#BLUE PETER HOW COULD I FORGET

[holysaintscathedral]

Girlies will gush and fawn about those old Hollywood actors from the 60s but then completely ignore and brush aside Peter O'Toole. So uncultured 😤.

[gossameres]

10 facts about peter parker

pairing: peter parker x f. reader

the ten truths that define peter parker, and somehow, they all come back to you.

warnings: angst, fluff (this fic is my baby), mentions of minor blood & injuries

genres: childhood best friends to lovers

word count: 8k

masterlist!

Fact one: you made him feel like he belonged.

Peter Parker was five years old the first time he learned that kindness could feel like armor.

Before that, the world had already felt a little sharp around the edges. Not in any big, tragic way—just in the way that lonely things often are. He was a quiet child, soft-spoken and small, the kind of boy who raised his hand in class because he actually knew the answers, not because he wanted to show off. But five-year-olds aren’t subtle, and they’re rarely kind. And in kindergarten, knowing too much felt like a crime.

They called him names and not the creative kind—just the cruel, empty ones. Know-it-all. Teacher’s pet. Weird. Stuck up. He didn’t understand why answering questions made them hate him. He liked the gold stars the teacher gave for getting answers right. Ten stars meant you got to pick from the prize box, and the prize box had bouncy balls and sticky hands and plastic dinosaurs—and Peter loved plastic dinosaurs.

So, he answered the questions. He collected the stars and kept to himself. He told no one when the other kids laughed at him, or called him names, or moved their chairs away from his during circle time. He didn’t want to make a fuss because he really didn’t want to be a problem. He figured it didn’t really matter—he was the one with the dinosaurs, after all.

Then you moved to Queens. New girl, middle of the year, sat right next to Peter Parker like it was the most obvious place in the world to be. You noticed right away—how they treated him. The whispering, the laughter, the way no one ever picked him for partner work. You were loud and opinionated and full of the kind of righteousness only very small people with very big hearts can possess.

“That’s not nice,” you said, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the recess bullies who’d made Peter cry behind the monkey bars. “You’re being bad.”

They laughed at you next. For your sparkly Skechers and your glitter hair clips and your big words, but you didn’t flinch nor did you care. You marched right up to them, stubby finger pointed like a weapon, and gave a speech Peter couldn’t hear from where he sat—sniffling and dirt-streaked on the playground mulch—but could only watch unfold like some kind of tiny superhero movie.

Whatever you said, it worked. Their shoulders dropped, their mouths stayed shut, and they stopped laughing.

And then you turned on your heel, marched back to Peter, and held out your hand like it was a declaration of war and friendship all at once.

“My mommy says you should treat people how you wanna be treated,” you informed him, like it was the law of the land. “You wanna do the monkey bars?”

Peter blinked at you, stunned silent. You were everything he was not. Loud, brave, and radiated like the sun itself. He wasn’t sure he understood why you’d stood up for him, but he knew one thing: he’d never forget that you did.

“I’m not good at them,” he mumbled, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’ll teach you,” you said, already climbing up beside him like it was the easiest thing in the world. “I’m really, really good at it. Watch me!”

And so you coached him through every bar—each swing, each slip, each triumphant reach. You cheered when he made it to the end, called him “a monkey now,” and told him he earned a prize box toy even if the teacher didn’t give him one.

And that day, on the kindergarten playground beneath a pale blue sky, Peter Parker learned that maybe the world wasn’t so sharp when someone like you was in it.

Fact two: he loved to share and especially with you.

Peter Parker always shared what he loved.

It was how he learned to say I love you, before he knew that love needed words. You, who always sat beside him at lunch no matter who else asked. You, who stomped on bullies and helped him conquer monkey bars and called him “Petey” like it was a badge of honor. You, with your Tinkerbell lunchbox and fruit snacks and complaints about how “bleh” your sandwiches were every single day.

“You’re so lucky,” you said once, dramatic as ever, as you poked through the contents of your lunch like they might magically change if you just believed hard enough. “You get pizza Lunchables and chocolate pudding and Caprisuns. I get turkey. Again.”

Peter glanced at his food—his rare treasure of plastic-wrapped joy—and hesitated only a second before sliding his pudding cup toward you.

“Here,” he said. “You can have mine.”

Your eyes lit up like Christmas. “Really?”

“Really,” he said again, quieter this time. He watched you open the pudding, your face soft with delight. He didn’t tell you that it was his favorite part of lunch. He didn’t need to. Watching you enjoy it felt better somehow like a secret only he got to know.

That was the thing about Peter—he never gave anything halfway. Whether it was pudding or time or the last piece of cake, he gave it all like it meant something. Because to him, it did.

He didn’t come to school the next day. Or the day after. Or after the weekend, either. And by Monday, something in your chest had tightened too much to ignore.

You made your parents drive you to his house. You brought a Snickers bar in case he was sick, because you remembered he said chocolate helped headaches. But when the woman who answered the door wasn’t his mom or his dad, your stomach dropped.

She whispered with your dad. She said accident in a voice that was careful and slow and a little too quiet. And then she called Peter down, and he stood in the hallway with tears in his eyes and his brown curls a little messy, and he looked smaller than he ever had before.

You didn’t say anything. You just hugged him. And he cried into your shoulder, shoulders shaking, fists clutched tight in the fabric of your sleeve like he didn’t know how to let go.

You gave him the Snickers bar without splitting it like you’d planned. He needed the whole thing.

“I’ll get you all the Snickers in the world, Petey,” you whispered.

And you meant it.

Because love, for Peter, always looked like this—shared pudding cups and held hands and a chocolate bar in grief’s quiet aftermath. The kind of love that stays, even when everything else is gone.

Fact three: he blamed himself when you got hurt.

Peter Parker didn’t know how not to care.

Not even when it wasn’t his fault. Not even when everyone told him it wasn’t. Guilt, to Peter, wasn’t about logic—it was about consequence and hurt. And if someone he loved was hurt, then he should’ve done something, should’ve known, and should’ve been there.

It had rained the day you cut your hand—just enough to make the sidewalk slick, just enough to make your shoes slip when the dog you were walking pulled too hard on the leash and you lost your balance. It wasn’t a deep cut, not really, just a jagged little gash from the tip of a fence. It didn’t need stitches, just pressure, a wad of gauze taped tight to slow the ooze. Maybe a Band-Aid later, one with cartoon characters on it, when most of the cut healed. But it bled, bright and insistent, and you cried, and Peter wasn’t there.

He hadn’t been there.

He had heard about it through Aunt May. One call from your mom, and he was already pulling shoes on the wrong feet, gripping the handle of the first aid kit with white knuckles like he could somehow rewind time if he just ran fast enough. The guilt sat in his chest like wet cement.

You opened the door with a confused smile, still wet-cheeked from crying, your voice hoarse but warm. The worst had passed and you were okay, but Peter’s eyes were wide and glossy as if it had just happened right in front of him.

“I came as fast as I could,” he said breathlessly, holding up the first aid kit like a peace offering.

“Peter, I’m okay,” you told him gently. “My parents already patched me up.”

“But you still cried. I can tell,” he said, his voice thinner than usual, like it might crack if he let it. “I should’ve been there to help. I should’ve held the leash or walked with you or—I don’t know, done something.”

“You weren’t even with me,” you reminded him with a giggle, like it made any difference.

But it did. It made all the difference. And yet still, it didn’t.

“I’m supposed to look out for you,” he said, shoulders tight, eyes flicking to the bandage on your hand like it burned him just to look at it. “And I didn’t.”

“I’m a big girl, it’s okay. I’m okay, Petey.”

“Yeah, but—someone else has to make sure you’re okay, okay.”

You gave him a look. One of those raised-eyebrow, lip-squished-together kinds that only kids could get away with without sounding mean. “What, are you gonna fight the sidewalk next time?”

“If I have to,” he muttered.

And the thing was, he meant it. In the way only Peter could—genuine and aching and too soft for his own good.

You laughed. Not to make fun of him, but because it was easier than crying again. “Well then, I hope you’ve got a plan. The fence by Delmar’s is the meanie that did this to me.”

He nodded seriously. “Fence won’t know what hit it.”

And then—like it was the most natural thing in the world—you patted the spot beside you on your bed and said, “Wanna play trains?”

Peter hesitated. “I don’t wanna hurt your hand.”

“You’re acting like I got stabbed,” you snorted. “It’s a scratch, Peter. I can still play with trains.”

Still, he sat carefully, as if one wrong move might break you. You didn’t say anything about it—just handed him the blue engine and pressed play on the little track, the sound of whirring wheels filling the silence between you.

Peter didn’t stop watching your hand for the rest of the afternoon. Not because he didn’t believe you were okay, but because he needed to see it for himself. Over and over. Until the guilt stopped ringing in his ears like a warning bell. And even though it didn’t, sitting besides you helped his ache.

And maybe that was another fact worth adding—fact three and a half: Peter Parker never knew how not to overthink when it came to you. And for better or worse, he never wanted to learn.

Fact four: he kept every card you ever gave him.

Peter Parker was the kind of boy who remembered everything that made him feel loved.

That’s why he kept it all—every card, every doodle, every post-it with a dumb joke or half-done drawing, tucked carefully into a shoebox under his bed. It sat beneath looseleaf homework and forgotten action figures, but the box was sacred to him. A paper trail of every time you’d ever thought of him just because. Some notes were detailed and silly, others just a word and a smiley face, but of course, he could never bring himself to throw any of it away.

He was always a sentimental kid. Earnest in ways most middle school boys were still trying to hide. He liked having feelings and liked showing them. And even if he'd never say it out loud, he liked that you never made him feel weird about it because he was a boy.

He told himself that was just the way he was raised—by people who loved him soft and loud and without condition. But a part of it, maybe the biggest part, was you.

You saw the world the way he wanted to see it: a place where kindness didn’t have to be earned, where friendship wasn’t some transaction, where love—whatever version of it he was starting to feel—wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

Even when middle school got messy, and people started changing, posturing, growing into their sharpness too fast—you stayed. Somehow, even as the two of you evolved in different directions, you never drifted. You were louder, more bold, more magnetic. And Peter, quiet and observant, content to watch the world from the side of the room, was still the one you always gravitated toward.

You were different in the ways that made sense together like chords in the same song. And Peter never took that for granted.

He loved the way you argued with him—rarely, but always honestly. The way your apologies were real and careful and full of intention. He loved that you fought for him, even when he didn’t ask, even when he wasn’t sure he deserved it. And he especially loved the way your gifts always meant something. Not big, flashy things, but you-things. The kind of things no one else would’ve thought to give.

Like for his thirteenth birthday.

You’d treated him to Delmar’s, ordered him that strange, flat sandwich he liked and pretended not to gag when he ate it, even though your nose scrunched with judgment. You baked him cupcakes with blue frosting and rainbow sprinkles and sang happy birthday just off-key enough to be charming. And then, of course, there was the card.

He opened it slowly and you watched him like it was a performance. The cover had been drawn with marker—stick figures of you and him with ridiculous cartoon eyes holding up tacos with speech bubbles that said "Lets taco ‘bout your birthday!" Inside, there was a note, messy and heartfelt and impossibly you.

Then came the gift: a small keychain with a tiny Lego figure.

“I made a mini me,” you said, pulling out your own keys to show him the match. “So I’ll always be with you. And you’re with me. Cute, right?”

Peter had blinked too many times, trying to slow his smile. He held the little Lego you with reverence, like it was worth more than anything he owned.

“I love it,” he said quietly. And he meant it. God, did he mean it.

Because in that exact moment, somewhere between the frosting and your grin and the miniature version of you swinging from his key ring, Peter realized something he’d been pushing down for a long time.

He loved you. Not just in the way best friends loved each other. Not just as the girl who made him feel less alone. But in the deep, terrifying, impossible way.

And he didn’t say anything.

He just tucked the card into the box under his bed after you left.

Fact five: lying to you was the hardest thing he ever had to do.

Peter Parker was never good at lying.

Even before the spider bite, it just wasn’t in his nature. His face gave too much away and his conscience just made everything worse. Aunt May always said he wore his heart on his sleeve and every secret in his eyes.

So the first time he lied to you, it broke something in him.

A long afternoon at the arachnid exhibit, buzzing with chatter and crumpled permission slips and half-interested students leaning against the glass. You’d wandered off with some other friends, but Peter had stayed behind, lingering by a particularly sleek glass enclosure with a spider labeled something vague and unpronounceable.

The bite was quick and unexpected like a sharp pinch. 

When you found him moments later, rubbing at his hand, eyes glazed and unfocused, you noticed right away.

“You okay, Pete?” you asked, brows knitting with concern.

“Yeah,” he said too fast. “I’m all good.”

It was the first time he lied to your face, but it wouldn't be the last.

You frowned, studying him the way you always did when something felt off. You didn’t believe him—not really—but you didn’t push. Instead, you reached for his wrist and tugged him gently toward the next exhibit.

“C’mon,” you said, voice softening. “We’re gonna get stranded.”

So he followed. Quiet the whole way back. Quiet the rest of the day. And the next. And the one after that.

Peter had never kept anything from you before, but now, everything felt like a secret. The changes came slowly at first. The dizzy spells. The way he’d flinch when the lights were too bright, or wince when someone brushed past him in the hallway. The reflexes. The headaches. The sudden muscles. He didn’t tell you about the spider. Or what came after. He didn’t tell anyone.

And then Uncle Ben died.

The world shifted overnight, making everything soft in Peter harden. The guilt rooted itself so deeply inside of him, he didn’t know where it ended and where he began. And from that grief, Spider-Man was born.

He didn’t tell you about that, either, but you noticed, of course. You liked to say you knew him better than you knew yourself, but when you asked questions and he gave you answers that weren’t answers, your feelings began to hurt.

“I’m fine,” he’d always say, tugging down his sleeves or averting his eyes.

“Bullshit,” you said the night you caught a glimpse of his back when he peeled off his hoodie after a heat wave. You’d been sitting on his bed, tossing popcorn into your mouth, and caught sight of the muscles that hadn't been there before. “When did you get abs?”

His face flushed deep red. He scrambled for a shirt.

“I’ve been working out.”

You snorted. “Peter, I’ve known you since you were five. I’ve never seen you touch a weight. You flinch when you see basketballs.”

“I just… started. Recently.”

You tilted your head at him, not buying it, but letting it go—just like you always did.

And that became the rhythm. A push and a pull. Peter disappearing, coming back, telling half-truths laced with real ones. You let him. Because whatever was happening to him, you knew he was still Peter underneath it. Still your best friend. Still the boy who remembered your favorite flower, who held you when you cried, who couldn’t lie to save his life—except now, he had to.

Except now, it was the only way he knew how to protect you.

Fact six: he almost told you he was Spider-Man about a hundred times.

Peter Parker loved to talk.

Not with everyone—but with you? Always. If something sparked his curiosity, even a little, he’d go off like a wind-up toy. Science facts, theories, niche Star Wars lore, weird animal trivia—he’d just keep going, voice animated, hands moving with it. You never minded. In fact, you loved it. You loved that part of him that was just yours, the way he opened up around you in a way he didn’t with anyone else. Like it was some secret only you got to keep.

And maybe that’s why it hurt him so much to keep the biggest secret of all.

Peter almost told you he was Spider-Man the first time you shoved your phone in his face with a YouTube clip of a shaky, grainy, footage in the city. “He’s so cool,” you’d breathed, starry-eyed. “Have you seen the way he swings around? Like, what the hell?”

He wanted to tell you right then. Wanted to bask in the look on your face when you realized he was the one you were so amazed by.

But he didn’t.

Peter almost told you when you ran into him—as Spider-Man—on patrol one evening. He’d been crouched on a rooftop, catching his breath after a car chase, and there you were, wide-eyed and breathless on the sidewalk. You shouted up at him, asking for a photo and an autograph. He froze. Not because he didn’t want to—God, he wanted to—but because he knew if he spoke, you’d know. You’d hear his voice and immediately clock it. So he just shook his head, let the eyes on his suit narrow like an apology, and swung off before he could do something stupid.

He almost told you when he woke up in a cold sweat one night and called you. Said he just needed to hear your voice. He didn’t tell you that the dream had started with Uncle Ben and ended with his mom, then his dad, and then a blur of screams and sirens and blood. You stayed on the phone until he fell asleep again. He almost told you then, but the words caught in his throat and never left.

There were a million almosts.

And then there was Ned.

High school wasn’t much different from middle school, which hadn’t been much different from elementary. He had you, school, and May. That was enough. But the Algebra 2 teacher had a thing for assigned seating, and by fate or luck or both, Ned Leeds ended up next to him. They hit it off fast with their shared interests, niche obsessions, and dorky humor.

Peter adored you, of course. But the two of you had grown into different shapes. You were more outgoing now, always getting invited to things he wasn’t even aware of until Monday morning roll call. Parties only upperclassmen were at. You fit in anywhere while Peter never quite figured out how himself. With Ned, though, he didn’t have to. They were both outcasts, but at least they were outcasts together.

Peter never meant for him to find out first, though. You were supposed to be the first. Not Ned, not May—you. But life has a cruel sense of timing, and apparently so did Peter’s ceiling. He had just crawled back into his room on the ceiling after patrol when he realized Ned was present, Lego Death Star in hand (and then on the ground).

Still, it stung—letting someone else in first. He’d always meant for it to be you.

He almost told you when you were baking cookies together for the Decathlon bake sale. You were both in your usual spots—shoulder to shoulder in your kitchen, hands sticky with dough, 10 Things I Hate About You playing faintly in the background. You’d made him watch it a dozen times and even though he voiced how annoyed he was, he secretly liked it. He liked the way you talked about it—how Kat and Patrick were opposites but still found their way to each other.

That part always stuck with him. That maybe the two of you could be like that. Someday.

But then you’d said it—casual, like you weren’t about to shatter his whole reality.

“Jason asked me to homecoming,” you said, dropping a perfect dough ball onto the tray.

Peter’s heart stuttered. “Oh.”

He slowed down, rolled the next one too tight. “And?”

“And I said no,” you shrugged. Dry. Nonchalant.

He looked over, heart still thudding. “You did?”

You arched an eyebrow. “It’s not like you have a date.”

Like it was obvious. Like he was already yours.

He almost told you then. That he was Spider-Man. That he liked you. That the reason he didn’t ask sooner was because he didn’t know how to be both.

But he didn’t.

Because the Vulture was still out there. Because you’d already been used against him once—your name dropped like a threat mid-fight, blood roaring in his ears. And that was all it took. He couldn’t tell you. Not when knowing meant you’d be in danger. Not when he cared about you too much to risk it.

So instead, he showed up to your house on homecoming night with a bouquet of pink peonies—the same ones that used to grow on your windowsill in second grade. Your dad answered the door and clapped Peter on the shoulder, grinning like he knew something he didn’t. And when you appeared behind him, hair done up, hands swishing softly around your dress, Peter felt the world tip. He’d already been a goner, but that night sealed it.

He had the whole thing planned: dancing, laughing, stepping on your toes (even after all those lessons with May), and eventually pulling you aside to tell you everything—about the bite, about the suit, about his feelings for you that he hadn’t been able to shake since you were both barely tall enough to reach the monkey bars.

But the night never went the way he wanted.

The Vulture ruined it.

Peter had to leave. And your face when he did—the glossy eyes, the trembling lip, the soft little why? that echoed in his head for weeks after—nearly broke him.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t yell. You didn’t even text him after. You just… nodded when he found you the next week and apologized. Told him you understood, even if you didn’t.

You danced with Jason that night. Peter was supposed to do that.

And that was the moment he realized the truth: he couldn’t keep you close. Not if he wanted to keep you safe. So he made the hardest decision of his life.

He chose to walk away. Just enough that it wouldn’t hurt you, but just enough that it would destroy him.

Fact seven: he broke his heart to protect yours (ish).

Peter Parker knew that being Spider-Man came with selflessness.

He knew it from watching Tony Stark, from seeing the exhaustion in his eyes behind the armor and understanding—maybe too late—that sometimes the strongest thing you could do was choose the harder path. He knew it from Aunt May, who held her world together with trembling hands and a brave face after Uncle Ben died, never once letting the weight of it fall on Peter’s shoulders. He knew it in the quiet ways—the late nights, the bruises that didn’t heal fast enough, the promises he made to himself over and over again that if it meant keeping the people he loved safe, then he would be the one to lose sleep, to bleed, to break.

So when it came to you, it was no different. At least, that’s what he told himself.

He started distancing himself in ways he hoped you wouldn’t notice. Answering texts later than usual. Making up vague excuses when you asked to hang out. Avoiding your gaze when you walked into the room and instinctively beelined toward him like you always did. You were perceptive though—you always had been—and it didn’t take long for the space between you to feel obvious, gaping, like it had been carved there with intention.

You didn’t let things fester. You were always the first one to bring things to light, even if it meant an uncomfortable conversation. Especially if it did.

So one afternoon, standing just outside the chem lab, with students rushing past in every direction, you stopped him. With that look on your face—the one that meant you weren’t going to let him dodge this one.

“Peter,” you started, folding your arms across your chest, brows drawn together, your voice firm but still quiet enough to keep it between the two of you. “Don’t lie to me. Seriously. I’m not stupid.”

His throat went dry, and he didn’t say anything right away, just shifted on his feet like he wanted to bolt.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” you continued, unwavering. “Barely texting, skipping out on everything, acting like I did something wrong when I know I didn’t. You don’t just get to go cold and pretend like it’s nothing.”

Peter looked up then, eyes guarded, jaw tense, like he was trying to find a version of the truth that wouldn’t hurt you. But he wasn’t a good liar, not when it came to you. He never had been.

“I’m not—” he tried, but you cut him off.

“You are. Don’t do that, Peter. Don’t act like I’m imagining things just because you’re too scared to say what’s really going on. I know you. And whatever this is, it’s not just in my head.”

There was a flicker of guilt in his expression, and then he looked away, his voice barely above a whisper when he finally spoke.

“We’re not kids anymore.”

Just four words, but none of them sounded like him.

Your heart sank—not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. Flat. Detached. Like it was rehearsed. Like it was easier to hide behind something vague and dismissive than admit to whatever was actually happening.

You stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to find the boy you knew underneath the mask he was clearly putting on. But all you saw was someone who had already decided to push you away, and nothing you said could bring him back from it.

“You’re right,” you finally said, voice softer now but still unwavering. “We’re not.”

You didn’t raise your voice. Didn’t cry or plead for an explanation because you already knew you weren’t going to get one.

“But if being grown up means shutting out the people who love you, then I don’t think it’s something to be proud of, Parker.”

You never called him Parker. It was always Peter, Pete, or Petey when you needed a hug, Peter Benjamin Parker when you were scolding him, Peter Parker when you were worried—but never just Parker. That one hit different. It meant something. It meant you were done asking.

You let the silence stretch between you for a second longer, long enough for him to feel it, and then you turned to leave.

He didn’t stop you and that hurt more than anything he could have said.

Because this wasn’t like the other arguments you’d had before—never cruel, never lasting long, always ending in an apology and some moment of soft honesty to put the pieces back together. But this time there was no apology. Just silence. And you knew, deep down, that the truth he was holding back wasn’t going to be shared with you. Not now. Maybe not ever.

And the worst part? It wasn’t even that he broke your heart.

It was that he broke his own, and somehow still thought it was worth it.

Fact eight: he watched you move on from the shadows.

Peter Parker thought heartbreak was supposed to come all at once—loud and fast like a car crash.

But this one dragged. It lingered in the quiet, like smoke in a room with no windows, like dust that refused to settle.

As much as he pretended not to care anymore, as much as he made himself small in the hallways and busied his hands during class and said he didn’t want to talk about it, Peter couldn’t hide the way it gutted him. Not really. May was the first to notice, her knock gentle on the door at night when the muffled cries slipped past his pillow. Ned started filling the silences Peter used to take up with rambling theories and snarky commentary. MJ told him, flatly, that his eye bags were scary and that he looked like he hadn't seen daylight since Civil War. Even Queens started to wonder if something had changed in Spider-Man—he wasn’t talking, he wasn’t joking, and he hadn’t done a single flip off a fire escape in weeks.

Who was he to think he could actually cut you off like that? That he could walk away from you and not unravel? You were his person—had been, for years. Through every low, every high, every success, every failure. You’d been there before the bite, before the Avengers, before he ever had the idea to be anything more than your best friend with a secret crush and a hopeless heart. But the delusion of heroism, the obsession with self-sacrifice—it warped him. Made him believe that loving you meant leaving you. That protecting you meant making the choice for you, even if it tore him apart.

Even if it killed him to see you laugh at someone else’s joke in fourth period because he used to be the one who made you laugh like that. Even if it killed him to see the keychain of mini him gone from your lanyard. Even if it killed him to spot you from across the room at a party Ned had begged him to go to, leaning in close to a guy he didn’t recognize. Even if it killed him to see your hand—your hand—tangled with someone else’s.

It felt like his heart had been scooped out and left raw, bruised and pulsing with phantom aches. The ache came when you didn’t look at him anymore. When you walked past him like a stranger in the hallway, like he wasn’t the person who used to braid your hair when you were bored or climb through your window on summer nights just to talk. The ache came when he remembered how softly you used to say his name, like it was a secret just for you. And then how different it sounded, sharp and cold, when you called him Parker.

Still, he couldn’t stop. On patrol, when the night was winding down and the streets were empty, he always swung past your window—never on the way, never convenient, but always necessary. Just to see you, to make sure you were okay, and to feel, for a moment, like you still existed in the same world as him.

And when he saw you lying on your bed, talking to your mom through the door, kicking your feet in the air the way you always did when you were comfortable, he felt something loosen in his chest. You looked peaceful again, like the girl who didn’t yet know what it meant to be hurt by him. Like yourself.

You looked up, maybe just a flicker of red and blue, and he swore your eyes landed on him.

He didn’t wait long enough to find out. By the time you blinked, he was already gone.

Because heartbreak didn’t hit him in a single moment. It haunted him in all the ones after—when he had to keep loving you in silence, from rooftops and windowsills, knowing he’d become a ghost in the life he used to be part of.

Fact nine: he never stopped loving you. Not even for a second.

Peter Parker always had a soft spot for you.

He was hopelessly, irrevocably, quietly devoted in a way he didn’t fully understand at first—only that he felt it in his chest like something blooming and aching all at once.

You were the new girl that planted yourself beside him like you belonged there. And instead of ignoring him like everyone else, you noticed. You saw him. Said something bold and too brave for your size, stood up to kids twice as loud, and held out your hand like it meant something. That was it. That was the moment. He didn’t know it then—not really—but something permanently shifted.

From that point on, he would’ve done anything to protect you, to keep you safe, and make sure you never felt unloved. That instinct never left him. Not when he got his powers, not when he started patrolling rooftops, and not even when he made the decision to push you away in the name of protecting you.

Even when you stopped walking beside him and started walking ahead. Even when your texts grew shorter to none, your smile less familiar, your tone less soft. Even when you stopped saying his name.

He never stopped keeping an eye on you. He lingered at the edge of school hallways until he saw you get into your rides. Swung by your apartment building at night just to make sure the lights in your window were still warm. He watched from a distance when he couldn’t be close anymore, and tried to convince himself it was enough. That this was love, too.

And then, one day, he noticed someone else walking beside you. A boy. A jacket around your shoulders. A laugh that wasn’t meant for him.

He didn’t know it was official until MJ mentioned it offhand at lunch, like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t a moment that cracked something in him wide open. You were dating someone. It was real and it lasted. Weeks turned to months and he kept track without meaning to. If he’d asked you out during last year’s Homecoming like he’d planned, you and him would’ve been celebrating your one-year anniversary right around the time your boyfriend posted the first picture of you two together.

He wanted to be happy for you. He tried. You deserved someone consistent, someone present. Someone who didn’t run out on you when things got hard. But it tore him apart slowly—watching someone else hold the place that was always supposed to be his.

And then one night, months later, he swung past your building on a quiet patrol and saw you through your window. Curled up on your bed, crying and alone.

The sight made his heart seize in his chest. He hated seeing you hurt. Hated that someone else had done this to you. But selfishly, somewhere deep in the part of him he tried not to acknowledge, it meant something to him that you were single again. It meant the door hadn’t closed entirely. Maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t missed his chance forever.

That thought clung to him like a shadow. It followed him through the city, through every swing, every night. Because even if you never took him back—even if you never forgave him—he’d still never stop loving you.

Not then. Not now. Not ever.

Luckily for Peter, fate—cruel and unforgiving as it so often was—offered him a rare moment of grace, like a quiet reward for all he had given up, all he had endured.

You were already in your room when you heard it: a quiet thud against the metal of your fire escape, not loud, but deliberate, like a knock with no knuckles. And when you pulled back your curtains, there he was. Peter. Still suited up, though the red and blue fabric was torn and soaked dark with blood and rain, and his mask hung limp in his hand. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, breathing hard, eyes glassy and rimmed in red.

You slid open the window before you could think too hard about it. “What the hell?” you said, half a gasp, half a demand. “Are you okay? Why are you here?”

It was the first time you’d spoken to him in months—your voice rough with disbelief, sharp around the edge, but soft somewhere underneath it all. Happy that he was there—that he chose to come to you first, without needing to be asked. It meant he still cared, despite everything his actions tried to say otherwise.

He stepped inside like a ghost. “I—I’m sorry,” he breathed, the words catching in his throat. “I should’ve told you everything. I should’ve—God, I was so scared. I didn’t want you to hate me.”

You didn’t know what to say. He was shaking, like something had finally snapped, like all the weight he’d been carrying had collapsed in on itself. And when he sank to the floor—on your rug, in front of your bed, hands still trembling—you knelt down beside him.

“I thought I could protect you by walking away,” he said, voice cracking in the middle, “but I just broke everything. I missed you every single day. And I saw you—saw you with him—and I wanted to be happy for you, I did, but it—God, it killed me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He was crying openly now, not holding back like he used to, not trying to be brave or strong. Just a boy in pieces, falling apart in the only place he felt safe enough to break.

You didn’t say anything. You just pulled him close and held him like you used to—arms tight, fingers in his hair, your chin resting on the top of his head.

“I’m gonna grab the first aid kit,” you murmured, brushing his curls gently from his eyes. “Sit still.”

The familiarity of it was what made it hurt but heal.

You patched him up in silence—your touch gentle, practiced—as if no time had passed at all He hadn’t said a word about the suit, and you hadn’t asked. He came to you, still in it, like that answered everything. When it was done, you sat beside him on the floor, knees knocking, both of you staring out the window. Neither of you said much more that night, just sat there quietly soaking in the presence you’d both been aching for.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, you were in the same place—together, unspoken things still lingering in the air, but not pushing you apart.

Fact ten: you’re still the best thing to happen to Peter Parker.

Peter Parker should’ve known that no universe could keep his world from getting tangled up in yours.

Maybe it was because he was the kind of person who noticed the smallest things—the way your laugh shifted when you talked to different people, how the corners of your eyes crinkled more on one side when your smile was genuine, or how your fingers tapped nervously when you were about to say something important. He memorized those moments like they were precious fragments, each one a secret to hold close, as if any second could be the last. Maybe that’s why loving you was never something he could undo or forget.

Inside your apartment, the air was softer, warmer, quieter in a way that felt safe. A blanket was loosely draped over both your legs, his socked feet tangled gently with yours. Half a pizza sat forgotten on the coffee table, its heat long faded, while 10 Things I Hate About You played quietly (again) on the screen, volume just low enough to make the words fade into the background.

You leaned into him, head tucked softly into the crook of his neck—the way you had a thousand times before, even though it had been so long since you allowed yourself to be this close. His hoodie smelled faintly of rain and detergent, and of Peter himself, grounding you in the here and now. One of his arms curled around your waist, his thumb tracing lazy, absent circles over your t-shirt, almost like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingers.

“I think I could come up with ten things I hate about you,” you said suddenly, voice muffled against his hoodie, half-joking but with a teasing edge. “Starting with you pretending like I didn’t exist for a year.”

He chuckled softly, breath warm on your temple. “Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “I deserve that.”

You shifted to look up at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re not even going to argue?”

“Nope.” He gave you a sheepish grin, the kind that made you want to shake your head and smile at the same time. “Because you’re right. I was an idiot. An idiot with a big, fat, capital ‘I.’”

A small smile tugged at your lips, amused and maybe a little smug, and you settled back against him. But then he tilted his head, his eyes softening as he looked down at you.

“I think I’ve got ten facts too,” he said quietly, voice lower now, more thoughtful. “But... they’re not about hating you.”

You blinked, heart tightening without quite understanding why. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His thumb brushed gently over the back of your hand, and suddenly, the smile faded from your face as the weight of everything between you settled in. It was Peter—your Peter—still knowing how to floor you without even trying.

A beat passed before he added, softer now. “Actually, there is one hate.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“I saw your keys one day. And you didn’t have the keychain anymore.” He tried to sound casual, like it didn’t matter, like it hadn’t been eating at him. “The one of mini me.”

You stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing—disbelieving, incredulous, yet affectionate. “You really are an idiot,” you said, shaking your head. “Those weren’t my keys.”

“What?” he blinked, copying you.

“They were my mom’s. I’ve grabbed her keys by accident more times than I’d like to admit. I never took it off, Peter. I told you—I wanted you with me. Always.”

His expression softened, something raw and unguarded flickering across his face. “Oh.”

You nudged him gently with your shoulder, your voice quieting. “And I saw yours. Clipped to your backpack. You didn’t take mine off either.”

“Yeah,” he said, a little breathless. “Guess I’m an idiot in more ways than one.”

“You’re my idiot,” you murmured, without really thinking.

Peter let out a white laugh, eyes still on you. “Then I’m definitely sure about my ten facts.”

The movie continued playing, but neither of you were really watching anymore. Instead, your eyes flicked to the pizza box on the coffee table, half-open, the last slice waiting patiently. Peter leaned forward slightly to grab it.

“Wait,” you said, reaching out before he could take it. “There’s one left.”

Peter glanced from the slice to you, a teasing glint in his eyes. “It’s the tenth slice,” he murmured, voice soft but playful. “Kind of symbolic.”

You snorted. “Don’t be corny.”

He tore the slice in half, handing you the bigger piece, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m still saving the last slice for you.”

You hesitated, fingers brushing his as you took it. “Old habits die hard?”

His smile was soft, real, and a little wistful—the kind of smile that carries the weight of all the things you don’t say but feel deeply. “Some habits were never meant to.”

Then he leaned in slowly, pressing his forehead gently against yours. His eyes fluttered closed, like he wanted to freeze this moment in time forever. His nose brushed yours, breaths mingling between lips that hovered—close but patient, tender, and unhurried. There was no rush, no need to escape or hide this time. Just you and him, quiet and unbreakable.

You didn’t speak. You simply looked at him—at the soft curve of his mouth, the familiar scar tracing his jawline, the way he still saw you as his favorite person in the entire world, even after everything that had come before.

Then, with careful certainty, he kissed you.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate, not the kind of kiss that tried to prove anything. It was steady and sure, a quiet promise made with the gentlest touch—his hand cupping your cheek, his lips pressing softly into yours, the shaky breath he exhaled against your mouth carrying years of everything unsaid and undone.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead gently against yours again like a puzzle piece, staying like that as if trying to hold the moment still. Because in that stillness—through every scar and mistake, every whispered confession and lingering glance—the only fact that truly mattered was this:

You were still the best thing to ever happen to Peter Parker.

And now—finally—he got to be the best thing to happen to you, too.

[folkloure]

⭑.ᐟ roomates!pb&jj au

#1 - the one where they move in:

summary: Peter decides to trust Joaquin on a new apartment deal, despite Johnny being part of it. Bob says goodbye to his old friends and welcome to new ones.

warnings: swear words. friendly reminder that english is not my first language. please don't copy or repost anywhere.

By the time he finishes packing, Peter was starting to question his life choices.

He could just forget about the whole thing and go back to living with May, he thinks. He’s positive that the other guys would have no problem finding someone else to fill his place.

He remembers being so excited when Joaquin mentioned the apartment, with the dream come true of a cheap rent and a room all to himself.

“It’s perfect! You’ll see! My friend Bob has been living there for two years now, and his roomates are all moving out!" Joaquin completely ignored that Peter was trying to finish a presentation, talking and walking around the commonplace area in his dorm, sharing the good news. “Something about a new job in San Francisco that two of them applied for and the other one is tagging along, I guess. I don’t really know, but who cares? It’s perfect, all three of us can move in with him by the end of the semester!”

“Wait, wait. Did you say three?”

“Well, yeah…” Joaquin looked slightly embarrassed, like he was hoping Peter wouldn’t notice that. “You, me, and Johnny.”

“You have to be kidding!” Peter dropped his computer by his side on the couch, marching in Joaquin’s direction, making his friend step back a little. “I’m not gonna share an apartment with Johnny fucking Storm!”

“Dude, c’mon…”

“No! Doesn't he have a sister living in New York? Why can’t he just move in with her?”

But Peter knew why. It was the same reason why he wouldn’t just go back to live with May and her grumpy boyfriend, Happy. You don’t wanna start what you believe to be your life as a functioning adult living under the same roof of an older-but-still-quite-young relative and their partner.

“I’ll let you know that Johnny didn’t seem too mad about sharing his space with you…” Joaquin told him, smirking. A blatant lie. Peter knew that, he could actually hear Johnny's voice complaining if he thought about it too much.

But… he can’t deny that he could really use the place. And if Johnny did too, then so be it.

—

Bob didn’t know stress cleaning could be so effective.

With both doors open wide, he could just run from one place to another, bringing the new stuff he bought for Joaquin's friends. He wanted to make a damn good impression, and apparently flowers and brand new pillows for the blue couch Yelena and Ava left behind would be the way.

He still can’t believe how lucky he was, that not only would Joaquin move in, but also bring two friends with him.

Yelena was so stressed about a contract breach since she got the job in San Francisco, and even though Ava guaranteed they would figure it out, and Walker actually offered to lend her the money – the first time Bob witnessed him being genuinely nice to Yelena, by the way –, the only time she seemed relaxed was when he got off the phone with Joaquin, with the promise that his friend had it all figured out.

“He said they can all move in by the end of the semester… if you don’t mind waiting a couple more weeks, that is.”

“No, that is perfect, Bob!” Yelena got up, literally jumping from excitement. “I'll call them tomorrow to let them know I'll make it! Oh my god, I have to tell Ava!” she hugged him, lifting him off his feet in a strength he sometimes forgot she had, tiny human she was, before running to the other side of the corridor, crossing the next door without even closing theirs first.

Walker got up from his own place at the kitchen table, closing the door.

“That means you’re going with Lena and Ava too, right?” Bob said, pulling a chair and sitting next to Walker

“You're not getting rid of us any time soon,” Walker grabbed Bob's shoulder, squeezing it a little too tight “But yeah, I guess I am. Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”

“I'm not gonna be by myself” he smiled at his friend. Months of a rough patch between them at the very start, now he can’t believe how much he’s gonna miss Walker too. “It’s gonna be fun having Joaquin here. We grew up together, you know?”

Walker hummed, and Bob kept going.

“We've been friends since middle school, actually. and I haven’t seen him in like, 3 years I think?” Bob tried to think of the last time he saw his best friend, and the memoriy of their last shared Christmas dinner with their moms comes up his head “I miss him quite a lot, actually.”

Bob's memories from that conversation were interrupted by loud voices coming out of the elevator.

“Bob?”

“Here!” Bob jumped from the blue couch, running towards the door and throwing himself on Joaquin, hugging him. “Oh my god, hello!”

“Dude! It’s been so long!”

“I know!” They both stepped back, looking at each other up and down before hugging again. “It’s so good to have you here!”

“Thanks, Bob” Joaquin turned to Peter and Johnny's direction, both just staring at them “This is Peter and Johnny, my friends from MIT!”

Peter was the first to grab Bob's hand, shaking it excitedly and dropping his bags in the process “It’s so nice to meet you, I'm Peter. Peter Parker!”

Johnny was much more put together, Bob could tell. He calmly switched his bag to a different hand, giving Bob a quick handshake and nodding his head “I'm Johnny Storm, hi.”

“Alright, let me show you the place, here!”

Bob turns to the door and signs for them to enter, and it shocks him for a second how fuller the apartment looks with four men in it. It dawns on him that this is what life's gonna be like for the next year, and he’s quite content with it.

notes: ahhh! i’m so excited! this is my first time ever doing something like this and i hope it’s okay! ! also, i wanted to say that i sort of plan on writing a reader character into this au, but i’ll take some time for me to proper build the story and their friendship, so it’s gonna be just the four of them for a while! hope you don’t mind <3 anyways there’ll be time for me to talk more about it later, thank you so much for the kind responses i got from my previous posts! let me know what you think! :D you can read more blurbs in my masterlist !!

[hedwig221b]

Soooooo any chance there could be more mafia fics out there you haven't mentioned? I'm aching for more... if not, can you pretty, please write some more??? Please I'm THIRSTY or it.

Here are some more, enjoy!

An Apple's Blossom by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Derek had an aura about him—one that drew you into his orbit despite the warning of an imminent threat. It was like a dream, more than Stiles realized at first. Because it wasn’t real. Nothing about the man Stiles had started to fall in love with—romanticize—was real. ~*~ Stiles is a recently graduated art student who agrees to marry his family's rival, only to realize that maybe love is a little more complicated than he first thought.

a kind word alone by redhoodedwolf

Derek swallowed thickly and tucked his chin over Stiles’ head. “I know. You’re a good man, Stiles Stilinski. Too good.” “Hale,” Stiles argued. “We’re married. I’m a Hale.” Derek squeezed Stiles tighter against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “And I love you and thank the stars every day that you did marry me.” * Stiles didn't know he'd married a mob boss.

Payment by Kca1516

He was beautiful. His demeanor demanded respect. His visible scars proved he was a force to be reckoned with. Power rolled off him in tendrils of electricity, and his confident expression left no room for doubt. But the most enrapturing aspect of this man was his eyes. His hazel eyes had Stiles catching his breath, forgetting how to speak. Though they were filled with anger, it wasn't directed at him but at the man, Peter. Even he was smart enough to show some respect. "Alpha," Peter said. ~~ Stiles is used as payment when his father doesn't have enough money to pay off his debt to mafia leader Derek Hale, The Alpha. But when Derek's packmates start turning up missing, will Derek and Stiles be able to put aside their differences in order to save them?

Blue Light (i'm waiting for it, that) by zanni_1 (zanni_scaramouche)

Derek pays him to dance, Stiles enjoys the sex on the side, and that’s all that ties them together. Whatever else the enigmatic man does is none of Stiles’ fucking business. Stiles works at a club owned by infamous Derek Hale, leader of the largest criminal organization this side of the country. As they twirl closer together police and rival gangs start to gain the upper hand, forcing everyone's loyalty to be questioned.

One Minute by TheScarlettKnight

John Wick style/Mob AU: Derek Hale is the nephew to a well known Mobster, and the family name is one not to mess with. When Derek's boyfriend is taken, there's Hell to pay, and he's the Grim Reaper handing out tickets. Family comes first. Always.

The Arrangement by Arver7

Through blackmail and lies, Stiles and Derek are forced into a marriage neither of them wanted. If they each want to survive each other, they must learn to coexist. But the more they get to know each other, the more they seem to care about each other. But will the lies stop them from falling in love?

Rumpled sheets, smoke-tinged kisses, and sea salted lightning by quackquackcey

FBI agent Stiles and mafia boss Derek pair up to take down an elusive killer targeting both humans and supernaturals, but will they make it through the storm unscathed?~ 🚬⚡️

Big Bad and his Babydoll by stereksupremacy

Claudia Stilinski had a drug problem, she owed a dangerous man a lot of money and in return, she offered her only son, Stiles. Derek was mesmerized the first time he saw Stiles, he had an internal battle when it came to the boy. Especially when he comes out of his shell and becomes a tease.

Pretty Venom by Innaz (zanni_scaramouche)

Derek Hale. A name better suited for a myth than a man. Like the name of the devil, people either whisper it in fear or laugh it off as fable. Cut it open and this city’s heart doesn’t bleed red. It’s snowy white, and it pulses in the tight grip of Lucifer himself. Drug Lord Derek, Dealer Stiles, and the importance of not scalding the milk. (Prologue is Optional)

Love The Way You Shiver by QuirkyChick

Stiles is under no disillusion. Derek is dangerous and he’s playing with fire. He just has to be careful and hopes that, at worse, he’ll only burn his fingertips and not his whole body and soul.

We Gotta Hide What We're Doin' by CharWright5

As a Bodyguard within the Stilinski Rodzina, Derek's one and only job is to watch over the Omega son—and only child—of the Family's Head, Stiles, a task that is easier said than done some nights. It's just good that the Alpha knows the best way to punish the little troublemaker when his bratty behavior threatens to expose a secret that could get the Bodyguard killed.

Don Hale by RisingQueen2 (FallenQueen2)

For the Mafia AU request, if you could just do a sterek with a boy pussy!stiles and a biting kink and dominating alpha sex (cause we all know mafia boss Derek got to mark his territory over Stiles hot piece of ass) that would be awesome Keep up the amazing work you beautiful, beautiful person

Guns and Bow Ties by BlackRaven09

The Hale Family Crime Syndicate is one of the most well known and dangerous in the world. Stiles has been obsessed with them since he was a kid, but after his mom died and he moved away, he forgot about them. Now he is a detective, working out of Portland on run of the mill cases. When he gets a lead on the Hale Family, he is determined to chase it down. Derek Hale is the enforcer and heir of the Hale Family, an ancient old werewolf pack with ties to every part of society there is. He is in charge of making problems disappear and ensuring they don't come back. But as an Alpha and heir to the family, he needs a mate. One that is loyal to his pack and everything they stand for. Stiles can never be that, but he also never expected their world to be so complicated. Especially when it's wrapped up in his feelings and his past. Even the goddamn bow ties are involved.

Black and Blue by charlotteinlace

Stiles knows what he should be doing, finding a good Dom and seeing a few dozen therapists. But that shit can wait, right now he's got a gang to infiltrate and a murderer to find. A murderer who killed his father.

I'll Protect You by haletostilinski

Derek is the criminal. Stiles is the cop. But when Stiles arrests Derek and gives a deal in return for his cooperation on taking down Derek's family's criminal organization, they both start to learn that maybe they both aren't that different from each other, and start to fall in love with each other even though all outside forces would kill them for doing so. But Stiles is determined to protect Derek, at all costs.

Never Walk Away by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Twenty-eight year old federal agent Derek Hale has been out of the family for some time, and he likes it that way. After six years of no contact with Laura, everything changes when Derek is sent back to Beacon Hills to infiltrate his old family. And that’s how Derek meets Stiles. Stiles is Peter’s favorite dancer. He’s Peter’s arm candy. He’s his little trophy to flaunt. The son of the one man who almost put Peter away–a cautionary tale for people to heed when thinking about going against Peter. Everyone knows the Sheriff is still in the hospital, his wife in a grave, his son in the devil’s den. Derek doesn’t buy into it for a second. There is a way Stiles looks at Peter, like he’s the scum of the earth–like he’s a piece of gum stuck on his shoe that he can’t wait to scrape off. There is the way Stiles only lets Peter touch him for so long before he pulls away. Derek knows that Stiles is there for ulterior motives, but Stiles is smarter than he looks. He’s more determined. If only Derek could get Stiles on his side.

Only Me

He held Stiles’ face like it was the most precious thing and licked Stiles’ neck like he owned it. A kiss was the first thing to greet Stiles in the mornings they spent together, and at nights, it was the last thing he felt on his face. Each time was more desperate than the last. Derek told him he was made to be kissed. It was a reward, a pleasure, a relief. And then, after all of this, he would disappear. For two days, three, or for a week. Stiles would choke from the thought that this time he definitely ruined it (how? god, how?), and then, in a click of a light, Derek would come back as if he were always there. Calling from a hidden number, cupping his chin, tugging Stiles closer with his hand splayed on his back, so big and insistent. Kissing, loving, refusing to let go. But only in a closed room, in the darkest corner of a restaurant, in a black sports car with its windows thick and tinted. Stiles dreaded saying goodbye.

Just A Game

"Don’t worry, kitten,” he smiled widely at Stiles who now stood with his fingers touching his abused lips. Derek couldn’t wait to feel them wrap around his dick. “I’ll be home soon. Get yourself ready for me.” The gold on Stiles’ ring finger shined in the streetlights as he nodded. He sucked on his bloody lip — god, Stiles would never realize how much of a tease he was — and folded his arms around himself. He would wait, Derek knew it. Even if they convicted him or if it took years, Stiles would wait. He would never lie with another. He would never let anyone close.

[masterlist link]

[ghostedgwen]

can we have the marauders protecting reader who got drunk during a party and was being taken away by some boys or something? sorry if it's triggering!

note : oh my god, this ask had me rolling on my bed thinking of how I am gonna go about this - thank you so much for trusting me with this request! warning/s : themes of s/a, sensitive content, nothing graphic but heavy implications are there, the marauders are very angry - and protective, mentions of alcohol and parties

You don’t mean to get drunk. It’s not like you came to the party with bad intentions or a heartbreak to drink through - just a need to loosen the weight of the week off your shoulders.

The Hufflepuff common room is filled with golden light, music echoing off the stone, and warm, laughing voices that blend together into something safe.

Marlene handed you a drink, kissed your cheek, and said, “Have fun, yeah?” before disappearing off with Mary toward the exit. You hadn’t minded.

She invited you earlier but you weren't sure if you wanted to attend, you were reviewing your answers to the N.E.W.T.s exam that just took place - but figured it would be better to go party a bit than worry over it.

You arrived around 10 in the evening when the party had started around 7, and Marlene is off to guide a drunk Mary back to the common room where Lily will surely chastise them for getting drunk on a school night.

She was very much against you going, you supposed she was right to.

You remember dancing. Spinning in slow circles with a drink in your hand, head tilted back, lips curved into something that could pass for joy.

The burn of the alcohol made your skin feel warmer. Your arms looser. Your thoughts fuzzy around the edges. You remember boys - older ones = leaning over you at some point. Hufflepuffs you think, and at least one Ravenclaw, judging by the bronze-and-blue bracelet he had on.

They seemed kind at first. Too kind, maybe, but you didn’t notice. Not when they laughed at your jokes or kept filling your cup or told you you looked pretty, which felt rare enough these days to let your guard slip.

You only notice something’s wrong when they start steering you toward the back of the common room - where the hallway narrows and bends toward the dormitories.

“Wait,” you murmur, blinking slow. “I don’t - the exit is that way - ”

“You’re pissed,” one of them chuckles, his hand firm on your lower back. “You’ll just get lost. We’ve got a spare bed upstairs. You can lie down.”

“Or not,” another one says under his breath. You catch the tone before the words.

You freeze. “No - I need to go back.”

The laughter sharpens. You try to step back and bump into someone’s chest. Hands close around your elbows. They’re not hurting you, not exactly - but they’re not letting go. Not listening. There’s too many of them, and your limbs are too slow, and your head feels too full.

You open your mouth to say something else - anything else - when a voice cuts through the corridor like a blade.

The Marauders have taken up residence near the far wall - Sirius perched on the arm of a chair, James cross-legged on the floor with a butterbeer, Remus half-listening to a conversation about Quidditch stats, Peter already dozing lightly against a pile of pillows.

It’s been a good night, by all accounts. A perfect way to send off their N.E.W.T.s exams that they slaved over for months.

At least, until Sirius stills beside them.

His eyes narrow, expression twisting slightly as he tilts his head, watching something across the room. “Isn’t that ____?” he says finally, nudging James with the toe of his boot. “The other Gyiffindor - the one that’s always with Marlene and Mary.”

James looks up, squinting through the firelight. “Merlin, I forget she exists sometimes. Since when was she here?”

“I don’t know. But that’s definitely her.” Sirius’s voice is low now, distracted. “Thought she left already. with Marls.”

Remus follows their line of sight - to a dim corner of the common room, where you’re half-supported by a group of boys from other houses. One of them has his hand curls around your waist, another murmurs something close to your ear that makes you flinch slightly before laughing it off.

James frowns. “She looks. . .drunk, absolutely pissed.”

“She looks done,” Remus says quietly, and something sharp enters his voice.

There’s a beat of hesitation. The kind that stretches taut.

Sirius then surprises his friends when he hops off the chair.

James glances at him. “What's wrong, Pads?”

“We should go get her.”

Peter stirs beside them. “Wait - is she alright?”

“No,” Remus says - uncharacteristically looking like he's about to break something, already on his feet. “She’s not.”

The four of them move, a pack without needing to speak. James starts walking first - not running, not causing a scene. Just moving fast enough that anyone watching would sense something was wrong.

By the time they round the corner, they’ve already watched you try to turn back. Already seen you brushed off. Already watched someone guide you further, not toward the exit - toward the dorms.

That’s all they need to see. And then:

“Let her go.” James' voice broke into your struggle with the other boys.

It’s not loud. But it doesn’t need to be.

The boys pause. The one behind you lets go, not out of guilt - more out of instinct, like he'd been caught wrist deep in the proverbial cookie jar. Something in the tone makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You turn your head - the corridor seems brighter now - and see four figures at the end of the hallway.

James Potter is at the front, wand in hand, shoulders squared like someone raised to command attention. Sirius Black flanks his left, wild-eyed and sharp-jawed, hands clenched into fists. Peter Pettigrew hovers behind, uncertain but alert. But it’s Remus Lupin who moves forward first - and he is furious.

You’ve never seen Remus angry before. Not really. You’ve sat in class beside him once or twice, heard him answer questions in that low, steady voice, seen him nod politely in hallways. But this - this is a different person.

He walks up without hesitation and steps between you and the nearest boy. “I said, let her go.”

“She’s fine,” the Ravenclaw mutters. “We were just helping her back. She can’t walk on her own - ”

Remus cuts him off. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

James moves in now, calm but firm. “Back off,” he says, voice levelled like a Prefect giving a final warning - the fact remains that he's currently Head Boy. “We’ve got her.”

“You don’t even know her,” one of them scoffs. “This is none of your business.”

“Wrong,” Remus snaps. “I'm a Prefect and James here is Head Boy, the welfare of fellow students is our business.”

There’s a flicker of movement - Sirius stepping forward now, lips curled in something that isn’t quite a smile. “Go ahead. Try saying that again.”

You feel like you’re swaying. Your knees are buckling under you, head too heavy to hold upright. You reach for the wall, but someone steadies you - James. His arm slips around your back gently, guiding you away from the others.

“Let’s not hex them here,” he mutters to Remus, who is still glaring at the boy who spoke up, like he’s imagining a dozen creative curses. “She’s our priority. We can duel them another day.”

Remus doesn’t respond. But he doesn’t lunge forward, either.

You’re shaking. You don’t know why. No one hurt you. They didn’t even say anything cruel. But something about it - the way you’d been cornered, touched, steered like you were furniture - rattles something deep in your chest.

Your eyes are burning. Your throat’s tight. You didn’t think this sort of thing would happen to you.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper, not sure who you’re talking to. “I didn’t think - ”

“Don’t,” James says quietly, steadying you again. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

Remus still hasn’t looked away from the boys, but he speaks - his voice low, furious, directed to them more than you. “You knew what you were doing. Every step of the way. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

One of the boys sneers towards your direction. “She’s the one who got drunk.”

“Yeah,” Remus breathes. “And you’re the ones who thought that gave you permission.”

James grips your shoulder more tightly. “We’re done here. Let’s get her back to the tower.”

They turn you around carefully, shielding you with their bodies. Sirius walks slightly behind - silent, but furious in the way his eyes stay locked on the boys until you’re safely out of sight.

You don’t say anything as they lead you through the corridors. You’re afraid if you speak, the tears you’ve been holding back will come flooding out.

And something about their silence - angry, awkward, but oddly gentle - makes you feel safer than you’ve felt in hours.

end. masterlist

choosing to end it here as I don't know where else to take this - feel free to send me more requests <3

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! Congrats on the 10k!! That’s so amazing, I hope you’re really feeling all the love you deserve!

Can I request something for the sleepover, from the blanket fort guidelines?? A tasm!peter x fem!reader fluffy drabble if possible, and with any of the following prompts? (all from the links you added in the sleepover post)

and I’m honestly not sure if you meant we could only suggest one prompt or not, or if we could suggest multiple to either have included or be picked from, if that makes sense (sorry if it doesn’t 😭), so if you’re only accepting one prompt, in general, then of course feel free to pick whichever of the following you want to use. But no complaints if you pick and include all 3, lol. But absolutely no pressure to!. . .

"you're so cute when you're half asleep."

“You’re my hero.”

"thank you for picking me up- i know it's late."

Thanks Mae! <3

Love love love you <3

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 505 words

Peter spots you when he’s still a block away. He told on the phone you to stay right where you were and it looks like you have, leaned droopily against the doorway of a closed-down coffee shop. The bright blue of a flashing sign across the street casts its intermittent glow across your face. 

“You’re so cute when you’re half asleep,” Peter teases you. He’s gotten all the way up next to you without you noticing, worrying under any other circumstances but funny when it’s him. 

You look up, startled, dark imprints under your eyes. “Oh. Hi,” you exhale, hugging him. Oh, you really are exhausted. His poor girl. “You’re my hero.” 

“I bet you say that to all your boyfriends.” Peter rubs your back, smiling to himself. You’re all but liquid against his front. 

He starts to walk with you that way, still hugging, more than willing to carry you home just like this. He’s disappointed when you pull away. 

“Thank you for picking me up.” Contrition quiets your tone. “I know it’s late.” 

Peter scoffs. He gets his arm back around you and hauls you up against his side. “C’mon, you know this isn’t late for me. I was just heading out,” he says, squeezing your shoulder. “It’s late for you, though, what were you still doing here?” 

“I fell asleep,” you admit. “One of the baristas had to wake me up to tell me to get out.” 

Peter feels a lot of ways about that. Worry for how spent you had to have been to doze off in public like that. A healthy dose of anger for the barista who’d left you alone on the street rather than waiting to make sure you were safe. More than either of those, though, there’s this giant, irrepressible fondness at the thought of you, droopy-eyed and sleepy, passed out in a coffee shop and thinking of Peter first thing when you wake up. 

It’s pathetic and all turned around, he knows. Still. Peter feels lucky to have you under his arm. 

“I would’ve gotten home by myself,” you say apologetically, “but…” You hold up your dark phone helplessly. 

It’s dead. You’d explained in a hurry that you’d borrowed the barista’s to call Peter, to ask him to come get you because you were nervous to walk home yourself with no way to call for help if you needed it. Peter had been out his window before you’d hung up. It took him about twelve blocks to realize that you calling him from a stranger’s phone must mean you have his number memorized, and that thought warmed his insides in ways he can’t explain. 

“I’m glad you called me,” he says, pressing a kiss to your head. “You should always call me, sweetheart.” 

“I’m just sorry to make you come halfway across the city for me,” you reply sheepishly. 

Peter makes an offended huffing sound. “I’d go halfway across the world for you.” He kisses your head again, firmer this time. “And don’t you forget it.” 

[urrockstar-xe]

math test - p.parker x fem!reader

posted jan 27th, 2024 3:28 pm

came up with this cutesy idea the other day, hope u enjoy :)

summary: Peter's tired of allowing Spider-Man to be a shitty boyfriend, so he makes up for it the only way he can think of that wouldn't get you in trouble.

masterlist

not proofread

wordcount: 0.8k

It was nearing 2 in the morning when Peter slowly lifted his window open from the outside, not so gracefully falling inside once it was a wide enough gap, followed by him stumbling several times as he tried to close his window while simultaneously trying to take off the red and blue spandex suit that so badly needs a wash.

The sound of his old bed frame creaking caught Peter’s attention once he finally pulled on some sweatpants. 

He whipped around, his gaze immediately falling to your half-asleep figure in his bed, a familiar sight now, one Peter had adored. Your half-opened eyes tried to focus on his silhouette. 

“Shit, hey sweetheart I didn’t mean to wake you” Peter’s whispered apology was laced with a soft muffled tone as he pulled a hoodie over his head, not bothering to fix his hair as he made his way towards his bed. “Didn’t know you were sleepin’ over tonight” He said with a tired smile playing on his lips, the bags under his eyes failing to distract you from the beauty that was your sleep-deprived boyfriend as you merely scooted over for him to join you. 

“Supposed to help me study for that test” you mumbled, no malice in your voice, no hints of irritation, not even a slight sadness to your voice at the thought of him forgetting about your plans. All you cared about at this moment was your boyfriend cuddling with you, using all your energy to open your arms for him to slide into. 

Peter stopped dead in his tracks, looking down by the nightstand and seeing your backpack on the floor, a math book sitting on the floor beside it next to a few pens. So that’s what he tripped on when he came in.

“Oh, man. I’m sorry, doll. We can work on it first thing in the morning, swear.” Peter promised, giving into what you wanted and sliding in bed next to you, wasting no time in wrapping you in his arms. 

“It’s due tomorrow, and I have to leave early for that dumb field trip.” You mumbled into his shoulder, not meaning to but making Peter feel all the worse for forgetting as he softly smoothed his hand up and down your back.

~

By the time Peter woke up the next morning you had already left, leaving behind a note on his desk.

”don’t think too hard about that test, I’ll just ask if I can have extended time on it. I’m just happy you got home safe” 

The little hearts surrounding your name at the bottom and the emphasis on him getting back at all seemed to have the opposite effect on Peter than you had intended. 

As now, he just seemed more determined to fix this problem he had made.

~

You laughed as your friend lifted her arms into the air, taking in a big deep breath as you both finally got off the bus, “freedom!” she exclaimed. 

“We have that test in like 30 minutes” You reminded her with a smile, earning a glare in response. “Buzzkill”

You chuckled this time, before watching her lift her finger and point behind you, turning as you followed where she was pointing, “that’s geek charming, what’s he doin’ here?” she asked quietly, expecting you to have an answer as you watched your boyfriend hurry over to you, green folder in his hand. 

“No clue, I’ll meet you inside” You smiled at her, watching her nod and smile back in response, walking backward towards the school while she obnoxiously waves and says “Hi, Peter!” 

Peter waved back, finally in front of you as he turned his gaze to see you already looking at him, with a soft smile. 

“Hey,” Peter matched your smile, holding out the folder to you before you could respond. “For your test, you forgot your math stuff in my room, so” 

You smiled, taking it gratefully, “Thanks, Petey. Although I don’t know how much help it’ll be-” Peter cut you off, “I mapped out in your notebook exactly how you can find any answers for the test and explained it in notes how I knew you’d be able to understand” You looked at him in awe as he rambled, watching as he took off his backpack and fumbled with it before pulling out your math notebook and handing it to you. “Peter-” “I almost wish I could take the test for you, I’ve just had so much to do lately as you know who and that’s no excuse for ditching my best girl when she needed my help so I figured this was the least I could do” Peter continued, taking a breath once he had finished. 

You set the folder and notebook down on the grass, pulling Peter into a tight embrace. “This is nice” he mumbled into your shoulder, squeezing your waist ever so slightly. “I love you, Peter Parker” You mumbled back, pulling back just enough to set a soft kiss to his lips. 

“I love you more, now go pass your test and make me proud, you can do that, can’t you, sweetheart?” Peter smiled at you, chuckling as you placed one, two, three more kisses on his mouth before pulling away and grabbing your stuff. 

“When I pass, you’re buying me dinner, baby!” You said, beginning to walk away.

“Whatever you want, doll!”

[akira-dulbar]

The life you left behind

4/3: Discoveries and chaos, but also decisions

part1 part2 part3 part5

Summary: You see a man following you and your son, but that's all it is. What does your alleged stalker really think? Also, chaos erupts in the Wayne family.

Warning: stalking, mention of death.

------

Lately, you've felt like someone's been watching you, not just you but your son as well. But that wasn't the strange thing. You lived in Gotham, so this kind of thing wasn't surprising. What was really strange was that he didn't do anything. He didn't threaten you. You didn't expect me to let my guard down to hurt you and your son, nothing.

All of this happened after the encounter with Red Hood, or maybe before; you didn't know for sure.

He just stood there, a few steps away, following you like he was your personal bodyguard, protecting you from reckless danger. Which was weird and frustrating. Why did he do it? Was there a reason for him? Besides, it wasn't like you could face him. You didn't even know what he looked like. Which made the situation worse. He was like a ghost. You couldn't see him, but you could feel him, and it was somewhat uncomfortable.

Every time you wanted to confront him, you turned around. Magically, you couldn't feel his presence anymore, and you only saw people passing by, but you knew it wasn't any of them. Another was that when you turned a corner, you stood there, hoping that when he turned around, he'd immediately run into you. But that didn't happen either, since either someone passed by and went the other way, or no one turned the corner with you.

But you knew he was there, and you could prove it. One of those cases was when you were at the store with your son, Peter. You were trying to reach the 8-roll pack of toilet paper because you were out of stock. For some stupid reason, the workers thought it was a good idea to put those packs on the highest shelves where only Superman could reach them. In any case while you were trying to catch up with him, Peter kept running from one side to the other, which made your hair stand on end since you couldn't do two things at once, so when Peter turned the corner to go to the other aisle, without hesitation you followed him forgetting the package of paper and your cart with your purchases, when you returned to Peter who was reluctantly contrasting you with the surprise of the paper was in the cart and not on the high shelf that you couldn't reach, when you approached you were also surprised by the fact that there were also other things you needed but you hadn't put them in the cart yet along with a few dollars to pay, that was certainly strange and for some reason you knew it had been him.

Another case was when you were reading a book to your son in his room, Peter was lying in bed ready to sleep with his Wonder Woman stuffed animal while you were sitting next to him reading, for some reason you looked up at the window for a moment, but it was just when you saw a nest of black hair with eyes that you didn't know if they were blue-green or neon green, in any case you screamed like a crazy woman while the man's eyes opened and the sound of hurried footsteps fleeing down the fire stairs was heard, you remember running to see if you could see him, but to your surprise and horror you saw nothing, at first you thought it was your downstairs neighbor, but he was blond, not black-haired, because you reinforced the security of the windows and closed the curtains, and why not go to the police, you're easily in Gotham, don't be surprised. And how did you know it was a man and not a woman? No idea, but you had the idea it was a man. I don't want to be prejudiced, but there was something that definitely told you it was a man.

But you quickly realized it wasn't dangerous—well, not for you or your son, but for others, and here are some other examples.

There was once a time when your neighbor Frank's friend who lived downstairs moved in with him because his girlfriend kicked him out, God knows why, but you thought it was because of his personality. He wouldn't stop insulting his ex-girlfriend for kicking him out just because she slept with his mother. When you heard it for the first time, it horrified you and left you completely perplexed. You tried to keep your son from getting close to him in any way. He wasn't the example you wanted your son to see of men, but for some reason he wouldn't leave you alone, always cornering you at any moment and making comments that ranged from flirtatious to inappropriate for the general public. You almost cried when your son asked you what they meant. That's what you wanted to avoid, but everything reached a breaking point when he insinuated that he could be a father to your child. No, absolutely not, you told him bluntly, which he didn't like and he got a little violent but you managed. You easily escaped and ran away, the next day your neighbor Frank was at your door apologizing for him and saying that his friend would be moving out at the end of the day, that he would never show up again, which made you completely relieved, but then he said something that left you puzzled but at the same time confirmed your assumptions.

"Hey, could you tell your boyfriend that since my friend is leaving, there's no need to come back into my apartment or say anything about the drugs?" Frank looked nervous, tired, and very scared, but you could only blink at what he said.

"What?" you said after a while, puzzled about your supposed boyfriend and some drugs.

"I mean, if I had known you had a boyfriend the size of a mountain, I wouldn't have let anything happen. I swear, please don't say anything about the drugs." You could see Frank rambling on about the drugs and your supposedly terrifying boyfriend the size of Texas, but you just stared at him, perplexed.

Then you found out his friend had a broken rib and both his right arm and leg were in casts, and that was just one of the cases.

-------

Jason hated being in the mansion, maybe not as much as before, but he still didn't like it very much. That's why when Dick asked him if he wanted to help organize some things, he said no. But when Alfred told him to come and that he would give him some of his delicious cookies as a reward, he didn't hesitate for a minute.

In any case, he was there, in his adoptive father's office, helping with his brothers to organize the mess he had.

"For someone who dresses as a bat at night and solves cases, this place is a mess." Jason could see the boxes full of messy papers waiting to be opened and organized.

"Unfortunately, there was a time when Master Bruce neglected his responsibilities; this is just the result of that carelessness." Alfred was standing by the door with a glass of juice for one of the roommates.

"Father, this isn't the kind of carelessness the world's greatest detective should have." Damian was sitting in Bruce's office chair, with Alfred the cat lying on his lap as if he belonged there.

"I have to say I'm not proud of this mess." Bruce was sitting on the floor with a pile of papers and boxes around him, stuffing some papers into a box and sorting through other papers to see what was inside.

"Anyway, how did this mess come about?" Dick was standing right next to Bruce, with the same mess around him, doing the same thing Bruce was doing.

"Well, Master Dick, first it was when he was just starting out as Batman that he left some responsibilities behind, then it was his adoption, and finally the death of Master Jason." There was a moment of silence for that last bit of information. Jason remained silent as he continued organizing papers while the others looked at each other, knowing that this subject was somewhat delicate.

Seeing the silence growing and the tension rising, Bruce was the next to speak.

"Anyway, I appreciate you coming to help me with this, knowing you might have had something better to do."

"Hey, don't worry, B. We didn't have anything better to do, right guys?" Dick turned to look at his brothers.

"Yes, I do." "Me too." "Of course."

"Oh, please." Dick looked at the three of them as he spoke. "What did you have to do?"

"Finish a case." Tim was the first to speak, but Alfred quickly silenced him.

"I remind you, Tim, that you needed to take a break from those activities; too much of it isn't good for your health." Alfred handed Tim an iced tea while scolding him for not getting enough sleep.

"Practice." Damien was the second to speak, but he wasn't spared either.

"Damian, we already talked about that. No practicing after lunch," Bruce gently reprimanded his son as he continued sorting papers.

"But, Father," "No, Damian, I already said no." Damian just crossed his arms and grumbled.

"And you, Jason?" Dick looked back at his second-born brother.

"Checking on Peter and his mom," Jason shrugged as he closed one box and reached for another to open it.

"So, being a stalker," Tim said, sipping on his iced tea.

"Look who's talking, replacement. Between you and me, you're the stalker. I'm just checking on them." Jason pulled a stack of unopened letters out of the box and laid them on the floor.

"That's still stalking. Just because you change the name to something more aesthetically pleasing doesn't mean it's not the same." Tim quickly dodged the box that was headed for his head.

"Guys, guys, don't get carried away." Dick raised his arms in a gesture of peace to calm the atmosphere.

"And what else do you want me to do in place of yours? It's not like I can just show up at her door and say, 'Hey, remember me? I was the man you thought was dead and the father of your child. How have you been?' She's going to call the police." Jason snorted as he looked at the cards in his hand, sorting them out one by one for organization.

"Also, considering you don't physically resemble the boy you were when you were 15." Like Jason, Damian sorted the cards out one by one.

Everyone knew Damian was right. Jason no longer physically resembled the child he once was. Thanks to the Lazarus Pit, if he approached you, you'd probably be scared stiff.

Jason couldn't help but remember the time you saw him that night. You screamed loudly and scared while you watched him through his son's bedroom window. He didn't mean to. He got distracted and scared you stiff. Now, every time he went to check on you, The curtains were closed, and he couldn't see them now, which frustrated him greatly.

He also didn't forget that idiot who assumed you were Peter's father figure. He has to say he saw green after that. That idiot was sexually harassing you so blatantly, right in front of his son. He had no shame, but thank God he took care of it. That idiot had no right to do any of that, nor to flirt with you like that and insinuate that he was Peter's father. Peter was his son, he had that right, not him. He wasn't the father, he was…

Jason was Peter's father… But how could he be a father if not even Peter knew of his existence? Neither of you knew he was alive, and that he knew about you, that he could be in your lives, but not even that… Maybe it was fear? That you'd be angry with him? That you wouldn't stop seeing Peter? No, it wasn't that… It was fear of getting you involved… getting you involved in a life you didn't want, of taking away the peace and quiet you had because of the selfishness of being in their lives. And worst of all, if you and Peter started to hate him because of it, maybe it would ruin Peter. Maybe he wouldn't be a great father, he wouldn't be a good father, he wouldn't be…

Jason stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the letter in his hand.

Your name was written on the letter.

Jason quickly opened the letter and began to read.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bruce. I hope these words find you in a moment of reflection and calm. I'm writing to you with a mixture of fear and determination. Before I tell you what I want to tell you, I want you to know that my heart is beating with news that could change everything. I'd like you to know that I'm pregnant with Jason's baby (No, this isn't a joke). I know this may come as a shock to you, and I understand. The truth is, I'm scared and I don't know what to do. I'm worried about the baby's future and how I'm going to take care of it, or if I'd even want to take care of it at all. I'm still undecided. I want us to be able to talk about what's happening. I know you have a lot of questions, and I'll answer them all. Even if you don't believe me, I'll do everything to prove it's true. I just want to talk. I'm not asking for anything more, I just don't know what to do.

With all due respect.

(Your name)"

Jason's color has drained. This can't be real. You had written to Bruce and told him about the baby. Jason looked at the other cards. Some of them also had your name, your fucking name. Jason thought he was going to faint, he started to tense up.

"Master Jason, are you okay?" Alfred approached Jason while he just tensed up.

"Jason?" Everyone turned to look at Jason, while he just stood there.

Everyone was surprised when Jason suddenly stood up and walked over to Bruce, standing in front of him.

"Jason?…!!!!!" Bruce was surprised when Jason grabbed him by the neck and lifted him up. By this point, everyone had already stood up, disturbed by Jason's outburst.

"You old idiot, what does this mean?" Jason flashed the cards in Bruce's face. Bruce could only open his eyes and skim the card.

"Jason, what's wrong?" Dick tried to grab Jason's shoulder, but was quickly pushed away.

"Dick, this is what's going on." Jason let go of Bruce and flashed the card in Bruce's face, surprising Dick.

"Because of this fucking mess and his carelessness, he didn't know she was pregnant. For God's sake, Dick, do you know what that means?" Jason began to speak louder, as he handed the letter to Dick, who, along with Tim, read it as they lost their color, turning into ghosts.

"She told him about the pregnancy, but he didn't even take the time to read it," Jason began to shout at this point.

"Jason, I swear I didn't know," Bruce tried to speak, but was quickly silenced by Jason.

"Oh, of course you didn't know. Do you have any idea how she must have felt when you didn't answer? How scared she must have been? That you might have thought she was a liar? Crazy, even?" Jason began to push Bruce while pointing out his mistake.

"Jason, please calm down." Dick grabbed Jason, pushing him away from Bruce. Bruce was holding his head with one hand while the other held him so he wouldn't faint.

"Calm down? Calm down? For God's sake, Dick, Bruce could have helped her, so she wouldn't have to be alone, or I don't know, do something else."

"You don't know that, Jason," Tim shouted so Jason could hear him.

"I don't know! Both you and Bruce are up to your necks in money, and you're going to tell me Bruce wouldn't have helped her?"

"Todd, that's not what Drake meant."

"Then what did he mean? Because that didn't sound like anything else to me."

"Jason, I think you should calm down before you say something you'll regret."

"Fuck you, Dick," Jason shouted as he walked loudly to the door, leaving the office and leaving the others in the office.

Jason just walked toward a place he knew would calm him down.

-------------

Jason was in the cafeteria across from his son's kindergarten. It was almost dismissal time, and Jason was hoping to see his son.

"Can I sit here?" Jason looked up from the window at his father and nodded, while Bruce sat across from him, also facing the window.

"So this is it, right?" Jason nodded again without looking at Bruce.

"Jason, I…" Bruce paused for a moment to speak.

"When you died, I didn't want to know anything else." Jason turned to look at his father.

"I was lost. I got away from everything. I didn't know how to navigate properly, and because of that, I couldn't understand what was going on around me." Bruce turned to look at his son.

"It's not your fault," Jason sighed as he lay down on the cafeteria table.

"You were grieving at the time… it's not your fault, you had the right to be that way." Jason sighed again, but Bruce didn't speak, encouraging him to keep talking.

"I don't know what to do. I just met my son and… everything is new to me, I don't really know what to do, and I don't want to ruin it." I don't want to be a bad father. Those were words left unspoken but perfectly understood.

"I know how you feel," Jason turned to look into Bruce's eyes. "I didn't meet Damian until he was several years old. And at first, I felt the same as you. I felt lost and didn't know what to do."

"How did you do it?"

"Well, at first it was difficult. But Dick and Alfred helped me a lot. They taught me to be patient and understand his needs."

"And now Damian is more open and less violent. I realized I wasn't alone, thanks to them."

"I feel like I'm not capable of doing the same." I'm afraid of ruining it for him and his mother." Jason rubbed his eyes as he looked down.

"Jason, you're not going to ruin it. You're going to learn and grow with them. And you're not alone. I'm here to help you, and your siblings can be a big help too. The most important thing is that you don't give up; you'll do great. Be patient with yourself, with your son, and with his mother. And if you remember that love and dedication are what matter most, then you'll do well." Bruce puts a hand on Jason's shoulder.

"I don't know if I'm ready for this."

"Jason, no one is ready to be a father. But what matters is that you're willing to learn and do what's best for your child." Bruce smiles as he turns toward the window.

"Besides, don't you think they deserve to decide if they want you in their lives?" Jason turns to see his son being carried by you as the two of you smile at them. He watches as you kiss your son on the forehead and hug him tightly.

"Yes, you're right. Thanks, Dad." Bruce just smiles.

"You're welcome, son." The two of you watch as you walk off with your son safely toward your apartment, while Jason has a look of determination.

-------

I have to thank @1abi because his comment on my 3rd post immediately gave me an idea and I literally wrote all of this today, thank you very much.

@mev-fizzah-writes (I don't know how to label haha)

Well, I don't know much English.

[ma1dita]

look don't touch

'between certainties and doubts' installment part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader) wc: 1.7k a/n: remus looks at you in a way you think makes him yours. that was your mistake. angst. this was a request! loosely based off a true story...again. yes i was down bad.

—

He was looking at you.

Every single time your eyes wandered around the crowded space, his emerald ones were locked onto your figure, piercing through every single one of your pores. Maybe it was the way your jeans fit your ass or the way your top clung to your body—he always did like you in blue. Deep blue, like the ocean tides he would chase after in Swansea as a child, feet smacking against the rippling water before it settles. Of course, Remus’ motivations were much less innocent now, 17 years of age—that of a grown man, as Sirius is always chuffed to remind him about. 

Time to put your big boy pants on Moony! Gotta put yourself out there to get a bird and lock ‘er down!

Little do they know, you’re his biggest secret, left chasing after the flutter of your sparkly eyelids as you imbibe yourself for a game of King’s Cup. He’s kept you in a pocket close to his heart (or on his dick, depending on the mood) and away from even his closest friends. A secret bigger than his lycanthropy is one he’d never imagine to have the privilege (or misfortune) of having. It was all so complicated in that big brain of his—and of course, the four shots of Firewhiskey he was dared to down back to back did nothing to help.

Remus’ gaze was simmering—setting you alight with his unspoken intentions. Almost overstimulating, as if you could choke on the cigarette smoke he blew out in plumes from across the common room, like he was pulling you in towards him and his boys. It’s hard to mind your business when a man is constantly in it, you realize—and no matter how many turns around the room you make, or glasses of Elderflower wine your roommate hands over for you to chug, you could not shake him.

Well fuck him, right?

With every bone in your body feeling loose and light, you’re shaking your hips to a song you can barely distinguish because everything around you is a blur. Alcohol lines your veins and you swear the next time you take a peek through your peripherals, Remus’ eyes are darkened—his stare feeling like a caress in itself, tugging at the desire in your core.

Fuck him—actually…wait, that sounds like a great idea.

The music is too loud in here—Peter’s turned on a song that’s made half of the room scream, and then you feel hands press into your lower back. 

Remus. 

One of his long fingers catches the sliver of skin that separates your top from your jeans and he’s whispering into your ear as he passes, a hot gust of breath, “Scuse us, lovely.” James is close behind him, tossing you a wink as they make their way towards Frank and Alice on the sofas. You can feel his touch even after he goes. Much of your conversations with Remus Lupin are dealt in passing glances and raised eyebrows. Who needs words when it’s clear you’ll go where he wants you to follow?

He knows that—it’s been the only habit you find yourselves consistent with. But perhaps the both of you forget yourselves when there are other factors at play.

Lily’s calling you over to the group, a pale slender hand waving you over with a disarmingly bright grin. The Marauders & Co. are infamous throughout Hogwarts, and especially within Gryffindor. It’s hard to find a spot to settle in, but you saunter over anyways, nth drink in a shaky hand.

She calls out your name gleefully, kissing you on the cheek, “This is my best girl right here—she’s bloody brilliant at Care of Magical Creatures, saved my arse for the term project!”

“High praise from the Head Girl,” you grin lazily, stumbling slightly on your feet, “Careful, Potter. One more sweet nothing from her and I’ll steal your girl.” The group laughs easily at the banter, James’ ears turning red at the notion. You’d never been one to run in their circles, but keeping the pace is easier than you thought it would be. That, or it’s the liquid confidence warming up the nerves. You perch yourself onto the sofa arm right next to Remus—your thigh touching his arm and he stills, mentally checking out of his conversation with Sirius sitting next to him, who instead looks over to you.

“Got a knack for taming wild things, eh, love?”

And Remus elbows him, making Sirius’ butterbeer slosh onto his silk shirt which he immediately whines about. You’re laughing now and Remus’ head starts spinning at the sound and the realization that you would fit perfectly into his life if only he let you—and he didn’t know what was more terrifying, that, or the fact that he almost wants you to.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Black?” you tease through half-lidded eyes. You’re plastered now, your foot slowly stroking up and down whatever you can feel of Remus and he locks eyes with you again, from much closer than he has all night. It’s electrifying, sends a chill up his spine he can’t hide. Glowing under the dim lights, you’re something of a sight for sore eyes—staring at him almost sinister. 

For once, he feels like the prey, trapped with nowhere to go. 

Like an idiot, his best friend starts to howl, sending everyone into a fit of laughter and Remus feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin. Nothing about this is funny and he feels like everything might unravel the longer he sits here.

And then your hand touches his shoulder, soft and gentle—your eyes are only ever on him. He takes a deep breath, tensing. You’re leaning over him, lips grazing his ear and Remus swears he can almost taste the scent of your skin, “Alright, baby?” It comes out sweet and dreamy, you’re liberal with pet names and no one thinks much of it, or everyone’s too drunk to care but he feels his heart beating up out of his chest and he chokes on it.

“No,” he mutters, his right hand resting onto your knee and you take it as permission to lean closer to him, legs spilling into his space and breasts filling his vision. The inebriation makes you candid, your hand behind his head on the backrest of the couch, reaching to comb through his messy brown hair—even when you’re drunk you just want to make sure he’s okay, eyes flickering unsteadily across his face.

And then he pushes you. Kind of.

The hand on your thigh jerks as he stands up and in your state you topple right over the side of the couch and land on your back to a chorus of giggles. You’re sticky and humiliated—taking a moment to stare at the ceiling and whatever worry you had for him takes itself out on the exhale.

Remus is standing over you, looking mortified—you swat his hand away as he tries to help you up.

“Someone’s had too much to drink,” Frank says playfully and his girlfriend tuts, grabbing you by the arm to pull you up.

“All of you boys are being mean to her!” Alice pouts, trying to dust the muck off the back of your jeans and you’re biting the inside of your cheek. 

“Nope, he’s right. I’ve had just about enough,” you laugh stiffly. I should…that’s my cue to go.” Without saying goodbye, you turn on your heel just before your lip starts to quiver. Remus calls out your name, but you’re running out of the common room like it’s a house on fire.

You’re going in the opposite direction of your dorm— almost in a full sprint, but he catches you by the arm, captures you even as you try to wrestle out of his grasp and when he wrenches you toward him with almost the same amount of force— fuck, you’re crying.

“Oh just FUCK OFF, will you?”

“Hey,” he shushes, as if he’s trying to placate a tiny little creature—maybe you are, he watches you fold in on yourself in real time and you push him away before he can get closer, “I didn’t mean for that to happen, okay? I wa–”

“You looked at me,” you seethe, chest heaving, “I thought, I mean, I wasn’t even…” you hiccup, shaking your head. You cringe, ripping your shirt over your head to rid yourself of this feeling of being disgusting, unwanted—throwing the dark blue fabric at his face.

“Fuck you, Remus. I was worried about you. Do you always think I’m trying to sleep with you? Is that all you see me for?”

He’s blinking slowly, eyes flickering up and down and he’s at a loss for words for a multitude of reasons right now, “I know that, lovely. I-I know.”

“What else do you want from me, Remus?”

Mascara is running down your cheeks. He wipes the tracks away with the sleeve of his flannel, but you won’t stop sobbing and he pulls you into his arms murmuring promises he can’t keep into your ear. It’s hard to resist, crumpling into his arms because even if it doesn’t seem like it right now, he’s the only one you want despite this.

“I’ll make it up to you, lovely girl. I’m so sorry. I want all of you, baby. I don’t deserve you.” Remus’ words are like a lullaby—through the state the both of you are in, somehow he gets you into your bed and draws the curtains shut lest your roommates see when they get back from the party.  His touch is gentle again, not lewd nor selfish, and you’re half asleep when you feel him wipe your face clean with a warm washcloth. You think he stays the night, you know it by the feeling of his breath imprinted into your neck so much that you still feel it when you close your eyes. And a kiss is shared, if not given, if only either of you knew where it begins and ends. It tastes of sleep and longing, and you savor it, giving in before he does. Remus looks at you for a few more hours after, deep in thought until his own eyes give out from exhaustion—still, he stares until he can’t. 

One day, it won’t be like this anymore.

When you wake up, you’re not sure if it was all a dream. Remus has never slept in your room before, and there are barely any traces that he had been there at all, besides the blouse folded and clean at the edge of your bed, and the fact that the flannel wrapped around your body still smells like him from last night, heady and intoxicating.

—

i don't do taglists anymore! follow @ma1dita-mail & turn on post notifs 🤍

[thollandneedy]

Co-pilot- Peter Parker

A/n: I had this idea for SO LONG! I swear...

Warnings: Swearing and make-out

Summary: Peter and Y/n return from a concert, and end up getting lost because she falls asleep while giving Peter directions, which makes the night longer than it should be (classic enemies to lovers)

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

“I can't believe I saw Ariana Grande up front.” Y/n exclaimed to herself, looking at her cell phone where all the videos she had recorded after the concert had ended.

“And I can't believe I made it through two hours with you screaming in my ear,” Peter said, following in the girl's footsteps that led them both to the stadium parking lot.

Peter was responsible for Y/n, but it wasn't as if he was enjoying her company. Y/n and Peter had what we call a 'cat and dog relationship', since ever since they met, they didn't quite know how to build a professional relationship without their opposing feelings getting in the way of their training and living together. Through Y/n's father, Tony Stark, Peter was determined to do whatever it took to win his approval, even if it meant taking the girl to his favorite singer's concert and supervising her. Y/n wasn't happy with his company either, knowing that Peter was only after her because Tony had asked him to.

Unlike Peter, who thought the girl was just another spoiled teenager, Y/n could see a touch of humility and love for others when he helped people. Spider-Man was more of an Alter-ego than a hero. He was Peter Parker, but improved and cooler, at least that's what the girl thought.

“You say that as if I've disrupted the show” The girl grumbles, putting her cell phone away in her pocket and trying to open the driver's door of the car.

“Hey, hey, hey” Peter steps in front of the girl, causing her to look at him with a confused face. ”Mr. Stark said i was going to drive.”

“My father doesn't need to know.” The girl, wearing black jeans and a blouse emblazoned with the album 'Dangerous Woman', says trying to gently push Peter away from her.

“But I will, and if anything happens to you, I'll kill you and then your father will kill me.” The boy says, taking the key to the Audi R8 from his pocket and opening the doors of the blue car.

“'Stop being boring, Peter. I'm not even tired! I can drive without any problems.” Y/n asks again, only to be answered by silence from the brunette, who just gets into the car and closes the door in the girl's face, who scoffs to herself and turns the car around, opening the passenger door.

“Put it on the map for me, please, where we should go. I'm not sure which streets to take to get back to the tower.” The young man in the dark gray shirt comments, slipping the safety belt over his body.

Y/n touches the dashboard of the car, and even with it on, nothing appears on the small screen. Peter frowns, taking Y/n's index finger off the screen, trying to do it himself and getting no response from the device.

“This car is from 2015, and my father hasn't gotten rid of it yet. It must have some emotional value.” Y/n replies, settling back in his seat as he picks up his cell phone again to look at the videos he's recorded.

“Shit.” Peter curses.

“Don't let Cap hear that.” Y/n laughs as she looks at Peter, then puts the digital map on her cell phone so she can guide the brunette to the tower. “I'll be the copilot.”

“I prefer death.” Peter replied, starting the car.

“What was your favorite part of the show?” Y/n asks, looking at Peter concentrating on the congestion in the parking lot due to people leaving at the same time.

“When you lost your voice.” Peter replied, smiling to himself and then to Y/n who stared at him expressionlessly. “Just kidding. When she sang NASA.”

“God is a Woman was better.” Y/n says.

“Only because she walked in front of you and took your hand.” Peter recalls.

“Who can blame me.” Y/n shrugs, glancing at Peter, who replies with a sideways smile.

The parking lot was lost a few meters away when Peter entered the city streets. After a long time singing, waiting in queues and a sleepless night due to concert anxiety, Y/n felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier, while Peter fought with himself not to fall asleep driving. The sky was at its blackest as the clock struck midnight, and they were both tired. Y/n's cell phone was resting on her thigh, and even though she was sleepy, the girl was trying to tell her which way to turn so that they wouldn't get lost. Almost fifteen minutes later, Y/n was resting her body in her dreams, while Peter waited for another command.

“Y/n” Peter called, stopping at a traffic light.

“Um” the girl mumbles.

“Turn where?” The brunette asked without taking his eyes off the street.

“Uh… right and go straight for 20 kilometers” The girl quickly looks at her cell phone and nods off again.

Peter, following the sleeping girl's instructions, does as he's told. With a lost expression, Peter leans forward trying to read what was written on the sign, then slams the steering wheel and curses loudly.

“FUCK”

Y/n wakes up startled, looking around lost. Her heart raced, causing her hand to rest on her chest.

“What the fuck, Peter! What's wrong?” The girl curses, adjusting her posture on the bench.

“I have no idea where we are, and we're running out of gas.” The brunette closes his eyes, looking down at his lap. “Are you sure we're on the right track?” Peter picks up the cellphone resting on the girl's thigh, reviewing the route.

Y/n stares at him silently, almost closing her eyes again, when she hears an angry exhale.

“Y/n” Peter called out, trying to keep his cool in a place he didn't know and almost out of gas. “You gave me the wrong directions. Three times. We were supposed to be at your house in no more than 20 minutes, and we've been there for 50 MINUTES!” Peter stares at her with his eyebrows drawn together.

“I told you I was sleepy.” The girl retorts, denying blame for the accident.

“And I asked you to keep an eye on your cell phone, dammit!” Peter exclaims, causing her to revolt.

“Why didn't you look at it yourself?” She asks.

“BECAUSE I'M DRIVING!”

“But you can answer messages while you're swinging your webs from building to building.” Y/n points out, making the older man roll his eyes and deny it with his head.

“Y/n, that's completely different.” Peter explains angrily, picking up the girl's cell phone again and redirecting the address so that he can take the quickest route.

The brunette nods, backing out of the empty street he was on so that he could go back a few blocks, but before he could complete his redefined route, the car stops. Y/n stares at the dashboard, seeing that the gas has run out. Peter turns off the car, raises his arms in redemption of the situation, looks up at the roof of the car, but then closes his eyes.

“You're a terrible co-pilot. The worst I've ever had.” Peter finally says something, unable to express any reaction on his face.

“You're not the perfect companion for a show either, if you ask me.” Y/n crosses her arms.

Typical Stark response

Peter laughs to himself, not believing that even though he was wrong, Y/n wouldn't accept his mistake but would try to fix it as quickly as possible before there was another flaw to point out. Y/n picks up her cell phone from Peter's lap, going to her contact list to call Happy, and without success returning the call, she puts the phone in his lap.

“Congratulations.” Peter looks at her seriously.

“Shut up, I'm trying to sort it out, but Happy's not answering.” Y/n retorts.

“You're always like that. Always.” Peter takes off his seatbelt and turns his body towards Y/n, who is glaring at him. “You hate being wrong, and you'd rather say you've made a mistake. You love drama, but you'd rather say you're growing up. Always a fucking excuse.”

“And you love bad-mouthing me, don't you? Wow, look at me, I'm Spider-Man and I lick the balls of all the Avengers for approval because if I'm not an Avenger, I'm just a nerd with no friends.” Y/n takes off his seatbelt, rebutting rigorously.

“You want to talk about me? At least the friends I have aren't with me for money. Unlike yours, who only put up with you because you're rich and can go out to expensive places. Putting up with you sucks, and that's why you don't have a boyfriend.” Peter spits out the words, feeling the car get hot.

“And you have a girlfriend? Because as far as I know, MJ dumped you.” Y/n remembers overhearing Peter talking on his cell phone, telling his best friend about it.

“You're…” Peter returns to his starting position, crossing his arms and running his fingers through his curly hair.

“What am I?” Y/n asks.

Before he could answer, the girl's cell phone vibrated. Turning the bright screen, she answered Happy's call, telling him what had happened and that she needed him to come and pick them up. Peter listened to the call, staring at the windows, analyzing whether there was any possible danger to Y/n in that little-trafficked street. As much as he hated it, he needed to keep her safe. A few seconds into the call, the girl said:

“He said he'd try to come as soon as possible.”

“Good.” Peter lay back on the car seat, relaxing his back and closing his eyes in the hope that he could doze off.

“Are you going to sleep? What if someone wants to rob us?” Y/n puts his bag between his feet.

“The Avengers' ball-licker will let Daddy's little girl sort it out. She's old enough to sort out her own shit, don't you think?” Peter puts his hands behind his head, flexing the muscles in his arm.

Y/n scoffs at the boy, doing the same as him and lying down on her stool. They both enjoyed the sound of the city, also listening to some trees with their leaves flapping in the empty night. It was a corner with a few abandoned houses and a one-way street where few cars were parked. Y/n curled up on the bench, turning to Peter. The boy had his sculpted body lying on the bench, where his shirt was slightly raised, showing his V-line above his dark-wash jeans. A feeling of regret began to well up in her heart, making her feel bad about the comments she had made to Peter. Still trying to put her pride aside, she says:

“I'm sorry for what I said. You're in the Avengers because you deserve to be.” Y/n comments, causing the boy to quickly open his eyes.

For the first time in the many times he had been with Y/n, he felt that what she was saying wasn't arrogance. In fact, it was very real and sensitive. He turned his body to the side of the bench, allowing his ribs to now meet the hard bench. Her eyes shone with innocence and regret, making it almost impossible not to answer her.

“I'm sorry too for shouting. I know you were tired.” He says. “And… for saying you were spoiled. I know you're not. I say that because sometimes you don't know how to handle certain situations very well, but you learn little by little.”

Y/n smiles without showing her teeth.

“Thanks, and I'm sorry about you and MJ.” She adds. “I know you liked her, like, a lot.”

“Thanks.” He replies with a straight smile. “Do you want to sleep? I can watch, no problem.”

“I lost sleep.” Y/n assumes, using his hand as a pillow to support the side of his face.

“Me too.”

“You're nice. I like you, no matter how much we get into chasing each other.” The girl assumes, without making eye contact with the hero.

“I don't even know why we do it, really. I don't hate you, and I know you don't hate me either.” The boy says. “Actually, if we worked together, we could be a cool duo, but without one of us bossing the other around, or I'd go crazy and glue your mouth shut with my webs."

“I do that on purpose.” She laughs at the older man's comment. “My fun is fighting with you.”

“More fun than being the daughter of a billionaire?”

“Absolutely. I have my father's temper, and you're calm. So testing your temper is my fun of the day. Especially when we're training together, and I win by cheating. You totally lose your sense of self.” Y/n laughs to herself, watching Peter join her in laughter.

“You're terrible. Really.” Peter comments. “But I like that.” He points at himself and Y/n.

“Are you hitting on me, Parker?” The girl asks smugly.

“If I was hitting on you, I'd be closer to you, I'd make you feel seen, you know?” He replies, flexing his jaw as he answers.

“The invisible guy making someone be seen?” Y/n laughs at the irony.

“I mean, paying attention.” Peter explains

“ And then what?”

“And why do you want to know?” Peter instigates.

“I'm just curious how you win girls over with your shy way.”

“I have my charm.” He snorts, pulling a grimace from Y/n.

“Really?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

“No.” He laughs. ”But I try, and it works sometimes.”

“And when it does, what happens?”

He stares at her, as if he's telling her the answer through his eyes. Maybe it was the mood, the confessions or the euphoria of the show that still remained in both their bodies, but something seemed to be different. The silence was no longer awkward, but a warm feeling enveloped the couple. Their minds were no longer focused on arguing, and not even arguing about useless things that could ruin what was being built. Y/n swallows dryly, as Peter's chocolate eyes drift briefly to her wet lips. Peter tried to get closer to Y/n without her realizing he was doing the same. Their breaths seemed to merge, and without there being any room for shame, Peter slipped one of his free hands around Y/n's mouth, pulling her into a shy kiss.

The girl felt his lips pull away after a quick kiss, but hers begged for more. Y/n put both her hands on Peter's cheeks, bringing him closer to her. The hero opened his mouth little by little, sliding his tongue in carefully so as not to exceed any mental limit set by Y/n. The girl loses all her pride, pulling away from the kiss while still feeling his warm lips.

“Can i…" She tries to say.

“Yes, please.” He replied as if reading her mind, straightening his legs and giving her room to climb onto his lap.

Their breasts met in the heat of the moment, while Y/n's pelvic region tried not to meet Peter's, for fear of making him uncomfortable. But the brunette's hands firmly touched Y/n's waist, bringing her warm core between his legs, in a response of irregular breathing. Parker would be lying if he said that he had never fantasized about Y/n Stark, since her beauty was undeniable and sexy, but not even in his best dreams could he have imagined that she would be on his lap kissing him. Once again their lips met in a carnal hunger where there was no longer any shame. Peter held her as if he didn't want her to go anywhere, and Y/n's mind never wandered, as if he were now part of her.

Y/n found the seat lever, pulled it so that the seat had room to return to its upright shape. Peter made room for her back, without taking his lips off the girl.

“We should have done this before.” Y/n commented between kisses.

“I agree.” He replied, kissing her again fervently.

Suddenly, a loud horn draws their attention and they quickly separate their lips. Looking up at the window, there was Happy watching them with the window down. Y/n pressed the button that lowered the window, staring at his father's helper with his cheeks burning as Peter's were.

“Hi, Happy.” Peter says, trying to ease the hot atmosphere with his messy hair.

“Don't tell my dad.” Y/n asks, still on Peter's lap.

“If you promised me that you didn't leave any residue in this car, I won't tell him nothing."

[itsanerdlife]

Rumors

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

The struggle of living in a small town, rumors run faster than the truth ever could.

“Nah, swear up and down, blue in the face, she was with Rogers last night.”

“Saw her car leaving Rogers’ drive around one this morning.”

“Your girl was with your best friend all night? Man, that ain’t right.”

Four years down the drain. The only woman he could ever love, caught with his best friend. World shattering news coming from around the small town they grew up in. Losing his best friend and the love of his life.

Packing up his truck he didn’t bother to say goodbye to anyone. Leaving behind his phone and no note of where he would be going.

Without waiting to hear the news.

Without confronting either of them.

Three years later

“Don’t forget to sign the card on the counter.” I call into the kitchen, at the two brothers making breakfast.

“On it!” Howie calls back.

“Sign my name too.” I hear Peter comment.

“We might be twins, but I’m not forging your signature asshole.” Howie retorts.

Shaking my head, I continue to grab up baby toys off the floor, tossing them into the toy bin on the edge of the rug.

“Ohhhhhh.” AJ coos at his uncles.

“Yeah, no cussing in front of the baby.” Peter scolds Howie. “Tell uncle Howie, he’s being bad.” Peter snickers.

“Naughty.” AJ agrees.

“Don’t teach him anything more damaging, I already have to explain the peeing outside thing to Miss. Ivy, he peed in her potted plants outside her shop.” I huff, coming into the kitchen with them.

Both my brothers cringe, AJ grins proudly.

Jet black hair cut short, dark blue eyes, chunky cheeks from baby fat still. He’s a smaller version of his father almost to the T. Aside from the darkness of his blue eyes.

The father that left town without a word. Without a second thought. Without knowing about him. Small town rumors and he split without even a goodbye.

Fuck Bucky.

He missed out.

I smile at my son. Who grins back.

“Momma, we, we, we go to Nana’s today?” He asks excitedly.

“We’re going to Papa’s shop and than you’ll go home with Nana tonight.” I nod, reminding him.

“Momma work tonight?” His head tips.

“Yeah, momma works tonight.” I sigh, shrugging. “But that means, I wake up in the morning and we’ll have a big family breakfast with your uncles and your nana and papa.” I remind him.

“I spend the night with Papa?” He lights up.

“Don’t you let him teach you no more bad habits. He’s still in trouble for teaching you to burp your ABC’s.” I give him a stern look.

“So gross.” Howie sighs.

“I puked on G.” AJ admits, his little shoulders coming up to his ears.

“We remember little man.” Peter chuckles.

AJ goes about eating his eggs and toast.

“No burping.” Howie points a finger at him. AJ sighs in disappointment. I snort into my coffee cups, rolling my eyes.

------

“How old is he now?” Gwen the other bartender grins at the photo on my phone.

“We’re turning three in two weeks.” I grin as I lock my phone and slip it into my back pocket.

“Feels like just last week Peter was running around with newborn photos and listing off his stats like he was the hottest rookie to come off the bench.” She laughs, grabbing three beers from the cooler.

“He still does that, let’s not pretend he didn’t want to throw a party cause AJ was successfully potty trained at sixteen months.” Shaking my head, I rinse the cocktail shaker out in the sink under the bar.

“I mean at least he’s not missing out on any love.” She gives me a soft smile.

Nodding slowly. Only a few people actually knew who AJ’s father was. Most people still decided to believe and fuel the rumor mill.

“Yup. Guess good enough is enough.” I nod, my tone slightly bitter. I can’t help it. I hate it, but I can’t help it.

AJ was missing out, because his father chose to believe the rumor mill of our small town instead of trusting me.

Friday nights I worked the night shift at the bar, to help pad out being a single mom and keeping my kid comfortable.

It’s a typical Friday in the bar.

A familiar laugh, slithers down my spine.

“Damn been a long time since we’ve seen your ugly mug.” Sam Wilson greets someone.

The laugh comes again. “Life was good without seeing your big ass forehead.”

My heart races, palms slick, my chest grows tight.

“Y/N?” Gwen is watching me. My whole body jumps, causing me to drop a beer bottle. It shatters, the noise gaining attention.

“Fuck.” I shuffle back.

My eyes connect with winter blue ones, watching me. Shocked to see me. A flicker of anger still there.

“Oh honey, are you okay?” My head snaps to the side. My mom, Pepper Stark stands in the opening to the back, with my son on her hip.

“Mom?” I blink at her.

“I know I normally call, but he had a full melt down about going to bed without a kiss from you.” She bounces AJ on her hip. He’s tucked against her.

“Oh I’m so sorry.” I turn hurrying to scoop him up.

“Always night, night kisses.” He mumbles, completely distraught.

“Yes, always. I know, I know.” I squeeze him to me, kissing him over and over on his cheeks and forehead. Finally, he starts to giggle as I sway with him.

“Better?” I ask him. He nods slowly, still snuggled into me.

“Who that momma?” He wonders, looking down at him, he’s peeked up, watching someone off to the side.

Looking over, I find what has my son’s attention, not what, but who.

Bucky.

Staring at us.

“Mom, take him.” I hurry handing back my son to my mother. “No more fussing, go to bed like a big boy for Nana.” I lean in kissing him. He huffs but nods.

“Night momma.” He pouts.

“Night baby.” I give a small wave as my mother hurries away with my son.

“Y/N?” He’s suddenly right at the bar. Sucking in a deep breathe. I shift to face the man that abandoned me and his son. His jet black hair a little shaggy, scruffy jaw line, and wide winter blue eyes.

“What do you want James?” I snap at him.

“Is that, that my son?” He points towards where my mother had been standing.

“No that’s my son.” I correct him.

“Y/N? Seriously.” He stares at me.

“Why don’t you go listen to the rumor mill to find out.” I sneer at him. I stalk away, leaving him standing there.

-------- Everything Peaches 9/21/24 @mo320 @ml7010 @kmc1989 @babizza @coley0823 @royal-sunflower @camelliasblossom @shinycupcakebaker @purpleeclipseeggsland @daughterofthenight117 @hisredheadedgoddess28

Bucky 'Fuck Me Up' Barnes: @jbbarnesgirl @kaylaphantomhive

[lowkeyhollland]

please please please

peter parker x reader "i beg you don't embarrass me motherfucker" 1k words

“y/n!” your best friend, melanie, ran up to hug you. “and you brought…” her voice trailed off at the end as she gestured to the brunette boy standing next to you. 

“oh! this is peter. he’s my uh,” you stumbled over your words, “friend?” it came out more as a question and you hoped no one noticed how unsure you were. you looked up and saw peter smirk. 

“friends that kiss?” he whispered in your ear and your cheeks flushed red. 

“so nice to meet you, peter! we’ve actually heard so much about you!” melanie pulled you two further into the party where all of your friends were. 

“oh have you now?” peter’s eyebrows quirked up, curious as to what could have been said about him. 

“it’s nothing.” you mumbled and crossed your arms over your body. “now just, don’t embarrass me. please?”

“honey, i could never embarrass you.” peter kissed your cheek and slipped his hand into yours as you two socialized with the rest of the group. 

the lights were flashing in the club as bodies were pressed up against each other. peter had told you that he was gonna grab you drinks and squeezed past the sea of people toward the bar. you continued to dance with your friends, singing along to the music with a smile plastered on your face. 

“where’s your boy?!” one of your friends asks. you looked around the club and realized peter was nowhere to be found. you mentally sighed as he had, once again, disappeared with no warning. 

“he said he wasn’t feeling well,” you lied. “but you know! he’s like irish or something and they’re really good at irish goodbyes. it’s just, uh, in his culture.” you messed with your rings, looking side to side and hoped your friends were drunk enough to not see through your lies. 

“oh!” that was all that came out of all of their mouths. a part of you wanted to rip out peter’s hair for leaving without telling you while the other part just wanted to die from embarrassment. 

you seriously just had to leave again?? 

you texted him and to no avail, there was no response. letting out a frustrated sigh, you continued to dance with your friends to try and forget about the night. 

you took an uber home, not trusting to walk by yourself in the dark. melanie had offered to let you crash at her place, but you politely declined as you didn’t want to be around anyone. 

of course, you just had to fall for peter parker who’s notorious for never being anywhere— ever. and the cherry on top of it all was no matter how many times you texted him calling him a dick tonight, no response. absolutely ghosted. 

you stumbled through your apartment, the whole world still spinning from the amount of shots you took tonight. kicking off your heels, you turned on the lights, revealing a red & blue masked man standing in the middle of your living room. 

“i’m either super drunk right now or spiderman is actually in my house.” you slurred, squinting your eyes as if it would help you see him. he just stood there as you walked up to him. running your hand over his chest, peter’s breath hitched. 

“i, uh,” peter coughed and you pulled your hand away. 

“how did you get in?” 

“your window was unlocked. that isn’t very safe.”

“i live on the tenth floor. what’s gonna happen? a bird trying to attack me?” you snorted. 

“you never know, birds are quite dangerous.” it was hard to see his expression with his mask on and it took everything in you to not pull the mask away. 

“as fun as this would be,” you gestured to him. “i was just ditched tonight and would love to be alone so i can cry in peace.” you opened your window to encourage the masked hero to swing away. “bye spidey.” you waved at him as you walked to your room. 

peter knew it was now or never. he webbed your wrist to pull you back, stumbling as you were buried in his chest. he quickly took off his mask, breathing heavily as you stood there wide eyed. 

“look, i’m so sorry for ditching you tonight. especially with all of your friends.” he started. you didn’t know what to say. peter, your peter, was spiderman. whatthefuck whatthefuck whatthefuck. “and i know you really wanted me there—“

“what the fuck.” you blurted out. peter’s eyebrows furrowed together, confused about your reaction, but his face softened when he really thought about it. 

“oh yeah. i’m spiderman.”

“i can see that.” you bluntly said. “motherfucker, spiderman embarrassed me tonight?! you could have at least told me to leave too so we could make it seem like we were hooking up!” 

“is that still an option?” peter smirked and you smacked his arm. “ow..”

“you literally left me. that’s what you get.”

“i’m really, really sorry. there was a robbery and this guy had a gun and— i’m sorry, y/n. i should have just told you.” his head hung low and you frowned. you lifted his head so you could see his face. there were small bruises and cuts and it made you sad to see him physically hurt. 

“it’s okay. i mean, my boyfriend is literally a superhero. how cooler can i get?” his face lit up and broke into the biggest smile ever. 

“boyfriend?” you smiled back at him and nodded. 

“yeah, boyfriend.” you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, tangling your hands in his hair. his arms still wrapped around your waist as he smiled into the kiss. 

“so is that other option still available?” he asked once you both pulled away, his lips tugging into a smirk. you rolled your eyes and pushed his head away lightly. 

“ask again when you actually stay at an event the entire time when you’re with me.” you started to walk away to your room and he chased after you. 

“aw, c’mon babe. it was a joke!”

[beaconfeels]

@lucky-bishop said I could say they tagged me in a WIP whenever thing, so I am. I’ve been working on a lot of different things at once lately. One of these days at least one of them is bound to get done, right? Have a snippet from a shorter Steter fic:

Peter, surprisingly, doesn’t come through the window. He comes through Stiles’s bedroom door shortly after his last text.

“How’d you get in here?” Stiles asks. He’s tired enough that he has a moment of wondering if he somehow let Peter in and then forgot.

Peter holds up a keyring with a bunch of keys hanging off it. “You’re not the only one who gets their hands on keys,” he says.

“What?” Stiles hisses, trying to keep his voice low so he doesn’t disturb his dad. “How long have you had those?”

“Oh, a few years,” Peter says vaguely.

“A few years?”

“Yes,” Peter replies.

“Before we were friends,” Stiles says after some calculation.

“Oh Stiles, we’ve always been friends, haven’t we?”

“I think you’re forgetting about the times you tried to kill me!” Stiles whisper-shouts.

Peter actually looks affronted at that. “Name one time I tried to kill you.”

“That night at the school,” Stiles answers immediately.

Peter actually has the audacity to scoff. “I wasn’t trying to kill you, you just happened to be there. Sticking your little nose into everything, like you always do.”

He boops the end of Stiles’s nose when he says that last part, and Stiles’s mouth drops open. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What?” Peter asks, shrugging, “I’m simply telling the truth.”

“Sure. You never tried to kill me. Right.”

“Sweetheart, if I had wanted to kill you, I had plenty of chances, not the least of which was when I had you all to myself in that parking garage.” He grabs Stiles’s wrist in a light grip and moves it toward his own mouth. His blue eyes look straight at Stiles. “Remember?”

Stiles’s heartbeat goes crazy then. He can feel it thrumming beneath Peter’s fingers. It’s partly a fear response, partly something he’s not going to look at too hard right now. He jerks his wrist away, just like he did that night. “I remember.”

“And you don’t think I could have killed you if I’d wanted to?”

Stiles sighs in frustration. “You do realize this is an insane conversation, right? This is not normal. I’m considering taking back the friend thing.”

“Are you going to break up with Scott then? Because I seem to remember that he literally tried to kill you.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re giving me a headache.” He’s not even lying, his head is starting to hurt.

“Truce?” Peter asks. He actually looks apologetic, like maybe he’s worried Stiles is going to take away his friendship status.

“Fine,” Stiles says. After all, in this life he’s living, holding the past over each other’s heads would dissolve the pack in no time. They’ve only survived as long as they have because they’ve fought for each other, even with all the mistakes they’ve all made.

[imtryingbuck]

Vows

~ gif not mine credit goes to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky and you are married- that is all.

Word count: 1,165

Warnings: fluff. that is all.

A/N: I’ve never been to a wedding before so if anything’s wrong take it up with my lawyer.

Masterlist

You remember the day when Bucky proposed like it was yesterday.

The bright fluffy clouds littering the clear blue sky, birds flying freely. Your hand was in Bucky’s as he leads you further into the clearing of the field, you were about to say something when he stopped.

“Y/n I love you, I love everything about you. You save me every day, and every day of being with you is like a dream coming true. And I know we’ve only been dating for a year but when you know you know right?”

Tears welled up in your eyes at the sight of him dropping to one knee-

“Y/n L/n will you make me the happiest man in the universe by marrying me?”

You didn’t even answer. You launched yourself at him making both of you fall to the ground. Placing as many kisses as you possibly could all over his beautiful face, you nodded.

The cheers and applauses sounded from somewhere and when you looked you saw the whole team together with huge smiles on their faces.

You celebrated all throughout the night - at Tony’s expense - with your friends making speeches.

Your wedding day was perfect. Just like the day he proposed the sky was blue and the sun was shining, and just like that day, you got married on that field.

You were nervous and excited. You were marrying the man of your dreams and everything was running smoothly. Your dress fit perfectly and was gorgeous, Pepper told you that you looked like a princess and you had to admit, you kind of did.

Pepper was your maid of honour. Nat, Wanda, Maria and Carol were your bridesmaids- who all looked so beautiful in their dresses.

Steve was Bucky’s best man (obviously) Sam, Bruce, Thor and Vision were his groomsmen - all looking very handsome and dapper in their suits.

Clint was the one to give you away, it was a no brainier as he was like the father you never had.

Morgan bless her heart was the flower girl who was walked down by Peter.

And Tony was the one to marry you two. He was way to smug about that - you later found out that every time you two disagreed with him he would always say “don’t forget who married you two”.

Slowly walking down the makeshift isle, Clint clinging on to you like a lifeline your heart broke at seeing Bucky standing there with tears rolling down his cheeks. Clint hands you over to Bucky with a kiss to your cheek and whispered ‘I love you and I’m so proud of you’ in your ear, you whispered ‘I love you’ back. As Bucky was about to take both hands you wiped away the tears and smiled.

“First, I’d like to begin by welcoming everyone and thanking each and every one of you for being here on this most happy of days. We are here to celebrate the perfect couple - other than myself and Pepper- that we all know and love, James and Y/n.” Everyone laughs at Tony’s comment and how serious his voice sounds.

“Sorry you two but I’m going off script. My sweet darling Y/n I have never seen you more happier since you’ve been with Bucky, and to you Bucky I have to say thank you, you’ve shown her what true love is.” Leaning closer towards Bucky he tries to whisper “You break her heart I won’t hesitate to kill you” Of course Bucky would get threaten on his wedding day, and of course everyone hears what Tony says as he’s holding a microphone. “Anyways, Y/n you helped get Bucky out of his shell and even though we didn’t get along at first it’s been nice seeing him find his footing, a pleasure to meet the man Steve knew a trillion years ago” Again, Tony makes everyone laugh including you and Bucky. 

“Bucky you may read your vows”

“Y/n you’re my happiness, my best friend, my love. You’ve been by my side since day one, not once did you leave my side when I was in Wakanda, you help me sleep through the night just because you’re by my side. I love you more than you’ll ever know. I promise in front of everyone here today, to cherish you always, to honour and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us”

Tony tries and subtly wipe his tears, clearing his throat he looks to you “Y-Yn you may read your vows now”

“Bucky you’re my happiness, my best friend, my love. I admire your courage, your strength and your determination. I have never felt alone when you’re not by my side because you’re in my heart always. I love you more than you’ll ever know. I promise in front of everyone here today, to cherish you always, to honour and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us.”

This time Tony doesn’t bother to wipe the stream of tears away. “No one best try and object to this marriage or I’ll set the big guy on you” Nodding towards to Bruce who waves at everyone “Pepper and Steve please hand over the rings, James repeat after me- With this ring I, James, take you, Y/n, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.” Watching his lips repeat the words back your heart stills.

“Y/n repeat after me- With this ring I, Y/n, take you, James, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.”

“Do you James take Y/n to be your lawfully wedded wife?

“I do”

“Do you Y/n take James to be your lawfully wedded husband?

“I do”

“By the authority vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss th-“ Bucky’s already pulling you in and kissing you before Tony’s even finished his sentence.

Everyone cheers and there’s not a dry eye around.

The rest of the night was beautiful, everyone taking it in turns to make speech’s. The first dance you two shared as husband and wife was to Stand By Me by Ben E. King.

Now two years later after that magical day your sat on the bathroom floor with Bucky by your side, staring down at the white pregnancy test.

“T-that says…”

“I’m pregnant Buck”.

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[your-favourite-yapper]

popular girl mary x loser pandora mentioned

OK so this is sorta the same universe as this post (self plug)(trigger warning: outingand murder and suicide and murder)

so in like primary mary was like sorta bullied and in the late primary school area she gets paired off (by the tr bc noone wanted to offer to pair up w her) w this weird blonde haired and big blue eyes and ...are those bugs? g r e a t.

So yea they pair up and Mary on one hand does not Like pandora bc while yea maty IS a loser she's trying to not be one while pandora dgaf on the other hand pandora is maybe the onky person in the school who's like less cool than mary soooo maybe if mary makes fun of pandora she'd gain social points??

And so the project continues and pandora says the weirdest shit ever and when ppl smirk and snort at her she throws bugs at them and when mary asks her avt the project she replies w the most random sentences ever and is always practically vibrating w manic energy and this is how a convo bn them would go

M "mrs hannah says we need to show her the draft by sunday can u do Sunday"

P "my hands are so dizzy rn. I think its bc of the rainbo2 bugs i ate today"

But also one secret hidden part of mary wishes she was like pandora who Gen could care less abt what ppl think and talks abt her bugs and doesn't flinch when the students snicker at her when she starts her sentences w "greetings " and she doesn't feel embarass3d dor walking around on her own gasping at the walls of the school and singing the national anthem and yeah

And once mary has pandora over and pandora doesn't seem phased by Mary's whiny Lil siblings and the fact that her dad is out like 90% of the time working his ass off and so noones home and doesn't seem phased when they have to eat Ramen for dinner infant she even asks for ketchup to add on it

And Mary makes run of pandora to her friends but once again she takes things So Far she litr made fun of the underwear she saw In pandoras drawer from that time she was in her house for the project and everyone was like "mary that was kinda mean" and Mary's so confused bc she thought it was normal and once again she is an outsider

Ev mady goes to hs and she's starting to be Cool and once she's sure peter (another person from her primary in her hs) won't say anything abt the "old her" she begins to completely destroy her sense of self and just becomes a new person entirely and in fact forgets all abt pandora (not rlly)

And then.

Guess who transferred.

Guess. Who. Fucking. Transferred.

Pandora.

UGHHSGJ <- mary rn

after trying so hard to keep primary in the past, the ONE person she would have bated to come back to her hs is pandora

And the rzn she came here is bc she like, set her school on fire ""on accident"" and so she goes to the hs and yeah and Mary's like whatever we probably won't interact and Mary's so mean to pandora when pando4a tries talking to her She walks past her w her friends and tells her friends she's "just a loser" loudly so pandora can hear her and we'll pandora IS tech a loser in hs too BUT u kno how the school heretical structure is acc more common in middle school and not hs?? Yeah. Quiete a few ppl think pandoras funny and well since pandora has never cared on what ppl think of her She litr is unaffected but mary is SEETHINGGG bc how??? Mary has been training for the social heirchacial structure in hs her entire life and this bozo just got popular (not rlly) for no rzn????

And rmmbr how mary wants to do robotics ?? She goes into advanced phy and NONE of her main friends are there but she has many casual friends she could sit w right? But today somehow maty was running kate SKMEONE had shoveled snow infornt of her house (wonder who...) And well she enters the class late and everyone is in their sea5s...paired up...excpet ....pan fucking dora

So she sits next to her and can feel the eyes on her (noone cares) and to make things worse the tr said this is their perm seat chart and Mary thinks well they don't have to talk do they? And the tr gave them a group oroject...great

And pandora isn't oblivious so she knows what Mary's doing to her but doesn't care bc she thinks mary is hot and pandora is still weird but like more mature and she like I said has the MAJOR hots for mary but maary is so focused on popularity its sad so pandora will help her and see!! She's a good person!!

And so pandora arranges meetings for the projects in outdoor parks and enjoys watching mary squirm as pandora approaches her in the school hallway and those meetings in parks pandora ON PURPOSE keeps distracting mary and mary is so weirded as fuck looking at pandora w her face scrunched up and koyth slightly agape bc what type of bullshit is this bitch ssaying?? Qnd she forgets abt doing the project and pandora feels so proud bc mary litr would nvr do that 4 any1 else

And pandora let's mafy tmi to her and infact tmis BACK even tho she typically doenst like doing that and mary likes this (and of mary after realizing that pandora does this, strategically tmis not so embarrassing info and starts collecting embrassing info on pandora well...thats not here nir there is it 😇)and pandroa wasn't as Abad as she was in primary bc even tho she dgaf she has had to tone down a bit of her acc personality

And in one of their inc stupid convos pandora casually says she's bi and Mary's like wait how do u kno and pandora tells her and Mary's like u can't love girls AND boys and pandoras like nu uh and then she kisses her to let mary kno if she likes girls and it's so clumsy and flimsy bc they're 2 stupid teenage girls and pandora is like wow. Bc mary tastes like strawberry and she's licking the rem taste of her lips and Mary's like "uh oh" and they have a situationship and mary writes pandora stupid poetry and pandora tells mary abt taxidermy and they're so cute tighter excpet 4 the fact mary doesn't talk abt this 2 any1

Mary then realizes that the project isn't getting done and confronts pandora abt this in the hallway and it escalates...alot pandora doesn't like the fact that mary is yelling at her when her plan was going oerfectly and she doesn't like being yelled at in Gen and also she dgaf abt being embarrassed so she qkly starts yelling while mary who was in like survival mode all her life can see her status go to shambles in like 4k and so imm starts bringing up EVERY SINGLE TMI piece of info pandora told her INCLUDING THE FACT THAT SHES BI (its a catholic hs) until they're having a screaming match which then leads to a brawl where pandora scratches marys lip and bites her (??) And Mary pulls pandoras hair and manages to slap her like 5 times bc she got training from fighting h3r younger siblings

and they get sent to the principals office and mary after calming down is like acc tweaking bc she's nvr been sent to the principals office evr in her entire LIFE and pandora is si5ting there like woah. Bc mary tasted like strawberries and she's like licking her lips to get the rem taste (also she v much didnt mind being slapped but shh)

And bc mafy doesn't have ar3cord she gets 5 d3tentions and pandora gets suspended for a month but mary cries sm every1 thinks SHEs the one that got suspended

Ane when pandora came back mary did Damage Control and now somehow everyone HATES apndora so she changes schools and while she doesn't typically feel this much she's sEETHING AND THE ANGER FESTERS AND FESTERS BC MARY MADE HER THINK SHE CARED

so pandora becomes a stalker stalking mary all the way thru marys uni and her sm acc inc her spotify and knos her gmail and can c her utube history and can tell when she starts dating a girl (owie) she sees red

So she buys a truck

And gets her uncle to offer mary a job interview

And drives said truck

INTO MARYS FACE AND NOW MARYS BLOOD IS SPILLED ALL OVER HER TRUDK AND PANDORA IS SURE IT WOULD TASTE LIKE STRAWBERRIES AND SHE GETS OUT AND LICKS MARYS BLOOD AND IS MAD IG DOESNT TASTE LIKE STRAWBERRIES ON TNE INSIDE BUT ISNT SURPIRSED BC MARY WAS ALWAYS A FAKE LITTLE BITCH AND SHE BURSTS INTO TEARS AND HAS A FULL PSHYCOTIC BREAKDOWN AND GOES TO A MENTAL HOSPITAL FOR A YR AND WHEN SHES OUT SHE SPENDS HER DAYS DOCUMENTING EVERYTHING ABT MARY AND LEARNING HOW TO DRAW SO SHE CPUKD DRAW HER AND EVEN MOLDING CKAY SCULPTURES OF HER BOOBS AND SHE HAS A SHRINE OF MARY AND ONE NIGHT SHE SEES MARY IN HER HOUSE AND FOLLOWS HER INTO THE WOODS AND THEY TALK AND ITS SO FUN THEN MARY SENDS HER BACK HOME AND EV PANDORA IS RAVING SO SHE GETS A BOWL OF STRAWBERRIES AND SLEEPING PILLS AND ODS ON THEM

the last thing she tasted was mary

[reveryfics]

!platonic peter parker,, reader with similar abilities ? (something spider-esque.). :3

Secrets

Peter Parker x Male Reader

Summary: The shadows of late night held a secret until a chance encounter with Spider-Man forced your true identity into the light.

A/N: This can also be read as preexisting relationship now that I think about it. I honestly don't even know where I was going with this, I'm so sorry.

TW: Slight angst - Comfort

The pulse of New York City at night was a deep, resonant hum, a vibrant symphony conducted by the city's ceaseless energy. The rumble of countless vehicles on the asphalt arteries formed a low, thrumming bassline that vibrated through the very foundations of the towering structures. This constant drone was punctuated by the sharp, insistent wail of distant police sirens, their cries echoing and ricocheting between the sheer glass and steel canyons, a stark reminder of the undercurrents that flowed beneath the glittering surface. Yellow taxi lights, like errant streaks of gold, darted and weaved across the wide avenues, their hurried movements resembling shooting stars against the dark canvas of the night. From the doorways of bustling bars and restaurants, a lively cacophony of laughter, snippets of conversations, and the clinking of glasses spilled out onto the sidewalks, creating a vibrant counterpoint to the mechanical rhythm of the city. Even as a blanket of darkness descended, obscuring the finer details of the urban landscape, the relentless energy of New York's nightlife kept the metropolis wide awake, a restless and exhilarating hum that never truly slept. It was a city that breathed in the twilight hours, exhaling a potent mix of ambition, excitement, and a touch of the unknown.

You perched precariously on the edge of a skyscraper, your legs dangling into the seemingly endless abyss. The city sprawled beneath you, a dazzling tapestry of light that felt strangely surreal from this elevated vantage point. Up here, the air was different, cleaner, crisper than the thick, exhaust-laden atmosphere of the streets below. This rooftop vigil had become a nightly ritual, a solitary escape ever since the fateful bite of that radioactive spider – one of the same arachnids that had gifted Peter with his extraordinary abilities. A wave of self-reproach washed over you. How could you have kept this a secret from him? Especially after he had confided in you his own double life as Spider-Man. And yet, in your masked encounters on these very rooftops, you had played the charade of a stranger, meticulously concealing your own burgeoning powers and maintaining the facade of your ordinary self.

The distant sound of footsteps scraping lightly across the gravel roof pulled you sharply from your spiraling thoughts. You turned, a reflexive tension coiling in your muscles, just as the familiar red and blue silhouette of Spider-Man materialized from the shadows. Peter settled down beside you, his masked gaze sweeping across the panorama of the illuminated cityscape. Beneath your own mask, your eyes followed his, tracing the intricate network of streets and the distant glow of headlights.

A comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the distant urban symphony. "It looks so peaceful from up here, doesn't it?" Peter finally murmured, his voice a low rumble. "You almost forget all the chaos down there." You nodded in agreement. "I used to take it for granted," you admitted, your voice carefully neutral. "All the lights, the noise… it was just the background. Now…" You trailed off, unsure how to articulate the newfound appreciation that came with seeing the city from this unique perspective. Peter shifted slightly, his masked head turning towards you. There was a subtle narrowing of his eyeholes, a flicker of a thought that seemed to dance behind the lenses. He turned back to the view, his posture relaxed once more. "You seem to know a lot about… this," he said casually, gesturing vaguely towards the city with a gloved hand. "But I still don't know anything about you."

A jolt of realization shot through you. He knew. Not for certain, perhaps, but the suspicion was there, palpable in the air between you. Your breath hitched slightly. You looked at Peter, the weight of your deception pressing down on you. Words stumbled in your throat as you desperately sought an escape route. "I… uh… I should probably…" you began, attempting a weak excuse about needing to leave suddenly. But before you could concoct a believable reason, Peter spoke, his voice quiet but firm.

The sound of your name, spoken with such certainty, froze you in place. Peter reached up and slowly pulled off his mask, his young face etched with a mixture of hurt and confusion in the ambient city light. A scoff escaped his lips, a short, bitter sound. He shook his head slowly, standing up and turning away slightly. "How could you not tell me?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. "I told you everything." You stood as well, your own hands trembling as you reached up and pulled off your mask. You met Peter's gaze, the raw emotion in his eyes hitting you like a physical blow. "I… I don't have a good reason," you admitted, the words barely a whisper. "I just… I don't know."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken accusations and regret. Peter finally broke it, his voice rising slightly with frustration. "Did… did any of our talks mean anything to you?" he demanded, turning to face you fully. "What about the promise we made? No secrets, remember?" You took a deep breath, letting his words sink in, the weight of your actions settling heavily in your chest. "You're right," you said, your voice low and contrite. "I was being selfish. I wanted to pretend everything was normal, to keep things… separate. You have every right to be upset with me, Peter. I understand if you need… space." Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking away and then back to yours. "It's not that I want you to go," he admitted, his voice softer now, tinged with a weariness that tugged at your heart. "It's just… I'm frustrated. Hurt that you felt like you couldn't tell me."

Before you could respond, Peter closed the distance between you, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. "You're stuck with me now," he mumbled into your hair. "Spider powers or not." A small chuckle escaped your lips as you hugged him back, the tension in your shoulders finally easing. "Wouldn't have it any other way," you whispered, burying your face in his shoulder, the distant hum of the city suddenly sounding a little less lonely.