Reader who has a real job and actual bills. Reader who prioritizes her own peace over his feelings. Reader who has hobbies that don’t revolve around a man. Reader who actually has a life outside of him. Reader who says “no” and means it. Reader who isn't easily impressed. Reader who’s petty. Reader who has trust issues. Reader who chooses her girls every single time. Reader who has a body count and isn't ashamed of it. Reader who is exhausted by male fragility. Reader who holds grudges. Reader who’s a mess. Reader who’s mentally ill. Reader who makes mistakes. Reader who’s manipulative. Reader who’s selfish. Reader who’s morally gray. Reader who’s awful. Reader who genuinely doesn’t give a fuck.
summary: When you find a post you had submitted to an archive site years ago, you start the path to find out who the boy named peter was.
pairing: Peter Parker x fem!reader
tags and warnings: canon divergence probably, it's more of reader finding peter, there most likely will be a part two/mini series, not a lot of accurate details (cuz I do not remember the old movies), some original characters (not important tho), fluff, based off of that picture from unsent project, mention of aunt may's death, ty sarah (@patientofarkhamasylum)for proofing this!!
word count: 2.3K
Algorithms are a tricky little thing.
Sometimes, it worked well — showing you different posts based on your history of likes and follows.
Sometimes, it didn't.
Today had been a day where the algorithm seemed to lose its sense of logic, as your entire feed looked like it belonged to a teenager who was still stuck in the throes of the past.
Popular Vines from back in the day resurface when you sit down in the late hours of the night after work, lounging on your couch with your legs hanging off the armrest. Giggles tear through the silence of your apartment when you come across a particularly funny one. After five minutes of re-watching the same video, you scroll past it to come across a photo of what looked like a message? Usually, you were the one to not spend a lot of time on such posts in an effort to continue finding hidden gems buried from years ago, but there was just something about it that made you stay.
It was a message addressed to someone named Peter, followed by the text :
'I'm going to show you this site and this post after we get together lol.'
The post belonged to a social media project where people could submit messages of what they wanted to say to someone but couldn't. A form of therapy, really, as the words you wanted to say are out in the world.
The message itself was ordinary, but something irked you about it.
The human brain is the size of two clenched fists placed together. Social media algorithms are based on the biological neural networks intrinsic to the brain. And just like that, something tells you you were the person who was behind this message. Call it a hunch or a sixth sense, something about the post just seemed... You, but you didn't know anyone named Peter, let alone had a crush on one.
Within minutes, you find yourself scrolling backwards in your gallery till you could find the plethora of memories from years ago.
You had always been an over thinker so you were sure that you had taken some evidence if you had submitted anything online.
Among several pictures with your friends at your last prom, you found what you were looking for. There was a slightly blurry picture of the same message on the forum's submission form just before you clicked submit.
Though you were happy that your intuition remained strong throughout the years, it still perplexed you as to how you had no memory of anyone named Peter in your life.
Was your memory really that bad?
You decide only one thing could really answer your questions — your journals. The habit had been ingrained in your brain since you were a child at the age of eight years old after seeing your mother's countless journals depicting her life since she was a teenager. Rushing towards your bedroom, your feet skims against the rug covered floor as you kneel down before your bed. Hovering your hand over the darkness, your fingers finally grip the cardboard edges of a box, dust fluttering in the air as it came to light.
This was your entire life in a box.
It contained several journals, decorated with stickers and labels, spanning from the age of eight to twenty two. After a brief search filled with your throat burning every time you coughed from coming close to the grey fragments, you finally found the journal you had been looking for — eighteen-year-old you's journal.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, you dust the cover before opening it to the first page.
Dear Diary,
It's my last first day of school ever again. Wohooo!!! No more school, and life is going to be perfect. Cass and I have similar classes, while Steph has only one class in common :( But we will meet during lunch.
I saw him again. He looked so cute today! We have our lockers opposite each other. He has the same classes as Cass and me.
Maybe I will talk to him this time.
xoxo
There was no mention of the boy's name, but you knew it had to be Peter from the earlier evidence. Maybe if you asked your friends, they'd remember the mysterious boy you had a crush on.
"Hey girls, do you remember if I had a crush on someone named Peter in high school?"
The sound of rustling papers drifts across the call, as you could only expect Cass to be working on her grad school applications.
"You did have a crush on someone," Cass emphasizes, her voice sounding softer as if she had kept her phone beside her on the table while the sound of pen against paper returned. "But I don't think his name was Peter."
"Did we even have a Peter in school?" Steph asks, the sound of traffic permeating her voice.
"I don't think so," Cass murmurs.
"Besides, why are we talking about high school?" Stephanie pipes in, her breath laboured from probably running late to work.
"Just looked through some of my old journals."
A brief silence passes, occasionally interrupted by the honks from Steph's background. You were not sure whether what you saw was even true. Perhaps maybe it in fact was someone else. Maybe you did not know a boy named Peter.
"Are you okay?" Cass asks, her voice much louder than before.
"Yeah, I'm good. I just…" You sigh, gripping the edges of your journal. "I just feel like I know this person."
She hums.
"Maybe you should go by our school and ask Mr. Harrington. He'd probably know."
Evening sunlight breezes in through the open window. The curtains ruffle in the air just in time to see flashes of red swing past your apartment.
"Yeah, maybe I should."
Visiting your old high school when you're an adult ignites a sense of dread.
It wasn't that high school had been the worst experience, but it hadn't been kind either.
The walls remain unchanged, notice boards plastered with different yet the same posters. Students breeze through the hallways in groups while some embrace their own presence.
"Mr Harrington."
The man turns, chestnut hair neatly presented without a strand out of place as the similar circular glasses rested on his nose . He hadn't changed much except for a few new grey hairs muffled among the brown and slight permanent creases decorating his forehead.
He repeats your name in surprise before a smile curled on his lips. "What are you doing here, kid?"
"I can't visit my old high school again, Mr Harrington?" you ask, an eyebrow quirked.
"Well, of course not. You are free —"
"I'm joking. How have you been?"
He laughs, the same laugh that you grew up around during several meet-ups as part of being a member of the Academic Decathlon team.
"It's been the same honestly, except the kids — Hey," he replies before turning towards a student fighting with another in the hallway.
"So Mr Harrington, do you remember teaching anyone named Peter in the same class as mine?"
He frowns, his hand pinching at the centre of his glasses as lines formed between his brows.
"Does this Peter have a last name?" He looks at his watch.
"I don't know." You rub the back of your neck, heat crawling over your face.
"I don't remember teaching a Peter, but I can check in with the administrative office and let you know." He tugs his coat before looking at his watch again as his feet move unconscionably. "Nice to see you, kid."
Hours later, you receive a message from Mr Harrington about having found no records of a Peter existing in your class.
Dear Diary,
I spoke to him in the hallway. I was so shy I stuttered when he asked me whether Mr Rogers was coming to class. I'm so embarrassed, but that's okay because we are partners for an upcoming chemistry project!! YAY!!!
We are meeting tomorrow at Blue Token Cafe after school.
I'm nervous.
xoxo
The journal closes with a thud as you lean your head back against the wall. You had so many questions and not one answer to any of them.
Who was Peter? Why couldn't you remember someone from five years ago who clearly impacted you so much? Why was there no record of a Peter in school?
Did you even send the confession?
But you knew you did.
You had proof.
Right now, all you could do was trust yourself and hope you would find the Peter you were so in love with.
The cafe, as the name had suggested, was very Blue.
Blue colored walls paired with light blue chairs and tabletops. It was the same as years ago when you frequented it for coffee.
A high-pitched voice called your name from behind the counter — Ms. Marisol, the owner. She had been kind enough to lend you and many other students free coffee while running on mere pennies for the school year.
"Oh my darling, how have you been?"
"I'm so sorry for not visiting as frequently." You give her a tight hug, her smile lighting up the entire place.
"No worries." She swiftly ushers you to a nearby table. "I know how busy life can get as a young adult. Now, let me get you your favourite coffee and blueberry cheesecake first."
Before you could stop her, Ms. Marisol was already grabbing a coffee cup. A small laugh escapes your lips before you close your eyes, dropping your head down on your hands.
The smell of roasted coffee beans wafts through the air. It makes you ache for a time you wish you could return to. As memories of high school tread past behind your eyelids, a flash of sparkling brown eyes makes you blink.
Those eyes.
So full of life.
You knew them.
The smell of hot coffee and the scent of slight citrus hangs in the air as she brings to you the delicacies.
"So tell me, what have I missed?"
Thirty minutes pass by as you tell her all bout college, your courses and some stuck up professors, finally ending it with your current job. Ms. Marisol's son was now in London, working and engaged to his longtime girlfriend.
"Ms Marisol, do you ever remember a Peter from back then?"
"Peter…Peter…Peter," She repeats, eyebrows scrunched. “No, darling. Did he visit regularly?"
"I….I don't know…" You sigh, rubbing your forehead. "But thank you, Ms. Marisol. I need to get back to work now."
She pats your shoulder, squeezing it slightly with a smile that only ever meant good wishes.
"Don't forget to come to the wedding!"
Dear Diary,
I visited his home and met his aunt,May. She's sooo pretty and kind. And the food was amazing.
Peter's room was messy, but you know the right kind of messy (and nerdy)
We looked at each other at one point, fingers touching.
Does he like me too?
Nah.
After I left his home, there was a huge accident, and Spiderman saved me from being crushed under a car. His voice reminded me of someone.
I hope I see him again.
xoxo
You didn't remember visiting his house or meeting his aunt, but you did remember Spiderman saving you.
It had been your first time meeting the neighborhood's hero. He had swung you that day among crashing debris to a rooftop, miles from the spot.
"Hey, you okay?" Spider-Man asks as he sets you down.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," you murmur, holding your head in your hands before a smile breaks out on your face. " That was amazing."
He chuckles, and it reminds you of someone who had uttered the brief sound just hours earlier, but before you could ask anything, he swings across to the next building.
You swear he turns mid-swing.
You wished traffic didn't exist.
It was already close to nine in the morning, and you had missed your regular coffee, which had made you even grumpier than usual. Deciding to take a shortcut that you had never really taken in the past, you run towards your office.
Fifteen minutes from your home, an intersection comes into view — one that you had never really seen before. But something makes you stop.
Delmar's Deli-Grocery
It looked like a regular bodega, but something in you urged you to go in.
The door opens with a clink.
A man in his late fifties stands behind the counter. There aren't a lot of customers as he continues to read the newspaper. You were hungry from not having breakfast; you could use something here, still not sure what had made you visit despite being late. Looking around, you spot a sandwich on the menu.
"Sandwich with pickles, please," you say to the man before the following words slip out like practice, "Can you mush it down real flat? Thank you."
It felt odd, like you were reciting back a suggestion from someone, but you don't remember who it was.
"Reminds me of someone," the man mutters, flicking the newspaper.
Your heart thuds as you ask him, "Yeah, who?"
"I don't remember. But I know he had an Italian Aunt. May something," He pauses, watching you over the borders of the paper, "May... May Parker, I think."
Maybe if you could find aunt May using her last name, you might finally be able to know who this peter was.
Aunt May had passed four years ago.
After a brief amount of research, there was no mention of any relatives of hers. Maybe this was all just a weird, stupid dream you were going to forget about.
Deciding to pay your respects, you buy a bouquet of flowers from the nearby store and take the subway.
The cemetery is pretty empty other than a few people. You look around, trying to find her gravestone, when you see someone already by it.
summary: a leak in your apartment leaves you out of a place for a week. lucky for you, upstairs resident peter parker has a spare room.
wc: ~5k
tags: peter parker x fem!reader, neighbor!reader vibes, strangers to friends to something more, hurt/mostly comfort, elusive and mysterious peter parker, spider-man reveal, patching up peter, abuse of italics, wound care, mutual pining ftw
a/n: i know i have like 6 wips right now okay. but i saw this "texts with peter parker" tiktok and was absolutely in love with the idea and then suddenly 3 hours had passed and i came to and five thousand words had been written. FULL CREDIT FOR THE IMAGES, TEXT QUOTES IN THE FIC, AND GENERAL IDEA TO @arizonocan ON TIKTOK (same @'s here and there). thank you queen for letting me flesh out a full fic based off your series!
also fuck it. let me know what you think about proper caps instead of just all lowercase. just don't accuse me of ai PLEASE i don't TOUCH that shit i just like grammar okay
masterlist
Peter was out on midday patrol when he got the call.
"You know how i said renting the loft might come with some weird contingencies that will only come up as they come up?" His landlord asked.
"I, uh... yes sir. How can I help?" peter spoke into the phone he had on speaker as he watched his jail-broken police scanner app.
"I've got a leak in apartment two twenty. Lone girl about your age, I need the place empty for two weeks while I fix it. I'm not sure what you've done with it, but I know you've got that extra room..."
Peter sighed, noting every piece of equipment he was going to have to drag across the apartment to clear said room. "Uh, yes. I do, yes sir."
"Great. I'll give you her number. Totally up to her, obviously, but I already mentioned the space and that I'm not paying for any additional lodging in the meantime. Let me know if you need any help moving shit. Thanks Peter."
The line disconnected before Peter could either protest or even agree, though it seemed the decision had already been made for him. Great. Peter started to make his way home, both to text you and rid his apartment of anything spider-man adjacent.
You'd seen Peter a few times in passing, though whenever you saw him, he always seemed to be in a hurry. Your first time meeting him was almost a year ago now, when your paper grocery bag had broken in the lobby and sent produce flying everywhere. He stopped to help you pick everything up, and even followed you up to your apartment to help you carry what you couldn't hold with the broken bag. He was friendly enough, and since that day you'd seen him a handful of times, always at odd hours and in a rush.
So, when you Peter Parker texted you while you were sorting through your damaged belongings, you perked up.
hey, this is peter parker. from upstairs?
-yes, the neighbor who never seems to be home. how'd you get this number?
our landlord. he told me about the leak
-yeah... he said it'll be a week or two before it's fixed
i have a spare room if you need a place to stay?
-oh!
-funny, he just mentioned the loft. nothing about the tenant actively living there
-that's really sweet of you, but it's okay :)
no seriously, it's no problem! i have the whole loft and like you said, i'm not home much lol
-i was planning on staying with my brother
take the spare room for the week. or more, obviously
i owe our landlord a favor anyways
-okay fine
-but only because the thought of living in a studio with my brother for that long makes me want to rip my hair out
sounds good! i'll make you a key and come drop it off in about an hour :)
After a phone call with your landlord to corroborate Peter's story and confirm he wasn't in fact using the loft to store the bodies of his victims, you decided to say fuck it and start packing for Peters. You loaded up a week of your life into an oversized suitcase, finished clearing what you could of your stuff out of the literal splash zone, and exactly an hour later as he said, Peter Parker was at your door.
"Hey! I'm Peter. You knew that, obviously, we've met before. And we talked an hour ago. That was pretty stupid, I guess," he chucked, hand reaching behind him to nervously scratch the back of his neck. "A-anyways, I came to drop off a key for you and help you bring some stuff upstairs."
You gave him a warm smile, taking his awkward demeanor as a sign of safety. "Hey Peter, thanks for all of this. It's just this one suitcase, I figured I could just come back down if I forgot— oh. You don't have to do that, really."
Peter had already grabbed the luggage from your hand, brushing off your protests as he started to head for the stairs. "It's cool, I've got it. I'm sure you've been cleaning all afternoon, I'm not going to make you carry this up five flights of stairs."
Your blush was hidden as you followed up behind him, a smile creeping on your cheeks as he continued to ramble and apologize for the state of his place. You got to the loft, and he opened the door to an apartment at least twice the size of yours. One of the walls was completely covered in windows, natural light bathing the room in a warm glow. The set up looked about how you'd expect a 20-something year old mans apartment to look: scarce furniture, a lone tv with an xbox set up on a bare wall, and far too much open space for there not to be a single rug on the floor.
"—and like I said, I'll keep cleaning when I get home from, um, work later. I work a lot of split shifts and I was out when the landlord called earlier, so I didn't have much prep time to—"
"Peter," you stopped him. He turned back to look at you with wide eyes, your suitcase still in his hands. "This is more than enough, really. Having my own bedroom is already far beyond what I was expecting."
He gave you a small smile, tension draining from his shoulders. "Right. Yeah, okay. Let me show you your bedroom."
He helped you get settled best he could, telling you to unpack into the empty dresser that was in the room while he ran to grab something real quick. You did not expect said errand to be carrying both your mattress and bed frame up five flights of stairs him-goddamn-self.
"Okay, so I figured you can put this wherever you want, obviously, but—"
"Peter!"
He whipped up to look at you, losing grip of the frame on his back and catching it just before it hit the ground. "What?"
"What the fuck? Did you carry that up here yourself?"
Peter's eyes went wide for a second, almost like he'd been caught doing something wrong, but he shook it off and replaced it with a nervous laugh. "Oh! Y-yeah, not a big deal. I, uh, helped with a college moving company for a few summers. I also brought your mattress up."
You stared at him in disbelief as he brought the frame fully into the room and propped it across from the wall with a large window.
"Um, I was just saying that the windows up here have a pretty bad draft, so you might want to sleep on the opposite wall. But you can do whatever you want! Obviously! Mi casa es su casa, as they say," Peter's rambling fizzled off into anxious laughter once again. "Anyways, I have to head out. To work, I mean. But please, make yourself at home, I mean it. Do whatever you want, use what you need to. I'll get home pretty late, so make sure to lock up before you go to bed, okay? Text me if you need me at all!"
And just like that, he was gone for the next seven hours, not returning until late into the night and well after you had gone to bed. This was a common theme, you'd come to realize — Peter gone most of the day, working split shifts that kept him out a standard 9-5, only to be home long enough for a shower before headed out until god knows what hour of the morning. You didn't get to interact with him much over the week, but frankly, you didn't mind. You'd anticipated seven days of sharing a studio with your party animal brother, and being at Peter's wasn't much unlike being at your own place still.
Quickly one week had turned into two, and you'd gotten to know Peter a bit more. Well, that was a bit of an overstatement.
You'd gotten to know his favorite sweets and movies, and learned that he was an absolute wiz with technology. You didn't know what he did for a living, where he was 20 hours of the day, or what Peter owed the landlord such a large favor for. Regardless, you'd come to appreciate what company he gave you.
Thank god, because thirteen days after squatting in his apartment, you got a call saying that your place wasn't going to be ready nor livable for at least another week. And you needed to clear your living room so that they could do construction.
For some reason, you found yourself not minding too much — at least, in regards to living with peter. He was going to have to use his magic moving powers to get your damn couch up these stairs, because there was no way in hell you were participating in that. But, this loft did have a bigger shower than you did. And a tub. And Peter (when he was home) wasn't all that bad company to have around. You checked in with him first, chuckling at the "obviously! i'll grab your stuff when i'm off of work", and you let yourself unpack a little more, decorating his extra dresser with some of your knickknacks and doing exactly what peter had said about making yourself feel at home.
Despite the whole mattress fiasco, you were still shocked when you woke up the next morning to find that Peter had single-handedly brought up your entire living room and combined it with his own — couch, bookshelves, and all. You scolded him for doing it alone, but he dismissed you and insisted that it was no big deal. That he was just happy to have a couch to sit on that wasn't clearly from the side of the road. You offered to pay him for his efforts like a real mover, but he declined, using the moment to rush out the door for his shift.
Actually, that had happened a lot over the last few weeks.
Each time you'd gone to give Peter money to help cover rent, or to offer up a grocery run, he refused with a fury and found a convenient way every conversation to be running late for work. Work that, you were beginning to notice, started at a different time each day. But still, he would fill up the fridge before you got a chance to, and hide the multiple rent bills that slipped under the door that you had no idea were overdue. So, you started to do whatever you could to help him elsewhere.
You spent your evenings cleaning the apartment, dusting the insane amount of cobwebs from the walls and corners, and meticulously polishing all of the memorabilia on Peter's shelves. He protested initially, saying that you weren't responsible for cleaning up after him. It died off when he started reaping the benefits of the newly spotless bathtub he hadn't yet touched since moving in. He still texted you about it often though, never letting your efforts go unnoticed.
did you make my bed??
-you wouldn't take my money
???????
thank you. you didn't have to do that
It wasn't just the cleaning, though. You started baking more in your free time, making copious amounts of hearty snacks that he could take on the go. You'd begun to pick up on the fact that Peter didn't eat much, never having breakfast before heading out for the day, and scarcely joining you for dinner before leaving again. So, you made whatever handhelds you could: muffins, cookies, small quiches — anything you could leave on the counter to entice him on his way out the door.
Peter was always so sheepish about your acts of service towards him when he was home, nervous gratitude flowing from his mouth as he stuttered over compliments of how nice you were to him. He started to do things in return, too, as if the free housing wasn't enough. He'd pick you up a coffee and drop it at your work, or leave flowers on your bed for you to see when you'd get home; a little note, to thank you for doing his laundry or whatever task you'd done that day, stuck to the packaging with some sort of tack you were going to have to ask him to borrow for some posters you wanted to put up. How was this shit so sticky?
And yeah. It had been three weeks since you moved in with no word of returning to your own place, and you were at the point of putting up some of your posters. You felt guilty, initially, taking up space that wasn't yours. But Peter had insisted, happy to help you decorate the space and feel more at home, despite the circumstances.
Small moments like that grew over time, as Peter came home more for dinners before heading out to whatever fuck ass third shift he worked that started at 9pm and also sometimes at 6. You loved the excuse to cook more for him, and truthfully just getting to spend more time with him. Your friendship with Peter was blooming at an accelerating pace, and you were starting to wonder why you ever lived alone to begin with.
It was a Friday night, the both of you enjoying Tony's Pizza from down the street, when you'd gotten a call from your landlord updating you on the state of your apartment.
"You're kidding," you spat into the phone, mouth still full of pepperoni pizza and newfound annoyance. "Another month?"
Peter whipped up to look at you, bewilderment across his features as he moved closer to you on the couch.
"Yeah, okay. Yeah, I'll get in touch with them. Thanks. Bye."
You hung up with an exasperated sigh and flopped back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Peter leaned back next to you, looking over with concern. "I take it that was our amazing, lovely landlord?"
You scoffed. "Yeah. Turns out my fucking floor caved in. It'll be another month before I can move back. And I have to contact my renters insurance; I guess the rest of my shit was destroyed."
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." Peter's voice was genuine and quiet, like he had been the one to wreck your apartment himself, as he reached forward to put a comforting hand on your knee. You tried not to read into the butterflies that bloomed in your stomach at the touch. "What the fuck happened?"
You shrugged, rolling your head over to look at him. When did he get that close?
"No idea. Listen, I know I've already been here for over three fucking weeks and well overstayed my welcome. If you give me a few days, I can take my shit and—"
"What?" Peter sat up, turning his full body to look at you. "No, you're staying here till everything's fixed."
You blushed at how urgent his tone was, and he started to backpedal immediately. "I mean, only if you want to, of course! Obviously you can do whatever you want, you don't have to stay here, Jesus. I-I, I just mean that you're welcome to. It's no problem, I mean."
"It's okay, Peter," you smiled at him, resting a hand on his knee to calm him down in the same manner he had a minute ago. You ignored the way he instantly flushed. "I kinda like it here."
Peter smiled back, his flushed cheeks only radiating down his neck as he matched your admission. "I kind of like having you here."
"You have to let me pay you now, though."
"Look at the time! That's so crazy, I have to head out for work now." He stood and rushed to his bedroom, popping back out with a small backpack before heading out the front door. "Do not pay me!"
Over the next week, the air between you and Peter had begun to shift a bit. Peter was home every night for dinner, even surprising you one evening with dinner already made when you'd come home. He continued to leave you flowers, though his notes were growing longer. You noticed how you'd been sitting closer together on the couch as the TV played at night, knees knocking and arms brushing together anytime one of you laughed. Neither of you said anything, though you knew you both felt it.
Suddenly, it had been a month of living with Peter, and you knew you had to celebrate.
He'd texted you to wish you a "happy one month, roomie!" in the morning, letting you know he'd be working late but home for the night by 10 to commemorate the day with you. You smiled at the notion, pushing down the flutters in your chest at the fact that he was carving out time in his clearly busy schedule to celebrate such a silly milestone with you.
It was almost 11 by the time you heard the front door open, but you didn't mind. Your brownies had taken longer than expected anyways.
"Peter! In here!" You yelled from the kitchen, pulling the fresh goods from the oven. Footsteps grew louder behind you, and you heard Peter's bag hit the counter.
"Hey, you. Sorry i'm late, long day."
You chuckled as you poked a toothpick through the chocolatey center, letting out a satisfied hum when it returned clean. "That's okay, you're right on time! I made you something to celebrate!"
"That's funny, I picked you up something too."
You turned around to see Peter pulling a grocery store cake from his backpack. Well, what was a grocery store cake. You stared at the dishelved cake in front of you, frosting smeared all over the inside of the packaging.
"It, uh... used to say 'Happy One Month'. To be funny. But then, uh..."
"Then you threw it at the wall??!"
Peter barked out a laugh and fully set the desert down on the counter, picking up his bag and headed down the hall. "It's the thought that counts, okay! I'm gonna take a shower quick, I'll be back in few!"
In the meantime, you had dished up the brownies and supposed cake for the two of you, taking the plates into the living room to where you had set up a make-shift fort for your planned movie night. That was the plan, though things changed when you caught a glimpse at Peter's body wrapped only in a towel as he passed from the bathroom to his room.
His body that was covered in bruises.
You let him settle onto the couch and get a few bites in before bringing it up.
Peter dodged your gaze, playing with the food on his plate. "It's... just a hazard of the job, is all."
"Are you in a gang?" you questioned seriously, without skipping a beat. He looked at you like you'd grown a third eye.
"What?! No! No, I'm not in a gang."
"You're always so weird and evasive about your work, I don't know! Just trying to make sure I'm not rooming with a wanted man!"
A conflicted flash of emotions settled on Peter's face before he shook it off with a laugh, taking a bite of cake. "Yeah well, you've been pretty safe so far, huh? Maybe I'm just that high up in the gang."
"I guess that's true," you leaned into his frame as you laughed. "Just don't owe someone something you don't have and trade me for collateral."
You went to poke him in his side, a harmless and playful gesture, but when you did it, you wished you hadn't. Peter recoiled violently, hurt flooding his expression as a groan slipped from deep in his chest. You pulled back instantly, going to apologize for hitting a bruise when you noticed that the indent in his shirt where you poked had been soaked in a thin layer of red.
"Peter, you're bleeding? What the fuck, why didn't you say something?!" You didn't give him a chance to answer before dashing to the bathroom for the Very Thorough First-Aid kit that Peter had stashed.
You returned and he shook his head quickly, arms coming up to stop you. "Nononono! I'm totally fine! Really, look!"
His pained inhale when he twisted his core to show off how fine he was didn't convince you.
"Shirt off. Now."
Peter went bright red. "I... I mean, I guess you did buy me dinner first."
For once, you didn't laugh at one of Peter's jokes.
He stripped his teeshirt, allowing you to see the gash on his left side. You let out a string of curses and got to work, muttering apologies as you dabbed alcohol on the open wound. You tried to question him further but he dodged each one with practiced deflection and heated cheeks from your gentle touch. You tried and failed to fight your own blush, focusing on the situation in front of you and wondering what fucking job he had that 1.) got him such a nasty fucking gash in his side, and 2.) got him these delicious looking abs. The bed frame and couch made more sense now.
You finished patching him up, grabbing the gauze from the kit and making eye contact with Peter before earning a small nod that allowed you to reach forward and begin wrapping him. It was the closest you'd been to him yet, chests brushing against one another as you guided the cotton around his torso. Your breath hitched when you could feel his own on your neck, unsteady and hot under your proximity. You pulled back, meeting his eyes as you finished the wrap, gaze dropping down to his lips momentarily. Peter mimicked you, and you felt all the hair on your body stand straight.
"T-there. It, it looks mostly healed, which is good. But you should keep it covered until the bleeding stops. I'm sure you know that from your... job."
Peter flickered down to your lips again. "Yeah."
You sat there for another few heartbeats, longingly staring at each other's lips before peter stood abruptly. "Yeah. Yeah! Thank you, I mean. Thanks for patching me up. You should consider healthcare."
You stood up too, matching his frazzled energy. "Right! Yeah, maybe haha. I should, uh..."
"Yeah, it's pretty late—"
"Go to bed, yeah."
"Yeah, right. Me too."
You laid in bed for hours that night, thinking of all possible ways that Peter could be in danger and would have gotten so beat up. You fought your own rumination, battling each thought with reminders that you weren't his girlfriend. You were just someone who was living in his spare room for another few weeks due to an unfortunate situation. Stay out of his fucking business.
Except you couldn't, when the next night he made it exclusively your business.
You woke up to a string of texts, your phone going off loudly in time with a heavy thud coming from Peter's room. You checked your phone to see it was just after two in the morning, and you had four missed texts from Peter from just minutes ago.
hey are you home?
i need help
actually it's sort of an emergency
of sorts
-it's 2am peter, what could you have possibly gotten up to
i know
i promise it's important
-okay one second
-you're so lucky you live two feet away
Throwing on your slippers, you trekked to the bedroom door next to yours, giving it a soft knock. You were greeted with a weak "come in".
You entered Peter's room expecting to find Peter. Not Spider-Man.
"W-what... the fuck."
Peter was in the middle of his bedroom, curled on the floor in a ripped up Spider-Man suit, his mask on the ground next to him. He had a gash in his side similar to the one you had seen last night, except this one was far worse. He was bleeding out onto the hardwood, shaky hands doing little to hold the wound. You rushed to his side immediately.
"Oh my god, Peter!"
"I think you mean, S-spider-Man," he coughed out, hoping you didn't see the blood that had splattered out in the dark room. You did.
"What the fuck happened?! Oh my god," you ran out of the room, returning with the First-Aid kit in an instant. "Take off that suit, let me see. Oh my god, Peter."
It was a team effort to strip him of the latex, wet with blood and clinging to his skin. Clinging to his open wounds.
"Why the fuck wouldn't you say anything?!"
"Say what?" He trie to play dumb, though it earned him a smack to his non-bruised shoulder. "Hey!"
"That you're Spider-Man, dumbass!"
"I didn't want to make it your problem, I guess." He mumbled, eyes fluttering closed as you pressed a damp, soapy cloth to the largest of the gashes.
"Pete, what? You didn't think it would be my problem if a bad guy saw Spider-Man going home, and then I also just happen to live there??"
He winced when you dabbed the spot harder. "Touché."
Peter wasn't bickering back with you like normal, wasn't being evasive about what had happened. He rambled something about The Scorpion and gave a weak "you should see the other guy" as you helped him strip the bottom half of his suit and took stock of the black and blue budding all over his strong thighs.
"Peter, I... I think you need to go to the hospital. You could have serious internal bleeding, clotting, I-I mean, this looks bad, Pete."
His eyes shot open. When had he closed them? "No! No, I'll heal. I heal fast, it's okay."
"Peter Parker," you said sternly, watching as he nodded off again into what you hoped wasn't flat out unconsciousness.
"Really, s'okay. I've had worse. I'll be fine by morning, just... help me wrap it up? No hospitals, please." He was begging at this point, tears welling in his eyes as he looked at you. You relented with a heavy sigh, doing what you could to tend to his wounds and wrap him properly.
Eventually, you had him cleaned to the best of your lack-thereof medical ability and into some fresh clothes. It was hard not to gawk at his body as you helped him into his shorts and an over-sized teeshirt, but you tried your damn best to stay focused on the literal medical emergency in front of you. You helped him get comfortable in his bed, tucking him in and running out to bring him a huge glass of water and some Tylenol.
"You might have super healing, but I'm sure it still hurts," you said, leaving the bottle on his nightstand. "Can I get you anything else, Spidey?"
He smiled at the nickname, shaking his head softly. "No, you've done more than enough. Earned your rent for the next month."
You scoffed and started to head back to your room, but a hand grabbed your wrist before you could get far.
"Wait!" Peter exclaimed, nerves heavy in his tired voice. "Do you, um. Would you like to, maybe... doyouwantostayandcuddlemaybe."
You stood there for a moment, beat red, because there’s no way Peter Parker —there’s no way SPIDER FUCKING MAN— wants to cuddle you right now. Your moment of shock was taken as hesitation.
"I’m so sorry, that’s probably such a weird fucking question, oh my god. I didn’t mean to make your literal living space uncomfortable, fucking hell. First the Spider-Man thing and now this, Jesus Christ Peter, one at a fucking time—"
You cut off his rambling by crawling into bed next to him. "Shut up, Peter. Of course I want to cuddle."
You maneuvered around Peter best you could without jostling his fragile state, shuffling your way under his comforter and laying to face him. Neither of you were touching yet, though you laid inches from one another, matching blushes glowing even in the dark room. You let out a nervous laugh.
"iIm sorry, I haven’t done this in a while."
Peter let out a huff of air, and for a moment you thought he might be laughing at you. "Trust me. Fucking tell me about it."
You give him a reassuring smile, sensing there's more to the story there. Apparently, there's a lot more to Peter Parker's story than you orignally knew about.
"Here," he reached forwards to carefully pull you towards him, a trembling hand finding your waist to tug you against his chest. "Is this okay?"
You wrapped your arms around his torso, observant of his hurt areas and tangling your limbs best you could without making anything feel worse. Peter held you tighter than you thought was probably comfortable for him, causing you to laugh softly into the crook of his neck.
"I feel like I should be asking that to you. Are you okay? Because I'm not trying to be responsible for fucking up Spider-Man even more."
You felt him smile against your cheek. "Worth it."
Summary - They believe that you are fighting and try to make it up to you- only to find out you aren’t fighting.
Characters - Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd
Bruce Wayne
⭐︎ You and Bruce don’t fight often, which is why it makes it such a dire situation to Bruce.
⭐︎ Your fights are usually quiet ones, a comment here or there but no yelling or shouting. Bruce isn’t an explosive man, his irritation and anger runs cold. You match his energy in a way that is both good and bad, especially when you are fighting.
⭐︎ It had started with you getting angry at him getting home late from patrol. He was irritated at first that you seemed to disregard the people who needed him. Then after a few days he calm down enough to see it from your perspective.
⭐︎ Bruce Wayne is someone who believes that actions speak louder than words so he calls up your favorite florist and sends multiple bouquets of your favorite flowers to your office.
⭐︎ He is slightly nervous to talk to you since you have been a little distant after your fight. Multiple times on the walk to your office he messing with his tie, just to give himself something to do to sieve off the anxiety.
⭐︎ You are looking at the note he told the florist to write when he knocks on your door. Your smile is radiant as you look over at him, no trace of irritation or anger on your face to be seen.
⭐︎ Bruce feels like he did a good job when you walk over to kiss him. He hasn’t had too much contact with you for a couple days since he was keeping his distance so he welcomes your touch like a man starved.
“What is this for?” You ask after pulling back from kissing him. “Did I miss something?”
Bruce blinks down at you in confusion, “You were upset with me about arriving home late, I am sorry for worrying you.”
A look of confusion crosses your face before you start laughing.
“The whole time you thought I was upset with you?” You stop laughing to give himself something a soft look. “I’m sorry Love, I was busy with work so you must have thought I was ignoring you.”
Bruce feels sheepish now that he got the situation wrong. “You don’t need to apologize for my misunderstanding-”
You kiss him mid sentence, cutting him off.
“The flowers are perfect don’t apologize.”
Dick Grayson
⭐︎ Dick would like to think that you don’t argue often and you agree except for the constant back and forth of him stretching himself too thin and putting everyone’s needs over his.
⭐︎ The fight happens when he misses a date because they needed his help in Gotham. He had left you a note and a text about it. There was a lot of apologies in both. But when he got back to his apartment all the lights were off and you were gone.
⭐︎ Your fights are usually conversations, there isn’t yelling involved unless it’s really bad. You always wanted to talk things out rather than just leaving them lie. So you leaving without talking about it made him scared.
⭐︎ Dick is a little desperate when he feels like he is being left. There’s an involuntary coil of dread that settles in his stomach every time. He always needs to make it right as soon as possible, he can’t wait because he is afraid of never seeing you again.
⭐︎ So he runs down to the 24 hour convince store a block down from his apartment to get, admittedly, a lot of your favorite candy. Then he breaks into the florist shop across the street to grab a premade bouquet of flowers, he makes sure to leave them money plus a little extra because he broke in.
⭐︎ He is stressing himself out the whole way to your apartment. The thought that you won’t have the window unlocked like usual crosses his mind. He imagines you locking him out and refusing to even see him.
⭐︎ When Dick knocks on your window at 2am you open it up with sleep still in your eyes. You look beautiful even half asleep, confused and in one of his old tee shirts. Your eyes eventually focus in on the bag and flowers.
“Dick? These are wonderful,” You take the flowers from his slightly trembling hands. “but why are you bringing me flowers at 2am?”
Dick pauses midway through climbing through your window, “You are mad at me for missing our date so I thought getting you flowers would help.”
Your expression softens as you take a deeper look at him, seeing the anxiety in his rigid posture and the desperation in his eyes as he takes off his domino mask.
“Oh baby.” You says softly and pull him into a hug. “I am so sorry my friend had to rush her pet to the vet and had no car so I drove her. In all the rush I forgot to text you that it was fine.”
Dick exhales, all the tension in his body leaving with the air. He slumps a little as the adrenaline from crime fighting and this whole debacle evaporates.
“Thank god.” He whispers as you guide him over to your bed and gently pull him down onto it.
“I will always tell you if I have an issue,” You press a kiss to his brow, “promise.”
Jason Todd
⭐︎ You and Jason try not to fight often. It reminds Jason of darker days and you just don’t enjoy the conflict.
⭐︎ But when it happens it’s loud. Jason doesn’t start out yelling, he doesn’t enjoy it. But that’s usually what it devolves into, the two of you yelling over each other over something you can’t even remember.
⭐︎ Jason always needs time to cool off after. He leaves the apartment so he can get some air, climbing up to the roof or going on patrol early depending on what time it is.
⭐︎ This time was a little different, there wasn’t yelling or raised voices, just a slow sigh and you leaving the apartment.
⭐︎ The fight started over a bookshelf. You were insistent that you could put it together yourself while Jason wanted to help. After a couple minutes of him trying to help you told him that you wanted to do it yourself. He left the room then a few seconds later you were grumbling, putting on your shoes and slamming the apartment door.
⭐︎ Jason knew that you enjoyed doing things yourself so him trying to help must have made you angry with him. He didn’t leave like usual, instead he began to clean. It was a nervous habit that stemmed from needing control over something. He left the book shelf alone because it was the source of the argument but everything thing else he could clean was.
⭐︎ You came home an hour later to a spotless apartment and dinner ready. Jason was moving around the kitchen silently when you set the bag you got from the hardware store on the counter.
“Thanks for making dinner Jay.” You walk over to wrap your arms around him.
He tenses a little and you pull back immediately.
“You are sending me mixed messages.” Jason says with a furrow between his brows.
You frown in confusion, “What do you mean?”
“You left earlier because you were angry and now you aren’t upset.” Jason points out to you.
Your eyes widen with realization then soften, “Jay, I didn’t have the right screw for the bookshelf.”
Jason feels the tension bleed out of him at your words. You hug him again and he won’t say it out loud but he holds you tighter than he has ever held anyone else.
“If I am angry at you believe me you would know.” You laugh.
“Good.” Jason breathes out in relief.
“Now,” You pull away and walk to the bag. “do you want to help me put this together? I am way past the point of having any pride to defend.”
He grins, “It would be my pleasure.”
Blue’s notes - Imagine being in a family prized for detective skills and misreading a situation lol. None of these men can have a straight forward conversation about feelings. Also Dick’s is so much more angsty then intended, it originally was just a funny misunderstanding then my brain was like ‘make him suffer’ and I succumbed to the voices.
peter parker x reader
tags/warnings: fluff, kissing, language, heights, reader is mostly gender neutral except for a "that's my girl"
words: 1k
“You know we don’t have to do this, right? It’s not, like, a requirement of our relationship?”
You peer down from the ledge of the building, fingers trembling in Peter’s hand. The cars look so small from up here—the taxis are merely yellow dots in a sea of concrete.
You turn to Peter, a smile tugging at your lips. He still hasn’t put the mask on; his fluffy hair rustles in the breeze and he looks at you with bright, questioning eyes.
“I know,” you say, “but I feel like I just gotta try it.”
Doubt briefly flashes across his face. Behind him, the purple sky blankets a forest of dark buildings with windows flickering like candles.
“Then we’re gonna have to get a little, uh, closer than this.”
He watches your face expectantly, brows creasing upward. When you nod, he takes your arms and wraps them tight around his shoulders, then he bends a little, reaching around the backs of your thighs to hoist you up. You collide with a gentle huff and squeeze your legs around his waist.
“You’re absolutely positive you wanna…”
You’re so close you can feel his breath on your lips. His eyes drift down, and the rest of his sentence falls away.
“Yes, Peter. Focus.”
“Okay, okay,” he blinks. One of his arms snakes around your waist while the other tugs the mask over his face. And suddenly—he’s different. There’s a heightened confidence that sweeps over him as you stare into those big white lenses. “Need a countdown?”
“I don’t think so,” you breathe, a nervous tingle starting in the tips of your fingers. It spreads through your limbs, and you press your nose into Peter’s neck. The red synthetic fabric is smooth on your skin. “Just… go for it.”
“Alright,” he says, and you feel your body turning with his as he positions himself right at the edge of the roof. “Just tell me if you want to stop, okay? I won’t be offended if you hate it—”
“Peter, you’re psyching me out—”
You hear the gentle whoosh of a web releasing from his wrist, and then you’re falling. Your insides twist, your heart drops like a heavy stone thrown in a pond, and the wind whips your face hard enough to make your eyes water.
A scream begins in your stomach. Your abdomen tenses, and it works its way up your throat. You’re just about to let that shriek free when a voice frantically clamors in your ear.
“You’re okay, you’re okay, I swear.”
You tighten your arms around Peter’s neck. You’re getting awfully close to the ground— those taxis are no longer little dots. They’re nearly close enough to reach out and touch with the toe of your shoes. Shouts and delighted gasps erupt from the sidewalk below you—
“Peter!”
You clamp your eyes shut, then feel yourself rising back up, launching through the street.
“I got you. Just—” a grunt, “breathe.”
You can only manage to punch out ragged, shallow breaths. Every muscle quivers against his. Why was it that you wanted to try this? What were you even thinking? Does he seriously do this every single—
“Hooooh.” He sighs, loud and dramatic. “Do that with me. C’mon. Hooohhhh.”
You crack open one eye, just barely. The wall of an apartment building looms in the distance, ten storeys of neatly stacked windows. It’s hurtling towards you. No—you’re hurtling towards it.
You bellow out, emptying your lungs in a rough groan just like he’d told you to. Then you feel your body tugged to the left.
“That’s right— exactly! There you go.”
Fuck, what is happening?
You’re vaguely aware of falling, falling, falling, flinging upward—a brief moment of suspension in the sky—then plummeting again.
After a few more dizzying swings, Peter groans. “Sweetheart, you’re hanging on a little—ngh—tight.”
“Because I’m slipping!” you blurt, pulse raging. Thousands of tiny electric shocks zip through your veins.
“You’re not slipping,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “You could let go and I’d still have you.”
You let your arms loosen a little. “Sorry, sorry.”
The wind shifts. It no longer feels like a whip at your cheeks—just a pleasant breeze. The fear in your chest settles, and—
“See? It’s like swinging on the playground,” Peter soothes you with a murmur, “nothing to be scared of.”
You lift your head from his neck, squinting until you can make out his brown eyes through the lenses. They’re creased with a grin. The city turns into a prismatic blur of lights in the background.
“No,” you agree. Except for the shock of the initial fall, everything dwindles down to the comforting sensation of being gently rocked through the warm evening air. Your head falls back onto his shoulder. With a soft sigh, you relax into the safety of his hold, enjoying the steady up and down.
He must be able to feel the drop in your heart rate, the slowing of your breath. “There’s my girl,” he whispers, before the swinging sensation comes to a halt. An easy, somehow petal-soft close.
His palms settle on your waist as he tries to set you down, but you squeeze him harder with your legs, frowning. “Wait— what are you doing? I was just starting to enjoy myself—”
“We’re just taking a break,” Peter laughs, “we’ll go again, if you want.”
You relent, letting your legs go slack and fall from his body. Your feet plant on concrete—another roof, you realize.
“Can we?” The words slip out with a hopeful squeak.
Peter slips the mask off, fluffy curls springing from beneath the fabric. He gives his head a shake to loosen the tendrils from his brow.
“Yeah, of course. Just—” he takes a gentle hold of your jaw, tilting your head. His eyes fall to your mouth. “In a minute.”
His lips press to yours, soft and warm. Mindlessly, your hands shoot to tangle in his hair, and he gives a nearly inaudible whimper that makes you clutch him a little closer. He breaks off with a dazed sigh, a sweet blush dusting his cheeks. Then he returns to you with added urgency, strong arms winding back around your body.
“Maybe more than a minute,” he says, fitting the words between your fevered kisses.
summary : dr. spencer reid was always just your very good friend—that was until you watched him slip on an awfully tight pair of latex gloves while working on a case together.
pairing : spencer reid x bau agent!reader
warnings : SMUT, friends/coworkers to lovers, sexual fantasies, reader is just fucking horny (aka in love) but is in denial, explicit but short descriptions of fingering and finger sucking, spencer’s just as much desperate for the reader ‘cause who are we kidding, suggestive ending
notes : i thank the amazing @haydenssweetheart for introducing & promoting the spencer reid agenda
when you had first joined the behavioral analysis unit a year ago as the latest rookie, the team had teased the possibility of spencer and you becoming a “we” almost instantly.
the bright, genius young man was only a couple years your senior—leading to teasing remarks made by agent morgan and garcia about how you two should just shut up and kiss… and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about stealing just that from pretty boy reid.
platonically, of course!
you were just curious about how his mouth, the culprit behind his many informational ramblings, would feel against yours. there was no harm in that! right? that is to say, there was nothing unusual about you two being too physically and emotionally close with one another: you’d nap beside each other—fingers intertwined to “keep warm”—on the jet plane back home to quantico after an across-the-nation case, or would share doctor germaphobe’s lunch during the team’s one and only break in between searching for the unsub. just normal, friendly behavior as you’d like to call it—he’d even agree with you!
however, as the days passed and seasons changed, you began to see your very good friend in a new light… but it was still purely platonic! spencer reid could never be more than only your bestest friend in the whole world—that would be logically impossible… but the thought of it suggested that it’d be nice, like really nice.
so here you were now, outside of the latest victim’s residence after hotch sent you and reid to look for evidence that could direct the team in finding the unsub before he could strike again.
shrugging your fbi jacket off of your shoulders and onto the couch to accompany spencer’s satchel, you looked over at him to see what he was up to. ever so the loather against bacteria, he rummaged through the pockets of his pants for a pair of gloves and all you could do was a raise a brow at his franticness.
he breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled out four gloves, a set for you without even asking him to. “my lifesaver,” you winked as you snagged it from him—fingers brushing against his—earning a playful eye roll. “and yet you were here, judging me like a germ-loving weirdo.”
after putting them on swiftly, you turned your head over to spencer to see him struggling with slipping the small gloves on his hands—but no, it wasn’t his clumsiness and strenuous effort to fit them that had you staring at him all wide eyed... it was the sight of the latex hugging his veins tight enough that they were visible through the gloves.
his grunts of frustration had you subconsciously biting your lip before realizing you were ogling at his fingers like a freak—imagining them being sucked into your sopping wet cunt, absurdly deep and hitting that perfect spot against your cervix; or how perfect they’d fit inside your mouth, tongue swirling around and reveling in the taste of him. clearing your throat and attempting to find anywhere else to keep your eyes fixated on, you couldn’t help but let them drift back at his hands as they flex against the latex.
this time, spencer witnessed you staring at him with your mouth parted as if you were about to say a witty joke, “what?”
“nothing! let’s just head inside,” you averted your gaze quickly, truly and absolutely mortified by being caught red handed in the act, “hotch is expecting us in an hour.” he pursed his lips together, nodding in agreement, “right, we oughta get to it then.
once the day at work concluded, which consisted of receiving peculiar glances across the room by none other than spencer reid even hours following what took place at the victim’s home, you found yourself rushing to the curb to flag down a taxi cab and escape—only to be cornered by yours truly.
foregoing the niceties he ever so upheld each time, he took a step forward, breath now fanning across your face. before you could even get the chance to ask what in god’s name he’s doing this close to you where lips are almost touching, he asked begged, “tell me that this is all in my head… please. i’m going crazy just trying to figure out if you’ve thought about this, us, too.”
“spence.”
“god, i’m a profiler for the fbi but i can’t decode you.”
without a moment’s hesitation, you tilt your face up to his as you leant in to capture reid’s lips into a far overdue kiss—after months of pent up longing and denial of feelings. you felt his mouth still against yours in pure astonishment, the moment feeling too surreal for him, but then you felt spencer smile into your lips—reciprocating it with just as much fervor.
it was getting harder to kiss with the clashing of teeth, the both of you a grinning and giggling mess as you kissed under the streetlight outside of the fbi academy.
pulling away with closed eyes, you savored the imprint of his lips on yours. when they finally opened to meet his piercing gaze, a very flustered you cringed at the sight of your red lipstick messily smudged and leaving stains all over his chin and mouth. he seemed to catch on, his fingertips tracing the marks with a teasing glint in his eye, “how do i look?” the expression on your face faked contemplation before stealing another peck from him, “handsome as hell.”
adjusting the collar of his coat as his arms found solace in being wrapped around your waist, spencer guided you down to his car in the parking lot while pressing passionate kisses across your jaw like a boy so in love.
You’d spent the last three weeks bouncing between Paris, Milan, and New York with barely enough time to remember what city you were waking up in. Fashion Week had blurred into magazine covers, interviews, and late-night flights until your assistant had finally forced an afternoon into your calendar with the words Lunch. No cameras if possible.
It had sounded wonderful.
Now you were standing on a bustling Manhattan sidewalk outside the studio, sunglasses perched atop your head while a stylist fussed with the sleeve of your coat for the fifth time.
“You have ten minutes,” your manager reminded you, checking her phone.
You laughed, giving a woman a nudge . “I’ve heard that before.”
Before she could even reply, your attention drifted across the street.
Someone looked…familiar.
He was taller than you remembered, leaner too, dressed in worn clothes that somehow made him blend into the endless tide of New Yorkers. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes, the kind that came from too many sleepless nights, and his backpack looked as though it had survived several lifetimes.
You frowned, you squinted and then your entire face lit up. “Peter!”
The name escaped you before you’d even thought about it.
Across the street, the young man froze so abruptly someone nearly walked into him.
You hurried through the crowd before your security detail could protest.
“Oh my God.” You laughed as you reached him, completely oblivious to the fact that Peter Parker looked as though he’d just seen a ghost. “Peter! It’s been a while! Sorry I haven’t called or texted…I was working over in Paris.” You smiled apologetically before your expression softened. “…Is something wrong?”
Peter simply stared because it possible, it couldn’t be.
Doctor Strange’s spell…Everyone had forgotten.
MJ.
Ned.
Happy.
The Avengers.
The world
No one was supposed to remember Peter Parker.
Yet here you stood looking directly into his eyes with complete recognition.
Not confusion.
Not uncertainty.
But recognition.
“You…” he managed weakly.
You tilted your head. “Me?”
He couldn’t think, he vaguely remembered that people called you beautiful back in high school.That had never seemed like an adequate description even then.
You’d been the kind of person everyone gravitated toward. Popular without ever making anyone feel beneath you. The girl who somehow remembered birthdays, carried extra snacks in her backpack, and insisted Peter sit with your friend group whenever Flash got particularly unbearable.
He remembered study sessions.
Movie nights.
Helping you cram for chemistry.
You’d always greeted him with the exact same brilliant smile.
He’d never realized how much he’d missed seeing it.
But this…This wasn’t the girl he’d known. This was the woman whose face stared back at him from magazine covers in grocery stores.
The woman whose advertisements were plastered across Times Square.
The woman whose interviews he’d accidentally watched while eating microwave dinners because he hadn’t bothered changing the channel.
Beautiful didn’t even begin to cover it.
You looked confident.
Radiant.
Successful.
Comfortable in your own skin in a way that made everyone nearby seem to orbit you.
Peter suddenly became painfully aware that his hoodie had a small tear near one sleeve. “I…” His voice cracked. “You…remember me?”
You blinked. “Peter…” Your brow furrowed with genuine concern. “Of course I remember you.”
There wasn’t even a second of hesitation.
“You’ve always been Peter.”
Something inside Peter stopped.Those words hit him harder than any punch he’d ever taken.
You’ve always been Peter.
The spell should have made that impossible.
Unless…
No.
There wasn’t an unless.
His thoughts spun so violently that he almost missed the approaching footsteps.
“Miss!”
Two members of your security team moved toward you, one already scanning the growing crowd as people began recognizing you.
“We need to get you inside! You're going to run late.”
“Right, right.” You gave Peter an apologetic smile before digging through your designer bag.
“There.”
You pulled out a cream-colored business card with elegant gold lettering and slipped it into his hand, curling his fingers around it before he could protest.
Peter, stared blankly at you, still not believing that this was real.
“I’m finishing a quick shoot upstairs.” You pointed toward the towering building behind you.
Peter opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out, his heart hammering in his chest.
“Come by afterward, Peter.” Your smile widened into the same warm grin he’d known since he was fifteen years old. “We can grab lunch.”
Peter stared down at the card.
Your name.
Your direct number.
Studio access.
He looked back up. "You…really want to have lunch?"
You laughed. “What kind of question is that?”
“As long as you’re not secretly too famous for burgers now,” he said before he could stop himself.
Your eyes sparkled with amusement. “Peter Parker.” You lightly nudged his arm. "I once watched you eat four cafeteria burgers because Flash bet you couldn’t.”
His ears turned bright red. “…You remember that?”
“I remember everything.”
The words came so naturally neither of you questioned them.Neither of you noticed the strange pressure that pulsed for a split second behind your temples.
A pressure that had quietly existed your entire life.
One that had just pushed effortlessly against a spell cast by the Sorcerer Supreme himself.
You simply smiled, completely unaware that your dormant telepathic mutation had shielded your memories years ago without your knowledge.
Peter, however, couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.
For four years he’d lived believing every meaningful connection he’d ever built had vanished forever.
Now one of the brightest parts of his past was standing in front of him, smiling exactly the way she always had.
Only now she was somehow even more breathtaking than the teenage girl he’d secretly admired from across crowded classrooms.
“Don’t disappear again,” you said softly. “I’ve missed my friend.”
Before Peter could answer, your security gently ushered you toward the studio entrance.
You looked back once, giving him a small wave followed by a wink. "Lunch, okay?"
Peter looked down at the card still resting in his hand before slowly looking back up at you.
For the first time in years…He smiled. For the first time in years something was going right.
WARNINGS: None, I'll say. Just high schoolers duing theater and all the sort of awkwardness that comes with that lols. Art and Reader are both high school seniors, 18 years old.
NOTES: after being knee deep in work, and sickness, FINALLY, i've been able to work on stories for my two tennis boys. (dw, all tashi lovers, i'm writing a fic 4 her too, it'll take me a while though.) this goes out to all my art girlies; love u all <33
There are very few phrases no theater kid wants to hear, "The director wants to try a new blocking tonight,"; "All the props got ruined in the rain," and, the classic, "The lead has gone MIA and you're on in three minutes." But for Art Donaldson, there is truly none more bone-chilling than hearing: "See me after rehearsal."
In the past, it meant a matter of things—stop shoving your tongue down your costar's throat, you're pitchy, and give me something with more feeling. But, even those times, he could see it coming. He could tell from the clench of the director's jaw, the tap of their pencil against the desk, or the grip on their tumbler. There were no signs this time, nothing Art could point to to show that he was messing up.
He walked down the corridors of the fine arts wing, shuffling past the choir classroom to the auditorium. The face of his director as they spoke replayed in his director as they spoke replayed in his mind; kind, tauntingly so. "Art, you're doing great. Your voice is spectacular, you hit every emotional beat, and you have great rapport with your costars. But-"
Art tentatively opened the door to the area, clutching his bag tighter. "Your dancing's not where we want it to be." It was a hard pill to swallow, even an hour later. Sure, he knew he wasn't the most rhythmically gifted guy out there, but he was surviving. It was Tonight (Quintet), however, that messed him up. The minute the tempo increased, it was as if his limbs had a mind of their own. Suffice to say, whatever that was, was not going to cut it for opening night.
"Not to worry. We have our very best working with you." Art let out a slow exhale, looking around the empty auditorium. And then, he saw it. Her.
Y/N glided across the stage, singing to herself in that magnificent voice as she hit her marks.
She was a senior, a recent transfer student whose reputation had preceded her by a mile. According to the rumor mill, she was kicked out of an prestigious arts academy for being too cutthroat, made every understudy that worked with her cried, and bullied many of her directors out of a job. The student body labeled her the "Ice Queen"—a title she wore like armor, constructed from her natural bluntness, her flawless academic record, and the fact that she rarely smiled.
"Donaldson," Y/N said, stopping her music. She didn't look angry; she looked like a surgeon looking at a difficult medical anomaly. "A little birdie told me you're a powerhouse actor who moves like a broken grandfather clock."
"A high compliment, truly," Art deadpanned, shifting his weight. He adjusted the strap of his backpack, where his skateboard hung heavily against his spine. He took a long sip of his iced coffee—which was mostly milk and white chocolate syrup—and held her gaze. He hoped his massive, petrifying crush on her, a fact that he hid behind a wall of absolute respect and dry humor wasn't so obvious. "I aim to bring a certain kinetic tragedy to Tony."
"You're bringing a tragedy, alright," Y/N muttered, stepping off the stage. "Be in the dance studio by 10. The night custodian leaves the side door unlocked for me. Bring your script, leave the jokes at the door, and if you are one minute late, I lock you out."
At 10:30 PM, the fine arts wing was a tomb of shadows. Art, a natural night owl, was entirely in his element, though his heart was hammering against his ribs. He had snuck back into the building under the guise of retrieving his spare skateboard wheels from the wings, but the truth was, he just wanted to watch her.
He approached the dance studio, the heavy wooden door slightly ajar. The muted, brassy crescendo of Bernstein's score bled into the hallway.
Peering through the glass, Art froze. She wasn't just practicing; she was punishing herself. She ran a complex turn sequence, tripped slightly on her landing, and immediately clicked her tongue in frustration. Her breath hitched. The untouchable prodigy looked entirely fragile under the dim fluorescent lights. Her vintage bracelets clinked aggressively as she reset the track on her phone, her eyes bright with a pressure only an overachieving perfectionist could inflict upon herself.
Art's shoes squeaked against the linoleum floor.
Y/N spun around, her posture instantly snapping into rigid, defensive perfection. Her eyes narrowed. "You're late, Donaldson."
"Problem with my gear," Art said softly, stepping closer. He didn't make a joke. The sarcasm died in his throat when he saw the faint darkness around her eyes. He swallowed his pride, holding his heavily sweetened drink like a shield. "And honestly? I'm terrified, Y/N. I'm going to ruin the show. I need help. Please."
Y/N stared at him, her defense momentarily short-circuiting against his raw honesty. She took a slow sip from a thermos of coffee so black it looked like motor oil. "Ten minutes," she said, her voice dropping its icy edge, replacing it with a quiet, strict authority. "Show me what you know."
For the next forty minutes, it was military drills. Y/N broke down the counts with mathematical precision, her dancer background bleeding into every sharp command. She called out his sloppy footwork, his rigid shoulders, and his tendency to lean too far back.
Art took it all in stride. He didn't complain once, executing each step with absolute, exhausting effort, entirely motivated by the scent of her vanilla perfume and the sheer brilliance of her technique.
"You're overthinking the tempo," Y/N sighed, stopping the music. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, her hardened exterior starting to fray from exhaustion. "It's just a heartbeat, Art."
"My heartbeats are generally frantic and irregular, so that tracks," Art remarked, leaning against the studio wall.
A tiny, involuntary smile slipped onto Y/N's face—a rare, genuine thing that made Art's stomach do a complicated flip. "Shut up," she said, though there was no venom in it. "Let's run the climax. From the duet section. And try not to look like you're actively fighting the floor."
They took their positions. The music swelled, filling the empty, shadowed studio with the sweeping romance of West Side Story. Art stepped forward, his eyes locked onto hers. For a moment, the humor and awkwardness evaporated. He sang his line softly under his breath, guiding her through the spin. He was actually doing it.
Art took a dramatic, sweeping backward step to let her pass—an echo of the choreography they would use on the main stage.
Clack.
His heel struck the loose skateboard wheels he had left carelessly on the floor near the wings earlier.
Time slowed down. Art's eyes widened as his balance vanished entirely. Instinctively, his arms flailed; Y/N, operating on pure dancer reflexes, lunged forward to grab his waist to steady him.
Instead, she was pulled right into his orbit.
They crashed into the floor in a chaotic, spectacular tangle of limbs, sliding a few feet before hitting the gym mats against the wall. Art's skateboard rattled across the floorboards.
A suffocating, terrifying silence gripped the room. Y/N was splayed half across his chest, her hair completely unpinned and wild, her carefully curated facade entirely shattered. Art laid flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling tiles.
"The good news is," Art wheezed, his voice echoing in the quiet studio, "I think my spine just popped into perfect alignment for Act Two."
Y/N froze. She looked down at him, her eyes wide, chest heaving from the adrenaline. She tried to muster a glare, tried to find her sharp tongue, but the absolute absurdity of the situation broke through her walls.
A loud, breathless laugh burst from her chest.
It was a real, unscripted sound—wild, and ungraceful. Art started laughing too, a low, rumbling chuckle that shook both of them. They sat up against the wall, tangled in each other's space, laughing until their ribs ached. In the dusty light of a midnight school studio, the Ice Queen and the Skater Boy completely dissolved.
"You are an absolute hazard," Y/N gasped, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye as she began gathering her scattered hairpins.
"I'm a visionary, Y/N. I'm introducing slapstick to Bernstein," Art said, his eyes crinkling. He looked at her—really looked at her—and the warmth in his chest was so heavy it almost hurt. He reached over, carefully picking up a stray silver earring that had fallen from her ear, and handed it back to her with a quiet, respectful nod.
Y/N took the jewelry, her fingers brushing against his, and for the briefest fraction of a second, she looked at him with a hidden, terrifying softness that suggested she might actually want him to stay.
But then she cleared her throat, the armor slid back into place, even if it was a little looser now. "Get up, Donaldson," she replied, her voice fond but firm. "Let's take it from the top.
Art smiled, pushing himself off the floor, perfectly content to dance in her orbit as long as she would let him.
summary: To Art, you were comfort. His home. The person he called when everything went wrong, and the one he assumed would always be there when he needed someone. He never meant to break your heart; he just never realized he’d been carrying it around for seven years. (reader’s pov)
note: i hope you guys like this bcs it will be once in a blue moon that i write something that isn’t smut. <3 reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!
Looking back, the first time he saw you leaning against the wall, it never felt like the start of a life-changing friendship when you were just a stranger. Scribbling something on your arm with a pen made you keep your mouth in a tight line. That specific expression caught his attention and made Art look twice. Catching him staring didn’t make you smile at all, but you just blinked at him with a blank expression. The memory of that exact moment never really left his mind, even without him talking to you right then. Running into you again was accidental when he spotted you at a corner table in the library a few days later. You were hunched over an open textbook while tapping a pen against your jaw with one earphone loose.
Asking a question he already knew the answer to was just an excuse to get your attention. “What do you want?” you muttered as you pulled the other earphone out of your ear. You kept your eyes on him while waiting for a good reason. “Is the assignment due tomorrow?” he asked as he pointed at your open textbook. You didn’t even pause your reading to give him a proper glance. “You really don’t pay attention to the lectures at all,” you replied before going right back to reading. Getting called out like that made sure he never stopped thinking about that interaction. Your presence became a normal part of his day without him even trying, and he kept seeing you everywhere on campus.
His phone lit up with your name on the screen all the time. His schedule bent around yours without him even noticing it. People always assumed he had a crush on you, but the idea felt entirely wrong, given his attachment was built on comfort rather than romance. Having someone who never asked for anything from him felt like a relief. Art never really thought about how much he relied on you until he caught himself looking for your face the second he walked into a room. Having you around just felt natural, so he never bothered to think twice about why you were always there. He just welcomed your company when trying to imagine his day without you seemed pointless. “I got you a coffee,” you mumbled as you slid a paper cup across his desk.
Glancing between the steaming cup and the heavy dark circles under your eyes made him raise an eyebrow. “How did you know I needed this?” he asked while picking up the cup. A careless shrug of your shoulders was the only response you gave him at first. “You look totally exhausted,” you stated before turning your attention back to your own work. Smiling down at his notes made him realize he really liked having you around. The best part about having you around was how effortless you made everything feel for him. You were just his friend and easily one of the best ones he had. It was always the little things you did without him even realizing it that made him feel more comfortable in this friendship.
You knew exactly which professors he hated, and you always sent dumb memes at two in the morning just to make him laugh. Ordering food when he couldn’t decide what to eat just showed how uncomplicated everything was between the two of you. Getting along so well made schoolwork bearable, and late nights feel much more enjoyable. Art liked the fact that you never pushed him to talk about things. Asking why he flaked on plans or changed his mind at the last second was something you never did. Making it easy for him to be himself mattered even when he didn’t know who that was. You never hesitated to tease him whenever he started acting up. “You’re being totally dramatic again,” you snickered as you threw a crumpled piece of paper at his head.
Managing to catch the paper in the air made him shake his head at your antics. “I’m just stating the facts,” he countered as he tossed it right back to your desk. An unimpressed eye roll was always your favorite response to his teasing. Art genuinely liked you, but definitely not in any sort of romantic way. Thinking about you like that never crossed his mind, and you were just his person. Knowing you were always there for him didn’t feel scary at all. There was nothing to figure out, and he genuinely thought this was just how a good friendship worked. He didn’t remember how long that phone call lasted after he totally lost track of time while talking to you. It could have been twenty minutes or two hours, but all he really remembered was how quickly he calmed down just by listening to you.
“Go drink some water and stop overthinking so you can actually sleep,” you mumbled as you let out a brief yawn right into the microphone. You waited in line until you heard him move. “Yeah, okay,” he whispered before pulling the phone away from his ear to disconnect the call. He tossed his phone onto the mattress beside him and actually got up to get a glass of water just like you told him to do. He didn’t even think to show any appreciation right then, and he could barely keep his eyes open. Climbing back into bed a minute later meant he just rolled over on his mattress and finally rested. That was exactly what an amazing friendship looked like to him. It meant having someone who always picked up the phone to listen whenever he called.
Then there was Tashi, who joined the organization shortly after he began attending the meetings. She pulled up a chair beside him during one discussion before she asked a question that made everyone pause. She laughed under her breath right after, so Art accidentally snorted his drink. She didn’t talk loudly at all, but people still turned their heads to watch her in every room she entered. He liked the way she looked like she belonged everywhere. They started talking right after that small interaction. “Are you always this easily amused?” she asked while raising an eyebrow at his spilled drink. She leaned against the table while observing his reaction. “I- I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” he choked out as he wiped the table with a napkin.
He started looking for ways to get near her after that meeting. He didn’t connect the timing to anything important, and he didn’t think his interest meant anything serious either. He already had you in his life to look after him. Everything with you felt incredibly easy and so familiar. He didn’t ask himself why he liked having someone new to look at. Why would he ever question something so harmless? He definitely didn’t stop talking to you just after he met someone new. You always called him after lectures, and you constantly dragged him to film screenings you knew he would like. None of that changed, and you were always his favorite person to spend time with. “We have to go see this tonight,” you demanded while shoving your phone into his face to show him a movie poster.
He leaned back to actually look at the screen. “Alright, I’ll buy the tickets,” he agreed as he pushed your phone away with a laugh. He never felt the need to talk when he hung out with you. He didn’t have to entertain you, so he always chose to be around you when his schoolwork stressed him out. Tashi caught his attention in a completely different way. She was entirely new to his everyday life, and she always did things he didn’t expect. People watched her when she entered a room, as if she might do something worth remembering. He really liked that she argued with him instead of just nodding along to whatever he said. “You’re totally wrong about that,” she argued while rolling her eyes at his movie opinion.
Art enjoyed the fact that she didn’t know him the way you did, and she didn’t seem to want to know him that well either. He kept finding Tashi after the organization events until they just started going home together. They kept hanging out after lectures, and eventually, they started dating, but they decided to keep the entire relationship a secret from everyone else. She wasn’t demanding at all, and she didn’t expect him to text her back right away or make a big deal out of them being together. She just showed up, so he did exactly the same thing. The arrangement worked for them without any effort. “Let’s just keep this between us for now,” she suggested while playing with the edge of his sleeve. She looked up at him to make sure he agreed.
“Yeah, I get that,” he replied, and keeping things private sounded perfectly fine to him. Being together didn’t take over his life, and it just folded into his normal schedule. They kept it to themselves mostly after she asked him to. She mentioned she hated how people in the organization always gossiped about couples, so she wanted to keep their relationship totally unbothered by anyone else. He understood exactly what she meant, and he was perfectly happy to respect her wishes. He didn’t think hiding his relationship with Tashi was a big deal at all. It just wasn’t something that needed explaining to anyone else.
She never asked him to distance himself from you anyway. She never made things weird when he canceled their plans when you needed help editing a paper. She didn’t mind when he picked up your coffee first before meeting her. It was never a choice between the two of you. That was just how his life already looked before she arrived. He had you as his best friend, and he had Tashi as his girlfriend. Those two relationships didn’t feel like they overlapped at all. He didn’t treat you differently, and his everyday actions proved he relied on your presence just as much as you counted on his support. That care showed up clearly whenever you suffered from a bad migraine, and he immediately came over to your place to check on you.
“Did you take your medicine yet?” he asked as he placed a glass of water on your nightstand. He sat on the edge of the mattress to check on you. “Yes, I took it an hour ago,” you mumbled while hiding your face in your pillow. He always needed your input, so he texted you first the exact second something shitty happened on campus. He also insisted on getting your final approval before submitting any of his assignments. Not telling you about Tashi didn’t feel like a lie, and he thought it just meant his friendship with you was exactly the same as always. He genuinely believed he could have both the girl he was learning about and the best friend who already knew him. Art never bothered to ask what the entire friendship actually looked like from your perspective.
He never even thought to ask, and you were just being your usual self by constantly remembering things everyone else forgot. Packing extra towels for him before practice became a totally normal thing you did. You always sent him customized playlists whenever he complained about having a hard time training. Waiting with him before his big matches happened all the time, even when you definitely had somewhere else to be. Bringing his favorite candy to the tennis courts just after he mentioned it once was another thing he took for granted. He never tried to read into your actions, and he assumed that was just how you treated all your friends. Showing up at your place at one in the morning with takeout food and his laptop usually ended with him passing out on your couch right in the middle of a sentence.
“You really need to get actual sleep,” you mumbled before dropping a blanket over his shoulders. Thinking about how much you cared about him probably crossed your mind right before you walked back to your own bedroom. He didn’t bother acknowledging it the next morning, and he just expected you to look after him. Looking after each other just felt like a totally normal part of knowing you. You actually joked about marrying him one time while acting like the idea meant absolutely nothing to you. “We should probably just get married if we’re both single at thirty,” you suggested with a shrug of your shoulders. Art immediately laughed at the idea, and he thought you were just kidding. “You wouldn’t even survive living with me for a week,” he teased as he kept looking down at his phone screen.
He totally missed the way your smile dropped for a second before you forced the corners of your mouth back up to act normal again. You kept your hands folded tightly in your lap so he wouldn’t notice how much his quick rejection actually hurt you. The entire interaction felt totally normal to him, and he genuinely believed you two were just best friends making dumb jokes. He never bothered to notice how often you gave up your free time for him without expecting anything in return. He never imagined you would ever leave his side when you were always there. Art never stopped to think about what being his best friend might have actually been costing you emotionally. Sticking around for seven whole years proved exactly how much you were willing to endure for him.
He couldn’t even remember the exact names of every single girl he dated, and none of them mattered. He dated girls who didn’t fit into his life at all, and a few of those relationships ended on bad terms. None of those girls ever really lasted, anyway. Breaking up with them usually ended with him resting next to you in his car while drinking from a bottle of vodka. “You really need to eat something,” you sighed while pushing a bag of chips across the center console. He always acted like he didn’t care about the breakups, even when he was clearly upset. You never bothered to ask for the details or tell him he made a mistake. Pushing that bag of gas station food toward him was your only response to his bad decisions.
You always knew exactly what he needed to feel better that night. You always just listened to him complain without getting angry at his bad choices. The memory of you sneaking out with him after his worst tennis loss was something that never left his mind. Going back to his empty home was the last thing he wanted to do, so he just drove straight to an empty parking lot. Resting in the open trunk of his car with your legs swinging over the bumper became the only way to spend the night. You were both eating gas station snacks while passing a cheap bottle of alcohol back and forth between you. “I think we’re both just really bad at being adults,” you mumbled into the cold night air. Art let out a genuine laugh at your observation, even though nothing about the situation was actually funny.
Laughing with you was just the easiest way to respond, and he genuinely didn’t know how else to thank you for sticking around. Thinking about how much you cared for him was something he just ignored, so he could keep things easy between you two. That was exactly what the years looked like between the two of you. You always adjusted your schedule to be close to him. He never asked you to do that, nor did he ask whether you wanted to stop doing it. You were his best friend, so he just assumed you would always be around. You kept yourself close for the worst parts of his college life, too. Art spent way too long finishing his undergrad degree, and he kept dropping subjects he hated. He didn’t know what he actually wanted to do with his life.
Pursuing tennis full-time felt totally inevitable, given that everyone expected him to go pro right after graduation. Going to law school was just his backup plan if his athletic career fell apart. Thinking about actually making a final decision just made him want to ignore the future entirely. The sport took up so much of his time that he didn’t even know if he loved playing anymore or if it was just the only thing he was good at. “You don’t have to figure everything out today,” you muttered as you passed him a cold water bottle after a brutal practice. He just nodded at you without saying a single word. Art just ignored the big questions about his future so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pressure. Your degree requirements were already finished, so you should have graduated way before him.
Your career path was clear, but you refused to leave the university. You picked up extra units and extended your time at school just to be near him. “I think I might actually be allergic to the real world,” you joked as you tapped a highlighter against your chin. He never asked why you signed up for more schoolwork, and he totally failed to connect the dots. You were just there with him like you always had been. Art wasn’t ready to leave the campus, and he was incredibly scared of facing the real world alone because he needed more time to figure his life out. You gave him that time without him ever asking. He just took your constant support for granted without realizing what you actually gave up to be by his side.
So he didn’t think the weekend road trip would mean anything more than a fun getaway when he brought it up. He would never expect what will happen will take something big in his life. “We should all go down to that music festival,” he suggested as he tossed his car keys onto the table. He looked between the two of you while waiting for an answer. “Yeah, I’m totally in,” you agreed before he even finished his sentence. Patrick immediately teased the two of you about always doing things together. Hearing him joke around like that made the trip feel like just another regular weekend for the three of you. Art totally forgot to tell you that Tashi was actually the one who came up with the idea to go there. He wasn’t trying to hide her from you, but the detail just slipped his mind.
Art drove over to pick you up with Tashi already waiting in the front passenger seat. She was looking out the open window while scrolling through her phone. You climbed right into the back seat without asking him any questions about her. Patrick got in right beside you with his headphones resting around his neck. No one said much at first, and the car's engine noise mixed with the radio playing in the background. He didn’t check the rearview mirror to look at your face, and he didn’t notice the sudden way you stiffened when Tashi turned around to introduce herself. “Are you the famous best friend he always talks about?” she asked while giving you a polite smile. She rested her arm over the center console to look at you.
“Y-yeah, that’s me,” you replied as you tried your best to sound totally normal. Art just smiled from the driver’s seat without bothering to look back. He acted like the seating arrangement didn’t matter at all, and he behaved as if you hadn’t spent the last seven years right beside him. The four of you spent the long drive talking over the radio and bringing up old inside jokes. You made it through his jokes and laughed when he teased you from the front seat. You let Patrick steal your snacks without saying a word. You sang under your breath as the music played to make the car ride feel perfectly normal. Then Tashi reached over to change the station to a song you didn’t recognize. Finding out about her presence like that probably ruined the entire trip for you, but you forced yourself to keep quiet.
No one said what they actually thought. He just turned the radio volume up before you looked away out the side window. It was a long, awkward drive until all of you finally reached the destination. You all gathered on the beach with cups in your hands later that night. You drank alcohol while you listened to stories you already knew. Art got up halfway through the conversation to grab more bottles from the cooler. You watched him walk away as your cup rested on your knee. Patrick looked directly at Tashi the second Art got far enough away. “So, do you and Art actually have a history together?” Patrick asked as he took a sip from his drink. Patrick watched her face closely while he waited for her answer.
The wind blew some sand across your shoes while she thought about her response. “We knew each other from the organization a few years ago,” Tashi answered while she gave him a polite smile. She traced a finger across her knee instead of looking back at him. “Yeah, sure,” Patrick replied before he kicked some sand with his shoe. You kept your spine totally rigid so you wouldn’t give away how much the conversation bothered you while refusing to move away from your spot. Tashi lowered her gaze to look down at her drink. “I actually texted him last week to mention I was coming to this festival,” Tashi stated as she traced the rim of her cup. Patrick glanced right at you like he already knew what she was going to say next. You looked straight ahead at the bonfire without blinking.
“I definitely didn’t think he would bring other people with him,” she added while she pulled her jacket more around her body. Her words sounded entirely careful, but her intention to get him back was incredibly obvious. “I only showed up today because I hoped we could fix things and get back together,” Tashi explained as she looked back up at Patrick. Neither of you said anything back to her for a few seconds. You gave a small smile before you drank from your cup and just nodded your head as you understood her completely. You really shouldn’t have found out about their secret relationship this way. You swallowed hard as you forced your hand not to grip your drink tighter, but thankfully Art came back two minutes later and relaxed a little when you saw that big grin on his face.
He held a new bottle in his hand, and he immediately started talking about something else. He dropped down into the sand without noticing how entirely quiet the rest of you were. You just laughed at his words, so he wouldn’t ask what happened when he was gone. He didn’t notice anything different about you at all, and that went on for an hour until Patrick eventually announced he was ready to head back to the hotel. The fire burned out completely a while ago. The alcohol clouded your mind, but you clearly remembered every single word Tashi confessed. Tashi stood up before she brushed the sand off her clothes. Patrick let out a yawn, and Art let out a groan like he wanted to prolong the night, but you chose to keep your mouth completely shut.
The four of you walked down the beach road together, but you asked them to stop by a street stall to buy some barbecue that was already cooked. It didn’t take long to buy it, so you just held the paper bag while Art kept swinging his bottle around as he told a story you had already heard a million times. Patrick wandered ahead while Tashi trailed behind everyone else. You walked right beside Art the entire way back. The three of you followed Patrick toward the entrance of the hotel. Tashi walked away toward her room first once you all stepped inside the lobby. “I’m gonna go to sleep now,” Tashi announced as she turned down a different corridor. Everyone just watched her leave without offering a goodbye.
Patrick walked away next while he typed on his phone screen. “Don’t wait up for me tonight,” Patrick called out before he walked down the opposite hallway. The two of you ended up walking down the hallway alone together. He sang a melody quietly instead of saying anything out loud. His bottle was nearly empty, and his legs were covered in sand. The hallway air smelled entirely like salt water. It could have been any normal night for the two of you, but it definitely wasn’t. You looked at him entirely differently after hearing what Tashi said. He had no idea you planned on walking away from him for good. You just passed the bottle back and forth between you. Neither of you talked much because you never really needed words to understand each other.
You both reached the door at the end of the hallway after a few minutes of walking. He pushed the door open to let you step inside the room first. You walked straight to the desk to put down the paper bag of food you carried from the street stall. He followed right behind you before he pushed the door shut. “I really don’t know if I want to go pro anymore,” he admitted as he walked to the center of the room. Hearing him bring up his future felt totally familiar after listening to him doubt himself for years. “Everyone just assumes I was built for tennis, so they expect me to do it,” he explained before he took another drink from the bottle in his hand. He passed the bottle over to you, so you took a drink. You just looked down at the floor without offering any advice.
“I think I really love playing, but maybe I just got good at it early enough to forget how to want anything else,” he muttered as he kicked at the carpet. You didn’t answer him right away, so he just kept talking. “I really don’t know if I love the sport because it belongs to me or because everyone else expects me to play it,” he confessed while looking at you. He searched your face for some kind of answer you didn’t have. He let his shoulders sink as he stood there with his arms resting at his sides. He dropped his head forward to let his chin hit his chest while he stared at his feet for a long time without saying a word. “I just don’t know who I actually am without tennis,” he admitted while looking back at his feet.
“You’ve been complaining about that exact same thing since our sophomore year,” you replied as you walked over to stand closer to him. You handed the bottle right back to him after making your point. “I guess I really haven’t evolved much since then,” he agreed as he scratched the back of his neck with a laugh. He seemed to accept your observation without becoming defensive. “You actually have grown up a lot,” you corrected him while nudging his arm. You wanted to reassure him that his personal growth was incredibly obvious. He just needed someone to remind him of his own progress. “You think about things more now, and you don’t run away from your problems anymore, so that totally counts,” you pointed out as you nudged him again.
He didn’t say anything back to that right away. “What about you then?” he asked while tilting his head. He stopped talking about his own problems to look at you. “I’m gonna get a real job soon,” you stated as you looked at him. You tried your best to sound totally confident about your upcoming plans. You knew this conversation was going to change everything between you two. “I need to pay my mom back since she paid for seven whole years of college,” you explained as you walked back to lean against the edge of the desk. He turned his entire body to face you. “You could’ve graduated already?” he asked as he widened his eyes. The realization completely disrupted his previous train of thought. He looked at you as if he were seeing you for the very first time.
“I actually finished my degree requirements three years ago,” you answered as you looked right back at him. That piece of information made him completely speechless. He just stared at you without blinking. “Why didn’t you just leave school then?” he asked as he ran a hand through his hair. He genuinely couldn’t comprehend why anyone would willingly delay their life that long. “I just didn’t want to leave yet,” you admitted as you gave him a shrug of your shoulders. You didn’t tell him you waited around just because you wanted him to notice you. Thinking about how long you waited for him to finally look at you differently was something you kept entirely to yourself. He didn’t ask for a better explanation after he walked over to hand the bottle back to you.
The two of you stood there near the desk while the conversation completely stopped. You really thought everything between you two was already ending, even without anyone saying it out loud. “I’d probably just be the sidekick if anyone actually bothered to make a movie about us,” you muttered as you took another drink from the bottle. He turned his head to look at you with a confused expression. “W-why would you even say that?” he asked while he crossed his arms over his chest. “Because people always want to watch you,” you pointed out before you handed the bottle back to him. You watched him take it while you thought about how he always got exactly what he wanted without even trying. “You never actually know what you’re doing, but you always end up exactly where you need to be,” you explained as you crossed your ankles while leaning against the desk.
He just shook his head at your words before he let out a laugh. “That really doesn’t sound like a main character to me,” he argued while he took a sip of the alcohol. “It totally does,” you countered as you looked right back at him. “You just can’t see it yet,” you added before you looked down at your shoes. He stopped talking completely right after you said that. He kept looking at you for a long time while his hand dropped to his side with the bottle. You kept looking at him for a few seconds before he finally looked away. Neither of you brought up what you were actually thinking about. He set the bottle down on the desk to pull off his jacket. He threw his jacket onto the nearest chair before he walked over to the bed.
He kicked his shoes off his feet to drop back onto the mattress like his legs gave out. You grabbed the paper bag from the desk before you walked over to join him. You sat down right beside him while you pulled out the barbecue on a stick you bought earlier. “I just knew you’d complain later if we didn’t get these,” you stated as you placed the food between you two. He pushed himself up onto his elbows before he sat up fully on the mattress so he could look at the food. “You always make sure I eat when I completely forget to do it myself,” he mumbled as he grabbed a stick of barbecue. “You literally never think about anything,” you teased before you took a piece of the food for yourself. He just laughed at your observation while he started chewing his food.
“Yeah, that’s pretty accurate,” he agreed while he continued chewing his food. You adjusted your position until your knees almost bumped against his leg. The mattress sank down under your combined weight while he started talking again. He talked about Tashi, and he complained about Patrick while you sat next to him. You didn’t try to interrupt him at all, so you just listened to him speak. He wiped his hands on the empty paper bag before he pulled his guitar from the foot of the bed. He never asked for permission because he never really cared. He placed the instrument on his lap while his fingers started moving over the strings. He played some random sounds instead of a real song. You knew he only did this when nobody else was around. You adjusted your position on the bed while you watched him play.
He didn’t even look up at you because he didn’t have to. You figured this was just his way of talking when words completely failed him. You never told him to stop playing, so you just kept right beside him like you always did. The bottle you both drank from earlier was just on the desk. He kept playing because his hands needed something to do. You knew he was totally drunk, but he managed to play fine. You crossed your legs on the mattress while you stared at him. You always just stuck around without ever asking for anything in return. You told yourself tonight would be different. “Seven years,” you spoke up as you looked right at him. You thought about how long this secret had existed. He stopped playing before he blinked a few times.
“What?” he asked while he turned his head to face you. He looked totally confused by your statement. “I’ve been in love with you for seven years,” you admitted as you met his eyes. You finally said the words you kept hidden for years. The realization failed to register in his brain right away. He kept his fingers resting on the strings without playing another note while he just stared at you. “I don’t know when it started,” you admitted as you looked down at his hands. You tried to think about the very first time you realized your feelings. “Maybe when we were… I don’t know... seventeen? Eighteen?” you explained as you let out a sigh. You remembered how young you both were back then. “Maybe it’s when you asked if I wanted to walk home instead of calling a cab,” you continued while you watched his reaction.
You thought about all those little moments you memorized over the years. “Or when you shared your fries and said you didn’t want to eat alone,” you pointed out before you shook your head. He didn’t answer you, so you just kept talking. “Or maybe it was every time you told me something that felt small to you, but I held onto it for days,” you confessed as you folded your hands together in your lap. He just kept his eyes on you without making a single sound. You let out a breath while you tried to calm your nerves. “I don’t know. I just know that I’ve loved you,” you stated as you looked right back at him. You never planned to actually tell him any of this out loud. You shook your head slightly before you spoke again. “Quietly-” you stopped yourself as you thought about how you hid everything from him for years.
“Constantly,” you continued while you watched his expression. He looked completely surprised by everything you just said. You didn’t give him a chance to speak. “For seven fucking years-” you finished as you let out another breath. He didn’t move an inch after you dropped that information. You didn’t cry or try to make a big deal out of the confession. You just sounded completely tired of holding it all inside. “I don’t want anything from you,” you stated as you gave him a sad smile. You really just wanted to get it off your chest before you finally left. “I just didn’t want to leave without telling you,” you added while you looked down at your hands. “I wanted you to know that someone loved you that long. That hard-” you continued as you looked up at him.
You wanted him to understand how much you cared about him. He just kept staring at you like he couldn’t process your words. “Even if you never noticed…” You whispered while you gave him a small shrug. You totally accepted the fact that he never saw you that way. His mind went completely blank after hearing your confession. He didn’t even know how to react to something like that. The alcohol from earlier lost its effect because the situation just messed with his head right then. Everything happened way too fast for him to understand. He reacted without thinking about what he was actually doing. He leaned forward over his guitar to get closer to you before he put his mouth on yours to kiss you. The kiss wasn’t romantic at all, since he never actually planned to do it.
It was just a panicked reaction because letting you walk away wasn’t an option. He acted on instinct when his brain failed to come up with any actual words to say. Knowing if he meant to do it or if he even wanted to kiss you in the first place didn’t matter right then. You were going to leave, so he did the only thing he could think of to stop you. Your lips didn’t move at all against his. You never even tried to kiss him back, so the mistake became completely obvious to him. You leaned away from him to put some distance between the two of you. You looked right at him without blinking. “Don’t do that,” you stated as you shook your head at him. “Don’t kiss me because you don’t know what else to do,” you told him before you got up from the mattress.
Your words hurt him because having an excuse for his actions was completely impossible. He couldn’t even try to defend himself when he knew you were right. Watching you stand up from the bed was all he could do without trying to stop you again. He nodded his head because he knew he deserved your anger when you refused to say anything else. You walked over to the corner of the room to grab your bag. You packed your things right in front of him so you could commute all the way back to the city from the beach alone. You walked straight toward the exit without looking back at him once you finished. You opened the door to leave the room before you shut it behind you. He didn’t move from the mattress while his mind tried to process everything he had ignored over the last seven years.
His guitar rested right in his lap. The drink from earlier was on the desk. He never wanted any of this to happen the way it did, but he ruined it anyway. He didn’t leave his spot, and he realized taking his mistake back was completely out of the question, but he had an excuse to see you again because your graduation was the very next day. It was also his birthday, but caring about that at all right then felt completely pointless. He entirely skipped the actual ceremony, so he didn’t even bother asking anyone for photos. He just looked at his phone while he scrolled past all the pictures other people posted online. He saw your face in every single post. You looked completely happy while you posed with your friends.
Seeing you graduate made him realize your life was moving on without him. He avoided the event entirely because figuring out how to act around you after the previous night was just too confusing. He typed a message asking for one last drink and sent it right away before he could change his mind. He called it a tradition so you wouldn’t reject the invitation. Meeting you right then was just something he really needed to do. He completely hated the idea of watching you finish college when he had no idea what to do with his own life. The thought of not seeing you at all bothered him even more. He grabbed his bag before he left his place. He arrived at the meeting spot completely late, so he parked his car and walked over to find you already waiting there.
He always expected you to come because you always listened whenever he asked for something. Thinking you were just a really good friend was his usual mindset for years. You didn’t smile at him when he walked over. You never even tried to tease him like you usually did. You just looked completely exhausted. “You really took your time getting here,” you stated as you crossed your arms over your chest. You didn’t sound angry, but you definitely sounded completely done with him. “I made it,” he pointed out while he gave you a shrug. You didn’t laugh at his excuse at all. He told you to walk to the convenience store with him just like you both usually did. You walked right beside him without saying a single word.
The silence between the two of you felt completely wrong this time. Everything between you two was totally falling apart. Being entirely distracted meant he completely failed to notice the obvious lack of lights coming from the storefront. Reaching the dark building only revealed that the glass doors were completely locked. “I totally forgot it was Sunday today,” he muttered as he checked the closed sign on the window. You just turned around to walk away, so he followed right behind you. The two of you ended up walking another three blocks to find a liquor store that was actually open. He bought some alcohol and shoved the cans into his bag. You both walked back to his parked car right after, so he could drive back to his home.
You followed him up the stairs without asking any questions. You both ended up on the roof of his home a few minutes later. You crossed your arms over your chest again while looking out at the street below. He pulled a couple of beers from his bag and popped the tabs open before he handed one over to you. You uncrossed your arms to take the can from his hand without making any eye contact. Neither of you tried to make a toast before drinking the alcohol. He just watched you stare out at the street below. Thinking about everything you told him the previous night finally took over his brain. He realized your actions were never just about being a good friend. It all made sense after you confessed your love for seven years, and his mind started playing back every single time you put him first.
Mistaking your love for basic kindness happened entirely on his end. He always took your presence for granted because having you around was just convenient for him. He looked down at the beer can in his hand while he thought about the butterball candy he gave you during a road trip years ago. You joked about it tasting expired before throwing the wrapper at his face. Laughing at your reaction just turned it into a normal habit between the two of you after that day. He forgot he actually did that with Tashi first, and she was the one who started it. You never knew about her, so that candy became an inside joke without you knowing it was already something he did with another woman. You let him take up all your free time without ever asking for anything back.
You gave him seven entire years of helping him out and keeping quiet whenever he messed up. Thinking about that kiss back in that hotel room made him feel awful since he only did it to stop you from walking out the door. He just panicked instead of admitting he was terrified of losing his best friend. He couldn’t get that night at the hotel out of his head. You were resting on the edge of the mattress and pointing out that it had been seven years. Your voice didn’t even shake while your hands never tried to reach for his. He knew he messed up the second his lips touched yours, since it was nothing but a selfish reaction. He felt completely guilty about it because he knew it was wrong. He never forgot the exact way you told him not to do that right after you pulled away.
You told him not to kiss you just because he didn’t know what else to do right before you grabbed your things to leave. Hearing those words in his head just made him realize he had completely ruined the best thing he had ever had. He never tried to bring it up again because he couldn’t lie to your face about his feelings. He actually did love you, but it definitely wasn’t the way you wanted him to. He never felt that kind of romantic urgency or devotion you held onto for all those years. “I really don’t want you to leave,” he muttered as he took a sip from his beer. You just kept looking at the street below without turning your head. He loved having you in his life because you were the only person who truly understood him.
The idea of letting you walk away completely terrified him. He couldn’t tell you how much he needed you because it felt entirely selfish to hold onto you when he couldn’t give you what you deserved. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without you,” he confessed while he stared at the side of your face. You didn’t give him an answer right away, so he just drank more of his beer. “You’re gonna have to figure it out eventually,” you replied before you took another drink from your own can. He couldn’t force himself to say he loved you too when he knew his version of love wasn’t enough for you. Bringing you up to this roof for a final drink was the only way he knew how to let you go, and keeping his mouth shut seemed like a good way to make you wait beside him just a little longer.
Hoping your presence would fix something inside him was probably selfish, even if only temporary. You just drank your beer without looking in his direction at all. Your mind was already thinking about something else entirely, instead of him. “Happy birthday,” you mumbled before you took another sip from your can. Hearing you say that made him feel incredibly awful because you sounded so distant despite being right there beside him. “Congrats on graduating,” he replied while looking right at you. Giving you such a basic response made him feel completely pathetic. You didn’t even bother saying thank you back to him.
“I should go now,” you muttered as you set your empty can on the ledge.
“Yeah,” he replied while staring at his own shoes. You turned around right away before walking toward the roof access door. You didn’t try to look back at him. Watching you leave without saying another word was his only choice. There was absolutely nothing left for him to say to stop you from leaving. He wanted to apologize for kissing you like that back at the hotel. He wanted to say sorry for wasting so much of your time. He wanted to ask for forgiveness because he just couldn’t love you the exact way you needed. Realizing he was actually losing you didn’t happen until you told him you were already done. Saying any of those things wouldn’t fix anything at all, right then. He just let you walk to the stairs without even trying to follow you this time. Waiting around for him wasn’t your job anymore.
You were always the only constant thing in his entire life. You were the only person he relied on whenever he didn’t know what to do with himself. Keeping him company whenever he felt completely lost was something you always did. You supported him whenever playing tennis brought him nowhere. You listened to him complain when he was doubting himself and felt like getting his degree was totally out of reach. You never judged him whenever he doubted his future career and felt like he was just faking his way through life. Letting you take on all his problems without ever giving you anything in return was his biggest flaw. Thinking you would just be around forever happened because he assumed friendship worked that way.
Kissing you completely ruined that comfortable illusion between the two of you, and he knows that pretending everything was fine just wouldn’t work anymore. He had no idea who he was without you around, and that’s something he can’t even fully grasp. He spent so many years relying on your help for everything, so how can this be an easy road to fill the void you left? He doesn’t even actually want to figure out his own life by himself when he’s used to hearing your advice and opinions. He didn't even know how he was supposed to survive his own mistakes without you there to save him. It felt like he finally woke up to realize he destroyed the only real thing he ever had, and like he spent seven whole years draining you empty just to keep his own head above water. There was no one left to save him like he always expected you to do whenever things went wrong. He just had to live with the reality that he pushed you away like he never even cared at all.
texts between you and your friendly neighbour (spiderman)
fluff, slight angst but it gets resolved, smau, strangers to friends, (no mj in this universe)
note: I love peter Parker I love spiderman
October 12th
8:32 am
Y/N: is this Peter from 12b?
Peter: Yes! Is this Y/N from 11b?
Y/N: yes
Peter: Cool :D Is everything okay?
Y/N: no.
Peter: Oh
Y/N: I get that you might have stuff to do in the middle of the night EVERY NIGHT but can u be a little bit quieter plz????
Y/N: I work early morning and u wake me up nealey every day 😔
Peter: Oh shit
Peter: Sorry I had no idea the walls are that thin
Peter: I promise I’ll be quieter
Y/N: thank u
Peter: No problem
October 14th
1:03 pm
Y/N: *image attachment*
Y/N: these from you?
Peter: Nice right
Peter: A little apology from your noisy neighbour 🌷
Y/N: ass kisser
Peter: OI
October 17th
8:06pm
Y/N: hey do u have any spare quarters? I got laundry to do and I’m all out
Peter: Uh eyag jusy one scecond
Y/N: ?
Y/N: can we try again in English
Peter: Sry gimme a min
Peter: I’ll meet u in the laundry toim in ten?
Y/N: yes I’ll see u in the laundry toim
Peter:
October 20th
12:09am
Y/N: what the hell happened to you
Peter: Wdym?
Y/N: uhm ur face?? who beat u up
Peter: Oh that
Peter: It’s nothing
Y/N: it’s definitely something
Y/N: are you okay?
Peter: I’m fine don’t worry about me
Y/N: I am worried
Peter: Wow.. what a good friend 🩷
Y/N: let’s not get ahead of ourselves
Peter: It’s fine it doesn’t even hurt
Y/N: so macho and strong
Peter: Ofc 💪
October 22nd
11:34pm
Peter: Oh my god can u hear that
Y/N: LMAO YES
Peter: It surely can’t be that good
Y/N: nobody is good enough to make u scream that loud
Peter: Oh really
Y/N: gross
Peter: Are they gonna get an angry message too
Y/N: no those r just reserved for u
Peter: Oh wow
Peter: I feel so special
October 24th
9:44 am
Y/N: do u jog
Y/N: or gym or smth
Peter: Uh yeah to both
Peter: Why
Y/N: just wondering
Peter: Did my incredible physique and big muscles tip u off
Y/N: yeah they were so visible in ur juicy tracksuit
Peter: SHUT UP
Y/N: u just looked soooooo juicy
Peter: 🤬🤬🤬
Peter: Erase that from ur memory
Y/N: *image attachment*
Y/N: shall i erase this too
Peter: FUCK OFF
October 25th
9:23pm
Y/N: hey so I know this is last minute but
Y/N: I’m throwing Halloween party at my place if ur free
Peter: Idk it’s kind of a long commute
Y/N: har har har
Peter: Ofc I wanna come
Peter: Thank u for the invite!
Y/N: costumes not optional
Y/N: I won’t let u in if ur not dressed❌
Peter: I’ll make sure I’m looking my best
October 30th
7:09pm
Peter: *image attachment*
Peter: How’s my costume
Y/N: woah
Y/N: r u that Star Wars guy
Peter: That Star Wars guy???
Peter: U mean Kylo ren??
Y/N: yeah i never watched Star Wars sorry x
Peter: Girl
Y/N: don’t girl me
Peter: How have u not watched star wars??
Y/N: cause I’m not a big fat nerd
Peter: Right
Peter: R u busy tonight?
Y/N: I am not
Peter: Cool
Peter: I have them all on dvd we are getting through as many as we can tonight
Y/N: is this a threat
Peter: Yes
October 31st
12:45am
Peter: Did u get home safe x
Y/N: gosh ur so funny
Y/N: the movies weren’t half bad yk
Peter: We got through two before you fell asleep on my shoulder
Y/N: YH sorry about that…
Peter: No worries x it was so cute when you drooled all over my shoulder
Y/N: die
October 31st
9:10pm
Y/N: are the flowers from you?
Peter: Guilty
Y/N: awwww u spoil me
Peter: Just a housewarming gift
Y/N: most people brought beer
Peter: What can I say I’m a stand up guy
Peter: I like your costume
Y/N: thanks!! It’s kinda hard to move around tho.. I assume iron man had a much easier time than I am
Peter: Yeah well his suit wasn’t made out of cardboard
Y/N: unfortunately I cannot afford nanotech
Y/N: are u gonna just text me all night or are u gonna come over and talk to me?
Peter: On my way ma’am
October 31st
11:09 pm
Y/N: bro this beer pong is getting serious u have to come look
Y/N: wait did u leave I can’t find u anywhere
Y/N: peter?
November 1st
1:02am
Peter: Hey I’m sorry I had to leave so randomly
Peter: Something urgent came up
Y/N: a goodbye would’ve been nice 🥀
Peter: I’m sorry 😔 it was urgent
Y/N: nah dw im just joking
Y/N: you okay?
Peter: I will be once u forgive me
Y/N: sigh maybe I will if a pizza was in my lap and return of the Jedi was on my tv
Peter: Be there in fifteen
November 3rd
12:47pm
Y/N: what are u doing November 15th
Peter: Hmm probably nothing
Y/N: would u like to come to friendsgiving hosted at my humble abode
Peter: friendsgiving?
Y/N: yeahh smth me and my friends do every year before the real thing
Y/N: and feel free to invite anyone u want as well
Y/N: ur friend Frank? was that his name
Peter: Uh
Peter: Idk about that but I’d love to come
Y/N: perfect
November 4th
3:45pm
Y/N: are you not home?
Peter: No why
Y/N: I was gonna return ur dvds u forgot them at mine
Y/N: wait how did u leave I didn’t even hear ur door
Peter: Uh
Peter: I left quietly
Y/N: okay…
November 7th
11:47pm
Peter: Hey u up?
Y/N: uhm yeah
Peter: Perfect
Peter: So by any chance do u know basic first aid?
Y/N: I guess why
Peter: *image attachment*
Peter: Ur services would be greatly appreciated
Y/N: BRO
Y/N: 😭😭😭 Peter wtf happened to u
Peter: I was
Peter: I got mugged
Y/N: mugged????
Peter: The streets are ruthless
Y/N: all those muscles and u didn’t fight back??
Peter: Hey u should see the other guy
Y/N: I’m sure he’s battered
Y/N: can’t believe u had to fight him alone
Y/N: god where’s spiderman when u need him
Peter: I know right!!!!!!
Peter: Can u come over now 💔
Y/N: alright I’m coming calm ur tits
Peter: My tits are perfectly fine thanks
November 10th
5:45pm
Y/N: r these flowers gonna be a regular thing now?
Peter: Only when I pass by the bodega
Peter: Which is basically everyday so yeah
Y/N: how thoughtful and kind🩷
Peter: Am I finally forgiven for being loud all the time
Y/N: let’s not get ahead of ourselves here
November 12th:
6:34pm
Peter: Hey do i need to bring food to Thanksgiving
Y/N: friendsgiving
Peter: Yes friendsgiving
Y/N: and yes u have to
Peter: Shit
Y/N: can’t cook?
Peter: Yeah I live off protein powder lowkey
Y/N: LOL
Y/N: u have to bring smth tho… so u bette get in that kitchen
Peter: Fine
Peter: If I make something tonight will u be my test bunny
Y/N: do i have to
Peter: Sorry babe u do
Peter: I’ll be over with the goods later
Y/N: are u gonna bring the food too?
Peter: Cheeky
November 14th
9:12pm
Y/N: yk u disappear a lot
Peter: I do?
Y/N: you do.. noticing things
Peter: Noticing what??
Y/N: shhhhhh
November 15th
6:07pm
Y/N: uhmmmmm is that Frank
Peter: Yes?
Y/N: wow 😍 u didn’t tell me how hot he was
Peter: Y/N.
Y/N: sooo is he single or what 🩷🩷🩷
Peter: Shut up
Peter: He’s taken and about thirty years too old for you
Y/N: age ain’t nothing but a number
Peter: Ohhhh shit i just remembered he has to go home early actually 😔😔😔 Shoot!!
Y/N: LMAO
November 16th
7:12pm
Y/N: hey where’d you go we’re about to eat
Y/N: peter?
Y/N: are u seriously doing this again??
Y/N: are y gonna do this everytime I invite u to smth? In front of all my friends ?
Y/N: yk if u don’t wanna come next time just don’t show up
November 16th
10:28 pm
Peter: Y/N
Peter: Can i come over?
Y/N: sorry I’m cleaning
Peter: I’ll help you clean
Y/N: I don’t need help
Peter: I’ll keep you company then
Y/N: peter stop okay
Peter: I’m sorry Y/N
Y/N: I don’t want any apologies
Y/N: I just want some space plz I need to think
Y/N: I’ll talk to u later
Peter: alright
November 18th
9:07pm
Y/N: I’m gonna ask u smth and I want u to be honest with me
Peter: Anything yeah
Y/N: and u cannot lie to me
Peter: I won’t I promise
Y/N: and also dont freak out
Peter: I definitely wont
Y/N: are u spiderman?
Peter: what
Y/N: idk I’ve just been thinking about it and it makes so much sense
Y/N: you always randomly disappear when spiderman HAPPENS to be fighting someone halfway across the city
Y/N: ur always getting beat up and then somehow like a day later ur completely healed??
Y/N: and u always leave ur house without leaving ur front door so i guess u use ur balcony which is about ten feet off the ground so how else would u do that
Y/N: oh and I downloaded that spider tracker app and he (you) is ALWAYS by our apartment soooo
Y/N: am I right?
Y/N: peter??
Y/N: i can hear u moving around in ur place okay don’t ignore me
Peter: Can I come over?
Y/N: yes
November 19th
7:07pm
Peter: *image attachment*
Y/N: am I just gonna get spiderman selfies now?
Peter: Yes you are
Y/N: I think J Jonah Jameson will love these
Peter: Don’t even start
Peter: And you can’t lie this is sick
Peter: Don’t I look so cool swinging all over the city
Y/N: sigh I guesssss
Peter: I’ll take u one day then you’ll see
Y/N: in ur dreams Parker
Peter: That’s Spiderman to you
this is jsut smth short and sweet because im going on holiday tonight so!! Wont be posting for a week x
notice peter asking u to patch him up knowing he’s gonna be healed in like ten minutes…
In a kingdom where monsters wear crowns and knights bleed in silence, Sir Peter Parker is the King’s most useful blade—the man who ends threats no one else can reach. He never asked for a wife. You never asked to be given to him.
Pairing: Knight!Peter Parker × fem!Reader
Genre: Dark Medieval AU
CW: Dark!Peter Parker, arranged marriage, childhood crush, mutual pining, first time, virgin reader, power imbalance, slow burn, eventual smut, blood and violence, angst, hurt/comfort, court intrigue, duty vs desire.
Notes: I'd like to thank my friend for proofreading and helping me get this organised. I really enjoyed the new movie and couldn't stop thinking about Peter being a knight and a crown executioner because he was so hot in it. English isn't my first language, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
The pic I used isn't my own, I found it on Pinterest!
Chapter I
Peter stood before the King with blood still drying on the edges of his gauntlets.
It was not the blood of the innocent. It never was. The bandits who had terrorized the northern villages had fallen hard and fast beneath his blade, and he had made certain every last one of them would never raise a hand against another soul. Not because he enjoyed the ending of lives—he never had—but because the alternative was worse. Innocent people would have died if he had hesitated. Now the King wanted to speak with him and his uncle as if they were ordinary men of the court instead of the ones who kept the realm’s borders from bleeding.
Sir Ben Parker, the man who had raised him after his parents’ death, stood to his right. His spine was still straight despite the years of labor and worry. He had the same quiet strength Peter tried to live up to every day, though age had softened the edges of the warrior he once was. Peter was taller now. Faster. Stronger. Ben knew it. Peter knew it. The entire court whispered about it behind closed doors.
The King sat in his high-backed chair near the fire, a goblet of wine in one hand. He looked tired. Kings always looked tired when the weight of the crown pressed harder than the gold it was made of.
“Ben,” the King said, “your nephew has served me well these past years. The north has been quiet since he dealt with those raiders. Few men can clear a threat the way he does.”
Ben inclined his head. “He was born for more than ordinary duty, Your Grace. Peter has always understood what must be done—and the cost of failing to do it.”
Peter said nothing. He rarely needed to. His reputation spoke for him, though it was not the one he would have chosen. The King’s silent blade when the realm needed a problem solved without fanfare. The man who moved through shadows and stone alike. Women looked at him with curiosity. Men looked at him with a mixture of respect and unease. That was the order of things, and he had long since stopped trying to change it.
Then his uncle ruined the quiet.
“I had words with Lord Harrison after the feast last night,” Ben said, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. “We have come to an arrangement.”
Peter turned his head slightly. Just enough to look at him. Ben did not meet his eyes.
“An arrangement,” Peter repeated, voice low.
His uncle continued as if he had not spoken. “The girl is of good stock. Well-bred. Kind-hearted. Healthy. She will make a fine lady of the house. The alliance between our houses will strengthen your position at court, Peter. It is time.”
The fire crackled. Somewhere in the distance, a servant dropped something and cursed softly.
Peter felt the familiar tightness settle behind his ribs—the same tension that came before a fight he could not walk away from.
“You mean Lord Harrison’s daughter,” he said. The words tasted strange in his mouth. He had not spoken of you aloud in years.
Ben nodded once. “She is the only daughter. Lord Harrison is eager for the match. The contracts can be drawn by week’s end.”
The King watched Peter over the rim of his goblet, curious. Perhaps even amused. Kings enjoyed watching their most reliable knights confront the parts of life that had nothing to do with steel.
Peter kept his face carefully still. He had learned long ago that emotion was best worn like armor—visible only when he chose to let it show.
You.
He remembered you as a girl with ink-stained fingers and too-serious eyes, always trailing after the younger children in the gardens like a quiet guardian who had forgotten how to ask for anything for herself. The two of you had spoken once or twice, before the court grew louder and his own life grew darker with blood and duty. You had been soft then. Gentle. The kind of person men like him were supposed to protect, not claim.
Now they wanted to hand you to him like a gift.
A bride. Healthy. Good for alliance and heirs.
The words turned in his stomach like something he could not quite swallow.
He had no practice at being a husband. The women who had shared his bed over the years had known the arrangement for what it was—one night, no promises, no questions about where the bruises on his knuckles came from or why he sometimes vanished before dawn. He had no desire to wake beside the same face every morning only to fail her. No desire to watch someone kind and bright slowly realize that the man she married spent half his nights riding into danger and bleeding for a kingdom that would never fully know the cost.
He already had a legacy. It was written in the quiet safety of villages that no longer burned and the stories soldiers told about a knight who finished what others could not.
Ben was still speaking. Praising you like you were a prize at market.
“…modest, obedient, skilled with the needle and—”
“Painting,” Peter said suddenly.
Both men looked at him.
He smiled, small and a little awkward, the way he always did when he realized he had spoken without thinking. “She paints. Or she did. I remember. She used to hide little sketches in the garden. Flowers. Birds. Once… I think she drew something small and careful in the corner of one of them. Like it belonged there.”
Ben’s mouth tightened. He had not expected Peter to remember anything about you. He had expected him to accept the arrangement the way he accepted every other order—quietly, efficiently, without complaint.
The King chuckled. “A romantic memory, Peter? I did not think you the type.”
“I am not,” Peter said. His voice was steady. It always was when he needed it to be. “I simply dislike being handed a wife I did not choose. Especially one who deserves better than a man who spends more time in the shadows than in the light.”
Ben’s hand twitched at his side. He wanted to argue. He never would. Not here. Not in front of the King. Not when he knew Peter would still obey in the end, because that was what they did. They protected. They served. They carried the weight so others did not have to.
“Peter,” he said, low and firm, “this is not a request. The contracts are already being prepared. You will marry the girl by month’s end. You will build a life with her. That is the end of it.”
Peter looked at him then. Really looked. At the lines around his eyes, the gray in his beard, the way his shoulders had begun to round under the years of carrying more than any one man should. Ben was still strong. Still respected. But he was tired. He wanted to see Peter settled, safe, with someone who might give him a reason to come home at night instead of vanishing into the dark.
He wanted grandchildren to carry the Parker name into the future because he knew—deep down—that the path Peter walked was a lonely one.
Peter was something else entirely. Something the years of steel and silence had made of him. Something the kingdom needed, even if it never fully understood.
He turned back to the King and offered a small, respectful bow. The kind that showed the line of his throat and the breadth of his shoulders at the same time. He knew how he looked in the firelight. He had spent years learning how to stand so that people saw the knight and not the boy who still sometimes dreamed of ordinary things.
“As Your Grace commands,” he said quietly. “If you wish me to take Lord Harrison’s daughter to wife, I will do so.”
The King nodded, satisfied. Ben exhaled like a man who had just watched a blade miss its mark by inches.
Peter straightened.
Inside his chest, something tight and uncertain uncoiled.
They thought they were giving him a bride.
They were giving him a new responsibility.
And he had always understood the weight of those.
He would marry you. He would put his ring on your finger and do his best to be the husband you deserved, even if he was not certain he knew how. He would play the perfect knight in public and try, every day, not to become the monster the court already half-believed he was in private. He would protect you. He would keep you safe from the things that crawled in the dark—including the parts of himself he still did not fully trust.
And when the nights grew long, he would remember exactly who he was supposed to be.
The King’s loyal blade.
The man who finished what others could not.
The man who carried the weight so that others did not have to.
Peter smiled at his uncle, small and a little rueful.
“Very well,” he said. “Let us see what kind of husband I can learn to be.”
Then he turned and walked out of the chamber before either of them could see the quiet fear already blooming behind his eyes—the fear that he would fail you the same way he had failed the people he could not always reach in time.
Thanks for reading!
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You just learned a new catchphrase? Now you both have a new catchphrase. Even when you're not around, he still uses those stolen words every chance he gets.
"Okie dokie," you said on your first date. Since then, he hasn't stopped saying "okie dokie" after briefing Nadeem on cases, earning the same weird look from the fellow agent every single time.
You're annoyed at first. "Dude. Why do you keep repeating everything I say?"
Dex doesn't answer, but a week later, you catch him calling another agent "dude" over the phone after they screw something up.
And just like that. Your words? Being stolen again.
After a while, the annoyance turns into fondness, and you start teaching him what to say and when to say it.
Honestly, it's kinda cute.
Dex has social media, but he hasn't been keeping up with trends. He's there only because you're there. So when he comes home one day and casually drops a slang you've never taught him, it makes you pause.
"Where did you learn that?"
"What?"
"What you just said. Who taught you that?"
You swear his head grows bigger when he straightens up next to you on the couch. "I can be hip, you know."
You burst out laughing, head falling back against the couch, hair brushing his arm. Dex narrows his eyes at you, heat creeping up his neck, but he doesn't move away. He likes being in your space. "What's so funny?"
"Hip," you wheeze, wiping tears from your eyes. "Nobody says that anymore."
Turns out he's been secretly looking up "Slang terms and how to use them like a pro" because he thought you'd like it. You always say things he's never heard before.
The tips of his ears turn pink, and it only makes you laugh harder. You grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He automatically shifts so you can sit in his lap, your hands looped behind his neck.
"Hip," you repeat and peck a quick kiss at the corner of his mouth, where a smile is threatening to appear despite his fluster. "You're hip. The hippest person in the world."
A crooked smile finally tugs at his mouth as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck to avoid your gaze. The embarrassment lingers, but your laugh and sweet kiss quickly melt it away.
"No," he murmurs, his voice muffled by your skin. "You're the hippest person in the world."
your boyfriend was starting to get suspicious about that spider. seven times this month alone he'd saved you. seven.
who got mugged that often? apparently you.
at this point, your boyfriend was starting to wonder if new york had some sort of personal vendetta against you or if spider-man had somehow put your name on a priority list.
the eighth time happened on date night.
he was already sitting on the front steps of your apartment building, dressed in the suit he'd spent twenty minutes pretending he didn't care about, waiting for you to finish getting ready.
then he heard the familiar thwip echoed somewhere overhead.
he didn't even have to look anymore. still, he did. sure enough, a streak of red and blue swung cleanly around the streetlight, carrying you through the evening air like it was second nature. your laughter floated down before your feet ever touched the pavement.
his jaw tightened. the two of you looked a little too practiced at this whole saving thing.
"thereee we go," spider-man sighed as his boots kissed the concrete.
he absorbed the landing effortlessly, the last of the momentum rolling through his body before settling into yours. one gloved hand remained firm against your waist while the web detached overhead with a soft snap.
his grip comfortable. he'd caught you enough times to know exactly how much pressure you needed.
you let out a breathless laugh, still riding the rush of swinging through manhattan. your fingers lingered on his forearm for half a heartbeat as you found your balance before smoothing your coat back into place.
"thank you," you smiled, looking up at him. "again."
behind the mask, the white lenses narrowed ever so slightly. "you're welcome."
his hand stayed where it was.
only then did your eyes drift toward the apartment.
"...hey, honey."
your boyfriend looked up from the steps.
"spidey." he gave a polite nod. "nice seeing you again."
spider-man seemed to remember himself. he straightened a fraction.
"what is this?" your boyfriend asked, one eyebrow lifting. "eighth time this month?"
there was the slightest pause. behind the white lenses, spider-man glanced at you before quickly looking away.
he shrugged. "she was walking home, uh... alone. couple of guys looked like they were gonna give her trouble." he rubbed the back of his neck. "i happened to be swinging past. right place, right time, i suppose." another shrug. "game of luck."
"right."
your boyfriend nodded slowly.
his gaze dropped to the hand still resting against your waist.
spider-man followed his eyes.
"...oh." his fingers slipped away almost immediately. "sorry."
"it's fine." your boyfriend smiled politely enough. another beat. "thanks for... getting her here safe."
"of course."
"c'mon, honey. they held our table for a bit longer."
he finally pushed himself off the steps and crossed to you, slipping naturally into the space spider-man had just vacated.
you stepped toward him.
"thanks, spider-man," you said again, lifting a small wave.
"just doing my..." he rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck again, searching for the words. "...you know. hero duties."
a laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
"stay safe," you said.
the corners of the mask creased faintly, as though he couldn't help smiling back.
"you too." he said your name almost absent-mindedly. his attention shifted to your boyfriend. "keep an eye on her, man." a tiny shake of his head. "she's slippery."
your boyfriend let out a short breath through his nose. "...yeah." his arm settled around your waist as naturally as spider-man's had only moments before. "i'll try."
for just a second, spider-man looked at the arm around you.
then he caught himself.
"well..." he stepped backward. "see you around."
“hopefully not,” your boyfriend sighs. ""i'm gonna have to start getting one of those emergency buttons or something."
spider-man immediately looked offended.
"oh, nah." he lifted a hand. “those things are useless. you didn't see that study the boston police did a year ago? they don't do anything to prevent crime." spider-man paused. "’sides, i'm around, like all the time." he gestured vaguely upward, toward the skyline.
your boyfriend raised an eyebrow. "that's supposed to be reassuring?"
"i mean, yeah?"
"you saying you're constantly watching my girlfriend is somehow making it worse."
"i didn't say watching."
"you just said you're around all the time."
"because i'm a superhero. that's- you know, the whole job." spider-man pointed at him.
"you're being pretty weird for a guy who keeps finding my girlfriend."
"and you're being strangely defensive to a guy who's saved her eight times." a pause. "...trust issues, here, right?" he nods to him, talking to you now.
you rest your hand on your boyfriend's chest, a minor comfort.
"anyway—" spider-man pointed between the two of you. "have a good date night, alright?" a thumbs up, like the perfect tourist poster of new york.
“yeah, thanks,” your boyfriend mutters.
a web shot skyward.
he disappeared in a single smooth motion, swallowed by the skyline almost as quickly as he'd arrived.
without thinking, your eyes followed him.
they always did.
just until the flash of red and blue vanished between the buildings.
your boyfriend rested a gentle hand against the small of your back and guided you toward the restaurant, down the street. "...you really do need to stop getting mugged."
you smiled to yourself.
"i'm working on it."
he was quiet for another few steps. "...jameson keeps saying spider-man has a favorite civilian."
you laughed.
"i'm serious. i've lived in new york my whole life." another glance toward the rooftops. "i've never seen the guy until you started getting… every damn criminal after you in the city."
peter parker x fem!reader, brand new day
an unexpected visit from spider-man distracts you from your typical routine of arguing with your noisy upstairs neighbors in your head. (3.1k wc)
read part two!!
notes: fluff, upstairs neighbor peter, nursing him back to health, descriptions of injuries / self-administered stitches
It didn’t take long for you to get tired of the nightly noise from the apartment above you. The constant whirring of some sort of machine, the conversations between a (you presumed) young man and older woman, not to mention the bumps and thumps. When you first moved in it was easy to ignore. Hell, you’d put up with a noisy neighbor if the rent stayed as low as it was, but now you were a seasoned enough tenant that you felt like you could complain. The thought was tempting, especially on noisy nights. You’d play out the confrontation fantasy in your head. A braver you would knock on the door, the asshole would answer, and you’d get to chew him out. He’d be rude enough that you wouldn’t feel guilty about it but he would ultimately retreat and never make a noise again. This scenario played out almost every night in your head while you laid in bed with little variations based on the noise level. Sometimes it involved a firm slap to the face. Other times, when his voice sounded weak over the whizzing of whatever he was doing up there, you felt softer. You’d show up and say something gentle like, “hey, do you mind being a little quieter? It’s almost 2 in the morning.” It wasn’t like you were trying to sleep yourself, you often stayed up late into the night doing whatever you pleased. In some ways, it was nice to have some sort of not-so-silent companion. Weirdly enough it made you feel less alone in the big city. Maybe you were being too sentimental over someone who had no idea who you were, but pretending that there was a real camaraderie between two night owls meant something to you.
Some nights even made you worry, the silent nights. Nights where your mystery neighbor would suddenly slam his window, run the shower, then presumably go to sleep. Maybe he is sneaking out and that lady is his mom, you often wondered, but he doesn’t sound that young. You hadn’t run into either of them as far as you knew so there was no way of telling. Tonight was one of those silent nights that made you wish for the safety of a complete stranger. Well, maybe not a complete stranger, he was your neighbor and make-believe kindred spirit. You couldn’t help but stay awake a little longer than you typically would, waiting for that window to slam and signify his safe return.
All of these thoughts were freely flowing through your mind as you poured another mug full of tea. There were some candles and low-light lamps illuminating your space while the news quietly played from the TV. It was a calming night, the only piece needing to complete the puzzle was that window slam. Call it neighborly concern or call it obsession, but you couldn’t relax until you heard it. Maybe I should talk to my therapist about that. I definitely have an empathy problem—
Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud thud. This wasn’t from the apartment above you, instead it came from eerily close by. Like, a few feet away close. Instinctually you ducked below your kitchen island, your blood rushing to your ears amplifying the sound of your own heartbeat. After a moment of panic, you foraged as quietly as your could in your drawer and fished out the largest butcher knife you could. Okay, okay, you got this. You are not going to die. Nobody is willing to die for the shit I’ve got in here, just go scare them off. Slowly you tiptoed to your bedroom, your mug now abandoned on the kitchen floor. You hugged the walls all the way to your open bedroom door. While the rest of your apartment was lit, your bedroom was pitch black, the perfect lighting for a burglar to hide in. Perfect.
With a rush of bravery you jumped out from behind the doorframe and flicked on the overhead light, shouting, “Whoever the hell is in my apartment get out now!” Your shaky hands held the knife out in front of you like you were afraid of it. The room flooded with light, revealing a sight you couldn’t have imagined in your wildest imagination. Standing in the middle of your bedroom was Spider-man, donned in his red and blue suit. He whipped around to face you immediately and threw his hands out in defense.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry, I did not mean to break into your apartment, I was- uh, trying to, you know what? It doesn’t matter, I’m gonna let myself out, I am so so sorry, please don’t scream.” His words tumbled out almost incoherently, his arms waving around wildly as he spoke. The knife slipped from your hand as you stood with your jaw agape. However as soon as he made his way to the window, you snapped back to your senses. With him turned to the side you could see long, dark gashes along his ribs. The closer you looked you could see they were littered all over his body and face.
“Wait, wait! Holy shit, are you alright?” He froze at that, panic taking over once again.
“I’m fine, all in a day’s work, or night’s work, whatever. Have a great one, by the way, goodbye!” When he tried to move, a wince ripped through him. You took this as your signal to march in between him and your open window.
“No, please, just wait a second. You break into my apartment looking like you just got dragged through hell. You obviously aren’t alright. Just, take a second, alright?” He turned to face you again, stilling as he considered your words. Silently, you turned away and started walking to the living room. After a moment you could hear his feet padding behind you. Your heart was still thumping out of your chest but at least you were in control of this moment. When the two of you finally got to the living room you pointed to the small but cozy living room.
“Wait just a second so I know you aren’t losing your mind. Just- just lay down on the couch,” you called out while you rushed over to your small linen cabinet to grab some towels for him to lay on. No way were you letting him stain your couch, you saved up good money for that thing. After gathering up as many as you could possibly spare to lose you began laying them out in layers over the fabric. However Spider-man didn’t budge, instead opting to awkwardly shift his weight from one foot to the other from the corner of the room.
After a moment he finally spoke up, “Are you really sure? I can take care of myself pretty well, this isn’t nearly the worst I’ve been roughed up before.” That stunned you again, a wave of sadness washing over you. You looked over your shoulder at him with a somber expression as you struggled to find the right words. It was hard to imagine that the man who protected your city day and night, no matter how big or small the threat was, going back to an empty home and patching himself up alone. You felt your heart shatter. It had to be lonely. It wasn’t fair. You let the silence simmer a moment longer.
“Well, not tonight you aren’t.” You meant to sound more authoritative but it came out too gentle, like a loving scold. Your hands smoothed over the towels with finality to ensure they were laying as flat and comfortably as possible before you moved out of the way. He hesitated one last time before finally giving in. His back hit the couch with a sharp exhale, his muscles melting into the springs as he situated. You started making your way to the kitchen when he called out to you again.
“Thank you… random lady whose apartment I broke into.” A little laugh slipped from you. Despite his condition he still could crack a joke, that was the Spider-man everyone knew and loved. Or, thought they knew, at least. Retrieving your mug from the floor along with a clean one for Spider-man you poured more fresh tea out and began searching for your first aid and sewing kits.
“You can thank me after I finish maiming you with a sewing needle… sorry you couldn’t stumble into some nurse’s apartment or something.” After gathering all the supplies you made your way back to the couch, pulling a chair up so you could sit beside his reclined figure. He sat up a bit when you did and nervously scanned over your kit. Instead of paying his caution any mind you shoved the mug into his hand.
Again, he started rambling.
“Listen, I’m really thankful for the tea and the couch but I seriously cannot let you patch me up. I mean, these wounds aren’t really the type you can sew up, not most of them at least. Plus, I heal super quick. Double-plus, I can’t let you see me, like at all.” Your hand met your forehead, pensively rubbing over your forehead.
“How about… you can fix yourself up if I just turn around while your mask is up? Maybe I could just get you some ibuprofen and an ice pack?” He let out a breathy laugh at that and nodded softly.
“Yeah, that’d be really great.”
“How about a snack?”
The fridge light poured into your kitchen as your eyes scanned through every possible option you could provide. What do you make for a local superhero who is bleeding out on your couch? From the living room you could hear the sharp hisses of someone repeatedly shoving a curved sewing needle into themselves, a noise you never wanted to hear again in your life. As that sound registered in your mind you suddenly became aware of how ridiculous this situation was.
“So, how often do you stumble into random people’s apartments?” You began pulling out ingredients for a turkey sandwich and ignored the urge to turn around and face him.
“Well this is sort of a one and done thing for me. I think I got a concussion or something, I was just swinging and… thought I was at my place, I guess.” While you weren’t paying any attention to the TV but you became aware of it when it went quiet.
“Sorry, I had to turn it off. Only thing worse than having your ass beat is watching the view from a helicopter.” It was your turn to laugh now as you finished assembling the sandwich. Then, you started packing ice into a plastic grocery bag and twisting it tightly.
“Alright, let me know when I can turn around.” After some scuffling he finally replied, “You’re good!” When you turned around he was back to his reclined position, a pile of bloody needles and thread laid out neatly on a towel.
“Jesus, that’s brutal.” He shook his head with a chuckle, you could only imagine what his expression was under the mask. Despite not being able to see his face you imagined it was handsome. There was no way someone that brave, athletic, and clearly fit wasn’t hot too. The thought made a warmth rise in your cheeks. You had always been a fan of Spider-man, even entertained thoughts of a moment like this. He didn’t have to know that, of course.
You handed him the plate which he took in his lap while he reached for the ice pack. Quickly, you pulled it out of his reach.
“Nuh-uh. You are not eating that sandwich with one hand on my couch. You eat it, I’ll hold the bag.” Deep inside you knew you just wanted to be close to him for as long as you could.
He snickered and shook his head, “You seriously are protective over this couch, lady. And no way, you’re forgetting my golden rule.” You huffed back.
“Treat others as you’d like to be treated? Isn’t that what I’m doing right now? And I have a name, ya’know.”
“I mean seeing my fa-” He froze. “Wow, I really look like an ass right now, don’t I? What is your name?”
“But that’s not fair though, right? You don’t get to know my name if I can’t know yours. That’s my golden rule.”
“Well then who am I gonna write my long-winded thank you card to? Just ‘beautiful lady who fed and pampered me?’” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice while your face grew even hotter. Instead of indulging any further you pressed the ice pack against his mask, taking a twisted pride in the hiss that came as a result. You stood above him and turned your face towards the ceiling without explanation, the implication serving its purpose. After a brief pause you could hear the shifting of his mask and feel the sensation of him chewing.
In between bites he spoke up, “I’m trusting you a lot right now, you know.”
“I’ve only known you for about thirty minutes, it’s a wonder someone hasn’t exposed you already.” He swallowed before replying.
“Well if everyone I met made me a sandwich and a towel bed I’d probably be in a bit more trouble.” Again, your mind drifted to the underlying tragedy of the situation. He probably had nobody, when was the last time someone helped him? Under the cold compress you could feel him reach past your body to retrieve his mug and take a long sip before adding, “I should probably break into more strangers’ houses.”
“Or maybe you could just knock next time.” He was quiet after that, instead focusing on each bite as he absorbed your words. It’d been a long time since he had spent time with anyone who cared about him, much less let himself be taken care of. Selfishly he wanted to prolong it as long as he could. When the final bite of his meal was gone he considered pretending to still be eating or just keep sipping his tea as slowly as possible to prolong the moment, but he knew that wasn’t right. He had already intruded enough, he was just glad you didn’t try using that knife on him or immediately kick him out. With great restraint he put the plate on the table, his arm grazing your thigh. The contact sizzled for a moment, sending a wave of electricity through your body. You could feel him pulling his mask back down but neither of you said a word. Instead, you just looked down at him. His head slowly turned up to face you as well as he slowly clasped one hand over yours, gently applying more pressure. It wasn’t an invitation to take the ice pack from you, rather a silent expression of his gratitude and a plea for you to stay just as you were. You could feel the warmth of his hand through the cool fabric of his gloves, a sensation that made your heart race. He felt it too, the smallness of your hand under his gloved one. He closed his eyes briefly, imagining what it might have felt like if he wasn’t wearing it. What it would have been like if he met you on the elevator as Peter Parker. It was true that he was concussed, but it wasn’t like he had ended up very far from home. Replaying the memory of him swinging into your window, he could see it clearly now. He had only missed his own bedroom by one floor. Both of you stayed like that for a while longer before he spoke again.
“I should probably go, I think.” You didn’t say a word, just pulled back your hand and made space for him to stand. Now that he had moved you could see the amount of blood on the towels but it didn’t cross your mind to worry about the couch. Something inside of you turned over, another wave of sadness washing over you. You would miss him, you were sure of it. You wondered where he would go. Did Spider-man have somewhere to call home tonight or would he go back out on the streets, fighting off whatever went bump in the night? He stood slowly with a groan, his free hand finding a sore spot on the small of his back. Leading the way, you guided him back to the window. It seemed right to have him leave the way he came. He took a long look around your room now that you weren’t threatening to stab him, taking note of the piles of pillows and duvets. Maybe in another world he could sleep on a bed like that next to a girl like you. He had always wondered who his neighbors were, it was hard to imagine that you had been right below him all along. When he finally got to the open windowsill he stilled for a moment, committing you to memory one final time.
“Are you sure you can’t tell me your name?” He couldn’t help himself. Sure, he knew he couldn’t return the favor, but he wanted to give it one last try. He wanted something to hold on to after tonight. You shrugged at him with a teasing shake of your head.
“You know the rules, Spider-man.” There was a pause. He didn’t want this to end, but like everything else good in his life, it had to. Slowly he lowered himself onto your fire escape.
“I guess this is goodnight then.” Your lips tugged into a frown at that. You didn’t want him to go. If you had it your way he would have slept on your couch, woken up and eaten breakfast, maybe washed himself off, anything that could relieve him for even one moment. Unbeknownst to you, he could sense that from you. Thankfully you didn’t press the offer, he wasn’t sure he could say no.
“Thank you so, so much,” he said with a softness akin to a whisper.
“Thank you, for everything you do.” Even through the mask you could tell he was smiling. Then just like that he was gone, the whizzing of webs pulling him out into the night. A deep breath left you as you stood in your now empty room. Unable to do anything else with yourself, you made your rounds through your apartment to turn off the lights. You would deal with the couch and the plates and the mugs in the morning. For now you just needed to rest.
Pulling your covers over yourself, you let yourself mull over every question that crossed your mind. Was there more danger waiting for him? Did he ever get lonely? It seemed that way to you. Your eyes couldn’t stay open another moment, but just before you teetered off the edge of sleep, you heard a familiar slam. At least he was home safe.
PETER PARKER is so sensitive, especially when it comes to his organic web shooters.
thinking about running your finger across the vein of his forearm gently, watching the way his breath hitches and he visibly blushes, face a pretty pink all the way to the tips of his ears.
"is that okay?" you ask, voice impossibly soft and caring. your soothing tone only makes his dick twitch in his pants. :(
he hesitantly nods, squeezing his eyes shut at the pad of your thumb running over the barely noticeable flap the webs eject from. "feels-- shit-" he's trying not to get worked up, "feels weird– i-i dunno-" his voice cracks pathetically, leaning into your sweet touch despite himself.
he's not lying either, it's a sensation so strange, like nothing he could've imagined. seeing webs sputter from the slit disgusted him the first time he witnessed it, but it's different with you. how do you manage to make it feel so fucking good?
"s'okay, peter" you purr in that way that has him whining, "let me take care of you, yeah?" you rub slow, calculated circles on the flap, taking notice of the way he bucks his hips up, as if he needs release. "ohgod– s'good-- i- i like it" he chokes out, nodding his head feverishly and squirming impatiently on the mattress.
"oh yeah?" you challenge, curiously deciding to take it further. you start at the midway point of his inner arm, pressing down hard on the vein and dragging your finger up to the flap.
"oh fuck--!" he gasps, the sudden pressure has him humping the air mindlessly, chasing something that's not there. he's trying to be good, to control himself, but how the fuck is he supposed to do that when you're touching him like this?
his dick strains against his sweats as you increase pressure, skin hot under your thumb.
"waitwaitwait!" he cries out as your thumb nears the slit, so close to shooting out that sticky web, his cock so close to shooting out sticky release. "baby– m'sorry, just–" he pants, his heart beating a frantic rhythm, he's right on the edge. your hand pauses completely.
you glance at him, and he looks just gorgeous like this. his eyes are wide and glassy, lips bitten raw, and cheeks wet with a few tears, falling from just how perverted he feels. how is he able to get off from this? is he really that desperate?
"pete." your honey-smooth voice makes him go dumb, makes him nod along to anything you say, lets you do anything you want to him. "just... let me try this, okay?" you lean down to press a reverent kiss to his forehead, making him shudder.
without any warning, you quickly press down and drag your thumb across the vein, forcing a string of webs to shoot across the room.
peter immediately flinches, gasping and rolling his eyes to the back of his head. "oh shit--!" he moans whorishly, his cock shooting out hot release directly after. he didn't think he could cum so quickly, especially in his boxers.
you watch in a daze as he rides out his orgasm, leftover webs bubbling up to the flap and pitifully dripping down his arm.
he glances down at his wrist, gagging at the sight of the white liquid. "god– that's so gross" he groans, arm moving to cover his face in disgust. his chest is still heaving, pink lips slightly parted.
"yeah well–" a giggle bubbles up in your chest, "you're the one who came from me touching it" you point out, moving to kiss his flushed cheek when he groans further in embarrassment.
he peeks out from under his arm, hesitating to speak. "maybe uh– we can do that again? like– not right now, obviously... but y'know–" he stutters, chuckling nervously.
he's such a dork, you think.
you lay down next to him, smiling at his hopeful expression when you nod your head, before speaking.
Loving all the new spider man fics but also would love to see people drop the "I forgot who Peter was and now I remember happy romantic ending " trope a bit. IM NOT SAYING ITS BAD, AND IF U WANT TO DO IT,JUST DO IT, THE FIC IS YOURS!!! I just would love to see more of this new life that Peter's got into it in the end of the movie yk make something new, give him a friend, we can work with the neighbors troupe, someone who works at the shop were Peter always buy flowers to aunt May and they eventually becomes friends and etc.. a lot of ideas we can work with
