shayyprasad - Tumblr blog

[shayyprasad]

cool | peter parker

a/n: this concept was so sweet to me, and i had to write something for it. okay, so yeah, this is technically irondad + spiderson... but i wanted to add to it.

repost because this fic flopped with, like, 10 notes. if you look at the og, it says 700ish because of the prev notes of what i reblogged. interact with this fic, it's what keeps me going!

summary: you find that a brown haired boy is always at the restraunt you work at, covered with cuts and bruises. you're curious, so what do you do?

warnings: cursing, minor angst (not really tho, mostly fluff)

pairing: fem!reader x post-nwh!peter parker

word count: 1.5k+ words

you're working late, you don't normally. it doesn't hurt though, having a side hustle outside of college. with shit parents, community college is really all you have as an option, so extra money is welcomed.

it's 20 minutes until closing time, and you're the only one left. you've read enough articles and watched enough true crime to be at least a little paranoid. not expecting anyone else, you spray a table, wiping it down with a rag. might as well get started with cleaning, right?

so when you hear the familiar chime of the door, you've got the right to be suprised. looking up, you're greeted by the sight of a boy. he's got soft brown curls, and (you find, once you meet his gaze) matching dark, hazel eyes.

you wave at him and move behind the register. he looks harmless, but don't most men that have bad intentions? not that you think he's going to do anything.

you're just a woman. it's the way of life, this thought spiral.

"hi, what can i get you?" when he's closer, you can see the cut he's got on his cheek. it's dried blood, but still enough to make your eyebrows shoot up. in fact, he's got a bruise too.

under his left eye, and by the yellow-green, you can tell it's fresh. it's not your business to ask, well, it is... but you're only asking about his order. he runs a hand through his hair, obviously trying to tame it.

there's a leaf at the top, tangled in there. you want to take it out.

he sniffs, eying the menu. you've never seen him here before, and you've been working here for a while. now that you're looking at him, his eye looks swollen - like someone socked him. "a- a cheese-"

you're not sure where the sudden courage comes from, but you cut him off; "do you want an ice pack? or, uh, maybe frozen peas?"

he looks startled for a second, as if he were just now knocked out og this long train of thought. he pauses to touch his eye, "um," you can tell he doesn't want to trouble you, but you're intrigued now.

"seriously, it's no problem." (on the account you have frozen peas, then it would be no problem. if you didn't... a pack of cold, raw meat-?)

"sure, yeah."

"cool. er- stay right there." you go to the freezer room, rummaging around for frozen peas. it takes you a minute, and you're afraid there are none for a moment, but there are. triumphantly, you bring them back out.

he's standing in the same place, although you're not sure why he would've left. "peas!" you sing-song. handing them to him, you smile.

he throws one back, though it's forced and kind of hollow. you're afraid you've made him uncomfortable, or that you're too much. are you too much?

he squints at your nametag, "thanks, uh, gertrude?"

you're confused for a second, "oh, she's dead."

"i- sorry?" he tilts his head, now he's confused too.

"no, i mean, this isn't my nametag. it's old. like, super old. manager's dead wife. this place is too cheap to get new ones, so we, like, basically catfish people."

he nods, "okay. what's is it then?"

"huh?"

"your name."

you mentally smack your forehead, of course that's what he was asking. "y/n."

"cool. i'm peter. peter parker."

"nice to meet you peter peter parker," it's your attempt at a joke, paired with a lopsided grin. it makes peter smile though, so you consider it a win.

peter presses the pack to his eye, a wince turning into a sigh. oddly enough, it sounds sexual to you, and your face is heating up. what's wrong with you? seriously?

"okay, well, um, i assume you still wanna order something?"

"yeah. maybe just a cheeseburger and fries?"

"you got it," it's closing time, but you don't mind. peter is cute, and he seems nice as well. you're more than happy to stay around longer. "on the house," you say when he tries to offer you money, "seems like you had a rough night."

"no, i-"

"no sweat, parker."

you ring up his order, get it ready, and by the time you're done, he's settled at a table. "here you go. enjoy!"

you go back to sweeping, but you want to talk to him more. "you live around here? i haven't seen you here before."

"uh... not exactly. i don't come here often. i, um," he presses his lips together, "had a friend that brought me here. once or twice."

you frown, "oh, i'm sorry."

"what?" peter looks up from his meal.

"i just- well, you used past tense so i assumed you don't... aren't in touch anymore?" maybe small talk was a bad idea.

"oh. yeah. i guess. he's not really... around. he passed a little while back."

it's like your heart physically aches. "that's sad to hear."

"yeah. 's okay though, getting by fine. or- or better."

"mhm. it gets better. lost my sister a few a years back."

"really? i'm sorry." they're empty words, you've probably heard them a lot, he knows that. you know he knows that.

"thanks."

"yeah," it's quiet for a little while longer.

"so, uh," he pauses, taking a sip of his water, "are you still in school?"

"college," you pause, slightly embarrassed, "community, i mean."

"oh. cool. i'm at midtown. it's not, like, super fancy or whatever..."

you cut him off, shrugging, "better than community. and isn't it like so stupid, how they basically tell you that college is a must, and then have you pay all this money? 'oh, you need it for a good future!'" you mock, "aw, really? then make it free!"

you freeze, realizing you've gone on a tangent. "sorry," you say, flushing.

"no, it's okay," he laughs. "it's cool you're... passionate."

"thanks," you put the broom away. "um, i have to go take out the trash. would you mind... not stealing anything?"

"i'll try," he jokes.

"cool. i believe in your ability of self-restraint."

"cool," he says, matching your tone.

"cool."

"cool."

"okay, that got weird after the, like, second time," you make a face.

"no, yeah, i agree."

"cool," you say, staring at each other in dead silence, before bursting into laughter. you hold up the trashbag, "yeah, so, one sec."

you push open the back door, tossing the bag in the dumpster.

he's so nice, you think. look at you, falling for a basically stranger. you walk back in, closing the door behind you. you notice he's done, so you throw out his things, cleaning down the table.

"hey, uh, when do you close?" peter asks.

you check the clock, "mm... 15 minutes ago."

"holy shit, really?"

"yeah. it's cool though. i was closing anyway, and the company didn't hurt. also... it looked like you needed this."

he looks down at his shoes, smiling, "yeah, no, i did. thanks. and sorry."

"like i said, it's cool."

"cool," you stop, "are you in a cult?" you blurt.

"um, sorry?"

"sorry, like, i just, you look... beat up. and i was wondering if you were in a gang... or something." you squint at the dried blood on his knuckles.

"uh... i am not."

"then how'd you get those?"

he looks conflicted, and you've probably crossed a line. "oh my god, i'm so sorry. obviously, it's not my business. i was just... curious."

you wipe down your last table, cursing yourself internally.

"no, it's cool. i'm..."

"seriously, it's not my business. don't tell me, actually. plausible deniability," you joke.

he says something, and it's so quiet, you don't hear it. "what?" you ask.

"i'm spider-man!"

"uh. what?"

"you don't know spider-man?"

"no, of course i know spider-man!"

"well, yeah. that's me. suprise." he says, doing a small show of jazz-hands.

"there's legit no way. i know i catfished you earlier, but that was on accident!"

he tilts his head, as if he's weighing his options. in reponse, you narrow your eyes at him, trying to figure out if it's one big joke. after that, it's so quick, you barely notice. something hits your hip, not harshly, and then you're spinning towards peter.

"holy-!" you look down at your side, trying to figure out what it is. you're tucked into peter, and you realize it's... a web. "no. way."

"yes way."

"why'd you tell me? now i can't plausibly deny anything! also, isn't this supposed to be a secret? isn't that the point of the mask? how do you know i won't sell you out?"

"that was a lot."

"i know. but it was very valid."

"i don't know. i just wanted to. you're nice and sweet and pretty-"

"oh, so pretty privilege?"

"no! no, of course not!"

"well, um," you wrap your arms around his neck, "thank you for trusting me. i won't tell anyone."

"cool."

"cool."

his hands are on your hips, and he's leaning in, but you pull away, smirking.

"no kissing until the second date, i'm afraid."

"we're going on dates?"

"if you don't want me to broadcast to the world, yes."

"well, i would've asked to take you anyways."

you smile at him, enjoying the moment.

"wait, are those cameras?" there's absolute panic in his voice, and you giggle.

"those are fake. it's cardboard to scare people off."

"oh. cool."

"cool."

you end up kissing him anyways.

@whatsupstark@ell0ra-br3kk3r@idli-dosa@susvale@kdbsr-h@littlemsbumblebee @sflame15-blog @twinsunkithies @chocolateshepherddreamclod @one-piece-frvr7

[shayyprasad]

ᴄʟᴀʏ ᴊᴇɴꜱᴇɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

「 inbox | OPEN 」 ☆ 「 requests | OPEN 」

angst: ✮ fluff: ♡ hurt/comfort: ○ spicy/smut: ➳

series:

none yet!

drabbles/concepts:

none yet!

headcanons:

game - how you and clay became you and clay. (♡)

oneshots:

none yet!

updated 4/21/2024

[shayyprasad]

game (headcanon) | clay jensen

a/n: something. i had to post something. (i'm halfway through season three, any requests can only be made in the timeline of season one + two + three! please, no spoilers! (i'll cry.) i wanted to write something, literally anything, to get the creative wheels turning. this is kind of just a starting point for me. italics - clay; normal - ...anyone that isn't clay.

summary: how you and clay became you and clay.

warnings: mostly fluff, some depressive/suic!d@l thoughts (nature of clay), it's 13rw... let's face it, the show tackles some dark stuff.

pairing: fem!reader x clay jensen

word count: 0.79k+ words

-after hannah, clay wasn't great at putting himself out there, especially when it came to girls.

-the biggest thing he'd be worried about was girls. once hannah passed, the main reason he was having trouble was because he was trying to find another hannah.

-clay couldn't help but compare everyone to her.

-it was funny though, because the second he saw you, it was like; who's hannah? the world of "before hannah" and "after hannah" was gone.

-in that moment, when you'd first locked eyes, anything revolving the mere thought of hannah disappeared. he didn't have to think about her, and as selfish as it feels to him, it was refreshing. relieving.

-and you know what? he loved that feeling. he loved the feeling of cloud nine.

-sure, plently of times he'd considered asked you out. and then the thought would hit him like a brick; he's never even said a word to you. how's he going to ask you anything at all, if he can't even utter yet a simple "hi" to you?

-trust me, he tries. clay tries a whole lot. but he'll be inches away, and freeze up.

-part of him is afraid to love again, because what if everything ends up like hannah? like one big repeat? he's not sure if he can live through that again. it was hard enough the first time around.

-eventually, he gives up, choosing to admire you from afar.

-it's luck for him, however, when you're the one to break the ice.

-he remembers it clearly, how you lean over during english lit.

-"clay? do you have any idea what we're doing. because... yeah, i wasn't listening." / "huh? what? oh, uh, yeah- yeah, it's chapters 12-15, questions 1-10."

-he's panicking. you're talking to him.

the second time, you're complaining about your math grade to a friend. he's not even thinking when he blurts out:

-"i can help you. like, tutor you or whatever. i'm pretty good at it." / "wait, really? like, for real?" / "sure."

-clay's non-chalant on the outside, not so much on the inside.

-you seem happy, and instantly, he is too.

-the first thing he does is head into his room, kicking justin out.

-"yeah, okay, well, the adoption papers strongly disagree." / "please? y/n's coming over! i need this to go well." / "y/n? no shit?" / "no shit."

-justin gives in, he's clay's number hypeman anyways. justin lingers in the main house, and then finally wanders to find jessica. that's not clay's concern right now, though.

-it's his room. or more specifically, his shared room. he's freaking out, he hasn't been this nervous since the trial, as he shoves all - i mean all - of justin's crap into the closet, then cleaning up his own.

-he hesisitates over his akr comics, before shoving them in a drawer.

-clay showers, it won't hurt, and spritzes on some of justin's more... masculine colongne.

-half an hour later, there's a knock at the door. he's giddy as he answers it, yet nervous as well.

-"nice house-shed." / "thanks."

-he hopes it a compliment. you're nodding in approval, taking in his room. (shared room.) the little trinkets and trophies.

-and the one akr comic he left out.

-"oh, you read these?" / "y-yeah. i mean, yes. i do. wait- do you?" / no, but my little brother does."

-it's incredible how the conversation flows so smoothly after that.

-after a while, you and him got close. suddenly, it wasn't just study/tutoring sessions, it was hangouts at your place and his.

-everyone thought the two of you were dating, starting with justin.

-he would just be talking to his brother, and it would slip in.

-"how's it going between you and y/n?" / "what's going?" / "dude, you still haven't said anything?" / "there's nothing to say."

-or between his parents:

-"clay, honey, how's your girlfriend? you should bring her over for dinner!" / "we aren't dating, mom." / "really?"

-and more frequently, at school. everyone just assumed you and him were together, and at some point, you stopped correcting them.

-"hey, man, your girlfriend left her jacket in class." / "i'll give it to her."

-somewhere along the line, the difference between dating and not-dating blurred, to the point where you weren't even sure what was going on.

-"hi, not-boyfriend." / "hey, not-girlfriend."

-^became a regular occurence.

-"should we just date? y-you know, because everyone thinks we are... so... it's like-" / "sure." / "okay. wait, really?" / "yeah, why not? i'm suprised it took you this long. i'm literally always flirting with you." / "oh."

-like i said, clay isn't always the best with girls. it doesn't matter though, because you have enough game for the both of them.

[shayyprasad]

cool | peter parker

a/n: this concept was so sweet to me, and i had to write something for it. okay, so yeah, this is technically irondad + spiderson... but i wanted to add to it.

summary: you find that a brown haired boy is always at the restraunt you work at, covered with cuts and bruises. you're curious, so what do you do?

warnings: cursing, minor angst (not really tho, mostly fluff)

pairing: fem!reader x post-nwh!peter parker

word count: 1.5k+ words

you're working late, you don't normally. it doesn't hurt though, having a side hustle outside of college. with shit parents, community college is really all you have as an option, so extra money is welcomed.

it's 20 minutes until closing time, and you're the only one left. you've read enough articles and watched enough true crime to be at least a little paranoid. not expecting anyone else, you spray a table, wiping it down with a rag. might as well get started with cleaning, right?

so when you hear the familiar chime of the door, you've got the right to be suprised. looking up, you're greeted by the sight of a boy. he's got soft brown curls, and (you find, once you meet his gaze) matching dark, hazel eyes.

you wave at him and move behind the register. he looks harmless, but don't most men that have bad intentions? not that you think he's going to do anything.

you're just a woman. it's the way of life, this thought spiral.

"hi, what can i get you?" when he's closer, you can see the cut he's got on his cheek. it's dried blood, but still enough to make your eyebrows shoot up. in fact, he's got a bruise too.

under his left eye, and by the yellow-green, you can tell it's fresh. it's not your business to ask, well, it is... but you're only asking about his order. he runs a hand through his hair, obviously trying to tame it.

there's a leaf at the top, tangled in there. you want to take it out.

he sniffs, eying the menu. you've never seen him here before, and you've been working here for a while. now that you're looking at him, his eye looks swollen - like someone socked him. "a- a cheese-"

you're not sure where the sudden courage comes from, but you cut him off; "do you want an ice pack? or, uh, maybe frozen peas?"

he looks startled for a second, as if he were just now knocked out og this long train of thought. he pauses to touch his eye, "um," you can tell he doesn't want to trouble you, but you're intrigued now.

"seriously, it's no problem." (on the account you have frozen peas, then it would be no problem. if you didn't... a pack of cold, raw meat-?)

"sure, yeah."

"cool. er- stay right there." you go to the freezer room, rummaging around for frozen peas. it takes you a minute, and you're afraid there are none for a moment, but there are. triumphantly, you bring them back out.

he's standing in the same place, although you're not sure why he would've left. "peas!" you sing-song. handing them to him, you smile.

he throws one back, though it's forced and kind of hollow. you're afraid you've made him uncomfortable, or that you're too much. are you too much?

he squints at your nametag, "thanks, uh, gertrude?"

you're confused for a second, "oh, she's dead."

"i- sorry?" he tilts his head, now he's confused too.

"no, i mean, this isn't my nametag. it's old. like, super old. manager's dead wife. this place is too cheap to get new ones, so we, like, basically catfish people."

he nods, "okay. what's is it then?"

"huh?"

"your name."

you mentally smack your forehead, of course that's what he was asking. "y/n."

"cool. i'm peter. peter parker."

"nice to meet you peter peter parker," it's your attempt at a joke, paired with a lopsided grin. it makes peter smile though, so you consider it a win.

peter presses the pack to his eye, a wince turning into a sigh. oddly enough, it sounds sexual to you, and your face is heating up. what's wrong with you? seriously?

"okay, well, um, i assume you still wanna order something?"

"yeah. maybe just a cheeseburger and fries?"

"you got it," it's closing time, but you don't mind. peter is cute, and he seems nice as well. you're more than happy to stay around longer. "on the house," you say when he tries to offer you money, "seems like you had a rough night."

"no, i-"

"no sweat, parker."

you ring up his order, get it ready, and by the time you're done, he's settled at a table. "here you go. enjoy!"

you go back to sweeping, but you want to talk to him more. "you live around here? i haven't seen you here before."

"uh... not exactly. i don't come here often. i, um," he presses his lips together, "had a friend that brought me here. once or twice."

you frown, "oh, i'm sorry."

"what?" peter looks up from his meal.

"i just- well, you used past tense so i assumed you don't... aren't in touch anymore?" maybe small talk was a bad idea.

"oh. yeah. i guess. he's not really... around. he passed a little while back."

it's like your heart physically aches. "that's sad to hear."

"yeah. 's okay though, getting by fine. or- or better."

"mhm. it gets better. lost my sister a few a years back."

"really? i'm sorry." they're empty words, you've probably heard them a lot, he knows that. you know he knows that.

"thanks."

"yeah," it's quiet for a little while longer.

"so, uh," he pauses, taking a sip of his water, "are you still in school?"

"college," you pause, slightly embarrassed, "community, i mean."

"oh. cool. i'm at midtown. it's not, like, super fancy or whatever..."

you cut him off, shrugging, "better than community. and isn't it like so stupid, how they basically tell you that college is a must, and then have you pay all this money? 'oh, you need it for a good future!'" you mock, "aw, really? then make it free!"

you freeze, realizing you've gone on a tangent. "sorry," you say, flushing.

"no, it's okay," he laughs. "it's cool you're... passionate."

"thanks," you put the broom away. "um, i have to go take out the trash. would you mind... not stealing anything?"

"i'll try," he jokes.

"cool. i believe in your ability of self-restraint."

"cool," he says, matching your tone.

"cool."

"cool."

"okay, that got weird after the, like, second time," you make a face.

"no, yeah, i agree."

"cool," you say, staring at each other in dead silence, before bursting into laughter. you hold up the trashbag, "yeah, so, one sec."

you push open the back door, tossing the bag in the dumpster.

he's so nice, you think. look at you, falling for a basically stranger. you walk back in, closing the door behind you. you notice he's done, so you throw out his things, cleaning down the table.

"hey, uh, when do you close?" peter asks.

you check the clock, "mm... 15 minutes ago."

"holy shit, really?"

"yeah. it's cool though. i was closing anyway, and the company didn't hurt. also... it looked like you needed this."

he looks down at his shoes, smiling, "yeah, no, i did. thanks. and sorry."

"like i said, it's cool."

"cool," you stop, "are you in a cult?" you blurt.

"um, sorry?"

"sorry, like, i just, you look... beat up. and i was wondering if you were in a gang... or something." you squint at the dried blood on his knuckles.

"uh... i am not."

"then how'd you get those?"

he looks conflicted, and you've probably crossed a line. "oh my god, i'm so sorry. obviously, it's not my business. i was just... curious."

you wipe down your last table, cursing yourself internally.

"no, it's cool. i'm..."

"seriously, it's not my business. don't tell me, actually. plausible deniability," you joke.

he says something, and it's so quiet, you don't hear it. "what?" you ask.

"i'm spider-man!"

"uh. what?"

"you don't know spider-man?"

"no, of course i know spider-man!"

"well, yeah. that's me. suprise." he says, doing a small show of jazz-hands.

"there's legit no way. i know i catfished you earlier, but that was on accident!"

he tilts his head, as if he's weighing his options. in reponse, you narrow your eyes at him, trying to figure out if it's one big joke. after that, it's so quick, you barely notice. something hits your hip, not harshly, and then you're spinning towards peter.

"holy-!" you look down at your side, trying to figure out what it is. you're tucked into peter, and you realize it's... a web. "no. way."

"yes way."

"why'd you tell me? now i can't plausibly deny anything! also, isn't this supposed to be a secret? isn't that the point of the mask? how do you know i won't sell you out?"

"that was a lot."

"i know. but it was very valid."

"i don't know. i just wanted to. you're nice and sweet and pretty-"

"oh, so pretty privilege?"

"no! no, of course not!"

"well, um," you wrap your arms around his neck, "thank you for trusting me. i won't tell anyone."

"cool."

"cool."

his hands are on your hips, and he's leaning in, but you pull away, smirking.

"no kissing until the second date, i'm afraid."

"we're going on dates?"

"if you don't want me to broadcast to the world, yes."

"well, i would've asked to take you anyways."

you smile at him, enjoying the moment.

"wait, are those cameras?" there's absolute panic in his voice, and you giggle.

"those are fake. it's cardboard to scare people off."

"oh. cool."

"cool."

you end up kissing him anyways.

taglist @whatsupstark @ell0ra-br3kk3r @idli-dosa @susvale @kdbsr-h @littlemsbumblebee @sflame15-blog @twinsunkithies @chocolateshepherddreamclod @one-piece-frvr7

Yeah, Tony tends to eat immediately after battles. But do you think he transferred that habit onto Peter? Dyou think there were enough times Peter finished up a fight and tony was like “nice job kid, i’ll meet you in the waffle house on 3rd st”

And it slowly became habit. If peter had a particularly hard fight, he could sent Tony an address and they would have a meal. Fast food, something normal, something that felt like peter hadn’t just fought for his life. Do you think Peter started craving cheeseburgers after fights?

and if so. Do you think Peter ate alone after the Endgame battle?

[shayyprasad]

only because there are so many reblogs and it's deadass crazy i need to feel like im contributing

oh shit, it's 3/21/23, 32123, palindrome day

[shayyprasad]

when taylor's released a new song called peter but you don't listen to her but it's called peter and the urge to right a fic based of that song has taken over and now you have to add a new wip to the list

[shayyprasad]

can we start a petition

[shayyprasad]

i hate having wips can someone just write them for me

[shayyprasad]

i'm reading through my old headcanons and physically cringing wtf was wrong with me

and like it wasn't even that long ago help

[shayyprasad]

ty for the mention along with all the others!!

peter parker recs - part 2

shy frat!peter | au, imagine, fluff | @webslingingslasher

baby me | tasm, drabble, fluff | @p3terparker

twenty-bucks | imagine, flangst | @deathbyathousandspiders

likes having you close | imagine, fluff | @sacharinee

hospital heart monitor | imagine, fluff (bit of angst) | @parkerpeter24

no need to hide it | one shot, flangst (more fluff) | @spider-man-199999

best friends couch cuddles | two shot, fluff | @deathbyathousandspiders

stacked against you | tasm, imagine, fluff | @delicate-dorothea

meeting at the grave | imagine, flangst (more angst) | @electrosspidey

apologies | imagine, flangst | @bruh--wtf

hurt | one shot, flangst | @just-jordie-things

so cold | one shot, flangst | @just-jordie-things

i'll keep your brittle heart warm | au, imagine, fluff | @darling-im-wonderstruck

open arms | tasm, drabble, fluff | @delicate-dorothea

only you | imagine, flangst | @ivyquill

you're a very good kisser | drabble, fluff | @ddejavvu

reader thinks she's ugly | imagine, flangst | @selfcarecap

just so you know | imagine, fluff | @literaila

eventually | imagine, angst | @peterthepark

chilly | imagine, fluff | @presleyanswrites

2:54 am | tasm, one shot, soft flangst | @likedovesinthewindd

where'd you get your medical degree | tasm, imagine, fluff | @literaila

soothing | insomniac, drabble, comfort flangst | @multi-fandom-imagine

i'll be right there, sweetheart | tasm, imagine, flangst | @localrockstargf

mastermind | imagine, fluff | @moonstruckme

the mechanics of a soul | imagine, fluff | @irndad

two normal arms | one shot, fluff | @waitimcomingtoo

angel unaware | one shot, trifecta (fluff/smut/angst) | @silkscream

making out for hours | drabble, fluff | @ptergwen

physics and english teacher love affair | insomniac, imagine, fluff | @certifiedlovergirlsstuff

azalea | two shot, flangst | @writings-of-a-hufflepuff

spidey senses | one shot, flangst | @forever-rogue

not so innocent | imagine, fluff | @spider-quackson

far from home, far from you | one shot, flangst (more angst) | @neverlandparker

your kiss, my check | au, imagine, flangst | @hollandweather

shy shy shy | tasm, imagine, fluff | @biblio-smia

identity crisis | one shot, fluff | @heliads

kissing reader any chance he gets | tasm, drabble, fluff | @madwcman

just hold me | drabble, flangst (comfort!) | @oneawkwardwriter

snap | imagine, flangst | @tomholland1996simp

it's supposed to be fun, turning 21 | imagine, flangst | @loverwebs

only you | imagine, flangst | @devotion

i can see you | one shot, fluff | @waitimcomingtoo

peter thinks he's slick | imagine, fluff | @weird-is-life

night in | imagine, fluff | @blissfulparker

come home | tasm, imagine, flangst (more angst) | @dameronology

worth it | drabble, fluff | @miley1442111

come in with the rain | one shot, flangst | @pasukiyo

be here for her | au, imagine, angst (comfort!) | @lovelettersforthedamned (tw)

promise | imagine, flangst | @shayyprasad (tw)

[shayyprasad]

awww this is so wholesome 🥹🥹

i love this‼️

CLAY ASKING YOU TO SPRING FLING ☆ DRABBLE

pairing: clay jensen x gn!reader

a/n: i was about to go to sleep and then i got this random thought in my head. it's messy and short as hell, but i hope you like it nonetheless.

—☆—

thinking about clay jensen trying to come up with a way to ask you to spring fling.

he's had a few crushes during his school life but has never felt brave or confident enough to ever ask them out. you, however, were different. he couldn't watch you go to the dance with somebody else without at least trying to ask you. there was just something about you that he couldn't let go - not without trying.

weeks went by, and each day that passed was another chance for some other student to swoop in and ask you to be their date. he needed to just buck up and do it, but he was still full of nerves whenever he was around you- which was actually quite often.

you sat next to each other in robotics almost every day. he had so many chances.

one day, while in class together, clay scribbles both of your names on top of your project plan, then doodles two little characters that you recognise from the akr comics you both read.

when you mention this, that you know these robots, clay only allows himself a mere few seconds of shock, before diving into a babbling ramble about the comics.

by the end of the conversation, clay finally gets an idea of how to ask you to spring fling. it's simple, probably a little nerdy or lame, but he does it anyway.

he spends all night– and all morning before school– sketching a small comic strip. he draws himself, and you, as akr characters, and in the very first square, inside the speech bubble, he writes, "will you go to spring fling with me?"

underneath, there are two different outcomes. in one, your character says a polite 'no', to which clay responds calmly and respectfully, the drawing of him looking sad, but understanding.

in the other outcome, the second square, your character responds with a 'yes, i'd love too'. and in this drawing, a thought bubble encases a small drawing of your characters dancing together at spring fling with tiny hearts decorating the scene.

clay can't believe it when he actually hands you this drawing in person, and he believes it even less when the second square becomes a reality.

he is utterly flabbergasted, but also, so so happy when you fling your arms around his neck and whisper a promise– to frame the picture and keep it forever– into his ear.

—☆—

Taglist: @mockerycrow

13 REASONS WHY MASTERLIST

[shayyprasad]

my hearttttt this was so amazing n cute n bittersweet but so real n raww ❤️❤️

Thinking about restless spirit Tony Stark who just can't move on to the after life.

The first thing he does once he realizes he's an apparition is check on Pepper and Morgan. True to their word, they're okay. He watches them for a bit but feels this deep unrest pulling him away from the quaint home he yearns for.

There's a deep wrongness within him, some unfinished business that draws him back to New York.

He fears for a moment that it's Peter- but no, it can't be him. He'll be in Massachusetts right now, attending MIT as a freshman. There isn't a doubt in Tony's mind that his little genius is already making his mark.

Still, he follows the pull of his spirit to some dingy Queens' apartment he's never been to before.

It's deep in the night yet the apartment is empty. He looks around a bit, his body phasing through anything he attempts to touch.

It's small and dirty. There's old coffee cups on the desk, alongside a couple GED manuals. Great, the universe thinks he has unfinished business with some broke high school dropout.

He's pondering how he must have screwed up this kid's life; was it the Avengers, Stark Industries? Maybe his old playboy lifestyle is finally coming to bite him in the ass.

His contemplation is cut short by the sound of the window cracking open.

It strikes Tony for a moment that maybe he's stuck on Earth to be a guardian angel, Iron Man living on as some invisible protector against whatever creep is sneaking into people's windows. It doesn't make much sense considering the whole non-corporeal thing, but he still stiffens like he's ready for a fight.

He sees a man- no, a thing? A creature maybe, or an alien. Even in death Tony can't escape being one of Earth's mightiest heroes.

The creature is shrouded in darkness, something slick and bald crawling inside the room with terrifying grace and silence. It shuts the window with a soft kssssh as the seal is formed.

And then it pulls off its mask.

There, with the click of a table lamp, glows the face of Peter Parker.

He's definitely older now; sturdier shoulders, a rugged set of his jaw, hair tamed to something semi-professional. Still present, though, are those gentle brown eyes.

Nothing makes sense right now. Why is his kid here, in this apartment? Surely May wouldn't allow this. How many tenant laws does this place break? Where are his little sidekick friends? And on what planet would Peter Parker ever need a GED?

Tony's getting angry now, watching Peter move around the tiny space. He changes out of his costume and into pajamas. That spider suit isn't Tony's suit, it looks like cheap craft store fabric.

The kid opens a small freezer and pulls out the singular bag of peas that reside in there, pressing it against his ribs while he goes to pop some bread into a toaster.

Tony takes note of every glimpse he gains into Peter's life. Empty cabinets when he reaches for a jar of peanut butter. A fridge housing nothing but condiments and energy drinks when he goes to grab jam. A drawer with two spoons, no forks, and a paring knife which he pulls out and sticks into the strawberry jam jar just as the toast pops.

This is all so wrong.

Tony's outrage is coming to a rolling boil. Peter deserves the world- he was gonna give him the world. He couldn't wait to send Peter to MIT and show him off as his protégé. Tony was gonna fund his projects, tease him about pretty girls, maybe even see him step back from Spider-Man and act like a normal college kid. He wanted to see him flourish and grow up. It was all he could think about when Peter turned to dust between his fingers; he should be goofing off with his friends at a mathletes meeting, or building Legos, not fighting an intergalactic war.

Tony couldn't even conceive how much went wrong to end up here.

Alone. Broke. No school. He didn't even have his Stark suit to protect him. Everything that made him him has been stripped, leaving him in this shallow box with scuffed paint and hollow cabinets.

Tony can feel the violent rage burn deep in his spirit as he thinks about it.

This is why he's here. He can't let his boy live like this, wasting his potential to be some villain's punching bag. Where is everyone? Does no one care enough to stop this? The fury that builds in Tony is dangerous, wondering why a dead man is the only one who cares about the teen's life right now.

Without thinking Tony's hand reaches for the GED textbook, a mocking piece of work that laughs in his face, and throws it at the stupid little kitchenette that's mere feet from the bed.

It sails across the room with surprising speed before it's met with a thunk against Peter's palm, hand reaching out to catch it from the air before it collided with the toaster.

Oh.

Peter sets the book down and immediately picks up his web shooters, eyes darting furiously to every corner of the tiny apartment.

"Who's there?"

Tony steps a little closer but Peter's eyes just look right past him.

"C'mon Pete, c'mon. I'm here, I'm right here."

Tony looks for something else to grab. He swats at a hopefully empty coffee cup on the wooden desk, but his hand just passes right through it.

"Shit," the hope Tony felt waivers slightly and he tries again.

Nothing.

Peter is searching his apartment now, making sure the window is secure and feeling around every crevice, bookshelves, under the bed, in the top corners of the room. Searching for something nefarious, tech maybe.

Tony hits the cup, again and again, frustration building up and up and up till-

The cup flies across the room, Tony and Peter's eyes track its movements as it bounces against the ground and rolls to a stop.

"Shit," Peter breathes out.

Tony walks up to Peter now, standing before him.

"Figure it out. Think kid, you've met aliens, gods, magicians, surely ghosts aren't too far fetched."

Peter closes his eyes. His posture straightens, Tony watches him take a deep breath in as the hairs on his bare arms stand on end.

Peter's eyes blink open, and they're looking directly at Tony.

Tony smirks, "that's it."

Peter turns around and picks the cup off the ground, running to his desk with it and ripping a piece of lined paper out of a notebook and scribbling furiously on it.

Tony walks over as Peter places the cup in the center of the paper.

On the left is the word YES in bold print, NO on the right.

"Okay, okay okay. So, move the cup if, if you wanna talk. Um, is there someone in the room right now?"

Tony reaches for the cup, an intense glare as his fingertips graze it gently. It shifts minutely towards the YES.

"Shit! Shit. Sorry, whew. Okay. Are you friendly?"

Tony moves it to YES again.

"Are you a, um. Person? Like not an alien?"

YES.

"Are you wearing tech, invisibility suit or your molecules are uncalibrated or maybe it's a portal thing like, multiverse shit is happening again, a mirror universe! Oh, maybe a..."

Tony let's a frustrated sign. The kid is too practical, logical. He needs to think like a non-genius.

"... could be. Or, or maybe you're just a ghost-"

Tony perks up and immediately swats the cup, causing it to fly off the desk towards the YES.

"Oh. Oh that's... kinda normal. Or maybe really weird? I mean... I certainly have some ghosts in my past."

Peter picks the cup up and puts it back on the desk.

"Do I know you?"

YES.

"You said you were friendly, and I'm not getting any danger tingles from you. I'm gonna start with people I know are dead, cuz I just really hope you're not a... new ghost. Um. M-May?"

The boy's voice cracks on the word and Tony freezes. May is dead? Tony starts to fear that things are a lot more wrong than he previously thought.

Peter's breath catches and Tony realizes he's waiting, dying for an answer, and quickly pokes the cup towards NO.

Peter's shoulders sag.

"Uncle Ben?"

NO.

"T- Mr. Stark?"

Tony grins, "now we're getting somewhere!"

YES.

Tony is going to have his work cut out for him, but being here with Peter just feels right.

Peter breaks out into a matching smile.

"Wow, okay. I think I'm gonna need more paper," he says as the boy gets to work making a more complex system than YES and NO.

Tony watches on proudly, reminiscing about all the great Peter was and all the great he still is, despite his situation. Whatever this is, they'll figure it out.

Together.

[shayyprasad]

i've never been super conscious about this, but now i am. reblog the post!

[shayyprasad]

pls do it's actually so empty in there 💖

Reblog if it's okay to invade your ask box

Always

[shayyprasad]

okay, i wanna give my two cents here. when i first started writing, likes were the best thing ever, because, y'know, i was a new writer. any form of interaction was amazing to me.

but the longer i've been on sites, not just this one, reblogs and comments are pretty rare. for instance, wattpad? nothing. like, ever. and i've been on there longer than tumblr. and here, i mean, my ask box is bone-dry. there's usually nothing there.

don't get me wrong, i do write for myself, but if you're seeing this, why stop at just liking? if you like my content, show me that. show me and other people that too.

i want more people to see my work, i want it to be something that we can bond over. but how are more people going to see it if you don't even bother to reblog? it takes literally two seconds too.

i feel like this is the least some of you guys can do.

the buttons are there for a reason. hit them.

It's actually so depressing that my decision to stop posting my writing keeps being proven "correct" with each day that passes on this website. The level of entitlement y'all have with regard to what writers are "allowed" to do with their stories is through the roof. It has left the galaxy and is hurtling towards the edge of the universe.

For years now, there's been a monumental shift in the way people perceive free artwork and writing and fan edits as "content" and hold it to the standards of revenue-generating content-creators who do that as their job and make a living off it.

Fans who give their time and effort get literally nothing of the sort and they're happy to do it for the bare minimum, which is, you know, comments. Reblogs. Some interaction that isn't spam liking.

All that has pretty much dried up. There's the odd gem once in a while, and those are cherished for sure, but it's hard to sustain passion on your own.

Fandom is a collaborative effort, and one component, the largest one, has stopped putting in the effort. It has as much to do with the way the internet has been transformed into a nonstop content mill, as it does with the way people have stopped caring about community and connection. Fandoms used to be a kind of antidote to the loneliness epidemic in the past. They were where you went to find friends, or like-minded people. And now even these are being lost.

And are we not worse off for it?

[shayyprasad]

let’s talk, shall we?

it’s no secret that tumblr writers have been leaving or deactivating their blogs, especially in the last year or two. and i think the reason why is even less of a secret.

the fact that writers have to practically beg for feedback and interaction on a site where they post their works for FREE is ridiculous. the fact that most of the people who are reading and consuming these works don’t even spare 10 seconds to add a nice tag to their reblog (if they even bother to do that) is borderline enraging. this is tumblr, not instagram or twitter. likes on tumblr do nothing for the writer. i don’t care if you think that it helps them appear in the tags, or if you think that seeing yet another “___ liked your post” is encouraging to them, because it doesn’t and its not.

and speaking of likes, why is the ratio of likes to reblogs so fucking huge? and before you think i’m being dramatic, lets take a look at some of the notes from my own works.

at the time of me writing this, my one-shot, dream lover, has 821 notes. that’s pretty good right? but let’s see how many are empty likes and how many are reblogs.

769 likes.

52 reblogs.

out of those 52 reblogs, 35 of them are empty. no tag, no comment.

one of my reactions currently has 2,038 notes. you may be thinking that’s a lot, which it is and i’m incredibly thankful for how many notes i’ve gotten on it. but how many are likes and how many are reblogs?

1,924 likes.

113 reblogs.

out of those 113 reblogs, 81 of them are empty.

one of my headcanons currently has 1,110 notes.

1,069 likes.

41 reblogs.

28 of those 41 reblog are empty.

why is it so hard to reblog things and give feedback?

“oh but it won’t fit my blog theme!” if you’re so fucking concerned about what your precious tumblr blog looks like, then send an ask. they’re just as appreciated.

“i don’t know what to say tho!” we’re not asking you to be shakespeare. if you’re really that no thoughts head empty just put a keyboard smash, if nothing else.

“but i’m shy and embarrassed!” the anonymous option is there for a reason, and most writers have it turned on. being shy when you have the option of keeping your identity a secret is no excuse.

and yes, i’m aware that some writers don’t have the anon option on, which brings me to my final point.

stop. demanding.

if a writer has requests open, be a decent human being and use your manners. going into their inbox and saying “____’s reaction of this.” is no way to request something. saying please, thank you, or even “hey, could you do a reaction of _____?” is a thousand times better than just telling them what you want them to write.

writers spend hours of their time and energy to write things for you to read, and leaving an empty like is meaningless to them.

if your liked a writer’s works, reblog them and maybe add some nice fucking tags while you’re at or send an ask to them about it. because sooner or later, after so many likes and barely any interaction, more and more writers are going to leave.

stop making them desperate for any spare crumb of interaction and start leaving feedback if you love these writers so much.

[shayyprasad]

hello!! can you please do one with mcu peter parker where reader survived a bad mass sh00ting, and they're somewhere in the city, someone pops fireworks and reader gets scared cuz it kinda resembles gunshots and peter comforts her? thanks 🫶

promise | peter parker

hi, darling! thanks for requesting, i hope i did it justice! (this took a little longer than anticipated to get out, sorry!)

summary: the pain of the past is a tricky thing, even more so when it's traumatic.

warnings: mass sh00ting, themes of vi0lence,mentions of bl00d, g#ns/g#nshots, panic attack, ptsd

pairing: comfort!peter parker x hurt!reader

word count: 2.3k+ words

the festival is big, it's bustling with life. happy couples, children, and families roam the area, food in hand, smiles on faces.

lights stream from booth-to-booth, which there are row and rows of. you're walking hand in hand with peter, giggling about something he said.

after a long couple weeks, this is exactly what the two of you need. alone time (well, not really alone). just something to bring spirits up.

you pass by another couple, where a girl is holding the cutest teddy-bear. it's a soft beige, with darker laced bow around it's neck. he sees you eyeing it, grin on his face.

peter is thinking exactly this; "i'm winning that for her."

he drop your hand, to which you complain, and strides up to the couple. "hey, man. what booth did you get that from?"

the man looks up at peter, smile on his face, "all the way in the back, it's red, last row, i think."

peter nods, thanking the guy. he walks back over to you, grabbing your hand again. by the look on your face, he can tell you didn't hear.

he kisses your cheek, then pecks your lips. "wanna come find out?"

you nod like it's obvious, but peter likes teasing.

he's always liked teasing you- no, loved. he fell in love with the way your cheeks turned pink when he did so, all that power in his hands. somewhere along the line, he fell in love with you too.

if someone were to ask him when, he wouldn't know. he's always had that feeling for you, since the day you met. it just got stronger as time went on.

peter pulls you to the back of the large park where the festival is set up, all the way to the back. "peter!" you laugh, "slow down!"

you bump into many people along the way, apologizing to each one. but after a while, you give up.

he takes you to where the guy said it would be, and sure enough, there's a red booth, a row of teddy-bears in the prize cabinet. "i," peter declared to you, "am winning you that."

you squeal; you've got no doubt he can. "really?"

"yep."

you're already thinking of where to put it. the nightstand by your bed would look nice, or maybe the bookshelf. finally, you decide you'll keep it in bed with you.

peter steps up to the booth, and it's one of those ping-pong-in-the-cup ones. his spidey senses won't even make him break a sweat. he pays and the lady gives him three small balls. he weighs them in his hand, calculating how much force he'll need to use.

you're clearing excited, making him equally giddy. "ready, baby?" he asks, stealing a kiss for good luck.

"yeah!" you exclaim, with a clap of your hands.

peter glances at the cups, then back at the balls. he squints, aims, and makes the shot.

that's one.

"go, peter!" you cheer.

aims, and then makes the shot. it's almost too easy.

that's two.

he makes the shot.

that's three.

it's over so quickly, that the lady is suprised. nevertheless, she takes the bear out of the cabinet and hands it to peter, who in turn, hands it to you.

"aww!" you gush, "it's so cute!" throwing your arms arounf him, "thanks, petey," you nuzzle your nose to his.

"anything for my angel."

you kiss him, and hold the bear close to you. there's a small group of patio chairs and tables, and for the most part, it's empty. "can we sit down for a bit?" you asked, and then smiling, "not everyone has spider-man stamina."

he laughs, and you're sure it's the prettiest noise you've ever heard. you and peter move over there, and he pulls of your chair. "god," you half-swoon, "may really did raise you right."

"didn't she? i'm so charming. and chivalrous. and-"

"good in bed," you say, it's off-handedly, he can't help but blush. met by his silence, you over at him from across the table. "oh, sorry. i though we were listing things. you can't forget the most important one, can you?"

peter rolls his eyes, still flustered, "so you wouldn't be with me if it weren't for that?"

"hmm," you joke, drawing this out. it's fun, it's a distraction; you love it, and you love him. "well, it's cool you know tony stark."

"then go date him," peter says, playing along.

"maybe i will," you pull the bear to your chest.

peter makes a face, kicking you gently from under the table. "he's, like, 50!"

"well, maybe i like that. he can be my sugar-"

"okay, yeah, we're done. no- we're done."

"you sound jealousss..."

"no, i'm throughly concerned. mr. starks' about 30 years older than you!"

you sigh, "what about captain america?"

"that's worse! wait, you know he's a hundred-something, right?"

"even better. and he doesn't even look it."

"y/n. no."

"fine, fine- oh, wait! have you seen bucky? god, i just want him to bend me-"

"i don't wanna hear the rest of that sentence."

"i suppose i'll settle for spider-man," you say. "too bad he's not super-old and rich."

he kicks you again, and you giggle, falling into silence. you're having something of a staring contest with him, but you lost ages ago. your eyes trace his facial feature, and he's so pretty. you open your mouth-

"you're so pretty," peter says, leaning against his hand.

"aw. you stole my compliment. i was gonna tell you that."

"well, y'know, you still can."

"okay. you're more prettier."

"seriously? 'more prettier?' aren't you literally majoring in creative writing?"

"it's my off-day. now take the compliment."

"thank you. but you're the prettiest."

"you're max pretty times infinity. so... take that."

"and that's why you aren't a math major."

"boo-hoo. i win."

he sighs, long and exaggerated, "i can't argue with the basic, ever-true fundamentals of math."

"no, you can't."

you bicker back and forth, before you know it, it's gotten dark. peter scoots his chair next to you, arm slung around you. "isn't it nice?"

"what?" you asked, looking up at him through your lashes.

"spending some nice time together."

"oh. yeah. it is. it's been some time since we've had this much fun."

"mm. after this, do you-"

and it's so quick and unprecedented, you don't even notice it. it's a short pop, and instantly you've broken into a cool sweat.

because, god, it sounds so much like-

there's screaming. so much of it. it's never-ending, buring into your ears. it's everywhere, coming from everyone, and now it just sounds like a one big siren-y noise.

it feels like you're back there in a blink, feet glued to one spot as people run away.

"pe-peter," you choke, "you said- you said there wouldn't be fireworks!"

he looked around, almost frantic. "no, hey, breathe. the website said there wouldn't, and i double checked with the staff. it might be some kids-" he thinks that was the only one, but just a second later, loud pops and crackles go off - a whole series of them.

peter figures that it's some stupid teenagers down by the dock, which isn't far from here, but that's not his main priority right now.

his main priority is you.

you tune it out, the rest of his sentence because suddenly, it's not fireworks anymore.

you can see the bodies from where you're standing, darky, inky, red liquid spilling. they aren't bodies, not really, but lumps of clothing, a corpse inside.

you think you might be sick, but you can't feel anything.

or maybe you're feeling everything, but it's too much, so it doesn't feel like anything.

peter's holding you tight, you're aware of that, but you can't breathe. it's like your stomach twists itself into knots, like a rubberband being stretched and pulled.

your hands are clammy, your heart rate is speeding up, and your breath is getting shallow. you feel like you're going to burst.

honestly, it's not a great sensation. it's sickening.

you want to focus on what peter's saying to you - something along the lines of breathe - but you can't. you're sucked up into the past. but it doesn't feel like the past. it feels like the present.

someone knocks into you, and you fall onto your shoulder. you're wearing a sleeveless shirt, and your shoulder is rubbed up against the hard granite of the ground. you can faintly feel the blood that's there. though, you can't get it out of your mind that it's nothing like the body just 50 feet away.

you should move, probably, get up.

you can't.

you're frozen, all but for you're trembling breath, just as you were then.

peter grabs your chin, making you look at him. "y/n - can -" it's choppy, not enough to ground you.

and just like that he's gone again.

you never looked at any news reports, but you're sure that there were hundreds killed.

why weren't you one of them? it wasn't that you wanted to die that day, but it didn't seem fair.

children, parents, significant others, grandparents, babies...

they told you that you were lucky.

you don't feel lucky.

he squeezes your shoulders, "hey, hey, can you tell me three things you hear?"

you knows he's trying to help, but you want him to shut up. he seems to know this, but presses on, "three things you hear, angel,"

you're hyperventilating, "music," you choke out, it's the cheesy tunes, "the- the-" you're trying to think, "laughing, there's laughing. i h-i hear you."

"brave darling," he says, "can you do another on for me? two things you smell?"

"um," is it working? you can't tell. "food- food?"

"that's right," peter coos. "one more."

"your cologne."

"last thing, last one, lovie. one thing you taste."

"blood." it's short, you bite it out.

wait- blood?

"blood?" peter asks. he's concerned.

you swipe your tongue over your teeth, there's that distinct metallic taste. you bit your tongue, and you didn't even realize how hard.

he gently grabs your jaw, "no- hey, don't do that, my love."

you press your tougue against the roof of your mouth, trying to will the blood away.

peter wipes away a hot tear you didn't even know was there, "my love, breathe. you're safe, you're okay."

you bury your face into his chest, clutching his shirt. your hands are sweaty, but your lungs are doing there job better.

your breathing slows, and you're left sobbing. he tells you that it's okay, he tells you that you're safe. you know that in spider-man's arms you are, but it doesn't slow the cries.

his heart aches, seeing you like this. you've been getting help, but the hurt doesn't go away all at once.

peter knows this better than most.

he also knows that sometimes there isn't anything anyone can do to help (even though this is all he wants to do).

all he can do is sit there and hold you, let you know you'll be okay.

your crying stops, leaving you with hiccups. you're beyond glad that there isn't really anyone here, expect for an eldery pair. out of the corner of your eye, you can see they're concerned.

you feel like you can sense the dried blood on your shoulder, and you want nothing more than to scratch it away. you feel so filthy.

on impluse, you pull away from peter slightly, brushing that shoulder off. you can see the scar that it left, making you want to throw up. there's a patch of warm saliva that coats your toungue, and you can feel the burn in your throat, but barfing in public is the last thing you want to do, so you swallow it, gagging.

your head hurts, and suddenly, the festival isn't fun.

"oh, pretty girl, i'm so sorry," your tucked back into the safety of his hold, silent. "'s some dumb kids. i promise you, i had-"

"i know," you sniff. you're tried, exhausted.

"do you wanna go home?"

he reads you well, you think.

in response, you nod meekly. "okay, honey, we can go home. do you want a second?"

you shake your head; you wanna get outta here.

he helps you up, arm wrapped around your waist.

his main priority is to get you home, where you'll be content tangled in sheets. it's a quiet ride home, his hand is on your thigh, you're holding on tight.

you're asleep by the time he gets home, so he gently scoops you up, making his way inside.

peter sets you on the bed, going to the bathroom to get makeup wipes. he's sure you don't want to sleep in that.

it's the cool wipe that wakes you up, your eyelids fluttering open.

"petey?"

"hm? you're okay. we're home. 'm taking off your makeup." he pulls one of his shirts out from his drawer, moving back over to you.

"help me take this off?" he askes, tugging on the hem of your shirt.

you comply, and he takes it off, replacing it with one of his. you shimmy out of your shorts, and he tosses them somewhere, along with his own shirt. he quickly changes into something comfier, sliding into bed with you.

"feeling better?"

"yeah. i'm sorry- i-"

"don't you dare apologize," peter lightly scolds you, there's a soft type of stern in his voice.

you let your mouth fall shit, you aren't winning this. instead, you tuck yourself into his side, shielded from all your pain. when your so close to peter, all you can focus on is his scent, his love, leaving no room for everything else.

you sigh into his touch, and he holds you softly. "do you feel better?"

you're quiet, you don't have to put up a wall with him, because it's easy around peter. "yeah," you reply after a moment. "i feel better. 'm just tired now."

"okay," peter kisses your forehead, "then we can go to sleep, pretty girl."

to you it's a simple thing to say, it's sensible. to him? no.

to peter, it's a promise.

it's a promise that he'll always be by your side, that he's gonna be here to work it out, to put a smile on your face.

yeah, it's a promise.