hi! welcome to the masterpost of all the fics that I have read and loved!! i have tried to keep this list as organized as possible and try to update regularly! none of these are mine, they belong to and are written by amazing authors so check them out pls! also feel free to tell me if i linked anything wrong or if the link isn’t working so i can fix it!!
p.s. i mostly use this to keep track of what i've read lol.
started: 2/3/2021
last updated: 6/10/2026
Fandoms
ACOTAR
-> Azriel - List #1
-> Azriel - List #2
-> Azriel - List #3
Arcane
ATWOW
Baby
Bridgerton
COD
-> Simon 'Ghost' Riley - List #1
-> Simon 'Ghost' Riley - List #2
DC
Dune
HOTD + AKOT7K + GOT
Grotesquerie
HollyWood
Marvel
Off Campus
Outer Banks
Outer Range
Peaky Blinders
PJO
Skins
Sinners
Star Wars
Stranger Things
Teen Wolf
The King (2019)
The Naturals
The Pitt
The 100
Top Gun: Maverick
Tripple Frontier
Twisters
Wizarding World
9-1-1
RPF
Alfie Buttle
AngryGinge
Austin Butler
Benito 'Bad Bunny'
Chris Sturniolo
Cillian Murphy
Elvis
EsDeeKid
F1 List
-> F1Driver!Reader
-> Leclerc!Reader
-> Carlos Sainz
-> Charles Leclerc
-> Jenson Button
-> Lando Norris
- List #1
- List #2
-> Logan Sargeant
-> Max Verstappen
-> Ollie Bearman
-> Oscar Piastri
Harry Lewis
Harry Styles
-> List #1
-> List #2
Hasan Piker
Jack Champion
Jamie Flatters
Kurt Cobain
Lewis Pullman
Marlon3lg
Matt Sturniolo
NHL
-> Hughes!Reader
-> Jack Hughes
-> Luke Hughes
-> Nico Hischier
-> Quinn Hughes
-> Sidney Crosby
summary: ever since the world forgot peter parker, he’s kept exactly one promise: protect the people he loves, even if they never know his name. unfortunately for him, natasha romanoff made sure tony stark’s daughter would always notice when she was being followed.
warnings: memory-loss consequences, mentions of stalking, emotional angst, natasha romanoff’s training, english being not my first language.
the bell above the café door chimed softly.
peter didn’t look up.
he had learned that if he looked at every customer who walked in, he’d only end up disappointed. every few hours he’d convince himself that maybe, just maybe, someone would remember him.
no one ever did.
instead, he kept reading the same page of the physics textbook he’d been pretending to study for the last fifteen minutes while, through the reflection in the window, he watched her.
she looked… okay.
happy enough.
a little tired.
she laughed at something on her phone before ordering coffee. good. that was all he needed. he could leave now.
except he didn’t. because he’d told himself that every day for the past month.
just another five minutes. just until she leaves safely. just…
then the chair across from him scraped against the wooden floor.
peter froze.
“…hi.”
he slowly lowered his book.
reader smiled politely, almost apologetically.
“hi.” his brain completely stopped working.
she wasn’t supposed to be here.
she wasn’t supposed to even notice him.
she folded her arms on the table. “you’ve been following me for weeks.”
peter’s heart nearly stopped. “…i’m sorry?”
“you heard me.”
“i- i think you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“no.” she tilted her head. “it’s definitely you.”
peter forced an awkward laugh.
“i think i’d remember following someone.”
“you’ve changed hoodies six times.”
his smile faltered.
“you alternate between three backpacks. you’ve started buying coffee from places you clearly don’t like because they’re on my route. and yesterday you spent forty-three minutes pretending to compare cereal brands.”
peter blinked. “…how do you know it was forty-three?”
she gave him a look. “because i was timing you.”
silence.
then she sighed. “i let it go the first week.”
peter considered jumping through the nearest window.
“the second week I assumed you were gathering courage to ask me out.”
his ears turned scarlet. “what?”
“the third week I realized you weren’t actually trying to approach me.” she leaned back. “so now I’m curious.” another beat. “you don’t seem dangerous.”
“no.”
“you don’t seem creepy.”
“…thanks?”
“you actually look guilty… so.” she rested her chin on her hand. “why are you following me?”
peter stared at her.
every answer he wanted to give sat painfully behind the one he couldn’t.
because you’re my best friend.
because i promised your dad.
because i couldn’t save aunt may, but i can make sure nothing happens to you.
instead. “i think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
she smiled. “there it is.”
“what?”
“you’re lying.”
peter swallowed.
reader reached for her coffee when the waiter placed it down.
she took one sip before speaking again. “you know…” her voice softened. “i was trained by natasha romanoff.”
peter almost groaned.
“she spent years teaching me how to spot surveillance.” she pointed casually toward the window. “you always stay where you can see exits.”
peter blinked.
“you never let anyone stand behind you.”
another blink.
“when you think i might’ve noticed you, you start reading.”
his eyes drifted to the textbook still open in front of him.
“and,” she continued, “you scan everyone’s hands before you look at their faces.”
peter slowly closed the book.
“…old habits.”
“military?”
he smiled faintly. “no.”
“former shield?”
“…no.”
“hired by someone?”
his stomach tightened. “…no.”
she studied him for a long moment.
then something shifted in her expression.
not suspicion.
sadness.
“you know…” she murmured, “it’s strange.”
peter looked at her.
“i feel like…” she frowned. “…i should know you.”
his breath caught.
she looked embarrassed by her own words. “that’s weird, right?”
“…maybe.”
“i’ve had this feeling for months.” she laughed quietly. “i’ll see someone wearing a red hoodie and think, there you are, and then…” she shrugged. “it’s never who I’m looking for.”
peter had to grip the edge of the table to stop his hands from shaking.
“you have one of those faces.”
“my face?”
“it feels…” she searched for the word. “…familiar.”
neither of them spoke.
finally, reader smiled. “anyway.” she stood, grabbing her cup. “I don’t know why you’re following me.”
peter lowered his eyes.
“but i don’t think it’s because you want to hurt me.”
“…no.”
“i think…” she said quietly, “…you’re making sure i’m okay.”
his throat tightened.
“i don’t know why.”
neither do i anymore, he almost admitted.
she took a step away before pausing. “if you’re ever done hiding…”
peter looked up.
“…i’d like to know your name.” she smiled one last time as she turned towards the door.
she already had one hand on the café door when she heard him.
“wait.”
reader turned around.
peter was already regretting it.
his chair had scraped loudly against the floor, every eye in the café briefly drifting toward him before returning to their own conversations.
he swallowed.
she waited. “yeah?”
peter had rehearsed thousands of conversations with her.
none of them started like this.
“i…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “this is going to sound weird.”
a small smile tugged at her lips. “i’ve had a weird afternoon already.”
right.
she’d just confronted her own stalker.
“right.” he laughed nervously.
“i guess… i just wanted to say i’m sorry.”
“for following me?”
he nodded immediately. “yeah.”
“and?”
“and…” he looked down at the floor. “i wasn’t lying when i said i don’t want to hurt you.”
“i know.”
“i know that’s not enough of an explanation.”
“no.”
“but it’s the only one i can give.”
reader watched him for a long second. there was something painfully sincere about him. not charming. not smooth. just… honest.
like someone carrying a weight he wasn’t allowed to put down.
“so…” she asked softly. “does this mean you’re going to stop following me?”
peter hesitated. “…yes.” the word almost hurt. “if that’s what makes you feel safe.”
she noticed the way his shoulders slumped after he said it. like he’d just lost something.
her expression softened. “i didn’t say i felt unsafe.”
his eyes lifted to hers.
“i said i noticed.”
“oh.”
“you’ve had plenty of opportunities to do something.”
“i know.”
“you never did.”
“…no.”
“you actually scared away a guy who was following me last tuesday.”
peter blinked. “…you noticed that too?”
she laughed. “i notice everything.”
of course she did.
natasha would’ve been proud.
peter smiled despite himself. it was small. real.
reader noticed that too. “you smile like someone who doesn’t do it very often.”
his smile disappeared almost immediately. “…guess not.”
silence settled between them. comfortable this time.
then peter spoke before he could convince himself not to. “i know this is… probably inappropriate after everything.”
she raised an eyebrow.
“but…” he inhaled deeply. “would you maybe…” his voice almost cracked. “…want to be friends?”
the question hung between them.
reader stared. “friends?”
“i know.” he laughed awkwardly. “it sounds ridiculous.”
“you’ve been secretly following me for a month…”
“…yeah.”
“…and your solution is friendship?”
“when you put it like that….”
“it sounds insane.”
“it really does.” he buried his face in one hand. “i’m sorry. i should’ve just let you leave.”
she couldn’t help smiling. “no.”
he looked up.
“i’m glad you didn’t.”
peter blinked.
she stepped closer. “can i ask you something?”
“anything.”
“why me?”
he froze.
thee answer was so easy.
because you were my best friend.
because i fell in love with you when we were fifteen.
because every science project somehow became an excuse to spend another afternoon together.
because your dad used to pretend he didn’t know we kept sneaking into the lab.
because i still know exactly how you take your coffee.
instead.
“you seemed…” he searched for something that wasn’t a lie. “lonely.”
reader’s smile faded just a little. “…that’s a surprisingly accurate observation.”
peter’s heart sank. “i know what that’s like.”
she looked at him differently then.
not with suspicion. with recognition.
like she’d found another person carrying invisible things.
“i don’t usually make friends with strangers.”
“i figured.”
“but…” she reached into her tote bag and pulled out a small notebook. tearing off a page, she scribbled something before folding it once then she placed it in front of him. “my number.”
peter stared at it as if it might disappear.
“i have one condition.”
he looked up.
“no more following me.”
his stomach twisted. “…okay.”
“if you want to know whether i’m okay…” she smiled. “you ask.”
peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “…okay.”
“and if i catch you watching me from another rooftop.”
“i won’t.”
“peter.” the name left her mouth so naturally that they both froze.
silence.
reader frowned. “…why did i call you peter?”
his entire body went still. “i…”
she blinked rapidly. “i don’t even know your name.”
peter couldn’t breathe.
she shook her head, almost laughing at herself. “sorry. that’s… weird. it just slipped out.”
neither of them spoke.
finally, she smiled again, smaller this time. “so…” she tilted her head. “what’s your name?”
peter looked at the folded piece of paper with her phone number.
then back at the girl he’d loved since he was fifteen.
the girl who had just called him by the name the universe had stolen from him.
he smiled.
this time, it reached his eyes. “…peter. peter parker.”
she repeated it quietly, as though testing how it felt. “peter.” something in her chest stirred. a feeling with no memory attached.
only warmth.
only home.
“…it’s nice to meet you peter parker.”
peter nodded. “it really is.”
and for the first time since doctor strange’s spell, he wasn’t introducing himself to a stranger.
he was introducing himself to someone who, somehow, had almost remembered.
author’s note: i watched brand new day a few days ago, and i literally felt the need of writing something about peter parker. also i was thinking of making like a part 2 out of this, would you guys like that?
Synopsis: You never knew writing a few words on the back of a stranger’s letter would reach the eyes of the man who swore the world had forgotten him.
WC: 1551
Category: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, BND!Peter Parker, Mentions of Loneliness, Reader is a Photographer {Not Proof Read Since I’m Lazy LMAO)
AHHHHH THE MOVIE WAS SO GOOD!! MY ANGSTY HEART IS BEATING WITH EXCITEMENT.
[SLIGHT SPOILERS (IF YOU'D EVEN CALL IT THAT) BELOW THE CUT]
『••✎••』
You found the letter by accident, tucked against a ventilation duct on the rooftop of a six-story brick building on the edge of the Lower East Side, a place you’d climbed for the unobstructed view of the Williamsburg Bridge catching the morning light. The golden hour was your favorite—a brief window when the city looked less like a concrete jungle and more like a carefully constructed model, all sharp edges and soft shadows.
Your camera was heavy against your shoulder, the strap digging in. You’d already got the shot—a lone cyclist on the bridge, a silhouette against the rising sun—but you lingered, inhaling the scent of damp concrete and last night’s rain. That was when you saw it: a single, creased piece of paper, folded into a tight square and pinned by a loose bit of wire.
Curiosity, an old friend you could never quite shake, got the better of you. You crouched, the worn knees of your pants pressing against the gravel-strewn tar. The paper looked as if it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times, the corners soft and frayed.
When you opened it, the ink was slightly smudged in places, as if from a hesitant hand or maybe a few drops of something you couldn’t quite place. The handwriting was a messy, hurried scrawl, all sharp angles and leaning letters. It didn’t look like a love letter, not really. It looked more like a confession.
And that was exactly what it was.
"Hi, my name is Peter Parker, and you don’t remember me, but I have something to tell you that’s going to sound crazy. But it’s the truth, and I know you’re going to believe me, because you’re very good at telling when I’m lying…"
The letter went on, a rambling, disjointed explanation that spoke of loss so profound it felt physical. It didn’t go into detail, didn’t name names or events, but you didn’t need them. The feeling was unmistakable. It was the ache of being a ghost in your own life, of watching people you love live on as if you never existed.
That was the part that hooked you, that lodged itself somewhere deep behind your ribs. You’d felt it yourself—walking through crowded streets, sitting in bustling cafes, a silent observer in a world that felt perpetually just out of reach. You’d spent years capturing the city through a lens, always a step removed, a voyeur of other people’s lives. This letter was a reflection of that feeling, written from the other side.
You looked up from the page, the camera suddenly feeling impossibly heavy. The sun was higher now, the magic of the golden hour fading. The city was awake, the hum of traffic a distant thrum. You thought about the person who wrote this—this Peter Parker who claimed not only to be forgotten but to have been the masked hero swinging through these very streets.
It was absurd. It was the stuff of comic books. You could hardly believe it, but you somehow knew that the pain on the page was real. You knew real when you saw it. I mean, you’d built a career on it.
You didn’t have a pen, which, honestly, you never did, but you did have a fine-point Sharpie in your camera bag for all those times of writing labels on memory cards. So, using what limited supplies you had, you pulled it out, its black cap tight between your teeth. You turned the letter over to the blank, slightly grimy backside. For a moment, your mind was blank. What did you say to a ghost?
What did you say to someone who had lost everyone? You couldn’t promise to remember him. You didn’t even know him.
You settled on the truth. Your own small, quiet truth.
"Dear Peter Parker,"
As you wrote, you believed you were writing to an anonymous stranger, one of the eight million stories in the naked city. A story that had, for one reason or another, landed at your feet. You knew the odds of him ever seeing your reply were slim to none. It was a message in a bottle tossed into a sea of steel and glass, and you told yourself it wasn’t about the response. Because it couldn’t be.
And yet..
If you had stayed just an hour longer, you would have discovered that the ghost you’d written to was real. And that the ghost would be standing exactly where you were, reading your words in the same dawning light as you’d just read his.
The letter was never forgotten. In fact, it singlehandedly became the most important object in Peter Parker’s apartment. He had returned home after a grueling patrol—a twelve-hour shift that had left him with a sprained wrist, a black eye, and a profound sense of isolation that was becoming more and more familiar as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months.
He hadn’t slept in almost two days. And other than the overwhelming sorrow that seemed to be swallowing him whole, he didn’t know if it was the exhaustion, or the reminders of how much he missed his Aunt May, or if he was just… broken. But whatever it was, it was a bad combination.
He had the letter in his pocket. And after this specific patrol, he had nearly burned it to a crisp with a cheap lighter he’d found in a junk drawer. He had held the paper over the sink, the flame almost licking at the edges, the words about to be erased forever. But then he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Because even though no one remembered him, he remembered them.
Instead, he left it on that rooftop. A last-ditch effort to purge himself of the one thing that was tethering him to a life that no longer existed. He didn’t expect a response. He didn’t expect anything. He just wanted it gone.
And so, of course, he didn’t last more than a day in that state. He told himself he was going on another quick patrol to clear his head, to burn off the restless energy that was humming under his skin. But he knew he was lying to himself. He was going back to that rooftop.
Needless to say, seeing the words—your words—on the back of that letter was a shock. He hadn’t even expected the letter to still be there. And yet not only was it there, but it had a new addition. A response addressed to him.
"Dear Peter Parker," the neat, looping script began. "I’m sorry I’m not the person you wanted this letter to reach, but in a way, I’m glad it was me. Because reading this, I felt the city get a little less lonely for a second. I don’t know you. I don’t know the person you lost, and I don’t know the full weight of the story you’re carrying. But I do know, for what it’s worth, from one ghost to another, you’re not as alone as you think you are. Someone saw your letter. Someone read it. And someone, somewhere, is hoping you get a second chance at happiness. Even if you don’t think you deserve it…"
"And if you are who you say you are," it continued, the ink growing a little bolder, as if the writer had found their conviction, "the city needs its ghosts. Even the ones no one can see."
He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until the world started to tilt, the edges of the rooftop blurring into a hazy gray. He sank to his knees, the gravel biting through the thin fabric of his suit, the letter clutched in his hand. The paper trembled against his palm as he read it again. And then a third time, his eyes tracing each curve and line of your handwriting.
In all the months since the spell, since he’d become a walking, talking, breathing paradox, this was the first time he felt anything other than the crushing weight of his own invisibility. It wasn’t relief. It wasn’t joy. It was a strange, aching warmth that spread through his chest, almost like a flicker of light in a room that had been dark for so long he’d forgotten what illumination felt like.
The city needed its ghosts.
He folded the letter carefully, the creases now permanently etched into the paper, a new set of lines added to its history. It felt different now—heavier, more significant. It was no longer a relic of a life lost, but a reminder of why he should fight for the one he still had.
And that night, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he didn’t find himself tossing and turning on a lumpy mattress, staring at a water-stained ceiling. He didn’t find himself listening to the symphony of sirens and shouting matches that were the soundtrack to his Lower Manhattan apartment. That night, he had the best sleep he’d had in months. A deep, dreamless, and—most importantly—restorative sleep. He woke up feeling lighter, the ever-present tension in his shoulders a little less severe, the ever-growing migraine in his mind a little quieter.
Who knew all it took was a few words from an unsent letter to make a ghost feel alive again?
warnings: brand new day spoilers (but it's genuinely the smallest one you ever did see)
summary: you're avoiding the party that mj and ned wanted to throw, but that doesn't stop you from being found by a stranger. why can't you shake the feeling that he's familiar?
a/n: umm it's been eight years since i posted on this account? we're so back? saw brand new day in theaters (twice) and felt teenage me gnawing on the bars of her enclosure this one is for her (and for y'all). potential for a part two...
You didn’t know exactly what it was. You didn’t mind the music or the alcohol; even being around so many people was fun sometimes. Before everyone got drunk and started spilling things and yelling, obviously. But every single party you’d been to at MIT had felt…wrong. Like you were missing something. Like someone was supposed to be there with you, and they weren’t.
Which didn’t make sense. Ned and MJ had gone to a majority of the parties you’d gone to throughout college, and they were your closest friends. How could you feel like something important was missing when everything important was already there with you?
Either way, you’d started trying to avoid that gnawing feeling in your chest. Besides, you were growing out of the phase where going to every party and meeting every person you could fascinated you. Maybe one day that deep, dreadful sinking would go away. Maybe it would stop appearing at parties, on every birthday you turned a year older, on the small amount of dates you’d gone on where the feeling got so strong it made you nauseous.
Today, though, was an exception. You’d graduated this past summer and moved back to New York with MJ and Ned, and they were determined to throw one last party with all the college friends that had wound up back in the city, too.
Well, Ned was determined. You and MJ were lukewarm about the whole thing.
Which is why you were in your—abysmally small—bedroom, working through this line of code that you were pretty sure was going to get you fired from your shiny new job if you didn’t figure out why it wasn’t working, with your door open to the noise beyond. It was to keep an eye on MJ and Ned, you told yourself, even as you eyed all the swaying people around the TV you’d just spent fifty dollars on from Facebook Marketplace. Ugh, you should have moved it before. If they broke it, you were totally making Ned buy you takeout for a week.
You went back to work, thankful everyone seemed to be too preoccupied with the party to worry about the weird girl staring at her computer screen on her bedroom floor. You couldn’t figure this out. It was driving you crazy. You were sure it had worked yesterday evening, and then when you’d come into work this morning it was all wrong and every single test you did didn’t fix it and you were going to throw your computer—
A knock on your open door. A cleared throat. “Um, hey.”
You looked up.
A guy around your age stood in your doorway. The first thing you noticed about him were his eyes, wide and expressive, looking at you as if you were the one who’d shown up in his bedroom. But…reverent too, almost in disbelief. He was looking at you like he’d never seen a girl before.
But he was cute. And something about him…
He seemed familiar.
“Are you okay?” he asks you. His gaze starts to bounce around the room the second you meet it, avoiding your eyes. “You looked, um, mad?”
“Oh!” You laugh a little at yourself. “I’m just doing some work. I’ve been told I look mad when I can’t figure something out. I don’t even realize it.” But who had told you that? It wasn’t your family, or Ned or MJ. But someone had told you. Who had it been?
The guy shifts on his feet. You realize he’s holding a bouquet of flowers, which is a weird thing to bring to a party, but you find it charming. He squints his eyes at you, but the corner of his mouth is lifting like he wants to smile. It makes something in your chest flutter. “You’re doing work during a party?”
He’s teasing you. You feel yourself smiling back. “Yes, I am. Super important work, I might add.”
“Oh, yeah?” He leans a shoulder against your doorframe, eyes on yours now.
You can’t look away.
“Yep. Keep an eye out because I’m gonna dethrone Spider-Man from the first page of the Daily Bugle tomorrow with my amazing work on debugging this finance app that only has three hundred downloads. Really groundbreaking stuff.”
He smiles fully, now. It makes you feel triumphant, nervous, and warm. “That’s awesome because I love—What’s the name of the app?”
“Financipply” Stupid name. From the doubtful look he sends you, he agrees.
“That’s perfect because I love Finacnipply. Can’t wait to see you on the front page.” You roll your eyes, but you laugh. You both do, his shy and small, as if he hasn’t done it in a long, long time. As if he shouldn’t be laughing at all. But his eyes are bright. They turn towards the floor as your laughter dies, shy. “So what can’t you figure out?”
And you just can’t stop looking at him. You motion towards your computer screen vaguely. “Just this code. I don’t know what’s wrong with it. It’s just not working.”
He takes a small step forward. “Do you think…Can I…look at it?”
“For real? You code?”
He shrugs, one hand in his pocket. Adorable. “I…dabble?”
“Are you sure about that?”
Another flash of a smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Alright then. Knock yourself out.”
He comes to sit next to you on the rug you found at the thrift store a couple blocks away, rubbing his palms over his jeans and looking intently at your computer screen. He smells like clean laundry and the rain the city had earlier in the day, and he’s looking at your code like he actually understands it. “Oh wow. Cool.” He scrolls through it a couple times, up, down. You’re entranced by his profile, so close. He stops to type. “Did you try this?”
You blink. Look at the screen. “Oh my gosh, no.” A simple line edit. You know when you see it that it’ll work. “Holy shit. You did it. Holy crap. Thank you. You’re, like, awesome.”
“It was nothing.” But he's ducking his head with a blush. “Seriously.”
“What’s your name, anyway? Since you saved me from getting fired.”
“Um, May..nard.”
“Maynard.” It sounds wrong. You’ve never had that thought before—that someone’s name is wrong. But it’s a sure feeling in your chest. The one you have when you know your code tests are going to work, and when you decided you wanted to move back to the city. It’s really the only feeling you trust anymore.
“Yep.” He leans back on his palms, and your eyes run down his arms unconsciously, tracking muscles and veins. You have a brief, overwhelming urge to curl closer to him, to run your hands down his biceps, to take his hands into yours and trace the lines of his palms. And it feels normal, to have that feeling. So normal, your body almost starts moving on its own accord. But his voice breaks you out of it. “So, is this what you want to do? Program apps?”
You tell him that your dream is to work on developing video games, and he nods like it makes complete sense and gets you to tell him that you’d love to make a game based off of Star Wars, which makes his eyes light up in a way that has your breath catching.
And that’s how you end up talking to a cute boy on the floor of your bedroom for an hour, about Star Wars and your favorite video games and what got you into them in the first place. He makes you laugh, and talking to him is so easy. It’s hard to believe you just met him now and not in high school. He would fit right in with MJ and Ned. You can almost see it for a moment; the four of you hanging around the diner MJ used to work at before college, laughing and teasing and studying. The image is so visceral that for a moment it feels real.
You’re just about to invite him over sometime because you’re so sure that they’d love him and that you want to get to know him better, when there’s a crash from the living room.
Both of you turn, and your face immediately drops. That better not have been your TV.
You sigh. “I need to go make sure nothing important is broken.” You almost add on a desperate wait for me, but he’s already standing up and holding out a hand for you.
That would have been too weird to ask for, anyway. Right?
You let him pull you up. When your hands touch, it’s almost as if the warmth radiates from his calloused fingers, grips your heart, and drags it all the way down to your toes. He lets go quickly, as soon as you’re on your feet, but you stand there for a moment, disoriented. Feeling like…feeling like you’re right where you need to be. But also like you’ve forgotten to do something. It pulls at your brain like a grocery item list you know you were thinking about five minutes ago, but no matter how far you reach, you can never remember what it was.
It shouldn’t bother you this much—you’ve been feeling it since you went to college. It hung over you during orientation, and move-in day, and every visit home. It reaches you in dreams, and weirdly, whenever Ned shows you the thousands of videos he gets of Spider-Man swinging across the city.
But you’d never felt this close to grasping it before. You can almost see an image in your brain, faded around the edges like an old photograph, a word floating just on the edge of your consciousness.
“You okay?” He’s asking you. Maynard. God, why does that name sound so wrong to think?
He looks about a second away from grabbing your hand again.
You want to let him.
But you hear MJ’s voice from the living room, firm in the way she only uses when she’s annoyed, and you know that your TV is probably done for. Maynard seems to be able to sense it too, because he urges you to go.
And your TV is broken, thanks to some idiot and his friend who decided to start play-fighting for no reason. He gives you a twenty from his pocket, but you can’t even focus. Your mind is too busy playing back your night. Warm brown eyes, messy curls, soft smiles. You end up just waving it off—but you keep that twenty—and rushing back to your room to find Maynard.
Only, he’s not there when you return.
Your laptop is closed and placed at the foot of your bed. On top, the bouquet he showed up with.
You stand there, in the middle of your tiny room, touching your fingertips to the carnations and grieving.
Grieving for what? You keep asking yourself. Why do I feel this way?
But you can’t figure it out. It stays, stays, stays.
Later that night, his face comes to you in your dreams. It’s younger, unburdened with the sadness you’d seen lying underneath. He’s laughing, bright and beautiful, and he’s looking at you. You’re on a rooftop somewhere, both of you golden in the sun, and he’s saying your name with a fondness that notches into your spine.
I love you, he says, and he means it. It’s in his eyes, in the way his expression melts into softness, in the way he traces his fingers across your shoulder and pulls you into him.
Peter, your voice sounds just as yours does now, weighed down by adulthood. You run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and there’s a peacefulness in your body that you know you haven’t felt in years, even through the haze of the dream. I’ll always love you.
You feel the press of his lips to your hair, the curve of them as he smiles.
You wake up. Gasping, gripping the thin sheets of your bed, sweat gleaming on your collarbone.
Peter, your mind whispers to you in the dark.
“Peter.” You murmur it into the moonlight shining across your floor, to your heart beating against your ribcage, to the knot in your stomach that finally releases.
“Peter.” You say again. Taste it on your tongue, certain you’ve said it a thousand times, in a million different ways.
Synopsis: Your boyfriend, Peter, doesn't make it to your birthday dinner. So you walk home alone, only to run into the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.
Masterlist
A very tired Y/n stumbled over the bumpy sidewalk of New York, cursing under her breath whenever she nearly stepped in a puddle. Her purse was crossed along her body and a bottle of wine swung from her hand.
She made her way home quickly and in annoyance, not wanting to be out any longer than she had to. With that in mind, she took a shortcut through an alleyway.
"Ma'am, stop right there!" A voice behind her shouted. She hesitantly turned, about to blow the person off, before she saw the city's masked hero within a few feet's distance.
"Holy shit! Oh, fuck did I do something? If it's the wine— I'm legally allowed to own it! And I have my ID, so please don't arrest me. I'm not even drunk!” a startled Y/n shouted.
"No, no! It’s okay," The vigilante approached her.
"Oh, okay," She said, touching her heart and sighing in relief. "Sorry for getting all jumpy there. It’s been a long day."
"No, you're fine! I didn't mean to scare you. I was just gonna say, you really shouldn't be walking home by yourself. It's not exactly safe, especially at night," He explained through an overly deepened voice.
"I know it's not," Sighed the girl. "My friends tried to get me to walk home with them, but my place isn't that far. And I'm really not in the mood to talk to anyone."
She continued her path, glancing back at him to add a quick, "No offense."
"None taken," He replied through a jog, catching up to her. "Did you just happen to be carrying around a bottle of wine with you, though?" He softly laughed at her antics.
"Uhh, yeah, just tonight." She returned a weak one.
"What's the occasion?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.
"It's my birthday. I'm 21 now and I wanna have my first drink with my boyfriend. He couldn't make it to my party and the restaurant let me bring one home with me."
She smiled sadly, lifting the bottle up so he could see the written For the birthday girl, enjoy! that a waitress had signed in permanent marker.
Peter felt guilty hearing this. Not only because he didn't make it to her birthday, but because she still waited for him. Wanting to share the special moment— despite him having missed it entirely.
"Happy birthday, then." The masked boy spoke, voice cracking as he said it. "I hope you spent it well."
"It was... eh. But thank you."
"Why was it 'eh'?" He asked, holding his breath.
"It's just, I don't know." She shrugged, not wanting to get into it.
She pondered for a moment, then, "I'm not trying to be rude or like, ungrateful, but don't you have actual Spider-Man stuff to do?"
He shook his head, "Making sure you get home safely is just as important as any other mission to me... plus, I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"That's nice, but I wouldn't want you to stop helping someone who actually needs it because of me."
"It's fine," He waved a hand in dismissal. "Don't even worry about it. I was pretty much done for the night anyway."
All she did was nod, not entirely convinced, then he spoke again.
"Sooo.. your birthday," He started.
"Right, yeah. It was fine, I guess."
"How come?"
"You're already walking me home, the last thing I want is for you to be my therapist too." She joked.
"Well, maybe I could help cheer you up... I like to help people. It's what I do."
"My friends already tried.. and failed. What makes you think you can?"
"I'd try my luck," He suggested. "Or we could walk in awkward silence."
She laughed at that, to which he said, "So what's got you down?"
"Okay, I mean.. like I said, my boyfriend didn't show up at the restaurant, soo I kinda spent the whole night staring at the door in case he did."
"Oh." He mumbled. "Sounds like a shitty boyfriend," He whispered, a little more to himself.
"He isn't," She shook her head a few too many times.
"He's naturally late to things, yeah. And he can't always make it to stuff. But when he is there.. His presence makes everything so much better." She said truthfully.
Peter hummed in understanding, his heart feeling heavy at her defending words. Here he was in a Spider-Man suit, meanwhile she wore her best party outfit. Not even cursing at the boy for his absence.
He didn't deserve her, he thought.
"Did he at least call? You know, saying he couldn't make it?"
Silence filled the air momentarily, which was enough of an answer. Still, she said, "He usually does..."
"Yeah?" He swallowed the forming lump in his throat.
"He— he always lets me know if he can't. And he did wish me a Happy Birthday! It's just— he's— I don't know what's going on with him anymore." She gave a teary laugh.
"Sometimes, it just feels like he's gonna break up with me. I feel like he wants to do it, but he's waiting around for the perfect opportunity, y'know?" She quickly wiped her now forming tears. "Sorry, I sound really pathetic."
"What?! No. No... You don't." He paused. "You— you really think he's gonna break up with you?" He dreadfully asked.
"I don't know," She gave a weak shrug. "He's like, distant lately."
"Have you.. Have you tried talking to him about it?"
"I've tried, yeah." She chewed on her lip nervously, thinking of the many instances where he canceled at the last minute when she intended on speaking with him.
"Like just this week, I asked to meet up after his afternoon class because I wanted to know if something was wrong, but..." She trailed off, holding back more tears.
"He canceled," He finished her sentence, wincing at her confirming nod.
"Right, and it's like, what am I doing wrong?" She added helplessly.
"Nothing! You're not doing anything wrong," He said through an interior panic.
"Doesn't feel like it."
They continued walking as Peter thought of the correct words to say. She'd laid her thoughts right there at his feet and he didn't know what the right move was.
He gave a desperate sigh, then proceeded to say, "I don't think he wants to break up with you."
"Seriously? That's what you're gonna tell me? You don't know that—"
"Hear me out... It's just, you know. Maybe he has a lot going on and.." He started, feeling overwhelmed.
"And maybe he hasn't been able to really tell you everything he wants you to know because he's scared. Scared to lose you. Or scared that you're already slipping away from him." He rambled on.
She slowed down her pace, tilting her head at him as a sense of familiarity within his words settled in.
He wasn't faking his tone anymore, and she wasn't as in her head as she was when he first found her.
"But you're not doing anything wrong, okay, Y/n?" He continued, voice breaking as he stepped closer to her. "I can promise you that."
She looked around to make sure the streets were empty before abruptly stopping in her tracks, eyeing him, when it finally clicked for her. She inched closer to him, while her shaky fingers tentatively reached towards the bottom of his mask.
She did so slowly, making sure he had time to stop her if he wanted to.
"Wait," He put his hand over hers. "It's not really.. It's not safe to do that here."
She understood and immediately withdrew her hand, taking a few steps back.
"Do you trust me?" He walked towards her, carefully placing his hands on her hips. With a nod, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Just like that, he aimed at a nearby building and shot a web, swinging with her in his arms. Her body tightly hugged him as they made their way to the rooftop of Peter's old apartment building. The same place they had their first date.
A sloppy "Happy Birthday" was webbed above the projector that was setup, along with blankets on an old couch that they’d made out on several times.. A few of her favorite drinks and snacks placed there as well. She noticed them as he gently put her down.
She once again turned to look at him, but his mask was already off.
"I'm sorry I missed your birthday, Princess."
"Oh, Peter," She frowned and went to cup his face. "Who did this to you?"
"It doesn't matter," He said softly, leaning into her hands.
"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I really wanted to... But I never knew when or how to do it. And tonight, I wanted to be there." His lips trembled.
"You have no idea how much I wanted to be there. But some guy had this really wonderful idea to rob a bank on your day, which caused a lockdown and eventually it led to a car pileup—"
She placed a kiss on his lips, shutting him up while holding onto the back of his neck in order to keep him close.
"I saw the news, Pete." She said once they parted and hugged him tightly, body shaking as she did so.
"Are you crying?" He asked through furrowed brows. "I'm so sorry I upset you, I—"
"I'm not upset with you. You don't have to apologize."
"You're not?"
"I mean, I was upset when I thought you were preparing some 'it's not you, it's me' speech on my birthday. And the thought of that hurts a lot more than knowing you kept this from me."
"I shouldn't have ever made you feel like we were gonna breakup, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to give you that impression. You have every right to be upset at me for it." He hung his head low in shame.
"Thank you for owning up to it, but it's okay now, love. I'm okay now that you're here," She reassured him. "And I'm really glad you trusted me enough to share this with me."
"Of course I trust you. I had it all planned out.. We were supposed to go to dinner first and then come here. I was gonna explain everything up here, but things just got all messy, as always."
"I just said it's okay," She giggled, tracing the spider on his chest. "Besides, I can't complain when you look this good in your suit."
She smiled at his forming blush and messed up hair, then leaned in to kiss him once again.
Synopsis: Somewhere between sneaking into space and preparing to fight Thanos, Peter Parker and Tony Stark’s daughter realize they might not just be friends anymore.
Masterlist
After Ebony Maw took Doctor Strange onto his ship, Tony followed without thinking twice. He had expected a fight, another plan he would have to make up as he went, maybe even some kind of alien interrogation.
What he hadn’t expected was Peter Parker clinging to the outside of the ship all the way into space. And he definitely hadn’t expected his daughter to be hiding inside with him.
The Cloak of Levitation tapped Tony lightly on the shoulder. He jumped, spinning around with his repulsor raised before realizing it was only the cape hovering behind him.
“Wow,” he said, lowering his hand. “You’re seriously a loyal piece of outerwear, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, uh, speaking of loyalty,” Peter’s voice said from behind him.
Tony froze. “What the—”
“Hi, Dad,” Y/N said with a guilty smile as she stepped out beside Peter.
Tony turned slowly. The second he saw them standing there, his expression dropped.
“What the hell are you two doing here?”
“Listen—” Peter started.
“You two should not be here.” Tony spoke sternly.
“I know what you’re gonna say. We were gonna go back, but it was such a long way down—”
“I don’t wanna hear it.”
“And then I thought of you, and I kind of stuck to the ship,” Peter finished anyway.
Tony stared at him for a second before rubbing a hand over his face. “And now I gotta hear it.”
“Plus, these suits are ridiculously intuitive,” Peter continued. “So, technically, it’s kind of your fault that we’re here.”
Tony turned toward him. “You just blamed me for your terrible decision?”
Peter’s eyes widened. “No. I mean, yes, but not in a bad way.”
“Yeah, Dad,” Y/N added. “We were trying to help. You made these suits so we could help the team, right? You can’t really blame us for using them.”
Tony looked at her for a long moment.
“Y/N Stark.”
Her smile faded. “Yeah?”
“Are you actually trying to argue with me right now?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Not anymore.”
“Good.” Tony stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders, checking her over like he needed to make sure she was really okay. “You’re on an alien spaceship, heading toward a fight neither of you should be anywhere near. Do you understand how insane that sounds?”
“I know,” she said more quietly.
“No, you don’t,” Tony said. “Because if you did, you would’ve stayed on Earth.”
Y/N looked down, her eyes glossy. “I didn’t want you going alone.”
For a moment, Tony didn’t say anything. His jaw tightened as he looked away, but then he pulled her into a quick hug.
“You’re grounded for the rest of your life,” he muttered into her hair.
Y/N smiled against his shoulder. “That feels a little dramatic.”
“You snuck into space.”
“Okay, true.”
Tony pulled back and pointed between her and Peter. “Both of you stay where I can see you. No wandering around, no touching random alien buttons, and no more surprises.”
Peter nodded right away. “Absolutely. We’re done with surprises.”
Tony gave him a look.
Peter swallowed. “Probably.”
Tony looked back at Y/N, and his expression softened for a second before he turned to Peter again.
“And Parker?”
“Yeah, Mr. Stark?”
“Keep my daughter safe.”
Peter’s face immediately turned serious. “I will. I promise.”
Tony nodded once, like that was all he needed to hear.
-x-
A few hours later, Y/N found Peter standing near one of the ship’s windows, staring out at the stars.
“I can’t believe we’re actually in space,” he said quietly.
She joined him beside the glass and looked out at the endless darkness beyond it. “I know. And we still have two English papers due next week.”
Peter turned toward her. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
“Sorry,” she said, folding her arms. “I’ve had homework and missions back-to-back for months. You can’t expect me to suddenly be in space and not remember I have homework due next week.”
Peter laughed under his breath. “Okay, that’s fair.”
“Thank you.”
They stood there for a little while, looking out at the stars.
“It’s weird how quiet it is out here,” Peter said.
Y/N glanced at him. “Quiet?”
“Yeah. Everything back home is always loud. Sirens, traffic, people yelling, Mr. Stark bossing me around.” He smiled a little. “But out here, it’s just us and this giant empty sky.”
She looked back through the window. “That’s actually kind of nice.”
Peter nodded, then glanced down at her suit.
“Your suit is really cool, by the way.”
Y/N looked down at herself. “My suit?”
“Yeah. Mine has all these new features, and it’s awesome, but yours is actually really pretty. It looks like you.”
She tried not to smile too much. “You think it looks pretty?”
Peter’s cheeks turned pink. “I mean, the suit. The suit looks pretty.”
“Right,” she teased.
“And that shield thing you did earlier?” he added, nodding toward the bracelet around her wrist. “That was insane.”
Y/N smiled. “It can make a shield, but it also has these little energy blades.”
Peter looked impressed. “That’s actually really cool. Your dad just gave you that?”
“Pretty much. He said I’m only supposed to use the blades if I really have to.”
“Which means you definitely haven’t used them yet, right?”
Y/N gave him a look.
Peter laughed. “Right. I’m not asking.”
She smiled and looked back at him. “Your suit is cool too, though.”
Peter glanced at her, trying not to look too pleased. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s very you. A little extra, but in a cute way.”
He looked at her, trying and failing to hide his smile. “Can I say something kind of stupid?” he asked after a moment.
Y/N turned toward him. “When has anything you’ve said ever been stupid?”
He let out a nervous laugh. “All the time.”
“Okay, maybe not ever. But go on.”
Peter looked back out the window, like it was easier to say it to the stars than directly to her.
“I think it would’ve been really nice if we were up here for a reason that wasn’t terrible,” he said. “Like, if it was just us. No Thanos, no fighting, no everyone trying to kill us. Just being up here together.”
Y/N felt her chest tighten.
Peter looked embarrassed almost immediately. “Sorry. That sounded way more intense than I meant it to.”
“It didn’t,” she said softly, shaking her head as she spoke.
He looked back at her.
“I think that would’ve been nice too.”
-x-
Neither of them brought it up again until they reached Titan.
The air was dry and heavy, and the orange sky made everything feel wrong. Tony and Doctor Strange stood a few feet away, arguing as they came up with a plan while Y/N stayed close to Peter and tried not to let her nerves show.
Peter noticed anyway. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said automatically.
He gave her a small look. “You’re doing that thing where you say you’re okay, but you’re definitely not okay.”
She let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “I’m trying not to think about the fact that we’re about to fight someone who wants to kill half the universe.”
“Yeah,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s probably a good thing not to think about too much.”
They stood there for a moment, their shoulders brushing.
Y/N looked up at him. “I’ve been thinking about what you said on the ship.”
Peter’s expression shifted. “Which part?”
“The part about it being nice if we were up there for a better reason.” She glanced down for a second, then back at him. “If it was just us.”
He went quiet.
“I think it would’ve been so nice,” she said softly.
Peter looked at her like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “Really?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
For a second, neither of them said anything. Peter looked down, his fingers brushing nervously against hers.
“I really like you,” he said finally.
Y/N’s breath caught.
Peter gave a small, shaky laugh. “I know this is probably not the best time to say it. We’re on another planet and about to fight Thanos, which is obviously not ideal, but I just…” He swallowed. “I didn’t want to keep pretending I didn’t feel it.”
His eyes lifted back to hers.
“I’ve liked you for a while,” he admitted. “I kept thinking it would make things weird, or that Mr. Stark would hate me, or that I’d mess everything up between us. But after everything we’ve been through, I didn’t want to leave it unsaid.”
Y/N smiled a little. “I really like you too, Peter.”
His whole face softened. “You do?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I think I’ve known for a while. I just kept trying not to think about it too much.”
Peter stayed quiet, watching her carefully.
“You’re easy to be around,” she continued. “And you make me laugh when I’m stressed, even when you’re being annoying. You just make my life so much better.”
He looked down, already smiling.
“I’ve been scared of making it complicated,” Y/N admitted. “But I don’t think you’d ruin anything.”
Peter let out a breath, like he had been holding it the entire time. “Okay,” he said, smiling a little. “That’s really good to hear.”
“You’re welcome,” she teased.
He stepped a little closer, giving her enough time to pull away.
When she didn’t, Peter leaned in and kissed her.
It was soft and quick at first, like neither of them fully believed it was happening. Y/N kissed him back before he could second-guess it, and when they pulled apart, Peter was smiling in that shy way that made her heart flutter.
“Was that okay?” he asked.
She nodded, reaching for his hand. “More than okay.”
Peter laced his fingers through hers.
“Come on,” Y/N said, giving his hand a small squeeze. “We have a universe to save.”
Summary → After getting stabbed on patrol, you seek Peter’s help. He’s furious, but his anger fades into love and comfort.
The pain in your stomach was unbearable. Every step you took sent a sharp, searing ache through your body, but you gritted your teeth and pushed forward, forcing yourself to climb up the fire escape. Blood dripped from your wound, soaking into the black fabric of your suit, but you ignored it. You had to get to Peter. You knew he was home—he’d told you he wasn’t going on patrol tonight because of finals.
Reaching his window, you mustered the strength to knock. Once. Twice.
Seconds later, the curtains shifted, and Peter’s face appeared, his expression soft with confusion before it twisted into pure horror.
“Holy—” He scrambled to unlock the window, shoving it open. “Y/n? What the hell happened?!”
You barely had the energy to answer as he reached out, gripping your arm to help you inside. The moment your feet touched the floor of his room, your knees buckled, but Peter caught you, arms tight around you.
His touch was warm. Yours were freezing.
“You’re bleeding,” he muttered, voice tight with panic as he looked down at your stomach. His hands hovered over the gash, the fabric of your suit already dark with blood. “Shit. Shit. Why didn’t you go to the compound?”
You gave him a weak, lopsided smile. “Didn’t want to deal with the yelling and questions from Tony.”
Peter didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. His jaw clenched, and his brown eyes burned with fury as he guided you toward his bed.
“You’re so damn stubborn,” he grumbled under his breath, lowering you carefully onto the mattress.
“Hey,” you protested weakly, “I prefer the term independent.”
Peter shot you a sharp glare, making you shrink slightly. “Shut up.”
He knelt beside you, unzipping your suit with quick, jerky movements. You let him peel the fabric away from your body, revealing smooth skin stained with blood. His hands hesitated when he noticed how much of it there was.
Peter swallowed hard. “Fuck, Y/n…” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“I’m fine,” you mumbled.
Peter snapped his gaze up at you, furious. “No, you’re not. You’re stabbed. That’s, like, the opposite of fine.” He ran a hand through his curls, then exhaled sharply. “I—I need to stitch this up. I need to—just—stay still.”
You watched as he practically ripped open his first aid kit, hands shaking as he pulled out antiseptic, gauze, and a suture kit.
“Lie down,” he ordered.
You did as he said, wincing as you moved.
Peter took a deep breath, then grabbed the antiseptic. “This is gonna hurt.”
“No kidding,” you muttered.
The second the antiseptic touched your wound, you hissed, arching your back slightly. A sharp, burning pain spread through your stomach like wildfire.
“Ah—damn it—” Your hand shot out, gripping Peter’s shoulder instinctively. You squeezed hard, nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie.
Peter barely even reacted. He was too focused, brows furrowed, lips pressed together tightly as he cleaned the gash. He worked quickly, but his hands weren’t as steady as usual.
Once he was satisfied, he grabbed the suture kit. You felt your heart drop at the sight of the needle.
“Oh, come on,” you groaned. “Seriously?”
Peter shot you a look. “You need stitches.”
You sighed, closing your eyes. “Fine. Just… be gentle, okay?”
Peter scoffed. “Yeah, well, maybe you should be gentle with yourself and not get stabbed.”
You cracked one eye open. “Wow. Great advice, Parker.”
“Shut up,” he muttered again, but there was no heat behind it.
Then, he started stitching. The sharp sting of the needle made you clench your jaw, and your grip on his shoulder tightened.
“You’re such an idiot,” he muttered under his breath.
You blinked, barely able to process his words through the haze of exhaustion. “What?”
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and furious. “I said you’re an idiot. What were you thinking, going out alone?” His voice rose, trembling with anger. “You got stabbed, Y/n! Stabbed. Do you even realize how close you were to—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “God! You’re reckless.”
You swallowed hard. “Peter—”
“No,” he snapped, tugging the stitches a little tighter than necessary. You winced, and guilt flashed across his face, but he didn’t stop. “I get that we do this whole vigilante thing, but you don’t go out injured. You don’t go out alone. And you sure as hell don’t come to me after getting stabbed like it’s some minor inconvenience.”
Your chest tightened. You knew he was scared, but right now, you couldn’t deal with his anger. You were exhausted. Your body was screaming, and all you wanted was comfort.
But instead, Peter was yelling.
Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision.
“I don’t need this right now,” you whispered.
Peter froze. The anger drained from his face as his gaze dropped to your eyes, taking in the way your lashes glistened with unshed tears.
His throat bobbed. “Y/n, I—”
You sat up, ignoring the dizziness that hit you instantly. “I can’t do this. I’m tired, Peter. I just want some silence.” Your voice cracked. “I don’t need you yelling at me.”
You pushed yourself off the bed, but your legs wobbled, and you nearly collapsed. Before you could hit the floor, Peter was there, catching you.
His grip was firm but gentle. “Wait,” he murmured, voice much softer now. “I’m sorry.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat.
Peter stepped closer, his free hand cupping your face. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I was just—God, Y/n, I was scared.”
You sniffled, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes were glassy with emotion, filled with concern, with love.
Peter exhaled shakily. “Please. Just let me finish taking care of you.”
You hesitated for only a second before nodding.
Peter guided you back onto the bed, this time more careful, more gentle. He grabbed the roll of bandages and began wrapping them around your waist, his touch featherlight now. When he finished, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another on your arm, then your knee.
Your breath hitched.
Peter moved back up, his lips grazing yours as he whispered, “You scared the hell out of me.”
You cupped his face, your thumb brushing against his jaw. “I’m sorry.”
He kissed you. Soft and slow, like he was afraid you might break under his touch. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his curls.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. “Stay over,” he murmured. “Please.”
You gave him a tired smile. “You gonna yell at me again?”
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “No. Just gonna hold you.”
That sounded perfect.
You nodded, letting him climb into bed beside you. He pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping securely around you as if he was afraid you might disappear.
“Sleep,” he whispered.
You closed your eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Safe. Warm. Loved.
summary: after losing each other for so long, two lovers begin to discover that normalcy exists in their embrace.
masterlist
Part one Part two Part three
Take this as a bonus, since I only planned to write three parts.
But I really loved this idea, so if you'd like to see different scenarios with the same reader, send me your ideas in my inbox! Thank you so much for all the love and support. Stay tuned for more Peter content after watching bnd<3
The subway was always dirty. Not just because of the worn-out cars or the permanent smell of metal, but because of the incessant murmur of other people’s thoughts that mixed with the hum of the air conditioning and the grinding of the tracks. It was a noise that never quite disappeared.
You had your headphones on and, for several minutes, you had been watching a man who, by your calculations, barely had a centimeter of skin left without tattoos. You couldn’t help but wonder how much pain he must have endured to cover almost his entire body in ink. Which one had been the first? How many had real meaning? Was there one he regretted?
In reality, you didn’t need to know. Imagining the answers was enough. A few months ago you had decided to stop searching for all the certainties that were within reach of your mutation. There was something pleasant about keeping certain mysteries. You discovered that not all questions needed an answer and that living with doubt was, at times, a way to feel a little more normal.
When the train arrived at the station, you got off along with the stream of passengers, trying to brush past as few people as possible. It was an almost impossible task at that hour, but you managed to make your way through the crowd without too many stumbles.
Upon reaching the platform, you looked up and scanned the area for someone you recognized. You kept walking a few meters, distracted among the people, until someone grabbed you by the arm.
Your body reacted before your mind. You were on the verge of shoving them away, but the tension vanished as soon as you recognized those brown eyes.
Even though the music was still dampening the bustle of the station, you managed to read his lips.
“Are you going somewhere?”
You took off one earbud and smiled.
“I was looking for my boyfriend,” you replied with amusement, “but I think it’s no longer necessary.”
Peter’s smile widened immediately. He wrapped an arm around your waist and left a light kiss on your cheek before intertwining his fingers with yours.
Without letting you go, he began to lead you along the platform with the ease of someone who knew that route by heart. You, on the other hand, had lost part of that habit after so many years away from the city. New York was still the same, but you no longer moved through it with the natural ease of before.
When you finally made it out onto the street, you were grateful to discover that thick grey clouds covered the sky. The sun barely managed to break through them, and the humid air announced approaching rain. It was much better than the suffocating heat you hated so much.
Peter led you to a less crowded sidewalk. Only when you were far from the constant flow of people did he turn to you with a calm expression.
“How was the trip?”
“A lot of people. But quiet.”
Peter set off walking without letting go of your hand, and you followed him without asking where you were going. Spending a day with him rarely meant following an itinerary; rather, it consisted of letting the city decide the next destination.
During the walk, you talked to him about your week at the mansion. About the practice sessions Scott had organized for the younger students and the late-night movie marathon you had done with Maximoff. You also mentioned that Hank had spent days shut in the lab trying to perfect one of his projects and that Charles had taken advantage of the good weather to teach some classes in the gardens.
Peter listened attentively, asking questions now and then or laughing. In return, he told you about his own weeks. Classes and assignment turn-ins were lighter due to the term—the start of the module—and fortunately work was more manageable. He had sold several photos that week, mostly of Spider-Man.
The streets began to fill up little by little as you both moved forward without rushing. You stopped in front of an antique book display window solely because one of the covers caught your attention. Further ahead, you bought two to-go coffees and kept walking, sharing small sips from each other’s cup without even thinking about it.
There was nothing extraordinary about that morning. And, precisely for that reason, it turned out to be perfect.
After everything you had experienced, being able to waste time walking through Queens, talking about anything at all and without looking at the clock, was a luxury you were just beginning to appreciate.
“Do you remember we came to this park once?” you asked suddenly.
It was a quiet place. Some kids were running behind a ball while several teenagers occupied the benches under the shade of the trees. Peter scanned the area with his eyes, looking for any detail that would spark a memory. He remained silent for a few seconds before shaking his head.
“Come on, make an effort. We were about thirteen. I had run away from home because my parents made me angry. I had seen a One Direction backpack that I loved and, when we went to buy it, we discovered there was only one left and...”
“They gave it to your sister,” he finished with a smile.
You looked at him, surprised.
“You remembered!”
You couldn’t help but laugh.
Those small moments kept bringing you a joy that was difficult to describe. It made sense that, over the years, some memories would fade; no one kept an entire childhood intact. But in Peter’s case, it was different. For so long you had believed that everything you shared had disappeared forever. Seeing how those memories were returning little by little, almost of their own accord, still felt like a small miracle to you.
“You cried so much that day,” he added.
You pointed a finger at him, feigning indignation.
“The one who cried was my sister. That’s precisely why they bought her the backpack.”
Peter let out a laugh.
You kept walking along the paths until stopping near the lake. The bustle of the park felt distant. You remained still for a few moments contemplating the water, comfortable in a silence that neither felt the need to break.
It was Peter who spoke first.
“Do you miss them?”
You turned your head slightly.
“My parents?”
He nodded.
You took a deep breath before answering.
“Sometimes. But... I think it’s not really them I miss.”
Peter waited without interrupting you.
“I miss the idea of having a family. We were never very close and... they always preferred my sister. I don’t say it with resentment. I left that phase behind a long time ago. I just think that, in a way, they always knew I was... different. Maybe they never understood exactly why, but they sensed it. And that meant they never truly got close to me.”
The hand holding yours tightened with a bit more strength. You smiled at him warmly and stepped in front of him.
“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”
You shook your head softly.
“I have incredible friends at the mansion. Charles gave me a home when I needed it most, and the others... ended up becoming the family I always wanted.”
Your free hand reached up to caress his cheek.
“And now I have you, too.”
Peter rested his face against your palm, without taking his eyes off yours.
“A bit late, but I came back.”
“You made it just in time.”
You smiled. He mimicked you.
“You should meet them someday,” you continued. “My friends.”
“Do you really think they’d like me?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” you replied with total naturalness. “You’re a good person. And besides, you have powers, like us.”
A laugh escaped his lips.
“That’s a secret. You know that, right?”
You rolled your eyes with a smile.
“I know. I don’t plan on going around revealing the identity of our local hero.”
Peter let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.
“Though, if you think about it... in a way you’re also a mutant.”
He frowned.
“Aren’t you guys supposed to be born that way?”
“Some manifest their gene from very young. Others develop their abilities during adolescence, usually after a high-stress situation. Omega-level mutants, like Charles, tend to awaken their powers very early, but not all of us follow the same pattern.”
Peter listened attentively, though you discovered that, occasionally, his eyes would leave yours to briefly land on your lips.
You noticed it.
And he noticed that you noticed it, too.
A shy smile appeared on his face.
“What?” he asked.
You let out a low laugh.
“I was thinking that, in the end, we’re much more alike than we imagined.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Yeah?”
You nodded.
“A pair of weirdos who ended up finding each other again.”
Peter smiled without looking away from you. You took him by the hand and pulled him gently to close the distance. He didn’t offer any resistance; on the contrary, he draped an arm over your shoulders and pulled you against his body. You wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head on his chest, letting yourself be enveloped by the warmth of his embrace.
After following the path, you found an old picnic table hidden among the trees, where the trail ended, and the forest seemed to swallow the rest of the park. Scarcely a distant murmur of people reached there. Only the wind, the brushing of leaves, and the two of you existed there.
You climbed onto the wooden table and sat on the edge, letting your legs dangle.
“I think we finally found a place to be alone.”
Peter looked up at you with a half-smile.
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
Instead of answering, he took a step forward.
Then another.
Until he was standing between your legs.
He didn’t do anything for a few seconds. He just observed you. As if, even after having recovered all his memories, he still needed to convince himself that you were really there.
“What?” you asked again, unable to hold that gaze without smiling.
He shook his head slowly.
“Nothing. It’s just... I find it hard to believe.”
Your expression softened.
“Find what hard to believe?”
“That you’re my girlfriend again.”
You felt a pleasant warmth rise to your cheeks. You lowered your gaze for just a moment and met his eyes again with a mischievous smile.
“Technically, I’m not your girlfriend yet. You never asked me.”
Peter let out a laugh.
“I thought it was implied.”
You shook your head with a smile.
“No. You had other girlfriends. You couldn't have had them if I had kept being yours.”
Peter tilted his head slightly, as if analyzing the argument.
“That’s a good point.”
He paused before smiling.
“But you weren’t with anyone else.”
You looked at him without understanding where he was going with this.
“So... I’m still yours.”
“You’re not convincing me,” you laughed.
He smiled to himself and took a step toward you. The distance between you shrank again until you could barely feel the warmth of his breath.
“Alright. We’ll do the following.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ll buy you flowers.”
You looked at him, amused.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll take you out to dinner. Somewhere nice, of your choice. I’ll wear a suit... no, do you want me to wear a suit?” he rambled.
You let out a giggle.
“I’m going to pamper you; I’m going to do all those things people do to make someone fall in love.”
He made a brief pause, without taking his eyes off you.
“And when I do all that... what would you say to me?”
The smile that appeared on your lips was immediate.
“That I love you.”
Peter let out a barely audible laugh. He hadn’t expected such a simple, yet definitive answer.
His eyes descended slowly to your lips. Yours did the exact same thing.
Neither of you said another word.
His lips met yours with an almost agonizing slowness. It was an unhurried kiss, as if now that he had you in his arms he was determined to take all the time he needed.
Your fingers slid up to the nape of his neck while he rested his hands on either side of your body on the table, leaning in slightly to bring you closer to him. When the kiss ended, he barely pulled away a few centimeters. You could feel his breath mixing with yours.
You looked into his eyes.
“Hi”
A soft laugh escaped his lips.
“Hello”
You leaned in this time on your own initiative.
The second kiss was different. Peter responded immediately. One of his hands ended up gently wrapping around your waist, drawing you toward the edge of the table to eliminate the little distance that still remained between you two.
You could feel both of your racing heartbeats.
He kissed you again and again, as if discovering something new every time. Your hands got lost in his hair; his traced your back with a delicacy that slowly gave way to a confidence neither tried to hide.
The air seemed to have grown heavier.
When his lips left yours for an instant to barely brush your cheek and jawline, you closed your eyes without realizing it.
“Peter...” you whispered, almost voiceless.
He sought your gaze again. For a second neither said anything, because both knew exactly what was happening. He rested his forehead against yours and let out his breath slowly, trying to regain control.
“If we keep kissing...”
The sentence hung suspended.
You smiled slightly, your breathing still rapid.
“I know.”
Peter let out a nervous laugh.
“It’s not that I want to stop,” you clarified right away, fearing he might interpret your reaction as a rejection.
“Me neither.”
His eyes returned to your lips out of sheer momentum, and yours mimicked them. For a moment it seemed like both were going to ignore any attempt at prudence. But Peter closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and rested his forehead against yours once more.
“We need to calm down.”
It didn’t sound frustrated. You nodded gently.
“Otherwise, they might take us in for public indecency.”
He sounded proud of having been able to say it, and you let out a burst of laughter. Peter smiled with that expression that always appeared whenever it was you who managed to completely disarm him.
Even so, he leaned in again to steal one last kiss, short and sweet, before resting his head on your shoulder.
You let out a sigh and rested your cheek against his, closing your eyes for an instant.
The rustle of leaves swayed by the wind, the distant singing of a few birds, and the occasional crunch of branches arrived with unusual clarity. It was the only thing filling the silence. There were no foreign voices, nor thoughts intersecting with yours.
The absence caught you by surprise.
It had been so long since you experienced a silence like that that, for an instant, you didn’t know how to interpret it. Your mind searched, out of pure habit, for the incessant rumor of other people’s thoughts; but it found nothing. Just the whisper of the wind through the trees and the steady rhythm of nature breathing around you.
You raised a hand to the nape of his neck and began to stroke his hair with an almost distracted slowness. Peter remained leaning against you, completely relaxed. For several minutes neither spoke. Time seemed to have stopped between the murmur of the trees and the warmth of the embrace.
“It’s so weird...”
“What is?”
He barely raised his head to look at you. There was a calmness in his expression that suggested if he had stayed a few more minutes like that, he would have ended up falling asleep in your arms.
“Not being able to hear you. Before I could do it, but now... there’s nothing. It even makes me forget my mutation.”
Peter formed a faint smile.
“Do you think you’ll ever be able to read my mind?”
You shook your head softly.
“Every time I try, it feels like needles poking through my head. So I don’t plan on trying again.”
You made a small pause before smiling.
“Besides... I like it this way. With you, I can feel like a completely normal person.”
Peter’s smile widened. He had changed over the years; his features were more mature, but his eyes retained the same warmth you remembered from childhood.
The wind tousled a few strands of your hair again. You slid both arms over his shoulders and brought him just a little bit closer. He held your gaze with that absolute attention he always dedicated to you.
“What are you thinking about?”
Peter took a few seconds to answer.
“Guess.”
“I can’t.”
A low laugh escaped his lips.
“About you.”
And, from the way he kept looking at you, you understood it wasn’t a witty answer. It was the truth.
You smiled and kissed him again, convinced that, for the first time in a long time, both of you were exactly where you wanted to be.
summary: the mind is more fragile than anyone could imagine. And yet, love proves to be the most powerful force of all.
masterlist
Part one Part two bonus
During sleep, the mind lowers its guard in a way it would never allow while awake. Thoughts cease to obey a precise order, memory reorganizes fragments of the past, and emotions travel paths that consciousness keeps closed while we are awake. Perhaps that is why there are memories that can only be found with closed eyes.
That night, exhaustion finally overcame you with unusual ease. As soon as your breathing found a constant rhythm, you felt how the silence of your own mind began to expand. It was a deceptive calm, because beneath it there was something else, a presence you already knew all too well. It was the familiar sensation of another consciousness brushing against yours from somewhere impossible to point out.
Little by little, that presence stopped feeling distant. The connection with Peter strengthened as if sleep had eliminated the last barrier that still separated them. You stopped perceiving where your own thoughts ended and where his began. There was no resistance, nor time to prepare yourself. It simply happened. An invisible force finished pulling you toward his memory, and before you could cling to your own consciousness, everything disappeared.
The images began to rush over you in no apparent order, as if an old film reel had been cut into hundreds of fragments and someone was projecting them at random. There was no transition between one scene and the next; only flashes of a life that did not belong to you and that, even so, you felt with an unbearable intensity.
You saw him vanish, turning to dust in the arms of Tony Stark, unable to comprehend what was happening while the universe unraveled around him. An instant later, he returned five years later to fight the greatest battle of his life and watch, helpless, the sacrifice of someone who had been much more than a mentor to him. Next appeared the smiling face of a brown-haired woman, his Aunt May, and, almost without giving you time to recognize her, you saw her collapse in his arms while he tried to convince her that everything would be okay. You felt the weight of her body, the desperate trembling of his hands, and the unbearable emptiness left behind when he realized he would never hear her voice again.
The scenes changed again and again. You saw him swinging between the skyscrapers of New York with a freedom that only existed when he wore the mask. You saw him stopping robberies, rescuing strangers, and returning home completely exhausted, hiding wounds under his clothes so that no one would ask about them. You also saw entire nights without sleep, sitting in front of an improvised sewing machine while mending a suit that seemed to tear as fast as he managed to repair it.
Then other faces appeared. A girl with a warm gaze smiling from a coffee shop. A curly-haired boy who wouldn't stop talking. Dozens of classmates crowding the school hallways. It took only a second to understand how much they meant to him and another to feel the devastating blow when his identity was revealed to the entire world. You heard accusations, insults, and threats. You saw cameras chasing him through the streets, journalists invading his privacy, and everyone he loved paying the consequences of a truth they had never asked to know. Guilt consumed him with a violence you could barely endure.
Without warning, the New York sky began to tear open. Luminous cracks crossed the firmament while impossible creatures emerged from everywhere and the very fabric of reality seemed to crumble. You saw him fight to the limit of his strength, lose time and again, and, finally, decide that no boy his age should ever have been forced to make.
«Make everyone forget me»
The plea echoed with terrifying clarity.
You felt the spell spread like a silent wave wrapping around the entire world. Millions of memories disappeared at the same time. You saw how the faces of those who had shared his life emptied of recognition, how the bonds built over years unraveled in an instant, and how Peter stood motionless, watching the price of his own decision.
Then you understood something that made the air leave your lungs.
You had never forgotten him.
You had believed that the void inhabiting your memory was the consequence of your own actions, of the sacrifice you made years ago by erasing the memories Peter had of you. But that was different. The entire world had lost Peter Parker. Everyone had awakened convinced that that boy had never been a part of their lives.
Except you.
And, even so, he had moved forward completely alone.
Loneliness was the invisible thread connecting all those memories. It didn't matter if he was surrounded by people or swinging between the buildings of Manhattan. In every image there was an absence that weighed more than any enemy he had faced. It was the story of a young man who had saved the world again and again and who, in the end, had had to accept that no one would ever remember who he truly was.
You heard him call your name in your sleep. But it was no longer the young boy from early high school, but the present one. The sad, abandoned man he had become.
You opened your eyes startled, disoriented, unable for an instant to distinguish where memories ended and where reality began. Breath caught in your throat as you tried to focus your vision. In front of you was Peter. His hands held your shoulders firmly and he pronounced your name again and again, though the buzzing that still echoed in your head had swallowed his voice almost completely.
You blinked several times, trying to catch your breath.
It was then that you heard it.
A sharp thud shook the apartment, followed by another and another. Books, glasses, cushions, and even the small lamp in the living room fell to the floor almost at the same time, as if an invisible force had suddenly stopped holding them. The echo of the impacts bounced off the walls, and the silence that followed proved even more unsettling.
You turned your head slowly. Your heart stopped for an instant.
During your sleep, you had levitated a good portion of the room. Objects were still swaying slightly above the floor, silent witnesses to a power that had overflowed while you remained unconscious.
You looked back at Peter.
His expression wasn't exactly one of fear. Worry was still present in his eyes, but it had been displaced by something much harder to interpret: bewilderment. He observed you as if trying to reconcile the woman who had shared dinner with him just a few minutes ago with the impossible scene he had just witnessed.
His hands remained on your shoulders, motionless.
“What... what was all that?” he asked in a low voice.
Peter seemed unable to find any explanation for what he was witnessing. And you didn't know if you were capable of giving him one.
You whispered his name, trying to reassure him, as one of your hands slowly rose to the level of his injured arm. However, as soon as your fingers brushed his skin, the buzzing inside your mind returned with an intensity far greater than before.
Both of you pulled away immediately, as if the contact had been an electric shock. Peter lost his balance and nearly fell to the floor.
You couldn't see how his expression changed second by second; the pain shooting through your head was too intense to allow you to focus on anything else. But, if you had been able to, you would have understood that the connection between you had just triggered that which you had tried to avoid from the moment you arrived.
The memories didn't ask permission to be awakened. They burst into his mind with a familiar brutality, striking him with the same violence with which they had shattered you.
Your pain subsided a second later, and when you managed to look at him again, Peter was watching you from his spot in the same way you had observed him at the coffee shop.
You knew it immediately.
“Who are you?” he sobbed.
His voice barely managed to come out, broken by tears.
“What did you just do to me?”
“Peter…”
“Is it real?” he continued, shaking his head while trying to find an explanation that didn't exist. “All of this… is it true?”
You tried to sit up from the bed to get closer to him, to take him by the arm, to make him understand that you hadn't wanted to hurt him. But Peter pulled away before you could touch him.
The desperation invading him leaked into you without you being able to help it. Suddenly you were feeling everything he couldn't say out loud: the fear, the confusion, the disbelief, and, above all, the rage of having discovered a truth that had been stolen from him for years.
He was hurt. He was upset with you.
“Peter, if you would just let me explain…”
But he wasn't listening. Not because he didn't want to, but because his mind was still trying to process what had just happened. In front of him was not merely a person with powers who had broken into his memories; you were someone who had held a part of his life, a part of himself, and had decided to keep it to yourself.
And now you were giving it back to him all at once, forcing him to face everything he had never been prepared for. Or at least that was how it seemed.
“You abandoned me,” he finally stated.
Tears were already streaming down his cheeks, and without realizing it, you began to cry with him. The connection between the two of you made it impossible not to feel his pain.
“You… simply left,” he continued, his voice cracking. “You left me even when I told you not to!”
You found no response. Because any explanation sounded small in front of the wound that had just opened up.
He took a step backward. He looked at you as if he were still trying to recognize the person in front of him, as if the image he had of you and the one he had just discovered could not exist at the same time.
“I need to leave.”
“Peter…”
“No. I can't do this right now.”
He grabbed his jacket with clumsy movements, still trembling from the shock, and walked toward the door. For an instant you thought about stopping him, about explaining everything to him, about telling him that you never wanted to hurt him. But you knew that any word coming out of your mouth at that moment would only be another thing he would have to endure.
And it was he who left. Without looking back.
You didn't wait even a day to return to the mansion.
You were devastated.
In the morning you tried to talk to Peter, but all you received from inside his apartment was silence. He didn't show up for work either; he had called in sick. You needed no more signs to understand the message he was trying to give you.
For the sake of the people at the pizzeria, you made them forget your existence. After all, there were only a few days left before the cashier returned from his absence, and you didn't want to leave traces of your stay in that place or cause unnecessary questions. You packed your few belongings, abandoned the apartment without even notifying the landlord, and left.
All you wanted was to disappear.
Charles asked no questions when you returned. It wasn't necessary. It was enough to see your swollen eyes, the way you could barely hold yourself up, and the deep desolation that seemed to surround you to understand how things had ended.
Nor did he try to console you. Not because he didn't care, but because he knew there was a part of that which you had to face by yourself. He had warned you about the consequences of your decisions, and now you had to live with them.
Sadness, however, soon transformed into something easier to bear: rage.
You were furious with yourself for having believed that going to Queens could end any other way. Furious with Peter for having made you forget him. And furious because you hadn't chosen to hand over his memories; everything had been the product of an event beyond your control.
The human mind was something far too complex. Unique, fragile, and extraordinarily powerful. You knew it better than anyone. You knew that entering it always involved risks, that even the most noble intention could cause irreparable damage. And even so, you had decided to try.
But in the end, none of that had mattered.
The tension was evident every time you appeared around the mansion. Even your friends began to weigh their words, to avoid conversations with you when the opportunity arose. It was as if you wore the anger you felt toward the entire world written on your face, as if everyone could see it, even if they never mentioned it.
And then you felt like before again: rejected, set aside, reduced to the only thing that for years you had tried not to be.
A mutant.
For days you tried to convince yourself that time would eventually extinguish that rage. It didn't. If anything, it became quieter and harder to ignore. It remained with you upon waking, during meals, and in every hallway of the mansion, feeding on everything you couldn't change. There were too many unanswered questions and an unbearable sense of helplessness that wouldn't stop growing.
In the end you understood that staying still only made things worse. You couldn't force Peter to forgive you, nor undo what had happened, nor regain control over memories that had returned in the worst possible way. But there was something that was still in your hands: understanding what had happened to you. If that connection had been capable of breaking all the rules you thought you knew about telepathy, you needed to discover why. And to do so, there was only one place you could go.
The mansion housed spaces that had not been built to receive visitors, but to contain abilities that, on occasion, proved too dangerous even for those who had learned to master them.
One of those rooms was located in one of the most secluded areas of the building: a completely isolated training room, with reinforced walls and a huge panel of police-grade glass that allowed observation from the outside without interfering in the process. It was the place where telepaths practiced when they needed to explore their abilities without the risk of accidentally invading someone else's mind.
It was also one of the few places where you could allow yourself instability.
You had been inside for several minutes, focusing on keeping various objects suspended around you. At first it had been a simple exercise: controlling the movement, the speed, the precision. But your mind wasn't really there. It was still trapped in the city, in Peter's gaze, in his words, in the way he had walked out of your apartment as if you were someone completely unknown to him.
Frustration began to seep into every movement.
The objects stopped moving calmly. They began to tremble in the air. Your breathing became heavier, and the anger you had tried to contain for days grew inside you again until it occupied every corner of your mind.
You didn't want to feel this way. You didn't want to be angry. But you didn't know how to stop feeling hurt either.
And then something inside you gave way.
The first thud made the glass panes vibrate. Then came another. And another.
The objects floating around you shot off in all directions before shattering against the walls, reduced to fragments while a wave of energy swept through the room.
You stood motionless in the middle of the chaos, breathing with difficulty, observing the remains of everything that just seconds before you had been controlling.
Your name echoed in the room with Charles's characteristic calm, from the speakers around. You closed your eyes, exhausted. Of course, he had seen what happened. He had probably been observing your progress as he so often did during your training sessions.
“I know, I know,” you answered in desperation, running a hand over your face. “I lost control.”
You expected a correction, a warning, or for him to agree with you. But Charles said none of that.
“Someone wants to see you.”
You frowned.
“Who?”
You received no answer.
You stepped out of the room still confused, wiping your hands as you walked down the hallway. For a few seconds, your mind tried to find any possible explanation. A student, a visitor, some mansion business.
Until you looked up and felt your heart stop.
Peter was standing in front of you.
For an instant you forgot how to breathe.
You didn't understand what he was doing there. You didn't understand how he had arrived. After all, he barely knew anything about you; he didn't know the mansion, he didn't know where to find you, he had no reason to have made it there.
His gaze was fixed on you, heavy with too many things that neither of you seemed to know how to say.
Next to him was the professor.
“This young man says he knows you. And he wants to speak with you.”
Before you could ask him anything else, Charles simply offered them an understanding look and walked away down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone.
You knew that a mutant of his level could probably have crossed that barrier that had been impossible for you. Therefore, he was aware of the situation and knew exactly what Peter had come to tell you.
He took a step forward, and you stepped back out of inertia.
“What are you doing here?”
“You left,” he whispered, ignoring your question. “At the pizzeria, they don't have a single memory of you.”
“I'm very good at doing that,” you replied defensively.
Why were you answering him like that? When a week ago the only thing you wished for was for him to be able to remember you. And now that he did, you were scared.
That was it. Not fury, but fear taking control.
You looked him up and down, and something in his face told you he hadn't slept very well. To be honest, neither had you.
Peter took another step toward you, but this time you didn't step back. Not because you were calm, but because your body seemed not to know whether it wanted to get closer to him or protect itself from whatever he might say.
You had imagined this moment too many times. You had thought about what it would be like when he finally knew the truth, when you could stop carrying the weight of what happened alone, when you no longer had to pretend you didn't know him.
But you never imagined that, when it finally happened, you would feel so much fear.
“Why?” he asked.
His voice was much lower than last time. There was no longer rage in it, only tiredness. As if he had spent the whole night trying to find an answer that refused to fit.
You looked down.
“I need to understand it,” he continued. His jaw tightened slightly. “I need to know what happened.”
You took a breath before answering. Not because you didn't know what to say, but because you knew that no explanation would change what he had felt.
“I didn't know anything.”
Peter frowned.
“What?”
“I didn't know it was you.”
Your voice came out lower than you expected. You were terrified.
“I didn't know the boy from the coffee shop was you. I didn't know you still lived in New York, nor did I know that you had lost your memories. I didn't know anything about what had happened after I left.”
Peter remained silent, processing every word.
“I couldn't enter your mind. You seem to be immune to me. And I don't know if I'm wrong, but that day I even felt like you knew what I was trying to do. I wanted to go talk to you or probe a little to find out why you were blocking me, but then we bumped into each other. And when you touched me… when you took my hand, everything came back to me.”
You paused, trying to find the right words.
“It wasn't that I was looking for you. I didn't know where you were, I didn't know what had happened to you after all this time. You simply appeared in front of me and then the memories surfaced.”
Peter stood motionless, listening to you attentively.
“I heard you, Peter, in my mind. In my dreams. It wasn't even my intention, you just… it was as if you were screaming. Every time.”
Your lower lip had begun to tremble, as if you were about to cry.
“Before seeing each other again that day, I could feel your pain. I… I listened to your worries and suffered the double life you lead, but I didn't know it was about you.”
You looked down.
“I couldn't understand it.”
Your voice grew lower.
“And when I found you, I only had more questions than answers. That's why I went back to Queens. I wanted to understand what had happened with you and also know who you were after everything you had lived through. I just… wanted to get to know you as you were now.”
Peter swallowed hard, but didn't look away.
“It was never my intention for you to remember. It just happened.”
He seemed to be trying to order each piece of the story, fitting the memories he now had with the person standing in front of him. Then he looked up and finally uttered words:
“So it's true…”
His voice came out more fragile than he would have liked.
“Everything we were?” he continued. “Everything we had?”
He paused.
“Is it true that we loved each other?”
You couldn't answer immediately. That was the question you had feared hearing the most, for you knew it would always be asked in the past tense.
You nodded slowly.
His eyes filled with an emotion you couldn't identify. Pain, relief, sadness. Perhaps all at the same time.
“It was real.”
For an instant he seemed trapped in those words. As if a part of him had needed to hear them from you to finally believe it hadn't been an illusion.
But then the expression on his face changed.
“Why did you do it?” he asked.
His voice was no longer fragile, but sounded wounded.
“Why did you take something from me that you had no right to take?”
You said nothing.
“You took a part of my life from me,” he took another step toward you. “You took my memories. You took away my ability to decide what I wanted to do with them.”
His eyes met yours.
“Why did you make me forget you?”
You felt the guilt return, but this time you didn't let it crush you. Because you had spent days punishing yourself for the very same thing. You knew you had been wrong, but now you also knew you weren't the only one who had made decisions.
“And did you have the right to do it?” you asked.
Peter frowned.
“What?”
“Did you have the right to make everyone forget who you were?”
Silence fell between you both.
“No,” your voice remained firm. “You didn't either.”
Peter looked away, and his expression hardened.
“It's not the same.”
“Why?”
“Because I was trying to prevent a collapse of universes.”
You nodded slowly, accepting the difference.
“Yes. You held the fate of millions of people in your hands.”
You took a step toward him.
“But, Peter… I didn't hold the challenge of protecting the world in my hands.”
You looked at him directly.
“I only wanted to protect my world.”
His features shifted slightly. The confession hung suspended between the two of you.
“I know I hurt you. But at that moment… all I could see was someone I loved suffering, and I thought that if I could take that pain away from you, even at my own expense, I had to do it.”
You took another step toward him, as if there were a magnetism pulling you. He himself was what was pulling you in his direction.
But it wasn't the telepathic connection. It was him. It had always been him.
“Can you blame me?” you whispered, barely a thread of a voice.
“Can you really?” you continued, searching his eyes. “Didn't you do the same for Michelle?”
The mention of her name seemed to pause him for an instant.
“When you decided to have everyone forget who you were, you didn't do it because you didn't love them. You did it because you loved them too much. Because you believed that carrying the loss was better than watching them suffer.”
You looked down for a second.
“I did the same thing.”
Peter remained silent, trapped between the need to contradict you and the inability to deny that he understood that kind of sacrifice.
“The difference,” you said softly, “is that you were trying to save everyone.”
You looked at him again.
“I was just trying to save you.”
“I missed you.”
The confession came out of him suddenly, interrupting you before you could continue.
For an instant he seemed surprised by his own words, as if he had spent too much time trying to deny something he could no longer hide. He looked down and took a deep breath, searching for the right way to explain something that even he hadn't known how to comprehend during all that time.
“Even if I didn't know who you were…” he whispered. “Even if I couldn't remember you, I tried to find you everywhere.”
His fingers closed slightly at his sides, as if he could still feel that absence that had accompanied him for so long.
“I looked for you in people, in places, in experiences. There were moments when something made me feel like I had already lived through something similar, that there was someone who was supposed to be there with me, but I could never understand what it was.”
His eyes met yours again.
“There was always a part of me that felt like I was missing something.”
Guilt shot through you again, but this time mixed with something harder to bear: realizing that, even without his memories, a part of him had kept searching for you.
“Did you never think about that?” he asked softly, though his voice still carried the wound of everything that had happened. “Did you never think that it was impossible to make someone forget you completely?”
He took a small step toward you. The distance between you disappeared until the tip of his nose brushed yours softly. You were so close that you could see every emotion reflected in his eyes, the tears pooling slowly on his eyelashes before slipping down his cheekbones.
“That maybe memories aren't the only thing left of a person? But that love stays carved in a way that no one can erase?”
You didn't know what to answer. You limited yourself to observing him from below, completely trapped between everything you wanted to say and the inability to find the right words. Your eyes traveled over his face with an almost desperate attention, as if you needed to memorize every detail of him again: the way his features had changed over the years, the tiredness accumulated in his gaze, the vulnerability he tried to hide and that was now completely exposed before you.
It was him. After all that time, after trying to convince yourself that you had to let him go, Peter was still there, in front of you, real and tangible, as if a part of you had always known you would end up finding each other again.
He didn't seem capable of pulling away either. His hands remained still, fearing that touching you would mean losing you again.
The rage was still there. The guilt was still there. The wounds hadn't vanished completely. But suddenly they seemed much smaller in front of the reality of having him close once more.
Because through all those years, you had missed his presence above any memory. You had missed his voice, his way of looking at you, the safety you felt when you were by his side. And now that he was in front of you, that you could feel his proximity and confirm he was real, it was impossible to keep pretending that the only thing existing between you was pain.
His hand moved slowly up to your face. His fingers slid softly across your cheek, holding it with a delicacy uncharacteristic of the moment. The contact was small, almost imperceptible, but enough to break the last barrier between you.
Peter tilted his face slightly toward you, and you did the same. Neither of the two had to think about it, driven by a need that had survived even when memories had vanished.
The kiss began with caution, but that fragility lasted barely a few seconds. Soon his hands found your waist, and he pulled you closer with an urgency that needed no explanation. You held him with the same strength, clinging to the fabric of his clothes while he seemed unable to keep any space between you. It was a desperate, deep kiss, as if both of you were trying to recover in that instant all the time you had lost.
Peter made you step back until your back met the wall, without letting go of you. His body remained close to yours, protecting you in an almost instinctive way, while his hands traced your face gently.
There was something almost reverent in the way he touched you, as if after spending so much time without you, now there was only one thing he wanted to do: take care of you. His fingers paused on your cheek, wiping away a stray tear without either of you knowing at what exact moment you had begun to cry.
“I'm so sorry,” you whispered against his lips. You could barely pronounce it before he kissed you again, as if he didn't want to hear any more apologies.
“Forgive me, Peter.”
He closed his eyes for an instant and rested his forehead against yours. His breath trembled slightly before the words left him.
“I was so lonely…” he admitted softly. “All this time I felt like I was missing something and I didn't understand what it was. I tried to move on, but there was a part of me that kept looking for you, even when I didn't even know who I was looking for.”
His fingers remained on your face, tracing your cheek with care, as if he needed to convince himself that you weren't another memory that was going to vanish.
“And now you're here.”
The way he looked at you finished breaking you. You had expected to find pain turned into anger, unanswered questions, the same wound you had carried with you all that time. But there was none of that in his eyes.
There was only Peter. The same one you had lost. The same one who, despite everything, had never stopped looking for you.
His thumb wiped the last tear remaining on your skin, and for an instant, everything seemed to stand in silence. There were no reproaches between you, only the sadness of the years taken from you and the relief of having finally arrived at the same place.
He looked at you as if he still couldn't believe it.
summary: by chance, she crosses paths with Peter again, and memories she thought were lost begin to reemerge. Determined to uncover the truth, she moves to Queens to find answers, unaware that recovering them will come at too high a price.
Thank you so much for the INCREDIBLE response to the first part. I decided to write a second and a third. I hope you enjoy it; I can't wait until Wednesday to see Peter back on the big screen.
masterlist
Part one Part three bonus
As the days went by, memories began to resurface. The encounter with Peter had unearthed everything that your mind still held, without you really knowing it.
You and Peter had been friends for as long as you could remember. You were there when his parents died, both of you still too young to understand what it implied. You went through different stages of school and the first months of high school together.
Before the day you forgot him –the reason for which was still an enigma– you thought about him daily. You understood, then, that there was more of him in your life than you would have expected. Especially, considering it was someone you had pushed away so long ago.
The dedication in your favorite book made sense. You realized that all those songs you seemed to "just know" hid shared moments, and that sunset was your favorite time of day because you had watched it by his side thousands of times.
In the same way, the grief regained its strength. You assumed you had gotten over it, that you only thought of him with longing and wished he was doing well. But now that you had seen him again, you couldn't help but feel the pain of loss.
It was as if you had recovered him, in a certain sense. Maybe not him, but a series of memories tattooed on your heart. The most painful part was the harsh reality that, for almost a year, you had forgotten that Peter Parker was everything to you.
You hesitated over whether you should tell anyone. The professor might have known, if he wanted to, but you had learned long ago that he didn't meddle in other people's business; or at least he tried not to. If you told him, maybe he could help you.
But, what were you going to do?
Did you want to be part of his life again? Should you deal with the distance as you had done for so many years? What were you going to say to him to win him back?
You couldn't simply walk up to him and try to explain all the visions you had upon holding his hand, it would have sounded ridiculous. Above all, because of your inability to read his mind.
If you couldn't even hear his thoughts, how were you going to make your way into his mind to try to recover something that, in all probability, had been lost so many years ago?
For days, you attended your classes as usual. Until keeping the secret finally became unbearable.
One night, when dinner time came, you slipped out of the dining room without saying another word. In moments like those, the mansion sank into a different kind of calm. The hallways remained almost deserted, and only the TV room retained some life, filled with those who, at the end of the day, sought a moment to relax and forget the incessant daily hustle and bustle.
When you finally finished the walk, you stood in front of the door and knocked three times. The professor's voice echoed from within with an invitation to come in.
You pushed the door open cautiously. Charles looked up from the book resting on the desk and offered a gentle smile upon seeing you.
“Good evening”
“Good evening, professor”
You stepped in and closed the door behind you. The office preserved the same quiet atmosphere as always: bookshelves packed with books, a warm lamp, and the faint aroma of tea resting on a side table.
Charles pointed to the armchair in front of him.
“Sit down”
You did, though it took you a few seconds to settle in. Your hands were clasped in your lap and your eyes fixed on them.
“How are you?”
The question was simple, but it caught you off guard.
You exhaled through your nose.
“Fine,” you said automatically.
“Well, what brings you here?”
You remained silent, as if by doing so you could bring order to your thoughts. Charles waited patiently.
“Professor, can I tell you something?”
He nodded calmly.
“Anything”
First you told him about the voice in your head. About that presence that had begun to appear during the nights, when everything was quiet, and there was nothing left to distract you. You told him about that mind reaching out to you from the dark, about the strange feeling of recognizing something in it without understanding what it was. About how, even without knowing his name, a part of you seemed to have been waiting to find him.
Then you confessed to him how fate had guided you through the city streets until finding the person responsible. How a series of coincidences led you to him without you even understanding why you felt you had to follow that path.
Then you spoke to him about the reunion. About the moment you saw him again after so long, about how his eyes passed over you without recognizing your face and, even so, something inside you knew exactly who he was. You explained how you took his hand and how, at that instant, all the memories came rushing back at once: the conversations, the promises, the love, and the loss. Everything you had believed forgotten returned to you in a single moment, while he remained in front of you without remembering the history you had shared.
Then you told him what had confused you the most: that you yourself had forgotten who Peter Parker was. A part of your life had vanished without a trace and, without realizing it, you had carried on believing it had never existed.
When you finished speaking, the office fell silent once more. Charles did not answer right away. He remained thoughtful for a few seconds, gaze lost, as if attempting to order not just your words, but everything they implied.
“I understand”
He didn't add anything else immediately. He was never in a rush to fill the silences.
“What is it that truly worries you?”
You looked at him.
“I can't stop thinking about him”
“Well, that is only natural”
“I was able to live for many years without looking for him. I thought I could leave things as they were, but... not anymore. I feel like I have to find him. He has the right to know what happened between us. To get his memories back”
“And why do you think that is the right thing to do?”
“Because they were never mine to keep. They are his”
Charles clasped his hands over his lap and remained silent for a few seconds.
“Perhaps they are. But before asking yourself what belongs to Peter, you should ask yourself what exactly you are trying to give back to him”
You frowned.
“I don't understand”
“Memories are not objects that one misplaces and simply recovers. They are part of a person's identity. When you alter a memory, you also alter the way someone understands who they are”
His words carried no harshness whatsoever, but they were not meant to soothe you either.
“Years ago you made a decision that changed the course of his life. No matter what your reasons were; that decision is already part of both of your histories”
You lowered your gaze.
“I know”
“Now you want to make another one”
You nodded in silence.
“And you must ask yourself if it stems from love... or from regret”
You felt a knot in your throat.
“Could it be both?”
Charles barely smiled.
“It could. But one of them always weighs more than the other”
The room fell silent once again.
“Professor... what would you do?”
He shook his head gently.
“I wouldn't answer that question, even if I could”
You observed him with confusion.
“Because it wouldn't be my decision to live with the consequences”
He let a few seconds pass before continuing.
“There is something I learned a long time ago about telepathy. Having the ability to enter someone's mind does not mean we always should. The greatest act of respect toward another person, at times, consists precisely of resisting the temptation to intervene”
You swallowed hard.
“But if I can give him back a part of his life...”
“Can you give it back to him?”
You blinked. Charles proceeded calmly.
“Or can you only give him back the memories?”
The difference hit you immediately.
“They are not the same thing”
He shook his head.
“No. Memories can return. Time cannot”
You remained motionless.
“If Peter were to recover everything you lived together, he would still be the man he is today. He would still carry the experiences he had after losing you. You wouldn't be meeting the young man you fell in love with again; you would be meeting someone different who, in addition, would remember having been that young man”
You hadn't thought about it that way.
Charles held your gaze.
“If one day you decide to give those memories back to him, do so solely because you believe he has the right to know the truth. Not because you expect to recover what existed between you”
Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
“Because, once he knows that truth, that decision will no longer belong to you. It will belong to him”
You felt a sting behind your eyes. You tried to hold it back, but it was useless.
“Besides, I miss him”
The words were barely a whisper, and Charles did not reply immediately. That's why you spoke again.
“I think I already missed him. Every day”
You lowered your eyes to your hands.
“I thought erasing his memories would be enough to move on. I repeated to myself so many times that it was best for him that I ended up convincing myself it would be best for me too”
You cracked a bitter smile.
“But it wasn't”
The office remained silent, giving you space to continue.
“And now that I saw him... it was as if time had never passed. Everything came back at once.” One of your fingers traveled to your temple. “Everything is here”
You took a deep breath.
“But I realized there are too many things about Peter that I no longer know”
Your fingers intertwined tightly.
“I don't know what his life has been like all these years. I don't know what he lived through after I vanished from his life. I don't know why he decided to forget me completely... or why he allowed that to happen. I don't even know if he ever tried to remember me”
Your voice cracked slightly.
“I know nothing about him”
You looked up, embarrassed, though you knew beforehand that he wasn't going to judge you.
“I can't even read his mind. I've tried to listen to his thoughts, as I do with any other person... and there's nothing. It's silence. As if there were a barrier between us that I can't break through.
You frowned. Charles mimicked you.
“It had never happened to me. With... a normal person, I mean”
You paused.
“And yet, every night I hear him. Somehow, I can feel his pain. And I don't even know why he suffers”
Charles tilted his head slightly. Silence settled in again, and you breathed with difficulty.
“I would like to go to the city” You waited a second. Your eyes remained fixed on him.
“I just want to understand what happened,” you confessed. Then you lowered your gaze. “And... I also want to see him again”
Charles remained thoughtful for a few moments before speaking. His voice preserved its usual serenity.
“Understanding someone is never a bad reason to get close to them. But make sure that desire to understand doesn't turn into the need to find immediate answers. Some people reveal their wounds through words. Others need time to do so.
You nodded in silence.
“If there is a barrier preventing you from entering his mind, don't force it. As a telepath, I know that can be frustrating. But I also know that not all knowledge should be obtained through that path”
He cracked a faint smile.
“Get to know him as you would get to know any other person. Listen to him when he wants to speak. Observe who he is now, not just who he was. If the answers exist, they will come when Peter decides to share them with you”
Then he paused briefly.
“And if there is something that must be discovered by other means, then you will have to allow time to do its part”
You took a deep breath.
“So you think I should go? Do you... do you allow me?”
Charles held your gaze.
“Do you think you are ready?”
You had lived for years in the mansion. You had pushed yourself, trained, studied. You hadn't had a single accident for a long time now. You were an adult.
And Charles trusted you. But he needed you to trust yourself too.
“I must try”
Charles had provided you with enough money to sustain yourself for a few weeks. It was not a lavish sum, but generous enough to live modestly and without major worries. Securing an apartment in the same building as Peter turned out to be surprisingly simple.
It was a hideous place.
You would have to watch your step, although you knew that, with your powers, it would be difficult for anyone to catch you off guard. You could knock a mugger unconscious or dodge a bullet without too much trouble. Catching their intentions a few seconds before they acted was enough to get ahead of any attack.
And, besides, Spider-Man was always roaming the neighborhood. You had nothing to worry about.
The problem was approaching Peter. You couldn't just pop up out of nowhere to tell him you wanted to get to know him, right?
An idea occurred to you then. You knew it was wrong: a crime, even. But you snuck into his apartment. It was just long enough to take a look around without altering a single thing.
You weren't aiming to invade a privacy you already felt you had violated too many years ago; you just needed a way to start a conversation that wouldn't sound rehearsed.
The small apartment said more about Peter than he probably realized. There was a professional camera resting on the desk, several printed photographs held with pegs, and an employee badge forgotten next to a cluster of keys. You had no background in journalism, so you discarded that option.
Digging a bit further, you found a work schedule and a pizzeria uniform. That was enough.
The next morning you went down to the lobby a few minutes before the time he usually left. You pretended to check your phone when you heard the unmistakable click of a lock turning.
You looked up.
Peter emerged from his apartment with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a cup of coffee in his hand. He closed the door distractedly and walked toward the elevator without noticing you until you were just a few steps apart.
Then he stopped.
His expression changed slightly, as if an image had just clicked into his memory.
“Wait...”
You watched him with a suppressed smile.
“Yes?”
He pointed at you with his coffee cup.
“I saw you a few days ago, didn't I?”
You nodded.
“At the coffee shop”
Peter let out a soft exhale, as if he had finally remembered.
“Yeah... yeah, of course”
He scratched the back of his neck in an awkward gesture.
“I... bumped into you. I'm sorry”
That movement pulled at your chest. He still did that when he felt embarrassed.
“You don't have to apologize,” you replied gently. “Actually, I think I'm the one who should”
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and you stepped in together. For a few seconds, only the hum of the mechanism descending between floors could be heard.
“I must have seemed pretty strange,” you continued, letting out a nervous laugh. “I kept staring at you several times and then ended up crying right in front of you. Not exactly a good first impression”
Peter gave a lopsided smile, and you pressed on before he could speak.
“I had just moved in that very day. I didn't know anyone at all and... I guess everything just overwhelmed me a bit”
He nodded understandingly.
“Moving here is never easy. Let alone to a building like this”
You kept quiet for a moment before adding:
“Anyway, I stared at you so much because... I mistook you for someone else”
Peter turned his head slightly toward you.
“Oh, yeah?”
Your words came out with a naturalness that surprised you.
“Yeah. I thought someone couldn't look so much like another person. I think that's why I couldn't stop looking at you,” you explained to him.
Feeling you ought to say something else, you added.
“You must have thought I was crazy”
He let out a low laugh.
“I wouldn't say crazy”
Then he paused briefly.
“You just looked a bit confused”
The elevator doors opened on the ground floor, and you walked together toward the building exit. Before he said goodbye, you took a deep breath. You had to do it right now, or you might not get another chance.
“Hey, I wanted to ask you something”
Peter turned his head back.
“Yeah?”
“I'm still settling in the city, and I'm looking for a part-time job. Yesterday I saw you leaving with a uniform, like food service or something. And I was wondering if where you work they might be hiring”
Peter remained thoughtful for a few seconds.
“I could ask”
He shrugged slightly.
“It's not up to me, but I know the manager. If they need someone, I can tell him to take your application”
A genuine smile appeared on your face.
“Would you really do that?”
He responded with the simplicity that had always characterized him.
“Sure. We all need someone to give us a hand when we arrive at a new place”
His smile, though tired, was genuine. You felt you could fall in love all over again.
Peter kept his promise and spoke with the pizzeria manager. The opportunity appeared sooner than anyone could have expected. The cashier had to step away for a few weeks to handle a family matter that, according to the owner, could not be delayed. Nobody asked too many questions; they simply needed someone to fill his spot until he returned.
You would never know if that decision had been born entirely from him. A carefully planted suggestion at the right moment was enough. After all, you didn't plan to leave him jobless; you just needed a few weeks. Enough time to get close to Peter without relying on chance.
You had never worked in a pizzeria, let alone behind a cash register. As the manager explained how the system worked and handed you a red apron with the shop's logo, you couldn't help but wonder how hard taking orders, collecting money for slices, and memorizing a menu could really be.
You hoped not too hard.
Peter arrived a few minutes before the shift started. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder and, upon seeing you behind the counter in the pizzeria uniform, a look of surprise crossed his face.
“They hired you”
You smiled at him.
“Yeah, the cashier had... something come up with his family. So I'll be covering for him for a few days”
He put his backpack in the small locker behind the counter and walked back to you.
“Bob's a cool guy; that's a shame,” he lamented. “But it's great they hired you. At least for a few days”
“Yeah, well. I also wanted to thank you”
Peter looked up.
“For what?”
“For recommending me. You didn't have to do that, you barely know me”
He shrugged slightly, as if the answer were obvious.
“It was no big deal. I just told him you seemed responsible and were looking for work”
He looked down for a second before adding:
“I know how tough it is to start from scratch”
Those words made you smile with a certain melancholy.
“Yeah... it's turning out to be harder than I imagined”
Peter rested a hand on the counter.
“But you end up finding your place. It just takes a little time”
You observed him for a few seconds.
He had always been like that. Even when things were going wrong for him, he found a way to convey peace to others.
The shift was busier than you expected, but still manageable. You saw little of Peter, as he spent his time delivering on the motorcycle –something you hadn't considered when applying for the job– but at the end of each shift there was half an hour where no more delivery orders were accepted, and he had to help out around the shop.
Those moments would have to be the right ones.
“And, huh... have you lived in Queens for long?”
“A few years, yeah,” he confessed. “And where did you live?”
“Westchester,” you whispered. It was a half-truth.
Peter seemed to think for a moment, as if he didn't recall the place. Though in reality his mind was wandering in another direction.
“I don't think I've ever been. Well, I just have no reason to go there”
You smiled, trying not to look affected by the fact that, indeed, he had never visited you at the mansion. If you won him back and asked him to, would he say yes to you now?
“It's pretty. Quiet. Nothing like here”
The boy smiled, not knowing what else to say. It wasn't that he was rude, he simply looked shy or worried. He was always worried, and you didn't know why.
Some customers who had just finished their meal left, thanking you, and both he and you responded, wishing them a good night.
“They left 2 dollars, can you get them?” you asked him kindly.
The problem was that the table was in a very inconvenient spot for sight and, besides, the tip was under the napkin holder. Peter was surprised to verify it.
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“You guessed,” he exclaimed, incredulous. He put the bill in the glass jar and watched you with genuine interest.
“Oh, it's just that… common tips are of that amount. I could have been wrong”
He didn't give the matter any further thought, because he never imagined the reason behind it. He just assumed you had been lucky.
When the shift ended, Peter turned off the entrance lights and locked the door of the pizzeria while you finished putting away the last things behind the counter.
The motorcycle wasn't his; it belonged to the business and was part of his job as a delivery guy. He left it parked at the back of the place before starting the walk back to the building.
And as a logical conclusion to the night, you walked together to your building.
At first the conversation was simple. They talked about unimportant things: the weather, the absurd number of customers that had arrived that night, how hard it was to get used to the rhythm of New York. Peter was quieter than you remembered, but not because he didn't want to talk. He simply seemed like someone who had learned to measure his words.
“And why did you come to Queens?” he asked as they crossed the street.
You had anticipated him asking you a question of that nature, so you had thought of the answer.
“My life got a bit complicated where I was. I felt like I needed to get away from everything”
Peter nodded slowly, as if he understood more than what you were saying. He didn't press or try to uncover what you had decided to keep to yourself. He simply accepted the answer.
You looked at him out of the corner of your eye for a few seconds.
It was strange. You had spent years imagining what it would be like to talk to him again, but you had never thought it would have to be like this: starting from scratch, with small conversations and half-truths.
When you reached the building, you said goodbye at the entrance with a smile and a simple "see you tomorrow".
And the next day, indeed, you saw each other.
After that, it began to become a routine. You bumped into each other in the hallways before shifts. You walked together after closing the pizzeria. Some nights you stayed a few more minutes in front of the building talking about anything before going up to your respective apartments.
Peter also discovered that it was nice to have someone to talk to at the end of the day. Since the world had forgotten him, the people with whom he could share something of himself could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Most of the time, his conversations ended up being with himself, with the memories he kept in silence or with visits to the graves of May and Tony, the only places where he could feel like he was still talking to people who had been part of his life.
That's why, at first, he didn't know what to do with your presence. But little by little, he started thinking that you could become a friend.
“It's cold,” he told you one night, after leaving work.
There was barely a week left before the deadline you had given yourself to stay in New York expired, although you weren't so sure anymore about wanting to leave. What had initially been a mission had turned into a routine that was starting to feel all too familiar.
Peter rubbed his hands together as they walked toward the building.
“Do you want my jacket?”
You looked at him with a small smile.
“And then you would be cold”
He shrugged.
“I'm used to it”
You shook your head softly.
The reach of your powers was much greater than most people imagined. You could alter your own body temperature with ease, keeping yourself warm even on the coldest nights. Although you hadn't yet figured out how to do it with someone else.
“I'm fine,” you assured him. “But thank you”
Peter seemed unconvinced.
“Are you sure?”
You nodded.
“I'm always warm”
He frowned slightly, curious.
“Always?”
You smiled.
“Yes. Feel my hand”
Without thinking too much about it, you held your hand out to him. Peter hesitated for a second before taking it, and as soon as his fingers touched yours, his expression changed.
“Wow”
The surprise in his voice made you laugh.
“See?”
He held your hand in his just a few seconds longer than necessary, as if trying to understand how it was possible.
“That's strange”
“Strange bad?”
Peter shook his head.
“No. Just... strange”
His expression made you smile, and he seemed to like that sound. It was a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but you noticed it: the way his face relaxed for an instant, as if hearing your laughter made the night a little less heavy.
A question began to itch on your tongue.
“Peter... do you have a girlfriend?”
The reaction was immediate. He tensed slightly and looked at you with a surprised expression, almost as if the question had caught him completely off guard. You wanted to take it back, but instead, you added:
“I'm sorry, it was just a question”
You didn't want him to think there was an ulterior motive behind it.
“It's just that... well, you are very attentive. You're kind to everyone, you work hard, and you're always willing to help. I thought someone like you would have one”
Peter looked down, uncomfortable.
“I had one”
The response surprised you. Well, actually it surprised you that he hadn't avoided the question as he did with other personal topics.
“Years ago,” he added in a low voice “But it didn't end very well”
You didn't ask what had happened. There was something in the way he said it that made you understand it wasn't a story he wanted to tell yet. You assumed it was about the girl from the coffee shop: Michelle.
The silence lasted a few seconds before Peter seemed to remember something else.
“Oh. Although... at the start of high school there was another girl”
Your heart beat fast, holding onto a certain hope to hear the answer.
“Yeah?”
Peter nodded slowly.
“Yeah. Her name was Liz. We went to the school dance together, but that didn't go very well either”
You tried to maintain a calm expression, though you couldn't help but feel a certain disappointment. You hoped that, deep down, he would remember you at least a little.
That there would be a trace of you, even if he didn't remember your face or your name. Something that proved that, even if he had forgotten you, a part of what you had been was still there.
“And you?”
“Me what?”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
You didn't expect him to ask you the same question, but now that he had, he seemed interested. You pondered your answer for a moment:
“There was a boy many years ago. I knew him my whole life and… well, eventually we fell in love.”
You looked down at the path as you kept walking.
“He was everything to me”
Peter said nothing, but his expression changed slightly. He seemed to listen with a different kind of attention.
“And what happened?” he asked gently.
“Things got complicated”
You paused.
“We lost contact. And after that... it was like what we had had disappeared”
Peter frowned a bit.
“Disappeared?”
You nodded slowly.
“Yes. It's hard to explain”
You couldn't tell him that it was you who had erased his memories, that you had made the most painful decision of your life believing it was the right thing to do.
Discovering that the person you loved now looked at you like a stranger.
“But the strange thing,” you admitted in a low voice “is that, even after so many years, I still feel like a part of me stayed there”
Peter remained quiet. You wished you knew how your words had affected him, but even with all the time together you hadn't been able to decipher the mystery of his mind.
“Do you think I'm crazy?”
“No. I understand you more than you think”
His words sounded sincere, and you wanted to understand the secrets the boy was keeping. You were about to say something else when, suddenly, a buzzing shot through your brain. It was a wave of alert, of fear, and of something akin to an anticipated pain that didn't come from you. The intensity was so sudden that you brought both hands to your ears, even though you knew it would do no good.
Hearing your groan of pain, Peter hurried to hold you to make sure you were okay. But as soon as his hands touched yours, he froze too. What had appeared was the constant warning of his body before danger arrived.
A man was walking directly toward you with his hands buried in his jacket pockets. To the naked eye, there was nothing special about him, but the spider-sense kept insisting. Every step he took made that invisible alarm grow more intense.
Peter barely had time to say:
“Get behind me”
You obeyed almost by instinct, your head still throbbing. The man quickened his pace when he was a few meters away and pulled a knife out of his pocket.
Everything happened in a matter of seconds.
Peter stepped forward and deflected the arm with which the man held the knife. The movement was so fast that you barely managed to follow it with your eyes. However, before he managed to completely immobilize him, the blade managed to graze the side of his forearm. Peter barely winced in pain.
With a movement of his shoulder, he finished off balancing the attacker and shoved him against the pavement. The knife flew several meters away, clattering on the concrete.
The man uttered a curse as he tried to get up. Seeing that Peter was still standing, practically unharmed and ready to face him again, he decided to abandon the weapon and run off without looking back.
The buzzing was beginning to fade, but you still felt your chest tight and your head groggy from that unbearable sense of alarm that had invaded your mind.
Peter turned to you immediately.
“Are you okay?”
You nodded out of reflex, though you could barely stay standing. He picked up his backpack from the ground and put an arm around your back to help you walk.
“It's okay. It's over”
You didn't argue.
As they hurried toward the building, Peter looked over his shoulder a couple of times to make sure the mugger wasn't coming back. You, on the other hand, were only trying to comprehend what you had just experienced.
You had felt it as if it had pierced the barrier protecting Peter's mind, not in the form of thoughts, but as a shock of pure anguish. An alarm so intense that for a moment it had become yours too.
It wasn't until you reached the building that you noticed the thin trickle of blood running down his forearm. Panic, this time entirely yours, took hold of you.
“Peter, you're bleeding”
“What? Uh, yeah… that”
“Let me check,” you begged him.
You felt guilty. If you hadn't been paralyzed by that strange feeling, maybe you could have done something. Instead, Peter had ended up hurt trying to protect you.
“Really, it's nothing serious”
“Please”
He observed you for a few seconds before giving in. Then you led him to your apartment.
It was a modest place. You had barely brought the bare necessities: a small table next to the kitchen and a surprisingly comfortable gray sofa that took up almost the entire living room. After all, you didn't plan on staying there. Everything had been a loan from Charles, though Maximoff was the one who ended up carrying it to the fourth floor amidst complaints.
Peter took a seat while you looked for something that could serve. In the mirror drawer, in the bathroom, you found a simple bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a half-used bandage, along with some Band-Aids that wouldn't really be of any use.
You cleaned the wound carefully. It wasn't deep, but long enough to need a bandage. Peter barely winced when the antiseptic touched the cut.
You worked in silence, and when you finished placing the bandage. The pressure in your chest was still there. Peter flexed his arm carefully, as if wanting to prove to you that he was fine.
“Hey... you really don't have to worry so much”
You didn't answer.
You kept dwelling on what had happened. On that unbearable pain that had appeared out of nowhere and the way everything disappeared when the danger did too.
Peter noticed that you were completely spaced out.
“Are you sure you're okay?”
It took you a moment to answer.
“Sorry. I think the scare affected me more than I thought”
Peter nodded in understanding.
“It's normal”
Silence settled between the two of you again. He had been through many similar situations throughout his history as the neighborhood vigilante and knew in advance that by morning the cut would barely be noticeable. However, that night he feared for what could have happened to you.
He kept watching you. You were pretty; anyone could notice, and for a second he wondered why you had appeared that way in his life. It had been a long time since he had felt the closeness of a… friend? He didn't even know if he could call you that.
He wanted to believe that you could be a sincere bond, built after everything that had happened. He had his coworkers, sure, but it wasn't the same. In you he might have at least an occasional companion. Someone to chat with who would respond to his words.
You, however, didn't understand what was happening to you when you were near Peter. Every day seemed to reveal something new, and none of those discoveries made sense. Besides, in your whole stay at the building you hadn't even heard him in dreams as you usually did. It was as if the closer you were, the less you could understand.
You took a breath before speaking.
“Would... would you mind staying for a while?”
The words escaped your lips with such timidness that, as soon as you heard them out loud, you wished you could take them back before they reached him. That request had been born out of impulse and, now that it existed between you, it seemed disproportionate to you.
Peter had already done enough for you that night. He had stopped an armed man, he had been injured protecting you, and still, he remained sitting on your apartment's sofa trying to convince you that the cut on his arm was no big deal. Asking him to also stay with you was too much.
He kept quiet. He limited himself to observing you for a few seconds, with his bandaged arm resting on his thigh and his face slightly tilted to one side, as if trying to understand that which you yourself weren't capable of explaining.
“Because you're scared?”
The question was simple. So simple that a lie would have been enough to answer it.
You could nod, pretend that the attempted robbery had left you too shaken up to stay alone that night and let him believe exactly that. It would have been the most logical explanation. After all, anyone would have needed a little company after experiencing something like that.
However, the truth was much harder to name. It hadn't been the man, nor the weapon that had affected you. What had truly terrified you was that which had occurred inside your own mind.
You breathed slowly before barely lifting your head.
“Yes... I suppose so”
Peter let out his breath slowly, as if that answer confirmed a suspicion he already had.
“Alright”
You blinked.
“What?”
He smiled with that naturalness that characterized him.
“I'll stay for a bit”
You felt the tension leave your shoulders almost immediately and murmured a soft thank you.
You had lived training among mutants capable of bringing down buildings. You had learned to defend yourself long before reaching adulthood and, objectively, few people represented a real threat to you.
But you longed for his company. You wished to have him close.
You two remained silent for a few moments, listening only to the distant rumor of traffic seeping through the window. The apartment felt small again, though not uncomfortable.
You then remembered that Peter had barely eaten a bite since leaving the pizzeria. The adrenaline of the assault had ended up erasing any other concern, but now that everything seemed to have regained a certain calm, you were starting to notice the tiredness drawn on his face.
“Are you hungry?” you asked cautiously.
Peter looked up at you and let out a tired laugh.
“To be honest... a little”
You smiled discreetly.
“I can make you something”
He made a gesture with his hand, brushing it off.
“You don't have to bother”
“It's no bother”
You walked to the small kitchen while opening the refrigerator. You had only bought the bare essentials since arriving in the city: a couple of vegetables, eggs, cheese, some butter, and a loaf of bread that was starting to go stale. It wasn't exactly a plentiful pantry, but it would be enough to improvise a simple dinner.
You stood for a few seconds looking inside the refrigerator, wondering what you could make with so little, when an image shot through your mind with absolute clarity.
A melted cheese sandwich.
You barely frowned, and the vision vanished almost immediately.
It wasn't a thought proper. Nor a voice. Barely a warm, domestic feeling, the craving of someone who just wanted to eat something simple before going to sleep.
You turned your gaze back to Peter.
He was still sitting on the sofa, distracted, examining the bandage on his arm with a blank expression. He hadn't said a single word.
You swallowed hard.
You couldn't enter his mind. You had tried since the day you reunited without getting anything more than absolute silence. However, for some reason that defied all logic, certain fragments managed to make their way to you.
It was as if you didn't hear his thoughts, but rather that which remained closer to the body than to consciousness.
You looked away before he noticed you were watching him.
“How does a grilled cheese sandwich sound?” you asked as you pulled out a small skillet.
Peter raised his head and smiled widely.
“Yeah, sounds… great, actually. I was just thinking about that”
“I read your mind, huh?” you joked.
If only he knew you meant it.
He offered to help you, but really, you just asked him to stay sitting in the dining area so you could chat a bit more. You weren't really skilled in the kitchen, you rarely practiced it at the mansion, but you managed at that moment.
Peter's expression upon taking the first bite made you wonder if he loved it or was hating it.
“Did you like it?”
“It's delicious,” he confessed. “It's been a long time since I ate something like this”
He looked down at the plate for a few seconds. A faint, barely perceptible smile formed on his lips.
“When I lived with my aunt, we had this for dinner very often. It's one of those simple but tasty meals, don't you think?”
You couldn't help but smile.
You remembered May perfectly. It was impossible not to. She always found an excuse to serve you something to eat when you went to look for Peter and, even though you barely knew her for a few years, a few memories were enough to associate her with a warmth that seemed to fill any room she was in.
“Yes,” you replied with a smile. “And how is she? Do you visit her often?”
Peter remained motionless.
The smile faded bit by bit from his face, and his eyes returned to the plate in front of him. For a moment he seemed to search for the right words, as if that answer was still hard for him even after so much time.
“Yes...” he whispered at last, almost to himself, “I go to see her... at her grave now and then”
You felt your heart stop, and the smile vanished from your face immediately.
“Her... grave?”
He raised his eyes just for a moment and nodded with a serenity that failed to hide the weight of that loss.
“She died a while ago”
You didn't know what to say.
An unbearable pressure settled in your throat as you tried to comprehend what you had just heard. It had never occurred to you to ask about May. You had simply assumed that Peter had moved out on his own as he grew older, like anyone else. You never imagined that the woman who had raised him was no longer around.
The image of May welcoming you with a smile, insisting that you both take something to eat before heading out and calling you by your name with that familiarity so uniquely hers flashed through your memory with painful clarity.
You looked down, unable to hold his gaze any longer.
“I'm so sorry”
He mustered a tired smile, the kind that tried to reassure the other person even when one was the one needing comfort most.
“It's okay. It was a while ago”
You felt the pain seeping through his voice. You didn't need to hear his thoughts to understand the weight he was still carrying. The way he looked down and the brief silence that followed his words were enough.
You averted your eyes to the plate, trying to regain control before he noticed the glint starting to pool in your eyes. Even so, a tear ended up slipping silently down your cheek.
Peter pretended not to see it.
The rest of dinner passed in a peaceful silence. Once you two cleared the table, he took his backpack from the back of the chair and slung it over his shoulder.
“Well...” he said with a tired smile, “I'd better head back to my apartment”
“Yeah”
“Thanks for dinner”
“Don't worry,” you expressed.
But you weren't saying goodbye, and he felt that you didn't want to. He saw a silent plea in your eyes, which convinced him immediately to make a decision.
“Are you still feeling nervous?” he whispered kindly.
Desperate for a few more moments, you nodded. “Would you feel more at ease if I stayed the night here? Not like… in your bed or anything. On the couch.”
You observed him for a few seconds, unable to hide your surprise.
“Would you do that for me?”
Peter let out a soft laugh.
“Sure,” he smiled warmly. “I sleep better when I'm in the company of someone else anyway”
The confession escaped his lips so naturally that he seemed to realize what he had said barely a second later. He looked down, somewhat embarrassed, while a discreet smile drew across his face.
You didn’t comment. Simply nodded.
“Thank you, Peter”
He responded with a light nod of his head before dropping the backpack on the floor again.
You handed him a pillow and a thick blanket you had brought from the mansion. You remembered perfectly that Hank had insisted that the sofa was excessively comfortable for such a small apartment, and for the first time you were grateful for having ignored his jokes. At least, for that night, Peter would be able to rest without too much discomfort.
The apartment was so small that there was no real separation between the living room and the bedroom. From the bed, you could clearly make out Peter's silhouette as he adjusted the pillow and lay down on the sofa. He, for his part, could see you on the other side of the room, lit only by the silver glow that the moon cast through the window.
For a few moments neither of you spoke.
The distant murmur of traffic and the occasional hum of the pipes were the only sounds breaking the silence.
Peter was the first to smile.
“Good night”
You returned the smile with a warmth you hadn't felt in a long time.
“Rest, Peter”
He closed his eyes almost immediately.
You, on the other hand, remained awake for a few more minutes, watching the quiet cadence of his breathing. Knowing that he was still there, a few meters away, produced in your chest a calm as unexpected as it was hard to explain.
Without realizing when it happened, fatigue finally won you over, and your eyelids began to grow heavier and heavier, until sleep completely enveloped you.
summary: after erasing herself from his memories to save him, she spends years silently yearning for his love, unaware that fate would also ensure Peter was forgotten by the rest of the world. But no spell can break a bond that always finds its way back.
masterlist
Part two Part three bonus
Most of the time, Professor Xavier underestimated the true power of a pair of headphones. Maximoff had given them to you a few months ago, right after seeing you on the verge of a breakdown and hearing your confession: how unbearable it was to get used to the incessant tide of other people's minds, the torture of listening to everyone, all the time.
“They help me when I don't want to think about anything,” he told you at the time, shrugging with that effortless lightness so typical of him.
Peter was older, a mutant who had been adapting to the institute's rhythm for much longer, so you decided to take his word for it. From then on, the headphones became indispensable; a tool you couldn't go anywhere without.
Charles's teachings helped, of course. They taught you to adjust your mind as if turning the knob of an old radio, isolating frequencies and tuning into white noise. But there were days when fatigue soaked into your bones and you didn't have the strength to be your own filter. You just wanted the murmur of humanity to turn off.
The Professor never stopped you from crossing the mansion's gates. After all, Westchester wasn't a prison and you weren't a captive; you were free to leave whenever you desired. That was why, upon communicating your wish to travel to the city, you only received an understanding look and a serene nod.
The truth was that not even you knew what you were looking for in Manhattan. Perhaps you harbored the childish hope that the rattling of the train would gift you a few minutes of sleep. You had been dragging heavy insomnia for weeks. At first, when your powers awakened, the nights were a nightmare of invisible screams drilling into your ears in the dark. But this time was different.
This time, the interference had an implicit name. A voice.
You couldn't stop listening to his thoughts: they were a tangle of crushing responsibilities, recent losses, and a pain so deep it bordered on devotion. Among the millions of minds fluctuating through the metropolis, his possessed a unique frequency that found its way to you, piercing through your defenses without asking for permission. It wasn't the loudest mind nor the most imposing. It simply... claimed you.
As the days went by, you stopped perceiving it as background noise. There was a painful familiarity in its echo. You felt like you had known him all your life, even if you had never seen his face. It was an inexplicable telepathic connection, an invisible thread completely escaping Charles's manuals and theories about the human mind.
Sometimes, with your forehead pressed against the pillow, you wondered if he felt that same pull on the other side of nothingness. If he sensed that, on his darkest nights, there was an unknown mind keeping him company in the silence. That doubt floated in the air until exhaustion overcame you, leaving you with the eternal question about who that stranger was inhabiting your sleepless nights.
You liked the city. It didn't have the peace of Westchester, but it possessed a brutal honesty. You thought about dropping by to see your parents, but dismissed the idea immediately. You didn't want to face their forced smiles nor the contained panic in their eyes every time you made a sudden movement. Your presence was an uncomfortable reminder of imperfection. It was better to leave them in peace; after all, they had your sister. She wasn't a mutant. She was the future they could boast about without whispering.
At the mansion, life was relatively peaceful. You got along well with most, though the relationship with the other telepaths was distant. They knew the history of your past breakdown and treated you like glass about to shatter, fearing a flaw in your mind would trigger a domino effect. Curiously, you found more comfort in the older ones: Maximoff's hyperactivity, Logan's protective cynicism, or the quiet conversations with Beast.
And then there was the Professor. Charles frequently sought you out after classes ended to evaluate your progress. There was no fear in his gaze... in fact, there was nothing. His mind was the only place in the universe where absolute silence reigned. Trying to peek into Xavier's thoughts was like trying to crack a safe using a cooked noodle: an absurd thing.
Inside your backpack traveled an object of personal cult: a worn copy of The Secret Garden. Even though it was a children's read, the story of that hidden, healing corner brought you an almost physical comfort. You understood all too well the imperious need to find a refuge where no one could reach you.
The book's origin was a haze. Maybe you had bought it for a couple of dollars at a street market, or perhaps it belonged to your family before everything broke. The pages wore that yellowish tone that nostalgics sigh for, and the corners of the cover were so worn that any bibliophile would have suffered seeing it. For you, however, it was irreplaceable.
On the first page, written in slightly faded ink but elegant calligraphy, you read a dedication:
For whenever you need a quiet place
— P.P
None of your relatives or acquaintances matched those initials. You always assumed the book had belonged to a stranger who forgot to claim his love note before selling it. After all, the world was full of lost memories.
You adjusted your back against the train seat and buried your nose in the pages, letting the smell of old paper dry your thoughts while your eyes scanned lines you knew by heart. Outside, the landscape transformed. The greenness of tall trees and gravel paths gradually gave way to the brutal architecture of civilization: small brick neighborhoods, clotheslines crisscrossing between windows, rusted rails, and graffiti shouting names on concrete walls.
Bit by bit, Manhattan's skyscrapers emerged on the horizon like glass giants claiming the sky. The train crossed the last metallic bridges and ventured into the guts of a city that never slept.
Stepping off, you began walking without a clear destination. The city was the antithesis of the isolation you usually sought: a hotbed of fragmented thoughts, financial anxieties, and absurd hurries clashing with one another. However, there was something liberating in that chaos. Among millions of voices screaming at the same time, your own cracks went unnoticed. Nobody looked at you. Nobody feared you.
To cross the streets you didn't need to look at the traffic lights; a light mental pulse was enough to switch the lights at your convenience, opening a path for yourself in a manufactured bubble of calm. Playing in your ears was the playlist Maximoff had built for you on Spotify. Although the concept of streaming seemed like an unnecessary modernity to him, he had taken the trouble to compile hours of classic and alternative rock.
You walked for hours until your steps came to a dead halt before the facade of a building.
Your old high school.
There was no logical reason to have ended up there, but the red brick walls triggered a pang in your stomach. You stood on the sidewalk, watching students pour out in flocks amid laughter, shoves, and innocence; that kind of carefreeness that only exists before reality crushes you.
You wondered what it would feel like to be one of them. What your life would have been like if your mutation had never awakened. If your only battles had been physics grades, prom, or deciding which college to apply to, instead of learning to contain an ability that threatened to destroy you from within.
You would have been an normal girl. Ordinary.
The word felt bitter in your mouth. Distant. Like a suit that belonged to someone else.
You searched your memory for a face, a name, anything to justify the nostalgia tightening your chest, but only found blanks. You vaguely remembered belonging to the debate club and the science club, but the faces of your classmates were unrecognizable. Time had taken care of that.
You thought about crossing the entrance, but immediately lost heart. It made no sense. A stranger lurking in the hallways would only draw suspicious looks.
You turned around and let your feet carry you aimlessly. It was then that intuition returned, this time with a magnetic clarity. It wasn't an external thought or a telepathic intrusion; it was a pull in the center of your chest, as if an invisible thread tied to your ribs were being tugged from somewhere in the city.
You boarded a city bus without looking at the route sign. The need to move forward flattened any doubt. You watched through the window as blocks of buildings succeeded one another, trying to convince yourself that it was just a neurotic impulse, a side effect of fatigue. But the pull didn't yield.
You got off a few stops later and started walking by inertia, turning corners almost instinctively, as if navigating a map engraved in your genes.
Until the thread slacked.
In front of you stood a small, humble café, almost invisible among the grandiosity of the main avenues. You remained on the sidewalk contemplating the reflection in the glass, overcome by the mathematical certainty that this was exactly where you needed to arrive.
In your headphones, the final chords of MGMT were playing. Oracular Spectacular was an album that seemed to evoke memories of a life you weren't sure you had lived, a mixture of psychedelia and melancholy that fit the moment perfectly.
Pushing the door open, the chime of a bell announced your entrance. The place was practically empty, an oasis of silence you were deeply grateful for. You took a deep breath, gathering the courage needed to slide the headphones down to your neck and prepare for the inevitable impact of mental noise.
“Hi, what can I get for you?”
Behind the counter, a girl with dark skin offered you a warm smile. Her nametag read Michelle, though your mind had already caught her name a second prior. However, when trying to go deeper, you bumped into a subtle wall; her mind was complex, dense, hard to decipher at first glance. Some people were just that unreadable.
You ordered a latte out of obligation. You hated coffee—caffeine usually triggered unbearable migraines—but needing to buy something was the price to pay to stay there.
That was when you noticed the boy on the other side of the counter: Ned Leeds, Michelle's friend. Ned's mind, unlike hers, was an open book. Both shared a vibe of contained nervousness, a low tension floating between them. It felt like something... work-related? No, academic.
“I'll bring it to your table in a moment.”
You nodded mechanically and settled at a small table next to the window. On the opposite wall, a turned-on television silently broadcast amateur video footage: Spider-Man swinging between skyscrapers. You remembered the events of last year, the cracks in the sky, and the multiversal threat everyone talked about. You also remembered Charles's blunt response when you asked why you all hadn't intervened: “It's not our fight.”
You looked at the screen with bitterness. And even if you had wanted to help... what on earth could you have done against the collapse of the universe?
You wondered if at any point the world would be ready for mutants. It was an open secret: the beloved figure Charles had lost years ago, a mutant so unstable he had been the worst calling card to society. Many of the mansion's residents had seen him on television as children; a few others knew him personally. You could only rely on rumors.
You stared at the street through the café's glass for a long while, wondering where all those people were heading, even though you knew the answer beforehand. You saw a girl walking hurriedly down the sidewalk, struggling to adjust the strap of a heavy bag slung over her shoulder. You wanted to believe in a gentle story: you imagined inside were a bunch of purchases she could finally, after a long time, afford. A birthday gift for someone special, some expensive creams, or maybe those shoes she had liked so much in some display window.
You entered her mind a second later.
Reality was much grayer. There were no gifts or new shoes. In the bag she only carried a change of clothes and the medical studies of her grandmother, whom she was going to nurse at the hospital during the night shift after working all day. In her head there was no excitement, but an accumulated fatigue of weeks, the worry of not knowing how to pay for the month's medications, and the faint hope that the old woman would recognize her for at least a couple of minutes before falling asleep.
You gently looked away, with a pang of bitterness in your chest.
Why was reality so sad? Was any of those passersby actually having a good day?
You moved your eyes across the sidewalk, almost desperately searching for a flash of light amid the tide of tired faces. And then you saw it. A little boy, no older than five, hopping along next to his mother. He held a green plastic dinosaur in his hands, and brushing his mind for an instant, you found no sorrow. Only a gigantic happiness because his mother had bought him the toy he had been waiting weeks for. In his universe, in that precise second, nothing bad existed.
You smiled to yourself and exhaled a breath you didn't even know you were holding. Somehow, that tiny thought comforted you; it was like a crack of sunlight amid a cloudy sky. Reality could be heavy, yes, but at least it wasn't entirely lost.
You heard the chime at the entrance, and your body responded before your mind did, turning you around to observe the newly arrived customer. A slender boy, with brown hair somewhat messy from the street wind and a sweet, incredibly expressive gaze, but with a distinct shadow of fatigue under his eyes. He wore a worn jacket that was a bit too big for him and had his hands buried in his pockets. He had that kind of noble, empathetic face that instantly conveys trust.
However, what left you dumbfounded was the fact that you heard absolutely nothing.
Not a single thought. Not the slightest murmur. His mind was in complete, inexplicable silence. It wasn't Professor Xavier's impenetrable and calculated barrier; it was something different, an absolute void, yet strangely warm. After spending the day submerged in the city's chaotic bustle, encountering such calm in a stranger left you breathless.
He didn't notice your presence; instead, his eyes were fixed on the waitress carrying your coffee.
“Enjoy,” she exclaimed kindly.
He didn't take his eyes off her, and you didn't take your eyes off him.
You stammered a thanks to the girl, and she returned to her position behind the counter. He, seeing her return, lowered his gaze and hurried to take a seat at one of the tables.
From your spot, you couldn't help but observe him. There was something subtle yet clear in his posture: the way his eyes sought the girl at the counter, the contained hesitation in his gestures... It was obvious he had gone to that café just to see her.
Upon reaching the counter, Michelle and Ned began chatting in a casual tone. After a few moments of fluid conversation, she leaned against the bar, looked at the boy waiting at the table, and asked what he was ordering.
He looked up and answered.
It was barely a short phrase, a simple response, but the timbre of his voice pierced the café's space with an overwhelming clarity.
Your heart took a violent leap. You froze in your seat, paralyzed mid-movement, while an icy shiver ran down your spine. That cadence, the exact intonation, the soft and worn nuance... You didn't need to read his thoughts to know. His spoken voice was enough.
It was the same voice that had been sneaking into your hardest nights for weeks. The lonely mind that found yours in the dark was just a few steps away from you.
That was why you had gone there. To find him.
Once again, you tried to venture into his mind. You launched your telepathy searching for that crack through which you used to hear him, but it was like running into an impenetrable wall; his mind remained in absolute silence. However, at the exact instant you brushed against his barrier, the boy flinched in his chair and went stiff all of a sudden, as if an electric shock had run up the back of his neck.
He turned his head instinctively until his eyes met yours head-on. He held your gaze for an eternal second, charged with a strange, alert tension. He hadn't just blocked you effortlessly; impossibly, that boy seemed to have felt that you were trying to enter his head.
He blinked several times as if trying to discard the idea, sure it had only been an illusion. He focused on a menu hanging above the counter despite having already placed his order, projecting a contained tension that made him look out of place. Worried, perhaps.
You looked toward the window, though now the stories of the passersby lacked meaning. You closed your eyes for an instant, searching in the silence for an answer to the enigma a few feet away, but found nothing.
Determined to end the uncertainty once and for all, you snapped them open and stood up, ready to cross the small space separating you from him. The unexpected part was that the stranger had the exact same idea. Before you could react, the two of you collided head-on. The impact made you lose your balance, and you fell backward onto the floor, letting out a stifled murmur of surprise.
He apologized immediately, visibly embarrassed. Then he crouched to your height and quickly extended his hand to help you up. Confused, you accepted his help, and at the exact instant his fingers closed around your hand, an electric shock coursed through your veins.
A memory flashed into your mind.
The afternoon sun hit your face fully when you heard his voice calling you. You had decided to go to the park to rest, silently celebrating that you had finally survived finals week. You lay on the fresh grass, letting the early summer heat envelope you.
“Do you think I'll do badly in English?” he asked, breaking the silence while looking at the treetops.
“A little, yeah. But not enough to get an F,” you replied honestly, turning toward him.
“Thank goodness. May would kill me.”
“You've never failed a subject, not since we were in kindergarten.”
“No,” he admitted, glancing at you. “That's why I know she'd kill me.”
You let out a genuine laugh, contemplating the comical face he made whenever a truth disguised as a joke escaped him. There was a lightness to those days that now felt like a distant dream.
“If I get bad grades, my parents will probably blame you,” you teased.
“And why's that?” he asked, feigning outrage.
“They'll say you're a distraction.”
At that moment, a white butterfly fluttered between the two of you and lightly brushed your cheek before flying away. He smiled tenderly and reached out, brushing with his fingertips the exact spot where the insect's wings had tickled you.
“That's not true,” he murmured, leaving his hand suspended near your face.
“It kind of is,” you confessed, shrugging as you felt warmth rise to your cheeks. “You spend all day in my thoughts. But they don't have to find out about that.”
Blush instantly stained his cheeks. He tried to hide it by looking down and breaking into a clumsy smile, but it was in vain. You were fascinated watching him get nervous. It was as if he couldn't fully process that you loved him with that blind, boundless intensity that only exists in first love.
“I could help you study for retakes,” he offered, clearing his throat.
“Yeah, sure. Because you're a nerd and all that.”
“No,” he corrected softly, searching your eyes. “Because you're my girlfriend. And I want you to get good grades so we can go to college together.”
“Please! Are you already thinking about college?” you laughed, covering your face with your hands. “We're barely starting high school.”
“Yeah, but it doesn't hurt to plan, right?”
“You worry too much about the future.”
“And you don't?”
“I don't care what the future holds,” you said simply, intertwining your fingers with his as the afternoon wind tousled his hair. “I only care about enjoying the present. About being here. With you.”
The warmth of the hand you were holding grew hazy with the memory of that day. Suddenly, a new scene rushed in headlong.
The whole school knew. It was the only topic of conversation in the hallways: they knew that because of you, that boy was in the hospital. During your constant trips to the principal's office, you had managed to overhear that his parents wanted to sue you, though at your age you weren't sure if that was legally possible.
You just wanted to scream at them that you couldn't help it. That you never wanted to hurt him in the first place.
Now everything hurt, but not in your body; the pain was entrenched in your head. You were sitting outside the principal's office for the hundredth time that week. You had missed almost every class, and when you tried to show up at the debate club meeting, they simply slammed the door in your face.
You wondered how much longer you could endure in this limbo. By that point, your expulsion was practically a done deal.
And then there was the torment of the minds around you. You didn't know how to silence them; they entered your head unfiltered, all the time, drilling into your ears until becoming unbearable noise.
Why on earth was this happening to you?
“Hey,” you suddenly heard.
You didn't know if the murmur came from inside your head or from the hallway, until looking up brought you back to reality: he was standing in front of you.
“There you are,” he said softly.
“Hi,” you whispered, looking at him with guilt. “What are you doing here? There's a club meeting today.”
“Yeah, but I didn't really feel like going,” he replied, shrugging.
Lie. He was fascinated by the debate club. But the worry of finding you had been stronger.
He took a seat beside you. You immediately avoided his gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you lied, tightening your hands on your lap. “They just summoned me again. You know... because of everything that's happened lately.”
“Yeah...” he sighed, resting his elbows on his knees.
Even though he kept quiet, you didn't need him to speak to know exactly what was crossing his mind. His mental pulse was a tide of fatigue, deep sadness, and a touch of pity. He felt afraid, yes, but not toward you or what you could do—rather, for what the world was going to do to you.
An interminable few seconds passed in which the noise of the school threatened to crush you again, until he seemed to gather enough courage to organize his thoughts.
“It wasn't your fault,” he blurted out, searching your eyes. “You know that, right?”
“The guy is in the hospital,” you replied with a broken voice, feeling tears fill your eyes. “I don't even know what I did or how I did it. It just... happened. People are right to be afraid of me.”
“They don't understand anything,” he insisted, turning his body toward you. “I know you. I know who you are. This is an accident, not something you wanted. I... I don't understand how you did it. But you're not crazy, and you're not bad either.”
“I feel like I'm going crazy,” you confessed in a thread of a voice, bringing your hands to your temples as the din of other minds began drilling into you from within again. “There are too many voices. I can't turn them off. It's killing me.”
He didn't hesitate for another second. He moved closer and wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in a firm, warm hug that seemed to freeze time.
You pressed your face against his shoulder, clinging to his jacket as if it were the only anchor amid the storm. Suddenly, the chaos in your head seemed to dim. The contact of his arms didn't silence the voices of the world, but the certainty of his affection turned everything else into a distant noise, an insignificant echo.
“I'm not leaving you alone in this,” he whispered in your ear, squeezing you a little tighter against him. “We're going to figure it out. I promise you.”
You had closed your eyes for an instant, and when you opened them, the setting had changed completely.
He was watching you from the edge of your bed, with a mix of resignation and worry in his gaze.
“A boarding school?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yeah... It's like a school for gifted youngsters or something like that,” you murmured without looking up, focused on folding clothes and packing them into suitcases.
Every now and then, he stretched out to hand you an item of clothing left on the bed, trying to keep himself useful so as not to break down.
“And for how long will it be?”
“I don't know. A few months, I guess... Until things cool down around here.”
In the end, the hospital boy's parents hadn't filed the lawsuit, but they had taken it upon themselves to spread the rumor to every corner of the high school. The stares, the harassment, and the social pressure ultimately proved you right: expulsion had been inevitable. Your parents, overwhelmed by the situation and not knowing how to handle what was happening to you, had found that special place as a last resort to rid themselves of a problem beyond their control.
“Yeah, well... makes sense,” he commented, though the lack of conviction in his voice was glaring.
His mind was sending clear signals: he was holding something back. And you knew perfectly well what it was.
“Hey, I'll come back to visit you every now and then, okay?” you said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into the room. “And if I talk to the principal... maybe he'll even let me invite you over for a weekend.”
You dropped what you were doing and sat beside him.
“If you want to go, of course.”
“Of course I want to,” he answered immediately. He was completely sincere. “It's just that... Westchester is pretty far.”
“It's not that big of a deal,” you tried to encourage him, though you knew his real concern wasn't the distance, but the fare money.
You sought his hand on the mattress, intertwining your fingers while looking at him with a silent plea reflected in your eyes.
“We can video call every night. Text each other all the time... You'll see I won't feel that far.”
He smiled that sweet way he did when he really wanted to believe things would turn out fine, and nodded silently.
“Yeah, you're right. It'll work.”
You leaned toward him and stole a soft kiss from his lips. It was a brief gesture, but loaded with all the fear, love, and uncertainty you both shared.
“It'll only be a few months to see how they teach over there. And then I'll come back. I promise.”
A final series of memories surfaced. Though when your mind shifted to them, you immediately felt a tightness in your chest.
It hadn't been just a few months. The semester was consuming its final days, and you were still trapped in Westchester.
You weren't going to lie to yourself: you were starting to get used to the place. To the bucolic peace of the mansion, the warmth of your new peers, and the institute's teaching. It was an idyllic refuge. Professor Xavier had personally taken care of manipulating the threads of collective memory at your old school; he didn't erase the incident, but he wiped your face from everyone's memories. To the school board, it had just been an unfortunate physical altercation between two students whose names were better off forgotten. Your name was clean, but your soul remained chained to Queens.
To him.
You had sworn to write to him daily, to keep the flame alive against all odds. But at first, messages flowed like an overflowing river; later, reality turned into a dam. Classes demanded an almost superhuman level of concentration if you wanted to control the chaotic mass of your powers. Guilt devoured your chest with every hour that passed without replying to him.
When you finally managed to scrape a free weekend to return to the city, reuniting with him was a dagger to the heart.
Even without wanting to, you heard the bitter tide of his thoughts. Weeks ago, he had begged you to go to the high school dance with him, excited like a child, but Charles forbade you from going so as not to expose yourself.
“It's okay, I understand,” he had told you at the time, swallowing his disappointment.
But telepathy didn't allow you to deceive yourself. It wasn't just the missed party. It was the cruel taunts in the school hallways when he said he had a girlfriend, an invisible girl whom no one ever saw. It was the contempt of his classmates, the pity condensed in the teachers' gazes, the silenced disappointment of a boy who had to defend the existence of a love that seemed like a ghost.
You couldn't hold his hand in the street, or invite him out for ice cream, or be a living presence in his everyday life.
Those invisible wounds accumulated until they became an unsustainable mountain. And though he never uttered a single reproach—though he swallowed his tears so as not to make you feel guilty—you felt how he was bleeding out from within. He felt deeply lonely, desperately clinging to the sporadic visits of the ghost of the girl who was once his world.
One night, while the moon bathed the roof in silver, the question pierced you like broken glass:
Did he deserve a half-life? Did he deserve to love a shadow?
No. Good heavens, no. He deserved the full light.
“You seem strange,” he said.
The two of you were sitting on the fire escape outside his window, with the cold night air sneaking through your clothes.
“Are you okay?”
“I am,” you murmured, clinging to the iron bars with white knuckles so your voice wouldn't shatter. “Hey... can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Do you really think us... is meant to work?”
“Of course it is,” he answered immediately, searching your eyes with a blind faith that broke your soul. “We've made it this far, haven't we?”
But the words didn't matter. Your mind drowned in the tide of his true answer: a desperate inner plea not to lose you, crushed by the overwhelming fear that you were already leaving.
“Why do you ask that?” he added, his voice trembling slightly.
“Because I'm not the girl you deserve.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” He turned abruptly.
His hands had already moved to your shoulders, holding you with the same gentleness he had for so many years.
“I... I love you. I don't give a damn about the distance! I don't care what happened with your powers or any of this. I mean it. I love you.”
“And I love you,” you sobbed, feeling tears held back for months threatening to choke you. “I love you in a way you can't imagine. But...”
“No. There is no 'but'. Don't do this to me. Please.”
His hand gripped yours, the desperation palpable in the touch. The silence was dense, heavy, drowned out by the distant noise of city traffic. But the sentence was already passed in the deepest part of your being. Because you loved him too much to destroy him.
Even though you both changed the subject, the tension remained. Shortly after, you went back into the room. He lay on the bottom bunk, defeated, his chest heaving with silent panic. You leaned over him, stopping mere inches from his face, wrapped in the dim light.
“You know I would never hurt you, right?” you whispered, caressing his cheek with infinite tenderness.
“I know,” he replied in a thread of a voice.
“And you know I'm going to love you no matter what happens, right?”
“I know.”
He surged forward and kissed you. It was a desperate, almost voracious kiss, a trench against destiny. He held you by the waist and the nape of your neck with a strength bordering on agony, pressing you against his chest as if sensing you were turning into water slipping through his fingers.
Tears spilled uncontrollably from your eyes, wetting both your cheeks. He started upon feeling you cry and lowered his hands, alarmed, but you didn't give him time to speak. You kissed him again. You kissed him until breath escaped your lungs, mixing the bitter taste of your tears with the warm breath escaping his lips. It was the kiss of a lifetime condensed into a few seconds.
Trembling, you brought your fingers to your temple. A stifled, heart-wrenching sob escaped your chest.
Would you be capable? Was your love so boundless, so destructive, as to commit this cruel mercy?
Yes. Because loving him meant saving him from yourself.
With a silent scream that tore your mind apart from the inside, you deployed your telepathy and ventured into his memory.
You began erasing yourself.
You gradually dissolved the stolen kisses, the laughs in the debate club, and the college promises, but also the childhood afternoons in his living room, the scraped knees, and an entire life growing up together. You erased every conversation, every glance, and every shared heartbeat, transforming a colossal love into a hazy fog, into a mere nameless void.
You exterminated over a decade of memories piece by piece, watching the light in his eyes grow dull as the connections severed in his brain.
Your own mind wailed at the sacrilege of erasing the only pure thing you had left in the world.
Feeling the weight of his body relax under the telepathic sedation, you laid his head on the pillow with infinite sweetness. His eyes, now serene and empty of you, closed slowly.
You leaned down one last time, brushing your lips against his cool forehead.
“Goodbye, Peter.”
Peter. That was his name.
“A-Are you really okay? Did you get hurt?”
You were already on your feet. You hadn't realized tears were streaming down uncontrollably until you ran your fingers across your cheeks. Your hands were trembling.
An excruciating doubt seized you inevitably: what had made you forget him? How could such a piece of your soul disappear from your life?
“Do you need me to call someone?”
You hadn't articulated a single word since he helped you up. Your absolute silence only fueled the confusion and concern growing in his eyes with every passing second.
He was so different. He looked older, mature, undeniably handsome... but there was no doubt: it was him. It was your Peter.
From his perspective, you must have looked completely terrified. Your fixed stare and ragged breathing made you look as though you were seeing a dead man brought back to life.
“No,” you managed to reply.
Stumbling, you backed away from him. You grabbed your belongings immediately and walked to the counter, leaving a bill that doubled the value of what you had ordered.
Then you walked out. Without looking back.
Let me know if you want to be tagged in part two! ♡
Warnings → Fluff, toddler behavior, clingy child, mama’s boy, domestic family moments, soft Peter Parker, humor, parenting, cute overload
Summary → Four-year-old Ben refuses anyone but his mama outside, leaving Peter jealous while you struggle carrying your clingy toddler.
Ben had mastered one thing in life already.
Making you carry him everywhere.
“Mama up,” he’d say instantly the second you stepped outside the apartment building, tiny hands raised, brown eyes so dramatic Peter swore the kid deserved an Oscar already.
And you always cracked.
Always.
Even when you knew your arms were gonna feel like noodles after ten minutes.
Even when Peter was standing right there with enhanced spider strength and fully functioning arms.
Like today.
You were walking through Queens after grocery shopping, the afternoon sun warm against your skin, Ben attached to your hip while you struggled to balance your tote bag on your shoulder too.
Peter looked personally offended.
“Ben,” he said patiently, holding his arms out, “buddy, come here. Daddy can carry you.”
Ben immediately buried his face into your neck.
“No.”
Peter blinked. “Wow. Okay. That hurt my feelings a little.”
You snorted, adjusting Ben higher against your hip with visible effort. “Baby, daddy wants to hold you.”
“Nooo.” Ben tightened his little arms around your neck. “Mama.”
Peter pointed at himself. “I’m literally Spider-Man. I can bench press cars.”
Ben looked at him with complete seriousness.
“Mama better.”
You burst out laughing so hard you nearly lost balance.
Peter gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? Betrayal in my own family.”
Ben peeked over your shoulder proudly, tiny cheek squished against you. “Mama soft.”
“Oh, now we’re ranking texture too?” Peter complained.
The thing was, Ben could walk perfectly fine. At home he zoomed around the apartment like a tiny caffeinated tornado. Climbed furniture. Ran down hallways. Jumped on Peter’s back like a feral raccoon.
But outside? Suddenly he was a baby koala. Especially with you. And honestly… you secretly loved it a little.
Even if your back was currently filing legal complaints.
A few more minutes passed before your arm started genuinely dying.
You tried not to show it, but Peter noticed instantly because of course he did.
His expression softened.
“Okay, c’mere,” he said gently, reaching for your bag instead. “At least let me take that.”
You sighed in relief. “Thank God.”
Peter took every single bag with one hand like they weighed nothing while walking beside you.
Meanwhile Ben stayed glued to you like emotional support Velcro.
Peter looked over at him again. “You know daddy loves cuddles too, right?”
Ben thought carefully about this. Then nodded. “But mama smells nice.”
Peter stopped walking entirely.
You wheezed laughing. “Oh my God.”
Peter looked genuinely wounded now. “What does that even mean? Are you saying I smell bad?”
Ben nodded with brutal toddler honesty. “Sometimes.”
“THIS HOUSE IS HOSTILE.”
You were laughing so hard now your shoulders shook, which made Ben giggle too because your laughter always triggered his.
Peter stared at both of you like the most betrayed man alive.
“I fight supervillains for this family.”
Ben patted your shoulder comfortingly, completely ignoring him.
“Mama's warm and soft and smells nice.”
Peter pointed accusingly. “See? See what I mean? I’m not even part of this conversation anymore.”
Eventually you reached the small park near your apartment, and your arm officially gave up on life.
“Peter,” you groaned weakly, “I physically cannot feel my arms anymore.”
Peter immediately stepped closer. “Ben, mama’s tired. Daddy’s turn.”
Ben frowned hard.
“No.”
“Buddy—”
“Nooo.”
You kissed Ben’s hair softly. “Sweetheart, mama needs a break.”
Ben looked conflicted now. Tiny eyebrows scrunched together while he stared at your face.
Because he loved being carried by you.
But he also loved you.
And apparently toddler logic finally decided your wellbeing mattered more.
Slowly, very reluctantly, he reached toward Peter.
Peter looked absurdly triumphant while taking him.
“Yes. Victory.”
Ben immediately leaned back toward you though, one hand still grabbing your shirt dramatically like he was being separated forever.
You laughed softly, rubbing his little leg. “I’m still here, clingy bug.”
Peter adjusted Ben easily against his chest and smirked. “Wow. My arms don’t feel like they’re about to detach. Crazy.”
“Oh shut up,” you muttered.
Peter grinned before kissing your forehead quickly.
“You’re cute when you baby him.”
“He’s four.”
“He’s your baby though.”
That hit a little too hard emotionally for a random grocery trip.
You looked over at your boys — Peter carrying Ben effortlessly while Ben still reached for you every five seconds just to make sure you were close.
The Feeling | Peter Parker x Psychometric!Fem!Reader
SUMMARY: After you move in across the hall from Peter Parker, the boy you loved before you lost your memories, Peter decides he can’t take it anymore. He wants you to remember. Late night at a college party, a guy accidentally bumps into you, spilling his drink all over you. Under any normal circumstance, you would’ve brushed it off…but your powers are triggered a suddenly you remember that this isn’t just any guy. He isn’t just your neighbor. He is, or rather was, your boyfriend.
WARNINGS: Reader has psychometric abilities (she can touch certain objects or people and see into the past), some angst, Peter yearning big time, happy ending!
A/N: Don’t worry, there are absolutely no spoilers for BND, I’m going to see it Friday! So, here’s one last post before I go off the grid for BND :)
WC: 5.3K
Main Masterlist!
Peter Parker’s soul had been fractured some time ago and he craved a feeling that he believed to be the remedy.
What that feeling was, his mind wasn’t so sure, but his heart and soul knew.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter Parker’s quaint little apartment was awfully loud for someone who lived alone.
The window was wide open, the hustle and bustle of New York infiltrating his home. The crap dryer was in the middle of shrinking his jeans as it hummed loudly, sounding as if a few screws were loose.
Which, come to think of it, probably were.
His speaker played music softly as he was hunched over the small desk near the window. He was in the middle of patching up his suit after an intense fight with The Hand.
Crash!
Peter jolted up, on high alert for any other sounds. His spider senses weren’t going off, but he was still worried about what caused the sound outside of his apartment.
He quickly grabbed his phone, pausing the music to hear better.
He was met with a dead silence until-
“Shit!”
Peter let out a sigh of relief, hearing a muffled voice from behind his door in the hallway.
The person must’ve dropped something.
Peter rose up from his seat and cracked open the door, only for his breath to quite literally catch in his throat.
You were standing there, three boxes stacked on top of one another, a fourth box on the floor with shattered glass surrounding it.
You set the three boxes down and huffed, scratching the back of your neck and looking at the mess you made in the hallway. You glanced up at the boy staring at you as if he had seen a ghost.
“I’m sorry,” you said sheepishly. “I just- well I thought I could carry all these boxes to my apartment, but clearly not.”
Peter swallowed hard and blinked, snapping out of the trance he was in. “You- wha- Sorry,” he laughed awkwardly, making you quirk a brow. “You’re moving in?” he asked, glancing at the apartment door right across the hall from him.
You nodded with a small smile, dangling your keys up. “Yup. Right across from you apparently.”
Peter’s eyes widened.
He hadn’t seen you or heard from you in years. Not since Dr. Strange casted that spell and made everyone forget who he was. For years he wondered where you were, if you were okay, and more importantly, if you found someone new because truth be told, he hadn’t.
He wasn’t even looking.
At university, girls would flirt with him every now and then, falling for that shy and dorky personality with something more mature growing around the edges. Peter Parker was an attractive guy and he was so sweet, so kind, to everyone he met.
The boy could’ve honestly had a new girlfriend by now.
But he didn’t because it had always been you.
You were the only girl he ever wanted.
You rocked back on your heels, staring at Peter with narrowed eyes. You couldn't quite place it, but he seemed familiar, like maybe you had seen him somewhere before, but then again, he looked like your average young adult in New York. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
Peter blinked. “Me?”
You looked around the empty hallway with a small giggle, already finding your new neighbor rather entertaining. “Who else?”
“Oh. Duh,” Peter lectured himself from under his breath with closed eyes and a pitiful headshake. He cleared his throat and straightened up, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, no, you don’t.”
He hated lying, especially to you.
You tilted your head slightly. “Are you sure? You seem…I don’t know. You seem familiar. What’s your name?”
“P-Peter,” he stuttered. “Peter Parker.”
You hummed, the name not entirely ringing a bell. “Peter Parker,” you repeated, as if it would jog your memory. “Sounds familiar, but then again, you have the most generic name.”
Before Peter could respond, you stuck your hand out and introduced yourself.
Peter stared down at your hand, then pulled his lips into a tight line. He knew that if he touched you he risked you immediately being overloaded with the knowledge of who he was and the history you both shared.
The day Dr. Strange casted that spell, he promised you that he would remind you of who he was.
That was the first time Peter Parker ever lied to you.
He went down to the pastry coffee shop he knew you and Ned would hangout at just to bother MJ, because there was once a time Peter was in the picture too. When he saw you sitting beside Ned, a small warm peppermint hot chocolate in your hands, his heart fluttered, excitement coursing through his veins as he made his way over to introduce himself, just like he had rehearsed a million times.
“Hi, I’m Peter Parker, and you don’t know me, but we used to be friends, more than friends actually.”
Was what he was supposed to say.
But when he got close enough for you to look up at him, a glint of confusion in the very eyes he had fallen in love with, his own eyes that you had no recollection of caught sight of the healing gash that caused a slit in your eyebrow and the bandage a few inches away from it on your forehead.
A painful reminder of what it meant to get too close to someone like him.
It was his fault that you had gotten hurt and nearly died.
He didn’t ever want to put you in a situation like that again, and after Aunt May…he figured it would be best if you were no longer associated with him.
He froze up completely and ended up telling you his name like some kind of dork and asking you if the peppermint hot chocolate was worth the five dollars.
So now, in the present moment, his heart was slowly breaking because you hadn’t fully remembered him from that day, which was fine because why would you have?
He was just a weirdo who approached you awkwardly and asked how the peppermint hot chocolate was, which…was strange because it wasn’t inherently obvious to anyone that wasn’t MJ or Ned that that was what you were drinking.
But Peter knew because it was your favorite.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I would shake your hand, but my hands are dirty. I was just uh…cleaning.”
“Oh,” you muttered quietly, pulling your hand away awkwardly, glancing away from him feeling slightly embarrassed.
The hallway was silent as you stood there for a second, Peter thinking of something, anything to say to you because he didn’t want the moment to end.
“Do you want me to help you carry your stuff in?” Peter offered.
Your brows pressed together. “I thought your hands were dirty. I don’t want you touching my stuff,” you half joked.
“Right…” Peter replied. “I’ll sweep up the glass.”
You smiled softly and nodded, unlocking your door and dragging a box inside, thinking that your new neighbor was a little weird, but meant well.
Peter smiled and as soon as you disappeared into your empty apartment, his smile fell instantly. He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a list of profanities under his breath as he returned back into his apartment to retrieve a broom and dustpan.
He swept up the glass and you thanked him before going back into your apartment.
For the next couple of days, you wouldn’t see Peter often. You’d sometimes cross paths heading downstairs to retrieve your mail, earning a small wave from him or see him on your way out to work.
Regardless, that little to no interaction was driving him up the wall.
You were right there.
Right across the hall.
Right within arms touch, and one touch…just the one, had the potential to ignite an old flame again.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter lied on his couch, staring at the ceiling while tossing a pen into the air and catching it mindlessly. He was supposed to be figuring out what to eat for dinner, but alas, you were on his mind.
He had missed you before, but ever since you moved in he felt like he was losing his mind.
You consumed each and every one of his thoughts, every fiber in his being. If there was one thing Peter Parker wanted, it was you.
He jolted up, hearing the sound of someone knocking on his door. He practically bounced off of the wall, his spider senses going haywire, sensing that it was you. He swung the door open and saw you standing in the hallway wearing a casual outfit that you still looked cute in. Cute top, sweatpants, and pair of slippers that he bought you for Christmas one year that made him smile from ear to ear.
“Hey,” he said casually, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps flexing, which he was doing on purpose.
He watched as your eyes darted down quickly and back up. He noticed the way you swallowed, blinking quickly as if to get your mind back on track, which only made him smirk.
He was glad to know you still liked that.
“Hi,” you chirped. “So…” you trailed off, rocking back on your heels. “I made dinner and I accidentally made too much, I doubled the recipe,” you explained, rolling your eyes at your own stupidity. “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to come over and have dinner with me?”
Peter blinked, caught off guard. “I uh…yeah, I’ll have dinner. I’ll be over in a few.”
Your smile widened. “Perfect. See you in a few.”
You turned on your heel and went across the hallway to your own apartment. Peter went back into his and scrambled across the living room into his bedroom where he yanked off his tank top and sweatpants. He threw clothes out of his closet and tried on about five different outfits before deciding on a t-shirt and pair of jeans. He nearly tripped over the clothes that were now all over his floor as he raced towards his cologne, deciding on the one he knew you loved.
He grabbed his shoes and-
Wait…
Does he need shoes to take two steps across the hallway to your apartment?
He decided to slip on his slippers like you had. He grabbed a bottle of wine that he was saving for his Daily Bugle office party, figuring that this was more important.
Did you drink?
He wasn’t sure.
He’d bring it anyway.
He raced over to the door, hand halting over the handle.
Hold on…
Jeans? Really? You were in sweatpants!
He groaned and ran back into the kitchen, setting the wine bottle down and running back into his room, yanking a drawer open and grabbing a pair of sweatpants. He kicked the slippers off, hobbled on one foot, nearly falling over as he took his jeans off and replaced them with the sweats.
Peter went back to grab his slippers when a new thought filled his mind.
What if you had changed into jeans?
“No,” Peter lectured himself. “You look fine. You look great,” he reassured himself, though his heart was racing, which could’ve been because he just ran around his entire apartment in less than five minutes.
He made his way out of his apartment, standing in front of your door and taking a deep breath.
Knock knock.
Within two seconds you were at the door, opening it all the way.
He let out a sigh of relief to see that you were still in your sweatpants.
The scent of his cologne immediately filled your nose and you felt an odd tingling sensation in your finger tips, as if your powers were so desperately trying to remind you of something.
You raised a brow, knowing you didn't smelled cologne when you initially went to his place, meaning he put it on before coming to yours.
“Brought some wine!” Peter chirped, holding up the bottle. “I actually don’t know if you drink, but if not I have uh…” he trailed off, thinking. “Well, I don’t have anything except for water…out of the sink, but I’m saving up for a filter!”
You raised your brows as he rambled, and his face quickly went red in embarrassment. “I uh…” he laughed. “I’m joking,” he breathed out. “Well…not really, but…”
You giggled, stepping aside. “I don’t drink, but I’ll gladly try with you. Come on in.”
Peter made his way inside and looked around as you shut the door. Your apartment reminded him so much of your bedroom back at the Avenger’s Tower, it just looked as if you had grown up.
Because you both had.
Peter Parker was still the nerdy, awkward, and awfully cute boy you met back in high school that you unfortunately didn’t have the pleasure of remembering. But something about him had changed. He was more mature. Slightly less awkward but still rather awkward to a fault.
“Your apartment is nice,” he complimented, following you into the kitchen.
“Thanks,” you beamed. You reached into the cabinet and pulled out two regular glass cups. “I don’t have wine glasses,” you said sheepishly. “This should work, right?”
Peter smiled. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”
“Now would probably be a good time to tell you that I don’t have a bottle opener either.”
Peter shrugged, taking the foil off of the bottle. “It’s alright. I got it.” Peter’s muscles flexed ever so slightly as he quite literally flicked off the top. “Tada!”
Your eyes widened. “What the hell? How’d you do that?”
Peter smirked. “Well, I work out a lot,” he said smoothly, leaning against the counter.
You raised a brow. “Do you now?”
Peter nodded. “Yeah. Like, a lot.”
“Mhm.”
“I’m at the gym all the time.”
“Right.”
Peter smirked, watching as you tried to conceal your smile, which you were doing a very poor job at. “You’re smiling.”
Now you broke, smiling like a dork. “Because you’re funny.”
“But I didn’t say anything funny.”
“You did,” you said matter of factly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to impress me, Parker.”
“Are you impressed?”
You rolled your eyes and snagged the glasses off of the counter. “Come on. The food is getting cold.”
Peter smiled triumphantly to himself. Back when you two first met, you were both incredibly shy, but you managed to take charge, flirting with Peter constantly, making him a nervous mess.
But now time had changed you both.
Now Peter was the one with the confidence to flirt with you and make you all nervous.
He followed you to the small table in the kitchen where two bowls of pasta were sitting. You both sat down, Peter pouring both your glass a little less than halfway.
“So,” he said, trying to spark up a conversation, aka, trying to figure out how you had been the past few years since he had missed out. “How’d you manage to afford to live in the most expensive place in all of New York?”
You laughed because you and him definitely did not live in the most expensive place in all of New York. It was actually the cheapest and you considered it to be a literal shit box.
“I’m making, like, fifty cents above minimum wage working at a bookstore a few blocks down,” you said as he slid your glass of wine over to you. You grabbed the glass from him, your fingers just centimeters away from ghosting his…just centimeters away from knowing the truth. “It’s not bad though, I like it. What about you?”
Peter filled his glass the same amount as yours. “I work at the Daily Bugle. I get all the pictures of Spider-Man and stuff like that.”
Your eyes widened as he set the bottle down, meeting your gaze. “You know Spider-Man?”
Peter shook his head, averting his gaze. “No. I- I mean, I just get the pictures,” he said sheepishly, bringing the glass up to his lips.
You gave Peter a confused look. “Come on,” you said. “You must know him. I mean, how else do you get literal selfies of him on top of the Empire State Building? Unless…you are Spider-Man,” you joked.
Peter spit his drink out back into the cup, becoming a coughing mess. “Wha- What?! N- No-!” he managed out between coughs.
Your face contorted into one of pure bewilderment at his reaction, something you weren’t at all expecting. “Jeez, okay…”
Peter put his glass down, shaking his head adamantly. “I’m not Spider-Man,” he said sharply.
“Okay.”
“That wouldn’t even be possible.”
“I believe you.”
“I just…we’re close enough that he gives me those pictures.”
“Right.”
“I am not Spider-Man.”
“Exactly.”
It was silent for a beat as you stared at each other. By your expression and tone, Peter could tell that you were catching onto something, but he wasn’t quite sure what. It could’ve been the fact that he was Spider-Man, it could’ve been that you were slowly starting to realize you knew him before, he wasn’t sure.
One thing he knew for sure was that if you kept staring at him, you would probably start to put two and two together somehow, because you always did.
“Are you gonna try that?” he asked, motioning to the glass on the table.
You glanced down at it and grabbed it, bringing it to your nose.
“Oh, shit,” you grimaced, the scent burning.
Peter smiled. “It’s not all that bad.”
You brought the glass to your lips and immediately spat it back out into the glass. “What the hell!” you exclaimed. “How does anyone drink this shit?!”
Peter laughed. “This is supposed to be the good stuff.”
You gagged. “Gross.”
“So uhm,” he began, changing the subject, grabbing his fork and picking up some pasta with it, you repeating the action. “You got any family close by?”
Now, he was just checking to see if you still had your family of Avengers.
To his knowledge, and based upon where things were the last time you two were actually together, you had already lost Nat, Tony, and Steve, so you were really left with the only two people you were close to.
Sam and Bucky.
You had been complaining to Peter your whole field trip across Europe about how you hated living with Bucky because he was insanely over protective and the only reason you were on that trip was because of Sam.
But then again, Sam was also over protective, just slightly less.
Your fork clattered against the plate, making Peter’s brows raise slightly.
“Sorry,” you laughed awkwardly, picking it back up. “I uh…I don’t,” you said, figuring it would be best to not tell a stranger that you were a superhero and after you moved out, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson had a falling out, which meant they went their separate ways and suddenly you didn’t seem to exist to either of them anymore.
Bucky was a new Avenger and Sam was rounding up his own team and you were left behind.
“No?” Peter asked, not wanting to pry but so desperately curious to know that the past few years you’d been okay.
You couldn’t look at Peter as you shook your head. “No,” you said quietly.
Peter’s heart broke because that told him everything.
You had been just as alone as he had, with the exception of MJ and Ned of course.
You had no family and neither did he.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter shut the door behind him, back pressing into it as he slowly sank to the floor, letting out a deep sigh.
God, he still loved you more than anything.
Of course he did.
Peter was completely lost.
He wanted you to know that just a few years ago you were both so desperately in love with one another, and you were just one touch away from knowing it.
You clearly were interested in him, already starting to fall back in love with him all over again.
He could just fall back in love with you and act like there was no history, but what was the point?
He didn’t want you to know who he was anyway to keep you safe.
But his soul craved to be with you again.
He bit his lower lip in thought, deciding what to do.
He had to tell you.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Your nose was filled with the putrid smell of alcohol and marijuana as you leaned against the wall that was vibrating against your back due to the music.
You sipped on the red solo cup in your hand, the plastic filled a quarter of the way full with soda, which was probably meant to be used as a chaser, but you didn’t drink.
Your eyes scanned the party, watching college students do the most heinous things while under the influence.
“And then…there’s Miles. This random high school kid from Brooklyn who might be Spider-Man, but my friends said we probably shouldn’t be stalking a fifteen year old.”
Your friend, Ned, was rambling to someone about how you, MJ, and himself were on the brink of discovering who Spider-Man was, though you were all more than likely far off in your guesses.
MJ was beside you, arms crossed over her chest as she pointed out people for you to look at. First it was some frat guy standing on top of a table while chugging a bottle of beer, then it was some girl making out with her boyfriend, and now it was some loser who allegedly kept staring at you.
“That guy,” MJ said, nodding her head across the room. “He keeps looking over here every ten and a half seconds.”
You didn’t know who she was talking about due to the sheer amount of people in the room, and you didn’t necessarily care. “Glad to know you’re keeping tabs on potential threats,” you teased lightly heartedly.
“Hey,” MJ, shrugged. “Maybe once Spider-Man stops taking all your villains, you can get back at it. I feel like you don’t pay attention to anything anymore.”
Ever since the Avengers had gone their separate ways following Thanos, you hadn’t really done much as a masked hero.
You vaguely remember fighting alongside Spider-Man to defeat Mysterio and then there was something that felt like a blur with three Spider-Men, Dr. Strange, and villains from differing universes.
On numerous occasions, the ‘New Avengers’ had reached out about you joining their team, but you objected each time, partially because you hated the idea of your family of heroes being replaced, partially because of the politics surrounding it with Sam fighting for copyright, and partially because you enjoyed being a normal person for once.
Your entire teenage years were dedicated to fighting and for once in your life, you wanted to just live.
“I pay attention,” you said, finishing your drink.
MJ, pursed her lips, giving you an uncertain expression. “You know, a few years ago you would’ve thought that weird guy over there was out to get you because he’s been staring at you since you got here,” she said matter of factly. “Oh, not to mention he keeps scanning the room as if something bad is going to happen.”
You smirked. “Imagine he’s Spider-Man.”
MJ raised her brows. “That loser?”
You giggled. “I honestly don’t even know who you’re talking about.” Before MJ could respond, you flashed her your cup. “I’m going to get some more soda. Want anything?”
“Soda is good.”
You nodded with a smile and began to push your way through the crowd.
MJ’s eyes followed you briefly before glancing to the side. The ‘loser’ that she said was staring at you was following you, pushing his way through the crowd.
“What a dork,” she mumbled to herself, assuming that he was some socially awkward dweeb who had a crush on you.
In the kitchen, you had already filled up MJ’s cup and now you were filling up your own. You weren’t paying any attention and didn’t seem to notice the guy whose hands were shaking as he moved to stand beside you, refilling his cup that was already full.
It was Peter Parker, your neighbor, and you couldn’t seem to notice him in a crowded room. A few years ago, you would’ve thought he was the only person in the room, your eyes locking with his naturally.
It was like he didn’t even exist in your world all over again, and it was then he realized he couldn’t take it anymore.
You had to know.
You screwed the cap back onto the soda and grabbed the cups. The boy opened his mouth to say something, but you were already walking away.
As you began to push through the crowd again, you glanced down at the soda you had poured for MJ.
It was Sprite and he hated light soda, she preferred dark, something like Coke because ‘Light soda isn’t on the same wavelength as my soul,’ or whatever nonsense she said back in high school.
“Damn it,” you muttered to yourself, turning abruptly onto your heel.
Little did you know, that ‘loser’ MJ mentioned just moments ago was hot on your tail, following you.
You both accidentally collided into one another, your chest hitting his, sending your drinks, and his splashing, and very conveniently only hitting your clothes.
“Oh no!” he exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Are you alright?!”
Peter scrambled to figure out how to help, worried that he had completely ruined your night.
Then he looked at you and panic set in.
He recognized your reaction all too well.
Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at the half empty cups in your hands. You looked like you had seen a ghost.
As soon as you touched him, you saw everything.
The boy in high school you had fallen in love with.
The first time you’d met, Tony Stark introducing him as ‘The Spider-Ling’, to which Peter embarrassingly looked away from you when you laughed.
All those late nights staying up together over a video call, ranting about whatever books you were reading, a science project he was working on, or rambling on about your days, which you’d already spent together.
The first time he swung you all around New York when you couldn’t sleep, your arms wrapped tightly around him as your stomach dropped each time his webs redacted from a building.
Your first kiss at the top of the Empire State Building, slow, desperate, and messy.
The entire team of Avengers finding out about you two being together and embarrassing you both endlessly.
The two of you growing and maturing together right before college applications.
And that was the last you could remember of it because your memories had been taken from you.
It was like the room had fallen silent, the music fading out, and suddenly only you and the boy you spent your entire teenage years loving were the only people in the room, two hearts beginning to beat in the same rhythm again.
Your eyes slowly glanced up to meet his gaze, tears threatening to spill from them. Your mouth had gone dry, not even knowing what to say.
Peter’s face immediately washed over with realization.
You knew.
You touched him and your powers went off, telling you exactly everything that happened.
Before he could say anything, you turned around quickly, pushing as fast as you could through the crowd.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You managed to get away from the party, and found an empty fire escape on the side of the building where you sat crisscrossed, staring at the busy city despite it being so late at night.
You heard someone grunt softly and the sound of metal clanging. You turned and saw familiar brown hair and brown eyes.
Peter.
He gave you a soft smile, but you looked away, out into the skyline.
Peter’s smile faded, heart aching as he moved to sit beside you.
It was painfully quiet as he played with his fingers, not knowing what to say just yet.
Thankfully for him, you spoke up first.
“You promised me,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You promised you’d remind me of you. Of…of us.”
Peter glanced over to you, though your gaze remained on the skyline. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he apologized sincerely.
You finally turned to him, tears in your eyes. “Why?”
Peter swallowed, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I just…I thought that everyone was finally okay because I wasn’t there. You all got to finally go to college because you didn’t know me. You all got to be happy and live a life away from all that stuff. You guys didn’t need me.”
“I needed you, Peter,” you said. “I needed you more than anything.”
Peter’s heart absolutely shattered at your words and the pure hurt in your tone.
You grabbed Peter’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “I’d go back and do everything all over again if it means being with you. I’d go back and not get accepted into MIT. I’d go back and nearly die. I’d do it all over again, Peter.”
Peter’s expression softened. “I just wish it wasn’t like this. I want you safe and I want you to get everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“But that’s just the cards we’ve been dealt,” you said softly, his hand still in yours. “If we hadn't been dealt them, who’s to say we would’ve ever been together?”
Peter sighed, staring out into the city. “It’s not fair to you. You deserve better and it was selfish of me to even think about getting back with you.”
You stayed silent, staring at Peter before looking away again.
“You know,” he began, letting out another sigh. “I had this whole plan to tell you tonight about everything. I assumed you wouldn’t believe me so then I was going to get you to use your powers and-” he cut himself off, shutting his eyes. “It was stupid. So stupid.”
You shifted your body, turning sideways to face him fully. “Peter,” you said softly.
He slowly glanced up to meet your gaze. “Yeah?”
“It wasn’t stupid.”
Peter’s brows pressed together. “But it was-”
“Not, it wasn’t,” you interrupted him.
Peter then began to ramble a mile a minute, and it started to remind you of him in high school.
“Okay, but like, I just keep you in danger, and I know you always have been in danger because you have powers, but I feel like you’re in additional danger and-”
“Peter-”
“I just want you to be safe and I think maybe we should go back to not knowing each other-”
“Peter-”
“Not that I don’t want to know you, because I love you, and I-”
Peter cut himself off, face a bright shade of pink. He looked at you with wide eyes, your lips parted slightly.
Your lips slowly curved upward into a teasing smile as he began to panic again.
“No! I didn’t mean that!” Peter exclaimed. “Wait! I mean, I do love you but- but- like, you know- actually-”
Peter’s words weren’t cut off because you interrupted him verbally again.
No.
You kissed him.
Soft and gentle just like you had that night on the Empire State building.
Peter didn’t freeze up like he did that night.
He immediately melted into it, kissing you back.
Your powers gave you the ability to recall history or memories of the past. Peter’s did not, but something about that kiss made him remember the feeling he had been missing for years. The feeling he craved to experience again.
And that feeling was you.
The missing piece of his soul was you and it always had been.
You pulled apart, forehead resting on his. “I love you too,” you said softly, glancing up at him, cupping his cheek.
Peter swallowed. Hard. “You- You do?”
“I do.”
Peter’s lips curved into a smile. “I love you too.”
“Good,” you said, thumb brushing his cheek. “So, do you wish I could lose my memory of you again?”
“No,” Peter chuckled, leaning into your touch. He reached for your hand that held his cheek and kissed it softly. “Never.”
Harry 'Wroetoshaw' Lewis x fem!reader
A/N: reader gave birth and uses she/her pronouns. use of y/n. mentions of difficult pregnancy and like.. babies i guess. y/n isn't an influencer but uses social media and stuff. death threats (not serious). pregnancy out of wedlock and jokes about it. i have no motivation so im sorry guys
summary: Alfie and his mrs attempt to test how well they know each other by drowning
contains: mentions of drowning
word count: 1130
a/n: I saw liv and bach do this trend and wanted to write a quick drabble for Alfie and his mrs. also sorry for the lack of posts i've been away on holiday for the past few weeks!!!!
The pool was warm enough that neither of you minded lingering in it long after the sun had started dipping lower, turning everything gold at the edges. Your phone was propped precariously on a sun lounger, and Alfie clapped his hands together once, entirely too pleased with himself.
"Right. No cheating."
"You literally can't cheat."
"I could."
"How??"
"I don't know yet." He flashed you the most innocent and toothy smile you'd ever seen, which was more alarming than if he'd just admitted to a plan outright. "Three. Two. One."
Round one, favourite film.
You rested your hands on his shoulders, felt him brace, and pushed him under before he'd even finished bracing properly. His curls floated up around his head as he tried to stare at you through the water, dramatically, like a man drowning in a period drama. You bit back a laugh and looked at the camera instead. "My favourite film is 10 Things I Hate About You," you said, then nodded down toward the blur of him beneath the surface, "and Alfie's is Django Unchained. Purely because he thinks quoting it makes him sound intimidating." You could practically feel him objecting to that from underwater. You let him back up, and he burst through the surface gasping, wiping water off his face and coughing like he’d swallowed half the pool.
"That's vile."
"Skill issue."
Before you could get another word out, his hands found your shoulders in return, and you barely had time to inhale before you went under, the world dissolving into blue quiet. Above you, Alfie grinned straight into the phone. "My favourite film's Django Unchained," he said, entirely unbothered, "obviously." Then, pointing down at you, "Hers is 10 Things I Hate About You. She's made me watch it so many times I know half the dialogue at this point. I still don't get why everyone fancies Heath Ledger that much." You shot back up the second you were free.
"What did you just say?"
He looked painfully smug. "You'll see."
"I don't like that face."
Round two, favourite food.
You dunked him again without warning. "My favourite food is my nan's roast dinner," you said, smiling sweetly at the camera. "Alfie's favourite food is chicken nuggets. Not the nice ones. Proper freezer ones, shaped like dinosaurs, or McDonald’s nuggets." He resurfaced with the wounded dignity of a man publicly slandered. "I feel attacked."
"You don't even know why yet."
"I can sense it, you always criticize me for my diet.” He grabbed your shoulders in retaliation, and down you went. "My favourite food," he announced grandly, "is literally anything uncoloured." Then, pointing at you underwater, "Hers is sushi. Unless garlic bread's involved, in which case garlic bread wins, actually, no, garlic bread always wins." You came up laughing. “If you’ve said anything other than chicken nuggets you’re lying.” You pointed at him, knowing he wouldn’t admit that.
Round three, favourite dessert.
Under he went again, spluttering slightly this time from the sheer amount of pool water he'd already inhaled. "My favorite dessert is a cinnamon roll, and Alfie's favourite dessert," you said, too gleeful about it, "is chocolate cake, and he will insist on having a slice even when he’s about to burst from eating too much. I mean we all saw Inside." You brought him just in time to stop him from basically drowning. Your turn to go under came next, and he considered his answer with far too much seriousness for a man holding his girlfriend's head underwater. "Hers is anything with strawberries in it. She'll deny it, but I've seen the fridge. And mine is obviously chocolate cake."
Round four, first thing you noticed.
Under he went, patient beneath the surface while sunlight rippled across the pool’s surface. "The first thing I noticed about Alfie," you said, smiling despite yourself, "was his endless attempts to make jokes that would impress me." You considered for a second. "He's probably going to say my trainers or something equally stupid." Back up he came. "What?"
"Nothing."
"You've got guilty eyes.”
"I've got beautiful eyes." His turn. You went under, and he looked at the camera, smiling to himself. "First thing I noticed about her was her smile," he said, then immediately reconsidered. "Actually, no. It was probably that she looked like she was judging me." He nodded. "Yeah. She's going to say I noticed her shoes, which I didn't. I don't even know what shoes she had on." You resurfaced to find him smiling at you rather than the phone. "What're you smiling at?"
"You."
"Ew."
Round five, biggest fear.
Splash. "My biggest fear is something happening to the people I love," you said, then pointed down at him. "Alfie's biggest fear is definitely accidentally sending the wrong screenshot to the group chat or posting the wrong thing on Snapchat." He came up blinking. "I feel attacked again."
"You don't even know what I said."
"I know the vibe."
"The vibe?" He shoved you under in retaliation. "My biggest fear's probably sharks," he said, frowning, glancing around the very obviously shark-free swimming pool. "Which is irrational, given the circumstances." He pointed down at you. "Hers is moths. They're just weird flying dust, I don't get it. Or spiders." You surfaced immediately. "What did you just say?"
"Nothing."
"You've got that smile again."
"It's a lovely smile."
"It's really not."
Round six, worst habit.
Down went Alfie. "Alfie's worst habit is leaving damp towels literally everywhere," you said, without hesitation. "The floor. The bed. The back of chairs. One time he hung one over my WII." You shook your head at the camera. "I've never recovered. And my worst habit is I keep interrupting people." He surfaced looking personally executed. His turn. You went under. "My girlfriend's worst habit is interrupting," he said, laughing to himself. "I'll be halfway through a sentence and she'll go, 'oh my god, that reminds me—'" He pointed down at you. "My worst habit's the towels. I'm accepting responsibility before the comments do." You resurfaced to find him grinning.
Round seven, who said 'I love you' first.
You pushed him under. "I did," you said, smiling softly at the memory. "And he just stared at me for about five whole seconds. I genuinely thought he'd forgotten how to speak. Turns out he was just buffering." He resurfaced, indignant. "What?" "Nothing." "You've definitely stitched me up." He dragged you under one last time. "The first 'I love you' was her," he said, smiling down at the water where you floated. "I froze completely. I knew I loved her, I just wasn't expecting to hear it standing outside a Tesco." He laughed. "It looked like Windows XP trying to load." You burst back up. "What was that laugh for?"
The weight of loneliness causes you to finally snap at your husband
A/N: Yall I used to be so good at writing angst until the hormone demon took over😭. Here's my attempt at angst after awhile.
“What is it about me that disgusts you so?”.
That question had haunted your mind for months, rattling in your brain until you felt insanity clawing at you constantly. You always kept it inside, refusing to let it out, in fear of offending him. He never gave you any reason to fear him in the way normal wives feared their husbands. You knew he would never raise a hand to you, and for awhile, you tried to be happy with this. “At least he doesn’t beat me”. What a sad and pathetic life that was.
All you wanted was for him to see you. To attempt to make some sort of connection with you. That always seemed to be the least of his concerns. You craved some sort of proof that your new life did not have to be such a miserable shame.
“What is it about me that disgusts you so?”.
That question always stayed in your mind, but not tonight. It slipped from your tongue, your back against his in your shared bed.
You wondered for a moment if he heard you, until he finally spoke with a simple “what?”.
You had two choices - say nevermind and go to sleep or confront him. Saying nevermind would make things less tense. You could always say you were speaking in your sleep if he questioned you the next day. But then you thought back to that intense feeling of isolation you had felt ever since you arrived in Winterfell.
“I said” you took a deep breath, “what is it about me that disgusts you so?”. You forced yourself to sit up, “it must be something. Do I disgust you because I am not from Winterfell? Would you have preferred a Northern bride? Or maybe I have done something to offend you”. Had you? Surely not. If Cregan Stark wanted a bride from his homeland, he could have just picked one. You did not ask to marry him! All of this was done without your consent!
Targaryens were said to have otherworldly beauty, but you would argue Cregan Stark was just as beautiful. His dark hair was lazily tied back in a low bun. His eyes, usually hard, appeared in a tired haze. You could see peeks of his collarbone underneath his loose black sleepwear. No white hair, no purple eyes, no dragons. Just pure northern beauty.
“There is nothing wrong with you”. His voice was always so monotone. You hated it. There was no emotion. No love. He never spoke softly to you at all. You felt like another one of his guards rather than his wife. “Go back to bed”.
“I will not!” You exclaimed defiantly as you got to your feet. He would not push you away like he always did. “If there is nothing wrong with me, then why do you treat me as if I am just some commoner instead of your wife? You spend more time on an ice wall, staring out at supposed ghouls and goblins, than with me. These fake-“.
“What’s beyond the wall is real”.
You scoffed, feeling your blood grow hot despite the freezing weather. “Go marry one of them then. At least they will have your attention”.
Cregan sighed. He probably thought he was too good for this conversation! How dare you, his outsider wife, question him? If you weren’t so angry, you would’ve saw the confliction in his eyes. The way he let his hair down before tying it again, would’ve been seen as a way for him to steady himself, instead of being mistakenly seen as him being bored of you.
“I have duties and responsibilities. I cannot be here at all times. I have to worry about my people. I am sworn to them”.
The words hardly left his mouth when you screamed, “no, you are sworn to me!”. You turned to face the table, taking in the view of papers and books littered across the dark wood. “The history of the North…” you thought aloud. You read each book cover to cover several times. You even asked the maesters to tell you stories about their home. History, myths, stories used to scare children, signs of good and bad luck, you learned every little bit of this place in an attempt to connect with him. It all meant nothing. You let out a bitter laugh. “Do you truly think I have ever cared for Northern history before I came here?". You shook your head in shame, looking down at the notes you took down. "I do not care about The King Who Knelt, or the Lords before you, or the trees, or the damn ice spiders or anything else in these stupid pages".
You ripped the notes in a fury, a thing you'd likely come to regret later. "Hours spent putting ink to paper and it has meant nothing". It did nothing to make you closer. How could you have a conversation with someone who shut you down so easily? You forced yourself to face him, "I care for you. I have tried so hard to become closer to you by learning about your home because I know how important Winterfell is to you, and you dismiss me at every turn! Tell me, what do you know of my home?".
If you weren't so full of a rage built by months of loneliness, you would've saw the hurt in his face. He extended his hand, "come to me". But you did not hear the desperation in his voice. All you felt was pain.
"I am alone here. My people, my culture, my family, foods I like, activities I like to do, my friends... they are all gone. It is freezing cold here and I know no one and I feel the stares from people and you, my husband, the one who is supposed to offer me a bit of comfort, flee from me like I am a disease. You have everything and everyone you need here. I have nothing. Why- gods". You wiped at your eyes like some pathetic sniffling child. That must've been how he saw you. "Why do you not let me connect with you?".
Your gaze went down to the floor. You couldn't bare to look at him anymore. His face was too lifeless, like pretending to care about you would kill him. "My Lady, there is nothing wrong with you. If I could be near you more, I would-".
"More excuses" you whispered, defeated. This was foolish. You accomplished nothing here. Your isolation would burn more, knowing you expressed yourself but there would be no change. "I will sleep in my own bedchamber tonight and we can forget this conversation ever happened".
If you had looked at him before storming away, you would see him fumble for words to make you stay.
If you could see inside his head, you would see that Cregan did indeed want to connect with you, but wasn't sure how. He didn't want to force himself in your life. To become your unwanted shadow. So he tended to his duties like he would before you got married.
And if you were Cregan, you would know he prayed to his gods for you safety and happiness daily. You would know he always made sure the cooks made you sweet treats after meals since a member of your family told him you liked sweets after eating. You would know he scolded anyone speaking terribly about his outsider wife. You would know he kissed your forehead when he arrived home and you were already sleeping. You would know that on your wedding night, he was as gentle as humanly possible, in hopes of making your first time not so terrible. You would know that tonight, Cregan got himself dressed so he could pray to the old gods and ask for guidance.
But you were not him, and he was not you.
And when there is a lack of communication, things are doomed to fail.
Off topic kinda but when I saw Cregan on screen for the first time I was like "bitch I know that ain't child Uhtred son of Uhtred".
warning, genre : angst, hurt with comfort. fluff. tragcest. misunderstandings. 18+ mdni. not readproof.
plot : you are rhaenyra's oldest daughter, you have valyrian features like your mother, youre a year older than jace. there is no dance with dragons going on. but slight rebellion from the lords.
summray : you always thought that you and your sweet brother knows about eachother the most. but it got twisted when some lords started to give there opinions about the rightful heir of the throne, your mother was sitting on it at the moment.
wc : 1,4k
talking to your brother was always really easy for you. jacaerys was always so good to you and your other siblings but especially to you. it was more than brotherly and sisterly love. between you both it was something romantic. at some point you both were aware of it, but neither of you confessed. just small gestures like brushing of fingers when you both sit beside eachother during meals. his kisses on your knuckles. that is all.
but as his older sister and oldest daughter of rhaenyra with valyrian features, the lords in the small council felt puzzled.
after your mother took her rightful throne. the conversation about who is going to be ' the queen's heir ' majority of people said that you should be, as you look more targaryen then your brother jace and you are older than him ? it is more of a good choice, right ?
but some said jacaerys should be the heir because he is the oldest son of the queen.
well you clearly told your mother and the lords of the small council that, you wish for no throne or crown it shall go to jacaerys as it should be. which earned you a chuckle from daemon. whisperers from the lords.
and uncertain look from your mother and your sweet brother. and it strucked you... how could he not believe you ? how...
you had thought that you made yourself clear. did you not tell everyone that you desire no power ? so why ?
not to jacaerys though... he was there in that council meeting. but it was not enough for him to feel at ease ?
then you noticed that he started to avoid you at any cost.
before all of this, you both used to ride together on your she dragon moonfyre and him on his male dragon vermax, but now he would leave alone... even if you try to approach him. he would look at you but leave that place immediately ?
you wondered " why ? he is seeing me as his enemy ? how could that happen ? how could your sweet brother think that you would betray him and start a rebellion against him ? "
moving through the corridors, whenever your gaze meet his.. his experience would softens for a moment then he would walk past you with a polite bow. it was painful. all of it.
at one evening you were in the garden, sitting on the grass with your little brothers joffrey, aegon and viserys. they were playing together.
but you were lost in your thoughts about him. joffrey shouted jace's name which pulled you out of your thoughts. you saw him. your gaze met his for a moment but he again looked away instantly.
you felt like your heart has shattered in small that nothing will help to repare it again.
you rise up from the grass and walked towards him in a hurry. but alas ! your gown got between your foot and you lost your balance and fell on the ground. you looked up from the ground. he was looking at you with an expression filled with pain.
his jaw clenched.
though he did not come to help. it was luke who did it and your handmaids while your little siblings started sobbing.
you were now in your bedchambers, you had scratches all over your knees. and palms. it was painful, the maesters clean them up and put bandages on your injuries.
you were sitting alone. your head was resting on the headboard.
your thoughts were floating around jace. tears started to form around your eyes in exhaustion. you felt like your world has collapsed completely.
you finally drifted in sleep with the mercy of your wounds and exhaustion.
the next morning you woke up from the sunlight hitting your face, coming through the window. and painting your face in golden and your hair in molten gold. you were blank for a while then you felt the ache from your wounds. and you remembered anything.
you wondered " jace probably does not care about you anymore." while looking up at the ceiling of your bedchamber.
but it was the opposite. he was restless the whole night, pacing around his solar. asking luke, your mother and maesters. about your health.
after luke left your chamber, jace asked for him in his solar. when luke entered in the solar, he was standing there, his hips were resting on his desk. arms were crossed on his chest.
" is she faring well ? " his voice was filled with concern and worry. and his gaze was sad and almost regretfull.
" visit her, if you wish to know." luke shrugged carelessly as he took a seat on the armchair. at his answer jace clenched his jaw in frustration.
the days turned into weeks.
now you stopped looking at him. noticing him, seeking him out, your mother asked you what is happening between you and jace, you just half shrugged it off. with small heartless chuckle.
the moment you started avoiding him, he felt like he is going crazy. he would look for you everywhere. in the garden, in dragonpit, anymore you were supposed to be.
but you were out of his reach.
it was during the time of your youngest brother viserys, name day. the banquet was lavish and fancy.
you were adorned in fancy silks of targaryen colours, and pretty jewels, you were looking absolutely beautiful. but sitting further away from him on the long table, beside your aunt helaena, nursing on your wine.
he was sitting beside your mother, you were almost too drunk. your mind was fuzzy, you could feel his gaze on you. it was filled with longing and desperation.
you look at him behind the rim of your goblet. your dizzy gaze met his intense ones for a swift moment. then you looked away.
it snapped something inside him. he got up from his seat and crossed the table hurriedly and walked towards you. he leaned closer.
"we need to talk sister." he whispered near your ear. it was too intimate, you felt a shiver run down your spine. and all the dizziness flew away.
for a while you just stayed silent, trying your best to grasp the situation. you looked around the table, you saw daemon looking at you both with his playful smile, like he was enjoying this. but your mother scolded him lazily.
then you replied " what it is it brother ? talk here." your voice came small and soft with wine.
" not here, please." was he pleading now ? you wondered. you finally rise up from your seat, he took his arm out, and you take it firmly. both of you excused yourselves from your mother.
you were beside him walking out of the great hall, leaving the cheerful atmosphere of banquet, and stopping in garden. it was quiet. and almost peaceful.
you opened your mouth to say something. but you felt his strong strength around you. he was hugging you tightly that it was almost bruising. his face was buried in your hair like he was smelling you in.
" jac- jacaerys..." his name left from your lips in confusion and shock.
" please... do... do not push me away." his voice was muffled against your hair.
you stayed still. you did not move at all, how could you ? his body was pressed against you, it was warm, it was him...
your sweet jace... you lifted your arms hesitantly and finally wrapped them around his waist. he settled against you like a puzzle piece. you were relieved but still in shock and disbelief.
" gods i... missed this, i missed you." his muffled voice was ringing in your ear. your hand was moving on his back in slow petting.
" im sorry... i am so sorry. forgive me..." even without looking at him you could tell that he was crying. you finally let go of his embrace and cupped his face with your palms, and caress his cheeks with your thumbs.
" what for ? " you asked slowly, a sob left from his mouth. he was looking so pretty while crying.
" for avoiding you... for doubting you... for not telling you that how much... how much i am in love with you." he murmured, his face was flushed, he was embarrassed you know it, because his gaze was not meeting yours.
" oh jace. it is alright. please... do not cry." you whispered softly as you pressed soft kisses on the corner of lips.
" i have already forgiven you-" you could not even able to finish your sentence. his lips were on yours. it was not a soft kiss, like every first kisses are supposed to be ? it was consuming. it was hungry. he licked your bottom lip, his tongue slipped in your mouth it was exploring your mouth, it sucked on your tongue, his hands found your waist, he pulled you closer against him, you felt like your brain is turning in to mush. your breathes mingled. the heat inside your stomach was too much, you felt like youre going to melt against him.
then he finally pulled away. there was a thin string of saliva connecting you both. you both were flushed and breathing heavily, your eyes were half lidded and dizzy.
" we will rule these kingdoms together, my sweet. yes ? " he whispered against your lips as he cupped your cheek with his palm gently. you just nodded slowly... all you could think of is you are so inlove with him.
