#‘we just care about historical accuracy’ and it’s a white man flipping off of the moon and fighting monsters but let it be a black

[tariah23]

Isn’t there like a new movie or show out featuring a white samurai or some bullshit

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Five

A/N: Oh look I’m a day late. Apologies, I made some changes to the overall outline of this story, so I had to make a few tweaks to this chapter before I could share it to make sure that things stay consistent. ;) 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: The Mandalorian has some questions for the thief he apprehended on Nevarro. But when extenuating circumstances force them to work together, he starts to see that there might be more to her than the common criminal that he first thought. 

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: violence, talk of death

The Promise 

Night fell quickly on Nevarro, the planet plunging into darkness as soon as the sun began to sink beneath the horizon. With no moon the only celestial light came from the stars, but the amount of ash in the atmosphere made it difficult for the silver pinpricks to penetrate to the ground level. By the time the Mandalorian and his captive reached the Promise, the only natural light was coming from the orange glow of the lava rivers in the distance, snaking through the crusty, black volcanic surface. Along the bank of the nearest molten stream, a reptavian’s wings spread wide as it rose from a craggy cluster of porous rock. If there’s one there are more. He knew from experience that the beasts hunted in flocks. Its screech ripped across the empty landscape, and before he could count to three the call was answered by two more shrieks. We need to get inside. 

“Osi'kyr!” The woman behind him hissed under her breath as she stumbled over her feet at the sound of the reptavians. “What the kriff was that?!” 

The Mandalorian stopped walking as she spoke, turning his head so that his chin was in line with his right shoulder. She just... That was- Though he was still learning the language himself, he recognized the Mando’a word immediately. Her pronunciation was clear and correct, the tricky syllables rolling off her tongue with the comfort and confidence of a fluent speaker. He had never heard the language used outside of the covert though, and certainly not by an individual who had not sworn the Creed. She said she wasn’t given the chance to. Each new thing he learned about her only brought up more questions. 

The woman stepped next to him before he could swivel his head back around and he was met with her sharp gray eyes, visible through the smashed visor of her helmet. After meeting Bo-Katan and the Nite Owls he had stopped trying to understand the way that other Mandalorians interpreted The Way. He knew that not all of his people adhered to the more rigid beliefs and traditions that he did, and that most were far more free when it came to removing their helmets and showing their faces. But this is… different. He narrowed his own hidden eyes, focusing on the way that the shattered remains of her visor hung like stalactites across her field of vision. That was done deliberately… but why? 

Beyond the language and the armor, there was also the Mythosaur pendant and the short dagger she had shown him. The pendant itself wasn’t unusual. He had seen plenty of them in his lifetime and had owned one once. Although he no longer wore it, the Mandalorian would always remember how heavy the thing felt the first time it was draped around his neck, how determined he was to carry the weight even as a small child. Each time he held it in his palm or felt it pressed to his skin beneath his armor he was reminded of the words that the man who had given it to him had sworn. To protect him and raise him as a warrior, as his own. 

He hadn’t sworn any vows on the day he’d thrust the necklace into Cara’s hand with the instructions to deliver Grogu to the covert. He didn’t have the time or the strength. Convinced that he wouldn’t make it out of the fray alive, he only wanted the child to be taken care of. And to have my name. To know that I wanted him to be safe. He wondered if Grogu felt the pendant’s weight around his tiny shoulders and understood what it meant. I’ll always be there for you, kid. I promise. 

But no matter what the kid thought when he clutched the pendant in his small hands, the fact remained that it looked like every other one he’d seen before. The sleek silver beskar was sculpted into the skull and tusks of the fabled creature, and there were no added embellishments or adornments. It wasn’t jewelry, it was heritage, and that is what set the one this woman wore apart. At the heart of hers was a bright purple stone visible through the carved eyes that seemed to emit light. Or was it energy? Something about the stone and the way it glowed reminded him of the weapons he’d seen Ashoka use,  or the blade wielded by the Jedi that came to retrieve Grogu from the Mandalorian’s care on Gideon’s light cruiser. It reminded him of the Darksaber in the way that it seemed to crackle with power. So why is it in her necklace? 

The kal, too, had been unique. Like the beskad the Armorer had given him, it was an ancient weapon, one not typically carried by modern Mandalorians in favor of more advanced blades, blasters and rifles. Though it was short the blade was lethal, designed to move swiftly through the air and slice accurately into its target. Historically, the kal and beskad were meant to be used together in two-handed combat, and up until extremely recently he had never seen either. What are the odds of-

The reptavian shrieked again, this time the sound coming from much closer. “Hey,” the woman brought her bound hands up to place them on his arm, the contact jarring him from his thoughts even more than the carnivorous creature’s hunting cries. “Whatever that thing is, it’s-”

The rest of her sentence was drowned out by the whooshing sound of enormous leathery wings flapping just a few paces behind her as one of the beasts swooped low, claws extended and jaw open wide. “Get down!” He saw her eyes widen through the jagged maw of the crack in her visor as he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her to the ground, falling on top of her to shield her with his body. Razor sharp talons scraped at his shoulder pauldrons as he dove, the beskar doing its job despite the gnashing sounds and the slight pressure he felt as the creature tried to snatch him as its prey. 

Grunting, he rolled off of the woman and onto his back once he was sure that the reptavian had soared up into the air again. Lower the ramp. Get inside. Flipping open the panel on his wrist, the Mandalorian pushed a series of buttons to unlock the Promise’s pressurized cargo door, the release of air behind him letting him know that it was dropping open. Good. He swiveled his head down to the woman as he slammed the panel on his vambrace shut again. “Get in the ship, n-” 

A second winged assailant came screeching in from his left to cut him off, jaws closing around the wrist he had just been operating the locks with and pulling another grunt from him as it tried to thrash him free of his metal casing. He was vaguely aware of his captive scrambling to her feet in his peripheral vision, and once he saw that she was clear he engaged the flamethrower on his opposite wrist, attempting to scorch the creature that was dragging him to his knees. The reptavian wasn’t deterred though, responding by twisting its jaw to damage the vambrace, extinguishing the flames and decommissioning the device. Swearing under his breath, he hurriedly tried to use another weapon, flicking his other wrist down to charge the payload of whistling birds. They hummed as energy coursed through the launcher, but another powerful rush of wind hit him as the first beast turned to swoop back down, and he realized he wouldn’t have time to release the missiles before the creature descended. 

“Don’t move!” The woman’s voice was loud and clear as she called out from somewhere behind him. He froze just as two blaster shots zipped through the air on either side of his helmet, hitting one of the creatures squarely in its broad chest and the other in the soft tissue where the wing joint connected to its body. The first one dropped heavily on the crusty ground, wings curling around its dead carcass as the second gave a piercing painful squeal, spinning in the air before fleeing into the darkness, leaving the Mandalorian panting in a heap. 

He stood, brushing himself off as he turned to face her. Hands still bound, she clutched the blaster that she had holstered to her thigh, the barrel still smoking. Impressed with the accuracy she was able to achieve while restrained, he blinked as she lowered her weapon and stowed it back on her leg. “Nice shooting.” 

She scoffed. “Would have been quicker but I’m a little tied up at the moment.” Sighing, she shifted her weight as he checked to ensure that the reptavian’s bite didn’t penetrate his armor. “Are you...did it get you?” 

Circling his hands around each wrist in turn, he took a few beats to catch his breath and looked up to answer her. “No, the armor held up.” Looking down at the dispatched creature, he recalled the last time that he had an encounter with the venomous predators and how quickly their poison could spread once they sunk their teeth into flesh; how quickly they both could have been killed. “Thank you.” 

The woman shrugged. “Well, you saved me first. So I guess we’re even.” He nodded. “Are you going to tell me what that thing was?” 

“Reptavian,” he answered. “And they’re poisonous, so-”

Her eyes widened. “So what are we still doing out here? There are more of them out there.” As though on command, several high pitched screeches sounded in the distance. 

“Yes,” he agreed, stepping up onto the ramp and walking ahead of her. “There are.” Once they were both inside, he pressed a large white button near the door and the ramp lifted. “We’re safe in here. The Promise is reinforced with-”

“Hey,” she lifted her hands as she cut him off. “That’s great and all, I’m glad that those things can’t attack us in here, but, if you could maybe tell me why I’m handcuffed or why you dragged me all the way out here instead of turning me over to the Marshal? That would be swell.” 

Her voice sounded different as it bounced off the metal floors and walls of the hold, lighter, more vibrant, and before he could answer her it dawned on him that she was the first passenger to board the Promise who wasn’t sealed inside a frozen slab of carbonite. He’d owned the ship for nearly six months, and not even Cara Dune or Boba had set foot inside of it. Before Grogu had come into his life, he had gone years without a second person seated in the cockpit or sleeping in the crew bunks, but once the child came along he’d traveled with plenty of beings. Without him the Mandalorian had been alone again, until this moment, until this woman and all the questions that surrounded her. Shaking those thoughts from his mind, he flipped a switch to turn lights on inside the dark hull, answering her over his shoulder. “You wanted to be turned over to the Marshal.” It wasn’t a question, it was an observation. As a man who had spent his life tracking and hunting down criminals, he had developed the observation skills necessary to know when his quarries were setting traps of their own. “If I turned you over to her I would have been playing into your hand.” 

She huffed as she dropped her hands in front of her, leaning back into the cool steel wall as he turned to face her again. “So, what? Am I your prisoner now?” Her shoulders tensed then. “Did you run my chain code?” No, but I wonder what I would find. 

“I’m not here on Guild business,” he answered, the woman visibly relaxing. She must have a record. 

“Well if this is about borrowing that Imperial ship then-” 

“It’s not.” I don’t care about that. In truth, the fact that the New Republic had left the abandoned base still sitting there stocked with weapons and vehicles just waiting for some Imperial remnant to come back to reclaim them had made him uneasy. That a common smuggler had made off with a ship and some speeders didn’t bother him. Better in the hands of a thief than the Empire. 

“Then why d-”

“Why were you trying to get yourself captured?” Crossing his arms over his chest, the Mandalorian mirrored her stance and leaned back against the ladder to the cockpit. 

He heard her take a deep breath in through her nose, letting it back out slowly as she narrowed her eyes, and he could tell that she was trying to decide how much to say. “I needed some information,” she said finally. “And I heard that the Marshal might have it.” 

Information. That makes two of us. “And what kind of information were you looking for?”  

There was another pause followed by a second huff of air before she spoke again. “Look, we can talk but can I-” she brought her hands up to the bottom edge of her helmet. “I need to take this thing off, it’s...I don’t usually…” 

He swallowed and tightened his jaw, giving her a nod. “Sure.”  

“Great.” Her fingers curled around the beskar, but she paused before lifting it up. “And don’t think you can take it just because I’m in these kriffing binders. You saw me shoot those flyers, I won’t hesitate to-” 

“I’m not in the business of stealing other people’s family heirlooms.” Though he had agreed with Cara and Karga that this woman was likely an imposter wearing Mandalorian armor, she had since changed his mind. What had started as a beskar reclamation had evolved into something else entirely. I just want to talk, see what she knows. If he was to be the one to unite the Mandalorians under one banner, he needed to understand all of the branches of The Way, all of the paths that the clans of Madalore could walk. 

She seemed to accept his spoken agreement that her helmet was safe, finally lifting it up and over her head with very little difficulty. It dawned on him that she was likely proficient at a great number of tasks and skills while in binders, that this was far from her first time being detained in this manner. A professional. Bending down, she set the helmet on the floor with a dull thunk, then stood, letting out a breath. “There, that’s...more my speed.” 

She tossed her head sending a long, complicated black braid struck through bright blue strands over her shoulder where the pauldron he’d sliced still hung limply by one strap. Her eyes, no longer shaded by the helmet, were far lighter than he had originally thought, more silver than gray, sharp but not hard. She appeared to be the same age as himself, faint creases around her mouth indicative of thirty some years of smirking the way that she was now. The moment that he took her in completely, he was struck with a sensation that was completely unfamiliar to him. 

Trust her. 

He bristled at his own suggestion, straightening his spine. Why would I? His first instinct had never been to trust, even with Kuiil. Not that he hadn’t learned to, but it was never something that he gave so freely upon first meeting someone. Especially someone who he knew was a liar and a crook. But the thought proved difficult to root out, twisting deeper into his mind until it found the word connected to the feeling. 

Ruusaanyc. Trust her. 

He wasn’t sure why the word came to him in Mando’a or why it made him more inclined to give in, but as soon as it cropped up he felt himself relaxing. That’s… He flinched, glad that his expression was still concealed. I don’t… The comfort made him uncomfortable and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. Clearing his throat he pushed the trust aside. “What information were you looking for?” 

Her smirk twitched to one side and she let out a small laugh that he wouldn’t have heard had she still been wearing the helmet. “Well, how about those manners, huh?” She laughed again and gestured to herself with her joined hands, a teasing tone to her voice as she continued. “I’m Navina, nice to meet you. Who, may I ask, do I have the pleasure of being detained by this evening?” Her casual nature made his nostrils flare.  No, she’s not getting my name. “I guess I’ll just keep calling you Mando, then?” She sighed as he remained silent. “Well I was hoping for something a little more personal after saving your skin from those things out there even though all you’ve done is destroy my armor and take me prisoner.”

He took a step closer to her, reaching for her hands and grabbing the center of the mechanism that held them together, roughly tugging on it to pull her forward. “You’re not my prisoner.” He unlocked the binders, swinging them around his gloved finger before tucking them back in place in one of the pouches along his belt. “I told you I just want information.” 

He hadn’t stepped back and neither had she, clearly not intimidated by him anymore if she ever was in the first place. That’s… new. Just as he wasn’t used to giving his trust freely, others regarding him as they would any other passerby simply never happened. Jutting out her chin as though to prove his point, she challenged his claim. “So if I decided that I didn’t want to give you that information afterall, you’d just...what? Let me go?” 

The Mandalorian shrugged. “Sure. But I doubt the reptavians will cut you the same deal.” 

Navina hummed a laugh. “No, probably not.” Releasing a breath slowly through her nose, she squinted her eyes and widened her smirk. “Alright then, Mando. I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.” 

Realizing that it was better to keep things on civil terms, he agreed. “Fine.” His eyes shifted over to the weapons locker, directly next to where Navina had previously been leaning, and decided that despite what his intuition was trying to tell him, he didn’t trust her enough to be near it, even with it sealed and locked. She’s still a thief, remember? “We’ll talk in the cockpit.” He cocked his head at the ladder beside him. “After you.” 

“See? I knew there were manners in there somewhere.” With that she winked at him and started climbing. 

Shaking his head, the Mandalorian followed her up the ladder. He stepped ahead of her to open the sliding door that led to the ship’s controls, entering the cockpit and turning his seat before sinking into it. When she made to sit in the seat directly behind and to the right, he stuck his hand out abruptly. “No.” That’s the kid’s seat. Even though it wasn’t. Swallowing the thick lump clogging his throat, he pointed to the passenger seat on the other side. “You can sit there.” 

Ignoring his abrupt aversion to her seating choice, Navina did as he asked and spun the other chair around, sinking into it. She let out a whistle as she looked around, taking in the ship’s multitude of monitors and instruments. “This is nice. Auzituck?” She ran her hand over the switchboard, nodding at her own question. “Yeah, the Wookies know what they’re doing, that’s for sure.” He watched her as she slowly turned back towards him, the light from an overhead screen finding the blue strands of her hair and causing them to shine. “So.” Taking her hands off the panel she’d been inspecting, she dropped them heavily into her lap. “You want to know why I came to Nevarro.” 

“Yes.” He let his shoulders drop and rested one elbow on the armrest of his chair, waiting for her response. 

Navina tapped her left knee three times with her pointer finger before taking a breath. “I heard a rumor in the Core Worlds that I wanted to follow up on.” 

“What kind of rumor?” 

She shook her head from side to side. “Uh uh. I answer one, you answer one.” Raising one eyebrow in an arch, she waited for him to comply with a nod. “What is a Mandalorian doing working with a Marshal?” 

“I don’t.” When it was clear that she wanted more than a two word answer, he sighed. “Marshal Dune is a... friend. She got in touch with me as a courtesy because she saw your armor and figured that you had stolen it.” Navina weighed his answer, tilting her head as though agreeing with Cara’s initial assessment of her. “What kind of rumor?” He asked again. 

“I heard…” She wet her lips and sucked in a breath, letting it out as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I heard that there used to be a pretty sizable Mandalorian covert here on Nevarro and I,” she released her lip, her brow furrowing. “I’m looking for someone. Someone that might have been there.” 

What? Who? That nagging feeling was back, telling him to relax, not to assume the worst of her. “There-” he sighed. “There was.” 

She winced at the way he said the last word, and he internally recoiled at the idea that she was able to hear the emotion in his tone even with the modulator in his helmet. “What...what happened?” 

He closed his eyes as the image of helmets piled too high flashed in his memory. “The Empire happened.” It wasn’t a lie, it was just the simplest truth. Without giving her time to ask for more on that, he took his turn at interrogating. “Who are you looking for?” 

“My f-” She paused, and for the first time since he’d pointed his beskad in her face he saw a flash of something other than defiance in her silver eyes. What was that? “My family.”

Her family? But she said that… She had told him that the helmet and kal she owned had belonged to her parents, and he had assumed that meant that they were no longer alive. Too much time passed in silence, but he wasn’t sure what to say next. It wasn’t the answer that he had been expecting. 

Navina broke the quiet first, her voice slightly smaller than it had been previously, the sound of it pulling his features into a frown. “With my mother I-“  

She paused and something in the silence between her words and the breath she took made him turn toward her. Her right hand was wrapped tightly around the pendant she had shown him, her chin tilted down and away. 

“I know what happened to my mother, I know she’s…” 

She let go of the necklace then, letting it fall against her chest as her shoulders dropped, and he didn’t need her to finish her sentence. She’s gone. He knew what it was to lose a parent. He had lost three. Navina flattened her palm over the Mythosaur hanging from her neck, pressing it against her chest, and he stared down at the blue triangles on his handplates. 

“But my father and the f-“ 

He picked his head back up as she cut herself short, her eyes waiting for him to look her way. Not for the first time he got the feeling that she could see through the visor, even though he knew it was impossible. Was she going to say…

“My family was caring for a foundling.” She shook her head, one cheek lifting into her eye in a half-hearted smile. “We were split up and I...don’t know what happened to them.” She shrugged and sniffed, blinking her long lashes rapidly to clear away any tears before they could form. “So when I heard that there was a covert here I…” Another shrug. “Wanted to come and...see.” 

Grogu. Kid. Foundling. Family. Clan. Aliit. 

Each pound of his heart brought a new word to mind. She’s...alone. He knew what that was like, to confront loss or uncertainty. But at least he had the rest of the covert. He had Cara and Karga and Fennec and Boba Fett. He had the Armorer and the survivors of the covert here on Nevarro, Paz and the foundlings that he’d rescued. “I’m...sorry.” They seemed insufficient but they were the only words he could conjure. 

She gave him a smirk, or tried to, and shook her head. His eyes were drawn again to the blue strands of her hair as she moved under the lights. “I’ll find them.” I hope you do. “Is it my turn?” He nodded. “Okay. Well, since you took those broken vambraces and you wanted my helmet, too, I assume that you know an Armorer?” 

“I do. There’s…” He thought about how best to answer, wanting to tell her the truth, wanting to tell her that there was a thriving Mandalorian population on Tattooine, hoping to tell her that perhaps she’d find her family there. But she hasn’t sworn the creed. 

She watched him, for what, he wasn’t sure, but she seemed to find it, her tongue flicking out to lick at her lips again. “But they won’t craft armor for me because I’m dar’manda, right?” The word made him flinch. Like the Mythosaur pendant, he could feel the weight it carried, too. 

“I… could ask, but-” 

Navina shook her head. “No, it’s alright, Mando.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s just a bantha brained idea I had.” It’s not...I understand, it’s just… “Can I… if I tell you my family name, would you…tell me if you know anything? Or-” 

“Sure.” He didn’t know many of the names of the Mandalorians that had joined the new covert, but he couldn’t see how it could hurt to make this offer. 

“Harsa,” she replied. “My father’s name is Gavil Harsa.” 

The Mandalorian nodded. “When I regroup with my covert I’ll put the word out that his daughter is looking for him.” 

“Thank you, Mando.” She sighed, a look of genuine gratitude and relief coming over her face. 

Before she could say anything else though, a crackling sound came from a pocket in her flak vest as a comm link sparked to life. “Nav? Nav! Can you hear me? Come in, Harsa.”  

Her eyes grew wide and she gritted her teeth, sucking air through them and reaching under her armor for the device that she must have hidden at the onset of her mission at the base. “Oh. Yeah. That’s…” 

“Your friend?” He crossed his arms as she nodded sheepishly. “You better answer him, then.” 

Her thumb hovered over the button to respond, but she stopped. “If I tell him where I am and he comes to pick me up, are you going to let us go without any trouble? He’s…” She inched towards the front of her seat. “I don’t want him in any trouble.” 

“I told you before, you aren’t my prisoner.” He understood though, that she was trying to protect her friend. She may not have sworn the Creed herself, but he couldn’t help but recall what the Armorer had told him just a few days ago. She spoke the language, upheld the duty to family and, though unconventionally, wore the armor. She is Mandalorian in everything but oath. “But you should tell him to wait until morning, when our flying friends are asleep. They’ll attack small ships as they take off.” 

“That’s… yes. I will tell him that.” Her thumb pressed down over the button and she spoke into the receiver. “I’m here, Firo, I read you.” 

Instantly the other man’s voice rang throughout the cockpit. “NAV. Dank Farrik, I was worried.” Nav? The Mandalorian looked at the woman across from him. It was short for her name, obviously, but it didn’t seem to fit her. Why do I care about that? He blinked. I don’t. 

Rolling her eyes again, Navina smiled. “I’m okay, Firo. Gonna have to sit tight where I am tonight, but,” she glanced up at the Mandalorian. “But I’m safe. I’ll send you coordinates in the morning, alright?” 

Safe. Trust. Ruusaanyc. 

It was easier to give into that word after speaking with her, even just for a short time, but it still made him wonder. Why? 

There were more things that he wanted to know, more questions that he wanted to ask. But just as she ended the communication with her associate, his own communication device began to beep from the third pocket on his belt and he sighed, knowing who it was before he even answered. 

Bo-Katan had arrived to meet with him on Tattooine. And she wouldn’t be happy to find him missing.

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor​​​​​ @alraedesigns​​​​​ @pheedraws​​​​​ @valkblue​​​​​ @malionnes​​​​​ @gollyderek​

[paperwayne]

snapshot.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” ➡ 23. Taking a picture together to print and hang later.

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

Word Count: 2,095 words

Warnings: Mild violence

“Nightwing! On your left!”

“Got it!” Dick shouts, twisting out of harm’s way. A split second later, he spins around and lands a blow on the screaming android.

Two more come your way. You leap onto the shoulders of one and slap an explosive onto its chest, jumping onto another android right before it goes off. Hot shrapnel cuts into your cape as acrid smoke fills your nose.

“I gotta say – hah! – this is not what I had in mind when you invited me to the mall,” you yell over the chaos.

Dick skids over to your side. His escrima sticks crackle with electricity – and in a moment, he stuffs them into an android’s eye sockets. “Trust me, this wasn’t on the agenda. I wanted to sh – oof! – show you the new photography studio. It’s Wild West-themed.”

“You don’t say?” You link elbows with Dick and he swings you into a robot feet-first. “That’s cool. You know I always want to party with you, cowboy.”

“Aw, you flatter me, Blackfinch.”

Pain shoots through your shoulder right before you can reply. Grunting in pain, you reach up and grab the android behind you, heaving it over you and into the ground. The white tile shatters.

“You okay?” Dick asks. You tear your attention away from the throbbing in your arm and see that he’s fighting the last android; it’s barely standing.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply. “Gonna have a nasty bruise, though.”

“Hm –” Dick crouches low and knocks the android down with a sweep of his leg. A well-aimed stomp to its neck ends its rampage, and you watch intently as the neon green of its eyes fade into gray. Guarded relief washes over you the same time your adrenaline rush begins to die. 

After surveying the ransacked left wing of the mall, the two of you make your way over to each other.

“You didn’t break anything, right?” Dick asks, brow furrowing.

“Believe me, I would know if something was broken.” You pat his chest, gesturing with your chin at the blaring lights outside the exit. “Look like the police finally arrived.”

While he glances over at the police cars parked on the other side of the doors, you gingerly rub your shoulder and bend over to inspect one of the hunks of metal. “So – I’m guessing this is Glass’s work.”

Dick’s mildly concerned gaze quickly narrows when you show him the patterning on the interior. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Wanna bet how quickly we can track him down?”

You raise a brow underneath your cowl. Putting away his escrima sticks, Dick looks down at your outstretched hand and smirks.

“Nope,” he replies. “Not gonna risk it all this time, Blackfinch.”

—

“You know, there’s an old-time photography studio uptown. Not Wild West, but close enough.”

You catch a falling drop of melted ice cream, looking over Dick’s shoulder as he scrolls through his phone. It really is admirable, how determined he is to find a good studio, but you’re quickly distracted by the tangy creaminess of blackberry cheesecake. (You think this particular distraction is well-deserved, though – what was meant to be a one-hour skirmish ended up being a two-hour long battle against Glass’s toys, and by the time the two of you managed to turn him in, both you and Dick were pretty damn sore).

“You really want this photoshoot done, huh, Grayson?” You pause to bite into your ice cream, letting out a pleased hum as it coats your tongue; so expensive, but so worth it. “What’s with the sudden interest?”

He shrugs. “I just think it’d be fun. A ridiculous photoshoot’s a pretty good idea,” Dick reasons, showing you the route to Bearon’s Studio. “See? It’s only a few blocks away.”

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

Your companion nods just as an explosion rocks the ground. Your ice cream scoop falls to the ground as you stumble and regain your footing, looking up to see smoke billowing from a nearby building.

“Seriously?” Dick groans.

As if on cue, a cloaked figure jumps out from a window and hits the ground running. There’s a maniacal cackle, and you sigh.

“Guess we’re going in a different direction, Dick.”

—

The runaway criminal ends up being a petty thief-turned-pyromaniac due to some street drug with a name too vulgar for public ears. You would have been glad that he wasn't a big-time villain with ulterior motives, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was an absolute pain in the ass to finally get him cornered and secured. To add to the picture, you now have teeth indentations on the same arm that got bruised in the first fight.

At least it's over now, though. Maybe if you and Dick hurry, the studio will still be –

“Closed?” Dick exclaims, hands gripping the door handles. The interior of the place is shrouded in darkness, and right near Dick's shoulder on the other side hangs a sign that reads “CLOSED” in dark, red print. “It’s not even close to six yet!”

“Guess they closed early.” You press your forehead into the glass and squint inside. Nothing happens. (You’re sort of relieved that nobody jumps out of the shadows at you and Dick.)

Dick’s hands drop down to his sides, and his head soon plonks against the door next to yours. “Man,” he sighs.

You turn to look at him. There are many expressions that look lovely on Dick’s face, some more than others, but disappointment is not one of them. It prompts you to think, and you tap on the door in thought, lips puckering.

Finally, you stand straight and snap your fingers. Dick raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve got it. Follow me.”

“Uh … okay.” Dick runs across the street after you, catching up in two quick strides. “Where are we going?”

You flash him a quick smile. “My grandpa’s house.”

Dick’s noise of surprise turns your smile into a smirk. The relationship between the two most important men in your life isn’t sour by any means, but your grandfather never really cared about social cues, and the most uncomfortable moments of your teenage life had resulted from his comments whenever you and Dick stood in the same room. You’ve gotten more used to his ways by now – which is nice – but still, you’re glad you don’t have to think about what he might say today.

“Don’t worry,” you assure Dick, running down the stairs toward the subway. “He’s out on business.”

Your childhood home was a penthouse suite. Fifteen years living the high-class life there, and not once had your grandfather renovated the place in any way, shape, or form; so after you and Dick finally reach the top floor and greet Miss Paula, it doesn’t take too long to find The Room.

“Okay,” you murmur to yourself, keeping ahold of Dick’s hand as you walk past your old bedroom, feeling your way down the hallway. Eventually, you reach a door with a keypad. “Aha.” Six digits, all in quick succession. “Behold.”

“… No way.” Dick walks over to the far corner as you flip on the light, gazing up at the array of hats hung onto the wall. Carefully, he takes one of them and examines the dark leather, lips curling into an incredulous grin. “How come I’ve never seen this place before?”

You take the hat from him and place it ceremoniously onto his head. “Grandpa’s way protective of his cowboy stuff. He only let me in here once I turned eighteen, and only responsible family and the closest of our friends can come in here.” Reaching around him, you grab a lasso off its hook and give it to Dick. “Here.”

The two of you spend the next few minutes trying on different combinations of hats and boots, modeling for each other and laughing your heads off like a pair of teenager. You tie a red handkerchief around Dick’s neck and fit him with a vest. He finds a giant wagon wheel hidden behind some crates and has you pose in front of it, expression deadly serious for historical accuracy. Finger guns complete the outfit.

“We don’t have a camera from the nineteenth century, but a filter’s the next best thing,” you state, rotating your camera around for a selfie. It takes a bit of stretching to include your enormous hats, but you manage. “Smile!”

Dick squishes his cheek against yours, and you can feel some stubble scraping against your skin as you take the shot. Your phone flashes and you bring it back down to check the result.

“Heh, you’re blinking.”

“You’re blurry.”

“It’s cute anyway,” Dick concludes, arm still wrapped around you as he favorites the picture.  “Text it to me, will ya?”

“I’ll do you one better and get it printed out at Walmart. This one should be framed and hung up,” you reply.

“You’re right.”

While Dick takes a moment to send one of the pictures to his siblings, you take off the two ten-gallon hats stuffed onto your head. The boots and spurs follow after a bit of difficulty. Your handkerchiefs go back into the drawers, the lasso back on its hook. It doesn’t take terribly long to put everything away, and when the two of you finish, the room looks exactly like it had before. (Who said that attention to detail was only applicable in the field?)

“Well, that was fun,” Dick laughs, hands on his hips as he surveys the hat collection one last time. “I’m actually glad we did this instead of the studio, to be honest.”

“I agree.”

Miss Paula is still, oddly enough, dusting the furniture when you and Dick come back to the foyer; she raises an eyebrow as the two of you walk to the elevator, all twin grins and muffled snorts.

“I hope you kids enjoyed yourselves,” she calls after you as the doors slide open, pointing her duster suspiciously in your direction. Her lips are pursed, but a twinkle shines in her eye.

You beam innocently. “We did. Send Grandpa our regards, please.”

“Mmhm.”

The doors close. Dick turns to you, eyes alight with mirth. “I hope your grandpa won’t be mad that we used his stuff for a photoshoot.”

“Nah, he’d have a heyday if he caught us. He’d probably want to hire a photographer and everything,” you snort, shaking your head.

He chuckles. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Glancing over at him, you will your next words to be light. “I mean – he always thought we looked cute together, remember?”

“He did.”

Dick’s reply is a mix between a question and a statement – you’re not sure which one it is, and when you try to read his face you don’t get much of an answer. His eyes flit to meet yours, and the slightest of smiles graces his lips for a moment before it’s replaced by a thoughtful look.

You instinctively turn your attention towards the steadily decreasing floor number above the buttons. There’s no elevator music, so now all you can hear is the sound of your breathing and Dick’s breathing, and god, the awkwardness is back again. Geez Louise. Why did you have to say that? That was years ago. Your grandpa probably only liked pairing you up with Dick because he thought it’d be funny.

“I think he was right.”

Your brain short-circuits. “… Huh?”

Dick leans back with his elbows against the rail, staring up at the floor number with you. Six, five, four. “We would be cute together. Hypothetically, you know.”

“Hypothetically.” You swallow, bracing yourself against the wall when the elevator suddenly stops at the ground floor. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Pause.

“Hey, remember when your grandpa made all of us ride on his Fourth of July float that one summer?”

His voice cuts through your fretting. You cling onto the new subject, and it’s thankfully easy to laugh once you refocus. “How could I forget that? God, he embarrassed me so much when I was in high school.”

“It was Wild West-themed, wasn’t it? I forgot that part until today.”

“It was. Damn, that actually makes it more embarrassing.��

“I need to look for pictures of that parade – oh, speaking of which, remember. To print out the photos.”

His expression’s solemn, and you roll your eyes and nudge him with your shoulder. “I’ll remember, Grayson. First thing after work tomorrow.”

“Alright,” he says. “I’m counting on you, partner.”

“And I’ve never let you down,” you respond.

Dick grins. He gives you a squeeze around your waist, looking down the street as you both walk towards the subway.

“Nope. Not once.”

__

[50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” prompt list (requests using this prompt list are openCLOSED)]

[thekillingquill]

Question Marks & Emoji Hearts 1/2

Pairing: Peter Parker x OC Word Count: 3,799 Warnings: This is my first ever attempt at writing a fluffy fic. Summary: Step 1: Get her number. Step 2: Engage in some accidental flirting. Step 3: Never let her go. A/N: This is part 1/2 because this fic ran away from me, joined the union and demanded more words. Real Talk: I’m so god damn nervous about this fic (I’ve had like 27 crises of confidence.... so shoutout to my friends for dealing with me). Any feedback on this fic would be the fuel necessary for me to confidently and efficiently finish part two. I’m also keeping a tag list for when I post part 2. Okay thanks. Let’s go!!!

Peter Parker is speechless, his jaw relaxed in an expression of unfiltered awe. His eyes are frozen on her and he knows he’s staring, but he just can’t stop. He’s convinced that he will never see anything this beautiful ever again.

She is 7,541 pieces of perfection waiting for him to do something with her.

“I know,” Ned says, patting his friend on the shoulder. “I cried when I saw her for the first time, too. Check out the BB-8 droid that came with it and it has two buildable Porgs and a buildable Mynock.” Peter’s head turned sharply toward his friend.

“Dude, no way.” If getting the Lego Death Star had been difficult, finding the newest Millennium Falcon set had been a miracle. Ned’s parents were going to get it for him for Christmas, but it sold out in less than a minute so they stuck an I.O.U. in his stocking. Peter throws his backpack, with the Spider-Man suit inside, into the corner of Ned’s room and narrowly misses the desk lamp.

Peter settles down on the floor and reaches for the box to read the specs while Ned sits on his computer chair, lowering it to the ground. Ned swivels toward his desk and turns on an old clock radio, tuning into a news station so they can listen for anything that might require Spider-Man’s assistance.

They work on the Millennium Falcon for about an hour before Ned’s phone slips out of his pocket and lands in front of Peter with a soft thud followed by a loud vibration against the carpet. Peter flips the phone over and nearly drops it again when he sees who is calling: Autumn MacGowan, complete with a contact photo. The picture had to have been taken in the last five days because she got a haircut on Tuesday (Peter thought the shorter look suited her nicely).

Ned pulls his phone out of Peter’s loose grip and answers the call enthusiastically.

“Hey Autumn!” Ned pauses and his smile brightens considerably. “I’m good, thanks. How are you doing?” Peter moves into a crouch, leaning closer to Ned and focusing on listening. He can hear her soft voice, tinny through the phone, responding to Ned with her thoughtful way of speaking.

“I’m fine, thank you. I’m actually calling because my plans for tomorrow have fallen through. I was wondering if you’d like to get together after school.”

“Yeah, that would be great! I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her laugh washes over Peter and he closes his eyes, trying to memorize the sound.

“See you tomorrow, Ned.” Peter opens his eyes in time to see Ned hang up.

“Yo-you have Autumn MacGowan’s phone number?” Peter asks immediately. Ned shoots his friend a perplexed look.

“Yeah, we have history together.” Peter gulps, eyes widening and lips pressing tightly together with nerves.

“You guys--you have history with Autumn MacGowan?” He asks in a daze. Ned reaches out and presses the hand holding his cell phone against Peter’s shoulder. Peter looks down at his friend’s hand and then quickly back to Ned’s worried expression.

“Yeah. We’ve got to do a presentation next week on how American history has influenced media. Autumn suggested that we focus on how Hollywood exploits historical figures for profit.” It takes a few moments for Peter to decipher his friend’s words. It clicks and his mouth opens in shock, eyes widening further.

“When you said history you meant like the class!” He blurts and Ned frowns.

“Yeah, what did you think I meant?”

“I-I don’t know! That you guys dated, maybe.” Ned laughs with his head thrown back, rotating in his computer chair lazily.

“You like Autumn! Hey, do you want her number? She’s really nice, she probably won’t mind.”  Peter places both of his hands on Ned’s shoulders, squeezing gently.

“Th-that would be incredible! Thank you!”

“Guy in the chair,” Ned announces with pride, tossing Peter his cell phone.

“Guy in the chair,” Peter echoes as he leans back, catching the phone deftly while falling out of his crouch and into a more comfortable seated position. His fingers move swiftly to type in Ned’s passcode. Peter quickly pulls up her contact information and he pauses to admire her contact picture. Her hair is pushed over her left shoulder and the soft half smile combined with the sparkle in her eyes makes his stomach jolt with excitement.

He shakes himself from her spell to pull out his own phone, which has seen better days, but pauses before entering her number. He taps his fingers on the side of Ned’s phone before coming to the decision to open a new text message.

Can I ask you a question?

Hardly a second has passed before the three dots materialize and then a reply comes through.

Always.

Peter’s fingers fly quickly over the letters, formulating his question.

Can I give my friend Peter your number? Parker. Peter Parker. He’s in your chemistry class. And Spanish. And gym.

“What are you doing?” Ned asks with a laugh. Peter looks up at his best friend with a sheepish smile.

“Well I uh, I thought it would be best if we asked first, you know? It might make her feel weird if I just texted her. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable or-or think I’m creepy.”

“Oh. Good idea.” Peter glances down at the phone in time to see that she replied and for the screen to lock. He rapidly types in the passcode, and the two letters in her reply makes him feel like he’s soaring.

OK.

He starts transferring her number, and her picture, to his phone’s contacts. He takes care to ensure that each number is punched in with accuracy. He’s thinking about how he’s going to start a conversation with her when Ned calls his name. Peter hums softly in acknowledgement, struggling to pull his focus off his phone.

“Peter, Queens needs Spider-Man.” Peter scrambles to get up off the floor, sliding to his backpack in the corner. He pulls out his suit, and turns to toss Ned his phone back, holding his own up to his best friend.

“Text me the details,” he tells him before slipping out the window and climbing to the roof.

Hey it’s Peter. Can I ask you a question? He reads back his words for the third time and lets out an elongated sigh of exhaustion. Peter’s thumb hovers over the send button and he thinks about apologizing just in case she’s busy and his message intrudes on her private time.

He indulges himself with a fantasy of her in her bedroom, back pressed against her headboard and a book resting on her breasts. Her hair will be a mess of curls, a result of her recent haircut, and her eyes will move swiftly from left to right as she devours each sentence. They will follow the rise and fall of her book as she breathes. He imagines that her lips will part in shock at an unexpected twist.

He pulls himself out of the fantasy and taps send, putting his phone face down on his stomach with a groan. He’s still wearing the Spider-Man suit, minus the mask, and feels too tired to move from his bed to strip it off and hide it away. The aching in his muscles is a sign that he had a good patrol and it makes Peter feel like the streets of Queens are at least a little safer tonight.

Peter’s phone hums under his hand and he tilts the screen up tentatively, afraid to get his hopes up, but it’s her. He brings the phone forward and he unlocks it to read her message.

Hey, Peter! Ask away. Sent at 1:59 AM. Peter chokes on his breath, noticing for the first time just how late it actually is. His fingers move swiftly over the keys.

What are you still doing up?! He presses send on the message before he has the chance to overthink it. Her response comes just as quickly and Peter takes a moment to appreciate the fact that he’s actually having a conversation with Autumn MacGowan.

Is that really what you wanted to ask? She took the care to include an emoji with its tongue sticking out which lessens the sting of Peter’s embarrassment. He hits send on his new message again before he succumbs to his own social awkwardness and lets the conversation die.

No, I actually wanted to ask if we have any chemistry. Peter sets his phone to the side, satisfied with his excuse for texting her, and finds the energy to roll off of his bunk bed. He lands soundlessly in a crouch, wincing as his body throbs in pain. Bzzz. He straightens up to loosen the fabric of his suit and lets it fall away to leave him standing in the middle of his room wearing nothing but his red and white plaid boxers.

He clumsily kicks off the suit and moves to the mirror in his bedroom. Bzzz. He can’t see any bruising and experimentally moves his limbs to come to the conclusion that he’s only dealing with muscle aches. Bzzz. Peter leaps lithely onto the ladder of his bunk bed at the sound of his buzzing phone. He feels around on the mattress, groaning when he can’t reach it. He crawls across the mattress, grabbing his phone and flipping onto his back with one leg still dangling over the edge.

Is... that a pickup line? Peter’s eyes widen in horror and he scrolls up to his last message.

“Oh my god, Peter, you idiot.” He whispers to himself.

Wow, Parker, I didn’t think you’d be so forward. Peter groans.

“I wouldn’t.” He says out loud to his empty room.

Full disclosure: I’m impressed. The execution could have been smoother, but I’m still impressed. His stomach clenches at her last message, is it butterflies or nerves? Peter’s fingers fly rapidly across the keys, doing as much damage control as one can at 2:00 am.

I’m so sorry! I meant do we have any chemistry homework!!!??? I’m an idiot. He didn’t mean to hit send. The I’m an idiot was meant to be something cathartic for himself. He doesn’t need to TELL her he’s an idiot when he’s perfectly capable of showing her, obviously. His phone buzzes again.

1. Chemistry homework was to read the next chapter. 2. You’re not an idiot! You’re one of the smartest guys I know. 3. I’m still impressed, okay? 4. As you pointed out earlier, it’s late. So I am going to go to sleep. See you at school! 5. I don’t like my numbered lists to end on an even number. <3 Peter grins at his screen, his stomach jolting again at how unexpectedly adorable her message is.

Thanks! Have a good night. He throws his head back dramatically with a groan. All he wants is to keep talking to her, but he just straight white male-d the conversation.

Every night for the next two weeks, Peter has to start the conversation from scratch with Hey, can I ask you a question? To Autumn’s credit, the answer is almost always prompt and positive. And every night, Peter learns something new about her.

She has an older sister named April. And a dog named Gatsby. She likes Thai food and she thinks having her phone at the dinner table is rude. Her favourite class is photography and she likes when he wears shirts with science puns. She drinks a hot chocolate every day.

Each time she shares something personal about herself with him, Peter feels like he’s flying.

Or maybe he’s falling.

“Looks like Yearbook Club is out to get pictures before school. Hey, how’s my hair?” Peter looks up from his textbook at the sound of Ned’s voice, glancing at his friend from around his locker door and then down the hall. His eyes are, as usual, drawn to Autumn MacGowan immediately.

Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, the shorter length allowing for strands to escape the tie and curl around her neck where her camera hangs. She cradles the camera delicately, one hand under the base and one curled around the lens. Autumn snaps pictures as she walks down the hall. Walks towards him, Peter realizes with a jolt of excitement.

Their interactions at school have been minimal: a hand raised in recognition, prolonged eye contact across a crowded classroom, a quiet hello as they pass in the halls. His favourite, though, is the smile she seems to have reserved just for him. It’s the kind of smile given to someone you share a secret with and seeing it never fails to thrill him.

He tries to temper down the feeling of excitement and waits for her to pass by, to flash him the secret smile, but she stops in front of them. Peter’s breathing stutters in surprise, his heart pounding harder in his chest.

“Good morning Ned,” she greets, disappearing behind her camera to snap a quick picture of him. “I heard a rumour that we’ll be getting our marks back today.”

“That’s awesome.” Ned turns to Peter, nudging his arm. “We crushed it.”

“Wh-what?” Peter asks dumbly, looking quickly to Ned before bringing his gaze back to Autumn. He knows that he’s staring, but he can’t seem to help it. For the first time since she stopped to talk to Ned, Autumn turns her gaze on Peter.

“Our presentation. The one for History class? I told you about it.” Even though Ned is speaking, Autumn doesn’t let her eyes stray away from Peter.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” Peter mumbles to Ned. He sucks in a shallow breath as Autumn’s lips form that secret smile. A little bubble of laughter slips past her lips and he can only stare at how it makes her glow.

“You wear grey really well, Parker.” And then she snaps a picture of him, so quickly that he doesn’t have time to conjure a smile. “I like the red plaid you have here.” She stops cradling the lense of her camera to bring a finger to touch the collar of his shirt. Autumn takes two steps backward and tilts her head to the side, like he’s a work of art mean to be admired from a distance. And then in a much quieter, more intimate tone, she tells him: “You look very handsome, Peter.”

He looks down at his shoes quickly, trying to control his blushing, and then peeks up at her through his lashes with an embarrassed half smile. It’s the moment she is waiting for, and she captures it forever--the first time she sees him blush from something she’s said. Peter licks his lips nervously as she assesses the image on her screen, her bottom lip becoming trapped between her teeth. She taps her thumb on the side of the camera before looking up at Peter with her lips pressed tightly together and he’s frozen, waiting for her to decide how they move forward together.

“Can I ask you a question?” She asks tentatively. Peter nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah, yeah of course!” She takes a step closer to Peter, offering her camera to him.

“Would it be okay with you if I put this in my portfolio?” He glances at the image and then back at her face.

“Really?” He asks her with mild skepticism. She fidgets with the settings on her camera to avoid Peter’s gaze.

“Yeah, really. It’s a good picture. No, it’s a great picture, actually.”

“Yeah, it is. Of course you can use it in your portfolio. I’m-I’m honoured, really.” Peter can see her swallowing back what she really wants to say, has seen her do this a hundred times in class, but he wants to be the person she tells everything to. He doesn't want her censored. He wants all of her intricate thoughts, all of her ugly secrets, and even her most ridiculously random thoughts.

So he takes a chance and pushes her a little, the way she did for him on the first night he texted her.

"Is that really what you wanted to ask me?" She presents him with a closed mouth smile, the words locked behind her teeth. "I just get the sense that you want to ask me about more than your portfolio."

"It's not a question," she begins carefully, her gaze sliding over to Ned. Peter also directs his attention to look at Ned who has his thumbs under the straps of his backpack and an amused grin on his face as he watches all of this unfold. Peter clenches his jaw and gives a slight jerk of his head. Ned doesn’t seem to be picking up on what Peter is trying to communicate.

"It's more like a request," she finishes. Peter looks back at Autumn quickly, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Anything." She laughs again, her head tilting back and her hands tightening its grip on her camera.

"Peter, you don't even know what it is!"

"Well, I will if you tell me." That brings that secret smile to her face again and Peter feels a surge of pride for being the person solely responsible for putting it there. Her smile diminishes slightly as she looks around the hall.

“Can we go somewhere a little more private?” She asks quietly, beginning to fidget with the focus lens on her camera. Peter shoots a quick look to Ned, assessing his best friend’s reaction. Ned nods emphatically, adjusting the straps of his backpack.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, we can do that.” Autumn’s eyes are bright, Peter thinks it could be from excitement, and she takes her hand off of the lens of her camera to reach for his. Peter gulps and follows her lead, slipping his hand further into hers to grip it. She smiles at him and gives a gentle tug, beginning to lead him away from his locker. Peter looks quickly over his shoulder at his best friend and Ned gives him two thumbs up and a supportive grin.

Ned isn’t the only student at Midtown who has taken notice of Peter and Autumn. Peter catches sight of Flash’s incredulous expression as they pass by.

“Was the Penis Parker with Autumn MacGowan?” Flash asks the person standing next to him. The disbelief in Flash’s voice gives Peter yet another reason to smile. Autumn squeezes his hand, rubbing her thumb against his wrist under the sleeve of his sweater. The main reason he has for smiling.

Autumn guides them into the library and brings them to the hallway on the left that leads to eight small study rooms for students to utilize. She walks up to Room 4, which is very clearly occupied, and knocks quietly twice. After a moment, the door opens a crack and Autumn whispers lowly to the occupant.

“I need the room.”

“Okay, for how long?”

“I don’t know, but you owe me.”

“I know. Let me just get my stuff.” The door closes again and after a minute or so opens again to reveal a girl that Peter doesn’t immediately recognize. She stands in the doorway, her eyes focusing on where his hand envelopes Autumn’s. A smirk slowly emerges.

“Oh, I get it now.” She says laughingly to Autumn.

“Shut up,” Autumn mutters defensively, pushing past the girl and pulling Peter along with her. The girl’s laughter is muted once the door shuts behind them. Autumn takes a deep breath, releasing Peter’s hand to lift her camera over her head and place it on the table in the center of the room.

His hand feels cold without hers. This change in location feels like it has ruined the flow of their conversation and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Autumn turns to face him abruptly, taking two long steps until she’s toe to toe with him.

"Please don't give that look to any other girls.” She pauses, taking another deep breath to gather her courage. “They might just go and fall in love with you, too."

It takes him a moment to process what she’s said, to recognize the fear and the hope in her expression. He feels too much all at once: disbelief, hope, adoration, pride, excitement, happy, brave, stupid, lucky, untouchable, and maybe something that could be the beginning of his first great love story.

So he does the only thing that makes sense to him in that moment.

“Hey Autumn, can I-can I ask you a question?” She looks up at him, her cheeks flushed and it seems to Peter like her heart may be cracked open just for him, and nods. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” her voice is soft, but sure. Peter honestly didn’t expect her to say yes and, now that she has, he isn’t sure how to proceed. One part of him wants to just dive in and kiss her, but the other part of him wants to take his time to really commit the moment to memory.

His hands shake as he brings them to touch her cheeks softly. He uses one hand to lightly trace along her cheekbone to her jaw until he is gently cupping the back of her neck.

“Are you sure?” He asks, because maybe she changed her mind.

Her answer is to curl her fingers in the collar of his shirt and lean up to press her mouth to his with intent. Peter inhales sharply through his nose, breathing in her scent of something sweet and citrusy, and takes his hand from her face to press against her back, keeping her steady. Her lips part slightly against his and Peter sighs in contentment, a sound echoed by Autumn when he pulls back to press a lingering kiss to her cheek.

Peter closes his eyes, pressing his face into her neck as she reaches up to wrap her arms around his shoulders in an embrace. He sighs happily and presses another kiss to her cheek. He can’t get enough of this feeling, of her scent and her warmth. It all feels like a very good dream.

“I’ve wanted to do that for months.” He whispers to the room. Autumn laughs, beginning to run her fingers through his hair. He bites his lip to keep from moaning at how nice it feels to be touched so gently.

“I’ve been waiting for that kiss since you held open the door for me at Freshmen orientation.” Peter laughs into her neck, squeezing her closer.

“Sorry I kept you waiting for so long.” The first bell rings and Autumn pulls away from him. Her smile is so beautiful.

“That’s okay. I knew you were going to be worth the wait, Peter Parker.”

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