Hey this will be deleted in a few days but I just wanted to bring my story to life.
I've been in toxic fandoms all my life and I just try and post funny sometimes serious content about it. I know the fandoms I'm in are toxic and I also know it's not everyone's fault. I never try and bring up whatever is happening because normally I dont have all the facts and I don't wanna give misinformation.
My goal is to make people smile or think deeply about stuff. If theres a problem in a fandom I will rant about my opinions to @imreallygay26 but if it's a problem with actors then I dont find it my place to judge them as I dont think they should be held to a higher standard of being a God just because of their choice of work.
Harry Potter has its problems yes and I know that but I grew up and was raised on it so I cannot leave it.
Marvel has helped me love myself and become more confident as a person and who I am. Again the actors are human and I think that wanting to hate them for mistakes they made, roles they play, or opinions they share is wrong.
I've only been in the Supernatural fandom for maybe 3 months at most and I've already gotten death threats for my opinions and headcanons.
Please respect people for what they like and their opinions because when I join a fandom I expect a loving family who will understand struggles in a person's life and not hate them for liking a character or an actor.
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Synopsis: You've had suspicions about your hometown, Dustville, being haunted for years. There's something different this year though, it seems unusual. With the help of your childhood friend, Tom, you uncover some of the towns deepest secrets. Along the way, you start catching feelings for your best friend. What will happen?
A/N: Thank you guys so much for all of the love on this series! Also i just got a new laptop and transferred all of my accounts to it, so that’s why the Instagram looks weird. Anyways, I hope you have a great day huns!
#tomholland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x y/n #tom holland social media au #tom holland story #tom holland angst #tom holland and y/n #tom holland and you #peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #marvel#MCU#Arvin Russell #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel imagine #arvin russel angst #arvin russel x y/n #fluffy#angsty#emma writes
⚠️ This story is based on the videogame the last of us. It will contain strong language as well as explicit things. ⚠️
➡️ Pronouns used; He/him
➡️ Tom h&Male!reader.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀D E S C R I P T I O N.
Called the community; the savior of the human race, with one leader coming to save the world from destruction and pain.
But you said, "How can you save the world from itself?"
🚫 CHAPTER ONE.
🚫 CHAPTER TWO.
🚫 CHAPTER THREE.
🚫 coming soon............
Maps | Maroon V.
Dangerously | Charlie puth.
Dont blame me | Taylor Swift.
Dog days are over | Florence.
Rolling in the deep | Adele.
Set fire to the rain | Adele
Diamonds | Rihanna.
Black out days | Phantogram.
Black sea | Natasha Blume.
#male reader #male!reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland #tom holland one shot #fanfic #tom holland male reader #tom holland masterlist #tom holland fic #peter parker #tom holland smut #tom holland malereader #tom holland male!reader #tom holland and y/n #tom holland angst
You knew better than anyone that living in the apocalyptic from the very first day, wasn't meant to be easy. Difficult and sad not being able to remember how everything was before the outbreak of a virus that killed people and only revived the wildest part of them. You discovered your immunity to the virus in the worst way, when both found themselves in a complicated situation that only cornered at not having any time to think about something together when Josh, your partner, had already thought on something.
━ That will give us a moment, but they won't stop. ━He spoke stopping the door with a metal tube frightened by the savage screams from the other side.
You were on your back with the sleeve raised and eyes on the scratch from which the blood dripped, the noise around your ears became sharp knowing that in a matter of time you would be one of those people you were afraid of becoming one day. You rolled up the sleeve and turned to Josh.
━ I'll distract them so you can escape through that emergency window. ━ You said quickly, suppressing helplessness.
━ You deserve to live, did you hear me? ━Josh approached taking your cheeks forcing you to see him. ━ You know about the horrible things I did to get out of that group, we are not going to leave here together and you know that ...
━ You don't understand, I'm already dead...
When you were determined to tell him about the bite and that you wanted to give your life giving him a chance, the door began to be hit harder until the metal that was stopping it knocked down, both panicked but Josh pushed you to the ground and took out his gun firing to the ceiling calling the attention of the infected.
━ (M/R), GO!
Josh pushed another of the doors leading back to the shattered building attracting the attention of the infected sacrificing himself to be the distraction losing him immediately out of your sight when he walk through the doors, one of the infected staggered towards you pushing both towards the window breaking the glass causing their bodies collided with the emergency stairs that were somehow out of their normal position until they finally fell in the damp floor with you on top of your hand dislocating the wrist bone.
The raindrops in the hair, the few shots and screams that were still heard inside the building before only hearing the noise of the rain and the brook of water that was in the middle of the street which had a fairly fast speed. The infected with whom you had fallen, grabbed your ankle starting to pull towards the hungry mouth in search of biting fresh skin.
You kicked the face repeatedly until you could free yourself from the grip, but the force of the kicks only caused the infected to slip on the wet street falling into the brook of water, bringing you too, sinking into the water. You released your injured hand trying to surface and look for a trace of air, noticing how the body of the infected stamp against a big rock. Your arms gripped the surface of the stream tightly, coughing up all the ingested water in the brook. The sight began to blur, only hearing footsteps and voices.
━ What the hell Thomas?!? ━ said a female voice.
━ His body is within the north zone and it magically came out of the water, I thought it was an infected, you know the rules, shoot and eliminate any threat within the guard perimeter. ━ a male voice answered this time.
━ H-He-elp... ━ You whispered faintly giving your last breath before passing out.
#male reader #male!reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland #tom holland one shot #fanfic #tom holland male reader #tom holland masterlist #tom holland fic #peter parker #tom holland and y/n #tom holland and reader #tom holland malereader #tom holland male!reader
synpopsis: you’re peter’s best friend in the whole world. the two of you can barely hold back your feelings for each other after peter is beaten badly after a night on patrol. he insists the two of you go to a party and things get very confusing.
warnings: smut (18+ only), mentions of blood, mentions of mental illness/anxiety/panic attacks, oral sex (f receiving), protected sex
genres: best friends to lovers, uni!peter, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst and smut all in one
a/n: GOD this is a big bertha. i was listening i think you’re alright by jay som and then my brain spiraled entirely into... this. i recommend you listen to this song while you read. i could probably make a playlist based on this fic but i don’t want to self-indulge more than i already have. i’m a sucker for bffs to lovers, obviously. i’m also very wine drunk. do what this info what you will.
when i wake up in the morning
i’ll make you some coffee
we’ll lay about and let the day pass
College had taken a toll on Peter. He was an anxious boy, you knew this already. What you hadn’t seen in your years of knowing him was how hollow he could be, how he wouldn’t want to get up in the morning, how he tight-lipped he could be in conversations when normally he’s always beaming. He doesn’t sleep at your place that much anymore because he hates to be a burden even though you swear on your heart that you don’t mind helping him through his nightmares.
It often goes like this:
There are nights where Peter does unforgivable things. He watches Tony Stark die, he watches Aunt May look upon him in tears, he reaches out for your hand but you’re falling ten stories below him. It’s these nights where he shakes himself awake, suffocated by his own panicked breaths, but you’re usually right there to soothe him with hushed nothings in his ear. It’s an unspoken arrangement between the two of you that you don’t dare to discuss by morning. Besides, you’d had a few panic attacks of your own as you grew into your girlish flesh-suit, knobby limbs and scraped knees. Peter always liked you for how alive you always looked, even if you felt awkward roaming the earth in a body you were taught to dislike. You’re headstrong in your beliefs, however, and at your current age you’d been through enough bullshit to not fixate on the little problems you faces as a teenager. Peter considers you his rock, his other half. He often thinks it’s you who ought to bear the weight of a superhero. You’d do a better job than him, maybe.
It’s 10 am on a Friday and Peter is doing an awfully good job at zoning out the sound of you knocking on his door.
“Pierre,” you whine, holding a bag of donuts and at tray of coffees. “Let me in you son of a bitch.”
The lock on the door slides open. You’re met with a sleepy Peter, who’s traded his gangly figure to impressive biceps over the past five years. You try not to stare at how good his arms look in his fitted Led Zeppelin tee. You chuckle at the fact that he’s still wearing his boxers. Spiderman-patterned boxers, nonetheless. He groans. “Fuck, sorry. Real out of it today.”
“Oat milk, no sugar,” you smile at him, holding out your tray. You can see dark circles around his eyes. He must’ve been up late doing school work or more technologic advancements to his suit.
“You’re a godsend,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead as he takes the paper cup.
“Whatcha been up to?”
“Physics,” he yawns. “Waiting for you.”
“Peter, did you sleep at all last night?” you pester, poking his under-eye circles.
He shoots you a look of slight annoyance and shrugs.
You roll your eyes, gracelessly hopping onto his couch. Without a word, he topples onto you, settling his head on your lap as he flips through the front page of Netflix. You stroke your fingers through his curls. “You finish your work?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” Peter gripes.
“Is the Peter Parker slacking on his schoolwork?”
He grumbles and buries his face closer into your body, which makes your stomach flutter. “I finished everything, swear. Could probably spew out formulas in my sleep.”
“Get Tony to build you another EDITH but in reading glasses form. I’ll tap the answers to you. Or the formulas could probably just float across the lenses.” You steal the remote from him, much to his dismay and futile attempts to block you, and settle on a random episode of New Girl.
“Wow. We need more women in STEM like you.” You playfully smack the side of his face and it makes his nose scrunch up. Your fingers trace the freckles on his nose that aren’t very visible unless it’s the summer time, but you’re able to see them just from how close you are. The trance is broken at the vibration of your phone in your pocket, much to your relief.
He notices immediately how you chuckle at your screen, smile lighting up your features. “Who’s that?”
“Um, Tinder message.”
“Can I see?” Peter asks, lifting his body to glance at your phone, though you swat him away. “Y/N, c’mon, I wanna see what goons are hitting on my best friend.”
“I don’t need your approval, Parker,” you giggle, holding your phone above your head. He intercepts it anyways, nearly falling into your lap and grabbing the phone. He blocks your squirming frame by laying his body on top of your sprawled out legs while his broad shoulders block your view.
“Tyler, 22, born and raised in Manhattan. Oh, please, business major? At NYU?” He swipes through the man’s pictures and squints. “‘You’ll probably see me hanging out with the dog at the party.’ Huh, how quirky and relatable of him.”
“Peter, give me my phone!” you half-laugh half-shriek, breathless from the fact that Peter’s weight is holding you down and preventing you from moving at all.
“Is he even your type? Seems like a dick honestly. You’re waaaay out of his league,” Peter muses mindlessly.
“And what exactly is my type, Parker?” Peter looks at you and opens his mouth, though nothing comes out. You smirk at him, able to flip him off of the couch and onto his carpet, snatching his phone from your phone as you sit on his chest. The two of you half-heartedly wrestle until you’re pinning him to the ground. “Tap out, motherfucker!”
“Ugh,” Peter huffs, sitting up slightly. “I’m serious, he looks like the president of a frat that’s on probation for some Title IX violations.”
“You’re an asshole,” you croon, shaking your head. “Let me get laid.”
Neither of you ever liked to address the pang of jealousy that came with seeing your best friend get attention from the opposite sex (okay, there were some girls enamored with you during your first semester of college, but you were too in your shell to actually follow through with anything). Secretly, Peter’s heart is dripping down to his shoes, but only slightly, of course. He’s laughing and teasing you the whole time, poking you in the ribs as you finally let him swipe through your Tinder. He sneaks a peek at your own profile, too, admiring how big and bright your eyes are in each photo — mostly which are photos he’s taken.
You’ve been on a few dates, give or take, but the end of the night is almost always instantly uncomfortable once things get physical. Peter Parker is like the devil on your shoulder, the New Moon-era Edward apparition to your Bella. You’ve been getting better at accepting that it’s him and always will be him. Even if you never have the guts to tell him.
i’ll wipe your blood off the concrete
take you to the party
we’ll drink until our brains black out
It’s past 8 pm when your texts to Peter quadruple. He’s usually very prompt and mindful in texting you back, especially when the two of you have plans to get Chinese takeout. The clock turns to ten when he finally answers.
peter: can you cpme get m
You swallow down your disappointment once you unlock your phone and the pit in your stomach is replaced with panic. Immediately, you tug on your shoes and grab your car keys.
“Peter!” you screech, seeing your battered friend on the concrete a few feet away from you. He’s struggling to breathe so he takes his mask off, exhaling heavily as he spits out a mixture of saliva and blood onto the pavement. Your eyes widen at the state of him — a bruise under his eye the shape of a crescent moon, a cut lip that’s still bleeding.
“Come here.” He’s able to get up, just barely, but he’s able to use you as a crutch as you usher him into your car. Luckily, this was a quiet neighborhood and your car was shielded by the dark alley. You wince at the sound of his groans in the backseat.
By the time you get to your apartment, his suit is completely off. You don’t expect to glance over to your backseat to see your best friend half-naked, though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. It just makes something ache inside of you when you realize the damage of his wounds.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
“It’s okay! Just some attempted assault on some woman. It’s okay, NYPD came just in time.”
“Fuck NYPD,” you mutter under your breath. “I’m serious, Peter.”
“Shit,” Peter groans, clutching his side. The thought that enter your mind when you hear him is ungodly. “Fumbled the web-shooters so they were able to get the upper hand. Not to mention one of their buddies fucking… hit me with their car.”
“Jesus, Peter!” you exclaim. You can’t really berate him for getting hurt, though situations like this have you worried sick. You pull into your driveway and get out of the car to assist him.
“‘m sorry, y/n,” Peter huffs, grabbing your hand to support himself as he gets out of the car.
“Don’t apologize. This isn’t the first time you scared the shit out of me. I’m just glad you’re not dead.”
Peter darkly chuckles. Under the streetlight, his eyes look a bit amber, and the gaze he fixes on you isn’t something you can really fathom. It’s a look of tenderness. Your eyes dart to the other side of the street and back at him. “Stop staring, creep. Mrs. Wilkins will threaten to call my landlord if she sees me parading around a dude in his boxers at the dead of night.”
Peter shakes his head at you, laughing, but follows you into your home nonetheless. He follows you around like a stray cat as you rummage your bathroom for the first-aid kit. The glow of your bathroom light shows off your cheekbones, and he knows he can’t hide his affinity for you especially when you’re like this, tongue in your cheek focusing on the materials you have. He sits on the edge of your bathtub and watches you.
“Hydrogen peroxide, Neosporin, gauze…” you muse to yourself. Picking up the dark red bottle, you wiggle it towards him. “This is gonna sting.”
Pouring a bit onto a cotton round, you wipe it across his wounds gently. Peter braces himself but the stinging you warned is much worse than what he’s actually prepared for. “Fuck!” he cries out, his jaw clenching. He nearly hits you by accident but misses. He manages to stay still by holding your shoulder with his large hand, squeezing and cursing expletives. Your breath hitches at his strong grip. You could probably hear his heartbeat if he wasn’t breathing so hard. Your faces are inches apart as you rub his cheek, sliding your thumb down to his split lip.
“Um, here,” you stammer awkwardly, spreading Neosporin on his cheek and bandaging him up. You wrap gauze around his wrist and around his purple and red knuckle. “Hmm. Boxer vibes.”
“I’m already healing,” he shrugs, looking down at the blooming bruise on his chest. It was entering its stage of pale green already, which still freaked you out despite the fact you’d known about Spiderman for years. “Y’didn’t have to do all that. Thank you, though.”
“Anything for you,” comes out of your mouth without thinking. You try to stay casual with a tight smile but Peter’s eyes seem to flicker the slightest bit at your statement. You turn your heels to your bedroom to dig out some spare clothes of Peter’s that he tends to accidentally leave after he stays over. The habit has turned into him having his own drawer at your place. How domestic.
“You still going to that party?” Peter asks as he pulls on a pair of pants. Your back is turned, which is amusing for him considering how close you are. There was quite literally a picture of the two of you naked at the age of five on May’s mantle downstairs. However, he couldn’t help but notice how your eyes would mindlessly wander to his arms and stomach when he would talk to you lately. Maybe it was a fluke, but he liked — loved — holding your attention.
“The one at that senior’s house? I heard you talking about it with MJ.”
“Um, maybe, but I was too busy worrying about you, and I was under the impression that we were spending the night eating Chinese and watching horror movies. Why?”
“We should go.” You turn around and raise an eyebrow. Peter Parker liked socializing, you could say. He was enigmatic and adorable and easy to be around, but you know that he’d rather stay at home with his documentaries or Star Wars movies than getting shitfaced at a rando’s house.
“Peter, you just got the shit kicked out of you,” you mutter in disbelief.
“All the more reason,” he shrugs, walking past you to flop onto your bed. “You worry about me too much. Gotta let loose, babe.”
You scoff and roll your eyes. You always imagine yourself as a shadow compared to Peter, like a friendly apparition. Casper the ghost. It’s not that you’re an outcast — hell, Peter goes on and on about you to classmates and friends alike if they haven’t met you yet. You’ve never been friendless. But the thought of going to a party with Peter makes your stomach churn a bit. The few times you had, the two of you would be attached to the hip because of your shared shyness, but Peter’s evolved into someone who probably knew more people at university than you did. You didn’t want to be left alone. Slight anxiety settles over you. You look to him and his smile is pushing daisies up from the earth. You sigh. When you had said “anything for you”, you truly meant it.
You didn’t dislike parties, but any house party in the suburbs of New York felt like the setting of a bad rom-com, not to mention the good amount of losers you could attract by accidentally blinking their way.
“You look really pretty,” Peter whispers into your ear assuringly. You feel validated, yes, but also you’d be lying if you said that the feeling of Peter’s breath under your earlobe didn’t make your organs flip around in your body like primordial soup.
You frown at a mirror in the foyer. You had opted for a green printed mesh top that hugged your features, black jeans, and Peter’s old denim jacket. Peter follows your gaze and snakes a finger to your hair, twirling around a strand. “I mean it, Y/N.”
“AYYYY, PENIS PARKER!” roars from behind a couple making out. Lo and behold, Flash Thompson is suddenly in front of you, nestling a Corona in one hand and waving vinously at you two with another. He’s gotten taller somehow since the last time you saw him, which was quite literally graduation. You roll your eyes at his arrogance. To your surprise, Peter knocks fists with the kid and gives him a half-hearted side hug. “Oh, shit, dude what the fuck happened to your face?”
“This one right here gets a little too rowdy when she loses Monopoly,” Peter smiles, hanging an arm over your shoulders.
“Shut up,” you whisper, voice laced with venom as you shoot Peter a glare. “He’s lying. This one is just… incredible clumsy.”
“Jeez, she bite too? Hey, I know a guy who’s really into that kind of thing.”
“Okay, relax, Flash-your-tits,” you sneer.
“Wow, still the wicked witch of Forest Hills,” Flash retorts. His eyes scan you up and down, then to Peter’s arm around you. “Didn’t know you guys were a thing. When’d that happen?”
“We’re not—“ stumbles out of both your mouths in unison. Your face heats up immediately, though Peter is merely holding back a laugh.
“Right. Save your virginities, fellow comrades! It’s a scary world out there. ’s some liquor in the kitchen,” Flash slurs, immediately making eye contact with another poor soul who’s about to be subjected to a similar greeting.
“Freak,” you mutter under your breath as you saunter past a rowdy beer pong table. Without bothering to rummage through the stash that’s sat on the kitchen counter, you take the first bottle of cabernet sauvignon you see. Peter grabs a shot glass and pours himself some Tito’s.
He meets your eyes. “What?” he shrugs, knocking back the shot with a scrunched up face.
“Nothing, you just like, never drink,” you smirk. You decide to keep the wine for yourself — it was the cheap kind, anyway. You down a good amount so that you can get a little warmth into your stomach. The effect is slightly numbing.
“Yeah, but my metabolism’s all weird since the bite, remember? Surprised I haven’t tried to drink more. I think I’ve only been drunk like… once or twice?”
“Better go easy, there, Parker,” you tease, jabbing him in the ribs. He grunts just a bit and you gasp. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”
“Nah, ‘m just still a little sore. I could still take you in a fight,” Peter snickers. He grabs a red solo cup and fills it with more Tito’s, not paying attention to the amount he pours in, and then fills it to the brim with some orange juice. You practically gag at the sight. Vodka was never your forté and you were sure that it wasn’t much of Peter’s thing either. And yet, here he is. You wonder about his out of character desire to come to the party, but ultimately, shrug it off.
Seeing it feels like a kick in the throat, your face flushing hot like molten lava, chest creaking like a wooden floor in a haunted house. You didn’t expect to get everything you wanted, did you? Of course not. So it shouldn’t hurt that much to walk outside in need of that crisp autumn air and accidentally be met with some blonde eating off the face of your best friend. The love of your life. You don’t remember what time it is. You actually don’t even remember that you had been looking for Peter at all, but the realization hits you in the face once you recognize his brunette little head getting his hair pulled by some Walmart-brand Blake Lively.
and god you’re so pretty
your smile’s unforgiving
i’ll place it where nobody can find
You’re in too much shock to even beckon to him, but you know that the gears in your brain are turning with bells and whistles shrieking abort, abort, abort, abort! Before you can so as much turn around, Peter pulls away from the girl and yells for you. His face is carnation-pink, lips reddish from the girl’s lipstick. He’s waving at you like a little kid but your head feels like it’s underwater.
“Hey! Y/N! Been looking all over for you!”
Embarrassed, you wave back meekly before sliding back into the house. You hear hushed whispers of “shit, was that your fucking girlfriend?”, maybe a mild slap, Peter mumbling the words “best friend” and “not dating” and “what was your name again?” You could laugh if you didn’t feel like a literal hole was burning into your chest like the end of a cigarette charring flesh.
Calm, calm, calm. We are calm.
You don’t even know what to do with yourself, really. Your mantra isn’t helping and if you take one more sip of your wine you might as well throw up. Your eyes flash in surprise at MJ walking towards you, smiling but then settling her face into a confused frown.
“Hey, Y/N, is everything alr—“ MJ attempted to intervene, but you smile and nod your head maniacally as you pace through the house past her.
“I’m great! Fine. Um, I gotta go…”
You and MJ aren’t as close as you were in high school, but she knows well enough what you’re like when you’re in a state of crisis. She calls your name but you’ve dashed out of her grasp. She stares after you, puzzled, right before Peter nearly knocks into her, a collision of whiplash. The poor brunette stares wildly at the boy.
“Jesus, Parker, are you good?”
“MJ! Hi!” Peter exhales. His eyes are the size of flying saucers. He grips MJ’s shoulders and doesn’t realize the volume of his voice, which makes spectators around them look on curiously. “Listen, have you seen Y/N? I gotta talk to her.”
“Um, yeah, she went that way… dude, are you drunk?”
“No! Yes? All the above,” he replies hurriedly, moving into the foyer and up the stairs.
You can’t really explain your emotions, process them even, so you do give into the wine bottle. Might as well detonate the bomb. Before Peter is able to call after you, you escape his field of vision in the hallway and immediately slip into the upstairs bathroom without him seeing you.
You stare at your reflection. There’s no point in crying, you think. Peter’s too good at prying and you’re too bad at explaining. It’s best not to worry him. Isn’t it? You want to believe you’re capable of staying sane with your little crush. Your stupid unrequited crush. You realize you’d have to reach into your guts and rip out all that you feel for Peter in order to get over it. It was best to drown out all those feelings now until you passed out. Maybe Michelle could take you home. Or a kind stranger could seduce you. Or you ‘accidentally’ fall out of the window and escape Peter’s questioning by being in a literal coma for a few days so you forget the image of him kissing that girl that’s burned into your brain.
You frown at your reflection. You look pretty, Peter was right. It’s a miracle your makeup is still intact. Your underlies are smudged a bit but the glitter on your cheekbones reflects even with this shitty bathroom lighting. With the alcohol inside you, everything seems to melt, like the walls are sweating and closing in on you. Before you’re able to control your breathing, the sound of your name reaches your ears like a harsh wind. It’s coming from your favorite voice in the whole world. Pounding on the door ensues.
“It’s… it’s occupied, sorry,” you caution in a high voice.
“Y/N, I know that’s you in there! Can you please let me in?” Peter begs. More raps on the door. You stay silent, staring at the sink.
“Please, Y/N, something bad’s happened… MJ’s…um…” Peter yells. You furrow your brows in worry. God, I can’t get a break. What a cursed fucking party.
Profanities are mumbled to yourself as you finally open the door. Peter rushes in and backs you into the wall, shutting the door promptly behind him and locking it. You gasp at how quickly he manages this without the two of you colliding, his swift movement and your intoxicated state dizzies you. Peter settles his palms on the wall, trapping you in between his arms.
“What happened to Michelle?” you glower. Peter sighs with a look of defeat and avoids your gaze.
“Nothing. Just needed you to let me in.”
“You asshole,” you roll your eyes and vociferate. Your teeth are gritted — you can’t bear to look at his face, but you do. Peter’s puppy dog brown eyes are boring into yours with desperation behind them. He takes his palm from the left of you and tilts your chin up, to which you shake your head in rejection.
“Hey, hey, look at me.” So you do. Your faces are inches away from each other. You can feel his hot breath in your face. It makes your body feel even hotter.
“What do you want, Peter?” you whisper.
“Want to talk to you,” he slurs.
“Okay, so talk.”
“Why were you running away from me?”
You scoff. You almost want to tell him the truth, but you can’t. “I’m in a bad mood,” you mumble. “I don’t need this right now, okay? I want to be alone. Why don’t you go back to that blondie? She seems to like you an awful lot.”
“Who— what? Are you… are you jealous?”
“Who you take home is none of my business, Parker, I swear on my heart. I’m a big girl, I can get an Uber by myself. Don’t worry about,” you spit back at him. “Okay? Can I be left alone, please?”
“But I wanna be alone with you,” he confesses, absentmindedly twisting your hair between his fingers again. You didn’t think anything of it until now because this is something he always does. It’s as easy to him as breathing or blinking. But at the moment, he’s staring at your collarbone and your neck and the side of your jaw. You make eye contact with him and you gulp. Lipstick is smeared from the corner of his mouth like a streak of wine on a white sheet. The space between you feels like television static, like a red string you’re dying to pull into a knot to close the distance.
Instead, Peter does it for you. You blink once and his mouth is on yours, and you taste the other girl’s lipstick and mandarin oranges and a hint of copper from his bloody lip. You breathe in the smell of your own shampoo, which Peter keeps in his apartment for you even though he secretly uses it when you’re not around. His hand is gripped to your jaw, tongue peeking into your mouth as he pushes into your body. The hurt inside you crawls out of your throat and spreads your body like a blessing instead — a baptism, a rebirth.
His hands are to your sides now, pushing the mesh fabric of your shirt up so he can palm the skin of your upper hip. You sigh into him as he massages the skin lightly and he responds to your sounds with a subtle moan. You feel like your knees are buckling to his touch as your heat gets wetter and wetter.
“Touch me, Y/N,” Peter whispers in between your kisses. A whine emits from the back of his throat when you tug on his hair just slightly.
You pull away suddenly, though Peter doesn’t see this as a halt. He simply peppers wet kisses to your earlobe and down your neck. You sigh deeply and give him a slight push to the chest.
“What, what’s wrong?” he whispers. He’s drunk on you, maybe literally considering he lost count of how many shots he’d taken. He looks like a angel like this, brown hair mussed up with smoothed out curls falling over his face and a just-bitten pair of pink lips.
You touch the band-aid on his face. “You’re drunk, Peter.”
“Yeah? I know. So are you.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t want you to regret anything,” you mumble, biting the inside of your bottom lip.
“I couldn’t… I won’t. You know how much I love you, right?” Peter pleads. He’s breathless at the sight of you. You look away.
“Don’t say shit like that, Peter. You’d… you’d never say that sober.” Hurt flashes over Peter’s face as he listens to your words. He wants you to believe him so badly and he’s too drunk to process what you could be feeling. All he feels is that he wants to be absorbed into you in this very moment. His brain doesn’t even register the actions that made you upset in the first place.
“That’s not true, Y/N, you know that,” he urges. His thumb swipes over your inner eye, where a salty tear has fallen. His voice is hoarse, raspy, raw. “I only want you.”
You close your eyes and shake your head, tears flooding your cheeks that he tries to kiss away gently. “Why are you doing this?” you croak.
“What am I doing, baby?” he whispers, taking you in his arms and cradling you. Your cheek is against his warm chest and you can feel his beating heart. It ticks like a clock, which somehow comforts you in the most minuscule way. His tender knuckles are on your hair, stroking lightly. Peter wants to find every jagged piece of you so that he can soothe it like nighttime tea and a spoonful of honey. Would you hate him for it?
“This is fucked up, Peter.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” is whispered through hushed breaths against your hair. You pull back over a few minutes, embarrassed at how red your eyes must look. He cups his hands on your cheeks, tilting your face to look up at him. “I’m not lying to you. I… I love you so much that it scares me sometimes, because you’re my best friend. I always get scared that I’m gonna lose you. And… and I don’t even know that girl. The one I was making out with. I think I just needed a distraction from you.”
An awkward beat.
“I don’t know why I got so drunk. I think because patrol was so fucked up and I’ve been having more nightmares, and I was scared that if I told you I loved you tonight that I’d fuck everything up, and I wouldn’t remember, and I couldn’t find you anywhere…”
You shush his rambles with your lips against his.
“I love you, too,” you whisper, wiping your eyes. “Always have. It scares me too.”
“Yes, you idiot, I thought it was obvious. You scare the shit out of me sometimes.” The two of you laugh darkly at your mutual drunken states. Your mutual confessions, the fear of your mutually assured destructions. The moment was making your heart swell up like a balloon.
A rude awakening breaks through with a pounding on the door. “HEY, ARE YOU GUYS DONE FUCKING? SOME OF US HAVE TO PISS.”
The two of you are broken out of your spell. You both erupt into laughter. You wipe your face with your sleeve as you open the door. Your toothy smile flashes the unfortunate spectator when you open the door.
Flash stands there with a look on his face that is both bewildered and somehow dopey. His eyes flit between you and Peter, mouth agape.
“All yours, babe,” you taunt, holding Peter’s hand as he follows you across the hall.
i’ll be your old broken tv
your stuttering baby
your puppy when nobody’s home
He can barely take his hands off you once you get the door of your apartment unlocked. Immediately, his hands are all over you, pushing up your top to reveal your stomach. He kisses you roughly which has your head spinning.
“Peter… I—“ you giggle in-between kisses. He can’t detach himself from you. He doesn’t want to. He takes matters into his own hands and rips your jacket off for you, picking you up effortlessly so that your legs are around his waist until both of your bodies collapse into your bed.
You feel like you have motion sickness. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the uneasiness of letting yourself fall blind into Peter’s desires. He knows how stubborn you are about literally everything and he doesn’t know how to fully convince you how much he wants you. He’s hovering over your body, forehead to forehead, pawing at your clothed body. “You’re so pretty,” he says, thumbing your cheek.
His eyes are glistening like the earth wet from being kissed by autumn rain. You swear to yourself it’s just lust but you know this is exactly how he looks at you when you’re just there. Existing. In his room, on his lap, on his fire escape in the middle of the night. You’ve always noticed but decide you’ve made it up in your head. But he really does love you like this, vulnerable and soft like a cherub out of heaven. He could certainly get used to the sight of you underneath him. His mouth turns up into a grin.
“What’s got you so happy?” you coo.
“You,” he breathes, dipping his head back down to meet your mouth.
“Cool,” you mumble in between your kisses, sighing as you feel Peter massage little circles underneath the hem of your shirt. “What’re you thinking about?”
“Mmm, lots,” Peter sighs. “There’s this girl… thought she’d never… like me back. But I think she does.”
“Tell me about her.”
“Well, she’s a hard one to chase down, y’know? She’s too pretty and smart for literally anyone. And she’s really good at playing with my hair, and knowing everything I like, and beating me during a wrestling match. And she smells like flowers. And looks like flowers.”
“Hmm, sounds like a catch,” you flash him a candy-sweet smile. The glow between you two is bioluminescent. Every part of you that Peter touches feels like electricity.
“Mhm. That you are,” Peter nods. He’s feeling feverish, sobering up from his many shots but still drunk on the sight of you. In the past few months, Peter feels like he’s only present between peripherals and the only time he is even remotely tuned into the world is when you’re beside him. His mind is swamped with only you and your kiss tastes like honey dripping into his mouth.
A low hum reverberates from your throat as you feel Peter’s lips on your neck. He settles back to your lips like he’s diving underwater. He doesn’t care about coming back up for air. Your brows knit in concentration as you try to pull him closer, despite the fact he’s basically falling through you like a spell. Your brain is begging him to devour you, burn you, lick up all the hurt inside your chest from the night.
“Can I touch you, please?” Peter asks carefully, his voice low.
You nod fervently, heart beating out of your chest when you’re suddenly aware of how hard he is. Peter helps you slip out of your shirt and your jeans, leaving you in your underwear. He can barely breathe. He chuckles like he’s seeing something that shouldn’t be possible.
“Don’t laugh when you just stripped me naked, freak,” you chastise, covering yourself up with your arms.
“‘m not teasing you. I’m… I just can’t believe it. How pretty you are.”
“Shut up and touch me, Parker.” Peter feigns a look of seriousness before attaching his lips to your bare stomach. He loves the way your body seems to react to his touch, breaths rising and falling to the pitter patter of his heartbeat and his fluttered eyelashes. He teases you with kisses close to your center, descending down your thighs. You whine at how sensitive you feel, coaxing his head forward with your hands.
“Okay, needy,” he taunts, which makes you pout in response. He slides your underwear down your legs and doesn’t hesitate to lap you up at your clit. You gasp in response. He’s ravenous in the way he works, responding to all your little sounds by gripping your thighs harder until you’re nearly bruising. Your mouth gapes open wider when he slides in one finger, then two into your pussy, your wetness making his entrance easy.
“Jesus, fuck, where did you learn that?” you ask breathlessly as he pumps his fingers in and out of you in all the right places.
“Secret,” he murmurs, pausing his sucking to curl his fingers into your walls in a way that makes your insides flip. You immediately feel a pressure inside your core that slowly rises like a rollercoaster rolling upwards on a track. He brings his tongue back to your bud and scissors his fingers in a way that makes your hips buck upwards, which makes him lose his balance a bit. He chuckles, adoring the sound of your moans and the way your long eyelashes blink rapidly like a butterfly’s wings.
“Say my name,” he groans, desperate to hear your voice.
“Fuck,” you moan. “Fuck— Peter, just like that. Oh my God, Peter!”
He decides right then that his name sounds like it was made for your mouth, how it sounds like a hymn, a magic spell, a word invented by you, his creator. You grab fistfuls of his chestnut curls as you feel your body plunge into saccharine warmth. You surprise yourself by your restrained moans; you don’t recognize the sound of your voice. Peter’s moans echo yours as he watches you come undone. His lips part at the way you come, gazing at the way your body flexes like viscous liquid, hair fanning the sides of your face like Juliet on a bed of roses.
“Peter!” you strain, breathing heavily on the comedown. You blink at him, bleary-eyed, tasting yourself on his tongue once he reaches up to kiss you again. “Take your clothes off. ’s not fair that I’m fully naked and you aren’t.”
“Anything for you,” he says, echoing your words from earlier that night. You think that maybe you’re melting or you’ve been struck by lightning. Peter blesses you for your request because his cock is quite literally straining against his jeans. He can’t believe you’re real — that this version of you is real and right in front of him, instead of being a dizzying made-up thought in his brain. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t fantasize about what your pussy feels like, how you’d sound with your toes curling into the mattress as he fucks into you. He’d always shake the thought of you after he comes when he’s alone, embarrassed after his orgasms when he’d come back to reality. But now he doesn’t have to. You’re fulfilling his dreams at this very moment.
Not even thirty seconds pass before he’s stripped just like you. Your mouth waters at the sight of him. You’re convinced he must be carved from Ancient Rome, porcelain skin and smooth edges. His size is certainly unexpected and you’re shy about how your eyes are probably bugging out of its sockets.
“Do you… do you want me to get a condom?” he asks you, voice cracking slightly. You’re reminded of how boyish he really is, how despite everything, he’s always been your Peter. Your puppy, your best boy. You nod at him and grin. “Right… ah— where are they?”
“Under the bed, blue shoebox.”
He comes back from under the bed and rips the silver foil. He toys with it for a second, awkwardly. “Ah, this is… a good brand. Very safe.”
“Yeah, good reviews?” you gush at his awkwardness.
“Like I’d know,” Peter blushes and shrugs. You know that Peter’s not a virgin but he’d never been the type to be cocky or promiscuous. It was you in senior year of high school who broke down where a woman’s clitoris was, after all. You playfully hit him, urging him to continue. He nods sheepishly.
“Wait, do you want me to… do you want head, too?” you ask curiously.
He shakes his head, sliding the condom onto his length. “No, ‘m okay. Just want to be inside you really bad.”
You kiss him hard, and to his surprise, you push him onto his back. His eyes widen at your shift in attitude and newfound dominance. His taut mouth widens when you push down onto him, going up and down at an agonizingly slow pace as you grip his shoulders. “Oh, fuck.”
You respond graciously with a breathy sigh, eyes closed as you grind against him. “Fuck, that feels really good,” he whispers. “Gonna be the death of me.”
“That’s why they call it la petite mort, yeah?” you smirk. You start to grind faster and Peter’s eyes screw shut, mouth slack in a blissful fashion. He grips your hips harder and gives your ass light smack as he groans.
“Ass man, aren’t you?” you tease. “Figured you were more into tits.”
“Can’t talk, feels too good,” Peter mumbles. He palms your breast with one hand in response to you, which makes you giggle. “Please don’t tease me at a vulnerable time like this.”
Your laughter is like music to his ears. He looks at you with a dark expression on his face, a sort of pained desperation that secretly begs you to wreck him. He wishes he could tell you that you could have him in any way possible, but he figures that the enormity of his desire would scare you away. Peter caresses your cheek and your head lulls backward at the elation of him inside you. Teasing a finger on your bottom lip, you take his finger into your mouth and suck on it gently. He feels like he’s about to lose it. It’s a miracle he’s even lasting this long, he thinks to himself. He swore he almost came when he was just giving you head.
“Jesus fucking christ,” Peter breathes. The aura of you is everywhere in the room, the smell of your skin permeating his senses. He can’t get enough. You’re surprised by how vocal he is and it kind of makes you feel a bit cocky. His lips are slick and swollen from your love bites and you can’t help but admire how he looks underneath, curls loose over his warm forehead.
“Fuck, hold on. Can I do something?” he asks, his eyes doe-like. You nod quickly. “Can, um, can you get on your stomach?”
You oblige to his request. You nearly choke when he fills you up from behind, his hands cradling your hips. He’s slow with his thrusts at first, wanting to be careful in order to both control himself and to make sure he doesn’t hurt you. He reaches you at a deep angle and you nearly scream out, which encourages Peter to rock his hips a bit faster. “Oh my god, Peter!”
Your head twists slightly so you can see his face. He reaches over immediately to kiss you, holding you by the chin forcefully as he pulls your hips towards him. His hand stays wrapped around your throat as he bends over to pepper kisses to your neck and down your back. A finger rests on your bottom lip that you take into your mouth. He moans at the feeling of it.
“Fuck, you’re gonna… make me come soon…” you breathe. You whine as he pulls your hair slightly to get better access to the side of your neck.
“Fuck, I fucking love you,” Peter pants. His breath is hot beneath your ear and it makes you shiver. His hushed curses are like little love notes spilling onto your shoulder. “My favorite girl.”
Your face falls into your bedsheets once he hits your sweet spot repeatedly. Your whole body vibrates at the feeling of it as you grip your sheets hard enough to strain your knuckles. Tears are pricking from the corners of your eyes on impact. Your orgasm is white-hot, blinding, paradisiacal.
“Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?” Peter whispers worriedly, slowing down his strokes and wiping your face gently.
“Yes,” you moan, shutting him up with a kiss. He pulls out of you and melts into your lips, the wave of your orgasm and the tenderness in your chest igniting a small fire in the pit of your stomach. The two of you are side to side now, limbs entangling one another in a blob of lust and warm bodies and languished breaths. He’s confused at your husky laughter but stays attached to your mouth, tasting you in all your sugared glory. The taste of blood pools into your mouth again and you pull back slightly. You lick his bottom lip carefully, lacing his mouth with your sweetness.
You smile devilishly at the red marks on his neck, marks that you left. He rubs his neck and it’s like he’s blushing all over, because he knows that although he’ll complain about the hickies in the morning, he feels blessed to have any remnants of you on his body. A burn, a bruise, a red stamp on his forehead with your name on it. He doesn’t care.
“You wanna stop?” he questions. He traces shapes on your hip, then letter. I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U.
You shake your head. “No, I want you to come. I want to see your face when you come inside me.”
The alcohol has definitely worn off but he still feels intoxicated in your presence. How can someone look like that? he wonders. You’re underneath him now, bright-eyed in anticipation. He licks his lips, amber eyes wide like a puppy. He wants to come — no, needs to — but he also is entertaining the idea of holding himself in so he can hear you orgasm ten more times.
“C’mon, Spidey,” you whisper, pulling his length towards you. He slides in slowly and exhales like it’s the first time again. You sigh dreamily, eyelashes fluttering at the halcyon feeling of warmth inside you. You feel so fucking full. Your nails dig into his muscular back as he moves faster, and the feeling is so euphoric that you’re sinking your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your screams.
“Oh, shit,” Peter sputters, whispering your name like it’s a poem he’s memorized. You nearly are a poem he’s memorized and it feels like heaven and more that he’s able to experience your body in this capacity — every inch, every curve. He’s about to be pushed to the edge once he hears you stutter his name mindlessly.
“Peter, Peter, Peter… f-fuck… gonna come again…”
Your back arches as shockwaves course through your body and suddenly Peter is gripping you from your hair to your shoulder hard enough to almost hurt in the best way possible. His knees buckle as he releases his come into you and you’re coming up for air after hearing his guttural moans and whines.
“Ffffuuuuckkkk,” Peter cries out, murmuring your name over and over like it’s the only word he knows.
You clutch his body like he’s a fallen hero (ha ha) and push the hair from his forehead, pecking him with kisses all over his face. His face is warm and so is his smile — so pretty, so unforgiving.
“We should do that, like, all the time,” he sighs, flopping his head onto your chest. You giggle, pulling him in your arms. His body is like a weighted blanket. He purrs at the feeling of your fingers through his hair.
i’ll be your cigarette ashtray
come back when it’s too late
worship you til morning comes
It was an annoying habit of yours. For some reason, your biological clock decided that when you got really drunk, you wouldn’t sleep in. Instead, like clockwork, you’d wake up at the crack of dawn.
Your eyes squint at your phone. 7:09 am. You groan, turning your body away from the sunrise that was perching itself higher and higher into the sky. The body next you stirs at your movements, mumbling something unintelligible and laying an arm over your frame.
Your eyes flutter open to see Peter’s face, angelic and blue-tinged in the dimness of your room. His breaths are slow and quiet. You want to trace his cheekbones and his slightly crooked nose but you’re afraid to wake him, so you settle for a longing gaze.
“Morning,” he whispers, making you wince. His eyes are still closed but his mouth turns upwards into a smile.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“Maybe, but I’m a light sleeper.” His pupils are blown out and black when he opens his eyes. He takes his hand and strokes your hair, inching over to your face and peppering a chaste kiss to your nose. He waits a beat then gives you a more passionate kiss on the mouth.
“Mmm. Morning breath,” you chuckle lightly.
“Hey,” he pouts. “That’s not how I like to be dirty-talked.”
You’re used to waking up next to Peter but the sight of him now is something new. He’s grown into his body and the way he looks naked right now, wrapped in your comforter… it’s like an alternate universe fr you. The sound of his morning voice is slightly raspy and low and you absolutely adore it.
“‘m not getting you off right now,” you mumble. “Make me breakfast first.”
He groans dramatically. He pulls you closer so that your nose is nestled into his warm chest. “Nope. Haven’t slept in like twenty six hours, baby. Sweet dreams.”
#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #peter parker angst #tom holland smut #uni!peter parker #college!peter parker #peter parker oneshot #peter parker imagine #uni au#college au #friends to lovers #best friends to lovers
Hiiiiii! Welcome to my first sleepover!! I’m so excited to be doing this, I’ve always wanted to try doing one of these (🤞🏻 people actually participate) and what better time than when I’ve hit 100 followers :))
Here’s how it works, send me an emoji listed below and i’ll answer it with whatever instructions it says :) You can start sending in stuff today, until October 24th :D
🥳 - cym (plus a topic)
🦋 - send a blurb/concept (i write for, tom and harry holland, harrison osterfield, peter parker, and jess mariano)
💐 - for a blog compliment
🎤 - i’ll put my playlist on shuffle and give you the first 10 songs
💍- fmk (plus 3 characters or celebrities)
☂️ - random, tell me anything ;)
tagging some mutuals (don’t feel pressured to participate): @bigassnocash @spidernerdsblog @hollandsvogue @itsapeterthing @vntgkenz @writesforholland + anyone who wants to participate :))
#em's sleepover#em's writing #em's ask box #100 followers celebration #i think i actually have 101 followers now lol #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield x reader #harry holland x reader #peter parker x reader #jess mariano x reader
You’d both been going at it for hours. The need to touch each other was too strong for you both to be apart. If Peter was being honest he could’ve fucked you the rest of the night, but he needed to remember that you weren’t enhanced like him and you still needed to catch your breath.
“I can take it” You whimpered as you came for the 6th time that night. Peter smiled looking down at your limp body. He loved how desperate you were for him, how you constantly craved his touch, “Please baby” you pleaded
It took everything in him not to continue fucking you into the matterss and make you cum a few more times. He listened closely to the way you body reacted to him, taking note on how tired you were become, “Baby you need to rest for a while, I can’t have you passing out on me”
“But I want to feel you” You pouted
“Don’t worry baby I’m not going anywhere” his hand caressed your cheek reassuringly, You sighed relaxing with his touch. Peter smiled, flipping your body so you rested on his chest, his cock still deep inside you that he could feel the small bulge that formed on your stomach.
Your head fell to his shoulder, enjoying that much needed break while still loving how Peter was stretching your abused cunt. You moaned as you moved your hips, fighting your body on a thin line of desperation to cum and desperation to rest.
Peter gripped your hips roughly, “20 minutes baby just relax and then I’ll fuck you all night long”
#perspectiive #and action tom holland #tom holland #tom x reader #actor!tom #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland angst #tom holland smut #tom holland x actress!reader
the two times you and tom jokingly propose to each other, and the one time you actually think about spending the rest of your life together
Stay - @softspideys
four times tom proves to you he’s not going anywhere, and one time you prove it to him
Cockblocks - @cali-holland
the four times you and tom got cockblocked in quarantine
The Happiest - @liberty-barnes
five times tom asked you to marry him and the one time you got engaged
Press Week - @parkersbliss
just three times you and tom were too adorable during press week
The Five Times... - @lovelyrdjr
five times you almost told peter you loved him
Almost - @fanaticwritings
the five times peter almost kissed you and the one time he did
You Belong With Me - @clara-licht
five times y/n stark felt jealous and the one time it was peter’s turn
#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland one shot #peter parker x y/n #peter parker#fic lists
➼ summary: an unrelated series of drabbles highlighting memorable moments from your domestic life with peter <3
➼ note: i will be taking requests based on a couple prompt lists! by the way, if you have any cute ideas of your own regarding domestic fluff that is not on the prompt list, you can send them in! i'll let you know if i'm interested in writing them! do make sure that it's short enough to fit in a drabble tho!
i cannot guarantee that i'll write all requests i receive in my inbox but i'll try my best! keep in mind i am busy with school, writing is not my priority. i am simply writing a couple drabbles whenever i get time.
➼ link to prompt lists → [x] [x] [x]
#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #tom holland #tom holland x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker oneshot #peter parker blurb #peter parker angst #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #college!peter parker #college peter parker