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peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology · 1 year

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No Blood Left in the Water

Wipeout - Chapter 11

Pairing: Surfer!Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: After this is just the epilogue! I hope you guys enjoy! Pretty please let me know what you think! I love getting feedback, it’s a really big motivator to me. Reblogs and comments are the best way for you to let me know what you think and I really really appreciate them! If you want to give me some anonymous feedback or just talk feel free to drop in my inbox! Also I’ve lessened my work load for this term so I should be back to posting more regularly after this. I love you guys xx

Warnings: Angst, fighting, crying

Summary: You and Tom sit down for a much needed talk

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❀ ゜.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．゜❀

You woke up feeling groggy and anxious. It was still pouring outside and although it was already after 9 am, the sky was still black. The wind rattled your windows, it felt almost taunting, like the universe was daring you to get out of bed, daring you to try and step outside. You didn’t heed the warning though, you dragged yourself out of bed and straight to the shower.

After a needlessly long shower you plopped yourself on back down on your bed and got ready to call Tom. You weren’t sure what to say. It wasn’t the kind of talk you could do over the phone, but you were worried you wouldn’t be able to spit it out in person. Staring at the phone was only making your nerves worse though, it was better to rip off the band aid and get it over with.

Tom picked up on the first ring, “Hi,” he sounded more dull than usual, not like he was angry or anything, just tired, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you replied before clearing your throat, “Are you busy today?”

“No, I don’t work, and I wasn’t gonna do anything,” he paused for a second, “Do you wanna hang out or something?”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” you nodded, “I would suggest surfing or something but you know…”

“Yeah, probably better to hang out inside. It’s a little crowded at my house though. I, um, I’d rather it was just us you know?”

“Me too,” you agreed, “Well maybe we could drive up to the north beach or something? We can just sit in my car.”

“We can take mine,” he offered, “I put the roof and the doors on when I saw the storm warning. It’s a little roomier and you know… It’s sort of special right?”

Your heart jumped in your chest, “Yeah, it is. Well I can meet up whenever, I’m all ready to go.”

“Cool, I’ll come get you then,” he cleared his throat, “Be there in ten?”

“Okay.”

With that you hung up. You decided to bundle up in some thick leggings and an oversized sweater. Perfect moody clothing, something you could bury yourself in if you started to cry.

Tom arrived exactly ten minutes later. You ran out to his car with your head down, attempting to shield yourself from the rain. It seemed oddly confining to have the doors and the roof on the Jeep, but sitting in his passenger seat made you feel like you were further away than you ever had been.

“This is weird,” you commented as you ran your hand over the door.

“Yeah, it’s like a whole different car,” he kept facing forward, refusing to turn towards you. He still didn’t seem angry though, “You can still sit in the middle if you want.”

“That’s alright,” you blushed and put your hands against one of the vents, “I want to be in front of the heater.”

He nodded, “Right. Let me know if you need my jacket.”

“Thanks.”

He started driving, you were both awkward and quiet. You were trying to plan out the conversation in your mind, wondering how the best way to start was. Tom was focused on driving, you seemed to be the only people on the road that day. You were both totally silent until you spotted the turn in for the beach. You cleared your throat as he turned in.

“Have you ever gone out surfing in a storm?” you asked.

He shook his head, “No, not when there's thunder or anything at least. A little rain is fine, but going out like this would be way too dangerous.”

“That makes sense,” you mumbled as he put the car in park, “Maybe we should have gotten drinks or something.”

He nodded, “Yeah, that would have been a good idea.”

You both fell silent again, not even glancing at each other. You watched violent waves crash against the shore while rain pounded against the roof of the car. There was only so long you could dance around it.

You took a deep breath, “Harrison called me last night.”

He stiffened, “What about?”

“He said you and Adrien got into a fight,” you left it there, hoping he would elaborate on his own.

“Yeah, we did,” he licked his lips, “If you’re gonna scold me or something I don’t want to hear it, he deserved it.”

“I’m not gonna scold you Tom,” you blushed, “I just want to know what happened.”

“He pissed me off.”

“Tom,” you groaned, “Come on, I need more than that. And will you stop just staring out the window? I’m trying to talk to you.”

“He said some shit about you and I hit him, I’ll do it again too, that asshole’s not good enough for you,” he turned towards you only slightly.

You noticed it then, some bruising around his nose. You sighed and moved to the middle seat. You took his jaw and forced him to look at you. He had a black eye.

“Tom,” you sighed, touching his cheek gently, “This is from him?”

“Trust me he looked worse,” he pursed his lips, “It’s just a black eye (y/n), I’ve had a lot worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

He scoffed, “Don’t apologize, I started it.”

“Because of me.”

“Yeah, cause he was being a dick, I wasn’t gonna let him just talk shit about you.”

“What did he say?”

“He said your date was shitty and called your boring, and he was just being…” he huffed, “I don’t know, it was just the way he was saying shit, calling you my fuck buddy and shit, it sounded really objectifying, it pissed me off.”

You crinkled your nose, “Yeah, I probably would have hit him too. Thanks for defending me.”

“Don’t thank me for that, any decent friend would have yelled at him at least,” his eyes darted down before meeting yours again, “I mean it, he’s not good enough for you. You deserve a lot better than that.”

Your cheeks flushed, “It wouldn’t have worked either way, we didn’t really connect on anything.”

“Yeah cause he’s boring, and a dick,” he scoffed, “Trust me you can find someone a lot better than him.”

You already had. You had someone better than anything you could ever imagine. The prettiest boy you’d ever met, sitting right in front of you. He’d snatched your heart right out of your chest and there seemed to be no way to get it back.

“Yeah, he’s not really what I want,” you glanced to the side, unable to meet his eyes, “There’s some other stuff we need to talk about too.”

He stiffened again, “London?”

“Well that, and things have just been weird lately,” you took a deep breath, “I-I mean you kind of freaked out when I told you Adrien asked me out and I don’t mean to make you feel bad or something Tom but I spent the whole week crying over you…”

His eyes widened, “Flower…” he seemed to be searching for his words, “Y-You should have called, I’m sorry. I-I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad or anything.”

“I know,” your stomach was beginning to churn. Your nerves were burning again, you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold your tears back for very long, “I know you weren’t trying too, but you did. A-And that wasn’t entirely your fault, a lot of this is on me, but just… I don’t know Tom, that talk made me feel really awful.”

“I’m so sorry,” he was quick to cup your face, “Really, I mean it.”

Looking over at him all you wanted was a few simple words. You wanted him to tell you he loved you and that it’d be okay. You wished he could read your mind because you couldn’t spit it out. You couldn’t tell him that it was your own fault you felt bad, that you felt bad because you loved him and you wanted him. You didn’t want Adrien or London or anything else, you wanted Tom, just Tom. Why was that so hard to say?

“Tom I-” you cut yourself off, your throat burned, “I’m scared.”

His expression fell as you started to cry. He pulled you into him, letting you sob into his chest. He cooed softly at you, holding your firm against him while he smoothed over your head.

“There’s nothing to be scared of Flower, it’s just me, you know you can tell me anything,” he attempted to sooth you but it only made you cry even harder.

You couldn’t catch your breath or even think really. Tom had no idea what to do or what to say. He just kissed the top of your head and kept you firm against him. You were sniffling and shaking and he just wanted to make you feel better.

“Is it about London?” he tried again, “I know it’s a great opportunity but you don’t have to go.”

He was being selfish trying to persuade you to stay, he knew that. He wanted you to stay there with him, for everything to just go back to normal. He probably should have encouraged you to go, told you how it wouldn’t be so bad once you got there. He wanted to put you first, but he couldn’t stand to see you sobbing like that. He wanted to make you feel better, and he wanted to make sure he was there for you anytime you started crying.

“You can stay here if it’s scary,” he kissed your head again.

“It’s not about London Tom!” you cried against him before forcing yourself to sit up again. You wiped your eyes and took a deep breath, a poor attempt to put yourself back together, “I mean it is, kind of, but not really,” you let out a frustrated groan.

Your head fell and you grabbed the back of your neck. You were angry with yourself, for your inability to sort out your feelings. For breaking down in tears instead of just spitting it all out. For selfishly wanting to put a boy before your future.

“I spent the entire date thinking about you,” you confessed, “I spent the whole week thinking about you. The only reason I haven’t said yes to London is you, because I can’t stand the idea of being that far away from you. It’s all about you Tom, and I don’t know what to do, I’ve never felt like this before.”

Tom’s eyes widened in shock. His body tensed and froze. You hadn’t raised your head to him, half hoping he wouldn’t hear what you were mumbling. His brain was struggling to process what you’d said.

“Me?” was all he managed.

“Yes you idiot!” another sob left your chest, you sobbed for a minute before you continued in a small, weak voice, “Sorry, you’re not an idiot, I-I’m just frustrated.”

“(y/n),” he responded softly, wrapped his arm around your hunched over form, “Come on, you know I don’t care if you call me an idiot,” he pushed on your shoulder, trying to get you to sit up again, “If I have to look at you then you’ve got to look at me too.”

You didn’t want to look at him, reluctantly you let him pull you back up. He wiped your puffy red eyes with his thumbs. His lips curled up to a smile, it was as warm and comforting as ever.

“I hate it when you cry, it makes me want to cry too,” he wiped your eyes again, “I’m sorry you’ve had to think about me so much, that must suck.”

A laugh broke through your tears and your head fell onto his shoulder, “You really are an idiot.”

“Yeah, I know,” he agreed, hugging you against him again. You buried your face in his neck and he pressed his lips against your forehead, “I’m scared too you know? I’m scared of you moving, I’m scared of you loving someone else,” he sighed, “And I’ve never felt like this either, like ever.”

Your heart thudded against your chest. You felt safe tucked away against him. You didn’t want to ruin the moment by asking him for more, by making him elaborate. Luckily he continued for you.

“When I was in Hawaii you were all I could think about, I’ve never missed anyone that much, ever,” he sighed, “A-And when you got that email about the internship you know I totally freaked. I opened it even though I shouldn’t have, and I got so freaked out I even thought about deleting it. I know that’s awful, but it’s true, I was just terrified by the thought of you leaving, that we’d always be far away, that I’d have to miss you all the time. Obviously I didn’t, and I never would have been able to do that to you, but you know it made me realize how different I feel about you compared to, well, everyone. It’s really scary, all of it. But I want you to know that I love you, more than anything, and all I want is for you to be happy (y/n).”

You held your breath as his words settled in. You weren’t sure if you wanted to kiss him or yell or just cry some more.

“I’m happy here,” you confessed, “I’m happy with you Tom. I love you, I don’t want anything else.”

You were both quiet. That was what you needed, to be held by him, to know he loved you how you loved him. Tom kissed your forehead and squeezed you tight. He smiled to himself, it felt like a weight had been lifted, it was nice to have it out in the open. It felt even better to know that you loved him too, in the same way that he loved you.

“I want you to go to London,” he confessed, “Even though it’s scary for me, I want you to go, because I want you to do what’s best for you. And if you decide you do want to go, a-and if you want to be together, then I’ll go with you.”

Your eyes widened and you sat up, “Tom I would never expect you to do that.”

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t want to be that far away for that long,” he held up one of his hands and waited for you to place your own against it, “Besides, it might be good for me. I could try going to school or something.”

You laughed, “Are you gonna get a 9 to 5 too?”

“No shot,” he chuckled, “I mean it though, I really like working with the kids. Maybe I could do something with that, I don’t know,” he shrugged.

“Okay,” you were smiling now, which filled his whole body with affection and warmth, “Would you really be okay leaving? You wouldn’t be able to surf as much, or see your family.”

“It’d be really different, but I think maybe I need that. I get really scared of change and growing up and shit, I know I have to get over that eventually,” he brushed your wet, tear stained hair off your cheeks, “You’d be there though, so I know I’d still be happy. Plus we can visit.”

“I was thinking even if I did go to London that I’d move back here after,” you blushed and leaned into his hand, “I really love it here.”

“Yeah, me too,” he spoke softly before he pressed his lips to yours.

His lips were soft and sweet, contrasting your salty chapped ones. You kissed him hard, squeezing his shoulders as your lips moved against his. You both wore big smiles when you pulled away.

“I love you,” you breathed out, “I wanna do it. I wanna go to London, and I want you there with me.”

“I love you too,” he replied with a smile, “I’d happily go anywhere with you.”

You squeezed his hand and fell into his chest again. You inhaled deeply and your eyes fell closed.

next chapter

❀ ゜.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．゜❀

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@spideyssunshine @spideyspeaches @niallsvirgosun @roseke @outshineallthestars @namoreno @thevery-firstpage @collywob @zspideyy @emistrash @tomsirishgirlx @andreagf956 @peachyafshawn @agbspidey @sleepybesson @nj01 @misshale21 @prancerrparkerr @raajali3 @ellabellabus07 @xoxomaterialgirl @mayal0pez @belovedholland @minjix @blankspaceblankday @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @graciexmarvel @secretsthathauntus @lnmp89 @negasonic-teenage-asshole @gloomynigvts @phobiics @t-hollanderr @cest-la-vieve @itscaminow @katiaw2 @afro-hispwriter @chrissybang @hem-lemon @book-lover21 @plshie @zoeaudrey2 @princesssria127 @hollandweather @lilacccfairyy

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waitimcomingtoo · 4 months

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A Film By Peter Parker

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter gets back into making little videos once the two of you start hanging out

warning: extreme 2017 homecoming era nostalgia

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Of course he went for Liz.

Liz was the ingénue. She was perfect in every possible way. Perfect grades, perfect face, and the perfect boy pining after her. You’d been crushing on Peter since the third grade but with Liz around, he never noticed you.

But Liz was gone now. She had moved to Oregon following her dad’s arrest and taken Peter’s feelings for her with her. Now that she was gone, you decided it was time to stop pining after Peter from afar and start pining from up close. And so, when you walked into the cafeteria that day, you didn’t sit at the end of the table like you usually did.

“Oh, hey.” Peter smiled in surprise when you sat down next to him. Smiling was good. Smiling meant he wasn’t creeped out by you sitting so close. You gulped before giving him best smile back.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” Ned asked, making Peter give him a look. You immediately regretted your decision and wished you’d just stayed in your usual spot.

“What do you mean? She always sits with us.” Peter pointed out.

“No, she always sits down there. She’s never actually sat with us before.” Ned replied and gestured to the end of the lunch table.

“Yes, but I’m sitting here today because I needed Peters help with the chemistry homework.” You said and put your chemistry notebook on the table. You knew you couldn’t just randomly sit with them without a reason, so you came prepared.

“Oh, for Mr. Eddie’s class? It’s easy. I’ll show you my notes.” Peter’s offered with a smile. You returned the smile as he pulled out his own notebook. It was a win/win for you since you actually needed help with the homework and it would start a conversation with Peter. While he was explaining the problem to you, you never once looked down at the notebook. You were too focused on the curve of Peter’s suspiciously long eyelashes, the longest you’d ever seen on a boy. Ned noticed the way you were staring his his best friend and frowned a little.

“Does that make sense?” Peter’s asked when he was done explaining.

“Yeah, it does. Wow, thanks Peter. It sounds so easy the way you explain it. I wish this stuff came as naturally to me as it does for you. You’re so smart.” You said as if you had listened to a single word he had said.

“That’s nice of you to say but I’m really not that smart. I just like chemistry.” He replied as he blushed from the compliment.

“Oh, come on. You’re the smartest guy I know. You’re the only one that answers questions in that class. And you always get them right. When Mr. Eddie asks if anyone has any questions, I don’t raise my hand because I don’t even know what I’m confused about yet.”

“That’s I feel in English. I can barely make it through the first line in a poem and you’re already going back and forth with Ms. Teague about Pindaric odes or whatever they’re called.”

“You listen to when I talk in English?” You asked with a soft smile.

“Of course I do.” Peter shrugged. “I always find the reading boring until you raise your hand and talk about how you interpreted it. You make it interesting.”

“I liked that book we read when the kids ate the other kids.” Ned said and interrupted the moment. Your smile dropped as you and Peter looked at him with disgust.

“The one with the flies-“

“We know.” Peter cut him off.

“Anyways, thank you for helping me with the homework. I’ve been stuck on it all week.” You said to Peter.

“Ugh. That’s been me with my paper for Mrs. Teagues class. And it’s due tomorrow.” Peter groaned.

“Oh, the analysis essay? I could help you with that.” You offered.

“Really? You’d help me?” Peter smiled in surprise.

“Yeah. I already wrote mine. It would be no problem.”

Ned was watching this back and forth conversation for a while until it clicked it in head. He gasped and slapped the table, making you and Peter look at him.

“Oh my God.” Ned said. “That’s why you’re sitting here. You have a-“

“Can I talk to you for a second, Ned?” You quickly cut him off when you realized where that sentence was going. Before Ned could even answer, you grabbed his arm and pulled him outside the cafeteria to talk in private.

“You like Peter!” Ned whispered harshly. You clamped your hand over his mouth and pushed him up against the wall.

“You need to keep your mouth shut.” You hissed. “Yes, I like Peter, okay? I’ve had a crush on Peter since middle school. He never noticed me when Liz was around but now that she’s in Oregon, I might finally have my chance. I don’t want to scare him off so just keep your mouth shut and let me handle this.”

You took your hand off Ned’s mouth and he started to gasp for air.

“Oh, please. Your nose wasn’t covered. You could breathe just fine.” You said with a roll of your eyes. Ned stopped pretended and straightened up.

“So you actually like Peter? For his personality?”

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Ned admitted.

“I like everything about him. And I’m gonna tell him that. Just please, don’t say anything before I do. I’ll tell him when I’m ready.”

“Are you going to cast a love spell on him using a lock of his hair?” Ned whispered to you.

“What? No. Why would you even ask me that?”

“Because you’re a witch.” Ned said like it was obvious.

“I’m not a witch.” You groaned. “I just accidentally cackled that one time but it was only because I had phlegm in my throat.”

“Then about that time on the bus?”

“We’ve been over this. It was just a coincidence that that biker fell off his bike after I gestured with my hand. I didn’t move him with my mind.”

“And that one time in physics?” Ned narrowed his eyes.

“I still don’t know how that guys shirt caught on fire.” You shrugged. “It’s a mystery to me.”

“It caught on fire after he made fun of you for being a witch.” Ned pointed out.

“Maybe he was just standing too close to the flame.” You shrugged.

“He was standing in the doorway. There was no flame.” Ned reminded you.

“The magic of science.” You shrugged again.

“But what about that time-“

“Don’t bring up the nosebleed.” You whined.

“I am gonna bring up the nosebleed.” Ned hissed. “In sixth grade, our Spanish teacher got a nosebleed right after he told you to stop staring out the window and made everyone laugh at you. How do you explain that?”

“You’ve made your point, okay? Now are you gonna tell Peter or not?”

“Look, I’m not gonna expose your gross secret feelings, as gross and secret as they may be.” Ned sighed. “But Peter is still my best friend so I have to look out for him. I don’t want any spells cast on him.”

“That’s fine. There will not be any spells.” You held your your hands in defense. Just then, Flash walked by and laughed when he saw the two of you talking.

“Woah. What is this, the friendless loser convention?” Flash snorted.

“Shut up.” You snapped. Flash immediately tripped over his feet and fell to the ground, making Ned look at you with wide eyes.

“Witch!” He whispered harshly as he pointed a finger at you.

“Shut up. Let’s go back inside.” You rolled your eyes and pulled Ned back into the cafeteria.

Later that day, you met up with Peter in the library to go over your assignments. You started with his English essay and finished that within an hour before moving on to your chemistry homework.

“You can plug the numbers into your formula now using the method I taught you. And then you just solve for x.” Peter explained as you worked out a problem together.

“Hm. You make it sound so simple.” You sighed and leaned on your hand. Peter saw the way you were staring at him in his peripheral vision and felt his face heat up.

“It’s, uh, it’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. I never liked the way Mr. Eddie taught it. I figured this out myself and it’s worked much better for me.”

“Thanks for helping me. You’re a good teacher.” You said and put your hand on his arm. Peter laughed shyly at the contact and cleared his throat.

“Thanks. And so are you. That was the best essay I’ve ever produced. I honestly worry she won’t believe I wrote it.”

“Well if she says anything, I can vouch for you. You put in good work on this essay. You deserve the credit.” You assured him, making Peter blush all over again. It occurred to Peter that he never realized how pretty you were. You’d been classmates since 3rd grade so he always looked at you as just another girl in his class. Now that you had his full attention, he didn’t feel like looking away.

“Thanks. I appreciate you helping me write it. I know it can be frustrating to work with me because of my dyslexia.”

“It’s no problem. And it wasn’t frustrating at all.” You shrugged. Peter smiled at felt better about how long it took him to write the essay.

“Thanks.” He said. You had successfully gotten him to spend time with you one on one but now you needed to commence the next phase in your plan which was to hang out in a non school related setting.

“Would you ever want to hang out socially?” You blurted.

“Like, and not do homework?” He asked. You nodded your head and he smiled before nodding as well.

“Yeah. Sure. I’d love to.”

“Cool. Me too.” You smiled. You hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that but it worked nonetheless.

“Does this weekend work?” He asked you.

“Yeah. What do you want to do?”

Hard cut to that weekend. You were on the subway with Peter and he had his phone out to record himself.

“Firts social hang out with a girl. A film by Peter Parker.” He said in a low voice before flipping the camera to face you.

“Staring me.” You smiled and waved to the camera.

“Are you sure you’re cool with me filming this?” Peter asked as he flipped the camera back to himself.

“Yeah, of course. The other ones you showed me were so cute. But why did it seem like there were so many missing parts? You were always talking about something cool that I didn’t get to see.”

“Uhhh, no reason.” Peter said and looked to the side. He had skillfully edited out any incriminating superhero activity that you were not ready to see yet.

“Well I like it. I feel like I’m on Modern Family.” You said and posed for the camera.

“Which family member would you be?” Peter laughed and zoomed in on you. With his phone blocking his face, he could shamelessly admire your face on his screen.

“Duh. Lily.”

“I can so see that.” He chuckled. The subway lurched suddenly and you both grabbed onto the pole, coincidentally putting your hands in top of each others.

“Oh, sorry. Our hands touched.” You laughed shyly.

“Oh my God. So romantic.” Peter joked, making you blush and look into his camera.

“Stop it.” You laughed and covered his phone with your hand. He laughed as well and put his phone away.

After learn you had never been, Peter decided to the Lego Store. He’d been hyping it up to you all week over text and now that it was finally happening, he hoped it impressed you. You walked in together and Peter heard you gasp.

“Big Lego Aladdin.” You gasped and ran to stand under the giant magic carpet and Aladdin made of Legos.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that string of words come out of someone’s mouth.” Peter laughed and went to stand under it with you. You looked over at him and were surprised to see he was already looking at you.

“This is even better than you described it. You need to show me everything.” You said and excitedly shook his arm.

“I can do that.” He blushed and nodded his head towards some of the sets.

Peter took out his phone to film you as you looked at everything in the store. The way you were looking around like a little kid brought a smile to Peter’s face. He zoomed in on you and caught himself staring at you fondly through the camera.

“Come on. I haven’t even showed you the coolest part yet.” Peter said and brought you over to the build your figure own station. He laughed when you gasped again and started to excitedly rummage through all the pieces. Peter didn’t bring his phone out again until you had built each other.

“Show me what you made.” He laughed from the other side of the phone.

“Looks! It’s a little Peter. He has a backpack and a beaker.” You said as you proudly showed the camera the little Peter figure you had made.

“This is Y/n. I can’t believe I found the shoes you always wear.” He said as he filmed the figure he had made of you.

“You notice my shoes?” You asked with a smile. Peter didn’t catch it because he was too busy fitting the hands of your Lego figures together.

“Look. They’re holding hands.” Peter gasped.

“Aw.” You laughed. “Us on the subway.”

“We should give them some privacy. They might not want us to hard launch their relationship.” Peter said and put his phone away.

“You’re so cute.” You laughed without thinking about it. Peter looked up at you with rosy cheeks and you gulped when you realized what you said.

“I mean-“

“Come on. I wanna take you somewhere else.” He cut you off before you could explain. He brought you to Delmar’s and ordered his usual for you to split. You sat together inside and you tried your best to remain calm. You always wondered what Peter got up to when he wasn’t at school and now you were in one of his favorite places and eating with him.

“Okay, this is Y/n’s first time eating at Delmars since he reopened. Let’s get her reaction.” Peter said as he filmed you unwrapping the sandwich.

“Wait, why is it so flat?” You laughed and held the sandwich up.

“Oh, sorry.” He chuckled. “I forgot to warn you that he always squishes it for me. But you’ll like it. Trust me. It’s much better when it’s squished down real flat.”

“Well I’m glad I now know you like your sandwiches to be squished. I would not have expected that about you.” You said and took a bite of your half before giving him a thumbs up.

“Yeah? You like it?” He asked hopefully.

“I do. Your squishy sandwich was surprisingly good.” You admitted.

“Well, I’m very pleased to hear that.” Peter smiled and phone away. “So to make it even, you have to show me one of your favorite places next time we hang out.”

“Oh.” You smiled coyly. “I didn’t realize there would be a next time.”

“There better be. I had a lot of fun with you today. How come we’ve never hung out before?”

“I don’t know. I always wanted to but you were busy running around with Ned or staring at…” You trailed off and chose not to mention Liz in case he was still hung up on her.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad we’re friends now.” You said instead.

“Me too. I’ve never had a girl friend.”

“What was that?” You said and started choking on your saliva.

“All my friends in my life were guys. It’ll be nice to have a female influence in my life.”

“Oh. Girl friend.” You smiled tightly.

You hung out another hour before taking the subway back to your respective apartments. Peter walked to you the front doors of you building and you had an awkward moment where you didn’t know if you should hug or not.

“We uh, we should probably get an ending for your film.” You said with a timid smile.

“Oh, right. Thats a great idea.” Peter smiled and pulled out his phone. He pressed record and you waved to the camera with both hands.

“So, can you give our first time hanging out a rating?” He asked you.

“9/10.” You grinned and held up two thumbs.

“What? Why’d I only get a 9?” Peter scoffed and pretended to be offended.

“I had a 10/10 time but I have to deduct a point because we saw that guy cutting his hair on the subway and I was scared he was gonna throw the scissors at us.”

“Well I would’ve just protected you with my lightning fast reflexes.” Peter said simply. You smiled at him through the phone and he smiled back. He put the camera down and looked at you with a content smile on his face.

“Seriously, though. When’s the next time we’re hanging out?”

It ended up being just a few days later. And then again a few days after that.

“Peter’s first time!” You cheered as you filmed him during one of your hang outs.

“Trying boba.” He clarified. “I don’t understand this drink. Do I eat the balls?”

“Yes. Sip it slowly so they don’t all go down your throat.” You instructed. Peter took a big sip and immediately started choking.

“Peter! I said slowly!” You said as you slapped his back until he stopped choking. You quickly put the camera down to help him recover.

Your hangouts started getting more and more frequent and Peter soon considered you a best friend. Your weekends became each others and school days were often spent together in the library or at one of your apartments. You were quickly moving up the ranks in Peter’s life, just as you hoped. And the closer you got, the more Peter could not believe he had never noticed you before.

Little did you know, Peter often found himself watching the footage he had taken of you during your hang outs with a big smile on his face. He’d rewatch the videos he had taken and realize that they were slowly becoming less of a documentary and more of a highlight reel for you. He never imagined a girl as cool as you would for him so when he realized he was starting to fall for you, he quickly repressed his feelings. Little did he know, the feelings were mutual.

“Did you always make these little videos?” You asked Peter one day as he filmed you trying to balance on the curb of the sidewalk.

“I used too make them all the time but I hadn’t for awhile. I only started them again when we started hanging out.”

“Really? Why?” You wondered and stumbled off the curb.

“I don’t know. You remind me of the time before my life got crazy. It made me want to do these again.” He shrugged. You couldn’t help but smile at that information and turned around to look at him.

“So I could be the star?” You asked and posed for the camera.

“Exactly. You’re my muse.” He played along, making you laughed shyly. When he watched the video back later that night, he knew he had meant every word of that.

Peter sat in his bedroom one day and filmed himself wearing your glasses while you did homework at his desk. He looked over you every now and then just to admire the back of your head.

“Don’t break those.” You called without looking up. All you needed to hear was the sound of your glasses case opening to know what he was doing.

“I’m not even wearing your glasses.” He lied and admired himself in the camera.

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not. But yes, I am.”

“Knew it.” You snorted.

“Hey, how come girls always smell so good?” Peter wondered. “Your hair hit me in the face when you turned too fast before it smelled like a baby in a damn meadow.”

“It’s just my womanly essence. Now can you stop looking at yourself long enough to help me with my chemistry homework?”

“It’ll be hard but I can try.” Peter dramatically sighed and set his phone down. You got yo from the desk and went over to the bed with a cheeky smile on your face.

“Incoming.” You announced and patted your elbow twice like a wrestler.

“No, don’t.” He pleaded. You ignored his pleas and jumped on top of him. He groaned and pushed you off, leaving you laying in the bed beside him.

“Ow. My ribs.”

“You’ll heal.” You rolled your eyes. “Now can you help me with number 7?”

“Oh, yeah. No problem. Can you check this email before I send it?” He asked and handed over his laptop. You handed him your worksheet before reading over his email draft.

“Oh, honey.” You grimaced just a few words into the email.

“Is it bad?”

“Good evening, Mrs. Howard. I hope this email finds you well. I’m so sorry for bothering you. I was just wondering if I could possibly have an extension on my midterm paper? No worries at all if an extension is not possible. I apologize for any inconvenience this email may have caused. Thank you for reading, Peter Parker.” You read out loud.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“After your name, you included the name of the class, the time you have it, and a description of yourself. She knows who you are!” You laughed and turned the laptop around to show him his mistakes.

“She may have forgotten.” He pointed out. “I can’t take any chances.”

“Peter, this email is way too submissive. You sound like such a bottom.”

“Well excuse me, genius.” He said sarcastically. “How would you write it?”

“Here.” You said and handed the laptop back after retyping his email.

“Oh, wow. That’s actually really good.” He said once he read your updated version.

“This is why we are such good friends. You have all the math and science knowledge in this little, beautiful head of yours-“

“Little?” He interrupted.

“You’re right. Sorry, I was just being nice. What I meant to say is that your head is huge.” You corrected. “Anyways, you have the math brain and I have the literary brain. It’s like you’re Einstein and I’m Victor Hugo.”

“Who the hell is that?” He laughed as he peaked at your mirror to see if his head was actually huge.

“The guy who wrote Les Mis.” You said like it was obvious.

“Never heard of it.”

“What? You’ve never seen Les Misérables?” You asked in a thick French accent.

“Huh?”

“We have to watch it. It’s so good.” You said and snatched his laptop back. You pulled up the movie and handed it back to him.

“Oh my God. It’s two hours and 38 minutes long? And a musical? Hell no.” Peter shook his head and pushed the laptop away.

“But it’s so good.” You urged. “We can just leave it on in the background while we work. It’s super light and easy to watch.”

“Really? What’s it about?”

“Oh, you know. Just war torn France.” You mumbled.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“But you’ll like it! There’s prostitution and con men and um…oh! And orphans! You can watch it and feel represented.” You said and shook his arm.

“I hate you.” He laughed but nearly gave in to your request just to see you happy.

“Fine.” You huffed. “I finished editing your midterm paper, by the way. You don’t actually have to send that email.”

“And here is your completed chemistry homework.” Peter smiled and handed your worksheet back.

“Aw.” You gushed. “Look at us. I love cheating with you.”

“So do I. We make a great pairing.” He chuckled as he looked over at you. You looked back at him and gulped. You hadn’t realized how close you were with your arms and legs pressed against each other as you sat together in your bed. Peter knew his sheets would smell like your perfume that night and smiled at the thought.

“Now that we’re all done with our work, you know what we should do?” He asked as he moved in closer.

“W-what should we do?” You stuttered now that he was right there.

“You know what I’ve been dying to do with you for a long, long time?” He asked.

“No. I mean, I don’t know. What?” You laughed nervously. Peter moved in even closer and right when you thought he was gonna kiss you, he reached over and grabbed his laptop back.

“I wanted to show you a real musical. Not this French miserable bull crap. Have you ever seen a little movie called Hair-“

“No. I’m not watching Hairspray with you again. You scream-sang every lyric last time and I couldn’t even hear it.” You cut him off and reached over home to take the laptop back. He pulled it away at the last second and you ended up on top of him. You looked into each others eyes and both froze in the positions you were in. Your faces were almost touching but neither of you tried to pull away. Your eyes were going back and forth between his lips and eyes and he was doing the same. Like magnets, you two started to lean towards each other but before your lips could connect, May opened the door.

“What did you guys want- oh! Sorry! I didn’t realize I would be interrupting something. My bad.” May smiled sheepishly and pretended to cover her eyes. Peter burned bright red as you quickly climbed off of him.

“May.” He said warningly.

“Sorry. But maybe lock the door next time. And use protection.”She whispered the last part before shutting the door.

“May!” He groaned and threw a pillow at the door. There was a long, awkward silence before you were even able to look at each other. When you finally did, you smiled awkwardly and kept your distance.

“That was so weird. What did she think we were doing?” You laughed nervously to break the silence.

“Psh. I know.” Peter scoffed. “She said she was interrupting but we weren’t even doing anything.”

“Yeah. What did she think? That we were gonna kiss or something?” You asked and laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing you could ever suggest.

“Us? Kissing? How silly. Imagine that.” Peter forced a laugh as well and looked to the side. The awkward silence returned and you struggled to look at each other.

“Do you think she made dinner?” Peter asked after a beat of silence.

“Let’s check.” You said and quickly got off the bed.

You didn’t discuss the almost kiss and went home shortly after. You couldn’t sleep that night because you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your mind. No matter how much you wanted him to like you back, if Peter reciprocated your feelings, he would have kissed you.

Your pity party didn’t last long because on the subway the next day, you felt Peter put his earbud in your ear. You heard the Les Mis soundtrack playing in your ear and looked up in surprise. Peter was already filming you with a huge smile on his face.

“This guy 24601 should stop stealing bread and stick to singing. He has serious pipes.” Peter said.

“You listened to it?” You melted into a smile and held your hand over your heart.

“Yep. I stayed up all night watching lyric videos because I couldn’t understand what they were saying with their accents. It’s actually really good. I love Eponine. I just wish Marious wasn’t such an idiot. How does he not see that his best friend is clearly in love with him?” Peter asked with exasperation. You looked directly at the camera and hoped it picked up the irony before looking at Peter again.

“He’s not an idiot. He’s a romantic.” You sighed. “He doesn’t notice Eponine because he’s in love with Cosette. And course he is. She’s prettier and richer and has perfect hair. He doesn’t even see Eponine.”

“Good hair isn’t everything. Eponine is way better than Cosette.” Peter scoffed. “I’m team Eponine all the way.”

“Are you really?” You asked hopefully.

“Oh, for sure. I see why you like this stuff. These songs are awesome.” Peter said and put the other earbud in his ear. He then flipped the camera around to film the two of you sharing earbuds. As Heart Full Of Love played in your ears, you couldn’t help but longingly staring at Peter. The fact that he had stayed up late just to listen to something you suggested made you overcome with fondness for him. If he had done something like that, maybe he actually did feel the same.

“I forgot how good this album is. I haven’t listened in a while. I used to listen to it all the time back when you…” You stopped short when you realized you were about to say too much.

“When I what?” Peter wondered. You looked him in the eyes and decided that it was time to be honest. The song ended and a new, much louder one began to play in your ears.

“Back when you liked Liz. She was Cosette. I was Eponine. I was the one pining after a guy who never noticed me because he was in love with another girl. You were never mine to lose.” You admitted. Peter stared at you for a minute before pulling his earbud out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear a word you just said. Master of the House is such a banger. What did you say?” He asked you.

“Never mind.” You smiled. “It wasn’t important.”

He smiled back before getting a text on his phone. You looked at his phone when you heard it buzz and realized he was still recording. In other words, he had just recorded you saying you liked him. Your eyes went wide but you only had a second to panic when you read the text he had gotten.

“Did Liz just text you?” You asked in a quiet voice. You felt like you were about to throw up. Years of crushing on a boy who liked another girl turned into months of pinning for your best friend and now turned into a rock in your stomach. Peter stopped recording the two of you to answer her text, which felt a little like a slap in the face.

“Oh, yeah. We’ve been talking lately.” He absentmindedly replied to you as he laughed at whatever she had written.

“You have?” You asked with a dry mouth.

“Yeah. She says Oregon is pretty cool. But she wants to come back and visit this summer to see everyone.” He told you.

“And see you?” You asked with a sad smile.

“I guess so.” He shrugged. “It would be nice to see her.”

“Yeah. Totally.” You said weakly. “So how long have you guys been talking?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks? She texted me a little while ago and we’ve been catching up.”

“That’s awesome.” You lied.

“I know. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from her again after she moved.”

“Neither did I.” You said through a forced smile. You needed to get off the subway and away from Peter before you started crying. So as soon as the subway doors opened, you bolted out.

“I gotta go. See you later.” You called to him before running through the subway station. You wiped tears as you went up the stairs and didn’t stop moving until you were in a bathroom stall at school. You gave yourself five minutes to be upset before drying your face and leaving the bathroom. It sucked, but it could have been worse. Now, Peter never had to know how you felt about it.

Peter was beyond confused by your exit on the subway but he wasn’t about to get any answers from you. You dodged his texts throughout the day and didn’t dare go into the lunchroom where you knew he and Ned would be.

“Y/n isn’t here yet?” Peter’s huffed as he sat down at your usual lunch table.

“Not yet. Actually, I haven’t seen your girlfriend all day.” Ned realized.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Peter blushed. “And I’m pretty sure she’s avoiding me. She’s been so weird ever since this morning. Everything was fine on the subway until we got to school.”

“Well did anything happen on the subway that would weird her out? Oh no. Did you graze her boob with your hand again?”

“No. That was one time. And it was her boobs fault, not mine.” Peter whispered harshly. “We were just listening to music together and I was filming her like normal. But she could not get away from me faster once the doors opened. It was so weird.”

“Did you say anything weird to her? Girls don’t like it when you say weird things to them.”

“I know that. I didn’t say anything weird.” Peter replied as he pulled out his phone. He watched the video he had taken on the subway with no sound to see where he had gone wrong. All he saw was you looking at him with heart eyes which made his face heat up. But still, no evidence of where he messed up.

“I knew it. We were having a normal conversation about Les Mis and then I got a text from and then she ran. It makes no sense.”

“What was the text? Was it May saying something weird?”

“No. And stop saying weird. It doesn’t sound like a real word anymore.” Peter ordered. “And the text was just from Liz.”

“Oh shit.” Ned said when he heard this.

“What?” Peter wondered.

“Oh, Peter.” Ned sighed. “Peter, Peter, Peter.”

“What?” He asked again, annoyed now.

“Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter.”

“Are you gonna tell me what happened or just keep saying my name?”

“I can’t tell you. I’m sworn to secrecy. And I don’t want Y/n to put a hex on my family.” Ned said and held up his hands.

“Y/n swore you to secrecy? About what?”

“Can’t say.” Ned shrugged and zipped his lips.

“Does she not like Liz? And doesn’t want me to know?”

“Dude. Dude, dude, dude, dude. You are so close but so far.”

“So she does like Liz? Oh my God. Does she a crush on Liz? And she’s jealous that Liz texted me and not her?” Peter whispered with wide eyes.

“You’re getting colder.” Ned waved his hand. “I don’t even know how you got there.”

“That was all my guesses. Just tell me.” Peter whined.

“Hell no. I don’t want Y/n to curse my crops and make not grow for all of eternity.”

“You don’t have crops.” Peter pointed out.

“I could develop some.” Ned snapped.

“I just don’t understand what she would tell you something but not tell me. We’re best friends. She usually tells me everything.” Peter said right as his thumb accidentally hit the volume button on the video. Your confession to Peter on the subway was heard loud and clear by the two boys. Both of their jaws dropped as the video ended with you asked if Liz had just texted Peter.

“Well I wouldn’t have beaten around the bush like that if I knew you had video evidence of her saying she liked you right in your hands.” Ned sighed dramatically.

“I need to find her.” Peter said and ran out of the lunchroom. He looked around the school until he found you under the bleachers in the gym. You were sitting with your back against the wall and your knees drawn to your chest with your earbuds in your ears. When you saw Peter coming up to you, you quickly pulled them out.

“Hey.” He said and waved cautiously.

“Hey.” You smiled sadly as he sat beside you. You sat in silence for a minute as neither of you knew what to say.

“What’s going on with you? I haven’t seen you all day.” He started off. You looked at your hands to avoid making eye contact and sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been talking to Liz?” You asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t hiding it. I just didn’t think it would interest you.”

“Well you have no idea how interesting I found it.” You laughed dryly. “What do you guys talk about anyway?”

“Well, she originally texted me to ask me to confirm I had an internship at Stark Industries because her boyfriend didn’t believe her when she told him she knew a guy who worked there. Apparently he’s been trying to get an internship there for years and he wanted to know how I landed mine. Then we just started catching up. I only talk to her here and there, though. And it’s only ever about school or work.”

“Oh. I thought you guys were talking talking.” You couldn’t help but smile a little when you heard the word “boyfriend.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Just regular talking. When you saw her text on my phone, she was telling me about her cat getting spaded. And I didn’t know what that meant so she had to tell me. I should’ve just googled it.”

You laughed softly at that and he did too. The tension was let out of the conversation and you could finally breathe again. When you stopped laughing, you finally looked in his eyes.

“Do you still have feelings for her?” You asked quietly.

“For her? No.” He laughed. “Those are long gone. I have feelings for someone else now.”

“Oh God. Don’t even tell me. I don’t want to know.” You groaned and buried your face in your hands. Peter looked at you for a minute until an idea came to him.

“Actually, uh, I came looking for you because I was just making another video. Wanna be in it?” Peter asked and took out his phone. You looked at him like he was crazy and could not believe he had just asked that during that moment.

“I’m not really in the mood right now, P.”

“Come on. I can’t make it without my muse.” He said and nudged you slightly. You couldn’t help but to smile at that and reluctantly nodded. He propped up his phone against the bleachers and pressed record.

“In a world where two best friends have no idea how to communicate despite spending way too much time together.” Peter said in a fake deep, gravely voice.

“Okay. Shade. That’s fine.”

“What will it take for them to admit they have feelings for each other?” He kept the voice as he looked at you.

“Wait, what?” You asked and looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. Peter smiled softly at you and shrugged a little.

“What’s it gonna take?” He asked again in his normal voice.

“I don’t understand.” You laughed nervously.

“I watched the video from before. From the subway. I heard what you said.” He admitted.

“Oh shit. You watched it?” You grimaced.

“Uh huh. So if you’re Eponine, I guess that makes me the idiot who didn’t realize his best friend was in love with him?”

“I guess so.” You said with a tight smile and still didn’t understand why he wanted to film this incredibly awkward conversation.

“You know, if I didn’t have a video of it, I never would have believed that you liked me.” Peter told you.

“You wouldn’t? Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t seem possible that the coolest girl I’ve ever met liked me.” He replied.

“You think I’m cool?” You asked skeptically.

“I think you’re the coolest. And you know, I watch the videos I take of you all the time. And half of them are just clips of you existing. So I do notice you. It just took me a second to catch up.” He told you. A smile tugged at your lips as you stared into his big brown eyes.

“You’re my best friend.” You told him. “I’m sorry I want more.”

“I’m not sorry.” He shrugged.

“You’re not?”

“I’m just sorry it took me so long to wake up and find that what I’ve been looking for has been here the whole time.” He said as he hooked his pinky under your chin and brought your face close to his.

“Wait, why does that sound so familiar?” You wondered.

“Don’t think about it too hard.” Peter whispered right before your lips touched. You kissed for the first time under the bleachers but it could have been in a palace for all you knew. The world disappeared around you as Peter slipped a hand behind your head to deepen the kiss. When you pulled away, you rested your foreheads together and laughed nervously together. It was a good nervous, a happy feeling of anticipation.

“Was that Taylor Swift?” You realized when you finally placed where you knew that like from.

“Shh. No.” He shook his head. “But yes, it was. You’re not the only one with good music taste.”

Tag List 🏷️

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miela · 8 months

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They're besties, your honor.

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nouearth · 9 months

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a sticky situation.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: peter has a major crush on his roommate: you. everything unravels when he walks in on you changing.

wc: 4.1k. genre: smut. warnings: holland!peter, sub!top peter, voyeur!peter, college!au, dry-humping, grinding, frotting, handjobs, kissing, peter's first time, dubcon, cumplay, peter and reader are shooters, characters are aged up!

a bite of the cold air shuddered your damp and nude body once you stepped out of the bathroom, cataloguing the tidiness of your shared bedroom after. your shoulders tensed when the heated air and cold draft clashed for an estate of your body. but by the way your muscles eased into the green towel around your waist, you’ve figured which side won the war. a warm cheer to victory buzzed in your head.

god, did i luck out with peter…

you found yourself repeating that observation often these days. it’s only been two months into the semester, but you’ve already concluded that peter was leagues better than your previous roommate. though, the bar was low—he was kind of a homophobe. that guy was a walking proof of evidence that opposites, in fact, do not attract.

on the other hand, peter had proven that similar interests and personalities were the foundation of beautiful, growing relationships: both platonically and romantically. still, relationships were never that black and white—a grey area. a theory that will forever be tested on, only for the outcome to come out vaguer than before, you’ve realized.

peter was like you: friendly, smart, awkward at times, funny to some. you and him basically have the same qualities of a dog, but there was more to it.

you both shared the same liking down to the genre of video games, the magic of fantasy novels, the cleanliness of a room, the color-coded organization of study notes, and more.

from there, the similar line of characteristics began to blur. whereas you’d prefer to learn from experience, peter liked playing by the book—sticking to it if he could. peter liked red, you liked blue. he favored savory snacks, you devoured them, but preferred sweet drinks.

opposites attract—the theory was once again, broad in your honor.

difference and similarities aside, you were lucky to have peter in your life. the bedroom was colder before you went to shower, but now it blossomed with a gentle heat.

he knew you hated the cold after a warm shower.

taking the other towel, you dried off the rest of your body while you checked your phone for notifications: a missed call from a friend and a few emails regarding construction around the building you had your classes in.

seriously? still? it’s been almost a year already…

normally, you wouldn’t have walked into the bedroom like this, baring skin and all. but peter went to get food because you both have become familiarized with what they served as food at parties.

note to self: you cannot get full off alcoholic beverages. you and peter both tried two parties ago, and it ended with you two sharing the toilet bowl, detoxing your insides of that liquid poison the entire night. the only enjoyment that resulted from that night was learning that peter was a drunk-crier, and you, a drunk-dancer. your friendship had only leveled up since.

you slid on your white briefs once you dried off before shuffling to the other side of the room, browsing through your shared closet aimlessly: he took the left side, you took the right. it was always dim at those parties, so a nice outfit would be wasted. also, you somehow became a magnet for other people’s misfortunes. it took hours to get rid of the smell of this one girl’s vomit—you threw it out in the end.

“no, no… it’s going to be cold later…” you cycled through your clothes again, sighing when nothing caught your eye. “guess i can wear this aga-“

“hey!” out of nowhere, peter’s voice sprung out from the side of the room, followed by a quiet thud, and you twisted your bare body towards the source out of fright.

“jesus, you scared me.” the closet door blocked your view of peter, and vice versa, but you presumed he was leaning against the frame—a habit you noted. “i didn’t even hear you come back.”

“sorry- what was i saying..? oh!” his shadow loomed between you and him, growing as he stepped closer to the closet. “did you want to eat now or-“

judging from the volume of his voice, you should’ve expected how close peter was when you shut the closet. “fuck!” you jumped back, eyes widening when he was practically chest to chest with you. “dude, you really gotta stop doing that.”

on a daily basis, you always looked up at him, but you never paid it much thought to how much taller he was.

“sorry! guess everyone’s a little antsy with the- oh.” he paused.

“what?” you curiously looked up at him, catching sight of his wandering gaze. you were quick enough to follow it, flickering between glimpses of your bare body and face several times like a tennis ball. somehow, you didn’t puzzle the pieces between his shock and your curiosity until he backed away, skittish in nature.

you were in your underwear. still in your underwear. the barrier was the captor of your embarrassment, heat rosed your cheeks as you stood frozen. and with it, the barrier was also your savior.

“oh- OH!” the size of your eyes matched his and upon realizing he’s been staring for far too long, peter cowered his gaze to the side, a gentlemanly hand blocking his sight as he further backed to the door frame, then blindly bumped his shoulder into the door. “i’m so sorry-“

“no, no! i should’ve knocked. i-“ he groaned out, pacifying the sting to his shoulder with his palm. “that was stupid of me, i’m gonna-“

that was another similarity that you both valued: privacy.

before you could reply, he scattered off. for a moment, you felt hot in the face, in the neck, even on your chest. but it would only take a few more seconds for your skin to cool, comforted by the fact that you could’ve shown more—you didn’t.

when peter scrambled out of the room, his gaze fixated on the ground, to the stripes of his socks as they shuffled to the kitchen.

but he never made it very far, because he was easily persuaded. either by his hormones, by the shape of your body, or by his closeted feelings about you. in the end, it didn’t matter because a tightening feeling conjured him back to his original spot—it was always going to be about you.

he was silent in his footsteps, treading backwards to the bedroom as his throat ran dry—heartbeat equally.

tonight. i should do it tonight. are my feelings that obvious? god, i hope not. wait, no- they are! they gotta be… who the fuck wipes marshmallow off of your roommate’s lips and calls them cute?!

peter does.

as his thoughts ran rampant, clouded his regularly murky mind, you were in his line of sight, perfectly captured in the middle of his gaze—now stilled—awe-strucked while he watched you change.

quick portraits of your thick thighs and calves came and went before they were completely masked by the slide of your shorts. then your stomach and chest; pliant, moist skin that layered over the contours of your body before being covered by a tee. he exhaled, then inhaled, smelling the scent of your shampoo and body wash, and he was delighted because you own that scent.

enraptured because only peter could have his senses triggered by you on a daily basis.

if peter could frame this moment, it would be an expensive endeavor that would sacrifice all the money in the world to find the most perfect materials that complemented your textured skin. your smooth body. your handsome face.

you. that was all he wanted.

peter had been trapped since the day he saw you unpacking your things into the dorm. sweaty from the sun, and you knew that, because you refused to shake hands with him until you insisted on washing up first. he wished you never did—your thighs looked better sweating under those shorts.

he’s had crushes before. one in middle school, three in high school. but they amounted to nothing, he never had the confidence. rather, he preferred isolating himself and admiring from afar. rejections had already been predicted, and he was used to the feeling of defeat. if someone were to accept his advances one day, then that would lead to a disruption of events—a catastrophic end to humanity—he joked.

you were different to peter. he loved how, for once, he didn’t have to be the one initiating conversation. he also loved how you didn’t use him for answers because instead, you would help him out with his assignments.

oh, is that professor warren’s class? I think i still have the textbook for her class… let me look.

even when it would only take five minutes to grab a drink down the street, you still invited him. not out of pity like everybody once did, but because he was your friend. parties have never been your thing, but you accompanied them with him because it made him feel better—to know someone.

maybe since he’s grown more mature since then, but now that he was off on his own, it was up to him to predict his future. it was an advice you gave him one night, and he’s kept that close to his heart since then. not the hate that had inflicted his mind, not his peers telling he wasn’t good enough for someone—but him.

in his imaginary world, peter could feel the walls shake when he was around you. the buildings would then fall apart, the earth would scorch civilians and planetary life with heat, and the thundering rain would only make it worse. it was a morbid image. yet, if it meant that you truly liked him, then…

aliens, come do your thing. we insist upon an invasion!

peter wanted you. point, blank, period. it wasn’t his preferred way to confess, but intense sentiments of like, love, lust—all at the same time—ate him up on the inside, and he was scared of being devoid of feelings for you.

“i want… you,” peter muttered, and you jolted again, turning back around in case you misheard him. you were bewildered at the sight of him. once again, you didn’t hear his footsteps.

“what?” you shuffled nervously on your feet. the tension in the air was thick and hot now with the way he stared back at you, frightened yet assured.

“i want you.” there was credence in peter’s tone, and he neared to the door now.

your eyes narrowed into the deep abyss of peter’s eyes as you sat on the foot of your bed, putting on socks. somewhere in your endeavors, you found a flicker of that familiar joke. “ha. ha. very funny,” you muttered bitterly.

it haunted you. as soon as you came out, you were taunted by those same exact words by your ‘friends,’ by your previous roommate. what made you different from them became a simple reason to cease empathy and kindness, and you were baffled that this was happening again.

maybe peter was like the others after all.

you avoided peter’s gaze in favor of the floor, the legs of your desk, your rug—anywhere but him—and you could feel the color drain out of your face, out of this room—deja vu. “look, i know it’s funny to you because i like guys and for whatever reason, straight guys like to flirt with gay men to get a reaction out of us,”

the rug cushioned the weight of a familiar pair of feet, and you looked up, a great frown etched in your face when your eyes met peter’s. he towered over you, bewildered. “but it makes me uncomfortable. and it’s not funny to-“

he didn’t know what roused him. the pain in your voice made him want to apologize without any resort to excuses. the pout on your lips made him want to cradle your head, yet kiss you at the same time. the growing tent in his pants made him want to pin you to your bed, and simply ravish you.

it was all a blur.

his impulsive thoughts became a reality once he stole the remaining words left in your distress, and clumsily swallowed them with a kiss. you didn’t have time to process his lips on yours because you were then pushed onto your back, stilted and surprised, as peter applied his weight on top of yours—his broader build shadowed you in welfare.

“pete-“ you groaned into the hot, breathy kiss, and despite the light attempts to push him away, you were compelled to return the wet exchange. breathlessly, you repeated, “stop, this isn’t funny-“ he kissed you again. all this time, you could’ve had him, but you deluded yourself into thinking otherwise.

“i’m not laughing,” peter muttered, and his hips began moving into yours, aimlessly trying to alleviate the stiffness in his pants. “i want you.” his voice lowered—no longer a confession, but a demand. he rocked into you harder once he felt you throb under those tight short, and you slipped out a moan, memorizing the beat of peter that pulsated against you.

you remembered him being bashful when you two talked about your firsts. you weren’t completely inexperienced like he was, but you mentioned that it’s been a while since you’ve done anything remotely intimate. school was your focus, a relationship was your reward.

“peter,” you repeated again, he wasn’t listening. “peter.” he whispered a demand; to keep calling his name, and you couldn’t help but quietly chuckle at the cliché line often heard in soft porn.

then, you cupped your hands around his temples to pull him away. he gazed into you with ardent hunger, almost annoyed that you ruined the trail of kisses he began leaving on your neck. “did you drink without me? because if you did, then i don’t think we should-“

“i didn’t,” he sobered on the softness of your lips, and like a flip switch, he snapped out of his fictional world of you. “fuck- i’m so sorry, i didn’t even ask you if you wanted to- fuck, i even forgot to say that i like you.” he ranted to himself, beginning to pull himself away. “this was not how it was supposed to go.”

infatuation had expanded into something beyond your control, and your feelings for him ignited even more. a wick bursted into powerful flames, and it warmed your body knowing that you two shared the same sentiment.

before he completely peeled himself off your body, you pulled him down by the neck, then pressed your nose to his, grinning. “I like you too.” a peck to the tip of his nose, then the center of his lips. your onslaught of fleeting kisses to his skin drowned him, pacifying every muscle in his body until it became jelly, and also making it all the more easier to roll him under you.

“not exactly how i imagined my first date with you, but,” you straddled his lap, roaming your hands around peter’s chest, an asset of his you’ve frequently daydreamed about. “you sure?”

the applied pressures to your waist, then bottom should’ve been a definite measure of his answer, but he smiled up at you, guiding a steady pace of your hips to his groin. he was easily distracted, suddenly cascading his other palm up your shirt then down to finally feel the bare skin he had spent long showers jerking off to. fantasies had now been served onto a platter before him, and peter planned on devouring you, piece by piece. “please.”

“must have had a lot on your mind if you couldn’t even confess to me.” it was unusual to see him like this—absolutely enthralled by your presence, high off of it. aching for more of you with the way he pushed his groin into you. “how long have you been thinking about this?” being unusual always had negative connotations to it.

you pressed into him harder, rubbing at his print with gallant grinds. not in this moment.

he moaned, “far too long…” then fumbled with the waistband of your shorts before doing the same with the zipper. “you’ve been driving me crazy, especially these days.” it was a simple task, a daily labor that peter was great at, but his hands shook when his finger met metal. you chuckled, and placed a comforting hand to his cheek, stroking the soft skin with the amplest caress.

take your time. i’m not going anywhere.

“mind sharing what you thought about then?” the only time you peel yourself away from peter’s groin was to help him slide your shorts off, then his jeans. peter lifted his hips, and you two were joined together again. aching together. “just curious.” you joked by pulsating your bulge, and he shyly laughed when he saw the restrictive twitch.

felt it.

“well... where do i start?” peter’s warm hand rested on your inner thigh, dangerously close to your erection while delicately exploring your soft skin. “there’s been so many times where i just wanted to…” he was too ashamed to finish his sentence, looking away.

“wanted to…?” your body arced over his, placing a persuading kiss to his cheek, then neck. “what was it?” they lingered, sunk deep into his skin with the utmost affection, and he left the deepest, pleasurable sighs as if you withdrew it from him. you commenced his dilemma. “tell me what you thought when you first saw me. saw that i was your roommate.”

“i...” peter began, and you could tell his nerves got the best of him, so you rocked into him again, begged with your hips. the position made it easier to feel all of him, press into his warmth more, and you couldn’t stop. wouldn’t. “i didn’t know what to feel. i was happy, that i had someone as kind as you…” you gleefully hummed, agreeing as you continued leaving kisses to his neck.

“then i was nervous, because you were so… cute. handsome. beautiful.” he moaned when you began to grind in slow, deep strides. your bulges squeezed and pushed one another, peter did the same, growing impossibly bigger against you. “but when i saw you in those shorts, sweating because move-in day was always on a hot day…”

“yeah?” you beckoned him to finish his sentence because you were closing your eyes now, remembering that very moment because you felt the same. the way peter’s chest, his muscles, were broad and stunning under his own layer of sweat, under his loose shirt, under that naivety that you would never have dreamed to think of him as such a…

“i just wanted to fuck you.”

pervert.

the shy smile he gave you messed with your perception of him. clearly, you’ve underestimated him all this time, and you kissed him again. “so, you only thought about pleasuring yourself.”

he quickly broke the kiss to defend himself. “wait, no! t-that’s not what i meant.”

“peter, relax.” your laugh calmly settled into a comforting smile, and you blindly reached down to his thick print, feeling and squeezing at whatever you can because you were desperate to explore him. “i’m joking.” his chest rose.

for the remainder of time, you spent it stroking peter through his underwear. dryly to his frustration, but he never told you because he wanted to experience you in every way. his lips never left yours, only parted to moan into your mouth when you shoved your hand into his briefs to sate your desire to feel him bare.

peter was big in your small hand. the weight felt suffocating to your palm when you grabbed ahold of his sack, fondling his balls, then stroking his cock again, and you were intoxicated in the way he melted under you, looked into you, begged for you to go faster.

you did. who wouldn’t when he gazed at you with the most puppy-like eyes?

he had complete control of you now, because every action, every stroke, from then on had been a journey to his personal paradise. you didn’t care that you were left abandoned, that you were aching harder than he was. watching him was more than adequate.

both pairs of briefs and shirts have been tossed to the side now, and you maintained your straddle. it was riveting to watch how much bigger peter was when you took both of your cocks together and stroked. he practically enveloped you with the weight of his length, the girth of his shaft, and you wallowed in the fact that he was incredibly bashful about it.

peter’s hand never left your body. he charmed you by his neediness. it was clumsy in execution, but he always squeezed a moan out of you with he felt your ass, your chest, your nipples, your thighs. “fuck, pete.”

everything about you was beautiful, incredibly more so when you caved into him as he dealt kisses to your bare skin and took his own turn at jerking the both of you off.

he was eager. delirious. hard, stiffening hard, against you, and you felt every vein pulsate the harder— the faster—he squeezed and stroked. you leaned back, hands planted to the mattress beneath you, then maneuvered your hips to the rhythm of his fist. you found a pace while peter kept you steady, and fucked into his fist, against his wet cock, sliming your dripping pre-cum together with the utmost fervor.

“wait, (m/n),” he hiccuped, and his hold on you tightened, nails dug into your left waist but you ignored his plea, fucking steadily into his fist. “stop, i’m going to-“ they fell on deaf ears, and mouth agape, peter watched you with incredulity. you can feel his body flex, your balls smushed to his when you grinned up, your pre-cum sticking to his, his to yours, like a sick web. “s-stop, oh god.”

and peter unraveled before you with a guttural moan, finishing the rest of his plea with a blasting of thick and creamy ropes to his chest, like a cannon. the force was strong enough to have a few shots land on his face, then his hair, and then somewhere above because peter was a big shooter—a strong one, you’d passionately testify. “f-fuck, i didn’t mean to cum so-“

“holy shit.” you watched peter in all his glory, then in his embarrassment, while stilted on his lap and sweating, not taking notice of the delay of your climax because it crept up on you quick. a rocket broke the cloud in your thoughts with a boom, and you spilled all over him, shooting like fireworks. “shit!”

peter was your canvas, and it was your duty to paint him. debris of sex splattered everywhere, because you somehow found the strength to continue fucking yourself into the cream of fist, unloading and unloading onto him until you were dry, heaving and dripping.

“fuck- I didn’t mean to ruin your sheets-” he mumbled, a blush stained his cheeks, and you joined in the warmth with a kiss, panting.

“where’s the fun in all of this if you aren’t going to stain at least one thing.” your brows raised at the wet stain on the wall above peter’s head, right below your wall-shelf, and peter’s gazed followed.

he groaned, distressed by the evident he made. “fuck, sorry…” his bashfulness only endeared you even more.

“it’s okay,” you hopped off his lap, stretching your arms into the air. “i’ll clean you up.”

“okay,” peter lay still, his hand cautiously held over his stomach to catch the drips of his cum and yours. it was fascinating to watch the mixture flow together, strands of it melding and un-webbing as he played with the sticky residue. it was the scientist in him. “my towel is on the- fuck-“

without a beat, you took his dripping flaccid cock into your mouth, sucking off any remnants of spunk. an unfamiliar taste you weren’t used to, bitter and salty. it wasn’t until you noticed how peter’s eyes glazed over you, half-lidded because he was in heaven now, that you found the taste of him delectable. peter’s caution for staining your bed sheets was disregarded, because he knew you’d clean the rest of him off.

after you pulled away with a soft pop, he traced your wet lips with the cum on his fingers, then his knuckles, before he pushed one by one into your mouth. one finger at first, then two, then three, you moaned erotically around his digits as peter pumped, marveling in the eagerness of your mouth. he slowly pushed more cum into your mouth. the creamy residue gathered at the corner of your mouth at first but he made sure to scoop it back in, and continued doing so until he was polished clean.

nothing was wasted.

the taste of you and him spread in the warmth of your tongue, and you have never felt more intoxicated.

to peter, you have never looked more beautiful.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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friendlyneighborhoods-spiderman · 1 year

Text

The forgotten child

Pairing's : fem! reader x peter parker, tony stark daughter! x tony stark, tony stark daughter! x peter parker

Warnings: really sad angst, jealousy, daddy issues, neglect, lmk if i missed anything! :)

Summary: dad of the year award? surely isn't going too him

a/n : I know the gif doesn't really match the theme of this story I just really liked it. I did not reread this so please ignore any grammar mistakes. Also, I'm not sure if i wrote a panic attack correctly but I wrote based on what their like for me. hope you all enjoy!

you really tried not to become the forgotten child, always tried you're very hardest to live up to your father expectations, trying to make him proud in hope's he'd show some form of attention.

always studying to get straight a's even through countless anxiety attacks from fear of failing and disappointing your father.

all you ever wanted was reassurance, and if you ever got lucky enough a "You did a good job" after getting a high score on a test.

but it never came, it would forever be something you longed to hear. he would usually just mumble a small, quiet "congrats" as his mind stayed focused on his work and his eyes stuck to the blueprint laid out on the table Infront of him.

you always tried you're best not to feel jealous whenever your father held morgan, you had no ressentiment towards morgan whatsoever, in fact she was the one that kept you smiling most days. although you couldn't help but feel your heart tighten from jealousy as you watched them have daddy daughter time

you really did try you're best to be happy for your younger sister, but you couldn't ignore that aching feeling. all you wanted was the attention she had that your heart ached so desperately for, but it never came despite your countless attempts.

you we're astound to hear a new avenger had been recruited, you always enjoyed meeting new people. mainly because they gave you attention they didn't even know you craved.

you always seeked to see the best in people, no matter what the circumstances we're. including peter parker, there was nothing wrong with him, he wasn't a bad person in fact quite a good one, and if you weren't so envious of him you possibly could have been friends with the boy. but you watched how peter and your father clicked so easily becoming like father and son.

it made the knots in your stomach tighten as you watched them spend time together, it made you feel as if something was wrong with you, like maybe if you tried harder or changed, he'd give you the attention you deserved.

your mother, pepper always said he loved you just as much as he loved morgan or even peter, but you knew the truth as much as you ignored it you knew. but oh, how you wish he did.

"Mom, I'm home" you called out knowing if father was home, he wouldn't answer you. after not receiving an answer, you decided to look through the house in search of your mother, after a couple of minutes searching you still hadn't found her and decided she probably went out and took morgan with her. you heard talking but it sounded like your father, and peter?? "what's peter doing here?" you wondered. you decided to peak you're head through the door and saw peter and tony standing with their backs faced away from you, working on some upgrades for peter's suit.

"you're a pretty great kid peter" tony told him as he smiled at him patting his shoulder. a wave of jealously hit your chest as you watched them, your throat tightening. "Thank you, Mr. stark," peter smiled cheekily as your fingers clenched into a fist at your side.

"Becoming like my son."

once those words left Tony's lips, your mouth went dry, your head aching as you backed away from the door as quietly as possible, you're breathing picking up rapidly. you quickly made your way to your room, tears forming in your eyes, you walked into your room and shut the door softly as your hands started shaking as you paced around your room quickly, trying to stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. you never liked crying, it made you feel weak.

you're breathing came out in heavy gasp as you struggled to breathe. you leaned against the wall coughing as you squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to stop the words from replaying in your mind.

"Becoming like my son" continuously echoed through your head as soft sobs left your lips, you didn't want to feel this way, envious of what your father and peter had. it's not peter's fault about what your father feels about you so why hold him accountable. he'll never love you, at least not like he loves peter. you can't figure out why? you always tried you're best to impress him, but nothing seemed to be enough for him, it's like he didn't even care about your existence.

you stumbled over to your bed, taking deep breathes as your body grew exhausted from crying. you plopped down on your bed tiredly as you snuggled up against your blanket that was where your pillows we're supposed to be, you grabbed a pillow and hugged it too sleep.

you didn't want to put the blame on peter because it wasn't his fault, but a little piece of your heart blamed peter parker.

a/n: CLIFFHANGER!?!? I decided to leave it for now because I haven't come up with an ending that I thought fit the way I wanted so if you guys have ideas, please let me know. reblog's are highly appreciated, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

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sacharinee · 11 months

Text

pairing: bestfriend!peter parker x fem!reader

sypnosis: after peter misses his chance to ask you out to the homecoming dance, he has to suffer the consequences of his own actions

wc: 1200+

a/n: hiii!! i have the urge to write again bc im bored and i dont wanna do my summer course work. this prompt is based on this post and loosely based on that one scene in the movie ladybird when she gets picked up by her date. i wrote this super quickly so not the best but i hope u enjoy :)

peter had it first. he had the idea, the flowers, the poster, your favorite chocolate strawberries all ready for you. until brad davis came in and stole everything.

now he has nothing. he’s on your bed munching on the melty strawberries as he watches you get ready for the dance; you’ve asked for his help in choosing which dress you should go for.

“okay how ‘bout this one, pete?” the boy glances up at you, mid-chew with his mouth open.

his eyes snake over the outfit you’ve chosen. you do a swift twirl to show off the pretty soft blue satin dress that falls down to your mid-thigh with an open back. the skirt of your dress rides a bit high revealing a little too much. peter gulps, running his hands down his legs, immediately your sweet honey perfume floods his senses, his brain feels a little fuzzy, and he thinks the room gets smaller while his pants get a tiny bit tighter.

however, your eyes are what he takes in the most. you look eager, nervous about his approval, and hopeful for his admission.

his eyes widen as he gives you a soft nod and a pursed smile, “super pretty.”

you stare back at peter, his hair is flared, and you see chocolate smeared on his bottom lip. his posture looks defeated and you can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with him.

you give him a sour yet confused face, “why is your face like that?”

peter’s eyebrows furrow at your expression, “my face- why is my face like what?”

“like…” you take a moment to think, “like- you look like that chef in that one movie with the rat, he’s got that same awkward funny looking face.”

peter barks out a laugh in disbelief, “alfredo linguini?? from ratatouille?!” “yea! that guy.”

the boy in front of you offers you a pout and rubs his eyes, “thanks.”

“sure thing.” peter glazes over your seamless makeup when you take a seat next to him, “so, you’re really not coming? why not? it’ll be fun, plus all of our friends are going” you whine.

peter kicks himself every day since you got asked out to homecoming by brad. he knows he should have made his proposal to you sooner, but now that he missed his chance, he feels like he’s lost you.

“oh, so brad’s our friend now? and nah, it’s alright. i’m just gonna go patrolling tonight, might get some good action.” his eyebrows suggestively

you muster up a smirk and breathe out a laugh, “right. maybe you’ll find your own ‘cupid of crime’ that’ll show you a good time.”

peter groans at you, “oh my god, margot robbie is so-”

honk!

“oh,” your ears perk up at the sudden interruption, “i guess that’s my date.” you quickly stand up and straighten your dress, taking nervous breaths.

“i’m good right? my dress? face? hair?” your fingers run through your shiny locks, “its- i’m, i’m okay?”

peter has an indiscernible look plastered on his face as he gazes out the window and back at you. he’s shocked you’d settle for this, and even more appalled at you’re excitement to go with a douchebag who can’t even meet you at the front door. he knows you deserve better than this, and he knows he would treat you so much better with much less than your date. his stomach turns upside down and he feels his face get hot, breathing through his nostrils as he struggles to control his disbelief. he slowly stands up and meets your anxious expression peering up at him.

“you aren’t gonna get in a car with a guy who honks, are you?”

it’s almost as if the entire atmosphere shifts. peter studies your appearance. your face shimmered sanguinely regardless, brighter than the glitter that sparkled atop your eyelids.

it was safe to say you were excited to go to the dance, even if your date wasn’t your first choice. you had been waiting endlessly for peter to ask you to homecoming. you were almost depressed at the thought thinking your crush didn’t like you back, but even more upset at the fact that your best friend didn’t even want to take you as his date, romantically or not.

you remembered the feeling of delight swirling through your body as betty gushed about ned asking her to the dance, and mj agreeing to harry’s proposal.

you only wanted the same for yourself. the same thrill and warm feeling of someone wanting to take you as their date. you wanted more than anything for it to be peter, but you figured he simply didn’t think of you like that as empty time and hopeless anticipation went by. so yes, you did settle for brad davis. he’s only ever been sweet to you, with harmless flirting and sultry smiles in the halls. plus you had a hunch about peter’s displeasing stance on the man, and presumed this may have tipped peter over just the right amount.

you simply blink at his desperate eyes and nod, your adamant expression not wavering, “i think, yes, i am.”

you offer him a wistful smile when you brush past him, grabbing your purse on the way.

“y/n, stop.” peter’s finger’s wrap around your small wrist, your charm bracelet dangling against his hand.

“are you serious? what, the shithead can’t walk a few feet and knock on the door like a real man?”

“peter!” you snatch your wrist back and his hands rise.

you feel heat rushing up your neck and settling behind your ears. you had wanted a reaction out of peter when brad asked you out, yes, but the entitlement he has to mention about the manhood of brad angered you.

“i’m just saying,” he steps back from you, licking his dry lips while he chuckles back at you. “a guy who doesn’t have the balls to greet you at your doorstep isn’t worth falling for.”

you scoff at him, he was so sweet and now he’s only taking his anger out on you. “well it’s a good thing that he’s just a friend then. what’s it to you anyways?”

peter disregards your last statement, “a friend?! y/n/n, listen to me. you’re being naive if you think he just wants to be your friend.”

another honk outside pierces your ears, yet you can’t seem to shake your stare on the boy before you. you narrow your eyes at him.

“you sound jealous.”

peter sputters nonsense out and breaks his eyesight away from you, nervously running his hands through his curls.

“jealous? me? pfft. never. i’m not jealous, i’m- i’m being absolutely reasonable.”

you keep your eyes on him as he looks down at the carpet floor. he sighs and drops down at your chair, scratching the wood on your desk. his head shakes and ever so softly murmurs, “seriously, why are you going out with him?”

peter continues to stare at the rotten wood he’s chipping, “brad asked me to be his date, so i’m going whether you like it or not. unless,” peter glances back up at you.

“there’s something you’re not telling me.”

hope bubbles down in your stomach, and you anticipate his confession, waiting to hear the words of his true feelings that you know for certain are deep down inside him.

except, he doesn’t.

the boy only blankly stares at your desk, clenching his jaw, and drowns everything inside, letting you down yet another time. you turn away, disappointed in peter, ready to leave him alone for all the false hope and hurt he has caused you.

“right, well, when your balls finally drop, let me know. i’ll be at the dance with my date.”

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silkscream · 1 year

Text

angel unaware

ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader

ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.

ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)

ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k

ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3

ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!

The spider bit you first.

It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.

In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.

You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.

But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.

You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.

Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.

Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.

"You. You just–"

"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.

It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.

The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.

Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.

He’s the only one who gets it, of course.

He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know. "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.

"What do you mean?"

"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"

"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"

He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"

You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.

"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.

Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.

"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.

"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.

"Comes from my fingertips."

"No fucking way. You gotta show me."

"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.

"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.

You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.

"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.

"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."

"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.

You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.

"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"

"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.

"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.

He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.

____

He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.

But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.

Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.

"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.

"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.

"And yet you’re here."

"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.

"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.

"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.

"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."

Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.

"Am I a good patient?"

"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.

"What, I don’t get a treat?"

"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.

It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.

"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.

You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."

"Rabbit."

You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.

"What, Pete?"

"Why don’t you patrol with me?"

"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.

"It’s better when you’re around."

"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.

"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."

"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."

"I think she’s right, though."

You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.

He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."

"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."

"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.

"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."

He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.

____

You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.

You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.

It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.

Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.

Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.

He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.

The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.

Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.

You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.

He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.

"Still as indecisive as ever."

"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.

"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.

"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"

He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.

"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.

"And you love it."

More than you’d ever know.

You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.

When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.

The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.

It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.

"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.

____

You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.

You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.

No, that feels too selfish to say.

But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.

You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.

Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.

"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"

Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.

____

January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.

You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.

Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.

Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.

And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.

It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.

Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.

"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."

God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.

"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.

The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.

He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.

Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.

Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.

But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.

He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.

You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.

As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.

"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"

He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.

Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.

"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.

"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."

"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."

"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."

"Hey!"

Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.

"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."

Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.

"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.

"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.

"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."

You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.

"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"

"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"

"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"

Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."

You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?

You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.

____

The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.

It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.

He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.

But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.

"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"

Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.

"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.

The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.

Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.

"Hey, you."

"Hey."

Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.

You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.

"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.

"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," she nods incessantly.

"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.

"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."

It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.

You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.

"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.

"Since when do you drink so much?"

"It’s a party," he shrugs.

"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."

"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."

Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.

Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.

"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.

"What do you mean?"

"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."

You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."

"Seriously?"

You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.

"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."

You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.

A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.

"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.

"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."

You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.

"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.

You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.

____

You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.

"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.

"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.

Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.

"Dude!"

"What? I’m turned around!"

Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.

His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.

"Idiot."

"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."

"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"

"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.

"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"

"‘m fine. You go home."

"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"

Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"

He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.

"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."

Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.

"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"

You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.

It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.

"Yeah, I’ll take him home."

____

"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.

"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.

"Not if you were with me."

"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."

"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"

You sigh. "No, he’s not."

"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.

"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.

He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.

"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"

"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.

"‘m not gonna puke."

"I think you might, Peter."

He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.

Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."

You sigh.

"I should get going–"

"Can you stay for a little?"

Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.

"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.

"You didn’t."

"You were gonna go home with Cam."

"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Like a chore."

"Not like a chore."

"Yeah, okay."

He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.

Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.

You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.

His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.

Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.

He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.

You close your eyes.

"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.

"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.

You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.

"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."

"What?"

"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."

"What am I doing?"

Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.

"You’re with MJ."

"I… I know."

Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.

"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.

"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.

"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.

He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.

____

It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.

You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.

But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.

It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he’s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.

Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.

"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.

"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.

"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."

"I’m fine, Em." A lie.

It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.

He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.

____

Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.

He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.

Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.

He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.

After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.

"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.

"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.

Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.

In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.

When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.

He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.

Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?

The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.

The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.

An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.

"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."

He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.

He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.

"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.

"Peter. You’re hurt."

"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"

"You’re fucking limping."

You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.

Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.

A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.

"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.

You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.

A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.

Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.

"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."

He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.

When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.

"C’mere."

It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.

You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.

There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.

You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.

"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."

"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."

As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?

It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.

"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.

"For what?"

"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."

"‘m not all that good, Peter."

But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.

"I’m sorry for not being around."

"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."

He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.

"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.

"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."

"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."

"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.

"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."

You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.

____

Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.

After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.

You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.

Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.

"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.

You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.

So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”

You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.

"Less overwhelming?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."

I missed you.

Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.

"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.

"You get what?"

"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."

We. We. We.

"There are cows upstate," you snort.

"You know what I mean."

"We can do a road trip."

"You can’t drive."

"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.

He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.

"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.

"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."

"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."

You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.

There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.

You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.

So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.

"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.

"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.

You mock him, of course.

"English, yeah?"

He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.

"We broke up."

You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?

"Shit. You really fumbled, then."

"Shut up," he laughs.

"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.

"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."

"Classic MJ."

"Yeah."

"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.

"I’m not a piece of meat."’

You click your tongue.

"Oh, right, you’re an insect."

"Hey, so are you!"

____

You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.

Or maybe it’s the wine talking.

It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.

It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.

You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.

Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots

If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.

He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.

Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.

His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.

Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.

Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.

“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."

"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.

"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"

Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."

Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.

By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.

"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.

"You're already in my room."

Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.

Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.

"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.

"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."

"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.

"I'd like to see you try, angel."

It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.

It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.

Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.

Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.

He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.

His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.

"Wha--"

"Fuck."

"What is it?" He frowns.

"I owe Ned twenty bucks."

"What?"

"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."

"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”

“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”

“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.

“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,” you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.

“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”

He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.

You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.

“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”

A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.

“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.

“You are.”

Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.

He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.

You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.

A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.

“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”

Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.

“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”

He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.

You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.

You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.

“What do you wanna do?”

“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.

“Tell me about it, Spidey.”

“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”

There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.

“You want it that bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.

You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.

He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.

“You want me to go slow?”

“Of course not.”

You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.

Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.

“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."

Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.

“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.

“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”

You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.

You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.

Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.

“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.

“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”

You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.

“Pete.”

“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”

“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”

He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.

He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.

It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.

“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.

Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.

“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”

Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.

Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.

He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.

“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.

“Yes, angel?”

“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”

He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.

“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.

“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”

He laughs and it sounds like heaven.

“You said you loved me,” you tell him.

“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”

You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.

“I love you, too.”

You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”

“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.

“You’re cute.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How come you call me angel now?”

Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.

“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”

Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.

“I have a proposition.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.

“Okay. What is it?”

“We should use our webs next time.”

He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.

“Deal.”

tagging mutuals: @meliapis @cutetomholland @userholland @sparklingsin @tomdutch @userholland @vendettaparker @selfcarecap @simplykenni @uhlxis @cordiformity @sapphicsoie @seolaseoul @honeyspidey @logangarfield @justapurrcat @arachine @cocoamoonmalfoy @ohcaptains @aniqua

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #spiderman x reader #mcu!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x you #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #peter parker x you

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etoileholland · 1 year

Text

attraction needs no translation

Uni!Tom x ESL!reader

Word count: 5k

Synopsis: moving to London to attend university was difficult, but the language barrier was proving to be more difficult. All seemed bleak until your cute RA made your experience a million times better

Warnings: insecurity with speaking English (yet reader has good conversational skills), reader understands (and prefers) American English rather than British English sorry not sorry

Everyone can agree that English is a shitshow of a language to learn. Many, if not most, of the words were not pronounced the way they’re written; and don’t even get me started on all of the irregularities.

Your journey learning the English language was rocky, but you knew that the hard work would pay off one day, so that you could travel and watch shows without translations—even if the language looked and sounded like it was created from smashing the keys on a computer keyboard. Yet, English, for all its weirdness, could be fascinating.

Eventually, you would say that you were confident in your abilities to speak and understand English—that is, until you arrived in London to attend university.

“Would you like me to put your luggage in the boot?” Your taxi driver asked you as you walked up to the car. The syllables strung together in a very rapid sentence, and it was hard to distinguish what he actually asked you.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that slower?” You asked politely, your voice soft.

“Your luggage, in the boot?” He did speak a bit slower, but it still didn’t make much sense to you.

You looked at the car quizzically. There were no feet on the car, so why would it need boots? Maybe English isn’t his first language either.

The driver looked at you annoyed before opening the back of the car. “Would you like your luggage back here?” He repeated the sentence so slowly that you felt as though he was making fun of you.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, “yes, please. Thank you for repeating it slower.”

The man placed your luggage in the trunk, no wait, the boot of the car, rolling his eyes as he did so. It made for a less-than-ideal car ride to the university, but it was only a small bump in the road, you figured.

The taxi driver dropped you off on campus. On the flight here, you studied the map of the university so you wouldn’t be lost. However, it was getting dark out, which made it more difficult to point out the landmarks that you had memorized. People whizzed past you on their bikes, couples sauntered close to the walking trail, whereas you were standing in the middle of the sidewalk in your sweats and oversized sweatshirt, confused.

A girl with headphones began to walk past you. “Excuse me,” your voice came out timid. The girl didn’t hear you and continued to walk past you. Another student began to walk past, too engrossed in their own world to look up from their phone. Finally, what looked like a Professor rushed past you. He would definitely know where your student apartment would be located.

“Excuse me, where are the student apartments at?” The professor stopped in his tracks.

“Which ones are you asking about?” He, too, spoke with his words spaced so close together, it was hard to tell where one word started and where one word stopped. You had to pause to think about what he asked you, but you didn’t want to repeat yourself. Instead, you answered the question you think he asked you.

“Um, the Dover ones?”

“Oh,” the guy exhaled, “you’re on the wrong campus. Those flats are near the Guy’s campus, and right now we’re in Waterloo campus.”

You remembered seeing those locations on the map. It seemed close, or at least it did on paper. “Is it far to get there?” You inquired.

“I wouldn’t walk there if I were you. It would be wise to take the tube or a bus, especially with your luggage.”

What in the world is a tube? And why would you ride on it?

“Is the bus stop nearby, or?” You trailed off. He would’ve looked at you funny if you asked him what the tube was, so you decided against doing so.

“It’s just right over there.” The man pointed off in the distance. You had to squint to see what he was looking at, but it did look like there was a bus stop nearby. “There’s also a student shuttle that’ll take you to the flat, it’s probably a safer bet.” He looked down at his watch before looking back at you. “I have a night class to teach, but good luck getting to your flat.”

I’m guessing a shuttle must be another word for a bus. “Thank you!” You called out to him, watching as he sped off. The bus stop was a few minutes away, but it felt longer than it was, due to dragging your luggage behind you. By the time you made it to the stop, a small bus arrived. On the side read “student shuttle”, and when it stopped, the doors flung open. You walked up to the driver, who looked less than thrilled to see you.

“Would this, um, shuttle take me to the Dover apartments?” You asked politely as the bus driver nodded.

“Only if you have your student card.”

“Oh,” you replied, “let me grab it.” The card was stuffed away in your luggage, but you knew you had it. The bus driver looked annoyed as you rummaged around, even huffing when it took a minute.

“Found it.” You stated as you held it up to the driver. He sighed and motioned for you to take a seat. When you were about to sit down, he began to drive, which made you stumble into the seat.

Maybe going to uni here wasn’t the best idea…

15 minutes later, the driver pulled up to the student apartment. “Have a nice night.” He stated with no enthusiasm.

“You too.”

He drove off in a hurry, the fumes making you cough. When you craned your neck to look at the building, you noticed that it looked cute. There were a lot of students walking in and out of the apartment, even though it was late.

Someone held open the door for you while you dragged your luggage in, and even offered to help you carry it to your room.

“I’ve got it, thank you.” You smiled, “I need to check in at the reception.”

The student pointed towards the desk, and walked away. The receptionist was on the phone when you walked up to the desk, but when she was done with her call, she glanced at you.

“You must be new,” she stated while looking at your luggage, “are you here to check into your room that you let?”

Let? Does she mean “rent?” Maybe she did say that, but it could be muddled due to her accent, or it could be the fact that I’m jet lagged and heard her wrong.

“Huh?” You paused, “I’m here to check into my apartment that I rented online.” When you replied, the receptionist looked at you funny.

“We don’t call it an apartment here.” She rolled her eyes, “we call it a flat. And we ‘let’ out the flat, not rent’”. Her tone was exasperated, but you had no idea why. “You’re not in America anymore.”

Way to assume I’m from America, you thought to yourself.

The lady handed you the key to your ‘flat’, before pointing to the stairwell. “Right now, we are on the ground floor, not the first floor like you Americans call it. You’re on the fourth floor, which means you need to go up 4 flights of stairs, and not just 3.” That was probably the only thing she’s said that has made some sense. “You have no idea how many Americans get mixed up and complain that their keys don’t work, so don’t be one of them.” You didn’t have the heart to correct her, so you just nodded. She went back to her desk and waved at you. You waved back, stared at the stairs, and began lugging your bags up four flights of stairs.

The door to your flat was difficult to open, but when you got it open, you trudged through the door. The flat was small, cold, and the walls were painted an oddly vibrant yellow colour, but it was yours.

—

A knock at the door woke you up from your jet lagged sleep. The soft rays of light shone through the thin curtains, casting its light over you, who was sprawled out on the couch. It’s funny, you didn’t even notice you fell asleep last night.

The knocks escalated, so you shuffled faster to the door. Your hair was probably a tangled mess, and your clothes wrinkled, but you proceeded to answer the knock anyway. As you opened it, a boy with chocolate coloured curls smiled at you. When your eyes met, blush creeped onto his cheeks.

“Oh, hi.” His voice was soft, and his accent sounded nice. Not thick like the other accents you’ve heard since arriving.

“Hi,” you replied with a soft smile.

His gaze turned to the ground, his face still pink. “I heard you were a new student, so I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Tom, the RA for this floor.”

You gave him a polite smile when you introduced yourself. When Tom heard your name, he commented on how pretty it was.

“Thank you,” you smiled, gaze meeting Tom’s. When your eyes met, he looked away hurriedly.

“If there’s anything you need, I’m just down the hall.” He pointed to a room about 4 doors down— it would be hard to miss, since his door had decorations adorning it. “I look forward to seeing you around.”

“Yes,” was your response as you slowly closed the door. When you latched it, you let out a squeal. He was seriously the best looking guy you’ve seen in your whole life, with his chocolate coloured curls, his perfect jawline, and his beautiful smile.

You could get used to seeing him around.

—

The first day of classes were exhausting in more ways than one. The material went over your head, but most importantly, the professors' accents were so strong, you could hardly understand what any of them were saying.

Attending classes made you feel as though you were underwater, their voices jumbled, the words almost unintelligible.

Dejected, you dragged yourself to your last class of the day, Elizabethan Literature. When you opened the heavy door to the lecture hall, an American accent filled the room.

“Alright class, welcome to Elizabethan Literature. My name is Professor Johnson, and yes, this is really the way I talk.” She chuckled at her own joke, her eyes crinkling as she laughed. “I am from New York, so I have already heard every joke—and bad rendition—of my accent, so please don’t embarrass yourself by trying to mimic my speech.”

Her joking response brought the class to laughter. She seems really nice so far, this might just be my favorite class. Plus, her accent is clear.

“Please open to the first page of King Lear. We’re starting off strong here with a ‘lesser known’ classic from the Bard himself.”

The room became filled with the shuffling of books being opened, the paper creasing with movement. “I’ll begin reading, but feel free to pick up where I leave off.”

The entirety of the lecture was filled with conversation, and general confusion, over what was being read.

“I can hardly understand what any of this means.” Your classmate uttered under his breath, “I might just drop out.”

Me too, you thought. The language is far too complicated for me. I’ll fail the class for sure.

After class, you went up to your professor at her desk. She smiled as she began to put away her laptop.

“Hi professor, I just have a quick question.” Your heart was pounding as you anticipated what her response might be. “I’m thinking of dropping this course, but I wanted to let you know first.”

Professor Johnson gave you a confused look, but before she could answer, you continued speaking, “English is not my first language, and the reading material is hard for me to understand.” Your fingers were shaking, so you placed them in your pockets.

“Trust me, Shakespeare is too complicated for everyone, native English speaker or not.” She laughed, “and I’m speaking from experience. Can you believe Shakespearean English is considered modern?” She paused, glancing at you, giving you a soft smile. “But I completely understand if you’d like to drop my course.”

She was so nice, and understanding. “Maybe I’ll give it a chance after all. It made me feel better to hear that you struggled with it too.” You tapped the edge of the desk with your shoe. “I’m new to the country, and it’s been hard to understand what everyone is saying.”

Professor Johnson laughed heartily, “the British accent is hard to understand, but once you get used to it, it’s not so bad.” She gave you an encouraging smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners, “if you ever come across words you don’t understand, either ask me after class or please email me and I’ll do my best to explain it.”

You nodded politely, “thank you professor. I’ll see you next class.” Turning on your heels, you waved goodbye before leaving the lecture hall.

The walk back to your flat was calming. It was a warm august day, the birds were chirping, the sun beaming down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

—

Before you knew it, you had been in school for almost a month. As you got into the rhythm of your classes, it seemed as though everything became easier. The language barrier was becoming smaller, but there were still times where you felt like you were back at square one—progress isn’t always linear, after all.

The weather was shifting towards autumnal temperatures, the crisp air making everyone’s cheeks tinged pink. On your way back to your flat after your literature class, you heard music coming from down the hall. When you peeked around, you noticed it was coming from Tom’s room. You hadn’t seen him since he introduced himself, so you walked over to his door and knocked softly.

“Come in.” He called out over the music. The smell of chocolate chip cookies lingered in the air, the heat from the oven warming the room.

“Hi,” you said. When Tom heard your voice, he dropped an egg shell into the batter.

“Hi,” he choked while he picked the egg shell out, “it’s nice to see you.” He dried his hand on a tea towel. “How have classes been? Are they going well?”

Leaning against the counter, you sighed softly. “Yeah, it’s getting better. At first it was hard because I hardly understood anyone, but it’s not so bad anymore.”

Tom titled his head to the right, giving you a confused look. “If you don’t mind me asking, why was it hard to understand people?”

“Oh,” you breathed, “English is not my first language.”

Tom took a step back in disbelief as he audibly gasped. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I would’ve never guessed,” his eyes were still wide with disbelief, “your English is better than mine, and I’m a native speaker.”

Now it was your turn to be in disbelief. “Seriously? Is it that good?”

Tom nodded profusely.

“But I must have an accent, and half the time I cannot think of the right words to say.”

“Trust me,” Tom took a step closer to you, “your English is excellent, and it’s better than you realise. It must not be easy to be in a place where they don’t speak the same language you grew up speaking, but you’re killing it.” Tom rested his right hand on the counter, almost exactly mirroring your stance. “I’m incredibly proud of you.”

His words of encouragement were about to bring tears to your eyes. Here it seemed like you were drowning in a foreign language while being immersed in a foreign culture, but here he was being kind. You knew there was sincerity behind what he was saying. “Thank you Tom, I needed to hear that.”

“And I’ll be here to tell you that anytime you need to.” After that sentence, there was a shift in the air. Tom smiled again before turning back to the batter. “I’ve gotta make like a million biscuits for a bake sale tomorrow, so would you like to help me?” His eyes twinkled as he asked for your help, and you nodded your head yes. He squealed cutely at your response, causing you to laugh.

“On one condition,” you held up a finger, “you let me eat a cookie right now.”

“Deal.” He answered confidently. He watched as you lingered over the cookies that were spread out to cool, choosing one that was soft with plenty of chocolate chunks.

When you bit into the cookie, your mouth upturned into a smile. Your eyes crinkled, and Tom clapped when he saw your reaction.

“I don’t even need to ask if you like it.” He replied confidently, “it’s my mum’s recipe. It’s been in the family forever.”

“Please tell her I love them.” You replied happily, “I’m gonna need to eat like 15 more of them right now.” You reached out for another cookie, but Tom playfully slapped your hand away.

“You can have another one after you help me, you know, like you said you would.” His voice was teasing, playful, maybe even flirty.

“Maybe I’ll sit here and eat the cookies, seems like you’ve got it under control.” You smirked playfully as you quickly snatched another cookie off of the baking sheet.

“Hey!” Tom exclaimed, “I’m gonna revoke your title of beginning apprentice!”

You had learned the word ‘apprentice’ from tv, so you didn’t need to ask him for a translation. “Never!” You gasped dramatically. Tom tilted his head back as he laughed, his laughter lighting up the room. It was a sound you could get used to hearing.

“Alright then, hand me the flour.” He instructed.

It was easy to get in a rhythm while you helped Tom bake. He had a habit of sticking his tongue out while he concentrated, and it took everything in you to not laugh at how cute he looked. He also managed to get some flour dusted onto his chiseled cheek. It was tempting to reach over and wipe it away with your thumb, but you decided against it.

“So,” Tom broke the silence, “may I ask what your native language is?” The way he asked the question, with such carefulness, made heat rise to your already warm cheeks. As you told him, his face lit up.

“That’s so cool!” He exclaimed, “can you please teach me something?”

“That depends, what would you like to learn?”

“Could you point to all of the ingredients and say them?”

You chuckled, “of course.” Pointing at the various items, you slowly and concisely stated what each item was called. Tom intently watched you, even mimicking what you said. Sometimes he got the pronunciation correct, and other times he was way off, but it was so cute to hear him try.

“I think the way you said the eggs was funny.” He commented.

“Well I think the word ‘egg’ is funny. What’s even funnier is that people describe their heads that way. When I first learned that, I couldn’t stop laughing.” The memory brought a laughter that escaped your mouth.

“It must be so fun to learn all the silly little things in a new language.” Tom commented as he shifted his weight to his right leg. He was leaning over the bowl of mixed ingredients. “Could you teach me a funny phrase?”

It took a second to think of one, but when you told Tom one of your favourite ones, and what it meant, he guffawed. “I love it, I’m gonna use it all the time.”

Hearing Tom say that made your cheeks burn. You touched your face softly, “I can’t wait to teach you more things.”

“And I can’t wait to learn.”

—

A few hours later, both you and Tom were sprawled out on the touch. You felt as though you did an intense workout with the way your arms and shoulders felt. Tom groaned as he shifted in his seat. “I swear I never want to see another biscuit as long as I live.”

“Me either.” You remarked flatly.

“I’m kinda thirsty,” Tom thought aloud, “would you like some hot chocolate?”

“Yes please.” You grinned as you watched Tom walk over to the stove. He poured milk into a saucepan, turned on the heat, and began to stir the milk. Through his shirt, you could see his back muscles move as he stirred slowly. It was hard to look away, but friends don’t stare at the other longingly. Minutes passed quickly, and before you knew it, the drink was ready.

“Would you like some squirty cream on it?” Tom asked as he walked over to the fridge.

“Would I like what?” You answered shockingly, “Tom, I think that’s a bit suggestive.”

Tom snapped his head to the right, his eyes bugged out. “What did I do?”

“You asked if I wanted something squirted onto the chocolate!” It was uncontrolled laughter on your end as you kicked your feet. “That’s the grossest thing I’ve heard!”

“How so?” Tom’s face was beet red, and his demeanour flustered. Once he realised what he said, he let out an awkward giggle. “Oh! I see how that can sound weird. Squirty cream is what we Brits call whipped cream.”

“You’ve gotta be joking.”

“I’m not.” He held the can in his hand, holding it out so it’s pointing towards you. “Come read the label for yourself.”

You padded over to where Tom was standing. He held the can up for you to read—the ‘squirty cream’ was clearly written on the label. “I don’t like that term.”

“I can’t blame you,” he nodded, “it does sound bizarre and borderline gross.” Tom held the nozzle to the mugs and watched as the cream filled the brim of the mug. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Go for it.” You replied as you reached around Tom to grab your mug. The warmth brought comfort to you.

“How did you learn English?”

Before answering, you took a drink of the cocoa. “Through classes, and by watching a lot of American television.”

“Ah, I hope that wasn’t a rude question.”

“Not at all.” You quickly replied.

“Did English come easy to you?” Tom’s voice was soft, “and have you studied for a long time?”

Taking another drink of your hot chocolate, you paused before answering. “For the first question, no.” You shook your head as you remembered your journey with learning the language. “Instead of playing with my friends at recess, my teacher made me stay inside to work on my English homework. I used to sit there and cry because it was so hard, and my teachers were mean about it.” The humiliating memory made your eyes well up with tears. Blinking them away, you continued, “my teacher would ask me why I couldn’t do it, but I didn’t know why. They made me feel dumb, and it made me almost hate English.”

“They shouldn’t have treated you that way.” Tom added sympathetically, “you were trying as hard as you could, so they shouldn’t have been so mean.”

Gosh, he’s so caring.

“We also used to have these, um, exams, where we would have to write out a conversation in English, memorise it, and say it in front of everyone in the class.”

When you paused, Tom spoke up. “That sounds like my worst nightmare, but it would make sense why your conversation skills are so good.”

“You really think so?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

His response made your heart soar. “It was way more fun to watch American tv shows, such as Friends, and to listen to music, to learn new words.”

“Oh, I bet. Textbook learning is no fun.” He smiled before taking a sip of his cocoa. “You know,” Tom clicked his tongue, “I’m really glad you still decided to learn English, even though it was hard. I don’t want to imagine not being able to talk to you at all.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, “I’m glad I learned English too, because I like talking to you.” When you looked at Tom, you noticed his cheeks were pink.

“I like talking to you too.” He drank from his cup, took a moment, and continued speaking. “It now makes sense why you say some words in an American accent, because you learned them that way.”

“Wait, really?” You met Tom’s soft gaze.

“Yeah.”

“That makes sense.” You replied, “I had such a hard time when I came here. I thought English was the same everywhere, but after coming here, I realised that the vocabulary was different.” You set your now empty cup down gently on the counter, and Tom did the same.

At your response, Tom smiled sympathetically. “Americans have weird words for things.”

“Not true.” You refuted, “their words make more sense. I feel like I’m not even speaking the same language as you guys.”

Your comment made Tom laugh in disbelief.

“I’m serious! And don’t get me started on some of the accents I’ve heard here…” you trailed off.

Tom gasped dramatically. “Be careful what you say about our accents!”

“Some of them are so thick that I feel like I need subtitles to understand what they’re saying.” Both you and Tom laughed simultaneously at your comments.

“I will actually give you that one, some people have accents that even I can hardly understand.”

“See!” You playfully poked Tom in the chest. “It’s not just me.”

Tom looked down at your pointer finger where it touched his chest. His face turned pink at the innocent touch. “You’re right, except for the vocabulary thing. I will disagree with you on that until the day I die.”

“Wow.” You exhaled. “It’s like the expression I heard once, about them dying on a mountain, I think.”

“You mean, ‘die on that hill’.” Tom politely corrected as he took a step closer to you. “It means to never stop defending your statement.”

“Exactly, thank you for telling me what it was.”

“Anytime.” Tom brushed his fingers along his forehead to move a loose curl that had landed near his eye. “Hey,” he added, “do you find my accent hard to understand?”

You shook your head no. “Your accent is very easy to understand.”

“What about my speech…am I speaking too fast for you?” Tom glanced down at the bowl of batter on the counter. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t understand me, you know?” He paused, “but I don’t want to make you feel like a kid who can’t understand what I’m saying. Am I making sense?”

It was heartwarming to see Tom being so considerate of you, and your speaking abilities. In fact, his kindness made your heart skip a beat. “You speak at just the right pace, not too fast or too slow.”

“So just right?” He glanced back at you, making eye contact. His eyes were soft, yet you knew he needed reassurance.

“Yes, just right.”

The space between you and Tom had gotten smaller than you realised. He was so close that you could smell his cologne, and you were so close that he could smell the chocolate from the cookies you ate. “So,” Tom spoke in a hushed tone, “thank you for popping by to help me make biscuits, or as you say, cookies.”

“Anytime,” you whispered back, “I enjoyed myself.”

“Me too.” He replied. You glanced at his soft pink lips as he glanced at yours. His gaze flicked upwards to meet yours, to which you smiled up at him. “I, um, was wondering if… you would—”

A knock at the door caused the both of you to flinch.

“Oi!” A guy shouted while he knocked again on the door. “I finished making the brownies you asked for, have you finished the biscuits?”

“Shit.” Tom muttered under his voice. You watched as he sauntered over to the guy who interrupted you both. “Yeah, I finished them. Give me like a minute.”

“Why?” The guy peeked his head in. When he saw you, he whooped and hollered. “Damn Holland, you have a girl over?”

Tom groaned in response. “You can see her too?” He faked a gasp as he began to close the door on the guy, “now if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of something.”

“But I wanna—” Tom shut the door on the guy and locked it swiftly behind him. He leaned against the door, his eyes rolling in response.

“I can hardly stand him, but he’s the other RA on this floor, so I have to collaborate with him quite a bit.”

“I see.” You quietly responded. It makes sense why Tom can’t stand him—neither could you, and you barely met the guy. The atmosphere in the room that had once felt warm now felt awkward. You felt as though you had probably overstayed your welcome.

Tom took a few steps towards you. Once he was standing a foot apart, he rubbed the nape of his neck awkwardly. He opened his mouth to talk, but you beat him to it.

“Thank you for letting me spend time with you.”

“Of course.” He meekly responded.

“I’ll get going now.” As you brushed past Tom, you could smell his cologne, the scent irresistible.

“Sure, yeah.” It took every ounce of restraint to not reach out to grab your arm, hoping that you’d stay longer. His hand twitched at the thought, so he stuffed it into his back pocket. “I appreciated the help.”

You hummed in response. “If you ever need help again, or would like more language lessons, you know where to find me.” You raised your arm towards the general direction of your flat.

Tom’s face lit up at the invitation, “and you know where to find me.” He placed his hand on the door handle while you stood in the hallway. “The bake sale is tomorrow at 3pm in the student union, if you’d like to come by and you know, actually pay for the cookies you ate along the way.” His intonation was playful, and he clicked his tongue after he finished speaking.

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” You winked while shrugging your shoulders.

“I want you to.” Tom blurted out, his voice laced with hope, desperation even.

His response made your heart pound as your stomach filled with butterflies. You leaned against the wall in an attempt to not fall from being weak in the knees. “I’ll definitely be there, so save me a chocolate chip cookie.”

a/n; learning and being immersed in an entirely different language than the one you grow up speaking has so many challenges, but can also be so rewarding when you find yourself being able to communicate with others and enjoy films/music from that culture. I know everyone has a different journey, and different experiences, when it comes to learning a language, so I tried to use as many personal experiences—as well as my friend’s experiences—to write this piece. I chose to use American English as the standard that the reader understood because American culture really is everywhere. I didn’t want it to be clichéd, but I also wanted it to be as authentic as possible, so I really hope you not only enjoyed it but resonated with it :)

#tom holland x you #tom holland oneshot #tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland and reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x fem!reader #tom holland one shots #tom holland x female reader #tom holland and y/n #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #mine

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talaok · 2 months

Note

Hiii! Can I request sub!peter waking u up in the middle of the night very needy? Tnks :)))

Pairing: Sub! Peter Parker x f!reader

warnings: sub! peter, unprotected p in v sex, lots of pet names for spidey, premature ejaculation (kinda), creampie, talk about oral sex (m receiving)

a/n: aaaaa i love sub peter soo much thank you love

At first, you thought it was morning already, you thought the needy kisses on your bare back and his hips grinding onto your ass were nothing more than what it was more mornings than not: the usual way Peter woke you up.

But once you opened up your eyes, once the darkness got the better of your sight, once you watched as no sun shined through the windows, then you realized your mistake

"Baby" you croaked, taking your time turning your head back to him, sleep still fighting to keep you close

"I'm sorry" he mumbled, his lips still busy with your shoulders "I know it's late- I just-I"

His hazel eyes were on you, lust and need fogging them deeply, and his hips hadn't yet stilled, he was grinding his hard cock against your ass like you hadn't just taken care of him a few hours earlier, like a man starved.

"I think I know what the problem is" a soft smirk played on your lips as you finally turned to him

Sleep could wait a few more minutes, you decided, you were never able to resist him when he looked so damn desperate.

"I can feel it" you murmured sultry, his eyes stapled to yours while his hands followed each movement you made, not wanting to lose contact with your skin even for a second.

"what do you need baby?" you spoke once you were before him

"I-I just- I need-"

But your hand had found the bulge in his boxers, and words stopped existing altoughether in Peter's brain

"You need me to take care of you?" you teased, your fingers seeping underneath the waistband.

You swore he was holding his breath.

"'s that it baby?" you murmured, now ghosting his lips "need me to help you out a little, mh?"

The sound- oh the sound he made when your hands found his manhood, when you conceded him just the tinies stroke... oh you could have lived on that sound alone.

"yes" he gulped "p-please I need- I-"

Peter had never been good with words around you so you took his cock out, feeling him twitch in your hand

"I-inside" was all he could whimper "p-please"

You chuckled softly, but still, you did as he wished, draping your leg over him and sliding your panties to the side

"what's got you so worked up honey?" you asked, purring gently against his mouth

"I- I had a dream"

You smiled knowingly as you guided him to your entrance.

"dirty boy" you smirked as he slowly entered you, whimpering and moaning as he shut his eyes

"s-shit- y/n-" he cried, once he was filling you all up "g-god"

"I know" you cooed, stroking the back of his head as he started thrusting sloppily in and out of you "I know baby"

His left hand was pulling down your tank top to get to your boobs, and he let out a desperate moan once he was finally able to have one of your tits in his palm.

"so what was the dream about?" you murmured, fighting your own moans.

His cheeks changed colors, red now adorning them.

"I-"

"no need to be shy now baby" you smiled, feeling his cock hit that spot deep inside you once again

"It was about- y-you"

You grinned widely at that

"'s that so?"

"mh-mh" he nodded, eager to please you

“What about me?” You asked, your fingers playing with his hair just how he liked it

You saw his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed thickly,

"y-you were" he sighed, burying his cock inside up to the hilt "You were g-going down on me" he stuttered, the pleasure he was already lost in only heightening as images from his dream crossed his mind

He whimpered as you clenched around him

"I was sucking your cock?" you taunted, making a soft fuck flee his mouth

"y-yes"

"mh" you smirked, biting your lip "I do really like that" you murmured, mouth to his ear now "I love sucking your cock so much baby"

A choked sound escaped him, and you could only chuckle as you kissed him right below his ear

"gonna remember that when I'm gonna wake you up this morning" you hummed

"y-y/n- f-fuck" he groaned, his thrusts even sloppier now, barely anything more than frantic desperate movements "p-please" he begged "I-I'm not gonna last if y-you"

But you didn't care, you never cared when it was like this, when it was only about him.

"don't wait for me"

"b-but"

"don't worry about me" you whispered, leaving a soft peck on his lips "just be a good boy and cum inside me baby"

Another moan mixed with a whimper and a twitch of his cock was his response

"can you do that for me honey?" you murmured, "can you come deep inside me?"

He was so close it was a miracle he still hadn't come.

His moans were breathless, all resembling your name or various curses, but still, he managed to say

"yes- yes, I ca-"

before he was painting your insides with his seed a moment later.

Your moans mixed with his at the feeling, and his head fell between your shoulder and neck as he cried out your name, his hips working hard to make sure every drop of him was inside you.

You continued drawing gentle patterns in his hair as he regained consciousness and caught his breath.

"thank you" was all he said once he finally raised his head to look at you

You smiled softly

"you don't need to thank me baby" you gave him a quick kiss, his hand going to your waist.

"I- I need to clean you up" he remembered, but you shook your head

"we'll think about that tomorrow, let's go back to sleep now, mh?" you suggested, and by the look of it, he was more than eager to agree.

"mh-mh" he nodded, as he scooted closer to you, his hands around you and your legs around him.

"g'night baby" you siad

"night" he mumbled, already half asleep

But as you both closed your eyes, and you started to get back into sleep's sweet embrace, you couldn't help but chuckle, as, a few moments later, you felt Peter's face nestle right between your breasts, which had apparently been chosen as his pillow for the night

"I love you" was all he was able to mumble, not even giving you time to respond before he was already dead asleep.

"I love you too honey" you said nonetheless, Peter's long breaths filling the darkness as you joined him in his sleep.

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boiohboii · 4 months

Text

The people's sweethearts

Chapter 1

(Verstappen!reader x tom holland x zendaya)

Soulmate au

YN Verstappen had been through hell, by her own father, for something she didn't even ask for. She grew up learning that she should hate what was given to her, after all it was the reason her father was always angry with her. So what should she do when the one thing she learned to hate is the one thing that brings her love, safe and comfort that not even her older brother can compare.

WARNING: not proof read, Jos Verstappen (worsned like 10 times for this fic) poly relationship, derogatory terms by father, abusive father. If I missed anything else please let me know

Masterlist

Max and Yn Verstappen are close, really close, some would even say they are too close for being siblings, after all it's not usual for an 18 year old to go live with her older brother in a country 2 hours away (by plane) from her university rather than just to rent something close by.

Everyone had very harsh words to say about the pair of siblings, some still do but these are just people who hate max verstappen and they know nothing angers him more than someone insulting his baby sister, everyone was very vocal about how strange, weird and abnormal it is for 2 grown siblings to live together.

Everyone thought that the Verstappen siblings would change their living arrangements after Max and Kelly found each other, only to be surprised by Max buying a bigger penthouse that'd be enough for all 4 of them.

Everyone was negative about the prospect of the redbull formula one driver being followed around by his little sister until the release of The Anatomy of A Champion came out.

When the producers of the show pitched in the idea of talking to yn, max had refused, he wanted his sister nowhere near any of these vultures knowing how bad it can, and most probably will, get. Max was aware from a very young age that what his dad was constantly saying and doing to him and his sister wasn't normal, whenever he was at a race he would see the other boys' dad's hugging them and telling them they did a good job even if they didn't get first place, he would see how other's would have their father waiting for them with water and towels, and most importantly he would see how other dad's had their daughter on their shoulder making the other little girls laugh; Why does dad only make yn cry?

He remembers it so clearly, the way his father hit his sister because of something out of her control, something that she didn't even ask for, something that was thrown at her, it was the day his sister got her soulmark.

Everyone had a soulmark that appeared on their 5th birthday and today was yn's which made jos take her to the soul doctor. Soulmarks were complicated, which is why soul doctors were important, they let you know more about your mark and the bond that's to form between you and your other half.

"Wow young lady, you'll have twice the amount of love it seems."

"What?"

Max knew his father's tone, he know that he's angry and he unconsciously held onto yn's hand, hoping that his father wouldn't take his anger out on her.

"Well Mr Verstappen you see these lines," the doctor gently held up yn's wrist, turning it over to show off her newly given mark "that's an indicator of one soulmate, I'd say he is 3 or 4 years older than her given the shade of the mark, while this other lines that are in a circular shape indicate the other soulmate, he seems to also be around 3 or 4 years older as well. It looks like the mark that indicates young miss yn here is the moon, with how the moon is in the center I would say that yn would be the last in the group meaning that her two other soulmates will meet each other before they meet her."

Jos was angry throughout their drive home, he had already smacked yn into the car while rushing her to get in and as soon as they were in the car he hit her across the head, his arms tall enough to reach the young girl in the backseat. That was the first time max heard these words that would be so easy to recite within a few weeks.

"Two soulmates? Why couldn't you just be normal, why do you have to be such a slut?"

The ride back home was one of the worst max and yn had ever expirenced.

"Two soulmates, ridiculous.They're not even going to want you! They'd meet each other before they even know you!! At least if you turn out to be good for nothing I can just pimp you out on the street, maybe then you'd be useful, and it's not like your soulmates will even like you or want you. Unlovable whore."

"So," the interviewer started as Sophie Kumpen sat on a white sofa in Max's home in Monaco "how is your relationship with your youngest?"

"It's not as close as I'd want it to be," the mother of three confessed as she looked into the camera "yn is a very sweet girl, she had been through a lot. When Jos and I divorced she wasn't really aware of what was going on, she was too young to understand, and as she grew older all she could see was Max. He had been the one to take care of her: i remember once when Max was around ten years old he called me up, asking me how to make a soup because yn was sick and jos was out god knows where.

Max and YN were and are always there for each other, and I don't think that will ever change. I'm sure everyone thought their relationship will sort of tweak a bit when Max and Kelly met each other, but I don't think Max will ever allow that and it's not like Kelly even tried to change their relationship, she was the one who was apartment hunting for all of them while Max was racing and Yn was back in England for her university."

"Do you think yn is putting in the effort to be there for Max?"

"Oh definitely, I mean studying mechanical engineering along with aerospace engineering at one of the top universities in the world is enough proof. Her whole life revolves around Max and I don't think it's a bad thing. Max had been her everything, he's the one she always goes to cause he is all she knows. When she was deciding what to do right after high-school all she said was that she will choose the majors that'll help her get an internship at formula one so that she'd be there with Max for the rest of his races, however long he wants to be there."

"Do you know what happened between Jos, Max and Yn? Don't you think it's weird that once Max turned 18 he asked Christian Horner to ban his father from the paddock? And to help him have yn with him as much as possible?"

"I'm not really going to go into the details of it, but Jos has done a lot of damage, especially to yn. It's not something I can talk about, not that I even want to, but Jos was a terrible husband and a wose father, I'm insanely glad that yn and max turned out as good and well as they are. Seeing them so close is not something that's surprising me given what Jos did to them, to yn" Sophie's voice broke as a few tears escaped her eyes "sorry, it's just, what she had to go through, it's traumatic and I'm happy that she had Max with her through it all. It fills my heart with joy seeing the little family Max and Yn formed with Kelly and Penelope"

ch. II

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peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology · 2 years

Text

Whitewater

Wipeout - Chapter 4

Pairing: Surfer!Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: Hey, here’s chapter four, I hope you guys enjoy! I’d really appreciate hearing any feedback you have whether that be in reblogs or comments! It def helps keep me motivated and makes this all more fun. As always my inbox is open if you have anything to say. Thanks for reading, love you guys xx

Warnings: Fighting, angst, smut

Summary: It’s time for you and Tom to talk about what happened

Taglist

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

❀ ゜.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．゜❀

Three days, you didn’t talk to Tom for three days. He’d texted you the morning after the party but you didn’t respond, and he left you alone after that. It was strange to go from talking everyday to not speaking at all. You were tempted to reach out a few times but you always ended up backing out. Part of you was embarrassed about how you’d blown up at him, and part of you was still angry. Talking to him just didn’t seem that appealing yet, you wanted to figure out what to say first.

“Knock knock,” Grace knocked on your bedroom door, cutting your morning sulk short as she peeked into your room, “Come on, this is your third day of sulking, I’d be a bad friend if I didn’t force you to do anything, or at least talk.”

“I’m just thinking,” you blushed.

“Thinking about Tom, which isn’t doing you any good. Get up, you’re gonna shower and then we’re gonna get coffee and go shopping,” she smiled as she fell down onto your bed beside you.

“I don’t wanna go shopping,” you scoffed.

“Not even at the home store?” she smiled as you suddenly became interested, “I think I’m ready to admit I need a little help decorating my room.”

“Really?” you sat up excitedly.

You’d been begging her to let you help her decorate her room since you two moved in together, but she was insistent on doing it herself. It was the one room that was all hers to decorate, but she was far too indecisive to ever finish the project. She’d already gone through two lamps, bought a new dresser, and rearranged the furniture a million times, but she still had no idea how she wanted the room to look. You’d tried giving her suggestions but she never listened, insisting that eventually she’d be able to figure out what she wanted.

She nodded, “Yes, I had my fun playing designer, but I’m ready to have a finished room now.”

“I told you Grace, interior design is serious business,” you laughed, “Alright, give me a few minutes to get ready.”

“Yay,” she hugged you before bouncing out of your bed, “Get out your paint swatches too, I think I want an accent wall.”

“You can’t paint your room, we’re renting.”

“Better to ask for forgiveness,” she sang as she went skipping back to the living room.

You dragged yourself out of bed and went padding into the bathroom. After a quick shower you threw on an old t-shirt and some shorts and let Grace drag you away to a local coffee shop to pick up a couple of drinks before you hit the home stores.

You suggested sticking to a boho, beachy theme to match with her usual aesthetic and Grace seemed happy with that. She also liked your suggestion of peel and stick wallpaper instead of paint. That way she could get her accent wall and you could get your safety deposit back. As soon as you arrived you dragged her past the paint and to the wallpapers, where she began digging through racks for something she liked.

“I’m not super into these geometric ones, and the florals seem kind of old lady-ish,” she knit her brows, “I think I want something green, or tan, maybe blue.”

“I’d go with tan or green,” you hummed.

“Good call,” she moved further down the aisle and glanced back at you for a moment, “We’ll pry have to ask the boys to help us put this up huh?”

You frowned, “Yeah, Haz could help.”

“Okay, does that mean you and Tom just aren’t going to talk anymore?” she pressed.

“I don’t know yet Grace, I mean that’s not really what I want but I’m still angry and everything,” you crossed your arms, “Can we please stick to wallpaper?”

She nodded, “Yeah, I think I like this one,” she pulled out a roll of white paper decorated with deep tan palm trees, waves, suns, and other small, beachy doodles that seemed almost hand drawn.

“That’s really cute Grace, I think it’d look good on the wall you have your bed against,” you squinted at the label on the roll as you tried to find the size, “California dreamin’,” you chuckled at the name, “I think one roll should cover it, but maybe we should get a second just in case?”

“Better safe than sorry,” she chimed, tossing two rolls into your shopping cart, “Come on, I wanna find a night stand too.”

“Alright,” you followed behind her with a frown. Walking through the store was reminding you of Tom, there wasn’t any particular reason really, you just had Tom on the brain, “Why do you think he does stuff like this?”

“Tom?”

You nodded.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “You’d have to talk to him about that.”

“Yeah, I still don’t really want to do that right now.”

“Well you could try telling me about it. It might feel good just to vent.”

“Okay,” you took a deep breath before you continued, “It just really sucked. He ditched me for someone else and it made me feel really insecure.”

“Because he was with someone else?”

“Because he picked her over me. It made me feel like he’s just into me because I’m there, and I’d like him to be sleeping with me because he’s attracted to me, not just because I’m willing.”

“Of course he’s attracted to you (y/n), he’s the one who came on to you in the first place. Plus before he used to just call you my really pretty friend before he got your name down,” she laughed, “I don’t think attraction is an issue at all, and I don’t think he sleeps with you just because you're there either. Don’t get me wrong, it was super douchey, and I’m not trying to defend him, but I don’t want you to get down on yourself because of it. You’re gorgeous, Tom, and me, and everyone else who’s ever seen you knows it. If Tom, or any other guy, does some shitty thing like he did, it’s because of him, not you.”

“Thank you Grace,” you flushed at her kind words and leaned forward on the handlebars of the cart, “You’re right, it’s on him if he’s gonna be a dick.”

“Exactly, and no more pouting. We’re home shopping, that’s like one of your five favorite things to do,” Grace smiled and squeezed your shoulder. You knew she was trying her best to cheer you up, but it wasn’t helping much, “Just come look at all these shelves, you love shelves.”

“I do like shelves,” you agreed, tracing over the edge of a simple wooden floating shelf, “Last time I was here with Tom he tried to buy the ugliest shelf I’ve ever seen. I don’t even think he liked it honestly, I think he just liked that it was making me mad.”

“I don’t want to push you on this again because it seems like it’s kind of a touchy subject, but are you totally sure you aren’t catching feelings for Tom?”

You groaned, “Of course I’m not catching feelings Grace, and you said it yourself. He was being super douchey, and I’m upset about it. Can’t I be upset about that without it meaning anything more?”

“Yeah, but I want you to be sure. I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”

“I won’t, I already told you before I don’t have feelings for him, and I still don’t. I’m just mad because he was being a dick and he made me feel like shit. If I thought I was catching feelings or something then I would call things off. I might still call things off, I don’t know, I just need to talk to him,” you huffed.

“I think you need to sleep with someone else,” Grace hummed, “Get over by getting under. Is there anyone else in town you’d want to sleep with?”

You frowned, “The only guys I really hang out with are Tom and Haz, and sometimes Tom’s brothers. I mean Haz is hot b-”

“Ew!” she snapped, “Harrison isn’t hot!”

You rolled your eyes, “Well of course you don’t think he’s hot, he’s your cousin.”

“Yeah, and that makes him off limits to you,” she glared, “Pick someone else.”

“I don’t know… If we’re going purely on looks, maybe Leo?”

“Leo Black?” she gaped, “You have the worst taste ever.”

“What? He’s cute.”

“He’s a fucky boy, you need someone more mellow,” she hummed, “Like Adrien or something.”

You crinkled your nose, “Adrien? I mean he’s cute and nice and everything, but I like guys who are a little more… Outgoing.”

“No babe, trust me, shy guys are the best,” she smirked, “At least in bed.”

You started to laugh, “Maybe you’re right but I’m sticking with Leo.”

“I can’t believe I’m letting you decorate my room with taste like that,” she cringed.

তততততততততততত

Four days after the party and one day after talking with Grace you decided you were ready to talk to Tom again, though you weren’t exactly sure how to go about it. You wanted to text him and ask him to talk, but you were worried that he wouldn’t want to, or worse, he wouldn’t respond at all. Things were made even worse when you got to work and remembered that it was Tuesday, which meant Tom would be outside all day teaching his surf class.

You couldn’t stop yourself from staring when you stepped outside to clean the patio, he just looked cute out there helping the kids. Every stolen glance made your heartache a little more, reminding you of just how much you missed hanging out with him. A few times you caught him looking your way too, he’d crack a small smile but you would just turn away. The smile at least assured you that he probably would want to talk, but you knew you’d have to wait until your shift ended. Tom however, had never been very patient, and he had no interest in waiting until you were off work.

While you were busy scrubbing tables clean Tom sent Paddy running up to the patio to talk to you for him. He was the only kid in class Tom could trust with such an important task, and also the only one he could boss around to that degree. Paddy jumped onto the railing of the patio, leaning over it so he could wave and get your attention.

“(y/n)?” he blushed as he spoke.

“Hi Paddy,” you smiled over at him, “You know there’s no minors allowed.”

“I-I know, Tom asked me to come give this to you,” he held out a small seashell to you, “He thought you would like it.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek to fight your smile as you took the shell from him. It was a simple white shell with a hole in it that looked like a jagged heart, “That’s really sweet, thank you,” you sighed, “Could you do me a favor Paddy?”

He nodded, “Totally.”

“Could you tell Tom to text me when you get back over there?”

“Got it,” he nodded again and went scrambling back down the beach.

You smiled down at the shell before placing it in your pocket. The simple, sweet gesture was enough to assure you that everything would be okay. Tom still valued your friendship, and you were hopeful that you two could talk things out and go back to normal. You’d probably stop sleeping together, but you cared a lot more about keeping him as a friend anyway.

Tom glanced your way again as Paddy returned to the group, though this time you didn’t look away from him. His lips curled upwards as Paddy whispered to him. He waved at you, happy to see you were finally smiling back. You waved back at him before walking back into the restaurant. Soon Tom’s class wrapped up and you watched him and his students leave the beach. As soon as he stepped back into Aqua Life you had your eyes on your phone, waiting for him to text you. Sure enough it came through just moments after he entered the building.

T: Hey flower, I hope you liked the shell. If you want to talk or something we could get together after work

You smiled down at your phone before replying.

Y: The shell was sweet, I’m off at 4, I can get together anytime after that

T: I’m off at 3, you wanna swing by my place after work?

Y: I’ll be there

T: Looking forward to it 😚

You rolled your eyes and shoved your phone back into your pocket. The last hours of your shift flew by, and you found you were much more focused on what you were going to say to Tom than your actual job. You wanted to go in prepared so you could tell him exactly why you were upset without getting worked up again, but all you could come up with was calling him a dick. Which certainly didn’t cover the range of emotions you had been feeling.

After clocking out you went straight for your car, your heart hammered with every step you took, a wave of anxiety washed over you as you pulled out of the parking lot. You found yourself wishing he lived further away. You had hardly prepared what you wanted to say, and you had no idea what Tom was going to say either. Sure he was being sweet, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have an earful prepared for you too. You’d made a scene at his roommate's birthday party, embarrassing both of you in front of everyone there. Granted it wasn’t your normal crowd, but it was still rude, and very unlike you.

Tom’s house came into view far too quickly, both his and Harrison’s car were sitting in the driveway. You parked on the side of the road and pulled on a sweater before you paced up to their door. You knocked softly and crossed your arms while you waited for him to answer.

Instead of Tom you were met with Harrison, with a big smile on his face, “Hi (y/n), it’s good to see you.”

“Hi,” you blushed awkwardly, “I-I just came by to talk to Tom.”

“Right but before you do that I-”

He was cut off by Tom, who wiggled in between him and the door to get to you, “Don’t mind Haz love, come on in.”

“Yes mind Haz,” Harrison snapped as Tom pulled you inside, “Look Tom doesn’t seem to think that this is an important matter, but I need to talk to you much more urgently than he does.”

You frowned and knit your brows, “Why?”

Tom rolled his eyes a Harrison started talking, “So that lemonade you make us-”

“He’s fucking obsessed with it,” Tom interrupted again.

“Stop interrupting,” Harrison glared at him, “Anyways I’ve put a lot of thought into this alright? And I’ve been trying to narrow it down so I just really need to know, does it have blue raspberry in it?”

You laughed at how serious he was and shook your head, “No, no blue raspberry.”

“Seriously?” he groaned, “I thought I was onto something. What about vanilla?”

“No vanilla either,” you smirked, “You’re never gonna guess it Haz, and I’m never gonna tell you either.”

“Oh I will guess it,” he said it almost like it was a threat, “Mark my words I will figure this out.”

“Well you can keep guessing some other time, (y/n)’s here to talk to me,” Tom set his hand on your back, “We’ll be out back if you need us.”

The small gesture helped relax you a bit, you found yourself leaning into his touch while you walked. On his back patio they had two white wooden chairs and a small table where you could sit and overlook the beach. You’d always been jealous of Tom and Harrison’s home, they rented a two story house on the beach for remarkably cheap from Tom’s parents. It had a gorgeous view, and of course the boys got to run out on the beach anytime they pleased.

“You’re really lucky you’ve got such a nice view,” you commented as you two sat down.

“I know,” he smiled at you, “I know we’ve got serious stuff to talk about, but I wanted to start by telling you I’ve really missed you.”

“I missed you too Tom,” you blushed, “I, uh, I don’t really know where to start.”

“Me either,” he admitted, “I guess I still don’t really know what happened...”

That made a bit of anger bubble up inside of you. It seemed so obvious to you. How could he not get what the issue was?

“You invited me to go out with you and you spent the night hitting on someone else, it pissed me off, and rightfully so,” you scoffed.

“But you’ve never got mad about me hitting on someone before. I mean we aren’t together, that sort of thing shouldn’t piss you off,” he frowned.

“It’s not the hitting on someone part that bugged me!” you snapped, your cheeks suddenly flushing red, “It’s the fact that you invited me out, we made plans, and then you wanted to run off with someone else. How do you not see how that would hurt me?”

“I,” his mouth hung open for just a moment and his tongue darted out over his bottom lip, “It was just a little harmless flirting.”

“But you invited me out!” you snapped, “You invited me to go out of town and then we made all these plans and then you ran off to flirt with her instead.”

“Well I can’t help it if you get jealous (y/n),” he snapped back, “That’s on you.”

All the same anger you’d felt that night was coming rushing back to you. How dare he accuse you of being jealous? Of course you weren’t jealous.

“I am not jealous Tom,” you seethed, “I’m angry because I didn’t know anyone there and you just ditched me. That’s not how you treat your friends when you invite them places, don’t try to pin this on me just because you don’t want to apologize.”

“I am perfectly fine with apologizing,” he glared at you, “I’m the one that’s been trying to actually talk about this. You just wanted to call things off.”

“Yeah because I don’t want to sleep with someone who only cares about sleeping with me when no one else is around!” you could feel your throat getting tight and your eyes starting to blur, you still didn’t want to cry but you weren’t sure how long you could keep it together, “Our friendship isn’t just a regular friendship Tom. There’s a certain degree of vulnerability that comes with sex and it makes me feel like shit when you ask me to spend the night with you then you try to run off with someone else. Me not wanting you to rub the fact that you found someone prettier in my face does not make me jealous. It just makes me insecure, and it is perfectly reasonable for me to get insecure sometimes! I’m a person, not a fucking blow up doll!” you had lost it, breaking down into violent sobs as you finished your rant.

Tom had never seen you cry and he didn’t really know how to handle it. It made him feel awful, especially knowing he was the cause of it. He wanted to comfort you but he wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it.

He moved his chair closer to yours and reached over to touch you. He went slow, making sure you had plenty of time to push him away before he set his hand on your cheek, “I didn’t think she was prettier than you,” he wiped your teary eyes with a frown, “I never do. You’re really gorgeous (y/n), and you’ve got nothing to be insecure about. I’m sorry I made you feel otherwise,” he pursed his lips before he continued, “I don’t know if telling you this is gonna make this worse or better but I wasn’t flirting with her because I was into her or something. It’s just that sometimes when I flirt with other girls you get a little annoyed and you know…” he trailed off for a second, “Well you just get a little rougher in bed when you’re annoyed. I was just trying to have a bit of fun, I’m sorry I hurt you in doing that.”

“You’re such a dick,” you mumbled through your tears, “Why couldn’t you just tell me you liked it rough or something?”

“I’m sorry,” he wiped your tears again, “Look I know I can be really self centered but I try not to act like that with the people I care about. I promise I wouldn’t have done it if I knew it was hurting you.”

You found yourself leaning into him again. There was comfort in his words, and it was nice to be reassured that he found you as attractive as you found him. His explanation seemed genuine, even if his reasoning was still dickish, you appreciated his honesty. That didn’t mean he had hurt you any less though.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t just tell me that though, or why you didn’t realize that would hurt me. I mean you’d be pissed if I invited you out of town and then left you all alone once we got there.”

“Yeah…” he was quiet for a minute as he imagined the scenario, “Yeah, it would really piss me off. I wasn’t thinking about how it would make you feel, and I should have been. I mean Harrison told me it was shitty too, but I did it anyway, I was just being selfish, I’m sorry I don’t have a better explanation than that.”

“You should listen to Harrison more often,” you advised.

He chuckled, “I know, he really is the brains of the operation.”

You let out a light laugh and your lips curled to a smile, “You just realized?”

“Of course not, I just don’t like to admit it,” he winked, “You know what might make you feel better?”

“What?”

“Giving me a taste of my own medicine.”

You frowned and knit your brows, “What do you mean?”

“You know, we go out of town again, you ditch me to go flirt with some other guy,” he cracked a small smile, “Sometimes a little revenge is all you need.”

You laughed lightly, “That’s really petty Tom.”

“I know,” he nodded, “That’s why it will make you feel better.”

“I don’t think it will be the same if you know that I’m doing it.”

“I’m sure it’ll have the same effect,” he hummed and leaned forward, setting his hands over your thighs, “If you don’t want to it’s fine, I just thought it might help. Sometimes it feels good to be petty.”

“Yeah, it does,” you agreed, “I don’t wanna go out of town again though. Maybe just out with some of my friends from school, and you can go sit somewhere while I flirt.”

“Whatever you want love,” he squeezed your legs, “If you want to go party with the dickhead college boys then so be it.”

“You’ll fit right in,” you bit back.

“Ouch,” he chuckled, “That hurts love.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault, you’ve got a lot in common,” you hummed.

“You know that’s not true Flower, I mean for one, I can actually make you cum,” his lips drew into that all too familiar cocky smile, “And I give great head.”

You pursed your lips, “Most of the time.”

His jaw fell open, “Most of the time? Come on, you’re just trying to hurt my feelings now,” he sank back into his chair with a dramatic sigh, “You know if you tell me you’ve been faking it I’m going to be totally crushed.”

“I was talking about the oral, I’ve never faked it,” you clarified, “I don’t like it when you bite my thighs.”

“Oh my god I haven’t done that since like the first time we got together,” he scoffed, “I stopped the second you said you didn’t like it. You can’t hold that against me forever.”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, I just think you’ve got a little room for improvement there.”

“Is that a challenge?” he sat back up, leaning in towards you while he narrowed his eyes, “Because we can go to my room and settle that right now.”

“I don’t know, it’s not really that sexy if you’re only doing it to prove a point,” you hummed.

“It’s not just to prove a point, it also happens to be something I rather enjoy doing,” he leaned in even close to you with a smirk, “And it’d be a chance to make up for this weekend,” his lips barely brushed along your jawline, leaving feint kisses there that made you shiver, “We could do it right here if you wanted. I’ve never done anything in public, it might be sort of fun.”

“This is a patio, it’s not public,” you bit your lip as he moved down your neck.

He pulled back slightly so he could meet your eyes, “But we’re right in front of a public beach, and Haz is just inside, it’s still pretty risky.”

“It’s no more risky than doing it in a car, or when there’s other people in the house,” you retorted.

His lips curled into a smile before returning to your skin, “Shh, it’s more fun if there’s a little risk Flower.”

“Getting caught wouldn’t be fun Tom.”

“Hey,” he pressed his lips to your ear before whispering, “I said shh.”

You bit your lip again and held your tongue, deciding it was probably in your best interest not to interrupt him again. He kissed a trail down your neck, stopping at the collar of your sweater, making you wish you’d left it off. Strong hands sank into your waist, one of them slipping forward to unbutton your shorts. Your whole body buzzed with anticipation while he dragged the zipper down, anxiously waiting for his next move. Without breaking contact he moved to his knees in front of you and lifted your hips off the chair. He tugged your shorts off and carefully sat them beside your chair.

“Getting all wet for me huh?” he stopped sucking at your skin just long enough to tease you, dragging his index finger over the front of your underwear.

You nodded, craning your neck back to give him better access to your skin, “You’re gonna get uncomfortable on your knees, maybe we should la-”

“Don’t worry about me,” he interrupted as he placed a hand on the back of your head, forcing your head back down so you could meet his eyes, “This is about you, okay?”

You only nodded, your eyes dropped down to his lips for just a moment before he pressed them against yours. You smiled at the familiar taste of his piña colada chapstick and laced one of your hands through his hair. Both of his hands returned to your waist, they wandered up your torso and under your sweater, taking a brief feel of your soft skin before they returned to your underwear. He hooked his fingers on the edge and gently tugged them off your hips, carefully setting them on top of your shorts. You licked his bottom lip to show him that you were ready for more, but Tom intended to take his time. He kissed you slow and steady and kept his hands at your waist.

Finally he nipped at your bottom lip and you thought he might give you something more, but instead he pulled away. He smiled when he noticed the small pout on your lips and bent down to kiss your thigh. He trailed quick, playful kisses all the way up your leg, stopping just before he reached your core. He then repeated the process on the other leg before he moved his hands down to your thighs.

“Are you ready angel?” he purred, looking up at you with the most sultry smile you’d ever seen.

You licked your lips and nodded, Tom let out a low chuckle before he spread your legs. You shivered at the newfound exposure and he started kissing the inside of your thighs. They were slow, open mouthed kisses that made it hard for you to breathe. Part of you wanted to yell and demand that he hurry it up, but really you loved the build up. It always made it so much better when he finally did touch you. You watched his lips move closer and closer to your core until finally he was right there, but instead of giving you what you needed most, he started kissing your stomach.

“Tom,” you groaned in frustration.

He glanced up at you and winked before he pressed his lips to your clit. It began as a soft, gentle kiss, but in seconds he was running his tongue over you. You gasped happily and once again your hand found its way to his hair. Tom groaned in approval as he started sucking at your clit. His right hand left your thigh and reached around to press against your lower back, pushing you even closer to him. You whimpered above him as you watched him work between your legs. Suddenly he licked a long stripe up you, causing you to moan and throw your head back.

You could feel his lips curl to a smile as they worked against you. You tried to spread your legs further but the arms of the chair were preventing you from doing so. Noticing your struggle Tom pulled you forward and lifted your left leg over his shoulder. Now you were seated right on the edge of the chair, your hips angled upwards while he teased your entrance. The new angle allowed you to rock your hips against him, which made him moan against you.

Tom flicked his tongue over you a few times before dipping inside of you. You expected him to add a finger but it never came, instead he used his tongue to push you closer and closer to the edge. Your stomach was tied in knots, everything he did was edging you towards your finish.

“Tom,” you gasped as he returned to your clit very suddenly.

Tom picked up his speed, there was nothing he loved more than to hear you moaning his name. He could tell you were close, and he was eager to have you fall apart for him. He couldn’t see your face, although he would have liked to, but the way you were moaning and rocking your hips already had him hard enough. If he had a free hand he would have reached down to touch himself, but he was much more focused on making you feel good at the moment.

“Tom,” his name came out like a plea, like you were begging him to bring you to your climax, “Tom.”

He dipped his tongue into you again, teasing you for a moment before he took your clit between his lips. Your whole body was burning, your breath came out in short pants while you tugged at his hair. He pressed you even closer to him, humming contently against your sensitive skin. The vibrations were what finally did it for you, an intense wave of pleasure overtook you and you came undone against his mouth. He continued to lap at you while you fell apart, helping to work through your high. When your grip on his hair loosened he took it as his signal to stop and slowly pulled back from between your legs.

Tom kissed the top of your thigh before he glanced up at you, your cheeks were flushed and your eyes were heavy. It was totally erotic, and Tom couldn’t stop himself from pulling you into a kiss. He kissed you hard, feverishly working his lips against yours.

“Gorgeous,” he purred as he pulled away.

Your cheeks flushed a shade darker as you noticed the tent that had formed in his pants, “Do you want me too..?”

“Not unless you want to,” he smiled at you as he reached for your underwear, “I was thinking we could head back to my room though and thrown on a movie, maybe order dinner,” he bit his cheek as he tugged your underwear back up your legs, “You know, try and make up for the other night. But I understand if you’re still upset and you’d rather just go home or something. I just, uh,” he cleared his throat and reached for your shorts, “I wanna make sure we’re okay you know?” he peaked up at you hopefully.

You could tell he was worried about what you would say, and truthfully you were unsure how you felt. On one hand you were still hurt, but on the other hand it was Tom. He had already shown you he was willing to do whatever he had to to make you feel better and make things up to you. That effort meant a lot, and you knew Tom well enough to know he would never hurt you intentionally, he was just nearsighted.

“I think a movie would be nice, dinner too,” you agreed, “But I’m still kind of hurt Tom, and I’m feeling okay right now, but we might need to talk about it again, I’m just not sure right now.”

“That’s okay love, we can talk about it anytime you need,” he kissed your forehead as he tugged your shorts back on, “I��m sure you’ll feel better after you get to shove it in my face this weekend.”

You chuckled and nodded, “Yeah, I’m sure that will help. Thanks for helping me get dressed.”

“Well it was only fair since I was the one that undressed you,” he stood up and offered you his hand, “Come on, dinner’s on me.”

“Wow,” you grinned, “I feel spoiled.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta do it,” he winked and tossed his arm over your shoulder as he walked you back towards his house.

next chapter

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waitimcomingtoo · 7 months

Text

Wasn’t Me

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!reader

Synopsis: when Vision accidentally phases through your wall and catches you and Peter in the act, you try to stop it from spreading to everyone in the tower before Tony gets home

Masterlist

“Wait, this isn’t the kitchen.” Vision said as he accidentally phased through the bedroom wall. You and Peter froze at the sound of a third voice and slowly looked up. Every time you snuck off to have some private time with each other, you made sure to lock the door. But despite all your best efforts to keep your relationship a secret, neither of you accounted for Vision coming through the wall. Especially not when you were right in the middle of….something.

“Oh. Hello.” Vision said and gave you and Peter a polite wave. The act he had caught you did not seem to phase him at all while you and Peter were horrified.

“AHHHH.” You and Peter screamed at the same time. You rolled off of Peter and landed right on the floor while Peter grabbed a pillow and placed it over his lap.

“Forgive me for intruding, but I am looking for the kitchen.” She said to meet her in the kitchen.” Vision asked politely.

“Well you’re not gonna find it here!” You exclaimed as you threw your shirt back on.

“Dude! Get out! ” Peter shouted as he hastily tried to zip his pants.

“Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?” Vision genuinely asked.

“YES!” You screamed like it was obvious.

“My apologies. I bid you both a good day.” Vision nodded curtly and disappeared back the way he came. You and Peter stayed in silence for a while as you processed what had happened.

“Do you think he saw us?” Peter asked to break the silence. You sat up from under him and gave him a look.

“Do I think he saw us?” You repeated slowly.

“Well do you?” Peter asked as you climbed back onto the bed.

“Are you kidding me? Of course he saw! The straw was already in the coconut. There’s no way he didn’t realize what was going on.”

“Maybe he thought we were just wrestling?” Peter shrugged weakly.

“Uh huh. Wresting with your dick out. Just like WWE.” You said sarcastically.

“Damn it. He definitely saw us. Do you think he’ll tell anyone?” Peter worried.

“He better not. My dad will kill you. And then vaporize your corpse. And then set the ashes on fire. And then blow them into a shrimp cocktail.”

“But I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“Exactly.” You whispered.

“Oh shit.” Peter gulped. “We need to go find Vision and make sure he doesn’t tell anyone.”

“Let’s go. He’s probably charging or in a bowl of rice or something.” You said and lead Peter out of the room. You went into the kitchen and found Vision at the breakfast table.

“Hey Vision.” Peter smiled awkwardly as you stood beside him.

“Hello, Peter.” Vision said politely.

“So, about the little snafu from before. We just want to make sure you don’t tell anybody about what you saw.”

“Yeah. Because it wasn’t what it looked like.” You added.

“Oh, no? It looked like the two do you were engaging in sexually explicit activity.” Vision replied. You and Peter exchanged a panicked look and tried to think of a way out of this.

“It looked like that, yes, but that’s not what we were doing.” Peter lied as you nodded along.

“Hm. That’s funny. I can detect heart rates and both of you appear to be lying.” Vision said with genuine curiosity.

“We’re not lying, silly.” You forced a laugh. “My heart is racing because I haven’t had any food yet but I drank a bunch of coffee.”

“You know women and their pumpkin spice lattes.” Peter added, earning himself a jab in the side.

“Watch it.” You said through a smile.

“And my heart just beats fast because I have the heart rate of a spider.” Peter added. “No lying here.”

“Oh, I see. But if you two weren’t engaging in sexual activity, what were you doing?” Vision questioned.

“Uhhh…” Peter scratched his head and tried to think of something.

“Peter was just choking on a pretzel and I was getting it out of his throat.” You jumped in.

“With your tongue?” Vision asked.

“Yes?” Peter said weakly.

“With your shirts off?”

“It’s a new technique.” You deadpanned.

“I’m not aware of this technique. Can you demonstrate on me?” Vision asked you.

“Absolutely not.” Peter snapped and stepped between you and Vision. Vision looked at Peter in confusion and you had to jump in again.

“Because it didn’t work.” You explained. “He still choked.”

“He seems fine to me. Although, I am detecting some slight discomfort in the abdomen.” Vision said as he looked Peter up and down.

“I have a tummy ache.” Peter admitted and patted his stomach.

“Would you like me to conduct a physical exam?” Vision asked and held up both his hands.

“No. I probably just have to fart.”

“Oh my God.” You groaned and rubbed your eyes.

“So are we cool? You’re not gonna tell anyone what you saw?” Peter asked Vision.

“We are cool. I will not be telling anyone what I didn’t see.” Vision confirmed.

“Okay. Good.” You sighed in relief.

“Except for Wanda.” He added. “Because I already told her. I tell her everything. I love her quite dearly.”

“Oh my God.” You groaned even louder.

“What did you tell her you saw?” Peter asked him.

“Just you were engaging in-“

“It wasn’t sexual activity!” You exclaimed. “He was choking and I was saving his life.”

“Then why was his penis out?” Vision asked Peter.

“Because…it…was… cold.” Peter said slowly, hating himself with every word.

“Oh my God. Both of you need to stop.” You stated. “Do you think Wanda going to tell anyone about what you thought you saw but didn’t actually see?”

“I’m not sure.” Vision replied. “You’ll have to ask her.”

“Fine. We can ask her.” You sighed and pulled Peter by the hand and brought him to where Wanda was reading on the balcony.

“I don’t want to. She’s scary.” Peter whispered to you.

“We have to talk to her and find out what she knows before she tells my dad.” You whispered back.

“I can whisper too.” Wanda whispered as she suddenly appeared behind the two of you. You both screamed and jumped apart as she laughed. You grabbed Peters hand and ran away, brushing past Natasha as you went.

“They’re a little odd, aren’t they?” Natasha chuckled as she watched you run by.

“They are.” Wanda agreed. “You know, Vision caught them doing it before.”

“What? No way.”

“Yeah. He said he accidentally phased through Peters bedroom wall and caught them.”

“Oh God. Yuck. New fear unlocked. That’s hilarious though.” Natasha laughed at the thought.

“What’s hilarious?” Steve asked as he came into the room.

“Vision caught Y/n and Peter doing it.” Natasha told him.

“What?” Steve laughed. “No way.”

“That’s what I said!” Natasha laughed.

“Honestly, I kinda figured they were doing it. They are the only two in the tower around that age. And lord knows Peter is hornier than an…animal with horns.” Steve said weakly when he couldn’t think of an animal.

“Rhino?” Wanda asked.

“I was thinking Triceratops.” Steve admitted.

“Wait, isn’t there a rule again dating on the team?” Nat asked. “At least, that’s what Tony tells me and Bruce every time we make eye contact.”

“If he had a problem with that, he’s definitely gonna have a rule against one of us dating his daughter. Especially Peter.”

“I thought Peter was a nice boy, no?” Wanda asked.

“He is.” Steve nodded. “But all Tony will see is that he’s a boy who Vision caught with his daughter. He’s gonna blow Peter into a million pieces.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what Vision walked in on.” Wanda mumbled. From across the room, you and Peter were peeking out from behind a wall to watch them all talk.

“This is bad. They’re all laughing and saying our names.” Peter whispered to you.

“Do you think Wanda told?”

“I don’t know. What if she made them all see it with her mind powers?”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s evil and not to be trusted!” Peter whispered harshly.

“We just need to talk to her and find out what she knows. Maybe she didn’t even believe Vision.”

“Do we have to?” Peter whined. “What if she enters my mind palace?”

“She wouldn’t find much.” You mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, sweetie.” You patted his cheek and pulled him out from behind the wall. Natasha and Steve had left at that point and Wanda had gone back to her book.

“Hey, Wanda.” You said with an awkward wave.

“Oh. Hello. I haven’t seen you two in forever. What have you been up to?” Wanda said sarcastically.

“Not much. Same soup, just reheated. You know the vibes. So, uh, we just wanted to talk to you about something. Something Vision might have said.” You began.

“Oh. You mean you two swallowing each other alive in Peters room?” Wanda asked. You and Peter exchanged a look and Peter let out a loud gulp.

“Vision doesn’t know what he saw.” You told her.

“Vision is made from the highest form of artificial intelligence. He knows everything.”

“Okay.” You said mockingly. “But he doesn’t know in this specific situation.”

“He’s programmed to access a situation down to every last detail in case there is a threat of danger. And it seemed the only threat of danger in Peters room that day was running out of oxygen. Or maybe a broken pelvis.”

“I’m flattered but I’m not that good.” Peter said humbly.

“He’s right. He isn’t.” You nodded in agreement.

“What was that?” Peter asked you.

“We just want to make sure whatever Vision told you about what he thinks he saw isn’t going to be told to anyone else.” You said to Wanda.

“Now hold on.” Peter tried to go back to what he had heard.

“Secrets safe with me.” Wanda smiled and zipped her lips.

“And me.” Bruce said from behind you. You and Peter whipped around and saw Bruce staring at you while eating a bowl of cereal.

“What?! Were you in here the whole time?” Peter asked.

“Yeah. Wanda, you are funny. How come I never noticed that?” Bruce chuckled.

“I’m not sure.” Wanda shrugged. “You tell me.”

“God damn it. Are either of you going to tell anyone what Vision saw?” You asked and pointed at Wanda and Bruce.

“I thought Vision didn’t see anything?” Wanda smirked.

“Right. Is anyone going to tell my dad about what Vision thinks he saw but definitely didn’t see?” You asked with a hopeful smile.

“Maybe? I don’t understand the question. Can you reword it? Or maybe write it down so I can see it?” Bruce asked.

“Oh my God.” You groaned. “I thought you were the smart one.”

“Ouch. Can you tell your girlfriend to stop being mean to me?” Bruce asked Peter.

“I’m not his girlfriend because we weren’t engaging in sexual activity because we’re not dating. Everyone got that?” You asked angrily.

“Got it.” Wanda nodded.

“No, sorry. Still confused. So you are dating but Vision didn’t catch you guys doing it?” Bruce asked so genuinely that you wanted to scream.

“No, he definitely did.” Wanda snorted. You looked at her in betrayal and she smiled apologetically.

“Oh. Now I get it. You guys are dating and Vision did catch you having sex.” Bruch realized. “But what are we not telling Tony?”

“No one is telling Mr. Stark anything. Everyone just keep your mouth shut about the activities, which may or may not have been sexual in nature, that Vision allegedly walked in on. Okay?” Peter exclaimed.

“My lips are sealed.” Wanda assured you. “Well, now they are. Because I already told Steve and Nat. But that was before you asked me not to tell anyone.”

“Oh my God. Find. Can we trust you?” You asked Bruce.

“I’m not gonna rat. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you.” Peter nodded. “You’re dismissed.”

“I don’t take orders from you.” Bruce snapped and walked away.

“Jesus Christ.” Peter whispered and felt genuinely offended by the tone. You took his hand and brought him away from Wanda to regroup.

“We need to get ahead of this before anyone else finds out we’re secretly dating.” You told him.

“You guys are secretly dating?” Sam asked as he came into the hallway, making you both jump.

“Damn it!” Peter shouted and hit the wall.

“Oh great. Captain fucking America knows now.” You grumbled.

“Since when are you two a thing?” Sam laughed and looked between you and Peter.

“Two months.” You admitted.

“Two months? And Tony still doesn’t know?”

“Do you think Peter would be alive right now if my dad knew?” You asked and gestured to Peter.

“That’s a joke, right?” Peter laughed nervously.

“I guess not.” Sam shrugged.

“Are you gonna tell my dad?” You asked him.

“No.” Sam replied.

“Cool. Thanks.” You sighed in relief.

“But only if-“

“Mother fucker.” You exclaimed now that there was a new obstacle.

“Only if you promise to never bring up that one time with the TV.” Sam continued.

“You mean when you got caught-“

“Zip it.” Sam cut you off. “Or I’ll tell Daddy Warbucks about your affair with Little Orphan Annie here.”

“This whole conversation has been wildly emasculating.” Peter mumbled.

“I never saw anything.” You told Sam.

“Good.” He nodded. “Then we have a deal.”

You went to shake hands when your phone started to ring. You looked at Peter curiously and pulled it out of your pocket.

“Hang on. Hello?”

“Hey short stack. I’m landing in 20 minutes. I can see that most of the team is in the tower today so I thought we could all have a nice, family dinner in the dining room. How does that sound?” Tony asked you through the phone.

“The entire team? In the dinning room? For dinner? Tonight?” You asked as panic grew in your chest.

“Are you playing a one man game of Clue? Just let everyone know, will you?” Tony asked.

“Sure, daddy. No problem.” You laughed nervously and looked at Peter with wide eyes.

“Thanks, peach. See you soon.” Tony said before having up.

“Shit balls.” You whispered once you were off the phone.

“Was that super good news?” Peter asked hopefully.

“My dad wants the whole team in the dinning room for family dinner.” You said and held your breath for his reaction.

“Son of a…” Peter started to shout and then quieted down, “shart mama.”

“I know. It’s bad.”

“This has gotten so out of hand. I’ve never taken this many L’s in a row. I don’t know if I can take anymore. My body is shutting down. I haven’t peed all day.” Peter said as he paced back and forth.

“Keep it together.” You said as you gripped his shoulders.

“Oh no. This is going to be so awkward.” Sam laughed at your misfortune.

“Why? Because everyone knows we’re secretly dating except for Mr. Stark and they also know Mr. Stark will kill them for knowing and not telling him right away so tonight will be a long, uncomfortable game of who tells him first?” Peter asked all in one breath.

“Yes, that’s exactly why.” Sam nodded and looked at Peter strangely.

“I don’t want to go.” Peter whispered and turned to you.

“We all have to go.” You told him. “He’ll get sus if we’re not all there.”

“But what if your dad kills me?” Peter whined.

“Then I’ll wait at least three months before getting a new boyfriend.” You smiled sweetly and patted his chest.

“You can do that but I’ll just haunt him and kill him in his sleep.” Peter smiled back.

“Oh my God. Come on. We have to go get ready for dinner.” You said and pulled Peter to your room.

30 minutes later, everyone was seated in the dining room with Tony at the head of the table. You and Peter nervously peered through the doorway to see what the set up was.

“What’s our plan?” Peter asked you.

“Sit far away from each other and diverge the conversation every time my dad gets close to happening upon the truth.”

“Okay. How hard can that be? We never get together for family dinner. They’ll all be talking so much that you and I won’t even come up.”

You and Peter took your seats at the table with you next to your dad and Peter further away. You made eye contact with Peter and nodded to let him know that you were in this together. Everyone stayed dead silent as the food was passed around and Tony was quick to notice.

“Why is everyone so quiet? Did Sam leave porn on the big TV again?” Tony asked as he chewed his food. You gulped and looked at Peter in a panic. You had been wrong about everyone talking and keeping the attention away from you. Instead, everyone was silent and tense since they didn’t want to be the one to let Tony know what Vision had seen.

“That was one time.” Sam defended.

“But how could we ever forget?” Tony teased him.

“I just wanted to watch Mama Mia. My eyes were burned.” Bucky said as he shut his eyes to keep out the memory.

“Let it go.” Sam said flatly.

“I don’t remember that.” You said robotically. Sam gave you a discreet thumbs up across the table.

“What? You were the one that found it.” Tony reminded you.

“Doesn’t ring a bell. I think you’re all remembering incorrectly.” You said with no much stiffness it sounded like you were reading from a prompter. Tony looked around the table and everyone avoided eye contact with him. They mindlessly pushed their food around their plates to look busy so that Tony wouldn’t ask them anything.

“Why is everyone acting weird?” Tony asked.

“What? We’re not. You’re being weird, dad.” You forced a laugh and patted Tony’s arm.

“Right.” Tony said skeptically. “So, Pete the treat. Any romantic interests at school?”

Everyone turned to stare at Peter, who was in the middle of taking a sip from his glass. Peter started choking on his water for a long time. No one made any effort to help Peter so he just sat there choking for an uncomfortably long period of time. Everyone stayed silent as he Peter coughed, turned red, and clapped his chest to try and get the water out. When he was finally done, he was crying and bright red.

“What?” Peter asked horsely.

“Peter doesn’t want to talk about girls, dad.” You laughed nervously. Everyone exchanged looks while also sneaking glances at you and Peter.

“He does with me. Come on. My dad never bothered with this stuff and I want to break the cycle. Tell me about your love life.” Tony insisted and playfully patted the table. You shot daggers at Peter and everyone turned to look at him. Peter felt sweat dripping down his forehead and smiled nervously.

“There’s no one, Mr. Stark. No girls.”

“I don’t buy that for a second. I can see the hormones brewing in your eyes. You’re sweating just at the thought of her. I know there’s a girl.”

“Maybe.” Peter squeaked out.

“See? I knew it. Tell me about her. She cute?” Tony asked. Peter looked at you for a brief second and quickly looked away.

“Yeah, yeah. She’s gorgeous. Really pretty.”

“She’s all right.” Sam shrugged, making everyone stifle a laugh as your jaw dropped.

“Fuck did you just say?” Peter snapped.

“I was kidding. Damn.” Sam held up his hands in defense.

“Damn, indeed.” Tony laughed. “Way to stand up for your girl, kid. She’s a lucky lady.”

“Thank you, sir.” Peter said and hoped that was the end of the conversation.

“You really are a good kid, Peter. I don’t tell you enough. I was just saying this to Pepper the other day, but if anyone is ever brave enough to try and date my daughter, I hope they’re like you.” Tony said sincerely. This time, you started choking as everyone murmured with amusement.

“Really?” Peter asked hopefully. He looked at you but you didn’t dare make eye contact.

“Yeah. Sure, you’re pretty annoying and way too eager at times, but you’re a good kid. You’re responsible, you care about other people, and you know how to get a decent haircut.” Tony continued.

“So you’d give Peter your blessing? If he and I ever wanted to date?” You asked skeptically.

“Absolutely not.” Tom said immediately.

“What?” Your face dropped. “But you just said-“

“I said I hope the person you date is like Peter.” Tony specified. “But Peter would never be allowed to date you.”

“Why not?” Peter asked and you shot him a look. Everyone else kept their heads down and turned away from Tony so he wouldn’t suspect anything.

“Not that I care. Psh. Peter is lame. I would never date Peter. Haha. But yeah, why not?” You asked your dad.

“Because he’s a superhero. And no daughter of mine is dating a superhero.”

“But you’re a superhero.” You pointed out. “And mom married you.”

“I know. That’s why I’d never allow you to go down the same path. I’ve missed hundreds dates, thousands of calls, and a million important moments because I was off being a superhero. I was saving the world but I was hurting the person I love most in the process. I don’t want that life for you. If Peter was an average guy off the street, I’d be thrilled to know you were dating him. But Peter isn’t average.”

“I know that.” You replied, starting to get annoyed now that your dad was trying to tell you that you couldn’t do something. You were already doing it, but he didn’t need to know that. He needed to know that he couldn’t make your choices for you.

“Ayo. Yeah she does.” Sam snorted. Everyone gasped and looked at him, making him freeze. You and Peter stared daggers at Sam who smiled sheepishly.

“Oops?”

“You little bitch.” You mouthed across the table at him. Tom noticed the way everyone reacted and grew suspicious. He looked at you and noticed you weren’t making eye contact. He then looked at Peter, who looked like he was about to pass out.

“What was that?” Tony asked Sam.

“Nothing.” Sam scoffed and went back to eating.

“Samuel. Tell me what you just said.” Tony said with an eerily calm smile.

“I don’t want to.” Sam whispered.

“Tell me or I will shove your wings so far up your ass-“

“I said she knows Peter isn’t average.” Sam admitted before Tony could finish his sentence. You buried your face in your hands while Peter chewed off all of his fingernails.

“What does that mean?” Tony asked and turned to you.

“I can confirm that as well.” Vision raised his finger as he spoke up. You and Peter looked at Vision in betrayal while everyone else stayed silent.

“Oh my God.” You whispered and rubbed your face.

“What? What’s the big red giant talking about?” Tony asked you again, sounding angry this time. Before you had a chance to think of something, Vision spoke up.

“I’m talking about how I accidentally caught them fornicating earlier today, sir. Also, am I required to be here? I can’t actually eat food.” Vision said politely. Everyone was dead silent as Tony processed what he was hearing. No one dared to look up from their plates or even move a muscle.

“You know what? Vision is right. We should actually all leave. And never return. Bye!” You said and got up from the table. Tony grabbed the back of your shirt and made you sit back down.

“Nobody move.” He said in a low voice. Silence fell over the table again as Tony slowly looked to Peter. That’s when he noticed that Peter had passed out and had his limp head in his dinner plate.

“Wake the son of a bitch up.” Tony ordered. Wanda lifted Peters head by his hair and a green bean stuck to his cheek and forehead.

“Peter?” Tony asked, but Peter didn’t wake up. Wanda shook him, then took his pulse to see if he was even alive.

“He’s unresponsive.” She reported.

“Jesus Christ.” You groaned to yourself as you watched Wanda and Steve try to wake Peter up.

“He peed his pants.” Steve announced, making you groan even louder.

“PETER!” Tony shouted as he banged on the table. Peter woke up and looked around in confusion. Tony slowly stood up and leaned over the table while staring daggers at Peter.

“Somebody tell me what’s going on.” Tony demanded. No one said anything, so you bit the bullet and stood up as well.

“Dad, Peter and I are dating. Vision caught us before and the whole team found out about it. That’s what’s going on, okay? Please, don’t kill my boyfriend.”

“What?” Tony asked as he slumped back in his seat. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or upset, but it was definitely not good.

“Sam was watching porn on the big screen!” You blurted and pointed to Sam.

“You said you didn’t see anything!” Sam pointed back at you.

“That was before you didn’t hold up your end of the deal!” You shouted.

“Shut up, both of you. Are you kidding me right now? You’re dating Peter Parker?” Tony asked in a calmer voice.

“Yes, daddy. I am. I have been for two months. We didn’t tell you because we knew you’d be mad and we just wanted some time together before you forced us apart. I wouldn’t normally lie to you like this but I knew you’d never allow us to be together and I love him. I just needed to love him for as long as I could before the world knew. I’m sorry. Please, don’t be mad at me.” You said as you took your dads hands. Tony stared at you for a long time and finally, put his hand on your cheek.

“I could never be mad at you, princess.” Tony said kindly. You smiled in surprise as Peter let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m gonna turn Peter inside out, though.” Tony said sweetly before lunging at Peter. He punched Peter right in the throat, making Peter collapse to the ground. You rushed to Peters side as Tony shook out his hand.

“Dad! You can’t hit him that hard. He’s only 5’8. He could’ve died.” You yelled at Tony as you pulled Peters head into your lap.

“That didn’t even hurt.” Peter wheezed out as he clutched his throat. Tony wound up to hit Peter again, but stopped when he saw something that surprised him. He watched Peter reached up and touch your face as he whispered to you that everything was going to be all right. He thought he had just been punched in the throat and was awaiting the punishment of a lifetime, his priority was to comfort you when you were upset. Tony then knelt down beside Peter and helped him sit up.

“I’m sorry, kid. I should not have hit you. It was a slight overreaction.” Tony sincerely apologized.

“Slight?” Peter croaked out.

“I just wasn’t expecting to come home to this news. But if it’s been two months and my daughter says she’s this in love, maybe I was wrong. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I thought.”

“Mr. Stark, I know it’s probably hard to think about your daughter dating someone with a life as unpredictable as ours, but I don’t put anything above her. If I’m out on patrol, chances are, she’s hanging out on a rooftop with a walkie talkie telling me where to go. If I have to miss a date to take care of something, I take her with me. She’s my partner in all of this. I don’t leave her waiting around for a text back all night. She comes first.”

“Actually, “Vision began, “when I entered your room, it seemed as though Peter was going-“

“Do not finish that sentence, jumbo tampon.” You cut him off.

“You can trust me, Mr. Stark. You can trust us.” Peter said as he wrapped an arm around you. Tony looked between the two of you for a while but didn’t say anything.

“Please, daddy.” You whispered. Tony finally caved and smiled softly.

“Okay. You’ve convinced me. I’m not gonna kill Peter. You have my blessing, underoos.” Tony said as he helped Peter off the floor.

“Really? You’re not gonna force us apart?” You asked hopefully as you wrapped your arm around Peters.

“I’m not.” Tony confirmed. “You’re old enough to make your own decisions. But if he breaks your heart, he’s getting turned inside out. At least for a day. I cannot compromise on that.”

“Deal!” You clapped your hands before hugging your dad.

“Hold up, do I get a say in that deal?” Peter questioned.

“Don’t push your luck, kid. After what Vision walked in on you doing with Tony’s kid, you’re lucky to be alive right now.” Bruce said as he patted Peter on the back. Tony frowned as he pulled out of the hug.

“Hold on, what exactly did Vision walk in on?” Tony asked. Peter motioned for everyone to keep their mouths shut as Tony looked around the room. When no one answered him, he looked at you expectingly.

“So.” You laughed nervously. “Dessert, anyone?”

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