1952 cadillac

Cadillacs and Cherry Stems

Peter Parker x Reader

A/N: Absolute writer’s block, but I still managed to churn it out! Requests are always welcome. Just message me. Lol, love y’all❣️ .xx ~ Ryn

Words: 2,722

Warnings: None, other than insecure Pete (aww ): )

You didn’t notice the way he looked at you. 

When you were lost in class, inking blue pen into your hand, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you because your concentration was so alluring – you were oblivious. Or when he took the long way home, trading 25 minutes for a mere three seconds of catching your eyes looking back at his – you had no clue. Peter Parker was entranced by you – your quirkiness, your intelligence, and he wanted nothing more than to say just one word to you – at least one. He wanted more than those three seconds every day; he wanted to wave, or smile, or talk, or get lost in eternal conversation. He wanted to know what your favorite food was, and he wanted to ask you what songs were always drumming through that head of yours. He wanted to know what your hair smelled like, and why you never paid any thought in English class. Above all, he wanted you to want to know him, too. It was crazy, mad even, but he was desperate. And his desperation was killing him. He couldn’t say anything to you, though, because he was just him, and genius or not, you deep-fried his brain. He may be Spider-Man, but without that mask, it was all just a facade. He couldn’t be witty or courageous. Without the red and blue to camouflage his self-doubt and insecurities, he was just Peter Parker, and no amount of superhuman strength would change that. So he kept walking the extra mile and three quarters just for three seconds – end of story. That was until the day the sirens rang like a deafening blast through his heightened ears, and he stopped watching where he was going, and you, too, were deafening yourself with the consistent beat of your music. The collateral reaction came like a flash of light, because the same three seconds he lived for became the three seconds in which your story began. You crashed like two bullets, cherry red coating your clothes. 

“O-oh my gosh. Are you okay? I-I’m so sorry…” Peter felt like he’d been struck by lighting, because you were doing that thing you always did to him just by walking on the same side walk. This was not how he had planned on meeting you. 

“I’m fine.” You had had it with the world today. Now wearing your milkshake, you were starting to convince yourself of life’s boundless ability to wreak havoc on you. Peter, at this time, was also convincing himself of this very same thing, but with more emphasis on blaming himself. 

“Really, it’s my fault. I-I got distracted… stupid…” He started mumbling to himself, and a kind of guilt washed over you, as you looked up at his contemplating face. You placed a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder, and gave your best attempt at making a friend,

“It’s okay, Peter. I was pretty distracted, too.” His head snapped up at his name leaving your lips – a name he was sure you didn’t know. 

“Y-you know my name?” He looked like a blubbering fish out of water, and the naivety running around in his eyes made an unfamiliar feeling bubble up in your gut. A small smile tempted to form on your mouth, and suddenly you’d forgotten all about your sticky clothes and abhorrent day. 

“Duh. We’re in like, what, four classes together, and you’re kind of like the school Einstein… You’re hard not to notice.” You suddenly felt awkward, as you noticed your hand still lingering on Peter’s shoulder, and he surely did, too. His heart was about to burst, and if he wasn’t an ace at keeping his cool before, he surely wasn’t now. 

“W-wow, um, yeah… Okay, so uh, okay.” He managed to cough out before forming a small coherent sentence.

“Well, there’s, uh, not much I can do about your wrecked clothes – which I’m like, really sorry about, really – but I can get you a new drink…? I mean, i-if you want. We can go right now, actually. I’m not doing anything. That’s stupid, you probably have a life and are doing something. Are you doing anything? I’d really like to get you a new drink, because I feel super bad… Not like a date though! I-I –” 

“Peter.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Cherry.” A small smile was considering showing itself on his lips, but it didn’t need to because his eyes were saying enough for the both of you.

“Do you like Sonic?”


Hours later after the endeavor that was only supposed to consist of a hop to sonic, skip to order, and a jump back home, you and Peter found yourselves lost in that eternal conversation that he’d been wishing on a star for and the one you never knew you desired to have. 

“So, Coldplay, huh?” It was amazing to you how Peter’s blockade of awkward geek piece by piece cracked away until this funny, kind, sarcastic boy had blossomed – a guy you never knew existed. 

“Who doesn’t like Coldplay?” He sent you a laughing touché as he shook his hair out of his eyes, realizing that every little detail about you was more perfect than he’d imagined them all to be. Surrealism was floating all around him, and he just couldn’t figure out what to do with himself. He refused to think about the end of the night – he blocked out what would happen when you went to school the next day, and he pushed away the thoughts and knowing of his once again invisibility in your eyes – when he went back to being the dork, the geek, the loser. 

“Peter?” He pulled himself away from his incessant self-berating to look over at you.

“Sorry, what?” You rolled your eyes at what you thought to be a typical act of a boy, not listening, unbeknownst to you the thoughts going through Peter’s head. You sighed and smiled anyway.

“I said, have you ever tried to tie a cherry stem with your tongue?” A blazing fire instantaneously began blotching itself along Peter’s cheeks, as you began to realize the gravity of the question you’d asked, and a light pink hazed over your normal color, and you choked on the last sip of your Cherry milkshake.

“That’s, uh, not what I meant Peter. I’ve heard it does mean you’re a good kisser, though.” He belched out an uncomfortable laugh. He never, ever – like ever – expected to be having this conversation, especially not with you. He didn’t have any idea what to say, but he figured he couldn’t be any bigger of a moron.

“Uh, I, uh, wouldn’t know… and no, I’ve never tried.” You questioningly gazed up at him, somewhat shocked at what you were sure his answer couldn’t be. Had he never kissed anyone? You found the idea outrageous, yet the perpetual innocence of the idea charmed you, and you couldn’t help but find yourself slowly falling into a spell Peter didn’t even know he was casting on you.

“Have you.. never kissed anyone?” You instantly regretted pursuing your question, as a look of embarrassment imbedded itself on the sweet boy’s face. You wanted nothing more than to tell him that it was okay, and it was all artificial – all so manufactured – unless you really loved the person anyway, but he caught words before you could.

“Yeah, um… I haven’t. But I’ll try the cherry stem.” You could tell he wanted to change the subject, and he made it pretty obvious, too, so you did your best to push it aside, plaster a new feeling in the air as you dug around for the cherry in your now empty cup and popped out its stem. You took Peter’s hand, but the second you touched his skin, you had to stop– if only for a mere and brief moment – to feel the electricity that surged through your veins, all the way to your heart, before placing the stem in his palm. 

“Here you go hot shot. Now come on, there’s a place I want to show you.” 


Since you’d grabbed his hand, Peter had had trouble not sounding like he was speaking Greek, and he wasn’t sure if it was because the cherry stem was still rolling around in his mouth, or because he was just truly that retarded. You were questioning your own genuine intentions of your decision of grabbing his hand, rather than just handing the stem to him, and Peter was still stuck on the fact that you touched his hand at all. 

“Are we, uh, you know, like, at there, or there? Or like, the place, is that…?” He felt like smashing his face into a tornado of bricks, and you couldn’t help but snort.

“Yeah, look.” Peter turned his gaze just in front of him, rather than your Y/H/C hair that had blown strands in front of your eyes and he was really wanting to tuck behind your ear (ugh, what is he, a 1993 RomCom?). You had found yourselves standing in front of a rusty gate that looked close to the end of its life, yet it was still standing, dutifully guarding a vast expanse of junk yard as if it were a sparkling castle. Peter glanced down at you, at the childlike smile adorning you face, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, too.

“Well, come on then.” You tugged at his jacket sleeve in anticipation.

“Uh, Y/N, it’s uh… locked. Doesn’t that mean this is trespassing?” You gave him a sarcastic eyebrow raise as you adored his ‘goody-two-shoes’ act.

“Oh, my dear Peter, that’s the fun part.” He looked at you wide eyed, questioning your sanity, but then unquestioning it because it was your demeanor of rebelliousness that had always drawn him to you in the first place. You held your breath before letting out a loose laugh that danced through his ears, better than any music he’d ever heard. 

“I’m just kidding. It’s abandoned. Has been for 5 years now.” He let out a long breath before slowly nodding, now questioning his own sanity for trusting you – something he surely couldn’t help doing, anyway. As you both slipped through the crack in the gate, you guided them to a car far in the back. It stood proud on a hill – the king of the yard – its pawns guarding it in the valley below. Finally reaching the top, you huffed and turned around, facing Peter and promoting him to follow you and clamor to an unsteady, yet sturdy and dented roof. 

“Uh, Y/N. This is a Cadillac.”

“A 1952 Cadillac.”, you pointed a correctional finger at Peter, who was slowly sitting himself down next to you, pulling his knees up to his chest in the approaching nightfall. 

“Aren’t these, like, really expensive?”

“Oh, very. But not Lucy, here. She’s too beaten, too abandoned. Nobody cares or even knows she’s here” He laughed at you and you glowered your eyes.

“Mr. Parker, are you laughing at abuse?” He raised both eyebrows and looked over to you.

“Oh absolutely not. I’m making fun of the fact that you named it Lucy.”

Her.” You shoved his arm, and a clearly fabricated look of pain filled his eyes, making another one of those unfamiliar feelings grace you with its presence. You didn’t want to acknowledge your crazy ideas, but you couldn’t help but admit to yourself the way the boy who asked you questions no one else cared to know, and the boy who you’d never once spoken to unquestioningly treated you like he’d known you his whole life was making you feel. Your feelings were cut off in the middle of their realization when Peter’s eyes widened and he promptly opened his mouth and rolled out his tongue in which a cherry stem was lying, surely enough in a loop. Your mouth hung open as you slowly started to laugh.

“Unbelievable. I’ve been trying to do that for years! Like I said earlier though, you know what the fact that you can do that means.“ You wiggled your eyebrows in a wavy motion at the boy, and with your everlasting eccentric behavior, Peter was grounded, as a sudden and pleading urge to put his lips on yours overcame him. He was mortified by his own feelings and was sure the internal sweat he was feeling was showing through his eyes. He was petrified, but all the same he was angry – truly angry. His whole life he’d been the good kid. He did his homework, always came home on time, focused on family and school, and yes, it made him happy, but it also made him hate his inability to do otherwise. His whole life he’d been too afraid to live it. Maybe once, maybe just this once, he could convince himself to be more like you – more like the girl he’d admired since he’d set his eyes on her. Maybe once he could be Spider-Man without the camouflage. And in the moment of sitting on this hill, staring at the lights of New York City, his life for once seemed like a movie, and he was the guy who wasn’t afraid to kiss the girl. Ending the constant questioning of the rationality of what he was about to do, he started leaning toward you, praying against your rejection. You noticed instantly, and internally thanked the world around you for his seeming ability to read your mind. But the nearer he drew, the shallower yours and his breath became. Having remembered he’d told you he had never kissed anyone, sudden thoughts flooded his mind, a centimeter away from your lips, foreheads touching. He wasn’t good enough. He was too chicken. He was Peter Parker. Spider-Man wasn’t real; he was a mask – an idea. His breath hitched, and his eyes squeezed shut at his idiocy. Stupid. Insecure. Unrealistic. Somehow, in a way you didn’t know, you knew exactly what was beating through Peter’s mind. You knew apprehension in someone when you saw it. You knew self-deprivation. 

“Peter…” He still had his eyes closed when he hesitantly replied,

“Yes…” He was almost inaudible, but his breaking confidence was loud and clear.

“What are you so afraid of?” You just barely breathed it out, but you didn’t want anything to scare him from telling you the truth. He stiffened, both of your eyes still closed. It may have been the most intimate moment you and he had ever experienced in your lives. Everything felt so raw; you could feel Peter’s vulnerability as if it were your own. You could cut the silence with a knife, and it was only Peter’s voice that ripped through it.

“That-that I’m not good enough, especially not for someone like you. I make so many mistakes, Y/N – more than you may ever know. An-and I don’t know how to do this. I’m afraid of myself sometimes.” You lifted your eyelids, the tenderness of the moment hanging by a thread.

“Being honest Peter, I don’t know much about you. I don’t know your story – your past – but what I do know is that you care enough to ask me the little things about myself. Without even asking you paid to buy me an entire new shake, even though us colliding was half my fault. I also know just by looking at your eyes, there’s this-this light. You have such a big heart, and believe me when I tell you, you’re good enough.” Still leaning his forehead on yours, Peter let out a raspy laugh and a small nod, all of which you heard and felt rather than saw. 

“Okay?” You were desperately hoping what you said could at least help him in some way, the way he had helped turn your day around. He opened his eyes fully to look at yours.

“Okay.” {sorry not sorry John Green😂 } And then he kissed you. It happened so drudgingly slow at first, but it quickly caught up with the pace of both of your hearts. Peter officially was lost is a world he thought didn’t exist, barely managing to process the events of the entire day while you pulled at the back of his neck, he pulled at your lips and placed his hands on your waist. It was something that you both needed – something you both wanted. It was a kiss that you both made sure the other knew you never wanted to end. 

Hiram King “Hank” Williams, Sept. 17, 1923 - Jan. 1, 1953

On. Jan 1, 1953, somewhere between Knoxville, Tenn. and Oak Hill, W. Va., the greatest country singer and the greatest songwriter of the 20th century passed away in the back seat of a baby blue 1952 Cadillac.
Hiram King “Hank” Williams Sr. scored his first hit in 1947 with “Move It On Over.” Although his career in the spotlight only lasted 4 years, in that 4 years he forever changed the face of popular music. His songs would be recorded by everyone from Perry Como to Isaac Hayes to the Melvins to Social Distortion.
Very few artists have transcended the genres like Hank and certainly no one has ever put words to paper quite like him. His nickname, “Hillbilly Shakespeare,” only speaks to his greatness.
Today marks the 63rd anniversary of Hank Williams’ passing, but I believe the pastor of Hank’s funeral, Henry Lyon, said it best – “If this world should last a thousand years, Hank shall remain dear to millions of hearts.”