Felicia didn’t think it was an embarrassing thing to say. She thought it was so undeniably accurate that it was funny. She would have laughed if it wasn’t for the crushing pain that would follow any moment of pleasure. So, in an attempt to avoid any unnecessary pain (and sensing Peter’s internal self curses), she moves on.
“Sleeping in a bra does suck. But I can’t even sit up without feeling like broken glass is actively cutting me up. How am I supposed to change my clothes?”
Peter was certainly relieved that she didn’t point out his obvious word vomit about his now ex-girlfriend’s thoughts on bras. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t fully conscious of his environment, which is why he offered to help Felicia change into his pajamas.
He tries so hard not to look at any potentially risqué areas of her body while changing her pants, but he does end up seeing her very purple and red left knee.
Internally, he winces in sympathy. Must be the place she was stepped on. He’s had a similar injury and it was… excruciating to say the least.
After pulling the new pjs on her as much as he could without compromising her, Peter voices his concern for her knee, but not before addressing his astonishment that she was able to get all the way to his apartment on that knee.
“Incredible what adrenaline can do,” she lets out in her silent raspy voice.
“Can you even move that?”
Felicia begins an attempt to move it, intently staring at the knee as if she was secretly telekinetic. She forfeits her attempt as soon as she has any sign of progression, most likely due to an excruciating pain that comes with it.
Her eyes practically well with tears.
Peter was no help in the initial report. “Felicia, I think it’s broken.”
“No fucking shit, Sherlock,” her eyes roll so much you’d think they could fall out, but the pain is a great reminder to show respect towards the spider-boy.
Peter goes to get his records and ends up meeting an indie punk genius instead.
WC:717
By some miracle, Peter managed to see his records from Midtown School of Science and Technology. He even had to go in, see his principal, who forgot he existed— that wasn’t awkward at all— and asked for his records transferred to an online school. He showed the same sympathy towards Peter that he shows all the new ninth graders at initiation. “Well Peter, I can’t say I’m happy you’re leaving us. Why did you miss so much school to begin with?”
Peter does his best to hide his emotions, never making eye contact seems to be the best he can do. “My aunt died.”
The principal sucked in a breath, “Do you have anyone else who could take care of you?”
“No,” he sighs, “my parents died in a plane crash when I was ten. My grandparents died before I was born, and my uncle was in a car accident.”
The principal nodded. “I’ll tell you what,” he starts. Peter finally looks up. “Instead of transferring you, just try to make up your missing work and I won’t dock you points for it.”
Peter felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time— hope.
“I’ll even talk to another student about tutoring you in the concepts you missed.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah!” The principal sits back in his chair before getting serious and leaning into the desk, “You seem like a good kid, and you’ve been through a lot. But dropping out of high school or transferring to some no-name online school won’t help you get into college. I saw your GPA before you went MIA. You’re way too smart to not get to a good college. So I’m here if you need anything— so is Ms. Kafka.” Peter nods and exits his office feeling better than when he first went in.
___
“Peter?” A voice called from the office lobby. Peter nearly jumped before realizing it was MJ.
“That’s your name right?” She asks. “Peter Piper?”
And the delusion leaves Peter as he gives the most natural fake smile he can muster. “It’s Peter Parker.”
She straightens her posture, something Peter has realized it’s something she does when she’s embarrassed.
“Uh, how do you know my name?” He asks.
“You came to where I work one day…” She starts “— I’m not a stalker! I just have a good memory.”
Peter chuckles at the irony. “So I’ve never seen you here before— I actually thought you were thought you graduated.”
Peter rubs the back of his neck and chuckles in his nervous fashion, “Yeah, no, I- I actually um… I’m a senior.”
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” MJ waves goodbye to him.
———
The day after, Peter goes to his classes and sees a blond girl waiting for him at his locker with a very thick two-inch binder after his third-period AP Physics.
“So, you’re Peter?” She asks.
Before he answers he tugs on his backpack strap. “Who are you?”
“Gwen.”
Peter tries to place where he’s heard that name before.
She pushes the binder to his chest, “This is yours.” She ‘explains’. “Principal Morita asked me to get it to you. It’s all of your missing work. I’m your new peer advisor. If it sounds made up… it’s because it definitely is.”
Peter can’t even get a word in.
“So here’s how it’s gonna work: you and I are gonna study three days a week and every Sunday, you’re gonna text me every time you get a new assignment— I’ve already put together my information in that binder. Everything in there is color-coded and I put resources for studying in the back. We have the same homeroom since now and we will be spending study hall together. If you have an emergency, I’d recommend you handle it until our joined study days because I’m almost always busy with my internship, dance, and electives. So solve your own problems on those days. On Sundays, you’re eating dinner at my house so we can prep for Mondays. Am I clear?”
Peter opens up the binder to see her name and information scribbled in cursive. He nods.
“Great.” She fastens her backpack strap. “I have AP music theory next, so just get your classes done then meet me back here after school.”
With that, she walks away.
Peter’s phone buzzes from inside his pocket. It's Felicia.
‘He just robbed some penthouse in Manhattan. Cops can't do anything because someone paid them off. This is why I need you to help. Please Peter.’
Peter softly bangs his head against his locker after reading that text. “I hate everything.”
Summary: Peter is desperate for a job after months of living on his own
Warnings: none really, just a few mentions of loneliness and a lost relative
“Peter Parker?” A woman from the unemployment office calls into an overall dejected lobby. Peter looks up from holding his head in his hands as his knee bounces anxiously.
The same few thoughts flood his brain:
* I’m pathetic
* I can’t do this much longer
* I can’t do anything
* I need help
- Who the hell could I ask?
- I’m fucking alone!
- I couldn’t save May, who else can’t I save?
* I am so fucked in the head
- Lost everyone
1. First my parents
2. Ben
3. Tony
4. May
5. Everyone else, including my best friend, my doppelgängers, and of course, the love of my life
Man this shit is gonna give me a complex
* I am so depressed
- I should get medication
- I can’t afford medication
- That’s why I’m at a fucking unemployment agency
* And I’m back to being pathetic
“Here,” Peter pushes away all of those invasive thoughts for the next fifteen minutes in that woman’s office. She types his name into her computer and pushes her glasses up, as if that will change the astonishing lack of… anything.
Peter sits there, awkwardly, eyes darting around the room as if he has no clue about what she’s seeing— not seeing on that screen.
“I’m sorry,” she starts, “I think we’ll just have to “build your resume on print.” The red haired middle aged—Gina, Peter reads the name on the plaque on her desk— grabs a pen and some paper.
“So where did you graduate?”
“Oh, I uh… I had to, uh… dropout…?”
Gina nods and writes something down on the paper. She kinda reminds Peter of a glorified guidance counselor… but maybe a little meaner. “Look Peter, I’m not gonna lie to you, this isn’t looking good for you. Without a GED and a diploma shits gonna get real difficult. I seriously recommend you getting that GED. I can’t give you some entry level jobs to start until you get that degree.”
Now it’s Peter’s turn to nod.
“So tell me about what you like to do.”
‘Apparently, I like to self sabotage a lot.’ He filters himself so he doesn’t projectile word-vomit all over this stranger’s office.
“I wanted to be an engineer. I had my sights set on MIT before I had to drop out.”
———
Trying to think of a time before a traumatic event is extremely difficult. A victim of rape can be triggered by something that once was innocent, like a lemonade stand; a son who used to be pushed by his father on the football field might not be able to play football ever again after they stop talking to their father; a victim of domestic violence might not be able to respond to sudden movements from their partners the same way. And for all of those people, looking back on their memories before the abuse might be difficult to do with a totally unbiased opinion.
Something’s you never forget, like the way Aunt May felt in Peter’s arms just before she died. Or the words she spoke in those final moments, the same words his uncle Ben said when he died.
‘Nothing will ever be the same.’
Peter can’t afford flowers for May’s grave, but he still visits her grave three times a week on average, no less than two in that span.
And that’s where he is right now. Sitting across from her grave stone with his journal between the hedge and him.
“So I’m still looking for a job, and I haven’t really had time to make friends, but it’ll get better soon…” as soon as he feels a tear fall down his right cheek, he sniffles, blinks. And uses his sleeve to wipe it all away.
“Good God, May. Why didn’t you tell me it’d be so hard to make it on my own?” He chuckled somberly, the same way anyone would when they were trying to hide their emotions.
“I don’t want to keep going.” He cries. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You can.” A familiar, yet unfamiliar voice says from behind him. “She’d want you to.”
It’s Happy.
Peter closes the journal and stands up as fast as possible for him.
“Sorry,” Happy starts, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
Peter hides his face and can’t even bring himself to self to glance at Happy even by accident, “No no, don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I should probably leave anyways.” He starts to step away but Happy takes hold of his jacket sleeve.
“Wait, let me take you to get something to eat,” He smiles, “please. My treat.
Tom takes a moment to consider the offer. The most surprising thing about his moment of hesitation is the fact that he thought about saying no.
“Why would you want to take a stranger out to eat?” He asks.
“I don’t know. You just remind me of someone that I can’t quite place.”
Peter smiles with a glint of hope in his eyes.
— — —
“So,” Happy starts as Peter munches on his cheeseburger, “what’s a young kid like you doing visiting someone’s grave instead of going to school?”
Peter puts down the burger, “I had to drop out actually.” Happy leans back on the booth bench.
“It’s not drugs or anything,” Peter reassures the older man, “I just don’t have the money for anything and I need to earn money for rent.”
“So was May helping you with that before she died?” Happy asks.
Peter debates being forthcoming about his past, but decides against it because he doesn’t have the strength anymore. He lost that at the Statue of Liberty.
“Yeah. My parents died and she always managed to find someway to help me.” Peter smiled.
“I was her boyfriend,” Happy begins, “she never mentioned you. Peter, are you hiding something?” Peter gets a l little nervous.
“I went to the soup kitchen after school. She helped so many that she probably had no idea the effect she had on me.” He covers his ass.
Happy is still suspicious but doesn’t push. “Well, Peter, you seem like a good kid. I’m sure everything will work out eventually.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hogan.”
“So where’s the first place on your list?” He asks.
“What?”
“You said you’re looking for a job, tell me where you’re looking and I can give you a ride.”
Warnings: post nwh, lonely Peter Parker, alterations to canon comics, mature themes, violence, mentions of death, maybe smut? Minors dni
Summary: after infiltrating the avengers records, Felicia finds out Spider-Man’s identity after the memory wipe, and offers to help him in exchange for…
“Fucking hell!” Peter groans as he enters his apartment through the window. He crawls over to his freezer to get something to use as an ice pack. He sets it on the counter and shoots a web to turn on the light and pulls off his mask with a sigh. He flinches once he hears an unfamiliar voice. “You know you really should think about getting a better lock for your door… or at least a deadbolt. It was way too easy to get in here.”
The Intruder was a woman with white hair in all black. She had a mask on (which barely concealed anything— in Peter’s opinion at least).
“Who the hell are you?” As she stood up he shot a web at one hand to keep her where she sat but it ricocheted and got his hand on the fridge. “Struggling with your webs, Parker?” He clenched his jaw.
“Just the only person who really knows who you are… but don’t worry; I won’t tell.” She walked to him and slid one finger along his jawline.
“What do you want?” She spun around to grab the pack of frozen vegetables and wrapped it in a towel, afterwards turning to get a rag and running it under cold water. “How do you know where everything is?” Peter asked. She shrugs, “I’ve been here for a while, a few porn videos worth- not that I’ve been watching porn! That would be totally unladylike.” She starts to ramble, admittedly, Peter thinks it’s cute.
She shakes her head and gets back to what she was originally talking about, “That’s not why I came here— look, I know who you are. Peter Parker: attended Midtown High, orphaned and raised by his aunt May who recently passed— my condolences, by the way, she seemed amazing— you also are extremely intelligent, inventive, kinda nerdy, thinks of classic movies as old, mentored by Tony Stark, asked to join the Avengers at only 15– somehow Tony wasn’t charged with child endangerment— but refused the offer, you’re also the primary reason Tony Stark agreed to help the Avengers ‘unblip’ everyone, but most importantly: you are Spiderman.”
Peter’s mind spins, “how do you know that?” Strange casted the spell only a few months ago, but there’s no way she could have figured out his identity that quickly. “Does that really matter?” She tilts her chin. “Yes!”
Peter runs his had through his hair with a sigh, “Sorry… I just… How do you know who I am?”
She straightened out her hoodie, “I hacks into the Avengers secret files. And I’m not a bad guy…” she sighs.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Peter scoffs and puts the bag of frozen peas on his brow.
The girl hesitates, “Please Peter, I need your help.”
“You gotta funny way of showing it.”
“Desperate times.”
“Why are you so desperate?” Peter pulls a beer from his fridge. No, he’s not 21, but the guy he got the fake ID from was perfectly willing to give him one in exchange for an autograph from Spider-Man for his kid.
“Aren’t you 18— never mind,” she starts, “I want you to put my dad in jail.” At that, Peter nearly spits out his beer.
“And why should I do that?” He asks as he sits at his table with the girl quickly following.
“Because he’s a criminal!” She pleads. “His name is Walter Hardy and he’s not a pleasant guy. He’s a burglar.”
Peter looks her up and down skeptically, “I suspect the apple doesn’t fall far?”
The girl groans, “Peter, please! I can’t keep living with him! If he makes me hack into one more security system I might die— or worse— I won’t be able to graduate!”
“How old are you?”
“I’m supposed to graduate high school this year, and I’ve been saving up for college but if he finds out he’ll take it from me! Please!”
Peter remembers that desperation to get to college, all the work it takes to save up— and he knows what it’s like for all the hard work to be worthless. So he’s thinking about it. “What did you say your name was?”
“Felicia Hardy.”
“Alright, Felicia Hardy. Why haven’t you called the police?”
She rolls her eyes, “The police have been after him for years— at least since my mom went back to Russia… or England— I’m not sure where she ran to, but that’s besides the point.” She tangents quite a bit, Peter notices.
“Your mom left?”
Felicia nods, “During the blip. I started learning to code and Dad got the bright idea to use my newfound skill to break into the Starks’. Mom said that was the last straw and left. But I guess she forgot about me or something…” It’s silent for a moment. “I was 15.”
This girl and Peter had led two very different lives. Hers was full of lies and red since she was young; and even though Peter was an orphan, before and after his parents death he always had someone there for him to help him out.
“Please just think about it. I’ll do anything.” She begs with her hands together.
Peter just takes another sip of beer. He still thinks beer is absolutely disgusting but he’s not gonna let his face show that.
“I can make you a new suit— one that doesn’t get ripped up so easily, o-or give you leads on over criminals— like scorpion! Or Jackel, or Rhino, or—”
“Or some other animal?”
“Peter, please.” She grabs her bag and pulls out a ripped piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it and some cash and puts them on the table. “Just think about it.” And with that, she gets up to leave.
“I’m not gonna do it for money!” Peter calls out as she opens the door
“It’s not for that, it’s for you to buy a deadbolt.” She winks before shutting the door behind her.
Peter goes to lock the door and uses his web shooter to seal it shut before grabbing his glasses, one of the few things that survived Goblin’s attacks.
“Edith?”
“Hello Peter. How can I help you today?” Edith asks.
synopsis ; peter was supposed to find you after strange wiped everyone's memory of him away. instead, you found him.
words ; 2.0k
themes ; angst, mild fluff and comedy
warnings / includes ; lots of feels crammed into this, peter is a flustered mess, reader is an insanely smart kid of tony’s, mentions of may and the rest of the spidey gang :(
main masterlist.
Ever since Peter had asked Strange to wipe the entire world’s memory of him, things had been… uneventful to say the least. He studied, he worked two boring jobs for a low minimum wage, and he visited May’s grave every afternoon.
There wasn’t much else to do when nobody knew him as Peter Parker.
Sometimes, he’d go out in his itchy, make-shift spider suit that he’d fashioned with bright fabrics from a corner store that also sold his most favorite orange-flavored popsicles, stopping common crime as the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.
Other than that… he slept. He played Crossy Road on his phone—or he’d rewatch the Star Wars movies for the billionth time.
He thought of his best friends, Ned and MJ. He thought of his brothers, Peter 2 and 3. He thought of his Aunt May, and Happy, who visited her grave almost as frequently as he did. He thought of the closest thing he had to a father figure, Tony Stark. He thought of Mr. Stark’s oldest kid—which he used to refer to as his significant other.
The love of his life.
Y/N Stark.
Peter missed you. He missed you more than anything in the entire world. He missed your wide smile and the specific way you’d throw your head back and laugh so hard you’d be grabbing onto his arm, gasping for breath. He missed how you’d press your chest into his back and kiss along his neck while he did his physics homework, quietly mumbling corrections to his calculations when he’d distractedly scribbled down the wrong formula. He missed how Mr. Stark would pull him to the side to give him the ‘Responsible Dad Talk’ just about every time the two of you hung out together, and how you’d have to tell your dad that you could make your own decisions and you didn’t need him to hover over the two of you.
Besides, you used to say with a soft smile, it’s Peter. You know Peter. He’s… he’s Peter. He’d never hurt me, pops.
But he did hurt you. He erased all the memories you had together—he completely wiped himself out of your life.
You loved him—and he had taken that away from you.
“I love you,” you had whispered into him as you hugged him tight, a tear slipping down the corner of your misty eyes. Peter wrapped his arms around your waist and held you all the closer. “Come back to me, Peter. Or… or I swear to fucking God—I’ll find you myself and—”
Your words died on your tongue as he surged forward and kissed you, hard and desperate. The kiss tasted of salt from your tears, of coppery blood from his throbbing, split lip. Neither of you cared.
You hiccupped a sob when he reluctantly pulled away, pressing one last kiss to your grimy forehead, before letting you go entirely. He turned before he could see you crumpling into MJ and Ned, who had roped you into a pained embrace, your shoulders trembling with wracking cries.
That was five months ago. Five months after Strange wiped everybody’s memories of him.
He’d wanted to find you again—he really did. Obviously, you were an extremely busy person, not only being the oldest kid of Tony Stark, but also a genius student, a researcher, the heir of an entire company, and an older sibling to Morgan. But, if he was completely honest, he didn’t really know what to say.
Hey, I’m Peter Parker and I’m in love with you, but I never got the chance to tell you because this wizard that’s sort of a friend of your dad’s erased everyone’s memory of me because the multiverse broke and a bunch of bad guys from other universes slipped into ours because I ruined my friend’s chances of getting into their dream college—
Yeah. That wouldn’t really work out, would it?
So he put it off.
Put it off for a week, which rolled into two, which became three, which became three months.
All of a sudden, it was summer, and he still hadn’t seen you.
He made sure to go to the coffee shop MJ worked at, just to see how she and Ned were faring. From what he heard while he eavesdropped—they were doing great at MIT.
Peter tried his best to keep up with you through those news articles that kept flashing him ads like You Wouldn’t Believe What This Celebrity Looks Like Without Makeup! or Learn All About Steve Rogers’ Exercise Routine!
There wasn’t much that he could find about you, other than a couple pictures of you with your little sister, Morgan, chowing down on cheeseburgers at McDonald’s. After all, you’d always been a rather private person, which was the one jarring difference between you and your infamously public father.
Your social medias were, expectedly, all privated. Peter doubted you’d accept his follow request, anyway.
It was an ordinary Tuesday—Peter had a shift at a car garage in a couple hours, which left him quite a bit of time to burn. He had ACDC softly playing in the background—a band that both you and your dad had been completely infatuated with—half a dozen books spread out around him as he multi-tasked studying new chemical compounds for his web fluid, and rotational mechanics for an upcoming exam.
Then, much to his surprise, the doorbell rang.
It’s probably the landlord, Peter thought with a grimace, thinking of the old woman who always had a cigarette between her coarse fingers, despite her own strict policy of no smoking in the building. He turned the music down to a low thrum, before swinging the door open.
And… there you were.
Peter could feel his heart drop to the floor.
You were… God, you were beautiful. There wasn’t much about you that changed—you got a new pair of glasses, he could see, and you’d cut your hair shorter. There was a tattoo peeking slightly out of your loose-hanging t-shirt etched over your skin, depicting a sketch of an arc reactor, in memory of your late father.
Besides that, you were the very same. The same bright, intelligent eyes, the same lips that puckered ever so slightly to the side in thought, and the same brows that knitted together whenever you were concentrating.
Your hands were shoved into your jeans as you cocked your head, studying him with narrowed eyes.
“Erm,” Peter started, mouth opening and closing as his brain struggled to comprehend that you were here. In the flesh. Fuck, you were gorgeous. “Wh… Y/N?”
Your eyebrow arched high up, closer to your hairline. “First name basis already, huh?”
“I’m—”
“You’re the Spiderling, aren’t you?” you asked abruptly, nearly giving him whiplash. Before he could say anything else, you were swiping your phone open, a hologram of a Youtube video playing right in front of his face. The video displayed Spider-Man swinging from building to building, stopping a car from ramming into an elderly woman crossing the street with nothing but brute strength. Peter didn’t even remember that happening. To him, that was just an ordinary day. “That must’ve been, what—like, thirty-five hundred pounds, about fifty miles an hour? Impressive.”
“Wh—”
You brushed past him into his tiny apartment. Peter cursed himself for not throwing away the pizza boxes stacked on his kitchen counter, and for leaving his sketches of web shooters out on his desk.
A small smile graced your lips as you spotted the blue and red scrap fabrics discarded into the trash can. “Hm. You make your own suit? My dad did, too. God—are those goggles?” You picked up his vision goggles from his unmade bed, peering through them as you snorted in amusement. “How on earth do you see anything though these?”
“I—”
You turned to him with an intrigued grin. “I’m sure you already know who I am, seeing as you knew my dad. It’s nice to finally meet you, Spiderling.”
Peter blinked. The overwhelming sense of deja vu washed over him like a tidal wave—you were behaving eerily similar to when Mr. Stark had approached him to go to Germany back in 2016.
“I… how…”
“What’s your name?” you asked, gingerly stepping over his textbooks to stare at his pinboard, where his calendar hung.
“Peter,” he finally mumbled in reply, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “And it’s Spider-Man, not Spiderling. What are you doing here? I mean, not that I don’t want you here, but, uhm—how did you find me?”
You looked over your shoulder with a knowing glint to your eyes. “I keep tabs on everybody my dad used to work with. Honestly, it wasn't too difficult to track you down—given the radius of where Spider-Man usually frequents and his response times to local crimes, it was easy to pinpoint where you lived. After my AI ran a couple voice recognition tests and estimated bodily proportions, that led me right to you.” You leaned against his rickety wooden desk with a curious grin. “Thought you’d be a bit older, though. Looks like you’re around my age.”
“I… that’s… wow.”
Wrinkling your nose in amusement, you turned back to his full calendar.
Peter prayed you wouldn’t flip over to your birthday month—he’d circled your birthday with bright red sharpie and drew loopy hearts all over the little square. Thankfully, you stopped skimming through, pausing at the relatively empty weeks where he had nothing planned other than a few work shifts.
“Looks like you’re free from school in a couple weeks,” you said. “I know this is really sudden and very abrupt of me, but—I’d love to offer you a job at Stark Labs. You must be crazy smart to design synthetic webs with a Young’s modulus that’s off the charts. Could really use that brain of yours at my company. Plus, you’ve got a lot of work experience in the bag.”
There was a beat of silence. Peter stared at you with parted lips.
A bit more timidly, you added on, “And… it’d be nice to work with someone that knew my dad.”
Well, Peter didn’t want to brag, but he’d definitely say that he didn’t only just know Tony Stark. But you didn’t need to know that right at this moment.
“Yes,” he blurted out, a bit louder than necessary. “Are you kidding me? That’s… that’s amazing! Yeah, oh my God, I’d love to! Thank you!”
Before he could stop himself, his body moved out of pure muscle memory and excitement, stepping forward to wind his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. Your familiar perfume made his eyes well with tears—fuck, he missed you so fucking much.
“Oh—” you began to say, muscles tensing. “Okay, then. You’re welcome, pal.”
Rouge flushed hotly over his cheeks as he realized that you weren’t his significant other anymore—in your mind, this was the first time the two of you were meeting. Quickly, he let you go, backing away with a grimace.
“Sorry,” he winced. “Sorry, I just—”
“Have we met before?” you asked, cutting him off. “I don’t know… it just feels like… nevermind. I’d probably remember a cute face like yours.”
Peter’s face burned an even brighter shade of red.
“Here’s my contact information. I’ll send you any contracts, NDAs, legality issues, dates for any research projects you might be interested in joining, payment negotiations, all that jazz,” you told him, placing a card onto his desk. “I look forward to working with you, Patrick.”
“Peter,” he corrected.
A smile played with the corner of your lips. “Right. Peter. Nice music taste, by the way. I love ACDC—I can see why my dad liked you so much.”
With that, you ambled over his scattered belongings on the floor, flashing him one last beam, before striding straight out the door.
Peter stared at the open doorway for a minute—or was it an hour? He really couldn’t tell.
He collapsed into his bed, the goggles you’d dangled digging into his back. He arched up just enough to pull it away, clutching it to his chest with a goofy smile.
You found him.
Against all odds, you’d found him.
Fuck, Peter loved you so much.
Telling you though—now that was a different story entirely. One that Peter knew was going to take time.
Your mother warns you about love. She tells you it will leave you hollow. You think she loved the wrong man. You think it will be different for you. And one day you will meet him, and your desire for him will haunt you till you cannot bear to be away from him. Nothing prepares you for what happens next. Love will come for you like a forest fire. And you will open your arms to it and him. You will take his burning even as you become ashes, but what good are ashes to a flame? When he is done, he will leave you in ashes and sorrow. And just like your mother, you will learn the more you give, the more love will leave you hollow. You will join the long legacy of women who warn their daughters about love.
summary -> inspired by ‘nonsense’ by sabrina carpenter. dedicated to @darling-im-wonderstruck and @kate-bishopss <3
au -> tom holland x singer!reader
wc -> 1.6k
warnings -> unedited, fluff, tom being bf material, a little bit of language and sexual innuendos
masterlist | listen
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
you sighed softly as you sat in the interview chair, tapping your fingers against your leg as your hairstylist and makeup artist applied some last minute touches before the camera turned on.
your new single had been on top charts for the past couple months, your album was coming out in a few short weeks, a tour was on the agenda for later this year. everything felt like it was finally slotting into place.
your fans had shown an insane amount of support from the number of streams and pre-saves for your new music, everything career wise made you feel on top of the world.
personal life wise, not so much.
you had met tom awhile back, the two of you had instantly connected while he was filming the latest spider-man movie. you two had gone out on a couple dates, hooked up a few times, the usual.
he checked all the boxes. he was caring and sweet, he made you feel like a queen, and he made sure you knew just how special you were to him.
however, whenever he was around, you felt knots in your stomach. the nervousness would set in whenever he was near. whenever you talk, you’d feel like you were speaking nonsense. all the nervousness is what kept you from jumping into something with him, but he was adamant about waiting for you. he didn’t want anyone else but you.
he didn’t care if it made him sound desperate, didn’t care about the girls in his dms or the ones who would text him and ask if he was seeing anyone. he only wanted you.
the camera started rolling and the interviewer introduced herself, smiling to the camera before introducing you. you smiled and thanked her for having you on before she asked her first question.
“so, ‘nonsense’ has been a huge hit,” she started, “you sing some very, risqué, lyrics, while also talking about how this certain someone makes you feel. did you pull inspiration from real life to write this?”
you nodded, “yeah, i did. i mean, you know that feeling you get when you talk to your crush? the kind of feeling that makes your insides melt? that's kind of how i feel with this person, every time.”
she smiled, “do they know they make you feel that way?”
you nodded, letting out a soft chuckle, “they do, yeah.”
she continued with the next question, “so, fans have speculated that the song is about tom holland, and you guys have been spotted out and about over the past couple months. are they right?”
you shook your head, palms sweating as you thought out your answer, “they’re all so creative with their speculations, but no, it’s not. tom and i are just friends.”
she tilted her head, “really? i mean, so many people have put compilations together of the two of you together and it seems like there’s some real chemistry brewing there.”
you smiled politely, “yeah, no. he’s really sweet, but we’re just friends.”
you felt the knots in your stomach again as you talked about him. just the thought of him made your stomach erupt in butterflies, how were you supposed to be together?
the interview was over after some more questions about the album and tour. you walked back to the dressing room, grabbing your things. as you scrolled through the missed texts on your phone, only one stood out to you the most.
tom: you were great ❤️
you smiled softly, going to reply, but your thought were interrupted when your manager walked in the door.
“the cars here,” she smiled, “ready?”
you tucked your phone back into your purse, “yeah,”
you walked outside of the building, saying hi and greeting some fans who waited outside. you took pictures, signed autographs, but the only thing on your mind was that text.
you pulled your phone back out as you got into the car, the driver heading back to your apartment building.
y/n: thank you ❤️
your fingers hovered over the keyboard, contemplating sending what you were thinking. you didn't understand why you were so nervous around him, why everything he did made your heart race or why he made your tongue go numb like all of a sudden you’re speaking gibberish.
none of it made sense, but then again, did it really have to? wasn’t the whole point of falling in love with someone about risks and growing together?
it was, right?
wanna get dinner tonight?
you locked your phone as soon as the ‘read’ popped up at the bottom of your message. you nervously bounced your leg, trying to fight back the urge to say ‘never mind’ as you watched the city life outside the dark tinted window.
your phone buzzed twice in your hand and you hesitated before looking down at the message on your lockscreen.
thought you’d never ask
meet at your place around 7?
you smiled down at your phone, your manager looking over at you as she spoke up, “nice job dodging those questions about tom earlier. i know how important your private life is, we want to keep it that way.”
you nodded, typing back your response before looking back at her. desperately trying to steady your heartbeat.
sounds good, spider-boy ❤️
“yeah,” you sighed, “i mean its not like i completely lied to them. we are just friends.”
“friends who hook up and get dinner on sunset?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. you sighed as she giggled, “i mean, i know there’s something brewing, anyone with eyes does, but why wait?”
you shrugged, “he just makes me nervous, almost like he’s too good to be true.”
“for as long as i’ve known you, if anyone deserves the ‘it’s too good to be true’, it’s you.”
you nodded, a soft smile on your face as the driver pulled up in front of your apartment building. you said your goodbyes, heading into the building and making your way into the elevator. you sighed, pressing the button for your floor.
maybe she was right. she almost always was.
the next few hours felt like the longest ever as you got ready. your hair was still styled almost perfectly from before, you touched up your makeup, and slipped on one of your favorite dresses. you felt good, and you looked good.
you were in the bathroom, applying some lip gloss in the mirror when you heard the knock on the door. you ruffled your hair one last time before making your way down the stairs and to the door, the clicking of your heels echoing throughout the penthouse.
you opened the door, smiling as tom stood in a dress shirt and dress pants. his sunglasses pushed back the curls that would normally fall in front of his forehead.
he looked so damn good.
he could say the same about you, though. his eyes traveled down your body as soon as you opened the door. he smiled as he handed you the bouquet of flowers from his grasp.
you thanked him and let him inside. he closed the door behind him and followed you into the kitchen where you were adding the new bouquet to the vase on the island.
“you look gorgeous, love,” he smiled as he took your hand. you laughed as he spun you around in a small circle, pulling you into his chest.
the smell of his cologne was embedded in your brain. after many nights of rolling over and smelling it on the pillows on the other side of your bed, or on one of the blankets on the couch he claimed was his, it smelled familiar. the feeling it gave you almost felt like home.
“so do you,” you grinned, “where are you taking me tonight, holland?”
“mm,” he hummed, “i booked a reservation for that italian place you like.”
you felt your heartbeat quicken as his nose brushed up against yours, “the key to my heart.”
he laughed softly, “seems you figured out what the key to mine is.”
you sent him a questioning look, “what’s that?”
“writing a song about me,” he smiled, “or, as you say, ‘about you and me’.”
you let out a chuckle, “you listened to it?”
“of course,” he playfully rolled his eyes, “it’s an honor to have a pop hit written about me, y’know.”
you hit his arm playfully, “stop.”
“stop what?”
“being so,” you trailed off for a second, “perfect.”
“you deserve nothing less, y/n.”
you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and if he wasn’t holding you by the waist, you probably would’ve toppled over.
“you just make me so nervous,” you breathed out, “i’ve never felt this way about anyone else before.”
he smiled, “me either,” you returned the smile, “i know i’ve said it before, but i want it all with you. all the nervous jitters, the pillow talks, the dancing in the kitchen, all of it.”
in that moment, you put your nerves aside and let yourself give in.
“i want it all with you, too,” you mumbled, leaning closer to his lips. he smiled against yours as he kissed you sweetly, the both of you pulling away and erupting into soft chuckles.
your laugh grew louder when he picked you up, ignoring your protesting as he started up the stairs to your bedroom.
“what about our dinner reservation?” you laughed, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants.
“you asked how quickly i can take my clothes off,” he said as he laid you down on your bed, “and there’s only one way to find out, love.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
💌 beings my tagged list has gotten so long that tumblr literally won't let me add it, the tagged list is temporarily closed until i can figure it out. in the meantime, be sure to follow and turn on notifications for @toms-gf to be notified whenever i post imagines :)
I am here once again to rage. Get 5sos away from your they're breaking up list. For people that keep saying 5sos is irrelevant, they sure like to bring them up all the time. It's like some people can't stand the fact the 5sos is a band because they want to. Superbloom and wfttwtaf proved that they could go solo if they wanted to. But the key point here is that they don't want to. Michael is a whole producer now if he wanted to do a career switch. 5sos is not a boyband formed in a tv show as way to bait teenage girls into spending their money. It's an unfair comparisons to compare them with 1D or any other boyband from the same category, because they are a band that was formed naturally. That makes a difference. Also the 5sos is only where they are because of 1D take is just wrong. They may not have gotten as big as they did as fast as they did, but they were writing their own music and doing their stuff before Louis and the tweet. Also stop acting like Louis tweeted about them over the kindness of his heart, 1D got 50% of what the boys made when they were still on that contract, from music and merch, it was an investment. This is legit just annoying. I get it, your band broke up, that doesn't mean every band in the world has to do it too. Bands go through cycles and that's healthy. Something that's definitely not healthy is the way they can't breathe in different rooms without everyone screaming break up. Chill out. Go touch some grass.
i was never a 1d fan, my older sister was and that's how she got into 5sos. Then she fell out of the 1d and 5sos fandoms in 2015 when she converted to mormonism and went on a year and a half mission in tonga. and she agrees that 5sos is better than 1d now that she's older and she's now gotten into their new music too. I always thought that their music always hit so much deeper compared to 1d and the chemistry was so much more natural than 1d. People who really believe thad 1d is superior and/or 5 sos are a boy band need to look at 5sos as they really are: legitimately fucking talented and passionate about their band enough to try new things like solo albums, producing, and actually putting emotion and vulnerability into their music— which is something i never believed 1d did. to me, 1d will never ever be able to be put on the same level as 5 seconds of summer because 5sos truly managed on their own to put themselves out there, experience pain, talk about mental health, advocate for those who struggle, work to constantly improve, put so much symbolism into their music videos like they did with no shame, lie to me, teeth, and so on. They have worked so hard to evolve and grow as people and in their music, they have collaborated with songwriting legends like ryan tedder, jon bellion, julia michaels, charlie puth, etc., and they boost other bands (actually out of the goodness of their hearts) like in their segment aussie to aussie over a radio show. 5sos and 1d may have toured together in 2013, but let's be real, they are not on the same level and they never have been, and never will be a boy band.
PANDORA AFTERPARTY LIVESTREAM aka Michael having a bad internet for nearly 20 minutes and interrupting Calum while trying to finish his joke aka Luke being an excellent question picker aka Calum repeating his favorite movie
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