#tom!peter x reader

[sempiternalbeauty]

my recent bed time scenarios but nobody asked:

peter parker being sexy

peter parker being angsty

peter parker being super cool hero bf

thank you

[elisa20beth]

You're My Silver Lining

peter parker x reader

summary: being a broke, exhausted, young adult wasn't ideal, but that's life. all it took were cheap walls, and a new york slice, for you to learn there was truly more to it. you were given a chance to revive the colors within your soul, and it felt like it was fate--nothing could stop you from going down this new path. well, maybe an avoidant, dumb boy could...right?

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

word count: 8.8k

warnings/content: fluff, hurt/comfort, somehow ventured into angst?, fem!reader, set right after the plot of No Way Home, friends to idiots to lovers, references to reader working in public health (self-indulgence *wink-wink*), got kinda introspective and reflective at the end, peter being avoidant, peter also needing a hug (and getting said hug), reader learning to put herself first, but they both learn to grow is to change :) (please bear with me if this bad)

a/n: guys, i started this in 2022 and totally forgot about this. i read a frank langdon fic (never seen the pitt though LOL) that got me off my butt, and inspired me to finish this. got off track several times within this, and it shows...BUTT it actually got beta-read!! (shout out rose!) also, peep the New Girl and Princess Diaries references

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

The worn-down steps you routinely followed every morning were usually joined with the infuriating pitter-patter of the leaky faucet, destined to become the death of you. Today was no different; Until it wasn’t. 

The constant beating was suddenly disturbed by an eccentric commotion coming from the room next door, separated by a cheap, thin wall–situational abnormality growing due to its long-time abandoned status by its last inhabitant as a result of ‘slumlord’ exploitation. Whoever fell for the old man’s tactics must be desperate, you thought, brushing it off, but not enough to extinguish your growing curiosity. So, you continue getting ready for your internship, one that pays you just enough for it to be worth it. 

The ruckus becomes amplified as you fight your way out the door, the janky doorknob refusing to cooperate. Just as you find yourself standing near the source of the recent clamor, a figure rushes past you, the only thing you catch being a cardboard box labeled ‘Star Wars’ in rushed, Sharpie lettering, and slams the door shut to their new residence. 

You walk up to the door, raising your hand to knock on the door lightly, but you're cut short by the light reflecting off your wristwatch, catching your attention.

Remembering you’d rather not be chewed out by your manager again this week, you rushed down the creaking stairs and out the entryway, to be met with the morning rush. Taking a deep breath, you let yourself mellow back into your routine. Finding the identity of this mysterious person will have to wait until you come back.

…

Trudging back up the stairs in your scrubs, you glance at the door residing next to yours, and wonder if you have the energy to work up the confidence to finally feed the curiosity that's been bubbling inside all day.

But you come back to your senses when you remember the aching throb on the side of your abdomen and the hassle with the doorknob, the only obstacle between you and your bed.

Frankly, after the day you had and all the people who decided to make your job harder than it already is, all you needed was a quiet atmosphere to help wind you down. But as you hear the whir of a sewing machine from next door, you realize your fantasies of a relaxing evening have very low chances of becoming reality. 

Finally getting the door to budge open, you feel the presence of a headache blooming. “This is going to be a long night,” you mutter, dragging your hands across your face.

The ambiance of the room shifts with the hazy, evening sun, soon filled with feelings of euphoria as you strip from your sweat-infused work clothing and tread into the shower. The steam manages to distract your bodily aches and mental exhaustion as your soul escapes from their grasp. 

Even as you make an effort to scrub every resistant community member’s misdirected anger, it’s obvious that they aren’t going down without a fight, so you step out and throw on a less restrictive ensemble and collapse on your bed. With the creaking of your mattress springs trailing behind, you reach over to turn off your lamp light, allowing darkness to envelop the room with the hug of night.

Lying on your bed, twisting and turning, trying to get comfortable, couldn’t be any more difficult as you hear the continuing angry whir of a sewing machine passing through the paper-thin walls.

You groan as you realize your trusted home remedy of taking on the persona of a housecat was not fixing anything--absolutely nothing at all. It got to the point where you actually had to try to find a solution, and not ‘Wanda Maximoff’ it into existence.

Pushing yourself off your bed, not even caring about rehearsing the first meeting, you shuffle your way to the door. But for the third time today, the doorknob had a personal vendetta against you and decided to make life a little bit harder than it should be--that was your last straw.

You huff frustratingly and knock-no-bang on the door of the source of that belligerently annoying sound. You can tell the person on the other side has the same problem with the doorknob as they struggle to open the door. You realize the culprit revealed themself when you look up and are met with soft brown eyes, belonging to a guy around the same age as you--a cute one at that.

“Hey I know we haven't met but I’m your next door neighbor and I've had a very long day at work and I would really appreciate it if you could keep it down whatever..” you peer past his shoulder and see some kind of full bodysuit at his desk but he swerves to catch your eye before you're able to distinguish any details. “..craft project you have cooking up in there,” you hesitantly finish, becoming slightly confused.

You look back up at him, frustration filling your eyes as he stands there, seemingly frozen. Just as you’re about to turn around to head back in, he speaks up, apologizing profusely.

“I am so sorry. I honestly didn’t realize I was bothering anyone. I can totally stop if that would make it better?”

“No, you’re fine,” you countered, not wanting to cause any issues. “Just-” you started, “- could you keep it down a bit?”

“Y-yeah, of course. At least you told me about it and not the elderly guy a few doors down,” he offers as a way to ease the agitation filling the surrounding atmosphere. 

It didn’t work very well. You half-heartedly chuckle when you realize the conversation was over just as soon as it started.

“Um-” you click your tongue lightly, “I’m gonna head back, so I guess goodbye?” trying to sound neighborly, only for it to come out in a pissy, tired tone that only shows up when your body can’t fight exhaustion any longer.

“Oh, oh yeah, it was nice meeting you and I-I’ll make sure to keep it down over here!” 

A ghost of a smile paints itself on your face in response as you slide back into your studio. Slipping back into bed, you fall asleep much more easily due to the sudden change from the hums and bustle from next door to complete and utter silence.

…

..Beep Beep

You woke up to the sound of your ringing alarm- the only sound you woke up to that morning. 

“I guess he really did keep to his promise,” you muttered, still fighting the morning grogginess.

Relishing the only breath of freedom that your job has to offer, you make a plan to spend your Sunday catching up on miscellaneous work and getting ahead of due dates.

Even as you build time in your week for this kind of stuff, making sure to work around your clocked-in hours, becoming on-track to earn your bachelor's earlier than you thought was soon discovered to be something you shouldn’t have signed up for so blindly. 

Yet as you make your way to get dressed for the day, you can’t help but feel this nagging feeling in the back of your mind, like you’d done something minuscule, yet the memory will sit dormant in your head, only making itself known when it taunts you in the middle of the night. And as you make your way around the time-passing jobs you set for yourself, the once nagging feeling starts to propel itself to the forefront of your mind and becomes more prominent every minute. You fear for the worst–that you’d actually have to confront it.

Hearing the slam of a door outside your studio apartment made you realize the reason for your endless guilt. You didn’t think telling someone to keep it down would cause you to feel this bad, and yet, you can’t help but feel the need to apologize.

Normally, you're not the one telling others to keep it down, and he obviously didn’t mean to disturb anyone, but he was the nut using a sewing machine in the late hours of the night. And living between walls like these, you could hear everything: keeping it down, especially at night, would be common sense. Right?

No, no, you just needed to stop the back-and-forth debate about the guy whose name is still a mystery to you and just set things right so your mind wouldn’t be at war anymore. 

But- I should apologize for my tone, or at least give a proper, neighborly welcome, you think. At least it was you who told him to keep it down, and not one of the residents who make a noise complaint when someone makes the faintest bit of noise at night.

You would know; being their target when you first moved in was not enjoyable.

Frustrated, you slip your shoes on to do your favorite thing to calm down–taking a walk through the real-life manifestation of the definition of overstimulation. Maybe it’ll help you decide on which route to pick with the next-door neighbor situation. Do you ignore it, let it pass, or attempt to make a bond with your newfound neighbor? Lord knows you need one. At least to grab the results of your night-time online shopping before it gets stolen.

It all came to an end when the smell of a savory concoction started swirling around you from around the corner, leading your feet right to the answer of your latest debacle. 

“Pizza,” you muttered, “you can manipulate anyone into forgiving you with that,” you sputter to yourself as you start to make a fool-proof plan. Operation neighbor-truce was officially a go.

…

Trudging up the ancient stairwell, with the cheesy delight practically burning your hand off, you run through your scripted re-introduction while working your way over to his door. You knock on your neighbor’s door, sentences practiced to perfection.

Yet as he opens up the door, every bit of your plan flees, leaving your mind blank; only improv could save you now.

“Um,” you blank, struggling to break the tension as you retain eye contact with the man you confronted yesterday. He beats you to it, somehow making you feel even worse.

“Did I disturb you again? I am so sorry,” He starts anxiously sputtering, “I truly didn’t mean-” You cut him off, wanting to accidentally Pavlov him into apologizing every time you see his face.

“No!” you interrupt (a tinge too loud), cringing at your hypocrisy, “I hated the way we started yesterday, and I totally get it if you couldn't care less,” pausing your rambling to catch your breath, “But I really want to restart.”

You take a deep breath to regain your composure. “Hi, I’m your next-door neighbor, Y/N, and I wanted to welcome you to this state-of-the-art building," gesturing to the greasy box. Your free hand juts out as you leisurely introduce yourself.

 “Also, as a sorry for your first impression of me being my wonderful self post-work shift,” you quickly add on. 

He stares at you for a second before taking your hand and introducing himself with a smile.

“Hi, I’m Parker-” he pauses and shakes his head, seemingly messing up, “um Peter Parker; not just Parker,” He awkwardly chuckles. “And I accept your welcoming-apology combo pizza. Please, come in,” he says, opening the door wider as he gladly gestures to you inside.

“I hope it’s pepperoni,” was heard muttering behind you as you shuffled around each other, entering Peter’s apartment, similar to yours. 

…

“So you’re telling me that someone almost started a fire because they forgot about their turkey in the dryer?” Peter questions, not believing anything about your other neighbor next door.

“I swear!” you exclaim, “I know it sounds fake, but I spent days afterwards struggling to get rid of the burnt turkey smell that somehow permeated into my apartment walls!”

You and Peter fall into a comfortable silence, the buzz of New York’s nighttime traffic backing it up. Your legs splay comfortably in front of you as you lean your head against the metal bars of his fire escape. Lying down the half-eaten piece of pizza in the box, you ask the question that’s been dying to be answered-

“I know I came here to put yesterday in the past, but I have to ask, what in the world were you doing using a sewing machine quarter till midnight?” 

Peter’s content expression falters for a split second, trying to come up with a believable lie.

“I um,” He stammers, closing his eyes for a second, trying to regain his composure, “I just had a hole in my um.. My work clothes. You know how it is, coming out of high school, trying to survive in New York City. The last thing I needed was to waste more money than I needed to.”

“Tell me about it.” You agree, succumbing to his lie, while he lets go of the breath he didn't know he was holding, shoulders slumping in relief. You reluctantly nod down at your watch, not realizing what time it is.

“Shoot,” you start panicking. 

“Hey, what's wrong?” Peter asks, confused by the sudden change in emotion.

“I didn’t realize how late it was. I’ve got to go, I have work in the morning. I’m so sorry!” you hurriedly explain, scrambling to stand back up, bummed by the sudden ending of your hangout.

He senses your guilt and reassures you that you did nothing wrong. You both climb back into the small studio apartment.

But before you were able to head back into your place, he catches your attention, “hey, uh… sorry that I held you up so much,” as if he was expecting you to interrupt with a flurry of reassurance, he continues, “I know that we just met but I’m kinda going through something right now and didn’t know how much I needed that until you came over.”

You give him a sweet, tender smile. “I’m glad I could help, and if I’m being honest, I don’t think I realized I needed that, too. Maybe we could hang out again sometime?”

“Yeah, I’d really like that,” He responds, “And I’ll try my best not to give in to the addiction of my sewing machine.” He adds on, giving you a playful smirk.

“I might just have to come over again if you do.”

You both gaze at each other, seemingly locked in a trance, until a loud crash from the next floor up brings you both out of it. Giving him a sheepish smile, you pad back into the privacy of your identical studio apartment, not realizing your “operation neighbor-truce” kickstarted a tradition neither one of you was willing to break.

…

You’ve always had the habit of doing “spur of the moment” actions, and most of the time, you’ve come to regret them–not this time. The moment you realized your most recent “spur of the moment” didn’t come back to haunt you was when Peter came knocking on your door, exactly a week later, staring at something on the wall with a hot, fresh pizza taking residence in his grasp when you opened your door. 

From him teaching you about the wonders of Star Wars to you showing him how addictive trashy reality shows were, you’ve never spent another Sunday bored or lonely. And with the collection of residents that live there, it was truly a wonder that you found each other, the only bright light in each other's lives at that point.

But then Peter started acting off; something obviously wasn’t right. The signs started showing up when you started seeing him sport bruises that weren't there the previous week.

And it became more and more obvious as time went on, no matter how hard he tried to cover it up. There would always be an injury he would fail to cover that you couldn’t help but glance at every so often; the injury that he would always have an excuse for, ready to blame a new inanimate object every week. 

And it sure didn’t help when scrolling on social media, you would see Spider-Man stopping more and more crimes, even more violent than the last.

The thought couldn’t help but creep into your mind that-no, no. That’s impossible; there’s no way that Peter Parker, your next-door, awkward, nerdy genius, would be Spider-Man. Every time the conspiracy popped into your mind, a detail would extinguish the theory.

So, in the end, you just brushed off any new injury, bruise, or healing wound as a result of clumsiness and continued with your weekly traditions. You thought this Sunday would be the same, ignoring any new discoloration for both of your sakes.

…

It was your turn this week to provide the “Sunday dinner” and you couldn’t be happier, even though your boss asked you to come in on the only free day of the week. As retribution, she let you off earlier than expected, allowing you to grab the pizza earlier than you initially expected, opening up to you the possibility of more time together. 

Walking home from the pizzeria, you skimmed the most recent article about Spider-Man’s latest debacle, not paying attention to your surroundings, when a wave of people came surging out of a random restaurant, almost knocking you to your feet. Just as you regain your balance, you realize your hand is several pounds lighter. You start to dread the fact that your box of pizza is currently missing, and you’d have to pay for another. Just as you are about to turn around, a sound recognizable to any given resident of New York City draws you out from your headspace. You look up to see not only your pizza webbed to the restaurant's awning but a red and blue figure swinging in the distance.

You take the sudden pause in everyone's life as they pull out their phones, grab the pizza from its sticky webbing, and weave through the frozen crowd. Coming into the vicinity of the run-down building, you slow down as you enter through the sturdy doors and start to climb up the ancient stairwell up to the all-too recognizable fourth floor.

As you reach the door, you take a quick peek into the pizza box to make sure nothing fell off during your little escapade. Seeing as nothing was wrong, you nod in satisfaction, proud that you were able to get from your work to the pizzeria, and finally back home in under an hour while your pizza went through a romp. 

You knocked on the door once, twice, maybe three times, and yet you were met with silence.

“Huh,” you muttered, confused about why Peter didn't answer the door yet.

 You had his schedule down to a T. He never had anything planned during this time; neither of you did. You double checked your phone, internally crossing off the idea that you forgot to tell him that you were getting dinner tonight early. You fished out the “emergency” key Peter had given you, internally damning your overcrowded keychain, and let yourself in.

“I’ll just surprise him when he gets home,” you softly spoke to yourself as you forced the finicky door open.

Re-locking the door, you were met with the rustle of the window across the apartment opening. You felt your heart fall to the pits of your stomach as you rushed behind the semi-wall, the only thing separating you from the intruder. Just as you hear the window closing, you peek your head out from the wall to get a description of the intruder, if you had to resort to fleeing the premises.

“Holy shit.”

…

Both you and the figure stared at each other. The only difference was that your mouth was gaping open in shock, and his face was overtaken with fear.

Looking back, you were your missing neighbor, drenched in sweat, and dressed in Spider-Man’s suit with his mask hanging from his hand. You push the pizzas onto the nearby counter and start the seemingly long trek to Peter with your face still glued together in shock, mouth sputtering open and closed like a fish out of water. 

Peter’s face morphed from fear to cowering in on itself, trying to protect the last bit of warmth from your friendship before it would inevitably end-

“How are you not dead yet?”

He looks back up to meet your eyes, filled with worry instead of disgust.

“I mean seriously,” you start, huffing incredulously, “With all that I’ve read, how have you not gotten yourself killed from what you put yourself through?”

Peter's tensed-up shoulders started to melt with relief as his true identity was met with a genuine worry and comfort for his well-being, and not fear and horror for what he was accused of.

“You aren’t scared of me? Like not even a smidge of worry that I might..” He trails off.

“What…like you might kill me? Of course not!” You answer with humor woven through the worry and relief of your tone. 

Your smile starts to fade when you realize Peter’s expression hasn’t wavered.

“Peter,” you grab his attention, “You aren’t actually worried you might hurt me…right?”

Right as you finish your sentence, Peter’s face starts to contort to prevent any tears from spilling over, and his breathing turns erratic as he melts to the ground. You rush over to catch him before he can hit the floor, and you lower both of your bodies till you are both secure on the ground.  

“Hey,” you grab his face, making his eyes connect with yours, “It’s ok, you’re ok. I’m here, I’ll always be here”, You inhale and exhale, “There's nothing you could do to get rid of me. I’ll be here, even when we’re angry, or sad, or even when you just don’t want me to; I’ll always just be one thin wall over”. 

Releasing the dam that held the wave of tears, Peter breaks down in your arms as you hold him close to your heart with his head tucked under your chin.

“It’s ok, just let it all out,” you say as you steadily rub small circles on his back. You stop rocking when the tears fail to continue. Hearing a sniffle, you look down and meet his bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, I’m sorry for all of this,” Peter starts, “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, and now I’ve made a mess on your sweater”.

You follow his line of sight to where his eyes meet your chest. “Peter, it’s just a sweater, and I can throw it in the wash”.

Grabbing his attention, you scratch the crown of his head, making his eyes shoot back up to meet yours. “There’s absolutely nothing to be sorry for; it’s not healthy keeping this all bottled in, and I don’t know how long you’ve kept it in, but it was bound to come out one way or another; it just happened to come out with me.”

Releasing him from your hold, you start to stand up.

 “You know what’ll make you feel better? Some lukewarm pizza and trashy reality TV.”

…

It’s been two and a half weeks since Peter’s secret identity was accidentally revealed to you. But since then, your bond has just steadily strengthened to where you knew exactly what the other needed from one glance at their face. 

It was a simple Wednesday evening; spent heating yesterday’s leftovers and swaying around the studio floor to the music blasting in your headphones-

BANG

You jump up, causing your headphones to clash on your counter, pushing a drying pan to clatter on the ground. You swing around to try and locate the noise when you see a red and blue figure standing on your fire escape, pointing to the lock on your window. 

Walking over to unlock the latch on your window, you let Peter in, and instead of going straight to the couch, he falls into your arms with a grunt. You watch as he struggles latching onto his mask to take it off while you readjust your grip under his arms. When he finally gets a good grasp and pulls it off, you take a sharp breath, scanning his face and taking in the numerous bruises, cuts, and abrasions.

“Jesus, Peter, what the hell happened to you?” you mutter, holding his chin to take in the damage, causing him to hiss. “Sorry Pete”, you exclaim, dropping his chin to regain your grip on his arm. 

“Let’s get you to the bathroom, yeah?”

You drag him to the small room at the end of the hallway and lift him onto the toilet seat, causing Peter to groan.

“I know, I know. I think I have a small first aid kit somewhere, but if not, I’m just going to grab some stuff to clean you up, okay?” You pat his cheek as you stand up to locate the kit; lord knows you won’t even attempt to fight him to see someone qualified. You start to dig through the junk drawer and pull out the small first aid kit you got the day you moved in. You reach over to grab the hydrogen peroxide and a bottle of water. Rushing back to the bathroom, you tap Peter’s head repeatedly to make sure he didn’t die, and start cleaning up the blood. Peter squints his eyes open, adjusting to the brightness of the bathroom.

“Hey, pretty boy, let’s keep those eyes open, yeah?”

Peter lazily watches you struggle to clean him up, at some point hissing in reaction to you pushing too hard on one of his cuts.

“Sorry!” you wince, dropping his face to wring out the bloodied rag, “It would be really helpful if you could direct me around this. I thought I told you this, just because I intern in health, does not mean the scrubs aren’t performative. You need actual medical attention beyond this bathroom.”

He mumbles something, too quiet to make out, while you run the rag under water. 

“What was that, sweets? You gotta speak up for me. I know it's hard, but we gotta make sure you stay awake, ‘kay?”

“M’kay,” Peter drawled out, spidey-senses catching the tremor in your hand and voice, “You don’t gotta do this for me.”

“And let Spiderman bleed out in my bathroom? I’m good,” you sarcastically replied, “And besides, I could never let you deal with something while you're hurting, that's what friends are for.”

While you turn away to grab the hydrogen peroxide from the counter, Peter lifts his head, eyes dimming, as they meet your back. 

“Yeah.. friends” he whispered. 

You turn back around with the rest of the needed supplies and finish fixing Peter up, with hisses and following soothing apologies. 

“There, all fixed. I have to say, this is probably my best work,” you joke as you use two fingers to softly move his head around to inspect while his eyes are glued on your face and eyes. “You hungry? I think I have some leftovers?”

“No, I think I just need to sleep. If I can crash on your couch?”

“Yeah, no, you’re sleeping in an actual bed; I am definitely not letting you out of my sight tonight, nor am I letting you sleep on that dingy couch in this state.”

Peter puts his weight on the counter as he pulls himself up from the toilet and trudges behind you back into the main area, too tired to fight back. He lets you lead him to your room as you fight with his suit to peel it off. Running around to your dresser, you pull out a worn t-shirt and a pair of sweats he left over a while ago. It takes a couple of minutes, but Peter and you manage to get the clothes on, fighting with his half-conscious state.

He doesn't even have the energy to question the sleeping arrangement before he falls onto the bed, a blanket quickly following. His eyes become heavy with every second, as he feels a dip on the other side of the bed. Right before he fully let himself rest, he felt a slight pressure on his forehead, like a fluttering kiss.

“Goodnight, sweet boy,” you whisper, “You’ll be okay, I won't let anything happen to you, I promise.”

…

Peter wakes up the following morning to rays from the sun penetrating through the sheer curtains you refused to get rid of. You, however, were nowhere to be seen. So, he does the most reasonable thing–follow the smell of food cooking. 

“Hey Pete, I got some breakfast cooking up, you’ve got to be hungry by now.”

He grunts in response as he treks over to the small kitchen area. You push a plate full of breakfast foods into his chest as he comes into your presence. As you join him at the small table, silence quickly fills the room, only forks scraping across the ceramic plates daring to break it. You drop your fork and quickly rub your face.

“Peter,” you start, “you can’t just..”

“ I can't do what?” he challenges.

“You can’t go around, putting yourself in harm's way, like you have nobody caring for you or worrying about your well-being.”

“That's because I don't.” Peter stares you directly in the eye

You falter, “What do you mean ‘you don’t’?”.

“I mean ever since I 'killed' Mysterio, I have lost people left and right, and now, because of a single decision, I lost everyone; I have no-fucking-one, that's what I mean.”

Silence quickly and suffocatingly fills the room again. As Peter stares down at his plate, jaw clenched, you whisper, “You have me.”

Peter lifts his head to meet your dimmed eyes.

“You have me, Peter, and I don’t think you realize that. You don’t know how scared I get every time I see your alias in a headline or how sick I become with worry every time you have a new injury. Seeing you last night in that state scared me so badly.”

You stop and take a breath before you continue: “You're not invincible, no matter how many times you put that mask on. Like it or not, people do give a shit about you, one of them being me. So this is your choice, you can either start to confront your past and put your wellbeing first, or you can keep on ignoring the hurt inside of you.”

Peter continues to stare at you, with tears starting to dim his vision.

“It’s a decision that you need to make by yourself. Now I’m gonna go for a walk, I want you to call me when you make up your mind.”

You start to get up, not breaking eye contact until you turn to grab your shoes and keys. As you go to turn the doorknob, it starts to act up. You turn around, using your back to push open the door, catching Peter’s eyes again, the last thing you see being the tear falling down his face before the door burst open and you slipped out, leaving Peter alone to defeat the war waging in his brain.

…

Peter watched as the food on his plate lost its warmth, growing cold as the love and security he had watched walk out through the door, forcing him to come face-to-face with what he had become so accustomed to before he had met you. 

Trying to bounce back–all alone, after losing friends, family, and mentors–was hard. He knew it would take a toll on him, but he didn’t know just how much it would hurt. He threw himself back into the world that he found comfort in–the world he’s able to hide behind a mask in, and paradoxically hold a sense of control.

 And yet, he never realized how much he missed having someone in his “regular” life. He didn’t know which gods answered his wishes, or what finally fell into place, but deciding to fix up his suit, a layer that took everything away, would change his life for the better and give him back something he thought he had lost forever. 

You pounding on his door late at night threw him back into the life he had to let go of. He knew someone would get hurt if he continued trying to separate his two sides, but they started to muddle together.

He became greedy–sloppy in following the rules he initially set for himself, in return for the comfort of it all, for the pounding in his chest, the ringing in his head. You’ve seen the good, the bad, and the ugly: the world slamming its weight onto his shoulders, being labeled as a murderer, and giving everyone reason to run, and yet, you stayed. He knew he was taking the warnings for granted. 

Now? He’s coming back to the fact that he’ll lose what he cherishes yet again. 

Peter has two choices: move past his past and continue as he was, or learn to face his history and overcome it with someone by his side. He eyed his cellphone, lying on the counter, tossed onto the surface after being dragged in from the previous night.

He’s one call away, either from being shoved back to the dark prison of his mind or learning to heal, even if it hurts. 

His chair scratched against the floor as he moved to make his decision. Grabbing the phone, his fingers shook as he started to type in the number he had memorized time and time again, seared into his brain as the one person he could always go to after having nothing and no one. The phone rang, breaking the suffocating silence.

“Hey-”

You abruptly interrupt him with a frantic tone, making his heart plummet.

“Peter, baby-thank god-there’s some fucker down here by that one pretentious record shop you dragged me to last month, in some huge metal suit-oh shit- you just need to get here no-,” the call hangs up on your distraught tone, but not before Peter booked it to your bathroom to grab his still blood-stained mask.

…

“-Get here now! I know your super-self is a hot topic, but I need you,” you yell into a phone that disconnected you from a holy grail. 

You hold your hand to your forehead, stuck in the middle of the same situation you argued with Peter about. Turning around in a state of hyperventilation, you see an alleyway tucked between two miscellaneous buildings ahead, and book it.

Twenty feet away, you feel the ground vibrate with the steps of what looks like an oversized metal rhino headed straight toward-

“OH MY GOD,” you begin to screech as you lift into the air, only stopping when your vision begins to focus, a familiar scheme of colors enveloping your body. 

You shift to grasp onto Peter’s abdomen and shoulder, digging your head into his neck so as not to watch him swing across buildings hundreds of feet in the air, until you feel your feet slowly descend onto solid ground. Opening your eyes to meet the white covering his own, you shudder out whatever air you held in your throat. 

Peter takes hold of your shoulder, checking your state, ensuring your safety before his own.

“Are...are you ok? He didn’t hurt you or anything?” his head frantically moving like you were the only one capable of keeping it on straight, ensuring your safety before his, “I need to go deal with him, but you?  You stay put right here until I come back, alright?” 

You nod your head, eyes shellshocked, and eyebrows furrowed in a state of frenzy as he places his gloved hands on your cheeks to slightly pull down your head, placing a chaste, fabric-covered kiss on your forehead, “Good girl.”

You snap your head up as he swings off, back towards the scene of the crime. You take a second to look around at your surrounding environment, at the moment, of a roof, with a feeling of heat invading your cheeks, and crawling up your ears. 

“There's nowhere I can go,” you mutter, allowing your feet to lead you to the ledge to attempt to keep an eye on him, only able to see flashes of glinting nickel, red, and blue in the distance. So, you lower yourself until you feel the gravel underneath your still-shaking body and take several deep breaths as you wait for him to come back to you.

…

The overcast clouds ahead swirl, mirroring your body pulling itself in and out of a daze. Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you pull yourself back to earth, yelping at the contact.

“Woah, woah, it’s just me,” he pulls off the mask, “it’s just your Peter,” not wanting to frighten you further. 

You clamber back onto your feet and throw your weight onto him, shoving your face into his chest as he reciprocates fully, “I know you’ve dealt with much worse, but it’s so much worse than I thought it would be in person.”

“I know, that’s why I’m scared.”

You snap up your head, but not before he lets go, instead moving an arm to hug your shoulders as he leads you to the edge, giving you a signal telling you to hold on, and leaps off the rooftop. Sweat, a tinge of iron, and the musk that you could only associate with the feeling that being with Peter brings–the only things grounding you as you fly through the wind of city smog and the smoke of defeat.

This time, however, your eyes stay open, prancing around as you spot your apartment fire escape up ahead. As he lands both of you safely, you take this chance to confront the man. You know him too well to know he won’t take this excuse for avoidance for granted. 

“Peter, wait-” you clasp onto his wrist as he tries to leave “-we can’t just not talk about this, please don’t shut me out, not now,” you plead with him as you feel him slipping away, both physically and emotionally.

You search his face for any sort of reaction, yet it remains blank, his tell-tale sign of shielding you out. You reach out and find nothing, you feel nothing, even as he still stands there with a guarded look you’ve waged an ongoing war against for months.

But this time it’s different; you pull back and wave your white flag, letting go of his wrist, dragging your arms to closely guard what you’ve given to him so openly. You let your face fall so openly, watching as his eyes widen slightly, the only reaction you’ve been able to coax out of him.

“I can’t do this, Peter. I love you, but how can I trust that you reciprocate it if you can’t give yourself the grace to fill your soul with your love?”

Silence, but not without eyes pleading you to take back your surrender. But you refuse to fall so easily as you force yourself to squeeze both your body and bruised heart through the unlocked window.

…

It’s been several weeks of radio silence- no Sunday pizza, no friendly banter, nothing. And granted, the last time you saw him, you gave him a taste of his own medicine, but your body was still adjusting to the lightness that comes with a bare heart. You’re beginning to tell how much it’s actually impacting you; you’re barely holding onto your scholarships at this point, while also struggling with your community health internship (it’s become obvious how you were able to snag it with so little academic experience).

But you refuse to be the one to reach out–Peter’s a grown adult too, with the free will to at least say something, and yet, crickets.

Maybe if you hadn’t forced the ultimatum on him, if you hadn’t gone for the walk, he would still be in your life, still making outdated pop-culture references, still nudging your knee in the late evenings, still invading your heart and mind at all times, still-

No, you force yourself out of your spiral, I told him, it was his decision whether or not to let me in, it’s not fair to play this one-sided game of cat and mouse. It doesn’t matter if the world is ending, again, he needs to make his choice… your manic pondering halted as you come up with the conclusion that he made his choice.

Yeah, he made it the second he refused to engage, even after you played his damsel-in-distress. Maybe it’s delusional thinking, but you don’t have time to dabble into healthy coping mechanisms-you’re already late at this point- as you slam your door, leaving your spiral to brew.

…

Peter jumps at the unmistakable sound of your door; each time you leave, becoming more aggressive as he continues to avoid and push away his problems. He doesn’t know why he’s actively avoiding you; who is he kidding? He knows exactly why. Phone in hand, he stares at it, begging for Strange to take him back in time. 

He was ready–he had his decision ready–but too much time had passed. If he had just called after you, begged you to stay, he wouldn’t have psyched himself out–he wouldn’t have single-handedly proved to you why you’re right. You always are; you’ve weasled past his built-up walls and watched in the dark, studying his every tell and give, until you knew how to break him down.

But he knows you could never; instead, you’ve dedicated your craft to supporting his weight, but he refuses to accept it.

Days pass, and nights are spent lying awake. He can’t figure you out, or he can–his mind won’t let him figure out why he’s so hesitant to let you back in after kicking you to the curb. His heart, on the other hand, knows exactly why.

As much as he lets his mind think that it’s safer to continue on this track and continue to shut you out, he knows he can never truly do that to himself, to do that to you.

So, he continues to let his mind wander until he can figure out how to muster up the courage to face you, to face the truth and the reality of the situation at hand. 

Soon enough, it becomes too much but not enough to claim defeat, so Peter does the next best thing: surround himself with you in theory. His days blend–wake up, go for a walk, trashy reality TV, patrol, rom-coms, and repeat.

Sometimes, he catches himself hoping you hear, hoping that the walls convey his pining and need for your presence, and yet you don’t respond. 

…

It was a particularly grueling evening of patrol, one of those days that he knows will leave an annoying ache in his back for him to deal with in the morning. Peeling off his suit, he goes through the usual steps of the rest of the night, finally dipping into the couch and grabbing the remote near the movie rack.

He doesn’t know how it happened, but he subconsciously gravitates towards the DVD you left behind on a random Sunday. He doesn’t know why he still has it, but he doesn’t complain. It was one of your favorites, one you would always turn on after a difficult couple of days, several of those watches being with him. The Princess Diaries: It wasn’t one he fully paid attention to, but he still recognized the plot and bantered with you as the characters make stupid decisions, and continue to prance around the truth. So, he plops it in the player. He realizes why you like it so much. 

Maybe it’s the distance between you that makes him crave the memories. Maybe he finally decided to listen. But nearing the end, Peter comes thrashing around for the remote, pausing on a certain scene, one that feels all too familiar to him.

As he watches Michael be delivered a M&M-covered pizza, his head flares with a radiating flash of heat, chest pounding, as he finds his answer. It was in front of him all along, you. His worldview comes crashing down as pieces click together faster than he can control them.

He didn’t need some multiversal answer; he just needed you, he always does.

…

It felt like you didn't even know what day of the week it was, your body reverting to the monotonous routine of going through the motions. You trudge through the apartment building, one foot in front of the other, until you stop.

Your brain malfunctions as you look up in confusion. You see his door, and your heart does a small flip, until you push it down, and push through until you reach your door and practically slam your way into your home.

Peeling off your scrubs, you push through your state of exhaustion and continue going through the motions until you end up in your worn college freshman t-shirt and a pair of lounge shorts.

You practically sink into your couch, comforted by a lack of silence that hugs your mind, still stuck in a state of overstimulation. And you just relish in it. 

It isn’t until a series of knocks, a sound you knew exactly who it belonged to, disturbed your state of solitude. Against your better judgment, your heart leads the way as you pad to the doorway. You open it, just enough to see him standing there with the facial expression morphing from hopeful to a kicked puppy when he catches your reaction. And there he stands, holding a pizza.

“It’s not Sunday.”

“It’s been a lot of Sundays, just making up for lost time,” he gives you that grin that almost makes you want to swing the door all the way open.

You eye him, “What do you want?”

He drops his expression, licking his lips like he has the gall to prepare to talk to

Your eyes drop to the pizza box he opened up. It takes a second, but it hits you. Down, sitting on the top of the pizza, were a handful of M&M’s arranged in one word: sorry. Your eyes shoot up to meet his–sheepish and shifty, until they meet yours. Your mouth opens and closes, head shaking in disbelief, as you open up the door wider and step aside. 

Peter takes the unspoken invitation to silently slide inside and walks over to place the pizza on your kitchen counter. You pad back inside, opting to sink back into your couch, once a source of comfort, now barely supporting you from going down. Peter opts to stand, walking around, something stemming from his nerves.

“The Princess Diaries, huh? I knew I wasn’t crazy when I heard ‘Stupid Cupid’ coming from your apartment,” you’re words cutting through the silence. Nothing followed.

You open your mouth, ready to offer up another retort, until you’re interrupted.

“No, I…I need to to get this out before I decide to turn around and walk right out that door,” he stares everywhere but you, “The past few weeks have been nothing but torture for me. I mean I resorted to watching ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’  and…”  gesturing towards the candy-covered pizza, “‘The Princess Diaries’ to fill the space because I missed you, and I needed you. I didn’t know how to reach back out and grab your hand, to interlock, because I was scared, I am scared. I know I don’t talk much about what happened in my life before this apartment and before meeting you. But I lost people, I lost everyone I loved, because of who I am. I mean, I was scared shitless when I called you, and the only thing I heard was you in danger. I…I,” he takes a shuddering breath, not realizing your eyes began to glass over.

“I couldn’t lose you, not when you’ve made such an imprint on my life–not when you taught me how to love again. And I know it doesn’t excuse my actions, and I know I don’t know how to truly make it up to you, but I am so sorry I hurt you when I thought I was helping you, that I was pushing you away when I thought I was protecting, saving you. I don’t know if you truly know just how much you, our Sundays, and everything in between mean to me. I don’t think I knew it at the time, but when you saw me in my suit for the first time, and your first comment was about being worried for me, I was gone–long gone. And I don’t care if this ruins everything, but I would do anything to be able to grow with you forever. If you even loved just half of how much I love you, I would be the luckiest-”

You cut him off, reaching to cup his cheeks, as your lips softly meet his. It’s sweet, tender. It catches Peter off guard, standing there in shock, until his heart kicks his brain into motion. His hands curl to rest on your neck and pull you in closer at the small of your back. Your ears buzz with frequency as his lips gently glide against yours.

It’s nothing like you thought it would be; instead of fireworks in your head and butterflies swarming in your stomach, the world silences itself for once. White noise of adoration and contentment fills up your ears, blocking out anything and everything as you can only focus on this.

You pull away, a giddy smile resting across your face as you search his eyes for more. And he follows up.

He captures your lips again, this time impatient, making up for lost time. Your hands slide up to tangle your fingers in his hair, butterflies starting to flit around in your stomach as you begin to grin into the smile, lips slotting against each other as you reach a rhythm.

Each caress against him injects life back into your palpitating heart. It isn’t until you let go, him chasing after the loss of warmth, that you chuckle. Peter lets his forehead fall against yours as he has a relieved smile that paints itself on his face, ears tinged red, cheeks flushed. 

“Hi.”

“...hi,” he manages to breathe out.

“Took you long enough, a bit too long in my opinion.”

He gives you a breathy laugh as he captures your lips again, now instead placing familiar, chaste kisses, and picks you up as you both land on the couch.

You aren’t sure when you lingered over to the furniture, but you didn’t complain as both of your eyes searched each other, finding relief in the burning cheeks and dilated pupils.

You can’t help but shake your head, smiling, as you slide off his lap and tuck into his side. Taking a deep breath, you melt into him, head dropping onto his shoulder, as he turns to kiss you on the crown of your head while his arm snakes around to hold you close. 

“You know, before all of this, I was ready to leave and move to some place halfway across the country–somewhere smaller, and a little less lonely. I spent days hoping for someone, something, to show me my silver lining in all of this; something to tell me I’m not crazy for sticking it out. And then someone decided to send you my way–you and your sewing machine,” you lean your head up as his eyes meet yours. 

“I didn’t know it at the moment, but everything finally just fell into place, even when I thought it was just a myth.”

Peter gives a smile, one that can tell you everything–every crease and slope holding its own message. In that moment, it didn’t matter what was going on in the world, what role you had to fulfill, because you had each other, fully and wholeheartedly incandescent.

And so, the sun begins to set outside your window, its final rays spilling over the curve of Peter’s nose and onto your features.

With that, your current chapter in life is coming to an end, one filled with highs and lows. However, endings are never truly set in stone, but rather marked by a transition crafted with hope. Although the sun’s descent falls over your little apartment, it will soon rise again. And even as the moon marks its absence, the light will still shine upon your soul.

You can’t count on life to stay still; everything it creates is born to be ephemeral, so as long as the light shines, you must grow. But you never have to truly do it alone. Even as one of life’s true constants, the sun always changes–and so will you.

But don’t grow to be afraid of change, learn to let it weave into your story, for you’ll never truly know what good it will bring until you begin to open your head and your heart.

[lumosflairr]

THE STARK PROTOCOL-PETER PARKER X STARK!READER

summary: when peter tries to admit his feelings for you and ask you on a date while your father is away, things suddenly dont go as planned and your father’s hologram catches you.

warnings: none!

word count: 2.3k

Peter knew it was a bad idea, But he couldn’t help it.

Liking you — falling for you — was probably the dumbest thing he’d ever done. And he had done a lot of dumb things. Accidentally webbed himself to a moving train. Tried to fight an alien invasion with a half-charged suit. Tripped over Captain America’s shield during training.

But this? You?

This was a whole new kind of disaster.

Because you weren’t just anyone. You were you — Tony Stark’s daughter. The only person on the planet who somehow managed to be more terrifying, brilliant, and beautiful than your father all in one. You were magnetic in a way Peter didn’t stand a chance against. Funny without trying. Wicked smart. Eyes that saw right through him. Lips that curved into a smirk every time he got flustered — which was a lot.

And God, you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

That kind of pretty that made him forget to blink. That made him short-circuit mid-sentence when you leaned over his shoulder in the lab or ruffled his hair when he was sulking. That kind of pretty that wasn’t just surface — it was woven into your voice, your laugh, the way you looked at him like he mattered.

And for a long time, he’d convinced himself it was fine. That he could just ignore it. That it was safer that way. Because Mr. Stark — Tony — had made it very clear how he felt about the idea of Peter getting anywhere near his daughter.

“I don’t want someone like you dragging her into this life,” he’d said once. Not cruel. Just firm. “She deserves normal. Stability. And you? You wear grief and danger like a second skin.”

And Peter… got it.

He did. He knew what it meant to live this life. He knew what it cost. He knew about responsibility. Sacrifice. Late nights, near-death experiences, and the weight of saving people who never knew your name.

But it didn’t stop how he felt. Not when you were around.

Especially not when you teased him the way you did.

When you sat beside him during team briefings and quietly passed him gum like he was going to combust under pressure. When you called him out in front of the team just to make him squirm, then winked at him after like it was your own private joke. When you stayed up late helping him fix his web shooters, fingers brushing over his every now and then, warm and steady and undeniably distracting.

It drove him insane — in the best, most excruciating way.

And tonight was no different.

The living room was quiet now — most of the team had scattered after dinner. Bucky and Sam were still bickering down the hall, and Wanda had disappeared with Vision, promising tea and calm. But here, on the couch, it was just Peter and you.

You sprawled across the cushions like you owned the place — which, okay, technically you did. Your legs were kicked up over the armrest, your top hitched up just enough to send Peter’s brain spiraling.

He sat beside you, tense and awkward, palms damp against his jeans. You flipped through the channels like none of it mattered, completely at ease.

“Wanda’s a goddess,” you sighed, settling on a rerun of something animated and ridiculous. “If I had her cooking powers, I’d be unstoppable.”

“You’re already kinda unstoppable,” Peter said, voice a little too high. “I mean — not like witch unstoppable — but you don’t really need paprika to be, uh, impressive. Or— yeah.”

You looked over at him, smirking. “Did you just compare me to paprika?”

Panic. “No! I mean, maybe? Not— not like a spice! I meant like, you’re— you know— great! Without the spice! Not that you’re bland, just—”

“Peter,” you said with a quiet laugh, “breathe.”

His mouth shut instantly, face flushing pink.

You tilted your head toward him, your teasing smile fading into something softer. The glow from the TV flickered across your face, casting shadows Peter was sure even the stars were jealous of. It was a moment — one of those this is it, do it now kind of moments.

So he swallowed his nerves and sat up a little straighter.

“I’ve, uh… I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he started, scratching the back of his neck.

You quirked a brow, still watching him. “Finally confessing you stole my charger two months ago?”

“What? No! I mean, yes — but I was gonna return it! I just— I meant—”

You laughed, and it nearly broke him. He’d never get used to how beautiful you looked when you smiled.

“I was gonna say,” Peter said quickly, voice cracking just slightly, “I was wondering if you’d want to go out with me sometime?”

There. He said it. He actually said it.

His heart was racing. His whole body felt like it was vibrating from the inside out. He stared at you, half-expecting you to laugh or call him cute in that “oh sweetie” way you sometimes did when he was being awkward.

But you didn’t. You smiled — not teasing, not sarcastic, just… warm.

“Peter—” you started.

And then—

The TV blinked.

Static crackled.

The lights dimmed just slightly.

And suddenly — there he was.

Tony Stark.

In full holographic glory, projected in front of the screen like a ghost conjured by sarcasm and spite.

Peter’s blood ran cold.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” the hologram said, voice sharp and clipped. “Step away from my daughter.”

Peter nearly died.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Dad. Seriously?”

“I anticipated this,” Holo-Tony continued, ignoring you completely. “Exactly this. The minute you started ‘accidentally’ dropping by the tower three times a week, I initiated Protocol Stark #4.”

Peter’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I— this isn’t— I wasn’t— I mean, I was, but not like that—!”

“Do you have any idea,” Tony’s voice cut in like a guillotine, “how many high-level defense protocols I created to prevent this exact scenario? Hormone-fueled superheroes flirting with my daughter? Twelve. I built twelve.”

The hologram turned to look directly at Peter, as if it could somehow smell his panic.

“This is Protocol Stark #4: Don’t Even Think About It, Kid.”

Peter actually whimpered.

You were trying not to laugh, but failing miserably now. You shoved a pillow in your face to muffle the sound, shoulders shaking.

“I—I swear, sir, I wasn’t trying anything—well, I was, but—” Peter stopped himself. “Not like that! I respect her! And you! I mean—I respect her more obviously, not that I don’t respect you—”

“Kid,” the hologram cut in flatly. “Take a breath before you pass out and I have to activate Protocol #6: CPR from Hulk.”

Peter blinked. “That’s… not real, right?”

The hologram flickered slightly.

“…Maybe.”

Holographic Tony stood in front of the TV, glitching slightly at the edges, arms crossed, sunglasses on despite it being nighttime in New York. Somewhere behind him in the projection, palm trees and a luxury resort were just barely visible.

Peter froze. You dragged a hand over your face and let out the deepest sigh he’d ever heard from a human being.

Tony Stark tilted his head, calm and smug as ever. “Sweetheart, you know I run surprise protocol checks when I’m on vacation. You’re lucky I didn’t send the Mark 49.”

You gestured wildly at the screen. “You’re supposed to be on a getaway with Mom!”

“I am. She’s in the spa. I’m doing security sweeps. You know — relaxing.”

Peter looked like he was physically trying to sink into the couch cushions.

“I swear,” you muttered, “this is why we can’t have nice things.”

You groaned and turned to Peter. “Do not move. You’re not running away.”

“I wasn’t gonna run—” he whispered. “I was maybe gonna, like… web-launch out the window. Casually.”

You rolled your eyes and looked back at the screen. “Dad, seriously?”

Tony sighed dramatically. “Look. It’s not that I don’t like Peter.”

Peter blinked. “Wait, really?”

“I said it’s not that I don’t like you. I didn’t say I do like you.”

“Oh. That… yeah, that checks out.”

“It’s that I’ve spent years keeping my daughter out of the line of fire. And you, my kid, are a walking magnet for building collapses, supervillains, and emotionally repressed wizards. I don’t want her caught in that.”

You cut in, arms crossed. “I help you build suits. I literally write code for the Tower’s defense systems. I helped reprogram F.R.I.D.A.Y. last month to keep Peter from faceplanting off the 46th floor.”

“Still fell, though,” Tony said, looking off-screen.

“Because you turned off my webbing mid-air to test a reflex protocol!” Peter blurted.

Tony shrugged. “I had faith.”

You threw your arms up. “So what is this? The jealous dad on a tropical beach pulling security holograms every time a boy gets within five feet of me?”

“Yes,” Tony said immediately. “That’s exactly what this is.”

You looked down at your StarkPad, already typing. “Initiating manual override of Hologram Protocol #4…”

“Don’t you dare—”

“Voice authorization: I’m an adult, and Peter hasn’t even kissed me yet.”

Peter choked.

Tony’s sunglasses slipped slightly down his nose. “What did she just say?”

You pressed one final key. The hologram flickered.

“Love you, Dad. Go drink something with a tiny umbrella in it.”

And just like that, the hologram vanished with a high-pitched glitch and a long beep.

Peter stared at you, shell-shocked. “…He’s going to murder me when he gets back.”

“He’s not,” you said, leaning into his side with a sly smile. “Not if I get to you first.”

Peter blinked. “Wait— is that a threat or a date?”

You tilted your head. “Why not both?”

He flushed scarlet.

“So…” he said, cautiously hopeful. “That yes from earlier? Still valid?”

You reached over, slid your fingers into his. “Absolutely.”

Peter exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for five months.

“You’re sure? No retracting? No drones? No flaming swords?”

You grinned. “Just dinner, dork.”

He smiled back, slow and bright. “Cool. That’s— that’s really cool.”

A pause.

“…Should I be worried about Protocol #5?”

You nodded. “Oh, 100%. That one’s face-scanning and armed.”

Peter looked vaguely ill.

“Worth it though,” you said softly, resting your head on his shoulder.

He smiled like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“Yeah,” he said. “Definitely worth it.”

[cherrrydragon]

➤ sweet

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read it on ao3

SUMMARY ↳ Peter Parker is sweet. The kind of sweet you can't get enough of. It kind of ruins your life. One day, during lunch, it’s the same as any other. You three are sitting together, not really eating your food, too focused on talking. Then, Peter speaks up, and it kind of throws off your whole existence. “Did Liz get a new top?” His face is resting on his hand as he stares at the girl. You’ve always thought Liz was pretty, and what makes that even more unfair is that she’s nice. She helped you find your way to your class on time, and you have a bad habit of being willing to die for people once they show you even the smallest amount of kindness. pairing: tom!peter parker x fem!reader warnings: just reader having to watch the person she loves not love her. so basically all of us with our fav fictional characters tags/notes: MAJOR pining on reader's side, (not actually) unrequited love, 7k of this is just straight yap my bad, happy ending! wc: 8.5k

Peter Parker is a sweet boy.

He always has been. Even when people shunned him for no reason, he never shed that kind demeanor. He has remained unwaveringly gentle and compassionate.

Your first interaction with him is simply asking him for a pencil. You’ve just rushed into class, barely making it before the bell rang. As you fumble through your bag, you realize you forgot to pack a pencil. Hesitantly, you turn to the boy sitting next to you.

"Hey, uh, do you have an extra pencil I could borrow?" you ask, trying to sound casual.

Peter looks up from his notebook, his eyes meeting yours with a friendly, albeit slightly surprised, expression. He quickly reaches into his bag and hands you a pencil.

“Uh, yeah. here,” he smiled unsurely, handing you a pencil.

“Thanks,” you smile. You notice how he keeps his gaze on you for a moment before turning away.

The rest of the class goes by smoothly, thanks to Peter's pencil. As the teacher drones on, you can't help but sneak glances at Peter, noticing his focused expression as he takes notes diligently. There's something about him that draws you in—a quiet determination mixed with a genuine kindness.

When the bell rings, you suck in a breath and turn to him. “Hey,” you start, extending your hand holding his pencil. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

Peter takes the pencil, his fingers brushing against yours. “Uh, yeah. Yeah! No problem.” You think the way he stumbles over words is pretty cute.

Time to be bold. Go for it, [Name]! “Can I sit with you at lunch?”

Peter's eyes widen slightly, caught off guard by your request. He hesitates for a moment, then nods with a shy smile. “I just, I don’t really sit with anyone and you seem nice so–”

“Yes,” he blurts out, wide-eyed. “That’s cool.”

You feel a mix of relief and excitement. “Okay, see you then?”

He nods, a little late. You smile and walk off to your next class, feeling buzzy. You really are looking forward to knowing Peter.

You didn’t really notice him before. He was always in the background, never too far but never too close. He was just a boy you didn’t know, but knew of. But you saw, saw how he was always there, saw how he held the door open for others, saw how he kept his head down and never bothered anyone.

As you anticipate lunch, you imagine conversations, shared laughs, and maybe even a little bit of awkwardness, but in the best way possible. The anticipation grew with each passing period.

Woah, maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself. He might think you’re, like, weird. You really hope he doesn’t.

As lunch finally approaches, you gather your things and head to the cafeteria, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. You scan the room, looking for Peter, and spot him sitting not alone at a table near the window. There’s a boy next to him. His friend probably (who else would it be?). Taking a deep breath, you make your way over.

"Hey, Peter," you greet with a smile as you reach his table.

Peter looks up from his tray, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. "Hey," he responds, a bit more confidently than before.

You turn your attention over to his friend, who is looking at Peter, a bit surprised. “Hello.”

“Hey,” he greets you, discreetly elbowing Peter. “I’m Ned.”

“[Name],” you say.

“Why are you sitting here?” he asks bluntly. You blink at the abruptness of it as Peter hisses, “Ned!”

“Uh,” you stutter, suddenly feeling out of place. “I can go if you want–”

“No!” yelps Peter. “He’s just being stupid. What he means is that, well, we don’t really have any friends. But we’d–” he spares a subtle glare at Ned, “–like to be yours. If that’s what you want.” 

His eyes bore into yours earnestly. “Please stay.”

You pause for a moment, processing Peter's earnest plea. Ned looks a bit sheepish now, realizing his bluntness may have come off the wrong way. You glance between them and smile, feeling your nerves ease a bit.

The three of you start chatting, and you quickly find yourself laughing at their silly and nerdy jokes. You learn Peter is really into science and chemistry.

“You know Peter has an internship at Stark Industries?” says Ned, leaning in.

Peter stares at Ned hard. “Oh, really?” you hum.

Peter quickly tries to downplay it, waving his hand dismissively. "It's not a big deal, really. Just a lot of organizing and data entry," he says, clearly trying to stay humble.

You shrug. “I think it’s cool.” You do, you’re impressed.

A hint of a smile crawls on Peter’s face.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, you feel a pang of disappointment. But Peter looks at you with a hopeful expression. "Um, do you want to sit with us again tomorrow?"

You stare at him earnestly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Okay,” he nods, more so to himself. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

From then on, you become a part of their group, officially Peter’s friend. You learn that Peter is not just smart, but also incredibly kind-hearted. He always goes out of his way to help others, even if it means sacrificing his own time. The bond between you strengthens, and soon you're sharing inside jokes and stories about your classes.

You somehow manage to land yourself a spot on the Academic Decathlon (no, not because Peter’s on the team). But, to be honest, you wouldn’t have tried if not for him. You’ve never considered yourself all that smart, you don’t really try that hard in school. Peter says you’re ‘naturally smart.’ You never gave it much thought, but a compliment from him makes you happy.

“You got this,” Peter assures you before every practice.

One day, during lunch, it’s the same as any other. You three are sitting together, not really eating your food, too focused on talking. Then, Peter speaks up, and it kind of throws off your whole existence.

“Did Liz get a new top?” His face is resting on his hand as he stares at the girl. You’ve always thought Liz was pretty, and what makes that even more unfair is that she’s nice. She helped you find your way to your class on time, and you have a bad habit of being willing to die for people once they show you even the smallest amount of kindness.

“No. We’ve seen that before, but never with that skirt,” replies Ned.

Liz waves at a couple of girls that greet her. You think her voice is pretty.

“We should probably stop staring before it gets creepy though,” notes Peter, still looking at her.

“Too late,” comes a voice at the end of the table. A girl, unbothered and doing her own thing. Oh, that’s MJ. “You guys are losers,” she says, unapologetic. “Except for [Name]. Hi, [Name].”

You wave at her. “Hi, MJ.”

Peter raises his hand in confusion, looking at you for answers. You shrug, not having any. That’s just how MJ is.

“Well, then why do you sit with us?” asks Ned.

MJ flicks her hair out of her face. “Because I don’t have any friends.”

And ain’t that the truth.

“Let’s move to the next question,” hums Liz, flicking through index cards. “What is the heaviest naturally-occurring element?”

You’re not really paying much attention to practice, even though you really should be. You’re too busy staring at Peter.

“Peter, it’s nationals,” you hear. “Is there now way you could take one weekend off?”

Wait, Peter’s not going to nationals?

“I can’t go to Washington. If Mr. Stark needs me, I have to make sure I’m here.” Well, you do like a man who has his priorities straight.

“You’ve never even been in the same room as Tony Stark,” says Flash, doing absolutely jack shit across the room. His voice grates your ears.

“Wait, what’s happening?”

“Peter’s not going to Washington.”

“No, no, no, no.” Felt that.

“Really? Right before Nationals?” asks Liz, wincing at him disapprovingly.

“He already quit marching band and robotics lab,” hums MJ, reading her book. Your fellow members turn to look at her. You know that, but why does she? “I’m not obsessed with him. Just very observant.” Well, you are obsessed with him. Just a little. A healthy amount.

Liz says something to Flash, and at the mention of him you automatically zone him out. You spend the time staring at Peter, who briefly glances at you before looking behind him at the ticking clock.

The rest of the day he’s tapping his fingers against the desk and moving his leg up and down. You barely manage to catch him at the door before he runs off. Peter looks at you, momentarily startled as you catch up to him. He gives you a quick smile, though you can tell his mind is elsewhere.

“Peter,” you say, frowning slightly. “Why aren’t you coming?”

He shrugs, trying to appear casual. “You know already, [Name]. The internship is really important. I gotta be ready at any time.”

“Tony Stark can’t spare you one day?” You raise a brow at him. “I think that goes against some kind of labor law.”

Peter furrows his brows, taken aback. “No, it’s not like that,” he defends quickly, shifting uncomfortably. “Mr. Stark… relies on me. I don’t wanna let him down.”

You give him a sympathetic look. “You’re really smart, Peter. There’s no way that’s possible.”

His gaze softens, smiling secretly to himself. You lightly punch his shoulder, and he gives you a mock offended look. “You’re the whole reason I even joined, and now you’re bailing on the most important day? Fake friends, I swear.” You’re mostly joking, it’s not that big of a deal. But you still would’ve liked him to be there with you.

He chuckles softly, rubbing the spots you hit him (dramatic, you barely touched him). “You’re smart, [Name]. You don’t need me.”

Yeah, you don’t need him, but you want him.

He grabs your hand and squeezes it tightly, briefly, before turning and walking away. “I’ll make it up to you, promise!”

Your heart skips a beat, at both his gesture and his words. “Okay,” you say softly, knowing he’s already gone.

“Hi. I’m Captain America. Whether you’re in the classroom or on the battlefield…”

You wonder how they convinced this guy to stand in front of a camera and yap to a bunch of high schoolers who just simply don’t care. Peter and Ned are mumbling about something, too hushed for you to hear.

“Isn’t he like a war criminal, now?” you mutter. Peter leans in to you to hear better.

He chuckles softly, breath tickling your ear. His proximity sends a warm shiver down your spine. “Sucks, he’s kind of cute.”

Peter chokes, looking at you in surprise. “In, like, a celebrity crush kind of way,” you shrug.

Peter’s face flushes a soft pink, and he clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Yeah, um, I guess? I didn’t think you’d like older guys…?” He trails off, fumbling with his fingers. His awkwardness only makes him more endearing.

Ned snickers beside him. “You’re not wrong. Captain America’s got that whole classic charm thing going on.”

Peter shoots him a look. “Dude.”

It’s only natural you and MJ pair up for the exercises. Though, to be fair, you’re not really doing much exercising. Instead, you’re too busy ogling Peter.

“You’re down horrendously bad,” says MJ, unapologetic.

You blink, looking down at her. “Huh.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” She looks unimpressed by your attempt to seem unaware.

The way Peter effortlessly does pull-ups is doing something to you, and it’s really embarrassing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” she snorts. You watch as Peter flicks his attention over to… Liz. Always Liz. Never you.

“Is he staring at her again?” MJ asks, looking over. Your heart sinks a little.

“Doesn’t matter,” you mutter. “He’s just my friend.”

MJ raises an eyebrow, studying you for a moment before shrugging. “If you say so.”

“Peter knows Spider-Man!”

The entire gym looks over at Ned and Peter. Um. What was that, Ned? Peter gets up, sputtering and denying Ned’s claim.

“They’re friends,” says Ned.

“Yeah, like Coach Wilson and Captain America are friends.” Your nose scrunches up at Flash’s words. MJ catches it and nods her approval.

Peter glances around nervously, his eyes meeting yours for a split second before darting away. You feel bad for him, even if he doesn’t have need for anyone’s pity. Peter is cool, and really smart. He’s also really cute, and he bites his lip when he’s focused on something. He can’t sit still for very long, and he has a bad habit of running his fingers through his hair when–

Yikes, girl. Focus.

Wait, Liz’s party?

“Yeah, I’m having people over tonight. You’re more than welcome to come,” she nods, demeanor kind of shy.

“Having a party?” Peter’s voice is breathy, and it makes your fingers clench.

The bell rings before Peter can decline (or accept, because why would he ever decline?) and Liz spares him a look as she walks away. Peter looks up at the ceiling in frustration, turning to Ned to snarl something at him.

Probably upset because Flash made fun of him in front of the girl he likes, you think miserably.

You help MJ up off the floor, waving her goodbye as she leaves. Your legs are barely able to talk you towards the door, wanting to go over to Peter. You can’t take your eyes off him, but you know you have to, so you tear them away and walk out.

As you walk away, you can't help but feel a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. Peter's feelings for Liz are clear, but you can't deny your own growing affection for him.

“[Name]!” Peter’s voice is very recognizable (to you at least). You hear his footsteps rush over, coming to a stop by your side. You turn to face him, your heart pounding. "Hey, Peter," you say, trying to sound casual.

He looks at you, his expression a mix of frustration and something else you can't quite place. "Hey, uh, I just wanted to say... about what Ned said earlier. I mean, he's just being, you know, Ned."

You nod. “It’s okay Peter, I think it’s cool you know Spider-Man.” Everything about him is cool.

Peter’s eyes widen slightly at your words. "Really? You do?" He seems both relieved and surprised by your reaction. He crosses his arms, trying to seem casual. “And, uh… what do you think about Spider-Man?”

Peter's question catches you off guard. You stare at him, a bit taken aback by his curiosity. “Well, I think he’s a hero,” you shrug. “Reliable.”

Peter kind of… stares. In awe of you. Then he snaps out of it, cheeks flushing as he looks down.

He clears his throat, changing the subject. “So, uh… you going to Liz’s party?”

You hadn't considered it, but the idea of spending more time with Peter, even if Liz is there, is tempting. Even so…

You purse your lips. “Probably not.”

He furrows his brows. “What? Who am I gonna go with?”

You snort. “Ned? Who else?”

“You.” He says it so absolutely it almost makes you fall to your knees. The idea is both thrilling and a bit nerve-wracking. The last thing you want is to feel out of place at a party, especially with your growing feelings for Peter.

“You want me to go with you?” you ask, trying to sound nonchalant even though your heart is racing.

Peter nods earnestly, his gaze locking onto yours. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re up for it. It’d be… nice.”

“I’ll… think about it.”

Peter’s face brightens up instantly, a mixture of relief and excitement evident. “Ok. Cool! I’ll, um. Hope to see you there.” And then he’s off to do his own thing.

When you arrive at Liz's house, you immediately spot MJ, and it puts your mind at ease. She’s in her own world, happy to snack on the foods there. She looks up as you approach.

“Sup.”

“Hi.”

You stand together awkwardly. Well, you’re awkward, and she’s cool. The party is in full swing, with music playing and people milling about, making the large living room feel even more crowded.

It’s embarrassing how fast you spot Peter. It’s as soon as he arrives. He’s decided to keep it casual, but you think he looks good. Really good. God, MJ was right, you are down bad.

Speaking of which, she nudges you and nods her head in Peter and Ned’s direction. “You should go say hi to him.”

“But…” Liz is there. To be fair, she’s probably only greeting them. Saying ‘thanks for coming’ you know. But even so… you’re not sure you want to watch Peter’s attention stay on Liz when you’re also there.

You take a deep breath and muster up the courage to approach Peter. MJ gives you a supportive nod, and you make your way over to them.

“Hi, Peter,” you greet, trying to sound casual despite the fluttering in your chest.

Peter turns to you, his face lighting up with a genuine smile that makes your stomach flip. “[Name]! You’re here.” His eyes are warm and welcoming, and for a moment, you forget about the rest of the party.

You nod, peering around him to greet Ned. “Hi, Ned.”

He gives you a small wave. “Hey, [Name].”

Peter's smile widens as he steps a little closer to you, clearly excited that you're there. His eyes roam your figure. “You look good.”

Your face warms. “Thanks. You too.”

“Dude. Peter,” says Ned, grabbing Peter’s arm. He begins to pull Peter away. “Sorry, [Name]. Gotta talk to him about something.” Peter looks affronted by Ned’s behavior, sending an apologetic glance your way.

You watch as Peter and Ned head off to the side, leaving you standing by yourself. A little awkwardly, you try to blend in with the crowd, scanning the room.

“Penis Parker, what’s up?”

Ugh, Flash. Who let him on the sound desk? He says a few mocking words, and suddenly Peter’s walking off somewhere.

You jog to catch up to him. “Peter, please don’t listen to Flash. He’s just an asshole.”

Peter stops in his tracks, looking back at you with a mixture of surprise and frustration. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it, clearly struggling to find the right words.

“[Name],” he starts, voice honey sweet, “I’m not worried about Flash, I just…” He looks around for a moment, searching for whatever words he wants to say. “I gotta go do something. I’ll be back.”

You watch as Peter rushes out of the house, deflated. You feel a mixture of concern and confusion. The party goes on as if nothing happened, but your thoughts are entirely focused on him.

In a moment of impulsiveness, you decide to follow him. The cool night air hits you as you step out onto the porch, scanning the surroundings for any sign of Peter. Damn, where did he go? He’s fast. You walk down the front steps, glancing around. “Peter!” you call out, trying to catch his attention.

A movement catches your eye. Around the side of the house, on top of the neighboring ledge, there’s someone there. Your ears can barely pick up the rustling of clothes. Weird place to change clothes. How the hell did that guy even up there?

Wait a damn minute.

That guy is Peter. How the hell did he get up there so damn quick?

You keep yourself pressed against the wall, peeking around the corner. Why the hell is Peter even changing his clothes? He looks fine. Good, even. Wait, he’s changing his clothes. Maybe you shouldn't be spying on him, that’s weird. Oh, wait, he’s wearing something underneath. Something red and black, with web patterns on and a spider symbol on his chest.

…

Oh. Oh!

What the fuck!

As Peter pulls his undershirt off, you get a glimpse of him in his full Spider-Man glory. Holy shit, Peter Parker is Spider-Man. You knew there was something special about him, but this? This is a whole different level. The red and black suit, with its sleek, form-fitting design, is unmistakable. The spider emblem on his chest is a dead giveaway.

You swallow down the knot in your throat, willing your body to turn and go back inside.

He doesn’t come back.

You leave when Flash starts his ‘when I say Penis, you say Parker’ chant.

The yellow blazer feels tacky, but you’re required to wear it as part of the Academic Decathlon. Though, MJ isn’t wearing hers, so maybe you can get away with taking it off until you get to D.C.. But MJ is MJ.

“Hey, it’s Peter!”

What.

You turn around, seeing Peter run up to your group. Peter’s face is bright with excitement as he approaches your group. His usual nervousness is replaced by an eagerness you haven’t seen before. It’s like a different side of him is on display.

“I was hoping I could rejoin the team,” he says, looking at Liz.

And he’s welcomed back with open arms. He decides to sit next to you. You’re pretty sure because it’s closest to Liz, and because Ned has decided to sit in the back. You wonder if Ned knows his identity.

He nudges you with his arm. You’re snapped back to reality, looking at him. He’s staring at you, brows furrowed just the smallest bit. You feel your traitorous heart skip a beat, like it always does when he’s around.

“You okay? You’re quiet,” he murmurs, voice low.

You manage to nod, not having much to say. Are you mad that Peter kept this secret from you? No, of course not. There was never any obligation for him to tell you, or even anyone. It’s a pretty big secret to have, after all. Though, now you wonder if him being Spider-Man has something to do with that Stark internship…

Peter’s eyes linger on you, a mix of concern and curiosity. You can sense he’s trying to gauge how you’re feeling. It’s a little uncomfortable, you’ve never really had to lie to him before, and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to. You’ve just discovered one of the biggest secrets in your life, and it’s about someone who’s become so important to you.

His phone starts ringing. You peak at it, someone by the name of ‘Happy’. Weird name, but okay. He moves to the back of the bus to take, settling in next to Ned.

You sigh, slouching in your seat. You can’t believe your life.

At least you get to room with MJ. You’re just about to fall asleep when Liz comes knocking on your door, saying that she and the rest of the team are going to sneak down to the pool. MJ decides she’s going to come. For ‘enrichment’ she says. You on the other hand… kind of just want to stay inside right now.

Until another knock on your door rouses you from your would-be sleep. Again . You grumble as you make your way to your door, opening it to find Peter, his face a mix of uncertainty and hopefulness. “Hey,” he says, looking nervous. His hood is over his head. You think he’s got his suit under there.

You don’t bother trying to fix up your appearance since you truly doubt he doesn’t see you like that. “Hello?”

“Uh,” he mumbles, gesturing away from him. “You… weren’t with the others. Are you not going to go with them? To the pool?

You shake your head. “No, not feeling it.”

“Oh,” he nods, like it was obvious. “Are you, sick or something?”

“No.” You don’t mean to be blunt with him, but you don’t really know how to act around him anymore.

“Oh, Okay.” He shifts back and forth on his feet. “Can I come in?”

You open the door wider to let him in, never able to say no to him. Peter steps are hesitant and awkward, deciding to sit on the leaning against your bed, while you sit on the mattress.

“So..?” you prompt.

Peter licks his lips, looking down to fiddle with the hem of his hoodie. “I, um, wanted to talk. About... the party. Liz’s party.” For a moment, your heart races. Did he know you were there? He glances up, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and determination. “I didn’t mean to, uh, leave you hanging. I just... had to go take care of something.”

You nod, understanding differently to what he knows. “It’s okay, Peter. I get it. I mean, you had... you had something important to do.”

Peter takes a deep breath, clearly relieved by your reaction. “I just... I didn’t want you to think I was avoiding you or anything. I shouldn’t have left you hanging like that.”

Peter’s earnestness tugs at your chest. He’s going to give you a damn sweet tooth. You can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and frustration. “Peter, it’s fine,” you say softly. “You don’t owe me any explanations.”

He shakes his head, his expression earnest. “But I do. I care about you, and I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us.”

Your heart skips another traitorous beat at his words. His sincerity is disarming, and you find yourself wanting to reassure him, even though you’re the one grappling with this newfound knowledge about his double life. Why does he have to say things like that?

“Are you not going to the pool?” you ask, gesturing to his get-up.

He scratches his cheek, shaking his head. “No I… gotta… do something.” His voice gets quieter the more he speaks, realizing he’s just quoted the very thing he just apologized for. You snort, unable to help yourself in reaching out a brushing a curl away from his face. His eyes soften, and he reaches out, tentatively taking your hand.

Your fingers brush against his, and there's a moment of silence as you both just look at each other. Peter’s grip is gentle, as if he's afraid of pushing too much, too soon. You feel the warmth of his hand, and for a second, you forget about the secrets and the confusion.

After a moment, Peter clears his throat, his expression shifting back to a more familiar, awkward smile. You snap back to reality. “You should, uh, probably go do that thing.”

He nods, not meeting your eyes. “Yup. Gonna go do that thing now.”

He’s out the door before you can blink.

Peter doesn’t come back in time for the Academic Decathlon. MJ wins you the last point, anyway.

You’re just out of earshot as Ned talks to what you assume is Peter on the phone. You look away when Liz takes the phone and begins to speak to him.

Your coach decides it’ll be fun to have a tour of the Washington Monument. You zone out during the long elevator ride, thoughts drifting to Peter. Always Peter. You wonder if you were his girlfriend, would he look to you to patch him up when patrol gets rough? Would he take you away, swinging through the night while he tells you how pretty you look–

There’s a bright light, and everything goes deafening as a loud sound explodes within the elevator. Everything comes to a stop. Ned throws his backpack on the ground, frightened.

“Oh my God. Look at the ceiling.” There’s terrifying scorch marks on it.

“Just stay calm, everyone.”

“Oh, we are all going to die here.”

You don’t listen to anymore of what anyone has to say, too focused on steadying yourself against the wall. Holy shit. Peter better be hauling ass back here, now .

Security pushes the failing doors open, and the elevator hatch is opened as your group is prepared for evacuation. It’s a scary process, and you feel like you’re just waiting for the elevator to give up and start plummeting.

Flash, always an asshole, shoves Liz out of the way, taking the trophy with him. You scoff in disbelief as he says, “Take my trophy!” ready to give him a piece of your mind, because by God, you are in a life or death situation and he still finds the time of day to be himself–

Speaking of death.

The elevator just gave up.

You are actively falling to your resting place right now.

You can’t hear anything over the sound of everybody else’s scream. You can’t even bring yourself to scream. Even as you’re about to die, you hold yourself back, just as you always have. You’ve held yourself back when it comes to school, not putting in as much effort as you could’ve, and you’ve held yourself back from telling Peter how you feel.

Now you’ll never get too.

Except the elevator jerks to a stop, almost sending you to the floor.

There’s a web attached to the top. You can barely see a red clad figure connected to it.

Nevermind, maybe you will get to.

And then the doors he’s held up against break off the hinges and you’re falling again, spider included like a package deal. The damned box catches itself on something, and the love of your life has a rough landing as he falls into the elevator with you. Oof.

Unfortunately his impact knocks the elevator off, and you’re falling. Again. If you make it out of this alive, you’re going to take a five year nap. Peter, with all of his amazing smarts, sends a web to the top of the shaft and plants himself upside down in the elevator, stopping the thing.

He clears his throat. “Hey, how you doing? Don’t worry. I got you.” Why do you love this loser.

You stand with your whole body tense as Peter makes the perilous journey of dragging your group back up, slowly and steadily. You’re gripping the handrail so tightly your knuckles turn white. Every jolt and creak of the elevator feels like a death sentence. But Peter – no, Spider-Man – is pulling you up, inch by inch.

Ned is out first, then Mr. Harrington, and Liz clutches your hand tightly as it’s just the two of you left.

But then the floor shoots out from under your feet. Liz, ever so pretty and ever so brave, jumps out, reaching a hand for Spider-Man.

She misses, and for a split second it’s just you and her falling. And then there’s a thwip sound and suddenly you’re not falling. You’re just hanging. Hanging by a thread. Or a web, you should say.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Spider-Man grips Liz’s hand so tight and so assuredly, you feel like everything’s okay. Liz’s hand feels warm. Really warm. Probably all the sweat from it.

The sweat from it.

Sweat that’s making your grip come loose.

Liz looks down, terrified. “She’s slipping.”

“What–” chokes Peter.

And your hand falls from her grip. This time, you let yourself scream. The mask Peter wears gets tinier and tinier as you fall. The sensation of free-fall is overwhelming. It’s like you’re completely weightless. You wonder if this is how Peter feels when he’s swinging through New York. You also wonder he ever feels the twisting of your stomach.

You feel something wrap around your waist tightly. You’re yanked back up with a sharp tug. The warmth of an arm is something you’re not all that foreign to. You’ve been hugged by your family and friends before. But not like this. It… kind of feels like home.

“I got you, [Name].” Is whispered in your ear like a prayer. “I won’t let you fall.”

Peter’s voice in your ear is like a lifeline, pulling you out of the chaos and fear. The sheer relief of his presence makes your heart pound in your chest. You cling to him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he swings you both out of the elevator shaft and onto the relative safety of the doorway.

You can hear the panicked voices of your friends, but all you can focus on is Peter, his breath coming in quick gasps, his suit slightly torn but his grip on you unyielding. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice trembling slightly.

You can only nod, your throat too tight with emotion to speak. Tears blur your vision as you look at him, your best friend, your hero, the boy you've been in love with for so long.

"You saved me," you whisper, your voice breaking.

Peter tilts his head, voice  a little wobbly but genuine. "Couldn't let you fall," he says simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He gently lets go of you, leaving you to connect back to the real world again.

“So, uh, is everyone okay?” And just like that, things go back to the way they were.

Then the piece of metal he’s hanging upside-down from breaks off, and he’s falling down the shaft.

He’ll be fine.

The school news plays on a nearby team, retelling the events in which you almost died. Weird flex, but okay.

You’re on your way to your next class when arms suddenly wrap around you. You blink. Uh…

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” says a sweet voice. Ah, Peter. Who else but Peter? You smile and melt into his embrace. “Hi, Peter.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes scanning your face as if checking for any hidden injuries. “You sure you’re alright? That was... intense.”

You shrug. “Yeah.” Then, you feel like being mean. Only a little bit. As a treat. “How would you know, though? You weren’t there.”

Peter’s eyes widen in confusion, a frown pulling at his lips. “What do you mean? I was there. I–” Then he stops himself. He was there, just not as Peter. You raise a brow.

Peter’s face goes through a series of expressions—confusion, realization, and finally, a nervous chuckle. “Oh. Right.” He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just–”

You roll your eyes halfheartedly. “Had to do that thing, I know.” Maybe you’d be more upset if you didn’t know any better, but you do. Maybe you’re just tired from everything.

Peter’s apology falters as he looks at you with those big, apologetic eyes. He seems so earnest, so genuinely concerned. He gives you those puppy dog eyes, filled with guilt and embarrassment.

“Look,” you say, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, “it’s fine. Really. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

“Come on,” he whines halfheartedly. “Let me make it up to you.”

You look at Peter, a mix of exhaustion and affection in your eyes. Despite everything that happened, you can’t help but find his earnestness endearing. “Alright,” you say, managing a small smile. “Here’s my proposal.”

Peter's eyes light up with a hopeful glimmer, and he leans in closer, eager to hear your proposal. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day lifting off your shoulders as you prepare to make your request.

“If neither of us get a homecoming date,” you begin, watching as Peter’s eyes flick back and forth between yours, “we’ll go together.”

Peter's eyes widen with surprise and a hint of nervousness. For a moment, he seems lost in thought, processing your proposal. He takes a deep breath, as if trying to steady his racing heart, and then he nods with a flushed face.

"Deal," he says, his voice steadying. "But let's hope neither of us ends up dateless, okay? I mean, it's homecoming. It should be fun."

His words kind of sting. He basically just said he hopes he can find a date that’s not you. You’re not sure if the fact that he’s willing to go with you if things don’t work out is a good thing or not.

“Yeah, let’s hope,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light. Peter gives you a reassuring smile, though there’s an awkward tension between you now.

“Parker, my office.”

Peter looks at you exasperated. You shrug. Looks like Peter has detention.

The next couple of days, Peter looks down in the dumps.

He just seems… less like himself. Still as sweet as ever, holding doors open for you and carrying your bag. It’s hard to miss the way his usual enthusiasm is replaced by a constant air of melancholy.

You notice him moping in the hallways, his usual banter replaced by awkward silences. In class, he doesn’t seem any different, but you can tell the way he zones out when he’s not answering a question.

You try to give him space, but it’s hard to ignore the sense of worry you feel. You don’t want to pry, but you also don’t want him to sink into a deeper funk. Perhaps it’s in your nature to want to make him happy.

May greets you with a smile when she sees you on your doorstep. She’s always been kind to you. Maybe too kind. May always let little teasing comments about you too getting together slip. Peter always waved away her comments, chuckling awkwardly and saying ‘she’s just kidding’. Not very healthy for your heart.

Peter’s sitting on his bed, lost in thought. He jerks up as soon as you enter, staring at you in surprise. “[Name]!”

“Hi,” you greet, coming to sit next to him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I can leave if you want,” you hum, point a thumb out the door. It’s mostly a joke, you really hope he doesn’t actually want you to leave.

Peter looks a bit flustered by your presence. “No, no, don’t go. I just… didn’t know you were coming.”

You lean back on your hands. “Well, when you’ve been acting weird the last couple of days, I’m gonna get worried.”

Peter slumps in on himself, sighing. He contemplates for a second before meeting your eyes. “I lost the internship.”

The internship. The Stark internship. The one you’re pretty sure is a cover for him being Spider-Man. Who hasn’t been active in a couple of days. Oh.

You give him a sympathetic look. “Peter, I’m so sorry.”

Peter nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah, well, it’s my own fault. I was… I messed up. Tried to overcompensate, and it didn’t work out.”

You can see the frustration and disappointment in his eyes. He’s always been so driven, so dedicated. To see him like this, struggling with something that clearly matters to him, tugs at your heartstrings.

“It’s not your fault,” you say gently, trying to offer him some comfort. “Sometimes things just don’t go as planned, no matter how hard you try.”

Peter offers a small, bitter smile. “I guess. It’s just… I don’t know.” He looks in a faraway corner. “It was all I had.”

You purse your lips, wanting to scream ‘you have me!’, but you can’t bring yourself to.

Peter clears his throat. “At least I got that date with Liz.”

…Huh?

You think there’s a ringing in your ears. Your heart sinks as Peter mentions Liz. It feels like a punch to the gut. You try to mask your surprise, keeping your tone steady. "Wait, you got a date with Liz?"

“Yeah…” he chuckles shyly. “I asked her to homecoming. She said yes.”

You nod slowly, trying to process this new information. It's not exactly a blow to your heart, but it's definitely unsettling. Peter, the person you’ve had feelings for, is going out with someone else.

Though, you shouldn’t be surprised, really. You knew Peter liked Liz. If the way he stared at her wasn’t obvious enough, then the fact that he asked her to hoco is. And the fact that she said yes… God, you need to get over yourself. It’s not the end of the world. You just…

You really wanted to go with him.

“So… who’s your date?” he asks, oblivious to your inner turmoil.

You bring your legs up, wrapping your arms around them. “Nobody. I think… I’m not gonna go.”

Peter’s face falls at your words. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it, clearly at a loss for words. “Why not?”

You shrug. “I don’t have a date. Don’t wanna go alone.”

He furrows his brows. “I thought you did.”

Now it’s your turn to look confused. “No. Why did you think that?”

“You…” he trails off, looking lost. “I heard you. Talking about your crush”

“When did you hear that?”

He gulps, turning away guiltily. “In. Gym… class.”

You take a moment to think back. The only time you ever talked about your crush in gym was with MJ, that time Ned mentioned Peter knows Spider-Man. But that time…

“How did you hear that?” you ask, kind of knowing the answer. “You were, like, twenty feet away from me.”

He blushes. “I, uh… have really good hearing?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Whatever. At least you didn’t mention Peter’s name. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t like me back. So.”

Peter’s face softens as he processes your words, a mixture of guilt and concern evident in his expression. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Don’t be. He likes someone else. Can’t be helped.”

Peter is silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face as if trying to gauge your feelings. There’s a tension in the air, a weight that seems to hang between you. He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out.

You breathe, patting your thighs as you stand up. “Hope you have fun, though.”

Peter watches you go, feeling like he missed something.

True to your word, you don’t go to homecoming. You spend the night watching a movie and eating popcorn. You don’t cry, but you do sniffle.

You catch wind of the battle between this guy (Liz’s dad , holy shit, you hope she’s doing okay) and Spider-Man. The next time you see him at school, you run up to him.

“Peter!” you shout.

Peter snaps out of his thoughts, turning to you. A small smile creeps up on his face at the sight of you. “Hey, what’s up–”

His words stutter to a stop as your arms wrap around him. Peter freezes for a moment, clearly taken aback by your sudden hug. Slowly, his arms come up to return the embrace, holding you tightly. He feels warm and solid against you, a comforting presence despite everything that's happened.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

You melt into his embrace. “Just glad you’re okay.”

He pulls back to look at you, arms dropping to hang around your waist. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You can’t help yourself, cupping his cheek gently. Peter's eyes widen slightly at the tenderness of your touch. For a moment, he just stares at you, as if trying to decipher the reason behind your concern. He ever so slightly leans into your hand, doe eyes looking into you.

“You’ve just… been through a lot lately,” you decide to say.

Peter takes a deep breath, his gaze dropping to your hands resting on his cheek. He seems to be grappling with his emotions, his usual composure wavering. “I didn’t realize you were so concerned,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Of course I am. You’re important to me, Peter.”

Peter’s mouth opens and closes, unable to form words. He gulps, shifting on his feet. The tension in the air is thicker than it’s ever been, though you can’t tell why.

Peter thinks he just had an epiphany.

He takes a deep breath, hands on your waist tightening. “Hey, um. Can I… can we talk later? After school?”

You nod. “Yeah, of course.”

Peter nods as well. “Cool, cool.” His hands fall from your waist when his phone buzzes, and you finally feel like you can breathe. “I gotta take this,” he says, already walking away from you.

Peter texts you before the last bell rings, saying that something came up and if you can push your talk a few hours ahead. Your fingers shake as you type out your reply agreeing. You do your homework in silence, foot tapping up and down nervously. The sun is on the cusp of setting when there’s a knock on your door.

“Hey,” Peter greets you when you open it. He looks out of breath, like he just ran here.

“Hey,” you respond, trying to keep your voice steady.

Peter shifts nervously on his feet, glancing around before focusing on you. “You’re parents home?”

You raise a brow. “No..?”

“Good.” He moves past you, making his way to your living room. You close the door and follow him, heart pounding in your chest. Peter paces for a moment before taking a deep breath and turning to face you.

“I,” he starts, voice unsteady, “have been doing a lot of thinking.”

You remain silent, waiting for him to continue. Peter runs a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I’ve been focused on the wrong things. I know I haven’t really… been there. So, I’m sorry for that.” He wrings his hands together. You watch Peter with a mixture of anticipation and concern, your heart racing as he continues to struggle with his words.

“And, um, I guess, what I’m trying to say is…” He looks directly into your eyes, a mixture of vulnerability and resolve in his expression. He takes a deep breath.

“I–”

“–Know,” you blurt.

Peter’s mouth flops open like a fish out of water. “Uh. What?”

You purse your lips. Cat’s out of the bag. “I know you’re Spider-Man.”

Peter stares incredulously at you. “I… saw. When you went outside to change at Liz’s party. You just left, and I followed you, and for some reason you were changing in front of a big ass window without your mask on? So, literally anyone could’ve saw you, so that might be more your fault than mine–”

“[Name].” Peter's voice cuts through your rambling, and he takes a step closer, hands coming to grasp yours. “You… know?”

You gulp. “Well, yeah? That’s what I just said.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, shoulders hunching. He brings your hands up to his mouth, lightly kissing them. It sends your heart cracking through your ribs. “[Name], that’s not what I was gonna say.”

You look up at Peter, confusion and anticipation mingling in your eyes. He seems almost relieved, a soft smile gracing his lips as he holds your hands close. The moment feels suspended, and you can hear the quiet hum of the evening outside, adding to the atmosphere of calm and intensity.

“I like you. I really like you.”

You feel your breath catch in your throat, the words sinking in as if time has momentarily stopped. Peter’s eyes are locked on yours, filled with sincerity and a vulnerability that’s rare to see from him. The warmth of his hands around yours feels electrifying, grounding you in the moment.

“...I thought you liked Liz,” you whisper.

“I thought I did too,” he mutters, close. “But I was being stupid. I thought you liked someone else, so I stayed away.” He shakes his head. “But I can’t anymore.”

“How do you know it’s you I like?” you croak.

“Apart from you basically just admitting it?” He smiles cheekily. “MJ told me.”

You click your tongue. “Meddler.”

“She said she got tired of our bullshit.”

You giggle quietly, head dropping. Peter doesn’t take his eyes off of you, biting his lip in anticipation. You squeeze his hands gently, still processing the whirlwind of emotions. “So, what now?”

Peter’s expression softens, and he takes another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “Can I… can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart flutters at his words. “Yes,” you say, almost breathless.

Peter leans in slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as his lips meet yours in a gentle, tender kiss. It’s a kiss filled with all the unspoken emotions, a release of the tension and a celebration of what’s finally come to light. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, shared moment.

As Peter's lips linger on yours, the kiss deepens, becoming more passionate yet still tender. You feel the warmth of his body, the soft pressure of his lips, and the gentle caress of his hands around yours. The kiss seems to hold everything that had been unsaid, all the confusion, the longing, and the relief of finally being on the same page

When you finally pull back, both of you are smiling, the weight of recent days seeming lighter. Peter’s eyes are full of warmth and affection, and he holds you close, his forehead resting against yours.

“Will you, um… be my–”

“–Guy in the chair? Sure, Pete. It’d be my pleasure.”

Peter hides his grin in your neck. “Sorry. Ned beat you to it.”

“Barely seconds into this relationship and you’ve already betrayed me,” you scoff playfully.

“So we’re dating now?” His voice sounds hopeful.

“Duh.” You’ve never been more sure. “Pete, I’ve been down bad for you ever since you gave me that pencil.”

He pulls back, looking at you with heartbreaking eyes. He leans in to kiss you on the forehead, then pulls back slightly, his expression soft and sincere. "I’m really sorry about homecoming. I’ll take you to prom and we’ll have the best night of our lives.”

You’re pretty sure the best night of your life will be when you and Peter get married, but maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself. “I heard you dumped her there as soon as you got there, anyway. If you ever do that to me I’ll make sure you can never be Spider-Man again.”

He nods his head seriously. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he grins, giddy with the outcome of the situation. “I’ll still make it up to you.”

“I can think of a few ways.”

He blushes, scandalized. “[Name]!”

“Down bad for a long time, Pete,” you remind him. “Like I said, my parents aren’t here…”

He scoffs, shoving you away slightly before pulling you back to him, not willing to let you go after he finally has you. The two of you stand there, holding each other, savoring the quiet and the closeness. The weight of the past few days lifts, replaced by a renewed sense of connection and possibility. It feels like the beginning of something new and wonderful, a chance to explore this newfound closeness and see where it takes you both.

“Can we just. Go out to dinner or something?” he asks, thumb rubbing at your waist. “We could use some celebration, I think."

You smile, feeling a surge of warmth at his thoughtfulness. "That sounds perfect."

As you both head out the door, hand in hand, the evening feels full of promise. With the uncertainties of the past few days behind you, you're ready to embrace whatever comes next—together.

notes: i wanted reader to drop the "i know ur spiderman" bomb and somehow find a way out of the conversation and now peter has to try to confess to them but he just cant get a hold of them for whatever reason. but that would be like a whole nother 3k or more words and like... this fic already too long LOL

thanks for reading !!

[d3adbr3inc3lls]

Tom!Peter x Reader | Oneshot

Inspired by today. Just. Today. It's so peaceful <3

You craved days like this one.

Waking up with Peter besides you, the two of you are having a sleepover, you're still unsure how his aunt hasn't caught onto the two of you dating but that's another story.

Slowly sitting up, you could hear Peter groan in protest as his loose hold on your waist becoming slightly tighter, in a weak attempt to prevent you from escaping.

His face was buried into your side, his chocolate brown locks messy from him constantly shifting positions in his sleep.

Sometimes you wondered if living with him would be like this.

The soft sizzling of what you assumed to be bacon can be heard, and if you payed enough attention, you could hear the songbirds singing.

Sighing, you get up slowly, gently placing the blankets on Peter who sleepily shoved them away, trying to reach out to you as you slid out of his grasp.

It was beginning to become autumn, and it was clear by the way the trees began to turn shades of oranges as the tree gets ready for winter.

A soft knocking at the door startled you out of your thoughts as you glanced towards it.

"Boys, breakfast is ready, you have school today!"

May's muffled voice can be heard on the other side of the door as you quickly grabbed your previous day's pants and slid them on, before walking over to Peter and gently nudging him awake.

He groaned a few times, lazily swatting your hand away from him before opening his eyes to look at you. His half asleep gaze fell onto yours.

"Pete, it's a school day, c'mon,"

Nudging him again, he slowly got up from the bed -albeit not too pleased with you- and walked over to his closet, throwing on the first shirt he could find.

"Yep, coming,"

[curvingsunsets]

A Kiss To Remember

A/N: you guys remember when I used to write? Me too. Here’s a Tom!Peter x Reader I started days after NWH came out and only just finished. (i’m. so sorry.) I’m a sucker for silly tropes and a firm believer that a silly kiss will solve everything. Also, I am trying my best to get back into writing! Please be patient with me!

Summary: After the events of NWH, you’ve moved on with your life, forgetting entirely about your boyfriend. Peter, on the other hand, has never let you leave his mind. After a nasty fight, he decides the only place he can go to is you.

Warnings: Blood mentions and cleaning wounds.

The weather wasn’t exactly the friendliest that night. The wind was howling and even with the coziest blanket you could find, the air still somehow nipped at your skin. It was probably the shitty window seal the builders left years ago when the dorms were built. But, you were too cold to even think about complaining, just turning the small space heater closer to you.

You tried to bury yourself deeper into the warmth of your sweater while still trying to focus on the homework that taunted you.

Peter didn’t know where to go. The dark void he’d just faced was something he’d never experienced before, especially with such little technology on his side, something he knew he had to start getting used to.

As he swung through the city, he thought of what he should do. He couldn’t go home since the wounds on his back would leave him restless and angry. The only other spot he could think of was you. So that’s where he went. He made his way to the MIT campus and landed on the fire escape of what he hoped was your dorm, if he remembered correctly.

A thud on the fire escape pulled you away from the countless mathematical equations running through your mind. You weren’t willing to inspect the cause of the sound, probably a bird anyways, you’d assumed. It wasn’t until you heard a muffled groan through the glass that you were lured out of bed.

Opening the thin curtains, you found none other than the infamous Spider-Man huddled over in what looked like incredible pain. You gasp lightly and unlock the window, sliding it open, being slapped with a sharp gust of wind. Something in your gut told you that you had to help him. So, you held out a gentle hand. “Come inside,” you say kindly,” it is way too cold for you to be lounging out on my fire escape.”

He looked at you for a moment, recalling everything that happened before Stephen cast that spell. His chest stung in an emotional pain, rather than the physical. Your concerned face almost calmed him. He remembered the days where he’d come into school and you’d notice a small wound on his forehead and make him stay still as you cleaned it.

He shakes himself out of the daydream and laughs softly, the first thing you heard come out of him other than guttural pain. He takes your hand and slips into the room, immediately sighing in relief at the change in temperature. “Thank you,” he says through chattering teeth, desperately trying to warm himself up.

You lead him to sit down at your desk, immediately draping the abandoned blanket over his shoulders. You open one of the drawers of the desk and pull out a small first-aid kit your mom packed you “Just in case!” You lean closer to the wound on his stomach, figuring out what way you should approach the situation.

“Wh-what what are you doin’?” you hear the masked hero ask.

“What, you think I’m just gonna let you in and not patch you up?” you laugh slightly and begin wiping up as much blood as your small towel would allow. You look up at his suit itself, noticing the difference in hue and emblem than you remembered. “New suit?” you ask.

He looks down momentarily and stutters out, “Y-yeah…wanted to try it out.”

“Have all of your suits been this thin?” your words kind of spill out before you can really think them over. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t really be asking that.”

“No no no! It’s alright, I swear.” Even through his mask, you could somehow tell that he was being genuine. “Something happened a few weeks ago, I sort of…lost my old suits.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you say kindly, beginning to poorly sew up the laceration on his stomach. “Now, I’m no medic, so this might not be your best fix,” you explain, paying close attention to your task.

He watched as your tongue poked out from your soft lips as you fixed him up. He knew he couldn’t say anything, but it reminded him of the time he’d tore a hole in his shirt in Italy and you’d offered to patch it up for him.

The two of you fell silent, him from pain and you from not knowing how to start a conversation with a literal superhero. Nothing was said until you finished patching up his stomach. He looked down at your work and nodded.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Even through the mask, you could see something in his eye that was almost studying you. The way the silence filled the air left him room to ponder.

“What?” you ask quietly through a breath, finally realizing the very little distance between the two of you. “Oh.” You can feel your face heat up before you pull yourself back and make distance between you and the superhero.

He looks around your room, probably trying to find some sort of conversation starter. He pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders and notices a small teddy bear on your desk adorned in an MIT shirt. “MIT, huh? Okay, smartypants,” he quips, a small and somewhat familiar laugh falls out of his mouth.

You shake your head and smile at him, “It’s not that impressive.” You take another look and notice a pool of blood on his forehead. “You’re bleeding,” you say and place a gentle hand near the wound…just like that day in highschool. “I don’t know if I can get into the mask to fix this one..” you explain.

He hesitated for a moment. He wanted you to know, He wanted you to be able to remember everything and the regret was burning in his chest.

“Y/N..” he lets out softly, immediately grabbing all of your attention.

You’re quiet for a moment, looking over him for probably the 50th time that night. Memories in your mind playing over, just slightly blurred it seems. “I know you,” you begin, “more than I think I do.” You reach for the edge of his mask, hesitating slightly.

He doesn’t stop you, almost sighing in relief when you pull the fabric off of his face. He looks up at your eyes for some sort of sign that you know who he is.

You say nothing, just continue studying him as if he were the rarest crystal in the universe. Something pulls you to him, making you cup his chin slightly. You knew who he was, you’d both shared Dr. Osbourne’s lectures in the main hall from time to time. But something made you think you knew him in a more…personal sense.

Peter’s mind is racing. He noticed a glimmer in your eye for a moment before he reached to hold your hands. “What’re you thinkin’?”

There's something nagging at the back of your mind. Endless moments frozen with a blurry haze begging to be released. Silent moments in the middle of the night while studying for tests, the quiet buzz of the space heater being the only noise. A failed attempt at a pottery class, gentle hands guiding yours over the wet clay.

Your body moves faster than your mind as you gently cup his face, leaning in closer.

He gives you a silent nod before you break the distance and place a soft kiss against his lips. You feel him let out a held breath and his hands find home in your hair.

Every memory, every moment begins flooding back into your mind. The magic that withheld them fizzling away as the two of you kiss. From the first day of fifth grade when he so graciously got his juicy fruit bubble gum stuck to the new sweater your grandmother knit you, to the night after the homecoming dance where you so graciously discovered his other identity. The most recent one just so happened to take place at the statue of liberty, the sky looked as if it were tearing apart at the seams.

And that's where the memories stopped. You don’t know how, but you ended up here, barely knowing the boy you were in love with for a majority of your life.

He didn't give you any more time to think before he pulled away from the kiss.

“Peter, I-” you begin, but the boy cut you off.

“You know me?” he asks, his eyes nearly bursting out of his head.

You nod, a sigh of relief escaping your mouth as your hands found his shoulders. “My Peter.” You note the relieved smile on his face. “But…how?” your eyebrows knit together. “How could I have forgotten?”

He lets out a playful scoff, “I may or may not have asked Doctor Strange to make the entire universe forget about Peter Parker…” his words trail off as the sentence finishes. He looks up at your eyes, scanning them for any anger or hurt, but all he could see was relief.

You shake your head almost in disbelief. “You’re lucky I love you, Pete.”

He runs his hands down your arms, taking yours in his own. “And I love you, too,” he’s kissing your knuckles, exhaustion starting to eat at him.

“Stay with me?” you ask quietly. “We have a bit to catch up on, anyways.” After his sleepy nod of approval, you peel away from him to grab a change of clothes. You toss them his way and get situated on your bed

Once he’s changed and comfortable, he joins you, resting his head in your lap. It’s something he always used to do and it brings him an overdue feeling of safety. Your hand finds comfort in the messy knots at the top of his head. Before you can say a word, his breathing comes to a slow, a soft snore leaving his parted lips. You smile down at him and find your own comfort, drifting off soon after.

The weather wasn’t exactly the friendliest that night. The wind was howling and even with the coziest blanket you could find, the air still somehow nipped at your skin. It was probably the shitty window seal the builders left years ago when the dorms were built. But, you were too cold to even think about complaining, just turning the small space heater closer to you.

You tried to bury yourself deeper into the warmth of your sweater while still trying to focus on the homework that taunted you.

Peter didn’t know where to go. The dark void he’d just faced was something he’d never experienced before, especially with such little technology on his side, something he knew he had to start getting used to.

As he swung through the city, he thought of what he should do. He couldn’t go home since the wounds on his back would leave him restless and angry. The only other spot he could think of was you. So that’s where he went. He made his way to the MIT campus and landed on the fire escape of what he hoped was your dorm, if he remembered correctly.

A thud on the fire escape pulled you away from the countless mathematical equations running through your mind. You weren’t willing to inspect the cause of the sound, probably a bird anyways, you’d assumed. It wasn’t until you heard a muffled groan through the glass that you were lured out of bed.

Opening the thin curtains, you found none other than the infamous Spider-Man huddled over in what looked like incredible pain. You gasp lightly and unlock the window, sliding it open, being slapped with a sharp gust of wind. Something in your gut told you that you had to help him. So, you held out a gentle hand. “Come inside,” you say kindly,” it is way too cold for you to be lounging out on my fire escape.”

He looked at you for a moment, recalling everything that happened before Stephen cast that spell. His chest stung in an emotional pain, rather than the physical. Your concerned face almost calmed him. He remembered the days where he’d come into school and you’d notice a small wound on his forehead and make him stay still as you cleaned it.

He shakes himself out of the daydream and laughs softly, the first thing you heard come out of him other than guttural pain. He takes your hand and slips into the room, immediately sighing in relief at the change in temperature. “Thank you,” he says through chattering teeth, desperately trying to warm himself up.

You lead him to sit down at your desk, immediately draping the abandoned blanket over his shoulders. You open one of the drawers of the desk and pull out a small first-aid kit your mom packed you “Just in case!” You lean closer to the wound on his stomach, figuring out what way you should approach the situation.

“Wh-what what are you doin’?” you hear the masked hero ask.

“What, you think I’m just gonna let you in and not patch you up?” you laugh slightly and begin wiping up as much blood as your small towel would allow. You look up at his suit itself, noticing the difference in hue and emblem than you remembered. “New suit?” you ask.

He looks down momentarily and stutters out, “Y-yeah…wanted to try it out.”

“Have all of your suits been this thin?” your words kind of spill out before you can really think them over. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t really be asking that.”

“No no no! It’s alright, I swear.” Even through his mask, you could somehow tell that he was being genuine. “Something happened a few weeks ago, I sort of…lost my old suits.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you say kindly, beginning to poorly sew up the laceration on his stomach. “Now, I’m no medic, so this might not be your best fix,” you explain, paying close attention to your task.

He watched as your tongue poked out from your soft lips as you fixed him up. He knew he couldn’t say anything, but it reminded him of the time he’d tore a hole in his shirt in Italy and you’d offered to patch it up for him.

The two of you fell silent, him from pain and you from not knowing how to start a conversation with a literal superhero. Nothing was said until you finished patching up his stomach. He looked down at your work and nodded.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Even through the mask, you could see something in his eye that was almost studying you. The way the silence filled the air left him room to ponder.

“What?” you ask quietly through a breath, finally realizing the very little distance between the two of you. “Oh.” You can feel your face heat up before you pull yourself back and make distance between you and the superhero.

He looks around your room, probably trying to find some sort of conversation starter. He pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders and notices a small teddy bear on your desk adorned in an MIT shirt. “MIT, huh? Okay, smartypants,” he quips, a small and somewhat familiar laugh falls out of his mouth.

You shake your head and smile at him, “It’s not that impressive.” You take another look and notice a pool of blood on his forehead. “You’re bleeding,” you say and place a gentle hand near the wound…just like that day in highschool. “I don’t know if I can get into the mask to fix this one..” you explain.

He hesitated for a moment. He wanted you to know, He wanted you to be able to remember everything and the regret was burning in his chest.

“Y/N..” he lets out softly, immediately grabbing all of your attention.

You’re quiet for a moment, looking over him for probably the 50th time that night. Memories in your mind playing over, just slightly blurred it seems. “I know you,” you begin, “more than I think I do.” You reach for the edge of his mask, hesitating slightly.

He doesn’t stop you, almost sighing in relief when you pull the fabric off of his face. He looks up at your eyes for some sort of sign that you know who he is.

You say nothing, just continue studying him as if he were the rarest crystal in the universe. Something pulls you to him, making you cup his chin slightly. You knew who he was, you’d both shared Dr. Osbourne’s lectures in the main hall from time to time. But something made you think you knew him in a more…personal sense.

Peter’s mind is racing. He noticed a glimmer in your eye for a moment before he reached to hold your hands. “What’re you thinkin’?”

There's something nagging at the back of your mind. Endless moments frozen with a blurry haze begging to be released. Silent moments in the middle of the night while studying for tests, the quiet buzz of the space heater being the only noise. A failed attempt at a pottery class, gentle hands guiding yours over the wet clay.

Your body moves faster than your mind as you gently cup his face, leaning in closer.

He gives you a silent nod before you break the distance and place a soft kiss against his lips. You feel him let out a held breath and his hands find home in your hair.

Every memory, every moment begins flooding back into your mind. The magic that withheld them fizzling away as the two of you kiss. From the first day of fifth grade when he so graciously got his juicy fruit bubble gum stuck to the new sweater your grandmother knit you, to the night after the homecoming dance where you so graciously discovered his other identity. The most recent one just so happened to take place at the statue of liberty, the sky looked as if it were tearing apart at the seams.

And that's where the memories stopped. You don’t know how, but you ended up here, barely knowing the boy you were in love with for a majority of your life.

He didn't give you any more time to think before he pulled away from the kiss.

“Peter, I-” you begin, but the boy cut you off.

“You know me?” he asks, his eyes nearly bursting out of his head.

You nod, a sigh of relief escaping your mouth as your hands found his shoulders. “My Peter.” You note the relieved smile on his face. “But…how?” your eyebrows knit together. “How could I have forgotten?”

He lets out a playful scoff, “I may or may not have asked Doctor Strange to make the entire universe forget about Peter Parker…” his words trail off as the sentence finishes. He looks up at your eyes, scanning them for any anger or hurt, but all he could see was relief.

You shake your head almost in disbelief. “You’re lucky I love you, Pete.”

He runs his hands down your arms, taking yours in his own. “And I love you, too,” he’s kissing your knuckles, exhaustion starting to eat at him.

“Stay with me?” you ask quietly. “We have a bit to catch up on, anyways.” After his sleepy nod of approval, you peel away from him to grab a change of clothes. You toss them his way and get situated on your bed

Once he’s changed and comfortable, he joins you, resting his head in your lap. It’s something he always used to do and it brings him an overdue feeling of safety. Your hand finds comfort in the messy knots at the top of his head. Before you can say a word, his breathing comes to a slow, a soft snore leaving his parted lips. You smile down at him and find your own comfort, drifting off soon after.

[nonpoppin]

i wanna know i wanna know!! :)

which Peter is it?

Andrew's Peter, Toby's Peter or Tom's Peter?

that hockey AU idea sounds really cool :)

lay it on me, i wanna know the deets babes

God you know what, i didn't even think about specifying a Peter but now that the question is raised, i have TWO hockey player Aus 💀

Anyways, first one, Tom's Peter Parker— hes new to the New York's Mighty Avengers and has the weight of the (world) city on his shoulders trying to prove himself to everyone but especially his older teammates and mentors. He truly has to make his mark now before they all run off to retire or settle down he'll be one of the last Avenger members with the OG team. Enter Reader, master of part-time jobs and loser of all sports. She couldn't tell you a thing about baseball, basketball let alone Hockey so when she runs into Peter during her multiple jobs she has no idea who he is. Something he takes advantage of; it's so rare for him to have friends his age let alone friends who know nothing about his job so he bites the puck, asks reader to hang out and she agrees! .... And then she wakes up to see laughing face along with Peter's plastered across New York Times. And shit. Who knew hockey fans were crazy?

Now for Andrew's Peter! Peter wasn't a sport's fan, for years he was dodging balls thrown his way but one day, somehow, he stumbled across his college's ice rink where the hockey players were about and the coach asks him if he's there to try out. And well, why not? Sure he used a bit of spider gift to help him out but some of it, most of it, was just pure skill he picked up from running the streets of New York. So he makes the team, Peter loves his team and what he loves the most is you— coach's daughter who shows her face once in a blue moon to study on whatever makes a decent enough chair or table. Peter zones out while on the ice while practicing and gets slammed, You're one of the first people on their feet pulling him off the ice while your dad pulls the slammer the opposite direction. You carry around a first aid kit and Peter barely holds back a coo from leaving him. You're just so cute, he doesn't think it's fair. He says as much and smiles when he hears your heart speed up.

“You don't have to hurt yourself to get my attention, you already have it, Parker.” and Shit, Peter is screwed because this crush on his coach's daughter? Yeah it ain't going anywhere.

[secretaccountlol]

Peter Parker x Stark!reader (dating)

Peter and yn got into a fight that morning and Peter shows up at the tower and runs to find her room with sad puppy eyes.

Then fluffy and they stay together for the night (not sexual just fluff)

Awe man this was a challenge! But I always keep

My word! So a story with no smexy stuff coming up!

No cw this time! But your comments and reblogs are much appreciated

DOUBLE DATE.

“Peter, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” You sniffed on the phone, hanging up before he could utter another word.

You blew your nose into another tissue before snuggling deeper into the chair in your dad's office.

“That’s the 3rd call-“ Tony checked his watch, “in an hour.”

You huffed, “Ya- I know, Dad. Thanks for the riveting advice.”

“Hey we both know I don’t do the advice, stuff-“ Tony sighed, causally tilting the trash can towards you, you throw your tissue in as he grimaces making you roll your eyes.

“You know most dads help their children during heartbreak? “ you pouted.

“Yeah how so, kid?” Tony retorted.

“I don’t know! By being like, ‘I’m gonna kill that boy the next time I see him!!’ “ you mimicked his voice shaking your fist in the air which made his eyebrow quirk,

“I don’t sound like that…and it’s totally not a heartbreak, kiddo. He literally just missed your date today.” Tony tapped his finger on his desk as he worked on his computer.

“Yea- but it was a double date, dad! I was sitting there like an idiot! Third-wheeling cus my good for nothin’ boyfriend decided not to tell me, he wasn’t coming!” You grumbled, he just didn’t get it, did he?

“Ooo, yeah that does sound painful.” Tony winced. “But cut the kid a break? He was probably doin’ some Spider-Man stuff or something. I mean, it is the first time he’s done something like this, right?”

You think, guess it is the first time he’s done something like this.

“I guess.. you’re right. But, I'm still upset! He should have told me.” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air making your dad's eyebrows raise again.

“Yeah, yeah, I know kiddo. Accidents happen, especially in this profession. Remember you decided to date a hero, not me. Cus’ I am the hero” Tony grinned, making you groan.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Father. I’m gonna go to

My room.” You wave him off as he yells out “no problem kiddo.”

-

Peter swings frantically towards the tower, almost smacking the side of it when lost his grip on the webbing.

“Kid?” Peter turned his head to see Stark staring back at him, incredulously.

“Mr.Stark! I-I need to speak with you, it’s about-“

“Yea, I know. Come in before someone sees ya.”

Peter nods before hopping into the window Tony was speaking from.

“Next time, use the front door.” Tony sat back down in his chair.

“Right! Right right… I- uh just needed to come urgently.” Peter’s breath escapes him as he stands in front of Tony, how do you say “hey I broke your offspring's heart, now can you please tell me where they are so I can apologize?”

“Room,” Tony spoke, tapping his pen on his desk.

“Huh?” Peter’s head quirked like a dog.

“She’s in her room, Lover boy. “ Tony clicked his tongue.

“Oh. OH!” well that was easy, “Uhm- can I-?” Peter pointed to his suit, Tony simply nodded before Peter pressed the button making his suit go limp.

Peter scrambled out of the suit eager to see you, “Before you go, what's with the backpack?” Tony pointed at Peter’s bag with his pen, “Not a school day.”

“Oh- I.. brought her favorite snacks, drinks, and activities as an apology.” Peter sheepishly explained.

“Attaboy, but if she asks, I like- yelled at you or something.” Peter nodded about to head towards your room,

“Wait kid-“ Peter turned back to face Stark, “Yes, Mr.Stark?“

“Try not to let this happen again, got it?” Tony frowned, making Peter gulp.

“Got it.”

-

You heard a gentle knock at your door, “Come in.” You called out, shutting the book you had been reading moments before.

Your eyes light up as you see Peter’s face.

You sigh softly seeing his puppy dog eyes, they made all your anger disappear.

“Peter..?”

“I’m sorry.”

You watched as Peter put his bag down, before running to hug you tightly.

“I am so so so sorry babe! I swear I didn’t mean to ditch you today! We had a robbery and I thought it would be quick, but it wasn’t quick! And by the time I was done, that’s when I realized.” Peter's words rushed out so fast you could barely understand.

“Peter.” You brush your hands through his hair, Peter’s eyes meet yours, his lip in a tiny pout.

“I forgive you, just- tell me next time okay?” You kiss his lips, feeling him smile.

“Okay.” Peter hugs you closer, kissing you again and again.

“Pete.”

“Hmmm?” Peter mumbles, arms wrapped around you, face smushed in your side.

“What’s with the bag?”

“Oh..!” Peter sat up, making you grin. “I totally forgot- I..brought some of your favorite foods and stuff.. to- to make up for me missing our date.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck, too cute..

“Our double date, Pete.”

“Right.. it was a double date. I’m sorry.”

“I know. Now show me what you got!”

Peter's grin mimicked yours, “Gladly.”

-

You burped as you drank the last of your soda, making Peter giggle. Gummies, Chips, and board games litter your floor, and you couldn’t be happier.

“This is way better than our date.”

“Our double date rememberrrrr” Peter corrected you, making you giggle.

“Right right…!” You nod wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his nose.

You pouted suddenly as you looked out your window behind Peter, it was almost night. Which means Peter has to go home.

“What’s wrong?” Peter kissed your cheek, breaking you out of your spell.

“You have to go home soon, it’s almost your curfew..” you motioned to the window behind you, Peter doesn’t bother to look, instead he stays focused on you.

“Who says I’m goin’ home?”

“Uhm..May?”

“Noope!”

“No?”

“She said I could stay over.” Peter's toothy grin made you jump with excitement.

“Are you serious?” You whisper watching Peter nod like a madman.

“Oh my gosh!!! Sleepover!!! “ You laugh glomping Peter.

“Wait. I have to ask my dad, one second.”

You run out before Peter could say anything.

“DAD DAD DAD, CAN PETEY AND I HAVE A SLEEPOVER?” you yell, startling Tony.

“Uh..sure? I’m guessing you both made up?”

You nod uncontrollably before dashing back out and running back into your room, where Peter sat nervously.

“HE SAID YES” you scream tackling Peter, making him burst out in laughter as you snuggle into him.

Both of your giggles subsided as you lay next to each other in bed.

“I love you, y’know?” Peter snuggled up to you.

“I love you too, I’m really happy you’re my boyfriend.” You kiss his cheek, as he squeezes you.

“Me too.”