#unfortunately this does not make me like Tom more

[mygnolia]

to weave my love ⭒ n. riki

⭒ SYNOPSIS -› Riki is good at many things- dancing, making fun of his friends, playing it cool (debatable.), Hell- he’s even good at saving people from falling buildings without getting whiplash. But the things he’s bad at? Well, it’s asking you out to prom, and trying to balance the shared assignment he has with you…while being Spider-man.

⭒ PAIR -› spiderman!nishimura riki x fem-pres!reader

⭒ GENRE -› fluff, banter, action ⭒ TROPES -› classmates to lovers, idiots to lovers ⭒ WC -› 17k (i’m sorry idk why either.)

⭒ INCLUDES -› SPOILERS FOR GREAT GATSBY, cursing, non-graphic injuries (reader discretion advised), yes i made the patching up with first aid kit trope SUE ME!! takes place in a busy city similar to new york never specified, reader is rich, jake and heeseung are seniors and riki’s a junior, is riki stupid? yes… jake reveals stuff because he is also a little silly, reader wears a red dress!

⭒ GREAT GATSBY -› basically jay gatsby has this weird amt of money but no one rlly knows how he got it (nefarious reasons) and hes been in love with this girl daisy for five years but then she got married to tom buchanan but he gets rich so he can get the house across from her and wistfully watch her and he pines after her like CRAZY but he dies at the end

⭒ REN SAYS...special huge fat kiss to thena @sensitively-taken you will be in the will when im a millionaire THANK YOU for helping me with so much of this I WUV U AND I WLL BE WAITING FOR UR HUENING FIC!!! | LIBRARY

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE FROM PRE-ADULTHOOD STRESS, IF THAT’S EVEN A THING.

What exactly does Riki have to worry about as a seventeen-year-old junior in high school? Right now, his most daunting responsibility is catching up on the chapters of The Great Gatsby because the only thing Riki’s actually read from the novel is that the main character shares a name with his best friend and senior, Park Jay. His second most daunting responsibility is handling the fact that with the new seating chart in his Literature class, it means he’s sitting next to the object of his very subtle affections, you. 

See, the problem with having a crush on you is that Nishimura Riki’s committed to thinking that you’re way out of his league, and unfortunately, the boy believes that almost too well. Not only are you minted beyond his wildest dreams (having seen your posts on social media), but you’re hardworking, helpful, and dedicated to your role as student body treasurer. He’s already understood that you’d never go for a guy like him. Maybe someone more like Park Sunghoon, whose parents’ salary matches yours. If Riki lived in a rural estate with generational wealth, handling the whole ‘Spider-Man’ thing might be a bit easier for him, considering he wouldn’t have to try so hard in school. It might even change the fact that Riki dealt with some alleyway criminals last night and is currently catching up on lost sleep, as your English Literature teacher goes on and on about a project on the book you’re reading. 

In class, and even sometimes outside of the classroom, your small tendency to not pay attention to your surroundings has landed you in some awkward situations—like now. 

“I don’t really tell anyone this, but I hate Daisy.” And instead of getting a response, you glance over to see Nishimura Riki slumped on the desk. Without trying to make preconceptions about what could land him in a situation like this, you poke his arm, stifling a smile at how his eyes widen when you’ve caught him rubbing the very obvious sleep from his eye. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, still fighting the post-nap grogginess, “Did I miss anything?” 

(Nope.)

Shaking your head, you return your attention to your teacher as he continues to answer questions. The second Mr. Yoo assigned a report, you wanted to die even more considering the work you had to do on top of the impending due dates. But for it to be partnered? And for you to get seated and paired with the one boy who's known for not caring about school? Maybe things are a little stacked against you, but there has to be a reason why Riki’s somehow still passing all his classes…right?

Considering it’s the last assignment about the book, you’re glad that you already read it so many times to know what you want to put into words. And in retrospect, answering a few open-ended questions about it can’t be that hard—the hardest part would be getting your partner to stay awake in class. 

A small tap at your side makes you turn to face Riki, who you see has frantically written a page full of notes about the project in the past three minutes and how he can succeed. “Can you go over the first part? Sorry…I was…y’know.” 

“It’s a partner project. And we’re partners.” You wince at the awkward wording. 

Great! Riki was caught sleeping and that was your first impression of him for your paired assignment? Riki feels so stupid in front of you right now—in front of your meticulous notes with annotations and proper highlighting. He wants to curl up into a ball when he sees you glance over at his haphazard attempt to look like he was paying attention when, in truth, he was trying to remember the dream he had just ten minutes prior. When you offer him a small smile and nod, leaning over with your notebook in hand, he sighs in relief, thanking whoever it was that let him get away with his naps without the consequence of irritating you afterwards. 

The bell rings when Mr. Yoo stops talking, and you pause, startled by the sound. Instead of leaving, however, you pack your bag and shuffle to his side of his desk, continuing to parrot details about your report in hopes that it all makes sense. You need to make sure he knows what he’s doing. 

“I think one of the questions he mentioned was like ‘Is Gatsby a good person?’ and do you remember how in Chapter Eight…” The rest gets zoned out and forgotten in the boy’s head, because he in fact does not know what happened in Chapter Eight. He doesn’t know what happened…in any part of the book. But he agrees anyway, pretending like he understands what scene you’re trying to explain. What he notices is how thorough and dedicated you are towards ensuring he comprehends what you’re explaining, and although it could be because you don’t want him to fail you both, he chooses to believe you’re doing it because you tolerate him. 

You’re so engrossed in covering all the little details and telling him random tidbits regarding the book that you don’t realize your feet have made it all the way to the cafeteria. “But here, let me get your number. I’ll totally explain more over text.” 

Riki is definitely not freaking out when he silently grabs his phone and hands it to you with the contact page, staring a little longer than necessary at the cute smiley face you added to your name. “Thanks,” he mumbles, forcibly tearing his eyes away from the ten digits of your number, “For helping me with this, too.”

“Of course! The Great Gatsby is a fun read for me. A little hard to read sometimes because of some of the characters, but still easy to understand.” And Nishimura RIki realizes that he has to do well. He’ll read the book five times over if it means gaining your approval. 

Jake notices something a little different about the tuft of black and blonde hair when his friend walks in. The first thing is that he’s actually here, and that you’re next to him, smiling. The boy rubs his eye to make sure he’s not dreaming somehow, but when he looks up again, you’re waving goodbye and joining your friends across the room. 

“Did you get hit with something while fighting a villain that makes you more bold? I feel like I just saw you and ____ talking,” Jake starts when Riki finally joins him with his lunch. 

Riki laughs, shoving Jake’s head out of embarrassment and opening his chips. “It’s just school. Got some project in English and she says we’re partnered.” He looks over at his friend chuckling, rolling his eyes at how Jake pokes at his side and wiggles his eyebrows. 

“I better hear you two are dating by next week.” 

“Who’s dating by next week?” Heeseung places his bag of food in front of them and takes a seat, opening the fast food he got last period and stuffing a fry in his mouth. 

“Riki and ____. Let me have one,” Jake answers, reaching inside the bag. 

Heeseung looks over at his junior curiously. “You asked her out?” And the two older students hear a groan from the boy in question. 

“Me and ____ aren’t anything, for your information.” He prods at the vegetables on his tray and takes a bite before a look of displeasure washes over his face. “You’re both way too excited for two guys who do not have girlfriends.” 

“Hey! You know the girl I’m always fighting with is the reason why I’m single. I have to focus on studying to do well in school to do better than her.” Heeseung’s whining falls on deaf ears as Riki smiles victoriously, seeing how defensive the former got. 

Jake offers him a shrug of defeat. “I got nothing.”

The three of them fall into normal conversation and Riki finally explains everything that happened during English.  “So you’re telling me your plan to ask ____ out went down from 18 months to 6?” And with a nod from the younger, they both groan once more. Heeseung exclaims, “We’re both going to graduate, dumbass. Make the plan go down to like…two months? Please?” 

Jake cuts in before Riki has a chance to respond. “Make it one and a half, so we can see you with a prom date before leaving forever.” 

“You act as if you’re going to die after graduation. It’s like you’re begging to be a super senior.” 

And they’re silenced immediately. 

“Do you think the guy I was with earlier hates me?” you ask on the other side of the room. Minjeong stares at you blankly, waiting for your explanation. “I don’t know if you saw when I walked in but I was talking to this really tall guy with blonde hair and black tips. He seemed really out of it, like he kept staring at me and nodding. I think I scared him off by talking about the book too much.” 

Sunghoon, who is also listening in, opens his neatly packed lunchbox and begins mixing his noodles. “I think you did scare him off, ____.”

“Not helping,” Minjeong interjects, “Just talk to him more and maybe he’ll warm up to you. You two sit together in class anyways, so hopefully he’ll talk more?” 

“I know him,” Sunghoon comments, “Well, sort of. I’m friends with Jake who’s friends with Riki, and it seems like all that boy does is sleep.” 

“Maybe he’s really good at subconscious in-class comprehension?” you try, taking a bite of your sandwich. “I just hope it doesn’t interfere too much with treasurer stuff.” 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE IF HE SWINGS INTO ANOTHER WALL AT 100MPH LIKE HOW HE ALMOST DID TONIGHT.

All he’s had on his mind since school ended till now is how he should probably text you, if he really discarded the slimy acid monster from last week properly, and when the prom theme is going to be released, but there’s something amiss that confuses his spidey-senses and makes Riki much more alert. 

He snaps out of whatever train of thought he had before, focusing on the situation at hand and looking around to follow his instinct. Riki cautiously plants himself on the side of a random apartment building to get a sense of what's going on. A tingle of some sort of in the air permeates the material of his suit and leaves him shivering from the cold. 

He doesn't like it one bit. 

Moving to the side of the building to the top, the boy finally catches a glimpse of something when he gets a decent view of the city and highway systems. Riki knows something’s wrong with the bridge the closer he gets. He zips from one side of the tall, metal tower to the other, crawling down on all fours making sure he isn’t caught. He feels the electric feeling once more, only amplified. It runs up his spine and he wants to slap it, almost like a frantic, summertime bug. The air around him is charged with something he has never recognized before. With a puzzled expression under his mask, Riki continues to investigate the surrounding area. 

Riki finds a lone figure with some sort of attachment to his left arm, like a long glove made out of metal. The bulkiness of it seems to have no impact on his body as the man fiddles with the contraption, and the boy watches with bated breath as the machine fizzes and spurts with electricity. It begins to glow as power concentrates on his plated palm and the superhero sees it for the first time. It’s like a fizz, like a match striking at fire only to produce a quick burst of friction, but it almost feels liquid when he watches the person play with the flickering blue ball of electricity. It dances in the dark in a hauntingly beautiful way, with bolts jutting out from the metal as it spurts and buzzes with a life-like manner. 

A spark. 

“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sound of Riki’s voice from the end of the bridge causes the stranger to look up with wide eyes. Although Riki fully expects it to simply enhance strength or block damage, the immediate strike of blue that flies straight towards him is anything but defensive. With a yelp, he jumps away, this time refusing to show himself. 

What the hell was that?

He knows he should go back down there to change things and get the person and the metal pieces away before it escalates, but when he goes back down to watch, it's ten times worse. The bright blue illuminates the scarred face of the villain as he’s picked up the metal arm–but this time, it’s no longer clunky and sparking, but fused into his arm. 

Riki’s face pales at the sudden change before his body acts on its own and he shoots out a web to stop the man. 

The villain is shocked by the intrusion, but quickly yanks free from the webbing and flicks another bolt of electricity, one that flies much faster now that the metal flows into the arm instead of simply resting on the skin. It’s unlike something Riki has ever seen, something that is so controlled in motion and yet so erratic in nature, and it instills a deathly fear when it grazes his arm he hisses in pain. The sharp feeling springs Riki into action as he jumps away. He’s lucky another bolt isn’t sent his way, seeing how the villain’s too busy marveling at the power of his new gadget.

“You know that fucking hurts, right?” He yells out, cupping his wound. “Maybe leave the gadgets to the kids!”

The man scoffs. “It better have hurt. I sacrificed half my body for this to work.”

“But why?” All Riki wants is answers. Some sort of explanation.

The man charges up yet another bolt, almost like a laser gun is built into the machine. “Less talking, more running, Spiderman.” 

That scared the shit out of him. 

The boy doesn’t have time to think as he jumps out from the dark tunnel to the bridge and up the metal towers—he hates having to fight with people right below. The villain follows in pursuit, almost crumbling the metal with his engineered arm as he hoists himself quickly. Riki continues to jump between the structure to avoid the flashes, trying to get out and apprehend the man as quickly as possible. When he reaches the top, however, he feels death is near as he glances down at the villain below who’s quickly gaining on him. He shoots out webs to slow him temporarily, letting himself fall and swing from the side of the tower to escape. 

What he doesn’t see on the way across the bridge is the flash that misses his cheek and hits his thigh instead. It burns, and mid-air, Riki gives the wound a quick assessment before he lands on the metal, immediately forcing his body to climb. While dealing with his wound, he fails to notice the villain swinging from the bridge support lines to meet him. 

He needs to end this fast before he becomes burnt toast.

Riki doesn’t often rely on instinct to carry him, but he can tell that the villain he’s facing isn’t just a criminal. 

“Land another hit, would you?” he tries to say, his voice strained from the pain in his arm and leg. It doesn’t do much to deter the man in front of him as the arm continues to destroy and bend the metal on the way up. “What are you going to do now, Sparky?”

The man says nothing, charging energy into his metal glove again before aiming and focusing on the target: him. 

Riki jumps off, not able to properly land his web in the right spot as he goes from one section of the bridge to the other. The man behind him looks enraged at the boy’s attempt to escape—so much so that he reaches out with his normal hand to try to grasp the suit when Spider-Man swings past him. Instead of the feeling of fabric, the villain feels sticky spider fluid on his fingers. Riki shoots out a web, one that curls around the villain’s wrist and drags him off the tower. Instead of being able to launch him into the surrounding waters, the man slips from the poorly shot-out webs and falls from mid air into the sea of frantic cars, including one semi truck that collides directly with his arm. In the air, the boy winces when he hears honks and shouts from the impact, hoping it’s the last time he’ll have to witness it.

With his gaze trained on the falling figure, the weakly attached web breaks, and Riki all of a sudden starts falling down as well. He curls up defensively before bracing for impact, curling into himself when he feels the metal dent and the truck driver scream from outside of the parked vehicle, the body of the villain right in front of it. 

Riki staggers, holding onto his arm and thigh the best he can before getting up. With wobbly steps and a small jump, he lands near the unconscious man, whose metal arm is cracked and fizzling—something that Riki knows is bound to leave more scars. 

“Call the police. I’ll get rid of the pieces.” Although Riki wants to figure out who the criminal is and make sure he’s properly apprehended, the gashes in the boy's limbs leave him winded and exhausted. With hot metal scraps bound together by webbing in his hands, Riki swings out and dumps it somewhere rural, trying his best to cover the pieces with the pounding headache that 

Riki revisits the secluded spot under the bridge, looking for clues to the man’s identity, and his expression falls when he notices a lanyard dangling near a trash can. 

His name, his position, and the company. FLiGHT Corp. The company name caught the boy’s eye, and he pockets the item before leaving. 

It seemed like he was a normal research scientist, but Riki’s recollection of the scars and tattered skin leaves him retracting his last thought. He heard something about the failure of a time travel machine at FLiGHT, and if the mass of the incident was anything to go by, he was in the center of it. 

No matter how many times Riki tries to get it out of his head, on the way home, all he can think about is the inexperience he displayed and the lack of response he gave Riki during the whole time. But Riki can’t bring himself to really take away someone’s life—and maybe for that, he’s a horrible superhero. 

He knows he should stop the man before it's too late, and especially with how many self-proclaimed villains there have been, it's not easy to see so many innocent people ruin their lives chasing a power that inevitably consumes them. He knows it’ll only get worse if he lets them run free.

And while the superhero has never been fully honest with himself, there are many times where Riki hates his role as Spider-Man, and wishes that he was just some teenage boy who didn't have the lives of others in his palm. He wishes he didn't have to sacrifice so much to stay behind a mask—and he wonders deep down if there’s anyone else who felt the same. 

His swings lead him across the city above hundreds of lives he has to protect, and he tries to find some semblance of peace. He thinks about how he has his homework due despite having just risked his life, he thinks about how your project is going—and about you. 

In the night under the stars, Nishimura Riki wishes for something just a bit normal. He wishes a good night for himself, but also for you, wherever you could be.

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE FROM TRYING TO READ THIS BOOK IN ONE NIGHT.

The Great Gatsby is exactly like how you described it; a little hard to get through but fun with the plot’s eccentric characters. He’s pretty sure he could’ve just used a detailed SparkNotes explanation for the book, but having a crush can make someone do weird things. And in Nishimura Riki’s case, his infatuation has got him reading a novel about morally-skewed characters and rich society to impress you. 

When you come into class barely on time, Riki gives you a confused look when you sit down, but doesn’t comment on it any further. Instead, he takes out his book and tries to act like his eyes weren’t closing shut from exhaustion by the time Daisy was finally confessing how she loved Gatsby. 

The moment Mr. Yoo stops talking, however, Riki isn’t asleep—much to your surprise. He has his book out, pages filled with sticky notes and a whole section of his notebook dedicated to characters (written in bright red to keep him awake) and their traits. 

“I got it.” It’s the first thing he says when you two are left to do in-class work. It’s ominous, and maybe a little too enthusiastic in a high school literature class for a boy who doesn’t even care that much for school, but you’ll accept it with open arms if it means you get a helping hand on your project. 

“Continue,” you tell him slowly, leaning back in your chair to listen to him. And you don’t know why, but a small part of you thinks that the boy who sleeps every period the book was discussed wouldn’t have much to say or contribute to such an open-ended prompt, but life is full of surprises. 

What you fail to notice is how Riki is nervous and his stomach does at least twenty flips before he swallows dryly and starts rambling in hopes to impress you and redeem himself from his embarrassing slumber a few days ago. 

“So you know how our prompt is based on one character and basically all their actions?” he asks, and you nod, absentmindedly thumbing a sheet in your journal. “I’m thinking we should talk about Jay Gatsby because so much is revealed to us about him that we might as well use it to our advantage. Y’know, talking about how the theme of exploitation and secrets is veiled under Gatsby’s desire for Daisy.”

“You don’t think Gatsby’s a good character?” Riki wants to tell you that Gatsby is more relatable than good or bad, but he shakes his head. 

“I mean, not really.” He feels like with those four words, he’s completely changed the trajectory of his relationship with you from a positive slope to completely downhill—and a wave of panic washes over him. “Should I? I mean, I could see him as more redeemable if you gave me examp-“

You wave your hand to quell his worries. “To be honest, I don’t like him either. But he’s an interesting main character to write about, so I think we should go with your idea.” 

To win your approval feels like he’s won at least three fights against a villain in a row without getting any bad injuries—it feels good. And for the rest of the period, you are able to finish a detailed outline of your work for the next few weeks, mapping out sections for each other, and he even gets to see a part of prom planning on a word document you had open. He considers your shared productivity a win when he packs up and bids you goodbye before leaving for lunch. 

One wave doesn’t catch Riki’s attention from across the room. Not even two, or three calls of his name could get Nishimura Riki out of his thoughts, and Jake frowns before moving up in the lunch line. 

“Something’s caught your eye again.” Jake feigns innocence and sighs dramatically as he places the food down next to Riki’s plate. “Could it possibly be our school treasurer?” Jake laughs, leaning over to catch a glimpse of what’s got his friend so entranced and non-responsive.

Riki scrunches his nose, annoyed, but never breaking his gaze from where you’re sitting. “We talked in class–like, a lot,” is all he says, paying his friend no mind. “She’s genuinely so understanding.”

“God, I don’t think you can be any more down bad for her than you are right now.” Jake picks at his food, and despite his concentration directed towards the olives on his pizza, he’s able to dodge the flying loaded nacho that goes his way, even if he wasn’t the one with superpowers.

“Can you shut up?” Riki grumbles, laying his head on his arms as he notices you smile and point to something. “I just got pummeled into a semi truck last week. Let me have this before I die tomorrow.” 

“Very grim,” his friend notes, ruffling the younger’s hair, “I think this is exactly what all of those mental health assemblies that we get are for.” And Riki basically tunes him out, too tired to fight and too used to the teasing remarks to come up with anything useful in response. 

Riki sits up a bit, letting his head rest on his propped elbow as he looks at the school food and touches another nacho gingerly. “Y’know, I read the book for English so she wouldn’t think I’m an idiot.” 

His friend snickers, successfully pulling out yet another sliced olive from the cheese, much to the disgust of Riki. “She probably already thinks you’re an idiot.” 

The superhero debates throwing another cheesy nacho in Jake's face, before deciding to eat it instead. “Don’t say that asshole! You make it seem like I have no chance with her.” 

Jake shoots him an exasperated look that makes Riki break eye contact. “That’s because you don’t.” 

“I’ll prove to her that I’m worth her time.” Riki says somewhat wistfully, still stealing glances from a few tables away. “Maybe I’ll ask her out to prom, show up in my suit. Do that cheesy upside down kiss shit people say Spiderman does.” When his friend raises an eyebrow at him, Riki shrugs. “I will! Well-maybe not the Spider-Man thing, but prom definitely.” 

Jake continues to look at him unconvinced as he takes a bite out of a slice of pizza with mangled cheese. “You barely talk to her in class and you think you can ask her out to prom as Nishimura Riki?” And the younger grins, eyes still stuck on how your eyes crinkle and how your shoulders shake with laughter. 

“Yup.” And his fate is sealed, just like that.

“What’s your project about, anyways? Didn’t you tell me last night that she gave you her number? Must be pretty serious if she wants to text you.” Riki furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. 

“It’s just tying the theme of the book to one character and writing about how they show it. So we did the theme of money and Gatsby, because it’s easy and mentioned so many times.” 

Jake gawks. “You must really like her,”

“I was planning to read it regardless of who I was partnered with.” 

“Okay- that’s debatable.” There goes another one of Riki’s nachos.

“Gross.” 

He thinks things are going pretty well for you two. The report is being written and your quotes are basically finding themselves, so Riki should give himself a pat on the back for pitching the initial idea for how to go about your assignment. Maybe reading the whole book offered him a few useful pointers, and he goes to sleep that night satisfied with your progress. Maybe Heeseung and Jake were right—maybe he could finally ask you out by prom. 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE TRYING TO SAVE THE CITY FROM YET ANOTHER MONSTER TERRORIZING THE STREETS.

He wakes up the next morning, not expecting his alarm to alert his senses to danger. It rings in his head and makes him feel delirious, trying to shake sleep off as he looks out the window for any visible sign of what's wrong. If he could hear the danger in his head then that meant someone could be hurt, and he could go to school without a few hours of sleep if he worked fast enough, right? 

Riki slips into his suit without much thought and goes to crack his window open, only to look back at his clock and read the horrific time of 6:23AM. 

Who the hell picks a fight with a teenager at this ungodly time? 

Then, he shoots from his wrists, once, twice, and suddenly, he's off, covering more ground through the air in just three seconds than he ever could while walking or running for minutes on end.

The source of his tingling spidey-sense is some large metal centipede creature that was setting off car alarms in a neighborhood near the market. Thankfully, no one was really awake to be caught in the crossfire, but he has to figure out how the hell he's going to catch that thing in...he checks his watch…twenty minutes? 

Hopefully, his instinct will help him win this time—again. 

The web he shoots out does nothing to stop the monster, and considering how it connected them both, the threads only drag the superhero to the edge of the building he was initially watching from. With some yelling and pulling, he finally detaches, and realizes that the odd sizzling feeling in his bonds must be from the same source as a few days ago; Spark. 

He had this gut feeling that a villain as strong as him wouldn’t have been destroyed so easily, but his wounds were so deep and the blood loss so bad from a few nights ago that he couldn’t have truly dumped him in the ocean without fainting or suffering something permanent, and although Riki hoped things in the universe would work itself out, the presence of the giant fifty foot insect alone is proof that things were not in his favor. 

He jumps off the building onto another, working quickly as he strings up a few webs between the houses as a wall for the monster, watching it slide and knock over cars in its wild pursuit. The monster spends a few seconds breaking down the wall of webbing and climbing over it, the many legs easily breaking through. As the superhero jumps across buildings and keeps track of the centipede’s movement, he has no idea why it isn’t going for him, and that makes his job much harder without the attention of the monster. One glance at the direction the centipede is headed in sets off another ding in Riki’s head—but this time, it finally clicks why the centipede is headed away from the boy. 

It’s attracted to the power plant. 

Riki immediately jumps and swings off of a lamp post, using the momentum of gravity and the force of his swing to propel him faster than the slithering creature. Squinting, he holds out his fist and points his pointer and pinky out, following the movement of the centipede as he aims. 

Bam. 

He sends clusters of silky white threads down precisely at the first pair of legs to pin it down. The webs stop the creature momentarily, and Riki doesn’t have time to watch how the body shrinks up and fizzes out with blue shocks as it tries to wiggle loose and malfunctions. This fight would be over soon, and the boy smiles when he jumps down to shoot more webs to apprehend the centipede. It wiggles and sends electricity out through parts of its body, trying to pry itself out. He expects it to simply be a robot of sorts following a mission considering its avoidant behavior, but as he approaches the tail, the monster suddenly swings at Riki, and its mass and speed is incomparable to the boy’s reaction speed. 

Riki lands into a tree and someone’s garage, feeling the crumbling wall falling all over him and the sudden pain blooming in his lower back. 

This fight will, in fact, not be over soon. 

With his superhuman abilities, Riki grabs onto the metal of the car beside him to hoist himself up, coughing from the dust, and jumping over the rubble to see how quickly the centipede creature can get out, without regard for his current state. The sound and rumble of the giant monster is all he needs to know that the traps are effective, but not at the previous capacity. 

The plan is simple: apprehend the legs and crush the head, where Riki assumes the decision-making and programming is taking place. But the monster’s angry and erratic actions throw a wrench in his plan. Its legs move faster, digging into the cement and leaving ruin in its wake as it continues down the road. While both the villain and superhero are fast, the distance between the power plant is finite—and only grows smaller and smaller.  

Although Riki can feel the bruises coming, he runs and swings, hearing the wind in his ears as he catches up to the centipede in no time. He tries the same tactics again–aim, shoot, stick, all the while keeping his distance. Although the monster’s body spans incredibly long, and should carry an immense amount of weight, the way it snaps at Riki’s flying body and sends shockwaves through his core leaves him shivering as his body slams into the ground, coughing. It hurts all over, and it feels like there’s weight on his eyes when he tries to open them and get up. His head is spinning as he staggers onto his knees, clutching his chest as he watches the centipede shrivel and crackle. 

It seems like the voltage produced is a double-ended sword, one that burns up the centipede body as much as it deals damage, and with the way the mutant creeps towards the electricity of the plant, Riki gets the feeling there’s a magnetic pull that forces the mutant to continue to crawl even against its instinct to stop. 

Despite his waning strength, however, Riki knows better than to half finish the job like last time. He creates a net from experience, weaving together the thickest and most durable threads to trap the entirety of the slowly approaching creature. It seems to crawl slowly up the makeshift barrier, knocking its head against the white and spreading the bright blue waves of its energy throughout. The boy watches as the thin white mass absorbs all of it and clings to the creature. It works, finally, after his attempts to nullify its movements, and he knows that despite the ache in his every step, the almost mummified centipede that hangs between several roofs for all the neighbors to gawk at is his sure sign of victory. 

All he remembers is hearing a familiar call of his hero name before his legs give out and his head hits Jake’s chest. 

Holy fucking shit is the first thing Riki thinks when he wakes up. 

He’s not out of his tattered suit and he feels grimy all over, but his body has done wonders in reducing the otherwise fatal injuries he got. No human body should be able to withstand two energy-filled blasts, but his suit and superhuman healing are of greater help than ever in alleviating the damage from his wounds. 

He knows why he’s in his bed with bandages thrown over his open wounds. He knows that every time something like this happens, it’s Jake who shoos away the concerned civilians, telling them he’s a medic. Jake is not a medic—rather, he’s a seventeen year-old boy who knows about his friend’s double life and with all the times he’s saved Riki, someone might as well dub him the greatest medic of all time. 

The clock on his bedside table has only served as a bearer of bad news. He looks over to see how it’s practically midday, and he’s missed yet another day of school from fighting crime. He’s in no condition to get up or get his bag, seeing how his hair is frizzy and his cheek has a cut that would warrant questioning. It seems only fair that he stays absent, and before he falls back asleep, he only prays you aren’t too mad at him for leaving the seat next to you empty.

But you aren’t mad, just worried. The soreness in his muscles doesn’t go away though, and he groans when he sits up in his bed, with bandages around his arms and an ice pack discarded next to him. 

He’s most definitely not coming to school like this. 

While you bore holes into the clock hanging off the wall, that doesn’t speed up the time. Two minutes pass, then another minute. As your classmates find their partners and begin discussing, you notice how the room gets louder with the due date looming near. It’s the first time you’re alone without the familiar boy beside you, and something hangs low in your chest when you put in a pair of earphones and open your laptop. 

Riki’s absence should have no effect on you. After all, you’re both just high school students who’ve talked once or twice, and yet you still look over at the empty chair. Staring doesn’t make Riki appear, though, and you return to your edits. It feels empty without his insight, or without him asking you to help him with a passage. Riki was your solution to all things boring. If he wasn’t doing his work, then you two were laughing at something on his phone. And if you agreed to both do something other than the report, then you could ask for an extra opinion when deciding prom details. There was something freeing about working with him that attracted you. Riki knew how to lighten the mood on days that weren’t so good for you, but he also worked hard and let loose at the same time. There was a perfect balance in Riki’s life that you aspired to have; it was a good mix of playful, dedicated, and fun all in the same vein. 

The words blend together on your screen. Jay Gatsby this, Tom Buchanan that, it all looks monotonous the more you keep trying to read and comprehend what exactly you’re talking about. 

Before class is dismissed, Mr. Yoo steps to the front of the classroom to gather everyone’s attention. He introduces your new novel for the next month, explaining yet another large assignment associated with the text. 

Truth be told, you don’t pay attention to any of it. 

The only thing you remember to do is to grab extra copies of the printed graphic organizers, as you get out of your seat and rush out when class ends in pursuit of one specific boy. 

“Sim Jaeyun!” The call of his name diverts Jake’s attention from his phone to your waving arm as you weave through the students and finally reach him. 

“You can just call me Jake,” he explains, “what’s up?” 

You begin to reach into your backpack, trying to feel for your folder, and pull out a few sheets. “These are for Riki.” 

Jake cheers internally for his friend who’s busy recovering at home. “What, you got a crush on him or something?” 

He tries to play it cool by teasing you, but the smile you bite back leaves the boy questioning if there really is anything going on. Jake knows better than to tell you anything about Riki’s feelings, and opts to instead grab the papers and to thank you for looking out for his friend. 

“Is Riki okay?” You have to know, just to make sure he’ll be here tomorrow to cure your boredom. 

What Jake says is much different than the nonchalant wave and half grin he gives you. “He’s just bedridden.” 

“That’s pretty serious! Did he come down with anything?” He seemed fine yesterday, so what’s the catch?

He blurts, “He just got badly hurt.” 

Immediately, Jake knows he’s fucked up. 

Your confusion and silence answers him far more than words ever could–he basically hears the gears turning slowly in your head.

Jake weakly defends, “His parents had a fight with him because he hit his head or something. He’ll be fine by tomorrow. Just bedridden from sadness, y’know?” 

The look you give him is unconvinced, but when Heeseung pats him on the shoulder and waves to you, the boy realizes that maybe staying quiet would’ve been the better decision. 

“I’ll see you later, ____.” And he’s off, waving half-heartedly and dragging a very confused Heeseung out of the cafeteria. 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE TRYING TO WAKE YOU UP AS GENTLY AS HE CAN.

Ever since March started and flowers began to bloom, your energy seemed to do the opposite, dwindling until Riki catches you mirroring his frequent in-class action: sleeping. And it worries him beyond belief, because you’re not the type to fall asleep like… ever. However, Riki does not have the heart to wake you up, even if it’s with a little nudge that you probably barely feel with how light he taps. It breaks his heart to have to ask you to review what he has done, because the bell is about to ring and the teacher might just send you to detention if he catches you off-task. 

The allergies always make Mr. Yoo irritable, and Riki knows not to get on his nerves. 

Your eyes flutter open to the pokes and prodding from none other than Nishimura Riki, who gazes at you softly when you adjust to the bright classroom setting once more. 

Panic settles in. “Wait- how long was I sleeping for?” 

He shrugs and scrunches his nose, not giving you an answer as he finishes scribbling something in his notebook. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Your hand squeezes into a fist at the frustration that you’ve let your partner down. 

And yet, Riki seems to be unfazed, frowning when he sees you stressing out. “Don’t ever sweat the little things, yeah? If there’s anything you ever need to talk about–trust me, I know what it’s like to have a lot of pressure on your shoulders.”

Smiling at him, you respond with, “Thank you, really.” 

Being treasurer is daunting in the spring. It’s full of requests, forms, and small tasks that leave you spent by the end of the day. “But,” you glance at the clock to see just how much time is left, “how’d you know?” 

He motions to your open computer with a now dark screen. “I saw your document pulled up. ____’s tasks or else she will be kicked out of student government,” he taunts, snickering when your eyes grow wide with embarrassment and you lightly nudge his shin with your foot in warning. 

“It’s not polite to snoop,” and although you say that, you catch something in your peripheral vision. It’s a few drawings of a figure and gadget drawn, shaded from rigid shapes with small descriptions pointing to different places. You weren’t sure what was more surprising; how good the drawings were, or the subject of his imagination. 

Weird. Inherently, there was nothing wrong with Riki drawing a villain, and you chalked it up to him being creative. Nothing more, nothing less. 

He puts his hands up in surrender at your last comment, his grin showing anything but. Just one look at the boy makes you realize that everything you’ve just thought about is foolish. 

There’s no way he’d have time to be a villain and a student. With one final thought, you let your raging thoughts rest and focus on the present; him. You’ve seen his hair messy, especially after his naps, but when Riki tries to style it like how he did today, you pay more attention to the streaks of blonde and how he often hides behind his bangs and scrunches his nose. It’s cute. He’s cute.

The truth is, you enjoy being around him like this, joking around and never worrying too much about your responsibilities and expectations. It’s refreshing. Being around Riki gives you the feeling that things will be okay in the end. 

You snap out of your thoughts to see that his desk is empty, while your’s hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re going to sell prom tickets now, right?” He makes small talk before leaving for lunch, closing the notebook you were suspiciously eying before slipping it into his bag. 

“Yup,” you answer, popping the ‘p,’ “I’ll see you later,” and you two part ways.

All the long lines and constant distribution of change doesn’t allow much wiggle room for you to daydream. As time goes on, the ticket-selling line grows smaller and smaller, but the only thing you truly care about is eating the lunch your parents packed you. Your sandwich is probably sad and soggy now that there are only a few minutes of lunch left. When you finally sign off one last time after triple checking the forms are all correct, you let out a sigh, leaning back and finally getting a break. 

Then, it hits you that you’re not even sure if the boy you’re fawning over is attending the biggest event of the year, and you feel stupid for forgetting to ask. 

-

Yesterday was a rookie’s mistake–today, you’d make sure you get an answer from him.

“Are you going to prom, Riki?” is the first thing you ask when he sits down, grabbing his book and laptop with a little too much enthusiasm. 

“I’m thinking about it.” Yeah, whatever confidence he had when convincing himself he’d ask you out isn’t serving him well at this moment. Quite frankly, Riki feels lame as ever trying to be nonchalant around you. “You?” 

“I’d have to set up, so I would be there, yes. But whether or not I have a date is another story.” You smile to lighten the mood, but Riki watches you and nods, focusing back on signing into his laptop and getting his notes for the new book you’re reading. 

“Well, you’re not the only single one here.” And he wants to reprimand himself for saying something without thinking. “If someone asked, would you say yes?”

You think about it carefully, really because you don’t have anyone in mind when it comes to prom if Riki’s not planning on going. “It’d have to be someone I know—someone I talk to somewhat regularly. I’d be nice to be with someone who doesn’t make it awkward.”

Nishimura Riki might die from over-thinking if he keeps on wondering whether or not he fits that description to a tee.

RIKI'S TO-DO LIST BEFORE PROM

☐  talk to ____ regularly 

☐  don't make it awkward 

☐  be..cute? 

The boy decides that his superhuman responsibilities might be easier to complete than any of those three things. 

He switches the subject to stop his head from hurting too much. “Did you finish the report?” 

You still, and Riki’s question reminds you of the report looming over your head. In your defense, you two hadn’t brought it up much in the past week, and he didn’t seem to worry over how much of your time was spent emailing teachers or making spreadsheets. Although caught off guard, you’re quick to respond with, “What did we have to finish? I thought we were done since last week, but if there’s anything else-” 

“Sorry,” he rushes out, biting his lip, “I meant, if you finished reading it.” And the answer is no, you haven’t read it since your last edit on it three days ago. 

Within a few clicks, you find the document and scroll to the bottom, seeing the small note that Riki left that said ‘let me know how it looks.’ It’s sweet to know he thought about your input as much as you did his. 

“While some can agree that Gatsby’s rise into high society was sketchy, Gatsby still retains the same reserved character from years ago, and doesn’t manipulate others into success or use his money for nefarious purposes. It’s not like he changed after his wealth, and it could be argued Gatsby loved Daisy until his last breath and was willing to die as long as she was happy, emphasizing the theme of sacrifice. 

So, is Jay Gatsby a good person? The question targets the morality of a character who many can empathize with. Those who are charmed by his overwhelming love for Daisy would say that he’s committed textbook crimes, but focus more on the intent behind it. To pine after someone from a distance isn’t easy, but to pursue her after years of separation is even harder. It’s universally agreed, however, that love as a driving force doesn’t nullify what he’s done to others and the dirty schemes he’s enacted to gain the power he has. Therefore, Gatsby makes for an interesting main character, and highlights just how twisted a system around money can be.” 

The last page is–for the most part–his writing, and your admiration for him grows when you finish reading and scroll to hit your Works Cited page.

“It’s good,” you tell him wholeheartedly, “Didn’t think you had it in you.” 

Riki cracks a smile at your light teasing, soaking up your praise. 

“Now you know.” He shrugs. And he can only hope that you like him as much as you like his literary skills. 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE WHEN HE COMES TO THE REALIZATION THAT HE IS EXACTLY LIKE JAY GATSBY,JUST WITHOUT THE MONEY—DESPERATE FOR THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS, DYING YOUNG, AND A FRAUD HIDING BEHIND SECRETS.

Nevermind the last one, he has to hide when he has an identity to protect as the city’s only superhero, but Riki feels his heart sink to his heels when he read a few weeks ago how much Gatsby simply adores Daisy. When Gatsby died, he scoffed, closing the book with a sudden disinterest. If he were the male lead, he wouldn’t have been laying in a pool for target practice. Maybe being a superhero teaches you how to avoid being easy bait for all your enemies, or maybe Gatsby was too carried away with love to think straight. 

Fighting crime gives you insurmountable experience with sneaking around, but it wasn’t something he could just teach to anyone. When he gets this horrible gut feeling that something’s happened to you, he just knew something was wrong. He might not be easy to catch, but for anyone else? Definitely.  

For everyone else, prom was a month away, but for you, it was three weeks of talking to your advisor and president, arguing with your other board members, and sitting behind that damn money box for another five days to sell tickets. For you, it was realizing that you were supposed to buy streamers and balloons yesterday on your way home from school. It was the thinly veiled disappointment in your board member’s texts when they told you they were at a loss for words. ‘I’m sorry, and I know you’re busy, but how could you forget? Prom is so important for all of us. What if they don’t have what you need anymore?’ It all repeated in your head as you bit your lip in frustration and slipped on the first pair of shoes you could find. Although it was dark and dangerous, you could care less if it meant avoiding the passive aggressive comments you’d get tomorrow during your meeting.

There it is again: that little tendency to not pay attention to your surroundings. 

You yelp when you feel someone grabbing your wrist and pulling you in, muffling your screams as he pulls you along. To see him on the news was worrying, but to see Spark in person with your life on the line is even worse. 

Tears spring to your eyes as you struggle against the metal to no avail, and you curse every previous moment you spent worrying about balloons rather than your safety.

Spark suddenly stops, shoving you against the wall before his hand grabs a brick with his metal arm, beginning to climb. “Don’t let go.” And you don’t think twice before holding on.

The city view would be beautiful if you weren’t hearing your heartbeat in your ears or if you weren’t dangling from the railing of some company building, trying to wiggle yourself free of the rope around your wrists. 

Spark speaks up, drumming his fingers on the railing next to you. “You wouldn’t happen to know where your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is, would you?” And you furrow your eyebrows, genuinely questioning for a moment if he really knew how the superhero operated. 

A voice from across the street puts a temporary hold on your thoughts, and you glance up to see a flash of blue and red soaring through the air, followed by a groan and a beam of light next to you. Seeing Spark’s powers right in front of you spurs you into action, yanking at the rope and trying to take tiny steps away from where they were fighting.

“From what I’m seeing, you wanted to hold someone hostage because you’re not feeling too good, huh?” Spider-Man shouts as he shoots out webs and blocks hits. You shake your head in partial disbelief of how unserious he is, but also how unbelievable all of this seems. “You tried to take a potion or something? I’m going to tell you this now, but these usually don’t work.” 

Riki’s assumption is right, and considering how Spark now has a leg and arm from metal instead of just the arm, the procedure for the additional limb couldn’t have been easy. The superhero still proceeds with caution, making sure to pay attention to anything new as he dodges and fights back. 

The villain immediately gets back up, stumbling for a moment before he regains his stance and runs towards the boy. You hear the clanging of fist hitting metal from their fight, and considering the difference in height and build, you’d expect Spider-Man to be easily flung to the side, but he holds his weight in battle. 

Riki aims for around the left shoulder, where an abundance of stitches cover the skin and fuse the metal into muscle. He lands a hit, and almost another one, before a punch to the side knocks him from his momentum. The boy wheezes when his back makes instant contact with the ground, rolling and getting up before Spark has time to shoot. 

He notices how quickly the gadget generates electricity now. Before, the beams took longer, and were easily predictable, but now, it glows bright for a moment before it fires directly in Riki’s path. The boy dodges the first, but the second one almost hits the top of his head before he ducks and creates distance. 

From the roof-top, Riki scans his surroundings before making the split-second decision to jump. 

He swings to the other side of the building, keeping you in his peripheral vision as he works on apprehending the villain in front of him. They spring into yet another fist fight, with Riki’s agility easily letting him avoid punches and land precise hits to make the previous injuries even worse. 

You think Spider-Man has the upper hand in this, seeing as how none of Spark’s punches seem to slow down the superhero, but you hear something loud before you can register it. 

You figure out what happened after Riki stumbles and suffers a blow to the stomach, sending him tumbling to the edge of the building. Spark knew that Spider-Man was avoiding his left arm—he knew that one wrong move paired with the tungsten material would have a lasting effect on the superhero’s fist. 

Riki coughs from the impact before his spidey-sense rings, pulling him back into battle as he runs as fast as his body can take him. 

You. He still needs to save you. 

With renewed vigor, he continues to avoid the flying sparks as he ducks between structures and uses the terrain to his advantage. He can tell, though, that the villain is slowing down. The shots are less accurate–a telltale sign that the enhancer Spark tried is working against him. 

Between all of the chaos, Riki finally lands a proper web, yanking as hard as he can to pull Spark to the ground. He stumbles, grasping at thin silk before Riki lets go on his side. The villain’s balance is off, giving the boy an advantage as he closes the distance, hopping over a thrown slab of metal and landing a solid kick into Spark’s ribcage. As he stays down, Riki continues to aim for muscle and flesh, his head spinning as he packs punch after punch to keep the villain apprehended. 

Spark’s body–curled into itself to absorb the hits the best that he can– hides the growing blue flash that he’s slowly charging up with his remaining power. The moment it escapes from under his abdomen, Riki directs his efforts towards avoiding the electric glimmer. The villain rolls over, his body tattered from the consistent injuries, and he fires what seems like an intense bullet of energy. It zips by the boy’s cheek, cutting the mask and leaving blood to run down in its wake. Time slows down as the superhero tries to process the unlocked speed of the burst, and Spark loses focus marveling at his new abilities. Never before had either of them seen power so concentrated, and it inflicts both fear and excitement. 

He lifts his arm, the other holding it up for support, and Spider-Man notices the fizzle of bright blue. Riki’s about to jump out of the way, preparing for yet another high-speed bullet, but before Spark fires, something clicks. The arm doesn’t directly point to Riki–but it skews off to the right.

Except, he’s no longer aiming for Riki in the split second that the boy blinks. He’s suddenly aiming at you, where your hands are tied to the railing and your feet are dangling from the bent metal that holds you precariously over the edge, leaving a fifty foot drop in its wake. When you see the blue energy in the villain’s palm growing slowly bigger, you pull at the rope desperately with zero regard to the tender rawness of your wrists. 

In your attempt to somehow break the rope, your cry of fear snaps Spider-Man into action. 

Riki pushes his sore body to jump as quick as he can, leaping across the rooftop to the building over. He easily avoids the metal railing, grabbing onto your arm as he yanks hard on the rope, the force of it separating a piece of metal from the railing. He immediately jumps, sending out a web to swing him back up. It all happens in a flash–first, you were bound to the edge about to fall to your death, and all of a sudden, you’re tightly pressed against Spider-Man’s chest with your bound wrists still attached to the metal. Shutting your eyes, you trust Spider-Man entirely, closing your eyes to avoid seeing just how far up you were. Wind rushes in your ears and leaves your stomach fluttering with butterflies until the superhero sets you down on a secluded rooftop. 

“Please,” he begs, “don’t leave. I’ll be right back.” 

You’d be a fool to do anything but wait. 

Riki checks on you one last time before diving down, springing himself back up with another web. The damage from the blasts is recognizable even from far away, and yet, he notices the reflective shine of a metal arm on the edge of the building before Spark lets go. 

To Riki, Spark is dead after dropping from a fall having taken that much damage, but he hears no impact. Making haste, the boy fails to find any figure no matter how hard he looks, but Spark’s laboratory has to be here somewhere. The badge from a week ago was stuck on Riki’s mind, and he could only imagine the reasons why he pursued this life. Was he recreating something? If he needs to power some sort of machine, then the heart of the city is a perfect place to harness the electricity for any large scale project. As much as he wants to dedicate the rest of the night to searching the city for some sort of clue, the fact that you’re still stranded on that rooftop after having just experienced a life-changing event blares like an alarm in his mind. 

He quickly leaves, returning to where you’re seated.

Without the fear of falling to your death from earlier, you were able to focus on undoing the knots from the rope. Red scratch marks and irritation bloom on your wrist, and the reality of it all happening still hasn’t settled in. Despite not being harmed once, the fear and incessant pounding of your heart overwhelms your senses, and it leaves you heaving with confusion. 

A pair of footsteps only become apparent as Riki walks closer, taking a seat beside you and letting out a large sigh. He stares at the stars silently as if he doesn’t have a cut on his cheek and bruises waiting to paint his skin purple–as if he isn’t hiding his true self under a facade. 

“You’re not hurt, are you?” You shake your head, grateful that Spider-Man was the reason you got away without a real injury.

“Thank you, really, for saving me. I don’t know how you manage to do it.” 

Riki chuckles under the mask. “Eh, you get used to it,” you hear Spider-Man say. “You fight a couple bad guys, get over a fear of heights and eventually you get the hang of things.” 

Scoffing, you gently rub at your wrists to ease the redness. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t been taught a crash course on how to avoid being supervillain bait just yet.” 

“Maybe you should learn it sometime,” Riki responds absentmindedly, “someone like you shouldn’t have been out so late doing whatever it could’ve been.” 

Sighing, your mind drifts off to think about the balloons and streamers that are not in your hand. “I had stuff for my upcoming events.” 

He knew about all of it when you’d explain your cryptic reminders and notes on your computer, but he still feigns curiosity. “What upcoming events?” 

“Just prom,” and he hears just how strained it makes you. 

Riki tilts his head in faux confusion. “What do you have to do for prom?” 

He notices how you immediately slump, as if the mere mention of prom deflates your happiness. “It’s only a few weeks away, and I was supposed to get decorations for our venue yesterday. I just wanted to slip out before my parents noticed.” 

Despite the fabric over his eyes, Riki’s expression shifts from surprise to pity when he understands your stakes. “You still need to be careful. Is your student council strict?” 

“Not strict necessarily, but judgemental–I ran for the position because I thought I could help my school raise funds and find more opportunities, but it just feels like no one truly wants to try anything new.” You wave it off as if it’s not that important, as if it isn’t the reason why you find yourself stressed so often. “I just don’t want to disappoint or give people something to talk about.” 

Despite not being involved with school the same way you are, the boy next to you resonates with the fear you currently face. The fear of letting people down was a large part of why Riki continued to put on that mask and step into the most dangerous situation of his life; he never wanted to sit down to hear the news that Spider-Man quit. 

So he keeps doing his job, even if some days are harder and some fights aren’t worth winning–just like what you do. 

“Yeah, I get that,” he tries to console, “You must be doing a lot for everyone around you, and I’m sure a lot of people appreciate what you’ve done. Don’t beat yourself up too much, yeah? You’ll always have me.” He smiles, but he knows you don’t see it. You’re looking at the stars, trying to calm your mind and return to your life before everything happened. 

You glance over at Spider-Man, wondering if he’ll truly be around for you when you need it. “If I need to talk to you, should I step out of my house past 8PM again?” 

Riki chuckles, watching clouds slowly dim the moon’s glow in their path. “If I’m not fighting crime, I’ll show up at a moment’s notice.” 

There’s no way he means it, but you grin, feeling a lot of the pressure and stress of earlier slowly wash away. After all, nothing happened to you–Spider-Man made sure of it. Maybe things really were going to be okay. 

“Let’s get you home, yeah? Don’t you have stuff to do anyways?” 

You shrug, nothing really coming to mind. As you get up, you remember having to run a plagiarism check on your work, and how Riki told you to text him when you got home after your student government meeting. 

Riki. Spark. Spider-Man. 

“Wait,” you tell Spider-Man, sitting back down on the cement, “I need to talk to you about something else, too.” 

“It’s not like my dinner’s getting cold,” the superhero mumbles quiet enough that you can’t hear. 

“There’s this guy,” you start, paying no mind to how dirty your clothes are getting when you cross your legs. 

Spider-Man scoffs, looking off into the distance, and it makes you believe he has to be your age or older. “You have a crush on him, or something?” And a whole tidal wave of deja vu hits you in the chest. 

‘He must be badly hurt’ isn’t just something people say. People don’t just draw insanely detailed drawings of Spark’s arm and machines without notes to follow unless they knew. People wouldn't just randomly miss school without any impending signs. You’re sure of it–the tired naps in class, the random drawings of superheroes and superhumans alike, or how awkward he could act–it all makes sense.

Your classmate, aka Nishimura Riki, aka the guy who you’ve questioned if you had a crush on for the past few days, might be a villain. 

The swirling feeling of trepidation in your stomach leaves three words running around your head. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Although you tried so hard to stop thinking about it, Jake’s comment from before rubbed you the wrong way. It was sometime last week where you couldn't get your mind off of the implications of his words, but that feeling was brushed underneath your responsibilities. 

Until now. 

“Yeah, there’s this guy,” you breathe, feeling your chest constrict, “Nishimura Riki. I think he’s Spark.” 

His blood runs cold. 

“You think this…why?” 

You take a deep breath, trying to organize all your thoughts. “Well, first, it was his friend, Jake. He said that Riki was badly hurt, and I was really confused at first, but tried to let it go.” 

Riki was going to strangle his best friend. 

“And then, I was looking at him in class, right? And keep in mind, he’s pretty cute, and we sit next to each other, so I just noticed how good his hair looked that day, but his notebook was out, and I saw all these drawings of Spark. Like, the arms, the metal things, even the projectiles! Who would know the ins and outs of that thing if it wasn’t Spark himself?”

He didn’t know what to think about first; the fact that you gushed about him for the first time, or if he should even tell you that Spider-Man would know those things, too. 

“And sometimes, I notice he’s a little awkward around me. I can’t explain it. It’s like he’s paying attention to me. That must’ve been why he captured me.” He wants to laugh at how damn close you are to figuring it out, but in reality, nothing is funny about the situation. 

Nishimura Riki is actually listening to this, right now, as Spider-Man–not Spark. The awkwardness, though? It was his crush on you, and was not superhuman related in the slightest.  

“I don’t know,” he attempts to divert, pretending to focus, “I saw a badge for FLiGHT. You know the company that’s been making time traveling machines? I saw a glimpse of his name and face. It’s not that guy you mentioned.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “And you haven’t gotten him caught?” 

“Villains aren’t easy to find, y’know. It’s not like playground hide and seek,” Riki defends, crossing his arms. 

You shrink in your spot, feeling sheepish for questioning a superhero so bluntly. 

“Plus,” he continues, “Spark has never had a hostage. Wouldn’t it be pretty mean of that friend of yours to kidnap a girl from his class?” 

“Yeah—that makes sense. Thank god,” you breathe, closing your eyes momentarily. “Then what do you suspect all that evidence leads to? Maybe he’s a secret agent?” 

“I think,” Riki continues to keep up his clueless facade, “Your friend might just be clumsy. Or creative. I mean, maybe he went through a break-up?” Nice one, Riki. 

You shake your head. “No, there’s no way he has a girlfriend. You’d think I like guys who are taken?” Scoffing lightly, you then remembered that Spider-Man really would have no idea who any of you are. 

He shrugs and stands up stretching before motioning for you to follow him. “I have no idea what you high school kids do. Come on, let’s get you home.” 

As you hug him tight, the cold air whips around your body and leaves goosebumps in their wake. You barely open your eyes from the fear of seeing yourself inches from hitting a building or up in the air. Spider-Man only yells his confirmation after asking how to get you home, finally placing you on the ground outside of your large gate. 

“Thank you for saving me tonight.”

“Anytime. Figure things out with that friend of yours, and don’t go out late, okay?” You nod and take his words to heart. 

“Goodnight, Spiderman.” 

—-

Nishimura might die. One, because he has this horrible guilty feeling in his stomach, and two, because of a villain. 

Yesterday, he ignored the salmon and rice bowl that waited for him back at home, choosing to follow the coordinates he saved on his phone after he took you home. It led him to a seemingly harmless auto-shop, with an arrow on his GPS pointing to a garage that was shut down completely with nails and blocked with boxes. The exterior pointed to it being abandoned, but Riki suddenly saw some light coming from a makeshift above.

The boy scaled the wall as quietly as possible, glancing into the source of the whirring. He caught small glimpses of something–metal, glowing, blue. 

Or at least, for a few seconds it was on until the power went out. 

The voice that complained from inside the room sounded identical to the man Riki fought. Spark grumbled, turning on a flashlight and quickly waving it around. Riki ducked from the window and held his breath, waiting for the man to suspect something. 

Nothing. 

One lightbulb slowly flickered back on, and then the other dingy light followed. The space was cramped with the metal equipment in the middle, resembling what Riki had seen in the news. 

He was right–it was the same time travel portal that was ruined from a few months ago. 

Spider-Man continued to observe the man as he worked and drilled, plugging certain wires or pausing momentarily to read from a journal. To anyone, it’d seem peaceful, like some sort of renovation project. But in reality, it was so much more than that. 

Riki searched for any sort of information about the machine, trying to see what exactly was left to do until his gaze landed on something. 

There was some sort of date on a bright pink sticky-note, and Riki’s eyes widened when he finally comprehends it. 

The machine was scheduled to be completed tomorrow. 

-

A street lamp next to Riki dies out—which was a clear sign that something was powering up. From the dark, he hears the metal from the same place as last night moving again, and he knows that Spark has left. His presence sends anyone down the street and immediately running, leaving the area for only them two. 

Riki finally sees the completed metal build. Half of his body is wrapped in or replaced with metal parts as he sets down the metal portal, beginning to push it in the direction of the power plant. 

A truck or car would make things much easier, but whatever.

Riki wants to cry from fear and run away. He wants to leave and pretend he never saw anything from last night. 

He’s going to die fighting Spark and he will quite literally a) never finish highschool and get that stupid diploma, b) finish explaining how Gatsby is not a good person and is naturally selfish, and c) he’s never going to tell you how he’s had a small crush on you ever since he saw your cute campaign video as to why you should vote y/n l/n for student body treasurer last spring. 

“You sure that thing works?” Riki asks, jumping into action as he sends webs to immobilize the machine. 

“You’re annoying, you know that?” Spark sends a projectile in the superhero’s direction, hitting the wall behind him instead as Riki jumps out of the way.

With another duck mid-air and the roof of a flying car dangerously close to his nose, Riki thanks the dance practice he does for his flexibility as he shoots another web and swings away. 

Spark is uncontrollable by now, sucking the light from street lamps and fizzing wires in his wake. He has no idea how he’s supposed to get in contact with the villain like before. The body of his suit fizzes with bright electricity that sizzles and pops. It illuminates Spark’s figure, making him easy to spot, but not so easy to defeat. It’s an overload of power, causing the voltage to escape between the joints and gaps of the metal pieces in his suit. And Riki can feel it; the air is heightened and so are the stakes of this fight—and with how the man that stands in front of him looks upgraded and menacing, he knows only one person can make it out of this fight alive. 

“You injected the city’s ‘Gas and Electric’ into your system or what?” Riki calls out, making light of the situation. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s scared out of his wits seeing the six foot figure with blue and white shooting from every crack, looking like a nightmare to touch.

Riki avoids a few more angrily thrown objects, using the momentum of his jump from the side of the building to zip from the top of a yellow fire hydrant to go from one side of the street to the other. “You’re slow!” He taunts, tucking in his legs to avoid a shot of electricity directed at him. 

The screech of metal from the nearby hydrant can be heard as the top flings off, making Riki lose his anchor/ Before he can process it, instead of smoothly landing on the building, he crashes into it faster than expected, groaning when his back makes contact with the glass and he tumbles into the living room of someone’s apartment. 

“Fuck,” he curses, fighting his aching limbs to get up once more. 

And the solution hits him. Literally. 

When he steps out and quickly attaches a web to the top of the building, he’s met on the way up with a splash of water from the hydrant to his face, and Riki splutters as he wipes his mask, regaining focus as he lands on the concrete and hides behind the ledge. 

Water. If he can get it in contact with Spark and pour enough water on the right spot, the excess of electricity blazing from his mechanical body should work against him. 

“Too scared? You should know better than to run away.” The superhero rolls his eyes, crawling away silently to avoid being seen by Spark. Riki does his best to look around for something, and finds a black flower pot in the corner, using a web to grab it before he scales the side of the building and runs away while Spark is distracted as the villain also climbs the wall to face him there. But when Spark climbs the ledge and scans the premise, Riki is nowhere to be seen. 

Instead, Riki swings across the street and fills the pot with water, heaving the extra weight as he shouts out from the sudden pain in his side. He stumbles on the pavement, crying out from the injury as the pot falls with his whole plan. 

Maybe this is where Spider-Man dies. 

He sucks in a deep breath before rolling from his back onto his knees, ignoring the wound to pick up the flower pot. The hydrant still shoots out water, and the superhero rushes towards it, causing Spark to follow. He narrowly avoids another shot from behind him, reaching the yellow hydrant before dropping the pot on the ground. Spark is th 

While Spark has always been intelligent, Riki could tell that the man didn’t fear the water, believing he’d be invincible to the elements now that his suit was perfected. There was something off, Riki could tell, and he would make sure to use it to his advantage. Spark was uncontrolled, and his powers drastically decreased the more he used them. There’s no way his body isn’t in overdrive with how recklessly he’s been letting himself get hurt. 

Riki uses a web to get himself on higher ground instead of fighting, waiting for the supervillain to follow. If he could get Spark off the edge and fall into the growing puddle of water, it should slow him down. 

Spark scoffs. “Run away, then. Like you always have.” Riki hears the wall crumbling under the villain as he climbs within seconds, immediately preparing to fight when he makes it onto the rooftop. But Spider-Man was also prepared, jumping from his crouched hiding position and attempting to catch Spark off guard. 

All he can focus on now is pushing him off. There’s no way it’d be easy, considering he had to focus on his touching any of the electricity off of his suit. Riki delivers a kick to Spark in the ribcage near his heart, where he’s fused metal into flesh. The villain coughs before taking a step back, his metal arm reaching for Riki’s outstretched leg. He grabs it, twisting with anger before the boy meets the ground in a violent throw. Not only is the slam greater because of the enhanced strength, but the power seeps into Riki’s skin, leaving it hot from the energy radiating off of his palm. 

The boy groans, flipping to his side to avoid a fatal hit to the chest. He reaches for Spark’s normal arm, swinging the villain’s body away with as force as he could to create distance between them. 

Riki has been in enough fights to simply know when to run, even if he doesn’t know what’s coming. He could feel the tingle of the charge as it powered up, and with its energy so unrestrained and its user so unstable, the large attempt to hit Riki sends the villain stumbling back from the force. The more Spark uses his powers, the more likely he’s going to end up dead. 

“Your skin can handle that anymore!” he shouts, getting ready to swing himself closer as a plan manifests itself in his head. “You’ll die like this!” 

Spark seems to know that too as he wipes his mouth and recovers from Riki’s attacks. 

“You think I care?” He shouts, desperately pressing his wounds to stop the bleeding. “You think I have anything else for myself?” The vulnerability of his character shines through as he clutches his bleeding wound without regenerative powers to help. “You think I didn’t know that when I did it to myself--what they did to me?” 

Riki doesn’t respond, grimacing as he continues hand-to-hand combat. Although he takes a solid punch to his jaw that’s forming a deep purple bruise, he manages to trip Spark onto the ground.

The man stumbles back from the head injury, the pounding from earlier not letting him to think straight. Riki doesn’t try to injure him anymore, but he instead blocks an incoming punch and tries to force Spark towards the edge. 

The villain barely notices how much space there is left, and the boy lunges with full force. They tackle each other into the ground, and Riki gets off after apprehending him once more. 

The city's a mess, and Spider-Man’s eyes want to shut down so badly, but he takes a few steps in Spark’s direction, pushing him off the side of the building as quickly as he can. Riki hears the thud before he peeks over the edge, seeing the water erode all of the engineering from the machinery. He slowly descends from the rooftop. 

“You were in the accident, huh?” Riki shouts on top of the plethora of sounds. Pain, buzzing electricity, splashes of water as he lands next to Spark; it all echoes in his ears as he pours the water from the pot on Spark’s body. “Why did you try it? Why did you want to go back so bad?”

“If I could go back,” Spark coughs, trying to get away from the large pool of water, “I could’ve prevented the accident from taking the lives of the people around me. I could’ve saved them.” 

Spider-Man understands loss, and he understands the regret that comes with failure. He understands how the man in front of him feels after having everything taken away from him, but his emotions could never justify his actions. 

“You know you can’t change things,” Riki responds, “You tried your best, Spark.” It’s the last thing Riki tells the villain before his body slumps and police sirens grow louder and louder. It’s the last thing that he continues to think about, even if the medic quickly assesses the severity of his wounds. 

“I’m fine- really,” he pushes away the hands of a concerned woman as she holds a roll of bandages. “There’s something else I need to do.” 

Riki knew he had to tell you about this–he couldn’t just let you confide in him about..well, him, without your knowledge. And Riki wasn’t morally perfect, but he knew an explanation would be the only way to fix things.

Your house looks different when jumping over the fence instead of standing in front of it. When he realizes he has no idea what room belongs to you, he racks his brain, suddenly remembering how yours was the only one with a gray balcony over the pool. And so he climbs, slipping from the exhaustion creeping into his body. 

You’ll understand after he explains everything, right? 

“____, a little help?” And what the fuck is Nishmura Riki doing outside of your door? You go to investigate the muffled sound, inching towards the curtains and pulling them back to expect him there. When you hear a half yelp and a hissing sound that follows right after, without a person anywhere in sight, your heart drops to its stomach. 

Do not say it’s true. 

“Riki, where the fuck are you?” you ask, traversing out when you don’t see him anywhere across the glass. 

“Down here.” You run in the direction of the voice, and your eyes grow comically large and you gasp, staring down at the sight before you. 

“Holy shit.” 

There Nishimura Riki is, with his mask half burned off his face and his blonde and black hair messy and matted to his forehead with sweat. The suit is ripped in multiple locations with gashes and purple replacing the healthy skin underneath. His face is in more of a grimace, as he holds onto the web with both hands and one foot planted on the stone of your balcony—read; the bottom of your balcony. 

“A little help?” And you see his sheepish emotion through the tattered fabric, embarrassed after you had to find him in such a compromising situation. “I’m a little worn out and I think my webs are getting weaker.”

You’re a little frustrated with him for being out so publicly, but more scared and worried for his condition. Your gaze narrows on the mask, tattered and covered with scratches, but clearly visible. It was Spider-Man’s mask. The material gives way to a familiar face, and your mind almost blocks you from putting the pieces together. It’s impossible, almost horrifying to think of the implications of what it means to wear the blue and red suit. 

Instead of being the villain, Riki is, in fact, the savior.

The harsh truth is that your classmate, who you spent the last month working on a project with and suspected was a villain, is the same superhero that went out and risked his life every night fighting crime. It’s jarring to see him like this, breathing heavy and straining against the stone of the balcony, and his cough snaps you out of it. “What the fuck do I do?” 

Riki tries to put his hand up in surrender and shuts his eyes at your harsh tone. “Okay, okay, I get-“ and he cuts himself off with a yelp as his footing slips. 

He holds out his hand, and you immediately bend over the smooth railing to grab it, leaning back on the heels of your feet to help him up the most that you can. You’re filled with confusion when the boy hobbles over the cool surface of the balcony and lets his head rest on the stone, not saying much as he catches his breath. You watch the rise and fall of his chest and how his right arm goes to nurse the left side of his ribcage, wincing and sucking in a pained breath as he assesses the smear of red on his fingers. 

Sitting there with your mouth agape, you’re not really sure what to think about first; to check if RIki’s alright, to think about how your city’s greatest superhero is your English project partner, to yell at him for going to your house instead of his house to fix himself up, or to think about how good his side profile looks in the moonlight. Maybe you should’ve just been relieved that the boy you started to like wasn’t a fear-inducing villain.

“Okay, first of all, we need to have a huge talk. But I’m not a medic Riki- I’m going into accounting for fuck’s sake.” He hears the amount of curses flying from your lips as you ramble, and sees how stressed you look watching him sit against your railing. 

“I don’t know how to help you. And also,” you lower your voice and scoot closer, looking around at the large property to really make sure no one’s listening. “you’re Spider-Man?” 

The information all hitting you at once is worse than when your history teacher told you your essay was horrible. At least then, in her office, you could process everything. But here? You’re about to faint. 

“I’m pretty cool, huh?” And of course Nishimura Riki says such a thing, taking deep breaths as he shallowly presses on the blossoming bruises on his skin and wipes the sweat from his brow. 

“Pretty fucking stupid is what it is, Riki.” You cross your arms and try to take a look at where he’s been hurt, hoping that at least he has some sort of regeneration ability that helps him heal much quicker—because there’s no way he could deal with all of this on top of school. 

“I have my reasons,” he says, his voice quiet. 

You pause. “For being Spider-Man?” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “For coming here.”

“What could possibly make you want to come over to my house instead of the nearest hospital? What’s that important to you?”

“I really want to ask you to prom.” 

You simply stare at him, surprised. 

“You came to my house, even though you’re like, a punch away from passing out, to ask me out? And you couldn’t have, I don’t know, asked me anytime during the classes we have together?”

Riki somehow finds it in himself to frown and shrink from your angry piercing gaze. “I can’t because talking to you makes me nervous–so yeah, I’m sorry I’m half conscious on your balcony in my suit instead of at your door with a poster.” 

You’re conflicted, your mind still reeling from the recent discovery and your flood of emotions. Ever since you questioned his identity on top of your feelings for him, you had a hard time really knowing if you could like Riki if he turned out to be a villain, so to know that he proved both of your theories wrong leaves you quiet as you think. If possible, the color in the boy’s face drains even more when you go back inside, but the door stays open, and he thinks he hasn’t ruined things after all. You emerge with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, a bowl of warm water, and a pristine white towel. 

“I’m not mad about that, you idiot,” you reprimand him, setting everything down as you examine the cuts on his face. You squeeze the towel and start to dab at his skin, avoiding the cuts as you clean it. “Who does this for you if not me?” 

“Jake.” 

“Seems like a pretty good friend.” Riki nods in response. 

 “I’m sorry,” he sighs, sitting up to properly address you, even if you weren’t able to meet his gaze. 

“For what?”

“For putting this on you–all of it. Not just the whole Spider-Man thing.” He knew he’d have to tell you at some point, or else it’d eat him up inside to know he kept all of it from you. 

“Look at you, saving me mid-air and talking to me as if you didn’t know who I was.”

You notice a flash of regret through his wince as you clean up a cut with antiseptic. “I meant it when I told you I knew what it was like to have a lot of pressure.”

“Guess I wasn’t so far off, then. If we never talked, would you have told me?” Riki shakes his head, and the simple motion leaves you somehow disappointed. 

“How do you ever tell anyone you’re…y’know, Spider-Man?” Even if it’s a hypothetical, you shrug, not being able to answer.

“How’d Jake find out?” 

Riki chuckles and hisses at the same time before trying to remember. “I think I just kicked his window in after a nasty poison got hold of me. He was a little too excited to have Spider-Man on his bedroom floor, and less excited to know it was me. I’m not really supposed to tell anyone, though.”

“Then why’d you tell me? You could’ve just gone back to your friends.” 

“I felt guilty–I know, I know, it sounds stupid. I’d definitely get my identity revealed at this rate.” You shake your head. 

“Not stupid. Keep going.” 

“I didn’t care that you suspected me, or if anyone else did, because I knew it was never true. But I felt so bad knowing you were sharing to me how you felt without even knowing it was me who was listening–like I was holding something from you.” 

You admire his honesty, and when you look at his furrowed brows and his lip that he’s been gnawing from worry, you can’t even imagine what he’s had to hide and do for this. In a way, you look up to him more, for trying his best even if he’s gotten all odds stacked against him. Riki’s commendable in your eyes–he always had been, ever since you woke him up in class. 

“I like those things about you, Riki. That you’re honest with yourself and the people around you as much as you can be, and you try to help others when you can. I’m glad we got to know each other more this past month.” Talking to him feels different than talking to Spider-Man from a few days ago; it feels raw, like you’re not just confessing something to a brick wall anymore. If none of this ever happened, you doubt you’d get the chance to tell Riki any of this properly. 

The boy stays silent, taking deep breaths while processing what you’ve told him. “I’m glad I could help you out.” 

You furrow your eyebrows. “I hope you know I don’t like you because you help me out. I like you because you’re attractive, and because you’re genuine,” you blurt. 

Riki laughs despite his ribcage hurting everytime he does so. Riki nods and mumbles a ‘thank you,’ also glad to truly get to know you. While his crush was more of an infatuation with your hard work and amiability, the past few weeks really opened his eyes to who you were. You never wanted to disappoint, and even if your recklessness left you in some dire situations, Riki could see how much effort you really put into things. 

There wasn’t anything else he needed to tell you–you were smart enough to see how much he cared about you.    

You’re so close, your lips glossy with lip balm as you watch him carefully. You hear and see it all; the heavy, labored breathing from his body healing itself rapidly, and the way his hand is full of rough cuts and calluses as his fingers intertwine with yours. But your eyes catch a glimpse of his mask tossed to the side, the blue shining in the corner of your eyes as you’re reminded of who he is right now, and what role you play. You are still ____ ____, but he’s a superhero.

It makes you momentarily forget whose suit you're peeling away, whose skin you're cleaning. It reminds you that he’s just the boy in your English class that you fell for. “What does that make us?”

“Prom-goers,” he answers with a slight nod. 

You smile, wiping a cut before placing the towel back into the bowl for the last time and getting up. “We can be prom-goers, yeah.” 

You’re not sure if you’re ready for anything, and you’re thankful that he understands that, too. As much as it warmed your heart to see him again and hear his confessions, the blaring truth still hangs over your head. You grab his mask, finally looking at him before handing it back and grabbing your things. His secret identity wasn’t something you could just ignore. 

“Go home, Spider-Man,” you turn your back on him, and time slows when you falter before sparing him one more look. “I want you as Riki, not like this.” 

MAYBE NISHIMURA RIKI DOESN'T NEED TO DIE–OR ALMOST DIE–ANYMORE. 

He went home that night with his scars somewhat cleaned and his bruises miraculous healing on their own, and even if slipping through the window left him clutching his side in pain, Riki silently jumped up to celebrate his multiple victories before slipping out of his suit and finally getting some rest. 

Riki’s scared of how he’s affected your relationship. He’s worried you’ll avoid him in the halls, and he’s worried you’d never want to see him again after putting you through all of it. As much as he'd understand how upset you'd be towards him, he hopes he did the right thing by telling you.

But you see him on your way to English, and you call his name. His eyes search for yours in the crowds, and you two see each other before you crush him in a hug. 

Riki isn’t sure how to feel at first, but eventually wraps his arms around you as relief settles in his stomach. 

“Thank you for saving me, Spider-Man,” you whisper, loud enough for only him to hear. 

He smiles at you, ruffling your hair as you go to English together. “Anytime, ____.” 

NEVERMIND, NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE WHEN HE SEES YOU IN YOUR RED PROM DRESS.

But first, he has to try something out. 

He curses to himself when silently zipping from a tree outside your family property to the top of your house, staring past the ledge two and luxurious stories to your well decorated porch light and door. He just prays that Google Maps is  right about how secluded the area is, so no one can see him pacing around your rooftop, with flowers elegantly wrapped in his hand (courtesy of your mother’s sleek envelope from a few days ago). 

“Fuck it,” he says to himself, shooting a web and dangling himself down. Riki’s upside down figure watches swirled window frames and meticulously designed accents as he descends, and he wonders what kind of shady business your parents could’ve done to afford something so grand. 

He faces your door—hanging down instead of rightside up, but he’s still here on time like he promised. 

The door opens at 6:00PM like he instructed you to, but what he didn’t tell you what to do was shriek and slam the door. On his nose. With a loud yelp, Riki clutches his nose, rubbing the spot you hit and trying to apply pressure to alleviate the pain. 

When the door slowly creaks open again, you face with the image of Nishimura Riki, aka your boyfriend, aka your English partner, aka Spider-Man, curled upside down in the fetal position as he cradles the sore spot on his face and swings slightly from the breeze. 

“You scared me, dumbass! How was I supposed to know it was you? It was so hard to see!” 

Although muffled, Riki’s able to mumble, “You have a porch light for this reason, _____,” and a jab at his stomach from you follows his sarcastic remark. Finally, his nose feels better, and he straightens out to finally look at you. 

Pretty, pretty, pretty, and the boy wonders how you look even more stunning with a glittering red dress and perfectly done make-up. “I like the red,” he says, trying not to freak out over your beauty. “Reminds me of a certain neighborhood superhero.” 

“I have some blue spider earrings to match.” With a beautiful smile, you turn to show him the little accent, and it melts his heart. “Are you okay, though?”

“I’m fine. I should’ve probably put more thought into that.” 

You snicker, sliding into your heels and closing the door behind you. 

“One of us is better at romantic gestures, it seems.” It warrants a scoff, and Riki brings a gloved hand to poke at your forehead teasingly.

“Let me have a do-over, then?” And the way your lips curl up into a bright smile leaves him quiet and in awe. 

“What, were you going to kiss me? Very original, Spider-Man.” With the way the fabric shifts over his features, you can tell he’s pouting. 

“I thought girls liked this.” 

You shrug, pretending you aren’t swept off his feet by the effort he’s put in. Taking a step in his direction, your hands reach up to gently pull the mask over his chin, ears, and then his nose. 

Whispering quietly, you ask, “You’ve kissed other girls upside down?” 

Riki’s quick to shake his head. “You’re the only girl I’d withstand a head rush for.” And god, you just can’t stop yourself from grinning at his sweet, genuine words.

You lean in, placing a small kiss on his nose as a silent apology. Then, you close your eyes and lean into him once more, feeling his hands carefully holding the side of your head and his lips on yours. Your kiss with Riki is saccharine and slow, making you pull away when the urge to beam at him is too much. Your cheeks definitely hurt by how romantic he’s being, and you can’t resist kissing him once more.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he starts, finally letting himself down, “It feels weird.” 

“You ruined the moment.” And he really didn’t, but you enjoy his subtle reactions to your light digs at him. 

“Whatever.” Riki laughs. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

You nod, sitting down on the porch and dragging a manicured nail over your lips with the ghost of his affections, thinking about how you literally just kissed Spider-Man. 

Riki comes back, dusting off his suit and smoothing out the wrinkles, with a large bouquet of red roses and one blue one snuck in there. Your lips stretch into a grin and you accept the bouquet, keeping a mental note to read the card in there.

“You never cease to amaze me, Riki.” It’s the last thing you mutter to the air before you loop your arms around his neck, urging him to lean down as you kiss him once more—this time rightside up, but still as sickly saccharine as the one before it. Your heart is fuzzy with fondness and your eyes glitter with adoration. 

“So, which kiss was better?” he asks when you pull away, a little breathless and dizzy.

You swat his arm and walk past the gates, seeing the sleek limo waiting by the curb. “I don’t know, Spider-Man. Maybe show up in your suit and we’ll try it again.” 

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED AND ALWAYS READ!

RIKI FIC DONE!!!! ngl y/n u were right there how did u not know riki was spiderman but whatever idc she's a hard worker not smart LMFOAOAO. my first ever action fic so i hope you enjoy! also i hate the ‘oh he pined after her for 4 years she liked him for 2 months’ bs because I WAS IN IT. and it sucks so i tried to deviate from it :)

꣑ৎ permanent fic taglist (TAGGED IN TEASERS, FICS, HEADCANNONS, DRABBLES, ETC.): @dimplewonie @minleeeknow @heeheesang @mintpjzroll @llvrhee @firstclassjaylee @in-somnias-world @rairaiblog @suneng @mavlogist @sensitively-taken @sumzysworld @simpjay @moons-v @riksaes @txtari @jungwonscatcus @tya0 @sasfransisco @woorcve @shypen @pinkriki @rikisluv @saranghaohoshi @lilifiedeans @wonmyheart @k1ttyluvr @nikisgfff @ramenoil @laurradoesloveu @lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me @ikeulims @missychiefs1404 @qwonyoung23 @yangjungwonnie @onementally-unstabel-kid @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @blooqz @anormieee hi permies hope u enjoy! kith

[hawnks]

Takami Keigo doesn't want to see you.

Of course, he's too well trained to say it in so many words, but when he 'forgets' his session this afternoon, you get the message.

Unfortunately for him, you're stubborn. You show up at his apartment in the dormitories, ring his bell until your fingers numb.

Only then does he crack open the door, just enough for you to catch his forbidding smile, a caustic gleam to his eyes. "What can I help you with, this fine evening?"

"You missed our appointment," you say pleasantly. "This is the third time."

"Oh, must have just slipped my mind," he says with a dismissive little wave. "I'll catch you next time."

The door slams in your face.

Being so curtly dismissed by a top ranking officer should probably send you into a panic, but the stats you pulled up for him after his no-show are even more concerning. This is quickly turning into an emergency, and unfortunately it's your job on the line if he succumbs to corruption.

Who would blame the second most powerful Sentinel alive, when there's a feckless guide as a scapegoat.

"I'm going to ring the bell again," you say, loudly.

After a moment of silence, you think he must not have heard you.

Then the door swings open. "Fine," he snaps.

You follow him to the living room, watch as he drops himself on the couch with a sigh, eyes squeezed shut.

You'd never known guiding to be this much of a chore for Sentinels. Most of your roster is rather clingy and covetous of your time. None of them has ever been late to an appointment with you.

"Well?" he prods. "Get on with it."

You hesitate. The tension he seems to be holding will make this a lot more difficult, strenuous for you both. "Do you maybe want to talk for a bit? Or I could put on some white noise."

He opens his eyes just enough to give you a cutting look. "No."

You surrender with a sigh, coming to sit next to him on the couch. Every Sentinel prefers contact a different way; some want you to hug them, pet their hair, a few have even asked you to kiss them, fuck them, though you've never fulfilled that type of request, your boundaries in this job too firm for it.

You want to ask him what would make this easier for him, but you're sure waiting any longer will only set him off. So, delicately, you take his hand.

The first draw is always the hardest, the corrupt energy being nullified by your own. Some outside force reaching in, invasive despite the relief.

Takami flinches.

You go slower, a soft steady ebb, pulling the poison from him in silken thread.

His hand relaxes in yours.

You reach deeper, welcoming the full flood between you, warmth and light suffusing you both. And it feels how it's supposed to -- natural.

When your watch chimes, signaling the sessions end, Takami blinks out of his stupor. He'd melted during the thirty minutes you worked on him, body curled toward yours, face falling onto your shoulder.

He pulls away swiftly, shocked by his own willingness to lean on you.

You rise, marking off the details of your appointment on your tablet. "I can come back tomorrow, to finish up. You haven't been guided in a long time, so I couldn't get it all in one session. Does 2pm work for you?"

He's not prepared for the question. "Um. Yeah?"

You mark that down as well, then see yourself out.

It takes three more sessions for you to fully clear the corrupted energy from his body. In his haze he admits to you the reason he's so standoffish to Guides, why he dodges his sessions with such fervor.

"It's never felt good. Always felt like I'm being held down, trapped. Made me feel antsy, nervous." He buries his face against your throat, inhaling deeply. You'd started off just holding his hand again, but now he hugs your entire arm against his chest, your fingers twined. "It's not like that with you."

"I'm glad, Mr. Takami," you return. "Please don't ignore my emails from now on."

As you make your notes, you ask him his availability for next month.

He blinks at you. "You're not coming back tomorrow?"

You check your calendar. You'd had to push back several of your regular appointments to make room for the past few days. "I'm booked solid for the next two weeks, at least."

You glance at him, taking in his appearance, his general well being. You reach a hand out to cup his cheek, urging him to meet your eyes. He startles, first, before leaning into your touch.

"You seem fine," you decide, pulling away, already heading for the door. "I'll contact you later about our next session."

He trails after you, linger at the precipice as you take the elevator back down to your floor.

...

He never ignores you emails, after that.

In fact, he sends many of his own. He gets your phone number, somehow. Some days he shows up with coffee, or snacks, sits with you on the couch while you eat.

He's always touching you during those times, brushing hair behind your ears or straightening your shirt collar. Mostly he just holds your hand, playing with your fingers or clutching it in his own lap.

You don't guide him during any of these impromptu visits, too weary from the rest of your overfull schedule -- but you've heard of this type of attachment from other Guides.

Sentinels tend to imprint on guides they have a decent connection with. Part survival instinct, part status seeking. A Sentinel without a guide is doomed. A Sentinel with a high match-rate is likely to be stronger than their peers.

But that's the thing about un-bonded Sentinels, they're always on the lookout for a better Guide, their perfect mate.

Takami is overly attached to you now, but it will pass.

...

Or so you thought.

You're sent out into the aftermath of a battle that rocks the city. Dozens of Sentinels pushed themselves to the breaking point, on the brink of corruption, about to turn into the very monsters they fight to suppress.

You spot Takami in the midst of the wreckage. Exhausted, but giving you a shakey smile when your eyes meet. He limps toward you, so glad to see you, so ready for the safety and warmth of your arms--

Someone calls your name. Urgent, an emergency. Another Sentinel with no one to take care of them.

You turn away from Takami, and you go.

He'd fought hard, but his body has grown used to the abuse over the years. He's in bad shape, but it's not life-threatening like some of the others you help today.

It's hours before you can see him.

Slumped on a curb, hands folded neatly in his lap. Like he's been waiting so patiently for you this whole time.

You come to your knees before him, letting him take your hands, draw you closer. "Why didn't you go to another Guide?"

Surely he could have found someone else, despite the chaos of the scene. If not you, one of the high ranking Guides, slotted exclusively for S-rank Sentinels.

He looks at you, trembling, confused. "I don't want another Guide."

When he asks if you'll hold him, you do. You take him in your arms, let his weight settle on you. Feel his warmth all around you, his breath against your shoulder.

"And I don't want you to guide anyone else," he murmurs.

You stroke his nape. "I know. I'm sorry. You'll find your Guide soon enough, and then you can have each other all to yourselves."

His grip tightens. He braces you against him -- instead of a heady tightness, you're constricted.

"I already found my Guide," he whispers into your throat.

Then he bites.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (11)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: after a lil bit of a break, chem ov has returned! More of the drama, the yearning, and the tension is served here, for your pleasure <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Following the reader's unfortunate accident, tensions run high between the two men vying for her heart. The cast get together to celebrate Ewan's birthday, and things go exactly as you would expect. And then some.

Ewan has never been the most active in the cast group chat. It does amuse him some, especially when Tom and Rhys get into those selfie battles of theirs, when all throughout the day, the chat would be flooded with deliberately posed pictures of the two pulling the most ridiculous faces in increasingly absurd locations.

It's a place for playful jabs, catching up, sharing updates. Light banter all around.

Which is why Ewan's heart nearly jumped out of his chest when the latest message came. He had been on location in LA, running through the script for his film when he received the notification. He’d ignored it at first, never one to reply promptly anyway. But a flicker of instinct – or maybe he felt it, felt you – made him check. 

Phia informed the group that you had an accident.

“... and it was during stunt training, but she’s fine and is in the hospital now…”

Everyone was encouraged to visit if they could or send their well wishes. 

Ewan’s mind reeled. Fine? What the hell does that mean? Fine could be a scratch or it could be… Fuck.

He read the message over and over until they blurred together. He knew he was willing the words to change like some idiot. You had to be okay. Nothing bad could happen to you.

Phia had just casually dropped the bombshell. She might as well have said, “Hey, how is everyone, good? Oh, by the way, she almost died but it’s cool.”

Ewan knew none of it was Phia’s fault, but that didn’t stop him from feeling an overwhelming irritation. What did ‘fine’ even mean? If he threw his phone across the room like he wanted, would that be fine?

He felt nauseous with worry as he dialled whoever he could – anyone who might give him more than just that damn word. Time went by torturously slowly, the only thing repeating in his head was the image of you – broken, unconscious, or worse – until Phia finally confirmed that it wasn’t life-threatening. 

He had to calm down, according to her. You are being taken care of, and are set to make a swift recovery.

But even then, it wasn’t enough.

Because it was you.

“Love… you’re awake.”

Sitting beside your hospital bed, Ewan gets a good look at you – finally awake but still too fragile for his liking. He hadn’t slept properly, and he feels like a whole mess. 

You blink slowly, your eyes meeting his. “Ewan?”

He feels like breathing again after being underwater for far too long. He can’t help the awkward smile that tugs at his lips. “Hey, darling. You look like you just fought a dragon.”

You start to laugh, but it quickly turns into a wince, and you relax back into the pillow. “Oh, jeez, don’t make me laugh. My head hurts.”

He quickly reaches for the glass of water on your bedside table and offers it to you. “Sorry, my bad. I’ll be my usual, stoic, boring self then.”

“You’re never boring, Mitchell.” You roll your eyes, before taking a sip.

He can’t help but watch you closely, as if you might vanish if he looks away. “Phia told the whole cast about your accident in the group chat. Did you know that?” he said, trying to keep things light.

“Oh great,” you mumble. “Did Rhys send one of his motivational selfies?”

“Well,” Ewan smiles. “He did. Said something about you ‘getting back in the saddle’ while he posed with a horse. It was inspirational, honestly.”

Ewan hadn’t felt anything when he saw that, consumed with thoughts of you, but now he feels free to let amusement wash over him. Now that he’s with you.

You roll your eyes again, softly smiling. “Of course he did. Well, I appreciate it.”

You are okay, which means Ewan is okay.

He knows just how in love he is with you. Even though you’d broken things off for his sake, even though the boundaries had blurred. Then friends with benefits. No strings. Except those strings had tightened around both of you, slowly suffocating the pretense until it collapsed. And now here you both were – again. With the issue of his PR looming like a goddamn stormcloud, and there is no running from it. 

He clears his throat. “You scared the hell out of me, you know?”

Your expression softens as you look at him. “I’m sorry. But I’m okay, really.”

He sighs, running a hand through his unruly dark blonde hair. “I didn’t know what I’d find when I got here. And Phia, bless her, has a knack for delivering life-altering news like she’s talking about what she had for breakfast.”

“She means well.” You smile, shaking your head.

“Yeah, darling, but next time, let’s just skip the part where you end up in a hospital bed, okay?” He reaches for your hand, his voice wavering slightly. He hates how vulnerable he sounds, but there’s nothing he can do to hide it.

“Deal.” You give his hand a playful shake, but your tone is sincere. 

Ewan glances down, his jaw tightening. He wants to ask if things can finally go back to the way they were – to you being his. He’s already yours anyway. 

But instead, he swallows hard and forces a lighthearted tone. “You know, if I had been there to teach you how to ride the Buck, then this never would have happened.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really, Mitchell? I’m pretty sure you almost got thrown off once.”

Ewan scoffs, giving you his best offended look. “Almost doesn’t count, darling. I’ve practically mastered it now. I do ride the biggest and fiercest dragon in the realm, remember?”

“I said don’t make me laugh,” you say, giving him a pointed look. 

He leans forward, his smirk widening. “I’m just saying. I could’ve saved you from all the stale hospital food. I mean – ” There’s a familiar flicker in his expression. With his head tilted downward, he looks at you through his eyelashes. “ – I have seen you ride, and you’ve got skill, but you do need my help.”

Your mouth falls open at his audacity. “Mitchell! When have you been this smug?”

“Only you have seen the full range of my talents,” he teased.

“Oh really?” you counter. “I did hit my head, so maybe I forgot all about them.”

“Recover quick, and I can jog your memory.”

He can feel the pull – he’d always felt it – and the familiar ache creeps back into his chest, stronger than ever. He wants to reach for you and close the gap. But instead, he buries it beneath a smirk.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

“Good. I’ll even throw in a few tricks. You know, to keep things interesting.”

“You said it, Mitchell,” you snort softly.

His gaze lingers on you, and the playful banter stalls, replaced by something heavier. And before he can stop himself, he leans close, hovering over you. 

“I’m glad you’re okay, darling,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. The way you look at him, the way your eyes soften, says enough. He hesitates for just a moment, his hand brushing gently against yours before he leans in further.

Gently, he presses his lips to your forehead, the touch light and lingering. When he pulls back, his face is close to yours, his gaze searching as if he is waiting for something. An answer. A sign. Anything to tell him where this was going.

There is something in your expression that seems like the same yearning that he has been unable to fight for so long.

“I’ll be here,” he whispers, the heavy significance of the words settling. “Whenever you need me.”

It’s your third morning at the hospital, when Phia, Liv and Tom burst into your room like a gust of fresh air, their loud voices echoing out in the hall.

Phia’s holding an extravagant bouquet of flowers – so big it practically obscures her face – while Liv balances a tray of coffees, her smile bright and warm. Tom walks in last with a massive balloon arrangement, the centre one reading GET WELL SOON in neon colours. 

“Look who’s alive and kicking!” Tom announces, waving the balloons around. “For a while there, we thought Alyna was going to have to be recast!”

Liv elbows him sharply in the ribs, then sets the coffees down on your bedside. “Tom, honestly.”

You can’t help the grin that creeps onto your face. “Yeah, right. As if there could ever be a better Alyna.”

Ewan sits by your bed, arms crossed, watching the group with quiet amusement. But the second Phia notices him, she arches a brow and points at him with a no-nonsense look. “Mitchell. Go home. Shower. Sleep. You look like death cooked over.”

Ewan’s brow furrows, and he opens his mouth to protest, but Phia cuts him off with a stern glare. “I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

He glances down at you, his expression conflicted, but you give him a small, tired nod. “You probably should. You’ve been here the whole time.”

Ewan hesitates, but then sighs, resigned. “Alright. But I’ll be back soon, darling.”

Phia nods, pleased. “Good. And don’t come back until you’ve slept at least eight hours… darling.”

Ewan shoots her a mock glare, then leans down toward you, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “See you in a few hours,” he murmurs softly, his voice just for you.

You nod, watching as he leaves the room, your heart sinking just a little. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, Phia turns to you with a smirk. “He’s so whipped.”

Your cheeks flush instantly. “He’s just… worried.”

“Worried?” Tom scoffs, dropping into a chair beside Phia. “Right. I’m sure that’s all it is.”

“Please,” Liv chimes in, smiling knowingly. “He’s been practically glued to your side since you woke up.”

You shift uncomfortably, trying to deflect. “Yeah, well, after everything, we’re just… friends.”

Phia arches a brow. “Friends? You guys stopped being just friends since the age of the fucking dinosaurs, doll.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Liv interrupts, sliding you a cup of water from the tray. “Alright, we’ll stop harassing you – for now. Let’s talk birthday plans instead.”

At the mention of birthdays, guilt twists in your stomach. Ewan’s birthday had been in March, just a few weeks ago. You had known, but with the mess of the overall situation, it had slipped by.

“I completely forgot his birthday,” you murmur, the guilt weighing heavy. “I should’ve done something.”

Liv squeezes your hand gently. “You’ve had a lot on your plate. I’m sure he understands.”

Tom leans forward with a grin. “That’s why we’ve got a plan to make up for it. Joint birthday bash.”

Phia nods, her eyes twinkling. “For Ewan, Fabien, and Freddie. We’re thinking a trip to Spain, some villa, maybe a pool party, lots of sunshine. It’ll be a proper holiday for everyone.”

“Wait, what?” You blink, surprised by the sudden reveal of such an elaborate plan.

Liv grins. “Yeah. We’ve already started organising it. It’ll be in mid April, just after you’re up and moving again. A real joint celebration for the three of them.”

Tom gestures grandly. “Fabien’s excited. Lord Freddie’s thrilled to be celebrated, you know how he is. Ewan – well, he doesn’t know yet, cause all he thinks about is you.”

The idea sounds incredible – a break in Spain with the cast, a chance to relax and celebrate together. Especially after your on-set slipup. But the more they talk, the more conflicted you feel. Being in the same place with both Ewan and Matty… would be something indeed. 

Ewan is still to be in a carefully curated PR relationship, all for the sake of his movie. You dislike it, though you understand it, that relentless Hollywood game of optics. But the thought of spending time with him at a secluded villa in Spain – away from cameras, prying eyes, and staged appearances – sends your heart racing. You know Ewan. He’d see it as an opportunity. A chance to be close to you, to slip back into old habits, to erase the distance that the PR relationship has forced between you.

There would be no cameras, no script to follow – just the two of you in the same space, and you already know what that would lead to.

The memory of the masquerade ball is still fresh in your mind. That one night, where the lines had blurred so easily. You’d been wrapped in the heat of his arms, the press of his body against yours, the intoxicating thrill of being with him without anyone knowing.

And then there is Matty. Sweet Matty who is too charming for his own good. You had started seeing him casually, trying to convince yourself you could make it work, and you can’t deny the pull he has on you. How easy it all could be. Being with him feels like standing with the warm embrace of sunshine. 

You love Ewan. You want Matty. Thousands of girls would scramble to be in your position – the one who captured the boys’ affections. You, the one lying there in a hospital gown, with a broken ankle and head gauze.

So glamorous. So desirable. 

Tom’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. “So, Spain. Swimming, sunbathing, a giant villa – what do you think?”

You blink, catching up to the conversation. “I think… I’m in.”

Phia grins widely. “Good. Ewan’ll be thrilled you’re coming.”

Liv smiles. “We thought the party could be a way for everyone to unwind, you included. No pressure.”

No pressure. But you know there is pressure – at least, there is for you. You’ve been avoiding it, dancing around the feelings you can’t admit to yourself, let alone to Ewan. And Matty – kind, supportive Matty, who doesn’t deserve to be caught up in your mess.

“Yeah, no pressure,” you say softly, but the words feel hollow.

Phia stands up suddenly, clapping her hands together. “Alright, enough of this emotional nonsense. Let’s talk logistics – birthday cake! We’re doing three layers, one for each of the boys.”

Tom dryly says, “I offered to get Martha to bake it, but we decided against it because her specialty is burnt-charcoal waffles.”

Phia shoots him a deadpan look. “They were practically concrete. Love her though!”

Liv laughs, shaking her head. “We’ll leave the cake to the professionals, thanks.”

As the conversation shifts to party details and farfetched ideas, your mind drifts. You try to stay focused, but your thoughts keep circling back to the same place – Spain, the party, Ewan and Matty. The idea of being around them for days, in a relaxed holiday setting, feels both exciting and terrifying. 

You know it’s not just a party. It’s a ticking time bomb.

Ewan’s footsteps echo in the sterile hospital hallway, his grip tight on the bouquet he’s brought for you – your favourite flowers, carefully chosen. As per Phia’s orders, he had gone home and slept a good 10 hours, being more exhausted than he must have realised. The day after, going back to you was the only thing that came to mind, and he was out the door in no time.

As he rounds the corner toward your room, his steps falter at the sight of someone else approaching. 

Matt.

His tall frame is impossible to miss. He saunters down the hall from the opposite direction, holding a similar bouquet in one hand and a gift bag in the other. Ewan feels the tension twisting in his stomach as Matt’s eyes meet his across the corridor. 

For a moment, the hallway falls into an eerie silence, the air thick with an unspoken challenge. Neither of them says a word as they approach the door to your room at almost the same time, both armed with flowers, both here for you. 

“Ewan,” Matt greets first, his voice low, almost amused.

Ewan nods, keeping his expression neutral. “Matt.”

Ewan’s eyes flick to the flowers in Matt’s hand, and a bitter taste rises in his throat. Matt isn’t just another visitor, he’s the guy who’s been with you while Ewan is forced to sit on the sidelines. 

“You’re here again,” Matt comments, breaking the silence. “Not that I’m surprised.” 

Ewan raises an eyebrow. “And why wouldn’t I be? She needs support.”

Matt’s eyes narrow slightly, and his smile is tight. “I get that. But I’m here now too. She’s got plenty of support.”

Ewan feels a flicker of annoyance, his grip tightening on the bouquet. “You think that’s all it is? Just showing up with flowers and pretending you know what she needs?”

Matt’s jaw clenches, but he keeps his cool. He knows better than to cause a scene in the middle of a public hallway. “And you think you’re the only one who cares about her? The only one who knows her? She and I – we’ve been spending plenty of time together. I’ve got some idea of what she needs.”

The possessiveness in Matt’s tone is unmistakable, and it sets Ewan on edge. He steps closer, his eyes locked on Matt’s. “You’ve only been dating her for a few weeks, mate. But we’ve been through things that you couldn’t even begin to understand.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard all about your history. But let’s be real – if you were so good for her, why’d she end things with you? Why’s she with me now?”

Ewan feels a sharp pang at the reminder, but he doesn’t back down. “If you think things are over between me and her, then you’re mistaken. It will never be over. Maybe you’re a convenience. Someone for the moment.”

Matt takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. “A convenience? Right. I don’t see you making any moves to change the situation. You’ve been content to sit back and watch while I’ve been with her. Maybe you’re the one who’s convenient, yeah?”

Ewan’s jaw tightens, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows Matt’s right, in a way – he’s been stuck, unable to break free from the PR relationship that’s kept him and you apart. But that doesn’t make what Matt’s saying any easier to swallow.

“The way I see it, you’re just a distraction,” Ewan says, his voice sharp, laced with bitterness, “a way for her to forget what she really wants.”

Matt’s eyes flash with anger now, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “And what she really wants is you, is that it? Tell me, Ewan, if you’re so sure she’s still in love with you, why hasn’t she said anything? Why hasn’t she kicked me to the curb and come running back?”

The words hit harder than Ewan expects, and for a moment, he falters. He knows you still love him – he can see it in the way you look at him, the way you can never quite let go. But Matt’s right. You haven’t made a choice. And now here they are, two men standing in a hallway, both fighting for something that feels just out of reach.

Ewan steps even closer. “You think just because you’re in the picture now, I’m going to step aside and let you have her? Not a fucking chance, mate.”

Matt takes a deep breath in an attempt to collect himself. It’s clear to him that Ewan isn’t going to loosen up easily. Especially not when he’s being provoked. “I’m not asking you to step aside. But unless she tells me otherwise, I’ll keep showing up. So maybe you should get used to that.”

Ewan looks away, his voice lowering. “We… both… care about her. I’m not denying that. But don’t fool yourself. She hasn’t made her choice yet.”

“Maybe she hasn’t.” Matt holds his gaze. “But I’m here, and I’m willing to wait. Are you?”

The hallway feels suffocating, the weight of their words heavy in the air. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Ewan speaks again, his voice softer but no less intense.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Matt nods once. “Neither am I.”

They stand there in silence for a moment, the unspoken agreement settling between them. It’s a temporary truce, but they both know this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Finally, they turn toward your room, the door looming in front of them like a gateway to another battle. Ewan’s heart pounds as he pushes the door open, stepping inside, with Matt close behind.

You’re awake, sitting up slightly in bed, looking both surprised and nervous as you see the two of them enter together.

“Well, this is… unexpected,” you say, your voice tinged with humour as your eyes dart between the two men.

“Hey,” Matt says with an easy smile, walking over to place his flowers on the table by your bed. “Thought I’d stop by, check in on you.”

Ewan follows suit, setting his bouquet down next to Matt’s, though his gaze stays fixed on you. “And I came back, as promised.”

“Funny that you show up at the same time.” You glance between them, your brow raising. 

Matt chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, we didn’t exactly plan it.”

Ewan forces a smile, trying to keep things light. “Just making sure you’re not causing any more trouble, darling.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Oh, I’m definitely the troublemaker here.”

Ewan sinks into the chair by your bed while Matt leans against the windowsill, arms crossed. For a brief moment, it almost feels normal. Almost.

“Phia mentioned Spain,” Matt says after a beat, his voice casual, but there’s an edge to his tone. “The birthday trip.”

You nod eagerly. “The joint birthday for the lads.” Your eyes flicker to Ewan. “I feel terrible for missing your birthday last month.”

Ewan shakes his head, his expression softening. “You had a lot going on. Don’t worry about it.”

The casual mention of his birthday tugs at your heartstrings. You hadn’t forgotten exactly, but things had been so complicated. Now, though, guilt gnaws at you.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you say sincerely, looking at Ewan, and the way his eyes hold yours makes your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, the villa should be fun,” Matt chimes in, but there’s something sharp in his tone. “But we have to be sure you’re in tip top shape first, love.”

“I’ll be the one in the bikini and a leg cast,” you joke. 

The conversation drifts into lighter topics – memories of on-set pranks, silly cast antics – but there’s an underlying tension, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. It’s almost like watching a film in slow motion, each moment dragging longer than it should, with none of you willing to say what you’re really thinking.

After a while, Ewan checks his phone, his brows knitting together. He glances at you, a reluctant sigh escaping his lips. “Darling, I need to head out. I’ve got a meeting with my manager to sort out the filming schedule.”

You nod in understanding. “You did leave LA pretty quickly. I don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.”

Ewan’s gaze softens. “It’s not trouble,” he says quietly. “Not when it’s for you.”

As he walks to the door, he pauses and looks back at you, his expression unreadable. He hesitates, then takes a few steps back toward the bed, leaning down to kiss your forehead gently. The gesture is tender, and it leaves a warmth in its wake that lingers long after he’s gone.

“Rest up, darling,” he murmurs before turning to leave.

You’re left with Matt, the silence between you more comfortable and less tense than it was with Ewan. He moves from his spot by the window and sits down in the chair Ewan just vacated. He offers you a gentle smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “He cares about you a lot, you know,” he says.

“I know,” you reply softly.

Matt smirks, his cheekiness resurfacing. “Almost as much as I do.”

The atmosphere eases after that, Matt joking about the cast’s upcoming trip to Spain, trying to make you laugh. After a while, your body begins to give in to exhaustion, your eyes growing heavy. He notices and encourages you to rest, and you doze off before long, the soft hum of his voice lulling you to sleep. 

But just as you slip into that hazy space between wakefulness and dreaming, you hear Matt’s voice again, quieter now, like he’s talking to himself. Or maybe to you, thinking you’re already asleep.

“I know you still love him,” he says softly, the words almost painful to hear. “I can see it every time you look at him. It’s obvious.”

Your heart tightens in your chest, but you keep your breathing steady, pretending to stay asleep.

“I don’t blame you,” Matt continues, his voice rough with emotion. “He’s good for you, isn’t he? You’ve got history. I knew what I was getting into when we started this… whatever this is. But I can’t help it. I see myself falling in love with you, and it terrifies me.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your eyes burn behind your closed lids. You want to say something, anything, but you don’t. You lie there, frozen, letting Matty’s confession hang in the air between you.

“You don’t have to choose me,” Matt whispers, almost as if he’s resigned to his fate. “But I… I certainly wouldn’t mind it if you do, love.” He laughs bitterly at the end, then turns serious once more. “We could… we could be happy.”

His voice cracks slightly, and it takes everything in you not to react. You hadn’t realised just how much this meant to him, how deeply he felt. He always seemed so easygoing, so casual, and now you see that there was more beneath the surface. So much more.

You lie still, pretending to sleep, as Matt gently brushes a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll be here, if you want me,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. 

You chose yourself, selfish as it might have been, and you would make the same decision again if given the chance. You needed to do that; you owed it to yourself. You also sought companionship and a shot at happiness with him. But that hadn’t been final. 

No matter who it will be in the end, someone’s heart is going to break. 

Your ankle is forgotten, your concussion a trifling thing.

Because the weight of that choice is a much heavier burden to bear.

The villa in Spain is like something out of a dream, nestled in the rolling hills of Mallorca. Its white stone walls gleam against the deep blue backdrop of the Mediterranean, the ocean stretching endlessly in the distance. The courtyard is lined with blooming florals and tall cypress trees. It’s the kind of place that makes you forget about the rest of the world, even if just for a moment, and let go of everything that’s complicated and heavy.

But not for Ewan, who sits alert under the shade of a large patio umbrella by the pool, clad in only his navy blue swim trunks. His sunglasses are perched on his nose, as he pretends to read a script – his attention is elsewhere. 

They track you, where you’re surrounded by the girls, all of them fussing over you like a flock of mother hens. Your fracture boot is propped up on the sun chair, crutches leaning nearby. 

Ewan smiles to himself when you laugh at something Liv says, your face lighting up completely. He's relieved that you’re able to relax after everything. But underneath that relief is something else – something that coils even tighter every time he glances at Matt nearby.

Matt’s never far, either. Ewan notices it. Of course, he notices. How could he not? The way Matt hovers just on the edge of the group, never too close to seem overbearing but always there. It’s the same thing Ewan’s doing, and it’s infuriating because he knows exactly what it means. 

Ewan watches as a shirtless Matt hands you a cold drink, his hand brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. You look up, smile gratefully at him, and Ewan feels the sharp sting of it, like a jab to the ribs. He clenches his jaw and forces himself to look away, his grip tightening on the already tattered script in his hands.

“Mitchell, my boy,” Freddie says, plopping down in the chair beside him. “You’ve clearly got a thousand-yard stare going on underneath those shades. You alright?”

Ewan shrugs, trying to play it off. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

Freddie is unconvinced, but he doesn’t push. “It’s our celebration in paradise, mate. You should think about getting a drink in you. Pretend to have fun before Tom ropes us all into some ridiculous pool game.”

Ewan huffs a laugh, grateful for the distraction, but it’s short-lived. His eyes drift back to you, watching as Phia ties a sun hat around your head, joking about protecting ‘the merchandise,’ while Liv adjusts the chair to make sure you’re comfortable. You’re surrounded by care, by laughter, and yet… Ewan can’t shake the need to be near you. To be the one making sure you’re alright.

He hates the way Matt looks at you, like he’s got some claim, like he knows what’s best for you. He doesn’t know you. Not like Ewan does. He hasn’t been through the heartbreak, the sleepless nights, the mess of trying to hold it together when everything was falling apart. He hasn’t watched you fight through everything, hasn’t seen the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love.

Matt is there, sure, but Ewan has been there.

He wants to go over, tell the girls to give you some space, be the one to take care of you himself. But he doesn’t. Not with Matt there, standing just close enough to remind him that you’re not his to take care of. Not anymore. 

“Careful, mate,” Fabien materialises from the side, a drink in hand. “You keep looking at her like that, and it’s gonna get messy.”

“It’s already messy,” Ewan replies, clicking his tongue. He shifts in his seat, trying to focus on the script in front of him, but it’s pointless. He watches as Matt crouches down beside you, leaning in to say something quietly. You laugh, and the sound hits like a white-hot surge to his veins – an instinctual, possessive reaction he can’t suppress. 

Ewan doesn’t want to cause a scene. It’s a holiday, after all – everyone’s in good spirits, and you finally look like you’re getting some much-needed rest.

But before he even realises it, he’s already halfway across the courtyard, his steps brisk and determined. 

“Hey,” Ewan says when he reaches you, his tone light, almost forced. “Mind if I join?”

Matt straightens, settling in the chair next to you. “Well, look who finally decided to come over. Thought you were just going to lurk all day.”

You shift in your chair, adjusting your fracture boot, letting Ewan sit next to your outstretched legs. “I’m fine, by the way. If that’s what this is about.”

The girls are now watching intently in their respective sun chairs, pretending to sip their drinks but clearly enjoying the show. You’re caught between rolling your eyes and laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Ewan casts a quick glance at your ankle boot, the tenderness in his gaze flickering just for a moment before he locks eyes with Matt again. “I’m just making sure you’re not overwhelming her. She might need her space,” he says.

Matt raises an eyebrow, his casual posture not matching the edge in his voice. “Space? Mate, that’s rich coming from the guy who’s crowding her chair right now.”

Phia snorts into her drink, earning a stern look from Liv, but it’s too late. The tension is starting to draw a crowd, and even Fabien and Freddie are craning their necks to watch. Freddie whispers something to Fabien, who laughs, clearly entertained.

Instead of rising to the bait, Ewan exhales sharply and forces a smile. “Just making sure my… friend is comfortable.”

Liv arches an eyebrow. “My god, friend, is it? Please don’t tell me I’m your friend too.”

Emma freely chortles at Liv’s remark, while Phia doubles over in glee.

You interject with a sigh, waving your hands between them. “Okay, enough. I love a good ego battle as much as the next girl, but seriously – this is supposed to be a holiday. Can we not do this?”

“Honestly, you two,” Phia says, “I thought I already made it clear – she’s my girl.”

The tension cracks as the group erupts into laughter, and even Ewan and Matt can’t help but smile. 

“Alright, alright,” Ewan mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Truce. For now.”

Matt smirks, extending a hand mockingly toward Ewan, who rolls his eyes but shakes it briefly before turning his attention back to you. His gaze softens as he catches your eye. “Just… don’t overdo it, yeah?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling. “I’m the one in a boot. Trust me, I’m not going anywhere fast.”

Emma’s enjoying the scene, calmly sipping on their negroni sbagliato. “Honestly, with the way things are unfolding, this drama could end up being better than the show.”

Before anyone can throw in another comment, Ewan’s phone vibrates in the pocket of his trunks. His expression darkens briefly when he glances at the screen. It’s his manager, but she knows not to disturb him on holiday unless it’s urgent. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be right back.” He catches your eye for a brief moment before stepping away.

The world of Hollywood is no stranger to scandal, but this one is poised to shake the industry to its core.

Bruce Haversham, the powerful executive behind some of the biggest film projects in recent decades, had been untouchable at the very top of the mountain. Until now.

The news broke late in the afternoon, first as a whisper across social media before exploding into full-blown coverage on every major network. Accusations of sexual harassment and assault came pouring in, one after the other, each more damning than the last.

By the time the story hit the major outlets, it was clear that Bruce Haversham’s reign was over.

In New York, where he had been arrested, footage of him being escorted from his apartment in handcuffs circulated widely. The headlines were merciless: Hollywood Titan Falls, The End of Bruce Haversham’s Empire, A Predator Unmasked.

For Ewan, this is more than just a story on the evening news. It’s personal.

It was Bruce who masterminded the PR relationship that drove a wedge between Ewan and the one he truly loves. 

Now, everything changes. Bruce Haversham is out. Effective immediately. 

The path ahead wouldn’t be easy – far from it – but now, at least it is a path Ewan can walk freely. 

His mind races as he drops the call, the flood of information almost too much to process at once. Talk about a late birthday gift.

The relief hit him fast, like a cool rush of air. But it is immediately followed by something else – confusion, uncertainty. What now? What does this mean for him, and for you?

Matt had swooped in, offering you comfort and companionship, complicating things further. He cares about you, Ewan knows that. And from the outside, it makes sense – you and Matt seem good together. 

But Ewan knows better. Deep down, he is certain – absolutely sure – that what you and he shared isn’t just good. It was right. You and him… you are perfect together.

Ewan’s free from his strings, and all bets are off. 

It’s all or nothing this time. 

💌 next chapter

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Some notes in the margins...

The rest of the holiday will take up most of part 12! Ewan can actually properly enjoy himself now 😉

Don't think it'll be that easy! Darling's tied to Matty too, in a way. And after that confession? Damn it, Matthew, you sly loverboy you.

How far will Ewan go? And will Matty double down on his efforts? It's all chemical. It's all overriding. 🤷🏻‍♀️💙

[mushroomates]

gandalf headcanons

hides spare pipe weed under his hat . pippin saw him do it one time. no one believes pippin.

even when he’s like- let me access my emergency stash- and pulls out a doobie from his hat. everyone’s like “woah such wizardry”

it drives pippin bonkers.

will cheat at cards, chess, checkers- has been known to enchant dice to make them weighted. again, denies

just a reminder that he canonically sleeps with eyes open. i’d also like to add that he can sleep standing up. he also does do both during long meetings sometimes.

the sleeping w eyes open particularly messes with legolas. he can’t handle prolonged eyecontact on a good day and now this wizard is staring into his soul and is only maybe conscious

sleeps on his back, stiff as a board. occasionally sits up, pauses, has a brief moment of lucidity and then goes back to bed

also sometimes talks in his sleep. in various languages. sometimes legolas is certain these languages are made up, but they’re spoken with such vigor it seems hard to believe that

you can have full conversations with him. they’re not particularly intelligent or understandable conversations but still very interesting dialogues that he does not recall in the morning. a favored topic is the inflated price of everything.

this is particularly amazing because gandalf does not pay for most things.

often things are gifted. sometimes he finds them, and keeps them as his own. more often than not he mooches off of others, and at times, has been known to take things

not steal. if you stopped him he’d give it back. but no one really has.

he just kind of. picks up something. looks at you. and walks away with it

sometimes will leave small tokens in return,, like rocks with strange runes on them or a single feather

sometimes will return the item after days, months, or years (decades, centuries)

oh i meant to give it back but then the civilization collapsed so-

he tends to favor things shaped like other things- a tea pot that is a boot, a spoon that’s shaped like a flower (evil evil EVIL) salt and pepper shakers that are little houses

also has a fascination with garden gnomes. will often take them ‘home’ as well. where do they go? who knows but they’re his now

no one knows where they go or what he does with what he acquires. a running theory is he has a secret house that no one is allowed in that’s full of weird knick-knacks

in actuality, he gives most of these things away. the garden gnomes are for tom bombadill, the weird spoons are for thranduil because he gives them to legolas and legolas HATES spoons that aren’t *spoons*

arwen is charmed by crossstich, galadriel likes weird soaps and candles, (gandalf the cheese wizard doubles as gandalf the bed bath and beyond wizard.)

saruman does not like novelty salt shakers but gandalf is convinced he does and keeps giving them to him.

on that note gandalf thinks towers are gaudy and would never have one

is very tempted to set up shop in the shire. everyone is against this idea which is why he really wants to.

Disturber Of The Peace- literally loves to uproot unsuspecting hobbits for fun

most known being the baggins, but like, he’s not above standing outside the proudfoots home with a ~mysterious~ envelope until he’s batted away with a broom or very passive aggressively dismissed

he’s like a stray cat that they need to stop feeding with adventures

there’s a list written by the thain of the shire “appropriate times to set off fireworks” . “never” and “when given explicit permission” are the only two things written. unfortunately gandalf is selectively literate

he does not, ever, know what time it is. if he does he won’t tell you-at least in a way that’s understandable to normal people

what’s the time? “it’s today” okay and when is that? “now” thanks buddy.

what times sunset? “when the moon is rising.” when’s that? “at the end of the day”

yk island time? that’s wizard time. just. no sense of any sort of time passing at all. it could be an hour or five days and he will refer to it as a minute. or vise versa. you invite him for tea on tuesday and he shows up on sunday, in the dead of night, with a hand full of seashells and covered in ash. no explanations. he leaves just as suddenly as he came, with a hermit crab in your kettle and dishes in the sink. but yeah, technically, he was there for tea on tuesday.

or arrives four weeks later because you didn’t say what tuesday.

it’s anyone’s guess, including him, what he has in his pockets. four twigs, each exactly 17 centimeters long? sure. half ball of twine wrapped around a chunk of moss? why not. three tea bags, clearly used, tied together and soaking wet. a small glass bottle with strange dust labeled “numbers”. a single tooth. reading glasses, cracked, missing a lense with a shoelace tied around the bridge. he doesn’t even wear glasses.

don’t. ever. ask him for directions. he can give you them, just. in a way that’s so alien that they’re impossible to follow

he kinda just. goes off of vibes? like if it feels like the right distance he will do with it. it’s not miles away but that sounds right

in his heart it is.

is always right. no amount of reason can convince him otherwise

at best, you’re both wrong but still. he knew it all along

rarely knows the right lyrics to things. if he’s called out he’ll just say “well in this version..” because he’s been everywhere and is ancient so no one can really argue

picks fights with a shocking large number of birds.

randomly and for seemingly no reason, in a multitude of languages most long forgotten.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

It happens by chance, and while Harry wishes it hadn’t, this will at least clear up any lingering uncertainty for him.

There’s a skirmish between Harry and some friends from the Order and Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and a couple stray curses happen to catch him – one slices shallowly into his upper arm, the other sends him rolling across the ground. The upshot of this is that the left shoulder of Harry’s shirt is now in ribbons and hanging down around his waist, leaving his chest – and soul mark – bare to the world. Including Voldemort.

Who looks like he’s having one doozy of an emotion.

And that basically confirms the dark wizard hadn’t known, but right now Harry’s bleeding sluggishly and wants to go home and have a drink and pass out for at least a few hours, so Voldemort can rage on his own time. Everyone else from his side has already buggered off, so he’s not abandoning anyone if he does the same.

Unfortunately, the blood loss – while not severe – is enough to slow his reaction time, which leads to him apparating himself and the Dark Lord latched onto him to his flat. Not ideal.

There are a tense few moments of staring at the snake man, waiting to see if he’ll attack or start destroying Harry’s home, but when he doesn’t take advantage – when he just stares and frowns and stares some more – Harry decides he’s too tired for this shit.

“You are just impossible to ward out, aren’t you?” he sighs. The curse of being so physically and magically intertwined with the other man. (Well. And at the soul level, too, but he tries not to think of that.)

Voldemort yanks him by his uninjured arm towards the kitchen light that comes on automatically and stares at Harry’s chest, and the elegantly written Tom Marvolo Riddle thereupon.

Harry scowls when the staring drags on. “Oi, could you quit perving on me and piss off already?”

“You were never going to tell me?” Voldemort demands, ignoring Harry’s half-arsed attempt at distraction.

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Why the Hel would I? Either you already knew and it didn’t matter to you, or you didn’t – and I wasn’t about to risk baring my soul to someone who has a history of wanting me dead.” He shrugs. “I’m reckless, not suicidal.”

Voldemort opens his mouth with an angrily indignant look, and Harry looks to the ceiling for patience before pulling out of the other man’s grip and opening his emergency bottle of firewhiskey, hidden in the pantry, because this conversation needs alcohol. He pours two glasses (his to the brim) because he tries to be a good host, even to the bane of his existence. And if Voldemort doesn’t want it, well, it’ll save Harry getting the bottle out again.

All throughout this, Voldemort is ranting at him. Harry tunes most of it out – he’s had to hear enough of the man’s monologues to know he doesn’t need to listen to the preamble; the meat of his diatribe won’t come until a couple minutes in, at least.

After he casts a quick episkey on the cut on his arm, Harry leans against the counter, watching Voldemort pace around his modest kitchen. He takes a long, slow drink, welcoming the fire flowing down his throat and warming his belly. And either the other man is taking even longer than usual to get to the point or Harry’s more exhausted and irritable than he’d thought, because he’s suddenly completely out of patience with this situation.

He cuts in boredly, “It’s not like it changes anything. It doesn’t matter.”

Voldemort is immediately before him, looming and enraged. “It matters to me!”

“Why?”

“I’ve waited decades for you,” he says vehemently, leaning closer in an attempt to physically intimidate or pin Harry in place.

Harry barks a harsh laugh. “You waited for a fantasy. You’ve spent my whole life killing and hurting the people most important to me. Some silly mark doesn’t change that – it doesn’t make it better, it won’t make me love you.” He takes a sip and rasps through the burn. “It won’t change who you are.”

“I never received a mark–”

“And that’s unfortunate. Clearly it affected you. But plenty of people don’t get soul marks and they don’t commit mass murder and incite civil wars.” He gives Voldemort a dismissive look, standing up straight and slipping out from between the dark wizard and the counter. He can almost hear the other man grinding his teeth. 

“You have no idea what it’s like, not having a mark,” Voldemort hisses caustically, face contorted in a furious snarl. “The contempt, the ridicule I had to endure. I was denied one of Magic's basic gifts and they took it as proof they were better than me, those worthless fools.”

It’s difficult to know how he would’ve reacted to not having a mark. His burden has been to have the mark of the worst possible person, and he thinks he’s handled it far better than anyone could’ve expected of him. Having no mark would’ve confirmed that he’s meant to be alone, that there’s no one out there meant just for him, but having Voldemort’s mark as Harry Potter essentially means the same thing.

“Maybe you mutilated your soul too much to deserve a mark,” Harry says in a fit of cruelty. Behind the wrath crackling in the other man’s eyes, he can see the misery bloom. As good as it feels to score a hit against Voldemort, he regrets it even more. And isn’t that the exact reason why this damn war has dragged on for so long?

(Harry pushes that thought away wearily.)

“You had choices, Voldemort, and you made yours,” he says quietly but firmly. “I’m making mine, and it’s that I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“This is not a unilateral decision,” Voldemort says, the frustration in his tone edging close to desperation. “Do my wants mean nothing?”

"Your wants." Harry slams his almost empty glass down on the table; his voice comes out dangerously even. “Alright then. Can you bring my parents back to life? No? How about Cedric, or Sirius, or any of the dozens of others whose lives you’ve cut short?”

Voldemort’s mouth is pinched shut, a thunderous frown on his face.

“Hel, let’s start small. Stop this war, swear to never harm another person and get your followers to do the same. You want me to care about what you want? Start by addressing all of that.”

“You ask this of me and promise nothing in return?” Voldemort says bitterly.

“That’s the bare minimum it would take for me to see you as anything more than a murderous, blood-supremacist monster. And I honestly don’t think you can do it, but feel free to prove me wrong.”

That puts an unsettling gleam in the other man’s eyes. Harry thinks back on what he might’ve said to cause that reaction and feels his stomach drop. Oh bother. He’d challenged Voldemort. Harry knows exactly how he'd react to someone saying that; apparently Voldemort is equally competitive (and motivated by spite – he should’ve guessed that).

“...If I am able to–”

“You won’t–”

“When I fulfill your requirements,” Voldemort arrogantly says, face intense. “You and I will explore our connection, and you will meet with me frequently to do so.”

And now Harry is in a quandary. If Voldemort does what he’s been asked, Harry will have achieved what he’s been fighting for all six years of his adult life; if Voldemort doesn’t, Harry’s no worse off than he was before. And he knows the dark wizard won’t give up his cause simply because his soulmate asked, but if Voldemort does…

“You do realise that your soulmate is me, yeah?” Harry clarifies, unnerved by the shift in the other man's demeanour. “You don’t like me. At all.”

“Nonsense,” Voldemort says, waving off Harry’s really very logical point. “We simply haven’t had a chance to become properly acquainted.”

“...Because you’re always trying to kill me.”

“Details, details.” 

Harry would very much like to strangle the megalomaniac who is still in his apartment. “...Uh-huh. Sure, you become a completely different person and we’ll talk.”

He sometimes forgets that magic occasionally disregards sarcasm. This appears to be one of those times, as the heaviness in the air snaps tight around them, signifying Harry’s flippant “sure” just turned this discussion into a magically binding agreement. Merlin’s pierced nipples. So much for intent over phrasing.

Catching sight of Voldemort’s smug smirk, Harry suddenly feels genuinely homicidal for the first time in his life. Sensing his non-existent welcome is well and truly worn out, Voldemort says, “I look forward to it,” and apparates away. Harry pitches a cushion through the space the dark wizard just occupied. It helps settle his irritation a little.

He drops onto his couch with a deep, bone-tired sigh and tosses back Voldemort’s untouched glass of firewhiskey. 

He wonders if he’ll feel disappointed or relieved when Voldemort realises he’d rather keep trying to subjugate Magical Britain than have Harry as his soulmate.

Three days later, the war ends.

[mcumorningstar]

A Rose By Any Other Name || Part One

part two part three

series pairing: tommy shelby x reader, hints of john shelby x reader, hints of tommy x lizzie

summary: Resigned to a life as a whore, the infamous Shelby brothers find you in a compromising position and you apprehensively accept their protection. (Set in s2).

warnings: 18+ minor’s dni, prostitution, 1920s attitudes toward women and prostitution (physical and verbal aggression), unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, typical peaky blinders content, (slow burn sorry)

author’s note: I was bored and it’s missing Tommy Shelby hours (he’s so fit I can’t cope). This is kinda short but I’m hoping to make it a series. Also this is the first fic so if anyone reads please be nice :)

Work was a little more bearable if they fucked you from behind.

That way you could imagine the man rutting into you was a handsome actor like Tom Mix or Rudolph Valentine, or even a dashing soldier in his uniform, and not some brutish married factory foreman after too many drinks in The Garrison.

“Mhm fuck,” The nameless man grunted, pulling out and painting splatters of his cum on the backs of your thighs. Whiskey-laced breaths evened out against your skin and his grip on your neck loosened.

You didn’t look at him as the pair of you redressed, only thinking about the money now in your purse. From his clothes, you could deduce that he worked in the BSA factory but he was too clean to work on the factory floor. It was more than you usually knew about your clients and, when he opened his mouth to speak, you winced.

“Does Harry know you’re whoring behind his pub?” The man laughed, slurring his words and pulling his suspenders over his shoulders.

Ignoring him, you fixed your dress and tidied your hair. The brute wrapped his meaty fingers around your jaw and pulled you into him. He was probably quite handsome in his youth.

“Too high and mighty to open your fucking mouth?” He goaded, squashing your cheeks between his calloused fingers, “How much for your mouth?”

Noise from the pub spilled out into the streets, raucous men wasting their wages on cheap liquor. Any plea for help would be futile. Even if they could hear you, a whore caught behind the pub with a man was hardly worth a second look.

“You’re hurting me,” A weak croak escaped your rouge-smudged lips. It was a gift from one of your regulars but maybe wearing it at the local pub was a mistake.

“On the house?” He sneered, yellow teeth and thinning hair visible in the dark of the alley. With an iron grip, he pushed you to your knees, the thick mud and jagged stones cutting into your skin.

Aggressive clients were an unfortunate commonality but, whenever it happened, it was as frightening as the first time.

The scratch of a match drew you from your panicked stupor, crowded against the grimy brick wall.

Light from The Garrison illuminated the alleyway as the backdoor opened and slammed shut, casting the alley into darkness again. Your breath caught in your chest, your fate no longer in your own hands as you silently pleaded for the stranger's presence to startle the man.

A shadow appeared on the wall from the man’s lit cigarette. A Peaky Blinder. Shit.

The man above you stepped back, his eyes on the man’s shadow as it tripled. His jaw tightened before he dragged you to your feet. The commotion caught the three brothers’ attention, their hushed conversation halting.

Thomas Shelby’s scrutinising gaze fixed on you until the man excused himself and hurried out of the alley onto Garrison Lane.

John and Arthur Shelby chuckled, nudging one another and failing to hide their smirks. Whiskey dripped from Arthur's moustache and John's tooth pick hung from the corner of his mouth.

With flushed cheeks, you brushed the tiny and blood-smeared stones from your knees and righted your skirt.

Deep blue eyes didn’t falter, pinning you to the spot.

“Is Lizzie still inside?” You asked meekly, attempting and failing to meet Thomas Shelby’s eyes.

Thick fingers ran his cigarette across his pink lips, taking another drag as his gaze assessed you. Fighting the urge to touch your hair or tug your lip between your teeth, his eyes finally broke away from you and it seemed his assessment of the situation was complete.

You were aware of one another, only by association. Lizzie was now Thomas’ secretary and she dragged you to The Garrison whenever she could. The Shelby brothers acknowledged your presence, as Lizzie’s friend, and they will look out for you as a favour to her.

Arthur broke the silence, his gruff voice full of cheek, “Yeah, talking to a BSA worker. Your fella outranks hers. Does that mean you can charge more?”

For men who frequently pay for whores, they were at ease to laugh at your expense.

It was the middle brother who spared you, snatching the whiskey from the eldest and offering you a swig. Against your better judgment, you took the bottle and swallowed a mouthful or two.

“Don’t worry, his cock went nowhere near my mouth,” You spat with no real bite behind it, “Didn’t want to take the piss with his shallow pockets.”

John and Arthur stood in stunned silence, their cheeks reddening and their eyes averting away from you. A wiser woman may have kept her mouth shut but you were banking on Lizzie to save you from any potential consequences. And you were humiliated, what else did you have to lose?

Thomas took a drink from the bottle before handing it back to his older brother. His deep Brummie lilt travelled through the silence, “We’ll drive you home.”

Without waiting for a response, he headed onto Garrison Lane and the brothers looked at one another, dumbfounded. You weren’t in the business of saying ‘no’ to a Blinder, especially not the Blinder, and especially not after your spiteful words. With shaky legs and sweaty palms, you followed the brothers.

A brand new Bentley was parked in front of The Garrison. Thomas held the passenger door open, finishing his cigarette. Arthur and John wrestled until Arthur manhandled his younger brother into the backseats, releasing his neck from a firm headlock.

Stepping back, Arthur motioned you towards the backseat but Thomas cleared his throat. The two brothers shared a moment of unspoken disagreement.

“I’ll sit in the back. I don’t mind,” You said as if your voice wasn’t yours. Three gangsters within arms reach was more than enough to set your nerves on edge.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Just a chair,” Arthur grumbled with a soft and crooked smile, as he clambered into the back with a more than delighted John. Smiling politely, you took the passenger seat.

This was your first time in an automobile. Thomas started the engine and glanced over when you crossed your legs, unsure how to sit lady-like in the confined space.

Your skirt rode up as you got comfortable and your grazed knee was exposed. Thomas kept his eyes on the road as he reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, handing over a white hanker-chief with a small embroidered T.S in the bottom corner.

Opening your mouth to protest, Thomas cleared his throat and focused on the drive. A silent order to accept the offer. Carefully you dabbed at the small trickles of blood, staining the white fabric, until all that was left was raw, grazed skin.

Thankfully, the drive to your lodgings wasn’t quiet; in fact John and Arthur talked your ear off as they passed the bottle of whiskey between them. You didn’t have much to say, mortified by the situation they found you in and frankly a little terrified to be in a car with the Shelby brothers in the first place.

Thomas was quiet. Lizzie said he’s been like that since he got back from France, but his silence was unnerving as you sailed through the streets of Small Heath.

“You live with Lizzie?” John asked as the car pulled in outside your lodgings and the engine cut. Clumsy hands gripped the back of your seat as he leaned over the front seats to smile at you.

Lizzie said John was a good boy, the best of a bad bunch. Nevertheless, blood rushed in your ears and your fisted the material of your dress at his proximity and hot whiskey breath.

Thomas sighed and lit a cigarette, surprising you when he got out of the car. Plumes of smoke followed him as he rounded the car and opened your car door.

“Yes, I- There’s three of us,” You answered, your scuffed brown heels stepping onto the uneven cobblestones.

“Three whores living together? Sounds like the start of a joke,” John laughed, his tooth pick long gone, and you were pleasantly surprised by the lack of insult in his voice.

“Or a very nice dream,” Arthur chuckled along too, his deep voice at full volume making you jump. With his brother distracted by you and the bottle, John scrambled into the front seat.

Arthur's swift smack to the back of John’s head echoed in the quiet of the street. A small smirk twitched at Thomas' lips but you averted your eyes before he noticed you watching.

"Lizzie is a secretary now, John," You played along, most comfortable with the younger brother. John's shining eyes were glued to you as you searched for your door key.

Arthur scoffed and mumbled against the lip of the bottle, "Yeah, Tommy's secretary." Nobody acknowledged the insinuation that hung in the air.

Opening your front door, you turned to the three men, slightly less afraid than you once were, "Thank you for driving me home. Goodnight."

"Night love," John and Arthur responded; Arthur's deep grumble and John's cheery lilt. They turned their attention back to the whiskey, fighting over it like children.

Before you shut the door, Thomas stepped closer to you, exhaling smoke through his nose. Did he want to come in? Payment for the lift home? Or, payment for the lift home? Whatever it was, your stomach felt like you swallowed a tonne of lead.

"Is everything okay, Mr Shelby?" Your voice carried between you, like a dainty flower ready to wilt.

"Tell Lizzie," He began, his cigarette hanging from his lips as he reached into his pocket, "That she's to come to work early tomorrow."

Folded paper money appeared from his pocket and suddenly the wad of cash was in your palm.

"Is- Is this for Lizzie?" You stuttered, blushing like a maiden at your suggestion. There was something heart-stopping about being the subject of Thomas Shelby's arresting gaze.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at you, taking his cigarette between his fingers and looking you up and down. Shit, was that the wrong thing to say? The Peaky Blinders never harmed women but that wasn't a comfort as you stood in front of him.

"Come on Tommy! It's fucking freezing!" Arthur yelled from the car. Thomas ignored him and threw his cigarette to the pavement.

"It's yours,” He said as if it was obvious, “Whores working behind The Garrison is bad for business."

That bastard! Lizzie told you all about her sessions with Thomas Shelby. Prostitution is only acceptable when he's doing the fucking?

"I'm not a charity nor a bookie you can bribe Mr Shelby," You pressed the money to his chest, "Save your white knight persuasion for Lizzie. Goodnight."

The sound of John and Arthur's laughter disappeared behind the wooden door, as you slammed it in Thomas' face. Muffled conversation between the brothers carried into the house, relieving you once the car drove away.

You had only been in your bedroom for a moment before gentle footsteps hurried across the landing.

"Is everything okay? I saw the Bentley parked outside," Thelma's brows were furrowed and she pulled her robe taunt against her body, peering into your bedroom.

"Yes," You nodded, slightly out of breath from your racing heart, "The Shelby brothers drove me home."

Thelma's jaw dropped, "With- Is Lizzie with you?"

Shaking your head, you draped your bag over the railing of your bed frame and unpinned your hair in front of the mirror.

"They said she was flirting with a BSA man. Caught me on my knees behind The Garrison," You flushed, failing to keep a straight face. Thelma burst into a fit of giggles.

Through the mirror, you saw her covering her mouth with her hand to stifle her amusement. You turned to face her, giggling at the ridiculousness of it.

"I'm sorry I don't mean to laugh," She sat at the bottom of your bed, as you unlaced your dress.

Living with other women was a comfortable situation but living with other whores was even more so. Who else would you go to for a second opinion if you thought you had the clap?

Your dress fell to the floor in a ripple of fabric and your heels were kicked off, "No it is funny. John is sweet. Arthur was drunk and loud.."

"..and Thomas?" Thelma goaded with a teasing grin.

"I slammed the door in his face," You winced and Thelma gasped," Do you think Lizzie will be mad at me? I couldn't help myself."

As much as Lizzie protested, it was glaringly obvious that she was in love with Thomas Shelby. When he started meeting with her on a regular basis, her heavy pockets and orgasmic bliss clouded her judgement. It would be hard for any of you to not fall in love with a client who makes you cum. Now she was his secretary but nobody was disillusioned by that title and, after a few drinks, she giddily confirmed that he bent her over his desk semi-regularly.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think that he loved her too but a man like Thomas Shelby was not bound by such silly notions.

Thelma giggled with a warm smile, "The sun shines out of his cock as far as she's concerned, but she’ll get over it.”

Giggling along, you hoped that Lizzie would be a few drinks in and find the whole ordeal hilarious...

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 1: Bite Me

series masterlist

Mabel really, really, doesn’t want to be doing this right now.

There’s at least five other things she could be doing right now, but no, she’s doing the one thing she swore she’d never do again.

Is this rock bottom? It has to be.

Charlie, who’s sat in the passenger, has been prodding her with question after question since she told him she knows someone who might be able to help them.

It’s not that she’s dodging his questions per se, but she isn’t entirely sure how to answer them either.

They’re in deep shit right now, no thanks to her, and the predicament reminds Mabel just why she doesn’t stick her neck out for strangers anymore. Not that Charlie is exactly a stranger, she is sort of sleeping with him, and he is sort of her boyfriend.

But this? This is a bit much, even for her, which is why it puts a bitter taste in Mabel’s mouth knowing who she’s having to turn to for help.

In their defense, it’s not like the guys signed up to get a hundred thousand grand worth of heroin stolen from them. Tom had accused her of being the one who ratted them out, which wasn’t true, so she had to act fast.

Being a snitch around here can get you killed, rumors can get you killed.

There’s only one person who stood any chance to helping her put out this dumpster fire.

And when she pulls up in front of a house on the more secluded side of town, Mabel feels the ache in her chest at the familiar porch steps. That swing, the unkept bushes out front, even from where she’s parked the car on the road she can spot a few beer cans littering the wooden rail.

Seems like nothing has changed at all.

“-Mabel”.

Her eyes snap to Charlie, who’s already looking at her, he’s probably been saying her name for a good minute now based on the confused and worried expression on his face.

He let his brother trash on her at the bar, even when he said he believed her, Mabel was righteously pissed at him for not standing up for her. But, that aside, she agree to let him come with her for this.

Charlie is a good guy, a great guy even. There’s something there without a doubt, and Mabel is fairly sure she could grow to be in love with him. She could be happy even, considering all the opportunity having him around will bring.

Is it wrong? Maybe. But Mabel promised herself she’d get out of this goddamn town, away from everything tainted and poisoned.

And for what it’s worth, she actually does like Charlie.

First, unfortunately for her, she’ll have to figure out how to get them out of something that was suppose to help them.

A hand on hers makes her snap out of her thoughts again, Charlie says her name again, softly. But she instinctively pulls away, because she can’t, not when that house sits just over his shoulder out the window behind him.

“Sorry, just uh… it’s a lot” is what she says, and he nods, trying to reassure her with his softly spoken words, but Mabel tunes them out.

She can’t help it, not when her eyes keep getting drawn to that paint chipped black door, and the familiar car parked in the open garage to the left of it.

Has it really been a year?

“Let’s just get this over with” Mabel mutters, cutting the engine and pushing the drivers side door open far too aggressively.

All she can hear as she walks along the path and up the porch steps is her own heartbeat slowly increasing, fidgeting with her fingers at her sides.

She doesn’t knock, she never did before and she won’t start now. Charlie splutters behind her, glancing around with wide eyes as if expecting law enforcement to roll up, Mabel doesn’t wait for him as she makes her way through the threshold.

It almost relieves her when she doesn’t smell that distinct linger of Mary Jane in the air, but Mabel steels herself, reminds herself what happens here isn’t her problem anymore.

Finally she pushes herself forward, wooden floorboards creaking under her boots as she makes her way deeper into the house that was once the closest thing to home Mabel ever had.

It hurts, how much she misses it here. The worn leather couch, the framed movie posters lining the walls, the tv stand she knows has drawers full of CD’s with a variety of film genres. A line of conch shells along the windowsill, those same windows that always stay cracked open to allow in the sound of ocean off in the distance.

And then she reaches the study.

There you are, back to her as you seem to be reorganizing the books on the shelf you face, even then Mabel knows you heard her walk in.

You don’t turn until she wraps her knuckle against the doorframe, hesitantly stepping into the study, it’s only then when she realizes Charlie had followed her inside. Stepping up next to her, his eyes on you with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

When you do face her, it takes everything in her not to buckle, those eyes never fail to make her chest ache.

She fucking hates it.

“Hey sunshine” you say softly, as if you cherish the long lost nickname rolling off your tongue after so long.

“Lucky” Mabel says flatly, bitterly.

You smile, widely, almost charmingly. Mabel glares, unrelenting and jaw muscle twitching as she clenches her teeth.

Your gaze then goes to Charlie, but rather than any emotion Mabel assumes you’d express, you only look amused.

“Looks like you took my advice” you say as you look back to Mabel, who only feels bile start to work its way up her throat.

“That’s not funny, nor anywhere near true” Mabel deadpans, which makes you shrug, smile only growing as you slide the book in your hand back on to the shelf before turning to face them fully.

Charlie looks between you two, once and then again, “you two close?” he tries to gauge the dynamic as he shifts his weight from one foot to the next.

Mabel’s head tilts just slightly, rolling her eyes as her thumb comes up to scratch the space between her eyebrows.

“Use to be” you answer since she doesn’t, tucking your hands into your jean pockets “back in the day”.

Mabel is silent, jaw slightly offset as she runs her tongue along her teeth in her mouth, “Charlie can you give us a minute?” she says as her gaze lingers on you before dropping to the floor. Watching him from her peripheral over her shoulder.

Charlie laughs humorlessly, mouth quirking up only to fall the moment she turns her head to shoot him a look. He looks ready to protest, eyes flickering between the two of you before deflating slightly, sneakers squeaking against the wood as he begins to walk backwards.

The moment he’s out of the room, you trail after him, pausing at the door and then slowly pushing it until only a slight crack remains between it and the frame.

“What’ve you got yourself into now?” You ask as you turn to head back across the room, your shoulder brushing against hers as you pass.

On purpose? Absolutely.

“Now’s not the time to be grilling me” Mabel says flatly, crossing her arms as you move to sit back against the desk behind you, a sight that once use make her knees weak.

You hum, fingers curled around the edge of the desk as you lean your weight back against your palms “you wouldn’t have come here otherwise, am I wrong?”

“God, you really haven’t changed at all, still thinking that you know everything”.

“I think you forget just how well I do know you”.

“You don’t know me anymore-“

“And yet here you are” you say lowly, one corner of your mouth tugging up slightly as you add “it’s good to see you”.

Those words are like blowing dust off an old record, sat on a turntable, needle being rested down as the familiar melody begins to repeat itself again. A song Mabel has tried to forget the tune to, but with you, it’s her guilty pleasure.

A lapse of silence falls between the two of you, and as much as the words taste like battery acid coming out of her mouth, Mabel says them anyways.

You are, after all, the only person she fully trusts in a hundred mile radius. Even after everything.

“I need your help”.

You tense slightly, because of course you wouldn’t tease her for this, why would you? Mabel asking for help is the equivalent of watching pigs fly.

“Fuck Mabel, what’ve you gotten yourself into?”

Mabel clenches her jaw, looking away from you, wondering exactly how she was going to not only break this to you. But also how she was going to convince you to help once you knew the extent of the current predicament.

“Listen, I was just trying to help the guys and I understand being desperate for cash, and Charlie thought-“

You push off the desk, standing up straight which has Mabel’s eyes going back to you. You’re looking at her like you already know, and she’d be more surprised if you didn’t.

“It’s Weeks” she whispers, shifting her weight nervously before forcing her head up high, feigning a collected aura.

“We owe him a hundred thousand for losing a delivery”.

And then there it is, that familiar look of irritation, “goddamn it Mabel- it’s like what I did meant nothing to you? Unfuckingbelivable-“

You walk right past her, ripping the door to your study open, wood groaning under your quick steps.

Mabel is right behind you, not even sparing Charlie a glance as you both pass where he’s stood in the living room, pretending to keep himself busy until the loud burst of voices pulls his attention.

“Don’t you fucking start with me, I never asked you to do that, and the fact you still hold it against me-“

“-that isn’t what I hold against you and you know it-“

“-you shouldn’t hold anything against me considering the bullshit YOU pulled-“

The screen door cracks against the frame as you shove through the front door of the house, Mabel catches it mid bounce and slips through after you. It smacks the frame again, Charlie not being as smooth as he tries to keep up with you both.

“For the millionth time, I was honest with you from the start, are we seriously going to have this fucking conversation now-“

“-you’re the one who caught a goddamn attitude with me, when I was trying to be reasonable-“

You laugh humorlessly, shooting her a look of disbelief over your shoulder as you opt out the stairs of the porch, slipping over the railing off to the side instead. “You? Reasonable? Get the fuck out of here with that shit.”

Mabel is quick to go around, catching up with you just as you reach the garage, rounding the vehicle just as you tug the passenger side door open “you keep fucking talk to me like that I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass-“

“Yo! Where are we going?” Charlie calls as he finally catches up, rounding the house and standing at the open of the garage, hands cupped around his mouth to get both your attention.

“Not you pretty boy-“ you point a finger at him, your other hand still gripping the top of the door of the vehicle, Mabel scoffs and smacks your arm hard before digging into her jacket pocket for her keys.

“Go to home, I’ll have Lucky drop me off after” Mabel says as she tosses the keys to Charlie, he fumbles them slightly, looking between them in his hand and the two of you just as Mabel slips into the car.

“What-“

“Not. You. Go home” you say warningly, a look in your eyes that leaves no room for argument as you give the passenger door a shove to shut it behind her.

He steps in front of you as you round the hood, eyes hard and chest puffed, he’s got a good foot on you but even then you just gaze up at him with a subtle smug expression.

“I’m not a child, and that’s my girlfriend you’re taking off with, I’m coming-“

“Your girlfriend?” You say with a laugh, which only makes the muscle in his jaw twitch as he clenches his teeth. You look through the windshield at Mabel who’s actively trying to act like she can’t see this confrontation happening.

“She’s came to me, so I can help you clean up your fucking mess, do me a favor and don’t make this worse than you already have” you say as you casually reach forward to give his chest a firm pat, pushing him out of your way as you head for the driver side door.

“Which you’re welcome for, by the way. Don’t worry yourself too much, I’ll have her home by her curfew” you say as you shoot him a wink, tugging the door open and dropping into the driver seat.

He takes a few steps back and out of the way as you start up the engine, the rumble coming from it loud from the confined space of the garage.

Mabel keeps her eyes out the passenger window, looking at nothing specific, arms crossed and stubborn grimace etched into her sharp features.

“Do you want him to come?”

A pause of silence, her shoulders tensing just slightly, “just go”.

You don’t offer another word, shifting the car into gear and slamming the gas. The tires screech as you cut the steering, pulling on to the road and fishtailing the back wheels as you speed down the road.

It’s quiet for a solid three minutes, it’s a bit strange, the both of you being back here. Where it all started.

“Fill me in so I know what I’m working with” you say as you slowly release your death grip on the wheel, the white in your knuckles easing as you flex your fingers.

Mabel takes a deep breath in, propping her elbow up on the car door and pinching the bridge of her nose.

But she does fill you in, briefly explaining to you how she’d met Charlie and then found out they needed quick cash to get their fishing vessel ‘Finestkind’ back from the coast guard, fishing illegally in Canadian waters or something.

They needed money, she put them in contact with Weeks and he gave them a job, a job that was a bust. Considering they got jumped and robbed of all the product.

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you” Mabel says after a lapse of silence, you hum and chew the inside of your cheek.

“Yeah, well, he knows better by now not to mention anything to me involving you” you say bluntly, twisting your neck side to side and easing at the satisfying pops.

That makes her scoff, keeping her gaze out the window “committing arson to get laid definitely wasn’t your best moment”.

“Says a lot more about you for sleeping with me than it says about my pyromaniac tendencies” you say pointedly, which begins to pull a genuine laugh out of Mabel. But she’s quick to cover it, opting to shoot you a glare and swinging her arm out to hit your chest.

You bat her hand away, and then your eyes lock, the both of you clearly fighting back a smile.

“Please fucking pay attention to the road, before you get us killed” Mabel deadpans, looking between you and the windshield as she gestures towards it.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head but doing as she asks as, muttering a “bite me” under your breath.

____________________________________________

“I can’t guarantee he’ll listen”.

You push the passenger door shut as she slips out of it, both of your gazes on the familiar building ahead.

“No, but you’re the only person he’ll hear out”.

The Supreme Donut shop, for reasons you still don’t know, is his stomping ground. The donuts aren’t even that good, but who are you to speak on it.

As the two of you approach, you open the door for her and follow her in. The donut shop is a cliché, but it’s nice. Red booth chairs and white tables, wide windows for all the natural light you could ever need, tile floors and the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air. You step around Mabel just as you spot Marky and Weeks sitting across from each other eating. Their usual table, you aren’t surprised. Talking quietly to one another, but when they see you they regard you with familiarity.

“We’ve been trying to call you, where you been?” Weeks begins, but when he spots Mabel as she steps around from behind you, the sight of you two side by side pulls a laugh of disbelief from him.

“Did hell freeze over? Or did Marky slip something into my coffee” Weeks jokes, dusting the crumbs off his hands as he glances to his older brother, who’s quiet but has a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

“We came to talk to you about the shipment her people went out to grab” you say smoothly, tucking your hands into your jean pockets as you roll back on to your heels.

His eyes go from you to Mabel, a hum of acknowledgement as he leans back into his seat, rubbing the gruff of his chin before pointing at her “we was about to come have a nice chat with you, your ears must’ve been burning”.

“The crew got robbed by fake cops, Tom got his ass kicked by these guys” Mabel starts to explain, “all I’m asking is you hear them out before doing anything that could get someone hurt-“

“Of course I’ll take your word for it. After being such a help for me? But that doesn’t exempt the guys from being reckless with my product” Weeks says as he weaves his fingers together and rests him on his stomach, eyes lacking remorse as he props his feet up in the chair in front of him.

“C’mon Weeks, be fucking for real for a second” you say as you pull the chair out from under his feet, his eyes snap to you as you sit down in it.

“You of all people understand needing money to take care of your people, we all do, they can’t help it they got mugged. Give them a chance to work the shit out before you go killing people” you say quietly, holding his gaze with your own serious yet convincing one.

He stares unwaveringly at first, he and Marky exchanging a look before he takes a deep breath, chest deflating as his eyes return to yours.

“Alright, but if these jokers fuck me over, it’s your head on a platter” Weeks says as he locks his eyes with yours, without looking away he gestures to Mabel behind you.

“Hers too, and this time there is no forgiving or forgetting, no matter who you are to me or what all you’ve done for me”.

You hold your ground, neither of you looking away from each other. But then Mabel is muttering your name under her breath behind you, and your clenched jaw relaxes slightly.

“Thanks for your cooperation” you say as you give his leg a sharp pat, standing and beginning to walk away.

“I think I miss you two being together, you were always so much more tolerable when your bitch had you on a leash”.

It should’ve been expected, he always enjoys getting a rile out of you, which is why he doesn’t flinch when you spin on your heel to face him again.

“Don’t push it, Lucky”, but then Mabel is in front of you, hands on your chest and pushing you towards the door.

“Go. OUT”.

You hold his malicious gaze until she’s got you out the door, swatting her hands away as you beeline for your car.

“Hey, hey! Stop!”

“You got what you want, alright?! So don’t try and act like you give a shit” you snap as you wheel on her, but as always she’s matching you with an unwavering intensity.

Mabel steps forward, her gaze locked to yours, her entire body is tense and her face stoic.

“Stop acting so cold to me.”

“You’re one to talk” you hiss through your teeth, your gaze going back to the building you’d just walked out of, heart pounding unnecessarily fast in your chest. Not out of anger towards her, but out of something you won’t name: fear.

Mabel lets out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders visibly rising and falling, something is different about her reaction to your harsh demeanor. She’s normally snarky and cold right back but now she just seems… conflicted.

“It’s different with you and you know it, don’t try and pull that bullshit on me.”

You clench your teeth, still glaring at the building as if you have a personal vendetta with those walls rather than the individuals within you’d both just confronted.

“You don’t have the right to say that anymore” you mutter under your breath, forcing your eyes to hers, the unspoken year apart between you suddenly becomes loud.

Mabel’s body tenses once more, her jaw set and her eyes are a mixture of hurt and anger. Everything changes in the tone of her voice, going from snappy and annoyed to tired.

“Don’t make this about that. That- that was months ago.” Her voice is shaky but stern, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.

It’s not a wonder why this conversation is suddenly diverting towards digging up the past, every single one you two have always seems to lead to it.

Probably because so much of it was left unanswered and unfinished.

You cover the emotions her words bring with a hard expression, eyes sharp as you turn away from her to walk towards the car again.

“Then you’ll be fine when I drop you off at your new pretty and rich boyfriend’s place”.

Mabel’s expression falters further at your words, her body tensing even more, face falling as you turn your back to her and start walking.

“He’s not my boyfri-“ Mabel can’t even finish that sentence as she begins to speed walk next to you, trying to get you to stop as a mixture of anger and… something else start to bubble deep in her chest.

“He’s under the impression he is” you say as you grab the car door, unlocking it and pulling it open, refusing to look at her.

Mabel follows you to the car but she doesn’t get inside, she grabs the window frame to block you from doing so, trying to get you to look at her “stop acting like you care who I’m dating.”

“You know damn fucking well I do” you hiss, shoving the car door shut, yanking it free from her grasp in effect as you fully turn to face her, “and don’t pull that bullshit on me considering you came to me for help”.

“You say that but then you give me the silent treatment every time you see me around town, it’s childish” Mabel retorts, getting in your face, her breath coming out as shaky, and her teeth clenched.

“And don’t even try to pull that bullshit card. You know I couldn’t have not come to you for help”.

“Well you’re clear now, have your boy to get his fucking shit together because Weeks won’t give him weeks to make up for what he lost” you tell her sternly, chest rising and falling from your short cut breaths.

Mabel rolls her eyes, feeling like this conversation is clearly going nowhere. She steps closer, leaning into your personal space, her hands curling into tight fists at her sides.

“Stop being a prick and stop acting like you know what’s good for me. I asked for your help, what I didn’t ask for was your input on my relationship”.

“I do know what’s good for you, that’s exactly why I told you months ago that you needed a rich daddy’s boy since I’m clearly only what you need when you need it” you say lowly, eyes hard and full of unspoken emotion.

Tension fills the little space between the two of you, a chemistry you both use to bask in, but now it’s only suffocating.

Your words sting with a truth that Mabel can’t deny. And it only makes the mixture of anger and sadness bubbling in her chest all the more intense. She feels like drowning, a feeling that’s only reserved for you, or maybe she never got over it. Mabel’s jaw clenches once more and her eyes are full of fire as she stares back at you.

“You always have something to say, don’t you? You don’t get to just give me fucking financial advice and then judge my goddamn relationship months after we broke up”.

“So you are only dating him for what he’s offering” you laugh, shaking your head as you round the car, heading for the passenger side.

Mabel’s face falls, and a pang of guilt runs through her. Why is that your first thought?

Mabel scoffs, following behind you.

“No! It’s not like that, it’s more complicated than that.”

You say nothing, holding her gaze as you open the passenger door for her. So many unspoken things linger in the air, you both know each other far too well, two sides of a coin you use to say.

Too similar, too different, too hot-headed, too compatible.

Your eyes cut to the car, then back to her, indicating she get in.

Mabel stays quiet and just stares back at you for moment. She can practically see the thoughts working through your head. You two always have been a mirrored image, and Mabel hates it because it makes it easy for you both to read one another.

It’s why you worked, and why you didn’t.

Mabel wants to say something, but a voice in the back of her head tells her to just get in the car, this is a fight she won’t win today.

Not that she can blame you, it’s not like you know the full extent of the truth behind what happened back then.

For now at least, considering how bad things are looking right now, it may only be a matter of time. You are helping her after all, she isn’t sure if you’ll hate her more or less if you were to find out the truth.

Mabel finally relents, getting into the passenger seat of the car, and as always you close the door behind her.

You truly shouldn’t be doing this for her, Mabel should’ve just dealt with the consequences, this is her mess.

Somewhere, deep within the confines of her chest cavity where her heart beats under the cage of bones surrounding it, she knows the truth.

To her you were a compass, a guide and martyr, her salvation that kept her grounded.

But Jesus fucking Christ, now you’re the biggest pain in her ass.

next.

[billskeis]

could you write a story where like bill is away on tour with the band and reader sees his instagram story and texts bill to complain/flirt. And could it be m!reader or gn!reader pls.

(This one)

https://www.instagram.com/stories/billkaulitz/3267364916998050112?igsh=cXl5ODl5dXA5OWlx

ᡣ𐭩 bill's instagram story

with the constant concerts, meet and greets, interviews, and being on the go, tokio hotel has been making their way through fame being the youngsters they are. how incredible!

and despite your appreciation for bill’s passion in music, you miss your boyfriend so much.

tossing and turning in your bed, you stare at the ceiling in your bedroom. boredom completely consuming you as most of your time before was spent with bill.

it was a saturday night and you had no school. with bill being gone, you resorted to any other alternatives to kill some time. unfortunately, all of your friends either had plans or just were simply out of town.

so that’s crossed off the list.

you decided to open your phone and check your social media. one of your favourite shows in the background playing and some snacks left to the side where your bedside table lay.

a highlighted rainbow ring surrounds the profile. the profile picture is familiar.. oh wait, it’s bill! you smile seeing how active your boyfriend was on his social media. what made you even happier was the fact that he had thousands—no MILLIONS of fans but he was dating YOU.

yeah that’s right.. you’re that bitch.

it didn’t occur to you until a few seconds later that bill didn’t respond to your text, but he was actively posting on instagram. how peculiar.. you decided to open the instagram story and immediately dropped your phone on your face.

“fuck—ow! bill, you little shit..”

“what the hell are you doing bill..?” tom barges into the hotel room of his little brother to retrieve god knows what.

bill jumps a bit at the unexpected voice that emits from out of nowhere. almost dropping his phone, bill fumbles around with the phone in the air as he attempts to grasp it once more.

“tom what the fuck!? you scared me,” bill rolls his eyes at his twin brother, “still didn’t answer my question,” he bends down to grab a coke from the mini fridge, popping the lid open to take a swig out of the carbonated beverage.

bill smiled at his phone as he opened the camera app once more, clicking pictures after each second and changing the angle to which he held his phone in, “just a lil’ sumthin.. for y/n of course!”

tom raised an eyebrow, “you might as well show them your dick while you’re at it.. pants hanging so low you’re like a whore,” “uh—rude first of all, and this is coming from the same person who’s rummaging through my bags for a condom?” tom stills his movements with his hands inside bill’s carrier looking for a specific piece of.. rubber…

“potato pitato bitch i live life freely..” “whatever,” as bill scrolls through the images he’s taken, he chooses the perfect one, adds a little caption and posts it to his story, “aaand done! posted!” “huh? posted?” tom questions.

“yep! on my story ;)” “i hope y/n beats your ass,” tom sighs as he begins to leave the hotel room to go god knows where—probably some one night fling he’s found during the concert, “i wouldn’t mind it,” as bill opens his story to look at his own picture and giggles to himself about it.

“now we wait.”

you stare at your phone in disbelief. now you knew bill was an expert in leaving you on edge constantly but this just does it for you.

on bill’s story it’s a picture of him, completely topless and his pants hanging so low to reveal his v-line. his waist is slim, and curves inwards. now he’s not the most fit or as active as in comparison to tom but you still adored his physique.

his nipples are out, you realize you were now drooling and begin to inhale sharply.

on top of that, his tattoos are exposed. even the new one he so declared that he wouldn’t reveal until a few years later but here we are. it’s only been a few months. now the whole world, and not only you, can see it.

you feel your face heat up, jealousy or anger. you can’t believe he’s stirring up a storm with you.

a few more seconds of you analyzing every little detail of his story, because you clearly couldn’t get enough you forgot the most important detail of them all.

the caption.

there was a little text on the screen that bill had typed to accompany the photo. in black bold text, how could you not notice this?

‘concert done, missing you more everyday ;3’

scoffing, your lips begin to curve in an upward smile as you swipe up to respond to bill’s story.

11:49pm

couldn’t have texted me back like a normal person?

11:50pm

hehe, so u saw it!

nuthin abt me is normal :>

11:52pm

ur so lucky ur not in town rn..

11:55pm

or what schatz?

11:56pm

i’d eat u, bill. >:)

11:58pm

oh noooo don’t eat me D:

i’m soo scared

12:01am

wait until u cum back..

b prepared..

12:03am

i really miss u, y/n.

i need u.

12:04am

oh ya? miss me so much? ;)

12:05am

so much baby!!

a few minutes pass, no answer.

12:10am

schatzi? where did u go T_T

*click to open photo from _*

there you lay, in bed. shirt pulled up a few to reveal your soft tummy, from the graphic of it, it appears that you’re currently in one of bill’s shirts that he originally ordered but ended up being too big for his desire so he gave it to you.

no pants, you had no pants on. bill begun to sweat as a particular tightening formed in his pants.

12:12am

y/n!! u little maus!! >:o

12:12am

oopsies :p

bill had to put down his phone to look up at the ceiling. it’s been since before the tour that bill’s got some action.

just imagining you under him, heavily breathing, mouth agape and eyes clenched with tears falling to the side of your face as he uses his thumb to swipe it away.

the uncomfortable feeling in his lower groin becomes one that is unbearable.

“fuck.”

12:26am

bill?? bb?? r u punishin me 4 the picture??

i’m sorryyyy -3- don’t ignore me

*click to open a voice message from billkaulitz*

“oh…”

[camshell]

Watched '89 Batman just so I could read the original script and get mad at the changes. Spoilers, but also this won't make a lot of sense if you haven't already seen the movie

Starting off strong with the descriptions. I'm sure cranking up Jack's age some 20 years wouldn't make much of a difference to the plot...

I was going to say that the casting director is no Andrea Romano, but considering his name drops before Keaton's, I'm sure Nicholson was chosen through a more particular process. I wonder though, was that choice alone responsible for the "Joker kills Bruce's parents" idea? (side note, did Joker 2019 come up with *anything* new at all??) Or was it something that came up after they decided to erase Dick Grayson from the film to replace the original conflict?

Oh yeah, the Flying Grayson's episode happens in the original script. But let's look at Ace Chemicals first — which is not the name they used in the movie, just to piss me off

They cut out a whole section of the gang breaking into the plant. It's not a bad choice, I just liked the date makeup observation. Now to the meet cute--

Paralyzing talons? Are you kidding me, they got rid of that?? Oh, silly me, of course they did — that would get in the way of Batman's classic blowing-up-thugs rule.

Bruce didn't throw Jack off the platform here, but interestingly enough we still see him feeling guilty when he finds out that he inadvertently created Joker

And yes, this is almost the exact same moment that Tom King wrote in Batman/Catwoman. Gotta love the trope of Bruce bringing up his guilt over creating his arch-nemesis in the middle of an intimate moment with a beautiful woman on his bed. Now some random things they changed that stood out to me:

Every single time Joker acts blatantly childishly or is described as being on the verge of a tantrum is so funny. Sad that we could've had this instead of him thirsting over Vicky Vale.

This is the during the attack of the mimes on the city hall. I assume they decided to cut it out because that sort of ptsd goes a little against installing machine guns on the batmobile and striking down your enemies with military grade missiles.

They didn't pull a Joe Chill/Joker switcheroo here, Vale's guilt just dreamed of this scenario. The script goes a little deeper in expanding her relationship with Bruce. She figured out he's Batman on her own — saving up Alfred's skin — but unfortunately so does her colleague. As a self-designated nice guy, Knox tries to get Batman to break things off with Vicky. He's also waiting for the news of Joker's attacks to quiet down before exposing Batman's identity, but don't worry, the scripts solves this beautifully later on.

Anyways, instead of the confrontation at the apartment of Vicky Vale (also known as Bruce's "let's get nuts" moment and the devil in the moonlight quote) we have a chase scene that leads to Dick's introduction. Before that though comes probably the second scene I most wish they had kept in the movie

Yes, Batman chases Joker on a horse, first wearing a tuxedo, then his whole gear. Do you see what they took from us? What could've been?

Joker kills the Graysons with pretty explosions, Dick jumps onto Joker's van and tries to kill him but alas is detained by Batman and batnapped.

Batman then asks Alfred to take care of Dick and the last act is set in motion. Pushed by anger and guilt, Batman blows up Ace Chemicals (tho here we're supposed to believe the thugs managed to run out before the place crumbled) but Joker escapes and goes to set the balloon parade in motion.

Before he can blow away the public, Knox and Vicky create the bat signal to alert Batman about the balloons and Joker's plans are thwarted. Unfortunately (cough) this costs Knox his life. But hey, at least Batman's identity is safe.

Big explosions ensue, the batwing goes down and Bruce is almost left dead in the debris. Dick Grayson, now dawning his makeshift Robin suit, saves him and runs to enact his revenge on Joker.

They enter the cathedral, Joker and Dick exchange some bullets and Batman eventually catches up with Dick, knocking him out again. Then Batman manages to crawl up the stairs through inhuman effort against his fatal injuries, passes out just before reaching the final floor and uh... I'll just post this next part in full

He's made a friend... Attempted murder-suicide... Joker's taken out by a horde of Bats... This would probably have replaced Fight Club in my list of favorite movie endings if it ever came into existence.

Before I close up on our villain and hero's demises, I do have something to point out that I think was improved in the final script. Joker's Smylex — basically Joker Gas, originally meant to be called Smylenol — got added to beauty products and caused some people to die in the movie. I say some, because while we see 13 deaths reported there, here it's something that comes closer to the class of hundreds. He doesn't even invent it, originally; he just steals the formula from an old CIA project. Because the fatal product doesn't happen only when certain products are mixed together, a whole lot more end up becoming victims and Batman can't do much about it except cut out the source. It's just a detail, but I liked that they thought of an alternative. I may not like the Joker mob boss origin, but at least they let him keep his chemical prowess.

Now to the ending. Batman had a last minute bout of clarity and threw the bomb away, tangling it in the helicopter's ladder

Something something Batman offering Joker a last comfort before death... Endgame and Arkham City and...

Okay, that's pretty much what I've got. Am I mad we didn't get to have this? Kinda. But also, I didn't have big expectations for what actually came out, and it's still a pretty funny film. Besides, I think when it comes to Batman and mainly Joker, sticking to the comics, games and animations is the best way to go. Best to keep the incels focused on the live adaptations anyhow

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | wolfstar x reader

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.2 K Warnings: none Prompt: What will happen when yet another full moon approaches, could things start to change? This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

ANOUNCMENT:

In a couple of weeks I'll make a Q&A to cellebrate Gilded Constellations reaching 100,000 K words. And I'd love for all of you to be a part of it. So send in your questions, they can be anything you want, things like: How did you get the idea? Where does inspo come from? writing tips (I mean I don’t know much but anyway), character design, fancast, fav characters, things about me, about my plot notebook, literally anything you want, ask away (just state: For Q&A event or something) <3

Chapter 13: “Rebel, Rebel.”

October, 22nd (Friday)

A week after the incident, your mom had already sent your old Viper, but the Nimbus company had yet to respond to your letter. You’d gotten used to your older broom pretty fast. Muscle memory must really be a thing, since the moment you mounted it, it was like you’d been doing it forever. 

James was right, the Viper was a lot more stable than other brooms. More than Sirius’ SweepFire, and probably more than the Dark Nimbus itself. But it was slower, you’d already gotten used to the fast accelerations your Dark Nimbus had, and now you had to be extra attentive of the ball so you could make a move before it had enough time to get past you and onto one of the goals. Regardless of the slowness, the Viper was sturdier and heavier, which made it easier to do tricks like the backflip people still wouldn’t stop talking about. Last Tuesday you’d even attempted to surf on it, and you managed to do perfectly fine for a couple of meters until James spotted you and gave you the longest talk about being responsible and not doing stupid things, the hypocrite. But he was on captain mode and when he got on that mood it was absolutely useless to talk him out of it, so you nodded and promised you wouldn’t do it again, even if you probably would at some point. 

You told Lily about dating Sirius as soon as you were feeling better, she asked you so many questions, from how it’d happen to how good were Sirius’ kisses. She had been told he was really good by a girl back in 5th year, and she wanted to know if it was true or if the girl was just obsessed with Sirius like most girls in school. You omitted the fact that you probably were just as obsessed with him as they were and confirmed that Sirius was indeed a good kisser, not that you’d kissed all that many people before, but still. The rest of your friends had slowly found out about your new relationship, be it for the way Sirius sat next to you a lot more often now, because his teasing and flirting had gotten a lot stronger. Or, in the case of Tom, because he’d accidentally found you snogging on an empty classroom, at least he just gave you a thumbs up, a cheeky smile, and whispered something like “Keep it going guys! You’re doing great”.  Both you and Sirius had separated to laugh about it when Tom closed the door. 

“You ready?” Sirius asked with a smile, pulling you from your thoughts.  You looked at him with a daring face. 

You know that thing you were told not to do a couple of days ago and you promised you wouldn’t? Well, that promise lasted exactly 4 days, 3 hours and a couple of minutes. James was busy with an essay he’d forgotten about, and you and Sirius had gone flying together, and unfortunately, neither of you had a clear enough sense of self-preservation when you were around each other. Especially not after someone said, “I dare you to…” 

You were slowly standing over your broom, hands extended to try and keep your balance. Neither of you was flying too high, that way if you fell you wouldn’t get too hurt. Once you had managed to maintain your balance you nodded “Ready,” you said with a wink, and the two of you started broom surfing, picking up speed as you glided through the open fields of the school. As you were about to reach the finish line, you realized the grass was moving in a funny way right in front of you, and you frowned.  

“Hey Sirius I think–“ you started, but it was too late, something had yanked both of your brooms down and caused you to tumble down to the grass. You’d fallen over and rolled a couple of meters while he’d fallen over something, or rather someone. As you looked up you realized he was right on top of Remus, who had popped out of nowhere (probably the invisibility cloak). As the two of them sorted themselves out you stood up quickly and looked around, spitting some of the grass that had gotten inside your mouth. And then you spotted them, Barty Crouch and Evan Rosier, hiding behind a stone wall. You took your wand out and pointed it at them. Evan seemed to pull back but Barty just smiled wickedly “The fuck is wrong with you?” You roared, already walking towards where they stood. 

Barty walked head high towards you too “You saw them fall, Evan? It was hilarious!” 

“Fall? You must be bIoody delusional if you think you’re going to trick me with that! I felt the way my broom was yanked down.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a smile “Do you Evan?” 

Evan shook his head, as if Barty needed a sidekick to be vile. 

“You’re begging for me to break your stupid nose again,” you replied as you looked at him impassively. 

“I’d like to see you try,” he said smugly. 

You pointed your wand at his face, but Remus stood in front of you, calmly placing his hand over the one you used to hold your wand and pushing it down a little, to prompt you to do it yourself. 

Sirius stood still next to Remus, looking at Barty with hate, but keeping a strong grip on his wand. 

“Remus what the–“

“–He’s provoking you,” he told you calmly “he wants you to react.” 

“Yeah, well maybe I want to react,” you retorted, now slightly irritated at your friend’s actions. He just looked at you, shook his head calmly and softly ran his thumb over your forearm, still pushing it lightly down. If anyone knew about anger management it was Remus Lupin.

“Hey,” he said softly, looking at you straight in the eye, trying to get you to focus on him, rather than on Barty looking at you cockily from behind “Look at me luv,” he cooed, you looked at him for a second but turned your eyes back to Barty “I’m fine, Pads’s fine, you’re fine. There is no need to fight.” 

“You could’ve gotten hurt, we could’ve–“ 

“–Listen to me. Don’t give him the satisfaction of rilling you up. You don’t want him to be the cause of Gryffindor losing points, do you? That’s probably why he’s–“ 

“–yeah, go ahead (Y/N), listen to your boyfriends, they know what’s best,” Evan taunted from behind, you clenched your jaw. But took a deep breath, finally lowering your wand. Maybe you should’ve put him in his place then and then, how different would things have ended up if you actually had? 

“You know what Barty? Remus is right, you aren’t even worth my time.” You said standing straighter “At least be more creative with your petty jokes next time, all right? Maybe then you’d at least keep me entertained.” Then you turned around and used your wand to pull both yours and Sirius’ broom to your hands and walked back to the castle, lagging just a second so Sirius and Remus would walk by your side. 

“I want to strangle him,” you told them once you thought the two Slytherins were out of earshot.

“You and me both,” Sirius agreed, taking his broom from your hands, but lingering as his fingers brushed over yours “I probably would have, had Remus not stopped me first.” You looked at him for a moment and then recalled, Sirius was still on top of Remus because of the fall when you speed-walked towards the two Slytherin boys.  “And he’s right, the last thing we want is to start an open war in between us and his stupid gang.” 

“But they already started it, we’re just not doing anything about it.” You reproached, still a little riled up, the urge to punch Barty was wearing you thin, “Anyway, I do not want to have detention while everyone’s enjoying themselves at the Halloween party next week.” 

Remus smiled “How do you know about that?” 

“Tom and Beth told me all about the party you guys always plan together, I’m already preparing my costume.” 

“Is it gonna be a sexy Halloween costume, luv?” Sirius chimed in, leaning towards you with a little smirk on his face. 

 You pushed him back playfully “Ugh… don’t be such a dog!” 

Remus laughed at that, “I’m sure you’d look pretty even in a sack of potatoes.” 

“Yeah, in a very short one,” Sirius teased even further. 

“If only my boyfriend was as much of a gentleman as his friend here,” you said with a playful sight.

“You clearly don’t know Moony’s dark side,” Sirius chimed. 

You arched your eyebrows at that “And you do?” 

Sirius was about to respond when Beth showed up, looking a bit agitated as If she had been running “There you are!” She said as she stood in front of the three “Professor Spellman wants to see us earlier today, something about a special announcement.”

You frowned “Right now?” You asked. She nodded. 

“But we haven’t eaten!” Sirius complained. 

“I don’t think it’ll take too much,” Beth said with a shrug, “But it did seem rather urgent.” 

You nodded and the four of you started walking towards the North Tower. When you arrived, you realized they hadn’t exclusively called your class, in fact, the entire school year had somehow crammed inside the classroom. There were barely any sits left, when Tom saw Beth, he quickly waved to her and she went to sit besides him. You scanned the room and found only one table free, you rolled your eyes when you realized Evan and a Slytherin girl from his year whose name slipped your mind were sitting behind it. You looked at Sirius and pointed at the only free spot with a nudge of your head. 

He rolled his eyes but the three of you walked towards the table, the boys pushed the two chairs together and you squeezed in between the two. Leaning ahead a little so they could accommodate their larger backs onto the chair. Sirius had placed his hand on your tight under the table, and you gave him a look, “I’m gonna fall if I don’t grab onto something,” he said with an innocent smile.

“Yeah, sure enough, Puppy,” you replied playfully. 

“Hm… that’s the fifth from this week,” he said as he squeezed your tight.

Then you felt something pull your hair from behind. You turned around pissed and Evan was smiling “What? Did I ruin your cuddle time with your two boyfriends?”

You looked at him, but smirked “Why, you jelly?” You asked but didn’t give him enough time to reply, “You should know by now that my cuddle time knows no bounds. It's an exclusive club with a very long waiting list. But don't worry, I can squeeze you in somewhere between Tuesdays and never." 

Evan’s face turned sour while Sirius looked at you with a proud smirk and Remus laughed, chest rumbling behind you. He was about to retaliate when Professor Spellman walked in. So you decided to piss him off even further “Shh honey…” you said as condescendingly as possible “Teacher’s about to speak,” finally you turned around with a smirk. 

Remus gave you a side eye and placed his hand, palm facing up, just above your lap, raising his eyebrows, you understood what he meant in a second and high-fived him instantly, giving him a wink before leaning over the desk a little, to give the two boys some space. 

When Spellman finally reached his desk, he gave you a stern look “Miss (Y/LN), why are you sitting between Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin?” 

“There was nowhere else to sit,” you replied, motioning to the crammed classroom “I can sit on the floor if you want though.” 

The Professor sighed but nodded, “That won’t be necessary, this won’t take too long,” he said, before waving his wand and letting a long banner unroll from the ceiling over the chalkboard.

It read: The Moon and the Stars

“As some of you who keep up with the astral cycle may know, next Sunday is full moon,” Spellman said, you felt Remus tense behind you, which made you frown, but the professor kept talking, and you ended up shrugging it off “And not only that, but a very interesting phenomenon will also occur, it will be a bIood moon, which makes it the perfect moment for an astrology class,” He said with a proud smile “You will all be excused from today’s class in exchange for 2 hours of your Sunday night.” There was a mix of groans and cheers in the classroom, from those who were happy about not having class, and those who were upset about having class on a Sunday “Class will start at 10 pm,” Spellman continued, not giving the children time to protest “bring your notebooks and telescopes, those who have their own. We will meet in the Astronomy tower. Any questions?” 

A Ravenclaw boy raised his hand “What happens if we can’t make it?” 

“I highly doubt you’ll have anything better to do on Sunday night Mr. Finchley,” the professor responded sassily. Remus, who looked like he wanted to say something, decided to let it go, and sank back on the chair. The professor waited a couple more seconds, to see if anyone else had a question, but upon no one’s answer he clapped his hands together “Excellent, you’re excused now. See you on Sunday.” 

Sirius was the first one to stand up, letting you out through his side, while Remus seemed to be a little troubled. Your boyfriend placed a hand over his shoulder “It’s ok mate, we’ll figure it out,” he told him. You looked at the exchange with curiosity but it dissipated the moment Lily appeared out of nowhere and hooked her arm around yours.

“The girls and I are going to go prepare some droughts at the potions classroom now, hair and grooming stuff, you said you wanted to brew a special something for your Halloween costume, yeah?” 

You nodded, Sirius raised an eyebrow “Special something?” 

You smiled in response “If you guess it, I’ll give you a prize,” you said confidently, he would not guess your Halloween costume, even if he tried a thousand times. 

“Anything I want?” He asked suggestively. 

You laughed in response “Sure Puppy, anything you want,” you told him before walking out with Lily, the girls were waiting just outside the door.

“That was the 6th!” You heard Sirius say from behind. 

Lily raised an eyebrow “What’s that all about,” she asked. You giggled in response “Let’s just say dear Sirius and I have a bit of an arrangement, I can call him Puppy whenever I want, but he gets some kisses in return.” 

She laughed at your answer “Why aren’t I surprised?” 

You shrugged with a smile, finally catching up with the girls “You wanted to make a glow potion, right?” Mary asked, “Like the one Marlene drank on her birthday?” 

“Yup, I think I’ve got all the ingredients ready too,” you told her, checking the little rattan bag inside your backpack where you’d been placing all the necessary stuff. 

Lily gave a small peak to the bag and frowned “I don’t think you’ve got glow-weed yet.” 

Tom, who seemed to have shown up out of nowhere started to walk by Lily’s side “Why do you need weed?” 

You laughed “Glow-weed,” Beth corrected “not weed, weed.” 

“Hmmm… that’s not as fun.” He said, scrunching his nose a little “What for?” 

“(Y/N’s) Halloween Costume,” Marlene answered casually.

“Oh, you’re gonna be a fairy or something?” He asked excitedly.

You paled at that and turned to him wide-eyed “If you tell Sirius Black about it, I’ll strangle you.” 

“Cheeky,” he replied, leaning closer to you, which made you roll your eyes and push him back. 

“Please don’t tell Sirius?” 

“Why?” 

“She promised Sirius a prize if he guessed. She specifically said anything he wanted,” Lily chimed in. 

Tom looked at Lily and then turned his gaze back to you, impressed “So really cheeky then.” 

“Toooom!” You whined. 

“My lips are sealed,” he said, passing a hand over them as if he was zipping them and then placing his hand over his chest. How dramatic, you thought, but then again, you were the one dating Sirius Black, so who were you to judge? 

“Why didn’t you just tell him about your costume?” Asked Beth. 

You sighed “He was going on and on about sexy Halloween costumes, he would not stop bothering me if I did.” You responded simply, by then you were already outside the potions classroom. Professor Slughorn was in his office, and Lily had been the one inside and asked for permission to enter. He was more than happy to let you guys in to practice potions that he even gave Lily the key to the ingredients room, giving you free rein to use whatever you might need. 

When Lily came out, shaking the key in her hand with a smile Marlene rolled her eyes “Teacher’s pet,” she teased. 

“Maybe,” she said with a shrug “but, I just got our hands on the Ingredients Supply, and Slughorn said we could take whatever we wanted.”

“Sweet!” Said Tom as he took the keys from Lily’s hands and led all the way to the ingredients room. He took out a little paper from his pocket and started looking for some stuff, all the while you tried to find some of that glow-weed.  

When you finally found it you looked at the combination of stuff he’d placed in his basket and narrowed your eyes at him in suspicion “That’s not for beauty products is it?” 

He shook his head with a little smirk “I’m working on a little something,” he said, “also for the Halloween party.” 

You raised your eyebrow, looking at the stuff he’d gathered so far “Essence of Laughing Lily, Blissberry Extract, Frolic Fizzweed Leaves, Lavender Essence, are you by any chance making–“ 

He shook his head and placed a finger over your mouth “–Shhhhh! If Lily busts us, we won’t be having any fun.”

You smiled complicity “Well then, keep working on your little magical project,” you said, and then leaned in closer to whisper “If you add Moonstone Shimmer, you can make the potion a bit more potent overall.” You raised your eyebrows and winked before walking back to the table on which you’d be working. Marlene was next to you, and she’d set herself to prepare a special hand cream since the weather was getting colder. 

Beth was working on an enchanting hair serum that she’d run out of. And Lily said she was working on a “perfect curls potion,” also for the Halloween party. 

“Would you mind borrowing me some of that on the Halloween party?” You asked her when she told you what she was working on. 

She nodded “In fact, I’m making a lot extra,” she replied with a smile “To keep a stash on our bathroom.” 

“You’re brilliant!” You told her with a smile. 

“I’m working on some radiant complexion elixir, also for our bathroom,” Mary said. “We’re giving some of our stuff to Beth and she’s gonna borrow some of her hair stuff. We’ll all be stocked up in beauty products?” 

“And you do this all the time?” You asked with a smile. 

“A couple times a year, yeah,” said Marlene from her table.

“Genious, can I help with anything?” 

“I was actually thinking of using some of your glow potion and add it to the one I’m making, for glowier hair,” Beth told you, you smiled and nodded. 

“Oh, that would look amazing!” You agreed, “A bit on the radiant complexion would probably work wonders too.” 

“Yes, it would!” Lily said with a nod. “And what are you working on Tom?” She asked, turning to the boy. 

He turned to her like a deer trapped in headlights, and then crossed his eyes over at you, pleading for help “After shave lotion, right?” You said casually “So that the shave lasts longer, you mentioned?” 

He nodded “Ye– yeah… I heard Remus complain about his freshly shaved face lasting nothing, and I thought, same mate. Decided to do something about it.” 

You kept a tight smile as you gave him a look. Tom was a shitty liar. “Right! I’m sure that recipe James got you from Fleamont will be brilliant.” Tom nodded and went back to his preparations. 

“Why would you need Frolic Fizzweed Leaves for an aftershave lotion?” Lily asked, more to herself than to the rest. 

You shrugged “Must be one of those secret Potter family tricks,” you said with a shrug, and then smiled when you concluded it would be the perfect time to tease your friend “I’m sure if you married Potter your in-laws would be more than happy to tell you all about them.” 

Lily gave you a reproachful look, but Marlene added to the conversation “It’d be great, that way they could get back the potion-making talent they lost on with James.” 

“James isn’t bad at potions!” She said with a shrug, not quite thinking before she spoke.

Your smile grew “Really? Tell us all about your boy’s talents.” 

“He’s not my boy.” 

“Pretty sure he is, at least in his point of view,” added Tom as he mixed some things in his cauldron. 

“Why don’t you guys tease (Y/N) with Sirius instead?” Lily said as she chopped some of her ingredients with a bit of a frown. 

“They’re dating already, what is there to tease them about?” Mary said with a shrug, “If you want us to stop teasing you, you should just date Potter.” 

You all laughed at that, but no one continued to tease poor Lily any further. As you went back to your table next to Marlene, you realized she was already mixing stuff in her cauldron. You figured most of your friends would be done with their potions before your next meal, so you decided to concentrate on your brew. 

Getting the extract from the glow weed, was the most complicated part since it required an intricate spell and some special distillation skills, but you managed to do it after just a couple of tries. Once that was done, the rest of the potion was actually pretty simple, all you had to do was add the ingredients at the right time and mix according to the instructions. When you finished, you had a cauldron filled with glow potion, it had a golden colour, slightly bright, almost as if there was some light source hidden in the inside of it. You took out the crystal bottles you’d gotten for today and used a ladle to slowly pour the liquid onto them, placing some of the potion in a small bottle with a dropper, and handed it over to your friends so they could add their drops on the potions they’d made.

When you were done, everyone was pleased with their own potions, especially Tom, who had somehow managed to finish his mystery potion without anyone else figuring out what he was making, he placed it on a small crystal bottle with a golden cap and a transparent liquid. You all walked back to the dorms together and divided the little vials amongst Beth and your room. She wasn’t all that close with her roommates, so she took smaller, personal-sized potions while your room got the bigger vials and flasks. Once you placed your small bottle on your trunk, next to some of the other stuff you’d already prepared for your costume, you walked downstairs to wait for the girls in the common room, you grabbed the book Nina had lent you and sat on the couch. Tom came down and plopped down beside you minutes later. 

“What are you reading?” He asked taking the book from your hands and reading the back cover “A spicy werewolf novel?” 

“It was recommended.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” he said with a bit of a cheeky smile and started flipping through the pages, stopping in on a page with a drawing of a shirtless man and eyeing it “Damn, he could rile me.” You raised an eyebrow, “Just look at him!” 

You laughed at that “Didn’t know you liked boys.” 

He shook his head “It’s not that I like them,” he said “I just don’t care if they’re boys, or girls, or anything…” 

You nodded, thinking about it for a second “I think I don’t either.” 

He gave you his signature bright smile and placed his arm over your shoulder, bringing you slightly closer to him “Welcome to the club!”

“Are there many others like us in the school?” 

“You’d be surprised, most of them hide it quite well though, you wouldn’t expect it, you know a few, but it’s not for me to tell. We Brits are pretty open-minded you see.” 

You nodded, “Definitely better than in my old school.” 

When the girls finally came downstairs you all walked out of the common room together, and you stayed with them until you had to split ways since they’d taken a different extracurricular. You walked half of the way to your classroom when you spotted Remus walking by himself, who also walked towards the classroom, so you picked up your pace and caught up with him “Nice to see you again, Rem!” You told him with a smile. 

“How did potion making go?” He asked politely. 

“Excellent, my costume is almost ready!” 

“You’re really going big with it, aren’t you?” He asked, raising one of his eyebrows.

You nodded “It’s my first Halloween at Hogwarts, you guys have set the bar pretty high according to Marlene, I’ve gotta match those high standards.” 

“She said that?” 

You nodded “She told me all about your costumes from previous years, how last Halloween you dressed up as the teachers, McGonagall was mortified when she saw Prongs with an exact replica of her green robes.” 

Remus laughed, remembering that moment “Yeah, she did.” 

“What about you? What are you dressing as this year?” 

He sighed, “Frankly, I don’t have a plan yet, last year was Pads’ idea, and we all followed through, but this year he had a pretty rough summer break and didn’t plan any group costumes, we’re all making our own.” 

“I think you should be a pirate!” You told him simply. 

“A pirate?” 

“You’ve got the sexy pirate vibe going on already, why not?” You asked with a shrug. 

“Sexy pirate vibe?” He asked in disbelief. 

You nodded “Ask anyone, they’ll confirm it.” 

“Confirm what?” James asked as he caught up with the two of you 

“That Remus looks like a sexy pirate.” 

James raised his eyebrows at your words, looking a little impressed, and then turned to his friend “Hmmm…. Yeah, I see it.” 

“See? Told you! It was literally the first impression I got from you.” 

“When I went to pick you up at Dumbledore’s office?” He asked, rather confused.

You shook your head “No! When we you bumped into me at the station. I saw you, and instantly came flashbacks of those spicy novels with shirtless men on the cover.” 

When James heard it, he laughed like a madman, you were right, Moony definitely had the type. “Yours would have you, holding onto the ship’s mast with a barely buttoned white shirt, and the title would be something like The Beast Within,” James said in between laughs. 

Remus gave James a warning look, but you were too occupied gasping at James’ boldness “Are you implying Remus is a beast in bed, Merlin! James, I did not expect you to be cheating on Lily with your best friend!” 

Now it was Remus’ turn to laugh, James’ dumb joke had turned on him “Yeah James, please explain how you’d know anything about my nightly activities… I could be a gentle lover for all you know.” 

“I don’t know about that,” you teased “You do give off the beast in bed vibe.” 

Remus gasped “I’m the chillest of the group.” 

You nodded “It’s always the quiet ones,” you said with an air of mystery. 

When you arrived at the classroom, the three of you struggled to gain back composure and to calm down after the fit of laughter you’d caused each other. Remus went to sit beside Sirius, the first thing he did, was ask him what they were all laughing about, and after being told the story he ended up agreeing with you on two of the things said, First: Remus had to dress as a pirate now, there was no other option. Second: Moony would definitely be a beast in bed. 

Saturday came and went, this time you actually got to go to Hogsmeade for the first time, even if it was more of a business run than a pleasure one, the boys were so focused on getting all the stuff for the party ready that you barely even saw Sirius while you were in town. You spend most of the day with the girls, jumping from shop to shop to get some of the last bits you needed for everyone’s costume. Mary was going to go the easy route, she decided she’d dress as a kitten, her plan was to grab some cat ears and a tail, and enchant them to move like those of a real cat would. 

Marlene was going to do a matching costume with Holden, they’d both go as Sonny and Cher from the video “I Got You Babe”. Marlene had even gotten her hands on a long black wig and a small fur coat. And Holden had actually bought a hair-lengthening potion to match the look. You were certain the two of them would look incredible in their outfits. Beth was going to dress as an astronaut since she was very passionate about space exploration and some of the newer muggle technology advancements. Tom was going to dress up as a vampire and had convinced you to help him charm his canines to look like fangs.

James tried to persuade Lily to do a couple’s costume with him, but she refused every single time he asked, in the end, she decided she’d go as Ophelia, from Hamlet. When James found out he asked Remus to give him a short summary of the story and decided he’d be dressing up as Hamlet, to match with Lily even if she wasn’t expecting it. You honestly considered warning him against it, but he seemed so hopeful and they would look absolutely adorable in the photos so you decided against it. Peter said he’d dress as Edmund Pevensie, from  "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” a book he had read when he took the muggle literature with Remus in 4th year, he’d convinced Teddy Hawthorn to dress as Peter, Annabeth Doxon to be Susan and a girl who you hadn’t met yet to be Lucy.  

Since you didn’t tell Sirius what you were dressing as, he decided he wouldn’t tell you either, so both of your costumes would be a surprise to each other. 

Unfortunately, your visit to Hogsmeade was so hectic, like everyone else’s, that you didn’t even have time to visit any of the restaurants your friends always talked about, you did see the Three Broomsticks from afar, it seemed like a nice and cozy little pub, very English in its type. Tom mentioned they made mean Beef Pasties and even if you weren’t quite sure they were, the way he described them them made them seem utterly delicious. He promised to treat you to some next time you went to Hogsmeade. 

By Sunday, you were all spent, dedicating a good deal of the day to work on your costumes, Hagrid had gifted some pumpkins to Peter and you were carving along with him and Remus in the common room, Beth was gluing some patches to her astronaut costume and Lily worked on adding some details to her dress. James and Sirius were up in their dorm, since James had to work on his secret Hamlet costume, and Sirius on his own secret costume. 

“How does it look,” you said as you turned around your pumpkin for Peter to see it.

He winced when he saw it, but was too nice to say anything negative about it “It’s… a little wonky, it… uh… works with the Halloween theme?” 

You laughed in response and pulled out the book of practical spells Nina had lent you, being sure there had to be something useful there. 

“Want some help?” Remus asked politely, taking your pumpkin and using a small blade to straighten some of your cuts. 

You placed a hand over his shoulders and thanked him before going back to the book, still trying to find a useful spell, but there wasn’t exactly a Halloween section on the index. When you turned back to look at your pumpkin, Remus had already finished up refining it and it looked incredible.

“That’s… Remus, you’re incredible with your hands!” 

“That’s what she said,” Peter said, almost automatically. 

You gasped “Peter!” you said as a little smile drew from your lips. He looked up from his pumpkin mortified, you giggled “Didn’t know you had it in you to make dirty jokes.” 

“You do remember I literally sleep in the same room that Sirius, right? The ability just rubs into me,” he told you with a little smile. You laughed along with Remus. 

You heard some steps from behind and finally saw both Sirius and James walk down the stairs, Sirius casually leaned closer to you and placed a fast kiss on your lips before turning to Moony. You realized he had some glitter on his hair and passed your hand over it to shake it off as he spoke “Ready to go Moons? Pete?” 

Remus checked his watch, and nodded “Yeah, I should probably get going, I’ll see you guys there?”

Peter nodded, “I’ll stay here for a couple minutes more, I want to finish this pumpkin, but I’ll be there.” 

“Excellent, it’s settled then.” 

Sirius finally turned to you, since you were still fluffing his hair “You done love?” 

You shook your head “haven’t seen you much this weekend,” you said with a pout, not quite wanting to take your hands off his head. 

He smiled and tilted his head just a little “Don’t tempt me, I’ll end up staying.” 

You laughed at that, but you knew how important the marauder’s jokes were, so you shook your head “Go ahead trouble, I’ll see you at divinations, yeah?” 

He gave you a look and shrugged with a smile on his face, before giving you a wink and running out behind Peter and James, who had already walked out of the portrait. 

“You’re not planning to skip divinations, are you?” You asked Peter, who gave you an awkward smile in reply. 

“And Remus just said yes?” 

Peter seemed a little nervous at your question, but you didn’t quite understand why he would be “We…. Um— It’s very important business.” 

You frowned, a little unconvinced but nodded, deciding not to question him further, “Ok then, I’ll cover for you lot. I’ll tell Spellman you ate something at Hogsmeade yesterday and that you’re feeling dreadful or something.” 

Peter finally met your gaze “You’d do that for us?” 

“Of course I would!” You said, as if it was obvious “You’re my friends, I’d cover for you any day.” 

Peter smiled “You’re the best!” 

You and Peter cleaned the table and placed the pumpkins near the window before he left. Once he was gone you moved closer to the girls, both Beth and Lily were still working on their costumes, “Need any help?” You asked politely. 

Lily shook her head, but Beth responded “Yeah, can you pass me some of those patches please.” She said as she pointed at the table filled with patches, you carefully picked them up and handed them over. Letting yourself fall on the couch once you were done. You picked up the book Nina had lent you, the spicy novel this time, and finally started to read through it. You’d actually enchanted the cover since clearly it called everyone’s attention with the original one. Now it looked like a copy of a regular old spell book.

“Uh… I’m gonna feel bad if you keep studying while I’m working on a costume.” Lily Pouted from her place on the floor. 

You chuckled “I’m not actually studying though, It’s a spicy romance book Nina lent me, the cover was a bit extra, so I charmed it.” 

Lily gasped, with a smile drawing on her lips as she did. “You sly fox!” 

You smiled at that, laughing as you said “Oh… trust me, you’ve got no idea.” 

“And.. Is it actually spicy?” Beth asked, not looking up from her costume.

You shrugged, “Not sure, haven’t even met the main love interest so far, I’m barely starting the book. But I’ll tell you if it’s good.” You told her before going back to read. Every now and then they would ask you for small favors like holding the fabric for a second or passing something that was closer to you than it was to them. It was nice to just chill with the two redheads for a while. 

After some time Mary and Marlene came from the stairs, you pulled your head from the book and turned to the girls “Is it already time for class?” You asked, surprised.

Mary nodded “9:30, you see?”

“We should probably start walking there, in case the stairs decide to be funny today,” you said as you stood up. 

Both Lily and Beth grabbed their costumes and carefully sat them over a table, you wrote a small note and placed it over them, so that other Gryffindors wouldn’t grab them by accident, or after trying to admire them. Once it was done, you started walking towards the class, Tom caught up with you halfway there, and you all arrived at the astronomy tower with a couple of minutes left. Professor Spellman was already there, and a couple of students were pulling out their own telescopes as well, Tom included among them. The moon was already starting to. fade. According to Tom, who wouldn’t shut up about the way the BIood Moon worked “The moon will almost disappear completely before we can see it again, and when we do, it will turn red.” 

He seemed so fascinated by the event you decided not to tell him you’d read all about it on the pages of the divination book Professor Spellman had you read for today’s class. At some point a Hufflepuff boy walked closer to Tom, smiling brightly as he greeted him “How’s it going Tom?” 

Tom smiled back at him “Brilliant, I was just telling (Y/N) here about the mechanisms of the BIood Moon.” 

“Really? I’d love to hear all about it!” The boy said with a smile. 

You gave Tom a look, raising an eyebrow, he just smiled and winked in return, “Right! I’m sure Tom will know lots about it, I think Marlene’s calling me. See you boys around!” You said, giving Tom a knowing look, and letting the two boys flirt by themselves. 

You were about to walk towards Marlene, when you heard the same howls from the time when you’d gone to the greenhouses with Lily, a lot further away this time, but the same nonetheless. So instead, you turned around and walked to the window closest to the sound. When you reached, you leaned over the edge just a little, to try and see better, but there was nothing but an endless sea of trees, wherever the things making the sound were, they must have been very deep inside the dark forest. Then you felt someone push you over the balcony violently, just to pull you back again with a vicious grip on your shirt “Careful, you may fall,” you heard Evan’s stupid voice as he pretty much pulled you towards his chest, you could feel his hot breath on your neck, disgusting, you wonder how it was possible that you’d considered him attractive at some point. 

You turned around quickly, forcing him to loosen his grip on your shirt “What the hell Rosier?” You hissed. He was not alone either. Severus was on his side and another boy, who you quickly identified as Mulciber. He was taller  with a tank-like complexion, that contrasted with Rosier’s softer looks as water did with oil. You stood your ground, even if you wanted to step back “Awww… did you have to bring your bodyguards along? Too scared to face lil’ old me by yourself?” You mocked, “Don’t worry, I can take Frankestine and Slimmy on any day of the week.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?” Mulciber said, taking a step forward. 

“Offf, sorry! Guess I should have used a reference a little more keen to your level of knowledge.” 

Evan scoffed, “Do you think it’s a good idea to make fun of him?” He said as he tilted his head, pulling back a little and giving the room a once over “especially without your boyfriends here to protect you.” 

“Please, as if I needed anyone to protect me from you lot. Barty’s fan #1, Lily’s simp and Mr. Big guy” you laughed “you’re joke.” Ok, in hindsight, maybe you were pushing it a bit too hard. But you were not going to let them intimidate you.

Evan grabbed you by the collar and pushed you towards the railing again, you grabbed onto the handle, knuckles white with the force you were using, but you eyed him with a bravery you didn’t know where the hell you’d gotten from. You looked around and smiled, people were crowding up around you “You sure you wanna do that, luv? We’ve got a bit of a crowd here, too many witnesses, right? All though, I’m sure you’d fit in perfectly fine in Azkaban.”  He seemed tempted to drop you, but eventually, he let go and pulled back. You smiled and straightened your uniform “Yeah, I thought so.” 

“This is not over,” he threatened. 

“Bring more henchmen next time,” you mocked with a smile. When he was gone, you turned around to the forest again, taking deep breaths to calm yourself down, and looking at the possible fall you could’ve gotten. It would most certainly be mortal. 

Lily pushed through the crowd to reach you, looking at you filled with worry once she caught up “What the hell were you thinking (Y/N)? All that bravado was gonna be worth for nothing had he actually pushed you.” 

“He wasn’t going to push me.” 

“He’s insane, he could have,” she argued.

“Not in front of so many people.”  You insisted, “Not without stupid Barty Crouch around, he’s the only reason Evan’s got anything against me.”

“That was the only reason,” Lily corrected “You insulted them out in the open for the entire class to hear.” 

“They came pushing me into the railing first. I was not going to cry for help.” 

“Ughhh….” She said exasperated, and then pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, “Just promise me you won’t go facing those assholes by yourself. Please don’t be as stupid as the boys.” 

You sighed and returned the hug “I will not  go chasing after them Lily, I promise.” You said, and you really did not intend to do it. 

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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[swiftieblyth]

Blyth Family:

Oh bother

“Morning love,” Tom smiled, wrapping his arms around you, hands in your bump as the baby kicked.

“Morning.” You mumbled.

“Did she keep you up all night again?” Tom asked as you tried to turn around.

After a lot of moaning and groaning you were able to turn around with the help from Tom.

“Yes.” You sighed. “Tommy, I love her so much, but I just can’t wait for her to be out.”

“I know,” Tom cooed, wiping a tear away. “I know honey. What can I do for you?”

“Grow arms so massage my whole body.”

“Unfortunately I can’t do that darling.”

“I wish you could.” You pouted. “Could you at least hold the bump for a bit? My back is killing me, and it just hurts.”

“Of course my love. I would love to hold two out of the three of my favorite girls.” He smiled, helping you move to where he could hold you.

He lifted the bump and you immediately let out a moan of satisfaction leaning back into him.

“That better?” He asked, kissing your head.

“Much,” you smiled, running your arms around your very swollen stomach, watching the little hands and feet pop out. “Hey, sweet girl.”

“Oh, hi princess.” Tom smiled, as the baby kicked where his hand was. “Did you keep Mummy up all night again Miss. McKinley? Well, that’s fine for now. But once Mummy brings you into this world, I’m going to be the one you wake up and keep up all night okay, little Miky?”

“I love you.” I cried.

“I love you more, darling. Are you excited to work on the nursery today?”

“I’m so excited!”

💜💜💜

“How does this look, darling?” Tom asked, putting up a picture as you were putting up some Winnie the Pooh stuffies.

“It looks amazing, Tommy,” you smiled, running a hand over your stomach. "Do you think she'll like it?"

Tom looked over and saw the worried look on your face, and quickly made his way over to you, cupping your face in his giant hands. "She will. She's going to love it."

"You're right." You breathed, resting your head on his. "I don't know why I wouldn't think she would."

"It's okay, it's okay, my love." Tom explained, wiping a tear away and putting his hand on your bump, feeling his daughter. "How about you sit down my love."

"Okay," you sighed. "My feet do hurt. Will you give me some clothes so I can organize it?"

"Of course, darling." He smiled, kissing your lips, then moving his hands to help you walk, and sit down on the Winnie the Pooh rocking chair.

"Oh," you let out a few minutes later, fallowed by some other noises. "Oh, sweet girl," you let out as you felt her hiccuping.

"What is it, my love," Tom asked, rushing over to you, placing his hands on your stomach and feeling her as well.

"She has the hiccups."

"Oh, poor girl." Tom let out, putting his hand on the bump and feeling his daughter. "That doesn't seem very comfortable for either of you."

"It's not." You pouted.

"What is it?"

"I can't imagine how much this doesn't feel good to her. The poor girl, Tommy."

"It's okay. It's okay, they'll pass. Just like when you and I get them. They’re uncomfortable while they last, but they will pass.” He cooed, kissing your head, making you hum. “How’s the clothes coming along?”

“Good! I think I found what her first outfit should be!”

“Yeah? What is that, my love?”

“This one!” You smiled, showing him the outfit. “Do you like it?”

“I live it, darling! Do you want to fold it up and put it in our bags?”

“Yes! Do you think she’ll like it?”

“She will! And she’ll look adorable in it.”

💜💜💜

As Tom was making you both lunch, you were sitting on the couch eating pickles and peanut butter, when Lady jumped up on the couch and rested her front paws on your bump, making your heart melt as she smelled the area the baby kicked.

"Hi, my little Lady," you smiled, scooping her up in your arms. "Are you excited to meet your baby sister?" You asked as she licked your face. "Yeah? Mummy and Daddy are too."

"We are indeed." Tom smiled, walking in and sitting next to you. "How are my favorite girls doing?"

"We're good, right Lady?" You asked, looking down at your little Lady who was making her way to her dad.

"Good." Tom smiled, as he wrapped one arm around your waist, and the other holding Lady up to his chest. "I love my three girls so much."

"And we love you. So much, my darling." You smiled, leaning on his chest. "How much longer on lunch? I'm starving."

"Not too much longer, honey. It's just got to sit for a bit and cool off. Don't want it to be to hot for our little Miky."

"You spoil her so much already." You smiled, looking up at him.

"I spoil all three of my girls." He replied, kissing your head.

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[madamealys]

Imagine you are Tom Glynn Carney’s closest friend. In fact… too close.

(21+)

***

You are having a relatively complicated day when he calls you.

“Hey, Y/N! Guess what? I’m gonna take the Empire State!”

Aware of his sudden escalating fame, you giggle at his excitement, happy for sharing it—you’ve always encouraged him to pursuit the path of acting, always stood there for him. What’s best of doing your part is that Tom not only acknowledges it, but is thankful for it.

Somehow this warms your heart and makes you forget the clouds that were forming above your head.

“No kidding!! Tell me all about it!”

“I will show you for I was allowed to take someone with me and this someone is you!”

Tom knows how you will react: a stunned silence will be followed by an overjoyed cry out before you are listing every reason why he should choose someone else. Of course there will be some small argument over it, and he could foresee how bright your smile will be when he wins you over it.

The sight itself of your blush and smile makes his heart skip a beat. A perception that rises an alert by his reason, but he doesn’t pay mind to it. Not now anyways.

And it occurs as predicted, which makes him smile.

I’m glad you’re still the same after all those years, Y/N.

“I don’t care. I’m picking you up tonight, pack your things already.”

Your day couldn’t get any better, could it?

***

“We are leaving early tomorrow”, says he when picking you up and driving you to his place. “To prevent you to get late, I’m kidnapping you.”

You laugh quietly at his teasing.

“I don’t get late this often.”

“For a British woman, you do get quite late in many places.”

“I am not late, people of my surroundings tend unfortunately to arrive too early”, you snap back, pleased to make him chuckle.

“Right. You keep telling yourself that, Y/Nickname.”

Tom smiles at you before finally parking his car. You gladly hear all that he has to say, genuinely listening—a trait that he always compared to his former girlfriends, who never seemed interested in catch up with him—until he stops talking.

“You are too quiet again”, Tom notices just as you two walk in his grand, magnificent house.

“I am not”, you try not to give in, but your tone—too high—breaks your intention.

Tom holds your wrist—and it’s here that this touch, former friendly, shows other colors, previously unknown to both of you—and makes you turn at him. You hate how his eyes, so deep and vivid, dive right into yours, drinking into your soul, denuding it crudely.

Most of all, what you hate about the intensity of his gaze is the incapacity of denying him anything. What he asks, you give. You know that.

Oh, you know that.

Fuck.

“What happened, Y/Nickname? I know how supportive you are, but I can tell you’ve been distant this time.”

Saying so, stroking his thumb around your wrist, you are pulled onto him, like the Earth when it’s forced to gravitate around the sun.

Tom knows by your body language that he has so much power over you—he maybe has always known this, but never intended to explore it, for fearful he was in discovering that he may not feel it back, in order to ruin the sacred friendship you two have.

But when gazing at you, he comes to know there is so much more than surface shows. When reading this unspoken pain behind your y/c eyes, he wants to grip your face and protect you at all costs, he wants to devour your lips, he wants to give you the world.

He wants to hear his name out of your holy mouth as he does unspeakable things to you.

Oh. Damned be I.

“Well?”, he swallows his unholy thoughts, burying them alive. “Do you not think I know not my dearest and closest friend after all these years?”

“I do not intend to trouble you, is all”, you say, detesting how weak and meek you sound when you are so easily against him. “You’re having such a great time.”

“I will not have a great time when you’re like this”, he protests with a smile on his lips, too acutely aware of the effects his presence has on you. “I’m all ears, Y/Nickname. Don’t hide away from me.”

You tilt your head, letting him pull a lock of your hair that stubbornly fell over your forehead behind your ear. And then… you tell him your frustrations at work, how little valued you feel by others—your family included.

Tom listens, and not only that but he prepares some tea for both of you. There is this intimacy you’ve never had with another… and when looking into his eyes, you realize that he’s your home.

But why admitting it to yourself when you’ve shielded it behind your pride all of those years?

“Feeling better now?”, he asks you at last. How suddenly you two are cuddling on the couch?

“I am, thank you. You’ve always been a great listener”, you smile at him, not minding the gravity drawing one to the other.

Fingers intertwine, playfully at first. But electric waves are inevitably felt.

“The same can be said of you”, he too smiles, pleased to spot a faint blush rising in your cheeks. He wants to stroke your face, but Tom lacks the bold moves.

One gazes to the other, an invitation is silently posed. But who is yet to give the first steps? So suddenly aware of this unspoken and unadmitted tension, you opt to break it by giving an excuse to retire.

Which cools the spark, you know. But for how long?

Tom sighs and opts to keep to himself, even if this uncertainty drives him mad on the inside.

How long, though? For how long?

A question he is yet to fear the answer.

***

“It’s a beautiful view!”, you tell him later that day, when he takes you back to the hotel with his cast friends.

This day you and Tom, alongside dearly Olivia, Phia and Ewan and other members of the crew of “House of the Dragon”, have climbed to Empire State. Though you tried to be discreet, to your embarrassment Tom ensured you not to be excluded and suddenly you and Olivia became good friends, with each exchanging the contact to the other.

You are still wearing a green—“how thought of you to dress accordingly”, so Tom teased you when seeing you ready, to which you teased him back: “all for my favourite king!, which in turn got him red much to your delight—long gown with reinforces your curves, with your hair loose and the emerald jewelry Tom gifted you on your last birthday, by the time you and him got to the hotel bedroom.

Aegon had insisted that you two shared it—with him sleeping on the couch against your protests—so here you two are.

“Indeed it is”, he agrees, sounding more tired than his bubbly countenance allows him to show. “Very remarkable indeed.”

“You look exhausted”, you say, removing your earrings and necklace before coming at him. “Should you get some rest, T.”

He gives you one kind of glance that makes you mewl.

“You are really gorgeous, Y/N.” And then he stands. For a moment you hope for it. But… “I need a shower, truly.”

As he goes to the bathroom, you know you cannot conceal the disappointment that Tom spots. But what then?

What then? You ask yourself, sad somewhat.

***

“Y/N”, you hear him call you.

It’s dark, lights are out, and after that awkward moment where delights turned to dust with each following to each side, everyone seems to content in silently agree to sleep under the pretense of exhaustion to disguise this unspoken tension.

“Are you awake?”

Part of you wishes to pretend to be asleep. You know you are tired, it really has been a long day, but…

“Yes.”

A brief moment of silence, interrupted by his footsteps. You don’t mind him joining your side—it’s something you’ve always insisted if you’d properly shared the bed with a cushion in between—but you know there’s an anxiety in how he moves to the bed you are that hasn’t been detected before.

Tom slides to your side, thinking the same, perceiving the growing climax of this unbearable tension. He turns the light of the lamp, which soon dissipates part of the darkness that involves you two.

Tension rises when you notice he’s shirtless, the way his short hair falls, his muscles. The proximity makes you warm… specially in between your legs, a feeling you haven’t felt for a long while.

“Y/N. I was rude to you, I’m sorry”, he says, sounding desperate.

You are on your elbow, not minding the nightgown that is nearly showing off unprotected nipples. Such a sight makes Tom sigh deeply, but he keeps sinful thoughts to himself.

Though you may have noticed a naughty glimpse behind his eyes that only makes you feel unthinkable things. And may as well make you incline so a nipple purpose is out.

Tom knows he should not look, but how can he ignore the pink, hardened nipple that is so easily out of the cloth that should keep it of his sight? How can he not admire the swell of your right breast under this light, making visible the object of his desire? Is it useful to struggle with the nights he slept with other women thinking of you?

Nevertheless he holds back his lust when you say:

“Rude? How so?”

Looking into your eyes, he says:

“I struggle in vain to hold back my sentiments for you. Over the years I’ve realized that friendship is not suffice to placate the yearnings of my heart. Your happiness is mine as is otherwise. I want to make you happy, I want to be the reason of your daily smiles. I know this isn’t the most appropriate form to say this, but fuck… I love you, Y/N Y/LN.”

You pale for a moment. Heart races, you forget how to breathe—this is far more girly like than you, as an adult woman, expect. Tom for a moment fears that he’s misinterpreted all of this, until you move forward and cup his face with both hands.

“I love you, Tom Glynn-Carney. I always have and I always will.”

His face brightens upon hearing these words. Three little words that impact a great deal his well being. There is little else to say other than doing what both of you wanted to have it done for a long while now.

In this poorly illuminated room he kisses you, and gladly give in. What it starts as a slow kiss soon evolves to a passionate one. It’s enough to spark that repressed fire.

As your tongue syncs with his, perfectly paired in the same rhythm, you pull Tom over you, welcoming him with your legs. It doesn’t really help your case that his skillful hands soon lift your nightgown, slowly to your waist, gripping your hips.

But you don’t stay too far behind, taking hold of his hair before sliding your hands to his shoulders, thanking the divine for the shirt he’s not wearing. As you dig your fingers against his skin, smirking as he hisses under his breath as a result, he parts the kiss to dive against your neck.

For every built tension is finally dissolved when his hands engulf your frame, slowly lifting higher your nightgown until he suddenly stops what he’s doing.

“Tom!”, you don’t hesitate in protest.

“What?”, he gives you a mischievous look before tilting his head with a completely innocent aura. “I was just wondering if you are comfortable with where this is going.”

“Well, yes I am”, you say as-a-matter-of-factly. “I appreciate your concerns, but you’d know by now if I wasn’t ok with this.”

To ensure you mean every word, you make sure to lock him with your legs and swipe positions.

Tom gives you the look of a devoted lover that not only makes you dripping wetter—if possible—but encourages you to be bolder.

“Even so…”

Whatever he is about to say dies in silence when you remove your nightgown and let him drink the view of your bare breasts pouncing lightly as you rub yourself over his hardened cock.

“This is better than in my wildest dreams”, he mumbles in between hot shortened breaths.

You lean to kiss his lips for a few moments before sliding your tongue to his neck. In the meantime, your eager hands play with his hair, gently moving to his neck and slowly going downwards.

Tom closes his eyes, letting you have the control this time, struggling to keep his arousal in check though his bone is making him burn inside.

It doesn’t help his case when your fingertips get it delicately only to wrap around it.

“Merciful be Heavens”, he groans, already pumping into your palm.

You take your time, running your painfully hard nipples against his skin, tasting his sweat with your tongue. Playing with his neck and jawline makes you hornier—if possible: hearing his ache for you brings such a naughty side of you unknown to any other men.

“Yes, my love”, you bite down his lip. And for a moment your eyes meet in a longing gaze. “Is it good?”

“Fuck yes. You do it so fucking well.”

He throws his head back, eyelashes barely closing as you keep doing what you’re doing. You love to have him moaning, responding so perfectly to your efforts in making him feel good.

You know you want more. In other circumstances you’d scowl at yourself for these impure thoughts, sinful desires, but this is hardly the time for doing so.

You feel so good in giving what he needs that you barely recall yours. And when you go down his belly, Tom gently holds your hair, playing with your locks.

“Babe, you don’t have to do this.”

When you look up, he sees a mischievous glint never before met in such pure eyes of yours.

“Oh honey, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

When you finally replace your hands with your tongue, Tom is abruptly taken to Heaven. Every night he touched himself thinking of you is nothing compared to what you do, fulfilling his naughty dreams he often had about you.

As he pumps into your mouth, his mind goes into blank and brought into nothingness, he slips to an exquisite kind of joy. And you do your best, enjoying it to the point of touching yourself too in the process.

As he sees you enjoying doing it, eventually though… Tom knows that feeling too damn well. He’s about to…

“FUCK!”

You know he doesn’t plan to jerk in you, but you don’t flee from the task. You engulf it all, drinking it. As you sit over it, not minding the risks it may have by doing so, you lick your lips.

“You taste so good, Tom Glynn Carney.”

He eyes you like a hunter. And so suddenly you become his prey. For you are now under his desperate lips, his savage kiss destroying you all the whilst his hands cup your breasts, there staying for a while as you begin to moan.

“You will be rewarded for your devotion, my love”, he whispers against your ear, smirking pleasantly when spotting how shivering you are under his wording.

His lips burn you like fire, but you are yet to get burnt. Tom is patient, he wants to see every bit of you reacting to his command. He kisses you slowly, his tongue licking your skin in his own pace.

But when going to your chest, he says:

“I’ve always noticed your beautiful, rosy, round breasts. And often wondered what’d be like to take each nipple under my mouth”, the actor smirks when you blush. “I’ve always lusted after you, love. This shouldn’t be surprising.”

His eyes are locking with yours as he engulfs his tongue around your nipple, pleased to finding you moaning, louder each time he sucks it. Then his hand finds way to your feminine core only to be pleasantly surprised by how wet you are.

“I’ve always thought of you in the same way”, you say, messing with the sheets. “God, I’m in Heaven. Oh babe!”

Tom likes how you sing out his name, how loud you are, how wet his fingers are. He likes to taste your nipples under his tongue, aware of how much you want him taking his time there, which he does.

But to him, seeing you reaching your climax is a beautiful view his minds captures it in a mental photography. And he wants you so bad…

As he arches his back, this is the very moment he knows when to slide his cock in you, just as you are cumming he pumps in.

“OH LORD!”

Tom chuckles before letting a groan as he begins to fuck you nice and slow. Domineering you in a gentleman manner, he pins your hands above your head and hits your uterus intensely.

“Come, babe. Let us reach paradise together, shall we?”, he says quite breathless before wrapping a hand around your neck, sliding it then to your breast.

Two bodies lock as one. This is lust no more, but the consuming of long repressed flames. Sounds echo in the room as you and him find pleasure together.

When he slows down his pace, he cups your facd and says:

“I fucking love you, Y/N. You will be my wife one day, this I swear.”

Your reasonable self, experienced somehow by now, tells you not to buy this. But it’s not anyone you met. It’s Tom. Your sweet Tom.

Yours to behold and to love.

To care and cherish.

Yours alone.

“I love you, husband.”

And who knew in this night a solemn vow was made… only to be fulfilled in a few more months?

[ofstoriesandstardust]

but this is getting good now (j.h.s.)

a/n: i have slowly but surely been working on this and I have to say, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out

summary: Almost and assumptions, until there is nothing but proof.

second star to the right (and straight on 'til morning) masterlist

folks who wanted to be tagged: @memeorydotcom @djs8891

warnings: insecurities, alcohol but everyone is of age, kissing

word count: 4k

You sigh, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair.

“Do you really want my honest opinion?”

His eyes are a cautious hopeful as he bites his bottom lip. “…Yes?”

“Jake, this is shit.”

He groans, sliding down in his chair. “I know.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment as you both look at the paper, contemplating how to not make it shit.

“Hey, do you uh, do you wanna-”

Jake never finishes his sentence as the door to the Center opens, Bradley popping his head in. “Hey, you done?”

You miss the sour look that settles on Jake’s face at the sight of him as your eyes flicker over the clock. “Another half an hour?”

He groans, stumbling into the room. “I’m stealing candy then.”

You shake your head, a smile growing on your face. “Go right ahead.”

“Dude, Seresin, you practically live here.” Bradley says through a mouthful of M&Ms. You roll your eyes at the words, despite the nugget of truth in them. 

Over the course of the last few weeks, Jake had spent more time in the Center than not, bringing multiple drafts of any and every assignment to you. It’d gotten to the point that if any of Jake’s buddies from the football team needed him, they’d come looking for him in the Center before they checked the field. 

“Shut up Bradshaw.” Jake says, eyes trained on his computer. 

Bradley shrugs. “Just saying. Do you want to come over for dinner on Sunday? Mom’s asking about you.”

It takes you a minute to realize Bradley is talking to you and you glance over at him. “Yeah, I guess. Jake, you can not cite Wikipedia.”

He groans again. “It was the only thing I could find!”

“This is our mid-term Jake. This is important.” 

-

“Are you really doing homework on a Sunday?” Nick says, coming into the kitchen, arms full of groceries. 

“This thesis isn’t going to finish itself, unfortunately.” You mutter, deleting a sentence on the screen. Bradley picks up one of the articles you have laid out on the Bradshaw’s kitchen island, squinting at the title. 

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” You groan, dropping your pen to press the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I don’t know and I think Jeff is trying to kill me.”

“You know what would make you feel better?”

“What?”

He lets out a little laugh, trying to contain his teasing grin. “Making out with your new football buddy.”

You narrow your eyes, taking the article out of his hands. “Would you cut that shit out? Jake doesn’t like me like that. I’m just his tutor.”

Bradley scoffs. “Yeah, sure, okay.”

“I’m being serious!”

“So am I!” Bradley protests. “Seresin has like… the fattest crush on you.”

“Shut up, Bradshaw.” You mutter, turning your eyes back to the computer. 

Tom lets out a throaty laugh, prompting you to raise your head to catch Pete’s pained look.

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Pete?” Carole teases.

He gives a jerky shake of his head. “Nope. Nothing. I know nothing.”

The adults let out a round of laughter as Bradley pulls out the chair next to you, collecting some of your articles. 

“I saw your Mom at the store with Dad.”

You pause, the cursor on the screen blinking back at you. His words are soft, unable to be heard by the adults who have since moved on in the conversation.

“Apparently, she’s got a boyfriend.” He mutters.

“Good for her.” 

“When’s the last time you talked to her?”

You give a shrug of your shoulders. “Don’t remember honestly.”

He sighs. “Maybe it’s for the best. She didn’t have anything nice to say.”

“She never does.”

-

Jake sighs three separate times before Javy shuts the lid of his laptop, a bit aggressively. 

“Alright, I’ll bite. What is up?” 

“I fucking hate that guy.” Jake says with a shake of his head, looking back down at his statistics notebook. 

“Who?” 

“Stupid curly hair. Stupid charming smile. Stupid baseball player.” 

“Who, Jacob? Who?” 

“You know Bradley Bradshaw?” 

Javy raises his eyebrow, unimpressed. “‘Course I know Brad, he’s one of Nat’s best friends.” 

“Yeah, well he’s a fucking asshole and I hate him.” 

“What the hell did he ever do to you?” 

Jake can’t bring himself to say anything, scribbling angrily in the margins of his notebook. Unfortunately, his best friend knows him too well. 

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your pretty tutor you seem to be spending a lot of time with lately… would it?” 

He can hear the smirk in Javy’s voice, even without looking at the boy. 

“Fuck off, Machado.” He says with a groan, leaning back in the booth as he crosses his arms. He waits a beat, Javy looking at him expectantly before crumbling. “Can you blame me Javy? He fucking picks her up after all her shifts, has Sunday dinners with her… I fucking hate him for getting her before I even had a chance.” 

“They’re not… they’re not dating, you know that right?”

Jake snorts. “Save my pride Javy.” 

“No, no I’m serious, they aren’t.” He says with a shake of his head. “She lives next door to Bradley. Nat said they went to high school together and grew up across the street from him or something. That’s why she goes over there sometimes.” 

“Huh.” 

He’s incapable of saying anything else, mentally reviewing all the interactions he’s seen you have with Bradshaw. They’d never been more than platonic, but he would admit that Bradshaw already pissed him off enough as it was and his jealosuy flared whenever you were around him. 

“You should just ask her out on a date man, you clearly have a thing for her.” Javy says, shaking his head as he types out numbers into his calculator. 

“I can’t do that.” He says with such certainty Javy has to pause and take a deep breath through his nose. 

“And why not?” 

“Because there’s no way in hell she’d say yes.” 

Javy lets out a chuckle, looking up at him. “You’ve never had any problems before now.” 

“This is different.” Jake hisses. “She’s really kind, and sweet, and smart, and I- she’s so far out of my league.” 

Javy rolls his eyes. “Suit yourself Seresin. But don’t come moaning and moping to me about it. You dug this hole for yourself..” The words carry no real weight, both knopwing Javy would always listen. “What did you get for number 8?” 

-

“Thought you’d be on a beach somewhere.”

You look up, catching sight of Jake. “Hey.”

“What’re you doing in the library over fall break? Shouldn’t you be somewhere tropical with your phone turned off?”

“I have Pete’s paper I have to finish. He gave me an extension and I’m pushing my extension deadline as it stands.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t done?”

You shake your head. “Almost though. I just have to proofread it and then submit it. Why are you here?”

“Have to return a book I used for our mid-term. Plus, I was already here for an extra weight lifting session, so thought I’d come by.”

It’s the first time you take a minute to recognize what Jake is wearing. He’s a bit sweaty, muscle tank damp. 

Even then, you can help but eye the way his biceps look, imagining the way he must’ve looked while- 

No.

You shake your head, clearing the thought as you meet his eye again. 

“Well, it was good to see you Jake.” You say with a quick smile, looking back to your computer. 

It was beyond inappropriate to think of someone you tutored like that. Absolutely not. 

“Hey, uh…”

You look back up to him, watching him fiddle with his gym bag. 

“Do you have any plans for the rest of break?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m technically not working but if there’s something you need me to look at, I’m ha-”

“No!” Jake protests quickly. “No, no, no. No, I was going to uh- ask if you wanted to do something.”

You blink at him. “Yeah, sure I guess I’m free. What do you have in mind?” 

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I, uh, well I kinda need a pumpkin for this carving thing the team is doing. Would you, uh, want to come with me?”

“You… you want me to go to a pumpkin patch with you?” 

“Yeah.”

“I mean… yeah okay.” You say a little dumbfounded.

You weren’t a fool, you knew Jake was attractive. You’d be blind not see it. 

But you knew that you weren’t the girl Jake would be with. You knew it in the raised eyebrows in silent question his teams mates gave him when he said hi to you in the dining hall, knew it in the smirks girls in your History class would give you when Jake started sitting with you. 

You might be Jake’s tutor, and dare you even say friend, but you knew one thing to be true. 

You’d never be Jake’s girl. 

The smile Jake offers you, though, is worth a weeks worth of dirty looks and snide sneers. 

“Great! How does tonight sound? I found a patch about 45 minutes away, has some cute fall stuff we could do if you wanted? I’ll drive.”

“I- yeah.”

You wanted to cringe at the sound of spending hours alone in a pumpkin patch, doing fall activities that you always thought you’d do on a date with someone. 

It hurts in the worst way, feeling like you’re watching a life you could’ve had, had you been someone else.

“See you at 6 then, kid.”

-

You shut the door of Jake’s truck behind you as you both step out on to the farm about half an hour outside of San Diego. The evening air is much cooler than it is in the city, offering a bit of a bite as you wrap your coat around you tighter. 

“Where’d you find this place Jake?” You ask as you take in the cozy environment, the corn maze not too far away, the the apple bobbing and hay rides that are consumed by giggling children. 

“Bradshaw’s Mom told me about it. Apparently, they’ve been coming out here since he was a kid.” 

You nod as Jake rounds the truck, stopping next to you. You’re sure Carole has shown you pictures of baby Bradley, rosy cheesks as Nick stands there, both with grins so wide. 

The pictures had made your heart ache in the way hearing Carole or Nick talk about Bradley’s childhood always had. 

There was so much love and laughter you’d missed out on, so much you never got to have, something you longed for.

Relationships you knew you’d never have with your own parents.

Jake clearing his throat breaks you from your musing, bringing you back to the present. 

“So, what should we do first?” 

-

“I don’t think your pumpkin is big enough.” You say, a giggle laced through your words as the two of you walk (well, really, Jake is more waddling) to sit down. He heaves a sigh as she sets the rather large pumpkin on the hay. 

“I want to win.” He says with a sigh, draping hismelf over the hay bales. 

“What do you win?” You ask, sitting down next to him. 

He opens his eyes, but doesn’t say anything, just watches you. 

“Jake?” He hums, not tearing his eyes away from you. “What do you get if you win?” 

He shrugs. “Nothing too crazy, I hope. Reuben is organizing the whole thing which just makes me more concerned for the losers.” 

“Well, what would you want as a prize?” 

He swallows, eyes gleaming. “Well, I could think of a few things.” 

You raise an eyebrow, feeling your cheeks go warm as you realise just how close Jake is to you.

“I-” 

“Seresin!” Someone hollers, causing both you and Jake to turn.

There’s a few boys standing a bit away, all grinning. And then there’s Bob, one of Natasha’s friends you’ve gotten to know through Bradley. 

Bob serves as an athletic manager for the football team, maybe against his better judgement, given the exasperated look in his eyes as the boys make their way over to where you’re sat with Jake.  

“What’re you doing here, Seresin?” One of the boys asks. 

“Getting a pumpkin for our carving party?” Another inquires. 

Jake coughs, looking over at his pumpkin. “Yeah. Um Kenny, Chad, this is-” 

“Shit, are you on a date dude?” Chad asks, eyes growing wide. 

“No-” Jake amends, a bit too quickly, but Chad keeps talking. 

“Sorry, sorry didn’t mean to interrupt. Don’t let us stop you from letting you hit it-” 

Bob cringes as you close your eyes, cheeks aflame in embarrassment. “Actually, we were jst leaving.” You say abruptly, standing up from the hay. “I’ll meet you back at the truck, okay?” 

“Wait-” Jake protests as Kenny offers up a botched apology, chuckling his way through the statement. 

You reach up, rubbing at your face to make the tingly feeling go away as you blink back hot tears. 

You knew this would happen.

-

You adjust your dress nervously as you ring the doorbell, pack of White Claws in your hand. 

You didn’t even like White Claws but what is one expected to show up to a party with? Nothing?

You aren’t sure if the noise of the doorbell has been heard over the music that’s so loud you can feel it through the porch and are about to ring it again (or maybe give up and hide in your car) when the door opens. 

It’s Jake. 

He gives you a blinding smile, ushering you in the house. “You came!” He shouts over the noise.

You nod, eyes flitting over his costume as your hands become sweaty. “Yeah, I- I uh brought this. Wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to show up empty handed.” 

He smiles again, taking the box from you. “Nice. Nice costume, by the way.” He winks, disappearing into the crowd as you stand there like a deer in headlights. 

There’s a warmth spreading through your cheeks that has nothing to do with the seltzer you’d chugged in your car before ringing Jake’s doorbell.

You spot your friend Maria in a corner, refilling her drink and you begin to push your way through the crowd, each dressed up in a different costume, each wearing less clothes than the last. 

You feel more overdressed than you have in your life and that’s saying something considering how short this dress really is. 

You tug on her arm, catching her attention as she smiles. “Hey-”

“Give me this.” You say, taking the drink out of her hand. “I need to get drunk.”

“What-”

“Jake dressed up as Peter Pan. Maria, what the hell is in this? It smells like gasoline.” You say as you shove the drink back in her hand. She peers in it, blinking like she’s not really sure what was in it either. 

“You wouldn’t have liked it anyways.” She says, before a ghost of a smile appears on her face. “So you and Jake, huh?” 

“Shut up.” You mumble, cheeks going red. “I didn’t mean to. Wendy Darling was what I threw together at the last minute.” 

Jake had texted you at 3:08pm, asking if you were doing anything tonight. 

And you had said no, like a smitten dumbass. 

So here you were, against the protest of your judgement and pile of homework, in a skimpy dress in half-assed attempt at Wendy Darling, in the hopes that Jake might notice you. 

A pipe dream, really. Especially given the fact you and Jake hadn't really talked since that night at the pumpkin patch over fall break. 

“Maria!” You hear Bradley’s voice over the music and you turn just in time to see Bradley squeeze his way through the group of people. “You said you were gonna come play beer pong twenty minutes ago.” She nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I know, I know. Got distracted talking to this one.” She points to you and Bradley blinks, looking down at you. It looks like this is the first time he’s realised you’re there, which given how inebriated the boy seems to be, might actually be true.

“Let’s go play!” He shouts with a nod of his head towards the backyard, and with that him and Maria are gone. You glance around, biting your lip as nerves begin to grow in your stomach. There’s no sign of Jake, or really anyone else you might know.

You feel yourself back up further and further into the corner, biting on your fingernails as your eyes flit nervously through the room, wondering what you should do. 

Just as you’re wondering if you should leave (and drive away and never come back) a warm hand lands on your shoulder. You jump in surprise, looking up to see Jake towering over you. 

“Hey, what’re you doing over here all alone?” 

You shrug. 

“Well, why don’t you come play some beer pong with me out in the back?” 

You give another shrug. “I’ve never played, I doubt I’d be any good.” 

He gives you a grin, leaning closer to you. “Well, then you’ll be my good luck charm.”

The sounds of Monster Mash follow you out to the backyard as Jake begins to explain the rules of beer pong to you. 

“-and I know you don’t drink a whole ton, so I’ll drink if you’ll throw?” 

You startle at Jake’s words. “How did you-”

“Bradshaw!” Jake shouts, clapping the brunette on the shoulders, startling him and botching his throw. 

“2 v 2 after this?” 

Bradley’s eyes flicker over to you, a grin growing on his face. “On one condition.”

Jake quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

“Loser has to kiss their partner.” 

Your eyes grow wide at Bradley’s words, wanting to reach around Jake and throttle him. 

Jake titls his head as Reuben sets up the table again. “You’re on.” 

You splutter as Jake tugs you to the other side, a crowd starting to gather around the table. “Jake, the only pong I’ve ever played is of the iMessage kind, I don’t really know how good I’m going to be.” 

Jake shrugs. “Yeah, but Bradshaw and Maria are both hammered. I’m counting on their perception being so fuzzy they can’t land a single shot.” 

Despite your nerves the whole game, Jake ends up being right, with Bradley and Maria only landing three shots the whole game. 

Still, you can’t help the way your stomach flutters in disappointment at the fact that you don’t get to kiss Jake, although you’d never want it to be under these circumstances, where he has to kiss you because of a bet. 

Bradley shakes his head ruefully at you before, leaning over pressing a kiss quick peck to Maria’s cheek. 

Jake teasingly chastises Bradley that that wasn’t part of their deal as Javy takes your place in the pairing, Natasha replacing Maria. 

You get through another round, Mickey taking over Jake’s spot next before you’ve decided enough is enough, and it really had nothing at all to do with Chad’s appearance in the backyard.

“I think I’m gonna go.” 

Jake’s head shoots over to you as you lean over, getting closer to his ear so he can hear you over the music. 

“Yeah?” He asks. 

You nod. “Yeah, I’ve still got homework I need to finish. Thanks for inviting me though.” 

He smiles at you softly. “‘Course, I’m glad you came, I know this isn’t exactly your scene.” 

“That’s what she said.” Javy coughs into his fist as he walks past. 

Jake rolls his eyes. “Ignore him, he’s an idiot. Text me when you get home, okay?” 

You nod, ignoring the warmth spreading through you at his words. 

-

(1:13am- Did you make it home okay? I never heard from you.

Your heart jumps up into your throat as you peer at the text, unable to stop the smile that’s spreading across your face. 

Yeah, I did. Thanks for checking 

The bubble pops up a few times before a new text appears. 

Good to hear. 

Get some sleep. 

Goodnight.)

- You squint at the brunette over the top of your laptop, trying to process the words that just came out of his mouth. 

“I am not asking Jake out.” 

He groan, slumping down on the table in front of you. “Why not?” He whines, causing you to wrinkle your nose. 

“Becuase? It’s Jake? He’s a super popular football player who’s not going to be interested in dating his tutor? Get off this, please. You’re starting to piss me off.” 

Bradley studies you for a minute before he heaves a sigh. “Fine.” There’s quiet for a minutes as you turn back to your reading before Bradley speaks again. “Are you going to your Mom’s for Thanksgiving?” 

You shake your head. “No, she’s driving up north to go see my Grandma with my brother and my sister is spending the holiday at my Dad’s.” 

“So… do you wanna come over?” 

“For Thanksgiving? Sure.” You say with a shrug. 

Bradley smiles. “Wonderful, I’ll text Mom and tell her right now.” He says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “You know who else is coming to Thanksgiving?” 

“I’d drop it if I were you Bradshaw.” 

-

“This is great as always Mrs. Bradshaw.” Natasha says warmly as Jake nudges you. You look up at him from where you’re cutting a piece of apple pie, Nick setting a scoop of ice cream on your plate, Jake nodding his head out to the backyard. 

“Let’s go sit.” You nod, grabbing the plate as Jake leads the two of you to sit outside. 

It’s still warm enough to dip your feet in the pool as the two of you sit near the edge, Jake having to roll up his jeans. 

“I’ll never get over Bradshaw having a pool.” 

You let out a little laugh, pulling the fork from your mouth. “You’re telling me. That was always the status symbol of wealth growing up. What?” You ask, realizing Jake hasn’t started to eat his pumpkin pie but is simply just watching you. 

“You look really nice today.” You feel a blush crawl up your neck as you glance down at your outfit. 

“Thanks.” You say, picking up your plate to eat, unable to meet Jake’s eye. 

It’s quiet between the two of you for a little while, the silence comfortable as you eat your slices of pie. 

“You know, Bradley keeps telling me the funniest thing.” You say as you finish the last of the pie, setting the plate back down on the ground. Carole really did make a killer apple pie, a wonderful combination of apples and cinnamon, the pastry dough always elevating the dessert. 

“What?” 

“He keeps telling me… God, it’s so silly.” You say, shaking your head. “He keeps telling me you have a crush on me.” 

Jake watches you for a second, and you realise telling Jake this may have been a bad idea, before Jake leans over you, pressing his lips to yours. 

It takes a minute for your brain to even realising he’s kissing you, but it’s a minute too long as Jake pulls back, eyes wide. 

“I’m- I’m sorry, I just wanted to know what that was like just once.” 

You don’t even realize what you’re doing until your doing it, leaning over and returning Jake’s kiss. Jake’s hands are already on your waist to steady you as you cup his cheek, getting to savor the way he tastes of pumpkin pie and the bourbon he had earlier. 

Jake cups your cheek as he pulls away, thumb gently rubbing over your cheekbone as he watches you. He’s looking at you in such a way that is making you blush, wanting to duck your head and hide from his gaze. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” He whispers. 

You swallow, already missing the taste of his lips. “Then why are we waiting any longer?”

[naamahdarling]

Hi. I’m feeling sad too, I think that tends to happen late at night. At least we can be sad together lol

Yeah it's just a 3:00 thing. Literally I call it the "three o'clocksies". One of the best mental health things I've ever done for myself is learning to look at the time, and if it's after 3:00 a.m., I just tell myself I will put those feelings away until the next day, and I can feel them then if I have to. It doesn't work every time, but it works about 70% of the time, which is a lot better than the maybe 15 or 20% of the time I managed to deal with it by just powering through. Big fan.

Learning to approach strong negative emotions not arising directly from a currently unfolding crisis as temporary, and strong positive emotions as gifts and memories that I will get to have later has been really helpful. "All things pass" can be barbed, because that means good stuff too will pass. But that's just the nature of things, and we have a lot more control over what memories and feelings we keep with us than we think we do.

That is part of why I try so hard to find goodness when badness is around me. Because it really does make bad things easier to bear. I don't mean like spinning bad things into good things, or saying that bad things happen for a reason, I just mean things like moments of common kindness between strangers (which are actually a thing we can create ourselves instead of waiting to have happen to us or to observe), or a beautiful sunset the day you break your ankle, or the very very small child in the corner at urgent care who won't stop talking very articulately and at great length about how much he fuckin' loves chicken nuggets, or the person who took one look at me and didn't charge me anything at the gas station the night we lost Raleigh, no questions asked.

These moments aren't actually insignificant. They're the fabric of our lives, and by observing them even in the bad moments, we prepare ourselves to see them the rest of the time, it makes things easier. It's like putting flowers in a hospital room inside your mind. I may feel like dying, but somebody brought a miniature goat named Tom Brady to PetSmart with them and I got to pet him.

I'm not full of shit here, I have really been through it this past year. It really is worth it to struggle to look and see ordinary life around you as full of small surprises and little kindnesses. It isn't about some kind of bullshit healing through positivity thing (I think "positivity" as it is pushed at us is toxic bullshit) it's not going to cure your mental illness or whatever, it isn't going to take you out of the terrible circumstances fucking you over, it isn't going to undo your trauma, it's just seeing all the small good things that are easy to overlook, and realizing that some days, seeing the small good things really can be enough. That isn't pathetic or bleak, that isn't trying to fill your belly with nothing but crumbs and telling yourself you're lucky, it's just an underlying kind of warmth that it would be really unfortunate to not look for and allow yourself to feel.

It's a way of inhabiting life deliberately, and not just suffering through it. And it's taking me years to develop, and no, I can't always hold on to it, it isn't something that you can be successful at 100% of the time. But man, things got a lot better for me when I started taking pictures of the sky almost every time I go outside, and admiring strangers' questionable fashion choices, and wondering about things like what kind of person would buy this puzzle featuring a John Deere tractor, and enjoying small brown birds having a dust bath next to the drive-thru at Sonic, or taking pictures of interesting graffiti, or noticing the single mirror-spangled drag queen platform high heel on the side of the road, all of that. Things got better for me when I started to really care that I got to see those things.

IDK this got long. But I think...it's all right to be sad, I think sometimes we just have to be even when we aren't sure why. And that can and should coexist with the rest of the world being out there and ready to be seen, even through tears.

[germhammy]

“Zoom with Tom and cast”

Enid and Wednesday are back in their room. Enid sits beside her girlfriend

Mr Burton: Wednesday? What is going on? Your mother sounded very firm that we shutdown production?

Wednesday: have you?

Mr Burton: yes we have. She even talked to Mayor Santiago and the sheriff to be on the lookout. Lookout for what?

Xavier: oh come on! Wednesday, you’re seriously not shutting down the production because of a stupid vision!!?

Mr Burton: a vision?

Xavier: her dramatics at dinner.

Enid: what the hell are you doing here?

Xavier: Doug invited me. What the hell are you doing here?

Enid: I am sitting with Wednesday since she’s still shaken up by her night terrors. Not related to her vision. And before you ask? It’s none of your concern

Harley: I’m sorry you suffer from night terrors and visions, Wednesday. My aunt is a psychic medium and sometimes her visions hit her like a tank at the most inopportune times

Mr Johnson: you mean to tell me we shutdown due to you having some psychic vision?

Xavier: right? And she’s always so dramatic about having one.

Wednesday clenched her fist. She could feel Thing on her knee gently running a calming few fingers back and forth

Wednesday: your father is so dramatic as well, Xavier. And his visions are highly questionable. I have never shared mine. He does so in front a live taped stadium audience. But they do come true. I can’t just will one on demand like your father does

Alyssa: wait. Psychic? I love this particular psychic. His shows are so ridiculous and almost phony!! I can’t remember his name. But he did a Thanksgiving special that is an absolute riot!

Pippa: oh my god! Is that that torture you subjected us to the other night?

Frankie: oh my god!!

Wednesday: Vincent Thorpe

Diego: That guy is Xavier’s father?

Wednesday: Yes. And he, Xavier that is, has the nerve to mansplain my powers to me because his father is an expert

Xavier: hey! My father is a great psychic

Harley: but that doesn’t give him or you to tell another psychic how their powers work or how to use their powers. Not all mediums work alike. Just as everyone that has visions has the the same way

Enid: you are so right about that , Harley. I’ve never seen Wednesday’s mother has a vision but I don’t think she looks like she has a seizure when she had them

Wednesday: she does not

Xavier: a meduim is not the same thing!!

Harley: no. It is not. You’re dad sounds more like a medium or clairvoyant than a psychic

Xavier: since when are you an expert?

Harley: I am not claiming to be. Just saying that not everyone is the same. Even Wednesday and Enid have just said her visions are not the same as her mother’s. So why would Wednesday’s be similar to your father’s?

Mr Johnson: so what did Wednesday the all seeing see? How are we in danger? I’m sure it’s nothing the Jericho police can’t handle. Or I am The Foundation!! I can take care of the situation

Wednesday: the hapless Jericho police were no match for the creature, which is called a Hyde. Donovan Galpin was a lazy sheriff who didn’t even allow his deputies to do anything. And Sheriff Jackson is so full of himself and his special investigative skills he makes Galpin look like a national treasure

Jackson: he’s got a great name though

Harley: ugh.

Enid: ugh is right. You’ve met him?

Harley: unfortunately. There were a couple of girls in town who asked me for a selfie? He came sleazing up and asked me if I wanted a selfie with him

Mr Johnson: I like him!

Wednesday: figures. Tom, why is Mr Johnson even still part of this?

Mr Burton: Netflix was willing to let Ms Rowling go as long as Teariki is in charge of the rewrites

Mr Waipapa: don’t worry, Wednesday. My name will only be for show. Your name will be at the top. Wednesday Addams and Teariki Waipapa. I’ll even ask the graphics team making the credits to make my name smaller

Mr Burton: if we force Mr Johnson out they will pull the episode entirely. I love your story, Wednesday and I want this to become a reality

Wednesday: thank you. But I want Xavier Thorpe to have nothing to do with this production.

Mr Johnson: I have made him my assistant for this. He stays

Wednesday: YOU, SIR, HAVE OVER STEPPED YOUR AUTHORITY AND MY PERSONAL BOUNDARIES!!

Xavier: aww. Little Wednesday getting all mad because you’re not getting your way! Maybe you can convince Tyler to help you!

Wednesday: that is not funny, Xavier. You have seen the Hyde in your own dreams/visions! You know what he is capable of and you dare joke about it?

Xavier: oh come on! They took Tyler away. Locked him up good. He’s no threat to us. To you maybe for rejecting him. But not the rest of us.

Wednesday: he was not alone!! My mother has done research. There was a breakout at the asylum.

Xavier: nothing we can’t handle. Werewolves, gorgons, sirens, telekinetics. We have plenty of outcasts to handle them

Enid: as if you were of any help! Wednesday told me about what you did! Some help you were

Wednesday: I should have let Crackstone’s arrow hit you.

Xavier: but you didn’t!

Wednesday: because I did not want to hear your whiny ass to complain about getting shot. You are lucky I have a high pain tolerance and I was close to death earlier so an arrow to the shoulder was nothing

[jeewrites]

Hold Fast | Ch. 1 Will Squat for Dinner

Series Master List

Inspo: In an IG reel @ tashabraziliano asks a guy at the gym to play a game where if she squats him he has to buy her dinner at Nando’s.

Rating: M for this one shot, but this blog is 18+ MDNI

A/N: Thank you to @bloviating-vy for being my beta and my write or die! Grateful to everyone who voted in my poll and @katareyoudrilling for encouraging me to post. In the Hold Fast AU all the guys make it back from S. America, additional details TBD if this ends up being a series

Word Count: ~4.0k

Tags: no y/n, gymbff!Benny, alcohol, swearing, reader is a powerlifting girlie described as short, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), alcohol, brief body insecurity and Frankie being down on himself, Tom owns a bar, Pope owns a gym, alternating POV with one brief Benny POV

next chapter >>

The first time you went to train at Pope's Gym, Benny wouldn’t stop talking your ear off during your workout. When you finally got a word in edgewise, you made a bet with him that if you could squat him, he would shut the fuck up and let you finish your workout in peace. To his amazement, not only did you squat him, you repped him 3 times before setting him down to raucous applause. You’d been gym besties ever since. It didn’t hurt that he was nice to look at with his dirty blonde hair and penchant to go sans shirt so he could flaunt his abs as frequently as possible. Plus, his big golden retriever energy never failed to brighten your day.

Benny liked to tease you about the gym you used to go to that had vanity lighting, a smoothie bar, and chilled eucalyptus-scented towels. While Pope's had the most lifting platforms of any gym in town, you were adjusting to the lack of central A/C and other amenities you were used to. Pope’s was housed in a large warehouse space, bare metallic bones, with multiple commercial rolling doors instead of a proper HVAC system. Besides the rows upon rows of platforms, a selection of assault bikes and ergs lined one wall of the gym, while a section of accessory machines collected dust in the corner.

You learned which platforms got the most airflow depending on which rolling door was open and which ones the massive fans covered best. You had made the switch because you had outgrown your old gym which catered to the general public. The bougie public, Benny liked to remind you. You had started lifting heavy and wanted to lift heavier, so you found yourself signing up at Pope's after Pope himself had given you the tour around the space. You learned that Pope had started the gym after coming back from Colombia wanting to promote health and strength in the community while getting into better shape himself. Looking at the peach shape of his ass you could bounce anything off of, you knew Pope had been putting the work in.

Benny worked the front desk at Pope's between training and fighting MMA. His older and blonder brother Will would come by to work out, but he was often leaving when you were arriving so you didn't know him well beyond a friendly wave. Plus, it seemed like Benny used the majority of the word quota between the Miller brothers. Pope's grew on you and you got to know the regulars who trained the same time you did; enough that you gave them cute identifying nicknames in your head (often without knowing their actual names) and worried about them when they missed more than a session or two.

Benny was surprised to see you walk into Pope's one night an hour before closing since you always trained in the mornings. You had given him a short head nod instead of your usual big smile before stalking to a platform and slamming your bag down.

"Yooooo, everything ok?" he asks as he walks over.

"Does it look like I'm okay," you huff, aggressively wrestling your knee sleeves on. Glancing at him, you immediately apologize when he hesitates and takes a step back.

"Sorry, Benny. I'll be a lot better after I pick up some heavy things and put them down."

"Might help if you want to talk about it?" he ventures leaning against the barbell.

You finish tying your squat shoes before looking at him again with dejected eyes and sighing.

"I just went on a crappy date with a guy from one of those dating apps," you sigh again. "He spent the whole time talking about himself and how much he works out. Then he had the fucking audacity to question me when he asked how much I could lift."

"Fucking asshole!" Benny feels himself getting steamed.

"He just stormed out of the restaurant and left me with the bill when I refused to change my answer," you shrug, but Benny sees your jaw tick. "Apparently, I squat and deadlift more than he does and he couldn't date someone who could do that." You roll your eyes and huff.

"WTF! What a total loser. You don't need a guy like that who doesn't appreciate you," Benny replies incensed. He sees your face fall for a moment, eyes downcast and tight.

"I just — I've been trying to put myself out there again and it sucks," you mumble, cheeks flush with embarrassment. "It's also been kinda lonely since I moved here, and I guess I could just use more friends, too."

"I'M YOUR FRIEND!"

"Yeah, my gym friend! We don't do anything outside of this hot, sweaty box Benny," you remind him with a small smile and playful shove to get him off your barbell.

Benny decides this is completely unacceptable and immediately remedies this by inviting you to the next hangout with him and his ex-Delta Force friends at Redfly's, a local bar nearby. "You know Pope and Will already," he reassures, "Tom's the owner of the bar and he's an asshole, but he's our asshole. And there's Catfish — we call him Fish for short. We've been trying to get him to come work out here, but he's been busy with his new pilot job for the hospital. And he shares custody of his 3-year-old daughter with his ex."

He could see your brain turning over all the information he was throwing at you. You don't seem to react either way to the news that Fish has an ex and a daughter. As you adjust the bar height you respond, "You sure? Don't want to crash a regular thing that you have with your guys."

"Nah, it'll be great! They'll love you!" Benny's determined to get you to come.

You hand him your phone. "Well... okay. Text me the details?"

With your phone in hand, Benny puts his number in to text himself and then convinces you to show him your dating profile. Between sets of squats you both take turns swiping on possible matches, Benny teasing you on your picks. Ever observant, Benny notices your preference for profiles with tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed candidates. As you work through your next set, Benny sneaks his phone out and immediately texts Fish.

Redfly's was what you expected for a bar run by an ex-delta force asshole. Dimly lit, buncha mismatched tables and chairs, lots of dark grain wood, and an air of neglect despite being quite clean. It was mostly empty except for a few grizzled guys who screamed regulars, nursing beers at the bar. Lots of beers on tap, but not so much for cocktail options. Not that you were a big drinker anyway. If anything, all the training made you an extremely cheap date. But damn, if you were going to drink, you wanted it to be a solid cocktail.

"THERE SHE IS!" Benny bounds over to you before grabbing your hand and dragging you over to the table in the corner. He introduces you to Tom who was standing by the table chatting with the guys. Tom gives a half-hearted greeting before stalking off back to the bar. Pope gives you a big smile and hug, "Good to see you hermosa, don't mind Tom. That was downright friendly for him." You snort as you settle into your seat next to Pope. Will also greets you with a small wave and an offer to pour you a beer from the pitcher.

"That's okay, I'm not much of a beer drinker." You wince, wrinkling your nose.

"I thought you said she was cool," Pope teases Benny who rolls his eyes and looks at you with faux betrayal.

"How about I buy shots for the table? Would that make me cool?" you smirk, getting up to go to the bar.

"Only if I get one too," says a warm, baritone voice from behind you. A tall, handsome man slides into the last vacant seat across from yours. Soft brown curls threaten to escape the Standard Oil cap nestled on his head. The warmest brown eyes smile at you as he holds your surprised gaze. "Hi, I'm Fish. Sorry, 'm late."

You want to trace the golden skin stretched deliciously along the column of his neck. Run your fingers through those curls that look so, so incredibly soft. And the strong curve of his nose... You snap out of your reverie before you respond with your name. "Better get those shots then," you say, trying not to trip over your unexpectedly shaky legs. Holy shit, why the fuck didn't Benny mention his friend Fish was gorgeous?

When Benny bugged him to come to the Friday night hangout at Redfly’s, Frankie hadn’t given it a second thought. The exuberant text from Benny, “You coming this week right? Got someone from Pope’s coming to meet you guys!!!” had two too many exclamation points for his taste. He figured Benny had a new lifting partner he wanted the guys to meet and his attendance had been pretty spotty between the new EMS pilot gig and balancing shared custody with Vanessa.

So when he walked into Redfly’s and overheard you say “… shots for the table?” He just assumed Tom had finally hired some help in the form of a very cute new waitress.

It wasn’t until he asked the guys when Tom hired you, eyes not leaving your form as you walked away, did he realize the absolute error in his assumption. “That’s my friend from the gym, Fish. SHE’s from Pope’s,” Benny rolled his eyes.

“C’mon hermano, you know Tom’s too cheap to hire help and too much of a pendejo for help to stick around,” Pope added.

Frankie pulled his cap low over his eyes and slid down his seat. He could feel himself flush. Fuck, he thought. Just made an ass out of myself demanding a shot from a total stranger.

You had frozen for a moment after he introduced himself before offering your name with a bit of a grimace. He thought you were gorgeous though and smelled incredible, fresh and citrusy with hints of something sweet and floral that lingered even after you had walked away.

“So, whaddya think, Fish?” Benny prods. "She’s smart, pretty, super strong, and a total sweetheart. Should ask her out."

Frankie flushes a deeper red. “S’outta my league Benny.”

“Aw, c’mon Fish, you gotta get back out there,” Benny persists. "Made it easy for you too. I happen to know you’re exactly her type."

“What, she into out of shape, 40-year-old, divorced, single dads with a toddler?” Fish grumbles. He hadn’t dressed particularly well tonight either, just his usual worn khakis and old faded navy t-shirt. Hadn’t suspected Benny was going to try to set him up tonight, although with Benny you never knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Might’ve mentioned summa that to her. She didn’t even blink, Fish. You got a shot and you should take it.”

Frankie finally tears his eyes away from you. You had just said something that made Tom smile ever so briefly and he wanted to know what you said. Frankie didn’t even realize Tom smiled anymore.

He sees Pope giving Benny that look that said Pope knew Frankie was indeed interested in you, but needed some extra encouragement and to get out of his head. How a single look conveyed all of that spoke to the years and shit they’d all been through together.

“Gonna help her bring over the drinks,” Benny says, popping out of his chair before Frankie could tell him to keep his big mouth shut.

He lifts his cap and runs his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t even tried to comb his fucking hair before coming out tonight. He slides the cap back on hoping it catches the more unruly curls.

“You’re a total catch, Fish,” Pope says, pouring him a beer. “Don’t count yourself out before even shooting your shot.”

“Could just be a coffee date. Don’t overthink it,” Will seconds.

Frankie takes a big pull of his beer. Easy for these two to say. Both Pope and Will worked out regularly at the gym and had the physiques to show for it. As much as Frankie had insisted everyone needed to get back on their game when they got back from Colombia, he was the only one out of the five of them who hadn't.

At least it didn’t feel like it with his achy back and bad knees. Sure, he had finally gotten his pilot’s license reinstated and now shared custody of his daughter. But he was self-conscious of his soft stomach, especially next to Benny whose abs were definitely the example given in the dictionary next to “rock-hard.” What did he have to offer you besides a mountain of baggage and PTSD? Maybe if he just kept his mouth shut everything would be fine and he’d survive tonight without embarrassing himself.

At this point, you are willing to brave Tom the asshole to collect yourself before sitting across from Frankie and his big brown eyes again. Tom raises an eyebrow when you order six shots ("One's for you asshole," you say to Tom with a teasing glare) and ask if he could make an Aviation. You swear he gives you the faintest smile before grumbling about ridiculous froufrou cocktails, but he wasn't born yesterday and yes he could make you one.

Benny sidles up to you at the bar as you wait for Tom to finish making your drink, offering to help you carry the drinks back to the table. "You doing ok? You seem nervous," Benny observes as you tap your fingers on the bar.

"Why didn't you warn me Fish is fucking hot?" you pointedly whisper back.

Benny grins at you as he leans back on his elbows against the bar, "Fucking knew it. Totally thought he'd be your type, girlie."

"You trying to set us up??" you glare at him.

Benny shrugs with exaggerated innocence. "Maaaaybe."

You huff, "Does he know that? Am I even his type?" You cringe inwardly at your insecurity.

"Well considering he hasn't taken his eyes off you since you left the table makes me think you are," Benny smirks. The smug look stays on his face.

For once you're glad you took more than five minutes to put yourself together before walking out the door. You picked a pair of jeans that hugged your curves and a fitted top with a very complementary neckline. Black-heeled booties gave you a few inches and made your legs look longer than they were. Worth the hassle of walking in at least for one night. The lightest dusting of make-up, mostly eyeliner and glossy lip balm, highlights your facial features.

"So maybe I should shoot my shot then, hmm?" you wink at Benny with a knowing smile.

"If you're thinking what I'm thinking…," Benny grins thinking back on the day you two met.

"That's very purple," Fish observes as you and Benny set down the drinks for the table.

"It's an Aviation. You might like it considering you're a pilot, mmh?" you respond with a smile. Okay, you've collected yourself. Sort of. Let's see if you remember how this flirting thing goes.

"What are we taking shots to celebrate?" Pope asks.

"How about to new, strong, friends?" you quip.

"I'll cheers to that!" Benny raises his glass.

Conversation is light and fun with the guys. You marvel at their connection and closeness as they teased and talked like people who have been through some shit together over the years. You convince Fish to try the Aviation to which he declares it a "very fancy purple" and keeps sneaking sips much to your amusement. They fold you into their conversation, asking about your training, and what competitions you might try this season. They praise Pope about how the gym has flourished and rib him about his ever-revolving door of beautiful women.

"What about you, Fish? You thinking about getting back out there and dating?" Benny asks before flicking his eyes over to you. You remind yourself to thank Benny profusely for being the best wingman ever.

"'Dunno. Not sure where to even start," Frankie mumbles into his beer, casting his eyes down.

"I have an idea," you give Frankie your best coy smile.

"Yeah?" he breathes looking up at you. Those damn brown eyes.

"I have a game for you," you offer before taking a breath. “If I squat you, you get to buy me dinner.” Your heart is thrumming in your chest and you feel your cheeks flush, but damnit, you were going to shoot your fucking shot. "But if I can rep you, I want the whole nine yards. Pick me up at my place, flowers, dinner and dessert."

"You — you think you can squat me?" Fish looks a bit surprised, "I— it's, it's not that I don't think you can. But 'm... A lot bigger than you... 'm out of shape." His ears pink at the last part as he cups one hand over the back of his neck.

"I know I can. Do we have a deal?" you smile at him with encouragement and extend your hand across the table. Fish hesitates, but you try not to assume why.

"Jesus, Fish, if you don't take her up on it, I will," Pope winks at you.

Fish glances between you and Pope for a brief moment.

He reaches out and shakes your hand. "Okay, deal." You try not to get distracted by the way his large hand engulfs yours.

"Let's go, brown eyes," you tell him as you stand up from your chair and whip your hair up into a high ponytail.

"You're going to do this in heels?" Fish asks as he gets up from his chair with a grunt. Christ, he's so tall. And broad. You shrug and look up at him through your lashes, “I mean, Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels.”

You move so you stand with your side towards his front.

“I'm going to put my hand here,” you gesture to his right inner thigh just above the knee. "Is that okay?"

"Yep."

"Alright, you ready?"

He nods.

You carefully slump him over your shoulders in a fireman's carry, gripping tightly to his upper arm and thigh. You can feel the warmth of his body pressed deliciously across your shoulders. He's so warm.

You brace.

Benny's out of his seat, whooping and hollering. Pope's leaning forward, elbows on his knees, clapping, "Let's go, let's go!" Will's grinning and shaking his head in amusement. The regulars at the bar sneak glances over in your direction.

Frankie catches himself remarking on the particular shade of purple out loud when you return to the table with Benny bearing shots and a suspiciously purple beverage. He realizes after you respond and the dazzling smile you give him that you’re flirting with him. He thinks?? He’s so out of practice. God, he’d do anything for you to smile at him like that again.

When you slide your drink over to him to try he surprises himself by taking a sip. He’s even more surprised that he likes it. Crisp juniper dances across his tongue followed by a delicate floral sweetness and a touch of citrus with a spiced cardamom and anise finish. This very purple drink tastes the way you smell. And the giggle you give him when he calls it a “very fancy purple” blooms warmth through him, settling low in his core. He can only think about how he can elicit that sound from you again.

Which is how he misses Benny asking him if he’s thinking about getting back out there and dating. Fucking Benny and his goddamn big mouth.

But then you’re smiling at him again, telling him, single-dad, divorcee Francisco Morales, you have an idea. He’s looking at you and he can barely breathe as your eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint and your plush, glossy lips propose a game.

For a moment he’s confused. Did you not want to go out to dinner with him? Because if he’s honest, he doesn’t think you could squat him. He’s so much bigger than you. And he’s pretty sure if he tried, he could put you in his pocket. But then you’re brimming with confidence and extending your hand out to strike a deal.

It’s when Pope — fucking Pope — threatens to play your game in his place that Frankie is engulfing your delicate hand in his large one. You surprise him with a firm handshake and it’s then that he can feel the callouses across your palm. Callouses from many, many reps with the barbell.

Frankie finds himself towering over you, realizing you’re about to try and squat him in heeled booties. He vaguely hears you ask for consent to touch his inner thigh just above his knee before he finds himself suspended horizontally in the air across a set of firm shoulders, anchored by two small hands. He can feel when you brace, feel your entire core expand. The muscles across your shoulders and back flex underneath your fitted top. And suddenly he’s moving up and down, steadily with control.

You end up squatting Fish five times before setting him back down gently with a breathless giggle. He's towering over you again and you just want to press yourself into his broad chest and envelope yourself in the smell of his body wash.

"Dinner?" you smirk up at him.

"Wow, yeah, dinner on me," Fish flushes, impressed and a little dazed.

"It's a date then," you quip, poking him in the rib before you sit back down at the table. You notice his brown eyes spark with realization at your comment.

Will, Benny, and Pope all high-five you. Cheeks still pink, Fish pulls his chair around to sit closer to you. Tom wanders back over to the table grumbling that Redfly's isn't that kind of establishment with theatrics like you just pulled. But he also sets down an Aviation along with another pitcher of beer before returning to the bar.

"He's just jealous you didn't try to squat him," Benny laughs. You giggle in response as the conversation around the table picks back up.

Feeling Fish's gaze on you, you slide your cocktail over to him. A frisson of electricity shoots up your entire arm when his fingers brush against yours as he takes your cocktail glass.

You tilt your head towards him, your eyes meeting his warm brown ones, and whisper, "By the way, my favorite flowers are dahlias."

Frankie lost count by the time you repped him the third time. Just awed by you having the strength to carry him like this. He decides to just enjoy the rest of the ride.

When you set him back upright he almost melts into a puddle at the breathless giggle you let out. He catalogs that sound in his mind. He wants to brush back the hairs that have escaped your ponytail and he already misses your touch, wants to close the space between your bodies somehow without being creepy.

He gets lost in your eyes when you gaze up at him, he’s definitely over a head taller than you, and ask, “Dinner?”

Frankie is pretty sure he responds in the affirmative, still a bit dazed and very impressed.

It’s when you confirm it’s a date that his brain fritzes, reboots, and takes a minute to come back online. He blinks several times at the realization. He has a date. With you.

next chapter>>

Notes: Dahlias symbolize elegance, creativity, positivity, and growth. It also represents inner strength, likely due to the plant's ability to tolerate harsh conditions.

"Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels.” — Ann Richards

🙏🏽 Thank you so much for reading my first fic! I'm bad at tumblr and new to tags/warnings/fan fics in general, so if I missed something please let me know.

I am open to constructive feedback but please be gentle with this baby powerlifting writer, yeah? I might be able to squat you, but I'm a big ol' softie.

Aaand I'm thinking about expanding on these characters and making Hold Fast into a series if anyone would want to read it. I may or may not already have a Frankie POV at Pope's Gym where he gets to see reader in her element. 👀

Taglist: @katareyoudrilling @christinamadsen @rebel-held