#college!au tom holland

[lnfours]

sideline (three) | t.h

summary -> tom holland: the name thats always floating around campus, and for good reason. he’s the captain of the hockey team, he’s good looking, and he’s always caught up in an off and on again relationship with the president of the sorority. that’s where you come in. you two had made a deal to make your exes jealous, but we all know how fake relationships end.

wc -> a rule breaking 2.5k

warnings -> fluff, jealous exes, and fluff. 

🎵 spotify playlist | 📖 prev/next chapter | 📂 masterlist

                                ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

it was finally friday, the night of the first home hockey game. you were in the bathroom, trying desperately to curl the back of your head, but no luck. 

you huffed, “mia! can you come here real quick?!” 

your voice echoed, her footsteps being your sign that she heard you. she opened the door to your bedroom, walking into the small half bathroom. 

“what’s up?” she met your eyes in the mirror, cracking a smile at how distressed you look. 

“can you curl the back of my hair, please?” 

she smiled, holding her hand out for the curling wand. she sectioned your hair, grabbing a reasonably sized chunk before wrapping it around the barrel. 

“so,” she dragged the ‘o’, “you excited for tonight?”

you shrugged, “i suppose. would be nice to actually see tom play.”

“oh, i meant to ask,” she said, “but how did you two even start dating? was it the night of the party?”

you bit down on your bottom lip, “yeah, yeah. i guess we sorta kinda just clicked? i don’t really know how to explain it.”

she smiled, “i was just making sure this is something you really wanted. i mean, i know i’m one to talk, but with everything that happened with jack, i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you smiled softly at her in the mirror, “i’m okay, i just want to move on and be happy again.”

“understandable,” she said, “what he did was so fucked up. he’s lucky i haven’t seen him yet because i will quite literally give him an ass whooping.”

you laughed, “i love you.”

she smiled back at you, “i love you, too,” she turned the curling wand off, placing it down on the sink before admiring her work, “and you’re all set, hot stuff.”

you smiled, “thanks.”

“i’m gonna go make sure sarah isn’t trying to leave the house with sweatpants on.” she said and you laughed as she made her way back down the steps. 

your phone buzzed on the counter, a message popping up on your screen. you grabbed the phone, plopping down on your stomach onto the mattress. 

tom dropped something off for you at your door see you soon :) 

you locked your phone before running down the steps, laughing as you heard sarah’s complaining about the outfit mia suggested she wore tonight. you opened the front door, a bag sitting on the carpet in the hallway. 

you grabbed it and shut the door, reading the sticky note that was plopped on top of whatever was inside the bag. 

fake girlfriend or not, there’s no one else i’d want wearing my last name tonight. 

the tickets are at the bottom, see you tonight :)  - tom 

you pulled out the black jersey, the stitching on the back reading tom’s last name and his number. you smiled, grabbing your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans. 

y/n thank you! i love it 

you slipped your phone back into your pocket, jogging up the stairs. you entered sarah’s room where mia was laying on the bed, smiling contently with her efforts on getting mia to dress up a little bit. you entered the room, your eyes immediately going wide at sarah’s outfit. 

“you look hot!” 

“see, told you,” mia said, throwing her hands up in the air, “wear the outfit!”

she was in a black turtleneck sweater tucked into the front of her light wash jeans that quite literally fit her like a glove. she wore a pair of black booties with them, with some light makeup on (courtesy of mia). 

sarah hardly ever got dressed up like this anymore, which she never really had to. she looked gorgeous either way. but ever since her and her ex boyfriend broke up, she’d lost the motivation to throw on cute outfits, just opting in on staying in sweats or pajamas all day. if there was a party, it was leggings, one of her comfort hoodies, and her beat up pair of converse that were now considered her ‘frat shoes’. 

you and mia both tried to get her back to being her confident, carefree self. but, it was hard. hard for all of you, especially sarah. at the end of the day, you both just wanted her happy again. 

“mia, this bra is suffocating my tits,” she said, tugging at the cups, “how the fuck do you wear this everyday?”

you both laughed, “you’ll get used to it.”

“what’s that, y/n?” mia asked, nodding towards the bag in your hand. you smiled, grabbing the material from the bag and holding it up for both the girls to see. 

“no way!”

“shut the fuck up!!”

you laughed, smiling, “i know, i know.”

“that’s so cute,” mia said, sticking her bottom lip out. sarah agreed, nodding her head as she put a hand over her heart. 

“finally, y/n finding someone who treats her right.”

you chuckled, fishing the tickets out of the bottom of the bag, “here’s our tickets. we should probably leave soon.”

“yes ma’am,” mia said, fakely saluting you.

sarah and you laughed, each of you departing to your own rooms to finish up getting ready and to grab your things. 

                               ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the arena was packed for the first home game filled with a bunch of parents and college kids hoping for their team to win. tom was nice enough to get you, mia and sarah seats right near the ice. 

“okay, can i just say, i love tom. i mean, look at these seats.”

you smiled over at sarah, “yeah, it was really nice of him.”

mia was looking around at the people near you, seeing if anyone else you guys knew showed up for the game. she immediately whipped her head back around to you, slapping your arm to get your attention. 

“jack’s here.”

there’s that nervous pit again. 

“wait, where?” sarah asked, moving to turn around in her seat. mia reached over you and grabbed her arm to stop. 

“don’t look at him! he’s a couple rows up.”

great.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, you fished it out and tapped on the message notification. 

tom hey, how're your seats? 

y/n they’re great! other than the fact that jack is a couple rows behind me but otherwise they’re great :) 

tom oh shit, i’m sorry i can have someone come get you and move you guys if you want

y/n no, no it’s okay 

you bit down on your bottom lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard. 

let’s just make him jealous, like we said we would

tom with pleasure.  see you after the game

y/n  good luck :) 

you locked your phone, mia turning to look at you, “you okay?”

you nodded, tucking a piece of hair away from your face, “yeah, actually. i am.”

it wasn’t a complete lie. sure, seeing jack was like a sucker punch to the gut, but you decided to not let it overpower you tonight. you were here with your best friends, supporting one of the nicest, funniest, caring guys you’ve ever met.

as the night went on, you and your friends cheered on tom’s team. he scored the winning goal and the arena erupted with cheers and applause. you, mia and sarah immediately jumped out of your seats, screaming and cheering as tom shrugged off his helmet and was hugged by his team. once everyone had calmed down, he skated over to your section, holding up a heart made out of his hands. you smiled, holding up one back. 

his subtle jab of rubbing it into jack’s face. smooth. 

once the arena cleared out, you let mia and sarah head back in mia’s car as you waited for tom. you were waiting in the lobby, scrolling on your phone trying to pass time.

“hey,” you heard a voice and looked up to see jack, “didn’t know you liked our hockey team.”

you slipped your phone into your pocket, clearing your throat, “uh, yeah. kinda getting back into liking hockey.”

he nodded, “yeah. i mean, sleeping with the captain of the team kinda helps, doesn’t it?”

you opened your mouth to speak, but felt a hand wrap around your waist. you were immediately enveloped in the scent of tom’s cologne. 

“hey, baby,” he said, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek. you masked the surprise that ran through your body, smiling over at him as he looked over at jack, “sorry, didn’t catch your name, mate. you are?”

jack’s eyes narrowed on tom’s figure, “jack.”

“jack, i’m tom, nice to meet you.” he said, holding out his hand for him to shake. jack didn’t accept the handshake, but just shifted his gaze to you.

“didn’t you say jocks aren’t your type?” he asked, and eyebrow raised at you. 

“funny how we both said things we didn’t mean.” you spit back. he opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by his friends calling his name behind him. he rolled his eyes, turning around and walking towards his group. 

“pleasure was all mine, mate! see you later!” tom called back after him. you let a chuckle escape your mouth as he unwrapped his arm from around you, turning to face you, “you okay?”

you nodded, “yeah. thank you.”

“that’s what i’m here for,” he smiled, “hungry? we can get something to eat before i drop you off at home?”

you nodded, “sounds good.”

he nodded towards the door, the two of you walking out towards the parking lot. he opened the passenger side door for you. you thanked him before he jogged around to his side, buckling in and starting the car before passing you his phone.

“put on whatever you want.”

you scrolled through his spotify, finding a couple songs you knew and put them on through the car speakers. he pulled into the parking lot to one of the diners in town. the two of you made your way inside before sitting in a booth across from one another. 

you scanned over the menu, “what’re you going to get?”

he hummed, “don’t know. kinda going back and forth between the club and the chicken parm. what about you?”

you hummed, twisting your lips in thought, “the grilled cheese and tomato soup sounds good.”

he smiled, “does sound good.”

once the two of you ordered and got your food, you made small talk about the game. 

“i don’t think jack likes me much.” tom chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.

“no, really?” you smiled, voice laced with sarcasm, “what gave it away? was it the blatant ignoring or was it something else i didn’t pick up on?”

he smiled, “not that i care about his opinion of me, but he could’ve at least shook my hand.” 

you nodded in agreement, “yeah, no, he didn’t have to be such a dick about it.”

the bill came and after trying to grab it from him for about five minutes, you finally let him pay. you walked out, letting him open the car door for you, as he always does. you two were on the way back to your house, laughing and enjoying comfortable conversation. 

“so, tell me,” he said, “are you really not into the jock type?”

you nodded, “yeah, i mean, guys who i’ve met who were athletes were like the stereotypical jock type. the huge ego, kinda kept their girlfriend by their side as arm candy, never really cared about the woman they were with, you know?”

he nodded, “yeah, i don’t really get how guys can do that. any guy who doesn’t worship their girl is a dick, in my opinion.”

you smiled, “are you the type of guy to worship your girl?” 

“oh, yeah,” he said, “i mean, if you don’t then what’s the point, y’know?”

“i get you,” you said, “in my opinion, taylor didn’t deserve you.”

he smiled over at you, “a lot of other people would agree with you.”

who would willingly break tom’s heart? i mean, c’mon, he’s the definition of a perfect boyfriend. 

no, stop thinking like that.

he pulled up in front of the house. you looked over at him, his brown eyes meeting yours. 

“do you want to come inside?” you didn’t even notice the words were falling from your lips until you heard your own voice. 

“sure.” he smiled, turning the car off. he followed you inside, mia and sarah sitting on the couch. 

“hey,” you said, shutting the door and locking it, your eyes falling onto the tv, “what’re you guys watching?”

“the new episode of love island,” mia said, “shh.”

you looked at tom who was smiling at you. you rolled your eyes playfully, “okay, you guys have fun. we’re going upstairs.”

sarah gave you a thumbs up as the two of you climbed the stairs. you made your way to your room and shut the door. tom took a seat onto your bed, watching as you walked over to the dresser.

“i might have a pair of sweats you can change into,” you said, digging through one of the drawers, “if you want to stay.”

he smiled, “i’d love to stay.”

you smiled back at him before handing him the sweatpants, “i can uhm, find a t-shirt or something if you don’t want to sleep in your sweatshirt.”

“i’m good for now,” he smiled, taking the sweatpants into his hands, “thank you.”

you nodded, “the bathroom is over there.”

he nodded, walking into the bathroom. you quickly changed into a pair of leggings and a tanktop, sitting on the bed as he came out of the bathroom. he joined you on the bed, putting his phone on the nightstand.

“wanna watch a movie or something?”

he nodded, “yeah, anything in mind?”

you hummed as you clicked onto netflix, “i heard the new movie on netflix is good. something about a girl who’s in fake relationship or something.”

he let out a chuckle as you smiled over at him, “how fitting. maybe we could learn a thing or two.”

you clicked on the movie, the both of you getting situated on the bed. you two were mainly talking rather than paying attention. he was propped up on his elbow, facing you as you laid down on your side. 

his eyes scanned your face, “oh, you have an eyelash.”

you reached up under the eye he pointed to, attempting to wipe it away. 

“did i get it?”

he smiled softly, “no, here,”

he reached up gently and pinched the eyelash between his fingers. you smiled as he scanned your face again. you did the same, his face softly illuminated from the light from the tv. he looked like a dream, his curls flopped over his forehead. you didn’t realize how close the two of you had gotten until you could feel his warm breath fan your face. he reached over and moved  a piece of hair from your face. 

“what’re you thinking about?” you asked softly.

“how i broke one of the rules.”

you raised an eyebrow, “which one?”

“the first one,” he said, “‘no strings attached’. i can’t help it. you’re all that’s been on my mind ever since i met you.”

you let out a shaky breath at how close he was, “i may have broken that one, too.”

he smiled, “let’s scrap the rules. i want to explore this, whatever kind of feelings we may or may not have… if that’s what you want.”

“yeah,” you said, “fuck the rules.”

he smiled wider, “is it alright if i kiss you right now?”

“please.”

                     ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

💌 beings my tagged list has gotten so long that tumblr literally won't let me add it, the tagged list is temporarily closed until i can figure it out. in the meantime, be sure to follow and turn on notifications for @toms-gf to be notified whenever i post imagines :)

xoxo, jordan

[waitimcomingtoo]

SLUT!

pairing: Peter Parker x reader

synopsis: if they call you a slut, you know it might be worth it for once

chapter one: and I know you heard about me

chapter two: you must like me for me

chapter three: you and me would be a big conversation

chapter four: they took the crown but it’s all right

chapter five: don’t say I didn’t warn you

chapter six: if a man talks shit then I owe him nothing

chapter seven: if he drops my name then he had it coming

chapter eight: dying to see how this one ends

[shellshocklove]

crush | peter parker

pairing/au: college au – frat!peter parker x female!reader

summary: you accidently learn peter parker's secret

warnings: swearing, fwb relationship

word count: 1.2k

a/n: trying my hand at frat!peter parker since it’s the new craze with a little ficlet lmao. i don’t know what i’m doing and i had no plot or plan for this. i’ve set the pairing as female!reader, but it can be read as gn!reader. i’ve only done it like that in case i would want to write more for this later. anyways happy reading <3

main masterlist / ao3

Peter’s bedroom window moaned and complained as Peter pushed it open. He was tempting fate, but what else was new. The music coming from downstairs vibrated through the brick underneath his hand. Climbing through the window, he hit the floor with a soft thump!

The summer had been long, dank and sweaty, but now the evenings had started to bite. Living at the frat throughout the summer had made Peter lonely. His frat brothers all jetted away – scattered like dice across the world – while Peter stayed put in the old brick house.

The frat house was made for noise, not silence, he’d realized after a few weeks. Every noise he made amplified somehow, like the house fed on the sounds. He’d never noticed how loud his footsteps was; or how the clicking of the metal spoon against his coffee mug bounced against the wall, until he was alone. It was unsettling, and wrong. The music that now moved under the floorboard, and the sounds of people over it, put Peter at ease. With the start of the new fall semester, and his brothers finally back, the house was fed again.

Peter never saw himself in a fraternity. He was working on a degree in biophysics trying to balance classes with his late-night vigilantism ­– he didn’t exactly have much free time. But he’d kinda just fell into it. One night when he’d missed Uncle Ben too much, he’d fallen down a baseball rabbit hole on Youtube. He watched pitcher reels, and top ten craziest moments, and had gotten a ridiculous idea. He tried out for the baseball team at ESU – careful to not to run too fast or hit the baseball out the park – but still they’d wanted him. Peter Parker, a recovering nerd, played college baseball. One thing had led to another, and soon enough he’d been accepted into Zeta Kappa – the captain of the baseball team’s fraternity.

With a sigh Peter pulled off his mask, he was dead tired. He’d had to cut tonight’s patrol short after running out of webs. Everything had been just a little too much lately and he’d forgotten to make new web fluid for his web shooters. After a failed attempt at swinging down a crowded street, he’d fallen face down on a busy street.

He’d played it off as smoothly as possible, hiding the bruise to his ego as he’d instead interacted with some of the passers-by. Spider-Man had handed out lots of high fives tonight. Climbing the wall of some building he’d had to run across the roofs of New York city to get back home. He was exhausted to say the least, dying to feel the softness of his bedsheets against his skin.

Waltzing over to his desk, he rummaged through one of the drawers for his emergency stash of web fluid. Occupied with refilling his web shooters, he missed the creak of the floorboard behind him.

“Holy shit!”

Frozen dead in his tracks, fear sank to his stomach. He didn’t know what to do; if he turned around, he’d be busted, but he couldn’t turn his back forever – he couldn’t do that to you, could he?

His eyes flicked to the corkboard over his desk, to the polaroid he’d taken of you only a few weeks ago after you’d convinced him to go take you swimming. You’d begged and whined, “Peter! Please, please, pretty please!” and he’d folded. It had been the last real day of summer, and together you’d snuck into one of those fancy hotels with a rooftop pool. As soon as you’d dipped your feet in the water, a big smile spread across your face, a smile that, to Peter’s horrifying realization, had tugged on his heartstrings.

It was supposed to be casual, the thing between the two of you, just something so you both could fill that void inside screaming out for intimacy. Peter didn’t have time for a relationship. This was perfect, almost.

“Peter?”

Your voice was barely a whisper, almost cautious, like he was a shaking bunny you were afraid of scaring. His head fell, eyes scanning over the worn wood of his desk. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d told himself he was gonna keep you at arm’s length, not in the crook.  

“Don’t tell anyone, please.” The words fell from his lips, a coldness coating them.

He could feel you move behind him, light feet shuffling with nervousness. “I won’t, Peter, I won’t– I swear!”

With a sigh, Peter turned around. He looked you up and down. You were dressed nicely – dressed for the party howling downstairs. He tried to ignore the way you looked at him. It always hit him too hard, made him want to crush your lips with his own, wrap himself up in you and never untangle. You were dangerous.

“I’m sorry… I looked for you at the party but couldn’t find you– so then I figured I’d wait for you in your room, and…” you trailed off, the rest was self-explanatory.

With a huff Peter started moving about his room. He pulled some sweats from his closet and vanished through the door to the bathroom. It was like he needed to get rid of the evidence. He couldn’t talk to you before it was gone. Back inside his bedroom, he ignored the way you sat at the edge of his bed, hands folded in your lap. He put his suit away, hiding it in the back of his closet.

“Let’s forget about this,” he turned around to look at you, a mistake. He watched the way your body sank into the mattress, mirroring the way his heart sank in his chest as he uttered his next words, “and maybe we should just forget about everything else.”

Your face was hard to decipher, it shuffled through an arrangement of emotions: confusion, hurt, anger. All the same emotions Peter tried to hold back.

“I…” you tried to say, “a-are you sure, I mean–”

“I’m sure,” Peter stressed, “this didn’t mean anything right? It was just sex…”,

“Right,” you nodded slowly, like you were still processing, “it was just sex.”

“It didn’t mean anything.” The words felt like they were stuck in the back of his throat.

The look you gave him, cut him across his chest, sliced away at his skin until it reached his heart. “Let’s not pretend it did…”

“No, let’s not,” you glared at him, and Peter could feel a pressure behind his eyes.

“And don’t say anything about me and…” he cocked his head in the direction of his closet, “If anyone knew you knew– it would put you in danger and I don’t want to put you in danger.” It was probably the most honest thing he’d said to you all night.

You rolled your eyes at him, and quickly stood to your feet. He watched how you clenched and unclenched your fist, keeping your quiet rage under control. You shook your head in disbelief, probably wondering why you’d wasted so many months of your life on a loser like him.

Peter hated to do this to you. He wanted only your love. To live with it inside and give his love to you. But that was a selfish thought. He couldn’t do that to you, he couldn’t love you the way you deserved.

One lonely tear escaped you, and it broke Peter’s heart.

“You know what,” you tried to hiss but the sadness in your voice dimmed the bite, “Fuck you, Peter!”

Gathering yourself, you gave him one last look before you slammed the door in his face.

i hope you liked this! <3 please let me know what you thought of this little story. i would love to hear them in the tags, or a comment or through my ask box! <3

tags: @hollandweather

© shellshocklove, 2023

[morgans-an-idiot]

Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You had a rough day at college and Tom gives you some comfort.

Word Count: 260

A/N: Requests are open! Please reblog if you want to see more content!

Date posted: 04-15-2023

🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍

"Honey I'm home," you said in a very exaggerated manner. You were in a horrible mood but you weren't going to let that affect the way you treated your lover.

You heard footsteps and then saw Toms figure appear in the kitchen. He smiled and gave you a hug, you couldn't hide anything from him. He had picked up on the way you were feeling.

"I'm glad you're back love," he says and places a kiss on your forehead. He hates seeing you so upset.

"Same," you grumble before tossing your book bag on the island and kicking off your shoes. You quickly run them over to the shoe rack.

You don't see your boyfriend when you return from your very short trip. He reappears moments later with your favorite Taylor Swift hoodie. You smile as he helps you put it on.

"Come on love," Tom says as he guides you to the bedroom. He had planned the perfect evening after a long day. He knew that finals were getting to you and he wanted to make the day as easy as possible for you.

You smiled at your boyfriend's kind gesture. Popcorn and 90's chick flicks. He really knew you. Of course, being the perfect boyfriend he is, Tom would make sure everything was perfect.

"You're to good for me," you say with a smile as he places a kiss on your cheek before guiding you into the bed and pressing play on he movie."

"I think it's the other way around darling," Tom replies before you snuggle into his warm figure.

[nxbxhs12]

El pequeño omega peter parker está emocionado por su cumpleaños y quiere hacerlo al estilo coquette que está en tendencia, su novio siempre está ahí para cumplir sus deseos.

¿Como reaccionara su novio al verlo vestido con ropa de mujer? Parece que él Sr Stark no sólo tendrá una linda fiesta de cumpleaños.

────────────────────── ✦

⬇️

[peterdarlingg]

HELLO?? What is this greatness that I just read?? So so good it’s unreal!

my reverie's affinity remains to be you (soulmate!au)

peter parker x reader

summary: in a world where you see ten seconds of your soulmate's life in your dreams, you already knew that spider-man was your soulmate. but what you didn't know, was that you'd be vexed to see who was beneath the mask

word count: 11, 629 (sheesh)

warnings: enemies to lovers, peter and y/n being a huge dick to each other, mentions of violence, angst, fluff, peter being a huge dork and y/n being that different kind of girl again

a/n: this was my first soulmate au and the second longest thing i've ever written. hope you all enjoy!

MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

i: when you dream of me, consider it an enormity

You thought soulmates were a myth.

Your whole life, you’ve been told you can love whoever you wanted, for as long as you wanted; you get to choose who you want to be with. Because it’s your choice – your own free will.

But fate had other plans. Fate didn’t want to give that decision to you; fate said fuck you, I choose who you love.

Because now you’re endowed with the worry of who your soulmate is, dreading you won’t love them as much as you wished to adore someone. You’re worried that when you’re in love with someone, they’re not yours to begin with.

Unfortunately, you already know you’re fucked with your soulmate.

Its fate’s rule: you begin at 11. You witness at least ten seconds of their life in your dreams. You don’t see their faces, their relatives. If so, the faces were obfuscated. The only reference you were given were their surroundings – what they liked, what they watched, what room they were in.

You know your soulmate had a mop of brown curls when you dreamt of him in the mirror. His bathroom was blue, his jumper was a darker shade of blue, and he had a weird obsession with Legos.

The first few years, you’d grown fond of the memories you’re given, satisfied with the minuscule albeit consequential fragments. Barring when you dreamt of him at a funeral, and you encounter yourself even closer to your enigmatic man.

Until you dreamt of him swinging around the buildings above the busy streets of Queens the same time Spider-Man started to appear was when you realized there was no fucking way your soulmate was the infamous masked hero.

You’re fucked, you knew it. Though you knew it gave you a better chance to actually know who your soulmate is.

You tried approaching him, calling him. But he was too far away or he pretended to not hear you, straight up ignoring you. Because why would Spider-Man stop his duties for a love-deprived girl?

Every night you dreamt of him – some were the times he swung around the city, or punching people’s faces. Though most of the time you’d dream of him in his bedroom with books and lego pieces scattered around his carpeted floor. If you looked closely, or paid attention to his surroundings, you’d spot a familiar sweater on the corner of his room.

It was enough to enthrall you, to keep you patient. But still, you feel incomplete.

“Maybe he’s closer than you think,” MJ said one time, though suspiciously eyeing the boy across from her. “Maybe you’re just too dumb to notice he’s actually right in front of you.”

You rolled your eyes at her.

But you couldn’t help but think she’s right. Albeit how many boys with a mop of brown curls that you know didn’t hate you, or vice versa?

Three. Two of those were strangers, one of those was unfortunately not.

You observe your graphite stain the paper upon you as you let your wrist cypher your most recent dream – Queen’s sunset. Spider-Man was sitting on the roof, devouring a sandwich, observing the sun vanish behind the edifices. It was a sight to see – a rare one for you because you were consistently busy, so you didn’t pass on the opportunity to sketch and revel in the masterpiece that you seldom encountered.

Peter Parker, the infuriating boy he is, watches beside you with a stare so hard it makes your hand tremble at each breath he takes. And when he continues to watch you you couldn’t help but squeeze the pencil in your hand and sharply look at him.

“Stop staring,” you hiss. Your voice startles him, almost letting out a yelp pass his thin lips.

“Why?” His observing frown turns into an amused one. Placing his elbow on the table, his torso turns so he faces you. “Do I make you nervous?”

“You make me sick.”

“Really? You think I didn’t notice your hand shaking when you realized I was still watching you?”

“It was only shaking because I had to stop myself from punching you,” you snap, leaning closer. “Don’t flatter yourself. If anything, you make me mad. Not just sick. Mad.”

“Madly in love, for sure.” He lets out a teasing scoff. And god if that wink didn’t make the frustrated ache in your chest burst into warmth, you might have stabbed him in the eye.

You snicker. “Oh yeah. Me. In love with Peter Parker. What’s not to love? Your big ears? Your prepubescent voice cracks? Your hairless legs? Your cute curls?”

You mutter the last part and for your sake, Peter pretends to miss it. “Gee. Didn’t know you loved my hairless legs. Would you like to ride my hairless thigh? Make me cry?”

“I’ll give you something to cry about when I shove my foot up your ass.”

Peter gasps quietly, placing a hand over his heart. “No need to be so morbid, Bob Ross. Stop storing your anger in that big forehead of yours.”

“Maybe I could solve my morbidity when I break your nose with my large forehead.” you mock him, the scarce, sweet forced tone contrast to your usual sharper manner.

“Please. The only thing you’ll be breaking is your bruised ego.”

You flick him on his forehead, closing your notebook shut the second the class ends. Peter’s disgruntled by your action and kicks your shin to stumble you over.

His assault taints your shoes, one you recently bought after Peter had “accidentally” spilt coffee over your white sneakers. But this time you were sure he didn’t do it by accident.

“Why, you little-” behind his eyes show no ounce of regret, but rather amusement. Yours, however, possesses its usual burning anathema towards—what you always call him—the hybrid; but this time his stain adds fuel to the fire, your hands reaching out to scorch his skin.

Peter’s hand blocks you by abruptly placing his palm on your forehead, keeping you away by arm’s length as you flimsily try to reach for his collar. His laugh, like a fork on a chalkboard, stings your ears sadistically.

“Come on, Grumpy,” he teases, “you can do better than that.”

Aggravated, your nails scratch on his exposed forearm, scouring them to his skin. Peter yells in shock, declining his hand to probe his mauled organ. You wipe your hand over your skirt as if his skin was the grungiest thing you’ve ever touched (but really, it kind of surprised you how his skin was the clearest you’ve ever seen when his mind was literally a dumpster).

“You little shit,” he seethes, looking down at you. “What was that for?!”

“You stained my new shoes!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Your Majesty. Do you want me to clean your shoes with my tears?”

“I want you to choke on my shoe and die!”

“Hey, that’s enough,” Ned tuts. “Let’s go before the pizza runs out.”

Peter shoots you one last glare before he turns around. It would have been a dramatic exit if you weren’t friends with Ned (plus MJ) and you always sat with them every day for lunch.

“Hey losers,” MJ’s presence surprises you, sitting down on the empty space next to yours. “Hey, (y/n).”

“She’s a loser too, you know,” Peter points out, mouth half full. “She sits with us. So she’s a loser.”

“Yeah but she reads and doesn’t play with Legos like a twelve-year-old.” MJ timidly defends, opening her yogurt. “Get used to it. I’ll always see you as losers.”

“Thanks, MJ,” Ned smiles. Peter gives him a pointed look. “What? I already take it as a compliment. We’ve been called losers our entire lives. It’s like…a specialty.”

“You’re not a loser, Ned,” you awkwardly give him a lopsided smile, fork poking on your plate. “You’re great. You’re fun. You dated Betty Brant!” you encourage. “You also know the entire script to A New Hope. So you’re not a loser.”

“Just a dork,” Peter says. “Take that as a compliment. Also when you’re called a himbo. Everybody loves a himbo.”

You grimace, letting out a silent whine of disagreement.

“Speaking of Betty,” Ned pulls a notebook from underneath the table, slamming it aggressively against the plastic surface. “Guess what I just found out. I dreamt of my soulmate last night, and she was wearing this skirt with like this blue daisy on the corner of the hip.”

He turns the notebook, just enough for both you and Peter to see. Ned had sloppily sketched a pencil skirt in the middle of the plain paper, next to it was a glued printed picture of Betty beside Ned, wearing the same skirt.

“That’s Betty. The same skirt from when we were in Prague. Don’t you think this is it?!” Ned places his hands on Peter’s shoulder, shaking him. “Don’t you?”

“I think it’s just a coincidence,” you murmur, slightly envious and in denial that one of you might have already found your soulmate. Or in this case, already been with their soulmate. “Any girl could have that skirt.”

“Yeah but I saw Betty’s legs in my dream. I know her legs-”

“Creepy?”

“- and she wore this yesterday!” he shoves the notebook near your face. “It’s not just a coincidence, (y/n). It’s fate.”

“Alright,” you grimace, pushing the notebook away. “Talk to her. Or text her? No, no talk to her. Ask about her dream last night. Then you can actually confirm it.”

“How are you so sure that’s Betty?” MJ retorts. “Betty has the same legs every white girl has. Also, I could have sworn I saw another girl wear that skirt yesterday.”

“Because she had that scar on her thigh from when she fell on top of Jason Ionello during gym. Not all girls have a scar on their thigh right thigh.”

“I do,” you say, raising your hand. “Remember when you were playing with that stupid Lego set that was too pointy?”

“In our defense, we told you to be careful,” Peter says, looking down on his food.

Ned nods, almost too vigorous as he sits back down. A drunken smile on his face, as if he’s stuck and mesmerized in his thoughts. “I wonder what happens when I find out that Betty’s my soulmate. Do I still get to dream about her?”

“Dunno,” you answer timidly, your bottom lip jutting out the slightest. “Wonder who my soulmate is…”

“I bet yours is probably a pervert staying in his mom’s basement living on Cheetos and old Mortal Kombat video games with a weird foot fetish.” Peter snorts.

“Oddly specific. Sure you’re not describing yourself?” You raise your eyebrow, snarling at him.

“My parents are dead, (y/n),” he says, not at all phased. “I don’t have a mom.”

“And I don’t have enough nerves left for you to fit your fucking huge ears in, Parker.” You roll your eyes. “Besides, I’m in no rush looking for my soulmate. I’m going on a date later.”

MJ stops reading at this. “A date?”

“Yeah, a date?” Peter tilts his head sideways. “Are you sure you’re not just tutoring them?”

“No. It’s a date.” You correct him. “They asked me out on a date yesterday after school ended. I’m meeting them at that new Thai restaurant.”

“The one Aunt May talked to you about?” Peter asks. MJ furrows her eyebrows, pouting at the question.

“Yeah.”

“It sucks there,” he quickly says. “Don’t go to that restaurant. Or better yet, don’t go on that date at all.”

You bite your lip, glaring at him. “Why not?”

Peter’s face drains its colors, stammering on his words. “So you could spare them the bad date. I mean, come on, who would want to go on a date with you?”

“I would,” MJ leered. “I’d go on a date with her. The person who asked her out would go on a date with her.” She turns to you. “What’s their name again?”

“Denver,” you confirmed, pushing MJ’s hair out of her face before turning back to Peter. “See, even MJ wants to go out with me.”

“Would- would you go out with me?” Peter asks MJ. “I mean, do I look like someone you’d go out with?”

“If you were the last person on earth, I would.”

“Aw!” Peter smiles, but disappears the longer he rephrased the answer. “Wait-”

“Hm.”

“But…I’m the only one left…you’re not-”

“Exactly.”

“I’d go out with you, Peter,” Ned interjects. “If I were a girl, I’d go out with you.”

“Aw, thanks,” Peter smiles, blushing. “I’d go out with you, too.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the unusual interaction, you find yourself leaning closer to MJ and whisper, “this feels like I’m watching an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.”

She snorts. “Their life is exactly like Boyle and Peralta.”

But Peter’s words clung to your head much to your dismay. His words invariably went in your ear and out the other – a pattern you’d picked up when his words began to bug you even more and more. But the exit was barred, and it clogged up your already worry-filled mind.

It wasn’t that you aren’t used to Peter’s assertions; however, it stung you narrowly, unlike the vitriols he’d thrown that should have hurt you more.

Because you couldn’t help but think he’s right; who would want to go out with you?

Hell you’re not even sure if Spider-Man would want you. He’s got everything he needs.

Disappointment rims the back of your head, alleviation elusive to claim; its overture still going but alas, for you, its ending remains privy.

ii: his cynical intentions cease the misery to summon

Peter’s envious.

Not because of Ned (if anything, he’s proud of him), but because of you.

It’s no secret to anyone, literally anyone, that the both of you are not very fond of each other. He hates you.

He knows it's because of how reckless you are, how you strut down places presuming like you own them; how you like to gloat about your triumphs, how you have that complacent look in your face whenever Peter gets an answer wrong that you irritatingly correct seconds later.

Adding to his list, he also doesn’t like how you purposely make him feel incompetent.

What he despises the most, however, was how incandescently captivating you look while being a fiendish terror.

Peter can’t deny it, but he admits that you’re beautiful. He thinks that you’re attractive even when you have that deviant gleam in your eyes when you know you’re about to overthrow him, or when you scowl when he gets on your nerves.

It’s the way you toss your hair back that retaliates him to his feet, sowing him down to his foundation for you to amble all over him. Your beaut respites him from your cruelty but pushes him to detest you more a moment later.

Apropos, he’s never really cared about situations that concern you. But the irony fills his boat with holes of jealousy when you pierce his barque with the mention of someone else’s name roll off your svelte tongue.

Yet again, he’s doubtful why he’s envious. But he deludes himself, tells himself repeatedly that he’s jealous because you’re out having a good time when you clearly didn’t deserve it; that you’re out there, being happy and unfortunately in love, while he’s out here sulking around.

It’s the smile on your face when you said Duncan’s name that sets him off, standing tall on his feet.

Denver. He corrects himself. Eh. Why bother?

The envy doesn’t last long. Peter thinks of his soulmate, who he’s pathetically already in love with.

He may have found you beautiful, but her beauty was foremost incomparable to yours. Sure, her face was obfuscated, denoting mystery, but it’s the things she has and does that makes his heart swell achingly with longing and desperation.

Books arranged by author, desk tidied whenever she was uneasy, a portrait on top of her bed that he watched her make in ten seconds, papers pinned against a board chronologically by the events of the short story she’s writing – it all immersed him, made him love her more just by the small details.

Peter knows she’s writing a story about a boy who lost everything for the greater good; its protagonist trying to keep his bitter secret from the person he values the most to protect them as he poises his life and responsibilities. And it’s the most captivating story he’s ever read.

He’s seen her write at least five times – two of those he’s seen her type in an unrelated sentence. It seems that she’s trying to write hello, soulmate on her computer but the dream gets cut off before she could finish the word so.

(Fate’s other rule: you’re unable to send a message through your dreams.)

Guilt pangs his chest, though; he also knows that she knows he’s Spider-Man. Those 10 seconds that both of them see could be taken at any time of their days, but when Peter saw her call out Spider-Man with expectancy in her voice, it was enough to prove him right.

The thing is, everyone calls out to Spider-Man, countless people asking for pictures or for help. So he’s not sure if he’s already seen her, or has, by chance, ignored her at every attempt.

“How’d you meet Denver?” he hears MJ ask you. It makes him look up from his plate, seeing your eyes light up from excitement.

Gross.

“We go to the same art club,” you answer. “They, uh, said I’m cute and asked me out on a date.”

Peter snorts, quick to be covered by a cough. You’re oblivious to his retort, ignoring him. But MJ eyes him disdainfully like she always does, narrowing his eyes before turning back to you.

“Wait, are they that person who walks you outside our dorm every Saturday?”

His ears burn in jealousy.

“Yeah,” it’s unnoticeable, but Peter could sense the heat rise up to your cheeks. “Yes,” you correct yourself with the clear of your throat. “Yes.”

“Oh, I like them. They left a huge tip after Sasha spilt coffee over their shirt when they came to visit the café,” MJ says, sipping on her cup.

“I saw them littering the other day,” Peter butts in, avoiding your annoyed eyes. “Yeah they were like drinking a Capri-Sun and straight up threw it on the ground.”

“Capri-Sun?” you repeat. “They told me they didn’t like Capri-Sun.”

“Well they’re a liar. You obviously shouldn’t go on that date-”

“Why are you so eager to convince me not to go?” leering, you accuse him of his persuasive persona. “Are you jealous?”

Peter’s eyes widen in embarrassment and irritation. “Me? Jealous of them?”

“Not them, doofus,” you say. “You’re jealous because I’m going on a date and you haven’t been on one since Liz and you broke up.”

“Didn’t you date Cindy?” Ned interjects.

“You haven’t been on a date since Cindy,” you’re quick to correct yourself.

“So what if I haven’t been on a date in two years? At least I’m not desperate. I’m just telling you not to go so you could spare the poor person a bad date.

MJ sucks on her teeth. “Nah. Sounds a lot like you’re jealous to me.”

“Michelle, I’m not-”

“Oh, for the love of God,” you clean up your tray, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I’m going to go. I don’t wanna sit here and watch Parker get jealous. It’s sickening.”

“Your face is sickening.”

Your face contorts into a somewhat expression of Peter, though dramatically exaggerated. “Your face is sickening.”

And then you walk away, with Peter’s eyes on you. This time, though, his eyes remain. As if he’s watching you walk away for the first time.

But the thing is, you walked away from his life more than he could count.

-

He searches desperately for his soulmate.

Peter swings from building to building, arms burning in adrenaline, senses heightened truculently. He yields close alert to her, though he doesn’t precisely know what she looks like even after dreaming of her for at least eight years.

It’s like she doesn’t even look at a mirror.

He’s embarrassed that he’s looking for her after you called him out for being jealous, even though his search for her doesn’t concern you and your date whatsoever.

Albeit it affects his mind and now he thinks he’s looking pathetic for looking for his soulmate while you go out on a date to distract himself.

Though he resents you for your truth, Peter ends up standing at a building across from yours behind the ledge, crouching carefully against the dusted pavement.

You’re by your window, smoking. You don’t tell anyone you smoke but Peter knows you do after catching you by your fire exit during his patrols; he doesn’t call you out for it in front of your friends, but keeps it as evidence for certain situations (cough, blackmail).

Your laptop’s placed on the metal base of the exit, and you’re bedecked up from what he assumes the date. Peter watches you bob your head slightly to the music on speaker, balancing the cigarette between your darkened lips.

If he looks closely, you’re speaking. But Peter realizes you’re reading out loud on your laptop when your eyes dart from left to right, a primitive frown on your face as you do so.

Then your phone rings, making you stand up to your feet, and it’s when Peter sees what you’re wearing.

It’s a simple dress, just above your knees. Its color is a dark shade of blue and it’s decorated by white small flowers everywhere, with the back covered only by two ties.

With your hair down and slightly curled, your ensemble deems you a divine spirit in juxtaposition to your typical vixen mien, hubris amplified in your wanton appearance.

Peter watches you walk to retrieve your bag – that walk that makes his knees buckle, radiating sly innuendos to anyone who watches you.

You answer your phone, holding it in your right ear. “Hey, Karen,” he calls his AI. “Can you help me hear her?”

“Sure thing.”

Your voice fills his ears, like it always does when he’s mask-less. Except this time it’s his choice to hear you rather than suffer in your obnoxiously snobby voice.

“Hey, D,” oh, great. You gave him a nickname. “Yeah. I’m on my way. Just, had to check a few emails, ‘s all. Where are you?”

“On my way,” Peter hears Denver on the receiving end of the line. “It’s a bit of a traffic so I’ll be 15 minutes late to pick you up.”

Always be on time on a date, Peter tells himself. Your fault that you’re stuck in traffic.

“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll just meet you at the restaurant,” dissatisfaction laces in your voice that makes Peter almost huff in victory if he didn’t hate you and have second thoughts on letting you go on the date.

“Just don’t go,” he whispers. “Just stay there. God, fuck, just stay there.”

He doesn’t hear what Denver says next, but your phone closes and he can hear the keys jingle between your fingers while you open your door, closing it gently behind you.

Peter sees you leave the apartment building, which spurs him on to start moving and look for Denver.

He doesn’t know why he’s looking for them. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he finds them. He should be actually looking for his soulmate, who might also be looking for him.

But here Peter is, worried, jealous about your date. And will stop at nothing to do something about it.

He stands from the foundation you tackled him to, and with bleary eyes, he searches for your beguiling hand, trying to pull you away from them.

iii: pretentious hearts make exquisite art, vol 1

They never appear.

You’ve texted and called, none were reciprocated. It renounces you standing outside the restaurant alone with shivering arms, the diluted atmosphere above you rumbling quietly yet the only tears spilt are yours.

Pitying looks is only what you get while you still shelve by the curb with your head hung low. You wait for them still, your heart impatient but understanding. You don't want to prove Peter right – you don’t want him to say ‘I told you so’ the next day after coming home from a bad date.

Or rather, from being stood up.

Ten minutes pass by, and you begin to walk away.

The smell of Thai food makes you uncomfortable now – not because it smelt bad, but because you’ve been smelling it for the past hour and a half while thinking of Denver and the things you’ve done wrong.

Now the smell of Thai makes you wallow in self-pity. And it’s not even their fault.

You walk back to your apartment with your arms around yourself to at least subside the cold you feel. The hushed avenues filled with the soft clicking of the boots you wore, the cars that pass by, and the rustling of the trees.

And you cry.

It’s uncommon for someone to cry while walking down the streets of New York, but this doesn’t diminish the moroseness your heart subjugates, Peter’s veracity angers and saddens you more.

Angry because he’s right.

Sad because he’s also right.

Maybe he’s right – who would want to go on a date with you?

The reasons you list down does nothing to cicatrize the rip in your heart and, even more so, creates a bigger wound. And when you think of Peter, you swore your heart is on the verge of falling apart.

You’re full on sobbing now, and you wonder how the people you pass by aren’t even phased – not even at the snot almost falling down your nose that you keep harshly sniffing, or the heavy heaves you emit like a child, or the hiccups every five seconds.

Your mascara smudges half of your face when you wipe your eyes with the side of your thumb, applying pressure to your red eyeballs. You could hear the faint pings on your phone but ignore it, letting yourself fall in a pit of despair.

Suddenly, a soft thump lands in front of you. The familiar red shoes stop you at your feet.

Looking up, you see New York’s infamous masked hero, looking down at you with his wide, white eyes. You stop crying, jaw slacked.

“Hi,” he says, voice deep, mending into his accent although unusual. “Are you alright?”

Your soulmate’s standing in front of you. You – who’s all snotty and messy and wet from crying – and him – who’s suited up and standing tall in front of you.

You wipe your cheeks with your palm, breathing shakily, and wincing when your voice cracks as you say, “No.”

“Figured.”

You snort.

“I was, uh, watching you walk home because I heard you crying,” He says, scratching the back of his head. “Don’t worry, it’s not that loud. It’s just that my senses are kind of maxed out because I drank like three red bulls and I was testing if it would heighten it or just…kill me.”

You say nothing. You’re waiting for that spark to happen – the spark that ignites your chest in warmth that spreads all over your body. You’re waiting for it to alleviate your spirits, but nothing comes.

“W-what…” you whisper, half at yourself from disappointment that nothing happens, and at him because he just drank three red bulls for a ridiculous theory he made up.

“Just – are you okay?”

“No,” you repeat, shaking your head. “My date stood me up.”

“Oh,” his voice is monotone; nonchalant. “’d you know why?”

You snarl. “No, of course not.” You hiss. “I just got stood up. How am I supposed to know why?”

Spider-Man steps back when you snap at him, hands raising as if you’re about to punch him, but lowers when he sees the tears building again at the corner of your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he tells you, opening his arms. “Need a hug?”

You’re hesitant. You’d just met your soulmate, and he’s offering you a hug. And you wonder if this ignites the spark; if your lit up match meets his candle and lights it all up.

So you hug him. But the match dies before it meets the candle and the spark doesn’t come, disappointing you even more.

So you cry into his spandex.

He’s unhesitant in hugging you back, wrapping his arms around your shivering body. His suit feels uncomfortable against your exposed skin, but it contrasts to the comfort you feel in your chest when he hugs you.

You feel his cheek rest on your head as you hug him in the middle of the sidewalk while you continue to cry, still sobbing. He gently sways you, rubbing your tense back soothingly and shushes your loud sobs.

“I should have stayed home,” you lament into his chest. “I should have stayed at home, should have written, should have listened. Listened to that bastard. That solipsistic bastard.”

You feel his muscles tense, loosing his grip on you slightly as he steps back to look down at you with his hands on the side of your shoulders. “Bastard?” he repeats, something in his tone signifies faux shock, but you’re too sad to notice.

“One of my friends’ friend,” you don’t call Peter your friend. You don’t know what to call him; seems childish to tell (your soulmate) Spider-Man that you’ve got an academic arch-enemy. “He said I shouldn’t go. I didn’t listen because I never do. Now I shouldn’t have gone.

“Now they’re going to ask me about the date tomorrow. I don’t know what to say,” you sniff, rubbing the top of your finger underneath your nose. “I don’t want him to tell me I told you so and prove him right. I can’t just lie, either. Because they’re going to find out either way.”

You don’t realize you’re walking until he places a gentle hand around your waist when you begin to walk sideways to the road, tilting you back to the sidewalk. Spider-Man listens carefully, nodding at each sentence you finish.

“You’re lucky, huh,” you say after you finish your rant, halfway home. “Got no love problems. Only got villains, no?”

Spider-Man chuckles, its sweet sound already marking your heart. “My life isn’t as glamorous as J.J Jameson makes it look like.”

You raise your brow. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah, I haven’t had a good day in a while. Then I realize the bad vibes I’ve been feeling recently are actually severe psychological distress.”

You could see his mask move into a smile when you laugh loudly at his comment, slapping his arm lightly. “People of New York giving you a hard time?”

“Oh, definitely,” he answers. “Never got a break, y’know. Like a proper, relaxing break, never even got the chance to look for…”

He whispers the last part, not enough for you to hear despite being beside him.

“You can take a break,” you offer, hesitant. “I mean. I think New York can survive without Spider-Man for a day. Or for a week.”

“Are you saying that so you can, I don’t know, commit crime?”

“What? No!” You scoff, pretending his accusation offends you. “What kind of crime would I be doing anyway?”

“Being too pretty.”

You can perceive him wince and suffocate at his statement as if it had also caught him off guard. The languidness in his body dissipates, stance turns inelegant and he laughs, mortified, while you stare at him.

You wonder if he knows you’re his soulmate.

“Heh,” you save him the embarrassment when you chortle, continuing to walk. “Is my beauty illegal, Spider-Man?”

He chuckles, scratching over his covered ear. “Yes. I feel like if someone were to die from seeing beauty, you’d be the person of interest.”

“’Person of interest’ is almost too flattering,” you say, kicking a small piece of debris. “Like, if the police were to pound on my door and go, ‘A man has been murdered in your building and you are a person of interest,’ I’d be like ‘Moi? Oh do go on.’”

For the first time that night, Spider-Man doesn’t laugh shyly or chuckles breathlessly, instead, he cackles at your joke that he finds questionably funny. His hand goes to his chest, leaning back, and you can’t help but laugh with him.

“That is kind of true,” he confided.

“The only thing I’ll actually kill are spiders.”

“Ouch?” he touches his heart again. “They’re kind of my cousins.” He says, nudging your shoulder. You feel his hand brush the back of yours, but he pulls away. “Treat spiders the way you want to be treated.”

You look at him, dead on his eyes, or what could possibly be his eyes. “Killed without hesitation.”

“I- n-no…” his voice falters, making you laugh again.

Much to your dismay, you’ve reached your apartment. The smile on your face disappears, and you look at him with a pout.

You nod at your apartment door. “Want to come in?”

iii:pretentious hearts make exquisite art, vol 2

He’s never imagined himself spending his entire night with you.

Peter agreed to join you up the rooftop. But you never let him inside your apartment, telling him to meet you at the fire exit stairs. So he’d only got a short glimpse in your room when you open your curtains with your clothes changed.

Soliloquies after soliloquies, Peter disbursed his hours with you looking out the city, ice cream in hand with his mask pleated underneath his nose. He listened to you – actually listened to you rather than reprimand your words like he used to do when you started to annoy him.

You’ve never conversed in a conversation that mentions his name, merely only your life back in high school, your friends MJ and Ned (he pretends it doesn’t hurt him when you hesitated on his name), why you chose your course, and why you went to MIT.

He wants to know you more, even though he’s had years to do that. He doesn’t actually know things about you when he asks you what your favorite color is, or what flower you liked, or if you enjoyed studying.

Though he feels it’s not enough when you answer his questions with ‘green, sunflowers and lilacs, I’m about to shoot myself in the head, so not entirely’

Peter felt closer to you than he’s ever had half of his life. And he realizes – idiotically realizes – that there’s more to you than he presumes. It torques his heart to you, regarding this impalpable sentiment towards you; at the ridge of your intricate affinity, he considers he became more pseud for you.

But he wants to know more; wants to know what you think about him through his other demeanor.

“He’s, god, I don’t know what he is,” you said to him, waving your hand. “He’s…infuriating. He’s so fucking aggravating but at the same time, he’s so enticing. Like, he’s made my days agonizing whenever I see him but at the same time when he’s not there, I look for him, y’know?

And it confounds me whenever that happens. Like, I hate him, but at the same time, it’s like, seeing him kind of completes my day. I think it’s because he’s always been there every day in my life since I met him. But the thing is, I don’t feel the same for Ned and MJ. So, it’s very, very confusing for me.”

He never thought you felt the same. And it makes him feel guilty for what he’s done that night.

That night, his dream vexed him more.

Peter saw her. She’s on the table, and in those ten seconds, she puts her phone down on her white desk, stands up from her chair, and turns around to her bed where he sees something he can’t fully discern after having only a millisecond glimpse of it.

But it’s the dress that leaves him baffled – aching for her, the truth.

He makes his way towards where MJ works, hopefully neither you nor Ned nowhere to be seen yet. Everything is unusually cold for him but when he touches the doorknob to the café, it burns his palm.

The bell chime is too loud, he can hear every conversation, every word, and he could literally feel the air pushing on his skin – and it hurts.

His senses are overridden.

He’s nervous.

Peter sits down on the chair in front of MJ, where she’s quietly writing. He sees the broken black dahlia hanging on her chest that he got her when he got MJ for Secret Santa last year (the one time he genuinely smiled at him).

“MJ,” he squeaks, voice cracking. She looks up from her notebook, brows furrowed.

“You’re early,” she points out. “And you’re sweaty and you’re voice is cracking. Are you finally going through puberty?”

He huffs out. “Shut up. I’m early because I need your help.”

MJ closes her notebook, placing the pencil on top of her ear. “Is this where you go to walk (y/n) home as Spider-Man and talked to her on the rooftop?”

All the color on his face drains. He feels worse. “What?”

“Oh come on. I know you’re Spider-Man,” she whispers, leaning closer to the point her breath almost fans over his face. “Don’t deny it.”

“I’m not Spider-Man.”

She snorts, leaning back. “Peter, do we really have to do this? I ask – no, tell you you’re Spider-Man, you deny it, and we’re going to keep on talking about it until they come and I won’t have any more time to help you.”

He shakes his head, trying to focus his eyes. “Fine. We’ll talk about it someday with Ned, but right now, I just like really, really need your help”

He never thought he’d give up his persuasion that easily.

“What is it?” MJ leans in again.

“I think,” he falters in his words, thinking before he speaks (something he never does). “I think (y/n)’s my soulmate…”

MJ snorts again, eyes widening as she lets out a comical laugh of relief. “Yeah, she is.”

“I’m serious – wait, what?” he narrows his eyes. “You don’t sound sarcastic.”

“Because I’m not.” Peter pulls his notebook out of his bag, though he doesn’t open it, but carefully places a pen on top of it. “I’m serious, Peter,” she says, shrugging.

“Why?”

“Because (y/n)’s been describing her soulmate to me like every day,” she retorts. “Brown curly hair, plays with legos, notebooks full of weird formulas, small, oh, and he’s Spider-Man.”

“So you knew I was her soulmate because you knew I was Spider-Man, but you never told her?”

“Because I was only 67% sure,” she smiles cheekily, pouring coffee on a cup. “And she needs to figure it out herself. Because where’s the fun in that? The dramatic irony, and all.”

Peter nods, though the frown on his face remains. “I know she knows I’m her soulmate. But she doesn’t know I’m,” he points to himself, “her soulmate. Fuck, why didn’t she say anything last night?”

“Probably because she just got stood up, or she’s wondering why there’s no spark igniting in her chest when she met you.”

“How’re you so sure?”

“I know how her mind works.”

He nods again. “I want to talk to her. Tell her everything. That I’m her soulmate, and I’m in denial about her, and that I’m the reason why she got stood up.”

This, MJ doesn’t know. It’s clear in her reaction when she drops the coffee pot to the table with a slightly agape mouth. “What?”

He blushes. “I was – I was outside her window, and I heard their conversation and, fuck, I just couldn’t sit there and let her go on that date, y’know, so I looked for Duncan.”

“Denver,” she hisses. “Peter! You just hurt her!”

“Yeah but I made her feel better afterwards. It’s the first part of my apology!” he defends himself, taking his cup to take a sip. But MJ takes it from his grasp.

“Nuh uh. You don’t deserve our mediocre coffee,” she seethes, drinking it. “Tell me what you did to them, Peter.”

He gulps, sinking into his seat from her harsh glare. “I looked for their car through Karen, my AI. And they were stuck in traffic. And thank god for Karen because I was thinking of reasons on how to make them miss the date when she told me Denver had like a lot of tickets.”

“So?”

“So I said they're under arrest for not paying,” he sheepishly says, looking anywhere but at MJ. But he can feel her fuming, and doesn’t dodge at her attempt to grab at his ear. “Ouch!”

“Fucking idiot!”

“Stop! I have sensitive ears, please.”

“I’m not helping you,” she steps back, but not without a final flick on his ear. “You solve your problems yourself. You solve this yourself. Fuck. You were like the smartest dude in Midtown. Now your dumb or nothing.”

“Hey,” he’s offended, but doesn’t take her words too deeply. “Please, MJ?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

The bell chiming stops him before he can say another please out of desperation. You slip in past the glass door, Ned behind you with a smile on his face as you laugh. His heart flutters in his chest, torso turning to face you.

What shocks him more is that your smile never leaves even after your eyes meet his for a brief moment before sitting down beside him. “Hey guys,” you greet, placing your bag down the ground.

Ned sits on the other side. “I’ve got great news,” he denotes. “Betty is my soulmate.”

A series of genuine surprise emits from yours and Peter’s lips, while MJ’s was lightheartedly sarcastic, claiming she knew it all along. Peter smiles at his best friend’s triumph, leaning closer and listens to him speak.

“I talked to Betty like you said,” he looks at you, motions his hand towards your figure. “And everything got confirmed when she pointed out that she’d dreamt of Revenge of the Sith like 150 times and when she saw my hat 20 times.”

“150,” Peter hears you whisper. “That’s an unusual amount of times you’ve seen Star Wars.”

“It’s not even close,” he winks. “But anyway. Yeah. Betty and I are soulmates, and we’re having sex tomorrow.”

“Okay! TMI, Ned. TMI,” Peter chuckles nervously.

“I met my soulmate last night, too,” You say, your chin on your palm as you pick up Peter’s pen and open his notebook, writing a small smiley face on the corner of the random page you opened. “He just…doesn’t know it yet.”

“Oh?” MJ’s ears perk up, glancing at Peter quickly before looking at you. “How so?”

Your back straightens, giving MJ a warning look as if to say not here.

Yes here. Peter bemoans on the inside.

“It’s complicated,” you wave your hand in dismissal. “I’ll tell you when we meet again.”

“Wait,” Ned pauses. “Does that mean Denver’s your soulmate?”

Your smile falls, looking down at Peter’s pen in your hand. “No,”

“Aw really?” he gives you a sympathetic pout. MJ gives you a tight lipped smile, pouring another coffee into a cup. “How come?”

Peter’s heart breaks a bit when you spare him a glance, seeing the embarrassment glint in your eyes. He softens, realizing that you’re probably thinking that he’s going to embarrass you.

“They stood me up,” you finally say when you look away from him. At this, Peter feels something burn his fingers. He winces, cradling his hand to his chest as MJ shoots him a glare, followed by an insincere apology as she wipes the hot coffee off the counter.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says.

You look at him, and so does Ned and MJ with stupefaction. He gives you a soft smile albeit it’s loaded with contrite and empathy. For a moment, you determine on giving him a rude comment. But you don’t.

“It’s alright,” you shrug. “Had a good night after, anyway.”

He knows it’s because of him, and it makes Peter smile.

“They don’t deserve you,” Ned says, holding your hand. “You’re really pretty and honestly, they’re kind of mid.”

MJ nods. “Hell, you fix yourself without a mirror and you’re already confident that you look fine. They totally don’t deserve you.”

And then they look at Peter, as if they’re waiting for his words of encouragement. But instead, he sneezes, hard – something he does when he’s really really nervous.

He sneezes and hits his nose on the counter.

“Oh shit!” you gasp, placing an arm around his shoulders, and a hand over his that covers his bleeding nose. “Peter, what the fuck?”

“Sorry!” his voice is muffled by his hand, blood seeping between his fingers. “Fuck. Fuck I sneezed too hard and hit my head on the counter. Fuck.”

MJ’s biting back a laugh, but you don’t – you laugh while holding his hand, feeling the blood stain your palm. She offers you a cold water bottle, and Ned pulls out a packet of tissues from his pocket.

You remove the hand around Peter’s shoulder, making him frown. But he’s quick to comply when you gently remove his hand from his nose and wipe the blood off his skin with the tissue, accidentally smudging your thumb over your drawing on his notebook

He takes the cold bottle from you, placing it on the bridge of his nose.

For a concise beat, he reckons it's only you and him in the café. And you’re preening to his wound, laughing at his vacuity, caressing his nose with such fervency it hurts.

And he looks into your eyes, the first time you peek at the real him without any indignation or wrath that dilates your pupils. The curtains are now open, the window to your soul is seen and he reads it like an open book, leafing through its pages with cautiousness.

And in the end, its ethics are analogous to his – you’re both yearning for the verity. The divulgence of each other.

iv: the truth’s interlude, my pain continues to exude

He’s twitchy.

Peter looks at you, the throbbing ache on his nose now too distant to exist. But you’re not looking at him – you’re laughing at something Ned had said, a radiant smile on your face. (He wishes he's the reason why you smiled like that)

After MJ’s shift, just five minutes after Peter broke his nose, all of you left as soon as she ditched her teal apron, walking home to your place.

It’s the first time he’s seen your apartment adequately. Usually, you all hung out at MJ’s work, or at Ned’s because you all adored his lola's company. But now you’d invited them, and he's hankering to take a look at your bedroom that he's glimpsed almost every day of his life.

His finger twitches and he wonders if you know. Peter wonders, as you sit there, laughing at your young mistakes and mature choices, if you know.

You’re too relaxed – you don’t know.

He’s thinking of excuses that ends himself up in your bedroom (He heard it. That’s not what he meant). Peter just wants to see your room longer than ten seconds, to carouse in the place he’s been longing to be in for a long time.

He wants to feel the pinned compositions beneath his fingertips, glorify your painting, esteem your sterile desk; uncover the pack of cigarettes taped behind your mirror, sit by your window and feel what it’s like to be with you.

But he’s still sitting on your couch, trying to laugh with you. He feels pompous; pretentious – like a liar. But he already is. He’s lying to you, to himself. But who’s he fooling? All he’s done is lie to you about what he felt, about who he is. Why is he so guilty now when he should have been back then?

“He’s like holding my hand and pulling me to his room and he says ‘let’s go to my headquarters,’ and I was like ‘what do you mean headquarters’ and he’s like, ‘oh you know, my blowjob room’”

Peter doesn’t know what’s funny about it, but when Ned laughs and so did MJ, it must have been the jealous that blocks the laughter from leaving him.

“What kind of person calls a blowjob room ‘headquarters’?”

“What kind of normal person has a blowjob room?” MJ grimaces.

Ned nods. “Fair point.”

His eyes meet MJ’s in a call of help. He doesn’t know what to do. He thinks he might be concussed, but he could stand straight and feel things enough for him to feel guilty.

She lets out a long sigh, quickly pulling her phone out, the screen illuminating her face as she types in word after word of execution.

Then she slips it back in, looking at you with feign helplessness. “(y/n),” she pouts. “Come with me to the bathroom? I need to pee.”

You nod, standing up and taking her hand towards where your bathroom is.

Ned’s phone pings, and he looks at Peter before taking a pillow and slamming it on his bandaged nose.

The discomfort outstretches his whole face now, feeling the ache on his eyes and his lips pulsate from the impact, and Peter claims he could feel the blood drip again when he puts his hand over his nose and look at Ned with wide eyes.

“What the fuck, dude?!”

“MJ said to hit you in the nose!” he reasons, putting the pillow down. But Peter picks up the pillow next to him, slamming it on Ned’s face. “Hey!” he shouts. “You asked for help, we gave you help.”

“I don’t think hurting me is helping, Ned!” Peter whines, folding, bending down to place his nose at the space between his knees to alleviate his fatigue. “Fuck…dude…” he hisses. “How is this going to get me alone with her?”

“When she sees that your nose is bleeding again, she’ll take you to her room and fix you up. Then MJ and I will make some lame excuse and leave so we’ll leave you two alone.” He explains. Peter nods in discomfort, pinching his nose. “Honestly dude, I don’t know how to help you if you don’t tell her today.”

“I’ll tell her today.” He says. “Fuck. Hit me again.”

Ned complies.

“Fuck!”

The door from the hallway opens and slams shut, a rush of panicked feet making its way forwards to where Peter sits with his nose hidden in his hands. You look at him with wide eyes, rushing to him with open hands.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, lightly cradling his face in your palms. You’re touching his face – he can discern your skin looming over his, almost abutting. But you don’t and it causes him to wish your tinge wasn’t reluctant. “What happened?”

“I saw a spider on Peter’s face,” Ned says, fast, before tucking the pillow behind him. “I didn’t want to touch it.”

“So you hit his face with a pillow?” scrunched nose, a pout on your lips, and a hint of concern in your eyes. Peter thinks you look cute. “You do know it’s only been an hour since he broke it, right? Jesus, looks swollen.”

Peter lets you grab his hand, putting it down to his lap as your fingers caress the crooked shape of his nose.

“Stay here,” you whisper, turning to your bedroom in quick and short strides. He’s no longer in pain, merely in a daze as he looks between Ned and MJ.

MJ cocks her head towards your bedroom door. He stands up, stumbling his way through the hallway to stand by the doorframe.

His eyes wander around your room.

It’s ampler than he thought – a bit bigger than his room, the walls adorned by a myriad of Vinyl and Polaroids adhered to the wall beside the window to the fire escape; your bookshelf is small averse to the bulletin beside it that’s concealed by hand-written chapters of your book, and the desk he sees are…messy.

It’s not pristine like he expected. You uncluttered when you’re tense or stressed – something he noticed even before he found out you’re his soulmate – so this presumably implied that you’re relaxed because of him.

You look up from the ground, a bottle of antiseptic and cottons in your hand. “What’re you doing here?”

“You were taking too long.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’ve only been gone for ten seconds, you trilobite. Be patient or I’ll slam something harder on your nose.”

There she is.

“I’m in so much pain, (y/n),” he whispers. “Don’t add up to it.”

Through hooded eyes, he can see you squeeze the bag of cotton in your hand and clench your jaw. He’s hit a little nerve, and it makes him smile as you push yourself up the ground and pull him to your bed.

“Sit,” you demand. “Before I knock your head against the wall.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He slurs, smiling lightly.

“Hey guys?” MJ calls from the living room. “We gotta go. My car got towed and Ned wants to watch beastiality!”

“Ratatouille is not beastiality, Michelle-”

Peter grimaces at this. “Ratatouille is beastiality?”

You shake your head, dabbing the cotton on his nose. “I think The Bee Movie is- wait, MJ, you don’t have a car!”

The door slams shut and the ripples of the clangour buzz in Peter’s ears, taking him a moment to acknowledge that it’s just now the two of you. You notice this, too, stability stiffened from your capricious emotions.

Your hand appears spasmodic every time you’re tactile with him; he can sense why – you’re nervous. You’re always nervous around him and who is he to repudiate that he doesn’t deem the same?

Had your eyes always looked this captivating?

The curtains are sealed; earlier, he read you, like a child leafing through a storybook heretofore. But the book’s latched and he can’t thumb through the pages, afraid of tearing your susceptible tale. So he’s left to figure you out, right now, through your opaque, locked eyes.

Peter wants to know why you’re suddenly being nice, even before he’d slammed his nose against the counter, but it’s obvious:

You met him your soulmate last night, even though you were incompetent to tell him who he was to you. And you had someone to listen to you, and you felt good being listened to – he can see it. Which was why you’re being quite nice to him.

But still, he tests the suspicions in the back of his head, pushing it forward to his lips as he says:

“Why are you being nice to me?”

You stop working on his nose, your tongue hiding itself back in from losing your concentration as you scoot back, away from him. Sheepishly, you shrug, looking down at your dingers. “Dunno.” You say. “Just…”

“’s it because you met your soulmate last night?”

You nod your head, looking up. “It’s not just that.” You lean closer. “I…I realized something.”

You’re my soulmate he wants you to say. I lo-

“Yeah?”

Peter smiles as you nod again. “I realized you aren’t as horrible as I thought you were,” you begin, picking at your nails. “That- I based you off my judgements rather than allow myself to get to know you. And I realized last night that perhaps I’d judged you too harshly that I haven’t even realized that it’s doing something to me.”

I hate him, but at the same time, it’s like, seeing him kind of completes my day

He repeats your words at the back of his head like a mantra, your voice filling his every time he tries to think from how many times he’d repeated it.

His movements are slow but when his finger touches the soft skin of your chin, heat radiates off his body. Peter tilts your head upward, eyes meeting yours.

The curtains are open now.

And just when he’s about to read you, his senses knock him back to alertness, mouth ejecting a voice of disdain, irritated from interruption. His peripherals make out the disappointment in your face when he drops his hand to his lap.

Peter stands up from the bed, squeezing his eyes shut from the sudden fatigue.

“I’m sorry,” he says, guilty. “I have to go.”

And what happens? When he leaves you with terse words while you were anticipating something imminent that’s not really there; what happens when Peter refracts at the moment you’re about to obtain what you’ve always wanted due to his insolence?

v: unravel the vindication, remedy is revelation

You don’t know how long time passes – but your eyes never left the screen of your laptop an hour after you woke up. And you’re typing, not baring a single glance down your keyboard as you press letter by letter, forming sentences and metaphors from your ingenuity.

You’re halfway done from what you’re writing, on the verge of writing its denouement.

“Look at me. Open your eyes.” I beg her. “I’m right here in front of you. Notice me. Wake up and notice me.”

It’s functioning, your mind; it’s envisioning scenarios you often wished you underwent. It’s your form of coping when you’re having a hard time – you tatter ruminations, delectable dramas from the remnants of each character’s past, and you fill your book with raucous sections of angst and bond.

And then…your mind stops.

Suddenly, you find it hard to form words in your head and this irritate the living shit out of you. Writer’s block – a pain the fucking ass. They’re like a difficult bottle cap to remove and you’re stuck finding ways on how to open the bottle.

You slam your forehead repeatedly on your desk, hopefully triggering at least some simple words to add to your sentence. Skull on the verge of cracking, your phone pings.

You remember your dream.

In those ten seconds, you see him writing down formulae on his notebook, a scrawny smiley face on the corner of the paper with slightly smudged blood on it. You smile when you dream of him again.

It’s been two days since you met him, but you don’t forget the reason you met him in the first place. So earlier this morning, your eyes aimlessly scroll through the list of contacts on your phone until your eyes land on them.

You text Denver.

‘I don’t know what I did wrong, or what happened, but I would really appreciate an explanation.’ It’s followed by or not, your loss, but your thumb presses the delete button repeatedly until that’s all that’s left on the box before you hit send.

You don’t expect them to reply, but you do it nonetheless.

And then you think of Peter.

Yesterday bewilders you, and the day before, and the days before; every day you spent with Peter confuses you and yesterday was no different – because he left you perplexed, again and again, and again.

It’s beginning to irritate you because you know he has something to say. It’s in the look on his face – the same look he has when you let him too close to you. But he’s being a desirous coward and bails every single time, making you more inquisitive, aggravated, impatient.

Peter’s always underestimating you, saying something to Ned about how you can’t possibly handle what he’s about to tell you.

Your phone pings, disturbing you from the hypothetical murder of Peter Parker

Picking it up, your blurry eyes and dizzy state read the message.

It’s MJ. ‘Peter’s coming over. STAY CALM’

As if on cue, your doorbell rings. You push your chair back and make your way to the door, seeing Peter on the other side with a pint of ice cream inside a plastic bag from Delmar’s.

He’s hear, again, and you don’t know why. You’re confused. Is he here to continue your unfinished conversation, or he’s here to lead you on more before he bails once more?

You opt on snarling at him, but you want to play his game – act dumb and innocent and oblivious like he always assumes you are.

“Hey,” you smile. “How’s your nose?”

Peter lightly touches the purple and yellow bruise on the bridge of his crooked nose. “It’s alright. ‘s healing already.”

“That’s good,” you step aside, inviting him in. “What’re you doing in here?”

“We need to talk,” he places the bag on your dining table, giving you a nervous look. “You need to sit down. I need to sit down – we need to sit down for this.”

He’s quick and eager. Peter’s here to finish what he started.

He doesn’t allow you to utter a single word, tugging on your delicate wrist to lead you to your bedroom, sitting you down on the mattress at the same spot he left you hanging.

Expecting he sits down beside you, he doesn’t. Instead, he kneels between your parted legs, head leveled with yours. Peter looks down on your feet, on the fabric over your knees, on your fiddling fingers in front of him – anywhere but your eyes.

“You alright?” you softly say, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Peter nods. “Yes. No. Maybe. I-I d-don’t know…”

“What’s up?”

He lets out a quavering breath, eyes buffing. And the sunlight caroms on his glassy orbs, splitting its diaphanous mosaic. Your chest flutters with trepidation, hands opposing to stay put and stop you from running your hand over his hair and pull.

“I haven’t been…honest with you,” he ultimately looks at you, directly into your eyes, your dry sights deviating to his breaking ones. “And, I want you to know that I’m sorry for what I’m about to tell you.”

The sky outside rumbles, a mild thunder before you hear delicate pattering against the metal of the fire escape, muffled by your window. This doesn’t preoccupy you from looking away from his eyes.

Had his eyes always looked this captivating?

“I’m…” he sighs, closing his eyes, and a lone tear is threatening to spill from his eyelashes. And you wait patiently, for the first time. “I’m…you’re so…I’m the reason why Denver stood you up on your date.”

Your face falls, leaning away from him. “Oh.”

You spent hours wondering what you did wrong and what was wrong with you before you met Spider-Man. And you didn’t realize how quickly you got over the temporary heartbreak. And Peter’s truth doesn’t break your heart again, but rather fill it with disappointment instead.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” you tell him. “Why’re you sorry and why did you do it?”

“Because,” he shut his eyes with a sigh. “I couldn’t just let you go on that date knowing…knowing you’d get hurt one day. And I was…yes I was jealous so I had to do something and I’m sorry because I made you cry and I unintentionally hurt you.”

“Well…you did know I’d get hurt when they stood me up so technically it wasn’t unintentional,” you correct him. “But that’s not the point. And I wouldn’t forgive you if it didn’t hurt me anymore. I’m just upset about it, and maybe mad because you made me miss a date. But guess what? If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have met my soulmate that night.” You smile timidly at him. “Just tell me what you did to Denver.”

Peter sighs again. “I made them spend a night in jail.”

Your eyes widen, letting out a laugh of disbelief. “Peter!”

He laughs lightly with you. “What! I asked Karen for some help and she said-”

“Who’s Karen?”

“-my AI. She said Denver didn’t pay any of the parking tickets so I arrested him!” Peter defends himself. His answer leaves you confused – who’s Karen and why does he have an AI? “Honestly, it’s a good thing I saw you crying home or else-”

Your smile disappears. “What?”

He smiles at you. “What?”

“You said you saw me crying home,” you repeat his words. “Peter, were you following me?” You stand up, stepping away from him. “And you arrested Denver? Peter, you’re not a cop!”

All the color drains from his face, standing up from the ground, wiping his knees though they remained clean still. “I- I think you misheard me-”

“You said you had Karen to ‘help you’,” you point out. “You had Karen, your ‘AI’-”

“AI? Did I say AI. I think I said-”

“Peter.”

“Honestly, (y/n) I-”

You walk away from him, making your way towards your window. Your hands weakly push the exit upwards, lifting yourself up to the exit until you feel the heavy patters of the rain on your skin.

“What are you doing?” Peter shouts over the loud noise. “(y/n)-”

“I’m going up,” you say. “I’m going up the rooftops. And I’m staying there. Because I don’t – I don’t know what to do with you right now because you’re confusing me and I don’t want to be confused right now.”

Your weighty steps stride through the metal stairs, clanging at each stomp. You don’t care if it causes the platform below you to shake, or if it damages your ears. You needed to think about what to do, and what you need to say next to him; you needed to refresh your mind.

Peter follows behind you. “(y/n) get inside! You’re going to get sick!”

“Well, I’m already sick!” you turn sharply, shouting at him. “I’m already sick of you and your lies and your torments and you underestimating me. I’m already sick of your bullshit!”

Peter’s hair is wet, sticking to his forehead. Dismissing the tempest befalling upon the two of you, he steps out into the rooftop to follow you. “Bullshit!” he roars amidst the storm.

“Yeah! Bullshit. That’s what I said!”

He reached out to grab your wrist, wringing you around. You’d been crying, and he hadn’t detected because your tears were combined with the rain simultaneously descending your cheeks. Peter’s face softened, his pique dissolved into the nervous one he felt just before you stormed out.

“Hey,” he pulls you closer to him. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Peter,” you whisper, exasperated. “Just tell me the truth. Please. Please, I’m so tired.”

He nods, hand never leaving yours but the other reaches up to wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’m Spider-Man.”

You stop crying, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Maybe MJ was right – he was in front of you. You were just too blinded by hatred to notice.

It all made sense – the bloody smiley face on the corner of his paper, the lego pieces, the blue sweatshirt, the brown curls, the funeral, everything.

And you’re in denial.

“No,” you shake your head. “No. No, you’re not,” you push him away, digging your nails to his damp shirt and push him away, eyesight blinded by your hot tears and the bright rain. “Why you?”

Peter’s voice snagged in his throat. “I…I don’t know what you want me to say to that…”

“You made my life miserable,” you hiss. “You made my life miserable, and the dreams – your dreams – are the only things that makes my day better. And – fuck, I just unknowingly told you how I felt about you too! I-”

The revelation renders you speechless. The man who stood before you is your antagonist – and your love, your destined love. And you don’t know how to love him; it’s your fear, that you won’t be able to love your soulmate as much as you wish to.

And now it’s happened. And it scares you. Because now you’re supposed to love Peter Parker, after years of hating him.

“You said your days felt incomplete if I don’t show up,” he says softly, loud enough for you to hear amidst the storm. “Maybe it’s because we’re soulmates. And we complete each other.”

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “How am I going to love you like I’m supposed to?”

Peter cups your face, palm gentle against your jawline, thumbs caressing the tears from your cheekbones. And you open your eyes.

His eyes are caring – they mean what they say. And you read his eyes, his soul, like an open book. And as you flip through his pages, there’s a part there; a part that divulges his love for you. And it frightens you. So much

“You don’t have to love me. Not right now. Not immediately,” he says. “You can learn how to love me, (y/n). And I’ll wait for you.”

The words you’ve written earlier, your character’s denouement, appear in your head. “Look at me. Open your eyes.” I beg her. “I’m right here in front of you. Notice me. Wake up and notice me.”

And you look at him. You open your eyes. And Peter’s right here in front of you. But you don’t notice him – not yet.

“I fell in love with you,” you whisper. “But not you.”

He nods, and he’s crying too. “I know.”

“But you complete me,” you tell him, nudging the tip of your nose to his. “I don’t love you yet. But you complete me.”

Love forces you to do ludicrous, heedless things. Whether it was for your good, or theirs. Sometimes you’d have to be stoic to protect something you already have, transgressing the altruistic love you desired to give. Because failing something you worked hard to have will forfeit the trajectory of it all.

It’s what you feel for him – for Peter. And he understands.

“I love you,” he whispers, lips hovering above yours but never touching.

You don’t say it back. You want to, he knows you want to. But understands when you don’t.

You kiss him instead.

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

SUPPORT A WRITER AND REBLOG! (please)

[nouearth]

feel the rush.

tom holland x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. rushing a fraternity is highly-competitive, and all-so overwhelming. if it was up to you, you wouldn't have participated in the first place. fortunately, tom was here to provide you all of the shortcuts in receiving a bid to the greek life, as long as you did a bang-up job.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [ 5.5k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 college!au 〳 frat!tom 〳brief alcoholic drinking 〳 closeted!reader 〳 reader is kinda religious coded 〳 sexual content: top!tom, bottom!reader, breeding, kissing, spitting, blowjob (r!giving), humiliation, dirty talk, muscle worship, scent!kink.

“You know you’re not exactly dressed for the occasion, right?”

The door closed behind Tom, sectioning you off from the party. The atmosphere of the event was tangible regardless. Strong beats throttled from wall to wall, tremors from a familiar song tickling your feet. Chants, albeit muffled, were resonant as you could only presume that someone executed a keg stand for the nth time of the night.

Chug, chug, chug, chug, and the crowd roared as if downing a keg of beer prevented Earth from being infiltrated by extraterrestrials. Granted, that was within the best scenario, in which alcohol and everything loud and deafening like university students wanting to fit in were highly toxic to those devious space invaders.

“What—how do you mean? Rushing is pretty formal, isn’t it? That’s what my mom tells me, anyway.”

You felt small from Tom’s comment, taking a peek at yourself in his mirror and shamefully finding nothing out of the ordinary with your white dress shirt, polka-dotted tie, and khaki pants. Though, you had to be honest. It wasn’t a fair assessment, considering you were judging under the purple hue of his dim lights. The compact size of his room certainly didn’t help either.

“Yes and no. Obviously, you don’t want to look like a slob. But you also don’t want to stand out too much. You’re not going to be a Greek if you wear Ralph Lauren from head to toe—that’s obnoxious. It looks like your mum dressed you for the Lord’s Supper or someone’s granddad, which is frankly the worst offender: don’t look like a square.”

“These are all I have—duly noted—so, it’s okay to dress… like you then? Won’t I blend in with everyone else?”

Tom wore a snapback, a blue polo, and white cargo shorts—which was brazen of him considering the amount of drinking and bile you had seen before the party had even began. It was simple to replicate. If it was your mother’s judgement, she would have all the men and women cover up their legs and arms, while embarrassingly leaving you as the prime example of what a gentleman should dress like.

But your mother wasn’t here, was she? Which meant, you could enjoy the holy sight of Tom’s biceps threatening to burst his shirt at the sleeve, his bulky chest at the placket—all for a little while longer before your intuition stepped in at the call of your mother, and forced those thoughts to scurry off.

That was ungentlemanly.

“That’s the point. You blend in, which means you put in the extra effort to get you noticed by the brothers—by us. Outfit aside, I reckon you’re off to a mighty start. Could be a pledge if you keep this up. I’m certainly noticing you,” Tom muttered after taking a sip of his beer, backing you with small, but imposing steps, until your ankles knocked against the footer of his bed, making you fall back. “Here, loosen up.”

He handed you his beer can.

“I don’t—“

“Just a sip to get in the mood. Not asking you to get blackout drunk here, Christ.”

“Sorry, mama.” You tipped the can into your mouth and instantly, the first taste of lager made you grimace, your face and body shriveling up like the bitter bubbles in the back of your throat. “That’s not… pleasant.”

“You get used to it.”

You were an easy target, weren’t you?

All you had to do was lurk around the party like a lost puppy, head and shoulders down as if the entire objecting of rushing was the complete opposite of being noticeable, and then Tom came around to your aid. He flashed that confident, gorgeous smile of his, immediately knowing you’d do anything to receive a bid from anyone at Alpha Kappa Psi, to be a pledge, without ever doing the hard-work of politely boasting about yourself to complete strangers.

Using your body was easier.

“You’ve done this before?” Tom took the can out of your hand and set it on his desk. He joined you at the foot of the bed after, his thigh touching yours. Then his hand on your knee, rubbing to simultaneously appease those nervous twiddling fingers of yours, and to warm you up.

“Yes—but don’t tell my mom, all right? She doesn’t know that I’m—Just… a couple of hook-ups back at home. Nothing much.” You nervously laughed to fill the silence, watching Tom’s hand warm your knee in gentle strokes that seem to ascend closer to your thigh with every cycle.

He stopped at your inner thigh. “I don’t plan on it unless you do a bad job. And/or your ass somehow rips my dick off and I need someone to take accountability for your actions.”

Your body straightened when Tom began kneading at your tender skin. “Not funny, I mean it.”

“Relax, I’m not telling your mom. It’ll be fun…” With one smooth motion, Tom turned his snapback around, the visor facing the back, and his mouth lowered to the shell of your ear. “And if I can be honest…? It turns me on knowing you’re hiding such a dirty secret from your poor mother.”

There was a shuffling, and then a firm grip on your nape that made your breath hitch. Before your instincts to pull away could react, Tom drew you in for a pressing kiss.

You breathed in, sucking the taste of liquor into your lungs, and trailed after the sweep of his lips. His nose smashed against yours, you could practically hear him inhaling you, and you barely got a sound out before your lips were pushed apart with Tom’s wet tongue. He tasted of familiar lager, yet certainly much more appetizing than drinking from the source itself as you pressed closer to him, welcoming him into your mouth with messy licks to the slithering muscle.

“Mm…”

Electricity shot up your spine when his tongue began properly mingling with yours. Sparks ricocheted off your cranium, then back down to your toes, where they flexed and brought the rest of your legs onto Tom’s bed. Heat flushed through your veins, the kiss all-consuming like Tom had needed your moans to survive. He drew you in closer, holding you close, exploring your mouth with his. You let out small whimpers and pressed into him, drowning yourself in his groans as your hand experimented with desperate tugs and kneads to his growing erection. He licked and nipped at your lips in revenge, countering your touch with a much more brazen hand down your khakis and briefs, toying with your bare chub in his palm.

“Had my eyes on you since you walked through that door,” Tom’s breath spilled over your neck, kissing at the stretch of skin in between the seconds of stripping your clothes off and his after. “You stuck out like a sore thumb. Have no idea why you thought you even had a chance, but then I thought about it for longer, watching you stick to the walls, observing everyone, drinking our punch. I knew you weren’t as innocent as you looked.”

You were lost in this sanity. Your lips were swollen and nearly numb from use, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. They tingled in all the right ways, sending signals to your exposed cock, throbbing out in the open air after many clumsy movements of shimmying yourself out of your pants and briefs.

You helped Tom with his clothes, fingers swiping across his muscular back when you pulled off his polo, palms brushing over his toned thighs when it came to undoing his shorts. Surprisingly, no briefs to remove after, which made you even harder, even when you were nearly assaulted in the face with the spring of his erection.

All of Tom was impressive, especially his hard, thick cock.

“Mom told me to make some friends—“

When Tom returned his grasp onto your nape and pushed your head toward his groin, you lost all semblance of self-control. He held you close enough to smell his cock, but far enough to deprive you the pleasure of having him in your mouth. He smelled salty, something of sweat that made your nostrils flare for more, so you pushed your head. You sniffed, lowering yourself until your nose was buried into his heavy balls, and inhaled your curiosities.

The aroma of Tom’s musk was familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time. It was intoxicating. The scent was strong and pure when you pressed in. It was here, a pungent assault to your nose when you took another indulgent breath of his sweaty balls, and your senses went haywire when Tom’s fingers dug into your nape, scraping sweet lines of fire across the nape of your neck, and pulled you over his leaking cock.

Your inability to control yourself was as much of an arousal for Tom, judging by how his cock was twitching with every breath you took to fight off the urge in gulping him down.

“Wow, you really are a momma’s boy, aren’t you? Bet you have her constantly in your mind, telling you what’s right from wrong, don’t you? Tell me, what’s she saying while you’re sucking me off?”

“I don’t know what—mmf!”

Just like that, your mouth was full of Tom’s smell, full of him, god. Your eyes snapped shut and you choked down a moan as you took his thick cock into your mouth at the help of Tom’s bruising grip. One hand braced on his toned and flexed thigh while the other was wrapped around his shaft, holding him steady in your mouth. Your lips wrapped snug around him, hallowing your cheeks and flattening your tongue over veins—multiple veins that were the source of his pre-cum leaking into your mouth like a broken faucet.

Salt spread on your tongue, wakening every taste bud to an early bloom as you squeezed and stroked him at the base, forcing out more drips of pre-cum onto your tongue.

“Fuck, your mouth’s so warm…” His eyes widened at the warm and wet embrace of your tongue slobbering over his cock, groaning at the obscene sounds of your saliva spit-shining his shaft as he was leaning on his elbows. “God, look at you.”

“I’m doing okay…?” You gasped after pulling his cock out of your mouth, spitting out the thick, droopy web of saliva that connected your lips to Tom’s shaft back over the plump, swollen glans. You looked up at him for approval, wide-eyed and dazed, recovering from the stretch Tom had provided your mouth seconds prior.

When you needed a breather, you licked at the underside of his cock, tending to the inches you couldn’t possibly fit inside of your mouth with multiple tantalizing strokes of your hand. You spread your spit thick over his hard flesh, massaging every spit bubble until his cock and balls were moisturized with the slick of your mouth.

“Better than I could imagine, honestly…” Tom marveled with a chuckle, exhaling slow and deep from his gut to seemingly keep himself from spilling too early from your unrelenting strokes. His toes wiggled in his socks, a tic you found yourself simpering about because it was rather the opposite of Tom’s imposing demeanor.

He pressed two fingers against his own tongue, slicking it up with spit, before shoving them into your mouth to get a second opinion on your cock-sucking skills. Tom hummed, his hand removed from your nape to hold your chin up while he watched you take his fingers, pumping them in and out of your tight, sucking lips.

He seemed pleased.

Somehow, it was more intimate sucking his fingers off. Tom was staring. He had always been, which made you nervous since he introduced himself to you. But he was staring, as if he could control your every move with a simple look, as if he was capable of communicating with you without uttering a word. His lips parted, his brow raised, and you quickly caught on to reflect upon his wishes, diligently opening your lips to welcome a third slicked up finger into your mouth.

Right then and there, you figured Tom had taken your brain cells hostage and forged them to work in his favor. Whatever he wanted, you were absolutely pleased to do without a single complaint peeping from your end.

He pulled out embarrassing sounds that would’ve gotten you stoned if your mother ever heard them from your room. His other hand worked on your leaking cock, massaging your testicles and palming the plump tip, because he can—because you let him.

You were Tom’s puppet, and your body was at his disposal.

“See? This is fun, right?”

He slid his fingers out of your mouth ever so-slowly, the dim light catching onto the trail of spit that bridged his fingers and your tongue with a magical glint. They eventually lost their sparkle when Tom was quick to bring his hand to your ass and wet your exposed rim with a finger, circling the flesh at an excruciatingly slow pace.

“M-mm…”

It was pathetic how deprived of touch you were.

Something as simple as a tease made you writhe on all fours. All it took was a lazy stroke of his finger for you to arch your back and draw your ass out. You couldn’t manage more than a moan as Tom guided you flat on your stomach and himself behind you, continuing his taunts after freshly lubing his fingers and throbbing cock.

Upon the next turn, Tom had the generosity of delivering you of a fill that had been making your cock leak into his sheets, that had been making you rock your hips like you were an animal in heat.

After pushing your legs apart, Tom slowly slid one finger inside of you, his mouth opening in rapport, but also in wonder, as your tight hole welcomed his thick digit in with such warmth, your body locking up as pleasure entered your body.

“C-Christ…” you hissed, thighs clenching and ass squeezing around the foreign intrusion. Something like panic, mixed with agonizing, desperate need, froze you in your place, yet you could feel your body melt, beads of sweat forming over the slope of your tense shoulders and back muscles. Every contact point of your body meeting his, from his firm hand kneading your plump ass, to the tender push and pull of his finger, scorched.

“I don’t know, (M/N)… I don’t know if you can take my cock. My finger can barely move. Might have to call it a night…”

The thudding of your heart muffled your ears as Tom pressed in another finger after slowly working you open. Upon instinct, you closed your legs, only for Tom to spread them back apart before your sweaty thighs could meet, keeping yourself exposed and bare under his direction.

You chewed on a whimper, your face pressing into a pillow in your arms while Tom’s two fingers curled and pumped deep inside of you. You felt yourself pulsate around him, the tight ring of muscle unrelenting in its grip around his fingers, but Tom was determined to break you, another digit joining the pair of fingers, demeaning the tightness of your hole with an obnoxious whistle while pushing into your resistance. “Damn, look at that hole… barely fitting in three fingers.”

“N-no, I can take it. Please…” you gasped on an onslaught of curls, fast and repetitive until you were stretched enough for Tom to yank his fingers completely out of you and quickly feel withdrawal symptoms of his fill. Your thighs shook, your ass pushed out for more, your hole twitched in rapport—you murmured a whine that you needed Tom to hear, but was too self-conscious to let it be known, so you settled biting into his pillow to resist your throat from spilling.

“Such a shame. I thought you made the perfect fit for A.K.P., too.”

His touch was soft and exploring, smearing the sweat on your back over the expanse of your ass and covering it in a humiliating sheen that you’d reckon Tom was stroking himself to upon picking up on the lewd, slick sounds of lube sliding over something thick behind you.

“S-stop, stop, please. I-I’ve taken it before, just—give me a chance, yeah? Please? Hear me—feel me out?”

“You’re that desperate, huh? Don’t know if you need the pledge more, or my cock…”

“Your cock… Tom, please—“

“So, you wouldn’t mind if you received nothing in return, as long as my cock was inside of you? Fucking you? Breeding you?”

“No, I just—“

No, no, no. I don’t want you to stop. Please don’t stop. Your ass communicated those pleas in desperate wiggles. A strong smack to your ass cheeks meant to halt you in place, but it only made your hips more fervent as you graciously backed into the thick of Tom’s cock, reaching back and giving him a needy pump or two, then slid him against your crack.

A needy moan escaped when you felt the weight of his cock sandwiched between your cheeks.

“So, you don’t want my cock? I’m confused on what exactly you’re telling me. Hurry, before I lose my patience.”

You felt a stickiness to your rim. Peeking over your shoulder, you took a glimpse of Tom presumably tracing your hole with his cock and spreading his pre-cum thick over the smooth flesh. The small space grew humid with the tension between your body and his, heavy breaths adding onto the heavy air as Tom rocked into you, holding you by the waist, gliding his cock through the wetness of your lubed ass cheeks. His shaft rubbed over your hole, and your cock throbbed and leaked in between your legs at the chance that anytime now—Tom could breach you open, and fill you wondrously. Your hole clenched at the thought, aided by Tom’s hands pressing your cheeks tighter around his cock as it slid over you.

If only you could command your asshole to open, because you would’ve taken him in by now.

“I want you inside of me, Tom. F-forget the pledge, I just—I need something, someone inside of me. Please, just—Christ, fuck me. Fuck me with your thick cock. Fuck your cum into me. Fuck my ass until I’m nothing but a gaping hole dripping with your seed. Don’t even care if we never see each other again, please, Tom—”

Your eagerness took Tom by surprise, making him chuckle and slap his cock over your blinking hole before resuming on sliding his shaft against your crack, hopefully for one last turn. “Who knew you had such a potty mouth?”

You don’t know what drew you back to looking at Tom again. Maybe it was the hard, brawn structure of his body, cut straight from a sculpture of the most heroic Greek warrior. The firm lines of his abdominal muscles, or the way his snapback was adjusted backwards, emphasizing his soft, yet handsome looks. All in all, you didn’t mean what you said.

You would absolutely care if you never saw him again.

He was too good.

His rough hands over your ass, smacking them whenever you would try to angle your hips in a way to fit him in, were too good. His delicate kisses on your neck, back, and shoulders, quelling the tremble of your limbs, were too good. His soft lips, when you and him met halfway until your mouths were exchanging breaths, making the effort of holding yourself still against him excruciating, were too good.

Tom’s lips ghosted over yours, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. You groaned as he supported your core with a strong hand, opening your mouth to take more. Every part of you, even the moisture in your body, wanted to touch him. You were sweating, drooling into his mouth, leaking into Tom’s palm when he wandered down to stroke your cock; all strong indicators that you were losing control, if you hadn’t already.

His voice, as he murmured something about your body in your ear while he was gathering you against him, was too good. His breath forced itself between your lips, breathing out a supply of oxygen into your mouth, into your lungs, to prepare you for the inevitable, and you had never felt so fragile before—especially so, when you found yourself quickly using up Tom’s oxygen when he pushed his cock into you without hesitation, without warning, your body hammered by a thousand needles in the process.

“T-Tom!” you hissed in a breath, but it only made the grip on your hips more strident when his thrust made you collapse back onto all fours. It wouldn’t be surprising if your skin was blemished with bruises the very next day with the way his fingers dug into your flesh.

Tom was generous enough to let you adjust to his size, indulging in the warmth and tightness of your entrance with only the tip of his plump cock despite feeling like he had toppled your backside with all of his body weight. Even then, those minuscule ruts were enough to make you whimper out of agony.

“So fucking tight…”

Tom pulled himself out and spread your ass cheeks apart, marveling and silently wondering to himself how he was going to puzzle himself inside of you. Some spit would surely help. He licked his fingers, then pressed it over your swollen hole, smoothing the skin before pushing the tip back in, having only a tenuous grasp on his self-control.

After the burning mellowed with the help of multiple deep exhales and kisses from Tom, you felt yourself finally unravel the moment he moved his hips. Your fingers raked against his abs as you reached back to pace his hips, palm on his pelvis to keep from completely ruining you. A shiver ran down the length of your spine as Tom smoothed a hand over your back, then kept it at the lower half, pushing deeper into you while he held you still. You made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, pleasured yet disoriented by the ample stretch Tom was providing you with. It gutted the fog of arousal, you could feel your hole instinctively pushing his cock out with overwhelmed pulses, but Tom was persistent, driving into you deeper— harder—the moment your body tried to resist him.

“Don’t mind it hard, right?” Tom asked against your ear, gruff in between his slow, yet deep strokes.

“Please,” you whimpered, barely getting the word out before Tom’s hand found its way to your mouth, covering it and holding your head back at the millisecond your answer registered in his brain, giving him the green light to pummel you relentlessly.

Your eyes popped open when Tom soared, bucking his hips wildly into you. Cries of pleasure, your whimpers and moans of being hammered with such overwhelming desire for your body, were muffled into the palm of Tom’s hand. He squeezed your cheeks, loud groans leaving your throat, and your torso arched into the mattress.

The brutal stretch was what you’d been needing. All this pent up sex drive that you had been harboring for so long came exploding out of you like molten lava, scorching your torso and all in effect. Your body was on fire, coupling with Tom’s as sweat dripped from his forehead, and somewhere onto your backside. Your mind emptied out while you hovered in the space between deprived arousal and complete ecstasy, only perfected by Tom’s cockhead screwing into your tight, clamping hole.

“Open,” Tom demanded with a huff, and you did as you were told at the prodding of his fingers. You welcomed him in with the parting of your lips, luring each digit with the curl of your wet tongue. “You like that? You like taking my hard cock like this? Fucking you open until you’re nothing but a hole? God, look at you drooling…”

As Tom pumped inside of you at a steady pace, angling his hips so he stretched you wider, you suckled on his fingers as they remained hooked over your mouth—you were starting to guess that he loved having them sucked, or at least, liked playing with the idea of having himself inside of you in more ways than one.

It was a messy affair. Pools of saliva leaked from either corners of your mouth. The smell of sex was thickening in between the heavy pants that you and Tom would collectively exile. It wouldn’t be long until your body was drenched in sweat, and you’d come to realize that you wouldn’t be alone in that department. Tom had his sweaty arm around your throat, pushing all of his body weight onto you and gutting you open with the deep hammering of his thrusts. His chest rumbled with wild growls as he pounded into you from behind, burying your hole to the root of his shaft, fucking you with the salacious sound of his heavy and musky sack slapping against your sweat-stained taint. You whimpered when his cockhead brushed past that sweet spot of yours, an unfamiliar feeling that you had no doubts in wanting to befriend.

“O-oh, that’s s-so g-good—“ You bit into his forearms, the thick vein pulsing through looking appetizing, and you were glad you did it because—it was like an ‘on’ switch for Tom.

“Taking my cock so well—your mom would be disgusted, wouldn’t she? Knowing her baby boy is taking a man’s cock. Want you to remember this. I don’t care how many cocks you had before me. I want you to remember what my cock feels like, digging deep inside of you. And when I’m done with you, I don’t want you coming home, crying to mommy—because I’ll never be done with you. Once you get your bid, you’re fucking mine.”

This was it.

This was Tom at his peak performance.

And your body was at his mercy.

He pulled out, flipped you over, then hooked your legs over his shoulders before resuming in his relentless rapture.

You stroked yourself to the image before you, a tight fist around your aching cock, squeezing from base to tip, spreading your pre-cum down your already sticky length, while your other hand toyed with your nipples, playing with the perky nubs.

Tom’s muscular body dripped in sweat. His teeth gritted as he struggled to control his volume. Glimpses of the base of his cock would appear when he would pull out, only to be hidden by the trimmed hairs of his pubic hair when he would shove himself back in, veins of his large cock throbbing and basking in your warmth. Hard and strong kisses layered your ankles while Tom’s pecs jiggled with every thrust he made. Even if you weren’t being fucked right now, you could get off to this. You could come right now, to the absolute bliss on Tom’s face as he buried himself deep inside of you, impaling you with his cock, moulding your hole to the shape of his shaft.

It enthralled you knowing how much pleasure your body gave Tom.

The squeaking of the bed roped everything together, gathering all sorts of noises—lewd sounds of sex and delirious desire—like a beautiful symphony. Your moans against his were the choir when Tom came down to kiss you hard on the mouth, sloppy and wet as he explored you open both ways. His tongue curious into your mouth and his thick cock rearranging your guts.

Your hands freely roamed over the expanse of his broad back, clutching and scratching at his back muscles when he curled his hips in a way that made you arch your body off the bed and knocked the breath out of you. God, he was so strong. So buff. You could feel his back muscles move in sync with his hips, flexing and flaring as he sank his cock deep into you. Your body stuttered, your eyes shut tight, tears nearly welling from the utter pleasure, shriveling as Tom would batter your prostate with better precision every time his hips came down on you. You couldn't be bothered to find the proper words to tell Tom how good he was making you feel, so you settled for a mixture of gasps, whimpers, and a daring scratch over the length of his spine.

That was telling enough, right?

Tom growled at the sting overloading his senses when you made your marks, grazing his teeth and lips over the palm of your hand when he reached back to take and hold the culprit of the forming welts before him. You and him shared a gaze, a kiss when he lowered himself and briefly settled on imposing you with strong, but slow and deep thrusts. To catch his breath. To catch yours. You both exchanged breaths, swapped saliva, explored each other's mouths, held each other hands, and the intimacy of it all made it all the more tranquilizing for you.

“Gonna breed that ass of yours. Fuck, it’s perfect for me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Have your hole dripping, gaping, and raw? Maybe I’ll get the bros to look at the mess you made. Maybe they’ll want in on it and have a turn at your body, too. It could be your initiation, hm? Could skip the entire process, and be a Greek, as long as you let all of us breed you. How does that sound?”

“Holy, s-shit—“

You pumped your cock, a familiar feeling quickly bubbling to a high from the pit of your stomach, all the way to your swollen nipples, and you knew what awaited you as that sensation wouldn’t falter. Your heart beat ran faster than the effort of caffeine. Even though it was muffled, the rhythmic beats downstairs were still resonant, and you were absolutely outpacing its tempo. The heat of Tom’s hands returned on your body. He caressed and rubbed your hips, thighs, chest, balls, and ass, all while he urged you to come.

“There we go. Good boy. Keep fucking that fist. Yeah, fuck—“

His palms smoothed over your skin, up the sides of your body, thumbs pressing into either sides of your hips, then maneuvered you with his strength to meet him half-way into his strong thrusts. His biceps flexed, thick veins demonstrating his rush of adrenaline and sheer strength as he brought you down onto his cock with thundering claps, sweaty skin contacting sweaty skin, constantly assaulting your prostate with his swollen cockhead.

It both frightened and thrilled you, your eyes blown, and you felt yourself quickly spill, thick and heavy over your stomach, knowing you were at Tom’s disposal. You shuddered, watching the thick ropes of cum fly high before splattering and soon pooling at the plane of your body.

“I’m close—“

“Come inside of me, please–“

You were panting as your cock finished spilling itself all over your stomach and chest, as Tom’s big cock pounded in and out of you with such ease now, the weight of his hips coming down on you making you continuously bounce on the mattress.

“Fuck.”

His breathing was even heavier than yours, laced with grunts as he used your ass like a toy, pulling hard and pushing you as he pleased, breaching you with the thick of his cock. His thrusts become wilder, sweat dampening his snapback as Tom mustered up the rest of his strength and energy to completely overpower you. His swollen cock dug deep, you could feel every veins about to burst. With a choke of your name, he delivered one more grandiose rut against your ass, the impact of his hips biting sharp into the back of your thighs, and filled you with his cum, burying you to the root.

“Holy shit…”

“O-oh, god—“

Warmth spread thick inside of you, and you writhed and groaned as your hole swallowed another fat fill. Tom’s body goes slack, crashing into your arms immediately, and he moaned on each slow thrust, creaming you from the inside and out. You strained toward him in desperation, wrapping your legs around his hips to lock him in place, and reaching over to his ass to push him deeper, to urge him to keep breeding you as your hole held Tom’s sensitive cock with gratitude, taking his thick seed without hesitation, until his cock veins stopped pulsating.

As promised, Tom kept you impaled, rocking his hips and kissing you once more, soft and passionate, something of him owing you one laced in the way he smooched your lips and refused to let you reciprocate—because Tom never came like that before. His hand was tender on your cheek, stroking the dried stain of drool that was left abandoned when he pulled away to look at you, properly this time. You sighed, brushing the snapback off his head to let his scalp breathe, and pulled him in at the introduction of a sudden draft, your legs still anchored by his hips.

You lay intertwined, sharing deep kisses in between moments of recovery, where the post-nut clarity rendered you and Tom into fit of collective shy laughter, incredulous to the affair both of you had just engaged in.

“So, you live on campus?”

“Oh—yeah. East side, near Turing…”

“Figured you’d be a science guy. Anyways, I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Give me your phone.”

“Pick me up? For what?”

“Christ. Did I fuck the memory out of you or something? Bid day’s tomorrow. It gets hectic, so I think it’ll be better if you stick with me.”

“Won’t that… be suspicious?”

“Nah. Plus, I figured we’d get an early start on your initiation…”

“You mean—“

“Fuck, yeah.”

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

[leth-writes]

Requests open!

-200 followers celebration announcement

-my A03

-I'll write for Marvel, DC, and the Twilight Saga and I'm open to writing both regular and dark/yandere dynamics.

-I'll write for Simon 'Ghost' Riley and Konig, both from Call of Duty.

-I'll also write for Aemond, Daemon, and Rhaenyra Targaryen, Jordan Li, and Homelander, as well as the Arcane characters Jinx, Sevika, Vi, Viktor, and Silco.

-I'll write for any character from parts 4,5, or 6 of jojo's bizarre adventure!

-I'll write for the following Slashers: billy loomis and stu macher; the sinclairs; Michael Myers; Kevin Khatchadourian; pelle; JD; the Lost Boys

-I'd also like to write for Chrollo from Hunter x Hunter, if anyone has any requests!

-I also write for both Helluva Boss and Hazbin hotel!

-When it comes to the Twilight Saga, I'll write for the Cullens, the wolves, and the Volturi.

Obvious rules apply:

-no homophobia, sexism, racism, or any other bigotry

-all characters aged up!

-This blog is 18+!

Feel free to ask me anything!

-I also have a ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/lethwrites

-I take commissions: up to 2000 words, $1/100 words. Message me if interested!

my game: https://leth-writes.itch.io/yandere-twilight

Anon list: 🤠, 🌌, 🍄, 🍒, 🐢, 🐿️

(Dividers by cafekatsune!)

Masterlist under read more:

Wolf pack x herbivore shifter reader

Yandere Aemond x reader

Yandere platonic The Boys

Wolf Pack x reader who has a dog that hates them

Twilight wolf pack x reader who is leaving for college

Yandere Aemond x Servant! reader

Cassandra Cain x Deathstroke's apprentice

TASM Peter x reader

Wolf pack x fox shifter

Batfamily hugs

Cryptid Batfamily

Batfam Soulmate au

some batfam headcanons

superman x reader

Tom Holland! Peter x autistic reader

Avengers x hypervigilant reader

Homelander x reader who stays in the shadows

yandere platonic the boys part 2

yandere platonic batfam x broke reader

Marcus, Aro, and Caius x reader headcanons

wolf pack x reader who went missing

yandere platonic the boys part 3

brief Ghost headcanons

Jordan Li x reader

Cullen petnames

Ghost x reader headcanons

yandere Aemond x reader

wolf pack x alligator shifter

Paul x reader with dirty sense of humour

Paul x reader with facial scar

Yandere batfam x broke reader part 2

yandere batfam x broke reader part 3

Yandere batfam x broke reader part 4

JD x reader

Yandere homelander x influencer reader

Yandere Chrollo post 1

yandere Chrollo x reader who can see ghosts

Cullens and a human s/o

Wolf pack x reader who's quite aggressive

wolf pack x short reader

homelander x supe! reader

random Cullen headcanons

Peter Parker red string of fate headcanons

Paul x Jacob's ex

Fishbowl (yandere Chrollo)

Yandere Tim Drake x meta reader

Yandere TIm Drake x meta reader part 2

200 follower celebration: Cassandra Cain

Seth x imprint leaving for college

wolf pack x easily flustered reader

Lost Boys x reader

200 followers: Jolyne

Wolf pack x reader they scarred

Yandere Aemond x reader

yandere spiderverse

HOTD x oblivious reader

Yandere batfam x vampire reader

yandere batfam x trying to fight them

Yandere HOTD x trying to fight them

yandere HOTD x reader scared of their dragon

NSFW Aemond x reader headcanons

yandere batfam x reader who's scared of them

[ifortom]

Bad Decisions - T.H. (1)

frat!Tom x Reader - Fake dating AU

Summary: Tom and Y/N, two students with opposite personalities, join forces to solve a problem: they both desperately need a fake relationship to escape different social pressures.

MASTERLIST

W/C: +3K

DAY 0

There is an unknown saying that says that every choice is a loss and that good choices will also hurt. Some may say that the best choices are those that are made calmly and cautiously. Choices made on impulse are the most worrying. Taking a risk without thinking about the consequences and not being sure you can deal with them is dangerous.

But perhaps, thinking too much about a decision to be made is not a good option. Sometimes we need to take risks and be willing to face whatever comes our way. Regardless of the need.

That's why you find yourself on an endless tightrope with only two alternatives: keep walking trying to keep your balance without seeing the end or throw yourself towards whatever can hold you before you hit the ground. That whatever being a brown haired boy with stars in his eyes who you call your friend.

‘’Friend” may even be too strong a word for what defines your relationship with the famous Tom Holland, one of the players on the college football team. Known for his charm and great performance on the field, intelligent, friendly and attentive, these are just some of the qualities that define the boy.

What started as just a pair project on social psychology has become a constant in your life. You and Tom worked hard during class and received a high grade due to your research performance and dedication. But what surprised you was Tom's insistence on staying in contact with you.

No stereotypes but truth be told, you would never have exchanged a single word if it weren't for this project. Despite having already crossed each other's path at times, nothing ever went beyond that.

Today, Tom is curled up on the sofa in your living room with a book in his hands, while you are sitting on the floor with a notebook open on the coffee table. Study dates happen frequently between the two of you. Despite his fame, Tom is very focused on his studies and is months away from graduating in psychology, just like you.

"Can we take that break you promised?" He says without looking up from the book but without reading a single word.

"It's been exactly 20 minutes since we started.'' You said.

"Isn't there a study method like this? You study for a few minutes and take a break?"

"I don't think that's how it works, Tommy" You giggled.

"I'm bored" He says, closing the book and throwing it on the table in front of him.

"Studying isn't supposed to be boring. If it is for you, it means you're not learning anything."

"Seriously Y/N, you can't tell me that studying about catharsis and free association is fun" He looked at you in disbelief.

"Tom, this is literally part of the course curriculum... you should have known this when you signed up."

He huffed and lay down on the couch, looking at the ceiling of your living room.

You even tried to turn your attention to the content in front of you but every 30 seconds he would snort, clearly seeking your attention.

"Alright, you win!" You said, letting go of the pen that was in your hand and turning towards the boy lying comfortably on your sofa. "If my grades drop, it's your fault, and don't complain about yours later." He grinned standing up and sitting down.

"As if there's any chance your grades will drop, smartiepants” You rolled your eyes, sitting on the couch next to him. "I'm hungry. What do you say we order something to eat?"

Just as you thought about agreeing, his cell phone went off. He picked it up off the table and you noticed that it was a video call from Brian, one of the other players on the team.

Tom quickly looked at you who just shrugged. He got up answering the call.

"Where are you, bro?" The muffled sound came from the other end of the line.

"What is happening?" Tom asked while watching his friend, clearly out of control of his cell phone, focusing the camera on everything but himself.

"Bro, the party at Taylor's house, did you forget? Everyone's here. She said she invited you and she seems disappointed that you're not here yet. Where are you?” Tom rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm at Y/N's house." He replied.

"Dude, again? You better be seizing the opportunity and using it to your advantage." Shaking his head, Tom walked to the open balcony door and closed it behind him, making it impossible for you to hear the rest of the conversation.

Even though you know him better now, you also know Tom's reputation around campus. You know that he has been involved with many girls and that he has already broken the hearts of most of them who always expected more from him than he was willing to give.

You also know that most of the kids on the team only think with their other head and not the one above their necks. You know people talk about your friendship with Tom. Everyone thinks you're fucking in secret.

But Tom never took any initiative in this regard. Nor did he show any interest in you in that way, despite the intimacy you very quickly created with each other. There have been a few nights where you shared a bed and even cuddled on the couch while watching a movie. Not to mention the dates you had together but were never named that way.

So everything was always platonic. Two people who understand each other and feel comfortable with each other to share the most intimate moments.

Even though this all happened in just 6 months.

Getting up, you started putting away your study materials, waiting for Tom to say he was going to that party. Surely you lost all desire to study and your only objective from that moment on was to lie in your bed until daylight.

Maybe you could even ask for something to eat and drown your sorrows.

Not 5 minutes had passed and you heard the sliding door to the balcony opening again.

"Hey, did you give up studying?" Tom said looking at the now clean table. His belongings were also already inside the backpack he brought and no longer scattered on the floor.

"Yeah, I thought about going to sleep, actually." Tom looked at you in surprise.

"I thought we were going to order something to eat... then we could watch a movie, that new horror movie you wanted to see just came out."

"It's called Totally Killer..."

"So... what are we waiting for? Would you really rather sleep than hide in my arms when a scene scares the hell out of you?" He said smiling and opening his arms.

"You know I never do that, and if I remember correctly you're the one who has to hide when a movie gets too scary."

"You know that's our secret, don't you?" He said sitting down on the couch.

"I thought you were going to... what's her name? Tina's party?" You said mockingly.

"Taylor, actually. And no, I'm not going there" He said and you sat down next to him.

"Can I know why?"

"You know Y/N... It's Taylor. Taylor Brown."

"Ah, the girl who won't let go of you? I thought she had given up, I haven't heard you talk about her in a while."

Taylor was one of the girls who had created too many expectations after a night with Tom. The problem is that it wasn't just one night. She was one of the only girls Tom almost had a relationship with, they hooked up several times and even hung out together all the time. But just 2 months after meeting you it seems they broke up, with the story that he wasn't ready for a relationship. And since then, Taylor has been looking for any opportunity to be close to Tom.

"She invited me and insisted that I go to the party today. I just spoke to her on the phone..." He sighed, running a hand through his curls. "I don't know what to do anymore Y/N... I made it clear to her that I don't want anything serious but she keeps pushing me."

"Do you want my honest opinion or do you want me to agree with whatever you say?"

"Be honest"

"First of all," You settled down on the couch, facing him, "you shouldn't have hooked up with her at Brian's party two weeks ago. You just fueled the fire even more."

"I was drunk, we kissed. And nothing more than that happened, you know that."

"Yes, I was there helping you when you got sick."

He laid his head back on the couch and closed his eyes.

"I just wanted to take a break from this. I didn't mean to. I don't want to give her hope. I have so many things to think about and a complicated relationship isn't one of them."

Tom is a person completely responsible for his actions. He was raised like this since he was a child. Despite loving football, he knows the importance of his studies and always seeks to improve himself more and more. He still doesn't know what career he wants to follow, as his talent for football was only discovered in his first year of college, but you're sure that whatever side he chooses will be a success. He knows he gets distracted easily and doesn't want to put anything in front of his main goal right now: graduating.

"If relationships weren't something so complicated, who knows..."

"I don't think relationships are complicated... people are." You sighed, moving closer to him and placing your head on his shoulder. "Relationships should be calm and welcoming. Of course, there is no relationship without problems and that's okay. But we are the problem... we are the ones who complicate things.” Tom gently took your hand that was in your lap and intertwined your fingers.

"Sometimes we overthink things. Relationships should be light. Not a weight we have to carry on our shoulders."

"I'm sorry" he said in a whisper as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

Tom knows your story. He knows about the relationship you had that lasted 4 years and you swore it was that once in a lifetime thing. He even met the boy who broke your heart into thousands of pieces and left you to glue them back together alone. He didn't know you at the time, he only found out that your ex-boyfriend was his rival from another university a few months after you met and after he commented on the asshole who almost broke his leg during a match.

You and Sean met two months after classes started at a friendly match between the two universities. He accidentally slipped in front of you while running towards the field and you laughed at him. He flirted with you and promised he would take you out for coffee if he won the game.

His team lost but he kept his word.

It's hard to say when the flame between you went out. And this is something you don't try to think about often. Something inside you changed when Sean decided to leave your life. Maybe the broken pieces of your heart were still lying around, waiting to be fixed.

"It's okay... You don't have to feel about it."

"If I could, I would finish him off."

"Oh, how manly. My savior."

You laughed but soon the laughter was replaced by the silence of the apartment. The two of you continued to sit next to each other maintaining physical contact, Tom held your hand firmly and showed no signs of letting go anytime soon.

That was a constant between you. Even the silence was pleasant. Just each other's breath and presence was enough.

"My sister will be getting married in 2 months." You said.

"Woah, already? That's good isn't it?"

"It seems so." You sighed. "I don't wanna go."

"Why?"

"The last time I was home they wouldn't stop asking me about Sean... even after 5 months since we broke up."

Your family loved Sean. Just like you, at one point they were just waiting for you to announce your engagement.

"Do you need support?" He asked.

"I can't ask that of you"

"If you need me to go as your date it won't be a problem, you don't have to deal with this alone."

"Maybe I'll find a boyfriend in two months. Maybe they'll stop asking me about my ex if I show them I've moved on." You joked.

Silence returned and the two of you remained in the same position. As you closed your eyes, enjoying the calm of the moment, Tom's head was spinning with different thoughts.

That's when he found the solution.

“Y/N, would you like to be my girlfriend?”

"What?" You said scared, raising your head and looking at Tom's profile. "Are you crazy?" You said laughing.

"I meant... my fake girlfriend." He stared at you.

"Tom, you've got to be kidding."

"I'm serious. Think with me, okay?" He said looking at you seriously, which made the smile fall from your face. "You need to introduce someone to your family to forget about your damn ex. And I need to take a break from Taylor and show her that I'm not available."

"Tom... I don't... I don't think that's a good idea." You said, looking at everything around you except his eyes.

"Look, I'm not going to force you into anything... it was just a thought I had given of our situations." He said, settling back down on the couch.

You felt the air in the room change and Tom seemed shy and embarrassed by what he had just proposed.

"Tommy, this could end badly. I don't want things to get complicated between us."

"You know you don't need to, nothing has ever been like that with us. But it's okay, forget what I said. It was stupid, I don't know what I was thinking." He said, running his hand over his face.

Tom had already let go of your hand a while ago and suddenly you felt the extreme need to hold his again. But something changed and it was strange. He had just proposed a romantic relationship between the two of you. What would that involve? Kisses, hugs, dates... sex?

"Still hungry? Shall we order something?" You said trying to get back into the mood.

Tom got up quickly.

"Actually, I think I'll go. You said you wanted to sleep, so..."

Surprised by his decision, you stood up as you watched him put his backpack on his back.

"Ah, okay. So, can we watch the movie another day maybe?" You said awkwardly.

"Yeah, another day" He replied in the same tone.

Normally, he would hug you when saying goodbye but this time he just shook his head and walked towards the front door. He also left without looking back.

What just happened?

After Tom left you didn't do much. The hunger you felt completely disappeared too. You took a shower with the intention of relaxing your tense shoulders and then lay down on your bed.

Despite your attempts, nothing could put you into a deep sleep. Millions of thoughts were running through your head at the wrong time. How did Tom think of something like that? Does he feel comfortable with you on that level? Wouldn't that be weird? What could happen to your friendship? What is the limit of a fake relationship?

At some point during the night you decided to use your cell phone and browse social media.

Big mistake.

Angela, a colleague from a previous curricular subject had posted a series of photos and videos a few hours ago. The first photo was nothing more than a selfie in the bathroom mirror with another unknown girl. The following photos already included the place and people present at the party. In any other situation, you wouldn't care much about a specific photo, but due to the events of hours ago you felt heat rush to your face when you saw a photo of Tom with his arms around Taylor.

In fact, one of his arms was resting on her shoulders, while the other was on the shoulders of his best friend Harrison. Seemed friendly, just posing for the photo. But knowing their history, it's suspicious. So he went to the party after being rejected? Does what you did count as one?

At that moment you felt something changing inside you. Would it be a bad idea? Despite the short time, Tom has become a constant in your life and you know that he knows you like no one else. Still with your head racing, you left your cell phone aside and reflected a little more before sleep completely invaded you.

...

Due to the time you spent rolling around in bed before going to sleep, the extra 5 minutes before getting up became almost 30. You barely missed the first class of the day, and despite the teacher's ugly face when he saw you enter 15 minutes after hours, it was very useful. Lily, a friend, was already saving your spot.

"What took you so long?" She whispered.

"I'll tell you later." You replied smiling slightly.

The truth is that only one thing was on your mind this morning: finding Tom.

The class distracted you for long enough and when the teacher dismissed the class, you were one of the first to leave the room. Lily didn't even have time to ask you anything else.

You made your way through the halls to the courtyard, heading to the football field at the back of the campus knowing you would find your target there.

He was sitting in one of the lower stands. The sun made the sweat dripping off him shine, he had probably already ran around the field a little. The slightly tight uniform left little to the imagination. Some boys from the team were on the field chasing the ball, while others surrounded Tom.

You walked up to him, holding tight to the strap of your bag, suddenly not feeling as confident as before. When you were a few meters away, Tyler, one of the boys spotted you and tapped Tom on the shoulder getting his attention before pointing to where you were.

Tom looked confused but he got up and ran to you.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" He asked.

"Uh, I... I came to see you." You replied embarrassed. What was happening?

"Really?" He said with a playful tone. "I didn't know I was so dear to you" He joked.

"Yesterday you left very quickly and I..."

"I know, I'm sorry about that Y/N. Can we just forget it happened? Forget anything I said?" He cut you off and ran his hand through his hair looking embarrassed.

"Tommy..."

"Look, I need to keep training, the coach might complain and I don't want to get you in trouble." He interrupted you again. "Ah, I think I'm going to have lunch with the boys today, is that ok? We can arrange another day." He was already turning around before he even finished the sentence and fear spread throughout your body.

Was he suddenly avoiding you? Has he felt so embarrassed that the only option he has now is to push you away?

On impulse, you grabbed his hand before he moved further away from you. He turned around and you looked at him.

"I'll do it." You stated.

A/N: And so it begings! I'm really excited and I hope you like it. Don't forget to tell me what you think, feedback is important!

Tagging: @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @un06 @lnmp89 @hoodharlow @let-me-luve-you @erule @smoofine @smile2345 @itsdoni @helen-on-earth @hollands-underoos

[peeterparkr]

thus, with a kiss, i die| tom holland

PROLOGUE: the rivalry.

romeo & juliet modern au.

summary: the well known story of star-crossed lovers. Your local bar has two spots for bands, but only one spot for an opportunity to get a record deal. Your band, the Capulets and his band, the Montagues have been rivals long enough. But what happens after a night when you get to know their lead singer?

chapter summary: who are the great rivals at the Verona bar?

pairing: singer!tom holland x guitarrist!reder

warnings: swearing, alcohol mention

word count: 3k

this is literally romeo and juliet, it's one of my favorite stories, if you've read my other works you KNOW I love to quote it, and reference and eveyrhting. Anyway, this is my take on it. Modern world, hope you like it. I haven't written anything in ages so here goes.

character glossary next chapter masterlist

wanna be tagged?

This is an unequivocally known story, a tale as old as time, of those of two star crossed lovers, who most likely lost their mind. Star-crossed lovers, they call them as if the stars were undeniably conspiring against them. Are the stars really against secret, illicit-feeling escapades of a young, naive love, so powerful and strong that it ends up in death?  

Or were they too busy to help them out when everything went insane? 

Shakespeare said it himself, didn’t he? ‘Violent delights have violent ends’. Perhaps the name and the reference itself doomed upon a foretold tragedy. Yet, here we are. 

And it all comes back to a simple rivalry, and thus shall start like it always does. In a small  bar named ‘Verona’, always playing live music, near a college. Nothing too unusual, nothing so fancy. With a small stage. Smoking blue and purple. With a wall full of old bottles, just to adorn. A small stage with a few vintage lights hanging from the ceiling, a worn out rug, and a neon light sign which read: ‘Don’t waste your love’. 

Where people gathered to have a beer, or two in those small wooden tables, or perhaps in the green couch, nibbling on a few snacks while they listen to one of the two bands Verona offered. 

Some liked the Capulets, an all female band. Some liked the Montagues, perhaps for the handsome lead singer. Some liked both. Some liked neither. 

But Verona was the rivalry. The rivalry between the two bands was what made Verona an interesting place, or that’s what some people liked to pry upon, the well known story about two former friends, Monty and Billie ‘Cap’ who once fought almost to death and decided to each go their separate ways and declare themselves sworn enemies. 

Things hadn’t been quite the same since. Each formed their own band in an act of revelry and had tried to crush the other. The Capulets were known for their soul-crushing lyrics, meanwhile the Montagues were known for their remarkably outstanding sounds. As said before, their lead singer was quite someone that moved crowds. Pleasing to the eye. 

The Capulets had recently lost their main guitarist and a rumor of who  would join had circulated.  Monty was anxious to learn all about the new member. A war shall begin. 

In all honesty, nobody really cared about them, but both were on the edge waiting for each other's next movement. 

And in the end, they were young and naive with big wishes and hopes, with the same stupid dream that one day someone would walk in the night their gig was on and offer them the entire world. 

It was funny, how they believed so much in Verona, just a small bar, that happened to have a few legends come from. A few people said great names like Billy Joel had once played there. Drunk folks are very unreliable narrators. But not quite the most unreliable. 

Which brings us to two members of the Capulets, Georgia and Sam. The drummer and pianist, respectively. The first, a short haired, with a diverse set of earrings, a top tank and loose pants. A cigarette hung from the corner of her lips. The two of them were having a drink, knowing they would have to listen to the Montagues later, they needed some alcohol in their body to make sure they could stand the occasion. 

Some of Montague’s  crew had already arrived and were tuning in. They watched, amused. It was a fair Friday afternoon, and people were gathering already to have a beer and some chips. 

“You know, we got the Saturday gig? ”  Samantha said as she plaid with a half-full cold beer glass. Her style was more 70’s, big hair, big pants and striped shirt. “If we keep going like this we’re going to crush them.” 

“I think we should actually crush them,” said Georgia, puffing her cigarette.  “Get a whole ass piano and just dump it on them, cartoon style, y’know? Especially Tom. Gosh, I’d like to just get rid of his stupid British face. I might dislike him more than Monty.” 

Sam shrugged. “That was a great move, you’ve got to admit that.” 

“Aye, great move? Getting a pretty face just to get more audience, please,” Georgia rolled her eyes. “This should be about talent!” 

Although she knew that half the girls there were just there to see Tom. Georgia only judged them slightly. Tom was most definitely the newest sweetheart. Curls, chocolate kind eyes, and Georgia supposed he was fit. Besides, a hopeless romantic, or so the girls would say only because he had an accent. Perhaps they all believed he was the next Hugh Grant. 

“Perhaps Cap should bring in someone as beautiful, y’know? As bait.” 

Georgia rolled her eyes once again. Although it didn’t sound as stupid. And perhaps that’s why Cap had decided to bring in someone as beautiful. Although the new member, Georgia knew, was naive and had a lot to learn, she could perhaps appeal more. And besides their looks, their talent to write, Georgia knew it was most likely to appeal to Paris, the young handsome bartender, the bar’s owner's protege, who could pitch in to have them more often. 

But they were losing right now and they both knew it. How they’d manage to convince Princess Skylar to get them the next day  was beyond them. Skylar was the bar owner, or at least she presented herself as so. Even though she was just a manager she basically owned the place. She gave out the slots as long as people were buying drinks. And lately the Montagues were bringing in more money. 

Montgomery, ‘Monty’ had brought in Tom to be his new lead singer, and they’d been booking the Saturday gigs more often since. Perhaps bringing in a wider female demographic to Verona, buying pretty cocktails. Although, Georgia thought it could be now constructive for them since the male demographic had decreased and they tend to be the ones to drink more beer. Besides, one thing they could rely on was Tom having a girlfriend, so at least the girls would eventually have to give up and go back to the heart wrenching lyrics. 

“Is it me or do they sound worse each day?” Wondered Sam as she heard a hard tune. Bea, her enemy, the Montague’s pianist was a fan of only key smashing. “Whenever I listen to them I just need to run to the bathroom and puke.” 

“No, I think you should just puke on them,” Georgia said. “I’d be your number one fan.” 

Abby, the Montague’s drummer, and Georgia’s number one enemy had overheard. Georgia said her technique lacked enthusiasm. While Abby said Georgia lacked any technique. 

Both were wrong. 

“Whatcha say?” Abby questioned. “Did y’all come here to learn?” 

“Learn?” Sam stood up with her beer. “Learn how not to play, am I right Georgia?” 

Sam wasn’t good with comebacks. Georgia pulled her back down. 

Abby chuckled. “If you play like that then I won’t worry anymore.” 

“Ah,” grinned Georgia raising her own drink, vodka soda. “So you are worried. Gotcha.” 

Abby rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe you’re invited here.” 

Ben, another member of the Montagues and the reason they had a new lead singer was nearby plugging in his instrument. Not as handsome as the others, people would say, but he was peaceful. “Let them be, Abby. They can be here.” 

He often tried to ignore them, he was there for the music and the music only. He thanked Monty for giving him the chance to be there and disregarded the stupid rivalry. He was the bassist, and had become quite popular now that he was acquainted with Tom. 

He didn’t like any trouble… unlike Theodora, another member of the Capulets who was with them at the bar but had been quiet enough. It was hilarious how they often were angered by the other’s presence and yet neither tried any other place to hang out. 

Theodora searched for the trouble. Perhaps Theodora was the one to hate the most of the Montagues. All of them and especially their newest member. She was the scariest of the Capulets, impulsive and with probably some anger issues. She despised them, and wasn’t afraid to show it. 

“Eh, for sure we can be here. It’s a bloody bar. But you could try and kick us out. Don’t be such a pussy, Ben Dover,”  Theodora’s first statement was one to make heads turn.

Ben turned to look at her from his bass. “I’d rather not get tired, unlike you I care more about my music.” 

“Why does it sound like a bunch of people farting then?” Asked Sam. Again, she wasn’t good at this. 

But before he could even respond, Bea, the pianist had already begun the… fight, if you could call it one. Apparently the fart statement had been the one to bother her, funnily enough. 

She’d stormed over, yelling and screaming nonsense. Raising her hands and giving them fingers. 

Very classy.

Georgia and Sam had stood up to walk over to the stage. Bea had continued a rampage of all the cuss words she could think of and calling them out on their lack of talent and accusing them of coming here only to plagiarize their songs, to which Theodora kindly answered they couldn’t plagiarize a ‘pile of pure shit’ unless they went to the bathroom. Sam had continued with the fart insults. 

Ben only stood there watching them and trying and failing to calm them down.

Soon, the other poor customers at the bar were involved in the fight, trying to incentivize the company. Some others were drunk enough to fight with them and others just enjoyed the show. 

Billie, ‘Cap’, who had acquired the nickname from quite a young age, by making everyone call her ‘O’ cap’n my cap’n’ after making The Dead Poets Society her entire personality, had walked in along with her girlfriend, Clara. Cap was usually chill. A great leader, a great singer and a great friend. Unless, of course, you betray her. She’d been betrayed by Monty, whom she’d now nicknamed Slap-Dick. 

“Christ.” Cap muttered as soon as she saw the scene. Part of her band only raised glasses, fingers and lame insults and she was sure she’d just seen a beer can fly by. “Angel,” she turned sweetly to Clara. “Will you please hold this?” As she handed over her purse. 

“What for?” Clara questioned. 

“Yes, I might need to throw some hands— oh, how interesting, see who just walked in, the scum himself, Slap-Dick,” she greeted. 

Monty, one hand on his girlfriend’s, Maddie, waist, and one hand holding his guitar walked in. Cap scrunched her nose with disgust. 

“The fuck are you doin’ here Cap’n Crunch,” Monty snapped. “It’s our gig tonight, please get your vulgar and uncivilized twats out.” 

“I’m pretty sure your darling band if we can dare to call it that, was the one to start this,” Cap crossed her arms. Cap knew her own crew was not good at insulting. Although as she eyed Theodora she thought she may have been wrong in her initial statement. Still, she continued. “Your zoo is making all of this noise.” 

“Oh! Fuckin—.” Monty laughed but thankfully was interrupted before he could say anything that would make the show even better. 

“Stop!” Skylar had yelled, breaking a bottle against the wall as all the lights were turned off and the faint ambiance music stopped playing. She liked drama. “For fuck’s sake, stop!” 

Everyone felt the air cold, paused in the middle of the argument. The lights were turned back on, completely, leaving nothing to the imagination. It was chaos, as if a hurricane had hit the entire bar. Theodora was holding Ben by his shirt, Bea was standing on a chair, Sam and Abby just stood in front of each other. The other drunken clients just stood there awkwardly. Standing ever so slightly less elegant. 

“I’m so fucking done with this,” Skylar said. “Stop you assholes, this is the third time this month.” She made her way through the tables and snapped her fingers down twice at Bea, motioning for her to get down. “I don’t care about your stupid feud,” she continued as she snatched Theo’s hand off Ben. “ It's so stupid, you’re both terrible bands,”  she said as she walked in between Sam and Abby, separating them as both fueled with rage. “If this doesn’t stop,” she said, taking Georgia’s drink now and taking a sip for her. “And I’m talking to you both now,” she turned to watch Cap and Monty. “I’m going to cut you off, deadass. Not one more gig for either. Do you understand?”

Both tried to complain. 

“I said, do you understand?” Skylar was firm. 

“Yes, princess,” Monty hissed the nickname. Montgomery Williams was exactly the guy you’d think of when you thought of a guy who formed a band and played the lead guitar. His dark hair fell to his eyebrows and his cheeks were sucked in enough for him to be considered handsome. He was often seen with a pair of dark jeans and a new band t-shirt. A cigarette was his trademark accessory. Bulked enough but, not really. And he was often accompanied by his newest pursuit, this time, Maddie, a girl whose clothes were probably bought too tight on purpose. 

“Now, Capulets, please give me the pleasure of your kicking you out,” Skylar said

Montgomery smirked. 

“No, no, Monty, don’t get  your hopes up. They don’t play until tomorrow, so from now on whenever the other band is playing the rivals cannot step in here, otherwise I’ll fuck you up,” Skylar threatened. 

“I wanted a beer,” Cap complained earning a deathly glare from Skylar. “Fine, princess!” She took a deep breath. “Caps, let’s go get wasted at my place!” She ordered and her mates followed after. 

Skylar had her arms crossed at the entrance as they walked out and the members of the Montagues clapped. She rolled her eyes. 

“‘Lright everyone, if anyone causes another disturbance I’ll—“

“Fuck us up,” Monty finished. He clapped his hands and pushed Skylar from her shoulders back to the bar. “Absolutely, no worries, Sky, we’re very civilized and we will give you the best show tonight. We’re classy!” 

“Don’t touch me again,” was the last threat she gave before heading back to her office.

Monty gave her a fake smile and then turned to Ben. “The fuck happened?” 

Ben made his way back to the stage as he was followed by the rest of the band. “Honestly, Georgia and Sam were just here chilling. Abby overheard them and wanted to snap at them, I tried to calm them down but Theodora, you know Theodora.”

“Insane bitch, yeah.”

“Theodora just snapped and then it’s a blur,” Ben explained. 

“Fuckin’—“ Monty pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mkay, well. We can’t let them, you know, get on our nerves, that what they want, they want to get rid of us, no matter what, they don’t even care if they go down with us,” Monty said. “So, uh—yeah, especially now that Tom joined us they’re desperate.” 

His band mates only nodded with agreement. 

“And— where the hell is he?” Monty frowned, noticing just now that his lead singer was nowhere to be seen. “We play soon, that idiot,” he rubbed his face with stress. Although he loved to pride himself on being better than Cap, he was often found with insecurities because deep down he believed he wasn’t. 

Monty was especially scared now that he knew Cap was going to present her secret weapon the very next day. Why they were given a Friday instead of a Saturday was scary for him. Who had they brought in? 

Perhaps, the Tom furor was finally gone after a few weeks, considering that although more women were parading in Verona, they would soon be gone as soon as they found out Tom was not available and not willing to flirt with them. Even when Monty had encouraged it, the guy would just politely decline it. 

And now, they had the Saturday gig. The most important gig, and although Friday was next in line, he knew that important people showed up on Saturdays. Not Fridays.  

Though he didn’t blame it entirely on Tom’s reluctance to flirt. He knew Cap had pulled her cards right. And he knew it had something to do with Skylar. Had anyone slept with her? Or had they given her money? Had their songs penetrated Skylar’s walls?

Either way. They had to have their lead singer show up. He couldn’t hide his anxiety as he approached the microphones, tapping slightly on them to try them. 

Ben coughed, watching him. 

“Ben?” Monty’s eyes widened. “Where is he?”

“Look, I haven’t heard of him since the morning,” Ben explained. 

Monty furrowed his eyebrows. 

“He did text me he would be here, but.” 

“But what?” 

“Him and Rosie broke up so he might not be feeling well, he told me he was devastated. He told me he was getting a drink before.” 

Monty heard the news. His lead singer had broken up and was devastated on a Friday night gig. Where they had to sing silly love songs and hard beats. Songs that would be ruined if not sung with the right emotion. Songs that could potentially be ruined if sung drunkenly. 

But…

“Are you telling me that…” Monty approached the mic, tapping it to make sure everyone heard him. “Did I hear that right Ben?”

“Monty.” Ben shut his eyes closed. 

“Did you just tell me our  handsome, British, sweetheart, muscly  lead singer is single now?” He questioned with a smirk knowing he’d gotten the attention. 

“Monty.” 

“Did you just tell me that?” Monty pushed. “Is Tom single?”

Ben shook his head annoyed. “Yes, Monty.” 

Monty smirked as he turned to the crowd. “Ladies… and no, actually, just the ladies, you just heard it! Our lead singer is recently single so I will need all of you to give him a warm welcome when he’s here, he’s going to need a lot of love. Will you guys help me with it?” 

And for now, he knew, he was back again at the race. 

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tags: @lnmp89 @blondygwendy @dangerousluv1 @love-granger @kikiwritesfanfics @astoldbydanid @erodasghosts @peterdarlingg @hollandweather @annathesillyfriend @mannien

[callmemana]

James Bucky Barnes: Fanfic 1

Key: smut -🍓/fluff -🌼/angst -🐂/personal fav -👓/

A Little Superstition @jadedvibes 🌼 (college athlete au)

A Million Reasons Series @perpetuelledaydreaming 🍓🌼🐂(college athlete au)

Accidentally In Love Series @creativebeang 🍓🌼🐂👓

Awake My Soul Series @foreverindreamlandd 🍓🌼🐂 (zombie au)

Baby Love, I Need Your Love @shortcakezaza 🍓🌼👓 (mafia!bucky x baker!reader au)

Bad Intentions Series @itsanerdlife 🌼🐂👓 (mafia! au|Ch. 1/30)

Broken Knights Series @itsanerdlife (mafia! au|Ch. 1/30) 🍓🌼🐂👓

Brotherhood & Bullets Series @rookthorne 🍓🌼🐂 (biker!au)

Brooklyn Pride Series @rookthorne 🍓🌼🐂(street racer!au)

Cruel Intentions Series @itsanerdlife 🌼🐂👓 (mafia! au|Ch. 1/24|sequel to bad intentions)

Chemistry 2 @onceuponastory 🌼🐂👓 (danceteacher!bucky au)

Firebug Series @areyoureadyforsomemeatballz 🍓🌼🐂👓 (firefighter!au)

Forever @onceuponastory 🌼🐂👓

For Love of the Game Series @perpetuelledaydreaming 🍓🌼🐂👓 (baseball!au)

Heat on High Mini Series @tom-holland-parker 🍓🌼🐂👓 (firefighter!bucky x singlemom!r)

His Empire, Her Rules Series @rookthorne 🍓🌼🐂 (mafia!au)

I Think I Met You In My Dreams Once Series @frostironfudge 🌼🐂👓 (ex!military! x +sized!reader)

In Seven Years @perpetuelledaydreaming 🌼🐂👓 (baseball au {mentions of pregnancy})

In The Embers Series @foreverindreamlandd 🌼🐂 (+sized!Rogers!reader)

Inked Sun Series @rookthorne 🍓🌼🐂 (tattoo!artist!au)

It Comes Back To Me 2 @frostironfudge 🍓🌼🐂👓(lawyer! Bucky)

It Started with a Smile Series @writing-for-marvel 🌼🐂👓 (regency/bridgerton!au)

It Takes Two @jessybarnes 🍓🌼👓 (pregnant!reader)

It Was Always You @ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused 🍓🌼🐂(+sized!reader)

Last Night’s Story Series @the-canary 🍓🌼🐂👓(stripper!bucky au)

Like I Want You 2 @tmpestuous (college au)

Lieutenant Smolder Series @baezen 🍓🌼🐂👓 (firefighter!au)

Love & Lace Series @itsanerdlife 🌼🐂 (mob!Bucky x burlesque!reader|1/24)

Moth to the Flame Series @tmpestuous (college au/ enemies to lovers au)

Our Life Series @creativebeang 🍓🌼🐂

Out Of Mind @rassvetsky 🌼🐂👓

Part Of A Family @onceuponastory 🍓🌼🐂 (singlemom!reader)

Promises @jadedvibes 🍓🌼🐂 (soft!dark! 1940’s bucky)

Playing Games Series @itsanerdlife 🌼🐂👓 (tw: S/A|HS au|1/28)

Save Me Mini Series @espinosaurusrexex 🍓🌼🐂 (college au)

Scars Series @chickenfics 🌼🐂👓 (western au)

Something Domestic Series @fandoms-writings 🌼🐂👓 (ex-military amputee farmer Bucky)

Something More Series @tellmealovestory 🍓🌼🐂👓 (fwb/situation-ship au)

Shattered Pieces Series @itsanerdlife 🌼🐂 (fighter!bucky|1/20)

Silhouettes in the Spotlight Series @frostironfudge 🍓🌼🐂👓 (actor Bucky x plus sized reader)

Six Months Series @creativebeang 🌼🐂 (explicit themes 18+)

Ties That Bind Series @itsanerdlife 🌼🐂👓 (MC|ch. 1/32)

The Best Man Series @glutenfreepeach 🍓🌼🐂👓 (dark themes 18+)

The Sargent’s Heart Series @foreverindreamlandd 🌼🐂 (+sized!reader)

The Time of the Prey Series @subwaysurf45 🍓🌼🐂 (Knight Bucky x Princess Reader)

The Unseen One Series @extremelyblackandwhite 🌼🐂 (hades!au)

Wrangling Forever Series @itsanerdlife 🌼🐂👓 (farm hand Bucky au|1/10)

Whatever It Takes Series @angrythingstarlight 🍓🌼🐂 (mafia!au)

Where Do We Go From Here Series @sebastianstansqueen 🌼🐂👓 (mafia!au)

I Wanna Be Yours @theeleggymeggy 🍓🌼🐂 (besties to lovers!au)

[lnfours]

sideline (one) | t.h

summary -> tom holland: the name thats always floating around campus, and for good reason. he’s the captain of the hockey team, he’s good looking, and he’s always caught up in an off and on again relationship with the president of the sorority. that’s where you come in. you two had made a deal to make your exes jealous, but we all know how fake relationships end.

wc -> an introductory 3.1k :)

warnings -> mentions of being cheated on, drinking, and language.

🎵 spotify playlist | 📖 prev/next chapter | 📂 masterlist

                                 ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

summer had gone by in a blink of an eye, and before you knew it, it was fall. the start of junior year, the second to last year of your college education. the year where almost everyone starts to realize ‘oh, this shit is real’ and really whip themselves into shape. 

you had gotten back to your off campus house before your two other roommates. you had met the two other girls you now call best friends during your freshman year. there was sarah, who was your roommate your first year, and mia, who was your neighbor in the dorms.

you enjoyed being the first one to the house. you could move in your stuff peacefully without having the other girl’s stuff in the way. plus, you could play music as loud as you wanted to. that is, with the exception of the open window and the other students looking up towards your room whenever they walked by. 

and of course, just like it was last year, once the others girls arrived: chaos ensued. 

“oh my god, the hockey team is throwing a party tonight,” mia practically yelled from the kitchen, “we have to go!”

mia was the wild child, the party animal out of the three of you. sarah was a lot more like you, someone who would rather stay at home and watch a good movie than go out to a party. however, over the past couple semesters, mia has gotten you more out of your shell.

which she may or may not take a little for granted on some occasions.

you shook your head, “hell no.”

“why not?” she frowned. you rolled your eyes. 

“because if the hockey team is throwing a party then you know, about 99.9% of the time, taylor and her posse are gonna be there.”

taylor harrison, the president of the sorority and the literal definition of daddy’s money. she's the type of girl who gets what she wants when she wants it, and if she doesn't then all hell brakes loose.

it didn't help that she was the girl every guy had their eye on. the girl, that for some reason, every girl wanted to be approved by her and be her friend. you couldn't understand why someone would want to get sucked into her toxic, little circle. 

“besides,” you shrugged, “jack and i have plans.”

the two other girls sent you playful looks, “plans?”

“oh, shut up.”

jack had been your boyfriend since the beginning of last year. the two of you were in the same class, he sat next to you and the rest is history. it was cliche and something that happens to everyone, but you could tell that it was different with him.

“well then,” mia sighed, looking over at sarah, “i guess you’re forced into going to the party this time.”

sarah groaned, “seriously? there’s a new episode of drag race i need to watch.”

mia gave her a look, “i’ll buy you coffee for a week.”

sarah rolled her eyes before looking back over at you, watching as you slowly backed away from the conversation, “you owe me.”

you laughed, hand on the knob to the front door, “sorry! gotta go!”

you quickly left the house before you were convinced to skip out on jack and go to the party too. you made your way towards the campus apartment buildings, giving small smiles to a couple of the familiar faces that passed you. you had made your way through the group of people in the quad, going inside the building and heading for the stairs. 

you reached his apartment door and knocked, but there was no answer. you waited a couple seconds as you heard shuffling from the other side of the door.

you knocked again, “jack?”

with no answer yet again, you reached for the door knob and turned it slowly, but you wish you hadn’t. you watched as a red headed girl held her shirt up, covering her chest and as jack froze in place in front of the door, shirtless with hickeys littering his collarbone. 

you didn't know what to say, or how to react as the girl turned around and put her shirt on. 

“y/n, baby, this isn’t what it looks like-“

you cut him off with a hard slap across his face. the red headed girl gasped quietly. you sent her a look. 

“don’t you have somewhere to be?”

she gathered her things quickly before talking to jack before she pushed past you, “i’ll call you?”

he didn’t answer her, just stood there looking at you. you watched her leave as she quickly made her way towards the staircase at the end of the hall, disappearing behind other people. 

“how could you?” you asked, your voice breaking as tears threatened to spill over your eyes. 

“i’m sorry-“

“don't,” you mumbled, “we’re done.”

he watched as you turned away from him, walking towards the stairs. you ignored his calls to come back as tears spilled out of your eyes and onto the tile of the hallway. 

you took out your phone, sending a text to the groupchat with mia and sarah. 

y/n change of plans, not going to jacks.  you guys at the party yet?

sarah unfortunately what happened with jack?

y/n  ill explain when i get there 

mia YAY Y/NS COMING TO THE PARTY!!! 

you locked your phone, shoving it into the back pocket of your jeans as you made your way towards the house party. most of the guys on the hockey team had done the same thing as you and your friends, they had decided to share a house off campus. it was the hotspot for all the parties and they were known to throw the best of them. 

you walked up the path, people sitting outside with drinks in their hands as music boomed from inside the house. you made your way through the door, looking for sarah and mia, but they were nowhere to be found. 

you sighed, making your way to the kitchen instead. you went through the different alcohols and mixed up some kind of concoction into your cup, gulping it down before reaching for another alcohol. you poured a heavy amount, someone walking into the kitchen and coming up next to you, grabbing a can of soda. 

“damn, rough day?” 

you instantly knew that accent. tom holland. the captain of the hockey team, the hottest guy on campus.

and taylor harrington’s boyfriend. or ex boyfriend. it really depended on how she felt that day. 

“you could say that.”

he watched as you mixed the vodka with a can of soda. you didn’t tense at his gaze, didn’t immediately want to keep his interest. but something about you made his eyes linger a little longer than he would’ve done with anyone else. 

“you alright?” he asked, still watching as you sipped the drink from your cup. you made eye contact this time, nodding as you swallowed. 

“not really, but it’s not like you necessarily care, right?” 

you didn’t mean to sound like an ass, but you really didn’t want to deal with taylor’s bitching if she saw you talking to tom. you were pretty sure that if she were to say something to you right now, you’d rip the overpriced extensions out of her bleach blonde head. 

“i mean if you’re upset about something, i think it’s best if you talk about it. especially ‘cause it looks like you’ve been crying.”

why's he so nice?

“and what? talk to you about my problems? no thanks.”

he shrugged, leaning against the counter, “can’t say i didn’t try.”

you took another sip before looking back at him. you didn’t mean for your eyes to linger around his jawline, but god he was hot. any girl, or guy, would say the same thing. he was easy on the eyes, extremely good at his sport and he got near perfect grades. he literally checked all the boxes.

that’s when you noticed something was missing, “where’s your barbie girlfriend and her minions?” 

he laughed, “not a clue, could care less to be honest with you.”

you raised an eyebrow, “what? did she break up with you for the 30th time today because you didn’t get her a chanel bag?”

he smiled, “nah, i broke up with her. caught her sleeping with this other guy.”

your eyes widened, mentally cursing yourself for being such a dick, “oh, uhm- i’m sorry.”

“no, it’s okay-“

“it’s not, because i know what it feels like,” you said, your eyes meeting his brown ones, “it sucks.”

“how long ago, if you don’t mind me asking?”

you looked down at your phone, glancing at the time, “about forty-five minutes ago.”

his eyes widened softly, “shit, i’m sorry.” 

you shrugged, “what can you do, right?”

he nodded, “suppose you’re right.”

it was quiet for a couple seconds before he spoke up again, “is there a part of you that kinda wants them to be jealous? like see you with someone else and be like ‘damn, i shouldn’t have fucked that up’? or is it just me?” 

you thought about it for a second. thought about the look on jack’s face if he were to see you with someone else, if he would even react. you thought about rubbing it into his face that you found someone better, someone who would never betray your trust. 

“yeah,” you nodded, “now that you mention it.”

your conversion was interrupted when mia and sarah made their way into the kitchen, “y/n! there you are!”

you smiled at sarah, clearly seeing a very drunk mia.

“hey,” sarah said, “so what happened with jack?”

“it’s a long story, i’ll explain later,” you said, grabbing the bottle of tequila out of mia’s hands, “let’s put that down, yeah?” 

“but ‘m not even drunk!” you were surprised you were able to make out the sentence from how slurred her words were. 

you chuckled, “trust me, you are,” you looked over at sarah, “we should head back to the house.”

she nodded back at you, agreeing. tom spoke up once again, “hey, i could give you guys a ride back to your house.”

you waved him off, smiling politely, “no, it’s okay. it’s not that far of a walk.”

“no, no, i insist,” he said, fishing his keys out of his pocket, “just tell me how to get there.”

you looked at him, “you’re sober?”

“yeah,” he said, “i don’t really drink.”

you nodded to him, knowing he wouldn’t take no for an answer. you let sarah and mia walk in front of you, tom on your left. he walked up to a group of guys that you assumed to be his house and teammates. 

“hey, i’ll be back in a little.”

“sounds good, man.”

he nodded towards the door, placing his hand on the small of your back to lead you through the crowd. as you pushed through with tom following behind, you noticed the looks that got thrown your way.

of course everyone’s eyes were on you, you were walking with tom holland, who had his hand on your back. of course it looked a little bit conspicuous to anyone who was watching.

once you were outside, he unlocked the audi that was sitting in the driveway, mia and sarah filing into the backseat as you climbed into the passenger side. 

“so, where to, ladies?”

“we’re on lincoln, in one of the off campus houses.” sarah said, letting mia lean her head on her shoulder. 

he nodded, putting the car in reverse. the music softly playing from the speakers as you found yourself staring out the window, losing yourself in thought as tom made small conversation with sarah in the back. 

“hey,” his voice directed towards you as it pulled you out of your train of thought, “you alright?”

you looked over at him, sending him a tight lipped smile and a nod, “yeah.”

“you sure?” he looked back over at you before looking at the road in front of him, “you’re not a very good liar.”

you sighed, “just thinking about what you mentioned earlier, you know the whole ‘making my shitty ex jealous’ thing.”

he nodded, “yeah, it’s just the coming up with something that would bother them that’s the hard part.”

you nodded in agreement, looking back out the window. you started thinking of ways that you could make it look like you were doing so much better than jack, something that would instantly make him regret cheating on you. 

that’s when it hit you.

“a fake relationship!” you said, tom’s attention turning back to you. 

his eyebrows were furrowed, “what?”

“you know, get into a fake relationship with someone. you go out and pretend that the two of you are dating, the other person would obviously know it’s fake, and the both of you could benefit from the ‘relationship’. the best thing about it is that no one else would know you're not together, only the two of you.” 

he nodded, “doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“of course it doesn’t, because i came up with it,” you smirked, “and i’m the mastermind.”

he let out a chuckle as you pointed to your house, telling him he could just pull up in front of it. he did as you had asked, pulling in front of the house and unlocking the doors so the three of you could get out. 

“thanks for the ride, tom!” sarah smiled, helping mia out of the car as she led her towards the house. 

“anytime.”

you watched your roommates from where you were standing by the open car door. once you saw they were inside, you looked back at him. 

“thanks for letting me vent,” you smiled, “and for the ride, too,” you tucked a piece of hair behind your hair as the wind softly blew it in front of your face, "you know, she really ruined your reputation."

he smiled from the drivers side, “i’ve heard that more than you think.”

you smiled back, “thanks again.”

“always.”

you closed the door to the car softly, making your way to the front door. you had noticed he stayed in the car, making sure you made it to the door okay. you sent him a small wave as you closed the door, locking it and turning off the outside light.  

you leaned up against the wooden frame, looking back at your grinning roommates, “what?”

“tom freaking holland just drove us home because of you!” mia said, “how did that even happen?!”

you rolled your eyes, “nothing happened. nothings happening, okay? we’re just in the same situation.”

“oh, yeah,” sarah said as you made your way into the kitchen, “what happened with jack?”

you took a deep breath as you grabbed a water bottle, the two girls anxiously waiting for you to tell them why you were so upset.

“i uh, i went over to his apartment and he was fucking another girl,” you said, both of their mouths dropping open, “and i broke up with him.” 

“i’m so sorry,” mia said, “he didn’t deserve you.”

“what a dick!” sarah rolled her eyes, both of the girls walking over and wrapping you in a group hug, “we love you.”

you smiled, “i love you guys.”

                                 ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“what, so are they broken up or are they dating still?” you asked, watching whatever reality show sarah had put on the living room tv. she shrugged her shoulders.

“not really sure.”

“if i was her, i’d break up with him.” mia said from her side of the couch. sarah nodded her head, pointing at her as a silent way of saying she made a point. 

there was a knock on the door, pulling all of you away from the show. you got up from your seat, putting your drink down, “i got it.” 

you walked over to the front door, unlocking it as you peeked open the door. you opened it the rest of the way as you smiled at the brunette boy in front of you. 

“stalker much?” you joked and he let out a soft laugh.

“hello to you, too,” he joked back at you, “do you have a minute? i uh... have to talk to you about something.”

you nodded, letting him inside the house. sarah and mia watched from the living room, eyebrows raised as you shut the door. 

“hey, tom!”

he smiled back at the girls in the living room, sending them a small wave as they sent you a look. you waved your hand in front of your neck, telling them to cut it out. 

“we’re going upstairs.” you grabbed tom’s arm, pulling him away from the looks your friends were sending. he followed you up the wooden steps and into your room. he looked around at your room as you closed the door. 

you sat cris-cross on the bed, waving towards the desk chair and the bed, “you can sit wherever.”

he nodded, opting for the desk chair, “thanks.”

you sent him a soft smile, “so, what’s up?”

“so, i’ve been thinking about what you said in the car last night, the whole ‘fake dating’ thing,” he started, taking a pause to make sure you understood what he was talking about. when you nodded, he continued, “what if we 'fake-dated' each other? i mean, i know it’s kind of crazy beings we barely know each other, but you said it’s better to choose someone who knows it’s fake and someone who could also benefit from it. plus, you said you wanted to make your ex jealous too. you check all of the boxes.”

you raised an eyebrow, “i… i uh-“

“i know, i'm sorry to just kind of throw it all onto you at once, but i’ve been thinking about it since last night. i mean, you are the mastermind, right?” he smirked and you rolled your eyes playfully. 

at the end of the day, how bad could it be?

“what if i say no?”

he was silent for a second, “i didn’t really think you’d be opposed.”

you let out a sigh, why am i doing this? 

“okay, fine, you have a deal,” you extended your hand out for him to shake, when he reached for it, you pulled your hand back. he shot you a confused look.

“however, we’re doing it by my rules.”

he shook your hand, “deal.”

you pointed to the notepad and the pen on your desk, “can you hand me that, please?”

he nodded, grabbing the paper and pen off the desk. you turned to a blank page, writing at the top of the page. 

fake dating rules:

“okay, number one,” you said, tapping the pen against the notebook as you thought about the first rule. when it came to your mind, you immediately started writing it down, “no strings attached. this is simply just to get back at our shitty exes.”

he nodded, “oh, you have to come to my games and the hockey team parties. gotta make it look like you’re an actual supportive girlfriend.”

"the games i'm alright with, but the parties?" you scrunched your face up. he gave you a look, but softened when he came to an agreement.

"okay, not all of them, but most of them."

you rolled your eyes, "fine."

you wrote down what he said as rule number two, “anything else?”

“one ‘date’ per week. we get to know more about each other so it doesn’t seem suspicious to anyone we talk to about our ‘relationship’.”

you wrote it down, adding the last rule in all capital letters and underlined it, “no one knows it’s a fake relationship. absolutely no one.”

he nodded in agreement, watching as you made makeshift signature lines. you passed him the notebook as he let out a soft laugh, taking the pen from your grip. he signed on his line, your signature going next to his. 

“so it’s settled, girlfriend.” you smiled, “it’s settled, boyfriend.”

                               ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

💌 beings my tagged list has gotten so long that tumblr literally won't let me add it, the tagged list is temporarily closed until i can figure it out. in the meantime, be sure to follow and turn on notifications for @toms-gf to be notified whenever i post imagines :)

xoxo, jordan

[waitimcomingtoo]

SLUT!

chapter three: you and me would be a big conversation

series masterlist

The next few weeks of your relationship involved a lot of sneaking around.

You didn’t want your reputation to get any worse than it already was and being seen with a guy was definitely not going to do you any favors. To avoid the public scrutiny for at least a little while, you kept your dates to places far from campus or Peters favorite, his dorm room.

“I’m knocking on the door.” Ned said loudly from the other side of the door as he knocked repeatedly. Peter stopped kissing you and picked his head up to look at the door.

“We can hear you, Ned.” He sighed as you slid out from under him to sit up on the bed.

“I am opening the door.” Ned announced and then proceeded to fumbled with his room key for the next few minutes as you and Peter sat in silence.

“We know.” You said through a laugh. Ned finally got the door open but had both hands over his eyes and his room key in his mouth.

“Is everyone decent?” Ned asked.

“Yes.” Peter groaned. “Take your hands away from your eyes.”

Ned slowly lowered his hands and sighed in relief when he saw that everyone was fully clothed. You waved at Ned and he smiled as if just realizing you were in the room.

“Hello Y/n.” He said politely.

“Hi Ned. How was Spanish?” You asked him.

“Muy bueno. Gracias. How was fornicating with my childhood best friend?” Ned asked casually.

“What’s fornicating?” You asked Peter as he burned bright red.

“It means sex. And that’s not what was happening.” Peter said and gave Ned a look that told him to stop.

“Oh, really? Tell that to the hickie on your neck.” Ned snorted. Peter covered his forming hickie and looked at you sheepishly.

“Sorry.” You laughed shyly. “I’m a biter.”

“So I’ve heard.” Ned said as he plopped down at his desk. Your smile immediately dropped and Peter was quick to notice.

“I should go.” You faked a smile and hoped off Peters bed.

“Way to go, Ned.” Peter whispered harshly as you left the room. Peter followed you down the hallway and tugged you by the back of your shirt.

“Wait up.” He said as you turned around. You smiled tightly and folded your arms before looking at him.

“What’s up?”

“I’m sorry about him. He didn’t mean that maliciously. He’s just a little dumb.” Peter explained.

“It’s okay. Everyone says it. Why can’t he?” You shrugged it off but Peter could tell you were still upset. He pulled you in and hugged you as he pressed a few kisses to the side of your head.

“I wish we had more privacy. Not that it isn’t exciting to make out until we heard the dulcent sounds of Ned fumbling for his room key.” Peter joked. You smiled as an idea came to you and pulled away from Peter a little to look at him.

“I want to take you somewhere tonight.”

“Oh?” Peter raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“Do you have swim trunks?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Meet me at the old brick building at 7. Don’t be late.” You booped his nose and started to walk away.

“What are we doing?” He called after you.

“You’ll see!” You called back.

At 6:51 that night, Peter stood outside the brick building in his swim trucks and a T shirt. He was freezing since it was mid November now but his anticipation kept him warm. You came around the building in an oversized shirt and smiled when you saw Peter.

“You’re early.” You grinned and hugged him.

“So are you.”

“I am. We’re so alike.”

“We’re nothing alike.” Peter laughed as he rubbed his hand up and down on your back.

“Oh, right. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.” You shrugged and pulled him inside the building. You took the elevator to the basement and led Peter by the hand to an indoor pool. Moonlight was spilling in through tiny windows all along the walls, making the pool light up a pretty shade of aquamarine.

“Woah!” Peter gasped. “This school has a pool?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you see this on your tour?” You asked as you pulled off your t shirt.

“I never toured. They were the only other school to give me full ride so this is where I came.”

“Remind me to show you around. After we go for a swim.” You chuckled and jumped into the water. Peter pulled his shirt off but stood nervously at the edge of the pool.

“Come in! It’s not cold.” You said as you emerged from the water. Peter took a deep breath and jumped in, immediately feeling the chill.

“That’s really cold. You liar!” Peter said through chattering teeth.

“I know. I just wanted you in.” You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck. You pulled him into a long kiss that warmed Peter right up.

“Ignore my blue lips, please.” He said once he pulled away.

“It’s okay. You’ll warm up soon. Especially if you keep close to me.” You smirked and wrapped your legs around his waist.

“I can do that.” He replied and wrapped his arms around you. You floated around the pool for a while and engaged in a race or two. After a while, Peter noticed a pensive look on your face and swam over to you.

“What’s on your mind?” He wondered.

“I have to admit something.” You said sheepishly.

“Oh? Spill.”

“When we first started hanging out, I was worried you only liked me because you heard I was easy.” You admitted with a certain sadness in your eyes. Peter made a face that you were crazy which made you feel better.

“No. I had no idea. I just thought you were nice. That’s why I liked you.” He told you.

“It’s been a really long time since someone has called me “nice”.” You smiled and didn’t realize how much it would mean to you to be called something other than a slut.

“You are nice. The people on campus don’t you. But I do.” Peter assured you.

“I know you do. It feels good to be known for me and not for some stupid rumors that people made up.” You told him. You stared at each for a moment of quiet understanding. Neither of you had felt truly seen by another person until meeting the other.

“I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you.” You said quietly.

“I feel that way too.” Peter smiled softly and pulled you through the water to hold you.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” You said before pulling him into a kiss. Peter wrapped one arm around your waist and used his free hand to wrap your legs around him. He then slipped his hand behind your head to deepen the kiss. He didn’t know where this confidence was coming but he was going with it.

“Wait.” You said suddenly and pushed him back.

“Sorry. I’m moving too fast.” Peter apologized and put his hands behind his head to keep them off you.

“No, it’s not that. I just think if we get caught making out in this pool we’re not supposed to be in then you’d probably lose your scholarship.” You laughed, making Peter relax.

“Right.” He smiled. “Because I’m poor and smart.”

“We should probably go.” You said and pointed to the ladder to get out.

“Oh. Yeah.” Peter agreed and tried to hide his disappointment that the night was over.

“Together, though.” You added, drawing a smile out of Peter. You dried off with the towels in the locker room before throwing your clothes back on. Once you were dressed, you brought Peter back to your dorm room.

“My roommate went home for the weekend.” You told him as you flipped the light switch on. Peter had never been in your room before so he took his time looking around at all the little things you used to decorate. He noticed your posters and pictures of your friends from high school taped up above your stuffed animals.

“Woah. I’ve never been in the girls dorm before.” Peter smiled as he picked up a plush dog off your bed.

“It’s not that exciting.” You chuckled and snatched the dog from him.

“I promise, I feel very excited right now.” He replied as he sat down on your bed. Girls rooms always smelled so much better than boys and he could sniff out the faint smell of peppermint in the air. You smirked at him and opened the mini fridge to take out a can of ginger ale. You poured it into two little cups and handed him one.

“Clink, clink.” You said and hit your cup against his. In the lighting of your room, Peter was finally able to notice that you weren’t wearing any makeup from the trip to the pool.

“You look pretty with no makeup.” Peter said as it was his first time seeing you undone like this. You laughed as if that was ridiculous and covered your face a little with your hand, which Peter then moved. You looked at him and stopped trying to hide as you no longer felt you had to.

“So do you.” You gently teased him as you leaned in. Peter put his cup down on a nearby dresser and used his recently freed hand to pull you into his lap. He slid his hands up and down your back as you tangled your fingers in his chlorine dampened curls. Something gave you the nerve to push him back into your bed and you both fell back without breaking the kiss. Peter kept his hands in a respectful placement on your hips like the gentleman he was. You pulled away only to catch your breath but ended up getting distracted by Peters pretty face. You traced your fingernail in circles on his cheek and felt him blush under your touch.

“I got pool water on your pillow.” Peter said in a soft voice. You smiled and leaned down to rub your nose against his.

“It’s okay. I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”

“I can wash them for you if you want so that you don’t have to sleep on dirty sheets.” Peter offered, giving you an idea.

“I mean, if they’re already dirty, we might as well put them to go use.” You said and leaned down to kiss him again. This kiss was slower and sent butterflies flying into your stomach. Peter picked up on what you were trying to say and felt excitement building up inside him in anticipation of your first time together. You’d never gone further than making out and he was eager to take your relationship to the next level. You could feel Peter pushing your hips down into him and quickly pulled away.

“Sorry.” You said at the same time. Peter could sense you were hesitant to continue so he propped himself up on his elbows to give you some space. You sat up in your elbows as well and gave him a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated. “I know I’m the one that started that but I think I changed my mind. I don’t know if I’m ready to go all the way yet. I’m sorry if I lead you on.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Peter assured you. “You can change your mind anytime you want at any moment you need to. And I don’t know if I was ready for it either. I just got excited.”

“No, I was too. I just don’t want us to move too fast if that’s okay? I don’t want to mess things up by rushing into anything because I really like you and I want us to last.”

“Of course that’s okay. You can always tell me what pace you feel comfortable with. And I really like you too. We can take our time together, okay?” Peter smiled softly at you as he took your hand. You looked at your intertwined hands and realized this was the first time you felt completely safe around a boy.

“You know, Peter, in a world of boys, you really are a gentleman.” You said through a tired laugh.

“Can you tell that to my aunt when you meet her? Because she’s convinced I’m a delinquent since I stopped wearing a belt.”

“I’ll tell her.” You laughed and laid down on your bed. Peter laid beside you and rested his head on your heart. You immediately tangled your hands on his hair and played with it the way he liked.

“She’ll like you. I know she will. I gotta get my two girls together one day.” Peter said in a soft voice.

“I hope she likes me. You were primarily raised by her, right?”

“For the last few years, yeah. She’s the best.”

“I bet she it.” You replied. “It would explain why you turned out the way you did.”

“What do you mean?”’ Peter chuckled and looked up at you.

“I mean you’re so sensitive and caring of others around you. I mean, look at us. You met me on your first day here and decided to tutor me just because you saw a stranger was struggling. And I see the way you take care of Ned. Remember that night he was homesick so you made us all watch that weird movie with the sexy horse from when you guys were kids?”

“Hey, Spirit is not a weird movie.” Peter playfully defended. “It’s an underrated classic with a phenomenal soundtrack.”

“Okay, whatever you say.” You chuckled. “All I’m saying is, she raised you right. In a world of boys, you’re a gentleman.”

“I try to be. You deserve a gentleman.” He said and picked his head up to stare at you. You smiled softly and brushed his hair off his forehead before taking his chin and brining his face closer to kiss him.

“Thanks for being gentle with me.” You whispered.

Peter returned the smiled and kissed you again before resting his head back down on your chest. You played with his hair until he fell asleep and then turned off the lights.

Tag List 💋

@breadglasses @hollandweather @cashtons-wife @scenesofobx @trumanbluee

@classygladiatortidalwave @miwagila @sarcasm-and-stiles @hitoshislut @misspascalpunk

@buckylovinglokivariant @betzabobababi

@eterjas @pleasingregulus @avatarjuno @dreamingofts18 @diorrgrl @anarchistsons

@crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @erule @justsomebodyweird @un06 @tom-hollands-wifey

@bellajg21 @madlyinlovewmattmurd0ck @secretly-a-cold-blooded-murderer

@ferrjulie @kitykatnumber @angelayse @cleosertoriooc @iamdedsthingz

@girls-and-guts @tomshufflepuff @lovely-blackinnon @matchafrappeidm

@xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @kneelforloki @xorderedkaosx @dory-98 @okayiamkassandra

[rubydubydoo122]

I give you an idea: Batfam actor au

All of them are actors in a TV show.

You could actually explain Jason's death as his actor wanting to take a break from his acting career to focus on his day to day life. Maybe he went to college. And then years later he is asked to come back to the show as a cameo, but fans loved him so much, they asked him to become a permanent member of the cast again

I see you, and I raise, you: There was still a vote, and they voted for Jason to Die, and then Jason went off to live a normal life, but he had a glowup, came back for a cameo, and a lot of fans were regretting the decision to fridge him lmao.

Dick was really sexualized by the fandom growing up, so his advice to Jason to combat that was to be a little less appealing to the audience. (and it wasn't like Jason wasn't cute when he was younger, he just wasn't Dick Grayson, but Jason would take being hated by the fandom than having random pedos dox him)

But by the time Tim came around, they did the thing where they had like... an 18 yr old playing a 14 yr old (Tom Holland with Spiderman), (The Tim actor and the Jason Actor would probably be around the same age)

I love this idea, and it's giving this one Voltron Au that I read where they were all the actors of their characters and the Keith and Lance actors were Dating, but then they broke up, and Keith took a break from the show because he couldn't be around Lance, and that was his time with the Blade or whatever.

(Am i about to write another fic?)

[merrellholland]

Not So Bad After All → P.Parker AU

HEYYYY YALL; its been a minute and I am sooooo sorry LMAO. I promise to get back into my writing era <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Person: Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

AU: college hockey player, frat boy, still spider-man in secret

Words: 2.4k

Warning: swearing, slight bullying (but nothing too deep)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Never in my life would I expect to have been dressed up in the most stinky and bulky fury suit… yet, here I am dressed as Sparky the Eagle. I was currently a junior at Empire State University located in beautiful New York, and throughout the years I may have found myself in a bit of a dilemma. 

Money was never an easy task for my family and I, in fact I got into this school with a huge scholarship to help support my financial needs. Despite that, I still needed to pay some tuition fees and that meant that I needed a job. This isn’t my first rodeo though, back home I had many jobs all at the same time during high school in order to help my mom with paying bills. The only hard part was trying to find a job in New York, a place that I’ve never been to until I started my first semester at Empire State. 

As I’ve completed the first two years and am now currently in my third, I’ve noticed the major stereotypical things for a college on T.V were coming to real life. The sorority girls were straight-up obnoxious and cruel to other girls who weren’t part of their sorority house, the frat boys were shirtless 24/7 while playing beer pong and having girls in bikinis all over their front yards of their gigantic frat house every Friday, and lastly the sport-frat boys. These guys were a whole different level of frat boys, and I’ve learned that very early on. These guys? Not only were they known for their handsome looks but most of these guys were going to real professional sports leagues after college, and we all know how that goes for them… in terms of love life. 

All the girls (and some guys) would be over, flirting constantly with them and not really taking interest in their sport but rather their six-pack abs and looks.  

As much as it pains me to say the cliche phrase “not like other girls” it's true. I really wasn't like the other girls swooning over these guys 24/7 and attending their friday night parties after classes were done. I was more the type of person who would prefer to finish homework and then cozy up with some blankets and a classic 2010’s rom-com. 

But now I can’t even do that since my new job requires me to be at the ice rink every week on Fridays from 6-9pm. Six to nine! That’s three hours of prime time that I could be doing homework! And that’s not even the worst part,my job was that I had to be the mascot for the ice-hockey team during their games and interacting with the fans. The Empire State hockey team was one of the best in the college leagues throughout the nation and most players got into the NHL as soon as they graduated. 

And now I’m their mascot, well I dress up as their mascot and that means getting a big sweaty and gross costume every Friday for 3-4 hours… great. Not that I could complain though, since surprisingly the pay wasn’t that bad due to the fact that you’re a student. Today was my first day on the job. The Empire Eagles were playing against the Cornell Big Red’s today and it was a home game so many students were going to attend. 

After I arrived at the rink, the manager handed me the keys to the supply storage room to change into the eagle costume. Getting into that costume was a full ass workout, the smell is something I’ve never smelt before and the amount I was sweating was unbearable. Nevertheless, I got into that God awful attire and headed outside to the ice-rink. The coolness of the air inside did help a little, but I could still feel the beads of sweat trickling down my face. 

My manager told me to practice walking on the ice with the costume since during the halftime break you had to collect all the tokens of appreciation from the fans as they threw it onto the rink from their seats. I slowly walked onto the ice with my giant eagle feet and waddled back and forth to try to get used to it before the game started, I practiced bending down to pick up the gifts  in character and tried to come up with some signature eagle moves… might as well have some fun with it righ–

“Yo excuse me but the rink is for the players to practice right now.” 

I quickly snapped my head to look behind me and– 

Great. A sport-frat boy. 

Peter Parker was someone that was greatly known throughout the university, top GPA, great looks, apparently great in the bedroom (so I’ve heard), and was the centerman for the Empire Eagles hockey team. Though I’ve never really paid attention to him. And as much as I wanted to dislike him, I’ve never personally met him before or even talked to him… so who am I to judge? 

After all, he did ask somewhat politely and– why the heck am I overthinking this? Just apologize and move on Y/N!

I cleared my throat and attempted to have a deeper voice, “Sorry dude I wasn’t aware, I’ll be on my way now” I said… and cringed internally after saying that. 

Peter nodded his head and smiled, “No worries, just a little jittery for the game so I wanted some extra practice” He replied. 

I nodded my head and then exited the rink, going back to the storage room so nobody would see me yet. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The game started and was currently ending the second quarter with the score being 2-1, the Empire Eagles winning and the Cornell Big Red’s tailing behind. I could tell that all of the players from Empire State were filled with happiness… and might I add overconfident and cocky. But that was something that I couldn’t pay attention to since I had to focus on giving it my all while I walked towards the ice rink at halftime and collected all the gifts that were thrown onto the ice from the fans in the stadium. 

I walked in character as the fun spunky eagle while walking on the ice and picking up the teddy bears with a girl's number in sharpie written on it and a bunch of red roses. As I picked them up and headed back, I took a quick glance and the audience. There were some students who seemed genuinely happy to be there and there were those… What do people call them? Oh yeah puck bunnies? Yeah there were a whole lot of girls wearing those boob jackets from lululemon and attempting to look cold but also cute and petite. I mean again, I’m not one to judge so you do you I guess. 

After I collected all of the gifts from the fans, I took some pictures with a couple of kids and I enjoyed that part. I liked seeing the smiles on their faces as they stood proud with me as their parents took photos. It definitely seemed like a core memory for them and I’m glad that I somewhat got to be a part of that. 

As the third and fourth quarter went on, it was brutal for us. Cornell absolutely demolished Empire State and beat us 4-2. I guess that’s what our players get for being cocky and overconfident throughout the whole game, thinking that they’ve got this. 

After the game ended and the fans left the stadium, my manager said to stay behind and clean the place up and pick up any extra gifts that were left. As I bent down (still in my eagle costume) to pick up some flowers that were left on the ice, something extremely heavy bumped into me from behind causing me to fling forward and make an umph sound. 

“What the fuck?” I cursed in a whisper. 

“DUDE what the fuck are you still doing here?! You need to get out, it's closed practice now looser” the voice said. 

I turned around and looked at the man who was clearly a player on the Empire State Eagles, he had blonde hair and green eyes and was definitely 6’1”. Shit, what was I supposed to do? My manager literally told me to clean the place up and then help security to lock up the stadium! 

“Bro be nice, you don’t gotta be mean” Another boy said. 

As I looked up, I saw that that other boy was no other than Peter Parker. But before I could register that, he offered me a hand and I immediately accepted it. 

I attempted to not sound like a scared wimp so I deepened my voice a little, “Uh thanks dude, I wasn’t aware that it was a closed practice… I’ll uh keep that in mind next time” I said to him. 

He smiled, “Don’t worry, Charlie’s just a snob” He replied. 

“Yeah I can tell” I responded while walking out of the rink. 

He laughed again while combing through his sweaty brown curls, giving me butterflies–

Wait what. 

Nope. Nope. Never. Never in a million years. I refuse. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The next couple of weeks went by normally, except I’ve started to notice Peter Parker more often. I never realized he was in three of my classes. In my morning class he would wear his hockey sweatshirt with gray sweatpants and in the afternoon he would take off his sweatshirt, revealing a tight-fitted white shirt that showed off his biceps. 

Damn, now I understand why girls swoon over guys like him… bro’s majestic. 

But my mama always told me to focus on my studies, boys come after. And that's what I planned to do, stay focused. He probably doesn’t even know me since at school I’m practically a nobody. I mean I join clubs, I’m in choir, and I’m part of many study groups so most people would know who I am but they probably have other friends to talk to besides me. The same goes for my roommates, they know me but they have other friend groups. 

Once again, it was Friday and that meant that we had another home game. The Eagles were playing against the NYU Bobcats. I went into the stadium and got into my disgusting and sweaty eagle costume. Throughout the weeks, I think I slowly got into character and found new dances to help entertain the little kids during timeouts and in between quarters. 

As the game started, I did my little dances whenever I could and the score at the end of the second quarter was 1-1. The stakes were going to be high but I have a feeling that we were gonna win this one. 

During the third quarter, I sat on the bench that was reserved for me and watched Peter, jersey number 4, skate all over the ice with his hockey stick. He had the puck, all of his attention was on it. The whole audience had a feeling that he was gonna score a goal but then all of a sudden one of the NYU players stole the puck from him and skated furiously across the other side of the rink. 

You could see Peter cursing and quickly going to the other side along with his other teammates. Ever since that moment, it seemed that something triggered Peter… he was starting to get more aggressive and ruthless. It made me anxious to see his behavior on the ice, but nevertheless I kept watching. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Despite the tight game, the Eagles won 3-2 and the whole crowd celebrated which meant that many gifts were thrown down onto the rink. Teddy bears and roses were everywhere and it was all me that had to clean it up. I walked on the ice with my feet stuck in the puffy eagle claws of my costume, gathered all of the gifts, and put them in a big container that I dragged with me across the ice. After I got all the stuffed animals and flowers in the container I headed towards my manager to give it to. As I handed it to him, he thanked me and said I was free as soon as I checked the whole stadium again to see if there was anyone else. I nodded and went back to the arena. 

I checked to see if there were any other fans that were trying to stay behind, but didn’t find any… but gosh my feet hurt so much and I just need a little break before heading back to my dorm. 

I took out the headpiece of the eagle costume and sighed as the cool breeze from the arena chilled my flushed cheeks. I then took out the rest of my costume which left me with my sweaty ponytail and loose hair strands framing my face along with my black leggings and shirt. Though I didn’t take it into consideration that there would be anyone else entering the stadium again after the game was over. But I guess I was wrong, because all of a sudden I heard a voice from behind me: 

“I didn’t realize you were a girl,” I turned my head around to see who it was. 

Peter Parker? I thought in my head. 

“Or pretty.” he finished his statement with his mouth parting slightly. 

I could feel my cheeks warm up despite the cool air as I laughed awkwardly, “W-What? Oh t-thanks… you look pretty too” I replied, not thinking about what I just said. 

Peter just nodded and he looked like he was seconds away from drooling as he continued to stare at me… he really does make a girl feel special. 

“Uhm, are you doing some extra practice? Or–” I say trying to break the silence. 

Peter slightly shook his head and cleared his throat, “Uh yeah, it’s just I don’t feel like I gave it my all today even though we won so I wanted to get some practice in… if that’s okay?” he says. 

I smiled and nodded my head, “Yeah sure, I’ll just go tell my manager and put this costume away.” I told him as I stood up.

He smiled back at me with his teeth as I walked towards the manager’s office, feeling intense butterflies cause Peter fucking Parker just called me pretty… WHAT IS MY LIFE?!

You know, I said in the beginning that I wasn’t like other girls but now I definitely think I am (well at least internally). 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

AN: PART TWO?? 😏

[badlucksav]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you @nyamadermont for the tag!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 199. I don’t know what the 200th will be yet 😅

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 1,836,320. That’s a whole lot of characters kissing.

3. What fandoms do you write for? My most common ones are Avatar: The Last Airbender and Avatar: Legend of Korra, but I’ve also written fics for The 100, Six of Crows, Law & Order: SVU, Spiderman (Tom Holland), Harry Potter, MCU, The Last of Us, Soul Eater, Spy x Family, Stranger Things, and Twilight.

Honestly though I haven’t been writing much fanfic. I’ve shifted what focus I have for writing to poetry and original fiction.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. The Proposal — a Zutara AU based on the 2009 Sandra Bullock & Ryan Reynolds movie of the same name.

2. An Unlikely Alliance — a Zutara season 2 divergence fic where they find themselves traveling together

3. Your Number 1 Fan — a NSFW Zutara AU where Katara is a cam girl and Zuko is a subscriber

4. Perks of Being Your Neighbor — a Zutara modern AU with fluffy good “neighbors” tropes as well as big brother Zuko to an orphaned Kiyi.

5. Play with Fire — yet another Zutara modern AU. This time, they’re in college. Slowburn, tons of pining.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! Comments are a writer’s lifeblood. The only time I usually don’t is if the comment is rude or demanding of an update.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

That would hands down be The Conduit, if only because I left it on one hell of a cliffhanger and then never wrote the sequel.

My bad yo

Second angstiest (sort of?) would be The Ghost of You (iykyk)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I like happy endings, so I feel like most of my fics have one. I’d say, for the level of pining and enemies-to-lovers aspect, The Proposal probably takes that cake.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Can’t get hate if you write rare pairs or rarely post

But yes, I used to. It actually drove me away from posting on ffn, and also drove me away from the Zutara fandom for a long time (and even still, I’ve never really come back).

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh yes, oh yes I have. And I write everything from soft vanilla first time sex to dirty kinky hot sex. Fully depends on my mood.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I don’t write them much, but the crackiest one was definitely the drabble I wrote throwing Rocket from Guardians of the Galaxy, Joel from The Last of Us, and Kaz Brekker from Six of Crows into an elevator together.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I think I’ve had a few requests for permission to translate, but I’m not sure if anything was ever actually translated.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I co-wrote with @idklolwot!

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Oofers, what a loaded question. All time favorite? Like I have to pick one?? Impossible.

It’s a tie between Irosami and Zutara.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oof, at this point like all of them 💀 at least as fanfic. I’m considering taking some and turning them into original fiction.

16. What are your writing strengths?

People seem to like the character interactions I write as well as how i describe settings and the character’s inner monologues.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I definitely find the climax/conclusion to be the hardest. Maybe that’s why I never finish fics.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

If I spoke other languages fluently, I think I’d give it a try. But I don’t, so I won’t.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

First fandom I wrote and posted for was Avatar: The Last Airbender. But I recently unlocked memories of writing super cringe Twilight fanfic in middle school that never saw the light of day.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

This answer changes often. There are so many fics I love for different reasons (The Conduit is some of my most creative work, The Fire and the Flood is some of my best writing, The Proposal is actually finished…) but as of right now, it’s The Fire and the Flood. Maybe because I’m rereading it and falling in love with it again.

Tagging some of my favorite writer folks. If you’ve already been tagged, feel free to ignore 🤣

@orangepanic @neva-borne @mycomfortblanket @krastbannert @authorjoydragon