Angst, Love And Superheroes @missmartiantheavenger - Tumblr Blog

—sunshine of the dark.

part two.

jack abbot x sunshine!reader

the sunshine of the night shift, all cookies and lavender, loves to make the grumpy, sassy, silver fox attending smile through attempts at flirting and baked goods. but what happens when he asks a certain replacement attending for drinks and the sunshine dims?

—angst. yearning. fluff ending. reader can be described as plus size but no specified race. age gap (reader is in her late 20s, early 30s, our grumpy man in his late 40s, early 50s). medical inaccuracy.

part one here !

thank you to @cafekitsune for the lovely divider !

There was a sudden lack of confections and savouries in the pitt.

Everybody noticed that it was not a coincidence.

The first time, you faked a gasp and everyone brushed it off as just a slip of your mind. A habit that just slipped past your brain. A reason that didn't need a calculated thought process. Genuinity was believed like it wasn't a calculated gamble and everything moved on normally.

The second time, you yawned and complained about your lack of sleep. The drain of energy due to hellish shifts and mental exhaustion was no new notion to the people of the pitt. Everyone had experienced this personally so no one questioned the lack of sweet treats. You were given empathetic side hugs and understanding nods. However, the treats were still missed.

The third time was when everyone staggered. You didn't even mention or acknowledge the absence of filled boxes of beloved delicacies and moved on with your shift as if this was the normalcy stitched onto every day of the pitt. You received side eyes, casual check ins on your health and suspicion from two mama nurses.

Worst of all, you received something you were too blind for. Something you never expected. Jack Abbot's concern.

tw1sters

Bad Blood

Interning with your ex-boyfriend’s brother wasn’t how you imagined your summer, but somewhere between the long hours and conversations over late-night takeouts, he’s becoming harder to hate.

▸ PAIRING: Manager!Bucky Barnes x Intern F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, grinding, riding, penetration with protection, power dynamics, bucky calls reader kid (and we like it), some hurt/comfort, reader got cheated on (not by bucky), reader is technically not undergrad (i pictured grad student), so much corporate setting (im sorry in advance), alcohol consumption ▸ WORD COUNT: 20.8K ▸ A/N: incredibly sorry in advance again because i started writing this at a very corporate time in my life (i was dying with work) so if you're a hashtag corporate girlie, you can relate. i hope you like this fic!!! in addition, thank you to my incredibly talented friends for joining me in this collab, please show all the fics in this little collab lots of love!!! <3

↤ main masterlist | 1917 masterlist

Of all the people you expect to meet on the first day of your dream internship — the one you poured countless hours into to get an interview and to nail said interview, your damned ex-boyfriend’s brother is the last person on that list.

But that’s exactly what happened. The two of you lock eyes from across the room as introductions are being made, freezing like deer in headlights, except both of you are the deer and your cursed ex is the car that’s run the two of you over in this situation.

dirtylittlediary

overdrive- frank castle

pairing : frank castle x f!reader

summary : when frank comes home late from a mission after being hit by a suspicious powder, he wonders why he can't bring himself to take his hands off of you.

warnings : SMUTTTT !!!!!, minors please dni, somnophilia (oops), size kink, praise kink, needy!frank, desperate!frank, rough!frank (the list goes on honestly), p in v, unprotected sex, overstimulation, some angst. (both characters in this fic are fully consensual)

word count : 16 k (oops ?)

a/n : based off this gem of a rq and not proofread (as always what do yall expect) also yes this is an au where frank alr works with the avengers sue me

sintaera

The way that you write angst just absolutely scratches my brain just right. I would love to read your version of Baelor being caught being unfaithful and having to yearn for reader back. Any other detail is up to you. We just see him as this moral compass and I think seeing him caught not being perfect would be sooooo satisfying to read. Especially if reader ran to Lyonnel, Maekar or bloodraven for comfort. 🙈

𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘 | 𝐁𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍.

In the four years of your marriage to Prince Baelor Targaryen, you have never once questioned his devotion to you—a fool's hope, you'd come to realise when you stumble upon him in a passionate moment with another woman, you do not yell, you do not scream. You have known that this marriage was not one born from love, but rather duty, and in the act itself, this unfaithful act sends you into the arms of another.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒; infidelity, cheating, age gap (reader is in her late twenties, baelor in his early forties), sexual content, possessive behaviour, jealous behaviour, so much yearning, guilt, use of blood magic, brief maekar x reader, but no cheating on the reader's part, oral (male receiving and female), breeding kink, plot with porn.

In the four years of your marriage to Prince Baelor Targaryen, the Red Keep had become a cage of silk and duty. You were still young enough that the court whispered about the years between you and your husband, who had passed forty with the quiet dignity of a man who had already buried more than most.

sedonasummer

ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ | ʙᴀᴇʟᴏʀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

─ pairing: modern Baelor Targaryen x ex-wife!reader ─ summary: Baelor is all you could ever wish for and more in a husband. Now. ─ content: 18+ MDNI | smut | filthy smut | domestic fluff | yearning | kids | a man who knows his way around some handy work| what I wouldn't give to have Baelor in my shower!!!! | divorce ─ a/n: Two new men for this series today, I'm actually having the time of my life writing these.

ildico-the-golden

your kind of ruin

GIF by @alterofbeacon

PAIRING: Roderick Dustin x f!reader

SUMMARY: Ordered to infiltrate the enemy camp and kill Oscar Tully before the break of dawn, you make one catastrophic mistake: you step into Roderick Dustin's tent instead. Everything that follows is a very convenient kind of ruin.

WARNING(S): +18MDNI, explicit sexual content (if you squint very hard there's plot), AFAB reader (no use of y/n), enemies to lovers, attempted assassination, moral ambiguity, rough sex, hate sex, consensual power play, hair pulling (f and m receiving), light choking (f and m receiving) (breath play adjacent), pinning, biting (f and m receiving), marking, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), pinv sex, spit kink, switching power dynamics (like really, they're just fighting for the upper hand all along), size difference, mutual possessiveness, enemies who are way too much into each other, post-nut emotional vulnerability, happy ending (for now)

WC: 7.5k

A.N.: I was tired of being horny over Roddy lol. Reader is described as a former bastard of House Cerwyn, a northern lesser house (before you come at me, this fact only serves the narrative, as I am aware that no northern house actually supported the Greens during the Dance of the Dragons). Another note on Roddy's age: there's no info about it at the time of the war, but he is described as advanced in age on the books, so I pictured him as having roughly 55ish; I also picture him as tall and imposing because Tommy Flanagan is 1.83mts (6'0") and that's tall for me lol.

Three days of rain had turned the road to the kind of mud that swallowed men's boots whole, and you had seen enough drowned boots this fortnight to know the truth of it. The Red Fork ran high and brown, and somewhere beyond its far bank the Rivermen were doing what they had done every night for the better part of a month: slipping away before Ser Criston's host could close the distance, leaving nothing behind but cold fire-pits and the tracks of men who knew this country better than any of you ever would.

You had cut your third bridge that week, and it was the kind of work that told you plainer than any council of war could have that this campaign was not going as it ought. A host that is winning does not spend its strength unmaking bridges. It crosses them.

starksromanova

you’re my anchor — peter parker x reader

neighbors-to-lovers .ᐟ / word count: 9.7k

— peter parker x fem!reader, set in spider-man: brand new day [ contains mild spoilers ]

description: you move into peter’s apartment building and it doesn’t take long for him to develop a crush on you. unfortunately for him you aren’t fond of spider-man; you constantly complain about the mysterious masked vigilante who keeps swinging past your window at night. you think spider-man is reckless, he thinks you’re adorable. the problem? you keep catching spider-man outside your apartment. then one night, you go to bed and spider-man appears just like he always does: except this time he’s badly injured.

content/tags: neighbors to lovers, mutual pining, lots of domestic fluff, secret identity reveal, hurt/comfort, emotional vulnerability, love confession.

A/N: i’m on the writing groove after publishing my other peter fic and if it wasn’t obvious i was in a mood for lots of fluff so this fic was a result of that ✨ i hope you all enjoy <3 lmk your thoughts!

the first thing you learn about your new apartment building is that the walls are paper-thin.

the complex is cramped and made of brick mottled with time, the kind of brick that looks like it’s spent decades absorbing every summer heat and winter rain without ever once being properly cleaned. dust constantly floated around the narrow hallways that made you sneeze half of the time.

it isn’t your ideal choice of housing, but it was the cheapest thing you could afford at the time.

the second is that the guy living across the hall is ridiculously pretty. like, insanely hot.

the third is that he is, unfortunately, quite a big fan of spider-man. or at least, that’s the conclusion you drew from how much he tried to convince you spider-man is not the nuisance you think him to be.

which he totally is in your book.

and yes, you are aware of the fact that he does good deeds. you aren’t heartless, either. you’ve seen the videos of him uploaded on social media.

on social media, people shared countless footage of him battling villains terrorizing the city and saving civilians from gang violence and armed robberies in a dramatic manner. you can acknowledge that he’s saved lives and probably means well.

but that doesn’t change the fact that only the lord above knows how much it grinds your gears when he swings by your window at ungodly hours of the night, the sudden *thwip* of webbing followed by the scrape of his stupid red-blue boots against your fire escape loud enough to jolt you awake when you’re finally getting the beauty sleep you needed.

he either lives at the apartment complex or he lives nearby. you don’t know which, but frankly, you don’t care.

all you know is that your bedroom window seems to be his favorite little shortcut to take in the entirety of queens, and you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up at two in the morning only to find a masked man crouched outside your window like some kind of overgrown gargoyle.

the first time, you screamed bloody murder.

the second time, you threw the closest thing next to you at him—that being your favorite pair of high heeled boots.

an awful idea.

it shattered your window, resulting in you having to pay for the replacement and losing your favorite boots. spider-man swung away prattling a string of panicked apologies, leaving you standing in the middle of your apartment clad in your pajamas in disbelief at the absurdity of the situation.

so yeah. to say you weren’t particularly a big fan of spider-man was an understatement.

right now you’re standing in the hallway outside your apartment, arms folded tightly over your chest. you’re staring down peter parker, your neighbor who happens to be a fan of the masked vigilante you had a bone to pick with.

“spider-man is a menace, i’m telling you,” you’re complaining to him with conviction in your voice.

peter leaned against his apartment doorway with folded arms, gazing at you with an amused expression.

“a menace?” he echoes your words, raising his eyebrows.

“yes, a menace.” you accentuate the ‘yes’ to put emphasis on your point, your eyes narrowing at peter like you’re waiting for him to dare to argue with you.

“an absolute menace. i don’t care if he stops robberies, saves kittens from trees, or pulls people out of burning buildings. that’s all great, genuinely,” you rant passionately, “and i’m not saying he isn’t doing some good out there, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that he apparently thinks my bedroom window is part of his patrol route!”

peter’s mouth twitches, every fiber of his being making a great effort to not burst into a fit of laughter at how peeved you were.

if only you knew that he found you to be absolutely adorable.

“well,” he starts, doing his best to school his facial expression into something resembling seriousness. “maybe he doesn’t mean to bother you.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “do i have to remind you that he broke my freaking window?”

“technically,” peter says slowly, “you broke your window.”

you deadpan at him, your lips tugged down in an annoyed frown.

“he was standing right outside my window! i threw my favorite boots at him because he scared the living shit out of me!” you exclaimed in exasperation.

your heated reactions only amused peter even further. there was something ridiculously cute about the way your nose scrunches whenever you’re annoyed, the way your hands floundered around in exasperation when you’re ranting, how your voice gets slightly higher when you’re particularly passionate about something.

and, unfortunately for him, he’s starting to realize he likes everything about you.

he likes the way you knock on his door when you need something. he likes the sound of your laughter whenever he manages to make you laugh. he likes how you always seem to have some sarcastic remark ready whenever he says something stupid.

he especially likes the fact that you have absolutely no idea you’re standing in front of spider-man complaining about the hero himself.

“i’m serious, peter,” you continue, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “next time he shows up outside my window? i’m calling the cops on him.”

peter’s eyebrows shoot upward.

“the cops?” he asks incredulously.

you nod confidently. “yes.”

peter deadpans at you. “on spider-man?”

“yes, peter.”

“what are they gonna do?”

you pause. you hated to admit it, but he got you there.

“… i don’t know.”

peter snorts, unable to hold back his laughter. you glare at him, your annoyance rising. “it’s not funny.”

peter snickers, his hand covering his mouth. “no, no, definitely not—“

you cross your arms with a huff. “you’re laughing!”

peter tried to suppress his grin but it only made him burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. you roll your eyes at him.

“you’re impossible.”

he grins at you. he’s enjoying pushing your buttons a little too much. “i’ve been told that.”

“forget it. i’m going inside,” you shake your head, spinning on your heel with a huff and heading into your apartment.

peter waits until he hears you lock the door before his shoulders sag with a quiet laugh.

he glances toward your apartment door, his smile lingering. with a shake of his head peter heads back inside, closing the door with a quiet click. he stands there for a second longer than necessary, staring at the door as if he can somehow see through it, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

god, he really likes you.

it’s becoming a problem. a very cute problem, but a problem nonetheless.

with a quiet sigh, peter makes his way deeper into his apartment. the place is small and cramped, but it had become his own makeshift home after he fixed it up. discarded pieces of circuitry were scattered across the table, and several half-finished inventions occupy whatever surface hasn’t already been claimed by takeout containers or tools.

then there’s his desk settled in the center of the space.

three high tech monitors sat on his desk, constantly feeding him information from around the city. traffic cameras, police scanners, emergency dispatches, news broadcasts—anything that might give him an indication that someone needs help.

he’d hacked into the software himself.

a very illegal thing to do, technically, but the police had long since stopped bothering to investigate exactly how spider-man seemed to know where trouble was happening. considering how many times he’d helped catch criminals, pulled officers out of danger, or stopped disasters before they could get worse, they’d collectively decided to turn a blind eye.

peter certainly wasn’t complaining.

his attention shifts toward the center of the desk where the inhibitor sits, illuminated by the glow of the monitors.

it’s small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, but the amount of work he’s put into it has been difficult for him. he’d been working on it for days.

ever since the episodes started.

peter reaches for the prototype, turning it over carefully between his fingers. the device is composed of several layers of circuitry, miniature regulators, and a series of components he’d designed himself. he came up with the design as a precaution. something capable of suppressing his newfound arachnid abilities should they ever become unstable or if his body reacted unpredictably to his powers. he’s rebuilt it more times than he can count, each version slightly different than the last.

the episodes have been getting harder to ignore, but nothing has worked yet.

at times, it’s nothing more than a sudden spike in his senses—a sharp ringing in his ears, the room becoming painfully bright, every little sound amplified until he can barely think. other times, his spider-senses flares so violently that it leaves him dizzy and oriented.

peter hates those the most because spider-man isn’t supposed to lose control of himself when he’s out there in the field. the city depends on him to keep it safe.

he carefully puts the inhibitor down, pulling his tablet toward himself.

“okay,” he muttered, scrolling through the latest test results. “let’s see what we’re working with.”

his eyes scan the data intently.

“neural activity is spiking…”

his eyebrows knit together.

“that’s not right.”

a faint electronic hum comes from the inhibitor. peter immediately reaches for his screwdriver.

“come on, don’t do this.”

he adjusts one of the tiny connectors. the device flickers, then shut off. peter stares at it.

“…seriously?”

he leans closer, grabbing his tablet and pulling up the diagnostic readings. his fingers move rapidly across the screen as he compares the output to his calculations, his brows furrowing.

“voltage’s still high,” he murmurs. “if the regulators overload, it’ll fry the entire feedback circuit.”

“correct.”

peter nearly jumps out of his chair, completely startled by the sudden intrusion of his artificial intelligence assistant.

“jesus!”

he jerks backward, nearly knocking over a container of screws. the small speaker sitting on the edge of his desk emits a soft electronic chime.

“apologies, peter.”

peter presses a hand against his chest. “E.V., you can’t just do that. you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“i announced myself.”

peter scoffs. “you said one word.”

“the word was ‘correct.’”

“exactly!” peter exclaims in exasperation.

“i fail to see the issue.”

peter stares at the speaker for several seconds before dragging both hands down his face.

“you’re getting sassier.”

“i’m merely adapting to your conversational patterns.”

peter makes a face. “that’s terrifying.”

“noted.”

peter sighs, turning his attention back towards the inhibitor. “whatever. just run another diagnostic.”

“already completed.”

“and?”

“the feedback loop remains unstable.”

peter lets out a frustrated sigh. “great.”

“you have also been working continuously for three hours and forty-two minutes.”

peter pauses. “has it really been that long?”

“yes.”

he glances at the time in the corner of his monitor’s screen, realizing with mild disbelief that it’s well past midnight. he hadn’t even noticed.

between the inhibitor, patrol, and the distraction of you standing in the hallway looking absolutely adorable while threatening to call the police on spider-man, he’d completely lost track of time.

E.V. speaks again.

“your productivity has decreased by approximately thirty-two percent within the last hour.”

peter frowns. “because i’m tired?”

“incorrect.”

peter looks toward the speaker. “then why?”

“your attention has been repeatedly diverted.”

“by what?”

“your neighbor.”

peter freezes. slowly, he turns his head toward the speaker. “…excuse me?”

“you have looked toward the wall separating your apartment from hers fourteen times in the last thirty-six minutes.”

peter’s face immediately turns pink. “i have not.”

“you have, peter.”

“E.V.”

“yes?”

peter deadpans at the speaker. “stop counting things.”

“why?”

“because it’s creepy.”

“you created me to monitor environmental changes, biometric patterns, and technological anomalies.”

peter sighs in exasperation, rubbing the crease between his eyebrows with his fingers. “yes, but not my love life.”

“you have not explicitly restricted that function.”

peter groans, leaning back in his chair. “i’m going to rewrite your programming.”

“you have threatened to do so six times.”

“i’m serious this time.”

“your current heart rate suggests otherwise.”

peter looks down at himself as though his own body betrayed him. “my heart rate is normal.”

“it is elevated by nineteen percent.”

“i’m working.”

“you were also working when she spoke to you in the hallway.”

peter’s mouth twitches, thinking back to the conversation he had with you. the amusement settled in again when he thought about you.

“she’s funny.”

“she called spider-man a menace. she also threatened to contact law enforcement.”

peter chuckles. “yeah, that part was funny.”

“you appear to find her hostility towards spider-man amusing.”

peter shrugs, trying to focus on the inhibitor again. “she doesn’t know who she’s talking to.”

“precisely.”

there’s something about the way E.V. says it that makes peter pause. he slowly sets down the screwdriver.

“you know,” he says, staring at the half-assembled device, “i probably shouldn’t find this as funny as i do.”

“why?”

“because if she ever finds out…” peter trails off, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “she’s going to kill me.”

“statistically unlikely. i have observed her behavior.”

“you don’t know her.”

“she appears to have strong opinions.”

peter snorts. “that’s one way to put it.”

he glances toward the wall again.

his apartment is quiet enough that he can faintly hear movement from the other side. the old building has terrible insulation, and normally peter finds it irritating.

right now, though, he catches the faintest sound of something being moved around. he knows it’s you shuffling around in your apartment.

his eyes soften. “she probably thinks i’m ridiculous.”

“you are.”

peter looks at the speaker with an offended expression. “E.V., whose side are you on?”

“i am not capable of taking sides.”

he rolls his eyes. “you just called me ridiculous.”

“an objective observation.”

peter shakes his head, laughing quietly. he reaches for the screwdriver again, attempting to resume his work on the inhibitor, but his mind keeps wandering.

he thinks about your expression when you were ranting to him. your mannerisms when you spoke, the way you had stared at him like you genuinely couldn’t understand how anyone could possibly defend spider-man after he’d shattered your window. which for the record—it was all you, but if he told you that you’d just give him a withering glare.

he’d wanted to tell you the truth.

for half a second, he’d actually considered it.

it was me. the guy you’re complaining about is me. i’m spider-man.

but then he’d imagined the look on your face. the betrayal. the realization that the annoying neighbor you’d started to slowly become comfortable with was the same masked idiot who had been using your fire escape as a shortcut for weeks.

just thinking about any of those possibilities is enough to crush the idea as soon as it entered his mind.

“peter. you have not moved the screwdriver for approximately twenty-eight seconds.”

he looks down. he’s been holding it completely still.

“right.”

he clears his throat and resumes working. “just… run the diagnostic again.”

“already running. “would you like me to create a reminder?”

peter turns to the speaker with a puzzled expression. “for what?”

“to remind you that your neighbor finds spider-man irritating.”

peter rolls his eyes. “no, E.V.”

“understood.” a beat passes. “although i believe you find her irritation endearing.”

peter’s ears turn red. “i’m turning you off.”

“you say that often.”

“and one day i will.”

“i look forward to observing the attempt.”

peter laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “god, you’re annoying.”

“i have learned from the best.”

“that’s not—“ peter stops. his eyes narrowed at the speaker. “did you just insult me?”

“i would never.”

“you absolutely did.”

“your interpretation is noted.”

peter points his screwdriver towards the speaker. “keep talking and i’m putting you in airplane mode.”

“that would compromise city surveillance.”

peter blinks before sighing. “you know what? fair point.”

he returns to the inhibitor, adjusting one of the miniature regulators. the device flickers again. this time, it stays on. peter’s expression immediately brightens. he leans closer.

“come on…”

the readings stabilize for several seconds before a warning flashes across the tablet. his smile fades.

“no, no, no—“

the inhibitor emits a sharp electronic whine. peter immediately reaches for the power switch.

“shut it down.”

E.V. responds instantly. “powering down.” the device goes dark.

peter lets out a frustrated exhale, running his hand through his curls. “damn it.”

“additional testing is required.”

peter leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. “yeah.”

his gaze shifts towards the monitors. the city continues bustling beyond the windows, sirens echoing somewhere in the distance. people are still out there. people who might need him.

for a brief moment, the weight of that responsibility settles over his shoulders.

then, from the other side of the wall peter heard your voice. faint. muffled. yet unmistakably yours.

peter’s expression softens. “y/n’s probably still mad at me.”

“your neighbor?”

“yeah.”

“you appear to be unusually concerned with her emotional state.”

peter smiles faintly. “i can’t say that i’m not.”

“would you like me to add ‘neighbor-related emotional distress’ to your list of current complications?”

peter stares at the speaker. “E.V., i’m going to unplug you. i’m serious.”

“you said that yesterday.”

“i mean it this time.”

“you also said that yesterday.”

peter lets out a helpless laugh, shaking his head as he reaches for the screwdriver again. “smartass.”

“thank you.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

peter settles back into his chair, returning his attention to the inhibitor. he has no idea how long it’ll take to fix what’s happening to him. he doesn’t know how bad the episodes are going to get.

but for tonight, at least, the city is quiet. the inhibitor can wait until morning.

and maybe, just maybe, he can let himself enjoy the fact that the girl living across the hall is slowly becoming the best part of coming home.

──────────────────

you hate that peter parker is pretty.

it’s an inconvenient fact, one you’ve tried very hard not to think about since you moved into the apartment across from his. at first, it was easy enough to dismiss. a fleeting thought here, a brief glance there. peter was simply an attractive guy. you had eyes, after all. you could appreciate that someone was good-looking without making a big deal out of it.

except that, unfortunate for you, peter had this habit of becoming more attractive the longer you knew him.

it wasn’t just his face, either. it was everything else: the way his hair never seemed to cooperate with him, especially after he’d been hunched over one of his inventions for hours. the way his hazel eyes lit up whenever he got excited about something. the way he’d push his sleeves up his forearms whenever he was working, the muscles on his very defined biceps rippling against his shirt sleeve clinging to his skin with his every movement.

it was very hard to look away from that sight.

the way his entire expression softened whenever he laughed. you’d melt inside from how utterly adorable he was.

and lately, you’ve caught yourself noticing his hands.

which is a problem.

a very embarrassing problem.

because somewhere between borrowing his tools, sharing takeout in the hallway, arguing about spider-man, and lingering outside your apartments long after either of you ran out of things to say, you’ve developed a crush on him.

you hadn’t meant to. you certainly hadn’t planned on it.

but now you’ve started recognizing his footsteps in the hallway. you started knowing when he’s home without consciously checking. sometimes you’ll open your door to take out the trash and find yourself hoping his door opens too.

it’s ridiculous.

you barely know him. except you do know him. at least a little.

you know he forgets to eat when he’s working. you know he gets excited whenever he starts talking about science and then immediately realizes he’s been rambling and gets embarrassed. you know he always tries to make you laugh when you’re annoyed.

and you know he’s completely obsessed with spider-man.

that part still makes you question his judgement.

you’ve had countless arguments about the masked vigilante. every time you complain about spider-man swinging past your window at two in the morning, peter is right there defending him.

according to peter, spider-man is doing his best. that he’s probably exhausted. that he means well.

according to you, spider-man is a menace who has already cost you one window and a perfectly good pair of boots.

peter always laughs whenever you say it. you’ve started liking his laugh, too.

which is why you find yourself thinking about him tonight.

you’d barely seen him all day. you noticed his apartment door had been closed when you came home from work, and when you passed it later, there hadn’t been any light spilling through the cracks underneath it. you’d assumed he was asleep or working.

now, however, you’re lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling while the clock on your nightstand creeps steadily toward two in the morning.

you turn onto your side.

your eyes drift toward the wall separating your apartment from his.

you wonder what he’s doing.

you immediately frown at yourself.

“why do i care?” you mutter to yourself, pulling the blanket higher and closing your eyes.

a few seconds later, you hear it.

thwip.

your eyes fly open. you stare toward the window.

“no. you have got to be kidding me.”

another sound follows. the metallic scrape of a shoe against the fire escape.

you sit upright.

you throw the blanket aside and climb out of bed, already irritated. you march your way to the window with the intention to tell spider-man exactly what you think of his late-night visits.

then you look through the glass, and your irritation dissipates almost instantly.

spider-man is crouched on the fire escape.

but something is wrong.

usually you’d find him perched there on your windowsill, looking ready to swing away at a moment’s notice. instead he’s hunched forward, one hand gripping the brick wall beside him while the other is pressed tightly against his ribs. his breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling beneath the damaged material of his suit.

your eyes immediately zone in on the dark crimson stain that’s blossoming across his side, soaking through the torn red and blue fabric.

blood. he’s bleeding heavily. you feel your heart nearly drop out of your chest.

“holy shit.” you mutter under your breath in shock.

he lifts his head. even through the mask, you can tell he’s struggling to focus.

“…hey.”

the word is barely above a whisper. you unlock the window immediately and open it.

“spider-man, what on earth happened to you?”

“nothing.”

you stare at him incredulously. “you’re bleeding. profoundly. this is not nothing.”

he gives a weak laugh when he hears you scold him. it’s just like you. you sound like you’re angry, but he detects the underlying concern in your tone. it means you care, at least to some extent.

his laugh quickly disappears when he tries to move. you notice the way his hand applies more pressure against his ribs.

before thinking you blurt out, “get inside.”

his head tilts, surprised. “what?”

“i said get inside. you’re injured.”

“i’ve had worse. i’ll be fine.”

you step aside, nostrils flaring. you feel your annoyance prick at you again at his stubbornness.

“get in here before you fall off my fire escape.”

he hesitates. you give him a withering glare.

“spider-man,” you sternly address him.

he sighs, unable to resist any further.

“alright, fine.”

he climbs through your window. the second his feet touch the floor, he loses his balance and stumbles. you instinctively grab hold of his arm to prevent him from planting face first onto the ground.

“whoa, there. take it easy.”

his hand catches your shoulder to steady himself. both of you freeze momentarily. he then snaps out of his stupor and quickly releases you.

“s-sorry,” he apologizes.

you clear your throat, instead pointing toward the bed.

“sit. i’ll get the first-aid kit.”

he obeys your command, slowly making his way over to sit on the edge of your bed while you hurry to the bathroom to grab your emergency first-aid kit. when you return, you find him leaning forward with his elbows resting against his knees. his head hangs slightly, and now that he’s inside you take a moment to look at him properly. you realize just how exhausted he is.

not simply tired. completely drained. his shoulders are tense, his breathing shallow, and one of his hands is trembling.

you make your way over to him, placing the first-aid kit beside you as you kneel in front of him. you study him for a second before you speak.

“how badly are you hurt?”

your voice is soft now. you’re offering him sincere concern now, replacing the annoyance in your tone. he slowly maneuvers his head to look up at you. you can faintly see the outline of his eyes behind the lens of his mask, and he catches your eye. he quickly looks away when he does, swallowing hard.

“…not too bad.”

you deadpan. “that’s not an answer.”

spider-man shrinks under your determined gaze. he really can’t win against you.

“i’ve got some bruising. possibly a cracked rib or two.”

you blink at him.

“possibly?”

“probably…?” he trails off awkwardly. you let out a sigh.

“peter would have a heart attack if he knew you were this reckless.”

you don’t notice because you turned away, too busy opening the first-aid kit to see him go still at your words.

you pull out some cotton swabs and antiseptic along with some wipes. you turn to spider-man, dipping the swabs in the antiseptic and lift it up towards his face when you’re reminded of the mask covering it.

“i need to see your face,” you tell him, moving to stand and then sit beside him on the bed.

he hesitates. “w-what?”

you gesture toward his right eyebrow, the material of the suit torn there. he had a cut there, dried blood caked on top of it.

“can i… take the mask off?” you ask tentatively.

he looks at you for a long moment, weighing his options.

“not completely,” he finally decides. his voice is low.

you nod. for some reason your heart races, suddenly feeling self conscious. you were here in your bedroom, on the verge of treating spider-man’s wounds. while he wasn’t going to reveal his identity to you, you would still see a small glimpse of him. the thought made you inhale softly, a twinge of curiosity filling you.

he reaches up and pulls the mask upwards enough to expose the lower half of his face.

you pause.

there’s something about seeing him like this that felt strangely… intimate.

you’d only seen the masked vigilante in videos and photographs, but this? this was different. he’s sitting on your bed in the middle of the night, injured and exhausted, trusting you enough to let you patch him up.

you realize you were staring at his half exposed face, and you swallow, forcing yourself to focus.

“this might sting,” you warn gently.

“i think i’ll manage,” he murmurs jokingly.

your eyes flicker towards the lenses of his mask, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

you lean forward, pressing the antiseptic-soaked cotton swab gently against the cut. he immediately let out a hiss, his body flinching at the stinging sensation he felt when his irritated skin was touched by the cotton, before the feeling subsided into a dull throb.

“sorry,” he apologizes.

“you don’t need to apologize every five seconds,” you murmur softly.

he gives you a small smile. “right.”

you continue cleaning the blood away. your fingers move carefully across his skin, and you’re acutely aware of how close you are to him. your face is tilted slightly to the side, hovering closely to his cheek as you tend to his wound. his hand rests besides yours on the mattress. you’re close enough that you can hear him drawing shaky breaths in, and you can feel his gaze flickering on you every once in a while. you realize that he’s feeling nervous.

you noticed, but you pretend you don’t.

“you know, spider-man,” you murmured, “you’re a lot quieter than i expected.”

his tilts his head slightly, the white lenses in his mask narrowing in what you can only assume is amusement.

“what did you expect?”

“i don’t know.” you dab gently at the edge of the wound. “something more dramatic, i guess. you’re always running your mouth in those videos.”

he feels his ears turn pink, thankful for the mask blocking your vision of his entire face. his lenses narrow again, a lopsided smile forming on his lips.

“so you’ve been watching me.” he says it as a fact, not a question.

you pause, the gauze hovering just beside his cheek as you look at him.

“well, obviously. you’re kind of hard to avoid,” you mutter, resuming your careful cleaning. “you’re all over the news, social media, people’s phones… everywhere i go you’re a hot topic. you’re practically a celebrity.”

he pauses for a moment. his head tilts, a grin forming on his exposed lips. the white lenses narrow before widening again.

“a celebrity?” he echoes, sounding far too pleased with himself.

you roll your eyes. “don’t let it get to your head, spider-man.”

“i’ll try,” he says, the amusement in his voice makes it painfully obvious he’s enjoying the attention. “you can’t exactly blame me, though. i mean, you said i’m practically a celebrity.”

“i said practically. there’s a difference.”

“sounds like a compliment to me.”

you deadpan at him. “it wasn’t.”

he lets out a quiet laugh, and you can’t help the small smile that pulls at your lips. “you’re really not what i expected.”

he hums. “better or worse?”

you pretend to be deep in thought. “hm. i haven’t decided yet.”

you gently wipe away another streak of blood from his cheek, your attention focused on the wound as you murmur, “although…”

“although?”

you hesitate, glancing at him. “you remind me of someone.”

his head tilts slightly, the white lenses narrowing again. that caught his attention. “who?”

“my neighbor.”

there’s a brief pause. “…your neighbor?” he echoes your words hesitantly.

“yeah.” you smile faintly. “peter.”

the name makes him go still. you don’t notice at first, too busy reaching for another roll of gauze to tend to the wound along his ribs. you carefully unroll a decent amount of the material, your fingers working to tear it free before you lean closer, examining the injury with a small frown.

“you two have the same kind of…” you knit your eyebrows, searching for the right word. “awkwardness, i guess.”

“awkwardness?” he echoes, his voice slightly higher than before.

you nod, entirely unaware of the way his stomach twists at the mention of his own name.

“yeah. i don’t know how else to explain it.” you shift closer, gently winding the gauze around his torso, careful not to pull it too tightly around his injured ribs. “it’s like you’re both always trying to figure out what to say next, and when you get nervous, you start talking too much.”

peter’s breath catches. not because of the wound. but because you’re too close.

he can feel the warmth of your touch through the material of his suit, your shoulder brushing his chest every time you reach around him to guide the gauze along his side. the smell of your perfume filled his senses, a soft, familiar smell he’d noticed in passing when you walked past him in the hallway. now it feels incredibly strong at this distance.

for a moment, he forgets how breathing works.

don’t be weird, peter. he tells himself that almost immediately. she’s just helping you.

but his heart refuses to listen.

his hands remain planted firmly against the mattress, his fingers curling into the sheets as he fights the instinct to reach for you. his attention is focused on every movement you make: the slight furrow between your eyebrows as you concentrate, the careful way you make sure the bandage isn’t too tight, the brief brush of your fingertips on his side.

“is it too tight?” you ask, pulling peter out of his thoughts.

“w-what?” he blubbers, embarrassed that you caught him daydreaming.

you glance up at him. “the gauze.”

“oh.” his voice comes out breathless. “no, it’s fine.”

“you sure?”

“yeah.”

you give him a small nod and continue wrapping the bandage, completely oblivious to the fact that peter is internally losing his mind.

he’d imagined countless different scenarios before in his head where he’d be this close to you—but not like this.

he’d imagined something less humiliating. maybe sitting beside you in the hallway. maybe trying to get you to laugh. maybe, someday, working up the courage to ask you out.

not sitting on your bed battered and bruised while you carefully wrap gauze around his ribs after you’ve just discovered him bleeding outside your window.

he’d tried to be quiet, he really did.

he tried not to flinch whenever your fingers brushed against his side, averting his eyes when you leaned closer to secure the bandage. he’d tried especially hard not to think about how soft your voice became whenever you asked if something hurt.

peter was failing miserably.

because despite every ounce of common sense telling him this was a terrible idea, he liked this way more than he should.

his eyes flicker to you. you’re so focused on what you’re doing that you don’t notice his eyes softening behind the white lenses of his mask, his attention lingering on every detail: the slight crease between your eyebrows knitted in concentration, the careful movements of your hands, the way you bite the inside of your cheek whenever you’re trying to make sure you’ve done something correctly.

you care. that’s the part that melted his heart.

you could have told him to leave. instead, you’re treating him with the same gentle patience you seem to have for peter, like beneath the mask and the suit, he’s still the annoyingly charming guy from across the hall.

he watches you reach for the medical tape, carefully tearing off a strip before smoothing it over the edge of the gauze. your fingertips linger for a second, making sure everything is secure before you finally pull your hands away.

“there,” you murmur, a satisfied smile forming on your lips. “that should hold.”

peter glances down at the bandage before looking back at you. “thanks.”

“don’t thank me yet,” you say, fixing him with a stern expression and folding your arms across your chest. “you’re going to explain to me why you thought climbing through my window while injured as a good idea.”

he winces. “i didnt really have an option.”

you cock an eyebrow. “you have a front door, no?”

“yeah, but yours was closer.”

you stare at him. “you climbed on my windowsill instead of walking down the hallway?”

peter looks at you, shifting awkwardly. the white lenses of his mask blink owlishly.

“when you put it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“because it was stupid,” you deadpan.

he gives a sheepish little laugh. “okay, fair.”

you shake your head, but there’s a faint smile on your lips.

“you’re lucky i like you.”

the words slip out so casually that neither of you seem to process them at first. peter’s brain, however, short-circuits almost immediately.

“you—“

you blink. “what?”

he stares at you through the lenses of his mask.

“…you like me?”

your expression changes when you realize what you just said.

“i mean…” you clear your throat, your cheeks flaming. you look away, looking everywhere except at him. “you’re not completely unbearable.”

“that’s not what you said.” his tone shifted from surprised to a light teasing tone.

“i know what i said.”

“you said you like me.”

“don’t make me regret it, spider-man.”

he can’t stop the smile spreading across his face. “i won’t.”

you roll your eyes, but your own smile betrays you. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet you still like me.”

you point a finger at him. “don’t push your luck.”

he laughs softly. for a moment, the tension in the room disappears. it’s just the two of you.

right now he’s not being haunted by villains or worries about the episodes that have been tormenting him lately. he’s just peter, sitting on your bed while you fuss over him.

then his smile fades slightly. because he knows he can’t keep pretending forever. his gaze drops towards the fresh bandage around his ribs.

“i’m sorry.”

you sigh. “there it is.”

“what?”

“you’re doing it again. the apologizing.”

he stares at you, the white lenses narrowing at you in a confused expression. “what about it?”

“you do it constantly.”

“oh…” he trails off awkwardly. “do i?”

“yes.” you smile faintly. “peter does that too.”

he goes still. you don’t notice because you’re reaching for the antiseptic again to put it back in the first-aid kit, completely unaware of the way his heart suddenly starts pounding.

“he apologizes for everything,” you continue. “even when there’s nothing to apologize for.”

peter decides to play along with you, forcing his limbs to relax. “he sounds like a good guy.”

“he is.” your voice softens. “really sweet, actually.”

his chest tightens. that expression on your face makes his lips part slightly, his cheeks warming beneath the mask. your face is the softest he’s ever seen it, warmth in your eyes. you’re thinking about him—not spider-man, but peter.

he forgets the ache in his ribs entirely. he’s spent so long wondering what you’d think if you’d ever found out, imagining every possible reaction while carefully avoiding the one possibility he’d secretly hoped for: that you’d still look at him the same way.

“you know,” you murmur, your gaze lingering on him, “you really do remind me of my neighbor.”

peter’s heart gives a little jump.

“…you mean peter?”

you nod. “yeah. the more we talk, the more i notice the similarities between you two.”

you’re getting at something now. peter notices, and he tries to laugh it off.

“maybe we’re just similar.”

“maybe.” you continue studying him, your eyebrows slightly furrowed.

your gaze lingers on him, and he can practically see the gears turning in your head. he suddenly feels very self conscious under your gaze, very aware of the mask covering his face and the fact that every nervous habit he’s ever had seems to be betraying him tonight.

“you have the same awkwardness,” you murmur. “and the same habit of talking when you’re nervous.”

“i don’t talk that much,” peter defends weakly.

you give him a look. “you’ve been talking quite a lot ever since you came in through my window.”

“well, you make me nervous.”

the world slip out before he can stop them. silence.

peter’s eyes widen beneath the mask.

“i mean—not you specifically. just… the situation. me being injured, and the blood—“

you laugh softly. “you’re doing that thing.”

he falters at your words. “w-what thing?”

“rambling.”

“i’m not rambling.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you just started listing reasons for why you’re nervous without me even asking. those awkward mannerisms i was talking about.”

peter goes quiet. for once, he doesn’t have a quick response.

you study him for a moment, your expression slowly changing as the pieces begin to fall into place: the nervous rambling, the awkward mannerisms, the constant apologizing. even the slight tilt of his head when he’s confused.

you’ve seen all of it before.

your eyes slowly travel over him. the exposed lower half of his face, the shape of his jaw. you noticed now that a few messy brown curls have escaped from beneath the mask.

your stomach drops. surely, it couldn’t be…

you shake the thought away almost immediately. that’s ridiculous.

you stare at him, your mind scrambling to recall all the little things you’d noticed about peter over the past few months. the way he always seemed to have some excuse whenever he disappeared for hours at a time. the bruises and injuries be’d occasionally show up with, always accompanied by some flimsy explanation that never seemed to quite add up.

the similarities were there. you just never had a reason to put them together. until now.

your eyes drift over him again, taking in the lower half of his exposed face. he keeps fidgeting with his hands when he doesn’t know what to say. you’ve seen those mannerisms before.

your breath catches. “…peter?”

he freezes. not spider-man. peter.

the reaction is immediate. your heart sinks in your chest. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t have to. your eyes widen as the realization settles in.

“oh my god.”

peter swallows.

“y/n.” his voice is shaky now, filled with guilt.

“you’re…” you can’t even finish the sentence.

your gaze drops to the suit, then slowly trails back up to his face.

the late nights. the disappearances. the injuries. him constantly defending spider-man. the way he always seemed to know things about him that nobody else did. and suddenly, every strange little coincidence you’ve ignored comes crashing together.

your stomach twists. “you’re spider-man.”

silence. peter’s expression falls. for a moment, he almost looks afraid.

then his shoulders slump. he reaches for his mask, his fingers curling into the material to slowly pull it off his face.

the fabric slides upward, revealing the mess of brown curls first, before finally revealing the face you’ve seen countless times in the hallway.

peter parker. your neighbor.

the same tired hazel eyes that always seem to soften when he looks at you. the same crooked nose. the same mouth that always curled into an amused smile whenever you’re ranting about spider-man.

your breath catches.

“oh my god,” you whisper.

peter gives you a small, nervous smile.

you stare at him, completely stunned. all this time, the person you’ve been complaining about was right in front of you.

the guy who kept swinging by your window. the guy you threatened to call the cops on. the guy you accused of being a menace countless times before.

and the guy you’ve slowly, unintentionally fallen for.

you blink at him. “you’re spider-man.”

peter’s eyes never leave yours, his adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed. “yeah, i am.”

“you’ve been listening to me complain about you this entire time.” you feel your face warm.

peter winces, his expression twisting into something between embarrassment and resignation. “pretty much.”

you stare at him for another second before letting out a disbelieving laugh, covering your face with your hands.

“oh my god, peter. i threw a pair of boots at you.”

you blink at him, utterly speechless. your eyes then narrow. “did you ever plan to tell me?”

peter looks down at the mask in his hands. “of course i wanted to. a lot of times, actually.” he looks up at you again. “but it’s not exactly something you can casually bring up.”

“you could’ve tried,” you counter. “like, ‘hey, y/n, funny story. remember the guy you’ve been complaining about for months? that’s me.’”

peter rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “when you put it like that it sounds bad.”

you fold your arms, still trying to wrap your head around it. “so every time i complained about spider-man… you knew i was talking about you.”

peter nods, chuckling quietly. “technically, yes.”

you click your tongue. “and you just stood there listening?”

peter pouts at you. “what else was i supposed to do?”

you open your mouth, then close it again. he got you right there. “…i don’t know.”

a pause. then both of you burst into a fit of soft laughter. peter gives you a small, sheepish smile. “for what it’s worth, i never thought you hated me.”

you lift your hand to your mouth to hide the smile you were fighting. “i called you a menace.”

“you called spider-man a menace,” peter teases.

you roll your eyes, another chuckle escaping you. peter smiles when he hears it, some of the tension finally leaving his shoulders.

then his expression suddenly falters. his smile disappears. he blinks rapidly, lifting a hand to press against his temple. his ears ring, his senses heightening.

you notice immediately, your smile turning into a frown. “peter?” you ask, concerned.

he doesn’t answer. his breathing changes, becoming quicker and shallower as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“hey.” you move closer to him, your concern amplifying. “what’s wrong?”

he swallowed hard. “it’s starting.”

your eyebrows furrow. “what do you mean?”

he lets out a strained breath, pressing his palm more firmly against his temple. “the episodes. i—i get these sometimes. everything gets too loud. my senses just…” he struggles to find the words, his breathing becoming increasingly uneven. “i can hear everything all at once. the pipes in the walls, the cars outside, people moving around in the building…”

his breathing catches. “i can hear your heartbeat.”

your eyes widen. peter can feel your heart rate picking up at his words, his ears turning pink.

“sorry. that sounded creepy.”

“peter.” your voice makes him slowly open his eyes. “don’t apologize.”

his lips press together. “right.”

you study him for a second, trying to figure out what to do. you don’t know anything about episodes like this, or what his powers are doing to him. you’re afraid of doing something that could unintentionally make it worse.

you choose to do the only thing that feels right to you.

“okay,” you murmur, moving closer. “peter, look at me. tell me what you need.”

peter attempts to do as you say, his eyes locking with yours for a few seconds before squeezing them shut again.

“i’m sorry, i can’t, i don’t know—“

“shh, it’s okay. you don’t have to apologize.” you speak to him in a honeyed voice, shifting close enough to him that you’re right next to him. “you don’t have to look at me. just listen to me.”

his shoulders rise and fall rapidly. “i’m listening.”

“good.” you hesitate for a moment before reaching for his hand. his fingers immediately curl around yours, and you squeeze his hand in return. the contact seems to ground him, just slightly.

“you’re here,” you remind him softly. “you’re in my apartment. you’re safe. right now, you don’t have to be spider-man. you don’t have to worry about the city. you don’t have to fix anything.”

his eyes remain closed, his body trembling. “i don’t feel okay.”

watching him struggle against the effects of the changes occurring inside him makes your heart ache. so you decide to try something.

your hand leaves his, reaching up slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away if he wants to, and place your hand against his cheek.

his reaction is immediate. as soon as your cool hand met peter’s overheated skin, his eyes flutter shut. you feel his face turn slightly into your palm, the tension in his shoulders loosening.

“y/n…” he absentmindedly calls your name. his voice is so soft, filled with a longing that made your chest feel warm.

your thumb brushes carefully beneath his cheekbone. “i’m right here.”

his eyebrows pinch together for a moment, as if he’s trying to hold himself together. his breathing remains uneven, but the frantic edge has started to disappear. he doesn’t look like spider-man anymore. he doesn’t even look like the sweet, gentle but sarcastic peter you know from across the hall.

he just looks tired. so unbelievably tired.

you lean forward, close enough to brush your nose against his. your eyes close. the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in the room.

“you don’t have to fight it.” you whisper.

his eyes open slowly, focusing on yours. “fight what?”

“whatever’s happening within you. you don’t have to stop it. just stay here with me,” you murmur quietly, your eyes opening to lock with his.

his eyes softened at your words. “you make it sound easy.”

“i’m not saying it’s easy.” your thumb moved gently across his cheek again. “perhaps what you need is someone to stay with you while it passes.”

for a moment, peter says nothing. then his eyes close again, his cheek settling more fully into your palm.

“can you… keep doing that?” his voice is so soft you almost miss it. he craved your touch, and you were more than willing to give it to him.

“of course,” you murmur tenderly.

you continue stroking his cheek, slow and gentle, never letting your hand leave him. every few seconds his breathing catches, but each time it does, his eyes open just enough to find yours.

and every time, you’re still there.

eventually, his grip on your other hand loosens, his hand moving up to gently wrap around your wrist. his fingers rest on your wrist gingerly, feeling the flow of your pulse beneath your skin. his shoulders sink, the turmoil in his mind slowly beginning to subside.

“it’s getting quieter,” he whispers.

that brings a smile out of you. “good.”

“i can still hear everything. but you’re louder,” he says to you, opening his eyes once more to gaze at you.

you smile softly. “is that a good thing?”

his lips curve faintly. “yeah.”

he shifts closer without seeming to realize he’s doing it, his forehead resting against yours. “you’re my anchor, y/n.”

your breath catches, your heart stuttering in your chest. “peter…”

his eyes look into yours, your breaths mixing together at the proximity. he looks at you for a long moment, his eyes moving slowly over your face. there’s a hesitation in his expression now, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure he’s allowed to.

his gaze drops to your lips, then flickers back to your eyes.

“can i ask you something?”

you smile faintly. “you just did,” you tease him.

a quiet laugh escapes him, soft and breathless. “right. sorry.”

you glare playfully at him, and he smiles at you, knowing what you were about to say. “no more apologies, i know.”

your glare melts into a smile. you brush your thumb gently over his cheek. “what did you want to ask?”

he hesitates.

“can i kiss you?”

the question is so quiet that your heart aches. you blink at him. “you want to kiss me?”

his cheeks flush, and he gives you a small, almost embarrassed smile.

“i’ve wanted to for a while.”

you can’t fight the cheesy smile that forms on your face, feeling too giddy to formulate a response. peter misinterprets your silence as rejection, immediately backpedaling into a string of rambling.

“i just… didn’t want to assume. and i didn’t want to make things weird between us, which i think i just did—“

your expression softens, your heart bursting at how unbelievably cute you find him right now. “peter.”

his rambling immediately stops, his body frozen. “y-yes?”

you smile at him. “you can kiss me.”

his eyes widen slightly. then his smile widens, and for a second he looks so relieved you almost laugh.

he slowly leans in, giving you plenty of time to change your mind. his hand settles carefully against your waist, while your fingers remain against his cheek.

then his lips meet yours, his eyes fluttering shut.

your eyes close as you immediately respond to him. the kiss is soft and tentative, almost shy. there’s no urgency to it, just the warmth of his lips against yours and the quiet realization that you’ve both been wanting this for far longer than either of you admitted.

when you pull away, you’re still close enough to feel his breath against your lips.

peter’s eyes open slowly. “wow,” he whispers.

you fight a smile. “wow?”

he blushes lightly. “i’ve wanted to do that for a long time. it was much better than anything i could’ve imagined.”

your heart melts at the admission.

“why didn’t you?” you murmur softly.

his smile is small and embarrassed. “i was scared. of ruining this.”

you soften. you shake your head. “you didn’t ruin anything.” your thumb traces his cheek. “you made it better.”

he looks at you for a long moment before quietly asking, “can i do it again?”

your heart flutters. “of course you can.”

this time there’s no hesitation when peter captures your lips in his. his hand settles more confidently on your waist as you slide your fingers into his hair, feeling the soft curls beneath your fingertips. he lets out a quiet breath against your lips, his arms now wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him. you can feel the tension he’d been carrying all night slowly melting away.

you eventually break the kiss for air. his eyes remained closed. “peter?”

his eyes open, focusing on you. he hums in response, his thumbs tracing patterns on your waist absentmindedly.

“how are you feeling?”

he pauses. then he smiles softly at you. “much better.”

“because it’s quieter?”

he shakes his head. “because you’re here.”

your chest tightens. “you really mean that?” you whispered.

“yes.” he shifts closer, his nose brushing yours. “when everything gets too loud, you’re the one thing i can focus on. my anchor.”

your eyes become so incredibly soft, your heart melting. your feelings for him only become stronger the more you stare into those hazel eyes that gaze at you with so much adoration it makes you want to cry.

his eyes settle on yours, warm and tired.

“i like you.” he whispers.

you smile. “i like you too.”

“no, i mean…”

he swallows, suddenly nervous again. his eyes drop to where his hands rest on your waist, before slowly lifting back to yours.

“i really, really like you. so much that i don’t want to imagine my life without you in it.”

your heart stutters.

for a moment, you can only stare at him. his expression is so painfully sincere that it makes your chest ache. he’s not joking, not trying to charm you into a smile. he’s looking at you like you’re the one thing in his life he’s terrified of losing.

“peter…”

“i know it’s a lot,” he rushes to add. “and maybe it’s too soon, and i probably shouldn’t be saying this right now, but i—“

you gently touch his cheek, stopping his rambling. “hey. listen to me.”

he falls quiet. you smile softly. “i feel the same way.”

his eyes widen slightly. “y-you do?”

you nod, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “somewhere along the way, you became one of the most important people in my life too.”

his expression softens, relief washing over his features.

“really?” he asks you softly, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. he feels like he’s dreaming this moment.

you nod. “really.”

he lets out a shaky breath, his forehead falling gently against yours.

“i don’t think you realize how much i needed to hear that,” he whispers.

your hand slips from his cheek, slowly traveling to the back of his neck. you gently rub the skin there. “you don’t have to worry about losing me, peter.”

his eyes open, becoming glassy. “do you mean that?”

you lean forward to press the softest of kisses on his nose. you pull back, gazing at him affectionately. “i do.”

his expression crumbles as soon as the words leave your lips. the vulnerability he had tried so hard to hide finally shows as he lets your words sink in. he’s looks exhausted now, the adrenaline and fear from earlier catching up to him.

peter glances towards the window, then back to you.

he hesitates for a moment.

“can i… stay?”

your heart softens softens immediately.

“you want to?” you murmur softly.

“just for tonight,” he murmurs. “i don’t… really want to be alone right now.”

you don’t hesitate. “of course you can stay, peter. i’d love that.”

a relieved smile blooms on his face.

you move off the edge of the bed to make your way up to the left side of the bed, pulling back the covers and laying down. you open your arms to him, inviting him to come lay down with you.

“come here.”

peter doesn’t need to be told twice.

he carefully settled himself beside you, mindful of his injured ribs, before curling into your side. you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close against your chest. his arm slips around your waist, his head resting comfortably just above your collarbone, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. he lets out a quiet contented sigh when he feels your fingers move slowly through his curls.

“is this okay?” you whisper.

he nods against you. “more than okay.”

you pull the blanket over you, continuing to stroke his hair. for a little while, neither of you say anything. you simply hold him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours.

then you feel him press a tiny kiss against your neck, the gesture making your heart flutter.

you smile, your fingers pausing briefly in his hair. “what was that for?”

“nothing.” he murmurs.

“peter.”

he lets out a little sleepy laugh against your skin. “i just wanted to.”

your heart melts. “you’re adorable.”

“don’t tell anyone.”

“your secret is safe with me.” you can’t wipe the smile off your face, your heart feeling full.

he hums contentedly, shifting closer until there’s barely any space left between you.

“i could get used to this,” he whispers.

you glance down at him, your fingers brushing another curl away from his forehead. “you could.”

his eyes lift to yours, already heavy with exhaustion.

“would you let me?”

you smile softly.

“you’re stuck with me now.”

for a second, peter just looks at you, as though the words caught him completely off guard. then his lips curve into a small, sleepy smile.

his eyes flutter shut, and he settles closer, his face tucking back into the crook of your neck. his arms tighten around your waist, holding you as though he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

“good,” he murmurs. “because i think i like being stuck with you.”

you smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “then you better get used to it.”

a quiet laugh leaves him. “i can do that.”

you continue running your fingers through his curls, slow and gentle. after a moment, his breathing evens out, his weight settling more heavily against you. signs that he’s falling asleep.

“y/n?”

you hum in response. “hm?”

his voice is barely audible now.

“thank you for letting me stay.”

your arms tighten around him. “you don’t have to thank me.”

“still want to.”

you smile. “okay. you’re welcome.”

he hums in bliss, his eyes fully closed now. “goodnight, y/n.”

you press another kiss to his hair. “goodnight, peter.”

there’s a long pause. then, just before sleep finally takes him, you hear him mumble against your neck.

“my y/n.”

your heart melts. you hold him a little closer, smiling into his hair.

“your y/n,” you whisper back.

a tiny sigh leaves him.

and when you feel his body finally go completely slack against you, you press one last kiss to his hair.

“my peter.”

valyasinkpen

it's a kindness, highness

pairing: daeron targaryen x fem!baratheon!reader

summary: in which, daeron finds himself longing for the baratheon heir even though it scares him half to death, maekar low-key berates himself for not traveling to storm's end w the kids sooner, and lyonel is a girldad !

words: 2,9k

c.w: mentions of blood

a.n: btw this blog is a totalitarian regime and in MY dictatorship baelor and lyonel are friends, lyonel has no beef with the targaryens at all and as he’s close to maekar's age, he fought alongside the targaryens in the first blackfyre rebellion.

also! reader may be a baratheon but there will be no physical description of her whatsoever and her mother is not mentioned

part 2 here

The sun is yet to show itself in the sky when the halls of the Red Keep come alive with movement, servants and guards alike walking a beat faster than usual, which could be attributed to the preparations needed for the royal progress that is set to take place the same day… or the screaming of Prince Maekar, who seems hellbent on waking up every other resident of the castle who had not yet risen.

happyinamug

Pieces Pt. 3

Summary: After living with no memory of him for 4 years, Peter has promised to reenter her life as himself this time. No Spider-Man interference this time. What will he look like? How will her life change?

Word count: 6.5k Link to pt. 1. pt. 2

CW: angst, secret baby, fade-to-black smut (sryy), Dad!Peter asf

AN: Thank you thank you for the love on the last 2 parts!! Yall are amaze. Here’s the finale! I started my teaching practicum, so sorry for the delay. Those kids will wear you out. Hope you enjoy!!

evanpeterswhoresblog

Holding Out For A Hero

Peter Parker (MCU) x f!reader

warnings: smut!!! explicit!!! minors DNI!!! p in v (protected), porn with plot, fingering, oral (female receiving), extremely rough sex, biting, dirty talk, slight masochism I think, dominate Peter because of the DNA change, set in the Brand New Day era so spoilers... some sad parts oops...

summary: you'd always had a crush on Spider-Man, so when he saves you one night and the two of you slowly build a friendship, you can't deny how badly you want to help him when he comes to you in need of something...

word count: 8.6k

a/n: ok sooooo I've never written for Peter, crazy I know. but I saw the movie and my Spiderman phase has fully returned. for some clarification, reader is basically the MJ in this. if you know you know. and whatever maybe his DNA change wouldn't make him super dark and dominate and animalistic but to me, it does. so let it happen. it's super long, I love this SO MUCH. just read it I guess, I can't explain everything without spoiling it. just know the smut is soooo worth it.

~~~

liliesonthego

Peter Parker / Can I please kiss you? ── 18+ (MDNI)

Summary ⟅ All it took was one night in a bar for Peter to give up on his old life and drown out the pain with pleasure. And when realizes how easy it is for him to get what he wants, well, why stop?

Requested: Yes

Fuckboy!Peter Parker x Reader / ⟣ SMUT / 2.6k ⟢

Warnings: bnd!peter, no spoilers, cocky peter but his cuteness still shines through, hookup, one night stand, rough sex in a club bathroom, dom!peter (with hints of needy subby peter), dirty talk, blowjob, throat fucking, fucking on a sink, fucking against a mirror, manhandling, peter puts u in a chokehold 😵‍💫, he pulls out (the first time I've ever written this surprisingly but it seemed fitting 😭)

Lily's note — 🪷 I've used all the slutty peter parker pics from BND what comes next?

fawncesca

… all my favorite BUCKY BARNES fics in one place.

bucky is old fashioned — @ceriseheaven

pressure points — @crybabycabin

bucky's gotten good at keeping his distance from his harmless, sunshine-y neighbor. but when you get taken because of him—because someone figured out you're his weak spot—he realizes how spectacularly that plan backfired. turns out the winter soldier's soft spot is a lot more dangerous than he thought.

jackass — @aquaticmercy

everyone is horrified that bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why.

you make loving fun — @buckytakethewheel

18+ you and bucky have been dating for six weeks, and sex is still a little clumsy and awkward. until it isn't.

meet me halfway — @aquaticmercy

bucky has to recruit the love of his life to save new york from the void. he doesn't know if she wants to ever see him again, though.

undoxt

because, sir, love is sweet!

summary: you were the second survivor of the Project Hail Mary and, as it turned out, married to your crew mate. your prolonged coma left you often sickly and weak, but your husband was more than happy to help you in whatever way he could. or five times Ryland took care of you, and the one time you could finally return the gesture.

pairing: married!ryland grace x gn!reader

word count: 5.9k

tags: 5+1, fluff, a little bit angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, health issues, domestic bliss, no pronouns used for reader, reader is described as having long enough hair to braid in the fifth part but you can skip that if you want to (:

a/n: the title is from the poem 'the daisy follows soft the sun' by Emily Dickinson <3 I wrote parts of this while outside waiting for the solar eclipse, and later when it happened all I could think about was how ryland would be so mad at me because I kept staring into the sun lmao (all the glasses were sold out, what was I supposed to do, not watch the solar eclipse?? yeah right)

based on this request <3<3

masterlist & ryland grace masterlist

Waking up without memories in space was hard. Waking up in space with two dead bodies and one alive but equally confused crew member was even harder. Waking up in space, spending the next months saving the world, only to then remember that actually that one alive crew member was the person you were married to was… well, honestly, that was kind of great.

You had liked Ryland from the second you woke up. It was like there was this invisible tether between you two, but you didn’t have that much time focusing on what that meant while still actively working on trying to solve the Petrova line problem. Furthermore, there had been complications with your coma, leading the medical nanny bot—Armando, as Ryland had nicknamed him—to keep you under for a while longer than Ryland, in hopes of keeping you as stable as possible.

blonde-and-lovesick

come back to me

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: after months of silence, a late-night breakdown leaves you stranded with the one person you tried hardest to forget. steve is the last person you want to see, but when everything finally falls apart, he may be the only one who knows how to hold you through it

wc: 13.9k :)

warnings: 18+ pwp, oral (f receiving), edging, praise, overstimulation, p in v sex, steve harrington talking you through it, post-sex crying; severe angst, PTSD, survivor’s guilt, panic attacks, trauma-induced flashbacks, reckless driving, references to death, isolation, depression, poor self-care, crying—so much crying—MAJOR hurt/comfort, steve believing he failed everyone

masterlist

You know that driving is a bad idea. You know it before you even leave the house. You know it as you pull the front door shut behind you, as you cross the stretch of drive without even bothering to lock it. You know it as you fit the key in the ignition with fingers that feel numb, when the engine stutters to life and the dashboard lights up, emphasising your shaking wrists.

There are nights when movement is the only thing that keeps you together. If you stay in the same place after an episode, the walls begin to lean inward. The silence becomes cavernous, with every sound the house makes becoming abnormal. The pipes in the walls or the rain on the roof, what were once ordinary noises, now made you want to scream.

j-buchanan

Your first fic and you wrote a perfect representation of Steve and grief and the brilliant way two broken people can heal perpendicularly to each other????? Yeah you’re incredible 🩷🤩

navybrat817

Drive You Home

Pairing: Taxi/Cab Driver!Bucky Barnes x Passenger!Female Reader

Summary: You’re Bucky’s favorite passenger. He knows your schedule by heart. The same day, time, and location. You’re kind. You talk to him like he’s more than just the man behind the wheel. You always tip well.

He can’t help but fall for you.

But he’s just a cab driver. You deserve better than that. Better than him. So, he keeps things professional… until you lean on him one fateful night when the world feels too heavy.

He doesn’t just want to drive you home anymore.

He wants to be someone you can come home to.

Word Count: Over 12.2k

Warnings: Pining, mutual pining, slow(ish) burn, a bit of idiots in love, hurt/comfort, angst with comfort, slight jealousy, flirting, emotional breakdown, crying, insecurities, sick family member, Bucky Barnes (his POV and he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: @tavners suggested Bucky as a cab driver ages ago and the Barbie Dreamhouse helped bring him to life. Huge thanks to @miraclediviner for putting it together and for being patient and letting me submit this late and @stantastic-association for letting me participate. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Dividers by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The city sky was still light as Bucky pulled onto your street, a smile touching his lips briefly. Every week for the last three months he picked you up to take you to your brother’s apartment. Same time, same day without fail. He knew the route by heart. Could do it in his sleep.

our-marvel-universe

Ohh my my my, this is lengthy but it is so worth it!

This is such a beautiful story I love these 2. I love the slow burn. I love the growth. I love all. Of. It. Period. This fic is amazing thank you so much for sharing it with us!!! 💛

moonstruckme

Secrets for the Sleepless

summary: you’re an insomniac, and you can’t help but notice your new roommate's comings and goings at odd hours. Peter’s a not-very-good liar that gets worse as he falls in love

tasm!Peter x fem!reader ♡ 14k words

You hear the first stirrings when sunlight is already spilling warm and bright through your apartment. The groan of bedsprings, followed by a more human groan, followed by feet hitting the floor. The floor groans too, old wood with old water bubbles trapped beneath.

It’s a short time later that Peter trudges out from his room, going immediately to the kitchen and the pot of coffee you started early this morning. The pajama bottoms he puts on for your benefit are on backwards.

“Good morning.” You stop looking at him as soon as he looks at you, peering intently at the textbook in your lap. You’ve been on the couch since before the sun rose. The fall semester only began yesterday, and already you’re bogged down with readings and the early stages of projects. This couch is new—or new to you, you found it on a curb last week—but soon you suspect the cushion you’re sitting on will have an indent just about where you’re sitting now.

“Morning,” Peter mumbles, tired but not unfriendly. “You’ve got homework already too, huh?”

You give him a rueful smile over your shoulder. “I don’t think it ever stops.”

Peter makes a noise somewhere between humorous and sorrowful and pulls a mug down from the cupboard. One of yours, but you don’t care.

You think that if he’s this tired on the second day of classes, you’re going to hate to see him during finals. You’re tired too, but at least you have a reason. Though, you allow, you don’t know for sure that Peter’s reason might not be the same as yours.

This is the problem with random roommates. You don’t know if it’s more likely that the person sleeping across the hall from you is a nocturnal studier or has a drug problem.

“Did you go out last night?” you ask.

ohlovelywar

LOOOOOOOOVEEEEEE

s-writing-s

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐩 | 𝐉. 𝐀.

summary: you’ve been able to see ghosts since you were a child, but years of bad experiences have taught you one thing: keep it secret. people don’t take kindly to the things they can’t explain. then you meet jack—a highly observant doctor with a ghost of his own, and what begins as an unlikely friendship slowly becomes something more. but trusting him means risking the one thing you’ve spent your entire life protecting: yourself.

tags: hurt/comfort, angst, romance, fluff, flirting, explorations of grief, supernatural elements, mentions of an ex, reader doesn't take good care of herself

word count: 18.3k

a/n: my baby is finally finished! i've been working on this for months now and tbh i could probably keep doing it. there's just something so interesting about this theme and how two people are affected differently by death. this fic was inspired by the show ghost whisperer and i see reader's abilities as somewhat similar to melinda's. as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! i really hope you guys like it! <333

The Pitt | Masterlist Main | Masterlist

You hate hospitals with a deep passion.

They're too loud, too bright, and too crowded. Waiting rooms that make you feel like tinned fish, packed together beneath harsh fluorescent lights and the constant hum of voices. It's not even a busy night, and you're still counting down the minutes until you can leave.

There's a man with a clenched look on his face that suggests why he's choosing to stand despite the unusually empty seats. A woman nearby desperately hums to her wailing child, rocking her back and forth against her chest with a feverish gleam on her face. A man coughs wetly into his mask while a group of drunk girls giggle away in the corner.

It's a relatively empty waiting room considering it's the E.R—if you don't take the other people into account. There's a woman in a white gown wandering through the room before disappearing into a wall. A man with a gash on his head sits in one of the chairs, patiently waiting for his turn that will never come. Only the occasional flicker of his form reveals his true state.

It's only been half an hour, but from where you're sitting, you've already spotted five ghosts. And the longer you wait, the more they'll feel the pull of you—previous experience unfortunately lets you know that. So, if you can help it, you stay away.

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