Spectacular; Cannot Wait To See This.

Spectacular; cannot wait to see this.

every new poster got me more 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Daaang, it's not just Mr. Garfield, but his stylist, Mr. Baker needs some applause because that suit along with the timepiece is very sharp. ZZTOP sharp.

Oh, and the curls.

And the shades.

And the smile and pirouette.

Yep, ZZTOP approved.

Andrew Garfield and your pirouette at the 74th Primetime Emmy Awards (September 12, 2022)

@thursdaygxrls --I have a hard time picking a fave of @p3mybeloved masterlist. In the 'pick a fave' reblog that's been circulating I selected "Just another screaming speck of dust," but believe me, it was like when the Academy has to pick a Best Picture winner during a year when all the nominees are brilliant epic films. The story above is golden and the descriptions and dialogue stellar. Really makes me appreciate the talent in this fandom.

the skyline falls as I try to make sense of it all

Summary: All things considered, the frat party could have ended much worse.

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Female Reader

Word count: 10.8k

Rating: 18+, no minors

Warnings/tropes: blond Peter Parker, a frat dude, a splash of violence, unprotected sex, sexual hang-ups, friends to lovers

It stung, to be ignored by this guy— fucking Kyle, it was always a Kyle, wasn’t it— that she’d gone on a few dates with. Especially since they’d gone well, or so she’d thought. He’d sent her goofy memes and cute emojis and it was enough to pull her in, enough to make her feel like maybe she was worth a damn.

So it was more than a little shocking to see him sitting on a couch at a Pi Kappa Alpha party with some beautiful redhead straddling his lap, kissing his ear with a too-loud giggle that cut through the noise of the hundred or so people crammed into the house. It was hard to take in, like she’d walked in on Bigfoot doing a burlesque routine, and she just stared uncomprehendingly, waiting for him to reject her. But it didn’t happen until he saw her watching them, and then he made a big show of pushing her away and shooting to his feet awkwardly, unable to hide his boner, and she couldn’t believe she’d been stupid enough to go down on a guy named Kyle.

Never again.

Music thundered overhead, some kind of trap remix of a Tears for Fears song that was war-crimes awful, and she ducked into the thankfully empty kitchen to collect herself before heading back home. She considered the jungle juice for a moment before grabbing a bottle of water and angrily unscrewing the cap before chugging half of it in one go, because she was not gonna have a hangover for some jag she’d met at a party a few weeks ago.

With a sigh, she perched on the counter and thunked her temple against the fridge, hoping it would knock some sense into her. Why did she have the worst douchebag radar on the planet? Who had she pissed off in another life that this was happening to her?

Somewhere to her right, ice shifted suddenly in the cooler and she jumped. There was Peter Parker, who sat in a permanent slouch in front of her in their Analytical Chemistry class. They’d talked a lot, starting on the first day of the semester with a loudly whispered can you believe this guy from him when their professor had said something wildly sexist. At first, she’d figured it was just an attempt to be slick, easy points for a bare minimum comment. But at the end of class, when their professor asked for questions, he’d raised his hand and asked if science was such an easy field for women to advance in, why wasn’t Mary Anning allowed to join the Geological Society of London? The room had gone dead silent, and when Peter brought up Rosalind Franklin next, class had been quickly dismissed. She’d caught up with him to introduce herself, and had been so relieved to learn he wasn’t full of shit. From there, they’d joked about how glad they were to live off campus, away from all the freshmen and traded tips on the best nearby dive bars. At least once a week, one of them would pick up an extra coffee for the other and somewhere on her desk, she had his notes from when she’d ditched class to go to a Valentino pop-up last week. She would consider them friends. As far as she could tell, he was pretty cool, although his bleached hair made him look like a total fuckboy, which apparently she was into. But if that was the worst thing he had doing on, he was a fucking dream of a guy. 

“Hey, you,” he said coolly as he straightened up to his full height, setting his red solo cup on the counter. His brown eyes swept over her, and dare she think he was checking her out? Maybe she just wanted it to be true, because maybe she’d wondered once or twice or seven times what kissing him would be like. At least she looked good in her too-short black skirt and Springsteen tee with a too-wide neckline. Apparently not as good as a giggly redhead, though. “Who’re you hiding from?” 

She shrugged carelessly, letting her feet swing and bump loudly against the cabinets below her. “Bad music.”

He nodded, his mouth twitching into a slow smile, like they were sharing a secret. “You sure? You tore outta there pretty fast.”

“I get really bummed out when eighties music is disrespected,” she replied, crossing her legs and not bothering to pull her skirt over her thighs. His eyes were glued to her bare knees, and for some reason, that pleased her. 

“Well,” he said after a moment, and she was not imagining it, his eyes were tracing her mouth like he was memorizing the shade of lipstick she was wearing, “I’m sorry your evening took such a bad turn.”

Peter Parker was stupid hot. She knew it, and he definitely knew it. Even with the messy boy band hair, he had warm eyes and a deadly jawline and currently, a hungry grin. And it wasn’t the beer she’d had earlier that was putting those ideas into her head. It was plain facts. 

“Me too,” she mumbled, shelving her racing thoughts as she slid off the counter carefully, just in time for Kyle to finally come barging in. 

“Hey! Hey, hang on—” he began frantically as she sidestepped him as best she could, but he grabbed her anyway. His hand was sweaty and his fingers were too tight around her bicep, like a claw in a toy machine had escaped and latched onto her. 

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, tugging out of his grip and squeezing her water bottle like it was his neck. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“No, listen— listen, it wasn’t a big deal. I’ve known Emma since high school, it wasn’t anything.”

She wanted the floor to inhale her Kirby-style. This wasn’t a discussion she wanted to have, especially in front of her friend that she was pretty sure had been flirting with her. Someone needed to leave, whether it was her or Kyle or Peter, who was watching the trainwreck unfold with wide eyes.

“Hey, man,” Peter began, taking a step toward them, but it did nothing to deter Kyle. “I don’t think she—”

“Can you just go?” she mumbled to no one in particular, heading for the door, but Kyle grabbed her arm again, bruisingly hard. Without thinking, she squeezed her open bottle directly in his face. 

Peter snorted. Meanwhile, the noise Kyle let out was as if she’d sprayed him with a riot hose, and she couldn’t believe this loser had talked her into giving him a blowjob. 

“You fucking bitch, I’m soaked,” he cried angrily, flicking water out of his eyes indignantly. It was only half a bottle and he was acting like she’d waterboarded him. Every single thing he did was pissing her off, and she was beyond furious that she’d wasted her time on someone like him. Worst of all, that he’d managed to make her feel sad, even if it had only been for a few minutes. 

“At least one of us got there,” she shot back and Peter snorted again and oh shit she hadn't meant to blurt that out and she was just digging a huge hole for herself, huh? 

Her mouthiness immediately twisted into apprehension, because Kyle’s face had gone from pathetically pleading to stone-cold mean. His blue eyes were flinty and he lunged at her as she took a step back. 

It turned into a strangely slow ballet: Peter pulled her behind him and threw a punch all at once, like he could predict the future and had seen it coming a mile away. Kyle staggered back with a bloody nose, Peter shook his hand out, and she peered over his shoulder nervously, because holy hell, she was pretty sure she’d just technically been in her first fight. “No one ever told you not to pick on someone smaller than you? That’s a dick move, don’t you think?”

Kyle was too embarrassed to do anything but stumble away with blood running down his chin, soaking into the collar of his awful lime green Lacoste polo. All the signs really had been right in front of her. Lacoste? So preppy. 

“I,” she breathed, adrenaline pumping through her body, sending jittery half-breaths out of her mouth as he turned to face her. “Um, sorry. Sorry, shit, I’m really sorry, Peter.”

“You okay?” he asked, handing her a fresh water bottle that she just held awkwardly, the condensation cold against her palm.

“Yeah. Yeah, um. Yeah.” Sound stupider, Jesus Christ. He was gonna think she was a complete idiot. “I’m okay. Are you? Your hand–”

“Was that the bad music?” he asked, taking the bottle and removing the cap for her.

She laughed quietly. “Yeah.”

He turned on the sink to wash the blood off, and she caught sight of his other hand. Two of his knuckles were busted, and she wondered who else he’d had a run-in with recently. She didn’t really have him pegged as a troublemaker. Maybe he was a trouble solver. She didn’t believe in violence, but sometimes she was glad other people did. 

“You sure you’re good? You look a little shaky.”

“Yeah.” Heavily, she leaned against the door and took a sip of water. “Thank you for, um, getting him to leave.”

“No problem. Did you finish the paper for Langston?” he asked, running a hand through his hair, which only made it more wild. 

She knew he was trying to distract her and she appreciated it. “I certainly have some words in a Google doc that are dreaming of becoming sentences,” she replied sheepishly, because it was a disorganized mess of notes and bracketed sarcastic comments to herself that she needed to delete before submitting. “But I don’t know if he really cares what girls write, given that he thinks women are treated better because of their looks.”

“Send him a selfie and get yourself an easy A,” Peter suggested with a devilish wink, and Jesus, why was the kitchen so warm? A drop of sweat snaked its way down the back of her neck, surely just from the excitement of what had happened. 

“Mmm, I don’t like the idea of him having a picture of me,” she replied, tossing her now-empty bottle into the giant black trash bag that sat between two bar stools. 

He hummed in agreement, his eyes lingering on her exposed shoulder. “That’s fair.” Christ, she was gonna slide down the door into a puddle if he didn’t quit looking at her like she was some kind of prize.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked down at the rounded toes of her boots, wishing she’d stomped on Kyle’s foot. That wouldn’t have been violence, more like… justice. “I…” she hesitated, wondering if she should explain it to him. “Um, there was this— this girl in his lap, and we’ve gone out five times and it was in front of everyone and it was embarrassing.” A lump formed in her throat because she was oversharing like some bubbleheaded high schooler and she needed to zip her mouth. Peter probably didn’t want to hear about—

“He’s a dick,” he informed her distastefully, like Kyle was something he’d found on the bottom of his scuffed sneaker. “I’ve known him since freshman year. He was on my dorm floor. Total piece of shit.”

“Wish I would have known,” she said wistfully. “ I could’ve spent so much more time worrying about finishing some papers instead of trying to figure out when to reschedule dates with him.”

“He’s got that Jekyll and Hyde thing going on.”

“Ah,” she scoffed. “A secret identity. Love that in a person.”

“Gotta steer clear of those, although… it’s hard to avoid a secret,” he teased, and wow, he was really hot. And nice, on top of it, but she’d known that for ages. However, it was a deadly combination that she was not immune to. 

“That’s true,” she agreed. There was a sudden commotion outside, shouting and cheering and splashing, and through the kitchen window she could see that furniture had made its way into the pool. She scoffed, tucking her chin against her chest. “Stupid.”

Peter nodded. “So why are you here?” he asked, leaning on the wall opposite her while she was still trying to process the fact that he’d punched an asshole for her, going out of his way to protect her. Who did stuff like that? “Doesn’t seem like your kind of scene.”

“What, a frat party? Because I make bad choices, obviously.”

He playfully seesawed his head. “Wanna go make another one?” he offered, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement pulled the material of his green t-shirt tight over his chest and what the hell, was she hearing him correctly? There was no way he was asking what she thought he was asking. A hook-up with her hot friend from chem class? Dream the fuck on, girl. And stop staring at his arms. His beautifully muscled arms, and definitely stop looking at the veins—

“With— um, with you?” she managed to stammer out, wishing she sounded cooler than she actually was. Spit it out, for the love of God.

“Yeah,” he grinned wolfishly, “with me.”

“Why?” she asked suspiciously, instead of shutting the hell up and letting him drag her upstairs immediately. Guys didn’t usually toss indecent proposals at her like this, but honestly, it would be nice to be stupid for a night with someone and blow off some steam. 

He shrugged, all easy grace and broad shoulders. “Why not? You’re cute, I’m cute. Besides, that whole soaked thing? That’s a real shame, sweetheart.”

Her brain was a whirlpool. Fucking what, Peter Parker? Who on Earth just casually said things like that? “I didn’t— I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Nah.” He shook his head, a boyish grin dancing on his lips that shot through her embarrassingly fast. “He should know how badly he fucked things up with you.” He extended his hand toward her. She stared at it, then up at him. He wiggled his fingers enticingly, jerking his chin in a come on move, and she took it hesitantly, but it was big and warm and reassuring against hers and it put her at ease instantly. Gently, he pulled her closer, until she had to tilt her head to look up at him. “You wanna let me treat you better than him?”

Nine simple words. Still, her brain took a millennium to process them, buffering like bad WiFi. Her heartbeat rushed in her ears, and she didn’t have a cool girl response for him. There she was, undeniably flustered and there was that beautiful grin of his, an I’ll eat you up if you’d like lazy twist of his mouth that sent heat spiraling between her thighs. 

She wanted to ask why again, but she just nodded wordlessly and he laced his long fingers through hers and quietly led her out of the kitchen, weaving through drunken party-goers. The skunky smell of weed curled in her nose, followed by the hoppy scent from a pool of spilled beer that she carefully stepped over, not letting go of Peter’s hand for a second. Briefly, she wondered if anyone was watching them, and then immediately realized that she didn’t care one bit about what anyone else might think of her. They could be going to get burgers or work on an assignment or feed ducks or any number of things. 

They weren’t. But they could be. 

She followed him out the back door, her heart racing with the unknown. It wasn’t like she was trying to get back at Kyle; she was truly intrigued by Peter. He’d made her feel positively electric just talking to her, and if that’s what he could do with just his words, then she’d be a fool not to find out what else he was capable of. 

The house let out into an alley that meandered through Fraternity Row. They were a few streets over from her apartment, which meant they were close to his place as well because she knew he was in the complex across from her. She’d seen him out on the weekends, with a board tucked under his arm or his backpack slung over his shoulder on the way to the library. Always with headphones in, blocking out the world, but he always returned the little wave she gave him as they passed each other. 

It was cool outside, the March air still clinging to a sliver of winter chill. The stars seemed to be hiding, and the only thing above them was a perfect crescent moon. 

“So are you taking anal chem for fun or your major?” he asked, and she tore her gaze from the inky sky. He was still holding her hand, as though they did this all the time, sneaking around in the middle of the night with nothing but very specific designs on each other.

“You think someone would take that for fun?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. It was a miserable class, and it was only made better knowing that it didn’t have a final. “It’s like putting your brain in an iron maiden.”

“Masochists, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not that,” she assured him, and he tugged her close to his side so she didn’t step in a puddle.

Until that slick little move, she’d managed to relax about what they were up to, because he made it easy to put things on a back burner and make her feel like they were just out with him getting some air. Just talking with her friend about a class they both hated, and not headed somewhere to go be impulsive together. 

They turned onto a side street behind his building, tall and brick and imposing, stretching up to meet the moon. Most of the windows were dark, because it seemed like every frat on campus was having a spring break is over party on the same night. Lucky her that she’d gone to the same one as Peter Parker. 

“You remember I sat behind you on the first day of class?” She nodded, and his thumb slid up the center of her wrist, sending a shiver up her spine. “I moved in front of you so I’d actually pay attention, because you…” he trailed off, pressing her against the brick wall, “are distracting. You know that?”

She didn’t even mind the roughness of the building against her back because he was melting her down with those pretty brown eyes of his. “No,” she replied, hyper aware of his hand coming up to rest on her hip, fingers slipping under her shirt to just barely caress her hip. His hands were calloused, but he touched her like she was something delicate— a music box ballerina or a pressed flower petal. 

“Well, you are.” He trailed his thumb along the rise of her cheekbone, achingly gentle in a way that turned her knees weak and set her body ablaze. Just from a simple thing like that, how absolutely ridiculous. “You wanna come up with me?”

She liked that he was checking in, gauging her to make sure she felt comfortable. “Maybe I just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” she teased as his nose brushed hers, and she stood on her toes so she could reach him better. 

“Awfully sweet of you.” His mouth slanted over hers, and wow, she had been wasting time talking about qualitative analysis with him, because Peter Parker kissed like pure sin. She’d never been so glad to be against a wall, because she was absolutely dizzy from how he was holding her, his thumb tucked against the hinge of her jaw as his other hand inched up to her rib cage. If he went much higher, he’d know she’d forgone a bra. 

A ragged gasp left her when he pushed his knee between hers, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. She could feel the pleased curve of his lips when she grabbed the front of his shirt to anchor herself, her nails scraping against his chest as she pulled back, because she was not about to make her private life public. “Peter, I think we should—”

“Go upstairs so I can treat you like a princess?” he crooned, trailing his lips maddeningly along her jaw with a contented sigh. “You want that?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes fluttering as his thumb grazed the swell of her breast, and he inhaled sharply. 

“Distracting,” he muttered with lust-lidded eyes, and he took her hand again and led her into the lobby. The elevator seemed to take forever to arrive. She waited for her nerves to convince her that this was a bad idea, but they stayed silent. His thumb tripped over the back of her hand as he traced some nonsense shape against her skin, and she tried her hardest to ignore how her heart sped up. 

Peter’s place was small, the kitchen and living room only separated by a high counter. To the right was a single half-closed door covered with various posters of local bands, and she figured the bathroom must be inside his room, just like hers was. Wobbly stacks of textbooks decorated a coffee table that appeared to be half of a repurposed door, if the brass knob was anything to go by. His laptop and Hydro Flask were covered in stickers, spiders and goofy science memes and logos she didn’t recognize, curled up at their edges from being handled frequently. 

Oh, to be handled frequently by him, her sly brain whispered, and she blinked, trying to shake that out of her head. Although, that was the reason she was at his apartment in the first place. 

The click of the lock brought her back to where she was— Peter Parker’s tidy living room, and then his hand on the small of her back as he slipped past her really drove it home. It was all of half a second of contact, but the pressure lingered, and the too-warm feeling from earlier returned, although now she knew it wasn’t adrenaline from watching someone getting their ass handed to them. 

Nerves caught up with her, and she adjusted the hem of her skirt as she sank down next to him, leaving a respectable amount of space between them. His couch was a nice green that reminded her of the rainforest, kapok trees and goliath water lilies and tree boas. 

Ever aware of her surroundings, she realized he was studying her. Stubbled cheek propped against his fist, elbow planted against the armrest of the sofa, and a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t seem to be scrutinizing or judging, just taking her in like he was at an art gallery. She watched as his eyes drifted along the curve of her hip, as they cataloged and made mental notes of her clavicle, as they lingered on her half-bare thighs. 

“What?” she asked, clearing her throat as she clasped her hands on top of her knees, wondering again for just a moment why he’d asked her to come to his place. 

He shook his head playfully, jostling his forearm— his very nice forearm. “You’re pretty.”

“Thought I was cute,” she breathed. He’d thoroughly flustered her again, and it sent butterflies flitting through her belly, ticklish and lovely.

“A person can be both.” He swiped his blond hair from his eyes, but it still curled stubbornly against his forehead. “How’d he blow it with someone like you, huh?”

His words were genuine, whiskey-smooth and wondering, and she pressed her thighs together as subtly as she could manage. “I mean, I told you what happened. He wasn’t, um… very reciprocal. Didn’t want to make any effort.” Ugh, she tried to ignore the memory of him lazily shoving his hand between her thighs like he was doing her some kind of selfless favor, and she was so glad she hadn’t slept with him. And she didn’t know who the hell she was that she was telling him this, but it felt like an easy thing to do. Opening up to Peter, with his bruised knuckle secrets and warm hands and burnished golden crown; it was reflexive. “But it doesn’t really work on me anyway, so I guess it was kind of a blessing in disguise.”

Peter made a disapproving noise, a tsk that made her dig her shiny red nails into her palms. “What doesn’t work on you?”

Her face went hot. How many times had she told someone not to bother eating her out because it didn’t feel good? Enough that it made her feel like she was a broken toy with faulty wiring. Some kind of signal had never made it from Point A to Point B, and it was embarrassing. All her girlfriends talked about how nice it was, and she was envious. And she’d been with people much more enthusiastic than Kyle, which led her to believe that it was just something that didn't work for her. “It’s fine,” she assured him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Can I try?” 

It wasn’t arrogant, the way he asked her. It was thoughtful. Earnest. And that knocked her for a loop more than an inflated ego would have. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to let him, but the idea of nothing happening was humiliating. It would ruin the night. Why did he have to be considerate? She figured they’d just make out and fuck, because that’s how it always seemed to go, in her experience. And she was more than fine with that. “You don’t have to do that.”

He raised his dark brows. “If you think I feel that eating you out would be a chore, you are so deeply wrong, sweetheart.” He leaned forward, and her body buzzed in anticipation as he invaded her space. “I’m gonna kiss you again, and I want you to think about it, okay?”

His mouth was just inches from hers, and she was so distracted by how good he smelled that she forgot he’d asked her a question until he made an expectant noise, a soft yeah? that had her nodding obediently. 

“Okay,” she agreed helplessly as his lips found hers again, honey-slow and just as sweet. Tentatively, she nipped at his bottom lip until he opened his mouth with a groan that spun her around. His fingers were against her neck, firm but not painful, and he was gathering her close, pulling her into his lap easily. 

It wasn’t really a question of whether she wanted to accept his offer, because her brain had gone carnal pretty much the moment she’d seen him in the kitchen. She realized then that he’d come to check on her— he’d even said he’d seen her leave the room— and from there, his concern had softened her until she was nothing but a wide-eyed wanting thing. But she didn’t want to deal with the disappointment again, and she didn’t want to fake anything with him. She was firmly pinned between a rock and a hard place, and she tried to push that conundrum away for a minute so she could enjoy herself.

Peter was deceptively solid under his usual hoodies and plaids, and it was a delightful thing to discover. She pushed him back on the couch, eager to touch him back as his hands roamed up her thighs, fingers dancing under the flutter of her skirt, tracing those little shapes again, maybe writing his name. He hooked his thumb under her chin and brought her close, running his nose along the underside of her jaw until she sighed. “That’s really pretty, sweetheart,” he encouraged her between kisses, his chapped lips creating a desire path down to her bare shoulder. “I’m so sorry he wasted your time.”

“Me too,” she whispered, sinking her fingers into his thick hair as he nibbled at her collarbone. “You can, um, leave a mark, it’s okay.”

He chuckled against her shoulder, shifting under her until she was straddling him properly, her knees vice-tight against him. “I’m gonna take you up on that.” His big palms settled against her waist, warm though her clothes like the sun was simmering under his skin. “Move your hips for me.”

He was already guiding her, slow rolling motions that were pushing her skirt up until it was indecent, but she didn’t care. Instead, she ground down shamelessly, finding him already half-hard between her thighs. “Like that?” she asked, but the way his thumbs were digging stamps of approval into her hips answered her question.

“You know what you want, don’t you?” he grinned as she leaned down to kiss him, sliding her palms slowly under his shirt. 

“He didn’t want me to touch him except how he wanted,” she mumbled petulantly, freezing for a second when he grabbed her ass and rocked his hips into hers. Stars raced over her skin at the sensation, and she tugged at the soft green material, desperate to see more of him. 

“He’s a fucking clown,” Peter informed her roughly, pulling his shirt off in one fluid movement and tossing it away before he dragged her close, sliding his tongue into her mouth with a satisfied groan. “You’re too good for him, angel.”

Maybe it was vain, but being told something like turned her on way too much, and in that moment, she knew she’d let him do what he’d asked.

“I wanna try,” she admitted in a rush, as though saying it quickly would stop her from losing her nerve.

He didn’t tease or ask her to say it again, instead nodding solemnly like she’d told him something sacred. A holy string of words, delicate as a rosary. “Yeah?”

She nodded as she slipped her hand into his. But instead of leading her to his room, he scooped her up so effortlessly that it made her laugh before he chased it away with a searing kiss, and her mirth faded into a needy moan. 

Shouldering the door open the rest of the way, he smacked the nightstand light on and kicked his shoes off, somehow holding her up with one strong arm banded around her waist. His mouth was all over her neck, whispering pretty against her skin like the word might tattoo itself there in delicate black script, sweeping along her shoulder to let everyone know what Peter Parker thought of her.

She kissed a pale scar on his chin as her back met the bed and he sat back on his heels. “You gotta lose one,” he informed her, tugging at her skirt and shirt, dark in his fist like a handful of oil. 

“You pick,” she said, tilting her head teasingly as he gently pulled off her boots, letting them clunk onto the carpet. “It’ll all be off soon anyway.”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to focus with The Boss staring at me.” Slowly, he raised the hem of her tee, his fingers almost too gentle against her skin as she arched her back so he could take it off, pulling it carefully over her head so he didn’t mess up her hair. “Fuck,” he mumbled appreciatively, and she was glad she’d been lazy and not worn a bra, because the expression on his face made her feel priceless. 

She didn’t feel self-conscious, not with him. If anything, she felt bold, like it was okay to ask for whatever she wanted. He’d made it clear that he wanted to spoil her, and the way he kept looking at her was more than enough. And the way he spoke to her wasn’t some dumb damn babe you’re so hot bullshit; it almost felt like some sort of piety. 

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her sternum, letting his palms ghost across her breasts. Goosebumps rippled across her skin and she shivered when he flicked his tongue across her nipple before taking it in his mouth, humming against her. “You doing good?” he murmured, giving her hip an affectionate squeeze. 

She nodded, blinking rapidly when his teeth scraped against her for a split second before switching to her other breast. “You’re really nice,” she said softly, brushing his hair from his forehead, toying with the golden strands for a moment. 

“Yeah, well, you make it easy.” 

She was gonna be nothing but a wreck if he kept talking to her like that, and she pulled him close so she could kiss him again. Tracing her fingers down his stomach, she found the perfect vee of his hip and exhaled in anticipation, hoping she could leave a mark of her own there. There wasn’t a bit of fat on his body, no matter where she touched. Maybe it was all that skateboarding he did. 

“Easy,” he gently scolded when she slid her hand dangerously close to his thigh, curious to feel how she’d affected him, even though his hard cock was already pressing insistently against her belly. 

She huffed. “Even if I want to?” she asked, because she truly did want to touch him. 

Peter shook his head, pushing her eager fingers away. “Tonight’s for you.” His hand slipped under her skirt, long fingers trailing along her inner thigh.

Flatterer, she wanted to tease, but he was so sincere that saying something like that even as a joke would make her feel like a jerk. That was a good word for him, sincere. It was in his eyes and the warmth of his voice and when he spoke with her, whether it was the time in class he’d assured her up and down that no one could tell she was hungover but maybe she shouldn’t participate in the discussion that day, or outside when he’d called her distracting. It wasn’t a slick line. He’d never given her one.

“If I do something that you don’t like, just tell me to stop, okay? You’re not gonna hurt my feelings. I’m pretty tough.”

Tough indeed. The light from his nightstand was enough that she could see some extensive scarring on his chest, but it wasn't something she wanted to bring up and possibly kill the mood with. “Okay.” She was twitchy with nerves, because she knew nothing was gonna happen other than a sore jaw for him and disappointment for her. But the fact that he wanted to try was sweet. 

“I’m gonna touch you… just like this.” His hand was inside her black boy shorts, cupping her gently as he slid one finger through her folds. It made her shiver— his confidence and his touch were an intoxicating blend. “Gonna take my time with you, sweetheart.”

She just nodded, because she wasn’t sure what else to do with a declaration like that. Here you are and here I am and I want to give you everything because I think you should have it. She tried to think of a response but she had nothing. Tabula rasa. 

He kissed her as he touched her, soft little bits of praise falling from his lips like sugar, telling her how well she was doing and calling her sweetheart. She whimpered when his thumb pressed against her clit, and then again when he began to circle it slowly. She could hear how turned on she was, and she whispered his name as he began to work a bruise into her skin, sucking hard as his stubble burned her neck, scratchy and sweet all at once. 

“You need more?” he asked, kissing away the bite of pain he’d left behind. “You need me to set you straight, angel?”

“I want more.” The words had barely left her lips before he was pushing a finger inside her, and she closed her eyes, tossing her head to the side at the feeling of him filling her up like that. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” he cooed, hand tightening against her cheek. It made her feel small, the breadth of his palm against her, the way his thumb rested just at the corner of her mouth because it had nowhere else to fit. “I’m gonna make a mess outta you. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, I promise.”

Her reply was to lift her hips, following the movement of his wrist as he began to pump his finger slowly. It was just enough to give her a taste of what was to come, but at the same time it was a terrible tease. “Peter...”

He added another finger and she clenched around them with a low moan. “Who’re you so wet for, huh?” His words were so soothing that they didn’t register at first, and then he crooked his fingers just enough to get her back on track. 

“You.” His face lit up, his brown eyes going dark with pleasure as he withdrew his hand from between her thighs. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long, because he pecked her mouth and began to kiss his way down her body, teeth scraping and tongue flicking cleverly across her sensitive skin until he was on his knees before her.

“You ready?” he asked, running his palms up her shins soothingly, past her knees to the tops of her thighs. She reached down and wiggled out of her skirt, although it had been yanked up practically the entire time and didn’t make much of a difference. 

“You now,” she prompted, not sure if she was stalling just a bit. 

He stood and shucked off his jeans so fast that she was confused by it. His boxers did nothing to hide how hard he was, and she wanted so badly to have him inside of her that for a moment she considered telling him to forget going down on her and to just get between her legs until she couldn't see straight. “We good?” 

“Uh-huh,” she said, and he sank to his knees, pulling her forward easily. “You’re good.”

She watched the lazy spin of the fan for a moment as he kissed his way up the inside of her knee, his hot breath making her squirm. “We’re getting rid of these,” he informed her, hooking his thumbs under the elastic of her shorts and tugging them down, and now there was no separation. But it still didn’t make her feel nervous, to be laid bare to him. The only thing she was worried about was her traitorous do-nothing body. A cold feeling spread through her chest, ugly nervous dread that zigzagged up into her brain.

Peter interrupted her nasty train of thought with an appreciative noise as he planted a kiss on the inside of her thigh, and when she looked down all she saw was messy gold hair and an easy smile that left her boneless. But watching him felt like too much, and when he swiped his tongue through her folds, she let her head fall back against his pillow, staring intently up at the ceiling. The room smelled like him, masculine and comforting, and it made something warm curl through her body. 

He did it again, a slow slide of his tongue that actually felt nice. Maybe there was hope for her yet.

“That feel good?” he asked when her knee jerked involuntarily, and she imagined a reflex hammer, shiny and small. 

“Uh-huh, yeah.” She inhaled so sharply it stung her lungs, and he pulled her closer, helping her drape her thighs over his big shoulders as he began to eat her out in earnest, groaning against her cunt as he devoured her. One of his hands was spreading her open, and she jumped when his tongue dipped inside her. “Oh, fuck,” she whispered, because this didn’t feel bad or obnoxious or like a complete waste of time, this was glorious and divine. Everything in her body felt quivery and perfect, drawing tight like a bowstring. Her hips were moving without her permission to meet his tongue, rocking up against his mouth, and all she could think was that her body wasn’t broken and she should take him on a date for showing her that. “You’re really good at this,” she told him, shocked at how unsteady her voice was. 

He hummed against her and then slid a finger inside, still working her clit with his clever mouth, and she nearly came off the bed at the overload. All she could think to do was to grab his hair, and in return, he added another finger. It wasn’t retaliatory, but her chest tightened all the same and her heart was a jet engine in her ears. Her breathing went jagged, almost comically breathy as he worked her open with his long fingers, curling and thrusting faster and faster until all she could hear was the embarrassingly wet sounds of his hand and mouth all over her. 

That elusive feeling that she’d doubted rose fast in her belly like smoke, thick and stifling until it overwhelmed her, and she let go of his hair to cover her face because she didn’t know what else to do as she fell apart. Her hips were still moving of their own volition, and she ground herself against his pretty jaw while he continued to lap at her until it bordered on too much and she twisted away only because she didn’t want to burst into tears in front of him. 

“Peter,” she mumbled, touching his cheek reverently, and oh, she was gonna get lost in his big brown eyes if she wasn’t careful, “I wanna kiss you.”

He crawled over her, slow and lean and spring break tan, almost like a cat stalking a mouse, and it sent a shocking rush of arousal through her. 

“You feel good, sweetheart?” he asked, his lips skimming hers as he cupped the back of her head. “You did so well, coming on my face like that.”

“I didn’t think anything would happen,” she confessed between kisses, his slick mouth hungrily stealing her words away. The soft material of his boxers was in the way of what she wanted, and she grabbed his ass to pull him closer. Whining in frustration, she shifted under him impatiently as he kissed her neck.

“What do you want, huh?” he asked, deadly soft as she planted her heels so she could feel more of him, thick and hard between her thighs. He felt big and all of a sudden, he laughed and flushed pink. She realized she’d said it out loud, but she had no reason to apologize. 

“You do,” she insisted, reaching between them again as he sat back on his heels, just out of reach. Before she could complain, he pulled his boxers down his hips and her words died on her lips, other than a blurted out Jesus, Peter. His grin was just a little bit arrogant but she didn’t care because it was warranted. “Do you think I can take it?”

“You wanna try?” He interlocked his fingers with hers, pinning her hands next to her head as he loomed over her. She let her gaze wander up the muscles of his arms and chest, down to his lean waist that she’d wrapped her legs around. 

She nodded eagerly, and he let her pull him down, immediately rocking against her while she somehow managed to mumble that she was on birth control. The head of his cock bumped her clit and she groaned, trying to get him to do it again. “Peter, come on.”

“You feel what you did, baby?” he purred, continuing his slow assault with a sweet kiss. “You didn’t even put your hands on me.”

“You wouldn’t let me and I wanted to,” she pointed out breathlessly, and he let go of her hand to squeeze her breast, taking her nipple in his mouth until she arched into him. Her body didn’t know which way to move, brain swirling like a top. “I’m gonna pull you out of class next week and— fuck, Peter—”

“Gonna pull me out of class and fuck me?” he grinned wickedly as he continued to rut against her. “Fuck, you’re so wet I didn’t even need your mouth.” 

His fingers were between her legs again, gathering her slick and spreading it all over his cock, watching her with dark eyes. How the hell was she supposed to sit behind him in class ever again and not remember what he’d done to her? She’d take one look at his hand curled against his cheek and fall to fucking pieces. Grabbing his wrist with a huff, she dragged him close so she could lick herself off his skin, and his pupils blew out. 

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he mumbled, bracing himself over her. 

“Show me,” she begged as he lined himself up with her. A yellowish bruise on his bicep swam into her line of sight and she kissed it gently. “Treat me better.”

He thrust into her slowly, giving her time to accept him. Even though he’d spent more than enough time between her thighs, it was still a lot. But she didn’t mind, because he was so fucking sweet to her that it was all worth it. “Sweetheart, I might find you first,” he groaned, kissing the tip of her nose, and why did he have to do a thing like that?

“Find me first?” she echoed blankly. Butterflies raced through her and she blinked rapidly, his face blurring for just a moment as he pulled almost all the way out of her. A bizarre panic filled her chest; she didn’t want to lose the closeness and she tightened her grip on his biceps, digging her nails in a bit harder than she meant to. But he thrust into her again, giving her a little bit more this time and she relaxed, enjoying the flex of his muscles under her palms. 

“I’m gonna drag you out of that lecture hall first,” he promised, kissing her neck roughly, “and I’m gonna see if I can’t make you come with just my mouth. Find an empty classroom and wreck you.”

She didn’t get to say anything else, because he bottomed out with his next thrust and a tremble ran through her body like he’d electrocuted her. It was intimate, the way she was curled around him and how he returned it to her, settled heavily between her thighs like this was how they always spent their weekends, tangled like vines and trading filthy promises. Maybe they should start. 

He rocked back but she clenched around him, looping her arms around his neck. “Wait, just— just stay like that, please.”

Peter pressed a kiss to her cheek and pushed forward, slowly dragging his palms up the sides of her thighs, blazing hot handprints tattooing themselves into her skin. “You just wanna feel me?”

“Yes,” she nodded. She liked that she couldn’t really move, with his strong thighs pressed behind hers and his body pinning hers helplessly to his bed. He clutched her face like he was holding a fistful of jewels, shiny and delicate and worth the world. 

Tucking his face against the crook of her neck, he began to whisper to her, asking what do you feel so good for, sweetheart? and telling her that she was a pretty fucking girl and he was gonna treat her like gold, just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you, baby, kissing her slowly all the while. She’d heard stuff like that from other men, and every time it ended with zero follow-through. But she didn’t doubt him for a second. 

A tremor struck her calves and she turned her head to the side as it made its way to her hips. He wasn’t even moving and she felt like she was gonna shatter apart again from how he was stretching her. 

“You’re shaking, sweetheart,” he said quietly, running his nose along the column of her throat, still not budging. Like he didn’t know how fucking thick he was, like he couldn’t feel her fluttering around him. “You gonna come just like this?”

“Yeah,” she said weakly, pulling him close so she could kiss him, but he rocked forward ever so gently and all she could do was gasp against his mouth as he pushed her over the edge. “Peter, fuck—”

“Take it,” he told her gently, her hips powerless under his. “Take what’s gonna make you feel good.”

This was just supposed to be a Friday night fling, something to be stupid about with a friend. What were they now? She couldn’t for the life of her imagine how he spoke to someone he was actually in a relationship with, because everything he was saying to her was verging on cataclysmic. Ruinous. Why would she ever want to sleep with anyone other than him again?

Her orgasm rolled over her, crashing like thunder through every part of her body, and she was vaguely aware that she was kissing his face aimlessly, his stubble harsh against her lips but she liked it. It could match how he’d scratched up her thighs. She wanted reminders of what they’d done, and when those faded, maybe she’d just have to find him again. 

“You want more?” he asked as she slowly drifted back into herself. “You need me to keep going?”

“I want more, I want you,” she sighed blissfully, letting her eyes fall shut. “Keep going.”

A growl rumbled through his toned chest and it made her shiver. He rolled his hips into hers and she struggled to breath for just a moment before he began to move in deep strokes that felt hypnotic. Her brain was deliciously empty and all she really knew was him and his mouth on hers and the torturously sweet press of his cock inside her. “You don’t need to think about anything,” he assured her as he ground against her just right. “Just focus on how you feel.”

He kept kissing her while he fucked her, and something about that was so nice that it was messing with her head. She’d thought it was supposed to be two friends using each other to get off, and here he was doing all sorts of extra work. He didn’t make sense. He wasn’t like anyone else she’d ever been with and he was setting the bar way too high for the future. And he was vocal, something she’d always found irritating during sex because it was all smoke and cheesy lines. But Peter was genuine, and everything he was whispering to her in that low voice of his was locking into her head, filed away neatly in little folders. 

“You keep making these sweet little sounds,” he grunted before sucking another mark into the juncture of her throat, and she shuddered when his teeth scored her skin. 

“Because you feel good,” she mumbled, digging her heels into the small of his back. “You feel so good, Peter.” She wanted to thank him for propositioning her but wouldn’t that sound pathetic? Thanks for not letting me get hung up on a loser and for making me feel like my heart’s gonna climb out of my chest? Ugh, that was stupid. All she could do was try to meet him halfway, even though she felt dumb with pleasure. 

“Yeah?”

She smoothed his hair out of his face and nodded, watching his eyes darken in satisfaction, all the honeyed bits fading away as he pulled out of her, kissing her harshly as he lifted her legs up. Both ankles were resting on his shoulder, leaving her bent like a sunflower in a storm. “You good like this? It’s gonna feel good, I promise.”

He’d stated his intentions and stuck to them so far, giving her all his attention and not letting her do anything for him. So if he told her that this would be heaven, she had no choice but to believe him. “I’m good.”

Carefully, he crossed her legs, and plunged back into her with a vulgar groan, somehow stretching her even more around his cock, pressing against something deep inside her that made her calves go rigid. “You’re fucking perfect, aren’t you?”

She was starting to feel sure that this was where she’d die, overloaded with pleasure until she dropped. He could twist her into a pretzel at this point and she’d let him, because somehow he knew her body better than she did. “Right there, like that,” she begged when he hit that spot again, unleashing something powerful inside her; a riptide, a whirlpool, a cyclone. Destructive and relentless and all-consuming, rising in her chest until she began to shake uncontrollably. 

Peter caged her in, his big hands holding her face gently while he fucked her through it. “You feel so good, don’t you?” he asked sweetly, kissing her cheek. “I can feel you tightening up, fuck.”

She had to know. It was killing her. “Why’d… why’d you ask me…” she trailed off, preoccupied by how he’d pulled out and was kissing his way down her stomach, his blond hair catching the light as he made his way between her thighs again, kneeling on the floor and pulling her close. “Peter, wait.”

“What?” he asked distractedly as he kissed her cunt before licking into her, sending a shockwave through her body. 

But she sat up before she could lose her nerve and scooted back, tucking her wobbly legs under her as she tried to catch her breath. “Why’re you doing this?” she blurted out. Her body felt pleasure-heavy, syrupy and humming with electricity and she wanted so badly for him to make her come until she couldn’t take it anymore but she couldn’t stop wondering. “Why’d you ask me to go home with you?”

Peter crossed his arms on top of his rumpled comforter and rested his chin on his wrist. “Maybe I’ve been thinking about you lately,” he admitted quietly, tracing his finger along her knee, and she couldn’t help but wonder again who had been on the receiving end of his busted knuckles. And then his words registered, smacking into her— maybe I’ve been thinking about you lately— and it made her heart flutter a bit. 

“Oh,” she breathed. Flustered again by Peter Parker. She should start a tally.

“Yeah,” he grinned, rising up to kiss her. “Oh.”

Before she knew it, he had her all turned around and she was straddling him, braced against his chest, her fingers spread wide across a big white scar. She jerked back, not wanting to touch something that couldn’t have been anything other than traumatic, but he gently guided her hand back, pressing it over his heart. 

“Doesn’t hurt anymore,” he assured her. “And you can’t hurt me anyway.”

Kissing him felt indulgent and rich, like a luxurious meal she couldn’t afford on her waitress salary, and she got lost in it each time. The sweep of his tongue against hers, the way he nipped at her, the pleased groan that rumbled out of him, all of it was utter sin. And the way he held her face, like she was someone special and deserving. She was so busy melting into him that for a moment, she forgot that he was hard between her thighs and that she was rocking against him shamelessly. 

“Whenever you want it,” he whispered, reaching down to rub a tight circle against her clit, “go ahead and take it.”

“What if I just wanna kiss you all night?”

Sitting up, he wrapped his arms around her, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement. “Then kiss me all night, sweetheart.”

“And what if I want this?” she asked, her words catching between her teeth as she sank down onto him, closing her eyes at the fullness. 

“Smart girl,” he chuckled, grabbing her ass and pulling her forward, setting a quick rhythm that she had no control over. His hands and mouth were all over her tits, kissing and pinching and sucking until she was lightheaded with sensation, collapsing against his chest so she could hide her face in his neck. Any noises she was making were muffled against his shoulder, and she was glad because she wasn’t trying to be quiet. 

“You don’t want my neighbors to hear you?” he teased, thrusting up hard enough that she made some kind of weak sound that she had no control over. “They don’t get to hear those pretty sounds?”

“Just you,” she sighed, enjoying the way his arms were still tight around her, holding her still as he picked up speed. She loved how much he talked, little half-phrases and praise and filth all mixing together, there you go, feel fuckin’ perfect, taking me so well, huh?, fuck, you’re beautiful, and she giggled at that one. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Started at cute and got to beautiful.”

“You’ve always been beautiful,” he replied, kissing the rest of her thoughts away. Who the hell did he think he was, telling her things like that, like it wouldn’t flip her world upside down? She was only human, and it was hard to ignore a guy like him. And if she was honest, she didn’t want to ignore him. She wanted to be selfish and hang onto all his sweet words, make a scrapbook of testimonials from her very good friend Peter Parker. 

Obnoxiously, her thighs began to shake again, from riding him and from nearly painful pleasure. He was gonna have to carry her home if they went much longer.

“Want you to come too.” She dug her nails into his shoulder as a hazy feeling began to sweep through her. “Please?”

“You first.” He cradled her cheek, his palm hot and huge against her. “Will you look at me?”

It was difficult to focus, between the sound of his hips smacking into hers and their harsh breathing. And his eyes, so warm and easy to get lost in, like a gorgeous hedge maze. His thumb dug into her cheek slightly with a gentle hey, you and she blinked rapidly. Everything in her fell apart, her hips going erratic as she tried to ride it out, gasping and clenching and dripping all over his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, holding her hard against him so she couldn’t move, gripping her waist too tight. “Stay just like that, lemme feel you.”

As if she had any control over the aftershocks rolling through her body, to the point where she couldn’t tell which one of them was twitching more. “Come on,” she urged, kissing his neck harshly before returning the mark he’d given her. 

He snapped his hips hard, and she could feel him pulsing inside her as his forehead dropped against her shoulder, his blond hair sticking to his sweaty temples. He slowed down a bit, still fucking her, still hard somehow, and a thread of exhaustion tugged at her but it was overshadowed by the want to stay in the bubble they’d created for just a little bit longer. 

“Keep going,” she whispered, trying to match her hips with his. “Take what’s gonna make you feel good.”

Peter flushed, looking almost embarrassed for a moment before shaking his head ruefully. “Using my own words against me?” He leaned in to kiss her and didn’t stop, keeping her where he wanted as she ground down onto him as best she could. Even though her body ached fiercely and she was sweaty and absolutely soaked between her thighs, she felt so comfortable with him that she didn’t mind. 

She took a page out of his book and encouraged him softly, come on don’t you wanna give it to me again, you feel so good inside me, Peter I want it. She wanted him to be a mess too, groaning and shaking and just on the outskirts of losing his mind. But she didn’t have to wait long this time, and before she knew it he was holding her too tight and kissing her too roughly, his hands squeezing her ass too hard as he came again, mumbling her name against her chest as she kissed the crown of his head, running her fingers through his hair.  

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” he mumbled, gratitude evident in his tone. 

“I wanted to.” She carded her fingers through his thick hair, realizing that he was the only guy she’d met who hadn’t let bleach turn him into a dick.

He kissed her shoulder gratefully, and gently pulled out of her. “Hang on, stay there,” he said, disappearing into the bathroom and coming back with a washcloth. “Sorry about… all of that,” he apologized sheepishly. “I’ve got it.”

Carefully, he pushed her knees apart and began to clean her up. How he still had an ounce of energy left in him was baffling. He was gentle with her, and it turned her into putty. Unsurprisingly, she was sore, and she winced as his fingers brushed against her stubble-burned thigh. 

“Sorry,” he said again, bending in half to press a kiss to her knee before disappearing back into the bathroom for a few minutes. 

Glancing around, she let her eyes wander over some movie posters pinned by the window. His mini fridge was covered in various ticket stubs, and more stacks of books sat next to his bed. Smart guy. Although that wasn’t a surprise to her. 

The question of what now? entered her mind. Should she get dressed and take off and text him in the morning? Or wait to see him in class on Tuesday? Exhaustion whispered to her, and she shook her head, because passing out definitely wasn’t an option.

There wasn’t a lot of time to weigh it out, because he reappeared in a pair of boxers covered in snowflakes, totally inappropriate for March but it somehow worked for him. Grabbing an ESU t-shirt off the top of his dresser, he sat down and handed it to her. She pulled it over her head, and she was sure if she stood up, it would reach her thighs. His arms were tucked against his chest, and he rolled his golden head to the side playfully. “So,” he began, his eyes tracing over her mouth the same way they had in the kitchen, “If you want this to be a one time thing, I totally respect that. I’ll walk you home, and it’s all good between us.”

Her heart sank, just a little. She tried not to let it show. She had a habit of letting pretty words influence her heart, and she felt foolish for putting stock into all the things they’d said to each other. 

“Or,” he continued, spanning his palm against hers, and that or made her breath catch, “It’s my turn to buy coffee. So maybe you spend the night and tomorrow we’ll do that, figure out the rest of your paper, and then figure out each other a little more.”

Disarming was another good word for him. But he was looking very firmly at their joined hands, and it occurred to her it was the first time she’d seen him unsure all night. This was what rattled him: emotional intimacy. 

“I mean,” she began slowly, “you should probably come over to my place this weekend. I still have all your notes, you know.”

He leaned forward with a grunt, rolling his neck. The muscles in his back rippled and she took the opportunity to stare shamelessly. Her fingers twitched and she reached out to gently trace the reddened lines she’d left behind. “You want me to come pick up my notes?” he teased, and she was pleased when he leaned into her touch, like a cat might. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Maybe I’ve been thinking about you too,” she whispered, feeling shy for the first time the whole night.

“Ah,” he grinned, leaning in to kiss her. “And here I thought you just liked me for coffee.”

“It’s mostly that,” she replied, jumping when he goosed her playfully. “And the sex was a ten, but I grade on an eleven point scale.”

“Okay, so there’s room for improvement. Anything else?” he asked as she curled up against him.

“Thanks for treating me better,” she said quietly, closing her eyes as he slung an arm around her. “That was really nice of you.”

“I told you, sweetheart,” he yawned, kissing her temple. “You make it easy.”

~

Title comes from Good Looking by Suki Waterhouse. 

Me, writing normal friends to lovers with nothing extra thrown in? Imagine that.

Also, do you know how all my one-shots start? I make a joke about an idea and then I go, “haha ohhh wait” so @liz-allyn pulled this one out of me when we were having a group think about Peter Parker, because Blondrew Garfield is out to get us all. Thanks, you talented angel!

Comments and reblogs make my heart sing 💚 I love hearing what you connected with and enjoyed!

Taglist: @liz-allyn @cordiformity @abibliophobiaa @spidervee @withahappyrefrain @letmeplaytheliontoo @wicked-remarks @rae-gar-targaryen @mortwig @quobber @squiddtheekidd @silkspiderstuff @summertimestyles

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

Crisis: a perspective

The news that AMPTP has hired The Levinson Group isn't exactly a surprise. The PR agency is, after all, a top firm in crisis management, as many articles related. However, it is telling that what the AMPTP considers a crisis is their image and not workers being unable to pay their rents, mortgages, or qualify for health insurance among other things.

You want to know what makes for a good image? Being a good listener. Being compassionate. Seeing humans as humans and treating them that way. Recognizing that labor needs safe working conditions and fair wages. Cooperation comes before corporation in the dictionary and together, the artists and technicians working with studios have created magic for fans of their works. If a PR agency tries to convince the public that the WGA and the SAG-AFTRA members are the ones being uncooperative in their asks, I would suggest they consider that the public's perspective of what constitutes a crisis is a lot closer to what the strikers are facing than that for which the executives are hiring a spin doctor to heal.

Taylor can wear whatever she likes at whatever age she wishes to wear it. Adults wear sports uniforms every weekend and few bat an eye, partly because it's mostly men (and therefore somehow acceptable and not allowable to criticize) and because sport is seen as a 'legitimate' activity. Sport was the example I used, but one could substitute other activities, really. The main point being what others have related--it's more about ageism and misogyny.

Swift is an artist and therefore whatever she wears is speaking to her creative outlet, part and parcel of who she is. Never mind the naysayers. Someone wants to wear a football jersey on Saturdays and paint their face at 40? Go for it. Taylor Swift wearing a beautiful gown at 33? Rock it my lady, you look divine.

saw a tweet mocking taylor for being “old” and wearing princessy gowns… thinking abt how she is performing music written by her teenage self and honoring that time in her life… thinking about how she loved the fairytale aesthetic as a teen… thinking about how she started dating a much older man who mocked her for being immature… thinking about how her whole personal aesthetic and branding changed dramatically after that… thinking about how taylor swift has literally described relationships with older men as losing her girlhood… thinking abt how she is again and again mocked for trying to reclaim that… thinking about how women at thirty get called old and people don't recognize how insane that is… etc etc

Lovely pics; his lil freckles are visible.

ANDREW GARFIELD (2017)

"He is the prettiest man ever, i’m sorry for the people who don’t get it" (X)