quickly folded the letter and shoved it in his pocket. It probably wasn’t the best moment to get into him and Angelina anyways.

“Come on, best not to keep them waiting,” he said and made his way out of the room and down towards the kitchen.

Fred didn’t see George again until dinner. His twin had emerged from the basement closet looking incredibly tired and slightly squeamish. This pleased Fred immensely as he still felt like George’s full punishment hadn’t been served. When everyone had sat themselves down at the long table for their meal, Fred made sure to put as much space between them and Hermione as possible. He needed to have a proper conversation with his brother about that afternoon. Thankfully, they had a few extra guests from the Order and so it was easy to do.

“So, you didn’t tell Ginny about me liking Hermione then?” Fred whispered as he piled potatoes onto his plate.

“Oh so now you’re ready to have a civil conversation?” asked George tiredly, taking the potatoes from him and serving himself as well.

“Oi, don’t get cheeky with me. You’re still the yob who started this.”

“You’re right, sorry—” George passed the bowl of potatoes to the wizard beside him who was currently in a deep conversation about transportation restrictions with their father “—no. I didn’t tell her. I thought she already knew but turns out she was talking about Ron. Classic case of miscommunication.”

Fred nodded. “Mmm, well that’s good at least. What were you thinking though mate? You couldn’t possibly think locking me in the bathroom with Hermione was a good idea.”

“I just thought it would be good to get you two alone together. You know, force you to actually have an open and honest conversation about how you feel,” mumbled George, cutting his ham into little pieces.

“And me being naked was supposed to aid in that?” Fred raised an eyebrow, reaching across the table and snagging a roll.

George looked down at his plate, suppressing a very pleased expression. “Thought it couldn’t hurt. You two looked very cosy this morning. Figured all you needed was a bit of provocation to get the subject flowing,” George admitted.

“You’re an idiot,” Fred whispered, laughing lightly, and shaking his head. While still quite displeased with his twin, he couldn’t dismiss the humour of the situation. “What makes you think Hermione and I don’t talk already?”

The question seemed to catch George off guard.

“What? You thought all those times we were working in our classroom and reading in the library, we were sitting there in silence?” Fred questioned hypothetically.

“Well, you certainly couldn’t have been saying anything of substance. Otherwise you’d both have finally admitted your feelings for each other.”

Fred let out a long breath. “Georgie, you know you’re my favourite person in the whole world—” Fred started.

“I’m touched, Freddie.” George brought a hand up to his heart.

“—some would say I even love you like a brother,” Fred went on.

“Not sure I could say the same, sorry.”

“But, at the end of the day I am in a relationship with Angelina. It wouldn’t be fair to her if I were to go behind her back with Hermione. And Hermione—”

“You can’t still tell me you think she likes Ron—”

“No. Actually she told me the exact opposite earlier this afternoon,” Fred confessed, trying not to focus on the way his heart lifted a little at the thought. “But it doesn’t mean she likes me either. Hermione is a nice girl. She deserves a hell of a lot better than me and even if she did like me, well like I said. That wouldn’t be fair to Angelina.”

“Is it fair to Angelina though for you to keep going out with her when you fancy someone else?” challenged George, bringing his voice to barely a whisper as they both leaned in to make their conversation more private.

“I… —” Fred struggled with the words “—it’s complicated. I still fancy Angelina too. It’s not like I’m dating her for nothing. She’s great. She’s one of my best friends, she’s tough, she’s fit, she loves quidditch, and we’ve known each other forever. I can’t just…I can’t just give that up because I also fancy someone else.”

“Do you fancy Angelina though?”

“What?”

“Do you actually fancy Angelina.”

“I just said I did, didn’t I?” Fred felt lost. What was George getting at?

“Yes, but you just listed things you like about her. Things most blokes like about her. Bloody hell, things I like about her – no offence. But, and correct me if I’m wrong, aren’t relationships supposed to be a bit deeper or some emotional crap like that? You know, something a bit more than just ‘we’re mates, and she lets me shag her’?”

“I…well on that logic then how do you know it’s not just the same thing with Hermione?”

“Are you shagging Hermione?” George asked, eyebrows raising high.

“No, but the idea doesn’t sound half bad. What if it’s more of a ‘we’re mates, and I want to shag her’ situation?” Fred took a large bite of his dinner roll and reached forward to grab his glass of pumpkin juice.

“Honestly, Freddie? That’s a bit out of my wheelhouse. But you should probably figure that out. Sooner rather than later,” said George lightly before taking a mouthful of stewed carrots.

Fred swallowed the bite of roll and scoffed into his glass. “Thanks for that. Great advice,” he said sarcastically before drinking deeply from his cup.

George grabbed his own glass and raised it lightly before answering, “Better advice than you get anywhere else. Cheers, mate.”

  Dear Harry,

How’s your summer going? I hope your aunt and uncle aren’t being too horrible.

I really wish you were here. Maybe then Ron would have someone else to play chess with. You know how horrible I am at it…

I’m sure you’ve been reading the Daily Prophet and by now you’re aware of what they’re saying about you. I’m not really supposed to say anything but, I feel like you should

Dear Harry,

I hope your summer’s going better than mine. I know I haven’t said much in my last couple of letters but it’s only because I’m not allowed.

I really wish that I

Harry,

I know I’m not supposed to say anything, but I think that’s rubbish. I think you deserve to know that you’re not alone. Despite the lack of action from the ministry, I want you to know that there are people out there taking this seriously.

When you get here, you’ll understand.

Hermione crossed out her third attempt at writing Harry before crumpling the parchment and throwing it angrily in the bin beside her. This is impossible, she thought forlornly. She’d been having an internal battle for the past two weeks on whether she should follow Dumbledore’s instructions or go with her gut. Every fibre of her being wanted to tell Harry what was going on, to let him know that he wasn’t alone in this fight. But her foolish and incessant need to follow directions and stay out of trouble stopped her every time. Professor Dumbledore was a wise man. He was smart. Most importantly, he knew a lot more about what was going on than she did. So, it would make sense for her to keep her nose out of all of this and simply follow his lead. But despite her headmaster’s in-depth knowledge on most things, Hermione knew one thing to be true. He didn’t know Harry Potter nearly as well as she did.

Professor Dumbledore had insisted that they needn’t worry Harry on the comings and going of the Order and the efforts being put in place against a now fully risen dark lord. He needed time to heal from what happened the previous year with Cedric Diggory. That was all well and nice except that if you knew Harry at all, then you knew that he never stopped worrying. He was definitely the suffer in silence, woe is me, martyr type and usually the only thing that did stop him from worrying and obsessing was action. Harry Potter needed control, or he’d go insane. Usually this control came in two different forms. The first was distraction. If he couldn’t have direct control of a situation he’d resort to quidditch or flying or something else physical to take his mind off whatever it was. The second was involvement. Harry wouldn’t stop until he’d solved the mystery, and everything was put right in his mind. That’s why they hadn’t ceased their research first year until they figured out the secret to the philosopher’s stone. Or why their second year had ended in Harry fighting a basilisk underneath the school. Or why he’d declared to kill Sirius Black himself when he’d found out what he thought to be the truth of his parent’s deaths.

But Hermione knew that Harry, currently locked in the confines of his aunt and uncle’s muggle neighbourhood, was unable to do either and so she was certain the only thing he’d been doing the past month was stewing in internal misery. The fact that he’d neglected to respond to her and Ron’s letters thus far, not even their birthday wishes, only proved her theory right.

Dumbledore may be an expert on the innerworkings of the ministry, but Hermione was an expert on the innerworkings of Harry Potter. So, surely it would be best if she told him something. She had to be able to get some sort of message to him that wouldn’t reveal too much if intercepted by the ministry or Voldemort’s people. Just something that would quell the frustration that was surely rising in her best friend.

However, the right words simply were not coming to her yet, so she rested her quill back down on the table and corked her ink bottle firmly, before moving to her bed and sitting down huffily. She needed to focus on something else or before she knew it she’d turn into Harry.

Picking up the small ball of yarn and worn wooden knitting needles on her bed, Hermione started in on her practice. Recently she’d taken up knitting as both a hobby and a way to further her work with the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. This came entirely from an event that took place a week prior when she’d simultaneously met Kreacher and seen the horror that was the Black family’s legacy of house elves.

“What ARE those?!” Hermione screamed, jumping back, and toppling into Ron who had been following her into the fourth-floor study.

They had been tasked with cleaning out the old Black patriarch’s study.

“Bloody hell, Hermione. What?!” yelled Ron, catching her in his arms and putting her right on her feet.

But Hermione ignored his question, too overwhelmed by the sickening sight before her. On the wall, sitting above the bookshelves opposite the stately mahogany desk were the heads of house elves mounted to the wall. They hung stuffed, pale, and lifeless like common animals on display. It made her sick.

“Oh that is twisted,” said Ron, having now entered the room and seen what had made Hermione scream.

“I—why—who would do something like this?” Hermione asked, torn between her inability to stomach the sight of the house elves’ severed heads, and the sheer shock of it keeping her eyes glued to them.

“That would be my dear mother again, I’m afraid,” came Sirius’ voice. Hermione imagined he must have been nearby, most likely visiting Buckbeak in the attic, heard her scream, and came to investigate.

“This is disgusting…this is barbaric. How could anyone do something like this?” she asked, feeling tears begin to well in her eyes.

“You’d be surprised. It’s an old practice in pureblood families, not really done anymore, but at one time house elves saw it as a badge of honour to have themselves commemorated like this after they died—” Sirius strolled into the room, looking up at the mounted heads, hands casually in his pockets “—I never cared for it though. Absolutely refuse to do it for Kreacher when he finally croaks.”

“Kreacher?—” Hermione was finally able to pull her gaze away from the elves to look at Sirius “—you mean there’s a house elf here?”

“Course there is!” cried Sirius in surprise, tone laced with a bitter edge.

“Don’t worry Hermione. He doesn’t do any of the cooking or cleaning or anything like that,” interjected Ron in a reassuring manner that did very little to actually reassure her.

“How did I not know about this?” she asked, feeling overwhelmed and dazed.

“Well, my mum always said a good house elf was one that got the job done but was rarely seen. Can’t say that’s very true of Kreacher though. He clearly only holds up half of that statement. In fact—” Sirius, turned looking about the empty study around him “—Kreacher!”

With a pop, a small little house elf popped into existence before him. He was different than the house elves Hermione had seen before. He seemed older, more haggard, and dirty. His nose was long and droopy, and the cloth he wore for clothes was so dirty, it looked to be more filth than it was material. Kreacher sneered nastily up at his master and then around the room, spotting Ron and Hermione. Hermione didn’t think it was possible, but his expression turned even nastier once he saw them.

“Filthy mudblood, blood-traitors alike. Tarnishing my mistress’s house like this,” mumbled the little house elf and catching Hermione completely off guard. You’d think the words would hurt less after hearing them so much in the last four years, but they held a fresh sting every time. The only thing that had changed was her ability to better mask the hurt she felt.

“Give it a rest you vile little thing,” grimaced Sirius, surprising Hermione even more than Kreacher’s words.

Ever since she’d arrived at Grimmauld Place, she’d acknowledged that Sirius held a certain disdain to his childhood home. However, she had yet to experience the level of contempt the older wizard held for the house elf before him.

“Of course Master Black. Kreacher is sorry. What can Kreacher do for you?” responded Kreacher in a mocking tone. The words, while objectively respectful, held no trace of true respect whatsoever.

“Yes, I’m sure you are,” said Sirius sarcastically. “I need you to dispose of these disgusting relics immediately.” Sirius pointed up at the row of heads, looking as disgusted as Hermione still felt about both them, and the behaviour of the two individuals before her.

“No! Those are mistress’s! Kreacher refuses,” cried the old house elf in outrage.

“It was not a request, you disgusting beast. I am your master, and I am ordering you to take those vile things down and throw them away. Do you understand me?” spat Sirius, crossing his arms, and glaring down at Kreacher.

“Yes master Black. Of course.”

Hermione had been in such a shock after that that she had left the room and retreated to the kitchen. While she truly needed a cup of tea to calm her nerves, it was still too hot and so she’d allowed Ron to pour her a glass of pumpkin juice as she processed the event. Sure, the things Kreacher said were horrible and hurtful, but look at the way Sirius treated him! Maybe if Kreacher was met with a little kindness, he wouldn’t feel the need to be so mean. And the heads…she didn’t even know where to begin with the heads…

It was at that moment, that Hermione formulated a plan. The house elves clearly needed a way out, whether they knew it or not. So, that afternoon she’d gone to Mrs. Weasley to borrow knitting supplies and get a few lessons.

“Hey Hermione, have you seen Fred and George?” Ron’s voice from the doorway, brought Hermione’s attention away from the complicated mess of yarn in her hands. She’d gotten her knit and purl stitches confused and was currently trying to figure out which direction her yarn was supposed to be facing. Looks like she needed more practice.

“Why would I know where they are?” she asked, frowning back down at her work, and cursing under her breath. A few of her stitches had slipped off her needles.

Ron gave a short laugh, snorting through his nose. “Come on Hermione. You spend more time with them these days than anyone else.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t give me that ‘I’m helping them with their schoolwork’ excuse, Hermione. I’m not thick. You’re helping them with their inventions aren’t you,” said Ron, crossing the room and leaning against one of the posts of Ginny’s bed.

“Just a little,” Hermione admitted sheepishly. There was no point in lying to Ron about it now.

“I knew it!” Ron cried enthusiastically. “Are you also helping fund them? They seem to have a lot more money these days than not.”

“No, I’m not, but I’ve actually been wondering the same thing!” said Hermione with equal fervour. The last she’d heard, the two of them were still trying to get their money back from Ludo Bagman. Perhaps her suggestion of blackmail the previous year had finally worked. Though if it did, she didn’t want to know anything about it.

“Hmm, strange,” Ron commented, staring down at the heap of yarn in her hands in confusion. He was probably wondering what she could possibly be making, but thankfully he was kind enough to not make any comments. “You know helping those two is going to become a conflict of interest when you become a Prefect, right?”

“What makes you think I’m going to make Prefect?”

Ron snorted once again. “Come on Hermione, are you telling me you’ve thought there was any other alternative.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. As much as she tried to keep a level of humility to her, she had to admit that the notion that any other Gryffindor girl in their year would be chosen for Prefect felt preposterous. This was something she’d been working towards since first year.

“I don’t help them that much. Mostly it’s just a bunch of reading their notes and telling them where their magic is wrong. Nothing wrong with that – it’s educational really,” she half lied.

“Oh yeah. Educational,” Ron snickered, pushing off from the bedpost and walking towards the door. “Well if you do see them, tell them mum’s looking for them.”

“Will do—” Hermione went to return to her knitting but stopped, looking up at his retreating figure “—wait, where are you off to then?”

Ron turned, leaning in the doorframe now. “Professor Lupin’s downstairs. I convinced him to teach me how to play chess.”

“But you already know how to play chess…” Hermione gave him a wry smile.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that. I’ve bet Sirius ten sickles I can go at least four games before he realizes I’m hustling him,” said Ron, a large grin spreading across his freckled face.

Hermione let out a small laugh and shook her head before saying, “I swear, you get more and more like Fred and George every day.”

“Those wankers? Absolutely not.”

And with that, Ron disappeared into the hallway, a little more pep in his step than usual. A smile remained plastered on Hermione’s face for long after Ron had left. She felt warm and content in the way only a cheerful and easy encounter with a friend could leave you feeling. Her and Ron had settled into an unspoken understanding after the mortifying bathroom encounter. Of course neither of them spoke of it, both choosing to act as though it had never happened. In a strange way, it was almost as if they needed the uncomfortable situation to become comfortable with each other again. Ron seemed less dopey and more relaxed around her, and as a result Ginny stopped talking about Ron’s feelings for her.

The same sentiment went for twins. It was as if the little bit of chaos was all the group needed to fall back once again into the comfortable friendships that had existed before. Hermione still felt her stomach flip and heartrate increase every time Fred entered a room or brushed past her too closely in the hallway, but she tried to ignore that as much as possible. That was her problem after all, not anyone else’s. And most of all she didn’t want to ruin her friendship with Fred over her stupid crush.

They had grown closer than ever over the past two weeks. Most likely due to their new tradition of late nights in the library of Grimmauld Place. When everyone had retired for the night, tucked in snuggly in their beds, Hermione and Fred would slip from their sheets and reconvene on the old couch of the library, till late in the night. They discussed Fred’s inventions, their interests, and their lives. It usually ended in some kind of debate, but Hermione always found herself laughing in the end. She’d never been able to talk so freely with anyone. It was both a blessing and a curse.

When her yarn had tangled for the fifth time, Hermione sighed and gave up. Instead, she opted to make her way down to the kitchen for a snack. Dinner was soon, but she’d missed tea that afternoon and was feeling too peckish to wait.

“Checkmate,” said Ron proudly as he stared smugly at the rumpled wizard sitting across from him at the kitchen table.

“Hi Professor,” Hermione greeted, eyeing a plate of Chelsea buns on the kitchen counter.

“Hello Hermione,” said Professor Lupin tiredly, his head balanced in his hands as he stared in bewilderment at the chess board in front of him. Sirius sat beside his old friend, snickering silently into his hand.

Hermione suppressed her negative emotions towards the suave, long-haired wizard. Seeing the way he treated Kreacher had left her less than pleased with him.

“You swear you’ve never played before?” Professor Lupin questioned Ron suspiciously.

Ron shook his head in mock innocence and Hermione had to turn away in hide her smile.

She grabbed a bun, taking a large bite out of it and sitting down at the table beside Ron to watch him square off with their old teacher again. The pair had gotten through exactly five and a half games before Professor Lupin had declared in frustration that there was no way Ron had never played wizard’s chess before.

Everyone in the room burst into laughter at that point, the twins and Ginny having wandered into the kitchen and joined in on the fun knowing full well that Ron was better at wizard’s chess than anyone they’d ever met. After that Professor Lupin refused to play anymore games, but Sirius and George stepped up to try and beat Ron in a combined effort.

Ron had just managed to corner their queen when Mr. Weasley came striding into the room with purpose.

“Hey dad!” Ginny greeted cheerfully. But her good humour melted away when her father ignored her greeting.

Arthur Weasley looked worried. Worried and frantic. Hermione had only ever seen that expression on his face once before – at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Remus, Sirius, emergency Order meeting now. Where’s Molly?”

“She’s upstairs I think, shall I go get her?” asked Sirius.

“No, I’ll go. Other members should be arriving soon, have them meet in the dining room.”

Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George were all ushered out of the kitchen shortly after that. None of their pleas to stay or questions were acquiesced or answered of course. So instead, they opted to sit at the top of the stairs and gleam as much information as they could from the members that entered headquarters. Hermione assumed it must be serious. Ron told her that they had never had an emergency meeting like this before. This fact was only solidified in her mind when Dumbledore arrived looking quite grave, his long robes billowing behind him as he stormed down the entry hall and disappeared through the doorway to the dining room. Professor Snape was with him, a fact that caught Hermione by surprise.

“Professor Snape is in the Order?” she asked George sitting next to her.

He nodded and whispered back, “Unfortunately. The slimy git only comes around every once in a while. Always thought he’d be on the other side, but if Dumbledore trusts him, then he must know something we don’t.”

“It’s clear he knows a lot of things we don’t,” said Hermione, beginning to worry the inside of her bottom lip. It had to be Harry. Something this serious and this panicked always had to do with Harry.

That suspicion was confirmed a few hours later at dinner when Mr. Weasley told them that Harry had been accused of underage magic by the ministry earlier that night. Apparently, the ministry had tried to expel him outright, but Professor Dumbledore had insisted on a trial before they went to such extreme punishment. Hermione was more concerned as to why Harry needed to use magic at all than the thought of him being expelled. Apparently he had produced a patronus in front of a muggle. There was only one reason Harry would produce a patronus – dementors. Dementors in a muggle suburb? Now that was cause for concern on many levels.

Hermione ate very little at dinner, too consumed by the problem at hand. The ministry had complete control of the dementors. Only they could dispatch dementors away from Azkaban. Was this the Minister’s way of getting rid of Harry? To easily solve their problem of him? If this didn’t work, what else would they do? What lengths would they go to silence Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter?

A little voice in the back of her head proposed that perhaps Harry had gone looking for trouble that night. Or worked himself up so much that he imagined the dementors and tried to play the hero. Guiltily she thought of the half-finished unsent letters in the garbage bin in her room and wondered if this would have happened if she hadn’t been too meek to break the rules and give her best friend a glimmer of hope.

All these thoughts and questions stuck with her well into the night. Lying in bed, staring up at the darkness of the ceiling above, sleep evaded her worse than ever before. Sitting up, Hermione peaked over at Ginny’s snoring form in the bed beside hers and slipped from the covers. She padded silently out of the room, down the hall, and down the stairs to the library. While the days events had been out of the ordinary, Hermione hoped that her and Fred’s tradition would remain, and she would find him in the library. The urge to talk to him itched at the back of her head fervently.

However, when she got to library, she found the door cracked and the whispered voices of Professor Lupin and Sirius drifted out. Hermione held her breath, turning away from the door and tiptoeing back towards the stairs. She didn’t need to listen in on their conversation to know they were most like talking about Harry. Once back on the third floor, Hermione found herself at a standstill. She should go back to bed. It was no use wandering the dark and grim house at night when she was already out of sorts. However, instead of making her way to her own bed, Hermione found herself walking not to her door, but Fred and George’s. Like an invisible pull at her centre, she gravitated towards it like a planet in orbit.

Not bothering to knock considering the late hour, Hermione quietly opened the door and slipped inside. She walked silently to Fred’s bed and found him sound asleep. She’d never seen him asleep before – up until that point she didn’t think she could be any more handsome than he already was, but up until that point she’d never seen him blissfully gone to the world.

As if sensing her presence, his eyes opened, blinking slowly as he took in her presence.

“’Mione? I thought you’d gone to bed. Went looking for you earlier but Black and Lupin were in the library,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.

“I can’t sleep…”

They stared at each other in the dark for what felt like ages. It was as if they were experiencing group thought, both of them teetering on the edge of a decision they were both unsure of. Hermione should go back to her own room. She shouldn’t be sneaking into the room of a boy who had a girlfriend. She should be—

“Get in,” Fred whispered, lifting the covers, and pushing them both of the edge.

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. She slipped into the covers, burying herself deeply into their warmth. It had been a heatwave for the past two weeks, but the house felt colder that night than it ever had.

“Merlin, your feet are freezing,” Fred whispered when Hermione’s feet accidentally brushed his own.

Hermione moved them away quickly. “Sorry,” she whispered back in embarrassment.

Fred surprised her by reaching down and hook his hand around the back of her leg and pulling her feet flush with his own. “Give ‘em here,” he grumbled before releasing her leg and settling back into the mattress with a deep sigh.

Hermione smiled into the darkness and rolled over onto her side. She kept a safe distance of propriety between them, making sure the only thing touching was their feet. Her head fell heavy on the pillow and for the first time that night she was able to relax.

“Fred?” she whispered tentatively.

“What?” came the soft sound of Fred’s voice back.

“Thank you.”

Fred didn’t answer, instead he shifted, and Hermione felt his hand fall atop hers, gripping it tightly. It took barely minutes for Hermione to fall asleep to the firm and grounding feel of Fred’s thumb rubbing the delicate skin on the back of her hand.

Chapter 18>>>

Taglist: 

@theworldisugly-22

@aoonai

@sjh-07-10

@is-it-madness

@i-d-e-g-a-f

[drkoestersmithrpg]

worked a little on this

Bad Day

He had flunked the final.  He knew it.  There was no arguing about it.  He didn’t have the strength to argue.  He would have moved heaven and earth NOT to admit it, but the time had come to admit it.  He couldn’t take 21 hours and make good grades.  

Well, maybe he could… but he had forgotten VERY one important thing.

Well… two important things.

One - he was Spider-Man.  And he could create and recreate and recalibrate schedules all day every day, but the criminals of New York City just never seemed to listen.

And number two, he was dating THE Tony Stark.

Add all these factors into the equation and what did that add up to?  Well probably an equation that he couldn’t solve because he was an idiot who flunked his final and would never get his math major, that’s what.

As he stomped through the snow back to his dormroom from Dale Hall (okay that was a lie, he was too dejected to stomp, he was too broken to stomp) he cursed everything about his life.  He knew he could have aced all his classes if he didn’t have Spider-Man duties.  He knew he would be an excellent Spider-Man if he wasn’t trying to ace all his classes.  And maybe… just maybe… just maybe he COULD do both of those things, and do them well, if he didn’t have a full-time serious boyfriend…

It hit him like lightening.  Like scripture.  It was the sudden and complete definition of epiphany.  He stopped in his tracks and pulled out his phone.  Actually stepped off the sidewalk, stood in the falling snow, and dropped his backpack onto the icy pavement and texted furiously.  Texted before he could think about it.

                                                         //Are we on for tonight?// 

he texted to said full-time serious boyfriend.

Quickly.  That was the key.  Quickly, before he had time to chicken out.

                                                 //Because I need something.//

Don’t think just text don’t think just text text fast before you think 

                        //I’m really hoping you can Take Care Of Me tonight.//

   He hurried through the frozen campus back to his dormroom.  There were some essentials he had to take care of before he could show up at the penthouse, and he rushed through them.  The faster they were done, the less time to stress out.   The faster he got to Tony’s place, the less time he had to live with that knot in his stomach.  

And the knot in his stomach - he knew exactly what that was about.  It happened every time there was a scheduled ‘take care of me’ night.  It wasn’t the knot of apprehension, it was the knot of doubt.  

The doubt of “am-I-really-going-to-go-through-with-this?” 

And there was only one way to get rid of THAT knot, Peter knew.  And that was to get his ass over to the penthouse.  Once he rode up that elevator (or in through the suit-pad door.  When he webslung his way over there, he just entered through the suit-pad door.  And that’s what he was doing today.  It was worse than freezing in the skies of NYC, but he’d chicken out in the time it took to take the elevator) and walked into Tony’s arms, well, that’s when the knot always let go.  Not because he wasn’t still nervous.  But because, by walking into Tony’s arms, he had committed.  From then on, whatever Tony wanted, Peter would do.

And that still made him nervous.  He couldn’t help it.  When Tony wanted to “take care of him” in that special way… well… it just made Peter nervous.  Not because it was scary (oh, but it was) but because it was so intense.  That’s why they didn’t do it very often… only for special occasions.

And fucking up his Differential Equations final?  Well, if there was ever a special occasion, this was it.

 * * * 

 [that purse sntacher that PEter caught sight of ont hew ay there had to be th emost unlucky criminal in the whole world.  When he gets all those lose ends tighed up he finds Tony already there, ready for him.  He tears up and sinks into Tony’s arms.  “I fucked up.”  Tony has ordered food - Peter was hoping to be hand-fed, god he didn’t even REALIZE how badly he wants it, not that he wants yogurt and apple sauce but because the LAST THING he wants is to sit down at a dinner and act like an adult and eat with a fork and talk … OH GOD he REALY doesn’t want to talk about had badly he screwed himself and proved that he really couldn’t take on this massive corseload AND be a good boyfriend AND an avdnger, he REALY doesn’t want to have this conversation with the dude who graduated from MIT at 17… then Tony says I’ll cut the pad thair for you, would you like your coco first?  Peter smiles.  Is there wonton soup?  OF COURSE there is…

I’m going to take care of you baby.

     “No, the fuzzy one.”  Peter pouted, as he snuggled against the soft grey pillows, snuggled under the soft grey throw.  He wasn’t entirely sure that Tony had bought this new sectional just for the “Take Care Of You” game, but Tony had bought this particular sectional right after the first “Take Care Of You” game, and he wasn’t sure they had used it for any other purpose.

The look on Tony’s face now made him giggle.  Peter wasn’t drunk, but he felt drunk, and it was a lovely sensation.   

“I thought you didn’t like the ‘fuzzy’ one,” Tony said indulgently, still looking at him strangely. Peter couldn’t deny that this was the case.  The special blanket Tony had bought (and he had bought it for the “Take Care Of You” game, there was no denying that) Peter had found far too irritating.  He had complained, at the time, that it was his spider-senses, an annoying side-effect of his superpowers, making certain tactile input just too much to handle.  But that hadn’t been entirely true.  He had rejected the blanket had because it had felt too childish.  He couldn’t say why.  Maybe because the grey [description of Eeyore.]  ?  And while he had accepted almost al of the aspects of the game [be helpless, being out of control] being childish wasn’t something he felt comfortable with.  Even when he was being spoon-fed marshmallows from his cocoa.

But he also couldn’t explain why tonight was different.

So he didn’t try.

“I just want the fuzzy one tonight,” he said again, trying, this time, to sound more coherent.  More adult.  “Tonight is special.”

Tony considered, nodded, then wordlessly took the black comforter back to the closet and searched for the original grey blanket.  Behind him, Peter hid his face in the pillows.  Dammit, why did he have to day that?  “Tonight is special?”  How the hell was he going to explain that tonight was “special” and that “special” meant “I Fucked Up Royally and I’m Going To Get My First Bad Grade In My Life?”  Let alone the part where [“ there’s no one he can explain that to because ALL they will say is that he shouldn’t have taken so many hours so soon and he wasn’t want to hear that.]

Of course, maybe he didn’t have to explain.  Maybe it wouldn’t come up.  He distracted himself by looking at the hot coco now steaming in a grey cup on the table. He could reach out for it himself, but no… it would be so much sweeter to wait and let Tony come and feed it too him. He marveled, not for the first time, how the [he’s waiting for Tony to come and feed it to him.  He marvels how the grey blanket and the grey sectional match the grey cup - Tony put so much though into this.  He’s REALLY going to let Tony have his way tonight.]

Tony had put the remote control in his hand when he had led him to the sofa, but Peter had let it fall to the floor.  He had started to look for something to watch, but turned off the screen when he realized, with a start, that he was looking for some old cartoons to watch.  He hoped Tony wouldn’t notice.  Sometimes they snuggled on the couch and watched movies before the “Taking Care” game began.  Peter hoped they could skip that tonight.  Tonight he was in bad shape.

Which was ridiculous… absurd that a potential bad grade could make him feel more pain than grievous physical injury ever could.  

But in the end, weren’t they both just signs of his complete failure?

 He started to tear up even now – oh god Tony never asked him WHY he needed the game tonight, and he wasn’t sure what he would do if Tony asked the question.  But this was ridiculous – Tony couldn’t find him in tears, or he really would ask.  Peter looked for the clicker in an effort to distract himself.  He had to calm down.  He took deep breaths and tried to distract himself.  Doing [something involving differential equations] in his head didn’t help.  He settled for going over the rules of the game.  

(sees it like an outline, like a syllabus that ridiculous professor gave them that rambled on and made no sense?  No, no, he wasn’t going to blame his professor for his colossal failure.)

 Rule #1:  Safety Word

The safety word was ‘foot cramp,’ although Peter had stopped it before just by saying “I need a break.” Tony was always ready to back up, knowing they would resume after Peter had pulled away long enough to breathe a little (or to take over for a moment.  Usually kissing Tony hard, just for a minute, was all it took.)  

Rule #2:  Words, Code Words and the 3rd Person

They had established that soft food was too much, and that regular food, cut into tiny bits, would still work.  It was the hand-feeding that mattered.  The word “baby” was all right, as long as it wasn’t in the 3rd person.  So “messy baby” and “does that feel good baby?” were alright, but “Does baby want his _____ (noodles, cup, blanket) now?” was out.  

The word “daddy” was alright, although it would only be used Tony.  And it was alright for Tony to refer to himself in the third person (“Can daddy make you feel good?” was alright.  And “Will you be a good boy for Daddy?” made Peter weak in the knees.)

Peter never used the word “Daddy,” of course.  Although he had tried to do it, because he knew Tony wanted it, it just never came. He reasoned that the word didn’t mean anything to him.  He had no member of ever calling anyone ‘daddy,’ ever.  

Rule #3:  Codes

“Is my baby okay?” was a status check, and while it was not a rule, Peter had learned that Tony would trust his answer better if Peter didn’t answer automatically.  If he stopped, took a breath, and then nodded yes [ Tony trusted that he was telling the truth.]

“My tummy hurts” was code to indicate that he was still in the nervous stage, which meant Tony would slow down, or else another back rub was in order.  Sometimes both.

There were other rules, too, rules that they never talked about.  [He KNOWS Tony wants him to engage in baby-talk, tony never comes out and asks but Peter can get the hint.  The BEST he can do is uh-uh and uh-hu and nodding and shaking his head (he’s perfected the art of closing his eyes tight and shaking his head to say ‘no’ a move which is is proud of.)  

Four-letter words were out, but slipping up was NOT indication that the game is over (ideally, Tony said, the game wasn’t over until Peter had fallen asleep.)  And it was generally agreed at if Peter cried out “oh fuck that feels good tony” it was Tony’s own fault for being so damn good.

[just-a-happening]

Body Pillow | T.H.

Summary: In which you try to make your time spent away from Tom a little easier but your plan works a little too well for his liking.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1,300

Author’s Note: hello this is my first time writing like this so pls be gentle!

Long distance was hard.

Despite practically sharing an apartment, you sometimes went weeks, even months, without seeing your boyfriend while he was away filming. You did your best to fill the space–FaceTiming twice a week, phone calls every night, spontaneous weekend visits–but you had yet to find the cure to an empty bed.

It was always hard, putting on a brave face while dropping him off at JFK.

“I’ll be home before you know it darling,” he promised every time, pressing a kiss to your temple and wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You won’t even have time to miss me.”

Things took a turn for the worst when he left to shoot Far From Home. Not only were you not allowed on set due to confidentiality issues–Tom compared it to being quarantined–but he didn't get a break until halfway through filming, meaning you wouldn’t see each other for four months; the longest you’d ever been apart.

At first, you took in stride. You weren’t going to be one of those girls, the kind that fell apart the moment your boyfriend wasn’t around. 

“Do you miss me yet?” he’d ask, his pixilated face smiling softly at you. 

Your schedules were off now that he was in Europe, but you had a small window between you getting home from work and his bedtime. 

You’d scoff, deflecting the question. “I’ll tell you what I don’t miss, taking cold showers because you used up all the hot water.”  

Unfortunately, after downing an entire bottle of Pinot Grigio at your weekly wine night at your best friend’s place, you realized, much to your friend’s amusement, that you were, in fact, one of those girls. 

You tried it all. From sleeping on his side, to sleeping in the middle, you even spent nights on the couch in front of the TV to avoid the bedroom all together; nothing seemed to ease the dull ache in your chest from missing Tom.  

The bed felt too big, too cold without him.

You didn’t even have Tess to keep you company. Tom had left her with his brother Sam back in London, insisting that he didn’t want to burden you with her for the next several months. 

You spent the nights eating Chinese takeout on the couch, because Tom usually cooked, making a significant dent in your Netflix watch list. 

You got the idea while roaming the aisles of the nearest Target. Tessa had accidentally destroyed one of your throw pillows last time she was at your place (Tom’s fault, of course, not hers) and you’d been meaning to find a replacement. You turned down the wrong aisle, though, stumbling upon the body pillows instead.

You didn’t solve your throw pillow dilemma that day, but you did find a solution to your empty bed syndrome.

Finally, you were sleeping through the night again. It wasn’t the same as cuddling him–definitely not as fun, but with much less kicking involved–but after a few weeks, it became the only way you could fall asleep. 

You never mentioned it to Tom, a little embarrassed to admit just how much you missed him.

At first, Tom found it adorable.

“I think it’s cute,” he teased when he first got home. He held the pillow up so that they were side by side. “You know, I can kind of see the resemblance.”

You’d just roll your eyes, “Shut up.”

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Maybe we could buy it a Spider-Man costume, mask and all. Then you really wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“I’m going to smack you with it.”

One night the two of you were in bed. Tom was scheduled to fly back out to Atlanta at the end of the week so you were making the most of your time together, which really just meant having enough sex to tide you over the three months until he was home for good.

“I missed this,” you mumbled against his lips.

“I missed you,” he’d mumble back.

Tom’s mouth trailed deliciously hot kisses down your neck, his fingers tugging down the strap of your tank top to pepper kisses over your shoulder before reaching down and pulling it off in one swift movement. 

You cupped his face and pulled his lips back to yours, kissing him slowly, fingers tangled in his hair, committing every move to memory. Both of you wanted to preserve this moment as best as you could.

You broke apart, squealing when Tom shifted with lightning speed, rolling on top of you. He was peering down at you, his eyes mischievously bright, grinning smugly.

“Can your pillow do this?” he winked, before disappearing under the covers.

“You know, you are so annoy–oh,” your eyes fluttered shut. “No, it can’t.”

It wasn’t until he was back home from filming that he started to notice how much of a problem it had actually become. He knew you’d grown attached to it, sure, but he didn’t expect you to keep cuddling the damn thing while he was in bed with you.

He would make up in the middle of the night to find that the stupid pillow was between you, your arms clutching it for dear life. Several times he tried to slide it out from under you, but you would frown in your sleep.

Once, he accidentally woke you up.

“What’re you doing?” you muttered groggily, pulling the pillow closer.

He just sighed and collapsed back into bed, defeated. “Sorry love, just getting comfortable.”

You were cleaning the apartment one afternoon and you found your pillow folded neatly on the top shelf of the storage closet. When you confronted Tom about it he just shrugged, insisting that he had no idea how it got there.

“Maybe it was the cleaning lady,” he said casually, not even bothering to look up from the magazine he was reading. 

You crossed your arms, giving him a flat look he couldn’t see. “I don’t have a cleaning lady.”

“We should get you a cleaning lady.” 

Tom would lay awake at night, plotting ways to get rid of it while making it look like an accident. He’d never want to hurt your feelings, but he missed his girlfriend.

You finally caught on to what was happening when you caught him trying to feed it to a very uninterested Tessa, probably hoping it would suffer the same fate as your throw.

“You’re jealous.”

Tom scoffed. “Don’t be daft.”

His too-quick reply only confirmed your suspicions. “Oh my God, you are!”

“I am not jealous!” he argued defensively. “There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

You poked his side affectionately. “Are you worried I love it more than I love you?”

He glared at you. “Don’t even joke.”

One night he’d had enough. You were both sitting in bed, him scrolling through Twitter, you reading a book, your pillow between you. He looked between you and the pillow once before setting his phone down and snatching it off the bed.

You glanced up from your book, confused. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he tucked the pillow under his arm and walked out the bedroom door towards the kitchen. You were so stunned you didn’t even get out of bed to follow him.

It sounded like he was rifling through one of the cabinets followed by the unmistakable sound of a garbage bag being shaken out. You then heard the front door open and close, the deadbolt sliding back into place.

Seconds later, Tom walked back into your room empty-handed.

You raised an eyebrow at him and asked, “Are you sure you weren’t jealous?”

“Absolutely positive,” he said, crawling back into bed.

You watched him as he made his way to your side on his hands and knees, his hair falling into his eyes. He reached over and plucked your book out of your hands, tossing it over his shoulder. You made a mental note to reprimand him about it later.

You giggled as he pulled you to him, your head finding his chest and your arms automatically winding around his middle.

He hummed happily, “Much better.”

“What about next time you leave?” you asked, nuzzling your face into his neck.

Nothing could replace this feeling, you thought.  

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he murmured into your hair. 

You closed your eyes, the warmth of his body pressed up to yours lulling you to sleep. You shook your head drowsily. 

“I don’t need a new one,” you yawned. “I just need you to promise to always come back.”

“I swear.” 

[starker-stories]

The Cold, Chapter 7 - The Messages Series

This chapter on AO3

By @thestarkerisobvious​ and @starker-stories​​

New chapters in the series post every Thursday.

All links are to AO3. You don’t need to be a creator to have an AO3 account. You can have one solely as a reader. But to read anything at all in this series, you can just be an anonymous reader and/or commenter.

The best way to keep up with The Cold is to subscribe to the story on AO3. And the best way to keep up with the Messages Series is also to subscribe to it as well as the individual stories. That way you’ll know when the next book is added.

Tags: Tony Stark Feels, Peter Parker Feels, College Student Peter Parker, Established Relationship, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Kink, Peter Parker is a Mess, Spider-Man powers, Communication, They Finally Communicate!, And Fuck Of Course Look at Who It’s Written By Of Course They Fuck, Avengers Compound

The entire Messages Series.  All links are to AO3.

Messages Unsent  (complete & posted)

Nothing More Than A Machine  (complete & posted)

Tomorrow  (complete & posted)

My Virgin (Revisited)  (completely & posted) 

The Cold  (completely written) Posts Every Thursday

There’s been a change.

The Cold is the final book in the main line of the Messages series. There is this one and three more chapters until the end (10 chapters total.) The story has been completely finished and is ready to post to schedule.

What were formerly the last two chapters will be written as Messages Interludes and won’t be posted to the same schedule that Messages has been. 

The best way to follow them is to subscribe to the Interludes series link. These stories involve time jumps that make them their own separate thing from the contiguous week that Peter and Tony have been through in Messages.

The Opposite of Cold  ( in progress )

Untitled  ( in progress )

Note: There is some Italian in the chapter. It’s left untranslated until a note at the end of the chapter to put the reader in Peter’s head. If you speak Italian, obviously this little gambit won’t work on you. If you are an Italian speaker and we’ve gotten it wrong, please leave us a comment with the correction and we’ll make it.

Chapter 7:  Faremo L'amore Ogni Notte

She guided him away and they headed to her lab, leaving Tony behind in her office.

Tony agreed that what was discussed between Peter and Helen would remain between them. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous about what was happening. Instead of pacing the courtyard, making a nuisance of himself, he headed to his long-disused personal labs two floors up.

Cleaning the place up, activating and repairing the equipment, it all took time. He checked his watch. Not enough time. Peter was still gone, still downstairs with Helen. He looked up what he’d been working on when he was here last, years ago.

There was little to distract him. Going over his notes on his development of the nanotech for his and Peter’s suits was interesting in a ‘historical record’ sort of way, though the data wouldn’t become part of that until long after it had ceased to be useful to him.

Watch-checking time again. Tony’s inability to keep himself distracted for more than, at most, an hour was annoying. He was sitting in what had been the top lab in the country, and he couldn’t find anything to do. Because his mind was still two floors down. Where he had no idea what was going on. Tony wasn’t sure which was worse. The possibility that something could be wrong or the fact that he couldn’t see it even if there wasn’t anything wrong.

Peter’s texts finally interrupted him.

We’re still talking

Still talking

Hey can you send me that vid of me stopping the car? The first one? Can’t find it.

Can you send me my laser-course stats?

Thanx

Ok headed to the examination room now.

The updates were at least keeping Tony from going completely crazy. But they also kept him from getting involved in anything truly distracting. So their effect was to have him sitting there, doing nothing, staring at his phone, waiting for the next one.

He wanted to text back, to find out more, but he didn’t want to interrupt an exam or a test. He had no idea what was going on before or after the texts. So he just stared at his phone waiting for the next notification.

Omg I haven’t been naked at the doctor since I was 13

This is not a gown this is paper wtf?!

Finally Peter texted him again. The medical exam was over (I get to put on my clothes now) and he and ‘Helen’ were going for a walk.

At that, Tony’s resolve not to spy on Peter broke. He could control things in Helen’s office. He could control things on the entire medical floor. A ‘walk’? Where? Under whose watchful eyes and ears?

Finally, after the cameras showed them heading outside, he gave the monitoring over to FRIDAY. “Track them, turn the surveillance off as they move along the grid, block communication from anyone who sees them and decides to talk about it. I want them in total privacy, from everything and everyone.”

Tony paused. “Even me,” he added, abiding not by the rules Helen gave him, but by the rules he set for himself after their argument.

After an hour, he got another text.

Were on our way back headed to the cafeteria. Im starving

Tony took the elevator down to the atrium level where the cafeteria and the entrance from outside was. He tried not to be, but he was a little terse when he met Peter and Helen at the door. He looked at Helen. “You and I need to have a conversation.”

Helen flashed him a sunny smile, then turned to Peter. “You won’t believe it, but the pizza here is actually good. I’ll see you after?” After Peter was gone, Helen looked back at Tony, but her smile didn’t fade. Most people would have been alarmed to find themselves at the receiving end of a Tony Stark Glare. Helen Cho, of course, was not most people.

“Your office, Doctor?” Tony said, waving his hand in that direction. He was too involved in his own conspiracy theories to notice Helen’s unflappable demeanor. When they arrived, he shut the door behind them. The windows that looked out onto the atrium darkened, the active monitoring lights turned off on the cameras.

“Why the hell did you take him outside into an uncontrolled environment? Are you asking for the spies in the building to know that he had to see you about something? That alone right there is more information than I wanted out about this. So what’s with the doctor/patient confidentiality? That doesn’t apply suddenly?”

Dr. Cho looked mildly surprised at Tony’s accusatory tone, but only shrugged.

“Sorry, it’s now confidential that I met Spider-Man? My bad.”

“Everything about this is confidentential, I thought I made that clear. Fury, New-Cap, no one is supposed to know anything about anything. Just knowing that Peter is talking to you lets them know that something is up with Spider-Man. That will get them curious.

"All anyone knows is that we came here so I could show off the labs to Peter and make sure New-Cap accepts him as an Avenger. Coming here to see you? Getting tested? That was never on the agenda.”

“Good thing you’ve secured my office, then. We’ll go over the details after Peter achieves some caloric intake. I have theories.”

“That’s great. It’s what Peter needs. I want him to have your theories, your conclusions. But I want him to have them. No one else.”

“And you made that clear when you tried to bribe me for my silence, Tony,” Helen said, stepping closer, her patient face hardening a bit. “Peter wanted to go for a walk. He had things he wanted to talk about, and he did. And for the record? I can think of sixteen things we could have been talking about without even trying, and the fact that YOU can’t think of a few is a little telling. Not that he needs an alibi for finding his own personal physician... do you realize he hasn’t had a physical since he was fourteen?” She shook her head in disbelief. “He hasn’t even gotten all his shots! Not that it matters but still… just the idea…

“In any case, Peter is my priority now. If he wants to tell me about the things on his mind in a field, or a laboratory, or an alien spaceship it’s his call. Not yours.”

“He still thinks the Avengers are one big happy family spending nights in pillow forts, watching movies, and eating popcorn. He has no idea of the risk. You can’t trust his ability to know where he should be talking to you. He still… he still fucking trusts people.”

She reached out to touch Tony’s arm briefly. “Well, we know better, don’t we? You were right to call me in on this one.” Helen’s tone was gentler now. “I’m glad he’s got you in his corner on this one, Tony. He may need you. You may be protecting the real next Captain America…”

“Over my dead fucking body,” Tony interrupted hotly.

“…And I’m not sure he’s ready to say ‘no’ to Nick Fury. But I know you. You were born ready.

“I think you two make a good team.”

Tony sighed, a little more relieved. At least Helen saw through some of the smoke and mirrors that surrounded her. “He trusts people. But… he’s the only one… I trust.”

There was silence for a moment. Only when he turned to look at Helen did she speak again.

“I’m glad, Tony. You, more than anyone else on this planet, have earned the right to every single trust issue you own, and then some. But you trust me to an extent, or you wouldn’t have called me. And I’m glad you did. And for the record? I think he’s adorable, and you make a very sweet couple.

“Now shut the fuck up and stop telling me how to do my job,” she said dismisvely, turning back to her desk and pointing at the door. “Go debate the propriety of pineapple on pizza with your boyfriend. I’ll meet you two back here when he’s done eating.”

Tony nodded. He knew he had no objectivity on this issue. Just being here was the last place he wanted to be, which he’d tried to explain… No, he hadn’t tried to explain, just expected Peter to somehow intuit — which wasn’t really fair. Nor was it fair to Helen to blame her for what went on around her.

“Is that even a debate? Of course pineapple belongs on pizza,” Tony said smiling as he left to go find Peter.

Peter had, in fact, already scarfed down his pizza and was on his way to find Tony. He only glanced around for a moment to make sure they were alone before he wrapped his arms around Tony and hugged him fiercely.

“Thank you for this,” he whispered.

Tony smiled and put a kiss on — not the top of Peter’s head anymore! — Peter’s cheek. “Helen says she has ideas. So, I’m glad we were able to come.”

When they entered Helen’s office, she was pulling up a chart on her holoscreen, using her finger to add Peter’s numbers.

“Now, obviously I can’t chart a line based on one point. I’ll need more data. Peter and I may have to talk once year, twice a year ideally. But based on his memory and what data you gave me, I have some theories. Peter’s weight, muscle mass, and BMI put him solidly average, though his height is in the lower 25% until this last growth spurt. Still very average. Nothing anyone can do about that. Now — the jumps in his performance scores look drastic, but not if you take into consideration that the recorded scores from when he was sixteen were inaccurate. According to him he was holding back. But given the stats you calculated in high-adrenaline situations, catching moving vehicles, going hand to hand with the Winter Soldier, I’ve made different estimates. And that gives us a trajectory that looks like this.”

She drew the line with one finger, then hovered over the chart already on the screen.

“The numbers appear extreme, but the math is ultimately the same. A non-enhanced male of Peter’s age, weight and healthy caloric intake, not to mention his daily workout schedule…

“Yes,” she interrupted as Peter tried to correct her. “You swing your bodyweight through over the streets of New York City for hours almost daily, you weren’t taking that into account.”

“So a non-enhanced young adult male’s trajectory would look the same as the one Peter is making now. If my theory holds he’ll peak the same time a non-enhanced male would peak, then begin to decline the same way.” She looked at Peter, as if asking permission to continue.

Peter only nodded and looked at Tony. He was nothing but smiles. He seemed pleased and relieved. When Helen kept looking at him, waiting for that permission to come, Peter decided that it didn’t need to. They were finished talking.

The numbers didn’t matter any longer. They’d discussed them during their walk. What mattered was that he was growing at a normal — for non-normal — rate. It would stop. He’d reach a peak and not just keep growing ridiculously forever. There would come a point where he didn’t have to keep being afraid of his ability. He could just learn how to work within it. He’d learn his limits. Then he wouldn’t hurt anyone else. And he wouldn’t hurt Tony. That was what both of them needed to know.

The meeting ended with cell phones out and schedules compared, Peter and Dr. Cho making plans six months in the future and exchanging numbers. Tony copying the dates in his. Peter hugged Dr. Cho before they left the office, then once again as they said goodbye.

“Did you get the answers you were looking for?” Tony asked as they left Helen’s office, heading to the residence wing.

“Yes, I mean no, but I got some decent theories. Which beat the fuck out of my theories. My theories were just too scary. Helen put it all into perspective. She’s awesome. Thank you, Tony.”

They left the medical wing for the stairs in the lobby, then down them, holding hands.

They had decided to kill the rest of the day by heading to the pool ‘to relax’. Peter’s manic need to perform feats of strength had cooled. They talked, they joked, they made up conversations in between Sam and Bucky who, they assured each other, were watching them at every moment. Peter matched Tony joke for raunchy joke, laughing freely and easily.

Tony smiled, sneaking glances at Peter when the kid wouldn’t notice. He hadn’t seen Peter this relaxed and easy since, well, since his work started to impinge on their lives. Peter’s happiness started to slip away when they’d meet up at different hotels in the city as something fun and different from the penthouse. At first, Peter would get excited and they’d laugh and play around with things in the suite, even bouncing like a kid on the very soft and bouncy beds.

That seemed like a long, long time ago. As Tony drifted away from their life, Peter also drifted away. Now, his Peter was back.

They did laps, at which Peter would’ve beat Tony easily if the kid hadn’t been acting like a dolphin following a ship, diving and ducking underneath him, swerving in patterns, even leaping up and over Tony’s body.

More than once Peter made bets he could hold his breath for ‘this long’, bets he always lost, unable to resist surfacing directly under Tony to grab him and lift him into the air.

The kid was a fish. Their swimming quickly turned into nothing but playing, splashing, dunking. And a lot of teasing. A kiss stolen and then swam away from. An ‘accidental’ brush against somewhere while coming up from a dive.

Tony let himself go. He couldn’t remember when he’d last played around in the water. Or even if he had ever just played around in the water. If the surveillance to the pool room hadn’t been turned off, no one watching would’ve believed that it was Tony Stark down there, laughing and smiling and playing.

“There’s a huge pool at my house in Naples. I’m taking you there. It’ll be just like this for a week. Only better. New-Cap and the Manchurian Candidate won’t be trying to spy on us.”

“Take me to Italy,” Peter said, grinning, swimming into Tony’s arms for another kiss. “Take me somewhere where I don’t know anything, and teach me all of it. Maybe we won’t come back.”

“Andremo in Italia. Nuoteremo in piscina ogni mattina. Faremo l'amore ogni notte.”

“Mmmmm… more. I love being ignorant.”

“I’ll take away your phone and you won’t be able to use ‘translate’,” Tony grinned.

“The less I know the better. I’ll just assume you’re telling me a dirty joke.”

“You’ll have to trust that I’m correctly teaching you what to say. That I’m not having you to insult someone and get us chased out of the restaurant,” Tony clenched his fist and sprayed a squirt of water at Peter’s face.

“Ti comprerò diamanti e quell'orologio e ti rovinerò marcio.”

“I agree! I assume it’s about sex, and I agree.”

“Ti porterò in ogni ristorante di lusso che riesco a trovare. Indosserai scarpe italiane da mille dollari. Ti misurerò per un abito da uomo che costa più di quanto la maggior parte della gente guadagni in una settimana.”

“Yes! I’m unfazeable,” Peter said, laughing. “Whatever it is, I’m in.”

“E quando arriviamo a casa, ti scoperò nel culo così forte che non puoi camminare. Ti lascerò persino toccarmi lì.”

“I’ll assume that means ‘I want to have sex in the pool’,” Peter said, sinking straight down, nuzzling Tony’s cock for a moment before swimming away.

“Voglio fare sesso in piscina,” Tony shouted just before Peter dove again, this time swimming all the way down to the bottom of the deep end.

Peter didn’t spring back up like he’d been doing. A whole minute passed and he was still sitting, cross-legged, at the bottom. Tony frowned and looked down at the distorted image through the water. He counted another ten, fifteen seconds before he dove down. Paddling in front of Peter he looked into the kid’s face. His hair was waving through the water, looking like a mermaid. His eyes were open and he was grinning.

When they had laughed themselves silly and their fingers were getting pruned, Peter and Tony headed to the changing room, showered off and dressed. When they hit the common room, Tony’s hair was slicked back wet, and Peter’s kept falling over his forehead in little ringlets.

Cooking and eating together, they spared only a socially required greeting then ignored any conversation attempts. They were alone in the large room, regardless of who was there around them. Their conversation ranged through the adaptations Tony would be working on for Peter’s suit to the new webbing Peter would create for it. They had no worries about the security of their discussion. No one would understand what they said, even if overheard.

Peter still teased about the pool, his dive, and how it had scared Tony. Tony was still breaking into Italian as he described what he would cook for Peter in Naples and how he would spoil him.

As they sat down to the table, a robot that no one even knew was in the compound came up to them, bringing a bottle of wine from a private cellar that, also, no one knew was in the compound.

By the time dinner was made and finished, they were dry, well fed, and in good humor. They headed to Tony’s suite, leaving behind a befuddled Sam, staring at Tony laughing like he must’ve been an alien left to replace the real Tony Stark.

Italian translations:

The title

Faremo L'amore Ogni Notte - We'll make love all night

Within the text

Andremo in Italia. Nuoteremo in piscina ogni mattina. Faremo l'amore ogni notte. - We will go to Italy. We will swim in the pool every morning. We will make love every night.

Ti comprerò diamanti e quell'orologio e ti rovinerò marcio. - I'll buy you diamonds and that watch and spoil you rotten.

Ti porterò in ogni ristorante di lusso che riesco a trovare. Indosserai scarpe italiane da mille dollari. Ti misurerò per un abito da uomo che costa più di quanto la maggior parte della gente guadagni in una settimana. - I will take you to every luxury restaurant I can find. You will wear Italian thousand dollar shoes. I'll measure you for a men's suit that costs more than most people earn in a week.

E quando arriviamo a casa, ti scoperò nel culo così forte che non puoi camminare. Ti lascerò persino toccarmi lì. - And when we get home, I’ll fuck you in the ass so hard that you can't walk. I'll even let you touch me there.

Voglio fare sesso in piscina. - I want to have sex in the pool.

[somefantasticplace]

STAND UP IF YOU'VE GOT ARTHRITIS

Bob Mortimer recently came out about his arthritis. The lawyer-turned-comedian talks to Cathy Debenham

Bob Mortimer's style of comedy is really physical so it comes as a big surprise to learn that he has rheumatoid arthritis. Slapstick clowning with a surreal edge is what we have come to expect from Bob and his long-term partner Vic Reeves, and they don't disappoint. Swinging, spider-like, from a studio roof, and hitting each other with giant frying pans are regular features of their popular TV series' Families A War and Shooting Stars. Over the 15 years he has had arthritis, Mortimer has learnt to manage the condition. However, he has discovered that the stress of his job tends to cause flare-ups of his arthritis.

"It's just completely triggered by stress which is something I would never had believed," he says. 'Whenever I'm about to go on tour, bang. And whenever I'm about to start a television series, bang. I have to accept that, for me, it is triggered by stress. I don't like to [take drugs for it all the time]. I try to not be too active because that will bring it on. I've stopped doing sport."

However Mortimer does use medication to get through filming and touring. "When I am about to go on tour, I have a big injection of cortisone in my bum that lasts for the tour, plus I have my steroids," he adds. "'I don't know if it's a good thing to be doing, but I can manage the pain by throwing drugs at it. When the tour has finished, generally my attack has finished, so I stop taking them. I'm doing damage to myself, that's the problem because I'm not noticing the pain, but it's the job I do. If my job involved something like that 52 weeks a year it would be ridiculous to be just throwing steroids at it, but as I just have to do it from time to time, that's what I do." Mortimer is from Middlesbrough. One of four boys, his father died when he was six. Unlike many comedians he wasn't the class comic. "I was in a group of friends and we all thought we were funny," he says, "but I just played football really." His dream was to be a professional footballer, and he won a training place with Middlesbrough FC. "The system was that when you were 15 you were in what was called the "boys". The scouts went out to the schools and then at the end of the year you were signed as a proper apprentice. But when the day came I was taken into the office and I wasn't signed up. That was the end of that." Mortimer is very matter of fact about missing out on his dream, and doesn't bear any grudges. "I remember being sad," he says, "but I don't remember it being a real big deal. I don't think my mum was going to let me anyway." Instead he trained as a solicitor (but he remains a keen Middlesbrough supporter), and worked in law centres in Manchester and Middlesbrough and in a legal aid firm in Peckham, South London. It was when he was working in Peckham, aged 28, that he got arthritis. "I woke up one morning and I couldn't lift my head off the pillow, and I knew there was something terribly, terribly wrong," he says. As is the case for many people with inflammatory arthritis, getting a diagnosis was a slow progress. "A friend got me an ambulance and I went to hospital and they thought perhaps it was a heart attack or a virus - and said go and see your GP," he remembers. "I just collapsed with the pain of it all and went to hospital again, and again they said virus. So I went through this awful limbo period. I had about a year of not really knowing what was wrong with me and it was deteriorating quite rapidly. I had to be dressed and all that business. The delay was simply one of those cases where my GP wanted me to go and see a rheumatologist and I had to wait for about eight months."

In the end Mortimer got tired of waiting and paid to see a rheumatologist privately. "'At the back of my mind I'd probably say I'm anti-private medicine, but come the crunch I was given a terrific service," he admits. "They did my X-rays; they did my blood tests while I sat there and two hours later I was diagnosed and treated. My memory is that it was something like £100 and, I've got to be honest, it was one of the best £100 [I've spent]." For a man who is a national celebrity, and must be earning a fair whack, Mortimer is remarkably down to earth. "I only went private myself that one time. Just to find out what was wrong," he says. Now he sees his local NHS GP. There's still a bit of the bluff northerner about him that says that certain things are man's work and neither arthritis or his income are going to stop him doing them. "As the fella in the house I should be doing the digging, fencing and stuff, so I feel I have to for my male pride. But you do pay a price for it. Arthritis and heavy digging really don't go together." He is immediately uncomfortable with my suggestion that he could afford a gardener. "I think the idea of staff is a bit difficult," he says. "When we had the children we got a cleaner in for a couple of weeks and it just felt so odd. I don't know why. I don't feel very comfortable with the idea of telling people to dust things, so the house is a mess."  Mortimer is self-effacing and appears genuinely surprised that he might be considered a role model for other young people with arthritis. He is also self-deprecating about his success. "We're just a couple of clowns really"' he says. "It's just slapstick - it's silliness really. Me and Jim [otherwise known as Vic] think we are funny. We just do what we do really. If it makes us laugh we do it."

His move into comedy happened more or less by accident. "I was working as a solicitor and I went to see a character called Vic Reeves doing a show in a room above a pub. He was a friend of a friend, and from the same neck of the woods as me. I though he was hilarious. There were only about eight people in the audience, who were actually all Vic's friends. I kept going and we just became a group of mates and did the show every Thursday. We weren't professional comedians. We just did it in this room. Then all of a sudden Michael Grade was there and asked us to put it on telly. I wasn't a good solicitor and I didn't enjoy being a solicitor, but it's a very difficult thing to turn your back on because you've put a lot into it. I was very lucky, because it's only something as ridiculous as being offered the chance to go on telly that would have given me the bottle to pack it in." The result was Vic Reeves Big Night Out on Channel 4, and Reeves & Mortimer have not looked back since. The partners recently changed direction with Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased), a revamp of the cult 70s detective series. This foray into straight acting received mixed reviews, but they must have done something right as the BBC has commissioned a second series. "It was a big change, we're not actors," says Mortimer. "From a selfish point of view it was nice because it was the first thing we haven't written. It was nice to just turn up and have a bash and not feel completely responsible for everything."

Mortimer's arthritis hasn't had too much impact on his work, although a couple of days filming were lost on Families At War when it recently spread to his eyes, ears and testicles. Unlike others in his position he isn't worried that speaking about it will lead to discrimination. "If my arthritis was such that it did stop me working, I suppose I would wonder if I wanted it on the papers that 'Bob has to pull out of something because of...' he admits. But as far as he is concerned, the benefits of speaking out outweigh the disadvantages. "When I first went to a clinic for kids with arthritis it really struck me how way, way, way down in priorities arthritis is. It's that sort of thing. I say 'I've got arthritis' and everyone says, 'Oh yes, I've got a bit of arthritis in my knee' and you want to strangle them a bit. I always feel its priority is quite low, so I don't mind speaking out.

"I can't back it up, but I don't feel that a child with arthritis gets quite the priority that a child with many other things gets. It's not an 'in' disease. It has got an image problem." Although Mortimer is prepared to talk candidly about his arthritis, he remains an essentially private man. His isn't a face that you see spread over the gossip pages of the tabloid press. Not, he says, for lack of trying. "I've had press digging," he says. "But they have failed to come up with any dirt". And the reason: "I just live such a dull life. I've got two kids and I garden." Arthritis Care, Circa 2000

[thatesqcrush]

Mr. In Between

Rafael Barba x Reader. Brief mentions of Rafael Barba x Olivia Benson. Prompt inspired by @sweetsummertime99: “ I was watching friends and it was the episode where Ross writes the pro/con list for Rachel and Emily. I’d like to see if someone would write the same kind of scenario not with a waitress but other attributes. Rafael Barba x Female Reader where Rafael writes the list and the reader finds it. Possibly comparing to Olivia?”

CW: slightly NSFW, some angst. AN: I am the biggest FRIENDS fan - I still get really angry at this episode. My heart breaks for Rachel when Ross makes the comparison list with her and Julie. I blame Chandler and Joey - they don’t take any responsibility for their involvement.

AN2: Thanks to @melsquared79 for all of the help with bouncing ideas and feedback!

Tags: @madpanda75 @ottosuricato @delia26 @dreila03 @sass-and-suspenders @melsquared79 @mommakat32 @glimmerglittergirl @garturbo @southern-magnolia @niyashell @tropes-and-tales @imjustreallynosy @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @sweetsummertime99 - anyone else just ask.

***

Three Months Ago

“Can I get you anything?”

You and Rafael looked up at the waitress who had approached your table. “I’ll have a dry cappuccino,” Rafael requested. The waitress nodded and turned to you.

“Matcha soy latte for me, thanks,” you replied.

“Biscotti for the table too, please.” Rafael looked at you and smiled. “You look lovely tonight.”

You smiled in return. “Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself.” And Rafael did - he always did regardless if he was in a three piece suit or in a polo shirt and fitted jeans, which was his current ensemble. You shifted in your seat and tucked your hair behind your ears, showing off the teardrop earrings the hung off your lobes.

The two of you made small talk, catching up on the week’s happenings while waiting for the food and drinks to arrive. The waitress soon returned, placing your drinks down along with a small plate of assorted dipped and non-dipped biscotti in the middle of the table. When you reached across the table to grab a piece of biscotti, Rafael used the opportunity to reach across and take your hand into his.

“I brought you here tonight because I wanted to talk about us and our future,” he began. “I want you to know that you’re a very special person in my life.” Rafael shifted in his seat and leaned forward to stare into your eyes. 

Your heart began to beat harder. You willed yourself to be calm and collected. “You’re very special to me too, Rafi,” you replied.

Rafael took a deep breath before he began speaking once more. “I want you to know that I really like you: I love spending time with you. But, I just want to continue to keep things casual,” Rafael gave your hand a gentle squeeze and you nodded, in response. 

“Sure,” you replied softly, feeling your heart sink and shatter. You turned your head and stared off at the waitress who was now drying coffee mugs with a cloth.

Your stomach lurched and you did your best to ignore the lump in your throat that began to form.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? I just want to be honest about where we stand; I am not ready for a relationship at this time.” Rafael stated. His question fell on deaf ears. “Y/N?”

“Hmmm?” You turned to face Rafael. “Oh! Yes, it’s fine.” You tried to seem confident and cool, as if his decision had no effect on you. However, you were certain that the shakiness in your voice betrayed you.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing; of all of the places for Rafael to drop his non-committal line, he chose the coffee shop that you two had your first date at. You had hoped that Rafael was going to make a declaration - and he had - just not the one you wanted.

You glanced down at your watch, and pretended to be alarmed at the time. “Look at the time, I have to go; I have an early work meeting,” you replied, standing. You ran your hands over your clothes nervously before leaning over to your purse.

As you moved to stand, Rafael grabbed your hand once more, causing you to stop.

“Please, lets talk; let me take you home,” Rafael replied. His voice was pleading and you could see the worry etched on his face.

You shook your head and Rafael‘s pilled his hand off of yours. “Call me or I’ll call you...goodnight Rafael. Thanks for the coffee.”

That night, you had gone back to your apartment. Rather than sob into your pillow, you raged cleaned, cranking up the music so loud you were sure your neighbors were going to complain. There was nothing like a bottle of lemon-scented oven cleaner and DMX to help you process your emotions. You ran the details of your relationship- if it even was one - with Rafael Barba - through your mind as you scrubbed the spider grates on your stove.

You had met Rafael during the end of intermission of Hamilton. The lights began to dim, and the throngs of theater goers began to file back to their seats. You tried to move right, he tried to move right; the same thing happened as you moved to the left. You both laughed awkwardly, and eventually Rafael moved out of the way so you could walk past. As you did so, your hands just barely grazed each other’s. You felt a spark and as you headed down the hallway, you turned your head and you could see Rafael watching you, a goofy smile on his face.

After the show had ended, you bumped into Rafael once more on the sidewalk while trying to hail a cab. From there, you exchanged phone numbers and subsequently started seeing each other. With his line of work, Rafael had warned he would not and could not be the ideal boyfriend. You had accepted that at first. You had broken up with your partner a year prior, so you weren’t looking for anything serious. Not at least initially.

But with matters of the heart, you had a tendency to let your feelings, which were carried on the wings of a very vivid imagination, get away from you almost immediately. Rafael had hinted that he was seeing someone else in addition to you. Olivia - something. But you tried to not let it bother you. You enjoyed spending time with Rafael and didn’t want to ruin what you both had going.

****

A few days later after the coffee shop incident, Rafael called you and you reluctantly made plans to get together later that week.

You had finished your day early with work as you needed to run a few errands. It was cold that day; Fall was transitioning to Winter in New York City. The wind was whipping, causing leaves to scatter on the sidewalk and street. You shivered as you exited the cleaners, your arms full of freshly cleaned clothes. One of the hangers slipped from your arms as a huge gust of wind blew as you rounded the corner of the block. You bent down to pick it up and as you stood back up, you saw Rafael across the way. And he was not alone. Holding onto his arm was an attractive brunette. You could only assume it was Olivia. 

Rafael hadn’t spotted you and you felt like some kind of voyeur - you knew you shouldn’t watch but you were too transfixed to move. You watched Rafael pull Olivia into an embrace; his gloved hand pushed away the hair that had fallen across her face - the same hand that had done the same to you countless times. He leaned down towards her face and you turned away, unable to watch any further. You hurried back to your apartment with your freshly dry cleaned clothes. You tried to remove the image from your mind but you couldn’t do it.

You canceled on Rafael that week. And the week after that. But eventually, you caved and returned Rafael’s calls with a weak excuse that work had you swamped. To your relief, he bought it. 

****

Fast Forward to Present Day

The night had gone wonderfully. You were at the NY Legal Assistance Gala held at Tribeca Rooftop. You had danced all night, had a few cocktails, followed by a meal so good it should’ve been illegal. And you had the most handsome man hanging off your arm.

You leaned forward against the railing, taking in the scene ahead of you - it was late, but Manhattan was still a-buzz. The music had drowned most of the traffic, but you could still make out some of it if you truly listened carefully.

“You know, I may be biased, but you’re the most beautiful person here,” a voice murmured in your ear from behind, before two large arms enveloped you. You turned around, and came face to face with Rafael. You searched his sea-foam green eyes and smiled. You reached up and smoothed the wisp of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead.

Rafael took your hand and kissed the inside of your wrist. “Y/N, I know I had told you I had wanted something casual, but these last few months...it’s made me realize something.”

Your heart leapt in your chest as you listened intently.

“I broke things off with Olivia. It was getting too complicated and I couldn’t give her what she wanted and she couldn’t give me what I wanted.”

You stood there dumbfounded as Rafael continued his declaration. “You are so important to me. You are so wonderful. Cuando era niño soñaba con conquistar el mundo, ahora me doy cuenta que tú eres mí mundo y me has conquistado,” Rafael rushed out.

You blinked. “What does that mean? You know my Spanish isn’t perfect.”

Rafael stepped closer to you, effectively closing the gap between you and him. “It means, when I was a kid, I dreamed of conquering the world. Now I realize that you're my world and you have conquered me.”

“Trying go get into my pants counselor?” you teased, gently pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“More like out of this dress,” was the husky reply. You looked down at your dress - a fitted, fiery red off the shoulder gown that hugged your curves in all the right places. A hand trailed from your shoulder, towards your décolletage.

Your cheeks turned pink and you felt an ache develop between your legs.

Rafael cupped your face. “I mean it. It’s you. It’s always been you.” You searched his eyes once more. You leaned up to kiss him, and Rafael used one strong, muscled arm to envelope you in a tight embrace; you could feel the evidence of his desire against your belly. His lips captured yours and he used his other hand to tilt your head so that he could deepen the kiss. Your tongues dueled and you could taste the remains of the scotch he had earlier.

Rafael nipped your bottom lip with his teeth, gently pulling, before moving to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot. You groaned and melted further into his embrace. Such a public display would have normally flustered you; but instead further spurned you on.

Looking around over Rafael’s shoulder, you noticed people were too busy wrapped up in their own world, enjoying the gala’s festivities. Rafael’s back was to the gala, and so discreetly you reached down and rubbed his erection.

“Mierda,” Rafael groaned against your ear. “Do I need to remind you of penal code 245, Y/N? Can’t have the Manhattan ADA getting arrested.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” you murmured in Rafael’s ear. “Your place.”

****

The night should have ended with you in Rafael’s bed making love until the sun rose. Instead, you were fleeing his apartment; your face was red hot and your eyes were filled with tears. You could hear your name being shouted, but you didn’t dare turn around as you ran out of the apartment building onto the Park Avenue street.

You were humiliated. Shaking, you waved your hand wildly trying to signal a cab. Fortunately a cab came pretty quickly and you hopped in, ordering the cab to step on it.

Rafael approached the cab, but the door was already closed. He knocked on the winodw, pleading for you to not go. You looked at him, your face streaked with mascara and you shook your head. Rafael watched helplessly as the cab pulled away from the curb. He slumped down, his hands resting on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath from running down so many flights of stairs.

It was too late. You were gone. And Rafael could feel his own heart break.

TBC.

[zen3to5]

J/H 6-18: Substitute

Of all the Pam Burkhart episodes, this was probably the most fun to rewrite. Jackie moving into the hotel is an idea I'm pretty happy with, and the rewrites here meant reducing Mitch's part, which was great (Pam isn't a great character, but she's largely innocuous; I can't stand Mitch in these episodes.)

We're assuming that episode order shifts around a little here; "Substitute" is now 6-18. We assume that 6-17, "Happy Jack," plays out as we know it.

FF.Net AO3

***

SHOW TITLE   INT. HOTEL ROOM – DAY   A simple hotel room at the Point Place Hotel: bed, bath, a crappy black-and-white TV. But this basic layout has brightly colored pillows and glittery framed portraits to jazz it up. JACKIE goes around the room, adjusting her things on the bed and dresser.   DONNA enters, a box full of stuffed unicorns in her arms.   DONNA: Here you go: one box worth of unicorns. Which leaves three boxes worth still in my room.   JACKIE: Yeah, I don’t have space for everything here. But, this way, you won’t have to miss me. Every morning, when you wake up, those happy unicorn faces will be a little piece of Jackie to brighten up your day.   Donna laughs as she sets down the box.   DONNA: You know, Jackie, I am gonna miss you. Since you’ve started living with us, my dad’s finally had someone to watch The Love Boat with. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?   JACKIE: I’m sure, Donna. When my mom came back, I stayed with you and your dad because I couldn’t go back to living with her. If she’s still moving into your house, then I can’t be there.   Donna opens her arms, and Jackie steps in for a big hug.   DONNA: Okay, I’m gonna go. We’ll hold on to the rest of your stuff.   JACKIE: Just don’t lose any of it inside your giant shoes.   They both smile, and Donna exits.   She’s no sooner gone than HYDE enters, three keys in his hand. He presents them to Jackie.   HYDE: Okay, Jackie. Here’s your room key, the kitchen key if you ever need me, and the master key. Gets you in to all the closets, cabinets – basically all the towels, soaps, and booze you could want.   JACKIE: Guests aren’t supposed to have this.   HYDE: (shrugs) Neither are kitchen staff.   Jackie nods, “a-ha,” and puts the keys away.   HYDE: Hey, so, Forman’s taking the guys mini golfing. You wanna come?   JACKIE: No. I just want to lie down for a while.   HYDE: Okay.   He kisses her forehead.   HYDE (cont’d): I’ll check in on you when I come back for my shift. I’ll make dinner.   JACKIE: Hey, I hadn’t thought of that - with you working here, it’s like I have my own personal valet. Will you bring me breakfast in bed every morning for room service?   HYDE: No.   JACKIE: Will you bring me fresh towels and make the bed every day?   HYDE: No.   JACKIE: (beat) Will you be late to mini golf and help me “break in” the bed?   HYDE: Anything to make your stay more comfortable.   They both smile and step into a kiss. Jackie puts her arms around Hyde’s neck and pulls him down on top of her on the bed.

MAIN CREDITS   BUMPER   EXT. GOLFCOURSE – DAY   The Point Place mini golf course, with all the charmingly tacky landmarks you’d expect of a small-town setup like this. ERIC, FEZ, and KELSO watch as a YOUNG BOY putts his ball into the windmill and sinks it. The guys give a quiet golf clap. Once the boy runs off, Fez moves into position to take his shot.   Hyde walks up between Eric and Kelso. His walk is just a little awkward and bow-legged.   HYDE: Hey. Sorry I’m late.   ERIC: Oh, did moving Jackie into the hotel take more time than you thought?   HYDE: No, we were done with that a while ago.   ERIC: (shrugs) Man, she must really be upset at her mom. I mean, I don’t think Pam’s even moved in with Bob yet.   KELSO: She hasn’t. On my weekends home from the police academy, I’ve been staking out all your houses for surveillance practice. Pam’s still not camping at the Pinciotti’s. But she and Bob are really getting Bob’s money’s worth out of that hot tub.   FEZ: FORE!   He takes, not a gentle put, but a full-on swing.   ERIC: WHOA!   Fez’s ball goes sailing over the course and out towards the parking lot.   HYDE: Watch out!   ERIC: Parking lot!   Glass shatters. Fez, Eric, and Hyde all wince.   KELSO: Eh, it was just a Pinto.   Eric and Hyde round on Fez.   HYDE: Fez, this is putt-putt. Your choices are putt or putt.   Before Fez can respond, a short – very short – figure steps out from behind the nearby counter – MITCH, in the silliest of golf hats.   MITCH: Hey, what the hell? (sees Eric) Oh, Forman. I should’ve known it was you guys. Most people who come here can’t hit the ball that hard on account of they’re in kindergarten.   ERIC: Mitch. Congratulations. This seems like the perfect job for someone your size, what with the free lodging in the little castle at hole six.   MITCH: Yeah, there’s just enough room in there for me and your mom.   The guy all “ooh.”   KELSO: (to Eric) Yeah, the sweetest burns involve doing it with your mom.   MITCH: Look, just quit hitting the ball that hard, or you guys are out of here.   He pokes at Eric’s chest and goes back to the counter.   ERIC: God, I hate that guy. Tear him a new hole in one.   HYDE: Wow, Forman. Haven’t seen you this pissed since I chased you around your house with that spider in a jar. You were, like - (doing Eric) “Hyde, I swear to God!” (normal voice) But you never did anything.   ERIC: Yeah? Well, I’m about to do something.   He tees up for his shot and, like Fez, gives a full swing. His ball shoots up, ricochets off the windmill, and flies over to the counter, where Mitch is on the phone. The ball beans him in the head. Mitch drops the phone and drops like a rock. The guys drop their clubs and rush over.   BUMPER   INT. HOTEL HALL – DAY   Later in the afternoon. A row of doors. From one, ROY stumbles out, a woman’s kimono clutched in his hands. The door slams shut behind him.   Roy clutches at the kimono and stares blankly at the door. He doesn’t notice Jackie come up behind him until she taps him on the shoulder.   JACKIE: Hey, Roy.   ROY: Oh, hey, Jackie. How’re you liking the hotel?   JACKIE: Well, it’s nice to have a maid again. And she has a bigger moustache than my dad, just like our maid back home. (nods to kimono) Whatcha got there?   ROY: Oh, you know we’re having that Japanese cultural festival in the hotel this week? Yeah, there’s these dancers who put on a show. They wear these kimonos.   JACKIE: Oh, was that one lost?   ROY: No, I was in their room when they came in, so I hid in the closet. They threw me out.   He looks down at his feet, unable to meet Jackie’s raised, condescending brows.   An extremely hairy man in a flowered sundress and a hand fan comes up the hall, behind Jackie and Roy. They are slow to turn and notice him, but when they do, Jackie’s eyes bulge out and she takes a step back. Roy takes the sight in stride.   ROY (cont’d): Oh, hey, Frank.   FRANK snaps his fan shut and shakes it at Roy.   FRANK: I’ve told you – when I’m here in my gown, you call me Lady Laguna!   JACKIE: (scoffs) You call that a gown?   Frank’s glare snaps her way. Jackie inches toward Roy, who holds the kimono out between them and Frank like a shield.   JACKIE (cont’d): Whatever the lady says.   Frank gives her a brusque nod. He proceeds down the hall, his head turned to watch Jackie and Roy the entire time.   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: “Stuck in the Middle with You” by Stealers Wheel.   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – DAY   For once, the basement is empty. Magazines, comics, and a Millennium Falcon-shaped carrying case full of action figures cover the coffee table. Not that the basement stays empty: Kelso opens the door and leads in Hyde and Eric, supporting Mitch between them. Fez brings up the rear. Mitch has a large bandage covering his forehead.   The guys see Mitch over to the couch, where they set him down in the center seat. Eric sits to his right as Hyde crosses to his chair, Fez sits in the lawn chair, and Kelso sits on Mitch’s left.   ERIC: Mitch, I am so sorry. The doctor said it was only a mild concussion, so...   MITCH: What? I’ve lost the ability to process language, on account of I have a concussion! (sighs) Forman, why are we always fighting? I can’t even remember how we got this way.   KELSO: I’ve had chicks say that to me.   FEZ: No. That was me.   Kelso and Fez share an awkward look.   MITCH: (to Eric) Don’t you think that we should be friends? I mean, we’re pretty much the same guy. We’re into all the same stuff – Spider-Man, Batman, Famous Monsters of Filmland... (sees Star Wars toys) And Star Wars! Look at this!   He picks up the Darth Vader figure from the case.   MITCH (cont’d): I can’t believe you got a hold of the Darth Vader with the green lightsaber! Pew! Pew! Pew!   He starts swinging the doll around as he makes the noise. Eric shakes his head and takes the doll from him.   ERIC: What? No, no. It’s –   He proceeds to make more accurate, and more nerdy, lightsaber sound effects.   ERIC: (to Hyde) What a geek.   FEZ: (to Kelso) They look happy. Why don’t we have a game?   KELSO: Man, you are always on about that these days. “Why don’t we have a song? Why don’t we have a movie?”   FEZ: If you gave me an answer, maybe I wouldn’t always be on about it.   KELSO: Look, can we not do this when we have company over? We’ll talk about it later.   FEZ: Oh, sure. Later, later, always later, but later never comes!   They both snap their heads away from each other. Eric, Mitch, and Hyde take a moment to stare at them before going back to their business.   MITCH: Come on, Eric. Let’s hang out.   ERIC:   Okay, well... you’re obviously having some kind of reaction to your medications. Why don’t you just give your dad a call, get a ride home.   He indicates the phone. Mitch looks down, puts a finger to his bandage, and pokes at it repeatedly.   MITCH:  (on each poke) Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.   Eric heaves a deep sigh, rolls his eyes, and hands Darth Vader back to Mitch.   ERIC:  You can be Darth Vader. Just don’t wreck the lightsaber.   MITCH: Really? Thanks!   He starts swinging Darth Vader around again, with inaccurate sound effects.   HYDE: Uh, Forman?   Hyde stands, takes Eric by the arm, and pulls him to the deep freeze.   HYDE (cont’d): (hushed) Man, what the hell are you thinking? We’ve already got a weak, squeaky nerd-boy hanging around here – you. And Mitch doesn’t have any of your better qualities, like a house I can live in. I mean, look at him.   He points over to Mitch, who is pointing to Kelso. More specifically, he’s leaning into Kelso, his finger hovering just barely away from Kelso’s temple.   KELSO: What are you doing?   MITCH: I’m not touching you.   KELSO: Stop it.   MITCH: But I’m not touching you.   KELSO: Stop not touching me!   MITCH: Okay.   He gives Kelso a sharp poke to the temple.   MITCH (cont’d): (laughs) Wasn’t it better when I wasn’t touching you?   KELSO: (laughs) Yeah.   Mitch puts his finger back up, and Kelso does the same to him. Eric looks back to Hyde.   ERIC:  Look, Mitch knows I’m just being nice, okay? This can’t last more than a few days, tops. And, I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?   The basement door opens, and Donna enters.   MITCH: (to Donna) Oh, wow! You are gorgeous! You’re the hottest redhead since Batgirl! And you’re not just gorgeous – I mean, you radiate intelligence and deep thought. A real sense of self.   DONNA: Eric, I like your new friend.   She smiles at a beaming Mitch as Eric and Hyde share a look.   BUMPER   INT. HOTEL – NIGHT   The hotel ballroom. It is filled with booths, stands, tables, and small stages, all for the Japanese cultural festival, which has drawn a healthy nighttime crowd. At a makeshift Japanese steakhouse grill, the chef performs for the gathered crowd, slicing and preparing fish with an elaborate display of cutting and knife throwing.   Jackie sits at the bar watching. She is wearing a dark floral kimono, with her hair in a French twist style held with chopsticks. Hyde, in his chef’s jacket, comes up behind her.   HYDE: Oh, I could get used to this look.   Jackie turns around, stands.   JACKIE: Oh, there you are.   She kisses him.   HYDE: How’s it going?   JACKIE: Well, I was yelled at by Lady Laguna, the concierge keeps inviting me to the “private suite” under his desk, and Roy’s offered me a charming look at what Fez will be like in 20 years.   HYDE: Now, Jackie, that’s not fair. Fez has actually had a girlfriend.   Jackie considers that, shrugs.   HYDE (cont’d): Look, man, if this isn’t working out, then maybe you can move back with –   JACKIE: No, no – I’m fine. (sighs) Can we just go back to my room and have some dinner?   HYDE: Sure. Hope you don’t mind salad and burgers. Roy didn’t shut the freezer all the way when he went in there to cry, so the ground beef’s about the only thing left that’s not a 50/50 risk of salmonella.   They hold hands and start to head for the exit when they bump into another couple – RED and KITTY. And BOB is with them too.   JACKIE: Oh! Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Forman. Hi, Mr. Pinciotti.   KITTY: Well, hello, Jackie.   BOB: Hi there, Jackie. Isn’t this festival great? (points to grill) I love this one. It’s not just dinner. It’s a thrill ride, ‘cause there’s a small chance you’re getting knifed.   RED: I don’t know, Bob. I’ve tried to avoid Asians with weapons ever since 7,000 of them tried to kill me.   KITTY: (laughs) Well, it’s thanks to the work of brave men like you that America’s enemies are now performing at a tiny local festival in a two-star hotel.   JACKIE: What are you all doing here?   BOB: Pammy thought it’d make a good double date.   JACKIE: Wait, my mom’s here?   BOB: Yep. She’s just freshening up.   JACKIE: (to Hyde) My room, Steven. Now.   She lets Hyde lead her by the hand around the adults. Bob starts after them.   BOB: Come on, Jackie. Give your mom a chance. I think she really wanted to come here so she could see you.   Jackie pulls Hyde to a stop, rounds on Bob.   JACKIE: Well, I don’t want to see her, so you can stop trying to help her get to me.   BOB: I just don’t like seeing you two not get along. And your mom’s been such a peach since we got together. I wanna help you two out.   JACKIE: Well, she doesn’t deserve it! Steven, is there another way out of here? A back door or a secret bookcase passage?   HYDE: Okay, someone’s had a relapse on Nancy Drew.   Nevertheless, he takes her away from the main entrance to a small door in the far corner.   JACKIE: God, I can’t believe Bob! Why can’t he just accept that I don’t want to see my...   Hyde opens the door to:   INT. HALLWAY – NIGHT   A small hallway connecting just two doors, a staff passageway. Inside, Jackie and Hyde find two people making out – PAM and a Japanese man dressed for the grill.   JACKIE: MOM?   Pam breaks away from her partner, breathless.   PAM: Oh, Jackie, there you are. Meet Hirohito.   HIROHITO smiles and waves. Jackie, eyes wide, rounds on Hyde.   JACKIE: What is it with this hotel and cheating?   Hyde shifts on his feet as Jackie turns back to her mom, gaping.   FADE TO BLACK   COMMMERCIAL   BUMPER   INT. HALLWAY – NIGHT   Right where we left off. As Hyde and Hirohito stand uncomfortably by, Jackie advances on Pam.   JACKIE: Mom, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be here with Bob.   PAM: Oh, you ran into Bob. Isn’t he just a doll, bringing me here? Who would’ve thought a man with such bad dress sense could be so sweet?   JACKIE: Yeah, Bob is sweet. And you’re cheating on him! With some cook at a crappy hotel!   She can feel Hyde’s eyes on the back of her neck. She steps back to him and puts a hand on his chest.   JACKIE (cont’d): Which can be a good thing, if you’ve got the right combination of looks and brains to make up for it, and if you’re not with someone else.   PAM: Oh, honey, don’t be silly. Hirohito’s only here for the festival. His day job is as a Lincoln dealer.   HIROHITO: 34th and Donegal.   JACKIE: (gasps) Lincolns? Could you get a deal on a pink – no, no! (to Pam) Mom, how can you do this to Bob? He really likes you, and he’s done nothing but stick up for you since you came back to town.   PAM: Oh, Bob will be fine.   JACKIE: No, he won’t! Bob’s had a horrible time with break-ups before, but he’s never had anyone cheat on him. How can you do this when you’re moving in together?   PAM: Well... Jackie, the truth is, when you wouldn’t speak to me after I came back, when Bob asked me out, it seemed like the only way I could see you. And when he asked me to move in, I thought it was a way you and I could be together. But now that you’ve moved out... did I mention Hirohito has a summer home back east?   HIROHITO: Cape Cod.   JACKIE: (to Pam) So you just used Bob to try and get to me? Mom, you can’t just throw your looks at some guy and use him to get whatever you want. I’ve learned the world doesn’t work like that.   PAM: Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have sent you to public school.   JACKIE: Just think, Mom. What if it had worked? You and me would be back home, or living with this Hirohito guy, but what happens when someone else comes along who’s richer? Or what happens when you get another chance to run off to Mexico, or Paris, or Milan?   HIROHITO: Kyoto is lovely this time of year, too.   Everyone turns to glare at him.   HIROHITO (cont’d): But, carry on.   JACKIE: (to Pam) Mom, all this does is show me that you’re still running from one place to another, looking for something better instead of just being happy with what you have. That’s why you left after Daddy went to prison, and it’s why I haven’t wanted to see you. And why I still don’t.   She passes Pam and Hirohito and runs out the other end of the hallway. Pam shifts on her feet, Hirohito scratches at the back of his neck.   Hyde takes a step toward them.   HYDE: (to Hirohito) Hey, if the Lincoln thing doesn’t work out, this crappy hotel does actually need a cook for weekend shifts. Just one thing – (points to Pam) No dogs allowed in the kitchen.   He passes them and follows after Jackie.   BUMPER   EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – DAY   The next morning. The Toyota rests in the driveway, the hood popped. Eric holds a flashlight for Red as he works on the engine. Kitty is in the Toyota, behind the wheel.   RED: (to Eric) I just think it’s pretty suspicious that after we left the Japanese festival, our Japanese car broke down.   Eric’s chance to throw some snark at that xenophobia is cut short when Mitch strolls up the driveway.   MITCH: (to Eric) Hey, buddy.   Kitty steps out of the car to take a look at Eric’s new friend. Mitch makes a show of reacting to her.   MITCH (cont’d): Whoa, Eric, you didn’t tell me you had an older sister.   ERIC: Oh, please. If you’re gonna go with fake charm, let’s keep it in the realm of reality, okay?   KITTY: Oh, you shut your porky mouth. I have the skin of a 25-year old. Who smokes.   Mitch turns to Red, polishing a nut.   MITCH: You know, Mr. Forman, I learned a little about cars from my uncle who used to fix tanks in Vietnam. Now that’s hero’s work, fixing machines that kill people you don’t agree with. My only regret is that I haven’t yet had a chance to fight for my country.   RED: Really? Eric’s only regret is that he doesn’t live in space.   ERIC: That’s not my only regret. It’s just one of them.   He goes back to holding the flashlight, only now, it’s for Mitch.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – DAY   A truncated gathering. Kelso leans on the deep freeze, nursing a popsicle, Donna sits in Hyde’s chair, Eric on the back of one end of the couch, Mitch in the seat on the other end, and Fez in the lawn chair. “My Best Friend’s Girl” by the Cars plays on the radio.   Fez, Kelso, and especially Eric wear long faces as Donna humors Mitch’s nerdy babble.   MITCH: So I’m at this garage sale, and I look down, and there they were – Godzilla, Mothra, and Rodan, all in mint condition! It was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. (to Donna) At least until I met you.   Donna giggles, runs a hand through her hair. Eric climbs down from the back of the couch and stands over Mitch.   ERIC: Okay, Mitch. Don’t you have something you need to do?   MITCH: You know, you’re right. I almost forgot. I said I’d make omelets for everyone! (points to Kelso) Onions... (points to Fez) Peppers... (points to Donna) And only the most succulent of honey-glazed ham for a honey-red honey.   ERIC: Okay, “honey-red?” That’s not even a thing!   Donna giggles, nudges Eric with her foot.   DONNA: That sounds great, Mitch.   Kelso and Fez nod their approval. Mitch nods back, heads up the stairs.   Eric sits down in the couch seat closest to Donna.   ERIC: Donna, why do you keep encouraging Mitch?   DONNA: Eric, it’s no big deal.   ERIC: Yes, it is. Look, he already likes everything I like, he’s buttering up my parents, now he’s making moves on you... it’s like Invasion of the Body Snatchers if the pod people were all leprechauns.   Kelso crosses to the other end of the couch, near Fez, and sits down.   FEZ: Okay, Kelso. I have a game we can have. Truth or Dare?   KELSO: (rolls eyes) All right, fine. Truth.   FEZ: Have you ever snuck into Donna’s bathroom when she was showering?   Eric and Donna look over at Kelso. He shifts in his seat.   KELSO: (to Fez) I mean, dare.   FEZ: Oh, come on, out with the truth! I know you’ve snuck in there. I was there, and I saw you!   Donna and Eric, and Kelso, look to him, as Mitch comes down the stairs with two plates in hand.   FEZ: I mean, dare, yes. Dare.   MITCH: Oh, are you guys playing Truth or Dare? I’m in.   He passes the plates in his hands to Kelso and Donna, then takes a seat in the hoppity hop.   MITCH (cont’d): Okay, Mitch – truth or dare? Um, I pick dare, Mitch. Okay, Mitch. I dare you to kiss Donna. (gasps) Mitch! Naughty Mitch.   DONNA: (laughing) Mitch, you goofball, that’s not how it works. It’d have to be, like, “I dare you to kiss me.”   MITCH: (shrugs) Okay.   He leaps from the hoppity hop onto Donna with a massive kiss.   ERIC: What the hell?   KELSO: (laughs) He did it!   FEZ: Look at him go! He’s like a hummingbird!   Donna pushes Mitch off her, helped by Eric pulling him off.   ERIC: Mitch, I can’t believe you! You just flew at her like one of the little monkeys from The Wizard of Oz!   DONNA:  Eric, relax. He was just fooling around. He didn’t mean anything by it.   MITCH: Yeah, Eric. What’s a little fooling around among friends? (to Donna) Wait, what was that second thing you said?   ERIC: (to Mitch) We’re not friends, man! We never were! I only let you hang out here because I felt bad for you, but guess what? I don’t like you! And neither does anyone else!   MITCH: (beat) Fine. I won’t bother you guys anymore.   Head bowed, he makes his way to the basement door. He exits, then immediately sticks his head back in.   MITCH (cont’d): Somebody needs to check Fez’s omelet in about three minutes!   He exits again.   Eric sighs, sits back down. The others all eye him carefully; they don’t often see that kind of outburst from him.   KELSO: Well, that was brutal.   DONNA: Yeah. Nice going, Eric.   ERIC: What? Donna, he just mauled you like a miniature French cat.   DONNA: Yeah, well... he worshipped me, okay? I always thought Jackie was ridiculous for falling for stuff like that, but I swear, I thought Mitch was gonna light a fire and dance around me!   KELSO: Yeah, I feel bad for the little guy. I just wanna put him up on my shoulders and buy him a balloon. (to Fez) So, Fez – what if I dared you to kiss Donna?   Fez sits up, intrigued. Donna rolls her eyes.   BUMPER   INT. HOTEL – DAY   Day 2 of the Japanese cultural festival. A thinner crowd in the daytime. Jackie walks the floor in her regular clothes. She finds Roy doing the same thing, clipboard in hand.   JACKIE: Hi, Roy. So, any more luck with the Japanese dancers?   ROY: I think so. One of them came to see me in the kitchen this morning. She was screaming, “give me back my kimono,” but...   He trails off, shrugs. Jackie gives him an indulgent nod and continues on her way.   She passes by the Japanese steakhouse set-up, where Hirohito is working the grill. Pam and Bob are at the bar. Before they can see her, Jackie ducks behind a nearby dragon figure flanking another booth. But she is still within range to hear.   PAM: I’m sorry, Bob.   BOB: Hey, when things got tough between Midge and me, we did all sorts of crazy things to stay close to Donna. Although talking it over while the guy you were seeing behind my back makes our food – that’s a new one.   HIROHITO: And still, you tipped. Thank you.   He gives Bob a slight bow, and Bob gives a wave back. Pam smiles, rubs Bob’s back.   PAM: You know, Bob, you aren’t the smoothest or the classiest guy I’ve ever dated, but you are the sweetest. (sighs) You know, for the first time in my life, I feel like I need to do some work on myself. Not on the outside, obviously, because – well, come on. But on the inside. (takes Bob’s hand) And I could use some help.   BOB: Sure.   He leans in, kisses her cheek.   BOB (cont’d): You wanna try seeing Jackie again?   PAM: (beat) No. No, I think she needs her space. And she needs to see that I’ve made some changes. She deserves to see that. And I’d better start making them.   BOB: Okay.   They stand, link arms, and start to walk away.   PAM: Now, for change number one – how attached are you to those zebra rings?   That conversation continues as they exit the ballroom.   Jackie steps out from behind the dragon and looks after them. She cups a hand over her mouth as the other goes over her heart.   Hyde, in his chef’s jacket, comes up behind her.   HYDE: Hey.   She turns around to him, her eyes slightly wet.   HYDE (cont’d): Everything okay?   JACKIE: Yeah, yeah.   She hugs him around the waist. He hugs her back.   JACKIE (cont’d): Um, Steven? Do you have your master key on you?   HYDE: No...   JACKIE: Well, I’ve got mine, so where’s the nearest closet?   Hyde smiles at her. He takes her hand and leads her toward the corner door.   BUMPER   EXT. GOLFCOURSE – NIGHT   Mini golf, after hours. Mitch, alone, oils the windmill. Eric slowly comes up behind him.   ERIC: Hey, Mitch. Look, I – I wanted to apologize.   MITCH: That’s okay. I guess I was out of line too. I shouldn’t have jumped on your girlfriend. In front of you. It’s just – you have such a great life. And if I never see you or your friends ever again, I’m always gonna treasure that time that I spent with Donna.   ERIC: Okay, well... then I’ll just say goodbye.   Eric turns to leave. He makes it about three steps before Mitch heaves a heavy sigh, stopping Eric in his tracks.   MITCH: So lonely...   Eric wrestles with the air, screws up his face – and caves.   ERIC: Hey, Mitch, uh... you know, if you ever wanna hang out, you know, you’re always... you know.   In a flash, Mitch is at his side.   MITCH: Great, thanks!   ERIC: Oh, are we gonna do this now?   MITCH: Yeah, buddy, let’s do it!   ERIC: (beat) Okay.   MITCH: All right. Hey, so – do you think I might have a shot with Donna?   ERIC: Mitch, she’s my fiancée.   MITCH: So that’s a maybe!   He walks off, hands in the air. Eric drags his own hands down his face as he considers what he’s locked himself into for the foreseeable future.   FADE TO BLACK   CREDITS   INT. HOTEL – NIGHT   The ballroom, the festival still under way. Roy approaches the corner door and opens it. He finds Jackie and Hyde in the midst of a furious make-out session. They stop and freeze when Roy sees them.   ROY: Are you allowed to do that in here?   JACKIE: (beat) Are you allowed to ransom a dancer’s kimono for a date?   Roy considers that for a moment. He studies Jackie’s face carefully; she’s ready to play hard ball on this.   ROY: I was never here.   Jackie and Hyde nod. They go back to making out, Roy shuts the door, and continues on his way.   END.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Storytime!

Sanders Sides Canon Divergence AU - fluff/angst - hurt/comfort - some intrigue - actually has a plot (side eyes my other fics) - largely Virgil centric - it’s about growth i guess idk

Words: 3,960 Warnings: Spiders Characters: Virgil, Janus, Roman, Patton, Logan, (Remus in passing) Universe: Storytime! Genre: Clingy Idiocy still

Chapter 26: In Which Bishops Haunt Virgil Again

newsflash virgil is still clingy but he’s doing okay unlike everybody else

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

   Virgil sat quietly next to Deceit with his hood up as Deceit talked to Remus again the next morning, waiting for whatever this meeting was where Remus got bit was to be over. Virgil leaned heavily on Deceit with the weight of exhaustion lulling him back to sleep. He couldn’t stop his eyes from fluttering periodically, though he stayed awake. He had trouble getting back to sleep this morning for some reason. Lately, he had been sleeping like a rock, but today he just groaned and rolled around after Thomas woke up.

   Remus waved with a manic smile and disappeared from the room. Virgil yawned and looked up to Deceit, who pulled his hood down. Sounds came back to Virgil’s ears as he blinked slowly up to him.

   “Can I stay with you today?” Virgil asked quietly and hung on to Deceit’s cloak.

   “Of course, I’m completely free to lollygag around, Virgil,” Deceit said sarcastically.

   “Please? I’ll be quiet. I’ll just nap for a bit or something,” Virgil pleaded hopefully. He really didn’t like being alone anymore. The idea alone made him squirm.

   “Can’t you play with your other friends?” Deceit looked to him in annoyance.

   “Logan’s on to something and Roman was asking too many questions. I can’t hang out in Pat’s room with him. I’m just too tired to deal with Remus right now. I just want to steer clear for a day. One day is not too bad to skip on, right?” Virgil begged with a sigh. “I don’t want to be alone all day. I know I’ll have to go back to my room later and all,” Virgil couldn’t stop the sad expression on his face from the knowledge of the inevitable and the potential of D just sending him to his room right away.

   “I suppose I can work in here for now,” Deceit conceded, sounding a little frustrated, and shifted to sit against the wall on the bed. He summoned a folder and his signature quill and worked on his wildly involved business. Virgil smiled and curled up next to him, pulled his sound dampening hood over his head, and rested his head on the edge of Deceit’s lap. Virgil looked up to see a half-smile on Deceit’s face and nestled in to and finally started drifting again.

— * * * —

   Patton looked longingly at the clock in the kitchen and frowned. “I guess Virgil isn’t coming to breakfast,” He said sadly, tapping his fingers against the tabletop. They had finished the food some time ago, and they were all sitting around chatting with coffees or cocoa, waiting for their weird anxiety. Roman knew he’d need to stick around to make breakfast for him, but Logan had even finished his paper and didn’t return to his room either. Roman leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.

   “Maybe he’s sick?” Roman supplied. “He was acting a little odd,” Roman said, feeling worried and glancing at Virgil’s regular chair.

   “I doubt that Thomas has suddenly come down with some kind of mental ailment that would discombobulate Anxiety. He appears to be performing his functions just fine. Thomas is alert, mindful, and ready, to a certain extent. I believe he is just sleeping in again if the past few days are any indication. I am concerned, however, that he has been avoiding me for 2 days,” Logan said tonelessly, flipping through his newspaper.

   “Maybe he doesn’t mean to? He hasn’t been avoiding us and he knows we talk to you,” Patton suggested. “We’ve been busy lately. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding,” Patton added hopefully.

   “I appreciate your optimism, Patton, but I would like to talk to him, regardless,” Logan said evenly and refilled his coffee cup. “Would you wake him, Roman?”

   “He just said yesterday that it was a terrible idea to wake him up,” Roman said and stayed seated with his latte.

   “Virgil has a tendency to exaggerate at times. It is just part of being anxiety. I am positive you will be fine,” Logan insisted, looking annoyed.

   “If it was something deters Remus of all sides, it’s probably a massive deal. You’re volunteering to come in and help me if I call, then?” Roman grumbled and put his drink down.

   “That is a reasonable compromise,” Logan said, calling Roman’s bluff right away. He didn’t get why Logan couldn’t just go, other than the whole ‘avoiding him’ thing. Roman grimaced and sank down to head to Anxiety’s room.

   The room was well lit, perhaps even a little sun coming through the windows. Nothing seemed out-of-place other than the fact that Virgil definitely wasn’t here. He wasn’t on the stairs, hiding in the couch cushions, not in the kitchen pantry. It was so eerily silent in there that Roman swore he could hear the spiders move. Probably Beatrice on the prowl. At least Roman hoped that Virgil didn’t have any non-pet spiders that were not as docile as Beatrice that he was hearing creep up on him. Maybe it was just the room trying to trick him. Anxiety’s room did always give him the creeps. It was no wonder Virgil enjoyed hanging out in Roman’s room. Roman kicked and pushed and dug around a little more, but it didn’t even look lived in. Virgil usually had blankets and pillows strewn around after waking up since he liked to bundle himself up. There was just one blanket folded neatly on the couch. Roman couldn’t even find a pair of headphones anywhere. Roman gave up searching for him and sunk back to the kitchen table.

   “He’s not in there. It’s so empty that it doesn’t look like he had even been there recently,” Roman said, turning around to look at the stairwell. “I guess he’s in someone’s room?”

   “He could also be in the mind palace,” Logan offered. Roman’s face twinged. He better not be. “That was an odd reaction to my suggestion, Roman,” Logan stated with slight suspicion, raising his eyebrow at Roman.

   “I’m just worried,” Roman said dismissively. Virgil didn’t want anyone to know, and it seemed harmless to hide it. It’s not like it would change anything if Logan knew why he shouldn’t be in there. Virgil would still be missing. “He’s been very present lately, and it’s odd to not see him,” Roman said, sitting back down to work on his latte again.

   “Yeah, it’s been so fun to hang out with Virgil! But maybe he’s recuperating. He has probably been pushing his social energy to the limit lately,” Patton mused with a slight smile.

   “It’d make more sense if he was recuperating in his room, not in the mind palace or in somebody else’s room.” Logan corrected him.

   “Maybe he’s a master of illusion and was hiding in his room!” Patton suggested excitedly.

   “The only illusion I’ve seen him flaunt is somehow being comfortable and not sliding down the stairs when he lies on them,” Roman said, dismissing that idea.

   “Yes, I have also seen Virgil laying upside down on the stairs. I find it somewhat unnerving that he ignores physics so brazenly,” Logan replied. “I do not believe he would be in anyone else’s room, but if you see him, please direct him gently to talk to me. I will finish the information packets in my room,” Logan said with a nod of goodbye a sunk away.

   “Well, I can’t blame him for wanting to talk to Virgil and all, that but was annoying of him to make me his errand boy twice in the same five minutes,” Roman huffed and crossed his arms, leaning back on the chair.

   “Oh, I doubt he meant it like that, champ. It’s only if we see him in passing,” Patton said placatingly.

   “I’ll be in my room working most of the day, not passing by random side’s rooms for fun. I’m following Logan’s stupid schedule. He should know that,” Roman gestured in frustration and took another drink of latte.

   “Thomas has been busy lately. I’m impressed Logan found the time to write something and the packets. I kind of thought he’d skip them this week since you two have been working more and more these past couple days. I’m surprised you’re not more tired in the evenings,” Patton said, leaning forward on his hands.

   “You know me, padre, I’ve got plenty of energy,” Roman smiled knowingly and winked and Patton.

   “Oh! You’re right. I forgot,” Patton giggled. “Well, I hope you take the breaks you need, anyway. Creative burn out is serious business!” Patton said seriously, tapping the table with his pointer finger.

   “I’m well aware. I’ve got it under control. It’s actually nice to blow off steam with Virgil in the evenings,” Roman shrugged and crossed his legs.

   “You have been seeing him at night for a few days now. You haven’t been fighting the entire time, have you?” Patton said, looking critically at Roman.

   “Not the whole time,” Roman scoffed and posed with his hand to imply the implication offended him.

   “You should be nicer to him,” Patton frowned.

   “Trust me, Virgil usually starts it. He’s a little…” Roman considered the right word and twisted his hand in the air while he processed it. “… feral in my room,” Roman flipped his hand in the air. “Last night he tried to start a fight three times,” Roman sighed, shaking his head.

   “Oh! Well, sorry for accusing you of being mean, then,” Patton said sheepishly.

   “It’s fine. I started plenty of fights with him. It wasn’t an unfair assumption, and you haven’t seen him in my room before,” Roman said dismissively with a slight shrug.

   “Well, our kiddo is sure full of a lot more fight than flight, lately!” Patton mused, sipping his cocoa.

   “Well, unless you believe Logan’s whole… ‘avoiding him’ thing. I haven’t seen Virgil do that thing where he stiffens and runs off or anything,” Roman said, not really believing Logan’s accusation. Though Virgil was acting exceptionally weird, either way.

   “As I said, It’s gotta be a misunderstanding. Virgil’s been downright pleasant lately,” Patton pouted, summoning more marshmallows into his drink. 

   “Well, maybe for you,” Roman laughed. “I still say he’s feral. Oh, gorgon breath, Thomas has been at the computer blanking and I didn’t notice. He got there early today,” Roman rushed to stand up. “Damnit, Logan, that’s not on the schedule! I’ve got to run, Pat,” Roman hissed, sending off his drink and standing up quickly.

   “Don’t work too hard, kiddo!” Patton waved after him, furrowing his eyebrows in concern.

   “Work hard, play hard!” Roman called out with a proud grin as he sank out.

— * * * —

   Deceit must have given into the pouting puppy face that Virgil learned from Patton. Instead of all the things Deceit said he was busy with today, they were playing chess on the floor in Deceit’s room with snacks and drinks Deceit had summoned. Virgil had hoped whatever Deceit had planned wasn’t so important that it needed 100% of his focus so that playing chess was okay. But Virgil was happy just to be spending time with D. He always got him and always cared for him in his own weird way.

   Virgil didn’t mind if Deceit used him sometimes, honestly. It was nice to be needed. Deceit had even been more straight-forward with Virgil lately. Virgil was pretty certain Deceit did things the way he did because he didn’t want to be rejected or ignored. Virgil didn’t think it was from any kind of bad place. He could get that probably more than any other side, as a side who used to try to scare the others into listening to him. The other sides were kind of assholes to D, so he didn’t have many options. Deceit was kind of an asshole too, but it was hard to care about that in the past when he’d been helping Virgil constantly in the present. Deceit admitted he was wrong, and that was big of him. Virgil knew he hated doing that with burning and over-dramatic passion.

   Virgil was lying on the ground and agonizing between two different good-looking moves, but he was pretty certain Deceit had already thought ahead and was trying to pick the best move to survive over the best move moving forward.

   “Virgil, your bishop has had an opening for six turns, why do you refuse to use it?” Deceit asked, sounding somewhat baffled. He was sipping his tea cross-legged on the other side of the board and fiddling with one of Virgil’s fallen pawns in his other hand while Virgil was thinking. Virgil involuntarily winced and held his clavicle.

   “The bishop doesn’t need to get items from the king or queen for special moves,” Virgil said quietly, just realizing it was a dumb thing to have been waiting for as soon as he said it. He flinched at his own stupidity and buried his face in his hands.

“We’re not playing that accursed version that Remus plays,” Deceit said, tinged in frustration.

   “I… I know. My brain mixed it up, I guess,” Virgil mumbled through his fingers. “It’s not like either of us was playing like that up until that point. I would have pulled a knife on you already,” He exhaled and let go of his face.

   “Yes, it’s such a magnificent idea to pull a knife on me,” Deceit said sarcastically, tossing up Virgil’s pawn and catching it.

   “Well, how else could I have gotten two turns to take your knight without losing my own?” Virgil said rolling his eyes and flipping his hand out.

   “That’s not chess, Virgil,” Deceit said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know what to call whatever that monstrosity is,” He sounded exasperated by the whole subject.

   “Fun until it’s not,” Virgil said blithely. “You’ve judged for us before, but I’ve never judged for you two, are you any good at his weird version?” Virgil asked, finally making his move. It was a bad one, Deceit had immediately taken his piece, and he wasn’t that far from checking him.

   “I’m such a fan of being attacked,” Deceit said bitterly. Virgil chuckled lightly and looked up to Deceit, who looked annoyed.

   “So, really good until Remus pulls out his morning star,” Virgil posited with a smirk.

   “It’s not an inaccurate summation,” Deceit muttered. “I don’t understand why you want to fight with him so much, other than when your aspects eventually taint each other,”

   “He’s fun to fight. I just feel like I have to around him, I get all wired and need to punch something,” Virgil explained. “It’s certainly not that I want an enemy I can actually beat, unlike the crushing weight of capitalism or something,” Virgil added bitterly.

   “You don’t seem to beat Roman much,” Deceit mused with a raised eyebrow.

   “He’s much more fun when he thinks he has won over me,” Virgil said with a smirk. “Just taking a page out of my favourite noodle’s book,” His head swam for a moment as he fought the effects of Deceit’s room. He had been in here all morning, and it was getting very difficult to think straight.

   “Love the nickname,” Deceit said angrily, taking another one of Virgil’s pieces. Shit. He was within range of the king. “Check, darling,” Virgil scrambled for a move, he luckily still had valuable pieces that could protect the king for now. 

   Except for the fact that his bishops and remaining knight didn’t matter, in the end. Deceit had him beat in a few tense turns, regardless of any saving plays Virgil tried to make. He really was brutal at chess. 

   “Checkmate,” Deceit cooed and knocked over the king piece, the entire board disappearing right after. Virgil slumped to the floor and held his head.

   “Brilliant move,” Virgil mumbled derisively. Deceit placed his hand on Virgil briefly before pulling him up to his feet.

   “You need to go, Virgil,” Deceit said smoothly. Virgil pulled him in for a hug.

   “I’m handling it just fine,” Virgil groaned in frustration. Deceit rolled his eyes and hugged Virgil back, and they both sank out, causing Virgil to grumble angrily as they rose into his room. He stumbled for a moment after rising, feeling a little dizzy.

   “Yes, you are completely well and unaffected,” Deceit hissed, letting go of Virgil. Virgil held on stubbornly, though, partially because he wasn’t ready to be alone and partially because he was concerned he would fall over. “You don’t have to be a brat, darling. I’ll stay for a bit,” Deceit said, loosening Virgil’s grip on him with a tinge of annoyance. Virgil stumbled again when Deceit let go of his arms after pulling Virgil off of him. Deceit caught him before he fell to the floor. “Ah,” He said in understanding and carefully lead him to the couch, sitting down with him.

   “Thanks a lot,” Virgil murmured as Deceit lowered them both down together. Virgil pulled himself into a ball to catch his bearings, leaning against Deceit’s shoulder on the couch. Deceit grabbed the weighted blanket off the back of the couch from his nap yesterday and draped it over Virgil, which was an impressive move with one arm. The weight was really grounding and Virgil sank into the couch and laid down on Deceit’s lap instead of fighting it any longer.

   “I don’t know if any side should stay in another’s room that long,” Deceit hummed. Virgil grunted in acknowledgment, not really wanting to admit it but also not really in any state to disagree. “I would scold you for not saying anything normally, but I don’t think it counts in this circumstance,” Deceit mused. Virgil nodded in his lap, extremely grateful that Deceit understood. “I’ll just have to keep a closer eye on you next time,” Virgil cooed. Virgil looked up at him, seeing Deceit staring at a web instead of looking at Virgil. He was willing to spend more time with him even after Virgil had fucked up and let Deceit’s room get the better of him. He wasn’t even mad at him for it. Virgil sighed in relief and nestled into Deceit’s lap.

   “I’m still too dizzy to do anything else, but if you want to snark at a TV show or something we could do that,” Virgil offered quietly. He watched the remote fly up from the coffee table and the TV switched on. Deceit was flipping through the choices, looking for something to watch with him. Virgil was relieved that Deceit was willing to stay while he recovered.

   Deceit had watched 2 episodes and shared possibly a hundred insults at the characters with him before he turned off the TV and reached down to help pull Virgil up.

   “Thanks for staying,” Virgil muttered, sitting up on the couch now and rubbing his face to focus. Deceit looked like he got hit in the face with a whole-ass eyeshadow palette. He was a great actor, though. He wasn’t shaking or looking around wildly, or really anything. He held out his hand, and Virgil took it, and Deceit pulled him into a hug. Once they broke apart, Deceit conjured a large jar.

   “I require some of your fear spiders for an experiment,” He said twisting off the cap filled with holes and holding it out for Virgil. “I know they’re not quite followers but order them to listen to me,” He said evenly. Virgil looked at him in confusion for a moment, but placed his hand over the top of the jar, creating some spiders and webs for them to house inside the jar.

   “I can’t make them last past Thomas waking, is that okay?” Virgil asked as he finished and Deceit twisted on the top of the jar. Deceit just nodded. Virgil placed his hand on the jar and commanded them to follow Deceit’s orders in his head.

   Deceit kissed his head when Virgil pulled away and waved once as he sunk away with the jar. He wasn’t entirely sure what that was about, but he knew Remus was his test subject since their morning meetings and never minded throwing a wad full of spiders his way, in the same way Remus liked to whip out the demonic ooze often. Virgil sighed and crawled to the top of the couch to write some poetry. He needed a distraction, and it felt like it had been a while. He was partially recovered from Deceit’s room other than feeling exhausted.

   Beatrice crawled onto his head while he was writing, and she argued with him about the symbolism in his poetry sometimes, but her telling him he used death too often or to switch his rhyming scheme, but that was funnier than anything else. She couldn’t even hold a pen. Though perhaps with enough effort and some tiny weights she could type on a laptop. The visual made him chuckle. They wrote together quietly. He’d have to credit her on this sonnet, or she’d throw a fit.

   “Hey, Kiddo, we missed you at-Ahh!” He heard Patton say and watched him rise up, recoil suddenly, and sink back down right away. Virgil laughed pretty loudly.

   “My, Beatrice, your abilities have only grown since I created you. Even I can’t make Patton run screaming,” Virgil said with a laugh. Beatrice spun around on his head proudly.

— * * * —

   “He’s in his room this time,” Patton said, raising into the living room and rubbing his arms. “That giant creepy crawly was on his head!” He cried out and clung to Logan, who was working on the schedule in the recliner. Logan just sighed and pat him on the back, being slightly crushed by Patton’s hug.

   “Was he doing anything odd?” Roman asked curiously, looking up from his laptop at the table. Patton released Logan finally and went to go sit on the couch. He took a deep breath of relief.

   “He was sitting on the back of the couch writing in a composition notebook,” Patton said with a little shiver and summoned a blanket and wrapped himself up.

   “That’s completely normal for Virgil,” Logan said. “Did you ask him if he was still going to meet us later for the story session?”

   “There was a giant spider on his head, Logan, I’m lucky I made it out alive!” Patton whined and buried himself in the blankets.

   “I have never seen him with a larger spider than Beatrice, and she is only slightly large for a tarantula, I don’t know if he can even conjure larger arachnids,” Logan said plainly.

   “There are larger spiders than Beatrice!?” Patton screamed and sank from his spot on the couch, his blanket collapsing to the couch. Logan shook his head wearily.

   “I can’t believe he remembered that creeper’s name,” Roman said, rolling his eyes and returning to the laptop. “I’ll just send a note to remind Virgil,” Roman flicked his wrist and summoned the note pad. “I’m not a big fan of that fuzzy demon either,” Roman said and flourished his hand and the note disappeared. He went back to typing and Logan waited patiently to see if there would be a response. A skull sticky floated down to his laptop. “He sent a haiku about how he wants to punch me in the face?” Roman said incredulously and extremely confused.

   “That response seems more like something your brother would send,” Logan said, walking over to the table to take the note from Roman to see for himself. Roman handed it over and shrugged. It was indeed a simple haiku about how he wants to punch Roman in the face in Virgil’s handwriting. But the backside had a big checkmark. He showed Roman the check and placed it down on the table. “Well, he is informed and aware,” Logan said dismissively and returned his work.

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