Peter Parker x Reader
Tony's daughter who was dating Peter.
MJ and Peter weren't together obvs
It feels like a huge part of me is missing. And I don’t mean just because my dad died—I mean, it feels like I can’t remember huge parts of my life.
The feeling had started small at first—like walking into a room and forgetting why you were there. Except it never went away. It lingered, growing heavier each time I opened a drawer, each time I passed a hallway, each time I caught a glimpse of something that felt important but meant absolutely nothing.
Any time I’ve looked through the photos my dad kept in his lab, I always seem to stare at the ones of him and the teenage boy who seems roughly my age, and I get a huge sense of déjà vu. He is so familiar; it’s like everything I know about him is at the end of a never-ending corridor in my mind, despite the fact I feel myself getting closer and closer to discovering something about him.
“I just don’t understand it, Happy. Why does he have all these photos with this boy? Why do none of us know who he is?” I sigh, dragging Happy into my room for one of my daily sessions of just… annoying him.
Happy lets out a long, tired exhale before even answering, like he already knows exactly what conversation is coming.
“You’ve asked me this almost every single day since you saw the photo, y/n, and to this day my answer remains: I do not know,” Happy states, and I groan loudly as I flop onto my bed.
The mattress dips beneath me, and I stare up at the ceiling, willing my brain to just work.
“Is he AI or something?” I question. Happy just laughs, shaking his head, before exiting my room, leaving me searching my mind again for answers I seem unable to find.
The silence he leaves behind feels louder than the conversation.
“I’ve asked everyone, guys. Nobody has a clue who he is,” I mutter, taking a sip of the coffee MJ just poured me, still going on about this mystery boy.
The café hums around us—steaming milk, clinking cups, quiet chatter—but my brain is miles away.
“Well, you clearly do,” MJ sarcastically says from the coffee machine. Ned smirks at her before shooting a look in my direction, which causes me to narrow my eyes at them, unsure of what’s happening.
“Come again?” I say, a nervous laugh escaping my lips.
“I found my old SIM card from my phone. We all knew the boy, y/n—some more than others, however,” Ned explains briefly, then slaps a binder in front of me and motions for me to open it. I reluctantly do, my eyes scanning printed-out photos of Ned, MJ, the boy, and me hanging out on numerous occasions, some with us even kissing.
The air in my lungs disappears.
“Nice joke, guys… real funny,” I whisper, not believing what’s in front of my eyes. None of this adds up. None of us remember this boy, and they’re expecting me to believe he was in our friend group? Correction—they’re expecting me to believe I dated him? Fat chance.
“Why are you such a skeptic, y/n? We knew him,” Ned groans, snatching the binder back and carefully placing it in his bag. MJ smiles before a new customer attracts her attention.
“If we all knew him, why can’t we remember him at all? That’s what I don’t understand,” I argue. MJ pauses briefly, making a drink for a customer at the opposite end of her barista area, and looks at me with a small chuckle.
“Group amnesia or something?” she suggests, a smile growing on her lips. I scoff, my mind reeling, and decide to make my escape.
“Listen, I have to go… I promised Morgan I’d make her waffles for lunch,” I lie, glancing at my watch. “If you guys want to come over for movie night later, I’ll let my mom know.” I finish, standing up and quickly exiting the café.
The bell above the door jingles as I step out, the cool New York air hitting my face like a reset button.
As I walk through the streets of New York, I actually feel at peace. The busy streets take my mind off the constant questioning that’s been swirling through my head. As I stare up at the tall buildings, I notice the one and only Spider-Man swinging between them, and I laugh a little.
He was one of my dad’s Avengers, potentially his favorite, and also my favorite. Quiet, sort of nerdy in a nice way—but I can’t ever remember seeing his face. He was always careful to keep his identity a secret.
The last few months, we’ve grown closer. It’s like he knows everything about me, yet he still hasn’t taken off that godforsaken mask.
I’m snapped back to reality when he swings down and lands beside me. I look at him and smile, hoping he can see it through his mask.
“Where’s your chauffeur?” he jokingly asks. I sigh.
“Happy says I need to work on my independence since he won’t be here to drive me when I go to college, so now I walk,” I complain, making him laugh.
“Streets of New York seem pretty crime-free today. Want a swing home?” he asks. I nod, wrapping my arms around his neck as he shoots webs from his suit, swinging us building to building until we reach my home.
Wind rushes past us, the city blurring beneath our feet, and for a few seconds, the missing feeling fades.
“Why do you have these photos out?” Spider-Man asks as he swings us through my bedroom window, stopping in front of my bed where he looks at the photos I collected from my dad’s lab.
The moment the word photos leaves his mouth, the heaviness returns.
“It’s a long story,” I say, shoving them all in a drawer, the slam sounding loud in the silence that fills my room as I sit on my bed.
“Do you know him or something?” Spider-Man asks, cautiously sitting on the edge of my bed. I sigh.
“That’s the thing! I don’t remember anything about him or who he is, but I know he was in my life. I mean… these photos with my dad are one thing, but today Ned showed me photos he found on his old SIM card. The boy used to hang around with Ned, MJ, and me. I dated him—there are photos of us kissing!” I exclaim, my voice shaking. I’m done feeling like a broken record, chasing myself around in circles for answers.
“Weird.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say?” I scoff, reopening my drawer and taking the top photo out with my dad and the boy, staring at it.
“It’s been haunting me ever since I realized I didn’t know who he was. It’s like I know him, but the memories are somewhere I can’t reach. I’ve asked everyone, and nobody knows who he is,” I ramble.
“Y/n,” Spider-Man says from the other side of my bed, but I’m too deep into my rambling to look.
“I just want closure or something to stop this. It’s eating me alive,” I finish.
“Y/n,” he says again. This time I look at him, and my heart stops.
There, sitting on my bed, is the boy from the photos in the Spider-Man costume, mask in hand.
The world goes quiet.
“This isn’t funny,” I say, heart racing, the cold room now feeling like it’s boiling.
“I’m not trying to be,” he states. I shake my head, walking to my window to gulp in the fresh air, trying to make sense of everything.
“My name’s Peter Parker, and I think I owe you an explanation,” the boy who went from mysterious stranger to Spider-Man to Peter Parker says from my bed.
“I need you to understand that this spell didn’t just make a few people forget me. The entire world forgot Peter Parker existed. When Mysterio revealed my identity, everything spiraled out of control. People blamed me for his death, reporters swarmed my life, and the danger of being Spider-Man started reaching the people I cared about. There was no way to fix it without making things worse, so Doctor Strange cast a spell that erased Peter Parker from everyone’s memory. Every friendship, every photo, every moment. Staying close to you as Spider-Man was the only way I could still be in your life. Even if you didn’t know who I was, being near you behind the mask was the only piece of my old world I had left.”
He explains, and I say nothing, staring out the window.
“Please, y/n, I know it’s a lot, but I wanted you to figure it out on your own. I knew you’d be able to eventually,” he quickly adds. I turn to him, unsure where to begin.
“And how did you know I’d figure it out when I can’t remember anything about you?” I ask quietly, trying not to shake.
“I thought I was good at keeping my Spider-Man identity hidden. I convinced myself my story about writing an essay on your dad for English would be convincing,” he begins. I sit back on my bed, softening at the mention of my dad.
“Turns out you knew that I was Spider-Man pretty much the whole time—not because your dad had told you, but because you just had a feeling, so you started doing your own digging,” he says. I let out a weak laugh. That does sound like something I would do.
“And the photos Ned showed me? I take it they were all real?” I quietly ask, staring at him. It’s like cogs in my head have slowly started turning again, small pieces of memories working their way back into my mind.
“Yeah.”
“So we did date then?” I ask, my heart racing at the anticipation of his answer.
“For like, over two years, yeah. I know you don’t remember anything I’m about to say, but just trust me. We dated for over two years. Half the time we were inseparable—not even your dad could come between us. One time you didn’t speak to him for over three days until he let me have sleepovers where I could be in your room. My aunt adored you, like to the point where she had a photo of just you on her nightstand. Happy and I were extremely close, and he made me promise to never tell you this, but he used to warn me that if I ever hurt you, he’d ensure I got kicked out of the Avengers.”
Peter is rambling again, so I find a good place to cut him off.
“Shit.”
He laughs, and I find myself watching his face, thinking it’s kind of weird that the laugh I’ve heard from behind the mask for so long is coming from the same boy I’ve been obsessing over.
Let me try to make this make sense: I used to date Peter. Peter’s identity got revealed; everyone hated him, so they started hating the people he was close to. Doctor Strange cast a spell to make everyone forget who Peter Parker was. Peter Parker is Spider-Man. Spider-Man has grown closer to me in the last few months since the spell was cast. Spider-Man is/was my boyfriend, who I cannot remember anything about—but he used the fact that his identity was secret to get closer to me. The boy who felt like a stranger to me (even though I do know him, except my memory is messed up) was the boy who’s grown closer to me.
“My head hurts,” I quietly say, before yet another thought hits me.
“Strange cast the spell, right?” I ask, not even waiting for confirmation. “So he can break it.”
And with that, I’m sprinting out of my room, all the way to the front door of our building, before running straight to Doctor Strange’s house.
By the time I reach the steps, my lungs burn, and my legs ache, but adrenaline refuses to let me stop.
When I pound my fists against the front door, I’m a panting, out-of-breath mess—but I don’t care.
“What?” he stubbornly asks as he pulls open one of his grand doors. I don’t give him a chance to question further as I push my way inside.
“You need to reverse this spell,” I say, pointing at my mind.
“What spell, y/n? Because believe it or not, I’ve put a lot of those on you,” he says, a weak attempt at a joke.
“The one about Peter. Peter Parker,” I state, and a wave of confusion washes over his face as he leads me through his large house—or whatever this place is—toward the room he typically uses for spells.
“How do you know about that spell? More so, how do you know who Peter Parker is?” he asks, staring me dead in the eyes. A cold chill runs up my spine.
“Photos and stuff. Plus, he kind of told me earlier—he’s been sneaking his way back into my life through his Spider-Manness,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t try to distract me. Reverse it.”
He stares at me with a ‘not happening’ look, so I decide to use my trump card.
“Please,” I whisper, fake but extremely convincing tears pouring down my face almost instantly.
“Why are you crying?” he asks, confused but concerned.
“Because ever since my dad died—” (whoop there it is) “it’s felt like nothing in my life has made sense. And then I realized I can’t even remember a single thing about the boy who clearly meant a lot to me, and I just feel so lost. Like I’m running down an endless corridor searching for answers.” My sobs are real now; my fake ones have taken on a life of their own.
“And by looking at the photos my dad had of him and Peter, it seemed like he was extremely important to my dad, too. My dad would want me to remember him,” I finish. Doctor Strange lets out a huge sigh, frustratedly running his hand through his greying hair.
“Do you know how dangerous reversing the spell is?” he asks. I shake my head.
“I’m not asking you to reverse your full spell. I just want my memories of Peter back. Just me. Nobody else,” I quietly say. He begins grumbling, the orange glow of magic spiraling around us.
“You cannot tell anyone what you remember here today—apart from the obvious Peter. You cannot tell Ned or MJ. If they ask questions, you remain silent. If anyone finds out Spider-Man’s identity again, it’ll be extremely dangerous for everyone involved. That’s why I cast the spell in the first place.”
My vision goes black, until memories begin to flash.
“Y/n,” my dad says, clearing his throat from the doorway of my room. I snap my head up, confused. My eyes fall on an awkward boy beside him, seemingly my age but also extremely cute.
“Hellooo?” I say, sitting up and slamming my chemistry textbook shut, slightly embarrassed that my dad caught me reading something educational.
“This is Peter Parker. He’s… uhhh…” my dad trails off, nudging the boy’s shoulder. I instantly know something’s up.
“I’m writing an English project about your dad!” the boy chimes in. I furrow my eyebrows but can’t help smiling—he’s really cute.
“So Peter’s gonna be around a lot. Do not annoy him, y/n, I’m warning you,” my dad says firmly. I laugh as he walks away, Peter lingering to awkwardly wave before following him.
This is definitely a new Avenger—they must think I’m stupid.
Maybe having Peter around these last few months hasn’t been so bad. I didn’t really have friends before, thanks to my dad’s helicopter parenting, but now I’m almost always with Peter, Ned, and MJ. It feels like I’ve always been part of their friend group. It’s nice.
“Ew, Ned, stop!” I shriek, hiding into MJ’s side as Ned shovels marshmallows meant for hot chocolate into his mouth—a pathetic attempt at Chubby Bunny.
“Gross,” MJ laughs. We all watch in a mix of horror and amusement as he squeezes half the pack of marshmallows into his mouth.
“Chubby Bunny!” Ned somehow says, making us all burst into laughter, including him, now a drooly marshmallow-firing machine.
“Tony’s so gonna kill you!” Peter yells, running around the kitchen, opening cupboards, scrambling for a garbage bag.
“Kill him!? No—I think you mean me!” I yell, and he looks over at me, our eyes meeting. A smile spreads across his lips. That’s when I realize I’m in love with Peter Parker.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Peter says, breaking the silence as we watch news coverage of the Avengers’ latest mission. My gaze focuses solely on Spider-Man. Over the last few months, I’ve pieced it together: Peter must be Spider-Man. There’s no other reasonable explanation for why my dad let this boy get so close to our family.
“Just stuff on my mind,” I quietly say, gently kicking him as he sprawls at the opposite end of my bed.
“Same, actually,” he responds. I gasp. Gossiping with Peter is one of my favorite things to do.
“Like what?” I ask.
“You first,” he says. I groan.
“No, I asked first,” I argue. He groans, sitting up from his sprawled position.
“Technically though, I pointed out your quietness first, so if you think about it, I asked you first,” he jokes.
I sigh. “Okay, what about same time then?” He nods, holding up three fingers, lowering them one by one. Once he’s done, we both speak:
“I’m in love with you.”
“I know you’re Spider-Man.”
“What!?” we both exclaim.
“You’re in love with me!?”
“How do you know I’m Spider-Man!?”
Shut the fuck up. No way. Peter, the boy I’ve been obsessing over since my dad introduced him to me, is in love with me.
We fall silent, waiting for the other to speak—or at least react. I notice Peter turning red, and I take a deep breath.
“I love you too,” I say. His eyes widen. He goes to speak, but I cut him off. “Plus, it’s obvious you’re Spider-Man. My dad doesn’t just let randoms join our lives for an English project.”
“Maybe not that obvious,” he nervously says. We laugh.
All the memories crash back like a train. When I finally come out of the trance, tears pour down my face.
“Thank you,” I cry, throwing myself into Strange’s arms, hugging him tightly.
“You’re welcome, kid,” he quietly says, patting my head awkwardly before letting me go.
“I need to go see Peter,” I gasp, leaving without checking if Strange is following. The minute I pull open his front door, there he is. Peter, standing and waiting.
“The spell? Were you able to—”
I cut him off, grabbing his face and pressing my lips to his.
“I remember everything.”
