#'so that time Pete kissed me and said he'd do it again...' 'he had a crush on you' 'OH'

[aithusarosekiller]

Sirius: you two just...

Regulus: yes, we just kissed. James and I are dating, alright?

Sirius: ...

James: Look, I know it's weird because I'm your best friend and he's your brother but...are you mad at us?

Sirius: ...

Regulus: Sirius???

Sirius, trying to compute the fact that gay people are real:

[devilfic]

❝late-bloomer❞

plot: you've never been kissed before. on a completely unrelated note, what if your best friend offered to be your first? pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: post-tasm 2, gwen stacy mention, angst, self-deprecating thoughts about being undesirable and insecurity in love, best friends to wouldn't you like to know, eventual fluff, attempts at andrew garfield accurate rambling, he definitely talks you through it I mean who said that. words: 4.3k.

a/n: entirely self-indulgent because I wrote this after crying over being a late-bloomer for an hour ahahaha

Peter is reading something for research when you suck in a breath and finally ask, "What was your first kiss like?"

You hear his voice die in his throat. The small whispering of test results and calculations fall short, but you don't dare to look back. You're hunched forward so he won't see the way your eyes burn and brim with tears unshed because if he did, he'd ask about it and then you'd really start crying. Instead, you busy yourself with your phone, idly scrolling as if your question was pure curiosity alone.

You watch his ankles uncross, hear him sit up and then lean against the headboard again, fumbling for your train of thought, "Uh... sticky, 'cause I was six," Peter laughs, "You should know. You're the one who kissed me."

No matter how many times he tells you this, you can't remember the day you'd been so bold as to plant one right on Peter Parker's lips. You felt like you'd remember that, but you'd been such an impulsive child back them. Bolder. Thicker-skinned.

But Peter remembers, and so does Aunt May who swears up and down that she'd caught it on camera ("If only I could find that damned photo album"). You're the only one who doesn't. It's like it never happened, "No, God... no. I mean like your first real kiss."

"Like with tongue?" You hear the humor in his voice and even your sullen mood doesn't stop you from smacking his knee. "I dunno what you're talking about. That kiss was real to me."

"I'm serious, Pete."

He hums. You're so, so tempted to look back and see what he's thinking, but it would give you away too easily. "It was... it was a kiss. I mean, Gwen- you know. You know. I was crazy about her. I didn't think I just... kissed her."

"How did it feel? Do you know?"

"I felt like I needed to do it. I felt like if I didn't, I'd throw up. Not actually, just... like I'd explode with all the feelings I had for her."

Your finger hovers over a tweet. In your wondering about that feeling of almost nearly exploding, you try to picture that rooftop kiss that Peter had relayed to you between classes, with hushed whispers and childish laughter. It was windy, and I was breathless, he'd said, and I wanted to lay myself bare. And I just... pulled her in. Shot a web and swept her up and kissed her. I think I've lost my mind. You remembered pressing your back against the school lockers to cool yourself as you imagined the scene, the steps it took for you to settle the uneasy churn in the pit of your chest. The euphoria and panic upon realizing that your Peter was growing up.

You felt overwhelmed just imagining it. You barely hear Peter ask why you want to know. "No reason. Was just curious."

You think that Peter accepts that as good enough reason because the room is silent again. You keep scrolling, keep taking subtle deep breaths to keep the tears at bay. You see a picture of a couple on your timeline and scroll faster.

A few minutes of peace pass before Peter broaches the subject again, "What about you?"

"Hm?"

"I don't think you've ever told me about your first kiss."

Your shoulders tense. No good effort hides the strain in your voice, "I haven't?"

A beat passes. You glance over your shoulder and see Peter staring right at you, his lips upturned in a small, resting smile, but his eyes are inquiring. He's trying to read you. Perhaps he's just noticed the heavy cloud hanging overhead. "Nope." He pops the "P". He's waiting.

You could lie. You could say it was Flash Thompson who stole it, mention that field trip to the zoo in middle school when he'd sneaked next to you at the peacock exhibit and pestered you about you and Peter. Peter wouldn't question Flash about it. Even if they'd made amends, any conversation about him would send him over the edge with memories of his childhood bully and how much he pitied you for having your first kiss with him. And all of you were far too old now; Flash Thompson had gone to another state to play football the minute he got his diploma. It'd be so inconsequential, such an easy lie.

But the longer it takes you to deliberate on it, the worse it makes you look. You should've offered up an answer easily, jovially, unbothered. It should be inconsequential. Anything more and Peter would call your bluff because he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes.

At some point, you feel the brush of a lone finger at the base of your spine and it startles you. Peter's slipped his finger under your shirt, stroking along the middle of your back, "I won't laugh. If that's what you're thinking." He says softly.

Of course Peter wouldn't laugh at you. As much as your relationship was teasing, he knew where you were tender.

But it wasn't laughing you worried about.

"I know." You say, in lieu of a real answer. You fear you've given yourself away.

Now there are two fingers stroking your skin, "You don't... you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," but you can hear the discomfort in his voice when he says it, like the thought that it's something you don't want to tell him concerns him, "it's up to you."

Just lie. Your breath shudders and immediately you regret it. There's no way he hadn't heard that.

Before you can recover, you're feeling the heat of his entire hand on your back now as it slips further up, as he sits up in bed beside you and rests his chin on your shoulder. The closeness of his breath makes you feel claustrophobic all of a sudden, "Hey, hey. I'm sorry. Did I push? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

You struggle to shake your head, but now your eyes are burning again and you don't think you can stop the tears this time, "You didn't." You insist.

"You're crying, bub," he laughs (not mockingly, never mockingly, never when you cry) and reaches a thumb up to brush away the first warm tear, "what's wrong?"

There's a million things you could say. I've never been kissed before, I don't know what it feels like to be longed for like that, I want to be longed for like that, why haven't I been longed for like that? But it all feels so heavy. Peter picks his chin up to kiss your shoulder and that really does it, "It never happened."

Peter's lips still against your skin. Their warmth slowly peels away, though you feel his breath ghost over the curve of your bone, "What hasn't?"

"A kiss. A first kiss, Peter. I've never had one."

"That's..." Peter sounds almost shocked, disbelieving. He never picks up that thought.

You turn your head away and toss your phone onto the bed, no longer interested in pretending you could distract yourself with anything else. You try to shrug your shoulder out from underneath Peter's mouth but he's quick, the hand at your back locking around you and you can't escape him even though you want to, even though you need to get away from his sweet smile and lovely heartbeat that thuds a little faster against your side.

It was already so much to tell him you hadn't had your first kiss yet, to admit to your best friend who—despite popular Midtown High opinion—has always been so irresistible to lovers, that you haven't gone as far as something so... simple. Something teenagers running your old stomping grounds have probably experienced ten times over by now. You don't think you can handle his pity too, "Peter, please."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. Everyone moves at their own pace."

You hiss through your teeth. You don't mean to, but the spite overwhelms you like red hot heat for a minute, "It's easy to say that when you've done it already."

You catch Peter's eye and immediately regret it. His untamed brows are drawn together, expression more analyzing than pitying. Even though you're brimming with feelings, he seems as if he's trying to wade through them, search for the gnarled root at the center of it all.

Then, and he says this so carefully that the meaning takes a moment to catch up with you, "There's nothing wrong with you."

It's the sincerity that does it. You shove his hand off of you, jerk away from him in a scramble to stand, but Peter is fast and lithe and he's always been two steps ahead of you even before the bite. He's up on his feet before even you are, coming to stand in your way when you go to grab for your bag, "Peter, move."

"Look, can we... can we talk about this?"

"I really don't want to. Move."

"Why are you shutting me out?"

"Because I want to go home. Move."

"Is it because of what I said?"

"Yes!" You blurt, growing frustrated the longer he blocks your path, "yes. Because I'm sick of being told there's nothing wrong with me when clearly..." Your voice tapers off, afraid to give him the reason he needs to worry about you, "Please. I'm just tired. It'll go away on its own, it always does, I just can't be here right now."

The standoff between you two lingers, feels like you might have to fight him just to escape. It takes everything in you just to keep eye contact with him and not burst into tears.

Peter clearly doesn't want to let you go. You can see that genius brain of his running every possible scenario in his mind in which he convinces you to stay, cry it out, leave happier than you came. None of them come soon enough. You brush past him when he realizes he's got nothing, and even the hand that grabs for you is halfhearted, shrugged off with little force.

"I'll see you later, Pete."

You let his front door shut on its own.

It hasn't been great.

What typically took a few hours to shake off had settled over you like a dark cloud ever since you'd stormed out of Peter's place. Even though you texted him like everything was fine (and dodged any phone calls so he wouldn't hear the truth with those freakishly good best friend senses of his), you had yet to see him again. Had yet to let yourself be seen.

You told yourself that it was just you missing Peter, and you believed that to be true, but you also believed that when he looked you in the eye and told you "there's nothing wrong with you", you hadn't been prepared for the nakedness of it all. He'd dug deep, right to the source. That kind of thing was hard to move past.

So you avoided him. If he came by your place, you pretended you weren't home. If he showed up at your work to take you to coffee, you lied and told him you had plans with a coworker. It had been several days now and you felt more and more cowardly by the minute.

It was Peter. Of all people, it was Peter. Your best friend. You could tell him anything (most things, some kept a little closer to the heart). You should be able to.

And it was silly. Being embarrassed about not kissing anyone. Plenty of people were in the same boat as you and they didn't ice their best friend out about it.

Ugh, now you were just making yourself feel worse.

You'd had enough. You'd end this pity party today. As you make your way through your apartment door, you promise yourself that after you've showered, after you've made yourself a filling dinner, after you've settled into bed, you'd call Peter and ask him to meet for pizza this weekend. You'd talk like civil adults who understand that life isn't a race. You'd share your couch, laugh about the whole thing, and maybe, just maybe, the hollowness in your chest that longed for someone's desire to fill it would finally-

He's sitting in your kitchen.

Legs dangling off the island, mask rolled up to his nose, and a spoon clattering out of his mouth and into a bowl of ice cream. Your front door shuts gently behind you.

You stare at each other for a few seconds. Then you glance through your bedroom door, cracked open just enough for you to see the breeze rustling your curtains. You turn back to Peter, who's cleaning off his bottom lip of raspberry sorbet. "Did you climb through the window? You have a key."

Peter sets the bowl down beside him, shrugs, "You weren't returning my calls."

Your shoulders sag and you drop your things to the floor, "Peter-"

"No, no," you watch him slide off the countertop and bounce over to you, and the nearness you aren't prepared for makes you back away an inch or two, "No Peter. I'm not Peter. I'm Spider-Man. See?" He gestures to the suit.

You reach your hand up and pinch his exposed cheek, then narrowly avoid his teeth before he tries to nip you, "I'm not in the mood. I said I'd call you later, I'm just... busy."

"Busy avoiding your best friend."

You can feel him trail after you as you walk away, beginning to undress. He catches your coat when you throw it toward the couch and hangs it up all neat on a hook. He kicks your shoes to a wall and tugs your belt from your fingertips once you've undone it. Then, unexpectedly, he hooks said belt around your waist and yanks you back to face him.

The momentum throws you fully into his chest but he's sturdy, unmoving as you grip his shoulders and give him the most hostile look you can muster. You attempt to wiggle out of the trap but he pulls the belt tighter, forcing you closer, and then you start to panic as the space between you both disappears, "I haven't been avoiding you, I just needed space." You quickly explain.

"And I get that," he admits, "but you scared me. I've never seen you like that before. Not with me. Not ever."

Of course he hadn't. It was why you kept all of this a secret in the first place. Because you knew he'd worry, and you knew that there would be nothing he could do to fix it. Not like he usually could.

"It was a... brief lapse in self-esteem. That's all. You're making it into a bigger deal than it should be."

"It's not a big deal?"

"No! That's what I keep trying to tell you."

"So it doesn't matter at all."

"Correct."

"Right."

"It's just an arbitrary milestone that means nothing." You grip the leather of your belt but you're nothing against his superhuman strength. Pleading with your eyes, you do your best not to slip back into that vulnerable place all over again. Peter made you feel safe to do that. Way too safe to do that. "I promise. I'm not avoiding you."

You get sick of staring into the whites of his mask and so you grab the edge of it and pull it up to his hairline, little tufts of curls poking out as his face is fully revealed to you. You stare into those sharp, probing eyes of his, forcing yourself to stand the test of Peter Parker's perception.

Suddenly, you're released.

You stumble back a bit, the belt clanking against the floor, as Peter throws his arms up in defeat, "Alright, alright. I get it. I should've let you breathe the other night. I was just worried, is all."

You smile, "And I appreciate that."

Peter quickly glances at you and then away, making an exaggerated show of kicking imaginary dust off the floor. "First kisses really mean nothing then, huh?"

"Zilch. Nada."

"So... doesn't matter when it is, who it is..."

You watch him carefully, "If this is about when we were six-"

"No, no, I know that didn't count. You don't even remember it," his face contorts in a wince, "I was just thinking. Something."

Your eyes narrow, "Uh-huh."

"Well, I mean, is that why? Because you don't remember it? Or... is it because it was me?"

"The kiss?" Peter blows a raspberry, looking more bashful by the second, and nods without looking at you. "It's... it's because we were six. And we didn't know what we were doing. I was just mimicking what we saw. We didn't know anything."

"And now we do."

"Yeah. What are you getting at, Pete?"

He sits on the back of your couch and kicks his feet out in front of him. "If all that matters is that we both know what we're doing, and a first kiss is just a meaningless milestone to you, then I thought that maybe we could give it another go. You know. So when a real kiss comes along that actually means something, you'll have an idea of how it's supposed to go."

You're six years old again.

You and Peter Parker are sitting in the dirt, mouths covered in sticky ice cream that the summer sun melted right up. You're both talking about Flash Thompson's trip to Florida and the hilarious sunburn he came back with when you spot an elderly couple across the park, pressing their mouths together over and over.

You're looking over at Peter and asking about it, sure it couldn't possibly feel good, and he's telling you that when Uncle Ben kisses May good morning in the kitchen he always looks away because it's gross.

And you're thinking... you start thinking something.

You're thinking it would be funny—that Peter would hate you for it, but you're just so curious—and you're pressing your lips to his so quickly that he doesn't get a chance to pull back before you're giggling in the grass. And May's voice flutters in the background, a shrill and delighted, "I caught that!" that makes you both turn tail and run toward the swings.

Peter's still staring at you, waiting.

Part of you feels like it's pity. Like he doesn't want you to feel bad about yourself. Like he doesn't know how else to fix it, because he has to fix it. He has to fix everything. He has to be your hero.

But the other part? A restless and selfish part wants to take it; it's curious.

You take a step forward, the two of you watching each other, waiting to see if the other might back out at the last second. He stays exactly where he is, legs parting slowly, and the silent invitation makes you feel hot under the collar.

When you're standing between them, you feel his knees bump your legs on either side, his hands planted firmly into the couch cushions. You notice the grip he has on them, "Are you sure?" You pause.

Peter tilts his head in that strange, spider-like way. As if he cannot fathom why would you ask such a thing, "Of course. I'm the one who offered."

Your hands shake as they consider where to put themselves, and you get about halfway to his shoulders before he takes them and places them on either side of his face, mumbling something about how it might help you feel more in control, quell your nerves a bit.

Peter's cheeks feel so warm in your hands, and you can feel each swallow he makes the longer you take in his expression. "Should... I move in first? Or..."

He laughs, short and high-pitched, "I guess I can go first."

You know you're supposed to close your eyes, but as he comes in close, you can't help but keep them lidded, taking in every twitch of his mouth as he inclines his neck, shuts his eyes, and kisses you.

Your brain reacts a half-second after his lips touch yours. You've probably stopped breathing, and you have to force your lips to unstiffen so that you could actually feel him. His lips are a little wet—he'd been rolling his bottom lip between his teeth since he'd sat down—and they taste faintly of raspberry. They're not cold though, and the feeling isn't unpleasant.

You don't know how to react to it, don't know if you should move or not, and so instead you curl your fingers into the silk of his nape and wait for the pounding in your chest to stop.

You feel him mouth at your bottom lip just once, and then pull back. "How'd that feel?"

You recall the sensations that went through your brain (all that it can recall anyway, when Peter's looking at you like that), "Slimy...?"

Peter's face falls, and then he bursts into laughter, shakes with the force of it, and drops his head on your shoulder. "There's got to be a better word than that."

"I don't know! I was just thinking about the feeling."

"I don't want to know what it felt like, I want to know how it made you feel. Did you like it? Hate it?"

"I don't know. I'm- I'm nervous."

"Hey, that's okay," his hand rubs your hip, warming the skin there, and you find yourself leaning into it for comfort, "everyone is their first time."

Peter is so, so gentle. Your heart feels like it might give out, but a little less now that it's over and he's not looking at you in disgust. You don't know what you expected, but... this was better. By far. That part of you that felt selfish takes over again, "Can we try again?"

His eyes widen a bit, but he's immediately nodding, "Okay. Yeah. Okay. We can try as- as many times as you want."

You nearly choke on your spit. "Can we?" Your voice comes out a meek whisper.

Peter nods. He brings his legs in so that he's sitting properly now. "Of course. You wanna move me? I can sit somewhere else. Or you can sit if you want."

"No, I like you here," you say, feeling your stomach tighten when his thighs lock against your legs, "um. Is there anything I can work on? How did I feel?"

"Warm. Soft. Just try to loosen up, alright?"

You force yourself to release the tension in your body and move in first this time. Images of rom-com kisses flood your brain, how you memorized their rhythms and the placement of their mouths. You try your best to mimic it, make it feel as good as it seemed to look, when you feel one of Peter's hands slip behind your head and angle you away just a hair, "You're tensing up," he warns, making you pause, "it doesn't have to be perfect. It's just you and me. Breathe for me, okay? Turn your brain off."

You feel your stomach flip a bit, and nod along mindlessly. You try again.

This time, it feels a little different. Not wet or stiff, even if it is still awkward. It almost overwhelms you when, as you're mouthing at Peter's lip, he returns the favor, but you keep your brain empty. You can't focus on the details because it won't feel right. You can't focus on the way it looks because it won't feel right.

So you focus on Peter. You focus on the hand on your hip drawing you closer and the hand on your neck rubbing circles into the knot there. You focus on the feeling of his suit under your pinkies. You focus on the small hum he makes when, with quite a bit of building up to it, you pass your tongue over his.

Almost as soon as you do it, you pull back. Peter is flushed and it makes the beauty marks on his skin stand out more. His eyelashes flutter, a half-smile on his lips that are kissed red. By you.

You open your mouth to ask but he beats you to it, "I think you've got it now... yeah. Definitely." You're so relieved you sigh, sagging away from him, but he catches your hands before they can can leave his face completely and holds them in his lap. You don't dare move them. "How about you? Did you like it?"

You nod, speechless.

Peter laughs and squeezes your hands in his, "Okay, good. Good. I love you, you know? I know it doesn't... replace what you're looking for, but you're wonderful. You're insane and funny and stunning and there's nothing wrong... you know? You're perfect. Take it from your loser best friend who had to get bit by a radioactive spider to get to first base."

You snort, "I mean, if that's all it takes..."

Peter shakes his head and stands, but his hand remains on your neck as you follow his eyes to his full height, "So, we good? No more ignoring me?" You bite your lip, nodding your head. Peter smiles. "Good, cause I'm starving and I need you to split a pizza with me."

"You just polished off a tub of ice cream and you're still hungry?"

"I'm a growing spider, honey. And I missed you." Without warning, the hand on your hip hooks around your back and hoists you into his body, throwing you off balance once more, "I'll swing us there and cover cheese sticks too. Sound good?"

You know you don't have much room to argue when he's being so generous. And not when he's beaming at you, so genuinely relieved to have you back that it would knock you off your feet if he wasn't holding you up.

He was right; this wouldn't replace what you were looking for, but it gets pretty damn close. Closer than you expected, actually. But it's just the adrenaline. This didn't change anything.

Did it? You stare up at Peter.

"We can try as many times as you want."

You might have a very different problem than you started with.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes

[webslingingslasher]

hi!! can I request frat tasm!peter being sad/disappointed about reader not calling him petey anymore but he's trying to play it cool lol

like reader would come up to him like "hey pete what's up" and he'd immediately notice but he doesn't wanna let it show that he cares so he'd be like "you're acting weird" or something and reading asking him what the hell that means and he goes "haven't called me anything other than petey in a while" tryna brush it off lol and reader instantly knows where he's going but decides to play dumb like "yeah well you told me you didn't like it when i called you that" and peter wants to DIE cause he doesn't wanna admit that he actually kind of likes it and it's just endless teasing and maybe a flustered peter lol

this got extremely long lol im sorry feel totally free to ignore this if you don't wanna write it!! I love your writing <3 have a great day!

*cleaning out my inbox- this is regular frat!peter, however you invision him.*

'hi, peter!'

not that he's counting, but it's been four days since you called him petey and at this point he swears you're upset about something, you just won't tell him what yet.

'hi, trouble.' his kiss must be lacking, your thumb rubs over his bottom lip and you show a small frown. 'what's wrong?'

'nothing,' it's spoken into your skin. you don't believe him, you try again, peter's better this time around. 'your kisses feel sad.' okay, maybe not.

'i'm not sad, you're the one being weird.' you tie around him for a hug, he gladly copies you. 'i'm not being weird, you're being weird.' peter hums, you feel his chest vibrate.

'sorry. i think you're mad at me and you won't tell me why.' you have to be, it's the only reason you've been holding back your favorite name.

'i'm not mad at you. why do you think i'm mad?' peter's tapping his fingertips down the middle of your back, he doesn't know how to say it without sounding like a baby.

'i don't know. you've just been a little less affectionate than normal.'

you try to think back, you don't think you have. you had lunch with him almost everyday and wrapped your arm around his at the table, and kissed his cheek almost every ten minutes. and you almost had to beg him to ditch the party to come cuddle with you on saturday. 

and you're currently in a hug with no time expiration. you don't know how you could be more affectionate.

'have i?' you're looking at him for answers because you have none.

'yeah.' you can't fix it if he won't tell you. you poke his side, then tether your arm back around him. 'you gotta tell me how.'

'you just...' peter's so glad you're in a hug and have your head turned, because you can't see the blush he's feeling. 'you haven't called me petey in awhile.'

you feel your heart burst open. he loves it just as much as you do.

'you told me you didn't like it.'

peter knows what he said. it's just not what he meant.

'it doesn't matter if i like or not, i got used to it.'

you take a few seconds to think about it, it doesn't mean you can't have fun. 'if i start calling you petey again you can't give me sad kisses.' peter washes his hands over your back, you melt in further.

'if you started calling me petey again i would have no reason to give you sad kisses.' boom. he said it and he really wasn't thinking, you push him away and look up with shining eyes.

'you really do like it!' a gasp, you reach for his face- you reach for his pink cheeks. peter grabs your hands, 'no. leave me alone.' you bat him off and try again, he lets you.

peter blushes harder when you coo. 'you're my handsome petey.' his eyes close, 'trouble.'

'yes, petey? i'm all ears for my petey.'

my petey. he really likes that. it shows on his face, he swears he's about to start sweating. 'you know what you are?' it's not rhetorical, you're waiting for him to ask.

peter peeks an eye open, he's never seen you so infatuated. 'what am i?' you place a kiss to each cheek, 'you're my petey pie.' a whine follows, 'no, i'm not. i'm not a pie.'

'you are. you're my petey pie and you're so, so sweet.'

it's been a nonstop blush. you're loving this. 'guess what flavor you are,' you tell him before he can ruin it. 'strawberry.'

peter claws your hands off. 'okay, it's done. we're over this, now.' you won't let him escape without another kiss. 'sure thing, petey.' 

[periprose]

Playstation Spidey is sooo blorbo- I love himmm. May I request something where Pete and Reader have been too preoccupied with studying and taking exams all week that when their date arrives on Saturday, they don't do anything but makeout instead cause they miss each other so much?🥲 (I just wish I had a Peter Parker to kiss😔)

I love him too and this idea is just 🤌🤌. I hope it's okay I made this a friends to lovers instead? :)

Your phone buzzes with a new message from Peter.

Peter: hey we still good for Saturday? the study date at the library?

Peter: sorry for not picking up earlier. Phys 403 is kicking my ass 🥹

You giggle to yourself. Peter had been so excited to see you this week- he was terribly busy with internships and FEAST and every single exam that was assigned this week.

You had half the workload he did, and you struggled to finish things, so you had no idea how he did it. It was quite irritating, not being able to catch up with Peter as often as you'd like, but you were hanging on for Saturday.

Even now- he strangely missed your calls and would usually pick up ASAP- and May's told you he's not at FEAST, so it's really confusing to you where he'd be. But you're not concerned, because you have exams to study for.

You: Yea we're still good pete

You: don't stress about it. worry about your exam

Peter: 🫡 will do ma'am

You laugh, picturing Peter saluting to himself.

/

The timer for your Shakespeare exam just rings as you hand it in to your professor, who gives you a firm, steely nod. You know how strict he is- he doesn't always allow for students to hand in things after the time's up, and even as you leave the classroom, you hear students pleading with him to let them hand in their exams.

You shrug to yourself, and turn the corner of one of the many hallways of Empire State University- bumping straight into Peter.

"Oh-!" You topple over, and although at your trajectory in the air you should've fallen over Peter, he somehow has enough strength to keep you upright in the air, holding you gently by the waist, and before you can think too much about his surprisingly strong capabilities, he's set you down again already.

"All good?" Peter asks, and you nod bashfully.

"Yeah. Just finished my Shakespeare exam. Not sure if I did all that well." You tell him, and Peter raises his eyebrows.

"With Strict Dr. Powell, huh?" Peter gives a wary glance past your shoulder, and then leans in extra close, seemingly not noticing how you fail to maintain eye contact. "Just between you and me, I'm pretty sure he's not actually tenured."

"What?" You stare up at him in surprise. "How else would he be qualified to teach a fourth year English course?"

"Well, let's just say I did a little sleuthing after getting a C- on my last essay. I know, I know what you're going to say-" Peter shushes you as you laugh, taunting him about an unusually low grade. "It was on Asimov, you know? Father of Science Fiction?"

"I think that was H.G. Wells, Pete."

"Right, whatever." But Peter's features bristle with that familiar fondness for you, and you smile softly at him as he continues. "I knew even if my essay wasn't perfect, a C- was really lowballing what it should've been. So I searched some of the school records, and he's actually named Powalski. ESU's letting him stay tenured even though he's only been a professor for five years. My guess is that they owe him some kind of favour."

"And that's why our poor student body has to worry about failing English classes this year, when they should be easy. Because of one crazy professor." You surmise, and Peter nods. "Still, I can't believe you went through the school records! How did you even access them?"

"Uhhhh..." Peter shrugs as he starts backing away, a slightly flustered look on his face. "Parker luck?"

"Peter, I thought that was supposed to mean bad luck." You retort, laughing over his antics.

"Yeah, I never said I wasn't in hot water for doing that." Peter jokes, and he flashes a peace sign at you. "I gotta head to my Physics exam. Talk to you later?"

Before you can respond, Peter suddenly squeezes your shoulder in a quick move, and he takes a moment, staring at your face, and your mouth, before dashing off. "I'm sure you did great on your exam, regardless!"

"Thanks." You're left with a sheepish smile that you shake off your face when Peter's far in the distance, unaware that he's got the same expression on his face.

/

Peter's kind of struggling a little bit with physics.

Sure, he's a total brainiac, and he's sure to ace it even with his current mood- he's just terribly distracted.

You smelt really good today. Like warm, vanilla-cinnamon goodness. Peter's heightened senses tell him you've got a new perfume.

But he's more focusing on your lips for some reason. Ugh, no. Peter knows why he focuses so much on your lips- you just happen to smile in the cutest, sweetest way.

And just now- you had laughed in the funniest way, your lips curling into a pout that Peter was sure was seared into his mind for good.

Oh, no. I'm a total goner. He gets back to his exam, ignoring this urge to kiss you.

/

There's a knock at your apartment door just as you're finishing tidying up. Your living room tends to be pretty ugly, and the last thing you want is for Peter to think you're a slob.

Peter calls your name through the door. "I'm not going to think you're anymore messy than I am. Stop cleaning! We gotta leave soon if we want to make it for our allotted study room time, and I just need to use the bathroom."

You shake your head, give yourself one last glance in the mirror, and then open the door.

"Finally. God, dude, you would think your apartment is a pigsty or something. I'm only going to be in here for five minutes." Peter jokes. "You would hate to see mine."

"Is that why you've never invited me there?"

"Uh, yeah. Otherwise you could crash whenever you wanted to there." Peter suddenly turns red. "I mean... you know, you're always tired after class and your apartment is further away from ESU than mine is."

"It's fine, Peter. No need for rambling." You reach forward, wanting to take the books out of his hands- you notice a slight scar on his palm. "Hey, what's that?"

"Ah, just an accident at Octavius' place. No big deal, it'll be gone before I know it." Peter randomly opens a door. "This the bathroom? No, it's a closet. Darn these misleading doors..."

"Down the hall, to the right, Peter."

He nods, and you suddenly feel a wave of giddy energy as he's gone. Yes, you've crushed on Peter for a while- you just don't think it's going to go anywhere since you're both so busy.

You're reapplying your lip balm when Peter wanders back to you a couple minutes later.

"Ah, should we go?" You say, slightly muffled as you continue reapplying. It's a delicious honeydew flavour- you can't help but eat your lip balm off your lips from time to time.

"Yeah..." Peter struggles to say something, anything, and you catch his eyes drifting from yours, to your lips.

"Is something wrong?" You look up at him uncertainly. "There wasn't enough toilet paper, was there?"

"Shoot. Might've used the last bit, sorry." Peter jokes, but he turns quiet, and he grows a little pink.

"Well, if that's all, let's get going." You put your lip balm back in your pocket, and move to get your coat out of the closet, but Peter grabs your arm with that too-quick motion he always seems to possess.

Peter wordlessly cradles your face- there's something echoing through his expression right now, affection, the kind, softness you've always known him to possess, but something else, too. Yearning.

You can't help but smile up slightly confused at him, not sure of his intentions, and while you're not stupid, you're not going to assume anything.

Peter doesn't hesitate and simply leans in and kisses you, a soft kiss that turns a lot more firm as you're pulled inwards by his hands, and you eagerly kiss him back, and you feel him grinning widely when he knows that you've wanted this as much as he had.

It's easy, it's always fun when it's with you, and he figures you both need stress relief anyways. Rather than studying chemistry in the library.

You reach upwards, and run your fingers through his brown, soft hair, and Peter groans ever so slightly against your mouth, which pleases you.

Suddenly he lets go, deeply red and looking a little woozy, but he still holds you close. "Sorry, I- I got a little carried away there."

"Don't be sorry. I wanted to do that too." You admit, a little shyly. "Are you okay with not studying?"

"Really? That's what's on your mind?" Peter looks genuinely a little aghast, even if he is joking. "I must've not kissed you hard enough."

Peter brings you to your couch, where you kiss him again, taking the lead in a way that makes his stomach flip-flop, not dissimilar to the way he feels when he free-falls off a building. You clamber onto his lap, trying to be gentle- and he pulls you down fully on him, wanting to feel every inch, every millimeter, even, against his body. There's an excited thump in his body for every squeeze he makes against you, and he feels his restraint leaving him when you suddenly sweep your tongue into his mouth.

Even when you leave room for air, Peter is insistent, reaching forward with more little kisses all over your cheek, and you reach back again for him, pressing your lips against his, feeling like there's no need to ruin this time with talking.

He really likes that. These are precious moments, few to be found considering how busy you both are, and Peter intends to make the most of it.

[beatlesbug]

Somebody Else

Pairing: Peter Parker x fem!Reader

Synopsis: Peter can't stand to see you dance like that with somebody else.

CW: Fluff, angst, protective! peter, drinking, uhh reader has hair?

Author's Note: This is my first fic! So please leave me some feedback and requests! Also, I'm sorry if the grammar is trash, I'm working on it.

The bass from the speakers radiates in your chest as you chug another cup of whatever your best friend handed you.

"Babe, slow down!" She chuckles, watching you cringe at the taste and shake your head.

"No! I want to get so wasted I don't even remember his name," you hold her shoulders and say in her face excitedly. She laughs and wraps her arms around your waist before moving to the rhythm with you.

With every lyric you scream and move to on the dance floor, you can feel memories of Peter Parker leaving your mind.

It had only been three days since you'd broken up. Three days, and you saw him laughing with some girl from Biochemistry. A girl he told you not to worry about. Asshole. You should have seen it coming; it was so obvious. Peter had been hiding something from you. You had always been the cool girlfriend; you didn't care if he had female friends or went out with his friends. So when he started hiding something from you, you knew it was bad. You can't even count the number of times he'd lied to you about where he was or what he was doing. The final straw was three days ago when you'd entered his room and saw him throw some clothes out on his fire escape as he stood there in his boxers and a guilty expression.

"…Peter?" you questioned, standing in his doorway. He quickly slammed the window shut and came over to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Hey baby," he said sweetly, going over to his clothes that were lying on the floor.

You furrowed your eyebrows.

"Was someone just here?" You asked quietly, frozen in place. He looked back at you as he pulled his sweatpants on. He looked over to the window and then back at you, shaking his head nervously. "No, no, of course not. I knew you were coming over."

"Are you sure?" you crossed your arms over your chest. His eyes fell to your chest then back to your face. "Yeah?" He said, confused. You nodded your head and placed your bag against his desk.

"So you wouldn't mind if I took a look at your fire escape then," You said, heart thudding in your chest, walking over to said fire escape. Before you could reach it, Peter slid himself in between you and the window. You looked up at him and tilted your head.

"What?" He said, shifting his brown eyes away from yours. His face was inches away from yours now; usually, this position would make you want to reach up and kiss him, but what you currently feel is far from affection.

"I'm going to ask you again, one more time," You said steadily, trying not to let your voice crack as you asked the question you seem to have asked about a dozen times these last two weeks.

You tilted your head upwards, forcing him to keep eye contact with you despite the fact that you felt tears welling up in yours.

"What are you hiding from me?" You said slowly, the words feeling heavy in your mind.

"N-" He goes to reply before you interrupt him.

"I suggest you think about what you're about to say, Peter, because if you lie to me again, I'm done. We're done," You whispered to him, not breaking any eye contact. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it before bowing his head in thought.

"Just tell me," You begged, lifting your hands to hold his face.

"Please baby, just tell me the truth," you whispered to him. He put his forehead against yours and went to speak. You held your breath in anticipation.

"I…I can't," his voice goes hoarse as he shakes his head, his nose brushing against yours. You inhaled sharply before pulling away.

You took a few steps back before looking at him, his head hung in shame. "I can't do this anymore, Pete. I just can't," you said, grabbing your bag from his desk and slinging it over your shoulder in a rush. You heard his voice call out to you as you ran down the stairs, out on the street, and away from him.

The memories of all of the hurt and the tears falling into nothing the more your hips moved with the beat. Nicki Minaj blasted from the speakers as you twirled around before screaming the lyrics and flipping your hair. You felt two hands wrap around your waist, holding you closer to them. You looked back over your shoulder and saw Caleb. Caleb was on your college basketball team; you tutored him last year in Psychology and became friends. You'd always suspected he had a bit of a thing for you, but you never really spoke to him out of respect for Peter. You smiled up at Caleb and turned to hug him, wrapping your arms around his neck and greeting him.

"Hey gorgeous, how are you?" He chuckled, leaning into your ear. You pulled away from him.

"I'm single and fantastic," you screamed over the music. He nodded, a wide smile spread across his face.

"Soo, that means I can dance with you, doesn't it?" You bit your lip as he said this and looked back at your best friend, who was now dancing with her partner. They both nodded at you encouragingly.

Looking back to Caleb, you nodded and started moving to the music with him. Just glancing at him, you could tell that he was attractive, with a short buzz cut and a sharp jawline, but he had nothing on Peter. As the Nicki song faded into the next, and the colored lights flashed in front of your eyes, you remembered how much you loved parties.

Peter hates parties. He's convinced this was the last thing he needed this week. He can't possibly stand here and be expected to have fun. Not three days after he had lost the love of his life. He felt like an idiot. The girl thought he was cheating on her as if any other woman in the world could compete with those eyes and that smile, he thought to himself. He was pulled into reality when a random guy ran past him to the kitchen sink before vomiting into it. He grimaced, deciding it's time to move to another room.

One hour. He just has to stay one hour, and Aunt May can't get mad. It's stupid to think that he still listened to his aunt at this age, but she insisted that going out would make him feel better, and he thought maybe she was right (and also there was a chance he'd finally get to see you, talk to you even). As he watched people covered in body glitter grind against each other, however, he questioned the validity of her solution. He weaved past as many people as he could, moving closer and closer to where he felt the music was coming from. There was only one place you'd be if you truly were here.

He stood next to the large archway leading to the dance floor, the steps allowing him the height to look over people's heads. The crowd screamed as the intro to the song "Gasolina" came on. He took a sip of his coke, scanning the crowd before he reached a familiar head of hair.

Fucking. Hell.

There was no possible way you had gotten ten times hotter in the past three days, was there? He watched as you lifted your arm to flip your

hair, a lock of it sticking to your lips. A bright smile graced your face as you circled your hips in the air.

Peter had seen you in all of your forms, sick, sleepy, tired, naked, yet he didn't think he'd ever seen you look sexier than when you moved your hair from your mouth and bit your lip looking at someone. The soft smirk and loving eyes immediately vanished from his face when he realized who you were looking at.

You're not mine. He remembered suddenly, feeling anger bloom and ache in his chest. He couldn't stand you looking at Caleb that way. You were his… even when you weren't.

As if sensing his presence in the room, you suddenly snapped your head over to him. Your eyes locked as your chest heaved slightly, damp from sweat. You wished you could ignore him. You wished you could see him and have no trouble turning away. You almost had the urge to smile at him.

Peter held the eye contact. Even from across the room, he could feel the string that tethered you together pulling him from his chest toward you. He didn't fight it. His jaw clenched, and eyes sharp, he walked almost seamlessly through the crowd of people on the dance floor and straight to you. When he stood about a foot away from you, you froze in place, not knowing what was coming next. He looked over at Caleb.

Caleb had his hand hooked around your body, way too close to your chest. Way too close to you. There were not many things Peter felt possessive over, but one of those things was you.

"Hey Pete! What's up, man?" Caleb said mockingly. Peter clenched his jaw, not even looking at you. He knew if he did, he would become a mess of tears, any and all confidence falling away.

"Get your hands off of her." He demanded at Caleb, acting way ruder than he’s ever been. Caleb removed his hand from your waist, squaring up to Peter.

"She ain't your bitch anymore, Parker, she's free game now,"

Feeling insulted, you took a step back, drawing the attention of your best friend and a few other people in the crowd.

"Don't fucking talk about her like that," Peter gritted his teeth. Just looking at him now, you were scared. Not of him, but for Caleb. In your months of dating, you'd never seen Peter this angry, and though he didn't look it, you knew he was much stronger than he led people to believe.

"You're just fucking mad because you know I'm going to have her bent over my desk tonight, not you." Caleb sneered at Peter, egging him on. Your jaw dropped at his words.

"Excu-" Before you could even get a word out, Peter's fist came crashing into Caleb's face. The music suddenly halted, and Caleb landed on the grimy floor. Suddenly, Caleb was on his feet and stalking towards Peter. Caleb's friends grabbed him from behind and stopped him from coming any closer. Instinctively, Peter's arm came in front of you, pushing you behind him so he could act as a shield. Caleb screamed and spat at Peter. Peter went forward to continue to fight when you grabbed his arm.

"Peter! No!" At the sound of your voice saying his name, he turned toward you, seeing the pleading look in your eye.

"Let's just go. Please. Let's go." He looked at you hesitantly before looking back at Caleb. Knowing you were more important than his pride, he held onto your hand tightly and dragged you away from the chaos of the dance floor, away from the frat house, and onto the front yard.

It's only when you're both standing in the driveway, the music cranking up again inside, that you finally get a good look at him. He's wearing a loose t-shirt, a flannel, and his regular black jeans. You stare at each other in silence, feeling protective of yourself you hug your body.

"Were you really gonna go home with him?" Peter mutters.

A completely cold laugh comes out of your mouth, putting your palms over your eyes.

"I can't fucking believe you,"

He frowns at your words, "What?"

"What if I went home with him, Peter! We're done! Go back to fucking Lyla or whoever the fuck she is," you say, referring to the girl you'd seen him hanging around with, the one he'd probably been cheating on you with.

"What?" He says again, this time slightly angrier. "Who the fuck is Lyla?!"

Your eyes widen as you spread your arms out, "Fucking Lily or whoever she is you're sleeping with, Peter! I don't give a fuck!"

He runs his hand through his hair, turning around before looking at you again.

"I'm not fucking anyone." He says calmly, hands in a prayer motion at his mouth.

You roll your eyes, "Peter, it's over, you don't have to lie anymore. I know you were cheating on me. It's fine, whatever, just fuck off please!"

"Ch- Cheating? What are you talking about?" He asks, confused. You go to respond but get interrupted by your friend running up to you, putting her arm on your shoulder. She asks if you're okay, you nod at her and tell her not to worry. Peter interjects and says he'll get you home safe and she should enjoy her night. She looks over at you for confirmation, and you nod, not wanting to ruin her night as well.

"Call me when you get home, please!" You yell after her as she runs into the arms of her partner on the porch. You and Peter walk down the street, away from your college campus and into the city streets. Neither of you say a word apart from muttering a small thank you when he drapes his jacket.

"I wasn't cheating on you,” He says suddenly when you turn onto a quieter street.

“I would never, ever." He continued strongly. You swallow and shrug under the weight of his jacket.

"What was I supposed to think, Peter? You don't answer your phone, you disappear in the middle of the day, you lie to me…" You say, much calmer than before, but looking at the ground instead of him.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just- If I could tell you I would, but if something happened to you and it was my fault? If you got hurt and I couldn’t save you that would be on me and I can’t see you hurt. I can’t.” He cries desperately.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, “Got hurt? Peter, what are you talking about?” He walks towards you slowly, testing to see if you would move away. You don’t. Peter moves forward to wrap his arm around your torso, “Peter, what are you-?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” You say, hesitating, despite everything.

He tightens his grip around you before moving your hands around his neck.

“Peter if you want me to hug you or something I-” You’re cut off by your own screams as you soar through the air. You bury your face into Peter's neck and hold onto him tighter, terrified and confused. Your stomach rises and drops as you soar through the city. So terrified of falling that you can't think or speak. In a flash, you feel your feet hit concrete, and you notice you're on the terrace of your apartment building.

Peter releases you and is about to say something when you run to the ledge and throw up. He cusses behind before lifting all of your hair away from your face and lifting his jacket so he can rub your back soothingly. You stand up straight when you’re done, probably reeking of sweat and vomit.

You both stare at each other unmoving.

"What the fuck?!" You yelp as you hit his chest. Angrily you growled at him.

"What was that? Why did you just fling me across-" and then realization hit you.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, you're Spid-. Oh my god, this isn't happening. I am not that drunk," you say laughing sarcastically and putting a hand against your forehead.

“Even if you were drunk I think you got it all out now.” Peter chuckles awkwardly, gesturing to the throw-up on the ground.

You snap your gaze to him, reprimanding him, and he smiles softly. That smile. That smile that you're sure could heal the world if he tried.

“I wasn’t cheating on you, y/n. I’m Spiderman, that's why I disappear, that's why I’m late, that's why I lie. And I’m not going to apologize for being him because it’s the second greatest thing to ever happen to me, but I will say I’m sorry for lying. I’m so so sorry for lying to you, bug. I really am. I got scared and nervous that something would happen to you, I couldn’t take that risk but I can't lose you either.” He professed sincerely.

You nod your head slowly. “I get it,” you whisper. Tears pricking at your eyes, all the feelings you’ve been trying to suppress bubbling over with how much you love the man in front of you. You take quick paces to him and wrap your arms around him, holding him so tight you’re not sure he can breathe. Sniffling through your tears, “I get it, I’m so sorry I got mad. I love you,” you say into his chest. You feel his arms wrap around you making you cry even harder.

“I love you,” He says back, placing a kiss on your head.

“And I’m sure you have questions,” He whispers.

“So many questions,” You laugh into him, refusing to let go. But he pulls away from you and holds your head in his hands.

“How about we shower and get ready for bed and you can ask me anything you want,” He asks while stroking your hair. You nod at his words. He takes your hand and leads you to the stairwell into the building.

As you walk through the door you ask, “So where else do the webs come out from?”

[my-moony-and-padfoot]

Let me take care of you

TW: self-harm. Nothing too graphic, but it's there. (A short description of the wounds, that's about it?) So, if you get easily triggered please read carefully.

Word count: 1 800

He opened the door to their dorm, seeing Sirius laying in his bed, he wasn't supposed to be back yet, so it took Remus by surprise. “I thought you had quidditch?” He asked, setting his bag down on the floor, and taking off the cloak.

“Do.”

“And you're here because -?” He asked, but this time didn't get an answer. Something was wrong, though he wasn't sure what it was yet, but he could tell. Remus walked over to the bed, seeing the tear tracks on Sirius' cheeks, they were quite visible even in the dim lighting. He wasn't crying anymore though, he looked like he was sleeping. He sat down on the floor, leaning his head against the bedside table, smiling slightly as Sirius opened his eyes. “What's wrong?”

“N-nothing.”

“Sirius, love, I can tell something is wrong.” he said, reaching to brush a strand of hair behind his ear. “Wanna tell me?”

“Don't feel good.”

“Do you feel ill or-?” Sirius shook his head, eyes tired as he looked at Remus. “Okay. Did something happen?”

“No.”

“That's good, baby.” He smiled softly, trying to figure out what exactly was wrong, maybe it was just a bad day. There was this pained expression on Sirius face, though Remus couldn't quite place what it was or what could be hurting him. “Not feeling up for quidditch?”

Sirius shook his head. “Jamey thinks I'm sick.”

“Okay.” He chuckled, watching as a faint smile flashed on Sirius' face, though it faded quickly. “Talk to me, love?”

Sirius took in a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment as if to prevent tears from falling. Then, with the arm that had been folded under his head, he reached for Remus'. He smiled, intertwining their fingers together, rubbing small circles into his wrist with his thumb, waiting for Sirius to speak.

“I'm sorry.”

“Why are you saying sorry, angel?”

“Did somethin’.”

Remus felt his heart sink at the all too familiar situation, dread and worry, but he stayed calm, knowing it would make Sirius mire anxious if he'd panic, and he didn't want that. So, he just reached to wipe away the tear that fell down, being as gentle as he possibly could. “Show me, baby.” Sirius shook his head, more tears spilling out. “Please? M'not mad, never mad. I just wanna make sure you're alright.” he whispered, wiping away more of the tears, shifting so he was sitting on his knees.

“I'm so sorry.”

“Shh, shh, it's okay.” he brushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “Let's get up? Just wanna make sure they're all clean, don't want them to get infected, do we?” Sirius shook his head. “Then we'll have some cuddles, sound good?”

“Chocolate?”

“All the chocolate you want.” Remus smiled, kissing his forehead, getting the smallest of smiles out of the boy. “I should even have a few chocolate frogs left, remember the ones Pete bought for Christmas?”

“Still?”

“I'm not as greedy as you think, baby.” he chuckled, kissing his nose and cheek before getting up from the floor. “Plus, I got a ton of chocolate for Christmas. I got other sweets too, c'mon up love.” he said, taking both of Sirius' hands into his and leading him into the bathroom. “Hop up, darling.”

Sirius did as he was told, hopping up to sit down on the counter, watching as Remus pulled out the muggle med kit he insisted on using, though Sirius didn't mind. He also got out some cotton pads, and a clean towel, kissing Sirius' forehead when he came to stand in front of the boy.

“You have to show me now, okay?” Sirius nodded, looking down, starting to fiddle with his sleeves. “Take your time, baby.” He whispered, brushing his hair back, as he looked at Sirius, who shook his head after a moment. “I can too, if you want me to.”

“Please.” Sirius whispered, looking up at Remus, eyes filling with tears again, threatening to spill over.

“Okay. Don't worry.” he gently rolled up the sleeves of Sirius' jumper, going slowly so Sirius' could stop him if it felt too overwhelming. He winced slightly at the sight, he couldn't make out everything, but small, somewhat deep looking cuts were on both arms, blood slowly dripping down. “We're gonna have to put some bandages on these love, shh, shh, don't cry it's alright. I'm gonna clean them with these first, then with some water, and we'll put bandages on to keep them clean.”

“You have to tell me if it hurts too much.” Sirius nodded, tears falling as he closed his eyes, feeling how Remus started to dab the cotton pads on the deepest looking ones, wiping away blood. Sirius just kept still, keeping his arms where Remus left them, resting on his thighs. He heard the water running after a moment, and he opened his eyes, glancing at Remus, who just wiped away the tears before squeezing the excess water out of the towel.

“You know this is gonna sting a bit, I'm sorry about that, baby.” He whispered softly, waiting for Sirius to nod before starting to clean his arms better, apologizing every time he heard a hurt whimper come from Sirius, going lighter on the next one. “All done with that, love. You did so good. Proud of you.”

“Kiss?”

“You can definitely have a kiss.” He smiled, leaning down to give him a chaste kiss, getting another small smile from him as he leaned back up. “Just one more thing and you'll get another kiss, okay? Maybe even a hug.” Sirius nodded, looking up at Remus through his wet eyelashes, looking tired and still sad, though not as much as before. He gently wrapped his hands up with the bandages. “Not too tight?” He asked, lacing their fingers together when he was done.

Sirius shook his head, looking up at Remus. “Sorry you have to do this.”

“Shh, no, don't be sorry.” He whispered. “All good. I don't have to do anything, you're not making me, are you?” Sirius shook his head. “I want to, baby. Wanna take care of you, if you just let me.” he smiled, helping Sirius down from the counter, who just wrapped his arms around Remus' neck, face pressing into his chest. He did the same, arms wrapping around his waist as he buried his face into Sirius' hair, swaying them just slightly. “Feeling at all better?” he asked after a moment, hand running up and down his back slowly.

“Only ‘cause of you.” He mumbled. Remus smiled to himself, kissing his head. “Don't go.”

“Wasn't planning on that.” he whispered, smiling softly once Sirius looked up at him. “I’m proud of you. So proud.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.” He leaned down to give him a kiss. “Wanna go to bed?” He nodded, but leaned against Remus rather than moving. “I'm not gonna carry you, love. It's barely fifteen steps, you can make it.”

“Mm no.” He whispered, shaking his head. “Wanted to take care of me.” He grinned, and Remus was just glad there was at least some of his normal cheekiness back. “Please moons.”

“Only this time, baby.” He whispered, kissing his forehead before lifting him up, Sirius' legs wrapping around his waist, clinging on like a koala. He smiled as he was set down onto the bed. “Wanna change into something more comfy?”

“Want your jumper.”

“Okay.” he nodded, going to dig out two of his jumpers, since he definitely wanted to change out of his school uniform. He also dug out the stash of chocolate he kept in there, handing Sirius the jumper before going to the bathroom to clean up the mess he had left before. He changed his jumper while walking back over to Sirius, climbing in bed next to him. Sirius rested his head on Remus' shoulder, shifting so he could curl up to him, feet over his lap, which was nearly impossible to do comfortably in the small bed, but he didn't mind.

“You promised chocolate.”

“I did.” he reached for his bedside table, grabbing the two boxes of chocolate frogs, giving them both to Sirius. “I'm eating the other one, by the way. Which cards are you still missing?”

“Rowena Ravenclaw at least, then I have all the founders.” he said, opening the package, and giving the frog the Remus. “Then some rarer ones I think, I've had such bad luck, never got Ollivander. No luck.” He said as he looked at the card he just got.

“Maybe next time, baby.” He nodded, opening the other one, this time taking the frog for himself, flipping over the card.

“I have like three of her, what the hell.” Remus laughed quietly. “It's unfair Moony. I will slip it into James' deck, he has like ten.”

“And how many of them are actually his?”

“Maybe two.” Sirius smiled, and he laughed again. “ ‘s only fair, he keeps giving me Dumbledore. But I, unlike Jamey, keep track of my cards.”

“Sure you do love.”

“I do.” He said. “Well, at least I notice if cards suddenly appear.”

Remus smiled, grabbing the trash from his lap to set them down on the bedside table. “Do you want more?”

“A bit?” Remus nodded as he grabbed the chocolate bar, opening it and breaking pieces off, few for himself and few for Sirius, then set it back on his bedside table. “Thank you.” he yawned, leaning even closer to Remus.

“Are you tired?” Sirius hummed. “Should we take a little nap? We have time before dinner.”

“Mhm. Don' wanna go.” he mumbled. “So tired.”

“What if we sleep and see what we'll do after? It's not until a few hours, love.” Sirius nodded. “C'mon, let's lay down, you'll be more comfy.”

Remus shifted so he was laying down, smiling as Sirius laid down too, resting his head on Remus' chest, half laying on top of him just because he could. Remus pulled the blanket over them, holding Sirius close.

“Do you wanna talk?” He asked, starting to play with Sirius' hair, Sirius shrugged, hiding more into Remus' chest, starting to draw shapes to his chest to keep his hands busy. “We don't have to, love. But you know it helps.”

“I'm just tired.” He mumbled. “Really overwhelmed. Just a bad day, I guess.”

“Okay.” He whispered, kissing his head. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Just wanna be with you and sleep.” Remus nodded. “Snuggles.”

He chuckled, holding Sirius a little closer, smiling as Sirius reached for his hand, so he intertwined their fingers together. “I'll wake you up in a few hours, okay?”

“Mhm.”

“I love you.” He whispered into Sirius' hair. “Sleep well.”

“Love you too.”

A/N:

Hi :)

Hopefully you liked this, and remember to take care of yourself <3

Also, both James and Sirius would have the biggest chocolate frog card collection, and would mess with each other constantly. (Remus gives all his cards to Sirius, cause why wouldn't he?)

You can't convince me otherwise on this, like no way that didn't happen

Have a good day/night/something, see you around somewhere, maybe?

<3

[earlgreytea68]

do you have a playlist of peterick songs 🩷

I don't actually have a playlist (my playlist is All Fall Out Boy Songs in one massive jumble lolol and MAYBE THAT IS THE PETERICK PLAYLIST) and I don't think I've really been asked this question before, but here's what I would say are my top Peterick songs:

Saturday: This is for obvious reasons for anyone who's been around, but if you're brand new here, the lyrics are Saturday are explicitly about the Patrick-and-Pete relationship ("Pete and I attacked the Lost Astoria with promise and precision and a mess of youthful innocence" / "Me and Pete, in the wake of Saturday"). They've said it's the first song they felt like they successfully collaborated on without throwing punches at each other lol. They play it at the end of almost every single concert and Pete abandons his bass to stand right by Patrick before he wanders out into the crowd. Sometimes he puts his elbow on Patrick's shoulder and shimmies his hip. They also, when they perform it, make sure to shout "more than an hour" at each other, no matter where they are on stage (and they are COMMITTED to this bit, we've seen them almost miss it on this tour and scramble to make the eye contact). Patrick also always points to Pete wherever he is on the stage when he sings "Pete and I," so we're clear who he's singing about. It's charming. Also, in the video, Pete and Patrick turn out to be the same person, and...let's just leave that there for now.

It's Not a Side Effect of the Cocaine, I Am Thinking It Must Be Love: The lyrics of this song are absolutely wild. "Why can you read me like no one else? I hide behind these words, but I'm coming out." For real, Pete Wentz? "We'll make them so jealous, we'll make them hate us." REPEATED MANY TIMES. Ugh. "Think of all the places where you've been lost and found...out." REPEATED TWICE. With so much emphasis on being found out. Not just found, the word always hangs as the would-be conclusion, and then the out is such a definitive stamp at the end. I don't know what these lyrics are other than wrestling with the fact that you're in love with your best friend and wondering about your sexuality, just saying lol

I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song): I know that other people have other interpretations of this song, but to me "joke me something awful just like kisses on the necks of 'best friends'" is super Peterick-coded. Also the parenthetical of "Summer Song," again, I know other people have other interpretations but to me Patrick is always represented by summer in Pete's lyrics (the way he is also sunshine and golden).

7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen): I have an interpretation in this song that Patrick is the "you" in it. Patrick is the star he's trying to fixate on while his world is falling apart, Patrick is the one thing he wants to focus on to keep everything else out. Trying to forget everything that isn't Patrick, only it's not-working-not-working-not-working. "The only thing worse than not knowing is you thinking that I don't know": The way that Pete thought he had to be the Leader of this band, take care of this kid he'd forced into being the singer, and so even when he's a complete mess he's got to hold it together so Patrick doesn't realize it.

The (After) Life of the Party: I know what the official lyrics say but I've never heard Patrick sing that refrain clearly enough to convince me he's saying "cut it loose" instead of "could it last," and to me this song is the quintessential social butterfly / favorite dynamic, which is the Pete&Patrick dynamic. "Watch you work the room / could it last." Watch you blossom, will I lose you?

Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes: In Pete's own words, this is a song about anyone you feel close to. Sometimes for him it was a girl, but honestly, sometimes it's Patrick. So. Here's a song about Patrick, according to Pete Wentz. I'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet.

What a Catch, Donnie: The song Pete explicitly wrote for Patrick. "All I can think of is the way I'm the one who charmed the one who gave up on you." In my head, this convoluted sentence is Patrick struck by how much Pete is charmed by him, and how much Pete gives up on himself. Also, the video has Pete putting himself on a sinking ship and leaving Patrick with all their friends as they shove off into the hiatus and whatever, I can't deal with any of this hahaha. THE SONG ENDS WITH A MEDLEY OF THEIR GREATEST HITS TOGETHER, whatever, this stupid song, I honestly thought the fact that this was the last single before hiatus had to be made up lol

"From Now On, We Are Enemies": A hiatus-era release titled for a movie about an intense artistic relationship. A refrain that's about the composer who's never composed who has to sing the symphonies of the overdosed. And the problem is they only want what they can't have.

Miss Missing You: The song in which Patrick sings about being saved by hot whiskey eyes. Please Google "hot whiskey," and then take a look at Pete Wentz's eyes. This is another thing I can't deal with lol. Also, the "miss missing you" is an explicit response to a poem Pete wrote to Patrick before the hiatus, in which Pete said, "I miss you missing me." Patrick responds with the song, "I miss missing you." THESE TWO.

The Kids Aren't Alright: First of all, they very frequently and consistently have referred to their fans as "the kids" since day one, so there's that. Which kids aren't alright? Ours. Shut up. "And in the end, I'd do it all again, I think you're my best friend." WHATEVER.

Fourth of July: Again, I know other people have different interpretations of this song, but for me this song is soooo Peterick. It's the summer reference again, but it's also hiatus-y to me. "We were fireworks that went off too soon." "I said I'd never miss you but I guess you never know." Pete got vicious and angry heading into hiatus and burned everything down, but you know what? "May the bridges I have burned light my way back home." "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean any of it." I could go on and on about this song, I love the words to this song, but I just want to say, "I'm sorry every song's about you," is just...a lot. And then followed by "the torture of small talk with someone you used to love," and if that doesn't smack of the awkward end of the hiatus, Idk.

Twin Skeleton's (Hotel in NYC): There is a LOT in AB/AP, a LOT that these boys seem to be working through, and it's a lot of hiatus feelings, and this song always makes me think of everything breaking down. "I need a new partner in crime, and you -- you shrug"????? THIS LINE KILLS ME EVERY SINGLE TIME. And it's really a song about trying to hold everything together ("hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on," it says over and over) but everything is still falling apart into dramatics ("I can just die laughing on your spiral of shame" is another line that hits like a slap in the face).

Bishops Knife Trick: Pete Wentz in the early 2000s, famously: I'm only gay from the waist up. Pete Wentz in the late 2010s, in a lyric: I'm in spiritual revolt from the waist down. Honestly, enough said.

Hold Me Like a Grudge: With that "thaw out my freezer-burn feelings from 20 summers" early on, this song is setting us up for being a song at least about Fall Out Boy, but "part-time soulmate, full-time problem" sounds like it's probably just about one person lol.

Heaven, Iowa: This song is a love song and to me it's their love song and that's just all I have to say actually hahahaha.

Okay, this was quick, I'm sure people have more! The joy is how ambiguously the lyrics can all be interpreted.

[babybatscreationsv2]

Almost Romance

Marvel | Starker

Peter doesn't like the things Tony does to him. It doesn't make it any easier when Tony says that he loves him, but he can pretend that it does.

Rating: Explicit

For @vaguekiwi

Warnings and tags below***

Warnings/tags: Rape and rape kink, praise kink, painful sex, rough sex, possessive Tony, cum play, cum marking, breath play/passout, dark fic

Tony put all of his weight on his hands, pushing Peter down into the bed. He was tired now. The tears fell much slower. He barely even tried to move though the occasional squirm made Tony throb. He hadn't even put the whole thing in yet.

"Tony..." Peter breathed. Tony inhaled, closed his eyes, soaked up the sound of his name on those sweet lips.

"That's a good boy," Tony murmured softly. He placed a kiss on Peter's cheek. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and sobbed.

"Please stop," he tried again. The sound of it was already burned into his mind. He'd jack off to for the rest of his life.

"Stop what, Peter? Stop raping you? But it feels so good." He pushed himself in a little deeper, into the heaven that was Peter's hot silky insides. The boy whined and squirmed. He could barely move against Tony's weight.

"You're so fucking soft. And tight," he panted. "Fucking squeezing me, baby."

"Don't do this," Peter pleaded.

"Don't be scared, Peter. I'm barely even hurting you. You've had way worse."

Peter sobbed. He turned his face into the bed. Tony grabbed his hair and turned his head back, but the sharp pain had the boy fighting again, clawing at his wrist and squirming under him. So Tony bucked his hips. He forced his cock inside, all the way, his hips against that perky ass. Peter screamed, but he was distracted enough for Tony to get his arms behind his back.

He fucked him slow and deep, riding him into the bed while he cried. "Such a good boy," Tony purred again. "That's my boy."

He was less coherent as he picked up the pace. Peter laid limp and sniffling. Tony fucked him like he was trying to hurt him with his dick alone.

"I know it hurts, baby. I just can't get deep enough," he breathed against his neck. He left sloppy kisses on every bit of skin he could reach. "I need to be inside you. All the way. Need to be close to you. I love you so much, Peter."

Peter seemed to freeze beneath him. "You love me?" he said. But Tony took it as an 'I love you too'. He grabbed one of his hips and pulled the boy back against him as he pushed forward, making sure he came as deep as possible inside him.

He moaned happily and laid over his back. Tony kissed every part of him that he could reach. "You're all mine now. My cum's gonna soak up inside you. Into your blood. Become part of you. I'll be inside you forever."

Peter sobbed once again. His whole body shuddered.

Tony slept more soundly than he could ever remember with Peter wrapped up in his arms. The boy slipped away first thing in the morning, but Tony was happy. Every time he looked at him, he knew his cum was still in there. Peter couldn't meet his eye for a few days, but whatever was bothering him passed eventually. He should have been happy that Tony wanted him so badly. He was beautiful and so perfect that Tony had to resort to extremes to have him.

It was an itch that got under his skin any time Peter was too close. He found himself thinking about the way Peter struggled and cried even during what was a casual conversation. After a while he reached down to adjust himself, not noticing until then that he'd gotten hard. Just watching Peter's pretty pink lips move, hearing that voice. He was only a man.

Peter's smile faded as his eyes flicked down to Tony's crotch. His cheeks turned red.

"You alright, Pete?" Tony asked. He held in a smirk. The boy looked so vulnerable.

"I should get going. I'm not feeling great." Peter moved to leave, but Tony grabbed his arm. He froze.

"Stay." Tony kissed his neck and Peter shivered.

"Please don't..." he said.

Tony's free hand slipped up Peter's shirt, feeling his strong abdomen as he sucked a bruise into his skin. Peter whined at the pain. When he tried to move away, Tony easily pulled him back. He popped open Peter's jeans and slipped his hand inside to fondle his soft cock and that's when Peter started to panic again.

"Stop it," he shoved him away.

Tony's eyes narrowed at him. He pushed him back against the table behind him and down until he was off balance, feet off the floor, hands scrambling.

"Please please," Peter sobbed. Tears welled in those pretty eyes.

"You're mine, Peter. Don't be so dramatic. You know I have to have you."

"Just..." Peter's voice broke. He turned his face away.

"Just what, baby?"

"Just..." he took a shaky breath. "Say it again," he said, but it came out so soft that Tony wasn't sure.

"Say what, Peter?"

"Just... just tell me. If you're gonna- gonna-"

"If I'm gonna rape you."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "Yeah. Tell me what you said."

Tony smiled. "Does that make it easier? Poor Petey. You're such a sweet little thing. Do you see why I need you so bad?" He kissed a line up his throat, over his chin, until he reached his mouth. With their lips brushing together he said, "I love you."

Peter's chest heaved as he sobbed. But he didn't fight as Tony reached his hand down into his pants again. He rubbed him and stroked him while he forced kisses onto his slack lips, tongue dipping inside his mouth making him shudder and cry. Peter's cock barely stiffened, but Tony was satisfied. He stepped back from the table only to pull Peter down to the floor.

The boy started to cry again as Tony pulled his dick out of his pants. "Please don't," he sobbed.

Tony held his dick in one hand and Peter's hair in the other. He ran the tip over his soft cheeks, across his forehead, over his chin, like he was marking him.

"Open." Peter parted his lips just enough for Tony to stuff his cock inside. Teeth scraped against him and he didn't even care. He was back inside of Peter where he belonged. He stood over him panting, cock resting on the boy's tongue. He pet Peter's hair, fingers running through to gently scratch his nails over his scalp.

"That's a good boy. My good boy. I love you, Peter." He stroked his cheek as tears rolled down. Peter's jaw slacked just a little bit more, enough for him to move. Tony loved this scared, hesitant, compliance. So he went slowly, more running his cock over his tongue than fucking his mouth, but that was okay if Peter didn't want to close his lips. When the head of his cock prodded at the back of his throat it spasmed around him. Peter choked and jerked back, but Tony just pinned his head against the table to hold him in place.

It was almost better than his ass. The slow gentle violence of making the both gag until he wretched with lazy soft thrusts of his hips, until the panic found him and he fought again. Tony stopped fucking his mouth to get ahold of his wrists. He pulled Peter's arms back and pinned his wrists against the table with one hand.

"Don't make things harder, baby. I'm cumming down your throat one way or another." He grabbed his jaw as Peter clenched it shut. "Open up so I can rape your mouth. You know I can make you if I have to."

Glaring and sniffling, Peter did what he was told. Tony sighed as he stuffed his cock back inside. Peter's lips closed around him, not sucking, but still wrapping him in wet heat. He took advantage of those lips, fucking the ring of his mouth just to know every part of him belonged to Tony. Going deeper still made him gag, but there was nowhere for him to go. Tony had him pinned down well. And he loved the way he struggled when Tony forced himself into his throat. Especially as he ran out of air and his eyes began to flutter.

He pulled out to let him breathe and Peter begged him to stop with all of his precious air until he cut him off again.

"Should I cum right here down your throat? Or all over your face? It's a tough choice." Tony mused. "Of course, if it's on your face you'll just wash it off won't you? Better to leave it where it'll stay with you for a while."

Peter whined around his dick. Tony could just imagine that he was begging him to cum down his throat, to make him inside, to make sure he knows who he belongs to.

He let the boy breathe one more time, then he stuffed his cock back in his mouth and fucked his throat like he'd fucked his ass. Bruising and selfish. Peter cried, scared and hurting, and it just brought Tony to the edge that much faster. He thrashed as his lungs burned without air, but Tony held back until he stilled. Peter's eyes grew heavy, fluttering delicately at him. His mouth slacked. His struggling became weak little twitches. And that's when Tony went as deep into his throat as he could without breaking it. And he came, imagining his cum sliding down his throat, through his body, down into his stomach.

When he pulled out, Peter jolted, but he didn't start breathing again until Tony slapped him. He gasped, leaning over into Tony's hands. Tony knelt down and pulled him into his arms. He pets his hair.

“You did so good, baby. You're my good boy.”

Peter cleaned into his chest, crying against him. Tony smiled. “I love you, baby.”

[yujeong]

I hope it's ok to throw up some Pete thoughts into your inbox, but that last rb of the fake vegaspete scenes has me thinking soooo many thoughts too. Even thinking about the original scene with Pete giving Porsche blocking advice... Do you think it's hard for Pete not to just see the violence in everything? Do you think it's hard for him to tell the difference? Was it easier for him to project his trauma onto Vegas than it was Porsche? Sorry sorry, my brain is kicking around so many hypotheticals that I almost want to write poetry

Oh anon, first of all, you can always come and throw at me *all* the Pete thoughts, I assume you've seen my blog and know how I'm like about that man. Second of all, damn, those questions are fascinating. I've never actually thought of Pete and violence and sex in that way before, at least not consciously (I think - I've only been thoroughly obsessing over him for almost 2 years lol). But anyway, for starters, I don't believe Pete is a stranger to sex. Even if he's a virgin in the show (something that was never confirmed), he's not oblivious to it. No matter the show's insistence at using Pete for comedic purposes in regards to him not knowing KP were a thing, I refuse to believe it! So, while, unfortunately, the scene with Porsche and the hickeys cannot really be interpreted in any other way than Pete having misunderstood what he saw on Porsche's neck, your question raises a good point for his character: does every act, including sex, involve violence for him? In my opinion, yes. Yes it does. Pete seeing the potential violence in everything could be a trauma response or a defense mechanism, both of which highly probable, as evidenced in ep4 with the table scene (though in that one, we had actual violence and potential escalated violence, depending on Tankhun's behaviour which Pete tried to control). Because of this, I don't think it's a matter of him finding it hard or not; it's a subconscious thing. I also don't think it'd be hard for him to tell the difference, but rather, Pete wouldn't *need* to tell the difference, because sex isn't something made for him. He's never thought it'd be something he would experience in his life before Vegas, so why distinguish one kind of violence from another? This is one of the main reasons why I utterly love their NC scene: it wasn't violent. Sure, it might have been painful - Pete hadn't completely healed yet, he was still wearing bandages and, depending on one's headcanon or not, penetration surely hurt to some degree - but it wasn't violent. It was hot kisses and licking necks and ass eating and slow thrusts and more kisses and.. yeah, you get the point. I believe it wasn't what Pete expected, same as the audience who witnessed it. Perhaps he expected another kind of violence, but got something completely different in the end, which is why Vegas using the handcuff again hit Pete so hard. The usual kind of violence returning, after the lack of it. He got too comfortable. He forgot to protect himself from the violence. Now, in regards to your last question, I believe Vegas' trauma is easier for Pete to project himself onto because it's a mirror (something @loveliesblood has actually said, because their brilliant character interpretations are brilliant). Pete's been there before, so he can empathize with a lost Vegas who's only response to the abuse is to blame himself. There's also the safety of distance: the days he'd been subjected to boxing against his will are over, so he's not in direct danger of his father abusing him like Vegas is. With Porsche, it's a little tricky. Taking as a hypothetical that he learns about what happened to Porsche somehow, the story hits a little *too* close to home for him to be able to process the trauma. There's no distance this time: it's here and now and he has to face it. But Pete is a hypocrite with no clue of what introspection means, so he shields himself from it, like he tries to do in ep13, in the infamous bathtub scene with Porsche, my favourite scene in the whole show. He cowers and hides and deflects. It's gorgeously agonizing to watch and I love it so, so much. This ended up being a little too long and I'm scared that I fucked up your incredible ask, but to salvage it a little bit, I'd like to highly encourage you to write the poetry you mentioned; we can never have enough of it, especially in the VP fandom. I'm sure it'll be wonderful ❤️ (Shoutout to @musictooth and their series of made-up vegaspete scenes, thank you so much for the brainworms haha)

[trashthedragon]

JOSHLER PROMPT!!!! ok so like tyler is being a lil fuckboy as per usual and like kisses josh on-stage or smth dumb as he does and josh decides to fuck with tyler back 😌 sorry if that sucked lmao im so bad at this

OMG I'm having so much fun with these Joshler prompts. Here is my second one! I kinda just took this one and ran with it!

Send me a Joshler prompt here!

Josh had never thought Tyler would actually be ballsy enough to do it. It was a years-long running joke: the two of them kissing on stage. It had been written in enough fan fics that Josh and Tyler spent a little too much time reading "out of curiosity". They'd teased about doing it to add excitement to their show when they were opening up for the Save Rock and Roll Tour, since it was a common gag that Pete and Patrick did that always got the crowd freaking out about it. Once they'd worn hockey helmets and joked that they had them on because the two of them couldn't stop kissing. Mark had thought he was so funny posting that for everyone to see. It was supposed to be funny.

But Tyler was never going to do it. Until he was. One second Josh was climbing up onto the piano during Holding Onto You, while Tyler shuffled back and forth on it, rapping, with the gleam in his eye that told Josh he was in for something, and the next Tyler was grabbing him and planting a firm kiss on Josh's sweaty lips, his hands cupping the side of Josh's face. The crowd had screamed so loud Josh thought his ear drums might burst. He had absolutely no idea how he managed to land the backflip, how he was able to get through the entire rest of the show, but soon enough they were climbing back on stage after the end of Trees, gripping onto each other, bowing.

Josh hadn't had time to think about the kiss during the show, but now that he was walking off stage his mind was spinning. How the hell was he going to get Tyler back for that? Had it just been a stupid little joke, Tyler finally doing it?

It wasn't until they got back to their dressing room when Josh asked "Soooo what the hell was that about?"

Tyler looked over at him with a smirk "Did you hear everyone? They freaked out," he clapped his hands together.

"So it was just a joke?" Josh asked, raising his eyebrows at Tyler. He saw a slight flicker of something in Tyler's eyes and he decided to chase it.

"Y-yeah" Tyler said, but he was breathless because Josh was stepping towards him now, all broad shoulders and strong biceps and sweat. "A joke," Tyler certainly sounded less cocky than he had before.

"Hmmm," Josh mumbled, his voice lowering. He'd backed Tyler into the wall now, and his hands moved to Tyler's shoulders. "Do it again," Josh said to him as he pressed his hips squarely against Tylers, making his bandmate gasp in surprise. Josh took the opportunity of Tyler's lips opening and kissed him, hard, his tongue sweeping along Tyler's bottom lip and over his crooked teeth.

"Was that a joke too?" Josh asked when he pulled away from Tyler, somehow managing to remain calm and collected while Tyler panted and leaned in towards Josh again, needy for more.

"What?" Tyler said in a daze, and Josh stepped away from the Tyler and turned away, a playful smirk on his lips, knowing the state he'd left Tyler in now was at least a tiny amount of payback for how dazed Josh had felt after that kiss on the piano. Even if it wasn't in front of thousands of people like it had been for Josh. Tyler had gotten himself into this, and Josh was perfectly happy to give his best friend a taste of his own medicine tonight...

If you like my writing, check out my AO3

[rainintheevening]

West - Part II

Time moves slow

It's been a year, it's been forever, it's been a day, he feels as if he could walk down to the station right this moment and Peter would be there waiting on the platform to say goodbye. He closes his eyes, and sees Peter smiling at him, feels the hands on his shoulders and the warm kiss on his forehead. And then it blurs, he can't remember the last thing Peter said to him, he can't remember if they hugged or shook hands last, he'd told Peter he loved him, hadn't he?

When half of your heart has yet to come home

He hears the whistle of a train through the open classroom window, and it comes back like a flash, Peter leaning out of the carriage to wave, and something snapping, Ed's heart tearing out of his chest, words spilling out in a wild cry, carrying over the sound of wheels turning and steam hissing and steel track shifting. "I love you! I love you, Pete! Please! Don't forget! Don't die! I love you!"

He had run after the train, run to the edge of the platform, where he was forced to stop, but his heart hadn't, and he'd listened for a long time till he was sure he could hear nothing more.

Every minute's adding up

I miss you, Ed. It's like losing a limb, I've found. I can do without you, but nothing is the same and everything's harder. Remember Acamus—how he complained for years afterward, always grumbling about needing another hand?

And leaving a mark on us

There are scars on the back of Ed’s hand, where one of the falcons had grabbed him, and they weren't there a year ago, Peter hasn't seen those, and how many scars does Peter have now? How many places where the skin had mended imperfectly? How many marks Edmund does not know the origin of?

He wonders sometimes.

I can't get you out of my mind

They aren't on the list Mother gave him, but he buys carrots at the green grocers, the short fat ones Peter likes, and doesn't remember till he's halfway home.

I can't get you out of my mind

"Hullo, Ed," calls Benjy from down the street. "How's tricks?"

"Oh, Peter's alright," Ed says, swinging around with a smile, squinting in the sun. "Getting sent to Palastine for a bit; says that should be interesting."

I can't get you out of my mind

He has a whole book of maps of Palestine and the Middle East from Professor Kirke— maps from the time of Abraham, to the conquest of Joshua, to the time of Jesus—and he writes: Tell us all about Jerusalem, if you get there.

I solemnly swear

I'm not going to tell you to remember anything this time, brother. Just know that I feel your pain, and grieve Hans's death as deeply as you. He was a faithful friend to you, and I was always grateful to know he had your back. I'm here, at home, sitting at our desk, and there's a summer thunderstorm banging around outside, though the rain on the roof sounds nice. I'm safe, I promise.

I swear that I'll never try

"Is Peter still over there?" Colin asks when they meet on the platform in a crowd of school boys, and there's a weight, a weariness in Edmund's clipped reply: "Yes. Why?"

The younger boy hesitates, before: "Well, I rather wish he'd come back so you'd be happy again."

We'll be just fine

He aces his School Cert, he's sure, though he won't know until the end of term what his marks actually were. But Master Walsh looks very pleased the day after, and tells him, "Keeping up the family name, I dare say."

Ed glows inside as he goes down to supper.

We'll be just fine

Rags and Tarek are fast friends now, and I can see she'll be in a good hands whenever I leave. She sleeps with him, on his mat under my cot. I've tried to make him sleep with the cook, since he is on kitchen duty, but he refuses, and I won't let him be chained or locked up. He's such a good kid otherwise, nobody really minds. When he's not on KP, he follows me everywhere, like a shadow. Tarek, though. It means 'morning star'.

We'll be just fine

Took Rose out for a gallop all the way up to the tor. Sun was out and made it warm, and with a few late heather blooming, the moor was quite beautiful. Took a lunch and a hymn book; went over my tenor parts and the solo for choir. Sounds boring when I write it out like that, but I know you like to hear that sort of thing.

I know that we will

He does not cry on the second Christmas without Peter. He stands in church with his arm around Lucy, and they sing loud and clear and triumphant, Then tolled the bells, more loud and deep / God is not dead, nor doth He sleep. He laughs at Susan's stories from the hospital over Christmas dinner, and listens to Eustace breathing across the room as they fall asleep.

Somewhere out there on a dusty military base, Peter is falling asleep in his cot, and thinking of home.

We'll be just fine

The lines march across the maps, week in, week out. Pushing further and further toward and into Germany. He marks with a pencil and a steady hand. Places the one pin with the little lion head flag squarely in Belgium.

A sense of excitement builds in the boys who cluster round that wall of the Sixth Form common room, an air of hope, a taste of victory.

We'll be just fine

He kneels by his bed, letter cupped in his hands, and his lips move but no sound comes, as his heart reaches for the aching one that bleeds through in ink. Peter marches head on into the maw of the dragon, and Edmund can only beg the Lion of Judah to go ahead of him.

It's a matter of time

The chapel bells ring wild and clamorous, and the courtyard is flooded with boys doing their best to imitate them. In the middle of the unrestrained celebration, Edmund Pevensie pauses, stands still, looks up to search the May sky. He smiles, tired and worn and battlescarred, recalling victory cheers of years past, the rattle of swords on shields and the cheerful yowls of the big cats. He remembers the longing to ride home again. He remembers standing above Cair Paravel's gate, and seeing the white unicorn spring forward into a gallop.

He gets tackled into the dirt by Colin and Fred and Pat, and then he's laughing with the rest of them.

Till our compass stands still

He stands on the platform, hands in his pockets, quite still, hat pulled low in the summer drizzle. But his eyes keep moving, scanning, searching, face after face, skipping from one to another, and finding no satisfaction. Until... just dismounting the first carriage, tall, clean shaven, officer's uniform, hat in his hand, rain in his golden-brown hair, blue eyes all weary and laughing that lock onto Edmund's, go wide with startled light.

They are magnets, drawn together through the crowd, and he knows Peter is shouting, but Ed has no breath as he is wrapped in his brother's embrace, crushed against the broad chest of his king, his captain, his best friend in all the wide worlds. He clings to Peter, and weeps for a long time.

Till our compass stands still

The maps are forgotten in the dark, and he traces no lines, measures no distance, for the great heart beats against his spine, and the warm breath brushes the back of his neck, and they will sleep safe together tonight. He is here, and Peter is here.

They are home.

[simpforrooster]

miss me baby.

Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell x F!reader

summary: a little snippet of your relationship with Maverick, based on the song miss me baby by Chris Cagle

a/n: phew! this one has been in my drafts for foreverrrrrr!!!! I hope y'all like it. sorry about all the time between fics! I am finally feeling more inspired to write and will have more coming your way!

Miss me baby When you hear our favorite song Miss me baby And when you start to sing along Think about all the times that danced in light to it all night long Oh, then miss me baby

Maverick used to hold you close to him in the kitchen, spinning you around to y'all's song. You still giggle when you think about Maverick also fan-girling over Shania Twain's You're Still the One.

He would play it before a deployment, you two wouldn't dance then. You'd just stand in each other's arms, not verbalizing your fears, just feeling them. He'd kiss the top of your head. Then your temple. Then your cheek. Finally, your lips.

"I'm coming back, love. I promise."

You knew he shouldn't make those promises, but they reassured you anyway.

He kept that promise every deployment.

You want me honey Like you did the night you told me that you loved me You couldn't wait anymore Left the keys in the door, took my hand, pulled my down on the kitchen floor Yeah we were that crazy Miss me baby

This was Maverick's favorite memory.

"I love you, Pete," your voice was almost a whisper. He almost missed it. You'd used his real name, not his callsign.

"What?" he'd asked, stupidly. He just wanted to make sure he hadn't dreamt it. Maverick was extremely concerned for the age gap. He knew age was only a number, but he always felt weird that he was who you chose. Especially when you had your pick of the younger aviators.

"You heard me, Mav," you grinned.

He hadn't dreamt it. You loved him.

"I love you," he said. Finally telling you, felt like a weight off his shoulders. He'd been wanting to tell you since day one, but was certain that would scare you off.

What you said next, knocked the breath out of him.

"I want you, Pete."

He couldn't get the door open fast enough, especially after you tangled your hands in his hair. You started kissing all over his neck, and he'd thought it was heaven.

Struggling to pull the keys from the lock, he gave up and left them dangling. You gripped the collar on his shirt and pulled him onto his kitchen floor.

It was perfect.

Pete had imagined this time over and over, and now that he finally had you, he couldn't stand it.

Miss me baby Til you can't take it no more Miss me baby Pack your bags and hit the door I'm a man, I was wrong, forgive me, come back home, I'll be waiting Right here waiting Miss me baby

Of course he fucked it up. It was destined to happen, the way he began to walk around you on eggshells. Mav wasn't used to relationships going this well. It freaked him out.

So, yeah.

He came home from a training day with the team to your bags packed at waiting by the door.

You came around the corner, shocked you hadn't beat him. Training usually lasted much longer. You though you had more time to get out.

"Y/n?" he croaked, his emotion apparent on his face.

"Mav.." you started.

"Baby, I'm sorry. I am so sorry." He stepped toward you, his hands out to cradle your head in his hands the way you liked. You stepped back in the knick of time, knowing if you hadn't, you'd be putty in his hands.

During a night out with the team, Mav had too much to drink. He let some things slip that he didn't mean to. Things that must've scared you off.

Mav took you in. Your body almost folding in on itself, holding a note. You were going to leave him and let him know in a note.

"I can't do it anymore, Pete," you whispered.

Mav knew what you couldn't do. The long deployments. The late night trainings. The way he flies his aircraft a little too recklessly.

"I can't loose you, y/n." He tried to reach out for you again, but you wouldn't let him. A beeping horn from outside pulled you both from this sad novel ending.

With a parting glance, you grabbed your bags, and hit the door.

And every time you feel his touch I pray to God it's not enough That I touched your heart so deep, girl, you can't shake me Cause I love you Yes I need you Miss me baby

It didn't take long for another man to offer you the comfort Mav wished he could. He just wished it wasn't Jake. He reminded Mav all the time that you were with him now. It shouldn't have been a shock. Jake was just as interested in you as Mav was.

One night in the Hard Deck, Mav managed to corner you in the back of the bar.

"How is it? Being with him? Because, Baby, it's hell for me," Mav's voice broke like it did the night you left him.

"Jake's great," you said, your eyes darting to the left, the tale tell sign of you lying.

"Come back to me, Baby," he pleaded, "I miss you so much."

Your e/c eyes searched his. What you were looking for, he wasn't sure. He prayed it was the words "yes" or "of course, Pete."

"Pete.." you started. Mav could feel the rejection from a mile away. Before hearing the words from your mouth, he turned. Walking away from you, his heart felt the heaviest it's ever felt.

He really lost you.

Mav stops, and turns. Your eyes had tears rimming them, and he was about to make it worse.

"I pray every night that his touch isn't good enough. That it leaves you longing for mine. Because I really miss you, baby."

masterlist

[callsignthirsty]

OMG THIRSTY YOUR SUGGESTION BOX IS OPEN UMMM, first of all hi I love you, second I was thinking maybe a maverick x femPILOTreader can (her call sign be avalanche?) were they are a thing that only goose and carol know about, but not really just “casual sex” in mavs words, then ice starts flirting HARD with the reader and mav gets jealous and makes a big scene and they end up breaking up over it (cause maverick is too hard headed) and he regrets it forever but says nothing (that man won’t swallow his pride) and maybe a time skip to top gun maverick? Where he and the reader are called back together to train the team (is this too much?), I think it’d be cute to see mav fall in love all over again (not really cause he never forgot her) with her and be together in the end. Bonus points if she is like an aunt to rooster cause she was also good friends with the Bradshaws. I don’t know if it’s something you’d like to write or if it’s really not up your alley. Sorry if it’s a mess not good at explaining my self, anyway I hope you have a lovely day ❤️❤️❤️

Hey there @i-wear-wet-socks313 — Thanks for sending in your suggestion. There was a lot to unpack with this one, so I hope you don’t mind that I shortened it a little bit by breezing over the events of the first movie. That said: it’s still fixing to be about 10k by the time I get around to publishing part 2 (yeah, that’s right, I had to break it into two parts!) But what can I say? Your suggestion definitely smacked me upside the head (and I liked it)! Be on the lookout for part two in the coming week or two ❤️

Pairing: Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x F!Pilot!Reader (call sign: Avalanche) Word Count: 7500 Warnings: Canon character death (x2), language, a general glossing over of movie events, the author knowing nothing about the Navy or aviation smut coming in part 2 Minors DNI

Call Sign: Avalanche

You hadn't kept in touch with Iceman since graduating from Top Gun. Honestly, you hadn't kept in touch with any of your classmates — it had been easiest to cut all ties. Despite this, you'd have had to be exceptionally observant not to notice the Iceman's rise within the ranks. Not that you hadn't done well for yourself but you were no Commander of the Pacific Fleet. So when Admiral Kazansky put in the call to have you transferred to North Island for a special assignment, you were flattered. Really. You figured that Iceman's recommending you for the job spoke to his appreciation for your shared craft and his belief that you could train the squad to do what needed to be done.

The good feelings last until you learn who you'll be expected to teach alongside.

Maverick.

That's when you see this assignment for what it is: a cruel joke.

Like Iceman, you haven't seen Maverick since your joint graduation ceremony in '85. Unlike Iceman, you actively worked to avoid Maverick. Because it was just your luck that you'd have a history with the Navy's best pilot.

You'd dated for months, though neither of you was brave enough to put words to it. Carole was, though. Date. Relationship. Love. Any time she mentioned it, your cheeks would flame, Maverick would awkwardly look away, and Goose would pull her into a hug, kissing her until she giggled and the topic was changed.

Those were the days. And in a kinder world, things would've stayed like that forever. Instead, Iceman had unintentionally swooped in and blown your good thing to shit.

But even you could admit that it wasn't entirely Iceman's fault. As much as you liked Maverick, you knew that you had to keep your relationship under wraps. Though the Navy allowed women within their ranks, getting the opportunity to become one of the first female naval aviators was still a hard-won privilege and one that you didn't take lightly. The last thing you wanted was for someone to call you out for fraternization and jeopardize your job. And though you looked at Maverick as if he'd hung the moon just for you, you knew that few others within the Navy viewed his endeavors — and you knew they'd consider you, an endeavor — similarly.

But as hard as you'd tried in the beginning, you hadn't been able to stop Maverick from worming his way into your affections. And, it appeared, your efforts were similarly wasted on Iceman.

When you first met Ice, you'd suspected he was a dime-a-dozen. Tall and confident and by the rules. Until you saw him fly. You had an ego like the other pilots who made it to Top Gun, but you, at least, knew when you were beaten. And Iceman had all of you beat. Well, except for Maverick. That appreciation, however, must have been misconstrued. Somewhere along the line, Iceman had gotten it in his head that sliding into the seat next to you at the O Club and flagging the bartender down to grab you a drink was a good idea. You hadn't known he was interested until it was already too late.

You couldn't even remember the words that blew your world to pieces. Only knew that Maverick had his hand around your arm, your drink spilled all down the front of your khakis as he'd hissed and spit until he was red in the face. "You want to fuck Kazansky. Fine. I won't stand in your way."

"Pete."

"I'm done." And he'd gotten on his bike and driven away.

It had been the end of your relationship but the beginning of Maverick's downward spiral.

Goose died the next day.

Maverick turned in his wings.

Iceman won the Top Gun trophy.

Maverick was called away to the USS Enterprise right after the graduation ceremony.

You were long gone before he came back.

But here he is. Strolling into the briefing late, clad in his dad's jacket and old jeans. His brows draw down in confusion when his eyes land on you, his head tilting. Assessing.

At least he hadn't been expecting you, either. Neither of you had the advantage.

"Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell." Cyclone draws Maverick's attention to himself, sitting behind his desk. "Your reputation precedes you."

"Thank you, sir."

Cyclone's frown deepens. "Wasn't a compliment." It does little to humble the smile on Maverick's face, so Cyclone goes on to introduce himself, Warlock, and yourself, though, from the casual greeting they shoot each other, you gather that he and Warlock have met before.

With little delay, Warlock goes on to outline the mission. "The target is an unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant built in violation of a multilateral NATO treaty. The uranium produced there represents a direct threat to our allies in the region. The Pentagon has tasked us with assembling a strike team and taking it out before it becomes fully operational."

Warlock goes through his slides. The plant is in an underground bunker at the end of a GPS-jammed valley guarded by an extensive surface-to-air missile array and fifth-generation fighters. "Which, in turn," Warlock continues with another click to zoom in on an aerial view of the nearby airstrip, "are backed up by a plentiful reserve of surplus aircraft. Even a few F-14s."

"Seems like we're not the only ones holding onto old relics." You'd have taken Cyclone's words personally if they hadn't been meant as a blatant attack on Maverick. As it is, Maverick ducks his head as if the shot at him is expected.

"What's your read, Captain?" Warlock breaks the stalemate.

Maverick looks at you briefly before clearing his throat and approaching the projector. You follow along in your own hastily scribbled notes as Maverick talks through the possibilities. GPS-jamming means F-35s are a no-go. The low-level laser-guided strike is about as tailor-made for the F-18 as a mission can get. Two precision bombs. Four aircraft flying in pairs. High potential for g-loc on the way out and a dogfight all the way home. But it can be done. Supposedly.

"It's been a while since I've flown an F-18, and I'm not sure who I'd trust to fly the other three, but I'll find a way to make it work."

And then Cyclone hits you with the twist: "We don't want you to fly it. We want you to teach it."

Twelve Top Gun graduates have been recalled for the special detachment. Among them: Bradley. You can pinpoint the moment Maverick sees Bradley on the board, and you almost feel bad, but Maverick had brought this upon himself. You'd been there to pick Bradley up after Maverick pulled his papers to the Naval Academy. Had jumped in your car and floored it to the Bradshaw residence to hold the boy — now a young man — as he'd sobbed fat, angry tears.

That doesn't mean you don't wince when Cyclone sticks his fingers into the open wound that will evermore be Goose. "Tragic what happened." Even you want to smack the Vice Admiral for that.

But if Maverick has the plan and Maverick is expected to teach the graduates… "Admiral Simpson," you say, breaking your silence as you close your notepad, "I fail to see why I'm needed for this detachment if Captain Mitchell has the planning and training under control." Professional. To the point. "So if you don't need me…." You stand and make for the door. The sooner you can slip away, back to your life without Maverick, the better.

"Not so fast," Cyclone interrupts your exit and leans forward against his desk. "Let me be perfectly blunt. You–" you turn to find him pointing a stern finger at Maverick "–were not my first choice. In fact, you weren't even on the list. You are here because of Admiral Kazansky. Now, Iceman happens to be a man I deeply admire, and he seems to think that you have something left to offer the Navy. What that is, I can't imagine. And he has assured me that you–" Cyclone's steely green eyes lock on you "–can keep him in check."

Well, isn't that rich? "With all due respect, Cyclone, I'm an Admiral for the United States Navy, not a babysitter."

"Well, for the purposes of this mission, it would appear that you are both." He tosses a file onto his desk, and you glare at it. Not only does Cyclone outrank you, but the orders technically come from the Commander of the Pacific Fleet. You could say 'no' and walk away, but unless you're officially dismissed, it's a career-limiting — possibly career-ending — move. Ultimately, you walk back to the desk to pick up the file and stack it on your notepad.

Satisfied, Cyclone turns his attention back to Maverick. "You don't have to take this job, but let me be clear: this will be your last post, Captain. You fly for Top Gun, or you never fly for the Navy ever again."

That night, as you pour over the mission file, you wonder what Kazansky is up to. There's no way he put you, Maverick, and Bradley all in the same place over a mid-life power trip. But you can't figure out what he's out to accomplish for your life.

— — —

Warlock introduces you and Maverick to the twelve graduates. Well, eleven — you both know Bradley. Cyclone is beside himself when Maverick throws away the F-18 NATOPS and shoots you a look, but what does he expect you to do? Fish it out of the trash? This is Kazansky's circus. He can fish the NATOPS out of the trash.

Bradley catches up to you as everyone disperses to get changed into their g-suits for the day's hops. "Why the hell is he here?" he asks, voice low but venom clear in his tone.

"Iceman."

"Figures." Bradley's lips pull into a tight line. "So, what do we do?"

You sigh, exhausted, and the day has only begun. "What we do best, baby bird. Fly."

Frustratingly, Maverick's just as good as you remember him. Better, even. The fire of his youth still there but tempered marginally by time. And you hate to admit it, but you're rusty. No one told you when you joined the Navy that the higher you climbed the ladder, the further you'd get from the sky. You're shot down once by Hangman — which you're sure he'll brag about later at the bar — but Maverick is untouchable.

You're already on the ground when Bradley touches down to do his own pushups. Once your arms have turned to jelly, you let Hondo go with a promise to count the rest for Bradley.

"I told you to fly, not lose your shit," you say once Hondo has walked far enough away to give you the illusion of privacy. Bradley glares at you before returning to his pushups, sweat dripping off his nose and onto the tarmac. "When you let him get to you like that, you give him the edge."

"What does it matter?" Bradley says, taking a seat and looking up at you for the first time since he was thirteen. "He's going to wash me out."

"I won't let him."

Bradley shakes his head. "Don't."

"I won't."

"Well, you couldn't stop him last time." And that's not fair. You weren't the one who'd pulled Bradley's papers. You hadn't even known until the deed had been done. Until Bradley was asking if he could stay with you for a while, and you insisted on driving to him. The same night Maverick's name had become a dirty word to both of you.

You do your best to keep the hurt off of your face. Bradley isn't mad at you; he's stressed and lashing out. But on base, you're still his superior officer. "The four best pilots will be on the mission. Whether that includes you or not, Rooster, is up to you. But it won't if you keep flying like that." You leave when your phone buzzes with a message to meet at Cyclone's office in — you check the time — ten minutes.

— — —

It's cathartic, you decide, to watch someone else lose their shit on Maverick. Unfortunately for Cyclone, though, this is one of the rare times that Maverick's rule-breaking has a defensible reason behind it.

"The hard deck will be much lower for the mission, sir," Maverick responds at your side.

"And it will not change without my approval!" Cyclone snaps. "Especially not in the middle of an exercise. And that cobra maneuver of yours? That could've gotten all four of you killed. I never want to see that shit again." All you do is shrug when Cyclone's stare focuses on you. You aren't sure what Iceman told Cyclone to make him think you could make Maverick behave, but you're not sure what you're supposed to do when you haven't spoken to the man in nearly forty years.

And then they're off again: Cyclone and Maverick. Oil and water.

"You have less than three weeks to teach them how to fight as a team and how to strike the target," Cyclone says, and he looks like he's ready to wave a hand, dismiss you all for the day, and pour himself four fingers of whiskey.

"And how to come home." Your head snaps to Maverick. His lips are parted as if he wants to say something else, but the words must escape him because instead, he repeats: "And how to come home, sir."

You try to swallow, but your throat is dry like sandpaper. Eyes wide, you stare at Cyclone. Coming home had never been a part of the training plan. This — Maverick is the first person to mention bringing the team home. A pit settles in your stomach as the realization of what you've been assigned to hits.

A suicide mission.

You're sending six people into enemy territory to die. Less, if you're lucky, but not everyone is coming home.

Cyclone chooses his next words carefully — "Every mission has its risks." — but they do nothing to settle you. Your blood is on fire, and you're simultaneously hot and cold, an icy sweat breaking out across your temples. "These pilots accept that."

"I don't, sir." Maverick's statement settles around you like a well-worn quilt. You shiver, despite yourself as a part of you that you'd believe to be long-dead flickers back to life. Because at that moment, in those words, you know that Maverick will do everything in his power to ensure everyone comes home. It feels like hope. Like trust. Clumsy fingers pull the feeling tighter around you.

"Every morning," Cyclone breaks the silence, "you will brief us on your instructional plans in writing. And nothing will change without my express approval."

"Including the hard deck, sir?" You're running through a plan to get all the paperwork together to lower the hard deck as soon as the question is past Maverick's lips because, much to your chagrin, Maverick is correct, and you should all be flying much lower to properly prepare.

"Especially the hard deck, Captain."

Without skipping a beat, Maverick hands a manila file over the desk to Cyclone. "Sir." And it appears that years of getting on Admirals' bad sides have prepared Maverick for this exact moment. You have to fight the twitch threatening to bring your lips up at the thought that Maverick knew he was going to break the hard deck and had come prepared with the paperwork already filled out.

When you regroup the next day, the hard deck sits much lower.

In two-plane teams, the graduates take turns flying the simulated course on their nav systems. And because you're going easy on them, they have both extra time and a higher ceiling than they'll have when they fly the actual mission. Even with these allowances, no one can make it to the end of the course. Except for Bradley, but he'd flown too slow despite Yale's insistence that they would be late.

As Maverick and Rooster argue over whether or not running the course in four minutes would be a death sentence, you can see the graduates' faces drop as they come to the same conclusion you'd come to in Cyclone's office: that this mission might not be doable.

"That's no time to be thinking about the past," Hangman says as if he couldn't stand that Bradley's ire had been aimed at anyone else.

Bradley's head whips to Hangman. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Something about this screams danger, but Maverick is frozen to the spot. "Rooster," you say, hoping you can get in front of this; calm Bradley before Hangman can dig his nails in and give him a shake.

Hangman leans back against his seat, a smile curling his lips. "I can't be the only one that knows that Maverick flew with his old man."

"That's enough." Maverick finally snaps out of whatever had held him silent before, but Hangman is undeterred.

"Or that Maverick was flying when his old man–"

"Lieutenant," you bark, "that's enough!" But it's too little too late. The fuse must have been lit before you and Maverick had been on the scene because Bradley is suddenly out of his seat, other graduates clamoring to their feet to grab him or push Hangman out of his reach.

Maverick throws himself into the middle, ordering each man to stand down while Bradley snarls, "You son of a bitch!"

When you get a hand on Hangman's shoulder, he shoots you a self-assured smile. "He's not cut out for this mission."

You shove him away from Bradley. "Walk."

Hangman's pale eyes land on Rooster. "You know it."

"I said walk, Lieutenant." You give Hangman another shove for good measure, and his feet finally begin to carry him away from the situation, but not before his eyes lock on Maverick's over his shoulder.

"You know I'm right."

Back in the hangar, Maverick dismisses the class. You march Hangman to an empty classroom to reprimand his piss-poor behavior. Hangman nods in all the right places, but you doubt any of your scoldings get through to him.

— — —

Getting all the graduates on the same page calls for a new strategy. They can fly the course on their navs until they're blue in the face, but it won't bring them closer together. Won't keep Hangman from leaving his wingman out to dry or light a fire under Bradley's ass. With a few ideas in mind, you arrive at the hangar early, hoping you can snag Warlock and go over some of your ideas before seeking approval from Cyclone.

Instead, you find Maverick.

"You're a bit early," you say as you take a seat atop one of the desks in the back row. And underdressed. It seems that he hasn't updated his wardrobe since the '80s. Instead of khakis, Maverick must have walked onto base today in his jeans and an old, white t-shirt.

Maverick jumps a little bit, then erases an errant mark on the whiteboard with the hem of his shirt and returns to what he was writing. "Yeah," he agrees. "Wanted to get here before everyone else."

Clearly. "And what's that?" you ask, gesturing at the board.

"Oh." Maverick stands back and taps at the board. "New plan for the day. I'd have talked with you about it, but…." He doesn't have your number.

Class on the beach.

Meet at The Hard Deck.

Wear civvies.

"What's at the beach?"

"Dogfight football," he says as if that explains everything.

You cross your arms. "This isn't volleyball all over again, is it?"

"No." Maverick shakes his head with a fond smile crinkling his eyes. “No, this is teambuilding.”

"Ah," you play along and nod as if that clears everything up. "I think that's exactly what Viper called it when he sent us to the volleyball court." More like when Jester had chucked the volleyball at Maverick's head, and Viper ordered he and Iceman get their posturing bullshit over with. They hadn't, of course, but it had been worth a try.

"He did, didn't he?" Before he can start fiddling with the whiteboard marker, Maverick caps it and sets it down. You wonder if he's thinking about it, too. The long summer days. How the sun beat down on all of you until your shoulders were red. Goose. "Let's hope this goes better, then."

When you arrive at the beach, Hondo's already there with two nerf footballs in his hands and a referee whistle around his neck. Maverick's bike is in the parking lot, but you don't see him when you scan the beach.

"Avalanche."

"Hondo."

"Anything I can help you with, ma'am?" Hondo shifts his weight from one foot to the other in the sand. Maybe Maverick had told him about your history, maybe he hadn't, but the two seem close enough. Whatever he does or doesn't know, Hondo doesn't let it come between your professional relationship.

"Just trying to figure out what dogfight football is."

The idea is all Maverick's, but the concept is pretty simple. Offense and defense at the same time. Score by running your ball into the opposing team's endzone before they run their ball into yours. Stop the other team from advancing by grounding their ball.

As Hondo gets into the hastily made-up rules, Maverick comes down from the bar, jeans rolled up to just below his knees and dragging a cooler behind himself. "You made it," he greets you, his movie star smile warm like the sun as the sea breeze tousles his hair.

"What's in the box?" you ask, hiding behind the question and your aviators. Instead of answering, Maverick opens the lid to reveal a multitude of cans. "Beer? On the job?"

"There's water in there, too," Maverick says, digging through the ice until he uncovers a water bottle and hands it to you. You drop the bottle back into the ice with a crunch. "The class on their way?" he asks as he closes the cooler.

"I'm not sure." So you fish your phone out of your pocket and send Bradley a quick text to make sure he's on his way with the others. Truthfully, you hadn't stuck around long enough to be sure. Had simply added your own note below Maverick's before leaving yourself.

Erase after reading.

The class shows up, and shirts come off. You fight to keep your eyes on Hondo as he separates you into teams. For someone pushing sixty, Maverick looks good. Trim waist, toned arms–

"Avalanche." Your attention snaps to Hondo as he motions you to the left. "Orange team."

After a quick huddle, both teams line up. Maverick and Bradley against you and Hangman. You don't have enough time to overthink it when Hondo blows the whistle, and you all take off at the snap.

By the time you stumble to the cooler for some water, you've lost track of the score. Hondo might know, but you doubt it. Laughter rang out from the group as Phoenix brought Fanboy down to the sand. Count on Maverick to succeed where others have failed.

"Looks like your plan worked," you call out as Maverick makes his way over to you, jeans wet and sandy from all the times he'd been knocked into the surf, aviators crooked on his face. You get off the cooler to grab him a water bottle as he sits in the nearby chair and pulls his shirt back on. When you turn around, he's beaming.

"Get him!" Halo screams, and you and Maverick look to where Hondo has intercepted a pass. He looks between the ball and WSO as if he's surprised before he runs, but he doesn't get far before — regardless of which team they're on — the aviators jump on him like a bunch of puppies. Screaming and laughing and wiggling as they bring Hondo to the sand. A laugh escapes you, and suddenly you and Maverick are laughing together. It feels good to laugh with him again.

Not even Cyclone's shadow can dim your shine, but Maverick does peak at him over his sunglasses. "Sir?"

"What is this?" Cyclone asks as everyone sets up again, none the wiser to Cyclone observing from the sideline.

"This–" Maverick gestures to the surf "–is dogfight football."

"Offense and defense at the same time," you say once you take a sip from your water bottle.

Ever critical, Cyclone asks: "Who's winning?"

"I think they stopped keeping score a while ago," Maverick says, his own water bottle crinkling as he drains it.

"This detachment still has some training to complete, Captain." His words are said to Maverick, but they're directed at both of you. Cyclone shooting you a look that says he expected you to do more to keep Maverick on Cyclone's track than go along willingly when he decides to play hooky. And maybe it's because this is the most fun you've had in years, but you'll readily admit that Maverick's plan had worked better than anything you'd wanted to run by Warlock. "Every available minute matters. So why are we out here playing games?"

Bob scores a touchdown, and Bradley lifts him onto his shoulders. Bob raises the ball above his head as the rest of the squad mills about them and chants, "Bob! Bob! Bob!"

"It's a teambuilding exercise, sir," you say, catching Maverick's surprised look out of the corner of your eye. "You asked him to create a team. There it is."

The three of you watch as the group runs into the ocean to cool off, only Hondo appears to be aware of their spectator, but Maverick raises a hand in his direction as if to let Hondo know that you have it handled.

"I expect them to be ready to fly tomorrow." By the time the graduates fish themselves out of the surf, Cyclone is long gone. And as they begin to walk around The Hard Deck with the promise of food and a few rounds of pool, Maverick's eyes find yours through your sunglasses.

"Well," Maverick sighs, hands clapping against his thighs, but he doesn't make to stand up. "I've gotta see if Penny will take some of these beers back."

You nod, dusting sand from your legs and shaking your shirt before pulling it over your head. "Make sure they drink some water," you say because you remember what it was like to be young and in the Navy. "I don't want Cyclone on our asses about them being hungover tomorrow."

"You heading out?" He rises to meet you.

"Yeah." You pat down your pockets to make sure that you have your keys. "It's about that time."

"Stick around," Maverick says when your keys jingle in your pocket. "Penny makes a mean burger."

Mean might be an exaggeration, but it turns out that Penny's burgers are pretty good. You hadn't expected much from a Navy bar, but credit where it's due and all that. By the time Maverick finds you at your booth, he's returned all but two of his beers and passes one of them to you. "I'd have gotten you a glass, but I already paid for these, so…" he trails off, and now that you can see his eyes, he looks uncomfortable standing at the end of your booth.

Maybe you're still running on the endorphins from your teambuilding exercise, or your newly blossoming trust is making you do some weird shit, but you decide to accept the can that Maverick offers you. You crack it open and take a sip, nodding to the bench across from you. Maverick jumps at the chance and slides onto the seat, his elbows resting on the table as he takes a gulp of his beer.

"So," you say, not entirely sure where to start with how long it's been since you've willingly engaged in a conversation with Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, but you're in a mood to humor him, "still a Captain, huh?"

Maverick chuckles. "A highly decorated Captain." It sounds like he's been saying it for years.

The conversation is stilted. Strictly professional. But it's more than you've been willing to give Maverick in years. The conversation is shot dead when the jukebox is unplugged, and Maverick gets a faraway look on his face as Bradley begins tickling at the piano keys. Before long, the rest of the bar is scream-singing Great Balls of Fire along with him, but your silence stretches even after Bradley moves on to the next song. And the next.

Your anger rises with each change of the keys. Finally, you can't take the silence any longer. "It was wrong what you did." It's the least of what you've wanted to say to him for years.

"I did what I had to."

"Bullshit," you grit. You see red. Because who the fuck did — does — Maverick think he is? "You had no right–"

"Carole asked me to do it." He says it so softly that you almost miss it between the clack of the pool table and din of conversation. Of all the defenses you'd been expecting, all the excuses you'd imagined over the years, you'd never…

"What?"

"She– Well, she–" he stumbles over his words. A couple non-starters until he can finally spit it out with a careful look in Bradley's direction. "She never wanted him to fly. Not after what happened to Goose." So there it was. What you'd always assumed was Maverick's own selfish reason for keeping his best friend's son from flying.

But it wasn't his selfish reason. Fuck! You stared into your can, the carbonation fizzing against the thin metal until you could feel it beneath your fingers.

Fuck. You'd had Maverick wrong for years. Bradley had him wrong.

Maverick clears his throat when you don't have anything to say to his overdue confession. "She made me promise before she died."

"How long?"

"The next day," Maverick gives you a sad little smile.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

You still hate it, but you begrudgingly get it now. Years later. Maverick hadn't wanted to pull Rooster's papers. Carole had put him in an impossible position. "You could've lied." You hate to even offer it up. It feels wrong the second the suggestion slips past your lips. Who lies to their friend on the deathbed? But Carole wouldn't have known. She could have died in peace, and Bradley would've been none the wiser.

"I couldn't bring myself to tell her, then…" he shakes his head. "Anyway, I knew Bradley would fly." He gestures across the table at you. "Knew you'd be there to help him get back on track."

But something about all of this still doesn't sit right with you. "Why not just tell him?" You abandon your beer and lean across the table, catching Maverick's downcast eyes. "He's… It would've hurt in the moment, but you've had years." An urge seizes you, and you have to fight every instinct in your body telling you to reach across the table. To cradle Maverick's hand in your own and rub some comfort into the old bones beneath tan skin. "You have to know by now that he'd have understood." That he'd still understand. He'd be angry, but he'd understand.

For all that you were the wind in Bradley's sails after their falling out, you knew you'd always be a piss poor replacement for Bradley's Uncle Mav. God, you wished Goose was there to knock some sense into him.

Maverick takes another sip of his beer, his gaze on Bradley, surrounded by his teammates by the piano. "It's better this way," he says. "I'd rather him hate me than resent her."

"You're an idiot if you think Bradley ever could've hated Carole."

A smile tugs at the corner of Maverick's lip, but his dimples don't pop. "No one ever accused me of being smart."

— — —

You and Maverick play the role of intercepting fifth-gen fighters while the graduates practice the course at speed and attempt to hit an old refrigerator in the middle of the desert meant to simulate the underground bunker.

The day doesn't go as planned.

It starts with several unsuccessful runs, then Coyote going into g-loc, followed by a bird strike that forces Phoenix and Bob to eject. Your hands, steady in the cockpit, shake once you touch down while you try to keep your mind from spiraling. You try to do simple math in your head, and when that isn't distracting enough, you force yourself to look at the positives: Coyote is fine; Phoenix and Bob punched out, their parachutes deployed, and a helicopter is picking probably picking them up right now; Bradley hadn't been in the air.

Bradley.

Thinking about your baby bird makes your breath catch. Heart beating in your throat. How was he handling all of this? Had he watched them punch out? Had he ever–?

Before you can go to him, Maverick is there. "Hey," he says with a hand on your shoulder, and you don't brush it off. The touch is grounding. It's the only thing keeping you from entering a flat spin. "Are you okay?" All you can think is that you should be asking him that. What you muster is a nod. It's been a while since you've been in the air when something had gone wrong, and your mind keeps circling back to Goose. Maverick's eyes study yours before he ushers you toward the building. He asks you to wait before disappearing into the men's locker room and returning with a manilla folder. "Think you can bring Cyclone tomorrow's lesson plan?"

You accept the folder, looking at the thick card stock in your hands. "Where're you going?"

Hesitation and desperation war in his eyes. "Rooster." Ah. Yeah. That makes sense. You want to go after Bradley yourself, but Maverick needs it.

You swallow to wet your dry throat. "Yeah," you croak. "Good. Yeah. I'll make sure he gets it."

Maverick's hand squeezes your shoulder. "Thank you." Then he's gone down the hallway, peering through windows as he goes.

But bad news always comes in threes.

The call comes in while you're defending Maverick's lesson plan.

You hadn't even known that Iceman was sick.

Warlock offers his condolences to Cyclone, then dips out of the room to find Maverick and deliver the news. Seconds later, footsteps hurry past the door and out of the base. A door slamming as the rumble of a bike disappears into the distance.

You stand with your old Top Gun class at the service. Well, the ones who had been able to show up. Slider. Hollywood and Wolfman. Viper.

Ron had tried to get approval to fly one of the jets overhead, but his request had been denied, which, you thought, eying his hands as they shook during the eulogy, was probably for the best. After the service, the five of you grab a drink for old time's sake, and Viper pours one out for your fallen comrade. Maverick doesn't join.

But when it rains, it pours.

An email is all the warning you get that Cyclone is taking over the mission. Maverick's career as a naval aviator is over, but yours isn't. You're expected to stay on. Without Iceman to fight for him, Maverick is grounded. All over the world, you're sure, admirals and air bosses were breathing a collective sigh of relief — but to your surprise, you weren't among them.

For the first time since joining the Navy — with his best friend gone and his career at large buried alongside his wingman — Maverick is well and truly on his own.

Everyone is given a day off to mourn and collect themselves while Cyclone develops a new game plan.

New orders come through the following day. You arrive on base early and are briefed on the latest mission parameters, but they make you feel like you've swallowed lead. It's a feeling you can't shake while you change into your flight suit, a voice in your ear buzzing that you're sending your team off to an early grave. You're on your way to run through preflight to fly an example of Cyclone's plan when you swear you see Maverick out of the corner of your eye.

You squint through the early morning sun. "Maverick?" He puts a finger to his lips and waves you over, and with a quick look around, you go to him. When you're close enough, he pulls you into the shadow of the hangar he's hiding behind so neither of you will be seen by officers about their dailies. "What are you doing here?" you ask, quiet this time. "Cyclone said that you were done."

"Yeah," Maverick said, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "I'm sure he'd like to believe that."

"I don't like that look." But you're smiling.

"A lot of people 've been saying that lately." He smiles back. Then: "I'm going to steal a jet."

"Come again?"

Maverick holds his hands up to calm you down. You must've been loud in your surprise because he's looking around the tarmac like he expects to be found out any second now. "The only way they come home is the way we've been teaching them," he says, and it's truth. You both know it. The squad knows it. Cyclone knows it.

Every mission has its risks. These pilots accept that.

"I won't drag you down with me, but if you could just — I don't know — distract the ground crew while I climb into one of the F/A-18s, I'll deny that you had any part in–"

You hand Maverick your helmet. "Take mine."

"What?"

"I'm set to fly the course in–" you check your watch "–at the top of the hour." With your helmet in Maverick's hands, you begin loosening the strap that fits under your chin so it'll go on easier for him. "Keep your head down and use signals during preflight or you won't make it off the ground."

"Avalanche–"

"Cyclone doesn't think it can be flown, but it can," you say and place your hands on Maverick's shoulders. "Prove him wrong."

"Thank you."

"Turn 'n' burn, Mav."

You make your way to the class after you watch Mav take off in your plane. As luck would have it, you arrive just as your plane appears on the screen.

"Avalanche," range control crackles through the comms, "you are approaching point Alpha. Confirm green range."

"Copy, Range control. Green range is confirmed." Cyclone's eyes find yours when he starts at the very decidedly not feminine voice that responds to the tower.

"Umm… Avalanche?"

"Maverick."

"We have this event scheduled for Avalanche, sir."

"Well, I'm going anyway," Mav says. "Setting time to target: two minutes and fifteen seconds."

You might be the only person in the room who isn't surprised when Mav pulls off his stunt.

Cyclone takes off from the hangar with Warlock hot on his heels. You follow as they pass you by.

"You were supposed to keep him in line," Cyclone says, but he doesn't turn to look at you. Warlock does, you even think he understands why you did it, but Warlock wasn't the one Mav had to convince.

"With all due respect, sir–"

"Dismissed."

Your steps falter. "What?"

Cyclone shoots you a glare over his shoulder. "Go home, Rear Admiral. We will discuss this later." Then to Warlock: "Bring Mitchell to my office. Now."

With no other way to contact him, you head to the Hard Deck, knowing Mav will find you there eventually. You hope he's got good news when he does.

Mav takes significantly longer to show up than you'd anticipated, which is either good or bad. It's a busy night at the bar, the jukebox plays hit after hit, and one unlucky sod has the bell run on him for disrespecting a lady. No one is tossed overboard. You've only managed to drink half of your beer, your stomach lurching uneasily each time you take a sip, and your eyes jumping to the door every time it swings open, unsettled with the knowledge that you all ship out in the morning. That this was the last chance Mav had to prove the mission could be flown, to change Cyclone's mind before the team was selected. That he — you — might have been too late.

Then he shows up. Nostalgia personified in his dress whites, cap tucked beneath his arm as Loverboy croons over the clink of glasses and laughter that fills the bar. Your breath catches in your throat.

This is it. The moment of truth.

Mav's face gives nothing away as he leans in close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. "Take a walk with me?" You abandon your room-temperature beer and follow Mav onto the deck and down to the beach. He lets out a bone-deep sigh as his dress shoes fill with sand.

"What's with the whites?" You're shooting for casual, but you're practically shaking. Is this a final night of glory? A swan song? A victory lap?

"Just seemed appropriate." Mav shrugs and drags out your suffering.

"So," you say, drawing it out until the vowel is lost in the breeze, "did you get canned?"

"No." You give him a look, and he relents. "Close, but no."

The surf fills the silence, but there's only so much it can do before the space between you grows stale. The moment to say something has almost passed when: "Spit it out. We aren't getting any younger."

"I've been appointed team leader."

It crashes into you like waves against the hull of a carrier. The whites, the solemn expression. This is supposed to be goodbye.

"Don't go." And you mean it. Don't even have to think about it.

But Mav's eyes stay on the water. Dark waves gliding up the sand and retreating. "I have to."

"No. You don't."

His shoulders stiffen; you can see it clear as day with the way his whites contrast the inky black of the night sky. "Is that an order, Admiral?"

You scoff. "No. If it was, you'd just break it." Mav chuckles despite himself. "It's a request. From a friend." But the request feels hollow when you put it that way. Tastes like a lie on the back of your tongue.

"I'm the only one who's flown the course in the timeframe. It has to be me."

"Please," you say because you aren't above pleading. Because you're desperate and running out of reasons.

"I love you." The words feel like ejecting without a parachute. Like diving headfirst into an alpine lake at the height of summer — frigid water filling your lungs as you gasp. "Never stopped, but," he pauses, meets your gaze with his own, and for the first time, Mav seems every bit his age. You can't help but feel that he looks all the more handsome for it. "I wanted to say it now. In case I don't get the chance to, later."

You pull him into a kiss and breathe him in like water. Longing. Lingering. Drowning. Mav allows himself to sink beneath the surface with you before his hands cover your own on his cheeks and pulls away. He takes a step back, surfaces, stumbles slightly in the sand. "When I come back," he promises.

And that's precisely what echoes in your head when you hear that Dagger One has gone down.

Read Next Chapter

[bitacrytic]

Your most wild kinnporsche ( the series) tinfoil theory??

If you're familiar with my blog, it will not surprise you to hear me say this. But my wild tinfoil theory is that...

Anakinn Theerapanyakul is the villain of the story

Hear me out.

The show never outrightly stated it, but based on the narrative and the dialogue, we were all led to believe that unlike Vegas, Kinn has a conscience. Unlike Vegas, Kinn follows the rules. Unlike Vegas, Kinn is a relatively better person.

But is he though?

Point number one -

When the show starts, we see Kinn shoot a man in the chest to prove a point. Let that sink in. We are introduced to Kinn as a cold-blooded killer. But before we can compute that, he's making googly eyes at our precious whore and suddenly, it shifts to the back of our minds that he JUST KILLED SOMEONE TO PROVE A POINT.

Now you might say that it's a mafia show. They all kill people. Yeah. They do. But I didn't see Don pick up a gun and unload it in Kinn's employee's chest, did I? I saw Kinn do it.

If this was a thriller mystery, that would be a clue for us to hang on to.

Then there was the issue of him shooting Tawan. Once again, you might say, "But Tawan betrayed him". To that, I say, "and?" They were in a relationship. They were probably as in love as Kinn and Porsche. Judging from what Kinn has done to Porsche (punishing him, throwing him to Vegas, letting him go with when he knew Vegas was behind everything) we know Kinn would do the same to Porache. Yeah, Vegas used that against the couple, but it was warranted. Kinn is in love with Porsche, but Kinn is very very very very calculated enough to put his feelings aside and fuck Porsche up if he ever believes Porsche has betrayed him. The only reason he let Porsche go was because he knew Porsche was following Vegas blindly and they would catch up to Vegas eventually. He was pushing Porsche like a parent would when they let the child hold a hot kettle, knowing that it won't actually kill the child. But the burn would lead to future traumatised obedience.

This leads into my next point.

-

Point number two -

Kinn always seemed so emotional when it came Porsche. He ran to Porsche even when his father said no. Took off his tracker and all. He couldn't use his guards because Korn had given Porshe a week off. But he wanted to get to Porsche.

He didn't go there to be romantic. He went there to bully Porsche to come back. He only did it softly because Pete HAD GIVEN HIM A CHEAT CODE. Without that cheat code of niceness, Kinn would have forced Porsche back. He would have gotten in an altercation with Porsche and by the time the guards found them, he would be dragging Porsche right back. He wasn't being emotional. He was calculating.

Another example of calculating was when he asked Porsche to leave him in the forest. He cried, right? He looked broken, right? We are supposed to believe that he truly wanted Porsche to go, right? But what did he NOT say to Porsche? He didn't tell Porsche about Porsche's family home or the fact he'd sent those thugs to dupe Uncle Thee and get all their money.

When Porsche resisted and asked why Kinn wanted him to go, Kinn didn't mention the one thing that could have guaranteed that Porsche never looked back. No, he kept that quiet. Why? Because he was manipulating Porsche. He was letting Porsche go, knowing that Porsche had kissed him in the river and Porsche was already developing feelings for him.

We've seen so many movies when someone is asking their partner to go. When the partner refuses, they start saying mean things. Unforgiveable things. Things that would push their partner so faraway that a reunion is impossible. What did Kinn do instead? He positioned himself as a hero. "I like it when you're happy."

Come on!!! If someone said that you, would you really leave? Be honest!!!

We were led to believe that Kinn was emotional around Porsche, but Kinn was very calculating.

(I should also point out that Kinn's manipulation of Porsche doesn't negate the fact that he was in love with Porsche. Was he in love? Yes. Was he a manipulative piece of shit? HELL YES!)

-

Point number three -

Let's not forget him using his father as a shield whenever he does something evil. "My dad made me do it", "I'd rather beba singer", "My dad asked me to ruin your life." This man spent the entirety of ep06 gaslighting the audience and Porsche into thinking he was just a happy go lucky baby locked in the body of an unwilling mafia man.

I'm not not going to mention the fact that he knew how to take the cuffs off but refused to do so until it served his purpose. That was an obvious enough move that even Porsche noticed it so I won't be overanalysing it. But everything else?

80% of the people who had been frustrated with the way Kinn was treating Porsche suddenly joined his camp, in that episode. Heck, Porsche joined his camp too. That was the beginning of Porsche not having a backbone. If you'll remember, before ep6, Porsche didn't wait for Kinn. Kinn asked him to leave, Porsche went out with Vegas. Kinn got mad at him, Porsche went home. Kinn showed up, Porsche put him in his place.

But after witnessing kinn in ep6, suddenly, Porsche was letting kinn walk over him, calling him loose... twice. Sending him away to Vegas like he was nothing. Kinn's episode6 arc worked so well that Porsche lost his ability to stand up for himself.

And from this point on, the excuse of "my dad made me do it" became a reoccurring song. Because when he fucked up, he used his dad as an excuse. Never mind the fact that there were periods when he disobeyed. Which is so funny. He blames his father for major things like the kidnapping and the house and the killing. But he's somehow able to move in Porsche without his father's say so????

He spent one... LITERALLY ONE DAY... as Porsche's live-in boyfriend, before he was running back to the main family and proudly introducing himself as Kinn, the leader of the main family. Please, that man loved what he could do as mafia. But because his manipulation of Porsche wasn't complete, he had to play house and pretend that Chay, who he'd just met, was somehow more important to him than Tankhun and Kim.

🧐🧐🧐🧐

Please.

-

On the surface, it seems like Kinn might not have an independent bone in his body. On the surface, he looks like a powerless drone doomed to obey a father that he just "loves so so much".

But when I put on my tinfoil hat, I can clearly see, that Kinn is really the mastermind behind all this. Because he gets to be just as reckless as Vegas and just as calculating as his father. But he gets to be seen as a victim because he is an expert at throwing stones and hiding his hands.

[dudeshusband]

Title: Keep on Smilin'

Ship: Mike x Pete Nelson

Words: 760

Description: Safeshiptember day 18: smile.

The train chugged along on the rails, taking the circus to the next town. It was a warm night, and Pete leaned on the window, watching the trees zoom by in the dark. The moonlight bounced off the grease in Pete's hair, making it shine. His brown eyes twinkled like stars.

He had a gentle sort of smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners. It made his eyelids just a bit more puffy, adding to the beauty of his eyes. The wind blew his curls gently. Mike wished they could snap a picture then and there.

He reached into the pocket of his slacks, pulled out his carton of cigarettes and took one. Mike’s eyes followed his hand down to his hips as he did so, appreciating the way his slacks fit around his waist. Just a touch of tummy came forward through his slacks, making the fabric bend around it ever so slightly. This was Mike's favorite part.

He flipped the top of his lighter and lit the cigarette into a cupped hand. He took a long drag then blew out the smoke, sending it into the night air. He had a particular way of doing it: he always blew out of the side of his mouth. It made him look a bit silly for a moment but he always looked all the more pretty afterwards. They couldn't help but be mesmerized by the way he moved his mouth.

He continued to smoke his cigarette and stare at the moon. Mike couldn't bring themselves to interrupt him. They watched the twinkling in his eyes and the moving of his mouth. They watched his big hand move toward and away from his lips.

He stopped for a moment, just letting the cigarette burn in his hand. He flicked the ashes out the window.

He continued on like this for a while. Mike wondered if he might turn around and catch them staring.

He took his last drag eventually and threw the rest out of the window. He leaned against the window again with both arms. Their eyes were drawn to the tanned skin on the back of his neck, where his hair came down in a rounded square shape. They wanted to kiss the nape of his neck, but refrained so as to not scare him out of his skin.

His gentle smile returned to his face, once again illuminating his eyes.

“You're really pretty, you know that?” Mike asked suddenly.

Pete jumped a little and turned around. “How long have you been standin’ there?’”

Mike smiled. “Long enough.”

“You, uh, make a habit of watching guys smoke?”

Mike stared at him for an extended period of time.

“Just the handsome ones,” they said finally.

Pete smiled wider. “You enjoyed the view?”

“Immensely.”

He walked up and slid his arms around their waist. He slid his face into the crook of their neck. Mike could feel his heartbeat against their own. “It's pretty out tonight. The moon's full.”

“I know something else pretty,” Mike said, not feeling the need to elaborate.

Pete moved his head so he could nod and flash his signature grin. “I do too. Real pretty.”

Mike blushed. “I walked into that one, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you walked right into this,” Mike said, leaning in to kiss him. His lips were soft and warm. He tasted strongly like tobacco and the sandwich he'd had for dinner. They kissed him harder anyway, bringing a hand to gently scratch his scalp. He held them just a bit tighter.

He smiled into the kiss and savored every moment of it. When the kiss broke, he trailed gentle kisses along their chin. His lips tickled their skin and made them shiver.

“Can you do me a favor?” Mike asked.

“What's that?” he asked against their skin.

“Never stop smiling.”

He chuckled warmly. “As long as you're here, I have somethin’ to smile about.”

Mike ruffled his curls. “You're a big sap, you know that?”

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “But it's your fault. I'm in love with you.”

Mike kissed him again, softly this time.

“Do you love me too? Hm?”

He littered their neck with kisses.

“You know the answer to that.”

His lips ghosted over their neck. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Mike shivered again. Mike gazed into his eyes as he looked up, brown like melted milk chocolate.

“I love you. More than anything. You know that.”

He grinned again. “I sure do.”

The stood there for some time in each other's embrace, taking in each other's scents and heartbeats.

[ghostofafruit]

@camellcat you remember in the s4 finale where the doctor and rose are holding hands but poor jack is just standing there? I think it'd be soo cute if one of em took his hand after realizing he'd been left out. or a welcome back kiss to both the doctor and rose like his goodbye ones in s1 after she returns from pete's world since he totally shoulda, even if the doctor didn't deserve one lol. not very fleshed out but it's the first things I thought of if ur still lookin for any :]

Ok so I thought I knew what you were talking about for the hand holding thing, but I wanted to find the scene so I could get the moment right and I just couldn't so the kissing it is. I hope you enjoy!!

Reunion Kisses

Jack had just gotten them back. Both the Doctor and Rose. He'd considered travelling with the Doctor, and Martha, back before the Master imprisoned him but it wouldn't have felt the same without Rose. And there she was. The same Rose Tyler that had capture his heart. He never thought he'd see her again.

There wasn't really time for any emotional reunion though, the Doctor had been shot by a Dalek and was about to regenerate. It wasn't going to be fun. He pulled Rose back and wrapped his arm around her waist as she turned into him. He'd pulled Donna back too but just wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

He closed his eyes as the Doctor began his regeneration. It wasn't a quiet process. Jack couldn't help but peak, he wanted to be sure it was going well. He squinted through the bright golden orange light coming of the Doctor, there was no sign of change yet. Suddenly the Doctor slammed his hands together and directed the energy to the hand.

Jack, Rose, and Donna, all looked at him as he sprung back from the regeneration. Except he looked exactly the same and he certainly wasn't supposed to. Jack had been preparing for a new Doctor, Rose probably had been too.

They watched in shock as he dived down to the glowing hand. Jack stuck close to Rose, and was almost relived when she grabbed his hand and sort of leant in to him a little too. He sort of watched on vaguely as the Doctor explained what he done.

Jack couldn't help but note how hot the Doctor looked like this. He'd noticed it before too, but then he'd been a little preoccupied with running for his life, and relief that Rose wasn't dead, and then trying to save the end of the universe. Now though, he couldn't help it. His spikey hair, the tight suit. The grin.

The Doctor was more explaining to Rose than him and Donna, which was perfectly normal for the Doctor it seemed.

"Namely my hand, my hand there, my handy spare hand!" he said. Jack snorted slightly. He'd found that hand for the Doctor, and previously used it to track the man down. He really was talking to Rose and not them. "Remember, Christmas Day, Sycorax, lost my hand in a swordfight?"

Jack watched as Rose slowly approached the Doctor, he half expected them to kiss.

"You mean, your still you?" Rose asked. The Doctor grinned. Jack could see it now, they'd kiss and then they'd go off to save the world. Except nope they were hugging. Did he have to do everything around here himself?

"You can hug me if you want," Donna offered. He'd almost forgotten she was there in all honestly, which was a little rude of him. He just laughed her off. "No really, you can hug me," she said. He just looked back to the Doctor and Rose. How long could a hug last?

Not forever it seemed because finally they pulled apart.

"Where were we?" the Doctor asked. Jack stepped forward and pulled Rose into a hug.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," he said into her hair. He caught the Doctor smiling at them both.

"Oh I missed you, I didn't even know you were still about. Not properly," she said. He'd ask about all that later.

"Welcome home Rosie," he said before he pulled back. He cupped her face, just how he had the last they had faced Daleks. "You're worth fighting for," he repeated. Rose grinned at him. He pulled her into a kiss. Rose pulled back and grinned at him some more. He grinned back, he couldn't help it. Rose always made him grin.

Jack turned to the Doctor next. The Doctor rolled his eyes, but he knew it was more for show. It was confirmed when the Doctor stepped forward too. He didn't waste time with words, not with the Doctor, he just pulled the time lord in for a kiss.

"I thought I wasn't going to get to kiss this face," Jack said once he pulled back.

"Well you did," the Doctor said. "We should probably get back to saving the world don't you think?"

"Good idea," Rose agreed, taking Jack's hand. She leant over though, and kissed the Doctor on the cheek.