#//if you wanna have them talk more pete can come find him??

[milehighmechanic]

@feralego moved from here

          It’s not really what he wants to hear, but he’s too old now, he thinks–and too involved in superhero matters; in the plays of life and death games on a cosmic scale–to be talked down to like a child. To be pacified with false hopes. With lies.

         He’s always respected Stark, but the feeling grows more personal now. Even if the honesty feels draining. Painful.

         His shoulders slump, and he lets his head droop forward before clasping his hands together at the back of his neck. Peter can barely remember the last time he felt this tired. Even as a small, sickly, often hospitalized kid, this level of fatigue had been a rarity.

         Stark rouses his attention when he slides it in his direction, and Peter gazes down at the iconic piece of armor, fixating on the eye slits as his breath catches in his throat. And he has to wonder if gazing into those cold, soulless eyes would make it any easier to record anything to have sent to May. If she’s even still alive.

         Part of him thinks it might be. Part of him thinks that distinctly mechanical visage might help him control the emotions in his delivery more, making it easier to say what he needs to say, and quickly.

         He lifts the helmet gingerly and moves to stand, tucking it under his arm.

         "Thanks…“ He tries to smile, or to look anything but glum, but he can’t manage. "I’ll– I’ll do that. I’ll be in the back for a bit if you need me.”

     Tony watches him---- the way Spidey droops, the look of defeat in his eyes. Probably a good reflection of Tony himself, ten minutes ago. It only steels his resolve. Tony knows he has a tendency to wallow in his own guilt---- his therapist has told him so. 

     He watches, silently, as the guy disappears through the doorway, and he’s just a KID, a teenager who shouldn’t have to be contemplating leaving a goodbye for his aunt. 

     Maybe losing to Thanos had been Tony’s fate, inescapable. The end of Iron Man. His last failure.But it shouldn't be Peter’s fate to die on this spaceship. To starve to death so far from home. Yinsen had lost EVERYTHING, but he’d never given up in that cave, he’d never let Tony give up. Maybe it’s Tony’s turn. ( Is this the last act of defiance of the great Tony Stark? )

     It hurts when he stands, worn down muscles aching, pulling, weak. But pain is an old friend. It’s second nature to grit his teeth and ignore it, to control his breathing and keep on going. He’s not going far. The engine is one of their problems; the console at the front of the ship is the other. Nebula said that they couldn’t fix it----- but Tony will rebuild this whole damn ship from scratch if he has to. ( With a box of scraps. ) 

     Ideas spark across his mind, settling into one cohesive thought. He’ll have to discuss it with Nebula, with Peter even, because the kid is smarter than him, somedays---- but it’s a plan. 

     Maybe he’ll manage to not fuck this one up.

[luveline]

would you be in the mood to write something for peter parker x reader?? it’s been a while since i’ve read anything new for him and i’m missing my boy :( maybe something about things getting heated while making out with peter but he knows reader isn’t ready to go any farther so he has to stop them, and then maybe reader feels guilty for not being ready bc they feel like they’re stringing him along? a good mix of (semi)smut & fluff & angst haha. thank u angel i love u <3

ty for requesting, love u <3 fem!reader, 1k

cw suggestive content

“Is that okay?” he whispers. 

You’re nearly too busy trying to kiss him to whisper back. “Yeah, Peter, just–” Fully too busy. 

Peter enjoys being on top of you for two reasons; the first, the most imperative in the moment, is because it flicks a switch in your mind that has you all flustered and breathless under his touch, your chest heaving something sorry and your hands a frenetic back-and-forth between roaming and limp on his back; and the second, his guilty pleasure, is that he’s in an optimal position to slide his knee between your thighs and listen for your breathless sigh. 

He says your name between kisses to catch your attention, finds he can’t quite get it as your mouth closes up on his and your spit wets his lips. Your hand wanders under his shirt. 

Peter has been worse than shirtless around you, a consequence of his strange after-classes hobby, but he’s not so sure you’re ready to peel him out of it. Your fingers ride up his spine. 

He fishes your hand from behind him to hold it above your head. 

“Hey,” he says, pulling back, your eyes lit and aligned with one another, the brightest light in the room. It feels wrong to speak into the dark like this, disrupting your whispers and your quick breathing. “You don’t wanna do that.” 

“I do,” you say. He’s no genius, but he sees the wobble of your lashes for what it is, sudden regret. 

“It’s okay, bub. We got too heavy too fast,” he laughs. 

You bite the inside of your lip as he sits up. It’s his fault, he shouldn’t have kissed you like that, definitely shouldn’t have let his leg slide up against you, what was he thinking? He’s kissed you so hard your lips are swollen. 

You use the flats of your palms to clamber up against the headboard. Your heart is a thudding he can’t ignore, triply loud, and his own pulse is rocketing too. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“No, that’s okay,” —he reaches for the hem of your sweatpants to tug them back over your hip and stomach— “I was bearing down on you, I shouldn’t have– I–” Peter Parker levels of stuttering occur, to which he can’t subject himself, hiding his face in his hands. 

There’s a small silence. Peter attempts to calm down. Your heart rate slowly drops. 

“I really am sorry, Pete.” 

His neck cricks as he lifts his head. “What?” He lets his legs fall to the side of the bed and shuffles up to the top to see you clearly, squishing the back of your thigh where your legs are up to his hip. “Come on, what do you have to be sorry for?” 

“I’m leading you on and stuff. Not cool.” 

“What? What are you talking about? I started it.” 

“I was giving it just as good as I was getting it,” you say with a regretful smile. “You’re just such a great kisser–”

“Don’t try and distract me, it’s working,” he teases. More seriously, he puts his hand on your knee, thumb pressing to the soft crease underneath it. 

“I shouldn’t kiss you like that if I’m not ready for it.” 

“Why not? You can kiss me whatever way you like, it doesn’t have to lead to anything.” 

“I’m winding you up. Boys don’t like that.” 

“I love it,” he says, dropping his chin to his hand to speak to you from just below your eye line. “I love everything you do, I love kissing you, it doesn’t mean you have to be ready for something else.” 

You don’t accept his reassurances as quickly as he’d like, leaning back, the rising valley of your chest and tummy two pretty not to look at even as something serious transpires. He adores you, your every hill and curve and rigid line, all of it, and he’d love to fuck you but there’s no rush. What do you need to rush for? Peter’s sure it’ll be just as much fun a few months down the line as it would’ve been tonight, but it’ll be perfect then, because you’ll be ready then. 

“Who cares what boys like anyways?” he mumbles, kissing your kneecap appreciatively. 

“I just don’t wanna mess it up, Pete. I really like you.” 

“You can’t mess it up, it’s not like that, we’re not like that. You mean a whole lot more to me than that,” he says, giving your thigh a squeeze. You meet his eyes with less shyness now, the beginnings of a smile like twitches at the corners of your mouth. “I like you more than you like me, anyways. You can string me along. String me up, if you want.” 

“String you up where?” you ask with a laugh. 

“From that statue on ESU?” 

“What? How would I do that?” 

“Get Spider-Man to help you.” 

You pull the leg he isn’t leaning on up toward your stomach, knee rubbing along the inside of your opposite thigh, the last trace of regret. “You’re sure you don’t care?” 

“Don’t care, don’t mind, just want you to be happy.” He kisses your knee. “I thought you’d know that by now.” 

You brace your face in both hands, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t know what I know when you do that thing to me. How about you keep your legs away from my legs for a little while?” 

Peter smiles like an idiot, hiding his eyes in your knee and his mouth behind your calf. He doesn’t mind being honest, but you’re making him nervous flirting like that and he isn’t allowed to kiss you again tonight. “I– I can do that. No leg stuff.” He leans away from you suddenly. “God, no leg stuff. You’re beautiful, I wish you didn’t worry about me.” 

“I’ll try not to, Pete.”  

[cosmal]

okay tasm!peter parker thought!!! he’s obsessed with touching your face. like, when you’re talking about something he’ll just randomly grab your face and smoosh your cheeks. he’ll boop or kiss your nose at random times. most importantly, when he’s kissing you he’ll be holding your face, his big hands on your cheeks guiding your head so he can kiss you better. omg

doughnuts

summary you're really excited about doughnuts. peter really wants to kiss you.

content tasm!peterparker x fem!afab!reader

note this is my first time writing for tasm!peter please forgive me if it sucks.

For the first time in a while, you come home after work with enough excitement to light up the entire flat.

Peter's sitting up in his bed reading when you find him. All things soft with rumpled hair, his clothes even worse, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. You're not sure if he really needs them anymore, but he likes to wear them to keep an ounce of normalcy.

"Hi," you chirp when he notices you. He dog-ears his book and puts it down almost immediately. You beam.

"Hi, baby," he seems just as happy to see you as you do him. Though, there's a buzz to you that Pete lacks. You think if you got home twenty minutes later he would've been napping.

You move across his room while pushing your work skirt down your legs. Peter's heart skips when it looks like you might trip and he tries to keep his eyes off your soft thighs. You rifle through his draws to find one of his shirts to wear, unbuttoning your own blouse in the process.

"How was your day?" you ask, holding up a shirt to your nose. You choose it because it smells more like your boyfriend than the others.

Peter crumples his face, trying not to laugh. "It was good. Didn't do much - you?"

You say something while pulling the shirt over your face that Pete can't discern. You all but jump into his lap when you reach him. Hooking your thighs over his lap until you're face to face.

He allows you to get comfy, pushing your knees into his side while he sits up, hands finding their place on your hips. "Hello," he says again, much quieter now that you're in his space. You look adorable in his shirt and your work tights.

"Did you hear me?" you ask, basically pulsing with giddy energy. You push your fingers under the hem of his shirt and he short-circuits for a moment.

He blinks. "You had your face in your shirt."

"Right," you giggle, a girlish sound that Peter wants seared in his brain, "I said, you know the food truck around the block?"

"You'll have to be more specific," he says, squeezing at your hips.

"The one that shut down."

"Oh, right. The Jam Van," he laughs knowingly. You'd moped for almost a month when they closed. You were inconsolable.

"Yeah," you grin, poking his chest, "yeah, they reopened!"

You're smiling so hard Peter worries that you'll get stuck like that. With your eyebrows raised and your cheeks appled. He thinks he needs to hold your face like right now.

He lets his hands leave your hips and raises them to hold your cheeks. Your skin is warm under his touch like he expected. "That's great, baby."

You ignore his hands. "Right? It's amazing."

Peter pushes your cheeks together until your lips pout outwards. He thinks you look extremely cute. Even worse when you try to frown and it just looks like a smooshed mess. He wants to laugh but you look peeved.

"Pete," you try to say. It comes out all mumbled.

"Yeah?" he says, distracted by your puffy face.

You pull your face from his hands and struggle a bit. Holding his arms to his chest you say, "Are you even listening to me?"

"The Jam Van," he says nodding. Smarmy.

"Right," you say, still mildly upset, "they're open right now if you wanna..."

"You wanna go get doughnuts?" he asks with his arms still pinned to his body. His hands wriggle to touch you.

"Can we?" you ask, eyes wide with hope. Peter wishes he had his camera with him.

"Can I kiss you first?" he grins boyishly. You wish you had a better resolve. He's awfully pretty and you really want doughnuts.

You let his arms go, huffing like kissing him is a difficult task. "If you really want." You have to hold back a laugh.

He reaches his hands back up to your cheeks and gives them another squeeze, "Of course, I want to."

You let him guide your face down to meet his lips, huffing into his mouth once they meet. You go lax in his lap when he presses firmer, spreading his fingers over your warming cheeks. He tilts your face upwards so he has better access to slip his tongue in your mouth. You whine when he has you exactly where he wants. Putty in his hold, holding you close by your soft cheeks.

You pull away from his lips, blinking away the dizziness. "Pete," you say panting.

Peter licks his lips, "Yeah?"

You push your face into his neck to hide the way he so obviously makes you feel, holding onto his sleep shirt for dear life. You try to even out your breathing and fail.

"You okay, love?" he asks. There's a hint of smartassery you don't miss. He's awful.

"Yeah," you say a tad breathlessly. "Yeah."

He kisses your shoulder and you shudder. His ego swells tenfold. "You sure?"

You take a moment to compose yourself, hating yourself for being so pliable. You sit back to look him in the eye. "So," you say with a confidence you lack, "Jam Van?"

Peter laughs and catches your face again. You like it much more than the first time. "That felt like coercion ."

"You asked to kiss me!" you say bewildered, pushing at his chest with not enough force than you feel is deserved.

"You tricked me," he laughs with you, letting you paw at his chest. It's quite adorable, really.

"Whatever," you say with more heat than you mean, a smile tugging at your red lips. You untangle yourself from his lap and stand to walk away. "I'll get my own jam doughnuts."

Peter smacks your ass before you can get away and you gasp. "Peter Parker!"

"You can't go out like that."

"I'll do what I like!" you call from the other end of the hallway.

Peter chases you around the flat until he gets you in his arms. The doughnuts wait for a few more hours.

[webslingingslasher]

could you do angst -> fluff?

you and peter are long distance. someone sends you a picture of "peter" cheating. but the picture isn't peter.

Long distance relationships sucked. 

You may be biased, but you knew that long term relationships were the worst of them all. You’d put that in the same category as finding out you’ve been catfished for years. 

It could be worse, like Sadie and Dylan. Dylan moved across the country for school and watching your roommate go through the process of trying to set up date facetime calls, and scheduling calls between the hours of the night, made you feel like you didn’t have any say about yours. 

At least you and Peter were in the same time zone, he was only an hour and a half train ride away but it felt like lifetimes when for years you shared a school and zip code. You always had Peter around, and it’s very noticeable when he’s not. 

Imagine not being able to kiss your lover everyday, hold their body, or look in their eyes. 

Sadie smiled empathetically when Peter called, she got up to leave the room empty. Many times you’ve gotten out of bed at three am for a long bathroom break, you know that there are some things you tell Peter you’d never want anyone else to hear. You could extend that to Sadie as well. 

Peter’s voice was warm through the phone. 

“Hiya, baby.” 

You bit your bottom lip, too excited to keep it in. 

“Hi, handsome.” 

“Tell me three things from your day.” 

You paused to think, you knew this question would come up, you made a mental note of what to tell Peter. 

“So, the fat squirrel by park hall attacked this guy for his sandwich, and I know what you’re thinking, but that squirrel is fucking vicious. And, hm…” 

Peter shuffles around on his end. 

“Oh! My English professor is letting us have open notes midterm, and finally… I really, really missed you.” 

Peter gives you a soft chuckle, you wish you could see his face too. 

“I missed you too, also that fat squirrel? Next time I come down I wanna see him in person, pictures don’t do it justice.” 

When he comes down, he hasn’t visited in a month. Not that you can’t go see him, you make sure to take trips but he also has his aunt here, and he tries to do Spidey in the city as much as he can to keep questions to a minimum. 

“Two more, petey.” 

He hums on the line, you miss feeling his chest vibrate when he does it against your back. 

“I ate a salad for lunch,” 

“Bullshit.” You cough on the line. 

“Okay, listen here, stinky.” 

“Shots fired! I’ll hang up right now.” 

Peter whines, “you can’t! I have to tell you my third thing.” 

“Go on, I have a call to finish.” 

He scoffs, “rude, I was going to say that I may have found an out for my robotics midterm so hypothetically-” 

You squeal so loudly on the phone Peter pulls his own away from his ear, it was slightly obnoxious but knowing you were just as excited to see him made his heart melt. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” 

Peter gives you that boyish laugh, the one that makes your heart beat three times fast. 

“Baby, I didn’t even finish.” 

“You don’t have to! I know what you’re saying and I need you here so I can kiss your face and other stuff.” 

Peter’s tone drops seductively,  “oh? Like what other stuff?” 

“You want to see the fat squirrel right?” 

“The one in my pants?” 

“Oh my god.” 

“Okay, okay, so I was thinking I could come up on-” 

His name was called in the background, it made you pause for a second, he stopped talking for a minute. His name was called again, it was tilted, like a song almost, it was a female for sure. 

“Oh, peteyyy?” 

Your stomach dropped, that was your name for him. The name that he only liked you calling him, it was something that was so sacred and this person you don’t know saying it so loosely, like it’s regular. 

“Pete?” You say his name like you’re asking ‘who’s that?’ ‘why is she calling you that?’ ‘where are you, are you in your dorm?’ ‘why is there a girl in your room calling you my name?’ 

He coughs, “sorry, baby. I uh, I need to go but I’ll call you in a few hours, okay?” 

“Oh. Oka-” 

The line went dead. 

Your mind swimmed with dangerous thoughts, each one simmered down with the overwhelming echo that peter would never do anything like what a part of you is insinuating. Not to mention you were sure that he’d explain everything when he called you in a few hours, except when you sat around and waited, and waited, and waited, he never called. 

You fell asleep waiting on his call, you woke up with your morning alarm and checked your phone, no missed calls or texts. It felt weird, he never missed goodnight calls. It wasn’t until ten he tried to call, you had to ignore it because of your class but made a note to call him on your way back to your room.

At lunch everything shifted. 

You and some friends met up in the dining hall and you were in the middle of scarffing down fries when you tried to look up your friends ex’s new girlfriend on instagram, you were confronted with a message request. The picture and text made your hand fall, french fries scattering, you felt like you were about to puke all over the table. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re peter's girlfriend, we shared a class last semester and he talked about you all the time. I was out with some friends last night and I’m pretty sure I saw him at a bar with a girl that doesn’t look like you. If this isn’t him or if you guys aren’t together anymore please ignore this, idk i’d want someone to tell me. I’m sorry :(“ 

Sure enough the picture was grainy, definitely zoomed in from across the bar but it sure did look like him. A plaid button down you’ve seen him a million times in before, curls poked out the sides of his head, it seemed curlier and longer than you remember but it’s been a while since you saw him in person. 

His left arm was looped around the waist of a girl totally opposite of you, it looked like his other hand held her face steady as he kissed her. It made your vision go blurry, you’ve never felt this way before. Curls blocked the side of his face but it looked like him, maybe he looked taller than normal but it was a pic taken from far away, you want to question everything about it but the longer you look at it the sicker you feel. 

You shut out of the app and go back to smiling with your friends, you wonder how you’ll call him out. If you were strong enough you’d just ghost him all together, never speak to him again and make him question his insanity. 

Instead the second he called when you were home you picked it up with shaky hands. 

“Hi ba-” 

“We’re done.” 

You hung up the phone. 

It rang less than three seconds later. 

“I’m sorry, what did you-” 

“I said we’re done. Goodbye.” 

You hung up again. 

It rang even quicker, immediate redial. 

“Is this a joke?” 

“I dunno, peter. Am I?” 

“I-” 

“Save it, it doesn’t matter. We’re broken up, you can stop calling.” 

You don’t know why you thought that would settle things, if anything that made everything worse. 

The fourth time he facetimed, he only did it when he was alone, you assume he either kicked his roommate out or is biting the bullet to get teased by his friend for the rest of his life while he begs to keep his girlfriend. 

You answer, “what.” 

“I need to see your face, what are you telling me?” 

“What did you do last night?” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrow, “I don’t know, what did I do?” 

You take a deep breath, “don’t play dumb. Who was she?” 

He makes a face of realization, “Ohhhh, you mean the girl on the phone?” 

You mock his tone, “yeah, the girl on the phone. You know, the one you were making out with?” 

You hear someone cough, it’s not peter, you can imagine the dead silence that just blanketed the room. 

Peter immediately takes the defense, “I didn’t make out with anyone last night, want to take the offense louder?” 

“Someone literally texted me a picture.” 

“Okay, so let me literally see it.” 

You narrow your eyes, “I don’t have to entertain this, peter. I broke up with you and you cheated, the end.” 

Peter sits up on his end, “no, not the end. You’re throwing damaging accusations out there and not giving me any fucking context.” 

“I. got. a. text.” You paused between each word to prove a point, also a little condescendingly. 

“Show. me.” He mocked your tone. 

You let a groan rip from your throat, “it doesn’t change that you did it.” 

Peter rubs his hand down his face, “okay, fuck this. I was here all night, in my dorm room. If you want you can ask my roommate, he was here, with his girlfriend,” he enunciated the last word, “who called me petey, you know, like you do, maybe, I don’t know, mockingly?”  

His words make you think, if he was truly guilty you don’t think he’d be defending himself so hard. You would think that once he was caught he’d fold his cards, instead he’s insulted you could even assume something like that. 

You take down the threat in your voice, “but… I got a picture. And it looks just like you.” 

Peter takes your side, he may defend his but he can’t make it better by pitting against you. 

“I’m sure it does, baby, but I promise I was here all night.” 

“Peter, it looks just like you.” 

He takes a deep breath to settle his frustration, “I know, but I promise it’s not me. Why would I cheat?” 

It’s a good question, you never would’ve thought he could but the picture was damning evidence. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t think you would, but I mean pete, it looks like you. He’s even wearing your green blue plaid button down.” 

Peter’s eyes bug open, his head spins, you know he’s staring his roommate in the eyes. 

“Evan!” They both exclaim at the same time. 

Your eyebrow scrunches, “who?” 

“Hair a little longer than mine? Maybe a little taller?” 

You pull your head back, “yeah… why?” 

Peter smiles wide, “making out with a blonde? At a bar?” 

“That would be it.” 

Peter shares a high five off screen. 

“That’s our friend Evan, he was on a date. He borrowed my shirt, wasn’t me, promise.” 

You stare at the screen, he seemed authentic and desperate for you to believe him. 

“Fine. We’re still dating for now, but I need to see you and him in the same room. Preferably from the back and in the same shirt.” 

“Done. I’ll print them out and bring them when I see you next week.” 

Peter winks at the screen and you squeal at the thought of seeing him so soon. 

[the-froschamethyst4]

My Bike, My Ride

𖤐Pairing: Biker!Ghost x F!Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: smut, language, age gap, harassment, creepy men, drinking, slight unsafe driving, blindfold, kissing/making out, P in V, eating out, biting, pinching, more use of Simon instead of Ghost, aftercare,

𖤐Summary: Biker Ghost comes and saves the night, a creepy old guy hitting on Y/n the bartender all night and then Ghost puts a stop to this guys behavior quickly

————

————

It was close to nightfall, the bar was starting to get packed pretty quickly. The bar was sitting close to the waters edge, and was close to a few Military bases scattered around.

So, it was constantly packed with grown men, women, and some younger males and girls.

Y/n was one of the bartenders that likes working the long shifts, more money and keeps her busy. Y/n leaned on the counter taking an older gentleman's order.

He had asked for a whiskey sour and Y/n made it for him, before moving onto the next person, a young lady asking for a screwdriver. She always gives the customers smiles and she always made good tips.

"What can I get you?" She moved onto a older man, he was always in here.

"You know what I want, baby," he gives her an ugly crooked tooth smile, sending nasty shivers up Y/n's spine.

She knows about this guy, the bar's owner Cleo has warned the bartenders and servers about this man.

The bartenders and servers have a codename for him Pervy Pete, they don't his name, they don't wanna know his real name, so Pervy Pete it was.

"I don't believe I do. I see many faces, sir," Y/n lied, she knew this guy, he always ordered the same thing.

"Voodoo Ranger," he says, with a disgusting smirk.

"Coming right up," she says. Opening the mini fridge under the bar and popping the lid of the can and sliding it towards him.

Then moves onto a different customers.

Y/n was one of the young one of the bartenders still allowed to pass drinks and all, but she got hit on the most by men, but she'd call them out by asking 'how their wives were doing?' or asking 'how many kids do you have again?' making them shut up and all.

She now was cleaning some of the empty glasses and smiled when one of the Naval recruits starting talking about his adventure but was soon cut-off by an older gentleman saying 'that's not true' making half of the bar laugh at the new recruit.

DING

"Welcome in!" Cleo greeted a man walking into the bar, he was wearing a black mask with a skull, he finds an empty seat at the bar, in Y/n's section.

"I'll get with you in a minute, sir," she says, placing down a glass and giving him a menu, she was doing some refills on other patrons drinks.

"Ma'am," Pervy Pete calls, he raises his hand then his beer can, slamming his empty beer can on the bar counter, pushing it towards her very close to the edge, luckily Y/n stopped it before it fell off the bar.

"Yes, what can I get you?" She sounded annoyed.

"Another one," he demands. Y/n rolls her eyes tossing the empty beer can in the trashcan and opening a new one for him. "What time do you get off?" He asks her.

"I'm not allowed to share times with anyone," she says, before walking away.

"Now, what can I get you sir?" She gives the man in a skull mask a soft smile.

"Bourbon on the rocks," he tells her. His voice was dark, and his deep British accent had sent chills up her spine.

"Coming up," she grabs an empty glass filling it with ice and pouring a small amount of bourbon in the glass, pushing it towards him. "There you go," she gives him another soft smile.

He pulls out his wallet and pulls out a 20 stuffing it into the tip jar meant for Y/n.

"Thank you, sir," she tells him.

"Anytime," he tells her taking the glass and sipping from it.

"Would you like to start a tap?"

"Yeah...why not?" He pushed his card towards her.

"MA'AM!" Pervy Pete yells for Y/n's attention. Y/n looks over her shoulder and the man she was talking to looked past her. He was shaking his empty beer can at her.

"He comes here often I guess?" He asked her.

"Almost every night...I'm already tired of him," Y/n looks around for Cleo, she sees her within the crowd of people. "CLEO!" Y/n yells for her attention.

"What's up?"

"Can you help Pervy Pete, I can't do my section of the bar if he's calling for me, every fucking second," she says.

"I'm on it," Cleo says, coming behind the bar.

Y/n did her job and Pervy Pete was being a fucking nuisance, being loud and ignoring Cleo half of the time, he only wanted Y/n's attention.

Y/n went back to the man in the skull mask. She grabs a rag and starts cleaning around him.

"Looks like he wants your attention."

"He can piss off...I don't have time for him," she says.

"Ma'am!" Pervy Pete was now next to the man in the skull mask and leaning over the counter towards Y/n.

"Sir, please, I have a whole bar full of people, I can't be focused on you, I'm trying to clean up after everyone as well-"

"I need another fucking beer," he cusses at Y/n.

"Sir, you have been cut-off," she takes the empty beer can from him, Pervy Pete quickly grabs her wrist.

The man in the skull mask quickly stood up grabbing the man's collar making him release Y/n's wrist. Y/n looked towards Cleo for help, but Cleo wants a bar fight...don't know why?

"Don't fucking touch her, she says you are cut off, and you are just being a fucking man-child," he starts walking the man out of the bar. "And piss off," he shuts the door.

He walks back to his spot at the bar.

"Next drink you have is on the house," Cleo says, standing next to Y/n.

"Thanks," he says, taking his glass and swirling the drink around.

"Would you like anything to eat?" Y/n asked him.

He smirks under his mask and pulls the bottom up taking a sip from his glass, and pulling it back down. "I mean...when do you get off?" He asks.

"Oh...I'm not allowed-"

"She gets off at 10."

"Cleo!?"

"What?" She walks away.

"Yeah...I get off at 10..."

"Cool...I'll wait for you," he says. Giving her a wink.

-----------

Y/n continue her work, helping patrons, helping the man in the mask, and cleaning around the bar.

Then suddenly a glass breaks, the new girl Tara was a shaking mess, she has been trained but she's never experienced a bar rush before.

"Tara, you good?" Y/n asked her, she grabs a rag placing it over her hand and picking up the glass pieces.

"Oh, Y/n don't I'll get it," Tara says.

Cleo came rushing with a broom and dust pan, sweeping up the rest of the glass as Y/n tossed the bits she hard in the trash and placing the rag in the laundry.

"Y/n, your hand," Tara says. Y/n looks at her hand seeing some cuts.

"Oh, I'm fine," she goes to the bathroom washing her bloody hand wrapping it up.

"That seems like a nasty cut," she hears the deep voice.

"Oh sir, you can't be back here-"

"It's fine, Cleo says, I could, I wanted to know if your hand was okay."

"Yeah, I'm okay," she smiles at him. Showing him her hand seeing it was fine and nicely wrapped up.

"Hey, Y/n, why don't you go home early?" Cleo says, walking in the back.

"What? I'm okay, I can still pour drinks." She says.

"I know, but for safety reason please."

"Yes, ma'am."

----------

Y/n had walked from the back her jacket on and she looked around for the man. She steps outside and sees him leaning on a black bike. He had a cigarette between his lips, he sees Y/n putting his cigarette out and pulling his mask down.

"Like a ride?"

"I've never rode on a bike before," she says.

"It's easy, come here," he takes his helmet putting it on her head. "It's a bit big..." he pulls the little strap to tighten the helmet a bit.

He then starts the bike, she jumps a bit. He makes sure the kickstand is up and places his hand out, Y/n takes it. Her hand was so small compared to his.

She swinging her leg over the seat. He places her arms around his waist.

"Hold tight," he tells her.

-------

Once on the rode and the man told her that when he turns, she needs to lean with the turns, not to far to where they could fall, just a slight lean.

He stops at a red light, sitting up and placing his hands on her knees, it was like a reflex to do that, to make sure she was okay.

He put his head back, his beautiful eyes looking at her.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yes...still nervous..." she tells him.

"You wanna go fast, to pass though nerves?" He asks her.

"Huh? N-No, I think t-that'll make me even more nervous."

"Come on, you'll like it," he teases.

Once the light turns green, he leans forward moving his foot up and going faster than the cars, she squeezes him a bit tighter, her head between his shoulder blades, and her eyes were squeezed shut.

"Come on, open your eyes," he says, he just knows they're shut.

"N-No," she says, he could hear her voice, sounding like it was breaking like she was on the verge of crying.

He then slows down and sees his apartment complex up ahead. He pulls into the parking garage finding an empty spot.

He gets off first and turns to her, unbuckling the clip under her chin and helping her take the helmet off. Her eyes were red like she was done crying.

"Hey, I was kidding."

"I'm fine," she says, getting off the bike. He feels bad now, he didn't want her to be upset, he wanted a bit of fun.

--------

"I don't want this to be awkward between us," he tells her. "Simon...my friends call me Ghost." He tells her, putting his hand out.

"It's a late for introductions."

"It's never too late," he says.

"Can I ask what the mask is for? You didn't take it off once at the bar, and you only moved the bottom half to drink."

"Not sure..."

"You don't know why you wear it?"

"No one needs to know my identity," he says, sitting on his couch.

"Can't I see?" She asked, taking her jacket and shoes off.

She sits next to him.

"Definitely not," he smirks.

"Why not?" She says, putting her hand on his stomach.

Simon smirks and gets up, leaving her on the couch, he comes back with a silk blindfold.

"You trust me?" He asks.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Yeah, either I put this on you...or the mask stays on."

"I trust you," she turns around and brings it over her eyes he ties it, she turns back around black was the only thing she could see.

Simon takes off his mask, he gently takes her hands, placing them on his face. She could feels scars on his temple, nose, both corners of his lips and one of his jaw line, she could feel like prickle on her fingers, he must have shaven his beard of something.

She doesn't feel any other sort of facial hair like a mustache or a bushy beard or anything. His sharp jaw line, he must workout a lot. His neck felt buff as well.

He opens his mouth her fingers accidently going into his mouth. His teeth felt perfectly straight, one of his canines felt chipped but the other was sharp.

He leans forward and his lips touched her jaw. Her breath hitched but she kept letting his kiss her.

Her fingers then went to his hair, his hair felt short a bit buzzed in the back but it was slightly fluffy on top. He kissed her cheek and then her lips.

She kisses him back, her hand moving down his face, her back hits the couch cushion behind her. His hands went up her shirt and then pulling it off her body, kissing between her breasts, then under her bra.

His hand hooked around her back and unhooking her bra and pulling it off her body. He kisses her big breasts, pinching her nipples and earning a soft moan.

Her fingers went back to his hair, she slightly pulled at his hair, earning a low gruff groan from his lips.

He then pulls her jeans off and pulled down her panties as well. She was completely bare underneath him. He smirks at what he was looking at.

A naked young lady, blindfolded underneath of him. He gets up and starts unbuckling his jeans and pulling off his shirt, being naked with her.

"S-Simon," she moans.

He kissed her stomach down to her inner thigh, kissing them, biting them, and pinching them, all just to hear her moan, her fingers went to his hair giving him a small tug on his hair.

"You think you can take me?" He taps his tips against her bud, she moans and she could feel his girth.

"I-I-I," she stutters.

"Words, my love," he says, leaning down to her ear.

"I...I don't know..." she moans. Simon leans down kissing her lips, distracting her from pushing himself inside of her. "O-Oh my god," she says tossing her head back.

He starts out slow, he looks down and sees his tip just hitting her stomach wall, he pressed his hand down on her stomach earning a soft moan from her.

He then picks up the pace just a little bit, his left hand held her side and the other just above her head trying to keep himself up. Her legs rested on his as he starts picking up the pace some more.

Y/n then touched his hard chest, feeling a few more scars on his chest, she could feel the blindfold start falling down, she didn't say anything, but Simon sees it falling down, his bring the blindfold back over her eyes.

"No peaking, love," he says, kissing her neck.

Her wince when feeling his tip hit against her g-spot. Her hands went back to his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist.

Simon smirks and kissed her neck again, then her shoulder and then back between her breasts. He kissed her breasts and sucking on the side of her breasts.

"P-Please let me s-see your face," she begs.

"Never," he growls in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

"Please," she begs again, his lips attached to her lips again. Y/n felt herself close to coming.

"Come," he demands. She puts her head back and he notices what she was doing. She was trying to remove her blindfold by moving her head back and forth trying to pull if off her eyes.

He grabs her jaw making her stop.

"You are so fucking desperate, it's pathetic." He says.

"Please...if...if you want me to...c-come...then I want to see t-the...the man...that is making...m-me...come..." she says in between catching her breaths.

"Desperate...little girl," he teases her.

He starts going faster, Y/n's head was hitting against the couch's armrest, she whines. Simon sees this and pulls her up on his lap. Making her bounce up on his dick.

He earns a soft moan and then he looks down seeing come leak from her lower half. He smirks and picks her back up taking her to his bedroom. Once Y/n was on the bed, she notices the change.

"W-Where are we?" She asked.

"My room," he pulls out of her. He starts moving down licking under her thigh and then licking between her very wet folds. Licking up her come, he still hasn't come yet, but he feels like he doesn't need to.

"S-Simon."

"What?" He asks with a mouth full of come.

"Did you?"

"No..."

"Would you like to?" She asks.

"Don't worry about me, love...tonight was for you..." he says, kissing her inner thighs. Before giving her a light smack on her thighs, he leaves her on the bed and she hears water running.

"Simon?" Then she was picked up without warning and placed her in the hot bathtub. The blindfold was off her eyes, she was getting use to the lights, she looks up seeing Simon put his mask back on.

--------

Y/n was walking out of the bathtub, she had a towel wrapped around her waist and her hair dripping.

"Simon...could I have some clothes?"

"Yeah," he gets up giving her a shirt and some clean boxers.

She looks cute in his clothes. She gets on the bed and sits next to him, she looks at his tattoos on his left arm.

"Where you in the military?"

"Yep...I was on a Task Force and I loved it," he says.

Y/n smiles at him, his hands went to her waist and pulled her close to his side.

"Get some sleep, love," he says.

"Will you sleep with me?"

"Yes," he says, with a smirk on his face running his fingers through her hair.

Later on, Y/n lays on her side, hugging Simon's waist, he pulls off his mask and pulls Y/n closer to him. Her eyes flutter open and she finally sees his face, cupping his face and kissing his lips.

[ofmdrecaps]

09/06-07/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Ruibo Qian; Vico Ortiz; Kristian Nairn; Anapela Polataivao; Erroll Shand; Andrew DeYoung; Kay Buchanen; RoseCityComicCon OFMD Panel; Tell Tale Voting Reminder; Another Call To Action; Help Matt Maher go to ECCC!; Love Notes; Daily Darby / Today's Taika;

Hey Crew, I'm working on reaching out to folks to get permission to post more Rose City Comic Con pictures! Hope to have more up tomorrow.

== David Jenkins ==

David and Kinga got married! So happy for you Chaos Dad!

Source: David and Kinga's Instagram

== Rhys Darby ==

SO MUCH RHYS today! He was out doing comedy at Largo LA!

Source: LargoLosAngelos More Comedy with Rhys, 9/10/24 at 8 PM in LA! Learn more!

Guess who's substack is up!?

Source: Rhys Darby's Instagram

== Taika Waititi ==

The Toronto International Film Festival is on! Indigenous.tv is reminding you to keep an eye out for Taika!

Source: Indigenous TV

== Ruibo Qian ==

Ruibo is in Shanghai!

Source: Ruibo Qian's Instagram

== Vico Ortiz ==

Vico and Ane are cosplaying Crowley and Aziraphale at Rose City Comic Con!

Vico will also be part of the Drag Pac's Youth Town Hall on Sept 14, 2024 at the Plaza De La Raza LA! Wanna check it out? Visit their site!

Source: Vico's Instagram

== Kristian Nairn ==

Kristian Djing "Hold the Decks" for us!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Kristian Nairn (@kristiannairn)

Source: Kristian Nairn's Instagram

== Anapela Polataivao ==

Our beloved Auntie's movie TINĀ (MOTHER) will be premiering at the Hawaii Film Festival this year in October!

"HIFF44 opens at the Consolidated Theatres Kahala with the World Premiere and directorial feature debut of Miki Magasiva’s nuanced drama from New Zealand/Aotearoa. Samoan actor Anapela Polata’ivao (ONE THOUSAND ROPES, OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH, SHORTLAND STREET) portrays Mareta, a well-respected and gifted vocal coach in her community, who finds herself at a crossroads, needing to find work after the tragic death of her daughter, a death she is still processing. Mareta goes out of her comfort zone to become a substitute teacher at an elite, all-white private school and forms a choir that begins her healing as a matriarch and caregiver. Director Miki Magasiva and actress Anapela Polata’ivao are scheduled to attend HIFF44 Opening Night."

New Zealand/Aotearoa 2024 | English, Samoan w/English Subtitles | 124M

Source: HIFF Instagram and Website

== Erroll Shand ==

Everyone's sending love to Erroll for his role in The Twelve! Really hoping it'll be available outside of NZ soon!

Source: Jodie Rimmer Instagram

== Andrew Deyoung ==

One of our writers had their new movie premiered at the TIFF!

Source: FilmAndy Instagram

== Kay Buchanan ==

Our fabulous leather worker-- Kay Buchanan has a new movie coming out that she worked on props for! Grafted, a AoNZ horror film will be released in AoNZ on Sept 12! Check out the trailer on her IG!

Source: Kay Buchanan's Instagram

== Rose City Comic Con ==

Our crewmates over at @adoptourcrew were kind enough to share updates from the Cast Panel at Rose City ComicCon this weekend! If you have twitter, you can check it out over at Adopt Our Crew Thread. If not, you can see them below!

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

== Tell Tale Voting Reminders! ==

Only a few more days to vote for Stede and Ed in Tell Tale TV's Battle of the Ships! Please vote here when you get a chance!

Source: Tell Tale TV's Instagram

== Another Call to Action! ==

Sounds like there's going to be another anniversary trailer happening on 09/15! Several crewmates are asking to QRT David's Tweet here with the text "Because The Night Belongs To Lovers #OurFlagMeansDeath" and something a little extra to help keep from being flagged as spam! Let's get ofmd trending again that day!

Source: Lucy's Twitter

== Help Matt Maher go to ECCC! ==

Looks like a few of our crewmates talked to Matthew Maher (Black Pete) and he really wants to go to Seattle! Let's help him get to Emerald City Comic Con, if you have a moment, please put in a request to have him as a guest at their next con! Thank you to Mira (@/havethisonelife on twitter) and @/Callousnstrange for trying to help Matt!

Source: CallousnStrange / Mira (HaveThisOneLife)

== Fan Spotlight ==

= The Gay Pirate News Hour =

The inaugural episode of Gay Pirate News Hour is out now covering a month's worth of OFMD fandom news and speculation including David Jenkins getting married, Rose City Comic Con, and reasons to clown about season 3. GPNH will be live on youtube once a month!

Source: Our Flag Means Fanfiction Instagram/Youtube

== Loves Notes ==

Hey there lovelies! I've been sitting with my Dad in the hospital for a few days, and it's given me a lot to think about. Today especially was particularly hard, and I wanted to send out a couple reminders I think are important.

It's okay to be scared. Things don't always go as we plan, and scary things DO happen, and you are absolutely valid in feeling fear in the unknown.

It's okay to ask for help. Sometimes, even if you are the proudest person in the entire world, you need help, and it's okay to ask for that help. Even if you're estranged, or have difficult relationships, ask for help, the worst that can happen is someone says no. Better to know for sure then not ask.

You're absolutely wonderful lovelies. You. When you're scared, when you're happy, when you're sad, you're beautiful, and you're wonderful, and you deserve love and help just like anyone else. Please ask for it if you need it <3 Rest well, I'm rooting for you.

Source: MichellCClark Instagram

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Today's theme is hair, gifs courtesy of these wonderful folks, @piratesleeves and @unaragazzadelnord

[ofstoriesandstardust]

but this is getting good now (j.h.s.)

a/n: i have slowly but surely been working on this and I have to say, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out

summary: Almost and assumptions, until there is nothing but proof.

second star to the right (and straight on 'til morning) masterlist

folks who wanted to be tagged: @memeorydotcom @djs8891

warnings: insecurities, alcohol but everyone is of age, kissing

word count: 4k

You sigh, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair.

“Do you really want my honest opinion?”

His eyes are a cautious hopeful as he bites his bottom lip. “…Yes?”

“Jake, this is shit.”

He groans, sliding down in his chair. “I know.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment as you both look at the paper, contemplating how to not make it shit.

“Hey, do you uh, do you wanna-”

Jake never finishes his sentence as the door to the Center opens, Bradley popping his head in. “Hey, you done?”

You miss the sour look that settles on Jake’s face at the sight of him as your eyes flicker over the clock. “Another half an hour?”

He groans, stumbling into the room. “I’m stealing candy then.”

You shake your head, a smile growing on your face. “Go right ahead.”

“Dude, Seresin, you practically live here.” Bradley says through a mouthful of M&Ms. You roll your eyes at the words, despite the nugget of truth in them. 

Over the course of the last few weeks, Jake had spent more time in the Center than not, bringing multiple drafts of any and every assignment to you. It’d gotten to the point that if any of Jake’s buddies from the football team needed him, they’d come looking for him in the Center before they checked the field. 

“Shut up Bradshaw.” Jake says, eyes trained on his computer. 

Bradley shrugs. “Just saying. Do you want to come over for dinner on Sunday? Mom’s asking about you.”

It takes you a minute to realize Bradley is talking to you and you glance over at him. “Yeah, I guess. Jake, you can not cite Wikipedia.”

He groans again. “It was the only thing I could find!”

“This is our mid-term Jake. This is important.” 

-

“Are you really doing homework on a Sunday?” Nick says, coming into the kitchen, arms full of groceries. 

“This thesis isn’t going to finish itself, unfortunately.” You mutter, deleting a sentence on the screen. Bradley picks up one of the articles you have laid out on the Bradshaw’s kitchen island, squinting at the title. 

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” You groan, dropping your pen to press the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I don’t know and I think Jeff is trying to kill me.”

“You know what would make you feel better?”

“What?”

He lets out a little laugh, trying to contain his teasing grin. “Making out with your new football buddy.”

You narrow your eyes, taking the article out of his hands. “Would you cut that shit out? Jake doesn’t like me like that. I’m just his tutor.”

Bradley scoffs. “Yeah, sure, okay.”

“I’m being serious!”

“So am I!” Bradley protests. “Seresin has like… the fattest crush on you.”

“Shut up, Bradshaw.” You mutter, turning your eyes back to the computer. 

Tom lets out a throaty laugh, prompting you to raise your head to catch Pete’s pained look.

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Pete?” Carole teases.

He gives a jerky shake of his head. “Nope. Nothing. I know nothing.”

The adults let out a round of laughter as Bradley pulls out the chair next to you, collecting some of your articles. 

“I saw your Mom at the store with Dad.”

You pause, the cursor on the screen blinking back at you. His words are soft, unable to be heard by the adults who have since moved on in the conversation.

“Apparently, she’s got a boyfriend.” He mutters.

“Good for her.” 

“When’s the last time you talked to her?”

You give a shrug of your shoulders. “Don’t remember honestly.”

He sighs. “Maybe it’s for the best. She didn’t have anything nice to say.”

“She never does.”

-

Jake sighs three separate times before Javy shuts the lid of his laptop, a bit aggressively. 

“Alright, I’ll bite. What is up?” 

“I fucking hate that guy.” Jake says with a shake of his head, looking back down at his statistics notebook. 

“Who?” 

“Stupid curly hair. Stupid charming smile. Stupid baseball player.” 

“Who, Jacob? Who?” 

“You know Bradley Bradshaw?” 

Javy raises his eyebrow, unimpressed. “‘Course I know Brad, he’s one of Nat’s best friends.” 

“Yeah, well he’s a fucking asshole and I hate him.” 

“What the hell did he ever do to you?” 

Jake can’t bring himself to say anything, scribbling angrily in the margins of his notebook. Unfortunately, his best friend knows him too well. 

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your pretty tutor you seem to be spending a lot of time with lately… would it?” 

He can hear the smirk in Javy’s voice, even without looking at the boy. 

“Fuck off, Machado.” He says with a groan, leaning back in the booth as he crosses his arms. He waits a beat, Javy looking at him expectantly before crumbling. “Can you blame me Javy? He fucking picks her up after all her shifts, has Sunday dinners with her… I fucking hate him for getting her before I even had a chance.” 

“They’re not… they’re not dating, you know that right?”

Jake snorts. “Save my pride Javy.” 

“No, no I’m serious, they aren’t.” He says with a shake of his head. “She lives next door to Bradley. Nat said they went to high school together and grew up across the street from him or something. That’s why she goes over there sometimes.” 

“Huh.” 

He’s incapable of saying anything else, mentally reviewing all the interactions he’s seen you have with Bradshaw. They’d never been more than platonic, but he would admit that Bradshaw already pissed him off enough as it was and his jealosuy flared whenever you were around him. 

“You should just ask her out on a date man, you clearly have a thing for her.” Javy says, shaking his head as he types out numbers into his calculator. 

“I can’t do that.” He says with such certainty Javy has to pause and take a deep breath through his nose. 

“And why not?” 

“Because there’s no way in hell she’d say yes.” 

Javy lets out a chuckle, looking up at him. “You’ve never had any problems before now.” 

“This is different.” Jake hisses. “She’s really kind, and sweet, and smart, and I- she’s so far out of my league.” 

Javy rolls his eyes. “Suit yourself Seresin. But don’t come moaning and moping to me about it. You dug this hole for yourself..” The words carry no real weight, both knopwing Javy would always listen. “What did you get for number 8?” 

-

“Thought you’d be on a beach somewhere.”

You look up, catching sight of Jake. “Hey.”

“What’re you doing in the library over fall break? Shouldn’t you be somewhere tropical with your phone turned off?”

“I have Pete’s paper I have to finish. He gave me an extension and I’m pushing my extension deadline as it stands.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t done?”

You shake your head. “Almost though. I just have to proofread it and then submit it. Why are you here?”

“Have to return a book I used for our mid-term. Plus, I was already here for an extra weight lifting session, so thought I’d come by.”

It’s the first time you take a minute to recognize what Jake is wearing. He’s a bit sweaty, muscle tank damp. 

Even then, you can help but eye the way his biceps look, imagining the way he must’ve looked while- 

No.

You shake your head, clearing the thought as you meet his eye again. 

“Well, it was good to see you Jake.” You say with a quick smile, looking back to your computer. 

It was beyond inappropriate to think of someone you tutored like that. Absolutely not. 

“Hey, uh…”

You look back up to him, watching him fiddle with his gym bag. 

“Do you have any plans for the rest of break?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m technically not working but if there’s something you need me to look at, I’m ha-”

“No!” Jake protests quickly. “No, no, no. No, I was going to uh- ask if you wanted to do something.”

You blink at him. “Yeah, sure I guess I’m free. What do you have in mind?” 

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I, uh, well I kinda need a pumpkin for this carving thing the team is doing. Would you, uh, want to come with me?”

“You… you want me to go to a pumpkin patch with you?” 

“Yeah.”

“I mean… yeah okay.” You say a little dumbfounded.

You weren’t a fool, you knew Jake was attractive. You’d be blind not see it. 

But you knew that you weren’t the girl Jake would be with. You knew it in the raised eyebrows in silent question his teams mates gave him when he said hi to you in the dining hall, knew it in the smirks girls in your History class would give you when Jake started sitting with you. 

You might be Jake’s tutor, and dare you even say friend, but you knew one thing to be true. 

You’d never be Jake’s girl. 

The smile Jake offers you, though, is worth a weeks worth of dirty looks and snide sneers. 

“Great! How does tonight sound? I found a patch about 45 minutes away, has some cute fall stuff we could do if you wanted? I’ll drive.”

“I- yeah.”

You wanted to cringe at the sound of spending hours alone in a pumpkin patch, doing fall activities that you always thought you’d do on a date with someone. 

It hurts in the worst way, feeling like you’re watching a life you could’ve had, had you been someone else.

“See you at 6 then, kid.”

-

You shut the door of Jake’s truck behind you as you both step out on to the farm about half an hour outside of San Diego. The evening air is much cooler than it is in the city, offering a bit of a bite as you wrap your coat around you tighter. 

“Where’d you find this place Jake?” You ask as you take in the cozy environment, the corn maze not too far away, the the apple bobbing and hay rides that are consumed by giggling children. 

“Bradshaw’s Mom told me about it. Apparently, they’ve been coming out here since he was a kid.” 

You nod as Jake rounds the truck, stopping next to you. You’re sure Carole has shown you pictures of baby Bradley, rosy cheesks as Nick stands there, both with grins so wide. 

The pictures had made your heart ache in the way hearing Carole or Nick talk about Bradley’s childhood always had. 

There was so much love and laughter you’d missed out on, so much you never got to have, something you longed for.

Relationships you knew you’d never have with your own parents.

Jake clearing his throat breaks you from your musing, bringing you back to the present. 

“So, what should we do first?” 

-

“I don’t think your pumpkin is big enough.” You say, a giggle laced through your words as the two of you walk (well, really, Jake is more waddling) to sit down. He heaves a sigh as she sets the rather large pumpkin on the hay. 

“I want to win.” He says with a sigh, draping hismelf over the hay bales. 

“What do you win?” You ask, sitting down next to him. 

He opens his eyes, but doesn’t say anything, just watches you. 

“Jake?” He hums, not tearing his eyes away from you. “What do you get if you win?” 

He shrugs. “Nothing too crazy, I hope. Reuben is organizing the whole thing which just makes me more concerned for the losers.” 

“Well, what would you want as a prize?” 

He swallows, eyes gleaming. “Well, I could think of a few things.” 

You raise an eyebrow, feeling your cheeks go warm as you realise just how close Jake is to you.

“I-” 

“Seresin!” Someone hollers, causing both you and Jake to turn.

There’s a few boys standing a bit away, all grinning. And then there’s Bob, one of Natasha’s friends you’ve gotten to know through Bradley. 

Bob serves as an athletic manager for the football team, maybe against his better judgement, given the exasperated look in his eyes as the boys make their way over to where you’re sat with Jake.  

“What’re you doing here, Seresin?” One of the boys asks. 

“Getting a pumpkin for our carving party?” Another inquires. 

Jake coughs, looking over at his pumpkin. “Yeah. Um Kenny, Chad, this is-” 

“Shit, are you on a date dude?” Chad asks, eyes growing wide. 

“No-” Jake amends, a bit too quickly, but Chad keeps talking. 

“Sorry, sorry didn’t mean to interrupt. Don’t let us stop you from letting you hit it-” 

Bob cringes as you close your eyes, cheeks aflame in embarrassment. “Actually, we were jst leaving.” You say abruptly, standing up from the hay. “I’ll meet you back at the truck, okay?” 

“Wait-” Jake protests as Kenny offers up a botched apology, chuckling his way through the statement. 

You reach up, rubbing at your face to make the tingly feeling go away as you blink back hot tears. 

You knew this would happen.

-

You adjust your dress nervously as you ring the doorbell, pack of White Claws in your hand. 

You didn’t even like White Claws but what is one expected to show up to a party with? Nothing?

You aren’t sure if the noise of the doorbell has been heard over the music that’s so loud you can feel it through the porch and are about to ring it again (or maybe give up and hide in your car) when the door opens. 

It’s Jake. 

He gives you a blinding smile, ushering you in the house. “You came!” He shouts over the noise.

You nod, eyes flitting over his costume as your hands become sweaty. “Yeah, I- I uh brought this. Wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to show up empty handed.” 

He smiles again, taking the box from you. “Nice. Nice costume, by the way.” He winks, disappearing into the crowd as you stand there like a deer in headlights. 

There’s a warmth spreading through your cheeks that has nothing to do with the seltzer you’d chugged in your car before ringing Jake’s doorbell.

You spot your friend Maria in a corner, refilling her drink and you begin to push your way through the crowd, each dressed up in a different costume, each wearing less clothes than the last. 

You feel more overdressed than you have in your life and that’s saying something considering how short this dress really is. 

You tug on her arm, catching her attention as she smiles. “Hey-”

“Give me this.” You say, taking the drink out of her hand. “I need to get drunk.”

“What-”

“Jake dressed up as Peter Pan. Maria, what the hell is in this? It smells like gasoline.” You say as you shove the drink back in her hand. She peers in it, blinking like she’s not really sure what was in it either. 

“You wouldn’t have liked it anyways.” She says, before a ghost of a smile appears on her face. “So you and Jake, huh?” 

“Shut up.” You mumble, cheeks going red. “I didn’t mean to. Wendy Darling was what I threw together at the last minute.” 

Jake had texted you at 3:08pm, asking if you were doing anything tonight. 

And you had said no, like a smitten dumbass. 

So here you were, against the protest of your judgement and pile of homework, in a skimpy dress in half-assed attempt at Wendy Darling, in the hopes that Jake might notice you. 

A pipe dream, really. Especially given the fact you and Jake hadn't really talked since that night at the pumpkin patch over fall break. 

“Maria!” You hear Bradley’s voice over the music and you turn just in time to see Bradley squeeze his way through the group of people. “You said you were gonna come play beer pong twenty minutes ago.” She nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I know, I know. Got distracted talking to this one.” She points to you and Bradley blinks, looking down at you. It looks like this is the first time he’s realised you’re there, which given how inebriated the boy seems to be, might actually be true.

“Let’s go play!” He shouts with a nod of his head towards the backyard, and with that him and Maria are gone. You glance around, biting your lip as nerves begin to grow in your stomach. There’s no sign of Jake, or really anyone else you might know.

You feel yourself back up further and further into the corner, biting on your fingernails as your eyes flit nervously through the room, wondering what you should do. 

Just as you’re wondering if you should leave (and drive away and never come back) a warm hand lands on your shoulder. You jump in surprise, looking up to see Jake towering over you. 

“Hey, what’re you doing over here all alone?” 

You shrug. 

“Well, why don’t you come play some beer pong with me out in the back?” 

You give another shrug. “I’ve never played, I doubt I’d be any good.” 

He gives you a grin, leaning closer to you. “Well, then you’ll be my good luck charm.”

The sounds of Monster Mash follow you out to the backyard as Jake begins to explain the rules of beer pong to you. 

“-and I know you don’t drink a whole ton, so I’ll drink if you’ll throw?” 

You startle at Jake’s words. “How did you-”

“Bradshaw!” Jake shouts, clapping the brunette on the shoulders, startling him and botching his throw. 

“2 v 2 after this?” 

Bradley’s eyes flicker over to you, a grin growing on his face. “On one condition.”

Jake quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

“Loser has to kiss their partner.” 

Your eyes grow wide at Bradley’s words, wanting to reach around Jake and throttle him. 

Jake titls his head as Reuben sets up the table again. “You’re on.” 

You splutter as Jake tugs you to the other side, a crowd starting to gather around the table. “Jake, the only pong I’ve ever played is of the iMessage kind, I don’t really know how good I’m going to be.” 

Jake shrugs. “Yeah, but Bradshaw and Maria are both hammered. I’m counting on their perception being so fuzzy they can’t land a single shot.” 

Despite your nerves the whole game, Jake ends up being right, with Bradley and Maria only landing three shots the whole game. 

Still, you can’t help the way your stomach flutters in disappointment at the fact that you don’t get to kiss Jake, although you’d never want it to be under these circumstances, where he has to kiss you because of a bet. 

Bradley shakes his head ruefully at you before, leaning over pressing a kiss quick peck to Maria’s cheek. 

Jake teasingly chastises Bradley that that wasn’t part of their deal as Javy takes your place in the pairing, Natasha replacing Maria. 

You get through another round, Mickey taking over Jake’s spot next before you’ve decided enough is enough, and it really had nothing at all to do with Chad’s appearance in the backyard.

“I think I’m gonna go.” 

Jake’s head shoots over to you as you lean over, getting closer to his ear so he can hear you over the music. 

“Yeah?” He asks. 

You nod. “Yeah, I’ve still got homework I need to finish. Thanks for inviting me though.” 

He smiles at you softly. “‘Course, I’m glad you came, I know this isn’t exactly your scene.” 

“That’s what she said.” Javy coughs into his fist as he walks past. 

Jake rolls his eyes. “Ignore him, he’s an idiot. Text me when you get home, okay?” 

You nod, ignoring the warmth spreading through you at his words. 

-

(1:13am- Did you make it home okay? I never heard from you.

Your heart jumps up into your throat as you peer at the text, unable to stop the smile that’s spreading across your face. 

Yeah, I did. Thanks for checking 

The bubble pops up a few times before a new text appears. 

Good to hear. 

Get some sleep. 

Goodnight.)

- You squint at the brunette over the top of your laptop, trying to process the words that just came out of his mouth. 

“I am not asking Jake out.” 

He groan, slumping down on the table in front of you. “Why not?” He whines, causing you to wrinkle your nose. 

“Becuase? It’s Jake? He’s a super popular football player who’s not going to be interested in dating his tutor? Get off this, please. You’re starting to piss me off.” 

Bradley studies you for a minute before he heaves a sigh. “Fine.” There’s quiet for a minutes as you turn back to your reading before Bradley speaks again. “Are you going to your Mom’s for Thanksgiving?” 

You shake your head. “No, she’s driving up north to go see my Grandma with my brother and my sister is spending the holiday at my Dad’s.” 

“So… do you wanna come over?” 

“For Thanksgiving? Sure.” You say with a shrug. 

Bradley smiles. “Wonderful, I’ll text Mom and tell her right now.” He says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “You know who else is coming to Thanksgiving?” 

“I’d drop it if I were you Bradshaw.” 

-

“This is great as always Mrs. Bradshaw.” Natasha says warmly as Jake nudges you. You look up at him from where you’re cutting a piece of apple pie, Nick setting a scoop of ice cream on your plate, Jake nodding his head out to the backyard. 

“Let’s go sit.” You nod, grabbing the plate as Jake leads the two of you to sit outside. 

It’s still warm enough to dip your feet in the pool as the two of you sit near the edge, Jake having to roll up his jeans. 

“I’ll never get over Bradshaw having a pool.” 

You let out a little laugh, pulling the fork from your mouth. “You’re telling me. That was always the status symbol of wealth growing up. What?” You ask, realizing Jake hasn’t started to eat his pumpkin pie but is simply just watching you. 

“You look really nice today.” You feel a blush crawl up your neck as you glance down at your outfit. 

“Thanks.” You say, picking up your plate to eat, unable to meet Jake’s eye. 

It’s quiet between the two of you for a little while, the silence comfortable as you eat your slices of pie. 

“You know, Bradley keeps telling me the funniest thing.” You say as you finish the last of the pie, setting the plate back down on the ground. Carole really did make a killer apple pie, a wonderful combination of apples and cinnamon, the pastry dough always elevating the dessert. 

“What?” 

“He keeps telling me… God, it’s so silly.” You say, shaking your head. “He keeps telling me you have a crush on me.” 

Jake watches you for a second, and you realise telling Jake this may have been a bad idea, before Jake leans over you, pressing his lips to yours. 

It takes a minute for your brain to even realising he’s kissing you, but it’s a minute too long as Jake pulls back, eyes wide. 

“I’m- I’m sorry, I just wanted to know what that was like just once.” 

You don’t even realize what you’re doing until your doing it, leaning over and returning Jake’s kiss. Jake’s hands are already on your waist to steady you as you cup his cheek, getting to savor the way he tastes of pumpkin pie and the bourbon he had earlier. 

Jake cups your cheek as he pulls away, thumb gently rubbing over your cheekbone as he watches you. He’s looking at you in such a way that is making you blush, wanting to duck your head and hide from his gaze. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” He whispers. 

You swallow, already missing the taste of his lips. “Then why are we waiting any longer?”

[marksbear]

Can I please request a Peter Parker x (receiving) male reader blurb based on this post lol

Okay here you go I hope you enjoy it!

PETER PARKER x MALE READER

"Twelve a-clock L/n in coming I repeat Y/n is coming!" Ned warns his friends leaning back on the lockers like hes making way. Peter begins to freak out and makes sure he looks good with MJ.

MJ fixes Peter's hair quickly before giving him a thumbs up. MJ moves to the side with Ned giving Peter some space.

"Hi stranger~" Y/n jokes with his boyfriend leaning on the locker next to him. "H-hey Y/n!" Y/n sees Peter's nervousness and pats his arm lightly. "Peter relax a little. Theres no need to be all nervous. But anyways are we still good for tonight?" Y/n tries to reassure his boyfriend with a smile.

Peter nods his head yes rapidly before saying. "Yeah! Of course were still good for tonight! U-uhm my house or yours?" Peter's own voice betrays him with his face becoming a little red. "Mine. I have no one there besides me and the dogs."

Some of Y/n friends complain to him saying "Y/nn! Lets go!" "Bruhh Y/n talk to your boyfriend later lets go to class!" "Oh my god Y/n." Y/n rolls his eyes at his friends childish acts before leaning down to Peter kissing him deeply.

The innocent kiss was soon taken over by lust making the kiss more heated. Peter softly moans into his boyfriend's mouth wrapping his arms around Y/n shoulders while Y/n holds both sides of Peter's waist as they kiss.

"I swear to god Y/n I'm gonna beat your ass if we're tardy!" One friend says pulling Y/n away from his boyfriend as a trail of saliva follows Y/n from his boyfriend's own lips.

"See you tonight Peter!" Y/n waves his boyfriend bye with a wink before getting dragged away by his friends.

TIMESKIP

Peter was nervous as fuck. This wasn't the first time he has been alone with Y/n at his house, but this time the two had different plans. Usually Y/n and Peter study, watch movies, cuddle, talk and rarely argue.

Peter uses his spare key to Y/n's house and unlocks the door walking in. As soon as he walked in hes greeted by Y/n dogs. After Peter is done playing with the dogs he sets his bags and everything else that's extra on a nearby couch and also takes off his shoes.

"Peter!?" Y/n voice asks from a different room across the house. "I'm in the living room!" Peter answers with a shout. Y/n steps out of his room and walks towards the living room to greet his boyfriend.

The young couple talk and hug for a while until Y/n takes Peter's hands. "Pete. I just wanna double check that you are ready to y'now... Give me head?" Peter had kinda forgotten that was the purpose he was here in the first place. "Yes. I am ready I think I can handle your dick." Peter gives Y/n a trusting smile even though hes scared shitless.

"Okay so what were waiting for." Y/n pulls Peter into his bedroom shutting the door and locking it behind him. The two get into a heated makeout in the middle of the room. Peter runs his hands through Y/n's hair finding a place to keep his hands at griping onto Y/n's hair pulling him deeper in the kiss. As for Y/n he holds onto Peter's waist rubbing his semi-hard member against Peter rock hard boner. Once Y/n was fully hard Peter lets out a gasp pulling away from the makeout looking at Y/n's bulge.

Y/n takes his own shirt off before taking off Peter's throwing them somewhere across the room. Y/n looks at Peter and follows his eyes noticing that hes staring at his crotch. Peter mouth waters and goes to his own pants unbuckling them and pulls down his pants alongside his boxers. Y/n does the same stripping out of his clothes letting his hard spring out. Peter sinks down to his knees looking up at Y/n.

Y/n takes his cock with his hand and gives Peter face a few slaps before getting the hint and opens his mouth wide. Y/n moves his hands to the back of his boyfriend's head and slowly pushes him down onto his cock.

Y/n doesn't fuck his mouth yet letting Peter feel comfortable going his own pace and how deep can he take it. Peter circles the tip with his tongue before licking the cock down to its base before going back to the tip taking the tip in his mouth sucking onto it like his life depended on it. Y/n grips Peter's brown hair tighter pushing him down to the base of his cock. Peter gags and chokes on Y/n cock holding down onto his boyfriend's thigh. Y/n holds Peter down as he fucks Peter's throat. Peter gags and chokes becomes louder as his cries gets replaced by moans as his boyfriend fucks him.

Peter looks his eyes up at Y/n making eye-contact as he sneaks his hand down to his aching cock jerking it off at the same pace Y/n is fucking his throat. Peter loves the feeling of getting used like he was some useless toy.

Peter drool runs down his chin as well as some Y/n's precum. Peter's eyes begin to tear up as some loose tears fall across his face. Y/n lets go of Peter letting him catch a break. Peter throws his head back away from Y/n cock staring at the shiny dick. Y/n takes one of his hands around his cock slapping Peter's face and rubbing his wet member all over his boyfriend's face. Peter pushes Y/n hands away lightly before putting his mouth around Y/n's cock again. Peter bobs his head at a fast pace feeling his own cock twitch in his hands.

Y/n takes a hold of Peter's head again pushing him up and down making Peter choke and moan on his cock. Y/n feels the knot in his stomach tighten and begins to thrust brutally in Peter's throat. Peter doesn't even notice his own orgasm at first since he's so focused on Y/n's cock inside his mouth. Peter came hard all over his hand and some landed on the floor under him. Y/n pushes Peter down to the base of his cock holding him there as he fucks his jaw loose chasing his own orgasm. Y/n throws his head back as he cums deep inside Peter's mouth letting go of his hair. Peter sucked every single drop out of the tip of Y/n's cock before wobbly standing up to Y/n.

Peter with a full mouth tugs on Y/n arms down signaling him to get on the floor. Y/n sinks to his knees looking up at his boyfriend. Peter pushes his thumb inside of Y/n's mouth holding it open. Peter shares one last look with Y/n as Y/n opens his mouth wide before spitting the hot cum he had in his mouth to Y/n.

Y/n waits until Peter spits all of the cum out his mouth before swallowing. Peter stares in awe at Y/n kinda surprised he swallowed it without hesitation. Y/n gets up from his knees kissing Peter's head before mumbling softy against his head.

"We should do that more often."

THE END!

[raccoonfallsharder]

Hi!! I adore your blog and everything you write, cause it's so wholesome and giving comfort!! I was wondering about your take on this kind of trope between Rocket and the reader (because I can't see anything similar on the internet and I'm biting my walls). But I was thinking about friendly convo with Rocket as a semi new crew member, who's young and maybe more outgoing. Still sarcastic and brave, yet empathetic. And they started to get along, eventually became friends. In my mind it was a late night vibe, maybe something like talking about trauma or just simply comforting. I'm a sucker for anything involving petting him so (👀). Maybe they have something in common, maybe something happened. But some friendly fluff never hurts. I'd love to see your take on this scenario!! I just love your work I'm hoping to see something like that ksjdksjx 🤍🤍

wholesome? are we looking at the same blog lol

dear little sugar cookie sunbeam. you're so sweet and i'm so grateful for this kindness, truly. thank you for your sweet words! i’m so sorry it’s taken so long for me to get around to this. between you and @whitedragoncoranth (who always so kindly sends me adorable raccoon-related videos and little fictions) the two of you have been spinning lovely little thoughts in my head. so this is for the both of you ♡

like, imagine that pete wakes up in the middle of the sleep-shift. there’s something happening in the benetar’s ventilation system, and it doesn’t sound good. a strange sort of pitchy rattle, like something’s come loose. normally pete wouldn’t be the one to notice something like that — rocket’s sensitive hearing would pick up any deviation in the benetar’s normal low murmur long before pete’s “inferior baldbody ears.” but here it is — far too late in the so-called night — and star-lord has noticed something wrong with the ship. and not just any part of the ship — one of the parts most integral to survival in the inhospitable void of space.

so he rises, half-frantic, and goes to find the benetar’s genius creator and resident mechanic.

"goddammit," you mutter, scowling down at the carton of milky-fizz in your hand. normally, you'd be staring out at the stars as they spiraled past: gorgeous glimmering clouds of glitter-dust and refracted light, swirls of color and soft-edged flakes of illumination, haloes and radiant pinpoints — all bright and pulsing against the black jeweler's velvet of an endless sky. tonight, though, you're just pissed, and not even the shimmering specks of a thousand distant suns can ease the cringing ripple of shame prickling up the base of your spine and between your shoulderblades. you hunch your back, trying to shiver it right off your skin.

"hey, kid. what the hell are you doin' out here?"

you pause, shoulders still high under your ears — but when you breathe out, some of your tension goes with it. rocket's an ornery bastard, but he's also your best friend here on the benetar, and if anyone can make you feel better, it's probably him.

not that it had always been that way. your friendship is more or less a recent development. you wouldn’t call yourself new to the crew anymore, but you're definitely the freshest of the guardians family. you'd run into them when they'd stopped back on knowhere after defeating some kind of — god? planet? — and the pilot had clearly not been a fan of further expanding their little crew beyond the recent addition of mantis and, to a lesser extent, kraglin and nebula.

why d'you wanna even do this? he'd sneered. it ain't all fame and fortune.

you'd snorted. fame and fortune? at best, it had seemed the so-called guardians of the galaxy had only earned the suspicious and sometimes-entertained watchfulness of any given band of locals — as if they'd been some troublesome trickster-folkheroes brought to life.

plus, this stupid galaxy's always needing to be saved, rocket had snarked, half-resentfully.

you'd grinned and shrugged. as a matter of fact, i'm here for the job security, you'd only replied, and it had tugged a startled smirk into the corner of his mouth.

"you all right?" he asks now, nearly thirty cycles later.

you sigh. "oh, you know." you wave your carton at the stars behind the armored glass.

rocket snorts. "yeah, i do know," he drawls, one brow winging up. you're not looking at him, so you can't see it — but you can hear it in his voice. "i know exactly what you're doing."

it's your turn to raise an eyebrow. "what am i doing?" you take a swig of your milky-fizz, but rocket doesn't miss a beat.

"beating yourself up for stupid shit."

"ahhhh," you breathe softly into the chill, recycled air. "you would know, then."

"i would," he agrees. "now, c'mon." his hand reaches out and shoves gently at your hip. "you can whine about it while we eat some zargnuts."

you can't help but laugh. after you'd first come aboard, it had only taken a few rotations for the two of you to begin gravitating toward each other. if asked, rocket would have muttered he’d just given you a shot because you’d been the only one who groot seemed to tolerate: mature enough to hold your own with the other guardians, but young enough that rocket's adolescent son somehow — miraculously — hadn’t despised you. luckily for rocket, he'd also quickly learned that you'd been willing to engage in the stupid multi-front prank-wars that he’d had going with almost every other member of the crew. hell, that thing with the frickin’ zargnuts had been your idea — he’d just come up with the tech. the two of you had crept into food storage one rotation, and you’d emptied every bag into jars, then passed each one to rocket. he’d puffed them with air and neatly closed them with the heat-resealing gun he’d crafted as soon as you’d made the suggestion.

drax had been sulky for cycles, and you'd stayed strong, not 'fessing up until mantis had burst into tears after opening her fifteenth empty bag.

still, the majority of the jars of zargnuts are currently residing in the corner of rocket's bunk.

you follow him across the catwalks and down the hatch, passing arched armored-glass windows separating the two of you from the cold void of space. outside the benetar, the galaxy is lit up with spilt-glitter-stars and moons like twinkle-lights. inside, guages and buttons pin the shadows like velvet stage-curtains to the wall, and security orbs stitch them to the edge of the grated floors. most of the other guardians are in bed already, and the narrow corridors are quiet, with only the low hum of the benetar's life support systems echoing a low lullaby. rocket leaps up to tap the sensor that slides open his bunk door, and you throw yourself easily into the pile of cushions in the corner under his hammock. he's one of the lucky bastards with a starboard-side porthole in his bunk, which means the whole little room is softly aglow with the dim blue and mauve haze of stardust. he taps a plasma orb, adding a sheen of gold to the edges of the shadows so that he can dig through his locker more easily, producing a giant, half-eaten jar of zargnuts and sliding it across the thin, faded rug toward you.

"dig in," he orders, and you do — unscrewing the lid and reaching in to pull out a couple of the bite-sized snacks. "you wanna tell me what's got you all knotted up?" he adds casually, tapping the datapad he's got docked on his workbench. some song he's cloned from pete's zune drifts out, melancholy and mellow, across darkness.

"is that california dreamin'?" you ask incredulously.

he listens for a beat, till the chorus hits. "sounds like it," he replies with a shrug, "but you're not gettin' outta answering me, kid."

you sigh and take another sip of your milky-fizz . it goes surprisingly well with the zargnuts. "i almost got pete killed today."

rocket snorts. "what?"

"when that symbiote attacked him, i should've switched over to the disresonator blaster you made, and instead i just sh-shot at it with the rotary cannon and i almost—"

"kid," rocket interrupts, sounding exasperated. "you been in how many fights like this? m'not talking about threatening some jerk with your quadblaster, i mean actually fighting a dozen corrupted klyntar, or some high-powered alien despot, or whatever."

"i dunno," you say dismally. "however many there've been since i started with you guys."

"and this is your first mistake," he reminds you. "and it wasn't even that stupid."

you roll your eyes. "thanks ever so."

"seriously," he says, grabbing another handful of zargnuts. "you know, our second fight was because drax decided to call up the kree accuser we were running from and give 'im our coordinates."

you pause with your milky-fizz halfway to your mouth. "what?"

rocket snickers. "and that jackass is like, old enough to be your dad. at least. he's supposably been fighting way longer." he pauses. "though he did get caught and thrown in the kyln so maybe he was always an idiot about it. what i'm saying is, you don't gotta beat yourself up for doing one stupid thing."

you look at him solemnly, taking in the way the plasma orb gilds the strands of gunmetal and brass in his fur, and the halo of mint-green and rose and purple as you drift past a rainbow-hued nebula.

"what about you?" you ask. the quiet shadows pool around the two of you, cool and just heavy enough to press any anxiety out of your lungs. that's how it always is on these nights with rocket, you think. usually the two of you are on the flightdeck, drinking some of drax's kylosian coffee while rocket flies till you fall asleep — but sometimes you hole up in his bunk or yours, listening to music and telling stories and cracking jokes until one or both of you passed out.

"what about me?"

you wrap the shadows and the starlight around yourself and finish off the milky fizz, setting the plastic carton carefully to one side. "you beat yourself up all the time."

he sighs. "that's different."

"howso?" you challenge, but he slants you a look that glints like red spinels and rubies in the stray starlight, and you know you're not gonna get an answer. you hum a faintly disgruntled, half-playful note. "you know what would make me feel better?"

"no."

you grin, and reach out toward him with both hands, palm-down, rubbing your fingers and thumbs together.

"absolutely frickin' not."

"please?"

"you're annoying."

your fingers don't stop. "you don't have to pretend like you don't like it," you tease him. "i had a friend back on terra—"

he snorts. "you had a friend?"

you pout. "don't be a jackass." you flex your fingers in a grabby motion. "i had a friend on terra and she use to tell me — you know, you are allowed to let yourself enjoy nice things."

he snorts. "oh yeah? and what’d you say to that?"

your grin splits wide. "probably the same thing you’re gonna say to me," you admit with a dip of your head. another gold galaxy swirls slowly past, limning everything: platinum and bronze and sunset edges, melting against the dark violet-blue.

he wings one brow upward. "what’s that?"

you can’t stop the chuckle riding under your ribs. "sounds fake, but okay."

he snickers. "well, you're not wrong."

"c'mon," you wheedle, not letting him out of it that easily. you flex your fingers again, and rub the tips together like you're testing the velvet quality of the shadows, or the fading strains of california dreamin' as they melt into time after time. "please? for me, rocket?"

he raises his brow again, rolling his eyes. they're deep amethysts in the darkness, but every time he moves them, they throw back glimmers of almandine and garnet.

"sounds fake," he mocks, "but okay." he slides across the cushions. "and watch the tail this time. don't need your frickin' elbow leaning on it again."

you fake-scowl. "that was one time," you sulk, winding your arms around him and pulling him in close so you can burrow your fingers into the thick velvet pile of his ears. he immediately cocks his head like he's been secretly waiting for it all night, leaning into the little massage at the base of the twitching appendages. his head his heavy and weighted against your hands, alternating side to side as he tries to push into the pressure of your touch. you'd never point it out to him, of course; he'd stop immediately, you're sure. and you weren't lying — it does make you feel better. millennia of evolution have contributed to this one perfect element of the terran human condition, you suppose: the release of endorphins whenever you get a cuddly animal's fur under your fingertips and palms.

you ease your hands down, stroking long lines over the back of his head, burying your fingers in the fur at the base of his skull and around his shoulders, weaving them into his lush, soft undercoat. it becomes mindless, meditative: his fur gleaming thread by soft thread in the starlight, the hypnotic lullaby of the moons and suns and planets rolling by like round, loose beryls and pearls, the sparkling haze of cosmic dust spilling past the porthole. the music shifting through the dark shadows and puddling in the little pools of light, weaving in between each strand of rocket's fur and the soft valleys between your fingers: fleetwood mac and bowie and kate bush and joy division, all layered into the darkness and the sprinkle of lights — the spray of glitter, the haloed glow; the quiet of your breath and rocket's; the pulse of your shared heartbeats; the sleepy tug of your eyelids. the knowledge that he knows you well enough to recognize when you're ragged at the edges, and the eagerness to help patch you up with zargnuts and music and stories about drax; the knowledge that you'd do the same no matter what. the warmth of him under your hands, his body going relaxed and heavy under your arms, the soft brush of his fur under your chin.

the knowledge that in all of the wide universe, you always have a home with each other.

something rumbles against your belly, where his chest is leaned up against you, and your hands stroke over his back. it's rare that he purrs, and usually brief: but this time he lets it happen, and it grows. the rapid, deep-rooted clicking, like a dark-velvet chirp that never ends, rolls up from his body and into your hands like a gift passed from him to you. it shivers out into the air, tumbling and rippling through the silk shadows, blending with the music, flickering against everything in the tiny room and echoing softly, rebounding, shimmering. you lose yourself in the pattern of it, matched to his inhalations and exhalations. matched to yours. you're drifting into it like an incoming tide, moonlit and starstruck, little waves that lap and tap against your heart and your brain until you begin to doze off while your fingers trace deep little forest-paths into his fur, taking and offering comfort as easily as breathing, as easily as the gentle thump of your hearts against each other. you lose time like that: lost in the sounds of him and the music, lost in the deep blue, the aubergine, the glimmering in and out. you don't so much as stir until there's a thump in the corridor, and then against the frame of the door—

you jolt awake, blinking blearily, and rocket's already torn himself out of your arms and off the cushions as the door slides open.

"what the fuck, quill? i coulda been — i dunno, doing something—"

"there's a problem with the vent system," pete rushes out, sounding nervous and frantic. "i don't know how long it's been going on but there's like a — a rattling, rumbling noise—"

"shut up," rocket snaps, one dark hand extended toward pete in a halting motion, and you freeze as the three of you go still and quiet.

the vents cycle on, hushed and gentle as a breeze in a field of wheat.

you wait.

"i don't frickin' hear anything," rocket growls.

"i don't—" pete starts, looking baffled and almost betrayed by the functioning ventilation system. "it was—"

"what'd it sound like?" you pipe up from the corner, and pete's brows furrow when they focus on you.

"like a kind of a... brrrrrrrrrh," he mimicks, rolling his tongue off the rough of his mouth in a guttural purr.

your eyes go wide, and then shoot over to rocket's. your friend's face is a picture in absolute horror.

"uh," you start, the corners of your mouth twitching as you try to hold back a sudden cackle.

"it's nothing, pete," rocket snaps. "you're imagining shit."

"but—"

"go back to bed!" rocket half-roars, and pete takes one last bewildered glance at the air vents before slinking out the door.

rocket slaps the sensor panel and whirls on you, one claw extended.

"not a fuckin' word," he snarls.

you say nothing. you only smile — eyes sparkling — and reach for him with both hands: palms down, fingertips rubbing against thumbs in a silent demand for more pets.

headcanons & imagines masterlist

[spiderispunk]

📱 phone sex with tasm!peter?

Dial Tones [p.p.]

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Phone Sex. Mutual Masturbation. Dirty Talk.

Summary: Peter gets a much-needed distraction after studying all night.

It starts innocently enough.

Peter’s studying in his room when he gets the text. Just two words, but the invitation in them really speaks a thousand. 

You up?

A grin flits over his face. He’s grateful for the distraction, more than happy to turn his attention away from the list of equations on the page in front of him. In the last hour, they’ve begun swimming off the page at an alarming rate.  A swirl of numbers, letters, symbols, each more confusing and infuriating than the last. Peter was just beginning to think he was going to chuck his book out the window if he didn’t take a break soon. An extreme reaction, maybe, but such was the effect of a 300 level biochemistry class.  

So, he gladly takes the life raft you offer him. 

Peter swipes the message open, and types out a one-handed reply: Yeah. Studying for Richard’s exam. 

Gross. Comes the response, not 10 seconds later. And then. Need a distraction?

He chuckles. You’ve managed to read his mind from miles away.

Peter shifts in his chair, hunching over his phone. He’s not quite sure why he’s trying to hide. He lives in a single dorm, a lucky find for a freshman. Maybe old habits die hard. 

Depends. What do you have in mind?

Why don’t you come over and find out?

His lips twist into a frown. It was twenty minutes past midnight, which normally wouldn’t stop him, but he had a test in less than 8 hours, and a 40 minute commute on top of that probably wouldn’t be the smartest decision. 

Can’t. It’s too late. 

Your loss. The message has a photo attached to it. Peter sucks in a breath when he opens it. 

It’s poorly lit, almost secretive. The image of you angling the photo in the dark of your dorm room sends a bolt of electricity down his spine. A teasing shot of your shirt bunched around your hips, with your hand down the front of your sleep shorts. In the corner of the photo, the barest flash of lavender panties. 

Peter’s tongue swipes over his lower lip. 

Shit.

Change your mind?

I really can’t. My exam’s at 8 AM. I’d never get back on time. 

My roommate’s out.

You’re really pulling out all the stops tonight, huh?

I just really miss you. Can you blame me?

Another photo. This one a clear shot of your panties hanging low on your hips.  

Peter’s face warms. He scrubs a hand down his face.  

Don’t you miss me? He can almost hear the seductive lilt in your voice. 

The next image he receives nearly has him tugging on his shoes and hauling ass to the nearest subway station right then and there. Your panties off screen, fingers buried between your bare thighs. 

Peter fumbles out a reply, grateful you can’t see how red his face is. Course I miss you honey. And after a beat. Are you touching yourself? 

Yes. 

And thinking of me? 

Always. 

“Fuck.” Peter exhales. His shorts grow uncomfortably tight. He fidgets in his seat, subconsciously palming his aching dick.  

Good girl.

Wanna see? 

Hell yeah.

The FaceTime alert shatters the quiet of his room, and startles Peter into action. 

He answers the call, mouth dry. The phone’s camera is pointed at your pussy, giving him a perfect vantage point to watch two of your fingers swirl around your clit. 

“P-Pete,” you whimper quietly. 

“Ah shit, baby,” Peter whispers. His dick throbs almost painfully. “Look at you.” 

You moan at his encouragement. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you. I want you so bad.” 

“I see that.” Peter shoves his shorts down and spits into his palm. He wraps his fist around his dick and groans breathily. 

“I’m so wet.” 

And fuck he can hear it. The slick of your fingers slipping as you pleasure yourself. The little breathy whines low in his ear. 

“You’re killing me, baby.” He murmurs. “I wish I could feel you.” 

“Wish you were fucking me.” You reply, voice ragged. “Show me. I wanna see you jerk off.” 

“Wanna see your face.” 

“Count of three?” You ask, and Peter chuckles. 

“Sure. One.” 

“Two.” 

“Three.” 

The cameras flip in unison. Peter’s breath catches at the needy look in your heavy-lidded eyes. The curve of your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. You whimper, yes audibly whimper, at the curve of his dick. The pink head weeps with precum; the translucent pearls dribbling down the shaft.

“Fuck yourself with your fingers.” Peter swallows thickly. “Pretend they’re mine.” 

You do what he says. He can tell because your eyes close slightly and your breath hitches. “They don’t feel as good as yours.” 

“I know, baby. My hand doesn’t feel as good as you either.” It’s a poor replacement for the real thing. “I’ll make it up to you.” 

God, he wanted to be with you so badly. Curse Richards and this stupid exam. He wanted to be the cause of your growing moans. Wanted to hear you pant his name in his ear. Wanted to feel you wrapped tight around him, the slide of your skin on his. 

“Tomorrow, as soon as I finish my exam I’m coming over,” he promises. 

“Yeah?” Your voice is barely a whisper. “To do what?” 

“Gonna get my mouth on you. Make you come with my tongue.” He bites his lower lip. Just the thought makes his stomach tighten. “Then with my fingers.” 

“I love your fingers.” 

“I know you do, honey.” Peter smirks. “That sound good to you?” 

“As long as I get to blow you after.” 

Peter tightens his jaw. “Baby, you can do whatever you want.” 

“Can I ride you?”

It was one of your favorite positions, so that made it one of Peter’s as well. He liked to watch you. See the way your body rolled forward with each trust. Watch the furrow of your eyebrows when you got into a rhythm that really worked for you. Watch your breasts bounce, and your body shudder as you crested that blissful peak.  

“Fuck, yeah.” He tilts his head back. “Shit, I’m close.” 

“Me too.” 

“Gonna come for me, sweetheart?” Peter asks, a heady rasp in his voice. 

“Uh huh. God.” You curse, eyes rolling back into your skull. 

Peter’s hand moves a bit faster. “Nope, just me, baby. Want you to come all over your fingers, and I’ll come all over mine.” 

He can barely keep hanging on anymore. The coil of warmth within him threatens to unravel. 

“Ah.” You whimper as you fall apart. The sound strikes his ears like glass on stone. A beautiful tinkling. 

Peter’s answering groan is broken. Guttural. The phone clatters to the floor, but he’s too far gone to care. He spills onto his hand, his thighs, his stomach. When he’s finally spent, he slumps back on the chair boneless. His hand searches aimlessly for his cellphone, fingers wrapping around it. 

He’s greeted by your smiling face. “How’s that for a distraction?” 

“Perfect.” He pulls his shirt off and cleans himself up. 

“How much longer do you think you’ll stay up studying?” 

“Another hour maybe.” He tosses the balled shirt towards his laundry basket. It lands on the floor a few inches away. 

You yawn, stretching out on your bed. “Don’t stay up too late. You don’t want to oversleep and miss your exam.” 

Peter knocks on the wood of his desk. “I’ll set two alarms.” 

“Let me know how it goes, okay?”

“I will.” He rests his chin on his hand and grins at you. “Thanks for the photos.” 

You wipe a hand over your tired eyes. “Anytime. Night, Peter.” 

“G’night.” Peter ends the call, reluctant to begin studying again. 

This time, the equations manage to stay on the page for much longer, and by the time Peter finally shuts his textbook for the night, he's feeling much more confident.

[luveline]

jade my heart I’m really feeling Peter parker tonight in this chilis. maybe just Pete listening to r go on about something she likes? Like a book or a tv show and he’s just listening but also so obsessed with her and thinks she’s adorable? I love u! 🫶🏻

ily ty for requesting <3 fem

“It’s a prequel, you know?” 

Peter feels fondness for you pretty much every second of the day, but the way you’re asking without looking at him, and the way you’re laying across his lap so unbothered, he finds himself grinning like a mad man. “I did not know that,” he says. 

You nod up and down with a severe sort of look about you, as though this is of the utmost importance. If Peter doesn’t get on the same page as you soon, he’s not gonna make it. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen the first trilogy. Like, I like you so much, but where the hell have you been?” 

“Where have I been?” he wonders. 

“Anyways, that’s not the point, sorry. They’re complicated movies. You’d like them, though. Next time I’ll bring my DVD’s and we can watch them, if you want to, you’ll really like them, or you’ll really like Natalie Portman, at least. She’s beautiful. And her character is so… complicated, I guess, she’s doomed from the beginning of the narrative and she’s the catalyst for so much but she’s also just… sorry, I’m being totally boring.” 

“Says who?” 

Doesn’t take much more than that to get you rolling again, you want to tell him that badly, “I don’t wanna spoil it anymore because I really think you’ll love them if you watch them, but you’re gonna need to watch the first trilogy to get the emotional impact, and you’ll love them, don’t worry.” 

“I’ll love them,” he agrees, attempting to lean down for a kiss. 

“Wait, is this a shut me up kiss?” you whisper. 

Peter shakes his head as he kisses you, serving for a wobbly but soft press of your lips to his. “Never. Tell me everything about it.” 

You talk until you’re hoarse, literally hoarse, and Peter has to make you a cup of water. His cheeks are hurting from smiling at you. You’ve never looked this cute, not once, not even when he took you to Coney Island and you screamed the house down on all the rides. 

“I think we better go and get those DVDs,” he says. 

“It’s dark out,” you say. 

“We’ll swing.” 

“Isn’t that against your code of ethics?” You sip your drink, pointing at him. “We’ll hear someone who needs help on the way and you’ll drop my extended editions to save them.” 

“I won’t drop anything,” he says. “Come on! Come on, if you’re this excited just talking about it I wanna see how pretty you are when we’re actually watching the movies.” 

You press your smile into a line. “You’re not just humouring me?” 

“I could listen to you talk for hours, baby, but you sound like you did the second time we got off of The Cyclone.” 

You do a spinning, meandering dance into his arms. “If you insist.” 

Your feigned reluctance is adorable. He grabs you in both hands for another misaligned kiss.

[ohtobeleah]

Chaos // Bradley Bradshaw

Chapter Three: The Other Women

Summary: Things were good between you and Rooster for what felt like a total of one whole minute before your entire world came crashing down around you—just like you knew it would. It’s always the same, the more you fuck around? The more you find out.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff. SMUT—absolutely pitiful writing. (Heterosexual) Bradley Bradshaw x female reader.

Word Count: 6.6k

Author Note: EEP! I’ve been waiting to this chapter to go live since I finished editing it. So here it is! I couldn’t wait. Also, let’s play a little game—how many lines from popular songs can you spot!Have a lovely night and see you next week!

You weren’t a closed off kid. In fact you were the exact opposite. You’d talk to anyone about anything as long as they were willing to give you the time of day. But as you got older, you noticed how the people that mattered most to you seemed to vanish into thin air. You started to develop incredibly unhealthy abandonment issues—which at its current, were as heavy and all consuming as they were going to get.

It would be easy to blame it on the fact your dad had given up his fight against throat cancer, or blame Pete Mitchell for basically going MIA for months at a time without so much of an update. You could blame your wingman, Sam for dying when he said he’d see you tomorrow, but that would be selfish. Mainly you blamed your

issues on Bradley Bradshaw—because of all people he was the one who’d slip back in seamlessly, only to break your heart again every damn time. But most of all you blame yourself for letting him do it.

“WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU!” Pete shouted as your feet hit the floor. Rooster and Bob standing nearby as they watched you squeeze your throbbing right hand.

“He had it coming!”

“That wasn’t my question Chaos—I asked what the hell is the matter with you!?” Clenching your jaw you looked at Rooster before your eyes fell to Bob. Sighing, he threw the piece of ginger you’d slipped into his coffee mug when he wasn't looking this morning your way. Catching it with your left. His way of saying tell them everything because he sure as shit wasn’t going to. It was your story to tell. “Answer me—“

“I lost my wingman—“ It was the first time you were saying it out loud. Holding back tears as you looked to Rooster. His own heart breaking for you. “It was a routine training mission, Bob was there, he honestly should have been my back seater for this detachment but I didn’t want to fly with someone again. Didn’t want to be held accountable.” It wasn't an easy decision to give Bob up. He'd been the best back seater you’d ever flown with. But you couldn't do it again. Didn't want to do it again. Something about being responsible for another person in your cockpit made you feel weak, made you tremble in fear and that wasn't something you liked to admit. You didn't play well with others, but you’d easily tolerate Rober Floyd.

“Hangman pulled your file—“ Rooster interjected as you nodded softly in response. Your hand brushed and swollen. “That’s how he knew how to get to you?”

“He was supposed to be fine, it was just a bird strike he–he ejected into the water, ditched the jet—God there wasn’t a scratch on him.” Bob could hear your screams in his head still to this day. Having had to drag you kicking and screaming from the hospital the next day. “I told him I didn’t wanna leave him, said I’d sleep in the corner of the hospital room in one of those really uncomfortable chairs.” Scoffing you felt blood dripping from the cuts Hangman’s jaw had caused your knuckles. “He died of a brain haemorrhage, his helmet was faulty because he had a tendency to drop it.” You explained, your voice soft. Almost inaudible. “I left him and he died and I can’t take that back.”

“One, don’t drop your helmet, it could be the only thing that saves your goddamn life one day.” Rooster heard you repeat inside his head from yesterday. He didn’t realise it at the time but you were watching his back, not just being overly cautious. Not just being annoying.

“I won’t tolerate reckless behaviour in my classroom, or fraternisation in the workplace for that matter.” Pete reminded you and warned Rooster as your head hung low. “Get yourself together, cool off, and meet me and the rest of the crew down by the beach at five.”

“Sir?” Bob stopped Maverick before he left the room. “Chaos is one of the best pilots I’ve ever worked with, if you’re about to talk to the admirals? If they do decide to pull her? Please know that could be one of the worst things they could do for this mission's success.”

“Noted Lieutenant—“ Maverick smirked. “Noted.” Bob was hesitant to leave as you stood trying to compose yourself, Rooster having already made his way over to the small kitchenette to fish a handful of ice out of the freezer. Packing it into a clean cloth nearby.

“I got her.” Rooster softly assured the quiet weapons systems officer. Giving him the all clear to leave the room. Bob looked you up and down on final time. He’d heard alot about the man who liked to play tennis with your feelings, with your heart. Bob felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness for you. Stepping closer to where Rooster stood. His balls suddenly in his throat.

“All due respect Rooster, if you even think about breaking her heart again—“ Bob paused for a moment as he looked at you over Rooster's shoulder. Now sitting on the nearest table. Legs hanging over the edge. “I’ll kill you.” It wasn’t like Bob to threaten people, but when it came to the people he cared about? He’d do just about anything.

“I wouldn't dream of it, Bob.” Rooster assured him, watching as he nodded– accepting the reality of the situation that was playing out. Leaving you two alone, Bob left the room, his stomach unsettled because you blame yourself too much for the things you couldn't control. Wishing for a moment he could take just an ounce of the weight you placed on your shoulders.

Standing in his place for a moment, Rooster sighed deeply before he made his way over to you, jumping up onto the table beside you with a small audible huff.

“It’s always the weapons systems officers who end up scaring the crap out of me.” Rooster chuckled as he came to sit beside you, his knee bumping yours he sat that close. Smirking, you took the makeshift ice pack Rooster handed over.

“Bob's good people, he really held me together there for a while.” Placing the ice pack over your knuckles as you let your head fall against Rooster’s shoulder. He didn't reply straight away, he simply smiled softly as the feeling of being so domestically close to you. Enjoying the simplicity of the interaction. Nothing ever seemed so simple with you anymore, that was mainly his own fault.

“I wish you would have told me.” Rooster broke the silence as he shoulder bumped yours. Your head lulling off his shoulder as you looked at him. “I would have been there in a heartbeat for you.”

“Please, you wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow, Bradshaw.” You spoke way too softly, Rooster hated seeing you like this. “I didn’t—I don’t.” You corrected yourself. “Wanna let you in again because I know when I do it’s gonna hurt like hell,, you leave me every time I let my guard down.”

“You know I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you do anyway.” You were quick to justify why you had become so closed off. “You do anyway Rooster and I tell myself every time that you don’t mean to but it doesn’t change the fact I’m left pulling myself together again after Hurricane Bradshaw leaves a trail of destruction.” Pushing yourself off the table you stood before Rooster. His hands instantly drawing you closer to him by your hips. Standing between his legs as he listened to you. His eyes trailing from your eyes to your lips.

“You're heartless, cruel, you take miles from inches Rooster and we never get to finish what we start.” Rooster took notice that whenever he was without you—birds didn’t sing. There was no joy, no one to come home to. Sure he had a fling with some girl called Lindsey in his brief stint in New York but he couldn't commit. Birds stopped singing whenever you weren’t in his life and perhaps that was just something he noticed. Something small you took with you each and every time along with his heart, his ability to love. But as you stood between his legs, his fingertips curled into your hips. The birds outside the window had a reason to sing again. Removing a hand from your hip to burst the hair that had fallen effortlessly across the side of your face behind your ear. Cupping your cheek as he noticed your eyes trailing down to his lips then back to his eyes. “You really really don’t wanna do this.” You mumbled, warning Rooster.

“Are you trying to convince yourself?” Rooster smirked as he pulled you down into him. His lips on yours in a hot, needy mess. Both his hands cupping your cheeks. His tongue dancing with yours as you gave him more access to deepen the kiss.

“I don’t know how to properly explain how I feel about you.” Rooster broke the kiss. Letting his forehead rest against yours. “I run because the way I feel about you scares the shit out of me, I’m scared to lose you so I push you away, I think if I push you that maybe it’ll hurt less.”

“What did I call you yesterday? You teased as your forehead fell against Roosters. His hands trailing down your body to fall against your ass. Keeping you close to him as you stood between his legs.

“You called me Dumb–”

“Yeah.” kissing Rooster was as addictive as adrenaline to an adrenaline junkie. It was also just as life threatening. “Seems pretty accurate.” Things were complicated to say the very least. On one hand? Rooster was home. He always was and always would be home. But like one of those disgruntled, abusive manipulative homes? The ones where you just love them too much to see how much damage they’re actually doing until it’s far too late. Yeah—that was Bradley Bradshaw. “You’re no good for me, Rooster.”

“I know—“ You were expecting Rooster to put up some sort of fight, give you some complicated argument that turned the tables back onto you. But he didn’t. Rooster simply pulled back, his forehand disappearing from yours so he could get a good look at you and everything that made you. “Believe me, I know.” It was the way he said it that had your heart melting. Apologetic, self aware. “I don’t bring much to the table, and trust me I know everything that’s ever happened with us has been a direct chain link reaction because of something I did—but.” As Rooster spoke, your fingers played gently with the buttons of his flight suit. Your eyes hooded on his chest. “But none of that, no matter how bad things have gotten? I couldn’t stop loving you if I tried.” Something inside the pit of your stomach dropped—not in at oh you were going to be sick kinda stomach drop. But in an oh fuck am I really gonna fall for this bullshit again? Kinda way. Had the handful of times you’d dated Bradley Bradshaw in the past really taught you nothing? Staring at Rooster his eyes begged, pleading with you to say something—anything.

“Perhaps, maybe—if you're willing to try again? I’d be willing as well?” It wasn’t a definitive statement, more so a lingering question. But nevertheless it sparked Roosters curiosity bringing his arms down again to scoop you forward and into him by your waist.

“Is that so?” He teased. Kissing you softly as he kissed him back. Lips melting almost perfectly together.

“Very slowly, at a snail’s pace.” You cooed as Rooster smirked back at you. Kissing you again only this time with more behind it. His tongue slowly ran across your bottom lip as he begged for entry. Wanting, no—needing more of you.

“Is this slow enough?” Rooster knew he was already approaching supersonic, but the way you stared at him? Biting your bottom lip as you chuckled and smirked wildly, was worth it.

“Slower.” You reminded him, your voice hiding whatever anxiety you were feeling in the pit of your stomach about feeling so vulnerable, so open. But whatever it was it all went away when Roosters lips were on your once again. Slowly, passionately. His hands cupping your cheeks as yours rested on his knees. Pushing yourself up an inch or two onto your toes.

“Okay, sure—what about now?” Pulling away breathless Roosted dared to ask you one more time, looking for any sign to slow down despite your obvious explication. All you could do was laugh at yourself, at how pathetic you felt in the palms of his hands. Safe, secure—in the most dangerous position of all.

“You’re becoming an occupational hazard Rooster.” Pushing away, you turned on your heels, sinking your teeth softly into your lip to once again stop yourself from smirking too wide. Too obviously smitten with the man of your dreams and your nightmares. “I’ll meet you at the Beach.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“You got a hot date or something afterwards Bradshaw?” Mickey Garcia or as you’d known him by his call sign—Fanboy, teased a very sweaty, very shirtless, very ripped Rooster. You hadn’t really been able to take your eyes off him for the entire game of dogfight football. Rooster knew it too. He would deny it, but he’d been showing off just for you. Flexing his muscles, getting down and dirty. Wandering hands found their way to every part of you too—without shame, without a care. But now? He was flaunting his ego a little too much.

You had him right where you wanted him. Bending over in an attack position—ready to take off running down the beach the moment the whistle blew. You knew he was yours. “Wish someone would take me out!”

“What, on a date or with a sniper?” Rooster shouted back as he laughed, looking your way as you geared up to tackle Mickey.

“Surprise me!” Fanboy laughed, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose just as the whistle blew. Watching as you came sprinting his way. “Oh fuck—“ with a sudden clap of skin contacting skin and a subtly Oof, you and Mickey crashed to the wet sand below. Landing on top of him as the group whistled and cheered. “Jesus Christ, where did you come from!” Fanboy beamed as he let his head rest against the same, feeling you disappear from on top of him as you offered him a hand. Helping him up.

“You were too busy eyeing off Roosters abs, you may as well have had a giant red target on your chest.” Tapping his back softly, you walked side by side.

“Am I stepping on your toes Kazansky?” Fanboy cooed, knowing there was something between you and Rooster he could tease. “Don’t wanna share?”

“Unfortunately I’m not into polygamy, so no, Garcia—keep your eyes off what’s mine.” You could see Rooster out of the corner of your eye. He’d already fallen into the routine of just knowing where you were. Taking in the way you looked so effortlessly immaculate in your shorts, hidden by the cuff off the oversized shirt that adorned your body—deciding that Bob shouldn’t be the only person playing shirts.

“Ohh she’s claimed a camp. That’s cool that’s cool—I’ve still got my one and only.” Fanboy was pure. He was good people, the more time you spent getting to know the different TopGun pilots you knew they’d give anything to protect their own. Everyone except maybe Jake Seresin.

“Left or right?” You teased, questioning the back seater's personal preferences wondering if he’d respond. He did—way too proud.

“Right, but sometimes if I go in with the left it feels like—“ cutting Fanboy off with a groan you stopped him from going into too heavy detail.

“Okay—that’s enough, way too much information!” Laughing together as you reached down for the football, passing back to Mickey.

“So Bradshaw—“ Hangman cupped Rooster's exposed shoulder with his hand. The sun soaking into his skin. “How’s Chaos?” He wouldn’t normally ask, but his jaw still throbbed. “She packs a mean punch—“

“I wouldn’t wanna be the one on the receiving end, that's for sure.” Rooster stood with his arms crossed, watching you run around, laughing. “She’s okay—how’s the jaw?”

“Throb’s abit but nothing I can’t handle.” He wasn’t ready to admit it, but Jake felt bad for bringing up your file. Perhaps he’d crossed an unspoken line. But that would be a redemption arc for another day. “I do wanna know something though.” Hangman paused for a moment, watching you and Bob tag team. Racing up the straight of the beach as Hangman and Rooster stood off to the side—watching the chaos of dogfight football unfold. “I never took you for the eleventh man kinda vibe, always thought you were more of a paper rings person.” Frowning, Rooster turned to Hangman with a questioning brow. Annoyed.

“What are you going on about now?“ The irritation wasn’t very well hidden as Rooster spoke with Hangman. He still hadn’t really processed the tension he felt from the highly escalated training breakdown.

“You know, the eleventh man theory?” The silence could have been deafening as Hangman’s statement fell on deaf ears.

“No clue what you're talking about.”

“Right, well—say there’s a woman sitting around a table with ten men.” Hangman explained as he watched Roosters eyes trail you up and down the beach. “And all ten men are telling her how beautiful she is, how amazing she is. They’re buying her beers, sharing their food, just treating her like some goddess who’s walking the earth amongst us.” Rooster couldn’t help but to think, hell—he thought you were beautiful, a goddess in your own right. A powerful, respectable—independent Goddess. “Then, all of a sudden in walks the eleventh man.” Rooster turned his attention back to Hangman, his eyes off you reluctantly. “He takes one look at her, says, how you going—turns his back on her and turns all his attention back to his buddies.” Hangman let it sink in for a second before continuing his monologue that Rooster hadn’t remembered asking for. “That’s the guy she wants to be with, the eleventh man, not any of the ten men testing her well.”

“Where exactly are you going with this?” Rooster couldn’t help but to think this was coming off more an insult to his integrity than guidance.

“For some reason? Women don’t want nice, they don’t want real, they don’t wanna be treated well I mean—not a first and sometimes not ever. And I kinda get the vibe you’re a master at playing that role—the eleventh man.”

“And for some reason I really don’t trust your judge of character, all things considered.” Rooster left it at that as he walked your way, meeting you halfway up the beach as he flung his arm around your shoulders. Feeling your arm smack behind his midsection.

“So I was thinking, you, me—dinner, my place?” Rooster smirked as he tried tripping you up in the sand as you evaded his every attempt, countering his attacks.

“You and thinking are never good together.” Teasing you stopped in your tracks. “But what were you actually thinking?” The sun had turned golden and it made Rooster look oh so fine.

“I heard that Penny has a mean takeaway menu.” The invitation still in the air, for a moment Rooster genuinely believed you may turn his advancements down. “Just between two friends who need to catch up.” At his words you felt smitten, endlessly looped into a world where Bradley Bradshaw would forever have your heart.

“Okay, um—yeah I’ll have a shower and head over if you wanna order?” You agreed, kissing his cheek softly. The warmth the sun had gifted him radiating under your lips.

“Sure, sounds great.” Rooster replied as he felt helplessly into your web. Your touch? pure crack. Always had been always would be. His love language had always been physical.

“Rooster?” You cooed as you pulled away, squinting as the sun hit your face. Holding a hand up to shadow it. “Remember, slow.” Feeling the need to just remind him, because with how good he was looking? There was a slight chance you wouldn’t remind yourself later.

Rooster chuckled, noticing the way your eyes trailed down his body. Reaching out to tilt your chin up. Caught red handed as his ego skyrocketed.

“Slow and steady—got it.”

But things did not go slow and steady. Things got hot and things got very heavy very quickly the moment you stepped into Roosters small studio apartment. The short twenty minute drive off base had you pulling up to the Bradshaw residence. Unlike your first experience at TopGun, you’d been given the opportunity to either live on base in the Barracks or—in Fightertown. Rows of small studio townhouses lined the streets. You were lucky enough to have something a little more spacious. A two bedroom one bathroom. Rooster? He was very much living a Bachelor's dream. The studio townhouse was all he needed. One bed, one bedroom. Small living room with a kitchenette off to the side. But none of that really mattered. Because the second you stepped through the threshold of Bradley’s home? You were on him and he was most certainly on you.

There was a small pause when Rooster opened the door. Your eyes lingered on him as his travelled the extent of all that was you. If you were put on the stand and asked to swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth so help you god you wouldn't be able to say who started it. Who exactly made the first move or who definitely made the first unholy move. But nevertheless it happened. As much as your brain was telling you to pull back, take it slow, don't dive head first into the deep end without learning how to swim first. Your lips melted with Roosters perfectly as he took you in his arms. Working to bring you further into his home as you shut the door blindly behind you.

“What happened to slow and steady?’ Rooster teased as he led you down the hall to his bedroom, your hands on the curves of your hips as you reached up to cup his face with one and and to hold the back of his head close to you with the other. Bumping into the wall as he reached behind him for his door handle. “This doesn't feel very slow and steady?”

“Shut up and kiss me.” You mumbled into his mouth, eyes closed, headstrong. Rooster smirked against you–softly biting your bottom lip as he pulled you into his room. Spinning you around before kicking your feet out from under you. Standing to watch you fall back onto his bed before he followed you down. Hovering over you as he attacked the juncture of your neck with soft kisses. Peppering your skin with marks that would surely be visible come the morning.

“Yes ma'am–” You heard Rooster mumble as your hands wandered between you. Reaching for the waistband of his tracksuit pants. Slipping past the band of his boxer briefs, you found him. Hard, throbbing. Aching for some sort of relief. “Ohhh-fugh.” it was music to your ears. The way Rooster buried his face into the crook of your neck as you slowly but ever so surely worked him over. “Y/n–”

“Bradley–” Rooster found your lips again before he pulled himself away, standing to rid himself of his shit, his sweatpants. Almost as if you were trying to match his eagerness, you did the same, ridding yourself of your shirt, your pyjama shorts. Rooster stood before you as you kneeled in front of him on his bed, staring you down like a man who;d been touch starved and deprived of all human contact for weeks, months, years. “Like something you see?”

“Oh I love someone I see.” His words made your heart leap over the moon as he came down to kneel in front of you, his hands pulling you close to him by your hips as he leaned in to kiss you again. Slowly, passionalty, deeply. “So much, you have no idea.” Rooster felt your hands on his length once again, pumping him expertly as he let his forehead rest against yours. “Can't ever get enough of you.”

“You're just saying that so I don’t stop.” Teasingly, you moved your hand a little faster up and down the length of Bradleys shaft, your core dripping at the hitch in his voice as he moaned softly, trying to keep his cool as you made his head spin. All the blood in his body bumping through one body party.

“I'll say whatever you want me to say so long as you keep going.” You were high, looking down as you watched your hand glide up and down Rooster’s shaft. Deciding it just wasn’t enough. Taking charge as you pushed him down onto his back, watching with hungry eyes as Rooster crawled backwards up to where his pillows laid sprawled around. Perhaps sleep never came easy to him either, you caught yourself thinking for only the briefest of moments. Crawling after Bradley you sunk low between his exposed thighs, skin a little lighter where his shorts usually covered. More sensitive. Running your nails up and down the flesh that never saw enough attention, the hiss Rooster made in response orgasmic in and of itself. “Shit–!” before he had a chance to really do anything besides let his guard down, your mouth was expertly taking him. Inch by inch. Slowly working your tongue around his girth, eyes trained on him as you did so. Whatever you couldn't fit? Your hand was wrapped around, making sure every inch was accommodated for. “Oh my god, fucking christ–” reaching down to card his fingers into your hair, Rooster couldn’t help but to guide you down on him. His hips slightly bucking up whenever your mouth came down to take every inch on him. His entire world was spinning—the feeling of your mouth so warm and inviting around his shaft. The back of your throat against the tip of his cock. “Ohh—fuck baby you’re killing me.”

Baby. That was something Rooster hadn’t called you in a long time. Pausing, you sat up, pushing yourself back onto your knees as Rooster followed you desperately. His eyes had never been so dark. So lustful. So hungry. Laying you down as he sunk between your thighs, leaving a trail of soft and subtle kisses up the inner part of your thigh. His arms wrapping up and around your legs, his hands resting on your lower abdomen as his eyes asked you for permission to dive head first into his pandora’s box.

“Bet you still taste like candy—“ it could have been a throw back to the night you and Rooster had lost your virginity together. Or maybe to the hundreds of other times you’d have sex—still, it made you throb at the idea he craved the taste of you. Nothing could compare.

“Why don’t you stop doing so much talking and find out?” Within a second of your taunting tease, Rooster's mouth devoured you. Your elbows that were working to support you kicked into overdrive as Bradley’s Tongue lapped at your core, sending shockwaves of unimaginable pleasure throughout your entire body—from the tips of your toes to your fingertips. Wrapping your legs around his shoulders Bradley got deep, got messy. Sucking against your client as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. “Oh fuck—! Yes, yes yes Rooster just like that, ah fuck!”

“What’s my name?” Rooster pulled away as he quickly replaced his mouth with two of his thick digits, slipping easily past your folds. Invoking an all consuming moan of pleasure from the depth of your soul as you rolled your eyes. Throwing your head back as your elbows gave out. “Say it—“

“I’m not saying it!” You cried as Rooster curled his fingers into your velvet walls. Working the pad of his thumb around in small circles against your clit. He knew you were close by the way you were grilling his fingers. “Bradley—fuck, please don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna let you cum until you say it at least once, like you mean it too.” Rooster was having the time of his life, watching you fight for your life as he worked you ever so perfectly towards your high. His fingers coated, his thumb cramping, crawling up slightly to hover over yiu, taking the hardened bud of your nippled between his teeth before sucking. Making a pop before he moved onto the next. “Say it Chaos—“

“I’m gonna cum!” You eyed him down with a slack jaw. Totally consumed. “Bradley—I’m gonna—“

“Say it and I’ll get you there.” You couldn’t hold it back, afraid Rooster would stop his motion you gripped his worst so he couldn’t pull away—leaving you unsatisfied. Looking him directly in the eyes you begged him, pleaded with him to keep going. You were so very close. “Say it baby—“

“Daddy—you’re daddy!” It hit you like a tsunami. The orgasm that Rooster coaxed you through with his fingers, with his touch, with his shit eating grin because he got you to say the one thing you swore on your life you’d never call him. “Ohhhh my god!” You couldn’t help it, your eyes rolled as you moaned and enjoyed the pleasure Rooster had given you.

“Your so fucking gorgeous.” Rooster whispered as he littered your neck with soft kisses. “So gorgeous Y/n.” Coming to you craved more, instantly needed to feel full. When Roosters lips finally made their way to yours, you took the chance to flip over—it was now you in charge. Straddling his waist as Rooster's length laid between your folds. Slick and warm. “My turn.” You smirked. Pulling Bradley’s hands up over his head. You knew in any other circumstance he’d fight you, wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of control. But you had him, he’d do anything you asked.

If anyone was going to know who fucked who? They were going to know you fucked Bradley Bradshaw—he didn’t fuck you.

Bucking his hips up, Rooster aided you as you guided yourself down his length. Taking him inch by inch as he stretched you out. The O sound you made had Roosters head spinning. Gripping your thumbs as you held his hands over his head, pressing him into the bed. Your mouth blinding searching for Bradley’s to muffle your moans. Grinding atop him as you took him entirely.

“Fuck—“ Rooster hissed into your mouth. His teeth crashing against your as you slowly slid up and down, up and down. Your nectar coating his coat so well it was nearly perfect the way he fit inside you. The tip of Rooster's cock kissed your cervix with passion every time you took him deep. Hip crashing with his. “Holy fuck—baby.” There is was again. That pet name. It gave you such an incentive to keep going, keep fucking him the way you knew he liked it.

“I know you wanna cum for me, don’t you Bradley.” You teased as you tried to bring him closer to his high. “Drip down my thighs—fill me to the brim.” If Rooster died tomorrow this was what his version of heaven would be like. His eyes rolled as he threw his head back, neck straining as he broke his hands out from underneath yours. Bringing them crashing to your hips as he bent his knees—planting his feet against the mattress as he fucked up into you. “Fuck!! Yes!! Bradley—!!” It was hard, nasty, desperate.

“I’m so fucking close—“ Rooster could feel his balls, how tight they were. He felt the load ready to release at the base of his shaft, pooling—ready for release. “Where do you want me to?”

“I don’t care, I’m covered.” You were taking regular birth control, although not one hundred percent effective against pregnancy you could always get your hands on a plan B. “Wherever you want, daddy.” It absolutely nailed you to say it, it wasn’t your vibe. But you knew Rooster loved it. “Cum for me baby.”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit—Fuckk—!!” Rooster groaned as he fucked you hard, his cock pulsing inside you as you felt the warm sensation of his load filling you. Dripping against your velvet walls. “Oh my god.” Stilling, Roosters tense muscles softened. Pulling you down to his chest as you both caught your breath, sweaty. “Jesus Christ—“

“That was not very slow and steady of us.” You listened to Rooster's heart beating as he held your head against his chest.

“Oh god no, we skipped like six thousand steps there.” Kissing your forehead Bradley laid his head back against his mattress. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

The gentle sound of the shower running mixed with the alarming sound of Rooster’s phone going off on his bedside table had you jolting away. Stretching underneath the covers, you rolled over. An unknown number lighting up Roosters phone.

“Hey Roos—your phones ringing, unknown number!” You shouted.

“Uh, can you answer it?” Rooster’s voice carried itself out to where you’d laid in his bed. Still naked under the thin sheets as you sat. Yawning as you answered. 

“Hello Bradley Bradshaw's phone.”

“Hi, who's this?” A woman’s voice rang through your ear as you frowned.

“Oh this is Lieutenant Kazansky, just answering Roo—“

“Well this is Lindsey, his girlfriend, can you get him to call me back? I had to get a new number, his number wasn’t working with my old one.” It just didn’t click at the time purely because you were stuck on the whole girlfriend thing. “Hello?”

“Sure, yeah uh—sure, I’ll um.” Rooster stepped back into his room with a towel strung low around his waist. Still dripping wet. Turning your head to face him you choked out your words as your jaw clenched.

Un fucking believable.

“I’ll get him to call you back, Lindsey.” Roosters eyes went wide as you dropped his ex-girlfriend's name. If that’s what he’d even call her. Racing towards you as you hung up the phone, throwing it down with a look Rooster never hoped to ever be on the receiving end of again. Scurrying off his bed.

“Y/n wait—“ Rooster watched as you bundled up your clothes, dressing yourself quickly. “It’s not what you think I swear—“ Reaching out as you shrugged him off. Snapping back at the only man you’d ever truly loved. The only person who you thought just maybe, giving one more chance to, wouldn't blow up in your face again. But oh boy did it. Bigger than ever before.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You shouted, the agony evident and clear, utter heartbreak lacing every word. Hot tears streamed down your face as uncontrollable quivers made your lip to that unsteady quivering thing children did when they were upset. Only this felt primal, a natural instinct taking over– you needed to leave, get the fuck out of Bradley Bradshaws house, get away from him, remove yourself from his life once and for all. This had been nothing but a mistake you promised yourself you wouldn't make. Yet here you were. As you got dressed as quickly as you could you couldn't stop yourself from mumbling out the atrocity you felt like.

“The other fucking women Bradshaw!” Scoffing, you felt sick to your stomach. “Fuck you’ve made me feel like a lot of things but this? The other women!!” Your chest grew tighter and tighter with every breath you took.

“Y/n I’m serious this isn’t how it looks, I promise!” Rooster tried to explain but you just weren’t willing to listen. “I promised you, and I meant that.” There was a reason the number had come up as unknown. Rooster had been seeing this girl in New York on and off for a few months, nothing serious, super casual. Until one day he came home to find her half way through moving some of her stuff in. it was kind of a red flag he just wasn't willing to take the chance on. Calling it off as soon as he could, as polite as he could. It was needless to say things had been a little crazy there for a while. To the point where he had to block Lindsay on all his socials, his email, his phone.

Rooster should have known deep down that even if the hardest pill he could ever shallow was knowing you could find another him tomorrow, he could never find another you no matter how hard he tried.

“I knew– I goddamn knew I never should have let you in!!” Turning as Rooster followed you out of his room down his hallway. Heading towards the front door. “Don’t you ever talk to me again! Do you understand!”

“Just wait a second and let me explain!” Rooster really did try to make an effort to stop you leaving, stop you from getting away before he had the chance to explain. Reaching out for your wrist you smacked him away. Pointing a stirn finger his way as all the hurt, all the betrayal and anger you felt just poured out in waves. Completely consuming Rooster as it finally clicked.

You thought so little of him and his ability to actually love you that you generally thought he’d do this to you.

“So help me god Bradshaw I will break every bone in your hand if you touch me one more time.” It was the silence that hurt the most, Rooster’s inability to just say he didn't use you. Caught up in his own emotional turmoil at the realisation you must have had incredibly low expectations of him. “I never should have let you in.”

“You really think that low of me that I'd do this to you.” Rooster didn't pick his head up. His eyes never met yours as he stopped any and all attempts to not let you walk out of his house. Perhaps it was the best thing he could ever do for you? Let you believe he cared so little.

“Well I’d never treat me this shitty!” Your face grew hotter with every passing second, Rooster held his own tears back as he felt his heart shattering. For once? He felt an ounce of the heartbreak he’d probably caused you ten times over. “You know something Bradshaw?” There it was again, that sting of his last name. Rooster realised it wasn’t what you said it was how you said it. You'd only use his last name to tease him, get a rise out of him—but you’d started using it to hurt him. “I never told anyone anything bad about you, sure! I told Bob about some guy I used to date who made promises to change but couldn’t pull the trigger and even if I was talking about you? I never—ever said your name!” Shoving at Roosters chest he never budged. “That so embarrassing Rooster, you were my everything!! You are my fucking everything but all you constantly do is make me sad!”

“If you would just stop and listen to me for one second Y/n I promise it’s not what you think.” His final attempt to get you to listen had you stepping back with every advance Rooster made.

“Please—“ Sobbing, you begged him. Pleaded with whatever love you had left for him. “Leave me alone.” Before you made your way out Roosters front door. Leaving him standing in the threshold watching you get into your rusted up Bronco. Roosted watched on as you ripped the chain from around your rear view mirror, pulling it with such force it snapped like every single heart string he had.

It wasn’t long before it landed discarded on his front lawn. Holding the towel that hung low on his hips, Rooster paddled over to where the now broken necklace he had gifted you all those years ago had landed. Picking it up before he walked back inside,

Placing it next to where his own half hung—

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Chaos Masterlist

Tags: @lyannaredbird @luckyladycreator2 @skagelynn @teacupdreams @the-winter-marvel33reblogs @mrsjaderogers @katieshook02 @thescarletknight2014 @justanothermagicalsara @4ngelicb4byy @percysaidnever @puriini @luckylexie @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @shrimping-for-all @fayethefairy @lonelywitchv2 @mizzzpink @unforgettwble @itzyogurl92 @lemoonandlestars @mulletmcghee @redqueeen99 @bucky-barmes @mak-32 @fivsecondsflat

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please angsty queen give us “ranting to a close friend/parent about what they're upset about before they make confrontation just to make sure they aren't overreacting” and “why are you looking at me like that” 🫢

more fluffy than angsty, but i still put some in there bestie.

*mcu peter

Dating a superhero was hard. 

Go figure, right? You don’t think anyone would think it’s easy but the big thing, the real problem in dating one, was that you felt like there was no way to bring up your issues without being selfish. Lately, there was no such thing as Peter time. Dates were pushed off or canceled, he would have you come all the way to his just so he can get pulled away, or get halfway to yours and bail. 

For two weeks straight it hasn’t felt like you had a boyfriend. 

But how do you tell him you feel neglected while he’s out there literally saving people? Hey, Pete? Oh yeah, no, no, it’s nothing, just feeling a little left out, can you stop that guy from dying and come cuddle? Yeah, it was hard. 

One side feels bad, the other is shameful. That side says that Peter could take time away, that he couldn’t always save everyone, that sometimes he could just leave things to the police. But that’s a dark side you’d never talk about, ever. 

You just really needed to talk about it, with anyone other than Peter. You couldn’t tell your boyfriend that he was lacking in his department because he was being a hero. 

“MJ, thank god.” She was the best person to talk to, she took no sides and told it how it was. She could also keep a secret, the only time you let a person play a fence is MJ, she knows too much to ever pick a side. 

“Hola,” She snaps a piece of her apple off, and looks down at her book. Your head looks around the lunchroom, curly hair is nowhere to be found, you need to speak quickly. 

“I need your advice,” you lick your lips and lean forward, she dog ears the page she’s on and closes the book, “go on,” paranoid you look around once more. 

“It’s about Peter.” 

MJ flickers her eyes up, a hand is placed on your shoulder, a kiss dropped on the top of your head. 

“What’s about Peter?” 

You freeze, he’s Spider-Man but you swear he’s rubbed a sixth sense onto you, you just knew he’d pop up. 

“Your birthday’s coming up,” he laughs and sits next to you, “no it’s not,” you look to MJ for support, she gives none, you picked a shitty excuse. “It’s like, seven months away, we have to start planning.” 

Peter takes a bite of your sandwich, “now? Who are you inviting, the whole city?” 

You tsk, “there goes the surprise.” 

You reach to steal a fry, he lets you take three. “You’re lying and wanna talk to MJ about me, don’t you, squidward?” 

Your nose scrunches, “is it normal to let the other person know you’re about to shit talk them in a relationship?”

 Peter thinks about it, MJ watches with a smirk, “I don’t think so, it’s normal to vent.” 

“Do you ever shit talk me?” 

He looks into your eyes, you don’t want to know, “I wouldn’t call it shit talk, MJ, would you call it shit talk?” 

She swallows a bite of apple, “nah, you more panic call than anything.” 

Peter hums and looks at you, “five minutes good?” 

You tilt your head, “to do what?” 

Peter nods at MJ, “to shit talk, I’ll leave five minutes before lunch ends, if that’s enough time.” 

You look him up and down trying to figure out his game, he seems sincere. “You seem really okay with this, I don’t trust it.” 

He shrugs, “babe, we’ve been together long enough. I know you’re not mad at me, I can tell, so I don’t think the conversation could be too damaging.” 

You’re still weary, “fine, five minutes.” 

Peter leans to press a kiss to your temple, “deal,” he looks to MJ, “hey, what was that thing Jason whispered to you in class?” 

MJ cackles, “okay, listen to this,” you follow in conversation until Peter looks at his watch, he kisses your cheek, “times up, see you later.” 

He sends a salute to MJ and finds his way to the double doors, pushing out. 

“Yeah, I could see how you’d want to shit talk him.” 

You groan, “he makes it so hard! Like, this is why I need to talk to you, I feel so evil when I think about telling him bad things.” 

“Okay, what’s up then?” 

“I don’t feel like I have a boyfriend anymore, MJ.” Her eyes widened, “oh shit.” You sigh, “he’s constantly running out on me, canceling dates, not replying for hours at a time, and I feel so shitty because I get so annoyed but I know he’s doing it for a good reason.” 

“And you’d feel selfish telling him because you know what he’s doing when he cancels.” 

You point, “ding, ding, ding. I’m just getting to this place where I feel like I’m being neglected. I don’t like feeling like everytime I’m with my boyfriend I’m on borrowed time. MJ, I…” The words burnt your tongue but it’s a thought that's been on your mind, “MJ, I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” 

MJ frowns, she couldn’t imagine you two not being together, you just made sense. 

“Want my opinion?” 

You nod, MJ clears her throat and shuffles forward. Her hands intertwined and rested on the table, “He’s Spider-Man, but he also needs to be Peter Parker. You deserve to have time with your boyfriend, he needs you to tell him that he’s not splitting his time enough. It doesn’t make you selfish to want Peter.” 

“I should tell him, you think?” 

“If you don’t it’ll turn into resentment, then there’s no coming back.” 

You accept her advice, it confirms how you’ve been feeling, you’ll talk to him and he’ll fix it, then it’ll be okay. 

—-----------------------------

Peter caught you after lunch, his hand wrapped yours and he placed a kiss to the back of it. 

“Consensus?” 

“We should talk.” Peter wouldn’t admit it, but that made his stomach drop. You were talking about him to a friend and then said those words, it didn’t sit well with him, a wave of panic hit him, he didn’t want to talk to you, he was scared of what you would say. 

“Yeah, of course, baby. After school? You can come over, May’s gonna be out all night, we have the place to ourselves.” 

It sounds like a perfect opportunity, if you play your cards right Peter may even spend the whole night home with you. You press up on your feet to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth, “sounds perfect,” it settled his nerves some. 

He felt even better when you sat on his lap during the train ride, your arm wrapped out his neck, his own was wrapped around your waist, sharing headphones you rested your head against his. Peter felt like you were loving up on him, and you were, but mostly because you felt touch starved from him, and this was the first time in a while you had him all by yourself. 

Peter tapped your thigh when his stop came up, you stood with his hand intertwined with yours. They swung the whole walk back, talking about school and May’s new friend from work, throwing in plans for the weekend, it sent a small pang to your heart, you were scared of them failing. 

He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, his backpack sitting on a bar chair. “What’s up?” 

“I, uh,” you pause to think of the right words, “I’ve been feeling a little-” Peter’s police scanner went off, a bank robbery. You felt the air leave your lungs, you couldn’t even talk about the problem because of the problem. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I need to go.” He dashed to his room, quickly stripping to get his suit on. You couldn’t handle it anymore, you follow him and stop him as he’s pulling his suit up his waist. 

“Peter, I really need to talk to you.” 

His eyes flit to yours, he pulls his arm through a sleeve. “Baby, I gotta go. We can talk later.” 

You feel bold, maybe this is the wrong time but MJ is right, resentment is building. 

“No, Peter, we need to talk.” 

He presses his chest, his suit conforms. You hate the sight of it right now, a thought of hiding it passes by. 

“And we can talk later, there’s nothing pressing. I have to go.” 

“Our relationship is pressing, Peter.” 

His eyes narrow, “are you saying it’s on the line?” 

You look at the window behind him, “it will be if you leave.” 

The scanner bleats in the quiet room, they’re requesting back up. Tension is building, you both are die hard on your stances, neither wanting to bend. 

“I need to go, someone could need me.” 

Your words cry out, like you’re pleading to him, “I need you!” 

Peter breathes in and out, he feels bad but he’s needed elsewhere, you’ll be okay, others might not. 

“You have me, I promise. But, really baby, I need to go.” 

You blink tears in your eyes, you’re telling him you need him and he’s leaving, he’s ignoring, he’s brushing you off, he’s not taking you seriously. 

He pulls his window open, you can’t believe he’s leaving. 

“If you go then I’m leaving, I’m not going to wait around for you. Not anymore.” 

Peter doesn’t know what that means, “promise me you’ll stay here, I’ll come right back, I promise. Then I’m all yours, okay?” 

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond, swinging off before you could even get words out. It hurt, and he didn’t believe you. He thinks he can just get away with things, that no matter what he did or how long he disappeared you’d be waiting. 

Well, he was wrong. You didn’t need this, not anymore. This time, Peter could come to you, you tried and he refused to listen. If he wanted this relationship then he’d fight for it like he did Spider-Man. 

You packed your things and left, when Peter came home an hour later you were gone without a trace, he tried to call you but all he got was your voicemail. 

—---------------------------

The next morning he came, almost, running up to you. “Hey! I tried calling you last night.” You didn’t sound nearly as happy to see him as he was, “I know, I ignored you.” His eyebrows pinched, “why?” You pushed the arm he had around your shoulder off, it was petty but you were proving a point, things weren’t fine and you won’t pretend they were. 

“You didn’t want to talk to me, I didn’t want to talk to you.” 

Peter hated to fight, this was bordering on fight territory, he wanted to avoid that at all costs. 

“Hey, if this is about last night I’m sorry, I really am. Come over later, I promise I’ll listen.” 

You sigh and shake your head, “you know, Peter, I’m really tired of you promising me your time then taking it away.” 

“I’m not doing it on purpose, you saw how it went down yesterday, there was nothing I could do.” 

There was, it was to choose that you were the more important thing at the time.

“Peter, it’s getting really hard to have a boyfriend I can’t rely on.” 

Internal panic hits again. “What does that mean?” 

You look him over, “it means I don’t really want to talk to you today.” And with that, you walk away. 

—---------------------

Peter was in a funk all day, you stayed true to your word and stayed away unless you needed to talk to him. He understood that what you needed to talk to him about was important, so he decided it was important to him too, he also really missed holding your hand all day. 

You weren’t even home for four hours before he was knocking at your door, Peter could deprive himself from you fine, but when he was aware of it he counted every second. Your plan worked. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

“Please talk to me, I miss you.” 

You opened your door and gestured for him to come in, he followed you right to your bedroom. He takes a seat on your bed and looks at you expectantly. You didn’t know how to start, you just tried being honest.

“I feel like you don’t spend time with me anymore.” Your words were small, you feel so selfish. 

“I don’t-” 

“For the past couple weeks I’ve felt like I didn’t have a boyfriend, it feels like everytime we hang out you run out on me for something Spidey related. And I hate telling you this, I’ve been bottling it up but MJ said it would lead to resentment and I don’t want to resent you and ruin the relationship, so even though I feel really selfish I just have to tell you this.” 

He’s waiting on you, he’s letting you speak your mind. 

“I know you’re doing important things, and I know the city needs you but I need Peter. I need my boyfriend, I need to have date nights and personal time and I need to not feel neglected.” 

You’re rambling, you need him to talk. He’s looking at you weird, it’s a new look, you can’t place it. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Peter feels choked on words, “I’m sorry. I’m just… really sorry.” 

“I don’t know how to tell you without feeling bad. I don’t want you to feel like you have to make a choice, I don’t want you to choose, I just want-” 

“-Me to choose you sometimes.” 

You breathe out, “yeah.” 

“I get it. I may be Spider-Man but you’re dating Peter, and you need him more right now. I can do that, I’ll plan things better. We can do a designated date night, nothing but earth ending situations can break it. And from now on maybe Spidey doesn’t need to go out for every cop call.” 

You nibble on your bottom lip, “really?” 

He reaches forward to grab your hand, “I don’t want you to resent me and I don’t want you to resent Spidey, I just get so caught up in it sometimes, I need you to ground me.” 

“You’re not mad at me?” 

“For needing me and wanting to spend more time with me, your boyfriend? I could never. Let’s make a schedule, we can plan around Spider-Man. I could do a few hours with you after school then do Spidey after you leave? Or if you want I could-” 

You cut him off with a kiss and thirty minutes later he’s on top of you kissing up and down your neck, his lips ground themselves to yours, you can’t remember the last time he’s touched you like this. His hands slide up your shirt and you exhale into his mouth, you jump when his scanner goes off. 

“All units to Goldburg’s Golds and Gems, active robbery and hostage in progress.” The radio scratched the voice of the operator, Peter barley breaks from your mouth, you hold your breath and wait for the apology, the promise of one last time. 

Instead he reaches out to the scanner and turns it off, he returns to kissing you, then trails down your neck. 

“You sure you don’t need to go?” 

Peter’s words vibrate against your collarbone, “let NYPD’s finest handle it, my girl needs me more.” 

With that he tugs your shirt off. 

[columbiastapshoes]

hello twin peaks fandom. i just finished the og 2 seasons and for the later half of season 2 i put live reactions in my notes app. here are the highlights <3 (lmk if u want the full version it’s so much longer)

‼️spoiler warning‼️ ALSO if you read me saying ‘evil cooper’ i am talking about windom earle. i did not know there would be a literal evil cooper. at the end of the reactions ‘evil cooper #2’ is referring to cooper’s doppelgänger <3 also also!! the double return means it’s a new collection of notes that i wrote down in the same moment if that makes sense? i wanted to do screenshots instead of the actual text but alas i can only upload ten </3

- "psychological evaluation" he already has an autism diagnosis leave bro alone

- ok hang on. if josie dies and harry couldn't protect her. then. parallels with caroline dying and cooper couldn't protect her. Hm :3 (update! david lynch the man that you are.)

- "what is the greatest gift one human being can give to another?" and bobby and i make the same 🤨 face

- weasel. right. yes. i am following this conversation

- sksksksksk save the weasels

- sorry

- im really sorry

- this is the worst possible person to be helping rn. unfortunately he is incredibly smart.

- earle is dale if he used his autism for evil

- i certainly hate you james fwiw!!

- you guys have started over again like 30473938 times stop it

- "please come home with me" "actually you should go" GUYS

- done with y'all where are the queers

- cooper appears from a bush and goes "you never loved her anywayyyyy"

- christ this is rough where are my boys

- MY BOYS??? oh no it's you :/

- haha you're not gonna tell him right

- ohhhh dear :3

- im going to kms :3

- hello bri ish man would you like a bo'ol of wo'uh

- chess? great! sheriff to fbi agent. they kiss. they both win

- "have someone keep an eye on him" CUDDLE WIFH HIM COWARD HE CLEARLY NEEDS YOU. YOU ARE THE FIRST AND ONLY PERSON TO CALM HIM DOWN AND ALLOW HIM TO CRY INSTEAD OF YELL. WHAT THENFUCK DALE COOPER DO U REALIZE HOW MUCH HE LOVES U. sigh

- I DONT CARE ABOUT THE FUCKING WEASELS THIS IS SO FUCKING. RGH

- no way they have roblox dress to impress in twin peaks

- OH NO HE EVIL WHITTLES HES LIFERALLY RVIL COOPER

- i wanna kiss this sad sad man very desperately

- break it with a hammer ??? dumdum

- WOWEEBOB !! !!

- "not all men" ur right pete martell would never

- my boys have not been together as much and it's making me STBERE THEY ARE WITH A HOMOSEXUAL ARM AROUND THE SHOULDER

- oh there's a bomb! ok!

- HARRY HAS A GRANDPA SWEATERRRRR I LOVE HIMMM

- they touched hands they wanna make out sooooo bad

- the bomb can wait you guys are in love

- cooper so preeeeetttyyyyyy :333

- andy i love you very dearly

- i love how harry is so gentle and kind and patient with lucy and then he's like ANDY SHUT THE FUCK UP

- girls night (cooper interrogating audrey donna and shelly)

- wow thats comforting if i was told this i would burst into tears or flames

- i love it when cooper is in front of a whiteboard

- "for instance?" i KNEW thats how u would approach dirty talk u fancy motherfucker

- THEY ARE NOT MAKING EYE CONTACT IN AN IMPORTANT CONVERSATION. AUTISM.

- why is bro goth what happened

- evil cooper you need to either do normal foundation or all white WHY ARE HIS TEETH BLAAACK

- bro is NOT siouxsie 😭😭😭

- yeah no shit. is this. news. i knew this before u fbi fuckers did

- URETHRA! ☝️

- you could KISS him? okay evil cooper..

- finished my brownie. crave death

- who is bro talking to

- oh leo hi leo

- it hasn't panned to leo yet i think he's like dead and they'll reveal it in a sec

- oh nom worse than dead ow ow ow ow

- OW OW OW OW OWWWWIEEEEEE

- WHERE DID HE FIND THE TARANTULAS

- dw leo i can take them home. they are my friends

- giggling a lil. about. cooper.

- BY HEAVENS oh my god

- i'm still giggling about cooper but it has turned from "i want him" giggling to "BY HEAVENS!!" giggling

- ok sorry what's the issue i got distracted

- sorry had to rewind two more times BY HEAVENS is taking me out

- i always said this show needed a dance sequence (i never said that)

- jeez u guys suck not u lucy ur eating

- I ALWAYS SAID TWIN PEAKS NEEDED A KICKLINE AND TOP HATS (i never said that)

- closeup on harry's face pls don't i need GRAND THEFT AUTO.

- sorry pete just said grand theft auto.

- can my cats stop beefing i have a show to watch

- WHERE ARE HER DRAPE RUNNERS!!!!

- you don't fucking say things got out of hand Michael.

- most useless side plot i do not care

- CAN MY CATS STOP BEEEEFINGGG

- HOLY SHIT ITS EVIL COOPER TO ME AND EVIL COOPER LITERALLY!!!!!

- how is he not crying and screaming in a fetal position that would be my plan

- why is evil cooper #2 kinda.

- why do i lowkey want evil cooper #2

- TBIS FUCKING KID WITH THE FLASHLIGHT

- bobs camera angle looks like a ring doorbell

thank you!

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 19 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: your sins will find you, eventually.

words: 10.3 k

chapter warning: heavy chapter warnings for dire!whumpy situations, death, g0re, g!uns, vi0lence!

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, wh-mp. hurt/comfort. s-xu-l situations. spousal ab-se. family trauma. dr-g use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't remember anyone having to figure out who else was on the landline so you could use the phone, then have you really lived? maybe wait on this one.

Back to Part 18.

Part 19

“Peter, wake up.”

The voice he could hear wasn’t his own. It was soft. Feminine. Gentle, like being awoken from a dream. He was comfortable wherever he was. He didn’t want to wake up.

“Peter, wake up,” the voice implored.

The sound of it made his heart ache. How could such a comforting sound cause him so much pain? ‘Bittersweet’ wasn’t the right expression. ‘Blissful agony’ was more accurate.

“Peter,” he heard again, the tones of the gentle voice pulling him from a dreamless slumber. Then, just like a dream, the voice faded into the abyss with a whisper. 

“Hold on...”

Heaven, he thought. He was in Heaven.

The sound of her voice made him want to fall down and worship. Made him want to die. 

“Gwen...” he mumbled—perhaps only in his own mind. He couldn’t move his lips. Couldn’t feel anything anymore. 

What a blessed relief.

His heart throbbed as he felt himself flying. He wasn’t sure if he was sinking or soaring, but it was all so fast. All out of his control.

“You can let go now.”

“Grab ‘em!”

Gwen?

“Get ‘em up on the gurney!”

“It’s time, Peter. Time to go home.”

What do you mean by ‘home’? You’re my home. You’re my path.

“C’mon, Pete, don’t you fuckin’ do this—”

“Is he breathing?”

“I can’t find a pulse. I need the paddles.”

“Jesus Christ, Pete...”

“It’s okay, Peter. You can rest now.”

“Goddamnit—wake up, man.”

“CHARGING. STAND CLEAR.”

“Clear!”

A stab to his chest. A bite to the back of his neck.

“Hit ‘em again—clear!”

His whole body jolts. He’s sticking to the ceiling of a subway car.

“You have a choice, Peter. You don’t have to go back there.”

I want to stay with you, Gwen. I don’t wanna leave.

“Clear!” 

His skin is on fire. Electricity ravages every muscle in his body. It sears his flesh and scrambles his brain. And all he can see is a pair of sparkling eyes.

Her eyes.

“Stay with me, Peter.”

“Pete, stay with us!”

“We can be together, finally. Like we were meant to be. They can go on without you.”

Her eyes. Beautiful, glittering eyes, full of warmth and sunlight. Sweet. Eyes like Honey.

“Goddamn it!” —“Again!” —“C’mon, Spidey!”—“Clear!”

The web catches Gwen by the chest, but it’s too late. It was always too late.

“Peter, please. Please. You can’t do this. You can’t do this right now.”

There is rapid whispering—murmuring, like a desperate prayer. But it’s not Gwen’s voice that he hears. It’s a voice that makes his chest ache just as much.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about everything.”

“You need to wake up, Peter.”

“Please, baby, please wake up. I’m so sorry. Just please stay with me.”

I can’t. I can’t go with you, Gwen.

“Peter, don’t do this.”

“Please just come back—”

“Why would you want to go back?”

“I need you... I need you to wake up.”

She needs me. Miles needs me. My family — my family needs me. I need to be with them. 

A pair of green eyes are staring at him, but not in anger. Instead, there’s understanding. There’s compassion. There’s a hint of pride within the emerald hues.

“Peter, please, I’m sorry. Please come back to me.”

I need them. I need to make this right.

From her cloud in Heaven, she smiles at him. It breaks his heart and makes him whole.

“Clear!”

The next jolt racks his brain and yanks his consciousness from the abyss. He’s reborn again, blood-covered, gasping, and sputtering on a gurney surrounded by worried faces. Every muscle in his body spasms. His heart groans as it flutters back to life. Air slices through his lungs like razor blades. He coughs and shudders, shrinking away from the harsh light of the living.

“Thank fuck!” he hears a hiss from next to him. It’s Eddie. How did Eddie get here?

He pried his eyes open, pupils adjusting to the light. 

Eddie was looking down at him, hazel-gray eyes full of joyful tears. “Don’t you ever do that again, you crazy bastard,” he chuckled. Two giant hands wrapped around Peter’s face as he embraced him lovingly.

Peter’s focus shifted as more faces came into view. 

Helen Cho stood above him as she worked the pump of a blood pressure device cuffed around his bicep. She paused only briefly to wipe sweat from her brow. Miguel leaned back against a wall with eyes closed and face pale as if he was moments from throwing up. Felicia leaned over him, glaring at him with relief and fury. He couldn’t tell if the smirk that appeared was from the joy of his survival or glee from plotting his future demise. Each of them looked like they had run a marathon. 

Peter’s left hand suddenly felt warm. His eyes shifted in its direction, and he followed the small hand barely covering his own. 

There she is, he thought. The eyes that brought him back from the dead.

His Honey.

The kind eyes of the woman he fell in love with—against all odds, toppling all of his defenses—were fixed on him. They shimmered with tears as she struggled to keep a steady lip, gazing down at him like he was a miracle. She held his hand tightly as if afraid to let go. He was certain she was holding onto him with the intent of grounding him, but it looked the opposite. Instead, she looked overwhelmed with relief and on the verge of collapsing into a heap of sobbing gratitude.

Oddly enough, on the edge of life and death, he was the one who felt lucky. He felt contentment with the heat of her palm over his hand. He found peace in the loving look in her eyes. 

He found a hope worth holding on to.

They were almost too late, Honey thought. 

They found Peter exactly where Felicia thought he would be, more or less. Near Long Island City, not far from the Ravenswood Power Station. At a clock tower with a broken face.

Peter was at the bottom on a pile of rubble. It was a horrifying sight. His broken form was covered in dirt and dust, blood trailing from his ears and nose. 

He was dead. He looked dead. She knew he had to be dead.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stand straight anymore. The air escaped her lungs, like a vacuum into space, as she stared at his motionless body. The sound evaporated and fragments of worried statements drifted by—goddamn you crazy sonofabitch—sweartogod you better be dead or i’ll kill ya—as Felicia and Eddie descended upon his body.

Blinking back tears, the vision of Peter’s corpse swam in her eyes. 

Her mind was elsewhere.

It was night. She was at the mountain retreat, sitting up in Peter’s bed. She leaned over him, carding her fingers through his hair. Her heart ached with sympathy, forehead furrowed with concern. He sobbed into her lap like a child, curled into the fetal position. 

That night, they would fall asleep hand-in-hand.

Her fingers twitched at the memory.

Hours had passed. She was sitting, perched anxiously on the back of a plastic bench, with arms wrapped tightly around herself and her eyes hawkishly observing the rise and fall of Peter’s chest.

They were in what Peter had referred to as “The Bunker.” 

It was the abandoned, unfinished ‘Roosevelt Ave.’ subway station beneath Queens. Inside the decrepit station of chipping, art deco arches, and web-covered, stained glass skylights, was a row of abandoned subway cars left to rust on a track. Unlike the rest of the station, they were buzzing with energy.

They had been modified and outfitted to serve different purposes. One car held a weapons storage cache, a server room in the next, a sleeping and dining car lined with several cots and booths, a laboratory with a mishmash of equipment from the 1990s, and finally, a medical bay, which they were in.

Peter was unconscious. His body was bloodied and bruised, stretched out in a gurney, hooked up to IVs, wires, and electrodes. Monitors beeped around him, as fluid bags slowly drained into his system.

He looked like he’d been run over by a tank. 

Whatever Peter attempted to do at the clock tower, it appeared as if he’d broken himself trying to do it. 

A watercolor portrait of purples, reds, and blues covered the pale canvas of his torso. It looked as if the entity—Venom, as Eddie called it—had been ripped from his body, pulled out through his pores. In its wake, it laid waste to his flesh, leaving bruises that bubbled under his skin and stained his complexion in blackberry tones.

Peter had fallen unconscious just a few seconds after being revived. Dr. Cho informed the group that he still had a pulse, but she was uncertain how long it would take him to wake up again. 

Or if he would. She didn’t have to say the part they were all already thinking about.

At the moment, he was sleeping, and Honey felt obligated to watch over him. His eyes twitched behind his lids, and she wondered what he was dreaming about or if he was dreaming at all. And if he was dreaming, she hoped it was a good dream. 

Selfishly, she hoped she was in it. However, a familiar, bitter voice assured her that her presence would technically make it a nightmare.

Whatever anger she held, the boiling contempt fueled by her paranoia and fear, evaporated once she saw Peter’s broken body. It was a confusing whiplash of emotions—to want to shoot someone one moment and to weep over their corpse the next. She resented the conflict in her mind but understood the clarity of her heart. 

She loved Peter. Without a doubt. 

Whether that was a good or bad thing, she wasn’t sure. She’d been wrong about such things before. 

But now, she wasn’t focused on the dark thoughts rousing suspicion in her mind. Instead, she was focused solely on his eyes, the way they shifted beneath the eyelids as he slept. She pictured their golden hue, indistinguishable from sunlight. She envisioned charting the constellation of beauty marks on his body. Kissing the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that formed whenever he smiled. Worshipping the artistry with which the gods carved out his jaw and molded his features.

She only looked up from her dutiful watch when she recognized Miles’ voice. Her eyes darted over as the teen emerged through the sliding doors. He was winded like he’d been running. Ripping off his beanie, his mocha eyes were wide with terror as he gazed at Peter’s state.

“Miles,” Felicia breathed a sigh of relief, alerting the others to his presence. He locked his worried gaze on his mentor. Other anxious faces occupied the back of the car as Johnny followed behind Miles and joined Miguel and Eddie. 

“You shoulda called me,” he protested with indignation. The complaint was directed at everyone. “Why didn’t you let me know what was goin’ on? I coulda been there to help!”

“Honestly,” Felicia answered with an exasperated sigh, “I didn’t know what we’d find. Wasn’t ready to deal with that.”

“That’s bullshit,” Miles snidely argued. “One of y’all coulda died out there!” The tiniest crack formed in the tone of his voice. He clamped down on his jaw. “Pete coulda died out there! And, what, I was just supposed to sit around—?”

“And stay alive,” Eddie muttered under his breath. He sat with arms and ankles crossed across a subway bench. They turned to him, Miles fixing him with a scolding look, but Eddie didn’t shrink away. “That’s the whole point of this, kid.”

Miles’s eyes flashed lividly. “Call me ‘kid’ one more time—”

“That’s what you are!” Eddie snapped back, overcome with frustration. “Jesus Christ, you’re sixteen! Can you blame him for tryin’ to let you just be a kid for a little while longer?”

“Mira pendejo, I don’t need you to tell me—”

“No, Pete should tell you!” Eddie growled, cutting Miles off. The beefy man stood abruptly, striding towards the teen. “But since he might not ever wake up again, I’ll speak on his behalf! So shut up and listen!”

Miles snapped his mouth shut, though his eyes screamed lividly. The scowl on his youthful face made it look like he’d bitten off his own tongue. Eddie leered closer, making the teen puff up his chest, looking up only an inch to meet Eddie’s eyes.

“The world is shit,” the older man said, undeterred by Miles’ bravado. “I know it. You know it. Pete knows it better than anyone. Your uncle dragged you into this mess, but Peter tried to give you a way out. Away from all this crap. Away from Fisk. That’s why he took on the Symbiote! Not because he was chasing a high, not because he was on some power trip—he did it because he loves you, kid.”

“By almost gettin’ himself killed?” Miles snapped back. “That’s his love language? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie grumbled with a frown. Even he understood that Miles was right about that. “Some people only know how to love by how much they suffer.” He paused momentarily, keeping a stern expression while trying to conceal how much the statement resonated with him. “You either die a hero or live to see yourself become the villain. Pete doesn’t want this life for you. Trust me. You don’t want it either.”

“How do you know that, huh?” Miles said through gritted teeth. His eyes shimmered in the greenish lights of the subway car. “How do you know what I want—how does he? He doesn’t get to make my choices for me. Maybe I wanna decide for myself! Just like he did!”

His hazel-gray eyes drooped as he quietly contemplated the boy��s statement. “You do have a choice, kid,” he said, sorrow etching his features. “Just like he did.” The flared tempers simmering beneath the surface had burned off, leaving only a painful discourse behind. “And he wanted you to do better.” 

Miles fell silent. His chest pumped slowly as he glared up at Eddie, jaw tensed. Cords tightened along the side of his neck, pulled taut by stubborn rage. Heat built up behind his eyelids, pushed along by tears threatening to break free. He sniffed, angrily wiping at his face, trying and failing to remain stern. 

For his part, Eddie took no satisfaction in Miles’ inability to argue further. The train station was silent. From her vantage point, Honey could see the boy’s lower lip begin to quiver before he angrily bit down on it. Felicia stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Miles, albeit awkwardly. 

As soon as her arms circled him, the teen’s resolve collapsed like a house of cards. His face crumpled, lines skewing his expression, and he buried his face into Felicia’s neck. Miles’ shoulders shook as sobs racked through his body. 

As she watched, Honey realized she was crying along with him. 

Hours passed.

More of the Spiders arrived. 

Noir made an appearance but kept himself scarce. One look at Peter’s proximity to death and he spared himself from the stages of grief that would inevitably follow. 

The woman Honey heard be referred to as “Redback” and “Jess Drew” arrived shortly after. She held an air of graceful authority and cautious collectedness. Although her composure was betrayed by the sight of her chewing her lower lip as Jess observed Peter. After that, she stayed away from the medical car, preoccupied with Miguel and Felicia as they discussed strategy.

The biggest surprise was the fleeting glimpse of a woman Honey had never seen. First, she saw quick movement behind the dirty subway windows. Then, a blurry silhouette zoomed across the rear exit between the cars. Finally, the doors slid open, and a pair of dark eyes blinked in her direction. A Victory roll of thick black hair pinned on the crown of her head poked out from behind the seat. As she leaned in, curtains of straight black hair cascaded off her shoulders in a pointedly-vintage 1950s style. The stranger spied on them, glancing worriedly at Peter and warily at Honey.

She was a twitchy, young-looking woman with an oval face and glittering eyes. For a gangster, her mostly-black outfit was more reminiscent of West Side Story than The Godfather. In true Rockabilly fashion, she wore a motorcycle jacket over a feminine red-and-white polka dot tank top, black skinny jeans, combat boots, and a bright cherry lip stain. 

“Um... hello?” Honey asked with a shaky voice, unsure how to respond to whatever she was doing.

“I know who you are,” the woman called back from the shadows, still not fully entering the car. 

Honey blinked. “Oh... kay...?”

“You never met me,” the woman affirmed, “if anyone ever asks you.”

“Um... I’m pretty sure I haven’t anyway.”

“Peni,” the voice called from the shadows. Only then did a face appear for longer than a few seconds. “I’ve watched you on camera. Hi.”

She almost did a double-take at the blunt information. Miles had mentioned the name ‘Peni’ before when referring to the team’s ‘tech nerd.’ But, whatever Honey was expecting, this wasn’t it.

As quickly as the introduction was made, it was over. Peni disappeared from view, the doors closing.

Once again alone with Peter, she stared at the empty doorway. “Hi.”

Honey was never good with silence. When it was too quiet, she was left with nothing but the parroting mockery of her inner dialogue. She recounted every word she said to Peter before the monster took over. She told him everything, and the fact that there was nothing to hide behind anymore terrified her. 

What would he think of her now?

What did she think of herself? What did she think of Peter? And what would be the first thing she would say to him if she ever got the chance? 

Just as her eyes began to blur for the dozenth time that hour, she spotted that the chance had arrived. 

She held her breath. “Peter?” 

The injured man stirred gently, lungs shakily taking in the stale air. The orbs of his eyes swam behind tightly-closed lids that were stained purple. A breathless groan crawled out of his throat. 

Awe-struck, a short chuckle escaped her suddenly, with tiny tears budding in the corners of her eyes. “Hey...” she sharply exhaled, tightening her lips to keep them from trembling. One hand tightened around his fingers while the other covered her heart. “Peter... I’m—” She swallowed hard, her tongue twisted around nothing, tears dripping past her widening grin. “Hi.”

The slightest movement of his head triggered a grimace. Gently, he pried his eyelids open, like awakening from a 1,000-year sleep. She fought the urge to erupt into gleeful laughter as he laid eyes on her. Joy washed over her, sweeping her along a river of relief.

She blinked away her tears as she lost herself in the soft hue of his eyes, mesmerized by the facets of cognac and smoky quartz that rested tiredly on hers. They were, without a doubt, the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

A crease formed between his thick brows. “Are you here?” he murmured in a wary voice.

The smile slipped off her face at his question, eyes blinking rapidly. “I’m-I’m here.” His face didn’t soften. She suddenly thought of awful soap operas where a lead character wakes up from a coma and is stricken with amnesia. The thought stirred fear in her, followed by confusion. “I’m... right here.” Would things be better if he didn’t know who she was? 

Silence. He studied her. She observed the color of his eyes dim somberly. Sadness pulled at the corners of his mouth. It twisted her heart. 

He remembered her, alright.

“Why?” he croaked.

She took in a sharp breath as if a needle had stabbed her. She was shocked by the question, and in her confusion, it afforded her time to think about it.

Why was she here?

Only a dozen hours ago, she wanted to shoot him dead. Just an hour before that, she wanted to lay in the warmth of his arms forever. A handful of months before that, she was his prisoner.

Their relationship had changed so many times her mind couldn’t keep up with what her heart was feeling. Pure instinct drove her actions, for better or for worse.

But since all of her darkest secrets spilled forth from her mouth, and Venom spilled forth from Peter’s darkness, everyone had been focused solely on bringing Peter home safely. Herself included. Once Peter had been found, no one explicitly told her to follow them to the Bunker.

Instead of doing the thing she was most comfortable doing— running— she had remained at Peter’s side. 

What’s that about?

A million answers swirled — I was forced to be here, I was afraid to be left behind, I had nowhere else to go — but none of them seemed right. Finally, Honey found a response that made sense. Her instincts dictated her words.

“There wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be.” 

The truth sounded strange coming from her lips, shamefully. As she met Peter’s eyes, he watched her sullenly as if he were thinking the same thing.

Silence returned. The ever-present foe was broken only by a shaky cough rattling Peter’s bones. The look on his face suggested that every breath was agony. 

Silence—always jabbering, when will you ever shut up?—it was deafening. Driving her insane.

“Dr. Cho wasn’t sure if—” She stopped short, anxiously rephrasing her sentence, “Um, wasn’t, uh—wasn’t sure when you’d wake up.” Her free hand rubbed her knee. The statement left her queasy. “I didn’t want you to be alone when you did.”

His lashes fluttered open, eyes full of melancholy as they rested on her. “Sweet girl.”

She gripped his hand and sat inches away, but it felt more like lightyears. It was as if Peter had died in the fall, and all that was left was a shell. The coldness of each moment pierced her heart further. Yet, despite this, she lifted her chin with resolve.

“I, um... I know it technically makes me a hypocrite,” she began softly, “but I’m trying not to be mad that you tried to get rid of the Symbiote alone.” She met his eyes with a sad gaze. “You coulda died.”

He watched her with an unreadable expression.

“I know it’s not fair for me to be angry,” Honey reasoned, swallowing down her emotion. “But when I thought you were gonna die, I was mad. And then I was sad. And scared. Maybe more scared than anything.”

His eyes drifted downcast towards his feet. “M’sorry.”

“Me too. What I did—it was... it was bad—”

“I didn’t know.”

She knitted her brows together. “Didn’t know I was sorry? Or didn’t know it was bad—?”

“Didn’t know...” he replied with a weak tone, “...what he did to you.” 

Her jaw clenched tightly as heat rushed to her cheeks. She had wanted to talk but was now regretting it. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that discussion. 

Peter’s eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, forehead creased with sorrow. “Didn’t know what you were runnin’ from. Thought it was me. But it was him.” 

Tears brimmed as she gazed down at him. A frigid smile stretched his lips—the kind that doesn’t warm the eyes. Bitterness and sorrow weighed down his expression.

“Makes sense—why you never trusted me.” The corners of his mouth twisted downward as his eyes went glossy. Heartbreak flayed his voice. “He’s what you see when you look at me.” 

He mumbled it aloud, but he wasn’t speaking to her. Instead, he was lost in a prison with bars of guilt and locks of self-loathing. 

His misery cut through her like a knife to her heart. Irony mocked her. Earlier that day, she foolishly almost killed herself over the idea that Peter and John were the same. But, facing Peter in the present, she couldn’t think of anything further from the truth.

“No!” she stuttered in distress. “No-n—Peter, that’s not—I don’t, I swear I don’t.” 

Remorsefully, she shook her head, welling with tears. He met her eyes again, and all she could see was despair. It was like watching a ship sink into the ocean. Like watching someone she loved drown before her eyes.

Loved.

“Peter,” she whimpered, jaw wobbling, “I... you don’t...I don’t....” Her inability to communicate infuriated her. Impatiently, she thrust the words out, “I-I love y—”

“Don’t say it,” he whispered, voice strained. He snapped his eyes shut, tearing her from his sight. “Please don’t.” It was the most desperate of pleas. 

“Don’t say anything.” His voice broke on the last word. A flood spilled past the gates of his lids, rolling over whatever strength he had left. “Whether it's true or not, I don’t think I know what’s real anymore.”

Her soul shattered at his admission, and she could only nod. The trust between them— what little bit there had ever been— was broken beyond repair. No fixing it this time.

“Holy shit—he’s awake!” 

She heard Johnny’s voice over her shoulder, reminding her of where they were. She looked over at Johnny, standing in the doorway of the sliding emergency exit, as he called out to the adjacent car. “Doc! He’s awake!” 

Within several seconds, the car was flooded with excitement. Honey sheepishly wiped her tears away, back straightening, as bodies crowded around her. Felicia and Miles were closest to Peter, followed by Eddie and Miguel. Johnny leaped over a bench seat to join the pandemonium from the other side. Helen pushed toward the front after Felicia ordered the group to make way. 

Reluctantly, Honey released his hand, standing up to give Helen her place at his side.

The doctor immediately went to work with a flashlight beaming in Peter’s eyes and her fingers on his pulse, asking him how he was feeling. 

“Living the dream,” he weakly replied, with no lack of sarcasm.

“You’re lucky to be living at all,” Helen remarked coldly. “Anyone else taking a fall like that would’ve been a splatter on the pavement.”

Honey faintly responded out of earshot, her voice mouselike and thick with grief. “He’s nothing like everyone else.”

In the early stages of dawn, Honey was in the dining car surrounded by the others. Peter had passed out soon after he awakened. He slept soundly in the medical car under Helen’s observation. The doctor explained that the best thing for him would be to let him rest. Moving him would be dangerous.

Miguel pointed out that they were compromised, so there was nowhere safe to move him.

With that grim frustration, he questioned Honey before the rest of the gang. It was difficult to talk about her trauma. It was even harder to admit her betrayal to those she knew best. It was torture to talk about both things in front of everyone—strangers, like Jess and Noir, or Johnny, now catching up on what he’d missed earlier. Or Miles—especially Miles.

Part of her wanted to be offended by the interrogation's coldness and Miguel’s gruff tone. Who was he to treat her like she was a criminal? 

But as soon as that defensiveness reared inside her, she cut it down. She was a rat, but did she have to be a hypocrite, too?

“Tell me again,” Miguel demanded firmly. “What else did you tell Walker?”

Honey slumped down in the bench seat with her arms folded. “Names,” she grumbled bitterly. “Times.” 

With each answer, she felt her skin burning from the rising heat of contempt. There was no more hiding from it. The most she could do was be as honest as possible. 

She resigned herself to scrutiny as an act of penance. “Who came and went. When they went. Where they were going. Locations.” 

Miguel’s eyes went wide with alarm. “Did you tell him about this place?”

“No,” she bit back. “I didn’t even know this place existed.”

Unsatisfied, he glowered, “When did you last talk to him?”

“I didn’t talk to him—”

“Then how did you communicate?”

“Give it a rest, Miguel,” Felicia scowled, unimpressed by his ‘bad cop’ persona. 

Honey didn’t feel like she was on Felicia’s good side either, but she did feel somewhat shielded by her presence. 

Mercilessly, he drove right through whatever shield may have existed. “You stabbed us in the back!” he accused, pointing his finger at her. “You were offered multiple chances to come clean, but you refused, and people died. You could’ve done the right thing, but you didn’t. So I’m sorry if I’m not as sensitive to your predicament.”

Shame filled her face as she cast her eyes downward. Nothing could shield her from the guilt. 

“That’s enough,” Felicia said, shooting impatient eyes at Miguel.

“Not until we know our people are safe!”

“I said ‘enough’!”

Miguel took a step back. Felicia didn’t raise her voice often, but it felt like the ground itself shook. Her eyes flashed red as she skewered him with her gaze. Quietly fuming, he glared at his superior and then stormed off.

Tiredly, Felicia sighed. “Where are we with backup?” she asked, pressing her lips into a firm line. “Who’s checked in?”

“Peni’s running comms,” Jessica replied. “Pinging everyone’s GPS now.”

Eddie mumbled through a tired yawn, “You got GPS trackers on everybody?”

“On the phones,” Miles explained. “She hacks the OS before we hand them out. Allows her to access them remotely.”

Idly, he scratched at the scruff on his face, replying, “What’s the point in that?” Then, a loud squelch from the overhead PA system erupted. Eddie nearly jumped out of his skin as if God herself were speaking.

“Means I can mine all your data and spy on you when you look up porn,” Peni’s voice echoed over the loudspeakers in the car, further startling Eddie.

“Jesus!” Eddie cursed. He hissed, eyes cast upwards at the speakers. “I don’t look up porn on the Spider phone!” 

Alarmed, Johnny whispered, “Can she really do that?”

“Can we please stay on task?!” Felicia glowered.

“Miguel’s right.”

The group refocused their attention on Honey. Her head was lowered, eyes glistening. “This is my fault,” she whispered sorrowfully, replaying the series of bad decisions that brought her to this point.

When she glanced back up, she was met with more silence. Painful, but not unkind.

“I, um... I don’t—I’m not good... with... trusting people,” she said sheepishly. “Not good with... letting anyone in.” She hesitated, her voice shaky as she breathed through the heartache. Patiently, the others were waiting for her to continue. 

“I... I know it’s not worth much, but I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard, her eyes rimmed with tears. “I’m sorry about Hobie,” she said with an expression like she had eaten glass. “I should’ve stopped this a long time ago.”

Felicia fixed sorrowful eyes on her. “Hobie’s death wasn’t on you,” she softly explained. “Between Fisk and the Feds, there are some hefty prices on our heads. Money like that makes loyalty difficult. That night, it didn’t matter what info you had. It was one of our guys that helped pull the trigger. Most of the time, we’re pretty good at picking out the bad apples. Not always.”

Honey stared up at her with furrowed brows, nodding graciously as she accepted the tiny reprieve from guilt.

“Plus, it helps to see everything everyone does with their phone when they’re in the bathroom.” The Voice of God chimed in again, but Peni was standing in the car's doorway this time. Eddie nearly clung to the ceiling with fright. 

“How are you doing that?!” he exclaimed.

Peni rolled her eyes incredulously. “By logging keystrokes, duh—”

“No, not that!” Eddie hissed.

“Not to mention, that’s a huge invasion of privacy,” said Johnny.

Eddie looked over at the tiny woman. “Do you have this place wired or something? Or bugged?”

“Wired?” their tech nerd scoffed. “Bugged? What do you think this is, Goodfellas?”

“Good movie,” Noir stated firmly. 

“That’s the one with Leo, right?” Miles asked.

Johnny blanched at the teen’s response. “Wait, what did you just say—???”

“For your information, Eddie, I don’t have to plant microphones to hear your conversation,” Peni arrogantly teased, nose in the air. “What do you even think phones are for, dummy?”

“Dude!” Johnny was still staring at Miles like he’d grown extra arms, the two of them squabbling. “Don’t tell me you’re confusing The Departed with Goodfellas—!” 

“Nah, man, that’s the one with the mumblin’ dude who's like ‘you come to me on the day of my daughter’s wedding—’”

Johnny’s voice soared to new heights. “That’s The Godfather!”

“He gave me a phone!” Blurting out with alarm, Honey shot up to her feet. 

Jess stared, brows furrowed with confusion. “I think we’re past that—”

“John gave me a phone!” she clarified, eyes darting to Felicia and Peni. “He told me to always have it on me... Jesus Christ! He was listening! The whole time— he could hear everything!” 

The rest stared in confusion while Honey grappled with the next horrifying thought. 

John heard everything. 

Every conversation. 

Every detail. 

Every secret.

He had everything.

“Oh God,” she breathed, face full of terror.

She paled at the memory of being in her bed, curled up in Peter’s arms as he divulged his deepest secrets. The phone that would damn them all was inches away, tucked securely in the box frame. 

He knows everything.

Her eyes went wide, filling with panic. “They’re coming—”

“Get down!” Peter's strained voice cracked through the silence.

A moment later, a cacophony of gunfire, pelted metal, and shattering glass surrounded them. Bodies hit the subway car floor like dominos, wedging between walls and beneath seats. Honey landed hard on her side, knocking the wind out of her. 

Screams rang out all around as glass rained down on them. Pops of automatic gunfire rolled on uninterrupted, like spokes on a wheel. Honey could feel tiny pinprick stings from shavings of metal and splintered plastic, like a wasp's nest had consumed the car. The exposed parts of her skin were battered with debris. As she cowered, a heavy weight dropped on her back.

The second she recognized the cinnamon and cedar scent, she opened her eyes in astonishment. Peter was there—fully awake, with wires and IVs still attached. He protected her, blanketing her with his body while she clutched him tight. She buried her face in his warmth while hell rained down around them. 

“Agghhhh!” — “Stay down!” — “Cat! Get back here!” — “Kill the lights!” — “There’s too many of ‘em...”

Voices called out frantically, rolled over by the crashing waves of gunfire. 

At a certain point, she wondered how long the guns were firing. Was it five minutes? Five years? The constant barrage of blamblamblam pierced her eardrums and rattled her bones, driving her insane with terror. Her heart must have outpaced the bullets. She felt Peter’s arms tighten around her, securing her to his chest. 

She focused on his body heat, his breath on her neck, and the vise of his arms. It was deja vu, eerily identical to the night he carried her away from Fisk’s garage. 

Her mind transported her away from the train back to that day. She trembled in the steaming water of the bathtub, trying to read his warm eyes— the color of caramel and chocolate and bourbon—while he diligently dabbed at the adhesive covering her mouth. The only roughness in his touch came from the calluses on his fingertips. 

She has no reason to trust him. But she does anyway.

His long, gentle fingers. They laid out a spread of plated charcuterie and sandwiches cut into triangles onto a picnic blanket overlooking a gorgeous vista of the Catskills. That’s where she is now. Nervously, he frets about the forgotten wine, pushing his fingers through his thick hair. He looks boyish and shy. 

She has every right to be terrified. But she isn’t.

She held Peter so tight she was concerned about breaking his bones and damaging him further. But she was incapable of prying her hands from him. No one could. 

There was no escaping this. They were trapped. Any moment now, everything would go black. Seconds away from the darkness. Centimeters from death. 

And there wasn’t anywhere else she wanted to be.

The gunfire let up for a few moments. A pocket of air in which to breathe.

“Goddamn it, it’s S.H.I.E.L.D.!” Miguel’s voice hollered from outside the car, although hearing him over the ringing in their ears was difficult.

Honey wasn’t listening anyway. She was listening to Peter’s voice as he crooned a heartachingly pure rendition of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,’ a song she felt might as well have been written about them. 

“Honey, look at me.” His alarm brought her back to the present. He stared down at her, his eyes anxiously searching her face, while he hoisted himself above her on his forearms. 

The moment she locked eyes with his, tears filled her gaze. Fear, joy, desperation—it overwhelmed her, hitting her like a tidal wave. He was still injured, she noted. The skin on his face and exposed upper body were still marked up with bruises and minor cuts. But his eyes—the tang of oranges, the golden tint of an Old Fashioned—reflected how alive he was, despite his earlier outward appearance. 

Adrenaline surged through his body as he caged her with his forearms. By contrast, his voice was as soft as a feather. “Honey—talk to me.” He whispered, breathless with fear he was struggling to contain. His eyes regarded her like she was something intricate, delicate, and precious. “You okay?” 

Her lungs were empty. Her vision was blurred with tears. But she nodded quickly, her chin wobbling.

A glimmer of relief crossed his features as he caressed her cheek. “Okay, s’okay... you’re okay, I gotcha—” It was unclear who he was reassuring. “You’re gonna be okay, ’m gonna get you out.” 

She had no reason to trust him. But she did. Her head continued to nod, and a little hum escaped from her throat in agreement.

“Stay down, okay?” he said placatingly while his thumb brushed the delicate skin beneath her eye. “Stay right here. I’m comin’ back.” 

“No, please! Please don’t leave.”

“I’ll be right back—”

“I-I can’t, please, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can—”

“I can’t lose you!”

His breath hitched. She felt his heart skip beneath his chest. Adoration pooled in his eyes. “I’m coming back. I promise.” He kissed her forehead softly, allowing his gaze to linger just long enough for a reassuring half-smile.

She had no reason to believe him. But she had to.

Before she could protest, he pushed himself up to a low crouch. Then, in the blink of an eye, she watched him leap from the ground and cling to the ceiling of the subway car. Stunned, she watched him crawl barefoot to the emergency exit at the top of the train car. Then, silently and swiftly, he disappeared through the port hole.

“Nancy! Stay down!”

Eddie’s voice... and his silly, endearing nickname. She was still on her back on the floor. She glanced up to see an upside-down viewpoint of Eddie as he reached for her. Next to him, Johnny and Jessica took cover beneath the table. “Stay right there! I’m comin’ to you—”

Another barrage of gunfire erupted, and he flattened to the ground. A scream ripped out at the rear of the subway car. Honey glanced down to see Miles crumpling into a ball as bullet holes sliced through the metal dangerously close to his cowering form. Beside him, Helen dragged herself along the ground sluggishly. She was covered in blood.

“Miles!” Honey shrieked. Her body moved of its own accord. Jarring drum hits rang out from both sides as she army-crawled toward the teen. The gunfire began to become more sporadic, with more frequent pauses. 

“Reloading, let’s go!”

“The lights! The lights!”

Every inch felt like a mile, but she pushed on with her belly to the ground. She reached Miles first, pulling him to the ground and hugging his body closer to hers just as another wave hit. Honey guided Miles along the floor toward Helen as soon as it passed over. 

The woman gasped and sputtered as she writhed in pain. Blood soaked through her right side, from her torso to her thigh. Eyes horrified at the damage, Honey searched Helen’s face desperately.

“To-to-tuorn-tourniquet...” the doctor said through chattering teeth.

“Gimme your belt!” Honey said to Miles. “Stay flat!”

The teen diligently reached for his nylon belt, shifting around to loosen and remove it while keeping his back to the floor. Honey took the belt from him and helped Helen wrap it around her thigh.

Just as she pulled it tight, the lights switched off. Frantically, Honey searched the cabin with terror, struggling to adjust to the darkness. More shouting, unfamiliar, followed by howls of fear and pain, surrounded her. From her vantage point, she could see shapes outside better now that the cabin lights were out.

Black-clad figures outfitted with S.W.A.T. gear and carrying more artillery than a small militia tip-toed around the car. She watched as one of the infiltrators passed by a window opposite from her. A pair of dark boots dropped onto the gunman, taking him to the ground. She gasped, ducking closer to the floor as the gunman was beaten and had his rifle taken. Then, she recognized Noir by his black trench coat, finally releasing her breath. 

The relief was short-lived. Noir turned and fired the weapon, which looked like a shotgun, at an incoming attacker. The bang was accentuated by a splatter on the windows, like a can of stewed tomatoes had exploded. Honey yelped at the sight before covering her eyes. She felt her stomach rolling in her belly.

A crash forced her eyes back open. She looked through the darkness to glimpse Felicia’s silver hair and the glint of a silver knife. She fought hand-to-hand with another armed combatant twice her size outside the train. The stout man was no match for the smaller-framed woman’s speed. She attacked him from all sides, burying her blade between his ribs like fangs on a viper.

Another goon rushed at her, knocking her flat on her back. Honey’s heart nearly stopped with panic as she watched the gunman aim his weapon at Felicia, prepared to fire. Suddenly, Miguel leaped out of nowhere with the talons of his gauntlet raised.

The razor-sharp blades attached to his forearm rang out as they cut through the air. Honey had no idea what type of metal they were made from, but it was sharper than anything she’d ever seen. With a woosh, the blades sliced through the rifle barrel like a blade of grass. In shock, the gunman dropped the rifle and drew a pistol instead. Miguel sliced through the man’s wrists with the same ease, separating his hands from his body. 

She looked away as another spray of crimson covered the walls and seat. She heard the gunman cry out before being silenced with a sickening squelch. 

Miguel was suddenly yanked backward by a brutish figure, pulling him off the train. 

“Miguel!” Felicia called out with alarm. Within seconds she uprighted herself and barrelled outside to back him up. Honey attempted to follow her with her gaze, but another burst of gunfire erupted, so close that she could smell the burning of her own hair.

“I’m comin’!” Miles hollered. Honey stayed down, too afraid to look up. 

“They’re coming through the rear!” she heard Jess’ voice from nearby. 

“Keep ‘em away from the train!” Johnny’s voice.

Where was Peter? 

She felt sick. She hadn’t seen or heard him since he vanished. The idea of him meeting a brutal end made her dizzy. It made her flesh clammy. Bile crawled up her throat, with a rising panic close to a scream. She clamped her mouth closed to keep it all inside. She couldn’t think about Peter being hurt right now. She could barely think at all.

A gunshot, followed by a male groan. 

“Storm!”

She squealed as Johnny collapsed through the train entrance and landed hard on the ground. From her hiding spot, she saw blood soaking his right shoulder.

Her eyes went wide. “Johnny—!”

Another footsoldier boarded the train behind him, wielding a bloody combat dagger. Dazed from blood loss himself, the soldier collapsed on top of Johnny, the knife raised up high. She watched the two men struggle, trembling beneath a seat. It reminded her of lions thrashing, burying blade-like claws into one another.

More gunfire erupted nearby, jolting her out of her reverie. Johnny’s attacker straddled him and bared his weight down on the hilt of the dagger. Arms shaking and hands slick with blood, Johnny clutched the blade, trying to keep it from piercing his chest. 

Her eyes narrowed on the attacker. The man wore face paint to obscure his features, like some deranged Navy Seal. His tactical clothes were solid black, save for a white, geometric eagle patch on his shoulder. This was ‘SHIELD,’ or whatever Miguel called it. 

Honey saw the strain on her friend’s face, noting the weakening of his muscles. If she did nothing, Johnny would be stabbed to death right in front of her.

She needed to intervene.

Do something.

She glanced around desperately for a weapon.

The men were snarling with lips curled back. The attacker raised his fist above the hilt, ready to bash the knife into Johnny’s chest. Suddenly, he was smacked in the face by a midweight object. Dazed, he blinked through the darkness to spot a blood-splattered ballet flat on the ground. He looked up, glimpsing its owner.

Wide-eyed, Honey stared back at the SHIELD agent as he set crosshairs on her. The man bounded forward, lunging at her. She screamed, crawling backward like a crab, as the man grabbed her by the ankle above her bare foot. He held the knife high, preparing to plunge it into her chest. A blam rang out, stopping him in his tracks, as a bullet tore through the man’s heart. 

As her attacker toppled backwards, Honey turned around to see Jessica holding a smoking pistol. Without a second thought, the woman rushed up to Johnny and lowered herself to his side. “Are you hurt?” she asked Honey, offhandedly as she examined his stab wound. 

Honey shook her head ‘no.’ 

He grunted in pain as Jessica put pressure on the wound beneath Johnny’s collarbone. “Get his gun,” she ordered as she worked. Honey blinked at the gunman’s corpse, hand still clinging to a bloody knife.

“Get the gun!” Jess repeated, eyes intense. “Works a lot better than a shoe.”

She blinked. “I... I can’t.” 

The Woman glanced up at her with a hard line between her brows. “It’s either them or you. Who’s it gonna be?”

Honey stared back, face blank. Jessica pressed her lips together. “I have to check on Cho. Put pressure right here.” Honey crawled towards them, replacing Jessica’s hands with hers. She gulped dazedly, watching the sticky, red warmth pool around her fingers. He hissed in pain, but diligently, she held the compress firm.

The Woman stood quickly and shuffled over to the dead man, retrieving his sidearm and knife. She returned with the pistol in hand, ejecting, examining, and replacing the magazine like flexing one of her muscles. She wrenched back the top of the gun, letting it slide back in place with a lock. 

Honey watched the whole thing, jaw agape like it was a magic trick.

Deftly, she flipped the weapon around, presenting the grip end to Honey and placing it in the woman’s hand.

“Now it’s them or him,” Jess declared firmly, jerking her forehead towards Johnny. “You choose.”

Bewildered, she warily took the weight of the gun as Jess disappeared toward the back of the train. “Don’t shoot anyone we know!” the Woman called out. 

Honey stared at the gun, then found Johnny’s sweating face. “It’s okay,” she whispered, putting weight back on his wound. “I’m gonna take care of you.” She swallowed the tremor in her voice, putting on a face of confidence, despite her terror. 

She could pretend to be brave? Right?

Another spray of shots pierced the cabin overhead, and she crouched down to cover Johnny. 

The barrage of shots eased again, pausing for a blessed few seconds. “Incoming!” she heard Miguel shout outside. “Ultraman’s here!”

Ultraman? What...?

The emergency lights in the tunnel dimmed as a whirring sound began to ring out. With eyes like saucers, she witnessed growing pandemonium outside. More shouting and panicked footsteps echoed in the darkened tunnel, followed by a slowly-building roar, like a jet engine coming to life.

“Get down!” she heard Miles’ voice behind her. He leaped over the bench seat and pressed his body over hers and Johnny’s. Suddenly, the train jerked sideways, knocked off the track like a toy. The bodies inside were tossed to the opposite wall as the car toppled over.

Head throbbing and eyes blurry, Honey gazed around attempting to get her bearings. A bright, red light erupted, a beam cutting through the floor of the car, just a few feet away from where they had been thrown. She watched in horror as the vehicle was sliced in half like a loaf of bread.

Shrieks from terrified men echoed outside. The car rocked, metal twisting as the train's rear tore away. With her jaw agape, she peered down the train car, now opened up like a tunnel. Finally, her eyes found the source of the commotion.

A ten-foot humanoid robot smashed through the bodies of the SHIELD team, knocking them down like bowling pins. She watched in stunned disbelief as the robot’s giant legs trampled fallen soldiers beneath its mechanical feet. The arms of the robot were as thick as steel beams but faster than a human’s. They thrust out in all directions, tossing adult bodies like rag dolls. The machine was a red-and-yellow blur, with shells bouncing harmlessly off its bulletproof skin.

“C’mon,” Miles grasped Honey’s shoulder, pulling her to attention. “We gotta go!”

“What is that thing?” she gasped.

“It’s Peni!” he shouted back. “Now, c’mon, let’s move!”

Shaking the astonishment away, she followed Miles’ lead. She grabbed Johnny’s legs as the teen hooked his forearms underneath the injured man’s shoulders. They grunted from the effort of hoisting him up.

“m’sorrym’sorrym’sorrysorry...” Miles rattled off as Johnny wailed in pain. “Don’t be mad at me!” 

The two carried him towards the tunnel opening, wobbling as they walked. Honey spotted movement from beside them— a gunman peering into an emergency port hole.

“Miles! Look out!” a voice boomed. She glanced over to see Eddie flying across the car, tackling Miles as the automatic weapon started firing. She screamed, dropping herself and Johnny to the ground, as bullet holes pierced the side of the car. 

When she looked up, she stared at the white-eagle emblem on the shoulder of the agent as he turned his gun from Miles to Honey. The man crawled through the port hole, just feet away from her. 

Horrified, she looked around until she saw the pistol Jess left her with lying in the rubble between her and the attacker. Eyes wide, she scurried on her hands and feet, crawling towards it. The gunman rushed her as soon as he saw what she was doing. 

For the second time in her life, Honey fired a gun. She jolted from the shocking recoil after the trigger had been pulled. The man howled and dropped to one knee. Stunned, she watched the man writhe, having taken the bullet in his shin. 

He looked up and glared at her with a murderous stare, fumes coming from his nose. Her jaw went slack as he lunged at her. She fired the weapon again, this time hitting him in the torso. It barely slowed him down, planting into the Kevlar of his vest. Before she could adjust, the attacker’s hand was wrapped around her throat, and he wrenched the pistol from her fingers.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” he spat at her, wheezing from the impact to his bulletproof vest. “Can’t wait ‘til he tears you a new—” 

The man’s grip dropped immediately as his head wrenched backward. 

Honey looked up in awe to see Peter, splattered blood beading down his chest, towering over them. Teeth gritted, he held the man by his hair, his massive hand expanding over the crown of his head. Then, with an enraged growl, Peter jerked his arm back. 

She watched the gunman jolt as his scalp was ripped off so forcefully that the top of his skull came with it. The man flailed, legs twitching sporadically like he’d swallowed a power line. Finally, Peter released his body. With blank eyes, he slumped to the side, brain matter spilling out.

She trembled at the horrific scene, watching the attacker go limp. Her wide eyes traveled up to her rescuer. 

Peter Parker. Half monster. Half man. Chest heaving, animalistic eyes roving, his savagery on full display. Her jaw hung open as she regarded him with horrified awe, with several thoughts swimming through her head.

One. 

He looked feral. Blood trailed down his face and torso in tiny crimson rivers. The ghastly sight made him look both dead and alive. More beast than man. Even without the Symbiote attached, his eyes were blown black from adrenaline. She thought about how Eddie mentioned Venom ‘reacted differently’ to Peter. And now she could see why.

Violence was in his very nature. He wore it around his shoulders like a cape. Carnage was his crown. The blood staining his flesh only made him stand taller, like a conquering barbarian on top of a mountain of skulls. He never needed Venom to become something monstrous. The violence was visceral, and he could never be separated from it. Not completely.  

It was terrifying to witness. She should be terrified.

Two: she wasn’t. 

She realized this as he locked eyes with her, suddenly going still. She watched him. He watched her. Both of them thinking the same thought.

This is who he was. Peter Parker.

Not Venom.

Not Ben Reilly.

Not any other false name he used to conceal himself in the darkness. As much as it terrified him, he was the darkness.

His eyes softened as he looked down at her, like a switch had been thrown. He turned docile only under her gaze. 

This was also who he was. And she realized that she didn’t want him any other way.

“Are you hurt?” Peter quietly asked, crouching before her as he scanned over her figure. Eyes glistening, she nodded, her mind stricken with deja vu. He reached out delicately with bloody hands and tipped her chin upwards until their gazes met. 

She swayed as exhaustion collided with her, weakening her muscles. “I-I...” she mumbled, jaw agape and shoulders limp, staring up at him with a hypnotized expression. “I... lost my shoe.”

He blinked in confusion before glancing down to see one of her ballet flats was missing.

“I think I saw it over here,” Johnny muttered through gritted teeth, snapping them out of their bubble. They turned to see him sprawled out on the ground, holding his shoulder with a thin sheen of sweat on his face. “I’m okay too, by the way.” 

“Johnny!” Peter said, alarmed. They dropped back to the ground and flanked the bleeding man. “Can you move?” he asked, brows furrowed. 

The blonde grunted as he held onto his pectoral muscle, blood soaking half his shirt. “Sure. Flesh wound.” 

A cocky smile filled with pearly white teeth assured them he was still relatively ‘normal.’ They breathed a sigh of relief as Peter delicately helped him up into a sitting position.

The attack had ended.  Honey wasn’t entirely sure when. The whirring steps of the robot approaching caught her attention. She looked down to see the red-and-yellow mecha-spider  step up to the opening of the train car. “That’s the last of them,” Peni’s mechanized voice declared. The robot’s torso opened to reveal Peni sitting inside. The wizard behind the curtain with painted blood-red lips.

“They’ll be back,” Peter said grimly before turning to Honey.

Tears filled her eyes as she stared back at him. Guilt gutted her, breaking her heart and every bit of strength left in her body. “This is all my fault.”

Just as Peter was about to reply, the broken sound of Miles’ voice clipped him short. The teenager whimpered, dread filling his lungs, “Guys...”

Peter and Honey turned towards Miles, seeing the teen crouched over on his knees. A body lay before him. They scurried to their feet, rushing to his side. Honey froze mid-step, eyes wide with horror.

“Eddie...” she gasped.

The burly man was on his back with a gaping hole in his chest. Slowly, it pooled with blood as he wheezed in short spurts. Miles leaned over him desperately, trying to stop the bleeding with his soaked-through beanie. 

Eddie looked ashen, the life drained from his face. His eyes were wide as they stared up at the ceiling, filled with horror and awe. He sputtered and coughed, his lungs struggling to keep the liquid out. Blood tinged his lips. 

“Eddie!” Honey yelped, dropping to her knees to bring her hands over Miles’s. 

It was like trying to hold back a river. All eyes were now on Eddie’s dire situation—Noir, Felicia, and Peni approaching quickly. Jess and Miguel looked on from the back of the car, both of them pausing momentarily from trying to assist Helen.

Miles gazed down at his savior, lip wobbling and hands shaking. “He... he pushed me outta the way. He-he saved me—” 

“Christ!” They heard Felicia curse as the silver-haired woman rushed over and touched Eddie’s pulse. Honey glanced at her, watching fear capture the fearless.

“We need help over here!” Peter called out, voice strained with panic that Honey had never heard from him before. He was winded with terror as his palms enveloped Miles’s, frantically working to stop the bleeding.

“Cho’s hurt bad,” Jessica called back. Beside her, Miguel was hooking his arms beneath the doctor’s legs, hoisting her up off the ground.

“It’s okay, we-we got this,” Honey called back. Hysteria slowly choked her. “I-I can fix this! I can patch him up!”

“But Helen—”

“I can do this!” Honey hissed, desperate tears spilling down her face. “I just need a-a med kit or... Sutures! I can sew it up, all she’s gotta do is walk me through it.” 

“Sweetie,” Felicia uttered under her breath. Honey froze in her gaze, her blue eyes glazed with tears. “She’s not even conscious...” 

She wore a mournful expression, condolences pouring silently from her mouth.

Honey would have none of it. Defiantly, she shook her head, lips pursed into a straight line. “I’ll figure it out myself!” she choked back a sob. “Just—somebody, get me the med kit! Get me—” Honey blocked out the worried stares that surrounded her. 

Instead, she focused on Eddie. She thought about cupcake frosting smeared across the scruff of his chin. His benevolent nature as he pulled in drags of smoke, offering peace to the world in return with each outward breath. She pictured his hazel-gray eyes weighed down by heavy bags and a lifetime of failures. Despite that, his eyes persevered to retain their brightness. 

He was tranquil amidst the turmoil of his life. Grateful despite his misfortune. In the middle of their war, he was a pacifist. A peacemaker. 

He saw everything. He saw Peter as a brother. He saw Honey as a friend. He saw both of them as worth saving.

And now she saw the light fading from his eyes. “I can do this,” she whimpered weakly, tears spilling down her face. “It’s okay. I can fix this.”

“Honey—”

She paused, feeling the featherlike brush of Peter’s breath across her face. Hesitantly, she met his sorrowful gaze, her heart aching at the sight of tears trailing down his cheeks. He was silent, fixing her earnestly with a knowing look. He didn’t have to say anything. She could read the hopelessness written on his face.

There was no fixing this. 

Somberly, they gazed at one another, both of them mirroring each other’s grief.

“S..ssay,” Honey heard a tiny voice whisper beneath her. She looked down to see Eddie looking up at her, teeth chattering. His lips were curved into a faint smile. “Wh—why the-the-the l-long face, N-nancy?”

It was like her heart literally ripped in half. She struggled to keep her sobs muted, clamping her mouth closed.

“Y-you... sh-should e-eat a Peanut Butter co-cookie, or so-somethin.’” He grinned wide, his teeth stained red. Tears dripped from her chin as she hiccuped out a small smile through her anguish. 

His eyes traveled from her face to Peter’s. Though he appeared more composed than Honey, Eddie knew what Peter looked like when he was in agony. 

“T-tha-thank y-you-u,” Eddie shivered, staring up at Peter with love in his eyes, “for s-saving my life.” 

Red-eyed, Peter winced like he’d swallowed glass. He breathed through his nose, afraid that if he opened his mouth his soul would spill out.

Eddie gazed at him with a lopsided, lazy grin. “Don’t b-be too ha-hard on yourself.” Another cough shook him, staining his lips even further. Peter released his hold on the wound to wrap Eddie’s hand in his fist. He held on tightly as if to steady him against a heavy current.

“M’mm-’m afraid to-to die, Pete,” Eddie said with a shaky voice. He faltered for a single moment. Fear prodded at him as each expansion of his chest became heavier. Each breath came up shorter than the last. 

Then, as stubborn as ever, he smirked with a flicker of light filling his glossy gaze. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he considered the irony. “Th-that’s-s gotta co-count for s-somethin’, right?”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, nodding tearfully in a silent reply. When he opened them again, the current was stronger. The light was fading as it began to pull him under. Peter and Honey gripped tighter, as if their resolve could hold him.

“S-s-so...” Eddie said, locking eyes with Peter. “Thank... you.”

Into the darkness, he drifted away.

Continue to Part 20

{back to the masterlist}

A/N Sorry for the tearjerker cliffhanger! This story is coming to a close in just a few chapters (maybe 3 or 4). Thank you for sticking with me this long. I hope that the next chapter will have everything you've ever dreamed of.

[reidslovely]

heyy! can you give us more about frat!peter?

totally!! I'm not sure what you wanna know though specifically so here's some word vomit i sent to my moot stella weeks ago. you guys should totally feel free to talk to me about any frat!peter headcanons and questions you have him and reader/bashful are my world rn and I could answer any question you have about him/her/them. but right here is a run down of only frat!pete and how I perceive him

Frat!Peter has the biggest ego but he's totally not a jerk..at least not once you get to know him. He's an engineering and biochem double major but he's taken journalism/photography electives and that’s where he and his gf met. He's automatically flirting with her and it's like dude come on..really?? Cause everyone knows about Peter Parker. He could have any girl he wants but he's never publicly dated anyone?? Weird. Maybe he's too good. Which makes her skeptical, so it’s like leave me alone totally not interested but he very quickly wins her over. The jerk side a total front and she is quick to discredit that rumor and let everyone know what a big soft teddy bear nerd he really is. (however it is not a front when it comes to his girl though stay twenty five feet away from her)

He definitely rushed with his friend as a joke and didn’t actually think he’s get in but turns out he’s a legacy (his dad and uncle ben both were members) and the guys think he’s a great pick and i mean it doesn’t hurt that the girls like him so come on how could they not let this dude in?? He does let it go to his head a little because it’s basically gonna pay for his college. How could he not get a little cocky and slacky. Besides for once in his life people like him and not just because he’ll get them a good grade on a project. However he does start to come down from this and gets his head out of his ass.

Yes he does still have his powers and is managing spider man, college, and his frat responsibilities. Which is why he had to step down from secretary to social chair sophomore/junior year. He totally showed up in the frat in his costume several times and his brothers chose to never mention it, it’s a secret that dies with them. Besides, their best friend is spider man?? How fucking cool.

His girlfriend does find out four months into the relationship when he shows up to their date dressed in the top of the costume and his button up not covering it at all and it finally explains so so sos os SO much.

Like stated previously he was elected secretary his sophomore year (first to happen) and had to step down to social chair later which he enjoyed much better cause their stuff was pretty much laid out in a rule book for them.

YES he does have a little (a freshman you mentor not the other kind of little) in my mind I aged Miles up a little bit to be his little freshie which ends up being super convenient when Miles ends up getting bit and they split spider man and other duties within the frat. But if not Miles I like to think he takes on carbon copy of himself when he first joined: angry, skeptical, and kind of shy and scared to reach out in fear of rejection and he teaches him that all these emotions are okay and valid but there are alot of good people in this community.

Speed run: he played on the lacrosse team very briefly until spider man got him thrown off- he rejoined later after Miles came into the picture, however he and the other guys are known for playing basketball on their front lawn and all the girls like to stop and watch (which drives his gf crazy and she has to make out with him to reclaim what’s hers and he eats that the fuck up.) As social chair he is obligated to work homecoming, and even though it’s not allowed since his gf is not in greek life he def asks her for help/ideas (his brothers know but they like him and his gf to much to care).

And yes he’s shocked that he's on the honor roll because how can he balance all this stuff and still come out? Maybe he is a genius, and slowly burning out.

That's all I got right now, please ask me more lore about frat!peter and or him and bashful/reader thank you that was my press conference